#which chil is kind of uncomfortable with at first but he gets used to it

[chilpilled]

chil + merci besties agenda is real! i need them to have sleepovers and paint their nails and talk about their toudan siblings. marcille gushes over falin while chilchuck fondly complains over the other. this happens i read it in the adventure bible

ur so right anon i read it too. i know chil puts all his hair braiding knowledge into action to give marcille different hairstyles and she tries to convince him to read the daltian clan…..they compare bite marks too i think. because i think both touden siblings bite. and i think they cuddle but like platonically….idk i think marcille is a cuddler. she convinces chil to share a bed so it can be a real sleepover and then hes wracked by mana nightmares like izutsumi and the next morning marcille is like hope u slept well!! :D and chil is like. yeah. haha. and then he makes her eat a healthy breakfast while she convinces him to eat some sweets too <3 my sillies…..

[parkneroses]

parkner week day 2! it’s a day late (a day and four hours in my time zone but i’m pretending i’m american so i don’t seem like a crazy person writing until 4am)

major thanks again to @emptycanoflizards who gave me lots of lovely (ᵘⁿᵈᵉˢᵉʳᵛᵉᵈ) compliments on my day 1 fic and everyone else who said something nice about it!! thank you for the motivation to actually write this <3

word count: 2.1k | if you enjoy this, buy me a coffee? | read it on ao3

day 2: they were roommates/prom/jealousy

This was a nightmare. Both a personal one- Tony really wasn’t a fan of aliens, for obvious reasons- and a PR one. How the hell was he supposed to explain why these.. these butter monsters were completely unaffected by the abundant security measures around Avengers Tower? How was he supposed to predict that there were creatures in the universe that could just melt, and resolidify at will? How was he supposed to blow them to bits with drones if they just fused back together like some kind of nightmarish oil-based hydra? (the monster, not the organisation.)

Fire seemed to be the only thing capable of keeping them at bay, which was horribly inconvenient seeing as there were only two avengers capable of harnessing that element, and Rhodey was in fucking DC. And he definitely wasn’t about to let Peter start swinging around the top floors of the tower with a homemade flamethrower, no matter how much the kid insisted.

“Tony?” Captain America’s voice came through the comms.

“Busy,” Tony replied. Cap knew that of course, he could see the tiny flashes of light in the dark sky that was Tony in the Iron Man suit whizzing around and burning the monsters to a crisp eight hundred feet above him.

“Tony. We can’t do damage to the aliens on ground level. Civilians have been evacuated and the tower is on lockdown. The aliens don’t seem to be capable of range damage, they need to engulf someone to actually hurt them. They seem adamant on attacking the tower, nothing else is sparking their interest, and they’re not smart enough to go attacking civilians to get our attention. I say we go inside, look over our options. You can’t kill them all yourself.”

Tony wasn't in favour of leaving his tower to get soaked in… alien guts? No, butter. Thinking of it as butter made it slightly more tolerable. Who would want their home and workplace to smell like a two-star diner? Not Tony, that’s for sure, but something about how Cap’s usually stoic, unwavering tone was peppered with grunts and wheezes made him reconsider. Coney Island fair scented tower it was, then. He signalled to Friday to open up the second floor windows so the Avengers could climb in, and flew through behind them into a conference room.

Natasha’s usually pristine hair was soaked through with the butter. Tony got the impression that she’d nearly been taken out, if her sigh of relief was at all telling. Bruce looked slightly green, but that might have been the bluish tint of his tired skin mixing with the yellow liquid to look a sickly vomit colour. Steve and Bucky had splatters of the goop in random places on their gear, but they were mostly clean. True professionals, those two. Sam and Clint, who had been in charge of evac, were chilling on the couch. They had finished their jobs almost an hour ago, content to leave the heavy lifting to the rest of the team for once. Steve was the first to speak.

“It’s late. They’re not going anywhere. Break for the night. Recuperate, and at be geared up at seven in the morning to go back out and finish them off.”

Steve was the boss, so Tony didn’t protest.

*

In Tony’s defense, he never meant for the tower to actually house people. Sure, there were a couple spare bedrooms on his personal floor, and the Avengers’ rooms on the floor below his, but that was kind of it. The granite and marble floors, glass tables and concrete desks were picked for their sleek and minimalist style, not their comfort. Although it was nearing midnight, there were still a couple hundred people in the tower. Mostly due to night shifts, but there were always a couple of late-night stragglers, usually employees that couldn’t keep their mitts off their ultra exciting projects. Plus twenty or so S.H.I.E.L.D agents. And Nick Fury of course, because if there was a god in this cruel world, he was intent on making Tony suffer.

Pepper had been a dream in sorting out beds for the lockdown prisoners. Scientists who were used to long nights and sleeping in uncomfortable places curled up in the padded chairs of the desk jockeys, who in turn rested their sore spines in the nap holes scattered around the labs. There were spare blankets in the donation bins on the ground floor, so the security guards that weren’t on the job made beds on the floor of the lobby. Pepper was his saviour. And for that, Tony owed her.

“I’m not dealing with the S.H.I.E.L.D agents. I’ve done my part, and quite frankly I’m exhausted from a full day of running your company. It’s your turn now,” Pepper said, shrugging off her jacket and making her way to the elevator.

Tony turned to the Avengers.

“You guys down to share rooms?” He asked. That earned him a smile and a small nod from both Steve and Bucky, but glares from the rest of the team, and a tasteful, “Oh, hell no,” from Sam.

Tony huffed and pulled a chair out from the conference table. He slumped in it (there was a time and a place for impeccable posture, and this wasn’t it), and pulled up a map of the upper floors of the tower with help from Friday.

“Okay,” Tony muttered under his breath. “Twenty S.H.I.E.L.D agents, and seven spare rooms on my floor, plus Capsicle’s on the team floor, and couches. Twenty S.H.I.E.L.D agents, and eight bed spaces. Two per room, and two per couch. Friday, assign rooms based on personality and filter for lowest chance of conflict. Direct all S.H.I.E.L.D agents to their rooms.”

Tony was surprised at how easy that had been. Maybe he was actually capable of doing things without Pepper! Who knew?

The celebrations could wait until the morning. For now, Tony needed his beauty sleep. Early mornings were a bitch to his skin. He couldn’t imagine the butter was helping with that.

*

Of course, all good things had to end eventually.

Someone was knocking on his door. Tony didn’t like it when people wanted his attention during sleepy-hours. He laid his head back down on the pillow and felt his eyes slip closed.

But the knocking wouldn’t stop.

“Boss. Your door.” Friday reminded him. Tony sat up with a groan.

“Yes, Friday, I got that. Who is it?”

“Harley Keener is knocking on your door, sir. Would you like me to open it?” Friday asked. Tony’s eyes went wide. Of course he thought designating rooms was easy, he had fucked it up. And wasn’t that just how everything in his life went?

At Tony’s hurried request, the door swung open to reveal a lanky, six-foot-something boy wearing nothing but his Hello Kitty pajama pants, death-gripping the pillow in his arms.

“To-ny,” Harley slurred, his voice heavy and deep with lethargy. “There’s people in m’ room.”

Pepper tutted from where she lay at Tony’s side. With a dramatic sigh, he heaved himself out of bed to sort out yet another problem. If he wasn’t a billionaire, Tony would probably never stop complaining about how he wasn’t paid enough to deal with this shit. So what if he forgot the kid was staying over? He’d only been here a day and Tony had spent most of that day saving the world from oleaginous potential overlords. It wasn’t his fault.

Except it was, and that meant he had to help. He gently guided the kid by his shoulder back to the room he was meant to be staying in. It was the nicest guest room in the penthouse, specially decorated for Harley (not that the kid knew it), with sky blue walls and plants on every surface to remind him of home. And in the middle of it, sitting cross legged on the king sized bed with a hand full of Uno cards each, were Nick Fury and Maria Hill.

So much for getting Harley his room back.

Tony frowned and shut the door gently. Desperate times, he reasoned.

“Do you mind sharing a room with someone? Promise it’s only for one night.” He asked.

“S’long as the room has a bed in it, I’on’ care,” Harley mumbled, releasing his vice grip on the pillow for a second to rub aggressively at his eyes. Tony let his shoulders drop in relief and directed him the other way down the hall. He had been meaning to introduce his chil- no, his mentees eventually, and this seemed as good a time as any.

*

Harley stood fixed to the ground in shock next to Tony as the man explained the situation to the other kid- no, the angel sitting on the queen sized bed in the middle of the room. He had what looked to be a Physics textbook open on his lap in front of him, and Harley thought he heard the angel mutter something like, “Flamethrowers are dangerous, Peter. You could get hurt. Look where playing it safe got you. I couldn’t do my homework ‘cause I was too stressed and you- you smell like bad movie popcorn and guts,’ under his breath when Tony stopped talking

Harley gently lifted Tony’s hand off his shoulder and turned to face him.

“Go. I’m good here,” Harley said softly. Tony shrugged at him, and threw a strained smile at Peter that Harley roughly translated to, “Be on your best behaviour or we’ll be talking about this later.” He was well acquainted with that particular look.

Harley brushed it off and went to sit on the bed. He stuck his hand out to shake Peter’s.

“How do ‘ya do?,” He asked, his accent laying thick in the back of his throat. Peter shook his hand with a surprisingly strong grip, and his cheeks flushed a colour that reminded Harley of the baby pink irises that grew in his backyard back home.

“Good. Name’s Peter. Parker.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter. Parker. What’re you up to?” Harley flashed his most charming make-old-ladies-swoon smile, and Peter chuckled.

Harley felt himself relax. Peter’s laugh felt like a cold drink on a hot summer’s day, cooling him down on the inside while his face grew warm. It was light, and refreshing, and... he had missed the answer to his question.

“What was that, darlin’?”

Peter’s blush grew darker, and he squirmed for a second until he realised what he was doing and stopped abruptly.

“Physics homework. It’s boring, and it sucks. D’you wanna watch a movie or something instead?”

God, his voice was just as pretty as his laugh. Everything about Peter was pretty. He had really fluffy bed-head that reminded Harley of a pom pom, that he just wanted so badly to run his fingers through, and Harley could feel the blood in his cheeks heat himself up enough that he could just melt into Peter’s chocolate river eyes.

Harley was staring, and clearly Peter got the wrong idea.

“Or, or we could just go to bed, if you wanna, I just thought since it’s not that late-”

Harley’s eyebrows furrowed, and Peter’s sentence trailed off. They stared into each other's eyes for what felt like ten minutes, though it couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds. Harley imagined being engulfed by liquid bronze as he tried to swim in the thick swirls of brown and gold in Peter’s irises.

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, and mumbled,

“Yeah, movie sounds great. What’ve you got?”

Peter smiled at him and pulled up the covers so Harley could get in properly. He pushed himself up against the headboard, arranging cushions behind him to support his back during the movie.

“Already got one open,” Peter said, scooching up next to Harley under the covers and laying his laptop between them. “It’s a classic.”

Harley smiled as the opening credits of Clueless began to play. Peter had great taste.

*

“Morning, lovebirds,” Tony said gleefully.

Harley groaned and grabbed his pillow tighter, pulling it flush to his chest and burying his face in it to shield himself from the light.

Except, the thing in his arms was something much harder than a pillow, and the scent of chemical coconut filling his lungs was definitely of a shampoo.

His sentient pillow groaned, pulling him closer and mumbled, “Five more minutes, Miss’r Stark.”

“No can do. Aliens are dead, and Clint made breakfast!” Tony’s jubilant tone didn’t falter. Harley raised an eyebrow at the man.

“What’d he make?” Harley asked sceptically. He hadn’t met the Avengers many times, but even he knew not to trust Clint’s cooking.

“Butter croissants!”

Harley stiffened, and Peter let a puff of breath that warmed Harley’s chest and mumbled,

“Oh, hell no.”

[minhoandthebabes]

Chapter 3

Kibum awoke to the sun streaming through the open doors, warming his skin after it had cooled from the night air. The dog was gone and the person he recognized as Jonghyun was now cuddled up against his legs, replacing the puppy from the night before. Kibum found heat reaching his cheeks, surprised and a little embarrassed that the other man felt comfortable enough to do this so soon after they had met. He took it upon himself to slip out from under the man and sat on the edge of the couch.

As Kibum looked around the room he noted how much brighter it looked in the sunlight. The white portions of the ceiling made the room look bigger than it had the night before. He took in various features of the house, the beautiful trees outside, the sloping roofs of each building, and the yard with its moss and gravel, all bright greens compared to the muted earthy tones he had seen the previous night. His eyes eventually fell on what he had painted the night before. The painting wasn’t as nice as he had wanted it to be, given the low light he had had to work with, and it didn’t capture the scene as well as he would have liked. Written in small print at the bottom of the page was a little message which read

You better finish this when you wake up.. I’ll have Jonghyun kill you if you don’t

Kibum looked at the threat and snorted. How could Jonghyun possibly kill him? He didn’t seem that big, or that strong. It was hard to imagine the other man doing anything more than perhaps bruising him. He laughed and decided to finish it anyway. The creature in his dream seemed to want him to finish the project anyway. Kibum couldn’t help but wonder if that fairy looking thing was his own motivation materializing in his dream. There was no way it could have been anything more than that seeing as fairies weren’t exactly real...

He picked up the paintbrush and ran it along the cloth he had been using to clean the brush before changing colors the night before. The bristles easily broke free from where they had dried and he promptly picked a dark color to cover the scratchy writing. He took a few minutes to decide where to pick up from where he left off, choosing to add details to the tree he couldn’t see the night before, shading it in where he felt it needed darker features.

It wasn’t too long until Kibum felt the couch next to him shift and he knew Jonghyun must be awake. He tried not to turn too red when he thought the man would speak with him about sleeping on him, but Jonghyun didn’t wake, instead, he slid closer to Kibum, resting his head on Kibum’s thigh. At this rate, Kibum couldn’t hide the blush. It spread from his nose across his cheeks until it settled on his ears. There was something oddly doglike in how he was acting and Kibum found it odd. It was as if he was related to the dog Kibum had fallen asleep with the previous night.

Just the thought sounded silly to Kibum and he found himself shaking it off with a simple laugh. With Jonghyun’s head now where it was, he was tempted to run his hand through the white hair, but couldn’t bring himself to do so, far too afraid of waking the man and making things even more awkward. He moved back to painting and looked out at the garden scene in front of him only to be greeted by Minho’s big eyes staring back at him with a furrowed brow that was clearly that of annoyance or frustration.

Kibum jumped and dropped his paintbrush, marking up the corners of the painting that he had initially left white. “When did you get there..?” He asked a hesitation in his voice, not having heard Minho approach him despite the fact that he had to walk through gravel and dirt to get to him.

“When you were admiring Jonghyun,” Minho said, his arms crossed over his chest.

Kibum's face went red again with pure embarrassment. “It’s not that!” he attempted to defend himself. “I just don’t know how to get him off of me..” he mumbled awkwardly, his hand grabbed the paintbrush and placed it back on the palette, trying to clean the mistake he had made.

Minho stepped up onto the wooden floor and sat across from Kibum, kneeling on the floor to look at what he had painted. His eyes roamed over the painting for a little longer than Kibum was initially expecting before he finally looked up at him, his sharp eyes digging into him. “You need to leave,” he said in a blunt manner, unwavering in his decision.

“B- but, can’t I finish?” Kibum asked, looking down at the painting. “And what about Jinki, I want to say goodbye to him.” He didn’t want to sound too desperate, but Kibum wasn’t willing to leave yet. It had been the first time in a while he hadn’t been trapped by obligation. There wasn’t the constant stress from school weighing down on him along with the necessity to work in every minute of free time he had in order to complete college on time. Kibum’s hand was beginning to lace in Jonghyun's soft white hair, trying to focus keep his anxiety in check. He had forgotten that it was a human on his lap rather than a dog, and instead followed his instinct.

Minho pursed his lips, his eyes following Kibum’s wandering hands for a few moments. “Even if you finish this painting, you can’t take it with you.” He said, his voice harsh and commanding.

Looking down at what he had been working on all night, Kibum glanced back up at Minho with a hurt look on his face. “But, I painted this, I made this, why can’t I keep it?”

Minho sighed and opened his mouth to speak before he closed it again he repeated the process a few more times in attempts to explain himself, that, or come up with a solid excuse. It was only a matter of time before frustration painted his otherwise soft features. “You just can’t, I don’t need to explain it to you.”

It was hard for Kibum to read Minho, especially because he didn’t seem to be comfortable to tell him important details that he felt he should have known. Kibum sighed and pushed Jonghyun off of him and back onto the couch. “Fine, I’ll go then.” It was obvious Kibum was annoyed with the situation. The last thing he wanted to do was leave, but he didn’t want to be with Minho and his seemingly judgemental glare any longer either. He stood and took one last look at his painting, proud of what he had done, but disappointed he couldn’t finish it. Whoever wrote that note would be pretty mad at him later, but it couldn’t be helped. He just hoped he could burn the image into his memory for future reference if he ever had time to sit and paint again.

Minho, now standing as well, watched Kibum with a curiosity. His eyes seemed to drill into Kibum, forcing him to catch Minho’s eye only to have Minho look away and back towards the front door. “I’ll lead you out..” He said, stepping back to the steps silently to put on his shoes. “Your leg will heal, but it will most likely scar, please keep it clean to minimise the scarring,” he said in a near monotone voice. It almost sounded as if he was caring for Kibum, but the words and tone of his voice didn’t seem to match up. It sounded more like he had memorized a script and knew it was better to repeat the kind words then to ignore it entirely.

Kibum moved down to put on his shoes next to Minho, he wasn’t sure what to say, so instead, he just said “thank you” in a brief attempt to clear the air between the two. Something about how Minho was acting made him feel like he wasn’t going to return anytime soon, or anytime at all. It was sad to think about, especially because he was beginning to like the strange people he had met. Minho took him from the front door onto a rough path that seemed to lead back to the bigger one he had come in on. They were just about to leave when Kibum heard a bark behind him.

He looked back to see the white dog barking in front of the wall that protected the house. He was wagging his tail with excitement and panting, his puppy face drawn into a smile. Kibum couldn’t help but smile at the dog and kneeled to pet the dog and scratch behind its ears one last time. The dog responded by wagging its tail more eagerly and licking Kibum’s hand before he fully retracted it...

“I’ll miss you, little guy.” He said with a sad smile, “I hope you get lots of treats.” he said, patting the dog’s head before he stood to leave again. The dog whimpered and sat down, looking up with big eyes at Kibum. The dog looked sad to see him go, but Kibum didn’t know what to say to it. It was only a dog after all.

Minho nodded and shooed the dog, moving to lead Kibum out again. “Okay, I’ll walk with you to a certain point, and then it’s best if you make the rest of the way yourself,” he explained. When Kibum looked at Minho he noticed his hands folded over each other in a seemingly polite yet regal gesture. Kibum also noted the clothes Minho was wearing. He wasn’t expecting to see the other man in fancy robes so early in the morning, but it seemed as if he only owned historical robes and garments. In any other scenario, Kibum would have admired the clothing, but in this moment he couldn’t bring himself to be anything other than annoyed at the other man.

“Okay,” Kibum mumbled walking in front of Minho who seemed to be directing him to do so. He walked slowly and found himself getting farther and farther away from the house, Minho’s footsteps non-existent despite the rough terrain.

As Kibum walked out from the dense woods, his mind went fuzzy, the memories he had just made seemed to slip away and an odd feeling of loss settled in his thoughts. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t tell what had been lost. A memory was gone, something that had happened had completely disappeared from his thought. It was like waking from a dream and remembering dreaming, but forgetting what happened. When he could see the temple, he sensed a presence behind him that had started to make him uncomfortable. It was like someone was following him, or worse, watching him. He had only been in the forest for a short amount of time, so how someone could find him and follow him so quickly was sending chills down his spine. When he entered he was alone, at least he remembered being alone, then again, he also remembered it had been dark. The sun had nearly set, but now it was already far above the horizon and at his back.

When he got back to the temple he could sense the presence behind him leaving and finally calmed, happy to be alone in the wood. He turned around in attempts to see what had been following him as the fear of being watched left, but couldn’t see anyone, not even an animal behind him.

Kibum looked at the temple in front of him and remembered coming there the night before. It was strange how much time had passed and he wondered if he had passed out in the forest. The previous day he had been overworked so it was possible. The sun was now high in the sky and when he checked his phone he noticed it was Saturday. He had missed far too much time on another one of his precious weekends. It was a startling thing to realize and he immediately headed home to try and finish his school work that was due the next week before he had work that evening. He made note that he should maybe go to the doctor to check on his health, and his bandaged leg, but that wasn’t important in that moment, getting his tasks finished seemed to be more pressing.

After work that night, Kibum sat at his messy desk, studying old court cases. He couldn’t focus on the cases at all as a bug continued to fly about his head, buzzing angrily in his ear every once in a while. He continued to shoo the bug away, hoping it would just leave on its own, but he knew he was going to have to resort to the fly swatter if necessary. He was curious how the bug had managed to enter his dorm room seeing as he hadn’t left his windows open.

The buzzing finally stopped, and Kibum was left looking at his textbook, a hand knotted in his hair as he tried to focus on the small yet lengthy words. These materials were so dense it was almost impossible to get through one and understand it. After reading it through a few times he would understand what was being expressed. It was only a matter of time until he fell asleep at his desk, his head slipping from his hands to rest on the large book beneath him only to return to dreams of people and places he had been missing.

When Kibum awoke the next morning, he found a small black line drawn on his upper lip mimicking a mustache. He cursed himself for falling asleep on his marker, but when he came back to his desk to finish reading what he had been reading the night before, there was no pen to be found.

It was now the beginning of bitter Winter. The leaves had all left the trees, and the warm breeze that used to grace the island was now replaced by icy wind coming down from the north.

Kibum sat in class, staring at his notebook as the professor droned on, discussing court cases he had already studied on his own time. Classes at this point didn’t seem to have any true purpose other than wasting his time. As he half listened to the lecture, he started doodling in the corner of his notebook just to keep his mind active. As his pen marked the page, he looked up to notice the shape of a dog forming in his doodles and chose to follow the pattern. Soon he had drawn a little white husky pup on the page.

Kibum stared at the dog curiously for a few moments, trying to remember where he had seen the animal before. Something about the pet was familiar to him, but it was almost as if the memories that contained the dog had been locked away in the back of his mind behind a well-sealed door. Kibum shook his head, trying to rid himself of the feeling.

In attempts to remove the frustrating feeling, Kibum chose to draw friends for the dog, letting his mind wander as he did so. It wasn’t long until he had drawn a band of four characters: the dog, a small fairy, an elvish looking man, and last, but not least, a mad scientist with goggles on his forehead.

Kibum started at the people he had drawn. These people, there was something so incredibly real and familiar about them, as if he had seen them in a dream long, long ago. As he ran his finger over the drawings, he could almost hear the bark from the dog, the judgemental look from the elf, and the maniacal laughter from the chemist. Seeing their poorly drawn features, things started to click into place, memories that had felt like a dream returned in a wave of realization: the men he had met, the dream about the fairy, the painting, the temple. They were all real, they had to be. Memories were flooding back when his professor called him out, pulling the thoughts from his mind.

“Kim Kibum, what was the verdict in this case?” He asked again, this time with more impatience.

Kibum glanced up at the questioning professor. “The verdict?” He asked, his mind still not with the others. He looked down at his notes and then glanced at the pictures he had drawn, “The redacted information from the letter was procured and those prosecuted were guilty.” He said, looking his professor in the eye. “If you’d excuse me, I need to go..” He said, standing and packing up his things from the desk. He couldn’t leave the lecture hall fast enough, just wanting to get to the bottom of what he had discovered before the memories could so easily leave him again. Kibum had soon entered the brisk air of winter on Jeju island and was sprinting up the hill in order to get back to the temple to find the strange people he had met that hot summer day.

[sharada-n]

Sympathy - Fluffy Nyehctar

This one is a gift to @audaciousanonj. They commissioned me so many times, I’m really grateful for the money.

Thank you so much AJ!

Summary: 5 Times Papyrus comforted Flowey and the 1 time it was the other way around.

(read on AO3)

1.

Papyrus can't remember when they first met. If it was long ago or a short while, months or just a few days.

It all flows together.

Flowey hurt him sometimes and Papyrus smiled. Then Flowey didn't hurt him and he smiled even more.

He dies and comes back and visits Flowey because that's what best friends do.

He's upset, Papyrus has never seen Flowey upset before and somewhere it hurts. Something vital inside his soul that just doesn't fit right.

"I don't think I can do this anymore." Flowey says, hushed and broken. "I just want it to stop."

Sometimes Papyrus wants it to stop too, but he can't say that right now, cause it wouldn't help.

"You're not alone anymore though." He tells Flowey instead.

His new best friend doesn't look like he believes him, but nods, and Papyrus realizes that will have to do for now.

2.

After that he dies again, but when he comes back it's worse.

Papyrus doesn't understand why, until he does and then he kind of wishes he didn't because it makes him feel sick.

And for the first time since meeting him, Flowey seems to him like the child Papyrus had realized for a while now he used to be.

He doesn't care much for his own life, but hearing Flowey has experienced death makes him feel cold in ways unimaginable.

And he feels powerless because he lacks the words to make anything of this any less horrible.

So he holds Flowey instead.

Bone against petals and vines and maybe what's happening now between them, has been happening for a while now, shouldn't be. But it's too late for that.

It's too late for any of them.

3.

Then the other shoe drops.

Papyrus knew it would eventually but maybe not quite that quickly and he has a broken arm and a stolen soul and a best friend who thinks he is a god.

Which isn't half as great as it sounds.

Flowey is distressed again but not in the same way. A way more foreign to Papyrus then he'd like to admit.

And sometimes words won't be enough. Sometimes a simple touch won't suffice.

So he waits instead. And perhaps Flowey doesn't feel like talking, the fight went out of him together with his newly acquired souls, so Papyrus doesn't speak either as the life drains away from the world around them.

Sans is probably wondering where he is by now, but Papyrus finds he couldn't care less.

He stays until he knows it's enough, until Flowey taps his knee wordlessly and is maybe kind of not really smirking.

Then Papyrus gets up and leaves.

4.

There are certain downsides to being stuck in a flowerpot too.

The most obvious one of course is the lack of mobility.

A less obvious one: being mistaken for an actual houseplant.

Calming down an enraged Flowey has pretty much become a skill for Papyrus now. It's all in the job description of a best friend.

"I am going to kill the next human that asks me to wiggle around and sing 'dancing on sunshine'. And then I'll kill myself."

"You're being over dramatic." Papyrus tells him, while Flowey huffs like a petulant child and stares daggers at him. "It's not that bad."

"How would you know." His friend all but spits, and there's something bitter there. "Everybody either treats me like a toy or like I'm still a chil-"

The words die away and he stops, frowns.

"How about we go home instead." Papyrus says. "Just the two of us."

Flowey thinks it over, smiles. "Yeah, I think that would be fine."

5.

The night before they tell them, Flowey breaks. And it's a mess, because emotions isn't his strong suit, isn't even Papyrus' strong suit either to be honest and it's been too long since he has known fright.

Right now he's scared out of his mind.

"What if they're mad? What if they hate us?" He mumbles endlessly, and Papyrus holds the pot so close he can feel Flowey tremble against his rib cage.

"You don't care about that." He states matter of factly, and his (now) datemate locks eyes with him.

"No, but you do."

It's one of the more considerate things Flowey has said to him, but Papyrus doesn't dwell on it right now. He brushes against Flowey's leaves instead, a bit like petting a cat.

"They won't." He says, even if he can't be certain of that at all. But he's the positive one so by god he'll be positive about this too. "They'll be fine with it."

"You can't know that." Flowey hisses predictably, seeing right through him as always, but at least the touches helped him settle down, staring up at Papyrus with impatient eyes.

"Of course not." He says, because lying to his best friend is bad and also trial and error learned him it doesn't work anyway. "I just... have a hunch."

It's not convincing at all, probably, but it works.

"Right. A hunch." Flowey repeats. He leans into Papyrus' touches and they decide not to go to sleep that night.

+1

Flowey should have seen this coming.

That's what he tells himself, over and over and over until it's burned into him, like a mark of shame.

He should have seen this coming but he didn't and now he gets to reap the storm.

Papyrus is strong, steadfast, and he has seen worse, seen death and lived it too. So when he breaks he breaks hard, irreparable, and Flowey can't do anything but watch it happen.

And he hates himself for it.

"I'm so tired." Papyrus says, softly, and it's too quite. He breaks down without so much as a sound and from a monster normally that loud it makes Flowey uncomfortable beyond words.

"I'm so tired of pretending."

The silence cuts but there's nothing to say.

"You don't need to pretend for me." Flowey tells him, and Papyrus smiles but it's more fragile than the thin sheets of ice they used to get on the lakes in Snowdin forest. So brittle it will shatter under any pressure.

"I know." Papyrus says, and he closes his eyes to lock out the world, and Flowey with it. "It's nice."

There's not much he can do about it, so he kisses Papyrus instead. On the forehead, each of his eye sockets, just above the nasal bridge.

It works, because his datemate's breathing evens out eventually, eased into a pained sigh.

"We'll figure this out." Flowey says because he believes it. It's dark and cold, but they're together and between the two of them they'll figure everything out.