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nitewrighter · 1 year

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Edible Flowers and Heartbreakers

Here is the BapWeaver date fic! Because I said I'd do it!!

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Baptiste looked up at the strangely fluid serif-font of La Brasserie Brassique's sign, then squinted through the restaurant's window, trying to get a better look at what everyone inside was wearing. It was one of those restaurants that had that carefully calculated rusticity and coziness, that was undercut by a waitstaff that moved with the clipped, furious discipline, grace, and speed that suggested a highly professionally competitive atmosphere.

Baptiste internally debated whether or not to keep his tie on for the next two minutes. 'Brasserie' suggested a casual dining experience, but then again all the terrifyingly fancy and avant-garde restaurants were always naming themselves ridiculously vague and minimalist names like 'The place' or '12' or 'Salt' or stuff like that.

"You made it!" a buoyant, almost sing-songy voice behind Baptiste caused him to flinch to attention. He pivoted on his heel to see Niran.

Baptiste wasn't sure why he thought Niran would be any smaller without those big biolight petals constantly flanking him, the botanist architech still towered over him. He wondered if Vishkar forced its architechs to go through leg-lengthening surgeries to meet their high aesthetic standards—couldn't be any more invasive than taking one of their arms, right? Niran was dressed in his usual modified pha chung hang, but had swapped out his ivory-colored plunging neckline wrapped top for a less daring light blue tunic with delicate blooming trees embroidered in gold. The neural implants at the corners of his forehead were obscured by a more relaxed hairstyle, and a pale silken braid hung over one shoulder, tied off with a gold ribbon. A smile tugged at the corner of Baptiste's mouth as he wondered if this was Niran's attempt to appear more casual.

"Er--yeah, wasn't too hard to find," said Baptiste, adjusting his tie. Together, they both headed inside.

The interior of the restaurant was like a dark jewel in the evening light. The lights had turned on, but a little bit of twilight light made the multiple monstera and spider plant pots hanging above appear almost black. Their greenness was only barely maintained maintained by violet and warm yellow accent lights posted at strategic parts around the restaurant.

"Niran!" the hostess lit up from her little tablet pedestal and clasped her hands together, "You came!" Her eyes flicked over to Baptiste, "And... you brought someone!" The hesitance in her voice at this addition made Baptiste give Niran a short side-eye but Niran just beamed with that easy grace. "Tatienne, this is Baptiste. Baptiste, Tatienne."

"Charmed," said Baptiste, trying to match Niran's ease in the situation.

"We're here to take you up on that offer?" said Niran.

"R-right," Tatienne pushed a stray bit of hair back, maintaining composure, "This way, please."

Instinct made Baptiste want to request a table at the back, easy to keep an eye on the whole restaurant, constant eye on the entrance (and exit) and kitchen doors, but their table was located at a front window corner, cozy, decently lit, and frankly a little exposed for Baptiste's tastes. A mini holo-lantern projecting purple fractals like romanesco broccoli illuminated the center of their table. A waiter came by, set down their water glasses, ran through the usual spiel on the specials that night, and how the kitchen was willing to accommodate any allergies before setting their menus down in front of them and telling them to take their time and enjoy. Baptiste gave a glance over to Tatienne at her little podium and glanced back at Niran.

"...she likes you," Baptiste said, taking his seat.

"Mm?" Niran glanced up from the menu.

"The hostess. Come on, she took one look at me and it broke her heart!" Baptiste snorted.

"Wow," Niran scoff-laughed, "Come on, give her a bit more credit than that!"

"I'm giving you as much credit as necessary," said Baptiste, "So, what's the story?"

"There was a group that was insisting the restaurant needed insurance, and I stepped in on their behalf to say they were perfectly fine."

"So you're saying you fought off a protection racket that was threatening the restaurant."

"No! I mean--!" Niran's fingers curled in with a bit of helpless frustration, "It wasn't so vulgar."

"No, of course not," Baptiste sipped from his water glass, "You hold yourself to a professional standard."

"Anyway she asked if there was anything she could do to repay me and I knew it was notoriously difficult to get a reservation here, so I asked for a table for tonight, and she was all too delighted to elbow out some space for me."

Baptiste raised his eyebrows and pressed his leps together at Niran.

"Look, it's not like she would--" Niran was going on and then seemed to catch himself, clearly running the math of several social cues he may have missed in his recap of the events. "Oh," he said, and then "Oh..." a bit more concerned. He glanced over his shoulder at Tatienne at her little Maitre d' podium and his eyes flicked back to Baptiste.

"Do you think I should say someth--?" He shook his head, "A bit late for it now, isn't it?"

"A bit..." Baptiste conceded, "Heartbreaker."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like the drama," said Niran, looking back at his menu.

"I like drama I'm not be the center of," Baptiste admitted.

"Are you sure you're not the center of it?" Niran asked coyly.

Baptiste just snorted and picked up his own menu. He scanned for a seafood section, turned the menu over to find only the wine and other drink selection, thought for a moment, and did his best to hide his immediate realization.

Brasserie Brassique. Brassicas. Broccoli. Cabbage. Kale. Duh.

"...Of course it's plant-based," Baptiste chuckled over the menu.

"Is that a problem?" Niran gave a slight eyebrow waggle from behind his own menu.

"Not at all. Don't usually have the option, in my travels," Baptiste shrugged.

"Well, I'm glad your travels could bring you here," Niran said breezily, leaning back in his own seat.

"You make time in all your running from Vishkar to eat at fancy restaurants?" Baptiste, sipped at his water.

"Well.. 'stop and smell the roses' and all that," Niran was scanning his own menu.

"And...not to be crude but you're sure you're okay with treating?"

"Well, if you're sitting on a giant pile of mercenary gold and just happen to go for the cutely scuffed-up improvising globetrotter part, I won't say that's not incredibly attractive in a deeply wrong way," said Niran.

"I... am afraid the 'cutely scuffed up improvising globetrotter' aspect of my appeal is completely genuine," said Baptiste.

"Ah. Yes. Well, Mum sent me her latest, 'You're killing me, you're killing your mother, please don't starve' check, and I'm on good terms with the owners so--!" He gave a theatrical little hand flourish, "My treat."

Baptiste snorted. "Just how far do you plan on getting by on charm and people worrying about you alone?"

"It's gotten me pretty far as far as I can tell," Niran shrugged.

There was a shy little throat clearing next to them and they both glanced up to see the waiter with a small tablet.

"Are you ready to order?" asked the waiter.

"I'll have the radish cakes and endive," Niran handed his menu off to the waiter.

"And I'd like the portobello steak, please," said Baptiste, handing his menu off as well.

"Anything to drink?" the waiter asked.

Baptiste hesitated and wished he had taken a closer look at the cocktails menu, but Niran said, "We'd like the 2074 Côte du Rhone Guillard Collines Rosé--and if we could get both an ice bucket and a decanter that would be wonderful."

"I'll... see what we can do," said the waiter.

Niran immediately picked up on the curious way Baptiste was looking at him and explained, "There's a very specific equilibrium for that year and region. It's battery acid, otherwise."

"...right," said Baptiste.

"Trust me," said Niran.

"I do," said Baptiste.

Niran fidgeted with the end of his braid as a pause passed between them.

"So..." Baptiste started, "You've been traveling alone for a while, then?"

"Well... like I said earlier, you can get surprisingly far on charm and worry."

"What are your plans for taking on Vishkar?" Baptiste leaned back in his seat.

'To be honest, I thought more people would be turning on them at this point..." Niran murmured.

"2074 Côte du Rhone?" the waiter returned with the wine bottle in an ice bucket and stand in one arm and a decanter in the opposite hand. He looked a bit harried, like it had taken some negotiation to get both.

"Oh--lovely, thank you," said Niran as he set both down, "I can take it from here."

Niran was rapidly spiraling the wine around in the decanter when Baptiste spoke up again.

"I'm just asking because, it turns out the crew I'm running with is actively working against Vishkar," said Baptiste, watching Niran pour the swirled wine into glasses, "The approach isn't as organized as we'd like, but we'd be very interested in having more people with inside information with regards to combating them."

"Goodness," Niran tucked a stray bit of hair away from his temple, setting the decanter down, "And here I thought 'invite them to join your group of vigilantes' was reserved for the third date." He held a wine glass out to Baptiste.

"You like doing things your own way, I can respect that," Baptiste sniffed at his wine, "But there is safety in numbers, and I think we could use more people like you."

"'Like me' how?"

"Builders. Scientists--"

"Healers?" Niran arched an eyebrow.

"Yes," Baptiste said a bit sheepishly.

"To builders, scientists, and healers then," Niran raised his glass.

"Builders, scientists, and healers," Baptiste clinked his glass against Niran's. They both sipped the wine. Baptiste had to admit that the seemingly contradictory practice of both chilling and decanting had brought out an unusual balance of both a refreshing and less acidic sip, and opening the palette's attention to the wine's more floral notes.

Of course it has floral notes, he thought, wryly.

"Listen," Niran's expression was apologetic as he set his own wine glass down, "I was happy to help you out for that one mission, but as you've already mentioned, I do like doing things my own way. I also have to admit... I'm not entirely convinced the new Overwatch has learned from the old one's mistakes."

"Such as...?"

"Over-reliance on combat to solve problems?" Niran arched an eyebrow.

"You seem to hold your own in combat pretty well, though."

"It doesn't mean I enjoy it," Niran sipped his wine, "It's like fire, only I can never be sure whether I'm letting something burn itself out, or if it's spreading somewhere I can't see."

Baptiste took his own, small, hard gulp of wine at this.

"Believe me, no one is more aware than me of how few options I have. Vishkar has already done everything in their power to paint me as a thief and charlatan," said Niran. The melody left his voice here, and Baptiste felt a twinge of pain. Niran was an aesthete, that was clear, and the way he laughed things off and insisted he had no shame suggested a surprising resilience, but Baptiste could also sense a soft heart in there as well, someone who only ever wanted to help the world seeing all of their efforts and all the good they had done be drowned out by a cultish corporation trying to save face and push a bottom line, "The world is desperate for heroes, but I don't know if that desperation is enough to make people forget about how Overwatch let them down before."

"You're not wrong there..." Baptiste stroked his chin thoughtfully "I had similar doubts. Vaswani, too.."

Niran visibly perked up. "Come again?"

"Plus, to be fair, she only joined us because Vishkar had painted a target on her back for Talon," Baptiste went on.

"Vaswani as in Satya Vaswani?" Niran was leaning forward.

"And it could be very well that we're pissing off Talon even more by having her here," Baptiste mused.

"Satya Vaswani is in Overwatch."

"She's dug out a niche for herself," Baptiste said vaguely.

Niran's mouth quirked off to one side and his eyes narrowed. "I see what you're doing," he said, leaning back in his seat.

"Mm?" Baptiste was sipping his water.

"I think you should know, if my friends jump off a cliff, I don't jump off right after them," said Niran, raising his chin.

"No, you strike me as the first person jumping off," Baptiste smiled.

Niran gave him a shrewd look, then. Up until now, Niran's glances had had an almost overwhelming warmth to them, but here was the problem solver, here was the evaluator, here was the architech.

"For what it's worth, I'm there, too--- it would be a lot easier to coordinate our next date. That is, unless, your plan is just to run into me by chance, again."

"...or you could join me," Niran mused.

"Now who's moving fast for the first date?"

"Well it seems to me you did pretty well for yourself with the whole 'globetrotting' thing," said Niran, "Maybe you'd be interested in something more... fluid."

"I thought--" Baptiste started but was cut off.

"Portobello and radish cakes?" The waiter had returned with a tray.

"Oh! Beautiful! Thank you," Niran exclaimed as pale radish cakes lazily resting on a bed of vividly purple endive leaves and garnished with nasturtium flowers, with a small hill of forbidden rice itself topped with a violet. Baptiste's own plate was arranged in the kind of typical 'steakhouse' arrangement, with the portobello flanked by a parsnip puree, a small green salad, and a cleverly hollowed out parsnip standing at attention and stuffed with minced maitake in a way reminiscent to the bone marrow in pot-au-feu. Baptiste cut into the portobello and took a bite. He kept his bites and cuts slow. He was used to just kind of stuffing his face to keep himself going, it was a rare treat to eat something that had clearly been so carefully prepared.

"Merci," Baptiste gave a nod to the waiter who briskly headed off. There was a brief minute and a half filled only with the careful muted scrapes of forks on plates and quiet 'Mm's.' Plant based or not, Baptiste hadn't had anything this nice in months, maybe years even. His eyes flicked across the table to Niran who was first trying everything out individually, following bites with wine or clearing his palette with water, then he was experimenting with different combinations of the rice and endive or radish. So much of the time with Overwatch, 'eating' was just jamming in the necessary calories to make it to the next mission. You had chatting and jokes and a certain degree of camaraderie, but the food wasn't nearly this good and most of the time there was a conscious knowledge of this mission or that bit of Watchpoint maintenance and what parts of his equipment needed calibrating before the next mission. He honestly couldn't recall the last time a meal had felt this intimate, had had this kind of emphasis on the sensory.

"You were saying...?" Niran goaded.

"I thought I was," Baptiste conceded, taking another bite, "But... you tend to figure out pretty quickly that the 'one man war' thing is more about you than it is about stopping whatever you're fighting against."

Niran considered this, glancing off and taking another slow sip of his wine. "And I take it you had intel that was valuable to them, as well?"

"I did," Baptiste huffed, "Look, the way I see it is this: When Overwatch was first formed in the Crisis, it was about pooling resources and cleaning up logistics because so much destruction was being done, there was no way for the traditional governmental and military channels to keep up with it and respond to it. All the buzz about 'heroes'--that was propaganda. It was necessary propaganda to keep people from panicking and keeping from further complicating relief efforts. But it was still effective. Hell, it made me want to join, as a kid. But the current Overwatch I think is a lot closer to that initial framework, they just aren't in a position to propagandize themselves, nor do they really want to because—I'm killing the vibe, aren't I?"

"A little," Niran sipped his wine and gave him a catlike smile, "How many people have you hit with the sales pitch?"

"You're the first, actually," Baptiste laughed a bit nervously.

"I'm shocked," said Niran, clearly not shocked.

"For what it's worth I did tell myself I was going to try to relax tonight," he paused, "But... I do also want to see you again, and I would prefer if you did not get murdered by Talon or captured and lobotomized by Vishkar before then, so..."

"You really know how to charm a man, don't you?" said Niran.

"Well I don't see the point in pretending we don't live the lifestyle we do," Baptiste shrugged.

"It's good for getting under their skin," Niran leaned forward, "Nothing drives your enemies crazy like making them believe you don't think about them at all."

"I am not interested in making anyone crazier than they already are," Baptiste chuckled.

"Ooh—Toxic exes?" Niran set his wine glass down on the table.

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Baptiste sipped his own glass.

"Usually that means 'yes,'" Niran gave a slight raise of his eyebrows, "You know, I think I like not being the only heartbreaker on this date."

"You like drama?"

"Only in the nosy, obnoxious sense that most people like their drama. But... I do think you see more of people's true selves when everything's a bit off-kilter."

"Well, if I was still making the sales pitch, this is where I'd say you'd like my team, then."

Niran scoff laughed before pushing his plate forward. "Here, have a bite of this."

"You sure?"

"That's the whole point of ordering different things at a restaurant. Which means I get to take some of yours."

Baptiste snorted. "Fine."

They exchanged bites, Baptiste carefully sectioning off a bit of radish cake and a small amount of the forbidden rice, the now-wilting endive that had lost a bit of its bitterness. It was complex, artful, and well balanced. He honestly preferred his own order since it was a bit more savory, but he could definitely see the appeal. But Niran grunted from the other side of the table.

"Dammit, you win," he muttered.

"It was a competition!?" Baptiste sputtered out a laugh.

"It's always a competition!" He huffed, "I hate the phrase 'portobello steak' it's fungus. Like fungi are miraculous on their own! Why jump through hoops to make them more meat-like!? And I hate that it's good."

"I think they just use the 'steak' phrasing to win the carnivores over," Baptiste snorted. "But I'd say they jumped through the right hoops if I won."

"Well if it won one carnivore over..." Niran smiled.

They ordered dessert, Niran tried to float the idea of lying to the waiter about it being Baptiste's birthday but Baptiste backed down. They talked more. They took turns taking bites from a coconut rice pudding brulée with a passionfruit reduction. Baptiste liked watching the bow of Niran's mouth as he nibbled on the mint leaf garnish. Niran talked about his siblings. His older sister who had more or less cut things off with him with the ultimatum of 'until he got his shit together', his younger brother who he was still in contact with whom he admitted he was probably a bad influence on. Baptiste didn't really have siblings to speak of, but he found himself talking a lot about Rosaline and the clinic.

"...I'd like to see it," Niran said, topping off both their glasses with the last dregs of wine from the decanter.

"What, the clinic? It's... not really impressive."

"It's not about 'impressive.' It means something to you," Niran was flushed at this point, "I always push the artist shit--the individualist shit--because I've disappointed so many people that the only standard I can really hold myself to is my own. But you have people. You have a community...." he stroked a finger along his eyebrow, "God, we're going to get back to the sales pitch, aren't we?"

"I wasn't going to say anything..." Baptiste felt a loose and easy warmth from the wine himself.

"...I just don't want to let more people down," Niran said quietly.

This sobered Baptiste somewhat. "Hey," he said "You... made something brilliant. So brilliant, in fact, there are lot of people who want you dead. And you believe in things--things bigger than what a lot of people want for you. And those two things together... that's lonely."

Niran made a short little "Hm" sound.

"I'm not going to push the sales pitch," Baptiste put both hands up, "But... I am going to say, you should be around people who care as much as you do. If that's not with my team, that's fine. But I do think you should look for it."

"...but your team has Satya," the wine was clearly hitting Niran at this point.

"My team does indeed have Satya," Baptiste confirmed, watching Niran drain the last of his glass. He knocked his own back in solidarity.

"I need to annoy her again," Niran was glancing off.

"Don't worry, I assure you, we all annoy her plenty."

"Well that I just might make time in my busy schedule to see," said Niran, "To make sure you're all doing it right, of course."

"Of course," said Baptiste.

True to his word, Niran covered the bill, but Baptiste insisted on the tip. There was a brief, less-than-sober apology to Tatienne over any misunderstanding considering the dinner, and she was absolutely saintly through it (and likely just desperate to end her shift at that point). Baptiste and Niran walked together through the city streets in a kind of easy silence, both suspended in that moment when the night was still full of promise and just as easily carried the potential for disaster.

We could go dancing, Baptiste wanted to say, And drink more, and maybe there would be some drama with someone else drunk at the club and one of us would end up crying and then neither of us would want to really text the other back after that mess.

We could sneak into a gallery showing, Niran wanted to say, And ask each other which is our favorite, and watch what is basically a weird bloodstained striptease behind a white tarp while someone sobs and rants in Spanish and clap bewilderedly and then steal a whole bottle of champagne, and run off to a park, and watch the sun rise like in that old movie and then become confronted with the horror that is our continued presence in the morning.

But instead they both ambled to the edge of the harbor and looked out, listening to the dark rush of the waves below.

"This is... my pickup point," Baptiste said, as he leaned against the guardrail, "If you want you could stick around, catch a ride, I'm sure Oxton would be happy to drop you off anywhere. Or you could..."

"...Come back to your place?" Niran arched an eyebrow.

"Maybe I could continue the sales pitch," Baptiste shrugged.

"I say this to a lot of salesmen, but I mean it this time: You've given me a lot to think about," said Niran. He paused, "And..." he seemed like he was about to say something more, but he just forced a chuckle. "Yeah. A lot to think about."

The lap of waves was suddenly drowned out by a resonant 'vmmmmm' and both of them looked out over the water to see the Overwatch dropship approaching. Baptiste and Niran looked back at each other.

"Punctual bunch, aren't you?" Niran was smiling, but his brow was crinkled.

"Yeah..." Baptiste's voice trailed away from him and he looked back at Niran. They had to say goodbye now, and despite years of basically earning a blackbelt in avoiding discomfort, he had no idea how to do it.

Hug? Kiss? For the love of god, Baptiste do not shake his hand-- his mind was a fog of indecision but Niran stooped and gently kissed his temple and brushed some fingers behind his ear.

"Don't be a stranger, Augustin, hm?" his fingers trailed down the side of Baptiste's jawline.

"I was about to say the same thing," said Baptiste.

"No you weren't," said Niran.

"Well I am now," said Baptiste.

And with that, he ascended into the dropship.

Niran was just a shrinking little spot of blue and ivory and gold below as the dropship pulled away. Baptiste slumped his head back into the dropship seat with a huff.

"Y'know... if you two wanted to get a hotel, you only needed to send a text--"

"It's not that simple--" Baptiste cut her off but then caught himself. He craned his neck to catch Tracer in the dropship's rearview mirror. "I don't--You didn't let me do this because you wanted to recruit him, right?"

"No!" Tracer said on reflex, "I mean, would we want him on the team? Sure! But... it's about you, Baptiste. I'm just glad you took a whole bloody night for yourself, really!"

There was a pause between them.

"You didn't try to recruit him, did y--?" Tracer started.

"I wasn't thinking about the team! He just seems to be doing this hippie thing and I don't want to worry about him!" Baptiste blurted out.

Tracer snorted. "You're adorable."

Baptiste just scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Oi--what's that on your ear?" Tracer's head swung around from the pilot's seat.

"Eh--?" Baptiste felt at his ear, his fingers touched on a slightly smooth and warm mass, and he pulled away a pale pink orchid of biolight that had been perched upon his ear. He blinked a few times and then flinched as the orchid dissolved into a tesselation of pink-white sparkles.

"Wow..." Tracer said a bit breathlessly, "You realize you can't not call him back now, right?"

"I wasn't going to not call him back!" said Baptiste, frustrated.

"Good to know," said Tracer, settling into the pilot's seat, "Wouldn't want you to be a heartbreaker, would we?"

#bapweaver #jean baptiste augustin #lifeweaver #overwatch #overwatch fanfic

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alittlextrathatway · 5 months

Note

Line: "And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you." Location: supermarket

High School AU time again.

You can find parts 1 & 2: here and here

***

Matt had a very different plan for Homecoming.

Nice suit, fancy dinner, dancing, Severide's after party...

But then he pulled a bonehead move and forgot to pick up his dad's old suit from the cleaners where his sister had helped him arrange and pay for alterations. If it were up to him, he wouldn't touch anything that used to be his dad's. As much as losing him threw Matt's life into upheaval and deprived him of any hope of repairing their relationship someday, he knows he's better off without him. However, he can't afford a new suit so his only option, apart from just not going, is to repurpose something of his dad's. Or at least it was.

Now, he's screwed.

He calls Sylvie as he gets back into his car, staring mournfully at the dark storefront. He's such an idiot.

"Hey! Everything okay?"

"No. I'm a moron."

"I very much doubt that."

"Yeah, hold that thought till after I tell you what's happened."

He recounts the story of agreeing to work for a friend of his mom's who runs a construction business and of how the job ran later than expected. He was in such a rush to leave that he forgot he still needed to pick up his dress clothes until he was stepping out of the shower. And by then the cleaners had already been closed for 10 minutes.

"I don't have any thing I can wear instead. Not to a dance. Not when you've probably got a beautiful dress picked out -- If I show up in slacks and a polo I'd embarrass the hell out of you."

"You wouldn't," Sylvie assures him. "At last year's Homecoming in Fowlerton my ex boyfriend wore jeans and a cowboy hat. I don't mind farmer wear on a daily basis but to a dance? I wanted to throttle him. Slacks and a polo would be perfectly acceptable to me."

He starts to think maybe he didn't ruin her first school dance in Chicago until she finishes her thought.

"But unfortunately the school dress code for the dance isn't quite so flexible."

Shit. He forgot about the school dress code. Even if he did work something out, they wouldn't let him in.

"Dammit, you're right. I'm so sorry, Sylvie. This is not how I wanted our first date to go. Maybe we can try again some other night?"

"Try again?" She asks, sounding appalled at the suggestion. "You're not getting out of tonight that easily, Matt Casey. Pick me up at 7 and wear slacks and a polo just like we talked about. I have an idea."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Just because we can't go to the dance doesn't mean we can't hang out."

He shows up two hours later with a small bouquet of flowers and another apology ready to go, but his mind goes instantly blank when Sylvie answers the door in her Homecoming dress. It's a satin baby blue dress that matches the exact shade of her eyes. The top scoops, but is too high to be considered anything but modest and the front of the skirt skims the tops of her knees and then lengthens at the back. The fabric flows in a way that makes him think of a waterfall, gorgeous and serene. He's at a loss for any substantial words.

"Uh, wow. Hi."

She giggles and blushes, glancing down at her strappy silver heels. "Hi. Let me get my coat and we can go."

As she turns to head back inside he gets a glimpse of the back of the dress. It ties across her back in a wide bow and then leaves three inches of her skin exposed above the waistline of the skirt.

Yeah, a coat. She needs a coat. The urge to touch that little bit of smooth skin is going to take all the self control he has. She comes back with a black peacoat. It's on but open, the buttons undone and the sash untied.

She grabs his hand as she passes him and drags him down he hall toward her building's elevator. "Let's go before my mom forces us to take a million pictures."

They make it down to his truck very clumsily. Sylvie tripped over her shoes one or two times. Lucky for them both, Matt's got fast reflexes and caught her arm both times. They're laughing as he holds open his passenger door for her and offers his hand to help her climb in. Once she's settled he closes the door and hops in himself.

"So, what's the plan, boss?" Matt asks as he starts his truck.

"Oh, boss. I like that," Sylvie says with a smirk.

That smirk makes him want to lean across the middle console and kiss her, but he holds off. He'll wait for her to give him the green light.

"Head to the supermarket around the corner," Sylvie instructs.

"Supermarket?" Matt asks with a furrowed brow.

"Trust me."

He drives around the corner and parallel parks. As he parks, the reason Sylvie directed them here becomes clear. It's one of those markets with a salad bar and a hot buffet. Everything is fresh and affordable and can be packed up to go. "We're having supermarket hot wings?"

She laughs and nods. "Sure, if you want. I thought we'd pick up food here and then go have a picnic on the football field. No one will be there and we'll even be able to hear the DJ they hired for the dance. It'll be like our own private Homecoming celebration."

Oh, that's perfect, actually. Of course she'd think of that. She's brilliant. "That sounds like the best idea I've heard all day."

They get out and walk toward the supermarket. Sylvie grabs his hand as they pass through the automatic doors. He adjusts their hands to tangle their fingers together. The smile she points at him afterward is nothing short of radiant.

They each pick out an entree, a side, and a drink and head to the registers. The meal is easily more affordable than the fancy dinner he assumed he would need to treat her to and Sylvie seems just as excited about this food as she would about anything else.

She leans toward him to speak in a low voice as they wait their turn in line. "This chicken salad is amazing. I've been dreaming about it all week."

When they reach the cashier, Matt waves. They had English together last year. It must suck to have to work the night of the dance. "Hey, Naomi."

She smiles sweetly at him, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "Matt, hi! I thought you'd be at the dance. What are you doing here?"

"We're on our way there," he replies. It's not technically a lie. They are going to the school after all. "But my date," he says nodding toward Sylvie and pointing a teasing grin at her. "Just had to have some of this chicken salad so here we are."

"Date?" Naomi asks, eyes widening with curiosity. "I just assumed you'd be going with Gabby again."

"Ah, no, Gabby and I broke up last year." He distracts himself from the interest in Naomi's stare and the awkward question by pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. He nods to Sylvie again. "Have you met Sylvie Brett? She just started at our school this year."

Sylvie smiles but Matt can tell it's forced. Naomi skims a gaze over Sylvie but seems unimpressed. "I wish I'd known you were available. I've got to find better sources for my gossip."

"Yeah, okay," Matt says with a wince. "Can you ring us up? We're sort of eager to get going."

The smile on Sylvie's face doesn't waiver but he can see her eyes narrowing every so slightly. "By the way," she says, in a firm yet overly polite voice. "He's not."

"Not what?" Naomi asks as she turns her attention to the register and rings up their items.

"Available."

Matt should be offended that Sylvie's speaking for him. He used to hate it when Gabby did that and she did it a lot. But this moment with Sylvie is different. He's too thrilled to hear her claim him to care that she hasn't run it by him first.

That one word grabs Naomi's attention. She quirks a brow at Sylvie but otherwise ignores her, choosing to tell Matt his total instead. He pays, grabs Sylvie's hand, and leads them outside.

"Oh my god," Sylvie says, closing her eyes and hiding her face in his shoulder. "I can't believe I just did that. I am so sorry."

"Sylvie, really, it's fine--"

"No, I shouldn't have said that without talking to you about it first. Just because we're going on one date doesn't mean that you want everyone to think you're taken or that we're an item or something and I just went and blabbed that we are to -- whoever the heck that was. She was just so rude and blatantly checking you out right in front of me! It made me so mad and-- and--"

"Jealous?" He suggests, interrupting her with a mirthful smirk.

"Do not let that go to your head," she warns, her face flushing in embarrassment.

"Too late," he replies, taking her food from her and setting both their meals on the hood of his car. "Sylvie Brett just told the biggest gossip in school that I'm hers. If anything's gonna puff up my ego, it's that. Next time Sheffield comes sniffing around I'll be sure to tell him you're unavailable too. Truthfully, I can't wait. Maybe we'll run into him tonight."

"Wait, hold on," Sylvie says, stepping closer to him. "You're happy I basically told her you're mine like a jealous girlfriend?"

He shrugs, barely withholding a gleeful smile. "Like you said, she was rude. Naomi kinda deserved it. Plus, what if I told you I want you to be my girlfriend?"

Her confusion melts into elation. "You do?"

"More than anything."

She laughs and then bounces up onto her toes, grabbing his face and bringing his lips down to hers. It's a quick, excited kiss. Passionate but over much too soon. He responds by wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against him, resting his forehead on hers.

"Is that a yes?"

"That's a hell yes," Sylvie says, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Thank God," Matt says before he swoops in for another kiss. This one is deeper and longer and far more exploratory. Kissing Sylvie Brett is already one of his favorite memories and it's not even over yet. Nor will this be the last time he kisses her. No, he plans to keep coming back for more for as long as he can.

He never saw the new girl coming. She's flipped everything he thought he knew upside down and he's glad she did. His world needed a little shaking up. Thank God it was Sylvie that did the shaking. He doesn't want to imagine how his senior year would have started without her.

#brettsey #sylvie brett #matt casey #matt casey x sylvie brett #furrynachosublime #prompt fic #my fic #angellwings writes

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catierambles · 1 year

Text

Null Ch.9

Pairing: Incubus!Charles Brandon x Anna Williams (OFC)

WC 952

Warnings: HOLY SHIT Minors DNI 18+ ONLY

@brattymum96 , @ouroboros113 , @peaches1958 , @summersong69 , @henryownsme , @fvckinghenrycavill , @raccoon-eyed-rebel

The dress was pushed to her waist, his hands around her hips as he moved between her thighs. The familiar feeling of him moving inside her made her eyes roll back and she reached for him, pulling him down into a kiss that he eagerly returned, his tongue swirling against hers.

"My darling." He whispered against her lips before he picked her up, holding her tight against his chest as he rocked into her, her legs hitching around his hips.

"Don't stop." Anna gasped, "Fuck, don't stop."

"Never, my dearest." He said, burying his face in her neck. She could feel it building, rushing headlong towards release, driven by the skillful movements of his hips. "Come for me, dearest one, let me feel you." His strokes lengthened and he buried himself in her to the base as she tipped over the edge.

Anna woke with a gasp, still feeling the aftershocks of her orgasm but the euphoria quickly morphed into annoyance and she got out of bed, heading to the study where she knew he'd be. Indeed, he was sitting on the couch in there reading and looked up as she cleared her throat, seeing her annoyed expression.

"Everything all right, dearest?" He asked.

"You tell me." Anna said, "You told me you'd stay out of my dreams."

"Yes, and I have. As I said, I'm a demon of my word." Charles said and a slow, knowing smile came over his face. "Anna did you--"

"Nope!" She said, turning around and fleeing the study. He caught her in the hallway, moving to stand in her way.

"Anna, be honest with me." He said, "And there's nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. Did you have an erotic dream about me?" She shifted from foot to foot before nodding. "How interesting." He leaned into her, breathing in deeply through his nose. "Yes, I can almost smell it. Was I good? Did I take care of you?"

"Charles, I--" He pulled her against his chest slowly with an arm around her waist and she shuddered at the heat of his body against hers.

"Would you like me to take care of you, Anna?" He asked and her eyes darted from his to his lips and back up again. "I can feel you, Anna. It feels…different, but wholly familiar." His hand reached up to hold her jaw and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

"Hold--hold up." She said, pulling away from him, catching his look of confusion. "Let me…let me check something real quick." Moving around him, she went into her bedroom knowing he was following behind her and she grabbed her phone off the charger, pulling up her period tracker app. "Yep, that explains it."

"Explains what?" Charles asked.

"I'm a couple of days out from my period."

"I don't understand."

"It's my body's last ditch effort to get me knocked up." Anna said, "So my hormones are a little…aggressive right now; they're screaming at me to have sex and make a baby. Happens every month. I get a little…"

"Amorous?"

"I was going to say "horny", but that works too." Anna said, "So it's not you, it's me. I mean, it is you because you're the last guy I got naked with, albeit subconsciously, but my uterus is throwing a tantrum and trying to get me pregnant."

"And you said this happens every month?"

"Couple days to a week from the start of my period, yeah." Anna said, "Which is probably why it felt different to you. It wasn't directed at you specifically, but the want was still there."

"Oh." Charles said, "Well I can still assist you with it if you would like."

"I'm fine, dude, but thank you. I don't want kids and if we do, I'll most likely get pregnant, so thanks but no thanks." Anna said.

"There are other ways I can satisfy that urge without the risk of pregnancy." Charles said and she felt her face flush at the thought of the other ways.

"No, no, it's fine."

"I just don't want you to suffer needlessly, is all."

"That's why porn and vibrators exist, my good dude."

"Anna…"

"Charles, I'm telling you no." She said and he paused.

"And I shall respect that." He said, bowing slightly with a hand to his chest. "Should you change your mind and wish to accept the relief I'm offering, you need only let me know."

“Charles, I’m not going to be climbing the walls. I’ll be fine.” Anna said, “Besides, offering or not, it’ll basically be just using you as a walking dildo that breathes, and I…” She made a sound, “No, not happening.”

"Oh." Charles said, an indiscernible look coming over his face. "I…appreciate that, thank you."

"No problem, now scoot. I have work in the morning." Anna said and he gave her a small smile.

"Pleasant dreams, Anna." He left the bedroom after that and she put her phone back on the charger, climbing back into bed. Her brain was screaming at her that she should have taken him up on his offer, but she told it to shut the fuck up. Could he? Yes. Would he? Enthusiastically so. Should she? No. The tingling between her legs started as images of them tangled together formed in her mind but she pushed them away. She still remembered the feel of his skin under her hands, the way his breath felt as he panted against her neck, the way their bodies fit together so perfectly.

"Son of a bitch." She whispered and reached into her nightstand, pulling out the small vibrator. She would not use him like that, so if organic orgasms weren't available, battery-powered ones would work.

#henry cavill #charles brandon #null #my writing #i don't know about y'all #but the few days before my period are ROUGH

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queenofbaws · 2 years

Note

Queenie!!! The prompt list were so good that I think I will "spam" you with different prompt!! If I'm allowed,of course!xD

The first two are from the Bed Sharing Scenarios:

we have to sleep on the forest ground, so everything can be the bed, but we still sleep close, because we feel too exposed

Nick&Abi

we're snowed in and there is not a lot of space and heat

Chris&Ashley

Have a nice day~!♡

definitely more than six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

The plan had looked super, super good on paper: Take a walk through the scenic (if icy) woodlands, hope that the cold would sober Josh up, and then head back to the lodge, no harm no foul. Foolproof!

Just not…just not Joshproof.

Ashley stood in front of the guest cabin’s front window, her palms going numb with cold as she held them on the sill. The very last ray of the sun sank below the trees as she watched, her front teeth gnawing her lower lip raw. “It’s way too dark,” she sighed, hanging her head. Slowly but surely, a perfect darkness began to sweep its way through the Pines’s many…pines, the shadows lengthening until they bled into one another, covering the world around them with a thick blanket of night. “We’d never make it back to the lodge in this…”

“I mean…to be fair, I sorta told you this would happen.” Frowning at the matches in his hand, Chris muttered a few additional words under his breath and kept trying to light the damn fire. The movies made it look so easy, but when your firewood had been sitting out in the snow for God-knew-how-long and your book of matches was from the mid-to-late 60’s, there just wasn’t anything easy about it.

“You’re not helping, oh my gosh.”

“I-I’m pretty sure getting this started is helping, Ash. I—aha!” Finally, the match caught. He cupped his other hand around the flame as he brought it to the grate of the fireplace, only pulling away once he’d reached the stack of logs. It poked disinterestedly at the wood for a few seconds, that dumb flame, crawling closer and closer to his fingers…before an itsy-bitsy bit took, the fireplace beginning to fill with thin wisps of smoke. It was better than it’d been ten minutes ago, he’d give himself that. “Truly, I am a modern Prometheus.”

If nothing else, that got Ashley to turn. She folded her arms across her chest, helpless to fight the smile playing on her lips as she cupped her elbows in her hands. “Uh huh,” she laughed, “That’s definitely what I’d call you…”

He held a single finger up to her, an admonishing pointer, keeping his eyes on the grate until the first flame flickered there. “Aw yeah! Check it!”

“I’m checking it.”

“Let there be light!”

Ashley joined him in front of the fireplace, half-squatting to get a better look. The flame in question was maybe—and oh, what emphasis there was on that word, maybe—the size of her thumb nail. Still, Chris was awfully proud of himself, so she quietly sighed through her nose before giving a polite golf clap.

“Thank you, thank you.” He feigned bowing as he stood from the (unbelievably cold) floor, jogging his weight from one leg to the other once his focus faltered enough for him to remember it was, in fact, fucking freezing in the cabin. “Know what I think?” he asked, blowing into his hands to warm them up for the time being. “I think we should go wake Josh up and make him watch this shit until it’s nice and toasty. That can be his job.”

“He is pretty good at fanning flames, so to speak…” Ashley joked, throwing a look over Chris’s shoulder towards the darkened half of the guest cabin. For a moment, she actually thought about it, jostling Josh awake and making him deal with the cold same as them. This was his fault, when you thought about it, them being stuck in the middle of the woods in the first place. If he hadn’t gotten so wasted back at the party…ugh, but she couldn’t. That wouldn’t’ve been fair. It’d been luck alone that’d gotten them all the way there in the first place, and the fact he was snoring away in the back bedroom meant he at least wasn’t puking everywhere, so…

Luckily, she and Chris didn’t share a wavelength so much as curate a whole shared mental radio station, so she didn’t need to say a word of it.

“We should probably just let him sleep it off, huh?” Chris asked, his glasses fogging with his breath.

“We should probably just let him sleep it off, yeah,” she nodded, shaking her own hands out. “Speaking of sleeping, though…what the heck are we supposed to do?”

He opened his mouth. He shut it.

He hadn’t thought about that.

Chris took his turn glancing towards the other half of the cabin, but he knew what he’d see if he poked his head into the bedroom; Josh was a starfish sleeper, spreading out until he took up every inch of whatever bed you put him in. Some people might’ve found that impressive. Right now, it was just sort of…typical.

“Uh.”

Ashley snorted a laugh. “Yeah. My thoughts exactly.” If there was any benefit of how frigging cold she was, it had to be the way it was keeping her from blushing. No question. Since their ‘foolproof’ plan had involved them heading back to the lodge before dark hit, there’d been no reason to stop and think about the logistics of the guest cabin: how small it was, how little space there was, how there was only one bed…that Josh was currently in. She dropped her head into her hands, rubbing tiredly at her face. The hike, too, they’d underestimated. None of them were what you’d call ‘outdoor people,’ much less ‘athletic’ or even ‘physically capable.’ She could’ve fallen asleep standing up just then.

The two of them stood there for a while. It was impossible to say how long ‘a while’ was, in that particular instance – outside, it was already as black as it was going to get – but by the time either of them found the will to point out the obvious, the itty-bitty fire had started crackling, having grown enough to cast the faintest light on the rug spread over the wooden floor.

“I mean,” Ashley said, trying (and failing miserably) to sound casual. “I guess all we got’s the couch, right? I don’t know about you, but like…I don’t…think the floor is going to…work.” As though to drive that point home, she dragged the toe of her boot across the rug, and a mountain of dust came with it.

“It is prime real-estate in terms of, y’know, fire-warmth,” agreed Chris, who, for the life of him, just could not stop anxiously clearing his throat. At least he could blame that much on the dust if he had to. “It’s gonna be, uh, sort of a…”

“Squeeze?”

“Yeah, a…yeah.”

“Hmm.”

They thought that one over for a moment. Then two moments. Many, many moments. The fire grew.

When she couldn’t see her breath in the air any longer, Ashley forced herself to move, knowing if she didn’t, well…they might actually fall asleep standing up. “I think there are some extra blankets in the back. I can…?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure, good idea. I’ll…lock…up. Yeah, I’ll lock up.”

“Oh, good.”

“Yeah, don’t want any bears showing up in the middle of the night, y’know.”

Something about it broke the spell that’d come over her, and Ashley rolled her eyes, jokingly nudging him with her elbow as she passed him. “Don’t even put that into the universe, oh my God, Chris!”

“What? I’m just saying! The way our luck is? It’d be a bear and a missionary. A…a mission-bear-y.”

“Ugh.”

“Try to convert us to salmon-vation.”

“Literally can’t hear you anymore,” she said, her voice going distant as she dipped into the back hall.

He latched the door and pulled the shutters on the windows just in case, doing his level best to tamp down some of the butterflies in his stomach as he circled back to the fireplace and poked at it with one of the nondescript tools kept beside it. A knot in one of the logs popped, sending a small cascade of red-orange sparks through the air, momentarily brightening the cabin.

Even though he knew good and well that it didn’t, he turned and attempted to determine whether the couch pulled out into a bed. When he was faced with the reality of the situation, that it was, in fact, just a couch, those butterflies in his guts gave escape another go.

“We’re, uh, definitely going to have to squeeze,” he said as Ashley came back, a couple of blankets hugged to her chest. “Which…I guess we established that already, but…”

“Oh. Yeah, I mean…I figured.”

“Yeah.”

“But I mean…uh. It…is pretty cold, so…”

“So…?”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, knowing there was no way he wouldn’t see her doing it, and so instead just pushed one of the blankets into his arms and plunked herself down on the couch, jacket and boots and all. “So, doofus, staying close is probably, I dunno, the best plan? So we don’t freeze to death?”

“Oh.” And it was then that Chris found himself glad for the cold too, realizing what Ashley had long before him: It meant his face couldn’t go cherry-red, even though it desperately wanted to. He took the blanket from her, inspecting it carefully as she made herself comfortable on the couch. “Wait, are you insulting the warming capabilities of my fire? I know it’s not a roaring blaze or anything, but—”

“Like I said,” she cut him off, patting the spot on the couch beside her in a bid to appear more at ease with the whole thing than she actually was. “At least this way we probably won’t freeze to death.”

“Wow.”

“Probably.”

“Wowww.” Still, he sat beside her, carefully unfolding the blanket to cover as much of himself as he could. “You’re the expert, so maybe I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure when people in fanfiction have to huddle together for warmth, Ash—”

“Oh my God.”

“—neither party goes and openly insults the other’s ability to create fire. I-i-it just seems counterproductive to the huddling, know what I mean? No one wants to huddle with a—”

Acting before she could think herself out of it, Ashley hugged her blanket tightly around her, and set her head on Chris’s shoulder, pulling her legs up onto the couch with her so she could ball up against his side. She felt him go rigid beside her…and then relax just as quickly, one of his arms tentatively moving around the back of her shoulders to wrap his blanket around her as well as her own.

“It’s a fine fire, Chris,” she said after a moment, warming just enough that, yup, uh huh, there it was, she felt her cheeks begin to prickle. The fading smell of his cologne wasn’t exactly helping that. “You’re a real Cro-Magnon.”

“See? That’s all I wanted. Was that really so hard?” He set his head against hers after another moment, hoping against hope all the layers he was wearing kept her from noticing the way his heart was racing. “Now we can huddle for warmth. Just like in the fanfictions.”

Ashley sighed, but chose not to say anything to that. She closed her eyes, nestled closer against Chris’s side…and accepted that she probably wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon. Not with her heart going like it was.

Never once did it occur to either of them that perhaps Josh had had a plan that night too. A foolproof one, at that.

And since they were nothing if not fools, Ashley and Chris, well…it never occurred to them that they’d fallen right into it, either.

Not until they woke up the next morning tangled up in each other, the fire burnt to embers in the grate.

#torahime #six sentence weekend #queenie writes supermassive #chrashley #heheheheheheheh you know i cant RESIST a huddling for warmth fic ;)c heheheheheh #i hope your weekends off to a great start!!!!!

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companionwolf · 3 hours

Note

Prompt 14 for central?

prompt: 14. discussing your futures

au/verse: isekai AU

cw/tws: uhhhh I dunno

summary: Wolf and Central talk about that nebulous place, that thing just out of their reach for now-- after the war.

Central finds them standing out on the flight deck, drumming their fingers against the railing and staring absently up at the sky. Out here, in the wilderness, there's little light pollution-- the stars gleam overhead, and Central wishes he felt the same sense of wonder they must feel.

Instead the stars just make him sick.

As he approaches, Central calls out quietly, as not to startle them with silence-- "Commander."

Wolf turns, looks at him, and for a moment he sees their face alight with terror. Then they calm, inhale, exhale.

"Hey, Central," they say as he joins them at the rail. "I know why I'm awake-- why are you awake?"

Central places a hand on the rail, feels the cold of the metal bite into his palm. He does not look at them. "Just couldn't sleep," he says finally.

Wolf hums, gazing back skywards now. "Same."

For a while the pair stand in the quiet, and then Central begins to point out constellations, planets. Wolf listens with rapt attention, nodding and asking questions.

"You know," they say after another stretch of quiet lengthens between them, "I used -- where I came from, I couldn't see stars." Their voice chokes a little; Central frowns at them.

"Before the war, yeah," he agrees.

Wolf shakes their head. Central frowns deeper.

"I mean, yeah," they say. "But I-- my body--"

They cut themselves off, obviously trying not to cry. For a moment they struggle to keep composure, and then they ask, voice cracking, "Is this forever?"

"I'm not following," Central says.

"When this is done," Wolf explains. "Whether we win or we lose, is this-- am I this forever? This body, this world? I don't-- everything I know isn't here. All my friends, all my stuff, everything."

Central hesitates, gingerly reaches a hand to cover the one of theirs still tap tap tapping fingertips on the railing. The noise ceases.

"You have the troops," he offers. "The senior staff. Me. We can find somewhere nice for you; we can make this a place that you know."

"But this would be after," Wolf presses. "If there even is an after--!"

"There will be, Commander," he says, and his face softens. "I wouldn't... I wouldn't be building the house if I didn't believe there will be."

Wolf looks at him, teary eyed. "You're building the house?" Their voice wobbles something bad.

"It was a personal project I was doing just to fill the time at first," Central admits, "but when I met you, I realized I had a actual reason to make sure it got done. Give you somewhere to live, after."

"By myself..."

Central shakes his head. "I'll be there."

Wolf rubs at their eyes with the back of a wrist. "But is that what you want? After?" they ask.

"Honestly, yeah," Central says. "Some peace and quiet when this is all done would be really nice."

Wolf gazes past him, at something he can't see. "Is it what you'd imagined?" Their voice is quiet. "Did I screw it up for you? By taking their place, being here instead?"

"No," he says, "it's not quite what I pictured. You're much nicer than they ever were." He smiles a little. "I think you made it better, really."

"...Why rescue them at all, then?" they question.

Central leans against the railing.

"First it was just a sense of duty," he says. "Not leaving a man behind. Then I thought maybe if I could save them, we could-- I don't know, I could make a better impression."

He shrugs. "Doesn't matter now, anyway."

There's quiet again.

Then, Wolf whispers, "I guess in a way I'm free now. Right? It just... I'm without everything I had. The cost of it is everything I knew and loved."

"I'm sorry, Wolf," Central says, and it feels odd, to use his superior's name, but it feels correct too. "None of us asked for this-- for the war, for you to get caught up in it, but it's here and so are you."

Wolf sighs, meets his eyes. "I'm not gonna ask you to promise," they say shakily. "I'm not, but..."

"But what?"

"You're set on being there? With me? After?"

"It's one of the few things I know for sure," Central answers. "I'll be there, Commander."

"Don't say it like a certainty, like it's a promise," Wolf says, and their face is in his shoulder now. "Don't say it that way; you'll jinx us both, Central."

Central cautiously reaches around them and brings them into a hug. For a second he feels them stiffen, and then relax again.

"Okay," he says. "Okay, no certainty, no promise."

Wolf doesn't reply, just cries softly against him. Central holds them, and stares past at the moon.

If there's a God in this place and he's actually listening for once, he thinks, let us have after.

#wolf barking #barking asks #f/o tag #congrats you got. [squint] angst?#tailstrokes #this is. short sorry

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randomshipperhere · 2 years

Text

My Top 5 Markiplier Egos

Where I just rant about why I love each one so much at varying degrees.

ISWM Countdown- 5 Days.....

5- Dr. Iplier

I’ve already touched up on this a bit on previous posts for the countdown. The biggest contributor to my adoration for him is his gap moe. Because if we’re just going to look at how he is in Worst News Doctor... ngl I don’t like him that much. He’s one of the bigger non-main egos who actually goes through a character arc of sorts. Dr. Iplier is cool in how he just consistently goes out of his way to say... the worst news possible to his patients before actually giving his diagnosis. How he says it with a straight face. Then there’s another facet where he’s actually seen to be aggressive when his role is threatened, as seen in Markiplier TV when Wilford says “Wilford knows what’s best”. A bit vain but he is proud of his job.

He grows to be a bit more blunt but says rather inaccurate diagnosis in Markiplier TV but when you listen to his dialogue at the end, it just seems like this is what he likes to do. Breaking the bad news to someone even if the situation doesn’t call for it. It’s like those villains who rehearse or get excited while doing their monologues. It’s fucking cute. Then there’s My Therapist and good lord does he look and act different. He’s dressed down, more casual, and a lot more open to talking to the patient. Makes a shit ton of dad jokes. Incredibly dorky and gosh... gap fucking moe alright. I love that shit. He just doesn’t act like how we’ve usually seen him, he’s a lot more relaxed, less rigid and that just adds to his charms.

4- Yancy

I’m pretty sure a lot of fans can understand why we like him. I don’t need to further explain because there’s already a lot of posts out there explaining each and every detail about him that is adorable, interesting, and cute....n dorky...n loveable. Just don’t underestimate his dancing skills. Love you theatre kid.

Higher than Dr. Iplier for the natural dork energy. Lower than top 3 because a lot of his story is laid out for us. 9/10 would give a smooch. Deducted a point for scaring us half to death in the cell.

I’m not gonna expand on why I love him but the way he sang “Break out? of this place?” the way Mark decided on how to deliver those lines and sing them. Shit that’s some good content.

3- The Host

It’s pretty weird that I like this bastard who has less than a minute’s worth of screen time over the 8 or so years of their existence. It’s very hard to explain why I like him so much but I can at least put some of that affection into words. One of the main things I’d say is Danger in Fiction was a really good origin story. We got to see him as the Author who is this temperamental control freak and the contrast of who he used to be to what we know as the calm, collected, possibly omniscient Host is interesting. That transition from A to B is “???” but seeing such a huge change in personality really captured my attention. Danger In Fiction also really made me wish Mark played downright villainous roles more and I beg thee Mr. Markiplier, please play more outright menacing, insane characters. Please be part of a horror movie cast, my fan heart has been wishing for it for so long.

Another reason why I like the Host a lot is his entire look. In the now private video of his first appearance, he is creepy. The dark room whose only light source is from the screen, then seeing this not quite human looking thing with bloody bandages over their eyes moving in an unnatural yet flowy way. That expression on his face that’s somewhere between a neutral position and a slight curve into a smile. I love all of it. He looks and moves like he came out of a horror movie. A similar design I can think of is the Janitor from Little Nightmares.

There’s also his powers. The ability to narrate everything that is going on is so fascinating! Underutilized in canon but it makes for interesting scenarios. We don’t even know the limits of his ability. Does he narrate the most important events in the room? Does he actually have the ability of foresight? IS he omnipotent? Omniscient? Maybe he has control over it or is he a slave to his own powers?

I’m always just so curious about him. What he is, who he used to be, what he could be. He just itches my need for knowledge. Because we don’t know him all that well, our brain is using what info we have to fill in that gap. It’s like playing a puzzle game but for a character. He’s so underappreciated and I can’t help but cry out inside. Incorrect quotes and fanfics set at Markiplier TV HQ are my only hopes of seeing him.

Also god, back in the olden days people were fucking confused whether the Author and The Host were the same people or different. Dark’s fan wikia page even had the Host for his photo. Do you guys remember that? It was the wild west during his time, let me tell ya.

Someone made a post here in tumblr about how some story beats of Danger In Fiction and the whole WKM series is similar and that post got me thinking, u right.

Reason I love the host: It’s the potential

Mark on The Host: He’s a radio host | Who owns him

As a Host fan I’m really sad we most likely won’t ever see him become a fully fleshed character in canon but we can still have fun with our fanfics. It still hurts though.

2- Damien

I will never get over how much this man deserved the world and more. He’s such a fine piece of work and if you’re in the Markiplier fandom, and you don’t like him, even just a bit, what is wrong with you.

Mark has created an angel. A beautiful ray of sunshine. Our bouncing baby boy. He is beauty, he is grace, and he is the first Y/N stan in this household. Kind, compassionate, a natural born leader, he has so many good qualities and I’m blinded thinking about how good he is. How happy he is to see us, an old friend. How he is willing to stake his life for our, and William’s innocence. He’s just so humane, so grounded and I have hearts in my eyes, oh wow.

Can we talk about his fit? This mayor is wearing a clean and well fitted suit, the slicked back hair, the stylish cane he brings around, a flower, and a comically cute mayor pin. He looks so clean and a little bit goofy with the pin. He deadass makes me do that giggle when you have a cute crush on someone.

Talked a bit about his personality earlier but I really love just how cute his overall vibe is. Warm, gentle, compassionate. An altruistic and noble fella. Damien is like a steady rock, the calm before a storm. He makes you feel grounded in the whirlwind mess that is the Manor. The way that he cares until the bitter end. He is too good to be true. All of who he is can be explained in 5 words “Life is ours to choose”. I may be romanticizing him too much but shush. Let me have this. Even with all the things I said, I really like his unexpected traits. Like him being a confused mess and a party animal.

Can I also say how dare you Mark. So many of the scenes involving him are in bright places and in incredibly romantic aesthetically pleasing places (referring to romanticism, not to a romantic relationship). So much of the initial attraction viewers feel is based on the places you meet him solo. The second floor hallway near the stairs with the bright light, the dark pavilion contrasted with the light stairway railing, and outside walking with him along the vivid silver, yellows, and whites surrounding you. Intentional or not it makes me punch the air because he’s just so loveable.

Then there’s his place in the storyline. How tragic it is for someone so far away from this mess yet so intertwined with it became a villain without having a choice in the matter. Friends with the Colonel and Actor, younger brother of the Seer. The only one of the four not part of the messy love that the others are in. The one who still tries to connect with the three after all that’s happened even if the others don’t want to make up. Lost his friends, lost his own body. Confused, angry, and yet... he still wants to do what he believes is right. For the greater good. The end justifies the means. He makes it way too easy to forgive him even after what he did to us. Even if he isn’t as pure as the driven snow...

I do love myself some tragic characters. Ones that the fans are like “They didn’t deserve this!” but then again... do any of the main characters deserved their fates?

10/10 would smooch and marry. Best boyfriend material among them. He and the DA would’ve made for an amazing and cute power couple.

Before we get to my number one let’s list down the Honorable Mentions:

Googleiplier: Actually before the existence of AHWM, he was in my top 5. and before ADWM he was my number one. I kid you not I have an unfinished fanfic of him somewhere. Times have changed bud. I still love your deadpan comedy. “so if you could take some of these” *flips Bing off* “and go away”. Technically Dr. Iplier and him are both my #5 but Dr. was just very slightly higher than Googs.

Yandereiplier: Hey, I had a very huge yandere character obsession phase at the time (it mellowed out over the years but I still like the archetype) plus the red hair, plus the seifuku. Once again, a character that used to be in my top 5 before ADWM.

Actor! Mark: I was never a huge fan of him but I really liked him. He has red as his colors and I am naturally attracted to this (red and black always get me) so that was a bonus point. I love charismatic (maybe even an asshole) villains, even if you don’t think he is, Actor is. I also love underappreciated, and misunderstood characters.

There’s also the possibility of his character arc branching out into absolute bastard or possibly redeemed villain. That’s appealing. Whether he is sincere or not in the ADWM & AHWM series is always something you can debate but I find it fascinating how some fans allow certain egos to willingly manipulate them but not Actor. Story wise, as the viewer, he really doesn’t do anything directly to us in WKM, any hate towards him is because of outside info. But to our character, he didn’t do anything to rouse our ire. And while I am ranting about him like this, to the point where you might think why isn’t he in the top 5 well... You can rant a lot about a character you don’t necessarily love y’know? I just find him really REALLY fascinating. Dr. Iplier is close to being dethroned depending on how Actor will portray himself in ISWM.

2 of 3 of the honorable mentions are closely tied to the color red lol.

And considering my type in this list... number one goes to

Darkiplier

I uhh... got super embarrassed after I wrote like a 2k+ word count thing for him and went back and forth between keeping it up or not but if you want to go and read it go over here [I love Dark maybe a bit too much].

It got personal. Eheh....

TL;DR

Dr Iplier- contradictory characteristics very cool

Yancy- I love him your honor

The Host- lots of underutilized character potential that will never see the light of day

Damien- he’s an angel and maybe I shouldn’t see him that way but I can’t help it

Dark- it’s a complicated and long commitment relationship. Stupidly hot non-human ugh.

#markiplier #markiplier egos #reading the tags will be a spoiler but if you've been reading my posts for a while some of these bitches won't even be a surprise #yeah I'm just trying to lengthen these so it would turn into...#last warning #ISWM countdown #text post #dr. iplier #ahwm yancy #the host #wkm damien #googleiplier #yandereiplier #darkiplier #actor mark #wkm mark

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shizukateal · 2 years

Text

Hello, it’s me, Anon. The one who did the Mami Tomoe upgrade sketch has now returned with a sketch of what I think Madoka would look older/upgraded at least what I think she would appear if she aged or got stronger. So here, I added colours along with some pictures and references so it’d be more easier and informative for me to explain what I done for this design. First is Madoka’s hair, it’s longer being tied up in pigtails by red ribbons instead of pink. The dress Madoka wears here has less ribbons and only keeping some on her attire like her shoes and front but red. Second, her Soul Gem is attached to her choker than stuck on the chest. Next key difference I want to note is how I basically merged Madoka’s Magical Girl fit along with her other fit in the Concept Movie trailer. I tried to replicate both styles into one and it may come off as fanservicey because of how I wanted to make her look older. The short gloves has been extended and made longer with the frills being the same as the ones on her shoulder puffs. The button design on her torso has been trimmed and shortened.

The skirt has more of a different style where the white puff is covered by the pink fabric which has been shaped to resemble angel wings and it has a dress tail at the back with a red ribbon tied around her waist with a ribbon at the back. Finally, her legs are covered by white leggings to make Madoka look modest as possible and you can argue this takes away what made Madoka’s fairytale aesthetic look great and I’m sorry if this is an utter disappointment. Lastly, her Mary Jane shoes have changed slightly, removing the cross straps on her feet, only leaving a strap around her ankle and the ribbon that was on the back of her heels have been added on the front of the shoes but smaller. So yeah, this was what I done for a sketch of Madoka Kaname as an older/upgraded Magical Girl. You may like or dislike some of my aesthetic choices and I respect whatever you say in due time. Thank you.

Answer: Hello again, Anon, sorry for the delay. As you can see, I'm still not allowed to directly answer submissions. Thanks for coloring the drawing, this will make things easier.

The idea of combining both iterations of the dress can work out, and I like what you're trying to do here, but you also gotta keep in mind what makes both outfits work first.

If you're going to make the gloves that long don't add the exact same frills, they create this weird contradiction when placed under the ones of the sleeves. Even if you turn them down the fact that they look the same as the ones in the sleeves still creates this sense of disjointed deja-vú -for lack of a better term-. The red lining on the movie dress work precisely because they contrast appropriately. And if you're going to add that tail make it start from the waist, not the hips, starting it from that low will make it look heavy and pointless. Remember to make it puff around where it cinches too! The red waist ribbon is also debatable, but lets keep it for now to give it a chance. Also, the pendant soulgem makes the choker and the ribbon compete, that's why the movie version puts it on the chest and the tv outfit doesn't have a ribbon on the chest. You seem to have reduced the space of the yellow part of the corset as well, but if you're going to lengthen the hair I would keep it around the same width as the original, because that would prevent the pink of the hair and top from melting into eachother and making a confusing spot of the same color. Same thing happens with the stockings and underskirt, but I'm not telling you to discard that idea just yet, there's a variety of easy-fix solutions, you just have to find the best one that also works with the rest of the outfit. I do like the shoes, but without the mid laces it, once again, creates an awkward white spot that makes the stockings boring. You don't need to add those back, you just need to find a way to take care of that problem.

In summary, don't get discouraged! You have something interesting going on here.

#submission #madoka kaname #magical girl fashion

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tinysushimark · 3 years

Text

Silence (Nomin)

Angst, swearing (like once), 2.3k words ｡◕‿◕｡

this is a work for @kokonomi 's summer event!!

The wind blew across their faces and he smiled at the woman beside him. Probably a genuine one or a fake one. He did not know which.

“Jaemin, catch!” Jeno shouted and his hands automatically reached the object which was thrown at him, the curve of his mouth slowly disappearing.

“Caught me off guard there man! What if it hit my baby’s face?”

“I knew you would have caught it.” The boy in front of him said, his arms draping across his best friend’s shoulder.

Best friend, nothing more and nothing less.

Let’s look at the definition of best friend. A person who knows all your secrets, they both had one secret which they had not told the other. Two people who wouldn't lie to each other no matter what, but they had lied, probably multiple times. Two people who never hesitate to talk about their feelings, but they had hesitated. The question is, were they even best friends at all at this point? Was it true that there was nothing more than friendship between these two?

Were those stares across those halls just of a best friend? Were those urges to kiss the other just those of a friend who cared? Were those “you can have my juice, I don't like it anyways,” just the concern of a best friend?

Yet they were still best friends and there was no doubt about it. Two boys who did everything together, both good at studying, amazing at music, showed excellence in athletics and brilliance in other co-curricular activities. When they entered high school, Jaemin had seen his best friend driving a car through the gate and his heart felt alive. The red car looked brilliant and so did Jeno.

Jeno had discovered Jaemin alone on the benches of the basketball court, his eyes were focused on the sky or so Jeno thought. Jaemin had not felt anyones’ presence until his friend had coughed, his eyes lay on him for a second and his eyes curved ever so slightly.

“What ya looking at so carefully? It's not like you know the names of constellations.”

“Wondering how and why I ended up this way.”

“What way?”

“Alone, even with people around i am alone.”

“Aren't we all a little alone after all?”

“Lonely enough to feel it rip through your chest, ever felt it my friend?”

“No.”

“Those stars are lonely too, they never get to talk to another one and all we see them as are shiny objects in the sky.” His eyes then fell on Jeno, who was trying his best to comprehend, “I must sound crazy, I should seriously take a shower, I am all sweaty.”

That was the moment that Jeno had felt it for the first time, the urgent need to tell Jaemin that he was not alone afterall, the need to pull him closer and kiss him because words could probably never express how the noirette felt for the blonde man who was walking towards the changing rooms, head hanging down.

The walks they took together somehow ended up lengthening itself as they grew closer each day after the basketball tournaments. Jeno tried his best to make Jaemin know that he was never alone and he had the noirette beside him whenever he needed.

The fall came over and summer was long gone, the two of the boys had the time of their lives during the summer, they were the spotlight at most parties, Jaemin's father had taken Jeno out to their farm and they had both sat under the moonlight, gazing at the stars together. Jeno had remembered every word that Jaemin had said the other night. The sand felt cold and the yearn to be held by Jaemin lingered in Jenos’ body. They both had slowly inched closer, Jaemins arms wrapping around Jenos figure, a small smile adorned his features.

“Feels good.” Jaemin had said, his nose nuzzling into Jenos dark hair, the hair which he had started to feel comfortable around. The boy who made him feel full again, the regrets of the past which he had forgotten about with the boy, the small smiles he would pass filling him up with warmth to his once cold heart. Above all, Jeno was a companion whom Jaemin had yearned for, an ally in the many people, a familiar one in the bunch of people he met everyday.

Their freshman year had passed and the boys were now sophomores, the two were popular even amongst seniors as they both had excelled in all fields and had brought the school a great deal of pride on several given occasions. The boys would always open their lockers with the expectation for it to be filled with small notes to long love letters, all with small chocolates and cheering notes.

That summer too, like the last one Jeno had gone to Jaemins farm and the boys had spent a week together. When school had started, two new girls had transferred to their school, extremely beautiful and full of charms, Ki and Amelia.

Ki had taken a liking to Jaemin when she had seen him play the piano during music class, Amelia had taken a liking to Jeno when she had seen him help another girl in the library with her books.

Ki approached Jaemin and confessed about her feelings, a summer full of delight, the stars seemed beautiful and the flowers smelt its best the night she had given them to Jaemin, her head had hung low, a small blush across her cheeks.

“I like you, do you wanna go out with me?”

A small grin had made its way on Jaemins face, “If I say I don't want to?”

“I will make sure no girl ever looks in your direction again,” Ki had said, her demeanor changing, she slowly tipped near Jamenins ear and whispered a string of words which Jaemin would have never thought he would hear, “You're mine Na Jaemin, I will never let another woman lay her eyes on you. Only mine and I never lose what's mine to other losers.”

“It's mine because it's beautiful, no one else can have what I have, I want you and I am not giving you to anyone else.” Her eyes dug holes into his relaxed ones, his arm draped across her waist pulling her closer than she already was, his breath fanned her face, “I am not your plaything baby girl.”

“You are more than my plaything, you are my ambition.” Ki had said her eyes then fell to his lips and she pulled him closer, satisfying the hunger she had felt in her chest. He found all of it amusing and decided to play along, what was the harm in a little play. He kissed her back passionately.

“Mine.” She whispered in between the kiss and Jaemin’s hand slowly rubbed her nape, “All yours.”

That night Jeno was unaware of the fact that Jaemin had held someone else in his arms, he had slept away and thought about the night on the farms, the one where Jaemin had held his hand as they ran through the fields in the night, their bodies covered in sweat, the nightlight brightly shining on Jaemins milk skin.

The next day Jaemin had smiled at Jeno who had entered the school, his eyes met Jaemins and his features relaxed as he walked towards him, only to be blocked by a girl who held Jaemins arm and smiled.

“Hey Ki!”

“Hey boyfriend's best friend!!”

"Boyfriend?" Jeno's face twisted, an unpleasant feeling taking over him.

"Yeah, we are together now." Jaemin said, a smile on his face as he shut the locker and slid his arm around Ki.

Jeno tried not to let his emotions pour out, he swallowed his displeasure and smiled, "I'm happy for you dude. Will you not tell me how it happened?"

"Since when do we tell each other this childish stuff?" Jaemin had smirked at him and patted his shoulder.

During lunch, he saw Ki and Jaemin feed each other whilst he sat alone beside them, reading his book.

"Jeno!" Ki had squealed, "There's this girl, she wants me to set you up with her, what do you think?"

"Depends on who the girl is."

"Jenna from B section."

"What makes you think I'll date her?"

"She's nice."

"Is she? She's an exact copy of you."

"So? Am I not nice, puppy?" Ki said in a cooing tone and Jeno just smiled and shook his head. "No, I think you misunderstood me, I don't like you because you're Jaemin's type."

"Oh, I thought I was universally likable." Ki had said as twirled her hair around her index finger, just the sight of her near Jaemin had made Jeno's blood boil.

Every moment when she would kiss him, or tiptoe to fix his hair, Jeno's jaw would clench in order to hold his anger in. Jaemin wasn't a stranger to how Jeno was feeling, he knew what his best friend was thinking inside out.

Ki had a strong presence and she was also Na Jaemin's girlfriend now. Everyone paid attention to her and tried to stay in her good books, while Jaemin and Ki became the hot topic of campus, Jeno usually found himself alone in the library for hours on end to make sure that he stayed away from Ki as much as he could.

Amelia had seen her loop and had slipped right in. She started off by sitting beside Jeno and passing him occasional smiles, and then slowly and steadily she started talking to him about studies, those talks turned into walks home and slowly Jeno had found himself interested in Amelia.

Amelia was everything which was correct for Jeno, she would listen to him talk and she admired him, she wished to be together with him and Jeno had felt satisfied by the amount of affection she had showered on him. He felt needed, something he had never felt with Jaemin, but he still longed for Jaemin.

Jaemin saw Amelia and Jeno walk together home, to the library, the football court, and then the basketball court. His attention from Ki slowly shifted to the one he really wanted. Playing does not last more than mere days you see, dear reader.

Even when the four of them sat together for lunch, Jaemin and Jeno would spare each other glances of jealousy and love. The urge to hold each other grew more and more as days passed, Jaemin was also getting sick of Ki and her small tantrums.

One night when Jeno and Amelia were sitting together opposite the setting sun, his hands had found their way to her waist and he had kissed her to forget all about the one he loved. That is when he knew that no matter what happens, Jaemin was his answer. He needed Jaemin, and although he had known it all along he had pretended not to know.

He never knew how much he had pushed Jaemin away before that night, Amelia had cursed at him for not even knowing his own heart, but who knows their heart through and through?

None of us.

When he saw Ki and Jaemin smiling at each other in front of his beloved's room, his eyes felt numb and he felt a pang in his heart. That was the day he decided that, no one knows their heart through and through, so Jaemin did not deserve to know the calls of a desperate confused man, who does not know what he desires, Ki was a woman who would treat Jaemin right, she had goals. What would Jaemin do with Jeno, a man with no desire or ambition. So he had walked away, just like every other time when he avoided Jaemins gaze through the hallways as his lips were connected to Ki’s.

The football tournament had come by and the boys had not spoken to each other through practice, when the both of them settled at the bleachers with their drinks, a strange silence had fallen upon the both of them. One that they had never felt before, it was deepening and seemed almost cursed to be in. It was as if none of them were even allowed to break the silence, their best fit being to walk away as soon as they could.

For days they kept walking away from the silence but it was not long before the curse had played its course, the burst of anger fell upon Jaemin and it was finally time the silence had broken.

“Who the fuck do you think I am Lee Jeno?”

“ You're Jaemin.”

“You broke up with Amelia and never told me.”

“Do you need to tell a person they are blind if they can't see? Or do you let them believe that the entire world is pitch fucking black?”

“Stop your stupid riddle games.”

“I am the one playing games?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing, just leave.”

“And if I don't want to?” Jaemins eyes fell upon Jenos, his body tensed as he inched closer to the noirette, his hands tugging at his hair, slowly pulling him closer. Their breaths mingled and before they knew it they found each other's lips on one another. The kiss was passionate and a little drunk on love and life. The warmth rushed back into their hearts as they held each other daringly close.

Ki had stood frozen on the ground watching the two men kiss each other and that is when she decided it was best to leave the two alone. The next day she had seen a flash of regret in Jaemins eyes when he told her everything that had happened on the court and he explained how Jeno was the one for him.

“I will always remember this summer, Na Jaemin.” She kissed him on the cheek and smiled, “You made it beautiful.”

Then she had left, letting the two boys complete their sweet love song, one she knew would last forever.

taglist: @isaac-newton-catboy @taemin-jaemin @bluejaem @supermwritersnet @jaemotel @softwaring @sungchanscult @coffeevddict @kokonomi

if you wanna be added to my taglist simply send an ask or comment down below (◔‿◔)

Read More: Masterlist

#nct dream #jenjaem #jaemin imagines #lee jeno #dream angst #nct dream imagines #nctfics #nct fanfic #jeno fanfic #nct nomin #nct network #nct fics

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scribbling-stiks · 3 years

Text

Spring - IX - Comforting Nights

*Cat man Russia*

The night grows dark and Russia finds himself being pushed away. He squirms a little and America clumsily apologizes.

"Meri?" Russia asks sleepily, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

America shakes his head and stumbles to his feet. America runs into the brush and hacks up glowing blue. Texas whines.

His hands and feet feel strange, but not overly cold. His knees don't look that different, but the rest of his legs under them are shorter. His feet seeming to have lengthened to make up for the change. Everything below his elbow and knee joints is fuzzy with grey fur.

His tail cramps uncomfortably from being stuck in his pant leg. He shifts and leans against the tree America had been against. He turns and sees Texas staring down, snot and tears racing down his face as he pathetically sniffles, hugging his shoulders. His hat tilts down as if he's trying to hide under it.

'It wouldn't surprise me if he is.'

Russia reaches over and gathers him up into a tight hug. Texas flinches before leaning fully against Russia's chest. Russia gathers him up into his lap and holds him as he would with Ukraine when they were younger.

'Poor baby...'

Texas' body rocks with his cries, and he seems to give up on trying to wipe off his face. Texas sobs, hugging himself and mumbling things. Russia can only assume the words are apologizes. He isn't sure what else it would be.

Florida tightly hugs Russia's tail, and Russia rubs his face gently.

Russia takes Texas' hat off gently and lays it aside. Texas takes to hiding his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry," Texas stammers louder, his voice cracking over the syllables, "I just keep fucking things up and these stupid feelings keep getting in the way of everything but I don't know how to stop it and... and I keep God damn cryin' and -"

"Shhh... it's okay. And it's okay to cry," Russia says comfortingly, rubbing Texas' back gently.

"but I-"

"Taz," Mississippi interjects, "you can't control emotions. Ain't that what Lulu always says?"

Texas gives a jerky nod, swiping at his face with a scowl.

"Lulu ain't wrong 'bout that kinda stuff," Alabama chimes in.

"We're gonna be okay, Tex," New Mexico comforts.

"I'm sorry I dragged y'all along. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't have left," Texas stammers, spinning around to face South Carolina.

South Carolina's face falls and he sniffles. North Carolina reaches out, laying a hand on Texas' shoulder. Mexico starts to walk over, but New Mexico growls. Mexico rolls her eyes and backs off.

Texas buries his head into his palms. Russia rubs his back.

Motion catches Russia's eyes and sees America stumbling over, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. America leans over and chokes on his breath. Russia yearns to reach up to catch him, but his arms remain around Texas.

Russia senses magic concentrating, but it's hard to pinpoint with the standing magic just buzzing in the air.

"Incoming message!" South Carolina shouts.

Russia's head pops up and he sees a swirl of brown magic growing.

Texas sniffles and snatches up his hat, positioning it to cover his face from the growing brown disk. Texas pulls off of Russia but stays tucked under his arm. Texas seems to hide in Russia's side, and Russia hugs him.

The children crowd around Russia to watch the growing image.

America glances up before sitting down, slotting himself next to Russia, leaning against him. Russia moves, wrapping one arm around Texas' shoulder, and one around America, pulling them close.

The disk solidifies to show Connecticut and Dixie sitting in a messy room. Dixie's face looks strangely swollen, but Russia doesn't see any discoloration, so he chalks it up to his vision being weird.

What he can't dismiss are the figures in the background of the message. New York and New Jersey sit on a cluttered bed side by side.

'Both seem bothered,' Russia notes, 'even New Jersey.'

New York is shaking and crying, and New Jersey sits stiffly, silently, beside him. They are holding hands, Russia notes, but New Jersey doesn't look very responsive either.

Delaware walks into frame with Virginia and West Virginia on his tail. Russia can't help but notice how Delaware nervous wrings his hands and bites his lip. Virginia looks annoyed, but worry swims in her eyes when she glances up at Dixie.

Soon, Delaware starts pacing around behind Dixie, glancing around the room, but his eyes keep trailing back to Dixie with worry and panic.

Dixie himself seems to pointedly ignore the glances in his direction.

"What happened?" Dixie asks seriously, "one moment, you're too close to the base with a giant cat, and now you're with a half-cat and you're in Virginia?!"

America starts trying to explain, but Russia finds himself tuning in to Florida's talking.

"Del looks weird," Florida says.

Russia can't help but agree.

"Dixie, you look like shit," Ohio remarks.

"Are you okay?" Kansas asks.

Delaware opens his mouth to reply, but Dixie interjects before he gets the chance.

"I'm fine! I'm fine," Dixie says, his voice strained and overly optimistic.

Delaware's mouth falls shut, a strange grimace growing on his face. New Jersey looks up from the background and quietly stares at Dixie's back, his mouth clamped shut.

'Is there something they aren't saying?'

Dixie forces a laugh and Russia flinches at the noise. It sounds wrong.

Gritty. Rough. Pained.

"What should we do now?" America asks, his voice tired.

'I wonder if he notices anything weird.'

Russia looks over and sees America blankly staring forward, a glazed-over look in his eyes. Russia shakes his head.

'Maybe not, he's exhausted.'

"Tuck, Tenny, West, and I are going to try to come and get y'all," Virginia says.

"I'm coming with," Dixie argues.

Virginia looks hesitant, but ultimately she doesn't argue.

'Why are they so hesitant?'

"We will come and find you. Try to find a road and head south for now. Call Yorky once you have cell service," Dixie says, determined, "you can dismiss the message, Netti."

Connecticut nods, but they don't wipe away the circle.

Instead, they leave it and allow Russia to watch Dixie struggle a little to his feet and limp out of the room. Dixie limps noticeably and nearly collides with a doorframe. Dixie leans against the wall as if to steady himself to open the door.

Delaware stands up quickly and walks shortly behind Dixie as if getting ready to catch him. Virginia watches, her eyes sad and her hands fidgeting in front of her.

Dixie waves him off and sways a little before steadying himself.

Russia's heart sinks.

'Is he okay?'

"Dad?" Connecticut calls.

"Yes?" America asks, sleepily.

"I..." Connecticut starts before their face falls into an unsure expression, "... never mind. I hope you get home safe. Bye. I love you."

"I love you too, kiddo. We'll be home soon."

Connecticut waves and the message fades.

"Del is panicking," Kansas comments, worried, "something is wrong. Very wrong."

"Yeah, definitely," New Mexico agrees.

"Do you think it has something to do with Dixie?" North Carolina asks.

"Well..." South Carolina starts before trailing off.

"I don't.... hmmm," South Dakota says, playing with her hands.

"He didn't look right," Florida comments.

"I don't know if we should be jumping to conclusions," North Dakota shouts, her voice just above the nature noises.

"It takes a lot to bother Del though," Ohio says.

"Where are we anyway?" Ukraine asks, his voice an active higher.

Russia's heart drops.

"We are in Virginia at the moment," America says breathlessly, "in the Appalachian Mountains. It's not safe, but it's better."

"If it goes quiet, sit against a tree and stay still. Works against monsters," Alabama chirps.

"And rabies," Mississippi adds.

"And rabies," Alabama agrees.

"So constant danger. Got it," Ukraine exclaims, throwing his arms into the air before pulling them back down, holding them tightly to his sides.

"You might want to get used to it," Finland comments.

Ukraine hugs his arms around his torso, looking nauseous.

"Rain?" Russia calls.

Ukraine's head pops up.

"Come here, okay?"

Ukraine stumbles over. America gets up and shuffles over, allowing Ukraine to take his place.

America sways, and Finland grabs him with her good arm and, with Mexico's help, they help America down. Finland pulls him into a side hug, and America leans into the affection, shaking. Mexico sits near them, offering company.

Russia moves his focus back to Ukraine. Ukraine stares at the ground, rubbing his arms and shivering.

"Rain, we're going to be okay," Russia promises, "we have people coming to get us, and we have somewhere to go. We will be okay."

Ukraine mutely nods, and Russia offers a small smile. Ukraine looks away for a moment before tackling Russia in a hug. Russia releases Texas and catches Ukraine. He wraps Ukraine into a bear hug that he knew would rival their father's.

'Must protect my little sibling.'

Texas falls into New Mexico, hiding his face from the world. New Mexico seems to be speaking, though Russia can't hear the words.

'We will find a road tomorrow. Then maybe we can make it back home.'

'And then we can figure out what's wrong.'

Table of Contents

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ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

emerald dreams: REDACTED | kth

⇢ pairing: taehyung x reader

⇢ genre: series, blackmirror!au, angst, fluff, artist!taehyung, strangers to lovers, set sometime in a dystopian era of technology, taehyung is s o f t

⇢ word count: 4.5k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, memory loss, mentions of death, themes of grief/depression

⇢ summary: in a technologically advanced utopia where a memory can be stored as a data file in a chip inserted in your head, it was entirely impossible to forget anything. when you met taehyung, a young at heart yet talented artist, he garnished an odd familiarity, raising suspicion that some of your memories had been lost in the digital cloud, or worse, erased from your memory chip.

♪ playlist: IDK you yet - alexander 23 • 4 o' clock - v & rm • jamais vu - bts • the story - brandi carlile • moonlight - ariana grande ♪

╰ episode index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: if you don't watch black mirror then just imagine that everything is technology based, even the inner mechanisms of your thoughts/mind/memories and social culture has centered around the automation of the human body. also the government is sleazy and controls literally everyone in this au >:) also, i'm going to try and update this weekly!!

Scenario No. 2: Re-test

You didn’t expect to be spending your weekly visit at your favorite coffee shop gasping for air in the single occupancy commode. An unsettling familiarity had reached into your chest and compromised the body of your lungs, now savagely hyperventilating for air, and seized control on the reins of every sensory neuron in your body.

First, it was the sensation of sound. That voice, that unusually specific coffee order, the soft lilt of politeness riding through his etiquettes of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ struck right in your chest with a shockwave of deja vu, like you’ve heard that order before, a million times before perhaps. No part of you would let go of the fact that for some reason, this stranger was someone you knew very well.

And yet you had no idea who he was.

“Hi, how are you?” He smiled to ease the nerves of the overworked barista on this Sunday afternoon. Your ears picked up his husky, sweet tone through the scuttle of customers walking in and out of the shop and a commotion of side conversations that filled the room. It was quite noisy, enough so that it muffled any specific utterances, but the bass of his voice had met your ears with a strong posture of familiarity.

You looked over to the sweater draped over his frame that fit snugly against his broad shoulders. That was when your visual senses were overrun with the muted forest green of the knitted jumper. You’ve seen this color green. To be fair, green was always secured in your life abundantly through your own will. You had always loved this color and demonstrated this through small displays such as picking the green straw from a bundle of multicolored ones, or scanning over a set of shirts to find which one had the most green in it.

You surrounded yourself with a life full of green, but when this green sweater was paired with the voice there was a strange jolt of reminiscence.

It was not just a sweater, it was a sweater that you have touched, even worn before. And when he wore it, it wasn’t just any green. It was his green.

His figure drew closer to you as he waited at the side bar for his drink to be called, sending a waft of his scent to nullify those of fresh brewed coffee and pastries. Along with your eyes and ears, your nose now fell to the magnetism of this stranger.

He smelled of fresh evergreen with a bit of pinewood, mixing into an overwhelming oaky aroma. As the smells that resembled a tranquil forest ruminated through your lungs and your bloodstream, it weakened your body to a state of paralysis. Your motor skills were numbed to endow a series of mental backflips to figure out where this estranged attraction was coming from, and why it was him who provoked it.

Standing comatose in the middle of a populated coffee shop meant the clash of your body into another's was bound to occur. And of course, it was his body that bumped you out of the trance of obscured memories. It was his arms that held your shoulders steady so you wouldn’t topple over and spill your latte over yourself.

“Oh, sorry! Didn’t see you there. Are-” His eyes studied your aghast expression, “Hey, are you okay?”

This marked the compromise of your visual sensory. You looked right into his eyes, kind and concerned, and your surroundings had melted away into a whirl of unidentifiable colors. Your body was transported to a purgatory that rested between reality and a dream-like setting, which eventually molded itself into actuality before your eyes.

Redacted File No. 6

Suddenly you turned your head side to side and the territory that was once a café was no more, and had alchemized into a zone of unparalleled comfort. To your left, you were warmed by a wood-burning fireplace with stones crested along the frame of the pit. Your body was covered in a blurred canvas of forest green, and there were two hands holding your body gently and lovingly. It was a vision so incredibly clear and intricate it couldn’t be conjured through imagination or illusion, but a very real and vivid memory.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry… You’re okay right?” His jostling hands fainted the memory that swept you from the cafe. You blinked a few times before your eyes could refocus and land you to your present circumstances.

The man’s firm grip hadn’t abandoned your shoulders even though you regrounded your balance, which quickened the pace of your heart. They you earnestly, that even though you were certainly not going to fall over, he wouldn’t have let go. Without more than an array of unintelligible stutters to confirm you were okay, because you weren’t okay, you hobbled backward quite ungracefully to the privacy of the bathroom. After your rushed retreat, you tried to analyze the string of memories that pervaded your mind.

How do you know this man? Were these your memories? Or perhaps your memory chip glitched and downloaded files that didn’t belong to you?

The blunder of confusion racked your head with a slight tension headache. What was once a temporary occupancy of the restroom turned into a marathoned hideout until you could safely assume the stranger’s drink was made and he would leave the vicinity.

You checked your phone to count the duration of time spent. It had been about ten minutes since you pathetically holed yourself up, and it would be about five more minutes until you felt you could confidently emerge and escape.

You knew him, and for some reason it sent you into a fearful sequester.

Luckily, just last week you downloaded an upgraded storage plan which gave you access to all your past memories.

You activated the chip residing in your temple to trace every single unit in the archives, even the ones from as early as your birth, to see if anyone, including the likes of a passing stranger, a waiter that took your order three weeks ago, even a student from your high school class, resembled the man in the café. There were no records in your memory files of someone who echoed the same unsettling familiarity that this man had.

If the advanced technology that contained each capsule of every moment in time that you have ever experienced couldn’t give you the data on this man, then perhaps it was just an unusual coincidence.

One of those Twilight Zone-esque occurrences that isn’t deployed through factual evidence. Though you weren't entirely met with closure for this reasoning, it was enough to cope through the rest of your lengthened stay in the restroom.

What battered your precisely timed and nearly successful plan to avoid further interactions with this man was the light knock against the door. And it was the feeling of guilt that there must be other customers who planned on using the bathroom for its intended purpose that hoisted you up and had you reluctantly vacating the protected area.

Though, it was punishingly ironic that the one who had torn you from your sanctuary was the same person who put you there in the first place.

“Sorry,” He apologized about three times within the small window of time he’d been confronted by you and you already caught on to his habit of perpetual remorse, “Um, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I bumped into you and you kinda… freaked then ran and hid in the bathroom.”

If he weren’t so considerate to a stranger that was acting oddly evasive, this would have been easy. But he was considerate, and this was unbelievably difficult.

“Yeah um,” Your eyes sank down to rest on the comforting hue of his sweater, “I’m, uh, I'm okay. Thank you.”

He cleared his throat, dislodging the nervous laugh blocking his words.

“Okay well, I was just wondering if you were all good. You seemed a little shaken up back there.” Frankly, he still sensed something about him was off-putting to you, but he tried to deny it for the moment.

Your assurances fell gravely short of convincing since you couldn’t even bring your eyes to level with his. The soft-spoken gesture of kindness made you feel like a helpless animal that would surrender at the slightest sign of danger. It was a fair assessment for you acted as though his accidental collision into you through a crowded space was the end of the world.

“Yeah, sorry. Thank you!” You chirped to imitate a normal reaction despite this tremendously abnormal situation. “I was just um… It's just one of those days, ya know?”

Then, it was his smile that cluttered your sensation of touch. He was standing a respectable distance from you, however, his smile touched you. It cornered you into blurting out something even more peculiar than the overwhelming deja vu that had been commencing the moment you noticed him.

“Do I-” You paused to lower your voice that could have outsourced to the collection of ruckus in the café. Now in a whisper, you continued, “Do I know you?”

He didn’t offer a voiced response, but an equally bewildered expression. You couldn't quite read what this implied so you assumed he thought you were crazy, maybe even a bit creepy.

“Sorry! Fuck, that’s so creepy. I’m just gonna go.” Before you had the chance to push past him and the billowing clouds of regret, he obstructed your path to the doorway with his body.

“No! I think I know you too. Like, I’ve never seen you but I remember you. Like… Like a dream.” He scaled the length of your body with his eyes, which only manufactured his intuition into an undoubtable certainty. “I know you. How do I know you?”

“Hell if I know. I’m just as confused as you.” You felt your body slumping into itself under his gaze. He was attentive to every detail of you, from the length of your hair to the twitch of your fingertips, making you feel over exposed to this stranger that wasn’t a stranger.

“Well, do you wanna maybe sit? Have a coffee with me?” He propagated his interest like there was no reason to be afraid which only intimidated you further. There wasn’t a real threat in his invitation, however accepting it felt like you were walking on thin ice.

The government agent standing guard with a perfect earshot of every conversation wiring through the small café didn’t help ease your nerves either.

“I really should be heading home soon.” Guilt worked quickly to try and compensate for the discouraged expression on his face, “But… if you give me your number I’ll call you and maybe we can go out for lunch or something?”

He traded his grim with excitement while pulling a pen from his pocket and walking over to the condiments bar to write his number on a napkin. You had no clue as to why, but the fact that he had a pen on hand was strikingly nostalgic, much so as every other detail you had acquired from him.

Although entirely unheard of, you felt like this new knowledge of him was not adding to the collection, but rather dusting old artifacts that had simply been forgotten. You weren’t learning things about him, but instead remembering them; the more you stood watching him scribble his name and number on the napkin, the deeper you entrenched yourself in this theory.

Not to mention, you couldn’t recall the last time someone favored using a pen over a keyboard and a paper napkin over a digital contact entered on your phone.

What kind of person carries around a pen in the age of modern technology?

“Thank you. I’m ___, by the way.” Your hand wavered a bit before holding out to greet him, and when his hand made contact, you could have sworn on your own life that this wasn’t the first time it happened.

This was no introduction. It was a reunion.

The fix of his gaze had suggested he too felt reminiscent with the feeling of your hand.

A shared inability to let go held your hands together, trying to harness a bit of recognition or recall a social function where you two might have met in passing. Neither one of you had shown any intention to pull away, which dragged the formality of shaking hands into a gesture of mutual wonder; now you were not so much exchanging a handshake but rather holding each other. Holding tightly, as if you were rediscovering a mass of feelings that would give you an answer.

However, the answer was not generous enough to make itself available to either of you.

It could have been hours until you were able to unriddle this strange sensation, so you made the preventative move of pulling away before the warmth concocting between your hands would produce a light sweat on your palm.

He too seemed to retract upon regaining his sensibilities, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he would have held on for longer, maybe even forever if necessary. If it would regroup the unattainable and partially inexistent memories into cognizance.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Redacted File No. 12

You clung with desperate persistence onto the flaccid hand. Trailing up the arm was an indiscernible figure that had no features, no notable detailing, not even a vague outline of facial structure; just an ethereal glow that projected throughout the entire room. The nebulous haze terminated any identifiable aspect of the room except the hand you were holding, so you focused on the scant detail your eyes offered.

There was no specified context, no real evidence that you had to hold on, but something deep within you was urging for it. Some omnipotent instinct which prophesied that if you let go of the hand, you would in turn be letting go of the world.

You had to hold on.

However your hands wouldn’t obey you. Each time you tried to tighten your fingers, it felt as if the hand would continue slipping from your grasp. Or maybe, your hands weren't gripping at all.

They were numb, or paralyzed, and unable to execute your urgencies. The more force you exerted into your dire intentions, the easier it was for the hand to grow limp and melt through your fingers like liquid. It was frustrating, your willful attempts to hold on seemed to elicit the opposite effect as the hand, unowned by a certain being, resigned from yours.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go.” You chanted through the tears, feeling as though that would somehow ignite a stronghold on the lifeless hand falling away.

But even so, it did fall away.

Perhaps the pain of it was that it wasn’t you who was letting go, but the hand that was being taken away from you. That you had been fighting a losing battle far beyond the prospects of your own decisions or control.

You begged for mercy, but were bestowed with your hands clean of what it was trying so desperately to hold onto. The hand slipped and when you peaked through the glaze of tears, your knuckles and fingers were gripping airy, cold emptiness.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go.”

Soon you were captured in a perpetual aria of pleas to the ears of a God that would not listen. Unsettling despair had mutilated the illuminating glow of the room to bleak darkness. The world of colors had fallen absent akin to the cold hand vaporizing alongside the dispersal of light.

Then, everything was black.

Your eyes shot open with deep distraught.

The full moon flashed against your dampened face; half of the moisture sourced from a cold sweat and half from the heavy tears pouring from your eyes.

You knew the only explanation for this dream, which resonated more closely to a memory than a figment of sleepful imagination, was curated by the peculiar events that took place earlier today.

Soon, the dream drifted from your mind as consciousness took its place. Your tardy response to write the sparse remnants of it had left you with nothing but a distorted plot of what transpired during your slumber.

Widening your awakening through long sips of water had forced you into an obsessive rewinding of your memory files. It was a shame there wasn’t technology yet to store memories of your dream, or you’d have been replaying the one you just dreamt about a hundred times.

You scanned through a collection of moments in the afternoon when you first met Taehyung. The clear, digital picture of him glassed over your eyes, taking the place once inhabited by the moon, as you pressed the play button on the handlebar of functions.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

You rewound no later than a second after he introduced himself back to the beginning.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Rewind. 0.5 x speed.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.” Said in a distorted voice from the ‘reduce speed’ function you equipped.

“Kim Taehyung.” You muttered to the empty room and the bright moon.

Sleeping was abstracted to an impossibility, and for the sake of your sanity, you walked over fish out the napkin in your coat pocket. It took you a while to move on from meticulously inspecting Taehyung’s handwriting.

The aimless effort to recall if it was the penmanship of some classmate had slackened to yet another unmet hope. Taehyung didn’t reside in your memories, but claimed quite an existence in your intuition. However, that wasn’t satisfying enough. You settled with the unsolved familiarity, though not before a lengthy wrestle between your eyes and the seven numbers scribbled into the napkin.

After dancing with the idea of it, you resolved some courage to finally dial. Each ping of the phone had you dreading for the automated message to inform you the recipient was not available at the moment, that you would have to hang up or wait for the tone to leave a message. Little by little your spirited nerve had depleted as you were now practicing what message you would leave Taehyung in his voicemail box, praying that it wasn’t full.

“Hello?” The sound of his voice interrupted the seventh or eighth ring, along with your rehearsal of the voicemail you assumed you’d have to leave being that the moon had been aging the sky into midnight.

“Oh! Oh, sorry I didn’t expect you to pick up.” After the chaotic pounding in your chest settled, you realized how nonsensical you sounded. Everything you methodically planned to say had been scattered by his unprecedented answer.

Instead of asking why you would call if you expected him not to pick up, he asked with a kind curiosity:

“Who is this?” He didn’t sound tired, in fact it sounded as if he had been hard at work preceding this call.

“Oh yeah! It’s ___, from the coffee shop. You remember me right?” Though you powered through, the worry was quite deafening. Taehyung seemed to pick up on it and diffused it with a gentle chuckle.

“Of course I remember.” On the other end of the line, he had been penciling a sketch on a blank page in his notebook.

The serenity of the stars and moon pinned on the navy blue sky never failed to spark inspiration. Taehyung was the type to refuse passing up a surge of an artistic muse, even if that meant he would shed a few hours of sleep from his routine. No matter the time or place, he always had a pen on hand to honor his heart’s unremitting passion.

He loved the moon and stars. He loved it so much as one would love a dear friend. He wished to be a part of the scenes of lights that hovered just out of reach, but could only settle on capturing a piece of the starry heavens on paper with his trusty pencil, sketchbook, and emerald-tinted muse.

“It’s late to be calling, but you’re lucky I was awake.” He said to hide how ecstatic he was you had actually called.

For someone you had just met, or at least you thought you just met, he threaded a flirtatious coyness in his response. It difficult to hush the winged eruption in your stomach because of that.

“Lucky, huh.” You repeated through a mumbled laugh, “I was just… I was thinking.”

“About what?” He had placed his phone on speaker mode and laid it next to his sketchbook.

There was a new inspiration that bore a louder siren than that of the moon and the stars. He sifted through the memory files throughout his day to the minute he first bumped into you, and though your face had been ingrained quite clearly behind his eyelids with each blink, he relied on the accuracy of a reference to perfect his drawing of you; not to mention he projected the image of your face to delight his undeniable attraction and to moderate the wildly romanticized version of you in his head.

Perhaps if he hadn't, he wouldn't be able to discern your face from the arena of glimmering stars scattered along the shaded skies.

“Just about how I think I was too quick to pass your offer.”

“Really?” That endearing lilt hope in his voice, the excitement expressed, acted as some puppeteer that manipulated the corner of your lips to lift into a smile.

No muscle in your body could ever be moved with the same conviction as it did when he was the reason for it. It bewildered you, almost to the point of frustration, as to why he had this power over you.

I just met him. I'm already getting this worked up? You thought how absurd it was you'd fallen this quickly, hoping it would ground you to the reality that he was still a stranger you hadn’t exchanged more than two conversations with.

Though, reality and memories and data files had all been obscured ever since you met Taehyung which was fascinating more than it was disorienting.

“Would you want to, maybe, grab coffee? Say next Thursday?” Your hand was subconsciously gripping the bed sheets, just like the way you gripped the disembodied hand in your dream, and awaited his response with full-blown suspense.

“I’ll see you next Thursday, ___.” Taehyung's confirmation put all your anxiety to rest, as well as your tightly clamped hand around the cotton fabric.

“I’ll see you.” You mimicked as if that would make the idea of seeing Taehyung again any less surreal. He laughed at this and brushed up a few finishing touches on his drawing.

“So just to clarify.” His pause gave entry for curiosity to wire through your head.

“Yes?”

“When you said you were thinking… you were thinking of me?” You wanted the upper hand to be reinstated with you, but your shy chuckle was no match to the smirk adopted on his lips that you couldn’t see, but you knew was there. You knew he was prideful when he swept the rug right out from under your feet, and you were right.

“Perhaps. And what if I was?” You framed your question to render your intimidation as flattery. Though, you had no idea how convincing this facade actually was and that it came off more suggestive than you had expected. There was a part of you that had fraternized with the romantic idea of Taehyung which might have registered your motive to reciprocate an undertone beyond platonic.

“Then that would be one thing we have in common.” He sounded responsive to your flirting and raised the bar significantly.

Your eyes and smile were directed towards the scenery displayed by your window, but they were not dedicated to the moonlit beauty of the diamond encrested sky. Though the midnight glades of stars were the ones to witness your smile, it was, without a shadow of a doubt, dedicated to Taehyung.

He was staring at the same moon, the same plot of stars, so perhaps you were looking into each other. When the moon twinkled, it looked awfully similar to a smile. Your smile.

For the moment, there was a radio silence that splintered through the two speakers of your and Taehyung’s phones. Even if the use of his hands weren’t engaged by his needful recreation of your face through his art, if his hands were left unused, he wouldn’t have mustered the discipline to end the call. Your unoccupied hands were trying to find any employment so you could have some excuse for not hanging up as well, not that there was anything else to be discussed.

Again, it felt familiar. The feeling of hesitance to be the first one to hang up despite the conversation’s recoil.

The cohesive idleness of you and Taehyung was unprovoked and ran out for about a minute. Neither of you had the intention to sever the virtual communion quite yet. The awkwardness of sitting in silence on the phone with a newly acquainted stranger was a delicacy compared to preemptively ending the call.

At one point, you were about to question if he had hung up; but the rhythmic and light breathing told you otherwise. And because of that mutual need to stay on the line, it seemed to be unreasonable to hang up, save for the yawn that eventually trimmed the call to an end.

“You’re tired.” He stated, now prompted with a yawn of his own upon hearing yours. “Goodnight, ___.”

“Goodnight, Taehyung.” Saying his name out loud sent you into that same blend of reminiscence and nostalgia.

His name was not unexplored by your tongue, that much was certain, and the thought of putting your entire life on hold to discover why it felt that way was a tempting venture. Why when he said your name, it felt like sitting in front of a wood-burning fireplace under the security of a green sweater and wrapped in safe arms.

More than that, you wanted to know if he felt all these things too.

“I’ll see you?” You asked instead of saying that dreadful word 'goodbye'.

“I’ll see you.” He repeated before reluctantly hanging up.

“___.” He whispered your name, hoping the inky sky would design it in the stars for the world to remember forever.

Hoping that the next hours, which would surely be spent on multiple sketched renditions of your face, would amount in some revelation of the mystifying familiarity. He believed shedding a few graphite imitations onto the surface of his sketchbook, soaked by the glow of moonlight, would somehow make him remember everything hidden in the dark compartments of his heart.

However, if it didn’t, he would be okay with it. Because at least he knew he would see you again.

“Meeting place: Silver Lining Café.”

“Thank you, Agent Park. Heighten surveillance on the two subjects.”

#bangtanarmynet #btswriterscorner #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts writing #taehyung series #bts series #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #artist!taehyung #rubycoast #emerald dreams: REDACTED

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novemberwasgrey · 4 years

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hey, just checking that i didn't go crazy but you did post something about sonny and conner dating or was i dreaming

Okay first of all I'm so so so sorry for replying so late to this! Again, I had a lot go deal with since September begun but hey to make up for it, I wrote a long ass reply full of content 😅

So yes correct, Sonny is one my OC's. She's a daughter of Ares who arrived in Camp Half-Blood when she was 15 with her best friend Lila (other OC who turned out to be a daughter of Neptune. I have a whole fanfic idea for Lila and Sonny but it's in French and on hiatus so...yeah, not coming any time soon 😅).

I've only mentioned her so far in my Ares/Hermes kids posts so I guess it's high time for me to develop:

She's an orphan. She was raised and grew up in an orphanage in New York; her mother would have dropped her there one evening when she was only a few months old with only a note saying her first name and birthdate. I have a whole plot for her origins but it's only going to lengthen my post, however if any of you are interested I might make another post about her whole past and origins)

Despite the black leather jacket she arrived in, it wasn't that obvious that she was an Ares kid because this jacket was matched with red high heels and red lipstick. She was given a tour by Annabeth when Sherman passed by her with Ellis and snorted: "nice shoes girlie, you're going to fight monsters in those?" Sonny glared him up and down then said: "these heels are probably bigger than your dick so stfu". Ellis was laughing so much he fell on the ground and Sherman maintained a grumpy face for the rest of the day.

So she has a temper for sure but above all she's a really nice girl. She's this kind of person who can get along with almost everyone: she plants flowers with Demeter kids, she pulls pranks with the Hermes' kids and she has tons of make-up that she shares anytime with the Aphrodite kids. She quickly becomes one of the most appreciated people in camp.

That's why it's a surprise for everyone the day Ares claims her but also a good ass lesson for everyone: it's highly time to stop judging people by who their godly parent is.

Sherman gives her a bit of a hard time when she integrates their cabin especially because he's the reason she got claimed: he had mocked her again in public and she punched him in the face. Apparently it was funny enough for Ares to recognize her as his daughter. But their relationship changed rapidly as the year progressed and she found about her origins and her mother. Sherman was a big support and he's become her favorite brother in camp

Clarisse? They ADORE each other. Clarisse was the only one being sure she was an Ares kid as well and she just loves her attitude. Sonny is also the only one to have succeeded in the feat of making Clarissz try make-up (even Silena had never succeeded). Their fights are, however, the scariest CHB shit in the world. Even Mr D is afraid of them.

About Connor...

He completely fell for her during her first days when she was still in the Hermes cabin with Lila. She was willing to take part in any prank they were planning and was even giving them ideas for new ones. Also, she's hot and a big flirt so that's certainly a match for Connor Stoll. One time around their first week in camp, she left for a minute during dinner and Connor basically threw himself at Lila sitting face to him and begged: "please please tell me she's single!" Lila who's used to boys being like this around her best friend laughed and nodded.

I know it's not a lot but that's all I'm going to say for now since I don't want to spoil anything if one day I have the courage to write this fanfiction.

#i'm legit trying not to annoy you with content that is completely original and mine #'cause i'm so used to write about fan stuff and characters people already know about #thank you for asking btw #oc sonny #ares kids #ares cabin #percy jackson and the olympians #rick riordan #connor stoll #sherman yang #oc lila #clarisse la rue #ellis wakefield #heroes of olympus #theworstapolloliveshere

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trans-advice · 4 years

Note

NSFW warning, just a heads-up. Hey, I'm uncertain about being trans and interactions with my downstairs bits, both sexually and non-sexually. I have a penis, and an abnormally large one at that. I'm in a weird situation with that because I don't mind it for dysphoria reasons, but kinda mind it because it gets in the way of everyday life (have to place my hands carefully when walking, randomly getting hard often causes it to poke out of my pants, and general worries about being judged, etc) (1/4)

The thing is, I actually kinda like my penis. I wouldn't want to have any sort of bottom surgery (magically having a vagina added would be nice, but surgery is a bit too much of a hassle and I can't find anything about whether that would necessitate using scrotal tissue, which would be a downside). I'm also somewhat worried about what effect estrogen will have on erections. Sorry if that's answered somewhere in your blog, my parents have things blocked even though I'm basically legal adult (2/4)

There's one more thing I'd like to ask for advice on. So I watch porn, and one of the things that really gets me going is being able to see myself in that situation. The problem with that is that that involves body parts being the same as my ideal body parts, which tends to be stuff with trans women that's targeted heavily at chasers. Is there anything I can do to stop feeling both like a chaser and like the object of a fetish? (don't direct me to other material because I'm 17 so legality) (3/4)

One last thing, I really want to wear leggings but that has some obvious problems. Is there such a thing as leggings that will be accommodating of and not show a penis? Like I said before I'm abnormally large so it'd probably have to be designed for that, google searches have yielded only manly man stuff and leggings with dicks on them, which is not exactly what I was looking for. (4/4)

---

I think you would benefit from wearing a gaffe. It's technically a garment of clothing used for tucking, but it doesn't require as much work that tucking usually requires. There are some diy videos online where you convert underwear into gaffes, and there are readymade ones too.

I don't know about leggings quite honestly. I would try getting a gaffe first & then trying on clothes from there.

As for the porn, and having lived thru a testosterone puberty, a parent of mine who also went thru testosterone puberty recommended only watching tame stuff when starting out due to the problem of Desensitization. So based on that, images are superior to video for purposes of preserving your sensitivity.

That being said, I would recommend also staying away from the porn for awhile & make your own fantasies with your own imagination.

The reason why is because when you get disturbed by plotlines or imagery or whatever in various media items, it is traumatic & it's getting your brain accustomed to rape basically because you're engaging in stuff you don't, didn't, and aren't going to consent to viewing. Don't settle for being raped as a viewer! Use your imagination instead.

Also please wait til you're 18 or older. As an adult I can tell you that such content hits different when you're like the actors could be your age or younger. Like it quickly loses it's glamour when you're able to look at it like a job. Like yeah, alienation of workers is a common experience (sex workers are workers), but you also become aware of how these aren't so much goals & more like media that's written. If you're younger than that then you might think 18 is an age with magical liberation via adulthood or such, but it's not. Like in USA multigenerational households where multiple generations are adults are very common now with the economy, especially for "adults" 18-29. The poverty & exploitation is commonplace to the point where it's a whole genre of political thought in USA these days. Basically adulthood has less to do with age & more to do with money & power, and that contradiction of ways to define adulthood becomes apparent much more clearly when you're at least the age of the adult actors/models you're viewing. So please wait until you're an adult to view such material, at least to age 18.

As for the body horror, while I don't want to get into all my cisheterosexist harassment trauma regarding my own sexuality & my own gender identity, basically my gender identity turned out to be more fundamental than how I was framing my sexuality as something in a cisgender body. You accepting that you are indeed trans will probably save you a lot of toil.

To give you some input about other women's relationships to phallus size, there was literally an ask recently day talking about clitoris lengthening & enlargement, and one of the sources i linked for that was about cis women wanting to grow their clitoris. Therefore, you not caring to change your phallus size isn't wrong because when you have enough people you're bound to not be the only one.

While female physiology has more problems than just phallus size, you can interpolate equivalents by learning how the anatomical parts of sex organs develop prenatally before being made male or woman around week 19. Some other examples are that labia & scrotum derive from the same part. With males there are 2 meatuses that usually fuse into one. Learning about human development like this can actually be quite healing & I suspect it will help you deal with your body.

Also I want to mention that there are cis women who top. Usually they use a device called a strap-on for that purpose. I suspect that information will be helpful to you.

You're 17 right now, so it makes sense that you'd be hesitant to do medical intervention. Regardless of your age, it's your body, and it should be your choice, therefore your decision on that matter is valid.

Regarding vaginoplasty surgeries that build a vagina, while scrotum skin is preferred for constructing labia (due to durability), the surgeon can also take a skin graft from somewhere else on your body. It will vary from surgeon to surgeon. Also for those surgeries, you have to be careful about penile hair growing back & it is a lot of work with dilation afterwards etc, so you are correct about vaginoplasty being a hassle.

There's also orichetomies testes removal surgeries to consider. They are less hassle, about the same recovery as a vasectomy but also irreversible like the vaginoplasties are. Also all of these surgeries will probably require HRT. If I remember correctly though, if you get an orichetomy, then you can use either feminizing or masculinizing HRT, while the other surgeries require feminizing HRT. While this might be helpful for dealing with supply chain problems, it should be noted that anytime you go off hormones or change what hormones you're on, it can create bodily & mental discomfort/irritability. You're basically starting a different puberty everytime you stop & go.

Good Luck, Peace & Love,

Eve

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kingkatsuki · 5 years

Note

How would bakugo act with an s/o who's in the process of recovering from surgery (nothing life threatening) and takes the opportunity to be a little shit, asking him to do stuff for them, etc. Whenever he calls them out on it they response with something along the lines of "I'm hurt, I have a condition!" I just got a minor surgery myself and I've been using it as an excuse for the past three days to annoy my parents 😋

I hope you feel better soon!

Oh boy, he’s gonna absolutely hate it.

“Bakugou, can you get my phone I think I left it in the lounge.” He’ll huff, giving you massive side-eye before standing up from the bed and stomping off silently to grab it.

When he comes back you smile happily up at him, rewarding him with a peck on the cheek before he settles back down beside you.

“Shit, I think I left my water bottle down there too. Can you bring it to me, please?” You roll out the last syllable.

“No fucking way, I literally just went down there Baka.” You give him the cutest look you can muster, “please, Bakugou. I’m so thirsty”

“Go and fucking get it then.”

“But babe, I’m hurt! The doctor said I have to get my rest.” Bakugou looks at you, completely conflicted before he stands up again, growling under his breath about how he can’t wait for you to be fully healed as he goes to exit your room once again.

“Oh, and can you refill it with cold water please!”

He turns to give you a glare from the door, “Oh, of course, Princess. And do you want me to put some fresh fruit in it too?” His voice dripping with sarcasm.

“That would be lovely,” you tease back.

Once he’s back up in your room again, a bottle of cold water is chucked at you, minus the fruit.

“Is there anything else?” He asks, standing by your bedroom door.

“Nope,” You grin, holding out your arms, making grabbing motions with your hands to get him to come and cuddle you.

“You fucking sure?” He stepped towards you slowly.

“Katsuki, please-“ You whined, laughing as he flopped down beside you.

“Katsuki, can you-“

“I’m not fucking doing it.”

“Oh my GOD, I was just going to ask you to cuddle me, sheesh. Is this how you treat your dying girlfriend.”

“You’re not fucking dying,”

“You don’t know, I could have died.”

“Yeah, But you didn’t and don’t I know it.” He growled, carefully wrapping you in his arms, careful to avoiding hurting you with his touch after your surgery.

“You’re supposed to be being nice to me, I have a condition!” Bakugou groaned at your words, hiding his face in your neck.

When you’re well enough to get back to school, you still have Bakugou wrapped around your finger, even if he denies it. He’s honestly really worried about you and doesn’t want you to over-exert yourself.

Carries your schoolbag, makes sure you’re feeling okay throughout the day.

Bakusquad will laugh at him, calling him whipped and making fun of the situation by Sero pretending to carry Kirishima’s bag. The explosions that emit from Bakugou’s hands shut them up quickly, although they try hard to keep their laughter in.

You use the whole situation as an excuse to have Bakugou in your room for longer periods of time, trying to lengthen out your recovery as long as possible, because lets face it, having Bakugou at your beck and call is very tempting..

He’s secretly really upset when you’re back to full health and you’re not relying on him as much anymore. He actually really enjoyed you needing him so much~

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou imagines #mha x reader #mha imagines #bakugou headcanons #mha headcanons #bnha x reader #bnha headcanons #bnha imagines #bakugou katsuki x reader

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averykedavra · 4 years

Text

Leave No Trace (Chap. 3)

[Masterlist] [Ao3]

Supper that night was salad and bread, eaten with wooden forks. The metal dishes had been taken, so they used china plates and bowls instead. Patton didn't understand why dragons only took iron objects. But he did understand, now, how they could have stolen such small objects. They'd just have to fly in, turn into humans when no one was looking, and take the dishes. A lot of things made sense now that he knew a little more about dragons.

It was a quiet supper. Virgil and Patton briefly told them about the visit to the library, but since Patton didn't want to tell his moms about Janus—he had the feeling they might not be too thrilled about it—there wasn't much else to say. Patton munched on salad and ignored Virgil's occasional piercing looks. He expected his moms to comment on the silence, but they also stared at their salad and didn't talk.

Finally Mama looked at Mom and they had a silent conversation. Mom put down her fork.

"Boys…" Mama placed her hands on the table. "There's something we need to tell you."

Virgil's hand jerked and he almost spilled salad onto the table. "What?"

Usually Mom would say 'Nothing bad, I promise.' This time she only squeezed his hand.

Virgil glanced between them, looking more and more nervous. Patton took Virgil's other hand.

"We were at the town meeting today," Mama began, drawing out each word. "Everyone's accounted for, except…"

Patton forgot how to breathe. Virgil's grip on his hand was painful. Blood pounded in his ears. He stared at his moms, trying to spy any inkling of hope, see anything that told him something that wasn't what he thought they were saying.

"Except what?" Patton asked, trying to smile. "Finish your sentences!"

"They're gone," Virgil whispered, eyes wide. "Aren't they?"

Something in Mom's expression broke, and something in Mama's eyes softened.

"No one has seen Logan or Remus since the raid."

Virgil made a little choked noise.

"That doesn't mean they're not alive," Mom hastily added. "Just that they haven't been found."

"Runa."

Mom glanced at Mama. "And…well, there have been some witnesses. It seems most likely that they've, well, been taken. By the dragons."

"What?" Patton hated the way his voice cracked. "Dragons do that?"

"Sometimes," Mama answered. "Nobody knows why."

Virgil shook his head numbly. "They're gone?"

"Hey," Patton whispered, "they're not gone. They're okay."

"'Okay?' You call kidnapped by dragons 'okay?'" Virgil's eyes were wild. "They're probably getting eaten or something!"

Patton flinched. "Kiddo—"

"Sorry," Virgil muttered.

"They're alive," Patton amended, running his thumb over Virgil's palm. "That's better than nothing."

Virgil glared at nothing in particular. "Is anyone going after them?"

"We don't have enough willing citizens for a rescue mission," Mom murmured. "It's not safe enough for anyone to risk it. I'm sorry."

"See?" Virgil spat. "They're not dead, but they're as good as." He pulled his hand out of Patton's. "Just when I think I've got something dragons can't destroy, boom! They burn it to the damn ground."

"Virgil—"

"Forget it." Virgil kicked his chair out and stood up. "I'm—I'm going to my room, Pat. Talk to you later."

Patton opened his mouth to say something, something that would fix this. Virgil was gone before he could. His footsteps rang loud on the stairs.

"Patton," Mama started.

Patton didn't wait around to hear the rest of that sentence. Or worse, a question he couldn't help but answer. Quickly he shoveled down the rest of his salad, tossed the dishes in the sink, and sped upstairs with an "I'm tired, gonna take a nap!" Nobody followed.

Virgil's door was closed. Patton knocked on it. Nobody answered.

"I'll be here," Patton said into the keyhole. "If you need me."

He didn't sleep that night, staring at the hole in his ceiling, straining for any sign of movement from Virgil. On other nights Virgil might have knocked on his door, small and scared, and they'd end up cuddling or telling stories or playing games until Virgil felt better. Tonight there was nothing. Just a hot night filled with bugs that bit at Patton's arms.

When he finally fell asleep, his dreams were filled with dragons and fires and burning scales.

A few times he woke up, heart pounding, watching that hole like he expected to see flames lighting up the sky. Or the door, like he selfishly wished Virgil or his moms would come check on him.

But there were no fires and no Virgil. Just Patton, trying his very best to sleep.

Virgil didn't talk to Patton for a day. Patton tried not to take it personally, but it did sting. Virgil just needed time, Patton knew that. He'd be okay. They'd be okay.

And sure enough, the next day, Virgil smiled at Patton over breakfast eggs and helped him with chores. He still didn't say much, but Patton understood.

They fixed the hole in the roof, with the help of the Acevedos down the road. They ordered new plates and cutlery and tools in the mail, hoping it would come back from the city as soon as possible. Patton volunteered with some rebuilding projects and Virgil helped distribute food. Mom and Mama spent a lot of time with the town council, talking through how they could bounce back from this. It wasn't even close to perfect, but somehow Patton found his balance, mostly by focusing on what he could do and not what he couldn't. He focused on helping everyone around him, ignoring the two people he couldn't.

Roman was released from the library a few days later. It was evening, the sun setting in the distance. The library was closed to visitors. Virgil pulled Patton away from where he was grabbing eggs from the chickens and they ran to the library door. Patton had to stop himself from hugging the life out of Roman—he was still injured—and settled for a wave and a huge smile.

"Careful," Virgil said, grabbing Roman's arm and helping him down the steps.

Roman huffed. "You know, I didn't hurt either of my legs. I can walk just fine."

Virgil didn't let go. Roman's expression softened and he slipped his hand into Virgil's. Virgil looked marginally comforted. Patton skipped alongside them, looking over Roman. He was a little pale and his entire shoulder was covered in bandages, but his smile was almost as bright as ever.

"You're an idiot," Virgil mumbled, helping Roman navigate a patch of uneven stone.

"Am I now?" Roman asked, watching the sun set between the buildings.

"Yes!" Virgil snapped. "Roman, you could have gotten yourself killed!"

Roman winced. "Okay. Right out the gate, then."

"Virgil?" Patton asked, sensing trouble. "Maybe we save this until Roman's, you know, home? Maybe even wait until he's healed?"

Virgil glared at Roman. "If he's well enough to walk, he's well enough to let me yell at him."

"Don't bother, Padre," Roman said, giving a half-hearted grin. "I knew this was coming."

"You're an idiot!" Virgil repeated, throwing up his hands in the air. "I hate you so much! What were you thinking? You should have waited somewhere safe instead of throwing yourself into a fight like the reckless fool you are! Don't you have any sense of self-preservation?"

"The dragon would have killed those people!" Roman fired back weakly.

"The dragon almost killed you!" Virgil looked exasperated. "What, is your life worth less than those people? You did absolutely nothing but get yourself injured for some pursuit of glory!"

"This is not about 'glory,'" Roman argued. "It was about doing what's right."

"Yeah, because it's 'right' to throw yourself into dangerous situations—"

"Kiddos," Patton interrupted, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Um, we really shouldn't be arguing right now—"

"I don't need your judgment!" Roman snapped, ignoring Patton entirely. "It's my life and I can make my own decisions! This is none of your business and it doesn't affect you!"

"Yes, it does!" Virgil threw out a hand. "We had to save you! Patton—"

"Please leave me out of this," Patton pleaded.

"Patton had to get you to safety! Patton attacked a dragon for you, Roman! And thanks to you and your stupidity, Remus and Logan were—"

Roman's eyes hardened. "So it's my fault that my brother and friend were kidnapped."

Virgil froze. "I—Roman, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine." Roman snatched his hand out of Virgil's and stalked down the road. "I get it."

"Roman!" Virgil called, running after him. "I—I didn't mean that, it just slipped out, of course it's not your fault—"

"I get it!" Roman yelled. "Just stop talking! I'm going to fix it!"

"Wait, you—" Virgil stopped. "Wait, 'fix it?'"

"Fix it," Roman repeated. "I'll find them and I'll fix it."

"Find them?" Virgil blinked. "Wait—Roman, no way!"

"You just said it was my fault!" Roman said hysterically. "It makes sense!"

"But you can't just—" Virgil stepped closer to Roman, his face filled with incredulousness. "What, do you think you'll just stroll through the Iron Woods and knock on the dragons' door? You can't do that!"

"Has anyone ever tried?" Roman pointed out.

"You don't need to try drinking poison to know it'll freaking kill you!"

"Virgil." Roman's voice cracked. "Virgil, I need to do something."

"No, you don't," Virgil said. "No, you don't. You're hurt and you need to heal and you can't put yourself in danger for this."

"I—I have to!" Roman swiped at his eyes. "Virge, he's gone, they're both gone and I—"

"I know. Believe me, I know. But you can't—you're not hunting them down. I won't let you do that." Virgil sighed. "Roman, can I hug you?"

Roman nodded.

Virgil stepped forward and carefully wrapped his arms around Roman's middle, tucking his head on Roman's good shoulder. Roman lifted one arm and curled it around Virgil's shoulders, burying his face in Virgil's hair.

The sun was going down. The shadows lengthened around them. At the end of the road, the lantern lighter sent a burst of fire into the air. Half the lanterns had been taken, ripped from the ground. Nearby was a burned building, blackened and twisted.

"I hate this," Roman mumbled. "Not being able to help."

"Yeah," Virgil agreed.

Patton watched them, the sunset sending deep orange over their faces, still and silent on the cobblestone road.

Roman couldn't save them, he knew that. But if he didn't…who would?

"I'll do it."

Virgil frowned, peering over at Patton. "Do what, Pat?"

"I'll rescue them," Patton said, stepping forward.

"You're joking." Roman laughed. "You're joking, Padre."

"No, I'm not." Patton crossed his arms. "You're hurt but I'm not. It makes sense."

"It doesn't!" Virgil stared at him in disbelief. "Seriously, Pat, what? We were just saying how we can't go and rescue them—"

"You were saying how Roman can't go and rescue them." Patton's heart pounded, but he had never been more certain of anything in his life. "I can still do it."

"There are a million reasons why—" Virgil pushed himself out of Roman's arms and stalked forward, glowering. "Our moms would be mad."

"They'd understand!"

"No, they wouldn't! Because nobody would! Because you're being stupid!" Virgil threw up his hands. "Roman, back me up here!"

"I—" Roman glanced between them. "I think both arguments have…good points?"

"Thanks a lot," Virgil growled.

"I don't see what the problem is," Patton insisted. "I'll go to the Iron Woods, get Logan and Remus back from the dragons, and be back soon!"

"What do you mean you'll just get them back?" Virgil yelled. "Are you just going to ask politely?"

"Maybe?" Patton squeaked. "Nobody's actually tried diplomacy yet!"

"That's because they're dragons!" Virgil waved a hand at the burned buildings nearby. "This happened three days ago, Patton, and you're acting like you can just waltz into their home base and get our friends back?"

"No," Patton admitted. "But—I want to try."

"Pat." Virgil's eyes softened. "I get it. I really do. But I don't want you to get hurt."

"I won't get hurt," Patton protested.

"How do you know that?" Virgil huffed. "Dragons, Patton. Big with sharp teeth and fire."

Patton shrugged. "I dunno, Janus seemed okay."

"One dragon who didn't immediately murder you does not mean all the rest won't!" Virgil laughed hysterically, running his fingers through his hair. "Roman, back me up here!"

Roman looked over from where he was apparently trying to hide himself in the shadows. "Um, no opinion here, carry on with your arguing, preferably keeping me very far out of this."

"Coward," Virgil snapped.

"What do you want me to say?" Roman burst out. "Because, yes, I don't want Patton to get hurt! I think him going is a terrible idea! But you wouldn't let me go, and I don't see anyone else stepping up! I care about Patton, but I care about my brother too! And I know it's a stupid idea that will just get Patton killed…but—" Roman shook his head. "Virgil, there's a chance that it'll work. An actual chance." Roman wiped at his eyes. "And it terrifies me how much I'm willing to risk for that chance."

Virgil's expression was unreadable. "A small chance."

"A tiny chance," Roman agreed, his voice small. "But a chance, Virge."

"Yeah." Virgil swallowed, staring at his feet. "I get that."

"I won't get hurt," Patton promised. "I'll be careful. I'll bring supplies and if anything bad happens I'll turn around. Dragons don't kill people unprovoked, right? We're just collateral damage."

Virgil looked torn. "I dunno, I think sometimes—"

"They won't kill me." Patton spoke with all the conviction he didn't feel. "I can figure out why they want Logan and Remus and I can make some sort of deal with them, maybe? Or even find out why they need all that metal!"

"Fine," Virgil said grudgingly, "let's assume that by some miracle the dragons accept you as one of their own and bow before your wisdom. What about the Iron Woods?"

"Those don't actually exist, right?" Roman asked. "They're just a legend."

Virgil raised an eyebrow. "You say this in front of someone who's part faerie."

"I know, I know!" Roman held up his hands. "I'm not saying the fair folk aren't real. I'm just saying there's no evidence the Iron Woods actually are where everyone says they are."

"That's true," Virgil admitted. "But just because nobody's seen them doesn't mean they're not there!"

Roman laughed. "Don't tell Logan that, he'd get mad."

Virgil didn't laugh. Patton pressed his lips together and ignored the ugly twist in his stomach.

"But if the Fae are actually there," Roman said, "you're right. That would be a problem."

"Did you just admit I'm right? Never thought I'd see the day."

"Don't let yourself get a big head."

"Okay," Patton said, stepping between them. "I…I have an idea."

He didn't, actually. He had the start of a terrible idea that probably wouldn't work and that Virgil definitely wouldn't like. But it was a start. It was a start.

Patton knew he wasn't going to turn back. He was going to save Remus and Logan. He was going to fight on Roman's behalf. He was going to help people, because that's what Patton did. Helped and never hurt. And if he wasn't helping, he was hurting. He was going to help because it was the right thing to do.

"Hear me out," Patton said. "I'll explore some options and if it's not working, we won't do this. But I want to check out a few possibilities? If that's okay?"

"I guess," Virgil said, side-eyeing Roman. "Yeah?"

"I…" Roman winced. "I'd really like to, but I haven't been home for three days?"

"Oh!" Patton gasped. "Right! Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine." Roman waved a hand. "Actually, now that I think about it, let's do this."

"Really?" Virgil asked.

Roman winced and looked away. "My parents are…not doing very well right now."

Patton's eyes widened and he resisted the urge to glomp Roman in a hug. Roman was injured. Patton couldn't just tackle-hug him, even though he clearly really needed a tackle-hug.

"I love you," Patton said instead.

"Uh, yeah!" Roman looked confused but gratified. "Love you too, Pat!"

"Great." Patton tapped his fingers together. "And you'd love me no matter what I said we were doing, right?"

"What are we doing?" Virgil asked, looking more and more alarmed.

"Nothing that bad!" Patton said hastily. "Just…kind of not-good. By my standards, anyway."

"Yeah?" Roman looked sort of excited. "Okay!"

Patton took a deep breath.

"Help me break into the library."

It wasn't actually breaking in. It wasn't actually breaking in. It wasn't actually breaking in.

Patton recited that to himself over and over as they snuck in the back door of the library.

It was dark inside. Virgil immediately tripped and swore loudly. Patton tried to shush him while simultaneously reaching for a wall. Eventually his eyes adjusted to the dimness and he saw the shapes of the back passageway, a few boxes of books by the wall.

"Where do we go?" Roman asked.

"Shh!" Patton said again.

"I think it's this way?" Virgil said, pointing.

"I can't see where you're pointing," Roman complained. "It's dark."

"Shh!"

Virgil led the way to the rotunda, slipping through the halls and creeping around corners. Patton followed, tripping over his own feet and stumbling into boxes. Even Roman was more stealthy than him, and Roman had a wounded arm.

They stopped at the rotunda. Despite the lateness of the hour, doctors and nurses still bustled around, the candlelight throwing splashes of orange over their faces. Shadows lurked between the bookshelves, pooled across the floor, and hung from the ceiling.

"What now?" Patton asked as quietly as possible.

"Wasn't this your idea?" Virgil hissed. "I don't even know why we're here! Well, I mean, I've kind of figured it out but it better not be what I think it is."

Patton giggled. "Ah-heh, um, okay then. Right."

"They won't be able to see us in the dark," Roman pointed out. "If you're planning to walk out there, act like you belong and it'll probably be fine."

Patton was starting to regret this plan. He should have at least waited until the library opened in the morning.

"Come on," Roman said, shoving them into the rotunda. "No turning back now."

Patton squeaked and tried to look natural.

"Oh, you're coming too!" Virgil grabbed Roman's arm and tugged him forward. "No getting out of this."

Roman kicked Virgil in the knee, and Virgil swore at him. Patton frantically tried to quiet them. The nurse nearest to them slowed, her candle swinging around to face them.

"Walk," Roman whispered. "Now."

So Patton, Virgil, and Roman walked down the aisle between hospital beds. Patton tiptoed on his feet and tried to look taller than five foot three. Roman drew up his chin and Virgil tapped manically on his leg.

"So where are we going?" Roman whispered.

Patton braced himself for the explosion. "Um, we're visiting Janus?"

"I knew it." Virgil's voice was strangled. "I knew it."

"Wait, what?" Roman asked. "Who?"

"Janus," Virgil repeated. "Aka the dragon who, you know, attacked you."

"What?" Roman yelled.

A dozen candles swiveled in their direction.

Virgil swore and tugged them both into a gap between shelves, slapping his hand over Roman's mouth. Patton held his breath and prayed for the people to look away. He couldn't see whether they were looking at them, but that was a good sign because maybe they couldn't see him, either.

Finally Patton breathed a sigh of relief as nobody came over to check on them. Crime-committing was very stressful. He was never doing this again.

"What," Roman repeated calmly.

"What?" Patton asked.

"You know his name?" Roman asked.

"Yes."

"You talked to him?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Roman clicked his tongue. "I don't know how I feel about that."

"Me either," Patton admitted.

"Look." Virgil pushed himself off the shelf. "This is a terrible idea, but we're already in the library, so let's just get this over with."

"Okay." Patton said. "Where is he?"

"You're the one who talked to him!"

"Um." Patton scanned the beds. "I think he was that direction? Wait, where'd we come in from again?"

"Come on." Virgil groaned. "Pat, I love you, but this was a terrible idea."

"Sorry."

"Well, the entrance is over there," Roman said, pointing. "And my bed was there. Does that help?"

Patton stuck his tongue between his teeth and pointed at the different spots. "Okay, so if I—it was like, diagonal—got it!" Patton clapped his hands. "It's across that way!"

"You sure?" Virgil asked.

"Paw-sitive!"

"Alright then." Virgil led them across the floor, dipping around beds and avoiding as many people as possible. "This way?"

"Little more to the left!"

"There's a bed in the way to the left!"

"Not that far left!"

Virgil sighed and kept walking. Patton directed him as needed and soon they came to a group of beds near the wall. Patton scanned the people around them. Most were asleep. None of them were Janus.

"What does Janus look like?" Roman asked.

"Long brown hair," Patton said. "Yellow eyes. A giant burn on his face."

"What?"

"Long story."

"Um, okay." Roman looked around. "Is that him?"

Patton looked over. Yep. It was Janus, lying on his side with his hand tucked under his head. He was—oh. He was staring right at them, his eyes glittering in the candlelight.

"Um," Patton whispered. "Can dragons see in the dark?"

"What—" Virgil looked at Janus. "Oh no."

"He won't hurt us," Patton said, trying to convince himself. "He's still hurt."

"That may be," Roman said, "but I am really regretting not bringing my sword."

Janus' shoulders tensed.

Patton glanced at Roman. "I think he heard you."

"He'd better," Virgil muttered. "I don't like this, Pat. I don't."

"He's a dragon!" Patton whispered. "If anyone can tell us what dragons are like and how to get Logan and Remus back, it's him!"

"That's—" Roman paused. "Hey, that's actually a good point."

Virgil growled. "I hate that you're right. Fine, we'll try it your way. Let's talk to him."

Patton stepped around a bed and walked towards Janus, waving hello. Janus' eyes narrowed and he pushed himself off the bed so that his legs swung around to the floor.

"Are you supposed to do that?" Patton asked.

Janus snorted. "Yes, because my facial injury renders me incapable of movement."

It was true that his face looked better. Not great, but better. The bandages were smaller and the skin around the burn was starting to heal. It would leave a scar, Patton could tell, but it hopefully wouldn't leave any long-term damage.

"Okay, so hi." Patton waved again. "We need to talk to you!"

"We." Janus' eyes skimmed over Virgil and Roman. "Who is we?"

"This is Virgil, and this is Roman!" Patton pointed to Virgil. "He's my best friend and favorite human!"

Virgil winced slightly.

"And Roman's my other best friend and other favorite human!" Patton continued. "So what happened is two of my other best friends and favorite humans got kidnapped!"

Janus watched him warily. "You are ruining the meaning of the terms 'favorite' and 'best'."

"Well, I have a lot of friends!" Patton gasped. "Oh! You can be my favorite dragon!"

Somehow Janus' suspicious and contemptuous glare grew even more suspicious and contemptuous.

"So our friends got kidnapped," Patton continued, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "By some of your dragon friends? And—"

"Death or ransom?"

"What?"

"You either want to kill me or use me as a bargaining tool," Janus explained. "Which is it?"

"Neither! No!" Patton stared at him in horror. "What? That's terrible!"

"It is, but I suppose you wouldn't care about my opinion on the matter." Janus spread his hands. "Death or kidnapping? I understand if you need time to choose."

"We're not doing either of those!" Patton insisted.

"I dunno…" Virgil smirked. "I think both ideas have merit, we could just—"

"Virgil!" Patton exclaimed.

"I'm just saying it would solve our problem—"

Patton opened his mouth to firmly tell Virgil that murder or kidnapping was not the solution here, two wrongs did not make a right, when Janus stood up, chucked a candle at them, and bolted.

Oh. Oops.

"Virgil," Patton said tightly. "He's running away now."

"I was joking!" Virgil protested. "I thought it was obvious!"

"Clearly not to him," Roman said, watching Janus leap over several beds and disappear through the front door. A few doctors and nurses yelled at him but he didn't turn around.

"Great," Patton said. Okay, that was too bitter. He injected a bunch of bounce into his words and ran forward. "Fantastic! Wonderful! Let's go!"

Roman and Virgil followed. Doctors and nurses were staring at them, a few stepping forward to ask them questions.

"Sorry!" Patton called. "We committed a crime and we're very sorry! Goodbye!"

Virgil made a choked noise that could have been laughter or tears.

Roman reached the doors first and slammed them open. Virgil and Patton followed, darting around the passageway to the atrium. The man at the desk was asleep, drooling on the wood. The library doors swung in the wind. It was even darker outside than Patton remembered—he tripped twice on the way down the steps.

"Where—" Virgil panted, hands on his knees. "Where'd he go?"

"There!" Roman pointed. A small figure was running down the road. Patton ran forward, cupping his hands around his mouth and calling Janus' name. Janus didn't slow down.

"We're not going to hurt you!" Patton yelled. "I promise!"

Janus seemed to run even faster.

"Come on!" Roman complained. "You're our best shot at finding my brother and you're running away, which is very rude! I'll have you know I'm injured!"

"Not helping, Princey."

"I didn't ask for your opinion."

"Please!" Patton yelled. He was running out of breath. "Can we please talk?"

Janus finally, finally slowed down. Patton could see his silhouette as he stumbled to a stop, the last dying embers of sunlight behind him, feet planted squarely on the pavement.

Then he doubled over and his shadow lengthened.

Two wings burst out of his back, stretching into the air. They flapped once, the webbing catching the air, taller than Patton. When Patton looked back down at Janus he was gone, replaced by four strong legs and a tail curled around them. Two horns accentuated the bridge over his eyes, which glowed yellow in the lanternlight.

"Oh no," Patton whispered. "Oh no."

"He's gonna freak everyone out," Virgil added, eyes wide, his hands already shaking. "Everyone's gonna be terrified, this is really bad—"

Janus—well, the dragon, the dragon that was Janus, although it was hard to hold onto that when Patton was faced with two glowing yellow eyes and a pattern of burns over the scales—flapped his wings again, pushing off the pavement. He didn't get far. The street was narrow and his wings couldn't stretch all the way. He stumbled back to the ground, hissing at them.

"He can't take off," Patton realized.

Janus hissed again, louder, and a wisp of fire spat towards them. But it fizzled out before it reached them. Patton had a feeling that was on purpose.

"What do we do?" Roman yelled, waving his hand helplessly.

"I don't know!" Virgil said, looking equally helpless and even more terrified.

Janus lowered himself on his haunches, tail bristling, wings folded around him. His teeth were bared. He growled low in his throat, rattling Patton's bones.

But he wasn't attacking. He was just…preparing. He just wanted to defend himself.

He was scared.

Patton gathered all his courage and hoped Fae luck had his back.

He held up his hands and slowly walked forward.

"Hey," Patton said, "Janus. I get it. This is probably super overwhelming right now and it totally makes sense that you want to leave! But you can't right now. You're still injured, you can't take off from here, and we need your help."

"What are you doing?" Virgil hissed.

Patton gave Virgil a cheerful wave and continued walking, keeping his pace steady. On the first few steps Janus tensed, shrinking backwards, but he soon stopped, eyeing Patton warily.

"Our friends got taken," Patton continued, "and I'm going to go rescue them. But I don't really, well, know what I'm doing. At all. So…I figured I could ask you for help! You're a dragon, and I'm assuming those dragons are your family? You can help us, and—" An idea came to Patton. "We can help you get back to your family! I bet you miss them, and I bet they miss you. So we can find a good place for you to take off after you help! Would that make you feel better?"

Janus growled one more time and flapped his wings.

Then they shrank into his body, his tail whipped into thin air, the spines and ridges flattened, and Janus stood there, bandages still on his face, arms folded.

"You don't know a thing about me or how I feel," Janus said mildly, "and if you speak to me in that condescending tone again, I will rip your throat out."

"Oh." Patton's relief faltered slightly. "Oh! Okay! Glad you, um, changed back to human! That's really helpful and will probably lead to less town-wide freaking out!"

"It was mainly to insult you," Janus explained. "Also to leave this town by foot, since apparently you humans build all your houses too close together."

"Sorry, we didn't really plan on, y'know, dragons needing to take off." Patton shifted. "So…will you help?"

Janus stared at him. "I have absolutely nothing to gain from helping you. I can get to the dragons on my own and you're mounting an attack against my people. Why on earth would I help?"

"Because it's…it would be really nice of you?"

Janus sighed so deeply that flames licked the edges of his mouth before curling and disappearing into the air with a hiss.

Roman and Virgil approached on either side of Patton, flanking him. Patton really wished they wouldn't, it made them seem too confrontational for his tastes.

"You're not really in a position to bargain," Virgil pointed out.

"Hey!" Patton complained. "No threatening!"

"Well, clearly being nice to him isn't working!" Virgil shrugged. "Take it from a jerk: we'll only do stuff if we're forced to."

"Kiddo, don't talk bad about yourself! And Janus may be a jerk—sorry, Janus—but that doesn't mean we can't treat him with respect!"

"He can't fly."

Patton and Virgil both turned to look at Roman. "What?" Patton asked.

"You could have left," Roman said, staring at Janus. "You weren't supposed to be on the ground with us at all, were you? You could have flown away and you didn't. You can't fly, can you? At least, not very far."

"I can fly," Janus snarled.

"Are you hurt?" Patton tried to inspect him. "Injuries carry over, right? Is it an arm injury? Wait, what corresponds to your wings? Is it—"

"I can fly!" Janus snapped. "It's none of your business!"

"Sure," Virgil said, "you being really defensive about it definitely doesn't lead to the other conclusion."

"If you say so. You can fly," Patton agreed. "But, hypothetically. If you couldn't. Would you appreciate…coming with me? I could use your help on the journey and you could use a way back to your family. We could work together!"

Janus stared at him, eyes narrowed. "I am not desperate enough to spend any extended amount of time with you."

Patton shrugged. "Your loss! I'm just trying to help!"

"I'm coming too," Virgil added. "Don't know if that'll change your mind, but best to be honest about everything."

"Wait." Patton frowned. "Who said you were coming?"

"Hey, yeah!" Roman rounded on Virgil. "We did not agree on that!"

"What, you think I'm just gonna let Pat go alone?" Virgil asked. "I'm coming to help! He'll be in danger!"

"I won't be alone," Patton said. "I'll have Janus."

Virgil glanced at Janus with distaste. "Like I said, you'll be in danger."

"Rude," Janus said, inspecting his fingernails.

"I'm going," Virgil continued. "I want to protect you. You don't know how to fight, I do. I have a crossbow."

"You'll get hurt!" Patton protested.

"And if I don't go, you'll get hurt." Virgil crossed his arms. "Prove me wrong."

A million arguments bubbled up, crowding on the edge of Patton's tongue. They all boiled down to no. Virgil wasn't supposed to be in danger. He wasn't supposed to risk everything for Patton. Patton was the one that helped! He didn't need help! Virgil was going to get himself hurt!

But…but Virgil wanted to. And it was Virgil's choice.

And maybe, just maybe, Patton wanted Virgil by his side.

"Okay." Patton stared at the ground and ignored the guilty feeling in his chest. "Okay. You can come if you want."

"Wait, really?" Virgil gave a half-delirious laugh. "That was easier than I thought."

"Wait," Roman said, frowning. "How come he gets to go and I don't? If Virgil's going, then I'm coming too."

"Okay, that's where I draw the line." Patton poked a finger at Roman. "You are injured. You need to go home and rest."

"I'll be fine, I—"

"Do you want your parents to lose another son?"

Roman froze.

"Do you want that?" Patton repeated softly. "I don't think doing that to them would be a very nice thing, Ro."

Roman opened his mouth to respond and closed it again, sinking and rubbing his eyes. "I. I guess not."

"Right," Patton said firmly, giving Roman a bracing smile. "We'll be okay on our own, Roman. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Roman teased.

"Who says I can't keep it?" Patton laughed. "Watch me, Roman."

"Alright then." Roman reached out and ruffled Patton's hair. "Never underestimate your amazingness. Got it."

"You should go home," Patton said, taking Roman's hand and gently shoving it away. "Your parents will want to see you."

"I guess," Roman said, glancing at Janus. "Shame to miss all the action, though."

"You're injured."

"Fine." Roman gave Patton a smile. "Stay safe, Patton. And…thank you. I can't even begin to say how much this means to me."

Patton beamed, feeling happiness spark inside of him. Definitely worth it.

"I'll take care of him, don't worry." Virgil stepped forward and gave Roman a quick, one-armed hug. "Hang in there, Princey."

"Will do."

Patton waved goodbye, and Roman took the hint. He walked down the road towards his house, turning back every few seconds and waving again. Finally he turned the corner and was out of sight. Patton almost sunk to the ground in relief. He'd been petrified Roman would make a last-ditch attempt to throw himself into the line of fire. Thankfully, the crisis was averted.

"Um, pardon me." Janus looked between Patton and Virgil. "This is very heartwarming and all, but I've been standing here for the past minute or so and I'm getting quite bored. Am I still relevant or can I leave?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Patton turned to him, smiling. "We were just figuring out our party. Now that Virgil's along for the ride, officially, we can keep going! If you come with us, it'll be a nice threesome! All three of us together! Like buddies! Three's a nice number, don't you think? Not a crowd at all! The Rule of Three says we'll kick more butt if there's three of us."

Janus glanced at Virgil. "Is he always this bad at negotiating?"

"Janus." Patton stepped forward, holding out a hand. "I need your help. We need your help. And we can help you in return. You seem…alright. If somewhat mean. And I know you hurt Roman and I'm still very mad at you for that, and I know I hurt you and you're probably mad at me for that burn, which is fair, but—"

"Hold on. Time out." Janus' eyes hardened. "You did what?"

Fiddlesticks.

He didn't actually remember.

And of course, of course he phrased it as a question, so Patton would have to answer.

"I…um…" Patton waved a hand at the side of Janus' face and waited for death. "I did that?"

"Alright." Janus' jaw was clenched. "Glad we got that cleared up. Continue."

"Oh!" Patton tried not to look too relieved. "I don't have much else to say, really. Just that we'll get you to your family, and that we promise not to hurt you or any of the other dragons! We just want our friends back and we'll be on our way."

"Mhm." Janus nodded slowly. "Because I can absolutely trust your word, Patton Foster."

"You remembered my name?"

"You're a memorable person."

Patton was pretty sure that was some sort of layered insult, but still, awesome! "You can trust me! I can't lie, so you're safe!"

Janus frowned. "What do you mean, you 'can't lie?'"

"I'm part Fae," Patton explained, "so it's physically impossible for me to lie."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Janus gave him a searching look. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen years and eight months!"

"I'm fifteen," Virgil added.

"What's your mom's maiden name?"

"Tanaka. And she kept it."

"What's your most embarrassing moment?"

Patton flushed but couldn't stop the words tumbling from his mouth. "I peed my pants in my elementary school chorus concert?"

Janus snickered. "Second most embarrassing moment?"

"I-got-stuck-in-a-tree-trunk-once and that's beside the point!" Patton ignored Virgil's laughter. "Do you believe me now?"

"Patton Foster." Janus savored each syllable. "Do you, now or in the future, have any intentions of harming me or any dragon we encounter?"

"No," Patton responded. "I don't like hurting things."

"Hmm." Janus paused, his eyes moving as he concentrated. "I'll come."

"Wait, really?" Patton squealed. "That's fantastic!"

"Wait. Really?" Virgil grimaced. "Oh no."

"Thank you so much! You won't regret this!" Patton jumped forward for a celebratory hug. Janus grabbed his shirt and shoved him away.

"Okay, no hugs! Cool!" Patton's excitement barely dimmed. "Oh, I'm so glad! This is going to be amazing."

"I have to be with him." Virgil's voice was blank. "For an extended period of time."

"We'll all be such good friends!" Patton continued. "Come on, Virgil, this is good news! Turn that frown of yours upside down!"

Virgil did not.

"What now?" Janus asked, eyes flicking to the sky. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning," Patton decided. "We'll all need to get some rest tonight."

"Good idea, I'll just hop into my luxury queen bed." Janus deadpanned. "Oh wait, I have no place to sleep."

"Right!" Patton giggled sheepishly. "Sorry. Um—do you want to come stay at my house? Just for the night?"

Virgil made a strangled noise which Patton ignored.

"Your house," Janus repeated, eyebrows high in the air.

"Yeah!" Patton exclaimed. "It's right over that way! You can sleep there for tonight and we can leave tomorrow!"

"Are you—" Virgil seemed to be carefully keeping his voice level. "Are you sure about this, Patton? Will the moms like it?"

"I don't know," Patton said, wincing. "I kind of forgot about them."

Patton's moms definitely wouldn't like it, would they? They didn't like dragons and they'd think Patton was in danger or something. Plus they'd ask why Janus was here, so Patton would have to tell them he was leaving, and they would probably stop him. He'd been planning on sneaking out the back door in the morning and leaving a note. Sneaky and underhanded? Yes. But it was for a good cause. Mostly.

"We'll just, um." Patton grinned, trying to hide his nervousness. "Maybe-kinda-sorta sneak Janus into the house so they don't see him?"

"I thought you couldn't lie," Janus said.

"I can't!" Patton agreed. "But, like, if they haven't technically asked me whether I'm bringing a dragon into my room, then I'm not technically lying by not telling them! Right?"

Janus tilted his head. "You are aware of how incredibly morally gray that sounds, right?"

Patton flushed and stared at his feet.

"Don't worry," Janus said, smirking, "I approve."

"Somehow," Patton said, "that doesn't make me feel better."

"Are we doing this?" Virgil asked. "Or can he sleep in a garden or something?"

"No!" Patton folded his arms. "He's my friend now—"

"I am not your friend."

"He's my friend even though he won't admit it, which means he needs a place to stay!" Patton looked Janus over. "His clothes are all torn up and his bandages probably need to be changed soon. Plus I bet he's hungry!"

Janus hissed between his teeth, eyes glinting. "Is this a trap?"

"Nope!"

Janus sighed, rubbing at his temple. "Fine. We will go to your house."

"Yay!" Patton turned to Virgil, activating the Puppy Dog Eyes and clasping his hands. "Will you help us, kiddo? Pwease?"

Virgil gave a long sigh. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but let's sneak a dragon into our house."

[Masterlist] [Ao3]

#leave no trace

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