#i think the photos are fairly clear. they’re not like horrendous

[chemicalarospec]

A Look At Dan’s Recent Branding

AKA I Make Up a Bunch of Stuff About Media and Perception and Promotion and Branding and Say the Same Things Over and Over

I’m so sorry this is actually horrendously long. I’m a loquacious a$$hole.

So I started rambling in the tags of this post began thinking about Dan’s  presence recently. The reason so many of us fell for the red chairing was because it actually seemed possible -- perhaps not a proper joint video, but a cameo or side role.

Now that the video’s out, I can see it has very strong Solo Phil vibes, but I can still imagine a few different ways Dan could have been in it if he wanted to be. (Side note: It also feels like a run-of-the-mill, everyday, video, though seasonal, and not a festive special, despite the content. idk, I blame it on the lack of decoration and boring grey wall. cue clowning for more spoopy content though.) Dan is not in the video, so he must not have wanted to be in it. Why? 

Before I talk more, let’s just talk about “branding” for a bit. I use it interchangeably with “image”/”public image”/”public persona”/”common connotations”/”associations” here (kinda wrongly), but I default to “branding” because it’s what the phandom (possibly even Dan and Phil themselves?) use the most frequently -- “image” is perhaps the best-fitting term. Regardless, in a very general example, if Stephen King wrote a fluffy teenage romance book, it would be “off-brand” for him. That’s what we’re talking about here. Except with Dan and smaller differences.

It’s also worth noting that Dan and Phil were not always Dan-and-Phil -- I remember seeing an early liveshow clip where Dan says they’re not a double act. I’m pretty sure the radio show in 2013/early 2014 followed by the launch of the gaming channel in 2014 is when they became a “double act” --  the BBC absolutely billed them as such. 

You can see what I’m getting at here: Dan is trying to drop the “and Phil” in a softer way than he dropped the “isnotonfire” back in 2017. However, it’s definitely worth noting that he had already distanced himself quite a bit from it before the official name change, with first the shorter fringe and then the curls being a visual representation of that. And it’s probably just a mental thing on my part, but curly Dan now looks different from curly Dan-with-Phil.

Okay so first, why is he trying to change his image? Like his first evolution, a major component is being more mature -- llamas and malteasers didn’t simply not represent Dan anymore, they represented a younger, less mature Dan. He didn’t like it anymore. Does Dan not like who we view him as now? My first instinct is “no,” because his current connotations are fairly empty, but I don’t really know, so I’ll just move on.

What do we associate with Dan right now? i. e. what’s “on brand” for him? Well, again, there’s not a lot of strong specifics, at least for me. After two years for being nearly absent from the internet and very clearly growing a lot as a person, Daniel hasn’t talked enough for there to be only the basics left: tall, British, memes, and gay.

Okay, but the gay. Dan and Phil have been out for one year, but being part of The Gays is a pretty big part of their branding. This is because of their already long-standing reputation, more specifically their attachments to the community -- all those teenage girls turning out to be lesbians and, of course, the shipping.

The Gay is also an answer to the next question: What different aspects of his image is he pushing? Again, that he’s more mature and serious -- the UN talk, for example. I’m not counting the book here because that’s the product of the changes, not content being used to create a shift.

The big thing I want to focus on is the attitude video series. I’m very curious as to how this came about to be and don’t know enough details to say some things, but one thing I can note is that the plug for You Will Get Through This Night is a really small part of it. It’s literally the last thing he says, and they don’t even show the cover. It’s so skippable, and while it’s good that means they all really care about the important content of the series, it does create some questions.

To be honest, all of the attitude/This Night content is kind of strange to me. For example, the quote they used to promote it doesn’t mention the book, which just looks bad. This Night isn’t really the center of the collab -- it’s more general mental health awareness and activism.

So that’s the first thing Dan’s trying to put into his image. The podcast (Get Britain Talking or something like that) is, I feel, more directly part of marketing This Night, though of course, like with the video series, the content itself is emphasized and important and I should treat it as such.

Back to attitude. attitude is “the UK’s best selling gay magazine.” Why is Dan trying to build connotations to things he already is? No, but actually this gives insight on how he’s trying to be perceived: he’s a confident gay man. This magazine with its connotations (formal media, queer, well-established) will come up should someone new search up Dan -- obviously that’s not the direct reason; it’s a representation of his public image. 

Why is he trying to create this image? Right now, us in the phandom are probably 90% of the people tuned into Daniel’s actions. We’ve already built up a lot about him, and though we don’t want to admit it, we do like Dan-and-Phil, the double act. Overall, I do think Dan will not change our image of him as much as he’d like, but he has changed it more than we might think -- for example, people talking about how “mature” and “grown-up” he is in new photos. 

I think I’m just stupid, but these pushes don’t seem to be needed for You Will Get Through This Night. Okay so the problem here is “how do you get people to buy a book?” An author’s broader public persona doesn’t really impact this. I’m not going to hear about a mental health book written by an ex-Youtuber and search up the author. I’m not going to hear about a mental health book written by an ex-Youtuber in my normal book searching, period.

You know where I could see myself finding out about a book like this, and what would get people to buy the book? Doing mainstream interviews specifically about it; I’ll read TIME interviews with anyone, so long as it seems mildly interesting. But Dan’s not doing that, not a lot, not yet. (I bet he will later.)

I guess what I’m saying is the attitude video series is periphery media that impacts his branding but does not reach a large audience; it’s impact is atmospheric, not promotional.

(Dude it’s 10:30 at this point I’m not sure what I’m saying.) (also I rearranged these paragraphs sorry if it reads poorly)

Dan is a private person. He has made this extensively clear throughout the years and in the most recent content. What this means is I don’t believe he wants to update his branding just for the sake of accuracy to self.

So it’s (partially) for something else, but the public framing clearly goes beyond This Night. The obvious answer is that Dan’s just trying to return to the public eye, but then I still ask why???

The attitude series is not an end goal -- i. e. it is a building block for something. I mean, I just don’t think Dan’s like “yeah I want to create content again and this is the content I want to create,” simply because it started out seeming like an extension of the interview and now it’s clearly more than that, but it’s still like, for the magazine. It’s not his.

So what’s Dan going to do with this status of being a queer content creater and mental health advocate he’s curating? So remember how there’s a 99% chance he’s doing something w/ television but there’s been no official announcement? Yeah, that. 

I had a few paragraphs talking about book-adjacent media (interviews, reviews, ect.) vs television-adjacent media but all of it was me 100% making stuff up so it’s gone now. Basically, I *think* if he were to make a show, fiction or non-fiction, people would search him up and write a small description of him, and I *think* this is less likely for You Will Get Through This Night, so I *think* this reputation-building is in preparation of the former, not the latter.

Isabelle, you spent over an hour on this, do you actually have anything interesting to say?

Freaking *waves hands* promotional-- social dynamics-- what the heck actually is branding at this point-- Dan show.

TL;DR: It might just be the French in me (or just *my* French relatives?), but life is manipulation and Dan is trying to drop “and Phil” from his name and is manipulating his public image to be more mature, with a focus on being one of The Gays and a mental health advocate. Because it’s not vibin’ as This Night promotion/set-up, it is likely setup for promotion for another project, probably the TV one.

TL;DR 2: Just read the tags on the original post I literally didn’t have to say any of this except for “television theory”.

[softspiderling]

you mocha me crazy | t.h.

Summary: an encounter at a coffee shop leaves you with more than a cup full of coffee

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Song I listened to while writing: Here With Me by Marshmello

Author’s Note: while doing research for this piece  fell in love with the LA film school *sigh* Germany is so fucking boring. Also be proud of me, I finished writing to pieces today! *yay*

Warnings: swearing, otherwise only fluff!

Word Count: 1,8k cute words

It has been fairly difficult adjusting to the Los Angeles lifestyle, to say the least. Everything was so loud and bright, and the time difference was horrendous.

Los Angeles was nine hours behind your usual time zone; you haven’t even been here for a week and your classes have already started in full force. Even though the courses were so interesting and your fellow students were really nice, you just were so tired and barely found the motivation to smile at other people and exchange phone numbers.

Which was the reason why you were staggering into the nearest coffee shop after your first class of film history, inhaling the smell of freshly ground coffee beans. You stood in line to order as your eyes scanned the display of baked goods, contemplating whether you should pick up a cookie with your coffee.

“Hi, welcome to Yo Jo Coffee, what can I get ya?”

The greeting pulled you from your thoughts and you smiled tiredly at the cheery barista.

“Hey, can I get a large mocha and uh…” you trailed off, biting your lip as you were trying to pick between the cookies. “A double chocolate cookie please,” you decided and fished your wallet out.

“A mocha and a double chocolate cookie coming right up. Name?” the barista asked as her sharpie hovered over the side of a coffee cup.

“Y/N.”

“That’ll be six dollars and 41 cents,” the barista told you and you waved your credit card around, sticking it into the EC cash terminal to pay. As you were handed the cookie in a small paper bag, you moved to the side of the counter to wait for your coffee.

Juggling your cookie in one and your phone in the other hand, you stuffed your wallet back into your backpack, you looked around in the busy coffee shop.

Warm sunlight streamed through the windows and you fingered at the hem of your shirt, glancing down at your chest where your camera was usually hanging off your neck. Emphasis on usually. You were in such a rush in the morning, you forgot to grab the camera.

You broke off a half from the cookie and took a bite, wondering if you should try to capture a few pictures with your phone, when your name was called. You whirled around and smiled at the barista who prepared your coffee, your hand curling around the warm coffee cup.

“Thanks!” you called over your shoulder as you turned to leave, but before you could even take a sip from your mocha, you collided with someone, sending your cup flying and spilling the hot beverage all over you and the person you bumped into.

“Son of a bitch!” you cursed as the scalding fluid soaked your t shirt and most of your bare legs. Now you were really glad that you forgot to take your camera with you, you didn’t even want to imagine having to try to replace your camera. “Shit!” you heard from the other person and you looked up to see a brown haired guy you bumped into. You couldn’t quiet see his face, because he was looking down at his white t shirt. The white t shirt that was stained with brown blotches from your mocha.

“I am so sorry!” you said quickly and grabbed some tissues, starting to pat the other person down. “That’s quiet alright love, I wasn’t looking where I was going either,” he chuckled with a thick English accent and you furrowed a brow.

“You’re English,” you noted pleasantly surprised at the change from the usual American accent and looked up, finally catching a glimpse of his face. Your hands stilled as you see a face in front of you that has been plastered all over the movie posters, his brown hair tucked under a black baseball cap

“You’re Tom Holland,” you blurted out and Tom grinned boyishly at you. “Why yes, I am. Do you mind?” he asked and gestured towards his torso, where your hands were resting.

“Oh, yeah, sorry!” your cheeks tinged pink and you pulled your hands off of him, handing him a few tissues.

“Thanks,” he smiled at you and started dabbing at the stains, before grimacing and giving up. A barista, lugging a bucket and a mop behind him, gave you a dirty look as he started mopping up the puddle on the floor.

“Sorry!” you squawked and picked your empty coffee cup up from the floor before tossing it in the trash can, looking at it longingly.

“Come on, go order another one. My treat,” Tom said to you, noticing your expression. You turn your eyes back to him and he nodded in the direction of the counter, which made you shake your head quickly. “No, you don’t have to! I was the one who bumped into you, I should be the one buying you coffee,” you protested, which only made him chuckle.

“I insist. I am picking up coffees for my friends anyway, what’s one more?” Tom said and you eyed him before giving in, nodding.  

“Fine. I guess you don’t get treated for a coffee from a famous actor every day,” you mumbled and he laughed, walking up to the counter.

“Hi, I’ll have two iced coffees, an americano and…” he trailed off, looking in your direction. “A mocha.” You added, tucking your hair behind your ear, while you watched Tom pay, before following him to the end of the counter.

“So, what do you usually do besides dumping coffee down other people’s shirts?” he asked you curiously.

“I am really sorry about that,” you said again, ducking your head. “I uh, just started at LA film school.”

Tom laughed a genuine laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I am just messing with you, love, it’s not a big deal. So, film school, huh? What are you there for?”

“Cinematography. I am really into making videos and uh, I guess photography,” you told him with a small smile.

“Oh that’s sick. You seem to have the same interests as my younger brother Harry. Can I see some of your stuff?”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise at his interest in you, before nodding, pleased. You liked sharing your work with other people, getting various opinions from different people. Art always affected people differently and you liked watching their reaction.

“Uh, yeah sure. I mainly shoot with my camera and I forgot to grab it when I left in the morning, so I just have a couple pictures on my phone that I can show you,” you reached for your phone and swiped to your gallery to show Tom some of your pictures.

“I took most of them back home, I haven’t been in LA that long, and I am swamped with classes so I didn’t really have the time to take a day off to take pictures,” you explained to him while he peered into your phone screen.

You had noticed that he was leaning over your shoulder to look at your pictures, and even though he wasn’t the tallest guy, you were still quiet shorter than him. His cheek brushed yours gently and you swallowed thickly, turning to look at him.

His face was only a few inches away from yours and you could see the faint freckles that were speckled across his cheeks.

“Your photos are really good,” he said softly and you stared at him, your lips slightly parted, before you cleared your throat and turned away with flushed cheeks. “Thanks,” you mumbled and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“I am not the best photographer, can you give me some pointers?” he asked and you look at him amusedly.

“I could try,” you chuckled and he lifted his phone with a grin. “Okay then, look away and act like I am not here, yeah?” Tom instructed you, making you laugh, before doing as you’re told. You can hear a few clicks of the phone as Tom snapped pictures of you, trying your hardest to strike a natural pose.

“I am pretty sure there are a few good ones,” he said proudly as he lowered his phone, swiping through the pictures with you leaning over his shoulder.

“Yeah, they’re not so bad,” you complimented him. Tom managed to capture you with a soft smile, the sun streaming on your face, giving you a golden glow. It was a rather good picture, you had to admit.

“We’ll make a photographer out of you yet.”

Tom smirked at you proudly, pocketing his phone. “I am just that talented.”

“Oh please,” you snorted and rolled your eyes good naturedly. “I got an order for Tom!” the barista called out and Tom lifted his hand, walking over to the counter. You watched his back as he fumbled around with the coffees for quite a while.

“You need any help?” you asked with a grin, your arms crossed.

“No no, I am all good love,” he called over his shoulder, handing the barista a pen before he turned around to you, four coffee cups in a carrier in his hand.

“Here,” Tom said, handing you your coffee.

“Thanks,” you smiled softly, taking a big gulp while the two of you walked out of the coffee shop.

“Well, I guess this is it,” you sighed as you stood outside the doors. Tom chuckled and nodded gesturing to two boys standing by the sidewalk.

“Yeah, my friends are waiting for me and their coffees,” he told you and you nodded. “I gotta get back to class, too,” you said slowly, waiting. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, maybe him giving you his number.

But when he waved at you with a friendly smile, and a “See you around, Y/N.” you realized this was probably your first and last time meeting Tom Holland. With a wave of your hand, you turned on your heel and walked the other way, your cheeks burning.

It was a dream, thinking Tom Holland, out of all people, would give you his phone number after one friendly conversation. He probably met hundreds of people a day, you were merely a friendly face in the mass, you thought bitterly as you sipped on your coffee, heading to your lecture for Digital Editing I.

“Hey, thanks for saving me a seat,” you said to Jane, a friendly girl you’ve met in class.

“Yeah, no worries,” she told you with a smile as you sat down. She eyed your coffee cup before grinning.

“Already picking up guys at coffee shops, huh?” she teased and you looked at her in confusion before turning the coffee cup in your hands, a smile spreading on your face. On the white paper cup, Tom had scribbled his phone number with a black marker, the number adorned with a wide smiley.

“I guess I am,” you chuckled sheepishly, already grabbing your phone. As the lights dimmed and the professor started the lecture, you were typing away on your phone.

Y/N: writing your phone number on my cup was a pretty risky move. What would you have done if I hadn’t seen it?

Your smile widened as your message’s status quickly changed from delivered to read, the ellipses popping up, before disappearing and then reappearing.

Tom: I guess we’ll never find out 😉

Taglist: @sunflowercth

[welllpthisishappening]

Hello, hey, hi there internet. Yesterday @initiala sent me a link to this Twitter photo and was like “I don’t know what you’ll do with this, but you needed to see this.” She was obviously right. So I spent my commute home plotting and I now give you some words about Chris and Killian Jones’ father-son day of bonding and the Central Park Zoo and how much I can’t deal with that hat. 

He liked to stand up on his own.

Constantly. All the time. A never-ending show of lower body strength that probably would have been impressive if it didn’t also kind of worry Killian and it shouldn’t have worried Killian.

It was a seriously impressive show of lower body strength for a kid that was barely even closing in on two years old.

A year and a half, really.

Technically. Definitely. Because Chris was still little and Killian absolutely, positively knew he wasn’t the only one hoarding days and weeks and dreading every single how old is he now question because that meant he wasn’t little and Chris Jones loved to stand up on his own.

He walked everywhere, teetering and tottering and it didn’t always end perfectly – there was an ever-increasing collection of particularly abstract grass stains on a handful of tiny jeans – but Chris regularly pushed himself back up and got back on the path that Killian was almost entirely convinced only he could see.

It was a slightly jarring and unexpected shift from tradition. Killian was positive there were still bruises in several different places from Matt’s feet and he knew, without a single hint of doubt, that Peggy would attempt to launch herself at him as soon as she saw him later that night. The Jones kids did not stay on the ground. They did not control their limbs. It just wasn’t in their nature. Except, it seemed, for Chris Jones, who stood up and walked with a purpose that did not make sense for how little he still was and how, selfishly, Killian wanted to keep him that way. And that might have been what was freaking Killian out. If they were using that word. He certainly wasn’t. Emma might have.

Emma was freaking out more than him.

And that was a lie too.

He was on some kind of horrendous roll.

Chris was walking again.

“Hey,” Killian snapped, moving far quicker than the rest of his body appreciated. He caught Chris around the waist, the Rangers hat that had become part of some quasi uniform for his kid that summer falling on the ground. It didn’t really fit, regularly drooping over his eyes or tilting back far enough that it seemed in constant danger of dropping off, but it stayed on Chris’ head anyway, a tiny tuft of blonde hair sticking out the front at all times.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Killian asked. He didn’t get an answer, didn’t expect an answer, but he did get several squirming body parts and a howl that was as impressive as it was loud and the hat was going to get trampled by several dozen tourists lingering at the entrance of the Central Park carousel.

It hadn’t really been a conscious decision to go uptown, but morning skate was barely more than a glorified lap around the ice for a team that won its first preseason game of the year a few days before. And would try to win on Garden ice later that night. But it did leave Killian with a relatively open afternoon and Chris didn’t really appreciate staying in the brownstone.

There wasn’t nearly enough to explore. They’d done it already.

So they went uptown and they went to the park and Chris stayed on his feet, balanced and centered and, for the most part, fairly quiet. That was different too.

Matt and Peggy were, for all intents and purposes, small forces of nature most of the time – they were loud and far too opinionated regarding the New York Rangers’ first preseason game a few days before and Killian was fairly certain it was because they’d grown up in the New York Rangers locker room. They were used to hectic and crazy and playoff runs and road trips filled with facts and ice time and headlines and it was easy for them to hold their own against all of that.

They didn’t know any other way.

Chris only knew, relative, calm.

That’s all he would know.

There’d be no headlines, no road trips that ended with hat tricks or photos in front of tourists traps, no locker room. And Killian wasn’t sure what to do with that. Because Christopher Jones, born at the tail end of what several different New York dailies referred to as the Blueshirts next-gen movement seemed determined to blaze his own path or something equally cliché, exploring as much as his taller than average legs could take him. He didn’t jump anywhere. He walked there. Calmly. And with purpose.

“C’mon,” Killian muttered, bobbing on the balls of his feet and leaning back to meet Chris’ slightly teary gaze. “You can’t go running on your own, ok? You’ve go to at least let me try to catch up.”

He didn’t understand. He was one and a half, for God’s sake, but Killian would have made several absurd, and possibly inappropriate since they involved his own kid, bets that Chris picked up on the tone or the emotion, tiny fingers finding the front of a team-branded shirt that earned them a few whispers and second glances when they walked by Umpire Rock.

“Dad! Dad! Da! Daaaaaa!”

The word got less coherent the longer the shouting continued, Chris’ grip tightening as he tried to wiggle his way back onto the ground, and Killian’s answering laugh seemed to fall out of him – acceptance and understanding and this kid, no matter what age he was, was going to get where he wanted to go. Somehow.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know,” Killian muttered, but the laugh was still clinging to his words, crouching down so Chris didn’t actually break anything when he got back onto the ground. Killian reached forward, rearranging rumpled shirt hems and grabbing the hat, dusting off the small bit of dirt on the brim and it looked even more ridiculous backwards. He didn’t turn it back around. “You look great, kid,” he promised. “Alright, we’ve still got a few hours before Mom realizes we totally blew off afternoon nap. Where do you want to go next?”

He was met with another, slightly frustrated-sounded daddddd, the letters drawn out and Chris’ voice drifting dangerously close to shrill. The stares weren’t because of the excessive amount of New York Rangers march either of them were wearing anymore.

Killian grinned.

“I’m letting you pick, Chris,” he said, a far too complex sentence for a kid he was actively trying to keep young forever. That was an absurd sentence. Matt and Peggy were going to be upset they missed this for school. That was a slightly more responsible sentence.

Chris made a face – not quite a scowl, but certainly getting there and for half a second it looked like he was going to topple backwards, but he just moved his feet and kept his center of balance and held his hand out. Expectantly. Like he was annoyed Killian didn’t anticipate it.

Killian was far too busy trying not to start shouting in the middle of Central Park as well.

His fingers wrapped all the way around Chris’ entire hand, warm in his grip and still small enough that it did something very particular to several different types of emotions and Emma was going to be mad she missed this too. It took a moment to shuffle forward, muscles protesting again and calves almost startlingly close to aching, but he managed to move and Chris didn’t let go of his hand, and neither one of them swayed when Killian pulled his kid flush against his chest.

Still small enough for that too.

“Player’s choice,” Killian mumbled, a cliché that didn’t make any sense at all. His knees cracked when he stop back up.

They went to the zoo. They took an incredibly roundabout way, Killian’s inner New Yorker rebelling at the map Chris appeared to be following, but they still had hours and neither one of them ever tried to move their hand and, well, who was he to dispute the directional tendencies of an almost two year old?

One and a half.

They wandered through exhibits, Chris visibly awed by the penguins and the sea lions, and things were going well until they got to the petting zoo and several goats who were nothing short of intent on terrorizing the poor kid.

If asked, Killian would have used the word swarmed to describe what happened. They were standing there and it was close to adorable, Chris’ hand held out with a small pile of overpriced food sitting in his palm and then, suddenly, there were a dozen goddamn fucking goats there and something that sounded like bleating and another cry and Killian jumped over the gate.

He nearly killed himself.

It didn’t matter. The goats were swarming.

Killian scooped Chris up again, ignoring the clear disapproval practically wafting off the kid, and possibly the goddamn goats, but he held on tightly, willing his pulse to return to an almost normal, human level.

“Shit,” he breathed, wincing when he realized what he’d said. Chris was trying to get back on the ground. “Ah, alright, alright, alright, wait until the goats aren’t trying to prove they’re actual demons. Then we’ll walk again. Deal?"

They left the zoo rather quickly after that.

They kept walking – twisting down paths and across patches of green and it took some time to get back to 59th Street, but it was also kind of nice, even the few mumbled whispers and is that who I think it is, sounding relatively calming against the steady stream of looming traffic and taxi horns. And Killian knew they weren’t going to be able to walk back to the Garden – not enough time and a close-to-wilting Chris – but the kid was still moving and still directing and the whole thing had started to feel a bit closer to bonding than originally intended.

A quest for some kind of slightly emotional, exploratory father-son day.

“Da,” Chris said suddenly, and Killian blinked at the sharpness in the tone, another command that left him smiling when he probably shouldn’t have been. “Drink. Drink. Drink.”

He laughed softly, nodding in understanding. Geniuses. All of them. “Yeah?” Killian asked. “We can do that.”

Killian glanced around, trying to find something that wasn’t a Le Pain or Starbucks and he nearly missed it, the door flung open and air conditioning still streaming onto the sidewalk, despite laws and rules and he probably wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t see the cat. Or Chris trying to follow the cat.

The goats, it seemed, had not affected the kid’s innate curiosity.

Chris reached out cautiously, and the cat was probably more terrified than him, dashing back into the bodega to the sound of several laughing customers and guys who very likely spent most of their afternoons leaning against the counter. They probably all agreed to break that air conditioning law together.

And none of them recognized Killian, or, if they did, they didn’t say anything, far too New York to acknowledge anything regarding athletic stardom, particularly when Chris was standing stock still in front of the ice cream cooler. He was staring at the cat. The cat was staring back at the sidewalk.

“Curious one, isn’t he?” the woman behind the counter asked, and Killian hummed in agreement. He twisted, grabbing his phone out of his back pocket and the hat look just as ridiculous as ever, but he was pretty positive Emma would print out the picture if he sent it to her and his thumb didn’t hesitate over the button for more than a second.

“What do you think about some ice cream, Chris?” Killian asked, grinning at his kid when he spun around. He nearly fell over under the force of his nod. “Deal.”

The picture was already tacked to the wall in Emma’s office when they got back to the Garden, still a few hours before puck drop and a few traces of chocolate in the corner of Chris’ mouth. They were difficult to see though, his head flat on Killian’s shoulder.

He’d fallen asleep in the cab.

“Completely exhausted, huh?” Emma asked, leaning back in her chair with a smile on her face.

Killian nodded. “It’s been quite a day, Swan.”

“Yeah, so the photographic evidence shows. What do you think, sleeps the whole game?”

“Nah, we’ll probably have to wake him up for the third. Won’t sleep through the night otherwise.”

“Ah, that was smart.”

“It happens from time to time.”

Emma hummed, smile still there when she pushed away from her desk and moved towards them. She had to twist slightly to kiss his cheek, fingers ghosting over Chris’ back with something that felt a hell of a lot like reverence and decidedly parental emotions and Matt and Peggy were holding court at the fan event in Chase Square. Anna had sent him a picture twenty minutes before.

“You’re selling yourself short,” Emma muttered. “Was it good? Today, I mean?”

He nodded again, but it felt a little strained and he wasn’t entirely prepared for the wad of something to appear in the back of his throat, Chris burrowing further into his shoulder, like he knew the moment had gotten particularly emotional. “Better,” Killian promised. “Next time we go to the zoo though, we’re skipping the goddamn goats.”

“What?”

“It’s a very long story, love.”

“Ok,” she laughed, hand falling flat on Chris’ shirt. The hat was stuffed in Killian’s back pocket. “You want me to take him? I told Anna we’d go grab Mattie and Pegs before the guys get on the ice again.”

He didn’t think before he answered. And she totally knew the answer before she asked.

“Nah,” Killian said. “I got him.”

Chris woke up midway through the second period – when both his incredibly loud siblings got incredibly loud as the Rangers took the lead on a pretty fantastic power play goal. He didn’t try to get back on the ground though, just tugged on the front of Killian’s shirt and watched hockey.

As per tradition.

[moonrenegade]

Chapter One (edited)

I finished editing the few handful of chapters, so here is a sneak peek at the first chapter (Daphne’s half specifically). Enjoy! :D

Christmas is approaching, so the radio in the car I rented only played horrendously cheerful Christmas songs on repeat. Every year, Christmas seems to start earlier and earlier. This year, retailers started playing those songs and putting up Christmas decorations in September. For f*cks sake, Halloween hadn't even passed yet, let alone Thanksgiving!

 Had I not been driving, I would've slammed my head on the wheel out of pure frustration.

 I hate this time of year, if that wasn't obvious.

 As I drive past the sign welcoming me back to my small hometown, Crystal Cove, proclaiming it to be “Most Haunted Place on Earth”, I flinch a little. That hadn't been true for nearly four decades, for starters.

 I hate being back here, I hate the small-town vibes. Crystal Cove was, is, a tiny coastal town in Northern California. It’s flanked by the sea on one side and mountains on the other, so there was no escape if you didn’t have a boat or a car. Even then, the next closest town was an hour away. It’s always been like a cage to me, growing up. God, I hope none of the people I know are still here, that would be so sad. 

 I just need to get through the next two weeks, I repeat for the umpteenth time, then I can go back to normal life. I can go back to my job and my cats and my friends-.

 There's the high school I went to, and the forest lining it. I was prom queen in senior year, I had had to fight tooth and nail for that. Fred, bless his heart, was prom king. We had stopped being friends before then, so it was really awkward, to say the least.

 I’m so glad I got out of here.

 I circumvent the town centre, instead opting for the riskier mountain road to avoid seeing people. Pausing on a small viewing platform, I get out of the car to clear my head. As I lean over the barrier, I can see distant people down below doing their Christmas shopping, the music and chatter bubbling up towards me. They’re too far away for me to recognise anyone, thank goodness, but I can still pick out their shapes.

 I feel like the Grinch from up here, scowling down at the people of Whoville. Everything seems grey from up here, the tinkly lights nothing more than an eye-sore. I'm tempted to stay here instead of continuing down to my parent's house. 

 My childhood house, rather. 

 Closing my eyes, I remind myself about why I'm here. Mum had called me a few weeks ago, inviting me home like every year.

 Like every year, I was planning on declining, "Yeah, I'm really busy with work at the minute..."

 As if on cue, my laptop dinged. A new e-mail.

 It's from Mathew, and my stomach dropped to my shoes. I had been trying to avoid him as much as possible in the last few months, but it is kind of difficult to avoid one’s boss when he works in the same office. 

 "Don't you think you need a break from work, petal?" Mum's voice continued in my ear, "You haven't come home in years."

 "Well, last year I was busy too," I said as I opened the e-mail, scanning its contents, "And the year before that."

 "Honey, you're our only child," Mum begged, "Please can we just have Christmas as a family?"

 "What's the rush?" I asked, "It's not like anyone is dying."

 "Hm, but your father and I aren't as young as we used to be."

 She knows how to guilt me into things, she is my mother after all. And that e-mail. No way was I going to-.

 A twig snaps behind me. Whirling around, all I see is the gloomy forest. I can't see anything in the dark shadows cast by the trees.

 "Is someone there?" I call out, "Hello?"

 Nothing.

 Must've just been an animal, I guess.

 Slightly creeped out nonetheless, I climb back into the car and keep driving down the road.

 Through the mist, my childhood home slowly starts to appear. The dismal building doesn’t seem to have changed very much at all: it still looms over Crystal Cove from atop Iron Hill like a squatting grey concrete creature.

 It had been renovated, though, Mum had sent me photos a few years ago showing me their work.

 The older brickwork had been removed in favour of rough white concrete that looks like it would remove all of your skin if you run quickly enough. They'd built a gatekeepers' house for Lyle and a pool house in the backyard, but I couldn't see the latter. Apparently, they’d put Dad’s gym equipment in there.

 The gatekeeper's house was fairly small, a two-storey, one-bedroom kind of situation, but still bigger than my apartment in New York. 

 I can see Lyle through the window, watching the security cameras, as I pull up to the gate and buzz to be let in.

 “Hey, it’s Daphne, could you let me in, Lyle?” I say into the door phone. After a moment of static, a voice replies chirpily.

 “Daphne? Oh, you sound so grown up! It’s been so long-.” God, is it going to be like this every time I introduce myself?

 Lyle is only a few years older than me, but he still treats me the same way as my parents: a tiny child in need of looking after.

 “Hi, Lyle. It has been a while, huh.” I grimace but try to make myself sound as polite as I can. “Could you let me in, please? I would like to see my parents, too!”

 “Of course!” the phone buzzes and the gate silently swings open.

 “Thanks.”

[sussex-nature-lover]

Friday 1st January 2021

Review of the Year Q1  January, February, March 2020. Pre Pandemic Lockdown.

Hello, I’m wishing everyone a Happy, Healthy and Safe Year Ahead. We always say that don’t we, but boy does it have so much more meaning this time.

What can I say about the year just gone that hasn’t already been said? Well, they say a picture paints a thousand words so I’m going to choose some of my own photographs to illustrate the most positive things we experienced over the strangest year of our lives - the year of the Covid-19 coronavirus world pandemic, which is still raging today (and let’s hope I don’t get to say that again)

I’m cheating at the very beginning because I’m starting off by using a photo from Christmas 2019 when we had one of our usual type of trees in the Hall.

I’d usually decorate the Hall tree in the traditional red and gold

Below is the little tree that gained promotion this year, but in pink and white, silver and gold. That was a bit fancy for me, but the Owls liked it.

It put on some healthy growth throughout the year and played host to many perching little birds, mainly Blue, Great and Marsh Tits. I had to clear off all the cobwebs and take out all the bits of twig and leaf before it could come indoors.

And there it was, pressed into service. Every year in this house we’ve had at least two trees, a 7-8′ and a 5-6′ but this year, Little Tree was upgraded to the starring role. Hoorah Little Tree, you’ve done us proud. One of the best things to enjoy about the tree is all the memories that come with the decorations collected year after year from all around the world and some dating back to my Granny’s tree, although they’re looking rather delicate these days.

You can see our fairly recent tradition of perching ‘Travis’ the Christmas Pheasant in prime position just underneath the Angel. I think he looked fab this year, you can see him a bit more clearly than on a bigger tree.

January Garden Visitors: Sparrowhawk

As for January 2020, it brought some horrid bitterly cold, wet and windy weather. We were lucky on the 10th when we drove to Ms NW tE’s house and she put on a fantastic lunch that we both really enjoyed. That was the last time we sat down close at the table with anyone else outside of our own home and ate together* Last time we dined out-out was November 2018! Those were the days. 31st January 2020 was also the last time I had my hair cut - now it’s the longest it’s been since I was about half the age I am now and it might even be longer than then and still growing.

* Ms NW tY did pop around after work for supper in February and we meant to make that a fairly regular thing, but the only other time we got to eat together was when it was allowed outdoors in the Summer - sat at opposite ends of a very, very long table. That was weird.

January: sunset 

The bad wet weather had started here in late October 2019 and we were caught in flooding in Cheshire. The Fire Brigade came to pump water off the road that  we were sat on for a very long time. Much worse came with horrendous floods in Venice when some of the canals became unnavigable. World weather certainly made headlines in 2020 with flooding and raging fires devastating massive areas. The National Trust wildlife report I posted talks about the effects of the weather and climate change and what they’re trying to do to combat as much as they can.

I also see that in January we’d started to hear of Wuhan and to talk about hand washing. A friend’s sister is living in China and she’d got a flight booked to visit in April. Another friend said their lockdown and travel restrictions may be lifted by then. Little did we know.

Looking back at last year’s photos, pre blog, I was surprised I caught the Green Woodpecker in February, photo taken mid morning on the 16th. 

This may be one of the last PP pictures I took (PP = Pre Pandemic) and it’s all the more remarkable because Storm Dennis had hit us.

On the 17th we went shopping for a care package for Ms NW tY who was sick and home alone. Raging fever, cough, felt like she had a chest infection and limbs like lead. Similar to what I had back in November 2019. It took seven months for me to feel tip top again, so who knows what on earth we had - not Covid obviously because the medical experts say it wasn’t over here then. They also said no need to wear face masks and children were impervious...

I’ll just leave those thoughts there.

February Garden Visitors: lots of Pheasants 

Meanwhile we were starting to talk about handwashing - a lot, 20 seconds minimum with soap and hot water. Sing Happy Birthday to You all the way through and keep on washing. Haven’t heard that so much in a while actually.

...and toilet rolls. Any mention of a forthcoming lockdown and panic buying prompts shortages immediately. It was toilet rolls, rice, pasta and flour. I’m sticking with my illustration of handwashing using one of my favourite soaps. Portuguese Soap, hard to beat but prohibitively expensive nowadays. We just looked at that link and whistled, drawing in our breath and sighing. I’m going to be refilling that bottle with something altogether more modest. Of course, so much more choice now for something a bit different, especially closer to home. Kent Soap. I’ve been glad this year that I ask for nice soap as a gift if anyone wants to know what I’d like and we got some for Christmas too, so that’ll keep us going.

White Hyacinths and Freesias for fragrance lifting the bleak days

The pandemic seemed to get worse and we were getting alarmed. I last went into a supermarket early mid March. Since then I’ve only been in National Trust shops, the petrol station and the pharmacy. I first wore a face mask when we took the car for its MOT, also mid March. Staff looked at me as though I was a bank robber. When we went to collect the car later the same day there was a notice on the door ‘Only two customers allowed inside at any one time’ and news was starting to spread...about health precautions, not about me.

Soon MOT tests were suspended and the country was facing a lockdown. Since then we had a time when both of our cars’ batteries died. We’ve SORN (officially declared off road) one - it’s taking us all our time to keep the other ticking over.

March Garden Visitors: hungry Rabbits at the seed trays

I started to write my Blog. At first I just used Google Sheets for seven daily scribblings and then I moved to this platform. Blog Number 1 here with the urls of the first few entries at the end. Little did I know at that stage that I’d be writing every day at least once a day and still going.

As National Lockdown got underway as well as writing we all started walking again and looking at nature and baking - boy did we all embrace baking last year. There must’ve been a country-weight of Sourdough and/or Banana Bread attempted with varying degree of success...lucky Joe Wicks came on board to get everyone up and doing a bit of keep fit, People started working from home, hosted social lives by internet, online quizzes and memes became a thing, a really big Thing. If we were lucky our food shopping was delivered straight to our door, TV cookery shows were full of advice on what you could use if you couldn’t source what you really wanted.

Just as my football team was on course for its first ever Premier League Championship win, the season had to be suspended (13th March) hoping to resume in April. It was a vain hope, but as our manager Jûrgen Klopp said, health and safety is far more important than anything else...we can wait 😉

Sport around the world, like everything else, had to be put on pause.

The situation got worse and every Thursday night at 8pm we went outdoors and clapped for our carers as they battled on trying to get to grips with this new virus and people falling sick in huge numbers. It was a whole new way of life.

To be Continued

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

WEATHER NEWS:

Forecasters are warning of possible further chaos, because the same conditions behind the 'Beast from the East' in 2018 - one of the worst storms to hit the UK in living memory - are forming again high up in the atmosphere.  

The 'sudden stratospheric warming' (SSW) event happens when the temperature in the stratosphere soars by 50C (122F). This 'reverses' Britain's wind pattern, from the warmer west out in the Atlantic to the east – and Siberia.

It can take two weeks for the effects of a SSW to be felt. This was the case in February 2018 with the infamous Beast from the East, which saw much of the UK gripped by travel chaos and school closures amid heavy snow. 

^ Not to mention Hospital closures too, which meant my operation was cancelled.

New Year’s Day Read:

The Wildlife Trust Marine Review of 2020

This report is also covered by the Daily Mail which also includes photos, video and information from other regional trusts around the country.

Decoration from the Standen Courtyard Christmas Tree

Once again some absolutely beautiful handiwork, The Tree of Life. What better message for a brand new year.

The Tree of Life symbol represents our personal development, uniqueness and individual beauty. Just as the branches of a tree strengthen and grow upwards to the sky, we too grow stronger, striving for greater knowledge, wisdom and new experiences as we move through life. 

Music for New Year from the Rivertree Singers

a community choral ensemble in Greenville, SC. USA

‘Tomorrow Shall be my Dancing Day’ Let’s hope so.

[sinkingorswimming]

My Boy Builds Coffins (3/? aka Mortician Yuuri and Goth Victor)

“Victor glides into his office thirteen minutes late, Wayfarers on, velvet lapels billowing, and “Friday I’m In Love” sung in a low whisper.

“It’s Wednesday,” calls the bitter and world-weary child intern Yuri Plisetsky. “Also I’m revoking your Goth card.”

“The Cure is technically Goth,” calls his CFO/CPA Chris Giacometti. Chris has a blond undercut and leans more towards jewel tones as he’s firmly a winter. “Though I mean, maybe not that specific song.”

Victor smiles at him as he opens the door to his office. The space is industrial and minimalist save for the decor choices---velvet sofas with sleek lines and an aubergine chandelier commissioned by a hipster artist Victor saw on display in SoHo. 

If Yuri hadn’t interviewed in a suit, Victor wouldn’t have hired him because the lemon-yellow leopard print he sports upends the curated aesthetic.

Georgi, who depending on how well his partnership with ladylove Anya is going, matches or not. When they’re well, he’s more in bright colors and Halsey. When they are having strife, he’s in grays and Lana del Ray. Right now there’s murmurings of Anya wanting to explore romantic anarchy so he’s kind of somewhere in between.

Victor fell into a google and r/relationships hole for two hours to make heads or tails of “romantic anarchy” before he gave up and contemplated suggesting Georgi put them on a break. Call him old fashioned but being an Elder Goth with a lifelong partner and their herd of fabulous poodles sounds much preferable.

The lifelong partner in this fantasy now represented by a stunningly beautiful man with coal-black hair, glasses, and warm eyes the color of a fine piece of cherry wood. Victor wakes up his iMac and blares baroque styled love songs by long-gone cult artists.

“Oh my God,” cries Mila as she comes into the room in all her lipstick-lesbian glory. She’s the rare redhead that works the hell out of pink, choosing to do so today in a dress she got from Mod Cloth on sale and a pair of gold heels. “What did you do? Who is he?”

“He’s named Yuuri,” Victor says with a grin. “He wears mostly black, drives a hearse, and likes Dragon Frappucinos.” His eyes twinkle at her. “Annnnd he’s meeting me for lunnnnchhhhhh. Pookkeeeee bowlllllssss!”

Mila laughs and grins. “Sounds like you should be playing ‘At Last’ instead of...” she trails off as she walks around the desk to look at his Spotify. “’You Are the One’ by Shiny Toy Guns.”

“I contain multitudes,” Victor huffs. “And he is perfect. I want six.”

“Six what?” Mila asks as she unlocks the company iPhone.

Victor gives her a blank look. “Six...Yuuris? One for every day and one for the weekend? Duh.”

Mila sighs and laughs at once. “God. Young love.”

Victor pouts as she exits his office with a chirp of congratulations.

He wants to Postmates bagels and cream cheese or maybe fancy doughnuts because he’s in such high spirits when Chris knocks on his open door. “Got a few?” he asks. He’s wearing his glasses today, round metal frames akin to John Lennon that are both chic and outdated, a warm emerald shirt showing off his wushu and pilates toned chest, and a pair of dark jeans. 

It’s fairly casual at Living Legend Enterprises. Victor is only so formally attired because of the chance to see Yuuri again. Generally he lets them wear whatever, he doesn’t care as long as they aren’t unwashed or overly sloppy. 

Yuri mentioned possibly dying streaks in his hair, and Victor cheerfully said for him to go for it. He only cares if it’s ugly.

“Yes, Chris,” Victor says. He lowers the volume of his music.

“Well,” Chris says. “I’m reviewing our budget, end of the fiscal year thing. And...I think it’s okay to bring one another full timer on board. That deal with the wineries in Napa is gonna help us out for a long time, and we can handle the overhead without much risk.”

Victor smiles. “Amazing! Get with Mila for the ad.”

“Of course,” Chris replies. He winks, his glasses making it cute but also roguish. “We’ll run the finer points by you for qualifications.”

“Since they’re a second Georgi, just follow his,” Victor says. “It’s neater.”

“Makes sense,” Chris says with a nod.

“Let me know when we have viable applicants, so the three of us can kvetch over who to interview,” Victor says. “No LinkedIns without photos. I mean it.”

Chris gives him a saucy face as he exits.

Victor gets approximately 100% jack shit accomplished. He’s too busy mooning over Yuuri’s beautiful face, his slighty soft round cheeks, the flecks of amber in his brown eyes, the careful messiness of his hair. He’s so cute and perfect. Victor can’t wait for lunch.

Fortunately, at 1:09 Yuri comes in unannounced. “Ugh, there’s some square here in a suit with my name, says he’s picking you up for some kind of dorky bs.”

“It’s lunch, Yuri,” Victor says as he rockets out of his seat. He fixes himself in the full length black framed mirror. Ah yes. 10/10 would date, heckin’ handsome.

“Whatever,” Yuri grumbles. “The guy is a pocket protector and a math book short of being shaken down for his lunch money.”

“Does that still happen?” Victor wonders.

“Nah, it’s a lot worse and meaner, too,” Yuri responds. “Regardless, that geek you ordered from Amazon Now has arrived.”

Victor rolls his eyes. When he enters the lounge, he sees Yuuri perched on the midnight blue velvet chaise thumbing through Nylon on the iPad. His suit jacket rests over the arm, and his dress shirt’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His forearms are nicely toned. His light blue tie is horrendous. “Hiii,” Victor coos.

Yuuri looks up and adjusts his glasses. He’s cute, rosy cheeked and with a bashful smile. “Hi, Victor. Ready?”

“Born ready,” Victor says. 

Yuuri flushes deeper and clears his throat. “Walk or drive?”

Victor spots that Yuuri managed to get rock star parking. The cafe is a half a block. “Walk,” he says though he longs to ride in that fabulous hearse. It’s not fair for Yuuri to lose prime parking real estate. Victor takes the jacket and hangs it in their black wardrobe. He reaches out and takes Yuuri’s hand in his. 

“Come with me,” he says with a bright smile.

Yuuri hesitates but lets Victor escort him down the sidewalk to The Ramen Bar. It’s crowded but not so bad they can’t manage the wait, and when they get a  table, Victor orders a Boozy Boba for himself. Yuuri gets a Lychee Oolong tea with rosewater jelly. 

“Do you not drink?” Victor asks. He’s curious, not picking.

“Not during the work day,” Yuuri replies as he sips his tea. He swirls the straw around clockwise five times. “I don’t want to risk forfeiture or suspension of my license.”

“License,” Victor muses. His index finger touches his lips. “Sales? Insurance? Cosmetology?”

Yuuri bites his lip, and Victor wants to do the same, tug on the plush pink skin  with his teeth while he wrecks Yuuri’s hair and shirt collar. “Um, well...my family has a funeral home. It’s been ours since my grandparents immigrated here. My father owns it now that they’ve passed, and my sister and I will be the joint owners when he retires with our mom.”

Oh. Oh wow. Victor’s more in love than he has been his entire life ignoring the first moment NorCal Poodle Rescue introduced him to a puffy brown puppy he now calls Makkachin. 

Makka gets his ears dyed pink or purple every time Victor has him groomed.

“That’s so amazing!” Victor exclaims. “What a cool line of work. I’m so intrigued.”

Yuuri stares at Victor as if he’s never been told anything like that in his life. Actually, it’s more like he’s staring as if Victor just informed him he’s suffering from upside-down face disorder. 

“Really?” Yuuri squeaks.

They order their food---Victor gets the poke trio bowl, Yuuri the octopus by itself. It’s far too warm for ramen or anything hot to eat. 

“Yes! I’ve always found funerals calming. There’s something soothing about them, especially the religious ones. Like Catholic funerals with all the Latin rites. I don’t know. I don’t want people to die---” Victor is careful to clarify. “But the actual ritual of grief and letting go...I find it quite lovely.”

Yuuri keeps staring, eyes wide and bright like a startled cat. He cracks the knuckles on his index fingers. Yuuri fidgets a lot, Victor notes. He also looks at Victor when he thinks he won’t notice, and turns his eyes away when he’s caught. It’s cute, like he’s a schoolboy with his first crush. At least, Victor hopes.

Victor rests his chin on his right hand. He unabashedly stares at Yuuri, his eyes focused on him intently to catch every movement. Yuuri avoids his gaze as he licks his lips, his cheeks staining like someone brushed a wash of red watercolors over his skin. Victor watches him run his hand through his hair, though it just falls back how it was, and he swallows as he meets Victor’s eyes.

Their food arrives and before Victor can break the silence, Yuuri breaks apart his chopsticks and digs in. He’s elegant and careful when he eats, Victor notes. Almost meticulous, but then his occupation requires attention to a lot of fine detail. Why should his eating habits be different? 

Victor can’t help but wonder if it extends to sex. He really wants to know, he thinks as he breaks apart his own chopsticks and selects a piece of tuna for his first bite. 

Yuuri washes down his food with a sip of the tea. “Um---” he starts. “Well. No one’s ever...people tend to not care for my work.”

“Narrow minded simpletons,” Victor responds without looking up. He can feel Yuuri’s eyes on his face as he combs through his bowl for the next morsel.

“And...you’re right,” Yuuri says. “Funerals are supposed to reassure the ones you leave behind. They’re supposed to enable you to say goodbye, let go, and move on. Sometimes when someone comes to us, like a wife grieving a husband of fifty years, they have a really hard time. They can’t make choices or even fully grasp the situation. It’s my job to help them make sense of it and voice their love out loud one last time.”

Victor looks at him. “That’s beautiful,” he replies.

Yuuri smiles, though his lips are closed. It’s sweet without being sickening, and Victor gives him an expression that amounts to a heart eyes emoji.

They finish their food, and with a refill in a to-go cup for Yuuri and a new non-boozy drink for Victor, he pays their bill. They stroll back to the office, and Victor halfway reaches down and entwines their fingers.

Yuuri chokes on his drink, stumbling, and almost taking them both down hard on the pavement. Victor manages to save the day as he tugs him back, but Yuuri lands half clutching Victor’s blazer. He blinks up at him and Victor’s blue eyes widen a bit in awe as they stare at each other. 

Yuuri blushes again and Victor can’t stop, won’t stop, as he kisses him just a centimeter away from his lips. Yuuri gasps. “Oh.”

Victor pulls away. “Please,” he says. “May I have dinner with you soon? Somewhere with white tablecloths and----”

“Yes!” Yuuri blurts. He coughs. “Um. Yes.”

Victor is pleased. Victor is so pleased that right outside his office he pulls Yuuri close a second time and after wrapping his hands in his hair, he kisses him for at least ten minutes by his estimation. Yuuri kisses back with skill and equal amounts of affection, his hands clinging tight to Victor’s biceps like he thinks he’ll become a bat and fly away.

God Victor loves bats.

What Victor does not love is his entire staff cat-calling them and pounding on the glass windows of their office front. He actually didn’t even know Mila’s voice could pitch that high, and of particular note in terms of obnoxiousness is Georgi blaring “Young and Beautiful” from Yuri’s desk.

Yuuri breaks the kiss and hides as best he can behind the recycling bin a few feet away. Victor glares at his staff, sending them scurrying away like roaches. He pulls Yuuri out of the not-subtle hiding place and walks him inside to get his blazer. He puts it on him, Yuuri holding out his arms after a moment’s confusion, and Victor may or may not get a bit frisky with his (strong, corpse-lifting) shoulders.

Yuuri faces him and he hands Victor a white business card with an austere typeset. “Here.”

It’s his card with his information, like Victor gave the day before.

Yuuri runs his hand through his hair. “Um...call me. Whenever. I’ll go to dinner.”

He bites his bottom lip and exits, though when he pushes the door open he turns, opens his mouth, and closes it. Victor watches him go to the point where he sees the hearse disappear into the rest of the FiDi.

He looks at the card and grins.