#(some sort of monochrome process) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miraclewoozi · 10 months ago

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DO YOU DREAM OF ME? - c.hs

the first time you kiss your soulmate, you’ll open your eyes to a world of colour. the problem? vernon hates the thought that he might pull away from you and still see in monochrome. or, five times he wanted to plant one on you, and the one time you beat him to it.

pairing ; vernon x gn!reader. content ; all the tropes. 5 times fic. soulmate au. slight college au if you squint. f2l. fluff, some angst. pining. one (1) hint of suggestiveness if u squint. MINORS STILL DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT. content notes ; mentions of reader having a(n unnamed) partner & thereafter, going through a breakup due to said partner cheating. reader is maybe implied to be shorter than him but hopefully not too obviously or frequently. alcohol is mentioned & is a key theme in scene #3. pov switch for the final part (necessary for logistical reasons.) PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c ; 9.6k note ; welcome to thee most self indulgent fic ever lmao. i hope u enjoy this slight break away from what i usually post here (as if my entire brand isn’t writing losers in love. ANYWAY) -- this was very fun and a little bit special for me! <3

“What was your first kiss like?��

Initially, Vernon swears he just didn’t hear you right. It’s dark up here, where you’re hiding away from a party on the roof of his university accommodation and he’s starting to get tired. There’s some sort of siren wailing away in the distance to his left, and on the street below, a gaggle of freshmen are cackling as they walk past the building. His ear closest to you is currently listening to your favourite song.

All the signs suggest that he simply got it wrong.

But he doesn’t know if he believes those signs, especially not seeing as when he looks over at you, you’re staring pointedly up at the stars overhead. He doesn’t doubt that you’re giving yourself an ache in your neck in the process, too.

“Hmm?” He asks, taking out the earphone that connects him to you. The other one is still nestled away in your ear and he reaches to gently pull it away. “What was that?”

You still don’t look at him, but you do repeat yourself. Quietly. “What… was your first kiss like?”

“Oh.”

He was right.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you hurry to say, hugging his jacket tighter around yourself to block out the cold air that blows across the rooftop. He shrugged it off and told you to take it the very moment your teeth started chattering — almost an hour ago now. His arms are bare, shoulders and biceps only covered by a t-shirt so thin it’s practically sheer, but he isn’t cold. He’s always run hotter than most. “Sorry.”

He nudges you with his knee, silently telling you that you don’t need to apologise. He doesn’t mind — you just caught him off guard; Vernon hasn’t given this any thought in a long time, and he has to really put his mind to coming up with an answer. It was forever ago — when he was eleven or twelve, maybe, with his first ever girlfriend. They dated for a whole two and a half weeks. He doesn’t know if it really counts: the kiss was a dare, after all.

“Kinda…” He starts, trying to follow the line of your sight, wondering if he can find the exact stars you’re looking at. “She’d just put this weird lipgloss on. It was real tingly. And like, neither of us knew what we were doing? So it… got everywhere. I think I ended up swallowing some, I don’t know. My mouth felt weird after. Thought I was having an allergic reaction.”

You laugh softly at him. “I think that would put me off for the rest of my life,” you say.

“It almost did,” he chuckles. You hum at him and lean back on your elbows, leaving Vernon more than a little bit confused. He readjusts his hold on his knees, bringing them closer to his chest as he tilts his head down at you in your new position.

“…why?” He asks, just as you close your eyes and take a deep inhale of the cool air.

You just shrug. “I guess I just… wondered.”

He nods, and it’s his turn to fall short of a response, but that’s okay. You’ve known each other for too long for these silences to feel uncomfortable. He grew up with you. In fact, he’s reasonably sure he’s told you this story before. He must have done.

Then he realises, maybe he hasn’t. Because he doesn’t know the story behind yours, and maybe that’s just a line the two of you never came to crossing. He knows he told his other friends, back then, because he was the last one in his circle to have a first kiss and he felt like it made him more grown-up, or something. Naturally, he left out the more embarrassing details. But maybe you just told your other friends who weren’t him, and went on with your life. Maybe yours was just… normal.

Either way, he’s interested now. And there’s no time to ask like the present.

“What was yours like?” He asks, fiddling with the strap on his wristwatch. You don’t answer straight away; he doesn’t think anything of it, because neither did he, but when he’s still waiting for you to speak a small eternity later, he prompts you again. “Hey, it can't have been worse than mine.”

You snort.

“You’ll laugh at me,” you say, shaking your head. Vernon furrows his brows and drops his legs flat, twisting to one side to look at you.

He doesn’t know where you’d get that idea from, but he’s… almost a bit offended by it?

“No I won’t,” he tells you softly. Maybe at first, he might’ve laughed with you, if your story happened to be as dumb as his own. But not at you. Never at. Not when he’s been the butt of the joke in too many friendship circles, for about as long as he can remember.

You take a shallow breath, pursing your lips. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not…” you start to say, before you clear your throat and try again, this time heading in a different direction. “I don’t know. It’s dumb, I guess.”

“Don’t make me come down there,” Vernon threatens playfully, poking you in your side. You squirm, giggling despite yourself, despite the serenity of the sanctuary you two have found, despite the fact that you, too, were on the edge of falling asleep before your question came out of nowhere.

He pokes you again, and again, and then starts to tickle your ribs instead. You squeal, swatting his hands away to no avail and you move to sit up, grabbing him by the forearms to physically make him stop. The grin on Vernon’s face is wide and heart-shaped. A warm feeling spreads through him: it has everything to do with the sweet sounds of your slowly dissolving laughter.

You sit cross-legged across from each other like this for a moment or two. Your knees are touching. Your hands move down his arms until you’re holding him firmly by the wrists. Your eyes lock together: his crease with the sheer force of his boyish smile, while yours are narrowed, daring him to try and wiggle free and attack you again.

He doesn’t, but for the first time ever, he’s struck with the urge to do something maybe more scary.

The urge to just… lean in to you.

It makes his heart do a backflip, in a way that it hasn’t done since he had his last crush. His head goes empty, and he forgets what he was even asking you before: the only thoughts he can muster are ones regarding what your lips taste like, whether they’re half as soft as they look, if you’d lightly touch his shoulder or his arm or his chest or his cheek—

Do you smile when you kiss?, he wonders. Do you sigh? Do you—

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you answer, looking away now and letting go of him. He’s gone so loose in the moments since you grabbed hold of him that when you’re not supporting their weight, his arms fall like two cinder blocks onto his knees.

True to his word, he doesn’t laugh. He’s surprised by your revelation, sure, but in no way humoured; actually, he feels a little saddened by it, for a reason he can’t put his finger to. He ends up not saying anything, just biting the inside of his cheek; he wants to ask why, but knows maybe that’s a bit of a dick move, and if it’s something you’re sensitive about he doesn’t want to risk hurting you.

But he’s watched people fawn over you for years, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever been short of attention from those who have thought you were attractive. So it can’t be that you’ve been lacking in chances? Surely?

“I thought… maybe I should save it,” you go on to explain. Your hands keep busy by playing with a thread at the cuff of his jacket sleeve, wrapping it around one finger until the skin beneath it pinches before you unravel it again.

“Save it?” He asks. You nod your head.

“For when I thought I’d found them.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Like I said, it’s s—.”

“No it’s not,” Vernon says abruptly, shaking his head. He holds onto you now, one hand slipping around your back until it rests on the shoulder furthest away from him. You scoff. He squeezes you into his side. “Hey. It’s not stupid.”

He doesn’t like how this admission has, somehow, made his desire to kiss you stronger. He hates that he feels even more drawn to you, a magnet finally finding its opposing pole. It freaks him out a little. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone this badly.

Red button theory, he tells himself to try and get back on the straight and narrow. If you hadn’t said anything, none of this would be happening.

“It’s romantic,” he says finally, swiping his thumb in small motions over the top of your shoulder. You nod, mumbling a ‘thank you’ (for what, he isn’t sure), and shiver. Vernon doesn’t know if that’s because of his proximity to you or because you’re finally starting to feel the cold. Either way, he takes the initiative to stand up and holds a hand out for you to take so he can tug you to your feet too. You get up with a little hop.

It’s… devastatingly cute.

“Where are we going?” You ask, brushing off your jeans before shoving your hands into the jacket’s pockets. He’s already on the retreat, walking backwards towards the door that took you up here.

“To get food,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That party was dead, anyway.”

It doesn’t cross his mind again until your twenty-first birthday.

He’s not your soulmate. He couldn’t be. The thought he had on the roof that autumnal night was little more than a passing fantasy; besides, he doesn’t have a thing for you. He doesn’t want to kiss you, or date you, or have you be his soulmate. The reason you work so well together is because you’re just friends; he thinks you’d drive each other crazy if things ever went romantic between you. You bicker with him for sport. He drowns away hours at a time with his headphones clamped over his ears and forgets to answer your texts. It would be a nightmare.

Not that he’s ever thought about all that. Not actively, or even passively. Not when he should be listening to college lectures instead, for example. Not awake, nor in his dreams. He hasn’t. Not once.

He swears.

“You can save it ‘til tomorrow, if you want.”

Vernon bounces his leg nervously, fidgeting with the edge of your comforter as you sit on the floor in front of him, styling your hair for your party. He arrived half an hour ago while you were still waltzing around in your bathrobe, holding a small, neatly wrapped box in both of his hands. It’s several degrees too warm in your bedroom. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his back as you grumble what seems to be a threat at a strand that won’t cooperate. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort. (If you do, he’s grateful that you don’t say anything.)

“But it’s my birthday today,” you pouted, taking the box from him. “Let me finish getting ready, then I’ll open it. Come on.”

His wrist still aches with the pressure you held onto him with as you dragged him up the stairs. Your parents are away for the weekend and the house is all yours, so there’s a speaker blasting your favourite playlist full volume on your nightstand and there’s nobody to tell you to turn it down. He flits his attention between his phone and watching you, but he can’t fully concentrate on either; he’s too nervous that maybe you won’t like his gift, and he’s never been the type to splash out on birthday presents before but this… well, it burned a hole in his wallet, that’s for sure.

“Okay. Wait here,” you tell him as you push up off the floor, limping on the leg that had started to fall asleep thanks to the way you were sitting.

“All right,” he says back. As if he’d go anywhere, anyway.

You grab a hanger from inside your closet and scurry off down the hall to the bathroom. For the first time, Vernon feels like he can actually breathe. He drops his phone onto the comforter between his crossed legs and cradles his head in his hands, telling himself that he needs to get it together. You’ve never not liked anything he’s given you, and you’ve known him now for more birthdays than you haven’t.

Your friends said you’d love it. So did your mother, with a sparkle in her eye as she held it delicately in her fingers. He has nothing to worry about. It’s only you.

And yet—

“You’ll be honest if it looks bad?” You call from the other side of the door, interrupting how his lips move wordlessly in an endless mantra of self-reassurances.

Vernon snaps his head up and he clears his throat, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Aren’t I always?” He answers.

You click your tongue, evidently disagreeing, but you pull the handle and take a step into the room anyway. When you see him, he looks exactly as he did when you left, no trace of his anxieties anywhere to be seen on his face or otherwise.

When he sees you, he feels like the world could end any moment and he’d be okay with that.

His mouth runs dry and his eyes seem to be stuck open, unblinking, fixated on you in your all black outfit as you stand still as a statue with your hands behind your back. You cough quietly, waiting for some kind of a response other than a dumb stare, but it doesn’t come.

Eight seconds later… still nothing.

“Do you hate it?” you fret, because Vernon is a very good hype-man and you’ve never known him struggle to find something positive to say. “All right, uh— okay—”

“No!” He rushes, almost shouting in his urgency to assure you that that’s not the case at all. He scrambles up to his feet, taking a breath, and pushes a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, and he kind of hates how his fingers catch on a tangle even though he brushed it meticulously before he left his apartment. You keep telling him it looks good, though, so he hasn’t been to get it cut. “God, no. I’m sorry. You look amazing.”

It doesn’t sound like much to the untrained ear, but the warmth of his compliments comes less in the words he says and more in the sincerity he says them with. Your face softens, and Vernon can see the way the thoughts of changing into something else fizzle out behind your eyes. He takes a backwards step to try and tempt you further into your own bedroom, and you move in tandem with him, closing that space and coming better into the light.

“Wow,” he says, swallowing hard and looking you up and down. “I-… wow.”

It’s your turn to clam up, now. You look down at the floor, kicking at the carpet with your toes. “Shut up,” you say. “I’m not...”

“Yes, you are,” he protests, leaving no room for argument as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress but… yeah, it’s gonna work.”

You walk past him with a scoff, barging against his shoulder on your way; he dramatically staggers to the side, rubbing at the impact site, laughing. When he faces you again, you’ve picked the gift up from the end of your bed and are moving to sit on the mattress yourself. Your eyes flicker between Vernon and the empty space in front of you. He takes the hint, settling back down with one foot tucked beneath him, the other still planted on your rug.

His heart shoots back up into his throat and he stares down at the box, licking over his lips and frowning at how dry they feel. He glances away, lifting a hand to his mouth, running his fingertips over his lips. What would they feel like pressed against yours? He thinks, and then he cringes again.

You misread his reaction and hesitate with your finger pressed underneath a strip of tape, tilting your head at him. “What’s going to jump out at me when I open this?”

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. “What do you take me for?”

“The kind of guy who puts glitter in birthday cards because he thinks it’s funny,” you retort, earning a click of his tongue.

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

“I swear,” he laughs, tight shoulders easing, both hands falling to his lap. “No sparkles, no loud noises, nothing jumpy. Cross my heart.“

You eye him a little suspiciously but eventually tug your finger beneath the wrapping and make the first rip in the paper, allowing you to tear into the gift after keeping Vernon on edge for almost an hour and a half. You peel it away and it falls to the bedsheets, in your hands now a small, square box not too dissimilar a shade to your comforter. You look from it, to him, and he thinks you notice how his cheeks are a little darker than they were before.

He nods at you once and you slowly pull it open. On a plush, velvety bedding sits an elegant, dainty bracelet. A small gemstone is set in the metal of the bar in the middle of the chain. You skim a thumb over it, your breath held.

“Vernon,” you murmur, tearing your eyes away from the bracelet to look at him. Now, even the tips of his ears have grown flushed, but you’re kind enough not to comment on it to avoid spoiling the moment you’re in. “This is…”

“The lady in the store said it was your birthstone,” he says, twiddling his thumbs. “I mean… I’m really just taking her word for it, ‘cause they all look the same to me, but—”

He’s interrupted as all of your weight topples against him, arms thrown around his neck in a hug. He hesitates a moment before he wraps his own around your waist, drops his head to your shoulder and he smiles wider than he thinks he ever has. “Happy Birthday,” he says, dragging his thumb up and down over your hip.

“Silly,” you scold him playfully, still pressing wholly against him and showing no signs of moving. Your voice sounds thick, a little like you’re tearing up, so Vernon squeezes you tighter.

“I know you are,” he chuckles. “But what am I?”

You swallow hard, finally now pulling away from the hug but sitting entirely too close for comfort, one knee pressing into the outside of his thigh.

Your surprise attack has left him dishevelled. With a quiet apology, your fingers innocently try to smooth everything back into place, but Vernon doesn’t hear you say you’re sorry. His pulse, thundering in his ears, drowns it out while also skipping a beat with each little touch. You’re not looking into his eyes as you shyly put him back to rights, too busy working to tame his — at the best of times — unruly hair.

He’s looking into yours though, and he can’t stop.

Your eyes, which dart all over to find strands out of place, so your hands can move them to where they ought to sit and lay them down flat. Your eyes, that drop down the length of his throat as you realign the neck of his t-shirt over his broad shoulders.

Your eyes: the ones crinkled at the corners as you pick the bracelet back up from your bed and admire it under your bedroom light. Your eyes, landing on his, finally, in a silent plea for help.

“The best?” you answer, now, extending your wrist to ask him to put it on you. He takes the chain from your fingers and unclasps it, slipping it beneath your hand and holding it in place.

“I know you are,” he says again, but it’s quieter now as he concentrates on trying to reconnect the two pieces. “But what am I?”

When he successfully fastens your gift onto your arm, he looks up to see your watery eyes still staring down at it. He decides this is the time to reveal part two of the surprise. Pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he reveals his own wrist to you, and you now see there’s a matching chain hanging off it. A little stone set in the metal. His stone, presumably. You choke out a laugh around your tears, shaking your head.

“You got us friendship bracelets,” you giggle, holding your hand next to his and admiring them together. Your skin touches and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach, which he hasn’t felt around you since…

He nods, breathing a chuckle too. “Yeah,” he says. His heart is pounding. “I guess I did. Is… that okay?”

“I love them,” you insist, leaning forward to affectionately press your lips to his cheek. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Your doorbell sounds downstairs and Vernon’s words die in his throat. Maybe that’s for the best, though; he’s got so much nervous energy rising up inside him and he’s scared it might accidentally force up something he’ll regret saying. You spring off the bed again, fussing in the mirror, and he watches you rush out the bedroom warbling about how you’re not ready for anyone to be here yet. It’s too early. What’s going on? Who is it?

He shifts his legs so both his feet are planted on the floor, letting out a breath he doesn’t remember sucking in.

I love them. Thank you, you said.

It’s perfect.

He groans when he stands up, too, tugging his sleeve back down as he starts to follow after you.

“I know you are,” he mumbles under his breath, hearing your relieved laughter at it just being the FedEx man on your doorstep. It makes him feel warm. Everywhere. “But what am I?”

Five hours later, Vernon is seeing double.

He has Seungkwan’s hands massaging the tops of his shoulders and there are two Juns sitting across from him at your dining table. He remembers feeling fine around 9pm, distinctly: like nothing he drank was having any kind of effect on him. Like he could walk home on his hands — like he was invincible. Now, after spending exactly five minutes out in the fresh air, he’s blinking four times for every breath he takes and his friends’ voices keep phasing in and out of focus.

“But what if they’re not?” Vernon stresses for the eighth time, fingers clumsily peeling at the label on his bottle.

“And what if they are?” Jun tries. Again. Also, for the eighth time, because apparently when Vernon gets tipsy, his skull gets really really thick and nothing in the world can penetrate it. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Vernon shakes his head, sitting back so heavily that his chair tips and he sends Seungkwan stumbling into the wall behind them. His friend gives up trying to rub the stupid out of him and settles into the chair at Vernon’s side instead.

“I don’t know-…”

“If you’re about to say you don’t know what you’ll do if it isn’t them, I’m putting you in an Uber and sending you home.” Seungkwan claps his hand down onto Vernon’s knee for good measure. “It’s not even been a day.”

Vernon groans, threading his fingers into his hair and tipping his head back. “It hasn’t, though,” he whines. “What if it’s been like this since… and I just kept ignoring…”

Jun and Seungkwan exchange a look. An exhausted one. They both know Vernon turns into a complete baby when he’s had a drink and can just about manage a trip to the bathroom without somebody holding his hand, but neither of them have seen him like this before. Neither of them want to see him like this ever again.

Hell, neither of them want to be dealing with him like this right now.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Jun’s (remarkably) calm voice repeats as he pushes up from his seat and glances towards the doorway. His ears lock onto a voice just beyond it, and in an instant, the older man recognises his chance at an exit. He casts an apologetic glance at Seungkwan, who has resorted to rubbing Vernon’s earlobes to try and get him to stop stressing, and he dips out before either of them can argue.

On his way, though, he throws in a sly little remark. One that raises Vernon’s– and Seungkwan’s– blood pressure to a level that would get them prescribed a week of strict bed rest.

“Besides – everyone can see the two of you were practically made for each other.”

Vernon whips around to face Seungkwan with shock written into every line of his face. It paints perfect full-signal WiFi creases on his forehead; it makes his jaw hang loose.

“I– what?” Vernon splutters, shooting a hand to the back of his head. Seungkwan hasn’t taken his eyes off the doorway since Jun slipped through it. Vernon doesn’t notice the fact that his older friend’s full genetic line is currently being cursed out. “What does he mean?”

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” Seungkwan tries, now acutely aware of the fact that Jun has just given Vernon a nudge he should never have. There’s a fine line between bolstering a friend and straight-up causing chaos. This could get messy. Seungkwan doesn’t like messy.

But… It's too late.

Before Seungkwan can wrangle him back into his seat, Vernon has broken away from the table and is on the hunt for you. Seungkwan follows behind, doing his best to summon Vernon back, but he can’t. He’s on a mission now. And maybe that mission involves giving in to the thing that eats away at his brain when he should be waist-deep in music theory assignments. Maybe that mission is to finally, after two years, know what it feels like to kiss you. He’s going to find you, so help him God. He has to.

And yes. He does. He finds you, eventually. As soon as he reaches the top of the staircase, there you are.

Being pressed into the wood of your bedroom door, wrapped up in the arms of some pretentious looking art student in an oversized button-down and baggy, ripped jeans. Your mouth is covered by theirs, your fingers are threaded through those glossy fucking locks, both of you are laughing breathlessly as you drop one hand and it fumbles blindly to reach for the doorknob.

Vernon spins away, turning his back as he hears the door click. At this exact moment, Seungkwan comes stumbling up the stairs too and plants his forehead into Vernon’s sternum.

But his good friend’s skull is not the only thing Vernon is struck with, not the only thing knocking the wind out of him.

Simultaneously, he’s swept up with the sobering realisations that either this guy is your soulmate, or you’re not the same person you were when you were nineteen.

It’s eleven o’clock and two years later when he hears your secret knock on his apartment door.

Maybe it’s luck. Maybe it’s fate. He only took his noise cancelling headphones off a few minutes ago before he washed up and settled into bed; his head has hardly even had time to make a dent in the pillows. But whichever force is at play, the thing that matters is that he hears you and he knows it’s you, straight away. He doesn’t remember how it started, exactly. He thinks it might have been while he was in his exam-season hermit stage in his first year of university and refused to come to the door unless it was something important.

You’ve been knocking the same way for years now though, and he slides out of bed with creased brows at how desperate your fist sounds as it pounds against the wood. He pulls on an old t-shirt and perhaps the loosest fitting pair of shorts anyone’s ever owned, at least making himself decent before he answers. He’s still tying the drawstring when he gets to the door.

When he looks through the peep-hole to make sure he’s right, you’re drying your eyes on the back of your sweatshirt sleeve. You’re shivering quite violently, and you’ve got a bag on your shoulder that’s weighing you down on one side. Vernon’s heart sinks. He unbolts the door, pulling it open just as you lift your hand to knock again; your knuckles punch the air between you as your eyes land on him, and your bottom lip wobbles in despair.

You fall into his chest with a sob. Tears start to soak their way through his shirt until it clings to the skin underneath.

“Hey,” he soothes you, locking his arms so tight around you that there’s a strong chance they’re the only thing holding you upright.

“I didn’t— know where else to go—” you choke out, your arm trapped between your chest and his as he rests his head on top of yours and pats your back softly. “I’m s-”

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, tilting his chin down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I’m here. You can always come to me.”

He holds you until your shakes start to subside, trying to talk you through whatever this is with soft reassurances and gentle shushing sounds. When you pull back from him, Vernon guides you into his apartment, flicking on the lamp in his living room so he can see to settle you down on his couch. He throws a blanket over your legs before he sits down himself, pulling your hand into his lap and holding it between both of his own, his thumb moving absently over your knuckles. You’re still crying, but when you shuffle against the seat to be a little more comfortable and finally turn to face him, he finds his voice long enough to ask you what happened.

“He kissed— kissed someone else,” you tell him, sniffling and shaking your head.

His blood reaches boiling point in what must be record time and he knows he accidentally starts to grip your hand tighter, but he can’t stop.

“He what?”

Vernon knows this guy wasn’t your soulmate. You told him, a few days after your birthday. You said everything was still black and white when you pulled back from the first of — what you spared no detail in explaining was — many, many, many kisses with him that evening. But you didn’t care. Not then, and not for the whole time you’ve been together.

He asked you about it once. About four months in (when he figured things were starting to get serious), late at night, if it bothered you. Whether you were going to keep seeing him. If you still thought about finding your soulmate. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what your replying message said.

I mean, sure, I’m curious. But maybe I don’t need to see in colour. I think being in love is enough :)

So… you were in love.

With someone who wasn’t him.

He didn’t speak to anyone — not even you — for two whole days after that. He felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a peak-form George Foreman. He felt like he’d never be able to get rid of the pit that had developed in the depths of his gut. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat, he couldn’t focus: it was the worst he’d ever felt. And, well… Vernon knew it was immature. He knew he was acting like a child. If he could’ve shaken it off, the way he’s always done with so many of the things in his life that have bothered him, he’d have loved to. But he couldn’t.

Besides. Only about four people noticed his silence, anyway. You weren’t one of them; your boyfriend was keeping you plenty busy.

“He went to a club and got completely wasted and he— he—” you say, squeezing his hand even tighter than he’s holding yours. “But-… he says he-…” Hiccup. “Everything. Straight away — his…”

You don’t need to say it out loud; if anything, he’s a little disgusted with himself that he didn’t figure this out sooner. “His soulmate,” Vernon ruefully finishes for you. He groans the words out, feeling rotten to his core. “I’m so sorry…”

Your shoulders start to shake and he wastes no time in pulling you sideways against him, both his arms locked around you again, just like before.

“It’s so stupid,” you cry, laughing emptily. His stomach turns; he hates this. Your anguish is an assault on his eardrums, especially when he’s got you so close, but he tries so hard not to flinch, not to move away. You need him, no matter how agonised it makes him feel. “I knew he wasn’t mine, but I thought-…”

Your voice fades away to nothing. You shake your head.

“You thought he was happy the same way you were,” he finishes again. You just nod, sobbing harder. “That's not—… stop saying the way you feel is stupid.”

Vernon doesn’t understand how that loser could ever not have been happy with you. How could he dream about going out in search of something more? Hell, Vernon doesn’t think there’s a soul alive better than you — how could anyone stand to just throw you away?

He wonders briefly if you can hear his heartbeat, thundering in his chest with the rage he feels all the way into his bones. You’ve always told him that you admire how chilled out, how collected he is, but Vernon has never felt less calm in his entire life. It’s only as he acknowledges that he has no right to feel like this, that he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to bring his fever down. You mimic him, trying to do the same, and by the time his pulse starts to settle, you’re back to just sniffling against his shoulder.

“Stay the night here,” he tells you. It isn’t a suggestion, or really even a request. It’s an order. There’s no room for negotiation. “We’ll go get your things in the morning. I’ll be right there with you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Vernon gets there before you do. Before you can protest the offers he’s made. Before you can ask him if he’s sure. He knows you, a little too well: he knows these are the words that are going to come out of your mouth next. “I’m with you, okay? Always.”

You sit back from him with a quiet chuckle, wiping your eyes again on your damp sleeve. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” you murmur. “You’re the best— the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He just rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head, standing up from the couch. (I know you are, he thinks. This isn’t the time for jokes, though.) He wishes you knew what you mean to him; how, in his eyes, you deserve the world, presented to you on a shining silver platter. Wishes you knew that he’d give it to you if thought he could carry it.

“Go wash up,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest at the way your watery lashes flutter when you look up at him. “I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

He locates a spare toothbrush from a travelling kit he’s never used and sets a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the heated towel rail, leaving you alone in the bathroom to go about your business. You emerge some fifteen minutes later to find Vernon perched on the edge of his bed, scrolling through an app on his phone. He can’t help but swallow at the way his clothes fit you. How the steam from your shower clings to your skin, casts a heavenly haze around you. He hopes it isn’t obvious. This is about more than his dumb little crush.

“Were you asleep?” You ask him, nodding towards his comforter, still pushed back on one side. He turns to glance over his shoulder, following the line of your sight, before he looks back at you and shakes his head.

“Not even close,” he says. “I’d just got into bed when you got here.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Vernon doesn't think you look totally convinced, but he can’t force you to believe him, even if it is the truth.

It’s unspoken but accepted that you'll sleep in the bed with him; he’s never let you stay on his couch when you spend the night, and you never agree to displacing him even though he always tries to insist he doesn’t mind. You’ve been friends for enough time now that it’ll never be weird to crawl beneath the sheets with him, anyway. At first, he didn’t really like sharing (he’s a bit… particular with how he sleeps, after all), but he got used to your weight on the mattress beside him quite quickly and makes a point to say he always sleeps better with you.

He hasn’t curled up next to you for the night in over two years. It’s awful, that that’s what he thinks about now as he turns off the lights and you settle down, shuffling under the comforter until he slides in next to you in the dark and you can lay your head on his chest. He knows it’s selfish. He thinks it probably makes him a bad person, too.

“Do you think—” you start to say, cut off by a long, vocal yawn. Your breath feels so warm through his t-shirt. “If you fall out of love with them… do the colours go away?”

With his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling he can’t even see, Vernon feels his heart shatter beneath the soft cushion of your cheek. He’s suddenly grateful he’s still fully clothed, as if the cotton barrier is the only thing stopping you from getting scratched by the splinters beneath his skin. He wonders if you hear it. It would be an easier explanation for why he doesn’t say anything than whatever his mouth could come up with, that’s for sure.

“I don’t know,” he says after a few seconds too long. The arm wrapped around your shoulders slips down to your waist and he squeezes you. Briefly, he wonders if it can force your broken pieces back together.

Vernon knows he would never do this to you. He’d never hurt you this way. Out of everyone he’s ever met, he thinks you’re the sweetest, the kindest, the most thoughtful of them all. The last person he’d ever wish a heartbreak upon. He even used to joke that he’d go to war with anyone who dared to try.

But now he’s seeing it happen? He feels as if he really could.

“I just hope you never have to find out,” he follows up, blinking back the thoughts that start to bubble away as your breaths slow down.

He wrapped a band-aid around your finger when you got a papercut once and you asked him, then, if he would kiss it better.

When you bumped your head in the playground, the same.

He’d kiss it all better now too, if he could. He’d show you how you deserve to be loved.

And he doesn’t just think it, anymore; Vernon knows that this makes him a terrible person.

“I hope you don’t, either,” you mumble back. “... and I hope we find them soon.”

He’s so proud of you.

Okay, it never took much. He’s been proud of you for every good grade you’ve ever achieved, every doctor's appointment you booked for yourself, every trip to the dentist you stressed over. He’s been proud of you for finishing projects you were struggling with. Proud of you for learning new recipes. For every milestone, personal or professional, it’s the first thing he makes sure to say.

[ hey, look at u go!!! proud of u :) ]

Now? He’s seen you crawl from rock bottom to the top of the world. It hasn’t been easy. There have been hurdles and barriers and sometimes, sixty foot high walls you’ve had to climb up and over, but you’ve done it. You’re thriving. Every time he looks at you, these days, if you’re not wearing a smile there are at least traces of one in your eyes, on your face, in your voice. Happiness suits you, and he’s so, so proud of you for getting here.

He knows you’re doing better, because between Christmas and New Year, you asked him if he wanted to come to a party with you. At first, he wasn’t sure; the holidays left his wallet feeling a little light and he’s been on a really good streak of not drinking anything lately, but when you promised that you’d stay sober too, he kind of couldn’t say no.

[ i just wanna see in the new year with my favourite person ever <3 ]

[ ha. flattery will get u everywhere ]

So here he finds himself, out in the backyard of somebody he’s never met, a can of Coke in one hand and your gloved fingers holding tightly onto the other. You dragged him outside at five minutes to midnight and — though he doesn’t know why — you decided you didn’t want to let go. Vernon certainly wasn’t going to be the one to make you. Your warmth down his left side is settling the slight unease he’s felt all evening while also making him feel tipsier than he’s ever been under the influence of any amount of soju; he thinks maybe this should scare him, but he’s just… so glad he came.

With sixty seconds until the clock strikes twelve, somebody stands up on top of the picnic table in the yard and starts to try and coordinate a countdown. With forty-five, Vernon squeezes your hand, butterflies where his stomach ought to be. With thirty, he takes a long drain of his drink, finishing it as if it’ll give him some courage, maybe, or… he doesn’t know. Zero sugar, zero caffeine — there’s no logic behind his process, just a lot of bubbles and artificially sweetened syrup. All the same, he crushes the can against his thigh and slips it into his pocket to throw away later. That alone relieves a bit of his adrenaline.

Not enough, but some.

With ten seconds remaining, the first shout drowns out the white noise in his ears, the chaos of his thoughts. 10. He joins them. So do you. 9. 8. Your voice is the loudest, the most excited sounding. You want this year to be over. You want the rest of your life to begin.

7. 6. 5.

The crackers are set. Flames dance at the end of the garden on fire lighters, ready to send rockets shooting into the sky.

Some people here are going to see them as they truly are. Brilliant and vibrant and colourful against the black canvas of the midnight sky. Vernon won’t. Neither will you. But what was it you said to him once?

4. 3.

Maybe I don’t need to see in colour.

For the first time, he thinks he agrees. The feeling of loving you, even if he never knows green from red, blue from orange? He doesn’t care. He has you. He loves you. That’s enough.

Happy New Year.

As if dawn has broken early, the world becomes impossibly bright, pyrotechnics bursting not only over your own heads but everywhere, as far as his eyes can see. After the first few, he permits himself a glance over at your face: there are tears running down it, and his heart stutters, but then he hears you laugh. Brightly, wetly, more resonant than any of the booms and crackles and cheers he can feel all the way down to his toes.

For whatever reason, Vernon starts laughing with you.

You pull him closer into a bone-crushing hug and blink your damp lashes against the side of his neck. “Thank you for being here with me,” you say to him, practically shouting to be heard. “I love you so much.”

“I’m always gonna be with you,” he says as you pull back a little. Your arms are still around him. The chain of the bracelet he bought you all those years ago is bitterly cold against the back of his neck. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, all he knows is that they’re resting on the curve of your spine. He thinks he can see something in the way you look at him, so softly and tenderly and yet, in the twitch of your brow…

Like you’re searching for something that might not be there.

He knows his gaze moves in a perfect triangle — from your left eye, to your slightly parted, wind-chapped lips, to your right. He knows he stops breathing. He swears you do, too. Something builds — a spark catches, an energy festers, egged on by the curious murmurs of the people around you.

You could do it, his brain tells him.

So what if he’s a few minutes late for it to be traditional? Does it really matter?

But he’s reminded, again, this time with a whizz and a boom and a crackle, that you aren’t his to have this way. His storybook moment fizzles out, the final firework bursting into sparkles overhead. He sees every one of your perfect features brighten in wonder as you tilt your head back to look up at it. Sees it beautifully reflected in your glassy eyes. He has about enough time to commit the image to memory before you clear your throat and finally step away from him, losing all touch for the first time since you came outside.

One of your friends comes and pulls you into an embrace, before passing you along to someone else, and then someone else again. He loses you in the crowd that rushes to get back in the warm, but he makes no effort to move with them. He just stays out in the dark for a while with his own thoughts for company, shoving his frigid hands into the pockets of his jeans.

He’s happy, though. It’s like you said.

Being in love is enough.

“There’s just one more thing,” you say as the waitress returns with your bank card and a receipt. Vernon slides you a look as he stands, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair he’s been sitting in.

He shakes his head at you. “Whatever it is, it better not be edible,” he laughs. “I think this is the most full I’ve ever been.”

In other words, you’ve done enough already. Stop spending money on me. Please. Thankfully, your final surprise is in-keeping with his unspoken rule.

His birthday rolled around way too quickly. The start of the year has been so chaotically busy; you swear, you’ve hardly seen him since he dropped you off home after the party. You moved out of your parents’ house for the second time a few weeks ago and settling in, unpacking boxes, sorting through clothes and belongings and trinkets has taken you much longer than you care to admit. You’ve been busy at work, too. So has he. Your social calendars have barely lined up at all.

But you were determined to make plenty of time for him on his birthday.

To Vernon, this has always just been another day. He’s never cared too much about big celebrations: as long as he can spend some time with people he cares about, he’s happy, and this year he’s managed exactly that. He saw his family this morning, had some friends drop by his apartment later in the day, and now, he’s with you.

You’ve never been great at the laid-back approach, though. Not with him. How could you be, when he does so much for you, always without even batting an eye? When he deserves to be doted on, and adored, and thoroughly spoiled? It’s the same every year. You make a fuss, he playfully scolds you for it; you and he are creatures of habit. It’ll probably never change.

This year, you invited him to your new place to open the gifts you’d bought him: the new speaker he kept saying he couldn’t justify buying, a record he looked at in the store a few months ago but never bought, a sweatshirt to replace the one you stole off him on New Years Eve. Some candies he likes. Then, after he finally stopped pouting and sighing that you really didn’t need to go to all this effort, you took him out for dinner, making a reservation for two at his favourite restaurant.

The pouting continued.

Only up until your appetisers came out, though. The moment your food was placed down in front of you, his eyes doubled in size and his lips became a little too busy to stay pursed. Your own dinner almost went cold with how fondly you sat and watched him. This year, you even spared Vernon the embarrassment of having the restaurant staff sing at the side of your table.

All right, you have an ulterior motive, but… it’s the thought that counts, right?

He holds the door open for you now as you thank the waitress who served you one last time and without him lowering his arm, you step into place beneath it. Tucked up into Vernon’s side, you’re as happy as you’ve ever been. Nervous, too, but… you have a good feeling.

“Where to?” He asks as you fall into step together.

“This way.”

You emerge from the shelter of the canopy outside the restaurant’s front door and immediately feel the cool tickle of a snowflake landing on your cheek. They started to fall while you were eating and Vernon couldn’t stop watching through the window, small specks that grew over the hour into big clumps that tumbled towards the ground. He’s always loved the snow, and there’s no real destination for this gift, anyway. You guide him to the left and watch as peace takes its rightful home on his beautiful features.

“We’ve walked in a perfect square three times now,” Vernon says after a little while of meandering about in the dark, making comfortable small talk and laughing as the champagne bubbles in your stomachs continue to fizz away. “Where are we supposed to be going?”

You wondered how long it was going to take him to notice, or even if he was going to realise at all. Looking up and down the street you’re on, you stop in your tracks, standing beneath the same flickering street lamp that you’ve passed twice already. Your footprints trail both behind and in front of you, neither quite covered yet by the snowfall. You break into a laugh when you notice that the convenience store on your left has closed since the last time you came down this road.

“I can get a map open, if…” Vernon starts, reaching into his pocket. You stop him, stepping out from under his arm and wrapping your hand around his wrist instead.

“I might’ve told a little white lie,” you confess,

He halts with his phone only half pulled out, pushing it into his hip for fear of it falling if either of you let go. “What do you mean?” He asks.

You know he’s probably thinking back to your earlier conversations, trying to figure out which part exactly is the mistruth you’re now admitting to. But whether he gets there on his own or not, he waits for you to answer.

“I had it with me this whole time,” you explain, readjusting your hold on his covered forearm. His eyes dart downwards, looking at the site of contact, but he quickly lifts them back up to your face. “I was just… waiting for… ”

“What are you talking about?” Vernon asks.

“Close your eyes.”

You know.

Unfortunately for your best friend, as hush-hush as he’s managed to be all this time, the same can’t be said for the other person he entrusts all his secrets to. A few weeks ago, when you’d called Seungkwan to coordinate timings for Vernon’s birthday plans, he’d accidentally let something slip. It was your suggestion of taking Vernon to dinner that did the trick.

“Oh, he’s going to love that,” Seungkwan had gushed. You could hear the breadth of his smile down the phone and felt yourself growing hot at the compliment.

“You really think so?”

“Pfft. You could take him to the Eiffel Tower or to a drive-through KFC, and he’d still have hearts in his eyes – because it’s you.”

Of course, he attempted to do some damage control immediately after. Make out that he meant it in strictly platonic terms. But once the idea planted itself in your head, it sort of… made sense. You mulled it over for a couple of days but when you finally asked Seungkwan, deathly serious, if he really thought you stood a chance with Vernon?

He practically screamed ‘yes’ down the phone.

“The last time you asked me to do this, you killed me at laser-tag,” Vernon says, narrowing his eyes. He surely doesn’t think you’re hiding a plastic gun underneath the coat he literally just watched you don, but he doesn’t do as you ask and you suck your front teeth at him.

“Luckily for you, I left all my weapons at home,” you counter. “Come on, please. Just… trust me.”

“Said that last time, too,” he snickers. But, to his merit, he finally does it. He takes in a breath and follows your instruction. “I swear to God…”

Selfishly, you take a moment to bask in how handsome he really is. His eyes twitch underneath his lids and snowflakes cling to his lashes, moving with them. It’s in his hair, too. On his shoulders. Melting on his cheeks, leaving small wet spots on his face. One lands perfectly on the tip of his nose. You would immortalise this moment, if you could.

It made sense, when you found out, because thinking back? Nobody has ever loved you how Vernon does. He shows it in so many ways – he sends you the songs that he hears and thinks you’ll like, the pretty photographs that he takes when he’s away for work, some variant of a ‘good morning’ text, almost every day. He massages your shoulders, lets you fall asleep on his lap, follows you around like an obedient puppy when you have errands to run just so you don’t have to do them on your own.

He tries, and often fails, to cook you breakfast when you stay over. He brings you coffees, or lunch. He looks at you like you’re the moon and the stars. People have teased for years that you could be psychically connected. That you were cosmically united. That it was fate for Vernon to move into the house down the street from you when you were nine. To be the only other child your age on the block.

Two people, perfect for one another, lives intertwined eternally by fate. Or, in other words…

“Are you…?” He asks, breaking the quiet that has only been filled with your cloud-forming breaths.

“Give me a second,” you breathe. There’s no doubt in your mind.

You lean forward to kiss him softly, free hand settling against the side of his neck. In the February chill, Vernon freezes, no part of his body reacting to you except for his lips. Though they twitch in a gasp, they press back against yours as if he isn’t even thinking about doing it. As if it’s instinctual. As if he was always supposed to kiss you – as if he’s your…

There it all is, when you finally pull away.

Brown eyes, framed by fluttering lashes that untangle from one another to finally see you, too. Brown, you know, because when you asked your mother to tell you about Vernon’s colours when you were younger, that was the only one she told you, saying everything else might change when he got older. Warm, brown eyes. Glistening with every blink, blink, blink of the bulb above you. Pupils slowly dilating, drowning the colours out of view. You see his lids shoot wide as he realises, as he glances left and right, as he takes this new world in for the first time, too.

“I knew it,” you say on a stuttered breath, so overwhelmed you could cry. “My soulmate.”

A brilliant smile threatens to split Vernon’s features in two as he cups your cheeks and pulls you back to him, kissing you again, and again, and again.

“I know you are,” he says against your lips, his bare thumbs pink and cold as they press into your skin. And, before you can kiss him quiet – “but what ‘m I?”

thank u so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.<3

#vernon fluff #vernon x reader #vernon chwe fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #hansol x reader #hansol fluff #kpop fluff #j writes.#*#so nervous ab posting this. anyway. i wrote this for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee and my deluded ass is gonna go jump in a hole now GOODBYE <3 #vernon fanfic

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2nd2ndalto · 3 months ago

Text

what if there were two (side by side in orbit)

(chapter 1 here)

Chapter 2

September 1998

When Will opens the door to the basement office the next morning, there’s a flurry of activity.

“Thornhill, Virginia,” di Angelo says by way of greeting. He squeezes past, handing Will a map. Will accepts it, his eyes following his new partner’s progress across the office. The dark-haired man drops to a crouch to dig through a drawer in the corner. “Little town, right at the edge of the Shenandoah National Forest,” he continues, his voice muffled. “Place is known for maple syrup, mostly. Tourism. Some very picturesque bed & breakfasts. At least, that’s what the librarian told me when I called.”

“Sounds… nice?” Will says, a little confused. He glances to the clock on the wall, just double-checking. Yes, he’s almost 15 minutes early. Di Angelo has clearly been here for a while already. There’s a bag open on di Angelo’s desk. From what Will can see from where he’s stalled several feet into the office, there are files inside, and a jumble of clothes.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Di Angelo turns to raise an eyebrow at Will. “Except for the recent string of murders.”

Comprehension dawns, probably a little late. “Oh.” Will blinks, trying to catch up. “How – how many murders?”

Di Angelo stands, running a hand through already messy hair, causing it to stand half on end in a way that somehow makes him look even more attractive rather than insane. “Three in the past two months. The most recent being Sarah Wilton, age twenty-four. Her body was found yesterday morning. But I was looking through some old newspaper articles, and the recent deaths are very similar to a string of murders in the same town fifty years back.”

Di Angelo delivers all of this rapid-fire and Will gazes at him for a moment once he’s stopped speaking, still processing. His gaze drifts to the map he suddenly realizes he’s still holding. “Oh. Okay. So, road trip?”

“Yeah, I thought so,” di Angelo says. He’s stuffing a few more things into his bag, then forcing the zipper closed. “You okay with that? If you’re not ready to go out in the field yet you’re welcome to stay here, take a look at some more files. I don’t mind–”

“No,” Will says immediately, “a road trip sounds great. What do I need?” He’d anticipated possibly being out on some overnight trips, or longer. He’s brought a minimal overnight bag to work today, though it won’t be adequate for a longer excursion.

“Shouldn’t be much,” di Angelo says. He plucks his bag from the desk, makes a fluid turn to grab his coat from the hook on the wall. Will stares, transfixed by the other man’s movements. He registers that he’s still standing in the middle of the only open space in the office, and takes the few steps over to his desk.

“It’s maybe a two-hour drive,” di Angelo is saying. “I just want to take a look around, talk to a few people. We should be back by the end of the day, but I’d take a change of clothes just in case. Oh, here,” he adds, fishing a folded newspaper from the edge of his desk. “You can take a look at that on the way. Ready?”

Di Angelo’s eyes are bright. He looks a little manic. It suits him.

A car has already been requisitioned, apparently, and Will follows di Angelo to the parking garage.

“Who’s driving?” Will asks, surveying the line of monochrome sedans and hatchbacks.

Di Angelo stops in his tracks, his gaze a little over-intense. “I drive.”

Okay, then. Will’s a decent driver, but he grew up in a house with too many teenagers and only one vehicle, so he never got into the habit of doing it regularly. That, and he still finds the freeways around DC a little daunting.

“Did you grow up around here?” Will thinks to ask as di Angelo turns off Ninth Street and angles the car towards the freeway entrance.

A brief glance to Will, guarded. “Yeah. Sort of.”

When it seems no further information is forthcoming, Will supplies, “not me. I’m from Texas. Little town with one traffic light. My mom lives near Fort Worth now.”

There’s no response to this. Will decides not to take it personally. He reaches across the dashboard for the newspaper di Angelo handed him earlier. Deaths Shock Small Town reads the cramped headline under the fold.

“Three deaths this year,” Will muses, half to himself. The rest of the article is on page six, just a few short paragraphs. “Seems as if something like that would be bigger news in such a small place. Do they get a lot of murders out that way?”

Di Angelo raises an eyebrow. “I’m willing to bet they don’t.”

Will reads further. “New housing development encroaching on the forest… bodies found with limbs ripped off –” he frowns. “Couldn’t these be animal attacks? This place is right on the edge of a national forest. If this housing development is pushing into established animal habitat…”

“That would be the most logical conclusion,” di Angelo says slowly, eyes on the road.

“But?”

“But…” di Angelo lets it hang for a moment. “The bodies appear to have been gnawed on by human teeth.”

Will grimaces, glancing back to the newspaper. “The article doesn’t mention that.”

“No,” di Angelo allows. “But I have other… sources.”

“The librarian?” Will asks.

There’s a pause as di Angelo changes lanes, passing a slow-moving RV. “It can be helpful to keep an open mind when gathering information,” he says cryptically.

Will glances over the article again, then at the other man. “Local law enforcement asked for FBI assistance?”

Now di Angelo looks a little guilty. “I’ve found, in this job, that often it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” he says carefully.

Will snorts.

“The case sounded like it had potential,” di Angelo says, not quite apologetic. “I figure we’ll drive out, have a poke around, talk to a few people. If nothing pans out, no harm, no foul.”

“Sure,” Will agrees. It’s not as if he’s an expert.

Di Angelo clears his throat. “Have you ever heard of the Shenandoah Strangler, Agent Solace?”

Will raises an eyebrow. “No, I have not.”

“There are some legends in this area – a being only ever seen in the forest. People have reported a creature with horns or antlers, the upper body mostly human, lower half more like a goat.”

There’s a brief silence in the car.

“That sounds… unlikely,” Will says evenly. “Is that what you think is going on here? Some kind of cryptid?”

A shrug. “Only one way to find out.”

Will watches the other man out of the corner of his eye for a moment. He reminds himself that this is his second day on the job. And he does always try to keep an open mind. “Have you encountered other reports of… cryptids? In your work?” Will asks.

Di Angelo doesn’t respond for a moment. He reaches up to nudge the rearview mirror, the tiniest adjustment. He flicks a glance at Will, hesitant. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes,” Will says, decisive.

Di Angelo’s lips twitch into a grin, eyes bright.

An hour later Will has learned more about cryptids of the Southeastern and Mid-Atlantic US than he ever would have thought there was to know. The more he listens to his new partner, the more he’s surprised how easily their views align, or at least complement each other. Di Angelo doesn’t come across as gullible, or guileless. He’s sharp and thoughtful. Knowledgeable, but more impartial than anything else. Open to possibilities. And who could argue with that?

The further they drive, the more Will finds himself warming to the other man. The idea of acting as a snitch is repellent in itself. As they begin to pass the exit signs for Thornhill and the impromptu cryptid lecture draws to a close, Will feels a wash of relief that maybe, really, he won’t have to.

They arrive at a trailhead just outside of town, miles of forest stretched out before them. The sun’s been up for a few hours but the air still feels cool here, misty. They’re set to meet someone from the Parks department, reportedly. Will trails behind his partner as di Angelo scopes out the area. Before long, a battered-looking red pickup pulls up, kicking up a cloud of dust in the parking lot.

Di Angelo walks back towards the lot, Will following. An older man exits the truck and begins making his way up the path towards them.

“Morning,” di Angelo calls. “Ranger Blanchette? I’m Agent di Angelo, this is Agent Solace.”

They both shake the ranger’s hand. He’s got thick gray hair and a thicker mustache. He’s shorter than Will, and solid-looking.

“Surprised to see FBI out this way,” says Blanchette, gruff. “From what I understood, sheriff’s office had this investigation all wrapped up.”

Di Angelo chooses not to respond to this. “Thanks for meeting us. Do you mind showing us where Sarah Wilton’s body was found?”

The three of them troop into the woods. It’s not far, just a few minutes down a narrow, uneven dirt trail and then a few yards into damp, mossy forest. Blanchette seems in no particular rush; slow, measured steps down the path. Though they’re not moving at any great speed, Will still manages to stumble several times, and reminds himself to keep all-terrain footwear at work. Di Angelo seems light on his feet somehow, even in dress shoes.

Will has spent most of his life feeling clumsy, too big for his body. Di Angelo and Blanchette are both noticeably shorter than he is, and it makes Will extra aware of all the extra space he occupies, as unreasonable as he knows that is. He grimaces to himself.

“You okay?” di Angelo asks. He’s slowed his own pace as the path widens a little, falling into step beside Will.

“Yeah.” Will shoots him a smile.

Blanchette leads them into a small area bare of trees. “This is where they found her. Not much to see. They cleared the crime scene pretty quickly.”

The ground in the little clearing is more trodden than one might expect, but aside from that, there’s nothing of note. Di Angelo crouches, running his fingers over a patch of flattened moss. “Third death in these woods this year, right?” he says, glancing up at the park ranger.

“Yeah.” The older man pauses, thoughtful. “You see some weird stuff out this way. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard.”

“You ever see anything weird?” di Angelo asks. He sounds cool as anything, but Will can tell he’s dying to hear something juicy.

“Hard to say,” Blanchette hedges, a shifty glance at di Angelo and then Will. “There were some similar murders, a few decades back…”

“One case in 1947, right?” di Angelo says. “Man wandered off the trail, body was found a few days later with a leg gnawed off.”

Blanchette nods slowly. “Yeah, and then a couple of other deaths the following year. Folks say it wasn’t a human that killed them. People seem to think it was some kind of… creature.”

Will stays carefully quiet, taking in this exchange. Di Angelo’s face is impassive, but not judgemental. He’s clearly had similar conversations in the past.

“I thought I saw something, a few times,” Blanchette continues, gazing beyond the clearing where the trees thicken to a nearly-solid wall of lush green. “Something almost human but not quite, you know? Thought I saw it come out of the trees once, near sunset. Long, scraggly hair. Looked like it had horns. It kind of sniffed the air, like a dog would. And then it went back into the woods. Scared the crap out of me to be honest.” He glances at Will who nods sympathetically. “After a while, I figured it was just some kids messing around.”

“That’s interesting,” di Angleo says. “How long ago was that?”

“Couple years.” Blanchette rubs the back of his neck. “Everyone’s got their own weird story out here. Something they’ve seen. My brother swears he once found a dead rabbit with a human tooth in it.”

“Whereabouts?” di Angelo asks.

“All in this general area. There are some caves down over yonder.” Blanchette jerks his chin in the direction of thick brush. “People ‘round here tend to give them a wide berth. These murders’ve got everyone nervous. I’d advise you gentlemen to stay armed, if you’re planning on wandering around out here.”

Will has no argument with this. And he has very little desire to go wandering into caves, mythical creatures or not.

They don’t spend any longer in the woods. Apparently di Angelo has already secured an appointment with the county coroner. Will’s privately impressed that he managed to line all this up before the sun had even properly risen this morning.

“Mind if I put on some music?” di Angelo asks as they return to the car. The radio is on, something mindless and chattery, the volume too low to get the gist of the program.

“Sure, go ahead,” Will agrees, remembering Kayla’s comment about di Angelo’s music choices. He smiles to himself. “Got anything good?”

The other man huffs. “Anything good, he asks,” he mutters to himself, pulling a zippered sleeve of CDs from his bag and popping one into the player.

There’s a sharp buzz of electric guitar and then a hum of bass. Well. Kayla’s right about at least one thing.

“Nine Inch Nails,” di Angelo says, glancing over at Will.

Will grins. “Yeah, I’m familiar. A little emo, don’t you think?” he asks the other man – because he’s quickly realizing that there’s something about di Angelo that makes Will want to tease him mercilessly. He won’t, though. Probably.

“Emo,” di Angelo rolls his eyes. “And what do you listen to? Top Forty?”

Will laughs. “Rude. And yeah, sometimes.”

“Should’ve known.” Di Angelo’s eyes are on the road, a smile playing on his lips.

Will shrugs. “I listen to a bit of everything.” With five kids in a small house, there hadn’t been much space to be picky about music choices. “Lots of show tunes lately. A few Disney soundtracks,” Will adds, nonchalant, glancing over for a reaction. He’s not disappointed.

Di Angelo’s brow creases. “Show tunes,” he says, flat. “Like Cats?”

Will shrugs. “Not recently. I’ve been listening to a lot of Rent. And the score from The Little Mermaid is pretty flawless.”

Di Angelo shakes his head, slow. “I’m requesting reassignment as soon as we get back to DC.”

Will laughs, loud. “You could. You might just end up with something worse, though.” He gazes out at the woodland flashing past the window, weak sunlight just starting to catch the bright yellows of the changing leaves. “It’s my turn to choose the music, next road trip,” he adds. He enjoys di Angelo’s cringe immensely.

Will’s been feeling a little lost all morning, wanting to make a good impression, eager to prove he’s more than just a tagalong. It’s a bit of a relief to get to the coroner's office. Here, at least, he’s in his element.

The coroner is a tired-looking, bespectacled man. He’s probably only about a decade older than Will, but with the posture of someone who’s been carrying the weight of the world for a good few years. “They say animals can develop a taste for human flesh, but this was no animal,” he tells them, pulling on gloves and reaching for the sheet covering the body.

Will moves closer. White female, 20s, healthy-looking aside from being dead and missing most of her right leg and a portion of flesh at her shoulder. He glances at di Angelo, who’s standing several steps back, paler than Will’s seen him. “You okay?” Will asks under his breath. The other man nods, tight.

“You see these teeth marks, just below the clavicle?” the coroner asks. “Those sure look human to me.”

Will inspects the marks, a semi-circle of dark red imprinted into ghost-white flesh. “Yeah, that’d be my conclusion, too. What was the cause of death?”

“Blood loss, as far as I can tell,” the coroner says. “She was likely still alive while her leg was eaten off.”

They pause outside the coroner’s office, neither of them rushing into conversation. Nico leans back against the warm brick of the building, closing his eyes and taking in a deep lungful of fresh air. He’s lightheaded, clammy.

The smell of morgues, the artificial chill in the air – no matter how many times he revisits these scenarios, even years later, his mind always goes right back to Bianca, identifying her body after the crash. His body remembers, even when his mind tries to push it down. It doesn’t help that this victim was a young woman, close in age to his sister when she died. He takes another breath, trying to force himself to feel less like vomiting. Or crying.

“Not crazy about corpses?” comes Solace’s voice.

Nico attempts to unclench his jaw enough to answer. “Morgues, mostly. Can’t get used to them.”

There’s kind concern in Solace’s blue eyes, a crease to his brow. And the sentiment isn’t unappreciated, exactly. Solace seems like a decent guy. But the fact of the matter remains that everything is so much simpler when Nico works alone. When there’s no one here he needs to explain himself to.

Solace’s gaze lingers. “You’re definitely not the only one. Anyway, that’s what I’m here for, right?” He offers Nico a shadow of a smile that Nico can’t quite return.

Solace turns his gaze to the street before them, propping himself up against the wall next to Nico without further comment, not making any move to rush them back to the car. After a long moment, Nico levers himself upright. He scrubs a hand over his face. Solace follows, unhurried.

“You know, I think I’d be willing to gnaw someone’s leg off in exchange for a coffee right about now,” the taller man says thoughtfully, and Nico barks out a laugh, surprised. Solace turns, a sunny, toothy grin.

“Or at least chew on a clavicle,” he amends.

Nico feels his own face relax into something that’s almost a smile, feels the ache of grief fading into the background again. Solace has really nice teeth, Nico thinks suddenly. White and straight, except for one slightly crooked lateral incisor. Nico’s struck by the bizarre thought that those teeth look like they probably could gnaw on a clavicle. He finds himself horrified and intrigued in equal measure.

“Coffee sounds good,” he says.

“So what’s next?” Solace asks as they make their way back to the car, coffee in hand.

“Not sure.” Nico unlocks the doors, settling his coffee in the cup holder and flipping his phone open. No new messages. “I tried calling a couple of the previous victims’ families this morning, but I couldn’t get a hold of anyone. I guess we could try going by their residences.”

He reminds himself, not for the first time today, that he’d better play this one by the book. He has a feeling Solace’s field reports will be scrutinized more carefully than he’d like.

There’s quiet as they both buckle in. Solace looks like he’s chewing on something. “You’ve got copies of the police reports from the victims this year,” he begins, sounding hesitant. “Do you think the sheriff’s office would have the autopsy records for the historical victims?”

Nico shoots Solace an approving look. “That’s an excellent idea.”

A tentative smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nico agrees, anchoring his hand on the back of the passenger seat as he reverses out of the parking spot. That’s perfect, a logical next step. And he didn’t even need to plan it out himself.

Nico glances at his new partner. That look on his face, it’s… relief.

Nico merges back into traffic, taking a moment to make sense of this. It’s almost as if Solace is worried about what Nico thinks of him.

That’s surprising, somehow. Unexpected, at least. Solace is smart and easy to talk to and he wants Nico’s approval. Is it possible Reyna sent the wrong agent downstairs?

Logically, Nico should be suspicious. It’s not an act, though, he’s pretty sure. Nico doesn’t love putting his profiling skills to work on a personal level, but Solace is an open book, emotions painted clearly across his freckled face. And Nico hasn’t exactly conducted extensive polling, but when he ran into a buddy from Violent Crimes in the cafeteria yesterday, the guy had nothing but good things to say about Solace.

Nico finds, occasionally, that friends and acquaintances will expect him to have particular insight into their psyches. It’s so far from the truth that it’s laughable. Nico’s much more adept at piecing together the motivations of serial killers than navigating the complexities of the people right in front of him. And he’s even less interested in examining his own interiority.

Solace told him, yesterday, that he just wants to do good work. Well. That’s something Nico can help with.

“You’re already thinking like a special agent,” he tells Solace, his voice coming out warmer than he meant it to. He clears his throat.

Solace huffs, looking pleased at this. “I’m not feeling very special yet.”

Nico shrugs. “That’ll come.”

The ease of their day ends at the sheriff’s office. Deputy Tait is another sturdy old white guy, unfortunately possessing none of the chill of the park ranger they met this morning.

“You don’t have any jurisdiction here,” Tait says, impatient. His face is several shades redder than when they arrived, Nico notes with some interest. “No one contacted the Bureau. I don’t even know how you heard about this incident, but there’s no reason for the FBI to be involved. Woman wandered off a trail at night, got mauled by a panther. I don’t know what you two think you’re going to find here!” His voice rises, and several heads turn in the vicinity.

Solace seems to shrink in on himself a little, but this is familiar territory for Nico.

“Look,” Nico says, still as calm as when they walked in twenty minutes ago, “I’m sure you’re right. We’re not looking to cause trouble. Just let us take a look at the case files and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Nico waits patiently as the sheriff regards him with acute exasperation. Finally, the older man lets out a noisy breath. “Fine. Come back in an hour and I’ll see what I can do.”

Nico glances towards the empty file room and the woman sitting at the desk inside with a crossword spread out in front of her. She meets Nico’s eye and shrugs.

“Thanks so much for your help,” Nico says, trying hard not to roll his eyes.

“And don’t go making a spectacle of yourselves around town,” Tait adds irritably. “We got tourists coming from all over the county this weekend and we don’t need FBI poking around and scaring them off.”

Nico’s still hoping to speak with the previous victims’ families, but no one answers when they try knocking on doors. He hasn’t been able to obtain contact information for anyone who might have been acquainted with Sarah Wilton.

Some time later, Nico’s seated beside his partner on a park bench near the center of town, both of them having acquired canned drinks and hot dogs from a cart nearby. The sun filters through the trees above, dappling the yellow leaves beginning to pile up on the grass at their feet. The smell from the hot dog cart is mouth-watering, and the hot dogs are perfect; lightly charred and nestled in fresh, fluffy buns.

Solace groans in appreciation around his first bite. “Oh my god this is so good.”

Nico nods in agreement, mouth full. He shoots a glance to his partner, who’s looking blissful, still chewing. “Um. You have mustard on your nose,” Nico says.

“Oh. Fuck.” Solace grimaces, fishing in his pocket for a paper napkin and then scrubbing at his nose. He turns, looking mildly abashed, freckled cheeks and nose tinged pink. “Better?”

And it would be overwhelming looking at anyone at such close range, wouldn’t it? Nico glances away quickly. He nods. “Yeah. Got it.”

“You still thinking cryptids?” Solace asks. He cracks open his Coke and pops a straw into the can.

Nico glances over, still half-expecting to see disdain or impatience on the other man’s face. But there’s only curiosity. It’s unnerving. Nico finds himself relaxing a little more each time it happens.

He shrugs. “I’m open to the possibility.” He gazes off into the distance, cars zipping by on the street ahead of them, a whole town full of people going about their business as if there isn’t a potential murderer lurking in the woods.

“It’s a nice little town,” Solace says.

Nico nods in agreement. Red brick buildings, a pretty town square edged with well-tended flowerbeds. People lunching on patios and on the grass in the afternoon sunshine. The kind of quaint little place city people like to escape to, especially at this time of year when the leaves are changing. They’d seen several signs advertising harvest festivals and craft shows on their drive out.

“Reminds me of the place my little brother went to college,” Solace offers.

And Nico knows it’s not meant as anything more than an offhand remark, just idle conversation, but he feels his jaw tightening.

“Those files should be ready by now,” Nico says, standing and crumpling the foil from his hot dog.

Solace stays seated a moment longer, blinking up at him. Then he follows. “Yeah. Lead the way.”

The files aren’t yet ready, as it turns out, and they pause outside the sheriff’s office.

“Looks like this might be a little more than a day trip,” Solace comments with a glance at his watch.

“Yeah,” Nico agrees. “Not sure why they’re making us wait if they’re so eager to get us out of town. Might be an overnight stay, though. Are you okay with that? If you’ve got someone expecting you home, you could always head back,” he says, suddenly realizing he hasn’t the vaguest idea what the other man’s personal life might entail.

But Solace shakes his head. “No, I’m good. I’ll give my sister a call later and let her know. We share an apartment.”

Okay. He has a sister. And an apartment. And the brother he mentioned earlier. That’s… useful information to have, Nico supposes.

“What about you?” Solace asks. “You have someone at home? A girlfriend?”

Nico snorts. “No.” He unlocks his door, then reaches over to pop the passenger side lock.

And Nico doesn’t know why he feels the need to elaborate, but the words are out of his mouth before he has a chance to overthink it, tumbling into the sun-warmed car as Solace reaches for his seatbelt. “I um. I have fish,” he says.

Solace pauses, seatbelt pulled halfway across his chest. “Fish?”

Nico feels his face warming, the embarrassment and discomfort of being known, even a little. He knows it’s stupid, but that’s what he is. “I have pet fish. At home.”

“Oh. Nice.” Solace looks unreasonably pleased at this.

“I get my sister to feed them if I’m going to be out of town for a while,” Nico continues, for some unknown reason still talking, “but they should be fine for a couple of days.”

“You have a sister too,” Solace says, far too curious.

“Yeah.” Nico turns from the other man abruptly, puts the car in reverse and backs out of the parking space. For good measure, he turns the CD player back on and bumps the volume up.

With no luck in contacting the victims’ families and without any joy from the sheriff’s office, di Angelo suggests the library – a scan through old newspapers on the off-chance there’s some insight to be gained there. Will agrees easily. He slowly feels as if he’s getting his legs under him, checking off boxes, following the trajectory of the mystery. He’d been worried he’d feel like he was in the way – di Angelo is surely accustomed to working alone – but the other man doesn’t seem to mind the company, as long as Will refrains from asking any personal questions.

Di Angelo pulls a film sheet off the microfiche reader, sliding it carefully back into its envelope.

“No luck in January 1948?” Will asks. He leans back, rubbing at tired eyes.

Di Angelo shakes his head, pressing a hand to his mouth. Will raises an eyebrow and the other man grimaces. “These things make me queasy,” he mutters.

“Take a break,” Will says, firm. “Pass me the next month and if I find anything, I’ll read it to you.”

But aside from the few short articles di Angelo had in his archives back at the office, there’s nothing. Most of the news from February 1948 is about new, post-war housing being built at the edge of the town. It’s strange.

Di Angelo’s phone buzzes, and he stands, digging in his coat pocket. He glances around at the other library patrons, walking quickly out into the hall as he answers, his voice low. He’s back only a minute later, looking frustrated.

“Everything okay?” Will asks.

“Reyna,” di Angelo mutters. “She’s not happy that we came out here without prior authorization. Sheriff called the Bureau. Reyna wanted us back immediately. I convinced her to let us stay until tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Will says, taking a moment to process. “Reyna. The assistant director. You’re on a first name basis with her?” Ramirez-Arellano hasn’t struck him as the sort of person who’s on a first-name basis with anyone.

Something shutters in di Angelo’s expression. “Oh. I guess.” He turns back to the case of film sheets on the table beside them.

“Care to elaborate?” Will asks, curious.

“No.”

Will resists the urge to tease, though it’s a close thing. “Are we in hot water?” he asks instead.

Di Angelo scrunches his nose.

Cute, Will thinks, involuntary, then inappropriate his brain tells him, louder. What is with him. All he can think is to blame it on Kayla. He never would have considered this man in anything but a professional capacity without her interference.

“Probably not,” di Angelo says slowly. “Reyna’s under a lot of pressure from her bosses. She knows my hunches usually pay off. And I solve cases. Besides, you should be okay.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re new.”

Will bites back a smile. “I’ll just tell her you’re a bad influence.”

Di Angelo shoots him a grin. “Exactly.”

There’s a young man waiting near their car when they exit the library, and the two agents exchange a glance as they approach him. He’s thin, mouse-brown shaggy hair brushing the shoulders of a threadbare checked shirt. He watches the two men as they approach, looking like he might run if they get too close. Will’s struck by the thought that the guy looks like someone his father would cross the street to avoid.

Apollo’s mouth, twisted in distaste: “don’t give them any money”. The thought makes Will’s jaw clench and his stomach ache. He has no desire to examine that any further at the moment. Luckily, he doesn’t have to.

“Are you the FBI agents?” the man asks once they’re close enough for conversation.

Di Angelo nods. “We are. I’m Agent di Angelo and this is Agent Solace.”

“I’m Billy Wilton,” he says, holding out his hand. “Sarah Wilton’s brother.”

Billy looks as if he could use a good meal even more than di Angelo, Will thinks. Di Angelo must be thinking along the same lines, because ten minutes later he’s led them to a nearby diner, and the three of them are seated in a red vinyl booth. Di Angelo waves off the younger man when he tries to reach for his wallet.

“Thanks for taking the time to talk to me,” Billy says. “The police didn’t want to. They told me the case was closed, it was an animal attack. I just want to make sure someone knows about Sarah, you know?” He drops his gaze and Will feels a surge of sympathy for the young man.

“Why don’t you tell us about her,” Will says, gentle.

“Sarah was my big sister. She loved the woods,” Billy begins. “When we were kids, we used to go exploring there all the time. She used to tell me ghost stories, stories about half-humans living in caves there.”

Will glances over at his partner, half-expecting the cryptid-fervor back in his gaze again. But there’s only sadness there.

“She was a good sister,” Will says softly.

“Yeah. She was. Our family lived out in the trailer park – until they closed it down to make room for the new housing development, anyway. In high school… well. Our family never fit in. There’s a lot of money here, and we didn’t have that. But Sarah always made me feel like I fit in,” Billy continues, twisting a paper napkin in his fingers. “We were always a team. Then after high school… she kind of got mixed up with the wrong crowd, I guess you could say.” He glances up, looking guilty. “You might have seen that, if you read the police report. She was a good person, though.”

Di Angelo nods. “She’d gotten involved in drugs. Sex work. Is that right?”

Billy nods, his gaze darting back to the table. “Maybe she was killed by an animal, I don’t know. But I couldn’t help feeling the sheriff just wrote her off. Because…” he trails off.

“Because she didn’t act the way she was supposed to,” Will says quietly.

Billy nods.

“Do you know of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Sarah?” di Angelo asks.

Billy lets out a long breath. “Honestly? We hadn’t been in touch as much over the last year or so. But no. I don’t think so.”

“Poor kid,” di Angelo says, gruff, as they get back into the car.

“Yeah,” Will agrees. He thinks about the shadows under Billy’s eyes, the way he’d cleaned every crumb from his plate.

Di Angelo puts the key into the ignition and then pauses, scrubbing a hand over his face. “That’s the hardest part of this job. All the people left behind. Sometimes I can find answers for them, and sometimes…” he shrugs.

“All you can do is your best, right?” Will says, soft.

Di Angelo nods, gazing out the window. “You never really forget any of them. Not the ones we help and not the ones we don’t.”

There’s a long pause wherein Will tries to piece together the right kind of reassurance. He comes up empty-handed.

“Anyway.” Di Angelo clears his throat, starting the car, “we should go see our good friend Deputy Tait.”

Finally, the historical files are waiting for them, but they’re frustratingly sparse. Bare-bones, autopsy reports nowhere to be found. There are a few witness testimonies, really not anything more than what they already learned from the park ranger, vague reports of sightings of a creature in the woods near where the bodies were found.

An hour later, squinting in the low light of the small office they’ve grudgingly been provided with, and di Angelo sighs, pushing his chair back. He turns to Will, looking tired and a little regretful. “I might’ve dragged us all the way out here for nothing.”

Will shrugs. He’s not going to start complaining on his second day. “It’s not a problem. You never know unless you try, right? Besides, I need to get my field legs under me,” Will adds. “Probably better with something like this than a super high-stakes chase through the city. You know, scaling brick walls, running after perps.��

Di Angelo huffs. Will shifts in his chair, the gun at his hip digging into his skin. His hand drifted to it, almost subconsciously.

“You don’t like the gun,” di Angelo states, a bit out of nowhere.

Will makes a face, twitching his suit jacket back over his hip. “I don’t love it,” he admits.

Di Angelo nods, thoughtful.

“I do know how to use it,” Will feels the need to add, and the other man offers him a faint smile.

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise.”

“I’m trained in medicine,” Will continues, feeling as if he needs to defend himself, though he’s been given him no indication that this might be necessary. “I spent a lot of time learning how to save people. Sometimes from this.” He gestures to his hip where the gun is hidden by his jacket.

“Makes sense.” di Angelo gazes at Will for a moment, contemplative. “I don’t love it either, I guess. But it’s a tool. It’s good to have when you need it.”

Di Angelo’s gaze lingers on his face for just a moment longer, a quiet intensity, and Will looks away, feeling his cheeks warm. He reminds himself that di Angelo is experienced in psychological profiling, one of the best in the business. He suddenly feels too exposed.

“So what’s next?” Will asks, eager to change the subject.

They both settle into their motel rooms after bidding each other goodnight. Nico pores over his notes. Something isn’t adding up. The sheriff seems way too eager to sell this as a simple animal attack. And then there are the missing autopsy reports. Tomorrow they’ll head back to DC, and the mystery will be lost forever.

He pushes away from the small table, restless and twitchy, not nearly tired enough to sleep. He glances at the TV. He could find something to watch. Or go for a run.

Or he could head back into the woods.

Nico gathers his things quickly, pulling his coat back on and closing the door behind him. Then he stands in the near-dark, conflicted. Because there’s no need to bother his new partner with this, right? The work day is long over. Solace is probably asleep anyway. And Nico’s made similar excursions on his own countless times.

Nico heaves a sigh, stepping a little further from the moths fluttering around the exterior lights of the building. Plans for wandering alone into possibly-creature-infested woods are the kind of thing one should probably share with a partner, when one has had a partner assigned.

It’s late now, almost eleven. Nico decides that he’ll leave a note, if Solace has already gone to bed. But as he nears the door, he can see light filtering through gauzy curtains.

A soft knock at the door and Solace answers just a moment later, surprise on his freckled face. He’s got glasses on, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. His blond curls are mussed, a frizzy halo in the half-light seeping from the motel room. He looks taller in the near-dark, if that’s even possible. It shouldn’t be. He’s not even wearing shoes.

Nico shakes himself internally. Focus. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I was just writing up my field report. Should have gotten to it earlier, but there was a good episode of Star Trek on,” Solace grins, easy. He seems like the kind of guy who’s easy with everyone. He’s even easy with Nico. Nico’s never been easy for anyone. He’s certainly not about to start now. Not for all the six-footedness and blond curls and toothy grins in the world.

“I just wanted to let you know, I’m gonna head back to the woods where we met the park ranger,” Nico says.

Solace blinks, owlish behind his glasses. “Right now?”

“Yeah. I can’t sleep. I just want to go take another quick look around before I turn in.”

There’s a beat, and then Solace says, “I’ll come with.”

“No, you don’t have to. I just wanted to let you know where I was –”

“What, in case you turn up missing a leg tomorrow?” Solace asks over his shoulder, dry. “Let me grab my coat.”

The drive back to the woods is quiet; no music playing, di Angelo not offering much in the way of commentary. Will gazes out the passenger window at the darkened houses. There’s next to no traffic at this time of night, especially once they leave the town limits and head into rolling hills and woodland.

“So, what are we looking for?” Will asks as they step out into the cool night air.

“Maybe nothing,” di Angelo says, “but most of the sightings of this creature have occurred around this time of night. It can’t hurt to take a look around.” His eyes are serious as he turns to Will. “Just stay alert.”

Will doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s got his gun holstered and his flashlight lit as they walk towards the trailhead. The crunch of leaves and gravel underfoot seems unnaturally loud.

It’s weirdly quiet and still, and it remains so as they make their way through the woods to the place Sarah Wilton’s body was found. It puts Will on edge, like the trees are closing in on them. They pause in the small clearing they visited earlier in the day.

“I don’t think I want to go too much further into the woods. We’ll lose the trail,” di Angelo murmurs after a moment. Will is privately relieved. He’s glad di Angelo hadn’t decided to come out here alone, but before the other man had shown up at his door, Will had been making important plans involving a hot shower and the vending machine he’d seen beside the reception desk.

They wait, flashlights trained on the ground in front of them.

“Flashlights off?” Will says after a moment, quiet. “We’re not going to sneak up on anything like this.”

Di Angelo nods, and they flick the beams off. The silence is eerie, pressing in on Will’s ears, but at least the moon is bright, and after a few moments Will’s eyes adjust and he can see the contours of the landscape. Trees loom over them, moonlight filtering into the small clearing.

Will glances at di Angelo. He’s alert, watchful, scanning the trees around them. But as time passes, even his fervor starts to fade.

Will is just about to suggest that they head back when there’s rustling off to the left. Will resists a gasp at the sudden noise, his heart picking up speed. Both men turn in unison, silent. Will’s hand goes to his gun, a similar motion from the man next to him.

Will’s barely breathing, primed by the stories of cryptids di Angelo shared on the drive out, and honestly off-balance from being in this situation at all. Most of the fieldwork he’s been involved in have involved people who were most certainly already dead. Not… potentially going to be murdered very shortly.

There’s movement among the trees. Will’s definitely not imagining it, nor the way his partner tenses beside him. Will’s hand tightens on his gun, his eyes straining into the darkness.

There’s still and quiet again, long enough that Will feels he’s finally able to take a full breath – but then there’s the distinct snap of a twig and the movement of branches, too close.

Whatever’s moving in the trees looks human, but… not. Will feels a shiver run down his spine at the unreality of it. It’s walking on four legs, but it doesn’t look like any animal Will’s ever seen. It moves parallel to them, loping through the underbrush, a weird, uneven gait. Then it stops to sniff the air and torturously slowly, turns to face them where they stand in the clearing.

Will’s mouth go dry. Di Angelo’s still as a statue beside him, the three of them motionless in the moonlit woods. For an interminable moment, they gaze at each other.

The creature slowly stands, rising to two legs and looking much more human now, except the short, curly horns growing from the crown of its head, just barely visible in the cool moonlight. It’s head has an odd shape, distinctly not human, and the dissonance makes Will’s skin tingle.

The creature surveys the two of them for a long moment before continuing on its path, moving deeper into the woods.

Will let out a long breath. He and di Angelo turn to each other, and Will thinks that his expression must mirror the other man’s – half terrified, half amazed.

“Seen enough?” Will asks weakly.

Di Angelo beams at him. “Holy fuck. Yeah.”

Will laughs, mostly at the expression on the other man’s face, feeling more than a little awestruck himself.

“Did that look human to you?” asks di Angelo once they’re back in the safety of the car.

“I don’t know what to think. Whatever – or whoever that was… they certainly match the description from the park ranger.” Will shakes his head slowly. “So what now? We alert the sheriff’s department?”

Di Angelo nods, his eyes on the road. “Yup. They’ll want to search the woods and surrounding area again.”

It’s nearly three in the morning by the time they pull back into the motel parking lot, and Will decides to forgo the shower in favor of a bag of Hickory Sticks and then bed. He sleeps hard and dreamless, waking to a brisk rap on his door and sunlight already pouring in the window.

Will stumbles across the room and squints into the peephole to see di Angelo fully dressed and looking tense.

“Give me a minute,” Will calls, quickly shedding his t-shirt and sweats in favor of the same dress pants and shirt he wore yesterday. It’s a good thing they’re planning on heading back today, because he really hadn’t packed for a prolonged stay.

Will unlocks the door. Di Angelo is pacing on the walkway. “They shut us out,” he says, before Will can open his mouth to speak.

“They – what?”

“They shut us out,” the other man repeats, angry. “Fucking NSA. They’ve got the whole area barricaded, I couldn’t get in there, couldn’t even get anyone to talk to me. They threatened to arrest me and they gave me an armed escort back to the main highway.”

Will frowns, bewildered. “But - why NSA? Do they think this is some kind of threat to national security?”

Di Angelo throws his hands up. “Beats me. No one’s talking. I’ve got a call in to Reyna and I’m heading to the sheriff’s office now. You coming?”

Will’s already nodding. “Yeah. Of course. Can – can I brush my teeth first?”

Di Angelo’s expression softens, marginally. “Yeah. Of course.”

They gaze at each other for a beat. “Here. Come in.” Will opens the door wide, stepping back. The other man enters, dropping into a chair. He’s still there when WIll exits the washroom, feeling a little more human after having taken the time to shave and splash some water on his face.

“Sorry,” the other man says. “For barging in –”

“No, it’s fine, I was…” Will hesitates. “Okay, I was sound asleep, but it’s fine.”

Di Angelo huffs out a laugh. “Coffee? To make up for waking you?” He holds up a styrofoam cup, clearly from the coffee maker on the desk.

Will’s face must betray his relief, because di Angelo laughs. “What do you take?”

“Oh, um. A sugar and a creamer. Thanks.” Will stands there awkwardly as the other man prepares his coffee. Di Angelo takes care to secure the white plastic lid before handing it to Will.

“Cheers,” Will says, and they awkwardly bump their styrofoam cups together. Their fingers brush and the swoop in Will’s stomach catches him off-guard. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again as he realizes he has no idea what he was going to say.

Then di Angelo gives him a nod and leads the way out to the parking lot. Will follows, giving his head a shake.

Deputy Tait meets them at the front desk of the station. “I had nothing to do with this,” he says, raising his hands in surrender, maybe taking in di Angelo’s fierce expression. “I reported what y’all saw last night, and next thing I know we’re overrun with feds.”

In this instance, Will’s inclined to believe the sheriff. If anything, he hadn’t wanted more attention drawn to the matter.

Di Angelo nods, deflating. “What can you tell us?”

“Not much,” Tait admits. “They’ve been searching the woods for a few hours. Last I heard they were gonna blow up a couple of caves on the north angle.”

Will isn’t the only one surprised with the fact, and di Angelo sounds aghast. “They’re blowing them up?”

“Seems they got a hold of whatever animal’s been causing these deaths. They killed it on sight, and they want to make sure there aren’t any others.”

Di Angelo curses under his breath, then turns on his heel. Will thanks the deputy before following the other man back out to the car.

Di Angelo is standing beside the sedan, eyes on the mountain range, his jaw tight. There’s smoke rising in the distance, silhouetted against a haze of green forest.

“Fucking cowboys,” he seethes. He turns to Will. “You saw what I saw, right? That wasn’t any kind of animal.”

WIll hesitates. “It was dark, and I didn’t get a great look at it, but… no. It didn’t look like an animal.”

Di Angelo scrubs a hand over his face. “What happened to discovery? What happened to curiosity? Living in harmony with nature? No. Instead we have to blow up what we don’t understand.”

Will stays quiet, eyes on the horizon, an ache in his chest.

Di Angelo’s gaze flicks over to him. “Don’t get me wrong,” he says, quieter. “I get that they had to do something. But is this the solution?” He waves a hand towards the woods, frustrated.

“It’s not as if this creature, whatever it was – was coming into town looking for victims,” Will agrees. “The deaths only happened once humans started invading its territory.”

“Yeah.” The other man regards the smoke in the distance for another moment. “Reyna’s expecting us back,” he mutters after a long moment. “We should pack up.”

They return to the motel, retrieving their few possessions and preparing to leave town. Di Angelo looks truly defeated.

“Hey,” Will says over the top of the sedan, “I can drive, if you want.”

Di Angelo regards him, inscrutable. “No. That’s okay. Thanks, though,” he says, finally.

Will watches the other man as he hefts his bag into the back seat.. “Why don’t we make one more stop before we head out?”

Billy WIlton’s place is on the way out of town anyway, as it turns out. The mansions and wide lawns gradually fade to smaller, post-wartime houses, close together, sagging roofs and crumbling staircases.

Billy’s sitting on his front porch when they pull up in front of the house, and he rises to greet them. He’s already heard the news, or at least some of it.

“I’m so sorry,” di Angelo tells him, “NSA’s shut us out now and the Bureau wants us to leave it alone. There’s really not much else we can do. But whatever killed your sister, it’s gone. I hope that brings some closure, at least.”

Will thinks Billy looks calmer than he did yesterday, something settled in his expression. So there’s that.

He nods in understanding. “I’m glad you came by. I wanted to thank you again.”

Di Angelo shakes his head. “We really didn’t do anything.”

Billy shrugs. “You let me talk about Sarah. It helped. I appreciate your time.”

Will thinks his partner looks almost tearful for a moment. Then he seems to collect himself, reaching out to shake Billy’s hand. “Take care of yourself,” he says.

Billy nods, reaching out to shake Will’s hand, too. “Safe drive.”

Will gazes out the window as di Angelo guides the car onto the highway. The day’s turned wooly and overcast, iron-grey clouds hanging thick and low over red-yellow foliage.

“That was a bust,” di Angelo says after a long silence. He sounds exhausted.

“I wouldn’t say that. Billy Wilton was grateful. We helped at least one person.”

“Maybe.”

“You showed me my first cryptid,” Will offers.

Di Angelo glances over, almost smiling. “Yeah? Is that what you’re gonna write in your field report?”

“Something to that effect. Apparent humanoid creature, didn’t resemble an animal, horned, oblong head, four-legged gait.”

“Well sure, when you put it that way,” di Angelo mutters.

Will laughs.

They ride in silence for the next few miles, a far cry from the treatise on cryptids Will was subjected to on the drive out. He glances over at the other man.

“So, Agent di Angelo. How’d you get interested in this field in the first place?” Will asks, fully expecting not to have to say much for the next twenty minutes.

The other man lets out a long breath. “It was a bit of a hobby, when I was a kid. You know. Paranormal… stuff.” There’s a long pause. “And then I became aware of the X-Files when I started at the Bureau. Transferred over from Violent Crimes when the opportunity presented itself.” He falls silent.

“That’s a good story,” Will says, when the silence continues to stretch and the road continues to disappear under their tires. “Detailed and compelling.“

Di Angelo huffs. “How about you?” he asks after a long moment. “You were in med school, before the Bureau snagged you. How’d you end up there?”

Will takes a second, considering his answer. “Hard work. A few scholarships, too many part-time jobs. Lots of sleepless nights and no social life to speak of. My dad could have helped a lot more than he did, but…” Will shrugs.

Di Angelo shoots him a sympathetic look.

“It’s kind of the family business, I guess. My dad’s a doctor. His dad too. It was what everyone expected. I kind of found myself in the middle of it before I’d properly thought it through.”

“Those things are hard to back out of, once you’re committed,” di Angelo says, quiet.

“No kidding,” Will sighs. “I did think I wanted to practice medicine, for a while. And then I didn’t. And then the FBI came calling, and that seemed like a good opportunity. Two years at Quantico, and then I got shuffled over to sit in a car with you listening to –” Will grabs the CD case from the dashboard. “Green Day.”

Di Angelo huffs. “At least you got the last part right.”

Will laughs. They fall back into silence, though it’s briefer this time, maybe lighter.

“You grew up in Texas,” di Angelo says, out of nowhere.

“Yeah, I did,” Will says, surprised at the unprompted query. “Carleton. Sixty miles from just about any kind of civilization. Three brothers, one sister.”

“That must have been nice,” di Angelo says. His voice is almost wistful “Growing up in a big family.”

Will shrugs. “Yeah, for the most part.” It was a big family… until it shrunk by almost half. But there’s no need to get into that right now. “There were too many of us and not enough space,” he settles on, instead. “Lots of good memories, though. How about you? You mentioned a sister?”

Di Angelo doesn’t immediately react, and Will wonders for a moment if the other man didn’t hear him.

“That’s Hazel, that I mentioned,” he says finally. “My half-sister. She lives in Baltimore. But Bianca. She was… my other sister. She died. A little over ten years ago.”

“Oh,” Will says, suddenly feeling as if he’s completely put his foot in it. “That must have been… I’m really sorry,” he says, softer. And for a second he wants to mention Michael, and Lee, but at the closed-off set of di Angelo’s face, he thinks it might be better to move on.

“Thanks,” di Angelo says after a moment. “It sucked. Still does, to be honest,” he laughs without humor.

“Yeah,” Will agrees, his own voice hoarse. He has a stupid impulse to reach out and squeeze the other man’s hand where it rests on the gear shift. Instead he diverts and distracts; much as therapy has taught him it’s not his job to raise the spirits of everyone in the room, old habits die hard.

At least he’s successful, pointing out a Krispy Kreme sign at the next exit and drumming up some excitement about coffee and doughnuts. They get back into the sedan after the brief stop, di Angelo pops in another CD, and there’s not much conversation aside from the occasional “sorry” or “oops” when their fingers bump as they reach for the cup holders.

Traffic is heavier as they near the DC city limits, and the CD cycles back to the first track.

“Want me to change it?” Will asks, reaching for the zippered case between them.

“Sure. You can choose one. Or just stick in whatever’s next.”

Will flips through the discs, trying and failing to find anything he’d choose to listen to voluntarily. There’s a CD at the back of the case with the title written in Sharpie on the disc.

“The Early Years?” Will asks, holding it up.

Di Angelo glances over. "It's Tom Waits. You might like it."

Will’s not entirely sure about that, but he goes for it anyway, surprised at the gentle acoustic guitar that flows from the speakers when he pops it in. They're three tracks in when he catches the dark-haired man smiling, truly smiling at him, and Will laughs. "It's good," he says, surprised.

Di Angelo just nods, looking pleased. He turns his attention back to the road, one hand loosely gripping the top of the steering wheel. Will leans back into his seat, lulled by the quiet melody and hum of the car. He sneaks a glance sideways. Di Angelo looks just as relaxed, Will thinks, the tension of the case in Thornhill drifting away in the hum of the highway, the miles under their tires.

Di Angelo drives the way he moves around his basement office, Will thinks. Languid and graceful, like he belongs in the space. Like he’s a part of it. It’s not… unattractive.

There’s a pause and another track begins, a soft progression of chords in a major key. Di Angelo begins singing along softly, under his breath, then a little louder with the chorus.

Will watches him out of the corner of his eye, something warm and unexpected blossoming in his chest. The other man has a low voice, well suited to hitting the lowest lows of the song. Will grew up in a house full of musicians, and he’s a quick study. When the second chorus begins, Will joins in with a light tenor harmony.

Di Angelo shoots him a smile, not faltering in his melody as they begin passing exit signs for DC and as the chorus slips back into the verse.

The song ends and Will grins. “You have a nice voice, Agent di Angelo,” he tells the other man.

Di Angelo huffs out a laugh. “You’re not so bad yourself. Maybe we can have a second career as lounge singers, if this FBI thing doesn’t work out.”

Will laughs. “Sounds like fun.” He tilts his head. “I’ll bring my Disney soundtracks along next road trip. We can sing the Aladdin duet.”

“Oh my god,” di Angelo mutters. He’s fighting a smile. “Next road trip, I’m requesting separate cars.”

Will laughs. There’s a moment of quiet as the CD continues to play and di Angelo smoothly changes lanes. “You know,” he glances at Will. “You can call me Nico.”

Will grins, somehow feeling like he’s won something, like maybe this whole case wasn’t such a bust after all.

“Nico,” he says, trying it out. Stupidly, it makes his cheeks warm. He carefully turns his face towards the passenger side window.

Three weeks later

Reyna pauses in front of a filing cabinet in the basement office, surveying the mess on its surface. Most of it is unremarkable - books, files, newspapers, overdue expense reports. She peers at a framed photo sitting atop a box of envelopes.

Then there’s the slam of the stairwell door and a voice in the hall. Reyna turns, brow furrowed. It sounds like Nico’s voice, but the voice is singing. Not only that, but Reyna’s quite sure she recognizes the song, because it’s from the animated mermaid movie her nieces are obsessed with. So perhaps it’s not Nico? But who else would be in the basement, particularly after five pm?

The office door opens and it is indeed Nico, still singing to himself, eyes on a sheaf of paper in his hand. He crosses to his desk, completely unaware that he has an audience.

Reyna clears her throat.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Nico jumps about a foot in the air, clutching at his chest. Reyna’s gaze follows the trajectory of the papers he was carrying as they flutter to the floor.

Nico slumps against his desk, breathing hard. “What the fuck, Reyna – what the fuck are you – Jesus Christ.”

“Whose fish?” Reyna asks.

“Whose – what?” Nico asks weakly.

Reyna turns back to the filing cabinet, plucking the framed photo from the top of it - four tropical fish in a tank, an array of plastic tropical plants anchored in colorful gravel, a skull sitting in the corner. “Whose fish?” she repeats, holding the photo out to Nico.

“They’re – they’re mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah –”

“You have a framed photo of them. In your office.”

“It was a – stupid Christmas gift from Hazel. Reyna –”

“But you brought it to work. And put it in your office.”

“Reyna, what the fuck are you doing here?” Nico bursts out, exasperated.

Reyna carefully replaces the photograph. She turns and watches Nico for a long moment. “I wasn’t aware you were a Disney fan,” she says.

“I’m… not?” Nico says, looking completely lost.

“Part of Your World? The Little Mermaid?”

Now there’s a trace of something other than irritation on Nico’s face – recognition, or embarrassment. Interesting.

“That’s not me, that’s my idiot partner,” Nico mutters.

“You know all the words.”

Nico frowns. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Reyna –”

“Speaking of which, how are things progressing with Agent Solace?”

Nico’s posture softens. “He’s – fine. I mean, he’s got garbage taste in music. And he thinks he’s funny.”

“You seem to think he’s funny as well.”

“I – what?”

“I saw the two of you walking back into the building this afternoon. I would have said hello, but you were busy laughing at something Agent Solace had said.” Reyna quirks an eyebrow.

Nico sighs, finally dropping into his chair. “Is there a reason for this visit, or did you just come down here to antagonize me? Because I’ve spent the last two days in a car with Solace, and honestly I’ve had my fill of that.”

“Fine.” Reyna clears her throat. “I came to speak to you regarding your investigation in Thornhill.”

“Oh.” Nico sags in his chair. “Look, I know we went down without prior approval, but –”

Reyna raises a hand to quiet him. “That is not what I came to speak to you about. I had a meeting with Octavian this afternoon.”

Nico grimaces. Honestly, Reyna can relate.

“He was initially quite unhappy with what he considers a misuse of resources to chase down a lead that didn’t pan out, especially one he deems outside the purview of the Bureau’s mandate. What I most wanted to impress upon you, however, is that Agent Solace’s field reports were flawless. He was able to outline your investigation in a way that even Octavian was unable to find fault with.”

Nico blinks. “Oh. That’s…”

“Yes, it is,” Reyna agrees. “Agent Solace was also able to delineate your role specifically in a manner that cast you in the best possible light.”

Nico looks a little stunned.

“And, purely as a matter of interest,” Reyna says pointedly, “Agent Solace’s reports were typed, submitted on time, and scrupulously proofread.”

At that, Nico rolls his eyes. “Do you want Solace to take over down here? I can go upstairs and do autopsies if you like.”

“What I am saying, Agent, is that it may be very much in your best interests to be nice to Agent Solace. If you’re very lucky, this partnership could be a significant factor in helping you keep your department.”

Nico scrubs a hand over his face. “I let him play his stupid CDs in the car. What more do you want from me?”

Reyna watches him and he sighs, watching her back.

“Fine," Nico says grudgingly. "I’ll be nice. He’s – he’s not so hard to be nice to. As it turns out."

(chapter 3 here)

Notes:

1. I have done a LOT of work on this chapter and tbh it's still probably my least favourite. I found it really hard to write these two as complete strangers, not to mention this was the first ~case chapter I wrote and I felt entirely out of my element. Not looking for sympathy, just sharing because I like to hear about people's writing processes :) Incidentally, writing casefic got MUCH easier with some practice. 2. On a related note, I wrote this chapter completely cold turkey, no planning, the way I'd usually write a one-shot. DO NOT RECOMMEND. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what was going on when I got to the editing stage. 3. At some point I realized I could just make up town names and it made my life so much better. 4. Thanks a ton to @rosyredlipstick for the beta & to @anything-thats-rock-and-roll for random troubleshooting :)

#my writing #x-files au #solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #reyna ramirez-arellano #casefic #conservatively rated teen for now #alternate universe - fbi

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retronator · 1 year ago

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I never played Karateka in the 80s, but as a big fan of Prince of Persia and Jordan Mechner's journals, I was stoked to hear that an interactive documentary about Jordan's prototypical cinematic platformer was in the works by Digital Eclipse.

Released this week, The Making of Karateka on the surface looks like any other game you buy through Steam ($20, Windows-only), GOG, or whichever favorite store or console you prefer (available also for Xbox, PS4/5, Switch). Once the thing loads though, you really get 3 things: a documentary, the original Karateka, and a new remaster.

The documentary part is an audio-visual slideshow retelling Jordan's development story starting with his teenage years pitching his earlier title Deathbounce to the publishing house Brøderbund. It's an interesting look into the iterative process, seen through correspondence letters, journal entries, and many playable builds at various stages of completion. After we reach the eventual rejection of that title, Jordan comes back with a prototype of a visual-narrative experience unseen on home computers. We get to follow Karateka's full life cycle from pre- to post-production, ending with the conception of its sequel (which eventually turned into Prince of Persia). It's a real treasure trove! Fellow pixel artists will appreciate the many graph-paper sketches and interactive overlays of final game sprites compared to rotoscoped outlines and filmed footage. There are also video segments, from a comprehensive breakdown of the music to interviews with other developers reflecting on the impact Jordan's games had on their careers. You'll even encounter a fan letter signed by the one and only "John Romero, Disciple of the Great Jordan and worshipper of the Magnificent Mechner!" (I kid you not, you can't make this stuff up).

Perhaps just as crucial for an interactive documentary like this, you can launch any of the floppy disks in the emulator, trying out various iterations and ports of Karateka.

The emulation is fantastic and lets you fiddle with display settings (monochrome or color display, scanlines, pixel perfect or zoomed) as well as enhance the frame rate. You can even rewind the many deaths you will face if you've never played the game before (like me). If you spend some more time obsessing over the weird artifacts of the Apple II hi-res graphics, you might even go down the rabbit hole of realizing that on the Apple II you didn't really paint colors as much as you used different monochrome dithering patterns that the graphics display would then turn into 4 different hues. A fascinating learning experience if you include some of your own research online!

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Add to this the Commodore 64 and the Atari 8-bit versions to compare how the graphics got adapted across the earlier ports and you have a nice way to relieve the mid-80s with a bit of help from modern emulation (I did beat the C64 version without rewinding though!). I'd love to see more art from the other remakes, especially the 16-bit Atari ST port, but I understand their decision to omit playable versions of those due to the lower quality on the gameplay side of the translations.

This brings us to the final part of the package, the modern remaster. Unlike the 2012 complete reimagining of the game (with 3D graphics and all), Digital Eclipse approached the remake as the ultimate port of the original to an imaginary system along the lines of a 90s VGA PC.

It's well done. Some of the fully-redrawn scenes are a bit overpainted for my taste (I'd prefer a pixel art rendition of the castle than a blurry photographic collage, although there were many games in the 90s that did take this approach), but the in-game graphics are really in style, including the smooth animations that are like one would imagine granted a beefier CPU. It's also a sort of director's cut with previously unseen scenes added, in particular, the battle with the leopard as a clever action-puzzle in the middle. The AI is unfortunately even less challenging than Jordan's implementation. As great as the 6-move fighting system could have been, you yet again resort to simply kicking away opponents as they tirelessly crawl into your range. There isn't even the nuance from the original where you were the one who had to approach some enemies with skilled timing. On the other hand, you now have optional goals and achievements that make the repetitive/easy combat work in your favor (stringing various combos, beating opponents or the level under a time limit …). As the Digital Eclipse president Mike Mika admits at the end of the welcome commentary mode, they didn't manage to achieve their perfect port, but they did come close.

In conclusion, I thoroughly enjoyed playing both the original as well as the remake and while the combat system lacks any sort of depth beneath its stunning animations, Karateka is instead a monumental experience for its presentation. Big characters with personality and realistic motion are displayed through cinematic camera cuts and story vignettes (3 years before Ron Gilbert came up with the word "cutscene"). There are details like animating the unfortunate falling off the cliff at the start of the game, or respectfully bowing to the first guard as they bow in return. Jordan's creative work is precious and worth the attention this release gifts it.

I highly recommend The Making of Karateka to all retro gamers and/or game developers for its immersive documentation which provides an experience that goes beyond the usual video documentaries. It's interactive—just like the subject it's talking about—something I want to see more in the future. And if the $20 by any chance seems high to you, consider that the original retailed at $35 (and that was in 1984 dollars).

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#Feature #Gaming #Pixel Art #Digital Eclipse #Jordan Mechner #Platformer #Documentary #cover2 #title3

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readyplayerhobi · 2 years ago

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Because, I Love You | 07

; Jungkook x Older!Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst,

; Word Count: 2.6k

; Warnings: Mentions of blood, implied beginning of miscarriage

; Synopsis: According to society, Jeon Jungkook should not be with you. He should be with a younger, hotter and thinner girl instead of wasting his time on you. It’s a good thing Jungkook doesn’t care what society thinks then.

; A/N: This chapter may be uncomfortable for some people - I don’t go too in-depth with it, and I don’t describe it too in-depth. The next chapter will deal with the aftermath mentally, not physically. For anyone who’s experienced this, I’m so sorry and I hope you’re okay now! Please remember to take of yourself physicall and mentally! I hope I’ve handled this carefully and with respect for anyone who’s gone through it.

; Masterlist

“Y/N!” Jungkook calls from the bedroom, his voice slightly muffled by the walls between you both. Absentmindedly, you call a response you stand up from the couch and begin to head up the stairs, wondering what he’s wanting you for.

He’s been busier than usual in your home lately, mainly because he was still half in the process of moving into your home. The two of you had decided that it would be best for him to move in with you to prepare for the baby, and given you were the one who owned a home, it made the most sense. What had taken the longest to sort out the bills situation.

You’d been happy to invite Jungkook into your home, and you were looking forward to no longer being alone but having someone to share your life with. But you were also proud of the fact that you’d been able to buy your own house through hard work, and even if you were going to have a child with him, you weren’t willing to put his name on the mortgage.

Thankfully, he hadn’t wanted that. In fact, he’d explicitly said he didn’t want to be added before you’d even properly started the conversation. He wasn’t comfortable with taking away your independence like that, and he knew how important it had been for you to afford to buy your own home. So instead, he’d offered to pay for three-quarters of the utilities, leaving you with your mortgage and only a quarter of the bills.

Given you’d never lived with someone before, you weren’t sure if this was considered fair but you appreciated that he wasn’t being toxic about it all. Still, you’d recommended that he save money if he could because you didn’t want him to be stuck if anything happened in the future. Not that you wanted that, but still.

That had been when he’d shyly and very awkwardly admitted that he had a trust fund that he wasn’t touching. You’d rolled your eyes at that, affectionately, and just gently pushed his arm. Of course, he had a trust fund, and of course, Jungkook was such a sweet person that he wasn’t using it and instead let it build interest.

What had made you want to cry, though, had been him suggesting that he split his trust fund in half for the baby. The thought of your little one being secure in the future financially was especially soothing, and you’d just given him a crushing hug and kiss in response.

Jungkook moved in officially last week when you had hit the 9-week pregnancy mark. Or that’s what the doctor had told you, anyway. And given you didn’t have a degree in medicine, you had to believe him. Because Jungkook had been living with his parents, he hadn’t had a huge amount to move over.

Most of it had been clothes, which he’d brought over in two trips. It had surprised you how many clothes he had, especially given he seemed to just always wear monochrome and baggy. Alongside that had been his boxing gear, which had gone in the garage, his gaming computer set-up which had gone into the office that you didn’t use and then his extensive collection of collectable figures.

That had been a struggle to figure out where to put them, but you’d just ended up telling him that he could have the office as his so they’d all ended up in there.

You’d wondered if he’d wanted to bring Bam and moved his dog with him, but he’d left Bam with his parents. When you’d asked why he’d pointed out that his mom was attached to him as she’d taken early retirement and he didn’t want to separate them. Plus, he wasn’t entirely sure how Bam would react with a baby, so he didn’t want to risk it all.

You knew it had made him sad to leave his dog behind, but you understood his reasoning. His parents spent far more time with the Dobermann than he did, and they’d understandably ended up very attached. The subject of his parents remained a bit of a sore spot for you, and he’d been nice enough to avoid it.

They’d been confused as to why he was suddenly moving in with you from the little he'd told you. His dad had been supportive, telling Jungkook that he was just happy that his son was happy and had found someone he loved. His mom…well, Jungkook had tried to twist it into nicer words but you’d read between the lines. She was furious he was moving out, and even more angry that it was with you. She’d argued with him and told him that it was too early, that he was rushing and he’d regret it.

And Jungkook was too damn sweet to tell you, but given everything you knew about her so far, you’re pretty sure she had some nasty words to say about you as well. His reluctance to talk about it all made it obvious.

It hurt and you wouldn’t deny it. You wanted his mom to like you and to be pleased her son was with you, that she was content you’d look after him. Her dislike and sour attitude made you feel small, and it gave you anxiety for when you finally told her about the pregnancy.

Both of you had agreed that no one would know until you’d passed the first trimester, and even then you were reluctant for his mom to know. If she’d reacted like this to him moving in with you then you couldn’t even begin to imagine how she’d react to finding out he was having a baby with you. No doubt she’d start throwing horrible accusations around about trapping him with a baby or something.

Heading into the bedroom, you pause for a moment to take in the sight. Jungkook is sat cross-legged on the bed with a whole mound of fresh clothing next to him and various smaller piles of neatly organised clothes around him. Of course, he was doing laundry, the man was odd and found it relaxing.

Not that you’d complain, you were more than happy to let him take over if that’s what made him happy.

“You rang?” You said in your best Lurch voice, causing him to smile as he looked up at you. Just as you’d already said, he was wearing a baggy plain black shirt with equally baggy grey sweatpants. It was annoying how pretty he looked, his hair curling ever so slightly at the ends as he hadn’t cut it in a while.

“I’ve sorted out your clothes already,” He says, gesturing with his chin to the piles of more colourful clothing. “I’ve put all the ones with holes and that here, I’m not sure if you’re wanting to keep them or anything?”

Jungkook sounds a little uncertain like he’s not sure if you’ll get offended. This is the first time he’s taken complete control of your washing, and there’s a part of you that feels embarrassed he’s been dealing with your crappy underwear but another part is endeared that he’s being sweet about it.

Crawling onto the bed behind him, you lay out between him and the pillow before reaching out for the top piece of clothing. Lifting it, you note it’s some underwear you’ve probably had for years. The colour is faded and the elastic at the waistband is coming away with holes doting the area. Not something you’d wear to seduce him, but still comfy and useful.

“Hmm, they can probably last a few more times. These are just the stuff I wear during my periods, I don’t care if they get stained or anything.” It’s then that you noticed one of the underwear with a dark stain on it, the evidence of a period long ago that still hadn’t properly washed out yet. Maybe if you were better with laundry, but you didn’t have the finesse of Jungkook.

There’s a brief pause before Jungkook takes the underwear from you and carefully folds it again. You get the sense he wants to say something, so you press a hand to his back comfortingly.

“Are you still spotting then?” He asks quietly, and your breathing freezes for a moment. It’s something you’d been trying not to think about too much, and you’ve been telling yourself it’s normal.

You’d started spotting in your underwear two weeks ago, which had made you panic and call your doctor. He’d confirmed that it was common during the first trimester, especially in the early weeks as a sign of implantation. To ease your worries, you’d been checked out and they’d confirmed that everything was looking good.

The fact it hadn’t stopped was a worry though. It went away for a little, but the last few days had been more frequent.

“Yeah.” Is all you say to him, letting your hand fall and rest under your cheek. It feels like your heart has taken root in your throat now, and you can feel your eye heat as you finally let yourself think about what you’ve been trying to ignore. What you’ve been desperately avoiding because you don’t want to acknowledge it. To acknowledge it is to accept it’s real.

“Are you…I mean…do you think we should go back to the doctor?” Jungkook asks quietly, still not facing you. He’s not moving though, his hands remaining where they are on the bed and you know he’s probably thinking the same things you are.

“He said it was normal to have it, and it’s not been all the time. I’ve looked it up, it’s common for early pregnancy.” You say, your voice light and airy in a way you don’t feel. It doesn’t take a genius to see that Jungkook doesn’t believe you, not with the carefully blank face he gives you over his shoulder.

“Okay…but please go if anything changes, please?” He begs softly, twisting and taking your hand. It’s an awkward position, but you wrap your fingers around what you can and give him a reassuring squeeze along with a soft smile. Giving him a reassurance you don’t quite feel.

Because even if you’re trying to ignore it, there’s something deep inside you telling you that you don’t think something is quite right.

Two days later, you come home from work early to find Jungkook sitting in the office with his chunky neon pink headphones on. His new job lets him work from home more and given he has a pretty introverted personality he’s been taking full advantage of the opportunity. Another reason why you’ve let him take over the office for his own space.

His head is bobbing slightly to whatever music he’s listening to, and you take in the lines of code he’s working on. It turns out that Jungkook’s computer set-up includes three screens, with his high-powered work laptop making up a fourth screen.

Moving over to him, you gently run your fingers through his hair and smile as he jolts in surprise before twisting and looking up at you. Those big eyes you love so much widen in shock before narrowing in happiness, his entire face lighting up as he smiles. It feels like a blessing from the universe that you’re the reason he feels so happy, and you’ll forever treasure the way he visibly brightens at seeing you.

Pushing off his headphones, he spins the chair around and smiles even brighter at you.

“Hey baby, fuck, I lost track of time. I was gonna put dinner on but I’m working on this cool code that Khalid sent over, it’s gonna look really cool and it’s so complicated-” He pauses then, looking back at his screen and taking in the time, before looking over your expression and posture before his face drops in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

You love that he loves you so much and he knows you so well, that he’s taken the time to learn your micro-expressions until he can tell there’s something wrong just in the way you stand. And right now, you need that love more than ever.

You try to give him a weak smile but it falters as you wince slightly, your hand half raising towards your stomach. He notices it immediately and his face pales, understanding instantly without saying anything.

“Is it…is there…” And then he stops trying to even say anything, instead standing up and wrapping you in his arms tightly. His head rests on your shoulder and you sag into him, letting a tear fall and soak into his shirt.

“I’ve made an appointment, I’m booked for a scan tomorrow.” You whisper, the words almost silent as you press your face further into him. That feeling of dread, that something wasn't right that had haunted you for the last few days, had proven to be true.

You’d woken up this morning to more spotting, which had left you feeling anxious but you’d just told yourself that it was just like any other day. So you’d gone to work and thrown yourself into your tasks, but even that hadn’t been enough. Not when you’d feel a sharp cramp at noon. It had been just the one, and it had left you cold with fear. Nothing had happened after that, and you’d wondered if it had just been an anomaly.

But then you’d gone to the toilet after lunch, and had seen the evidence that something wasn’t right. There wasn’t any spotting this time, or at least, not what you’d been used to. Instead, there had been a dark red stain on your underwear and bright red blood on the tissue. Much more than spotting, and you’d known.

A quiet word with your manager had allowed you to leave work early, and you’d already made an appointment with the doctor on the way home. You needed Jungkook there with you. Even though you knew what they’d say, you could feel the knowledge deep in your bones. But you needed confirmation.

Pulling away enough for him to see you, Jungkook gently runs his fingers down your face before kissing your forehead. All his earlier happiness at seeing you has faded away, and it makes you want to cry even further when you remember how quietly happy he’d been about being a dad. Even if he’d obviously been terrified.

Not that it mattered now.

For a moment, Jungkook’s face crumples and you know that he knows too. That he knows he doesn’t need to be worried or concerned anymore, that he doesn’t need to read anything about pregnancy or being a parent and he doesn’t need to shop for cribs or any of that stuff. That the two of you will go on as just that, the two of you.

You don’t need to worry about how his mom will react, or anything of that. Because there won’t be a baby. Not in the near future, at least.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook whispers as he hugs you once more, holding you so tightly as if he could transfer some of his strength to you. How you’re meant to carry on when you know what’s happening in your body is beyond you, but you let yourself feel small and safe in his arms.

You let yourself cry and release all the pain and loss that you’ve only just started to feel, which will only increase in the days following. And he holds you, feeling lost and useless in the knowledge he can’t do anything else to help.

#armiesnet #networkbangtan #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader

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periwinklemoonlight · 1 year ago

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I AM VERY INTERESTED I LOVE HEARING THOUGT PROCESSES AND ITS SO CLEAR HOW MUCH PASSION AND CARE WAS PUT INTO YOUR ZINE PIECE

AHH THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!! i have so many thoughts i dont know where to begin LMAO ill start with the outfit designs first!!

to start things off, every design has one specific colour in mind to represent that hermit! pearl - blue, gem - green, impulse - yellow, doc - black/gray, and grian - red! (everyone's nails are painted their colour) every design was deliberately punk-inspired, since during the king arc the soup group was a force of resistance against the monarchy's tyranny :P therefore, the soup group are the main focus of the art and their designs are intentionally made so that they stand out more from the other two, though i made sure they were all unique in one aspect or another :] let's go character by character now! (i'm including all my initial design sketches + some inspo photos too)

pearl - she's the lead singer of soup group, along with playing the electric guitar! her design features a double tank top + low rise big pant combo, moon motifs of course, and two distinct shades of blue! The darker one is seen throughout her hair and outfit, while the lighter one in her moth antenna is reflected in her guitar. the main inspiration for her look was avril lavigne, which is also what influenced me to add those fun blue hair streaks :D on her shirt i wanted to have a sort of skeletal moth/butterfly design!!

gem - the keytar! i wanted to make sure that gem and pearl's designs looked very distinct from each other, so i went for a slightly different vibe with gem's! her design is based more off of the plaid skirts, big boots, and fishnet looks i found while looking through early 2000s lip service magazine scans (as well as some hayley williams looks!!) :D additionally, shes got vine tattoos over her body to call back to her nature elf vibe this season!

impulse - the drummer of course!! for his look, i wanted to go a little more anarcho-punk (since its a much older punk style and hes the oldest member of soup group LOL), so his vest jacket has got a bunch of diy additions like patches, pins, paperclips, and chains, along with a bunch of spikes!! in my mind, the back of his jacket has probably got a whole lot more patches, spikes, and studs :] beyond that, i made sure to give him lots of piercings (though my options were limited since s9 impy has a beard lol), and stretched earlobes for fun!! ideally his pants would also have a lot more patches and fun bits, but since his legs would be entirely covered by his drums in the final piece i went for something simpler

doc - an opener and feature on the song! since he's not part of the soup group, his design is quite a bit simpler than the others in terms of both look and concept :] his look is monochrome save for his robotic red parts and green skin, but still looks interesting thanks to that fun leather jacket :D his look is purposefully more reminiscent of a 50's style greaser, i wanted to go for an older fashion style to make him look more intimidating/mature, as well as set him apart from the look of soup group since the perimeter was an independent nation in the king arc!

grian - another feature/opener! design wise? hes literally just green day i can't even lie like the pun was perfect and also the black shirt + red tie combo is iconic and also fits his look so effortlessly it had to be done LMAO also, if you look closely in the final piece you can see he's wearing eyeshadow! this of course is again because hes grian day /silly. but to be real, i think this style also fits him really well since the tie + spikes & studs combo gives the look that sorta rebellious vibe that was all over his videos during the king arc :]

AND NOW FOR THE INSTRUMENTS!! this segment is thankfully much shorter

pearl's guitar is of course a nod to my design for her and her moth wings! butterfly guitars are harder to draw than you'd think LOL

gem's keytar has got a vine design all over it to match her tattoos

impulse's drum set has got the soup group punk band logo! the logo design may honestly be my favourite part of the piece, i feel like i really nailed what i was going for :D

and thats it! i'll edit this post or rb with any details i missed if they come to mind! thank u for reading anyone who has made it this far <3

#elle's design talk

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beautifulpersonpeach · 7 months ago

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Any thoughts on the recent hullabaloo in Army twt BPP? In my heart of hearts I’m hoping for a live album of their greatest hits at concerts.

I think it’s a lot more likely than a whole ass new album with new songs. Would bangtan want to release songs they couldn’t perform (that isn’t tied to commercials/soundtracks)? Idk. But I’m hoping it isn’t a pop up merch of some sort. This is too intricate for it to be one imo based on how they’ve done those in the past.

***

Ah… Anon, you spoke to one of my deepest hopes with your mention of a live album of their greatest concert performances. Another alternative a friend mentioned is it’s a stripped back/remix album of their best songs starting with HYYH.

But my expectations are the reverse of yours I think.

I’m assuming Monochrome is just a merch drop… because despite the elaborate rollout, this to me still somehow feels like a merch drop. Some reasons:

(1) Perhaps I have low expectations of BigHit, but BTS members are still going to release albums this year and I don’t see BigHit choosing to handle an OT7 album project alongside all the solos when they somewhat struggled do so last year for just solo projects. So, rather than an album of remixed or live music, even if old music, we might get something more along the lines of a game/app, film or merch product. I do hope for music but my expectations are low.

(2) While not similar to how they’ve teased merch drops in the past, it’s still not exactly similar to how they’ve teased new comebacks in the past. You usually hear an element of the music or a clear indication it’s an album very early on in the process. That’s so far not happened yet.

(3) I generally like to keep my expectations low for things like this. New music from OT7 Bangtan is a need but I won’t believe it until I see it. I don’t want to jinx it.

#BTS #bts chapter 2 #monochrome #BTS monochrome

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kotelok16 · 4 months ago

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What was your thought process for your post canon SDR2 designs for each character, if you’re able to divulge?

The thought process? No thoughts in this head, a perfect emptiness-

Okay, seriously, I'll try to describe it briefly, because there were a lot of thoughts in the process. But the post will still be long xd

1) Nagito and Mikan. I really wanted to make them simple and cozy outfits. They are just the usual calm (haha...) married couple, you know? Their designs have been around for more than a year, although I did redo Nagito's home clothes, I categorically did not like the original version. I can tell you in secret that Mikan's home clothes was inspired by Hitomi character from Ai Somnium Files.

2) Hajime is a pretty simple guy, even if he has experienced experimental surgeries from the academy. Therefore, I didn't think too much about his outfits, everything is simple, convenient, without bright accents.

3) Hiyoko. I really like the way her design turned out, I won't lie. I tried to leave Asian motifs in her everyday outfit as well, since in this story she is a teacher of traditional dance in her hometown outside Tokyo. And as soon as I came up with the idea to make her kimono monochrome, I immediately ran to do it, because the combination seemed very interesting to me!

4) Ibuki. I couldn't decide whether to reduce the degree of insanity in her image. She's a grown up woman, after all. As you can see, in the end, crazy colors and combinations in clothes won. It's Ibuki, damn it! Although it was difficult for me to find references, because I still did not understand the name of the Ibuki style. I mean, it's not really a scene kid or a similar direction... As a result, some kind of mixture of different options came out. The main thing is that there are massive cool shoes, yahooo!

5) Akane. I wanted to give her a comfortable sporty style, so I was looking for something appropriate. It's pretty simple. And in her work clothes, I couldn't resist putting on high-heeled shoes for her, even though it wasn't very comfortable... But it's convenient to step on someone- okay, I'm kidding.

6) NEKOMARU NIDAI. I suffered. I suffered a lot. I don't know how to draw pumped-up men. But that's half the trouble. I had no idea what to WEAR to PUMPED-UP MEN. That's why he wears a little sporty, a little plain, something like that. But it seems to me that Nekomaru would not dress too fashionably? So whatever.

7) Mahiru. The woman is strict, demanding, restrained in style, so she dresses appropriately. I don't know what else to say.

8) The Imposter. I really wanted him to look so cozy, so that you would want to fall into his arms and feel in them that all your problems were left somewhere far away... And glasses! I don't know, I just wanted an Imposter with glasses!! Well, he's such a comfortable guy((

9) Peko. I also wanted to dress her quite strictly and restrained, like Mahiru, but with a little more... What should I call it?.. Freedom of expression? Manicure, bright shoes, unusual jacket style. Peko is no longer an instrument, but a personality, so I wanted to show exactly that she expresses herself, albeit in her usual restrained manner. Something like that.

10) Kazuichi... Um, well, did I make him homeless?? And did people like it?? I felt so guilty while I was doing his design, it's a nightmare. But in general, yes, he looks a little wild, because he lives 24/7 in a workshop on the outskirts next to an uninhabited destroyed area. From there, he drags all sorts of funny things from a landfill, so that he can make and experiment with them later. Inspired by Phoenix Wright's design from the game Apollo Justice.

11) Gundam. I wanted to make him such a modern vampire Dracula. Gundam is still on his own mind, but just much more restrained and majestic, or something. And damn long hair, I love drawing long hair for men TOO much. And yes, he has work clothes for work at the research center. He's a bit of a scientist, a bit takes care of animals.

12) Sonia. I wanted to highlight her by the fact that she looks younger than the others. I don't know if it worked out, I still have difficulties with the transfer of age in art. I don't have any clear definition of what was in my head when I created it. She's just a fashionable, well-traveled (because of work) woman in the prime of her life.

13) Fuyuhiko. He is... Yakuza... And I do not know what else to say. I was just trying to make him look like a yakuza... And he has long hair... that's it, bye.

14) Teruteru. For some reason, I aggressively wanted to give him a stereotypically French image. I don't know how it turned out or didn't work out, I don't know why I decided to do it at all, but the man looks stylish. I also couldn't stop thinking about that one character from the third Phenix Write game, who was just a stereotypical Frenchman and owned his own restaurant.

A bonus. Kageshimo (son of Gundam and Sonya) is strongly associated with the Little Prince from the fairy tale by Antoine de Saint-Exupery

#Kotelok talks #post canon

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tortillasconsal · 2 years ago

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Some Trenderman sketches

I'm trying to do some practice/concept sketches for Trenderman while planning his design and character and it's way more harder than I thought it'd be.

I have a very "close-minded" version of the character. Like what I think about him is that he is a very tradicional person, and despite being very focused on fashion (an aspect of humanity that is very diverse and personal and used in many ways all at the same time) he has very closed views on it and tries really hard to catter to the mainstream because his objective is to keep people on a box that he himself designs so they're easier to control and manipulate. If you see the little notes I wrote on the outfits that are crossed off you'll see how conservative he's supposed to be.

And while he understands how culturally significant and deeply connected fashion is to humans he is a very inhumane person. I want him to feel approachable and more "normal" than his family but I also want him to feel uncanny and very artificial. He is literally based on mannequins so it makes sense that he is as fake as them.

In general I don't want him to exclude a lot of personality from his looks. And I think I can also do that with his mannerisms, I feel like it could be interesting if he moved kind of robotic or stiff. Which means I have to practice some stiff poses because the ones I made here look pretty fluid and natural.

I kinda like the smallest full-body sketch and the one where he's sitting. They're not too dynamic or too stiff, they're very close to the vibe I want Trender to have.

I'm taking inspiration from preppy and casual business styles and that very minimalist and structured style that some designer collections use. I'm also using some 50s trends to have some variety on silhouettes and articles of clothing, also because the 50s is known as a very cozy and friendly-looking decade despite human rights being barely talked about during it. I also think he'd only use neutral or earthy colors and wear a lot of monochrome outfits.

I guess that is all my thought process so far

I've become more invested on Trenderman since I've started this sort of project(? I know he started as a meme and that's pretty much the purpose of his character but as a fashion enthusiast I find a lot of potential on him.

The fashion aspect of Trenderman is usually limited to a running gag or a personality quirk, but fashion and trends are such a powerful tool that are used for more than just looking good and they can lead to the most grotesque and traumatizing horror stories.

I really am getting excited with all the space I get to fill that nobody else has yet. I want to see what I come up with already.

#Trenderman #sketchbook #sketches #doodle page #Trenderman fanart #creepypasta #creepypastas #slenderbros #slender brothers #slender family #slenderman #splendorman #character design #creepypasta fanart

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mamamittens · 3 months ago

Text

Well Worth the Price +18

Here's my piece for the Boys, Boys, Boys Zine! And once it's been downloaded 569 times, I'll post the 'Unzipped' version from before I trimmed it for the zine.

Sabo X Unknown Man

Warnings: BDSM, Sounding, edging, overstimulation, anal sex, master/pet play, gag, anal toys, and symbian.

Art done by the lovely, lovely, Sabo loving Tiffany over on Twitter

Word Count: 2,815

Tonight wasn’t unlike any other before it. The room Sabo worked in as… an E-boy? Sort of? Had been thoroughly cleaned after his last session. A note on the bed detailing the beginning requirements for the night so Sabo could set up a little before it officially started. Prep himself and his toys if needed.

A returning customer (platinum level, requested title of ‘master’) requests you wear your white shirt.

Sabo felt a stab of elation. It was definitely his favorite customer. And they seem to have purchased new options Sabo hadn’t gotten to use before. Namely, the headphones and use of the motorized anchors above the bed. One on each corner and one in the middle. A pair of thick cuffs dangling from anchors on the end of the bed, but seemingly nowhere else. Interesting.

Sabo considered the array of items neatly organized on the bed.

Some were standard. A sybian with an attached dildo that widened into a bulb at the base with complementary ‘sensory lube’. Sounding rods. But the headset with a blindfold and an O-ring gag… Along with the cuffs?

All of this implied a personal session and Sabo couldn’t be more thrilled.

Then he noticed the note at the very bottom.

Don’t begin final preparation without the customer’s arrival in the accompanying room, they wish to oversee the process before joining.

Sabo pouted a bit at that. He was beginning to wonder if his favorite customer intended to ever reveal themselves. Still, they did pay for a show… Maybe if he gives them a really good one, he’ll finally get to see them properly.

Sabo stowed away his clothes and slipped on the button up shirt, keeping only the middle-most button on. It tended to fall off of him easily when he did this, but that never deterred his customer in the least. His ‘master’ always loved it.

The soft white light dimmed and shifted to a teal blue color. Casting the monochrome room into a slightly disorientating mess for several moments as a darker blue light pulsed steadily, though definitely faster than usual.

Sabo turned towards the mirrored wall and smiled.

“So, are you joining me tonight?” Sabo asked clearly, aware that the microphones in the room would catch his voice even if he whispered.

There was a faint buzz as a carefully moderated voice pitched in. Deep but coy with a distinct cadence to it formed in the way they pronounced their words that couldn’t be disguised as easily.

“All in good time, pet.” They said slowly, almost purring, the lights throbbing slowly between the two colors. “Put on the headphones. I’ll instruct you from there.” Sabo swallowed hard and picked up the device, carefully ensuring it fit comfortably.

The ambient sounds in the room immediately fell away. His heart thundering in his chest and ears as he turned back to the mirror. His own reflection staring back, eyes catching in the lights. Though Sabo knew it wouldn’t remain so for long.

“It’s on.”

“Good.” Sabo jumped, the voice now intimately whispering into his ears and trickling down his spine. “Prep the sybian on the floor and yourself, but don’t sit just yet.”

Sabo nodded, grabbing the lube, and carefully spreading it on the fake, inhuman cock. Already looking forward to it inside him as the lube made his skin tingle. When it gleamed in the lights, Sabo pressed his chest onto the bed and tugged his shirt up high, exposing himself. Fingers gliding between his cheeks, lighting sparks in their path as he teased his ass a little. Putting on a bit of a show as pleased huffs echoed in his ears. Sinking into himself slowly as he tried to relax against the rising tension, gently stretching out his fingers.

He was whining a little, small moans in the back of his throat as his cock dripped precum down his thigh where it burned. The lights pulsed faster as he fought the urge to press deeper and spill onto the floor.

“Stop.” Sabo froze, three fingers spreading himself open as he panted, shuddering as a breeze blew across his back. Abruptly, silk pulled around his eyes, tying behind his head. Deaf and blind to the room, Sabo could only feel as a firm, gloved hand gently pulled his hand free. Pulling him up to sit on the bed with his legs spread. “Finally, I knew it would be worth it to have you like this. Tonight is under my control, so you just have to be good for me, pet.”

Warm gloves gently wrapped around Sabo’s throbbing cock and he whined as the tip of a sounding rod, dripping with lube, was pressed to the tip. It slipped in with a soft gasp as Sabo fought to not grab his mystery customer. But his body still jerked as the thick metal abruptly widened around several bumps until the hooked tip bit into the head of his cock. Now stopped up, he trembled, true release denied him until his customer was satisfied.

“AA-aan~ h-hngh!” Sabo whined, feeling the gentle brush of leather against his thighs, trailing up his partially exposed chest. Something was pressed to his lips and he opened his mouth. Metal sliding into place as he was left to pant, tongue and drool sliding down to his chin. Leather pressing into his mouth as their thumb slipped inside, Sabo wished he could suck it. Tempt them to put something more substantial in his mouth instead.

“There’s those pretty sounds, pet. You know, that’s what drew me to you in the first place? I adore this little act you put on, pretending to be small. But put a little pressure in…” Sabo gagged as the thumb slipped deeper, whining as his tongue was pressed down for their own breath to seep in. “It becomes all too real~”

Their tongue drove into his mouth and Sabo whined, squirming as his head was forced back. Cock grinding against jeans that jostled the rod inside his own cock. And then they were gone, yanking up his arms and turning him around to shove his chest into the bed. Wrists pulled up into the cuffs that ascended until he was sitting up on the floor.

They slipped onto the bed, just between Sabo and the mattress, forcing his head into their lap where a distinct bulge pressed into his wet chin.

“Oh~ How pretty you look~” They crooned, petting his hair. “Arch that cute ass up—just like that, now lean back a bit.” Sabo jerked as the tip of the dildo pressed into his balls. Understanding what they wanted, Sabo leaned back until it caught and began to slip inside him. Pushing him open wider as he rocked back into it, arms just loose enough to brace on the bed.

All the while Sabo panted, drooling into their cock as they unzipped. Hot skin brushing across his face as they adjusted their position to press the soft tip onto his tongue. They grunted and sat up, leaning over him, and forcing their cock deep into his throat as the frame of the mounted dildo was pulled closer, Sabo whining sharply as he was penetrated deeper on both ends. Nose grinding into their pubes and tongue undulating against their cock and balls resting on his chin.

“Easy now, you’ll get it soon enough pet. Just needed to pull this closer.” They ordered sharply, sitting back down and giving Sabo a reprieve as their cock slipped mostly out of his mouth. Only for Sabo to jolt forward as the machine came to life, fucking up into him with slow thrusts. “There we are. What a good boy~ Show me why you’re my favorite pet.”

Sabo drooled onto their cock, sucking it down his throat like that would hide the moans as the dildo fucked him deeper in an unrelenting wave. A hand on the back of his head petting his hair. Pinned in place, he could only take so much of the machine’s cock even though he wanted to lean back for more. But that would mean releasing his master’s cock while they were praising him so well.

“Perfect, pretty pet. Sucking down my cock, you’ve been aching for this, haven’t you?”

“Look at you, drooling and making a mess. Tsk, what a sloppy slut you are—I love it. Choke a bit for me, don’t want you getting bored.”

“Want to hear my favorite noises? What makes me so hard when I see you, pet?”

A symphony of sounds started playing in his ears. Weak, stuttering whines and moans. Choked cries and soft begging. His own voice. Endless clips of himself on the brink. Likely what sounds he’d be making right now if his mouth wasn’t full of their thick, throbbing cock.

“Let me hear more, this is exactly what I paid for.” They hissed, shoving his head back and sending Sabo into the merciless rhythm of the cock behind him as it hilted and pulled free faster. Jerking him around as his hole clenched down sporadically, desperately trying to hold onto the thick mass. All the while Sabo cried out, drool dripping down his chin with every stuttering whine. Their cock brushing across his parted lips and limp tongue every time he was forced forward. “W-Wh-aht a fucking sight you are, p-pet. L-Like a bitch in heat, you want more. Don’t you?”

“A-Aahn~ Ahhs~ A-Ah-hhngh-ggg~ Aahhs ea-aahs ah-sser!” Sabo slurred with great difficulty as he tried to sit back and force it to hilt but the bulge at the base bounced off his ass. Hands pressed into his shoulders, forcing him back against the machine that took him inch by inch. Jerking into him and yanking out ruthlessly, rubbing his prostate with every thrust.

And Sabo kept echoing the desperate whines in his ears. Trying to outdo the moans and cries as he was asked. Anything to have more.

Until the dildo popped into him totally and could only shove him forward as he clenched down. Jerked roughly by the thrusting machine as his balls ached for relief that he belatedly realized wouldn’t come. Couldn’t come with the sounding rod still firmly lodged in his cock.

Sabo wailed, tears beading his lashes as he tried and failed to beg.

Just a pretty pet edged and crying for his master’s cock.

“Good pets ta-ake what they get. Sh-Show me how good you are, slut.” They surged forward and rammed their cock into Sabo’s throat. Pinning him between their crotch, tongue slathering their balls, and the uncaring machine fucking up into him. Both felt so deep inside Sabo he hysterically wondered if they’d touch inside his chest. Tips kissing as they fucked him open like a cocksleeve.

And Sabo’s own whiny voice still echoed in his ears, the only reprieve his master’s voice degrading him and complimenting him in turns.

“Is my pretty boy starting to feel it ache? Is my pet getting overwhelmed with how big it is? Oh, but you can take it. I know you can.”

Sabo whined, gurgling on their cock uselessly as he shuddered, held on the edge and breathless. Echoing whines ringing in his ears, though he couldn’t tell if they were his own or the recordings.

“Tsk, q-quitting already, slut? I thought that pretty, empty head could handle something more challenging than those little toys, but you seem to struggle taking it all in~” They chuckled darkly. “Just a poor little slut t-trying to be good, huh?” The cock throbbed and bulged on his tongue, their body jolting from the pleasure harshly.

There was a hiss and Sabo choked at the influx of hot cum down his throat that spilled out from his lips. Spurting out over his face as he gagged, the machine went faster with no sign of relief.

Fingers clenched in his hair as he struggled to breathe between the violent waves of denied orgasms as salty-sweet cum drenched his lips.

Finally, his master’s cock slipped free and Sabo gargled for air. Swallowing messily as more cum and spit pooled down.

“What a sloppy mess you are, pet. All that pedigree wasted because you’re too much of a slut to swallow properly. What do you have to say for yourself?” The gag was released and Sabo didn’t even try to lick his lips to clean the mess.

“M-Master~! Master, p-please~! I-I’m g-gooood~ S-Such a g-good p-pet, please~!” Sabo nearly wept, stuttering, and slurring his speech as he was jerked violently by the machine and cock.

“Oh, I love it when you beg, pretty boy~” Sabo wailed as his cock was grabbed and stroked gently, the sounding rod pulled free with every slow pump. And he came with a shuddering cry the moment it was out. Wet leather scooping up the mess on his face and sliding it into his mouth which he gladly suckled the salty slick, the machine finally slowing to a stop. “I’m such a good master, aren’t I? Taking care of such a messy pet~ I’m going to ruin that cute ass with a real cock and you’ll love every minute, won’t you~?”

“Y-Yes! I-I’ll love every inch, o-oooh~! Pl-ease, master~!” Sabo sighed, ears ringing now with his cries as he climaxed many times before. “I-I sound so pathetic, i-is this really what I sound like?” Sabo whined in disbelief as a particularly reedy cry rang out.

Lips softly descended onto his, licking his puffy lips and tongue.

“Absolutely fucking pathetic, pet. And I’m going to make you even more pathetic.” They chuckled, gripping his cheeks until his tongue rolled out. A heavy drop of spit pooling and dripping down his chin. “Can my pathetic pet keep making those pretty sounds for his master?”

Sabo swallowed hard and nodded furiously, licking his lips and brushing his tongue across his master’s. Whining into their mouth as the headphones looped back to pathetic moans.

“Y-Yes! I-I can make so many pathetic sounds for you, master~!” Sabo swore. There was a mechanical whirring and he was pulled up from the floor, arms stretched wide as he reflexively clenched onto the chains. His toes lifted off the floor as he scrambled to press his knees into the mattress, only to be raised higher.

It only stopped when he was kneeling on top of the mattress, front pressed against a clothed chest as they adjusted their position.

[SPOT ART HERE]

“Look at you, strung up like a needy bitch. I’m only getting started, pet.” They crooned, leather gloves grasping his ass and spreading them apart. “I considered this for hours, you know. How you’d finally earn your collar. The only thing you’d need to wear for me from now on. Remember, good pets don’t need anything but their master’s cock.”

Their hands slid over his waist and to his cock. Stroking it delicately, teasing his balls in their palm as they kissed down his stomach.

Sabo knew what was coming before it happened, already whining in protest as they drooled onto his cock.

“M-Master please, n-not again!” Sabo protested, attempting to squirm fruitlessly.

The cold metal of another sounding rod pressed to the tip. Forcing open his urethra in a gradual slide until it tapered off to the blunt cap that pressed over the head. Leather wrapped under his balls and a hood strapped into place over his cock. Keeping the cap of the sounding rod in place by force.

Wet lips kissed Sabo’s lower stomach, the muscles flinching as a hot chuckle breathed over his damp skin.

“Oh? Aren’t you going to be a good boy for me? Good boys don’t complain, pet. They get punished.” They sneered into Sabo’s ears.

“I-I’m sorry ma-ah~!—ster~!” Sabo quickly apologized.

“Hmmmm… I don’t believe you.” Sabo’s eyes watered as he trembled, feeling the warmth of his master leave him. The gag returned as they pulled out his tongue with a firm grip. Licking into his open mouth as they pulled back his hair. Looming over him and spitting onto his tongue. “Oh, what to do, pet? A disobedient slut needs to be punished. I should put that mouth to use, but that means missing out on those pathetic noises you make. At this rate you’ll never earn my cock, let alone a collar.”

Sabo choked out a sputtering whine, swallowing down the thick mixture of spit. It had never occurred to him that his master would want to collar him. But the prospect of being rewarded sent him spiraling. It had only just been brought up but at this point, Sabo would do filthy things to be collared by his master. Whatever it took to be theirs and all that entailed. Acting—no—being a pathetic slut was a small price to pay for his favorite customer’s praise and attention.

At this point, Sabo would do anything to be their good boy—their collared pet.

#one piece smut #boys boys boys zine #sabo one piece

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that-sweet-jester · 1 year ago

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HELLO :D I have a few questions regarding your art-

First off- how do you render? Specifically when choosing the differences in material lighting? There’s just a sort of dramatic lighting that your art has that always makes it look extremely epic

Second off- What’s your method for anatomy? Like, Do you use a much of ovals/rectangles, wing it like a madman, or etc? And how do you define each part of the body? (Or separate hair segments?)

And Thirdly- how do you add volume and consistency to your work? Every design that I see of yours just looks like it jumped straight from a 3D movie screen, and really curious as to how you do all that!

Also- holy cow I freaking love your art so much- like I just found out you drew like half of my favourite art pieces out there. And I just love looking at it. It’s kind of like a golden caramel apple, if that makes any sense!!

And thank you for your time!!!

Thank you so much :DDD <333

Hoo boy where do I begin :'D

The first statement I need to make is that my main method is 'fuck around and find out'. Literally. Also sorry if some of the explanations don't make any sense, English is not my first language.

Here's kinda step by step of how my drawing process looks like.

Sketch, then rough cleaning and adding monochrome colors, it's totally unnecessary, but I like to do it just to see how the drawing would look later with dynamic lightning. Then move onto lineart, used to draw it on another layer on top of the sketch, but I switched to just correcting the lines and eareasing what I don't want from the sketch. It's kinda more fun and takes less time. Then come the base colors and adding shadows. What I most often do is add shading on the color layers and then on top of all of them draw a full shadow.

Like this, then multiply and fuck around with opacity. This makes the characters pop out even more and adds depth to them. Then add lightning, and sometimes effects from saved pngs. For example, I often use this site for material textures: https://www.transparenttextures.com/

2. When it comes to anatomy, I most often use existing pose references, not fully copying them but like putting them together like a collage. A head here, hands there, I have full boards on Pinterest dedicated solely to different body parts. In the past I was heavily using whole sketches and body pose references, but over the time I was able to somehow figure out the anatomy on my own. To some degree. I still have no idea how to properly draw hands. What I'm saying is that it's good to base your art on existing references (NOT COPY THEM) but use as a guide, until you get a hang of it.

3. Lately to do something more stylistic and to bring out the volume I started doing this notion in the shadows:

(also a sneak peak of next piece ;3)

I have no idea how to call it, but it makes things pop out.

Anddd I finally got around doing more dynamic poses and dramatic positioning. Bringing parts of the drawing forward, and leaning some further, going wild with blur filter and using black as guides and contrast.

So that might be why it looks more like screenshot of some movie, which is such a big compliment to me imma cry.

So, yeah that's kinda how I work :') Hope it helped and made sense to some degree.

#i literally dont know what im doing most o f the time i draw #thank you again :>>>#asks #fan art #my art

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kptssecretsanta · 11 months ago

Text

Merry Christmas, @monochrome-crisis!

Dear @monochrome-crisis, I have really enjoyed writing this for you, and I hope you like it. Your prompts were delightful and it was a lot fun playing around with these two. Happy Holidays if you observe, and happy fic-gift-day to you if you don’t! Best, your anon gifter.

TAGS: established relationship, secret relationship, arranged marriage, road trip, sort of, running away,

SUMMARY: Chay stands quite still and watches him for several seconds, but it doesn’t help to make the jumble of nonsense words rearrange themselves into useful sentences in his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says slowly. “An inauspicious start to what, precisely?”

“Why, to your marriage, of course!”

*****

can’t let this wait one more day

It’s Tankhun who accidentally breaks the news to Chay, on a rainy October afternoon when he’d expected to face nothing more challenging than a couple of hours playing the new Spider-Man game. A problem with his XBox has him venturing down to Arm’s office-cum-armoury-cum-tech lab, where he finds Tankhun sitting cross-legged on the floor, cutting pictures of floral arrangements and men in alarmingly colourful suits out of a vertiginously tall stack of bridal magazines. He snips some of them out with painstaking precision, and scratches the scissors angrily across others, his choices made according to some arcane and unknowable criteria. The images that survive his process are passed to Arm, who dutifully and efficiently pastes them down into a pastel pink, faux-fur-covered scrapbook.

“Khun? Is everything… Are you ok?”

“Auhhh! My favourite brother-in-law!” Tankhun cries at a volume that isn’t quite ear-piercing, but is certainly louder than required given the three of them are alone in an echo-y room, and Chay’s ears are less than thirty centimetres away from his mouth. “Everything is so much more than fine! It’s all wonderful! Practically perfect, in fact! Only do say you’ll let me dress you, nong, it would kill me to see you walk down the aisle in someone else’s shoes! And you wouldn’t break my heart like that, hmm, not on your wedding day? It would be a harbinger of so, so much bad luck! Such an inauspicious start, no?!”

Chay stands quite still and watches him for several seconds, but it doesn’t help to make the jumble of nonsense words rearrange themselves into useful sentences in his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says slowly. “An inauspicious start to what, precisely?”

“Why, to your marriage, of course!”

***

“Nothing is set in stone,” Arm promises him, trying to calm him down while Tankhun flaps off to find Porsche. “It’s just an idea, at this stage, that’s all. Just something that was suggested - really, it’s more like it was vaguely alluded to - at the last family meeting. It doesn’t mean you have to marry anyone you don’t want to.”

The atmosphere in Arm’s little misery-bunker has always been a bit sad, but it’s never felt quite as overwhelmingly damp and awful as this moment in time.

“I know you mean well, but ‘we might not marry you off against your will’ isn’t actually as reassuring as you seem to think it is,” Chay points out. He’s just pleased he can still form coherent words; that must mean the worst of the panic attack is subsiding.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Arm says, and Chay tries very hard to find the deeply sympathetic look on his face comforting instead of terrifying.

***

Chay: hey

Chay: u busy?

Chay: i need to see u its urgent

Chay: ive run away im at the boba place

Chay: the one with the cute plants inside where you kissed me that time

Chay: pls don’t take long they’re cutting me off

not my secret bf: be there in ten

***

Macau picks Chay up in his older brother’s convertible, stolen for the occasion, and drives off without any questions. The extent to which he’s ride-or-die is, in Chay’s opinion, one of his absolute top-ten best traits. At Chay’s request, he heads out of the city, no particular destination in mind. He doesn’t say anything until they’re far enough out they’re relying on headlights, and the sound of rain on the windscreen is louder than the traffic.

“Whatever happened, it’s ok, babe. I promise.”

“You won’t say that when you know!” Chay cries. “Hia wants me to get married, Cau, it’s really serious!”

“What?”

“That’s what Arm said. And Khun! I’m sorry, babe, I know he’s your cousin, but also. What the fuck? How could he know something like that and not tell me!” Chay’s voice rises frantically, reaching a fever pitch as he vents his frustration at once again being the last one to find out important information about his life. “Oh my god, what if it’s to some disgusting greasy old man who wants a good little wifey, that Kinn needs to sign some business deal with?” Chay says suddenly, face awash with horror.

“Ok, first of all,” Macau says, glancing over at Chay from the driver’s seat of with a grin of a distinctly gremlin-y variety creeping across his face, “if Kinn needed someone to sign a contract that badly, he’d just break their fingers until they signed it.”

“That’s not reassuring, Cau.”

“And second of all,” Macau presses on, ignoring Chay’s point completely, “I’m not gonna let you marry anyone else, so it doesn’t matter anyway, hmm?”

“You really think they’ll listen to you?”

Macau frowns, impish grin fading as quickly as it had appeared, and clicks his fingernails on the wheel, the way Vegas really hates. “I dunno. Maybe? And if they don’t, we could just… leave, I guess.”

“I’m not - listen, babe, I love you, but your uncle kept my mum locked away in an attic for eighteen years because she married the wrong guy, so like. I don’t have that much faith in Kinn or Korn or Vegas to be super chill about someone trying to leave the family.”

Macau shoots him a quick glance, eyes slicking sideways before snapping back to the road. “Well, if you put it like that…”

“Look, you don’t have to come with me,” Chay says, voice laced with grim determination. “I know you – all your family are here, your whole life is here. But I think I have to leave.”

“Ok, ok. But you don’t have to go now,” Macau says. “We can come up with a real plan, take a little time.”

“I can’t go back. I can’t walk back in there. I can’t spend another second there.”

Macau swerves suddenly and pulls up on the side of the road, switching the engine off but leaving the headlights on, so the curtains of thick rain ahead of them are illuminated in their glow. Turning to face Chay, he reaches over and takes his hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing gently.

“Hey,” Macau says softly, which catches Chay’s attention more than any amount of screaming would have. “I’m sorry my family is such a fucking nightmare. I’m not - of course I’m not gonna make you go back. If you wanna leave tonight and never come back, we can do that.”

“But?” Chay asks nervously. Macau lifts a questioning eyebrow. “It sounded like there was a ‘but’ coming next.”

“Nope,” Macau says easily, shaking his head and letting Chay see the truth shining bright in his eyes. “No ‘but.’ I’d follow you anywhere, Porchay.”

“Cau…” Chay says, releasing the name like an invocation into the night air.

Macau stares at him, gaze far too intense to bear for long, and then he turns to look out at the road spilling away into the darkness ahead of them. “Chay, you know, we could - if you want - they can’t make you marry anyone if you’re already married.”

“Fuck.” Chay lets out a breath, a long, deep exhalation that carries away half the tension in his whole frame. “How are you so perfect when your family is so…”

“Shit, no idea.” Macau laughs and it’s not pleasant. “This is why I didn’t want to tell them about us. They ruin everything they touch, and I wanted to try and keep you whole as long as possible. So I’d get it, you know, if you don’t want - augh!”

Macau shrieks a little, very bravely, as Chay throws himself across the centre console and clambers eagerly if awkwardly into his lap, winding long slender brown arms around his neck and kissing him fiercely until one of them accidentally jams a knee into the horn.

***

The hotel is not quite clean enough to be boring, and just a little too rundown to be charming. It’s the last place anyone would ever think to look for them, which means it’s Macau’s new favourite spot. He pays for one room, daring the older man behind the desk to say something about the way he has his arm wrapped around Chay’s waist, fingers tapping out a gentle rhythm on his hips. Chay’s arm is draped over his shoulder in turn, so he can lean easily into his side, soaking up his warmth.

There’s a horrible pause where the guy hangs on to the key a little too long, and then Macau tips his chin up defiantly. His hand closes around the key and whisks it away from him.

“We can find it ourselves,” he says. It’s not until they’re halfway down the hallway to their room that he realises the guy had absolutely no intention of helping them with their bags.

Not that they have bags, per se. Chay has his old school backpack with him, which he’d hurriedly stuffed with a couple of pairs of underwear and some clean socks, a spare power bank for his phone and laptop, and more snacks than Macau’s seen in one place outside of a child’s birthday party.

Macau, on the other hand, has his phone, battery currently hovering around 19%, and his wallet.

“I thought,” Chay says defensively, when he catches Macau eyeing his stash, “that I might have to get the bus somewhere.”

Macau shrugs out of his bomber jacket and tosses it haphazardly across the room. “You shut your mouth. My fiancé doesn’t take the fucking bus.”

“Fiancé,” Chay murmurs to himself, rolling the word around his mouth. “Shit, Cau. Are you sure?”

“I am if you are.” Macau swallows and ignores the too-fast beat of his heart. Chay’s hand wraps around his wrist, fingertips pressing gently against his pulse point. Macau loves his touch so much; he hates why they’re here, but he’d be lying if he said he hates getting this much attention from Chay all at once, after months of existing from one stolen moment to the next.

Macau’s vague idea of showering and then planning the rest of his life is quickly shelved. He’s too busy letting Chay tumble them into bed, rolling over so Chay can pin his wrists and grind his hips down. Chay licks into his mouth and then laughs at the dramatic whine he lets out when he pulls away again too soon. It’s just for show; they both know Chay would never leave him so unsatisfied.

They make love on scratchy sheets in a cheap hotel on the outskirts of the city, because neither of them could bear to drive any further, because they both need to get their hands on each other, because Chay doesn’t mind being Macau’s dirty little secret but he’s damned if he’ll be anyone else’s husband, and because Macau has had a lifetime of watching his family destroy every good thing that wanders into its path, and he’ll be damned if he lets Chay be their next target.

As they fall asleep curled into each other, all warm skin and slow breathing, soft lips and steady heartbeats, Chay gives Macau the other reason he couldn’t marry anyone his hia chose for him. “I want to wake up next to you. Tomorrow. All my tomorrows.”

***

Arm wakes Chay gently, shaking his shoulder and stepping back discreetly as his eyes flutter open. Years of practice avoiding the flailing arms of a recently-roused Tankhun, Chay assumes.

“Shit. How did you find us?” he mumbles, pulling the sheets over his head.

“I don’t know where to start. You and Khun Macau have about twelve trackers between you, not counting your phones and his credit card.” Arm tugs the sheet away and turns his tablet around; it’s a mass of blinking dots concentrated in a small cluster.

“Where’s Macau? What have you done to him?” Chay cries when he realises he’s alone in bed.

“It’s ok, Khun Chay, he’s just getting coffee,” Arm says. He sounds calm, but Chay’s seen him like this before and knows it doesn’t mean he’s not alert.

“If you try and keep us apart, I’ll scream so loudly that everyone in the hotel’s gonna think you’re murdering me,” Chay says. “I’m a singer, I can do it, phi. My lungs can do things you wouldn’t believe!” He’s aware that he doesn’t look all that threatening, probably, sleep-dopey and with his hair all mussed up, but it’s worth a try. His hia raised Chay very carefully, though, and the second most important lesson he ever taught Chay was not to back down from a fight he believed in.

(The first lesson was not to start fights you can’t win, but Chay is deliberately choosing to ignore that.)

“Ah, no, it’s ok, nong,” Arm says quickly. “Look, here’s Khun Porsche, I’m sure he can explain it all better than I can.”

As the door opens, Chay snorts the snort of a man who has a deep fraternal understanding of Porsche’s ability to explain anything at all.

“Hia!” Chay leaps off the bed and strides angrily across the room, shoving at Porsche’s shoulder before the door has even swung closed behind him. “You son-of-a-bitch! You couldn’t even tell me to my face, what the fuck!”

“Chay – ”

“No! NO!” Chay pushes him again, hot tears of frustration welling in his eyes and making his brother’s face mercifully blurry. “How dare you? I had to find out from Tankhun, of all people?! And it’s not until I leave that you suddenly give a damn what happens to me? Get out of my way, I’m going to find Cau and if you try to stop me, I’ll, I’ll, I’ll. I’ll fucking bite you, I don’t know!” He’s properly crying now, beating his fists uselessly against Porsche’s chest.

“Chay,” Porsche says again, far more gently this time, and he catches Chay’s wrists before pulling him into a tight hug. “Chay, it’s ok, it’s all ok, I promise.”

“Hia!” Chay squeezes out between loud sobs. “Hia, please.”

“Arm,” Porsche says, craning to speak over Chay’s head. “Arm, I think you need to go fetch Macau now.”

***

“The thing is, Khun Chay, that while the relationship between the major and minor families is much closer these days – ”

“You mean because hia and Khun Kinn can’t keep their hands off each other,” Chay asks. He knows that’s not really why, but it’s funny to see Arm trying to work out how to answer the question in front of Porsche. He’s currently sitting on Macau’s lap, arms wound around his neck, and while he hasn’t actually growled or snapped his teeth at anyone who comes near them, his demeanour is carefully cultivated to suggest that he might.

“Uh, yeah. Yes. That’s not how I’d – but yes, I suppose Khun Kinn and Khun Porsche do have quite a noticeable physical connection,” Arm admits reluctantly. “And it’s good that they’re married. That’s great! But obviously there’s the deposed remnants of the former minor family to consider – oh. Umm. Sorry for your loss, Khun Macau – but the point is that now we all have some distance from the attempted coup, Khuns Kinn and Porsche thought that, uh.”

“They thought it would be convenient to get me married off, I know.”

“No, hang on, it wasn’t - it was just a silly thing Khun suggested, and Kinn said it - ok, yeah, he said it would be convenient, yeah, but we weren’t going to actually do anything about it!” Porsche throws his hands up in exasperation, nearly knocking the tablet out of Arm’s hands. “You didn’t have to run away on a whim, Chay!”

“Hang on, what does this have to do with Vegas and I?” Macau asks, at the same time as Chay mutters ‘It wasn’t a whim!’

“What do you mean?” Porsche asks him, leaning forward with genuine confusion on his face. (Chay recognises it from the days when he used to ask Porsche for help with his algebra homework.) “It was – the plan was – well, no, it wasn’t a plan, but Khun’s idea was that you two should marry each other.”

“Oh shit,” Macau says, squeezing Chay’s waist tightly. “Oh, shit, babe! Do you know what this means?!”

Chay wriggles around in his lap to face him, disbelief and hope warring on his face. “Is he saying what I think he’s saying?”

“I think he’s saying that they’re not gonna stop us being together, actually,” Macau says. He reaches up to stroke Chay’s face gently, running the back of his knuckles reverently along his cheekbones.

“Hang on,” Porsche says. “Hang on, are you two – is that why you shared a room?!” He turns to stare at Arm accusingly; Arm quickly buries his head in his tablet and starts tapping away furiously. Porsche tuts and turns back to the disgraced runaways. “Macau! Did you fuck my brother last night?”

“Of course not!” Macau says quickly, and then his little gremlin grin returns. “Fun fact, phi, your baby brother is a very talented top.”

“Gah, shut up, shut the fuck up,” Porsche shouts, then covers his ears and starts humming when Macau opens his mouth to elaborate.

“Stop antagonising him, and I’ll stop Tankhun from dressing you in cerise on our wedding day,” Chay murmurs to Macau, slapping a hand over his open mouth. Macau licks his palm, mostly out of habit, but nods his agreement.

“It’s ok, hia, you can listen again,” Chay says. Arm leans over without looking up from his tablet and taps him on the shoulder. “I said, it’s ok. We’ve decided to take a rain check on the eloping plan today.”

“Oh, Khun Nu will be so relieved,” Arm says. “He was so worried.”

“Aww,” Chay says, willing to be far more lenient now things are going his way. “He was worried about Cau and I? That’s so sweet.”

“Oh, yes.” Arm pauses briefly. “Well. That, and he was worried he’d ordered a custom Armani for nothing.”

#monochrome-crisis #kptssanta23 #*gifts23 #*fic23

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