#how the fuck does that turn into the sketch being a quarter of the non condensed timelapse slash HALF of the condensed timelapse???

[aftersector]

(swimsuit design by @nyahalloshop !)

have some lesbian mermaid,,,,bingqiu? bingyuan?.....i am not. actually sure what the ship name for “sy in sy’s og (minus being genderbent ig) body” x “ambiguous version of lbh bc modern setting” is but. enjoy either way lol

bonus since i keep seeing redraws of this meme for other fandoms but i only saw the meme AFTER i finished the sketch but my sketch already sorta fit the format:

[lewis-winters]

here's a smol drabble about two non-artsy dorks being soft for their artsy crushes

--

The drawing is hastily done, with lines that could benefit from a more thought-out weight distribution and shading that doesn't quite match the light source implied by the position of the subject. Or something like that.

In truth, Chuck hadn't been listening, when Pat had stuttered and blushed and tried to yank the paper back from him, raving about it not being good enough to be kept, much less looked at. A scandal of an idea, Chuck had thought, smoothing out the drawing and then taking extra care to tuck it nice and safe and as flat as he can get it, into the inside pocket of his jacket. It was good enough for Chuck. In fact, it was perfect, and he intended to keep it forever, just like he's kept all of Pat's other doodles, tucked safe and sound into the small crevices of his flat, as if their presence might make up for their creator's absence. But this one was extra special, and therefore would stay in his wallet. Because this one was a drawing of Chuck, himself.

Just a quick one, Pat had said, so embarrassed to have been caught sketching him when he thought Chuck hadn't been looking. He was wrong about that, by the way. Chuck is always looking. It's why he'd been itching, even more so than usual, to ask about it. There was so much concentration on that golden brow, so much calculating wonderment in those blue eyes, and a new kinda fire that had his hand moving like a blur over the page, that Chuck knew it was something special. Imagine his surprise and delight when he figured out that Pat was drawing him.

He hasn't stopped smiling since.

"That's real cute," Lieb scoffs, when he roots through Chuck's wallet to borrow a few dollars without asking. Not that he needs to. There really isn't much cash in there. He finds the drawing, instead, and stares at it while Chuck explains where it came from. Why it means so much. The way Pat captured the turn of his head, the slope of his nose. The small half-smile that seemed to be always present on his lips whenever Pat was around. The way his hair was so lovingly rendered that it looked almost soft. The way his lashes seemed to flutter, despite remaining static, long, delicate lines of charcoal pencil that lightly kissed the curve of his cheek.

Chuck thinks himself decent looking enough, but seeing that sketch, the way Pat had translated his being unto paper, was probably the very first time he'd thought of himself as beautiful.

"Cute," Lieb says again, rolling his eyes. "In a narcissist kinda way."

"Shut up, it's not about the subject," Chuck hisses at him, kicking a foot out to hit him in the thigh as he gets up to snatch the drawing (and his wallet) back to put away. "It's about how the artist sees the subject."

"The fuck what?" Lieb says in a near cackle, dodging a second kick and a pillow to the head to boot. "Where the fuck did you hear that?"

Chuck doesn't bother to answer. If he says he got it from one of Pat's rants, from the last time Chuck dared to compliment one of his sketches that Pat himself found lacklustre, then he'll never hear the end of it. Time to change tactics.

"That's fucking rich coming from you," Chuck grumbles, sitting up in hopes that it'll give him a better vantage point to bash Lieb's head in with that ugly tasseled nonsense pillow they'd stolen from Babe and Eugene last year. "How does it go? 'Dear Reader: Let me tell you about a boy' ?"

The effect is instantaneous, and a bright red flush climbs up from Lieb's neck all the way to his luscious hairline, and maybe even beyond. There's more to be recited, the lines of the anonymous memoir essay entitled "Let Me Tell You About a Boy" published to the campus paper last quarter very much fresh in Chuck's mind. He'd set out to read it after the first time he'd caught Lieb tucking it away into his bag, like a dirty little secret pleasure he wanted no one to know about. He never reads the campus paper, the illiterate snob bastard, so his interest had piqued Chuck's own. So he'd read it. And then laughed so hard he'd nearly peed himself.

After a quick check with everyone on a group chat he made for this purpose alone, Chuck had confirmation enough: Anonymous his fucking ass. Perhaps to the rest of the campus, but not to them. Most of their friend group were certain enough of the essay's origin about mid-first paragraph to comfortably guess the hand that had penned the nearly two thousand word essay, what with half of them often being reluctant editors to one David Kenyon Webster. Still, a guess was not a guarantee, and while 99.9% of them were sure of its author, Lieb still had room for doubt, and so, the (alleged) very detailed and very intimate look into their relationship and Web's feelings on the matter had largely gone ignored.

At least to the public. In private, Lieb burned, and kept a copy folded up and flattened out as best it could be in the back of his phone case.

Chuck doesn't need to look at it to recite the best parts. He continues, as the pillow finally meets its target and Lieb falls under the barrage of hits. "His wit is cutting, cunning, and sly. I find myself infuriated and charmed by it in equal measure. There's a poet in him, and while I am not so much of an egoist that I cannot admit that he is better than me in some aspects of verse, I am loathe to confess that he's quickly become my muse. It's the way he says words, I think. I like how his mouth makes shapes around them. The purse of his lips. The clack of his teeth. The rough timbre of his voice, the way it curls out his lips like cigarette smoke. He has a smart mouth. It worries me how often my eyes are drawn to it--"

"Shut the fuck up!" oh, Lieb's properly red now. And panting, sitting up to retaliate best he could by kicking his feet in a poor imitation of a cat with prey in its mouth. He makes contact, momentarily, with Chuck's stomach, and the force of it leaves him properly winded. Lieb shows no mercy. He pushes him off, and huffs; "fuck you."

"Fuck you, too, buddy," Chuck wheezes, though he says it with a smile. "Quit being a fucking coward."

"Quit being a pretentious narcissist."

"Quit being so gay."

"Quit being so sad."

The pillow comes back out. "No. You."

"No, you!"

Lieb kicks at him again. "You!"

"No. You!"

They devolve into a tussle. And it only ends when the pizza they ordered for dinner arrives with several pointed knocks on their door.

[lady-literature]

ayy, so ya’ll know that Miraculous/DC crossover I screamed about a while back? I found plot for it.

It is not quite finished yet, but it’s also so much longer than I originally planned on it being. (me: I’ll just write a fun little thing to get this out of my head!

me, 13k words later: oh no)

SO! Here’s a little sneak peak!

(or, find the finished product here!)

***

There is an unspoken rule, kept by any outsider who’s ever set foot in Gotham, that you should only ever visit the city once. Most find that visiting even once was already too much.

The most dangerous city on earth isn’t kind to its residents—much less strangers who don’t know how to watch their pockets or keep off the streets after dark. It’s gotten better, perhaps, in recent years since the Bat started lurking on rooftops, but that doesn’t mean the city is good.

Normal people stay as far from Gotham as they can get.

Marinette, (un)luckily, is far from normal.

***

The touring of Metropolis, New York City, and Gotham had been going well as far as Marinette was concerned, no matter what Chloé says to her about carelessness and naivety.

She’s glad her, Adrien and Chloé all decided to take this summer trip before they started University in the fall. It sucks that it was just the three of them, she wishes more of their friends could’ve tagged along but, alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

Kagami was in the middle of training season and couldn’t come. Luka was touring with his father, learning the tricks of the trade and other things. Nathaniel had already been commissioned to paint a mural downtown before they really finalized dates. Nino was in much the same boat as Nath, just with music and pitch meetings. Felix hated traveling and Alix was doing… something. Time travelling, probably. Or at least spending more time in the burrow.

Marinette was certainly starting to notice the way she’s begun talking about ancient history like she was actually there when she goes on rants now. Felix also probably noticed but Marinette’s also sure that he’s aiding and abetting her in exchange for insider information so…

She’ll probably have to deal with that later, unfortunately. But not today.

Their tour group was going to Amusement Mile later that afternoon, but had been given free roam until then. Marinette decided to spend the time up until lunch at the park near the meetup spot in Gotham Square and Chloé hadn’t complained or vetoed that idea so the trio happily camped out on the grass.

Marinette had returned to her sketch of Lady Gotham in between eating bites of her sandwich. She thinks she much preferred the style of it to New York City’s Lady Liberty. There was just something about the Statue of Justice that inspired her.

She’d been doodling about it since they left the marina yesterday. She also had plenty of pictures of the statue for inspiration later. There’s one she especially likes and thinks she might even print out to put up on her wall at home.

She’s playing with the idea of draping fabrics for formal wear designs like the roman togas both Lady statues seem to wear when a tennis ball rolls up and bumps into her leg. She has only enough time to move her sketchbook out of the way before a large dog bowls into her, tail wagging happily and barking up a storm.

“Oof!”

Adrien’s already halfway up the tree, startled out of his light doze by the barking and Chloé only daintily moved away from Marinette, leaving her to her fate. 

Pushing herself back up so she’s not crushed by what feels like one hundred pounds of dog, she comes face to snout with quite possibly the biggest dog she’s ever seen. From there, there was really only one choice of action Marinette could have followed.

“Oh! Well, aren’t you just the prettiest boy?” she tells the dog happily, reaching up to give him scratches. “Such a big boy! You nearly bowled me over, didn’t you?”

If it’s possible, the dog’s tail begins to wag even faster, enough that he accidentally overbalances himself and decides to roll with it, flopping onto his back and letting her rub his stomach. Marinette does so enthusiastically, her baby-talk to the dog devolving into broken not-words and the occasional exclamation of good boy! in both English and French.

The dog was a great dane, and had the softest coat of black fur she’s ever seen. There was a thick red collar around his throat, and Marinette stopped furiously rubbing his belly long enough to look at the silver tag attached to it.

“Titus, huh?” she says to the dog. “Such a strong name for such a distinguished boy, huh?”

“Oh god,” she hears Adrien groan from his spot still up in the tree. When she looks up, she finds him eyeing Titus with distrust, the absolute kitten. “I hope whoever his owner is, they’ve never read Shakespeare.”

Both her and Chloé blink at the strange non sequitur.

“Uh, why? Exactly?”

“Because they have shit taste in his plays if they do! Titus Andronicus is, like, Shakespeare’s worst play.”

Chloé glares up at him. “You’re such a nerd. Now stop being ridiculous and get down from there.”

“But, Chloé! It’s a dog.”

“Adrien Agreste!”

Marinette tunes out the two blondes as they devolve into sibling-like bickering. It’s a skill she’s had to learn and learn quickly with living in such close quarters with the pair for the last few weeks and also being friends with the pair for the past three years.

“Speaking of your owner, I wonder where they are?” She scratches under Titus’ chin thoughtfully. “Should we go look for them?”

Titus' head flops to the side, almost like he’s listening for something, before he’s clambering up onto his feet to tower over her. He’s almost twice as tall as she is sitting, which is just ridiculous. Why is everything in America so big?

Getting to her feet herself, Titus still stands almost as tall as her. She can rest her elbow on his back when she grabs his collar to make sure he doesn’t run off. He leads mostly, pulling her along at a steady trot she has to jog to keep up with.

He truly was such a well behaved dog and certainly lived up to his breed’s reputation as a gentle giant.

Or at least she thought so, until the call of “Titus! Here!” echoes through the park and he goes racing off towards it, dragging Marinette along for the ride no matter how much she tries to slow down.

Titus comes to a skidding stop, and Marinette barely stops herself from falling by keeping her arm around Titus.

“And who are you?”

Looking up, she finds a young man, probably around her age, staring down at her. He does not look happy—but most Gothamites don’t, Marinette’s found. He’s also, despite the almost glare he’s giving her, very attractive.

When she opens her mouth, incoherent French comes tumbling out, much to her embarrassment.

Ah. ‘Not being able to speak coherently to people she finds attractive’, she had wondered where that particular personality trait had been as of late. Even after so many years hanging around people who should be—and are—super models, she still acts like a spaz. Why is she like this?

The man raises an eyebrow at her, looking very unamused.

She tries again. “Ah- Je suis- I mean, I am very sorry. Your dog found me sitting over there with my friends and I figured I should find his owner instead of letting him just wander around and I assume your his owner because if you aren’t this is very embarrassing for me. Not that it wasn’t embarrassing before but, oh, I’m definitely rambling and I’m going to shut up now.”

Pressing her lips together as tightly as humanly possible so her tongue will stop making horrible life decisions, she holds Titus’ bright yellow tennis ball out to his owner.

The man huffs, taking the ball from her hand. “I didn’t ask for your life’s story.”

Marinette blinks and then frowns. Her hand tightens around where she’s still holding onto Titus’ collar and she has to very carefully unclench her hand before she breaks it or something.

“I didn’t give it,” she says through clenched teeth, embarrassment abruptly forgotten. There’s no need for the man to be rude.

He scoffs. “Could’ve fooled me.”

She doesn't really have anything to say to that. Instead, she turns to Titus, who’s sitting like the good boy he is. She very seriously leans down to eye level—she does not have to lean down far—and tells him, “Your owner is an ass. But you are still a very good boy.”

She plants a kiss to his forehead that makes his tail wag, gives him one last scratch behind the ears and walks back towards her friends without looking back at the rude man. 

***

Colonel Bug: so I met kagami and felix’s lovechild today

MY HONOR: I would never stoop so low.

the evil twin: I would never stoop so low.

ShutUpTurtleMan: Nettie

dearest

the evil twin: Okay first of all-

ShutUpTurtleMan: sunshine

light of our collective lives and reason I breathe

what the fuCK

YoureUnderAgreste: Kagami, my love, how could you?

The Betrayal™

GottaGoFast: ew

Queen of Salt: ew

sneaky snake: Send pics or it didn’t happen

give me art or give me death: [a photo of the ‘right in front of my salad?’ meme]

Queen of Salt: wait

I was with you all day when did this happen?

was it the owner of the dog that attacked you?

ShutUpTurtleMan: WHAT

Colonel Bug: he didn’t attack me!

chloe stop spreading misinformation!

titus was a sweetheart!

YoureUnderAgreste: incorrect

he was, in fact, a menace

give me art or give me death: wait was Titus the dog or the lovechild

ShutUpTurtleMan: ^^^ ?

Colonel Bug: shut up adrien

all animals are great

stop being elitist

give me art or give me death: okay but seriously what kind of dog was it

the evil twin: why exactly was he our lovechild?

GottaGoFast: because of the dramatic tryst you and Kagami had obviously

keep up

Colonel Bug: because he was as pretty as he was rude actually

And gave me the feeling that he’d rant about his honor and parentage if it given the chance

MY HONOR: you say something once as an unsocialized teen

GottaGoFast: MARI YOU DOG!

ARE GETTING TAIL IN GOTHAM OF ALL PLACES?

Colonel Bug: no alix

did you not read the part about how rude he is

YoureUnderAgreste: i mean,,,,,

Felix is pretty rude and we all still like him

ShutUpTurtleMan: and Chloe

YoureUnderAgreste: oh good point nino

Colonel Bug: i hate it here

i spoke to him for like 2 seconds

Queen of Salt: Okay first of all-

YoureUnderAgreste: so i mean it’s not really a dealbreaker yaknow?

Colonel Bug: this familys a nightmare

i shoulda left you all on the street corner where i found you

YoureUnderAgreste: BUT CHA DINDT

ShutUpTurtleMan: but yA DIDNT

GottaGoFast: BUT CHA DIDNT!!

sneaky snake: but ya didn’t

***

I have every no regrets. stay tuned for more!

[and-it-freezes-me]

Schemes Of Mice - Part 1

Schemes Of Mice is the first part of the What Happened In Lichmai series.

Title is from the poem To A Mouse by Robert Burns.

{Part 2} {Part 3}

Summary: Virgil Insmyre’s carefully planned road trip takes an unexpected turn for the worse, and he falls back on getting help from a strange pair of travellers.

Content: car trouble, hitchhiking, very loud music

Word count: 7,007

It was dark.

It was always dark. The light of the moon never made it down here, the stars never shone across his face.

It was dark, and it had been dark for longer than he wished to know.

-

Just because he didn’t like it when plans went wrong didn’t mean that it was the end of the world.

Those were the words that Virgil repeated to himself as the needle on the fuel gauge dipped ever so slowly below the red line, and still no petrol station came into sight.

He had thought he had planned this whole trip out down to the last detail. It was supposed to be easy: leave his hometown with his camera and the other essential things he couldn’t be without in his car, and have everything else sent by post to meet him when he arrived on the other side of the country to start his new life. He had spent hours upon hours planning the route he would take, carefully avoiding any cities with higher-than-average crime rates, selecting a few choice parks and monuments that he had always wanted to visit and photograph and sketching his route around that. He had checked the laws for every state he needed to drive through and made sure his old, navy blue car had been checked over at the garage no less than three times before he had left. Virgil had packed enough bottles of water to survive getting caught in a snowstorm and having to stay put for up to a week; he had packed enough dried food to sustain him just as long in an emergency; he had packed not only his weighted blanket but also a fluffy one he had impulse bought a few months back, a patchwork one his grandmother had made him when he was seven, and his sleeping bag, just in case he had to spend the night in the car. None of these things should be necessary, though, because he had made sure to check the weather forecasts for every town along his route, made sure that there were diners and motels and hotels and restaurants everywhere he planned to stop for the night.

He had made sure that he had his route entered not only into the GPS he had bought for the sole purpose of not getting lost when he had to go slightly outside of his comfort zone to get specific photos, but also into his phone, and drawn it out across several maps with a full notebook of times and directions. He had scheduled in an hour’s break for every four he spent driving to stretch his legs.

And he had definitely scheduled in petrol stations.

They were pencilled in at regular, carefully calculated intervals: he should never have gotten below three-quarters full.

And now he was coasting to a stop at the side of a dark road, the screen of his GPS filled with static.

“Stupid, overpriced, worthless junk,” he snarled, engaging the handbrake and tossing the useless system on top of the bag on the passenger seat. His phone was in the drinks holder, next to a very large, very empty coffee cup, but when he grabbed it to call… Anyone, really, he found that he had no signal. 

Virgil very nearly punched his steering wheel in frustration, then reminded himself that he still had another two days of driving to do and that the first aid kit in his glovebox, whilst expansive, would not magically fix his fingers when he inevitably broke them. Instead, he shook his phone roughly, hoping that by some miracle that would help it pick up a network.

It didn’t.

Instead, it completely.

“Fuck,” he commented eloquently. That was okay, though. Virgil made certain never to travel without a portable charger, and he made sure it was fully charged before he left whichever motel he stayed at in the mornings. Pulling it out of the top of the bag beside him, he plugged his phone into it and closed his eyes slowly.

He would count to five, open his eyes, wait for his phone to charge a little, and then call the nearest breakdown service he could.

One. Two. Deep breath in. Three, four, deep breath out. Five.

“Fuck!” The portable charger was out of juice - and Virgil had been certain he had charged it that morning. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!”

Okay, okay. This wasn’t the end of the world. The world wasn’t ending, he was just going to have to…

Okay, maybe it was the end of the world.

Virgil took another deep breath, and then another, and then a fourth just to make sure he still could. Reaching into his bag, he rooted around until he found his notebook and a pen, and flipped through to an empty page.

“Okay, okay… What’s happening, what’ve I got…” He muttered.

The problem, Virgil wrote.

Out of petrol on side of unfamiliar road at night 8pm

Should have passed petrol station > 1 hour ago - didn’t

Should be an hour from next motel

GPS broken + phone w/out battery or signal

Can’t figure out position on map

Individually, any of these seemed bad. Put together, Virgil was pretty sure he was going to get murdered by a roving serial killer. He jerked his hand through his purple bangs, then lowered his pen back to the paper.

Inventory

My camera set

Useless phone, map, GPS, laptop

Enough water + dried food for the week

Six clean changes of clothes

Two dirty changes of clothes

Three blankets + sleeping bag

Misc. house items including coffee machine + cactus

Okay, so he wouldn’t starve to death. Or freeze, especially given that the weather was supposed to be clement at the very least.

Solutions

Backtrack until civilisation found + get help

Haven’t seen a building in nearly 2hrs, would take all night

Walk along road until civilisation found + get help

Don’t know how long that’ll take

Don’t know what the road does / could get lost

Night - dangerous, unfamiliar place

He definitely didn’t want to be wandering around at night.

Wait until morning + follow road + get help

Means staying in car overnight

Less likely to get lost/murdered inside car than outside

It looked as though he was going to be sleeping in the car tonight. Chewing thoughtfully at the end of his pen, Virgil added one more bullet to his list.

Somebody might drive past + could help

Hitchhiking, of course, was a spectacularly horrible idea, and there was no way Virgil was going to attempt anything remotely like that - not with his phone out of action, and no friends to know where he was or report him missing, and in a strange place.

Virgil would really rather he didn’t get murdered today. Or any day, really. Getting brutally murdered was not how he would choose to go.

Hopefully, if somebody passed, they would be more inclined to help him than kill him. If he were really lucky, they might be the kind of person to carry extra petrol (why didn’t he do that? He should start doing that), or at least be willing to give him some of theirs if he paid them back. Maybe they could tell him where he was - or maybe they’d have a spare portable charger that he could buy off of them.

Virgil tried to ignore the fact that in the time that he had been driving down this long, seemingly unending road, he hadn’t seen a single other vehicle. There was no point in working himself up to a panic attack, not when he had a clear course of action now.

The fact that that course of action was to do nothing was beside the point.

Groaning, Virgil stretched his arms above his head and heard a series of pops as his back flexed (driving non-stop for almost a week wasn’t exactly doing him many favours, even with the breaks he had scheduled in). As he reached for the bag on the seat behind him, where he had stored a few of the water bottles and rations along with his blankets and sleeping bag, a wide yawn stretched his jaw. If there was a silver lining to this whole mess of a situation, it was the fact that he was being forced to get some rest now.

Well, what passed for rest. Virgil doubted he would sleep particularly soundly, even with his weighted blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his seat reclined back as far as it would go. Aside from the discomfort and the nagging worry that he was going to wake up to find a knife in his guts and somebody making off with his camera (both of which were good reasons to sleep fitfully), he needed to stay at least awake enough to be aware of any cars passing.

He could get out, could stand by the side of the road or sit on the bonnet. He’d be more awake that way, more aware, more responsive if anybody did drive past - but he’d also be more vulnerable to passing murderers and (he was reminded by a faint howl in the distance) whatever predators roamed the area.

Turning off the lights (he didn’t want to waste any more of the car’s battery than he already had), Virgil shifted briefly before turning on his side so that he was facing out of the car’s window, watching the road for headlights.

The clouds covering the sky shifted, and stars twinkled down at the quiet stretch of countryside. The moon rose.

It was peaceful. It could almost be considered pretty, if he weren’t one-hundred-percent aware that he was going to have to spend hours hiking tomorrow to find help.

The glow-in-the-dark hands of Virgil’s watch moved slowly around its face, and seconds dripped into minutes dripped into hours.

At least he was warm. At least he wasn’t hungry, at least he was free and safe and alone.

This would push his schedule back by at least a day, of course - but he should still arrive at his new flat sixteen days before his first day at his new job. That would give him plenty of time to get used to his surroundings, to make the walk between apartment and office several times over to make sure he wouldn’t get lost on the way, and to find a good place to get coffee when he didn’t want to be completely isolated.

Virgil still couldn’t quite believe that he had landed an entry-level position at Mary-Lee, Lee, and Co.. They were a fashion agency, one of the big ones, and there was no way they should have been looking at a twenty-year-old, only a year out of highschool (he had been held back a year before anyone had realised that his reluctance to participate in English classes had been dyslexia rather than laziness), with only a year’s crash-course in semi-professional photography to his name.

Of course, it wasn’t as though he wouldn’t get more training on the job - a lot more training - and he would probably be staying on the lowest rung on the company ladder for a very long time.

Virgil was thrilled.

It was the chance to be the one in charge of his own life, a chance to do what he loved rather than serving popcorn in a tacky movie theatre to pay for his photography course and his stupidly high rent, a chance to be free, a chance to disappear.

-

Virgil was jerked out of a light doze by what could only be described as the sound one would get if they gave a cat a chainsaw and told it to sing while it cut down a lamppost.

It was faint at first, faint enough that he wasn’t sure what had woken him. Then the small plastic spider he had taped to his dashboard started bobbing, and Virgil realised that the horrific noise must be something approaching. A car? Maybe? A car with the most horrible taste in music imaginable, and willing to play it at a stupid volume in the middle of - what time was it? He glanced at his watch - at two in the morning.

Well, if whoever it was was happy to announce their presence for miles around, they were probably going to be easy to track. He scribbled trying to attract attention of loud music people in his notebook (he was tired, it was the best he could come up with in a rush) and scrambled out of the car, turning on the headlights as he did. Anything to be seen, right? If he could just borrow somebody’s phone…

By the time the minivan was close enough to see, Virgil wanted to put his fingers in his ears: he had to ask how whoever was driving it wasn’t deaf already, or how they hadn’t been arrested yet. Instead, he took another long breath before sticking out an arm and waving it frantically, hoping that would be enough to get the driver’s attention.

It was.

There was a horrific screech that felt akin to a metal spike being driven into his brain, and Virgil almost crawled back into his car when the man driving leaned out of the open window to grin at him. His smile was so wide it seemed to split his face open like something out of a horror movie. There was a streak of white in his otherwise brown curls, he was waving at Virgil with both hands (one of which had a bandage wrapped around the palm, both of which looked smudgy with… ink?), and his wide eyes made him look ever so slightly unhinged. He had to be wearing contact lenses, because his irises were the kind of bright, acidic green that typically comes in bottles marked with skulls and crossbones. In cartoons.

“HEY!”

He had to shout to be heard over the ‘music’ that was still pulsing from the car and flattening all of the plants for miles around, and even then Virgil probably wouldn’t have figured out what he had said if he hadn’t been looking directly at him.

This was a bad idea. He was going to get murdered by a guy that probably had pure caffeine running through his veins and bats in his belfry. Lifting one hand in a weak surrendering motion, Virgil groped around behind him for the handle to let himself back into the car.

“HEY! ARE YOU IN TROUBLE? CAN WE HELP AT-” The ‘music’ cut off suddenly, and the guy glanced briefly at whoever was in the car with him before turning back to Virgil. “All?”

The sudden silence made Virgil’s ears ring, and the hand that had been waving awkwardly moved to rub the back of his head, where a dull throbbing had started up. “Uh… No. You know what? It’s cool, I’m all fine here, I’m just gonna…”

“Did your car break down?” The guy was still shouting. It was amazing that he could hear anything, really - or maybe he couldn’t, given how he had just ignored Virgil’s questions. “I know about cars! Anything I can help with!”

Then Virgil blinked, and the guy was standing right next to him, offering him his bandaged hand to shake. He seemed to be constantly in motion, shifting from foot to foot, picking at a scab on his neck with his other hand, tapping his fingers against his hip. If it hadn’t been for the constant motion and the overly wide cartoon eyes, he would have looked almost normal in a slightly tatty band t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans - oh, maybe not. He was wearing slippers. Not just any slippers, either: they were fluffy, and when Virgil squinted at them he realised that they had long ears.

Wild-Eyes-Guy must have noticed him looking. “Vampire bunny slippers! Do you like them? I made them myself!”

“... What?” Maybe he was dreaming right now. That was the only sensible explanation for this. Virgil’s hand had found the car door, but for some reason he hadn’t scrambled back inside just yet - and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.

“Vampire bunny slippers! Made them! What do you think?!” The guy repeated, and Virgil blinked again.

“Uh…”

“Roman, what are you doing to this poor kid?” A second guy had gotten out of the van, an eye-mask pushed into his hair like an alice-band. He was wearing slacks, a sweater, and (thankfully) regular trainers on his feet. He seemed a little less… Manic, than Wild-Eyes-Guy (Roman?) - although maybe that was because he had only just woken up, if the sleep mask and the way he was rubbing his eyes was any indication.

They both looked to be no more than a few years older than Virgil, but being called a kid seemed to be the least of his issues right now.

“He was asking about my slippers! I told you they’d be popular!” Virgil had no idea what he was supposed to say to that. His absolute bewilderment must have shown on his face, because the calmer guy moved closer and rested a hand on Wild-Eyes-Guy/Roman’s shoulder. Roman seemed to calm down a little. He stopped bouncing, at least.

“Are you sure about that one? He looks terrified.” There was a dry note in Calm-Guy’s voice - and Virgil suddenly noticed that his eyes were yellow as butter. Acidic butter. Was there some kind of convention for people with a thing for weird contact lenses?

Had he been sleeping in contact lenses? Virgil’s foster brother had worn contact lenses sometimes, and Virgil was pretty sure that you weren’t supposed to sleep in them.

“He flagged us down! Why would he be terrified?”

There was silence for a second, Virgil still trying to figure out whether he was about to be murdered by a guy in vampire rabbit slippers and his sleepy accomplice. Calm-Guy seemed to be waiting for Roman to answer that question himself; after a second, Roman’s shoulders slumped and his smile dropped back to regular proportions, becoming almost sheepish.

“It’s super late and you’re alone on an empty road, of course you’re terrified!” At least he had stopped shouting, but Virgil wished he didn’t sound so excited about that fact. Calm-Guy rolled his eyes, then held out a neatly manicured hand. Virgil shook it. It wasn’t as though there was much else he could do now, right?

“I apologise for my boyfriend, he gets… Energetic, when he drinks coffee. I’m-”

“Hey! I haven’t had any coffee since ereyesterday!”

“Energy drinks, then?”

“Yep.” Roman popped the ‘p’, looking immensely satisfied with himself, then moved over to the hood of Virgil’s car and lifted the bonnet. Without asking. What the hell?

“Uh… What are you…”

“Engine looks fine! Flat tire? No, the tires look fine, the suspension looks fine -” He was under the car now, jabbering away at the greasy machine above him.

Calm-Guy groaned and ran both hands through his hair, but not so roughly that he dislodged the eye mask or ended up looking even remotely ruffled. “As I was saying, I am known as Ethan Anguis -” He pronounced it ‘on-guie’. “- and the delight currently trying to figure out why you’re sitting on the side of the road without asking you is my boyfriend, known as Roman Pulpos. I assume you flagged us down as opposed to us gatecrashing your private camp-out?”

“Uh…” Virgil blinked, then nodded. “I, uh… Ran out of petrol. Was hoping I could… Borrow your phone, or… Something.”

Ethan nodded slowly - and Virgil realised that he didn’t seem to have blinked in the whole time he had been standing before him. No, that couldn’t be right. It was just a trick of the light.

“I’ve got it! You’re out of petrol!” Roman had stood - and if his hands had been grubby before, that was nothing to the grease and grime that now stretched from fingertip to elbow. There was even dirt on his face. Ethan groaned beside him.

“Did it occur to you, dearest, that you could simply have asked him? It would have been far more polite than simply poking around his car…”

“He didn’t seem very talkative.”

A snort left Virgil, and he clapped his hand over his mouth as they both turned to look at him. Then Roman’s face split back into that wide grin, and he came back to stand beside Ethan, who took a pointed step away. “You’re not getting back in the car until you’ve washed some of that off, you know.”

“But it’s my turn to choose the vehicle!”

“Yes! You chose it! But we’re still keeping it clean! Water bottle, cloth, go!” Ethan flapped his hands a few times in a ‘shoo’-ing motion, and Roman rolled his eyes - and his head with them - before stalking around to the passenger side and opening the door. The yellow-eyed man turned his attention back to Virgil, a fond smile on his sharp features. “So, you said you were hoping to…”

“Borrow your phone, yes,” Virgil nodded, eyes snapping back to the man before him rather than the now-shirtless Roman, who seemed to have decided that his t-shirt would work better than a cloth for getting rid of the grease.

Ethan clucked his tongue sympathetically. “You won’t get any signal out here. The nearest town is an hour’s drive away - I’d assume that walking was going to be your next plan if you couldn’t flag us down?”

“Uh… Yeah.” Virgil shifted awkwardly. “Do you… Know the area well?”

“Used to live here!” Called Roman, and Virgil forced himself not to stare at the muscles rippling under the dark skin of his back.

“A long time ago, yes. We return every few years,” Ethan added. “I wouldn’t try walking at night. The landscape gets a little… Treacherous. We can give you a lift if you want - there’s a repair shop in town, you can get someone to drive out and pick up your car tomorrow.”

“I… I really couldn’t.” Virgil shifted from foot to foot. “I’m perfectly fine waiting until morning and walking in. Got plenty of blankets ‘n’ food. I’ll be fine. Thank you for offering, though.”

Ethan blinked - but still not as though he needed to. More as though he was processing the words Virgil had just said, and wanted to show that he was paying attention. Maybe Virgil’s mind was playing tricks on him. It was very late, and he was very tired. “Understandable. I wouldn’t want to push you into anything you’re not comfortable with, so-”

“We’re not gonna kill you, y’know,” Roman added helpfully, and Virgil almost jumped out of his skin because he was suddenly right next to him. Virgil had been so caught up in not staring at him and talking to Ethan instead that he had completely missed his returning to their side - still shirtless, because the world was actively working to make his life difficult. “That would just be rude.”

“Roman! We’re trying not to push the kid into-”

“I’m not that much younger than you, you know.” Yes, because that was the important point to argue just then. Really, it was a miracle Virgil wasn’t already dead in a ditch somewhere, what with his brain constantly seeming to do the opposite of what he wanted it to.

Ethan looked mildly amused. “Really? How old are you, kid?”

“Twenty. And it’s Virgil, not kid.” If they were going to murder him, they probably would have done it by now. Telling them his name wasn’t going to make any difference at this point.

Roman snorted and ran his hand across the top of Virgil’s car, inspecting a large scratch in the paintwork below the rear door. “Virgil? Like virgin?” Virgil winced.

“No, you dick -” Ethan punched his boyfriend lightly on the shoulder, and Roman rubbed a hand over the spot with exaggerated remorse. “- like the poet. And if Virgil doesn’t want a lift from us, we should get going.”

“We could keep him company! It’s gonna be a long night out here on his own - unless you plan on walking, which is a really stupid idea!” There was the soft popping noise of the petrol flap being opened, and then the click of it closing. Then Roman opened it again. And closed it again.

Virgil lasted until the third pop-click before turning and batting Roman’s grubby hands away from the side of his car. “Stop that.”

“Feisty,” Roman commented, but clasped his hands obediently in front of him, the picture of angelic innocence. Not. Virgil had a feeling that Ethan was scowling at him from over his shoulder. “You sure you wanna be left alone? I heard there are monsters prowling out here…”

He practically sang the words, as though nothing could delight him more than the idea of terrifying creatures ranging the countryside. Virgil made himself chuckle in spite of the shiver that ran down his spine, and nodded. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for the tip about town, Ethan. Thanks for… Whatever you did, Roman. I guess.”

“Nothing,” Ethan said, at the same time as Roman said, “Introduced you to the idea of vampire bunny slippers and made sure your car wasn’t broken.”

“Yeah. That.” Shrugging, Virgil tugged open his car door and slipped inside, then waved a hand at the pair of them. They were still staring at him with their bizarre, bright eyes.

He closed the door behind him, and the sound seemed to snap action into the pair of them. Ethan rolled his shoulders back and jerked a thumb at their minivan - the side of which Virgil now realised was covered in what looked like a mural of a pirate ship being crushed by a very large sea monster - before walking back toward it.

“See ya around, Virgil-Not-Virgin!” Roman yelled (why was he yelling again?) and followed, climbing back into the driver’s side of the van. The ‘music’ clicked back on, sound obliterating all rational thought (how was Ethan still sane, driving around with that cacophony all the time?), and after a second the van’s engine started up.

That was when Virgil filled up his stupid quota for the rest of the year.

It had suddenly occurred to him that he really, really didn’t want to be left alone in the dark and the quiet now - maybe Roman’s talk of monsters had gotten to him, maybe it was the contrast between the stillness of his cold car and the aliveness of the two people that had just stopped to try to help him, weird though they might be.

They probably weren’t serial killers. If they were, there was nothing to stop them from killing him as soon as he had flagged them down, or being a lot more pushy about giving him a lift. He had already told them his phone wasn’t working (why had he told them that? What had he been thinking?) and they knew he was alone.

Making the decision in a split second, he threw his door open again and started waving his arms, running after the van as it gradually picked up speed, as though that would make him more noticable.

Virgil only had to move a couple of steps before it screeched to a halt again. For somebody so clearly enthusiastic about cars, Roman should probably get his own brakes checked out sometime. The ‘music’ cut off once more, which was a relief, and after a moment the minivan reversed until Roman was level with him again. “Hey again! Change your mind?”

“I - yeah,” Virgil nodded. “Realised I’d rather not be alone. Promise not to murder me if I catch a lift?”

“Oh, don’t give me ideas!” Virgil raised an eyebrow at the toothy smile, and Roman had the decency to look a little less thrilled at the idea of murder. Why had he said anything? “Already said we wouldn’t - a gentleman’s word is his bond, ‘n’ all that!”

“Nobody’s going to believe you’re a gentleman, R.” Virgil had been planning on saying something similar, but Ethan seemed to have beaten him to the punch. “I, on the other hand, actually behave like a member of the gentry - in any case, you’ll be fine.” Ethan had gotten out of the van again, walking around the front to open the side door. Roman flipped him off lazily. “Is there anything you’ll need overnight? I doubt anyone will come across your car, but if you’ve got anything you’d rather not leave unattended, we have space for a bag or two in this… Contraption.”

There was a note of distaste in his voice - clearly, Ethan regretted whatever turn of events had led to him agreeing to allow his boyfriend to choose their transportation.

Virgil nodded, already turning back to his car. There was no way he was leaving his camera alone overnight - and he should probably grab a water bottle, maybe some food, a change of clothes - he would only need one change of clothes, right? Ethan followed him quietly, and after a second Virgil heard the slamming of a door and realised that Roman had come to join them.

The pair of them stayed quiet as Virgil pulled his bag from the passenger seat - his camera, laptop, and phone were already in there - and tossed in a water bottle and his weighted blanket, but when he opened the small boot to retrieve a clean change of clothes, Roman let out a low whistle.

“Fuck me, that’s a lot of stuff. You moving somewhere? Ow, watch your elbows, j-eez!”

“I’d have thought you’d have gotten better at respecting other people’s boundaries over the last few years, Roman.”

“I’ll respect your boundaries in a minute,” Roman grumbled, and Ethan snorted at the nonsensical threat. Virgil put his bag down by his feet and used both hands to close the boot (it had been a second-hand car even before he had purchased it, and the boot was stiff), then turned back to find the two of them nose to nose, locked in some sort of staring contest.

He cleared his throat. “Um. Are we…”

“Going? Yes, just dump your shit on one of the seats.” Roman waved a hand at the van without breaking eye contact with Ethan. Weird, Virgil thought, but whatever. They had been nice enough so far.

It looked as though the minivan had once held eleven seats, arranged in four sets of two down one side and three individual ones down the other. Now, though? The three individual seats had been ripped out, and the second pair back from the driver’s seat had gone the same way. Of the remaining seats, the two pairs at the back looked as though they had been converted into a makeshift bed: the backs of the seats had been bent down until they were almost horizontal, forming one large, mostly flat expanse. It was partially covered in rumpled blankets. A row of beanbags ran down the van’s wall, and blankets had been pinned over the windows like curtains; what looked like an icebox was strapped to the back of the vehicle.

It looked as though Ethan and Roman were used to travelling together.

Placing his bag carefully on one of the two remaining seats (the one with the brown stain that was probably barbecue sauce and not blood, because these people probably weren’t serial killers) and strapping the seatbelt down over it, Virgil sat down. One hand rose automatically for him to gnaw at the cuticle of his thumb; turning to look out of the still-open door, he watched Roman and Ethan finally break off their staring contest. Roman looked frustrated - he had probably lost, then. The taller of the two dropped a kiss on his forehead, and the green-eyed man stalked back around to the driver’s seat. Virgil couldn’t hear the words, but he was grumbling under his breath as he passed the still open door.

“All good in here?” Ethan was leaning against the open door, smiling at him.

Virgil nodded slowly. “I… Yeah, I guess so. I’ll be able to find my car again tomorrow, right?”

An answering nod. “The repair shop in town will do just fine. Tell ‘em it’s on the main road, about an hour out - no trouble finding it.”

“Thanks.”

Ethan nodded again, closing the door, and then climbed back into the passenger seat. Roman flicked the music on. Somehow, it wasn’t quite so deafening on the inside of the car. Frowning, Virgil leaned forward - he hadn’t seen Roman fiddle with the volume dial, although he hadn’t been watching… It still looked to be pointing at the maximum, though.

“Rigged it,” Roman said. Looking up, Virgil found his unsettling eyes watching him in the rearview mirror. “Plays super loud outside, isn’t so bad in here. Spent hours getting the soundproofing right. Ended up deaf for nearly a week!”

He started the engine as Ethan twisted around in his seat to look at Virgil again. “Roman,” he commented dryly, “enjoys being a deliberate nuisance. There was practically a mob chasing us out of Milan.”

“It was a literal mob, Eth. And you know you love me really.” For a vehicle that looked dirty and slightly battered on the outside and sounded as though there were monsters living in the braking system, the minivan drove smoothly - more smoothly than Virgil’s third-hand car, anyway.

“Milan, Illinois? Or Ohio?” If he was in this van, Virgil might as well make conversation.

“Milan, Italy. Nice place. Nice language. Good food. Sunny.” Roman waved a hand around his head, then turned to look at him as well - something that was not reassuring, given that Virgil could just about see that the needle on the speedometer had ticked past sixty. “Ever been, Virgil-Not-Virgin?”

“The road!” He should not have gotten into this van. Virgil was going to die because this idiot had decided not to watch the road and Ethan didn’t seem to have noticed. “Watch the road!”

“The road?” Roman glanced back at the windscreen and shrugged. The van swerved, and Virgil grabbed his bag to stop it from sliding forward off of the seat despite being strapped in. “Oh, the road! Yeah, okay… Wrecking the van would be a pain now I’ve got it almost perfect. Ever been to Milan?”

He didn’t sound at all concerned about the possibility of fiery death. Brilliant. Virgil was in a car with a lunatic. Well done, me, he thought sarcastically, don’t want to be alone in the middle of the road at night. Now I’ll be sharing a grave with these guys. Just brilliant.

“No,” he said, because why not keep the conversation going? It might help to keep his mind away from the apparently high chance of death. “Never left Washington before. Are you guys Italian now, then?” They didn’t have a trace of an accent, but that didn’t mean much.

“Nope! We’re from here - just going home for a few days!” Unconcerned with the fact that he had already told Virgil this, Roman yanked on the wheel, and the van skidded around a corner. Virgil grabbed for the side of his seat with one hand and his bag with the other.

“Ma viaggiamo molto, bambino,” Ethan added - because of course he would speak flawless Italian. Why not?

Roman jerked the wheel the other way, and Virgil winced as his shoulder hit against the wall of the van. “Non è un bambino, occhi di serpente, è Virgil.” Ethan blew a kiss at his boyfriend.

Great. Now they were talking about him in a foreign language. Maybe this was all just a really, really stupid dream, Virgil decided. He was probably sat back in his car, still dozing and waiting for the sun to rise so that he could make the walk into town. Assuming that there was a town, and that wasn’t just something else his subconscious had come up with.

At least he had the presence of mind to remember his camera and laptop even in a dream. They were his most precious possessions, both in terms of monetary value and in what they meant for him. Losing these would be like… Losing a limb, maybe. Or his head.

“-long way from Washington for somebody that’s never left it before, Virgil. Going anywhere nice?” Ethan had twisted around once more, and Virgil realised he had missed the point at which the conversation had switched back into English again.

Shaking himself, he patted his camera once. “Got a job on the other side of the country, took it as a chance to move somewhere new. Thought I might as well make a road trip out of it - still cheaper than flying, which is absolutely criminal.”

Ethan made a sympathetic… Hissing noise (?) as their driver bobbed his head, although whether that was agreement or simply in time with the ‘music’ that they were only just able to talk over without shouting, Virgil didn’t know. “Tell me about it! The faster humans learn how to travel, the more they try to suck every penny from you! Like money leeches!” Roman laughed, the idea apparently delightful to him.

“There’s definitely a strong correlation,” Ethan mused, turning to gaze thoughtfully out of the window. His sleep mask was still propped up in his wavy hair, though he had shown no inclination to use it again - maybe it was obvious how much Roman’s loud energy unsettled Virgil, and he was trying to make sure he wasn’t alone. Or maybe he had decided that they were close enough to town that there wasn’t much point in trying to sleep again. “Speed makes humans greedy… Sounds like the kind of claim - oh, Virgil, you might want to close your eyes for a couple of minutes. We’re almost at the Edge. Sounds like the kind of claim somebody could spend years trying to back up.”

“We should do that. Might kill some time, you know?”

“Are you telling me you’re already bored of-”

“Woah, wait.” Virgil held up both hands, remembered neither of his companions were looking at him, and let them drop again. “Why do I need to close my - holy shit! Sweet Frank Iero, fuck!"

Virgil squeezed his eyes tight shut a second too late. Light exploded around them, seemingly out of nowhere and leaving bright streaks across the insides of his eyelids. He could hear Roman cackling in front of him, the music still playing, an exasperated “I did try to warn you…” - whatever had happened, neither of his companions seemed at all surprised.

Maybe they had just driven past a football stadium, and Virgil hadn’t noticed the floodlights until just then? No, that didn’t make sense: he would have seen the lights when they had first appeared on the horizon. Unless they had been dark until somebody had just turned them on - at two in the morning? And Ethan had known that it was going to happen?

Automatic lights, then. Or - Or police vehicles, apprehending the two of them for whatever reason. But wouldn’t they have stopped, or sped up, or something? And if Ethan had known that there were police waiting for them, why would they have travelled this route anyway? It had to be automatic lights.

Then Virgil opened his eyes again, and realised that he couldn’t pinpoint its source.They were still driving through open countryside, on a road with no street lamps or buildings, grass stretching out on either side of them. To their left and stretching out in front, Virgil could make out a forest. The only difference between now and a few minutes ago was the fact that it seemed to be the middle of the day.

He looked out of his window, then out of the front of the van, neck craned toward the sky. It was a blank, pale colour somewhere between orange and yellow. He couldn’t see the sun at all.

Twisting in his seat, Virgil tried to see some line where the night ended and the day began. There was nothing. Just… Grass, and trees, and road, and light. Obviously. Night magically turning to day at three in the morning was slightly more likely than a magic line separating the two.

Of course, given that this was all obviously a dream, there was nothing to say that there couldn’t be a magic line like that. It wouldn’t be any more out of place than people with acid eyes and a soundproofed car who spoke flawless Italian, after all. Maybe Virgil should stop eating directly before going to sleep.

Both Ethan and Roman had turned to look at him, Ethan appearing to be somewhere between smug and sympathetic and Roman wearing a shit-eating grin that stretched from ear to ear. Virgil just stared at the pair of them for a moment. “... Road?” He asked finally, and Roman nodded before turning away again. Virgil cleared his throat briefly. “What the fuck was that?”

“That’s what I said the first time I saw it!” Roman crowed, and Ethan slapped his arm gently. Virgil grabbed the side of his seat as the van swerved before straightening again.

“One of the quirks of home.” Ethan gestured out of the front windscreen, and Virgil leaned forward to see houses racing toward them (how fast was Roman driving? Was this legal?) (Who cared? It was all a dream). “Never gets dark.”

“Ever?” How would a place function if it never got dark? “How does that… Doesn’t it… Drive people mad?” Of course, Virgil would understand if it didn’t. This was all in his head, after all, and his head didn’t always make sense.

“Of course!” Virgil wished Roman didn’t sound quite so cheerful about it.

Ethan sighed and shook his head. “Most people just learn to live with it. You’ll forget about it in the next day or so, don’t worry. That’s Lichmai for you.”

“Leesh May?” If he was going to be inventing names, they could at least be names that sounded real.

“Lichmai. Welcome to our hometown, Virgil.” Ethan didn’t sound particularly pleased to be back.

[theborahaecat]

Penny for your thoughts? - Chapter IV

Title: Penny for your thoughts? [Telepathy AU] Relationship: Kim Taehyung/Jeon Jungkook Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content in later chapters. Word count: 4150 Summary: “~ Ahhhhhh, pretty boy is staring at us, definitely us. - Oh my god, will you stop screaming? ~ Oh look, he looks so adorable with those wide eyes, oh God, why is he so near. - It’s okay breathe. Breathe, and try not to do anything stupid. Oh no no, don’t stare. ~ Woah, so pretty. - No, I said do NOT stare. ~ Did you? Sorry, I must have heard you wrong.

A clear-cut internal thought-conversation? This was rare, Jungkook noted as he turned away, trying so hard not to smile.”

OR,

Jungkook can feel everyone’s thoughts and emotions, and Taehyung is that one person who thinks too loud.

Read CHAPTER I here.

Read CHAPTER II here.

Read CHAPTER III here.

… … … … … … … … … … . . 

Jungkook stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets, gazing at how the yellow halo of a streetlamp blurred into the fading night. Perhaps he should have brought a jacket.

He stifled a yawn, checking the time. Taehyung wanted to take pictures of the sunrise, so they had decided to meet really early. Jungkook sighed, exasperated by his own nervousness. Here he was, with over a quarter of an hour left until the allotted ‘really early’.

He leaned back against a tree, wondering why Taehyung had chosen to meet at the bus stop nearest to his apartment. He couldn’t have known where Jungkook lived, could he? Maybe he lived somewhere nearby too. Jungkook wondered why the thought of that cheered him up a little.

He studied the cemented sidewalk before him, letting faint, muted dream-thoughts from all around the sleeping street flow through his mind. He liked this peaceful period between two and six in the morning when he could let his guard down.

He let his mind wander to Taehyung’s shy smile, his cute, panicky thought-conversations, his bright eyes and darkened gaze that burned through Jungkook’s soul, completely oblivious to how tenderly he was now gazing at the edge of the sidewalk, alone in semi-darkness.

~ We’re late, aren’t we? - We’re five minutes early. ~ Oh no, we’re early? - Ye- Wait, what? It’s okay to be early, right? ~ Oh. Yeah, okay-er I guess.

Jungkook fought the urge to smile. Taehyung was somewhere around the corner, excited, nervous, nervous, panicking, overjoyed, nervous.

~ What if he doesn’t turn up? - He would text us or something, right? ~ But what if he stands us up? - He wouldn’t. ~ How are we so sure? - …We’re not… ~ Well then, what if? - Then we go alone. ~ But we don’t wanna go alone… - That was the plan in the first place, remember? ~ But then we promised us we’d go with Angel. - Maybe he’ll come. If we can wait just one minute till we go around this corner- ~ We wanna meet Angel. - Jungkook. ~ That’s what I said. - We met him literally yesterday. ~ But we miss him! - Ugh. Dramatic.

Jungkook found himself smiling fondly. Taehyung had just mentally called himself dramatic and Jungkook wanted to squish his cheeks.

~ And we want to hold his pretty hand because it’s chilly out here. - Oh god, not this again. ~ Imagine him pulling us into his gorgeous arms… - Or, like, don’t. ~ …holding us so close… - No, stop right there, please. ~ …that we can hear his heart racing… - God, don’t tell me we fancy him liking us. ~ I wonder what he smells like… - What even. Okay, that’s it. We’re reaching in ten seconds. Stop. Blushing. Right. Now. ~ Well, at least that warmed us up…

Jungkook pressed his cold hands against his cheeks, trying to get them to cool down. Was he ever going to get used to Taehyung’s vivid fantasies? What did he smell like, come to think of it?

When Taehyung finally half-ran, half-stumbled round the corner, cheeks flushed, lips nervously bitten-red, breathless, drowning in a printed white button-down Jungkook was not ready.

“Hi,” Jungkook breathed, leaning off the tree, telling himself to get a grip as he picked up his bag and walked towards where Taehyung had stumbled to a halt, frozen, lips parted, his gazing raking down from Jungkook’s body.

~ OhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhm- - Wait, he said something, didn’t he? ~ His waist is so fucking tiny, can we touch? - What the heck, no way, get a grip, Taehyung. + Imagine- - No, you goddamned potato, don’t you dare turn up and ‘Imagine’ us now. He said something, and we’re being RUDE! ~ Oh no, he’s going to hate us now, isn’t he? - Ye- No, just- Say something!

“T-thank you.”

- W H A T . ~ We said something. - Yes, but that’s not- forget it.

“Thanks for coming along,” Taehyung mumbled, blushing hard, gaze now fixed on Jungkook’s shoes.

Just being around a flustered Taehyung did things to Jungkook and his confidence. He walked slowly up to Taehyung, gently brushing a finger under his chin, urging him to look up and into Jungkook’s eyes.

“Thanks for letting me tag along,” Jungkook smiled, “I’ll try not to be too much of a bother.” God, why did his voice have to turn all weird and breathy around Taehyung? Also, how the heck was he supposed to survive those puppy eyes?

~ As if Angel could ever be a bother. (Too close, too close, too close, too cl-) - He could make a wonderful distraction, let’s be honest, but not a bother. (Don’t you dare step back. We’re not rude. We’re not scared.) ~ But it would be totally worth it. (Why is he so damn pretty? Unfair.) - True. (Stop whining.)

“So, where are we going?” Jungkook figured he might as well try the whole ‘normal conversation’ thing.

Taehyung brightened.

- We know this part. We can talk about this. ~ His eyes are so pretty…

“We take a bus-” Taehyung’s words were cut off when a bus rumbled round the corner and came to a halt before them.

- Timing… ~ Woohoo! First not-a-date with Angelkook! - … Angelkook?

Jungkook climbed onto the bus, trying so hard not to smile and blush and look like an idiot in general. Taehyung was seriously too adorable. Angelkook, huh… Jungkook decided he might just let himself find Taehyung a nickname too, if only for non-verbal purposes.

The bus was nearly empty, Jungkook noted, grateful, as he took a seat beside Taehyung.

“So. Where is this bus taking us?”

~ He’s so cuuute - Shut up and respond.

“We ride this bus for about twenty minutes,” Taehyung had that bright, child-like smile again, “reaching somewhere around the outskirts. Then we walk a little to one of my favourite places in the city. It’s a pretty place.”

~ “Not as pretty as you, though.” - Tell me we didn’t say that aloud. ~ We didn’t say that aloud. - Good. ~ What if he doesn’t like it? - Well, people usually don’t hate trees…

Jungkook willed himself not to laugh.

“When you say ‘outskirts’,” Jungkook decided he might as well try to get Taehyung more comfortable, “does that mean nature-y stuff?”

~ Does that mean he likes nature-y stuff, or…? - We can’t tell. His tone is too neutral.

“Yeah,” Taehyung shook his hair out of his eyes, and Jungkook swore it should be illegal to look so good while doing something that normal.

- Oh god, he’s staring. ~ Pretty… - He doesn’t like nature-y stuff, does he?

Jungkook forced his gaze down to his hands, heart racing. Why did everything have to be so damn intense around Taehyung?

"T-the weather is pretty clear,” Jungkook tried in vain to get his voice to sound less breathy, “You’ll get some amazing pictures! I’m glad I’m here with you.”

~ His voice… - Oh good. He does like nature-y stuff. Phew. ~ We want to hear that voice forever.

Forever, huh. Jungkook knew that Taehyung didn’t mean forever forever. He just meant for a relatively long period of time.

He watched Taehyung fidget with the zip of his bag, while his excitement, nervousness and a sort of warm, soft feeling drifted through Jungkook’s mind. He imagined Taehyung’s precious thoughts and feelings drifting through his mind many years from now.

God, why did he always have to get so caught up in these words?

Forever, huh. Jungkook sighed, forcing himself to lock that thought away at the far back of his mind. There was no forever.

~ Oh no, he’s too close! - Now we realize that? ~ We were busy. - With what? ~ Panicking. - And what are we doing now? ~ …panicking?

Jungkook tried so hard not to smile.

~ He’s almost smiling, ohmygod- - Don’t stare. ~ His hair looks so soft and messy and fluffy and- - Don’t you dare. ~ We’re touching his hair. - We’re NOT. ~ Oh chill, he didn’t mind last time, remember?

Jungkook felt his cheeks warm under Taehyung’s stare. Why was Taehyung so frustratingly adorable? Was he going to touch Jungkook’s hair again? Why did that feel like a wonderful idea?

- No. ~ Just a little bit? - …No? ~ That’s a yes.

Jungkook discovered that this wasn’t an adequate warning. His heart fluttered when Taehyung turned to face him and gently tucked a few stray strands of hair behind his ear. He could feel his face burning when Taehyung continued to gaze intently at his face.

Within a blink, Taehyung’s gaze changed from nervous and fascinated to something calmer, more focused, calculating, confident, reassured and a strange kind of powerful.

# Charcoal sketch on canvas? To emphasize the jawline? ~ What about his coral red lips? # Then how about water-colour? - Stop staring. # Shut up. ~ Shut up. Yes, water-colour. He looks so soft! - Ohmygod, he’s uncomfortable. Stop staring! # Yeah. Acrylics won’t capture this gentle, dawn lighting on his high cheekbones.

“U-um,” Jungkook could barely breathe.

There was a fourth voice? As if three wasn’t messing with him enough. And god, this thought-voice sounded so in control and Jungkook was so glad he was sitting down because his knees would buckle under a gaze of that intensity from Taehyung.

“T-Taehyung?”

Taehyung blinked, flickering back to normal for a second, “Yes?”

- Not “Yes?” you pathetic tomato. Apologize! ~ For what? - Are you serious right now? For staring, of course. ~ But we just glanced at him for literally a second? - We. Were. Staring.

"I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” Taehyung mumbled as he continued staring, “It’s just that you’re really p-”

- ABORT ABORT ABORT! ~ Why? - I- Just- Get a grip. ~ We can’t. We’re staring at him. - Then stop. Fucking. Staring. Damn it. # No, wait. Memorization in progress!

Taehyung tore his gaze away and buried his face in his hands, tips of his ears bright red, and looked out the window through the gaps between his fingers.

- We’re almost there. ~ Thank goodness.

“I’m so sorry about…y’know…staring,” Taehyung looked so flustered and Jungkook melted.

“I don’t mind,” Jungkook responded, honestly. Taehyung’s gaze had him struggling to remember how to breathe, but he hadn’t exactly disliked the feeling. He tried to ignore the way his ears were heating up, “Your eyes are beautiful,” Jungkook continued, “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind gazing into them every now and then either.”

Jungkook blinked.

What. Was he flirting again? Was he not capable of commenting about art being beautiful without it sounding like he was halfway in love?

No, wait. He wasn’t flirting perse, Jungkook reasoned after a pause. He was simply stating the truth.

~ OHMYGOD - Yes. ~ He said our eyes are beautiful - He did. ~ And that he wants to drown in them. - Well, technically- ~ Oh no, we’re going to die. - I mean, he just said he “wouldn’t mind”, so… ~ That’s basically code for “would love to” if we’re optimistic enough. - Well, we’re not. ~ We’re going to freak out and jump into a freezing lake, and then Angel might take pity and rescue us. - We’re just going to respond to him now.

“Thanks, Jungkook,” Taehyung breathed with a soft smile, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, “But you shouldn’t encourage my tendency to space out.”

“It’s cute,” Jungkook mumbled quietly when he was sure Taehyung wasn't listening.

~ And after he rescues us, he’d take us home and lend us some clothes OHMYGOD - Shut up. We get down at the next stop, right? ~ OHMYGOD imagine Jungkook lending us one of his super-comfy looking hoodies that make him look so cute we can’t breathe. - We can never breathe around him anyway, so I doubt it makes a difference. ~ We’re so going to die. - No, we’re going to calmly, I repeat, calmly get off the bus and act normal around Angelkook.

“We get down here,” Taehyung picked up his bag, making it a point not to look at Jungkook at all, and Jungkook followed him off the bus, pretending not to notice the pink tips of Taehyung’s ears.

 Jungkook followed Taehyung through a thick grove of firs, dodging low branches, sidestepping undergrowth, trying to blur out Taehyung’s panic so he could think.

Great. So now there was a fourth thought-voice?

There was the usual ‘focus, get stuff done’ voice and the adorable, flustered voice. Then there was that confident sexy voice that would be the death of him. And now, there seemed to be some sort of an intense, confident artist voice.

Photography meant that there would probably be at least a background presence of this confident artist thought-voice throughout the day, right? How was he ever going to survive this?

“So, this is it,” Taehyung’s hesitant voice snapped Jungkook out of his thoughts.

Jungkook stepped out of the grove and into a clearing, feeling like he had stepped into a faerytale.

The sky was a blushing mauve, reflecting in a shimmering lake that stretched out into the distance, disappearing into hazy mist. Wild grass lined the edge of the lake, spreading across the broad strip of land between the water and the line of tall firs, punctuated with wild lavender and tiny yellow and white blossoms, all covered in dewdrops.

About thirty feet from where they stood, a large tree like an oak, ancient, branches reaching out everywhere, creating a dome underneath. Strange white flowers, about as large as the palm of a hand, trembled in the wind on every branch.

It was all so frighteningly, overwhelmingly beautiful and Jungkook could only gaze in wide-eyed wonder.

# Now click a picture of him. NOW.

Click!

Jungkook froze.

- What the- It’s NOT okay to take pictures of people without asking them. We’ve discussed this! ~ But he looked so… # The framing was perfect. Should we have asked him at the cost of losing the moment forever? - Well, no, but- # Chill. We’ll delete it if he wants us to. ~ He looks so perfect here. - We should tell him… ~ You’re right, he looks perfect always, but Angel looks like he belongs here… # Surreal perfection. We might use dry acrylics for highlights on this one… - First of all, we’re telling him.

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook turned to Taehyung, the way his wind-tousled grey hair looked silvery in the soft light. His breath caught at the way Taehyung stood, relaxed, reassured, camera resting in his hands like it belonged there, chin raised, eyes bright, if slightly nervous.

So this was what came with the artist thought-voice. Jungkook drew in a shuddering breath, willing his own voice to stay steady.

- He’s looking here. Now tell him! # But that flower over there- - That flower is going to be there a minute later. # The lighting is going to change. - But-

Click!

- For heaven’s sake- ~ Talk now, we can’t survive this stare. - That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for, like, forever. ~ Talk-

“Hey, u-um-”

Jungkook couldn’t help but smile. Stammering Taehyung was too precious.

~ He’s smiling, and we have forgotten everything. - Are you fucking serious? # Hurry up! There’s a pretty shadow we need to click.

“Can I see?” Jungkook decided he might as well make it easier for Taehyung, “That picture you clicked of me, can I see it?”

“Sure, let me j- Wait, no, freeze. Don’t move your head. Or your hands.”

Jungkook froze, forcing himself not to react to the exasperation, the fangirling, the focused passion that filtered into his mind from Taehyung’s.

Click!

Taehyung jogged over to him, opening out the display to show Jungkook the photographs. Jungkook managed to not choke on his own breath.

It was a picture of Jungkook, well, spacing out, but with the tree and the mist and the wind, Taehyung managed to make him look ethereal. Angelic. Jungkook blinked. Was this what Taehyung saw when he looked at Jungkook? Because this photograph over here was art, and what Jungkook saw in every annoying mirror was very… different.

“I’m really sorry,” Taehyung shuffled his feet, “about not asking you before clicking this. And the other one too.”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook could hardly believe he was doing this but, “would you like me to be your personal model for the day?”

Jungkook flinched. He had definitely not meant it to sound so goddamn coy and flirtatious. The way his eyes had flickered down mid-sentence to how Taehyung subconsciously bit his lip had not helped. The way his fingers brushed over Taehyung’s as he handed the camera back had made it worse.

Taehyung didn’t step back. Even as his cheeks flushed a bright red, something in his eyes stayed steady, focused, as if looking beyond Jungkook as a person and at what Jungkook could be as a part of his work of art.

~ Aaaaahhhh! Angelkook is asking us if we want him to be ours! - Will you stop yelling? He asked us if we want him to be our model for the pictures. # Of course we do. He’s perfect. ~ That’s what I always say. Perfect. - I mean, I never particularly disagreed, so… ~ Oh look, he’s blushing! # Click a picture. Background tree in the right one-third, pink clouds in the background.

Click!

- Now talk to him. ~ Beg him desperately to be our model. - No, you dumb spinach. Accept his offer calmly.

“You’d do that?” Taehyung’s whole face lit up with innocent excitement, “You’re offering to let me click pictures of you all day? Really?”

“I mean,” Jungkook felt all warm and fuzzy in his chest, “if you want to.”

Taehyung tilted his head to the side and let his gaze, calm and intense, rake slowly down Jungkook’s body.

# Yep. He’s the perfect model for our usual themes and style. ~ How is he so fucking perfect? It’s annoying. - Distracting. + We want to drop to our knees and suck him off. - We’re NOT getting turned on right now. # We want to build a nude life-size sculpture, then drop to our knees to worship him. + That’s what I said. Imagine- - Don’t.

Jungkook was burning up. So Taehyung wanted, at some level, to suck Jungkook off. Great. Fine. Not something to ponder over right now. Breathe.

He tilted his own head to the same side to catch Taehyung’s eye, trying so hard not to imagine Taehyung on his knees before Jungkook, lips red and parted for him. He closed his eyes for a second, to fucking get a grip, damn it.

“Of course, I’d love that!” Taehyung looked like he was about two seconds from jumping up and down in either joyful excitement or nervous panic, “But, like, are you sure? I’m going to be asking you to freeze mid-sentence or mid-step, or go sit on some random rock and face the blinding sun for many minutes, and basically order you around. Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

Jungkook bit his lip. Being ordered around by Taehyung sounded…not exactly terrible. Especially right now, when Taehyung’s voice was lower even though his tone was light and cheery, his eyes were dark, pupils visibly blown even in the low light, and burning into Jungkook’s, expectant.

“That’s fine,” Jungkook breathed, noting the exact moment when Taehyung realized he had been staring at Jungkook for a good while now, huffing out a quiet laugh as the voices in Taehyung’s head panicked over how Jungkook was staring at ‘them’. Taehyung looked beautiful, colour high on his cheeks, his shirt hanging slightly off his slender frame, revealing his pale neck and prominent collar bones, now fidgeting with the strap of his camera. Jungkook simply couldn’t look away, “I might even enjoy it.”

Jungkook mentally slapped himself. Why did that have to sound so damn suggestive? He only meant to say that he might enjoy this whole photoshoot thing with Taehyung. Not that he might enjoy being ordered around by Taehyung. Although to be fair, that didn’t sound terrible either, especially with the way Taehyung was looking at him again.

~ He said he might enjoy us ordering him around. What do we do with this information? + Save it for the bedroom. - Wha- Just shut up. He just meant he might enjoy hanging out today. None of that.

“Taehyung?” Jungkook pointed towards the far end of the lake where a faint red outline of a sphere was peeking through the morning mist, “Over there.”

Taehyung swore under his breath. Jungkook watched, mildly amused, as Taehyung dashed around, clicking pictures of the rising sun from between branches of the tree or lying down to get a good frame with a few blades of wild grass. Jungkook decided he might as well lay down on the grass, resting his head on their bags, and watched him work, letting Taehyung’s focus and passion flow through his own mind.

The horizon burned a mellow red as the sky lightened, and a soft golden light lit up Taehyung’s focused gaze, his beautiful hands, and Jungkook couldn’t help but gaze at him in awe. The way Taehyung moved, fluid, graceful, through the wild grass, the innocent thrill in his eyes, softly smiling as he pulled off his shoes and socks, the little jump and surprised laughter when he stepped into the freezing water, all left Jungkook feeling like he could stay here forever, with the quiet magic of the place and with Taehyung. He felt himself sink into the soft, sun-warmed grass, eye-lids a little heavy.

# Move a little to the side. Now click.

Click!

# Mmm, not what we imagined. Maybe try sitting down… ~ Food? # Later, promise. # Look, the sun is all glaringly shiny now. # We need to check the flowers now. ~ Pretty… # Change camera setting to m- # Ohmygod, hush. Tiptoe. Click.

Click!

- QUIET. # Come on, come on, hurry!

Click!

Jungkook’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the camera shutter directly above his face.

Click!

Jungkook registered Taehyung kneeling over him, knees on either side on Jungkook’s waist. Taehyung had one eye shut, the other at the viewfinder, and the rectangular smile that lit up like sunshine on fresh snow made his heart clench.

Click!

“I wasn’t expecting you to click pictures of me sleeping already,” Jungkook laughed, lifting himself up on his elbows to get a stray twig out of Taehyung’s silvery hair.

Click!

“Look, you’re insanely pretty,” Taehyung mumbled, still on top of Jungkook, still smiling wide, still clicking away. Jungkook could think of one thought-voice who would be so mad at dialogue, “and you have granted me explicit permission to click pictures of you all day long.”

Jungkook burst into laughter, ears burning, heart racing. God, how was he going to survive the day?

~ OHMYGOD we just called him pretty. - You’ve got to be kidding me. ~ But it’s true! Look- # Stop staring. Get back here.

Click!

Jungkook lay back down, still laughing, blushing, and covered his eyes with the back of his hand.

Click!

“And if you think I’m not going to take full advantage of that, you’re…” Taehyung brought his camera down with a soft, satisfied laugh. Jungkook wanted to override his own thought filters, just to ruffle Taehyung’s windblown hair, “Well, you’re still insanely pretty.”

Click!

# Did we get the Moment of Flusterment? - How are we even doing this. # We do just about anything for art, remember? ~ Food.

Taehyung got off Jungkook to check his recent photos and Jungkook reluctantly got to his feet, dusting himself off.

# Yep. We got it! + Damn, we’d love to tap that ass too. - For heaven’s sake, he’s literally just dusting his pants off. ~ Can we eat now?

Jungkook’s entire face was tingling. Why did the prettiest person on earth have to call him pretty out loud twice before breakfast? Would he even survive until noon?

“So,” Jungkook asked as Taehyung picked up his bag, “Where next?”

“Breakfast?” Taehyung responded, heading towards the gap in the line of trees from where they had come in, “if you’re hungry.”

~ Please be hungry. # If he isn’t, we still have to go there click pictures with Bamboo. - It’s been a long while since we’ve been there… ~ OHMYGOD ANGELKOOK WITH PUPPY OH NO. - …fuck, that’s attractive. ~ WE’RE GOING TO DIE. - Fun.

“Starving,” Jungkook sighed.

He tried to convince himself that his heart hadn’t skipped a beat at Taehyung’s bright, relieved laughter.

- - -

REQUESTS OPEN! for Taekook drabbles - Picture Prompts

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Local Teen fed up with Friends' Shit, Local Friends Having a Spat, Local Friends Fight a Ghost Instead of Each Other, Local Team of Youths Perform Exorcism

When Danny got to school, his friends were bickering, walking down the halls to their lockers stuck in a cyclical argument.   “This school needs change and I’m going to make sure it happens!”

“Nobody wants this but you and your vegans!”

“It’s healthier for you, better for wildlife and livestock and does less damage to the environment!”

“People literally need meat products in order to live, what about them?”

“There are supplements that can stand in for meat without slaughtering innocent animals that have no choice in whether they get murdered to feed us!”

“Just like you’re giving us no choice in our alternatives?”

Danny couldn’t stand it anymore and got between them both.   “Estrellas arriba, shut up! Go to class! No one wants to hear this screeching in the halls!”  Tucker and Sam both stared at him wide-eyed and red-faced but Danny was already pushing Tucker away since Sam was usually immovable.   “I can’t believe you guys.  You’re both so clever - how can someone so clever be so stupid?  How do you spend a week arguing over a temporary change that’ll never take hold?”  Sure, Danny’s angry ranting in Spanish may have been getting him stares but that’s what his hoodie was for and he was too annoyed to care.  Once they were in class, Danny went quiet and pulled out his sketch pad to lose himself in drawing whatever first came to mind. Hydra, the largest constellation in the sky, soon decorated the page until class actually started.

As the day progressed Danny shot out an argument on both sides and pulled his friends away from each other when they started yelling, determined not to deal with their bullshit more than needed.  By the end of the day he’d had to come up with several new star-based swears because regular cussing didn’t cut it anymore. “Gods, I can hardly get to lunch without a Denobola shouting contest! You two deal with this without me!”  Heading outside to eat his packed lunch in peace, Danny took solace in his last period being one without his friends. Who knew my least favorite class would be my only peaceful one?  Those two better be done with this soon.

A cow float, a stage, a ‘meat on a stick’ stand, kids in steak and hot dog costumes, a guy with a grill that couldn’t possibly be legal to just put on school property, and a sign that read “United we eat meat.”  These were the first things Danny saw when he got to school. Then he looked over at the other side of the schoolyard. A replica of the Mystery Machine, the biggest fake sunflower he’d ever seen in his life, and yet another stage were set up with people that Danny could only identify as hippies surrounding that stage with picket signs with “It’s easy being green,” and “Tofu for you” written on them.

“Literally, how?”  Danny groaned as his friends both approached him, looking furiously determined and holding megaphones.  He could feel the cold burn of his eyes flashing brilliant green once they were both in front of him. “Seriously, how did you even get this done!  I know there aren’t that many vegans here at the school who could’ve helped with this Sam, so how’d you get it done?”

Sam rolled her eyes at him, arms crossed.  “I paid some people to help us set up the stage on time, so what?”

“…How much money do your parents make that you ca-”

“So you’re a capitalist?”  Danny was not going to punch his friend for interrupting him, that’d be counter-productive right now.  Even if Tucker’s screeching in his ear nearly made that ear bleed. “You have the money and privilege to chose not to eat meat and you go and condemn the poor people who have to work their asses off to make ends meet and who literally need meat to live?”

“Enough!”  Danny put a hand over both of their mouths.  “Sam: you’re right, eating meat is bad for animals cause they die.  You’re also disregarding the struggles of the poor and forcing your choices on the rest of the school like your parents do to you and like they do to everyone else through money and political power.  And you.”  Danny whirled around and pointed his finger in Tucker’s face.  “This is going to ridiculous extremes. How did you even do this?  Don’t answer that, I don’t wanna know. This is only a week-long change, you know that.  Parents would’ve complained to the school about their kids being forced into someone else’s diets and the school would never do this again.  More importantly!”

Shiver, mist.  The sky darkened, the wind whipped up, and Danny swore he could hear cackling from everywhere.  He looked over at the truck that Tucker had brought in and grabbed his best friend’s shoulder. “I’m going to punch you later for bringing a stars damned meat truck when we’re fighting a ghost who’s obsessed with meat.”

“That was my b,” Tucker admitted meekly.  As the meat ripped out of the truck and flew through the air, Tucker and Sam slipped their wrist rays on and Danny ran to and slid under Tucker’s stage.  The sound of something huge hitting the ground shook it, and Danny reached inside of himself. That humming ball of cold and void and out of reach stars, he plunged into it, and light washed over his body.  The world changed, colors turning vivid and bright, strange colors he had no names for other than non-visible light raced into his eyes. The shadows were no longer black but silvery grey, the vast emptiness between molten starmetal and the blazing suns.  Sounds and smells and sensations hit him that were all too alien to process. He reeled, nearly dropping the form. But he had something to do, he had a job to do.

Danny phased into the ground and popped up in front of the meat monster.  It towered over him, so large Danny could barely see anything else. A check of his wrist showed that his ray was now pretty much melded into his hazmat.  “Weird, question later, ass kick now.” 

Tucker was shouting at the rest of the students, his wristray aimed at Agatha but attention on the crowd.  “MOVE, GET OUT OF HERE!” Sam grabbed onto Tucker to try and pull him out of the way of an oncoming meat fist but one of the vegans sprinting away knocked her into him and they both went flying onto the grass.  A snarl on his lips, Danny charged forward. He lashed out with his foot to the… head, he supposed, of the meat, and it staggered backward away from the student body. She swung at him with a hand that moved faster than he’d anticipated, and Danny went flying. The world faded into unreality and he passed through what he vaguely knew were trees and the ground before stopping and righting himself. He flew under the ground, legs merging into a tail - also to freak out over later - and he zoomed. He emerged right under her and missed his uppercut as she stumbled backward from the rays that Sam and Tucker fired.  Another fist grabbed him and Danny was slammed into the ground.

After a failed kick to the hand, Danny concentrated on his wrist ray and lined up the trigger that was sitting comfortably under his glove.  Pull and - Agatha screamed from within her monster host, and Danny flew free. His ray was clearly bigger than the others, but he also felt drained.  “Reserve for bigger fights.”

Danny weaved around her next few blows, kicking and punching the construct of processed meat backward away from the fleeing students and his friends.  Flying in circles to orbit the monster, Danny picked up speed and slammed his foot into the head of the meat pile and it toppled to the ground.

Danny took a moment to breathe, glad to find he could if he didn’t think too hard about it.  A fist came into view and Danny went soaring up and up and up. He saw a plane fast approaching and moved into that safe spot between the world and everything else.  He passed through the plane like it was a thin cloud of smoke before managing to stop. Then he dove, turning solid again when Agatha was in sight from within her meat construction.  “Not a lot of mass but anything with this kind of velocity should do the job.”

BOOM

In the center of the crater, at least as deep as Danny was tall and twice as wide, a splatter of green pulled itself back together into a black and white-suited Danny Phantom, blue skin bruised a sickly purple-black where his cheek had impacted the ground.  Picking himself up, the teen rolled his shoulder until it ached a bit less and saw Agatha there, staring at him. “Oh dearie, are you ok?”

“Surprisingly.”  Danny rolled his neck. When he focused in on Agatha - he really could just see everything couldn’t he? - her face was warped and stretched larger than the rest of her.

“Tough!  You being ok isn’t part of my balanced breakfast of death!”

Smaller chunks of meat came together into constructs about three-quarters of Danny’s size, five of them in total, and they grinned at him.  This was when Sam and Tucker caught up with everything, apparently. Danny spun, heel tearing through the creatures like a knife, and landed to see Agatha being pushed back by Sam and Tuck’s wrist rays.  “Fuck yeah!”

Danny’s celebration was cut short by his grasp on that deathly cold void slipping in the excitement, light washing over him with the warmth of being alive again.  “This is inconvenient.” The meat monsters grabbed onto Danny’s limbs, reminding him that they were mere extensions of Agatha’s will. “This is even less convenient, how about no?”

As Danny was dragged through the air, something smacked him in the face.  Catching it before it could fall out of reach, Danny felt a minor bloom of relief.  “The Thermos! Maybe I can get it to work!” Seeing his family below, Danny hoped to all the stars in the sky that he was just going for a ride.

The ride stopped.  Danny was dropped. A scream flew from his lungs, and Danny reached deeper, desperately grasping, to pull himself into the chill of the grave.  The abyss met his call at the same time that his family looked up at the blur fast approaching. “Thanks for the thermos!” He shouted as he dove into the ground.  Not waiting to see how that was handled he resurfaced to find Sam and Tucker bound in mounds of meat. “Work. Please work.” Danny aimed the thermos, poured his own cold  heat shadows into the thing, and hit the button.  A flash of blue light, a scream of defiance, and he capped the thermos. Gravity and heat washed over him again and Danny let out a sigh of relief, running over to pull Sam and Tucker out of the meat piles. “You guys ok?”

“I have meat and blood everywhere and I was nearly crushed to death.”  Sam shuddered, even as Danny phased everything off of her.  “I am the very definition of not ok.”

“My nightmares are scarred for life after that. That was freaky. What do we do with her?”  Tucker’s voice sounded more robotic than Danny liked, he’d have to do something to help him back to normal.

Before Danny could answer that he heard footsteps and turned the thermos invisible.  As he thought, his parents thundered toward him with the Ghost Finder in hand. “Just missed em, guys.”  Danny pointed behind him and was relieved when his mom and dad jogged off after a nonexistent ectosignature.  “Well, that was a shitty start to the day. We should go inside before someone makes something out of the crater here.”  Danny, Tucker, and Sam all headed off to the nearest entrance to the school, thoughts going south. “What if the security cameras caught all that?”

“Oh, no, that you don’t have to worry about,” Tucker said.  “I’m all over that in like, a couple of hours tops.”

“Good.”  Danny waited until they’d gotten to their lockers, and stuffed the thermos into his bag before punching Tucker in the arm.  “That is for bringing a stars damned meat truck when there was a food-obsessed ghost flying around!”

“Alright, yeah, that was stupid of me.”  Tucker nodded. “I shouldn’t have done that.  But uh, we all agreed not to do stuff that affects literally everyone without consulting each other?”  Tucker and Danny both looked to Sam, who glared at them heatlessly.

The goth sighed and leaned heavily on Danny.  “Alright, fine, ask people what they want first.  Lesson learned. Can we talk about what we’re gonna do with Agatha though?”

“Well, I don’t think she’s a mindless monster or anything,” Danny started slowly as they walked toward their homeroom.   “I think we can reason with her. Show her that change can be a good thing when it’s done right.”

“Alright, we can do that once we’re sure she’s not gonna try and kill us though, right?  Tucker tried to go for a neutral, slightly teasing tone but Danny could hear - could feel a shakiness to him.  “We are meat if you didn’t notice Danny, and I don’t know if her control over food extends to a cannibal’s diet.  I don’t wanna find out.”

“I’m horrified and grossed out,” Sam groaned.  “I’m all for not getting cannibalized. That’s the wrong kind of macabre for me.”

Danny shook his head, made some crack about how bad either of them might taste, and promised to let Agatha cool down before releasing her.  “Now, Sam, about how you’re using your money to muscle people around.” Danny groaned as loudly as he could and Tucker waved him off anyway.  “No no, she’s an activist and all that shit, she knows how capitalism effects the working class and the attitude that people can just get by without animal products..”  Danny pushed both of hs friends forward while this conversation happened. It was going to be a long day.

That cooldown time happened to be the amount of time it took for the veggie week thing to run its course and be done with.  The school was cleaned, though all the vegan students who’d showed up for the rally were questioned about any kind of explosives they may have tried to sabotage the meat truck with and the news settled in on a gas line story.  Saturday arrived, and the trio all met up in the park. Away from all the dog walkers, readers and normal people having fun outside, Danny Tucker and Sam stood in a small clearing of trees, a few chipmunks shifting around above their heads and in the bushes.

“Tuck, you got the reports?”

“Roger.  Sam, got your wrist ray ready?”

“Of course.  Danny, remind me to tell your parents they’re awesome for making most of their stuff solar powered.”

“They hadn’t figured out how to tap the afterlife for energy yet, it’s the most efficient thing we got.”  Danny shrugged. He pulled out the thermos, which hummed beneath his fingers with the contained energy of Agatha inside.  Sam and Tucker couldn't feel it, so he chalked that up to another ghost thing. “Alright, Agatha, if you’re ready to talk to us, I’m gonna let you out now.”  The thermos offered no response. Danny opened it anyway.

The bark on the trees darkened, the leaves turning grey and the branches and bushes rustling as birds and squirrels left in a hurry.  The air turned colder and sharper, and the sunlight dimmed as green spilled out of the thermos and stained the air. Agatha took shape quickly, though her glow was dimmer than it had been before.  Her eyes raked across all three of them and narrowed. “Well, children? You kept rambling on and on about talking whenever I tried to get out. What’s so important that you didn’t put me back in the Ethereal Plane?”

Tucking the name of the other side in the back of his mind, Danny offered his best-placating smile.  It disarmed most teachers back when he wasn’t having as many problems, he was hoping it’d work here too.  “Agatha, hi. I’m Danny, this is Tucker and Sam. I feel like we got off on the worst foot before, what with you trying to kill us and all.”  Tucker elbowed him in the ribs and Danny shoved him back. The buzzing in the air grew louder, his skin tingled, and some small part of his brain kept screaming to shoot, to run, to do anything that could get this thing that did not belong away from him.  “So, I understand why you were angry.”

“You, Sam, changed the menu to just one food group!”  Agatha’s voice was rising to those terrible echoes in the mind, and the tiny voice got louder.  Still it was ignored.

“I understand now that it was probably a bad idea.  No one’s been going to the line in the cafeteria all week except fellow vegans,” Sam grumbled.  “Still though, some change needed to happen. The cafeteria wasn’t giving us any healthy foods!” Sam was a good actress when it came to her voice. She sounded unafraid, ready to argue for hours.  Danny could feel something off though.

“And healthy diets aren’t exactly easy to come by if you don’t put a lot of effort into it nowadays.”  Tucker held out a sheaf of papers. “This, Miss Reece, is a report on the various health crises around the country because of the food they’re feeding us.”  The papers were taken and Tucker let out as subtle a breath as possible. “I don’t agree with changing the menu to just one food group, no one in their right mind would.  But I think we should still change things up. Is there any way you can help us do that?”

There was a long beat of quiet, where all that Danny could hear was the sizzle of patties on a grill, the crunch of lettuce being pulled apart, the chopping of a knife on a cutting board the came with Agatha’s presence.  It was in the background of everything unless he focused. It was still there though, and it was so distracting with everything else happening. Agatha read, frown deepening as she did before she handed the reports on obesity and diabetes increasing in children of their ages and lower back to Tucker.  “Alright,” she started, then stopped. A superfluous breath. She looked to Danny. “Well, I suppose that I was a tad extreme about everything. How about this?” She held out her hand, and above her glove, the green light that seemed to shine in all directions from her coalesced into the form of a burger.   “I’m not sure they’ll accept me in the school kitchens again but I’m certainly able to make a meal for everyone.”

“That’s amazing!”  Tucker crowed. “I’ve already sent a few texts and set up some online polls to find out what most people actually want out of their lunch, maybe you can help us with finding ingredients around Amity?  Do you have a food sense?”

“Even if they don’t let you into the school’s kitchen you could still probably find a soup kitchen that’d definitely let you in,” Sam offered.  “If you can create food from basically nothing, then I see no reason for them to turn you away.”

“Plus, since ectoplasm draws energy from heat and electricity, you can probably just relax in the sun and be able to pull out a full course meal.”  Danny took in his friends’ curious looks and scratched the back of his neck. “My parents are the world’s best ghost scientists. I just asked them.”

“I’ll certainly look into that soup kitchen idea dearies,” Agatha said with a bright smile on her face.  “For now though, I should be getting back to the Astral Plane. Sunlight is a nice substitute but after all that fighting I need a quick break.”

“I can get you back there without my parents noticing,” Danny offered.

“I only need to be invisible for that, dear,”  Agatha assured them and faded out of sight. The chill and fading of the clearing dissipated, and Tucker and Sam relaxed visibly.

“Well,” Danny said as he pulled his notebook out of his bag.  “That’s one ghost down.” He hoped it wouldn’t be too many till he convinced his parents.

Ao3

[auberginesdonthavelimbs]

Phanniemay Day 22: Memories

Word count: 3432

TW for brief discussion of a minor injury, extensive discussion of grief and of problems with memory

(This is a sequel to Grave. You don’t have to read that to understand this, but it does provide some context. part 3 here.) 

Vlad was walking with purpose. He would have preferred to be flying, of course, but he never had gotten the hang of flying inside these rotating habitats. The sudden shift in the gravity he was experiencing, and in his perception of the ground below from stationary to moving, always left him disoriented. And flying disoriented in such close quarters was just asking for trouble. So he stuck with walking, at least until the habitats got big enough that it would be a non-issue. There were already designs, of course, several of which he himself had worked on, but there were other infrastructure priorities at the moment.

The reason that Vlad was walking purposefully was that he had just had a disconcerting conversation with Daniel’s housemate, Rishid. They had come to him because they were worried about Daniel, and they hoped Vlad could help since he was also a half ghost, and Daniel’s oldest friend. That last comment surprised Vlad more than anything. He spoke with Daniel maybe a handful of times in a decade, and half of those times were work-related. Vlad had assumed Daniel hardly thought of him, let alone talked about him, let alone called him a friend. But, evidently, he did, and it was enough to convince Rishid that Vlad was the person to turn to in a crisis. Well, Vlad hoped this wasn’t a crisis, per se, but a difficult time, at least.

Honestly, Vlad wasn’t sure what, precisely, he was walking into. Rishid said they’d rather let Daniel explain, himself. All they really said was that he was upset and crying. No surprise there, Vlad thought - Daniel was an emotional man. A small, sad smile played across Vlad’s lips as he remembered that there had been a time when Daniel would seek Vlad out when he was in distress, and he would cry into his shoulder, sometimes for hours. Vlad cherished those memories, faint though they were, muddied by the intervening centuries. More than half a millennium, Vlad realized with a pang. It felt like longer. It felt like no time at all.

Vlad stopped. 7116, this was Daniel’s house. Vlad had known the address ever since Daniel had moved here, but he had never actually visited. He’d meant to bring a housewarming present, but then enough time passed that it would have been strange, and he hadn’t found another excuse to visit. Until now. His hand hovered in front of the screen for far too long.

What was he doing here? There was no way that Daniel would want to talk to him, especially right now. He didn’t even want to talk to him when everything was going well. Vlad had let himself get sentimental. Whatever Rishid thought, he and Daniel weren’t friends anymore, not really. Though it pained him to admit it, Daniel was almost certainly closer to his housemate, whom he had known less than two decades and who would be dead in another eight or nine at the most, than he was to Vlad. And, though Daniel continued to foolishly insist on spending most of his time with humans, he had other ghost friends, too, who would be more qualified to help him if his problem was somehow ghost-related.

But … Rishid’s words echoed in his mind. You’re his oldest friend. You know him better than anyone. What could Daniel have said to make them think that? You can help him. Vlad didn’t know whether that was true, but he desperately wanted it to be. He wanted to be there for Daniel. He wanted to be the reason that he stopped crying.

Vlad could feel that thing with feathers perching in his soul, and he knew he was setting himself up for disappointment and pain. He knew it would hurt to be rejected all over again, to relive all those decades of drifting apart in a single, brutal instant. But he couldn’t help himself. If there was any chance of repairing his relationship with Daniel, he had to take it. And, even if this day had no impact at all on their relationship in the long term, what kind of a friend would he be if he didn’t even try to help Daniel out of a crisis just because he was afraid of his own feelings getting hurt? Certainly not the kind of friend that Rishid thought he was, that Daniel had apparently described him as.

Vlad placed his palm on the screen beside the door, waiting the requisite moment for the AI to scan it, pull his identity from the database, and announce his presence to the occupants of the house. Then he put his hand back by his side and waited. It was up to Daniel, now, to decide how this would go.

Vlad considered turning around and walking away at least five distinct times in the minute it took Daniel to respond. The response, when it came, was not in the form that Vlad had expected. He thought Daniel would ask him what he was doing here, or how he dared to presume that this was in any way appropriate, or at least to tell him to fuck off. Instead, the only response was the door opening (well, technically it hadn’t moved, only become temporarily intangible). Vlad hesitated another moment and then stepped inside.

He was unsurprised to find that the house was extensively decorated with art and memorabilia from the past few centuries. On the wall to his right, two large picture frames hung side-by-side, one showing a book cover and the other a movie poster. They shifted simultaneously to show a different cover and poster, respectively. Vlad didn’t recognize any of the titles. To the left was a shelf covered in models, and Vlad realized after a moment that they were all projects that Daniel had worked on in some way, including the first prototype rotating space habitat and a satellite which was currently in orbit around the Sun, gathering data and making predictions about solar storms.

Most of the decorations had some connection to science or science fiction, except for one - a landscape painting that dominated the far wall. Though Vlad could not remember having seen the painting before, he knew immediately who the artist was, and why it had such a prominent position. Vlad shook his head. “When will you let go of her?” he whispered to the empty room.

He was pulled out of his momentary revery by the sound of someone upstairs blowing their nose. Vlad reminded himself as he ascended the stairs not to be so judgemental with Daniel. That was exactly what had ruined their relationship the first time. If Daniel didn’t want his advice, then he wouldn’t give it, no matter how right he was.

As he got closer, he could hear Daniel taking shuddering, gasping breaths. It was obvious that he had very recently been crying very hard, and was trying to get himself under control before Vlad walked in. Vlad was upset by the thought that Daniel might be ashamed to cry in front of him, after everything they had been through, but he reassured himself with the fact that Daniel would find it very difficult to talk about his feelings while he was sobbing uncontrollably.

There was no screen beside the bedroom door, so Vlad had little guidance on the protocol for this situation. Should he just walk in? That seemed rude. Was he supposed to knock? That seemed redundant - Daniel had certainly already sensed his presence. Vlad had hoped that Daniel might invite him in, but, evidently, he was going to need to take initiative here. He reached a hand out. It passed through the door unfettered. Vlad took another moment to gather himself before stepping through. And then Vlad was in Daniel’s bedroom, for the first time since before Daniel had stopped aging. And there he was, sitting cross-legged on his bed, eyes wet. The sense of familiarity was almost dizzying, though Vlad couldn’t place the exact time or context of the occasion he was reminded of.

Vlad had absolutely no idea what to say, or do. He stood in front of the door in silence while Daniel stared at him, his breath coming more and more regularly. Vlad noticed belatedly that the bed - indeed, the entire room - was covered in papers. Genuine, old-fashioned, wood-pulp papers, most crumpled up, all with some markings on them. Some were covered in text, some had rough sketches of people or places. It seemed that most of the crumpled papers had only a few words or strokes upon them. Vlad turned his attention back to Daniel. Though his posture seemed superficially relaxed, his right hand was gripped so tightly around the ink pen it held that his knuckles were white, and his entire right arm was shaking slightly.

Vlad took a small, cautious step forward. Daniel didn’t react. He took another step, and then another. The room wasn’t large. If he moved forward any more, his shins would be pressed against the side of the bed.

“Daniel,” he began, but he didn’t know how to continue.

“Vlad.” Daniel’s voice was even, and his face hardly moved. Whatever his feelings were about Vlad being here, he was obviously putting some effort into keeping them hidden. Or else, he was entirely unaffected. Vlad’s eyes drifted back toward the pen in the shaking hand. He could easily pick up any of the papers, or even just read some of those that were clearly visible from where he was standing. But, despite their visibility, Vlad knew intuitively that what was on them was meant to be private, and that reading them would be overstepping his bounds. So instead he gestured to the pages and asked,

“What are all of these?” Daniel looked around. By his expression, Vlad half expected him to say, ‘oh, hey, I hadn’t noticed those,’ but, thankfully, he apparently decided not to be quite that difficult.

“I’m writing … a memoir, of sorts.” Ah, that did explain things. Unsure what reaction it might provoke, Vlad started picking up papers to clear a space on the bed. He still didn’t read any of them, but he could see the pictures on several. Daniel’s childhood home. His high school. His parents. Samantha. Vlad thought of the landscape painting in the sitting room, and reminded himself, again, not to criticize or offer unwanted advice.

When he had uncovered enough of the surface area of the bed, Vlad placed the papers in his hands carefully to the side, then crawled onto the bed with as much dignity as could be expected. He sat cross-legged directly in front of Daniel, trying to mirror his posture. When he spoke, he did so carefully, keeping his tone as even as possible. Daniel would project his own emotions onto the words, and he would tell Vlad more with his reaction than he would be willing to say explicitly. Of course, Vlad already had a strong suspicion of what his reaction would be.

“You’re having trouble remembering the past, and your human family in particular.” It wasn’t a question, and Daniel didn’t answer it like one. Instead, he screwed his eyes shut against the tears that suddenly threatened to spill over. The pen in his hand snapped, and Vlad realized that the tension in Daniel’s hand and arm hadn’t been because of the force with which he was gripping the pen, but rather because he had been straining to keep himself from breaking it.

Daniel didn’t unclench his fist, and Vlad saw a drop of blood leak from between his fingers. He moved blindingly fast, grabbing Daniel’s fist and turning it intangible. The pen, along with several more drops of blood and ink, fell onto the bed. Vlad tried to uncurl Daniel’s fingers, but he met enough resistance that he was afraid of causing more damage if he forced them.

“Daniel, open your hand.” Vlad was surprised when Daniel immediately complied, though the rest of his body remained motionless. Vlad carefully touched his fingertips to the damaged skin. His hand, and then Daniel’s, glowed for a moment with a soft blue light. As Vlad channeled healing energy into it, the small wound closed over, leaving nothing but smooth skin in its place. Satisfied, Vlad drew back.

Daniel put both of his hands in his lap, twining his fingers together. After another moment, he relaxed his face, letting the tears flow freely, though he kept his eyes closed. He let out a breath that he had apparently been holding. For a minute, it was silent but for the sounds of both men breathing slowly. Daniel was the first to break the silence, his voice betraying emotion for the first time.

“I know I remember them. I know I remember them. The memories are all there, inside me. I just can’t -” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale. Vlad could tell that Daniel was trying very hard to keep his composure. He wanted to help, but he wasn’t sure what to do. He lifted his right hand, but he was too far to place it comfortingly on Daniel’s shoulder. He settled for his knee and hoped that was sufficient. Daniel’s eyes snapped open, and Vlad immediately pulled back. That had been stupid, of course the last thing Daniel would want would be -

Vlad’s train of thought was interrupted by Daniel grabbing his hand. He looked down at their hands, and then back up to Daniel’s face. He looked as surprised as Vlad felt, but he didn’t let go. Their hands slowly lowered - Vlad wasn’t sure who was directing the movement - until they were resting on the bed between the two men. Daniel took another deep breath, and he didn’t seem to be crying anymore.

“I -” He paused, apparently thinking. “I guess … I guess Rishid went and got you.” Vlad nodded. “I think I really scared them. I was kind of … freaking out.” Daniel scratched the back of his head with his free hand. It was an old, almost childish gesture that Vlad knew to mean that Daniel was embarrassed. “Uhm,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “Your name may have come up.” Vlad raised an eyebrow. “I was saying, well, that you were right. That I should have listened to you, about, like, holding onto the past. It’s pointless. People die, and even memories don’t last forever.”

By the end of his little speech, Daniel’s smile had faded, and his voice had taken on a tone of resignation. He was talking exactly the way Vlad always talked about these things, and Vlad was struck by how much that pained him. He should be thrilled that Daniel was finally learning the lesson he had tried to teach him centuries ago, but Vlad found no joy in watching his old friend lose the spark of optimism that had always defined him.

“Yes,” Vlad said softly, “they do. And no, they don’t. But … Daniel, it isn’t wrong to want to remember. It’s good to take pleasure in happy memories. I’ve often reminisced about times long gone … about you.” It was Daniel’s turn to raise an eyebrow, and Vlad’s turn to laugh sheepishly. “I know, I know. But I have missed you, little badger. I’ve missed a lot of people. The reason I told you so many times to let go is that I’ve known the pain of hanging on, and the futility. But I never meant for you to completely lose touch with the past. Your past is who you are.” Daniel looked confused. How to explain …?

“How much do you imagine I remember about your mother?” Daniel obviously hadn’t been expecting that question. His eyebrows scrunched together and he shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

“Not much more than you, I’d wager. It’s been a long time for both of us. But,” he said quickly, as Daniel started to cast his face downward, “I don’t need to remember everything she ever said to me or every day we spent together. I carry her in myself, just as you do. Granted, she’s not the best example for me. There was a lot of bad blood between us for a long time. But you, you’re her son. You have her determination, her love of science, her drive for self-improvement.” Daniel smiled, and Vlad returned the expression as he continued. “You have your father’s penchant for drama, your sister’s belief in doing whatever makes you happy, no matter what other people think.” Vlad paused, thinking again of the landscape painting. He knew that bringing up Samantha was probably either the best or worst thing he could do right now. But Daniel seemed to have calmed down significantly, so he decided to risk it.

“You have your wife’s dedication to justice,” he said slowly, gauging Daniel’s reaction. He inhaled sharply, but he didn’t look angry or sad. “You have her aesthetic appreciation. You have her belief in the importance of education. … You have her heart, Daniel, and that is not something you can lose so easily. Your memories will fade, but your heart, and, in it, the hearts of everyone who has loved you, will always remain.”

Daniel glanced at the crumpled papers on the floor. “That doesn’t make it any easier. I … you’re right. I know you’re right, and I’ve thought the same thing plenty of times before. I’m proud of who I am because of the people who made me who I am. But … it still feels like I’m losing them all over again.” Vlad sighed.

“You are,” he said, squeezing Daniel’s hand in his. “And believe me, I know what you’re going through, and I know how much it hurts. I had a family, too, and they’re lost to me forever. I still feel guilty sometimes that I let go so easily, that I didn’t fight to hold on the way you have. But I had to do what was best for me; I had to look to the future, because, whether we like it or not, the future is where we’re eventually going to end up.” Daniel made a face like he had eaten something sour.

“I don’t like that. It feels selfish.” Vlad chuckled.

“And who do you suppose is benefiting from your remembrance? Do you not hold on to the memories specifically because they make you happy?” Daniel opened his mouth but closed it again after a few seconds. “Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘living well is the best revenge’? I believe the reverse is also true - living well is the best way to honor those who loved you. It would bring them no joy to see you suffering in a vain attempt to hold on to what you’ve lost, never able to move on and live your life to the fullest.” Daniel smiled wryly.

“You don’t know that, though, do you? Maybe some of them would love this.” He shook his head and his smile faded again. “But I … I do understand. Remembering the past has made me happy, and I still don’t really think your way was the best way, or at least that it would have been best for me. But, now,” he said, looking significantly at his now-healed hand, and the blood on the blanket, “it just hurts. I held on as long as I could, and I’m glad I did. And I don’t feel ready to forget them, but I guess it isn’t up to me anymore.” Vlad had to remind himself again that this was a positive development, even though Daniel was clearly in pain. He squeezed his hand again, and this time Daniel squeezed back.

“Thank you,” Daniel said emphatically. “Thank you for … for coming, for talking to me. I don’t know if you said exactly what I needed to hear, but I think it was important that I heard it from you. We don’t have all that much in common, but, on some level, you do get what I’m dealing with. And you get me.” Daniel looked as though he might start crying again, but there was the hint of a smile on his lips. “Maybe I don’t have to lose everyone from my past.” As he spoke, Daniel took Vlad’s other hand, and Vlad’s breath caught in his throat. There was that thing with feathers again, only this time it didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

“I’ve missed you, too, Vlad. I’m sorry that I wasted so much time. But,” he said with a smirk, “to be fair, we do have eternity.”

[bubblepunk99s]

Amara

Dust motes danced in the airy light of Anis’ study as he shifted through a storm of essences.

He had called his desk an ‘aromatic apothecary’. Amara had dubbed it a ‘scent bench’. Racks of essence bottles curved around him as he furiously scribbled formulas on to wafers of paper. Occasionally he would un-cork one, releasing a burst of scent that filled the room before dissipating just as quickly- rose oil, hyacinth, slowly burning sandalwood, even that metal stench Amara had always associated with the Void gates back home. Anis would take stock of it then return to his scribbling.

Another uncorking. A fierce note of burning pepper-bush flooded Amara’s nostrils. Then it was gone. More scribbling.

“That was a good one.”  

“Hmm.” Anis sounded unconvinced. “Bit too overpowering, might need a modifier, maybe a citrus ester or a floral one. But that’s in my rayiha so I’ve been told and I don’t think it’s very becoming of me to aim for a signature just yet...”

He continued on in this manner. Amara really didn’t mind. She’d learned a lot over the past week thanks to Anis’ ramblings- his role as a student in the school of extracting (itself part of the house of sciences) the nature of his craft, the Soljin’s nature as part of a greater whole- one of four peoples that had split apart from days spent as Void-wandering nomads, different in many ways but bound by the faith that had united them so long ago- the faith of midãd, the pursuit of the divine substance. Anis considered his work to be the greatest expression of that history, crafting multi-layered scents from countless differing essences.

“So, how’s your work coming along?”

“Oh.” Rising herself from her stupor, Amara glanced back at her sketches. Though Anis had provided a desk to study at right next to a disused alembic, her mind had been elsewhere. It was with Tia and the others now searching for ingredients in the shops and markets. Ingredients for Met’s...treatment.

“Something is in you.” She had said to her, sitting her down in the lovers’ small home. “Call it a baran, call it kaba, call it whatever you like. Just know it isn’t getting out unless we force it out.”

“A...” Amara remembered. “The bolt.”

“Yes, the bolt. The one you were struck by. It came from the god-grounds.”

“You knew about that?!” Tia had been aghast

“I sensed something in her when we shook hands. You telling me about the storm destroying your district confirmed my suspicions. Why do you think I chose to let you stay after your friend’s treatment?”

“So, you were keeping things from us.” Udana said. “Why should we trust you now?”

“It’s not about trust. It’s about necessity. You think the wights you met in the desert were bad? Whatever’s in you now is far older, far darker. I don’t know how it got into you but I know I’m the only one in this city that can get it out. You need more than a doctor, you need someone who understands the dead.”

Silence. Then Khedes had spoken up.

“We can help you.”

“Amara?”

Amara blinked. “Sorry... just thinking about-”

“About your condition?”

She nodded. Setting his work aside, Anis came up and laid a hand on her shoulder. Thankfully he wasn’t shocked back 10 meters.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you more. That way you wouldn’t have to rely on that frightful pair.” He rubbed his neck. “If only I could be more like En-Kindi.”

“Who?”

“En-Kindi, the founder of the school of extracting, part of the house of sciences first master’s council. He could do everything: perfume, metallurgy, astronomy, cryptography. A true polymath! He once said that “time exists only with motion.  Body with motion, motion with body. If there is motion there is necessarily body, if there is body there is necessarily motion.”

“How does that relate to all my problems?”

“It means if you keep moving forward then things will definitely work out in the end!”

They both chuckled at that. Then awkward silence resumed.

“You know” Anis continued. “He also said we should devote ourselves to the truth. Always keep looking for it, even if it came from peoples distant and nations different from us. I think he approve of you coming all the way out here...and that he would want me to help you.”

Amara gave a gentle, tired smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Anis smiled back. He was about to say something more when suddenly there was a wrapping at the door. Perplexed, he went and opened it. He returned with a small wooden box. Lifting its lid revealed 4 small perfume bottles and a note with 4 words in the Soljinn script written on it. Amara recognised them as street names.

Anis’ smile faded.

“Come on. Time I showed you the other part of my job.”

Kuru’s house of sciences was an alternating mix of interior and exterior spaces. Shadowed hallways would lead to fragrant courtyards bordered by rounded pillars of Aban-Sad stone. Its student body a mix of promising young scholars swelled by the patronage of established academics and those who had been sent by less established families to rise through scholarship and intellectual endeavour. Anis was one such student.

“Wish you could have seen things when everyone was here. Boys would wear off-world jeans under their work robes. We dared each other to flip them up when to get a glimpse of what style they were trying out.”

“Did you really?”

Anis blinked. “Please don’t assume every strapping young Soljinn man is as socially awkward as me.”

That of course had changed with the Corvus’ arrival. The school was backed by public funding, along with that of the social elite- bankers, merchants and military officers. When the Corvus assumed command that wellspring quickly dried up. Students and teachers alike dropped out, some seeking to get jobs as translators and scientists, others hurling themselves against the walls of the Nest in protest.

So now the school Amara walked through was a ghost of its former self. A time when the sound of scratching pens on paper and all manner of scientific, philosophical and theological discourse that fell under the banner of falsafa- Natural studies- filled the air. A time when so many Rayihas joined together it was hard to tell when one person’s soul ended and another’s began.

“That’s one sad story.” Amara said sympathetically, as they head out through the school’s main embossed arch.

“Not half as sad as where we’re going, I’m afraid.”

Where they were headed was a street in the city’s old quarter. En-Yaqut it was called, the birthplace of some of the city’s finest biographers and renowned for its scroll-stores, literary cafes and abundant collections of ornate manuscripts. After all, was it not said that the ink of the quill was holier than the blood of the martyr?

Amara couldn’t see that beauty now. As they followed the street downhill, the air began to smell of smoke. Shutters covered the front of shops, emblazoned with graffiti of a bird spreading its wings between two trees. A young boy flicked rocks at these shutters, which quickly burst into flames, alighted by security lasers.

“Oh no...”

Amara turned to see what Anis was looking at. Standing at a bend in the road was a charred husk of a building. It looked like it had come from Amara’s ruined district, though it stood alone instead of being surrounded by others like it. A crowd had gathered, some dousing the charred walls with water jets.

“Not Shaba...”

“You!” An old woman cried, in black robes with embroiled cuffs. “You from the house?”

“I am... I am.” Anis confirmed. “Please Shaba...the owner of this place...he isn’t...”

The lady shook her head. “Some of his clients were translators for the Corvus. A fight broke out over it and then the fire started. He didn’t survive.”

Anis fell to his knees, his breathing ragged. Amara knelt with him.

“A friend?”

He nodded shakily.

Amara didn’t need to know any more. But she needed to snap Anis out of this.

“Anis, we came here to do something. Do you remember?

Another nod. With trembling hands, he took out one of the vials and poured its contents on to the ground, murmuring what sounded like a prayer under his breath.

Slowly a rayiha surrounded them. It smelled like drying paint and fresh parchment. Amara almost thought she saw it, as a hazy silhouette of a man standing before them.

Anis seemed to glimpse it to.

“You always were so accepting, Shaba.” He turned to the woman. “Make sure the Clerics find his body and give it the rites. We have others to see to.”

He then swerved back up the way they had come. Amara nearly had to run to keep up with him.

“Perfumes are an accompaniment to someone’s soul. Naturally they can be used to guide and heal lost ones. When a body is prepared for the rites, we provide perfumes to guide the rayiha back to it.”

He gave Amara a gentle, tired smile.

“The house of sciences may be fading, but that line of work keeps me occupied a lot nowadays.”

Why had they come?

To dethrone tyrants of course! The rulers of Kuru had become depraved and needed removing. Had they not rounded up dissident scholars, removed them from public office? Had they not charged exorbitant fees for the stone of Kuru, exploiting them over the years? Had they not acted to the detriment of every non-Soljinn in the city and punished those who practiced tolerance? Men like Shaba?

“Well that was a fucking lie.” Anis growled.

The Corvus’ defeat of these men- the feared mihna lawgivers- had been like something of out of a legend. The air had suddenly filled with white light. Spears of it leapt down to strike the lawgivers palace. Then ship after ship had floated down to continue the assault.

Such talk there had been! Anti-regime cells had gathered in the coffee shops whispering of plans that would never see fulfillment. Some wrote and translated advisory letters to the Corvus, others hoped that translation schools would be built to speed negotiations between the people and the invaders.

Such dreams- of translation, of communication- had died swiftly when the Corvus demonstrated how they translated with their first routine survey.

So, the days went on. Anti-Corvus groups making a scene, the Corvus themselves appearing out of nowhere to make a bigger mess of it. Men like Shaba- known for his tolerance of all peoples and the generosity of his spirit- killed in the crossfire, while others like Anis trailed after the violence, hoping to help in whatever way they could.

“So, you still don’t know why they are here?” Amara asked. By the time they reached the House of Science’s entrance the sun was setting. A day spent attending similar sites to the one on En-Yaqut street had left her drained. She would need to talk to Tia tonight.

“Don’t know don’t care.” Anis’ voice had seemed to age over the day, becoming as rough as Met’s at times “I’m just trying to survive.”

Just trying to survive. Made her little treasure hunt seem silly by comparison. Then Amara reminded herself she was doing it to help her own people survive as well.

Turning to the path to Met’s house, Amara thought about the violence she had seen here- how it could spread so easily to her own home, how many homes it had already taken. She thought about the artefacts lying discarded in the God-grounds and the wreckage of Shaba’s slowly burning shop.

As she did, the taste of electricity filled her mouth and goosebumps spread across her skin.