#Prince Romo

[blankwisher-tsp]

GET PIXELATED IDIOT

#art #digital art #artists on tumblr #artwork #oc #wis #winds in spirit #windsinspirit #Romo #Demina #Prince Romo #game dev stuff #pixel art #pixel graphics #8bit

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Return of the King - A Gary King Recovery Fic

A no apocalypse, all 5 Musketeers got out alive AU where Gary’s recovered.

Andy hadn't believed it at first, when he got the text. That was a shock within itself, not only that Gary wasn't using the same Nokia he'd probably had since the turn of the millennium but that he'd figured out WhatsApp. Andy arrived at the train station with an almost crippling wave of deja vu. 

This was exactly the same as the Golden Mile. The Five Musketeers, as Gary had called the group chat, sat on a bench, catching up. His uneasy feeling was the same. 

Not everything was the same, however. Steven was talking about Sam and had the glimmer in his eyes of a long term relationship settling in. And Andy held out hope that this wasn’t going to be another pub crawl.

He'd tried to stay caught up with Gary, but the last time they'd really spent time together, Gary was eight months out of rehab and had asked him to read over a few contracts for what he called 'Grown up things'. 

So, it seemed he'd made something of himself. And Andy would rather them not go on this holiday than seeing Gary at a new low, having messed up his new start.

The taxi pulled up outside the quaint train station. He opened the window and shouted, "Taxi for Andy?"

"That's us."

They piled their bags into the boot and crammed into the car. The air conditioning was just an inch too cold and hit him like a wall. It was far too grey and blustery for it. All it did was add to the unsettling feeling he had. 

Pulling away, Andy looked at the old buildings. Weathered brick and period windows against grey skies and bright green bushes. It was humble and reminded him of Newton Haven without the sense of impending doom or the fear that he'd never leave. 

He'd never understood Gary’s affiliation with the town. Andy knew it was a harmless place, at least when they'd lived there, but eighteen years of rural peace had almost made him sick. It was probably why he wanted to leave so badly. He had to get out at the first moment he could or else he knew he'd become one of the old farts who never left.

Gary didn't see it that way, however. To him that place was heaven, the epitome of all his good times, a cure-all for every ailment he had. His attitude didn't make sense though, not with the bittersweet memories of his childhood also being there. 

He hadn't spoken about it much. Andy had to guess at most of the details but he knew his childhood hadn't been the nicest. Drunken nights when they were teenagers revealed that there'd a lot of arguing for most of his life, his dad walking out when he was twelve and a mother, distraught, overlooking how much her son was slipping.

His mum had always been put together when they visited. But they didn't go around often, and things were often different behind closed doors. 

Andy shook himself awake and saw them pass the sign to the town where Gary was calling home. The driver stopped at the docks and turned to him.

"That'll be £30,"

They pulled out notes, having taken money out at the station, and lugged their bags out of the car.

The smell of the sea threaded through the air. Ahead of them, a short beach stretched out. People were scattered about, less than on a sunny day, but still enough to be slightly busy. On either side the stone dock extended out onto the harbour. Boats, small to medium, bobbed on a calm tide.

"So, where is he?" Oliver said.

They scanned the beach. Families swaddled in coats who insisted on going to the beach bundled up more as it grew colder. The sky was turning a milky grey and a wind rolled down the hills and out to the sea. 

"Late probably," Andy sighed. 

He looked at his watch, he'd said half two, it was now closer to three. It should've shown him for believing Gary could be on time to anything. He still believed being fashionably late was cool, or was too arrogant to even realise he was late.

"Hey, hey, hey!" A familiar voice said.

They turned in unison to see Gary King. Andy's deja vu grew worse as he looked at Gary. He wore the same long black coat, same black shirt and sisters of mercy band tee. His eyes were hidden by the same aviators and his ginger roots were leaching into his poorly dyed black hair just like when he called them all to Newton Haven.

"You came!" 

He half ran toward them and pulled them all into a hug. His face lit up with a smile, stretched across his cheeks and, if Andy looked hard enough, reached his eyes.

That was new, at least. A genuine smile. 

"Yeah, you did ask us to," Peter said.

Gary pulled out of the hug, rubbed the back of his head and looked down. He laughed more awkwardly this time. 

"Wasn't sure if you'd actually show up," he said. "Especially after the last time I randomly brought you somewhere."

That was very un-Gary. He'd never been sheepish or shy. It was strange after so long of knowing him as arrogant. Andy hoped this was a good sign. If he was acknowledging that what happened at Newton Haven wasn't good, acknowledging that something wasn't a good time when it seemed to be all he cared about, it had to be a good sign?

"Come on, you had no say in anything with the Blanks," Andy said.

"Still got us all there."

"And got us out." Steven added.

Gary laughed, lowly, and shrugged.

"You know you're late, right? " Steven said, changing the subject. 

"Late shmate," Gary said and started to walk to the docks. "Come on, I have something to show you."

Andy sighed and followed along. He was the same, in some ways, but different in others. He had a strange glow about him, his face had more colour to it and laughter full of life. Of course he still spoke with arrogance, or was it confidence? Had the air that he knew he was the best, although he wondered if it was real this time or just an act, like in Newton Haven.

They passed some shops. A cafe with a blue facade, its amber lighting glowing out the window and melting with the canary yellow walls. An ice cream parlour shone with its pink walls and neon sign. Souvenir shops blended together, built into the cliff face as they walked the bending path around to the dock.

Gary walked the path liked he owned it. Wooden boards grew out of the bumpy cliff face. Multicoloured boats, tied to posts, bobbed on the tide. Some of the boats towered above his head, others probably couldn't hold all five of them.

He stopped in front of a medium sized blue boat. The cockpit was a small square room that rose to about half his height above him. Compared to some of the boats around them, this was humble. It wasn't a yacht or a dinghy. It was humble and stable. 

"Welcome!"

"That's a boat." Oliver said.

"Yeah," Gary said, gesturing behind him. "Thought that was obvious."

"You live on a boat?"

"Why else would I bring you to a boat? We're not going to break in." He sniggered. 

They looked at each other. Oliver was the most puzzled. He'd shown Gary apartments to rent in London over the past three years, he'd said no to all of them and, when Andy had heard, his heart dropped when it seemed like Gary wasn't sticking with this recovery thing like he'd promised.

"Do you want to come in, then?"

Andy nodded and followed Gary onto the boat via the board on leading to the top deck. He kept telling himself that although it wasn't what he expected, Gary had been making an effort and did seem different.

They arrived on a blue deck, not too long or wide. Solar panels were attached to the roof of the cockpit with smaller ones around the edge of the deck. Gary walked to the cockpit door and unlocked it. It was routine for him, they could tell in the way he walked without seeing the path to the door. 

Inside, foldable chairs were stacked against one wall. Controls and a steering wheel opposite the door overlooked large windows with a perfect view of bobbing boats and a grey-blue sky. To the right, a set of stairs with chipped white paint led to the lower floor of the boat.

They left their bags in there as Gary gestured for them to go downstairs. The stairs creaked as they walked, framed pictures, generic ones of cities that Gary'd never been to. 

They walked onto light tanned wood, contrasting the white panelled walls. To their left was the living room, a tired yet vibrant dark green sofa stood out against white. Armchairs bracketed them and looked equally as old. A small television stood on a stand against the wall to the staircase. 

Ahead of them was the kitchen with warm white counters. The fridge sat against the back wall, a cluttered sink next to it, the oven and kettle were against the left hand wall and a connected island gave some seating in the small space. A door was ajar were next to the fridge that, if he looked closer, led to the bathroom.

"Bedroom's through there." Gary pointed toward the door next to the armchair, behind the stairs. "And my office."

"Office?" Andy said.

They peaked through into the little hallway. His bedroom was cluttered but more organised than Andy expected. Gary wasn't making the most of the space, or didn't care by the look of the occasional piles of clothes around the bed.

"Wow, look in here," Steven said.

He was looking in the office. Andy understood his shock when he joined him.

Straight ahead was his desk, busy with fresh, half finished drawings and sketches. A shelf above the desk had rows of pens and pencils, paints and brushes. A cupboard above that, almost reaching the ceilings, gave them a glance at a few full sketchbooks. What was truly impressive was the drawings on the wall, detailed flowers, orange explosions and recognisable band logos. 

"Didn't know he could draw?" Oliver said.

"He took art at A-level didn't he?" Peter said.

"Oh yeah," Oliver said as they turned back to the living room. "Didn't know he was that good, though."

Gary had taken his coat off when they returned. His black shirt rolled up to the sleeves.

"Tea?" He asked.

They nodded, telling him how they liked it. Andy tried not to make his further surprise more evident. 

You could see the scars on Gary’s wrists from his suicide attempt. They'd healed by now, it had been years. Shaded lines against his pale skin. Faded enough that you wouldn't notice if you weren't looking. 

The others weren't looking, that was certain. They just sat down. They didn’t know the details like he did, all they knew was that Gary'd fallen into addiction and depression and couldn't see a way out. 

But Andy had listened to the gritty details when Gary had been motivated to tell him. He'd seen the scars when they were healing. He knew the shake of his hands and how his face withdrew, pale, as he went through withdrawal. The others didn’t have the investment into Gary’s future like he did.

Not to say they didn't care, they did, but Andy had a strange need to see Gary’s life succeed. They'd been as thick as thieves once. Maybe it was because of the crash and how far they'd drifted apart that he felt a need to help him.

"Those are good drawings," Steven said.

Gary looked up from the boiling kettle. He was tapping his fingers on the counters.

"Thanks."

"Didn't know you could draw like that?"

He scratched the back of his head, "Yeah, well, I'm a tattoo artist, got to be good, haven't I?"

"Tattoo artist?"

"Yeah, get paid well," he laughed, then his face dropped. "That's not the only reason, though, quite like drawing to be honest, a bit freeing,"

The kettle clicked as the water boiled. Gary poured it in the five cups. He was building himself up to something.

"Got back into it in rehab, therapist kept on going on about healthy coping mechanisms so I thought I might give it a go," he said. "Not that I was allowed to be alone when I did, they didn't trust anyone alone with a pencil sharpener."

He shook himself and started to stir the tea. His usual bravado was gone. He'd finally learnt that he didn't need to seem like he was always having a good time to be important, or for people to care.

"You got good, though," Peter said.

"Yeah, yeah I did." He smiled to himself as he finished off the tea. "Got into tattoos once I got out, saw a connection between the two and here I am."

He slipped his black shirt off. His upper arms were thick with detailed black ink. From far away, he couldn't see anything too detailed but could make out a skeleton with flashes of red and blue on his right arm and an astronaut surrounded by planets on his left.

He pointed to the astronaut, "Designed that one myself."

He let them gawk for a moment before shrugging his shirt back on again. He placed the mugs on a tray and brought them over.

Gary collapsed in one of the armchairs. His face washed blank for a brief moment. It wasn't the kind of relaxing blank, it was the break in a storm or before the next wave crashed on the ocean. 

Andy could see his age now. They weren't ancient but they weren't young anymore. It all added to the realisation that he was recovering, beyond the boat and the job and his new healthy coping mechanism, he wasn't trying to look young or maintain a youthful outlook to mask his aging face. He'd accepted that they weren't getting any younger, didn't need to acknowledge it either, and that was a big step for him.

"So, you've got somewhere to live-" Steven started

"Yep."

"-got a job-"

Gary hummed in agreement.

"Anyone special we should know about?"

He darted up from his seat, "Anyone want any biscuits?"

Steven smiled, "That a yes then?"

Gary had moved to the sink with lightning speed. His back was turned, arms splayed white and black as they lent against the counter.  His head was bowed so only the ginger tips of his dyed hair could be seen. 

"Gary-" Peter said.

"No. Fucking no, I'm not seeing anyone." He stood up and got some bourbons from the cupboard. "Hate that phrase anyway, 'seeing someone', I see everyone, got eyes for a reason, haven't I?"

He turned around with the biscuits in hand. His peaceful face turned angry. It was the tired anger you only got from many of the same annoying conversations.

They looked from him to each other. It was such a quick change, from happy to sad. 

"I can see your faces, it's always the same, they see I've got my life on track, the boat, the job, the art, and when I say there isn't anybody they look at me like I've downed a bottle of vodka and snorted a line of cocaine right in front of them," he barked.

Steven gulped, "So there isn't anyone."

"No, don't think there ever will be,"

He slowly walked back to his chair. The anger dissipated and his morose calm came back again. 

"Never will be?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, well, in my exploration of the modern world, I discovered that there's a lot of words for things that we didn't have when we were kids," he said.

They looked at each other again.

"Words?" Andy finally spoke.

"Well, you know, we had gay and lesbian and bisexual but there's other words, like pansexual, if who people are, you know, male or female or whatnot, doesn't really matter, or asexual, if you don't like anyone." He took a sip of his tea. "And I thought well, that pan-whatever word sounded right, I mean I've never really thought it was such a big deal who you liked, as long as they weren't a prick, you know, thought I was just being open but apparently not."

"What does this have to do with you not wanting to be with someone?" Andy asked.

"I'm getting to that," he said. "Well, I found the word aromantic, it means you don't feel romantic attraction to people, so like marriage, holding hands, cuddling, all that shit, you don't feel a want to do that with someone."

"Didn't know that was a thing?" Peter said.

Gary ate another biscuit, "Neither did I, but it makes sense in hindsight."

"Does it?"

"Yeah, my girlfriends were always like 'We only ever snog' and complained that I never said I love you or held their hand but I never got it, made me feel like a dick but I genuinely didn't think people cared about that sort of thing, thought it was just something they told you, didn't actually think people saw and wanted that kind of, well I don't even know what people want, I don't know, I've never experienced it."

They pondered for a moment. It did make sense when Andy thought back. All of Gary’s partners had classed as flings at the most. A flame of passion that they all saw as immaturity, an extension of Gary's need to have a good time. But he'd never shown any interest in actually dating anyone at school, just about the physical aspect.

"So, this identity, it makes sense, you think it fits then?" Andy asked.

"Yes," Gary said. "It hasn't been easy though. There's a lot of information out there, useful stuff, but a lot of conflicting opinions, people saying that it doesn't exist, that I'm trying to be special when I'm not or that something's wrong with me."

He continued, his face contorting in anger again without the rage, "Anytime I tell people they think it's just another thing I need to recover from, I did too, it's what I went in thinking when I went to rehab, they think it's another sign of immaturity or me chasing people for a good time like booze or drugs but when I got better it didn't go away."

"My therapist faced it like a coping mechanism to be fixed or a problem to face but as I started to realise what was wrong with only wanting a good time and relying on booze, I didn't see not wanting anything romantic as a problem."

He slumped in his chair. The anger dissipated. His face eased into something melancholic, a deeper anger from longer pain.

"But I had to keep telling my therapist that it wasn't hurting me and the idea of me and romance hurt more and it was only after telling him over and over and over again that he finally listened." He said. "And even then it didn't go away. People fought for it to be a thing, people fought against, people made it seem like romance was an intrinsic human thing and I wasn't human or that I had no emotions or empathy and was evil-"

He sat up and threw his arms out. A disgusted wave of bitterness came over him. Andy knew in the way he swirled his tea like he used to swirl a whisky glass and the way his upper lip curled.

"Well, if not feeling romantic things for anyone makes me evil, then I guess I'm fucking satan!"

"Woah, Gary, calm down," Andy said. "You're not evil mate."

Gary slumped back down. That melancholy calm came back but was broken by a smile. Despite his churning emotions, the bittersweet smiles to rage, he was evidently better just because he was letting himself show more emotion than just glee.

"I know, I know, it just still hurts that so many people, especially those who want me to get better, are determined to convince me that something that isn't hurting me, is bad," Gary said.

Peter spoke up again, "Well, does it make you happy, do you think it fits?"

With a smile, Gary nodded, "It does, it really does."

"That's all that matters then." Andy said.

They moved on from there. Steven got talking about Sam and how they'd been moved in for about a year now. Gary made his usual jokes but with less bite, less carelessness, less desperate to hide something.

Outside, the sky turned dark and gray. The rushing sound of the water against the boat grew louder. Gary turned on some lamps and the amber lights warmed the room. He'd really made this place homely.

"What about you then Andy? Last I heard you and the wife were giving it a go again?" Gary asked.

It caught Andy off guard. Gary didn't remember stuff like that, he never had. 

"Oh, it's going well, we've been going to couples counselling for a while and it's helped." He met Gary’s soft gaze. "Yeah, it's going well, thanks mate."

He nodded again. Andy checked his phone for the time, it was getting toward seven now, they should probably check in to the hotel.

"We need to get to the hotel," he said.

They made their way to the door. Gary's face formed a hard line, his hands tucked in his pockets and shoulders slumped. He'd never been good at saying goodbye to his friends at the end of the day.

"See you tomorrow, yeah?" Oliver said when they arrived in the cockpit.

"Yeah, there's a good cafe around the corner, does good pancakes, we'll have to go for breakfast."

Andy smiled at him, "Sounds good."

He pulled them each into a hug, awkward ones where they patted each other on the back. Andy was left last. 

Gary pulled him into a proper hug, arms wrapped around and chins tucked over shoulders. He sighed when they'd settled. It was warm, cosy, and screamed some kind of vulnerability.

"Thanks," Gary whispered. "For being there, for having faith, I don't think I could've done it without you."

"I always knew you had it in you, just wanted you to see that too," he pulled away. "You're the King again."

Gary smiled and rubbed the back of his head. It was natural. Like how the low lights shone through the ginger ends of his hair and gave an amber glow. His scars had healed, he had a home and a purpose. He was healthy and Andy flushed with pride.

"Yeah, I am, aren't I?"

I tried to think of what Gary could do to actually take care of himself without just amalgamating into the boring suburban life he didn't want. I chose to make him a tattoo artist after this post asked what a levels he took and I thought he'd be an English Lit, Drama and Art kinda guy (if he showed up at all). Also the whole boat thing made sense as he has a home but is free to go anywhere.

Also I have now watched all the Cornetto Trilogy multiple times and Spaced and kind of want to write something where Tim, Shaun, Nicholas and Gary are cousins.

Hope you enjoyed this!

#gary king #andy knightley #steven prince #peter page #oliver chamberlain #the world's end #the cornetto trilogy #aromantic gary king #pansexual gary king #aromantic pansexual gary king #aro pan gary king #aro gary king #alternate universe #no apocalypse #everybody lives/nobody dies #everybody lives au #au #no romance #no romo #no ships #recovery #happy gary king #alcoholism mention #depression mention #happy and healthy #healthy gary king #platonic love #tattoo artist gary king #light angst #the 5 musketeers

[night-prey]

21, it/him, masc nonbinary, queer (as in the sexuality), romo aro. i don't have a name. you can call me whatever i don't really care.*

no nudes, please. anon asks are encouraged, i probably won't ever respond in dms. i usually log out of this blog for months at a time, post a bunch at once, and log out again. it's a mental health cycle don't worry about it

the large majority of my posts are geared towards men, and i still identify as a vague approximation of a man, so i really would prefer my posts aren't reblogged to lesbian blogs since i am very much not in that range of attraction. although this hasn't really been an issue because the large majority of my followers seem to be trans guys and bi girls anyway. love you tho, let's go lesbians

interests: men, tying men up, worshipping power bottoms (my inbox is open guys), tying men up (again), vampires, monsters, and demons, as well as whores, sluts, and the like. you get it.

tw for cnc and intox. just be warned.

kinks: royalty (knight & prince), intox, pet play, free use, cnc, gender affirmation, power bottoms, worship, monsters, degradation, praise (more TBA)

limits: scat, piss, the word "pussy" (it's like "moist" to me. such a turn-off.); *being called "daddy"

#nsft intro #nsft #nsft bi #nsft dom #nsft nonbinary #gay nsft #mlm nsft #nonbinary nsft #nsft mlm #nblm nsft #nsft t4t

[faemytho]

all four aces, cookie run, some sort of pairing within the COD with possible pm shenanigans (haha ace joke here)

send me four random card numbers/faces and their corresponding card suits, AND maybe a ship/fandom im into and ill talk abt it using the AO3 card deck!!

cookies of darkness. fixing a problem, diverging from story to fix the problem, gen fic so no romo, and a drabble!

spoilers for the end of CRK world 14!! poison mushroom is an adult.

queerplatonic if you squint!! not meant to be read as familial, but take it how you wish. i dont care what ur hcs are.

word count: 815

As Dark Choco turned his back upon the ruined throne room, Poison Mushroom couldn't breathe. No, this was wrong, Dark Choco should not have been walking away, and yet, he was. The cursed Sword of Blood he carried clattered down against the floor, and the world in its usual purple haze became uncomfortably lucid and vividly clear.

Pomegranate was saying something, her usual silvery composed voice strained with the blood that soaked her robes, strangled with held back screams of rage. Poison Mushroom couldn't hear it. All they could see was Dark Choco turning away from them, turning his back on them. In their world of perpetual haze, never once clear, his turned back and parting words were the most lucid things they had perceived in years upon years of Dark Enchantress's service.

"No, Dark Choco," they found themself pleading, almost begging, nearly stumbling after him. "Dark Choco, don't leave, don't go-!"

"Poison Mushroom, don't-!" Licorice's voice, though muffled behind the furthering cape of the Dark Cacao Prince, broke through their thoughts. A hand yanked at their robes, pulling them back away from where they had been following after him. "No, stay here, we have to leave, Pomegranate's hurt!"

Poison Mushroom turned their gaze away from the leaving prince, looking up at Licorice. Perhaps it was different for him, shunned from the Dark Cacao Kingdom for his dough. It was why he followed Dark Enchantress, who promised happiness for all cookies beneath her reign. Their gaze turned to Pomegranate, clutching the fabric of her robes against her bleeding wound. Perhaps it was different for her as well, who gladly left her own home to follow Dark Enchantress for reasons not even they had been able to discern.

Dark Choco had been forced to follow Dark Enchantress. Under the influence of crimson magic, darkness swayed his heart and forced him into believing he was following the right path. But now, the prince was leaving, choosing for himself what was right and what wasn't. He was leaving Dark Enchantress, leaving the small circle of people that Poison Mushroom had come to think of as their friends.

Because while Pomegranate left her home, Licorice sought revenge, and Dark Choco was forced to stay, Poison Mushroom simply had nowhere else to go. They followed Dark Enchantress because she offered them a home. She offered them respite. She offered comfort in exchange for their servitude, but seeing Dark Choco leave was enough to tip the scale. He was finally choosing his own path. Why couldn't they?

"No," Poison Mushroom said, lucid enough to speak clearly, and shrugged Licorice's hand off. "I don't want this anymore. Aren't you tired of this? Doing whatever she wants with no results, endlessly struggling to achieve her goals?"

Licorice stared at them from where he supported Pomegranate against his side, his pale eyes wide. He looked lost, frightened, confused, and Poison Mushroom shook their head.

"What on Earthbread are you blathering about?" Pomegranate hissed, though her crimson eyes were just as shocked and wide as Licorice's.

"I'm tired of following her ideas, her plans, her bright ideal future. Maybe I wanna build that future for myself."

With that, Poison Mushroom turned away from Licorice and Pomegranate, and began to follow after Dark Choco. Maybe he would tell them to leave him alone, but it would be worth a try. They had always wondered why Dark Choco stayed, and now, they had the answer that he wouldn't.

"Wait, Poison Mushroom!" Licorice called after them, and they turned. The dark sorcerer was shrugging Pomegranate, loyal, blinded Pomegranate, off of him, leaving her to crouch with her injury on the ruined floor of the Black Citadel's throne room. "I'm going with you!"

Perhaps, in their siege against the citadel, Licorice had found what he was looking for. Perhaps the storm in his heart had calmed, the storm that made him follow the very culmination of dark power, the way Poison Mushroom had when she'd offered her hand and a home to them all those years ago.

Pomegranate was left injured on the floor of a ruined throne room, surrounded by enemies of her own making. As much as Poison Mushroom wished she would turn against Dark Enchantress as well, they knew her too well to know that she wouldn't. They wished she would come with, but they knew she would stay loyal to Dark Enchantress. They knew she considered Dark Enchantress far more important than any relationship she had with the enchantress's other servants.

It saddened them, but they knew her enemies would be merciful. The cookies of light would not harm her, nor crumble her. She would be safe in their hands, as much as she would hate it, and that was enough for them.

They took Licorice's hand, and caught up to the retreating prince, and despite the uncertainty ahead, all was right in the world.

-

-

-

#poison mushroom cookie #dark choco cookie #licorice cookie #cookies of darkness #cookie run #mae writes cookies #my writing

[habrina-was-wronged]

What would have been your perfect Habrina endgame plot for CAOS?

The witch hunter plot would be more explored. I mean the show started with a warlock, that was raised by humans, having been stabbed to death and it was said that witch hunters did that.

It was later believed that Father Blackwood was responsible for that, but then the angels showed up. So maybe they did it? Maybe Blackwood knew about them? So I would have wanted that to be explored more.

Harvey should have found out about Agatha and Dorcas being responsible for the mines collapsing. Bonus if he found out that both Sabrina AND Roz knew about it but just never told him.

I believe that maybe Sabrina's mother's family would have something to do with the witch hunters? Before or after Diana ended up falling in love with a warlock, that eventully got her to be tricked by the devil and later killed in a airplane accident.

So maybe Sabrina's mother's family and Harvey's distant reletives were witch hunters? Maybe even helped Harvey find out the truth about the mines, which would make him angry and hurt but he would still hestitate about being a witch hunter because he never wanted to be a killer.

There should have been a kind of Romoe & Juliet-like love story between Sabrina&Harvey. Where they know that they shouldn't be together because it's too dangerous but they still love each other too much to let each other go. Their realationship built on friendship and genuine love.

I don't know how it should have ended. I mean the ending... I still can't believe that some people think that part 4 (with Lilith queen of hell, the devil injured in the human world, Sabrina dead and Miss Wardwell the head of her own witch cult) was a GOOD way to end things. THERE WAS A WAR COMING. I swear... Some people just never fail to disappoint.

What's worse is that Harvey's character was not just made into a background character, but he was also made into a kind of N*zi and some people even said that he was "always like that" WHICH IS BULLS*IT. And there are even those who think that Nick was ALWAYS planned to be Sabrina's Harvey replacement/Harvey clone which is ALSO BULLS*IT since Ross Lynch was the most famous actor on the cast (had the most followers on social media, was in a band plus had acted in several movies) and the only reason he wasn't killed off was bc the showrunner f**king R*berto knew that without him, less people would be interested in watching the show.

I had such high hopes for Habrina. I mean R*berto had explained that Harvey was suppose to be "the prince charming in this dark fairytale" which I suppose he was in the beginnig.

In the novels he has ANGEL POWERS. He never once lied to Sabrina in the show, although she lied plenty. Their realationship was interesting! Pure and they made each other better people.

Not whatever bs nabrina became... Gross.

#caos #chilling adventures of sabrina #sabrina spellman #harvey kinkle #ross lynch #kiernan shipka #netflix #netflix sabrina #the chilling adventures of sabrina #sabrina #habrina #harvina #harbrina #harvey sabrina #sabrina harvey #sabrina x harvey #harvey x sabrina #sabrina netflix #sabrina the teenage witch

[leanstooneside]

Forehand chop

Sophie Monk's knee

Maria Menounos's eyebrow

Florence Henderson's ankle

Paris Hilton's bottom

Jason Mraz's hip

Ashlee Simpson's thumb (Buckhurst Hill)

Tony Romo's eye

Matthew Morrison's cheek

Rob Kardashian's hand

Ryan Dunn's ankle (Chancery Lane)

Adam Lambert's breast (Chigwell)

Chris Evans's hip (Kew Gardens)

Nicky Hilton's back (Finchley Road)

Prince's mouth

Orlando Bloom's thigh (Monument)

Shoshanna Lonstein's forearm

Angelina Pivarnick's knee

DJ AM's elbow

Elton John's shoulder

Alicia Keys's ear

[dozenhost]

Ogun Transport Union Leaders Hail Gov. Abiodun On Road Projects

Ogun Transport Union Leaders Hail Gov. Abiodun On Road Projects

Conference of Transport union Leaders in Ogun State has hailed the Governor, Prince Dapo Abiodun for several road projects he has done in the last three years. Speaking during the inauguration of the Igan-Ishamurin- OdoShakiti road in Ago iwoye town, Ijebu North Local Government area of the State, the Treasurer of the body who also doubles as the State Chairman of ROMO, Alhaji Razak Shotayo…

View On WordPress

[gonchillunchis]

Day 6 - Jealousy

#stay away from her !! get a job !! #when i say josuke would be just like yukako when it comes to romo love i mean it #prince fans (accusatory) #josuyasu #josuyasuweek2021 #josuke #okuyasu #Josuke Higashikata #Higashikata Josuke #Nijimura Okuyasu #Okuyasu Nijimura #diu #jjba #jojo #Diamond is Unbreakable #my artwork #gon1221 #also oku short hair my beloved #i'm bending the gender

[the-hawks-rye]

something that I just Really liked in Frozen 2 is how at every single opportunity when Anna had to choose between Kristoff and Elsa -and there were many- she always picked Elsa. In and out of universe, it’s made clear that when it comes down to the wire, Anna’s most important person is her sister. There’s no way Kristoff could possibly be unaware of this fact, and while there are times it does hurt that he’s not his most important person (Anna)’s most important person, he accepts this and goes ahead with proposing to her anyway. Knowing that even if he’s not her number 1, what’s more important is that he and Anna do love each other and will build the rest of their lives together. And when she’s off chasing down Elsa, he’ll be waiting for when she needs him or her return

#bc there was apparently confusion im adding a couple tags #1) this is unironic I genuinely liked that and i elaborate a little in a reblog #2) if you have something different to say about the movie make your own post instead of jumping on my unrelated one #3) if this confuses you i very much wish you will look up aromantism- #-i am aromantic and take comfort in the idea that i won't be left behind if/when the people i care about find romantic partners #og tags from here on out: #as an aro the breakdown of typical relationship hierarchies got to me #unrelated but also kristoff is a great disney prince bc he does the talking to animals and is also like. barely domesticated (as is anna) #and he's canonically stinky. like that's amazing #everyone always talks about how frozen broke the mold by making the major relationship in a movie about love be familial but i've never seen #a breakdown on how they deconstructed the typical disney prince to go along with that #*or at least a princess movie (lilo & stitch did do it first!) #kristoff isn't even a disney prince and i love that for him. you go you stinky ice and reindeer loving barely domesticated woodsman who does #not believe in love at first sight #i doubt this is gonna get reblogs but if anyone tags this as shipping the sisters i will wish for you to step on many lego (and block you) #mitch rambles #frozen 2 #frozen #disney #romo

[frog-princ3]

The queer girl I'm with after we realize how gay we look together: Dont worry [our hot boss] will protect us

#so she said his name #instead of hot boss #she actually told me she doesnt think hes cute!!!!! #what!!!! #he is handsome like a prince charming whatre u saying rn #her bf better be super cute #sky croaks #romo tag #frog prin3

[viscera-doodles]

https://treehouse-library.tumblr.com/post/176286590220/controlbrain-hiccop-controlbrain

Look. I... Just Look.

#iz #invader zim #homestuck #hs #claspect #prince of heart #heir of void #hs class #hs aspect #dib #dib membrane #zim #sburb #pg #sfw #scopophobia - #no romo

[mrdarcyreid]

After a long day of apartment hunting with @willimightbe, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than in his arms and getting lost in his eyes.

#i see galaxies and endless love in those eyes... #they radiate love and warmth and all the good in the universe #there are no words deep enough nor actions intimate enough to sufficiently express how much i love you #sweet prince #romo // #pda //

[sov-en-garde]

guys not to be Like That but the aes of this video? Big Sanguine Mood imo

#sanguine #daedric prince #daedric princes #daedra #skyrim #i also just wanted to spread this vid around gdhlkfhgldfhs #janelle monae's make me feel is also a contender tbh #tho im not sure sanguine does the romo thing but in aes at least #also... mnek w his hair down in this vid is my main human hm headcanon tho i dont think itd ever rly take humanoid form lol #lay me down on a bed of sanguine roses

[sleepless-in-southlands]

How to Accidentally Date Your Servant

Ao3

Summary: Scar is the second prince to a thriving kingdom. Grian is his new handservant and illegally charming. Oblivious gay fluff ensues. Content: Royal AU, gay fluff, obliviousness, flirting, courting rituals, avian Grian, wing grooming, kissing, purposeful use of ‘my highness’ for gay reasons, obligatory characters not CCs Pairing: Romo scarian

~

    To start this all off, one thing needs to be clarified: being a prince isn’t easy. Have you ever seen Barbie: The Princess and The Pauper? It gets it. You may live nice, but there are responsibilities up the ying-yang. It’s a tough life.

    …for the crown prince, anyway. Which is Mumbo. Who this story is not about. This story is about Scar, who does still have responsibilities, but has mostly slipped through the cracks while dearest ma and pa made sure the future monarch wasn’t going to future run things into the ground.

    Which left Scar free to do a good many things, like amass a crystal collection with mystical properties only he believed in and cultivate a wardrobe of the most dramatically stunning outfit choices. It also gave him plenty of time to acquaint himself with the majority of the castle staff, though the chefs never really did warm up to him (perhaps because his kitchen visits had the uncanny tendency to coincide with times of high cookie disappearance rates. odd).

    So when the castle took on some new staff, Scar noticed. Mumbo’s strategical marriage had been arranged, and with its approach came a wedding and a coronation and a joining of kingdoms ceremony. More help was needed for preparations, even with everything still being months out.

    Most of the new castle hands, predictably, were designated to work under Mumbo, but a few were brought in for routine staff replacements. One of these replacements included Scar’s handservant, who had been poached by Mumbo for what Scar believed to be solely cruel and petty reasons.

    (“They’re a tailor, Scar, I’m not quite sure how they even ended up in that position.”

    “The power of the crown has already gone to your head.”)

    Regardless, Scar was excited to meet his new help. Trips outside of the castle were rare for the royal family, and even then it was hard to interact with anyone when they were too busy bowing and staring at your crown to hold an actual conversation. Castle staff tended to be the same at first, but once they had some time to get used to the royal family and their very human eccentricities the effect would fade.

    It took a while to sort out whose job was whose when the newcomers all arrived, Scar waiting patiently to the side with Mumbo and their parents while various heads of staff read through lists and marked names. But soon enough the groups were being sent off towards their respective royalties. Mumbo walked out of the hall with a good dozen or two following him, looking a bit overwhelmed by the amount, and the king and queen headed off with three more each.

    Scar was left in the hall with the few remaining newbies. Two were new chef’s assistants, who were looking at him intensely while the head chef muttered what Scar assumed to be warnings as to the fact he was never to be allowed in the kitchen to them, and the last one was who had to be Scar’s new handservant.

    It should be noted here that, typically, Scar does not, as you say, ‘mix business and pleasure,’ which for him means everything, which is because when you’re a prince everything in the castle is your business, which is to say he’s never really been worried about any castle business before, which could be interpreted as Scar simply never before having been interested in any member of the castle staff in any manner past friendship and/or mischievous enemyship, which is quite possibly because no member of the castle has ever looked like that.

    He was currently talking with Scar’s head of staff, grinning broadly in a way that felt warm to Scar even when it was directed at someone else halfway across the room. A pressed and gleaming white shirt stuck out over the collar and sleeve cuffs of his very soft looking red sweater, and out of his back sprouted large, colourful wings. They twitched and fluffed slightly in a restless manner, the shine of the vibrant wings mesmerizing.

    Scar was still trying to take in as many details about the person as he could when he turned to face Scar, his smile growing as he waved at the prince. Scar managed to return the gesture, trying to be subtle as he leaned against (minorly swooned into) the wall behind him.

    He didn’t have any time to recover before the newbie was approaching him, still smiling as he stopped only a few feet in front of Scar. He only got more stunning the closer he was, with tousled brown hair and charming dark eyes and-

    “Hello!” Oh, that voice, bright and cheerful and Notch he was doomed. “I presume you’re Prince Scar?”

    “Uh- yes, yes, you’d be correct, I am- I am Prince Scar.” One chance at a first impression and that’s the best Scar could come up with? He should’ve brought his luck crystal with him, why didn’t he bring his luck crystal with him-

    “Great! I’m Grian, new handservant.” Grian stuck out his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Nice to meet you.”

    Scar took his hand and shook it with perhaps a tad too much enthusiasm. Second chance to say something cool, and note-worthy, and princely. “Aren’t you supposed to bow?”

    ‘Princely’. And he ends up with one of the lines from the etiquette book.

    Throw him in a pit of silverfish.

    Grian took the question much better than Scar himself was, cocking an amused eyebrow. “Oh, I suppose.”

    And then he bowed in perhaps the most dramatic fashion Scar has ever seen, which is saying something coming from Scar. It’s possibly a perfect ninety degree angle of a bend, with Grian throwing his arms out to his sides in a mock courtesy pose, wings unfolding so as to fully display their plumage. And as if that wasn’t enough, he looks up then, smirking at Scar as he asks, “Is that satisfactory, your highness?”

    Was this how assassination attempts were being undertaken these days? No longer with poison slipped into royal meals but with carefree, proud, pretty boys?

    “More than.” Scar managed after a too long moment, forcing himself to focus on the wall behind Grian while he attempted to put some semblance of his wits back together.

    A move that proved pointless once Grian straightened up, once again within Scar’s line of sight, but it wasn’t like he had been making any progress anyways. He was fairly certain most of his brain was fried out at this point, forever gone. He’d have to have the next group out of the castle fetch him some brain coral to shove in the gap.

    “Now that that’s out of the way,” Grian started, brushing non-existent dirt off of his sweater, “care to show me around? Or am I to manage that myself?”

    Technically, that task was meant to be taken care of by one of the staff who already knew the castle. Not that Scar was going to let it stop him from getting more time with Grian (as if Grian was a visiting guest and not now in Scar’s direct employ as one of Scar’s most relied upon servants).

    “Oh, well, of course! My bedroom first, though.” Scar said. Paused. Considered his words. Blushed scarlet. “For my chair- my wheelchair! Not because- I shouldn’t- it’s a big castle-”

    Grian laughed, thank Notch that for some reason he considered Scar’s flustered social ineptitude humorous rather than sad or embarrassing or rude. “It’s alright, Prince Scar, I’m certain I’ll be in your room plenty anyways.” He paused for a moment as well, roughly as long as Scar had, though he looked much less abashed by how he had left his statement when he casually added, “To assist you as your handservant, obviously.”

    Scar forced a laugh that would’ve been much more believable if he didn’t have a hand over the majority of his lower face, trying (and miserably failing) to at least hide some of his blush. “Obviously.” He repeated, clearing his throat before he turned in the direction of the bedrooms. “Anyways, uh- follow me!”

    Despite its size, the touring of the castle wasn’t that lengthy of an affair. At least, according to the clocks it wasn’t. It felt like an entire day- or several- to Scar, who was quickly learning that there was very little Grian could do that he wouldn’t find interesting in some way or another. And that Grian was very funny. And very nice. And very handsome. And-

    “So, that’s the castle then.” Grian commented, pulling Scar out of his thoughts. He realized they had ended up back at the door to his room, having made a complete circuit of the building. “It’s nice, though it seems a bit easy to get lost in.”

    “Wouldn’t be a castle if it wasn’t.” Scar joked, idly moving his wheelchair back and forth. “It’s not that bad though, you get used to it soon enough.”

    Grian nodded. “And that’s my room?” He pointed to the door next to Scar’s, one Scar had indeed mentioned on the tour.

    “Yep.” Scar confirmed. “I can leave you to unpacking, if you’d like, your duties don’t really commence until tomorrow…”

    Grian chuckled. “Prince Scar, would you like to keep talking while I unpack?”

    “Why yes, yes I would.” Scar replied, pushing himself into the room while Grian held the door. It was pretty bare at the moment, with only some basic furniture (bed, side table, dresser, desk) and Grian’s bags piled by the door. “You’re allowed to decorate in here as much as you want, by the way, just as long as nothing’s permanent.”

    “What, don’t want me as your handservant forever?” Grian asked, winking at Scar when he leaned next to the prince to grab his things. “Not planning on having me in the same room my entire stay?”

    Another thing Scar was fast becoming accustomed to: feeling like his face was on fire. In part due just to Grian’s appearance, yes, but also due to the handservant’s ability to make seemingly random, joking comments sound so… personal. Only a bit earlier Scar had been talking about a book he liked when Grian referenced that paper was the traditional first year wedding anniversary gift, the out-of-the-blue comment leaving Scar speechlessly red and Grian smirking. Scar was starting to think Grian had been allowed to get away with too much throughout his life.

    Not that Scar was going to put a stop to that trend. Obviously.

    “My parents just like things as they are.” Scar finally responded with a half laugh. “Can’t let every stranger that comes through mess with their family heirloom.”

    “I’m a stranger to you? Have our two hours of castle touring meant nothing to you?” Grian joked, pulling one of his bags over to the dresser. “I suppose that hasn’t really told you much about me. Question game?”

    “Why not?” Scar shifted his chair, settling near to the door and facing Grian’s back as he packed his clothes away.

    “You can start.”

    “Alright… what’s your favorite food?”

    Grian opened his bottom drawer, beginning to fold pants into it. “Oh, that’s easy. Melon berries.”

    “Melon berries? I’ve never heard of those.”

    “They’re pretty rare.” Grian acknowledged. “They’re a hybrid of watermelon and sweet berries. You plant the two next to each other and hope you get lucky, basically. I’ve only ever had one, but it was incredible.”

    Scar mentally noted the response. “Your turn.”

    “Same question.”

    “Oh, chocolate-chip cookies, definitely.” Scar replied, grinning as he remembered the chef pointing him to the new assistants. “They’re why I’m not allowed in the kitchens!”

    “A necessary sacrifice.” Grian said with a laugh. “Alright, you again.”

    “Hm… favorite flower.”

    “First favorite food, now flower- you planning something over there, Prince Scar?” Grian joked, laughing again as he shut his bottom drawer and moved onto the next.

    Scar nearly made to deny the suggestion until he realized his next question was going to be ‘favorite activity’.

    He opted to clear his throat and avoid the question instead. “That’s not an answer.”

    “Neither is yours.” Grian pointed out, though he continued on. “But I’d say roses. Yours?”

    “Lilacs. Or maybe poppies.”

    “A good selection. Next?”

    “No, it’s yo-” Scar paused, realizing Grian had technically taken his turn already via flipping Scar’s question back on the prince. “Alright, no more question-reversing-stealing. A good handservant should be creative.”

    Grian snickered. “Fine, fine. No more repeats.”

    “Thank you.” Scar said with as much of a haughty air as he could manage, as if the matter was really that important. “Now, let’s see… favorite genres?” 

    “Romance and adventure.” Grian answered, and before Scar could make any comment on that Grian was continuing on, turning his head and making eye contact with Scar over his shoulder as he asked, “Do you prefer men or women?”

    It took Scar a moment to fully process the question, but he was fairly certain his flush when he did was instantaneous. 

    “I-just-forgot-I-have-prince-things-to-do-love-your-room-it’s-men-by-the-way-okay bye!” Scar said in a singular rush of words, nearly slamming into the side of the doorway as he spun out of the room.

He heard a tiny bit of laughter from behind him as he fled, but not as much as he would have expected after what must have been a well-picked joke on Grian’s part had elicited such a response. Maybe Grian hadn’t expected Scar to leave, though he wasn't going after the prince to try and explain himself either.

    Whatever Grian was doing, he was clearly an expert on it. To figure out what it was, Scar would either need another expert… or the exact opposite of an expert.

    “Why do I feel as if I should be insulted?”

    Scar had found Mumbo out behind the castle, far enough past the gardens he wouldn’t have any groundskeepers coming after him for all the redstone dust he was spreading. Scar wasn’t entirely sure what sort of contraption he was attempting to put together, but he seemed to be fairly busy trying to properly set up part of the circuits.

    Hence right now being the absolute perfect time to talk with him.

    “I don’t know why you would!” Scar replied cheerily. “For I am not insulting you at all! Really, I’m complimenting you, you and your complete lack of expertise in the relationship arena.”

    Mumbo did not seem consoled by Scar’s explanation. “You know we’re both royal shut-ins, you hardly have any room to talk-”

    “Now is not the time to worry about unimportant details.” Scar cut-in, ignoring Mumbo’s unamused expression. “Besides, I’m too close to this. He’s my handservant!”

    “...Alright, alright let’s uh.” Mumbo let out a sigh, putting down the repeater he had been fiddling with and leaning back on his hands. “Why don’t you say whatever it is you’re itching to say, and then I can get back to this in peace?”

    “Your selflessly offered brotherly advice is greatly appreciated and treasured.” Scar replied, making a point of shifting in his wheelchair as if he was settling down to begin his tale. “As you know, today the castle received a new batch of workers.”

    Mumbo shot a glance to the castle behind Scar, as if said workers might begin to materialize out of it at their mention. “I was there, Scar, of course I know.”

    “Proper storytelling involves laying the foundation.”

    “Yes but if I already know the foundation-”

    “Within the throng of the people,” Scar continued, leaving Mumbo looking resigned as he sat back on his hands, “there was a single man… if one could even call him a mere man… he was the one destined to become my handservant… and his name is Grian…”

    The response Scar deserved for his fantastical storytelling was, of course, a great amount of applause and a look of wonder in his audience’s eyes. However, his audience was instead, at current, looking at him with a very unappreciative-of-art expression.

    “Scar,” Mumbo started with a small sigh, “you’ve known barely known this man a few hours.”

    “It’s not my fault he’s causing problems!” Scar protested, crossing his arms in a pout. “He just keeps saying things like, ‘oh, a book is a good first wedding anniversary gift’, and ‘I’m your handservant, of course I’ll be in your room plenty’, and ‘Prince Scar you don’t happen to need your heart do you because I’ve stolen it’, and-”

    “Did he really say that last one?”

    “I may be paraphrasing somewhat.” Scar waved his hand dismissively. “But that’s not the point! The point is I’ve hardly started this!”

    Mumbo scrapped at the edge of one of his redstone lines, seemingly uncaring that his hands were beginning to look like he had created a murder scene. “Do you know if Grian's family has much money?"

    Scar gasped dramatically. "Are you daring to suggest my handservant and courter of a few hours is interested in me only for my money and title?!"

    "Well, not to imply you aren't utterly charming and quite put together, but-"

    "I think you're just jealous.” Scar said, looking away from Mumbo and hoping that would hide his frown. “Just because no one wants to flirt with your messy, murderer-looking self doesn't mean my charms are nonexistent.”

    With a grumble, Mumbo wiped off his hands on his pants, apparently missing the fact that it didn't really help his case. “I'll have you know at least half of my new staff has already made their advances at being royalty.”

    "Yeah, well, I have a 100% rate, so-"

    "I'm just saying, Scar.” Mumbo cut off his gloat, probably because he knew Scar would win the fight of bragging rights if he didn't. "Be careful. Mom and Dad not minding if you don't marry royalty is not the same as them inviting the first smooth-talking gold digger to dinner.”

    Scar huffed, rolling his chair back and forth a bit as he considered Mumbo's words. He wasn't wrong, frustratingly. There were always non-royalty personas who would do whatever it took to woo themselves into a well-off marriage. And it didn't help that of Mumbo and Scar, Scar was the more attractive target- not just because he was actually more attractive, but also because he was so free in his marriage choices. Mumbo had a duty to his people to marry into another kingdom's royalty. Scar didn't.

    "Fineeee.” Scar finally said, slumping in his seat. “I won't immediately marry the stranger who might just be after me for my throne."

    "Your sacrifice is greatly appreciated.” Mumbo responded, mimicking Scar's earlier tone. "May I please be left to my redstone now?"

    "I guess.” Scar glanced down at the mess of redlines and metal on the ground, nudging one of the lines with his foot. "What is this thing even supposed to-"

    At his poking, the redstone line disconnected from its ends, the action almost immediately being followed by the low hiss of ignited TNT. The look Mumbo shot Scar as it went off, destroying a section of the grass off to his right and sending dirt and redstone dust flying, could possibly be considered homicidal.

    "See you DO look like a murd- and I am wheeling away I am wheeling away-”

    Thanks to the power of fast wheeling and Scar's ability to get lost in the castle, he managed to escape Mumbo and go back to thinking about what he had said. If Grian really was just in it for his money, Scar did have to be careful, as little as he liked it. That couldn't be too hard though, right? Surely Scar, prince, wizard, general cool guy, could deal with a pretty guy.

    Or surely he couldn't, it seemed.

    Sure, he could handle seeing Grian every single day (he couldn't), and he could even deal with Grian's evidently constant complimenting and flirting (if flushing and stumbling over his own words every time Grian spoke counted as 'deal with'), but Grian was a man of many talents, and, really, there was only so much Scar could be expected to deal with sensibly.

    Like when Grian went and stole Scar chocolate-chip cookies from the kitchen, what was Scar supposed to do but order a box of melon berries and present it to him the moment it reached the castle? Scar was allowed to give his people gifts! That was an admirable quality of a leader, even.

    (Perhaps less admirable was how quickly he folded when Grian insisted he try at least one of them, or how he's fairly certain you could have fried an egg on his face when Grian furthermore insisted upon popping the berry into Scar's mouth for him.)

    Or when Grian offered to help Scar back to his room when he realized it wasn't as much of a no-wheelchair day as he had thought it was, an offer that changed from being an arm to hold to being carried to being flown (perhaps, just perhaps, because Scar had asked if it would be possible, if Grian could even lift him like that, and when Grian smirked and said they could certainly try it Scar found he had no way to back out).

    And- well- that had to have been a lot of effort on Grian's part, Scar couldn't just not find a way to say thank you! Plus the bracelets he got him were lined with emeralds and diamonds, the kingdom's primary exports, so it was a double-sided gift, even, both a thank you and a way to further represent Scar's kingdom, which was a very valid thing for Scar to be doing, gosh wasn't he a good prince.

    Such a good prince with such good ideas that Grian wore the bracelets every day after Scar first presented them to him, the colours a perfect contrast to his wings and the shine a perfect compliment to his grin, wow, Scar really could pick them, as in bracelets, he could pick bracelets, not, bracelets he meant bracelets-

    Now, if any of that sounded even the slightest bit completely disastrous to you (which how could it, Scar was so incredibly put together), well, just wait until you hear about the grooming incident.

    It was one of Grian's days off, so Scar hadn't interacted with him much that day. Of course, day off or not, Grian still lived at the castle, so Scar wasn't too surprised when he ran into him eventually, walking in the hall just outside of his room. Something had seemed off, with Grian rolling his shoulders a lot as he paced, occasionally reaching back and scratching at his wings as if he was trying to achieve something with the motion.

    "Are you okay?” Scar asked, accidentally startling Grian into turning around almost too fast.

    "Oh- Prince Scar, apologies, I didn't hear you approaching.” Grian said. Scar had told him weeks ago he could drop the title as long as no one else was around to hear, but Grian had refused to. Typically it was he could put a bit too much emphasis on the word and draw an easy blush out of Scar, but now he just said it regularly in the rush of his words. "It's nothing, really, just- uh- my wings.”

    "Your wings?” Scar frowned. “Are they injured? I can fetch the court medic-"

    Grian waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, nothing like that, they're just a bit… dirty.”

    "Don't you groom them?”

    "I do, but there's only so much of them I can reach.” Grian admitted, once again making to scratch at some point on his back and seemingly missing. "It's not a problem for the most part, but it does get a bit annoying as it builds up."

    "Oh.” Scar's frown deepened. Grian was trying his best to make the issue sound minor, but the way he kept shifting and grimacing suggested otherwise. "Would you like some help with it?"

    Despite Scar thinking it was a fairly reasonable and understandable offer, Grian's eyes widened in- surprise? shock? disbelief?- at the words. “I- well- you don't have to-"

    “Nonsense, I insist. You're clearly uncomfortable.” Scar pointed out. “Though I admit I'm not too experienced, I'll be careful to do my very best."

    Was that a blush on Grian's cheeks? Scar almost couldn't believe his eyes, but there was no mistaking the light, but definitely present, shade of red now colouring a good part of Grian's face. This is what it took to get back at Grian? Offer to help him out? No wonder Grian had made sure he was the handservant and Scar was the prince, trying so hard to hide his one weakness,

    "Alright.” Grian said, derailing Scar's train of thought with his much-quieter-than-usual voice, looking at Scar in a very odd way. "I mean, well, if you insist, it'd be rude for me to refuse you.”

    There was clearly something about the situation Scar was missing, but without any clue as to what that was, he decided to focus on the matter at hand. “Your bedroom, then?"

    Grian nodded silently before moving in the decided direction, heading for his bed while Scar followed and closed the door behind them. By the time Scar turned back towards Grian, he was laying fully out on his stomach, wings stretched out while he pillowed his head with both his hands and his pillows.

    It was hard for Scar to not feel supremely awkward as he settled on the bed with Grian, even harder when he realized the prime position to do this would be with Scar resting on top of Grian's lower back, but he managed (he didn't manage, not even a little bit).

    He was trying his best to distribute his weight between Grian's back and his own legs when Grian laughed quietly, sounding more like himself but still a bit too soft to be just right. "Your highness, please don't strain your legs on my behalf. I'd prefer this be a pleasant experience for the both of us."

    Scar acquiesced, trying to decipher the full meaning of Grian's statement. It almost sounded like more flirting, but his tone was all wrong, too quiet, not teasingly put on. He shook his head. He's looking too much into this, Grian's most likely just tired from all the gunk build-up.

    "Tell me if I do something wrong, okay?” Scar said before he started, lightly resting each of his hands at the base of each of Grian's wings. Middle back was the hardest spot to reach, he presumed, so he would start there before moving out to touch up the outer edges of the wings as needed.

    Grian nodded into the pillow in understanding before adding, in a voice that was muffled yet gentle, “You’ll do great, I trust you.”

    Trust? Grian was bringing trust into this now?! Wing grooming must be harder than Scar had thought.

    Regardless, it was too late to back out now. Instead, Scar took a deep breath, and slowly started working.

    Scar quickly found the build-up in the area he had suspected, being careful not to literally or figuratively ruffle any of Grian’s feathers as he cleaned out what dirt and grime had wedged themselves under them. He straightened each feather back into place after he was done with a certain area, having never admired the vibrant colours of the wings as much as he did then.

    That was until one of those vibrant coloured feathers detached from the wing in his hand, where Scar was fairly certain it was not meant to be.

    “Oh- oh no, Grian, I’m so sorry, a feather came out, I didn’t mean-”

    Grian, who had begun propping himself up on his arms in reaction to Scar’s panic, let out a small laugh. “Hey, calm down, it’s alright.”

    “But your wings-”

    “-shed a few feathers every week, it’s natural. I always take some out during grooming.” Grian explained, laying back down on his pillows. “Just place the loose ones by my head. You’re doing wonderfully so far.”

    Despite Scar’s still remaining worry, he smiled at Grian’s sincere compliment. He placed the feather by Grian’s head as instructed, taking care that its edges didn’t tear or catch as he did so, before he went on with his work.

    It was slow work, due in large part to how cautious Scar was being, but Scar didn’t mind it. It was relaxing in a way, and not just for him. Grian’s eyes had slipped shut at some indiscernible point, and outside of small flaps of his wings whenever Scar removed a particularly nasty piece of dirt, he wasn’t moving much. Scar wouldn’t be surprised if he had fallen asleep.

    Eventually, Scar reached the end of his work, pulling one last feather from the edge of a wing and mentally declaring his mission accomplished. Grian’s wings shone even more than usual, all neatly laid out and well arranged, if Scar could say so himself.

    Scar added the final feather to the small pile that had accumulated beside Grian’s head, but hesitated to leave. Logically, he had no reason to stay any longer, with the wings cleaned and their owner dozing. But the moment was so… calm. It felt right to stay there.

    Grian’s eyelids fluttered open after a few minutes passed with Scar doing little more than sitting and staring. He smiled sleepily and despite the hour Scar had just put into his wings, he was fairly certain he had never seen a more perfect sight.

    “Finished?” Grian asked.

    “Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah I’m finished.” Scar made a pointless gesture at the feather pile, as if that backed his statement. “I can go now if you want.”

    “You can stay.” Grian replied, softly, moving the feather pile to the table at the side with a motion and lightly lifting up one of his wings. “If you want.”

    Scar would hate to be a liar.

    As soon as he had slipped in next to Grian, the wing lowered once again, the soft feathers Scar had just set right now warm against his back and tickling the base of his neck. Grian himself didn’t move much, clearly content with the position he had been resting in for the last while, but he did slip an arm over Scar’s shoulders and shift his head to rest beside Scar’s.

    “This is nice.” Grian murmured, breath pleasantly fanning Scar’s chin. His eyes had slipped back shut. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to help with grooming sooner. I didn’t know if you’d want to.”

    “You don’t need to apologize.” Scar responded, equally quiet, pretending he had any idea why Grian would be apologizing in the first place. “I’m happy I was able to help.”

    Grian had apparently fallen back asleep, not saying anything back, but a small smile remained on his face as he pressed closer to Scar, wing curling in closer. Scar returned the smile, closing his eyes as well. No such thing as too much sleep (and no such thing as too much time spent with Grian).

    That affair had been a few days before it all really came to a head, and it had gone perfectly well, thank you very much. Sure, Scar had woken up later that day to find Grian sitting up and running light fingers through his hair, casually asking what they should have for dinner, but that hadn’t affected Scar, alright? He was completely level-headed and thinking right and not distracted at all.

    And then one day he woke up. And he was fine and normal and not at all thinking about how dearly he wanted to awaken to Grian, beside him, hands in hair, smiling, making plans. And he got up. And he saw his crown.

    It was in the same area it always was, but now there were flowers woven through its metal arches and around its gems. Lilacs and poppies, interspersed with roses. And tucked into place beside each rose?

    Feathers. Grian’s feathers. Grian’s vivid, radiant, treasured feathers. In his crown. Right next to his and Grian’s favorite flowers.

    After the allotted time given to Scar for determining that what he was seeing was not a dream (repeated pinching), he did the two most obvious and crucial things in response to such an event:

    First, he put the crown on. Obviously. Typically he only wore it for special occasions, but this definitely counted as a special occasion.

    Second, he immediately raced out of his room.

    Sub-second step, he made it four steps before he more or less crashed into a wall, retreated to his room, secured his wheelchair, and once again raced out of his room via wheels.

    To his luck, Scar found Mumbo not only in his room, but trapped within it, thanks to the wonders of having to stand still while tailors did their work.

    “Mumbo!” He exclaimed the moment he was within his brother’s room, ignoring the twin glares he received for it. “I am terrible at being careful!”

    “Clearly!” Mumbo huffed, checking the seams his tailor (Scar’s poached handservant tailor) had been working on when Scar burst in and startled them both. “Can I help you with something, or are you just bored?”

    Scar gestured emphatically at his crown, grinning.

    It took a few moments for it to register with Mumbo, but Scar could tell the moment he did, eyes widening as he frowned slightly. “Oh, Scar. Your handservant?”

    “Why would a gold digger remember my favorite flowers, huh?! Or decorate my crown with feathers I had groomed off of him?!”

    “To get your gold, obviously-”

    Before Mumbo could continue, he was cut off; not by Scar, but instead by his own tailor, who had begun tutting at him. “Oh, Bumbo."

    “I thought I told you to stop calling me that."

    "Bumbo, Bumbo, Bumbo.” The tailor repeated, making Scar snigger. "Your concern is understandable, but unnecessary.”

    Mumbo raised an eyebrow. “And why's that? Scar's flower theory?”

    "No, his feather one.” The tailor replied, moving around so that they were facing Scar while they worked on Mumbo's sleeve. “Avians are very particular about their wings, and even more so their feathers. The chances of one allowing someone they don't actually consider close to groom them are incredibly small, and giving feathers away, especially in such a manner? Not even the most gold digging of them would ever do such a thing under false pretenses.”

    "Why's that?” Scar asked, reaching up to gently brush a finger along one of the feathers as he did so.

    "Their feathers are very important to them, Avians only give them to those they care deeply for and feel they can trust with them.” The tailor answered. “Family members often give them to each other to signify being connected, and, as in your case, partners give them to each other both as a sign of trust and a way to display to others that they're dating.”

    "Well that's- wait.” Scar processed the tailor's full statement. “In my case?”

    The tailor cocked their head at Scar, as if Scar was the one missing something. "You said you groomed his wings, right? Avian partners do that to bond and, again, show they trust their partner.”

    Scar wasn't entirely sure what his expression was at that moment, but given how amused Mumbo was looking it probably wasn't good. “But- wait- no- I- I just said I wanted to help him! He didn't ask me or say it was about- about courting- just apologized for not asking-”

    “If a relationship goes on for a while without one partner asking the other to groom their wings, it's often considered rude, as if you don't trust your partner or don't consider your relationship serious. He probably didn't ask because he didn't know if you would know how to help or would even want to, and felt bad when he realized you did.” The tailor explained with a wave of their thread-wielding hand. They smirked then, glancing at Scar. “It's actually rather forward for one partner to ask to groom the other rather than waiting for an invitation."

    Scar thought back to the moment when he had offered to groom Grian's wings, the seemingly random blush he developed. Scar shoved his face in his hands. “Oh, Nether.”

    "You should probably get back to your handservant.” The tailor said, tone teasing nearly to the point of mocking. "He'll want to know if you accepted his gift, I'm sure."

    "You know, I've changed my mind, Mumbo, I'm glad you've stolen away my old handservant.” Scar bemoaned. "They’re very rude.”

    “And they somehow know more about your relationship status than you do.” Mumbo pointed out, now also smirking, because Scar was the only one in that room who cared about his hardships. "Go on, then.”

    For the record, it should be noted that Scar did not leave the room because he was being repeatedly told to get out. He left because the energy was bad and he had to talk to Grian. It was his own choice.

    He did manage to make a dignified departure before he once again began racing down the halls, fairly certain he'd be getting grief for the wheel tracks over all the rugs later but deciding to make that future him's problem. Soon enough, he was back where he started, but now a door over. Grian's room.

    Scar managed to stop himself from once again bursting into the room. He took a deep breath, trying to channel the spirit of someone who had a clue what he was doing. Only then did he (slowly) open Grian's door and let himself in.

    Grian was reclined on his bed, laying against the headboard as he flipped through a book. He looked up when Scar entered, eyes quickly drifting to his crown, smiling wide when he realized it was still just as he had decorated it.

    "There you are, Prince Scar.” Grian greeted cheerfully, putting his book down. “I was starting to wonder where you were, since you're normally not out of your room this early-"

    “Are we dating?!” In all fairness to Scar, he had managed to go a solid ten seconds before blurting it out. That was pretty good given the situation.

    Grian, for his part, looked as if he understood what was going on just as much as Scar. “I- well- I mean- yes? Is this-"

    "Yes? Yes?!” Scar decided this could be added to the list of things that would catch Grian off guard enough to ruin his composition, going by his wide-eyed expression, though Scar wasn't sure exactly when he would want to go through this again. "Since when?!”

    "Since- I mean- since you got me the melon berries?” Grian responded, now frowning in confusion, as if Scar was calling into question something he had been concretely certain of. Which would be rather impressive, given Scar hadn't known about it at all. "I mean- I guess I wasn't absolutely certain of it then, but you also got me these bracelets, and helped me groom, and you've put on my feathers so- yes?"

    "But what about- I don't know- kissing! Or pet names!”

    “I didn't know how 'known’ you wanted our relationship to be.” Grian said, still sounding bewildered. "Didn't know how the prince and his handservant would look.”

    "Well obviously it would look great with you involved!” Scar exclaimed, getting a brief glimpse of Grian turning the same red as his sweater before Scar was hiding his face in his hands again. “I can’t believe we’ve been dating for so long and I am the last to find out.”

    Scar lamented to himself for a few moments more before he heard Grian clear his throat. Scar gave Grian his attention, finding that his handservant- and boyfriend, apparently- was still looking very awkward but now somewhat aware of what exactly the situation was.

    "Seeing as I have failed to make my intentions clear…” He started, sounding a bit stiff before he smiled sheepishly. "You said something about kissing?”

    The speed at which Scar moved from his wheelchair to Grian's lap was likely not medically advisable.

    "Pet names, too.” He reminded as Grian's arms wrapped around his waist, wings copying the motion and blocking out the rest of the world as they came to rest against Scar's back. Scar's arms moved to settle over Grian's shoulders, one of his hands running over the spot where the soft ends of his hair met his neck and relishing the obvious way Grian leaned back into the touch.

    “I wouldn't dare forget.” Grian said under his breath, since it seemed, unfortunately, he had regained his composure and was ready to (sweetly, wonderfully, gaily) torment Scar with it.

    "Love,” he kissed Scar's forehead.

    "Darling,” he kissed Scar's cheeks.

    "Dearest,” he kissed the tip of Scar's nose.

    "May I?” He lifted one of his hands to cup Scar's cheek, thumb running over the edge of Scar's lips.

    Scar chose to skip an actual answer and instead moved in close to take his turn at kissing-your-boyfriend.

    “I think you said something about, uh, not staying in this room long? Or staying in mine a lot? Or something?” Scar mumbled in a breath, half of the sounds lost right against Grian's lips.

    Grian laughed, lightly scratching Scar's scalp, his hand having once again moved from Scar's cheek to bury itself in his hair. "You're a very forward man, my highness.”

    Scar felt breathless. “Oh, you really are not one to speak.” And then he wasn't speaking, neither of them were, and somewhere in the back of the mind Scar was trying to calculate how long it would take to get the bed in his room made a double and the gardens seeded with melon berries and roses.

    He was going to need yet another handservant.

#scarian #goodtimeswithscar #grian #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft #m.y funky words #oh oblivious fluff my former main fic type

[leanstooneside]

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy

Eddie Murphy's foot (East Putney)

Paula Abdul's foot (Piccadilly Circus)

John Legend's foot (Northwick Park)

Dane Cook's foot (Royal Oak)

Zac Efron's foot (St. John's Wood)

Lea Michele's foot (Ladbroke Grove)

Toby Keith's foot (Brixton)

Prince's foot (Rayners Lane)

Ginnifer Goodwin's foot (Goodge Street)

Floyd Mayweather's foot (Hendon Central)

Katie Couric's foot (Tottenham Hale)

Shannen Doherty's foot (Hyde Park Corner)

Jamie Kennedy's foot (Maida Vale)

Kate Middleton's foot (Finsbury Park)

Jamie Lynn Spears's foot (Stepney Green)

Simon Doonan's foot (High Street Kensington)

Taylor Lautner's foot (Tottenham Court Road)

Barbara Walters's foot (Stamford Brook)

Toni Collette's foot (Moor Park)

Nina Dobrev's foot (Walthamstow Central)

Chris Evans's foot (Manor House)

Sadie Frost's foot (Edgware)

Randy Jackson's foot (Aldgate)

Nick Jonas's foot (Barons Court)

Juliette Lewis's foot (Camden Town)

Paul Sculfor's foot (Barons Court)

Tony Romo's foot (Great Portland Street)

Mary-Kate Olsen's foot (Bayswater)

The Hills's foot (Shepherd's Bush)

Chloe Moretz's foot (Newbury Park)

Russell Brand's foot (Northwood)

Jessica Lowndes's foot (Heathrow Terminal 4)

Vanessa Minnillo's foot (Bond Street)

John Mayer's foot (Goodge Street)

Jennifer Lopez's foot (Clapham Common)

Salman Khan's foot (Shepherd's Bush Market)

Leighton Meester's foot (Oakwood)

Selena Gomez's foot (Bromley-by-Bow)

Maci Bookout's foot (Hampstead)

Jamie-Lynn Sigler's foot (Hampstead)

Cat Deeley's foot (West Ruislip)

Mel Gibson's foot (Caledonian Road)

John Krasinski's foot (East Putney)

Cher's foot (Holland Park)

Matthew McConaughey's foot (Green Park)

Maria Sharapova's foot (Bermondsey)

Willow Smith's foot (Northfields)

Jesse Eisenberg's foot (Watford)

Miranda Kerr's foot (Archway)

Jennifer Connelly's foot (North Greenwich)

[evertriedsoywithyourpopcorn]

5 Reasons Roman Is Infuriating (And Why I DO NOT have a crush on him)

Chapter 4: A Date With Destiny

Read on AO3 Chapter 1

Word count:  2991

Tw: Food, Almost an innuendo, Fear of not being accepted for orientation

~~~

"I think I'm ready."

Logan looks at himself in the mirror, adjusting his bowtie. He hadn't gone super extra with his 'date' outfit, despite Roman's insistence to go big or go home. (Which wouldn't really matter, as Thomas is home right now, and therefore they wouldn't need to go very far.)

Just a few changes, to treat himself. The blue striped bowtie, obviously, some black dress pants, black socks and a black dress shirt instead of a polo. He also tried out a new shampoo, just for that extra self-care. That may sound like a fairly big change, but Roman looked uncomfortable when he presented the outfit.

Roman waves his hand about, diverting his eyes. "Ugh, whatever. You look great. I still think a full tux would've been a better choice."

"That would most likely be overdressing. I don't want to go into this date looking like a buffoon, now do I?" He retorted, slipping on his dress shoes. They're sleek and black, with a heel that gives him just that extra added height.

"Pfft, coming from the Nerdy Professor! You look like a buffoon all the time, I'm just doing you a favor."

"You don't think I'm ready like this?" Logan asks.

"You do. You're rocking it. No romo." Roman says, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

"No... Romo?" He asks.

"Uh, yeah. Like... Uh, romantic. I invented it. Just now." Roman says, nervously fiddling with his sash.

"Oh." And if that doesn't feel like a metaphorical stab to the gut, Logan's not sure what it is.

Roman stands for a few seconds in silence, before looking away, into the mirror. "Now, go get your Daisy, Loguigi."

"That was a stretch, but thank you." Logan takes Roman's hand, squeezes it (he's sure Roman won't mind. He may think of it as a reassurance to calm Logan's nerves. Logan thinks of it as he wants to hold Roman's hand), and walks to the door.

"Logan-" Roman says before he can leave, and Logan turns back to him. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and seems to realize that Logan's waiting for him to say something. His hand reaches towards him, then recedes.

"Yes?"

"Good luck." He slumps, giving what seems to be an encouraging smirk. Logan nods, adjusing his bowtie once more, and strutting out of the room. If he had a cape, it would be flowing behind him dramatically, due to the sheer energy of his determination. Tonight is going to be the start of a big change.

"Alright Patton, prepare yourself for the strangest date you'll ever go on." He says in full confidence.

~~~

Patton sat at the dining table, feeling certainly awkward. Things certainly looked... Different. It was dim, mostly because the only light sources were an array of candles and a strand of fairy lights. There was a silky tablecloth thrown over the table, and a lovely bouquet of red roses in a glass vase as the centerpiece. There were also two glasses, and a bottle of red wine. Soft violin music played from an unknown source.

Usually this was something Patton would coo at. He always loved romance between people. Whenever Thomas and his boyfriends over the years hung out, it would be all he'd talk about. How happy he is for them. He'd even help Roman out with helping Thomas in his gestures of romance. It's true, Patton loved romance.

However, not when it was directed at himself.

He didn't want to be rude and leave, obviously. Logan set this up, and the last thing Patton wanted to do was break his heart beyond repair. He loves Logan as a friend, and he cares about him, and the emotions he barely lets himself show.

Patton twiddles with his thumbs, sweating quite a bit. He wonders what Roman has to do with this. He's certainly not also going to be here, unless this is a three-way date. That is unlikely, as there are only two chairs. Perhaps he's the wing-man? That would make sense, as he's much better in the romance category than Logan. But wait a minute, why would he help? Doesn't Roman-

"This is atmospheric." Patton gets pulled out of his thoughts by Logan standing there, looking at the decor. He takes a seat. Pouring himself a glass of the wine, he takes a big sip, before setting it down. "Patton, I have something to tell you."

Oh no.

Patton's sweating buckets now. "B-before you do, I just want to tell you that I respect you Logan, and that you're a very good person, and that I cherish the time we spend together, but I guess I haven't told you some very important information about myself, and I hope this doesn't hurt you too bad, it's that-" He takes a deep breath, about to spill. He's always been scared of this moment. Didn't he already tell Logan? Does he not believe in his identity? Patton opens his mouth to speak.

"You're aromantic. I know that Patton, and I respect that. Your orientation is completely justified and valid. I was going to tell you that this was not my idea. I do not harbor any romantic feelings for you, and I certainly don't expect you to either." Logan says, taking another sip of wine.

"Oh."

Well, that makes Patton feel much better.

"Then... Why are we here?" He asks, the nervous feeling replaced by confusion.

"Well..." Logan blushes as red as the wine. "I happened to be... Discussing my 'lack' of romantic feelings for... a side, which I realised was in fact a falsehood, and then that side happened to swoop in right after I realized, and mistook my presentation for being about you. Therefore, he decided to set us up."

The cogs in Patton's brain start to turn. He's not exactly known to be the brightest of the bunch, but he thinks he can decipher this one.

"Nm...Teh... Oh, it's Roman." He looks at Logan, who lowers his head into his hands.

"Yes. Yes it is." He admits.

"So, he doesn't know." Patton concludes.

"No, no he doesn't."

The words finally settle in, and Patton's face brightens significantly in a matter of milliseconds. "Oh my god! Logan! You like him!" He stands up, and jumps for joy. He twirls around the room a few times, and then pulls up Logan and gives him a hug. "I'm so proud of you kiddo."

"Thank you Patton. It certainly felt strange admitting it." Sighs, hugging him back. They break off soon after.

"Why didn't you tell him?" Patton asks, a little bit worried.

"I don't think I'm quite ready yet." They both sit down. "That's actually why I'm here. I was wondering if we could keep up a sort of facade for a while, until I'm ready to tell Roman. Obviously, we won't make anything official, but I could use your help, as I am not very skilled in this romance business, and we could use fake dates as a sort of counseling session. I could.. Use your help." Logan admits.

Patton is surprised, but delighted. "Oh! Well, thank you for telling me kiddo. I wouldn't mind helping you out." He pats Logan' shoulder encouragingly. "Do you... have a plan?"

"Not yet. I didn't want to start without you, in case I would need to scrap the whole thing." Logan takes another sip of wine.

“That’s absolutely A-okay. I don’t know if I’d be much help today though, cause this roller-coaster ‘date’ has really tired me out!” Patton says. (He’s never quite been put on the spot, and then given a plot twist like that one before. Oh wait, haha, he has.) He needs a bit of a mental break before he does any of that adultery thinking.

Logan looks around the room. “We aren’t on a roller coaster.”

“It’s an expression.” Patton clarifies. He sighs, adjusting himself on the seat. “I forgot that I haven’t come out to Roman yet. Or the others, for that matter.”

“You don’t have to if you aren’t comfortable. There’s never a bad reason not to come out.” Logan assures him, finishing his glass of wine. “And if you ever need my help, I will be there to support you in whatever ways I can.”

“Alrighty kiddo.” He smiles, looking to the kitchen.

“Do we have any leftover cookies?”

Patton suddenly looks guilty. “Well… About that.”

“Patton.” Logan’s gaze snaps to him, surprised. “Last time I checked, there were at least five left.”

“It wasn’t just me! Janus had one too!” He pleads, stating his case.

“One? That leaves four.” Logan squints at him. “I wanted at least two more for myself.”

A light in Patton’s brain ignites, and he jumps up. “Oh! What do you say we turn this into a baking ‘date’ then??” He does over exaggerated quotations with his hands on ‘date’.

“Bake ‘date’ it is then.” Logan fixes his bowtie in steely determination, and they both make their way to the kitchen.

~~~

“How did the date go?” Roman asks when Logan returns to his room, a giant fluffy red robe draped over himself, face mask on, and nails in the process of being painted. He’s got some showtunes that Logan doesn’t know the name of playing from a vinyl record player, which is illogical, because he’s pretty sure the musical is modern and that they can’t play voices, but he doesn’t comment.

“It went surprisingly… Well. He told me he may need a few more dates to make a decision.” Logan lies, trying to put anything other than indifference in his voice.

“Oh.” Roman looks taken aback for a second. “That’s great Specs. I’m proud of you.” The shaky hand he was painting swerves off to the side, and nail polish gets all over his finger. He looks at it, sighs, and puts the brush back into the bottle.

“You know, it isn’t a good idea to paint your nails in bed.” Logan sits on the edge, (of his own bed. Strange how Roman didn't just go back to his own room. He’s quite the stark contrast, him and his items bright red in a sensible dull, midnight blue room.) and turns his torso to face him.

“But it’s so much more dramatiiic. Besides, you told me not to touch your desk, and I am a princ- uh, a man of my word.” He laughs a little nervous laugh. “Besides, I can just clean it up with the powers of magic.”

“That’s nice.” Logan says, distracted by Roman’s nails. He’s hiding the hand he messed up. On his non-dominant hand, he has masterfully done nails, red with golden designs, such as a crown on his middle finger, a flower pattern on his pointer, thumb and pinky, and on the ring finger there’s an ‘L’...

Logan gently extends his hand. “Can I see?”

“Oh, um, yeah.” Roman lets him take his hand. Up close he notices that the gold is sparkly. Certainly a touch that is in character.

“What does the ‘L’ stand for?” Logan asks, looking at him.

Roman seems to burst red in the face. “O-Ooh it means ‘Left’. I… Often forget which direction is which, so I put it on my nails to remember. There’s no second meaning behind it or anything. Not at all.” He smiles wide.

Now Logan suspects there may be a second meaning, but he does not comment. “Is it okay for me to see your other hand?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t want to, I mean, it’s not nearly as good and it isn’t at all finished and I just made a mistake-”

“I didn’t ask if I would want to see it. I asked if you were okay with me seeing it.” Logan cuts his self-deprecating ramble off, assuring him softly. “I won’t look for the imperfections if you don’t want me to.”

“I…” Roman sighs and nods. “Go ahead.”

Logan takes Roman’s right hand gently with his own, and brings it close enough to inspect. It retains the same colors, but even with just the base red layer it looks a little bit less neatly done. The color extends past the cuticle, and you can see little bumps and imprints of things that accidentally touched the nail before it could fully dry. It wasn’t bad, per se, because those things could easily be fixed without removing the entire coating, but it probably seemed pretty bad to Roman when comparing it to his other hand. And then there was the streak, which was unfortunate but can be arranged.

“I can help you with this hand, if you’d like.” He offers, much to Roman’s surprise.

“Sure… But you don’t have to-”

“Preposterous. I want to help, and although I am not a master in the arts and creating designs, I happen to be a master duplicator. I believe Virgil described it as ‘cloning but like without the technology part and shit’. I even remade an exact duplicate of a frankly disgusting and creepy doll for Remus from scratch.”

“Oh.” Roman laughs softly. “Talented.”

“Yes. I am.” Logan says, internally giddy from the compliment. He uncaps the nail polish remover from a very fancy tray, where all the supplies are stationed on. “We just need this for the stain.” He takes a cotton pad, letting go of Roman’s hands to wet it, and recaps the bottle. He retakes Roman’s right hand, and lightly swipes the pad across the smear.

“You smell like baking.” Roman notes, barely over a whisper.

“That makes sense. We did some baking. Mostly me, and he kind of watched until they were ready to decorate.” He places the cotton pad in a little glass junk bowl on the tray.

“Are you sure he’s not just going to use these dates to make him cookies?” He says lightheartedly, tapping his other hand along to the sound of the music.

“Perhaps” Logan laughs a little bit. “Actually, I set aside a bunch for you. They’re in a bag, wrapped in a ribbon. That usually wards off everyone else from eating what’s inside for a few days, but do get to them before the fourth day because that’s often when Remus loses his patience.” He doesn’t admit that it was a spur of the moment decision, and that he felt like a lovesick fool setting aside those for him. He did admit that to Patton though, who chuckled.

“Mmm, thank you. What kind?” Roman asks, as Logan uncaps the red nail polish bottle and starts applying a light coat on each nail to even things out.

“Cranberry and White Chocolate Chip.” Roman’s favorite. That may have also been on purpose.

“Oh.” He says, and that’s where that subject of conversation ends. Logan continues applying the coating, then recaps the bottle.

“Alright, this will need to dry.” Logan guides his hand to a solid resting place. They sit quietly for a moment, only the sound of what he recognizes as Razzle Dazzle playing. It’s quite strange to have music in here. The rows and rows of dark-wood bookshelves, kept neat and clean, seem much brighter like this. His planning cork-board, with strings run around and pictures and notes in a neat order (along with the depressing sight of his calendar), looks less dull. Maybe it’s his mood. Maybe it’s just Roman.

“Logan?”

“Yes?”

Roman scoots over, without moving his drying hand. He leans in closely, looking just above Logan’s eyeline.

“Y-yes?” He squirms as Roman reaches with his dry hand to the top of his head. He shakes Logan’s hair, and he presumes it looks like a mess now.

“Flour.”

“What?” Logan asks, as he returns to sitting like he did before.

“You had flour in your hair. It was bothering me.” Roman informs him, pointing to his head.

“Ah.” They return to their silence.

When Logan determines the perfect time for the polish to dry, he uncaps the glittery gold nail pen. Using the other hand as reference, he copies the designs finger by finger, putting all of his concentration into it.

“And… We’ll put an ‘R’ here... ” He tries his best to copy the font of the swirly ‘L’. It looks pretty good, if he does say so himself. Which he does say out loud.”

“Yeah, it does. Thank you Logan.” He looks up at Roman, who smiles a very shy smile. He suddenly brightens, and jumps up, rattling the tray and scaring Logan. “Aha! I’ve thought of a perfect nickname! Holm Office Photopy Machine! I need to write that down.” He fumbles around, and then summons himself a very used-looking sketchbook. He stays standing on the bed, flipping through pages and then scribbling it down.

“That certainly is long.” Logan adjusts his glasses in surprise.

“Long like my- Sorry that was a strange thought.” Roman makes his things disappear, checks his nails, and then flops back down onto the bed.

“I hate to bother you, but at one point I’m going to have to sleep on here.” He watches as Roman unsticks his face-masked face from the bed in disgust.

“Why did I do that- Oh, yeah, sorry.” Roman gets up, looking guilty, and certainly not as fancy as he did before, fibres from the blankets stuck to his face mask and some of the mask still attached to Logan’s bed. Still, he’s got his stupid smile on his face, and that power stance. He’s…

“Wonderful.” Logan says under his breath as Roman’s turning to leave.

Unfortunately, he heard, and he turns back, confused. “Huh?”

“One earful.”

“Alright.” Roman looks perhaps even more confused, but turns back and sinks out, with a “Buh-bye Specs.”

When he’s out of Logan’s room, he snaps his fingers to rid of the mess (He left the tray there too. The nerve. The gall. He sends it to Roman’s room, and prays that it lands somewhere incredibly inconvenient just for revenge sake. He also keeps the record player, because he could use some music in his life) and prepares for bed.

Step 1: Complete.

~~~

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#logince #logince fic #ts logan #logan sanders #roman sanders #ts roman #patton sanders #ts patton #tw food #oliver writes #5 Reasons fic