#but as soon as i see something shiny ill leap after it and never look back

[xxplastic-cubexx]

losing a hyperfixation is the worst feeling esp when you start feeling like you’re losing interest but then it gets to a point and you just go headfirst into the new one and never look back……

thats so real ......

[randomsnakesimp]

Okay. I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna take the leap and say: Phobos is the victim (sorta).

Quick disclaimer: I am going to abuse plot holes and cartoon logic for my cause in a very nitpicky way. If you dislike that, I can completely understand, and I hope this warning will save you a lot of reading.

Also, this won't go into just headcanon territory, I'll put those in a separate post. Everything here I'll try to keep based on actual information from the comics and what I made of them.

That said...

Let's take a look at this scene:

(for a quick translation of the important part, the mother says: "No, Phobos, Meridian is meant for your sister. That's the law. The crown is hers.)

What we can see here are a few very important things:

1. Phobos is at most 5 years older than Elyon.

2. The name "Phobos" is not an edgy nickname he gave himself. Five-year-olds don't go around calling themselves Phobos. So his parents, for some reason, gave him that name.

3. His mother is very adamant about him not even touching the crown and reminding him of his sisters' birthright.

So, after establishing what I would call more or less facts, what else can, relatively savely, be deduced here?

- Since Elyon never noticed anything weird about herself, she can't have aged slower than earth children. So neither can Phobos. This would mean that, as she was kidnapped after her mothers death as a baby, he would have been five. So, he either tried his best to rule at age five, or the council we see as Elyon rules stepped in for him for a while

- this would then mean two things: we need an explanation as to why Miriadel, Alborn and Galgheita fled explicitly from Phobos (I'll give my explanation a bit further down) and second, Phobos' reign of terror wasn't even thirteen years, and a lot of that time he was a child/teen and could not even have been mature enough to rule.

- This also means that Kandrakar pulled up the veil when Phobos was at most five, likely younger, and that the so called "Seal of Phobos" also existed at that time, as both the veil and the seal are seen in the flashback depicting Elyons abduction. For Kandrakar, this, too, I will try to explain soon, but as for the seal, I find it most plausible that the theory @ror-witch used in their fanfiction, of the seal being a royal heirloom and named after each ruler, is true.

- His and his mother's relationship was neither as bad as some assumptions go, but neither was it that good, probably, or at least it wasn't in his perception. See how his memory is of her cradling the baby the entire time and talking more about his sisters birthright than about what he has/can do? Yes, it's only a short memory, but I think it's clear that it's a summary of what he remembers of his mother.

- Phobos desire to rule Meridian does not stem from something deeply sinister, but rather from a childish spite. Five year old Phobos probably just wanted the crown cause it looked nice and shiny, and he was fabulous even back then, but after his mothers words, he sulked and decided to show her. That's his motivation.

So, now let's go a bit further and look at some other things we can deduce from the rest of the comics:

- Phobos has a huge dungeon, a wall of roses that turn people into more roses if they touch it and his plan for the annihilation of Meridian is "Well, Cedric and I hide in the castle and...we'll see". He hates the people of Meridian, but he doesn't seem to have it in him to directly attack anyone until Elyon is there and even here, when he has her knocked out in their duel or locked up as Endarno, he isn't unnecessarily cruel. He's not evil in nature, he's more of a very dangerous child throwing tantrums. ( Cedric is kinda similar, and they both start losing it toward the coronation, but I sincerely believe that before that, there would have been a chance for them to come around )

- The only person he ever tortures or even hurts directly is Cedric. Because one, he likes Cedric and so gets more extreme emotions around him, and two, Cedric never says anything, and just plays it of afterwards, so I don't know if he even fully realizes what he's doing, like a child hitting someone. If Cedric ever just said "Stop it, you're hurting me", Phobos would probably need an entire week to process that input.

- Phobos is VERY reclusive, and he doesn't want anyone to have even pictures of him, and while that could be a God complex, I get some highly insecure vibes out of it, in a vulnerable narcissist kinda way, in that he is massively overcompensating. I gotta admit, though, that I cannot put my finger on why, so maybe take this with a grain of salt and decide for yourself if you agree.

- Kandrakar never orders the guardians to help Meridian in any way, just to make sure nothing oozes out. They likely pulled up the veil for their own protection, so Phobos wouldn't be able to spread far enough to become a real danger, rather than to protect innocent people, as clearly the Meridian people mean shit to them

- while the guards are widely feared in Meridian, Cedric seems to be viewed as... not very frightening or important, as some random merchant feels comfortable clinging to his cape (and rightfully so, apparently, as Cedric just tells him to piss off and doesn't care any further). This further leads me to believe that Cedric is rather unhealthy devoted to Phobos and his tantrums while their shitty ass reign leaves a lot of free space for unsuited people to become guards and tyranize the people.

- the King and Queen seem to have died in rapid succession, and shortly after the scene shown above, yet she looks perfectly healthy in that scene.

Now, what do I make of all this?

I believe the line of events to be as follows:

I don't think Phobos traveling back in time is a viable theory for mainly two reasons: I think his mother would be less chill around him if she saw/heard about his reign herself, and I believe that it would have been mentioned somewhere along the way if that were the case. Instead, what I believe happened is that the oracle had a vague vision of Phobos nearly taking over Kandrakar. Deciding in their random mood swings that today was a day of action, they had the people of Meridian informed that the next male born to a queen would become a dangerous tyrant, pulled up a veil and set their guardians to make sure nothing oozed out.

The veil, of course, made the people of Meridian feel trapped and a horror of the unborn prince who would ruin their lives spread.

So, when Weira gave birth to that prince, a full blown panic spread, so much so that she, in a fit of hysterical emotion, named him after that boust of panic. Of course, people tried to kill the prince basically from the moment he was born, and he was met with barely concealed resentment.

Soon after, Weira and her husband died - whether they were killed, or fell ill, or died in an accident, I have no idea, but I wouldn't completely rule out an assassination either aimed at Phobos and accidentally hitting them or the strain making at least one of them fall terminally ill.

Either the people rioted and Phobos' magic panic reaction or the leftover loyal guard was enough to fight them back, or the people succumbed to their fate at this point, slumping into the state of despair seen throughout the comics. But in the end, five year old Phobos had to be handed the throne. I assume the council still had some say at this point, but he did manage to get all pictures of him destroyed - this order was likely due to the fact that they were mostly caricatures.

So he grew up with the very volatile combination of a shitton of power and no one able to tell him if he was being stupid on one hand, and feeling unloved and unwanted on the other. He withdrew, likely also due to countless assassination attempts or things he perceived as such, and went into a negative feedback loop of being unable to mature and take responsibility, therefore being a shit ruler, therefore being hated, therefore having no one to help him, therefore being unable to face and grow from his mistakes, rinse and repeat.

So, Meridian was plunged into chaos, yet he seemed fine more or less just sitting in the new playroom he made for himself in the gardens, sporadically giving out an order or two and having generally no idea about anything that didn't directly concern him.

Enter Elyon. Now, she send him of the rails, as she was a danger to his lifestyle AND a reminder of all the sentiments he'd be drowning in alcohol if he wasn't too much of a recluse and education denier to know of that option. He doesn't even try. He just lets Cedric, the one person he trusts, handle her, like everything else, and somewhat plays along sometimes, when he feels like it. This is where he passes the point of no return and starts actually trying to kill people, culminating in him creating an army to wipe out Meridian. I still believe that even at this point, in his head, what he's doing is just throwing a nice toy out the window just so his sister won't have it.

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH17

The queen has arrived ;)

Previous     First    Next     AO3

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

Chapter 17: Kings and Queens

“Look out!” Chloe shoved Marinette out of the way of a red beam of light. Her knees buckled, and Marinette scrambled to catch her.

“What a shame. I missed.” Black boots climbed long legs, kissing the hems of a ripped dress at the top. A dark tiara crowned flowing red curls, framing the dark green eyes glaring at them from behind a black mask.

“Gabrielle?” Marinette gasped.

“I go by Heiress now, but don’t worry, Marinette, your stupidity has bought you a free pass. I just wanted to make sure my powers were working, and it looks like they do.” She nodded to the girl coming to in Marinette’s arms before strutting off.

Chloe sat up with a groan, rubbing her head. “Ugh, what was that?”

“Chloe, your-” Marinette clamped a hand over her mouth.

Her once shiny hair hung dull and stringy at her shoulders, now resembling straw more than soft silk. Perfectly manicured nails had shriveled into dirty stubs, and her Gabriel-original dress was replaced with a knock-off.

“What?” Chloe’s shoulders heaved, escalating until a shrill scream echoed through the hall.

“You saved me—I think.” Marinette winced. “It looks like Heiress’s power made you-”

“Poor!” Chloe screeched. “Oh, Ladybug better get here soon and fix this! If I see that akuma, I’ll teach her to put me in off-brands!”

“Wait, you saved me. You saved me!” Marinette realized. “Aw, you do miss me.”

“No, I don’t!” Chloe’s cheeks flushed. “I didn’t even know what was happening. I just reacted, okay?”

“Please, you don’t have a selfless bone in your body. You saved me because you miss me,” Marinette said.

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not!”  At Marinette’s smug grin, Chloe folded her arms over her chest with a huff. “Whatever. I’m going after that akuma to give her a piece of my mind. You can go get help or… go buy some shoes that aren’t awful!”

“I don’t think you’re one to talk about awful shoes right now.” Marinette pointed to the ratty sneakers on Chloe’s feet.

“Just go,” Chloe said through clenched teeth.

Marinette raced up the hall, a smile tugging the corners of her lips. She hated to admit it, but in a weird way, she did miss Chloe Bourgeois. Wow. She never thought she’d say that.

“You’re changing a lot of mean girls today.” Tikki remarked when Marinette ducked into a closet. “I think that was Chloe’s way of protecting you.”

“I’m not holding my breath. She probably had too much wine,” Marinette said. “But never mind that. Transform me!”

Ladybug sprinted back up the hall, palming her yoyo in one hand. She should have known Gabrielle would get akumatized once her secret got out, but now wasn’t the time to play blame games. There was an akuma to catch.

Rounding the corner, she collided with another person, scrambling to catch their hand before they both fell backward. “Sorry!” she gasped, but when gorgeous green eyes locked with hers, her heart took off into a sprint.

“Ladybug?” Adrien blinked in surprise. “What’s going on?”

Why did she have to find him now? Even if she defeated the akuma quickly, she needed to be there for Gabrielle. Lisette would have to help her look cute for him another time.

“There’s an akuma on the loose. You should find somewhere to hide,” she said.

“Right.” He flicked his gaze down to their hands, still twined.

Ladybug let go, cheeks burning. “Um, stay safe, okay?”

“Good luck, Ladybug,” he said before running the other way up the hall.

She watched him go with a longing sigh. What she wouldn’t give to be a normal girl right now. Then they could snuggle up and hide together, and maybe he’d finally kiss her. They could get married, buy a house, and-

She patted her cheeks to snap herself out of her trance. There was no time for that now. Akuma first, then Gabrielle, Adrien later.

Terrified shrieks signaled that Heiress had found the rest of the party. Thomas was the one who outed her, so he was likely Heiress’s first target. Ladybug needed to get to him first, even if he was one of the skeeviest people she’d ever met. It wasn’t her job to pick who needed saving. Why did she have to be such a good person?

Bursting into the dining room, she skidded to a stop as Heiress zapped Thomas before she could even draw her yoyo.

“No!”

The tall boy transformed in front of her. Perfectly combed brown hair shriveled into shaggy clumps, and a once flawless complexion broke out in angry, red zits. Stylish clothes turned to tattered rags as Thomas became a shell of his former glory. He scurried away from Heiress with a squeal, and she turned to Ladybug with a triumphant smirk.

“Too slow,” Heiress said, “but don’t worry. Now I have plenty of time for you.”

Ladybug dodged the red beam. She might have been too late to save Thomas, but there was still time to save Gabrielle. This battle was far from over. She just needed to focus.

“I know you think there isn’t a way out of your situation, but teaming up with Hawkmoth isn’t the answer!” Ladybug pleaded.

“Please, I’ve lived among these people long enough to know that they don’t appreciate what they have. I know I didn’t…” Heiress lowered her gaze, jaw clenched. “My family lost everything, but now I can take it all back!”

Ladybug flipped out of the way of several blasts, taking the time to examine her opponent closely. The barcode scanner shot red beams of light that stripped its victims of their fancy clothes, jewelry, devices—anything expensive. Gabrielle wanted everyone to feel the pain of losing everything, so she was taking all of their wealth for herself.

A metal baton struck Heiress’s hand, skewing her next shot, and a black-clad feline cast his partner a smirk. “Having a party without me? I’m insulted.”

“Your invitation must have gotten lost in the mail,” Ladybug said. “You and I both know it’s not a party without your sweet dance moves, kitty. Care to show us how it’s done?”

“It would be my pleasure, LB.” Chat Noir winked.

Heiress pointed her scanner at him. “I wonder how much that cat suit is worth.”

Chat Noir dodged her attack easily. “This cat’s style is one-of-a-kind. All the money in the world can’t buy this swagger.”

“We’ll see about that,” Heiress growled.

The heroes took turns charging in, dodging and weaving around beams from her scanner. Ladybug hooked her yoyo around Heiress’s legs, swinging her around into the China hutch. Realizing she was outmatched, Heiress retreated to the living room where more party guests were hiding, but Ladybug and Chat Noir were hot on her trail.

“Run!” Ladybug ordered, and terrified teens scattered.

Heiress ducked out of the way of Chat’s baton, scanning anyone who passed her between blows. Lisette’s older brother raced from behind the couch, and Heiress wasted no time scanning him before he reached the door. She caught Chat Noir’s staff on the next swing, a grin curling on her lips.

“Looks like someone’s watch was worth a lot. I wonder how much this costs?” She scanned Chat Noir’s baton, leaving him with a plastic copy.

“Hey!” Chat Noir gasped.

Ladybug snagged her yoyo around Heiress’s wrist before she could scan him, but Heiress kicked him through the large window with one long leg instead. Before Ladybug could react, Heiress gripped the string of the yoyo and spun her out after him.

Chat Noir braced as she landed on top of him in the bush, her yoyo bouncing onto the grass beside them. They rolled over with groans, untangling their limbs, and Ladybug grasped for her yoyo.  

“Everything she scans makes her stronger depending on its worth. We need to think of a plan,” she said.

“I’m all ears, Bug.” Ladybug eyed him. “What?”

“You haven’t called me m’lady or Bugaboo all evening. I think it’s a new record for you.” She flicked his bell with a smirk.

“Well, I- you hate it when I call you that,” he said pointedly, cheeks flushed.

“That’s never stopped you before. Has another lady finally stolen your heart?” she giggled.

“I-”

“Ladybug!” Chloe shouted. “What are you two doing out here? The akuma is turning more people into dried up peasants. Have you seen what she did to my hair? Bring me my Miraculous, so I can beat some sense into her!”

“Chloe, this isn’t the time for revenge.” Ladybug sighed.

“I’m not out for revenge,” Chloe said matter-of-factly. “The faster we defeat the akuma, the faster I go back to looking fabulous. So bring me my Miraculous, and let me help you, please?” Chloe pressed her palms together, and Ladybug pursed her lips.

Chloe was right. They needed to defeat the akuma quickly and save Gabrielle, but did she really want to give Chloe her Miraculous back? With her identity blown, Chloe was in even more danger every time she became Queen Bee. Not to mention trusting Chloe in general was risky, but after she sacrificed herself for Marinette earlier…

Something was different about Chloe. Sure was still the same bratty, primadonna, but her blue eyes were steadfast and sincere. Ladybug once believed that giving Chloe a Miraculous would help her be better, and part of her still believed that.

There was only one way to settle this.

“Lucky Charm!” Ladybug caught the record as it manifested and turned it over in her hands.

“Now isn’t the time to practice your DJing.” Chloe scoffed.

Ladybug glanced between Chat Noir, Chloe, the plants surrounding them, but nothing stood out. A record. What was she supposed to do with a record? Unless…

“I have to go. Chat Noir, keep an eye on Heiress until I get back, but be careful. I don’t want you getting scanned. We don’t know what will happen to our powers if she scans one of us,” Ladybug said.

“Got it.”

“Are you going to bring me my Miraculous?” Chloe perked up.

“Do you promise not to do anything reckless while I’m gone?” Ladybug asked.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes! I promise, Ladybug.” Chloe bounced excitedly, then cocking a hip added, “But hurry up! These shoes make me physically ill.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes and dashed up the lawn, leaping through the very same garden she and Adrien had walked through an hour before. The mansion was far from Master Fu’s apartment, but her yoyo made short work of the trip. Her mentor was enjoying his bedtime tea when she entered, sitting cross-legged on the mat with Wayzz on his shoulder.

“Master, there’s an akuma, and I think my lucky charm wanted me to come here.” Marinette flicked her gaze to the phonograph resting on the chest in the back.

“Then there is no time to waste,” Master Fu said. He set his tea aside and retrieved the Miracle Box from its hiding place. “Who do you have in mind?”

Marinette surveyed her options with pursed lips, then resigned herself and reached for the bee. Chloe was different tonight, and if they were going to stop Heiress, they needed an ally they could count on. Never in her life did she picture that to be Chloe, but given the present circumstances, she didn’t have any other options.

“Are you sure, Marinette? Choosing her is risky.” Master Fu cautioned.

“It’s a long story, but…” Marinette smiled. “I’m sure.”

“Then best of luck.”

When Marinette changed schools, she intended to leave everyone behind and start over, but the most unlikely people had found their way back to her. Adrien took her by the hand and refused to let go. Chloe begrudgingly kept one foot in the door, constantly threatening to close it for good, but something told Marinette she never would.

To Ladybug’s surprise, Chloe actually listened to her instructions to stay out of trouble. When Ladybug found her, she was dutifully ushering other raggedly dressed teens out to the garden. She really could behave when she wanted to.

Chloe spotted her on the balcony, and when Ladybug waved the small box, Chloe raced up the stairs faster than she’d ever run in gym class. She held out her hands expectantly, but Ladybug held up a finger.

“I’m trusting you this time, Chloe, but you don’t need a Miraculous to be a hero, ya know. You can be nicer to those around you all the time,” Ladybug said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chloe groaned. “Can I have my Miraculous now?”

“Do you promise to be nicer to people?”

Chloe’s cheeks flushed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Alright, fine.”

Ladybug tossed her the box, and Chloe ripped it open, completely unfazed as Pollen materialized. She fastened the comb into her hair and smiled. “Pollen, transform me!”

Ladybug didn’t wait for Queen Bee’s transformation to finish before they hit the ground running. Chat Noir had been holding Heiress back on his own, and it was time to bring him some backup.

The two heroines kicked in the front door, leaping straight into action. Ladybug shielded Chat Noir with her yoyo while Queen Bee snagged Heiress’s leg with her spinner and tossed her through the door to the living room.

“You sure kept me waiting,” Chat Noir said.

“It was kind of a long trip, but I thought we could use some help,” Ladybug said as Queen Bee fluffed her ponytail.

“Let’s show this wannabe who the real queen is.” Queen Bee readied her spinner.

“So, what’s the plan?” Chat Noir asked.

“If Queen Bee can sting Heiress with her Venom, then you can Cataclysm her scanner. Avoid getting hit at all costs. There’s no telling how powerful a Miraculous will make her,” Ladybug said.

Heiress was kicking debris from the cabinet she’d crashed into when the heroes found her. They didn’t waste time as she righted herself, taking turns charging in. With a growl of frustration, Heiress flipped back into the foyer, scanning the crystal chandelier in the process. Ladybug’s yoyo wasn’t far behind, snagging her wrist again. Queen Bee bound her legs with her spinning top, but Heiress absorbed enough power from the chandelier to break the stone fountain beside her. Tossing a large chunk at Queen Bee, Heiress freed her legs, using her free arm to sling Ladybug into the staircase. Chat Noir grappled with Heiress while his partners recovered, but Heiress parried his blows easily before taking his wrist and tossing him across the foyer.

Ladybug sat up with a wince, rubbing her back where it had collided with the smooth marble. Her yoyo had bounced to the base of the stairs, too far for her to reach as Heiress closed in. She braced as Heiress raised her scanner, but a flash of yellow shot across the foyer.

“No!” Queen Bee leaped between Ladybug and the red beam.

Vibrant yellows dulled, long golden curls shriveling to dried husks. The bee comb in her hair lost its shine, transforming into a powerless, plastic barrette. Queen Bee collapsed at Ladybug’s feet.

“A noble sacrifice, but even your Miraculous has given me enough power to end this fight quickly,” Heiress said.

“Cataclysm!”

Heiress turned as Chat Noir slid past her, dragging his claws across the tile. The ground crumbled and gave out under his touch, plunging Heiress into the wine cellar below. He raced over to Ladybug, kneeling beside Queen Bee as she sat up.

“She really saved your skin, LB,” he said.

“She saved all of us,” Ladybug corrected. “That was really selfless of you, Queen Bee. Thank you.”

“If she hit you, then things would never go back to normal.” Queen Bee took Ladybug’s hand, pressing the yoyo to her palm. “You’re the only one who can fix all of this, so don’t you dare let me getting hit by that freak twice be for nothing.”

Ladybug nodded, gripping her yoyo tightly before issuing the call, “Lucky Charm!” She caught the small black card as it materialized, turning it over in her hands. “A credit card?”

“Well, she’s certainly got enough money to take you shopping,” Chat Noir remarked.

Ladybug pursed her lips, flicking her gaze around the room. With Chat Noir’s belt, her yoyo, the credit card, and Queen Bee…

“I know what to do. Chat Noir, I need you to lure her into the dining room and be ready to use your belt,” she instructed. “Queen Bee, come with me.”

“But I don’t have any powers.”

Ladybug offered her a smile and pulled her to her feet. “Remember what I told you. You don’t need superpowers to be a hero. Trust me.”

Queen Bee searched her expression, then smiled, and the two heroines retreated up the hall.

“So, what’s the plan?” Queen Bee asked as they entered the dining room.

“How fast can you swipe a credit card?” Ladybug turned to her, and Queen Bee cocked a hip.

“Please, I can swipe one faster than my daddy can realize how much money I’m spending,” she said. “Why?”

“Chat Noir and I are going to subdue Heiress, but we need you to swipe this across her scanner. It’s maxed out, so it’s basically worthless. With any luck, it will short-circuit her powers long enough to get the scanner away from her,” Ladybug explained. She placed the card in Queen Bee’s hands. “I’m counting on you.”

Queen Bee squared her shoulders with a nod. “Okay, Ladybug!”

Footsteps pounded in the hallway, growing closer, and Ladybug signaled Queen Bee to her position. When Chat Noir burst through the door, he removed his belt as Ladybug readied her yoyo. Heiress was hot on his trail, and the two heroes engaged her the moment she stepped through the door.

“Chat Noir!” Ladybug called.

He slid across the floor on his knees, looping his belt around Heiress’s legs and pulling tight. Ladybug lassoed her torso with her yoyo, immobilizing her limbs. Queen Bee slid in, swiping the credit card across the scanner with practiced precision.

Heiress shook them off, but when she raised her arm to scan Chat Noir, no red beams flashed.

“What?” She banged it against her palm.

“Oops, looks like I’ve hit my limit,” Queen Bee said.

Chat Noir kicked the scanner from her grasp, and Ladybug snagged it from the air with her yoyo, slamming it against the ground. The casing shattered, and the black butterfly fluttered free.

“No more evil-doing for you, little akuma. Time to deevilize!” she recited. Queen Bee handed her the credit card, and Ladybug tossed it into the air. “Miraculous Ladybug!”

Her magic spread around the mansion, repairing broken cabinets and missing objects, and most importantly, everyone’s fancy clothes. Chat Noir kissed his baton as it reappeared in his hands. Queen Bee twirled in delight as her Miraculous regained its power.

Gabrielle stood up, averting her gaze. Ladybug approached her, but before she could get close, Gabrielle stalked from the room. A speech from Ladybug wasn’t what she needed—Gabrielle needed a friend.

“It feels so good to be fabulous again,” Queen Bee said with a contented sigh.

“Thanks for your help. You can be really selfless when you want to be,” Ladybug said. “Imagine how much of a difference you could make if you were nice all the time.”

Queen Bee’s cheeks flushed. “Okay, okay, whatever!” She flipped her ponytail over one shoulder. “I’ll think about it.”

Chat Noir joined in, and the three touched their fists together.

“Pound it!”

“Well, I hope this is a lesson to Hawkmoth. If an akuma ever ruins my hair again, he’ll have Queen Bee to deal with.” Chloe removed the comb from her hair and handed it back to Ladybug. She headed for the door with her head high but paused with her hand on the frame. “Thanks, Ladybug. For trusting me.”

Ladybug smiled as she sauntered off, turning to Chat Noir. “Thanks for your help, kitty.”

“We’re partners, aren’t we? I can’t let you have all the fun,” he said, shifting when Ladybug pursed her lips at him. “What?”

“Are you okay? You’re quiet today. Usually, you talk my ear off,” she said.

He eyed her with a pensive frown and shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’ll see you next time.”

He raced off without kissing her hand or even a parting flirtatious remark on how beautiful her hair looked in the light. Something was off about him, but she couldn’t place her finger on what. This wasn’t one of his usual pouts when she refused to go on a date with him, and it had been a while since he’d even asked for one. Was he finally moving on from her?

Ladybug shook her head to clear it. There was no time to worry about him. She needed to find Gabrielle.

♪♫♪ Old Scars/Future Hearts ♪♫♪

 “Gabrielle!” Marinette skipped down the stairs.

The red-head slumping for the front doors turned over her shoulder with a scowl, but her face softened when she saw Marinette—slightly. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Thomas told everyone about your family, then you got akumatized,” Marinette said.

“Ugh, you’re such a goody-two-shoes.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t be seen with me. If they catch you being nice, they’ll throw you under the bus just as quickly as they did me. Trust me, it’s better if you just ignore me from now on.”

“But what about you?” Marinette asked.

“What about me?” Gabrielle grunted. “I’m done. Now that everyone knows my family’s out of money, I’m the school laughingstock. As far as they’re concerned, I deserve it. Don’t waste your time on me. It’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

Marinette remained quiet, eyebrows knitting together before she finally muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? It’s not like you spent all of our money,” Gabrielle said.

“Yeah, but I know it must be hard for you.”

“Why do you care?” Gabrielle asked. “It’s not like I’ve been nice to you. I dragged you here against your will, then wouldn’t even let you socialize with me. You shouldn’t care about me.”

“Well, you don’t know me very well,” Marinette said, “but you could. We could be friends if you wanted.”

Gabrielle opened her mouth as if to say something, then shook her head, red curls bouncing against her shoulders. “No. I don’t think we could be. Even if I wanted to be your friend, it’s social suicide for you.”

When Marinette frowned, Gabrielle rolled her eyes and added, “Look, forget about me, okay? Forget any of this ever happened. We’re not friends, and we never will be. Just leave me alone!”

Marinette watched her climb into her town car, a sinking feeling weighing her stomach. Gabrielle was right. She shouldn’t care. But she did. Maybe she was just a goody-two-shoes, but Marinette had seen a more vulnerable side of Gabrielle—one that she likely didn’t show many people. After everything, Marinette truly believed that Gabrielle Burton wasn’t a bad person. She just needed someone to show her how to be good.

“Marinette?” She turned to find Adrien approaching from the living room.

“Hey,” she said lamely. Because what did one say to the love of their life after an almost-kiss in the garden?  

“I saw you talking to that girl, and I didn’t want to interrupt,” Adrien said. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but isn’t that the girl who was picking on your friend the other day?”

“Yeah,” Marinette said, and when Adrien tilted his head to the side, she added, “it’s kind of complicated.”

“Right,” he said. “So, I guess you need a ride home then?”

“What?”

“Earlier you said that girl brought you here, and now she left, so we can take you home if you want.” Adrien offered. Was it possible for him to be any more dreamy?

“Oh… I guess, I do need a ride. Thank you,” she said. And maybe they could pick up where they left off in the garden. Did she dare even think about it? But what if he tried to kiss her again? Oh, the stories they could tell their kids one day.

“Hey!” Chloe called from the base of the stairs.

Oh, right. Chloe.

“Didn’t I separate you two earlier?” she growled.

“Marinette needs a ride home,” Adrien said, and Chloe cocked a hip.

“She’s got legs.”

“Chloe.” Adrien scolded. “She’s riding with us.”

“No.” Chloe whined, but after a stern look from Adrien, she sighed. “Fine, but we’re dropping her off first. I don’t want to be stuck in a car with her for any longer than I have to be.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” Marinette said.

“I’m only doing this because Ladybug told me to be nicer to people, so I can still be Queen Bee. Don’t think for a second it’s because I like you.” Chloe retorted.

“Don’t worry. I’d never imagine that you like me.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “I haven’t missed you.”

“Well, I haven’t missed you either!”

“Maybe you two just shouldn’t talk on the ride home.” Adrien suggested gently.

“Fine, I don’t want to talk to Dupain-Cheng anyway.” Chloe flipped her ponytail over one shoulder. “You and I can have glowing conversation, Adrikins.”

“Why do you get to talk to Adrien?”

“Because I’ve known him the longest, so ha!” Chloe stuck her tongue out.

Adrien sighed and fell into step alongside Marinette. “Sorry, I know it’s not ideal, but it beats walking.”

“It’s fine. I don’t get to argue with her much anymore, so this is filling up my quota.” Marinette shrugged.

As Adrien reached to open the door for her, another voice called out from the front door. “Leaving already?”

Marinette’s spine stiffened, and she spun around to see Thomas pacing down the front steps like a predator stalking his prey; however, he wasn’t approaching her.

“I saw you fighting that akuma with Ladybug earlier. Being a superhero is pretty cool, huh?” He looked Chloe up and down. “You’re the mayor’s daughter, right?”

Chloe eyed him with disinterest, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “Didn’t Dupain-Cheng turn you down earlier?”

“Well, she and I didn’t exactly hit it off-” Chloe held up a hand to silence him.

“Save it,” she said. “I’m not anyone’s second-choice, and I’m sure as heck not taking home Dupain-Cheng’s scraps. Buzz off, loser.”

Marinette hated to admit it, but she was actually proud of Chloe. Thomas was sleazy, arrogant, and greedy—just her type. Maybe Chloe really had changed.

“Absolutely not. Move over.” Chloe wedged her way between Adrien and Marinette on the seat.

And maybe she hadn’t.

[teenytinystorage]

One Strawberry Shortcake

Summary: A prinxiety bakery AU inspired by a Bakery AU prompt!

Word count: 3,801

Warnings: Multiple detailed food descriptions, one “dying from adorableness” mention

Genre: Fluff, romance, and tons of flirty banter

Pairings: Prinxiety

Enjoy! :)

-

Imagine the smell of fresh pastries. All of the pastries you can imagine.

Chocolate cakes, raspberry cupcakes, chocolate chip cookies, strawberry eclairs, confectioners sugar, vanilla cakes fresh from the oven.

Imagine the taste of the sweetest, most fruity desserts you can imagine, still warm from the oven, that melt in your mouth.

Or, imagine the feeling of frosting splattered all over your hands. Licking it off to taste the tantalizing flavors of blueberry and strawberry folded together into one fluffy confection. Or even flour caked all over your clothes. Messy indeed, but delightful in an unexplainably nostalgic way. Or the sound of oven dings. Or delectable treats trapped in glass display cases surrounding you in all directions like a tasty little army.

Now imagine all of these sensations every day from 8 to 4 for five days a week. Amazing, right?

Roman Dante would certainly agree.

He worked as a humble cake decorator, sometimes as a server when he was the last resort, at Sanders Bake Shop, a small local bakery with a few locations scattered around Gainesville, Florida.

It had everything you think it would: baby blue striped wallpaper, tiled floor, a delightfully large selection of treats, a modest kitchen, and smiles and kind greetings from the workers upon every customer that entered into the door.

And Roman’s location was managed by a tall, strict fellow by the name of Logan Mortensen. He was the no-nonsense, follow-the-recipe-like-your-life-depends-on-it type. Aka, not a paragon of fun, or anything really that a bakery would call for.

But, he kept the finances in check and he would scarcely run the kitchen, both of which Roman was thankful for. And Logan did admire Roman’s ability to cull the most immaculate designs for desserts from his ever-working mind, which Roman was humbly flattered by. So, overall, certainly not the worst manager he could have.

And all of his other coworkers? They were all just as sweet as the desserts they served. Especially the modest lead baker, Patton Stockton. Gosh, just talking to him gave Roman a brain cavity. A lovely lad with a heart of the purest gold. He was on a three-day vacation right now, but Roman was still overjoyed at the prospect of being able to talk to him again soon.

The oven dinged. Roman slipped two maroon oven mitts onto his hands, and he lifted open the oven door, his face being hit with the fresh scent of chocolate cake and the oven’s radiating warmth. He lifted up the cake pan and set it onto a patch of floral-decorated cloth, surrounded by many other cloth patches across a wide marble counter in the middle of the kitchen.

Roman pranced over to the pastry fridge, his steps following the invigoratingly poppy rhythm of “Don’t Stop Me Now” from Queen that flowed through his left earbud, while his right earbud waited patiently in his red apron pocket.

(The song was on his “Decoration Dancing” playlist, aka a playlist just for decorating cakes and also to jam out to on slow work days. Logan didn’t really approve of listening to music while baking, but it kept Roman productive, albeit in a very extraneous way, but productive nonetheless, so he let Roman listen to music.)

Roman opened the long glass fridge door before he quickly strode back to the cake, raised it up in his arms gently like a newborn, and after sliding back to the pastry fridge, placed it inside and shut the door behind it.

He adored his job and everything about it. He treasured every day that he stepped in the front glass doors and heard the tiny metallic pink bell above him welcome him with an adorable little ding.

But what he most admired were all the patrons of the bakeshop. The shop wasn’t swamped with people very often, so it was facile for Roman to listen to and observe all the different customers from his workspace.

There were the usual groups of small families or pairs looking for a few cookies or cupcakes to snack on, the occasional frazzled man or woman before a wedding frantically trying to pick out an extravagant cake, and, of course, tons of birthday party planners.

A parent or two would come inside with tiny, adorable children and pick out whichever design the child wanted, more than likely a Disney character or a superhero or a Barbie doll dress cake, and Roman’s heart would melt every time he saw their admiring smiles of Roman’s work.

Roman mostly stayed in the back with Patton, though, seeing as the other employees would go serve, and also because he wasn’t too good at keeping track of orders, nor was he very interested in serving anyway.

However, he still enjoyed leaning past the kitchen doorway opening with Patton and seeing all the adorable children pressing their faces against the glass in awe. Both of them cherished the patrons and watched to see what treats they’d have to whip up together.

But, enough with all of that. Roman could go on and on forever about how much he adored his job.

And besides, the bell above the door rang, signaling Roman to turn his head towards Logan, who was on the other side of the counter reading a recipe book and mixing a bowl of cupcake dough together. (Logan had to take the role of baker today, seeing as Patton eventually succumbed to Logan’s rantings about Patton needing to take a break once and awhile from constant working. Roman felt bad for anyone who had to have the drab delicacies baked up by the subpar chef.)

“Hey, Lo,” Roman whispered.

Logan looked up from the recipe, adjusting his charcoal glasses.

Roman quickly tilted his head towards the door. “I gotta answer that?”

Logan nodded. “All the servers are on break.”

“Curses,” Roman grumbled under his breath.

He pressed pause on his bop and stuffed his earbuds into his apron pocket. He took in a deep breath and put on his best Hi-how-can-I-help-you smile as he headed toward the front counter.

And even before getting past the doorway, a wave of ineffable tension struck him over the head like a falling cake tray. The tension cake was frosted with stress and topped off with eloquent piped roses of intimidation.

This dreary dude looked nothing like any of the patrons Roman’s ever observed before. Heck, he’d be more fitting on a metal album cover than at a pastel-hued bakery like this.

The patron was pretty well-sculpted physically, as if constructed out of the finest of fondants. He wore a slim, satiny leather jacket fit with zippers along the sleeve cuffs. He had a distressed purple shirt under the jacket and two chain necklaces strung along his neck, one with a blank black-rimmed dog-tag.

Ripped black jeans and knee-length spiked combat boots with skulls on them both covered his lower half. Black eyeliner and opaque black eyeshadow made the gothic guest’s green eyes even more striking. Dark circular earrings clung onto his ears. A messy tuft of black hair flowed down to his jawline.

Now, all of that raised the intimidation factor up to the extreme (and the gayness factor too, in Roman’s case. What? This grim guy looked fine). All this humdrum human needed now was a shiny black motorbike, and you’d never want to encounter him on a bad day.

But, all the fear factor of this guy with gruesome guise had a few caveats.

The somber shopper was barely 5’1”, and both his hunched-over posture and his leaning against the wall in the far left corner of the store didn’t make him look any taller.

Also, the menacing man appeared uneasy, glancing around the store constantly as if he thought a cake would leap out and attack him. So, the desolate dude’s anxiety himself settled Roman’s nerves a little bit.

But that didn’t stop his heart from pounding in his chest.

He shook his head and headed out the kitchen door, trying to gather all the courage inside him to go greet the customer. He stood behind the display counter and collected his words.

“Hello, welcome to Sanders Bake Shop!” Roman trilled clearly, despite his quick breaths.

The paranoid patron peered up at Roman, his eyes widening in a snap. He seemed more terrified of Roman than Roman was of him (which, c’mon. Roman was only a few inches taller than him, certainly not as physically fit as him, Roman’s name on his nametag was written in scribbly calligraphy with a star next to it, and Ro wore a bright white sweater under his bright red apron for Pete’s sake. He had nothing to be afraid of with Roman.) Nevertheless, the bleak boy appeared petrified. He frantically set his leaning leg down onto the ground and shamefully waved his hand.

“H… Hi,” the customer responded with a low, gravelly voice. It sounded like the crunching of tires over a rough patch in the road. It made Roman’s heart rate rise quicker.

“How-- how may I help you today?” Roman stumbled over his greeting, which he hoped with all his heart that Logan didn’t hear.

“Uh, yeah,” the cast-down customer shuffled over to the display, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. “Still lookin’, thanks.”

Despite that answer, the morbid man still appeared to be stalking for something specific in the glass display. But Roman was just happy he could get a break, even if only for a minute.

“Alright, take your time,” Roman lopsidedly smiled, twirling his hidden earbud wire around his fingers.

A moment coated with apprehension like chocolate mousse over a fresh cake passed, where the spooked searcher uneasily peered through the display case, scanning through it with his finger, and where Roman tried his best to keep the overly cheery smile on his face. The creepy client’s curious expression made him look… strangely adorable.

“Do..” the ill-at-ease individual peered up at Roman innocently through his eyelashes and bushy hair, only raising Roman’s gay panic more, “do you guys have off-menu items here?”

“Huh? Oh,” Roman leapt out of his trance of admiring the fretting fellow. “Well, we have some more treats that aren’t in the display case, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Hm. Why’s that?” The worried wight asked, seemingly to get the conversation off-track on purpose.

Roman shrugged. “That stuff doesn’t sell well normally. People don’t buy it, we don’t display it.”

“Huh,” the stressed soul mused.

“Is there anything, in particular, you were looking for?” Roman tilted his head.

“Uhm..” the perturbed patron looked down. “do you have..” his voice trailed off.

“What was that?”

“strawb..”

Roman leaned over toward him. “Still can’t hear you.”

“S-Strawberry shortcake?” The dude asked, his voice dripping with shame.

And, just like that, all the tension in the room left. This figure of fear and intimidation. Ordering. A strawberry shortcake. The, unarguably, cutest dessert. That the bakery. Could possibly. Offer. A dessert more fit for a small child than for this foreboding fella.

It was precious.

“Strawberry shortcake?” Roman responded, making sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Making sure he wasn’t imagining the charming client being even more adorable. His face sparked with a smile, and he tried his best to keep himself from squealing like the toddlers that saw Roman’s cake creations.

The lovable lad nodded, holding the back of his neck with his hand.

“Yeah, we’ve got that,” Roman responded, still trying to keep himself from awwing loud enough to shake the earth.

And at that response, the fetching fella’s face irradiated with the most effervescent excitement Roman had ever seen. He nodded his head rapidly, a smile coating his pointed lips like a layer of buttercream frosting between two deliciously stacked red velvet cakes.

Roman, trying to stop himself from dying of adorableness right then and there, turned his head toward the doorway of the kitchen. “One strawberry shortcake!” he shouted at Logan, who peered up from his recipe book and gave a quick nod of his head and raised up two fingers.

(The amount of non-verbal communication Logan and Roman had together was incredible. These two could have a whole two hours of conversation without once moving their mouths. Who am I kidding, they probably already have.)

“Alright. We’ve got two in the back.”

The patron’s smile grew massively before he disgracefully let it fade from his lips. He sprawled a scowl back on the sharp lineaments of his cheeks and lowered his head toward the ground. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as his pupils glanced up at Roman through his eyelashes. “Uh, yeah.” He shrugged. “I’ll take one, I guess.”

“Okay shortcake~” Roman playfully teased.

“Ugh.” the dear covered his face with his hands, cowering away from the flirty remark. This dude really is adorable, Roman silently squealed.

“Bring one out!” Roman yelled to Logan.

Logan peered through the doorway and rolled his eyes, headed toward the back freezer.

“So..” Roman leaned on the chilly marble countertop.

“So,” the slender specter raised an eyebrow, his head raising back up.

“Got any plans later this week?” Roman asked, his heart thumping against his ribs, just barely letting his lungs get enough air to attempt to court this devilishly handsome dude.

“Not really,” he shrugged. “Why’d you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” Roman smirked.

The lovely lad narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. “Oookay.” His eyes then opened back to normal, tapping his fingers on his thighs. “Say, y’know, if I come here again,” he swayed back and forth on his heels and toes, “what’d you recommend for me to get?”

“Oh! Great question,” Roman smiled. “I’d say the mini s’mores pies myself. Not the most stunning, to be quite honest, but they certainly make up for it in chewiness and sweetness!” Roman passionately raised a finger into the air, earning a chuckle from his one and only listener. “We only sell them in pairs or more though, but I’m sure you could find someone else to share them with,” Roman winked.

“Oh my gosh,” the menacing man put his hand over his face once more. (Roman would have to rethink his flirting if the guy got this flustered every time he made a cute remark. It was fun to tease him though, Roman would admit.) “Yeah, I’m sure I could,” he considered as he lowered his hand, “maybe he’d like to share ‘em with me after his shift?” he smirked.

“Maybe he would,” Roman leaned with his elbows on the countertop, staring dreamily at the pleasing patron.

Roman then felt a sharp jab in his ribs, and he looked over to see that Logan was looming over him like an ominous spirit and had elbowed him to get his attention. “One eight-inch strawberry shortcake,” he calmly stated, holding a cardboard cake box in his other hand with the Sanders Bake Shop logo printed across the lid.

“Ah, right,” Roman stood back up, scratching the back of his neck with his hand and grabbing the box. “Uh, thank you.”

“Remember, flirting comes after work,” Logan flatly reminded Roman, leading to Roman audibly fake-cough to cover up his flustered expression with his hand. The customer chuckled.

Logan wandered back into the kitchen, arms crossed.

“So, uh, your total’s gonna be thirty-two ninety-five,” Roman displayed the total on the register. “Cash or credit?”

“Credit. I’ll save my cash for something else,” the patron gave Roman an equivocal smile.

“Alright, just swipe on the side,” Roman added. “And hey, what’s this ‘something else’ you’re talking about? I thought you said you were free this week.” Roman arched his back upward, sassily holding his hands on his hips.

“Oh, it just kinda came up now,” he furrowed his brows, “Might be going somewhere with a dude I don’t really know. And wow,” he emphasized the interjection immensely, “I think his name’s Roman too.”

“Man, what I’d give to be this guy.”

The charming client chuckled, swiping his card. “Yep.”

“Just sign here and you’ll be good to go, shortstack.”

“Hey, glass houses, you’re not that tall either,” the pretty patron noted as he grabbed the attached pen and signed his name on the screen.

Roman gasped noisily, holding a hand over his heart.

The sweetie, who Roman now saw his signature on the computer and decoded from the sharp lettering that his name was Virgil Heath, blew a quick chuckle out his nose.

“Hey wait, you’re Virgil?” Roman glanced up from the screen, his expression becoming curious.

“Yep. Always have been.”

“My last name’s Dante, like that Dante guy from The Inferno,” Roman looked at Virgil and smiled longingly.

“Hm. And Virgil was a Roman poet too. Cool,” Virgil shrugged.

“Fate must’ve brought us together,” Roman cooed.

“Gosh, you really are like a Disney prince,” he shook his head. “All ya need is a flock of woodland creatures to brush your hair for you every morning.”

“Bold of you to assume that I don’t already have birds sing me awake and deer prepare a bubble bath for me every morning at sunrise,” Roman teased.

The sweetheart burst out with laughter, making Roman’s heart flutter. “Well, then. Nice to meet ya, mister Dante.”

“Pleasure to meet you too, mister Heath,” Roman nodded with a grin spread across his lips, sliding the cardboard cake box over to Virgil and tearing a receipt from the printer.

“Just Virge is fine, I’m not that professional,” Virgil mentioned.

“Then honey-buns is just fine for me,” Roman playfully winked and let the tip of his tongue slide out of his mouth, causing Virgil to shield his eyes once more.

Roman quickly uncapped a marker and scribbled a message onto the receipt. “Okay, you are good to… go,” Roman smiled, placing the receipt face-up onto the box.

Virgil uncovered his eyes. “Alrighty,” he grabbed onto the box, lifted it from the table, and started to tread out toward the door.

“Bye-bye dear Virgil!” Roman cheerfully cried out.

“Seeya,” Virgil turned his head. “And Ro?”

Roman kept his eyes glued onto him.

“Thanks for the cake,” he smiled.

“You’re welcome,” Roman nodded, sweetly smiling at Virgil.

Virgil switched the box to one hand, the receipt still balanced on the top of the box, and opened the door. The bell dinged once more, and once Virgil left, it chimed its own sweet farewell.

Roman watched Virgil intently with his heart racing as Virgil headed back toward his car, the receipt still on the box, thankfully not flying or blowing off.

Once the dude got away from the windows, Roman let out a massive sigh and leaned against the wall. That was a lot.

But as Roman’s heart sank below the crashing tides of adoration, he hoped Virgil would see what he wrote on the receipt before tossing it.. and that Virge would hopefully have some way to respond to it.

-

A few minutes later, Roman was in the kitchen, piping extravagant curls and swirls onto a cake while the contagiously catchy “Hello” by The Cat Empire rippled through his earbuds, when the bakery’s bright red mounted phone rang through the room.

“Logan? Can you get that please?” Roman tilted his head toward the supply closet, where Logan strolled through the door and toward the phone.

“It’s ‘could I get that,’ and yes, I shall.”

Roman let out an irritated exhale. Who was Logan if he wasn’t always annoyingly correcting your grammar like an English teacher?

“Besides, I wouldn’t want you to get frosting all over the phone,” Logan declared. He strolled to the phone and lifted it from its holder and up to his ear. “Sanders Bake Shop. I’m Logan, how may I help you?”

Roman watched Logan’s face become mildly surprised upon hearing the caller. “Oh, you want to talk to Roman? Sure. I’ll put him on.”

Logan looked at Roman and tilted his head toward the phone.

Roman picked up a towel and wiped off his frosting-covered hands while he wandered over. He threw the towel onto the counter as he answered the phone and paused his music. “Hello?”

“Oh, hey, you answered,” a familiar gravelly voice responded. It was Virgil. (Huh.. using the bakery’s phone number to talk to Roman.. smart.)

Roman’s lips curled into a smirk as his fingers started twirling the phone wire. “My my my, why, isn't this the Virgil who I just met today?”

“Sure is. And I saw your note.”

Roman’s heart fluttered in his chest. He had signed the back of the receipt with a calligraphy message:

Meet me @ Prince park 4:30 this Friday? <3

Yes, he did just ask this random dude on a date, and yes, that does make him even more of a Disney prince.

“It sounds great. Frozen yogurt after?”

Roman nodded excitedly, his face igniting with a smile not unlike that of an excited child’s, which received a perplexed observing Logan in response. “Yes! Yes, perfect.”

“Nice. I’m sure it’ll be a real slice.” Roman could hear Virgil smirking over the phone.

Roman smiled at the Hercules reference. “Absolutely! I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.”

Roman hung the phone back onto the wall.

“Let me guess. Virgil?”

“How do you know his name?” Roman pursed his lips.

“You’re not exactly quiet when you’re head-over-heels obsessed with someone,” Logan noted.

“Uh, rude! This is not an,” Roman mocked with air-quotes, “‘obsession,’ this is the start of a lifelong romance!” Roman offendedly corrected him.

“Sure it is,” Logan monotonically responded as he averted his gaze up to the ceiling. He then looked back at Roman. “Anyway, I thought I’d inform you that your shift’s over now.”

“Wait, really?” Roman glanced at the clock, seeing that it was indeed 4 PM, the end of his shift. “Oh! It is!”

“Yes,” Logan adjusted his glasses. “Glad you got that door then, huh?”

“I sure am.” Roman chuckled. “Huh.. Logan, the sealer of fate, and the ultimate wingman.”

Logan raised his eyebrows. “Apparently.”

“Well, I guess I’ll get going now,” Roman untied his apron and pulled it off his neck, strolling over to the apron hangers. He pulled his phone and car keys out of his apron pocket and hung his apron on the rack. He stuffed his phone into his denim jeans pocket.

“Goodbye Logan!”

“Farewell,” Logan waved.

“Thanks for getting me a date,” Roman smiled.

“Don’t mention it,” Logan lowered his hand. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yep!” Roman called out, parading backwards out of the kitchen doorway and turning around to cheerfully promenade out of the store, turning on “Livin’ On A Prayer” from his drive home playlist and letting the contagiously poppy beats fill his ears.

Wow. He just got a date from a day at work, and yet he’s still just listening to his tunes and making his usual commute home.

Yep, that’s Roman Dante for you.

-

[supermoonthing]

Blue

Full-moon nights are always tough, especially the winter ones. When the moon shines over the landscape, the snow reflects its light in millions of millions of little particles, and sends the beams to all directions, on buildings and trees and cars. But it always feels like they all at once find their way to my window. The twinkles flicker on my wall like stars in the night sky, the light holding my tired eyes open. I hold my teddy close to comfort me.

And that’s why I hate them. I hate the real stars, too, and the moon, because it’s their fault, that I can’t sleep. I turn over, again and again but no position could possibly help me escape the shaky shimmers behind my eyelids. I press them together, so hard that my face is all wrinkled. My face muscles tingle from the strain, even the last ones at the back of my head work to let nothing but darkness through. I roll my eyes up as far as I can so no light can get to them.

My ears fill with soft tinkle. The sound takes me by surprise. It is silent, quite distant, but seems to be coming from more than one place. It’s almost as if it was permeating everything around me. I open my eyes, sit up and look around. My bedroom is still, no sign of anything that could give out such sound. Is the moon making it? It’s sure trying to annoy me even more. My parents went to sleep long time ago, it couldn’t be them, and it looks like the source isn’t in my room either. The only disturbing thing here is the abundance of light. Although… Has it gotten even brighter? I frown in frustration. I slide off my bed and walk over to the window.

‘There you are,’ I hiss at the large glowing ball occupying the sky. ‘It’s all your fault!’ shout I.

And I wait and wait, but the moon doesn’t answer. It doesn’t even flinch under my stare. Not a bit of shame. ‘You’re a mean one,’ I say finally, ‘and you don’t deserve all the shine.’

I turn my body away to go back to bed, but then I catch another one – another moon. This one’s not as bright. I look curiously at the surface of our garden pond, then at the sky and its biggest inhabitant, and then again at his tremulous, weaker twin. ‘Hm.’ The tinkling is now almost gone. The moon has stopped making it – I scared him. ‘I didn’t know I was that threatening,’ I whisper to myself.

‘Will you help me get my star back, please?’ a high-pitched voice says behind me.

I jump with a squeak and turn quickly around. A pair of blue eyes are gawping at me, just few centimeters from mine. I slowly pull away without breaking the eye-contact. ‘Will you help me get my star back, please?’ the figure repeats. It’s a girl, I’m sure. She looks like a girl, although a peculiar one. She’s a few bits smaller than me, but no less than four feet. Her hair is long, very long. And blue, like the rest of her. She has the biggest eyes I have ever seen.

‘You have the biggest eyes I’ve ever seen,’ I blurt. She blinks and tilts her head in confusion. I freeze for a second, but then I straighten my back and look down on her. ‘Who are you? And what are you doing in my room?’

She looks around - ‘Is this your room? My star almost hit it.’ – then back at me: ‘You’re quite lucky, sir.’

I scowl on her. ‘Lucky? I can’t sleep because of all the light! And now you are here! How did you get to my room without me noticing?’

She throws up her arms. ‘I’m trying to get my star back!’

‘Your star?’

‘Yes! I dropped it, you see. I’m very clumsy with my star, although I’ve never dropped it before.’

Silence settles between us as we look at each other. Her skin is very pale, almost white. She has all human features, but I don’t think she is. She’s too blue for a human. ‘Who are you? You’re so blue. I didn’t even know there were so many blues in the world!’

She looks down on her sky-colored hands. ‘I… I am a light-bringer. I hold my star up in the sky, so it shines on you people.’

I feel my anger grow in me. ‘Well, we don’t appreciate it! It’s annoying and I want to sleep!’

‘But will you help me?’

I am impatient. ‘Get your star back?’

She nods vigorously. ‘Yes! And then I’ll leave you to sleep.’ I squint at her suspiciously. ‘I swear! I know exactly where my star is!’

My eyebrows shoot up. ‘You do? Where?’

She hops to the window and points outside. ‘There!’ she exclaims with excitement. ‘Do you see it?’ I shake my head.

‘It’s just over there, in the water!’

‘Wait… Your star is in our pond?’ I realize that the second moon I spotted on the water’s surface was no moon. I turn to her in disbelief. ‘But it’s winter! The water is freezing! How do you want to get your star out?’

She gazes at me. ‘Well… Could you help me out?’

I open my mouth. Help her out? How?! By drowning in the icy water?

Her eyes are fixed on mine. ‘Please?’

I growl. ‘Fine! But you’ll go away right after we’re done, and,’ I stick up my finger like my mom does sometimes, ‘you’ll tell the moon to stop shining so bright. He can shine a little, though. But not too much.’

She cackles and grabs my hand. ‘Let’s go then!’ She pulls me, and so we run. But she is rather bouncing, as if she weighed no more than a little bird, hopping from one branch on another.

On we dash, on the corridor in front of my room, down the stairs and across the living room to the door leading to our garden. She twists the key and almost throws the door off the hinges. We rush out, and suddenly we are standing by the pond, on the water’s edge. It is not coated by ice – the temperature is not as low as I expected but it’s still very cold. Too cold for just pajamas and slippers. In no time my entire body is shaking. Nothing but her breathing and my clapping teeth can be heard. Chilly breeze blows over the snowdrifts.

My bizarre companion kneels and investigates the water. At the very bottom, twelve feet underwater, sits a bright object. It doesn’t look too big from here. Little waves on the surface smear its glow into playful glimmers. ‘Well,’ she starts, but doesn’t finish.

‘Uhm,’ say I. I don’t know what to do. She doesn’t seem cold at all, but I am urging every bit of me to not run back inside. ‘I don’t feel like swimming right now,’ I whisper.

Her shoulders drop. ‘Are you cold?’ I look at her angrily. ‘I didn’t realize you could be cold.’ She looks guilty. I know she is sorry, so I try to smile to ease the tension. ‘It’s best if we get this over with as fast as possible,’ I decide. ‘Do you know how to do that without me freezing to death?’

Her face lights up. ‘Oh, but the water isn’t cold at all. It’s lukewarm at the least.’ She sticks her arm in the water all the way up to her elbow and grins at me. ‘Try it,’ and so I do. I let out a surprised giggle. She’s right.

I jump up and look at her. ‘Alright. I’ll get your star out for you. But before I go in the water, get me a blanket from the living room – it’s on the sofa.’ As she disappears inside, I begin to take of my clothes until I’m only left with my underwear on. She comes back to me, the blanket in her arms. ‘Good,’ I tell her. I do four or five springs to warm myself up, even though I know it won’t help, not in this weather. ‘When I get out, you grab the star and tuck me in the blanket, okay?’ She nods. ‘If I get too cold, I can fall very, very ill, understand?’ Another nod.

No use delaying this.

I turn my face to the water and breathe in. One, two, three. The snow makes a crispy sound as I take the leap.

It’s like a punch when my face and the water meet, but it doesn’t break my focus. I am a good swimmer. It takes no more than few paces for me to get to the star. I can’t tell its shape – it’s too blinding to look straight at. I plant my feet in the muddy ground and wrap my arms around it. Its rough surface is warm. I want to spring up, but it’s too heavy. I pull and pull, but the star won’t move. This is not as easy as it seemed at first. I look around. The little pond is illuminated by the star well enough, but there’s nothing apart from few plants, nothing that could help me. I need to get the star out myself. I rub it all over to find a better way to grip it, but it looks like it’s almost perfectly round with few bumps and dents.

A large bubble escapes my mouth. I grow frustrated. If I can’t lift the damned rock, she won’t leave me alone! Why doesn’t she get one of her star friends to help her anyway? Why doesn’t she ask the moon? I kick the star as hard as I can with the water slowing down my foot. The star moves a bit. I kick again, and the star moves slightly more, but something appears to be holding it in place. I feel it with my palms, every inch of it. Something sharp cuts my fingers. A thorn hooks my thumb as I brush against a sprout that clungs to the star. I forget where I am and open my mouth in thrill. Gotcha! I grope and find more sprouts. I rip them all, ignoring the pain in my hands. One after another, until –

The star shoots up, taking me with it. We jump out with a loud ‘pop’ and the force throws me off on the ground next to the pond. I breathe in and out fast and deep, like I’m trying to devour all of world’s air.

She is here, covering me with the blanket. My body is trembling, my teeth chattering. I look up at her. ‘You did it,’ she laughs. ‘You saved my star!’ I am exhausted and cold. I can hardly feel my feet. The shiny sphere is floating on the pond’s surface. I wonder how it hasn’t woken up my parents yet.

She follows my gaze. ‘I shall go back soon. My star has been missing for too long.’

I finally speak: ‘And I need to go to bed.’

She smiles. She’s pretty when she smiles. ‘That’s right.’

I stand up to say goodbye. She walks over to the pond and captures her star. Then she comes back to me, holding the star under her left arm, placing her right palm on my cheek.

I flinch in surprise, but don’t move her hand away.

‘Thank you,’ she whispers.

We’re both smiling. The cold has gone away.

‘Don’t forget to tell the moon – ‘

‘Don’t worry.’

‘Okay.’ I’m so tired.

‘I’ll be watching over you.’

I decide to say it. ‘Come visit me sometime.’ She stares off into the distance for few seconds but when she returns to me, there’s a cheeky spark in her eyes. ‘I might.’

I let out a long sigh. ‘Great.’

‘Great,’ she repeats after me.

And with a dazzling flash of light, she’s gone.

[danfanciesphil]

too high (can’t come down) by @danfanciesphil

Suspending himself 7,000 feet above the rest of the world seems likely to be a sure-fire way for Dan to escape normality, and isolate himself for the foreseeable future. The Secret of the Alps, a small hotel tucked into the side of the Swiss mountains is too niche for most avid adventurers to have heard of, making it the perfect place for Dan to work as he sorts through his problems. Unfortunately, privacy is a coveted thing, and as Dan soon finds out, the hotel harbours one guest who values it more than most.

Rating: Explicit Tags: Enemies to lovers, snow, mountains, skiing, hostility, slow burn, secrecy, longing, repression, nobility, classism, cheating, eventual sex

Ao3 Link

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Mona looks up from the desk as Dan walks through the door; he’d been hoping to avoid her, but quickly adjusts his expression into the neutral one he’s been subtly practicing on the long walk back to the hotel. Phil is a step behind him, and as they cross the threshold, Dan ensures there is a reasonable distance between them as they make their way over the lobby towards her. Phil must be aiming that disarmingly brilliant smile at her, because she’s wearing a stunned expression like she had earlier.

“You’re back,” she says, standing from her chair. “Was it all…” Her dark eyes flick between the two men. “...okay?”

“Not sure whether Dan has a future career as a navigator, but he did well enough,” Phil replies smoothly. He begins shrugging off his coat, and Mona practically leaps out from behind the desk to take it from him. “Thanks,” he says to her, which again must be a rarity, judging by her startled responding stare. “Think I’m gonna hit the gym,” Phil says, the epitome of cool and casual in contrast to Dan, who is a perpetual rattling bone-bag of nerves. He spins to face Dan, tossing him the briefest of glances. “Thanks for that, Dan,” he says; if there’s a hidden meaning in those words, only Dan could ever know it was there. “See you later.”

He turns away again, as if they’re no more than mere, forced acquaintances. Dan nods wordlessly at Phil’s disappearing back, knowing that if he tried to match Phil’s nonchalance verbally he’d likely end up blurting that they just became the newest Mile High Club members to poor, unsuspecting Mona. Phil heads for the stairs, and Dan forces himself not to watch him go. Instead, he focuses on removing his own jacket.

|Unfortunately, almost the second Phil is out of earshot, Mona pounces on him, eyes wide and curious. “Was that truly awful? I’m so sorry, Dan, when I gave you the day off I’d no idea that he’d ask you to-”

“It’s okay,” Dan assures her, “it, uh, wasn’t that bad.”

Mona’s forehead creases beneath her fringe. “But you’re still not fond of him, I take it?”

Dan clears his throat, avoiding her eye. All he can think about is the sight of Phil on his knees in the cockpit, eyes glazed, lips stretched around him.

“Oh no,” Dan croaks in the least convincing voice he’s ever heard leave his throat, “he’s still a wanker.”

Mona, mercifully, doesn’t seem to notice the false note in Dan’s voice. Her mind’s probably still on other things. It occurs to Dan that he hasn’t properly asked about her time away, and feels guilty.

“Might want to avoid slating the guests quite so loudly,” Mona replies, trit-trotting across the lobby to hang up Phil’s coat. “As it’s your day off I suppose I can let it slide. You’re a free citizen today.”

“Mona,” Dan starts, ferreting about for the right words to say, “I just wanted to say - I’m really sorry. About your grandmother.”

She stops, hands still on the coat as she hangs it on the rack. She turns to face him slowly, a sad smile trickling across her face. “Thank you, Dan.”

An awkwardness descends upon the empty lobby; Dan has never known what to say in situations like these, and if the silence stretches on much longer, he’ll likely just shove his foot right in the middle of it. Luckily, Mona is much better at this kind of thing than him. She smooths down her skirt, then heads back for the desk in a clear ‘time to move on’ action.

“Off you go, then,” she says briskly, at once the manager again. “Plenty of the day left to spend without forced quality time with your nemesis.”

Dan's responding smile is both grateful and likely reeking of admiration for her professionalism; he hopes she can see that. He nods at her, and heads for the mezzanine stairs.

*

It’s just after one o’clock, and Dan’s lurking outside the gym, trying to make a mental list of reasons not to go inside. So far he’s got: 

1. Phil might accidentally hit him again. 

2. Phil might not-accidentally hit him again. (Sure, he didn’t seem pissed off with Dan when he had his mouth around his cock, but Phil’s got the temperament of a bitch on heat - who knows if something or someone has triggered another bout of moodiness). 

3. Someone else might be in there. (As Dan is quite obviously the least likely person to go into a gym willingly, it might be a bit difficult to explain what he’s doing there to anyone else).

And that’s it. He’s spent the last half hour in the kitchen, receiving a grilling so thorough from Louise that he feels a bit like the toast she’d made for him. She’d pelted questions at him about the flight, so invasive that Dan almost felt like she’d somehow been there, watching through a camera in the cockpit, and was subsequently trying to catch him out.

“How many engines did it have?”

“Did you land smoothly?”

“What colour were the seats?”

“How fast did you go?”

“Was there turbulence?”

“What did you talk about?”

On and on and on. Dan never had to lie to her exactly, but in omitting the most significant part of the trip, he created an air of secrecy, he’s sure. So, he’d wolfed the toast and tea down as fast as possible, then scarpered. Of course, there aren’t many places to scarper to in this small hotel, so Dan had gone up to his room for a while. This turned out to be a bad idea, as being on his own meant that he was free to loop the sensation of Phil’s mouth on him over and over, until he was so horny he could barely think straight. 

To make it worse, he’s all too aware of that ‘debt’ he owes Phil. It presses deeply into the walls of his brain, whispering insistently into his eardrum, detailing all the many ways he might repay that debt, and urging him to do it sooner rather than later. 

So now, riled up from being isolated for a few hours with his own randy brain, Dan has - probably ill-advisedly - come downstairs to find the person who put him in this position, in the hopes of… well. He’s not going in with any pre-existing expectations. There’s a fifty-fifty chance that Phil will have flipped into dick-mode again and will sock Dan in the jaw before he can so much as lay a finger on him.

With a sigh at his own weak-will, Dan mentally flushes his list of reasons not to, and pushes open the gym door; he’s sort of been willing Mona or a guest to round the corner and discover him, force him to turn tail and relax into a non-incriminating activity elsewhere. But no such luck. 

Phil is lifting weights, sat on a bench, one arm curling upwards as he pulls the barbell towards him. He’s got headphones in, and his forehead is furrowed in concentration. He finishes his set and places the barbell down carefully, flexing his fingers. He gets up, oblivious to Dan watching from the doorway, and goes to retrieve his towel, slung over a chair near the mirrors.

His back is to Dan now, but his front is visible in the mirror, allowing Dan to surreptitiously study every inch of him. His white shirt is practically sopping, clinging to his spine and chest. He’s been raking fingers through his hair, perhaps to keep it out of his eyes, and it’s so damp it’s stayed in position, slicked back like he’s one of the T-Birds.

He passes the towel over his face, murmuring along to whatever song he’s listening to. Heat crawls over Dan’s skin as if he’d been working out right alongside Phil, though of course that thought is laughable. He knows he should make a sound, alert Phil to the fact he’s here, watching, but he wants a few moments longer to just…. look. So often Phil will make some sarcastic, wanky remark that cuts through the atmosphere and ruins everything. When he’s quiet, he’s gorgeous, and nothing spoils it.

Before Dan can make a decision about whether to intrude, Phil reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, and lifts it off completely. His torso is shiny with perspiration, lean and toned. It’s not a six-pack reveal, just delicious, firm muscle coating every inch of his chest and back. Dan lets out a breathy noise, feeling a zip of pure lust whip through him. Luckily, Phil is still ignorant to his presence, airpods in.

But Dan is unable to remain still any longer. He treads further into the gym, letting the door swing shut behind him. It makes enough of a sound to have Phil looking up, catching Dan’s eye in the mirror. He throws the towel to the floor, the hint of a smile gracing his lips. He pulls one airpod out of his ear, then the other, putting them in his shorts pocket.  

“Spying on me?”

Dan can feel his heart picking up speed as the tense, sharp atmosphere settles around them. The air smells like sweat and rubber; Dan imagines he can taste Phil on his tongue, rushing into his lungs with every breath he takes. He inches closer, not really aware of telling his feet to move.

“Maybe I wanna work out,” Dan replies shyly. He notes that despite the fact Phil clearly has a change of clothes in his gym bag in the corner, he’s making no move to re-dress.

Phil’s mouth twitches. “Need a spotter?” He reaches for his water bottle, the fluorescent light rippling over his damp shoulders. “Someone to stretch you out, maybe?”

He lifts the water bottle to his lips and drinks; Dan’s never thought of Adams apples being particularly attractive, but realises now, watching Phil’s bob up and down the length of his long, bristled throat, how mistaken he’s been. He licks his lips, suddenly parched.

“You know you said, earlier,” Dan says, the sight of Phil this way already loosening his tongue. He imagines his pupils are dilated, blown into black holes by the pheromones he can feel misting from Phil’s skin. “That you’d let me decide when to…” he’s inched his way into Phil’s personal bubble now, which he’d never normally do so boldly, but he can’t seem to make his feet behave. “When to repay you?”

He can feel his own flush, creeping across his cheeks, down his neck, but he ignores it, hoping Phil doesn’t mistake it for nerves. His hand reaches up without permission, pressing the pads of his fingers to Phil’s bare chest. Amusedly, Phil’s gaze drops to the place their skin meets, then lifts it back to Dan’s.

“I think I vaguely recall,” Phil says; if Dan’s not mistaken, there’s a faint blush skimming his cheeks as well, though there’s no way to know if that’s from exercise. “You want to… go upstairs? I can meet you in your room-”

“No,” Dan interrupts, a bit too loudly. His hand slides up Phil’s chest, over his shoulder. It’s damp and unnaturally warm. “Too far away. Too many obstacles.”

He pushes insistently against Phil’s chest, making him take a step backwards, until he’s against the mirror. “Dan,” Phil says, chuckling, “I’m all sweaty, let me at least-”

But Dan can’t take a second more of waiting. He leans in to push his lips against the acres of exposed skin in front of him, right above where Phil’s heart pounds. He can feel the reverberations of its rhythm beneath Phil’s sinew and bone; it’s electrifying.

“Oh, I see,” Phil purrs, much lower, hands coming up to skim over Dan’s arms, “you like it.”

Dan pauses, looking up at him. He feels caught out, exposed, like Phil’s suddenly revealed he’s a furry or something. He tries to look like the idea is absurd, that he’s completely in control of himself, but Phil’s smile has turned wolfish, poised to pounce on the vulnerable area he’s revealed.

“D’you like it when I’m all hot and sweaty, Dan?”

Dan’s stomach tightens, and he feels his erection stiffening beneath his jeans. He wishes he weren’t so easily affected by this wanker and his precision-bladed words, but it’s useless to pretend. 

“Maybe,” he allows himself to say, the admission rippling a wave of heat over his body, deepening the blush no doubt. To distract himself from his own embarrassment, Dan smooths his hands down through Phil’s thin pelt of chest hair, then leans in again, this time to bury his face in the crook of Phil’s neck. It makes Phil jump ever so slightly, evidently not expecting it. “You just smell so good,” Dan whispers, eyelids fluttering in pleasure as he breathes in - it smells like sex, if he’s honest, but a headier, sweeter, richer kind. He’s never felt so affected by scent before, like it’s dispersed in the air around him, like it’s on his tongue, filling his lungs. He imagines clouds of it permeating his brain, puffing up wild thoughts, making him want to shove his hand into Phil’s shorts and drive him to ecstasy. “Let me-”

He cuts himself off, licking up Phil’s neck, one hand reaching up to burrow into Phil’s hair. He’d been right, it’s almost wet from perspiration, staying in whatever position Dan scrunches it into. Phil’s neck tastes of salt, and something sweetly-sour but delicious, so Dan licks again, from collarbone to ear, and Phil groans.

It’s the best sound Dan has ever heard. Phil’s hands are on Dan’s hips, pulling him closer, allowing Dan to feel how hard he is through the thin material of his shorts. Dan pushes into it, lets their groins align and skim against each other, sparks of pleasure firing through him. Dan drags his mouth over Phil’s throat, letting the faint stubble scratch over his chin, and then he bites down, right where shoulder meets neck, into a thick squeeze of tight muscle. Phil moans again, a hand bracing the back of Dan’s head.

“Dan, wait, don’t- ah fuck-”

Not listening, Dan continues to bite, to suck, to lave his tongue over the spot he’s chosen, imagining the bruise he’ll leave there, and how it will remain, violet and crimson, on display for everyone. Phil whimpers, his other hand slipping round to grab at Dan’s ass, to pull their crotches together even more.

It’s then that the unmistakable sound of voices are audible, getting closer, and Phil pushes Dan backwards, perhaps with a little more force than necessary, Dan can’t help but think. He stumbles, steadying himself on the punching bag, breathing hard. Both of them look towards the door, terrified, and Phil grabs for his gym bag, pulling out a clean t-shirt. Dan only has time to wipe his mouth, then stick a hand in his pocket to try and hide his erection, before the door swings open, and in walks Mona with three strangers.

“And this is our gym as you can see- oh! Mr Novokoric, I’m sorry I-” She stops, catching sight of Dan, bright red and breathing hard, trying and probably failing  to act nonchalant as he leans against the wall. “Dan. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, um, j-just, um-”

The end of his sentence avoids his grasp, so Dan is more than grateful when Phil jumps in to save him. “I asked Dan to help me train,” Phil says - thankfully, the breathlessness of his voice could easily be attributed to strenuous physical activity. “To time me, and check my technique and, uh, that kind of thing. Had him do a few exercises too, as you can see.”

He laughs, slightly off-kilter; Dan tries not to look at Phil, sure that if he did, Mona would see the lust in his eyes. Mona seems to buy the excuse anyway, as she turns back to the three strangers at her rear, smiling. “Dan is our concierge, and Mr Novokoric is one of our guests.” She turns to Dan and Phil. “The Fitzgerald family arrived just a moment ago. They won a three-night stay here through a competition arranged by our British booking agency, isn’t that lovely?”

Something about the way she says it seems tense, as if it’s the least lovely thing she could imagine. In another circumstance, Dan might find this amusing.

“Nice to meet you,” Dan manages to blurt, lifting his hand in a wave.

“Yeah,” Phil agrees, “pleasure.”

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” asks the middle-aged ginger woman, presumably Mrs Fitzgerald, who is dressed in pink floral thermals.

Phil swallows, ducking his head. “Uh, not that I know of-”

“Oh my God, you’re that Prince’s feller, aren’t you?”

Nausea creeps up Dan’s throat, sensing Phil’s discomfort. To his credit, Phil sends the woman a charming smile, then nods. “I suppose I am.”

“Blimey, mate,” huffs the balding, crooked-toothed man beside her, stepping closer towards Phil as if he’s after a better look, “bloody mad what you did the other day, weren’t it? Bet that didn’t go down too well with your hubby!”

Phil’s cheeks redden, and he looks to Mona for help. She jumps to attention, obviously incensed at the audacity of these people. Dan has half a mind to yell at them himself for daring to bring up such an obviously touchy subject with someone they’ve only just met - luckily, Mona gets there first.

“Excuse me Mr Fitzgerald, but I rather think we should leave Mr Novokoric to his training now, if you’ll just follow me…” she begins ushering them gently but firmly back through the door. The third stranger, a girl of about sixteen with fading blue streaks in her hair, stares wide-eyed at Phil as she’s hurried back out of the gym. Mona, the last one to leave, mouths ‘sorry’ at Phil, guiltily, and then pulls the door shut behind her.

Phil’s hand falls from his neck, where he’d been covering what Dan now sees is a bright, and extremely obvious hickey. “Shit,” Dan says, stepping closer to look. Phil takes a hasty step backwards then, so Dan pauses, unsure. “Are you okay?”

Phil shakes his head, contrasting with his quick answer of, “fine.”

“I’m sure Mona will have a word with them about not bothering you-”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Phil interrupts tersely. He starts packing things into his gym bag, then pulls his phone out of one of the zipper pockets. “Fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “Can’t I ever get a break?”

Dan doesn’t need to ask who’s been texting and calling him. “I shouldn’t have, like, tried to- y’know.” Dan blushes, once again an animé schoolgirl, flustered in front of her Senpai. “With you, in here of all places. I’m only making things worse for you. More stressful. If we’d been caught-”

“Hm?” Dan notices belatedly that Phil is barely listening, too engrossed in his phone. He glances up, catching Dan’s eye briefly. “Forget it. My fault too.” He pockets the phone with a deep sigh, then hitches his gym bag onto his shoulder. “I’ve gotta go shower. I’ll catch you later.”

*

For the fourth time in under five minutes, Dan switches the channel, landing on something resembling a soap, in Swiss French. A couple are fighting, pummelling each other with gentle fists, which quickly descends into a furious, passionate make out session. Irritable, Dan changes the channel again.

In the next moment, Mona is snatching the remote out of his hand. “I want you to have an enjoyable day off, Dan, but there is a limit. Other people tend to prefer watching more than a few snatched seconds of a programme at a time.”

Guiltily, Dan turns to see that he’s not the only one in the lounge; he’s somehow blocked out the sight of the three Fitzgeralds sat crossly behind him at a table. Dan sighs, struggling out of the beanbag chair.

“Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly at the Fitzgerald family. “Didn’t think anyone else was here.”

“What’s the matter?” Mona asks quietly, walking beside him as he ambles towards the kitchen, hoping to beg some snacks off Louise. “Are you in a mood because Mr Novokoric made you help him with his training?”

More like because that ‘training’ came to an abrupt and frustrating end, Dan thinks privately, but nods anyway at Mona. He can’t think of a different excuse. “Yeah. It’s okay though, I’m just grumpy. I’ll go wallow in my room so I don’t disturb the other guests.”

He leans through the serving hatch to peer about for Louise. She’s knelt on the floor in front of the freezer, rifling through the drawer for something. 

Mona thumps Dan on the back and calls out, “Lou, get this boy something fruity and alcoholic, please.”

Dan turns to her, surprised. “It’s five-thirty.”

“And, for the hundredth time, it’s your day off. Relax. Go read a book. Listen to loud music. Heck, go in the hot tub. And for God’s sake, have a drink so you’ll stop moping about.”

She gives him one last warning look before bustling off, leaving Dan alone at the serving hatch to watch Louise prepare some sort of cocktail. “Oooh, what about a tequila sunrise?” she asks, sounding so excited by the prospect that Dan hasn’t the heart to refuse her. 

“Sure,” he replies, surrendering.

“Sounds good,” a second voice says from somewhere behind Dan, and then Phil is next to him, still tapping at his phone, “I’ll take one of those too, please Lou.”

Dan’s eyes bore into the side of Phil’s face, but he doesn’t look up from his phone screen. He flicks a glance at Lou, who has her back turned to both of them, pouring measures of various liquids into a cocktail shaker.

“Good shower?” Dan asks; it comes out a bit more spiky than he means it to.

Phil’s mouth twitches, but he still doesn’t look up from his phone, the asshole. “Something wrong?”

“Nope,” Dan replies tightly, fingers drumming on the counter of the serving hatch. “You just focus on texting your doting husband back.”

Phil lowers his phone, turning to face Dan. He’s wearing that irritating, amused little smile again, the one that Dan could honestly punch him in the nose for. “You’re mad at me.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “When am I not?”

“Funny, considering I’m the one who’s been blue-balled twice today,” Phil points out, quite rightly. Dan pinkens, eyes darting to Louise, who mercifully is still way across the kitchen, out of earshot. “What exactly do you have to be annoyed about?”

“I- I’m just- we were in the middle of…” Dan watches Louise carefully, lowering his voice even further. “Stuff. And you just…”

Louise begins walking over, two tall glasses in her hands, each containing a gradient of liquid in orange and red. She’s given them a paper straw each, a slice of orange, and even one of those little paper umbrellas.

“There we are boys, two tequila-” she breaks off, smile slipping. Her eyes are trained on Phil, who doesn’t seem to have noticed, too busy taking the drink from her, looking pleased.

He plucks out his umbrella so he doesn’t poke himself in the eye, then takes a long sip through the straw. “Unngh, delicious Lou. I didn’t know you could make cocktails.”

Dan watches Louise worriedly as he takes his own drink, heart pumping harder as her lips purse, her eyes harden. She’s seen something, Dan’s sure of it, and he dreads to think what kind of incriminating thing Phil has done to make her so-

And then, in an instant, Dan remembers. “Shit,” he whispers, without meaning to, and Louise turns the full force of her glare onto him.

Phil, totally oblivious beside him, turns back to his phone screen, beginning to back away. “Thanks. See you later, then.” 

Before he leaves, he aims a final smirk at Dan, then tucks the little lime green umbrella behind Dan’s ear, winking. Honestly, he could not have picked a worse moment to do something so uncharacteristically flirtatious. Dan winces, trying desperately to think of some excuse that Louise might buy, but the words evade him, as they always do. 

Nevertheless, he tries: “Before you say anything-”

“What was the purpling monstrosity on that married man’s neck, Daniel?!”

Dan cringes from her anger. “Um, he fell?”

“Neck-first? Onto your mouth?”

Dan blushes, sipping the drink just for some way to avoid her eye. “It’s not that bad,” he tries, shrugging as if he truly believes it, “it’s just a little hickey.”

“You really think I’m dumb, don’t you,” Louise scoffs, then leans through the serving hatch to smack him on the back of the head.

“Ow!” Dan shrieks, spluttering on a mouthful of tequila sunrise. “Lou, for Christ’s sake, I don’t think you’re dumb!”

“Then stop lying to me.”

“Okay, okay, jeez!”

Louise’s attention is momentarily pulled away, to somewhere beyond Dan, so he turns, meeting the shocked expressions of the Fitzgerald party, intently watching their squabble. Louise gives them a gap-toothed grin, then says, under her breath, “get in here now, Casanova.”

Reluctantly, Dan does as he’s told. He makes sure to take a large mouthful of the drink before stepping through the kitchen door, to prepare himself for Louise’s telling off. He stays near the door even so, poised to escape if she starts threatening violence.

“I don’t know what to tell you, okay?” Dan says in a quieter voice, “I don’t even understand what’s going on between us-”

“So there is something going on?” Louise presses, arms crossed over her chest.

Dan hesitates, sipping more drink, then nods. There’s no point in trying to hide it any longer, she’s too suspicious, and besides Dan’s going mad not being able to talk about it with anyone. Phil is utterly infuriating, and confusing, and so hot that Dan can’t think straight. He needs a confidante, and with his limited options, he’s happy to have Louise over Mona or Kaspar.

“Jesus, Dan,” Louise says, falling against a nearby counter. She removes her chef hat, fanning herself with it. “I’ll give you this - things have never been so exciting up here, and that’s entirely thanks to you.”

“You’re not mad?” Dan asks timidly, sucking delicious juicy tequila through his straw.

Louise turns to him, wide-eyed. “Oh, I’m furious. This is completely reckless, and incredibly dangerous - you’d be better off snogging a mountain lion, honestly. What are you thinking?”

“I don’t think I am,” Dan admits, sipping, “thinking, that is. He makes me so… mad. We whip each other up into a frenzy and then it’s like all sense flies out the window.”

“Sounds... hot,” Louise says reluctantly, which makes Dan laugh.

“Well, yeah. But not very practical.”

Louise blows air upwards, seeming to actually consider Dan’s problem, for which he’s grateful. Perhaps honesty is all she needed to quell her fury over the subject. In an abrupt move, she pushes off the counter and goes to where she’d been preparing the cocktails, starting to pour more measures of ingredients.

“I need one of those, don’t judge me,” Louise says, not turning around, “and for God’s sake don’t tell Mona.”

“If I swear not to, can I have another one too?”

She laughs. “I’ll make a pitcher.”

Dan slurps the rest of his tequila sunrise down a bit too easily, and feels the rush of sugar and alcohol make him light-headed. He swirls the ice in the bottom of the glass with his straw, sighing. “God, I’m a dumbass, aren’t I?”

“Well yes,” Louise replies, then shakes the concoction for a bit in her extra large cocktail shaker, leaving Dan to chew on her concurrence, “but I mean, your actions aren’t completely incomprehensible, I suppose, given your position. I mean, there’s no denying he’s gorgeous. And rich. And he has that whole ‘I hate everyone - but not you!’ thing going on.”

Dan nods miserably, holding his glass out when Louise reaches for it. “He seduced me,” Dan whines.

“Oh, no, don’t try playing the victim with me,” Louise admonishes, pouring out a vat of cocktail into a glass jug. “You’re not playing innocent in this, I’d imagine, or he’d have the sense to resist your skinny little bum.”

Dan frowns, mildly embarrassed, though the alcohol is working very well to combat it. “I don’t know what I’m, like, doing though.”

Louise’s expression turns sympathetic, and she pours more tequila sunrise into Dan’s empty glass, bringing it to him. She puts an arm around his shoulder for a brief moment, squeezing tight.

“Dan, if he were a single man, I’d be all for this,” she says, her voice gentle. “I know he’s a bitch sometimes, but I love that man like a son.” She pinches his cheek, a bit too roughly. “And you’re alright too, when you’re not moping.” This makes Dan smile, but it’s sad and half-hearted. He slurps his drink. “The two of you’d drive each other nuts, that’s pretty clear,” Louise says, “but it’d be exciting and passionate. And that can be the foundation of a good relationship.”

“Y’know, he’s prob’ly gonna divorce Nikolai,” Dan tries, though it sounds pathetic even as he sounds it out.

Louise sighs, then goes to pour herself a drink. She only fills the glass halfway, presumably because she’s still got to make the guest’s dinner, and Mona’s likely buzzing about. 

“If you believe that, Dan, I’m happy for you,” Louise says. “But really, if you’re completely honest with yourself, do you actually think it’ll happen?”

“It’s not because of me,” Dan insists, feeling petulant. “He was unhappy anyway.”

Louise downs her half-glass of cocktail in one go, then quickly rinses out the evidence. “True, but Nikolai’s kept him this long, hasn’t he? I don’t know all the incentives of being married to a billionaire, but I’d imagine there’s a few reasons Phil hasn’t tried to break it off before.”

Dan wants to argue, to insist that Phil isn’t materialistic like that, that he wouldn’t stay with someone that makes him miserable for money or security. But honestly, Dan doesn’t know if that’s true. He barely knows Phil, even now, which just makes reflecting on their actions over the past few days even scarier. He’s gambling so much - his anonymity, his safety, Phil’s marriage, Phil’s reputation - on someone he doesn’t truly understand. Someone that half the time seems to not even want him around.

More tequila sunrise sucks up through the straw, blurring Dan’s anxious brain.

Louise brings him the jug of cocktail then, handing it to him with a sad smile. “I think you need to have an evening to yourself. Think about everything. This likely won’t help,” she says, gesturing to the jug, “but it might prompt some self-reflection. Just don’t tell-”

“Mona, I know,” Dan mumbles, already headed for the kitchen door.

“Actually,” Louise says, making him pause, “I was gonna say Phil.”

*

Three-quarters of a pitcher of tequila sunrise and an indeterminable amount of time later, Dan is laid flat on his bed, feeling quite drunk and very sorry for himself. His phone is doing a lousy job at providing a soundtrack with its crappy speaker; he wishes he had whatever Phil has going on in his room - some sort of fancy phone-controlled surround-sound contraption - to blast the new Li’l Peep & Fall Out Boy song that seems suspiciously appropriate for his situation, but he’ll just have to make do with what he’s got.

He picks up his phone to find he’s been called twice by his mother, and it only makes him feel even worse. He can’t phone her back now, drunk and miserable about the situation he’s so foolishly gotten himself into. How could he ever explain, to her, that he’s not only run away and fucked up his life, but also potentially now someone else’s? His mother should forget all about him really; she should just adopt Beth as a replacement daughter. Dan always had the strange impression that his mum liked her more somehow, found it easier to make polite smalltalk with her about the dinner and the sales at clothing stores than she found it to have a single conversation with Dan.

He rolls over onto his side, heart squeezing. There’s a knock at his door then, but he ignores it. He wants to be alone, to fall further into this black hole of melancholy and curl up there, possibly until he slips into blissful unconsciousness.

“Dan?”

The voice is coming from the other side of the door. Dan thinks he could probably place the voice if he concentrated, but he’s not interested in anything but his Twitter timeline right now. Even that isn’t loading properly due to the terrible hotel WiFi, which he guesses is his punishment for behaving like such a twit. Really, what has he been thinking, of late? Louise is so right to have called him out on his idiocy today.

Sleeping with a married man - it’s something he never dreamed he’d do, and here he is, willingly discarding all conscience with the excuse that Nikolai is ‘a bit of a dick’.

Suddenly, a message pings at the top of his phone. He manages to press it, blurry though it seems, and the chat box pops up.

Unknown Number Why aren’t you answering the door?

Dan frowns, mind whirring.

Dan Whoo is this s?

Unknown Number Seriously? Who else would it be?

Dan Phill?

There’s no reply for a few seconds, and then Dan’s phone starts to buzz. His eyes widen, alarmed, and then he realises he’s being rung. He manages, somehow, to answer, and jabs at the loudspeaker button because lifting the device to his ear requires a touch too much effort.

“What?” he says aloud.

“Dan, answer the door,” Phil’s voice says; if he listens hard, Dan can also hear him speaking out in the hall.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“How’d’you get my n’mber?”

“Front desk,” Phil replies, like it’s perfectly acceptable to just steal someone’s contact information from a database.

Dan snorts. “Stalker.”

“Why won’t you open the door?”

“B’cause,” Dan stresses, frustrated. He rolls over, and the ceiling tilts, like a see-saw.

“Because…?”

“Can’t see you,” Dan sighs. “Dang’rous.”

There’s a quiet from the other end of the line. “Are you still mad at me?”

“Always,” Dan replies. “You can’t come in. We can’t see each’ther.”

“Are you... drunk?”

“Very.”

“Right, I’m coming in.”

“Nooo,” Dan protests weakly, letting the phone drop to the bed. He hears, in the background, a noise like a door opening, and sighs, admitting defeat. He should have had the sense to lock it before he drank so much delicious cocktail. “Dick-face.”

“Ah,” Phil says; Dan rolls over very slowly, trying not to churn the contents of his stomach. Phil is stood at his chest of drawers, on top of which is the nearly empty jug of cocktail. There’s about a glass-full left inside. “Well, mystery of Dan’s inebriation solved.”

“There’s some left,” Dan says aloud, reaching out a hand for the jug, “gimme.”

Phil is smiling in an upside-down way. He lifts the jug to his mouth and drinks some, but somehow it doesn’t tip all over the floor. “God, that’s too nice. Tastes like fruit juice. Louise is a lethal barmaid, I need to remember that.”

Belatedly, Dan realises that the reason everything looks topsy-turvy, including the shape of Phil’s usually visually pleasing mouth, is because he’s laid on his back, staring at Phil the wrong way round. He sits up, too quickly, and squeezes his eyes shut as the room lurches with him, somersaulting forwards.

Seconds later, there’s a dip in the mattress to his left, and then a cool hand slides down his back. “Noo,” Dan says, swatting in the direction he knows Phil must be, eyes still closed. “You have t’go.”

“Why? Are you feeling sick?”

Dan heaves a dramatic sigh, letting his eyes flutter open at last. The room has gone from spinning to a gentle rocking, but oh no- Phil is way, way too close. He’s right here on the bed, thigh pressed against Dan’s, in those stupid silky pyjamas, and his glasses are on, and-

“Dan?”

“No!” Dan exclaims, shifting away from Phil. He almost falls off the bed entirely, but Phil catches hold of his arm. “Not sick. ‘m’fine. But we have t’stop.”

Phil’s amused expression creeps over his face. “Stop?”

“Stop… foolin’ around.”

The amusement melts away, leaving a guarded stare in its place. Phil lets go of his arm. “Oh. Why?”

Dan splutters; how can he even ask that question? “Because i’s wrong! You’re married.”

“Yeah, I know that, Dan.”

“We’re cheating! We’re adulter-er-ers,” Dan wrinkles his nose - that didn’t come out quite right, but he thinks the point still came through. “Don’t you feel bad?”

Phil reaches up and removes his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ���Do you wanna get into bed, maybe?”

“Are you listenin’ t’me?!” Dan finds the nearest object he can - a stray pillow - and whacks Phil with it, feebly because his arms have gone noodly. “I’m sayin’ we can’t do th’t anymore-��

Phil wrestles the pillow off him, then whacks him right back. “I mean get into bed because you’re wasted, Dan. I’m not trying to seduce you.”

“Oh,” Dan mumbles, feeling his rapid breathing slow. A traitorous part of him aches in disappointment, but he squashes it down. 

Phil places the pillow back in its position at the top of the bed, neatly. He’s silent for a minute, and Dan wonders if he’s actually pissed him off. Then Phil says, “if I wanted to seduce you I’d just have to get on the floor and do a few push ups, work up a sweat-” 

And Dan lunges for the pillow, but Phil is too quick for him, and tackles him to the mattress before he can get to it. Dan groans - the force of Phil’s bodyweight barrelling into him when he’s already verging on queasy is not conducive to his slowly receding inebriation. The room spins again, and Phil leans up, propped on one elbow, laughing.

“Asshole,” Dan mutters, eyes slipping closed.

The darkness of his lids helps a little, mostly because seeing Phil so smiley and loose and happy is both disconcerting and totally wonderful. It’s best to just avoid looking altogether, so neither of the feelings can win out. Phil prods him in the stomach, disturbing what feels like a whirlpool of tequila and grenadine, and Dan tries to blindly smack him in the face - he’s unsuccessful.

“So, what happened?”

Dan frowns at the question. “What?”

“Between the last time I saw you and you drinking your bodyweight in hen-party special?”

He feels Phil moving around, rustling and jostling in a most irritating manner; when he opens an eye to see what the hell he’s doing, Phil is peeling back the covers of the bed, and plumping up the pillow. Something is stuck in Dan’s throat.

“Louise,” he sighs, giving in. He tosses an arm over his face so he won’t be able to see Phil’s reaction. “She saw your neck.”

“My neck? Oh.” He stops plumping. “Shit. I didn’t even think about it-”

“Yeah, well. She prob’ly would’ve found out anyway. She’s been like a bloodhound.”

Phil doesn’t say anything, so Dan lifts his arm, opens his eyes, then props himself up onto his elbows, studying Phil’s expression. He looks troubled but not angry, as Dan thought he might be. 

“Would you get in, please?”

Unsure and anxious in the aftermath of what he’s just said, Dan does as he’s told. He’s still in his jeans, so he unbuttons them quickly and shucks them off, throwing them aside without looking Phil in the eye. Then, he climbs into the space Phil has peeled back for him, and lets Phil pull the covers over his body.

“What did she say?” Phil asks once Dan’s tucked in. He dithers at the bedside, clearly not too sure of what to do himself.

“Said I was an idiot, basic’lly,” Dan admits. “That I’m in over my head with you and your sitch-ation, and I should stop b’fore I get in trouble.”

Phil lifts his head to meet Dan’s eye, something strange and curious caught in the dip of his inner eye. “And what did you say?”

The question seems to come out of nowhere, flicking Dan in the forehead. He blinks, trying to remember. “Uh. Not sure. Think I babbled a lot. I was kinda terrified.”

Phil’s mouth twitches. “She’s a scary lady when she wants to be.”

Dan lets the silence blanket them - he wants the attempt Phil made at light-heartedness to recede, because his next question is serious, and he needs a real answer. So, he waits, and then opens his mouth for the tequila to push the words out of his throat.

“Do you really not feel bad about wh’t we’re doing?”

Phil sighs, mussing up his hair with both hands. He walks around to the other side of the bed, and then - rather pointedly, Dan thinks - flops down onto it. His head turns, staring straight into Dan’s eyes. “No, I don’t.”

There’s such raw honesty in the glaze of Phil’s eyes; even through his drunken haze, Dan can tell he’s not lying. “How come?”

“Do you know how many reports there have been of Nikolai cheating on me in the last three months?”

Dan grimaces, tearing his eyes away. “So you’re gettin’ back at him? I di’n’t sign up t’be your ammu-nish-on in some emotional battle-”

“That’s not what you are,” Phil interrupts, suddenly stern. He takes a breath, catching himself, but the outburst is already hanging, pointed and tense, in the air between them. “I’m not in a battle with Nikolai. Nothing about what I’m doing with you feels like fighting. It feels like giving in.”

Dan turns, sluggish heart pumping faster. “Giving in t’what?”

A silence stretches, and Dan half wishes Phil wouldn’t answer at all. He shivers, suddenly feeling the cold of this room - he doesn’t think the radiator is on. Phil should get under the covers, he’s probably even colder.

“I’m not sure yet,” Phil says eventually, seeming to choose his words with care. “Does it feel… wrong to you, then?”

Dan hesitates, thinking of the ways Phil touches him, firm and desperate, but gentle too - reverent, even. Phil handles his body in a way nobody has ever dared to, taking note of the ‘fragile’ labels, but not being deterred by them, not afraid to peel them back to get at what’s underneath. He unfurls Dan methodically, without hesitation, seeming to know every place he wishes would be kissed, caressed, before Dan can show him. It’s utterly seductive, impossible not to crave. In a sense it feels wicked, to want something so selfish, so pleasurable, but that’s nothing to do with Phil. It’s more about Dan’s insecurity, the way he’s been taught not to indulge himself, or want things out of his reach.

“No,” Dan decides, the word leaving his lips shakily. “It feels like…” his eyes fall closed, picturing Phil’s kiss against his jaw. Without meaning to, his head droops towards his shoulder, then further, until it’s resting on Phil’s. He yawns, suddenly exhausted.

“What does it feel like, Dan?” Phil whispers, sounding desperate again. “Tell me.”

“It feels like... I’ve found something… hidden. A secret thing, all fluttery and impossible. An’ I don’t want anyone else t’see.” Dan can feel, somehow, through the shifting of his muscles, that Phil is smiling, laughing at him - he’s not making enough sense. It’s not coming out how it should, his words aren’t doing a good enough job at describing. Dan huffs in frustration. “When you touch me,” he perseveres, fumbling in the dark, cobwebbed corners of his brain’s romance sector for appropriate adjectives, knowing they’ll never quite fit. “It feels like… for a moment, you’re all mine.”

Phil’s breath hitches, Dan can feel the stutter of his lungs. He’s still for a while, and then draws a deep breath, shifting Dan until they’re both under the covers, Phil’s arm across him, Dan’s back to his chest. 

“Hey,” Dan says, seconds away from slipping under. “Thought we said no spooning.” 

Phil laughs, lightly, breath tickling Dan’s ear. “I don’t think either of us are very good at keeping to our word.” 

(Chapter Fifteen!)

[bewareofchris]

@chamiryokuroi, i have so many feelings and so few of them are good that i almost don’t want to go into it on the internet.  but,

(This turned into a dissertation) OBVIOUSLY THERE ARE INFINITY WAR SPOILERS BELOW THIS POINT.

first off let me say that I walked into this movie with the expectation that marvel was going to behave in a predictable marvel way.  and what exactly is a predictably marvel way to act?

Cap is the Hero, Tony tries but fails, Thor can’t understand that reference but he’s super powerful, for reasons unknown powers that worked yesterday fail today, a critical part of the plot hinges upon a relationship or a decision that the audience hasn’t had enough time to form a bond with and so the critical emotional peak of the movie falls flat

so what happened in Infinity War?

Lets get started by saying that I don’t honestly care if Loki dies, but I am 100% disappointed that he didn’t have a better plan, more action or a real shot at doing anything.  I mean.  This little shit is basically a cockroach that’s been alive forever and he’s done all kinds of shit in that time but the BEST IDEA he had was to try to stab Thanos right in his stupid face?  

I see that the Bifrost works however it wants now.  Good to know.  

WOULD YOU FUCKING MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MIND ABOUT TONY FUCKING STARK’S GLOWING FUCKING CHEST MY DUDE.

Look, I don’t think its a leap for Tony to wear nanobots and a hoodie that turns into a suit.  I think that’s 100% in character, but Marvel you’re a bunch of morons that took the shiny thing out of Tony’s chest several movies ago you can’t just show up now and act like that didn’t happen because he looks better with it.  This is like 0% relative and 100% nitpicky but it’s part of a greater Marvel Realized That Was Silly So They Changed It and Acted LIke We Wouldn’t Notice issue.

Bruce exists in this movie basically as a cheap joke and a town crier.  THANOS IS COMING, THANOS IS COMING.  Its like someone in the group writer meeting was like: dude, the Hulk is too much.  We’ve literally seen the Hulk take on everything.  We’ve established he’s undefeatable.  We can’t go back now.  How are we going to deal with the Hulk being a thing?  And the guy sitting next to him, balancing a pencil on his nose was like IDK what if we just like, inexplicably and for no reason we ever need to explain, make the Hulk not show up?  What if the Hulk gets hurt or scared by Thanos?  And he doesn’t show up?  OH DUDE then Bruce can use an Iron Man suit and we’ll do the trailers and make it look like the whole group is there!  

You know else is too fucking powerful to let loose too early in the movie?  Thor.  You know they did this in Age of Ultron too, they were like: lets give him a vision of Ragnorok and send him to a sparkle pool to take his shirt off and see things, so he could not be present when Cap was fighting Ultron.  Here they send him off with a Rabbit (this genuinely amused me no lie) and Groot.  And Thor speaks Groot.  A language he learned in high school.  He’s 1500 years old.  How does he remember high school Groot?  but that’s not important, what is important is that he’s off on a side quest waking up some dead star to forge some Thanos-killing weapon because as we see in the final battle as soon as Thor shows up looking hella fine, the show is basically over.

COULD SOMEONE PLEASE SLAP THE FUCK OUT OF STEVE GOD DAMN ROGERS.  Look, I understand that its upsetting when someone randomly suggests that killing themselves is the only way to save the planet but Rogers, if you aren’t the single most annoying hypocrite that ever walked the earth.  (At least the movie did point this out.  At least it did that.)  “We don’t trade lives?”  FUCK YOU STEVE.  It was ONE FUCKING LIFE versus HALF THE FUCKING UNIVERSE.  Everyone can do that math.  One Life < Half the Universe.  SEE, THE OPEN MOUTH GOES TOWARD TEH BIGGER NUMBER YOU SANCTIMONIOUS FUCK.

Honestly, Steve at the end, collapsing as he said ‘oh God’ is the only part of the entire MCU wherein Steve seems to sort of grasp that just because he wants the world to work a certain way doesn’t mean it will.  I hate to be a petty bitch but I’m 100% okay with everyone dying because at least Captain Fucking Rogers was wrong AND THE STORY CANNOT DENY IT.

This is going out of order, I’m sorry.

Lets talk about Thanos.  I actually liked Thanos.  I bear him no ill will.  He’s completely insane, but he’s doing what he thinks must be done for the greater good.  (*COUGH* THE SAFEST HANDS ARE STILL OUR OWN */COUGH*)  He is consistently insane which is nice.

but honestly.  I mean, honestly, if this bastard was this set on doing this shit and this capable of it, why the fuck didn’t he show up earlier?  Was it because he didn’t know where all the stones were?  I feel like it’s been a couple of movies now that he should have known where most of them were?  Why not collect them one at a time?  Why not send out his assortment of assassins to collect them individually?  He could have gotten all of the not-earth stones and then shown up to the party like HAHA BITCHES GUESS WHO THE FUCK I AM and 0 people would have known.

but this way is good too.  I guess.

This plot hinges entire on a string of inconveniences.  If not for bad timing, this series of events would not have unfolded in this way.  I try not to get bitchy about conveniences because things happen in real life that would seem a lot like the cosmic writer whose dictating our lives never took a writing class, BUT if it progresses your story and makes things easier for you (the writer) to accomplish what the plot (and not necessarily the characters) needs/wants to happen next it’s lazy.

The iris mechanism breaking?

Thanos having already found the reality stone?

Gamora secretly being the only thing he loves?

Nebula only escaping after it’s too late?

Cap’s abilities being literally ‘whatever the story needs, is he mortal, is he not?’

Bruce and Hulk’s domestic issue

Dr. Strange apparently being able to not only tolerate 14 million alternate futures but also remember them with enough confidence to make decisions for everyone without consulting them

Everything that happened when Quill found out about Gamora

The end part where the axe to the chest didn’t stop Thanos

the convenient core-member survival of the Avengers

I truly believe in my heart that Marvel decided to kill Black Panther before they realized how popular that movie and character would be and fuck them.  

While we’re at it.  Fuck them for that whole thing.  Like I get that T’Challa was leading his people, but the movie is framed in a way where he’s kind of an afterthought?  

They definitely underestimated him, that’s all I’m saying.  And Shuri.

THEY MISUSED THEM.  THEY DID NOT TREAT THEM FAIRLY.

Look, I love Tony and I”m super happy that the MCU finally, finally stopped treating him like he was insane.  Don’t get me wrong here, having Thanos show up and having Tony be like I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS is great.

What’s not great?  Is the fact that Tony who literally has been waiting for this this whole time suddenly had very little back up plan?  He had enough time to send Peter Parker a suit but he didn’t have a trove of alternate suits, or weapons, or anything that he could have sent along with it?  I know he had a few minutes to think but ALIENS ARE INVADING IS LITERALLY THE THING HE’S BEEN FRETTING ABOUT SINCE AVENGERS 1.

I’m just saying, they could have had him be slightly more prepared.  

Having said that, Tony was amazing.  

One of the best parts of the movie is that twenty seconds where it looks like he’s having a stroke when he realizes he’s working with idiots.

WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU LET THEM GET THE GAUNTLET OFF IF YOU WERE JUST GOING TO HAVE QUILL FREAK OUT?

No I’ll tell you.  Because it’s Marvel.  

Honestly that fight V. Thanos in space was amazing.  10/10.  Until Quill.

I have never been more furious about anything in my life than I was about Thanos trying to smash Steve Rogers into the ground and being unable to.  Like, even his face seemed to be conveying some kind of ‘what is this bullshit happening before me’ 

(IS HE MORTAL?  IS HE NOT?)

I also hated Steve’s shields, but I appreciate that they went with a pointy design so that he could more directly murder his helpless victims in combat.  Someone needs to introduce Steve to Jeff Goldblum because I feel like he’d either invite Cap to join the harem or the gladiators or both and it would be glorious either way.

Gamora’s death shouldn’t have won the soul stone because Thanos is a piece of shit.  He’s nuts.  The Soul Stone should have just thrown her back up there while laughing hysterically something like “AHAHAHA MY MAN, YOU’RE A PSYCHO, HAHAHA, YOU DON’T LOVE ANYTHING.”

That moment when you realize that if even one thing had changed in this movie the entire sequence of events would collapse.  That moment.

Also, how the living fuck did Tony live through getting impaled?  How?  HOW.

Dr. Strange: LET TONY LIVE Thanos: like, aren’t you a medical doctor? Dr. Strange: yes, but that’s not important Thanos: I’m not a medical doctor, like I’m just a crazy man, but he is definitely definitely dead. Dr. Strange: ok, yes, but. Thanos: no wait, I’m just--you’re really going to give up the time stone, a stone that as of this moment is basically impossible to get off you, just because you want Tony to live?  He’s definitely going to die.  I stuck this whole sharp thing through him. Dr. Strange: I KNOW IT SEEMS UNLIKELY BUT ROBERT DOWNEY JR SELLS MOVIES, OK.  HE’S ADORABLE. Thanos:  ...whatever dude.  Give me the green glowy thing

NO HUMAN BEING CAN COMPREHEND 14 MILLION ANYTHINGS.   This isn’t a number people can relate to.  It’s meaningless.  Why do all these movies have to overact?  Lets blow up a whole planet, lets kill half the universe, lets act like a human mind can comprehend 14 million alternate timelines

The fanservice in this movie was incredible.  Like, I’m now convinced there’s a whole team of interns at Marvel scouring the internet for more jokes.  

“Hey boss, they seem to think Rocket trying to steal Bucky’s arm would be hilarious.  So should we do that?” “GREG MY BOY WHAT A FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC IDEA.”

I loved Tony’s whole outfit.  I loved the nano bots.  I even loved at the end when he was running out and he had to redistribute them.  It was amazing

“Home” says Steve Fucking Rogers, the international war criminal that was like ‘but he’s my friend’.  BITCH THAT ISN’T YOUR HOME.

I’m actually 100% furious just at the fact that Rhodey who supported the accords immediately didn’t give one fuck about them as soon as it was convenient to want to be on Cap’s side instead.  I’m FURIOUS that the Accords didn’t matter.  They never did, but the fact that Rhodey was the last man standing that believed in them and he handwaved that shit away as soon as he laid eyes on Steve’s gruff unshaven face, its just like getting kicked in the nuts.

I just looked it up apparently Black Panther and Infinity War were filmed back to back which meant that Marvel had 0 idea how well Black Panther would do in theaters and honestly that must have been why they were like “ah yes you guys remember T’Challa?  Well. basically he just gives Steve some shields and that’s fucking it.”

(I know he did more than that, but he was still treated like a convenient secondary character who had convenient abilities, like Groot who couldn’t be bothered to do anything until someone needed an axe handle.)

C O M M U N I C A T I O N.  It really could have solved so many things. Dr. Strange: 14 million alternate futures Tony: cool.  how many did we win? Dr. Strange: 1. Tony: wait what?  TELL ME EXACTLY WHO DID WHAT Dr. Strange: I’m sorry I can’t just tell you the plot I’m not Mark Ruffalo.

Peter Parker did break my heart.

this is just personal preference but since I don’t find Chris Pratt funny at all, basically all the minutes that were put into his character were wasted on me

This movie cannot stand on it’s own.  That’s not a negative.  You don’t go see a movie like Infinity Wars if you haven’t already spent the last decade on the others leading up to it.  

but, my dudes, you did not set up Wanda/Vision well enough.  And so much emphasis was put on this.  SO MUCH.  She’ll have to destroy him, it’ll have to be her.  Ok.  Cool.  So lets get to it.

I may be heartless.

Gamora crying when she though she’d killed Thanos felt more authentic than Wanda’s entire crisis about Vision.

But, hey, I’m sure in the next one they’ll do something stupid as fuck that’ll make the emotional punch of this movie completely fucking worthless.

[strangephiti]

Control

Written for University last year. Prompt: A wager (mild violence, some swearing)

Control

I am timeless. I did not begin in the Garden and I will not end with Ragnarök. I am everything and nothing. I am one of you; And I am so much more than you can ever conceive. 

I watch you, all you dull, unimaginative people. You’re lives are so... pointless. I blink, and you are gone. So many of you sit there, wishing your lives away. You  watch successful people and wonder: “why them, and not me?” Most of you have never even picked up a guitar, or sat down with a brush, or planned your wonder emporium. But still: “why them, not me?”

I listen to you. You think that it’s all luck. You struggle to scrape together the months rent and so you think: “why work so hard for nothing? The rich are only rich because they got lucky.” You mope about lost time, and sit around, wishing for a better tomorrow.

I have nothing but tomorrows. 

I feel so very little for you all. And yet you fascinate me. I envy you. I envy your limited days. I envy the ticking clock that pushes your peers to achieve, to grow.  Without the pressure of mortality I have no ambition, no desire. So I have had to get creative with my time.

...

Kyle Hawkins isn’t a bad person. He is polite, takes care of his parents as well as his senile, happy, Nana. He is the youngest of five children - but his eldest brother got the best of both parents: the looks, the smarts, the luck. As it filtered down through the siblings the gene pool began to dry out, leaving Kyle with nothing but the dregs. At least, so he believes. What hope could poor Kyle have in a world where “like only goes to like?” 

He goes through the same drudgery day after day. Works at 8am, completes the same chores; eats the same sandwich at the same sandwich bar; the same shops on the way home – groceries for him and groceries for Mum and Dad. Then home for dinner, and streams of videos.

Weekends aren’t much better. On a Sunday he visits Nana. She makes him laugh with her confused ramblings, and breaks his heart when she forgets his name. He cheers himself up with a pint at the local, where he and the boys talk the same rubbish each week.

Even the successes of his friends don’t inspire Kyle.

“It’s alright for some,” he scoffs into his pint.

So narrow is his sight that he scarcely noticed me slip into his peripherals and from there on into his life. I’ve sat across from him for many years now, listening to him whine about his lot. He likes to talk to me because he thinks I am just as worthless as he is: No wife, no kids, no hope. We just sit and drink and talk. And I wait. I wait patiently for him to say those fateful words:

“What I wouldn’t give...”

I shrug at at him. “Nah mate. Opportunity could come dancing through that door with neon lights and a siren blazing, and you’d still be sat there on your fat arse, looking at your phone.”

“Ye ‘hink so? Listen… If Ah’d been given the chances some folk have...”

I don’t listen. Never do. It’s the same excuses again. And I’ve heard them before. Different voices, different faces, but the excuses are always the same. Then I say to him:

“Wanna bet?”

He scowls at me but says nothing. I take a coin from my pocket, a shiny silver American dollar. I tell him I got it on a family holiday when I was twelve, when dreams still lived, and that I told myself I would go back to this “land of opportunity” and make my fortune. I kept the coin to remind me. But I still hadn’t gone. It hadn’t helped me. Maybe it would help him, I said.

“You think it’s all about luck? And Fate? Why not let my little coin decide for you?”

I turn the coin between finger and thumb, making sure to let it catch the light above us, and trace it across his drunken, hazy eyes. As he watches I say:

“Chances are all around us, all the time. But you just sit there, fat, forty and failing.”

He grunts at me. He knows I’m right. So I go on.

“It’s easier to do the same thing everyday, every weekend, because you don’t have to try, don’t have to fail.”

His eyes start to glaze as he watches the coin. I twirl it, effortlessly, between my fingers, the light dancing across his face.

“But what if something else made those choices for you? Would you grab those opportunities?”

I know when I have him. The light from the coin fills his eyes. Letting this thing decide for him appeals to his lazy nature.

“We can start now,” I say. “Loser buys the next round. Heads I win, tails you lose,”

“Heads,” he slurs pointlessly. I try not to sigh at his idiocy. I toss the coin high, its streamlined edges whipping the air with a soft zing-zing-zing. The light flashes across his face with each rotation, and his eyes can’t seem to focus on anything else. I smack the coin down on the back of my hand.

“Tails,” I say. “You lose. Get us a packet of crisps when your up, mate.”

With a grumble he drains the last of his pint and shuffles off to the bar. I call after him, equally as pointlessly:

“That’s half the trouble with you, mate: You don’t pay attention!”

We begin immediately, before he has time to change his mind. I take him out the very next day.

“Chances aren’t given. They’re taken,” I tell him. “You have to pay attention. You have to make a choice. Either you or the coin.”

The coin takes all responsibility away from him. It is a thought that appeals all too much to Kyle.

We start small: a new sandwich at the shop? Heads. It’s tasty, that’s all. No regrets. No real interest. Scratch card? He wins £10. He chuckles a little. He’s not that impressed, but the seed has been planted. It’s Sunday. Visit Nana or not?

Tails. Not.

That doesn’t sit well with Kyle, so he goes anyway. He can’t not see Nana. She waits all week to see him. They sit for hours and, mostly, he listens. His heart is heavy when he leaves. She thought he was the man come to fix the television. She kept asking him when the Queen’s Speech would be on. It is not the best state of mind for Kyle to be in for a chance encounter with his ex.

Sara.

She looks so good. Kyle swears she sparkles. They talk awkwardly for a bit: Hubby is doing well; The kids are growing so fast; work has her snowed under. She smells like summer fruits. He remembers that scent from when she used to squeeze her body next to his in bed. She could have been his if luck had been kinder. But of course, it wasn’t. He wasn’t “ambitious” enough for her. 

“You could make so much of yourself...” she told him.

He scoffed. Fat chance. So they took a break. He gave her space and time - in truth he wallowed on his couch, eating and drinking and moping. Then Mr Perfect rolled up in his perfect electric car, spouting about his perfect carbon footprint, and she was hooked. Off they went together to live the “organic” life, climbing hills, and furrowing their brows at the “serious issue of austerity” - while planning another holiday abroad. They even took to the front line soup kitchens. Kyle found that strangely sickening. The idea of ladling spoonsful of cheap soup to the less fortunate, a factitious smile on their faces, knowing they’re going back to their cosy three bedroom house, and their fridge bursting  with food and shelves sagging with their weekly Waitrose groceries.

He hates that about them. He loves that about her.

My voice cuts though his thoughts: You could follow her.

There is a beat. I hold out the coin. Kyle hesitates.

“No.”

We go a for a few drinks to chase the day away. We forget the coin. I leave it dormant on the table. But somehow, it manages to slip into his pocket, as if by chance.

When he crawls out of bed the next morning, cursing his luck and blaming me for that fifth pint, he finds the silver dollar on his kitchen counter. He is still not sure how it got there. Such a silly little thing. Completely worthless here. But then, hadn’t it won him a tenner? And if he’d listened to it and not visited Nana, he wouldn’t have bumped into Sara – Beautiful, glowing Sara. It wouldn’t have brought the memories back. Or the pain.

Always a man to blame his circumstances, Kyle pondered. Anything he did as a result of this coin toss wouldn’t really be his fault. Would it? Blame free. It wouldn’t be his fault. It would be the coins fault – my fault.

He flips the coin. It hurtles and zings.

“Go to work today or not?”  

He smacks it down – heads: no work today. He smiles and makes his way to the couch. With remote in hand his finger hovers over the buttons - but then he stops and thinks.

“Stay home? Or go out?”

Flip, zing, catch – tails. Better get dressed then.

Kyle has no idea where he is going. He tells himself how stupid this is. Opportunity isn’t going to suddenly leap out at him. But there is a voice in his head, now, that isn’t his, and it whispers:

What if?

He goes to the newsagents to peruse the photography magazines – another would-be hobby he had given up on. He reaches into his pocket for change. The coins feel dull, chalky and thunk against each other, indistinguishable one to the next. Then there was that silver dollar, pushing it’s way between his fingers. Its cold face presses into his palm and sends a shiver up his arm. It seems to whisper to him.

“Buy it?” or Steal it?

He trembles. Like a naughty child he gives the shopkeeper a few fervent glances over the magazine. Flip.

It’s surprisingly easy to walk out of the shop. His heart is thumping so loud he’s sure someone must be able to hear it. But no one hears. No one sees. He’s terrified. He’s thrilled. He wonders if he could pick up a camera that easily as well!

He parks himself on a bench, contemplating. The chills of excitement soon leave him as he flicks idly through his ill-gotten magazine, barely noticing the words. It’s only his stomach protesting that makes him get up, and his feet carry him to the sandwich shop.

Bad move and just his luck! His supervisor is here, picking up his own lunch. Usually he’d have someone else pick it up for him – usually Kyle. But Kyle hadn’t gone to work that day. Stupid mistake! He knows he should leave... but he doesn’t. The coin finds it’s way into his hand once more.

You’ve always wanted to tell him want you really think of him, it whispers.

Flip. Zing. Heads. He smiles.

The profanities that he lets fly seem unsuited to the gleeful grin on his face. Everyone in the shop has frozen, listening to this tirade. Time itself is holding it’s breath. Kyle, once begun, cannot stop. Electricity is buzzing throughout his body, powering his words. His supervisor is too stunned to respond, his face white. When twenty years of bitterness has been exhausted, Kyle wishes his former supervisor a nice day and leaves.

He can’t keep the smile from his face. He wonders what else could he do?

Zing! Zing!

Kissing the beautiful girl at the bus shelter was a big mistake. His throbbing cheek could attest to that.

“Not right. Not worth it.”

But I got I kiss out of it, the coin whispers in a voice that sounds like Kyles.

What was that saying? Regret the things you do and not the things you don’t. He took a chance. He got what wanted out of it. She got her revenge and moved on. What harm was there?

While he contemplated this, three young boys walk by. They were typical lads, hoods high and trousers low. Their height suggested age, but their gangly limbs betrayed them. Fourteen? Fifteen? If that.

Wham! An explosion of white, viscous liquid erupted against the glass, barely an inch from Kyles right ear. Milkshake spattered across his face and seeped grotesquely beneath his collar and through his shirt. The lads cackled.  

“Fat Fucker!” One of them shouted.

Normally Kyle would hang his head and walk away. But today was anything but normal.

Flip. Zing! Bam!

Blood spurts. He knocks out two front teeth from the closest boy. Who knew he could hit so hard?

The boys reel. They hesitate, gesticulate. But in the end they simply grab their friend, his bloody face in his hands, and drag him off down the road, hurling foulness back across their shoulders and threats of “next time.”

Kyle’s smile grows broader.

“That’ll teach them.”

Will it?

“They’re just boys. Just kids doing stupid things.”

They’re just stupid boys. Someone needs to teach them a lesson.

Zing. Zing. Zing.

He follows. 

There are a lot of bricks and broken bottles in the alley beside the liquor shop, where the boys have chosen to regroup. There is a loose fence post, long and heavy. Kyle unhooks it from the chain link. It fits perfectly in his hand.

The boys are making too much noise to hear him approach, the one cursing through fat lips, the others jabbing him with jibes of “you got clocked by an old git!” 

Kyle tightens his grip.

The metal bar knocks the laughter out of the tallest boy, the next boy folds around the swinging fence post as it hurtles towards his gut, and the third boy receives a crushing headbutt. The boys are a little tougher than their skinny frames suggest and land a good few blows on Kyles flabby body. The pain feels exhilarating! Even when the boys are writhing on the ground he finds he can’t stop.  

“That’s enough!” He hears himself scream.

Is it? Aren’t you enjoying it? Asks the coin.

“No.”

Yes, Kyles voice answers. They’ll think twice before they shit on me again!

He leaves the boys crying and bleeding.

I can do whatever I want. His heart beats in his ears.

“What do I want?”

Sara.

Sara is always pleased to see Kyle. She thinks it’s wonderful that they can still be friends. Kyle thinks he hears a glimmer of regret as she speaks of “still being close.” But her face isn’t glowing today. It pales as she answers the door. Her eyes trace the line of blood dripping from the corner of his swollen right eye, follows it to the fat lip, the scratches on his neck. When she reaches out to touch his arm, her face concerned, Kyle feels that spark once more. It pulses through him stronger than ever.

Zing. Zing.  

He kisses her. She reels away. But she doesn’t react the way the girl at the bus stop did. She understands. She smiles. It is her pity smile, her soup kitchen smile, the one reserved for “poor unfortunate souls.”

“You’ve had a rough day, haven’t you?” She sweetly coos.

She pities him. She has no idea! He is better now that he has ever been! She pities him? How dare she? Everything was her fault anyway! She was the one that left! She was the one who fell into the lap of luxury and left Kyle in the gutter!

You were mine first, his strange voice growls.

Zing. Zing. Zing.

You’re mine still!

The look of pity vanishes from her face as her back slams against the wall. She screams, but he muffles the scream with his own mouth. Her flailing arms are no match for his strong hands as he slaps her hard and pins her to the floor. The voice in his head is stronger than ever.

Regret the things you do.

As they struggle, the silver dollar rolls from Kyle’s pocket - as if by chance. Kyle doesn’t notice. But as it trundles away, the scrape of it’s edges on the wooden floor growing fainter and fainter, he suddenly begins to see her face.

She is glowing. A red glow. Her cheek is welted; her mascara smeared. She looks at him as if he is a stranger – a monster. He reels back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in his own feeble voice.

She runs. He runs.

There is no light left in the day and no life left in Kyle’s voice as he tells the officers everything. He confesses about the girl and the boys. He confesses about Sara, with a catch in his throat. He even confesses about the magazine, as if that mattered at all anymore.

The boys’ parents have already filed their report. They had stormed the station en masse and had not long been satiated and sent on their way before Kyle arrived. 

Sara had not been seen.

“When she does come in, or calls,” he croaks, his throat dry from crying. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

They won’t. 

He doesn’t really want them to. 

He doesn’t want to be forgiven.

...

Kyle Hawkins wasn’t really a bad man. He was lazy and unambitious. He refused to accept responsibility for himself and was too stubborn make good choices. Now his choices are made for him. He sleeps and wakes at the same time every day; Eats the same food from the same plastic tray; Completes the same chores; Stares at the same walls and faces day after day after day.

Who will he be when parole comes around?

Flip. Zing!

Heads I win. Tails you lose.

[tenscupcake]

the null hypothesis (5/?)

fitzsimmons. teen. i hope even one person enjoys this story as much as i do lol... it is such a source of joy in my life... especially with the dismal turn aos has taken lately. thanks to @aroseofstone​ for the endless support with this fic. summary: roughly one out of every six people can't feel touch; that is, until their soulmate touches them. fitz and jemma are two indignant contributors to that statistic, content to devote their lives to science rather than searching for their supposed 'other half.' both too clever for high school, they head off to university at sixteen, completely unaware their fates are about to become intertwined. but in a world where soulmates don't always match, it's not always easy to confess to a stranger. a soulmate au with a twist. this chapter on ao3 | back to chapter 1 on ao3

By the end of his last class on Wednesday, Fitz has amassed a sizeable inventory of tactile memories. Paired them up with physical properties and adjectives he’s never understood before now. Metal, glass, paper, plastic, wood, nitrile. He tries to think of every possible material he might encounter in next week’s lab and desensitise himself to it, so as not to draw unnecessary attention from Jemma. He knows he eventually has to come clean, but he doesn’t want it to be by accident.

He’s met about a dozen new people over the span of a day: other members of his suite, professors, classmates he’s been forced to work in groups with. And as he’s shaken all their hands, he’s been consistently amazed by how different everyone’s is. Some are unpleasantly moist; others are uncomfortably dry. Some squeeze hard, other barely hold on. Some hands feel massive around his, others are dwarfed by his own. Some have soft hands, others have rough calloused skin he wonders how they cope with. It’s funny, how he can start to make assumptions about the people he meets simply based on their handshake. How confident they are, how muscular, how often they use their hands, whether they have a skincare routine. A useful tool for the future, he speculates, that he’s almost glad to have acquired.

But there’s only one hand he keeps going back to, one he daydreams about touching again. Because only one changed his life forever: Jemma’s. Hers was the nicest of all.

In fact, that little hand has consumed roughly ninety percent of his waking thoughts since he walked out of that lab. Well, that hand and the person attached to it.

The lecture for their chemistry class meets tomorrow morning, and he’s already vowed to himself to try to find her. Being introductory level as it is, an important prerequisite for multiple programs, it’s a huge class. More than three hundred students. Trying to locate someone specific to sit next to without prior coordination may be near impossible.

But his only ill-formed plan as of right now, that Mack helped him formulate, is to get to know Jemma better. His only hope is that, perhaps, if they’re friends, finding out the truth about him won’t be as revolting to her (worse case scenario; best case scenario, maybe she’ll be flattered). And the more time he spends with her outside of their lab section, the quicker he can get to know her, and vice versa. The sooner he can get the answer he needs.

Though, he has no idea what he’ll do if he does find her tomorrow. Simply stare at her from afar? Approach her and hope he doesn’t trip over his own tongue? Sit next to her and pray he can restrain himself from touching her the entire fifty minutes?

He spends the evening worrying about how it will play out as he repeatedly copies down the derivations of the equations he learned in Mechatronics today. Trying to memorize them early. But his wandering thoughts are distracting enough that it takes him much longer than it should. He keeps writing the wrong symbols, forgetting how to do basic integration.

When he finally gives up for the night and climbs into bed, he faces a night just as sleepless as the last. Tossing and turning, seeing Jemma’s face behind his eyelids. It’s a hazy memory, at this point, so many hours have passed since he’s seen her. He vows to himself the next time he sees her he’ll pay closer attention to her features, devote the details to memory.

He finally falls asleep in the wee hours of the morning, dreaming of what it’d be like to touch her again.

But his worry turns out to be for naught.

He does arrive early enough to spot her (he knew she’d be the type to show up ten minutes early), but completely loses his nerve when he sees her. She’s unmistakeable there in the front row, both a laptop and a notebook on her tiny retractable desk, intently focused on the former. There’s a few dozen students inside already, but a myriad empty seats. Including all the ones next to her. He’s entered at the very back (and top) of the large lecture hall, and he’s totally out of her line of vision, for now. He could walk down the steps and wait for her to see him.

He imagines how she’d look over and smile at him, inviting him to sit next to her. Or… what if she simply rolls her eyes, disappointed that he’d not leave her alone here, either?

In that moment, she turns in her chair, as though she’s about to look behind her. With the way the air evacuates his lungs at the idea of her seeing him, he’s no longer uncertain if he’s brave enough to approach her. He definitely isn’t. Heart sinking into his shoes, he looks down to the floor, settling into his usual chair in the back right of the hall instead.

He clenches his fists and mentally kicks himself for chickening out. Fighting the urge to look up.

He doesn’t even know for certain whether Jemma did look up toward the back. But if she did see him, she pretended not to.

Perhaps it’s for the best, then.

 -----

 Encouraged by her conversation with Daisy, Jemma makes it her mission to put Fitz out of her mind. Temporarily. He’s not going anywhere, after all. She’ll see him next week in the lab, where she can put her plan to form a friendship into action. And until then, there’s nothing she can do. Instead, she decides to go on an excursion to break in her new sense. Can’t be giving herself away to everyone around her after all (least of all Fitz).

She wanders around campus with her notepad and phone, touching everything she can get her hand on and trying to match it to descriptions she can find online.

Grass, she punches into Google. Coarse, scratchy, springy. She has too look up definitions for each tactile adjective, and get a sense of how each one translates on her fingertips. But the investigation is well worth her time. This is a whole new way of interacting with the world, and Jemma can’t contain her curiosity.

Polystyrene. Flexible and spongy, yet brittle. She tears off a few pieces of the coffee cup, finally matching a sensation to how it squeaks and rips.

But it isn’t long before she has to admit she’s spectacularly failing her mission. All she can think about is Fitz.

Cement. Hard, dense.

What’s he doing right now? Inventing something, probably. Or maybe he’s still in class, that serious focused face on as he scribbles messy equations down. Or perhaps he’s rolling his eyes at another student he’s been forcibly partnered with.

Water. Fluid, refreshing. She sits on the edge of the fountain, dragging her hand through it, marvelling how it tickles her hand as it resists the motion before finally rushing between her fingers. As soon as she pulls her hand out, each individual droplet trickles down her hand before reuniting with the pool below.

What if he is her match, and he’s just too shy to admit it, too? She imagines the hypothetical revelation making him smile, a phenomenon she doesn’t think she’ll ever get enough of. Those boyish cheeks lifted even higher, his eyes sparkling. What colour were they? Somehow, she’d failed to notice.

She leaps up and walks in circles across the plaza, trying to get a hold of herself. She can’t entertain such thoughts, not when she has no proof yet. It’ll only crush her even more if she’s built up hope of that.

She continues her investigation, instead: the shiny paint and windscreen of a new car, the bark of a tree, the surface of a stone. But even as she catalogues these things, her mind wanders. Curious about how other things would feel. Cupping his jaw. Running her fingers through his hair. Splaying her fingers on his chest. It’s purely scientific, she tries to convince herself. This curiosity.

And yet, she has no desire to quench said curiosity with any other bloke. Any person. Even if it were possible to, which it is definitely not, she’d only want Fitz.

Oh, this is not good at all.

The next thirty-odd hours progress in much the same way. Trying to focus on other things, constantly distracted by her soulmate’s abrupt arrival in her life. Trying to prepare herself for next week’s lab, what she’ll say to him to try to befriend him after the rocky start they had.

But it’s not until seven forty-seven on Thursday morning, when she’s one of the first people in the lecture hall for chemistry, that it hits her that Fitz is in this course. Unless he makes a habit of skipping lecture (which wouldn’t be unbelievable for him), he’ll be here this morning.

Why had this not occurred to her sooner?

There’s just so many people in this class, she’d managed to compartmentalize the lecture portion apart from the lab portion. There are so many fewer students there, such a different learning atmosphere. It’s hard not to separate them mentally.

Suddenly, her decently-controlled anxiety skyrockets again. Heart skips several beats. What if she runs into him? She hasn’t fully prepared for such an encounter yet.

She turns around, scanning the room for him.

Sitting in the very front, as per usual, she has a good view of the entire room. But so far, there’s only about ten other students here, scattered across the room quite randomly.

She tries to focus on what she’s reading, a recent article that caught her interest about genetically engineered allergen-free peanuts. But she can’t stop herself from looking back.

The fourth time she does, she catches sight of him, unmistakeable with his cardigan and tie. The door has just banged closed behind him, way at the top of the hall. But he’s looking down at the ground, evidently unconcerned with whoever else is already in the room. He slumps into a chair in the very back row, the right-hand side too, about as far away from her as he can get. She lets her gaze linger on him for a moment, hoping he’ll glance up and see her, but he doesn’t. He must be looking at his phone, or something else. He looks a bit grumpy, too, from her vantage point. Perhaps not a morning person.

She turns back around, staring numbly at the whiteboard. And doesn’t bother looking back again. She supposes it’s for the best. What would she have done, anyway, if he had seen her? Waved awkwardly? Invited him down to sit with her? Taken the long journey up to the back of the class to sit with him? All those options sound dreadfully anxiety-inducing. It’d probably seem weird and clingy anyway, jumping him like that when he’s not expecting it. Especially this early in the morning.

It’s fine. She can wait until the lab. That’s what she’d planned on, anyway.

But the entirety of the dull lecture, all she can think about is Fitz, sitting in the back of the very same hall. He’s probably just as bored as she is, playing on his computer with engineering stuff.

She’s surprised that mental image makes her smile the way it does.

 -----

 When Tuesday afternoon finally arrives, Fitz is no more prepared than he was five days earlier. He arrives ten minutes early, partly so Jemma knows he was serious about not being tardy again, and partly so that he can mentally prepare himself for when she walks in. After he turns in his completed lab report from last week to the basket in front, he simply takes his seat at their station and waits. He thinks about putting his PPE on, but decides against it. Once he’s suited up, there’s no chance of any skin contact. And stupid and selfish though it may be, he’s hoping for some today. He doesn’t need a lot. Just one touch, and he’ll be content for another week. One little touch.

He jumps every time someone opens the door closest to him, but it’s never her. The TA (Jason, he’d found out his name is by checking the syllabus), then three other students amble in. It’s not until the fifth that he finally sees Jemma.

She looks taken aback to see him, pausing in the doorway like she’s surprised he arrived before her. But she collects herself momentarily, taking a visible breath before offering him a wave and a smile and walking inside.

“Hey, Fitz,” she offers as she approaches their bench.

He realizes he neither waved back nor said anything by the time she sits down, only followed her with his eyes. His poorly committed memory of her didn’t really do the real thing justice. She’s so much more breathtaking than he remembered. Her smile alone brightens the entire aisle around her, and he can actually feel common sense leaving his head the longer he stares at it. Then there’s her eyes, a bright, inviting shade of brown. The way she manages to carry herself with such authority. And is that a bit of a blush on her cheeks?

Oops. He still hasn’t returned her greeting.

“Hi,” he manages. Swallows hard.

Well, this is going well.

“Jemma,” he adds, probably too delayed for it to seem natural. She’d said his name, though.

His last name again. Huh. It’s rare for anyone to refer to him by last name like that. And this is the second time she’s done it in the short time since they met. But it sounds nice when she says it, soft and almost affectionate. Which is mad, because she can’t possibly feel that way.

“Sorry,” she says, unexpectedly. What does she have to apologize for? “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“Did what?” he asks before she can volunteer it.

“Called you by your last name. I don’t know why –”

“That’s fine,” he blurts out.

“Yeah?” she says, surprised.

“Yeah, I, er… I like it,” he manages to say. It must sound mental, but he’s unable to bear the thought of accepting her apology and, by extension, agreeing she should be sorry for anything at all.

She lifts an eyebrow almost flirtatiously. He thinks.

“All right.” With the tiniest of smiles, she delves into her backpack for her things.

Her hands are as of yet un-gloved, and suddenly he realises he’s about to miss his short window to touch her hand again. He runs through a list of ways he could contrive such a scenario in his mind as she pulls out the necessary items from her bag. Just as she’s going for the box of gloves at the end of the bench, a random one spills out of his mouth.

“Oh, er, Jemma, could I… er… borrow a pen?”

Confused, she glances down at his hand, where he’s still holding the pen he’s written down half the protocol with.

“Ran out of ink?” she guesses.

Nope, just an absolute numpty who forgot to stash it before he asked.

He exhales with relief that she’s giving him the benefit of the doubt. That could’ve gone a lot worse.

“Yeah,” he agrees. If the circumstances were different, he’d be lauding her for giving him a good excuse.

With a little more theatrics than necessary, he chucks it into the nearest bin. A perfectly good pen. Oh well.

“You’re in luck,” she says, fishing around in her bag again. “I’ve got lots.” She glances over at his notebook. “You want black, I imagine. To stay consistent.”

Actually, he couldn’t care less what colour ink he uses or if it matches his old pen, as long as it’s Jemma’s.

When he doesn’t respond, she pulls out a black one, anyway. And when she holds it out for him, there’s only about a centimetre of space left on the end of the pen for him to take it.

Is she reading his mind, or is this entirely coincidental?

Greedy as he is, he doesn’t think on it too hard. It’s still a perfect opportunity, and he doesn’t want to miss it.

He reaches for it hesitantly with his left hand, giving her plenty of time to decide if she wants to change her tactic here. But she doesn’t budge. He steels himself for what’s coming, and closes his hand around the end of the pen, lightly brushing one her thumb and finger as he does.

Fitz thought for sure he had built up that first time in his head. That logically speaking, there was no way the second time would be as magical as he’d come to remember first. But he was oh so wrong. Senses alight in the finger pads that had touched her, no less intensely than before. New cells, new sensitivity, it seems the rule is here. He holds his breath, trying not to visibly react. But it’s still tingling, every last bit of skin that touched hers, blood rushing into that hand as fast as into his face.

His heart screams for him to be bold, to reach out and touch more, not caring whether he’s revealed or not. Thankfully, his brain stops him from doing something so stupid, and he just watches her reaction instead. But, again – there’s not much to go off of. She grins tightly once she’s handed off the pen, then turns back to the rack of gloves.

As he’s putting on his own gloves and coat, he churns over what just happened. She could’ve done that so many other ways. She didn’t have to hold on to so much of that pen – a mere inch on the opposite end would have sufficed. She could’ve just set it on the benchtop for him. She could’ve tossed it on his notebook, for God’s sake.

It’s only as he’s thinking back on the fleeting moment that realizes that, just as he’d reached for the pen with his left, she had held it out with her left hand. When he knows she’s right-handed.

Is it possible she wanted to sneak a little touch of her own?

Oh, how badly he wants to believe that.

But that is scant circumstantial evidence. This is merely confirmation bias at work: he’s only absorbing the evidence that supports the theory he wishes to be true. Because there’s plenty of conflicting evidence, too, that he’d rather ignore: such as that she has neither visibly reacted to this second touch, nor initiated a conversation about the first one.

The way he feels about this whole phenomenon is rare, he knows that much. And what reason does Jemma have to fear she’d be mismatched? She’s beautiful and, evidently, brilliant. She could probably have whoever she wanted either way.

No, chances are, his gut instinct is right. He still needs more evidence, more time to be certain, but...

Fitz pinches the bridge of his nose. God, that was such a bad, impetuous idea. He’s only got patches of three fingers on his left hand with sensation, now. It’s going to feel odd until he can somehow contrive a left-handed handshake, or another similar form of contact. (Assuming he can even think of another one that wouldn’t be construed as plain harassment, because right now he’s coming up rather blank.)

He doesn’t have any more time to mull it over before Jason is calling the now full lab to attention.

They’re both a bit less talkative, this time around. Fitz knows in his case, he’s about a hundred times more nervous, being in his bloody soulmate’s presence and making his best effort not to make a total fool of himself in front of her. Only one chance at a first impression, and he already mucked it up. Trying to redeem himself is actually quite stressful.

But it remains a mystery why Jemma is quieter. Especially considering how talkative she’d been last week: narrating the experiment, asking him questions, bossing him around. He sort of misses it.

A small, optimistic part of him hopes it’s because she’s nervous too, being around her own soulmate. But the much larger, realistic part of him that relies on evidence and logic assumes it’s because she’s already decided she doesn’t much care for him.

It’s not that they don’t talk at all, because they definitely do. And Fitz relishes in every bit of new information about her. It’s mostly things related to school – their class schedules, their research interests, what they want to do when they finish school. He tells her about his plan to be an aerospace engineer, and she confesses she’s still having trouble deciding between biotechnology and medical research.

And just as last week, they divide up their tasks efficiently, and complete the base protocol and the extra few steps of investigation that had tacked on quicker than any other pair.

He can’t believe a week ago he had all but written off the idea of a friendship with her. He’s never met anyone so passionate and intelligent before. He’s not overly fond of biology, but he could listen to her talk about it all day. And damn it if she doesn’t manage to make these fogged-up, bulky lab goggles, that make everyone else look like a clown, look adorable.

As the minutes tick by, he’s more and more glad that they’re required to wear full PPE in this lab – that the coat, goggles, gloves can’t come off until they’ve finished. He isn’t sure how he’d stop himself from touching her if they were working this closely together without all that. Every time she taps impatiently on the bench with her fingers as they wait, he can’t help but imagine they’re somewhere else: that her gloves are gone, and he can stop her fidgeting by taking her hands gently in his, brushing his thumb over her skin. Whenever she’s turned away, he can hardly think of anything but what it’d be like to brush the back of his hand along her smooth cheek.

And he’s not proud to admit this, but every second the experiment doesn’t require his immediate focus, he can’t stop staring at her.

They complete their entire modified protocol in, again, just under two hours. But last time, the end couldn’t come soon enough. Now, it’s far too soon. They’ve still got another hour allotted to finish, and he’d like nothing more than to spend it with Jemma. But, lacking a good enough excuse to have them both stick around an extra hour, he’s mute as they finish recording up their observations and final measurements and turn in the carbon copies.

He holds out hope that perhaps Jemma will end every lab with a friendly parting handshake, once they’re free of these bloody gloves.

But she does no such thing today.

“See you next week, Fitz,” she says as she walks past where he’s still stuffing things into his bag.

When he looks up, she gives him a smile that takes his breath away. Awkward red goggle lines on her face or not, she’s stunning.

“See you,” he echoes, trying to smile back. Only hoping he succeeds.

He watches her until she gets to the door, and she stops and glances back before she opens it.

“Good luck with that rat liver.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles out.

With a parting wave, she’s gone.

Fitz’s heart does a backflip in his chest. He’d only mentioned his dread over the upcoming lab this week in biochem in passing. She wasn’t just nodding along with his stories and complaints about his other courses. She was listening, and remembered everything he’d said. Wished him luck.

Floating on the reassurance of that one simple gesture, Fitz can’t stop smiling the rest of the evening.

[penguin-g-41]

The End of Vox Machina

Sad stuff ahead. Be warned.

The first to meet their end is Trinket. It was peaceful, in his sleep. Young Vax found him outside in the garden. Flowers from a nearby tree had fallen gently on his large form. He was buried amoung other de Rolos as that is what he was. The bear found himself in the darkness of death before he picked up a familiar scent. It had been many years, but he knew it. Decay and graveyard and the masking smell of rose oil.

“Trinket.” He wasted no time knocking down the half elf rogue paladin. He licked the side of his face. Pinned under the large bear Vax scratched his underbelly. “Missed you buddy.”

The next was Grog. It was a bar fight gone just a bit too far. His old Goliath body couldn’t handle much more. Pike and Scanlan got the word out as quickly as they could. Soon enough Vex and Percy along with their 5 children as well as Keyleth find themselves crammed into Grog and Pike’s childhood home. Pike begged him to let her heal him, but he declined. Even the pleas of the little gnomes whose fingers barely could get a hold on his pinky could not get through. Too tired he said. He would be happy with this death. A death from battle. Surrounded by his true family in his true home Grog slipped away. Everything grew cold.

“Hey, big guy.” Grog turned in the darkness to see Vax. He looked the same as they day he walked away. Large black wings spread out behind him.

“Vax.” Grog rushed forward, easily lifting the half elf off his feet. He looked down and noticed he was young again. His beard was once again black and his muscles rippling. He wore the Titanstone knuckles on his hands. Something he needed not do in a long time.

“Walk with me, Grog.” Vax smiled at him gesturing into the darkness. “We’ve been waiting a while.”

“We?” Before Vax can answer Grog sees a red dragonborn in familiar robes, holding a staff. “Tibs?”

The third to go is Percy. His hair color finally fit his age. A simple cold was his end. Surrounded by his legacy of children and grandchildren and one great-grandchild as well as his loving wife. His sister and her husband, the captain of the guard, a once timid young boy by the name of Kynan were there with their children. Keyleth had come from Zephra and Pike and Scanlan from Westrun. Even Tary had managed to make it from Wildemount. Whitestone was a hub of innovation. He had not touched his guns since Silas had reared his ugly head some months after Vecna’s fall. No. That was a lie. That was the last time it was used to harm something. He would take it out even at his old age and show off to his grandkids, still as skilled a marksman as he was in his youth. With one last kiss from the one he chose he died old and happy, the opposite of how he once thought he would.

He felt the familiar chill of death in the dark space. He felt young again. His joints weren’t creaky and his hands more steady. His clothes were as they once were and the Cabal’s Ruin sat around his shoulders.

“Brother.” Percy turned to the source of the noise.

“You know I figured I’d be off to hell by now. Orthax still wants my soul,” he sighed.

“I pulled a few strings, got you out of the deal.”

“The Raven Queen?” He scoffed. It had been many years, but the bitterness towards her remained.

“Pelor actually.”

“Well.” Percy dropped the look of dissatisfaction and wrapped his arms around Vax. The paladin hugged back, wrapping his wings around him as well.

“Come on. They’re waiting for you.” Percy looked behind him to see the smiling faces of his family. He smiled and went to them hugging them tightly.

“Are those new glasses?” A deep gruff voice asked. Percy drew away from his mother’s embrace to see a smiling Grog along with Tiberius and Trinket. Percy smiled.

Not to long after Percy, Tary slipped away. A wound he had sustained had never properly healed correctly. A simple fall caused his death to come. Each member of the remaining members of Vox Machina came. His once golden hair was now a light gray and his goatee more of a beard. Tary had long retired from adventuring but continued to fund and guide his brigade with his husband Lawerence and his sister at his side. Lawrence had since passed, but Tary lived long enough to publish his book. He had never felt compelled to do so until Vox Machina began to slip away from the material plane. He published it and titled it The Daring Trials and Tribulations of Taryon Darington and Vox Machina. The prequel to Taryon Darington and the Brigade. With a smirk on his face Taryon died.

“Hey, T.” Tary hadn’t heard that voice in a very long time. Instantly he broke into tears. “Hey. Hey. Why are you crying?”

“I never got to say goodbye.”

“I know. That doesn’t matter anymore, though.” Vax sighed, hugging the once again blond man. He found himself young and in his shiny armor. “There’s some people waiting for you.”

“Mother? Father? Lawrence?”

“Us as well, Tary,” Percy stepped up beside them along with Grog.

“Uh who’s the dragonborn?”

“I’m Tiberius Stormwind of Vox Machina. I’m from Draconia.”

Next came Vex. Within the span of about two decades or more Keyleth lost many of her family. Only Pike, Scanlan and Keyleth were left when Vex’ahlia’s time came. Like Percy it was a cold. She was actually happy that the Raven Queen would soon have her. She yearned to see her loved ones. Surrounded by her and Percy’s made family she smiled. Whitestone has continued to be on the forefront of innovation. It had grown to rival Emon, Percy would be proud. She smiled at her twin children. They seemed all to familiar. She took her eldest’s son’s hand. Simple words of how much he looked like his uncle. She turned to Keyleth. A silent promise was made and with a final breath Vex winked at Scanlan.

In the darkness she wandered and wandered until she saw a figure sitting on a fallen log in the absolute darkness. There was a gentle fire going in front of the figure. The wings have it away instantly. He turned around.

“Stubby.” She was immediately pulled into a hug.

“Vax. Vax. Vax.” She clung to him tightly. “I found you. I told you I’d find you.”

“My sister,” he sighed pulling away and grabbing her shoulders. She looked down and saw her dragon scale armor and her hair was no longer gray.

“Vex’ahlia,” Vex felt her heart stop. She turned to the woman just out of view.

“Mom.” She walked up to her hugging her tightly. They pulled away after a moment.

“My sweet girl, I am so proud of you.” She reached up and wiped away her tears.

“Vex, darling.” Vex turned to find Percy.

“You look good,” she chuckled as he stepped towards her.

“And you.” He smiled. She placed a small kiss on his lips before hearing the heavy breathing of a running bear.

“Trinket!” She was tackled by the bear. He picked all over her face, nuzzling into her.

“I’d forgotten how fast he was.” she looked behind the large bear to see Tiberius.

“Tibs.”

“Little elf girl.” Vex smiled as Tary and Grog stepped from the darkness.

“Goldie.” Then Vex turned to Vax. “Keyleth says hello.”

Then Scanlan. He, Pike and Keyleth had long lives to live. He got Kaylie through school and she got married and had a son. Scanlan and Pike had two little gnomes running around as well. This thrilled Grog until he passed. The even smaller gnomes with wit of their father and heart of their mother were the best thing to ever happen to Scanlan. His book was a huge success. Everyone who could read knew the true story of Vox Machina. How they began and how they ended. Kidney failure. A bright de Rolo had become a great doctor and found out this is what happened when you drank your sorrows away. With Kaylie and his two younger daughters as well as his wife, Pike and Keyleth around him his eyes fluttered closed.

“Hey, Scan-“ Vax was cut off by Scanlan jumping at him.

“I tried to wish you back. I tried,” He mumbled into the feathers of Vax’s armor.

“I know you did. I love you.”

“YOU!” Scanlan jumped at the loud voice. Then he smiled as Grog lifted him up hugging him and nearly crushing him.

“Grog!” Scanlan laughed through his tears. Then he saw the others.

“How did the book do?” Percy asked.

“What book?” Scanlan chuckled nervously.

“Pike told me.”

“Oh. It did well. There’s supposedly going to be statues of us in every major city.”

“Really?” Tary’s eyes lit up.

“Oh I hope they do my nose right,” Vex mumbled.

Then Pike was taken by some illness going about the temple. She wasn’t worried or scared. She was going to be with her friends and her husband. She had done amazing things. She had made her goddess proud and somehow raised her kids. In return she’d spend eternity with Sarenrae or her friends. Both. She smiled at Keyleth. Pike was all she had left. The only one left of Vox Machina. She squeezed the Druid’s hand before her grip loosened as she drifted away.

She was met with darkness and cold then it was replaced by warmth and light.

“Pike.” She knew who it was. She looked up to see the glowing form of her patron. “You have done well. You will tell me your story in time, but for now reunite with your friends. You’ve been away from them for a long time, my dear.”

“Pickle.” Pike felt tears start to form as she saw a dark form in the almost blinding light of Sarerae. Two large black wings cast a beautiful silhouette.

“Stringbean.” Vax knelt down in front of her, pulling her into a hug. “It’s been too long.”

“Yeah. Yeah it has.”

“Pike!” Pike peered over Vax’s shoulder to see Grog. Pike pushed Vax away and leaped at Grog. He caught her and held her in his arms.

“Mrs. Shorthalt.” Grog set Pike down as Scanlan approached.

“Mr. Trickfoot.” Pike smiled before rushing at Scanlan. Pulling him into a deep kiss. As the rest gather around they all looked at each other. They all look as young as they did the day Vax went away. Their armor is glowing as they stand.

“Just one more,” Vax sighed.

Keyleth knows. It’s her exactly 1,000th birthday. Many generations of Trickholts and de Rolos pass by like a breeze. She led her people with pride. She tutored the next voice of the tempest before he went off on his quest. He was the 10th one. He sits at her side at the large banquet in her honor. He completed his armamente but decided to not take up the mantle until Keyleth’s time came to an end. Thankfully it would only be 2 years he would have to wait. The world had seen two more threats, but other heroes much like Vox Machina rose up. Keyleth of course offered the assistance of her people every time. She tried dating again when she was 305. She found herself entranced by a half-elven rouge with dark hair and pale skin. He funny enough was a part of a adventuring group very similar to Vox Machina. Keyleth breaks it off, knowing that it’s just not right. She does not date again. Her heart with always belong to the stealthy champion of the Raven Queen. She helped lead the Ashari back to the world stage. They were no longer secluded villages. While they kept to themselves there were more open interactions. Keyleth watched as White became the capital of Taldorei. The clock tower still standing tall right in front of castle Whitestone. She travels there more often in her later hundred years. She always earns glances when she does. She travels to the sun tree. Statues of each member of Vox Machina had been placed around the base of the Sun Tree (including Trinket). She sits in front of the one for Vax. The one crow always finds its way there. No matter where she goes it will always be there.

Tales of Vox Machina’s bravery and acts always float about Exandria. Yet. The years that had gone by seem to twist them more to just stories. The grand statues in every city tells otherwise. The titan that looms of Vasselheim tells otherwise. The keep outside of Emon tells otherwise. The handsome statue in Draconia tells otherwise. The clock tower in Whitestone tells otherwise.

The sun begins to set on what Keyleth’s knew to be her last day. She couldn’t help but smile. She walked to the edge of the cliffs where the border of sun trees stand. She went to the one covered in black raven feathers and skulls and medallions. Carefully, she placed her hand on the tree. Still the hum of Pelor‘s power pulses through it- through each tree. She had taken off her mantel in her house, leaving it for the next voice. She sat down at the base of the Raven tree. A small caw broke through the air. She looked up in the branches to see the Raven. It flew down and landed on her shoulder. Keyleth simply smiled as she watched the sun set.

As the last bit of light disappeared her eyelids grew heavy. With a relieved sigh she closed her eyes, relaxing into the tree. The weight of the Raven on her shoulder changed, but only slightly. Then it felt like a hand was there. She opened her eyes to find a face she’d only been able to dream about inches from hers.

“Hey, Kiki.” Keyleth simply smiled as leaned forward kissing Vax. When they pulled away she glanced about to see miles of flower covered hills with mountains in the distance. She turned and saw Vex and Percy and Tary and Trinket. They’re smiling at her. She turned to the other side and sees Grog and Pike and Scanlan. They’re all young and smiling. She thought everything to have been a dream and this reality until she saw Tiberius.

“This is it?” She smiled.

“Yes.” Vax smiled. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I love you.” The tears started to fall from her eyes.

“I love you too. Forever and always.”

And there they sat, basking in the sun, leaning against a suntree, Vox Machina of Greyskull Keep, slayers of the Chroma Conclave, imprisoners of the Undying King, saviors of Vasselheim and Emon, liberators of Whitestone, heroes of Tal’dorei, protectors of Exandria, aka the S.H.I.T.S.

[zippydodahgay]

What the hell is happening CHAPTER 4

What the hell is happening CHAPTER 4

The day started with us all relaxing on the couch, Puff timidly showing herself while Ember continued to sleep. Its not that Puff didn't trust her, its that she didn't really trust anyone until a good while has passed. despite losing our fear of the daytime, we till awoke around 3 pm casually and just did as we pleased really, wandering about like the lazy nature of any cat creature, laying on warm things and batting glasses off tables. Puff beat me to a glass earlier darn it. The quietness was interrupted though, Ember had awoken, and slammed her door open like a victorious warrior, big grin across her teeth and cheeks, and chest held high, Puff hid so quick she never saw even a fleck of her, while me and Bruno looked over to her, tilting our heads curiously. "I WILL SPARE YOUR EARTH FROM MY RULE!" she said with pride, lowering her hand from the door to put it to her chest in a official looking speech giving pose. "It has been apparent to me through these days here that earth is just fine how it is." she paused to leap down the stairs and land on our coffee table, making Bruno retreat his feet from the table, Ember had a normal tone now, and a surprisingly relaxed expression. "however, im gonna give it another trial today." Me and Bruno traded glances, i raised a eyebrow and popped my tongue out in a derpy "im listening" look. "whats that?" Bruno questioned. "glad you asked!" she grinned, hands on hips proudly. "a good way to test a place of worthiness is it's population!" i heard Puff peep scaredly from the shadows, Ember ignored the noise. "so im gonna find us a servant!" she grinned, biting her lip excitedly and looking to both of our eyes looking for a reaction, my mouth was dripping drool, i zoned out, ill be honest. Bruno looked skeptical. "you mean a pet" he added. Ember lowered her arms "a what" "a pet, Ember. a lower animal that willingly lives with us for care and affection." Ember looked in thought. "thats.....that sounds way better then the struggle of capturing someone." I nodded with a giddy face rapidly. "WE SHOULD GET A CENTIPEEDLE!" ember tilted her head. "isn't that the thing we saw on TV?" Bruno nodded for me, and corrected me without my saying. "we dont have any here on earth, shes just being a goofball again." i put my ears down and lip out in a pout. Ember looked a bit worried at the sad expression she saw me express for the first time in her presence. Ember bit her cheek for a moment and sprung a idea. "HEY what if they just haven't found one yet? they could totally exist!" when my face lit up, so did hers, and we laughed in a idiot adorable giggle fit of excited-ness for a moment till Bruno butted in politely. "okay.. but where will you look?" I stood up and loudly proclaimed; "THEY LIVE IN THE FOREST AREA NEAR A BEACH!" i lowered my tone, and spoke quickly with the speed of a million TV-loving nerds. "They like areas where people do a lot of activity and they like areas where they can crawl and see shiny stuff and eat CHAAAAAAAAPS!" i breathed heavily, Ember looked like she made a mental note. "okay one question." i nodded, ready to answer. "what the hell is a chaaps" I scurried to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of potato chips, unopened. and shoved them into Ember's arms quickly. "THESE ARE!" ember tried to open the bag but i stopped her. "no, bad ember! those are for the centipeedle!" i said in a sort of whine. Ember put her hands up innocently and nodded with a smile. "ill be back with the centipeedle then! HUZZAH!" and then Ember ran out of the house, bag of chips over her head and with a spirit as bright as ever, it seems she finally accepted the earth, which is toats sweet dude we gonna be bff's and sisters and raise a buggo together! i spaced out with a idiotic expression on my face, Bruno snapped me out of it with a poke, Puff wasn't hiding anymore, and joined Bruno in the making of the concerned faces game. "PUFF! lets go make the centipeedle's area for when it gets here!" i galloped off to the laundry room, Puff shrugged and galloped after me, making a nice bed out of folded towels and a heating pad on the bottom, i returned to the empty-ish room and put down two plastic bowels. i turned to Puff who was deciding what curtains would be better for a pet. "thanks for the help Puffy" Puff smiled with that cute smile she always gave me when i complimented her, she must not be used to compliments cause she always blushes when i compliment her. anyway, the room was ready, but the sun was setting and Ember was not yet back. the beach is pretty far, maybe a state away, i forget, we haven't left the forest area for like two years. Puff, Bruno, and I decided to nap, all on the couch with the foot recliners out we laid in curled up balls as cats do, Puff closer to me, While Bruno simply touched cheeks with me, keeping a little distance away from us, he moved around more in his sleep so he preferred to not wake anyone else. The door creek sounded, and i (the one with the biggest ears) was the only one to hear it. i perked my head, Puff hid in the shadows as soon as i arose, and Bruno yawned longly, looking to the door as well. Ember stepped in, looking conflicted. "so i found something." she said in a sort of bothered tone, hiding the thing on the other side of the door with her body. "found what?" we added together in the same tone. "Well i don't think its human or of earth....uhhh just see for yourself." Ember let the door open and in walked a black cat creature, it was as tall as Ember, on its hind legs which had these dinosaur clawed feet, and two big white eyes, no mouth, no nose, but a long tail that had a mouth on it! and a red cape on it's shoulders, it fixed it's cape, and looked us over, outstretching a paw for us to shake i assume. i got up and stepped forward, mouth agape slightly, i kneeled to reach it's height, and shook its paw. It began to make a humming noise, through the humming i heard his tiny voice, a young boy voice, around the age of 17 years i think, it spoke softly through the very strong humming pitch that had beeps and clicks mixed into it. "My name is Oxcord" is all i could hear though the clicks and beeps. Bruno raised his ears, "is it saying something?" he asked to Ember, Ember shrugged. "yeah he said his name is Oxcord guys" Bruno shook his head. "didn't hear a thing cept' babble and beeps" Ember nodded, "same here, nothing like any words I've ever heard" i turned back to Oxcord, "guess im your translator" Oxcord looked up at me blankly, giving a singular nod in understanding.

[delctrl-archive]

*MUSIC SYMBOL THO*

♫ – five times my muse swears it’s nota date and the one time it maybe is.— @sycophanticvisionary​

1. CINEMA

      “Just pick one.”

      “I don’t know? I’m still thinking.”

      “Look, it’s not that hard. You’re over-complicating it.”

       “I’m just not sure.”

      “Ryan, if you don’t choose, I’m going to choose for you.”

      “All right, all right, gimme a minute, will you?!”

Easy for Joe to say; these are his selections. After process of elimination, the remaining films limit two in the same genre: Goodfellas or The Godfather III. Why is he not surprised this is something Joe likes? Ryan’s never been into gangster movies himself—someone has to force him to watch the first Godfather actually—so maybe he’s stalling on purpose, even though the line behind him is getting antsy.

      “Sir, you need to make your choice soon. You’re holding up the line,” the box office clerk wheedles impatiently.

He wants to reject both options, if only because Ryan really wants to see Total Recall, but Joe isn’t a Schwarzenegger fan [how is that even possible? He’s amazing as Conan the barbarian]. Part of him wants to see Edward Scissorhands because that’s a unique concept and Nightmare Before Christmas is bizarre in a good way, even if as a kid Ryan finds it scary. But whatever, he has to decide, otherwise not only will people be pissed, Joe will probably walk out on him.

      “Two for The Godfather.” It takes all his willpower not to sigh.

Glancing at Joe, the small smile on his lips tells Ryan he chooses well. That makes him smile in turn as they head to the snack bar.

      “What do you want to eat?” he hears Joe ask, though he shrugs.

      “You decide. I’m pretty cheap.”

Joe doesn’t argue, just orders them a combo popcorn and fishes for his wallet. It occurs to Ryan that Joe’s paying for everything and that makes his face hot with embarrassment. Does that mean—?

      “Is this a date?” Ryan blurts.

It stills Joe from handing over a twenty-dollar bill, his eyes slowly sliding towards Ryan. Ryan swallows nervously, staring back with what he doesn’t realize is anticipated hope.

      “No.”

Joe turns away to gather napkins as Ryan stands, deflated, watching. He doesn’t enjoy the movie as much as Joe does.

2. BOWLING ALLEY

Ryan’s probably never laughed as much as he had since getting out of prison, but witnessing someone as tall as Joe MacMillan try to toss a giant heavy ball down a laminated aisle and miss is ridiculously priceless. More than likely Joe doesn’t appreciate being the butt of the joke, but can’t say he doesn’t laugh either whenever Ryan misses a strike out—which isn’t a lot. He practically grows up on this game thanks to his dad’s company team. Ryan knows how to roll a ball before he knows keystrokes.

So, yes, it’s a little unfair he asks Joe to verse him, knowing the advantage he has, but it feels nice to be good at something again, especially against Joe MacMillan, a man who is seemly flawless at what he puts his mind to, regardless of skill level. [Ryan has seen the man’s code, and while it’s like looking at the aftermath of a wild keg party, there’s still some gold nuggets that can make a decent brewery. He may never be great at it, but he’s not unteachable.] When they decide to pause in Joe’s losing streak—he laughs again at the typical-wounded-ego pout on his face—they stop for a pizza break. Ryan carries a tray over with their huge slices and styrofoam soda cups; the one with the hot-pink crazy-straw indicates Ryan’s Dr. Pepper and the cup with lots of ice is Joe’s Coke. The fries they split. Ryan dunks his in too much ketchup, makes a mess of his shirt, and Joe just looks at him with fond exasperation when he gets more napkins.

      “Do you still think you’re capable of beating me?” Ryan taunts through a grin and half a mouthful of pizza. “I mean, I gotta admit, you got spunk. Don’t think that’s good enough though.”

Joe scoffs goodnaturedly. “You’re sure of yourself. Don’t get cocky, Ryan—”

      “Too late!”

      “―You might be surprised. I could suddenly win this and you wouldn’t even see it coming.” Joe’s steady, self-assured voice causes doubt in any other situation but this one. Ryan’s heard it a few times when they’ve spent hours and days looking for something before finding NSFNet. That tone marks the man’s determination as well as an ace hidden up his sleeve.

Not that Ryan heeds it. There’s no way Joe can turn this around in time. There’s a little over thirty minutes of the game left and Ryan’s ahead by twenty-two. He stuffs the rest of his cheese pizza in his mouth, devours it, and slurps down more Dr. Pepper, shaking his head. “That doesn’t scare me, Joe. You’re all talk.” Ryan smirks. “C’mon, prove it.”

He’s not exactly prepared for that look Joe gives. Like he’s said the wrong thing, or maybe the right thing, to put that fire in his gaze; the way he stands so abruptly just screams You’ll regret that. Ryan watches a little dumbfounded as Joe steps into the little sitting area, food forgotten, then takes a minute to peruse particular bowling balls. He ends up choosing a shiny black one, as if it’s an enlarged 8-ball. It’s a surprise when Joe walks up, stands perfectly still, but suddenly executes a perfect throw with just the right amount of leverage and twist that sends the ball gliding across the lane, knocking down the white pins forming a Greek Church. 

For a dumb moment, Ryan has the impression of pillars of an old god’s temple being destroyed by Joe MacMillan: a cannon ball come to wreck a false way of life.

The next half hour plays out similarly. Joe keeps nailing his shots over and over until he’s caught up to Ryan, who hasn’t said a word to joke or laugh at Joe’s expense. He realizes how easily he’s been played, that Joe is going easy on him earlier, and that miffs him the slightest bit. But in the end it’s Ryan who wins; as good as Joe apparently is at bowling, Ryan’s better.

       “That was fun,” Joe announces on the drive home. “We should do it again sometime.”

       “Yeah, sure,” Ryan answers, distracted, with his attention out of the window. He may still be a little bitter at how Joe played him. So he isn’t expecting the hand on his arm that gains his attention on the man driving instead.

       “Hey, you okay?”

The concern in Joe’s words melt whatever ire builds. Coupled with that glance of caring worry behind horn-rimmed glasses, Ryan simply smiles and shrugs it off. “Yeah, I’m good, I’m good. We’re good.”

Joe smiles, small and delicate, and nods. “Good. Let’s play again sometime,” he encourages.

       “It’s a date,” Ryan agrees mindlessly. 

Joe’s smile doesn’t waver, but his eyes close off. He looks back at the road ahead, stepping on the pedal once the light turns green.

3. PARTY

Ryan’s two hours deep in Mortal Kombat, the joystick of his Nintendo 64 in danger of snapping from how vigorously he jerks it left and right, but he can’t care about that now, so close to K.O.-ing a FATALITY on Rain’s flamboyant, Japanese-purple-poncho, black death mask wearing ass. Ryan didn’t unlock Smoke as a character just to have him look pretty with his long white hair and mysticism. He’s been glued to the console ever since he buys it for himself as an early birthday present. Not even his brand new Microsoft PC has steered him from fighting fictional assassins and ninjas designed by America’s greatest video game developers. 

It’s Joe’s fault anyway.

“Fault” as if Ryan’s mad—hardly. The day Joe hands this gem over in neat red wrapping paper, Ryan swears he falls in love. After replaying [and beating] Super Mario five times, he’s in need of something new; Joe delivers.

Speaking of Joe, a shrill ringing interrupts his gameplay in time for Smoke to land the finishing blow. “Yes!” Ryan praises, leaping up with arms shooting high the same moment Smoke does a victory taunt. Adrenaline plants a wide grin on his lips and he pats the wall for his phone blindly, but eventually grasps it. “Hello?” he breathes, not quite over his excitement.

       “Ryan? It’s Joe.”

        “Joe? Hey, man, perfect timing! I just killed it on Mortal Kombat!”

        “Mortal Kombat?” Joe is genuinely confused. Figures.

       “Yeah, Mortal Kombat, it’s that game you bought me a few weeks ago. For my birthday,” he tacks on just in case he really has forgotten.

       “Right, I remember. I’m glad to know you’re liking it so much. Listen, can you do me a favor? I wouldn’t ask if I had somebody else, but—”

       “What is it, Joe? It’s not like you to stall.”

There’s a pause, and Ryan imagines Joe’s debating telling him never mind and hanging up, but he’s happy he doesn’t. “There’s this thing I have to go to for Gordon. Business party. A lot of investors will be there—I need someone to come with me.”

       “Like a date?”

       “No, nothing like that. It looks bad if I go alone.” Joe is too quick to dismiss the idea, but what else is new. It no longer hurts Ryan’s feelings.

But he does chuckle to hide his scoff. “You don’t think showing up with a guy will look bad?” Ryan points out incredulously. He realizes how bad that sounds though. “Not that I have a problem with it, just—”

       “Will you go with me or not?” Joe demands sharply, his voice like a cold knife.

       “Sure, yeah, yeah, I’ll go. Sure. Look, I’m sorry if I—”

       “Great. I’ll pick you up a six o’clock. Wear something nice.”

The line goes dead. Ryan feels like shit for putting his foot in his mouth and he knows he’s going to make it up to Joe somehow. Over the years the guy’s gotten a little more sensitive about his sexuality, the AIDS epidemic startling him into awareness and caution. Of course Joe’s never taken lightly to cracks about the gay community. Sometimes he can be downright vicious defending it.

Before Ryan has long to mope about his carelessness, he checks the clock. It’s four minutes from 5:00 PM and Joe doesn’t live far. Whatever remorse Ryan feels gets replaced by panicked annoyance at classic Joe MacMillan expecting him to break his neck getting ready in a small window of time. Ryan flicks off his television, then hops over his couch to rush down the hall towards his bedroom, shirking clothes as he goes.

He’s proud of himself when he opens the door to Joe exactly at 6:00, dressed in a starch white button-up, open maroon blazer, and black slacks. The contrast of deep red truly makes his skin glow copper. The way Joe looks him up and down slowly only adds to Ryan’s conceit. It doesn’t even diminish when Joe reaches forward to fix his black bowtie before half-smiling at Ryan. They’ll make quite the pair: Joe also looks dapper in his silver-white three-piece suit, his skin freshly scrubbed clean to give a polished peach gleam. Ryan forgets all about how much he hates parties and whether Joe admits it or not, he tries not to focus on the fact it feels very much like a date.

Ryan pretends Joe doesn’t.

4. COASTLINE

Joe invites Ryan out to the water with him. He tries to teach him to surf. It’s the first and last time he tries as they learn Ryan is stupendously awful at keeping his balance on a surfboard while the waves are rocking. He probably swallows more sea water than is healthy, but at least he coughs up some of it.

On shore Joe hands Ryan a towel that he gratefully accepts, rubbing his messy soaked hair after he’s squeezed out excessive water onto the sand dampening beneath his bum. These wetsuits make Ryan uncomfortable, a little more conservative about the skin-tight fabric than he’d like to be. He wishes he can be like Joe, who struts around in his wetsuit like he’s born to model them, or even something as simple as rolling the top half of it down, scars on display, just to lay on a towel while the sun warms them both. Joe looks mighty comfortable lounging on his back, hands atop his stomach, while Ryan imitates a drowned cat vigorously trying to groom himself. Instead of his tongue he’s got a terry cloth that’s mostly drenched—not much good for drying anymore.

       “I think I’ll leave it to you from now on to be the surfing expert,” Ryan grouses, drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging himself. It’s a silly attempt to heat up faster, but he’ll take what he can get.

Laughing, Joe peeks a bright eye at Ryan. “Come on, you weren’t that bad.”

Ryan snorts, tossing Joe a look as if he’s crazy. “I got booed by a water skier passing by us. I sucked, let’s face it.”

       “They were kind of assholes,” Joe argues mildly.

       “Those assholes weren’t wrong though,” Ryan insists.

Humming, Joe’s quiet for a second as he thinks it over. He comes to a decision shortly. “I suppose you’re right. You were pretty bad.”

Ryan sits up straighter, raising his chin, and affects a haughty air. “Thank you.”

It makes Joe laugh like he intends, yet they both go quiet afterwards. Joe tips onto his side, eyes closed, the corners of his mouth faintly curl up, Ryan staring at him for a second too long. He doesn’t want to say what this feels like—out loud—for fear of Joe shooting the idea down. Rather than humiliate himself more, Ryan bunkers down next to Joe, a respectable amount of space between them without seeming too intimate nor too distant. He tucks his hands behind his head, well on his way to relaxed. Ryan will just keep it to himself how he considers this outing to be a date as well.

5. ARCADE

Ryan has a hard time believing Joe’s never gone to an arcade to actually play on one of the machines. He knows that’s where he and Cameron almost hooked up and where he recruited her, so it possibly has a sour taste in his mouth, but he chooses a different hotspot—plus, it’s not like Joe’s life revolves around a timeline of B.C. and A.C.: “Before Cameron” and “After Cameron.” At least he hopes not. Sometimes when she’s brought up he gets this erstwhile look, one of whimsical nostalgia, but mostly wistful remembrance. Ryan has been trying since the day Joe offers home and heart to him to help remedy that ache, but it may be impossible.

The most he can do is subdue it, except admittedly this isn’t one of his better suggestions for a date. 

       No, not date: hangout.

Now Ryan feels bad. “We can go somewhere else if this if this is too weird for you.”

It’s not a shocker that he’s barely able to finish his sentence before Joe turns on his heel and heads back for the car. Ryan jogs after to keep up, but does give some space. Joe seems a little angry, which is probably better than his sadness. Ryan doesn’t know what to do with sad. Anger? That’s easy.

       “Sorry.”

        “Don’t.”

The ride to Joe’s place is thick with silence. Ryan doesn’t try to talk again, nor after they get inside and Joe handles him a little too roughly when he steers Ryan towards his closed bedroom. In the morning Ryan may have bruises from how tightly Joe holds Ryan’s wrists down or how hard he sinks his teeth in Ryan’s shoulder and he knows for certain he’ll be a little sore sitting because he asks Joe not to hold back [“Just fuck me, Joe. I can handle it.”] and that’s all Joe needs to let himself go and not treat Ryan like some breakable china doll.

In the morning Joe asks Ryan to leave and Ryan does without argument. A couple days later he calls to apologize, regardless if he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for, but Joe accepts it and Ryan feels lighter. Unfortunately they’re both busy after that.

1. DINNER

Obviously he can still be surprised. “You cook?”

Clearly there’s food set out on the table that definitely isn’t store-bought frozen meals or nearby takeout. There’s some flavored rice, what he thinks is cut-up baked fish mixed with vegetables, and  cheesy broccoli. A bottle of sweet red wine even stands between two glasses.

       “Yes, I can cook. Why do you sound so surprised?” Joe’s a bit insulted.

Ryan ignores it as he peels off his coat. “’Cause I mean, you’re Joe MacMillan! Cooking is so… mundane.” That makes him sound like a douche, doesn’t it? “It’s just—you didn’t strike me as the type to like that sort of thing.”

Joe eyes Ryan critically, his hard stare skeptical, like he may have made a mistake. “You’re right. I don’t really enjoy it. But I thought…” He looks across the set table and examines the placement and food choice subconsciously, his hands on the back of a chair. His fingers tighten nervously. “I thought you might like it.”

       “Oh, I do! I really do, you just caught me off guard, is all.” He’s quick to reassure that Joe doesn’t waste his time with this gesture. “This looks great, thanks, man.” Grinning, Ryan moves to take a seat, but is moderately amused when Joe pulls out his chair. Ryan doesn’t comment, simply lowers himself gingerly into the seat, eyes on Joe, full of unasked questions.

He follows suit while he reaches for his napkin and places it on his person properly, treating his dining room as a five-star restaurant. When he looks up at his guest, Ryan scrambles to do the same after a delayed second. 

Joe smiles. “I thought we could try a proper date.”

        “A date?” Ryan must have misheard.

        “A date,” Joe confirms.

Nope, he hears correctly. He’s not sure what to think. “So this is a date then?” he repeats dumbly. It’s hard to believe after Joe denies all the other not-dates they’ve had.

       “If you want it to be,” Joe murmurs, peering at Ryan, fixated. He holds his breath.

Understanding how serious this is, Ryan slowly smiles and he notices the tense line of Joe’s shoulders relax as he breathes. “I want it to be. I do, I really do.”

[gobacktothewild-blog1]

Cat Scratching Solutions - Save Yourself and Your Furniture

Scratching and Biting - Understand Why Your Cat Does This

Cats are wonderful and affectionate pets, but they tend to have some scratching habits most of us would want to change. When a cat continuously scratches you or your furniture, you may want to consider some cat training methods to prevent this. There comes a point when you begin to wonder if there is a solution for cat scratching, and what are the steps to make kitty stop?

Well, in case you are frustrated because your cat scratches and bites you, or scratches up your furniture, you can bet that you are not the only one. Cats do this instinctively, and to mark their territory or they perceive that it's okay to scratch and bite in a playful manner. The thing is, your cats won't be able to tell when they overdo it and it results with injuring someone or damaging your possessions and furniture. This can be a real problem, and it needs to be addressed as soon as you notice you have a problematic feline friend.

Most people consult their vets to see if something is wrong, or even decide to declaw their poor kitty without even trying to understand why cats behave like this and how it can be helped. There is a number of helpful tricks and easy solutions, as I am sure some of the people who know their cats well and understand their quirks from experience can also tell you. Or you can visit our blog for more tips at https://catorcat.com/.

But how can you begin to understand your cat's behavior in order to break this nasty habit of scratching and biting?

First, you have to know a little bit about the nature of cats and try to grasp that some things your cats do are purely instinctive and other things are simply habits. Following so far? Good.

Cats like to scratch up surfaces that are appealing to them, surfaces they can puncture with their claws and easily shred. Yes, I am talking about your sofa. And your armchair. And curtains. However, the scratching is instinctive. What kitty scratches is nothing but habit. And we all know habits can be broken. Besides, it's your fault for having such appealing furniture.

Furthermore, now that you understand the above premise, we need to clarify why cats scratch and bite you. There can be numerous reasons for this, but the main ones are fear, playfulness, aggressiveness due to old age or illness, or you are doing something that irritates the cat of causes it pain. All of this is not an issue if you can pinpoint the exact problem.

So, this article will deal with cat behavior, or specifically the uncomfortable aspects of it - such as scratching and biting, injuring you and damaging things around the house. There are, believe it or not, very simple steps and clever tricks to prevent this and make your cat the best behaving cat you ever had or saw. No need to punish it or declaw it.

Remember, your cat loves you!

You will never ever EVER be able to make your cat do what it does not want to do

So don't try - cats love their independence

Cats are independent. We all know this, but somehow we still wish that OUR cat would be a little bit more of a team player. As appealing as it may appear to call yourself "the one who trained the cat", don't get your hopes up. Instead, learn to outwit your feline companion.

Cats cherish nothing as they cherish their freedom and their independence, so they will always need to have at least a convincing illusion of it. Their playfulness and curiosity is their natural state. Unfortunately, some of the antics are not as fun to us as they are to them. That is when we start making some common mistakes that do not only fail miserably, but could easily shatter that trust your cat is harboring for you. Anyone who has ever had a feral kitty and gained its trust knows how hard it is to build trust with cats. You don't want that, right? That distrusting, disappointed cat face is not a figment of our imagination - it can be a very real problem.

However, this does not mean that we should allow our cats to hurt us and damage our possessions. This just means that we have to refrain from yelling and punishing kitty, or doing anything that endangers its feeling of freedom. Instead, we can find ways to make kitty WANT to cooperate.

The key is to make your cat be an exemplary furbaby without damaging its sense of independence. Remember, cats have a reputation to maintain. I'm sure this makes it sound harder than it is, but I assure you, there are several easy steps to take that will make your cat WANT to stop scratching, biting and shredding your favorite curtains.

Read on to find out how.

Tactical distractions - remember, this is a game of chess with a very cunning opponent

Scratching posts, cat toys, shiny SHINY things

First thing worth your while is finding a good distraction for your pet cat. A thing to keep in mind is that if your cat loves you (and it does), it will follow you around the house and even try to be in physical contact with you all the time. So, in case you have been frustrated recently because your favorite armchair is being scratched up all the time, this is your logical answer. If your cat likes to be close to you it will scratch your armchair when you are sitting in it. How is this linked to the distraction, you wonder? You will see.

Another important thing to know is that your cat likes attention, and it will do its scratching where people of the house gather and spend most of their time. By doing this, the cat is in its own way marking its territory and you. A lot of people fail to notice this.

To be all scientific about it, this happens because cats have glands in their paws and that way they leave their scent in your house by scratching here and there and kneading you. They also mark you by headbutting you, by the way. Sneaky, huh?

All of the above is very much instinctive, but it isn't impossible to persuade your kitty otherwise. You just have to be equally sneaky. Okay, okay, maybe a bit more.

Now, a good strategy is to have toys in arms reach. In fact, this is the funniest way to trick your cat in order to prevent it to scratch your furniture. When you see kitty wanting to claw your drapes, just throw a toy and it will leap in its direction to capture its prey. I found mini soccer balls particularly useful (and hilarious). I will drop the link below.

A good thing that can repel your cat from scratching things are the sprays that remove pet odors. These are widely available in almost any supermarkets, and work pretty well. Just spray them in places kitty finds irresistible to destroy, and watch it avoid them. It's worth a shot, but be careful, some of these sprays smell really bad for humans too.

We come to the ultimate distraction, that is somewhat logical. Scratching posts! Scratching posts are fantastic for these purposes, but a lot of people use them wrong. Yes, it is possible to use a scratching post wrong, believe it or not. I know you are thinking that I sound crazy and that can't be anything remarkably philosophical about setting up a scratching post for Biteoleon Scratchaparte, but please bear with me.

Remember how we mentioned that your cat will follow you around, try to be close to you and your family and attempt to catch your attention whenever it can (or wants)? This is exactly the reason why you should have the scratching post where YOU spend most of your time. I know it will be in the way, but this isn't permanent. Initially, the scratching post HAS to be in the way. That is only until Cat realizes that scratching that post feels really really good. Then you can move it wherever it fits best - and your cat will look for it, don't worry.

You may need to consider getting a scratching post

These listed below are wonderful examples. Note - Please pay attention to the steps I mentioned in this article. Pick a scratching post longer than your cat when it stretches out, and fixate it so that it does not budge in any direction. Find a suitable material before deciding on one, don't buy something your cat will look at once and never touch again. Don't waste your money, and don't torture your cat. Choose wisely. Sometimes a good litter box like “ Hagen CatIt Litter Box “ helps with scratching.

Cats hold grudges - No physical punishment!

Cats cannot handle insecurity

This cannot be emphasized enough. Never hit your cat. This is mean, cruel, and your cat will hate you for it, and possibly want revenge.

Besides, the only thing you can achieve is to confuse your feline friend. Cats do not understand physical punishment, and will not appreciate the feeling of confusion and insecurity this creates. Your cat will not be able to associate punishment with a corresponding misbehavior, and you will just waste your time while simultaneously making your pet more and more insecure. It will just think you have mood swings, and will not want to be close to you.

Another problematic of this punishment approach is that it can invoke the vengeful spirit of the cat. Now, not all cats are aggressive, but all of them hold grudges. Some of them will simply walk away from you and hide, but there are others that might retaliate. This is no joke.

When I was a kid, I had a friend who kicked out her cat out of her house's second story window. The cat, fortunately, did not get harmed because the height wasn't all that impressive but the following events were more than peculiar. Captain Cat was at first completely gone for a few days, and no one was able to find him. After he reappeared, though, he added an interesting spin on the word "revenge" - immediately after entering house, Mr. Grudgy the Cat scratched my friend right across her face, and never allowed her to come near him again.

Another scenario and also a real event is a cat that left home and found its place with another owner because the previous one beat it whenever it did its thing in the flowerpot.

Both possibilities are undesirable, and thus we need to avoid physical punishment when it comes to these wonderful, albeit grudgy creatures.

Cats relish attention - Don't give it to them if they are doing something wrong Ignore the bad kitty

Cats cannot stand being ignored (unless they want some peace and quiet). This is the most useful piece of information you will ever need when trying to break any bad habit kitty might have. And this is not your only "weapon". Another fact you will need to use to your advantage is the fact that cats pick up on your emotions. Key emotions here would, of course , be some of these - disappointment, disapproval, disgust, anger, you get the gist...

So, next time you catch kitty digging its claws into your sofa, instead of chasing after it with a broomstick, shouting, or physically punishing the furry devil, just make a disgusted or disapproving face and ignore the cat for a good while. You heard me - don't succumb to its charms in 10 minutes. Show Cat the feel of your cold shoulder and watch it work its magic.

After you manage to pull this off a few times, your cat will connect the dots and you will see its behavior slowly changing. This approach is particularly useful for a cat that hurts you by biting and scratching. The moment your cat exaggerates the playfulness, put it down on the floor, gently and calmly, give it the best disappointed look you can muster, and walk away. Proceed by completely ignoring it for a good while. Rinse, and repeat. The message will come across.

It's all about rewards

Kitty will accept your offerings

While it is true that cats cannot associate the bad behavior with punishment, they can understand positive reinforcement - and repeat behaviors that bring them rewards. This may sound a little bit too convenient for them, but there is a simple explanation fr this. Your cat does not view its instinctive behaviors as bad. It just cannot avoid doing its thing (but keep in mind that every one of these behaviors can be redirected). However, cats can create positive habits if rewarded for good behavior.

It's easy to go about this one. For instance, if your cat has a new scratching post, then it is advisable that you reward it somehow each time it uses it. This is especially important in the beginning, and super-effective with small kittens. You can reward your cat with a treat or you can pet it lovingly, just make sure you do it immediately after the positive behavior you are trying to encourage.

For feral kitties, reward with a snack each time you come a step closer to contact, and then proceed by rewarding every physical contact it allows you until you are able to pick it up. But go slowly, and the cat will not be afraid of you at all.

Trimming claws is okay - Declawing a cat is inhumane and selfish

But be wary when trimming - cats are not fond of manicures

A lot of people who do not know how to deal with their cat's behavior decide to have it declawed in the end. I urge you not to do this, no matter what anyone says, and no matter what you heard about it. You need to know what declawing implies in order to grasp how cruel and selfish it is to do this to a cat.

Declawing is a surgical procedure that removes the last joints in a cat's paw - the ones that have the claws. Now, if this doesn't sound cruel enough already, imagine having your finger joints removed. Did you shudder? Good.

First of all, this is extremely painful for a cat and overall very discomforting even after the pain subsides. It harms the cat's balance center, it destroys the trust you had, it makes kitty vulnerable, insecure and unable to climb or defend itself. You will deprive it of its identity as a nature's hunter, and destroy its independence and confidence.

Trimming, on the other hand, can be done in certain cases, although I would recommend trying everything else first. Trimming implies only that the tips of the claws are removed, and you can do this yourself at home. Make sure not to cut any further than necessary to blunt the claws, and do not cut near the pink pads in the inner parts of the claws. This will make kitty bleed, so be very careful. I would also recommend having two people when doing this, because some cats will not appreciate being held. Oh, and a normal nail clipper will do.

Just remember, this is the last resort, so make sure you tried all the steps above before choosing to do this.