#apparently i really like drawing dan with one glowing eye

[braisedhoney]

very vague ideas

[dcxdpdabbles]

Could you please pleasepleaseplease p l e a s e continue the halfa cass post? I'm dying for some more of it, it's SO GOOD

The first thing Cass notices about the Fentons is how utterly silly they are. She had been expecting a group of far more regal people, especially with the castle they lived in and being protected by Phantom.

She still doesn't really understand what's going on, but she can piece together that Phantom is in charge. The people who had stopped to stare at her all whispered about the King, and she could tell that a few of them gained helpless hope by the mere sight of her.

If they were truly trapped here, then her appearance meant there was a chance of escaping.

But were they trapped because of Phantom? Dan mentioned the Fae's costumes of tricking humans into signing slavery contracts with a feast. Had Phantom done the same?

"Maddie!" Dan yells at the top of his lungs, floating towards the draw bridge. "Maddie, I think you want to look at this!"

"What is it, sweetie?" A woman calls back, quickly followed by an explosion in the left tower. Cass stiffens as the window of the tower is flung open, and a woman in an overalls sticks out her head. Behind her, black smoke rises. "I was just making headway in the latest Fenton Escaper!"

"Really? How's that going?"

"It exploded! There is nothing left!" She beams, pulling her oversized goggles off her head. They leave a black outline around her eyes. .

Dan's body language doesn't show his surprise at her failure. In fact he seems oddly amused. It must be a common thing."I supposed that's good?"

"Oh, it's wonderful! Jake is going to be so happy that it reacted quickly to the new element!" The woman chirps. "He's out with Danny, gathering some more supplies for our people."

"They went hunting without me?"

"You know you're grounded, young man."

Wait, was this woman Dan's mother? Could the dead have parents? Or was it more of an adoption relationship?

"Yeah, Yeah, I know. Anyway, Maddie, I wanted to introduce you to the new arrival-"

"You brought a girl home!" Maddie cuts him off, flinging herself out the window. Cass would have rushed to her aid were it not for her apparent control as she spun into a landing. "Hello there! I'm Maddie Fenton! Dan's mother from another timeline, welcome to the family!"

Cass could tell she was going for a hug before the hug arrived, but she was still somewhat surprised by how forward Maddie was. Oddly friendly in a way no one in Gotham dared to be. Unless they were crazy like Harely. She can only blink as the woman wraps her up in an embrace, her muscles belying her small frame.

A fighter. A rather skilled one at that.

"I was so worried Dan would never find a partner!"

"Maddie! She's not my girlfriend!" Dan hisses, "She's a kid!"

"I'm twenty-one" Cass corrects

"A baby," Dan insists.

"Oh, that's a shame. She's gorgeous- from what I can see with the mask. The grandchildren would have been beautiful." Maddie sighs, letting her go. Then, it seems the woman noticed her features for the first time because she looked startled. "Are you a living human?"

"Worst. She's a halfa," Dan responds. Maddie's upper body goes rigid, and Cass can see thousands of emotions go through her—shock, denial, awe, wonder, glee, despair—to name a few—before she settles on one.

Glee.

"Jazz! Dani! Come here!" She screams, and Cass only has a few seconds to step away from Maddie's sudden craze before another glowing blur speeds towards them.

It's a younger version of Dan but female. She stops just short of ramming into Dan with a giggle. "Made you flinch!"

"You did not."

"Did, too." The girl, nineteen maybe, insists but twists to Maddie while speaking. It doesn't seem like she thinks about whether she is correct. Cass wondered if she should say that Dan really did not flinch. Besides his hair swaying slightly by the gust of wind she created, he hadn't moved from his crossed-arm position. "Who's this?"

"A new Halfa!" Maddie cheers.

The girl's friendly demeanor crumbles into horror. "What?"

"I know- isn't this exciting?"

"No, Mom, it means she died." Yet another voice sighs. "What did we say about our science?"

"Not to let it overpower my morals and to be tactful of other feelings." Maddie quotes with an eye roll, though Cass can tell she's not bothered by the reminder. Strutting from the castle draw bridge, the only one that uses it is a beautiful woman clad in a purple sleeveless dress.

She moves with the confidence and elegance Cass had expected of a Queen. It's when she stands next to Maddie that it becomes clear they are mother and daughter- almost all her features are a copy of Maddie. "Hello there. I'm Jazz Fenton. I heard you've been through a horrible ordeal. I'm very sorry for your loss of life."

Cass blinks at her, then shrugs. She isn't sure if she is grateful that Damian's ninja mask is still across her face, keeping her amusement hidden.

Jazz smiles even wider. "Welcome to Phantom's Keep. We welcome you inside."

Hmmm, well, no, Cass did not like how she said that. Sounded a little too Fae-like for her taste.

Jazz isn't aware of her unease as she gestures to the castle. "We have some questions on how you arrived. See, Dan and I thought you had died and placed you in the sector for new ghosts. Dan was supposed to greet you and get you settled. But your new status changes everything."

Was Jazz....Phantom?

If so, Cass needed to be careful how she continued interacting with the woman. She didn't want to get stuck here for seven years, either. She had a family she was going to get back to.

__________________________________________________________

"Where is Cass? She hasn't checked in for days," Bruce asks his children, looking over everyone's logs. Her last entry was twenty-four days ago, a short "Investigating Amity Park—pending field report" blinking on his screen.

"I'll ask Raven." Damian volunteered. "She should be able to give more insight into Cass' mission."

"Thank you, son."

Bruce hoped the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach was just untreated paranoia like his children liked to claim and not that something had happened to his daughter. He never liked it when his gut feelings were right.

They were never a good reason.

[vortahoney]

Doing the Shopping- Re-Animator

@dilfsisko @bashircore this is the 5 + 1 grocery store thing!!

Herbert did not like going to the grocery store. Apparently, it was unfortunate he had to eat at all. Thankfully, he now had a boyfriend who could do it for him, and Dan was more than happy to get away from the damned lab for a while.

Sometimes he purposefully took too long. Examining each product and making long conversation with anyone who would listen.

As he went along, he was looking for which register worker he would most like to talk to. He settled on a woman with dark brown skin, what looked like a tool belt under her store-issued vest, and a nametag that read ‘Amaya’.

“Good afternoon,” he gave a small greeting. “How are you?”

“Can’t complain.” Amaya shrugged.

“I couldn’t tell you the last time I left the house.”

“Been busy?”

“Ohh yeah. My um, partner-“ there was a snap of relief in Dan’s chest as he saw her excited reaction. “He doesn’t like doing the shopping. So I get stuck with it.”

“My girlfriend.” She put extra emphasis on the word. “Is the same way.”

“Well, my guy, Herb,” Dan continued, smiling widely with relief, as she rung up his canned peaches. “Well. He’s very passionate about his… work. He gets this look in his eye, real bright-like.”

“He sounds like quite the guy.”

“Oh he is, barely sleeps though.” He chuckled. “Oh um, I’ve got a coupon for that.”

She took it. “So what’s he do?”

“Hm?” He looked up as he put his grocery bags back in his cart.

“Your boyfriend. You said he’s passionate about his work. What is it?”

“Oh! He’s a doctor, kinda.” Dan smiled before leaving.

***

“Peaches again?” Amaya raised an eyebrow at Dan’s cart, which had a good twelve cans of peaches.

“Herbert’s been getting really into peaches.”

“Sounds um… obsessive.”

Dan laughed. “Oh yeah. He certainly can be. He’s in his lab right now, has been for awhile. He’s hell bent on his ‘experiments’. That’s how we met, actually.”

“Oh, you’re a doctor too?”

“Yeah, kinda.” Dan shrugged. “How’s Shauna?”

“She’s good. Just got a job at a sunglasses kiosk in Boston.”

“Pretty long drive.”

“Yeah. I guess it is.” She finished scanning the peaches. “Wait what does ‘kinda’ mean? Are you not a doctor?”

“You do not want to know, Amaya.”

“Alright,” she chuckled. “No further questions.”

***

Over the next few weeks, Dan went grocery shopping five times. Each time, Dan and Amaya grew ever closer. They always had new gossip for each other, about their partners or not. Dan talked about his books and his med school experience, Amaya talked about her job and law school applications. It was a great relationship.

“Amaya!”

“What’s the situation, Daniel?” She smiled. “Oh, no peaches today!”

“I got tired of them. We’re doing soup now. More variety there. Herb slept in his glasses last night.”

“They broken?”

“Just bent a bit. They’re all crooked now, it’s adorable.” Dan got out his wallet. “He slept at his desk over his notes.”

“Do you want me to help bring those out to your car?”

“Sure!”

Amaya grabbed a few bags. “So how was that book?”

“Hm?” Dan looked over at her.

“Oh, first time you came in. You bought a book called ‘The Saint’s Perversion’ from the newsstand.”

“Oh, didn’t finish it. It was erotica.”

Chortling, Amaya’s face scrunched up. “Did you expect it not to be?? It’s called ‘The Saint’s Perversion’, dude!”

He opened the trunk. A small green glint caught Amaya’s eye as she placed the bags in the car. Investigating slightly further, she noticed it was a syringe full of something glowing and green. “Hey, what is tha—“

Dan slammed the trunk closed. “Nothing! I gotta get back, good talking to you!”

“Alright! Tell Herb I said hi.”

“Tell Shauna the same!”

“Will do!”

***

Dan was unusually quiet in the checkout line, save for the small, angry murmurs to himself.

“So,” Amaya spoke up. “How’s Herbert?”

He gave a harsh laugh. “Busy as ever. Spending every day in that damn lab cooking up his…” he stopped before he could say ‘monstrosities’.

“I’m guessing you’re not on great terms?”

“No, we’re fighting. Again.”

“Again?”

“We fight more often than not these days.” He sighed, practically slamming his gallon of milk down on the counter. “He’s always working or yelling at something. The sex is… basically nonexistent. No, no, completely nonexistent. He’s too busy working. I’m too busy helping him! I told him today that I’m done with his sick power games and that I can either be his lab partner or his romantic one.”

“Why are you still with him?”

“I…” he paused. “I don’t know.”

***

Dan came in the next day, nothing but a pack of batteries in his hand. “Amaya!”

She leaned over her register. “You seem chipper. Get over your fight?”

“Sorta.” Dan smiled and looked down, bouncing on his heels. “You asked me yesterday why I’m still with him.”

“I did indeed.” She rested her chin on her palm. “I sense you’re going somewhere with this.”

“Well, I can agree that he’s a difficult person. Difficult to work with, difficult to talk to, difficult to love… sometimes.” Dan’s face softened and he wrung his hands together. “But sometimes… it’ll be late at night, I’ll be staring at the ceiling, and he’ll have been working for… forty eight hours straight. And he’ll crawl under the sheets and curl into my side.”

“Awww.”

“He doesn’t really sleep. Ever. So it’s more for my benefit than his. But he does get bored easily, and he does this cute little thing where he traces circles on my chest. Or- or I’ll ask him a question about his work and he’ll just light up. Or when there’s an accident in the lab and the first thing he’ll do is make sure I’m okay. He cares about me, and… I think the world would be a worse place without him.”

Lightly smacking Dan’s shoulder, Amaya let out a small laugh. “Dan!! That was so cute!”

“You think?”

“Why are you telling me?!” Her voice was a squeak at this point. “Why aren’t you saying this stuff to your boyfriend?”

“I’m going to!”

“Did you really need the batteries?”

“Maybe not exactly…”

Amaya snorted. “Dude.”

“I wanted to make sure it was okay!!”

“It’s more than okay.” She squeezed his shoulder. “You should bring him around sometime.”

“If I can get him out of the house.”

***

Something was strange about the next store visit. A man was on Dan’s arm, a shorter man with big glasses and dark brown hair. Scowling, his arms crossed, he looked like he did not want to be there.

“Hey,” Amaya nudged her coworker. “Be, do you mind taking my register? I’m gonna make some rounds.”

She nodded. “You got fifteen minutes, I get out at four today.”

“I’ll be right back!” Amaya hurried off, waving at her. “Promise!”

She jogged up behind Dan. “Hey you two.”

“Hey, Amaya!”

“Yes, hello.”

“So, you must be the famous Herbert, then.” Amaya stuck out her hand to shake.

He did not take it. “Unfortunately, not yet. You may be confusing me with a different, more famous Herbert.”

“No, I just mean that Dan talks about you a lot. You and your work?”

“The work?” The man glared at him. “What have you—“

“Nothing specific, dearest.”

“You know I loathe when you call me that.” The blush on his cheeks betrayed his statement.

‘This is Herbert?’ Amaya thought to herself.

“Amaya, you aren’t at the register today?”

“Nah, I’m a ‘can I help you?’ right now.”

As they were talking, the man started drawing small, impatient circles on Dan’s bicep. Definitely Herbert.

“How’s the work been going?”

Herbert perked up, eyes brightening. “Fantastically. Our specimens have been responding excellently to the— um, the prototype.”

“I see what you meant, Dan. He is passionate.”

“This work is important.” Herbert frowned.

“I bet. Anyway, anything I can help you guys with?”

Dan shook his head.

“Well I’ll leave you lovebirds alone. Nice to meet you, Herb, I see why Dan likes you so much.”

“Likes… me?”

Dan gave a small, breathy chuckle. “Well, tell Shauna I said hi.”

“Will do!” She waved at them as she jogged back to her register.

So that was Herbert.

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 35)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25  Lewis POV 3,  Mystery POV , Vivi POV 3, 29, Lewis POV 4, 31, ViVi POV 4 , 33, 34

Part 36: here

.

LEWIS POV:

Whereas he barely felt the knife stabbing into him, Lewis definitely feels it come out. It doesn’t help that the thing pretending to be Arthur seems to be going out of its way to cause as much pain as possible. And yes, there is a lot of pain. Even with a whole lot of adrenaline smoothing over the worst of it, it is probably the worst thing Lewis has ever experienced. It briefly whites out his vision, so he almost misses Arthur as he steps out of the torchlight. What Lewis does see, in amongst the white spots, is that twisted uncanny smile, smug and self-assured. Nothing like any expression he has seen Arthur make before. It’s all wrong.

Lewis doesn’t remember kneeling, but he must have because suddenly Vivi is crouched in front of him, supporting his weight, preventing from face-planting into the concrete. Quickly, she ties her scarf around his side.

“I’m fine,” He mutters, trying to wave her away, “Go after Arthur.”

“You’ve been stabbed,” Vivi objects, frustrated, adding, “…and I can’t,” blue eyes meeting his before flicking over to Mystery who is blocking her way. The dog is glowing red, and his growls make Lewis’s neck prickle with unease despite not being the target. Right. Because, not only is Arthur possessed by that thing, but Mystery is a supernatural whatever as well. If he weren’t in so much pain, the revelation would be more impactful.

His next words are drowned out by another louder shout.

“ALRIGHT ASSHOLE…STOP RIGHT THERE!”

Both he and Vivi turn. Lewis stares openly at the middle-aged man who seems to have materialised from the gloom, holding a shotgun that moves between all three of them, landing on Arthur.

“Nobody move.” Is ordered in a tone consisting of visibly uncontained rage which doesn’t bode well in the slightest. Just when Lewis thinks they are done with the nasty surprises, another one comes crawling from the woodwork. Lewis struggles to stand so he’s ready to run if need be, his side throbs with a spike of intense pain.

The man, Lewis vaguely recognises him but, with the darkened surroundings, he is hard to really place, addresses Vivi, “Never heard of Arthur huh?”

Vivi stiffens, and Lewis realises, with a quick note of leather clothing, that this must be the leather-wearing crazy guy from earlier. Though, given the circumstances, perhaps he isn’t as crazy as initially thought.

“Good thing I didn’t believe yah now isn’t. You kids are in some real shit,” The man glowers past them, “I finally got ya. Nowhere to run now.”

“I’m sorry. Have we met? You human’s all look alike,” The body snatcher, Lewis refuses to think of this thing as Arthur, sounds mildly irritated.

“You fucking know who I am!”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself.” Lewis recognises one of his chef knives as it is waved around flippantly.

“Sonofabitch. You’re going to regret messing with…”

“Hold it. Wait…” The body snatcher interrupts, clicking its fingers, “I remember. Wait. No…I’ve lost it. Maybe give me a hint?”

The man’s face twists into a snarl of furry, “Slimy rat-bastard…If you think for one…”

“Oh! I’ve got it! Mickey. No. Micky. Yes. Apologies. You were such a useless, forgettable host that it completely slipped my mind.” If the body snatcher is trying to make the other man mad, it is succeeding. Worried, Lewis observes the livid expression on the gunman’s face. Even in the dark, the rage is very apparent.

“How is that gunshot wound treating you? It looks infected.”

“How about I give you a matching one, and you can tell me all about it!?”

“Tch,” Arthur’s green eyes narrow losing some of their humour. Then, seemingly addressing none of the people present, it comments, “And this is exactly why leaving hosts alive always backfires.”

Before, when the creature had been supposedly conversing with Mystery, it had made clear eye-contact with the dog. Now, it gestures loosely into the middle distance. It’s talking to Arthur, he realises, and it simultaneously fills him with hope and makes him sick to the stomach.

“They all get this notion in their head that it’s my fault their pathetic lives went down the toilet. And then it’s all ‘you’ll pay for this’ and whatnot.” It turns Arthur’s eyes back to Micky, “I suppose you’re still mad about your brother. Dan was it?”

“Don’t say you dare say his name!”

“Dan? Short for Daniel? The most promising exorcist in three generations and far better than you could ever be? That Daniel? …Maybe if you’d been even half of what he was, you wouldn’t have been possessed so damn easily. I mean, this kid put up more of a fight, and he’s pretty much a walking collection of neurosis.’”

“I said shut the fuck up!”

“Did you even go back to bury him, or did you just leave him there? What happened to all the ritual, funeral nonsense to send his soul on its merry way? How disrespectful.”

The gun clicks. It’s like it wants to get shot! Lewis feels Vivi tense beside him and knows that she has come to the same conclusion.

“Stop!” Vivi lurches uprights, trying and failing to dodge around Mystery. “If you shoot, you’ll kill Arthur!”

“That fucking brat sent us to our deaths. He’s just as guilty.”

The body snatcher sniggers, “I’m sure Dan would be very unimpressed at how you’re threatening this poor innocent human. I mean, if he weren’t a shish-kebab at the bottom of a cave.”

A loud, almost animalistic, yell. In the fraction of an instant before the gun goes off, Arthur’s body lurches to the right. For a moment, it looks like Arthur might manage to dodge. Lewis’s breath catches.

Crack.

The gun fires. Arthur flickers. It is as if, for a split second, there are two people overlayed atop each other. If the body snatcher is planning to dodge, protecting both itself and Arthur, it fails, stumbling, visibly hurt.

Next, there is an explosion of energy, briefly lighting the space with ominous red. From the flash leaps a giant canid creature with many lashing tails, obstructing his view. The gunman, obviously just as surprised by its appearance, turns wildly, aiming the gun at the new threat. A second shot discharges with another loud crack, point-blank, right into second monster’s chest. The giant- Lewis thinks it might be a fox- doesn’t falter, slamming into the gun-wielding maniac, jaws closing on the weapon.

“Arthur!” Vivi’s voice snaps his attention back to Arthur. Lewis is not sure where the bullet has hit but the way the body snatcher’s face twists, spitting to itself, “You little shit,” before toppling over backwards, means it hit somewhere. He struggles to follow Vivi, who has already run forward, ignoring how his side burns and his breath is more laboured than it should be. Lewis hurries up to his prone friend, spotting the quickly spreading stain of red on Arthur’s left shoulder.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Vivi mutters, “Bleeding…that’s a lot of blood. Need to control the bleeding.” She pulls off her shirt, placing it over the wound, pressing down. Arthur’s eyes snap open, bright green, focusing on Vivi and then on him. They flicker to golden-brown.

“Arthur?” Vivi breaths, also noticing the change.

“Vi…”

“Shh. Don’t speak. Everything will be okay. I don’t think its hit anything important. Just lie still.”

Gold flickers to green again, and Arthur grins, “What’s…up. You…goin…watch him die …with me?” The words get chocked off when the gold returns. The smiles twists into something more pained. Lewis leans in as Arthur tries to speak again.

“No.” Vivi puts out a hand, leaving a red mark on his shirt, “Don’t make skin contact.”

Green and gold flicker again, so fast that the two colours bleed into each other like coloured ink running together. “Even if …you save him…I’ll be here. You’ll never get me out…He’ll be mine for…” It’s the body snatcher, struggling to form words as blood trickles out the corner of Arthur’s mouth.

“Don’t talk,” Vivi snaps. The hand nearest to him twitches, trying to touch her wrist. But the blood loss has made it slow and lethargic, allowing Vivi to draw away.

“Lewis, hold his arm down so it doesn’t try to grab me. I need to keep pressure on this. Do you have your phone on you? We need to call for help, like an ambulance, and….”

Vivi’s instructions wash over him as he stares at the hand then back at Arthur. If they do save Arthur, then they would be right back to where they started, with this thing piloting around his friend’s body. Probably, hurting Arthur in the process because he can’t imagine that it’s a present experience. Lewis takes his phone from his back pocket and places in on the ground.

“Lew…is.” It’s Arthur again, barely managing to speak, breathing hard as Vivi pushes down, stemming the worst of the flow. Even the two words sound so defeated and sad. Lewis can’t just do nothing. Not when he can save Arthur from this thing. In that moment, in the seconds between Arthur’s breathing and the sounds of fighting behind him, Lewis reaches to take Arthur’s hand.

“Look after Arthur.” He orders. Vivi makes a brief noise of objection, but it is too late.

Skin against skin.

Arthur’s hand is unnaturally cold.

There is a sharp pain in his palm which travels up the limb. Quickly, he lurches upright, stumbling two steps back to get as far away from Vivi and Arthur as possible. A portion of his arm begins to turn a sickly green, which travels up towards his shoulder. Arthur, the real Arthur, is now the picture of horror.

“W…hy?” His friend coughs. Lewis finds he can’t respond, body frozen. Slowly, green creeps, inching along, making his skin crawl.

Then, a heavy weight hits him from behind, causing him to stagger. Jaws and sharp teeth clamp down around his upper arm, halting the green. One large, red eye stares at him, almost apologetic. As if moving in slow motion, Lewis sees the fox bite and hears the crunch of bone splintering. Blood droplets spin hypnotically in the air.

It is probably fortunate that, right then, Lewis is yanked back and away. If he can’t handle the pain of a stab wound, he can’t imagine enjoying the sensation of having his arm ripped apart. This is what Lewis thinks while he falls into deeper, more complete darkness.

He is falling, nothingness surrounding him. He is falling right up until he isn’t.

Above him, a ceiling fades into view. Confused, he blinks at the pale grey roof overhead. Is he dead? He doesn’t feel dead. Hurriedly, Lewis sits upright, grasping for his arm. It is still there, attached to his shoulder, no worse for wear. Except, Lewis’s eyes widen, watching the limb flicker, disappearing then reappearing. He can feel it and move it, but when he stares at it for too long, it doesn’t seem real. Transparent.

“…have known… too good to be true….It’s always too good to be true…” The irritated voice, though muffled, is familiar. Lewis twists, searching for its source, finding himself on the floor of a grey-coloured version of the Kingsman workshop. However, unlike Kingsman Mechanics, which was always alive with activity and the sound of machinery, everything here is still and eerily silent. Through the open garage doors, instead of the Tempo desert, Lewis sees an expanse of endless grey void. Across the floor and ceiling spreads several jagged cracks like the room is seconds from falling to pieces.

“…there was no way in any of the hells that some punk human would get away with breaking The Rules and not have it blow up in their stupid face...”

Leaning against the workbench, a few feet away, is Arthur. Only, it’s not Arthur. The skin is tinted green, not unlike his arm in those brief moments before Lewis was pulled down here.

“…and I just got suckered in like some witless porn.” Growling, kicking the bench irritably, not-Arthur grumbles, “What a waste of potential.”

Slowly, Lewis tries to climb to his feet without catching its attention. He is unsuccessful because, no sooner has he moved, its eyes snap to him. Now, instead of bright green, they are flecked with golden yellow.

“Hello Lewis,” It greets in a voice so like Arthur’s that it grates on Lewis’s ears. A larger crack appears across the ceiling, lengthening, almost splitting the room in half. Grey dust rains down around them, and the room shakes.

“Nice of you to stop by, even if it is for a few seconds. I was so looking forward to possessing you too. It really is a shame.”

Lewis glares at the twisted, mock version of his friend, who, despite everything, is still grinning. Now his mind is no longer muddled with the pain of a stab wound, there is new mounting anger. He clenches a fist.

“What’s the matter big guy? Had a rough day? Not often you get stabbed by your best friend now is it?”

Lewis should be scared. This thing has made it apparent that it didn’t give two shits about killing him. Hell, this bastard had stabbed him. Lewis glances briefly at his side. There is no wound to be seen. In his mind’s eye, he sees the last few minutes flash past. He can see Arthur, in pain. His best friend had looked so defeated. Somehow he knows it is this things fault. Everything until now, all the supernatural weirdness and confusion, this thing is at the centre of it all. No, Lewis isn’t scared. He's furious.

"There's the Lewis I was waiting to see. None of that sentimental concerned crap…only anger,” The fake-Arthur grins wider, noting his rage.

"This is your fault." He snaps in lieu of a proper come-back, taking an aggressive step forward clenching and unclenching his fist. "What did you do to Arthur.”

“Hehe, still more worried about Arthur? You really should adjust your priorities, considering there is a high chance that my removal will kill you. Losing an arm isn’t pretty.”

Lewis twitches. The rage builds. It builds in waves, expanding to fill his chest and, before he knows it, he’s across the room, picking the fake-Arthur up by the shirt, and slamming into a wall. There is no real-Arthur here to hold him back. He wants to wipe that smile off its face and make it pay for all the stress and hurt it has forced on all of them in the last few days.

“What happened to Arthur!”

A scoff of contempt. “Nothing happened to Artie, aside from getting shot, he’s back in his body. All he had to do was sit back and not interfere, but instead, he got in the way like the suicidal little shit he is. I’d watch out for that, your friend is a real basket case.”

Lewis sees fire and red. He slams the creature against the wall, causing new cracks to form and spread like a spider web. It feels unevenly satisfying to hurt this creature. It feels good right up until the body snatcher turns its face into something that looks almost exactly like Arthur. No smug smile. Just pain. If it weren’t for the green skin, Lewis might have believed it.

“So willing to hurt Arthur. You’re giving me goosebumps.”

His grip falters. “You’re not Arthur,” He retorts.

“No. But I look like him.  Not that that matters when assigning blame. No wonder Arthur is scared of you.”

His anger simmers down into something more akin to apprehension. Before, outside his family diner, the demon had said something about knowing the truth behind Arthur’s reason for avoiding him. What did this thing know?

Lewis grits his teeth, "I didn't do anything to Arthur. I couldn’t of. It must be something else. Another variable." That’s what Vivi said, and she is right. Why does it sound like he's trying to convince himself now?

"Is that what you think, or is that what our good friend Vivi thinks? She's smart, I'll give you that, a real catch, but you can't rely on her for everything. You have to make your own decisions based on what you want. You know Arthur is scared. You saw it. Pure fear."

The body snatcher gives him a shove in the chest, forcing Lewis to drop the other to the floor. Tense, he watches it spend a moment straitening its shirt in a very Arthur-like move. Suddenly, he feels very guilty despite knowing this was only a replica of his friend.

It grins again, glancing up, “I can show you, you know. I have Arthur’s memories. I can leave them behind before I’m forced to leave." More cracks are appearing now, covering every surface like one half of the room is about to fall away. Deliberately, fake-Arthur leans towards him, “What do you say?”

“Arthur will tell me the truth when he’s ready.” Lewis wants to object further but finds the words stuck.

It laughs, an unpleasant sound, full of malice, “Not if he thinks the truth will hurt you. He’ll continue lying for forever if he thinks it’ll protect you. Besides, you might die right now, so Arthur might not even get the chance. Then you’ll never know.”

Uneasy, Lewis swallows, realising that it is right. Arthur would lie to protect him and Vivi. It is probably the reason why he’d been lying for the last few weeks.  Lewis frowns down at the ground, breaking eye contact, trying to work through what he actually wants and not liking the answer. Its got him. Despite knowing that having Arthur’s memories is a bad idea that it will cause more harm than good, he finds he doesn’t care.

"Well, do you want the truth or not? Quickly now, I don't have a lot of time here."

Why is Arthur scared? He needs to know why. He desperately needs to know.

“I want to know.” He says it before he can really help it.

One elongated step and the body snatcher is suddenly close, acting before Lewis can change his mind. He attempts to move back, but the body snatcher is reaching up, grabbing his collar, yanking him down to eye level, “Good choice.”

Lewis instinctively pulls back, but the faker's eyes swirl hypnotically, shifting to a more potent green, holding him in place.

"It’s been nice talking, I think I’m beginning to see why Arthur’s so damn obsessed with you, so much delicious internal conflict...but alas our time is up.”

The walls around them crumble, splintering apart.

“It may be a day, a year or even a few decades, but I’ll be back so we’ll meet again. That's a promise."

The workshop dissolves.

"Until then, enjoy Arthur’s memories. And remember, you wanted this."

..

Note: Lewis joins Arthur in the pit of bad decisions. 

Part 36: here

[stormtrprinstilettos]

“It’s not like I’m asking you to dinner.” - Roger x fem reader (smut)

Summary: It’s 1983 and Queen is recording their next album at the studio where you work, and things get a little heated between you and the drummer.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

In this “episode”: Roger finally gets Reader to go on a date – an actual, real date. And a question is popped. (No, not that one, calm down.)

Word Count: ~5k

Warnings: age gap (21 vs. 35), language (WTF no smut?)

Tagging: @fixedonroger @a19103 @ginabaker1666 @thickthighsandbasicbrowneyes @culturefiendtrashqueen @imaginesandideas @rogertaylorscar @painkiller80 (let me know if you want to be added)

[A/N: An anon sent me the fluffiest idea and I just had to use (most of) it. And, dammit, I’m sorry, no smut this time, but it needs to happen this way. Keep sending me those ideas because I need them in order to keep this going!]

Sunday. Finally. A day off. And you have tomorrow off, too, since your boss was kind enough to hire another girl to sit in and answer the phones a few days a week to help out. When Roger brought you home this morning he was headed off with the rest of the guys to go do some interviews so you weren’t expecting to hear from him anytime soon. You’re trying your best not to replay the conversation you had with him last night, but it was stuck on endless repeat in your brain. What did he mean – “I’m not giving you up any time soon,” you keep thinking. This is ridiculous. He’s leaving, he’ll be in Munich, then touring… Stop it, Y/N. But you can’t stop. He’s right. You overanalyze everything. This is just fun and he’ll move on when he leaves.

You desperately need a distraction, so you decide to start rearranging your albums again, this time by sleeve cover instead of alphabetically. It was stupid, especially because you knew it was going to get on your nerves the first time you’d go to look for one, but it got your mind off of him. You’re concentrating hard on the task you’ve given yourself when the phone rings.

“Hello?”

“I’m in the mood for Italian food. What’s the best place in this god awful city for Italian food?” It’s Roger, and you can’t help the massive smile that’s formed on your face.

“Dan Tana’s,” you tell him. “But they don’t open until dinner time.” You hear cars rushing by and horns blowing in the background. “Where are you? It’s so loud.”

He starts to chuckle. “I’m on some payphone outside. Dan Tana’s, you said?”

“Yeah, but they don’t open until dinner time and…”

He cuts you off. “Can you be ready for 5?”

“You’re talking to me?” you ask.

He’s laughing at your awkwardness. “Yes, you. I’ll pick you up at 5:00.” He doesn’t wait for an answer and he hangs up the phone.

You start to laugh at his sheer audacity. Part of you wants to be difficult and tell him you’re not going when he shows up, but you know you won’t do that. It’s only noon, but you rush to your closet to find what you’re going to wear.

The hours eventually passed, and you did your makeup three times, changed your clothes four times before finally deciding on your blue dress. You find yourself in the same situation as yesterday evening before he picked you up for that dinner with everyone else – nervous as hell, sitting in your living room, waiting for Roger to knock on the door. And when he did, you had to compose yourself again and not run to the door like you wanted to. And when you open the door, there he is again, wearing a tie – no blazer this time – and those sunglasses. God, do we really need to go to dinner? you groan to yourself, wanting to make him ravish you right there in the doorway.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greets you, with a toothy smile and a kiss on your cheek. He holds his arm out for you to hook yours into. “Ready to go?” You smile and grab your purse and head out the door. “Thought I’d take you this Italian place I heard about,” he jokes as he walks you to the car.

You hear the people whisper and feel them staring as the two of you are walking inside the restaurant, trying your hardest to ignore them, but it’s hard to do. Roger, on the other hand, isn’t paying them any attention, instead focusing his attention on you and making sure you’re guided through the crowd waiting to get in as effortless as possible. The restaurant host immediately recognizes him and hurries the two of you to a table, far in the back away from as many people as possible, but you still feel people looking at you. “Ignore them,” he whispers, leaning over the table and taking your hand in his. “It’s just the two of us, no one else,” he says as he’s giving you a comforting grin. He glances down at the menu. “What’s good here?”

“I always get the veal parmesan,” you tell him with a chuckle. “Not that I come here a lot. That’s what I always get at Italian restaurants.”

He starts to laugh. “Not the adventurous type?”

“It’s my favorite,” you shrug. He’s still holding your hand as he looks over the menu, and you sit like that, in silence, watching him, and you can’t stop smiling. He glances up and you and smiles back before going back to the menu. You start to giggle at his deep concentration before realizing he probably doesn’t know what he’s reading and pull the menu away from him. “Pasta, seafood, meat or veggies?” you ask with a giggle.

“Meat,” he playfully growls. “Like a real man.” You roll your eyes and point to the menu section with the meat selections as you push it back to him and he smirks. “I have no idea what any of this is.” He points down. “What’s this?”

“Liver,” you tell him, laughing at his disgusted reaction. When he points to the next one, you giggle. “That’s veal parmesean.” He nods and closes the menu and gives you an impressed look. “I spent a semester in Italy when I was in college so I learned the cuisine. Studied that more than what I was actually there to study.”

He listened to you intently as you talked over dinner. For some reason you were chattier than usual, probably doing it because people kept staring and you were trying to distract yourself. It didn’t matter to him – he loved hearing you talk. After the waiter took your plates, he inched his hand to yours so he could hold it again, and as soon as he grabbed it, you were rendered speechless for some reason. Apparently he was too, because neither one of you spoke, sitting there and smiling at each other instead, until the waiter brought your coffee. “Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?” he says, softly, looking deep into your eyes. “Because if I didn’t, I just want you to know that you are absolutely beautiful.” You smile and he brings your hand up to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “And not just tonight. Always.”

You’re smiling as you melt inside, a different feeling than you usually get when you see him. It’s not that sexual desire that almost burns. It’s a flutter, a calmness, a… What is he doing to me? you ask yourself. Everyone else disappeared. It’s just the two of you, no one else, just like he said earlier. You lean over the table to get closer to him. “Come here,” you whisper, and he leans over to meet you and gives you a soft, slow peck, your eyes closing as you feel the warmth of his lips on yours. The moment is interrupted when the waiter brings the bill, snapping you both back to reality.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says as he hands the waiter the payment, standing up and holding out his hand for you. You walk out holding hands, this time not caring that people see you with him, ignoring the whispers and quiet gawking everyone is doing. It’s just the two of you, no one else, and you’re floating.

He’s driving around, not sure where he wants to go next, but he does know he doesn’t want to take you home – not yet. The conversation is flowing so smoothly, and you’re both enjoying the evening and the company so much you don’t want it to end. “Turn here,” you tell him at one point, so he listens to you, knowing you can navigate this place much better than he can. A few minutes later, you tell him to pull over, and excitedly jump out of the car, waving for him to join you. Shaking his head and chuckling, he gets out and walks over to you. “Come on,” you smile and grab his hand, pulling him along as you walk out to a view of the city below. “Just in time,” you murmur as he starts to take in the view. “Haven’t been up here in a while. My favorite place to watch the sunset.” He draws you in from behind, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your shoulder. He’s done this so many times before, and your insides flitter every single time. As you stand there, wrapped in him, you have no cares in the world. You’re not overthinking things for a change. You’re not questioning his motives or even worrying about what the future will bring. You’re in this moment, and you finally understand why he was always telling you to stop worrying about tomorrow, or the next month, or the next year. Now – that’s what it was all about. Now, the only time you can control, and this is exactly where you want to be.

“Y/N?” he says as he turns you to face him. The sun has just about disappeared from the sky, but there’s still a slight glow that’s making his eyes look even more enchanting than normal. You look at him and smile, his face telling you he has something he wants to say. “I… uhh…Thanks… for sharing this with me…” His words are stumbling a little, and for the first time since you’ve known him, he seems a bit nervous. He runs the back of his hand on your cheek, smiling and piercing your eyes with his. Your heart is beating so fast you can hardly catch your breath, and you sense he’s having a harder than usual time breathing as his smile fades and his expression turns serious. He opens his mouth and takes a breath like he’s about to say something else, but nothing comes out. He slowly leans down, and you can feel his breath on your cheek as your eyes flutter, then close as his lips meet yours. His hands slide down your arms before resting on your hips, drawing you in closer as your arms wrap around his neck, and the entire world starts to melt away. You slowly pull back, your hands resting on the nape of his neck, and you slowly open your eyes. He tries to say something again, but the words don’t come out.

All you can do is smile, finding this nervousness of his endearing. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. “Why are you so tense?” you ask him. “Your whole body is tight.” You look up at him, your chin on his chest and and you start to rub his back.

He kisses your forehead and smiles. “Maybe being around you is stressful,” he chuckles, and you push yourself away, pretending to be upset and offended.

“I don’t know why I still like you, knowing you’re an asshole,” you laugh as he pulls you back close, leaning down so his nose touches yours.

“Oh, you like me?” he grunts sarcastically. “I happen to L…” He quickly stops himself and smiles. “I happen to like you, too.” He kisses your forehead again and pushes your head to rest on his chest. You can hear his heart beating, and you start to giggle again. “Stop being cute,” he laughs. “I’m trying to relax and enjoy the view.”

You look up at him again, giving him an adoring look and smirk. “My view is quite nice to look at.” He rolls his eyes and laughs, pulling you in even tighter. Just as you were about to speak, a car pulls up and four teenagers crawl out. “Ugh,” you groan. “It was nice while it lasted.” You slowly pull apart from each other and watch as these jackasses who interrupted your moment start to walk into view.

“Brownies,” he blurts out, out of nowhere. “You brought those brownie things to the studio the other day. Those were good.” You look at him, humored with confusion “I want some.”

“I don’t know where to buy brownies at 8:00 on a Sunday night,” you laugh. “I made those anyway.”

He grabs your hand and starts walking to the car. “Then let’s go so you can make me some.” He’s serious and you’re still laughing.

“I can’t just make them, Roger,” you laugh. “I need the mix and…”

“Well let’s go find the mix,” he says, hurrying and opening the car door and shoving you in. “What?” he asks, starting to laugh at himself when he gets in the car and puts the keys in the ignition.

“The stores are closed,” you tell him.

“Damn,” he chuckles. “Well… Where to next?”

“I don’t know,” you giggle. “You’re the one who invited me out tonight.” He nods and starts the car. “So where are we going now?” He shrugs and pulls out, not knowing which way to turn on the road and looks at you for guidance. “I don’t know where we’re going so I can’t tell you where to go.”

“My place?” he asks, not sure of anywhere else to go. You point in the direction he needs to turn and he starts to drive. He grabs your hand again, bringing it to his mouth so he can kiss it, and you look over at him and smile. You’ve been smiling since the second you opened the door when he picked you up, and you don’t feel like you’ll ever stop smiling again. “Tell me, what does a girl from [your hometown] want out of life? I mean, really want out of life?”

You sigh and lean your head back on the seat and gaze out of the window. “All I’ve ever wanted was to be happy,” you say quietly. “Not that I’m not a happy person or that I’m not happy where I am.” You turn your head and look at him. “I just want to be able to take my final breath, whenever it may be, and know that I’ve lived a happy life.”

“Wow,” he says, impressed by the maturity of your answer. “Usually people will say they want the big house, fancy cars, loads of money…”

“None of that matters to me,” you say, cutting him off. “So many of these people in these obnoxious houses have all of that, but they’re miserable.” You turn your body in the seat so you’re facing him, his hand still holding yours. “It’s not always about material things, you know? I mean, yeah, they’re nice, but it’s about the people you surround yourself with.”

He starts to laugh, loud and heartedly. “I think you’re the only person out here who feels that way.” He stops laughing and starts to grin. “You’re too good for these people.” He raises your hand so he can kiss it again, only this time he holds it there for the rest of the ride to his place so he can keep giving it random kisses.

He starts to loosen his tie as you walk inside and head to the living room. “Do you want to change?” he asks. “Get more comfortable?” You follow him back to his bedroom and he pulls out some sweatpants and a t-shirt. His eyes suddenly light up, having an idea pop into his head. “Change,” he says as he heads out the room. “I’ll be right back!” He rushes out, not saying a word about where he’s running off too.

After changing your clothes you sneak back into the living room, thinking you’re going to catch him doing whatever he rushed off to do, but you don’t see him. You don’t hear him anywhere, so you start to wander around the house trying to find him. You should know better by now than to put yourself in a position where he can scare you, but you forget about every other day before this one. When he sneaks up behind you and grabs you, you scream and slap him. “Dammit, Roger!” you yell and he’s in complete hysterics. It only takes a second for you join him in the laughter. “Stop doing that!”

“Never,” he laughs. You roll your eyes and slap him again. He grabs your hand and walks you to the kitchen where he points at a box of brownie mix on the counter with a proud look on his face. “Got it from my neighbor,” he chuckles. “Nice old lady.”

“Really?” you ask with a laugh. “You want me to make brownies?” He looks at you and pokes his bottom lip out in an over exaggerated pout that makes you giggle. You roll your eyes, smiling again, and walk to the refrigerator. “Well? Get me a pan. You have one of those?”

He gives you a big smile and reaches into a bag. “She gave me one,” he laughs. “Everything’s in here but the eggs.” After you grab the eggs from the refrigerator you start to look through his cabinets, searching for a bowl to mix everything in. He walks up to you holding one and smiles. “Told you. Everything’s in the bag.”

He leans on the counter watching you mix the batter and pour it into the pan. “Do you know how to use the oven?” you joke, but he gives you a blank look. “You’re useless,” you giggle as you set the temperature yourself. “You’re quite sneaky, too,” you tell him with your back turned. “Bringing me to dinner just so you can get me back here to make you brownies. I could have done this…” You turn around to finish your statement, but you can’t, because as soon as you turn around, he plants a kiss on you and smiles. Faking an unamused expression, you stick your tongue out at him and he takes his arm from behind his back and wipes a finger full of brownie batter on your face. “You’re such a child,” you laugh as he stands there with his eyebrows raised and licks the rest of it off of his finger.

When the brownies were finished, you took them to the living room, where you cuddled on the sofa and watched a movie. You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but you wake up on the sofa, curled next to him, your head on his chest. He coughed, and that’s the only reason your eyes opened. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“No,” you groaned. “I have to clean the mess in the kitchen.” When you stand up, he stands with you and turns your body in the direction of the bedroom. “That’s not where the kitchen is,” you giggle.

“Go to bed,” he tells you, standing behind you and bending down to give you a kiss on your neck. “I’ll take care of it.” You turned yourself around, ignoring what he said. “I know how to wash, Y/N,” he chuckles. “Go to bed. I’ll be there when I’m done.”

You shuffle into the bedroom and collapse on the bed, and immediately your brain started running its mental marathon. The entire night was perfect. Dinner was sweet and romantic, even with the crowded atmosphere with the gawking and whispering. The sunset seemed like it was almost special ordered just for that moment. And the rest of the night, here, at his house, had an oddly comforting domestic aura. If one of your friends had told you they were the one who experienced all of this, you’d have been nauseated by the sweetness. You were nauseated, but because, despite all of it, all you could do was think about him leaving. You hadn’t thought about it for a second the entire night, but now, being left alone with your thoughts, that’s all you can think about. When he comes to bed, he snuggles up as close as he can to you and holds you tight, entwining his hands with yours. He meant it when he said he wasn’t going to be letting you go any time soon, and this was the first time you believed him. You had convinced yourself that this whole thing was only about sex, but now you weren’t so sure anymore. Not now that the two of you spent the entire night together without it, and especially not now that you’re both laying in this bed and neither one of you are trying to rile the other up. But still, there’s a nagging feeling in your gut kept telling you that you had to let him go, and if you didn’t do it soon, it was going to hurt that much more when you did.

He dropped you off at home on his way to the studio the next morning. You stayed chipper enough on the ride, cracking jokes and laughing with him, doing a great job not exposing the thoughts that are swirling around in your head, when all you really wanted to do was cry. Which is what you did the second you closed your apartment door. You didn’t even make it further than the door before the tears started to flow. It pissed you off that you let yourself feel things for him.

You sat alone all day, wallowing in the tidal surge of emotions that overcame you, feeling like you were drowning with no life preserver in sight. When your phone rang around 5:00 you didn’t want to answer it, but you did, clearing your throat, hoping that would mask the raspiness you knew your voice would hold. “Hey, beautiful,” you hear Roger say when you answer. You can hear his smile on the other end.

“Hey, you,” you say, almost in a whisper, cringing because your voice sounds terrible. “How’s it going over there?”

“Fine,” he replies but quickly changes the subject before it can be discussed further. “Are you feeling alright? You sound hoarse.”

You feel tears starting to well up again when you hear his voice, but you fight them off. “No, I’m feeling a bit icky,” you lie, although not completely. “It just came over me all of a sudden.” You hate lying to him, but you can’t exactly sit here and tell him the truth.

“Do you need anything? I can come…”

“No!” you stop him. “No,” you lower your tone. “I’ll be fine. I just need some rest.” You’re trying so hard to fight back those tears but they’re not holding back and start to slide down your cheeks. “You don’t need to come. I don’t know if it’s contagious.”

He knows nothing is physically wrong with you. There was nothing wrong with you this morning. But he’s not going to argue. He’s going to give you the space you apparently need, and he’s not going to ask any questions, even though he has no idea why you’re blowing him off. “Alright,” he whispers. “I’ll be here until 7 or so, so call if you need anything. The new girl is here so she’ll be around to answer the phone.” After assuring him that you would, you can hear him sigh. “Last night was one of my best, Y/N. I want you to know that.”

You close your eyes, wishing he would stop being so fucking perfect, because all it’s doing is killing you slowly. “Mine too, Roger,” you whisper. “Go on, they’ll get tired of waiting for you,” you giggle. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispers back, and you can hear his smile again. “I L… I’ll see you,” he says and hangs up the phone.

For the first time since the guys have been recording you’re dreading going into work, only because you don’t know how you’re going to react when you see him. What you do know is that if you don’t stop overthinking and worrying about this then you’re going to make yourself sick, for real this time.

When you walk in, Anna, the new girl, greets you, overly cheerful and eager to be your friend it seems. You’ve met her once before, the day your boss brought her in for the interview. She seems nice enough, but a bit too much to handle right now. You’re listening to her dribble on about her boyfriend and how much she misses him since he’s out in New York at college when Roger walks in, much earlier than expected.

“Hello, Anna,” he greets her, smirking and being the flirt that he can’t help but being. “Looking lovely today.”

She starts to giggle giddily. “Hey, Roger,” she says, her cheeks turning a bright pink. You roll your eyes and smirk, finding the whole scene amusing.

He looks over and sees you sitting at your desk and smiles. “And you, Y/N, even more beautiful than the last time I saw you.”

Oh, fuck, you groan to yourself. Just seeing him ruins everything, because you had your mind set on ending it with him. You were going to tell him today, maybe tonight. Or next week. Or next month. Or the day he left. You didn’t know anymore. That damn smile… “Not looking so bad yourself, Mr. Taylor,” you tell him, still smirking and unable to break free from his eyes.

“Can you come help me with something?” he asks, walking closer to you, not smiling anymore. You hesitate, but follow him into the recording room anyway, closing the door behind you. He takes your hand and guides you to the sofa in the back of the room and sits down. “Let me in, Y/N,” he says softly. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

This is not the conversation you want to have right now. You weren’t ready, but you knew it had to be done. “You make me feel things I’m not supposed to be feeling and it’s infuriating.” You look down at him as he’s sitting there, looking at you, and he has that damn smile on his face. “Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy.” He’s tickled by your frustration, but you don’t find it funny. You can’t deny it anymore because that night, in the studio – that was fucking perfect. Sunday night – that was fucking perfect. Every minute spent with him, even if it’s just talking about some minor thing – fucking perfect. But you didn’t want to feel. You didn’t want him to feel. You just wanted to have your fun and move on when he did because you didn’t want to get heartbroken. You were the heartbreaker, not the recipient of it. “I don’t want to feel anything, Roger.”

“But you do,” he says. “I didn’t want to feel anything either.”

“Well, stop feeling it,” you staunchly tell him. “You’re only going to be here another month or so and…” You look at him and sigh. “We’ve already talked about this.”

“Well things have changed,” he said with a bit of force, startling you a little. Your want to walk away, but you can’t. He’s holding on to your arm and pulling you closer to him. “I’m going to Montreux for a few weeks when I leave here to work on some solo stuff before going to Munich. Come with me.”

“W-what?” Shocked. That’s all you felt. Shock and, oddly, sick to your stomach. All you can do is sit down.

He turns his body to face you and grabs your hands. “I need you to come with me.” His face was serious. This wasn’t some game anymore. This wasn’t what any of this was supposed to be. “I fucking need you…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to leave you here.” You can’t even speak. This has caught you so off guard you can’t even think straight. “I never wanted this to happen either, Y/N, but it did. And now, well, now I can’t stop it. And neither can you.” He leans over and gives you a soft kiss on your completely flabbergasted lips and smiles. “I don’t need an answer now, or even tomorrow. Will you just think about it?” You shake your head. “That’s all I ask.” He runs the back of his hand on your cheek, smiling that damn smile you can never say no to. “You said all you want out of life is to be happy. I know I can make you happy if you let me.”

You know he can. He already does make you happy. And you don’t know why you aren’t yelling at him that yes, you will go with him, that you’ll go anywhere with him. You can’t say anything. You’re not even sure if you’re breathing right now. All you do know is that you’re engulfed in his stare, in his smile, and in the feeling he’s giving you with his hand on your face. He’s rendered you completely speechless again, but suddenly you start laughing, confusing the hell out of him. “This is stupid,” you giggle, confusing him even more. “I shouldn’t have to think about this.”

He starts to giggle too, albeit nervously. “No, you should. It’s not like I’m asking you to dinner.”

“Roger, I…” You can finish what you want to tell him because everyone walks in, ready to get to work, but you can’t take your eyes off of each other. He knows exactly what you were about to say, because he replied without even hearing it.

“Me too,” he whispers with a smile.

[part 7>>]

[glottia-arts]

Sweet smells lead to sweet memories

What do you mean I can write for other fandoms?

This writing piece is just something based on this drawing that @emizel did, so it's a little short. Probably should have asked more about what Hilda was like, both alive and dead, but I guess I'll die in a volley of arrows.

Word Count:  2,526 _____ 

“W-we’ll be back! Lord Zarok’s wishes will be met!”

Turning tail with their leader slumped over their shoulders, the team of Boiler Guards fled from the battlefield created by their superior and would be hero of Gallowmere.

Said hero sighed in relief as he slumped to the ground, exhausted from the battle that had just taken place. Practically every one of Dan’s energy vials had been depleted from that attack. Taking out his last flask, it was clear how close he was to losing this fight. The remaining vial looked to be filled about twenty percent. Removing the cork, he toasted to his own self victory before downing the odd healing substance.

The commander of the Boiler Guard troops, Kesten, certainly was a wild card. At first, the metal menace faked him out with his standard rifle, before moving close. The attacks alternating between hitting the skeleton with said weapon or roundhouse kicking him where his gut used to be. Once Daniel began to use his crossbow and regular bow to keep the guard at a distance, he grew surprised.

Kesten tossed aside his rifle in favor of his newly displayed weapons, two knives. Chef knives at that. Daniel wasn’t one to judge, he used his arm as a weapon from time to time. Heck, he even received Chicken legs from the witch of the Enchanted Earth. So blades utilized for the culinary arts weren’t too odd of a thing.

Daniel’s long distance weapons were rendered useless once those came out. The Boiler Guard batted aside the projectiles and even sliced through a few of them. Kesten made short work of his health, it was practically laughable. Daniel almost didn’t have time to ingest one of his health vials, but with the interference of his companion, Hildegard, he seized his chance of recovering.

The mage’s distraction had worked, a little too well. Kesten’s sights turned on her and he rushed at the undead as quickly as he had Daniel. The skeleton attempted to follow, but the metal guard reached her first. It confused him that he did not strike her down as he feared, but had instead flung a knife towards her feet. Thrown off balance, the woman would have tumbled to the ground if not for the Boiler Guard grasping her arm with his free hand, hoisting her off the ground.

Kesten was a tall piece of work, even without the signature Boiler Guard hat adding to his stature, but as he raised Hilda with ease, it became glaringly so. As he lifted her, he still leaned down, a sense of foreboding rippling through Hilda’s body. She could feel the chill of his stare pierce through her, even before a set of burning green eyes flashed behind his visor.

“I believe this is a fight between Sir Fortesque and I, I do not tolerate interference. Especially by traitors.” The last word held venom and not wasting further time with the intrusion, Kesten tossed Hildegard a few feet away, ignoring her complaints.

Snapping his fingers, he pointed to the woman. “Don’t injure her, but make certain she doesn’t interfere again.”

“Yessir!” his lackeys saluted, focus shifting from their boss to the mage. Guns directed at her, they made sure she would remain complacent.

Discarded blade back in hand, Kesten charged towards Daniel, picking up where they had left off.

He started intense as prior, but something became apparent. He was slowing down. Daniel noted this after pulling out his magical sword, trying to apply its broadness for a more defensive advantage. Landing a blow to the guard with the weapon tipped Daniel off. Kesten had a weakness to magical items.

With this new revelation, Daniel did his best to use the newly acquired sword to combat against the metal man.

There was nevertheless a struggle to fight against Kesten, but in no time he was flat on his back, black and green steam emitting from his body.

His lackeys abandoned their duty the second they heard metal collide with earth. Scrambling to their leader, they examined the extent of his injuries. In the end, they concluded it was best to evacuate.

Daniel had been thankful for them choosing to pull out, gods knew if they came after him now, he might not make it to his next destination.

Hoping his friend was fine, he peeked in her direction. She showed to be in good condition, but she was sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, deep in thought.

Shakily he rose to his feet, walking over to her.

“Hilda!”

No response.

Hovering over her, he tilted his head in confusion. “Hildy?”

Blinking, she looked up to the knight “Oh Dan… you’re ok. That’s good… that’s good.”

Frowning, he jabbed his sword into the ground, leaning against it. “Yes, but are you ok?”

It took her a bit to process his words. “Oh yes, yes just fine.”

“You sure?” A short delay before she nodded and turned her head to stare back at the ground. Lowering her knees slightly, she placed an elbow on one as her palm rested against her cheek. “Just.. thinking about something.”

Sitting down near her, he tiredly leaned against the glowing blade. “Like what?”

“... it’s just that.. I can tell Zarok’s done something to the guards. Or at least him. It was quick, but I saw there was that green glow the villagers had present in their eyes. Course, that could be Zarok’s magic flowing through the odd thing.”

Her eyebrows soon raised, now troubled. “Strangely enough, the scent coming from him smells oddly familiar to me…”

It smelled like.. A much better and different era…

__________

Castle Peregrin, the Kingdom of Gallowmere’s finest jewel. A castle that was acclaimed for good laughs, pleasant hospitality and a cut above the rest staff.

The Kingdom appealed to several people all across the realm. Many claim they traveled to Gallowmere for the gorgeous scenery, some appeared for the untold hopes of grandeur, and others? Well… some wished to live a quieter life.

Those who settled in the province had their reasons. With all the appealing things there was to offer, many interesting characters joined the populace of the vast kingdom. These folk often lived in hiding, though some were found and recruited to work secretly in or near the castle.

The ordinary staff had no clue where or why these new recruits entered their ranks in attending the King, but they tried not to ask questions. If they were there, they evidently belonged. Many of them established names for themselves, both good and bad.

“Hildegard!”

Speaking of..

“Hildegard von Bartles! Where are you!?”

The young woman in question was at her post, yes, but was she doing her duties? Not really.. She was alarmed at hearing the head of staff yelling for her, but as she continued swallowing her newly gained treats, she found she didn’t fully care.

“Hildegard there you are!” The head honcho came into her sight of view, marching right up to her. They were about to yell at her for her lack of progress, but paused as they noticed the treats entering her mouth. “ARE YOU EATING ON THE JOB HILDEGARD!?”

The blond shifted aside, continuing her consumption. A muffled ‘maybe’ escaping her lips.

Sighing, the head of faculty rubbed their temples. “You cannot be eating while on duty! I don’t care how delightful those pastries are, you have a duty first and foremost! King Peregrin is getting ready to host a banquet in honor of Sir Daniel Fortesque and his platoon’s promotion. You need to be on the ball!” They punctuated every word in their last sentence by smacking their hands together, hoping it emphasized how important this was.

Finishing her current treat, Hilda pouted “But these are so good…” she trailed off at the menacing glare shot her way. “Ok, ok! I’ll get back to it… promise!” She smiled as she set the basket down on an adjacent stand.

Staring at the girl for a few moments, her boss nodded their head once before spinning and making their way back down the corridor. Murmurs echoing something or another about the young blond.

Once they were out of sight, Hildegard exhaled and studied at her tools she was supposed to be using today with an uninterested expression. She was out of it today and working just seemed tiring. The little gifts she had found outside her doorstep this morning was the sole thing she had enjoyed about the day. Maybe if she ate another one, it would motivate her to continue working? That sounded like a solid plan.

Reaching for the basket as she smirked, the girl noticed after a moment only air met her grasp. Confused, she twisted her head to see the basket had disappeared.

Stunned, Hildegard patted the table, not understanding what she saw. It was here just a minute ago. Tapping the wooden surface several more times, she glanced around the top and near the floors, wondering where she put the thing. She was going mad trying to solve this mystery. About to lift the darn stand off from the floor and throw it, a tap to her shoulder almost made her scream aloud.

“Excuse me, are you looking for something?”

Stiffly, she turned her head to catch that someone had been behind her. What scared her more was that this individual towered over her. They were even taller than Sir Daniel. Eyes gliding higher to determine who it was precisely eased her nerves. She wasn’t all that familiar with the man, but she recognized him as the chef that often came on the request of the King. Hilda couldn’t quite recall his name, as the first time he introduced himself, she was… intoxicated.

Doing her best to offer a charming smile, Hilda patted her dress nervously as she spun to face him, waving her hands in front of her face. “Oh hello! Sorry, I.. Seemed to have misplaced something! Clumsy me!”

He raised a brow at this. “Oh? Well, that’s interesting.. I seemed to have found something. Is it perhaps yours?” holding a handle with just his pointer finger, the man lifted the basket filled with her pastries into sight.

Eyes widening, Hildegard jumped up and down in excitement. “Oh yes, yes! That is indeed it, now if you would just-”

As she reached for the basket, he raised it higher into the air. Blinking in confusion, she questioned this action. Had today been a different day, she might put up with this. But today wasn’t a different day and thus she wasn’t in the mood for games right now. Her tone was still friendly, but held a little more of an edge to it. “Haha yes yes, uh if you would, please hand over my basket.”

Glancing between the girl and the basket, the chef seemed to think about this. “... no.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“I said. No.” Flabbergasted, the woman pouted. Normally, she might have let this go. But those pastries, ones that are only as flavorful as ones she’s eaten from town festivals, are worth fighting for. She doesn’t care even if she had to fight the king himself, she would get those back even if it killed her!

Much to his surprise, Hilda jumped for the basket, fingertips grazing the underside as he hoisted it higher just in time. Smirking at her antics, he chuckled. “Well.. seems someone really wants this back.”

“Of course I want it back, that has breads and sweets in there given to me!”

“Hmm.. well my answer is still no-”

Getting a little fed up, Hildegard jumped for the basket again, provoking him to lift it higher above his head. Wholly focused on the task at hand, she didn’t even acknowledge how bad this could look to outsiders. She was essentially pressed against some man, fruitlessly reaching for baked goods.

“Give. It. Back!”

He seemed to mull it over, tapping his foot on the ground as he did so. After a moment, his free hand moved into view, displaying a portion of sweet bread. “Kind of rude to have all these baked goods and not share, don’t you think?”

Seeing the delicacy, Hildegard attempted to snatch it, but failed to do so as with the basket. At this point, she was glaring at him so hard she wouldn’t be surprised if he caught on fire. Her stare did little to nothing on affecting him.

“Don’t you dare!”

Smirking the man kept his eyes on the roll. “Well, I didn’t hear a please at throughout this, so… no.” The pastry never quite made it to his mouth as someone else interrupted their little moment.

“Pardon me, Orell, sir! I was wonder-” both the castle staff members spun their heads to the new voice, noticing a man from Sir Daniel’s group, Canny Tim. At both of their glances and observing their position, he anxiously chuckled. “Am I… interrupting sir?”

Chuckling, the man now known as Orell shook his head. “Of course not Tim. Just teasing one of the other staff members. Wanted to see where my assistants extra baked goods were running off to.”

Lowering his hands, he handed the basket back to Hildegard before rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry about that, I find it fun to tease at times. In truth, I get my fill of those pastries for the celebration periods, so your treats weren’t in any real danger.”

Hildegard never got the chance to reply as before she could utter a word, he stuffed the piece of bread he held into her mouth.

“Stay safe kid.” He ruffled her hair before making his way towards Canny Tim. Waving over his shoulder at her, both men departed from her sights.

Blushing, she chewed the pastry angrily. She might need to eat the remaining pastries to help her feel better… and pay Mr. Orell a visit in the kitchen later for a little payback.

__________

Recalling that moment ages ago was random but not unwelcome. She was certain if blood could rush to her cheeks it would happen. Wanting to smack her face for the second hand embarrassment, she wishes she could chastise her alive self for the awkward moment. Canny Tim never mentioned it, but did she ever feel self-conscious around him remembering that particular interaction with Orell.

Hilda now wondered why the scent of the Boiler Guard commander brought back such an old memory…

Tilting her head towards Daniel, her tone grew even more puzzled. “Dan… did that Boiler Guard remind you of anything?” Or anyone?

Pondering her question the skeleton shook his skull, a quiet “Nuh-uh” leaving him.

“Ah ok.. Guess I’m randomly recalling the good old days!”

Glancing to the sky, stars were noticeable among the sea of darkness.

“I think we should set up camp here. I’m sure you need the rest after fighting that mad contraption!”

Dan couldn’t agree more, the battle had left him exhausted. Hopefully, they wouldn’t encounter the Boiler Guard or his goons for some time. He could only pray that their paths never crossed again. But he’s never been so lucky, has he?

[dantediscoversfic]

Chapter 40: The Crap Cave

“Dante! You found us!” Clio said as I hovered awkwardly in the doorway of the art room that first day of school during lunch period.

She bounded over and grabbed my elbow to draw me into the oddly dark classroom. The overhead lights were all off, the window shades partially drawn down and gloomy pop music I vaguely recognized as The Cure droned from a cassette player. About ten kids were sprawled out around the room, most of them sporting various degrees of punk/goth/New Waver style. Two corset-clad girls in billowy skirts drew intricate designs on each other’s arms in black pen; a couple dressed in “normal” clothes was making out with gusto in the corner by the potter wheels; a boy wearing all black continually skimmed his pointer finger over the top of a Bic lighter flame; and the rest were eating lunch, chatting, scribbling in notepads or singing along to the music. Clio flicked the overhead lights a few times to get everyone’s attention, eliciting a few winces and hisses and boos from the group.

“Everyone, listen up, this is Dante. He’s new. He’s from Texas, but try not to hold that against him. He’s a brilliant artist. Dante, this is everyone. That’s Raija, Jane, Sachi, Fletch and Kelly back there sucking face, Joseph, Ann, Dave, Forest and Vee.”

I was greeted with a few head nods and finger waves, except for the couple making out who kept at it with sloppy yet admirable enthusiasm. Everyone went back to their conversations as Clio led me closer to the girls she’d pointed out as being named Jane and Sachi.

“So, Dante from Texas, welcome to 'The Crap Cave’”, Clio said using air quotes. “We have lit mag meetings here and also make our own ‘zines and stuff. Raija’s mom Ms. B is the art teacher—she just stepped out for a minute—so she doesn’t care if we hang out here as long as we don’t you know, perform ritual animal sacrifices or set anything on fire. Again.” She coughed pointedly in the direction of the boy with the lighter seated a few desks down from us and the girls chuckled. Seeing my apparent confusion she said, “See, Joseph’s a bit of a pyro and went through a destruction of property phase last year, didn’t you, Jo-Jo?” The boy in question grinned slyly up at us. “But he’s got it under control now,” Clio continued. “He channels his urges into sculptures where he can use an actual blowtorch from woodshop.”

“Blowtorches rule,” he said and cast me one more glance before focusing all his attention back to his lighter and intrepid pointer finger. I couldn’t help but notice that all his fingernails were painted black and he was wearing eyeliner and dark lipstick like the girls.

I pulled my gaze away from him, not wanting to stare too hard and be rude. “What did you call this room? The ‘crap cave’?” I asked Clio. “Did I hear that right?”

“Oh yeah, you heard me right.”

“Do I even want to know?”

Clio laughed. “Don’t look so scared, we know how to use the bathrooms like everyone else. It’s a sort of long story. You ever hear of The Batcave?”

“You mean like from Bat Man comics?”

“No. Well yes, but no. Same but different. The Batcave is this famous club in London for people like us. Bauhaus, Robert Smith, Siouxie, Nick Cave, Specimen all hang out and play there. Jane actually got to go there this summer, that lucky bitch,” Clio knocked Jane’s shoulder with friendly admiration. “So we kind of started calling it that in homage to the club like a year ago. But then the school had this gross mouse problem and their little poops were, like, this constant presence in our lives, so somewhere along the line we started calling it ‘The Crap Cave’ instead. Because that's how we roll.”

“The mice were perfect and adorable, not gross,” Sachi said.

“Sachi, no. Just no. The mice themselves might have been cute but their poops definitely weren’t.”

The two girls bantered about whether the mice should have been saved and kept as pets or if they were indeed an icky health hazard while I took everyone in, trying not to gawk, and sat down to eat my packed lunch. I was fascinated by the group’s collective style: a motley assortment of teased and spiked dyed hair, leather jackets, ripped band t-shirts, corsets and lace, fishnets, heavy boots, winged eyeliner, black lipstick and nail polish, powdered white faces, spiky hardware chain jewelry mixed with rosaries, crosses and pentagram necklaces. Some of the boys were even wearing makeup, which was something you hardly ever saw in El Paso. Joseph, the pyro boy, was particularly fascinating to me. His raven hair was teased out as much as Clio’s and his dramatic eye makeup accentuated his blue eyes and delicate, almost pretty features. The flame from his Bic lighter cast a warm glow on his ghostly pale skin.

Clio must have caught me staring because she leaned in close to my ear and said, “Don’t worry, Dante, we might look at little scary but we don’t bite. At least most of us don’t. Forest over there is saving up to get his teeth filed, but it’s not for blood sucking purposes. It’s because it’ll look badass.”

“Wow. My old school in El Paso was a Catholic private school so we all had to wear uniforms. It’s so cool you can wear whatever you want here. And be whoever you want. Do you all make your own clothes? I love your corsets,” I said to Jane and Sachi.

The girls grinned at me with approval and Clio said, “I knew you were a good egg, Dante. Jane made the corsets. She’s an amazing designer and sewer. I think the rest of us get by with thrift stores, hot glue and a crapload of paperclips.”

“I’ve never really thought about my clothes before,” I said. “But now I feel so boring compared to you all.”

“Aw, there’s nothing wrong with being a normie,” Clio said and patted me on the back. “It doesn’t make you boring.”

“Well, if you want to try something new, let me know,” Jane said. “Jo-Jo’s my twin brother. I make stuff for him all the time. Cravats, vests, things like that. I’m sure he’d let you borrow something.”

“Wow, thanks. You think I’d look good?”

“Yeah, for sure. But don’t let us pressure you. We dress like this because it feels right, right? But it’s not for everyone.”

The girls nodded.

“How did you all know you wanted to get into goth stuff?” I asked.

Jane said, “Well, for me, growing up I loved making clothes and dressing up since forever. Halloween was my always my favorite holiday. I was obsessed, like obsessed. Like I’d start planning my costume and how to decorate the house six months in advance. And after it was over each year, the next day I’d get so sad and cry for days and beg my mom to keep the decorations up and let me keep wearing a cape or whatever to school every day. So when I figured out that I could dress however I wanted whenever I wanted and basically have Halloween all year round and have my clothes express how I feel inside all the time, it was like a big weight was lifted.”

“Do people make fun of you?”

“I mean, sure, dicks are dicks,” Jane said.

“We get all sorts of ignorant comments at school, on the street, wherever. Like…‘Hey Morticia, Halloween is over,’” Clio lowered her voice to a dopey male grumble.

“Or ‘Errr….Do you sleep in a coffin?’” Jane said.

“Or ‘You look pretty hot for a dead girl!’” Sachi said.

“Or my personal favorite, the classic ‘Going to a funeral?’” Clio said with an epic eyeroll. “Yeah, your funeral if you don’t shut up about it. Please. But there are lots of people who aren’t asshats and you can just ignore the losers.”

“Yeah,” Sachi said. “People say things like ‘Oh, you’d look so pretty if you didn’t dress like that’ but this is how I feel pretty and beautiful. I didn’t feel right before. Now I feel good. Right. Like myself.”

“Raija’s mom is super cool because she’s an old hippie and gets it,” Clio said. “But my mom is still waiting and praying for the day when I let her dress me all in pink pouffy dresses again. Sorry Anita, not gonna happen.” There was an edge to Clio’s voice when she talked about her mom that I hadn’t heard from her yet. It made me wonder what her home life was like.

Sachi said, “Yeah, my parents were all worried at first that I was depressed and wanting to kill myself. They tried to have an intervention with all my aunties and cousins. ‘We’re worried about you, Sachi.’ ‘This isn’t the real you.’ Um, first off, yes it is. And second off, I’m so much happier now than before when I felt like a fake.”

“Yeah, people think that we do this for attention or as a cry for help or because we’re suicidal or worship Satan or are in a cult, but that’s not true at all,” Jane said. “I started making clothes for myself when I was ten. This isn’t a ‘phase’. I’m not going to just grow out of it.”

“And finding people who are into the same bands and fashion and movies and everything makes putting up with all the weird looks and comments easier. We’re here for each other, ” Sachi said.

“And sure, we get attention,” Clio said, “because we stand out with our awesome amazingness. But it’s not like we do it for attention.”

“Yeah, I totally get it.” I said. “I think it’s great.”

The girls smiled at me and I wondered how it would feel to dress like them, if that would feel ‘right’ for me or not. I understood what Sachi had said about feeling like a fake, though, and not liking how that made me feel. I felt that way when I used to tell people my name was Dan and not Dante. I felt that way still, a little. Because I didn’t quite know what it meant to be totally free and open with myself and the world and the universe. Not when it came to the biggest secret I had. In El Paso, I felt like I already stood out by not looking Mexican enough, by liking art and poetry and books and astronomy too much. It was enough to blend in and not get teased or bullied for being a little strange. Now I wondered if I flipped the script and really tried to stand out—if I dressed all in black and put on makeup and spiked my hair and embraced my innate weirdness—if that would make me feel more like me. It might make me feel tough and cool and badass for a little while, but I doubted it would make me feel more like myself the way it did for this group. How did I know, though? I’d never tried it before.

I wondered what Ari would think of my new friends. I bet he’d like them. And then I wondered what Ari would look like in black nail polish and eyeliner. I bet he’d look like a dark glamorous rock star. The thought did funny things to my insides.

Then the art teacher, Ms. Baldwin a.k.a. Raija’s mom, came in. She had gray hair in a long braid all the way down her back and wore a long flowy dress and bangle bracelets. She turned the overhead lights on and said, “Hey darklings, the cruel daylight beckons. Gotta get ready for the next class. Lunch is over in five. And you two, yoo-hoo, Earth to Fletch and Kelly! Please rein in your raging hormones during lunch if at all humanly possible? I can’t have anyone getting pregnant on school grounds.” Everyone cracked up at that and Fletch and Kelly turned beet red but finally disentangled their entwined limbs (and tongues).

I had an art class with Ms. Baldwin later in the day so I introduced myself.

“Hi, I’m Dante Quintana, I’m in your painting class during sixth period.”

“Dante, it’s so nice to meet you. You’re new, yes? This lot showing you the ropes?”

“Yes, Clio invited me to eat lunch with her and be part of lit mag.”

“That would be lovely. I’m the advisor, so I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot of you. How are you finding Chicago? Settling in all right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am! Please, call me Ms. B. Where are you from?”

“El Paso.”

“Ah. I’ve only been there once. EPMA is a lovely museum. Have you been to the Art Institute yet?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“We’ll be doing a field trip later in the year, but if you are a lover of art you must go. It’s one of the prides of Chicago.”

“Thanks, Ms. B, I will.”

"Now if you’ll excuse me, Dante, I have to prep for next period. See you in a few hours!”

Ms. B went over to her daughter Raija, who had been sitting off to herself drawing in a sketchpad for most of lunch, and gave her a quick side hug before disappearing into a supply closet. Since everyone else was getting packed up I ate the rest of my lunch quickly and consulted my schedule to see where I was headed next.

“You’re in sixth period drawing?” I looked up and saw it was Joseph who had asked me the question. Standing up instead of hunched over the desk I saw how truly long and lanky he was. He was about a foot taller than me.

I nodded up at him and tried to smile but had a hard time keeping eye contact.

“Cool. Me too.”

He flicked his lighter a few times in his right hand and then grinned a lopsided grin at me before heading out into the hallway right as the bell rang.

This was shaping up to be a much different first day of school than I had expected.

[jestbee]

Fic: File it away

Summary: Footage on an old file needs converting and what they find is something quite extraordinary Tags: outsider perspective, funny, pinof, 2009 phan, 2017 phan,  Words: 1436

Authors note: This is mostly an in-joke with @charlottekath and @ineverhadmyinternetphase so I apologise for the ridiculous premise. But I lost my shit discussing what might happen if someone needed to convert the old pinof 1 footage for some reason and decided it needed to be written up in fic form. Even if no one else finds it as funny as I do. I’ve probably not done the actual idea justice but... here it is guys.

[AO3 Link]

Fic under the cut

A dark room is lit by the glow of a monitor, Jake sits in his old wheelie desk chair with the peeling, cracked, black pleather and watches the blue loading bar creep along the screen. He has the client notes up alongside it and he scans them as the file finishing converting.

Client requests that footage is not to be watched.

It's not an unusual request. Jake's seen it before a bunch of times so it doesn't strike him as particularly odd.

He's stayed late to do this one. Theo has been a nightmare to live with lately, especially since they decided to re-do the lounge and Jake thinks he'll probably scream if he has to look at floor samples one more time. Theo can just have whatever he wants at this point, even if it is the light beech, which won't go with their pine coffee table at all.

The file isn't exactly a weird format, just something awkward from an old camera type that doesn't work with modern editing software. It's a standard job, rip the footage, convert it, stick it back on some modern storage solution so the customer can view 'yesterday's memories today' or whatever drivel is on their most recent flyer. Alan came up with it of course. Alan who probably doesn't even understand the process for doing this shit let alone the technical intricacies that go along with it. It's fine though, this one is simple.You lose a little of the clarity in the process but not so that you'd really notice. It's not like any of the footage in the old file types would be in high def anyway.

The bar reaches the end and he double clicks the file just to check it's converted properly. They promise discretion, like anywhere would, but the fact is it's necessary to confirm everything has gone smoothly by letting a few seconds of the footage run. It's usually quite hilarious, the things people decide to hide.

It's not immediately obvious why this is sensitive though. Two boys sit side by side, one in a soft grey hoodie or something, holding a piece of paper up to his face and the other in a yellow and black checked shirt. Jake lets it a run on a little, just to see what they'll do. He knows he shouldn't, but there's no harm. No one will find out.

"Do you have the questions?" the black haired one says.

He other one drops the paper from in front of his face and his chocolate eyes flick over to the other one as he nods.

Jake doesn't know why, but he doesn't click stop.

What follows is the two of them answering questions from the piece of paper the guy in the grey is holding. They're weird, and a few questions in they pick up a marker pen and lean closer to each other, drawing what appear to be cat whiskers on their faces. They're really close to each other and Jake thinks he knows what type of video this might be after all.

The answering of questions is weird but hey, whatever gets you going.

He leans back in his chair and watches the tension crackle between them on screen. They're cute.

"Why do you always draw cat whiskers on your face?"

Always? What the hell is this?

The next few minutes are the weirdest thing Jake has ever seen. And he's seen some pretty messed up shit come through this place. They answer questions, switching positions ever now again, rolling around on the bed and the floor, stopping every once in a while to say things like "Should we keep that in?" And "Don't worry, i'll edit all together out of order."

There are more questions and the brown haired guy has a crazy fascination with licking things and all in all it's a bit of a hot mess. The only thing he's certain about is that he recognises what's going on, the dance they're doing around each other. He can see why these memories are worth keeping.

He's still not sure what he's watching but apparently he's at the end as they begin to say goodbye. There's still a fair amount of the file left though. The darker haired one of the two is up close to the camera and Jake watches as a sly smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth and then he pounces backwards, knocking the other one to the ground.

Jake can't watch much more after that. It turns out it is one of those videos after all. He clicks stop just as the wet sound of kissing floods his speakers.

The screen goes black and he makes sure the file is in the correct place, takes out the drive and places it in the correct folder, leaving it in the out tray for collection. That's enough for tonight.

On his way out he digs his phone out of his pocket and dials his home number.

"Hey baby," he says when Theo answers, "...No, no. I just wanted to hear your voice."

He remembers what it's like to dance around someone like that. The youthful push and pull, diving on each other, rolling around on a carpet. All charged space and flirty newness of something growing between you. He'd forgotten, he supposes, lost it in the mundane everyday and decorating decisions.

"I'm on my way home," he says, and then, "yes of course baby, the light beech will be fine for the floor."

He grins. Not-so-new is good too.

In the morning he opens the shop again because Alan has decided he isn't coming in. He never comes in these days, because Jake can deal with the orders and collections as well as manning the desk up front so there's no real need.

Laura arrives after an hour to do the books and a bit of filing. She's nice enough and she always makes him a cup of tea but mostly she just sits in the back at the tiny desk with her calculator and her glasses and leaves him to it.

It's a slow day, dragging through lunchtime until it's around 1pm and the door's electronic chime sounds as two people come through it.

Jake recognises them instantly.

One guy with black hair swinging into his eyes, batted off with the side of an insistent hand. He looks a little older, but not much different really. At his side, with a calculated distance between then that Jake also recognises, is the brown haired guy.

He's wildly different. He's filled out, his hair is curly he looks more sure of himself, holds himself differently.

He still makes the other one come up to the desk though. A tiny shared look between them is all it takes.

"How can I help?" Jake asks.

"I've come to collect an order? It'll be under the name Dan Howell."

He looks back over his shoulder in a way that suggests that he is not Dan, the other one is.

Jake doesn't need to rummage in the out tray too much to find the order. He knows exactly which one it is.

He pulls the receipt and filing sheet off the front of it and passes it over the desk.

"Here you go, final amount is just here, if you could just sign, Mr. Howell?"

Jake looks up, over the black haired guy's shoulder. No use pretending he hasn't worked it out.

Dan shuffles forward, a sheepish grin on his face.

"God Phil, you're useless, just pretend to be me better next time," he says to his companion.

Phil shrugs and knocks their shoulders together briefly as Dan reaches for the pen with his left hand.

"Hope it didn't give you any trouble," Phil says as Jake places the card machine on the counter and waits for Dan to locate his bank card in his wallet.

"Piece of cake," Jake says. "I like it when a job is nice and easy."

The card machine beeps, the receipt runs out the top. He tears it off, clips it back to the front of the packet containing the drive and hands it over to them. Dan takes it, his large hand covering almost the entire side of it.

"Good," Phil says as they turn to go, "glad you enjoyed it then."

They head out of the door but Jake can't help himself from saying one final thing. A grin tugs at his mouth as he shouts after them.

"In fact," he calls to them, "You might say it was the most fun I ever had."

[philanddanxreader]

Birthday sex

Hello, Love bugs.

a concept: B-day smut for Dan- Anon. Yo, fuck this. It’s almost my birthday. (Aug 18th) Birthday sex for us babes.

Dan X Reader 

Warnings- sex baby.

“Dear Y/N! Happy birthday to you!!!” You closed your eyes hard as you made your wish on your candles as you blew them out. “What did you wish for?” Dan said pressing a big kiss to your cheek.

“I can’t tell you! If I tell you it won’t come true.” You grabbed Dan’s face to plant another big kiss on his lips. You had asked him for a very simple birthday this year

“Can I guess what you wished for?” You thought for a moment before responding.

“Sure, But I will not give you any hints.” Dan sat closer to you on the floor beside you as he pushed the cake away from the edge.

“Did you wish for a boyfriend?” You gave Dan a look as he laughed. “Okay, ok, did you wish for a new home?”  

“Is something wrong with this place?” You said motioning to the space the two of you were sitting in. The two of you had just moved into your own little place a couple of weeks ago. It still had boxes in every room that still needed to be unpacked. But it had already started to feel like home for the two of you. It only had one bedroom but it ended up being the perfect place to create a home together.

“I think it’s missing something.” Dan pulled you in to run kisses up your jaw to your lips for a quick couple of kisses.

“I’m glad you mentioned that. I think we need a new rug for in here. This floor is freezing.” Dan scrunched his face at you before giving a little tickle to your ribs. “Or I have a better idea. Let’s eat some cake and then take a bath in the new tub. Then maybe, just maybe we have a few cuddles.” Dan gave you a smile as he pulled the cake closer to the two of you.

“So are we going to have reasonably sized pieces of cake or shall I slice this baby in half?”

“Slice it normally. If I eat half of a cake I might sink like a rock in the bath tub.” Dan rolled his eyes before cutting the cake into large but still reasonable sized slices.

The two of you had eaten the cake in a comfortable silence as the glow from the television lit the small room. If you were to look up pure bliss in the dictionary you would find this moment etched in it. As the two of you sat cuddled up in a ball of arms and legs your eyes started to feel heavy from the day’s events. Dan had made you a pancake breakfast that morning.Going full out he even tried to impress you with his flipping skills. Only two ended up being on the floor so the two of you considered it a win. He also went and got some little pastries from the shop you discovered when you first moved in after a particularly long day of box lifting. He was spoiling you today and there was nothing you could do to say otherwise.

After the two of you stuffed yourselves with breakfast Dan had announced that he was taking you to the London Zoo for the day. He even hinted that one particular animal may even wish you an extra special happy birthday. Once you got there and walked around for a while Dan tugged you along to the giraffe enclosure where one of the workers opened the back to where you could feed the giraffe’s right from your hand. You never wanted to leave as you had made friends with one baby giraffe who somehow made blue tongues adorable.

A full day at the zoo was enough of a birthday present for you but Dan had insisted that he was taking you out for supper. That’s when the two of you stood out perfectly like two sore thumbs in a fancy restaurant.The bunch of old people were not too fond to be looking at the young ones who were giggling. The end of the perfect day was some cake and a bath with some bubbles that smelled like vanilla.

You felt Dan’s hand run along your back as he came closer to whisper in your ear. “Shall we skip the bath and go straight to the cuddles in bed?” You let out a little breath as you contemplated your options.

“If I fall asleep in the bath will you make sure I don’t drown?” You could feel Dan let out a little sigh as he brought his lips close to your ear.

“Just this once. But don’t say I never do anything for you.” Opening your eyes, you kissed Dan’s smile before lifting your arms in the air. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m waiting for you to help me up.” Dan got up beside you before grabbing your hands in his.

“Needy little shit.” Even with this being said Dan still helped you to your feet and held your hand as the two of you made your way to the bathroom.

Once in the room Dan turned on the tub and put the bubbles in as you watched from the bathroom counter. It was always fun watching him draw a bath for the two of you. Between knocking everything over to find the bottle of bubble bath and the way he would measure the amount of soap perfectly, he was pretty cute to watch. Plus the faces he made as he touched the water to find the right temperature was always worth a giggle.

After Dan had finished he turned around to give you proper attention. His hands found their way from your knees to up the back of your shirt making little goose bumps appear from his touch. He always got a bit of a cocky smile on when he would feel your skin react to something as simple as him touching you. Dan pulled the top over your head leaving you in your bra to let the cool air brush against your skin.

Running a hand through Dan’s hair he leaned into your touch. As your fingers moved through the curls you pulled him closer to you. You had become quite fond of his new hair. He played with it a little less than he did when it was straight letting you know he really did enjoy his new look. You were taken back from your thoughts when you felt Dan’s lips press onto your collar bone. Dan had one thing on his mind and he intended to follow through with it.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He said almost trying to read your mind just from your facial features.

“Just thinking about how the bath is about to over flow.” Dan let out a swear before running over to the taps to turn them off before the bathroom flooded. “I love all the little teasing and what not but I think we should get in the tub before the water loses all its warmth.” Dan agreed undressing quickly before getting in the bath.

“Holy shit this bath is hot. Come on in. it’s perfect for two.” You nodded in agreement undressing yourself the rest of the way. Dan shifted back in the tub giving you enough room to sit in front of him in the bath.

The water was the perfect mix of hot yet not so scalding that you had to breathe through the adjustment period. Dan wrapped his arms around your torso to pull you tight into his chest.

“Thanks for the perfect birthday ever Daniel.” Dan left a few kisses on the back of your neck as he smiled into your skin.

“You’re welcome, love. I think there is only one thing that’s missing. An earth shattering orgasm.” You rolled your eyes as you let your head rest on his shoulder.

“I actually don’t think it’s necessary.” Dan gave a little scoff as one of his hands made its way to draw circles on your thigh as the other rested on your stomach to hold you down closer to him.

“Hmm. Do tell me when you think it’s all a bit unnecessary.” His left hand that had been drawing lazy circles started towards your sex to let his finger slide in between your folds letting his finger pad run quickly over your bundle of nerves. The little shock ran through your system making every sense in your body wide awake. Turning your head to the side you gave Dan’s neck a long kiss of appreciation.

“Well maybe if you do that again I would change my mind.” Dan let his fingers linger longer on your clit this time make sure to push little circles into it. You let out a little breathy moan you didn’t know you were holding in as you melted to Dan’s touch. You could feel every limb in your body feel slightly mushy with relaxation.

“I’m so glad I got you. Having a smart, funny, and beautiful girlfriend.It always seemed so far away from actually happening.” Dan continued whispering little nothings as his fingers explored. You were so caught up with the buzz in your brain that you had barely noticed one of Dan’s finger slip into you making sure to curl just slight enough to rub against that magical little spot. Dan continued on with him adding another finger while he put a bit more pressure onto your clit.

Who knew a hot bath and a little pressure on your clit could make a person melt? Apparently, Dan did because as his finger skillfully made your stomach do flips. Your back was arched letting the cold hit your nipples that were desperate for his touch. Both of Dan’s hands we occupied at the moment so you released a hand from his thigh to pull at the swollen nubs.

“Dan, I’m going to come.” Dan let out a little breath that was almost a chuckle. He loved to see you at his mercy like this. He was the one who could provide you with the release that was so desperately needed.

“Well then. Cum my love. Let go for me. I love to see you like this.” You didn’t need to be told twice as you came around Dan’s fingers. Squeezing him taking every wave you could take.

After you finally felt the last of the waves run through every nerve was hard not to have a bit of a buzzing brain. Dan’s orgasms were the best drug ever. He was your dealer and you were his very willing clientele.

“It’s not just the Orgasm talking when I say that I am madly in love with you.” Dan squeezed you tightly as you both found your natural rhythm of breathing again.”Thank you for my birthday.I think it defiantly makes top three.”

“I’m happy to hear that you enjoyed your day. Now, close your eyes Y/N. I will wake you in a few minutes.” You finally let your eyes close as you listened to Dan’s heartbeat under your ear. Perfect birthday indeed.

[fordarkisthesuede]

JOURNAL 3 BLACKLIGHT EDITION REVEALED! (Part 2)

Time to come back where we left off last - GHOSTS! I know you ain’t afraid!

Ghosts!:  [All the ghosts in this section glow. Nice touch!] Underneath a photo of a stereotypical ghost it says “Written on a tombstone:  Man once thought that death’s release offered a permanent peace. But these ghouls, bold and hearty, prove that there’s an after-party.” I don’t know whose tombstone that was, but damn, I want that as my epithet too.

Category 1:  “Ugh! I thought I ditched this guy at Dan’s cabin, but he has followed me home! Just go away, YOU ANNOYING LITTLE CREEP!!!!! No, I don’t want to bake brownies and have a tickle fight! How does that even make sense?! You have no body to tickle!!”

Category 1 adjacent page: “Discovery! Apparently, shining a black light on ghosts results in crypto-translucence, revealing the secret horrors within! Never invite a ghost to a rave. This one is scarier than I realized!” I dunno, Ford, I still think it’s cute! He’s like a little skeleton baby! Aww!

Category 10: “PRAY FOR MERCY!” [There is a drawing of a thin man in glasses over the cloaked spectre. It’s very underwhelming.] “I saw this category 10 once more, but this time I had my black light handy! Not so scary without his cloak! This guy should spend less time reaping and more time at the gym!” Ford…do you go to the gym? (I kinda assumed Ford didn’t start getting buff until he hopped dimensions…) Still I’m pretty sure that his ghost-powers could kill you, you know…

Edit: Forgot to add - the “What Does it MEAN?” page has all the creatures + the question mark glow!

Edit:  I missed a page here previously (they stuck together):

Right page of Truth Teeth: “NEW DISCOVERY! That abnormally hairy mailman doesn’t deliver mail on the full moon! And unlike most mailmen, he seems to get no harassment from barking dogs. Does this mean what I think it means? I may need to load up on silver bullets just in case.” 

Guess Soos was right after all!

THE LAPTOP’S PASSWORD WAS STANFORD. I CAN’T BELIEVE MY FLIPPIN’ EYES.

“These secret messages written using my black light technique are hidden so well that even my most determined enemy won’t be able to find them! (Except for maybe the bumblebeast, a honey-hunting mutant bee with eyes that can see every kind of light on the spectrum.)” [The bumblebeast resembles a scowling mutant bi-pedal bee with tiny wings and one pair of big beefy arms (and a smaller insect pair beneath them)] “STAY AWAY FROM MY HONEY!” Don’t bogart your honey, Ford.

There’s also something unusual that I have to point out – on that same page, there seems to be a sort of…maze like drawing. If you turn it sideways, it looks like a factory. I THINK LETTERS ARE HIDDEN IN IT? I’ll into it later on.

The Codes page:  It actually tells you the cryptogram and meaning of each kind! Cool!!!

But then, of course, there’s something secret on the bottom of the page. A vinegere cipher with the key TRICKY. “The most impossible thing to decode is human social behavior.” [my picture of this was poor and I could not make one better. I’m sorry.]

The Plaidypus! “How to catch a plaidypus:

Dig a hole, fill it with sawdust and/or ham.

Make a plaidypus mating call. It sounds exactly like a bearded man’s deep hearty laugh. You may need to wait until after puberty for this step.

When the plaidypus falls intot he hole, throw pine needles at his face. This will make him sneeze hard enough to shed his pelt.

He will be frightened at this point. Hug him tenderly for an hour to get him to calm down. Kiss his forehead if necessary.

Release! You now have a plaidypus pelt! Perfect for warm jackets, warm socks, or warm tea cosies, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Ok first off FORD, it’s spelt “cozies”. Secondly, what do you have against them??? They keep tea hot and drinkable! Mine has kitties on it. It keeps my Bill Teapot all nice and toasty, even in the winter.

Island Head Beast page:  “Head of household? I don’t think so…” [Shows a masculine island head with a pipe and newspaper and a frustrated scowl; a feminine head with old-fashioned hair-curlers and an androgynous younger head are seeming to yell harshly at him.] 

Island Head adjacent page:  “F’s x-rays of the lake revealed this family of horrifying heads dwelling underneath the surface. Although their words are indecipherable, their unhappy marriage is clear in any language.” Pointing at the glowing heads is the caption “More refugees from the weirdness dimension.”

So, question – is this Ford’s interpretation of what they look like based off the x-rays? Or is it an accurate reproduction? We may never really know…

The Hide Behind page:  has “LOOK BEHIND YOU” spread all across the page, with glowing footprints leading to the drawn pair. :)

Cow Circles page: “I’VE DONE IT! I’VE CRACKED THE CODE! By arranging the cows together, I discovered that their interlocking symbols created a message! According to my knowledge of alien hieroglyphics, the message reads “Come to Glarbo’s Intergalactic House of Pancakes & Weapons! Come for the breakfast, stay for the dark matter hypercannons!” So, that’s it. An alien pancake house. The thought that Earth is being used for extraterrestrial advertisement depresses me deeply.”

Radioactive barrel/The Memory Gun pages: “He used It on me! I’m certain! Memories are returning of my assistant using the ray on himself, then zapping me to cover up his actions!” 

[There’s a glowing doodle of Ford’s head being zapped by the gun.] “I’ve had dreams of F wearing a red hood, watching me from the shadows. What if those weren’t dreams?! I believe he hired construction workers to help him build the portal, then erased their memories to keep the job secret! And erased mine, too, so that I wouldn’t chide him for taking the risk! This is all my fault! I should have DESTROYED this GUN WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE!”

The Palm Reader:  “The fortune teller was right about everything. I should have looked at the cards more closely when I had the chance! These were the ones I remembered. Something was so strange about them… As thought they were showing me something I wasn’t yet ready to see….”

[I hope you can see this page, because it’s AWESOME. Four people are drawn over the cards shown – Waddles, Mabel, Dipper, and Wendy. Above that, there are two cards, one of Mayor Tyler, and another mysterious one that I can’t make out. Below all this is five cards – Gideon, Robbie, Soos, Pacifica, and Gompers. It’s an amazing sight:

Waddles – Time & Space

Mabel – The Sun

Dipper – The Moon

Wendy – Death

Soos - Justice

Gideon – The Magician

Robbie – The Fool

Pacifica – The Empress

Gompers – Judgement

Mayor Tyler – [UNKNOWN]

The “mysterious card” seems to be Old Man McGucket, as evidenced by his bandaged foot. It’s literally all we can see of it, though.]

See you in Part 3!

[Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3]

[jilliancares]

All is Fair: Chapter 2

Word Count: 3k

ao3 ; wattpad

masterlist ; next chapter

CHAPTER TWO:

Phil was probably the only person who didn’t want to go on the quest. News of it had spread quickly through Camp Half-Blood, demigods left and right claiming they’d be the ones to venture outside the camp with Dan Howell. Phil couldn’t care less.

He didn’t want to put himself in danger, unlike the rest of the idiots he was constantly surrounded by. He didn’t want to be put in a situation where he could very likely die, the only thing keeping that from happening was his own training, which he’d been forced to do every summer since he was twelve. Sure, he was thankful he had it, knowing that now if he was ever attacked by a charging monster he wasn’t as likely to die as he might’ve been several years ago, but he didn’t want to have to do it.

Fighting just wasn’t fun for him, like it seemed to be to everyone else around here. He didn’t try to sneak out of the camp in search of some terrifying creature resurrected from Tartarus, the great abyss somewhere deep under the earth where monsters came from. He just wanted to be a normal teenager. He wanted to have normal friends and do normal things and not have to be paranoid every day of the year when he was where he actually wanted to be—the real world.

Maybe this was why all his siblings hated him. Half-siblings, technically. They all shared the same father anyway, though their mothers varied greatly.

Phil’s father was Ares—god of war, macho badass with a thirst for blood, or some shit. Phil didn’t really know; he’d never even met the guy. He felt like maybe there should be some kind of DNA test, some drawing of his blood and sending it off to a doctor to see if he was actually Ares’ son. He didn’t know how much to trust a glowing symbol above his head sent from Ares’ to claim him. Like, hey, this is mine. Thought I left that kid somewhere!

So yeah, Phil was about as different from the rest of his siblings as he could get. They were all as bloodthirsty as any kid of Ares ought to be—they loved to fight and maim; they were loud and boisterous and strong. Phil was strong, of course he was. It was in his blood, apparently, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. And his siblings hated that he didn’t enjoy it. They ignored him when they weren’t taunting him, rolled their eyes when he stooped to speak to them, and did everything in their ability to keep him from meeting his dad.

It was pathetic, right? That a bunch of kids his age were constantly holding the one thing he probably wanted most over his head? That he was letting them? Because, sure, he might say he didn’t believe Ares was his father, but deep down, in his bones, he knew it to be true. He could feel it. And what kid growing up without a dad didn’t wish with every fiber of their being to meet him? Phil could remember laying in his bed at night, wondering where his dad was in the world, wondering if he was doing something cool or important or newsworthy. And to think he finally knew, had known for years now, and still hadn’t ever met the guy? It sucked.

Maybe it was his fault for not standing up for himself. He could remember all those presentations from elementary school, all those videos and lectures about telling someone if you were getting bullied, about finding help and standing up against the bad guys with a Bigger, Badder Guy: an adult. But Phil had never done that—he hadn’t thought to when he was twelve-years-old and surrounded by taller and stronger kids who were apparently related to him—all he could think about was being scared. And it would be embarrassing to ask someone for help now! To admit that not only had he been letting this happen for almost five years now but that he needed help? No, Phil could handle any situation that came his way by himself, thank you very much.

He’d been handling himself thus far, anyway. When his siblings did something incredibly horrible he didn’t cry about it, didn’t whine or complain. He just took it like he always had. Like when an opportunity had once arisen to visit Olympus and meet his father, Phil had known not to even get his hopes up. And he’d been right. The trip was only to happen after summer break ended, when most kids went back home, but Phil had wanted to stay. He’d wanted to go. He’d been threatened, of course. And when that didn’t work, beat up. But no matter the circumstances, Phil kept trying. He never gave up, despite the fact that the entire time he fought for it, fought for the chance to see his father, he never expected it to actually happen.

That was why, when a chance finally, finally arose, Phil took it.

“Hey Phil,” Amy said, leering at him from a bunk across the cabin. Any sibling randomly deciding to speak to him was never a good sign.

“What?” Phil responded. He’d only popped in quickly—just long enough to get his swimming trunks before going for a swim in the lake.

“We have a… wager, for you,” she said, her grin sharp and wicked on her face. “A bet.” By the looks she exchanged with the rest of their cabin-mates, Phil knew it couldn’t be good.

“No,” he said flatly.

“I wouldn’t refuse it if I were you,” Amy sing-songed, and Phil cursed his curious nature, cursed his innate need to know, and spun to face her.

“What.”

“Dan Howell needs a third member for his quest,” Amy said, looking excited. She was leaning forward on her bed, her eyes wide, almost wild. “Go on it with him.” Phil stared at her blankly. “If you can make him fall in love with you then…” she glanced around the cabin, “We’ll let you come to Olympus with us. We’re going again this winter, Chiron’s already planned it and everything.”

Phil felt his breath catch in his chest. He wanted to say no, of course he wanted to say no, but… He wanted to see his father more.

“Dan Howell?” Phil repeated slowly, his mouth pinched into a frown. Everybody knew that Dan Howell didn’t do love. He was a paradox in that way, much like Phil was. Dan was the son of Aphrodite and every bit as beautiful to prove it—if looks could kill, laying eyes upon him might strike you dead. But looks couldn’t kill, and so looking at him left many pining hopelessly, because Dan Howell didn’t do relationships, he didn’t do love. Some even said he didn’t believe in it. “It’s impossible,” Phil finally decided.

“Then so is you meeting Dad,” Amy said pleasantly. Phil felt himself glower, felt anger and defiance rise and bubble beneath his skin. He’d always had a pretty hard time controlling his temper, having to shove it down and down and down. Sometimes he failed, and he lashed out with all his strength, leaving destruction and ruin in his wake.

“Fine,” Phil snapped, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I’ll do it.” If he wasn’t careful he would go into a rage. It’d happened sometimes when he was little—he’d feel himself get angrier and angrier, hot all over with righteous indignation, and then—nothing. Until he came back to, having blacked out in a moment of total destruction, his mind apparently on vacation while his body went about messing everything up for him. A gift from Ares, Phil was sure.

Still, he wouldn’t be allowed to let his anger rule over him from here on out. Not if he wanted to trick Dan Howell into falling in love with him.

—

It certainly wasn't where Phil wanted to be, standing before Dan Howell, whose eyebrow was raised condescendingly.

"You want to go on the quest?" he said skeptically. His arms were crossed across his chest. He was looking at Phil like he was a gross bug he was about to step on.

Phil imagined that this look exactly was the reason people called him the 'Howell Snub'. He wasn't sure if Dan was aware of the name for the phenomenon that was known around the camp for when he turned someone down. Some people claimed he didn't even know he was being come on to most of the time, though Phil wasn't sure if he believed it. How could anyone that looked like, well, that, not realize people were hitting on him all the time?

"Yep," Phil said, after puffing his cheeks full of air and blowing it out. He swung his arms by his sides awkwardly.

"I don't even know your name," Dan admitted, unabashed, despite the fact they'd been going to the same camp for probably five years now. Sure, they'd never spoken before, but still.

"It's Phil Lester," Phil said, trying not to get angry. It was well known that Dan had a bad attitude. "Son of Ares."

"Right," Dan said. "Why do you even want to go?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"People die on quests sometimes. Is your reason good enough to die for?"

Phil rolled his eyes. "You need a third person and I'm ready and willing. I'm good at fighting. What more do you need?"

Dan sucked in one cheek, looking Phil up and down. He tried not to squirm, very abruptly remembering that he was supposed to be making Dan fall in love with him on this quest. Crap. He'd already been kind of rude to him, hadn't he?

"Fine," Dan finally said. "You can come with us. We're leaving tomorrow morning."

Phil tried not to let himself grin to hugely. He would be meeting his father! After he got Dan to fall in love with him, of course. And if he didn't die on the quest. But that didn't happen that often, did it?

—

Phil was woken by loud banging. And grumbling. And a pillow hitting him in the face.

“Ow, quit it,” he muttered, shoving the pillow off him and onto the floor.

“Get the door, asshole!” answered the boy that’d hit him with the pillow in the first place. It was only then that Phil remembered everything that was happening today. He was glad he’d ended up packing his bag the previous night—though he hadn’t expected them to leave for their quest before the godsdamned sun was even up.

A few moments later, after managing to pull on some real clothes, Phil wrenched open the door, squeezing out of it and shutting it behind him. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before running them over Dan, whose fist was still raised as if to continue knocking. He looked just as tired as Phil felt, but whereas Phil probably looked like ass, Dan simply looked disgruntled and grumpy. His curly hair was messy like he’d styled it that way, his cheeks adorned with the lightest of freckles and his tired eyes slitted as he glared at Phil.

“I told you we were leaving in the morning,” he said, foregoing a normal greeting.

“Good morning to you too,” Phil answered, and Dan rolled his eyes. “You never said how early,” Phil finally said with a shrug, and Dan huffed an annoyed noise out of his mouth before turning and walking away. His backpack bounced merrily between his shoulder blades, his hands clutching the straps as they walked.

“Where’s our third person?” Phil questioned, glancing around as if their final quest member might pop out of thin air.

“I told Emma to wait up on the hill for us,” Dan answered. And then, after a moment of thought, “She probably isn’t there. She doesn’t like waiting. Or sitting still.” And Dan was right—by the time they’d made it to the top of the hill, leaning against a large tree as they examined their surroundings, it was clear that Emma was nowhere in sight.

“Any idea where she might be?” Phil asked. He tried not to look nervous. There was something about leaving the campgrounds that was always unnerving. Past the tree they were leaned against now was the edge of the camp’s boundaries, the very end of the protection the land could offer them. Out there any monster could reach them.

“Best not to try to predict Emma,” Dan answered. And before they knew it, Emma was cresting the hill, a bagel in hand.

“You got breakfast?” Dan said incredulously. Emma shrugged.

“I was hungry.”

“The dining hall isn’t even open.”

Emma shrugged again. “The kitchens were.”

Dan sighed as if his friend stealing things was normal, which it probably was, to be honest.

Emma was pretty. If Phil didn’t know better he might assume she was a child of Aphrodite as well, her dark skin smooth and blemish free, her hair curlier than Dan’s.

“You must be Phil,” Emma said amicably, nodding at Phil. He recognized her from around the camp. He’d maybe seen her go into the cabin of Hermes a few times, which would certainly explain the stealing. “Bagel?” she offered, holding a half of it forward invitingly.

“Yes please,” Phil said quickly, and then the both of them were munching quietly on their breakfast, Dan looking between the two of them, unimpressed. 

“Alright then, are we done here?” he said. “Ready to go?”

“Yep,” Phil answered. He’d managed to strap on his weapon belt while they’d been waiting for Emma. It was really just a belt with holsters on either side—both of which complete with a long dagger. He frowned, realizing he couldn’t see a weapon on either of his companions. Sure, some were small, but were they keeping them in their bags, or something? “Don’t you have weapons?” he finally asked.

In response, Dan stuck his hand straight out in front of him, muttered something, and all of a sudden he was holding something that looked like a sledgehammer. He smirked.

“That’s…” Phil didn’t really have an answer for what that was. “Handy. How’d you make it appear?”

“My mom gave it to me,” Dan said, his eyes going a bit out of focus as he obviously remembered something from his past. “I think she got it from your dad, actually.” Phil looked at the weapon with newfound interest. He could hardly imagine Dan using it—Dan, pretty curly hair, fair skin, (was that eyeliner?), swinging this giant, obviously heavy weapon around. But he handled it like he was familiar with it, and Phil didn’t doubt that he was skillful, having received the weapon as a gift from Aphrodite in the first place. It made sense that he could make it appear out of nowhere then, if some kind of godly power was attached to it. Or the words he was saying.

Finally, Phil looked to Emma. “I don’t fight much,” she said with a shrug. “I’m better at escaping, really. And tricking people. And stealing things.”

“You’re great at stealing things,” Dan muttered.

“But I do have this,” Emma said, ignoring him. She withdrew a knife from her bag, celestial bronze like the rest of their weapons, and twirled it between her fingers. “For emergencies.”

“Sounds good to me,” Phil said finally, hiking his bag up higher on his back and turning to face the opposite side of the hill. “Guess we really are ready then.”

A van was waiting for them at the bottom of the hill, driven by a man who worked at their camp. Well, kind of a man. He had eyes all over his body, anyway.

They piled into the idling van and sat across from each other as it took off, chugging merrily down the highway. Phil frowned thoughtfully.

“Where are we going, anyway? What are we doing?”

Emma looked flabbergasted. “You didn’t tell him what we were doing?” she said to Dan incredulously. Dan looked offended.

“He didn’t ask!” he protested.

“Still!”

This resulted in the two of them glaring at each other for a moment before retreating simultaneously. Dan finally turned to Phil, looking annoyed. “We’re just going west right now,” he said with a shrug. “That’s what the prophecy said. We’re looking for Cupid’s bow for my mom.”

“I’ll take it you haven’t heard the prophecy either?” Emma asked dryly, and Phil nodded. With a sigh, Emma relayed the prophecy. Phil didn’t know what to feel.

One will suffer at the cost of a bet. Well this was obviously Dan, who would fall in love with Phil only to realize his feelings weren’t actually reciprocated. Phil felt bad hearing the words, knowing the ruse he was about to pull on Dan would cause him actual suffering, but he had to do it. He had to meet his father.

Of course, there was also the line: a God’s assistance will help to succeed. What if Phil didn’t even need to properly accomplish his goal? What if he could snub all of his stupid siblings and their trip to Olympus by meeting his father here on earth? He knew it was probably bad that they’d be getting themselves into a situation so dangerous that they would need a god to help them out, but Phil couldn’t find it in himself to care. Not if it meant Ares would finally be by his side.

Thoughts of the prophecy swirled around his head, making him sit back and just think, try to concentrate on all the words he’d heard. He knew it was useless to try to decipher a prophecy, that they were obscure and strange and sometimes made no sense at all, but he couldn’t help it. He just wanted to know, wanted to figure out what was going to happen.

For some reason, it all kept coming back to this: he’d have to make Dan Howell fall in love with him.

Dan Howell, a person Phil probably had less of a chance with than a frog. Dan Howell, who not only didn’t believe in love but adamantly thought it was a ridiculous notion entirely, his views on the matter stated so explicitly that it drifted around the camp like fog.

Holding in a sigh, Phil figured that the sooner he could make Dan fall in love with him, the better. Deciding to start now, with small but deliberate steps, Phil slouched low in his seat. He then extended his legs, letting his feet knock against Dan’s.

Phil would make Dan fall in love with him, even if he had to play footsie with him a hundred times.

~~

next chapter 

[thetimelesscycle]

The Hobbit Fanfic: The Heart of Erebor - Chapter 61

Summary: ‘He could stand the wild light in his uncle’s gaze. He withstood the crazed glint that entered the ravenous stares of his companions. He endured seeing the dragon’s greed take them all. But when that madness seeped also into the eyes of his own beloved brother, he knew something had to be done. He just wasn’t expecting it to be this.’-The gold sickness of Erebor claims one more, and the path of destiny is irrevocably changed.

Inspired by the following quote from ‘The Hobbit’: “So grim had Thorin become, that even if they had wished, the others would not have dared to find fault with him; but indeed most of them seemed to share his mind-except perhaps old fat Bombur and Fili and Kili.”

*Cover Art Courtesy of Toastytoastie

/THE HEART OF EREBOR\

ACT VI

-The King Beneath the Mountain-

Chapter 61

Pointy Eared Elvish Types

 It probably did not speak well of his loyalty to his own kinsmen that, of all the guests they had received in their new home thus far, Elrohir and Elladan were by far the most welcome. It was nothing against his fellow dwarves, though Fíli was quite certain some of them would take it as such if they knew, but rather the somewhat belated realisation that the friendships he had forged in Rivendell were of the enduring kind.

And why should they not be? Rivendell and Erebor had no cause for enmity between them - a few missing chairs and misused fountains aside - and a more personal relationship between their two realms would only strengthen the official ties. Thorin had made it clear in his greeting to the Lord of Imladris that he considered Elrond a friend, and that left Fíli free to welcome the twins as warmly as he pleased. Not that he believed a cold reception would have put them off in the slightest; if anything, it probably would have encouraged them.

Fíli remembered well the numerous and creative excuses the pair had used to explain away their actions at the time, yet looking back it was easy to see that Elrohir and Elladan had had their own role to play in the dwarven princes’ recovery. Their uncanny knack for appearing out of nowhere whenever a distraction was sorely needed. Their determined cheer, no matter how dour the mood of their companions. Their readiness to lend a hand in any way required, but in such a manner as to never cause offence... They were an irrepressible force of nature, a boundless source of exuberant energy that infected all around them, lending even the most weary spirit an enthusiasm that was not so easily snuffed. Though they may not have had their father’s sheer presence, or his stately grace, Elrohir and Elladan were as much a part of Rivendell’s healing magic as their father, and Fíli had missed their company more than he had realised.

He was glad they had accepted Thorin’s invitation, and not just because it spoke well of Erebor’s future relationship with the Valley of Imladris. If nothing else of any worth had come out of the quest to reclaim their homeland, he could at least take comfort in the dear friends he had made along the way. People whose lives may never have intersected with his were it not for a mad scheme to overthrow a dragon. It was true he might have wished such meetings could have taken place under better circumstances, that did not change the fact that the bonds forged seemed all the stronger for the trials they had endured, ready to survive whatever hardships were still yet to come.

Or so he hoped.

Erebor's history was not a glowing example of allies drawing together in times of hardship, but Fíli had to believe it would be different this time around. At the very least he intended to do all that was within his power to prevent such petty grievances from happening again. Not an easy task, he feared, when one held governance over a mountain full of gold.

“You look tired, my friend.” Emerging into the common room in which Fíli had chosen to linger, Elrohir disturbed his reverie with a quiet observation. The elf had taken the time to wash his face and discard his traveling cloak, but that was apparently as far as his attempts to make himself presentable went.

Amused, knowing Elladan and the Dunédain were not likely to settle for so little, Fíli merely shrugged. “There has been much to do.”

“Oh, that I do not doubt.” A faintly amused smile flitted across Elrohir's face. "I have not had the pleasure of attending a dwarven coronation before, but if it is anything as grand as the homes you make for yourselves then it must take a veritable mountain to arrange one."

"Well," Fíli allowed, "perhaps not the whole mountain. I believe one or two of the guardsmen were unable to leave their posts."

Elrohir laughed, settling himself crosslegged in the chair across from Fíli's own. "Ah," he said aloud. "Then it does not yet begin to compare to the challenges Rivendell faced in raising a pair of mischievous elves. We have been reliably informed that that was an endeavour that drew on the talents of every last being in the Valley of Imladris."

"In that case you have already bettered Kíli and I," Fíli retorted in kind. "Mother had the support of the King's Council only, she left the rest of Ered Luin's inhabitants in peace."

"Hm, do you truly yield victory so soon? Perhaps you should name Estel as your champion. He is proving every bit as devious as 'Dan and I ever were."

"Small wonder, with both of you there to teach him."

Elrohir shot him a wounded look. "I do believe you are insinuating we are a bad influence, Prince Fíli. How ghastly of you."

"Oh?" Fíli raised an eyebrow at the air of innocence the elf had adopted. "Then I suppose you will blame Lindir for inciting that incident in the west wing?"

"Lindir?" Elrohir scoffed. "Of course not! That one was clearly Gandalf's fault."

"He wasn't even there!"

"Precisely." He raised a finger in subtle warning, wagging it back and forth in the air. "Never underestimate the cunning of a wizard, Fíli. Whilst their kind may always be depended upon to cause trouble, they very rarely allow themselves to be caught up in it."

Incredulously, Fíli cleared his throat. "Have you met Gandalf?"

"Well, alright." Grudgingly, Elrohir conceded that point. "But he really is a terrible example of a wizard."

"Radagast?"

"Is a dear old soul, though not, I think, an appropriate representative for his order."

Fíli paused a moment, dredging up that long ago memory of Gandalf's answer to Bilbo's query about 'other wizards', and springing on the only other name he had to hand. "Saruman?"

"Now there is a wizard if ever I've seen one," Elrohir agreed with a sage nod that did not at all match the mischievous twitch of his lips. "Always ready to make trouble, never ready to put it to rights again. Not that one can blame him. He does insist on prancing about Middle Earth in those pristinely white robes of his. I imagine they take a fair bit of cleaning for even the mildest of stains."

He shouldn't laugh. It was improper and irreverent and disrespectful to refer to a wizard so. As a son of Elrond, Elrohir should know that. Elrohir did know that, he simply did not care, and after all the worrying and tiptoeing and careful words of the past few months Fíli was more amused by the elf's antics than he probably should have been. His snort of amusement bled into a chuckle before he could stop himself, and he spared a moment to be thankful there were no wizards currently in the room.

"There," Elrohir said triumphantly, the moment Fíli was no longer able to cling to his fraying composure. "That is better. You are a pensive prince today, Fíli. Does Erebor truly weigh so heavily on your shoulders?”

Laughter evaporating, Fíli frowned slightly, not wanting to speak about this now. It seemed to be all he did lately, reflecting on his own failures with others, and he was tired of it. He would much rather embrace whatever distraction the twins could so readily provide, though Elrohir did not seem as willing as usual to oblige him in that regard.

Evasively, he answered, “I have merely been thinking.”

“An affliction we all suffer from.” Elrohir mused with false contemplation, then pinned the young dwarf with a look.  “But you more than others, I think.”

Fíli shook his head, a denial on his lips...

“It haunts you still.”

…which died in his throat as he caught himself staring up at Elrohir’s suddenly grim face.

“In ways you cannot speak of, nor explain even to yourself. But you know that it is there, heavy even when it is absent, and though you may be free of it for days at a time, it lurks ever in the shadows at the back of your mind.”

Fíli stared, stricken silent, unable to summon words of any sense to reply to such a thing. Elrohir did not seem to expect a response regardless, glancing away with a look of sharp pain he did not try to hide. It was gone by the time his eyes returned to meet Fíli’s bewildered stare, replaced by the hint of a sorrowful smile as he gently repeated, “You look tired, my friend.”

Struggling for a response to a conversation he had not seen coming, though a part of him told him he should, Fíli answered unwillingly, “A lot has happened since we parted ways.”

“But not enough for you to forget.” Elrohir was not about to be diverted, his words pointed, if soft. “Nothing is ever enough for that.”

Defensive, wanting nothing more than to escape this discussion, Fíli’s response came sharper than he meant it to. “You speak as if you have been in my place.”

“I have not,” Elrohir stated simply. “Nor could I ever be. Your experiences are yours alone, Fíli, because no one but you can know what they mean to you. But I have seen your affliction before, more times than a just world should allow, even within the borders of a place that should be free of such evils.”

It was an invitation to ask more, and, though a part of him wanted to drop the subject and return to lighter topics, he could not resist the bait that had been dangled before him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Ada does not like to speak of it, and for a long time Elladan and myself could find no vent for our own grief except through fury, but Rivendell has endured its fair share of tragedies.” He paused, shaking his head slightly. “Revenge was the poison we chose to imbue in the place of sorrow, yet it was no less bitter in the end.”

“Revenge?”

“Our mother was taken,” Elrohir said with a flatness that told more than emotion would have in its place. “For sport, nothing more, else she would not still have been alive when we came for her. We killed them all, we carried her to safety, but we did not realise until later that we had not brought her to freedom. Ada tried, for longer than hope or reason could sustain. He did not want to admit that there are some wounds that are simply beyond the touch of any healer, no matter how great their skill. She could not forget, and when she could bear it no longer she chose to leave. To seek healing in the Undying Lands that she could not find here in Middle Earth.”

He paused, drawing in a sharp breath and then releasing it just as quickly. “You do not have the luxury of such a choice, I know, and somehow I do not think you would take it even if you did; Durin’s Folk did not earn their reputation for stubbornness without good cause. But you do have friends, Fíli, and neither Elladan nor myself would see a friend suffer through such a thing alone. If Erebor… If the weight of all this…” he gestured at the stone walls around them, though it was not of physical walls that he spoke. “If it ever becomes too much to bear, Rivendell is always open to you. It is no dwarf kingdom, but it is a place of rest and respite, and we would welcome your company.”

For a good long moment, Fíli couldn’t find his voice to respond. How did one answer such an offer? Open and guileless and free of all judgment? Elrohir and Elladan had been an instrumental part of his and Kíli’s recovery in Rivendell, it was true, but they had been guests beneath Elrond’s roof at the time, a position that had left the twins with something of an obligation to them. Now they were the guests, and yet nothing seemed to have changed. They were both as they had always been, bright and earnest and ever ready to aid.

When he did find words to say, they were laced with irony, “You didn’t come here for Thorin’s coronation, did you?”

“No.” Elladan spoke from where he had been standing, unnoticed in the doorway, a smile upon his lips. “We came for our friends. Now, where is that errant brother of yours?”   

~The Heart if Erebor~

Thror’s tomb was a much plainer affair than the standing memorial Dís had arranged for his people. A simple, stone coffin, unadorned but for the runes that spelt out his name and title. Humble, for a king, but after the pain Thror’s lust for wealth had caused in life, Thorin liked to think that his grandfather, the dwarf he had known before madness took its toll, would have approved of its absence in death.

They had held no ceremony over the empty tomb, not officially. It did not seem right in light of all that had happened. Thorin and Dís had instead paid their respects in their own way, as had Balin and Dwalin, along with a few others who had known Thror as he once was. Among whom, Thorin was now reminded, he must count the Lord Elrond of Rivendell.

Witnessing the elf lord’s solemn, respectful regard for Erebor’s fallen king, Thorin could not help but wonder once more what might have been different had Thror chosen to seek the aid of those he called allies. Thranduil had turned his back upon Erebor, betraying years of peaceful coexistence over a petty squabble, but even then that request had not come from Thror. It was Thorin’s appeal that had gone ignored, Erebor’s King had never stooped so low, and his people had paid for it dearly.

Yet, even as he condemned his grandfather’s choice, Thorin wondered if he would truly have done any differently in Thror’s place. He had been willing to humble himself through toil and barter and selling his craft to those who would never have otherwise had the means to afford such skilled work, but would he have been prepared to endure the risk of requesting help with Thranduil’s treachery burning freshly in the back of his mind? He had not wanted to ask Elrond for aid even with something so simple as translating a map, and it was only through necessity - and Gandalf - that his hand had been forced.

So he could not say with any certainty what he might have done had he known Imladris was a refuge Durin’s Folk could have turned to in their hour of need. He wanted to believe he would have swallowed his pride for the sake of his people, that he would at least have considered the risk of refusal to be less than the risk of Moria. Yet, his own choices in more recent months had eloquently spelt out how few differences there were between Thror’s actions and his own when it came to Erebor.

He wanted to believe he would have chosen otherwise; the reality remained he had not.

“He was once a good king.” Elrond’s words brought him back to the present, though the healer’s gaze remained on the brief inscription beneath his hands, not on his sole companion. “It was no small thing to bring the Seven Houses together as Thror did, divided and distant as they had become.” Turning, the elf lord brought his keen stare to rest on Thorin. “In the wake of what followed, it is perhaps too easy to forget the deeds that won him his crown.”

“I do not know that it would matter if they were remembered,” Thorin answered subduedly, mindful of their surroundings. “That he had earned his throne once does not mean he deserved it still despite everything else.”

“Do you speak now of Thror, Thorin Oakenshield, or yourself?” Thorin brought his gaze up from where it had fallen in thought, his eyes narrowed. Elrond raised a hand to still whatever sharpness was building on his tongue. “It is clear you still doubt.”

He could not deny that. Nor did he think he should. Elrond had already seen him at his lowest, when he had not even been certain that staking his claim in Erebor was the right thing to do, and the elf lord had responded to his hostility and defensiveness at the time with great aplomb. Had gone so far as to suggest Thror’s downfall was not entirely of his own making, and unseen hands had aided Thorin’s own descent down that same slippery slope. He did not know if he believed that - was blaming others for his downfall not merely a means of escaping culpability? - but he appreciated the gesture. Enough so to prompt him to honesty now.

“You are one of the Wise,” he said bluntly. “I doubt you do not harbour similar misgivings yourself.”

“It is not the place of the Lord of Imladris to dictate who should sit the throne in Erebor,” Elrond replied. “The Wise offer guidance, not absolutes.”

Elves. Even the best of them wielded their words as weapons. “As I recall, the guidance you offered Gandalf was that encouraging my quest was folly, and not merely because of the dragon.”

“A caution that proved well founded, in the end.” Elrond rewarded him with the accusation he had been trying to wrench forth, though there was nothing of blame in his tone. “Still, that was in the past. Much has happened since, and you are not the same dwarf who once set foot in an elf kingdom with no greater desire than to utterly insult your host.”

There were traces of amusement in Elrond’s words, and altogether too much truth. He may have behaved in a more stately fashion than the rest of the Company, but Thorin’s first visit to Rivendell had been conducted with less civility than Elrond’s graciousness at the time might have implied. He had not approved of Thorin’s purpose, but neither had he tried to waylay the Company before they could continue, restraining his involvement to words of warning Thorin had not bothered to heed.

Even then, he had been more troubled than insulted by Elrond’s discussion with Gandalf about the madness that had afflicted his line. The half-elven seer had merely given voice to the same fears dwelling in his heart; fears they had both been justified in harbouring.

Thorin wanted to know if the same was true of the present. Did Elrond still believe he would succumb to Erebor’s lure given time to lower his guard? Did he foresee, as Thorin so often did in his dreams, that Erebor would still be his downfall? Or he its? He wanted to know, yet he dared not ask. Was that cowardice, or just a lingering distrust of any being with pointed ears?

“Your worry does you credit, Thorin,” Elrond spoke into the silence. “But be careful you do not fall into the trap your own fears would lay before you. You have already the means to escape your grandfather’s shadow, you must learn to trust that they will be enough.”

“You speak of Fíli and Kíli?” The thought still brought the uncomfortable sting of dreadful memory, and he fought the urge to look away. “They were not before.”

“They have both grown since.” He could not deny that, nor did he seek to stifle the swell of pride the thought brought him. “I cannot see either of them standing by should the curse seek to claim you again.”

“And that is meant to be reassurance?” He frowned, growing frustrated with the elf’s oblique method of speech. “That my nephews might at least defend themselves should I raise my hand against them again?”

“Not reassurance, Thorin, encouragement. You seem to be under the mistaken impression they would allow you to fall so far again. You may, perhaps, be surprised by how fervently they will defend you, even from yourself.”

That touch of amusement was back, and Thorin’s frown darkened.

“Must you always speak in riddles?”

“I speak in truths,” Elrond countered, stepping away from Thror’s tomb with a final, respectful bow to the dead. “As you will come to see for yourself with time.”

“That is daring claim to make,” Thorin retorted. “Even for a seer. That a dwarf and an elf should ever come to see eye to eye.”

“Ah,” Elrond answered him serenely, with that barest glint of mischief that named him the father of a certain pair of troublesome elvish twins. “But you forget, Thorin Oakenshield, that I am merely half-elven, therefore it is only half as unlikely to ever come to pass.”

~The Heart of Erebor~

Bilbo's reaction to the arrival of their latest guests was to insist they have a welcoming feast such as only a hobbit could provide. It would not have been proper for any of the Durins to show such preference to any of their guests, but Bilbo was a personal friend to Thorin, an honoured member of the Company, and a revered hero in many of the tales that had been told within Erebor since it was reclaimed. Nobody would have dared suggest the hobbit did not have the right to entertain whomever he pleased within his own lodgings, and Bilbo was quick to take full advantage of that fact.

With a little help from Bombur and his brood, as well as some selective furniture theft, their burglar had managed to all but recreate the initial night that had brought the Company together. It was not Bag End, nor was Bilbo anywhere near as flustered as he had been then, but there was enough of an air of familiarity to the proceedings to lend it a jovial mood that was not at all dimmed by the presence of their additional guests.

Elrond, who had already been treated to a party of dwarves at their worst, was quick to withdraw to a corner along with Gandalf and the elder  Durins, leaving the twins to join in with their usual abandon. Narrán and Ana, too, were content to settle at the larger table, untroubled by their potentially unruly company, and, after an expectant look at his mother and father to seek permission, Rin was quick to do the same, claiming a place between Gimli and the eldest of Bombur's children.

Bilbo, for his part, was everywhere at once. He allowed no help from any of his guests - not even Bombur was allowed to rise once he was seated - apparently determined to prove that a halfling prepared was a host to be reckoned with. Having faced down far greater dangers than a band of excitable dwarves the Company's burglar was not the least bit put out by the inevitable rowdiness that wove itself into the evening, and once all were served and satisfied he even deigned to join in.

Stories were told and retold as each member of the Company in turn recounted the most humorous and dangerous portions of their journey, some adding wildly ridiculous spins to events that already sounded less than likely. The flight through the goblin caves was a favourite, for they had all been scattered for a time in their mad dash to freedom, and each of them had some form of heroic deed to lay claim to.

Not to be outdone, Elrohir and Elladan drew on their own library of misadventures, going so far as to clamber upon the table to reenact the more daring of their adventures complete with spoons and plates for swords and shields. They quickly learned to omit anything that involved the Rangers, however, for Narrán's sharp tongue cut away the dazzling side of such ventures, and proved to all who cared to listen that the Sons of Elrond were more foolhardy than they would prefer be known.

Although, given their antics dodging amongst the still laden dishes upon the table, that was not perhaps so much a secret as they thought.

As the evening faded into night and the plates were cleared away the party gathered around the fire Gloin had seen fit to light, and it was then that the true storyteller among them stepped forth. Not a single one of them could weave a tale the way Bilbo could, and the respectful hush that greeted him when he took the floor was acknowledgement of that fact. Crowded in a loose circle around the halfling, with only the firelight to illuminate the room, they listened with rapt attention as their burglar retold the entire tale from his own, unique perspective. Where others had seen fit to embellish their deeds and words, Bilbo had no need to do the same. He had been a homely hobbit before a Company of dwarves swept him out of his armchair and onto a road filled with perils and heartbreak, and it was his journey from the polite gentle-hobbit they had met on that first night to the fearless halfling who had faced down a dragon he was telling. A story that was every part as riveting as the larger tale unfolding around them, as Bilbo skilfully chose his words to take them all on that journey with him, there and back again.

Squeezed onto a borrowed bench beside his brother, Kíli found himself smiling drowsily as the hobbit told his tale. Tomorrow, Erebor would at last crown its King and a new journey would begin, wrought with its own dangers and pitfalls, ready to ensnare the unwary. Tonight, however, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield sat together once more, joined by the friends their trials had earned them, free for the moment of their burdens.

It was enough.

[cafephan]

dan and phil play faceapp: a summary

HELLO NEW FLAT "any cardboard box can be turned into something beautiful" how long before dan promos the merch this definitely wasn't scheduled beforehand they stole the dvp board even though it technically belongs to their old landlord discussing furnishings if they still have cardboard boxes in the background in ten weeks time we can shout at them or let them know if you're into that kind of thing "i give this channel one week before we get evicted" danandphilgamesFACES appropriate but weak phil i'll let you off because you've been moving and you're tired and cute that helps I JUST NOTICED THE STUBBLE HELLO this is a video that phil basically said 'dan can we do this' and it's proven dan is still wrapped around his little finger "we have to do it while it's still relevant" mate you're not exactly plummeting in views bloody hell i like the insight into his camera roll why is the danieldreamx liveshow thumbnail there throwback to the ladybird jumper selfie dan stop dragging him that attractive chin angle "apparently phil can't take a selfie" i fucking relate apparently phil is slightly scared and startled all the time and the first scream of the new dapg era is upon us rip headphone users someone needs to put that as a jumpscare in the comments phil speaking about having straight teeth made me sadder than it should've the old filter aka "six months into the future" according to dan the fond look from phil "it's seven months into the future at least" every old!phil trope needs to be rewritten "if you keep your current hair you will be the coolest old guy" dan still rolling in the compliments "let's not be ageists" shoutout to the over 65s watching phil looks like his grandad apparently "i look like me but younger but that's not what i looked like when i was younger" just got a full close up of dans crusty ass lips that's another one to add to the jumpscare list dan doesn't like female phil "it's like a horrible alternate universe" someone's gonna be scouring the au tag, have fun dan "i'm a bit scarlett johannson-y" "clearly your hairstyle is ready to go for the female app" celestial glowing earrings "i would avoid him in a dark alley" says phil about himself as a... man "that is the phil that never got a myspace account and became a builder" now there's an au dan is either going to write himself or search for "normy phil" "you look so average" dan pls we know you think he's beautiful but we're only five minutes into the video control yourself dan's turn on the weird app 'neutral face' 'dan with a soul': "i look like a mouse person" // "you look like a rabbit person!" phil the savage my one true love "i like it. i wanna be friends with him instead of you" wow phil you absolute savage drag him more "it's like you put a hoover against your ear and sucked out your soul" phil looks legitimately scared i'm "old dan! old danny! old danny slice" phil chants whilst looking over fondly dan's impersonation of his old self: "i'm old but you still would" "derek has imploded" "you're like an anime child" "let's meet danielle!" phil is way too into this "i look like louise! that is a picture of louise!" // "it is louise... or is it a bit of zoe as well?" phil doesn't know zoe and louise's ship name come on phil they had a shop back in the day where even were you in the old days they both watched your videos "do you even lesbian on wattpad?" dan revealing more of his plans for that night okay he got the ship name in the end nice one philly "i like to think that if i, as a female or just as dan now, embraced eye makeup, it would be a bit cooler than that, that's a bit normal" he'd do a smoky eye, phil was more than happy to help him draw that conclusion calling all fic writers; this is your chance "am i already the hunky dan i wish i was?" phil looks so excited to see 'male' dan "you look... very angry" i wonder if that's code for if phil's into it or not "it's really square-ified my face like let's give this lad a chin that he doesn't have" oh nice dan would fuck himself calling all fic writers; i'm begging you please please don't now the camera roll pictures make sense okay here we go phil's aesthetic twitter icon has a creepy ass filtered smile "that's phol. p-h-o-l. that's your doot there" alright dan calm yourself lad dans twitter icon's turn "i hate that profile picture... because i have curly hair now, i need to get a new icon that embraces the curls" finally he's saying stuff i can get onboard with phil stop trying to stop him from changing it make it your lockscreen if you want to see it everyday but let the man change his damn icon "rabbit dan is back" pastel dan as an old guy: "he's so cute!" says phil phil's selfie with the hair dye on okay dude "i literally think that's what i'd look like as a girl" why does he only have one set of eyelashes tho "that is amazingphillipa" "ah your really cringe selfie!" // "it wasn't cringe!" dan is getting his revenge drags in he nailed the caption according to dan also contact i am all over that i definitely haven't rewound it four times the first american names they think of are kyle (phil) and cody (dan) i ship it what the fuck is this last picture sideways dan he has like three teeth i'm laughing so much what the pirate!dan, he said so himself what the fuck is the smile filter....... add it to the jumpscare list also in case you're curious we do say stuff like that in the north, philly ain't lying to you aaaaaaand here's the merch promo i feel sad that my moon head doesn't suit hats rip "good luck sleeping" i don't think you'll be sleeping dan sounds like you have a fic filled night ahead of you oh god the photoshop make it stop right now i hate this endscreen why am i still here i wonder what faces they're pulling behind the photoshop "don't swap faces with people because it's really demonic bye" danielleisnotonfire AmazingPhillipa

[kierantc-blog]

DC are spoiling us with fantastic artists right now - A look at the stars of today and tomorrow

This week in DC Comics we were treated to another excellent week of story telling, but we were also treated to some fantastic artwork too. I’ll admit to not being an artist myself but i know what i like and i think i can see how certain artists make a perfect fit for certain story types.

In August, DC are starting a new series of books under the banner “Dark Matter”, an imprint of sorts that supports artist driven work and is going to feature regular monthly books from the likes of Jim Lee (Batman: Hush), Kenneth Rocafort (The Ultimates) and Andy Kubert (Dark Knight III), but the focus on artists has been building at DC for a few years now. But this week? Well we were treated to something special, and we didn’t even realise it.

Aquaman #25

First of all we’ll look at Aquaman, written by Dan Abnett and artwork by Stjepan Sejic, and when i say he does the artwork i mean it literally, pencils, colours and the cover. This is Sejic’s first on-going job doing interiors at DC and he starts off with a story by Abnett that follows a deposed and presumed dead Aquaman hiding in the depths of Atlantis, while the new King makes plans to shore up his own power.

First of all, Atlantis. For years i knew that Atlantis was a semi-advanced society that just so happened to be underwater but for years we never really got to see the depth of it, but in one issue Sejic has already showed us what Atlantis is like.

Here we see some of the splendour of the top half of Atlantis. The city itself is made up of vertical layers known as Trides, going from 1 to 9 in numbering, with 1 being the top and 9 being the bottom. This also represents a socioeconomic side of Atlantis too and it’s something Sejic has captured, starting with this first image. Tall buildings, domed buildings and a large highway dominate the city, with the royal palace dominating the skyline.

In this picture we see the lowest part of the city, the Ninth Tride. As Arthur explains, this part of the city splits it in half from North to South, perhaps much in the same way that London is separated by the River Thames. Here we see a lot of glowing lights packed together tightly, a sign that perhaps the Ninth Tride is one of the most densely populated areas of the city. 

As you can see from the comparison of both images, they tell a different story and intentionally or not it plays into the idea that not all of Atlantis is equal.

I lastly want to show you some of his work with characters themselves, because while the detail in each character is stunning, he also manages to convey a range of emotions and no 2 panels have a copy and paste effect in action.

I can’t really do this artist justice with my analysis but i think his work speaks for itself. As i said at the start, Sejic does all the work himself and that’s incredibly important for a gifted artist, because pairing a pencil artist (or penciller) with someone they’re not compatible with can often ruin the best work and make artists seem inconsistent. This isn’t a prevalent situation though as most artists work in tandem with a specific set of inkers and colourists. This however, with one person doing everything, allows for the artists true vision to come to the fore.

Clearly it works a treat for Stjepan Sejic, and i hope to see more of his fantastic vision for Aquaman going forward.

Batman #25

Next up we have the newest Batman issue, the start of the newest story from Tom King titled The War Of Jokes And Riddles, with pencils and inks from Mikel Janin and colours by June Chung. This is the second arc of Tom King’s Batman that Janin has worked on, previously lending his skills to the “I Am Suicide”, also featuring June Chung on colours.

Janin excels in setting the mood. In this story the mood is extremely sombre, two villains are about to go to war and drag Gotham City into the mix. What Janin does to set this up is by showing you just how dangerous The Riddler and The Joker truly are in quite shocking ways. The way Janin uses shadows allows him to cover faces in most panels but it remarkably allows for him to use body language in telling the story.

With The Riddler, he exerts himself by manipulating the guards of the prison he is in into releasing him, with them firmly believing that he is capable of finding their families and killing them unless they stand aside. He does this by standing tall, confidently strolling along like a man with a purpose.

And The Joker? Well he takes over a comedy club in Gotham, forcing patrons to try to make him laugh and if they fail (they do) he shoots them in cold blood, before leaving the club and blowing the place up and casually shooting a passerby. He’s stoic in his body language, almost emotionless to match his mood.

When they both face each other, Janin takes that mood setting and tries to see how it plays out when they confront each other. Riddler tries to physically dominate Joker by standing over him, and Joker tries to hold his nerve by not flinching, moving only his eyes to follow Riddler’s train of thought. In a way they come out of this evenly matched, and only become undone at the end (with Joker shooting Riddler) because Riddler doesn’t appreciate just how unpredictable Joker can be.

This eventually works its way in at the end with the narrator, Bruce Wayne, who is telling the story of this War to Selina Kyle AKA Catwoman, with the premise being that she must hear this story before she agrees to marry him.

Bruce’s body language in this, as well as the shadowing, reflects Bruce as a person in a way. He’s trying to be open with the woman he loves and wants to marry but a part of him is still masked, and it wouldn’t surprise me to see that as the story goes on that we see him become less rigid around her.

Mikel Janin’s art is beautifully executed in detailed pencils and his ability to convey the mood of a character without even seeing their face is truly remarkable. With Janin doing pencils and inks, he is able to maintain some control over the detail of his work, and by leaving the colours to another artist it allows him to take the time he needs to complete his work on a bi-monthly basis. June Chung’s colouring wonderfully compliments Janin, in the “I Am Suicide” story it was brightly lit to match the locale and in this it is slightly more muted to match the gloomy landscape of Gotham.

Green Arrow #25

In this weeks Green Arrow, Ben Percy gives us an Oliver Queen that looks set to go on a road trip to discover the truth, and is joined in that journey by artist Otto Schmidt, another artist who likes to do it all. Schmidt has been on this Green Arrow series since the start of Rebirth, swapping out with Juan Ferrerya on alternating story arcs.

The style Schmidt utilises is difficult to really categorise, his work isn’t as detailed as Janin or Sejic but it’s rather more fun and colourful to look at. That’s not to say it’s a barrage of colour though, as he knows how to deal the story telling and the apparent mood of the moment.

In Dinah’s scenes in this issue, we are greeted to darker tones and more muted colours. Dinah is exploring the human trafficking group’s underground network so of course there would be little light, but also the people she’s tracking just so happen to be monsters of some kind, so shadowy figures and glowing red eyes win the day here.

Of course, this isn’t an entirely dark issue, Oliver is out of prison and realising the journey he must undertake, makes a few visits to friends to settle things before he goes. With Team Arrow member Henry Fyff, he assumes he’s dead but is happy to see him alive. These sections of the issue are of course a lot brighter but not necessarily more colourful, the tone of the issue is consistent.

One of the things i love about Schmidt’s work is the character he puts into the people he draws. In this image for instance, he captures the essence of characters like The Flash and Nightwing quite well, the more cheery of the superhero community, whilst also capturing the cheekiness of Harley Quinn and the brooding of Damian in one group pose. But you know what else Schmidt manages to do? He makes these characters seem as fun as they actually are. I don’t want this to sound like a negative but there is a child-like, cartoon wonder to his design philosophy. Big smiles, sharp faces and emotion-filled eyes give more wonder to these characters and the colouring he uses doesn’t take away from the serious tone that Percy writes. Burn victims, cultist rituals and monsters play a large part of the series and Schmidt is as comfortable depicting a monster as he is depicting Hal Jordan.

Like Sejic, Otto Schmidt is able to do all aspects of the main body of art for the book and the results are fantastic to see. A pattern emerges with this but it’s not over yet, as we explore our last issue of the week.....

Trinity #10

Francis Manapul is a jack of all trades, and he does a convincing job of mastering them all too because while Sejic and Schmidt done all of their art duties, Manapul also writes the story for this book. Manapul’s aspirations as an artist/writer are not new, he also drew and shared scripting duties on the New 52 Flash series with Brian Buccellato, but here his work really shines through.

In Trinity, Manapul likes to use a bombastic array of pastel-like colours and sharp pencils, often capturing the fantasy and sci-fi elements of the stories he writes to perfection.

On this page, Superman and Wonder Woman stand tall as a stranger invades the Justice League Watchtower. The striking thing about this page from my perspective is, well, the perspective. The middle image of the heroes looking up at their uninvited guest captures the situation nicely, a big alien should be threatening to most but not these two.

With these panels, Manapul shows us how he can go from one situation to the next seamlessly as we jump to an action scene with Batman and The Flash holding down an infected Aquaman. Part of what stands out to me in these panels is how busy it is, shards of glass or metal all over the place give you an idea of the frantic situation the characters are in.

Overall, Francis Manapul mixes a wonderful array of colourful scenes with some equally wonderful detail, all while writing the story too. He is a man of many talents and i hope he sticks with this series for a while.

Final Thoughts

There’s a few things you can take from this post.

1. I don’t know much about art.

2. DC are cultivating a great breeding ground for artistry.

3. Giving a level of trust to truly remarkable creators is a worthy endeavour.

4. They also had a hell of a Wednesday.

Hopefully you can take all of that from this look at four of the best guys at DC right now, and they’re not alone either. There’s also Riley Rossmo (Batman/The Shadow, Constantine), Bilquis Evely (Wonder Woman, Legends Of Tomorrow), Carmine Di Giandomenico (The Flash, Robin War), Dexter Soy (Red Hood & The Outlaws), and many many more. Please check out their linked websites and see their work for yourselves.

When Dark Matter was announced, it was said that DC were taking advantage of certain negative comments Marvel had made about artist led comics, but the truth is that DC Comics has done a remarkable job of entrusting some quite refreshing talent with some of their biggest characters and has been doing it for a while now.

Long may it continue too, even a philistine like myself can appreciate the wonders of artistry like this and hopefully it will help dictate the output DC has in the future too.

Thanks for reading, enjoy the weekend!

[lester-s]

‘let this moment be the first chapter’ - phan

Summary: dan has a crisis about whether or not he will be a good father after they receive the confirmation letter that their adoption application has been accepted.

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Trigger Warning: some swearing, a panic attack, talks of medical drug use, night terrors

Additional Tags: adoption, future, angst, anxiety

Author's Note: this is the first of three one-shots based on three songs from 'Hamilton: An American Musical', based on the song 'that would be enough'

Suddenly, he was awake. He knew he'd slept through till the late afternoon; the sun had set long ago, winter weather and all, and in it's absence was a hazy glow of the streetlights outside the window. Curled up on the living room sofa, he felt an abrupt loneliness in the room. He was sure that himself and Dan had fallen asleep on the sofa together, however the clear absence of a Dan shaped figure pointed otherwise.  

Yet, if he had fallen asleep on his own, Dan would have draped a blanket over him, and normally, would have left the TV on chrome-cast to save electricity. He looked for his phone and glasses, finding the latter first underneath a cushion, his phone not far away either. He looked through his notifications, a few messages from friends, a snapchat or two from his Mum, and a missed facetime call from Martyn. Life as a 33 year old really was as fun as that. He made sure to note the time, and jumped up when he realized just how long he had slept for.

5:31pm

He was more awake now, the harsh brightness of his phone providing enough of a reaction for him to stand up and look around. The room was dark still, and except for the lights from outside and the dim light of the tv, he was in total darkness. He reached for the table, feeling slowly but surely around the room until his hands met the cold door knob of the living room door. Slowly as to not wake up a possibly resting Dan, he pulled the door ajar and stepped into the corridor. The kitchen light had been left on and he could see much clearer now that his eyes were able to adjust to something rather than darkness.  

He had walked down the corridor for only a moment when he heard it.

Somebody was crying.

Dan.

He dashed over to their bedroom. Being alone was definitely not one of Dan's best points, and to hear crying on a dark night when Phil had been asleep for so long? He was sure that Dan was in trouble. Slowly, he peered through the door, and his heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach.

Dan was sat at the side of their bed, his shoulder shaking as he cried. His hand was covering his mouth, and his eyes dashed from side to side as he read from a piece of paper in his hand. Tears spilled from his eyes and onto the letter below, but he didn't attempt to wipe them away – instead he continued to sit and read, and when he had finished he looked up and leaped into Phils arms.  

Now red, blotched eyes faced him, his face tear stained and a dull red shade. Salty tears were falling down his face in mismatched streaks and dropping onto his shirt. The boy pulled away after a moment and began to smile, so wide and so beautifully that Phil began to become worried about whether Dan was happy, or sad, or both.  

'Dan, what's going on?'

The younger took the letter from the bed and, with shaking hands, began to read:  

'D..Dear the Lester-Howell family,'

Phil's face lit up with realization. 'Oh my god, Dan...I-'

'It is with my great gratification to tell you that, after long deliberation with the biological parents of the child we matched you with some months ago, we, the board of Child Welfare and Management, have decided to accept your application to adopt Ms. Matthews' child upon birth. We may need to meet with you regarding the future prospects and some final required assessments of your property and health checks, however this is simply mandatory and is in no way targeted at a certain race, ethnicity, or sexuality.. Many Thanks.'  

The letter fell to the ground as Phil pulled Dan close to him again, and kissed him deeply. It was now Phil's time to cry, and as Dan held him close, as he wept tears of happiness and shock into Dan's jumper.  

'So long we've waited.' Phil whimpered, Dan holding his hair as tears fell down both of their faces.

The adoption process had been long and grueling, many times after they had joined adoption agencies they were told they had been rejected by potential parents and were told to seek an alternate agency. Phil had been adamant they should keep trying, though, even when Dan had announced that they should quit while they were ahead.  

- 'Nobody will want us Phil.'

-'You don't know that'

-'Yes I do. Let's just stop now, it's pointless trying any longer.'

-'Don't say that. Not now. Not after 2 years of waiting and being tested and having those stupid checks! We put everything on the line for this!'

They had fought many times over whether or not they would ever get chosen, however, those fights were far in the past now.

'P..parents.' Phil muttered, still enclosed in Dan's arms.  

'Parents.’

They were sat in their bedroom, a few weeks after they received that letter;   Phil had been reading a new Stephen King book while Dan was watching some sort of documentary. They hadn't spoken since the programme began, Phil was shunned into silence by Dan as soon as the title screen appeared. If he was honest, Phil didn't think Dan was watching the documentary anymore. In the corner of his eye he could see that Dan was on his phone, not watching the show as he had thought originally. He pondered turning it off, however his thought was quickly put to the back of his mind when Dan broke the silence with a cough.

'That documentary is shit. I've been waiting weeks for that fucker, and it was shit!' Phil could do nothing but laugh at Dan's choice of words, and Dan smiled in response, pushing the book from Phil's lap and onto the floor. Phil lifted up his arm and welcomed the warmth that he didn't realize he missed. Dan tucked his head into his chest and watched the TV, while Phil wrapped his fingers around Dan's curls. There was a sense of content secretly shared between the two of them, and then Dan perked up and looked up at Phil.

'We won't be able to do this much in a few months. Well, with just the two of us anyway.'  

Dan huffed in response, lifting himself up from Phil's chest. 'We still haven't got anything for them. We need to start thinking about ordering furniture, and buying a pram.' Phil picked up the book from the floor and placed it on the table side beside the bed, before climbing out and throwing his clothes on the floor and changing into pajamas.  

‘Dan, we’ve got a whole two months yet, and the agency haven't sent us any letters with information about what we need for when they arrive.’

Dan rose from his spot laid on the bed and rested his head on the headboard. ‘I've already been looking. There's more than what you'd think. Apparently we need at least 8 of everything, and then we need sterilisers, baby first aid kits, a crib for when they get older, but a moses basket for the first few months so that we're with them in the room at night. And that's not even the start of it.’  

Phil sighed and pulled himself into bed next to Dan, placing a hand on his chest and laying beside him. ‘There's 63 tomorrows before the baby is due, and in those 63 tomorrows, we will get everything done. Don't worry. Now sleep, it's tiring you out I can tell.’ Dan tried to fight against what Phil said, but eventually finds himself lulled to sleep by Phil playing with his hair and humming peacefully.

He sees a figure, tall and holding a small bundle. His face is covered up by a dark hood, and the light shining on him shows nothing but a dark silhouette. The man stands at the foot of a spiral staircase and Dan wants to run towards him but his body is paralyzed, he can't stand up out of the chair no matter how he fights. The figure slowly approaches, the small bundle now fussing and crying, almost screaming for help. Dan feels tears burning in his eyes and as the figure draws closer, he finally sees who is stood in front of him. Phil.  

‘Phil please! Please listen! Help me! Please help me! He-‘

‘Dan! Dan wake up!’

Dans eyes shot open and he jumped to his feet in an instant.  

‘Get away from me!’ He batted Phils hand away from his shoulder and backs into the corner of the bedroom, gasping for air.  

'Dan, you're okay. You're okay.'  

But he wasn't okay. He shook his head and felt his hand tremble against the wall. He wanted to breathe, but all that was coming out was raspy breaths. Phil watched as Dan darted around the room like a hurricane, his limbs shaking and his heart racing.  

He can't breathe.  

Suddenly the world goes in ultra speed, and Phil knew he would need to intervene quickly before anything escalated and he had to drive Dan to the hospital. He rushed to Dan's side, and grabbed his shoulders. He looked so hopeless, and before Dan knew it Phil had pulled him back to the side of the bed, and was drawing circles into his back.  

‘-Phil.’ He whimpered. His voices sounded drained and sickly, and if Phil hadn't been playing the 'grown-up adult' card, he would have begun to cry there and then.

'You are going to be okay. There is enough air for you to breathe. When I count upwards, I want you to inhale. When I count down, I want you to exhale. Can you do that for me, baby?' Dan nodded, and slowly he began to relax.

'1...2...3...4...5...6...7...You're doing so well, love. 7...6...5...4...3...2...1. Okay. Keep repeating the pattern in your head. There is nothing that can hurt you now. Can you tell me what you need?'

Dan began to shake his head, and then attempted to speak, still wheezing.

'At- At-'

'Do you want your Ativan?' Dan could do nothing but nod weakly.

‘It's in the medical box, can I go and get it? Are you able to walk?' Phil stands up first, and Dan carefully lifts himself up, and with small steps, they made their way to the kitchen, where Phil carefully lowers Dan to the ground.  

‘Here, take this. You remember what you need to do? Small sips.' Dan takes the glass of water and a small white pill and takes them slowly. 'We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. We can just forget this happened. If that’s what you need.'

‘Phil…No, I need to.’  

‘Tell me then. I can sit for as long as you need. When did they start again?’

‘A month or so.’  

‘Dan, you should have told me.’ Dan heard the pain in Phil’s voice, and looked down in shame.  

‘No...I’m not sorry. W-we’d just found out about the baby, I didn’t want to ruin it for us. Then I started worrying that I would be an awful father, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if and when I messed up, because I know I will.

I can't even look after your houseplants when you're away. Will you relish being a useless person's husband? I don't think so. I'm never going to be enough for you. Nothing I do is enough for what you deserve.’  

‘Dan look at me.’ Phil held his chin and turned his face, so that Dan and his eyes are level. ‘I know who I married. I relish being your husband- there's nothing that makes me happier- nothing. Look at where we are. We're two months away from meeting our son or daughter.

Now look at where we started. We thought that we'd never get to this stage. There has been so many people who have been against us for the past 10 years of our lives, that at most points I wondered if we were going to stay together at all. The fact we made it through all of that hate is a miracle, so just fight whatever this awful spell has become, that would be enough. We could be enough, together, for the baby, and any other children we adopt. This is the first chapter of our lives together, Dan, just think about that.'

They sat in silence, and as the medication took hold, Dan rested his head upon Phil's shoulder, and sighed.  

'Dan, as long as you're here, as long as you come home at the end of the day, we're enough.'

Author's note: im such hamilton trash lmao help me why do I make these things pls help me

[freetheknee]

(phanfic) just breathe now

Title: just breathe now Words: 4,714 Summary: Suddenly he realizes Phil is next to him, arm around his back, holding him upright and checking his temperature by pressing his palm against his cheek. “Phil?” He whispered, once he found the breath and presence of mind to speak. “Hey, baby. I’m here, just breathe.” (Dan comes down with the stomach flu in the middle of the night. Phil cares for him.)

Read on AO3

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

“Sure you don’t want any?” Phil asked, eyeing him uncertainly for what felt like the millionth time that day.

“I’m sure, just not hungry yet,” Dan answered, glancing at him sideways from the couch. “I’ll have some later.”

“Okaaay…” Phil responded, drawing out the word as he returned to the kitchen from the doorway.

Dan felt bad about turning down the orange chicken stir-fry Phil seemed so proud of making, but he just wasn’t hungry and the thought of eating didn’t seem appealing. He’d started feeling slightly off around mid-morning, but had brushed it off and eaten lunch anyway, figuring he may have just been hungry. Eating had only seemed to make the weird feeling a bit worse, if anything.

Phil returned a minute later carrying his plate of food and setting it down on their dining table nearby, sitting down to chat with Dan while he ate.

“I made a plate for you, it’s wrapped up in the fridge for you to heat when you’re ready,” He said, digging into his meal.

Dan nodded, but pushed the thought of eating back out of his head as they both focused on the episode of Riverdale Dan had put on for them to watch.

They watched the episode and enjoyed casual conversation for a while until Dan felt a headache forming behind his eyes, and felt the uncomfortable feeling of malaise making itself more apparent. He sighed and laid his head back, closing his eyes.

“Dan, you sure you’re feeling okay?” Phil asks, sounding concerned as he sets his fork down with a clank against the plate that makes him flinch.

“’M fine,” He muttered. “Just tired. Didn’t sleep all that well last night.”

Phil gave him a look of skepticism. “You haven’t had much to eat today, Bear, but you’re saying you’re not hungry. You look like you don’t feel your best.”

“No, Phil…” He sighed. “I’m fine, like I said, just need to get some sleep.”

“Okay,” Phil answered, not sounding entirely convinced. “Why not head to bed, then? I can edit the gaming channel video and join you when I’m done.”

Dan stared at him for a moment in hesitation. It was his turn to edit; Phil had edited the one they’d posted a few days ago.

“…You sure?” He asked.

“Of course, you know I don’t mind,” Phil said, smiling sweetly. He stood up with his dishes in hand, preparing to go do the washing up, but stopping first to drop a kiss on the top of his boyfriend’s head. “I’ll come to bed once I’m done.”

Dan nodded and smiled, getting up a few moments after to head toward his bed. Upon arriving he pulled his jeans off and slipped beneath his duvet, not caring enough to change from the t-shirt he’d worn today into more proper pajamas.

He clicked his lights off, save for the amberlamp he was fond of keeping on at night, and curled up under his blankets.

The headache made it difficult to get comfortable, but he was too tired to go hunting for pain medication.

Doesn’t matter, it’ll be fine when I wake up, he thinks to himself before slipping into unconsciousness.

***

Dan awoke suddenly from a swirly, confusing and unsettling nightmare to find himself sitting up, breathing heavily, and disoriented to the point that he was hardly aware of what was going on until it urgently dawned on him that he was going to throw up.

He started trying to move from his bed in an attempt to haul himself towards the bathroom, but dizziness got the better of him and before he could do anything to help his situation, he was hunched over, throwing up miserably onto his duvet. It happened not once, but three times before the retching ceased, leaving him struggling to catch his breath.

It all happened so fast and had been so painful that Dan didn’t even register at what point he’d started crying. It felt like his whole body was on fire with the flames centered in his stomach and throat, and he couldn’t stop the sobs that tore through him with every few ragged breaths he took.

He must not have heard Phil come in the room over his own crying, but suddenly there was a hand on his back, gently rubbing near his right shoulder, and another hand on his forehead that retreated as quickly as it had come.

“Shh, shh…” Phil soothed despite the panic clear in his tone, rubbing Dan’s back in wider circles. “Hey, shh, Dan, it’s okay. Shh…”

Dan tried to speak, but all that came out was a miserable whimper followed by another sob as tears poured down his face. He hurt everywhere. He was confused and nauseous and dizzy and hot and his vomit was all over his bed.

“Hey, let’s get you to your feet, yeah? Just lean your weight on me.”

It took a few moments, but Phil carefully eased Dan out of his soiled bed and into a standing position, where he leant heavily on him.

“Taking you to the toilet, alright? Just walk with me. We’ll go slow. I’ve got you.”

It was a good thing Phil was guiding him and supporting so much of his weight, or else there was absolutely no way he would’ve made it. Soon Phil was lowering him to sit on the floor, and Dan was relieved to see the toilet right in front of him as another surge of sickness took him over almost immediately. Phil sat behind him, gently rubbing his back, feeling the notches of his spine as he rhythmically went up and down with his knuckles.

Dan sat spitting miserably for a few seconds, between soft hitches in his breathing that indicated to Phil he was still crying from the strain of the whole ordeal.

“Hey,” Phil said gently, squeezing his shoulder a little. “Take some deeps breaths with me, okay?”

Dan tearfully followed Phil’s instructions to breathe in and out in time with him as Phil used toilet roll to mop up the tears and wipe his nose, until his breathing was less frantic and his stomach felt more settled.

Phil reached over to flush the toilet, reaching his hand around to push Dan’s fringe back and feel his forehead.

“You’re burning up,” He murmured with a worried sigh. “Do you think you’re done being sick for now?”

Dan thought for a moment before nodding slowly, scooting himself back slightly from the toilet.

“There you go. Now, I’ll be right back, okay? Just going to throw your duvet in for a wash, really really quick.”

Dan nodded slowly, pulling his knees to his chest so he could lie his head down on top of them. His nausea was settled for the time being, but his stomach was plagued with cramps, and his head was pounding in time with his erratic heartbeat. While before he’d felt swelteringly hot, he was now cold and shivery.

Phil was indeed back quickly, and after helping Dan rinse his mouth out, was supporting his weight as they slowly, oh so slowly, made their way back up the stairs.

Phil led Dan to his own dimly lit room, and gently laid him down and pulled the blankets over his shivering form.

Dan whimpered miserably, becoming increasingly aware of how awful he felt.

“I know, love…” Phil murmured sympathetically. “You can go to sleep in just a few minutes, don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”

Dan didn’t want Phil to leave, but didn’t have the energy to raise a protest. He nestled further down into the covers and closed his eyes, trying to combat the shivers.

He hadn’t even realized he’d begun dozing off until he was awoken by Phil’s gentle murmur and the shift of the bed as Phil sat down next to him a few minutes later.

“Hey, wake up just a little so I can take your temperature, okay? It’ll be quick.”

Dan opened his eyes slightly and parted his lips so Phil could slide the thermometer in. “Under your tongue,” he reminded. Dan obliged, letting the device slide under his tongue as his seemingly 10-tonne-heavy eyelids fell closed again.

Phil felt nervous at the high 39.6 C reading the small, glowing screen indicated after a few seconds and some annoyingly loud beeps, but assured himself it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Dan was obviously too sick to stomach anything right then, but in a few hours, he’d have him take something for the fever.

“You can sleep in here with me tonight, yeah? Does that sound good?” Phil asked once he had Dan all tucked in, and was gently wiping his forehead with a cool, damp cloth.

Dan’s heart squeezed in his chest from how much he loved Phil, but suddenly felt anxious as he remembered uncontrollably vomiting on his own bed just a little while earlier.

“Wha’ if I get sick? Like earlier?” He asked, his voice slurred with weariness and the tug of a sob caught in his throat at the sudden wave of guilt that Phil had had to clean up his mess, and fear that it’d happen again.

“I put a bin right on the floor next to you, just to your left. Just lean over it if you start to feel bad. Don’t worry.”

Dan can feel the sting of frustrated tears again. “What if I don’t make it? And I make another disgusting mess?”

Phil can hear the strain on his voice that means Dan’s trying not to cry in frustration. He leans down and kisses his burning forehead. “Then I’ll throw this one in the wash too. I don’t care about the duvet, silly, or having to clean up. You couldn’t help it, love. I just care about making sure you get better.”

Dan slowly nodded, the upset feeling in his chest melting away with Phil’s reassurance.

“Wh’time is it?” Dan asked a few minutes later, as Phil continued wiping his face and neck down.

“Only about 1 AM,” Phil answered. “Don’t worry, you didn’t wake me up. You went to sleep pretty early. I was awake changing into pyjamas in the other room and overheard.”

Sometimes, Dan swore Phil could read his mind. This was one of those times.

Dan could feel the pull of sleep as Phil gently combed his hand through his hair in silence, and soon sleep took him over completely.

***

Phil was awoken hours later to the sound of harsh coughs and gags, and found Dan lying next to him on his front, his head dangling over the edge of the bed.

He was usually slow to wake, but not now. He sat up quickly, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of only his lava lamp. He crawled closer to Dan, getting a better look and seeing that he was dry heaving into the bin Phil had left for him.

“Dan?” Phil murmured, laying a hand on his back. “It’s okay, it’ll pass…just breathe now,” He said softly, but couldn’t help but feel like his efforts were useless to help.

After a minute, Dan gave a final cough and whimper, and tried to pull himself back towards the bed. Phil gently helped him lie down more fully, where he curled up onto his side, breathing shakily.

“Phil,” He moaned, shivering.

“I’m right here, baby. Can I get you anything?”

Dan didn’t say anything, just reached out towards him. Phil knowingly took his hand, and carefully squeezed it, smoothing over the warm skin with his thumb.

Phil used his other arm to reach for his nightstand and grab the thermometer; he might as well.

“Temperature, love. Open up.”

Dan opened his mouth and let Phil slide the small device under his tongue. It beeped after a few seconds, and Phil sighed nervously.

Dan made a small, inquisitive noise, not bothering to open his eyes.

“Your fever is pretty high. Do you think you could try paracetamol?”

Dan immediately shakes his head. “No…” He groans, and Phil isn’t really surprised. It’d probably be back up within a minute even if he did try.

“Alright. Do you want to go back to sleep?” He asks, smoothing his hair again.

Dan nods, and Phil smooths his hair soothingly until he’s asleep, and then he isn’t far behind him.

***

When Dan awoke, there was sunlight, Phil’s side of the bed was empty, and oh God, he felt awful.

His whole body was overtaken by painful muscle aches, his headache was so severe he could barely see straight, his throat felt swollen shut, and his stomach felt like it’d been tied in a tight triple knot. He wasn’t sure he could move. He wanted Phil.

After a few minutes of lying in agony, Phil returned with a glass of water. He smiled seeing he was no longer asleep.

“Oh, look who’s awake,” He says, softly but cheerfully. “Good morning, my sick little Bear,” He greeted, setting the water down on the nightstand, and sitting down on the bed next to him. “How are you feeling?”

Dan didn’t have the energy to act like he felt better, or be in any way cheerful in return. He just averted his eyes, blinking heavily.

“Bad,” He says, and his voice is barely a whisper. The cheerfulness seems to dissolve from Phil’s face at the sound of Dan’s pathetic voice, and that only makes Dan feel worse.

“I’m sorry, love,” Phil murmurs. “I need you to sit up and have some water, okay? You’ll feel better once you aren’t so dehydrated.”

Dan slowly tries to push himself up, but the attempt proves useless. He’s so weak he can hardly move, and everything aches so much it’s just too painful to try. Phil comes to his rescue, leaning down and clutching him in an embrace as he pulls his body upright to lean against the pillows and headboard behind him. He brings a glass of water with a straw to his lips, and Dan takes small, cautious sips at Phil’s instruction to avoid overloading his sensitive stomach.

“Let’s see how that settles before we try any medicine,” Phil says, and Dan nods minutely. He just wants to lie back down.

“Is my duvet ruined?” Dan mumbles out of nowhere a minute later, his voice so croaky and soft Phil only barely understands the question.

“No,” Phil replies, smiling fondly at him. “It finished in the dryer a few minutes before you woke up, and it looks good as new. I remade your bed a few minutes ago.”

Dan manages a weak half-smile. “Thank you...”

“Of course, Bear. How’s your stomach? Could you try some medicine? It’s the liquid kind. No pills.”

“I’ll try,” Dan rasps.

Phil measures and pours the medicine out for him before handing the small cup over. Dan grimaces as he swallows it down, and looks dangerously pale for a moment after, but ultimately keeps it down.

“There, good! That should make you feel better. Anything else I can do?”

“…Lay with me?” He suggests, and Phil smiles warmly as he gets into the bed with him, putting his arm around Dan, who immediately moves to curl against him.

It doesn’t take long for Dan to fall back asleep, the effects of the medicine kicking in and easing his symptoms to allow him a more peaceful rest.

***

Dan awakens again late in the afternoon, the pains and discomfort slightly eased from the medicine that lingered in his system. He’s curled up on his side, drowsy and shivering slightly, and slowly realizes Phil is sitting at his side, gently running a hand over his back from behind him.

“You waking up, sweetheart?” Phil whispers, seeing his eyelids slowly flutter open and closed.

Dan gives a small hum in reply.

“Can you sip some water for me?”

Dan feels so sleepy and heavy he’s not entirely sure he can sit himself up, but nods slightly anyways. Phil chuckles to himself at the way Dan makes no move to sit up.

“Come on, Bear,” He encourages. He reaches over and helps his boyfriend move from being curled up on his side to lying on his back, and shoves his arms underneath him to pull him upright.

Dan’s head lolls back against the headboard, exhaustion weighing him down.

Phil brings the cup and straw to his mouth again, and Dan sluggishly takes few small sips before stopping, his eyes closing again.

“Stay awake, love,” He urges, with a gentle nudge. Dan’s eyes slowly open again. “There you go. Drink some more, okay? You hardly drank any just then. You’ll feel better.”

“Hurts my throat,” Dan mumbles, and it’s the truth. As much as he knows he needs fluids, it hurts terribly to swallow. Not to mention, his stomach is turning uncomfortably and he’d really rather just curl up and go back to sleep.

“Would you prefer some tea?” Phil offers.

Dan shakes his head. If not for the turning in his stomach, tea would sound nice. But for the moment, he didn’t think he could handle anything other than water.

“Just drink the rest of this. It’s only, hmm…maybe 200mL or so. You can do it, just take it slow.”

Dan reluctantly takes the straw back into his mouth, and slowly takes tiny sips until his stomach gives a firm squeeze of protest, and he stops.

“Almost done, Dan, just a few more sips and you can go back to sleep,” Phil says, trying to be gently encouraging. Dan moves his arms over his stomach and turns his head away sharply.

“I really can’t, Phil,” He grumbles, hoping he won’t push the issue. Thankfully, he seems to take the hint and sets the cup down, reaching out to stroke his hot cheek with his thumb.

“Tummy?” Phil asks, and Dan nods. “Do you need the bin?”

He’s relieved when he shakes his head after a moment of consideration.

“Okay. It’s in the same place if you need it.”

Dan slides back down into the bed, and is beginning to fall back asleep when a realization hits him. It’s Thursday.

“Time’s it?” He slurs, eyes opening.

“Oh, uh, about 6:30 in the evening. Why do you ask?”

“Your live show…” Dan murmurs. “You have to do your live show.”

Phil smiles sympathetically at him. “I’m not sure if I’m going to do it tonight. I need to keep an eye on you, love.”

“No,” Dan interjects immediately. “I’ll be fine by myself for an hour…you have to do it…” He urges, voice heavy with croakiness.

“Are you sure?” He asks, uncertain as he pulls the blankets back up around his boyfriend.

“Mm,” He hums, nodding. “Prolly just sleep the whole time.”

Phil presses a hand to his forehead, and then moves to smooth his hair.

“Your fever isn’t quite so high right now. Alright. I’ll do the live show. Just yell if you need me and I’ll cut it short, okay?”

Dan nods, lethargy taking over, and he’s asleep within seconds.

…

Dan is jolted awake by nausea, and rushes to grab the bin off the floor and shove it into his lap before miserably being sick again. He moans. He thought he was done with this phase of the illness, but apparently not. His throat is raw with blinding pain, and he feels dizzy.

Suddenly he realizes Phil is next to him, arm around his back, holding him upright and checking his temperature by pressing his palm against his cheek.

“Phil?” He whispered, once he found the breath and presence of mind to speak.

“Hey, baby. I’m here, just breathe.”

They sit in silence for a couple minutes, the only sounds being Dan’s ragged breathing and Phil’s gentle words of reassurance, before he suddenly speaks again.

“Your live show, Phil,” He breathes, a cough following the words. “You’re supposed to be doing your live show!”

“Shh, shh, just relax. I cancelled it today,” He assures, patting his back.

“No,” Dan groans, cursing himself for feeling that tight, upset feeling in his chest again. “You’re supposed to…”

“Dan, shh, listen to me,” Phil murmurs. “You can barely keep water down, and you’ve been burning up with a fever, do you really think I’d leave you alone like this?” Phil asked him. Dan didn’t answer, guilt and nausea still eating away at him. “I considered it when you seemed better earlier, but your fever spiked up not long after you fell back asleep. I made a tweet and said I was busy tonight. No one minds,” he explains.

Dan just lays his head down on Phil’s shoulder, feeling guilty.

“Aw…you poor thing,” He tenderly rubs his back. “You must feel like you got trampled by a herd of wildebeests.”

Dan didn’t answer, but Phil felt a telltale drop of moisture fall onto his shoulder, along with shaky breaths.

Phil pressed a kiss into Dan’s wildly curly hair, and used his thumb to wipe away Dan’s tears. “Oh, love…listen, it’s okay. We’ll get you feeling better soon, don’t worry.”

***

Phil had calmed Dan down enough to get him to nap for a while, and convinced him to try some Gatorade a few hours later when he woke up again. He’d held it down for a few hours now, and seemed it like was going to stay put. Finally. Both were relieved.

“I feel gross,” Dan mumbled, from where he laid with his head on Phil’s lap in the lounge. The Secret World of Arietty credits were rolling on the TV in front of them; though Dan had only been awake for maybe a third of it, total. He was still shivering slightly, but he’d been sweating on and off since the illness began. His shirt and pyjama pants were damp and cold, and his hair felt grimy and tangled from sweat.

“How about a bath?” Phil offered, grabbing the remote and switching the TV off.

Dan nodded. He was too weak and dizzy to stand for the length of time a shower would take. A warm bath and new pyjamas sounded like exactly what he needed.

Phil helped him off the couch and down to their bathroom, getting the bath running while Dan sat on the floor nearby, watching. Once Phil had finished readying the bath, he moved to help Dan out of his clothes.

Phil had seen probably seen him naked at least a thousand times, but it somehow felt embarrassing when he was a pathetic, sick mess sitting on their bathroom floor. Nonetheless, he knew Phil didn’t feel that way, and allowed himself to be undressed and then helped into the bath.

The warm water was a blessed respite from the shivery, damp feeling he’d had all day. Phil wasted no time grabbing a washcloth and beginning to wash him.

“Feel better?” He asked, smiling at him. Dan nodded. The warmth of the water and comfort of the sudsy body wash being massaged into his skin was making him tired all over again, even though he had spent almost the entire day asleep.

Phil could see Dan was growing weary again, and made quick work of bathing him. He grabbed a cup from nearby and prodded him with instructions to tilt his head back when needed so he could wash and rinse his hair.

It was embarrassing, in a way, letting someone else bathe him as a grown man, but he was so drained and sick he figured it was probably best Phil was helping him. He likely couldn’t have managed this on his own, if he’s honest with himself.

Phil rinsed Dan off and wrapped him in a towel once he was done, and led him up the stairs to his room. Dan sat drowsily on the bed watching Phil pull out pyjamas for him, and cooperated as he helped him get dressed.

He started to crawl under the covers of his bed once he was clothed, but felt a pair of warm hands on his shoulders that halted him.

“Bear, I want you to try to eat some soup and have some medicine before you go back to sleep, alright? You kept that Gatorade down earlier. Can you do that for me?”

Dan hesitates. “I’m not really hungry,” He admits.

“I know,” Phil says. “But you haven’t eaten in well over 24 hours now, so you probably really need to eat a little something. Just give it a go, okay?”

Dan nods reluctantly, and accepts his help up off the bed and back down the hall.

Phil gets him settled in the lounge under some blankets, and puts on an episode of The X-Files before heading off into the kitchen to make him something to eat.

Dan pays attention to a few minutes of Mulder and Scully’s investigations before the grip of fatigue seemed to capture him again, and he drifted off slowly to the sounds from the TV and the distant clanks of pots and pans as Phil moved around the kitchen.

***

Phil almost doesn’t want to wake Dan up.

He looks so cute, now that he can see him in a fully lit room, asleep with his mouth slightly ajar, his head back against the couch, and the blankets wrapped around him so securely he looks like a burrito. His cheeks are flushed a blotchy pink with the heat of his fever, and it somehow makes him look even cuter. Phil feels his heart flutter with affection.

He sets the meal down on the table and sits down next to him, watching for just a moment as he slowly breathes in and out before bending forward to gently kiss his forehead and squeeze his shoulder.

It takes a minute for Dan’s eyes to sluggishly open, blinking heavily at Phil. He drowsily moves to push his head under Phil’s chin.

Phil kisses the top of his head and embraces him, rocking him carefully back and forth for a moment before stopping and adjusting his damp curls.

“Made you soup, love. Can you try a little? I’ll feed you,” He offers.

Dan gives a weak laugh. “How could I turn that down?” He asks, his voice coming out as a raspy whisper.

Phil smiles at him, releasing him from the embrace and moving to retrieve the bowl.

He spoons up some of the chicken noodle soup and moves it to Dan’s mouth, who opens his mouth to accepts the offering.

He closes his eyes and hums softly as Phil slides the spoon out of his mouth, carefully chewing and swallowing.

“Good?” Phil asks.

Dan nods. “So good,” He answers, and accepts the next bite of soup he is offered. “Didn’t know you meant you were making me your homemade chicken soup.” Phil nods.

“It’s the kind my mum used to make me whenever I was ill,” Phil says, even though he’s probably told Dan this before. “I swear it has magical healing powers or something. I also swear it’s better for a sensitive tummy than the type in the can.”

Dan nods in appreciation and manages almost all of the small serving before Phil can tell he’s struggling to eat any more. He gives him a cracker to nibble on and has him take a few sips of Gatorade along with another dose of fever reducer before cleaning the dishes up and leading him back to bed.

“Come cuddle with me,” Dan demands softly once he’s settled under Phil’s bedsheets, and Phil has changed into his pajamas.

“If you insist,” Phil teases, and slips into the bed after turning the light off, moving to spoon him and kiss his cheek. He’s relieved to notice the heat coming off of him isn’t nearly as intense as it was earlier.

“Phil?” Dan whispers, after a few minutes of comfortably silent cuddling.

“Yes, baby?”

“I love you. You’re so good to me,” He murmurs.

“I love you too, Bear. Anything to help you feel better.”

“Also, Phil…”

“Yeah?”

“I hope you don’t catch this. It’s miserable,” Dan says, laughing slightly.

“I hope not, too,” Phil replies. “But if I do, guess you’ll just have to look after me.”

“Mm,” Dan murmurs, his voice heavy with drowsiness. “Guess so. That’s alright.”

Phil kisses his neck and pulls him closer.

“Goodnight, bear.”

“G’night, Philly.”

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

my inbox is always open for fluff prompts!!!!! thank you for reading/sharing ♡