#floppy and cloud... hmmm

[sunshineram]

little fellas!

[achairwithapandaonit]

Just a ot of ideas that you can cobine how you want for AM clothes:

The classic: - AM Hoodie (mayhaps with the hood pulled up and the floppy/standing hair antennas) - Deku Hoodie (or other cosplay) -other hero cosplay (mayhaps aizawa scarf +kitties) - hair ties, hero themed, sparkly gifts from eri, self made ones maybe like something that gets braided into the hair? oh and eri did it - the same with the hoodies but in dress version? oh or maybe just skirts with a nice plain dress shirt - def two coloured todoroki themed boots - mayhaps bunny boots? or hmmm - heels, let him be taller - a nana cosplay (mayhaps all holders?) oh gran!!

The Comfie:

- a winter outfit all packed out and warm, maybe holding a warm drink -> mittens, a little hat (mayhaps cat themed), a fluffy scarf (all come with the hero merch option) for bonus a hug with mido for warmth -a colorfull fall outfit with checkered scarf -> AM in flannel perhaps? - summer dress, let it swing, something light maybe a soft baby blue? cloud themed? or maybe a field with bunnies on the end and clouds at the top? his head is the sun, a sunhat to fit (maybe the wind is blowing a bit so he has to hold it down while the dress fluters around him and a few grass stripes fly past) - a soft and shorter spring dress, light green? with flowers on it, an arm full of friendship braclets with little hero keychans for the person - an oversized hoodie for an already big man, the last time he had a hoodie big enough he could hide into probably was when he was a kid, but not overzised in the way that he had to for his AM form, more comfy and fitting - pyjamas (mayhaps with bunny slippers) - just him in a big fuzzy blanket -maybe a what's it called? big jumper? as a hm bunny? floppy ears let him be a soft white bunny (or another colour if you want or antother animal) -high school jacket/ university pullover

The Stylish: - various form fitting suits that actually look nice -> perhaps even him in a corset - black dress mayhaps heels mayhaps boots, a stylish hat, he looks like a mistresse - a coat similar to tsukauchi but more fitting and mayhaps in black? - these big dresses that could look like a sweater if you cut them? like these wool ones? but also the others not out of wool - something gothic maybe? (maybe he got dared? maybe he likes it) fishnet dark clothes big pants maybe a shirt with long arms and barrely covering his stomach? or maybe not covering at all - cowboy -vampire - puffed out dress/skirt that are all my ideas for now

.

[cycat4077]

Sheltering An Outcast

Summary: Sonny goes undercover during “Sheltered Outcasts” 17x19 Pairing: Sonny x Reader  Warnings: fluff and smoochies with a sprinkle of angst...and maybe a bit of Sonny in only a towel ;) Words: 2848 (sorry it’s a bit long...)  AO3 here

Part 6 of the Changes verse (but it can be stand-alone too). (Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5)

It’s evening and you're flaked out on your couch, an empty ice cream container sitting by the wayside, when your phone rings. "Hey Sonny, what's up?" you answer, spirits brightened by the sound of his voice. "Finally finished that difficult case you were working on?"

As you were discovering, some cases posed ridiculous hours, keeping the two of you apart with only the occasional evening together amidst the chaos. Text, calls and Skype eased the separation, but there was nothing better than physically being by his side.

"Yeah, it’s done," replies Sonny. "Thank goodness too. It was a tough one, doll." You hear a heavy sigh on his end and your heart goes out to him. "You busy?" he then asks hopefully, and when you answer in the negative, he adds, "Wanna spend the night?"

A rush of excitement spreads through you. Of course, you want to spend the night! Running around, you stuff a change of clothes into a bag and hop awkwardly, struggling to slip on your pants.

The commute over leaves time to reminisce about the nights you and Sonny actually do get to share at each other's apartments. They're sweet and intimate times. Nothing sexual, just precious moments together without any rush to go home.

Those times bring out the domestic side of Sonny too, being that he always makes sure you feel welcome. For instance, even though he blatantly detests peanut butter, you opened his cupboard one day to find a jar simply because he knows you like to eat it for breakfast.

You also love being privy to his little habits. After practically every shower, Sonny darts between the bathroom and bedroom having forgotten his clean clothes in the latter. With only a towel around his waist, he’ll tell you jokingly not to look, though you can't help sneak a peek at his bare torso still coated in a sheen of water as he runs by.

It’s all these little things that make you fall even more in love with him and excite you for a future with your Italian detective.

-x-

Arriving at Sonny’s apartment, he opens the door and you throw your arms around his neck. Enthusiastically, you pepper kisses across his nose and cheeks, purposefully leaving his lips for last.

Sonny’s smile stretches from ear to ear. Clearly, the affection you shower him with washes away any remaining stress from his latest case. "What'd I do to deserve all that lovin'?" he teases, taking your coat and closing the door.

"Hmmm…" you pretend to think on it. "Gotta be that Italian charm." Winking, you begin shimmying out of your pants, revealing pajama shorts underneath. You then glance over your shoulder and notice Sonny still standing by the door with mouth slightly agape. His baby blues are quite obviously glued to your behind. "Hey, detective!” you call out, batting your lashes and smirking. “My eyes are up here!" It’s hard not to take at least a little pleasure in flirty bouts like these since they never fail to flush Sonny’s cheeks or jumble his words.

"Y-yeah, I-I know, doll. It's just," he closes the distance towards you. "You're so beautiful." Sonny's voice seems to catch in his throat causing your heart to do the same in your chest. He reaches out to cup your face, a thumb brushing tenderly along your cheek. "I'm gonna miss this..."

Your eyebrows knit together. "What?"

Sonny shuts his eyes firmly as if he's guarding a confession and releases a breath through his nose. "I have ta go undercover for a while."

Your eyes widen. "When?!"

Your boyfriend rests his hands on your shoulders, bracing you. "Tomorrow." You pull yourself out of his grasp. "Doll, please!” he begs. “I just found out myself! There's been a few assaults around this shelter for convicted sex offenders and we need a guy on the inside."

How could he just spring this on you? A cramped space packed with ex-cons struggling to get their lives together hardly seems like the safest assignment. What if they don't believe his cover? What if they find out the truth? He could be bashed over the head and no one would give a damn! How could Sonny, a man without an ounce of evil in his body, ever pass for one of them? Sure, he could come off as a little brash sometimes, but not sex offender-levels of it! And how the hell long would he need to be there for, anyway?!

You don't realize that you asked that last part aloud until Sonny responds. "I'm not sure. It all depends on what we can find out and how fast. I hope not too long but who knows..." To say his demeanor is apologetic is an understatement. He isn't any more enthusiastic about this whole thing than you are.

"Why you?!" you protest, half frustrated, half terrified. "Because...because I need you to be careful, Sonny!" The way you say his name is more a desperate plea than an outburst of anger.

"I will! I promise! But I'm still technically the new guy, so it’s kinda on me to take the U.C. assignments no one else wants." And he's right. There's nothing he can do about it. You just have to cherish falling asleep in his arms tonight and pray he stays safe.

-x-

“What about this?” you ask poking your head out of the closet to hold up a tan and green plaid shirt. It’s definitely seen better days.

Sonny turns around from where he’s packing a duffle bag on the bed. “Yeah, that could work,” he agrees. “But where’d ya find it?”

“It was in this box back here labelled ‘Dom’,” you state, parting the dress shirts and suits hanging above your head for a second look.

“That’s dad’s stuff.” Sonny crosses the room and helps you tug the box free from the back corner. “Ma insisted I bring them along when I moved ‘because ya neva know when ya might need ‘em’,” he mocks, attempting his best impersonation of his mother. “I guess she was right.”

“Mothers usually are,” you quip before pulling out a faded pair of thick, denim jeans. “Will these fit?”

Sonny takes the pants to examine their size. “’Should,” he confirms. “They’re from the eighties or somethin’. Dad’s appetite for Ma’s cookin’ sure has made him pack on the pounds over the years…” he chuckles, stretching the waistline back and forth.

“Hey, now! Since I started eating your cooking my jeans fit tighter too!” you say jokingly as you pat your tummy in defence of the Carisi patriarch.

“Jean size doesn’t matter, doll, as long as the heart’s happy ‘n the stomach’s full.” Sonny’s blue eyes lock onto yours, delivering a sincere smile. “And my heart is the happiest it’s ever been.”

Your cheeks flush and you avert your gaze like a bashful teenager. You may not have supermodel proportions, but your heart flutters knowing that Sonny loves you all the same.

The old clothes are the perfect match for Sonny’s alias. Later, as the morning sun trickles through the New York City streets, ‘Dominick Smith’ joins you in the living room clad in an old grey hoodie and his father’s faded jeans. Things are a bit baggy but they’ll do. The two of you spend the next little while rehearsing ‘Smitty’s’ backstory, unnerved that Sonny has to be convincing as someone with such a disgusting past.

“Oh, I almost forgot the ring,” Sonny declares as he jogs to the case-info envelope on the table.

“Huh?” you question as your line of sight follows his movements.

He shakes out a gold wedding band and rejoins you. “Dominick Smith has a missus, rememba? And apparently he wants to better himself so he can go back home to her.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say foolishly, eyes glued to his finger while he delicately slips on the ring. You know it’s stupid, but for a moment your hopes were high and your heart pounded at the inside of your chest. You can’t help but wish the ring was real; that it would symbolize that he is yours forever.

Sonny’s eyes dart between yours and where they’re fixated on his hand. “You okay?” he asks quietly which brings you back to reality.

“Y-yeah,” you manage, forcing a smile.

He then reaches into his pocket and produces a key. “I hope you don’t mind me askin’, but since I dunno how long I’ll be gone for, would ya mind checkin’ in on my place every now and again? Y’know, just ta make sure that no one’s broken in or whateva.”

“Of course, babe,” you reply, accepting the key. But your clouded mind gets the better of you and your eyes widen when you realize your words.

“Babe?” he questions, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I-uh…” You’ve never called him anything other than ‘Sonny’ since the two of you started dating and you’re just not sure if he’s comfortable with anything different.

However, before you have a chance to articulate an excuse, your Italian detective leans his forehead against yours and sneaks in a swift kiss. “I could get used ta you callin’ me that,” he grins. And you can’t help but giggle. This sweet man keeps giving you more reasons to love him.

With spirits lifted, you stand back and place a hand on your hip before drawing a finger up to your lips to study his appearance.

“What?” Sonny questions, scanning himself over self-consciously.

“Something’s not quite right…” You take a couple steps forward and tangle your fingers in his hair. It’s soft and uncharacteristically floppy without any gel. You continue to muss it up, carding through it and enjoying the texture.

“You done?” he asks, pursing his lips, unamused.

“Almost,” you utter as you poke your tongue out of the corner of your mouth. “There!” You step back to admire your handiwork.

Sonny leans over to glance in the wall mirror. A horrified expression overtakes his features. “What did ya do?!” he exclaims.

You throw your head back and laugh. “I made you look the part a little more, silly!” His dark locks now stick up in multiple directions.

Sonny narrows his eyes and gives you a hard look. However, the slightest of smiles plays at the corner of his mouth and you know he secretly enjoyed it.

Then Sonny’s watch lights up, giving off a beep which catches both your attentions. You know what it means and so does he. It’s time.

Tears begin to rim your eyes. “Please be careful,” you speak in a shaky voice. You wish you could protect him and keep him safe throughout this whole ordeal.

“I will be,” he reassures. “This will all be over soon.” Sonny steps towards you and gathers you in his arms. The two of you lock into an embrace and you feel a squeeze that’s filled with desperation. It’s then that you understand just how nervous Sonny actually is about all this. You hug him a little tighter, both clinging to one another like a life source.

“I love you,” he says lingering his touch along your arms.

“I love you, too.” You lean up and kiss him before burying your face in his chest for one last embrace.

-x-

“On my way home now to shower and change before I have to head back. So, I have a few minutes if you're free." Is what his text reads.

You don't think you've ever made it to Sonny's apartment in such record time. After five days of no contact and being consumed by a worry that made you feel like throw up 24/7, his return lifts a giant weight off your shoulders.

You eagerly knock on the door and a disheveled looking man in the same old grey hoodie and faded blue jeans opens it. His hair is greasy and he looks a little pale, though you suppose nearly a week of cruddy food and shoddy sleep will do that to a person. None of that matters, however, because a large smile of relief spreads across your face from knowing he’s safe and naturally, your first instinct is to jump into his arms.

But this time Sonny stops you. "Don't, doll. I stink,” he scrunches his nose in disgust.

A laugh bubbles free from your chest. "Okay, babe!"

"Lemme go shower 'n brush my teeth, then ya can kiss me," winks Sonny as he welcomes you into his apartment. It seems this undercover gig hasn't completely broken his spirit.

"Hurry up then, stinky!" you chide, hopping onto his couch impatiently.

Sonny runs off in the direction of the bathroom and in no time, you hear the whoosh from the faucet and spray of the shower.

A few minutes later, the water shuts off and a familiar darn it! resonates from within. You smile to yourself knowing exactly the cause and perch over the sofa arm to watch the show.

As predicted, the door opens and a billow of steam releases into the hall. The patter of wet feet follow as Sonny comes scurrying out, darting into the bedroom for clothes. You're about to unleash a cheeky catcall when you notice a large purplish splotch resting above the white towel tied around Sonny's waist. You immediately jump up to intercept him before he can duck back into the bathroom. "What the hell is that?" you demand, tone no longer light and flirty.

"What?" he questions, perplexed.

"That!" you point to his discoloured side.

He contorts to glance in the direction of your finger. "Oh."

You continue to stare him down when he fails to provide an explanation.

"It's nothing, doll," he lies, clutching his clothes to his chest. But your disapproving eyes forces him to confess. "Okay...I got jumped. It wasn't by the guys in the shelter though! It was outside 'n they were targetin' everyone they thought could be a suspect in the most recent assault."

They?! You're suddenly overwhelmed by his close encounter. "Oh my God, Sonny! Are you all right?!" He could have come out of this a whole lot worse.

"Yeah, I'm okay. It'll heal. Actually, it was one of the guys from the shelter who came to my rescue. Who knew..." Sonny's voice trails off as his mind drifts.

But all you care about is Sonny. Focusing on the bruise, you hesitantly reach out and give it a light touch. His skin is warm and damp, yet turns to goosebumps under your fingertips.

Sonny gazes down at you silently and you shift your eyes to meet his. It's only been five days but it feels like a lifetime since you've seen his handsome face. The gentle curve of his lips. The blueness of his eyes. Suddenly he feels so close. Nothing but a towel separates you. Your heart rate picks up as every inch of you aches for the man you love.

"I gotta go get ready.” The tension snaps with Sonny’s soft grin and breathy voice.

"I know," you say reluctantly. "I missed you."

"Missed you too, doll." His left hand finds the back of your neck, cradling your head as he leans down with closed eyes to place a kiss to your lips. Maybe it's the steam from the shower, but it's the type of kiss that makes your insides melt. Then Sonny parts and slips back into the bathroom.

Lightheaded, you make your way back to the couch and sit down. Twenty minutes later the door opens again and the Sonny Carisi you're most familiar with steps out. A three-piece suit and crisp tie. Slicked back hair and smooth cheeks. Though he looks perfect to you, Sonny is still fretting over his hair, combing it back at the temples to work in the last of the gel.

"How do I look?" he inquires, holding his arms out to the sides.

"Handsome as ever!" you give a cheerful smile.

Sonny grins. "Sorry I have ta run, but I need ta get back to the precinct. We've got a major lead in the case."

"All good," you wave dismissively. "I'm just glad you're all right and that I got a chance to see you."

Sonny echoes your sentiments while scurrying around to gather his things. You get up once he starts heading for the door. "I dunno when I'm gonna be back t’night," he frowns. "I'd love ya to stick around but don't wanna keep ya waitin'."

"No worries. Besides, you're gonna need a good night's sleep after almost a week in that place." You smile up at Sonny lovingly and take the apartment key out of your pocket. "Here."

"Nuh-no! That's your copy now, doll." He folds your fingers towards your palm, enclosing the key within.

"Really?" You're ready to burst with joy.

"Really," he confirms with a kiss.

"Well in that case," you smile against his lips, "maybe I'll sneak back in here tonight and we can indulge in some mediocre takeout and bad tv."

"Ya read my mind, doll,” he beams. “Ya read my mind."

Notes: Hope you enjoyed this one! It was originally just going to be angsty but I tried to liven it up a bit with some flirty stuff.

Also, here’s a bit of a preview of what’s next. Let’s just say that there’s trouble in paradise... (Full version up now!)

"Doesn't matter. I want to be with you -" "No." Sonny cuts you off firmly. It's the first time he's raised his voice to you in any way. It shakes you to your core, leaving a horribly sour feeling in the pit of your stomach. You try to dismiss it because you know he's tired and scared but the tears still fall when Sonny hangs up the phone.

[pollylynn]

Title: Aspect
 WC:  1200

She doesn’t mean to wander. There’s no real question of actually getting any sleep, but she means, at least, to stay in the guest room like a good . . .  well, guest. But her mind is cycling through too much to stay in the bed—too much even for the awkward tip-toe pacing she does a few times around the perimeter of the room.

She has considered and rejected every single book on the shelves, on and in the bedside tables. She’s examined every objet d’art on every horizontal surface. She’s practically memorized the framed pieces hanging on the walls, and she’s picked up, grinned over, and put back down again every overflow picture of Alexis, Martha and Alexis, him and Alexis that’s made its way here.

She’s made a thorough study of the honestly quite lovely room while loss and horror and frustration roll like thick, battleship clouds just beneath the surface of her restless mind. Dunn’s shrine, flames licking at irreplaceable photographs just like these, the photos of Gloria Rodriguez’s body, ghostly and mid-air translucent on the smart board in the War Room—it all rolls just beneath the surface. It overcomes all sense of propriety, all sense of shame at the very idea of wandering someone else’s house in the dead of night.

She crosses the threshold on the balls of her feet. She winds slowly, slowly down the hallway, not quite trailing the fingertips of one hand along the wall. She makes her way down the stairs and pauses, unsure of her destination. She thinks about the kitchen—about the boxes of tea he’s left out in case she wants them, but her feet strike out in another direction, across the living room. She luxuriates in the thick pile of the rug. She winds up at the piano.

It’s something she’s wondered about the dozen or so times she’s been here. Does he play? Does Alexis? Do they plunk out the standard four-hand version of “Heart and Soul” together? She’s wondered, but it’s not the piano itself that draws her tonight. It’s the dense forest of photos on top. She kneels up on the bench and carefully braces herself on the piano’s lid.

She cranes up to study the larger frames further back. Here’s Alexis as a chubby, alien-looking infant, and her again, looking serious as a toddler in the frilliest dress possible. And there she is as a little girl in sturdy-looking overalls with her hands full of autumn leaves. She tucks one leg underneath herself and leans in to peer closely at the tinier shots up front of the two of them smiling hard at the camera from a recital stage, from a mall Santa’s knee, from a muddy soccer field in front of the goal.

“Hey.” His voice is as soft as he can make it, but it’s the dead of night. The loft is absolutely silent, but for one syllable and the sound of her own breath. It should probably startle her, but it doesn’t. It seems inevitable. “What’s got you up?” He arrives next her as he says it. They share a knife’s-edge grin at the ridiculous question:  What doesn’t have her up?

“Jordan Shaw,” she says, even though he’s not really expecting an answer. Even though this answer, such as it is, is  just a tiny sliver of what’s cycling through her mind.

He regards her for a moment, too tired to be surprised. Or maybe, as ever, too interested in every last thing on her mind.

“Come on.” He nods toward the center of the living room and urges her up from the piano bench. “That’ll kill your back.” He leans over and leers. “And your butt."

He herds her on to the couch, snagging some kind of heavenly soft throw from the back and handing it to her before he settles into the wide chair nearby. It’s the one occupied by the large rag doll. She’s wondered about that, too. She fusses with the blanket to hide a grin as he hugs the doll to himself without a shred of self-consciousness.

“So.” He lets out a huge yawn. “Jordan Shaw. Not so understanding about getting kicked off the case after all?” He shoots her a conspiratorial look. “Do we need to take her down? I know a—” He stops and thinks about it. “Yeah, I definitely know a guy who can get dirt on her.”  

“No dirt.” She laughs quietly at the total picture of his bedhead, his bloodlust, and the floppy companion he’s still holding carefully on his lap. “I was just thinking about . . .” She shakes her head. “I feel stupid about her being a mom. Being surprised about it.”

“She’s not exactly cuddly,” he offers.

“But you weren’t surprised.” He gives a noncommittal shrug. “I shouldn’t have been surprised.” She worries the soft edge of the blanket between her fingers and sifts through what’s risen to the surface of her mind just now, why it’s this of all things that she’s bringing up. “My mom was like that. Totally driven, totally committed to her work.”

“And still a great mom.” The corners of his eyes crinkle up in a soft smile. “Tricky but possible.”

“A great mom.” That’s hard for her. Somewhere along the way it got harder to think about—to talk about—her mom’s life than her death. That’s what Special Agent Jordan Shaw, Mother Extraordinaire, has brought up tonight. That’s what this whole place—a shrine to father and daughter, mother and son—has brought up. “And my dad, too. They were a team, and I never—” She clears her throat.  “I think I was a teenager before I realized how busy they both were. All the time. But they never said no to anything. They never missed anything.”

“They did it together.” His smile loosens a little. Wistfulness creeps in as he makes the doll’s floppy arms dance a rapid patter across his thighs. “That’s possible, too, I hear.”


He rolls his eyes, making a joke of it, and she has to think hard to recall Meredith, stiff and posed and painfully aware of the camera, in her few appearances. Kate opens her mouth to . . . apologize or something, but his expression changes—it turns serious and a little shy.

“It’s always worth it.” He lifts a rag doll hand, along with his own, toward the forest of picture frames on the piano. “Whatever you have to do. It’s always worth it.”  

“My dad says that.” She has a vivid memory—a rapid-fire gallery, really—of her mom rushing up the bleachers, sliding into a seat in her high school auditorium with her briefcase barely closed. Worth it, Katie. Of course it’s worth it. “And my mom said it all the time.” She shakes her head. “Jordan . . . I don’t know why I was surprised.”

“It happens.” He shrugs again. “You think of people as one thing, but they’re lots of things. Everyone is.”

“Everyone is,” she repeats. She feels a curious cracking sensation inside. Not painful, exactly, but startling as the truth of it settles on him, on her, and on the two of them together. “Everyone.”

A/N: Hmmm.

images via homeoftheutty

[maximusthewolfe]

Peaches and Plums | 1/?

Back in Fillory, present day, Eliot struggles with the rush of memories from a life he apparently lived, even though he didn't. But there's a quest to be finished, a kingdom to be run, and a world with no magic to make it all infinitely more difficult. So what's a High King to do when flashbacks won't stop and Quentin just wants to move forward?

I wanted to play with all the empty spaces from THE scene in A Life in the Day, and explore the fallout from it in the present world that never really got shown. I hope you enjoy! 

Also on AO3 

“Just give. Me. A minute,” Eliot said through gritted teeth, irritation sharpening the edges of his words until they cut effortlessly.

“Babes, look, we don’t have a minute. I need you to get your shit together now.”

Margo’s voice matched his abrasive syllable for abrasive syllable, but Eliot kept the heels of his hands pressed firmly to his eyes. She was right. The quest was waiting. Their kingdom was waiting. Somewhere in the castle, Quentin was waiting. When had the weight of not one, but two entire worlds suddenly landed on his shoulders? And when had he decided he was okay with carrying it all?  He may have been miserable at Brakebills, but sometimes he missed the simplicity of burying his misery in drugs and drinks and warm bodies willing to occupy his senses for an evening.

“Can’t magic save itself for once? Let its merry band of idiots take a breather?” he said. His swift answer was Margo prying his hands from his face, an unforgiving look in her eyes.

“What the fuck is this, El? It’s your goddamn quest, you roped me in. And you know I’ll do anything to help you out here because fuck if I don’t miss magic more than that purple vibrator I left in the cottage, but I didn’t ask for this. Any of it. Do you see me moping over some lost past that probably sucked ass anyway? I mean, you apparently died, right? Sounds like a fuckin shitshow to me,” she said, hands on her hips, standing her ground, as always.

Her voice echoed slightly in the high marble ceilings of the throne room, only serving to add to the power of it. Margo had always known how to command a room. Or in this case, an entire castle. Eliot shook his head, a mess of dark curls flying from the places where they stuck out around his crown. “I know. Down, Bambi. I get it.”

“Well,” Margo said, tapping her gorgeous pointed toe boot on the floor, “What I need you to GET right now, is your ass in gear. Q’s called some sort of all-questers-on-deck meeting.”

Eliot groaned his disapproval but stood from his throne anyway. She was right. Margo was almost always right. But she had missed one fine detail. He wasn’t mourning the loss of a past he couldn’t remember. It wasn’t all lost when Margo stopped them from going to the mosaic in the first place. Oh no, not by a long shot. He remembered everything. That was the problem.

“Let’s go see what our sweet, depressive Potter thinks we ought to do next,” he said, raising a hand in protest even as he followed Margo out of the throne room. “Which, I take issue with, by the way. His incessant need to be the big man in charge. This quest was bestowed upon me, technically, and he keeps hijacking it.”

Eliot pretended not to hear the words of the Great Cock ringing in his ears. You have a brother of the heart. With the floppy hair. This quest was just as much Q’s as it was his. It might have been theirs – both of them – more than it was anyone else’s.

“Weren’t you just complaining about not wanting this thing?” Margo eyed him carefully, clearly uninterested in putting up with whatever rabid mood swing was overtaking him.

“Well, yeah, but I want the option of not wanting it, you know?” he said airily, twirling his hand above his head as though that elegant, meaningless movement explained what he meant.

“Oh fuck,” Margo rolled her eyes, “Can you not be a teenage girl for two seconds here?”

Eliot huffed, but he quieted and followed the path to the fairy-proof hallway, linking his arm in Margo’s. When they turned the corner, Eliot caught sight of Quentin pacing back and forth, hands twisting in front of him, long hair creating a curtain over his face. He could practically see the concentration on the younger man’s face, the way his forehead scrunched up, eyebrows practically in his hairline. He was trying to work something particularly difficult out, Eliot recognized the look in an instant.

****

And suddenly, he wasn’t in the pale stone hallway convening with the other questers anymore. He was outside a small hut, staring at piles of tiles around them, looking up to catch that same concentrated, problem-solving look etched onto Quentin’s face in a different world, in a different time, in a different life.

“Um – so,” Q started.

"Yeah,” Eliot paused, understanding what he was trying to say before it was said, “Um… Let’s just save our overthinking for the puzzle, yeah?”

A beat passed where Eliot’s heart was practically in his throat, and then Q nodded. “Yeah.”

And that was that, or so he thought.

The mosaic itself was increasingly frustrating by the day, but they still worked at it diligently, documenting each failed attempt and starting over again. And again. And again. By the end of the day, they were both exhausted, and by the end of this particular day, Eliot was especially exhausted. He’d been doing his best to follow his own advice, to save his overthinking for the puzzle, but it was difficult when he kept catching vivid glimpses of the night before in his mind.

He watched as Quentin moved through the little hut, anxiety coming off of him in waves as he filed away the drawings from the day according to some intricate organizational system he’d made up, and Eliot had let him run with. He’d thought he’d had a pretty good handle on all of Quentin’s… Quentinisms before they stepped through the clock and into this past version of Fillory, but the level of familiarity every tick, every look, every sigh now held in his heart only proved to him that he hadn’t known as much about the younger man as he’d assumed. So, it was unsurprising to the former (or future? Time travel had never really made sense to him) High King when Quentin looked in his direction with those big, worried eyes.

“Hey, El?”

Eliot blinked away the interest in his amber gaze and replaced it with practiced nonchalance. “Hmmm?” he hummed in response.

“You ever think about what’ll happen if we don’t figure it out?”

The fear in Quentin’s tone was poorly masked, even to the ears of someone not as well trained in emotional avoidance. Eliot’s immediate instinct was to diffuse.

“No, not really. That’s not how this story goes, Q. You’re the hero, and the hero doesn’t die halfway through the quest,” he said dismissively.

“Well, the hero also generally doesn’t kill a God and get magic turned off in the first place, so,” Quentin retorted, “I’m not sure the usual literary epic rules apply here.”

Eliot paused, elegantly wrinkling his brows at his…. friend? Fellow quester? Brother of the heart? Man he kissed and then some the night before? Quentin may have had a point, but if they couldn’t count on fairytale rules in this fairytale land, well, then what was the fucking point of it all?

“So we’re playing parts in Homer’s Morally Gray Odyssey. Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“Yeah, but what if you are?”

“Then I try to be right again tomorrow. We don’t have a lot of choice here,” Eliot said finally, sighing heavily.

“Huh….” Quentin’s unspoken anxieties were enough to drive Eliot completely mad.

“Come on, out with it,” he prompted, waving at the space in front of him. “The floor’s all yours.”

“No, it’s, it’s nothing.”

In lieu of rolling his eyes so hard he gave himself a headache, Eliot replied, “Convincing.”

“It’s just – “ Quentin’s hands were headed for his hair, a nervous tick Eliot had learned to recognize long before they’d spent a year with almost solely each other. “I know we said no overthinking last night –“

Eliot held up a hand, shaking his head as he stood. He tucked in the olive green fabric of his shirt that had been pulled loose in the movement.  “Stop. No, nothing good can follow that sentence. And no offense, but I think I’m about up to my tile-riddled brain in ‘nothing good’ for the day.”

He’d woken up that morning with an impressive amount of hope in his heart for Eliot Waugh. Quentin was lying beside him in bed, his own arm draped protectively over Quentin’s waist. It was something he’d never really been able to stop himself from doing, protecting Quentin. Even when it came at the cost of his own destruction, it was a fee he would pay a thousand times over. In the morning light, Eliot was quite certain he’d never seen anything as beautiful as the peaceful planes of Quentin’s face awash in the golden-pink of the sunrise filtering in through the window. It struck him in that moment how rarely he saw the younger man looking at peace. The calm on Quentin’s sleeping face then was a stark contrast to the intense anxiety that had clouded his every feature nearly as soon as he woke up.

One year. It had taken one year for Quentin Coldwater to break his heart again. But the way he’d looked at him after remembering the previous night; the way he’d practically jumped, and then almost fell, out of bed, tucked his hair anxiously behind his ears, dressing quickly and insisting on getting to work had done the trick. It took everything Eliot had to give him the out earlier that day, he didn’t think he could bear to drudge it back up in order to allow the younger man the space to verbally hammer the final nail in Eliot’s extremely premature coffin.

“El – “ Q protested, but Eliot sauntered away in the direction of the kitchen.

“Seriously? Can we not Quentin this to death, please?” he said, his voice betraying the exhaustion he felt at the prospect of having to listen to Quentin detail all the ways in which he was “really great, but…” That was typically his speech to give.

“Eliot, for fuck’s sake, would you let me finish a goddamn thought for once?”

Quentin had followed him into the hut’s tiny, primitive kitchen. The forcefulness in his voice caught Eliot off guard. With considerable effort, he stopped himself from speaking again by biting his lower lip from the inside and crossing his arms with impossible grace over his chest. He arched an eyebrow in a sort of challenge for Quentin, conceding him the floor.

“Oh, um. Okay. I didn’t think you were really going to –“ Quentin must have caught the exasperation that swept into Eliot’s gaze, because he corrected himself quickly, “Right.”

“Look, I just – I’ve been thinking and I know that all of this,” his hands flailed around him, trying to encompass the hut, the mosaic, and the time they’d stepped into in one erratic gesture, “Is just, y’know, not at all what either of us expected. And I dunno, it’s a different world, but it’s also not? And you’re still Eliot and I’m still Quentin and I just think that’s something important. That’s something you should know, you know?”

“Q….” Eliot interjected cautiously. Biting his tongue had never been Eliot’s strong suit, but he did his best, motioning for Q to wrap it up, smirking to mask the small spark of hope that had ignited in his chest. It was foolhardy, Eliot knew, but something in the tone of Quentin’s rambles shifted the day’s despair in him slightly.

“What I’m saying – what I’m trying to say is – we’re here. And it’s familiar because it’s Fillory, right? But it’s also totally not because it’s Fillory like, forever ago, and we uh, we don’t know HOW long we’re gonna be here. We could figure this out tomorrow and I dunno, I just mean, if we did, if we do, I don’t think it would uh, I don’t want you to think it would change the fact,” Quentin’s sentence sputtered out there, his left hand raising from the place it had settled deep in his pocket and coming to rest on the back of his neck, his elbow jutting awkwardly out from his side.

“That I – I want last night to happen again.”

A hush fell over the entire hut. In the heavy silence, Eliot’s heart took Quentin’s words and used them as lighter-fluid drenched kindling, growing the spark of hope into a wildfire that propelled him forward. He reached out his arms so that his hands cupped the sides of Quentin’s face a full three seconds (damn long limbs) before the rest of him did, and pulled the shorter man up to him, dipping down to meet him somewhere in the middle, their lips crashing together far less gracefully than they had the night before. He felt Quentin’s arm drop from the back of his neck, felt the uncertainty in the other man’s body as Eliot kissed him like he was the only viable source of oxygen in the room.

When Quentin had started rambling, Eliot wasn’t sure what to expect, but it damn sure wasn’t the confession he received, and if this was a quick lapse in mental clarity brought on by the stress of another unsuccessful day at the mosaic, he wasn’t going to miss his moment. Eliot’s long fingers tangled easily into Quentin’s hair, and after a moment where Quentin’s entire body tensed against the sudden contact, Eliot felt him relax into it, felt Q’s hands wrapping around his waist, hands sliding up his back. They stayed that way for several minutes, Eliot’s tongue hungrily exploring the younger man’s mouth until finally he pulled away but kept his hands on either side of Quentin’s face.

“Done overthinking it?” he asked, a slow, playful smile spreading across his kiss-swollen lips.

Quentin looked dazed, eyes bouncing back and forth between Eliot’s as though searching for some sign that this was all a joke to the older man. He would find no such evidence. After a long moment, seemingly satisfied with his search, Q smiled, mirroring the joy Eliot could feel emanating from his own face, and lifted onto his toes to close the space between them again.

[dolant36n-blog]

Choose me(G.D):

Losing my wallet at the beach was probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me. There are a few reasons to support that theory:

1. I got it back, completely untouched,

2. The person who gave it back is my favorite person in the world today,

3. That person is Grayson Dolan.

I never thought I’d get to meet the guys who have made Tuesday my favorite day of the week, let alone be in their inner circle. It’s sort of a scenario you’d make up in your head before you fall asleep, almost too good to be true.

Grayson Dolan was the first guy that payed any attention to me. Sure, it was all friendly to him, but at the time I really needed someone and he happened to be there for me. I never expected him to be there when I couldn’t sleep at night when my anxiety got really bad, but he was. He’d see me online and be at my doorstep in minutes. Sometimes he’d send me a snap to see if I was around, just in case if I needed him. It was endearing too see him care so much for someone he barely knew, almost impossible to believe.

I was sure that one day I’ll wake up and it would all turn out to be nothing but a dream. When he’d fall asleep with his head in my lap, his arms clutching to me like I was his saving grace, I’d give myself a little pinch to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating and that he was really there with me. It evoked feelings I never knew I was capable of and for a moment I didn’t care about anything but the feeling of my fingers running through his hair. It gave me peace and I was content just laying sitting there, watching him sleep. He seemed vulnerable and I felt special for being one of those people he trusted enough to see him that way.

It felt surreal that this has become my life, snuggling to Grayson, playing Fortnite with Ethan, late night drives with the two where we’d grab some food and head to a lookout point. We’d watch the city lights and talk about what we all wanted out of life. Our hopes and dreams were laid out each time, the things we’d never speak about during the day would finally find their way to the world. I never had people who stood by me like these two did, ever. They gave me safe place to land to after a hard day and I wouldn’t give it up for the world.

Truth is, it was impossible to spend so much time with people like them, like him, and not develop some deeper feelings. Before I even knew it, I had fallen in love with one of my best friends and I didn’t know what to do.

I realized something was different when Grayson called me up to ask for some advice. Naturally, I got to his place and expected to find him a mess. I walked into his room without knocking and stopped dead in my track once I spotted him with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. He turned around and motioned for me to come in while I struggled to take a proper breath. Sure, I’ve seen him shirtless before, so why was I affected by this so much? I sat on the bed as he rummaged through his closet, his voice seemed like a distant echo while I watched his back muscles tense and relax under his movements.

„Hey, have you heard a single thing I just said?“ Grayson asked breaking me out of my daze.

„Uh..No?“ I say sheepishly and he smiles, shaking his head a bit.

„I have nothing to wear! You have to help me!“ He exclaims and I cock and eyebrow, leaning back on his bed, using my elbows to support my weight.

„You sound like an eighteen year old girl, right now.“ I say with a smirk and he rolls his eyes.

„Please?“ He begs and I pout my lips a little and look at the ceiling, pretending to think about it.

„Hmmm…Okay!“ I jump from the bed, and head for his closet.

„What occasion am I supposed to dress you for, Barbie?“ I tease.

„I have a date.“ His says quickly and I freeze as his words felt like little knives cutting my heart open.

„Oh.“ I say without thinking.

„You don’t sound too happy.“ Grayson notices and I plaster on a fake smile before turning to him. It was true tho’, I wasn’t happy. It felt more like a paper cut covered in lemon juice, to be honest.

„I am. I am. Who are you going out with?“ I ask, fake chipper in my voice, pretending to focus on the clothes in his wardrobe.

„I met her last week. She’s an aspiring model.“ He answers and I note the little change in his voice when he speaks about her. I couldn’t quite understand it at the time, but there was something different whenever he mentioned her.

„A model! Great!“ I exclaimed, swallowing the tears that were begging to come out. Why was I like this?!

„Yeah“, he said and threw himself on the bed with a small groan.

I shook my head, hoping to shake off the negative thoughts as well and continued searching for something appropriate.

„Where are you taking her?“ My voice was laced with so much fake sweetness that I wanted to barf.

„I was thinking about dinner at that new restaurant downtown.“ He answered casually and I swallowed thickly.

„The one where we were last week?“ I question. I pulled out a pair of black jeans and threw them at him.

„Yup.“ He answers and I clench my fist. It was a place we agreed would be ours. It wasn’t fancy or too exposed. The place had a homey vibe and the food was so good it made our heads spin. We ate so much that we couldn’t move for an hour. That was our place he was taking some other girl to..I had right to be jealous, right? Friends or not, it was my right.

I grabbed a navy blue dress shirt and threw that at him as well.

„Ouch.“ He yelped as the coat-hanger hit him.

„Sorry.“ I wasn’t sorry. I was downright angry at this point. Angry about him going out with someone, about him taking her to our place, angry that I was angry to begin with.

„Put on these too.“ I said tossing a pair of white shoes at him and he jumped as they hit him.

„Okay. What the hell?!“ He questioned and I refused to turn around, searching for something else he could „wear“ so I could toss it at him.

„(Y/N)? Talk to me.“ Great..he was worried now.

„I’m fine. Just make your hair extra floppy tonight to complete the look and you’ll do great. Use protection.“ I added before I practically ran to the door. I needed to get the hell out as my ability to control myself was fading fast.

„Wait!“ I heard him call after me, but I ignored it. Bumping into Ethan on my way to the door, I gave a curt hello and left.

I didn’t know why I was hit with so many emotions right now, nor did I understand them at all. I felt selfish for not being happy for him, angry at the both of us. Jealous? I got home and turned off my phone. Falling to my bed I felt like I was losing it. My insides were in a chaos. A mess. Something was bothering me. Something was hurting me. Something ached inside me. Something felt so wrong, so invalid but I couldn’t tell what. I tried to pin point the cause for this unexplained pain but failed. I didn’t know if it was the date, the place, the person. I tried to reason this unbearable burning but didn’t find any. Everything felt so confused, just like a jumbled set of a puzzle.

„Y/N, what happened?“ I heard Ethan’s voice from my living room, but I didn’t move.

„Y/N?“ He entered my room, his heavy footsteps coming closer to my bed. I didn’t move. I laid on my stomach, my head turned to the windows. I watched the clouds roll in, thinking about Grayson. Ethan came into view and gave me a pensive look.

„Y/N, why are you crying?“ Ethan asked I wiped my face in confusion. I didn’t realize I was crying at all.

„He’s going on a date.“ I whispered.

„Why does that bother you?“ Ethan wiped away a few tears, letting his hand rest on my cheek.

„I..I can’t solve the puzzle.“ I mumbled as my body shook.

„Huh?“ Ethan wasn’t sure what I was saying and for a moment I wasn’t either.

„I don’t know why it hurts.“ I said, my voice cracking.

„I do.“ Ethan said and I looked up, my eyes searching his for answers I couldn’t find myself.

„You’re in love with him.“ Ethan said and everything seemed to make sense.

#grayson dolan #dolan twins imagine #grayson dolan imagine #dolan twins fanfic #grayson and ethan #dolan twins fanfic #ethan dolan

[taakofromtaz]

hook, line, and sunken memories

Summary: 

taako takes angus fishing and opens up a little

Notes: (transposed from AO3)

We spent the weekend at Lake Cumberland back at the beginning of October and I got to chill in the boat while my stepdad tried to catch fish. (he caught the world’s smallest catfish lol) I wrote part of this from our cottage/hotel room and I would sit there feeling the phantom boat sways for Literal Hours.

I gotta say, the relationship between Taako and Angus is one of my favorite ones in the entire series. There’s so much there that goes unspoken for one reason or another, but you can see it, right there, in between the lines. You just gotta look for ‘em.

>this is set after the wrestling show and may or may not be after the 11th hour, idk

[potential warning for potentially inaccurately portrayed anxiety attack]

Word count: 2601

part of the beautiful magic boys series.

[writing tag] | [Archive of Our Own] | [fic index] | [please consider donating!] 

When Taako tells Angus to wear something light and comfortable one day in the late spring, Angus expects something wildly different. Angus suspects Taako’s going to train him about a special magic or take him on an exciting adventure. What he doesn’t expect is Taako tugging him off to an utterly massive lake in the middle of Faerun with nothing but a boat, a compact box, and a couple of fishing poles.

Angus blinks when Taako steps up to the boat tied to a small dock. “Sir?” he asks, because he just has to. This kind of scenario is so strange, so different, that he can’t even tell if this is out of character for the wizard.

Taako, on his part, is already sitting in the boat, threading bait onto the hooks tied to the end of the fishing line attached to each pole. “Yeah, boychik?” he asks, glancing back at the boy. Taako looks nothing like your standard fisherman in his high wasted shorts that hug his ass and the almost shear blouse he’s wearing—Angus can see some sort of undergarment through the material, but he decides not to comment. His floppy wizard hat is absent and his long hair is tied up in bun and held in place by what Angus would swear is a magic wand. He’s wearing light shoes that look like they were made to take water and it’s honestly the most sensible part of the outfit, if the boy detective is allowed a say.

“…You fish?” are the only words that can come out of Angus’s mouth with any sort of coherency and the boy nearly slaps his own forehead in embarrassment.

“Sure! Cha’boy loves to get out on the water and cast himself a line. It’s chill as fuck, my dude.” Taako wraps up his prep work and waves Angus over to the boy. “C’mon, get in. I need your help to untie this bad boy.”

“Where do you need me, sir?” Angus is hesitant to approach the boat, but since Taako has no problems with it, it should probably be okay. Taako’s not the sort to put himself in any unnecessary danger.

“You take the front. I’ll get the back,” Taako says, holding out a hand to Angus when the boy gets closer. “Watch your step.”

Angus takes the proffered hand and steps into the boat. It doesn’t move the way he expects it to and doesn’t slip out from under him, tied firmly to the dock, but it still wobbles enough for him to stumble. He lets out a little gasp and hurriedly grasps Taako with his other hand.

“You’re good, Agnes, you’re good. I gotcha.” Taako helps Angus to the only passenger seat in the tiny boat. He takes his own seat behind the wheel—the “driver’s seat”—and grins at the boy. “So, as I’m sure you’ve deduced,” he begins, wiggling his fingers at Angus, smiling when the kid laughs, “I brought you here so we can cast some lines. And!” Taako waves a hand over the tech attached to the back of the boat and it jolts a little. Angus hadn’t even noticed it. “This isn’t technically a boat built for speed, buuuut, I just so happen to be fuckin’ baller at this magic shit, so that’s not really a problem for me.”

Angus tilts his head. “So what are you saying?”

Taako’s grin is the cat that caught the canary. He stands again and gestures for Angus to move to the front of the boat. “I’m sure your genius little boy brain and figure it out.” He moves to the rope tied to the cleat on the back of the boat. “I need you to stretch your arm out to the dock there, boychik, but be careful not to fall in. Can you reach it?”

Angus leans as far out of the boat as he feels comfortable with, but he can’t get close enough for his fingers to even graze the edge. “Sorry, sir!”

“No worries, homie. I’ll just hop out for a sec,” Taako says, practically leaping from the boat onto semi-solid land. It’s so flawless and graceful Angus is momentarily stunned. Has Taako always been able to do that? Taako moves to the front of the boat and wraps his hands around the rope keeping the front of the boat attached to the dock. “I’m gonna pull the nose around and I want you to just hold onto the dock for now, ‘kay?”

“Okay, sir!” Angus chirps, finally able to grab the wood. “Can I hold onto this ring here?” he asks, pointing to where the rope is looped through a metal ring bolted to the dock.

“Yeah, perfect! I’m gonna loosen the rope from the cleat here and once I untie the back, I’m gonna need you to shove away from the dock as hard as you can, got it?” Taako loosens the knot on the rope and pulls it out of the ring, tossing it back on the boat.

“Got it!” Angus flashes him a bright and cheery grin and Taako can’t help the small smile that slips onto his own face.

Taako carefully steps back onto the boat and unties the knot on the back cleat, pulling the rope free quickly so it won’t fall into the water. “Okay, Angles, push!”

As Angus shoves as hard as his little arms can, Taako stretches a hand out to the tech and mutters a few words, casting a modified Animate Objects on the mystery tech. The boat starts to move and Taako holds onto the wheel, spinning it to the right to get the boat moving out into open water. The boat’s moving slow enough for Angus to stumble back to his seat, which he does with a wary smile.

Taako laughs at him, and grins, directing the boat further and further across the surface of the lake. “Okay, so, yeah, I’m using magic to make this thing go, because let’s face it, home boy, we aren’t exactly proficient in the strength department, ya feel?” Angus just nods and Taako laughs again. “You’re lookin’ a little green there, pumpkin. Don’t sweat it, you’re not gonna fall out or anything.

“That said, uh, this boat’s p small and not exactly built for speed, so uh,” Taako grins and stifles some giggles. “Hold on tight, Ango!” Taako barely gives Angus a chance to process the words before he’s pushing his hand towards his makeshift motor and the boat goes ripping across the water, cutting cleanly through the lake’s glassy smooth surface.

The wind feels good on their faces, if a little cold, and Angus closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy it. They aren’t moving that fast, especially compared to how fast the Bureau’s canons can go, but Taako thinks that if they go any faster, they might have a hard time staying in the boat.

They ride around the lake for almost ten minutes before finally slowing to a halt in the middle of the water, completely surrounded by a shimmering, smooth surface. It’s a nice day for this, Angus thinks. Warm and decently sunny, but with enough cloud coverage to keep them cool.

Taako ends his Animate Objects spell and gives them a minute to settle into their new position on the lake. Angus glances over to see Taako’s face tilted towards the sky, eyes closed and face more relaxed than Angus can ever remember seeing him before. A particularly hard wind rocks the boat ever so slightly and he feels something hit his shoe.

The Umbra Staff is at his feet and Angus, for just is second, is confused. Was it here before? Angus can’t remember seeing it before, but was it because it wasn’t here before or was it just because he didn’t notice? And if he didn’t notice, why didn’t he?

Before Angus can open his mouth to say anything, Taako comes back to himself and glances down. “Oh! There you are!” he says, reaching down to pick the staff up. He unlatches the ribbon holding the umbrella closed and spreads it open, using it as a sun shield. Angus can’t help but stare at how tight Taako’s grip on the handle is. Is it always that tight?

Taako rises to his feet and steps to the back of the boat, digging the poles out from where he’d stowed them along the outside wall. “C’mere and take a pole. Lemme show you how to cast.”

Angus smiles and pushes the thoughts of the umbrella out of his mind. (Are any of these things connected to that time it blasted those letters on the wall? Just what was that about, anyway?) “Okay, sir!”

Taako spends the next several minutes demonstrating the best ways to cast a line out into the open water and how hook and reel the line in when it feels like there’s a fish eating at the bait. The Umbra Staff ends up being more of a nuisance than not, so Taako collapses it and lays it across his lap, one hand almost always touching it at any point in time.

Angus finally gets a handle on casting after about a dozen tries. Taako flashes him a grin that would prove hard to defend as anything but proud, and it fills the boy detective with warmth all the way down to his toes. Taako tosses out his own line and sits back, popping the staff open again and resting it over his shoulder, looking utterly content in a way Angus has never seen before.

After about twenty minutes of peaceful silence, Angus starts feelings sleepy. He tried to go to bed early last night so he could be awake today but he was too excited and ended up only getting a few hours in, something he’s paying for now. He yawns hugely, covering his mouth with one hand, the only still wrapped around the handle of his pole. He glances over at Taako, whose eyes are closed as he leans against the staff, and can’t help but ask, “Do you do this often?”

“Hmmm?” Taako hums, opening his eyes and looking over at Angus. He has complete heterochromia (his left eye is a mercurial silver and the other is bright green), Angus notes, and he’s almost embarrassed he’s never noticed until now, but then he remembers that Taako doesn’t often give him so much of his full attention. “Oh,” the elf says, seemingly just registering the question. “I used to do it more often, but I haven’t since joining the Bureau. It’s a useful skill.” Taako appears to be finished with speaking, but Angus feels like there’s more to the story.

“What kind of uses, sir?” Angus asks, tilting his head.

Taako gives him a suspicious glance before he smirks and quirks an eyebrow. “You’re the boy genius. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“But I want you to tell me, sir!” Angus has to play this right and work into Taako’s pride or else he’ll never open up. Luckily it seems to work.

“That’s because I’m the expert, natch.” Taako shakes his pole a little and jerks it once or twice before settling back down. “So like. First of all, people eat fish, duh. If you got a pole, or something likeit, and you’re camped out beside a river or a lake, then that’s free food.” Taako smiles like he just revealed a huge secret. “Sure you also gotta know how to descale ‘em and cook ‘em but that’s no prob. Fish are good for ya.”

“Have you had to do that a lot?” Angus has no idea if he’s pushing his luck with the question, but he’s knee deep in investigation mode and he’s going to take this path as far as Taako will let him.

“All the time, ‘specially growing up.” Taako pauses and tucks a loose hair behind one of his long ears. It twitches just enough to make the chain on the cuff earring jingle. He goes quiet long enough to make Angus think that he’s done—for real this time—but he continues, much to Angus’s surprise.

“I grow up on the road, hopping from caravan to caravan when I could. Camped out when I couldn’t.” Taako shrugs and gives the Umbra Staff a lazy spin. “Was hard, tryin’a get by with nothin’, but we couldn’t go to a home because they were try to separate us—” Taako freezes and his grip on the umbrella goes white knuckled.

Angus watches this happen in rapt fascination. From one second to the next, goes from loose and content to rigid and anxious. Taako’s eyes are blown wide and unfocused, his shoulders are stiff, his breathing is shallow, and he’s clenching the pole and staff so hard Angus is sure they’ll both break. To Angus’s untrained eye, Taako seems to be in the midst of a full-blown anxiety attack, and it’s scary to the eleven-year-old.

“S-sir?” Angus squeaks out, jumping to his feet, hands hovering over his mentor, unsure whether he should touch him or not.

Taako’s pole clatters to the bottom of the boat as his hand flies up to his ear, finely manicured nails digging into the soft flesh. Angus reaches up to move the hand away—he’s very much not an expert on elven anatomy, being a little human boy, but he knows enough to know that elf ears are incredibly sensitive, and that clawing at them must be excruciating—but before he can, Taako lets go and gasps in a deep breath that quickly turns into coughing and gagging.

“Taako, sir, are you alright?” Angus knows he’s being pretty useless right now, but he just wants to help. What had even set Taako off? Something about being separated from someone? Another orphan, perhaps? (And the thought of Taako being an orphaned kid living off the streets is so contradictory to the Taako he knows now that Angus almost wants to dismiss it as an elaborate goof—but why would he joke about something like this? And if it was a joke, even Taako would have stopped it before it got to the point of an actual, literal anxiety attack. It had to be real, which just made it feel even more unreal.)

It takes a minute, but Taako finally manages to somewhat control his breathing. He wraps his free hand around the long handle of the staff and leans into it eyes closed and chest heaving. “Sorry about that, boychik,” he says, voice soft and faint. “No idea what happened there, but, hey, shit happens.”

“You don’t have to apologize, sir,” Angus tells him moving to sit beside Taako. “That didn’t look like a goof.”

“Almost wish it was. ‘S not very fun if it’s real,” Taako says, and Angus feels like there’s a deeper meaning that escapes him.

“Who were you afraid to be separated from?” Angus’s voice is so quiet, Taako might not have been able to hear it if not for his elven hearing. One of his ears twitches in the boy’s direction and Angus’s eyes flit over to it at the movement.

“I dunno,” Taako says, taking a deep breath, “but It feels like I’m forgetting something.”

“Do you wanna go back to the base?”

Taako takes and deep breath, holds it, and lets it out slowly. “Not yet. Let’s just… relax. For a bit.”

“Okay.”

Angus falls asleep ten minutes later. If he ends up slumped against Taako, and Taako wraps an arm around the boy’s shoulders? Well.

That’s between him and the Umbra Staff.

[digital-dragoon]

hmmm this is a bit out of left field but if the undertale cast were wof-style dragons, what do you think they might be?

hMM i’ll start with sans and papyrus: for them, i think of rainwings!! with sans acting like the stereotypical type outwardly: basking in the sun, dozing and generally acting p lazy - and papyrus being the total opposite! all bright colours like pink, yellow and orange dashing across his body as he races off to undyne’s house, the red dash that encircles his neck the only consistent hue…. sans though, despite his time in the sun (papyrus often states that it is simply that he’s basking too much in snowy weather and not being active enough) is often clouded by pale colours (an indication of some underlying low mood/feeling)

after rethinking over some stuff i think that asgore and toriel would actually better fit seawings, along with asriel himself! however all three are powerful animus’ - capable of powerful spells if they so wished - with larger, floppy ears and more of a rounded muzzle shape than typical seawings, such as how i’d imagine undyne to look: bright cerulean blue with glowing green eyes, a sharper lean snout and bioluminescent scales running down her sides to match. she has a fair few scratches here and there and has lost a couple of claws on her left front foot but that’s never stopped her from being the best she can be

now alphys is a little more tricky…. perhaps a sandwing without a barb on her tail?? or a general hybrid between sand and something else… (i honestly couldn’t imagine her as anything but smth yellow sO)

uH for frisk… a rainwing dragonet, much like sans and papyrus but with brighter more vibrant scales and a slightly stockier build than sans/papyrus. i believe i referred to their name as sunshine in a wof au?? and i honestly love that so that’s smth i’ll stick with

chara however, is a rainwing themselves too but devoid of much colour except for the palest of sickly greens, blues and yellows. they often prefer covering themselves in stripes as it’s the most natural design - smth as a fallback and comfort much like how frisk will return to pink and purple stripes when things become stressful for them

in a wof!au i’d imagine that the monster!dragons would all have been cast down beneath the earth due to the fact that they all have inherited animus magic to various degrees, having it as a part of their body much like in undertale canon, causing fear amongst the non-animus dragon tribes