#this very interesting thing I heard this one time about how armor in fantasy setting

[genderandanger]

The ship between baki n hanayama (dk the name) is wild cus imagine uhh cuddling w ur bf and casually finding ur DADs face tottooed on his back since ur father is the epitome of masculinity and anything masculine/badass/raaah steak and fishing ect has to have his face on it... including ur bf family history

#this very interesting thing I heard this one time about how armor in fantasy setting #Are made to look beefy and muscly cus thats what the epitome of masculinity is in modern time #As opposed to older time where the epitome of masculinity was how big ur private part was #So historically accurate armor would have a big dick like MADE into it #So if the world of baki had hanma yujiro as that #Then imagine what could that mean? #Baki hanma #Hanma baki #Baki the grappler #Hanma yujiro #hanayama kaoru #baki son of ogre #baki dou #btg #This us very poorly worded u have to forguve me its 6am #Its 6 AM PERIOD DDNT ALLOW ME TO SLEEP UNLESS I SENT THIS JUST TAKE ITTTT #How to tag baki am I allowed to tag every single series when doing so?? #Also can we name the ship blade flower #Its the ship name in the Japanese fandom and I wanna have it here too :(( #Baki x hanayama

[crystalelemental]

Alright, Unicorn Overlord apparently has my full attention.  I picked it up kinda on a whim, because it sounded neat and I wanted something new, and just like the last two times this happened, it was a knockout success.  So I'm definitely getting it, but from the demo at least, some preliminary thoughts.

I'll start with the easiest point to talk about: characters and story are absolutely nothing special.  It is...very bare bones basic storytelling at this point.  In truth, I don't mind it.  I think it's serviceable, and at the very least it's not detracting from the game.  I think that's something people miss a lot.  Clamoring for a good story makes sense, but I think in attempting it, sometimes people without really creative ideas just make something that's overly focused on cutscene and shitty, to the detriment of otherwise fun gameplay.  I think Unicorn Overlord is doing fine right now.  It can get more complex later if it wants, but I don't think it has to.

I will spare a brief thought for the whole discourse that seems to be going on about localization.  It reminds me of the Three Houses situation, where the fan translations all clearly have their own angle and no one agrees on anything.  The dialogue is serviceable.  Nothing that I've heard from the game has felt stilted or force, it feels natural and organic for the vibe they're going for, it at times maybe a little flowery.  But I do honestly feel like this is a non-issue.

That out of the way, meat of the game: the actual gameplay.  This game is fun.  Ridiculously so.  You have your units, you have your parties.  You start with three teams of two, and using Honors gained over time, you can expand to have up to ten teams of six.  The farthest I got was five teams of three.  I think I reached a point in the demo where I needed a sixth, given how many party members dropped, but also just gained the ability to add a fourth unit to a group, so...gonna play with that one a bit when I can.

I really like how the game plays.  It's mostly automatic, with the bulk of your preparations being done by setting equipment, setting a leader with a desired skill, and setting up...I forget what they call them, but they're Final Fantasy XII gambits.  You set actions, alternate their order, and set conditions under which they are used, with up to two conditions being applied, checking (I assume) first condition, then for second.  This was super important for my healer, whose initial tactics are set to "Heal if ally under 100%," and thus always heals the frontliner with her 1PP, resulting in someone in my back line getting very preventably dead.  I'm still fiddling with understanding the first and second condition thing, but it's a nice setup.  I didn't really get much time to play with it.

"What do you mean you didn't get to play with it?"  They don't tell you about these tactics until basically the end of the demo.  The last major map of this phase of the game is when they tell you about this.  You get the healer in the opening like half hour, and the archer is the first you recruit.  These tactics are life-changing, like you really want to have access to these.  It's kinda wild that they wait so long.  I did find out before then, but not enough to fully figure out first and second conditions and re-organization of skills.  There's a lot I'll need to play with.

The matchup system is interesting.  Armor is specifically bad against magic, horses are good against infantry but fliers are good against cavs.  Bows are good against fliers, and Soldiers can have attacks good against cavs.  You also have situations where archers are specifically excellent against Thieves, because they cannot miss.  It's a fairly organic system, with a couple of specific considerations, but nothing that's overbearing, and no one class has felt too overpowered.  General combat against the random parties is fairly quick and easy.  A lot of the time, with a decent matchup, I could clear the fight in one round of combat.  Bosses, however, could be a lot trickier, depending on the boss.  Some still went down easy, some were...considerably more annoying about it.

On that note: one frustrating thing is that half the time, when I encounter a fight that's taking like no damage, I can't figure out why.  The final boss of the demo is a good example.  I did figure him out eventually, he blocks two attacks and retaliates with lowering attack and Poisoning you, and with a 2AP move that drops everyone to 1HP.  It is, in fact, kinda bullshit, and outright requires more than one party to handle as far as I can tell.  But there are other situations where things don't make sense to me.  Like the boss just before that.  The first fight, my party took like 14 damage, and took out 89 HP of their roster, including a full opponent.  The second fight, they killed my Brigand before going down by swinging for, apparently, 59 damage.  I do not understand how they did this.  Like yes, I see the skills pop up, but I do not comprehend what they mean half the time.  Reading over the enemy's stuff is extremely time-consuming, if you want a full understanding of how this all works.  Fortunately, it only ever seems to matter for is bosses.  The most confounding situation of this was once I had a good amount of damage, then applied the 3VP Lord skill to give everyone First Strike, and somehow my damage went way down and we were eating more damage.  I don't remember the conditions, but that is baffling.  My best guess is I landed Poison or Burn, and that enemy's priority would've taken them out before some of my attacks, which would've done more to back row?  Literally no idea.

There are a couple of tactics I'd really like to improve on.  One is leaders.  I feel like I could be doing a lot better about Leadership duties.  Usually I go with the cavs and fliers because mobility, but I do recognize that something like the armored knight would've been good against the Rock Rat map with all the archer spam.  Or using archers, mages, or healers for tower support.  I really need to work on that.  The last map was so clearly setting up "use this tower for support," and my party might have had a better time of that one with some support.  Valor is another.  I keep forgetting they have like...overworld effects.  Same map, Rock Rats, completely forgot about the ability to blow away barricades with 1VP move.  Would've saved me a lot of time, since I backpedaled into mining Divine Shards for Ochlys as my solution.  Barricades cannot stop flight.  The last is messing with team composition.  I feel like I clung really strongly to only one or two comps, and they are going to fail me over time.  I'm really reliant on Travis Dodge to manage one team, and it goes about as well as you could expect.  And eventually, Josef is going to fall off as a tank man.

Classes don't feel especially overpowering, although they do matter.  The bigger contribution is really team composition.  Which.  I have some that I like, and some I'm really not a huge fan of.  Once I get the game proper I'll spend more time reconfiguring and trying stuff out, because right now I'm not super attached?  The only team I really like is Ochlys/Bruno/Sharon/Auch.  And I admit, that's like 50% because Ochlys.  She's so good.  Though Auch's fire magic and Burn status is divine.  I dunno, I just...I feel like there are some options I need to work with more than I do.  I'm getting through the game fine, but I feel like the higher difficulty would kick my ass.  I also really like Fran for her horse-smiting ways and full row attacks.  Go figure, fliers and mages, just like my Fire Emblems.

At present I'm sitting on a ton of money I haven't spent, because I don't know how finite it will be moving forward.  I did wind up getting some nice equipment for characters, but not as much as I potentially could.  I'm just very...conservative about the whole situation.  And the majority of my problems feel like they come more from turn order than raw damage, with the first major boss being solved not through sheer damage output, but through status and multi-strike from Auch.  I think it's more a matter of figuring that stuff out than strictly getting bigger numbers, because most upgrades I could make are like 1-2 points, which is...not significantly interesting.

As for how far I made it...the first time though I just went for the ending once my time was running out, and it was brutal.  Missed a few characters, final boss was incredibly difficult but we did make it through.  Auch is my entire solution, turns out.  But I did replay it while skipping scenes for stuff I'd seen before, which it turns out saves a shitload of play time, and let me clear out everything in the south.  I didn't push north past Auch's map, when maps turned to level 10 challenges.  I really wanted to get Scarlett and the others first to keep them at a commensurate level.  I did, however, fuck around and find out by KOing all the roaming enemies and exploring, getting a lot of extra resources and an absolutely kickass sword.  Oh, and I repaired a bridge that apparently takes me to like...near the end of the game?  I assume that's what "recommended level 40" is, since they were talking about the heart of the empire and all.  Would love to know if this game can be sequence broken that hard.

That's all my thoughts for now.  I'm really excited to play this one.  I even took the day off work to pick it up and just play through it.  Always a good sign.  I think I needed something outside of my usual, and this game has been a ton of fun.  Looking forward to its release.

#unicorn overlord

[drchipmunk]

Dress Dynamic

I'm a GM. When my players and I have a concept for a campaign, but I can't find a game that fits, I design one.

Inspired by Friends at the Table's play of Armor Astir, I got really into the idea of a space fantasy melodramatic mecha game. I pitched my players on it. When I read the rules for Armor Astir, I realized that they were far too complex for my table. So I made

Dress Dynamic The name is, like Armor Astir, a pun on Mobile Suit. I was deeply amused by mechs being called "Dresses" (this was before I was transfem).

Designing for Melodrama At this point I had never actually seen a mecha anime but I had heard Friends at the Table talk about them a lot. To that end this was a game about people. Avoiding them, caring for them, negotiating with them, confronting them, but every problem and every scene had to be about named, important characters.

Setting Armor Astir was about a rebellion against an evil empire, and so this game was to. I have mixed feelings about this choice. It was hard to create a variety of sympathetic NPCs. It did provide good reason for the players and their foes to keep coming into contact.

Risks When you fail a roll while you have three risks, Bite the Dust. Risks clear when narratively appropriate (often at the end of scenes or missions) Your harm mechanic defines so much about how your game feels. Here it was risks (direct from Armor Astir, but also FATE). Risks give the game a cinematic, over-the-top feel. I enjoyed mixing ephemeral and lasting risks to make situations feel more or less dangerous.

Strings When you spend a string on someone, choose 1: ⬧Request that they do something. If they do it, they mark experience. If they don’t do it, keep the string ⬧Ask them a question to which they must respond truthfully ⬧Make it personal. Give them a risk Strings are from Monsterhearts. This was my first time using them. I like my list of things you can do with strings more than the Monsterhearts options: they're much more direct. In both this game and Monsterhearts, which I later ran, I found that players would hoard strings rather than spend them; if I use strings again, I'll put a limit on how many a player can hold. Strings highlight the power imbalance in relationships. They make a game more dramatic, but can undercut the ability to portray healthy relationships.

Heat Each mission starts with heat 0. Whenever heat increases, reinforcements will arrive. When heat reaches 6, overwhelming force is deployed. Everyone without an escape route Bites the Dust. Heat is from the Sprawl. I love that mechanic in the Sprawl, but in this game players always chose not to increase Heat if there was any other option, so it wasn't very interesting. It also wasn't fully thematic.

Mechanical Restriction This game represents mechanically things that would be narrative positioning in other games (strings, risks). This made me feel that the consequences for a missed roll had to have mechanical dimension. Every consequence couldn't just be narrative, it needed to include risks, strings, or heat, or else it would feel odd next to consequences that did. This isn't a bad thing.

The Approaches Although I wasn't fully happy with the stat names (Focused, Caring, Sharp, Blunt), I was happy with what they represented and what they meant for how the game viewed conflict. Focused is for solving problems by avoiding people - effective but limited. Caring is for helping people and opening up to them. In this sort of story, that's powerful but dangerous. It gets you strings, which are worth more than risks. Sharp is for understanding people and using that understanding to negotiate with them. It represents a transactional perspective. Blunt is for fighting, which is the least dangerous, since you can trade in the less valuable currency of risks.

Strike Decisively When you strike against a foe that has three risks, attempting to remove them as a threat, roll +Blunt. On a 10+, choose 1. On a 7-9, choose 2, and they must pick between them. ⬧They are permanently maimed or demoted ⬧They concede, impressed by your performance ⬧They are captured, alive and unharmed ⬧They flee scattered and in disarray The basic moves were mostly simple, which was good as there was a lot of rolling. This was the exception. This move was a lot of fun. Note there is no option to kill a foe, because in this story people can't die.

Playbooks

There were ten playbooks - five that used dresses and five that did not. Some of the playbooks had a move they started with, other got to pick their starting move from their playbook's general list. In general, I wish the playbooks were more distinct. They were thematically varied but mechanically very similar. All the non-dress-wielding playbooks got a group on NPCs instead - spies have contacts, soldiers have their squad, etc. This didn't really work since there was no mechanical benefit to having them.

My GMing style I played this campaign pretty loose, and it was good fun. I feel this was my peak of wanting control over the story as a GM, and there's one incident in particular where in retrospect I bent the rules to get the result I wanted. That was the wrong play. Near the end of this campaign I started to get into deeper NPC building for the first time, thinking about background, beliefs, and ideals.

#pbta #ttrpg dev #ttrpg design #ttrpg #homebrew

[medicus-mortem]

@abyssusinvo​ asked: (Fantasy!AU Dragon!Drake) - The delightful scent of burnt flesh and melted armor washes over the dragons' senses. The giant being of scales and fire relishing in the destruction surrounding it as it laid upon the treasure keep of what was once a bustling kingdom.

He had descended upon the castle with ferocity not known to these lands for a long time as dragon sightings where extremely rare and thus nearly impossible to predict the appearance of nor build the proper defenses against. And oh, did they try! Knights and soldiers alike had scrambled to build a towering wall of steel to block out the flames, but it did nothing more but bake them all with the sheer heat of the wall melting before them. And in the aftermath, he would grasp those that were notable in worth and plaster their melted flesh and armor to his hide as a sort of macabre reward for the dead warriors.

Very pleased with himself, the dragon had settled its massive head to the bricked ground to rest before a scent not of recently vaporized dead could produce. It made the dragon shake its head and snarl vehemently at the familiarity. A primal rage seemed to consume him then at this brief remembrance and with a violent roar hefted itself up and towards the source of the stench.

That could only be the scent of a Lich. And one the dragon could recall from so long ago when it did not have control over the human body it now completely possessed mind and soul. The only remnant there ever was of the human knight was of a set of bronze armor greatly damaged in its chest piece and deeply embedded within the scales of the dragons' scales, so different in its abnormally nonmelted appearance as opposed to the corpses clinging to his scales.

"You." The dragon rumbled deep within its chest at the Lich when it came into view.

"I remember you."

Unprompted

   The Lich can smell the death on the air. It mixes in with the scents of smoke, embers and blood. How his bones rattle in excitement, the undead monstrosity drawn to such unrestrained slaughter. How could he resist that delicious aroma when his entire existence subsists on the agonising end of his own victims? He most certainly cannot. Thus, he makes no attempt to hide himself, dropping his fleshy disguise the moment he turns his path towards that calling despair.

   His true glory on display as his pure magical power allows him to float through the air, and soon the Lich descends upon the city. Hollow eye sockets sweeps the destruction, searching for any lingering life force he may devour. He’s more a carrion creature in this moment than a predator. The conflagration persists in places but has died down in others and he sees a likely place to set himself down. A spot right next to the creature the Lich knows caused this destruction.

   Gaze locks onto the great crimson beast, the thing lounging about as if this devastation is his kingdom. Perhaps it is now. After all, there is little left to oppose the great dragon. It turns it’s head to him, snarling recognition and perhaps hatred. The Lich draws closer and his perpetual skeletal grin seems to widen.

   “Do you now?” The undead creature asks, head tilting as he stares at the dragon. For a moment there is no recognition in his ancient mind, but soon enough the swirls of magic moving through and about the creature begin to tell a story, one he was perhaps a witness too.

   With an easy grace the Lich sets down in the courtyard before the dragon and it’s treasure. Bony toes touch tiles and he knows flesh would be burning if he had any. His robes flutter about him, slithering with a life of their own as he looks up at the dragon. A bejeweled bony fingers rises to point at the breastplate embedded in the dragon’s scales.

   “The cursed dragon knight. Yes, I do recall that encounter,” he says, magically charged voice echoing to be heard. His burning eyes seem to flash, an interest entering what little expression he can produce. “It has been too long since I last witnessed a curse such as this reach completion. How fascinating.”

#abyssusinvo #abyssusinvo || X Drake #Boring Question // Answered Ask #As Planned // IC #phylactery heart // lich verse

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Rook Hunt Halloween Personal Story: Part 2

"Strong shadows serve to strengthen the light"

(Part 1) Part 2 (Part 3)

[The Other Dimension – Sparkling Chamber]

Rook: Oya, you're…

Idia: Well, I guess since I'm cosplaying a ghost, it's not terrible that I've been mistaken as one…

Rook: Roi de Ta Chambre!!

Idia: Y-you scared me… Even though tonight I've embodied the Pumpkin Knight…

Idia: And I decided that I would not shy away from the party peeps, jocks, and others that I'm incompatible with…

Idia: I was not prepared for your sudden appearance, Rook-shi.

Rook: My apologies. It seems that I have surprised you, Idia-kun.

Rook: I have seen the Ignihyde dorm costume many times back at school…

Rook: But seeing you here amongst the other ghosts wearing such classical fashion, I mistook you for the real thing.

Rook: There are many ghosts attending this Halloween party who are from 200～500 years past.

Rook: Thanks to our outfits, the more we mingle with the ghosts…

Rook: The more it feels as though we are characters in a musical.

Rook: And who should suddenly appear to me as I thought that but a knight in black armor. You, Idia-kun.

Idia: Eh? …Ah! …Fu…Fuhee!

Idia: What～ This? Did the armor that I'm wearing look like the real thing?

Idia: It's actually a hand-made costume, you know.

Idia: The base is a lightweight urethane material, but I devised an ingenious addition to the base paint.

Idia: By spraying many thin layers of lacquer paint over it, the texture of the material looks more and more like steel!

Rook: Oh, it was hand-made! Now you've also surprised me; I did not think you were an armor enthusiast.

Idia: Rather than being an armor enthusiast, it's more like I like the entertainers and creators…

Idia: It's more like I respect both those areas and I want to honor or show appreciation for them…

Rook: I see. How fascinating.

Idia: "Pumpkin Hollow" latched onto the hearts of every B-grade horror movie fan and never let go.

Idia: This is a cosplay that faithfully recreates that iconic character, Pumpkin Knight.

Rook: "Pumpkin Hollow"? I believe myself to be knowledgeable in all historical work that features knights in armor, but that is the first I've heard of this one.

Idia: Eh! Are you saying you've never heard of it!?

Idia: The Pumpkin Knight was a pumpkin that comes alive

Idia: In fact, it was originally supposed to be used as a Halloween decoration, but it became a failed Jack O'Lantern

Rook: Merci, Roi de Ta Chambre. Thank you for the exposition. I have learned much.

Rook: This armor seems to be based on the Gothic-style armor. Is the time period of the movie set about 500 years ago?

Idia: Time period? I-I don't think they mentioned that at all. Besides, it's a fantasy movie.

Rook: Your gorget and rerebrace are engraved with a skull motif. Your belt buckle and the hem of your under armor…

Rook: As well as your solleret all have the mark of the Pumpkin Knight. It really is quite elaborate.

Rook: That's not all…

Rook: Even your pauldron… All your parts are designed to look like pumpkins!

Rook: And on top of all of that, you've added damage marks to the entire armor!

Rook: The scars left from countless swords speak volumes of the harsh battlefields he must have encountered.

Rook: A distinctive costume design that encompasses both reality and originality. Beauté! 100 points!!

Idia: Uh… Sorry for disturbing you while you're all excited in your own little world.

Idia: A-all I did was look at the references for "Pumpkin Hollow" and reproduce it exactly…

Rook: Then let me say "beauté" to you for showing your love of the cast and movie itself, not with words, but with your actions!

Idia: S-sure…

Idia: You're very knowledgeable with historical outfits, Rook-shi. I'm completely out of my depths, so if you'll excuse m―

???: Armor, I see… The two of you seem to be discussing something interesting.

Idia: ?

Rook: Oya, you are―

Idia: MALLEUS-SHI!?

Rook: ROI DU DRAGON!

(Part 1) Part 2 (Part 3)

#twisted wonderland #twst #rook hunt #idia shroud #malleus draconia #twst rook #twst idia #twst malleus #twst translation #twst halloween event #endless halloween night

[ohheyitsokay]

nicknames

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x reader

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings: none to my knowledge, just a silly thought I strung out

Summary: the things we call each other are an intimate look into how we regard them

>>

“Why do you call him Mandalorian?” Cara was never subtle with you. You had been friends with her for years, and you should’ve known she would notice something after only a few days of your traveling with the three of them.

Shrugging, you looked at her. “I never told you?” You’d completed a lot of tasks together, as a very well balanced pair. And honestly you’d become close quickly, so it surprised you that she didn’t know you inside and out yet.

“I just feel like nicknames are too affectionate. On my home planet they're…” you searched for the word, not wanting to offend her, “intimate? Soft, maybe?”

Cara's dark eyebrows drew together.

“Mando… it sounds like a word some use for ‘dumpling',” you laughed, and her confusion broke - she grinned at you. “Mandu,” you offered, trying to explain. The words were similar under your tongue, thus the core of your problem.

“I cannot walk around professionally and call a warrior I just met dumpling.” And she nodded, laughing along with you.

It was too ridiculous, too cute, and far too intimate. Even without the double meaning, you didn’t want to be overly familiar with the Mandalorian. After all, you would only be traveling with him a few more days, and you’d hardly talked.

The mission went smoothly, however, and you were surprised to find that they offered for you to continue to team up with them. Another set of skills was welcome, and another pair of eyes on the little child was even more so. Your resolve stuck, though. It just didn’t fit, to call him anything other than the title he had given you. And you liked him a bit too much to open that door for yourself.

-

Din Djarin knew there was something special about you from the very beginning. He wasn’t sure if he liked it, at first, but certainly he had been very aware.

You were interesting, for someone in his field. Not at all the large, muscular fighter that he was used to seeing. But also not a seedy assassin. He’d learned quickly that your skill set came primarily in observation. You had no need to manhandle or shove your way to your bounty, instead choosing to melt into the background and watch until you’d identified the perfect strategy.

It made the first week of the job so much easier, he was content with the idea that you would travel and work with them. But then:

“How did you even know that corridor was there?” Cara was clearly excited by your field work, too. She was hardly paying attention as she walked through his ship into the cockpit.

Shoulders rising slightly, you followed her. “Micro-glitch in the holo-projection shield. I’m sure the Mandalorian's helmet identified it too.” You looked at him.

You looked right at him.

Effortlessly, your eyes found his through the visor. You were smiling a little bit, unaware of his state of shock.

Din had been wearing this helmet long enough to be used to never truly making eye contact with people. Sometimes a person got it right at random, but he could feel the difference – they couldn’t tell. But here you were, your gaze in his casually, like there wasn’t a solid layer between you.

He shrugged, reminding himself to get it together. As you turned back to Cara, he felt like he could breathe again.

Din had heard stories, children’s tales, of catching your soulmate’s eyes across the cantina - or maybe a palace room?, and being drawn together by fate. They were ridiculous, of course, but the very idea that you could bring up the memory was more than jarring.

Still, surely this was a one time thing, and he could forget about it.

For the first few weeks, it seemed like he was right. You rarely directed your gaze in his direction, anyway, being very professional and what he could only assume was shy.

You were more than happy to help with the child sometimes, and you talked freely to Cara, but in his presence you were polite and quiet. All your tasks were completed with efficiency and you would often complete other’s just because of who you were as a person. Normally, this was ideal for him - useless chatter had never been something he was good at. He was more than occupied making sure something was not breaking or mysteriously floating away, or they weren’t in danger. When you offered him silence, he should have been content to do the same, and watch the stars race by.

But… well, Din wasn’t sure he liked that either. Certainly it was strange to feel seen by you, but it felt worse that he could be making you uncomfortable, particularly as his comrade. And the more and more your eyes met his, the more it became exciting, and if maybe he wanted you to be even more than that.

So how could he get more if you hardly ever talked to him? Din shook himself, feeling silly for having zoned out in these thoughts. After all, he didn’t really talk to you, either.

-

After two months traveling with this strange little group, you were more than settled.

It took no time at all: you had hung up a spare scrap of fabric and made a little room for yourself, and the team functioned like a well oiled machine.

You got up before anyone else, this particular day, and were happy to enjoy the quiet sounds of the Crest as you checked everything needed for the day.

“Good morning, Mandalorian,” you heard the weight of his footsteps through the quiet halls. You didn’t even need to turn around, focused on correcting the flight pattern of the ship.

He had not questioned the use of the full title, had hardly questioned you at all. Outside missions, you two had only had a couple of actual conversations which seemed at first to be just fine. But there was a small nagging in the corner of your mind. His armor and helmet made reading his behavior hard, but you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off between you two. His body language was … almost gentle with you, not the same as he was with the little one, but as if he was afraid you’d startle if he wasn’t.

Unbeknownst to you, he had grown to like the way you said Mandalorian. It rolled off your tongue, as if it really was his name, as if you liked to say it. Din had been increasingly nervous about making you feel uncomfortable, awkward in his efforts to learn about you enough to make you stay. The prospect of sharing pieces of himself with you had become an indulgent fantasy, if only he could figure out how to talk to you.

“Good morning,” you could hear the sleep at the edges of his voice, and the softness you’d learned to recognize.

You hummed for a moment, thinking, before adding, “Good morning too you, too, little one.”  You were rewarded with a sleepy little noise, and you smiled as you finished your task before turning towards them both. Thank goodness the child was awake, and you hadn’t caused any problems. His wide eyes were staring at you from above his father's armored forearm, and you smiled. It was these moments you were reminded of mandu – he was being soft.

You looked up to the Mandalorian, half wanting to tell him, but he stiffened: his shoulders rising and back straightening. Biting your lip, you averted your gaze.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” you turned back towards the stars, letting him think in silence for a moment.

“No,” he said, and you both relaxed. Whatever it was between you was gone for now, and you sat together, listening to the child wake up fully and begin to babble. It occurred to you that maybe he relished these moments, the times in which there were no expectations weighing on his shoulders. You wanted to give him more of those, if possible, to thank him for accepting you into his fold. Besides that, you spent much of your work life manipulating people, and you certainly wanted to establish that you weren’t like that here.

“How did you do that?” his voice, clearer now, interrupted your thoughts.

“Do what?” the Mandalorian rarely initiated conversation with you and it caught you off guard.

“How do you know what… is happening? What is going to happen?” he tone was genuinely curious, and you had to think before you responded. Of course, he knew you mostly just took the time to be more observant, instead of throwing yourself in head first. That’s not what he was asking.

“People are the same wherever you go. The more you watch and the closer you listen, the easier they are to predict,” you said, trying to be both brief and candid. “I was almost no one where I come from. One day, I decided instead of hating that, to use it.”

A small, deep, thoughtful hum came from the helmet beside you.

Silence settled over you for awhile before he quietly begin to talk.

Din told you of his people, his creed, and for the very first time you felt as though you were actually getting to know him. It was nice, not being professional.

“Do you ever want to be seen?” the conclusion of his talking was another surprise for you. Of course, this man who had sworn not to have his face shown would wonder at your apparent comfort with it.

The question felt as if it was seeping into your mind as you pondered it. It occured to you that this conversation had made you ache to be seen by him.

“I think everyone wants that, in their own way,” you said, and as you finally turned towards him, he held your gaze and nodded.

-

For someone so smart, it was infuriating how you seemed to completely miss the way he was around you.

Din Djarin, a warrior, had finally mustered up the courage to ask you to help him with a bandage on his lower back. The gentle touches and soft brush of your skin against his were foreign, but wonderful.

Unfortunately for him, you had noticed his awkwardness and assumed it was your fault. Ever the problem solver, you’d found a piece of mirror and rigged some wire to hold cleaning pads. It effectively made it easy for him to patch himself up on his own – and ruined the chance for him to steal your touch.

His previous fear had been wrong – you were not soulmates across the room, instead comrades sharing the same space. You were not exactly story royalty, but in spite of that, he was still falling hopelessly for you.

The way you talked to people – who weren’t bounties – with care and kindness. How good you were at your job, and how nice you made their shared space. How you laughed and rolled with the punches that came with this lifestyle. Din had never met anyone quite like you, and beyond all reason, he wanted to know everything about you, share all of himself with you. But you were so clever and polite it made him want to bang his head against a wall.

He couldn’t stop trying though, to get closer to you. Previously, you and Cara had left him and the child occasionally for a personal missions, and it left his feeling strange the entire three days. When you came back his heart had felt light and he wanted desperately to hold onto that feeling.

It wasn’t the same, when Cara went out for the afternoon a day or two after the patch up incident. In fact, he quite enjoyed the jolt of excitement that came with a whole few hours of potential.

Din couldn’t finish his tasks fast enough, even putting the child down for an early nap before nervously setting out to find you.

As expected, you were settled in the common area, reading through articles on your upcoming bounty. He sat next to you, willing himself not to betray his heart with his behavior and scare you away.

He said your name, his blood pumping even before you met his eyes.

“Yes, Mandalorian?” he had no idea why he was so nervous. He’d rehearsed this moment in his mind, it had been aching to be brought to life.

“You… you can call me Din… Djarin.”

It was not exactly as planned.

You’re eyes, ever in his, were wide.

“Din Djarin,” you said it reverently, before saying, “I promise I will keep it safe.”

He held back a small groan. There you went again, being so considerate he was afraid you’d never actually use it.

The frustration overwhelmed him, filling him with boldness and he pressed into your space insistently.

“No,” he said, “Well, do, but use it, please. I cannot stand you calling me Mandalorian like nothing has changed since we first met. I trust you, use it.”

You were adorable, the fear of his confession was damped by how intoxicating it was to be close to you. His hands found you, turning your body in your seat so you were facing him, and settling on the tops of your shoulders. He gently tugged you into him, encouraged that you didn’t pull away, but relaxed into his touch.

“I don’t want to slip,” you said, your voice barely audible.

The forehead of his helmet was so close to yours, you could feel your breath bouncing off of the mask.

“Please,” he said, and it smashed through all the walls you had created.

“Din Djarin,” you said again, tasting it on your tongue. You felt metal above your eyebrows and realized your eyes had closed, savoring the intimacy of the moment. You didn’t open them, allowing your heart to beat at lightspeed, and the tingles radiating from his gloved hands flow through you.

He was being soft with you.

“What if we compromised?” you could hear the smile in your own voice, and he gave a rumbling hum. You wondered if he was as absorbed in this moment as you were, unable to think straight.

“Mandu,” you murmured.

He was silent for awhile, the only indication he heard you being his palms, which slid to where your shoulders curved into your neck.

You could almost hear him thinking.

“I don’t understand,” he finally said, nearly inaudible. Your hands had reached out for him, one wrapping around the armor on his forearm, the other in the soft fabric on the side of his neck. He was distracted, bliss clouding his brain.

“Dumpling,” you said, and if it were anyone else, he would have thrown you across the room. “When you are being my strong and capable leader, you will be Mandalorian,” you continued, unaware that your words and actions were making his whole body fill with warmth and pride. “When you are being yourself, at home with us, I will call you Mandu – it sounds enough like Mando that no one will know it’s because you are truly soft.” He found himself smiling, despite his embarrassment. For you, he was soft. “And I will call you Din when it is just us, and I can be with you as you are now.”

There was no question that these moments would come again. He had made you give in to reading him completely, without any personal doubts.

“Okay, cyar’ika.”

<<

Taglist: @fangirl-316 @scribbledghost

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #maybe i don't know people #THIS is the one i teased about #its a mess but i like it

[dmcvergillament]

Bedtime Stories [Part 1]

Fem!Reader x Vergil

Summary: Unable to sleep, young Nero requests a bedtime story. You happily oblige and weave a tale that Vergil recognizes. Nero falls asleep to the legend of the dancer and the dragon and Vergil remembers how he fell in love with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tucking little Nero in for the night, Y/N kisses his forehead. "Sweet dreams, my little angel."

Vergil picks up toys off the floor.

Nero catches Y/N's hand to stop them from leaving. "I...can't sleep without a story."

Vergil looks up from studying a blue bird plush he found. It looked oddly familiar...

Y/N smiles and sits back down on the bed to brush aside Nero's bangs. "Alright. What story shall I tell?"

Nero snuggles up to his chin in his comforter, eyes shimmering with curiosity. He waits for his mother to begin.

"Ah! I know: how about the legend of the dancer and the dragon?" suggests Y/N.

Vergil pauses as he sets the bird down alongside a black cat on a shelf. His interest is also piqued. What fantasy is Y/N spinning now?

"In a land far, far away in a time long, long ago..." begins Y/N, twirling her hands.

'There they go again with that dramatic voice,' thinks Vergil. Still, he cannot deny how his lover never fails to spark wonder in their son's eyes. Only a few words in and she has Nero's full attention.

"...there was a dancer who could mesmerize entire palaces with every step. When they moved it was like watching petals on the breeze. The soft colors of their clothes twirling around their long legs. Stories spread across many kingdoms of not only their unrivaled skill but also that of their bewitching beauty. All that bore witness to their dance were charmed. It was like a magic spell only they could use," continues Y/N.

"Were they as pretty as you, Mama?" mews Nero, tilting his head in that way that always melted Y/N's heart.

Y/N reaches over to stroke their son's ivory hair, before opening her mouth to say---

"What a foolish question." Gliding over to the bed, Vergil sits opposite of Y/N. His eyes flicker to Y/N before he continues, "Do not compare a rose to a field of dandelions."

Nero seems satisfied with this answer.

Y/N gestures for Vergil to not interrupt before she adds, "So one day the dancer gets invited to the royal palace to perform. Afterwards, the King becomes so enthralled, he begs them to stay and marry one of his sons. The dancer politely refuses and leaves. This was not the answer the King had hoped for and so he hired a famous knight to find her and bring her back to the palace."

Rubbing his chin, Vergil wonders, 'Why does this sound oddly...familiar?'

"This knight always wore brilliant, scarlet armor, so the people called him the 'Crimson Knight'. Legends spoke of how he could slay any monster and of the sword he carried upon his back. It was a grand sword said to be enchanted with an ancient magic that allowed it to cut through even dragon hide," explained Y/N, waving her hands like she was trying to make the sword appear.

"He was a dragon slayer?" asks Nero curiously.

"No matter how tall or dangerous the monster may be, he was always victorious. While many claimed to have been witness to such a feat, no one knew for certain if he had slain a dragon. After all, dragons were the most powerful of foes. They were cunning, proud, and equipped with immense magic," answered Y/N.

"Could he beat a dragon?" questions Nero.

"He most certainly believed he could. After all, he was the Crimson Knight: the warrior of all the human kingdoms. Whenever a monster appeared, he was called in to defeat it," replied Y/N with a nod.

"Sounds like someone I know," grumbles Vergil.

"Shhhh."

"But here he was faced with a strange request: to hunt not a beast but a woman. A woman armed with only an aptitude for dancing. This was not a job for the Crimson Knight. The King---afraid he'd decline and she'd slip away---lied. He told the knight that the dancer was harboring a curse set upon her by a demon. That if she was not found and brought back to the palace to be purified, she would die. Now this resonated with the Crimson Knight. How could he let such a beauty wither and wilt from such misfortune? So he set off to find her," continued Y/N.

"How could he lie? She's not really cursed, is she?" asks Nero with a frown.

Vergil interrupts, "People lie because..." He clears his throat. "Sometimes they lie to get what they want."

"She's not really going to die, right?" whispers Nero.

Vergil glances at Y/N. "No, she won't."

Y/N nudges him with an elbow. "Shhh, no spoilers."

"So without even knowing she was being followed, the dancer hopped from town to town to perform. Rarely did she stay for more than a few days in the same area. Her heart was set on adventure and she enjoyed the journey even if it was tedious without a horse or carriage. She felt as free as the birds in the sky. With her spirits soaring, she set out for the neighboring city. However, along the well-trodden path, a man appeared. Whipping his cart into a frenzy, he was approaching fast. Spotting her, he jerked on the reins and nearly fell off the bench. 'Young lady! Young lady!' he gasped. 'Turn back now! Only death and hellfire awaits at the end of this road!' Stunned, the dancer asked him to explain. 'A dragon has appeared! He has built his den inside the ruins of the castle and he strikes down all who disturb him! The people are terrified! Protect yourself and run while you still can!' Then with a crack of the reins, his cart was disappearing down the road in a cloud of dust. The dancer stood there flabbergasted. How can there be a dragon of all things? Were they not creatures of myth? Not believing in the danger, she continued onwards despite the warning."

"No! Don't go! You'll get eaten!" gasps Nero, burrowing deeper into his comforter to hide.

Vergil snorts. "Depends on what you mean by 'eat' her."

Y/N shoots him a look. Luckily, she seems to be the only one to catch it. Nero is oblivious as he is too busy trying to blend in with his pillows.

"Anyway..."

"Our heroine reached the city and was hit by a startling revelation: it was quiet. Walking through the marketplace, she found stands of fruit abandoned and carts of goods unprotected. Where was all the hustle and bustle? Where were all the people? Further up the road, shutters rattled and there were hints of movement. The dancer wondered if she'd even be able to perform here if there was no one to be the audience. Then an idea stuck her: what if she could coax the people out with her talents? If not dancing, then maybe a lute or harp would soothe their spirits and rekindle the city's vigor. So she sought out the very reason she had come to this territory specifically: the grand theatre. There all kindred souls of music and art showcased their passions. She had hoped to connect with other performers here who were as dedicated to their craft as she was. Spotting the gold rooftop shimmering in the evening sun, she scurried towards it with a renewed excitement. Throwing the doors open, she gleefully announced her arrival."

"Only to be met with silence."

"How can a place of boisterous joy be silent? On hooks and shelves, all the instruments sat idle. Not a single string was singing. Even the tables were vacant with not even a crumb set out for the mice. 'What is going on?' she wondered. Still, she was even more determined now. Picking up a lute, she played a few notes. Testing its voice, she listened to the hearty tones and wondered how anyone could have put it down. Jumping into an energetic melody, she smiled to herself. This hall echoed the sound perfectly: each note complimented each other rather than drown in a sea of cacophony. Erasing the silence eased the chill that had settled in her chest. That is, until someone snatched the lute from her hands. 'Are you mad?!' hissed a man, 'You'll draw the beast right to us!' Confused, she asked him to explain. 'Music attracts him. If you keep playing, he'll come back!' She asked him if he was speaking of the dragon she heard about. 'Yes. He has settled into the castle on the hill. Both the castle and its lord perished many years ago. The city has never been quite the same since. Now this monster has taken over and the peace in our hearts have been shattered.' The man's words sowed worry in her heart. Yet, something struck her funny: if this dragon was so vicious, then why did it only attack, when he heard music? Did music have some kind of power over him?"

"Did the dragon not like music? Why?" Nero peeked around the edges of his blanket.

Y/N fixed her son's hair behind his ear. He was already nurturing the start of a bird's nest.

"The music made him remember..." Vergil's eyes were glossed over. Y/N could tell he was somewhere else. "Remembering was...painful for him."

Not expecting a co-narrator, Y/N waited to see if he would continue.

"See, the dragon was cursed: his memories stolen from him. Hearing a melody sometimes brought those memories back in bright flashes. Remembering what he had lost pained him more than the sharpest blade. Rather than endure his past, he silenced the melody any way he could. Even if it was...cruel," explained Vergil, his voice dry.

Was that a twinge of guilt Y/N could hear?

[Continued in Part 2...W.I.P.]

#Reader x Vergil #DMC #Devil May Cry #Nero #Vergil #Dante #Nero's mother #bedtime stories #knights #dragons

[bluejayblueskies]

hello! i hope it's okay to ask, i was wondering if you have any good merfolk/selkie tma au fic recs? i've been looking for them on ao3 but apparently i'm not very good at filtering because i can't really find anything aside from the 3 or 4 i've read already. feel free to ignore this if you don't have any or just don't feel like answering! thank you either way<3 (also i just wanted to say i love your tma fantasy week fics, i read most of them at 3am and they made me so ridiculously happy)

 thank you so much! 💛💛💛 i’d be happy to give some recommendations!

i’m not sure what you’ve already read, so i’ll just include everything!

(list begins below the cut)

The Sea Calls Me Home | jonmartin, rated T | Ao3: mothjons | tumblr: @mothjons

When Martin Blackwood takes a job working at Peter Lukas's estate, in the highlands of Scotland, he meets an odd man down by the shore, who looks at him like no one ever has. This man proves to be another secret Martin Blackwood must keep, for more reasons than one.

To be so sure of a love the world denies is a heavy burden to bear. But bearing it was, and will always be, a choice. And it's one that Martin has chosen.

Mer!Jon, Historical AU! One of my favorite TMA fics. Heavy on the angst but has a happy ending, and the writing is beautiful!

What Belongs to the Sea | jonelias, lonely eyes, jonmartin, rated M | Ao3: TwoDrunkenCelestials, WhyNotFly | tumblr: @twodrunkencelestials, @apatheticbutterflies

“My grandmother taught me about selkies,” said the tattooed man.  “Said it’s good luck for them to grace your ship.  To treat ‘em right, and they’ll guide you safe.”

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to believe.

Selkie!Jon, angst with happy ending. Has darker themes, so be sure to heed content warnings! The endgame ship is jonmartin.

Breathe in the Salt | jonmartin, rated T | Ao3: SqueeneyTodd

Martin Blackwood works in a lighthouse that echoes too much against a sea he doesn't care for.

The lighthouse isn't meant to have people in it.

Selkie AU focsed around mystery! Martin’s mother is a selkie and he works at a lighthouse that has some very strange happenings. Jon, Tim, and Sasha come to investigate.

as the clouds roll by | jongeorgie, jonmartin, rated T | Ao3: PitViperOfDoom | tumblr: @pitviperofdoom

If Jon had a penny for every time someone stole his coat and told him it was for his own good, he would have two pennies. It wasn't a lot, but it still happened twice.

Selkie!Jon, angst and hurt/comfort. Featuring terrible person Jurgen Leitner and Kitsune!Georgie. This is the prequel to and i won’t let you choke which is also excellent!

kith, kin and tread softly | jonmartin, timsasha, rated G | Ao3: bibliocratic | tumblr: @bibliocratic

Jon is 100%, bonafide human being before Beholding gets its hands on him.

This is not entirely true for the other members of his team.

and

Their existence narrows into endurance, survival. Knowing how hard every day is going to be and surviving it anyway, hand in unlovable hand.

Or: Despite everything, the OG Archive crew live through season 4.

Fantasy AU where Tim is a phoenix, Sasha is a mermaid, and Martin is a selkie. Featuring hurt/comfort, found family, and averted apocalypse

A Box of Sea-Scented Memories | jonmartin, rated G | Ao3: ArtificialDaydreams | tumblr: @artificialdaydreamer

When Martin was a child he moved to a small town by the coast and his best friend just also happened to be a seal who loved tuna fish sandwiches, headpats, and bringing him gifts. The shoebox of treasures was practically all he took with him when he left a year later.

Jonathan Sims' childhood friend has just returned after almost twenty years spent apart. Sadly Martin doesn't recognize him, and it's not like Jon can tell him about being a selkie. It's a good thing Martin has a lot of experience talking with seals, and Jon's an excellent listener.

Selkie!Jon, childhood friends AU. Very very cute, and seeing this plot bunny come to fruition has been lovely!

It Will Set You Free | jonmartin, rated G | Ao3: cinnamoniic | tumblr: @cinnamoniic

He’s heard the stories. He knows his mother wouldn’t take another step on land if she could help it, not anymore. It took a long time for him to feel comfortable walking alone on the beach without anticipating torches and pitchforks at his first footfall, skin-thieves and scoundrels looking to steal him away.

Martin’s supposed to avoid humans, but he’s never been great at resisting temptation. In the aftermath of a dreadful storm, he finds himself and his sealskin coat trapped in the home of his mysterious human crush, Jon.

Selkie!Martin, hurt/comfort. My favorite part of this fic is Martin not really understanding human things!

and, just to include some of mine:

to take the road less traveled by | polyarchives, rated G

Once upon a time, in a land divided by water and mountains and the hands of men into fourteen kingdoms, there was a prince. His name was Prince Timothy of the House of Stoker, ruling over the land of the fae, and though he was neither fae nor human, he would do as a prince should, even if his heart lay beyond, in the kingdom of ever-watching eyes.  So when his father commanded him to venture beyond the land of the fae and into the spiraling forests of the Twisting Deceit, wherein lay a tower so high it was thought to touch the stars, and rescue a trapped princess from that tower, Prince Timothy donned the lightest of leather armors, plucked his bow from the armory, and left his kingdom behind in the glow of the rising sun.

Of Prince Timothy, his lovers, and a princess trapped in a tower.

Fantasy AU with Selkie!Martin (and others). A fairytale-style fic with multiple character perspectives coming together over the span of the fic.

delphinus | jonpeter, rated T

Three and a half weeks ago, Peter had packed enough supplies for four months, set sail from port, and had breathed in the salt of the sea with a relief that was as palpable upon his tongue as the taste of brine. He would cast a net over the side of his ship and inspect its contents for anything that might spark his interest (or, on occasion, make a sum of money). More often, though, he simply released the mass of wriggling fish back into the sea and settled for watching the sun dip below the horizon, with only the gentle rocking of the boat to keep him company.

Two and a half weeks ago, Peter had pulled the net over the side of his fishing boat, straining at the weight of it, and found a pair of sharp brown eyes staring back at him.

Mer!Jon, no fear entities AU. In which Peter is not as terrible as he is in canon and there is an approximation of fluff.

#tma #the magnus archives #fic rec list #anon #ask #i wasn't sure what ships you liked so i just included everything #feel free to ignore some if they make you uncomfortable!

[justthehiddleswrites]

Dark Delights | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary:  Tom has been having late night shooting the new Loki series. When he comes home late at night, he makes a startling discovery about what you dream about at night.

Warnings: Smut, Roleplay, Talking in your Sleep, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Teasing, Light Dom/sub, Vaginal Fingering

-

Tom hated these late night shootings. He recognized you hated them just as much, even if you never said a word. He spied the disappointment in your eyes every time he told you not to wait up. Tom promised himself to make it up to you the first night off he got.

Tom entered the dark apartment and didn’t bother to turn on the lights. At this hour, you would be asleep and he feared any light would disturb you. He moved through the sparsely furnished place, dropping his belongings on the kitchen counter. Bobby scampering up at the sound and Tom smiled as he leaned down to scratch behind Bobby’s ears.

“Keeping watch over the lady of the house?” Tom asked as Bobby leaned into the pets. Bobby barked before heading back to his bed in the corner. “Good boy.”

He pushed open the bedroom door and squinted to find the outline of your body under the sheets. His stomach flipped at the sight of you sleeping peacefully as his eyes adjusted to the dark. You struggled to sleep under the best circumstances and Tom made every accommodation he could, including hanging blackout curtains in the room.

As he pulled off his sweater, you stirred, a slight whimper escaping your lips.

“Darling, are you awake?” Tom questioned into the dark void.

You answered with another whimper. Tom slid off his jeans, laying him across the back of a chair in the corner. He slipped off his boxers before slipping between the sheets. You rolled from your side to your back as Tom moved towards you.

“Darling…” Tom asked again as he caressed your arm with the back of his fingers.

You moaned at his touch and Tom’s eyes widened in realization as his lips curved into a smile.

“What are we dreaming about tonight, love?” Tom cooed into your ear as his fingers teased at the straps of your camisole.

“Hmm… Loki.” you breathed as if in response.

Tom leaned back in surprise. He shook his head as he couldn’t be sure he heard you right. Due to the late hour, he didn’t trust his hearing. Tom tested his theory.

As Tom pressed against your side, he draped one hand down your leg, teasing your inner thigh, while his other one ran across the curve of your breast.

“In the end, you crave subjugation.” Tom growled into your ear, using the timbre he reserved only for the screen.

You arched your back, your ass pushed against Tom’s crotch. You licked your lips as you groaned.

“Yes, Loki!” Your breath hitched, and you groaned as you turned onto your side, your breath returning to an even and heavy tempo.

Tom chuckled as he returned to his side of the bed. “Interesting.”

-

You woke the next morning to find Tom’s side of the bed cold. You envied his ability to wake early and go for a run. You stood and padded off to the kitchen, hoping to find Tom there.

“Morning, love.” Tom greeted you as he turned from the fridge. “Coffee?”

“Hmm.” you nodded. Tom retrieved a mug from the cupboard and pour your coffee, adding sweetener and creamer.

You inhaled the aroma before taking your first sip, savoring that taste. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I am making some eggs if you want some.”

“Please.”

Tom smiled as he turned his attention to the stove.

“So how late did you get in last night? I didn’t hear you.”

“After midnight. I didn’t want to wake you. Did you sleep well?” Tom prodded.

“Hmmm. yes. Thank you for hanging those curtains.”

“My pleasure.” Tom plated the eggs and joined you at the table. “I’ve been wondering how do you like the black hair?” Tom ran his fingers through his hair.

“It’s nice but I prefer you ginger.” You took a big bite of eggs.

“You are too kind, darling. Have you ever considered about using it to our advantage in the bedroom? I could bring home a costume from the set or something?” Tom raised his eyebrows, staring at you.

You dropped your fork. “No, no, no!” you stammered. “I don’t think I would like that.” you lied as you reached for Tom’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “You are plenty of an adventure in that department.”

Tom chuckled as his head dropped. “Thanks, darling. If you ever change your mind…” He gave you a knowing glance.

“You will be the first to know.”

Tom squeezed your hand back and rose to clear the plates. He headed to pick up his things.

“Will you be late again?”

“I’m afraid so.” He leaned down and pecked your lips. “Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t. Love you. Kick some ass.” You playfully swatted at Tom’s backside.

“Of course.”

-

Tom again returned late in the evening to a darkened apartment. He repeated the routine from the previous night before. As he entered the room, he glanced at you. Your knees were pulled up, tenting the sheets. Again, Tom noticed the telltale moan escape your lips.

Tom slipped next to you. He didn’t bother asking if you were awake. He decided instead to have a bit of fun.

“Oh dear, look at the state you are in.” he purred into your ear.

His fingers traced along your thigh before he grazed along your slit through your panties, already soaking with your arousal. You squirmed under his touch. You gasped.

“Would like me to help you out?” Tom continued to tease you.

“Please, Loki.” you begged.

Tom laughed. “I would much prefer to see you bring yourself to completion. Play with yourself, dove.” Tom commanded.

You groaned at the authoritative tone. Tom swore you gushed just at his voice as Loki. Your hand made its way down the front of your panties.

“Yes!” you hissed as you played with your clit. Your orgasm already near.

The sight of you pleasuring yourself caused Tom to fist his hardened cock, chasing his own release.

“That’s it, darling. You delight my senses.” Tom teased, his breath heavy as his own orgasm approached.

His words spurred you on and you slipped a finger inside of you. You curled it inside you, hitting that spot making your knees quiver.

“I’m close.” you whispered.

“As am I. Cum for me, dove.” Tom’s head fell against the pillows.

Your orgasm hit you hard, and your toes curled. “YES!”

“Fuck!” Tom hissed as he orgasmed himself.

Your body relaxed against the mattress. Tom kissed your cheek before getting up to clean himself up in the bathroom.

“How delightful.” Tom’s mind raced with possibilities for tomorrow night.

-

You slept in the next morning, exhausted. You had a very vivid dream last night involving Loki. You would never admit to Tom about your dark fantasies regarding Loki. You rolled over to find a note on Tom’s pillow.

Darling,

I am sorry I’m not there when you wake up. I am also sorry I won’t be able to make our lunch date today. Last-minute change to the call sheet. But I made you an appointment at your favorite spa to help soften the blow. Another late night. Don’t wait up.

Love, Tom

P.S. After tonight, I am yours all weekend.

You allowed yourself to be sad at the lost lunch date for a moment or two before moving onto the excitement of a day of pampering. You skipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Four Hours Later

“She made it there, okay?” Tom asked the person on the other line.

“Fantastic. And how long will she be there?” Tom nodded. “Two hours? That is perfect. Will you ring me when she leaves? Thank you so much.”

Tom hung up the phone, and then hit a different number. “We have two hours. Meet me at the apartment.”

-

You got back to the apartment well before dinner. All the lights were out, which you swore you had left a few on. You dropped your purse and shopping bags by the door and headed to the bedroom to change into lounge wear.

“How dare you keep me waiting!” a familiar baritone echoed in the unlit room.

“Tom?” you asked the void. It was impossible to see anything. Those blackout curtains did their job.

“Your precious Tom is not here. He sent…” Tom stepped out of the shadows of the room and into the little light let in from the bathroom and living room. “… me in his place.”

He was dressed in his Loki costume. All leather and metal. His black locks slicked back.

“What on earth are you wearing, Tom?” Your voice cracked as he strutted towards you.

He held his hands out. “This is my regular armor.” He backed you against the wall. “Call me Tom one more time…” His hands hit the wall by your head. “… and I will punish you.”

You opened your mouth to protest but considered otherwise. You tilted your chin. “Then what shall I call you?”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You know all too well what to call me, pet. It is the same name that has fallen from your lips the past two evenings.”

Your eyes widened, and your mouth dropped open. “But I—”

Loki placed a finger upon your lips. “There is no need to explain. I am well aware of the desire I spark in many a Midgardian woman.”

Loki pressed against you to hover his lips over your ear. “And tonight I am here for you. To make your darkest fantasies a reality.”

You gasped as his words sent a shiver down your spine and heat straight to your core.

“All you have to do is say the words and I’m all yours.” He stepped away. You leaned forward, hungry for his warmth.

You bit your lip, choosing your next words carefully. “Take me, Loki.” His lips curled up into a mischevious grin. “My king.” you added with a smirk.

Loki pushed you back against the wall, hitching your leg up. His lips attacked your neck, nipping and sucking with each kiss.

“You will leave marks.” You whined.

He laughed against you, bucking against you in dominance, his erection straining against his pants. “Then everyone will recognize that you are mine.”

You snapped your hips against him. “You are aware I am taken by another.”

“I don’t see a ring claiming you.” Loki pulled your top over your head. His hands slid over your torso. “He must not realize what he has.”

“Oh, I think he does.” you smirked. “He is a gentleman.”

“How boring.” Loki squeezed your breasts, and you arched your back.

“Yes.” you sighed.

“Does that please you?” He reached behind and unhooked your bra. You let it fall to the floor. He pinched your nipples, teasing them to hard pebbles.

“It does.” you breathed, palming him through his leather trousers. Loki growled through his teeth. “Does this please you?”

“Well aren’t you full of mischief?”

“I would rather be full of the God of Mischief.”

“In due time. First, I must…” He tugged your pants down to your ankles, you kicked them away. “… prepare for you a god.”

Loki’s fingers trailed down your body and you shifted your weight to open your legs to his touch. He swiped along your folds.

“Perhaps you don’t need as much preparation as I first imagined. Already so wet for me.” He pushed a finger into you. You gripped his shoulders for support. “And tight.”

He added a second finger, and you bucked against him. Your release coming upon you fast.

“Please…” you begged.

Loki pressed his thumb against your clit. “Cum undone for me.”

You spasmed around his fingers as you saw bright white. You clung to Loki for support as your legs gave way. He pulled his fingers and popped them into his mouth.

“Delicious.”

You groaned.

“Lie down on the bed.”

You did as you were told, settling against the pillows. Loki undid buckles and snaps as he shed layers of leather. He soon stood in front of you, naked. The mattress gave under his weight as he crawled towards you.

“You are a vision.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Well, I am a god.” Loki commented. “Now to make good on my promise.”

He teased your folds with the tip of his cock, collecting some of your juices before pushing into you, filling you completely.

“FUCK! Yes, Loki!”

“You are divine when you moan my name. Although I much prefer you to be awake.” Loki snapped his hips against you.

Loki rutted against you with an animalistic need. You bucked your hips to match his thrusts. His pubic bone grazed against your clit, creating delicious friction.

“Loki, I am close.” you panted. Your nails dug into his back.

“Then cum for me. I want to feel you around me.”

Loki snaked his hand between your bodies to find your clit, drawing tight circles. You screamed as you orgasmed. Your pussy clenched around his cock, causing him to soon follow with his own release, spilling inside you. He stilled inside you, and you twisted underneath him, signaling for him to fall to your side.

“Tom?” you asked tentatively.

His eyes soften, the crinkles appearing around his eyes as he smiled at you. “Yes, darling?”

“How long do you have the costume for?”

“Um… Monday. Why?” his brow furrowed.

“I have a few other ideas in mind.” Your hands swirled across his chest hair.

“What did you have in mind?” His eyes sparkled.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston smut

[bestworstcase]

farran rereads lost lagoon: chapters 16-17

back at it.

re: romance novel: “I saw a patch of red flowers, and I thought they would be striking against Cass’s dark hair. She wasn’t exactly a flower wearer, but maybe she’d let me pin one on her dress? The color would set off her fair skin so perfectly. And she could at least keep some in a vase by her bed. I refused to believe there was a person alive who didn’t feel better with freshly cut flowers in her room.” that’s gay rapunzel

i do admittedly have some ambivalent feelings about this passage. on the one hand it’s - yes, very gay. but also it feels to me like such a clear illustration of the difficulty rapunzel has with empathy and listening to other people when their experiences or expectations or needs diverge from hers; she acknowledges that cass isn’t into flowers, but follows it up with “but maybe i can get her to wear some anyway,” and of course there’s the whole refusing to believe anyone could feel differently about having flowers in their room than she does. and it also has this weird undercurrent of - god, i don’t know how to phrase it in a succinct way.

this specific passage was on my mind when i wrote this bit in moonless air chapter 4: 

Still. She plucks at the stitches of her jack-of-plate, self-conscious.

It’s the nicest thing she owns. Soft green velvet sewn over sturdy layers of canvas and steel. Armor. She’d saved up for more than a year to buy it for herself on the anniversary of her adoption two years ago, and at the time it had been nothing but a frivolous luxury. Stupid, really. She’d never had real reason to wear it in Herzingen, not for anything besides teaching herself how to move with its weight and entertaining ridiculous fantasies—but last night, Moira had intimated that their destination in Vardaros is fancy as well as dangerous. So the jack seemed… appropriate.

Sharp. She twitches.

Clothing—fashion isn’t– Cassandra’s always hated dresses. It’s a trait that demands a certain amount of indifference to what other people think of her appearance.

And she can do indifference. Cassandra has indifference in spades. But nobody’s ever paid her a compliment quite like that before: baldly appreciative. Straightforward. Not like all the times Rapunzel coaxed her into tolerating crowns of late-summer flowers because the colors look so nice with your complexion! and not like the Commander’s gruff praise for how grown-up she looked in the hideous pastel gowns that had come with the lady-in-waiting gig.

because – like, cass is butch, and “not a flower wearer,” and here in lost lagoon we have this passage where rapunzel expresses this pretty straightforward attraction to cassandra but in the context of imagining cassandra presenting in a much more feminine way than she is comfortable with - in a dress with flowers in her hair etc - and it just... rubs me the wrong way a little bit. and this is not to say like cass can’t be butch and put a flower in her hair but when it’s paired with rapunzel specifically acknowledging that cass doesn’t WANT to wear flowers then it - yeah i feel weird about this passage. 

and that translated into cass having a whole little crisis over being complimented for her appearance without implicit pressure to be more feminine for the first time ever

anyways

i still can’t get over the name monsieur lefleur 

rapunzel summarizes hervanian culture as “brash but can be funny; distrustful but not mean-spirited” so, basically, they are americans

she is feeling very Prepared to meet with them, in contrast to every other time she’s met with foreign dignitaries or nobility before this. eugene tries to warn her that cass is PISSED with her and she just brushes him off, as one does, by saying that cass is “not all bubbles and moonbeams” but that she is “a softy” inside. 

of course this leads up to cass blowing up and going off while rapunzel tries to calm her down and just - groan this line. 

“People don’t change! You told a criminal a detail that puts my entire future at risk!”

how many times have i said “cass doesn’t act this way in tts” i feel like it’s a constant drumbeat. but i have to say, again, that cass doesn’t act this way in tts. i don’t think it’s unrealistic for her to think like this, given that her father is essentially corona’s chief of police and she idolizes him, but i feel the need to reiterate that there is zero sign of cass having this mindset in tts proper. and it does sort of bother me when people read this into cass’s character because it undermines and delegitimizes her dislike of eugene in early s1. 

which like. tts itself sort of frames their mutual dislike as a mutual problem, but it’s... really not? and imo the best illustration of this is in this exchange from cassandra vs eugene: 

CASSANDRA: Unbelievable. Did you eat all the cookies?

EUGENE: I’m not a pig, Cassandra. I ate all of your cookies; I’m saving mine for later.

CASSANDRA: Ugh– you are nothing but a self-serving, inconsiderate, arrogant freeloader!

EUGENE: [scoffing] You know, I can rattle off insulting adjectives describing your personality, too, but to do so would imply that you actually have a personality, and I just wouldn’t feel right about doing that!

this is the dynamic every time they squabble in early s1. 

1 - eugene does something selfish or thoughtless - in this case taking all the cookies and milk for himself. 

2 - cassandra calls him out for it, and he doubles down, often taking a potshot at her in the process. 

3 - cassandra gets mad and calls his behavior what it is (self-serving, inconsiderate, arrogant)

4 - eugene gets defensive and insults her as a person, typically with variations on calling her icy / unfeeling / humorless / joyless. 

which is to say, their fights are initiated by eugene’s poor behavior, and cassandra attacks his behavior but eugene attacks cassandra herself. like, eugene is the dude who insults you and then goes “pfft why can’t you take a joke” when you get upset with him. that’s what this is. 

moreover, when eugene’s, for lack of a better term, residual flynn rider-ness starts to taper off, cassandra’s criticism of his behavior also tapers off, AND she gets much gentler about how she phrases this criticism once he starts to actually take it on board. but there’s no accompanying shift in the way eugene speaks to and about her - the jibes about her being humorless or cranky or soulless literally never stop and at no point does he ever seem to consider that cass might not appreciate them as much as he thinks she does. 

(to be clear, i don’t think they bother cass very much if at all - but they do create and reinforce a perception on eugene’s end that cass Doesn’t Have Feelings and the background radiation of that contributes to the toxicity that develops in season 2.)

like again, pulling from cassandra vs eugene here, eugene is extremely insulting towards cassandra even when he’s ostensibly coming to her defense: 

RANDOM THUG: Look at that, Fancy-Boots has got something to say!

EUGENE: Name-calling? Come on, we’re better than that, aren’t we? Sure, we could sit here and make fun of each other—tease Cassandra for her chronic joylessness, or me for my uncommonly good looks, or you for your poor dental hygiene, tragic fashion sense, robust body odor, and what are clearly woefully misguided decision making skills, but do you really want to go down that road?

ALL OF WHICH IS TO SAY - besides demonstrating an obvious willingness to give eugene another chance once he starts doing the bare minimum to not be a dick to her, cassandra doesn’t like eugene because eugene is an asshole to her and takes the enormous privileges he is given completely for granted. 

saying “well she doesn’t like him because he was a criminal and she doesn’t believe criminals ever change” erases that completely and reframes the conflict as cassandra treats eugene unfairly because of bigotry that she needs to unlearn. lost lagoon takes this even one step further in that lost lagoon eugene is genuinely trying to be responsible, he is taking his new lot in life seriously. he doesn’t need cass to tell him off for acting like an ass because he doesn’t act like an ass. he shows actual interest in getting to know cass and makes an effort to break through her hostility in order to get along. unlike his tts counterpart, lagoon eugene really doesn’t do anything wrong, and that makes cassandra’s intense hatred of him on the grounds that he was a thief look completely irrational and, like i said, bigoted. 

it’s just very frustrating to me.

anyways

rapunzel tries very hard to persuade cass that it’s actually totally fine that she told eugene the secret because she just can’t keep secrets from eugene (except the lagoon which she has arbitrarily decided is totes fine to keep secret and i am pretty sure this contradiction never gets pointed out) - and cass is having none of it, and of course arianna interrupts before anything can get resolved. 

they rush out and monsieur lefleur interrupts them, asking questions about the lost lagoon. he reveals that he heard an ~elegant cloaked person~ inquiring about it in the library. he asks for the book. they say no. the red herring smells to high heavens, and the chapter ends with rapunzel subtly telling cass to hide the book ~for the safety of the kingdom~ and oh my god i just can’t handle the low stakes. 

seventeen picks up from there with cassandra’s point of view; she’s suspicious of lefleur and angsts a lot about how she has no time to train and she needs to get out of corona yada yada. her plan is literally to just walk until she finds someone to hire her on as a guard which. lol. this kid.

i feel like this is the strongest passage in the whole book: 

She said there couldn’t be any secrets between Eugene and her. But why—especially when it meant sacrificing my future and everything I held dear? I’d read about romantic love in poems, and it seemed to me like a spell. Sounded great for the lovebirds, but what about the other people.

Did I just not matter in the face of this love, even though I had been the one to risk everything to show Rapunzel the world? Was I just supposed to fall on my sword because Eugene was uncomfortable that he didn’t have every last piece of information about Rapunzel?

she has a brief argument with owl, who is a pretty obvious stand-in for her own doubts / feeling that she truly belongs in corona and doesn’t actually want to leave. but she has no choice! but it’s stormy, so she can’t leave! oh no!

(i think if tts really strongly felt she had no choice but to free corona, a measly thunderstorm would not be enough to stop her.)

#lost lagoon reread #cassunzel

[bisexual-inuyasha]

Xingese Gold

Prompts: pining/hands/nature. “Please just hate me already.”

Wrap your arms and hold me still

I don't wanna think about what I will

Speak in tones that I can't hear

And tell me how no one knows anything in here

-- Jade Bird “What Am I Here For”

A young boy with black hair and dark eyes sat in his mother’s field. His face was serious, mouth twisted into a frown. He was a very stern child, hair pulled severely back into a bun.

For most kids his age, the object of their concentration would be something colorful and loud. Or maybe even ants crawling along the dirt or the dried out carcass of a worm. For this child, scrawny and tired, it was the flowers. His fingers--nimble, gentle, fleeting like tiny birds--brushed over the golden strands. Petals remained safely caged behind spindly stamen. His pants were soaked at the knees, his bare feet covered in broken grass and mud. 

His mother had taught him about these flowers. It couldn’t have been more than a month ago, after a similar heavy bout of rains. The lesson came after the worst news in his young life. She had died only a few days later, protecting him from one of his brothers from another clan. Forty one siblings would be easier to kill than forty two. He’d written the name down in a book, tucked that book into his shirt, and watched his mother be buried in the only silk his clan could muster. It had not been a good season.

She had called these flowers Xingese gold. According to her, they were the only flowers of their kind in all the world. Other places had yellow, red and white. But only the Yao clan from Xing had golden spider lilies. They were proof, she’d said, that he was meant to ascend to the throne. Only the Emperor could wear gold, after all.

He glanced around the field and  rocked back on the balls of his feet to get a better look. When he was sure the coast was clear, he plucked a flower and tucked it into the middle pages.

The list of the names in the book grew longer as more and more clans fell to assassination attempts. His mother’s children, his half-siblings, resented and revered him as their downfall and their only possible salvation. For many years, he had no true friends.

And then Lan Fan found him, visiting the now overgrown field, plucking Xingese gold. And she swore, for the price of a single flower, she would protect him. Her hands were clean and her clothes neat when he took him to the humble house she lived in. Her grandfather’s face was hard. His lessons were harder. But his kindness reminded Ling of a childhood wrapped and buried in silk. And with the old man’s guidance, and Lan Fan’s friendship, Ling’s body hardened into a weapon.

His personality sharpened like a knife, quick and cutting and so unassuming.

But it was his instincts that set him apart. He lived with his finger on the pulse, twisting around the existence of others like a hesitant snake. Curious and fleeting, never lingering long, taking only what he needed.

And this is how Ling Yao became a teenager who crossed the desert, determined to find the key to immortality. 

**Amestris, before the end of the world.**

Ling lay on hot tiles, tapping his toes against the burning roof. He was waiting for the right time to drop through the open window. This golden haired alchemist was well known around this country for his search for the philosopher’s stone. The philosopher’s stone was well known for being the only alchemical way to achieve immortality. If Ling believed in fate, he’d almost think they were meant to find each other. 

That wouldn’t do right now.

Ed had all the cards. Every scrap of information Ling wanted existed behind those golden eyes. Whatever Ed didn’t know about the philosopher’s stone, he knew how to find. Ling sensed that maybe, this stone and Ed’s life, were intrinsically linked. Linked in a way far more certain than fate.

Al left the room. The metal man had taken to leaving when he could tell Ed needed to rest. It was less lonely for him to spend those hours exploring the city. Or at least that was the reason Al gave. But it didn’t take the dragon’s pulse to see that Edward Elric was thinning out.

Not physically. His body was fit as ever, though no taller for having increased his intake. But Edward himself seemed more and more distant. Al may be afraid of disappearing inside his armor, but Ed was disappearing into himself. The golden hair alchemist was becoming lost in a maze of problems and responsibilities that seemed to grow new walls and corridors every day. Ling had his own knots to untangle. He couldn’t help lead Edward out of his.

“I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance to talk with you.” Ling slid through the window, grinning. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” Ed’s metal arm was over his eyes. Ling had noticed he did this when he was too warm. The metal had to be cool against his skin.

“Do what? You can’t even see me.” Ling sidled down onto the couch. Ed’s bed was clear across the room. He could have sworn the set up was different when the boys had first settled into this room, but he wouldn’t complain. “Lan Fan and Fu want me to stay hidden for a couple of days, until Bradley loses interest.”

“What, did you get bored?” Ed snickered. “Or did they just run out of food?”

Ling patted his tummy forlornly. “Do you mean to say you have food? I do feel a little faint, now that you mention it.” He went limp, feigning unconsciousness. His stomach growled for good effect.

 Ed’s footsteps padded on the hardwood floors. The metal clunk of his foot was muffled by the sock he wore over it, but it was still an unusual gait. Distinct, and comforting. It had been a signal to Ling that he was safe, since Gluttony. Since he’d listened for those footsteps in the dark, and the blood. Ling opened his eyes and stared at the moonlit ceiling. Just the thought of Gluttony made him feel slimy. Filled his nose with the scent of blood. Suddenly his appetite was gone.

He still accepted the bowl of scallion chicken soup when Ed handed it to him and took a large spoonful. “Cold.”

“Yeah, well, that is what an icebox does.” Ed pulled his hand through his hair. “Still good though.” 

Ling took another large spoonful. His stomach clenched. He put the food down. He tried not to look revolted but Ed was watching him all the same. “Good, but maybe not what I’m hungry for tonight.” 

“Hm.” Ed tapped his fingers against his chair. His mouth was tense, body full of restless energy. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Do you ever think about how we’re just… kids?”

Ling waited for the horror to cross Ed’s face at what would usually be a difficult confession, but tonight seemed to be a night of honesty. 

“I haven’t been a kid since before I met Lan Fan. I don’t contemplate those kinds of things much any more.” Ling leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand. Ed was still in his black tanktop and work pants. He’d taken to sleeping in them more often than not. “What makes your mind so heavy today?”

Ed didn’t answer for a long moment. Outside, Ling could hear the never sleeping cars of Amestris trotting along the cobble streets. Ling followed the line where Ed’s hair met his jawline. It looked so different outside of the braid.

“I saw Al’s body. It’s just. So young.” Ed stood, pacing. Ling listened to the pad-thunk-scrape-pad-thunk of Ed’s steps. “We’re all so young. I can see it in the Colonel’s eyes when he gives me orders. I can feel it when Riza talks to me and there’s all this… this sorrow. Like she’s stealing something from me. Something I’ll never get back. And some part of me knows she’s right.”

Ling could taste the metallic stain of blood on his tongue. His fingernails still had some of Gluttony stuck in the beds. When he closed his eyes, he could still see Envy’s souls calling out to him, begging him to free them. “I’m tired, Ed. Have you been sleeping?” 

Ed’s eyes narrowed. His arms crossed. In a small, miffed voice he admitted that no, he hadn’t really been sleeping. “Don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“You’re too young to be contemplating loss of youth.” Ling grinned. It was full of too many teeth. “Come on, lighten up Ed. You probably just need a nap.”

“I don’t want to nap. I just. Want to feel like I’m going somewhere.” Ed flopped back into his seat. Ling’s response seemed to have deflated him. “I’m just trying to get back to where I was before I lost Al’s body. But what do I do then? Most people spend this time figuring that out, but I’ve just determined I don’t want to stay a State Alchemist.”

“That’s a good start.” Link chuckled, and despite his best effort, it was not as lighthearted as he usually managed. “Being able to decide you don’t want to do something is a luxury some of us don’t have.”

This was an unusual visit. Since Ling and Ed’s day spent in the belly of Gluttony, Ling had gone to see Ed whenever the sun went down and the smell of blood filled his nose. Usually, Ed gave away his leftovers and they snarked back and forth at each other until Ling fell asleep on the couch. The next morning, Ling would sneak away through the window he snuck in from.

Ling’s chest felt tight. The room was too hot. He didn’t want to think about lost childhood, lost time. He didn’t want to think about fate and choosing his destiny. Ed’s problems weren’t his problems. Ed was upset he hadn’t been utilizing his time choosing what to do after he inevitably succeeded in his goal of finding Al’s body.

If Ling didn’t succeed in becoming emperor, all of his clan's people would die. And whoever became emperor could kill a lot more than that. His success depended on a goal so outlandish that most people dismissed it as a childish fantasy. Success meant a long life of being more responsible for more people than he could count in ten lifetimes. 

A heavy touch landed on his shoulder. Ed must have been talking to him, but he hadn’t heard anything at all. 

“Are you ok, Ling?” Ed’s earlier anxiety was replaced by worry. Now that Ling had been pulled out from his thoughts, he could feel Ed’s other hand on his knee. Anchors to the present. 

Ling smiled. He opened his mouth to assure Ed he was fine and maybe he’d take a nap since Ed wouldn’t, but Ed was already shaking his head.

“You don’t have to do that.” Ed let go of Ling’s shoulder and leaned back against the couch. He laid his head back, staring up at the window Ling came in. “I don’t have anyone I can actually talk to either, you know. Everyone expects something of me.”

“I expect something from you, too.” Ling leaned back beside Ed. Their shoulders bumped into each other on the couch, skin against skin. The smell of blood receded. Ling’s stomach growled again.

“No, you want something from me. That’s not the same as expecting something of me.”

Ling turned to look at the alchemist, surprised. “Explain.”

“Winry expects me to keep her and Al safe, to keep all my promises and then return home. Al, of course, expects me to get his body back. And I will. I want to. He should expect it of me. The Colonel and Hawkeye expect me to be an amazing alchemist, but they also expect me to be ok. Compared to all of that…” Ed sighed. “Compared to that, telling you about the philosopher’s stone is just a conversation. Just me telling you about Alchemy and my research.”

“So you’re saying you would have told me about the philosopher’s stone without me blowing up Gluttony’s head?”

Ed scoffed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t feel like a badass.”

“I was terrified. I'd like to see you stick your whole arm in that thing’s mouth.” They both laughed. Though truly, Ling was terrified of Gluttony. And Envy. All of the Homunculi who had too many souls. He thought Ed probably was, too.

“Well, you certainly looked confident. And fast, too. You’ll have to teach me some moves. Maybe I'll finally beat Al in a fight.”

They didn’t talk for so long that Ling drifted into sleep. His side pressed against Ed’s. Their legs touched hip to knee. Ling could feel the jutting edge of the automail through Ed’s jeans.  To his surprise, Ed’s head leaned into his, stirring him. Ling turned to see if Ed was asleep and was greeted with a face full of golden hair.

Ling moved carefully. Ed was fast asleep. He didn’t even seem to notice Ling’s arm move to circle around his shoulders. 

The memory of the dark, and the blood, and the souls crying out dimmed. Quieter, until Ling could almost convince himself those monsters had just been a bad dream. He ran his fingers through Ed’s hair and considered.

They’d grown closer, since their run in with Gluttony and the desperate run from Father’s base below Central. Since his introduction to Ling, both Envy and Wrath had been relentless in hunting him down. And still, he came here. Still, he waited out the nights with an anchor that told him the darkness was safe.

“You know, I’m going to use that stone eventually.” Ling kept his voice low. He didn’t actually want to confess anything to Ed. Not while the shorter man was sleeping so soundly. “No matter how it was made, I can’t let all my people die.”

Ed didn’t stir. Ling hummed. A thought twisted through his chest. “It would probably be better if you hated me now instead of later. But I just can’t bring myself to warn you. I’m a selfish, selfish man.”

Ling drifted off again eventually. It was hard to sleep on the couch without ending up awkwardly wrapped around Ed or falling off onto the hard wood.

When he woke in the morning, he was surprised to find Ed still leaning on his shoulder, fast asleep. The sun flooded the window and suddenly Ling was back in Xing, in his mother’s field. Strands of gold spilled between his fingertips.

“Xingese gold…” Ling murmured.

“What?” Ed yawned and sat up. “God, your breath stinks.”

Ling snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

Ling’s face burned. Every time he’d done this before, Ed had slept in his own bed. They’d come dangerously close to cuddling. With Ling’s increasing dependency on his visits with Ed, he wasn’t sure how to interpret the new developments. 

“What’s Xingese gold?” Ed stood and stretched. 

Ling smiled, remembering his mother sitting among the flowers. He pulled his book from his pocket. “I’ll show you.” 

The flower was faded and fragile. Ling didn’t dare move the flower off the paper. “Only my clan in Xing can grow this specific shade. My mother called it Xingese gold.”

“That’s… random.” Ed shrugged. 

“Just a dream, that’s all.” Ling stretched his grin wide again. “Though, your hair is the exact same shade.”

Ed’s cheeks tinged pink. “Hey, about last night…”

“No one has to know Edward Elric thought I looked cool when I fought the homunculus.” Ling patted Ed’s head, a motion he knew the short alchemist would hate. Ed fumed, but didn’t shout like Ling expected.

“Just so you know, Ling. If you accept that stone, I’ll fight it out of you.” Ed turned, picking up a new set of clothes for the day. “And if it kills you, it won’t make it to Xing to rule with your body.”

The anxiety in Ling’s chest burst. Fear, anger, worry splashed around his insides, coating his thoughts with an existential dread. Ed had heard him last night. Had heard him and rejected hating him.

Ling climbed into the window. 

Edward didn’t look back to see him leave.

Besides, no matter how Ling felt about what Ed had said, they both knew he’d be back when the darkness came.

#Ed/Ling #EdLing #Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood #m/m #rarepair

[shade-romeo]

Heard you wanted to talk about your new ocs?

-What are their hobbies/interests?

-Do they have any regrets?

(wow huge jump there-)

YES OKAY- I should probably explain stuff about the story first so this makes sense but whatever.

This got long

Arlen (a human girl, she/her, living with Adore in a fantasy world, having been teleported here from the real world) - Arlen loves reading and learning things, a classic dnd nerd, so you can imagine that when she was dumped here she immediately was all over asking questions about the land and the history, and just so fuckin excited. Her regret would be that she ended up dragging her best friend Kell here with her. She knows Kell isn't good with new environments and new people, she was just so excited and figured they'd end up together. She can't find them anywhere, she's just so worried about them getting into serious trouble.

Kell/Kelly (a human kid, they/them, who got pushed in the portal by Arlen, landing with Duncan and Amira.) - Kell listens to music and generally follows Arlen around mostly, she's their only friend and they're always just going with the flow. They play dnd with Alren in their little group, and they play other rpg games as well, but definitely isn't into them as much as Arlen is. Their regret would probably be that they were always too cold to other people. Here they are, dumped into a whole new world with no way to defend themselves, no way to get home, and no way to know what the fuck is out there. They could die here, they could die here and they'd die alone. They never made any friends aside from Arlen, and they were always so distant with their family. If they died here, they would be dying comepletely and utterly alone, and for once they're really truly scared of that fact.

Adore (a witch infused with magic, she/her, she lives in a cute little cottage in the woods, doing her magic and staying away from the neighboring towns. A cottagecore lesbian) - She loves to garden! She has a huge flower patch behind her house, with planted fruit trees, vegetables, and a whole slew of other things. She does use magic to help the dying plants, but mostly she does all her gardening by hand. She also likes to make potions, mostly stuff for plants or protection, but occasionally she'll experiment a bit. Her regret would be never leaving her cottage. She knows she's strong, she knows she could handle herself out in the woods, but she's too frightened to even step past the front porch. She knows she's missed so much, and she could've helped so many people if she just got some guts. Which is why she's so determined to help Arlen find her friend and get her home. She's dead set on finally doing something worthwhile.

Duncan (a half elf scholar, they/him, stressed out of their mind and suffering a great deal from overworking himself so hard, they're quite snippy. He's Amira's best friend, and plans to be for a long time coming.) - Duncan obviously likes to write. But that hasn't been working out too well for them. They also like to draw and dance, but he's so dead set on getting this writing done for himself that they're working themself to the ground and ruining their love of writing in the process. His biggest regret would be delving himself so deep into his work. They've lived so long with Amira, they figured she'd always be by his side, but recently she's been pulling away from him. They know logically that's they're own fault, and they can't bear the thought of losing Amira and being comepletely on his own, so he's using Kell's quest to get home as an opportunity to finally take a break and get themself back to reality.

Amira (a turned vampire, she/it, Duncan's best friend, always trying to get Duncan back to themself and failing miserably. It's not a very happy camper ever since Duncan started ignoring her.) - Amira fucking loves to hunt. Not just for food, and not huge endangered animals, beasts that terrorize towns and kill innocent people, deranged terrifying monsters. Not only is it a thrill, the chase, the fight, the adrenaline, the triumph, it also brings a good meal along with it. It also likes to dance, it used to dance with Duncan all the time, before they started ignoring her. Its regret would be letting Duncan drive himself so far into the ground without intervening. Duncan had distanced themself and started being a little rude with her, at first her walls had gone up and she'd stormed out the house, pissed out of its mind. But after a month or so it came back to reconcile, and realized it was so much worse than it thought before. Now she's trying to make up for what it let happen, pulling Duncan along with her and Kell to go on this quest, hopefully they can reconcile then.

Ross (a former elven knight, she/him, kicked out of the guard for the murder of a higher officer. Lives in a pathetic little tent deep in the woods, having nowhere else to go. 100% a butch lesbian.) Ross likes to fight. Mostly recreationally of course. Using trees as dummies to slash and kill. She never actually hurts the trees, just clang clangs her sword against it. He also likes to run. He doesn't now, since he's too afraid he might run and get lost away from his tent, but sometimes he'll pace around his campsite for hours at a time to get the energy out. Her regret would absolutely be that she never questioned authority. She was born into the guard, having been a squire at age 5 and a fledgling knight at age 11. By 24 she was the head of two fleets, following every order given to him, no matter how gruesome or grave. But one day after being called to his higher ups office, she's attacked and almost killed, and in order to save himself she kills the man instead. The head of the whole guard banished her, going so far as to strip him of his armor and sword. But he slipped a second *cough* better *cough* sword into his clothes as he was thrown out. He sees now that he was simply a pawn. Perhaps she could've used her power to do more good while she still had it, had it not been for the brainwashing she had gone through from birth. Eventually Adore and Arlen stumble upon his campsite, and he promises his duty to both of them, ensuring that he'd never ever let anyone do any unnecessary harm ever again.

#my ocs #:)c btw Ross and Adore r gay for each other haha

[averykedavra]

Someday I’ll Get There

I’m back and I bring fluff! Should have known I couldn’t stick to an update schedule. I’ll try to catch up soon enough. And why are all my soulmates in the same town/city? Because I said so. And according to the rules of probability, in a soulmate universe it would be highly unlikely for two soulmates to ever meet. So suspension of disbelief suspends, we all turn a blind eye to the ramifications, cue story.

(Tagging @tsshipmonth2020! Title is from Stranger Things by Kygo. You can read this fic on Ao3 here.)

Prompt: You have an animal that only you and your soulmates can see.


Pairing: Platonic Royaliceit. (I headcanon that it became a QPR eventually, but right now, all platonic.)

Words: 13,364

Warnings: death mention, animal injury, crying

The dog always visits Roman in the morning.

Roman’s tried to stay up all night and see just when the dog actually gets there. He fell asleep halfway through. Roman’s locked all the doors in the house to see if that would keep it out--not that he wants the dog gone, he’s just curious, since it seems to bypass any and all locks in the house. All he can figure is that just a bit before sunrise, it wiggles through Roman’s window or something and curls at the foot of his bed, a steady little weight that makes Roman smile when he wakes up.

It’s a cute dog. It has one floppy ear and a spotted coat and likes to chase sunbeams. It bounces around after him every morning and sits on his feet if he pauses for too long. Roman can carry the dog easily enough. It’s a little thing. He feeds it every morning, but it never gets any bigger--maybe it’s just meant to be this small.

He’d ask his parents, but his parents can’t see the dog. Nobody can.

It’s just for Roman.

Roman...and his soulmate.

That must be where the dog goes for the rest of the day, Roman’s pieced together, and he wonders if it looks the same for them. If it acts the same for them. Maybe it represents their bond together--perhaps his soulmate or soulmates are puppylike in nature, or enjoy rising with the sun, or are exceedingly sneaky. Roman knows such ideas can’t be confirmed, but he still enjoys them, imagining his soulmate is with him as well as the dog.

He names the dog a new name every day. He’s tried R2-D2, but numbers weren’t a nice name for a dog. He’s tried Iago, which really wasn’t fair to the magnificent creature, and Dug, which was a good dog but a bad name. He cycled through all of Cinderella’s mice and Rapunzel’s chameleon for good measure, before realizing that naming a dog after mice or chameleons is a cruel and unusual punishment for said dog.

Although who knows if the dog even knows its name? Roman fancies it does. He fancies it knows a lot more than it lets on, eyes bright and tail wagging and following him around at his heels.

He fancies it will lead him to his soulmate one day.

Roman has big dreams for his soulmates. Perhaps that’s unhealthy, but he can hardly help it--they fill his fantasies and his wishes, faceless and nameless but right. They’re people meant for him, people who will make him better and who he will make better in return, perhaps friends or companions or lovers. Although Roman must admit he’s not too interested in the last one--romance is lovely, but he prefers reading or writing it than experiencing it.

He writes stories a lot.

His soulmates crop up sometimes, despite the fact that he knows nothing of their personalities. Sometimes he places them in the tower and rescues them with a flaming sword or a flaming shield or a flaming axe. Sometimes they’re his sidekicks, battling dragons and cracking jokes and falling in love in the meantime. Sometimes, when he’s in an especially sour mood, he casts himself as the villain. His soulmate redeems him. Or they destroy his kingdom and find their own true love, leaving Roman alone, in a crumbled castle with a shattered crown.

He always tears up those stories as soon as he finishes.

But his soulmates still bubble up to the surface again, always on his mind, a lurking itch in the back of his heart that tells him one day he’ll find them. One day they won’t be vague dreams and soft smiles but real people, concrete and solid and flawed. Roman doesn’t do well with reality. Why linger in mundanity when flights of fancy are so much more entertaining?

He loves his soulmates already.

Well, he loves the idea of them. He loves the dreams they fill his head with, dreams of faraway mountains and deep seas, adventuring across the world with his love or loves by his side. Castles glittering under orange skies, a million people to meet and know, snow-white mountains and pearly lakes, that’s what Roman pictures every day. He’s seen pictures. He’s heard stories. He’s written quite a few stories himself.

And someday, he’ll get there, and he’ll see it all.

For now, he wakes every morning to the dog at the foot of his bed. He just calls it the dog, because no name seemed to fit it. He hasn’t given up, though. He keeps a list of possible names tacked to the corkboard over his desk. Roman is hardly the type to give up on anything--he’ll find the right name someday, but for now, it’s just the dog.

In some ways, Roman is a lover of routine. Not for the important things, of course--a routine adventure would be dreadfully dull--but for small thing, lesser things, such as sleep and food. Roman always sets his alarm clock for six-thirty, slaps it to make it shut up, and sleeps in until seven. Then the dog nibbles his foot pointedly and he sighs and gets up. It’s almost always light by seven, except in the depths of winter, when he has to stumble across the carpet and turn on the light. He almost always trips over something on the floor. Cleaning his room is boring and tedious and although doing such good deeds is heroic, since nobody ever comes into his room, it doesn’t matter in the slightest.

That’s what he tells his parents. For some reason, they’ve never seen the logic in that. But Roman is a good actor and can get away with promising he’ll “do it later” and letting later become sometime next fall.

It’s spring now. Outside his window is the biggest tree in the yard, a dogwood, and it’s fluttering with white blossoms. He throws open his window and grins at it. The dog hops up to the window ledge and sniffs the air. A deep blue sky and a cool breeze around the curtains. It’ll be a good day.

“Good morning,” Roman calls out to the dogwood tree. As always, he holds out a vague hope that someone will respond. Perhaps singing birds, or a wizard here to send him on a quest. He waits a few seconds longer, staring over the shingled roofs and watching a lone car speed down the street. In the distance, someone’s dog is barking. Roman’s dog cowers a bit.

“Don’t worry, they can’t see you,” Roman says, grinning and ruffling the dog’s ears. The dog doesn’t have a collar like all the others do. He supposes that’s because very technically, he doesn’t exist. At least not legally. That’s a weird thing to think about--that this dog, so soft under his fingers, is only for Roman.

That should make Roman feel special. And it does, a bit. But he wishes there was someone else there to appreciate how wonderful the dog is.

He wishes for his soulmates.

And he’s only been up five minutes. Wonderful. Perhaps this day won’t be so good after all.

Roman gives the scene outside his window one more cursory sweep for dragons--the neighbor across the way is watering his tulips and a newspaper sits damp in Roman’s lawn. The sun sits low under someone’s chimney, and Roman sighs under the light.

No dragons. Suburbia is highly disappointing.

He leaves the window open for fresh air as he scampers over to his dresser, the dog following at his heels. His dresser has two drawers--school clothes and home clothes. Roman opens the school one and pulls out his uniform. He gives a long sigh and regretfully takes off his Toy Story pajamas. It takes him two tries to button up his shirt, since he accidentally matches the wrong button with the wrong hole and has to start all over again.

He pulls on his pants--they’re creased in all the wrong ways, so he shimmies them until they feel a bit less stiff--and yanks on some black socks. Black socks never get dirty, as they say, and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t washed these in weeks. Well, nobody will be looking too closely at his socks. He slips on his sneakers, the ones with the dark laces and not the ones with the light-up soles, because school apparently doesn’t like light-up soles.

It’s a good school. Roman should be grateful for the chance to attend. He’s heard that exact phrase a million times.

He hates it.

For one thing, it makes it sound like they’re doing him a favor by letting him attend. Instead of the truth, which is that Roman studied hard for the entrance exam and flipping nailed it. For another, just because it’s a good school and might actually get him into college--he’d be the first in his family--doesn’t mean he has to like every aspect of it. He doesn’t. His chemistry teacher is a jerk and he only has one friend and he really, really hates the uniform.

If they’re going to give everyone a uniform, Roman would at least prefer a fancy one. Perhaps a long sweeping cape, or a knight’s armor, or woven sashes and glimmering gold along the sleeves. Instead, he has to wear an ugly maroon shirt with black pants and the school crest emblazoned on every spare bit of cloth they have. Then a jacket over top--Roman usually ties it around his waist, although his aforementioned jerk of a chemistry teacher always tries to give him detention for it. Then a tie around his neck, then his sneakers, then his school bag that looks like a purse.

It’s been seven months. He still fumbles with his tie. The dog sits on the dresser and watches as Roman struggles to knot it. Roman sticks out his tongue at the dog. Who is it to judge him?

He adjusts the tie and looks at himself in the mirror. He tries to flatten a bit of his hair in the back. No success. Roman grabs his hairbrush and slashes angrily at the offending hair tuft until it finally sinks down in defeat. He needs a haircut, his mom said yesterday, but the scruffy edges of his hair fits in with the general scruffiness of the rest of him. If Roman tried, he could probably look more polished, but he has higher priorities.

As it stands, his jacket is too square around his shoulders and his tie is still lopsided. He looks like a kid in grownup clothes. None of the sizes fit him exactly, because every bit of him is growing at a different rate, and hopefully when he’s no longer twelve but perhaps sixteen, he’ll look less like a wayward schoolboy and more like the adventurous prince he’s destined to be.

A short bark from the dog. It has a nice bark, low and sweet, and it never barks for too long. Nobody can hear the dog, either. Roman's tested it.

Roman looks around at the dog, who’s now curled up by his school bag. The clock tells him it’s almost seven twenty already.

He’s running late. Of course he is.

“Thanks, fair companion!” Roman says to the dog, who wags its tail. "I’ll hurry this up, then. Ready?”

The dog wags its tail again. It’s a stubby little tail with a little piece taken out of the edge. Roman loves it.

He wonders if his soulmate loves the dog as much as he does.

He hopes so, otherwise they might be not that great, after all.

Roman’s mom calls from downstairs. He’s late. She shouldn’t be surprised, but she’ll probably still give him a glare. It’s fine. He’ll just bring his breakfast in the car with him.

“Be there in a second!” Roman yells back down. He hurriedly rifles through his papers and extracts the letter folded in the front pocket of his backpack. He’d scribbled it down during English when he was supposed to be practicing dialogue.

Every day, he wrote a letter.

No days did he receive a response.

But he kept trying, because Roman was persistent, and Roman felt it was his one connection to his soulmate. A fragile thread of connection. All they had was this dog and connected souls, so he’d just have to keep throwing words into the silence, calls to adventure that maybe--one day--would be answered.

It may have been futile. It may have been hopeless. But it reminded Roman that they were still there--maybe they didn’t like him maybe they didn’t need him maybe they would leave him behind--and still there meant still possibly, unbelievably, hopefully his.

Roman is twelve and the future is filled with promise.

He folds up the letter into a little heart, hands it to the dog, and pats it on the head. The dog takes the letter in its mouth. Roman laughs at it because it looks kind of ridiculous, pulls on his shoes, and throws open the door.

Down the stairs, grab a granola bar and a yogurt cup, wave at his little brother, make sure his backpack is filled with all his homework from last night, out into the yard he should have mowed yesterday and past the mailbox and into the minivan.

He buckles up. His mom gives him the usual glare and Roman shrugs sheepishly, already spooning yogurt into his mouth. She sighs, adjusts the mirror and pulls out of the driveway.

The dog sits on the stoop, letter in its mouth, and Roman waves goodbye, feeling his stomach sink as it grows farther away.

He tells himself this time, he won’t look away. Then he spills a little bit of yogurt on his knees, looks down to wipe it off, and when he looks back up, the dog is gone.

---

The dog always visits Janus in the afternoon.

Janus, for his part, has timed the ridiculous little thing. It always wriggles under the fence, slips through the cat flap and gets a hiss from the cat, and flops on top of Janus’ work at about two-thirty precisely. Then it leaves at around five or six, depending on whether Janus feeds it. Janus always does, because he can’t allow the stupid thing to starve, can he?

Who knows what the mangy mutt gets up to in the meantime. Janus assumes it’s visiting his other soulmate, the one who sends him the letters. A little bit rude of the dog to spend so much time with Janus’ soulmate and not that much with him.

Not that Janus cares or anything.

Still, he will admit that he enjoys it when he sees the dog on his homework. It gives him an excuse to yell “Going out” and put away his stuff. His dads have learned to let him go. He does the rest of his schoolwork later, always, and getting between Janus and something he wants is a fool’s errand.

Janus may be twelve, but he knows exactly what he wants.

This afternoon is an achingly blue one, and Janus has to apply all his concentration to finish up his history. Then he drops his paragraph on synonyms in front of Weather Dad’s door.

He has three dads and, early on, decided to differentiate them with nicknames. Weather Dad, because he has a tendency to predict when a storm will happen three days ahead of time, and because he has a stormcloud tattoo on his arm. Coffee Dad, because he always smells like coffee and has been trying to get Janus to work the espresso machine every morning. Janus has resisted. And Glasses Dad, because he’s a hopeless nerd.

He hates all of them, of course, but he hates them slightly less than he hates the rest of the world. So it’s not really that bad at all. Glasses Dad is a good teacher and Weather Dad helps him with makeup sometimes.

And they understand there are some things Janus doesn’t like talking about. Like his soulmate.

His soulmate is personal.

Janus snorts when the dog sits on his math problems and refuses to move. “Ugh. You’re back.”

The dog tilts its head.

“Get off that, you’ll ruin it.” Janus pulls the paper out from under the dog and cups his hands around his mouth. “Dads! I’m going outside!”

A muffled “Cool” from Coffee Dad. “Be back soon” from Glasses Dad. “Don’t die” from Weather Dad.

Janus is all set to go.

He shoves his work into a big plastic bin and kicks it into the corner of the kitchen. He sprays on some bug repellent--it’s spring, so the mosquitoes aren’t quite as prevalent, but ticks are still a concern. He slips into his sandals, grabs a sunhat, and ties it over his hair. His bushy ginger ponytail barely fits under it. A box of band-aids in his pocket, a slingshot in case he meets something he doesn’t want to meet, and of course that stupid dog.

“I don’t need you to come,” Janus tells it, like he always does. “Go away.”

As it always does, the dog is undeterred. Maybe it doesn’t understand English. It probably doesn’t. Janus is being ridiculous for even entertaining the damn thing. He kicks at it teasingly and it butts him in the leg.

“Fine, you win,” Janus says, making a show of being beleagered. He’s not.

Exploring wouldn’t be the same without the dog there.

The door creaks as he tugs it open, scampering down past the vegetable garden, slipping into the trees.

He knows this forest like the back of his hand. Well, he doesn’t know the back of his hand that well, aside from it being freckled like the rest of him--so he knows it like the spots on the dog’s back. He knows it like the sun in the sky. He’s been running through here for years, finding every path he knows, committing each leaf to memory.

For instance, he knows that if he turns left at this tree right here, he reaches a huge fallen log over a small stream.

Janus turns left and sits on the log, swinging his legs over the stream, reaching a hand to the dog. It gambols happily over to him and snuggles into his side, dropping a piece of paper in his lap.

It’s folded into a heart.

Janus rolls his eyes and snorts. Ridiculous. His soulmate is utterly ridiculous.

He’s opened the letter before he even thinks about it.

This one is on notebook paper, and there are scribbled notes in the corners. Janus focuses on the little paragraph in the center. It’s in sparkly red ink. Of course it is.

Over the years, he’s learned three things about his soulmate: he’s a he and his name is Roman, he’s ridiculously dramatic, and he really, really wants Janus to write back.

Oh, and he can’t spell.

Derest soulmate(s), says this one, how are you on this fine day? I have school and theter practice after it. I’m studying for a test next week and I really hope I pass, but the curuculum is very hard and I have better things to do than sit and do homwork all day. I wrote a story about a princes saving a night and maybe I’ll send it to you tomorow. I hope your doing fabulusly. Write back if you want, I would love to here from you.

<3 Roman

Janus reads it again. Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.

So why does it make him blush?

Janus sighs and turns the letter over, scrubbing at his cheeks. The dog gives him a knowing look.

“I’ll shove you into the water,” Janus tells it.

It whines and buries itself in his shirt.

“Don’t be a coward,” Janus teases, grabbing the little thing, “it’s just water. See, I’ll dip you in it, and you can swim! Doggy paddle is a thing for a reason, right?”

The dog whines again. But its tail is wagging, and it knows Janus is kidding as much as Janus does.

Still, Janus takes pity on it. He pats it on the head and lets it scurry back to safety on the log. Then he turns back to the letter and reads it over and over again.

Roman.

Roman, his dramatic, ridiculous soulmate.

Janus turns the paper over. The back is blank. If he wished, he could write something back, give his soulmate a few words in exchange for the hundreds he’s received.

Janus sighs.

The wind blows around him. The forest is beautiful this time of year. Violets sprinkle the ground in shades of purple and white, the branches are bowed low with fresh buds, the grass is still hesitant and bright green and soft under his fingers. Soon the first strawberries will come, and the heat, and the long summer afternoons where cicadas buzz in the distance and Janus sits on the swing with lemonade and lets the warmth sink into his bones.

For now, it’s spring, and the forest is filled with possibility.

The dog is already waggling his tail.

He doesn’t have time.

He doesn’t have time to write back, to agonize over the right words to say. He has homework. He has chores. He has a forest at his fingertips. There are trees to climb and hills to climb and rocks to climb. He wants to get as high up as he can, before the sun goes down, and tomorrow he’ll do the same.

He doesn’t have time for his soulmate.

There are so many things he wants to see, to do, to touch. Janus wants so much and it frustrates him how much of it is out of reach.

Besides, his soulmate is ridiculous, and Janus doesn’t like him at all.

He doesn’t like the stupid dog, either.

Weather Dad named the dog “Spot” because he can’t spot it. Coffee Dad named the dog “Invisible Menace” because one time it chewed up his shoes. Glasses Dad just called it “your dog.” As if it was Janus’.

It isn’t.

It belongs to Roman, someone he’s never met, someone with curly red handwriting and terrible spelling and ridiculously huge dreams.

Janus calls the dog “you.” No point in naming it. Roman probably already has.

Roman may be his soulmate, but Roman isn’t important right now. Janus doesn’t want to think about Roman. Janus will have to put up a front and make Roman like him, and making people like him is hard. It took him ages with his dads. People don’t like Janus much in general. He lies too much and his knees are always scraped and he makes fun of people when they laugh at him.

He doesn’t talk to people very much at all anymore. He stays in the woods with his dads and sometimes tags along to get groceries in town, and he stares at everyone when they stare at him, because he knows his endless freckles and red curls and big red birthmark down the side of his face are all noticeable but it doesn’t make it fun to be stared at. People stare at his dads, too, and Janus has to stop himself from punching them.

Janus likes trees better than people.

Trees are simple. You climb them, you bump into them, you sit under them and read a book. Trees don’t judge. Trees aren’t enigmas Janus has to puzzle out, people he has to convince or charm just to get their approval, people who look down on him because he’s small and ginger and freckled and a little bit too skinny and apparently doesn’t know anything about anything.

Trees don’t take it personally when Janus doesn’t want to talk.

Trees don’t mind it when he lies.

Janus folds Roman’s letter in half, then folds the corners in. A few more folds and he has a boat, writing climbing up the sides, red pen against old notebook paper.

He leans down and pushes it off into the stream. It wobbles for a second but gains speed, floating down the current, sinking slowly into the water. The stream tumbles over some rocks up ahead. The boat falls over the waterfall and disappears.

Maybe, Janus entertains, Roman is at the other end, and he’ll receive them. And he’ll understand that Janus is there, listening, not ready to talk yet but still here.

Maybe, someday, Janus will find Roman. He’ll follow the dog back or follow the stream down the hill or just go into town and look around. Roman goes to a private school. Janus could try and find out which one.

Maybe, someday, Janus will look for what he wants and actually get there.

But not today.

Today he climbs the tallest hill, scrambling up the path he’s blazed over the years, that ridiculous dog wagging its tail and following. He pauses to climb a pine tree, getting almost halfway up before the branches thin out and he hears Weather Dad telling him to go back down before he breaks a freaking bone. Although Weather Dad wouldn’t say freaking. He pauses again to chase a crow that yells at him when he gets too close. He calls it some names in response, mostly names that Coffee Dad mutters under his breath and thinks Janus doesn’t hear. Then he makes it to the top of the hill and sits on the peak, a huge tan rock that juts out over the edge, rimmed with pine trees.

The sun is sinking in the sky. He can see the houses patterned below in strips and plaid on the ground, and in the distance, the spires and scrapers of the city. The stone is warm beneath his hands. He sets his hat on his knees and pulls at his ponytail idly. The dog sits next to him.

“You’ll be leaving soon,” Janus tells it. “Hurry up.”

It sniffs at a crack in the rock.

“I’m not feeding you again,” Janus adds. “You’re leeching money from the coffers of this household.”

Glasses Dad said that. Janus was pretty sure it was a joke, and he’s not sure what coffers are, but it makes him sound official so he likes it.

The dog just blinks innocently at him.

“Shut up,” Janus tells it, and sighs. “I don’t want to miss the sunset, but you’ll be going soon, won’t you?”

The dog tilts its head.

Janus looks back at the sun.

Sunsets here are beautiful.

And yes, there’ll be one tomorrow night. But it won’t be exactly the same. Janus wants to see it.

He’s sure Roman can feed the dog extra.

“Go,” Janus says softly, and when he looks up, the dog is gone.

---

The dog always visits Patton at night.

He’s named it Paw-ton. If he ever meets his soulmates, he’ll see if they’ve named it something, and he’ll change the name to whatever they decided. For now, it’s Paw-ton. A cute little ball of fluff. Patton squeals every time he sees him.

Really, it’s not fair that nobody else can. This cuteness deserves to be shared!

He’s tried to help his mom see the dog. He took a photo to show her, he held the dog up so she could touch it. Nothing.

“He’s just yours,” she told Patton, smiling. “Yours and your soulmate’s.”

Patton pouted. That really didn’t seem fair.

“And get him out of the apartment,” she’d added, “the landlord says no pets.”

How the landlord could forbid an invisible dog, Patton didn't know, but he didn’t want an argument.

So Paw-ton isn’t allowed in the apartment.

So every night, after Patton finished washing the dishes, he slips out of the window onto the fire escape. And he waits.

Paw-ton always pops up when he least expects it, somehow getting three stories in the air despite being a teeny weeny pupper with little legs. Patton’s learned not to ask questions. He just lets the dog curl up next to him and he watches the street lights down below.

The city is always loud.

He can hear people talking on the street below. He can hear cars careening through the intersections. He can hear the gentle thrum of a party and the barking of a dog and someone yelling at someone else a few apartments down. He can hear an airplane passing overhead and the rattle of a truck and two different sirens, dipping and weaving around each other, just out of sync.

It’s a cold spring evening. The fire escape is freezing and the iron almost burns his skin. Patton curls tighter around himself and hopes Paw-ton shows up soon.

And he does. He wriggles into Patton’s arms and sits there, a comforting warm weight.

The lights of the city spin around them.

“I had an okay day,” Patton starts off. “Maybe a seven or eight?”

He tells Paw-ton everything. And Paw-ton listens, because Paw-ton is a dog, a dog that nobody else can see.

“How are my soulmates?” Patton asks when he finishes.

As always, Paw-ton just barks once. And Patton takes that as a sign that they’re okay.

He hopes they are.

He hopes they’re happy, and he hopes one day, they’ll be happy with him.

As always, he gets up and pushes Paw-ton away. “Not allowed inside the apartment, sorry.”

Paw-ton whines.

“Go talk to the other soulmates,” Patton says, his heart heavy. “I’m sure they’d like to see you.”

Paw-ton nuzzles his leg and trots to the edge of the fire escape, looking back at Patton. Asking Patton to follow.

Patton could follow, if he wanted.

But it’s a cold spring night and he’s in his stripy pajamas and the world is dizzyingly dark.

And he’s sure his soulmates are fine without him.

Just like he’s fine without them.

Completely fine.

“Go on,” Patton encourages.

The dog gives him one long look before walking down the fire escape.

One day, maybe, Patton will be desperate enough to follow him. And he’ll find someone in this city who listens, who isn’t just another voice in the rush of noise around him, waves pulling him under.

One day.

Someday.

But not today.

It sucks to be alone. It sucks even more to be surrounded by people and still alone, to be twelve and small and drowning in his pajamas and suffocating in the noise.

But someone else is supposed to fix that. And Patton doesn’t think he could bear it if they tried and failed. If the universe took away the one bit of hope he has left.

Right now, he can dream. He can dream of late nights and rainy afternoons and baked dinners and fun games. He can dream that his soulmate will be by his side.

That’s safe. That’s safer than finding out that they aren’t. That hurts less than being alone--because there’s still hope that someday, one day, he’ll get to where they are.

And he’ll have someone by his side, sitting on the fire escape, watching the lights.

Patton climbs back through the window, closes it, and doesn’t look back.

---

Roman fails his test.

Not even a small, microscopic kind of fail, the kind of fail that could almost be considered a success. It was a huge, gigantic, epic fail. Red slashes over all the questions kind of fail. Murmured conversations upstairs kind of fail. Disappointed looks from his teacher, his parents once they got done murmuring, and his own face when he looked in the mirror.

He thought he could do it. Then he spent the night working on a story about two dueling mages instead of studying.

And he failed.

And he knows it’s not the end of the world, but he also knows everyone will use this as an excuse to get him to write less and study more, to say how precarious his position at the school is, and that if he wants to make his family proud, he’ll need to try harder.

Roman does try. He does. He gets how important this is. It’s just sometimes, his brain won’t focus on the right things, and he’d much rather think up new stories than stare at a textbook. School’s boring, and he doesn’t get why that’s his fault.

He fakes sick sometimes to sit in the nurse’s office for twenty minutes and scribble in his notebook while she gives him some water. Nobody likes that. But Roman never misses anything much, and the time limit makes his brain kick into overdrive.

He sneaks food into classes sometimes because he likes to eat and work at the same time, and he’s always hungry. Nobody likes that. But Roman always cleans up after himself and it never goes too wrong.

He lies about his soulmates sometimes. He pretends he’s met them, because some kids in his class already have, talking about snakes that led them to their matches or ravens that flew down from the sky and pushed them forward, and Roman doesn’t want to be left out. Nobody likes that. The teachers called home after the third time.

He’s living in a fantasy world where there aren’t any consequences, one of his teachers said, and we can’t get him to wake up.

Of course he is.

Fantasy is ten times better than reality.

Roman figures his soulmates would get it, if he told them. His soulmates would take his side. They’d understand and they’d actually listen to him instead of assuming they knew best.

They’d find him and they’d understand.

The dog shows up on Sunday morning and Roman glares at it, turning over and trying to sleep.

A little nip on his foot.

“Fine, I’m up, I’m up!” Roman rolls out of bed. It’s a cloudy day. Maybe it’ll rain later--he hopes so. It’d match his mood.

“We’re going outside,” he tells the dog as he gets up and throws on a red t-shirt and black jeans. Usually, he’d be ecstatic about the weekend--it’s free time, and he gets to wear his own clothes. Right now, he can’t muster up the excitement. “I’m going to get out of this dreadfully dreary domicile if it’s the last thing I do.”

The dog tilts its head.

“Are you coming?” Roman snaps. “Or are you going to make me do this on my own like everyone else?”

He stomps over to the door, not waiting for an answer. He grabs his jacket, pulls it around his shoulders, and slips into the hall. Much as he’d like to keep stomping around, he doesn’t want to disturb his parents. They’d probably tell him he should be studying.

He probably should be studying.

Roman walks down the hall, slides down the banister of the stairs, and jumps towards the front door. He kicks it open. The street is already busy with cars, someone peddling past on their bicycle, a few dog walkers idling by the bushes.

It’s a grey day, and Roman feels miserable, and the best thing to do is to head down the road to the playground and sit and feel miserable there.

He closes the door, looks down, and sees the dog sitting on the stoop like it’s been there all along.

“That is majorly spooky,” Roman says, striding down the walk. The dog doesn’t follow. It sits there, tilting its head, looking back at the door.

“What?” Roman asks.

A short bark.

“I won’t be gone long,” Roman says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, little pup, it’s merely a walk to clear my head.”

The dog paws at the door.

“Don’t--” Roman moves to stop it. “Right. You’re imaginary. Never mind, I suppose you can knock yourself out. See you soon.”

He turns sharply on his heel and continues marching to the sidewalk. When he glances back, the dog is trotting down the stares to follow him.

“Hey, go,” Roman says, backing away. “I told you to stop bugging me, I’m not going to tell my parents where I’m going--”

The dog sidles up to him and rubs against his legs.

“I suppose I’m stuck with you, aren’t I?” Roman sighs. “Er--thank you, I appreciate it.”

He sets off, the dog by his side.

He vaguely hoped that the fresh air would make him feel better. It doesn’t. With every step, he just feels more terrible, throat and eyes burning and stomach twisted up in hardened little knots. He presses his lips together. People are all around him and he can’t start sobbing on a sidewalk, he’ll look like an idiot.

Roman wraps his arms around himself.

The dog trots next to him, looking perfectly pleased. Roman wonders if he should have put it on a leash. He doesn’t have a leash and the dog doesn’t have a collar to attach it to. Maybe he should get it a collar. It would certainly make it easier to keep messages secure--

Messages.

Oh. He’d forgotten to write a letter to his soulmate.

Roman stops dead. Much as he feels terrible about it, he can’t do anything now unless he goes back home and gets a pen--

He doesn’t want to go back home yet.

And who cares if his soulmate gets a letter anyway? Clearly not them, or they’d have written back by now.

Roman kicks the sidewalk. It’s satisfying. He kicks it again.

Stupid soulmates. Stupid test. Stupid stories. Stupid neighborhood with no dragons. Stupid school. Stupid teachers. Stupid soulmates who didn’t even bother to write him back.

The dog lowers its head, like it can hear what Roman’s thinking.

Stupid dog.

Roman hates the dog. He hates his soulmates. He hates every letter he’s written. He hates school, he hates his family, he hates everything in the whole wide world, castles and mountains and lakes he’ll never get to see--

He’s reached the crosswalk. He slams his fist into the button, and the light turns green. He scurries across it. The dog waits at the sidewalk.

Still wanting him to turn around.

Stupid dog!

“Leave me alone,” Roman yells at it. “They don’t want me, I don’t want them, leave me alone--”

The dog starts to trot towards him.

Roman walks to the other side of the street.

The dog follows, six feet behind.

Roman turns away, intent on getting to the playground and ignoring the stupid dog for the rest of ever, hands deep in his pockets.

A sickening thump.

Roman turns back around.

A bicycle careens to the side of the road and rights itself. And the dog, Roman’s stupid little soulmate dog, is crumpled in its wake.

Roman doesn’t even think. He runs over and scoops it up in his arms. It’s light, too light, and breathing, but its leg is twisted and bleeding a little.

A car honks.

Roman’s standing in the middle of the road. Crap. He gives the cars a sheepish wave and runs off the road onto the sidewalk. He sits down in someone’s yard, hoping they won’t be mad, and sets the dog by his feet. It’s shaking. It’s so small on the grass and it’s shaking, and Roman doesn’t know what to do, nobody else can see what he sees and what happens if a soulmate animal dies--

It’s almost the end of the morning, he realizes wildly. He’s running out of time. The dog will leave and it’s hurt and who knows if his other soulmates can help.

The dog whines when Roman touches it.

“Are you okay?” Roman asks. He knows it can’t answer, and it doesn’t. But it does try to stagger to its feet.

“Hey, hey, easy.” Roman catches the little dog and tries to steady it. “Your leg’s hurt, you shouldn’t be--”

“Roman!”

Roman looks up. His mom is running towards him, face set in a combination of fury and worry.

Crap.

“I’m busy!” Roman yells back.

“You just left!” she yells in return. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been, this behavior is unacceptable, get over here immediately--”

“But--”

Roman looks back at the dog, to see if he can explain, and he knows she can’t see the dog because it’s a soulmate thing--and he just ruined it, he ruined it, he hurt the dog and now his soulmates will be mad--but if he tries, maybe she’ll understand, they can help it and fix it and everything will be okay--

The dog is gone.

He looks all around at the yard. A few shriveled daffodils and some grass. No dog.

It left. It left because Roman hurt it and it didn’t want to be here anymore.

“Roman!” his mom exclaims. “Are you alright?”

Roman looks up and starts to cry.

---

Janus has finished his homework, and the dog isn’t here.

He looks through it, wondering if there’s something he’s forgotten to do. No, he’s finished every assignment. That’s strange. He usually times this right--his work must have been easy.

He glances at the clock.

No, it wasn’t.

The dog is late.

Janus bites his lip and for a brief second, he’s flooded with worry.

But this is fine. It’s probably just busy, is all. Besides, he doesn’t need the stupid mongrel anyway. It’s just a dog.

Janus shifts around his homework. He pulls out a sheet of extra problems, which he normally wouldn’t touch, and starts filling them out. His pencil scratches against the paper and the kitchen is silent.

He doesn’t like this.

He finishes the extra problems, double-checks his work, and the dog isn’t here.

Janus groans at himself. So what? His day isn’t destroyed because the dog didn’t show up. He can still do everything he wants to do. In fact, he’s wasting time just sitting at the table. The forest is right outside and begging to be explored.

He sits there for a few moments longer.

The kitchen is empty.

Janus stands up and pushes aside his things more harshly than necessary. “I’m going out,” he calls, and he wonders if his dads can hear the waver in his voice.

He doesn’t wait for their reply.

He pushes the door open. It bangs against the wall of the house and slams back into place. He strides out into the yard, hair flying behind him. He’s forgotten his sunhat--it’s okay, today is cloudy. He’s forgotten his bug spray, too. And his sandals. He just wanted to be out of that empty kitchen and now he stands barefoot on the pebbled path, clutching at his arms, staring into the forest.

Did the dog get lost?

How would it get lost? He’s always assumed it simply teleported where it needed to be. Maybe his soulmates aren’t too far away, though, and maybe the dog always journeys by foot. Janus thinks of the little stupid thing walking through the rain to get to him, and something cold turns over in his stomach.

Maybe the dog is with his soulmate.

That would make sense. Maybe Roman is hogging the dog, or simply needed its help with something. Maybe Roman finally got tired of Janus not writing back and kept the dog with him out of spite.

Maybe Roman’s finally given up on him.

Janus doesn’t care.

Janus is fine on his own.

He’s always been.

He clenches his jaw and heads straight for the forest. He’ll do everything anyway. He’ll get more done if he doesn’t have to slow down so the stupid dog can keep up. He’ll climb every tree in this forest.

Though he should put on some shoes, at least, before he starts--

A whine from behind him.

He whirls.

There’s nothing there. Just a few rows of garden and the closed door to the kitchen. The walls of their house are dark blue because Weather Dad wanted purple and Coffee Dad wanted black and Glasses Dad wanted “something sensible.” A vulture wheels high above Janus, etched against the thunderous grey clouds. Maybe it’ll rain. Janus hopes not--he still has trees to climb.

Another whine.

It’s the sound of a dog. A dog in pain.

Janus looks around frantically. He has to be hearing things. There’s nothing, nothing but a few boots by the back door, the cracks in the steps, the rows of tomatoes--

Something shifts in the shadow of the steps.

Janus steps closer.

A third whine.

He hasn’t heard any dog whine like that. But he only knows one dog.

Janus sprints to the steps.

His dog, his stupid ridiculous dog, is curled up next to them.

“There you are!” Janus complains, squatting next to it and reaching out a hand. “Why are you just sitting there, you’re late--”

He touches the dog. It’s shaking. He slips his other arm under its belly to pick it up.

It flinches.

And teeth close around his wrist.

Janus yells, jerking his hand away. The dog hasn’t punctured the skin, but he can see little divots, and it stings. He shakes his wrist out and turns back to the dog. It’s curled deeper into the shadows as if ashamed.

Its leg is twisted under it.

Janus thinks he sees blood.

For a second his heart stops, and as if to make up for it, starts pounding fast and hard.

But this isn’t the time to panic. His dog is hurt.

“Hey,” Janus says as softly as he can, “can you come out?”

The dog looks at him with wide eyes.

“I bet you can’t move much,” Janus says, sitting down entirely and raising his arms. He leaves them hovering a few inches from the dog. “It must have hurt when I touched you, huh?”

The dog curls even tighter into itself. It’s strange to see it in the shadows like this. It’s a dog that looks best in the sunlight--now Janus can see the scraggly edges of its spots and the little chunks in its tail. It looks lost and confused and scared.

Janus edges closer.

The dog sinks back, giving Janus a little warning growl.

Janus stops.

And the dog tucks its head between its paws, looking like it wishes very much to keep away from Janus forever.

“Easy,” Janus says. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The dog blinks at him.

And for a second, Janus understands it, more than he’s understood anyone in his whole life.

It’s not afraid that he’ll hurt it.

It’s afraid that it’ll hurt him again.

“Oh,” Janus says, pulling his hand back. “It’s okay, I promise.”

The dog watches his hand.

“Look, the bite will heal.” Janus holds up his wrist. “See? It’s not so bad. There’s not even any blood.”

The clouds swirl above them. It’s going to rain soon, and Janus is not leaving his stupid dog out in the rain. Out in the rain injured, and there will be time to wonder how this happened and if Roman knew about it, but now isn’t that time.

“It’s okay,” Janus says again. “I...you were hurt, and you were scared, and you lashed out. I do that sometimes, too.” He pauses and holds out his arms. “But I want to help. I’m not mad at you--and I’ll try my best not to hurt you. I can’t say it won’t hurt at all, but I’m sorry in advance if it does, and you really need to get looked after so I think it’ll be worth it in the end.”

The dog tilts its head. It’s a cute little thing. Janus notices it has no message for him, and his stomach twists, but now isn’t the time.

“Come here?” he asks hesitantly.

The dog struggles to its feet and limps into his arms. Janus sighs with relief and curls it close to his chest. It’s warm. He can feel its heartbeat fluttering against him.

“Thank you,” he says. “You’re going to stay with me for a little while, okay? We have some medical supplies. I’m sure Roman won’t miss you much, and--I can write him a letter. Explaining everything.” Janus bites his lip. “If...he’d like that.”

The dog licks Janus’ chin, which Janus counts as a yes.

Janus smiles at it.

Stupid little dog.

He stands up and carries it into the house.

---

It’s raining.

Not one of the nice kinds of rain, either. Patton likes when it rains lightly and drizzles his hair until it’s a little bit floofy. He likes it when it’s warm and wet and filled with puddles he can splash in. And he likes it when it snows--which isn’t really rain, but his teachers say it’s frozen rain, so he thinks it counts.

This, though, is a thunderstorm. Lots of flashy lightning and booms of thunder. Patton doesn’t like thunderstorms because Paw-ton doesn’t. It tries to wriggle through the window and hide under Patton’s bed, and Patton has to stop it because no pets in the apartment.

He always ends up covering Paw-ton with an umbrella on rainy nights. Sometimes that means Patton gets wet. Patton doesn’t mind.

He’s wet now.

It’s cold. It’s cold and wet and the thunder is way too loud and he’s a little nervous that being so high up means the lightning might come for him and zap his bones. He’s curled in a tight ball so the lightning won’t see him. Maybe it’ll hear him.

But he’d be hard to hear over the storm.

Big claps of thunder, the screech of cars, and the endless thrum of rain around him. Patter patter patter, splash splash splash.

Patton can barely see a thing. His glasses are wet and covered in droplets so the whole world blurs. Smears of red and yellow for the neon signs, flashes of white for the lights in the distance, and a broiling grey expanse of sky.

His pajamas are soaked through. The fire escape is slippery under him.

Maybe he shouldn’t be out here.

But he’s waiting.

He doesn’t know how late it is. Probably less late than it seems, because the sun is completely hidden and the clouds make the world very dark. Still. He’s pretty sure Paw-ton should be here by now.

Paw-ton should be here, and Patton is very, very worried, and Patton is very, very cold.

And Patton is very, very alone.

What happened? Is Paw-ton just late? Or maybe it’s stuck somewhere, not wanting to go out in the rain. But it’s gone in the rain before. It always comes for Patton. Patton can’t name a single time when it didn’t.

Paw-ton is always on time.

Paw-ton is always there.

Patton wonders if he did something wrong.

Maybe the universe decided to take back his soulmates. Maybe the dog got hurt, or kidnapped. Maybe one of his soulmates kept it for longer--maybe Paw-ton is a comfort for them, like it is for Patton, and they just needed it after a rough day.

Which makes sense.

And is fair.

And yet Patton still selfishly wishes his dog was here.

Because he’s cold and alone and should be going back inside but he’s stuck here, drummed in place by rain, face dripping and hands pruny and the world crashing down around him.

Sheets of rain, blobs of color, and the smell of wet asphalt.

Patton doesn’t like the city much.

It’s always prettier when Paw-ton is there.

Yeah, it’s just a dog. But it’s something. It’s another warm body on the fire escape and a reminder that somewhere out there is someone that is meant for Patton. Patton’s not alone. He’s not a lost puzzle piece in a jigsaw that someone else already completed. He’s got his person or his people. And his dog.

He’s got a place to be, and someday he’ll get there, and one night with no dog doesn’t mean that changes so why does he feel like crying?

Patton presses his hands over his eyes. The tears come anyway, thick and fast, falling in sheets like the rain around him.

He’s a little lost thundercloud, far from the storm, not loud enough to crack through the world. Not big enough to make any sound at all.

He cries, curled up on the fire escape, and it’s stupid to be crying over a dog but he can’t stop himself.

He’s cold, and he’s wet, and he’s lonely.

So he cries.

He doesn’t go back in for a very long time, not until even his bones are wet and he’s about to collapse from tiredness. He peels off his wet pajamas and leaves them in a heap on the floor.

He keeps the window open overnight, just in case Paw-ton is scared of the storm and wants to hide. He doesn’t care about the rules. Not right now.

His whole room is cold and wet, and Patton barely sleeps, and his dog--his cute little puppy dog--is nowhere to be found.

That night, all the window lets in is the rain.

---

Roman wakes up on his own.

He brushes his teeth on his own. He puts on his school clothes on his own. He doesn’t bother to open the window, because he knows there won’t be any dragons.

The dog doesn’t come.

He pretends it doesn’t hurt.

Roman hopes the dog is okay. Maybe his other soulmates helped it. Maybe they’ve decided to keep it so it stays safe.

Roman wouldn’t blame them.

This is his punishment for letting it get hurt.

He gets that.

In the stories, his soulmates and him save the world. And in his angry stories, his soulmates save the world from him.

Everything’s an angry story now, written in his own cramped handwriting, the words disjointed and slashing through him like knives. Everything’s red and black and with no happy ever afters because Roman threw the notebook at the wall before he finished.

Roman gets angry sometimes.

And now his dog is hurt.

And now his soulmates probably hate him.

Roman gets angry, and he’s trying so hard not to be angry right now, so all that’s left is regret.

The dog never comes and Roman wants to cry.

He’s on time for school. It’s the first day in months that he’s managed that. He eats breakfast slowly and slips into the car. His mom doesn’t glare at him like usual and the minivan puts slowly down the road. They’re in no rush. Roman is right on time.

He hates it.

---

Janus wakes up to the dog curled by the foot of his bed. He eats breakfast quickly and runs up to make sure it’s still okay. His dads helped him as much as they could, but only Janus could actually patch the dog up, so he’s worried he didn’t do a very good job. But the dog seems to be doing better. Maybe it’s magic--maybe it heals fast.

Janus still doesn’t know what happened to it. He’s trying not to jump to conclusions. But if Roman hurt this dog, Janus is going to shove him into a tree. Twice.

It’s his stupid dog. Nobody hurts his stupid dog.

“Feeling better?” Janus asks it that morning. “I can’t have you hanging around forever, mutt, you’re stinking up my room.”

The dog gives him a look, and Janus gives it a look right back.

He takes it with him when he does his chores, under the guise of getting the dog moving so it heals faster. The dog is no help with his chores, but oddly, Janus gets them done quicker.

He eats lunch with the dog sitting on his feet.

It’s ridiculous.

It still makes him smile.

The dog is restless. He catches it looking out the window or staring at the door. It has other places to be. It wants to be with Roman again--and that hurts, just a bit, but Janus has had the dog for a whole night. He wonders if Roman misses the dog. Roman must know it was hurt. Unless it got hurt in transit, but Janus has become relatively sure that the dog is only affected by the real world when they’re involved in it. Evidence: it disappeared when he left the room, which he knows because he saw it appear again for the first time. It’s strange to watch. There wasn’t a dog and now, suddenly, there’s a dog.

Which means the dog was only around to get hurt if Roman was there.

Which means Roman must know the dog was hurt.

Janus wonders if Roman tried to help. Why’d the dog leave? Why’d the dog come to him?

Maybe it was just the timing.

Or maybe it likes Janus, and Janus doesn’t know why that makes him feel giddy.

The dog is restless, and Janus tells it that it’s still healing and needs to stay. It whines. Janus hates its whining. It’s a pitiful sound and makes him feel bad, inside and out.

Janus tries to climb a tree or two in the afternoon, but since the dog can’t follow, he loses motivation quickly. Instead he sits in the garden, the dog curled by his side, and tells stories.

The dog watches the road that winds down the hill and into the city.

The dog watches it, and Janus watches it too. It’s an empty road. Nobody ever comes up here.

“Is he close?” Janus finds himself asking.

The dog lowers its head.

“You’re hurt,” Janus says. “You can’t--”

It’s getting late. The sun is setting. If Janus doesn’t keep his eyes on the dog, it’ll travel wherever it needs to go, and he doesn’t know if that hurts it. Or if Roman will be able to look after the dog like it needs. It’s wounded. Its leg is splinted and it can’t walk, and Janus trusts his soulmate but only to be dramatic and to write letters every day.

He’s not sure if he trusts Roman with this dog.

He’d like to, of course, but Janus doesn’t trust easily.

Not with important things.

“Stay,” Janus begs the dog, staring at it. It never leaves when he’s looking. But it appeared when he was looking today--maybe it’s getting desperate.

The dog keeps whining, low and upset.

“I can’t let you leave,” Janus says. “I’m sorry, I need to look after you--”

The dog nips at him and pulls itself to its feet, shivering.

“Hey, no!” Janus exclaims. “Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself--”

The dog gives him a determined look.

“No, wait--” Janus’ heart squeezes. “You can’t just go to him. I need to make sure you’re safe.”

A gesture of the head.

It’s a clear message. He needs me. I’m going.

Janus sighs.

He doesn’t want this dog getting hurt again.

But...he imagines Roman, without the dog, worrying. He imagines letters in that red sparkly pen that are folded up but never delivered.

Janus stands up and grabs the dog.

“I’m going out,” he calls to his dads.

“It’s late,” says Weather Dad, peeking his head out of the door. Glasses Dad is cooking--Janus can smell it. It is late. He’ll miss dinner if he does this.

He looks down at the dog in his arms.

“I need to bike somewhere,” he says. “It’ll be quick.”

Weather Dad’s eyebrows pull together and he scowls, but his eyes flicker down to the dog. He can’t see it. It probably looks like Janus is holding nothing at all.

“Be quick,” Weather Dad says. “And be careful, don’t want you falling off. Keep your lights on. Wear a yellow hat, stay to the side of the road, bring a phone--”

“Babe, he’ll be fine.” Coffee Dad slings an arm around Weather Dad’s shoulders. “Don’t get lost, Jan, okay?”

“I won’t,” Janus promises, and for Weather Dad’s sake he takes the large yellow sunhat offered to him. It matches his t-shirt. He can’t imagine not being noticed in this hat.

His bike is leaned against the side of the garage. He places the dog in the basket and hops onto the seat, wobbling his way to the road.

It’s all downhill from there. The road looks like a stream, bubbling back and forth through the trees, slipping its way over rocks to the city.

He just has to let go and ride the whole way down.

Janus nods to himself and pedals.

It’s a warm evening. The wind whips his hair, pulling it loose until the curls fly around his head. The dog opens its mouth and lolls its tongue out. It looks happy. Maybe because he’s giving in--Janus is going to find his soulmate tonight, because of the stupid dog, the one thing they have in common.

He’s headed towards the glittering city below.

The shadows around him are warm and thick and the trees rustle in the wind. He grips tightly to his handlebars and brakes a bit, taking the curves expertly. He sees flashes of trunks and logs and flowers, dim and muted. The whole world is like a wet cloth--dipped in water and wrung out until it’s all smudged and dulled and darkened.

The crickets chirp and Janus thinks he sees a firefly.

He rides further down the hill. He’s building up speed. He pedals as fast as he can, hat almost flying off his head, shirt whipping around.

He can’t see the city anymore, because he’s almost there.

His bicycle skims the road neatly, bends into the curves, and he’s pedaling so fast and steady he can’t imagine stopping himself. He’s all momentum. He’s flying down the hill, past the forest full of trees he’s yet to climb. It’s the opposite direction of where he usually goes. He is no longer trying to touch the sky. He is headed for the valley, for the shadows, for a distant promise of a soulmate.

Is Janus ready for this?

Possibly not. Probably not.

Does Janus want this?

Yes.

And Janus won’t let anything get between him and what he wants.

He pushes himself even faster and soars down the hill.

The city appears in front of him. The road widens. Little white dashes bleed into existence and Janus pulls over to the side. The dog is still panting, pointing his nose down into the city, leading Janus on.

He’s glad one of them is having fun.

The city is so bright, he realizes as he approaches. Every building is flaming with lights. The windows are little squares against the sky and the streetlights are circles and the cars shuffle back and forth like glowing ants.

The city is on fire, and Janus is heading right for it.

He tightens his grip on his handlebars.

He flies.

---

The dog hasn’t come.

Patton has planned for this. He’s brought a coloring book and some crayons, so he can wait for a long time. Maybe he should have brought his homework. It’s due soon, and besides, he can’t even see the colors. They all look gray and washed-out in the neon lights.

He thinks about getting a flashlight.

But he might miss Paw-ton, if it arrives, and he’s just found a kinda comfortable spot.

So Patton sits there, coloring book in his hands, watching the lights.

Someone is yelling again. So many people yell in the city. Patton doesn’t get it. Sometimes you’re listened to and sometimes you’re not and it’s no use getting angry over it.

He doodles a little dog. He’s not very good at drawing but he gets the floppy ears and the little nose and the cute teeny tail. He writes ‘Paw-ton’ next to it.

He’ll show it to Paw-ton next time it visits.

If it does.

Patton yawns. It’s late and he didn’t sleep much last night, but he can’t bring himself to leave.

Yelling. Cars. The skid of a bicycle, the chatter of people, the distant pulse of music. People always play music in the city, too. Patton gets that, at least. Music is nice. Sometimes if someone’s playing good music, and Patton’s had a good day, he dances to it. Paw-ton isn’t a good dancer but he jumps around a lot and that’s good enough.

Patton tries moving his head to the beat.

He can’t find the energy.

It’s a warm night, the kind of night that buzzes, that says the world is just a little bit different than usual. A nice night. It would be nice if Patton weren’t alone in it.

If he wasn’t so gosh darn worried.

A dog barks nearby. He can almost pretend it’s Paw-ton. It’s the right sound, soft and kind, never barking for too long--

“Hello?”

Patton jerks upright. That’s a voice from right down below him. He waits to see who it’s talking to.

“Hello?” The voice sounds a little exasperated. “I can see you, you know. And I have no idea why you’re on a fire escape of all things, but you should come down--I’ve got someone who wants to see you.”

Patton peeks over the edge. A boy is standing there, wearing a baggy yellow t-shirt and a large straw hat of the same color. It has a ribbon across it. It’s a nice hat. He’s a nice boy, or at least Patton thinks so, with thin legs and loads of freckles and the kind of frizzy hair that makes it look like a little ginger cloud is following him around. He’s staring at Patton with blue eyes and a vaguely irritated expression. There’s a bandaid on his left knee and it has a smiley face on it. A bicycle is leaned up against the wall of the alley.

In his arms--

Oh!

Patton squeals. He scrambles to his feet and takes the steps two at a time, grinning wildly.

“Slow down,” says the boy. “I don’t want to have to fix another broken leg.”

Patton barely slows down. He runs all the way to the ground and bolts over, because it’s Paw-ton, his dog, his dog is finally back and curled up in this boy’s arms--

“You’re okay!” Patton blurts out as he skids to a stop.

“It’s alright,” the boy agrees, holding Paw-ton out. Patton opens his arms and Paw-ton jumps into them, licking Patton’s face. Patton giggles.

“I missed you!” Patton exclaims. “I missed you, I missed you so much, what happened--”

“It got hurt,” says the boy. “I splinted its leg as much as I could. I was going to keep him here for longer, but he was desperate to get back to you. No need to thank me--”

“Thank you!” Patton extends one arm and hugs the boy around the shoulders. “Thank you, thank you, thank you so much!”

“Er,” the boy says, looking taken aback. “You’re welcome?”

“I was so worried,” Patton gushes. “It got hurt? What happened?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me that,” says the boy, his voice taking on a hard edge. Patton pauses, his smile falling.

“What--” Patton looks from the dog in his arms back to the boy. “I don’t know what happened! I just waited for Paw-ton and he wasn’t there! He didn’t get hurt with me.”

“That’s strange,” says the boy, frowning. “I thought--wait, Paw-ton?”

“That’s what I named him!” Patton says. “After me? My name’s Patton. You--we can change it if you want. I just wanted something to call the little pupper!”

“Patton,” the boy repeats. “Not Roman?”

“Roman?” Patton’s never heard that name before. “Who’s Roman?”

The boy blinks.

And he says a very, very naughty word. Patton covers the dog’s ears.

“Two soulmates,” the boy finally says, groaning. “All this time I had two soulmates. I thought it was just Roman and his letters--” Horror flashes over his face and he looks up at Patton like he’s seeing him clearly for the first time. “You didn’t get any of the letters--I took them--”

“What?” Patton asks.

“I--” The boy swallows. “I’m sorry. I--I didn’t know you were here, too.”

“Oh.” Patton doesn’t fully understand, but the boy looks upset, so he tries to smile. “It’s okay! I’m here now?”

“You are.” The boy looks down at Paw-ton. “I’m...I’m also sorry I kept the dog for so long.”

“It’s okay,” Patton says again. Because now, he feels, it is. He’s got his dog back. “You helped it, and that was really nice of you!”

The boy smiles a little. “I’m Janus.”

“Janus! I’m Patton!” Patton giggles. “I already said that. Nice to meetcha!”

“Likewise.” Janus looks around at the alley. Neon lights play across his face, making his freckles glow. “Do you come here often?”

“I live in the apartment over there.” Patton rocks the dog in his arms. “Where do you live?”

“Up the hill in the woods.”

“Whoa! Really?” Patton gasps. “I wanna see!”

Janus chuckles. “Easy there. We just met.”

“Yeah, but you’re my soulmate.” Patton pauses as the reality of that finally, finally sinks in. “You’re....you’re my soulmate. My actual soulmate.”

“Yes?” Janus’ hand comes up to pull at his hair. “And you’re mine, I suppose. I...I understand if this is a lot to process--”

“You’re my soulmate,” Patton breathes, and he can’t think of anything else because his soulmate is here, and real, and standing in cargo shorts and a yellow t-shirt and a big hat. They must be the same age or close enough. Janus has a lot of little freckles and one big freckle down the side of his face and he looks really, really nice.

He wonders what Janus thinks of him.

He hopes it’s good.

“We have one more,” Janus says awkwardly. “Roman. He sends me letters, but I never wrote back.”

“Why not?” Patton asks.

“I don’t know, I just--” Janus looks away. “I was scared, I guess.”

Patton watches him for a second.

“This is scary,” he agrees. “I don’t know you very much. And you’re supposed to listen to me and be nice, but I don’t know if you will.”

“I’ll try?” Janus suggests.

Patton looks at him a second longer. Then he nods decisively. “You’re nice. You helped our dog, so you’re nice.”

Janus looks down at the dog. “For what it’s worth, I think Paw-ton is a fine name. I never gave it one, I--I always thought you’d have made one up yourself.”

“You can give it a middle name,” Patton suggests.

Janus huffs and rolls his eyes. “I just call it stupid.”

“Stu, then.” Patton shrugs. “Short for stupid.”

Janus blinks. “Stupid is an insult.”

“I bet it’s not when you use it.”

Janus looks down at the dog and sighs. “No, it’s not.”

“Paw-ton Stu,” Patton announces, and the dog nuzzles his chin. “Roman can pick the last name when we find him.”

“So...we’re looking for him?” Janus asks. “Now?”

“Not now,” Patton says. “It’s late.”

“It is,” Janus agrees. He shifts. “Tomorrow? I know where your apartment is now. We could...find Roman together? If you’d like?”

Patton thinks of all the nights he spent waiting for his soulmates. Or waiting for his dog. He’s always waited. He’s always figured that if he deserves a soulmate, fate will bring them to him. He’s always thought that his soulmates will find him if they want him. Patton’s always been told not to force things. He can’t be too loud or he’s being mean.

He’s been quiet for a long, long time.

He’s stayed very, very still.

He’s thought of a someday and he’s never tried to make that today.

He’s got places to go. Maybe it’s time he starts moving.

“Yeah,” Patton says, smiling. “Together.”

---

Roman is quiet.

He wasn’t quiet at first. The moment he’d seen the dog, sitting next to two boys his age, he’d almost screamed. They’d laughed as he scooped up the dog and looked it over--it looked alright, with a little splint on its leg. It licked his nose and tucked its head under his chin.

He’d been forgiven by the dog, at least.

His soulmates were another matter entirely.

Which is why Roman’s quiet now, sitting on the pavement, trying to think of what to say.

He glances up at them for the fifth time. One of them has enough freckles for a dot-to-dot puzzle, and the other has black hair that forms a fringe over his eyebrows. They’re not glaring at him. But they don’t look exactly happy, and Roman’s nervous.

“Sure, let’s just sit here in silence forever, that sounds fun.” That’s Freckles, sitting back on his hands and giving them both cool looks. “Is anyone going to talk or must I?”

“Um.” That’s the other one. “Hi! I’m Patton, this is Janus, and you must be Roman!”

“I’m Roman,” Roman agrees.

Patton and Janus. Nice names. They look like nice people, and Roman figures if things were different, maybe they could be friends.

He doesn’t know if they want to be his friends.

They’re his soulmates, which makes things weird.

Roman had plans for when he’d finally meet his soulmates. He’d sweep them off their feet and proclaim his undying affection, then they’d ride off into the sunset together. There isn’t a sunset right now. The sun is low next to the squat concrete square of his school, and cars drive past them, separated only by a chain-link fence and a strip of dirty grass.

He looks across the parking lot. His mom is waiting.

He’d expected her to argue when he said he needed to go talk to his soulmates. She hadn’t. She’d given him a kiss on the head and promised they’d like him.

Roman isn’t sure if they will.

But he knows where to start.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Patton and Janus exchange a look.

“What happened?” Patton asks, and it’s gentle, but he can tell Patton is a little angry. Roman pulls his legs to his chest.

The dog doesn’t leave his arms. He finds courage from that.

“I--I was upset,” Roman starts off, not looking at either of them. “I wanted to go to the playground, and the dog kept following even when I told it to leave, and--and it got hit by a bicycle. ‘Cause nobody could see it.” He reaches out and hands Patton his dog back. “I’m really sorry.”

Patton looks down at the dog, then back at Roman, who is trying very hard not to cry.

“I forgive you,” Patton says.

What?

“Me too,” Janus adds, looking a little uncomfortable. “You know. If it matters. It sounds like it was an accident.”

“But--” Roman looks between them. “I thought you’d be mad, I--”

Patton shakes his head. “Sounds like you were the one who was mad.”

And maybe that’s true. Maybe Roman’s always been angry--angry at himself and the world and his soulmates. But maybe the rest of the world doesn’t work like he does.

They’re not angry with him.

So maybe Roman doesn’t have to be angry with himself, either.

He takes a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you so much.”

“Janus did most of the work,” Patton said, grinning at Janus, who snorts and looks away. “He was the one who looked after Paw-ton.”

“You figured out what school Roman went to based off what he said in his letters,” Janus pointed out.

“Wait.” Roman looks between them. “Letters?”

It’s Janus’ turn to look at the ground.

“You got my letters!” Roman exclaims.

“I...did.” Janus pauses. “I--I didn’t pass them on to Patton, though, so he didn’t.”

“It’s alright,” Patton says, sounding like it hadn’t always been alright. “I found you guys now.”

“Roman.” Janus’ jaw clenches. “I...I’m sorry I didn’t answer any of them. I couldn’t think of what to say--I’m not good with people in general, and I was scared, and I definitely wanted to make a terrible first impression on my soulmate, so I--” He wraps one arm around himself. “I promised myself I’d write back someday. I’m sorry it took so long.”

Roman stares at him.

And he’s had a million rants ready for this moment, a million questions, a million jabs because he’s spent years writing those letters, pouring his heart and soul into them, and each one had just been cast aside like it was nothing--

Except Janus didn’t think that. He’d just been scared he wasn’t enough--that he couldn’t measure up to Roman’s letters.

Roman closes his eyes and lets the anger drain away.

“It’s okay,” he says, and he finds he means it. “We’re here now.”

“We’re here now,” Janus repeats, as if he can’t believe it.

“We’re together!” Patton squeals. He dumps the dog in Janus’ arms and attacks Roman in a hug. Roman jerks in surprise but hugs him back. Patton is warm and soft and pretty strong and fits into him like they were made for each other.

They are.

That’s the whole point.

Roman starts to laugh, beaming at Patton, and Patton’s giggling too, and even Janus is covering his mouth to hide his chuckles. Roman reaches for Janus and Janus takes his hand, slipping his fingers between Roman’s. 

“You’re my friends,” Patton giggles. “You’re here and you’re my friends--” He cuts himself off. “Right?”

“Not yet,” Janus says softly. “But...maybe soon, if you’d like to be.”

Roman grins even wider. “I’d love to be.”

Janus smiles back.

Patton finally pulls away and gives Janus a quick hug too. The dog is curled up in Janus’ lap, looking like there’s no place it would rather be.

“Thanks, Paw-ton,” Patton tells it. “Paw-ton Stu, you did a very good job and you’re a very good boy, yes you are.”

The dog wags its tail.

“Paw-ton Stu?” Roman repeats.

“Short for Paw-ton Stupid,” Janus says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Patton gave one name and I gave another. I’m sure you can’t guess which is which.”

“And you get to pick the last name!” Patton says, turning to Roman. “What do you call the little doggo?”

Roman shrugs. “Nothing, I could never find a name that fit.”

Janus leans forward and lets the dog trot over to Roman. It keeps its back leg lifted in the air, but it can still walk pretty well. Roman reaches out a hand and pets it, and its little tail wags even more.

He bites his lip. A name. A name for this magical little dog that managed to finally bring them all here.

“Dragon,” he decides, looking up. “How about dragon? He’s our little dragon sidekick.”

“Paw-ton Stu Dragon,” Janus says, rolling his eyes. “If that’s what we’re going with.”

Still, he gives the dog--Paw-ton--a little scratch around the ears, so Roman thinks he likes it.

“I love it!” Patton squeals, clapping his hands. “It’s perfect!”

“Thanks,” Roman says, smiling back.

Down the parking lot, someone honks. It’s not Roman’s mom. It’s a man with sunglasses and a coffee, leaning against a small car and watching them.

“My dads,” Janus explains. “I have to either go or tell them what I’m doing next.”

Roman shifts. “What...what are we doing next?”

“Stay?” Patton immediately offers. It’s quick. It’s desperate.

Roman gets the feeling that Patton hasn’t had many friends before.

Well, Roman will just have to be an extra good one, then. To Patton and Janus. His soulmates. And it’s silly to still think of this as one of his stories, but he does--he was angry, and he painted himself as the villain, and his soulmates came and redeemed him. No, better than that. They showed him he didn’t need to be redeemed.

And now they have a dragon sidekick and a wide future before them.

Because if Roman can meet his soulmates, and if they can be his friends, why can’t everything else be possible, too? Castles and lakes and endless skies, adventures with his new friends, a world filled with things to explore.

Roman has dreams, and for once, they seem within his reach.

“I have to study,” he says regretfully. “But...later?”

“Wait.” Janus shifts and bites his lip. “I...I could help you study, if you’d like that?"

Roman stares at him and smiles. “I’d like that!”

“Study buddies!” Patton cheers. “I can bring my homework too!”

“Great!” Roman looks around. “I have to get my stuff, but we’ll meet at the playground down the road, okay?”

“Sounds good,”Janus says. “Paw-ton Stu Dragon--ugh--can lead us there if we get lost.”

“Yes it can, can’t it?” Patton coos. “Yes you can, you cute little pupper, yes you can.”

“I’ll meet you there?” Roman offers.

Patton nods and smiles.

“We’ll be there,” Janus promises.

And Roman believes them.

General taglist (ask to be included or removed!):

@the17thmeatball

@most-likely-fandom

@csi-baker-street-babes

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@dramaticsnakes

@stoicpanther

Taglist from @the-taglist-repository:

@notveryglittery @glutenfreewheat @somehow-i-got-an-account  @starlight-era​  @just-your-typical-trans-guy @potatsanderssides @idont-freaking-know @aceawkwardunicorn @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @intruxiety @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun @smileyzs @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd @callboxkat @k1ngtok1 @arya-skywalker @itsabsurd-and-terrifying @legendsgates @sign-from-god-complex @hitmewiththatfanart33 @dragonwithproblems @snowdice @locked-prism  @nonasficcollection @enby-phoenix

#sanders sides #roman sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #royaliceit #averywrites #soulmate september #soulmate au #human au #roceit #moceit #royality #background losleepxiety #because i c a n #also this has like very little plot? it's all over the place #maybe it's a Character Study #or maybe i just don't know what i'm doing #either one #me: *pokes u* the dog is a metaphor #me: *pokes u* it's a metaphor for compassion and companionship #me: *pokes u* do you get it #me: *pokes u* do you get it do you get it do you get it #tw injury #tw animal injury

[purplesurveys]

1267

cds.

do you still buy physical copies of cds?  I stopped for many years but recently started again.

have you ever listened to a cd for the first time and loved every track?  I was like this with Petals for Armor, Flowers for Vases, and After Laughter; I’m just a super big fan of anything Hayley Williams and Paramore put out.

name an artist who always comes out with great albums:  I mean I’m gonna be biased and say Paramore...

how long can you listen to a cd without getting sick of it?  I don’t really listen to CDs per se, I guess, so I dunno if I can answer this. When I want to music, and a particular artist, I usually pick a playlist composed of songs from different albums.

do you know any good places on the internet to get free downloads of whole albums?  I wouldn’t be able to refer you to one, come to think of it.

what was the last cd you bought?  My Butter/Permission to Dance set.

have you ever gotten a cd signed by the artist?  Nope.

name cds that are in your car right now or would be in your car if you had one: I don’t keep CDs in my car just because I get my music played by connecting my phone to the Bluetooth; but I believe for the longest time I had a Beyoncé album in the CD slot before I took it out. 

your hair.

describe your hair style:  It’s wavy and layered is the most I can say about it. I don’t style it often.

when was the last time you got a haircut?  Around the start or mid-August, I think? I don’t remember when exactly; but it was very recent.

is your hair the only thing you drastically change?  I never do drastically change it to begin with. The only things I do with it are 1) let it grow out, 2) have it trimmed to my collarbones once a year.

would you rather have brown, blonde, or black hair (not your natural)? I have black hair, but it would be interesting to go brown.

what's the shortest you've ever had your hair?  Up to below my ears.

have you ever had bangs?  I currently have bangs and am more than sick of them already ath this point.

if not, do you plan on ever getting them // if you have them, do you plan on growing them out?  Yeah, for the latter.

fantasies.

what do you fantasize about most often?  How my life could’ve turned out if we weren’t in a pandemic is definitely one of them. Would I have been able to get the same job? Remain in the relationship I used to be in and maybe have even gotten better at handling it? What cities could I have possibly already traveled to with my own money?

if your last fantasy came true, how happy would you be?  That would be traveling to South Korea, and I would be over the moon.

how much do you fantasize?  Mmm not very often since my work takes up most of my headspace. I usually daydream before bed, I think.

or am i the only one who does?  Definitely not.

have you ever told anyone who has been in your fantasy about it?  I mean, I just always tell Angela and Reena that I can’t wait to go to Korea with them. But I don’t fantasize about irls in the way that I think you mean.

would you rather fantasize about your ex or the hottest teacher in your school for the rest of your life?  I don’t ever want to think of my ex in that way anymore and I’m not in school.

do you often find yourself fantasizing about things/people you know you shouldn't?  I mean I will fantasize about certain celebrities but idk if that falls as a should/shouldn’t thing.

your ex.

who did the most damage in your preexisting relationship?  I think we both showed our worst weaknesses towards one another. But by the end of it, I will say she inflicted more damage onto me.

if you were/are single, would you have sex with them?  Um at this point, no. I barely think about sex anyway.

would/did you give this person your virginity? I did. My feelings for her today aside, I don’t regret it; I trusted her in that moment and I wouldn’t take that away from me.

do you still miss the good times with them?  Only in the sense that she used to be my best friend for an extremely long period of time and nearly all the great memories from my past were made with her. do you still talk often? how often?  Oh not at all. I haven’t kept in touch since the last day of 2020. did you make a big deal about the break up?  Yeah, I was definitely the more reactive one and it lasted for a couple of months. She bounced as soon as she got out of the relationship and I wish I had gotten the hint sooner.

how long did it take you to get over them?  Around 6 or 7 months. I really thought it would take so much longer.

if you could tell them one thing, what would it be:  I have nothing to say.

the song you're listening to/the song that's stuck in your head/any song you want to talk about

favorite lyric in the song:  “Where there is hope, there is hardship.”

what is the song?  It’s a song called Sea.

artist:  BTS.

how'd you get introduced to this song?  It was briefly played in one of their docu-series; I just can’t remember which one. Anyway, I instantly took a liking since it isn’t their usual sound, so I wanted to look it up; and it made a lot more sense when I learned it was initially meant to be a solo for one of the members.

if you could perfectly play this on any instrument, which instrument would it be?  Oh this song would be perfect on a violin.

would you have sex with the artist/anyone in the band? Why does everything always revolve around sex for some people?? < LOL same question but to answer it anyway, hahahahaha yes

can you relate to the lyrics?  Not in the manner in which it was written, but I do have my own interpretation of it that I am able to relate with a lot. The song definitely gets me emotional.

name a friend that you think would like it:  Angela, only because I know she already does like it hahaha. In general, though, K-Pop is still quite polarizing so idk if any of my friends outside of the K-Pop bubble would appreciate it.

would you rather have sex to this song or witness your dad singing it to your friends?  Uhm, maybe the latter because I think it would be adorable in a very dorky way

favorite restaurant.

how many times have you been to this place?  Countless times, but they were always with my ex. I need to revisit that place just by myself lol.

where is it located?  It has multiple branches across the metro but the one I used to frequent is the one at UPTC.

when was the first time you came here?  I have no idea but I think the first time was with my mom and siblings actually. A rough guess would be...2016? or maybe 2017.

what's the name of the restaurant?  Yabuuuu.

what kind of atmosphere does it have?  On the sophisticated sidde but still casual and homey, especially since it offers unlimited rice and sides and you can always just call on a server to dump a scoop of rice or lettuce or whatever when you’ve run out of them haha.

does it have a bar? No, but if I remember correctly they do offer a few alcoholic drinks.

have you ever been here for a birthday?  Yes, for my 21st birthday. I went with Angela.

what do you order when you're here?  I get their rosu set, which is katsu with a strip of fat.

are they famous for any drinks?  No.

have you ever gone here with your significant other?  Many times. It was our favorite restaurant.

if it shut down (if its a chain, the entire chain) permanently, how sad would you be?  That would soooo shitty. I’d order a meal everyday until it disappears forever lol.

would you work here?  No. I love the brand, but not so desperately so as to work for them haha.

favorite teacher

(I don’t really have one, but I’ll refer to the first good professor that popped in my head.)

how old is this person?  I have no clue but I would guess he’s anywhere in the mid-20s to early-30s range.

name:  HAHAHAHAHA I don’t actually remember his name anymore...oh no...but he was my prof in my international relations class.

are they married?  I know he has a boyfriend, not sure about his relationship status. That’s not of my business to know.

would you marry them?  Well, no.

do they have kids?  I’m fairly certain he doesn’t.

have you ever seen them out of school?  Not me but I know some of my college friends have. It’s how I heard he has a boyfriend lol.

what's so great about them that makes them your favorite?  He was clearly very passionate about our subject and he was able to explain concepts helpfully and in a way that anybody can appreciate, considering I wasn’t even majoring in the course he taught.

are they more laidback about teaching or strict?  Laidback.

do they run any clubs or coach any sports?  Not that I know of.

what's their personality like?  Approachable, friendly.

if they weren't a teacher, what do you think would be a good profession for them?  Political analyst.

#survey #surveys

[timeforelfnonsense]

Under the Light of the Moon (Updated)

Dafni x Astarion 

Rating: E 

Ao3

I’ve been reworking some of the first fics I wrote for these two now that I have a better idea of their relationship. I’ve updated them on Ao3 but there was some interest in me reposting them here as well!  

Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series 

The tiefling’s fireworks boomed overhead, filling the sky with shimmering lights of gold and silver. Dafni smiled to herself, soaking up the feelings of splendor and revelry that swirled all around her. Their merriment danced across her skin like a warm summer breeze and filled her chest with contentment. She closed her eyes and pictured herself back home in the Feywilds where such joy would have surely created astonishing delights that could only exist in the imaginations of those who had never basked in its splendor.

“Well, you seem quite blissful!” A pretty tiefling spoke, “I hope I’m not bothering you. I just wanted to say thank you-.” She paused, “Is that umm normal for you?”

Dafni blinked a few times allowing herself to float back down to reality. She followed the bard’s eyes down to her feet where a small patch of flowers had begun to bloom.  “Oh! Yes!” Dafni assured, taking the other woman’s hands in her own. “Sorry! I was a bit far away just then! What were you saying?”

“Only that I wanted to thank you.”

“Oh! You don’t need to thank me Alfira! I was happy to help!”

“You remembered my name?” Alfira said, her eyes lighting up as a beaming smile formed on her lips.

“Of course! I sang with you in the grove!” Dafni gave her hands a little squeeze, “You have a beautiful voice.”

A deep plum blush spread across Alfira’s cheeks as she babbled a thank you. Dafni had that effect on people, charming and beguiling them as effortlessly as breathing. It wasn’t something she did on purpose. It was simply the way the gods made her. She craved closeness and affection from those around her more than most. She had been brought up by a serious, if not dotting mother who tirelessly protected her from those who would seek to take advantage of her kind heart. As well as a clan of ‘sisters’ with whom she had shared her every thought and confidence. To Dafni tenderness and trust were simply the way of things and she had carried that sensibility with her into the Material.

“Don’t look,” Alfira leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “but, that man is staring at you rather intently.”

“What man!?” Dafni squealed, “Where?! What does he look like!”

Dafni began to bounce on her heels as she battled the urge to follow Alfira’s stare. She, like so many of the fey, found herself rather enchanted by flattery and adoration. A dashing stranger admiring her from across a party was a positively delightful prospect.

“He’s an elven man, very fair in complexion. He has handsome features but he looks a bit...Intense. I think I saw him with you at the grove?”

Astarion?

Her heart skipped a few beats. She’d always thought him rather attractive- Princely even. With his strong cheekbones and a sharp jaw. And those ruby-red eyes, teeming with unanswered questions. There was a delicious danger about him as well. She should have found his vampiric nature ghastly and frightening, but it only added to his wicked charms. She certainly wanted him but he could be a hard book to read. On one hand, he was always chiding her for ‘unnecessary acts of kindness’. On the other, he’d nearly kissed her that day on the riverbank. And the night she’d allowed him to drink from her he had held her with such affection but she’d attributed that to some sort of vampire feeding behavior rather than attraction. The curiosity became too much for Dafni to bear. He was leaning against a tree drinking wine straight from the bottle. It seemed Astarion was indeed her admirer after all. Her cheeks went hot as they clapped eyes on each other. With a smirk, he mouthed a silent ‘hello’.

He heard the lyrical chime of Dafni’s laughter from the other side of camp. She threw her head back, sending her lovely pink curls tumbling down her shoulders. Flowers sprung up at her bare feet and butterflies with wigs of faerie fire fluttered around her. She had traded her armor for a nearly transparent dress that left precious little to the imagination. He could hardly look away. She had an exquisite figure, softer than most elves, plump and curvaceous. It was as if she had intended to tease and tempt him, prancing around in next to nothing. A gentle breeze blew through her hair and filled his lungs with the familiar aroma of lilac and evening primrose.

His mouth watered at the thought of sinking his teeth back into her once more. The memory of her fingers laced through his hair, pulling him closer, inviting him to drink deeper, was still fresh in his mind. He’d thought about bedding her plenty of times after they met but, they had been little more than idle fantasies. But, since that first taste, he found his imagination wandering towards the debaucherous more and more often when she was around.

“Enjoying your party, Daffodil?” He asked, taking a long drink of his wine as she bounded towards him, “Would you like some? It tastes awful but please, help yourself.”

“It’s OUR party!” She corrected, “You shouldn’t be over here sulking alone!”

She shook her head, rose curls bouncing as she snatched the bottle for a nip. He couldn’t help but smile as she screwed up her nose when she swallowed. No, red wine wouldn’t be her drink would it? Too heavy and bitter. She’d like something sweeter. Floral maybe? Just like her.

“See. Awful! You know, I never pictured myself as a hero. Never thought I’d be the one they toasted for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here…” He paused for just a moment before scrunching his nose up in disgust, “I hate it. This is awful.”

“You did a good thing!” She scolded, “You deserve to enjoy yourself.”

He scoffed, giving her a dismissive wave, “I just would have liked more for my trouble than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine. I’m just looking for a little more excitement. A little more fun.”

“You should attend a party in the Feywilds sometime.” She suggested, “They can go on for days at a time! Especially if a satyr is involved in the planning!”

“That does sound more exciting. This drawl gathering could do with a little more heathenism. You know, we could always make our own entertainment, darling. Get a little closer so to speak.” There it was. He needed to have her. Why deny it any longer? He’d been cautious and calculated but the craving for her never stopped. He looked her over from toe to tip, drinking in her beauty with unapologetic want.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean?”  Her pink eyelashes fluttered over winsome topaz eyes. Her slender fingers tucking a stray hair behind his ear.

He stared at her dumbfounded. Was she really that innocent? He thought he’d made it clear he was interested? Perhaps she’d never been propositioned before, though he doubted that. She was a fetching little enchantress. It was impossible that he was the first to take note of her grace and charm.

“By the Hells! Sex, my dear.”

“Oh? Is that what you are after?” A mischievous grin formed on her perfect lips. “Well maybe if you say please.”

“What?” He couldn’t help the keenness in his voice.

“Say please,” Dafni repeated, her tone was honey-sweet.

Her head tilted to the side allowing her hair to slip from her shoulder and expose her neck. She took a step closer, closing the space between them. His breath caught in his throat as he struggled to swallow a low moan as she caressed him over his breeches. It seemed sweet, angelic, Daffodil was not quite the innocent maiden after all. A delicious turn of events. Her other hand wound its way through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down to her. Her lips were petal-soft against his as she pulled him into a slow, teasing kiss. The tip of her tongue dancing across the velvet of his inner lip. Each brush of her mouth coaxing more and more desperation from him.

“Please.” He sighed between hungry kisses rocking against her palm.

“Yes.” She relented at last before placing one last, maddeningly chaste kiss on his lips, “How could I say no to such a polite request.”

“Cheeky little pup.” He purred, “ Now go on- Enjoy the rest of your party. I’ll see you later.”

He emphasized his statement with a quick squeeze of her backside that was met with a high pitched squeak. He had half mind to take her right then but surely someone would notice if they were to sneak off so early in the night. No, it seemed he would just have to wait. At least that would give him time to think of all the things he would do to her once the rest of the camp was sound asleep.

She crept softly on the balls of her feet. She could feel the excitement like electricity on the air. She was a creature of revelry at her core and the promise of a late-night romp in the woods filled her with delight. She pinched her thighs together savoring the fire growing between her legs. Cool hands wrapped around her waist drawing a frightened yelp from her lips. She felt his breath hot on her ear as he chuckled in response.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting.” He whispered pulling her closer, his hands wandering towards her chest, “Waiting since the moment I first set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

She could tell he was grinning without having to look at his face. She could hear it in the tone of his voice. Feel it in the squeeze of his hand on her breast. She let her head fall against his chest glancing up at him with a look that was equal parts mischief and desire.

“You don’t have me yet.”

“Don’t I?” He mused. His free hand pushed up her thin dress, running up her inner thigh, “You are here. And I don’t think you want to talk.” She bit down on her lip holding back a whimper as she felt his cool hand cup her core. “I think you want to be known. To be tasted. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?”

She was lost for words all she could muster was a simple nod. She tried to squirm against his hand but he held her tight as he pulled her into a deep kiss. She could taste the wine, dry and sharp on his tongue as he ran it along the seam of her lips.  

“I thought so.” He smirked, releasing his hold on her, “But, you’ll have to say please.”

Dafni watched him as he circled her, admiring her from every angle. She considered yielding to his request for a moment...No, the urge to misbehave was far too appealing. She would give in eventually, of course! But, the thought of reaction was far too sublime to not test the waters.

“Make me.”

He tisked, shaking his head at her rebellious reply. A fearsome look danced across his features. He flashed her his teeth, fangs on full display as a playful growl rumbled in his chest. In one fast movement, he picked her up, throwing her legs around his waist. She clung to him for dear life as she felt her feet leave the ground.  

She was infuriating, that little minx. She seemed to know all the ways to rile him up and more than that seemed to enjoy doing it. He made quick work of that madding dress discarding the translucent, shimmering fabric to the forest floor without a care. He lifted her, pressing her back up against the trunk of a tree. She had a white knuckle clutch on his shoulder.

“I won’t drop you,” He promised.

“Are you sure? I’m a bit heavy.” A perfect blush the same color as her rosy hair covered her freckled cheeks.

“I’m sure.” He gave her thigh a reassuring squeeze. “Now where was I? Ahh- That’s right...”

He brought his head to her heaving breast listing to the rapid beating of her heart. took in a lungful of air savoring her bouquet before taking a nipple into his mouth. He reveled in the sweet mews was making. He slid a hand between her legs. His body stirred as he found even wetter than expected. He slipped a finger into her meeting no resistance. Dafni whined, grinding agent his pumping hand.

“Have you reconsidered my generous offer, Daffodil? I can feel how close you are. Just say please and I’ll give you what you need.”

She had never been one to beg but he knew what he was doing. Offering her just enough pleasure to turn her into an incoherent mess but not enough to find release. Dafni swallowed her pride at last.

“Please…”

“What?” He teased, “I don’t think I heard that? You’ll have to speak up, darling.”

“Please!” She nearly shouted, “Please let me cum, I’ll be as loud as you want just please!”

He slid another finger into her and hastened the rhythm of his touch. Dafni felt her breaths grow shorter and shorter until a long breathy cry fell from her lips. She felt relief wash over her first followed by the sensation of floating in a sea of bliss.

Her feet hit the ground with a soft thud as Astarion dropped his vice grip on her thigh. She wobbled, grabbing onto his biceps for balance. . He seemed extremely pleased with himself! Dafni stuck her tongue out at him. She pushed off the tree taking fist fulls of his shirt into her hands. She yanked him down to meet her hungry kiss before he could make any smug remarks about her begging.

“You have far too many clothes on.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up splayed out in the dirt. It had all happened rather quickly after she stripped him down to nothing. He found himself struggling to care, however. All that mattered was the feeling of Dafni’s wet slit sliding over his throbbing cock. He grabbed her hips controlling her tempo. She leaned forwards nipping at his collarbone. He groaned as she ran her tongue along the faint imprint of her teeth. A moonlight garden had begun to spring up around them, snowdrops, jasmine, and in her hair delicate white and pink daffodils.  

“You had me fooled,” He moaned, “I thought perhaps, you were still a maiden.”

She laughed, throwing her head back, “Are you disappointed?”

“Hardly” He scoffed, “I don’t think a maiden would be quite as- Ah! Skilled…” His hips jerked upwards causing Dafni’s curves to bounce sinfully.

“Ok enough teasing.” She said with a peal of silvery laughter.

She stretched her arms overhead grinding into him once more before pulling her hair to the side baring her neck. The ravenous sound Astarion made sent a jolt of pleasure zipping through her body. His eyes wide with disbelief, he seemed almost flustered by the gesture, the whisper of a pink blush spreading across his nose to the very tips of his ears. She couldn’t help the gentle smile that tugged at her lips. It was strange to see him this way, with a worried brow and puppy dog eyes. He nuzzled against the hollow of her throat. Placing a lingering kiss over the faded mark of his teeth.

He took her by the shoulders, flipping her onto her back. In one push he hilted himself. Dafni cried out, lifting her hips to meet his. He felt her hands slide up his ribs, traveling ever closer to his back. He pulled back with a start on instinct, wrenching away from her loving caress. She stared at him. Worry flashed across her delicate features. He had hoped to avoid questions but his reaction seemed to have only ignited her insatiable curiosity. He took her hands pinning them over above her head and he laced his fingers through her own as he sunk his teeth into her tender flesh. A sharp exhale fell from Dafni’s lips in response. Whatever questions that she had fallen to the wayside as she writhed beneath him.

The feeling of her blood rushing through both their bodies was intoxicating. Her taste was like pomegranate, bright, and sweet. Though, her flavor was but a small part of the rapturous experience. The joyful presence that surrounded her was dizzying enough on its own but to drink from her went far beyond the playful delight simple proximity brought. She felt like every good thing he had been denied in the last two centuries. He forced himself to pull away despite his instincts begging him to take his fill. He recalled the sleepy delirium that took her the last time. A state that was far from ideal for fornication.

“You are exquisite.”   He gasped,  “ Sunlight made flesh. ”

By the Hells!

Had he said that out loud? He felt the fresh blood in his veins betrayed him, his face growing hot with embarrassment. He tried to look away from her but she reached up brushing his messy white hair away before placing a cautious hand on his mid-back.

“ I want you to look at me ”  She whispered, “ You don’t have to hide from me. Not ever .”

She ran her fingers along his spine feeling the telltale texture of marked flesh. He tensed at first but with a deep breath allowed himself to melt into her soothing touch. He was still holding back. Tucking parts of himself away from her even now. She wouldn't push him no matter how badly she wished to know his every secret. She would simply have to savor the glimpses he allowed her for now and trust he would tell her everything in his own time.

His thrust grew frantic and impassioned. She dug her heels into the base of his spine until his body was flush with her own. He bit down on his lip as he came undone spilling his seed inside her. The feeling of him pulsing inside her pushed her to her climax. A cry broke loose from her that echoed through the trees and what had started as a humble bed of flowers spread across the forest creating a lush meadow. Butterflies of pure light burst into existence.

He lay beside her in silence for a while, staring up at the stars. He felt her slide her warm hand into his own. Her hair tickled his shoulder as she scooted closer, snuggling up at his side. He kissed the top of her head. Her breathing was slow and deep. It seemed she was worn out enough sleep rather than taking her usual trance. It had been a long day. She deserved some rest. He would leave soon but he wanted to savor her for a few moments longer...

#dafni of gwynneth #elf writes #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 oc #rewrite #bg3 early access #sunshine & starlight #elf gets spicy

[oracleofkairos]

30 Questions For Your Guardian

These questions are taken from the post here by @fem-birb-woman, seemed like a good way to kick this off! 1.) What is your guardian’s name? What does it mean? What inspired you to choose that name for them? "The Oracle Of Kairos. I didn't choose it, but it was given to me by the followers of Osiris, after my frequent excursions into the Infinite Forest."

2.) What did your guardian name their ghost? What does it mean? What inspired them to choose that name?

"This here is Custode, means Guardian in a pre-collapse tongue. Little bit of a joke, but this little guy has seen me through many trials, and I'll know he always has my back."

3.) What is your guardians favorite weapon of choice? What mod do they use for it? Do they have a masterwork on it and if so, how many enemies have they killed with that weapon?

"The IKELOS_HC_V1.0.2 , a gift from Rasputin. I've tuned it to handle rank and file opponents, I have had the aid of others to bring it up to a masterwork of engineering, and frankly, I've lost count of how many this pistol has killed."

4.) Do they participate in the Crucible often or do they just go to complete the daily challenges? "I hate the crucible. I understand it's purpose, both for morale and training, but I still can't bring myself to enjoy getting curbstomped by other guardians."

5.) If your guardian had to choose to be another class, what class would they pick? Or would they stay the same? "I think I'd prefer to stay a Warlock, but I could see myself as a half-decent titan, but I'd be much more of a strategist than an unstoppable battering ram."

6.) What is their favorite subclass within their own class? "Stormcaller. I've always felt a more tangible tie to Arc energies, and since the reawakening of my light, that has only strengthened."

7.) What is their favorite subclass in a different class?

"Sentinel titans will always have my respect, they put themselves on the line to shield allies from harm, and they're very good at it."

8.) Would they rather receive a titan kiss ( a hard ass headbutt that mostly results in death ), asking a warlock a question that might result in a long explanation, or deciding to play the knife game with hunter and bet at high stakes? "Ask the question of a Warlock. I'd much rather have an interesting conversation than risk losing a body part, no matter how briefly."

9.) Would they prank other guardians or just their close friends? What kind of pranks would they pull?

"The Hijinks of the Drifter and Cayde always made me... Afraid, of pranks. I don't think I could bring myself to engage in such things."

10.) Which vanguard member to they like to hang out with the most? "I'm on good terms with both Ikora and Zavala, but I more often find myself discussing theories or new intrigues with Ikora whenever I stop by the tower. She's been a fine mentor and a better friend."

11.) Who would they fmk out of Skolas, Ghaul, and Calus? "Frankly, I hate everything about this question, but in the interest of honesty; Fuck Skolas, Marry Calus, and Kill Ghaul."

12.) What kind of hobbies do they do in their free time? Are there any particular skills they have that help them with this hobby(s)? "I've always found an interest in etchings and engravings, I've got a good hand from many hours with a pen, and that serves me to handle the tools when making carvings."

13.) What is their favorite armor set and what shader do they use for it? "Oddly, I've always been attached to the Exodus Down armor provided by Failsafe... It's always just... Fit me, in a way. Almost all our armor is perfectly tailored, but this runs deeper than that. And, in honor of the Followers of Osiris, I wear Kairos Bronze."

14.) Do they prefer silence or are they unbothered in loud areas? "Depends on what I'm doing, when studying or researching, I require quiet, but I do enjoy the bustle of the Tower when I need to relax."

15.) Are they afraid of storms? If so, is there a specific reason why? "To the contrary, I love storms. There's nothing better than wandering and just taking in the energy radiating from those electric clouds."

16.) Who were they before their ghost revived them? Do they know about this and if so how or what did they use to learn about themselves? "I know looking into such things is... Frowned on, but I have done some research into it. Between my own strange clicks, and the fact I was first revived on Nessus, I believe I may have been one of the crew or colonists aboard the Exodus Black."

17.) How close are your guardian and their ghost? If they are not close, would your guardian kill their ghost and choose to answer the darkness’ calls? "I love Custode. If anything were to happen to him, I'm not sure I could, or would want, to survive the experience."

18.) Would your guardian engage in a romantic relationship with Fallen, Cabal, Hive, etc? If so, what do they find attractive about the species? "This... Is an odd question, I suppose I couldn't deny the possibility of finding myself with a sentient member of any of those species. I wonder what a relationship with the hive would even be like..."

19.) Who is their favorite lore hero? Example, Jolder, Saint-14, Andal Brask, etc. Why is this person their favorite and in what ways do they inspire your guardian? What would your guardian say if they were face to face with them? "Osiris and Toland The Shattered. I could not hold them to the title of Hero, but I look to their works as examples on how to push the limits of Guardian knowledge, but also how to be mindful of the edges of madness."

20.) Does your guardian like plants? If so, what kinds? Do they prefer flowers or trees or shrubs? Would they start a garden?

"I do enjoy plants, and I actually have a small terrarium containing a blueberry bush inside my orbiter."

21.) If your guardian became obsessed with something, what would it be? "The infinite forest... I was... Unable, to resist the temptations of the possibilities within, and found myself lost for a long few years... I've only recently re-emerged, only to find Cayde dead, Osiris hostage, Mara, Saint, and others returned, and some mad scheme about swearing guardians to the darkness. It was... A difficult adjustment."

22.) Do they like reading books or watching movies or both? What genres are their favorites? Does their fireteam have the same taste? "I've always enjoyed both books and cinema, whenever I was invited to showing by other guardians. Historical fiction and high fantasy hold a special place in my heart, as they speak to our capacity for imagination."

23.) What kind of music do they like? Do they dance around anybody in any situation or in the privacy of their quarters? What would their favorite song from the Golden Age be? "I've always enjoyed Golden Age Classical, since I first heard it among Rasputin's broadcasts. And while I don't often dance, I do enjoy the occasional slow dance with a partner during The Dawning, or other festivals."

24.) What does their living space look like? Are there a bunch of pictures around or do Knick knacks cover the shelves? Do they enjoy bright, neutral, or dark colors? Would they purchase a fur rug? "I do my best to keep organized, but there's many, many little momentos of my travels, and it makes it difficult to keep things tidy. I prefer cooler colors, and I do have a fur rug I pinched from Clovis Bray's facilities. Bear, I think."

25.) Do they travel around the city often? If so, what are their favorite places to go and who do they go with? Are the civilians ever excited to see them or do they give them a look because of precious mishaps that resulted in property damage? "I often travel within the city, whether I'm visiting friends in the New Monarchy, or going to the various scrappers and book-vendors. I have a few good friends, and I do my best to be polite and respectful to all others."

26.) Are they good with kids? If not, how do they react when a child tries to talk to them? If they are good with kids, what kind of things do they do to entertain them? "I'm... Not amazing, with children. I enjoy their inquisitive nature, but I sometimes get too wrapped up in my explanations, and either scare them with things they didn't need to know, or leave them with more questions than they started with."

27.) Are they in love with Shaxx?

"No. In the words of a man with wisdom beyond his years; 'Every minute I spend in the crucible makes me wish I stayed dead.' "

28.) When your guardian sleeps, are they stiff and stay in one spot or wild and kick off the sheets? Do they have nightmares often and if so, about what? How often do they sleep? "Custode does his best to remind me to get a full nights sleep, and tells me he sometimes has to verify I'm still alive, given that I'm almost perfectly still. As for nightmares... They happen, especially after everything on the Moon."

29.) Do they enjoy coffee, tea, soda, or water? Would they mix all of these together and drink the liquid on a dare? "I'm partial to both Coffee and Tea, particularly one kind Eris was kind enough to make for me during our stay on Luna... And absolutely not."

30.) What about their personality attracts other guardians to them? What is it about other guardians that attracts your guardian to them?

"I enjoy other guardians with a passion for discovery and a desire for knowledge, and I often find others who seek me out for the same. Though there have been cases other guardians or fireteams have sought my guidance after my years in the Infinite Forest, hoping I have insight into future events."

#destiny the game #destiny guardians #destiny oc #destiny warlock