#i’m eleven so shut the fuck up ( flower ic. )

[fiirecracker]

"... Flower, what the hell am I looking at?" It's clearly a Vex. Or, at least, it was. Whatever it is now is still Vex in origin but the fact that it has six heads, fourteen arms and five legs means something isn't quite right. Now, either that old coot is back to messing with things he shouldn't be... Or Flower is bullying the Vex by turning them into nightmare statues that wouldn't look out of place in a Golden Age art exhibition. "No, really. The fuck, kid?" @ahkein

the little psion seems far too pleased with her current art project.

she has a limb lifted in the air as lush enters, and is using the mental powers possessed by her people to tilt and twist it. it has to be just right before she can reattach it. she has to make sure it's perfect. otherwise, what is the point? art can be messy, yes, but it must be purposefully so.

when lush speaks, though, flower pauses her work. the vex arm falls to the ground with an echoing thunk. her lips curve into a smile. she reaches out with her left hand, fingers searching for his.

"i g—ot bored!" says the little warlock, her stutter catching on the hard g. it doesn't seem to phase her, "did you know that solar fire can meld vex com—ponents back together?"

[hookingminor]

close quarters (4) - andre burakovsky

a/n: y’all I'm so fucking sorry this took so long to update school started and has really thrown me for a loop and I had some bad writer’s block and shit so I'm not super proud of this chapter but oh well the next chapter will be the final one! this isn’t proofread bc I couldn’t be bothered and I know that the hockey season doesn’t coincide with warm weather but be quiet and imagine

word count: 2,767

one / two / three / four / five

-

True to his word, Andre got smashed. It didn’t help that Mikko had asked him if you were seeing Tyson after the two of you had left together. So, Andre threw back another whiskey in record time, and everyone got the hint to not bring you up.

And what made it worse was that he knew he didn’t have any right to be upset about the situation. He chickened out and scared you off because he was stupid and didn’t know how to communicate his feelings. And it’s not like Tyson was a bad guy, but Andre didn’t think he was the right guy for you. Andre was the right guy for you.

Not that he had any justifiable reasons for thinking that.

Gabe and Mel had to give Andre a ride home after the charity dinner. It was nearly eleven in the evening and everyone had left the event, but he was still drinking. He knew it was unprofessional. All his teammates knew it was unprofessional. Odds are he’d probably get yelled at for it come Monday, but he had bigger problems to worry about right now.

“You know you did this to yourself, right?” Gabe asked after he’d safely gotten Andre into the backseat. Gabe was the only one who he’d told about this whole predicament. Andre didn’t have a lot of friends in Colorado outside of his team, and he couldn’t help but spill his guts to his captain.

Mel slapped her husband on the arm, signaling for him to shut up or at least show some sympathy, but Gabe shrugged his shoulders in defense as if to say ‘What? It’s true.’

“I know,” Andre slurred sadly, “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Mel consoled with a comforting tone, “You just made a mistake and need to fix it.”

“How can I when she’s with Josty now?” Andre asked.

“Dumbass, she’s not with Josty. He’s just trying to help you out,” Gabe explained as he pulled out of the parking lot and in the direction of Andre’s apartment.

“Helping me how? By asking her on dates and sneaking out early with her?” Andre scoffed in disbelief. He saw the way his hands lingered on your back and the sly glances he thought no one saw.

“Helping you so you can finally apologize and win her over,” Gabe said, but Andre was too focused on imagining you and Tyson back at his place to really register Gabe’s words.

The rest of the ride continued with Andre ranting about you. Honestly, he didn’t remember what he said but it was probably along the lines of how beautiful you were and how he wished he would’ve kissed you. Gabe and Mel exchanged about a million looks between each other, but Andre didn’t notice. The one night they were supposed to not worry about a child, they still ended up babysitting anyway.

When Monday came, his hungover had passed, but he still felt like shit.

“Someone have a rough night?” EJ teased when Andre dropped his bag on the floor in the locker room. Andre flattened him with a glare to tell him he wasn’t in the mood. Everyone had to have known what was going on by now.

Tyson entered the locker room about five minutes after he got there, and everyone went silent. Andre didn’t look at him while he put on his gear, but he could feel the eyes of Tyson and the rest of the team burning a hole into the back of his head. When he finished lacing up his skates, he marched out of the room without another glance back.

“You dumbass,” JT said, breaking the tension that clouded the locker room. All eyes flickered over to Tyson who didn’t look like he was looking forward to getting on the ice.

“You better fix this shit, Jost,” Nate piped up from behind him, and there was a chorus of grunts of agreement in response.

“Fine, I’ll handle it!” Tyson groaned exasperatedly, “God forbid I be the only one with a romantic bone in my body.”

Once again, Tyson had to do everything himself, it seemed.

-

“I just don’t know what to do, Taylor,” you said over the phone.

“Are you still going on about this?” She whined.

“He’s so cute!” You exclaimed, “If you didn’t want me to fall for him, you shouldn’t have introduced us.”

“I didn’t think dumb hockey players were your thing,” she scoffed, “You were never interested when I offered to set you up with one back in D.C.”

“I wasn’t interested,” you emphasized, “but times have changed.”

“And you’re choosing Burky of all guys?” She asked.

“I just don’t know why he’d be so concerned about me living with him for a short period of time. I mean, I literally threw myself at him for nothing,” you replied, “Do you know if Tom said anything to him about me?”

You were met with silence as Taylor didn’t answer your question.

“So you do know something,” you accused as you moved into a sitting position, “What did he say?”

“Uh,” she started, “It wasn’t Tom, exactly, who said something.”

“Wait, what? Did you say something?” You asked.

“In my defense, I was looking out for you! I didn’t think he was your type, and I knew he’d try and make a move,” she answered defensively.

“What the hell did you tell him?”

“I may have told him to keep his hands off, and Tom may have relayed the message,” she said quietly.

“Why would you do that?” You sighed in defeat, “Do you really think I can’t look after myself?”

“No, it’s not that. I didn’t want you to be overwhelmed with the move and have Andre hitting on you and then get ghosted or led on…,” Taylor explained. You let out another sigh because you couldn’t really fault her for that. She knew hockey players better than you, so who were you to argue with that logic. And the fact was Andre could still ghost you or lead you on, you still weren’t sure, but you figured his unwarranted jealousy had to be a good sign, right?

“Well, can you back off now?” You asked finally.

“I didn’t think he’d actually follow through with this. All my threats were pretty meaningless; it’s not like I could do something about it if he did try something,” Taylor said, “but I guess if he took it seriously he must not be that bad of a guy.”

“So I have your permission?” You questioned hopefully.

“You never needed my permission in the first place,” she answered, and you could see her rolling her eyes back in D.C.

“Clearly I did if Andre wouldn’t kiss me,” you muttered, and Taylor chuckled in response.

“Oh, hold on, Taylor, I’m getting another call. I’ll talk to you later,” you said suddenly, noticing the incoming call that was interrupting your conversation. You waited for her acknowledgement before you ended the call and answered the other one.

“What do you want, Tyson?”

“You’re both idiots, and it’s time I took things into my own hands. Be ready at nine in the morning on Saturday. No, I will not be answering any questions. Dress cute but comfortable.”

And with that, he hung up the phone before you could even begin to question what the hell he meant.

-

You tried texting and calling Tyson, but he never answered your messages.

He told Andre the same thing. Well, he did get a little more information but not much. Tyson had pulled Andre off to the side on Monday after a practice of angry glares and not passing him the puck though he was instructed to.

“Listen, man, I’m gonna explain this to you once. Me and Y/N? Not a thing. She wore that dress to make you jealous because she knows you like her and that you’re a dumbass,” Tyson said quickly, and Andre had to take a few extra seconds to process what he was saying, “So what you’re going to do is pick her up on Saturday morning and take her to the farmer’s market. Get her some fucking flowers or something and buy her shit, okay? If you screw this up again, I can’t help you bounce back from that.”

Every day after practice Andre tried to ask Tyson more questions about how you were doing and if you knew about this, but Tyson reiterated the same thing he told Andre the first day: that he needed to pick you up at nine and to not dodge you if you tried to kiss him again.

So, Andre did just that. He arrived at your apartment at 8:55 on Saturday morning dressed in a casual pair of jean shorts and a white t-shirt. You, however, outshone him by a mile with your flowy skirt and loose sweater.

“Oh, Andre, hello,” you greeted him curiously, “Are you here because of Tyson?” Over the past few days, you had time to process Tyson’s confusing phone call. After running over his hurried sentences in your head, you came to the conclusion that it was some kind of set-up. His use of ‘you’re both idiots’ could only be about you and Andre, and it wasn’t unlike Tyson to insert himself in other people’s business. You only hoped Andre had more choice in this than you did, otherwise you were in for an awkward morning.

“Hi, yeah, hey,” Andre stuttered out, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you blushed as he complimented you. You opened your door wider for him to enter as you retreated back into your kitchen. “What are we doing? Tyson didn’t really tell me anything except to be ready by nine.”

“Yeah, he kind of pulled me after practice and told me about this plan,” Andre explained, and you felt your shoulders sag while your smile dropped. So he didn’t get a say in this, he was here as a favor.

“I see,” you said quietly.

“But I also wanted to apologize,” he said, noticing the way you suddenly got shy, “about the whole… you know.” You did know. You had been trying to talk to him about it for weeks now to no avail.

“Listen, about that… I didn’t mean to make things weird. I misread the situation, and I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable,” you apologized after he trailed off, but Andre was shaking his head before you could finish.

“No, that’s not what I wanted to talk about,” Andre said, interrupting you, “You did nothing wrong. I was in my head and panicked and then it was too late…” he took a breath, “I’m sorry about that. I wanted to kiss you, and I screwed it up.” Your heart sped up a little at the last part.

“Taylor told me about how Tom said to not mess with me,” you continued.

“I was just trying to be a good friend,” he insisted, and you nodded your head.

“I know,” you replied, “I told her to back off when she told me.”

“And then the whole Tyson thing happened…” he started.

“I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t fair to make you think we were together,” you said sheepishly,  but you only felt partly sorry for doing that.

“Honestly, I needed that,” he chuckled, “He knocked some sense into me, and that’s why I’m here. To make it up to you.” Well, if Andre had finally come to his senses and wanted to make it up to you, you weren’t going to object.

“So what are we doing?” You asked, and Andre answered your question with a wide smile.

-

You spent the whole morning walking through the downtown farmer’s market with Andre. You threaded your way through the many vendors and tents that were set up in the street, stopping occasionally to buy some produce or because Andre wanted to try some local foods. He treated you to an iced coffee the minute upon entering the market, and you spent most of your time catching him up with work while he updated you with hockey.

Work was going fairly well considering you were new to the company and area, and the team was doing pretty well at the moment considering it was the beginning of the season and they had yet to be really challenged. Not that you understood much of what he was saying regarding stats, but you listened with interest anyway.

You don’t remember when it happened, but at some point you had started holding onto his arm as you worked your way through the market.

You introduced Andre to your favorite stand of any farmer’s market ever: the chili-lime mango tent. Andre didn’t care much for the spice, but you had a fun time watching him chug down the rest of his coffee while he choked on the chili.

Around eleven thirty and on your way out of the market, Andre bought you a large bouquet of sunflowers. You had left him alone for three minutes to buy some tomatoes, and when you turned around to find him, you could barely see him behind the sunflowers.

“You didn’t have to buy me this many flowers,” you chuckled when Andre returned you to your apartment. He had insisted on carrying whatever groceries you had bought there as you carried the flowers.

“Well, I never got to buy you actual flowers for our first date, so I figured I had a bit to make up for,” he smiled as you set down the bouquet on your kitchen counter.

“I didn’t know you counted that dinner as a date,” you joked, unpacking the produce you’d bought from the bags.

“It would’ve been a perfect one had I ended it properly, but I’m an idiot,” he said, “So I’m officially counting this as our first date.”

“Well, as far as first dates go, this is definitely one of the better ones I’ve been on,” you agreed. You hadn’t noticed it until then, but Andre had taken a few steps closer to you until you were nearly chest to chest. As if mirroring the same position you were in that fateful night, you couldn’t help the feeling of deja vu wash over you in waves.

Except this time you were sure he wasn’t going to run away.

“Can I kiss you?” Andre asked, reaching his hands out to pull you in by your hips.

“That depends,” you replied, “Are you going to follow through with it?” He rolled his eyes at your snarky comment and squeezed your side in response.

“I’m never going to live this down, huh?” He asked, tugging your hips flush against his as his hands moved to your lower back.

“No,” you agreed cheerily, “but to answer your question: yes you can kiss me. I’ve only been waiting three weeks now.” Connecting your hands behind his neck, you gave him the same wanton look you gave him that night.

Andre took that as his cue to lean forward, and you pushed yourself up on your toes to meet him halfway. Your lips met in a soft kiss, Andre’s lips light against yours as he tested the waters. You made the first move by gripping the back of his neck a little tighter as you pressed yourself more forcefully against him.

Andre’s hands slid up slightly over your back as you moved your mouth against his. You didn’t know if it was fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes that had passed by the time you pulled apart.

“And to think you had kept that from me for so long,” you teased almost immediately after the kiss broke.

“And you’ve ruined it,” Andre laughed as he tried to push you away in protest, but your hands were stuck behind his neck.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you whined, pressing a kiss to his cheek that was turned away from you, “I won’t bring it up again, I promise.”

“I don’t believe that,” Andre said, but he didn’t say anything as you continued to shower him with affection.

“I promise I won’t, but I can’t make any guarantees about Josty,” you repeated.

“Damn, he’s never going to let this go, is he?” Andre groaned loudly, as if he just remembered who Tyson was.

“Definitely not,” you agreed, “And you know he’s going to take credit for this.”

“He can have it,” Andre said wistfully, “As long as I can have you.”

“You have a bit of slack to pick up for making me wait forever, but I’m willing to give you a chance.”

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 15

Bad Darcy!

[AO3] - 1,469 words

x

Lacey’s new peace with Gold made no real difference to her life, other than that she could pass him in the diner or on the street and not want to hurl herself into the sun. He was polite but distant whenever they met, and a part of her was disappointed that the coffee and cake in the back of his shop hadn’t led to a reciprocal offer from him. Ruby said that he never went out drinking, so looking around for him as she downed rum and coke in The Rabbit Hole was a pointless exercise. Which didn’t stop her doing it.

“Just march into the shop, unzip his pants and get on your knees,” suggested Ruby, waving her drink around as she gestured and making it slosh dangerously in the glass. “You know you want to.”

“I do n—” Lacey closed her eyes with a sigh. “Okay, maybe I do, but I’m not going to.”

“Come on, what do you have to lose?”

“My liberty, when he presses charges for sexual assault...”

“I swear.” Ruby shook her head sadly. “I’m just gonna have to shut you two in the store room at the diner and let you bang it out.”

“...and you get charged with false imprisonment.” Lacey shrugged, reaching for her drink. “At least I’ll have company in jail.”

“Fine, just carry on pining then,” sighed Ruby, sitting back.

“I am not pining.”

“You are too.”

“Wondering whether someone’s good in the sack is not pining.”

“What would you call it then?”

Lacey pursed her lips, pondering.

“Curiosity,” she said eventually. “There’s something about him. Something that gives me that good, low-down feeling, you know?”

Ruby took a drink, setting down her glass and leaning on the table with a wide grin on her face.

“So,” she said. “What do you think he’s like in the sack?”

“I dunno.” Lacey wrinkled her nose as she thought. “He’s really - careful - with his hands. And he has long fingers, did you notice?”

“No.”

“Well, he does,” said Lacey, shifting in her seat. “I think he’d be good.”

“He never dates,” said Ruby. “He’s gotta be out of practice.”

“It’s not like you forget how, right?”

“I guess.”

“Besides,” added Lacey. “Every guy I’ve been with has been a selfish ass who couldn’t make a woman come if their lives depended on it.”

“Fair point.” Ruby took another drink. “So, what are you gonna do?”

“Nothing…” Lacey groaned the word and let her head roll back. “It’s not like anything would ever happen. I reached out and I was forgiven but that’s as far as it goes. He’s not interested.”

“You don’t know that,” said Ruby fairly. “Maybe you should just ask him out.”

“No way.”

“Don’t be a weenie.”

“I flashed his son!”

“Yeah, and you apologised for that,” said Ruby. She suddenly looked thoughtful. “Maybe I should speak to Neal.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Okay, okay!”

Ruby was grinning, but she took another sip of her drink, setting down the glass.

“Let’s move the subject away from Sex-God Gold,” she said. “You working on anything cool for the paper?”

“If you consider the Storybrooke Flower Show cool, then yes.” Lacey stabbed at the ice in her drink with a straw. “It’s the last event before Zelena’s charity dance.”

“You going to the dance?”

“Only because Sidney managed to get me in to cover it,” she said. “Not sure Zelena wanted me there, but screw her.”

“Granny and I are helping with the catering,” said Ruby. “Zelena wanted something a bit more high-brow than we’re used to, so we’re putting on our fancy pants and making canapés.”

“Guess I’ll see you there, then,” said Lacey.

“You should ask Gold for a dance,” said Ruby, with a grin. “A little slow dancing, a little smoochy-smoochy and then maybe a little heavy petting in the mansion gardens.”

“Oh my God…”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Lacey opened her mouth, closed it again, and took a drink while Ruby cackled loudly.

“Knew it.”

“Even if that was true,” said Lacey loftily. “He’s not going.”

“Really?”

“So he told Zelena, and given I’ve never seen the guy out socially, I guess it’s true.”

“Oh.” Ruby slumped in her chair a little. “Back to Plan B, then.”

“There is no Plan B,” said Lacey sternly. “Plan A ended in total humiliation. I’m done with plans as far as Gold’s concerned.”

“Hmm.” Ruby looked unconvinced. “We’ll see.”

x

The next morning Lacey was feeling a little thick-headed, and was relieved when she remembered it was Saturday. She was tempted to laze in bed with a book for another hour or so, but she was parched, she wanted coffee, and Darcy would need his breakfast. Grumbling to herself about the fact that she and Ruby were a bad influence on each other, she threw back the covers and got up to grab her robe.

Darcy was nowhere to be seen when she got downstairs, and Lacey opened the door to the back porch before going to put on a pot of coffee. She glanced out of the window as she was getting out the milk, and frowned curiously as she spotted Darcy in the middle of the patch of lawn that she still hadn’t gotten around to tidying up. He was on his back, feet in the air and tail lashing as he played with something long and black. A snake? Fuck!

Lacey almost dropped the milk on the counter and dashed out of the back door in a trice, leaping down the porch steps and across the lawn, where she drew a stop, shoulders slumping as realised that the thing Darcy was playing with wasn’t a live snake. It wasn’t even a dead snake. It was, however, a black silk tie.

Darcy had paused in his wriggling as she had approached, and gazed up at her with a mischievous glint in his green eyes. He was purring, his tail twitching against the yellowing grass, the length of black silk lying across his belly with both ends in the dirt.

“Oh man…” Lacey shook her head. “Really?”

She snatched up the tie, whisking it out of the way of a grasping paw and spreading it between her hands.

“How did you even get this?” she demanded. “You raiding Gold’s wardrobe now, you little sneak-thief?”

She inspected the tie, biting her lip in dismay as she saw the dirt coating it, and the tiny silk threads pulled loose. The logo on the back announced that it was Armani, and Lacey wanted to groan. 

“You’re killing me,” she said flatly. “I bet this thing cost more than my best shoes.”

Darcy wriggled, paws swatting at the air, and Lacey heaved a sigh as she glanced at the pink house next door. Great. Think this might take more than a coffee and muffin to make up for.

She glanced down at herself, noting that she was in a short nightdress and robe and very little else. Okay, I am definitely putting on clothes before I go over there. Gold can wait until I’ve had my coffee before he loses his shit.

Her head jerked around as she heard her phone ringing in the kitchen, and she wagged a finger at Darcy before trotting back into the house. She smirked as she saw the name on her phone screen, and flicked at it with her thumb to answer.

“Jefferson,” she said. “What have you got for me?”

“Straight to business, as usual,” sighed Jefferson. “Here I was thinking you were gonna whisper sweet nothings to me for a little while.”

“Stop flirting, you know you don’t mean it.”

“When has that ever stopped me?” 

Lacey chuckled, dropping the tie on the counter as she reached for a cup.

“True enough, I guess.”

“So how are things in Bumfuck, Nowhere?” asked Jefferson, and she rolled her eyes.

“It’s called Storybrooke, and it’s a town. It’s not the back end of beyond, it’s bigger than you think.”

“Bet you can’t get pizza after eleven pm.”

“That is not the mark of civilisation, Jefferson.”

“I beg to differ.”

Lacey sighed, amused.

“Do you have information for me or not?” she asked. “Come on, spill, I got shit to do.”

“Okay French, buckle up,” he said briskly. “The not-so-lovely Miss West has had her finger in a number of questionable pies in this town, and your boy has a few secrets to spill.”

Lacey grinned.

“Okay, hang on, let me get my notebook.”

She rummaged in her purse, fishing out her notebook and pencil and flopping into one of the kitchen chairs.

“You owe me a drink, by the way,” added Jefferson.

“You can collect if you ever visit me in Bumfuck - uh, I mean Storybrooke,” said Lacey impatiently. “Now come on, spill!” 

[spiltscribbles]

Hey! I was bored today, and decided to load up Hamilton and thought about your fics. I read them all, they're so good. Any chance you'll bless the fandom with another Hamliza fic? You do such a good job modernizing their relationship. Please consider writing something new, I'll take a paragraph, hell a sentence! lol. Anyway, love your blog and it's always great to see a post from you!

~Notes: holy fuck baby!!! This is so fucking beautiful and kind and so sweet and I can’t even begin to deal😭😭 You are such a sugarplum fairy and I love u to bits!! And the idea that you like my version of them is so crazy!! Ur an angel! And I’m screaming! I just love Eliza so much😭😭 I hope that you like this even slightly!!!!💜💜😌

.-

A Reblog Is Worth A Galaxy!

.-

Occasionally— when Alexander is a bit tipsy and a bit lonely and feeling lightly poetic— he thinks of the cobble stoned pieces that patch together the mosaic of his life. He remembers his mother’s faint laughter, and he pictures Eliza’s iridescent grin on the day of their  wedding. He alternates reminiscing on the different nights at hospital after the birth of each of his children, how he’d count their tiny fingers and smaller toes while Eliza was slumped besides him— flushed and radiant and so, so miraculous. Though the latter half of that image wasn’t there eleven months ago, when she had given birth to baby Will three weeks after the editorial had been published— finally tipping the precarious state of his world to ruin with a brimstone sort of finality. Three weeks after the affair was made public and the light in her eyes that she had always glimmered with whenever gazing at Alexander, was scuffed away permanently, under the heel of his carelessness and his cruelty and his childish cravings to feel needed by someone— by absolutely anyone. 

And as he rocks in the ornate, elm carved chair that his in-laws had bought for Philip’s nursery over sixteen years ago now— with his youngest son in arms— Alexander thinks that it’s right— that it only makes sense that in the handful of memories that are the cornerstones of his existence, Eliza is in the vast majority of them. Eliza with her quiet but strong resilience. Eliza with her breathtaking, but unassuming beauty. Eliza in how she’s always been the beacon of light— a personified  essence of hope— in the center of the tempest that is his life.  A quiet haven that he’s always depended on like nothing else.

Eliza has always been, and will always be the most vital part of it all, the lifeline that pumps breath to his lungs and blood to his heart and makes Alexander feel like he’s finally standing on solid ground. But he doesn’t get to say that out loud anymore, shouldn’t even think it in the privacy of his own mind. Not after the shattered look in her eyes had been embedded permanently, not after the separation had been officialize, and especially not now, while he’s trying to recall that old, French lullaby that Eliza had always crooned to their children before bed while she’s graciously pretending he’s not here.

It had been a stipulation in the agreement that they scrounged up over half  a year ago now. Alexander has been relegated to the loft they keep in Murray Hill while Eliza and the children remain residing in the estate right outside the city limits— The Grange. But because she’s always been touched by an otherworldly kindness that Alexander has never witnessed in another soul, Eliza told him that mornings before school and dinners before bed are open for him to visit while she finishes the work she has for the non prophet she had helped build. “You don’t get to lose your kids just because it didn’t work out with us Alex— They’re your family and I won’t be the one to take them away from you, not ever.”

When she had said as much, quiet and precise and void of the warm inflections he would always lose himself inside of whenever she spoke— Alexander wanted to absolutely ball. He wanted to fall to his knees right then and beg her not to say that— not to toy with the idea that it was really and truly over between them. He wanted to tell her that he loves her, and he loves her and he’ll always love her no matter what.

But for perhaps the first time in his life, Alex had held his tongue and only thanked her for always being the best of the lot. He was afraid if he spoke his true thoughts out loud he’d make that torn, desperately pained look melt back into her features like those first few weeks after the Twitter trends and media frenzy and poisonous gossip spreading through the circle of blue bloods that Eliza had been the heiress of since birth, and where Alexander had fought tooth and nail to belong. But besides that, he thinks he was mostly terrified that she wouldn’t betray any emotion at all— That she’d stay still and frozen and detached— forever out of his reach all over again.

Alexander’s heart twists up in an ugly, painful sort of way at the memory of that tragic brunch between them, and he physically shakes his head— as if the pictures of that afternoon  could just fall out his ears and disappear into the powder blue curtains like dust.

Gingerly, Alexander kisses Will’s downy hair, and sets him into the crib with a final inhale to get him through the night before coming back tomorrow morning. And while he pads through the hall, he quietly peers into the bedroom of each of his kids. Listens to the hushed snoring from Jamie and Johnny’s room, before he looked into how Angie has swathed herself with pink blankets in her own, finally glancing into Philip and AJ’s at the end of the hall, bracing himself for how his eldest inevitably  tosses him a cursory glance from over his shoulder while he taps away on his new laptop. Philip’s stopped the sneers and the clipped replies after Eliza had scolded him for as much right after the pamphlet’s release, but the ice like overture between them hadn’t lessened, and no matter how much it breaks his heart that his pride and joy doesn’t ever look at him like Alexander is his hero— like he had when he was younger— he’s strangely proud. He’s proud that Philip is steadfast in his loyalty to his mother and has a moral code that Eliza had nurtured in each of them.

“You almost done with that civics paper?” He tries for broke, talking in a hush like he was afraid to spook him.

Philip’s jerky nod is all Alexander gets before he snaps his gaze back to the screen, and he takes it like a sacrament, gently shutting the door once again and shuffling downstairs to the main level of the house.

It feels like his heart lodges somewhere deep in his throat when he enters the living room only to be taunted with the sight of Eliza curled into the side of the sofa, nightgown loose on her shoulders, and dark hair piled into a messy topknot while she nibbles on the end of a pen that she’s most likely using to mark up the novel in her hands. It’s the same volume of Arthurian legends that she’s been paging through for the past few days, and he knows it’s something to do with a child at one of the group homes she visits on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, the one who is enthralled by the folklore of it all.

And it’s like an ache— a gnawing and crippling sort of yearning that he feels as he watches the image of her that he’s seen a hundred times before, wanting to thumb at the ink smattering her cheek and lips and chin. And if this was a year ago he would’ve done just that— Hell, he would’ve kissed them away with tender lips as he gathered her small form into his arms and he would’ve waxed poetic about her and her mind and her body all night long.

Or maybe not.

Maybe he would’ve simply teased her before dropping a kiss to her forehead and retreating to his study to finish the latest bill that the president wants on the house floor before the next congressional recess. Maybe Alexander never really deserved her and it took this— them split apart and tattered— for him to realize all the things he should’ve done. All the exaltations he should’ve whispered against her skin and all the caresses he should’ve massaged against her bones and all the ways he should’ve worshipped her all along. And when Eliza looks up— a strand of hair falling prettily over a large eye and the moonlight dancing atop her with a graceful sort of panache— he feels a sick sort of despair that maybe he’ll never get that chance again. Maybe she’ll leave it to Andre now.

The thought of John Andre makes Alexander’s insides pulse with a sort of anger he doesn’t think he’ has ever known, makes his fucking arteries clog with distain. But he hasn’t said anything about him to Eliza, even though he knows that ever since her ex-boyfriend has moved back into town, he’s been pursuing her non-stop, was regaled about the flowers and the letters and the diamond tennis bracelet by a peculiarly snide, but disappointed Angelica, and he knows that his sister-in-law, between her own children and her own job as the secretary of sate, has been silently rooting for Alexander to get his shit together, to prove himself worthy enough for a second chance with the sister she loves with all her heart. And he thinks that it’s almost funny that one of the most brilliant minds he’s ever known, isn’t perceptive enough to understand that Alexander had never been worthy enough for a chance with Eliza in the first place. So it’s fucking impossible now, with everything that has past and all the ghosts between them.

“Oh,” Eliza says once she finds him just standing their, gazing down at her like some sort of pathetic drifter trying to find respite from a prophet. “Will fell asleep then?”

“Erm, yeah. Yeah he was good.” Alexander replies, tries not to sputter. “Only one who’s up is Pip.”

“Not for long,” Eliza mutters mischievously, tapping a finger against her nose with an endearing sort of diffidence. “I switched the coffee out for decaf before dinner. I reckon he’s got another forty-five minutes in him.”

Alexander can’t help the choked out laughter that spills from his lips, and can’t help relishing in the helium like levity streaming through his extremities— the heady feeling that only Eliza’s ever been able to evoke. “You’re wicked.”

“I’m a concerned mother, and our son is a bit of a spaz if you hadn’t noticed?” She retorts mildly, single brow cocked as she returns to her novel. And no— God no, Alexander can’t refrain from delving back into the easy, life affirming bliss it has always felt when they talked with one another— whether it’s platitudes or past traumas or anything in-between. So like a man about to plunge into the churning ocean waves— ready for death or the best thrill of his life— Alexander eases besides her, three feet apart but close enough to smell Eliza’s  favorite jasmine shampoo wafting in the space between them.

“You enjoying the legends then?”

Eliza flickers her bright eyes back to him, uneasy and guarded. And it hurts like nothing else when he remembers how he was once able to read her open face like a favorite book that had been highlighted and underlined to hell. “Uh-huh, it’s an interesting set of stories. I think I understand why Dante enjoys them so much.”

“OH?”

“Mhmm. There’s this one myth, about one of Arthur’s knights, Sir Gawain, who was promised to this old crone and when he kisses her she becomes a fair maiden.”

Alexander isn’t sure what is going on here, knows that this is the most Eliza’s spoken to him outside the children’s schedules for months, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he nods along eagerly, silently pleading for her to continue on with the summary.

“Yes, well. After she transforms, she gives him a ultimatum of sorts. Tells him that either she can stay beautiful in the daylight while they’re apart, or only at night while they’re together.” She meets his gaze head on— steadiness boring into his uncertainty. And even though he still hasn’t a clue what’s happening, he feels it in his bones that this is so very important, so he doesn’t falter, breathes in deep and doesn’t let his glance stray to her lips or her collarbone or where her hands are clutching tightly to the volume now.

“And what did he choose?”

Eliza purses her lips, like she’s not sure to tell him anymore, but something in his expression must’ve convinced her, because she shrugs a slight shoulder while standing and slapping the book shut. “He doesn’t. Tells her it’s her choice and her’s alone.”

And oh.

It’s like a punch in the gut when Alexander finally comprehends.

“Good,” he says, voice gone a bit haggard. “He should just wait until she makes up her mind.”

Remarkably, that seems to have been the right thing to have said, because the ends of Eliza’s plump lips actually quirk up into an etherial grin that’s not so threadbare like all the ones he’s seen for far too long.

“Good night, Alexander.”

“Good night, Eliza,” he replies,  feeling like sunlight is finally beginning to filter through the frost when her small hand dusts across his cheek for only a sparing moment. And while he watches her putter upstairs, Alexander knows with all his heart that he would wait for an eon just for Eliza to decide whether he’s worth letting back into her world.

.-

~My FIC Index~ 

Is where you can read my other Hamliza works!!!



[radioheadyaoi]

sometimes, i feel yellow

jjpope fanfiction. angst/fluff. second/first pov. pope centric, jj backstory. taglist: @dreamypope @pope-obx @drspock @playitaagain @bipopeheyward @ronnieweasley @pluto-the-planet1 @shipperssafehaven @jjbaymank (let me know if you want to be added!)

You are on a swing. The world is pushing against you. You are becoming one with the sky, your bones falling to the ground.

This is what what dying feels like. It feels good for a moment, all high and light, then, you swing back down and hit rocks. Everything shatters. Your feet crumple first, the your legs and suddenly your body folds into nothing.

You get back on the swing. You know nothing but infinity. It starts again.

For a moment, you can smell your mother's cooking and you forget you don't have a mother.

There is a hole in your body bandaids cannot fix. You are only a boy, so empty, so drained and filled with nothing. Everything echos inside you and you can't figure how you got so hollow.

Calloused hands, sleep deprived eyes, aching stomachs. This is not living.

It always feels like its about to rain but it never does.

Your lips are chewed raw and there is blood under your nails.

Sometimes you feel a little whole but mostly, it feels broken.

Snapped twigs abandoned on sandy shorelines and gravel paths with entrances marked with war aged trees.

A camera is smashed into the pavement, no more memories.

Everything is licked by fire. The flames don't go out.

You are on a swing. The world is forcing you into the blank sky. Your skin melts and your skeleton is left out to dry.

Everyone has a silhouette. Not you. You leave no mark. You are nothing, as they say.

You can see your childhood home in the distance, behind the garden, close enough to touch but leaning away from you. It does not want you no matter how much you want it.

Your fingers are sticky and for a moment you can't figure out why until you remember you are scratching your skin until your body is covered in blood. Small wounds let out waterfalls.

You can't get off the swing. Your teeth hurt from gum you don't remember chewing. Your mouth tastes like dry clementines and medicine and ash.

The swings stretch for miles but there is only you. (You are utterly alone.) For a second, you wonder whether you can move to another swing. (You stay put, don't bother trying. Maybe next time, when the sky is lighter.)

The air smells like round pasta and tear drenched line paper. Smiles across the skies and mountains that groan in the mornings.

You tumble off the swing, into the wet dirt. You get back up. You start again.

All you know is infinity.

---

JJ smiles when it’s just us.  All happy, too sweet to ignore.  

I feel so slow.  Everything feels so slow.  Neil is trying.  He is smiling, talking more than he always does, making sure I’m not hungry, not cold.

No, I’m okay.  I’m fine. It’s alright.  Don’t worry about me.

He is trying too hard.  He is doing what he thinks I want.  I don’t want that. I want him.

He doesn’t understand.  I want to love all of him.  All the pieces he loves, all the pieces he hates so much he locks them away.  Those pieces deserve love too.

Sometimes I feel yellow.

I am standing in the kitchen, hands on the counter, staring out the window at the sky.

Thick soupy yellows and watery ones that spread far across every little thing.  Corns and suns and sand at the bottom of the ocean. Nail polish and wide skirt dresses and pens and cereal your mother buys.

The oven is beeping.  JJ shuts it off.

He comes in and stands behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, puts his head on my shoulder.  I can feel every breath he breathes out, every sigh. He fits perfectly into me.

I don’t know why I feel this way, nobody else does.  JJ doesn’t ask why.

He is making me see stars.

Him.  Him. Him.

I wanted him to be angry at me for feeling like this. His calm was angry. I wanted JJ to shout, hate me a little in his soul. This was JJ. Only angry sometimes, never at me.

He kissed the palms of my hands and held them tight.

"Its okay," he says. "To be upset."

I hate this feeling that's inside me. I hate his calm.

My body slumps and I fall into JJ. My cheeks are all hot. The room is too hot. He doesn't try and kiss me but I wish he would. He tells me to breath instead.

One two three. One in one out. Again again again.

JJ cares. Its strange to think how someone like JJ, drowned in loss and broken things, can try again just to love me. Hold me tighter tighter tighter, trying. (That's the wonder of it, isn't it? He tries.)

He is fixing my broken pieces.

---

There are three freckles on his hip bone. Three small boats in an ocean of skin. I kiss them all.

He traces over the crescent scar on my back. JJ is all fuzzy around the edges, cheeks flushed from the wine we shared. He gets like this, all soft and lazy, tired, eyes barely open, mouth slightly closed. I kiss all the giggles off his mouth.

"Where did you get this," he asks.

"My grandfather's stupid fucking dog," I say. He laughs.

Love is not all knowing. It tries to be. It is all naked, trying to understand all the mysteries under skin and veins.

There's a scar on his wrist. I don't want to know where it's from

(Before, when I couldn't sleep, I would stare up at the ceiling, out the window, go downstairs and listen to the kitchen shake. Now, I can turn into JJ and let him hold me. Love has made me soft.)

I cannot sleep.

"What's this," I ask JJ, pointing to the almost round scar on his cheek. Its impossibly small but I'm surprised I never noticed it. There's one by his ear too, that I didn't see before this.

JJ smells like sunken ships devoured by waves and clean bed sheets. (This is my favorite smell.) There's dirt under his nails. There's a lake in his eyes.

JJ smiles all sad, like rain, shrugs the best he can. That's all I get.

Everything feels like a secret.

"Can I show you something?" JJ asks. I nod. I wasn't sleeping anyways.

He pulls me out of bed. He's wearing my sweater.

---

Everything is covered in goosebumps.

In the clearing of trees behind the house, there is three gravestones, one brand new, the others crumbling with time. The crack in the forest opens up to new winds. I shiver. This feels like an unhealed wound, glowing red, on cold skin.

There's a tombstone for someone named Molly. Aged eleven.

JJ says nothing. I turn to the other grave. The leaves crack under my shoes.

"My father died after Molly did. He had been dying a long time but she finished him off." No sadness in his voice. I can taste the spice from dinner on my lips and wonder, only for a second, if JJ can too.

"My mother died just after I met you." I can't figure out why he's telling me this, especially now, when I am trying to find sleep. The urge to vomit bubbles in my throat, I fight it back down into my stomach. He grabs my hand and I grib it tight. I wish I had a coat.

We stand there. I turn, kiss him. I can taste the wind in his mouth.

---

I dream. I do not want to.

Are you drowning in the ocean or in his eyes?

There's a cake on the table, perfectly decorated. I sit down, take a bite. The icing cracks and the floor breaks.

I need to grab something. There is nothing. Something creaks, I don't know what. The sky is black, the dirt is orange. I vomit. Flowers sprout.

There is no JJ, only the jacket he likes. I put it on. I am warm. The ground steadies, just a little. My head stops spinning.

Running. I am running from something.

I stop. There is nothing behind me.

A girl is sitting by the pool. Long hair the color of the stars, her dress dipping into the ground. She smells like cherry ice pops and watermelon juice. She smiles. Her voice sounds like thunder.

"Are you drowning in the ocean or in his eyes?"

I can see the freckles in his hip, the three little boats.

In his eyes, I think.

---

I wake up.

I remember, when I first moved in, I did not love him because I did not know him.  I loved what he did for me, the risk he took by letting me in, letting me stay.  We fell into routine. He made dinner on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. I made dinner Monday, Wednesday and Friday.  We went out on Saturday and ordered in whenever we felt lazy. I did laundry at the end of the week and he did his smack dab in the middle.  His clothing mixed into mine and we did it all in one load. He let me pick whichever room I wanted and stay up as late as I wanted and drive the car, all I had to do was ask. 

Everything finally felt good.  

We mixed well together.

I remember when he took me out, finally, after waiting for so long.

Halfway through dinner, JJ had spoken up.

“Would you like to go on a date?”

There’s a bruise on his cheek, a brown flower, that wasn’t there last night.  

Dinner is soup.  My turn. I didn’t go out to get another and there wasn’t much in the kitchen.  We needed to go grocery shopping.  

“With you?”  He nodded. I stuttered.  “Sure, where?”

JJ had shrugged  “I can figure something out,” he said   “Unless you have an idea.” I shook my head.  I’ve only been on one or two dates. I don’t know what people like to do.  

I didn't say anything else.  He said: “Are you free tonight?”  I can only nod. This whole interaction is so odd.  It’s not the kind of thing I would ever expect from JJ, or anyone else.

I lied.  I’ve never been on any dates.

JJ smiled at me then, a real one.  A rare occurrence, but always a welcome one.  

I don’t want to spend the rest of dinner in silence so I say:  “We need groceries.” JJ nodded.

“Anything specific?”  He asked.

“Well, I had a few ideas for my days, and then whatever you want.”

Jesus Christ.  So domestic, like a married couple that still loves each other.  “Make sure to get two loaves of bread. We eat them too quickly.”  He smiled. I offered a half lipped smile back, not reaching my eyes, though I pray he doesn’t notice.  

He goes off, talking about a book, something that happened, I can’t tell.  He laughs and I join in, only half alert of the story he’s telling. He throws up his arms to gesture to something and I nod.  He feels so alive.

I had never wanted to be loved by anyone more.

We're disasters, him and I.

---

I go back to sleep. I dream. There is a corn maze.

---

I walk to the maze, take a deep breath and step inside.

Every outside sound disappears.  I can only hear the plants moving in the wind and the sound of my own breath.  The wind feels a little colder and something clicks in my head. It’s an ocean of calm, the fields grown high enough to frame the sky.  It’s just you and heaven. Alone.

(I don’t like alone.  But I like this.)

This is not fall.  This is winter in an orange coat.  Autumn is thick with family. Winter takes the long path home, all alone.  Everything smells like dirt.

Everything everything everything.  This is the only word I know.

Go home, the wind is saying.  What is home. Is it JJ or is it with Mom?  Is it the town? Does it not exist?

I go home.  Wherever that is.

---

It's morning. All I can think of is Molly. Why he never mentioned it, and why then.

JJ smiles. He is made of secrets.

He is homes and I am drowning in his eyes.

[miss-choco-chips]

Janet Drake...

...and the time her son went to a Gala for her. But because it’s Gotham, of course all went to shit.

Or, Tim always begged for a little brother. Then he got Damian, and now he’s sorry he even asked.

(Shoutout to my girl @the-quiet-carrotcake who asked for Tim at an event trying to defuse a situation. Ye ask and I shall deliver)

---.---

All things concerned, the night wasn’t going so bad. Granted, he was taking cover behind a turned table to avoid getting shot, desperately clutching Damian’s hand because the kid seemed ready to jump over it and take a swing at the enemy, but… well. He could think of worse scenarios.

For one, Batman could be in town. Sure, it’d be better, in this circumstances, to have the Dark Knight crashing through the crystal roof to put and end to -a quick glance over the table- Two Face’s scheme of the night, but hey, bright side, he didn’t need to worry about Damian and his father meeting yet.

Also, Dick and Jason could be here, caught in the crossfire with all the other party attendants. As it was, Tim was fairly sure they’d be showing up soon, in a completely different suit, and since the whole ball room was now decorated with bullet holes, the party would have to be cut short. Score.  

Also, mom would freak out once she heard Tim had been caught in the middle of a shooting on the one party she asked him to go to in her place, and thus would never ask him to endure this torture again. 

On the flip side… Damian was no longer holding his hand. 

He jumped over the table without a second thought, cursing the kid under his breath, totally exposed to projectiles but desperately needing to make eye contact with the brat, even if just to murder him with his glare before dying.

As expected, Damian was sneakily making his way closer to Two Face’s goons, who were speaking about some new law the mayor was planning to make, and how half the attendants were possible votants on it passing or not… or some bullshit like that. Tim couldn't focus on them now, okay, he had a very dangerous, very stupid pre teen to capture and drag back to safety, assassin trained or not.

Of course, that was the moment another Rouge choose to make her appearance. What the hell was Poison Ivy doing here? 

A little to his left, he watched a businessman, Mr Withyork shrinking into himself, trying to look as small and unnoticeable as possible. Wasn’t this the dude planning to build a mall on a wasteland a little south to Diamond District? Since wildlife had flourished there, it was no wonder Ivy had some opinions on the matter. Also, if Tim remembered right, this particular man was one of the confirmed votants that would reject the law passing, which went along with Two Face’s preferences.

For a full minute, the goons and the plant lady just looked at each other, completely stumped. It wasn’t often that one Rouge’s scheme clashed with another: the same man they had to protect, she intended to kill.

Looking at the half cooked goons, and then at the majestic plant goddess, Tim had a hunch on who’d win if they ended up crossing blades. 

And Damian was still inching closer to the criminals.

Fuck it all to hell.

-Emm, Doctor Isley! 

The entire room went dead silent. Damian, directly behind one of the goons, dropped the knife he had managed to smuggle in despite Tim’s careful check before leaving the manor. He was staring at Tim like one would a bunny who jumped directly between wolves fighting for territory, offering itself as a snack for the ravaging beasts. 

It… wasn’t so far away from reality. But it was all his fault for making Tim take action to keep him safe, and he told him so with a glare before returning it to Poison Ivy, the obvious prime predator in the room.

Well, he already started…

-If you’d allow me, Doctor, I might speed this thing for you, no need for you to dirty your… -he looked at the vines, slowly and steadily making their way to Mr Withyork- babies.

Ivy raised an eyebrow, casually swinging her hips as she made her way to where he was standing, on the middle of the empty dance room, holding himself tight to avoid the disgrace of shaking. Men and women watched from behind their covers, some gasping at the inevitable slaughter they were about to see, but not moving a finger to help him. The only one looking kinda relieved was Mr Withyork, since Ivy’s vines left their path towards him to tangle around Tim’s ankles. It didn’t hurt, but it was a clear warning: don’t run.

He did his best to keep his eyes on her, despite the fear icing his veins. Looking somewhere between her mouth and eyes, not daring to let his gaze rest on either for long, and absolutely refusing to allow them  to wander even lower; that was a death sentence waiting to be signed.

She hummed appreciatively, stopping just in front of him. Tim could barely make out Damian’s silhouette in the background, stealthily taking the weapons on the goons slacked hands. Everyone’s gazes seemed to be on Tim and the ruthless criminal he was currently trying to persuade. 

-So polite -she noticed, tilting her head and twisting her body slightly, the new posture making her chest area more prominent. Tim kept his gaze firmly above the chin. She smiled, and if he were a smaller (dumber) kid, he’d think her charmed-, and a gentleman, too. What are you, eleven? Ten?

He swallowed, hard.

-Thirteen, Doctor. I’m small for my age, I’m told.

She made the little humming sound again, eyes scanning him up and down.

-Well then, I’m waiting. You said there was a way for this to end peacefully. I don’t mind the other way, but for a little thing like you to speak up… You deserve to be heard, at least.

Tim stood straighter, breathing deeply. His head wasn’t already rolling, so it was a good sign, right? She seemed amused by him, at least.

-Drake… Drake Industries is looking into real estate, to build a green area. To… to help against pollution. It’s, ah, a charity I talked my mother into creating… Mr Withyork’s wasteland would be perfect for this endeavour. Would that be okay with you? I can assure you, on my life, that we’ll make sure to protect any and all wildlife within those bounds, and…

He started to stammer when Ivy’s face came closer to his, examining him silently. 

-I could just kill anyone who tries to build something there -she purred-, no need for you to worry your pretty little head over it, child. 

He swallowed again.

-But… but then your plants… they’d be stained with blood and body parts… -he tried, nervously looking behind her. Damian was slowly inching closer to him, apparently done with taking the unsuspecting thug’s firearms.

-Good fertilizer -she shrugged, unbothered, but still too damn close. She seemed to find amusing Tim’s desperate attempts at looking anywhere but her chest, which she had purposely put directly on his field of vision.

-But… Damian! -he shouted abruptly, noticing how said brat was now just behind Ivy and brandishing a dagger. Quick as a whip, he reached past her, took Damian’s arm in his and dragged him behind his own back, using all the training he received from Nicole’s friend, Shiva, to smoothly disarm Damian and hide his weapon on his own coat, without Ivy noticing it. Good thing she was so close, then, since her own vision field was thus reduced.

At Ivy’s arched eyebrow, he quickly changed tracks. Turning and hugging Damian’s head tightly against his chest (to keep him from speaking), he raised his eyes to the criminal with his best cow eyes, the ones that more often than not got his mother to surrender.

-Damian, my cousin… he’s… he’s so young, Doctor Isley. Please, I just… I want to keep him from seeing something like that for as long as I can.

Said innocent lamb started to furiously fight against Tim’s hold, undoubtedly with something to say to that. Tim bent his head closer to him, whispering into his ear.

-Stay still and keep quiet, or I swear to whatever God you answer to that I’ll leave you to fend for yourself against my mom once this is all over with.

Damian froze. Tim looked at Ivy again, one hand carefully stroking Damian’s hair, eyes widened with surrow.

The woman clinically analyzing them seemed to rethink her opinion on Tim, head tilted in confusion. A spark of warmth lightened her eyes like a poisonous flower.

-You are a brave little seed, speaking up like that for him -Ivy mused, eyes twirling. She gave him a smile-. Fine. I’ll allow that scum to live today, as long as he sells the property to you, and you give it the promised use. If I find out you are lying…

-I’m not -he blurted out, letting Damian go but taking his hand hostage, making sure to keep his grip irontight. The little shit better not run away again; Tim doesn’t think he can face off against another criminal today-. Thank you so much, Doctor Isley. 

Ivy grinned, a little charmed despite herself, and looked over her shoulder to Two Face’s thugs.

-I’m done here. Tell your waste of space boss to not meddle in my business again, or else.

‘They never did’, Tim refrained to say. The moment she stepped into the room, they had put a halt to their actions, and even before that, it’s not like they were there to specifically target her. But still, mom didn’t raise no dummy, so he kept his mouth shut, head bowed to the Rouge.

He startled, taken by surprise when he felt her hand reaching behind his ear. Damian made an aborted motion to shove her away, and Tim was quick to hid it by twisting his body in front of his, acting as if he were looking at his reflection on the window by their right. He could hear Damian growling at his back, but better pissed than dead.

There was a flower, on his hair. Pretty big, blue with some grey splashes, and a touch of golden pollen. The contrast against his dark hair was startling, but it did look good with his eyes. Briefly, he wondered if it was poisonous, and just how pathetic it’d be to die because of a flower.

-There, little seedling. If you ever want to venture into my domains, that should assure none of my babies eat you before you can reach me -and with that she stepped away, letting her plants take her through the broken window she had entered by.

He had survived. Miracles of miracles. And judging by the shadows he could see about to break through the crystal roof, Nightwing and Robin were here already, so the thugs (disarmed by Damian, not that they were aware of the fact yet) were mostly done for.

This was as good a moment as any to faint, he guessed.

Everything went black, the last thing he heard being Damian’s scared shout. Even unconscious, he never let go of the little shit’s hand.

[dibidibifiction]

Criminal In My Mind: Chapter 4

Warning: foul language

Pairing: Choi Minho x Reader Word count: 1.6k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction made for personal entertainment of readers. The writer does not ever intend to offend her readers nor does she aim to spread false information about anyone as to pay any disrespect to the real-life persons whom the characters are based on. She also does not claim ownership to any of the images that are being used.

masterlist Chapter 3

MINHO

I tend to check up on Taemin every time I see him on campus ever since he got beaten up a week ago. So far, nobody has been following him anymore. My shift at the café has just ended and now, I’m cleaning myself up a little bit for our Landscape Photography class at three, which is in twenty minutes. 

So I hurry up, grab my backpack, bow to Manager Jinki goodbye, and head out the glass doors.

I’ve been studying at this school for over a year now and no one has attempted to befriend me but Taemin. He’s the only one who bothers to ask me to hang out with him and his friends, yet I always ignored him. This may sound cheesy but I kind of appreciate him that way. I don’t know why I’m just realizing this now.

I’m just walking to class when suddenly, I feel a cold breeze touch my skin, chills down my spine follows. A man from afar reveals himself right before my eyes, wearing the hood of his jacket over his head. 

I stop abruptly. Why is he staring at me? I’m starting to sweat and my heart decides to beat faster than it should, as if telling me to panic. 

I attempt to run the other way but I bump into Taemin. He seems frightened. Was he walking behind me all this time?

“Minho Hyung,” his eyes widen. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” I lie.

“Let’s go to class together.”

I fake a smile and glance back at the spot where I saw the familiar presence, but he’s gone.

. . .

I managed to come through during class since I have a growing passion for photography. It kind of distracted me from what I encountered earlier. 

What I love most about photography is that it’s instantly still with just a click of a button on the camera. You can edit things the way you want it and create something else out of them. But something about its steadiness gets to me and calms me down. I hadn’t known that I had this love for it until I finished high school since I lived my life unhappy and meaningless. I always thought it was too late to find my passion but if it wasn’t for my mother, I’d be wanting to kill myself today.

Now that class is over, I’m back to my fear. I swear I saw him die. Was that really him? How did he find me? How long has he been following me?

I step out of the building when Taemin calls out to me, running.

“Hyung!” He catches up. “Do you have class after this?”

“Yeah, Art History in about half an hour,” I answer him, trying to hide my sinking soul at the moment.

“Oh, okay. Do you have some time later to work on our assignment? I picked you as my partner,” he informs me, smiling.

I stare at him blankly. I must have missed something since I have no idea what he’s talking about. My thoughts are running in circles right now.

“Hyung?” 

“Oh,” I come to my senses. “Yes, sure. Come by my apartment tonight at eight. I’ll text you the address.”

“Great. I’ll buy us dinner,” he says, then runs towards his friends gathered around by the grass. 

. . . 

It’s all coming back to me at the same time. The huge dark room full of barrels, the echoing cries, all the drilling, guns firing. 

And the girl. I don’t remember her face, but what I do remember is her eyes. Her wide brown eyes always twinkled with tears. Her left iris had a distinct but subtle little white spot. I tried to look for her days after I lost her that night but she’s nowhere to be found. I just hope she’s alive and well to this day. It's a shame I didn’t get her name.

I jump awake from my deep thoughts when something thuds to the floor. It’s a book that was in Taemin’s hands. He's already fallen asleep on the couch. 

I turn to my wall clock and it’s already one in the morning. How long have we been working?

I decided to go out and buy drinks from the convenience store nearby. When I’m about to reach for my jacket on the armrest, Taemin shakes awake.

“What time is it?” he asks as he yawns, wiping drool off his chin.

“Ten past one. I’m going to the store. Do you want anything?”

“I’ll go with you. I don’t know what I want but I’m kinda hungry,” he says as he gets up and puts on his college hoodie.

So we go down from the apartment and walk to the nearest little grocery store which is just two minutes away. 

“How long have you known Y/n?” I ask Taemin, hoping to sound casual.

“She started working at my dad’s flower shop about three years ago. I was still in high school then and she was about to graduate college. My dad and I never met anyone before who is as passionate about flowers as she is. She reminds me a lot of my mom. The shop was originally hers, but then she died of ovarian cancer when I was eleven.”

“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry,” I sympathize.

“It’s okay. We’re lucky to have found Y/n Noona. Aside from handling the shop for us, she has been the big sister I never ha- Holy shit, speak of the devil!” His jaw drops as soon as he sees something ahead.

I follow his eye direction and to my surprise, there is Y/n walking wobbly toward our way, the high heels of her shoes almost twist her ankles. Is she drunk? Where did she come from? And why is she alone at this hour?

Taemin runs to her and grabs her when she almost falls forward. “Noona, you’re drunk again. Are you with someone?” he says, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, there’s my little Taemin!” she shouts despite their close distance. “When did you get so strong and handsome and all grown up?”

Taemin can’t contain his laughter now. He looks my way and mouths, Watch this. “Noona, wanna come home with me?” he says to her with a matching wink.

“Fuck no! Are you out of your mind?” She pulls him away. “I’m saving myself for someone special now. Someone worth my time. Do you have any idea how many guys I’ve dated? None of them came through for me and I’m sick of it! None of them even cared about how I felt,” she starts weeping.

I can’t help but chortle at the cute sound of her cry.

Taemin frowns. “That’s weird, she usually answers that question differently.”

“Hey, Y/n!” a charming guy with short-to-the-roots bleach blonde hair rushes toward her and hits her at the back of the head. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You got me fucking worried!” He looks out of breath.

“Kibum Hyung!” Taemin exclaims. They all seem to know each other. We’re currently in my neighborhood but I feel like the outsider.

Y/n flinches as she scratches her head at the spot where she got hit. 

“Are you okay?” I ask her in concern. 

She catches my eye and giggles. She slowly draws nearer toward me, then wraps her tiny arms around my neck so she can stand straight. 

“I might be dreaming but I think I finally found you,” she whispers as her face gets an inch closer to mine.

I swallow as my heart begins to skip a beat. I’d stare back into her eyes but they’re almost shut. Something about her scent mixed in with soju is pleasurably intoxicating. 

Before I know it, she leans in and softly touches her lips onto mine. Without a thought, I’m kissing her back after two seconds when she starts to open her mouth slightly as her tongue reaches out to mine. I suddenly feel goosebumps throughout my arms. My knees weaken and sweat starts to form on my scalp. My hands turn into fists for getting this urge to hold onto her waist but, for some reason, I can’t. I'm frozen.

At some point, she falls sideways to the ground but I come to my senses and somehow catch her.

I did not expect this at all.

. . .

I went to work at six this morning to open the café for the day. I usually almost never have a smile on my face when I wake up because I don’t really like waking up so early. But today, I can’t help but find myself jumpy and smiley. 

It is now half-past nine and customers have come in and left, minding their own perspective moments under the sun. 

The chime of the entrance catches my attention as I watch Kibum walk in. Even though he is still in his home wear and hungover, he still manages to look good. Maybe he has a natural talent for staying a gorgeous man no matter what state he’s in. With his gray shorts, plain white hoodie, and a pair of gold aviator glasses. 

He approaches the counter and sees me, “Oh, hey, it’s you. I didn’t know you work here.”

“Yeah, I do. I just started last week,” I smile back. “So what can I get you?”

“Hot low-fat latté and iced black coffee. Y/n’s coming in later. She’s still in bed moaning like a grandma,” he chuckles.

“Oh, right,” I nod. “How is she doing?”

“She’ll be fine. She’s always been like that when she drinks too much.”

“Good to know,” I am relieved to know. “Go on, have a seat and I’ll get your drinks ready.”

Chapter 5

[cubeswhump]

Will Not be a Victim for my character, Blondie.

The neglected Blondie. I need to get back to my Powers Verse too. And the immortal bitches. I have a Sweetie and Michelle story drafted though.

Warnings for mentions of violence, referenced torture, bit of ableism. Pretty tame compared to what I usually write.

The phone rang from her nightstand, and again, and again. Then it started pinging with texts: Terry-Ellen has spoken to me but my own daughter won’t answer her phone.

I’ll be arriving at your house at 6PM.

Blondiw growled and dialled the number. The phone rang only twice before the deep voice came on the other line: “Oh, so you’ve decided to stop ignoring me?”

“Fucking hell, Dad. I’m twenty-three,” Blondie reminded him. “Chill.’

"Language, Melinda,” he scolded lightly. “I don’t care of you’re eighty-three. You’re still my daughter and we just got you back. I need to be sure that you’re okay.”

"I'm fine, Dad."

"Are you really?"

Blondie pinched the bridge of her nose. Don't call him a nosy twat, don't call your dad a nosy twat. She breathed out. "You hired a fucking bodyguard for me. "That's humiliating enough, and now you're prying into my life like I'm a child."

"Language. Good lord, you take after your mother," he sighed. "Who are you embarrassed in front of? You haven't left your house in more than two weeks." His voice was so even and annoyingly calm. Blondie swallowed back the snarl crawling up her throat. "Is it really prying to be concerned about my daughter? I just want to know that you're okay. I haven't seen you since-"

"Okay, okay, I'll stop by tomorrow. No need to stop by." She knew her father would have some words if she saw the state her house was in. Tej wasn't hired to clean after the slob, and no one had patched up the hole Blondie punched in the living room.

"Are you sure? If I come over you can stay home and rest," he offered.

"You just got on my ass for staying in my house!"

"You know that is not what happened, Melinda."

"I'll be there at eleven in the morning, okay?"

"I'll expect you by twelve."

Blondie huffed and hung up as he chuckled.

***

Tej was prodding her. "Get up. We've gotta go soon."

Blondie lifted her head abd ahot rhe other wonan a glare. "There's no we. You're staying home."

"You know that's not how it works," she said, unfazed. "I'll make you coffee."

"Don't." Blondie pyr one foot on the floor and grabbed one crutch. The other must have fallen over at some point in the night, and Blondie whacked Tej with the crutch in her hand when the thin woman tried to help her retrieve the fallen one. "Scram, bitch."

"Very nice, " Tej said sarcastically, handing her the crutch anyway. She caught the crutch Blondie swung at her. "Have you ever considered treating the help like people?"

"Go on, call me a bitch. There's nothing in your contract that says you can't insult me, yeah?"

"I'll leave you to get dreased," Tej said dryly. "Your hair looks nice. Did you wash it?"

She shut the door behind her just in time for the television remote to crash into the wood.

Blondie had only worn bath robes and undergarments for the last few weeks and she hadn't gotten to modifying any pants to her new body. Skirts? No, fighting in a skirt wasn't a great idea - if she needed to fight. Fights were always possible.

Shorts. A pair of shorts, one sock, one combat boot. The left bood sat all alone and sad. She kicked it over. Hair in a bun.

"Your coffee, Blondie." Tej shoved the steaming mug right in her face while Blondie was trying to sneak out the front door.

"I told you not to make me coffee," Blondie grumbled.

"Coconut creamer and one Sweet-N-Low," Tej tempted her, voice sing-song.

"I'm getting coffee on the way to my dad's, shithead." And she was out tje door, slamming it behind her - or trying to. Tej caught it just before it closed and slipped out after her.

"Want me to drive? You can relax," Tej offered, reaching for the keyring in Blondie's hand. Blondie jerked it away.

"I'll relax when you're dead. It's my fucking car."

"Cool, cool."

Tej was in the passenger's seat before Blondie had even opened her door so she couldn't even lock her out. Tej smiled at her knowingly. Blondie gripped the steering wheel sp hard her fingers turned white.

Tej tried to make conversation throughout the drive and Blondie turned the volume up a few notches every time she opened her mouth. After a million years, she pulled up in front of the coffee shop.

"I'll get you an iced mocha cappuccino," Blondie said as she got out of the car. Tej was stepping out too.

"Nah, I wanna look at the menu," she replied. Blondie squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth, reciting the "calming phrases" from her counseling sessions as a teenager.

When was this place ever this busy? Blondie sighed as she joined the line, Tej at her side. "You know, you're paying for your own shit."

"That's fair," Tej shrugged. "Your daddy pays me weekly."

Blondie sneered at her.

The line inched forward. A woman and her child joined. Seriously, did the entire fucking town want coffee right now?

"Wow..." the woman said, her voice hushed. "What happened?"

Blondie didn't realize the woman was talking to her until she felt a tap on her shoulder.she turned around, finding the woman's wide eyes on her still-bandaged stump. The little girl stared too, reaching for Blondie's crutch. Blondie jerked it away from her sticky hand and scowled, but neither noticed.

"What happened?" the woman asled again. "Why don't you get a prosthetic leg?"

"I pesteres someone with intrusive questions and she pulled out a machete," Blondie snapped. The woman recoiled.

"Ma'am, you're being very insensitive, and you should teach your child not to touch anyone's mobility aids." Tej launched right into a lecture. "Please treat my friend as you would treat-"

Blondie's temper boiled over. She raised one crutch and bashed it into the woman's knee. Tej's hand clamped over her own mouth as the woman fell over with a screech, dragging her daughter down with her.

"Oops. My bad." Blondie turned her back on the pair.

"Did you see that?" the woman cried as she got back to her feet. The cashier looked over from the customer he was dealing with, frowning.

"I'll be out fast," Blondie promised the cashier. "No trouble."

They walked out with their coffees and gluten-filled breakfast, Blondie's coffee spouting steam that smelled of coconut... Something she could have gotten at home. Tej predictably got a mocha cappuccino.

"I mean," Tej finally said during their resumed drive, mouth full of bagel, "not that I blame you much, but public battery isn't a food luck."

Blondie turned the radio up higher.

The guard let them into the gated, cookie cutter community. Towering houses were identical, painted a cream not a shade lighter or darker than the house nextdoor. Perfect gardens, no blade of grass even a centimeter overgrown. One house had flowers a different shade of pink than the rest. Blondie might have struggled to differentiate the houses if Chase weren't waving frantically at the end of one driveway.

"Melinda, love, how are you?" The large man was coming at her with open arms as she stepped out of the car. She was too slow thinking of an excuse to get out of hugging her stepdad, and he squeezed her tight.

"Peachy," she told him.

He hugged Tej too before letting both women into the house. He was talking a mile a minute and Blondie let Tej handle the conversation.

"I see you brought beverages. No tea then?" he asked. Blondie shook her head. "Oliver's in his study."

"Tell him hi for me," Tej chirped, and Blondie decided she would not do that. She hurried away when the other two started discussing how much they lift at the gym.

115 pounds? Unimpressive, Tej.

She didn't bother knocking on the mahogany door, throwing it right open. "Yo."

Oliver swiveled around in his chair like a James Bond villain. He even looked the part with his coiffed grey hair and serious expression. "Good morning, Melinda. You were almost on time. Have a seat."

"Nice to see you too," Blondie said sarcastically, falling back ontp the plump sofa.

"Oh, no, you're covered in crumbs! Why didn't you brush yourself off outside?"

"Just vacuum later. I had a muffin."

Oliver sighed, turning back to his laptop. "Depending on your recovery time, we'll get you fitted for prosthesis." He flicked through images. Some were very realistic and even matching her skin color, others clunky and robotic, some abstract and hardly resembling a limb. "We should find a design that fits your activity level, preferably a more realistic one. No one has to know. At that point we'll get you to that physical therapist I've been talking to, and-"

"Whoa, hold on a minure. Don't I get a say?" Blondie snapped. "And who said I want a realiatic one? Maybe I don't want to pretend I'm fucking normal."

"Whatever you want, darling. But I'm not going to let you hold yourself back."

"You tell me to take it easy abd slow down and then you get on my ass for being behind the curve. The fuck is that?"

Oliver sighed. He turned back tp his daughter, choosing his next words carefully. "I know how much you enjoy your hobbies. I think it'll be better for your mental health if you get back into dance and martial arts soon."

Back into dance. She was already the largest girl in the studio, dwarfing the tiny instructor even when she was twelve. Skilled as she was, she never had a ballerina's body and her instructor's main complaints were her thundering footsteps and "unladylike gait". Well, at least pointe shoes wouldn't hurt a prosthetic leg.

"It's my body and my life," Blondie reminded him.

"And it's my money that pqid your medical bills," he shot back. She rolled her eyes. "Melinda, you know I just want what's best for you. I want to help you. I need to help you."

"Help yourself first," Blondie snarled. "How's your boytoy?"

"I've been married to Chase since you were eight. Stop calling him my boytoy," Oliver sighed. Any other time, Blondie might have laughed at how annoyed her dad got when she mocked his husband. "And fifteen years isn't such a significant age difference when you're out of your twenties."

"He's a gold-digger."

"He's well worth what he costs, and he loves you like his own daughter. Come on, stop changing the subject. You mean so much to me. You were the victim of such a-"

"I'm not a victim," she hissed, leaning forward in her seat. Her eyes narrowed. "If anyone's a victim, it's that bitch Camilla. You know, queen of the cabbage patch."

Oliver's eyebrows knit together. "Cabbage patch?"

"Because she's a vegetable," Blondie said, and her father sighed heavily.

"I'm not denying that she's a bad person, but you don't need to be discriminatory. Other, much nicer people live with brain damage."

"Dad, shut the fuck up and listen to me," Blondie demanded. "I fought my way out. I'm not a victim!"

"Yes, yes, you're a survivor," he said in a voice like he was placating a toddler.

"No, I'm Melinda fucking Van Doren."

He lifted his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Before anything, you're my daughter and I want what's best for you."

"I actually know what's best for me because I am me."

"I'm your father. I know you pretty damn well."

"Yeah, okay. I'll keep in tough." Blondie started to stand, but Oliver held a hand up.

"Stay for lunch. Samantha made two extra plates."

It still weirded her out that her father had a cook. Her mother missed having servants after the divorce, but Blondie tried her best to keep her home free of employees. And she got stuck with Tej, the most intrusive Van Doren employee.

Chase brought two plates of chicken parmesan to the damn study.

"Workaholic," he said and rolled his eyes, kissing Oliver on the cheek. Blondie rolled her eyes. "Well, I've been having a lovely chat with Miss Tej while you two have been bonding."

Bonding. Sure.

Blondie stabbed into her chicken. She imagined it was the Queen - no, Camilla - that she was stabbing over and over, making sure she never recovered. Because she wasn't the Queen's victim.

She was Melinda "Blondie" Van Doren. She was a fucking hero and people would know that soon.

[fiirecracker]

Flower tag drop //

the traveler’s smallest warlock ( flower. ) / i’m eleven so shut the fuck up ( flower ic. ) / you musn’t let a little thing like ‘little’ stop you! ( flower musings. ) / sometimes you have to be a little bit naughty ( flower aesthetics. ) / these strangers like me ( flower kin. ) / you love me and i love you ( flower relationships. )

[iguessishouldbethankful]

one word prompt:

.break

“-and at eleven, we are scheduled for a photo shoot with Crinkles for their newest cereal brand. I believe it’s Wild Berry flavor. After that, we will need shoot a commercial with Zorgs and Briggs oil company. That’s around two in the afternoon and-”

“Lucy?”

“Hm?” The soft colored rabbit looked up from her paperwork. She seemed as tired as he felt.

“Shut up.” Falco still couldn’t give a shit though.

She sighs, putting her pen down on top of her tablet before giving her full attention. “Lombardi-”

“Falco. Just use my name, we’re at that stage.”

“...Falco.” She clears her throat as thought she was still getting used to addressing him. "I need you to be aware of your schedule. We have two weeks to fulfill some of the sponsorship contracts, and some have already stated that they would like to continue providing funds if Fox wins the Grand Prix.”

“He’s going to win, there’s no damn if in this.” Falco corrected her, his mood already sour because he was sitting down with black coffee at her apartment when he could easily be working in the shop with Fox and Yaru instead. Instead he needed to hear blabbers about contracts. If we had done shit illegally it would have been so much better. Hot rodding isn’t that hard...

“There is when it’s on paper.” Her nose wiggled. “And the faster we get this out of the way, the better it’ll be for everyone. You and Fox have been doing a poor job at keeping up with everything. Expenses, schedules, commercials, even keeping appointments with your lawyer-”

“He can also go fuck himself.”

“Language.”

“Bite me, Lu! You’re not a kid.”

Now that earned him a set of ruby colored eyes as cold as ice staring right back at him with the patience of a stern mother. His crest lifted slightly, alert, despite his anger. “Fox hired me to keep track of everything the two of you couldn’t. It still surprises me that any of you were able to get things done after my father left the team. Now I’m here, I’m trying to help, but I also need your complete cooperation and understanding. Not tantrums worthy of a toddler, Falco.”

I can’t believe I’m being manhandled by a pink rabbit. His arms were still crossed, the smell of black caffeine was hardly a comfort now.

With that, she picked up her pen and tablet once more, marking off some digital notes she took and looking through other points she’s been meaning to get to.

It was like he could see the gears turning in her head. For someone that was as cold as her, she sometimes wore intent on her face.

“I also have something more serious I need to talk to you about.”

“Oh geez. I can hardly wait for this shit.” He knew it. Had no idea what was coming but he knew something was coming. He could smell it. Fresh bullshit.

“Falco, please!” She let out an exasperated sigh, now tapping the pen on her desk like a ticking time bomb.

“I’m the one begging here, please just get to what you need from me!”

“I’ll make you wait here longer if you keep acting like this.” Tap tap tap tap tap-

“Please. Let’s... get this over with.” Falco forced his tone to be much softer. He just wanted to leave.

“That’s better.” Lucy nodded, turning off her tablet. Strange thing to do as she was not finished reading the schedule out to him. “It’s about the Final Round.”

“He’s going to win.”

“I know, that’s not what’s worrying me.”

“What’s worrying you? You said you got security for us. We’re more than capable of defending ourselves. Plus, I’m the best bodyguard Fox will ever have.”

“It’s not the venue, nor the possible attempts that could occur on you and Fox. It’s who will be present there after the conclusion.” Voice remained level, calm, but there was a serious emphasis to what she was saying.

It was something Falco had to think about more than before... And due to the haze in his mind, his talk with his leader, something seemed to have been forgotten. It made his plumes fluff up a little when they were clicking back into place. Sat up slowly, uncrossing his arms. “...They were never there when we started. Why would they show up now?”

“Because in times of peace, entertainment and sports are the new spotlights. And guess who has a bright one on him now.” Lucy seemed relieved that she didn’t have to spell it out to the avian. “My father said that there’s a huge possibility only because he wishes to attend. For our sake.” A silent pause as her eyes lowered to the corner of her desk where a pot of spearmint flowers healthily grew. A green silky ribbon tied around the pot. “He misses us, dearly.”

“...” A long deep intake of air as he felt his muscles slowly relax a little. A possibility. It was not a confirmation. “Yeah. Bet Fox misses him a lot too.” He knew he did, in his own ways.

“He does. I know he does. But military life keeps him occupied. So does my job keeping you two in line.”

“We’re not that difficult, geez.”

“Oh you’re plenty difficult. You alone is like managing an entire class of toddlers.” Before he could insert a word in protest, she swiftly lifted a hand for his silence. “I also need to continue informing you of what the plan is for today. After the commercial, we need to do some charity work.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Papetoon is your home base. You need to participate in either community work or charity. I selected charity as it has less dealings with civilians, but it’s more propaganda. Such as donating money or making an event to raise money. Firefighters do it all the time with semi naked calendars but I’m not giving you that much credit physically-”

Falco leaned back in his chair, chugging the entire mug of black coffee and already knowing he might as well take the entire fucking pot.

---

p1 | p2 | p3 | p4 | p5 | ?

[wildeheathen-blog]

Grave Robbing - Chapter One

Warnings: None for this particular chapter. Perhaps brief mentions of having a gun in ones face?

Summary: Reader gets in over her head when taking a midnight drive for ice cream.

Pairing: Sam | Plus Sized Reader

Word Count: 2,741

Chapter: 1/??

“Call 1-800-SLI-MNOW to try a thirty-day free trial of EVER SLIM Tea!” 

“Ugh…” Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the remote from your bedside table and hit the power button, the screen fading to black and the babbling of the infomercial going silent. Late-night television was always a mixed bag of bad soft-core porn, diet ads and infomercials for erectile dysfunction. You had been watching reruns of Law and Order SVU but after those had ended you’d gone down a rabbit hole of bad TV. It was nearly eleven pm now and most of the ‘day time’ television channels had been replaced with order-by-phone ads. You were surprised they were still around, honestly. On a night like tonight, when even the TV was reminding you of how ‘big’ you were, you had decided that enough was enough. You were either going to commit a crime or pig out on ice cream and it didn’t take long for you to decide which.

Rolling off of your bed, you hiked the penguin printed leggings you wore up over your hips with a shimmy, huffing under your breath as a result of the action displaced one of your boobs from the too-big tank top that you wore.  “Girl just can’t win, can she?” Your words were muttered under your breath as you pulled your top off and grabbed a sports bra off of the top of your hamper of clothes that were clean -- and had been for almost a week if you were being honest with yourself. Picking the shirt you’d been wearing back up, you sniffed it and then shrugged. You’d showered that morning and it wasn’t like you’d done any strenuous exercise unless you counted running across the lawn after your cat who had wormed its way out the front door earlier that afternoon. 

“I’m just going to get ice cream, I’m not even getting out of the car.” You reassured yourself and pull the tank top back over your head, your car keys snatched off of your dresser and a quick check done in the mirror to adjust the messy bun that sat atop your head. It’d been a few days since you’d brushed your hair, but if you were being honest, the lion’s mane had a mind of its own, even with the best of discipline. “There and back. No getting out of the car. It’ll be fine!” You muttered the words once more as if to scold your anxiety into submission. You’d never liked going places on your own, especially this late at night but something had you craving ice cream from the twenty-four-hour drive through that was five miles down the road. 

Bending to give your cat a kiss on its head, you cringed as it sneezed, painting your features with saliva and cat snot. “Gee… thanks a whole lot, Gouda, I appreciate it.” 

The ten-year-old cat that was a few pounds overweight (much like yourself) simply rolled over and exposed its belly with a languid stretch. A certain trap, to be sure. Still, you took the bait and ruffled his fur, the mainecoon in him giving him enough hair that by the time you were done it looked as if he’d been electrocuted. 

“Alright, be good! Don’t be going into Olivia’s room and bothering those ferrets! You know she’s allergic to you!” You whisper-scolded your cat and gave him another pat for good measure before standing up and leaving your bedroom, a hoodie grabbed from one of the hooks on your wall on your way out. 

Making your way down the stairs of the shared townhome, your roommate (who was your exact opposite in both looks and habits) peered at you from the kitchen. She was up late meal prepping and often offered to teach you, though you would rather watch paint dry than plan any meal that involved eating kale willingly. “(Y/N)? Where are you going? It’s almost eleven-thirty. Don’t tell me you’re going to that skeevy drive through again.” Olivia’s voice was worried, and while she had always looked like she had walked out of a fitness magazine she never once judged you for your habits or your appearance. She had been your friend since middle school and while she had grown into her body, you had simply grown into your ‘baby fat’. 

“I’ll be back in like… thirty minutes tops! Promise!” You called from the entryway of the small home, your eyes scanning the various ‘live laugh love’ messages that dotted the walls. It wasn’t your idea of decor but you didn’t own the place so who were you to judge? Hearing a heavy sigh from the kitchen, you groaned and leaned against the wall. You were waiting for her to scold you about your late-night drives. Counting down in your head, you reached ‘one’ right as she appeared from the kitchen, her arms crossed over her slender chest.

“(Y/N) you’ve been going out a lot recently. I don’t really care what you do with your time as you pay all of your bills on time and keep yourself safe but it’s late out, and there was that story on the news about that girl who--”

Holding up your hand, you smiled when she paused. “Livvie, I promise, I don’t exactly fit the profile for being kidnapped. My thigh is bigger than your waist, those creeps would have a hell of a time getting me into the back of a van, especially considering my social anxiety. Puppies or candy aside, they’re not going to fool me. Besides, I’ve got my mace. Like I said, twenty minutes tops.” You knew you had won the argument when she sighed and waved a hand. 

“Fine, but if you get snatched up--”

“If I get snatched up, I promise I’ll ask the bad guys to let you know so that you can bore them to death with your top ten favorite avocado recipes, alright?” You offered her a smile when she rolled her eyes. You always had been sarcastic and now wasn’t any different. 

“Alright, alright, go, just… keep in touch if you’re going to be gone longer, alright? Cute leggings, by the way.” 

Nodding and mumbling something that sounded indicative of confirmation and ‘thanks’ combined into one word, you opened the front door and took a deep breath. Sweet freedom. You loved Olivia but you would have been lying if her health-conscious mannerisms didn’t weigh on your patience occasionally. 

Making sure the door was closed tight behind you, you jogged down the stairs and onto the cracked sidewalk that stretched out between a small, but neatly managed yard. There were garden beds to either side, raised and lush with different herbs and flowers. On either side of the chain-link gate were lawn flamingos, atop which were garden gnomes holding cats. They had been your idea and after much pestering, Olivia had relented. 

Pulling the gate shut behind you as you exited, you hit the button on the fob for your car, sighing disdainfully when the red light blipped but did nothing. The damn thing had been broken for years and yet every time you left the house you still tried to make magic happen. Manually unlocking the door to the 2001 banana yellow Toyota Celica you pulled open the door and dropped into the front seat. Fall was just around the corner and it had the nights a little frostier than usual, which meant when your ass hit the seat, you hissed and shivered.

“Dammit, Larry…” The name slipped between your teeth and you grinned, remembering where the nickname had come from. Your ex had called the car hideous and had abhorred the fact that you had named it. After your breakup, you’d gotten a custom license plate that said L30N4RD so that every time he saw you in town he’d be forced to remember you. It was spiteful, sure, but he’d cheated on you with your ex-best friend and you’d walked in on it; karma was a bitch though, and he’d ended up getting an STI from the girl he’d done the dirty with. 

Shoving the key into the ignition, you said a silent prayer and hit the gas as you started the car, a sigh of relief as the engine sputtered to life. “Thank you, Larry, for once you do something right the first time.” Backing out of the driveway you were careful to avoid Olivia’s Prius, the yellow headlights from your car basking the quiet suburban street in a dim glow. 

***

Ten minutes later you and Larry were putting down the road, the drive-through was at the other end of the small town you had lived in for the past five years and it was the only thing open this late. While the town was quiet, it was boring and it had made ‘McKreevey’s Drive-Thru” the only place worth going. Tapping your fingers on the steering wheel, you tried to ignore the way Larry clanked and whirred as you drove. A few more miles and you would be there and ordering your favorite sundae -- you just had to drive passed Saint Christian’s Cemetery in and you’d be home free. Ever since you had lived there the place had given you the creeps and tonight was no different. 

Turning up the radio as you drove by, you hummed and bopped your head, doing your best to ignore the way the street lights had disappeared, leaving you in the dark save for the soft glow of your car’s headlights. Another clank, followed by a shattering pop and finally a whir as your car sputtered to a stop and died on the side of the road. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me right now…” 

Your voice was a quiet murmur as you looked out of the windshield to see smoke rising from beneath Larry’s hood, a groan leaving your throat. “Great, this is fucking perfect. I just wanted some god damned ice cream. Pulling out your phone, you squinted as the screen lit up and then rolled your eyes as the single bar of service flipped over to roaming. 

“Really? Goddess above I hate this fucking city.” 

Pushing open the door, you shoved the seatbelt away from you and slid of your car, the flashlight on your phone illuminating the ground at your feet and showing off a thick, sticky puddle of fluid that trickled out from under Larry’s beat and battered frame. 

“I have no idea what that is Leonard, but you should be ashamed of yourself! That is disgusting!” You scolded your car as if it might suddenly become sentient and realize the mess it left you in. Instead, you were left to look around for any sign of life. On the right, there were fields upon fields of corn that swayed in the breeze. To the left, the cemetery. 

“Great. I feel like I’m in a horror movie. I’ll bet I’m about to get murdered by some hobgoblin hiding in that damned corn. Walking around the front of your car, you quickly decided on the graveyard with the reasoning that you might be able to find a live-in groundskeeper or something to at least let you borrow a phone for a cab. Using the flashlight on your phone to light the way, you stopped halfway across the sprawling plot when an orange glow of light caught your distance. 

“Oh! Maybe there is someone. Digging a grave I’ll bet. Jeez, what a shitty job. Shittier for the person going in it, I suppose.” You snorted as you caught yourself talking to yourself. It happened frequently and most of the time it was someone else that caught you, the look on their faces often worth the awkward silence. Creeping slowly closer, you were maybe ten yards away when a figure jumped out of one of the graves, his toned frame tossing a shove to the ground. 

“Figure they’d at least use a backhoe or somethin’.” You whispered under your breath and leaned against the tree. Maybe it was best to wait until they were done, as they seemed to almost be. Squinting and killing the flashlight on your phone, you watched as a second figure stepped out of the shadows, a canister of something in his hand. 

“What the…?” 

Watching as the taller figure poured something into the hole followed by the smaller one (the one who had jumped out of the hole in the first place) squirting some sort of liquid, you watched as one of them struck a match and dropped it into the grave. 

“Okay what the-- OH MY GOD!” 

Your voice rose three octaves as a plume of fire shot from the hole in the ground, followed by what could only be described as a wraith from some b-horror movie that screeched louder than any cheerleader at a pep rally who’d just seen her friends ever could, it’s spectral body engulfed in flames before disappearing into the night sky. 

“Whatthefuck?! Oh god, what the fuck… shit… fuckity shit!” 

At this point, you had forgotten all about the people by the grave and had instead focused on what had just come out of the grave. 

***

“Well, at least that’s done. It’s nice to have something nice and easy for once. Can we get out of here now? It’s cold.” Sam shivered and rubbed his hands over his bare arms. He hadn’t thought to bring a jacket. Beside him, Dean shoved the lighter fluid and salt back into the duffel bag, picking it up and slinging it over his shoulder a few moments later. 

“Sammy you’re the size of a literal moose and you’re bitching because it’s cold out? Bring a jacket next-- wait, shhh.” Dean lifted a hand to his mouth when something in the distance cracked, followed by a high pitched wheezing. Looking to his brother, who shrugged, Dean pulled his gun out and stalked forward, having passed the duffel off to Sam who followed close behind. 

***

Wheezing quietly, you cursed the fact that you’d decided to get ice cream. All you wanted was something sweet and now here you were, stuck in a creepy ass cemetery with grave robbers that had just lit a corpse on fire for the fun of it! You weren’t sure what had come out of the grave afterward but you were willing to convince yourself that you were seeing things for the sake of your sanity. 

“Oh cheese on a tortilla, Gods of the gobstoppers and Nephilim of nerds ropes I swear I will never leave the house again if-- click”

Freezing solid when a very familiar sound clicked behind your ear, you slowly stood from behind the three you’d hidden behind and turned; only to come face to face with the muzzle of a handgun held by a man that looked about as happy as a hare in a field of copperheads. Swallowing thickly, you screamed as loud as you could -- a technique taught to you by Olivia. When the scream did nothing but make the male furrowed his brow deeper, you struck out with your chuck covered foot and nailed him between his legs, a fist following shortly after to meet his face with a crunch. 

“Hey Woah! Woah, miss!” The taller male behind the gun-toting one lifted his hands in mock defense as the first crumpled to the ground with a groan and a barely audible ‘sonofabitch’ that was choked from between gritted teeth. Lifting both of your hands, you prepared yourself to try and take on the colossus that had come up behind the smaller one, your (Y/E/C) eyes darting to and fro and your heart slamming against your chest. 

“I’ll kick your dick all the way to Fort Worth you creep sonuvabitch! Don’t try me! I’ll… I’ll do it… you burnt a thing and… I…. I think I’m gonna--” 

Your fear and anxiety got the best of you a moment later and you collapsed to the ground with a dull thud, your body having looked none too graceful in your penguin pants and messy bun (now complete with mud stains and leaves stuck into it, respectfully). You had seen plenty of crime shows, but never once had you seen anything about grave robbing, screaming corpses, or being an accomplice to a heinous crime. And to think, all you had wanted was some god damned ice cream.

[a-big-apple]

TAZ fic: What, What, What

Taako is mildly fucked up, but perseveres; Lup wonders if her brother might actually be part gerblin. Just another fancy dinner at Taako's Amazing School of Magic!

Apparently when I’m sad I cook all day, write fic about Taako and Lup all evening, and post it when it’s too late at night for anyone to see it? But I’m less sad, so...it worked!

Read on AO3

This comes after my Adventure Bang fic from last year, but you don’t have to have read that—just know that Taako has a cool house on school grounds, and Lup lives there too.

***

Lup doesn’t often bother coming home through the front door; her scythe makes doors basically irrelevant, and after almost a year in the Raven Queen’s service she still hasn’t tired of making a dramatic entrance with a badass plane-slicing blade. But sometimes when the weather’s nice, after a long hunt or a lot of paperwork, she’ll take a minute to come up the walk through the wild garden and let the enchanted birds carved over the doorframe sing out a full chorus of The Thong Song before she goes inside.

Today she stands in the sticky early September heat and listens through twice before she’s ready; breaking up blood sacrifice cults bums her out every time. If she does a little twerk for the second chorus, well, Merle never has to know she took his advice.

There’s an unusual bustle of school staff inside, cleaning, polishing, changing over the big event space to a fancy dining room with bursts of magic. Predictably, Ren is standing perched on a chair supervising these efforts; when she spots Lup, she gives her a frazzled smile and a wave.

“Can you make sure Taako’s on schedule?” she calls across the dining room. “He was in a weird mood this morning. Oh, no, Sam, let’s do maroon on the napkins? Fall colors. And velvet for the seat cushions.”

Lup doesn’t know specifically what’s going on, but she can guess; the school year’s about to start, this must be some kind of opening dinner. “I’ll check on him. What time’s he supposed to be ready?”

Ren crosses something off the list on her clipboard before looking back to Lup. “Six sharp. Thanks!”

Lup shoots her two finger guns and continues on to the door into the private wing, only to find it locked. It’s not a problem to Knock it open, but it is unusual, and as soon as she steps through she can smell food cooking and maybe something burning. Biscuit, who generally takes it upon herself to keep tabs on all entrants, darts through a wall to greet her.

“Hey, spooky girl,” Lup coos, bending to rub the underside of the cat’s mandible. “Who’s my favorite ghost cat? Hmm? Did you miss me?” Biscuit’s ribs rumble with a purr, and Lup grins. “Guess so. Let’s go see what’s cookin’, huh?” The cat follows her down the hall, twining around and phasing through her legs.

The kitchen looks like a five-star restaurant exploded; there are platters and tureens and baskets of food on every counter, and the kitchen island, and the dining table, and the seat of every chair; the sink is piled comically high with dirty dishes. In the middle of it all stands her brother, wearing nothing but a pair of Barry’s boxers and eating what looks like over-roasted brussel sprouts straight from the baking tray with his fingers. There’s a smear of herbed cooking oil in the shape of a handprint on his stomach, and a streak of some kind of sauce on his elbow. She’s getting a sense for what Ren meant by “a weird mood.”

“Yo,” he says, stuffing a fingerful of blackened leaves into his mouth. “How’d the cult thing go?”

“Fine,” she says, still staring around at the chaos; something crunches underfoot as she comes around the kitchen island. Some wayward Fantasy Corn Chex, if she had to guess, which hopefully means Taako ate something other than burnt reject vegetables at some point today. “You know. Blasted ‘em straight to the Stockade. You, ah...you have a thing tonight, huh?”

Taako holds out the baking tray. “The scholarship thing. I told you about it last week.”

Lup plucks up the last few sprouts and pops them in her mouth. Even burnt, they’re delicious, perfectly seasoned and sprinkled with No-Sodium Salt. “Scholarship thing?”

“I did tell you...didn’t I?” He blinks at her, something shifting in his expression; Lup takes the tray and balances it on top of the dish pile, then takes his greasy hands.

“Hey. It doesn’t matter. Tell me now?” she says, rubbing his knuckles with her thumbs. He lets her, mouth working. “You okay?” she asks, when he doesn’t speak.

“Yeah.” He squeezes her hands, and his expression clears a little. Then he grimaces and lets one hand go to grab a kitchen towel. “Yeah. I started a scholarship, this year. Forty free rides. They’re all comin’ for dinner. You too, if you want. I mean, whoever’s home.”

“Absolutely,” she says, grinning as he tries to wipe his hands and hers without actually letting go of her at all. “You’re disgusting, you need a shower. I think you have icing in your hair, did you make a cake?”

“Three cakes, they’re in the icebox. Also, shut up, I’ve been cooking for eleven hours.”

Lup kisses his cheek and shoves him out of the kitchen. “It shows. I’ll clean up in here, go get ready before Ren comes looking for you.”

***

Eventually Ren does come looking, bringing a line of staff to retrieve the food. When Lup heads upstairs at ten to six, she finds Taako in their shared dressing room, sitting at the vanity fussing with his hair. He’s tried to do a fishtail, but it’s crooked; when he sees her come in, he sighs and lets his arms flop into his lap. “Can you fix this? I fucked it up.”

At least he’s dressed, in high-waisted black trousers and knee high boots, and the shirt Magnus gave him for his birthday with the delicate embroidery on the frilled cuffs. He picks at them as she brushes his hair out. “So tell me more about this scholarship,” she says, watching her fingers as she starts to braid instead of giving in to the urge to examine his every expression in the mirror.

“What’s there to tell?” he says, letting go of his cuffs to poke through his jewelry box instead. “I picked forty kids from the applications who don’t have money, or don’t have homes, or don’t have families or whatever, gave them tuition and room and board.” He picks out an ostentatious ring with a big blue stone, clearly costume, maybe magical, and slips it on his pointer finger. “I’m calling it the Study it Up! Scholarship. Ren tried to get me to change the name, but it’s my money and my school, so.”

“Forty kids, huh?” Lup says, quiet, and Taako shakes his head.

“Lup, c’mon, I don’t wanna—”

“No, no, I wasn’t trying to—I just. You’re doing a good thing.” She holds the end of his braid in one hand, squeezing his shoulder with the other.

Taako smiles, finally, leaning his head against her arm. “Yeah, no shit.” He hands her a hair band, with an obnoxiously large purple silk flower on it. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, babe.”

He runs a hand over the fishtail as she ties it off; satisfied, he whirls out of the chair and throws on his academic robes, plucks a matching hat from the hat shelf, takes the Umbrastaff she made him from its hook. It turns deep blue as he touches it, to match his robes, and he holds out his arms. “Good?”

He looks smart; professorial. He looks like the kind of Somebody they always wanted to be. Then he points his staff at the record player in the corner, and The Thong Song comes blasting out of it. Taako points at her and laughs, and breaks into his Thong Song Dance, as only he can.

“You dumbass,” she shouts over the music, laughing, and joins him.

[psychospeak-blog]

Won’t Go Slowly // 24

A/N: Sorry this is so late, but it turned out hella long!  Happy American Thanksgiving?

One // Two  // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen // Seventeen // Eighteen // Nineteen// Twenty // Twenty One // Twenty Two // Twenty Three

It was cold, which presented somewhat of a problem.  You couldn't wear pants.

Or, you supposed you could, but not with the tops you had.  They just looked way too obvious, or not quite right. It might not be obvious to anyone else, but you were certain Tyler's mother would notice.  She'd probably give you the once over, checking to make sure you were healthy, as if she could see it with her eyes. You really should have thought this through ahead of time.

You settled on a navy and white polka dotted wrap dress, one of your usual favourites, and it seemed to flow over your hips and belly. You pulled on a pair of maternity tights, only you hadn't realized they went over your entire belly, and you weren't sure you were quite ready for that yet.

You were just finishing your makeup when you heard your front door open.  Of course, it was Tyler.  But he was half an hour early.  He'd got in late last night, and was planning to go to his Mom's a bit earlier to spend more time with her, but he'd insisted you come with so he could drive.  Even though you'd warned him you might have to stop to pee, even though the drive was only 30 minutes.

"Where are you?"  Tyler called, his voice coming towards you.  You walked towards the sound of his voice, your smiles reflecting each other, meeting in a hug, his arms cradled around your head, pulling you to his chest, which felt lovely and warm.

"You're early," you said against him after moment, and his arms gently released you, looking down at you with a smile on his face .

" And here I thought you'd be happy to see sooner."

"I am," you said, "I was just going to go to the store before you got here to get some flowers for your mom."

"We can stop on the way," he said, "It's kind of icy out there; you shouldn't drive."

"What?" you asked in disbelief, "I driven in ice and snow before, I'm perfectly capable. I have snow tires."

"Yeah, but you're pregnant."

You laughed, "Being pregnant doesn't affect my ability to drive."

He gave you an incredulous look. "Obviously. But when I'm here, you don't have to drive," he said, "Are you ready?  You look ready."

"I need to do my other eye," you said, turning to go back into the bathroom.

"What is that." Tyler said as a statement, pointing at the c-shaped pillow taking up most of the bed.

"A pregnancy pillow," you answered, picking up your mascara.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him dive bomb right into it, with an 'oof', planting his head at the top. and tossing one leg over the side, snuggling in.  "This is comfy," he mumbled, shutting his eyes.

Luckily you had pretty much nothing left to do other than put mascara on your other eye and double check your hair, as you assumed the dogs must be in the car.   You looked at yourself in the mirror once more, turning towards Tyler, "Is this okay?  Do I look pregnant in this?"

He opened just one eye, but didn't lift his head.  "Yeah, your tits do for sure. But I don't think my family will notice that."

"Tyler!"

"What?" he said, lifting his head now, "You asked the question, I was just answering it."

"I meant my belly."

"No, you can't even see it," he said.

"You're sure?"

"Positive," he said, "You look nice."

"Thanks," you said.  Tyler had lifted his head up now, smiling at you like he was preparing to have his picture taken.  "You look nice too," you added.

"I know," he said, propping himself up on one hand, "Are you ready to go?"  When you nodded, he stood up, grabbing the pillow and hanging it over his neck.

"What are you doing?" you asked, half laughing, half in annoyance, because there was no way he was stealing that.

"Bringing it with us so you can have it when you sleep at my house tonight," he said, "Or I guess we can all come here if you're more comfortable here."

"I have to work tomorrow," you said.  

"No, you don't," he said, and you looked at him with confusion.  "It's going to be a snow day."

"No, it's not," you said.  Snow was in the forecast, but you doubted you'd get much, if any.

" Yes, it is.  I can feel it," he said, "we don't have to stay up late anyways.  So, your house or mine?"

You considered this for a moment.  "Do you have snacks at your house?"

"Yes," he laughed, "I went grocery shopping this morning."

"We can go there then."

"Do you need me to pack you a snack for the ride?" he teased, already walking out towards the car, that giant pillow still slung around his neck, which looked rather ridiculous.

You told him no, but you also didn't tell him that you already had emergency snacks in your purse.  You slipped on your boots, watching through the open front door as he shoved the pillow into the trunk, laughing when you saw the dog's faces repeatedly popping up through the car window.  

"Hi guys," you cooed, which only made them even more excited, and you could hear them whimpering excitedly from the car, a mess of paws and tails and tongues.  

"Calm down," Tyler said firmly, "You guys are acting crazy."

You opened the door slowly, trying to lean over into the backseat as quickly as possible, wet noses and tongues being pushed in your face, and your swore there was a breeze just from how much their tails were wagging, three separate steady thumpings, all clamoring for your attention.  "Hi, hi, hi," you said, trying to pet every one of them and give kisses, but it was hard because they kept trying to all get to you at once.

"Holy shit, you're acting like insane people," Tyler said, once he got in the car. He tried to put his hand back there to try and get them to calm down, but really it was just another obstacle getting in their way.  "Okay, you've said hello, go lay down."

They either coudn't hear over the sound of tails wagging or panting, or were just ignoring them, and Tyler sighed dramatically, "Can you tell them to lay down? They'll probably listen to you."

You doubted it, but you said "go lay down," gently, and they slunk back into to the backseat.  They never really laid down though, however, and when Tyler started driving, they all kept trying to climb up into the front seat.

"Holy shit, I did not think this through at all," he said, as you tried to use your arms to block them, but there were so many of them, and then you'd get licked on the face and it's throw everything off.  "I thought if I brought them in to see you'd they'd just get hyped."

He glanced back over his shoulder as he pulled into the shopping plaza, which was luckily not far from your house.  "Will you get sick if you ride in the backseat? Because you might have to."

"No," you said, grabbing your bag from under the seat after he'd parked.

"I'd come in with you, but I think I better stay here and make sure these guys don't trash my car," he said the last part sternly as if to make a point.

You walked quickly into the store, especially as you heard them crying after you left, followed by a couple of barks.  It didn't take you long to find just what you were looking for, a nice fall-themed bouquet with sunflowers, chrysanthemums, and some roses.

When you went back outside the store, Tyler did not look impressed at all, pulling his hands down from where you assumed he had them pressed to his ears, but the dogs seemed to quiet when they saw you.

"Never leave again," Tyler said, as you opened the passenger door to set the flowers and your bag there, shutting it and then trying to open the back door, with three waiting labs in the window who looked like they were all about the jump out and run around the parking lot.

"Stay," you heard Tyler say sternly, and you opened the door slowly.  "You guys gotta let me in if you want me to sit back here with you," you said, trying to climb in while Tyler tried to grab collars.  Finally you got in and got your seatbelt buckled, and luckily they seemed to calm now that you were right there, more just taking an interesting in sniffing you, and you tried to pet them.

"I feel like a fucking chauffeur," Tyler grumbled, "nobody wants to sit with me."

"I tried," you said.  Gerry had settled on the floor with his head between your legs, but Marshall and Cash were still wobbling round on the seat next to you , trying to find a comfortable position to lay down in and not fall off the seat as the car moved.

That's eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror and you caught him smiling.  "Don't squish the baby," he instructed.  "How is the baby?"

"I don't know, I can't see him," you said, settling your hand on Cash until he finally laid down.  You were definately going to have dog hair all over you, but it'd probably happen eventually anyway.

"I meant how are you feeling," he said, and you could practically hear his eyes rolling.

"Not bad," you said, your hands petting the dogs, "I mean, I've been able to run a couple of times a week for the past month or so, so that's good."

"You can run with the baby?" Tyler asked, and you laughed, because it wasn't like you could disconnect him from you, "Isn't that bad for the baby?"

"No, it's good," you said, "you're just not supposed to do anything you weren't before you got pregnant. I'm not running a marathon either, just a little bit."

"Yeah, but I thought like yoga or something --," he said, "But, like, running?  Doesn't the baby bounce around in there?"

You raised your eyebrows at the question, and Tyler glanced over his shoulder quickly.  "Sorry, I mean, obviously you wouldn't do it if it was bad.  I've just always wondered about that."

"No, there's fluid around the baby," you explained, "and your internal organs don't shift around when you move, anyways.  It just, like, rocks the baby, I guess?  The same as when you walk."

"Ohhhh," Tyler said, like it actually made sense now.  "That's cool."

"I did sign up for a prenatal yoga class though," you said, even though you didn't really enjoy yoga, "They have classes you can do with babies afterwards, so I thought it would be good for meeting other Moms."  It still kind of felt weird to actually call yourself a Mom, but none of your friends had babies, so you supposed that it would be important to have some people who could kind of relate to what you were going through.

"Oh, that's a great idea, babe."

"Yeah, there's a ton of stuff you can do with them when they're older, like Gymboree and music classes and stuff, but I don't really know what else I can do with him when all he can do is just lay there?" you said, "And there's storytime at libraries, but that's for kids under 5 and I don't really know what he's going to be like?"

"He's gonna be chill like his mama," Tyler said, "Are you gonna take him on baby dates?"

"Baby dates?" you said, "Like playdates?"

"Yeah, with girl babies."

"Tyler, he's not even born yet," you laughed.

"Probably neither are the girl babies he's going to be surrounded with," Tyler said, and then reconsidered, "Actually, maybe they are.  Maybe he likes older women."

"You're ridiculous," you laughed.

"This is why you need mom friends," he said, "'Cause I know jack shit about babies."

When you turned onto his mom's street, the dog's heads popped up in succession.  "Do you guys know where we're going?" you asked in your dog voice.

"Of course they do," Tyler said.

You struggled both to get your seatbelt undone and avoid being trampled by three large dogs.  "Wait," you instructed as you opened the door and climbed out, the dogs jumping out and then sniffing around the yard.  Since Tyler already had the flowers in his hands, you made kissing noises to encourage them to follow you to the front door, and Tyler opened the door, all of them pushing past him to get inside.   

"Mom?" he yelled, "Your favourite son is here!"

You stepped inside, and Tyler's mom came out from the kitchen, wearing an apron with a little bit of flour smeared across.  "Hi guys," she said brightly, bending down to pet the dogs, who had come up to her, tails wagging.

"We brought you these," Tyler said, holding out the flowers to her as you slipped your boots off, "And be 'we', I mean y/n did, but I drove, so you can give me 10% of the credit."

"Oh, they're beautiful," she said, taking them from him and hugging him as much as possible with the flowers, "I have just the spot for them, too."

"I'm so glad you could make it, Y/N" she said, looking like she was going to hug you and then stopping, looking down, and your heart froze for a second, "I'll have to take my apron off first, I don't want to get your nice dress dirty."

"I'm covered in dog hair anyways," you shrugged, hugging her.  

"Thanks for caring about my outfit, Mom," Tyler grumbled, swiping at his shirt like it was actually dirty.

"Come on in, guys," she said, "You want a glass of wine while I finish cooking?"

"I think it's a little early for wine, Mom," Tyler pointed out.

You were following them into the kitchen, but you almost tripped over the dogs and had to put a hand on one of the their backs to steady yourself.  You were not used to them being so underfoot.

There were two pumpkin pies sitting on the counter cooling, and they smelled absolutely amazing, that you almost wanted to just grab some right there, but the fact that it would be straight-up rude stopped you. "Oh my gosh, those look so good," you breathed, and you could here Tyler cough with a laugh from behind you.

"I feel like I need to put them in another room to cool because they're tempting," Jackie said, grabbing a vase to put the flowers into, while Tyler got a bowl, filling it with water and putting it down in the corner of the room for the dogs and you sat down at the kitchen table.

"Where are the girls?" Tyler asked, "I thought they were going to help you cook."

"They were," she said, "But they're coming later now.  They're going to pick up Nana since it's getting icy out."

"Yeah, Y/N doesn't think it's going to snow," Tyler said, flashing a look it your direction.

"I was a little worried your flight was going to get canceled," she said.

"They're not going to cancel flights," Tyler said in disbelief, laughing like she was nuts for worrying about such a thing, "But, Y/N isn't going to have to go to work tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah, you really shouldn't if it's snowing," Jackie said.

"See?" Tyler said to you, "I told you I was right."

"You guys don't have to stay in the kitchen," she said, going back to peeling potatoes, "You can grab a drink and go sit down in the living room, it's more comfortable."

"Oh, no, we can help," you said.  You'd just been waiting to see what needed to be done.  It went like this every time you came over for a big dinner, actually.

"Yeah, Y/N's a great cook, and I'm really good at following directions," Tyler said, "and if we help now that means Candace and Cassidy should have to do the dishes."

"But I thought you guys would want to relax."

"No, we came to spend time with you," Tyler said, while you looked around the kitchen trying to determine what hadn't been done already. You realized the dressing hadn't been started yet, so you immediately stood up and got what you needed to start chopping vegetables.

"At least put an apron on first," Jackie said, finally giving in, and you took the one that she held out for you.  "Tyler, you can get started on the cranberry sauce.  There's a recipe on the bag on cranberries."

It was nice, actually, because you hadn't been able to enjoy cooking for awhile, and the company was pretty awesome too, the three of your walking about the kitchen, stepping over the labs who had placed themselves on the floor.

"Cash, you gotta move, I gotta get in this cupboard," Jackie said, gently nudging the dog out of the way, "They're really clingy today."

"They missed you guys," Tyler said, looking up from where he was stirring the cranberries on the stove, a ruffled apron tied around his waist, which both look ridiculous and didn't seem practical at all.  "Plus, there's food. They're happy."

It was going well until you started sautéing the veggies, and had to stand at the stove, which was incredibly difficult, because Tyler was hovering over the cranberry sauce, his elbows sticking out, and you basically had to stand to the side of the stove to get in there.

"This is going to be the best cranberry sauce you've ever had," he announced, and both you and his mom snickered, "That wasn't funny, I'm serious."

"I'm sure it'll be great, honey," she said, settling a hand on his shoulder, "I need to get in here to baste the turkey."

"But, Mom, the cranberry sauce..." he whined.

"It'll be fine for two minutes," she said and he reluctantly moved out of the way.

You were trying not to laugh at how concerned he looked, pulling your pan off the element because it was on high heat, and they were almost done anyways.  You were getting some fresh herbs out of the fridge, setting them on the counter and then looking for some herb scissors when the oven door opened, and immediately, all you could smell was meat.  You tried to swallow, turning your head, but then you saw the half-cooked turkey and Tyler gave you a weird look, and then said "oh shit" when you made a movement like you were gagging, his eyes widening and  his hands going out as if he was going to try and catch your vomit or something.  

You pushed passed him, running to the bathroom, and you didn't even notice that he was followed you until you felt your hair being held back.  Well, this was great.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently when you were done, his hand rubbing over your upper back.

"Yes," you sat back, running your hand over your face. "Other than the fact that your mom's going to think I throw up every time I come to her house now."

"I mean," Tyler said, smiling a little, "Just think about all the times you've come here and you haven't thrown up."

Yeah, because that helped.  

"Don't worry," he said, "We'll just tell her you have your period, and then you can lay down while we finish cooking.  Or do you want to go home?"

You shook your head. "I feel better.  It's just...the smells," you said, taking a deep breath.  You didn't feel like you were going to be sick again, but you didn't want to take any chances. "Could you get me my prescription bottle from my purse, please?  I think I left it in the car."

"Yeah, sure," he said, standing up.

You probably should have taken a pill before you came, as a preemptive measure, but you really felt fine until the oven door opened.

You were rinsing out your mouth when there was a knock on the door, and you reached open to open it, assuming it was Tyler with your bag.  But it wasn't.

"Are you alright, honey?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," you said quickly, washing your hands now and shaking them off, going for a towel, "I've just got this...hormonal thing going on.  It makes me a little sick sometimes.  I'm fine now though."

"You're sure?" she asked.

"Yeah," you smiled, trying to be convincing, all the while racking your brain trying to think of how you could explain this better.  Maybe a new birth control pill or something, or....Tyler really needed to hurry the fuck up.

"Okay," she said, resting her hand on your shoulder, "I just remembered, I got you something.  Maybe that'll help you feel better."

She left, and you exhaled, because she seemed to buy it.  You ran your wrists under cold water again, because the whole thing had made you sweat, and then dried your hands again.  

"Here you go," she said when she came back, handing you something in a container, and you looking down to read it, and your eyes widened and your throat immediately went dry while all the moisture seemed to go to your eyes because it very clearly said, Preggie Pop Drops and had a huge pregnant woman on it.

"I had really bad morning sickness with all of my kids, and these really helped," she said, "I mean not that you're ---"

Your mouth literally dropped open, looking down at the container and the floor and then back to her and then back again.  "Whaaa," you breathed, "How did...how did you know?"

"What?" she questioned. "I mean, you've been sick, and your surgery, and Tyler said..."

"Tyler said I'm pregnant?" you said.  This didn't make any sense, why wouldn't he have said something.

"What? No," she said quickly. "I meant with your endometreosis, and I know it's not the same, but I thought it would help, maybe, with hormonal nausea.  I didn't mean to imply.."

But it was too late, because the tears that had already starting welling up in your eyes started to drip down your face when you blinked, and Jackie looked at you, her arms extended half out towards you and she asked quietly, "You're....you're pregnant?"

You nodded, because what else could you do, and her hands came to touch your arms, "That's...that's..." she said, looking at you like she didn't know quiet how to react, how you were feeling.  Because she likely knew you weren't in a relationship, and she probably thought maybe you were crying because you were scared.

"I'm really happy," you smiled through the tears, and then she smiled full, pulling you into a hug.

"That's fantastic.  Congratulations," she said, hugging you, even though you were crying onto her shoulder. "Does Tyler know?" she whispered into your ear and you laughed a little.

"Yeah, yeah, he knows."

"That's fantastic," she repeated again, "Congratulations, sweetheart."

She was just hugging you, still and you let yourself soak up the amazing feeling for a moment. You thought, maybe, that she was crying a little too.

"What happened?" Tyler's voice came from the doorway, and both of you turned your heads to look at him, and he looked slightly concerned, at both of you crying, holding your purse in one hand and a cup in the other.

"Nothing," Jackie said, "Y/N was just telling me the wonderful news that she's expecting."

He smiled, setting the bag and cup down on the bathroom counter, his arms going around both of you, and you smiled even more when you felt fur brush up against your leg.

"See, Y/N was worried you'd be upset, but I told her you'd be happy."

You stiffened immediately, and you felt her do the same, and then she pulled back slowly.  "What?  Why would I be upset, Tyler?" she asked, and then, "Is it...is it yours?"

"Mom...."

"I didn't even know you guys were together...I didn't think  I had no idea," she said, looking back and forth between you.

"We-we're not," you and Tyler said at the exact same time, stutter and all.

"But it's yours?" she asked in a quieter voice this time.

"No, yes, no, yes, no," you said, each word echoed with a pound of your heart in your chest.

"You don't know?" Jackie asked you.  And she looked...straight-up betrayed, and your eyes filled up with even more tears.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered.

"How-" she said, but Tyler grabbed her arm.

"Mom, c'mon, Mom," he said, pulling her from the room.  And oh god, oh god, oh god.   You turned back to face the mirror, having trouble looking at yourself, because you wondering if you'd just ruined everything.  The Thanksgiving dinner, the whole year, and everything that might come after that.

You could hear Tyler, talking to her in a hushed voice, and her responding, her voice higher, almost sounded panicked, but you couldn't make out a word of what they were saying.  You wondered if you should leave, but you came here with Tyler.  You didn't know what to do.  And you started feeling sick again, so you took reached into your purse, taking out your prescription bottle, taking one of them with the glass of juice Tyler had left on the counter.

You paced, running your hands over your face, and wondering if maybe you should call Danielle or your sister, but they were half an hour a way of course.  And you tried to make out the words, but you really couldn't, and you weren't sure you wanted to. You realized the dogs were with you, or course they were, looking up at you concerned, and you bent down, petting them, and getting your face licked.  

Eventually, Tyler came back into the doorway of the bathroom, looking at you, and suddenly looking so much older, like he was weary, his hair messed up like he'd been threading his hands through it.  "Come with me," he said.

Your eyebrows lifted, "We're leaving?"

"No," he said, reaching for your hand, "We're just going to go for a walk.  Come get your shoes on."

You followed him, throughout the house to the front door, not even sure where his Mom was, putting your boots back on, in some type of trance.  You didn't know what to do or say.  

The dogs followed you of course, but Tyler looked at them, "You guys stay here.  We'll come back."

He took your hand again, pulling you up from where you'd been sitting, taking you outside into the cold air, and you flipped back to reality again. "What did you say to her?"

"I told her the truth," he said simply.

"The truth?" you repeated.

"Yeah," he said, "Everything that happened.  Why you wanted this.  Why I'm doing this.  How we did this."

You didn't say anything, but just walked.

"Well, I didn't tell her about the part where we had sex," he said, with a laugh, and you couldn't understand how he seemed relaxed about this, "but I told her we went to the clinic and did a sperm donation."

"Did you tell her we signed papers?" You asked.

"Uh...vaguely?" He questioned, running his hand through his hair. "Why?"

"I don't want her to think I'm taking advantage of you,"  you said.  It had to be a worry, of hers you assumed, that someone might be after his money.

" What?" Tyler sounded completely taken aback, "Babe, she knows you.  You're not just....some girl or whatever.  You didn't even ask me, for God's sake.  I offered.  I told her that."

You walked with that for a moment, unsure if she'd be worried about his financial well-being, or his emotional well-being, or that he'd made a rash decision, or what her family was kind of giving up, without having a say in the manner.

"Was she mad at you?" you asked tentatively, because the last thing you wanted was to ruin their relationship.

"Mad?" he asked, his face screwed up in confusion, "No, she's not mad at me."

You breathed again, walking for a few more steps and then kept your face focused on the ground, "How mad is she at me?"

Tyler stopped dead in his tracks, his arm catching yours where your hand was intertwined with his.  "What?" he asked in disbelief, "She's not mad at you at all."

"But..." you said, because you felt kind of like you'd taken something away from her.  Like you'd robbed her of something.

"Babe, she's not mad, she's not...like that. She loves you," he said, "she's just in shock, alright?  She needs some time alone to absorb it all.  Well, she has the dogs. She'll be...it's okay."

You didn't say anything, even as you  started to walk again.  "You didn't do anything wrong," Tyler said, "You know that right?  And I didn't either."

You couldn't even say anything else, neither of you did, and when you got back to his mother's house 20 minutes later, the door opened before you even got there.  She looked sort of like she'd been crying, but you had to suppose that you did too. She enveloped you in a hug before you had a chance to try and say anything, even though you didn't know what it'd be that you would say.  "I'm sorry if I made you feel...." she said,  "A baby's a good thing.  It's a good thing."

You let out all the air and tension that you'd been holding.  You weren't even sure if she'd had enough time to wrap her head around the whole thing, but you were so thankful that she wasn't upset.  She pulled back after a moment, looking at you, "I'd love it if you'd stayed," she said. "If you're feeling up to it, of course."

" Yeah," you smiled, "I am."

" Oh, I could make you something else to eat, if you want too," she offered. "Or you don't have to eat at all, if you don't want.  We could say you had a work thing and already ate if you haven't told..."

"I haven't, I'll tell them at Christmas, Tyler said, " And she really likes grilled cheese." His Mom smiled, eyes connecting with yours and you just knew she was thinking of when you'd had a grilled cheese at the hockey game.

"No, I'm good," you replied honestly, " I'm really, really looking forward to pumpkin pie."

" Well, you can always just push all the other stuff around on your plate a bit and we'll give you twice as much pie," she smiled, and you could feel Tyler settling his chin on your shoulder, but Jackie was still looking at you. "How far along are you? If that's..."

You realized she was forming the word 'okay', which meant she was trying to respect your boundaries, which was touching and made you want to tear up, even though you didn't mind at all.  "Almost 21 weeks," you smiled, trying to put her at ease, to let her know it was okay to ask.

"21 weeks?! Where are you hiding it?"

"He's in there," you said, smoothing your dress over your belly.  It really, really depended on the clothes you wore, how apparent it looked, but you'd also been told you didn't show as soon with your first pregnancy.

"He?" She asked, her eyes flicking from your belly back up to your eyes, "Do you know? Is it?"

"Yeah, he's a boy," you confirmed.  

And then she was hugging you all over again, pulling you close.  "I'm really very happy for you."

"You should see him, Mom, he's super cute," Tyler said.  

"Who's super cute?" Cassidy called from halfway up the driveway.

"Gerry," Tyler answered, already pulling out his phone to pull up a picture, you presumed.

Luckily, the actual dinner went off nicely, with plenty of  Tyler encouraging everyone to try the cranberry sauce and pointing out how good it was. There was also a slight problem with the pups wanting to lie under the table, and Tyler had to go tell them go lie down somewhere else.

And now you were settled back in the car, in the front seat this time because Cassidy and Candace had played with the dogs after dinner, and they seemed to be exhausted enough that they could be content within a couple feet of you rather than having to be touching you.  You had a container of extra pumpkin pie settled in your lap, as well as some other leftovers, with explicit instructions for Tyler to drive very carefully and watch out for black ice.

You shifted again, probably for the 10th time in the past 5 minutes, and Tyler looked over at you again.  "Do you need to go pee or something? I said I don't mind stopping."

"No,"  you said, shifting and pulling at your clothes again.  "These tights are maternity tights so they go all the way up, and my belly's really itchy."

Tyler looked at you in disbelief.  "You could take them off?"

You supposed you could, but you were also wearing knee high boots and you'd have to take them off and then trying to maneuver out of the tights in the car.  But you were also really itchy.  

You sighed, turning and placing the leftovers in the floor on the backseat, unzipping your boots and then putting them back there as well, shimmying and tugging the tights down and under the seat belt, grunting as you finally pulled them off your feet.  Finally, your skin could breathe again. When you sat back up, Tyler was looking at you with an amused expression on his face.  "That was entertaining."

"Shouldn't you be watching the road?"

"We're at a stoplight," he pointed out, and you realized now that the car was stopped, and you probably could have taken off your seatbelt, which would have been helpful.  

When you got back to Tyler's house, he instructed you to 'stay there' and you watched as he jogged to the house, leaving the front door open.  You barely had time to process any of it to interpret what he might be doing, just undoing your seatbelt and going to grab your boots from the backseat, reaching around to open the door for the dogs so they could hop out and do their business before bed, when he was back, opening your door and kneeling down so his back was to you.  "Hop on."

" What?" You laughed.

"Hop on," he said again, "I won't drop you, I promise."

It seemed a little excessive, but the cold air was whipping around and he was just crouching there, so you swung your leg around, getting into a piggy back position, his arms tucking under your legs.

He walked slowly, the dogs circling you and barking like they didn't know if they should be alarmed or not.  "Shhhh..." Tyler said, "Don't wake up the neighbours. "

Once you were inside he eased you down gently until your feet hit the floor.  "Told you I wouldn't drop you," he said cockily and with a smirk, going back out the car and returning a moment later with your pillow, the leftovers, and your purse.  "C'mon, mama, it's been a long day, let's go to bed," he said and then looked you up and down.  "I guess you should have brought pyjamas.  I'll get you some."

You followed him into the bedroom, sitting on the side of the bed, watching as he ruffled through his dresser.  "Yours will probably fit me better anyway," you said, and he flashed you a smile, you petting the dogs that had followed you in.  You stood up when he gave you a pair of flannel on pants and a t-shirt, your purse in your hand to take into the bathroom with you.

" Do you think all six of us will fit in bed?" He asked.

"Six?"

" Yeah, one, two, three, four, five," he said, pointing and you and himself and then each of the dogs, and then at your belly, "six."

You laughed, thinking that it was a very good thing your pregnancy pillow was c-shaped and not u-shaped.  "We can try, I guess."

You went into the bathroom, taking your time getting changed and ready for bed, unwinding from the day.  When you came out, Tyler was laying on his back in bed, the sheets pulled up to above his belly button, and your pregnancy pillow was in the empty space next to him, blankets pulled back as if ready for you.  He had the episode of Grey's Anatomy you were on pulled up on the TV, and the dogs were walking around the bedroom, like they were just waiting for you too.

You climbed into your spot, pulling the blanket over you, and then you felt the three dogs jump into the bed in turn, walking around until they found a spot and then laid down.  They were taking up less space than usual with the giant pillow between you and Tyler taking up a usual spot, but you were pretty sure they weren't going to sacrifice not sleeping with you.

" You smell different," Tyler said, and then frowned.  "Good different.  You put something on?"

" Yeah, some belly butter," you said.

Now that the dogs had  settled in the bottom half of your bed and both you and Tyler had secured yourself enough space, you rolled over to face him, your leg coming up over your pillow. "I'm sorry," you said softly.

He turned over to face you, his face gentle.  "For what?"  

"For telling your mom," you said, "She bought me these nausea candies for pregnancy and I thought she knew, but she thought it was just my endometriosis making me sick.  I kind of let it slip."

"I've kind of been playing that up," Tyler admitted.  "Maybe I should have told her sooner.  I don't know."

"But I know you had something planned..."

"I don't know what the fuck I had planned," he said with a laugh.  "It was fine the way it happened.  She was the only one I was worried about anyways.  It went well."

"You said you weren't worried.."

Tyler smiled at you.  "I wasn't.  I just mean, I felt like she would be the most...emotionally  invested? It was okay, don't apologize," he said, leaning over to place a kiss on your forehead.  "I think it all worked out like it was supposed to."  

[blacksurvivalnostalgichanges]

black survival characters as jelloapocalypse quotes

“what do you do to cope with stress” this

Adela: Ugh, it smells like a fish restaurant.

Adriana: You cannot tell me that the best way to move a body was to set fire to the embassy twice.

Aiden: Look it up, follow the money! Does True Lemon make Suprep?

Alex: Number one man on the FBI’s most wanted list? I’ll say....

Arda: Now hold on there, miss Paups, I know a little bit about being framed for shooting my own father.

Aya: The killer (hits table) is a human being! Unless It’s that cat! It’s a human or a cat!

Barbara: You don’t understand, I used Double Team six times! It should be impossible to hit me!

Bernice: “Not so fast! Mr. Prosecutor, what the fuck?” “Okay, fair enough.”

Bianca: I like how I say that like there’s other partners in this game, there’s just me! Hey Wes, hey Wes!

Camilo: “Don’t I deserve a chance to explain myself?” “No!”

Cathy: While all of this is going down, Wes not understanding Pokémon speak is just like “I love my cute doggos.”

Celine: “Why does he look so sickly pale all of a sudden?” “.....Gun!”

Chiara: “Agent Lang”- Laeng? Lahng? I’ll just change it every time. “Agent lasagna” “Linguini” “Agent Luigi definitely has an agenda”

Chloe: (boiling in anger but with a customer service smile) That was one CHALLENGING and SATISFYING BATTLE! Just- just look at this, my palms are drenched with sweat!

Daniel: “You’re gonna love this TV program I just found.” “This is just the evening news.”

Echion: “Speaking of.” “On cue.” “On cue.” “What the FUCK?!”

Elena: You know what they say. Sire a child, die in the wild.

Eleven: “I’m eating chocolate icing again, don’t do this.” “Stop eating chocolate icing, Siv!”

Eva: I would feel bad discussing Wes’ JRPGness because there’s another character we’ll meet before we leave this town that will put him to shame.

Emma: Hang out with other players in Co-op Mode! And only other players, because when you have a friend with you, all the NPCs in the world suddenly think that you smell!

Felix: I love this guy who’s just like, “you will not be able to get past me, I’m a very bad man! Come out, SPOINK!”

Fiora: You could be the one to give these women pants! Don’t Amber’s shorts look uncomfortable?

Hart: Spend hundreds of hours hunting in-game treasure and spending real-world currency to collect sexy anime characters with impractically asymmetrical outfits, oooh.

Hyejin: Green Pikachu is just standing in the middle of a hideout where everyone’s polishing knives and guns. “Oh, I’m in danger.”

Hyunwoo: “You gotta have a singing dog in here!” “All right, why.” “They’re called SINGING DOGS!”

Isol: “Sound/ground. How about a singing dog?” “Yeah, I think that’s a great idea! Fuck you.” (he starts laughing) “Why are you such a bitch?”

Jackie: I’ll be sure to credit you on Terrorism Dot Com.

Jan: “Can you shut up for like two seconds?!” “I Literally CAN’T!”

Jenny: Well, that flight sucked. One star.

Johann: Yeah, I’m Sosh. Short for Soshua.

JP: I’m talking shit and my name’s skrub?

Laura: “His tax returns show his name is Jumpluff-” “Don’t deadname people!” “wha- what????”

Lenox: “Oh my god, are you guys the terrorists? I follow you on twitter.” “We are NOT the terrorists-” “We ARE the terrorists.” “YAAAAAAAY!”

Leon: All right, of all things, I have to cuh- the Onceler is a TWIG, he has NO ASS!

Li Dailin: I just figured out what these taste like. When you get a colonoscopy-

Luke: “Can you try to calm down and lower your voice to a more reasonable level, sir?” “NO!!”

Magnus: Beating the shit out of children makes me feel better about myself.

Mai: By the way, did you know that Team Snagem backwards is Megan’s meat? Anyways.

Nadine: “Oh, she’s not the one with the Mightyena, is she?” “Yeah! My grandpa?” “yEah!” “Oh, we’re not blood related.” “Oh!” “You don’t say!”

Nathapon: Mayhaps this lore will be a bit more cheerful. ..... Oh. Oh no.

Nicky: Yeah, I got my team here, Ungabunga, Ahoyhoy, John, John 2-

Priya: “Your first mission.” (flower eating sounds ensue)

Rio: “Sorry, but I just stole your supporting role.” Oh. That’s a little bit too on the nose.

Rosalio: “Oh damn, y’all are still on this?” “Yeah! Yeah we are!”

Rozzi: A misunderstanding? Those NEVER HAPPEN in Ace Attorney.

Shoichi: Criminals have a way of incriminating themselves, wouldn’t you say? Ooh, my shoulder hurts.

Silvia: She just- pfffhgt- she looks BLITZED out of her MIND!

Sissela: Genshin Impact is the only adventure game that actively encourages you to beat up a child each week.

Sua: Oh, now you’ve unleashed the Quagon.

Tia: Remember how he said that in orange?

William: “Oh damn, y’all are still on this?” “Yeah! Yeah we are!”

Xiukai: Kay sure likes flesh!

Yuki: “That such a legendary prosecutor will be watching over and judging my performance... I’ll have to be perfect in every way!” (runs away whining)

Zahir:I do so hate to waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaste tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime.....

[juminss-cat]

It may be cold, but you make me feel so warm - Saelie ;)

haPPY BIRTHDAY, NATALIE! Since I can’t give you something in person bc distance sucks wow ew, have this ridiculously fluffy birthday fic! I hope you like it, lovely! I love you lots!

It was cold for March, the weather in Korea still bitter, the sky overcast and clouds heavy, threatening to yield to the water inside them at any moment. The weather outside was made to look even colder by the scene in the kitchen, a warm yellow glow spilling out onto the damp ground, rain droplets shining like diamonds on display. Saeran had been working all morning, rising at dawn despite the sun’s light being smothered by the grey clouds and the freezing temperature of the bunker. He’d had it planned for a month now, the perfect day, the perfect meal, the perfect gifts, all for the perfect woman. So here he was, slaving over the hob, cooking an assortment of foods, occasionally rolling his eyes at his brother’s idle chitchat from where he sat on the kitchen counter.

“You’re not gonna hog her all day, are you?” Saeyoung whined and Saeran snorted, keeping his attention on the mixture in front of him, “Because, like, I have a present for her too, and I’m pretty sure even Vanderwood does. Plus, her cat goes wherever she goes and I really wanna cuddle her,” he finished, hands reaching out in front of him as if Alaska was floating in the air, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Saeran reasoned and Saeyoung pouted, “I’ll keep her for as long as both she and I want. I’ve had this planned for weeks, and I’m not gonna let my idiot brother fuck it up.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Saeyoung sighed, legs swinging from where they dangled over the counter, “I guess I won’t offer to go out on an early morning ice cream run so you guys can enjoy it with the waffles.”

Saeran smirked, pouring the pancake into the pan and adjusting the heat slightly. “We already have ice cream, Saeyoung, I bought some in preparation, but nice try.” Saeyoung looked at his brother sheepishly and rubbed his neck, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks as he cleared his throat.

“Uh, we did have ice cream,” Saeyoung corrected and Saeran tore his gaze away from the stove to glare at him, jaw clenching. It wasn’t even 8am and already Saeyoung was finding ways to fuck up your day.

“Saeyoung, so help me God, you get your arse down to the shopping market now and get me some ice cream or I will make sure Alaska is never allowed near you ever again,” Saeran said through gritted teeth and Saeyoung’s eyes widened as he hopped off of the counter, saluting before running to put his shoes on.

While the ice cream disaster may have been averted, there was still a fuck ton of work that needed to be done, namely cooking and then arranging the food, the flowers he still had to put in a vase and he wanted to lay the gifts he’d gotten you on the bed so neither of you had to leave it.

It was ten in the morning by the time it was all finished and Saeran thanked god that you slept in today, as it gave him just enough to prepare. He was just bringing through the food, balancing it precariously on a tray, when your eyelids fluttered open, bleary eyes taking in the scene around you through a sleep clouded mind. Alaska shifted at the end of the bed, stretching a paw and yawning, chirping when she saw Saeran.

“Sae?” You call out, voice soft from sleep still and he smiled softly, setting the food carefully down on the bed and walking around to your side. He kneels down and brushed the strands of hair away from your face, eyes drinking in your appearance and memorising every detail, something he’d done multiple times already.

“Happy Birthday, flower,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and your smile splits into a grin, your arms reaching up to loop around his neck. He lets you pull him down, his head resting on your chest as your hands carded through his hair, eyes drooping shut, still heavy with sleep. “As much as I could stay here all day, I have managed to somehow prepare a small feast,” he says, stifling a smile and your eyes blinked open, a hand rubbing them as he pulled back.

“You didn’t have to,” you mumble, smiling at him gratefully when he slotted a pillow behind your back, allowing you to sit upright comfortably.

“I wanted to,” He replies simply, settling under the covers once the tray was on your lap and you grinned at the pancakes and waffles, bacon and eggs, tea, juice and every other one of your favourite foods. Alaska had taken to walking up the bed, sniffing the tray with rapt interest and you rolled your eyes, making a mental note to save some food for her.

“I don’t think I can eat all of this,” you tell him, laughing slightly and he blushed, ducking his head.

“I did go a little bit overboard,” he confesses and you shake your head, pressing a kiss to his cheek, admiring the blush that covers them.

“No, it’s perfect,” you tell him sincerely and he beams at you, taking the fork from your hand and feeding you a mouthful. He helps you eat some of it, alternating mouthfuls and you make sure to praise him, to tell him how amazing it all way because it was nothing short of perfect.

In the end, breakfast took around an hour due to the pauses between eating to laugh and make jokes or to exchange kisses that tasted syrupy sweet. Come eleven o’clock, there was a cautious knock on the door and Saeran groaned and rolled his eyes, letting his head roll back against the pillow.

“What part of ‘I’ll call you when I want to see you’ are you not understanding?” Saeran calls out and the door opened, Saeyoung’s head poking around, his eyes shut.

“Y-you are both clothed, right?” He asks and you laugh, pushing the now empty tray of your lap and letting Alaska settle where it was.

“Yes, we’re both clothed,” you tell him and he opens his eyes, a grin on his face.

“Good, because I have quite possibly the best present for you in all the world,” he tells you very seriously and Saeran sighs heavily, shaking his head slightly and you smile at their antics.

“You didn’t have to, Saeyoung,” you tell him and he protests immediately, voice rising in volume until Vanderwood threatens to tase him from the living room.

“Open it!” He exclaims, walking into the room and pushing the box into your hands. You pick it up, confounded as to what it could be. It’s relatively big and, upon closer inspection, you see holes have been poked through the box. You let out a startled yelp when it starts moving and Saeran looks murderous.

“If this is what I think it is I am reporting you to animal protection services immediately,” Saeran threatens and Saeyoung continues grinning, stifling a laugh. You open the box, Alaska sniffing it with rapt attention, and peek inside. It’s not a live cat, which is good, but it is a robotic one, life-sized essentially with white and ginger fur and green eyes.

“Now, if you’re forced to be apart from Saeran for whatever reason, you can have a piece of him with you! It’s programmed to talk in the same way he does, and I kinda maybe might have placed a microphone on his shirt to record his actual voice, so essentially, it’s Saeran minus the, you know, body part.” You end up laughing as you lift it out of the box and Saeran is trying very hard to not hurl the goddamn thing across the room at his brother.

“It’s amazing, thank you!” You tell him and Saeran seems to settle down a bit, relaxing at the knowledge that you at least like it. Alaska jumps off the bed, startled, when the robotic cat moves and Saeyoung reaches out for her, holding her like you showed him and making sure to not ‘abuse’ her in any way.

“Take the cat and go,” Saeran tells him, wrapping an arm around you and tugging you close to his chest. He grins and makes to move off with Alaska when Saeran attempts to call him back.

“The fake cat, Saeyoung, like I’d let you out of my sight with Natalie’s cat,” he yells, having to raise his voice to be heard in the hallway. Saeyoung doesn’t return and Saeran makes a move to get out of bed and get Alaska back, but you pull him back down, laying your head on his chest.

“I trust him. He’s been living with her for months now, and he’s actually a lot better at petting her than he was,” you reason and Saeran nods, pressing a kiss to your head and holding you tightly. He makes an offhand comment about opening your presents and you pout, clutching onto him tighter, content to just lay in bed and cuddle.

“I love you, Natalie,” he murmurs, closing his eyes in contentment, basking in the way you feel laid against him. The weather in Korea may be cold, but you’d never felt warmer.

[danfanciesphil]

L’Histoire Française (New Chapter)

Teacher AU (Part 12)

(Part One)

(Part Two)

(Part Three)

(Part Four)

(Part Five)

(Part Six)

(Part Seven)

(Part Eight)

(Part Nine)

(Part Ten)

(Part Eleven)

(Now Available on Ao3!)

“Dan?”

The sound of Phil’s voice, confused as it is, is like a blanket of calm. Dan’s shoulders release their tension, and he sits heavily down on his bed, eyes slipping shut.

The phone clamped to his ear stays quiet for a moment, and then Dan can hear something, a clattering noise.

“Dan, are you okay?” Phil asks, concern creeping into his tone now.

“Yeah,” Dan says in a breath, nodding as the relief washes over him. “Yeah, sorry, I’m… I was just…”

Dan trails off, teeth catching hold of his lip as he struggles with how to phrase this. The silence on the other end of the line goes on for around ten seconds.

“You’ve never called me before,” Phil notes quietly.

“First time for everything,” Dan says. He clears his throat, trying to gather himself together. “So, I was actually calling to say this is all a huge mistake, and that you shouldn’t come over tonight.”

“Oh,” comes Phil’s reply. There’s no mistaking the cut of disappointment in his voice.

Dan sighs, immediately feeling himself melt. “But I’m not gonna say that.”

“You’re gonna give me whiplash,” Phil says, making Dan smile.

“Sorry. I’m getting kind of anxious thinking about it is all,” Dan says, eyes travelling to the ceiling of his bedroom. “But talking to you is helping.”

“It is?”

Dan blinks in surprise. “Yeah, of course. You make everything better, didn’t you know?”

Phil laughs, sounding a little baffled. “No, I wasn’t aware. Um, that’s… really nice. I’m glad I can help you to feel… better. Is that okay to say?”

“I think so,” Dan says, shrugging to his empty room. “I’m not an expert in what’s okay and what’s not-okay for us from here on out.”

“No, me neither.”

“What are you doing?” Dan asks, mostly to steer the conversation into safer territory. “I heard clattering.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m baking cookies.”

“Cookies?” Dan says, sitting up a little straighter. “Cookies for who?”

He can hear Phil laughing at the eagerness of his tone. “For everyone. Teddy, Tyler, me, Buffy… hmm, can’t think of anyone else, though.”

“I hate you,” Dan tells him fondly. “What kind of cookies are they?”

“Pecan and cinnamon.”

“I think I just drooled on myself.”

Phil laughs again, low and happy. Dan can picture they way his eyes are crinkling, sending a blossoming flower of warmth spreading through his chest. He thinks of Phil, covered head to toe in flour, a rolling pin in his hand, cutting little shapes out of dough, feeding Buffy globs of icing and whispering to her not to tell.

“I want to bake with you,” Dan says, not really thinking. He can feel the hearts in his eyes still, they’re cloaking everything in a rosy-lovestruck-haze. “I mean, if it’s not against the rules.”

“There are rules now?”

“Well no, I suppose not, but-”

“I doubt John wouldn’t be as mean as to stop us from whipping up some cakes together, Dan.”

Dan snorts, rolling his eyes. “Especially if we bring him a few.”

“That’s a plan, then.”

“Okay,” Dan says with a smile, incredibly happy that they’ve scheduled another time to hang out, even if it’s ill-advised. “And we’re still on for tonight?”

“Unless you ring me up in an hour and cancel,” Phil says.

“Hah… I’ll try not to.”

“Seriously though,” Phil says, making Dan pause. “If you do get… anxious or anything. Not just about tonight, but ever… I want you to know that you can talk to me. You know, if it really does help you.”

The words knock the breath out of him. Nobody, Dan decides in that moment, not the ground Phil walks on, not the oxygen rushing into Phil’s lungs, will ever deserve him. He’s the purest, most selfless person on this earth.

“Thanks,” Dan whispers, though it’s a millionth of what he could say.

“No problem,” Phil tells him, sincerely. “I should… probably get back to the cookies. Unless you need me to…”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Dan assures him. “I’m okay now. I’m chill.”

Phil laughs. “So I don’t need to bring you baked goods to make you feel better?”

“Oh, weird, I seem to be getting all worked up again…”

Phil laughs again, louder and brighter. “Cookies on their way. See you later.”

“Bye, Phil,” Dan says softly, a smile still warm on his face.

“Bye.”

The line drops, but Dan holds the phone to his face for another minute or two, listening to the crackle of the void where Phil’s sweet, reassuring voice just was, letting it glide, smooth and silken, over his skin.

*

“What’s this?” Dan asks, perplexed as a glass of clear, bubbling liquid is shoved into his hand.

“A drink,” Tyler replies, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t try and tell me you don’t need it.”

“You’ve been sitting in that spot by the window with your knee jiggling a mile a minute for like an hour,” Teddy agrees, glancing over the top of his laptop. “Drink the fucking G & T.”

“I don’t need-”

“If you won’t do it for us, do it for the poor driveway.”

“What?”

“You’ve been giving the driveway a laser death stare,” Teddy explains, making Tyler laugh. “Give it a break. Drink the alcohol, and let your poor muscles relax.”

“He’s not exactly a scary man,” Tyler reminds him; suddenly the drink in Dan’s hand looks a lot more appetising. “He’s… well, I suppose he is rather intimidatingly attractive, but…”

Tyler trails off, his eyes glazing over. Teddy hurls a cushion at him.

“Quit daydreaming about Sexy Teacher,” he cries, annoyed. “He’s Dan’s anyway.”

Tyler smirks, walking over to the sofa and flopping down beside his boyfriend. “It’s unspeakably hot when you get all jealous, darling.”

Deciding that sobriety is, in fact, not his friend this evening, Dan gulps down some gin and tonic, wincing. He doesn’t particularly like the stuff, but Tyler loves to pretend he’s a bougie, pretentious gin connoisseur.

It’s at that moment that Dan hears the telltale sound of a car pulling into the driveway. He chokes a little on the gin, spluttering, and looks towards Tyler and Teddy in alarm.

“Ooh, here he is!” Tyler squeals, jumping up. “I’ll get the door.”

“Nope,” Dan objects, standing and grabbing Tyler by the arm. “You are not accosting him before he even gets inside, let me gradually lead him into the deep end at least.”

Tyler opens his mouth as if he’s about to object, but Dan hurries out of the room before he can listen to whatever inane protestation his flatmate is about to put forward. He gets to the front door just as the doorbell rings, and hauls it open before the sound has even finished.

Phil blinks in surprise, his hand still poised over the bell.

Oh, God, Dan thinks in despair. He looks sensational.

A thousand potential compliments rush through Dan’s blank mind, swirling into a frenzy. Phil’s hair is artfully tousled, fringe swept effortlessly to the side. He’s not wearing his glasses, meaning that the blue of his eyes shines out, pigmented and piercing. A tight black jumper hugs his torso, making him appear even leaner and taller. Teamed with the black skinnies he’s almost never without, he looks like he’s stepped off a runway at of Paris Fashion Week.

The only thing out of place is the flowery yellow cake tin tucked under one of his arms. Dan’s eyes fall to it, mostly so that he won’t gawp in a more inappropriate direction.

“Um, hi,” Phil says, and Dan realises he hasn’t said a word since he opened the door.

Resisting the urge to smack himself in the face, Dan laughs, feeling how pink his cheeks are becoming just at the sight of him. “Hi, sorry - my brain zonked out there for a second. Come in.”

Dan smiles in what he hopes is some semblance of a welcome, and steps aside to let Phil through. As Phil passes him, the tangy, sweet notes of his cologne brush into Dan’s senses, and he almost groans.

Instead, he takes a moment to gather himself, then shuts the door, sealing them both in the hallway, alone.

After a pretty awkward few moments of silence, where Dan genuinely can’t think of how to speak, Phil holds up the tin, smiling. “I brought cookies.”

“You did,” Dan agrees, reaching to receive the tin. “I mean, you said you would and… you followed through. Thank you.”

Phil smiles a little wider. “Well, they’re not all for you.”

“Too bad, because I’m eating every single one, the others can suck it.”

“What can we suck, darling?” Tyler asks, strolling into the hall, Teddy at his side. “Phil! You made it. And you look ravishing, might I say.”

“Oh, th-thank you,” Phil replies politely. “Good to see you again, guys.”

“I get the feeling you don’t wear black very often,” Teddy says, circling him, vulture-like. “Is that correct?”

“Uh, I do generally like to be a bit more colourful, I suppose.”

“Well, dear, I think if you wore black every day you’d probably knock a dozen people out just on your way into work,” Teddy says, laughing. “So, perhaps it’s a good thing.”

“Is he saying he likes it, or…?” Phil asks Dan in a whisper, though his eyes are glinting with amusement.

Dan lets out a soft chuckle, still feeling a little out of it. Perhaps that early G & T wasn’t such a great idea. “Yes, he likes it.”

“Come on then, fellas,” Tyler says loudly, clapping his hands. “Let’s get some drinks together.”

“Do you like gin, Phil?” Teddy asks as they usher Phil towards the kitchen. “I only ask because if you say no, Tyler will probably ask you to leave.”

“Uh, I thought we were going to the pub?” Phil says, throwing Dan a confused glance.

Dan just shrugs; he’s gotten used to letting Tyler and Teddy dictate his every move when it comes to nights out, as it’s far easier than trying to keep up with whatever mad plan they cook up, let alone put his own opinion in. He’s kind of forgotten that that isn’t actually very normal.

“Oh, we are,” Tyler assures him, disappearing into the kitchen. Dan sighs, following along behind them all. “But first we’re going to have a little drinkie here.”

“Oh, well, in that case, you’d better make mine just a T,” Phil says, eyeing the enormous bottle of fancy-looking gin in Tyler’s hands with a fair amount of wariness. “Minus the G.”

Tyler and Teddy both whirl around to face him, utterly scandalised. Dan wishes he had better reflexes, because their faces are priceless, and he would have loved to capture them on his phone camera for future blackmail.

A couple of seconds pass though, and then they melt to expressions of confusion. Much less interesting.

“Sorry, darling, I think I misunderstood,” Tyler says with a concerned bubble of laughter. “I thought you said you didn’t want any of my gin. Obviously I’m mistaken.”

Phil laughs. “It’s nothing personal. I’m a big gin fan, but… well, I can only really have one drink tonight, so I thought I’d save it for the pub.”

Dan frowns, fingers drumming on the lid of the tin in his hands. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I have to stay under the limit,” Phil explains, shrugging. The others continue staring in bewilderment. “... because I’m driving home,” he clarifies.

Oh, Dan thinks, blinking at the news. He hadn’t even considered that.

All of a sudden, Teddy and Tyler are bursting into laughter. “Oh, you are funny, Phil.”

“As if you’re driving home tonight!”

For some reason, Dan thinks he can see a light blush atop Phil’s cheeks. “Um… well, I have to get home somehow…”

“No, sweetie!” Tyler says, struggling as he attempts to unscrew the lid of the bottle in his hands. “I won’t hear of it. Stay over here! You can sleep on the couch, it’s very comfortable.”

“You would know, Ty,” Teddy says, plucking the bottle out of Ty’s hands and twisting the lid off in one go.

Tyler rolls his eyes, taking the opened bottle back again. “On the rare occasions we have a little tiff, I might have ended up getting some rest on it myself,” Tyler admits. “Before Teddy comes downstairs all teary-eyed and drags me back up to bed, of course.”

Teddy smacks Tyler on the bum, rather hard. “You’ll be joining Phil tonight if you’re not careful.”

“With pleasure,” Tyler grins, winking at Phil.

Dan’s fingers scrape a little against the metallic lid, and he winces. 

“Um, look, guys, it’s very sweet of you to offer, but I’m not sure whether-”

“I’m not taking no for an answer, Phil,” Tyler warns him. He shoves a freshly made gin and tonic into Phil’s hand, effectively silencing him.

Clearly at a loss, Phil turns to Dan, as though asking his thoughts. Dan shrugs in what he hopes is a breezy, ‘whatever’ kind of way. It seems to confuse Phil a bit, understandably, as Dan literally almost hyperventilated down the phone at him a few hours ago, and that was just over worries about him coming over at all.

But the thing is, as Dan told Phil yesterday, this is all a pretty bad idea, probably. Dan’s since surrendered himself to that. Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t desperately, achingly want Phil to stay over tonight. In fact, he can think of nothing more that he’d wish for, at this time.

“The couch is pretty comfy,” Dan says after a minute, taking one of the glasses Tyler is handing out.

“Perfect!” Tyler cries, holding up his gin and tonic in salute. “So it’s settled. We’re all getting smashed, exposing our deepest, darkest secrets to one another, becoming the best of friends, and then we’re all coming back here to sleep and forget the whole thing ever happened.”

“Are you okay with it, though?” Dan asks Phil, wanting to be sure. “I mean, I don’t want to force you into sleeping on my sofa.”

“Yeah,” Teddy agrees, suspiciously sincere. He takes a sip from his drink. “I’m sure Dan has plenty of better options for you if the couch isn’t appealing.”

“Teddy, I will eviscerate you,” Dan grits out, glaring at him. Luckily, Phil seems to find this very amusing.

“Oh,” Tyler sighs happily. He rests his elbows on Dan and Phil’s shoulders, clinking his glass against theirs. “This is going to be a very fun night, boys.”

*

Dan kind of knows he shouldn’t, but he sits beside Phil on the sofa. He can feel Phil’s leg pressed against his as he sips at his second gin and tonic of the evening. It’s warm and reassuring. If he closes his eyes, he can remember how it felt to have Phil’s thighs either side of him, the weight of his body piled into his lap.

“So, Phil, did you have fun in Paris?”

Dan’s eyes fly open at Teddy’s question. He and Tyler are curled into the armchair again, all intertwined legs and draped elbows.

“Yeah, it was really good,” Phil replies. “I think it was really educational for the kids, which is nice. Plus we crammed a lot in.”

“So I hear,” Tyler says. Dan immediately feels his heart start to race. Why, oh why did he ever tell Tyler a damn thing? “What was your favourite part of the trip, Philly?”

Dan’s eyes fall closed, and he sips more of his drink. When Phil doesn’t answer, he looks over in surprise. Phil seems to be struggling for how to respond.

“Personally, I loved the Musée D’Orsay,” Dan jumps in, trying to come to Phil’s rescue. “You’d have really liked it, Teddy - the walls were these huge Monet canvases-”

“Um, no offence, Dan, but we’ve heard you blabber on about Paris for a week,” Tyler interrupts him. “I believe I asked Phil.”

Helpless, Dan sighs in defeat, aiming an apologetic glance in Phil’s direction. He just smiles, and clears his throat, looking down into his glass.

“Probably the boat trip,” Phil says at last, his long fingers closing tightly around Dan’s heart.

“Boat trip?” Teddy asks, frowning. “You didn’t mention that, Dan.”

Phil glances at him, questioning, but Dan doesn’t bother to respond. It’s not exactly an uncrackable mystery, why he chose not to divulge this small part of the trip. The memories of the boat are a little too personal, a little too painful to share with his idiot flatmates.

So Dan just shrugs, sipping more of his drink. It’s halfway gone already. Perhaps he should slow down.

“Yeah, it was… just a small thing I booked as a surprise for the kids at the end,” Phil explains. He’s trying to play it down, make it seem like less than it was, Dan realises, marvelling once again that Phil is able to read him so easily. “Just one of those river cruises down the Seine, you know.”

“But-” Teddy starts to say, but Dan sits upright, needing to stop this conversation in its tracks.

“Hey, Phil made cookies for us,” he says as brightly as possible. “Let’s all have one.”

“Ooh, cookies!” Tyler exclaims, the boat forgotten, thank heavens.

Dan lifts himself up from the couch, walking briskly into the kitchen to find the tin Phil brought. His fingers rest atop the bright yellow lid, tracing the flowers etched into the design. He shuts his eyes, taking this moment of solitude to silently stuff each suffocating memory of that night last Sunday into the back of his mind.

It’s too much, to remember it now, in the face of everything. Of course that was Phil’s favourite moment of the trip. It’s Dan’s favourite moment of his entire life. It’s the moment when his very concept of reality exploded, supernova-style, as Phil’s lips crashed into his. With one unexpected kiss, he splintered Dan’s self-doubt into a thousand sparkling pieces, along with the certainty Dan had carried, that Phil would never, in a million universes, over a billion lifetimes, ever actually want him.

It still doesn’t make sense. It still feels like a dream.

The fairylights twinkling above their heads. The gentle rocking of the boat on the river over which a thousand lovers had once padlocked their names. The taste of red wine on Phil’s mouth. The silvery wisps of his breath, that Dan had been close enough to feel ghosting over his chin.

It’s a moment plucked from the most fantastical story. It’s the kind of thing that never happens to anyone, let alone Dan Howell, the anxious, socially-awkward teaching assistant from Reading, England.

If was a mad, perfect moment. And Dan will never know anything like it again, he’s sure.

“Hey,” a voice says, making Dan jump.

He turns to the doorway of the kitchen, heart fighting its way out of his chest. Phil is standing there, glass in hand. His expression is soft, like he’s looking at a lost kitten, rather than a twenty-something nerd staring at the tin he was supposed to bring in five minutes ago.

“Hi,” Dan says after a moment. “Sorry, I just… I dunno, I got caught up in my own head for a sec. I’ll bring this in.”

Phil nods, and neither of them move. “I’m sorry if I… said something I shouldn’t have.”

Dan scoffs. “Don’t be stupid. How were you supposed to know I didn’t tell them about, um, about…”

“The boat,” Phil says, a little sadly. “Why didn’t you?”

Dan sends him a look of scorn. “Come off it.”

Unexpectedly, Phil laughs. Dan joins in, both of them caught up in it for a moment. When he stops, Phil says, “it’s a nice memory.”

Dan shrugs, feeling his teeth bite at his lip, puncturing the skin. “It’s just hard to think about it right now, is all.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Phil says. He looks guilty, for some reason.

“Cookies will help,” Dan offers, picking the tin up and forcing a smile. “Come on. The others will have no problem eating me if they don’t get the baked goods they were promised.”

Phil doesn’t move, so Dan is forced to squeeze past him through the door. For the sake of his own sanity, he pretends he imagines the soft graze of Phil’s hand over his back as he goes.

*

“Please, take them away from me,” Tyler begs Teddy, who is feeding him a third cookie. “I’m going to have to book in three more gym sessions this week to make up for this.”

“Oh shut your face, you’re gorgeous and you know it,” Teddy says, rolling his eyes. He takes a bite of the cookie he’s holding, making an ‘mmm’ sound. “I have to say, Phil. You have truly exceeded my expectations. Must be all that time in Paris. The French do know how to bake.”

Phil chuckles politely, swallowing the last of his cookie. “Thanks. I did start baking a lot more when I lived in Paris, actually. It’s therapeutic, I find. And I was under a lot of stress, at the time.”

“Pourquoi?” Tyler asks, intrigued.

“Oh, um,” Phil says, unmistakably uncomfortable all of a sudden. Dan watches curiously, chewing on his own cookie, as Phil shifts about. “I was… going through a breakup.”

Dan’s eyebrows lift; he doesn’t miss the worried glance Phil throws his way. He clears his throat, and drinks some more G & T, wondering if he’s about to have to listen to the wonders of whoever Phil’s ex was, on top of everything else.

“You had… a Parisian lover?” Tyler asks, struggling to sit upright with Teddy on his knee. “A paramour, perhaps?”

Phil laughs awkwardly. “No, nothing like that. Paramour tends to refer to people having illicit affairs. I was just seeing someone for a time. But it didn’t work out.”

Dan rolls his eyes at Tyler, who is so clearly brimming with curiosity that it’s practically spilling out of his hungry eyes.

“These cookies are incredible, by the way,” Dan interjects, sensing Phil would like a change of subject.

Phil beams at him, opening his mouth to respond. Before he can get there, however, Tyler pipes up again.

“Male or female?”

Phil blinks at him. “Sorry?”

“Your non-paramour,” Tyler clarifies. “What gender were they?”

“Could be neither,” Teddy adds, nibbling. “We can’t cis-sume.”

Dan snorts. “Did you just make that word up?”

Teddy grins. “It works, don’t you think? No point cis-suming something.”

“Guys! I’m waiting for Phil’s answer,” Tyler shouts crossly.

“It was a man,” Phil says slowly, like he’s treading through a minefield.

“So you’re gay?” Tyler asks.

“Ty! For fuck’s sake,” Dan cries, glaring at him. “You don’t have to answer him, Phil. He’s being a prat.”

Phil just shrugs. “It’s okay. I guess I don’t really know what the future might bring, but at this point in my life I’ve only ever liked boys.”

Dan’s mouth is dry, suddenly. He puts the rest of his cookie to one side for a moment, scared he might choke. He pours the remainder of his drink down his throat, not listening to word of whatever Ty is babbling about. Something about the Kinsey Scale.

“Shall we get going?” Dan asks the general room, not really caring if they agree. He stands up, gathering his and Phil’s empty glasses and the cake tin, then heading into the kitchen. “Come on, if we don’t leave now we’ll end up staying here all night.”

“True,” Dan hears Teddy say as he leaves the room. “S’not like that hasn’t happened a few times.”

Before they get out of the door, Dan insists on making up a bed on the sofa for Phil. He knows what Tyler and Teddy are like on these pub trips - Dan will be surprised if any of them stumble back later with enough sense to open the front door, let alone throw some sheets and blankets together for poor Phil to sleep on.

Phil tries to protest as Dan gets the pillows and covers out of the cupboard, but Dan won’t hear of it. He does his best to make the sofa seem comfy, then stands back to survey his work. Tyler sidles up beside him, resting his elbow on Dan’s shoulders.

“Not sure why you’re bothering, to be honest, honey,” he says. “Not like he’s going to be sleeping here, after all.” Dan shoves him off, annoyed.

“Don’t be a twat, Ty,” Dan hisses, looking around the living room in case anyone heard.

Luckily, Phil and Teddy seem to have already migrated out into the hall.

Tyler lifts his hands in defence, smirking. “Dan, I’m just going off the fact that Sexy Teacher has stared pointedly at your ass every time your back is turned.”

Dan groans in despair, his cheeks beginning to burn. “Ty, can you please not? You know it’s not gonna happen, I told you-”

“Actually you just sobbed in my arms and told me fuck all,” Tyler corrects him. “It made me think things were pretty hopeless, honestly, but seeing how you two are around each other, I can’t help but wonder what the fuck you’re playing at.”

“It’s complicated!”

“Is it? Or are you just being a wimp?”

Dan opens his mouth, indignant, but before he can respond, Teddy is poking his head around the door, looking impatient.

“Are you guys coming, or what?”

*

Their local pub is called The Cat & Bear. It’s an old-fashioned, proper English tavern, with ivy crawling along the red brick outside, hops hanging from the dark oak bar, and some hearty British ales and stouts on tap. They sell the cheaper stuff too, of course: Carlsberg and Stella and all the other ‘lad’ lagers. None of them are particularly keen on beer, but they always drink it here, mostly because they’re too afraid to ask for anything else. Places like The Cat & Bear make people like Dan, Tyler, and Teddy painfully aware of how ‘millennial’ they are with their skinny jeans, side-fringes and colourful array of sexualities.

“Four Peronis, please,” Dan says to Frank, the beefy, bearded old barman in a voice that might be a shade lower than normal. 

Frank nods at him, which in Dan’s eyes is the equivalent of a hug from the surly man. All three of them have been coming here long enough now that Frank must know who they are, so it’s important to remain friendly and civil to him.

“Ordering for me, I see,” Phil says, appearing at Dan’s left elbow.

“Oh,” Dan says, having not even thought about it. “Sorry, I didn’t- do you like beer, or-”

Phil laughs at him, resting a hand on his shoulder. Dan wonders if he’d be so tactile if the gin and tonic from earlier wasn’t coursing through his veins.

“It’s fine,” Phil assures him. “I can do beer.”

“That’s the spirit, Phil,” Tyler says, pushing in between them to grab two of the Peronis Frank is putting on the bar. He takes a huge gulp from one, then burps softly into the crook of his elbow, grinning with pride. “You need to channel that masculine energy. Like Teddy and I.”

Dan laughs at this, rolling his eyes. “How will we ever keep up with you?”

“I’ll just take these to our table, you’re alright with getting this round, right Dan?”

Before Dan can respond, Tyler has disappeared, practically sprinting to the table Teddy has secured for them in the back. Dan glares after him, muttering about ungrateful moochers under his breath.

“Twenty quid, son,” Frank says, so Dan turns back, digging into his pocket.

Before he can even locate his wallet however, Phil is holding out a twenty pound note, and Frank is taking it from him without so much as a hesitation.

“Phil!” Dan exclaims. “You can’t- you didn’t have to-”

“Well I did,” Phil says, picking up one of the beers and sipping it, eyebrows raised. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Dan chokes on the sip of Peroni in his mouth, and pretends not to see the smirk Phil gives him in response. “Phil, if you flirt with me tonight I will combust.”

“Noted,” Phil says with a wink, making Dan want to strangle him. “Drink your beer, Howell.”

As Phil turns to walk towards the table, Dan feels his soul clawing its way out of his body, desperate to run after him, to seal him in an embrace and never let go. Instead, he nods his thanks at frowny Frank, and follows Phil to join the others.

*

“So how did you all meet?” Phil asks with a smile.

Dan’s a quarter of the way through his beer already, and it’s been two minutes since he sat down. The good news is, Phil is beautiful, and in the low lighting of this lamplit pub, his pale skin has a golden shimmer.

The bad news is, all of this beauty is squashed against Dan in the tight booth that the others have chosen. Teddy and Tyler, opposite them, are happily snuggled up against each other. Dan is trying to burrow into the wall at his side so that he doesn’t get the world’s most innappropriate boner from being pressed against the man he shouldn’t even be thinking about, let alone crammed drunkenly into a small space with.

He takes another gulp of beer. “We met at uni.”

“Dan and I were roomies,” Tyler says, grinning. “Isn’t that right, hun?”

“Really?” Phil asks, sounding intrigued. “Like, you shared a room?”

“I know, it’s a chilling thought,” Dan deadpans. “Don’t ask me how I restrained from stringing myself up with his collection of ties.”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “You loved it.”

Dan leans towards Phil, shaking his head. “He snores. Loudly.”

“I do not!”

“You do,” Teddy jumps in, causing Tyler’s mouth to drop. “Why do you think I bought you that nasal strip?”

“To stimulate my airflow- oh my God. The betrayal!”

Phil is laughing at them, his eyes light and happy. His smile is so big, so bright and sunny, that it seems like he has never been sad in his life. If anyone in this pub looked over, they’d never believe that Phil had ever sat on the floor of the staff bathroom yesterday and told Dan all the things he thought he should hear ‘because I know I won’t get to, now’.

Phil’s positivity is so large that it outweighs anything sad. And it’s painful to see. Because Dan is nothing but his sadness right now. It fills him from head to toe. He wishes he could sweep it to one side like Phil has, and just enjoy being here, but he can’t. Phil is a rare jewel that Dan discovered in a dingy classroom, shrouded in the dust of an ancient bureaucratic system that doesn’t understand him. Dan found him, uncovered him, brushed away the dust, and now, at his most sparkling, he’s been stolen away.

He doesn’t realise he’s staring until Phil says his name.

“Hm?” Dan answers, not really present, still.

“I said do you want to play?”

Dan blinks in bewilderment, dazzled by the bright blue of Phil’s eyes. “Play what?”

“Truth or dare,” Tyler answers, grinning mischievously.

Oh no, Dan thinks, straightening in fear.

“It’ll be fun!” Teddy sings, smiling at him. Definitely oh no.

At a loss, Dan turns back to Phil. The older man has an ignorant, naive expression on his face, resembling someone who has no fucking clue what he’s in for.

Phil shrugs at him; there’s a glimmer in his eye. “How bad could it be?”

*

“Truth.”

“Would you rather have Frank over there give you a twelve hour full body massage,” Tyler begins, and Teddy pales.

“With a happy ending,” Dan adds, laughing.

“Right! Or kiss him for… hmm, ten minutes.”

“With tongues,” Phil joins in, laughing as well. Teddy groans, placing his head into his hands.

Despite Dan’s initial reservations, the game is going well. It’s certainly helping to lift the tension Dan can feel wrapped like writhing snake around his and Phil’s shoulders. They’re having fun, and it’s honestly just what Dan needs right now. He hasn’t smiled properly since Tuesday.

“Ugh, I guess… kiss him,” Teddy says, and everyone makes noises of disgust.

“Poor Frank,” Tyler says, glancing over at where the man in polishing a glass behind the bar.

“Um, excuse me?” Teddy exclaims, jabbing Tyler in the chest. “Poor Frank?”

Tyler just laughs at him, turning to Phil. “Okay, you’re up, Frenchie.”

“You know, I’m from Rossendale,” Phil tells him, chuckling. “England. I just speak French.”

“Whatever,” Tyler says, batting his objections away. “It’s your turn, mon chéri.”

Shaking his head in amusement, Phil leans back in his seat, thinking. “Hmm. I think I’ll go with d-”

Dan’s hand flies out before he can stop it, clapping itself over Phil’s mouth. Phil’s eyes widen in alarm, head pushed back against the seat by the force.

“Don’t do it,” Dan urges, suddenly panicked. “They’re evil, Phil. Don’t underestimate them.”

Tyler scoffs, looking put out. “Dan, let the poor man make up his own mind.”

Dan removes his hand, still terrified. The problem is, Phil sees the good in everyone. He needs to realise that Tyler and Teddy only have a very limited supply of goodness in their entire bodies. And when they’re together, in situations like this, it almost entirely disappears.

Phil glances around the table, looking far more wary now than he was a moment before. He licks his lips, making Dan blush.

“Uh, truth then, I guess.”

“Ugh,” Tyler groans, banging his forehead on the table. “You see what you’ve done, Daniel? You’re a manipulative little weasel, using your seductive powers on a poor, unsuspecting young Frenchman-”

Dan tunes him out in order to lean close to Phil. “You made the right decision. He definitely had a dare in mind for you. Be careful.”

Phil nods seriously, but Dan can see the disbelieving little smirk he wears beneath it. He still doesn’t understand that he’s in danger here. Tyler is a fucking wild card, and as for Teddy once he’s had a few…

“Fine!” Tyler shouts, having finished his rant, apparently. “A fucking truth for Phil, then.”

“Where on his body is Dan most sensitive?” Teddy asks sweetly, tilting his head to one side.

Tyler turns to him, mouth agape. “Oh, I love you.”

The pub goes deathly silent, Dan is sure. A hush descends over the entire room, and all eyes swivel their way. Dan feels like he’s about to burst into flames, and as he stares down into the remains of his beer, he imagines it boiling under the heat of his laser-stare.

Phil laughs, sounding a bit thrown by the question. Perhaps that might be an understatement, but Dan genuinely can’t bring himself to look.

“Uh, how would I know that?” Phil asks, and Dan’s eyes flutter closed.

Teddy shrugs, smiling too wide. Dan had it all wrong. Tyler was never the one to fear. It was Teddy, all this time, the true demon, the ultimate nemesis, hidden behind Tyler’s boisterous attitude-

“No reason,” he chirps, taking a sip of his beer.

Tyler is kissing his hand in adoration; Dan wonders how much paperwork would be involved in trying to prematurely get out of their year-long lease of the house.

Dan takes a deep breath and sits up, forcing himself to look Phil in the eye. His expression is unreadable, but calm.

“So… you told them, then,” Phil guesses, one eyebrow cocked; somehow he’s still smiling, and it’s the only thing that’s holding Dan together.

Dan grimaces. “I didn’t mean to… it’s just that after you… on the boat-”

“Aha, so the boat was a thing!” Tyler interrupts, but Teddy shushes him.

“-after that,” Dan continues, his words jumbling together in his haste to get them out. “I was in the room alone and I was freaking out, so I don’t know why the fuck I thought it was a good idea, but I texted Ty. I just don’t have any other friends I could talk to about it and… yeah. So they know.”

Phil is nodding slowly, digesting the information as it spills, garbled, from Dan’s mouth.

“Say something, for the love of God,” Dan urges, feeling like he’s about to tumble over some glacial cliff-face.

“Neck,” Phil says, baffling everyone.

“Sorry?” Tyler asks.

“His neck,” Phil says again, he swallows some of his beer. “That’s where he’s most sensitive.”

Immediately, Dan seizes up, mortified, and buries his face in his elbow on the table. He groans, listening to the cackles of laughter coming from the other side of the table.

“I knew it!” Tyler exclaims, which is bullshit, Dan can’t help but think. “Steph would never tell me, but I just sensed it from how she smiled when I guessed his neck, do you remember Ted-”

“Who’s Stephanie?” Phil asks, calmly sipping some more beer.

Dan sits bolt upright, the humiliation slipping into terror once again. His heart simply cannot take this veering between extreme emotions, he’s sure. He tries to glare at Teddy and Tyler, to stop them from answering, but they are too plastered at this point to remember he’s even there.

“Oh, that’s Dan’s ex-girlfriend,” Teddy replies cheerily.

“Scary Stephanie,” Tyler laughs. “We call her that now because whenever we meet up with her all she does is glare at Dan and throw passive aggressive insults about him into conversation.”

“Like when she said he was always dropping not-so-subtle hints that he’s a furry-”

“Oh my GOD, please shut up!”

Tyler and Teddy turn to Dan, startled.

“Oh, it’s okay, sweetie. Phil understands!” Tyler says, giving him a bright smile.

Dan just rubs his eyes with his palms, trying to summon Satan himself to come and smite these two fuckwits before anything else comes out of their stupid mouths.

“I need another drink,” Dan groans, getting to his feet. He doesn’t dare look at Phil, because he knows he would instantly splinter into pieces, no matter what expression he found on Phil’s face. Instead, he stares resolutely at the table. “Can I get past you, please?”

As if it hadn’t even occurred to him until that point, Phil leaps up at once, sidestepping out of the booth so that Dan can get out. Dan mutters a vague ‘thanks’ and strides straight to the bar, not even bothering to ask if anyone else wants anything.

He beelines for Frank - sweet, predictably silent Frank - cursing himself for ever allowing this night to happen, and trying very, very hard not to imagine what further intimate details about his life Teddy and Tyler could be discussing with Phil right now.

*

Just as Dan feels the first, glorious sip of sharp, crisp Peroni on his tongue, a hand is slapping down a ten pound note onto the bar beside him.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Phil tells Frank with a smile so big, so charming, that Frank actually looks a little dazed.

“Oh, God, please allow me a moment to recover,” Dan groans, still not meeting his eye. “And I am absolutely paying for these, so-”

“Dan, your flatmates just outed you as a furry to a guy you’ve made out with once,” Phil reminds him. “I’ll get your drink.”

Dan turns to him, his defences flaring. “No, wait, okay, I’m not a furry, it was just a joke- Stephanie had no sense of humour, it was one of the reasons I broke up with her-”

Phil kisses him on the cheek.

It’s an effective method of stopping the rambling, Dan will give him that. His elbow also slips off the bar in his surprise, and he nearly topples to the dirty  floor. Phil catches him by the elbow just in time.

The whole few seconds are like a scene from a silent film.

“Uh,” Dan says, sure that Phil’s lips are probably scalded from the furnace of his cheeks. “I don’t… did you mean to…”

“Here you are, son.”

Phil turns to take the frothing pint from Frank, and presses the ten pound note into his outstretched hand. Dan is too dazed to argue, at this point.

“Merci,” Phil says, and the corner of Frank’s mouth quirks up.

It only makes the whole situation ten times more surreal.

“I shouldn’t have done that, I know,” Phil says quietly to Dan, one finger scooping up some beer-froth and depositing it into his mouth. Dan’s eyes helplessly follow the action. “I don’t appear to have a whole lot of self-restraint this evening.”

Dan’s eyes fall closed. “Great,” he says through gritted teeth. “Because we both know what a master of composure and dignity I am.”

Phil chuckles. “Are you really a furry?”

“No!” Dan exclaims, spilling some of his beer in frustration. “I told you-”

“I’m kidding,” Phil laughs, placing a hand on Dan’s arm. It could be made of razorblades, it’s so painful to feel. “Your flatmates are fun, but they seem to be kind of, um, what’s the word…?”

“Inconsiderate?”

“I was gonna go with dickheads, but sure,” Phil jokes, eyes sparkling.

Dan wonders if the reason Frank smiled in what is the first instance Dan has seen in all the time he’s been coming here, is because it’s hopeless to look at Phil and do anything but. He’s an ocean of warm, clear water, rippling and sparkling on a summer day. Dan wants to dive in, to submerge himself and never come out. More than that. He wants to drown.

“Is that what you are, then?” Dan finds himself saying.

Phil frowns in confusion. “Hm?”

“‘A guy I made out with once,” Dan reminds him. “A minute ago you said…”

“Oh,” Phil says, his smile fading a little. He shrugs. “I guess, yeah. But I hope I’m more than that, too.”

“Like what?” Dan says, his eyes stinging.

“Well, I hope I’m your friend, Dan.”

The fist that’s been clamped around Dan’s heart all night squeezes tight, too tight, and he feels it deflate like a burst balloon, until its shrivelled, a husk of itself.

“Oh,” Dan whispers, staring into his drink. “Yeah, of course you are.”

*

When they get back to the table, Tyler and Teddy are, rather noisily, making out.

Dan and Phil sit opposite them, eyes wide in a kind of fascinated horror, as they watch them paw at one another.

“It’s kind of grotesque… but I can’t look away,” Phil says softly. He immediately takes an enormous gulp of beer.

“They do this every time,” Dan sighs. “Imagine being here alone with them.”

“That sounds even worse.”

“Welcome to most of my Saturday nights.”

Phil turns to face him. “Maybe next time you should hang out with me instead.”

Dan snorts. “Right. Because we’re doing the mates thing now.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, a tiny smile on his face. “Mates-dates.”

Dan’s poor, shrivelled heart gives a tiny pang. “It was a real date once. How did that happen.”

“Dan,” Phil says, sad.

“Yeah,” Dan sighs, staring bitterly at Tyler and Teddy. “I know.”

How come it all came so easily to them? Dan lived with Tyler for their first year of university. Then one day, Teddy sat behind Dan in the lecture hall and noticed him streaming Peep Show on his laptop instead of taking notes. He leaned forwards and asked Dan to turn the subtitles on, and they became immediate friends. Dan brought him back to the flat one day, he met Ty, and that was it.

They dated for a while, had a lot of loud sex in the bedroom next to Dan’s, then in third year, Teddy moved in. And when Tyler and Dan decided to change up the flat for a bigger place somewhere further away from the town, Teddy was just included in the move.

It was all so simple with them.

Dan turns to Phil, a bit surprised at how close they’ve positioned themselves. Dan tells himself to move away, because it’s not helping things, but his body isn’t listening. Phil is like a magnet for him, alluring and irresistible.

One of Phil’s hands reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from Dan’s forehead. “What’re you thinking about?”

Dan could cry. He really could.

Phil’s eyes are so many shades of blue.

“Oh, just how the world hates me and wants me to suffer,” Dan replies in a vague attempt to keep things light.

Phil looks like he’s been struck with a hammer. The finger he used to sweep away the strand of hair traces around the curve of Dan’s cheek, gliding across his jaw.

“Fuck it,” Phil whispers.

Dan’s eyes widen at the unusual sound of Phil swearing, and then he’s being kissed. 

Not just kissed, but really kissed. 

He feels his head being cradled in two big, sturdy hands. Phil’s lips are sealed to his, soft but unyielding, trapping the breath in his lungs. Phil’s fingers plunge into his hair, raking over the base of Dan’s skull, making him shudder.

Dan leans into him, wanting closer, more, softer, rawer - everything he can get. Phil is a rain storm, splashing over the parched earth of Dan’s hopeless desire, conjuring life back into his roots, coaxing the withered leaves from their furls.

Dan is only aware of his own surroundings again when he hears a voice splitting through the heavenly vacuum that is Phil kissing him into dizzied, star-grazed pieces.

“Woaah, what’s goin’ on here then, fellas?” Tyler asks, apparently having surfaced from Teddy’s esophagus long enough to notice what was happening.

Phil draws back, sighing, and Dan’s entire soul is ripped out of his body, attached to Phil as he leans away.  “Problem, Tyler?”

“Nope,” Ty replies, staring at Dan, eyes wide and questioning. “Do continue.”

Without thinking about it, Dan grabs hold of Phil by the collar of his jumper and pulls him in, kissing him soundly, holding him in place. Phil makes a noise of surprise against his lips, laughing a little, but he allows it to happen nevertheless.

If Tyler and Teddy whistle and cheer in the background, Dan pretends not to hear them.

*

It usually takes the three of them far longer to wind their way back home from the pub than it does to walk down there, because, for lack of a better explanation, by the time they leave The Cat & Bear, they’re all usually plastered.

This time however, it takes even longer.

This is mostly because Dan cannot, for the life of him, stop kissing Phil. As he pauses to push their lips together for the third time in what must be five steps, he starts to wonder if he might have some kind of addiction. He’s never heard of anyone getting addicted to anything in less than half an hour, but that’s the only explanation he can think of.

“Dan, for God’s sake, Phil’s mouth will be there when we get home,” Teddy yells as he notices how far behind they are. “You’ve got the fucking house keys, now hurry up.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s grumpy because he thinks he’s gonna get laid when we get in, and you guys are preventing that,” Tyler calls to them, laughing.

Upon hearing this, Teddy promptly hoists Tyler up onto his shoulder, fireman style, making him shriek. Dan laughs as he watches Teddy begin running with him down the dark, deserted street, Tyler cursing and threatening him all the while.

“I’m surprised he can lift him,” Phil comments.

“Teddy’s one of those weirdly strong people,” Dan says, the two of them falling into step together, their linked hands swinging between them. “Looks like a twig, lifts like a Womping Willow.”

Phil chuckles. “Is that what you’re like, too?”

“Fuck no, I can’t lift a marshmallow.”

Before Dan can even fathom what’s happening, his arms are being pulled over Phil’s neck from behind, and his feet are no longer touching the floor. In seconds he’s hoisted onto Phil’s back, his thighs either side of Phil’s waist, clutched in his big, strong hands.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Dan babbles, terrified. He clings on for dear life, much to Phil’s amusement, and then they’re moving, faster than Dan would have thought possible, tearing down the road at a mad speed. “Oh my God, Phil, what the fuck are you-”

They catch up to Tyler and Teddy, who both scream with laughter when they see what’s happening. Somehow, there’s a half-incomprehensible conversation, and then they’re racing each other down the road, Tyler on Teddy’s back, Dan on Phil’s.

Dan is screaming for his life, so it seems, and somehow they’re winning. When they cross the finish line (a streetlight), Phil somehow swivels Dan round his body, allowing him to slip off, and kisses him, in the middle of the road, to the tune of Tyler’s screams of ‘cheaters!’.

*

Tyler insists on the final drink when they get home. Dan tries to protest, because honestly the walls are already breathing, but Tyler cannot be reasoned with, particularly when drunk.

They sit in the lounge, Dan on the end of the sofa where Phil’s feet will be when he lays down here tonight. He feels like he’s floating, like the air itself is made of helium, and he’s about to drift off into the centre of the room, buffeted about like a feather in a breeze. Then, he looks down at his hand, interlocked with Phil’s so tightly that he wonders whether the lack of blood flow might affect him. Phil is anchoring him to the spot, keeping him safe, present, whole.

Phil smiles at him, sparks of colour flying from his beautiful face. There are no words in Dan’s mind anymore, when he looks at Phil. Only shapes, vibrations, and thick, glutinous adoration, coating every muscle, every vein, every molecule of his body.

“Ugh, get a room,” Teddy says, making Tyler giggle.

Phil blushes, tearing his eyes from Dan’s. “Actually guys, I think you’ll find you’re in my room.”

“You’d better fucking not have sex on this couch, Dan,” Tyler warns.

“Oh my God, Ty,” Dan groans; he’d actually thought the humiliation was over for the night. Oh, what a fun treat it is to find out that that’s not true.

“Who wants to watch some bad movies and drunkenly bitch about the actors?” Teddy asks brightly.

Tyler groans, his eyes rolling back. “Nobody does, darling.”

“But-”

“I think it’s time for bed, don’t you?”

The protest dies on Teddy’s lips, and he visibly perks up, nodding. “Good idea.”

Teddy downs the last of his G & T in one gulp, and rises from the armchair, holding out a hand for Ty.

“Night, guys!” Teddy calls as Tyler stands to join him, rolling his eyes at Dan and Phil.

“He’s so easy,” Tyler tells them. “Night boys. Hope the sofa isn’t too uncomfortable, Phil.”

There’s an obvious laugh concealed in his voice, and Teddy hears it at once, snorting.

“Yeah, hope you have an okay night out here all on your own, Phil!” Teddy calls over his shoulder, sending Tyler into fits of giggles. “Dan, Tyler and I will all see you in the morning!”

“Fuck off, will you,” Dan shouts vaguely as he hears footsteps climbing the stairs, and then, mercifully, they are gone.

In their absence, a silence settles, like the dust after a tornado.

“So,” Dan says after a moment, just for something to break the quiet. Phil’s thumb is stroking over the top of his knuckles - very distracting. “D’you… do you wanna watch a film or something? We could watch Buffy, I think it’s on Netflix…”

Phil uses their connected hands to drag Dan across the space between them, until they’re pressed against one another, faces close. Dan’s heart is about to give out, he’s sure. Phil’s kiss re-inflated it, but it’s still damaged, and unsure.

Dan has no idea what is happening. This whole night has been the wildest rollercoaster, throwing him curveballs left and right. He doesn’t think he’s had one consecutive emotion for more than three minutes at one time, all evening.

Why would Phil kiss him, now, after everything he’s said, after breaking Dan into bits as he listed all the reasons he couldn’t? Dan feels like he’s been hurled out into space, totally lost, spinning and tumbling through a void, surviving on the snippets of oxygen Phil is handing him in the form of kisses.

“Dan, stop thinking,” Phil tells him in a whisper. “I did it, I kissed you. It’s too late to take it back. I broke the rules, and it’s already happened. Let’s not think about it anymore.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Dan admits, saddened by his own words.

Phil frowns, but nods in understanding. “Can we stop thinking about it… just for tonight, then?”

Dan hesitates, caught up again in the impossible depths of Phil’s swirling blue eyes. Their lips are so close already, but Phil tilts forwards just a little, brushing them together. And in that one, fleeting touch, a tsunami surges up inside of Dan, ferocious in its want for the man in front of him, suffocating and everywhere.

“Okay,” Dan finds himself saying.

He expects Phil to kiss him, then, but instead he just smiles. It’s a smile of relief, Dan thinks, of letting go of whatever troubles that might have been plaguing that bizarre, beautiful mind.

In the wake of the expected kiss, Dan shifts, feeling all of a sudden unsure. 

What exactly is going to happen now?

“So, did you want me to put Buffy on?”

An amused smile forms on Phil’s lips. “No,” he says softly. “She’d only get jealous.”

“Of what?”

This time, Phil does kiss him. He hauls Dan onto his lap, and kisses him senseless, his hands bracing Dan’s waist, fingertips skimming the skin below the hem of Dan’s shirt.

Dan falls into it, tasting nirvana in the sweep of Phil’s tongue across his lip, and feeling, in his pounding heart, the formation of a new star. Phil uses his teeth, capturing Dan’s lip, scraping along his jaw. He moves to Dan’s neck, lighting every single one of Dan’s nerves on fire; Dan winds his fingers into Phil’s hair, tightly - maybe too tightly - but Phil doesn’t seem to care.

At the very instant Dan can’t take a second more, he draws back, sensing another hickey is already blooming, but hardly giving it a second thought. He brings his forehead to Phil’s, breathing hard, and says, “you don’t have to sleep here, you know.”

Phil smiles, mischievous. “I don’t?”

“Not if you… don’t want to.”

“But, Dan,” Phil says, his voice innocent, his hands sliding up Dan’s thighs. “Where else would I sleep?”

“Maybe…. you won’t be sleeping,” Dan replies, internally cringing at his attempts at flirtation.

How does Phil make this look so easy?

Phil’s hands are on his hips now, gradually moving still; Dan’s trying to breathe through it, but he can feel how the touch is affecting him, systematically unthreading each stitch that’s holding him together.

“Why would I not be sleeping, exactly?”

That’s it, Dan decides. He cannot take one fucking millisecond more of this. Phil is right, they can shove everything else to the side, because Dan has spent what feels like eons waiting for this opportunity. So, he slides off Phil’s lap, stands up, and holds out his hand.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Dan says.

(Part Thirteen!)