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ashyblondwaves · 4 years ago

Note

could you make the gym prompt a part 2 at visions place please 😁

The Playlist Chapter 1: Breathless

Wanda stared up at the high rise apartment building in front of her, scanning the lit windows to see if she could figure out which apartment was Vision’s. Referring to her phone, she saw the apartment number was 3C. Third apartment, third floor. Her eyes immediately went to a glowing window on the third floor There was a healthy golden pothos plant dangling in the open space, leaves bright and green, the stems spilling over the pot in long flowing lines. Did axe murderers keep lush plants?

Seems innocent enough, Wanda thought. She was still having a little trouble wrapping her mind around the fact that she’d agreed to going to this guy’s house after talking to him for less than five minutes. But there was something about him. Something she felt at her core that drew her to him. Saying no just wasn't an option.

She entered the lobby, searching for the buzzer for 3C and gaving it a long press. With hope, he'd heard it and she wouldn't have to press it again. It was hard enough to even press it once.

"Hello?" a voice came over the .

"H-Hi, it-it's Wanda" she stammered. "From the gym."

Did you really even need to clarify that, Wanda? Probably not.

"Hi Wanda. Come on up," Vision replied, his voice crackling through the speaker. With a loud buzz, the glass door unlocked and Wanda let herself inside.

Too late to go back now.

The third floor had a slight odor, like someone had burnt popcorn a few days prior and the aroma still hung lightly in the air, but apartment three stood out. It was adorned with a subtle copper pipe wreath with a few Tillandsias affixed to the bottom. Wanda smiled to herself at the decoration. Axe murderers definitely didn't deck out their front doors with air plants.

Wanda knocked on the door and heard shuffling almost instantly. The door swung open to reveal Vision, cleaned up and no longer sweaty. He'd traded his soaked tank top for a simple white button down, rolled at the sleeves and gray dress pants. At least she hadn't overdressed when she chose the flowing, white sundress from her closet. In fact, it seemed to match Vision perfectly.

Vision stepped to the side. "Please, come in," he said cheerfully.

As Wanda walked in she noticed the change in smell from the hallway immediately. This smell was familiar. It smelled like home.

"I hope you haven't eaten yet, I just finished making Paprikash," Vision explained, motioning to the kitchen. "I could fix you a bowl, if you'd like?"

"I'd love some," Wanda said, immediately realizing her mistake. What if he put something in her food? She followed Vision into the kitchen, watching his every move, just to be sure. As he handed her the bowl with a pure smile on his face, she felt bad for thinking the worst of him.

He fixed a bowl for himself and lead Wanda out of the kitchen and into a comfortable living room. In the middle of the room, there was a gray sectional complete with a chaise lounge on the right hand side and two matching recliners on either side.

"Please," Vision said, motioning to the living room. "Make yourself at home on the couch or one of the recliners. Unless you'd prefer to sit at the dining room table?"

"Oh no, no," Wanda said, plopping down on the chaise section of the couch. "This is just fine."

Vision took a spot on the recliner across from her, immediately digging into his bowl of paprikash, making sure to finish chewing before he spoke.

"So, what kind of music are you into?" he asked, taking another bite. He went silent to chew and continued. "I wasn't kidding about making you a playlist tonight."

Wanda smiled, almost touched by how seemingly genuine Vision's intentions seemed to be. "I'll listen to anything, really. But in terms of a workout? It needs to be upbeat and get me moving."

"So for workout purposes, would it be safe to assume you prefer something like EDM remixes, where the beats per minute almost always fall in time with movement?" Vision asked, finishing off his bowl of paprikash.

"I'd say that's a fair assessment," Wanda nodded. "Dance music almost always gets the blood flowing."

"Perfect, then we'll start there." Vision said, standing up just as Wanda finished her food. "Can I take your bowl for you?"

Wanda handed him her empty bowl and settled back into the chaise, another smile sneaking up on her as Vision disappeared into the kitchen to take care of the dishes. She took a minute to look around his apartment. Behind her was a simple dining room, with a black dining set, shining like it'd just been dusted. Next to it was the bedroom, the room was dark but she could just make out the dark colored sheets on an impeccably made bed but couldn't see anything else.

The room next to it seemed to be a home office or studio of some kind and is where Vision disappeared to after finishing the dishes. He came back out a few minutes later with a Macbook and a Bluetooth speaker in his hands.

"Alright," he started, this time sitting on the couch and setting the computer down between him and Wanda while the speaker went on the coffee table.

"So I figured we'd start by going through some other workout playlists to see if anything jumps out at you," Vision explained, pulling up Spotify on his computer. "You're okay with listening to music with me?"

"Of course." She nodded eagerly, almost too eager. She slowed her movements and kept her nod in check. "That's what I'm here for."

Vision smiled and started typing.

"Let's try this Workout Remixes playlist first," he said, clicking on the shuffle button as the first song started to play. Wanda listened and immediately heard Sam Smith's voice.

"What's this one?" Wanda asked. "I like it."

"It's called Promises. Looks like it's by Calvin Harris and features Sam Smith," Vision read. "Want me to add it?"

"Yes," Wanda said. "Please."

"There," Vision said, clicking along on his trackpad. "You've got the first song on your new playlist."

They spent the next hour listening to bits of songs and adding the ones Wanda liked to the playlist, dancing and laughing as the beats filled their chests. Any fear about Vision's true intentions abandoned long ago.

"Would you mind if I took a look at your current playlist?" Vision asked. "I can probably recommend a few songs for you based on that."

Wanda nodded and pulled up her playlist, handing her phone over to Vision who looked at it closely and intently. He was really into this.

"You were listening to Bassnectar earlier?" he asked. "It's still paused, that's why I ask. Do you like them?"

"Yeah, they're not bad," Wanda said. "They have some good songs."

"Have you heard Breathless? If not, I highly recommend it."

"Put it on," Wanda said, waiting to hear the music begin. As the beat filled the air she suddenly noticed how close they moved next to each other throughout the last hour. The computer was now on the coffee table with the speaker and Wanda sat cross legged on the chaise, mere inches from Vision who sat with one leg firmly planted under him.

I'm still restless... Leave me breathless...

"What do you think?"

Wanda nodded her approval and continued to listen to the lyrics, a haunting reverberating voice pumped out of Vision's speaker and seemed to stir something deep inside of her.

In all my dreams I'm still restless Why do you always leave me breathless

They were face to face, looking at each other, the space between them closed long ago. She looked closely at Vision, his blue eyes seemed to be searching her face for an invitation to her lips. Silently and lightly, she nodded, letting Vision know it was ok to kiss her and he moved in quickly, pressing a quick and almost chaste kiss to her lips.

"I hope there's more than that," Wanda breathed, shocked at her sudden boldness, but it was the truth. There was more brewing between them than a quick peck on the lips. "I mean-"

She was cut off by Vision's lips on hers again, this time lingering in feather light kisses that then trailed across her cheek. His hands moved to cup her face and pull her closer and she let him, scooting closer until their legs were interlocked and they were almost tangled in each other.

Vision inched his nose across Wanda's cheek, pressing another delicate kiss where the tip of his nose had been.

"I don't want you to think this is the only reason I invited you here," Vision whispered, dropping another kiss to Wanda's waiting lips.

"I wouldn't mind if you did," Wanda said earnestly, accepting yet another kiss from Vision. "I've had my eyes on you for weeks."

"I know," Vision sighed, finally pressing his lips firmly to Wanda's and she eagerly opened her mouth to let Vision's tongue inside. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, exploring her mouth and letting Wanda explore his and soon, they'd completely forgotten about the playlist, letting the Bassnectar song end and another begin.

This beat was just as haunting, a deep echoing hum and a song of craving someone. Wanda felt the hum in her chest and pulled Vision down on top of her. She allowed his body to slip between her legs as his hips instinctively rolled, a light moan escaping his lips in response to the movement. Wanda felt the bulge at the front of Vision's pants pressing against her panties, teasing her middle. She lifted her hips, searching for his erection, desperate for more contact.

They spent many minutes pressed together, Vision grinding his hips against Wanda's middle while both stayed fully clothed. It didn't seem to be going any further than that, and Wanda didn't mind. She liked the teasing, the build of pressure and wetness at her front staying present as Vision moved off of her and took her in his arms, dropping light kisses against her neck and down her collarbone.

"I hope this is okay," Vision said between kisses. "Lying here with me."

"More than okay," Wanda whispered. She ran her fingers through his hair, guiding his head down to kiss her where she wanted him to, right at the curve of her neck and shoulder. His kisses were warm and inviting, leaving trails of heat and wetness in their wake. If she was being honest with herself, she didn't ever want him to stop.

Life is funny, she thought. Earlier today I was staring at him, only wondering what he might sound like, how he might hold me. Now I'm in his arms, accepting his kisses and feeling all of him.

Wanda was snapped out of her reverie when Vision suddenly pulled away, turning to his computer and typing something in. A new song started, one that felt like it was picked just for her.

We stayed up all night Talking to each other, whispers under covers

Vision returned to the chaise, pulling Wanda close again, pressing his forehead to hers and speaking in a low, rumbling voice.

"I'm not normally this forward," he admitted, kissing the tip of her nose. "But there's something about you that I feel deep in my veins."

Wanda wouldn't say out loud that she felt it too. A buzz when she looked at him. Some kind of deep connection that she couldn't pinpoint but enjoyed nonetheless. Like they'd been here before. Together, again and again.

She pulled herself closer, nuzzling her head into his neck, pressing her own kisses to the pulse point that was frantically pumping.

"Calm down," she said soothingly. "I'm here. You have me."

It's the last thing she remembered before sleep pulled her under. She woke hours later, music still playing, the room fully dark and Vision curled up asleep next to her on the chaise. They could have easily gone to the bedroom, but it didn't feel right yet. It held implications of things neither of them were ready to admit just yet, so they stayed on the couch, tangled in each other and keeping one another warm.

Vision opened one eye, squinting as though he were making sure Wanda was still there.

"Hi," he said, his voice full of sleep.

"Hi," Wanda returned. "Sleep well?"

"Better than I have in a long time," Vision admitted. "Sorry I fell asleep on you."

"Well if we're being honest, I fell asleep on you, too," Wanda smiled. "And I'm not sorry that I did."

They both laughed, Vision's hand reaching out to run the tips of his fingers down Wanda's cheek. Blue eyes locked on Wanda's"

"When can I see you again?" he finally asked.

"I'll be at the gym tomorrow around five," Wanda said, propping herself up on her elbow. "Can you make it there then? Maybe we can grab dinner afterward?"

Vision nodded. "I'll be there." He pressed a sneaky kiss to her lips. "We'll work out together, too."

"Sounds like a date," Wanda said, returning Vision's kiss.

A date? Wanda thought. Why did I just say that?

Luckily, Vision chuckled and said, "It's a date."

#scarletvision #scarletvision fic #wandavision #wandavision fic #wanda x vision #wanda x vision fic #wanda maximoff #vision #the vision #Anonymous #reply #asks #so I guess i have a new WIP #whoops #but these characters were feeling too strong to ignore #i'll be posting to AO3 here in a minute too #with the first drabble as a prologue

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yonderu-bell · 6 years ago

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Navigating and Ordering from Suruga-ya with Tenso

Welcome to my updated guide to ordering through Suruga-ya using the forwarding service Tenso. I hope people don’t mind me taking the images out, but I thought that a text-based approach would be more helpful to people reading it over a range of devices.

If this sounds like a pain, you’ll probably be happier just using a proxy service, although this tutorial should still be of use for searching the site. However, once you get the hang of it, it’s not hard. Ordering yourself also eliminates the possibility that a sale will end before the proxy service is able to process your order, and at least reduces the possibility that an item will be sold out before you get it (Suruga-ya's items are available online and in-store, so there are no guarantees).

A couple of things before we start:

•Buy at your own risk. I’ve ordered from Suruga-ya numerous times without any problems, so it’s not exactly brain surgery. That said, I can’t stand over your shoulder and check your work, which means that any mistakes you make are your own and you’ll have to fix them yourself. So basically...

•...use common sense. Read all of Tenso’s rules, double-check your information when signing up for your account, think twice about buying something if you’re confused by the product description (you can’t return it after you receive it), and, overall, use a proxy service instead if you don’t feel confident buying things from a website in a language that you’re not proficient in.

•There may be mistakes because I am *not* fluent in Japanese (not even close).

•Suruga-ya takes PayPal from international customers, but I’ve read that they no longer accept international credit cards. I’ve also read that “adult” products cannot be purchased without a credit card, but you’ll need to do your own research on that topic (Tenso, for its part, prohibits buying “obscene articles” through its service).

•You should be able to use most of this guide if you’re using a different forwarding service, but you may have to do a little extra work

•This is accurate as of July, 2018. If you’re reading this several years from now, things may have changed (they’ve made several updates to their website just recently and will likely continue to).

Still here? Then continue under the cut to get started.

First, sign up for an account with Tenso, a Japanese mail-forwarding company. Make sure you read all the information about their fees, shipping options, prohibited items, etc., before you sign-up (I’ve seen people who were turned off by the identity verification part, in particular).

After you’ve done that, go to the ‘My Page’ section. There will be a box at the top that says ‘[Your Name]’s Tenso address,’ with a link at the bottom that says ‘How to enter your Tenso address.’ Click on that; there are several helpful examples, but all you need is the top one labeled ‘General Guide.’

Next, go to Suruga-ya. At the top of the page, to the right of the search bar, you’ll see a blue icon next to the word ‘サインイン (sign in).’ Click on it. [If you’re trying to do this on Suruga-ya’s mobile site, click on ‘マイページへ/to My Page’ under the logo.]

✸Creating an account/signing in:

On the right, you’ll see two boxes for signing in. The top says “e-mail address (メールアドレス)” and the bottom says “password (パスワード ).” Once you’ve entered those, you can click on the orange button and you’re in. If you’ve forgotten your password, click on the link below the password box (パスワードをお忘れの方はこちら) to reset it.

On the left, you’ll see two buttons allowing you to sign-in/create an account with either your facebook or Google account. If you’d like to do that, go ahead, but I can’t guide you. To create a wholly new account, click on the white button below those two (新規アカウントの作成) and follow the steps below. [mobile users: the white ‘new account’ button is right below the orange ‘sign-in (サインイン)’ button]

✸ Account creation: fill in these steps one-by-one. If an error occurs when you try to submit, copy the warning text and paste it into Google translate to troubleshoot.

Note: several of the text boxes specify that you must use half-width characters (半角英数). If you don’t know what that means, you probably don’t need to worry about it. If you do know what it means, you should use half-width characters when entering your e-mail and password (copy and pasting your Tenso address takes care of the rest).

✸メールアドレス (アカウント)=“E-mail address (account)”=your e-mail address

✸メールアドレス (確認)=“E-mail address (confirmation)”=re-enter your e-mail

✸パスワード=“Password”=must be between 6-12 characters (No mention of whether symbols or spaces may be used in addition to letters and numbers, so keep that in mind when creating your password)

✸パスワードの確認=“Confirm Password”

This next part is where things get a little more difficult.

✸お名前=“Name”=this line has two input boxes. Japanese users would enter their name in kanji, but international users can use the Latin alphabet here (or whatever alphabet you use, although I can’t guarantee the site supports all of them).

—姓=“Surname/last name”

—名=“First name”

✸フリガナ=“Furigana (i.e, not kanji)”=here, you’ll need to write your name in katakana. You can use this page to get the katakana spellings.

—セイ=“Surname/last name”

—メイ=“First name”

For the next several lines, you’ll want to refer back to your Tenso address. Tenso’s general guide and Suruga-ya use the same order and kanji labels, which is really handy in filling this out. I’ll also include the label translations, just in case.

✸郵便番号=“Postal code/zipcode”

✸都道府県=“Prefecture”=this one should auto-update after you input the zipcode

✸市区町村=“Municipality”

✸番地=“Address/unit number“

✸ビル・マンション名=“Building/Apartment name”

✸電話番号=“Phone number”

Hard part’s done! The next section is optional: it lets you sign-up for e-mails about product categories, which I never do, so I’m going to skip it.

Scroll down, and you’ll see a box containing the site’s terms of service. Copy and paste them into Google translate and give them a read; they’re pretty straightforward and it only takes a minute to go over them. Below that, it will ask you if you agree to the site’s terms and want to continue your registration (規約に同意してアカウント登録を行いますか？), followed by two buttons.

✸はい=“Yes”=click this button to finish your registration

✸いいえ=“No”=click this button to cancel your registration

That should do it, although you’ll still need to confirm your account by clicking on a link in an e-mail they’ll send you. After that, it’s time to shop.

✸Searching/categories: In most cases, you’ll need to search using Japanese characters (i.e., kanji, hiragana, katakana) to find what you want. Try checking wikipedia/fan wikis/Anime News Network, etc. if you want to find the Japanese title for a manga/anime. Searching for stuff is pretty easy; just enter what you’re looking for in the purple search box at the top of the page. The default is to search all categories (全商品), but you can refine that with the category menu to the left. The categories are games (ゲーム), DVD/video (映像ソフト), music (音楽ソフト), toys/hobbies (おもちゃ・ホビー), PC software (PCソフト), books (本), electronics (電気製品), food/food premiums (食品・食玩), miscellaneous goods/accessories (雑貨・小物), and doujin (同人).

Update: I’ve found that you can use romaji to search for many titles. For example, if you type ‘Naruto’ into the search bar, then ‘ナルト’ will indeed be the first suggestion that comes up. Convenient, no?

✸Advanced search (詳細検索): this link is to the right of the search box. I honestly don’t use it, and it would be a hassle to go over all the options, so I’m skipping it for the most part. It does, however, allow you to search by ISBN, JAN, control number (管理番号), or standard code (規格コ-ド), which is useful.

The next three setting are found right above the product listings.

✸R-18 products: you have three options for displaying adult (アダルト) goods---show (表示), hide (非表示), and show only (のみ). Please be aware that some forwarding and proxy services have rules against buying or shipping adult goods for international customers.

✸Show sold-out goods (品切れ): ON or OFF

✸Sorting (並べ替え): default is “開連順,” which is basically sorting by relevance. The rest are cheapest first (値段が安い順), most expensive first (値段が高い順), newly added/updated first (更新の新しい順), newest release date first (発売日の新しい順), and oldest release date first (発売日の古い順).

✸Item status: these appear in green next to the item’s category/right below the product image.

—“Newly arrived goods (新入荷)”

—“Price-cut (値下げ)”=; after an item has been at the store for long enough, they may lower the price

—“Increasingly popular (人気上昇中)”=this accompanies a price increase

✸Release date (発売日): self-explanatory

✸Sold out (品切れ): If you have “show sold-out goods” set to “ON,” this will appear in red below the release date. Sold-out goods will also be shown if they can be purchased through one of the new “other shops” that Suruga-ya is listing on their site,

✸Condition: these markers now appear before the price—”new (新品)”, “used (中古)“, and “pre-order (予約)”. The kanji directly after the price means “including tax (税込).” Sometimes, both a new and used version of a product may be for sale at the same time, so you’ll see two prices; be careful to add the version you want to your cart. Suruga-ya also includes the “list price (定価)” below the store price. If you see “Rank B (ランクB)” in a product title, that means that it has more serious condition issues, so pay attention to the description.

✸NEW “Other shops (他のショップ)”: Suruga-ya seems to be trying an Amazon Marketplace-type scheme where they also give you prices for items that are available through affiliated shops. This is below the “list price,” and it’s a link that takes you to a page to compare prices/see vendor ratings/etc. Even if you have “show sold-out goods” turned to “OFF,” you will still see items listed if they are only available through a third-part seller. I haven’t used this option yet, so I can’t tell you exactly how things work out,

✸Adding items to your cart/wishlist: On product pages, there’s a big orange button with a cart that’s for...adding the item to your cart. The button below it with a star is for adding it to your favorite list. If the item is sold out, you’ll see a green button that allows you to add it to your backordered items watchlist.

After you add an item to your cart, you’ll get a pop-up with two boxes. The blue one basically says “keep shopping,” while the orange one says “continue to check-out.”

✸ Cart/checking out: when you’re ready to check-out, click the big orange button (注文画面に進む/proceed to order page) on the right side of the page. You can also delete (削除) items or move them to your favorites list (お気に入りリスト). The shipping prices are in a gray box on the right. You usually get free shipping for orders over 1500 yen, but the threshold may be lower during sales.

The next page is a list of more of their site policies. Open up Google translate again and look them over. Most of it isn’t really important, but some of it you may find useful, such as how they package items for shipping or when they process orders. At the bottom, click “はい(yes)” to continue if you accept these policies.

On the next page, you’ll see your personal and shipping information displayed, followed by several payment options. Make sure PayPal is selected. Click on the orange button at the bottom (ご注文内容なにの確認へ /confirm the contents of your order) to continue. You’ll see another page with all the details of your order; if everything looks right, click the orange button (決済情報の入力へ /enter payment information) again to proceed to PayPal to authorize Suruga-ya to charge your account (they don’t actually charge you until your order is shipped). That should be it.

After your order is placed, you’ll get a confirmation e-mail as well as a notification on your My Page staying that your order was received. If any of your items are sold-out (their items are for sale in their physical stores as well as online) they’ll apparently send an e-mail asking you to contact them and confirm that you still want them to mail the rest of your order. This hasn’t happened to me yet, so I can’t say how that works, although I’ve seen people write that they just used Google translate to create a reply and it worked fine (probably best to write something short and simple). The e-mails that I’ve received have all been basic ‘here’s what you ordered, don’t respond to this’ messages that you always get when shopping online.

Now you get to play the waiting game. Orders can take more than a week to ship, so be patient.

Below are some additional bits of information that you may find helpful while shopping.

✸Time Sales

Suruga-ya often has "time sales (タイムセール)” that usually last 1-2 days and only apply to certain categories/items; the amount of money that you have to spend to get free shipping may also be lowered. If there’s a time sale on, there should be a banner at the top of the site with the date(s) and time range (usually 12:00-23:59 JST) for the sale. Items that are part of the sale will have ‘タイムセール’ written in green above their price on search pages.

✸My Page/account page (マイページ)

—お知らせ一覧=notice list (the most recent ones appear on your my page by default). The 3 types of notices you usually get are that your order was received, that your order is being prepared, and that your order was shipped.

—ご購入履歴=purchase history

—売却履歴=sales history. This applies to people who have sold items to Suruga-ya. Not applicable to people outside Japan.

—見積履歴=estimate history. This applies to people who have sold items to Suruga-ya. Not applicable to people outside Japan.

—閲覧履歴=browsing history

—入荷リスト=(backordered) goods received list. If you’ve added items to your backorder list, they’ll appear here if they’re now in stock.

—入荷待ちリスト=backorder list. You can add sold-out goods to this list so you’ll be notified if they’re restocked.

—お気に入りリスト=favorites list, which includes the following options:

••新しいお気に入りリストを追加する=add a new favorites list (click 新規登録する button to confirm)

••商品を追加するお気に入りリスト=add items to favorite list (use the drop-down list to select which list you want items to be added to by default)

••カートに入れる=add item to cart

••入荷待ちリストに追加する=add item to backorder list

••リスト名を集編する=change list name (click ‘変更’ to confirm change)

—速報メール確認·変更=confirm/change mail notifications

—登録クレジットカード確認·削除=confirm/delete credit card information. Not applicable to people outside Japan. I think.

—身分証画像を更新=update ID card image. Not applicable to people outside Japan.

—本人確認番号の登録·削除=register/delete personal identification number. Not applicable to people outside Japan.

—登録情報確認·変更=confirm/change registration information (name, address, e-mail, etc.)

—お知らせ機能設定確認·変更=confirm/change notification settings

—アカウント変更=change account. You can change your account ID (e-mail address) here.

—パスワード変更=change password

—お届け先確認·変更=confirm/change adress

—お振込先銀行口座=bank transfer bank account. Not applicable to people outside Japan.

—セキュリティ=security. Set up 2-factor authentication and check login history.

—アカウント削除=delete account

—ヘルプ=help

✸ Related Tutorials

—Buying from Sanyodo with Tenso by marry-me-ishida-sui

—Buying from Toranoana with Tenso by Memory’s Aria

—My tips for buying stuff from Japan, including Japanese stores that ship internationally, and proxy/forwarding service reviews

#surugaya #suruga-ya #buying from japan

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zhemyna · 7 years ago

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Priorities//Drabble

A thing I wrote for @removethewallinourhearts for Christmas. We’ve been calling it ‘The Behemoth’, it’s sixteen pages of our dumbass precious ship.

The light streaming through the windows that day was almost silver. Silver and blue. Winter storms were always silver and blue, she mused, with low fluffy clouds of light grey. The kind that reflected light back after dark and turned them a strange sort of orange. It had been snowing off and on all week, small spits and blustery flurries, leaving a layer of snow almost eight inches thick on the ground with the threat of more still to come floating above.

Zhemyna looked up from her paperwork, a small stack sent to her by her parliamentary council in Paleugmeddi to review and send back with comments, and looked out the window to assess the weather for a moment. Though the inside of the house was warmed by a modern commercial heating system, she could still feel the chill wafting off the big curved bay window that took up this corner of house. A glance was given toward a spot in the wall next to the window, a discoloration of semi-new plaster that had once been the hole for a fireplace. She was glad for the loss of most of the fireplaces in the house with the advent of modernized heating systems, though she would have to close the curtains soon; so much glass counteracted the heat just enough that it did little to heat the room itself.

She looked down to the report with an almost withered defeat, then checked the clock on her wall that was ticking the time merrily along and decided she needed a break. Setting her pen in the closing folder to hold her place, she stood, turned, and closed the heavy brocade curtains over the window. By the time she returned, the darkened office would be as warm as snuggling into bed. The overhead lights were flicked off, a single small desk lamp left on for her to see by, and the door shut as she left and clicked her way off toward the day kitchen.

Someone had brewed a fresh pot of coffee some time earlier, of which the Nation was grateful of. A clean mug was pulled from the hooks just above the machine, inspected out of habit from days long since passed, before the dark steaming drink was poured, black and earthy. Hot drinks were good on cold days, and with the mug in hand, she turned toward the event kitchen and subsequently the dining hall at the back of the house.

More like an atrium, the expansive dining hall was encased on its back wall and arched roof in glass, thick and reinforced panes that acted with air pockets between to keep the weather outside from infiltrating into the temperature inside. It kept the room warm in winter and chill at the height of summer despite being mostly constructed of glass.

It had started snowing again, big lazy flakes starting down from the low clouds above. She settled back against the grand raw-wood table to watch it as it floated to land peacefully on the old snowfall, not hearing so much as simply knowing when her own peace was disturbed.

"I see the snow has returned."

It was always easy to tell when the Head of House was in the room, if not by her authoritative presence changing the atmosphere itself then by the way she always announced herself verbally on entry. A stout woman, short and broad about the shoulders and hips, Almyra carried herself as though she commanded an army. In terms of the sizable house staff, she might as well have.

The Nation simply nodded to the statement, partially in greeting and partially in affirmation. "Yes, it has. I probably would not have noticed had the winter chill not penetrated the window in my den."

"I will let maintenance know the window insulation needs checking." Almyra assured her and receiving a nod and noise of confirmation from the taller woman before falling quiet.

The shorter Prussian woman moved around to stand beside Zhemyna. They watched the snow fall in silence for a time, the only sounds the ambient rumble of the heating system and the occasional sip of coffee. The snowfall increased in volume, blotting out the barn and stables on the other end of the backyard, beyond the courtyard, from view.

"Did you let him out?"

The sudden break of the quiet caused Zhemyna to start, though she would never have admitted to it. She pulled the mug down from her lips and looked toward Almyra, who was pointing discretely to the courtyard. It took a moment to see through the visual noise that was the heavy snowfall, picking out the outline of another person.

She recognized the build, the height, and the albinism that was Gilbert walking with quick light steps over the footpaths through the rose garden, channels carved by shoveling earlier now clad with snowed divots. Even if she couldn't quite pick him out, a bright yellow splotch nestled in the light-colored fur lining of his puffy white winter jacket gave him away.

She let out a small sigh of relative relief before taking the delayed drink of her coffee, uttering a slightly-muffled and amused reply of, "No. I did not. Probably snuck out through the greenhouse."

Almyra made a contemplative noise in her throat, looking skyward before resuming her vigilance of the courtyard. "It's snowing hard now. Do you think he knows of the alarm system?" she asked. There was a small hint of concern tugging at her voice. "It would be truly awful to lose the young Master, don't you think."

Zhemyna shook her head casually, a visual response to match the verbal. "I highly doubt he needs one. There is not much trouble he can get into in the backyard."

Almyra sighed and shook her head slowly to one side. "If you say so, Mistress. But I doubt it's wise to let an albino out into a budding flurry, as such we get, without an alarm on them." She squinted, leaning forward just slightly to see through the gloom and curtain of snowfall. "Especially when they decide to go toppling over the side of the basalt shelf like he just did."

Zhemyna paused with the mug to her lips, looking in the general direction Gilbert had been moving toward. While the path he took was indeed toward the natural basalt-created terraces, he might have diverged slightly. It was admittedly very difficult to see with so much snow in the air. "I am sure he is alright. No proper military general of his caliber goes about without some idea of the terrain."

"Well, he would have decent scope of the terrain if he could see it, I'm sure." Almyra replied haughtily.

Zhemyna offered a small snort of laughter into her cup as she took another drink. "To be perfectly honest, he just does not like you, so calling him blind because he bumps into the walls periodically to get around you is hardly fair."

"I was referring to his use of glasses, Mistress. Surely those giant things haven't escaped your gaze." came the smug response.

Zhemyna wobbled her head in a sort of half-acceptance. If anyone in the house could get away with such scoldings, it was certainly the Head of House. "I will give you that. But that does not detract from the idea that he has traversed and patrolled the grounds numerously over the last several years."

"Has he ever traversed it in the snow, though."

It was not so much a question as a flat observation. The tall Nation realized that although Almyra wasn't openly showing much affection or emotion toward Gilbert, she sounded a little worried in the undertone. Well, the snow was starting to get thicker and heavier...

"Oh for the love of above and below..." she muttered, looking toward the Head of House. "Would it make you feel better if I went to check on him?"

There was a second of silence, a sort of smugness emanating from the shorter Prussian giving all the answer that was required. Zhemyna sighed, looking at the coffee mug in her hand. "Alright. You win, I will go and check on him. Please bring me my winter-wear, if you would, Almyra."

She ceased being surprised that her Head of House seemed to teleport wherever she went. In the time it took for the Nation to finish her cup's contents and set it on the table, the shorter woman had been to the coat closet at the front of the house and returned with the requested wear. Rather than using her presence to announce herself, the old brown cloak she carried with her did plenty of that. Sewn along the peppered white fox fur hem was a string of large silvery jingle bells, documenting the head-maid's trek through the house with a garish cacophony echoing through the corridors, the glass-covered chamber of the atrium reverberating the higher tones back and changing the sound just enough to notice. The bells clanged raucously as Almyra draped the wool cloak and the heavy silver longcoat on the back of one of the dining chairs, handing the taller Nation a pair of winter boots first. She slid into them and laced up with a practiced ease, closing and zipping the outer lace guards to keep snow out of them.

"I do apologize for the cloak, I know it's a bit old-fashioned," Almyra started, handing over the gloves next. "But I couldn't find any of the smaller strings of bells."

"Any bells in this weather is better than no bells." Zhemyna replied, pulling on and fastening the gloves tightly around her wrist, pointing in a wordless demand for the longcoat next. "I prefer the cloak, really. You can hear that thing for miles, I swear my life and soul on it."

Almyra complied with the request, handing the coat to her. "I would rather prefer you didn't swear your life and soul on anything, Mistress. Doing so might break this country into pieces."

"And then you would all be South." The chuckle that escaped at the bad joke was just as dark, gloved fingers closing buttons one after the other on the longcoat once it was settled on her. A few small button or zipper-based adjustments and the coat fit neatly and warmly, a small indicating nod of her head given for the last bit of the ensemble.

"Precisely." That word was almost too bright, receiving a raised brow as the cloak was pulled loudly upward and handed to the taller Nation.

It was silent as she swirled it up and across her shoulders, fastening it at her throat and fluffing it. The fluffing of the collar did little to keep the bells as quiet as before, they chimed brightly until the fur was just puffy enough to her liking she could stop. With a decisive nod of approval, she made her way toward the backdoors leading from the atrium into the courtyard below, Almyra moving with a practiced grace ahead of her to open the door. The cold air through the open door was such a momentary shock when it hit her that it took her breath away, a sharp draw in to prepare her lungs for the change.

"If I do not return in two hours, assume I am lost and send a search party." she stated before taking a step into the cold outdoors.

"Most certainly." Almyra assured, watching the towering Nation sweep passed her and out the door, down the steps to the ground below.

The door was clicked shut, drowning out the ambient thrum of the heating system and leaving Zhemyna in the chill and near silent outdoors. The house, with its rusty red outer walls and the polished swamp-wood as trim, was vibrant against the silver-tinted world around it, a splash of color against the white sparkling snow.

With a visible puff of breath that moved the fur near her mouth, she started the trek through the courtyard. The only sounds to escape the muffled wintery quiet were the light crunch of her footsteps in the snow and the bright jingling of the bells adorning the old cloak. Thankfully, the footpaths were clearly marked, and she had them all memorized otherwise. She followed them passed ghostly rosebushes, cut and covered in plastic for the winter months and piled with snow like wraiths rising from the white down. Down garden steps and around the central fountain, turned off and insulated for the harsh winter temperatures, she finally met up with Gilbert's steadily-disappearing boot prints, offering up a sigh as to how she had been talked into this before turning to follow the trail.

Shapes loomed out of the curtain of snowfall, fuzzy silhouettes until she reached them. Fences were first and a closer look at the others proved to be the barns and stables. He had been by the paddocks, probably due to poor visibility given the prints veered off unsteadily to the left and followed the fence-line. She made her way alongside his trail, making her own set of prints next to his. There were a few spots where he lost footing, she noted the smears and shallow chasms between prints and avoided the places carefully.

It wasn't long before she saw Paleugmeddi and smelled the tingling scent of mint-reminiscent brine from the sea. Or rather, saw the glow of the city, even at midday. Individual streets and structures were still obscured from view, but warm city lights still blazed brilliantly in the haze, offering a beacon to any lost on the craggy moors. She was glad to see it; if something happened and she did become lost, at least she could find her way to the capital and call in to let the house know she was alright and safe.

She arrived at the first basalt shelf, noting with a begrudging sort of amusement that Gilbert had indeed gone over the edge of it to the natural terrace below. Though given his print at the edge, with one hand in the snow and the rest of his lower body upsetting it in a fine mold of his crouch, it was easy to surmise that he hadn't toppled over the edge so much as simply jumped. She looked down, carefully bending over the void to see if she could find him by sight alone. It was a good eight or nine feet to the base, probably less given the cushioning layer of snow. In the afternoon gloom, she could clearly make out the sharp edges of where he landed and the tiny fresh piles around him, upset from the upper edge of the shelf at his jump down.

She cupped a hand to her mouth from under her warm cloak, calling out his name to see if he would answer. Nothing was returned, no verbal acknowledgements, no crunching snow. Not even a flash of his red eyes looking in her general direction. The only thing she heard in response was her shifting weight making the snow under her groan in protest.

Rather than follow his example, she determined jumping was not ideal for her. She stepped away from the edge of the natural wall and began the longer trek around it, knowing there was a gradual slope at the other end she used regularly to climb down this side of her hill. It was more treacherous in this weather, however, and after the third or fourth time her foot slipped on it, she regretted not following the albino's example and simply jumping over the edge. A small muttering of contempt was given to the bells, chiming sharply as though admonishing her for going the long way around.

She came to the landing against the wall, noting with some appreciation how the basalt created a space where the snow blown by a southern wind didn't fall quite as heavily. A pocket where the volume was halved, though still falling in enough quantity to cause long-distance sighting issues. She could see a little more clearly, the splash in the powder where Gilbert had landed, the faint prints in the snow around it. In fact, she hadn't noticed it from above, but there was a veritable confusion of his prints all over on the terrace, punctuated by sweeping streaks and canyons carved in the frozen crystalline landscape, trampling the snowpack down considerably. There was no rhyme or reason to it, it was simply everywhere.

Had there been any large predatory animals in North Prussia, she may have worried somewhat; they did have friendly foxes and deer and other such commonplace fauna, but nothing substantially large. It was this revelation that she doubted he had been assaulted by anything and figured he was trying to distract from something. She ran to the next edge of the terrace, looking over the wall carefully. There were no noticeable indentations below, the snow looking fresh and untouched from where she stood. Satisfied with the thought that he hadn't gone further than that level, she turned back toward the center of the jumble to try to sort it out.

She didn't have to wait for long.

Before she had a chance to think on what to do next, his trademark snickering hiss echoed across the terrace, an ominous harbinger of whatever mischief he'd concocted. She stood up straight, quick enough the bells gave out a merry tinkling.

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

The German's voice roared into the space, slicing through the snowy quiet like cannon fire. Rather than trying to pinpoint where it was coming from, she reflexively pulled the cloak up and over her head in time to see the first two indents, hear the thud and splash of powdery projectiles as they collided with the heavy wool. She chanced a peek around the fur hem after a few seconds of silence and caught sight of him finally. Had it not been for the frosted darker background of the basalt wall behind him, she likely would have missed him; he was clad mostly in white, save for the grey-flecked synthetic fur of his puffy winter coat.

As soon as she laid eyes on him, he made a noise that sounded something like a strangled 'oop!' and ducked down behind a crudely packed wall of snow about waist-height. She was astounded, rising to stand and assess where it was exactly this hidden snowfort of his lay. She should have seen him from above, but that brief glance was enough to tell her that he had nestled himself just out of sight from where he jumped down. Had she looked further along the edge, she might have caught sight of his machinations, but she hadn't. Simply moved away from it. She'd set herself up for this by not being more observant, this was her fault.

She stood up again, quickly, and ran back the way she had come as soon as the bells started jingling. Behind her was a constant noise of 'paf!paf!paf!' as one snowball after another was aimed and thrown with a surprising amount of accuracy, accompanied by a symphony of jovial snickering. She might have been impressed if she wasn't concentrating on staying ahead of the onslaught long enough to get out of range.

"Honestly. Who wears bells to a stealth fight! It's impractical!" he yelled out to her when he realized none of his missiles were even remotely close to hitting their target any longer.

"They are an age-old survival technique. I was not informed this would be a stealth fight, only that you were going to get yourself lost." she yelled back, turning to face him again from across the terrace. "As such, I am perfectly dressed for the task I set out to do. It is not my fault your communication skills need work."

"My communication skills are just fine! It's your kooky traditions that need work."

She shook her head and took a few slow steps forward. The movement kept the bells from moving too much and the packed snow made hardly any crunch beneath her. "At least my 'kooky traditions' have saved lives in the time they have been in use."

He appeared to not hear her, or at least not acknowledge her reply, for there was no retort. She took a couple more steps toward his fort, attempting to get close enough she could quietly make a snowball and hit him with it, to end it before it began and return to the warm confines of the house. It seemed the cloak had another idea in mind, however, catching on the roughened snow at her feet and inciting the bells to riot.

She started as he stood up suddenly, those startling red eyes finding her almost immediately. Not that she would admit it startled her at all, even if asked. They stared at each other for a moment, as though he were surprised she was as close as she was before his face split in a devious crooked smirk. He raised a hand to sight down, the other pulled behind his head with a snowball of his own at the ready.

As soon as she saw it, her reflexes kicked in and caused her to backtrack as quickly as possible with a wild cacophony of melodic jingling bells. They proved to be her downfall, one of them slipping effortlessly between her calves and tangling itself around a leg, pulling the woolen cloak taut and her shoulders and neck with it. It wasn't long before she found herself on her back on the ground, dazed and staring up at the sky.

Gilbert had stepped over his barricade as soon as she went down, coming into view standing over her. He bent a little forward so he could see her better, blocking out some of the snow like a living umbrella. There was a twinge of concern on his face, seen in the furrowed brows and twisted mouth.

"If that's how they help people, I'm amazed there's not more dead." he stated. "You alright?"

It took a moment for her to catch up with herself again, but she still managed to answer him with a clear, "Jia..."

His expression changed in an instant from one of slight worry to the devious grin as he straightened back upright, his armed arm pulling back with the other still sighting for her face. "Gut. Because I still have a snowball with your name on it."

Despite the world settling from spinning, she put her hands up defensively in an attempt to disrupt his aim. "Gilbert Beilschmidt, if you hit me with that, I swear to gods above and below that you will be sleeping on the couch!"

He paused to think, his arm barely having started the swing before the threat. He let it fall back to his side, the grin fading to a look of dramatic thinking. It took him all of a couple seconds before he'd made up his mind, raising his firing arm again.

"At least the couch is comfy."

The swing was completed, a comically characteristic splat as the half-melted snowball managed to barely clip a guarding finger and broke apart over her head. As soon as the sting of the cold seeped into her face, her expression curled and distorted, horror giving way to something hateful. Her lips pulled back to bare teeth with a roar of vehement vengeance rather than anything remotely intelligible, the expulsion of which caused her German companion to take a few steps back out of arm's reach. The bemused smirk on his face told her this was exactly what he was after, however. For some reason she couldn't quite explain, it only made her angrier at him.

It took her a moment to properly formulate anything remotely like words. When she did, it came first in a torrent of profanity, Prussian slang of such subjects no man or woman would have dared to utter in any age, modern or otherwise. Her hands flew to the ties of the cloak, fingers fumbling with the bows and knots and buttons. As soon as she had it open, she rolled up on her feet and advanced on her assailant, shoulders squared and head held low in a show of threat.

Gilbert was laughing as he expelled an, "Oh shit!" and beat a hasty retreat back toward his snowfort. Zhemyna had veered off for a pile of untouched snow at the base of the rock wall, bending down to scoop a handful and pack it into a ball, sighting his running form not far from her. His cackle was still ringing off the walls, giving the space its own mirth to match his. Changing the terrain to be his own.

She skid to a stop and threw the snowball at him in time to watch as he leaped up and over the forward wall of his fort, diving behind it and using the barrier to shield himself from her counterattack. The ball flew true, thrown with such force that it embedded itself a fair way into the packed snow of the wall with a dull crackling thud, a faint network of fractures spreading across the surface from the impact. The action itself was therapeutic, slightly lessening her need for revenge at being attacked.

She heard him scuff snow with a start on contact, his white-haired head popping up enough to bend over the edge and look down at the projectile meant for him. "Holy shit..." he muttered before looking back up toward her. "What the Hell was in that one! Rocks?"

She took a few steps forward, focusing on the ball she threw and ignoring when the albino ducked back down out of sight. A glint of hazy light revealed smooth shards scattered among the crumbling white powder. "Oh. Oops. A little ice seems to have gotten mixed in that one. Sorry."

"'Oops'?" he reiterated, slightly muffled from behind his veil of snow. "I throw snow at you and you try to take my head off with ice and all you can say is fucking 'oops'!?" His accusations were counterpointed with a string of agitated chirping. "Yeah! Yeah, you tell her how uncool that was!"

She bent down, scooping a handful of powder and after inspecting it properly, began patting it into shape while Gilbird continued on its tweeting tirade with Gilbert adding in the occasional affirmative. "Well. I did say I was sorry." she finally interjected, inspecting the packed ball of snow in her hand before taking a few steps closer to the fort and choosing her next words carefully. "I highly doubt you have any idea what your bird is actually saying. Sounds like a bunch of unintelligible tweeting to me."

If indignation had a name, it was Gilbert. He popped up like a jack-in-the-box the instant he realized he'd been insulted even slightly, a dust of accumulated snow fluttering from the fur of his coat with the huffing inhale of breath. A small smirk of smug amusement quirked its way across her face at the mental image of him puffing in much the same way the little yellow bird on his shoulder was.

"Oh like Hell I don-"

His retort was stopped short by the snowball she had carefully crafted finding its mark and splattering across his face, causing the bird on his shoulder to flutter its tiny wings with a sharp angry twittering. It took everything to stifle a giggle bubbling in her chest while he wiped the remains of the missile off his face, the strain in her voice evident. "That one was powder. I made sure of it."

She caught sight of his red eyes long enough to turn and run, glaring but with a softer touch of playfulness. She heard him bound back over his barricade and give chase, letting loose a joyful pent laugh that left music in the air in her wake. The scuff of boots in the snow behind her as she ran back toward the slope she had followed onto the terrace, the splash of powdery ammunition on her heels mingling with his own cackling laughter.

Her target was an old gnarled pine that had rooted on the hillside near the exit, dark and polished with ice, a sharp contrast against its silvery surroundings and glittering snow. She ran toward it, glad she had left the cumbersome bell-cloak behind. Her plans to turn the little scuffle into the stealth fight he wanted would have been severely hindered by it. Even if she could feel the wind biting more than before against her face and partially exposed neck and perhaps slightly regretted leaving it behind for that.

She ducked behind the tree's trunk in time to hear the splash of snow against it, right where her head had been no more than a second before. She pulled herself close to the wood and chanced a peek around it to see where her adversary was. He wasn't very far from her and as soon as their eyes locked, he made a dramatic display of a pitcher's wind-up before throwing a small ball in her direction and starting after it at a brisk walk.

She hid quickly again to let the snowball go whizzing passed and splatter against the slope nearby before making a bolt up the incline herself once she was sure he knew she was hiding there. This would provide an excellent distraction while she made her way to the top of the hill again. To do what was still a mystery.

Knowing Gilbert, there was a key to this. Something that once stopped would end the whole fight. Or once captured. She managed her way around the top of the slope, slid once on the curve that followed the edge of the basalt wall before regaining traction as the realization hit her.

His fort...

She caught sight of him on the lower terrace darting around the trunk with a new snowball at the ready and stopping, the swirl of his white hair as he looked around the tree almost like the snow itself. Left, right, around the curve of the wall where the slope began to rise, and then up. Even though her footsteps were muffled, she was still visible against the sky and the house, her dark trailing mane like a signal pointing in her direction. She knew when he saw her, could hear the muffled call of, "Oh no you don't!" before she caught a brief glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye. No doubt, it was him running after her.

Dealing with Prussian winters helped aide her now in the race for the snowfort. Especially since the terrace below had been nearly trampled flat or shoveled and formed into the fort and its substantial arsenal stores, leaving Gilbert with mostly-flat terrain compared to her substantial snowpack. It wasn't long before she heard him crunch along practically at her side, a driving incentive to keep her moving.

The fort came into view within a few seconds, pale blue shadows giving away the crude curve of the walls and the stockpile of snowballs neatly stacked against the wall on one side. She could feel the burn in her legs and in her lungs as she tried to breathe in cold sea-tinged air, forcing a last burst of power into her stride despite creeping fatigue, veering for the ledge. She caught sight of her opponent bending forward for a final shot of speed when she put her foot down only to hear the ground snap and felt it give way under her. Only one thought crossed her mind as she inhaled sharply at the surprise and watched helplessly as the top of the basalt shelf went flying passed her; This might hurt...

It was not as painful as she was expecting. Besides the stinging wet cold of snow against her skin, her landing was cushioned by the once-neat pile of snowballs against the back wall of the fort, sending an impressive cloud of powder into the air. The ice sheet she had cracked and dislodged from above had brought down a small avalanche around it, partially burying her as she thudded upside down against the back wall of the terrace and narrowly missed cracking her head on the ground. She stayed in place to rest and catch her breath, too tired to move for the time being, her breath exiting in what could have been tangible puffs mixed with the snow she had displaced.

Through the glittering cloud and her own stream of heavy worked breath, she saw him slow to a walk and step back inside the half-buried remains of his fort, coming to a crouch next to her with his chin rested in the palm of one hand. His eyes mirrored the bemused grin wending its way across his face as he observed the devastation she had wrought before landing on her. She was sprawled upside down amid a partially flattened pile of what used to be perfectly formed and stacked snowballs, so close to the back wall of the terrace that she could feel the extra waft of cold air from the stone. It was a moment more before he spoke up, likely catching his own breath.

"You know, that might have been more impressive if you'd landed on your feet." The joviality in his face fueled the equally-amused tone of voice, a small huff of air given toward the faintest of laughs. "Now, I would have landed on my feet. But I guess we can't all be as awesome as I am, ja?"

The short rest had done her good enough to move again, which was good since she could feel the snow melting and starting to soak into the clothing under the coat, where it had infiltrated on her disastrous landing. She moved, untangling herself as best she could from the remains of the avalanche and snowballs to roll over and hold her upper torso above the mess. "Well. I did take out your ammunitions, so I would call that a victory. A small one, but small victories are better than none at all."

He loosed a small uneven humming at her revelation, reaching forward to absently dust away a small bit of caking wet snow across her shoulders. "Mmmmmmmmnein. This is why I handle the military and you don't." He shifted his crouch for better stability, leaning a little more forward to take hold of her upper arms and, with her help, pull her out of the powdery mess she had been stuck in. "But! You are my wife, so I can overlook a few discrepancies. Six out of ten for planning and motive, four off for pisspoor execution."

"I feel honored." she snarked, sarcasm lacing her tone as she used his help to shift to a proper sitting position. "Though, I am certain it is still a better score than your brother would have gotten."

The snort Gilbert expelled veiled his face momentarily behind breath-vapor. She could have sworn it echoed off the basalt. "Germany is a soldier. Such sloppy work would be admonished, yes. You are a farmer. It's different."

She let him continue dusting her clean, putting her hands on her hips defiantly. "I do not see how that makes it any different. I fight just as well as any soldier."

Bait, which he ate up like a hungry fish at a line. "Nein! You have no formal training, it is very different." He grabbed one of her wrists, extended the arm attached without resistance to brush the clinging patches of white from it, resting it across one of his shoulders when done and beginning on the other one in similar fashion. "You have ferocity, but it's unrefined."

Her other arm, now cleaned of any snow, was plopped on his other shoulder, disrupting Gilbird to flutter up to the top of the albino's head and puff in annoyance. She offered the bird an apologetic glance before locking her wrists together behind the German's head, her green eyes resuming contact with his red. "Should I take that as a compliment?"

He shrugged, a brief raise of his shoulders in response before he rested his hands on her hips and pulled her a little closer to him, her embrace tightening lightly around him and guiding his upper torso and head nearer to her. "Take it as you will, it's not an insult." he told her.

The lopsided grin he shared as he settled his forehead against hers drew a smile of her own, accompanied by a little musical laugh that soon played duet to his own trademark snicker. The tip of her nose poked his and he responded by rubbing it on hers, laughter shared between them.

His attention returned to the pile of snow that had once been his prized arsenal. "I suppose we should find something else to do then, since your heavy ass wrought unwarranted devastation on my snowfort."

"'Unwarranted'!?" she huffed, putting her hands on her hips. A pout was awarded him at the poke of her weight, her left arm brought up to flex for inspection. "I may be heavy, but I have well earned such heaviness, thank you kindly."

Though it was difficult to see the corded outline of muscle through the heavy shirts and longcoat sleeve, he still loosed an approving hum to match the off-balance smirk making its way across one half of his face. "Ja, ja, I get it. Put the guns away before you shoot someone's eye out. Like mine, since they're in the line of fire."

It was a little poke, an appreciative teasing. One she took in stride as they rubbed noses a second time, putting both hands on his shoulders. "I would much rather kiss you, you know..."

"I know. It's so hard to keep yourself from me, but even I admit it's a bit too cold to let you kiss this flawlessness. Might freeze our lips together. Try explaining that to your hag."

"She is not a hag, she is Head of House and does not mind what happens between married couples. Besides, there are more interesting ways to be frozen together."

His cold-reddened cheeks appeared to grow brighter, not much of a feat against his pale skin. She didn't need to be told where it was his mind had wandered, his mouth opening to retort but stopping as he looked skyward. It wasn't an unfounded silence, as the both of them noticed that the ambient breeze from the south had stopped. It was like the snowflakes in the air were suspended above the ground, strings of glitter in the silvery-blue quiet, eerie in the way the world seemed to stop moving entirely save for their consistent puffs of breath.

It took a short moment for Zhemyna to remember what it meant, a shiver of intuitive memory up her spine as she slipped her way to her feet and grasped at Gilbert's jacket on the way, a silent signal to get him to follow her as she started a quick jog across the terrace. Gilbird flitted down into the space between the albino's coat and himself at the back of the jacket, disappearing completely from view. Gilbert was not far behind her, catching up and keeping pace as they reached the place she had left the bell-ridden cloak of before.

"Grab the cloak and pass it here, please." It was more a demand than a request, her accent shifting from the upward perpetual-questioning to the downward revelationary inflection.

"Why me, not you?"

"Because you are closer to the ground than I am."

A snort escaped him at that, a muttered, "Not my fault you're a damned sentient tree..."

"Gilbert!"

"Alright, alright, I'll get the abomination of noise. Don't have a conniption."

He bent down to grab hold of the darker garment, a quick shake of it as he hauled it up causing the bells to ring more clearly in the still cold air. The motion carried through to toss it toward her, and she caught it without much trouble as they made it across the ledge to the path leading to the top of the hill.

The sirens sheered the silence like a knife, slicing through the cold and ringing against the basalt shelves of the estate's hill as though trying to warn the ground itself. Gilbert slowed down a little to look toward the blob of light that was Paleugmeddi. He'd barely gotten a, "What the hell...?" out when the sirens were drowned out by a dull roar.

Zhemyna didn't have to tell him to run toward the house, watching as he started bolting to the best of his ability through snowpack up to his knees as soon as the wall of snow started blotting out the lights on the far end of the city below. The external lights on the main stables guided them toward it, following the fence-line back toward the house. She managed to tie the cloak closed again with tight knots, unaware of how cold she had been until the warm woolen confines covered her again.

The stables were reached, the manor's external lights glinted through the gloom as the next point of reference, the roaring of the wind and snow growing behind them to a deafening echo amplified by the closeness of the estate's buildings. Glowing white splotches beneath the snow in the rose garden betrayed the path lights had been flicked on, little pools gleaming and glittering. She almost tripped on one of the outlying lamps, a spray of illuminated snow into the carved channels for the path through the garden courtyard as she stumbled into the open. It hurt to breathe, her lungs painfully devouring icy air, her legs like frozen weights. Another burst of glittering light flew passed her, Gilbert having finished bounding through the thick snowpack and stumbling a few steps to catch his bearings before running ahead of her.

The wind began to quicken and swirl the snow in the air into a flurried ballet, the harbinger noise of the wind encompassing. She caught her step to run without stumbling, stomping excess snow from her legs and fueled passed the point of exhaustion by the stormy onslaught behind her, nipping the edges of the cloak's fox-fur hem like a hungry dragon woken from a long sleep and drowning out the bright chime of the bells. She looked briefly over her shoulder to see the first wisping tendrils of the snow wall bearing down on them, riding the forward wind of the flash blizzard to crest the obstacle that was her estate's hill.

She looked back ahead, locating her fellow Nation as he navigated the winding paths through the back garden toward the atrium. One back door was open, a glowing invitation of warmth and safety. He took whatever shortcut he could, including scrambling over the fountain to the tier above. It appeared an effortless move at first, though he was slow in regaining his feet at the top. It was a split second, but there was fatigue in his movements and she was gaining ground on him due to it. She would overtake him soon and if she didn't do something, he would be left to the elements in her wake.

The wind sucked back around her ankles, pulling fresh snowfall with it like water before a tsunami. She yelled his name, surprised she could hear herself and even more surprised when he proved he could as well. He turned around sharply at the sound, taking a few stumbling steps backward and accompanied by what she took as some expletive spit into being at the sight of the storm.

Before he had a chance to turn back around, she scaled the steps at the side of the fountain and closed the distance to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and sweeping him off the ground without resistance. She couldn't hear what exactly he was yelling in her ear above the roar of the wind and snow as she ran for the open back door. A few good long strides closed the distance enough she was able to fling the albino through the threshold into the arms of a few waiting maids, without a doubt rallied by Almyra. She tripped up the steps and into the golden warmth of the atrium, hitting the wooden floor with a thud of her body and the bright jingling of the heavy bells.

A pair of stout maids manning the open doors pushed them closed and latched them in place with the frame bolts, setting a sturdy support bar across them in time for the ferocious wall of wind and snow to strike. It hit the house with a loud groaning shriek and covering the atrium glass in a solid sheet of white, the doors rattling violently in their frames.

Instinctively, she put her arms above her head to shield it from the conditions, though relaxed as soon as she felt a hand at her back. Heavy, yet comforting and warm. She looked up, memories of being buried beneath flash blizzards dissipating with the sight of Gilbert crouched next to her with that lopsided grin and glittering red eyes, his face flushed in a mixture of the biting cold and exertion. He didn't say anything about the concern he was feeling, but it was there in the way his features creased just slightly. The knit of his brow, the faint twist in the corner of his grin. A familiarity she had come to read well.

"Guess you trust me pretty well, eh?"

She recognized the joke as his sign of checking on her, and answered it accordingly once her breathing had evened out. "I suppose I did throw you rather far." His face softened, his body relaxing at the verbal assurances that she was alright, offering an arm for her to pull herself to sit. "That was quite a scramble. Are you alright?"

He loosed a low confident laugh, his fingers making short work of the ties holding the cloak tight around her neck as she took his proffered arm and sat up. "Of course, I'm alright! It'll take much more than a bit of weather to keep down this much concentrated awe-HEY!"

"Goodness me, you are both soaked through." Almyra interrupted, having dropped a towel on the boastful albino's head and was working it to dry him off, despite his loudly German protests. "Maatil."

One of the maids nearby turned to face the older woman in response.

"Have the kitchens brew a pot of coffee to be taken to the upper reading lounge. Make sure the fireplace is running." The Head of House ceased ruffling Gilbert's head with the towel as the maid addressed left to do the tasks set. "There you are, young Master. Damp, not wet."

"'Young Master', my ass. I wasn't even damp!" came the disgruntled muffle from under the towel as he reached up to pull it down, looking more raggled than usual and drawing a small bit of laughter from the taller Nation.

Almyra nodded sternly at the glare he gave her, but ignored him otherwise. She bent and picked up the cloak, draping it over an arm with a bright clamour. "Feel free to leave your effects here in the atrium, Mistress. Maatil should have the fireplace upstairs going."

"We will. Thank you, Almyra." Zhemyna told her, listening as the shorter Prussian woman left the room, the jingling cloak drowning out Gilbert's chirp of, "Hag!" after her.

"Head of House." Zhemyna corrected, working at removing her boots before standing and making short work of the gloves and overcoat. A tsk was awarded as she noticed her skirt and the collar of her blouse were indeed wet. It seeped halfway up the fabric and muted the colors in the fine embroidery along the hems, mixing them into the darkened white cloth behind. "It seems I was a bit soaked through from this endeavour..."

Gilbert offered a snort as he left his own gloves neatly on the table, removing his puffy winter jacket and draping it with meticulous propriety across the back of one chair, working at his boots. Gilbird sprang back into existence from its hiding place to perch back on his head, fluffing up in an attempt to get comfortable before sighing down into his hair. "And yet, the old biddy ruffles my beautiful head and forgoes you and your sopping wetness. It's completely unfair, where's the justice!"

"Well, calling her a hag probably does not get you on her 'People To Look Forward To' list." she told him, wringing the water out of the bottom of her skirts so she wouldn't drip across the rest of the house.

He shrugged, artfully dodging the small puddles she made around herself. "I call it as I see it. She has been nothing but a hag to me, therefore she remains a hag." The wind rose in volume outside the whitened atrium, leaving no visual of the outside world but plenty of audio to imagine the whiteout it must have been. He looked toward the veiled glass dome, then over his shoulder to the corridor into the house. "...I heard something about the reading lounge?"

She took a long step to cross her small puddles, receiving his scoff of, "Show-off..." as she made her way after him. She decided to ignore it, focusing on the inquiry of events to come as she joined him. "Yes. Fresh coffee and the fireplace."

He waited until she was next to him to begin the trek through the manor's halls toward the stairs to the second floor. "Gut. I look forward to finally warming up."

"Hopefully with company." she suggested, receiving a chortle of what she took as confirmation in return.

The first steps padded along the wood floor of the hall beyond, muted to barely pats as they transitioned from bare wood to thin hardy carpet of green and gold, echoed still in the ebony framing along the walls. They were practically in unison, Zhemyna with her elegant sweeping stride alongside Gilbert with his strutting march. Who was leading, none could tell, only that their steps matched near perfectly, their arms close enough to brush and touch on each pass.

Lightly, she poked at his lower arm on a pass, her fingertips brushing the pale skin along the curve of the muscle, a silent request for his hand. He offered her a brief glance, remaining silent while he raised his hand to wrap around hers.

Her hands were cold, but the shock of his frigid fingers clasping around hers reminded her not everyone was suited to the chill of winters on the Baltic seaboard. A twinge of a thought flitted through her mind as she wondered how it was he had survived it to begin with if he grew so frozen even when bundled. A question for another time. Slowly, she extended her fingers in his grasp, twined them between his and squeezed. It felt good to feel him squeeze back, a sign of comfort, of stability.

Stability that was soon coming to an end.

He tilted his head up to look her in the eye, a grin beginning to split his face again and paired with the devious glimmer behind his red eyes. The mischievous snicker that was loosed made her momentarily regret asking to hold his hand, the jolt as he bounced a half-step and took off running through the hall almost knocking her over with a choked noise of surprise. It took a couple steps for her to catch pace with him without tripping over herself or the rug, any semblance of apprehension melted away to join in his revelry at being inside the warmer confines of the manor, next to each other.

Down the hall, around the seating area outside her office, into the south lounge. The walls sang in the wake of their trek, the polished ebony capturing their joint laughter and ringing it back so it felt like the house was taking part in their joviality. A shared space made just for them, speaking comforts only they would understand even through the howling wind and snow outside.

The front doors in the entry hall were rattling in their frame as they made their way to the stairs. She glanced at them and slowed, pulling her hand from his to check the frame-bolts out of habit. On seeing that both the frame-bolts and the deadbolt locks were in place, she turned up the stairs with small hopes Gilbert hadn't run the whole flight as he usually did, leaving her a gap to close. Her hand made for the banister, instinctively routine, but stopped before it made contact. Her progress was halted before she put a foot down on the first step, but not by the fact that the albino Nation had planted himself firmly on the step above, effectively blocking the way up.

It was his hands, a little warmer than before but still chilly to the touch, gently touching her head at her jawline and making her gasp at the intrusion of such cold against her warm skin. His lips, level with hers through use of the stairs, pressed to hers. The surprise of it made her stop, the yearn of her heart for such contact that made her push back and return it. The pull away from him was slow, leaving her pulse pounding and her cheeks hot, though the renewed flush across his proved it was not one-sided.

She offered him a smirk of her own, recognizing and not drawing attention to the fact that he had to use the stairs to achieve being level to her. "Really."

A noncommittal shrug was given her in response, his own grin breaking through once more. "You wanted one, but it was too cold. Now that it's not, I figured it was a good time to deliver."

It was admittedly hard to keep the smile from spreading across her face at that, the low laugh that escaped. "I am blessed to have such a diligent devoted husband."

He loosed his hissing snicker, obviously pleased with the small amount of praise she paid him. "Only the best."

Such an open response, though she figured that it was likely in arrogance. She liked to think it was for her, a hidden message of affection. One she returned as openly as she had received, planting a small peck of a returned kiss to his bottom lip adoringly. "The fireplace should be lit by now, and I am sure there are blankets and coffee cups with our names on them."

He moved back, turning around to climb the stairs, his hand rested on the polished raw-wood of the banister as she placed hers on it and followed him up. "Hm. Isn't hot chocolate more traditional for post-snowplay?"

"Only when both parties can relax. I still have work to finish, but you can make a special request to the attending maid, if you want. I am sure Maatil would not mind getting you hot chocolate."

He tsked, turning his head at the sound of her admittance to eventually making her way back to the daily grind he'd schemed to pull her away from. "And here I thought I could keep you all day."

She loosed a derisive little laugh. "It needs to be done, as I know you understand, but I will still stay and warm up with you for a bit. And your punishment is officially redacted. We can spend the night together instead. All night."

"Yeah, okay." He sounded hurt by the news of her having to leave before his demeanour shifted drastically. He had barely put a foot down on the landing when he declared, "First one to the reading lounge gets all the blankets!"

There was a flurry of movement as all facades dropped, a mixture of their laughter as they ran the rest of the way up the stairs to the third floor. The manor documented their journey through its plastered halls, the ebony holding fast to their energy and echoing it back, making even the smallest nooks and crannies a little brighter in their wake despite the storm outside scratching at the windows and doors as though pleading for entry.

The wind died finally, a swirling rattle of the southeasterly blusters fighting among the seaward blizzards that lasted hours. Zhemyna was reminded of old stories about storm-birds who fought for dominance, the shrieking of the winds colliding and the loud scratching of icy talons on hardy plastering and thick glass windows tempered for the weather. She could only imagine what it looked like outside the big bay window behind the still-closed heavy brocade curtains in her office.

Eventually, the southern wind won out, leaving her alone outside the occasional maid checking in to see that her coffee cup was refilled. Such treatment had ended more than two hours ago, meaning only one thing. The staff had left the main manor for their quarters on the grounds now that they could brave the weather again. Even after the snow and blizzard'ing earlier in the day, Prussians were too stubborn to let even foot traffic be hampered for long. She suspected the groundskeepers had carved new paths in the drifts and packs to assure access to all parts of the estate. Which left the main manor in a state of heavy silence outside her cracked office door.

Even Gilbert seemed to be relatively silent, which on its own could be worrying. He hadn't made a noise since wishing her fond work ethics after the usual dinner battle campaigns had ended and they split ways, but no one came to her with any updates on the albino's shenanigans. Nor had she heard any noise that would make her worry for the well-being of her house. Or her husband.

The dim golden glow of the desk lamp was just enough light for her, finding the overhead light caused headaches to form when she worked under it too long. The folder of expansion commentary was laid out neatly as before, the scratch of her pen's tip across the final papers only slightly muted by the ticking of the clock on the wall or the sip of steaming coffee from her mug. A scrawl of her signature along the bottom line of the last page was given and, with a heaving sigh, she closed the folder and returned the pen to its base under the lamp.

A glance at the clock on the wall told her she had been at it long enough, ticking dangerously close to one. A brief peek between the curtains to glimpse the outside assured it was indeed one in the morning, the clouds hanging low and glowing eerie orange, streetlights in Paleugmeddi reflected against the heavy overcast.

With a low grumble, she stood up and grabbed the mug and folder from her desk, flicking the desk light off and moving toward the sliver of light through the cracked door to the hallway. She drank down the rest of the cold coffee, unsurprised when it did nothing except taste awful, letting the creeping fatigue gathering throughout the night weigh her down while gathering a film on the back of her throat. Bed was calling, and Gilbert was probably already asleep.

"So much for that promise." she huffed under her breath as she made her way to the kitchen first to put the mug in the sink, then across the hall to the entry to drop the folder into its appropriate mailing sheath above the decorative table under the stairs. It would be noticed and delivered to parliament by the mail-drivers who arrived in the morning.

The sound of the heavy paper shuffing across the metal container and clanging loud enough to echo through the empty foyer drew another noise from the front lounge closest to her office. A shuffle of fabric on upholstery, rubbing against it with weight behind it. It made her pause, stopping and looking over her shoulder toward the lounge before moving to check on it. Best case scenario, it was the Puuki of the first floor making small mischief as the house-spirits were wont to do. Worst case, it was an intruder, though she had no idea why any mortal in their right mind would intrude on a known Nation's property.

She barely made it to the archway when a voice issued from the room beyond, grating coarseness on a tired half-slurred German accent. A relief, at any stretch. "Issat you?”

She entered the room to spot the Puuki she had originally considered peering curiously from the hall beyond the other entrance, though it scuttled out of sight again to whichever end it wanted. It was best not to question the motives or intent of hobgoblins. Her attention shifted as she rounded the furniture to the center of the room to find Gilbert stretched along the length of the sofa and looking like he had just woken up.

A sleepy crooked grin began spreading its way across his face at the sight of her. "Ah yes. Is you." He added as he stretched himself out in full, barely half-awake, "Done or just a break?”

"I am ... finished." The confusion was more than evident on her voice, feeling her face twist to match it. "Why are you not in bed? I told you such punishment was a joke and should not be taken seriously.”

"Nein. I disobeyed a direct order from command, and appropriate reprimand should be taken. No matter how stupid it seemed at the time." he told her, almost bemused at her confusion. He made a show of snuggling down into the cushions beneath him, one arm behind his head and closing his eyes. "Redacting punishments only says that the offending behaviour is alright to keep doing, it is not a good means to curb it. So go to bed, North. I will be a couch-dweller tonight.”

She looked toward the entrance she had come from, toward the entryway and subsequent stairway to the floors above. She could easily walk up the stairs and go through the nighttime routines without him, snuggle into the big warm bed, and sleep the rest of the night. But sleep was tugging too hard at her for her to properly navigate the stairs, she felt. And although the bed was warm, the lack of company after sharing it for so long made it seem so cold and uninviting...

"Well. Since you are being so impossibly regimental at the moment, I suppose I will have to change such disciplinary measures to suit me.”

"Wha-oof!"He cracked an eye open in time to feel her carefully land across him, nuzzling a leg and an arm between him and the sofa back and burrowing herself against him. "Mein Gott, woman, what are you eating!”

"Do not bring my weight into this, this is your own fault." she admonished him, a twinge of playfulness tugging at her weary tone. "I know I will not get your stubborn ass to sleep next to me, so you will have to put up with me sleeping on you. Besides." Her voice lessened into a pout. "That bed is far too big and far too lonely to sleep in by oneself.”

The snort he unleashed echoed through his chest into the ear she had resting against him. "That almost gave me constipation, it was so damned cheesy.”

"I do apologize for your metaphoric innards." she poked, letting herself relax and hearing him pretend to wheeze beneath her. "Now, either you are coming to bed, or I will stay right here with you. There is no in-between.”

He made a noise that was somewhere between thinking and disgruntlement before flopping back in apparent defeat. "Fine. Fine, you can stay there. But if any part of me is still asleep when I wake up, I'm blaming you.”

She laughed, hearing the same reverberated in the ear still against him, then yawned. "I can take that, I suppose...”

He settled back against the sofa, resting his free hand against one of her shoulders, rolling a low rattling chuckle at her admittance. "Small victories. Good night, North.”

The weariness she had been staving off through the exchange finally caught up to her, stopping any processes that might have formulated even the most basic of words. The numbness of sleep took hold, tugged at her to the rhythm of his breathing and his pulse beneath her ear. On the border of sleep, she was only vaguely aware of his hand moving, his fingers lightly brushing rogue locks of her hair back from her face. She felt more than heard his final words in the last waking seconds, vibrating with the lethargic croak of someone else on the verge of sleep through him and into her. Letting his voice add the necessary feeling of security.

"Mein liebling...”

#My Writings #Drabble #Priorities #PruSquared #removethewallinourhearts

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jbankai89 · 7 years ago

Text

Never Let Me Go [26/37]

A/N: For the foreseeable future (til about mid-May or so) I will be posting on Thursdays, so this is the LAST early update, and the next one will be on February 1st.

Chapter Twenty-Five – The Omega Liberation Front

A week after Yuri had been given the blackout glasses, they were swapped for a pair of sunglasses with a dark tint to them. He could see, and with them the overhead light in his room was as dim as twilight.

Regardless how dark Yuri's outlook on the world was (both figuratively and literally) however, after roughly seven and a half months, Yuri could see again, and it felt like nothing short of a miracle.

After seeing the state of his living quarters with his own eyes however, Yuri almost wished that he couldn't.

It was a small and square room, and the fake hardwood was stained with old blood and black skids of rubber. His mattress was clean��technically—but like the floor it carried old stains, black and rust-coloured ones that Yuri did not wish to identify. The room spoke of how Yuri had very much dodged a proverbial bullet in terms of his treatment at the hands of his trainer, and as he gazed around at the space, Yuri rested a hand compulsively upon his baby bump.

Thank you, baby, Yuri thought for what was likely the hundredth time, you saved me.

Yuri was deeply grateful, and though his outlook was still grim, Yuri was more determined than ever that he not let these monsters take his child away. He would repay his unborn child, and save them from a life of abandonment or neglect, of this he was certain.

It's amazing, really, Yuri thought as he settled back down on his side, his hands still cradling the swell of his stomach, how can I love someone that I've never met? But I still feel like I know you, baby, and I will protect you, even if it kills me. I love you so damn much, and I know that your father will, too.

“I'll get back to you, Beka,” Yuri whispered, not wholly aware that he was even speaking aloud as he curled up on the mattress, and tried to sleep. “I swear, I will...”

~*~

Another week passed, and Yuri's glasses were swapped once more, this time for ones with a red tint to the lens. Even with the new frames light still made his eyes twinge painfully, and positively ache without the protective lenses, but it was clear that they were improving, albeit much more quickly than Yuri had anticipated.

In that time, Yuri hardly saw his trainer. He was grateful, for that meant he did not need to expect any sort of painful punishments for his accidental verbal or physical slights, but the loneliness that this caused was difficult to manage, and Yuri began to almost dream of the man coming in, even if it was just to insult him more.

One day—or night, it was still impossible for Yuri to tell what time it was—his trainer stormed into the room and all but threw his meal at him, making Yuri jump with surprise. His trainer's face was contorted with fury, a face Yuri could now see—fierce dark eyes, almost no neck, his head perched like an egg upon a body wide with muscle. He was a terrifying man in every sense of the word, and after seeing him, Yuri felt even less inclined to fight back.

The food Yuri caught deftly, and he wolfed down the bread and water like a man starved. It was the same hearty fare he'd grown accustomed to during his incarceration, but his trainer had come with it late today, and thus Yuri had scarfed it down so fast that his stomach cramped and protested the speed with which he ate.

The moment Yuri had finished, the trainer, his expression sour, stepped back and rapped one knuckle against the closed door of Yuri's room.

The door opened immediately to admit another person, presumably the new trainer he was being transferred to. Yuri swallowed nervously as he gazed up at him, physically as different to his current trainer as night and day.

The man was fair-skinned, with black hair and blue eyes. His hair was styled into a point, as though he'd tried for the sticking-up style so many young men bore, but somewhere along the way it became sharper and more geometric. He was thin, slender where his current trainer was bulky, and dressed in a suit of deep violet and black. Yuri could smell the reek of alpha scent coming off him, and he immediately curled an arm over his pregnant belly protectively.

“Oh, how sweet,” the newcomer rumbled in a deep, mocking voice, “he is so protective of his brood that he stole from the alpha.”

“They always are,” his trainer agreed with a chortle, “nasty, thieving little whores.”

I'm not a whore, Yuri thought, but did not dare to say it aloud. Some of his defiance must have shown on his face however, given how the two alphas began to laugh nastily.

“Seven, nearly eight months under your thumb, and he's still defiant!” the newcomer proclaimed, and his current trainer frowned at the new one.

“He is wilful, Popovich, don't give me this shit,” Yuri's trainer said sourly. “S'not my fault that he's too stupid to submit to his superiors like he should.”

“He will if he doesn't want me to rip that squalling infant out of his belly prematurely,” the alpha, apparently called Popovich, said, and Yuri paled. His arms tightened over the swell of his pregnant stomach, and he shifted back incrementally.

“Y-you're not supposed to hurt my child,” Yuri protested softly, his protective maternal instincts eclipsing his self-preservation ones as he gazed up at the new alpha. Popovich smirked.

“You're past six months,darling. Your brood will survive on a ventilator just fine if it comes to that,” he said with a nauseatingly sweet tone of voice. “Just don't cross me, and we won't have to worry about it.”

Yuri bit his lip as he eyed the new alpha, trying to gauge whether he was exaggerating or not. His expression was blank, impassive, making it difficult to tell whether or not he was bluffing. Unnerved, Yuri dropped his gaze, but his arms were still tense and taut around his unborn child.

“Better,” Popovich said approvingly. “Up you get, darling, we got a long way to go.”

Yuri chanced a glance up, and saw Popovich smiling at him with the same false kindness, while the alpha curled the index finger of his right hand in a come hither motion.

Yuri's mind was still clouded by protective instincts over his baby, and reluctantly he got up and moved over to him, despite how small his stomach was—at least compared to what Yuuri had looked like at this stage—his gait had still adopted a slight, albeit distinctive pregnancy waddle, which made his face burn with embarrassment as the two alphas looked on and chortled at him.

Upon reaching the pair, Popovich took Yuri's wrists in a terrifyingly gentle grip, and began to pin them together as he unlatched a pair of shiny handcuffs from his belt. Yuri tensed.

“Please,” Yuri whispered, his feeble tone making him nauseous with shame, “please don't. I won't run—I can't run like this...please don't cuff me.”

“Sorry, darling,” Popovich said, “I have no choice. It's this or a collar, which, as I understand it, you like even less.”

His current trainer chuckled at that, while Yuri felt his face burn with shame. Reluctantly, he allowed the man to pull his wrists together at his front, and cuff them together with a despairing click.

Shaking all over and hating his restriction of movement, impeding his ability to protect himself if needed. Yuri was offered a pair of boots, which he recognized as his own from when he arrived. Uncertain why he didn't give them to him before his hands had been bound, Yuri decided it might be better to not ask, and slipped into them awkwardly before he reluctantly followed his new trainer out of the room.

The hall was just as long as Yuri remembered it to be, and deadly silent, save for the occasional sound of an omega weeping. It was unnerving.

“Hurry up,” the new trainer snapped suddenly, making Yuri jump. “I haven't got all day, and we have a long way to go.”

Popovich smirked as he spoke, but it was less like the cold, sadistic amusement he'd familiarized himself with with his previous trainer. This time, it was more like he was in on a private joke that Yuri was not a part of.

But what does it mean for me? Yuri wondered as he picked up his pace as best he could, but walking was still awkward at the best of times, what with his centre of gravity not in the same place where it used to be. Will he hurt me or the baby? Or both? Will I really have any chance of running away like this?

Popovich led Yuri out of the house, and outside it was warm. Summer.

Heat crept up Yuri's form, and his forehead became moist. Sweat dampened his back covered by the thin but warm three-quarter length sleeved shirt he was presently wearing, and his legs felt trapped and stuffy inside the lounge pants. His feet were positively stifling inside the winter boots, and Yuri just barely managed to bite back a moan of discomfort at how hot it was outside.

A black sedan was waiting for them on the curb, and Popovich directed Yuri to the back seat of the vehicle before he circled to the driver's seat, where he started the ignition and locked all the doors with the press of a button. He then turned to Yuri and unlatched his handcuffs, exchanging them for a stack of clothing.

“Here,” he rumbled in a tone of voice that was almost kind. “You must be baking in those clothes. I promise I won't peek.”

He smiled, but Yuri did not return it as he accepted the clothes. They were fitted cutoff black jeans with an elastic maternity waistband, along with thin, breathable socks, canvas shoes, briefs, and two top options—a T-shirt or a tank top.

“Thank you, Alpha,” Yuri said robotically.

“Just call me Georgi,” Popovich replied as he offered Yuri a strange, kind smile, and turned to the wheel while he picked up a cell phone out of one of the cup holders. He pressed a button just below the radio, lifting a tinted glass screen between the driver's side and the back seat, giving Yuri a little more privacy to change. As Popovich drove down the street, Yuri took the opportunity to quickly change into the cooler clothes, opting as he did so for the T-shirt—he'd had more than enough of showing off more of his body than he really wanted to. At the same time, he heard the low rumble of Popovich speaking into a phone.

“Hi, it's me,” Popovich said as he drove, “the kitten is in the carrier. Is the airstrip ready?”

A small, tinny voice on the phone answered, and Yuri spotted Popovich smile in the rear view mirror as he cracked down the tinted screen, and upon seeing Yuri changed into the fresh clothing, he rolled it down the rest of the way.

“Excellent,” he said to the person on the other end of the line, “do you have the cub?” the voice responded with a faint yes. “Perfect. We'll be there shortly.”

Popovich hung up, and Yuri watched as he went a step further and switched the phone off entirely. At a stoplight, he took his hands off the wheel and pulled a roll of ordinary scotch tape from the glove compartment, and used a few small pieces to cover up the microphones upon the phone, then flicked off all the Bluetooth and WiFi capabilities of the vehicle. He then looked up, and caught Yuri's eye in the mirror.

“I'm sorry for the show back there, Yuri,” he said consolingly, and strangely, it sounded as though he meant it, too. “But I have been infiltrating the system for over ten years, and I have an image to maintain. I promise that I do not plan to do any of the things I said back there, it was just to get you away from the trainers.”

Yuri blinked, and stared.

It was a front?

Infiltrating the system?

Get him out of there?

What was happening?

“Who—who are you?” Yuri asked, and Popovich's mouth twitched into a small smirk.

“Georgi Popovich, at your service,” he said as he drove off again as the light changed. “Secret Agent for the infamous OLF. We're getting you out of here—you and a certain alpha who tried to save you.”

“Otabek?” Yuri asked in a rush, “you have my—you have Otabek? Is he all right? Is he hurt? Where did they take him? What did they do to him?”

“He's safe now,” Georgi said with a small, reassuring smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “They really put him through the ringer, though. Electroconvulsive Therapy, starvation, whipping, cutting, he was not allowed to relieve himself for long periods, then not allowed to clean himself up after, he got sick a lot. Honestly, I do not know how he will react when he sees you, so you need to prepare yourself, okay? Just in case.”

Yuri wanted to ask, prepare myself for what? But he already knew the answer.

Prepare yourself for a rejection, or maybe something worse—like Beka no longer recognizing me.

Yuri bit his lip, and did not speak as he shifted his gaze to the window. He pulled his seat belt on, and he stared out at the passing urban landscape, watching the buildings flick past as they merged onto the highway.

He knew that there was every chance that this whole explanation was a huge, elaborate setup to see how Yuri might react to the allure of freedom. These people were ruthless, after all, and he wasn't stupid—he knew that they wanted to do everything in their power to keep Yuri as downtrodden as possible.

And yet...

Somehow, strangely, impossibly, Yuri knew that Georgi was not lying.

He was free.

Otabek was free.

Despite the reassurance that this was true, Yuri could not quite muster up any sort of joy. It still did not feel real.

Yuri pressed his palm to the window, and settled back against the plush seat as the world rushed past him.

~*~

They drove for over an hour in relative silence, Georgi picking up his speed when they passed though the city limits, and Yuri recognized the road they were on as the same one they led to Otabek's home. Yuri swallowed a moan of longing when he thought of him—his true alpha.

Assuming Otabek even still wanted him, that is.

They did not drive to the airport, but instead headed in the opposite direction, until they came upon an old farmhouse with a huge expanse of empty fields, one of which bore a paved strip and a small aircraft. Yuri didn't know much about planes, aside from the fact that they went up, but this one seemed like a stunted passenger plane, with similar dimensions to the huge planes at the airport, but roughly half the size.

Georgi parked the car and helped Yuri out, casting a glance around with narrowed eyes as he led Yuri away from the house, across the field, and to the air strip. Outside of the little plane was an entourage of people waiting for them that made Yuri's heart swell—his grandfather, Phichit, Minami, Viktor, and Yuuri—with a stroller bearing three identical, dark-haired, blue-eyed babies.

The three little girls squeaked and squealed in their stroller, save the middle one, who was watching Yuri with wide eyes past a pink and yellow dummy in her mouth. Viktor chuckled and took one of the fussing girls into his arms, while Yuuri circled the stroller and ran at Yuri, only remembering at the last moment to not tackle him, and pulled him into a tight hug. At the same time, he watched Georgi step aside and moved over to Viktor, and began to speak to him softly.

“Yurio,” Yuuri whispered tearfully as he hugged him close. “You're safe now, you're home.”

Yuri hugged the brunet back, and gazed over the older omega's shoulder at the collection of people waiting for him, but someone was missing.

“Where's Beka?” he asked, and Yuuri chuckled warmly at Yuri's complete lack of preamble.

“Inside,” Yuuri replied as he patted Yuri reassuringly on the back. “He's...he needed to rest.”

Yuri needed to see him. Now. However, before he had a chance to voice this desire, his arms were filled with Minami, who almost choked him in his excitement.

At the same time, Yuri noted that there was the distinct smell of alpha all over him.

Yuri pulled back and checked Minami's throat to be sure, but there was no new mark there. He eyed Minami curiously, and he smiled up at Yuri sheepishly.

“You've been seeing a lot of Phichit, I take it,” Yuri said, and Minami's face tinted pink. “What happened?”

“Can I tell you later?” Minami asked in a small voice, “we just sort of need to get out of here right now, and we'll have a couple hours on the plane.”

“Sure,” Yuri replied with a small chuckle, and turned to the last person in the procession of people waiting to greet him.

Nikolai was leaning on his cane and smiling at Yuri warmly. His eyes were fixed solely on Yuri's face, not on the bump protruding from his abdomen, and slowly he made his way forward.

As though something in him had broken, Yuri hurried forward, and with a wide smile and tears in his eyes, he hugged his grandfather close.

“Grandpa...” Yuri said weakly, and Nikolai's arms tensed around him.

“It's all right, Yuri,” Nikolai said as he rubbed his back, “my brave, brave, grandson, it's all right, it's all right, you're safe now.”

Yuri wept into his shoulder, clinging tightly to his grandfather while the older man continued to rub his back consolingly, just like he used to when Yuri was small. He sniffled softly as he tried to calm himself down, aware that they needed to go, but no one rushed him onto the plane. They all waited patiently, Viktor, Yuuri, and Minami now all each with a babe in their arms, bouncing the girls gently to keep them calm. Georgi was off to one side, gazing around with narrowed eyes, and a hand resting on the side of his jacket, giving Yuri the impression that he might be sporting a concealed weapon.

Yuri pulled back from his grandfather and turned back to the others. His gaze fixed this time on the children, and Yuri's hand fell compulsively to his baby bump. Yuri moved the rest of the way towards them, and smiled a little as he reached out for the quietest of the three babies, held in Yuuri's arms and dressed in a pink and white-striped onesie. The baby wrapped her hand around Yuri's index finger the moment that he reached for her, and he smiled a little.

“What are their names?” Yuri asked, and Yuuri smiled softly at the child in his arms.

“This is Yuriko,” he said, then motioned to the child in Viktor's arms, who was wearing a onesie with little yellow ducks all over it, and was giggling as she clung to Viktor's sunglasses, “that is Antonia, and that—” he motioned to the third little girl held by Minami, who was wearing a spring green onesie and patting at Minami's cheek, a matching green dummy in her mouth, “—is Viktoria.”

“Who named who?” Yuri asked teasingly, and arched a brow at the name choices. Yuuri laughed a little at the look, and shook his head.

“It's not what you think. Viktor picked Yuriko, and I picked Viktoria. We both agreed on Antonia.”

“Well, they're nice names,” Yuri offered—though privately he thought that they were a bit stuffy. Yuri shifted from foot to foot, and lifted his gaze to the doors of the little plane. According to Yuuri, just beyond those doors was his Beka. The one person who had kept him going these last months without even being there. His Beka, who endured worse torture than him—for him.

Yuri needed to see him.

“Go to him, Yuri,” a sudden deep voice said, and Yuri turned to see that Georgi had stepped up to him, and offered Yuri a small, warm smile. “Remember what I said, and brace yourself, but go with love.”

“Thank you, Georgi,” Yuri said softly, and smiled softly before he turned away from his friends—his family—and shifted his attention to the plane itself. He took a breath to steady himself, then hurried up the stairs and towards the plane door as fast as his legs would carry him.

A/N: If you like my work, please consider throwing a few bucks into my Digital Tip Jar. I am a starving artist, and I like not actually starving to death :P

NLMG Masterpost

#otayuri #otayuri abo #otayuri fic #otayuri omegaverse

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phanlight · 7 years ago

Text

New Man

SURPRISE BITCHES IT’S ME AGAIN

I’M SO SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING HERE HAVE A FIC TO MAKE UP FOR IT I’VE MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH XXX

summary: it’s been a year, and dan and phil haven’t spoken since the night the door had slammed and their relationship was placed on its deathbed. dan knows phil isn’t happy. dan knows andrew isn’t phil’s type. he knows there are fewer things phil would rather do less than spend his free time in the gym, eat kale, and drive cars that probably cost more than his house. dan isn’t happy either, but there’s little he can do other than watch phil’s new life blossom from behind the glass of a phone screen.

(aka basically a fic based on ed sheeran’s absolute Banger of a song new man I highly recommend)

word count: 7k

warnings: alcohol, brief mention of smoking

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

He freezes, his heart thudding.

“What?”

“Are you around at all?” Phil prompts, and the lack of hesitation in his voice is almost disconcerting.

Dan skips a beat. He knows this is only the vodka talking, only the alcohol unzipping Phil’s reserved exterior and giving way to a pushy, over-enthusiastic and giggly side to his character, but there’s a part of him, albeit a very small part buried deep down, that desperately wants to say yes.

“Um-“ Dan gulps, his chest thumping. “Are you sure about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he sighs. “Let’s face it. We haven’t spoken in months, about anything, and you just pop up and phone me completely out of nowhere,” he gulps, before adding in a lower voice, “and it’s not like we ended on brilliant terms, either.”

“Which is why I’m saying we should meet up now,” Phil urges. “We both miss each other, don’t we?”

–

He’s twenty weeks deep, and apparently they went to Paris last summer.

His thumb slides idly along the glass, scrolling through filtered picture after filtered picture. The Eiffel Tower. The Louvre. A familiar face beside the River Seine, the city lights stretching into amber ribbons on the water’s surface. Some expensive-looking car parked on the side of the road, white shine and blacked-out windows. White wine on the balcony, the sunset a pastel cascade over the city. It looks as if they had a good time.

He lurks with great care, monitoring the movement of every muscle in his thumb in hopes of avoiding the dreaded double tap. Accidentally liking your ex’s new boyfriend’s pictures in itself is certainly one thing, but ones dating way back over five months ago is another.

It’s harder to look at Phil’s Instagram that far back. When there’s a red heart below the picture instead of a transparent one, it takes him a while to figure out whether or not he’d already liked the picture or if he’d slipped up.

He scrolls more. Cars, cars, four tattooed guys at some exotic-looking bar wearing matching grins, a beach, more fucking cars, gym selfie, gym selfie, and-

What the fuck?

He frowns at his phone screen, peering into the glass with narrowed eyes like he’s seeing properly for the first time.

Because it’s him, sure. It’s Andrew, with his ice-white grin and false tan and too-tight t-shirt, the grey fabric straining over the bulge of his muscles.

But there’s a face next to him, a face just as familiar but at the same time just as alien. There’s still black hair, still blue eyes and pale skin and that smirk he’d wear a few years ago whenever Dan cracked some sarcastic quip about the neighbours.

But his hair, once falling into his eyes in a fringe that Dan’s fingers were all too familiar with, has succumbed to the wrath of some kind of styling product; the black strands gelled upright, framing his face in black spikes. He looks like the Statue of fucking Liberty. The picture cuts off a few inches below his chest, but it looks as if he’s well and truly ditched his signature cheap-plaid-shirt-and-even-cheaper-jeans combo for some shitty designer t-shirt about four sizes too small, mirroring the muscular figure next to him. Dan doesn’t doubt that t shirt alone probably costs more than his entire wardrobe, and he also certainly doesn’t doubt the money for it came out of Andrew’s pocket, not Phil’s.

Phil, Dan scoffs at the name when it pops up on the screen. This isn’t Phil at all; at least not the one Dan was so familiar with. The Phil he knew, the Phil who would, no longer than a year ago, stay up eating takeaway pizza and Doritos and ice cream into the early hours of the morning, would fall about laughing at the idea of attending any more gym sessions than that token one after New Year’s Day. The Phil he knew would sooner be clutching an Xbox remote than a fucking two kilogram weight, thank you very much. And the Phil he knew would definitely roll his eyes at the idea of someone like Andrew, and he doesn’t quite know how this has flipped around so suddenly.

Dan has half a mind to drop this guy a message. Something along the lines of ‘what the fuck have you done to my ex?’. Something about creating a monster; one feeding off of nothing except kale and protein shakes. Perhaps he casted some kind of black magic spell on Phil while he was sleeping; something to make him wake up in love with the idea of expensive cars and grass smoothies for breakfast. Dan reckons he’d probably have the capacity to carry out something like that; there’s just something about his cold stare; the way it pierces into the iPhone camera like a fucking icicle.

Not blue like Phil; not cornflower warmth. Blue like azure steel, like sharp cobalt.

He doesn’t dare drop this guy any kind of message – of course he doesn’t; he’s already this far back and he doesn’t think he particularly needs to give this Andrew guy another reason to hate him. He still remembers that dreadful time he bumped into the two of the in the middle of Tesco, and the way Andrew’s fists balled and jaw clenched when Phil and Dan had fallen into easy conversation, even more so when Dan had made Phil laugh about something. He’d had to make a dive into the bread aisle seconds afterwards lest Andrew chase him away with a pitchfork.

That was the last time he saw Phil. It was nearly four months ago.

He closes Instagram, clicking the ‘home’ button and watching the app shrink back into a square on the top right hand corner of the screen until the next time he taps it open again. Probably tomorrow. Probably in ten minutes’ time.

That’s sad. Dan doesn’t care.

When his phone rings, he has to restrain himself. He has to wait what would be considered a ‘normal’ amount of time before he answers. Sure, he might have sprung off of the sofa and dived straight into the carpet with his heart in his mouth upon recognising the name flashing up on his phone screen with every vibration, but he doesn’t need to know that, right? He doesn’t need to know it had taken every ounce of self-control not to answer immediately.

He counts to five, a tremor in his breath, before he accepts.

“Hello?”

“Dan?”

“Er- yeah?” Dan curses himself almost as soon as he opens his mouth. It hasn’t even been ten seconds and he’s already stuttering.

“Hey. Um. It’s Phil. Sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t know if you still had my number, or-“

Dan bites lip, thinking it best not to mention that yes, Phil’s name is still very much there. It would probably be even worse to mention how much time he spends staring at his contact profile, his thumb hovering over the ‘Call’ button.

“No- no, it’s fine. I do,” Dan gulps, his heart still thudding painfully under his jacket. What the fuck does Phil want?

“Yeah, course,” Phil murmurs.

Dan frowns. He could recognise that slur in Phil’s voice anywhere. “Have you been drinking?”

“What? No, no, of course not. I mean- well, not – a little bit, maybe, but,” he interrupts himself with a giggle. “I’m not, like, drunk, but-“

“Right,” Dan fiddles with a loose thread on the cushion, winding the cotton around his finger.

“Wait,” Phil pauses. “How did you- how did you know I was drinking?”

“You always stutter when you’re drinking,” Dan answers quickly. He feels a little pang, then – having every single one of someone’s characteristics, their quirks, habits and mannerisms still locked away in the back of your mind isn’t much fun after they’ve become a stranger.

“Oh,” Phil giggles again. “Oh, shit.”

“So,” Dan gulps. “What exactly did you call me for? I mean- don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you did, but-“

“Just-…” Phil trails off, and Dan can almost hear the ticking of his brain. “Just-… well, fancied a chat, really.”

Dan stops fiddling with the cushion thread. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Phil mumbles. “I just- you know. Just wanted to talk.”

“Right,” Dan narrows his eyes.

“Yeah,” Phil answers, and they trail off into a silence.

“Phil?” Dan breaks it seconds later.

“Mhm?”

“What’s the real reason?”

“Huh?” Phil doesn’t skip a beat.

“Come on,” Dan huffs out a sigh. “Let’s not both pretend I can’t tell exactly when you’re lying. Even when you’re drunk you can’t lie for shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re out of touch. You’ve completely fallen off the radar. We haven’t spoken in months, and now you drunk-call me at-“ he glances at his wrist, “gone eleven, and expect me to believe that nothing’s up?”

“Well-…” there’s a thoughtful pause. “If I’m being honest. Like, totally, totally honest, well- like, this is the first time I’ve really got drunk since-… well, since-“

“Since you got with Andrew?” it slips out before Dan has a chance to realise how blunt that must have sounded, but Phil remains unfazed.

“Er- yeah,” he says, and there’s a noise that sounds like a gulp.

“So how come you’re drinking now, then?” Dan picks up the cushion again, his fingers winding around the cotton.

“We- er-“ there’s a long, drawn out silence. “We had a bit of a… you know… and-“

“Spare me the details,” Dan says, but not unkindly. “I don’t wanna pry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Phil says. “Yeah, um- we just had a bit of an argument. Well, a lot of an argument, actually,” another silence. “He’s fucked off somewhere, and- well, I’m on this Smirnoff shit I haven’t touched for months.”

“Oh god,” Dan shuts his eyes. “You and vodka do not mix.”

“At this point I’ll mix with anything as long as it will get me pissed,” there’s a glug and a hiccup-like noise.

Dan bites his lip.

“Look,” he furrows his brow, listening to Phil on the other end. “Be careful, won’t you? Don’t go too overboard or anything.”

“I’ll be fine, you moron,” Phil chuckles. Dan isn’t overly convinced, especially if old King Kale isn’t around, but he lets it go in fear of sounding too motherly.

“Okay, well just- I don’t know. Just take care.”

“Thanks,” Phil says, and there’s a silence. “Oh man,” he sighs. “I miss you, you know?”

“I miss you too,” Dan replies immediately, only realising seconds later what it is Phil’s actually said.

His heart thuds when he realises. Shit.

His heart thuds again when he realises just how much he meant his response. He misses Phil dreadfully.

“How’s the- er-“

“Art college stuff?” Dan finishes automatically. He knows that tone, knows when Phil’s about to ask after something college-related.

“Yeah, that,” Phil says. “You must be in, what, second year now?”

It’s still a bit stilted, still a bit like talking to a relative he hasn’t seen for ages, but Dan replies all the same.

“Yeah, I am,” he says.

“How’s that going?”

“Good, yeah,” Dan lies, his eyes flickering over to the lopsided canvas slumped in the corner of the living room. He should have handed in his final piece last week. “Er- how’s the film stuff going?” he shifts the subject.

“Yeah, good actually,” Phil’s tone brightens a bit. “I’m due a meeting with some editor in Media City next week. They want me to, like, edit an advert or something.”

“Oh, really?” Dan raises an eyebrow. “That’s actually really cool.”

“Yeah, it’s not bad,” Phil pauses. “So- when you see those sick lens flares on the new Aquafresh advert, you’ll know who’s responsible.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for that,” Dan giggles. “But no, really. That’s good, man. I’m happy for you.”

He remembers all too well how Phil’s career was this time last year. They were so strapped for cash, what with Dan studying and Phil struggling to find work, they could barely afford central heating. He remembers walking into the freezing cold lounge one morning to find Phil wrapped up in a duvet on the sofa, job vacancy after job vacancy flying across the laptop screen as he scrolled. He’d been seconds away from throwing the towel in altogether and going back home.

“Yeah, it’s good now. I’m pretty sure it’s Aquafresh, anyway. That or Colgate,” Phil rambles on.

“I’m glad,” Dan says, and he is.

“God,” there’s a noise that sounds something like a burp, then a giggle. “Wow, we need to catch up, Dan. We really do.”

Dan stops fiddling with the cushion thread. “Er- yeah. We do.”

“I mean it,” he says. “I wanna know what you’re up to these days. We haven’t spoken properly in ages.”

Dan gulps. “Yeah, I- I know. Just fell out of contact, I guess.”

The question that follows is one Dan’s certain he can’t have heard correctly.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

He freezes, his heart thudding.

“What?”

“Are you around at all?” Phil prompts, and the lack of hesitation in his voice is almost disconcerting.

“Um-“ Dan gulps, his chest thumping. “Are you sure about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Which is why I’m saying we should meet up now,” Phil urges. “We both miss each other, don’t we?”

“Well- yeah,” Dan gulps. There’s no telling whether Phil genuinely does miss him or whether it’s just the vodka’s voice. “But- I mean. Look, I don’t wanna dampen the mood or anything – I’m just being realistic, but like- you’re drunk. Who’s to say you won’t feel totally different about this when you’re sober?”

“Trust me,” Phil says heavily. “I won’t.”

There’s a fraction of Dan that wants to hit back with more realism, more ‘well it’s easy enough for you to say that when you’re pissed, isn’t it?’, but he manages to bite his tongue.

“Well,” he finally gulps. “I mean, I’m up for it. Really, I am. And you know that for a fact, because I’m saying this a hundred percent sober.”

“Really?”

“What do you mean ‘really’?” Dan scoffs. “It’s a Tuesday night.”

“Never stopped me,” there’s another sound that resembles a glug, and it’s all Dan can do not to wince.

“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes, settling his stare on the cushion thread he twists around his thumb. “So like… how about this.”

“Go on.”

“How about we say-… if you’re still up for it tomorrow morning, then drop me a text,” he hesitates. “If not, well- you can just keep quiet and we can just pretend this conversation never happened?” the latter feels like a stab in the heart to say out loud, but Phil seems agreeable enough.

“Good idea,” he says. “Like fuck will I choose the latter, though.”

Dan smiles. “Well. It’s up to you.”

“Yeah,” he can hear the smile in Phil’s voice. “Well- oh, shit.”

“What?”

“I just tried to stand up. Fuck, everything’s spinning.”

“I think it’s time to lay off the vodka for tonight,” Dan suggests.

“Yeah, maybe,” Phil says. “I’d better call it a night.”

“I would. Get yourself some water, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” Phil says.

“Good,” there’s a pause. Dan nibbles his lip.

“Right- yeah, so like-…” Phil hesitates. “I’ll give you a text tomorrow, then.”

Dan raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Watch me,” Dan can almost hear the smile in his voice, and only seconds later is his own mouth twisted into some foolish grin that Phil can’t even see.

“Good luck with your hangover.”

“I’ll be fine,” Phil insists.

“If you say so.”

“Yeah. I do,” is the last Dan hears of the familiar voice before there’s a cut and a monotonous tone on the other side of the line.

He feels a bittersweet swirl in his stomach, undecided as to whether this idea has been really good or really, really bad.

Phil: well, would you look at that.

Phil: the morning after and I don’t regret a thing

Phil: well. Apart from the vodka maybe.

Dan grins until it tickles his ears.

Dan: yeah I’m not surprised

Dan: I remember your hangovers on vodka

Dan: managed to get your head out of the toilet yet this morning?

Phil: nah I’m not that bad

Phil: just a bit fragile

Dan: a coffee and a crumpet should sort you out

Phil: literally exactly what I have going right now omg how did you remember

Dan: someone with such a profound love for crumpets like you is pretty hard to forget

Phil: they’re so good tho

Dan: nah pancakes are better

Phil: omg are you mad

Phil: pancakes are grim. I’m pretty sure you’ve put me off them for life you know

Dan: listen okay that wasn’t my fault

Dan: salt and sugar do look strikingly similar in case you hadn’t already gathered

Phil: and I can tell you that salt tastes a lot fucking worse in a pancake than sugar

Dan: yeah I don’t think a lemon and salt pancake was my finest culinary hour i’ll be honest

Dan: (soz about that btw)

Phil: haha it’s okay. You converted me from pancakes to crumpets so if anything it was beneficial in the long run

Dan: true true

There’s a lull in the conversation, Dan’s thumbs hovering over the screen. He gulps, staring at the blue bubble until his vision blurs

Dan: so about this eveni- he backspaces.

Dan: what time were you thinking of- he backspaces again

Dan: are you still up for- he presses his thumb down, watching the letters disappear.

Before he has time to construct another sentence, his phone vibrates.

Phil: sooo

Phil: about this evening.

Dan’s heart leaps, the foolish grin reappearing. It’s easy to forget despite having not talked for the best part of a year, the near-telepathic connection the two of them have as a result of living together for the past five years still remains. There’s something quite bittersweet about that.

Dan: what do you wanna do?

Phil: tbh anything that doesn’t involve the gym or cars sounds good enough to me

Phil: there’s only so many evenings I can spend on a cross-trainer lol

Dan raises his eyebrows. Is that seriously what they do for fun?

Dan: no fucking fear hahaha

Dan: I meeeaaan was personally thinking more ‘Cross Keys’ than cross-trainer

He hopes Phil gets that.

Phil: omg the cross keys

Phil: I haven’t been there in ages????

Dan smiles. I’ll bet. Fancy a drink there later?

Phil: please omg

Dan: meet round the front at 6ish?

Phil: sure. Though I know what ‘6ish’ usually means to you. If you’re late I swear to god.

Dan: hey I’m not that bad

Phil: coming from the same guy who turned up to work four and a half hours late???

Dan: okay ffs that was different my alarm didn’t go off

Phil: whatever

Dan: I promise I’ll be the first one there.

A couple of minutes pass before his phone buzzes again.

Phil: I might just hold you to that.

He steps off of the bus to a cold slap of city air in the face. Autumns in Manchester are never really anything to write home about – it’s been so long since the city’s seen any sun that he’s kind of forgotten what it looks like. These past few months they’ve had more than their fair share of drizzling rain, groaning winds and overcast, concrete skies, but not a single drop of sunlight. As dear as Manchester is to his heart, the weather really isn’t one of its strongest attributes.

The Cross Keys sits less than a two minute walk away from the bus station, and Dan’s pretty sure he could do it blindfolded at this point. He’s done the walk enough times, in enough states, from stone cold sober to so completely filled with alcohol it was a wonder he got home at all, that he shoves in his headphones, glues his eyes to the pavement and relies on muscle memory.

It’s only when the gold-plated sign and the two silver keys crossed over in the distinct ‘X’ shape struggle into view that the nerves kick in, a sharp gnaw of anxiety beginning to eat away the pit of his stomach.

He unlocks his phone with a sweaty thumb. It’s bang on 6 o’clock – shit, he’s actually on time – and Phil’s nowhere to be seen, so he’s clearly the first one here.

The more time he spends combing through the milling crowds with fast eyes, searching for a glimpse of black, a flash of blue, anything, the faster his anxiety begins to throw every possible worst case scenario around his mind.

Oh shit, this was such a stupid idea. Of course it was – they’ve had next to no contact whatsoever for the best part of a year, having ended on what Dan can only describe as pretty fucking bad terms (well, as bad as hurling drunken insults all night and throwing a full suitcase down two flights of stairs goes) and being left to wallow in the cold, post-conflict aftermath for months with nothing but the ghost of each-other’s social media profiles on their phone screens.

Fuck, Dan feels his heart sink the more reality begins to seep into the situation. This is ridiculous. Of course Phil’s not going to turn up. He and Andrew are probably at home, chomping on kale together and killing themselves laughing at the thought of Dan actually turning up; the thought of the sad, desperate ex standing outside the pub for hours, and-

“Dan?”

He jumps out of his train of thought, his heart thudding.

He whirls around towards the direction of the voice and does a triple take. Shit.

It’s like looking into a distorted mirror. Like one of those strange apps that can drastically change your appearance whilst still kind-of keeping your face the same.

Because it’s still Phil, still all black hair and blue eyes and a weird walk and a slightly crooked grin. But whatever the fuck he’s doing wearing a slightly too-tight white t shirt and jean that look as if they cost more than Dan’s monthly shop, he has no idea. His hair is brushed up and gelled back a bit, and Dan wonders if his fringe could still be found somewhere behind all those designer products and hairspray. Weird jewellery hangs from his neck – he’s sporting what appears to be a shark tooth on a chain and a few rings on his finger, and as far as anatomy goes, he’s filled out really quite impressively. Dan feels like a fleshy stick in comparison.

He looks- well, he looks pretty fucking good, actually. But in a hot-stranger-at-the-gym kind of way, not the checked-shirts-and-glasses kind of way. Not in the ‘Phil’ way.

“Er- shit- hi,” he stammers when he remembers to speak, shoving a hand in his hoodie pocket and the other in his hair, desperately trying to smooth down the brown mop that now, to come to think of it, could have really done with a brush before he left.

“On time, for once,” Phil grins, and Dan curses how fucking smooth he’s being. Clearly Dan doesn’t look different enough to have to take a moment to drink in his appearance; Phil had given him a quick once-over and left it at that.

Dan blinks at the flash of unnatural white when he smiles. Looks like someone’s now making enough money to afford cosmetic dentistry.

“Yeah, I- er-“ he gulps. “I only just got here. Buses were being a bit weird today and-“ he stops mid-sentence when a glint of gold catches his eye, “what the fuck is that?”

“What? Oh, yeah,” Phil fiddles with his earlobe. “Do you like it? Andrew’s cousin is doing an apprenticeship in body modification. We popped by the other day and she said she could do me anything I liked for free, so I was just like, why not?” he shrugs.

“Wow,” Dan swallows, feeling a bit sick. “I don’t remember piercings being, well, your thing, really.”

“Are you sure about this?” Phil had made a face when the piercer unwrapped the needle from the packet. It had caught the sunlight with a steely glint.

“Positive,” Dan had tucked his hair behind his ears.

“On your own head be it,” Phil had shrugged. He’d made it clear enough that he hates piercings, can’t stand them, but he’d given Dan his hand to squeeze nonetheless.

He remembers the rest of the day following his ear piercing, too. Phil would not shut up.

“I’m glad you survived the stabbing,” he smirked over lunch later that day.

“Careful, Dan, that magpie over there might pick you up and take you to its nest,” when they were in the park.

“Well, it’s your own fault,” he’d shrugged when Dan had fidgeted around on the pillow that night, complaining about the pain.

He looks back at the Phil standing in front of him. He can’t be the same guy who teased him relentlessly when he got a new pair of diamond studs.

“Well,” he shrugs. “Glad you’ve changed your tune.”

It comes out a little more sarcastic than intended, but Phil scarcely blinks.

“Yeah, piercings aren’t that bad actually,” he says. “Andrew likes them.”

“Hm,” Dan raises an eyebrow, glancing at the door. He’s sure he does. “Shall we go in, then?”

“What are you having?” Phil pulls out a black leather wallet. The Gucci logo in the corner catches the light with a golden glitter. Shit – those things cost a fortune.

“Oh, er-“ he finds himself staring and snaps his eyes back up to Phil. “I’ll just have a pint. San Miguel if they have it. Thanks.”

“Nothing’s changed there, I see,” Phil grins, turning to the barmaid. “One San Miguel and a glass of house red for me, please.”

“Wine?” Dan frowns when she walks off to the lager tap. Phil hates wine.

“Well, beer is very fattening,” Phil explains.

Jesus fucking Christ, Dan rolls his eyes. This can’t be the same person who he demolished crate-after-crate of lager during their University years with.

“Suit yourself,” Dan shrugs, throwing a nod of thanks when the barmaid sets down the glass in front of him. He takes a sip, his lips sinking into the foam crowning the top of his drink. “I’d take a pint of San Miguel over that grape shit any day. Even if it means a few extra pounds,” he pats his imaginary beer belly.

“You’re not fat, for god’s sake,” Phil scoffs, and Dan swears he sees a ghost of Phil’s old grin just there. Just a glimpse, a split second of a twitch of his lip and a glint in his eye, but it was there. “And ‘grape shit’? It’s Rioja, I’ll have you know,” he pulls out a ten pound note and tells the barmaid to keep the change.

“Rioja?” Dan repeats when they begin walking through an ocean of middle-aged locals, younger couples, families and an abundance of fruit machines in search of somewhere to sit. “Sounds like some kind of Equatorial Island,” he comments when they manage to secure a table in the corner, just by the fireplace. It’s a bit too hot and Dan’s pretty sure most of the smoke is travelling into the pub rather than going up the chimney, but it’ll do.

“And San Miguel doesn’t?”

“San Miguel is a beach in Ibiza, actually,” Dan says.

“As is Rioja,” Phil quirks an eyebrow, mirroring Dan’s sip. “Well. It’s a wine resort. But it’s in Spain too.”

“Ibiza isn’t in Spain, it’s an island,” Dan rolls his eyes. “Didn’t Mrs. Granger teach you anything?”

“Yeah – she taught me never to take Geography beyond GCSE,” he shudders. “How did you survive two more years of her in Sixth form?”

Dan shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. God, I hated Geography A-Level.”

“Maths was worse, don’t worry,” Phil sighs. “Christ knows how I managed to walk out with a B at the end of the year.”

“You did fuck-all revision as well,” Dan grumbles.

“Oh, as if you did any more than me,” Phil retorts. “Which one of us decided it would be a good idea to go to a party the night before an English exam?”

“No, okay- the exam was in the afternoon,” Dan says. “I had all morning to revise.”

“You spent all morning with your head in the toilet on the phone to me,” Phil says.

“I wasn’t that bad,” Dan mumbles.

“You were still hungover the day after,” Phil says. “If that’s not an advert for avoiding Tesco’s own brand vodka, I don’t know what is.”

“Okay, maybe that was a mistake,” Dan shudders, feeling a ghost of nausea at the memory. “I haven’t touched the stuff since.”

“I don’t blame you,” Phil grins, taking a sip of his wine.

The first silence that creeps into the conversation is almost unbearable.

The exchange was flowing like water, almost with too much ease. Back and forth, almost solidly, for a good fifteen minutes. Grins had got wider, shoulders looser and guards begin to lower until a topic trails off without a tie into another and the quietness had crawled in.

Dan nibbles his lip, glancing at Phil. He’s back to a stranger again.

For the past fifteen minutes he’d seen him, the old Phil, in there somewhere, be it through a glint of an eye or a particular laugh or a grin that lasts a few seconds too long, but now he’s sipping wine and fiddling with his (apparently) twenty-four carat gold things in his earlobes and fuck, if Dan doesn’t break this silence soon he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to leave.

And then it slips out. He doesn’t mean for it to; he doesn’t even really think about what he’s saying until the words escape from his lips in a desperate effort to dissipate the awkwardness.

“How was Paris?”

Phil pauses mid-sip, frowning at Dan. “How did you know we went to Paris?”

Oh, bollocks.

“Oh, erm-“ Dan gulps, rubbing an invisible itch on the back of his neck. Shit, maybe it would have been better to keep his mouth shut. “You know, I- er, I saw a few- it came up on my feed and I just-“

“You just had a little look on Andrew’s Instagram?” Phil says, but he’s smiling.

“No- well, yeah, but it wasn’t- I wasn’t-“

“It’s fine,” Phil smirks, and he almost looks, well, pleased. “I’d be lying if I didn’t have the odd glance at your social media every now and then.”

Dan stares at him. He’s been looking at his stuff too?

“Seriously?”

Before Phil can open his mouth to respond, a marimba chime pierces through their conversation.

“Oh- hold on,” Phil pulls something vibrating out of his pocket. Dan sits back, taking another sip and pretending to look around the pub instead of listen to a one-sided conversation about something to do with a gym membership.

He frowns at the enormous glinting rectangle in Phil’s fingers once he hangs up.

“And that’s a phone, is it?”

Phil glances up from the screen. “Yeah. iPhone Seven plus. Andrew got it for me.”

“Of course he did,” he mutters under his breath.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” he says, his eyes still glued to Phil’s hands. “So you no longer have your shitty Samsung, but you’re now making your calls on a baking tray?”

“It’s not that big,” Phil rolls his eyes.

His thumb outstretches at an odd angle to try and reach one of the apps in the top corner of the screen. Dan snorts.

“Oh, and your iPhone four is any better?” Phil locks and pockets his phone, his stare carrying a glitter. He throws a glance at the small oblong. “I might be making calls on a baking tray, but at least I’m not stuck in 2007.”

“The iPhone four wasn’t even released in 2007, you twit,” Dan downs the last of his beer.

“Whatever,” Phil drains his glass of the rest of his wine, his neck craned and his face pointed to the ceiling. Dan stares at his neck for a second too long. “Sorry. I never answered your question, did I?”

“What question?”

“Paris was good,” he says, and Dan hopes to God that orange-tinted lamp in the corner is concealing his blush.

“Sorry, I didn’t-“ Dan shrugs, staring at his fingernails. “I’m not, like, stalking you or anything, I promise. I just- well, sometimes I just-“

“Wanna see what I’m up to?” Phil offers. Dan nods, not lifting his gaze.

“I’m the same,” Phil says. Dan glances up to a soft grin. “Well. Kinda.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Only difference is I’m not going to apologise for it.”

Dan frowns. “Apologise for what?”

“Apologise for wanting to see how people are doing. What they’re up to. There’s nothing wrong with it,” he pauses. “Even if you have lost contact.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dan downs the last of his drink, the knot of anxiety untying in his stomach a bit, because Phil does have a point.

“So,” Phil pulls out his wallet. “I’ll have a-“

“Oh, don’t worry,” Dan stands up. “I’ll get these.”

Phil smiles. “On one condition.”

Dan freezes. “What?”

“You come back here and tell me all about your trip to Venice with the friends on your Art course. Lydia, I think her name is?”

Dan can’t stop a grin warming his face.

“I didn’t know you knew about that.”

Phil smiles. “Who says I ever unfollowed you?”

Four drinks later and their heads are softened, their grins are widened and their walk down the pavement turns into a gentle stroll.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Dan glances up from the golden flicker of his lighter. “What?”

“And you say I’ve changed?” he scoffs, fixing Dan with a gaze caught somewhere between disappointed and mildly disgusted. “What the fuck are you now doing that for?”

“It calms my nerves,” Dan mumbles, his speech obscured by his filter.

“It probably rots them, too,” he mutters.

“Suits me,” Dan exhales, smoke pouring into the night air. His vision swims a little.

“Well, just do me a favour and put these to good use once you’re done,” Phil presses a half-opened pack of Polo mints into his free hand.

“Whatever,” Dan scoffs, rolling his eyes. He inhales again, his gaze fixed on the bus stop in front of him. The last one home leaves in less than fifteen minutes.

“It’s late,” Phil comments, pocketing his enormous phone.

“Yeah,” Dan gulps sadly, staring at the curb. He doesn’t want to say goodbye, doesn’t want to open the door to an empty apartment and a cold bed for the hundredth night running.

But then he doesn’t really know where he’s standing with Phil, now. Sure, they might have just fallen straight back into the best-friendship they left behind last year the minute they set foot into the pub, going through drink-after-drink like they used to every single week, but there’s no telling whether this is going to stay a one-off, with no further mention of this night one they part their ways. There’s no telling what’s going to happen, now.

And if it wasn’t for the alcohol currently running through his veins, he would have kept completely quiet.

“I- er-“ once he opens his mouth, he finds he can’t really stop. “I mean, I know this is a bit weird and, like, of course you don’t have to if you’d rather just go home, because- like, this evening’s been great and I don’t wanna fuck anything up but if you wanna-“ he stops mid-sentence and takes a deep breath, cursing himself for rambling. “It’s just- I have a bottle of wine in the fridge, and I was just wondering if you’d wanna, maybe-“

“I’d to,” love Phil smiles, his eyes glittering, before adding, “on one condition.”

“What?”

“You stop rambling like that,” Phil’s eyes glitter. “It’s far too cute.”

“So then I was like- if your work friends mean more to you than my mum’s birthday then that’s fucking fine by me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dan shuts the kitchen door and sits back down on the sofa. “Your mum’s lovely, as well. Who the hell would turn down dinner at that Chinese place for a few hours at the pub?”

“That’s what I thought,” Phil shrugs. “Fucking stupid. He doesn’t even like drinking.”

“Now that’s fucking stupid,” Dan grins, downing the last of his wine. He hauls himself off of the couch and reaches for the bottle. “Want a top up?”

“Go on, then,” Phil grabs his wineglass. “Just a bit more.”

“Nicer than vodka, I imagine,” he empties the bottle into his own glass and sits back down. “Even if it is only Sainsbury’s wine.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Phil sips. “We used to get through enough of these every week, didn’t we?”

“I’ll say,” Dan smiles, taking a sip himself.

They fall into a silence, but it’s comfortable this time.

“Thank you for tonight,” Phil says quietly.

Dan smiles. “Thank you, more like.”

“No- really,” he puts his wineglass down, turning to face the other boy. “I mean it.”

His eyes are glittering in the low light of the lamp, and it’s the first time all evening Dan sees Phil in his blue gaze. The Phil he left behind. The Phil trapped in a whirlwind life of expensive cars and exotic holidays and designer labels and cosmetic products that his appearance doesn’t even need anyway.

The Phil he was in love with.

Is.

“I mean it too,” Dan says, his mouth going a bit dry. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Phil asks.

A million and one reasons flood Dan’s mind.

For tonight. For last night. For the past five years.

“For phoning me.”

Phil grins.

“Well one of us had to do it first, didn’t we?”

Dan smiles. “Yeah.”

There’s another silence, broken only by a soft mumble.

“Wanna know something?”

“What?” Dan asks.

“All those opportunities to call you I let slip,” Phil begins. “Every time I clicked on your contact and stared at your number for hours like a fucking idiot,” Dan freezes at that – shit, Phil did that too? – “every time I didn’t ring you,” he gulps. “I almost did.”

Dan can hear his heartbeat in his ears, and the tiniest ounce of remaining self-control he’s spent the evening clutching onto finally slips out of his fingers.

He launches himself at Phil and wine-flavoured lips crash into each other. It tastes of desperation, of need, of I’m so fucking sorry for the past year and a half and I miss you so fucking much and-

Dan freezes when he realises. He wrenches away from Phil’s embrace, his lips burning.

“Shit, I’m so- I didn’t-“

“Dan, its fine, I-��

“It’s not fucking fine!” Dan snaps, guilt crawling over his skin. Fuck, this isn’t fair. This isn’t fair at all. “Shit, Phil, I- I don’t know what came over me, I just-“

“Dan, look at me,” Phil climbs off of the sofa, grabbing the other boy by the shoulders until they’re eye-to-eye. They stand there in silence, searching each other’s gazes, and-

Phil pulls him in, their lips melting back together with such aching ease Dan loses himself for a moment again.

“No- Phil, I- we can’t-“ he turns away from Phil’s touch despite every single nerve ending in his body wanting otherwise. “I can’t do this,” he breathes. “I’m sorry. It’s not fair on-“

“On who?” Phil’s eyes glitter, and Dan feels a hand slide round his waist.

Dan frowns, his nose brushing against Phil’s, but he doesn’t wriggle away.

“Your fucking boyfriend. Who do you think?”

Phil presses his lips to Dan’s for another half second before pulling away and grinning.

“Who says I have a boyfriend?”

Dan freezes. “You and Andrew broke up?”

Phil nods, pressing a kiss to Dan’s collarbones.

“But…” Dan frowns. “Why?”

Phil lifts his head up until they’re eye-to-eye.

“It’s very hard to be with someone when you’re in love with someone else.”

Dan’s throat goes dry. This isn’t happening. This can’t be.

“You…” he shakes his head, the room a spinning blur of colours around him. “You still love me?”

Phil smiles. “How could I have ever stopped?”

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phan au #phan fluff #phan angst #dan and phil #phnalight #ive literally forgotten half the fic tags njdsjdfn #i hope this is ok it feels so so weird posting #this is literally the first time ive posted a oneshot since november wtf

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theworstbob · 7 years ago

Text

yellin’ at songs: week 31

brief reviews of the songs that debuted on the 8.9.1997, 8.11.2007, and 8.12.2017 editions of the billboard hot 100

8.9.1997

10) "Never Make a Promise," by Dru Hill

See, the thing about this R&B song in which a person makes an eternal promise that separates it from all the other dozens I've heard in the past couple of weeks is, goddamnit I was really hoping I would come up with a joke by the time I got to the conjunction, I figured, y'know, I'd get the ball rolling, get some momentum, y'know? If I started saying words in the cadence of a joke, I would get with the program and sort of involuntarily make a joke. I see now the folly in my ways. I should've been better prepared for 1997. I knew milquetoast R&B was in store. I dropped the ball on this one, and dropped it in such a way that it did not start rolling, to tie it back to a metaphor from earlier. I promise to do better. And uh, fun fact about me, I never make a promise I won't keep.

87) "Down for Yours," by Nastyboy Klick ft./Roger Troutman

Pitch the Auto-tune a little lower, put in a few of those drums what sound like a dude roiling his rs to imitate a machine gun, and this is a perfectly acceptable 2017 pop/rap song. I just wanna real quick address something: I know I said last week that every 1997 rapper, short Magoo, was better than the best 2017 rapper, but I was speaking in terms of pop/rap. Like, if you only go by what charted, which is a mistake for so... so many reasons, 1997 rap is better? But once -- I mean, the Kendrick and Jay albums were fire, but more importantly, you've got folks like Vince Staples and Brother Ali and Joey Bada$$ and Lupe Fiasco and SZA making awesome, challenging works that aren't gonna chart. These charts are at once a sample of music history and the poorest imaginable representation of music history. Anyhoo, I don't know what previously held the title of 'most innocuous song to throw Bob into an existential tailspin over the general utility of the YAS project,' but it belongs to this dumb sack of song now!

90) "Never, Never Gonna Give You Up," by Lisa Stansfield

Hey: if nothing else, clicking on this edition of YAS 7s should give you a fun and cool new way to Rickroll your friends. Add a meta layer to your Rickroll game. I know this isn't actually a comment on the song, because how could anyone be aware of memes in 1997? All these songs predate Hamsterdance. Someone should have told Lisa Stansfield there was already a song called this, though. Anyhoo, I'm not actually talking about these songs at all. They're boring! This is probably the most okay song so far, but I'm putting it out of my mind to think about a boring meme about a boring song.

92) "Drink, Swear, Steal, & Lie" by Michael Peterson

aw this guy's just a big ol' dork. i love him! ii love his dork ass song about how in love with his girl he is. this song has one joke and it's still a vastly more complex and well-written song than any pi[50,000 word treatise on bro country redacted]anyway, this dude's great. like, i'm a pop/punk main, y'know? i love dorky and earnest jams. this hits that button squarely, y'all. i'm so into this.

only publishing the 1997 top 20 because changes happen with the other two and i value consistency

20) "Step by Step," by Whitney Houston (3.15) 19) "Can We," by SWV ft./Missy Elliott (8.2) 18) "On and On," by Erykah Badu (1.25) 17) "I Want You," by Savage Garden (3.1) 16) "It Must Be Love," by Robin S. (5.24) 15) "Smokin' Me Out," by Warren G ft./Ronald Isley (6.21) 14) "Fix," by BLACKstreet ft./Ol' Dirty Bastard (8.2) 13) "Silent All These Years," by Tori Amos (3.22) 12) "What They Do," by The Roots (1.11) 11) "Step Into a World (Rapture's Delight)," by KRS-One (4.5) 10) "I'm Not Feeling You," by Yvette Michele (2.22) 9) "Bill," by Peggy Scott-Adams (3.29) 8) "Just Another Case," by CRU ft./Slick Rick (7.5) 7) "I'll Be," by Foxy Brown ft./Jay-Z (2.15) 6) "Felton St.," Leschea (6.14) 5) "Bitch," by Meredith Brooks (4.26) 4) "Mo Money, Mo Problems," by The Notorious B.I.G. ft./Puff Daddy & Mase (8.2) 3) "Return of the Mack," by Mark Morrison (3.1) 2) "Hypnotize," by The Notorious B.I.G. (4.26) 1) "Not Tonight (Ladies' Night Remix)," by Lil Kim ft./Angie Martinez, Left Eye, Da Brat & Missy Elliott (7.12)

8.11.2007

47) "Stronger," Kanye West

Graduation is such a goofy album because it has three of the best Kanye singles of all time, including what, let's be real, probably ends up as the best song from 2007, but it's also Kanye's worst and least interesting album. It's Kanye at a crossroads, stuck between being the pop/rap god and the morose Auto-tune sadlord who makes 808s and MBDTF. This song actually finds Kanye at the perfect point in the crossroads. He's still making a towering achievement for the mainstream, but he's breaking out of being chop up the soul Kanye, moving into electronic territory, developing his sound into that direction in a way that doesn't quite sound like MBDTF but sounds like the first step on that road. It'd be a bold experiment if it didn't absolutely work, and this is an amazing song by any objective measure.

65) "Cyclone," Baby Bash ft./T-Pain

Man maybe I just haven't noticed it yet or maybe I'm just coming down from the "Stronger" high, but I forgot how horrible the generic crunk beat was to listen to. It hasn't been quite so prevalent, but heck whoever gave this dude the Lil Jon MP3s. I will say that T-Pain making noises to describe what it feels like when a woman dips it low is the tiniest little miracle of a thing, but boy, is my life not better with this song in it. OK I just got to the part where T-Pain makes that noise three times in a row, this song is an achievement in Western art and culture and the world is saved.

83) "Love Me if You Can," Toby Keith

who the fuck listens to toby keith for the ballads like who is this for who thinks of this song when they think of toby keith no legit dude just make dumbass party jams i don't get why this would ever need to exist

84) "Take Me There," Rascal Flatts

Like legit why would you give "Love Me if You Can" to Toby Keith when Rascal Flatts is literally right there. Songs like "Love Me if You Can" and this treacly pile of love song are why you made Rascal Flatts in the first place. I also enjoy the twist this puts on The Country Song. I don't think anyone ever came to Rascal Flatts for Authentic Country Music, so them saying they want the girl to take them to Main Street and the backroads is actually kinda sweet. Like, they're not posturing, they're saying, "Yeah, we're clearly city softboys, but we wanna see the small town blue jean nights that made my girl." Rascal Flatts: generally inoffensive yet again! They just keep comin'!

89) "Proud of the House We Built," Brooks & Dunn

I like this song because it reminded me of The Wonder Years' "Teenage Parents," and I appreciate the opportunity to think about The Wonder Years. I dunno, country hasn't really been problematic this week! This song is almost good! It's just a nice look back on life. "Yeah, it kinda sucked, butcha know what, we made it." Maybe it could've acknowledged that the tough times sucked instead of looking back smiling and saying, "I wouldn't have it any other way?" Hard times suck, dude. I know you haven't heard that Paramore jam yet, but hard times suck and you shouldn't idealize them. Especially when, you know, you're a millionaire, and people who are actually going through hard times are listening to you and saying, "Welp, guess this is my station in life!" Hey Bob you're going on a treatise on the sociological implications of bro country, and you are actually unable to write that. Please write about JoBros.

92) "Hold On," Jonas Brothers

What a week for songs named after far more notable '80s jams! (Actually Wilson Phillips w)I LOOKED IT UP AND DECIDED I DIDN'T CARE anyway did anyone else forget that Jonas Brothers are like legit songwriters? Like, this is definitely as good as any Simple Plan song, and Simple Plan was like a decade older than these kids. Does Simple Plan make good music? That's beside the point, which is that Jonas Brothers was never garbage. They were always making highly enjoyable pop/rock songs for the whole family, and they were capable of making these songs from an extraordinarily young age. We could've done worse, is what I'm trying to get at. Like, we had it pretty got dang good with the JoBros, friends! There's a world where JoBros fades into semi-obscurity and makes highly enjoyable Christian rock with Hanson, and also no one ever makes "Jealous," and that's a pretty OK alternate reality, that one.

100) "Hood Nigga," Gorilla Zoe

The most optimistic sentence on Wikipedia is, "This is Gorilla Zoe's only top 40 hit on that chart, to date." This song ain't bad! It would've been a fine #1 in some of those weeks where the best song was like "Do it Just Like a Rock Star." He has this really fun and gruff voice, maybe a little laconic but certainly pleasant to put in the ears, the beat is, as the kids might have said in 2007, knockin', and we have certainly heard worse things! Also the radio edit replaces N with F and of all the letters to replace the N, F is easily the funniest, because now this song is about a dude who can't get enough figs in his life. Fuck Cristal, this dude's got a Fig Newton cabinet.

New #1 hype! 20) "Lip Gloss," by Lil Mama (6.9.2007) 19) "Stolen," by Dashboard Confessional (4.21.2007) 18) "Beautiful Liar," by Beyonce & Shakira (3.31.2007) 17) "Cupid's Chokehold," by Gym Class Heroes ft./Patrick Stump (1.13.2007) 16) "The River," by Good Charlotte ft./M. Shadows & Synyster Gates (2.10.2007) 15) "Say OK," by Vanessa Hudgens (2.17.2007) 14) "Alyssa Lies," by Jason Michael Carroll (1.13.2007) 13) "Never Again," by Kelly Clarkson (5.12.2007) 12) "Can't Tell Me Nothing," by Kanye West (6.16.2007) 11) "Get Buck," by Young Buck (4.14.2007) 10) "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going," by Jennifer Hudson (1.13.2007) 9) "Thnks fr th Mmrs," by Fall Out Boy (4.28.2007) 8) "Candyman," by Christina Aguilera (1.13.2007) 7) "Misery Business," by Paramore (7.21.2007) 6) "Because of You," by Ne-Yo (3.17.2007) 5) "Umbrella," by Rihanna ft./Jay-Z (4.28.2007) 4) "Beautiful Flower," by India.Arie (6.16.2007) 3) "Dashboard," by Modest Mouse (2.17.2007) 2) "The Story," by Brandi Carlile (4.28.2007) 1) "Stronger," by Kanye West (8.11.2007) Hey guess what the alt-country song doesn’t end up being Record of the Year 2017. Also I made a minor adjustment to #20 because Lil Mama is going to stay around as long as I feel I cannot bop her in good conscience.

8.12.2017

40) "Back to You," by Louis Tomlinson ft./Bebe Rexha & Digital Farm Animals

Huh, well, I think I mind this the least of all the One Direction side projects! I'm down for a duet, even if this is just a little too low-key to ever attain Iconic Duet status -- drunk folks and karaoke wanna shout about love, and while I'm sure they'll appreciate the "you fuck me... up" phrasing, you're not giving them a lot to work wth. I've never minded Bebe Rexha as little as I do here, and just like in his boyhood, Louis Tomlinson doesn't do anything to ruin everything. This was passable. I wouldn't mind hearing this again, I wouldn't mind if a thousand lives were lived before I heard it again.

61) "What's My Name," by China Anne McClain 81) "It's Goin' Down," Descendants 2 Cast

Listen. Am I upset that this young woman's villain song does not in any way hearken back to "Poor Unfortunate Souls" in any way? Of course. Am I 15 years aged out of the target market for this song? I mean fucking obviously, I knew we'd be treading in these waters eventually. These are fine generic pop songs, the only true flaw in any being the fact someone looked at purple-haired girl and said, "She should be in a rap battle. I think she could convincingly hold her own in a rap battle," like I'm sorry sweetie you have an abundance of other talents and zero bars. It's charming. It's charming! Listen. Am I ready for China Anne McClain to rule the world for five yet-to-be-determined years in the future? Yes. Do I love Captain Hook's gay son? I LOVE CAPTAIN HOOK'S GAY SON

77) "Issues," by Meek Mill 79) "Wins & Losses," by Meek Mill 83) "1942 Flows," by Meek Mill 96) "We Ball," by Meek Mill ft./Young Thug 97) "Fuck That Check Up," by Meek Mill ft./Lil Uzi Vert 99) "Heavy Heart," by Meek Mill

So if I'm rating the theme weeks of 2017: 1) Kendrick Week 2) Jay-Z Week 3) Future Week 4) Meek Mill Week 5) Migos Week 6) Ed Sheeran Week 7) Big Sean Week 8) Drake Week 9) Bryson Tiller Week I was honestly surprised by how much I enjoyed these songs. Like, I'm actually adding the Meek Mill album to the library for future listening. "1942 Flows" and "Wins & Losses" are legit, they're engaging songs and Meek Mill brings passion to them, and maybe I'm just unfamiliar with the rest of Meek Mill's catalogue, but I honestly didn't expect to be involved in these songs. This seems like a fine album with which to kill a summer bus ride or two. Like, I can't remember the last time I heard a song with a Young Thug feature where I wasn't paying more attention to what Young Thug was doing. Meek Mill did fine work. (Worth noting: Wins & Losses is 15 minutes longer than DAMN., and I am curious what makes Meek Mill think he has 15 minutes' more of worthwhile thought than Kendrick.)

91) "Imitadora," by Romeo Santos

It was "Heroe Favorito," right, where I said I might enjoy Romeo Santos' whole thing on another day, when I was ready to accept him into my life? WELL HOT DIGGITY, Y'ALL, 'CUZ TODAY'S THAT DAY. I love his breathy falsetto thing over this song way more, it just fits. I'm also in love with this track, this gentle Latin guitar with occasional blasts of indie platformer main menu music. I don't know a better term to express what I mean because I'm bad at music, but these synth blasts play in the intro and outro and occasionally come back and they just take this track to another level. This is just phenomenal work from someone I now understand to be a veteran in the scene from the past seven months of limited engagement with the world of Latin pop.

I changed the top of the 2017 Top 20 again. 20) "Bodak Yellow," by Cardi B (7.22) 19) "Woman," by Kesha ft./The Dap-Kings Horns (8.5) 18) "Smile," by Jay-Z ft./Gloria Carter (7.29) 17) "Love Galore," by SZA ft./Travis Scott (7.1) 16) "Bad Liar," by Selena Gomez (6.3) 15) "DNA." by Kendrick Lamar (5.6) 14) "It Ain't Me," by Kygo x Selena Gomez (3.4) 13) "Craving You," by Thomas Rhett ft./Maren Morris (4.22) 12) "That's What I Like," by Bruno Mars (3.4) 11) "Chanel," by Frank Ocean ft./A$AP Rocky (4.1) 10) "Strangers," by Halsey ft./Lauren Jauregui (6.17) 9) "Either Way," by Chris Stapleton (5.27) 8) "Run Up," by Major Lazer ft./PARTYNEXTDOOR & Nicki Minaj (2.18) 7) "Imitadora," by Romeo Santos (8.12) 6) "Green Light," by Lorde (3.18) 5) "Hard Times," by Paramore (5.13) 4) "ELEMENT." by Kendrick Lamar (5.6) 3) "Despacito," by Luis Fonsi ft./Daddy Yankee (2.4) 2) "iSpy," by KYLE ft./Lil Yachty (1.14) 1) "Issues," by Julia Michaels (2.11) Like #1 should be a mix of Most Impactful Song and Song I Enjoyed Most, and maybe #1 justifiably belongs to “Despacito” given how great that is, I’m still getting a lot of mileage out of “Issues,” and honestly as long as I’m not keeping up this silly idea that a song that was #90 for one week is the most iconic song of the year this useless list has at least some utility. Shoutout to the true heroes Paramore, though. And also Major Lazer, PARTYNEXTDOOR, and Nicki Minaj. I will never fucking forget you guys.

Who won the week?

2017 actually put up a rather strong fight, but there was no way Meek Mill and the Descendants 2 soundtrack were going to take down “Stronger,” even when it was being weighed down with Toby Keith. 2007 had a couple strong punches, and it was more than able to notch another point. 2017: 11 1997: 11 2007: 9 In next week’s post, we get to listen to Spice Girls AND Billy Joel, 2007 gives us Luke Bryan AND Robin Thicke, and I don’t know what fresh hell 2017 has in store but evidently Tay Tay collaborated with B.O.B. at some point in the recent past and it’s gonna be real fun to deal with B.O.B. the popular musician should it come to that. What an unproblematic and unremarkable artist who has precisely zero bad opinions which he expresses loudly!

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asagaopix-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Feeling Self Indulgent? WRITE YOUR SI SHIP

Pix tapped the screen of her worn down Gintendo 4DS with one hand, holding her tray of food with the other hand and balancing it fairly nicely. She sat down on a relatively less populated table and sat, placing her rather delicious food down in front of her, and took up the Gintendo 4DS in the other hand.

A taller guy with a striped tie noticed her, and sat down in front of her, waving to someone else behind her. He placed a NameBoi on the table in front of himself, and started to click around on the table. “What’cha playin?”

Something about his voice seemed... familiar? The positivity behind it, the slight smile to it... the words themselves seemed to ring a bell to her. Where did she...?

Ignoring it, she replied, “Nokemon Sky, just training some Nokemon up to my current team’s level.”

The guy stared at her for a few moments, before responded, “Oh, cool! Could I see?”

Pix swirled the Gintendo 4DS around, tapping to her party menu. “I’m training the Wulpix and Mimichomp right now. My mimichomp is really good! A shame I had to drop Lily, my Bripombee for her...” Pix trailed off, feeling a little embarrassed for going off on a mini rant about the state of her Nokemon team.

He only laughed slightly. “I see! Uh, I haven’t seen you for a while, but... hey there, Pixie!”

Pix froze up at the mention of her real name, looking up at him, then smiled nervously. “Er... I’m sorry, but... what’s your name?”

He looked temporarily crushed. “I’m Emile! Remember? Elementary school? We would play NMD near the forest, underneath the shade?”

Pix’s mind clicked those pieces into place, and gasped. That was his name! “Emile! Oh my god, Emile, it’s been like... forever!”

“I know! Sure feels like forever since we met up on the playgrounds to play Nokemon, right?” Emile smiled brightly, and Pix looked down at his striped tie, remembering a little bit of his style back in the days.

“Yeah! So, what are you doing?”

“I’m training up my team before my next video. Grinding is boring on camera, and considering my luck, nothing important is going to happen.” Emile adjusted his tie, and Pix shoved a part of her cheeseburger into her mouth. “I got a new member of my team too; his name is K9, and he’s going to be a ferocious arcaynine!” Emile looked down at his game, and moved around a bit on it, then back up to Pix. “Well, after he learns the moves I want him too. Don’t want him stuck out of a good move!”

“Completely.” Pix glanced over to the normal boots table, then decided to join PBG another day. “So, you make videos? I’ve gotta watch them!”

“Hey everybody, it’s Chuggaconroy! Welcome back to more Nokemon FireRusset! This time... I made a few updates to the team! Meet buff-n-tough K9!” Emile talked into a mic, and Pix tapped on her game in the background, watching as Emile nested himself into a cocoon of wires, screens, and recording equipment.

It was messier than Pix imagined it would be. Pix looked down at her game and directed her game character over to the corner of the map, clicking on a pokeball over there. A Snow Stone was plopped into her inventory, and Pix’s face turned into a grin. She was finally going to evolve her Wulpix!

Emile continued blabbering on in his corner, and Pix looked up at his screens. They were... very complicated, weren’t they? How was Emile supposed to get out of there?

“There’s no need to be so fiery about everything!” Pix leaned forward on the table. “You’re gonna burn yourself if you continue this! You’re gonna Flame Wheel into a Burning situation!”

The guy in a beanie next to her stared at her blankly. He briefly pushed up his glasses as he looked between Emile and Pix.

“Well, I can’t help it if my type is the one of Fire!” Emile shot back, a smile on his own face. “No need to Surf away my Fire!”

“Well, my watery spirit says to your fiery spirit... it’s super effective!” Pix pushed off of her arm, looking Emile in the eyes. “I’ll wash you away with my water moves!”

“You better have burn heal, because I’ll burn you first!”

“Better have some Speed Boosts, because I’m faster than you!”

“I might just have good Special Defense!”

“I’ll be getting myself a Critical Surf to Wash you away!”

Tim started to laugh, covering up his mouth as he did so. Jon plopped his head onto the table, and started to groan. “Oh my GOD, Emile, what did you DO TO HER?”

“I like puns!” Pix cheered, turning away from Emile to look at her two friends-of-friends. Jon looked up at her in shock, then looked to Emile with a glare on his face.

“...I’m gonna tell her about the Poppy incident.” Jon mumbled, adjusting his glasses. He went to fix the clouded lenses on his shirt when Emile went pale.

Emile’s voice went into a feminine squeak, “DON’T TELL HER THE POPPY INCIDENT.”

It was too late. Pix wanted to know now. She ignored Emile’s squeaking and asked, “What’s the Poppy incident?”

She was STILL teasing him about it partway into the year. She’d get this look in her eyes that she was going to tease him about “doing poppy on hard” and there was no escaping it. Hana had heard about it, too, judging by the Poppy doll that was laying on his desk one day before class.

She approached him with a smirk on her face, and Emile started to resign himself for more teasing when she grabbed onto his sleeve and chirped, “Hey there, Steve!”

Emile twitched an eye. She got to that Kopmin episode, didn’t she? “Don’t call me that.”

“Ooooh, why nooooot? You asked me to call you that as a kid, didn’t you?” Pix leaned closer to him, getting her ear closer to his chest. “Ah, Steve... what a name to pass down!”

“Piiiix, come on.” Emile whined. “Unfair! Completely unfair!”

Pix reached up and flicked a piece of brown hair out of Emile’s face. “Hmm... nope. Not gonna.”

“Have I... Attracted you yet?” Pix posed on the table, winking. Emile made a fake motion, and leaned forward, placing his hands onto Pix’s hands.

“Maybe. Maybe we’re even at the Daycare, and we’ll somehow make some eggs!”

Pix didn’t even flinch. She pulled a hand out from under Emile’s and flipped her hair, looking away dramatically. “That’s a super cute thought, but nah. Not until we’re all ready, and part of the same egg group, of course.”

“How am I supposed to know your egg group? All that matters is that you’re super adorable.” Emile stared at her, and Pix looked at him, surprise at his words flickering through her green eyes.

“Well, you’re super cute too.” Pix fought back, turning back fully to Emile and placing her free hand on top of the hand pile they had between them. They stared at each other for a few moments, unsure of what to say. Pix then laughed, pulling her hands away and picking up her 4DS again. “Wow, nerdy much? Fake flirting with Nokemon terms?”

“Completely.” Emile picked up his own 4DS, opening it up and clicking it on.

Jon was tapping furiously on his phone in the corner of the table.

“HAH! Finally, first place for me!” Emile pumped his fist, placing his controller onto the floor. Pix sighed, and placed her own controller on the floor, leaning back on her seat.

“You have... defeated me.” Pix sighed, pulling up her phone and looking at something on it. “...Did we get flirty? I really don’t remember that.”

“Did we? I remember a few comments, but nothing really major.” Emile watched as the rest of the racers finished the race. “Was it to do with the roller coaster thing?”

Pix continued staring at her phone, before sitting back up and placing it down, sighing into the mic. “Yeah, that’s the general thing they are pointing out.” Pix picked up her controller and watched the screen.

“Can I mention that I would totally eat that mountain?”

“That would be too sweet for me, honestly, but I’m not surprised...”

“I love laying on your lap.” Pix mumbled, holding up her controller to her face, eyes focused on the screen. “It’s nice, and warm, and it’s nice seeing the screen like this.” Pix looked up at Emile, tapping a button on her controller as she did so. Her character, a small pink character, hit the dice block with a mighty jump, then started to move.

“You’re definitely getting that star now.” Emile said from above her, rubbing his fingers through her hair. “Why are you acting like the cat?”

Pix rolled her eyes, looking back at the screen and choosing a direction to go in, right nearby a star. “Because I’m a cat lover. Duh.”

Jon groaned, and went to look at the laptop. “Yeah, the chat is wondering what you said, Pix. Care enlightening them?”

“I just said his lap was nice and warm.” Pix said, a bit louder. Jon sighed, and turned back to his laptop, leaning towards he mic.

“You said... that his lap... was nice and warm.” Jon mumbled. “She is laying on his lap, by the way. And, Emile, are you sure that’s completely platonic?”

Emile pulled his hand out of Pix’s hair, causing Pix to wince. She sat up, rubbing her head as Emile replied, “What do you mean? Of course it is!”

Pix’s character on the screen spun around, claiming the star of the map. Pix pressed past the next star being placed on the map, and had her character land on a normal blue space.

“I mean... that’s typically a thing romantic couples do...” Jon said, a smirk growing on his face.

Emile sighed, pressing A for his turn to start. “We’re just really comfortable with each other! I mean, we were best friends as kids!”

Pix stared at the controller on her lap, hand poised over the L button. She seemed like she was about to say something. “I...” The purple-haired girl made a face, trying to think.

“Chat says bullshit.”

“Well, it’s not!” Emile’s character threw an orb on the screen, having it land right behind Pix’s character. “Jeez, can you just accept that already?”

“This fucking cat is like our kid.” Pix mumbled, rubbing the orange-furred creature’s head. “Annoying, always begging for our attention.”

Emile nodded, cleaning up the box in the corner of the room. “We’re like the kindly parents, y’know. We don’t show our annoyances, we love each other, stuff like that.”

Pix opened her mouth, then shut it, a thoughtful look on her face again. She then shrugged, and continued to pet the cat. “Flame, you cause a lot of trouble for us, don’t ya?”

The orange tabby cat mewed back, and Pix made a face, then meowed at Flame. Emile started to laugh as Pix and the cat started to meow to each other.

“My wife is weird.”

Jon groaned again, causing the two to look away from each other, the spell broken. “What is it now?” Pix mumbled, slightly annoyed that Jon interrupted what the two were having.

“That’s the fifth time this fucking week!” Jon grumbled, pointing to the two of them. “You two just get so sentimental or SOMETHING and you do things like THAT!” Jon rubbed his forehead, adjusting his glasses so his palms wouldn’t rub over them. “God, and you wonder why people think you’re dating.”

Pix didn’t deny any of that, simply looking back to Emile. The guy in the striped shirt thought for a bit, then glanced at Pix. He was very clearly getting what Jon was trying to put down.

“Well, it’s nothing! C’mon, dude! Sometimes we just do this!” Emile said, words spilling out of his mouth. “Besides, we’re close enough that we can joke about that!”

Jon rolled his eyes, bringing out his phone and tapping something into it. “Sometimes is like, maybe once a week? Maybe once a few days? NOT EVERY SINGLE DAY OF THE WEEK, EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU LOOK AT EACH OTHER!”

Pix winced at the sudden shouting, but just brought out her 4DS and clicked it on. “So, I’m still hunting for shiny mimichomp...”

Emile dug himself into that conversation, and Jon sent the message to his already graduated girlfriend, Reese;

they still are denying it. after that stream??? after the other stuff you’ve told me about??? YES. wow, even we were better than that. I think we all were better than that! The new transfer got together with one of the NB guys before they’re even accepting that maybe they have feelings!

“Here’s the thing.” Emile leaned back, sighing. “Either I be a jerk and hurt her feelings real badly, or I possible cheat on Zilda.”

“I say don’t cheat.” Pix said, eyes focused on her 4DS. She had obviously gave up on the Mimichomp quest, for she was trying to hunt for Spewider now. “I don’t need that in a boyfriend.”

Emile went silent, and Pix looked up from her game. She closed her 4DS and leaned forward on the bed, looking at Emile in the eyes. “... Yeah? Something wrong?”

“We keep doing that.” Emile said, looking over at Pix. “I’m just wondering... are we really joking about that?”

Pix started to say yes, but stopped herself, trailing off. Were they joking? Sometimes Pix caught herself staring at him, sometimes she caught Emile staring at her, then there were those moments they had sometimes during lunch, which Jon always hung a lampshade on how close they were...

“Maybe?” Pix decided on, and Emile sighed, shaking his head.

He picked up his controller again, pointing at the screen and selecting the option to turn the NPC down. “Well, off of that topic, now it’s time to watch her get over me!”

Pix snorted, and the previous mood hung in the air slightly as Emile continued to play through the game.

“Nothing has worked!” Jon sighed into the phone pressed against his ear. “They obviously have moved onwards in some way, but they still aren’t officially dating yet! Insane.”

“At least the artwork of you and him together have gone down quite a bit?” Reese’s voice said, from the other end. Jon rolled his eyes, but agreed with that point. “Besides, it took forever for us to finally get a move on.”

“Maybe, yeah, but at least we did it within the fucking school year.” Jon sighed, leaning back on his bed. Emile lay, asleep, on the other bed. “It’s almost time for school to end and for me to fucking graduate, and they still...!”

“Wow.” Reese said, a touch of amazement in her voice. “They really aren’t willing to get past that stage yet?”

“No!”

Reese started to laugh.

“Not even Mai, one of Pix’s best pals, is doing anything at all to get them past this!”

“Maybe set them up on a date?” Reese suggested, and Jon paused, ranting cut in half.

Jon looked over to Emile, then whispered into the phone, “Maybe that could work...”

It didn’t. And the year came to a close.

“Maybe this is pushing it.” Pix mumbled, eyes looking down at their hands, grasped together.

“Maybe.” Emile said, looking out to the ocean. It may have been autumn, but it wasn’t freezing cold yet. “Wow, sometimes I forget how pretty the sun can be.”

“But not as beautiful as me?” Pix joked, leaning onto Emile’s shoulder. Emile started to laugh, and Pix started to laugh as well, shaking her head at that line. “Wow, that was lame, wasn’t it?”

“Well, it WAS what I was thinking, but now that you’re saying it...” Emile looked away from the sun to look at Pix in the eyes. “... well, uh...”

“...maaaaybe we pushed it a bit far?” Pix whispered, struck at how nice Emile looked.

“This is NOT platonic. At all.” Emile coughed into his palm, looking away. “Wow, that... was weird.”

“At least we agree on that.” Pix mumbled, putting her face onto Emile’s arm. “... sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be.”

“We’re dating.”

“Oh, finally!” Mai sighed, then brought out her phone and texted someone. She snorted, and put the phone away. “Jon is screaming ‘finally’ from his spot by Reese’s side.”

Hana laughed, adjusting her ribbon. “Took you two long enough. I got together with my boyfriend in a few months, and it takes you two an entire year? Wow, and I thought i was being nervous about my feelings.”

“Shut up, Hana.” Pix grumbled, rubbing her open palm over her face. “At least we know now.”

“After a year.” PBG teased, “like, seriously? An entire year?”

“Dude, low blow!” Emile whined, and PBG started to laugh, pounding his hand on the table.

#Emilpix #Asagao Emile #Pixie Annie Kohler #Emilpix: the novel #asagao jon #asagao tim #long post #asagao lucah #asagao pbg #hana mizuno #mai sasaki #HERE U GO GUYS... I REALLY DID TRY #maybe one day I'll just do a full out fic of their relationship #just... fucking long chapters #going over how their feelings are developing #how each one came to the thought that 'hey maybe i have Feelings'#stuff like that

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