#backpack is perfect thank you devs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

notveryglittery · 5 years ago

Text

all the way home i’ll be warm

summary: 'tis the season for spending time with your loved ones! for some mischievous college kids and their "unfortunate" dads, that happens in more ways than one. ships: romantic roceit, romantic moxiety. siblings logicality, brotherly thvi. familial morolo, familial remceit. wc: 6.8k / warnings: sympathetic deceit, food mentions, flying mention, two characters locked in a room together. author’s note: participated in @sanderssantas as a pinch hitter and got to write some lovely wishes for @max-is-tired!! it was a lot of fun and not gonna lie, i kinda want to write a moxiety prequel to it now LMAO. anyway, happy belated holidays!!

read on ao3 | @fandersfic-roceit @fandersfic-moxiety

— — — — — — — — — — —

“Did your disaster of a dad sweep the librarian off his feet yet?”

Patton sighed and rested his cheek on the palm of his hand. It made his face sort of squished and extra cute. Virgil wished they were having this conversation directly so that he could be the one squishing Patton’s face with his hands.

“Nope! Vee, I swear, they’re worse than we were.”

“That’s really saying something,” Virgil said.

“Do you want to hear something impressive?”

“Anything you say is impressive.”

Patton giggled. “Oh hush, that doesn’t even make sense.”

Virgil shrugged helplessly. “Nothing in this world does, babe, but you sure help make it easier to deal with.”

Patton was turning properly red now and Virgil made a mental note to thank Picani again for the suggestions when he’d expressed wanting to buy a new phone. The camera quality on this one made video calling with Patton even better.

“I said hush!” Patton squeaked. “We’re moving on!”

Virgil just smiled back innocently. “Well, what impressive thing do you have to share?”

“Logan hasn’t gone a single day without complaining.”

That was, actually, pretty impressive.

“Logan? Complaining?”

Patton nodded.

“Never has anything to say about you always mentioning that you’re fifteen minutes older-Logan? Has aced literally every final he’s ever taken without a single whine-Logan? Can sit in traffic for hours and not protest once-Logan?”

Patton nodded, fervently. “I know!”

“Explain,” Virgil demanded, feeling very much like he’d just been deposited into an alternate universe.

“Well, you know how he had a secret sweetheart for, like, ever and we only found out on accident, right?”

“Right.”

“He says Dad’s being ridiculous for pining for so long! Apparently, in the time it took for Logan and his lover to get their feelings sorted out, Dad had only just got Dev’s phone number.”

“You’re having fun with alliteration,” Virgil mused, before continuing. “That…” He paused to process. “Pat, they’re not just worse than us, they’re like… the worst in existence.”

“I don’t know how they do it,” Patton moaned, tilting his head back.

“At this rate, I’m going to visit over break just so that I can lock them in a closet together.”

“And that’s the only reason for you to visit, hmm?”

“Of course,” Virgil answered, solemnly, “not like I got my act together and have a handsome boyfriend that I’d like to spend 7 Minutes in Heaven with, or anything.”

“Virgil!” Patton exclaimed, nearly screeching.

“Yes?”

“I’m hanging up on you now,” Patton threatened.

“You’re impossible to fluster in person. When else am I supposed to snipe you?”

“I’m confiscating the love gun!”

“It’s cute how you think that’ll stop me,” Virgil said, delighting in the way Patton was still pouting.

“Good night!”

And with that, the call ended.

Virgil laughed, switching to their text thread without missing a beat.

stormcloud: love you lots. hope your dreams are as happy as you make me. sunshine: i love u too, u bully, good night!!!!!!!! >:( sunshine: … sunshine: 💜💙💜💙

—

“Operation Matchmaker is a go!”

“I am making the executive decision to reject that name immediately.”

“Vetoed.”

“On what grounds?”

“I was born first.”

“By fifteen minutes, that hardly counts.”

“It does, too! It counts fifteen whole times.”

“You realize how little sense that makes, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I’m older!”

“That is not how this works—”

“What are we debating this time, kids?” Roman interrupted, arriving before a full blown argument could start.

“Dad!” The twins chorused, one far more enthusiastic than the other. Then again, one of them had been complaining for the last two weeks of his father’s oblivious pining.

“Patton and I were wondering if you wouldn’t mind driving us today, since you haven’t got anything planned?”

“And just how do you know I’m not busy? I could have many dragons to slay!”

“And princes to swoon over,” Patton mumbled.

Logan elbowed his sibling in the side. “It would be quite efficient to take just the one car out instead of both. However, we all know how much I dislike driving in the snow, and I don’t trust Patton behind the wheel when I know Virgil could call at any moment.”

“Hey!”

“Good point.”

“Hey!”

“And if we leave now, we’ll beat rush hour traffic and be home in time before nightfall.”

“Alright, fine, as long as we’re all good with stopping to get takeout for dinner.”

“That is agreeable.”

“Perfect!”

The trio separated to get their things together. Roman had still been in his pajamas when he happened upon Logan and Patton at the dining table.

They had seemed suspiciously like they were scheming but given it was nearing Christmas, it was safe to assume they were just figuring out gifts. He’d taken care of presents for everyone last month, including Patton’s aforementioned boyfriend. That one had been fun to plan and if everything else went up in flames (as the holidays were sometimes wont to do), he knew that this, at least, would be well worth the work.

Figuring the pair only had a few quick errands to run and that all they’d really expect of him was to keep the car running and warm, Roman went with dressing down for the day. He bundled up in crown patterned sweatpants, a maroon turtleneck, and a black beanie. His hair would not see the light of this day, thank you very much.

“You look comfy!” Patton chirped as they regrouped at the entryway. Their pink pronoun necklace matched the earmuffs and gloves they were wearing; in fact, Patton seemed to have decided on more of a pastel aesthetic than normal today, what with the rest of their outfit in complementary soft shades.

Logan, on the other hand, had gone with his usual and was covered head to toe in navy and black. “Indeed. Do you intend to join us at all or will you be taking self portraits in the car?”

“Ha ha,” Roman deadpanned, shooing his kids outside and locking the door as they left the house.

It wasn’t until they were settled and on the road that Roman thought to actually ask what the plans were.

“What’s on the agenda, then? Gifts? Missing ingredients for cookies? Dropping anything off at Goodwill?” He hadn’t missed the fact that they both had bags, and that they seemed rather full.

“All of the above, actually,” Patton piped up from the backseat. “I wanna donate some of my old plushies and Lo’s got some books he doesn’t need anymore.”

“Patton is in need of vanilla extract and food coloring. I wonder how we could possibly be out.”

“If I don’t make red velvet French toast every morning during holiday break, then what's the point of you being home from college?” Roman asked.

“Quality time spent together, a reprieve from coursework—”

“There is no point!” Patton interrupted. “It’s the best part about being back!”

“Patton, there is no ‘being back’ for you seeing as you do not even live in the dorms. Theoretically, you could have red velvet French toast every morning, regardless of the time of year.”

An offended gasp from his father made sense but to hear it from Patton as well surprised him.

“Blasphemy!” Patton cried.

“The disrespect!” Roman exclaimed.

“That breakfast is tradition, Lo! We’d never have it without you,” Patton promised, clasping Logan’s shoulder and squeezing.

“Thank you,” he responded, voice dripping with sarcasm, “that truly eases my concerns. I was so worried.”

With the streets empty as they were, getting to and from locations took no time at all. Sure enough, Roman waited in the car while Patton and Logan stopped in at the grocery store.

This hadn’t been part of their plan but it was better this way; originally, one would have had to distract him while the other worked. Logan emptied the contents of his backpack, old plastic bags to be recycled, to make room for the pre-ordered bouquet of flowers from the floral department.

“It’s lovely,” Patton gushed to the seasonal employee. “We’re finally gonna get dad to confess his feelings to Dev. It’s been years in the making, they’re both just so clueless. Not that that’s a bad thing!” They hurried to correct while Logan muttered “It really is,” under his breath.

“I think it’s real sweet what you kids are doin’ for your pa,” Valerie said sincerely. “Roman’s been a blessing since I moved out here. I swear, the number of times he’s sighed wistfully during our Disney movie marathons while thinking about that man… I bet the whole town’s rooting for them.”

“It’s a miracle the whole town hasn’t lost their collective mind waiting for one of them to make a move.”

“Logan!” Patton scolded despite looking delighted over their brother being so exasperated that he could hardly be bothered anymore to resist roasting their hopeless father and his crush.

“Well, keep me up to date, won’t you?” Valerie requested, shoving another handful of ribbon into Logan’s bag.

“You bet!”

With the flowers and groceries, not forgotten thanks to Logan, safely secured, they were on to their next stop. Roman denied any teasing of having picked just the right parking spot for prime selfie lighting (not that any of them would have been posted anyway, given his casual look today).

True to their word, Patton stopped in at the local Goodwill and emptied their backpack of stuffed toys and books. If they stopped by the counter to buy something they’d begged be held for them earlier that week, well…

“Darlin’, I dunno how y’all are gonna pull this off.”

“Oh, ye of little faith!” Patton said, running their hands through the purchased scarf to check for any snags or loose threads. “I think I know enough about romance to make it work.”

The snap of Remy’s bubblegum startled Patton into peering up at him.

“You’re joking, right?”

When Patton didn’t answer, Remy reached up and took his sunglasses off. He pointed them right at Patton’s nose, who went slightly cross-eyed trying to focus. “Babes, tell me you’re pullin’ my leg.”

“I’m not!”

“Oh, bless your heart,” Remy cooed, smiling as he perched the eyewear on top of his head. “Honey, romance could be painted on the broad sign of a barn and you’d still miss it.”

“Uhm, hello? Virgil?” Patton replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Planned the cutest prom-posal in the history of prom-posals despite his anxiety after you mistook your first three dates as him trying to get to know Logan better through you.”

“Listen—”

“Yeah? To you yelling at me over the phone about whether or not Virgil kissing you meant he liked you or like-liked you?”

“Remy!” Patton whined.

“I’m just sayin’, sweetie,” Remy relented, “It’s a good thing Logan’s helping.”

Patton huffed, shoving their receipt into the bag. “You’ll still meet us there? You’re kinda important to this going right.”

“Only kinda?” Remy rolled his eyes. “I take offense to that. But yeah, I’ll be there.”

Patton bounced a couple times on their feet, leaning across the counter. Remy couldn’t help grinning as he pressed his lips against their forehead.

“You’ll grow out of that someday.”

“Never!” Patton crowed, backing up and towards the exit. “See you later!”

Patton returned to the car and startled Roman by opening the driver side door.

“I’m afraid we might’ve been a bit dishonest with you,” Logan said, only barely managing to cover smug with sheepish.

“Out, daddio! I’m driving us to the last stop and you get to be blindfolded for it!” Patton exclaimed, bright and mischievous.

“The betrayal,” Roman cried, unbuckling his seat belt. “And so soon before Christmas, too. Whatever are you surprising me with?”

After some poking and prodding at Patton’s ticklish spots and Patton yanking Roman’s beanie down further over his eyes, they were off. Roman didn’t stop griping the entire way. Logan kept the banter going, texting Remy all the while to make sure everything was going according to plan.

—

“I’m here, you’re welcome,” Remy called into the break room very obviously marked Employees Only.

“I’ll only be thankful if you brought lunch,” the pile of blankets on the couch replied, muffled.

“Hot soup, hot cocoa, hot tea.”

“Last one’s literal or figurative?”

“Guess you won’t know ‘til you shed.”

“Uuugh.”

The voice groaned the entire length of shrugging the blankets off until they were all gathered around his waist and over his legs.

“Ah, there he is! Dearest dad emerges from his cocoon.”

Devereux glared at his son as Remy crossed the room and set a plastic bag down on the table.

“All I do for you, just to be relentlessly tormented by your sass.”

“I learned from the best,” Remy said seriously, setting up a series of thermoses and tupperware.

“Suck-up.”

The moment Remy was sat beside him, Devereux was ruffling a hand through his hair, tousling the oh-so-meticulously-taken-care-of locks. Remy shouted in outrage, batting his dad’s hand away and scooting to the other end of the couch.

“All I do for you!”

It took nearly a minute of the two glaring at each other, waiting for one to make the next move. When Devereux’s stomach growled noisily, the stalemate ended. Remy smirked.

“Truce?” He offered.

“... Truce.”

They reached for the table at the same time, picking their own containers. Remy grabbed a thermos, no doubt filled with hot coffee. Devereux chose a microwavable bowl and a spoon, cradling it carefully to his chest. Silence followed for awhile longer while Remy texted with one hand and Devereux stared out the window as he ate, scowling slightly when snowflakes started drifting slowly into view.

“A shame I won’t get home tonight,” he grumbled, glaring into his soup.

“And why’s that?” Remy asked distractedly.

“The weather. Too cold. If only you’d look up from your phone and—”

“Okay, boomer.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m telling mom.”

“Who’s she? Never heard of her.”

Remy took an extra loud sip from his drink, maintaining direct eye contact with his dad as he did so.

“I’m sending you to boarding school. Far, far away. You’ll live with your grandparents.”

“No, not the Witch and the Critic,” Remy hissed, actually suddenly nervous.

“They really aren’t that bad,” Devereux said, doing a terrible job of hiding his self-satisfied grin.

“I had to sneak my caffeine in!”

“It would’ve canceled out Grandma’s sleeping spells.”

“Stop that!” Remy shrieked at the same moment his phone started ringing. He glanced at the screen and then back up. “You’re lucky I love you even when you’re being this mean to me.”

Answering the call, Remy set his thermos back on the table and stood up from the couch. “Y’all make it safe?”

Devereux tuned the conversation out as he put his soup down and worked on getting out of his blanket nest. He cleaned up as Remy chatted, thinking about everything that needed to be done before the day was over. Did the grind ever stop? Not that he’d change anything; Remy was the best thing that happened to him, and while the nightmares had seemed unending at the time, life nowadays was a dream come true in comparison. Sure, there was one unattainable fantasy that would be the cherry on top, but he’d learned not to get his hopes up anymore.

“Got something to show you,” Remy said and Devereux supposed he could put up with whatever nonsense was to follow since Remy had brought him lunch.

They headed out into the library, which was relatively empty since school was out for the holidays. That didn’t change the fact that some families simply couldn't handle being cramped in the same house together for long periods of time. Devereux saw all sorts come through for a reprieve from the stress: teenagers with headphones blaring music loud enough that even he could hear it, parents with tense shoulders that appeared worn out no matter the hour, students visiting home that felt out of place after being away, now in need of a break from their discomfort.

Devereux followed Remy to the private study rooms. These were ideal, usually, for finding some peace and quiet, but he had a feeling some sort of havoc was inevitable.

“Eyes closed!” Remy exclaimed suddenly, pivoting. He practically resembled the Cheshire cat.

They had paused in front of room five. The lights were on and the blinds pulled but Devereux could see shadows moving through the slats.

“Might as well get it over with,” he muttered sarcastically, doing as requested.

Several things happened in the next moment.

Remy knocked once on the door and it creaked open. A hand took Devereux’s wrist and yanked him forward, presumably into the room. He collided into something sturdy, though the sound of crinkling plastic sounded less so. Someone erupted into giggles, another muttered “finally,” and then the door slammed shut, and the lock clicked.

“Oh,” squeaked the voice of whoever it was holding Devereux up from falling backwards.

(‘Whoever,’ we say, as if Devereux wasn’t achingly familiar with this voice.)

His eyes flew open and he resisted yelping in alarm. Just so. Roman was stood in front of him, dressed in loungewear, and holding a bouquet of flowers. He was rapidly turning red and he seemed about as confused as Devereux felt. This wouldn’t last long, it never did with the two of them, but it was really just a matter of who would snap out of it first.

“You look exquisite,” Devereux murmured finally, pulling back from Roman just enough that he could brush a hand along his forearm. “As if you’ve just gotten out of bed and yet… still so effortlessly handsome.”

“I can only imagine how divine it’d be to lay with you,” Roman responded smoothly, “though there’s not been created a material that could match your warmth.”

A pause, both realizing what they’d just said.

“Flowers!” Roman exclaimed suddenly, voice cracking, as he stepped away, and thrust the bundle towards Devereux.

“Wonderful,” he coughed, holding them gently, and admiring the colors. “Not nearly as lovely as you, of course, though one could search the ends of the Earth and still nothing would compare.”

“Why, Devereux,” Roman purred, “it sounds almost like you’re calling me the prettiest thing on the planet—”

“Aren’t you?”

“— when in fact, your beauty outmatches that beyond this world. I’d choose still to gaze into your eyes, reminiscent of sweet honey crystallized, even if offered a glittering sea of endless diamond skies.”

… Was it getting hot in this room? Roman looked exceedingly pleased with himself and Devereux cursed the competitive, theatrical streak they shared. There would be no moving from this spot if they continued like this… Not that he had a problem with it. Roman truly was a vision: hair tousled (Devereux could only imagine combing his fingers through the tangled locks), cheeks rosy (what he’d give to cause that blush daily), lips curved in satisfaction (oh, how he’d love to kiss that grin right off his face).

The same moment Devereux glanced upwards, Roman’s gaze flickered down.

‘Interesting,’ thought Devereux, taking note of the little sprig of green pinned to the ceiling.

Their eyes met again, their smiles melting into something softer, more sincere.

“Our kids will be the death of us,” Roman muttered with a resigned sigh.

“Our?” Devereux echoed. “I like the sound of that.”

“Oh,” Roman managed, breathlessly.

Keeping the flowers tucked in the elbow of one arm, Devereux reached forward with his free hand and rested his palm flat against Roman’s chest. His heart was racing. They had that in common.

It was imperceptible, trying to figure out who leaned closer first. The kiss was hesitant to start, years of yearning and pent up passion and fragile feelings. Once the realization hit, that the pining was mutual, that they both wanted this, that they both had been wanting this…

Well, it was a good thing the window to study room five was shuttered.

—

“Vee, it went perfectly!” Patton screamed into the receiver.

“Uh, yeah, I sure hope it did,” Virgil answered, shifting so that his cellphone stayed firmly between his ear and shoulder, despite Patton’s volume, “given how long they’ve been flirting for.”

Patton went on, gushing about how he and Logan had successfully tricked their dad into driving them to his own trap; how Remy had been instrumental in bribing Devereux with lunch; how they’d unlocked the room to find the pair slow dancing to music playing on Roman’s phone— “A Thousand Years,” covered by Boyce Avenue, they’d discover later.

Had Virgil not been so busy with finals, he surely would have heard the story sooner; it had been just under a week since the set-up and, apparently, Roman and Devereux were, somehow, even more sickeningly affectionate than before.

Not that Virgil would have any room to talk in… He glanced at his watch. The nerves over his flight were replaced quickly by the excited anticipation about seeing Patton in three hours.

“Sweetie?”

“I love you,” Virgil exclaimed suddenly, “just… so much.”

Patton squealed. “Ahh!! I love you too!!”

“Good. That’s… I’m glad. Hey, I gotta email a couple of professors. Talk later?”

“Of course!”

‘Sooner and closer than you think,’ Virgil mused, smiling at his lock screen photo after the call ended. They’d been going through his closet for spring cleaning and despite the silliness at the time, something about seeing Patton wearing his clothes warmed him all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes.

Virgil let his mind wander as he headed through security and to his gate, wondering just what he’d do during his two weeks back home. Attending college a state over was miserable to start but he’d been grateful there’d been one still relatively close, at least, with his stupidly specific major. He hadn’t been able to visit during Fall break and so it’d been an agonizing five months since he’d last hugged Patton, last held his hand, last— okay Virgil calm down before the touch starvation rears its ugly head.

Boarding, thankfully, took no time at all, since it was a smaller flight. The weather stayed mercifully clear and landing went off without a hitch. Grateful that he’d only needed to bring a carry-on and his backpack, he headed passed baggage claim and right for the pick-up zone outside. He was checking his phone to see where Thomas was parked when a body slammed into him from the side. Before he could panic about being attacked or robbed, his brother’s voice was rambling a mile a minute.

“I literally have so much to tell you, I cannot believe how much has happened since you were here last, and look!” Thomas exclaimed, shoving his phone into Virgil’s face. It was a picture of a kitten he didn’t recognize which meant Thomas had adopted another pet. Virgil gave Thomas a deadpan stare as he rattled off all the reasons he’d definitely needed a new cat.

He threw an arm over Virgil’s shoulders and led the way to the car, still gesturing excitedly as he went on about everything that had happened in Virgil’s absence. Apparently, Halloween had seen a jack-o’-lantern carving contest that was all for naught when Remy and Patton switched pumpkins, Logan’s boyfriend got a little knife happy with the picnic table, and Devereux realized halfway through his design that it was too humiliating for anyone else to see and had promptly threw the entire thing against a tree.

“Was it Roman’s face?” Virgil asked, rolling his eyes.

“Joan swears it was but you know them,” Thomas responded.

“Agent of chaos,” Virgil agreed.

Thanksgiving was the same as each year: Roman and the twins, Devereux and Remy, Valerie, Leo, Joan, Talyn, Terrence, Kenny, and Thomas all gathered at the local theatre. Even if any of them did have a house big enough to host a large group, the theatre held so much weight in all of their lives, and felt like the best place to express all the things they were grateful for— namely, each other. They made sure to leave the stage as clean as at the start of dinner, taking care to not leave any stains or scuffs by laying the floor with a plastic tarp. It took a bit of extra work, everyone having to transport their food, but the following games of charades and group improv made it all worth it.

Virgil swore to himself he’d never miss another one again, college be damned.

“No offense to Roman but the twins really got him good,” Thomas was saying as he merged onto the freeway. “They left Goodwill and just drove in circles until Remy let them know he’d made it to the library.”

“The fact that neither of those disaster idiots had even a clue as to what their kids were planning is…” Virgil gestured broadly, as if he could pluck the word out of thin air, “ridiculous.”

“But not unbelievable!” Thomas added. “I think they get blinded by the gay.”

“Yeah, you’re one to talk,” Virgil began but Thomas was slamming the button on the console to turn on the radio, drowning out whatever his brother was planning on saying next.

Virgil just settled into his seat, whistling innocently as Thomas’s face went bright red and Straight No Chaser sang through “The 12 Days of Christmas.”

Making it to the Sanders household took longer than Virgil would have liked but it was three days before Christmas and people were out and about for their last minute shopping. It didn’t help that it had snowed heavily the night before and so traffic was slow moving with everyone driving so carefully.

Still, they arrived before Patton got home, which was the important part. Roman was standing on the porch, waving excitedly as Thomas pulled into the driveway. Virgil glared at the second parked car, recognizing it as Devereux’s, and prayed that Roman didn’t actually have company over. Patton’s surprise was supposed to be known by as few people as possible and the gossip in this town spread fast.

“Welcome home!” Roman exclaimed, yanking Virgil into a hug as soon as he was within arm’s reach.

“Yeah, yeah,” Virgil said back, voice muffled as his face was pressed against Roman’s shoulder. “I’m happy to see you too, don’t get me wrong—”

“I know,” Roman sighed, dramatically, relenting as he let Virgil go and ushered them in from the cold. “I’m not the one you want to be squished by.”

“Shut up!” Virgil spluttered, swatting at Roman as if that would wipe the amused look off his face.

“Oh, there he is!”

Virgil was accosted the next moment. His face was met this time with a leather jacket and all he did in response was groan. Remy eased back but not before gently tugging once on Virgil’s earlobe and then tapping his nose.

“We are way too old for that,” Virgil complained, scowling.

It lasted all of three seconds before he caved, kicking out to tap the tip of his shoe against Remy’s ankle.

“I still stand by that being a stupid handshake,” Devereux said, appearing out of nowhere just as suddenly as his son had.

“Well good thing it’s not a handshake then, huh?” Virgil replied. However, it went mostly unheard as Roman stole Devereux’s attention at the same time, as if they literally hadn’t just been in the kitchen together three minutes ago.

“I hate this already,” Virgil said, taking his phone from his pocket, hoping for a text from Logan to distract him.

Sure enough, the younger of the twins had sent a photo of Patton at the candy store, eyeing a display case filled with fudge. His pronoun necklace stood out against the white of his sweater and matched the violet beanie pulled over his curls… the same one Virgil had left with him the day he had gone off to college. His heart swelled and if he’d been paying any attention, he’d have noticed the picture Remy snuck of him and the absolutely smitten smile on his face.

Thomas clapped his hands, snapping Virgil out of it. “Okay, I’m gonna drive home. Roe’s gonna follow and then bring us back over here. Doesn’t make any sense for me to be hanging out but, not gonna lie, I think the twins would be sus if Roe wasn’t here.”

“Hey!” Roman protested.

“No offense, darling, but he’s not wrong,” Devereux said, smirking.

At Roman’s put out expression, Devereux pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Remy and Virgil were staring at each other as if they were each other’s cameras on The Office.

“We got the decorations out earlier,” Remy said, pointing towards the living room.

“Oh thank God, please get me away from them before I get cavities.”

The two ducked out of the entryway where they’d all been gathered since Thomas and Virgil’s arrival. For the most part, the house had already been dressed up for Christmas. The tree was lit, the stockings were hung, and there was one final box left to be unpacked. It’d been left on the coffee table, waiting to be opened and taken care of.

“I forget how sappy you look when you’re thinking about Patton.”

Virgil only gave Remy a rather rude hand gesture in return before lifting the lid off the container. Inside were the ornaments he and Patton had made together over the years. It was a tradition they’d had since before they began dating. Some of them were simple, made out of foam or cardboard and drawn on in marker or glitter glue pens; others were glass or ceramics and decorated with paint or sequins. The one thing they all had in common, though, was the indigo ribbon used to hang the baubles. It was the perfect mix of their favorite colors and needed to be special ordered anytime they ran out. Each one had the year written on it wherever there was space for it. Virgil loved them. Patton loved them so much that he refused to hang any of them without Virgil there to do so with him.

According to Roman, who Virgil really had to thank for making this trip possible, Patton hadn’t even considered touching the box housing the ornaments, since there hadn’t been any guarantee of Virgil making it home for Christmas. Now, though…

“Seriously, Virge, if I didn’t already doubt your dark and edgy exterior, I would be right about now.”

“Shut up, Rem,” Virgil said, laughing.

For awhile longer, the pair just caught up on the last half year. Eventually, Devereux and Thomas returned. Apparently, Patton had gotten chilly and sad (not that he’d admit to that last part but there was no hiding it from his twin), so he and Logan were heading home early. That was all fine and good; they mostly had just needed to get Patton out of the house long enough for Virgil to get home and to bring out the special ornaments.

While Virgil wanted to disagree with Thomas, Remy, and Devereux being there, he couldn’t be mad about having them around to keep him distracted… as long as they were gone before Patton arrived. With Remy sticking around… Virgil doubted it would happen, and he wouldn’t actually be mad if it did, but he was very good at hogging Patton’s attention. Which was hardly fair!

Remy got all the attention he could ever ask for already; admittedly, he and Patton had grown up together, were best friends throughout school, not to mention still living near each other and getting to see each other every day and okay sure, without Remy’s guidance, he was pretty sure that even now, Patton wouldn’t believe that Virgil loved him because no offense, but he could propose and Patton would still ask “as like… friends?”

… Alright, so maybe Virgil couldn’t get mad, pretend or not, at Remy being greedy with Patton’s company. That still didn’t make it fair.

The following thirty minutes were agonizing. Sure, this wasn’t going to be nearly as extra and it wasn’t like Virgil wanted to outdo Roman and Devereux’s confession but also if he could outdo the drama gays (a term coined by the majority of the town, which was really saying something), then he’d have it to hold over Roman’s head for the rest of time, and that sounded pretty cool. In his humble opinion, jumping out and surprising your loved one was way more romantic than being locked in a room with them and hoping everything would go well. Was he sure yet when he’d be jumping out and surprising Patton? Nope! He kind of figured it’d just be something he knew.

“They’re here!” Thomas exclaimed, nearly dropping his phone at the suddenness of receiving the text.

“Get out,” Virgil snapped immediately and unthinkingly at Remy and Devereux.

“Kinda late for that, doll,” Remy said, at least looking a little sorry about it.

“We’ll hide out in the crafts room,” Devereux offered, already pulling Remy down the hallway. Virgil pointedly ignored the kiss he blew in Roman’s direction. He very pointedly ignored Roman catching it.

“You know they’ll see Roe’s car, right?” Thomas prompted, grinning.

“I’m glad you’ve already thought up a reason for them to be here then,” Virgil responded, shooting finger guns at his brother, who started stammering reminders that he was terrible with excuses. Never mind that he was an actor and should have been able to improvise something.

“I’ll handle it,” Roman cut in, patting Thomas on the head, which looked a little ridiculous since they were the same height. “Better get hiding, Virgil.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Virgil hurried to the kitchen where he proceeded to shove into the storage closet, which had been cleared out just enough for him to cram his scrawny self into. It smelled like various spices which reminded him of last year and baking cinnamon cookies with Patton. He wondered what they’d make this time.

The sound was muffled but the front door opened and shut and… God, how was he supposed to wait long enough to properly surprise his boyfriend? Just hearing Patton’s voice made Virgil want to throw himself into his arms, to kiss him senseless, to hold onto him and never let go. He steadied his breathing by focusing instead on the various scents surrounding him, only half listening to whatever Roman was saying to the twins. The noises got louder as they moved towards the kitchen, probably for Logan and Patton to put away the desserts they’d gone shopping for.

“Thanks for agreeing to help decorate, even if it is just a— a possibility,” Thomas expressed, voice cracking on the last word. Ugh, he really never had learned how to lie.

“The odds of Virgil actually being able to visit are quite low, Patton,” Logan was saying, “I just don’t want your hopes to get up too high.” Wow. Were they even trying to be subtle?

“I know that!” Patton exclaimed and Virgil was sure he was flapping his hands. “Imagine if he could, though! What if he showed up on Christmas Eve, oh, that would be so magical!”

This certainly wasn’t as magical as it could have been but Virgil was sure he’d explode if he waited a second longer. So as soon as it started to sound like the trio was heading back out, Virgil nudged the door open with his foot. It creaked and he winced. No doubt having peaked Patton’s curiosity, Virgil threw the door open the rest of the way, and practically launched himself at his boyfriend’s back.

Patton, for good reason, screamed.

The arms locked around his neck now, however, allowed him to see the hands clasped over his chest. Purple nail polish. A black ring on the middle finger of the right hand. An old friendship bracelet hanging loosely from the wrist.

Patton screamed again.

“Virgil!”

If asked, neither could guess how long they stayed embraced for. Patton was laughing breathlessly into Virgil’s shoulder, muttering his name over and over, sprinkling in the occasional “I love you.” Virgil couldn’t have stopped combing his hand through Patton’s hair even if he wanted to.

Eventually, they would separate, but only just enough so that Patton could pepper kisses all over Virgil’s face. There might have even been a couple minutes of just gazing at each other, soaking up the mere presence and warmth of the one they loved so dearly.

Of course, they weren’t really alone which meant the reunion had to end at some point. The house was still full of nosy siblings and parents, after all. So, when Remy came crashing into the kitchen, shouting about how bored he was, neither Virgil nor Patton were all that surprised. He stole Patton away, claiming they had to do something really quick and insisting that Virgil catch up with Logan in the meantime.

“Hey, L,” Virgil said, greeting Logan with a signature two finger salute.

“Nice to see you again, Virgil. How was your semester?”

They chatted about college, and their respective majors, and any hall mates from hell. Without really realizing it, they got into making a large batch of hot chocolate for everyone while they talked. Each mug was picked especially for its recipient, as well as the various ingredients added to each one. Virgil dropped a peppermint stick into his, added extra marshmallows to Patton’s, and a generous spoonful of caramel sauce for Thomas.

With Roman’s help, all the drinks were brought out safely to the living room. Devereux seemed to have dozed off in the recliner closest to the fireplace. Thomas was nowhere to be found, so Virgil assumed he’d been roped into whatever nonsense Remy and Patton were up to.

“So,” Virgil started, settling into the corner of the couch. “Did I outdo the drama gays?”

“Absolutely not,” Roman responded vehemently.

“Virgil!” Patton shouted suddenly, appearing from the hallway, carrying a bag. “Honey, oh my god.”

Patton shot an apologetic look towards Devereux, who was stirring from his nap, as he hurried towards Virgil. He threw himself onto the couch next to his boyfriend and abandoned the package in favor of grabbing onto Virgil’s arm.

“Earlier, you…” He paused, giggling. “You came out of the pantry.”

Logan groaned.

Virgil blinked, slightly bewildered, before he started laughing, too. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.”

“I have something for you,” Patton continued, retrieving the present. He shoved it into Virgil’s lap.

“Christmas isn’t for another three days?”

“Yes, and?”

Thomas, who had just arrived with Remy, snorted. “As if you’ve ever had the patience to wait until the actual day to start opening your gifts.”

While Virgil pestered Patton about not needing to get him anything, really, Remy and Thomas fought over the last armchair, and eventually just ended up tangled together on it. Logan rolled his eyes at their stubbornness.

After some insisting from Patton, Virgil pulled out all of the colored tissue paper. Patton proceeded to ball it up and throw it at Remy, whose complaining got progressively louder, until his dad finally tossed a pillow at him with a grumbled “please shut up.” Roman settled on the arm of Devereux’s recliner with the most adoring look in his eyes and carded a hand through his hair, whispering sweetly to him.

“Oh,” Virgil gasped, momentarily losing himself in sensory bliss at the material he’d just got his hands on.

Patton wiggled, patting Virgil’s knees excitedly. It was the very same scarf he’d bought from Remy barely a week ago. It was black which meant it’d go with anything in Virgil’s wardrobe or with whatever outfit Patton decided to wear should he steal borrow it from him.

“Try it!” Patton said, moving the rest of the wrapping out of the way.

Looping it around his neck provided Virgil the realization that it was of an infinity scarf, which meant all sorts of different ways to wear it. Would he still just bundle it up to hide his face in it as much as possible? Probably.

“It’s so soft,” Virgil murmured, rubbing the fabric against his cheek.

“Cashmere,” Remy piped up. “You’re welcome.”

Patton leaned in, waiting with bright, hopeful eyes. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Virgil huffed, failing spectacularly at downplaying his delight. “I love it. Thank you.”

If a person could embody !!!, then Patton would be doing a very good job of it. He surged forward, catching Virgil by surprise with the intensity of the kiss. One hand cradled his face while the other clutched at the scarf, using it to pull him closer. Smiling against Patton’s lips, Virgil couldn’t help but think that this was very much something he’d like to have for the rest of his life.

Later, they would hang up their personal ornaments. Tomorrow, they would work on making new ones. The holidays would only continue to get more magical as the years passed, he was sure of it, and honestly? He was really looking forward to it.

#sanders sides fan fiction #roceit #moxiety #ts deceit #sympathetic deceit #romantic roceit #romantic moxiety #dani writes

109 notes · View notes

cruddyborderlandstheories · 5 years ago

Text

Fl4k Fl4k Fl4k Fl4k Fl-

i didn’t die i just fell in love with that skill tree creator and have done nothing for the past few days but make skill trees and sleep for 3 hour intervals. im very excited for the gameplay on Wednesday but oh man oh me oh my i gotta catch up on a lot of posts lol

tl;dr: Fl4k is a badass. Stop misgendering them or I’ll show up at your home at 3am local time every time and then eat your spine. Bonus: Mr. Chew being an ‘Eridian skag’ is probably due to some funky mutation from eridium/slag/eridian stuff. Kinda like how Threshers have the ability to make singularities because they are native to Elpis, which is a big ol’ Eridian base (which i totally addressed in this post lol). I also gave my opinion on Fl4k’s skills in general, if you’re interested in that. Overall, a very awesome trailer! Definitely lived up to the hype.

i said it before, this trailer was one of the best ones. definitely #2 for me, Zane is still at #1 because i actually laughed during it. the music in this one is definitely the best out of all 4 tho. seems like they’re all variations of the same song, i like this one best. I need this soundtrack sooo bad.

also i know probably no one else following this blog watches one piece but like

that first footstep with the studded boot and the sound effect immediately flung me back to katakuri. god katakuri was a badass. i was so excited to see that fight animated.

mr chew spinning around is my favorite thing ever. i love that you can tell the personality of the pets just from watching the intro.

i know fl4k is like a real badass in this trailer, but i get the feeling they’re going to end up being at least a little soft for their pets. i mean... they have stuffed animals of them ffs.

so... we’re near Sanctuary-III in this trailer? I gotta keep my eye out then. i also want to see if that one claptrap area guess i had is correct or not... this looks like an entryway for the garage so im guessing i wasn’t, but let’s seeeee

there is a raised bit up and to the left

also im wondering if this means we’re going to have to rescue ellie from the CoV.

hmmmmmmmm

hmmmmm i don’t think the signs match up.

mr chew is the goodest boy. im so glad we can pet/interact with him!! i want to know what the names of the other pets are

also, a bit off topic but

i could have sworn fl4k’s jabber was cryo/shock. it was blue, wasn’t it? i wonder if they changed it or if it’s skill upgrades change its color. i thought the upgrades just gave it better guns.

yeah it was! i guess possibly upgrading it with the guns gives it a new color scheme? maybe? this could be the gunslinger upgrade!

it looks like their jabber went through the most design changes out of all of the pets. that or this is yet another upgrade (since each pet has 3 states). maybe this is the beefcake version.

‘bitch’. i love how expressive fl4k is with just the eye. very well done.

ohhh you know what that building is in the back?

[we’re near the intro to the game!]*

and tbh i don’t think this place has the building for Ellie’s Scrap in it... i don’t see it anywhere. maybe this is the actual scrapyard and the building is on the other side?

not quite sure tbh. but at least we know this place may also be near sanc-iii, just maybe not the same area as the actual Ellie’s Scrap.

i mean... there IS a shitload of cars everywhere. i wouldn’t surprised if it’s near her garage cause it looks like a scrapyard.

but also where in the fuck are all these ‘normal’ looking cars coming from?? it’s not like we see them being used on pandora. all the ones we see in bl1/2 are clearly dilapidated and rusting. big thonk. at least the vans/busses kinda make sense.

oh yeah that is definitely the same building. [it’s the recruitment center!]*

this scene with the rakk is my favorite out of all the trailers. so fuckin cool

i do hope the jabber goes back to being blue at some point. i like the red design too, don’t get me wrong, but i much prefer the glowy blue. it’s my favorite color and you guys know i love glowing things 👀

<Huge Selection!!!> lol

cat/doggo/monkey. mr chew is my favorite pet but i love the jabber panting like a dog lol

i never knew this is where spiderant mouths were

i always assumed they were below that... f r e a k y

“he likes to chase cars”

fl4k probably took them to the scrapyard for this exact reason ngl. fl4k being a big softie to their pets confirmed

(also, notice how fl4k uses ‘he’ for mr chew. it’s almost as if they understand the concept of gender, chose their own pronouns, and your argument that they only are nonbinary only because they “don’t understand yet” is invalid! Fl4k is canonically nonbinary and uses they/them/theirs pronouns as confirmed by both SungWon Cho and their in-game skills.

Now that you know, use they/them/theirs for Fl4k or get off my blog. Because by not doing so, you are disrespecting the devs’ wishes for this character AND the nonbinary people who find representation in them and I won’t support that. if you feel like arguing your reasons to purposefully misgender them even after knowing this, please DM me so I can block you. thanks!

For those of you out there actually making an effort: mistakes happen, especially if Fl4k is the first NB person you’ve learned about. Just make sure to correct yourself then move on, and we’re okay. Everyone has to learn sometime and it’s better to put in the effort than not care at all. It will become second nature.)

Fl4k is such a badass, they really are way different than i expected (personality-wise), but i am not complaining. gearbox knows me better than i know myself, so i know i’m going to end up loving Fl4k anyway. ProZD did such a fantastic job, i honestly did not recognize him at first! i can tell with certain words now, but wow i am blown away.

i hope we’re able to climb that bird’s nest lookin’ thing in the back. it would be perfect for sniping and/or placing ur clone for maximum coverage.

seriously, what a badass.

idk i feel obligated to give my opinions of Fl4k over here since they were recently released. I am digging them 100%, tho i was kinda surprised (not in a bad way) they’re not as... i guess soft as i was expecting from their character design with the plushes and the face on the backpack and the smiley face pin, but i imagine that’s different when they’re interacting with their pets. im super curious to see how this VH group’s dynamic is going to go.

mechanically, their skills seem perfect for people who loved sniper Zer0 and in general Mordecai, with a splash of Salvador tossed in for good luck. I am a dirty melee Zer0 main and i prefered Phasewalking over Bloodwing (altho i still play mordy bc he’s best bl1 VH) so, while I am definitely going to give Fl4k a go, they’re not my main bl3 Vault Hunter, that’s reserved for Zane and his lovely ability to befuddle enemies and run around. Funnily enough, I’m not even a fan of pet classes, so Fl4k being second in my play order is pretty funny. Tho, yeah, Amara being last is also pretty weird. I guess I don’t necessarily enjoy melee, I just enjoy messing with the bad guys lol

ohh, also, I am most interested in the upgrade for mr. chew that gives him the ability to create singularities and is called ‘Eridian Skag’.

so I’m not saying my theory that the threshers on the moon were connected to Eridians was right, I’m just saying they’re the only form of wildlife we know that has a singularity ability (outside of Mr. Chew, apparently).

im just saying gearbox, you should hire me to write your deep lore for you cause i’d do it for free

im wondering if we’ll be seeing skags with wormhole abilities in bl3. maybe the constant exposure to slag is starting to mutate them further beyond just elemental bonuses (on badass skags). We know Maya’s phaselock has a singularity ability (so does Amara’s phasegrasp), and that is sorta ‘occurring naturally’ (you know, as natural as siren powers can get) unlike the singularity grenades we encounter which use our known technology. plus, uh, whatever happened to the destroyer’s eye in TPS that made it create a singularity/wormhole by injecting it with a fuckload of slag. that probably has something to do with this as well.

but geez i really hope mr. chew is okay with being all slag/eridium-ed up. i guess being badass elemental skags doesn’t appear to hurt them, just make them more powerful, unlike humans. maybe that has something to do with sentience, if slag/eridium/eridian stuff actually is driving bandits crazy. could explain why/if the jabber doesn’t get an element like the skag (eridian skag) and spiderant (fire) do, since they’re described as semi-sentient...

anyway.

Fl4k is cool. Definitely a neat trailer- my second favorite for sure- and the skill tree drop blew me away because i was not expecting it. im expecting a lot of Fl4k mains in the first few weeks of gameplay because they look like a lot of fun!

EDIT: i was wrong, in the newest IGN vid, it turns out we ARE near the recruitment center, because that IS the recruitment center

they gave them little orange flags! good to know!!

#fl4k #borderlands #bl3 #borderlands 3 #fl4k is nonbinary #fl4k uses they/them/their pronouns

12 notes · View notes

studious-punk · 6 years ago

Note

Hi!! I saw you have a MSI laptop! I'm thinking about buying a laptop for college (instead of bringing desktop PC to campus or nearby apartment). How is the battery life on your MSI? What kind is it? Do you recommend it? Is it heavy or fairly light? I can't part with windows to get Macbooks like many other studyblrs, so I was super excited to see that you are using a gaming laptop!!

Hi! Thanks for being as excited about my laptop as I am! I’ll admit I generally feel so strange posting in the studyblr tags with a not-so-aesthetic laptop, but I love my MSI to pieces. I totally agree with you about Macbooks too, I love Windows too much to own a Mac.

My laptop is an MSI GT72 Dominator Pro, and it’s a beast. If you’re going to be doing a lot in VR, I recommend it just because of the sheer number of USB ports (six!!). The battery life is... okay. I don’t really use it a lot without having it plugged in, but it’ll last a good 1.5-3 hours, depending on what you’re doing with it. pretty much the only place on campus you’re not going to have ready access to an outlet though is in a lecture hall.

It’s very large. VERY. This thing will not fit in your backpack, that’s how big it is. You will have trouble balancing it on those tiny lecture hall folding desk things, too. the laptop itself weighs 9 lbs, and the charger probably adds about another pound onto that.

I love this laptop, but it has its pros and cons. I can’t really say if it’s the right laptop for you, because I don’t know what your needs are. I’ve owned my laptop for just about four years, and it’s been perfect. I use it primarily for game development (along with all my other homework, but I bought it with game dev in mind). I do occasionally play video games on it, and it performs extremely well at that too. One thing I like about it is that while it doesn’t itself have a 4K display, it supports output to 4K external monitors, so you can get the benefits of 4K without the crazy power drain that comes along with having a 4K monitor as your main display.

Pros: crazy powerful. It’s got a top-notch intel processessor, and high level nvidia graphics. It has a 17.9in display, perfect for gaming or development.

Cons: heavy, especially if you’re going to be walking/biking more than a mile at a time. average battery life, will not last all day without a charge.

MSI has a lot of options regarding laptops, and I definitely recommend their laptops, especially if you’re into gaming, but even if you aren’t. The one I have is pretty pricey, but they have a lot of cheaper options, if you’re concerned about money. Just spend some time browsing their website, and consider what your needs are when choosing which laptop to buy. :)

1 note · View note

beauvoyr · 7 years ago

Text

Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired | 15

flowering | children of the end of the world

Pairings: Noctis/Reader Genre: Friendship/Romance/Friends-to-Lovers Tags: Fluff, Humor, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Abuse, Torture, asphyxiation, no beta we die like men, pre-Omen trailer route, pre-demon Noctis Chapter Suggestion: Read it on AO3 for cuter formatting during chat sequence. Chapter Rating: T Crossposted on: AO3 Summary: you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins you will love him to ruins

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You will love him to ruins.

HIS MORNING IS DIFFERENT NOW. Different, as in Noctis doesn’t have to drag himself out of bed at 5.30 just so he’d make it to Gladio’s training session on time. That and he doesn’t have to struggle with rousing the cat from her nap, which is a codename for waking you up and getting a swish of claws in return. These past few days taught him how to dodge unpredictable attacks better than his Shield ever did. Ignis checks up on him at 7.30, giving him more time to grumble about the too-damn-early Contemporary Management class that’s only available at 8.30 only on Mondays and Wednesdays. Noctis picks up on his dull routine of brushing his teeth, yawning under the hot shower, shucking on whatever shirt and pants combo he can locate in his closet, and hauls his backpack with another yawn.

The ride to Lucis U has Ignis filling him in on the council updates, boring stuff that has him yawning four times in twenty minutes of morning traffic, and manages a bleary nod once his Advisor sees him off at Block B. As a senior, most of the fresh-eyed juniors gawk at him the moment he strides through the hallways, scanning the doors for BU 3-1. He’s the prince, he kinda gets that a lot, not that anything’s changed over his entire lifetime. They don’t care about him past his title, and he doesn’t see why he should care either. Noctis occupies the seat farthest from the board, saves some space for Prompto, and checks up on his planner. If it’s up to him, he’d never get himself something as posh as leather-bound, but this was all a conspiratorial gift by none other than Ignis in final hopes that it’d instill some orderly sense into Noctis.

But did it work?

Probably, seeing how he had his final timetable scrawled in one of the front pages in case of discrepancies—

—oh.

Prompto’s not taking this elective with him. Right. He signed up for Media and Journalism since he figured his photography skills would come in handy, babbling all about it when they were filling up the subject registration form last semester. That kind of sucks, now that he thinks about it. If Prompto’s not here, then he can’t steal naps when the lecturer’s not looking. And he can’t skim through the lecture notes Prompto’s jotted down amidst all his lazy doodling. And they can’t coordinate where to grab their lunch because Lucis U’s menu dates back to M.E. 358, all sloppy mashed potatoes and premature beans on every other day, ugh.

Shutting his planner, Noctis slumps over his desk as the other students begin to file in. Some are vaguely recognizable faces, like that guy with the mohawk or that girl with a birdlike laugh, while rest are an assortment of squashed noses and sharp jaws and droopy eyelids, people who recognize him from afar, people who never approach in the end. There is an unspoken line drawn between them and him, separating the prince from its people.

Chin on the scratched desk, Noctis slips out his phone and puts it on silent, knowing the misery of abandonment all too well.

N: hey P: morning noct!!! dude im so psyched for medjourn omg N: lol nerd P: no rly lol P: we’re getting pruvia drusus P: u remember that segment at 9? on 8tv? P: she goes undercover and infiltrates drug cartels, yakuza houses??? badass stuff???? armed w/ only a camera?????

Noctis searches the depths of his head for a semblance of connection to this Pruvia person, finds that he doesn’t even know the channel 8TV exists prior to Prompto’s yammering, and sighs.

N: no idea, sorry P: aw man u missed out big time. she kicks ass P: cuz she’s gonna be teaching us this sem!!! N: what really P: yea man! special contract only this sem and first come first served, limited seats blablabla u know the deal

That mad dash Prompto did just to submit his form at the counter last semester? Bouncing on his feet the moment the registrar gave it a once-over and nodded? And that little fistpump he did at the end of it? Yeah, all of that totally made sense now.

N: is it too late to congratulate you P: naw it’s never too late!!! P: thanks noct!!!!

A loud bang and the lecturer abruptly enters, setting down a folder heavy with paper, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else than here. Noctis shares that sentiment too; he’s starting to miss his bed a little too much. Madam Yoshino Faustus is a middling lady with three large rocks on three different fingers and they glimmer each time she waves her hand about, the hallmark of a nobility gone rogue, throwing out the Lady in her to adopt Madam instead. He’s had her two semesters ago, an encounter in Introduction to Conflict Management that ended with Noctis scoring an A- despite slamming into classes an hour after she started, all thanks to his notorious oversleeping skills. Her squinting sweep over the entire room to take in the faces of her future victims tells Noctis that this semester is going to be even worse than the last one.

“Usus magister est optimus,” her lilting voice begins, and by the number of times she always recited that phrase in every class, Noctis knows it by heart to remember one thing: Practice is the best teacher, a motto she lives by. “All right, let’s do a little roll call, just to make sure everyone’s here today and nobody’s signing for their friends,” she drones on, consulting the name list of those registered under her class, a true veteran who thwarts every student’s attempt on playing hooky. “Albel Williams?”

“Here.”

Noctis turns to his phone when she belts out a few more names.

N: yoshino’s here P: same P: pruvia’s here too omg im pumped

Which means Prompto’s replies are going to get increasingly spaced out by the seconds as he enjoys Pruvia’s class while his best friend is withering away here. Great. Resigning himself to enjoy his own company, Noctis logs into King’s Knight. CONNECTING TO SERVER circles endlessly on his screen with pixelated Ray Jack, Kaliva, Barusa, and Toby marching to the beat, brandishing their weapons. After what seems to be minutes��when it’s only seconds, really, Noctis tends to exaggerate when it gets boring—he’s all logged into the game, scrolling through the dev notes and checking today’s quests. He harvests his Zell trees for free cash, a thoughtful gesture once-per-day meant to aid the newcomers, and then he goes to his FRIEND screen, where—

“Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum?” the lecturer calls out in a tone that suggests she sees him with his phone out. “Are you with us?”

Prince. Right. He really needs to make a special decree just for stopping people from calling him that in class. Noctis straightens up his slouch, looks her in the eye like a dutiful student and the proud son of King Regis, doing his perfected princely nod. One sharp bob of his head, not a timid two. “Yep.”

Something about her adjusting her eyeglasses begs to differ, but she exhales all the same and moves on. “Noleva Mai?”

—he taps to his messaging application and tries to hide his grimace.

N: yoshino saw me texting RIP P: yoshino more like yoshiknows

Noctis resists the urge to snort out of the imminent knowledge that Madam Yoshino might start chucking markers at him like all teachers do in anime, and sends out a last message.

N: lol catch you later then N: have fun with pruvia P: thanks noct! P: u have fun w/ yoshi-no-no too!!!

Swapping back to King’s Knight, Noctis checks on his mini friend list. There’s Prompto but he’s offline, as expected. Gladio’s never online unless Noctis is the one badgering him to go on a raid with him and Prom, so Barusa’s all greyed out on the screen like Prompto’s Toby. He scrolls a bit more, searching for a glowing Kaliva rocking a skull-tipped weapon and oozing sheer badassery, but. It’s all greyed out too.

Well. He didn’t expect that.

The lecturer’s already scratching her name on the whiteboard and it reads Madam Yoshino Faustus in case anyone’s a newbie, then she’s already jumping into the first chapter listed in the pro forma because that’s how seniors roll on their first day in the final semester, all badass and probably dying by the end of the term. Noctis swallows a groan, watches Madam Yoshino put up some drab slides of black text on white background, and turns back to King’s Knight.

It probably doesn’t hurt to text you before he puts his phone away.

TO: THE ARCHITECT FROM: NOCTGAR SUBJECT: [none] MESSAGE: wake up.

He only hopes you’ll get back to him soon enough.

the jump from high school syllabus to university courses is something most people spend an average of a month to synchronize with the rhythm of building properly cited reports and bookmarking journal archives on their computers. you are fourteen and you only had a week. a week of the pinch-faced man running his fingers over your documents before handing byron your necessary textbooks, listing out your learning outcomes from the top of his head, and diving headfirst into your workload. he is only paid to teach you, not to make you understand, so he packs his briefcase by eleven and leaves for his next lecture on campus.

this is how you learn.

at six you rise, eating breakfast thirty minutes later. by seven you are dressed and sitting at your desk, reading your texts in advance before the lecturers arrive. eight a.m. they enter, an assortment of he, she, they, names you do not memorize. lessons end thirteen hours later, interspersed bites of meals squeezed in between your lecturers’ arrival. byron cleans as you wash up, readying a dinner that you nibble in between glances of your assignments. the clock chimes twelve. sometimes you sleep on your books. most of the time you do not sleep at all.

flipping through ancient solheim and decoding the dead language, you occasionally catch yourself muttering under your breath. “i’m an idiot. i’m an idiot. i’m an idiot.”

byron stops fiddling with his feather duster and corrects you softly, a pitiful look in his silent eyes. “to me, you are the most intelligent person i’ve ever had the honour of meeting, milady.”

what good does intelligence bring you? it is a word that has lost its meaning. intelligence bring you crippling thoughts of no i can’t do this no i don’t want to do this anymore no i want to stop please. intelligence makes you jump at every passing minute, dreading the moment he she they step in, posing a question designed to unveil your idiocy. intelligence has your bed collecting dust, dust that byron obediently expels with zeal.

so tell me, what good does intelligence bring me?

you must’ve vocalized the question, for byron shakes his head and corrects you again. “milady, i never had the chance to go to school.” he meets your eyes like it is the most natural thing for a twenty-seven-year-old man to remain uneducated, while you are fourteen and too educated for the world to appreciate. “one of the men i worked with taught me to read and write, then basic maths once i know the difference between bemused and amused. my first salary was only 50 gil, so i spent some on books and veggies, and saved the rest in my tin can. by the time i had close to a few hundred gil in my savings, i bought this beautiful leather-bound diary and a pen i saw in this stationery shop, and taught myself some cursive from the old man at the bus stop.” with a voice that doesn’t quite match the melancholy on his face, he turns his back to you and resumes dusting your bookcase. “so please, do not think so lowly of yourself. you are worth so much more to me.”

all at once, you are ashamed. ashamed of yourself for whining at him for the scratches on your palms when he has welts on his body. you are fourteen when you realize you are blessed in all your misery. while it doesn’t make things any better with father pretending your existence is nullified, nor does it have the manservants respect you any better, you have byron.

byron who has nothing else left in life than you.

NOCTIS QUICKLY COMES TO THE CONCLUSION that the final semester sucks.

Four days. Four days is all it takes for Noctis and Prompto to find out that downing 12 cans of Ebony in 3 hours will send Prompto into a twitchy mess, then embarking on an adventure with marathoning four whole seasons of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure blasting from the TV. Ignis isn’t quite pleased to find his stashed Ebony raided with no cans left to spare, though he refrains himself from berating them when they’ve finally finished compiling the report and slides for Strategic Management, a compulsory core unit both he and Prompto couldn’t ward off with credit transfer. Ever dutiful, Ignis takes up the task of sweeping pizza crumbs under the sofas, separating cans of energy drinks from plastic bottles for recycling, and pulls his sleeves to his forearms, banishing grease from the plates.

By the time Friday rolls around, Prompto’s draped over the cushion, a fine imitation of a corpse. Noctis, on the other hand, doesn’t recall how exactly he found his bed—or rather, his arm found it while he died on the floor. Over a box of cereal and some morning Malboro cartoon, they both agreed that the first week is shit—“Is that why all our ex-seniors looked like they died three years even before their final sem started?” Prompto asks aloud, then bursting into melodramatic tears when Noctis, in stately somberness, nods—and consoled each other with Ignis’ freezer-wrapped meals. When dusk falls, Noctis catches up on a solid fourteen more hours of sleep, while Prompto finally went home for the first time in decades.

Saturday. Ignis, bless him, decided to let Noctis sleep in a little past ten a.m. and only woke him up once it shows eleven on his watch. Gladio wants all of them back in the training hall for some ‘relaxed sparring’ to ‘polish on teamwork’ after ‘taking a long break’, a lie that Noctis could smell even if the Citadel’s miles and miles away from his apartment. Still, they picked up an unwilling Prompto from his house, sat through the crawling Insomnian traffic, reverse-parked in the prince’s underground bay, and ended up in the training room all the same.

Prompto is the first one to throw the door open, all singsong. “Gladi—oh.” And then he stops short. His hand falls off the doorknob like it burns him, jammed right in the pocket of his sweatpants. “Wow, uh. Hey. Architect. Hey, uh, Architect’s butler…?”

Ignis is only a step away from Prompto, a gentle hand landing on Prompto’s back to guide him into the training hall, spurring him out of his statuesque stand. The blond awkwardly slinks in with the Ignis in tow, who is all serene calmness even though he’s surveying the floor in great interest behind his spectacles. He, too, waits for an answer.

“Byron the butler, in case you forgot,” the mess of white offers, all smiles.

Something about that has Prompto paling faster than slapping a monochrome filter on a picture. Blue eyes are skittish, darting from one side to the other as he pulls the worst kind of smile that’s undoubtedly jumpy. “Uh. Right, Byron, nice to see ya again. And uh,” he nods over to the last party member, “who’s that guy?”

“Nyx, Nyx Ulric,” Gladio answers from the other end, as gruff as always. “Noct, get your ass in here so we can start.”

He can definitely count on his Shield to be an ass about this. “Shut up, I know.”

So. What Noctis sees once he finally reaches the hall are four people. It’s hard to miss out Gladio, so naturally he’s the first person Noctis picks out from the floor, a crooked grin on his scarred face as he waves them in. As much as Noctis doesn’t want to see your butler again, Byron’s there for who knows what reason, substituting his fitted suit for a sharp ensemble of button-up shirt and khakis. There’s also some uniformed Glaive seated cross-legged beside him, all handsome ruggedness with his hair slicked back, trailing down his shoulders in little braids. Presumably the one called Nyx, since nobody else fits that description. He has the look of a predator if Noctis doesn’t know any better, minute tattoos dotted under his eyes, and decked in too much leather to be just a normal guy.

Noctis lets his blue eyes stray from the stranger and drift up grey sweatpants and a shirt too loose, clothes that he’s long accustomed to. You. For some reasons, when he sees the smallish smile gracing your face and the familiar glaze in your eyes when he meets your gaze, something stirs in him. Something like a bad stomachache—no, that’s not it. Something like overeating and getting nauseous—no, that’s not it either. It’s something knocking inside him, asking to be heard, except he has no idea what it is. But it makes him conscious of the way he’s returning your look with a slight wave—then turning it into some weird wilting of his fingers once the deed’s done—and then turning into an awkward rub of his nape.

At any rate, he joins all of them on the floor, sitting in a crude circle, feigning ignorance at your keen peeking every once in a while. It’s not like he hasn’t been talking to you in these past few days and it’s not like he’s ignoring you on purpose, Astrals no. Classes have been hard, sure, but King’s Knight bridged the gap between his physical distance with you. You texted him your training regimen, he texted you his day, you gave him pointers on how to draw up a report that netted him Madam Yoshino’s compliments, and he shared some room IDs for you to join his raids with Prompto. Normal, casual interactions, no red sirens anywhere, so he shouldn’t be on red alert like this. But it’s all a lie. If anything, it’s the way things are going that makes him a little too hyperaware of that persistent knocking in him each time he ignores your fleeting peeks.

Maybe he’s just thinking too much about this.

Things are normal. Things are casual. Things have been both normal and casual.

But things are different with how you’re here with Byron, finally giving up on catching his attention and turning to that Glaive instead.

Your friendliness is infectious and it doesn’t help that Nyx practically established no walls with you. He murmurs something, you listen, he murmurs a bit more, then you stifle a laugh behind your hand. Thankfully it hasn’t devolved into anything remotely touchy-feely that would’ve trespassed some borders for Noctis, but it sure as hell looks like the guy is a long lost friend catching up to years and years of chatter. And you’re all too honest with your feelings these days, smiling that same smile of yours at Nyx. That very same smile you were once reluctant to share with anyone else but him.

Noctis turns away, picking off the little thoughts overrunning inside like they’re ants swarming a crumb.

He’s being ridiculous. That’s what it is. He should be proud of your progress in making friends instead of feeling like he missed out on something in the days he hadn’t spent by your side. This whole thing is just all in his head and he should forget about it. His eyes drag over the opposite end where you sit, tracing over the docile quirk of your lips as words are whispered to Nyx, who turns it into a joke of some sort for you to laugh over. The searing flash jolting up his nerves is immediate, forcing Noctis to look away.

Yeah, he should definitely forget about it.

Gladio finally steals the moment by clapping once and Noctis is more than willing to fix the Shield his attention to end his thoughts. “All right, listen up. First off, meet Ulric. He’s a senior member of the Glaive—Kingsglaive,” Gladio tacks on a bit of an explanation once Prompto goes bug-eyed at the new term. “Elite soldiers who risk their lives to protect Lucis, Prom. They’re war veterans out there, fighting to keep people like us safe in Insomnia.”

“Too much credit, Gladio,” Nyx counters, sounding modest even if the mischievous grin on his face never went away. “Just doing my job. You guys must be the Prince’s entourage; Prompto Argentum,” he starts from clockwise, “Ignis Scientia, and His Royal Highness, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum. Pleasure to meet you all.”

As Prompto and Ignis echo some pleasantries, Noctis can’t even bring himself to nod. Glaives are part of his dad’s legion of protectors even if the Crownsguard are bodyguards for the royal family. At the first signs of Niflheim’s forces stirring unrest outside Insomnia, the Glaives are the frontliners fending them off. On days they don’t get any action, Noctis knows some of them are tasked with tailing him from afar if he’s out in town, harnessing the power of the Crystal through his dad just to make sure they remain out of sight by scaling walls and such.

So what’s he doing here?

Unfortunately, Noctis finds no answer as Gladio moves on.

“And this guy right here,” the Shield thumbs at Byron, who’s gone ahead and braided his hair out of disinterest at the droll conversation, “is Byron, the little lady’s butler. Think of him as the older, pissier Iggy.”

“Flattered with the description.” Unconcerned, Byron continues braiding his ponytail like it’s the most natural thing to do, elegant fingers deft with its handiwork and twining one lock after another. You hide a smile behind your fingers, though it doesn’t escape Byron’s watchful eyes as he huffs not unkindly. “It means there are at least four levelheaded people in this ragtag band of,” he searches the ceiling for answers, “young adults. Young, moody adults.”

Is that a jab at him? Whatever it is, it has Noctis scowling after taking the bait, arms crossing over his chest. “As if you’re not a young adult yourself.”

Byron makes an expression of dramatized outrage, clicking his tongue like a mother hen, severely scandalized at the thought. “What a compliment, I must appear younger than I look. With all due respect, Nyx and I are the only full-fledged adults around here. We’re both well over our thirties.” He draws up his chin in disdain, sneering Noctis’ way. “The lot of you are simply children to us.”

Thirty—Noctis almost sputters at the words crossing his mouth, but Prompto groans and presses a hand to his forehead. “Gladio’s right,” he grumbles, “Byron is an older and pissier version of Ignis. Ugh, talk about two Iggies.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” says Ignis ruefully. He gestures to the rest of the members of this odd gathering, himself included, and inclines his head towards Nyx—who, by now, is already taking in their exchange with a wry grin of his own. “Do forgive them, the children can be quite excitable in presence of new companions.”

Nyx props his head up and clears his throat, eyes bright. “Nah, not at all. Just happened to be assigned for patrolling in my new roster and heard loud noises—weird loud noises,” he corrects himself, nodding your way, “and the rest is history. Nowadays I just check them out every now and then to make sure they’re not getting into trouble.”

“You got the small kid to blame for the weird loud noises,” Gladio heartily thumps your back as you vibrate from the sheer force of it, scowling Byron’s way.

“Well, I wouldn’t have made those ‘weird loud noises’ if someone wasn’t trying to detach my spine from my hip.”

Byron deflects your lethal glare with the look of a customer service representative sent to deal with a particularly pesky customer, never once acknowledging the blame. “Milady, you’re as flexible as a plank. You need to stretch more.”

“Pretty sure there’s a difference between helping and attempting murder,” you rebuke as Gladio turns his sympathetic back-patting into comforting head rubs instead. “What if I broke something and had to go to the ER?”

To which the shameless butler rolls his eyes and pretends examining the twines to his braid a far greater issue than your metaphorical dislocation. “You’re being overdramatic. Nyx, do me a favour as a fellow old man and tell her she’s being overdramatic.”

“I’d say no to the part with the old man,” Nyx shrugs at the betrayal, “but yes to the overdramatic part. It is what it is.”

Hopelessly ganged up by the two men, you sulk under Gladio’s petting and wither. “Gee, thanks guys. Real nice of you.”

Ignis surveys the friendly banter with raised brows, though he ventures no further on the matter. Prompto looks like he doesn’t know if it’d be his place to join in when Byron’s involved, and Noctis kind of gets what he’s thinking. The last time Byron meddled, things ended as well as someone’s funeral. Their collective silence works out for Gladio since it gives him a chance to lay out his plans for the day, starting from the not-so-subtle looks he’s been tossing Noctis’ way.

“All right guys, enough chitchat,” Gladio brings everyone to attention once again. “The reason why I called you all here today is because,” he gives a sharp look to Noctis, “Noct, we’re gonna give it a shot with attuning her to magic today, see how well she takes to it, and decide where she goes from there.”

And Noctis couldn’t help the way his brow arches automatically at that. “So that’s why you called me out here?”

“Ya got any other sibling out there who’s also the prince?” Gladio scoffs. “Of course you gotta do it, dumbass, she’s yours.”

His, huh?

That sounds nice for a change.

“Ohhhh boy, I’ll go grab The Bucket™ real quick,” Prompto groans, dragging a hand over his face as he scrambles to his feet. Met with your confused gaping, he only finger-guns your way and flits from the circle, rushing towards the showers. Cue clanging sounds, startled jumps, and epic sounds of scuffling before the blond emerges with a steel bucket dented at the side. He sets it down in front of you coolly, much to Nyx’s amusement.

And you’re all but fingering the suspiciously empty bucket at the rim, stumped. “What’s this for?”

Noctis knows what that’s for. Hell, Ignis and Gladio were both well-acquainted with The Bucket™ at some points, but they’re very much disinclined to acknowledge The Bucket’s™ existence since all it does is bring back bad memories. Bad memories of puking uncontrollably, Ignis wiping his mouth and hunching over The Bucket™, Prompto dropping dead into a faint after just touching Noctis, and The Incident That Must Not Be Named™ involving Gladio stumbling like a newborn anak fawn all across the training hall.

Well. This should be interesting.

“Not everyone can handle magic, even in trace amounts,” Nyx explains much to your gratification, fingernail tapping against the steel handle knowingly. It sets you into a mode of perpetual alarm, breathing shallowly, and Nyx chuckles even louder. “Calm down, you’re not gonna die or something. The worst that could happen is puking,” he lists off his fingers, “fainting, disorientation, or maybe all three.” He stops at the sheer horror crossing your eyes, shrugs, and finds it appropriate to add, “For a few days, I guess. We still have newer Glaives who puke when they land after warp-strikes, so that’s another case. Can’t get used to the thing if you don’t practice daily.”

Usus magister est optimus, the Yoshino in Noctis parrots. Practice, practice, and more practice. Practice even when he’s sick, practice even when Gladio served his ass in three different flavours, and practice even when his legs had failed him.

“Warp-strike is the thing where,” you chew on your bottom lip, all frowns, probably recalling the number of times he inadvertently showed you the move through his many practices, “you kind of throw your weapon somewhere and just—just end up warping there, right?”

Huh. Noctis just can’t help but to nod along when you throw a furtive glance his way as if confirming that’s the thing, right? At least you had been paying attention to him, that’s for sure. His skin prickles at the intriguing thought.

“All Glaives can warp since we utilize King Regis’ magic, and he’s strong enough to lend us his strength. Think of His Majesty as a conduit, it’s easier that way.” Nyx tilts his head over, lazy eyes ghosting over Noctis. His hardening stare threatens to expose him, yet he says nothing and is content to pick up the briefing where he stopped. “His Highness over here is also another conduit, but he’s only serving his retainers for now. So if you wanna get good, get practising.”

“It’ll also help if you haven’t had your breakfast,” Ignis points out, a knowing glint in his eyes. That’s definitely talking from experience right there. “If you’re rather famished by now, then it might be wise for us to begin right away.”

Byron finishes his braid with a bauble hair tie procured from his pocket, snapping it into place. He cycles through everyone’s expression for digestion and comes to a conclusion. “Since that’s everyone’s consensus, then we should start, milady. The sooner you start puking, the better, since I can clean up your mess before I start on lunch.”

“Someone has his priorities right,” Ignis agrees, meeting Byron’s eyes with a grateful nod sent his way, and Six, is his Advisor seriously getting along with the creep for your butler? Today is so not Noctis’ good day. “Come along now, Noct, hold your hand out to her. And you, Architect, do us all a favour and give Noct a hand.”

Prompto hoots and slaps Ignis’ back, who looked oddly pleased with himself for thinking up that one. Ugh. Whatever. He needs to get this over with. Noctis scoots over to where you sit at the same time you shift closer, both meeting at the halfway point. With all his friends and some random Glaive grinning wildly at the side, it feels a bit weird to do this—but not in the way where it’s getting uncomfortable—just slowly getting there, somewhat. It’d be better if he had some privacy in the first place for concentration, but he can’t be too picky with how the circumstances are playing out.

Theoretically, the Crystal’s magic seems can be condensed into the simple concept of eating. Right now, he’s simply letting you have a taste of the magic, just a lick or two for your tongue to learn the flavour. Later on when you’re much better off at it, you’d be able to eat all you want through him if you’d like it. And him? He’s not the one eating from the Crystal. The Crystal is the one eating him like how it ate his dad alive.

Everyone knows how it is, everyone saw how he hobbles with a cane for a crutch.

The spiderweb spreading on his father’s right, uprooting the little pale canvas he has to offer, says enough to Noctis that the doctor isn’t going to announce his cause of death as a natural cause. What little magic Noctis could afford to channel to his friends isn’t enough to let him share his dad’s burden. But he’ll get there sooner or later once the ring is sitting on his finger, once his friends are part of the council, once you’ve succeeded your father.

To start that off, you need this.

You need him.

Noctis holds out his hand to you, the standard procedure of channeling the Crystal’s magic through him as the conduit, and he can’t say he’s surprised when a familiar ice grazes his palm. Fingertips, as cold as The Glacian’s touch. He’s felt this before. The first time you brought his hand up to your face, letting him wrap his slim digits around your neck, icy manacles of your hands draining the warmth from his wrist. Do you still remember that day? He can’t tell, not when you’ve gone ahead and wiped the emotions clean from your face, slotting your palm over his.

“How romantic,” Byron drawls. “Romance movie of the year, ten out of ten.”

Gladio snickers and that asshole for your butler is smug with his achievement of riling the prince. Noctis makes a mental checklist to deck Byron later, just to demonstrate why he’s the Prince of Pain. Unaffected, you just side-eyed Byron as though you’re long used to his assholery, turning back to a pink-dusted Noctis. “Don’t mind him, Prince, he’s always a jerk.”

“Glad you’re suffering with me right now,” he snorts, earning some sort of a quiet huff of amusement under your breath. Once the racket settles down, he closes his eyes and lets the darkness reach out to him. Time to get his act together; it’s been a while since he’d done this. Hopefully soon enough, he’ll get to guide you through this without messing up. “All right, first thing you wanna do is close your eyes.”

“Ugh. Cliché.”

“Shut up Byron,” he hears you chide, Gladio cackling appreciatively at the unnecessary commentary. “Ahem. And then what, Prince?”

“Uh. Make yourself calm, at ease. Stuffs like that.” Totally not helpful, not that he’s good with words, but he’s been told that’s how it goes the last time he did it with Prompto. “When you feel calm and focused, then it’s a lot easier for you to reach out and feel things.”

“I…dunno Prince, all I’m feeling is how warm you are.”

That’s it? He must’ve been out of practice over all the months, damn. He catches Gladio muttering she said warm, huh? somewhere to his side, probably to Byron, and your butler’s snickering at you and him, totally getting a kick out of this. Champions of backseat everything, his friends. And your butler too, can’t forget about that. What are they, prepubescent kids? Clearing his throat, Noctis tries again, curling his fingers over the back of your hand. “Okay, try to concentrate on picking up something. Anything. Not the noise, not the warmth, just—“

“—like you’re trying to grab fish in the river,” Prompto pipes up to his left.

“No, it’s different,” Ignis points out, “it’s a transient feeling unlike any other. Almost like oxygen, it’s there, but it’s not seen to your eyes. Yet, it has always been there from the start.”

Noctis cracks his eyes open just a sliver before closing them again. “Guys, not helping.”

“Think of electricity,” Nyx supplies helpfully, and that’s more of an accurate description of the Crystal’s magic more than he could ever describe to you. Leave it to the pros to tell you how it is. “Flash of electricity, tingling under your skin and in your nerves. There should be a buzzing sound if you concentrate hard enough, and that’s the sound the Crystal makes. Like someone humming off-key, enough to make you aware of its presence, but low enough to fade into background noise. Think of blues and violets, if the colour helps you to imagine things. Put together that feeling and the electric colours when you search deep inside yourself.”

His lengthy explanation has you tightening your hold on Noctis’ hand, seizing him softly. In this darkness, he sees nothing. He hears nothing, once everyone falls wordless. Just like this, true to Nyx’s words, the Crystal’s distant hum beckons him, speaking in tones unintelligible to the human ears. The Crystal sustaining protection in Insomnia, the duty he carries as a prince to his people, everything as the Astrals ordained, bestowing salvation upon mankind, and so much more. Spikes of electric magic whizzes past, an ECG reading peaking from a flat, amaranthine bursting into blue—

—you squeeze his hand until pinpricks of pain sets in, and a gasp.

Noctis opens his eyes just in time to catch the dusts of magic reflected in your eyes—only, they are not blue, not his blue.

They are an infernal scarlet searing the blacks of your pupils.

He’s never seen that before.

And when you fall, he almost forgets to catch you.

titan, the archaean, steadfast as stone. ramuh, the fulgurian, sharp as lightning. shiva, the glacian, gentle as snow. leviathan, the hydraean, relentless as tides. bahamut, the draconian, unbending as iron. ifrit, the infernian, fickle as fire. since time immemorial, they have watched over eos.

cosmogony; the hexatheon.

EVERYTHING IS BURNING. The ground, the trees, the skies. Darkness and dust intermingle, clouds of smoke choking your mouth, scorching your lungs. Dry air strips moisture from your mouth. Nothing is alive, everything is razed to the ground. An abject sight of flames fanning over the hills, smothering steel into liquid. The blistering heat stings your skin and beads of sweat roll off your chest, but you do not care. Not when euphoria courses through your veins, rattling your fingertips with the intoxicating feel of victory. You throw your head back, scanning the melting horizon, searching for survivors that you know there wouldn’t be any.

You’ve made sure to eradicate every single one of them.

Down to their very last breath.

Wood crackles with fire gnawing through its crusty flesh, felling branches here and there. There is a sound, a displaced sound different from the rest. Footsteps. Heavy, booted footsteps, an uneven gait you’ve come to love and revere. You do not turn when arms snake around your waist, pulling you against a wall of bare chest. Liquid heat on your back, grimy hands leaving smudges of black across your torso, laving your flesh with ardent skims of flat palms and fingertips tracing circles on your skin. Something grazes your nape and ever pliant, ever worshipful, you tilt your head aside, broken, exposing your neck.

Dry lips descend on your skin, followed by a sharp nip of teeth, marking you.

This, right here in his arms, is where you belong.

Marked. Safe. His.

“We did it,” he murmurs throatily, and you groan your approval when his touches turn desperate, when his nips turn into bites, “we stopped them. You and me, just the two of us, we took them down.”

“Yes, yes we did,” you whimper, finding it hard to concentrate when he thumbs at your waistband, toying with the elastic. He restrains you tight, just like this, almost punishing in his strength—not that you mind it. You love it. You love him for the warning scratch of his fingernails digging through your skin, red welts rising from your unbroken skin. You love him for the way he runs his tongue over your earlobe, nipping at the shell, breathing hard in your ear. You love him even when he lunges a trident through a beautiful blonde, spattering her blood across his cheeks.

He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling with a ragged breath. “I love you.”

You know he means every word, for he loves as easily as he kills.

Eyes lidded, head resting against his chest, your hands dance across his fraught forearms and tangle with his fingers, filling in the gaps in between. This is a space made for you, meant for you, and nobody else will hold him like you do. He loves you. He completes you. He is you. Slowly bringing his hands to your face, you leave kisses on the bruises littering his knuckles, reverent. He is your Eos, he is your God, he is your King, and he is your Prince. He moulds you by his own two hands, filling the cavity with flowers for your lungs and honey in place of your blood. He deserves this corpse you call your vessel, down to your very last breath.

I love you is on your tongue, licking a stripe across his finger.

And he knows you love him too.

Turning in his arms, you crane your head to meet his heady gaze. Oh so wrecked, he stands stoic as his eyes bore into yours. Your sweet, wretched prince. Mirrored by the flames, there is a corrosive yellow to their quality, eroding his innocence. There is nothing innocent about him anymore. Gone are the Galdin blues; he has the eyes of the gold coins lost in the sea, a ring of scarlet rimming the edges. He’s beautiful, just as beautiful as the fire he starts. You cup his blood-crusted cheek and he leans into your touch, long black lashes fluttering in bliss, breathing his approval. His hand joins yours, holding you in place.

This is the world you ruined together with him, and there is no place better than Hell for the damned.

there once lived a man, born to a mortal but blessed with powers divine. conjuring a collection of glaives he dispelled the darkness plaguing our star. as a reward for his efforts, the god granted him a holy stone—the crystal, which he was to guard at all costs, for it would one day choose a king to see us through the coming disaster and lead us to salvation.

cosmogony; the crystal.

THE GLAIVE KNEW. Just one look and he knew. Noctis knows that look from anywhere—it was the same look everyone had when he strolled along in wheelchair, head downcast, never acknowledging the sympathy in their eyes. The fact remains that he isn’t as strong as King Regis to grant his entourage the same strength and magic the Glaives enjoyed. Yet in an effort to save face, Nyx withheld the judgment of a pro and offered your thoughts something else to ruminate. But what’s done is done. Noctis knows where he stands and it will never be on the same pedestal as the rest of the Glaives.

In the beginning, all was well. He was a child, but he was a prince, first and foremost. Afforded the luxuries many couldn’t ever since he could remember, but never the freedom other children had. “A prince shouldn’t dillydally shillyshally,” his tutor would click her tongue in disdain, brandishing a pen this way and that, marching up and down his room as Noctis pretends to be deeply engrossed in Lucian history just so she’d fade into a blur like one of the many wallpapers in his room. They all come and go just to stuff him full of knowledge as if education is a simple process of boiling textbooks into soups for him to devour. No matter how much they bore him to tears, they’ll never admit what they see: A young prince, hungering for the sun on his skin than the pages on his fingertips.

But he was weak.

After all, princes have to follow their father’s steadfast steps.

So what good was a prince who couldn’t walk?

Noctis has his back to the icy wall, but the scar on his spine burns white hot. He could just reach for it if he wants, searching under his shirt, feeling for the ridge where skin turns plastic.

Marilith.

His first taste of death came in a pool of red. Then came fear, shrouding him unlike any other fear he conquered. This was the monster under his bed, and it came for him. This was what it meant to be the prince of a kingdom, a price he paid in blood. This was death, and it wanted his life. The Crownsguard were diced into proportions by the Marilith’s blades, their coffins being the cars they drove in. Dying in place of the prince was regarded as the utmost honour one could hope to attain, but what good will a gold medal do to an empty coffin whose mangled corpse couldn’t even be retrieved? Nothing.

Things could’ve been different had Noctis not encountered that daemon. He replayed this scenario repeatedly, holding up the record to the sunlight to examine it in different angles as though a newer truth might unveil itself and undo what has been done. In another world, he never would’ve had to be wheeled around as an invalid, shoulders bearing the sympathies of many. Queen Sylva is never a casualty and Lunafreya wouldn’t be robbed of her parents, of her brother’s independence, leaving her as Niflheim’s prisoner. He never would’ve pushed everyone away just so they’re safe, safer where they are not a smudged scarlet on the floor. His nanny was an unforgettable example.

Anyone and everyone serving the royal line will be sacrificed for his safety. The Crownsguard, the Kingsglaive, the militia and the mass, all reduced to one thing: A fodder for his safety. Including his retainers, his friends. Ignis, Gladio, Prompto.

Ignis had been a staunch devout of an educationist in the very beginning. Graduated the top of his class in the Royal Academy during his earlier years, groomed into what they wanted him to be: His personal advisor. On paper, that is. In reality, Noctis craved the human touch Ignis possessed through their first handshake. Though duty remained a permanent distinction separating their friendship, Ignis isn’t as much as a stickler he could be at times. He’s the brain behind their nightly escapades out of the Citadel while Noctis is the brawn—or the one persistently convincing Ignis that it’s a good idea and they’re never going to get caught, thanks to his meticulous mapping of the Citadel’s hallways. They clambered through open windows, snuck past guards, and crawled in metal vents just for that small reward of the stars studding the night skies. And perhaps, for Ignis himself, the reward truly lies in Noctis’ brilliant smile.

Then there was Gladio.

Every swordsman marches into battle with a shield, just like how his dad has Clarus. The Amicitias, a lineage of Dobermans on a leash. All hard edges and buzzed haircuts, barking at Noctis’ shadow to pick up his pace. “Again,” he’d snarl after tossing Noctis into the air like a softball. “Again,” he’d groan when Noctis tripped over his parries and introduced his face to the hardwood for the umpteenth time this week. “Again,”, he’d scowl as the TV screen burns red with K.O. and Noctis fistpumps the air, seizing victory for the fifth time in a row. Again, and again, and again. They fought. They made up. And they fought again. Gladio gave him none of the niceties as his Shield. His reproaches bruised Noctis both literally and figuratively, hitting his body blue all the way to his heart. He’s nothing like Ignis’ thoughtful insights into Noctis’ tantrums, but strangely, Noctis doesn’t think he needs a second Ignis. Gladio’s okay just the way he is, all bites and barks and bruises too.

Along came Prompto.

His favourite animal? Chocobo. Favourite game? Assassin’s Creed, but he still can’t decide between Black Flag or Origins. His favourite subject to photograph? Noctis. Prompto jogs every morning, works part-time at the camera store up the City Square, eats all Noctis’ leftover greens. He’s the epitome of healthy living, an antithesis to Noctis’ snacks-and-soda galore. But the way the sun loves him, kissing his cheeks to leave freckles in her wake, bounding up the school gates to reach Noctis’ side, it’s a breath of fresh air for him. Nobody’s ever seen him like this before. Like they’re best friends from high school to university and more. Like he’s less of a prince and more of a person.

And then. You.

If he is the True King, then you are the Denied Daughter of the Andronicus. Unloved by your father, unrecognized by your family. Willing to be banished from the comforts a noblewoman should enjoy, retreating to the safety of the Citadel. But did you complain? No, you probably don’t even have time to entertain such thoughts. You’re too busy with chasing your dreams just to succeed your father, to complete your thesis, to live life unlike what you experienced before. You’ve smiled, you’ve laughed, you’ve made friends, and you’ve tasted what he offered. You swore to climb the ranks just to serve him. Who is he to deny you what you want?

Noctis casts a glance at your figure lying prone, head on Byron’s lap.

He knows the risk he takes each time he laces their lives with magic. All the fainting and retching as the average human body adjusts to the Crystal’s intrusion. All the hardships in the future that Niflheim brings. All the lives he might lose. It is a promise that his shared strength will serve as both protection not only for him, but for his friends as well. Senior Glaives commanded the Crystal’s magic through his dad, who also bore the brunt of sustaining the barrier doming Insomnia. The strain shows well enough through accelerated ageing and declining health, something Noctis had closely witnessed in the years that passed. The king suffers as much as his people do. Soon enough, it’ll be his turn. His turn to put on the ring and become the 114th King of Lucis.

And to do that, he needs to be strong, stronger than his father, stronger than the Glaives, and strong enough to protect everyone who risked their lives for him.

Such is the fate of the True King.

The first signs of your consciousness start with a sound, stealing his attention. A soft, weak moan. Noctis uncurls himself from where he’s lounged by the walls, perking up. You rose from your fainting like you rose from your slumber, all sleepy yawns while rubbing your eyes. Like nothing’s wrong, you pull yourself away from Byron’s dismayed fussing, batting off his constant mothering. Then, looking around the hall, he sees confusion creasing your brows, unanswered questions forming on your lips but never rolling off your tongue.

Only after your eyes travel from the high ceilings to the empty armours lining the walls, you catch him in the distance and beckon him over, mimicking a lucky cat calling in customers. “Prince—where’s everyone?”

Plodding over, he drops into the spot next to yours and reminds himself not to peer at your face unless he wants to get smacked in the nose again. “Nyx went back to patrolling. Prom’s at the shooting range. Gladio’s with Specs at the Royal Arsenal since they’re checking out the new shipment of weapons coming in.” After a beat, letting the information sink into your addled head, Noctis swallows. “Uh. Hey, you’re feeling okay?”

You nod, a little too enthusiastic, then regretting your decision seven seconds later. Swallowing down what seems to be an urge to retch, you doubled over with your arms wrapped around your midriff, trembling. “Um. No.” Muffled, but the suffering is evident in your wavering voice. “It’s – ah, a little too much to take in. Kind of,” you shudder, shoulders heaving with the effort of keeping it together, “just kind of – nauseous? Overwhelmed. Headache. Sounds, buzzing sounds like what Nyx said. Too much.”

With how things are turning out, the side effects are probably starting to kick in. Byron runs a sympathetic hand down your back, silenced for once, though the conflicting emotions on his face speak volumes. He brings you to a half-seating position, listlessly leaning most of your weight against him for support.

“This is truly a disaster, milady,” he mutters as your head lolls back into his shoulder. “You look like stale bread.”

Somewhere deep inside, you must’ve summoned the lasts of your strength to roll your eyes. “Thanks for the – accurate description, I feel – like stale bread too.” Momentarily repositioning yourself so you’d fit into the crook of Byron’s arm, you mouth words into his blazer. “What – time is it?”

“A little past two,” Noctis supplies. “You’ve been out for quite a bit.”

You make some indistinct noise in the back of your throat that doesn’t sound pleased, tugging Byron on his cuff. “Go – back, ’s close to father’s teatime. You can’t – miss it.”

Now it’s Byron’s turn to mimic your little eye-rolling, injecting it with a dramatic flair. “And whatever shall I do with you, milady? Leave you here to die?”

You can’t really die from something like this since Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto are living proofs on how the Crystal doesn't kill anyone. He can count on Byron to exaggerate everything. “It’s okay, I’ll take over from here,” Noctis steps into the conversation once again, knowing all too well that he’s standing on the ceremony of you vomiting your guts out—or whatever’s left of your breakfast if you took any. “Want me to take you upstairs?”

That is a line he shouldn’t cross if Byron’s around, apparently.

“We’ll manage quite well on our own.” Byron’s hand on your hip tightens just a fraction, almost imperceptible if Noctis hadn’t been watching closely. “Thank you for your kind offer though, I’ll be sure to be in your debt for several millennia to come.”

Drained from all strength to nag your butler, you throw Byron a mildly peeved look, shaking your head in exasperation. Noctis just shrugs when he catches your gaze, as if you’re apologizing on your butler’s behalf. A jerk, yeah, he knows that much because it’s nothing new if it’s coming from Byron and his prejudice against princes—or whatever that’s up his ass. Surprisingly strong despite his deceivingly lean build, Byron hoists you to your feet, wrapping an arm around your middle to keep your hobbles steady. You manage to wave your farewell like a disjointed ragdoll, one that Noctis receives with a chuckle and returns with his own.

“See – you in King’s Knight—?” you grit out, borderline wheezing now.

Byron, of course, pins you with a threatening glare with his lips pursed, and Noctis, well, Noctis likes pissing Byron off. So he nods as casually as he could, ignoring the well-aimed scowl Byron’s sending his way. “Sure, I’ll text you a Room ID later.”

They’re such simple, insignificant words that meant nothing to others, but they’re more than enough to make you smile for him—even if seconds later, you’re hurling all over Byron’s shoes.

[tbc.]

( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°)¡ intensifies.

1) so remember what i said about this going down the canon path? yea we’re doing a sliiiiight detour for pre-canon into omen route no takebacks now. for those who haven’t watched the omen trailer, you can do so by clicking right HERE! as much as i love the canon story, i can’t help but to wonder what’d happen if they go down the path of the omen trailer so here it is. pls stick around and watch as they ruin the world together (no). (DON’T WORRY I PROMISED HAPPY ENDING SO HAPPY ENDING IT IS). (BUT BEFORE HAPPY ENDINGS THERE NEEDS TO BE SUFFERING. can i get an amen for demon!noct in omen trailer.

2) we’re going to delve into more of noctis and reader spending more time together (hope you readers don’t mind that) because this is the flowering arc for a reason. we’ll explore noctis’ thoughts and dilemmas and how it overlaps with the reader’s own ambitions and how they’ll work together as one. 8’) the next arc is going to be pretty. it’ll be fluffy. and angsty. and watch them fall in love with each other and pretty much go down the path of the omen trailer.

3) Hope you guys liked this long chapter, I couldn’t find a good time to cut off everything so here it is, roughly 9k words. (ALSO THIS IS PRETTY MUCH THE ENTIRE REASON WHY I WROTE LPC TBH, I WANTED AN OMEN ROUTE GDI, THE CONCEPT IS JUST TOO GOOD TO LET GO.) But good news is next chapter is super cute! And good news is, episode ignis is definitely going to ruin us all 8’)

4) Thanks for all the likes and messages and the never-ending support for this fic, I truly hope you guys will enjoy the pre-Omen route, Noctis’ progress from prince to king, the eventual demon!Noct, and so forth. :D

5) I’m rather miffed at Tumblr’s image-inserting option as they no longer allow inserting pictures into the same line as text. It messed up loads of the chatting sequence that was supposed to be cuter with Prompto’s emoji stickers. Reading it on AO3 looks better tbh.

PREVIEW: Something tells him he should lament the loss—but the loss of what, exactly? He cannot truly have lost something if he does not remember what it is in the first place, isn’t it? Yet, the image you cast against a backdrop of fire is one of love, a severe attraction that ran for many months. It makes him forget he stands at the cusp of a shattered world when you stand at the other end, awaiting him with your arms wide open.

P/S: Noctis definitely watched JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure because his Ultimate Pose says so. JJBA is amazing.

33 notes · View notes

justwravel-blog · 5 years ago

Photo

Kedarkantha - The Best Snow Trek Are you the one who was the one always fascinated about the snow-clad region shown in some of the best Hollywood thrillers and romantic movies? If yes, then the next destination on your bucket list should be the Kedarkantha Trek - The Best Snow Trek in India. Did you always dream of sleeping under the open sky, amidst the alluring and endless snow all around? No matter you say yes or no, you shouldn’t wait any longer and just grab the next chance to trek to the Kedarkantha Summit. The trek has a considerable layer of snow covering itself, throughout most of the year, especially during the winter months of November, December, January and February- perfect for snowfall lovers, this trek must be the next big thing in your bucket list. The Kedarkantha peak stands tall at an astounding elevation of 12,500 feet. Instead of this much elevation from the sea level, this trek remains a beginner’s trek. The trail is easy to follow, and Just Wravel’s trail leaders make it even more comfortable with their thoughtful inputs about the trek. The best time to trek to the Kedarkantha peak is during the winter months, the trail remains accessible throughout the year, but Monsoons should be positively ignored. Making your way to the most mesmerizing trek. The picture-perfect setting of the snow-clad region and towering trails, these all origin with your journey from Dehradun. On the very first day of the trek, the trekkers board a group vehicle from Dehradun, and they arrive at the beautiful village at the foothills of Kedarkantha - Sankri. Usually, groups take an overnight rest at a local guesthouse or hotel and start their trekking journey the next day. All through your journey to the beautiful and cultural village of Sankri, your route will be accompanied by several rivers and creeks such as the Yamuna, the Kedar Ganga, and the Ton River. Upon arriving at this beautiful cultural hub, one can experience the vicinity of the ages-old Himalayan culture enclosed within these immobile and exquisite mountains and folds. Beginning of an epic journey. After spending a warm and long night in the warm quilts, trekkers are quite curious about trekking to the next destination, which is Juda Ka Taal, a natural pond in the colds of Himalayas. Juda ka Taal or Juda ka Talab is a freshwater lake located 8,858 meters above the sea level. This lake comes in the restricted forest area of Uttarkashi and hence is untouched from the toxic pollutants of the humankind. According to the locals, several hundreds of thousands of years ago, Devo Ke Dev or the Lord of all Lords - Lord Shiva, untied his bun (Juda in Hindi), and some water droplets fell on the ground, and the Talab (pond) was formed. This prepossessing lake has an outstanding religious value because of the local beliefs and folklore. After a 4 kilometer walk through the lush forest, trekkers are generally tired, so trek leads decide to camp at the Juda Ka Taal for the night. The evening starts by setting up the camps and preparing and serving dinner. One just can’t ignore the steaming hot puris and sabzi served in dinner. After the tasty meal, the trekkers go to their respective tents for the restful night’s sleep. Ascending to the Base Camp. After spending a night by the side of the frozen lake, it will be frozen if you trek to the Kedarkantha in winters, the trekkers prepare themselves for yet another hike. This time the team ascends to the Kedarkantha Base camp, situated at an altitude of 3,413 meters. From here, the trekkers will have to trek uphill and on a more steep route than their previous day’s trek. You need not worry, our skilled trek leaders will assist you throughout this enchanting and exciting journey. Post breakfast, it’s a 4 kilometers trek to the Kedarkantha Base Camp. The masala chai made by the locals of the Uttarkashi district’s Sankri village is unavoidable, and you should try some before starting your trek to the base camp of Kedarkantha. If you’re a fan of the Hollywood movies and the snowy lands they portray in them, then you will fall in love with this enthralling trek, entirely covered in snow. Be amazed at every step you take. Most visitors couldn’t take their eyes and soul off this serene, untouched and tranquil terrain of the Kedarkantha Trek. After walking for three to four hours, one reaches the famous Kedarkantha Base Camp. Post setting up the camps, the only things which remain undone is - throwing up your backpack in your tent and stretching your legs into a quick nap. Peaks of several mountains like the Swargarohini and Kala Nag can be easily identified from the Base Camp of Kedarkantha. After taking the mouth-watering dinner served by Just Wravel, our wravelers are all set to hop in their tents and stay warm till three or four past midnight. The last ascend. After several hours of rest and warmth, our traveling group will be all set to leave for the summit of Kedarkantha. The ascent starts at 3:30 A.M. or 4:00 A.M. in the morning where you walk for almost 1.5 kilometers, 1.1 kilometers to be precise. Just Wravel prefers to start the trek so early in the dawn because we want to provide you an opportunity to witness one of the most serene and magnificent views you can have in any mountain - the sunrise. Sunrises from the summit of the Kedarkantha are just unmissable and unforgettable. The moment one witness the glistering rays of sun lighting up their eyes, the whole trek seems to be worth it. To help our Wravelers soak in the scenic beauty of this natural wonder, our trek leaders start the trek from Base Camp to the summit early in the morning. Last, but not the least - happy ending. After spending some time and soaking in the sun at the Kedarkantha summit, Wravelers will be all set to descend from the summit. After observing the giant peaks like the Bandarpoonch from the summit of Kedarkantha, the team descends to the Haragaon camp. By evening, you’ll be at the Haragaon camp and having your dinner beside your campsite. After spending a night and recharging their enthusiasm, wravelers will be all set to descend from Juda ka Taal to the Sankri, the last motorable village in the district. At Sankri, Just Wravel’s mini-bus picks up the traveling team, and they head back to the Dehradun. All in all, the trek to the Kedarkantha is once in a lifetime experience, the sunrise, the astounding frozen lake which leaves everybody awestruck, the lush green meadows and forests, the pine trees and other Himalayan flora and fauna will leave you surprised. Looking upon the terrain of the Kedarkantha trek, it can be concluded as an easy to moderate trek with minimum risk. This trek has a mixed cocktail of medium-high ascends and slant descending slopes. All this mixed up with the enthusiasm of the snow trek, makes the trek pretty much easy for debutants trekking to their first summit. Do reach out to JustWravel to book your Kedarkantha Trek. Thank You…!!

0 notes

fallen029 · 8 years ago

Text

Forest Through the Trees.1

This is just the start of a short story I’ve been working on. Next part hopefully soon, but we’ll see.

His life was a mixture of fantastical lies and horrific realities. That’s what I consider most of them now, when thoughts of those warm summer nights and frozen wintry afternoons flicker through my mind. It’s not often, honestly, that I think of it. Or about it.

The first time I met him, he told me that his name was Aardvark and he lived in the forest that surrounded my house.

Which, even at six, sounded extremely fictitious, but I took him at his words, as there weren’t many other children in the area to play with in those days. It was just after lunch, when I was out in the expansive backyard on my family’s property, spending the start of my lonely summer months kicking around a soccer ball to myself.

He just...seemed to appear, out of nowhere, but I know, as an adult, I must have just not heard him approaching. Maybe he even sneaked up on me in order to make himself seem even more mysterious. Because, you know, that’s all someone named Aardvark that was raised by woods and the creatures inside it needed was more mystic.

If you knew him the way I did, you’d figure out pretty fast that that’s probably exactly what he had done.

I was excited, honestly. My first year of school had only ended two weeks previously and I was already missing all my friends and, really, just some decent human contact. He was another child, right there, in my yard, and that meant that we could play together.

“You wanna play soccer?” was probably along the lines of what I asked, though he only stood there, before me, head held higher than mine. Which, the last part wasn’t too hard, considering the boy was older than me and, truth be told, I’ve always been on the shorter side.

Sucky genes, I suppose.

Aardvark, as I knew him that day, only told me, “What is this...soccer, you speak of?”

And even though it seemed like a lie, that he grew up in the forest, it made perfect sense, when you think about it, that someone raised by the forest wasn’t privy to things such as these. Of course, he also shouldn’t have been wearing, you know, clothes or speaking English so clearly, but…

He told me that if I wanted to play with him, I would have to go into the woods. Which sounded bad, really, and made me hesitate, because that was one of those Stranger Danger things that I’d been introduced to in the past few months, thanks to Kindergarten. But…

He was just a little boy. Not a man. Or a woman. And I was really lonely.

I took my soccer ball though, kicking it along as we headed back into the treeline. The sun was out and shining brightly that day, but the forest was shadowy as always. I didn’t like it much, honestly, and only ever went into it when I was out walking with one of my parents or when my older cousins made their yearly visit around Christmas time, where we’d all run around in the snow, looking at our tracks and the ones of the animals.

We kept going deeper and I was starting to wonder just what sorta ‘play’ animals did and if I should try and hightail it back home before I found out. My fears were squelched, however, when we stopped upon a random tree where a backpack had been dropped.

I wanted to mention, as he bent down to unzip the thing, that I don’t think that animals had backpacks and that he was seeming like a pretty big liar, but again, this was the only kid that I was going to get to hang out with that day.

Not to mention what he pulled out kinda kept me from saying much at all.

“Whoa, cool,” I giggled as he pulled out freaking Pokemon cards and I didn’t have any, but the anime was a pretty big deal about that time and he had a whole freaking binder of ‘em. I’d seen the commercials and, even though I wasn’t really sure how to play with them much less who I would play with, I still wanted them.

Everyone wanted them.

I quickly found out, of course, that Aardvark must have been in the same boat me. He had the cool little binder with the cool little sleeves, but as we pulled them out and I asked him to teach me how to play, he informed me that animals from the forest didn’t know and therefore, neither did he.

My wits were reaching their end as it was just complete lunacy that he would acquire the cards, somehow, even though he was raised by what animals he wasn’t specifying in the woods around my house, and yet was also unable to figure out the rules due to their existence.

It was aggravating.

But…

Again, I was an only child and running him off at that point wasn’t an option.

It was the summer of 2001 and that had left enough time for quite a few cards to circulate and be released. He was telling me the different packs he’d gotten, but I didn’t even know what packs were and I mostly just liked pointing out my favorites from the TV show as we flipped through the plastic pages.

That’s not all we did, of course, as that quickly got boring. Aardvark pulled out some more toys from his dark red backpack, mostly just those random action figures and such that you get as a kid, but never really remember getting if you know what I mean. He had a Superman one, I recall, that he was super weird about and wouldn’t let me touch, but that was fine, as he let me toy around with the others.

We laid on our bellies, in the grass and dirt, messing around with the toys and talking. He told me that he was eight and had lived in the forest his whole life. I told him that I was six and, considering I lived in my house my entire life yet had never run into him, I found that hard to believe.

When I said this, his face grew dark and he looked about ready to reach over and pop me in the head or something, but I only looked off and resounded not to call him out again, on his lies. I wasn’t...afraid of him, not really, but…

I just figured it would be better to hold my tongue and nod my head. If he wanted to be from the forest, fine; honestly, I was a bit bummed that I didn’t have a cool story like that to share with him about myself.

So I embellished a bit, when I told him about how I’d just finished kindergarten, completely rewriting myself into the place of this kid named Jacob in my class. Jacob was the cut up type, always made the teacher and class laugh and smile. I wanted to be Jacob.

And I was. That day. Laying in the shade of the trees above us as I lied to the boy who was lying to me just as much.

My memories fuzzy on just how long I was out there with him, but the sky was turning that red and orange shade when I heard it.

My mother.

Calling for me.

I’d been gone too long.

Popping up, I must have given him a panicked look as Aardvark only shoved up and asked who that was.

“My mom,” I explained, knowing just how much trouble I was going to be in, for going into the forest alone. It was a big no-no. I could play in our open backyard all by myself in those days, as either my parents didn’t care about me at all or didn’t understand how simple it was for a child to vanish in an instance, but going into the woods could get me a whooping.

And I didn’t like whoopings.

“What’s a mom?” Aardvark asked in fake confusion and, finally, he’d pissed me off. I wanted to yell at him that I wasn’t dumb and I hated when people thought that they could act like I was. Like when my mom and dad would argue and then, if I asked what was wrong, they’d just tell me nothing. Aardvark wasn’t that older than me, but it felt like he was trying to act like it and I was over with it.

Glaring at him, I balled up my little fists and…

Did nothing, of course. My mother sounded frantic then and I had to figure my way back home, as Aardvark had led me deep into the woods. So I only said to him that if he wanted, he could come by again the next day and maybe we could play with my toys. He only laid there still, on his stomach, and stared. Not having time to wait around for him to agree, I only waved and rushed off, not realizing that I’d left behind my soccer ball until it was too late and I’d run into my mother.

I didn’t get a whooping, but only because I think I really scared my mother. Not having the soccer ball provided the perfect excuse that I’d kicked it too hard, accidentally, and had gone of to find it and gotten a bit lost. She only hugged me though and seemed a bit emotional, for me to have only been gone a few seconds. As she bent over and held me to her though, I could smell the sweetness on her breath and even at six, I knew she’d been drinking. Not that I really knew what drinking was, I did know that my mother, who was a stay at home mother (a loose term) was rarely without her wineglass and that typically, if she had too much from it, she’d get all weepy and weird.

More fun, maybe, but still weird.

Different.

I didn’t tell her about Aardvark though. My father either, when he got hoe just time for dinner. I’m not sure why, but I’m sure part of it was because I was afraid of getting in trouble. Like I said, we lived in a pretty remote area outside the town, so I was a bit different than most kids, I guess, in that I didn’t get that experience of hanging out until the streetlamps came on, with the great communal family of neighborhood children. I’d only ever gotten to go play at one kid’s house before and it had been that year, when one of the kids in my class had birthday party and I got an invitation.

My days before school had been spent with me, myself and I. And my mother, I guess, when she wasn’t busy diving full force into chat rooms on the desktop in the den. It wasn’t so bad. I didn’t have to share my toys or the TV with another child. My father wasn’t rich, but he made enough to support us and I got a pretty good haul, each birthday and Christmas that were more than enough to make up for the fact that neither of my parents wanted another child, if they’d ever even planned for me, and that they were both happy with him going away on business to do Lord knows what every three weeks and her rotting her brain with people she’d never meet on the ever developing internet craze.

I figured that they’d have more questions about Aardvark than I could answer. And I’m really glad now, thinking back, that I didn’t open my big mouth back then, as hearing your very young child saying an older kid came out of the woods, claimed he was basically part animal, and led them off into the depths of the surrounding woods for hours wouldn’t exactly make any parent feel content that their child had had a safe June day.

Mostly though, I think I just wanted Aardvark all for myself. I wasn’t sure if they’d take him away or not and it had been lonely, already, after two weeks. School hadn’t been great, as there were times when I just didn’t wanna get up in the morning and have to go do things like recite my alphabet or count to a hundred. Nap time was a farce and if it was wet out, we didn’t even really get recess. But…

I liked being around other kids, in a way I hadn’t been able to be before.

And I wanted the boy that had just appeared out of nowhere to be like that for me. A friend.

I wanted to hang out with him every day and play Pokemon Cards as well as with action figures. Teach him what soccer was and finally, my blue Frisbee would be for more than throwing at things. I could throw it to a thing. A person. A kid. A kid my age that was going to be my friend.

Aardvark and I were gonna be best friend sand I was gonna have fun summer.

Until, you know, he didn’t show up.

I sat out in the back yard, having drug a bunch of my toys out there following breakfast, waiting on him. Sitting there in the grass, I stared longingly at the treeline he’d seemed to appear out of, the previous day, listening as my father left for work, just waiting.

Eventually I shifted to less waiting and more just playing on my own, no stranger to the concept, and trying hard not to concentrate only on the trees before me. It was difficult. I wanted him to hurry up and come.

When my mother called me in for lunch, it hit me that I hadn’t seen him the day before until after I’d eaten and perhaps he’d show up when I was done. Eating my food as speedily as I could, I rushed back outside almost just expecting him to be standing there, in that smug way that I already kinda was alright with, but that wasn’t how it went, of course.

I waited all day and, even when my mother made me come in to help with dinner, I just kept watching out the windows. Not that if he did show up so late I’d be able to go out there and play with him, but I just wanted to know that he was there. That I hadn’t imagined him.

But he didn’t come back. I must have waited four days before I gave up and decided that he’d gone back to whatever he’d been doing before inviting me to play with him. Probably, I decided, he didn’t like playing with me. Which sucked because, even though he was a major jerk, I still liked playing with him.

It was on that fifth day, when I’d mostly given up hope, but still kinda sorta wanted to see him again that over dinner, my father announced to my mother that he’d seen lights on, at the house way down the street (the closest to us) and stopped by to introduce himself to the new neighbors.

I’d heard them talk before about someone moving into Ms. Agatha’s house, but I didn’t like it much. She was this sweet old lady that my mother would walk me through the forest to visit on some rare occasions that had been shipped off by her children to a nursing home finally not long before that. They’d thought that the house would stay vacant, but apparently her children had finally sold it.

“Must have moved in,” my father told her over the table, “while I was outta town. I should have seen them, you’d think, move in.”

“I believe Agatha’s children left most her furniture and stuff in the house and were trying to sell it with the place,” she said with a shrug. “Maybe they didn’t need much to move in with.”

“Met the guy that lived there,” my father went on. “Just shook hands on the porch. He invited us over to dinner sometime next week. Gave them our number and said they should give us a call about times. You, I mean.”

“Yes. Me.”

I was pouty, that day, about still not having seen Aardvark, but honestly, even if I wasn’t, the chances of me making any connection between a new family moving in on the other side of the woods from us were pretty slim.

Considering that the likelihood of Aardvark actually, not only having that name, but also being raised in the woods by animals that he still hadn’t really specified what were (though I figure he was going for that sorta Jungle Book, everyone pitching in, kinda vibe) was pretty slim, it would come as no shocked to anyone that I would be meeting my so far one day stand friend again very soon.

Just...not in the way I was expecting.

Next Chapter

#Short Story #Friendship #Friends #Story

3 notes · View notes