#He’s not even mad about being eaten he’s just offended about not being dipped in the right sauce

[thefanciestborrower]

You know what I’d also be offended if someone tried to dip me in mayo. He’d go much better with ginger sauce thank you very much

[spyder-m]

Zerith - "Sanctuary", Ch. IV preview

A/N: For more previews/updates, check out my Ko-fi.

Sanctuary

Chapter IV - One Time Gig

Cloud's decision, as Zack had quietly hoped, was met with cause to celebrate. 

Tifa was beaming radiantly as he gave her the word, springing to her feet with her hands clasped together. At Zack's side, Cloud rubbed the back of his neck, flushed, but smiling dopily. Despite his bashfulness, he was clearly pleased to have spurned such a response from her. 

In fact, Tifa was overcome by such joy, Zack sensed she was about to move into Cloud’s embrace, once more. This time, however, she caught herself, instead extending a hand toward him; perhaps a gesture she hoped would appear more professional. Zack was tempted, briefly, to ‘accidentally’ knock Cloud off balance, closing the distance between them. He thought better of it, though, feeling it wasn’t the appropriate time.

There would be plenty of chances later to relish in teasing his younger friend.  

To commemorate the good news, Tifa insisted that they stay for dinner. 

Eager, Zack accepted the invitation before Cloud could get a word out, suspecting his friend wouldn't want to intrude. Any urge Cloud had to protest, however, all but disappeared once Tifa shuffled behind the bar, a spring in her step and a smile all the more blinding. 

From their shared table, Biggs, Jessie and Wedge seemed equally delighted for the extra hands, growing all the more excited about proceeding with their next mission, knowing now that they would have the knowledge and strength afforded by two ex-Soldiers in their ranks. 

Zack happily dug into a generous portion of stew, managing to stay well-engaged in the conversation even amidst heaped spoonfuls. Cloud, however, for his part, nursed his own meal in awkward silence, unsure of where to rest his gaze. Having been shy in his younger years, Zack wondered if all the attention and scrutiny he was receiving from the rest of the room was making him uncomfortable. The loud, gregarious voices of their new Avalanche companions must have been overwhelming, not to mention the way their leader was still eying him sceptically. Though Zack seemed to have won Barret over, it looked like he still had some reservations about Cloud. 

It was likely only the presence of Zack and Tifa that was helping to calm the nerves bundling for Cloud.   

Though happy to take part in the celebration, as the night dragged on, Zack suspected it was a convenient excuse for Tifa to keep them; Cloud; around, even if for just a moment longer. 

That much was solidified later when, after they'd eaten their fill, she offered to walk them back to the station, despite knowing they could more than comfortably navigate Sector 7 alone. The gesture almost offended Zack, who couldn't recall Tifa showing him this much hospitality when he had turned up on his own. 

Still, he couldn't be too mad. It was obvious that she wasn't quite ready to part with Cloud yet. 

As they made their way through the Slums together, Zack would catch her, every so often, glancing discreetly in the blond's direction. Though, her cheeks burnt and her eyes dipped whenever she felt Zack's gaze weighing on her. 

Cloud, all the while, didn’t seem to have noticed. 

Being in Tifa's company, made for a stark difference in how they were received by the Midgar locals. People were much friendlier, drawn toward Tifa; who, clearly, was an integral part of the community. Many passersby greeted her with a smile. Some called her by name, while others offered more... colourful greetings. Zack swore he could make out Cloud’s teeth grinding together with each one. 

Still, not wanting them to feel ignored, Tifa did her best to muster up a conversation as they made their way along the Sector’s outskirts. Cloud, however, was far from talkative at the best of times, let alone when tongue-tied by nerves.  

Tifa, however, appeared conscious of this and was careful in her approach; offering occasional, gentle attempts to coax him out of his shell. Unsurprising, given how long they had known each other, Zack guessed.  

“So… Where have you two been staying all this time?”

“The Church in Sector 5,” Zack replied, teasingly, knowing it was Cloud she was hoping to receive an answer from. Though, if he was aggravating her, Tifa hid it well; a polite smile illuminating her features as she continued.

“Oh… Really?” 

“Yep!” Zack exclaimed. “Got the whole attic to ourselves.”

"An attic?" Tifa echoed, her expression slipping and eyes flickering with concern. She looked to Cloud for confirmation, who ducked his head, suddenly ashamed.   

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it!” Zack laughed with a nudge, a gesture he hoped would ease her worry. “But really, we’ve been wanting to spring for a room at the Inn for a while now. It’s just, most of our gil has gone towards… re-establishing ourselves.”

"I see." Tifa nodded, the answer working to placate her. "Well, if you ever need a place to stay, there’s an apartment building not far from here that has a free room. I know the landlady, so I could work something out if you’re interested.”

That piece of information caught Cloud's attention, as he stopped in place, turning toward Tifa. 

"R- really?" 

Tifa blinked, taken back initially by Cloud suddenly engaging her. Yet, she met him with equal enthusiasm. 

“Yeah! Well... It might be a little cramped for the two of you... there is only one bed. But still, it’s a start.”

Cloud sighed, that momentary spark of hope he’d felt, snuffed out. Though the Church's attic was far from an ideal set-up, they were at least afforded their own space; a marked improvement from the conditions they’d struggled through, travelling cross-country on the road. 

Judging by his reaction it was clear to Zack that Cloud had been hoping to accept Tifa's offer, wanting to be closer to his old friend. Yet, he could hardly justify moving what little they’d established of themselves and their new lives over to an entirely different sector when there wasn’t even enough room for the two of them. 

He couldn't put their comfort behind his own selfish means. That wouldn't be fair. 

Zack, however, felt differently.  

Cloud was someone who, on the surface, appeared withdrawn and distant. Even, at times, snarky. Zack, however, knew better. He knew that, at his core, Cloud was someone steadfast and optimistic, always striving to see the best in others and fighting for what was right. 

These past few weeks, though, Zack worried that that part of him was slipping away. 

He could understand, given the recent, poor fortune their lives had seen. Being discarded by the company you’d worked tirelessly to serve was only bound to fuel one’s inner cynic. 

Still, Zack didn’t want his friend to become so jaded that he lost touch with himself. Not when he’d seen so many others he cared for fall down similarly dark paths.

He wondered if perhaps rekindling his friendship with Tifa more could help him regain a semblance of his old self. 

It seemed counterintuitive for Cloud to deprive himself of something that made him happy. 

At least, in Zack’s mind, it was worth a try. 

Smirking, he clapped Cloud across the back, enough to penetrate the funk covering him. 

"You know what, Spiky, why don't you take her up on that offer? I'm sure I can manage on my own."

Cloud stumbled, enough for Tifa to reach out and help steady him. He held up his hands to reassure her, his cheeks dusted with a flush, before eventually regaining his composure. 

"Zack, what are you talking about?"

To Zack’s surprise, from the way Cloud’s gaze lingered and his eyebrows knit together sharply, he did not seem open to the idea. In fact, he appeared to be giving every silent indication that he was upset.

Zack couldn’t understand. He thought Cloud would have appreciated the chance to be closer to Tifa. His earlier disappointment realising there wouldn’t be enough room for them both to stay clearly suggested as much. There must have been a lot they needed to catch up on still. 

Though, having always harboured insecurities about being a burden and given, Shinra’s recent abandonment, Zack supposed he could understand how Cloud might have found the gesture abrupt, even hurtful. After all the time they’d spent together, he was casting him aside so easily. 

It had been thoughtless of him.

Biting his lip, Zack glanced around. The station was still bustling with life, despite the late hour. It really wasn’t the right place to unpack all of this, but there weren’t really any other options. Glancing helplessly toward the steel sky, Zack sighed.  

"Sorry, Tifa. Do you think we could... have a moment?"

[korkrunchcereal]

Unpleasant Company

The stories of war always told you the heroic parts. Grand battles and mighty conquests by great heroes were tales as old as civilization itself. Cultures like that of the orcs or the Sin’dorei, which are so vastly different, retain the common link of triumphant stories; of men who fight a hundred, and of monstrous evils vanquished by the forces of justice. They were popular, and they were loved.

And they were only half the story.

No one ever talked about the dying men, who screamed abandoned and alone. They didn’t talk about the fear man faced, shaking in his boots and forced forward by those behind him. They never talked about the smells either; the abhorrent stench of rot and decay mixed with blood and gore. If they ever told that part, no one would go to war.

Aurelian wished he wasn’t in this particular war, and not for the first time. He found himself within the Eastern Plaguelands, holed up in his tent to escape both the torrential downpour outside and the stench of the place. He was amidst a small armed force that had deployed there to aid in repelling a demonic outbreak, and so far there had been a string of successes, if somewhat costly. Men died in the mud and the festering bogs by the score, giving their final breath to face down the demons.

Luckily, Aurelian had not met his death as so many had. He doubted he would find death here or anytime soon. So skilled with a sword as he and believing he had a future destiny yet, he felt invincible. Of course, invincibility did not save you from an unpleasant smell as Aurelian learned. Light, the stench was nearly overwhelming. He had even imported jasmine to be liberally sprayed inside his tent in a vain attempt to keep the smell of rot down.

“Why did the demons insist on one of the most unhospitable places on Azeroth to invade…” he mused aloud. Aurelian remembered a time when the Eastern Plaguelands had been called the Eastweald. It was a fertile land of farms and small villages that had always reminded him of the Illonian Plains of his own lands. Of course, that had been well over a decade ago since it was known as the Eastweald, and Aurelian doubted it would ever be called such again. The scourge’s destruction of the land had been overwhelming, and even today its corrupting touch lingered.

Why here, of all places? Aurelian knew the demons attacked across the entire world, but to come to this wretched land seemed punishment. As soon as he thought it he knew why, having replayed this scenario in his mind countless times already. Access to the Plaguelands meant access to Quel’thalas’ southern borders in the Ghostlands. It was why he had chosen to come here in some mad display of patriotism and bravado.

The rain gave a dull thud on the fabric of the tent above him, continuing its irritating drumming. It had been raining for the last three days and showed no sign of stopping anytime soon, which had put any efforts to attack the demons on a temporary hold. They had beat the demons back, but hunting their source was proving problematic. Rain loosened bowstrings and made travel harder, especially with the heavy downpour causing flooding over several of the roads.

Scouts had been sent by Aurelian’s comrades some time ago, but the Plaguelands were vast and so any trackers had plenty of ground to tread. Aurelian hated waiting during war. It made him uneasy, and gave his mind too much to think about concerning the darker aspects of war. The last hour had been what led him to thoughts of war stories, aided no doubt by the empty bottle of wine that lay at his feet. He realized he had been slumped in his chair, groaning as he straightened himself. Perhaps another bottle of-

“My lord.” Aurelian nearly jumped from his chair, turning to look towards the entryway of his tent. The flap had been pulled back, one his guards standing silhouette in the entrance.

“Yes? What is it?”

“A visitor has come to see you, my lord.” A visitor? He had few he’d consider close to being a friend among the soldiers he marched with; they were too crude and crass for him, and did not have good taste. Perhaps it was Sare’wen, come to talk with him again. He had taken a liking to the woman, despite her naïve innocence. Aurelian opened his mouth to speak, then paused as the guard was unceremoniously shoved aside from the visitor and instead saying something else entirely.

“Shit.”

“Hello, Aurelian.” Aurelian’s visitor was a large, heavily armored man that spoke with a gravelly voice. He wore gold and crimson plates, denoting his allegiance to Silvermoon in an eye sore display of colors. Aurelian’s response however was because he recognized immediately who the man was.

“Veridan Koss; what an incredible displeasure. Come, take a seat I suppose. I doubt you’re here to kill me, anyways.”

“Not quite.” The guard, who had recovered from being shoved, moved to grab Veridan as the larger man moved in. Veridan simply craned his neck, staring at the guard with his blank expression helmet. Perhaps realizing that Aurelian allowed the man entrance, or perhaps he knew better, the guard backed away.

“Why are you here? Have I offended Silvermoon in some way?” Veridan grabbed a nearby chair, taking a seat. The wooden chair groaned under the weight of the armored man, and a small part of Aurelian wished it broke under him.

“In a matter of speaking, yea. Got any wine? I’m damn thirsty.” Aurelian curled his lip in annoyance as he eyed the man, who simply sat waiting instead of explaining why he was here. Aurelian rolled his eyes, leaning forward to grab a bottle tucked beside the nearby table both chairs were a set of. He placed the bottle on the table, getting up now to grab glasses for the two men.

“Did you ride all the way out here to speak to me, Veridan? I must confess I am a bit flattered Silvermoon would send one of its dogs to bark at me.” Aurelian’s ears perked as he heard the man remove his helmet, turning around to look at Veridan. Months ago Aurelian had tasked Cyvar with looking into who Veridan was, and apparently the man was essentially unidentifiable.

Apparently, unidentifiable was short black hair and a face only an orc could love. Veridan’s nose must have been broken a dozen times in the past, judging from the unnatural bend in it. He had more scars on his face than any orc Aurelian had ever met, which was saying something. Rather than waiting for any glass, Veridan simply grabbed the bottle and pulled off the cork, tossing it casually to the side before he dipped his head back and drunk deep. Aurelian watched in growing annoyance as the man loudly gulped down Aurelian’s wine, before Veridan pulled it away with a satisfied smack from his lips.

“Not as good as Silvermoon red, but it manages. You know what they have here to drink? Not a fuckin’ bit of wine. Sure they got ale and grog, but have you tasted it? Tastes like bog water.”

“Why are you here, Veridan.” Aurelian’s tone was laced with irritation, to which Veridan gave a smug look.

“Figured I’d stop in and check on my comrades, aye?” Aurelian simply stared in confusion, realizing with growing concern he had said comrades.

“They didn’t.” For answer, Veridan reached into one of the pouches at his side, withdrawing a small piece of metal he showed Aurelian. It was an insignia Aurelian knew all too well, for he also wore it. It was an emblem of the Sunguard, which meant only one thing.

“The Sunguard hired me on as a mercenary. Ah, its great to be back in this gig; making money for mass killing of monsters. Almost beats the dog sitting job.”

“Dog what…? Nevermind, I don’t want to know. Why are you part of the Sunguard? Did Silvermoon grow tired of you? Or was it simply that odd fellow Balasar.”

“Neither, actually. See, here’s the thing Aurelian. You’ve been naughty.” Veridan gave a grunt as he lifted his legs, which was mildly impressive considering he was in plate still. With a loud thud he put both feet on the table, the sound making Aurelian wince. The table had been a gift from one of the lords his hand, and now it was used as a foot stool. How disappointing.

“Me, ‘naughty’? How so.”

“You haven’t responded to any of Silvermoon’s letters.” Right. Aurelian hadn’t responded. They were inane requests and bothersome attempts to speak with Aurelian, and so he had ignored them. He had been busy, anyways.

“Forgive me for being too busy liberating Suramar, aiding in the Plaguelands and of course helping to save the world.”

“And planning a ball.” Veridan countered. “The matter of Lord Illova’s death some months ago at the hands of your ward is still a matter of contention, Aurelian.” Aurelian’s eyes followed the emblem in Veridan’s hand, watching as he rolled it between his knuckles.

“I have ensured she remain within Castle Indaris, effectively under house arrest.”

“And now,” Veridan continued, “there is talks of sedition within the Gilded Lands.” Aurelian guffawed in bafflement.

“Sedition?”

“The Unbidden, Aurelian. People always panic when there’s the threat of being eaten by a goddamn demon, but this is becoming a nuisance that’s spreading.”

“I-you found them in Silvermoon, didn’t you.” Veridan nodded, confirming Aurelian’s suspicion. Silvermoon wouldn’t get involved unless it had begun to involve them, but what was Aurelian’s part?

“Problem about people panicking is they make stupid decisions. Stupid decisions create bigger problems, and soon the whole city is a fucking firestorm of trouble. Silvermoon doesn’t want that.”

“So what’s my part in this then?” Veridan paused at that, as if contemplating what to say.

“Simply know that I’m here to watch you, Aurelian.”

“So you’re posing as a mercenary to watch me.”

“Aye, that’s the basic idea of it. Silvermoon’s authority supersedes the Sunguard’s, so let’s just say you better keep fighting demons, Aurelian.” Did they think he was going rogue? Turning against Silvermoon?

“I plan to, Veridan. If you won’t tell me what Silvermoon’s interest is in me, then so be it. I appreciate however the warning, for what purpose light if I know. Now, do you have anything else to tell me?” Veridan shook his head, getting his legs off the table and standing up.

“Mostly here for the wine. Figured I’d return the hospitality by giving you a heads up.” Aurelian blinked at that, eyeing the man as he placed back on his helmet. “Besides; this shit smelling place is infested with demons. Don’t like the damn things, so I gotta kill ‘em. Goodbye, Indaris.” Aurelian remained silent, simply watching the man leave with a troubled expression. What was Silvermoon planning?

  “Ah yes, I suppose you’ve been wondering why we sent Veridan. The truth is Silvermoon didn’t.” Balasar tapped the tips of his fingers together, humming to himself. He leaned back in his chair, sighing as he glanced at Veridan. “I sent him.”

“Yes, so I eventually gathered. I figured in time that you sent him to ensure I remained fighting demons?”

“Somewhat. The truth is, with the Unbidden presence and lord Illova’s death, there was growing concern that it was all a plot by you, Aurelian.”

“Me?”

“Yes, to seize power. With the Unbidden spreading discord and rival lords being eliminated, several lords of high status had growing concerns. The Council of Silvermoon is uneasy with blatant power plays, so I decided to investigate further.”

“Like you are now?”

“Precisely. I will confess that everything that’s happened since then has only made such unease worse.”

“Hence why I am here. Do not worry Balasar, there is more to my story that will show I’m innocent at least in that regard.”

“Well, go on then.”

“I’ll skip the battle I had with the demon Baal and-“

“No.” Aurelian raised a brow at that, tilting his head.

“No?”

“No. Veridan was not part of that particular battle, and so my details on that are not complete. I hear you were the last to escape back, and so I must know. Tell me of Volcanius, and of Baal.”

“Very well. So, there I was returning to the one demon world I wished never to see again…”

[wordsablaze]

chapter four: addicted enough

Pastel Protection Phenomena Phil’s a pastel in a shady orphanage, Dan’s a punk with a shady lifestyle. They find each other like opposite ends of a magnet and slowly but surely fall into a mutual shadiness they call love. *PREQUEL* to the oneshot ’Protective Punk’, enjoy!

A/N:  A/N: Happy pride month! Also, I’m doing commissions! <3

"What's the green stuff?" Phil asks after he's finished his chips.

Dan had started eating his fish first, only after Phil had eaten half his chips and his stomach had quietened, so he now has only chips left but he also has a little tub of what looks like green mashed potatoes.

"They're mushy peas, do you want to try some?" Dan offers, dipping a chip in the paste and handing it to Phil with a warm smile on his face.

Phil shrugs, definitely wanting to try it but having had his food stolen enough times before to know that it doesn't feel nice. "I don't… I don't want to steal your food."

But Dan only smiles. "It's not really stealing if I let you, is it? And anyway, I can never eat all of it."

That blows Phil's mind. He can't imagine that there are people who can afford to throw away food just because they don't want to eat it when there are others, like him, who don't always have even half a meal to eat every day. And then he sees the glint in Dan's eyes that tells him Dan is lying – he's good at reading people and their lies by now – and it occurs to him that Dan had just been making an excuse so Phil doesn't feel as bad for eating his food.

"Thanks for lying," Phil whispers as he takes the chip, then bites into it and gasps at the strangely nice taste that floods his taste buds. It's much sweeter than he'd thought but there's an edge to it, something interesting that he knows he'll now always associate with Dan.

Dan chuckles. "I guess you like it, huh?"

Phil wants to say he loves it but he'd rather not emotionally force Dan to give up his food so he just shrugs a little. "It's alright. Fish are cuter though."

"No way! Peas are much cuter!" Dan argues, going with the sort of random statement instead of being weirded out, something that Phil really appreciates.

"They're squashed so badly they don't even look like peas anymore!"

He takes a moment but then Dan laughs and replies: "You're eating processed fish covered in bread or whatever, it's not like you can say anything."

Giggling, Phil throws his hands up in surrender. "Touché!"

A sort of nostalgic look settles in Dan's eyes and he smiles fondly. "You have such an addictive little giggle."

For a full ten seconds, Phil panics because nobody has ever told him that and he's not sure what he's meant to do about that. Somehow, he finds enough confidence to say: "I do not giggle!"

Dan raises an eyebrow into a lopsided arch. "Are you sure? Because I'm pretty sure you just giggled…"

"You're definitely hearing things," Phil says, a smile playing on his lips as he stares into Dan's eyes.

Dan might say something in response but Phil stops paying attention, instead staring at the woodland that is Dan's eyes, the bright brown and the darker, richer, flecks of chocolate that seem to sparkle as he watches. It's mesmerising and Phil wonders why he's never appreciated brown so much before because Dan's eyes have quickly become his favourite colour to ever exist.

"You alright? Phil?" Dan asks, his voice gentle but piercing, cutting into Phil's musings.

"Who?"

Dan chuckles, shaking his head. "Are you not called Phil?"

"No, I'm called-"

Before he can finish making his sarcastic reply, Dan fumbles and drops his plastic takeaway container, making them both jump, then promptly laugh at each other. Phil's stomach flips because he hasn't laughed with anyone for a long time and it feels nice to just let go of his worries for a little while. It feels nice to let himself be happy, to forget about the people who just want to see him in misery, and just relax, alone but not alone enough to feel lonely.

"Phil? You alright?" Dan asks, making Phil realise that he'd gotten lost in his thoughts again. He can't help it, it's like a second nature to him, but he wishes he could control it so other people didn't get mad at him. Not that Dan was mad at him, but just in case he gets mad when it happens again...

"Yeah, thanks," he answers eventually, bringing himself back to the present.

"Hey, did you clean up while I was gone?" Dan asks, finally noticing the different piles of leaves.

Phil smiles. "A little. I didn't want you to make you eat in the middle of a mess."

The confusion in Dan's eyes morphs into appreciation and he grins at Phil, the corners of his eyes crinkling into crossroads and dimples appearing on his cheeks. He just stares at Phil for a long while before finally blinking to clear his watering eyes, then clearing his throat. "Sorry, you're just so damn cute."

Phil can't help thinking that the slight blush on Dan's cheeks suits him perfectly, contrasting with the black outfit he's sporting making him a lot less scary, a lot less like a thief. He doesn't comment on it though, because he can't be sure how Dan will react and he'd rather not gain himself any more bruises before the ones from yesterday heal properly. Layers of bruises make pretending a lot harder.

"What can I do?" Dan asks brightly, the two of them now having finished their meal.

"I... what?" Phil frowns, his eyebrows reaching for each other in the middle of his forehead.

Dan just smiles again. "What can I do to help? I can't let you sleep here... at least, not again. You deserve so much better."

"I don't," Phil says without missing a beat, but Dan doesn't seem to hear so he carries on talking: "Um, I guess you can help me to get rid of the leaves and stuff, we can throw them around the edge of the garden 'cause nobody else really comes out here."

"Nobody?" Dan echoes, but his mind is clearly elsewhere.

"Yeah, I mean, it's not like this place is particularly interesting..."

"Phil!" Dan exclaims, making him jump, "You're here, how can it not be the most interesting place in the whole universe?"

Phil opens his mouth to explain the state of the garden but then realises Dan hadn't asked about the garden and blushes so hard he feels like he has a fever. He can't reply to that so he just smiles, biting his lip and trying not to look at Dan because, otherwise, he'll forget how to function again.

"I will literally fight anyone who disagrees with me!" Dan adds and, oddly enough, Phil totally believes him.

"Please don't," Phil manages. He's not sure why he says it, he can't decide if he doesn't want Dan to get hurt or if he just doesn't want to lose the only person he can maybe call a friend. It's selfish of him, he thinks, to hope for someone's safety not for them but for himself, and he suddenly hates himself again, wondering if Dan would still come back if he knew what Phil was thinking.

"I would." Dan's voice is quiet, soft, and somehow the scariest thing Phil has heard all day.

"Wha- What?"

Dan clears his throat, fiddling with his hands, "I don't know what you're thinking but I'd still come back, no matter what it was."

He'd said it out loud. Phil curses himself but pushes it aside for now because he can't decide if he'd just imagined Dan suggesting he'd come back no matter what. Instead of voicing this, however, he opens his mouth and closes it again, biting his tongue to avoid accidentally admitting anything else.

"Unless you were thinking of drinking my blood or something. I don't know what my blood type is but it's probably not your type of drink."

He looks ridiculously proud of himself for that pun and Phil bursts out laughing without meaning to, clapping a hand over his mouth as he does. Dan joins in and the two of them fall into hysteria, both lost in each other's eyes and laughter. They don't stop laughing for what feels like hours, until Phil's stomach hurts and Dan can barely breathe, his eyes watering. At some point, they'd stopped laughing at the pun and started laughing at their laughs, but neither of them mentions it as they recover, catching their breath.

"Don't worry, I'm not a vampire," Phil assures Dan, still smiling so hard his face hurts.

Dan places a hand over his heart and gasps dramatically. "Really? I would never have known, what with your sharp teeth and ivory skin..."

"Ivory? Alright, drama queen." Phil rolls his eyes, then panics at Dan's dumbfounded expression. "Sorry! I didn't mean to offend you or anything!"

The expression on Dan's face doesn't change for a whole thirty seconds, after which he full on beams. "You are just... full of surprises..."

"Do you like surprises?" Phil asks slowly, unsure of what Dan means and if he means it in a good way or not. He can't help worrying; surprises can be good or bad and, ironically, the way they're taken is always a surprise in itself.

There's a moment of silence in which Dan gives Phil an odd look and ponders the question but then he nods. "I think I like your surprises..."

"You think?" Phil repeats quietly.

Dan nods. "Yeah. I mean, I don't know anything for sure. Like, am I even really alive? Does humanity actually exist? I don't know. But I'm as sure as I can be that the surprises you have are great."

Phil blinks. He doesn't think he's ever met anyone who's made casual existentialism so simple and easy. Then again, he's never made anyone who's made anything simple and easy so maybe it's just him that's behind on the trends in existentialism and the like. Either way, Dan fascinates him and he really hopes he doesn't have to lose him too.

"What do you want for lunch?" Dan asks, apparently randomly. Seeing Phil's extreme confusion, he reiterates: "Tomorrow. What do you want for lunch tomorrow?"

"I don't..." Phil shakes his head, understanding the question but not really following Dan's train of thought.

Chuckling a little, Dan shakes his head. "It's not that hard to get, is it? What do you want to eat at this time, tomorrow? Pizza? 'Fish 'n' chips' loses its charm if you have it two days in a row."

"You want to have lunch again tomorrow?" Phil asks, still slightly behind, having expected many things but not this. Definitely not this.

His eyes brightening, Dan nods. "Of course. I'm addicted to your giggle."

As if on cue, Phil giggles. He then claps a hand over his mouth again but his eyes are smiling when he looks to Dan with a look of gratitude. As soon as he's stopped giggling, he lets his hand fall and beams. "Pizza can be your payment then."

"Oh, what, now you're a drug dealer?" Dan asks, scoffing, but there's a spark of amusement in his eyes.

"Only for you, Dan." Phil winks. Or rather, he tries to wink. He ends up just blinking, making both Dan and himself laugh.

Thankfully, Dan seems to understand that he's embarrassed and emits what sounds like an audibly lopsided cooing sound, putting both hands over his heart and leaning forwards. "Damn, Phil, I feel special."

Without thinking about anything and acting purely on instinct, Phil replies, "You are."

He's not lying when he says so. To him, Dan is special. There aren't many other people who have held a conversation with him and nobody, nobody, has ever actively tried to do something for him instead of just pitying him and leaving. Nobody had ever complimented him or his garden and nobody had felt anger or sadness on his behalf before. He can't think of one person who had found shelter in his company and there's never been anyone who's sat in the middle of a mess just to spend time with him, only to then offer to help him clean the mess. Dan's different to everyone else and that makes him special, special to Phil.

"What the heck, Phil," Dan mutters, "you can't just say stuff like that, I have a reputation to maintain."

Phil just cocks his head, confused.

Dan chuckles. "Don't worry, it's not your fault. I guess it's my fault that I find you so cute... No wait, it is your fault. How dare you be so adorable?"

Now Phil laughs, laughs at Dan's apparent inner conflict and at the way Dan's scowling and blushing at the same time. It occurs to him that Dan had compared him to a drug - or at least, his giggle - but, really, it's Phil who's utterly addicted to Dan and everything about him.

Dan's very presence is intoxicating and Phil can't get enough. A part of him hates the idea of liking Dan so much so quickly, because, in his experience, people don't tend to stick around and, if Dan leaves, it'll hurt so much more than anything else has ever hurt. But another part of him loves being able to love, loves being able to be loved, and he doesn't want to let go of that just yet, if ever. He's more than a little addicted to Dan and he doesn't want to get over it.

"Sorry," he says in the end, literally unable to express anything else.

The grin on Dan's face suggests that it's alright and that Phil's belated, half-hearted apology says more than Phil thinks it does. The two of them then catch themselves staring at each other, lost in one another's eyes, and awkwardly cough, not having realised they'd stopped focusing on the rest of the world.

"You should, um, go," Phil says.

"What?" Dan asks, looking almost hurt.

Immediately, Phil shakes his head, slightly worried, "No, no, I just mean that I don't want you to waste your day- uh, your afternoon with me."

Halfway between a frown and a smile, Dan shakes his head. "Nope. You're a cute little drug, remember? Why would I want to do anything other than stay with you for as long as possible?"

Phil smiles to himself. Not wanting to just let himself blush and lose the ability to string words together again, he forces himself to smirk. "Then I hope you're ready for some manual labour."

"Right, yes, the leaves! Shall we?" Dan stands up without waiting for an answer, holding his hand out for Phil to take. It's honestly one of the best sights Phil has seen in a while, and he's seen some of the most beautiful flowers known to man so that's saying something.

"Shall we, what? Dance?"

It's not even a second later when Dan doubles over laughing, then exhales heavily, clumsily catching his breath, and shrugs. "Since when does dancing consist of throwing leaves around?"

Phil chuckles, taking Dan's hand and pulling himself up. Once he's on his feet and has let go of Dan's hand because the skin contact makes him dizzy with a warmth he can't name, he grins. "Props are a thing, right?"

"Right." Dan agrees, nodding pretty seriously. Which lasts about five seconds before he dissolves into giggles again like someone who's just inhaled a dose of laughing gas, something that anyone else would probably have to do before they could tolerate Phil for so long.

Either way, Phil is addicted enough to Dan to agree in some way or another, because that's an accurate summary of what everything is to him at the moment: just right.

like/reblog but don’t repost, thanks! 

[emma-overland]

Kintsugi 12

So this installment is semi-inspired by / dedicated to @animeotaku-bookworm and I say semi because they had requested a sick thing with Jack being ill however Hiccup has done tons of stuff for Jack so now it’s time to pay it back…again…And this is going to be a two parter…depends on how I feel with the ending.

Also I apologize for being so…gone but hopefully I’ll start updating regularly again…or as regularly as I had been doing and I’m totally bummed that I missed Hijack March Madness this year :c

Jack glanced up as the front door closed heavily and he glanced toward the clock. Seemed the shindig had run late this evening. He stayed leaning against the counter, where he’d been going over things on his laptop, listening to the familiar sounds of shoes being kicked off and then the entry closet opening and closing shortly after, followed by the very distinct sound of small zombie shuffles through the living room. The small zombie was dragging something, probably the dreaded school bag. Emma came into view as she moved through the home.

“Hey kiddo.” Jack greeted with a small smile. “You guys were later than usual?”

Emma nodded and rubbed her head with a small yawn. “Yeah Miss Merida was really tired so she was slow today.” The brunette climbed up onto one of the stools at the breakfast counter and set her bag on the one next to her.

The blue-eyed man frowned slightly. “Why was she so tired?”

“Um,” Emma dug through her bag for a moment with a frown on her face before pulling out her science folder. “Hiccy is sick and she was trying to help him…I think.”

“Hiccup’s sick?” Jack repeated in surprise.

Emma nodded absently. “Yeah, cold or something?” She laid the folder out and started to go through the pages slowly. “Miss Merida says he’s really stubborn and won’t go see a doctor or nothing.”

“Or anything.” Jack corrected absently with a frown. “You…do your homework and I’m gonna…make a phone call.”

Emma seemed to have stopped listening as she dug around in her pack for a pencil to write with, they were covering the solar system and Emma found it funny that her brother thought Pluto was a planet. He watched her for a moment before grabbing his phone and stepping onto the back porch. He hesitated for a long moment before tapping the icon and bringing the phone up to his ear.

“Sorry about gettin’ her back late.” Merida said immediately.

“What? Oh, no that’s not why I’m calling.” Jack responded with a frown.

Merida was quiet for a moment before letting out a small sigh. “Sorry about that Jackie-boy, been a bit behind. Wut can I do far ya?”

Jack hesitated for a moment. Was it too rude to ask about what was going on? But wasn’t that what people did in a small town? Care about each other? He made a small sound of contemplation as Merida waited patiently on the other end. “Emma said something about you were sick?”

“Oh, nah Hiccup went an’ got ‘imself sick.” Merida answered with a small laugh. “Told tha fool not tae be muckin’ about in tha rain fixin’ fences. But he’s stubborn as can be.” She hummed in amusement. “Gits it frum his dad.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him. How sick are we talking about? Just a small head cold or maybe something a little more?” Jack prompted.

Merida made a thoughtful noise and Jack heard the sound of a door opening and then keys rattling. She must have just gotten home. There were a few more doors before a quiet conversation was heard and a rather nasty cough down the line. “Wull, he’s not eaten anythin’ and he’s got fever, sniffles, and probably stomach things. Real nasty piece of work.”

“He needs to eat something.” Jack said after a moment of thought. “What’s he tried?”

“Canned soup broth stuff.” Merida answered automatically and grinned at Jack’s indignant, and possibly offended, snort. “Well wee’re not all Betty Crocker yanno.”

“You’re going to starve him to death or make him dehydrated. Something…I don’t know.” Jack muttered angrily. “I’ll be over in thirty minutes and make sure that kitchen is clean enough for me to use it.”

Merida laughed and bid Jack a farewell before the two hung up. He stood for a moment and tapped his toes against the cool wood of the deck in thought. He could take Emma with him and keep her and Merida confined in the living room…but that put the kid at a high risk of getting it. He’d been warned that while she was still recovering from the car accident there was a high chance of her being more susceptible to catching colds. Finally, he came back into the house and glanced toward his sister before tilting his head in thought. Maybe, Rapunzel would be willing to look after her for the night…

Jack frowned and shook his head. He’d have to take Emma with him. It wouldn’t be fair to drop her on his neighbor so suddenly. Open door policy or not. With his decision made he turned and started to grab things from the cabinets and put them into one of his many transport totes. The movements made Emma stop what she was doing and she watched him curiously.

“What are you doing Jack?” she asked as he dug through various things in the crisper drawer.

“We’re going over to Merida’s and Hiccup’s place. They can’t cook and Merida is giving him canned soup.” Jack answered as if it were a personal outrage.

Emma wrinkled her nose. “Ew, can soup is yucky.”

“Very yucky.” Jack agreed before making a circular motion with his hand toward his sister. “Put your things back into your bag. You can do your homework over there.”

Emma grinned and hastily put her things away before shoving them into her back with her textbooks and workbooks. Quickly she hurried to get her shoes on so they’d be faster at leaving.

 xXx

 Jack stood in a kitchen that was slowly becoming very familiar to him. Emma and Merida were seated at the dining room table each of them with school related things in front of them while Hiccup had been all but swaddled into blankets and forced onto the couch. Sure, Jack would have preferred that Hiccup stay in bed but the taller male was being surprisingly childish. At least he was no longer contagious. He was being rather quiet and seemed to mostly be dozing now that a cool washcloth was on his forehead.

Blue eyes darted over to the pot on the stove to check the progress of the chicken and he nodded, absently pleased. The chicken, onions and crushed garlic cloves were cooking nicely in the oil and Jack absently figured he had enough time to finish the rest of the vegetables. He’d already peeled and sliced the carrots, now he was working on dicing his just peeled kohlrabi, then he’d have to move quickly to dice the celery. Once done he turned back to the pot and nodded absently before adding water then white wine and finally lemon juice to the mixture.

“You aren’t allergic to anything, are you?” Jack asked, glancing toward Merida.

The redhead looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking her head. “Nah, nothin’ I saw in yer box anyway.”

Jack nodded and turned back to soup where he added more ingredients including ginger, bay leaves and a few other things before bringing it to simmer. Once it was satisfactory he dropped the temperature down to the mid-range and moved to check on Hiccup.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Jack asked as he reached out to check on the fever. He also gave Toothless a soft pat on the head as the large dog laid with his head in his human’s lap to try and comfort him.

“Your hands are cold.” Hiccup murmured tiredly. “Feels nice.”

Jack grinned. “I get that a lot.” He pressed one hand against Hiccup’s forehead while he dipped the washcloth back into the bowl of ice water to refresh it. “But that didn’t answer my question. Does your throat still hurt?”

Hiccup made a sound of disagreement as he leaned heavily into Jack’s touch. “’m good.” Slowly hazy green eyes opened to peer up at Jack fuzzily. “Hungry…I think.”

“You probably are with the water crap Merida’s been giving you.” Jack teased.

“Oi!” Merida protested from her seat. “Not a cooker Jackie-boy!”

Emma tried to cover her giggles and failed spectacularly at it earning her a ball of paper thrown at her. She squawked and threw the ball back at her teacher and Jack ignored the small war that broke out between the two girls. Jack lingered for a few minutes longer by Hiccup’s side before moving away to stop the war and check on Emma’s progress with her homework. Luckily she had one of her teachers just across the table so she was doing rather well with it and Jack smiled before ruffling her hair. Emma made an offended noise and tried to push her brother away but only really succeeded in pushing her own chair back an inch or so.

“So wut are ya makin’?” Merida asked after a moment or two.

Jack glanced up. “Nothing fancy really.”

The redhead gave him a flat look. “Ya say nothin’ fancy but ya brought…wut 20 somethin’ ingredients? Not tae mention all tha herbs and such.”

“It’s just a ginger chicken noodle soup.” Jack protested with a small frown. “And it’s 22 ingredients…21 if you don’t count the two different ways I use the garlic.”

Merida laughed a bit and shook her head. “Yer a special case o’ crazy Jackie-boy.”