#ergo i will put off eating until dinner again today

[mishkakagehishka]

Every day i have to come up with a meal plan

[lovelylogans]

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

see other chapters, notes, and warnings here!

chapter five: obligate mutualism

obligate mutualism: a type of mutualism in which the species involved are in close proximity and interdependent with one another in a way that one cannot survive without the other.

REMY

Emile appears in Nice, squealing and jumping up and down.

“Hey!” Remy says warmly, hugging him; Emile’s joy is so infectious that Remy can feel Emile’s smile stretching across his own face. “What’s got you so happy?”

“They let him off!” Emile says exuberantly. “Rem, they let Remus off! Jay proved that they don’t have anything on him so Remus is free to go!”

“Oh my God, that’s amazing!” Remy says, then, “wait, what was Remus under arrest for?”

“Oh, murder,” Emile says, waving that off, “but Jay proved that Remus was just joking when he was threatening him, so Remus got off! Oh my goodness, he’s out! He can finish his latest book! He can stay with Roman! Yay!”

“Yay,” Remy cheers weakly, wondering what the hell kind of cluster his boyfriend has birthed.

ROMAN

Roman drops a substantial amount of money on champagne on their drive home.

Remus rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning a little bit, so Roman assumes that he’s happy about it. Or maybe he’s plotting how to ruin Roman’s possessions with champagne. One of the two.

Roman opens the door, balancing the champagne bottles in his arms, feeling a lot like he’s forgotten something. He drops his keys into the bowl on the entry table.

“Hey, Roman! Ooh, champagne—on a Tuesday? What, did you land a role with Guillermo del Toro?”

“God, I wish,” Roman says wistfully, then, oh shit I forgot to tell Sasha.

Sasha blinks a couple times before she stands up.

“Um, hey, sweetie,” she says. “Who’s your friend?”

Remus snorts loudly at the fake endearment.

“Um, Sasha,” Roman says, shutting the door behind him. “This is my twin brother, Remus.”

Sasha gawks at Remus. “I didn’t know you had a brother!”

Remus socks him in the shoulder so hard that Roman nearly drops the heavy glass champagne bottle. “You bitch, you said you’d tell her!”

“I forgot?” Roman says weakly.

“I have no idea how you put up with him,” Remus tells Sasha. “Is the convenience of a beard worth hearing him sing Disney in the shower?”

Sasha, looking a little startled that Remus knows the full truth of the deal Roman and her made, rebuts with, “

“Where have you been before this, anyway?” Sasha says.

“Oh, jail,” Remus says brightly.

“Oh, okay,” Sasha says, and, with a level of casualness that frankly stuns Roman, moves on to, “So, I’ve had a gripe with one of your books for forever.”

“Oh?” 

“I didn’t know you read his books,” Roman says, mystified.

“Yeah, I started back when I was doing that slasher pic a year and a half ago, you remember that?” Sasha says. “Helped me pick up on the internal life of a stalking victim. Anyways, the first book I read of yours—”

“Behind the Bushes, I’m guessing,” Remus says.

“Yeah!” Sasha says. “I super love that you subverted the expectations and the victim was the one that slaughtered the stalker, but I do think you could have carried through a threat she was considering through the book.”

“Which threat is that?” Remus says. “I write a lot of threats.”

“She should have castrated him,” Sasha says. “Duh.”

Remus looks at Sasha how an inventor might lovingly look at a device that finally works.

Roman groans, because he should have expected this outcome, and feared it.

“Oh, no,” Roman says. “You’re going to be friends.”

Sasha and Remus give him identical grins full of mischief.

LOGAN

Virgil appears sitting on the counter. Logan isn’t even fazed by the surprise of seeing him, although his heart rate does pick up a little.

Over the past few days, this is the way it’s been, between them; Logan suddenly finding himself looking over Virgil’s shoulder at his dinner when he’d meant to be looking at data charts, Virgil finding himself with handfuls of flowers in the face of the barren landscape of the Antarctic. 

Even when he isn’t actively visiting, Logan still feels that pull, his mind turning to Virgil at the oddest times of day. He tastes coffee when he should be drinking tea. He finds himself idly doodling South African native flora during dinner. He thinks Virgil might like this when he tries to read a novel during his relaxation times and wonders how best to explain the minutiae of his science to another scientist.

“Hey, Logan,” Virgil says, and Logan feels that thrill in his stomach again.

“Hello, Virgil,” he says, after making a show of turning on his Bluetooth, for the benefit of the other scientists in the lab. “How have you been today?”

“Pretty okay,” Virgil says. “My mom said she was gonna see if she could find any of the other sensates down here that my grandma knew, so I might be able to hear more about her cluster.” 

“Excellent!” Logan says. “Be sure to ask if they’re connected to the Archipelago?”

“You and that Neolithic Google,” Virgil says with a lopsided smile. “But, yeah. I’m being careful about it; I know not every sensate’s a great person to connect to. Ergo mom as a mediary.”

“A wise plan,” Logan says. “It does seem like a disadvantage that all that’s needed for a lifetime of connection is a singular instance of eye contact.”

“Maybe I should invest in a really good pair of blocking glasses,” Virgil teases, and he reaches over. Logan hadn’t even noticed they’d been slipping down the bridge of his nose.

Virgil gently nudges Logan’s glasses back into place, his finger resting on Logan’s nose, and Logan’s mouth goes abruptly dry.

This might be the first time one of us has touched the other.

Logan tries to swallow, coughs a little bit, and says, “It could potentially be a wise investment, yes. I’d—um. I’d have to do more research into what exactly would suffice to block eye contact.”

“Yeah,” Virgil rasps, and he clears his throat, too. “Yeah, that’s probably, uh. That’s probably a good thing to ask Emile about.”

“Yeah,” Logan says, and he fruitlessly tries to refocus his attention on his research. He’s much too aware of Virgil’s eyes on him.

JANUS

Janus turns the phone over and over in his hands.

One last job, two more jobs, three more jobs…

He remembers getting arrested for the first time. He remembers the lawyer who got Janus out of it, pro bono, and managed to keep it off his record by the skin of his teeth. 

He thinks about representing Remus in the courtroom; he thinks about the state of his accounts; he thinks about how the threat of jail that Remus would have faced was what spooked him into pursuing a law degree in the first place.

He thinks about Remus and Roman, side-by-side in the courtroom; he thinks about Roman declaring that he doesn’t care if Remus killed him or not.

Roman is an idiot. An idealistic, loyal, altruistic idiot.

Janus is many things. He is not an idiot.

Key, scowling, sits across from him at the restaurant. Sriracha aioli, fried cod. Janus has been here a thousand times before.

He proffers the little box; Key takes it.

“This is my last job,” Janus says.

Key snorts. “I’ve heard that before.”

Janus hands him the burner phone, too.

“Oh shit,” Key says. “For real?”

“For real,” Janus reaffirms. 

“Shit,” Key mutters, sitting back against the booth. They stay quiet. A waitress drops off their meal. They stay quiet for a bit longer.

“Don’t suppose I can lure you back with money,” Key tries to joke.

“No,” Janus says. 

Key heaves a sigh. “All right. Well.”

He moves for his wallet, and Janus shakes his head.

“I’ve got lunch,” he says. “I can appreciate that I’m leaving you in the lurch for a computer guy.”

Key snorts and shakes his head disbelievingly. “Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

Janus chews the inside of his lip. “If you ever need a lawyer…”

“Yeah,” Key says. He stands. “Yeah.”

Key leaves. Janus stays.

He’s been here a thousand times before. And yet.

PATTON

There’s a hint of spice in his mouth, and Patton rolls over in his bed to see Janus.

“I keep showing up when I should be sleeping, I think,” Patton muses, before he reaches out and takes one of the chips that Janus is neglecting.

Janus snorts. “Roman was stealing those the last time I was here. Perhaps you all keep showing up to eat my food.”

Patton smiles, dipping the chip in the sauce. “Maybe,” he says.

Janus exhales loudly, before he says, “I have a brother too.”

“Oh?” Patton asks, intrigued, and for a moment they’re in Patton’s bed, Patton lying down with his head propped up on his arm, Janus sitting uncomfortably at the corner.

“Unlike Remus, mine did it. Does it,” Janus amends.

Patton frowns. “That’s tough.”

“I did too, until,” Janus checks his watch. “Three minutes ago.”

Patton’s eyebrows lift in surprise, but that’s the only sign he shows. 

“It’s the reason I became a lawyer,” Janus says.

“Oh,” Patton says because that—that clicks. He doesn’t know Janus very well—he will, surely, but he doesn’t yet—but taking on the good-quality job of lawyer for self-protective reasons makes a lot of sense. Janus kind of seems like the type of person to not really want to rely on other people.

“So, I don’t,” Janus says, and he sighs again. “I’ve been chasing down just one more job for years and years, and now…”

“Now, you’re done, and you don’t really know what to do with yourself?” Patton asks sympathetically.

Janus nods and he drinks some of his Ribena. The fizz of blackcurrant condensation pops in Patton’s mouth.

“Can I offer some advice?” Patton says. “You can do whatever you want with it.”

Janus scoffs a little, but he gestures for Patton to go ahead.

Patton takes another chip. “There are a lot of other people who need a lawyer’s help to stay out of jail. Not just sets of brothers.”

He dips the chip, takes a bite, and is back in bed right as a thoughtful look dawns on Janus’s face.

REMUS

Roman’s fake girlfriend is delightful.

They spend almost the entirety of dinner talking about their favorite horror movies—Sasha is quite the aspiring scream queen in her career, so it makes sense that she’s studied the greats—to a point where Roman puts his hands over his ears and went “I can’t hear you, lalalalalalaLALALALALALALA—”

Truly excellent. Especially when Roman had screeched at the top of his lungs when Sasha had gone into an in-depth side tangent about the verity of the special effects of slitting throats in movies.

And now—

“Ooh, that was good!” Remus says eagerly, pointing at the Sasha in the little screen as she gets stabbed.

“Right?!” Sasha says, and they ooh! in unison as the movie gets increasingly bloodier.

“I hate you both,” Roman grouches from where he’s slouched between them, one hand covering his eyes.

Sasha ruffles his hair. “Go ahead and break up with me, then, I’m sure the press will get us both booked like crazy.”

Roman grumbles to himself, and Remus grins at Sasha over Roman’s head.

“If any of my shit gets adapted into movies, I’m absolutely gonna make sure you get cast into a leading role.”

Sasha grins back. “You’re the best fake brother-in-law I could ask for.”

⁂

Sasha is flopped out on the couch, asleep, as the credits of the movie roll in the background.

“Where is your nearest sharpie,” Remus asks, and Roman rolls his eyes, pulling Remus to his feet.

“Leave her alone, Freak-a Kahlo. I’ve got a spot set up for you to sleep.”

“But,” Remus whines, images of lewd drawings dancing in his head, but he allows Roman to pull him away anyway.

Roman has got a little cot set up for him in his room; it’s like they’re ten again, on a trip to see their abuela, except Remus can’t tackle him and wrestle him to the ground for the honor of sleeping on the bed.

Well, he could, but considering Roman posted Remus’s bail, he figures that roman could be allowed to sleep in his own bed.

All the same, it does give Remus a strange sense of deja vu of their (admittedly rare) family vacations; Roman brushes his teeth and does his extensive skincare routine in the bathroom first, then he cajoles Remus into handling his hygiene, please, they’re living together in the same room, eating soap didn’t exactly work to make Remus smell like a spring rose. To which Remus would usually rebut good, he doesn’t want to smell like a spring rose, he wants to smell like sewage, to which Roman goes ugh, how are we twins, how did two people so catastrophically different come out of the same womb, at the same time, to which Remus says it’s payback for stealing my dick in utero, to which Roman says that doesn’t even make any sense, it’s not like I have two, to which Remus says—

It’s a whole familiar argument, anyway. But Remus does at least dunk his head into Roman’s bathtub to get his hair sopping wet and swish around some mouthwash.

They’re both tucked into their blankets, and Remus is staring at the ceiling, wondering at the best ways to ruin Roman’s fancy linens. He thinks Roman’s fallen asleep until his voice pipes up.

“I’m glad you’re not rotting in jail.”

Remus ugly-snorts. “Yeah, I guess I am too.”

“Thanks to our weird psychic lawyer, anyway.”

“And your fuck-off big actor money,” Remus reminds him, rolling over to face him. The room is so dark that he can barely see the outline of Roman’s face. 

“Yeah, honestly, bribing the cops was going to be my next plan if you didn’t show up,” Roman says sleepily.

Remus grins at Roman in the dark. “I’ve been a fantastic influence on you.”

“Incorrect,” Roman grumbles.

“You’ll be watching slashers with Sasha and me in no time.”

“Ugh, I hope not,” Roman says. 

“They’re inspiring!”

“Yeah, to you, Mr. Big Horror Novelist.”

“You know what else is big—”

“Ew! Ew ew ew, I know I set it up, but ew. No.”

“...This—”

“Remus, I’m kicking you out, I swear to God.”

“No, you’re not,” Remus sing-songs, “You were gonna bribe the cops, I’m holding this over your head forever.”

“I didn’t actually bribe the cops.”

“Yeah, but you were gonna,” Remus says. “Funnily enough, that seemed like the biggest case the cops had against me, too. That I was gonna.”

“I know you’re a horror writer, but I hope you don’t write about Miguel,” Roman says. “Might look a bit too If I Did It to the public.”

“Course not,” Remus says, his eyes slipping shut. 

“Good.”

“I’m going to be writing a book about murdering the cops.”

“Oh, much better,” Roman sighs.

VIRGIL

Virgil spits out his toothpaste into the sink and looks up into the mirror to see Logan in his reflection, his glasses off, a toothbrush in hand.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Virgil quips.

The Logan in his reflection smiles at him awkwardly around his toothbrush, blushes, then redirects his attention to finishing off brushing his teeth as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Virgil uses that time to wash his face; Logan follows not long after. Virgil gets a whiff of the facewash Logan is using; it smells rather nice, something floral.

They do their respective routines in companionable quiet; Logan, waking up for the day, and Virgil, about to go to sleep. 

“What’s on your agenda for the day?” Virgil asks, moisturizing his face.

“Research, research, and more research,” Logan says dryly, rubbing sunscreen onto his face. Their hands move in unison; moving in small circles on each cheek, up to the forehead, down the nose, the chin, down the neck. Mirror images, if not for their distinct physical differences.

“Probably should’ve guessed that,” Virgil says, rubbing the excess moisturizer into his forearms. 

“Oh, you missed—”

And suddenly, Logan is not just in his mirror, but in his bathroom, reaching out a hand to smooth some more moisturizer into his skin.

“Right here,” Logan says softly, his fingers gentle on Virgil’s cheekbone. Virgil barely even breathes as Logan smooths away the smear of moisturizer.

“There,” Logan murmurs, but he’s still cradling Virgil’s face.

“Thanks,” Virgil rasps.

Logan smiles at him, just a little. “You missed right there when we first met, too.”

“Did I really?” Virgil asks. He can barely focus on anything else except the cool smoothness of Logan’s hand.

“Mhm,” Logan says. “There I was, thinking I was going crazy, and there was this African man planting a jacaranda tree into the tile, with a smear of sunscreen on his face…”

“And I had this note-taking Pole talking to me about preferring if I were a hallucination,” Virgil says. “Telling me you’d ignore me if you saw me again.”

“And then I immediately started questioning you,” Logan says, smiling. “And…”

He trails off. His hand is still on Virgil’s face. Virgil is standing so stock-still he could probably turn into a scarecrow, if only for the virtue of keeping Logan’s hand on him.

“And then I kept feeling this pull,” Logan continues quietly, looking Virgil in the eyes. He isn’t wearing his glasses; there is nothing between Virgil and those bright blue, captivating eyes. “This pull to come to you.”

“Me too,” Virgil says softly.

Logan licks his lips. He says, softly, “I do wonder why it is us, that keep feeling this pull to each other.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Logan affirms quietly. “Maybe there’s that call to those similar that we theorized about, that day. Maybe that’s what fuels this connection. Whenever I learned something new, I flashed to you. Always to you. I’m not sure if we’ll ever find out why. Perhaps there’s a level of…”

A level of what, Virgil doesn’t know, because he leans in and kisses Logan.

Logan freezes, and, with anyone else, Virgil would panic and pull back, thinking he’d been presumptuous, but he abruptly feels a thrill in his stomach and a yes in hid mind that may as well be in Logan’s voice, and Virgil’s shoulders relax at the presence of it, of that pull between them finally being eased.

Virgil wraps his arms around Logan’s waist, and Logan’s arms twine around Virgil’s neck, and they kiss, continents and oceans apart, able to taste the minty toothpaste on each other’s breath.

[chiauve]

Day 5: Change

So I wanted to do Willsker Week but I got busy, so I’ll try to backtrack the other days but I’m probably going to fail. There’s gonna be a lot of teen Birkin and Wesker if I do. So jumping right to today’s theme and it’s rushed so very...rough.

--

Birkin knew something was wrong as soon as he walked into the lab. Wesker was already there, alone, which by itself wasn’t rare, sitting with his head in his hands in a state of tragedy. But that wasn’t what set off Birkin’s internal warning klaxons.

Wesker looked wrong.

Glancing up at the sound of Birkin’s entrance, he actually whined, “Birkin...”

And the true horror of what had happened stared Birkin in the face. The proof of it lay in chunks and swaths on the floor, golden and dead.

“You,” Birkin choked out, unable to stop staring, “you cut your hair.”

Understatement. Wesker's hair, always at least down to his shoulders since the day Birkin met him, had been horribly hacked, haphazardly cut with lab scissors by what could have only been a desperate, amateur hand. Worse still, Wesker’s wild hair had been kept in some form of control by the weight of its own length, but now, freed, it stuck up and out in all directions. He looked like he’d skinned a yellow, long-haired kitten and glued its coat on his head.

Birkin held the laughter in as best he could, well aware Wesker would murder him and experiment on the body if he let it go. But god he wanted to, he wanted to so bad it physically hurt.

He coughed into the back of his hand instead.  “Why did you...?”

“I was told to...” Wesker sounded so pathetic and lost, like he didn’t know. Birkin rankled at that sound.

“So? That never bothered you before!” The director had in fact outright ordered Wesker to cut his hair several times, and yet Wesker either ignored him or pointed out that as long as they tied their hair back in the lab, their female co-workers were permitted long hair, ergo he was as well.

“A bit different when it’s the damn CEO, isn’t it?” Wesker snapped.

“Is that what he said to you?”

There had been no warning, no fanfare, but suddenly Spencer himself was at the training facility, taking a look around. The director went into Igor mode, practically hopping about in trying to please his master as he guided Spencer around the mansion. His stop through the labs was brief, and the memory of it still made Birkin burn with fury.

He was the best here, the youngest, the smartest, even Wesker agreed on that! But no, Spencer barely gave Birkin a glance as he passed through, going straight to Wesker when the director pointed him out.

The CEO hadn’t looked pleased about something, and spoke shortly to Wesker but Birkin couldn’t make it out, taking minor relief in Wesker’s berating.

Wesker sighed, his hand flicking back, expecting to toss his hair over his shoulder, but redirected to run his hand over the shortened strands instead. “He told me to start ‘looking like a damned professional’.”

Well, Birkin couldn’t ague with that, Wesker still looked like he’d been buying drugs from behind a 7-11 some days.

“So...?”

“So I was going to ignore him, like he’d ever know! But I came to finish up and start shutting down the lab for the night when next thing I knew...” He picked up the scissors and gestured to the blond hair scattered across the floor.

“You just...cut your hair.”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember doing it?”

“I remember it happened but...” he trailed off, his brows furrowed in blatant worry. He wasn’t going to finish, he’d never admit to it, but Birkin knew the rest: it wasn’t me doing it.

That happened a lot back in school. And like those days, Wesker would forget about it by tomorrow. He remembered doing it and therefore he meant to do it.

Birkin shrugged. Wesker’s stupid amnesia problems or whatever they were were his problems; Birkin wasn’t going to be slowed down or drawn away from his work, not even by Wesker.

“You did a bad job.”

Wesker glared.

“Give them here,” Birkin walked over to Wesker, hand out for the scissors.

Reluctantly, Wesker gave them up. Birkin directed him to turn the chair and stood behind him, sifting through the blond hair and snipping at the worst of the uneven tufts. Wesker’s hair was unfairly soft, and Birkin gently kneaded fingers over his scalp, for his own enjoyment as well as an attempt to calm Wesker, vibrating and tense in his seat.

He knew he was the only person Wesker ever let touch him like this.

“Since when did you become a barber?” Wesker said, voice still sharp but he sounded less distressed.

“You doubt my ability to do whatever I set my mind to?”

“I doubt your ability to care about anything outside your goals, and my appearance is nowhere near there.”

           “Like you’re any different,” Birkin muttered, running the pad of his thumb behind Wesker’s ear. The teen before him shuddered a little, then eased.

While Birkin would never consider himself a professional, or even particularly good at it, he’d been trimming his own hair for years. It started when he was young and whenever his hair had grown to “unseemly” lengths, his mother would give him a genuine bowl cut, with a bowl and everything. He loathed it. The look, his mother’s clumsy work, the heavy bowl on his head, all of it. So in a desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable, young William used everyday scissors from the drawer to snip at his own hair, keeping it from getting too long. Over the years he got better at it and could manage a decent enough trim that we went bowl free for months.

But a trim couldn’t save Wesker’s mess. Birkin evened it out best he could but the hair was so wild and unmanageable that no matter how he combed his fingers through it or where he tried to part it it just fluffed up like a pissed-off cat again.

The worst part was while the hair was still long enough to grip, he wouldn’t be able to get a good handful and yank anymore, and there was no faster way to make Wesker a writhing, panting…

“What’s the verdict, Doctor Birkin?”

“You messed up.” He passed Wesker one of the concave mirrors they used when dealing with Lisa Trevor so she couldn’t sneak up on them while their backs were turned. An addition after the second researcher got her face ripped off.

Wesker slumped, staring forlornly at his reflection. He would always state otherwise, claim he was above such things, but his appearance was very important to him. Sometimes he would even be beholden to the current fashion, as Birkin learned the day he walked in on Wesker altering a pair of jeans into bell-bottoms. He claimed it was for when he was out on the road; people were more willing to pick up a generic hitchhiking youth out finding himself, supposedly. Birkin didn’t know enough about the subject or care to argue the matter and let Wesker distract himself with stupid, mundane things.

Whatever gave Birkin the edge.

Not to say he never paid attention to Wesker’s looks, obviously, but his colleague’s penchant to look like a bargain-bin rocker had never been part of the appeal. The first time he’d actually looked at Wesker had been in school when he’d invited his roommate back home with him during Christmas, because he couldn’t let Wesker spend his break studying in peace and getting ahead.

Birkin’s father was a traditionalist who viewed family dinners as events that required everyone to be in their Sunday best, and Wesker, even in the black turtleneck that was the nicest thing he owned, wasn't going to cut it. If he wanted to eat, he needed to look a proper man, which also meant the shaggy hair was out. Fortunately, Birkin’s older brother, Caleb, was amused by the whole thing and loaned Wesker some clothes and showed him how to gel his hair back into a ponytail they hid under the collar of his shirt.

Without his stupid aviator sunglasses and the hair out of his face, Birkin got a good look at Wesker and for the first time noticed…

Wait. Wait wait wait. Of course!

“Come on, finish up and we’ll go back to the dormitory.”

Wesker glared at him through the mirror. “I’m not letting everyone see me like this.”

“Nobody likes you anyway,” Birkin said, shoving him out of the chair, “and you can just say it’s the new efficient look and they’ll be all ‘ah, right, Practical Al at it again!’”

“I hate that name.”

“At least yours is vaguely you. The fact that I’m the ‘scholarly’ one among researchers says what kind of people we work with.”

They went out the back to the residence just so Birkin didn’t have to listen to Wesker bitch all night and returned to their room. Once there he kicked out the chair to the desk and motioned Wesker to it while he rooted through his things. He knew he had some somewhere…

“What are you doing?” Wesker sighed, but he sat anyway.

With a victorious “ah-ha!” Birkin found his tin of never-used pomade. He was supposed to use it for when he went to church because his mother assumed he was still doing that, for some reason. He tossed the tin to Wesker.

“Oh,” was all Wesker said, turning it in his hands. He then stood up and headed for the door.

“Where’re you going?”

“Bathroom.”

“You’re putting it in now?”

“This,” he hissed, referencing his hair, “is unacceptable,” and then left.

Birkin shrugged, grabbed his most recent notes and necessary reference books, and flopped onto his bed. He didn’t notice Wesker come back until the older boy was standing in front of his bed, the band shirt changed out for the turtleneck.

“Well?”

Birkin sat up to get a good look at him. Wesker’s hair was completely slicked back, looking almost too stiff for all the fluff the gel had to pin down. It wasn’t a good job, too many lumps and gaps, and the back stuck out a bit. Wesker needed to get to town to get a proper cut. And yet…

“That…looks good,” Birkin said, and meant it, “You look older.”

Wesker only nodded and disappeared again, and Birkin went back to his studies, problem solved.

He expected Wesker to grow his hair out again, especially after they left the training facility and were given free rein under Marcus, but it never happened. Wesker continued to flaunt the dress codes where he could but for the most part one could never argue that he wasn’t professional.

Birkin liked the look, at first, but the constant use of hair gel meant that Wesker wouldn’t let anyone, even Birkin, touch his hair anymore.

[spookysanta]

miss you. (g.d.)

part i of ii.

Summary: long distance relationships suck; but especially for (Y/N) and Grayson.

Pairing: Grayson Dolan x Reader

WARNINGS: mentions of sex (not yet), angst??????????????????????????, fluff, bad writing

UNEDITED

YUH look at me on a writing streak :) and let’s all reminisce on fetus baby boy by these precious “date” snaps:

(@trapezoidmouth on IG)

***THIS TAKES PLACE AROUND APRIL/MAY***

i only mention that bc it’s talking about graduation and it’s july so i didn’t want people to make a big deal about it

***

"So," she told him with a big sigh on the phone when she got home from class. "I did my presentation today."

"Oh, really?" he replied, while cooking himself an omelette. It was three o'clock her time and noon in Los Angeles, where he was; so it was brunch time. "How'd it go?"

"It..was awful." She tried to force herself not to cry, because when she cries, Grayson is quick to get up and go wherever she was to comfort her. Which might be good in the moment, but she doesn't want to do that to him (anymore--this would've been the fourth time he'd done that). "Gray, I did everything my teacher told me to! I added the information I needed to, took out some stuff, and I even memorized everything! But when I got up there...I couldn't do it."

"What was your topic again?"

She recited her research question as if it were read out of a book. "How listening to music during pregnancy helps a baby's development in the womb."

"Really? That doesn't sound hard at all."

"It wasn't that my topic was hard, it was that the questions I got asked were too hard for me to answer, and how I answered questions was a big portion of my grade." she was getting a little misty-eyed. She'd been working on this project for months; she thought she'd learned just about everything there is to know about music's effects on child development. "Gray, I really thought I had it until then."

"Listen, baby. Regardless of how you think it went, I'm sure you did better. Because I've heard your presentation and you sounded like you knew exactly what you were talking about. I think it's all in your head, angel." He sighed, flipping his omelette in the pan. He liked omelettes when she made them for him when she visited, because she knew exactly what he wanted, how much of each ingredient to add, and she makes sure they're always cheesy and delicious. But when he makes them, sometimes they're a little...underdone.

"I can't focus." she put him on speakerphone and took off her top, pants, and bra, opting to wear one of his t-shirts for comfort. She has a few of them, but her favorite one to wear is the black crew neck. It's plain and simple, and it fits him like a god. But she managed to take it when she left L.A. the last time; and honestly, she took a little vile of his cologne, too, to spray on the shirt after she washes it. "It's so close to graduation, baby, and I know you're gonna call me a loser for saying this, but I can't do this anymore. I want to drop out." she groaned.

"You're a loser either way, in my opinion." he heard her laugh on the other end of the phone. And that laugh was like air to his lungs, if he's being completely honest with himself. He hadn't heard that angelic laugh in months. The last time they'd been together was when she visited him the last few days of her Winter Break--and that was in January. "But you literally graduate in a month. Shut up."

"Okaaaaaaaaaaaay." she groaned again. What she wouldn't give for his bone-crushing cuddles right about now. That's all she wants. She'd been feeling weepy and anxious and a bit sad all day, but now that she's talking to her man, she's starting to feel the heavy weight of her stress lift. "I miss you." she confessed. "I know we agreed that we wouldn't get all sappy like this but I'm wearing your shirt right now and all I smell is you."

“I miss you, too.”

She heard noise on the other end and nearly vomited at the sound. "Move your mouth away from the receiver, Gray. I can hear you chewing."

He chewed louder, his mouth hovering over the phone's microphone. "Like this?"

She hung up the phone.

***

He called her again later, at around four o'clock his time. He and his brother were outside and he was about to grill some steaks for dinner. "Hello?" he greeted into the receiver. "Baby?"

"Hey." she groggily replied. She'd fallen asleep while talking to her best friend on FaceTime and she woke up about five minutes ago. "What's up, boo?"

"Just checkin' on you. I wanted to make sure you're in better spirits than earlier."

"Yeah, I'm fine." She sat up and stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen , finding a box of Kraft mac and cheese in the pantry to cook. "I'm just glad everything’s over with."

"I understand. I just don't want you to be all sad and mopey."

"I'm not sad and mopey only because of my presentation, I'm sad and mopey because I miss my boyfriend." she sighed. "I really don't think I can wait until my birthday to see you."

"So what do you want me to do? You want me to come there, or fly you out here?"

"It doesn't matter, honestly. I just want to see you." she stirred some salt in the pot of boiling water, then poured the noodles into the pot, turning down the heat, and shutting the lid. "Doesn't even have to be long. I just want cuddles and kisses."

"I'd be glad to give you that, and you know I would come and see you right now if I could, but I can't right now. We're filming all week this week and both of us need to be here for it."

"I'm dying without my fuckin' cuddles, man." she drained the pasta, hissing to herself when a little bit of water got on her brown hand. She cursed quietly, already assuming that Grayson knew she'd injured herself somehow--as she usually does. She put the pasta back in the pot and added butter, almond milk, and the powdered cheese, stirring it and letting it cool a bit before pouring it in a bowl next to the stove. "I wanna see your pretty face." she spoke, holding the phone to her ear and with her bowl in one hand and a bottle of sparkling water in the other.

"Hold on a second." she heard shuffling on the other end of the phone. He was making a space on his desk for his phone to sit on, but she already knew that that'd been what he was up to, because his desk is constantly cluttered with papers, receipts, pens and pencils, etc. His desk was riddled with stuff. She heard the quiet his of "ah dammit", and then she finally saw it. That gorgeous grin that makes his hazel eyes crinkle in the outer corners. "Hi, honey."

And as happy as she'd typically be to see his face on FaceTime, all she did was sob. "Hey." She grabbed her food and her drink and with cloudy vision, she guided herself to the couch to eat.

His face fell. "What's wrong? Did I catch at a bad time?"

"No." She sniffled. God, she was so emotional today. "I just...I want you."

"Oh, babe. I wish there was something I could do about that but right now my hands are completely tied."

"I just want cuddles and kisses and hugs! And I want to wear that new shirt you just bought because it looks comfy and I bet it smells good."

"Baby I promise—hold out a little bit longer and you can have whatever it is you want." He paused. "Except for that shirt.”

"Why?" She whined.

"Because I bought that shirt last week. It's still new."

"So? I want it."

"You can have every other shirt except that one. At least not for a while."

"Ugh!" She groaned. "You're the worst."

"I've been told."

She looked away from her phone that was propped up on a pillow and turned on the television, turning to a DVR recording of Botched and settling into the couch, fully accepting the fact that she had to cuddle with the pillows next to her instead of her boo. She picked up her fork, sadly poking the orange-dyed macaroni noodles and putting them in her mouth. "I don't want this anymore." She muttered to herself, catching the attention of the boy on the other end of the phone, who'd only just found something to do on his laptop to distract himself from looking at her tear-stained face.

Because if he did, he'd be at her every beck and call and give her exactly what she wanted. And he was a busy guy; he didn't have time to fly across the country to snuggle her like he has the slight habit of doing.

As much as he craved her—her body, her mind, her laugh, her smell (God, the way she smells? Absolutely intoxicating. He finds himself thinking of the inticing scent on the days when he misses her the most, and it's almost as if she infiltrates his nostrils. Ergo, causing him to miss her 1000x more.)—he cannot leave Los Angeles for at least the next week. If he leaves, then that means Ethan would be left with editing their upcoming video's footage, and that's the last thing he needs right now.

"Why not? When we texted earlier, you said you were hungry."

"Yeah. I was. But now...I don't know." She shrugged. She stopped the recording on the TV, picking her bowl back up and setting it in the microwave for if she wanted it later. Then, she trudged her way back upstairs and got in her bed. She sighed, feeling the lump in her throat form again.

[tinysidestrashcaptain]

Fond Memories

A story arc based on a truly epic RP with @cefmua56, this fic will have several arcs. Some will be posted on my blog, some on Cef’s. We hope you will enjoy this as much as we did! This time around, it’s adorable fluff. 

Pairings: Logicality

Warnings: I mean...it’s fluff. There’s hugs, but it’s all good. 

Patton bounded down the stairs at the chime of 10:00 a.m. A little later than he would have normally, but he decided since Thomas stayed up late last night, he would make breakfast an hour later. He slid into the kitchen and started the burners, beginning to make scrambled eggs and bacon. Happily humming the Winnie the Pooh theme song, he began to set the table casually making silly conversation with the spatula or the silverware in his hands.

Logan had been awake for quite some time, as regardless of Thomas's horrifying sleep schedule, he had work to do and the work would not wait. He was exhausted, frankly, but he knew he needed to press on. He heard Patton cheerfully nattering away in the kitchen, and could smell breakfast (bacon, maybe?) being cooked.

Now that Logan thought about it, he truly was rather hungry. And coffee would certainly help increase his productivity. The fact that he would get to see Patton was an entirely inconsequential component to his decision making process...or so he told himself as he wandered down to the kitchen.

Patton heard the footsteps of Logan as he wandered down the kitchen, when an alarming thought occurred to him. "Oh no Sir Spatula! I forgot to start the pot of coffee!" With haste he ran over and did just as he said for Logan and whoever else wanted to drink it that morning.

"Phew. Thanks for reminding me. Eheheh! My reputation might have gone SPLATula!" He giggled at his own pun, flipped the bacon, and mixed the butter in the eggs. Sighing, he stared up to the place he knew Logan would soon appear not a moment later.

Logan paused for a moment, hearing Patton speak, and vaguely heard him make yet another awful pun. Oh dear! It would seem Patton was going to be in one of THOSE moods today.

In all honesty, there was a small part of him that enjoyed puns, they were an interesting form of wordplay after all, but he would rather die than admit it. Even if the glowing smile that spread over the moral side's face whenever he complimented him was objectively adorable, true professionals did not use puns, ergo he could not encourage that sort of behavior. As he walked into the kitchen, he felt something in him ease slightly to know that none of the others were awake yet. These quiet moments in the mornings, when it was just the two of them, were his favorite.

Patton looked up at the stairs, wondering where the footsteps he heard had gone off too. He sighed sadly and turned his attention to the table behind him, only to find Logan standing right there in front of him. Patton jumped in surprise, clutching his heart in mock fright.

"Oh! Heheh! Good morning Logan! I didn't see you there. I'm making breakfast! Oh and I got your coffee started. It's BEAN brewed as we speak." He chuckled to himself at the pun and turned back to the scrambled eggs that were needing his attention.

"Good morning, Patton. I apologize if I startled you." Logan paused, then decided to ignore the pun in favor of trying to maintain Patton's emotional equilibrium.

"Oh, it's nothing Logan. You know me! Jumpy and jump-started, while jumping for joy!" Patton stirred the eggs just a little faster than normal, giddy at the fact it was just him and Logan in the kitchen. He could recall many times from years past where it was just the two of them at breakfast together before the inevitable other warring pair came down from their rooms to start the day out with tension. It was nice having the brisk, calm atmosphere for a change.

"Thank you for starting the coffee. Breakfast smells delicious. Is there anything I can assist with?" Logan offered, his head cocked to the side in question.

"You’re welcome Logan! Just having Sir Spatula help me out over here is all! Eheheh! I might have forgotten to set the water and orange juice on the table if you want to do that. Otherwise I can get it!"

Logan nodded, moved to the fridge and grabbed the orange juice and a pitcher of water, then set both on the table. He then turned back and grabbed a few glasses and plates, efficiently setting the table. It was the least he could do for Patton, especially considering that he was cooking the meal.

"Do you have any plans for the day?" Logan asked, trying to make conversation. He wasn't very good at it, generally speaking, but somehow conversing with Patton was always...easier...than with the others. He chose not to consider why that was.

Patton only just realized how scrambled the eggs were becoming and toned his movements down before it got out of hand. He let them simmer before flipping the bacon, then got out a bowl to put the eggs in and a serving spoon to go along with it.

"Well," He shut off the burner after placing the eggs into the bowl and setting them on the table. "There isn't much room for family activities since Roman's on a two day quest. He said he wouldn't be back until sometime tomorrow." Patton then grabbed a plate with some paper towels and set the bacon on them to (hopefully) remove at least part of the grease. Shutting off those burners, he continued his thought.

"And Virgil probably won't be up for another five or six hours! He went to bed super late last night! I was actually gonna ask to see what you were doing, Logan. I mean the only thing I had actually thought about was making strawberry shortcake for dessert after dinner tonight."

Logan's heart most emphatically did NOT skip a beat at the prospect of being able to spend time with Patton! He refused to acknowledge any such thing. He thought carefully about his schedule, about the tasks he needed to accomplish and the progress he had already made. Technically....he was ahead of schedule. He could spare two hours, perhaps a little more, to partake in a joint activity without putting Thomas behind.

"Well, I am somewhat ahead of schedule, so if there is a joint activity you would enjoy, I would be more than willing to spend some time with you today. Was there anything you had in mind? Also....I am very partial to that particular dessert, so I'm glad you are choosing to make it." Logan grabbed his mug and filled it with the freshly brewed coffee, adding cream and sugar as he liked it. He sat back down and waited for Patton to join him. There was something very peaceful about knowing he was going to have some of Patton's undivided attention.

Once Patton heard that Logan had actually suggested in spending time with him, a single butterfly inside of him that had been dormant for quite some time began to fly again. He had finally figured out why they had always fought in past videos. It was the tension from the other two that rubbed off on their dynamic, causing both mind and heart to fight.

Hearing that from Logan's mouth, brought forth a sense of comfort that had long since been forgotten in the depths of his very soul. It almost made him cry it moved him so much, but because of who he was, Patton was able to hide that particular emotion flawlessly.

Carefully setting the bacon on the table, he responded back to the logical aspect. "Really!? With me?! That's great to hear you are ahead of schedule! I honestly can't remember when the last time you said that was! It's..." Patton stopped to look at the kitchen calendar immediately lost in his own train of thought. "It's been awhile..." He shook his head out of the clouds and listed off a couple things they could do together.

"Well...we could watch a movie or bake something. Oh! I know! I had been meaning to organize some of Thomas's trinkets and memories in my room! It's still kind of a mess down there. But, I had never gotten around to it. Then I got a-thinking. Which side has the best organization skills out of us all of us? That's you Logan! I didn't know if you'd be busy, so I didn't ask sooner. What d’ya say?" He sat across from Logan and smiled widely. "And don't worry about the room affecting you. We can just organize them up here in the common area!"

Logan smiled, pleased with the compliment and with the activity that he knew he would enjoy. He really did love organizing and categorizing items.  "That would be most agreeable, Patton. I am sorry that I have been so busy as of late. I realize we haven't had as much time to spend together as we usually do. I hope you can forgive me for that?" Logan carefully started eating breakfast, sipping his coffee in between. He was immensely pleased to be able to make Patton smile.

Patton gave a smile so genuine that he thought would never cross his lips again, almost causing his cheeks to pink slightly. "Well of course I forgive you Logan! I know how busy you are!" Patton also began to eat breakfast, pouring himself a glass of orange juice and taking a few bites of his bacon and eggs.

"You used to talk to me about the different things you did for your work. When we ate breakfast together you would go on and on about all the kinds of things you had to do that day! Sometimes you would even show me your to do lists! Do you...remember all that? You were so excited when you were talking about your interests that I was sad when it was always interrupted by...them."

Logan adjusted his glasses, thinking. "It can be difficult for us to connect properly when we are refereeing yet another pointless argument between those two. Perhaps it would be possible to schedule a time each day to see one another? Even if it's only to converse for a brief time? I have...missed your presence."

Patton's cheeks flushed, his gaze onlooking his food, seemingly lost in thought. "Well I know right after lunch is when everyone goes back to do their own things. Roman usually goes off into his kingdom and Virgil either sits on the couch and listens to music for hours on end or goes to his room. That time works for me, but you usually are busy then."

He takes another couple bites of his food before continuing. "There's also early morning, like we used to do! But wouldn't Thomas's schedule be thrown off if we did that?"

Logan considered this for a moment. "Perhaps. But that is not necessarily a bad thing. His general habits, as far as timekeeping  and schedules, leave a great deal to be desired. I could shift a few things, leaving the early mornings free for us. Thomas is rarely productive early in the morning anyway, so it wouldn't be a great loss." His cheeks pinked slightly as he glanced at Patton. "Would....would that be acceptable?"

Patton had to look down at the floor he was smiling too much. He probably could have squealed right then and there in excitement, but he had to contain himself if he didn't want to scare Logan off. He knew how much emotion Logan could take by now, since living with him basically all his life.

He covered up his embarrassment by looking at his shoe if he had dropped something on it, then looked back up still with the same giddy grin as the old Patton would have. "Yeah! I can make that work! I make the most out of an early morning! Oh! I can see a change DAWNing on the horizon!” Patton thought about his pun then quickly shook his head. “Yeah that one wasn’t my best.”

Logan groaned out loud, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. "Truly, not one of your best, Patton."

"Eheheh! But...thank you so much Logan. I really have missed hanging out with you too." He finished the rest of his food, and began to take care of his plate. He sat back down after throwing his garbage away, smiling the whole time. "You wanna help me with my room after breakfast then?"

Logan cleared his plate, and started doing dishes. It was an unwritten rule that whoever did the cooking was exempt from cleaning, and Logan enjoyed cleaning far more than Patton did. As he washed, he looked up at Morality, smiling softly. "That would be acceptable."

Patton's cheeks flushed for about the third time. "Aww Logan! That’s very sweet of you. I honestly don't remember a time when anyone else did the dishes after breakfast besides me. Well maybe that one time Roman and Virgil made that mess in the commons and I had them do a bunch of chores as punishment." Patton chuckled softly, looked down at his feet, and began to rock back on forth on his toes, unsure of what to do.

"I really did miss you Logan. So often us aspects get caught up in our own jobs that we forget to hang out with each other. I'm almost losing heart whenever I try to set up movie night or something for us all to hang out together...it always ends up on the sour side of the spectrum. I just love you all so much, but whenever something like that doesn't work out, I blame myself and ask, 'Is it me? Did I do something wrong?'"

Patton just realized that he had ranted his true feelings to Logan and quickly covered his mouth, glancing away from him. "Sorry you didn't need to hear all of that.  It'll all be okay!" He turned back around and smiled at him.

Logan dried his hands and reached out, placing a hand on Patton's shoulder. "Patton, I am glad you said something. If you are ever troubled, I hope you know you may always confide in me. I am ...not always good at deciphering emotions, but I am your friend and I will always provide comfort and support when needed. I will speak to the others, and we can plan a Family Movie Night for later in the week. I'm sure they don't realize how their bickering impacts you, and if they did it would immediately cease. You are extremely important, Patton. To all of us. You do not have to suffer in silence. And...please, don't ever think that our general dysfunctions have anything to do with you. You are....the best of us." Logan's cheeks flushed a little, but his eyes were steady and earnest. He rarely said anything he did not mean, and he meant every word of this.

"I know you are a tactile person, and enjoy physical expressions of affection." Logan cleared his throat, straightening his tie nervously. "Given that you were distressed, I believe a good friend would offer you a hug, at this point?" He tentatively held out his arms, not really sure if this was the correct course of action.

Patton's smile faltered as he heard his friend talk. While Logan was speaking, Patton wanted nothing more than to throw himself into Logan's arms and just cry, but he held himself back and waited until the logical aspect's speech was finished. When Logan did offer a hug, Patton had to keep his melancholy tears from pouring out and carefully accepted Logan's hug, wrapping his arms around him. He did his best not to squeeze too tightly or cry as a sense of nostalgia back to when Thomas was a kid overtook him. "Your hugs are still the best Logan. Thank you."

Logan chuckled at that, and his stiff embrace became softer, warmer. He gently squeezed, feeling Patton snuggle in closer. He could only hope the other Side couldn't feel the pounding of his heart. "I'm going to need your expertise as to proper form and duration. I.... haven't done this in quite some time. I had forgotten how pleasant it can be." His words were quiet, little more than a hushed murmur.

Truthfully, when Thomas was a child he and Patton had hugged often and with gusto. As Thomas had aged, Logan found himself saddled with increasing responsibilities and duties, and had been forced to "grow up" much faster. He'd stopped giving and receiving hugs somewhere along the way, and it was only now that he took into account how touch starved he truly was. Patton would give him endless hugs, if he asked, but Logan had gotten used to the cold, to the deprivation. Every point of contact on his body lit up, and he felt a soothing warmth seeping into his bones. Yes. Hugs were definitely good.

Patton chuckled with him, the sadness escaping from his eyes. "It’s so nice to hear that even after all these years you still like hugs." Patton took a chance and gently put his hand on Logan's back, rubbing in slow, small and smooth circles.

"Perhaps....we could engage in this activity more often?" Logan asked hopefully.

"Of course Logan. I have enough hugs to give that could fill the Grand Canyon! I would be more than happy to help you. And it would also help me in return."

Patton smiled fondly, slackening the embrace to see if Logan would try to remove himself from his hold. He did not want to hug Logan longer than he wanted to be held, lest he accidently push the Logical aspect away again.

Logan felt Patton start to withdraw, and although he could have happily stayed in the hug for some time yet, he also understood that he must follow the Moral side's lead. So, he loosened his hold, reluctantly releasing Patton. "I am always happy to be of assistance to you, Patton. Shall we start organizing now?"

Yes. A task. Better to focus on a task and not the soft warmth in his chest when he saw the genuine happiness in Patton's eyes. Feelings...the bane of his existence. And these feelings were sticky sweet strands that wrapped around his heart and pulled until he had no choice but to obey.

Patton felt Logan begin to draw away as he loosened his hold. Biting his lower lip once with sadness, he understood as he released and hung his hands casually at his sides.

Patton blushed as he came in contact with Logan's eyes once more. He could recall all the times that Logan looked at him. With harsh eyes or soft, but no matter what he did he couldn't get over just how truly amazing Logan's eyes were. It was nice to know that Logan was still the person he was all those years ago, even if he was more professional.

Patton had to forcefully remove his gaze from Logan's stunning eyes as he asked his question. "Oh yeah! I'll show you all that we need to organize. Patton beckoned him and did a full one-eighty, walking out of the kitchen and out into the common area.

Logan followed quickly behind Patton as they made their way to the commons. "You do realize that as a construct of the mind and not emotions that I can withstand exposure to your room without ill effects, don't you? I understand if you would rather not take the risk, of course. It is, after all, your room. I will assist you whatever you decide."

Upon hearing Logan's words, Patton spun around gleefully. "That's true! You should be fine and dandy in there then! And you are welcome whenever you want. I will warn you there are a tooooon of boxes down there. I was just trying to figure what I should keep in "Memories" and what I should chuck in "Forget" or "Long Term Storage". It's SORT of a problem. Eheheheh. You'll see." Patton walked over to his place by the curtains and stood proudly. "Ready whenever you are teach!"

Logan nodded, and they both sank down into Patton's room. Once there, he took a moment to steady himself, then looked around. The room was covered with multiple trinkets and memories. Some stuffed inside boxes, some laying on the floor. The boxes littered the room with different designs or labels on them. There was a pile of stuff from Thomas's old relationships, a pile of stuff from his high school and college, and huge pile of other miscellaneous memories that needed to be sorted. Numerous photos scattered the ground and the stairs held multiple stuffed toys Thomas had played with over the years, some of which Logan recognized.

To the left of the staircase where Virgil would have normally stood, hung Logan's old necktie, pinned to the wall in a slightly tacky fashion. "Welp! This is my room." Patton stood proudly, but flushed, his eyes drawn to the old tie he had forgotten to put away.

Logan glanced around, taking everything in. His eyes lingered on...was that his old tie? Why on Earth would Patton have that? It was certainly a memory of Thomas's, to be sure, but it was also his physical possession. When they'd switched outfits, and he'd created his new tie, his old one had mysteriously disappeared. It would appear he now knew who had it, but the only thing he didn't understand was why. Why would Patton want to hang on to an old piece of his clothing? It didn't make any sort of logical sense. He turned to Patton, ready to question the other side, but something on his face gave Logan pause. He looked...flushed. Was he sad? Upset? Guilty? Ugh, emotions were so utterly frustrating! His curiosity was eating at him, and he simply had to know.

"Patton...why do you have my old tie? It is illogical to keep it, so there must be an emotional response driving the action. I am not angry, I am merely confused. I don't understand....could you explain?"

Patton's heart stopped as he heard the logical side's question. Logan must have picked up on his embarrassment and of course he had to point it out. Patton quickly turned his face to Roman's side of the room, trying to hide his face from Logic as he walked towards the strip of fabric. Taking it down from the pin it was on, he held it back out to Logan.

"There's a lot of memories behind this tie Logan, and I just couldn't see it disappearing from your memory or any of the others so...I kept it here. Back when you helped Thomas make the vines and even before it became your signature trade mark Logan! I was just so tied up with it. Eheh. You can take it back if you want it though. I stole it because it reminded me of who you once were." Patton smiled at him sadly. "Who all of us once were." He then tried to lighten up the mood. "I almost swiped your unicorn onesie too, but I didn't know if you still wore it. It's still one of my favorite memories during the Sander's Sides videos."

Logan blinked, staring at the tie in Patton's hand. He was feeling...a great many things and all of them at once. "Patton....you should keep it, but just know that the memories of those times are not linked to that strip of fabric. I can never forget the Vines, or the fun we have had. And it was...fun. I am pleased you did not abscond with my onesie as it is quite comfortable and I do use it for "comfort" days. Whether the tie is in my possession or yours, the memories and emotions affiliated with those memories do not change. We have changed, admittedly, from what we once were. I believe that is true for all of us, even you. I may be....somewhat different....now....but I have not forgotten who I was. I would very much like to be that way again, if given the opportunity. It is just..."

Logan trailed off, looking down at the floor. "...It is no longer my place to be that way. I am meant to provide explanatory exposition. If I am not intelligent enough, if I do not fulfill my function correctly, what value am I to the group? There is nothing I do that cannot be easily accomplished by one of you. I am replaceable. Ergo, it is imperative that I function at optimal efficiency to demonstrate my value as a part of Thomas."

Patton almost dropped the tie at Logan's words, a great deal of sorrow beginning to encompass his facial features. So this was the reason. This is why he was always so cold and professional. Though Patton was overjoyed he had finally opened up, his heart wrenched out all the joy that could have been gotten by that fact. He couldn't handle it. Patton's heart broke for him and he hugged him right there, taking the logical side into his grasp.

"Logan, do you honestly believe that about yourself?! There is evidence in this room that shows that statement is just not true! And you know me, I'm all for honesty. Can I show you? Just how special you are to this family, and to me?"

Logan froze for a minute, surprised by the vehemence of Patton's actions and words, but he slowly relaxed in Patton's hold. He truly did enjoy the hugging, it was a thing he'd sorely missed. "If you wish, Patton...." it was said softly, and Logan didn't dare fan the small, stubborn spark of hope in his heart that whispered that perhaps he was wrong, perhaps he wasn't boring and useless.

Patton hugged him for a little bit longer, before he slowly let go. He then walked behind the logical aspect towards the hallway and rummaged around in the pile that held all of Thomas's high school and college belongings. He handed Logan three different photos that he found, also showing him Thomas's graduation tassel.

"So these are just a few things that are special about Logan Sanders. This first photo is when Thomas passed his last elementary exam. Guess who has the thought process for taking tests? You do! And this second photo here, these are Thomas's long lost friends in middle school! You have the information about loyalty and deep friendship! Remember love isn't always a feeling, it's also a choice! And you play a big part in that choice by analyzing a friend's loyalty, and recalling different actions to take based on the friendship between them and Thomas!”

"Yes, I suppose that is true, but Virgil could just as easily memorize materials for tests, and since Thomas has graduated from college and does not intend to further his education, such skills are now useless. Virgil also excels at analyzing the loyalty of others, albeit with a more negative viewpoint. With assistance from you or Roman, that could also be easily done by others." Logan understood what Patton was trying to do, he really did, but he couldn't help pointing out these facts. It was in his nature to question, to point out errors and inconsistencies. He knew this would likely be frustrating to Patton, but he honestly couldn't help himself.

Patton took a deep breath and continued. "But he still needs you to fill out paperwork. I may have his memories but remember what thomas said about you at the beginning of the Sander's Sides videos? You represent all of Thomas's facts he's ever learned! Without you he couldn't tell time, he wouldn't be able to know what Pasta is, or what he likes and dislikes. There would be no depth to our Thomas as a person, if you weren't around! I wouldn't be able to love some of the things that Thomas does if you weren't there to spark the interest!" Patton almost reached up and cupped Logan's face, but thought better of his actions.

Logan stared helplessly at Patton, his heart pounding in his chest and yet feeling lighter than it had in months. "I...these are just facts...easily learned by others....I..." Logan trailed off, unable to articulate his thoughts properly. He wanted very much to stay here, in the circle of Patton's arms, with the moral side looking at him in that wonderfully warm way, for the rest of his days. He wasn't entirely certain what that feeling meant, but he knew it was a fact.

Patton's left hand brushed Logan's right as he turned to face the side in front of him "They don’t represent learning Logan. We are not human, we are only parts of a human, and that trait is specifically yours to use. And Thomas loves to learn, you know he does. I know he doesn't learn as often as he used to, but he's starting that Astronomy class next semester right Logan? I always loved that spark of wonder in your eyes whenever our little guy learned something new. You used to talk so much about the things thomas learned, that it would annoy Roman to no end causing both me and Virgil to chuckle. But it was all in good fun. I miss that spark of wonder in your eyes."

Logan couldn't contain his excitement as the Astronomy course was mentioned. His entire face lit up and he beamed at Patton. "Have you seen the course material?! Oh, it is going to be incredible! There's so much new information to learn, space is so vast and infinite! Did you know that we can only detect about 5% of the matter in the universe??? The rest is made up of invisible matter (called dark matter) and a mysterious form of energy known as dark energy, which I do not know nearly enough about! I am extremely pleased Thomas chose to pursue this course of study."

Logan did an excited shimmy, gleefully imagining homework assignments and exams. He calmed for a moment, his smile still unusually wide and bright. "Thank you, Patton. I had been doubting myself for quite some time. You are remarkably good at lifting the spirits of others."

Patton's bright smile returned as Logan's long lost excitement did as well. He even let a blush dance across his cheeks as the logical aspect shimmied and talked about his fascination of astronomy.

"This is amazing Logan! I'm so happy! And don't be afraid to share anything you learned! I'd love to hear all the raps you make up about it!" With excitement, he took Logan into his embrace again and hugged him tight. "Logan, Can you promise me something? Please, if you’re ever doubting yourself again, don't leave it to fester like a wound. Please come and talk to me. I will remind you as many times as I need to how special you are. I don't want this iciness to ever form between us again."

Logan melted into Patton's embrace, a small noise of contentment involuntarily pulled from his lips as he burrowed into the warmth offered. "I will gladly make that promise, Patton, but only if you will swear the same. Should you ever feel as I did, please come to me. I am not always adept at emotional response, but I care very much for you and...I find it of utmost importance that you be happy. It is now a requirement for my own happiness, which is unusual." Logan pulled back from the hug, smiling at Patton. He knew he was probably saying too much, but he was determined to make Patton aware of his personal significance.

Patton giggled at his adorable noise, but decided not to comment on it further and relinquished his hold. "I will Logan. I promise just as you had. As for my happiness being a requirement for your happiness, I'll do my diddly-darned best that it doesn't falter. And if it does, well I got my bestfriend back and that’s enough happiness for me!"

Logan adjusted his glasses, feeling lighter and happier. "Well, let's get sorting, shall we?"

"Oh! I forgot that's what we came in here to do, isn't it?" Patton giggled to himself. "Yes! Let's sort things out in here, even though we kind of already did. If you want to work on photos, I need them in chronological order. The ones scattered on the floor are duplicates, don't worry about those. Each pile should hold a box of photos. I left the school ones for you, cuz I thought you might enjoy looking through some of them. I'll start with Thomas's acting career. Chuck something my way or tap if ya need me. I'll likely have my head in the clouds to be able to hear that well."

Logan started in on the photos, quickly flipping through them and putting them in appropriate order. Each photo represented a significant memory in Thomas's life. A great deal of those memories were from his academic career. Friends he had made, subjects he had studied, papers he had written, awards he had won. Logan could recall of these moments with perfect clarity, but it was pleasant to see each of these memories preserved in such an aesthetically pleasing way. It made him...happy...to look at these memories, to see all of the accomplishments.

Patton was right. He had done a great deal with Thomas and had a fair amount of influence over him in past years. It was only recently that Logan had felt his value was lessened. And, as he got to the more recent photos, he found less and less of them. Thomas had graduated, he had completed his academic career and gone on to do well on YouTube. He had no need for further education, but he had signed up for the Astronomy course (which Logan was very much looking forward to) as a placation. Logan knew it was not a sign of more, knew it was foolish to hope that Thomas would continue to grow and learn, but he couldn't help the small spark of hope that burned...that WISHED.

He looked over to Patton, who was happily sorting through Thomas's acting photos. He had illogical hopes here as well, but none of them would ever come to pass. Clearing his throat, he straightened the organized stack and walked over to Patton. "This set is completed. What shall I work on next?"

Patton was busy organizing brochures, pictures, and playbills from all the musicals and shows Thomas had ever seen or been in. He was delighted that his host had a passion for the stage and it brought joy to his heart whenever he saw him acting his heart out. It brought his mind to Roman, and how close they used to be as kids, but Roman was different now and he had to accept the fact that things might never be the same between them.

It was what had his spirits in the dumps these past couple years, but this new found friendship rekindling with the logical aspect seemed to fill the hole in his heart where all three of them used to stand equally. Why did Logan have such a precedence over his soul? Was it possible that he thought more of him than he thought? Buried sideways to the waist in Roman's pile, he looked back out of the hole to see Logan’s shoes standing next to his legs.

"Oh I'm sorry Logan. Did you say some- Oof!" Patton had moved to get up and bumped his head on the 'ceiling ' of the pile, forgetting he had dug a tunnel into the side of it. Thus everything above him caved in and landed directly on top of him pushing him to the ground. "Oh no! The mountain of drama has caved!" His chuckles sounded muffled underneath the pile, signaling to Logan that he wasn't actually hurt.

Logan grinned at Patton’s comment and swiftly started moving items, uncovering the moral side. As soon as he could see Patton's face, he reached in and hauled the him out of the mess and to his feet. Logan had always been remarkably strong, likely due to Thomas's strength with rational reasoning and thought. It had occurred to him that this fact might be disconcerting to the others (especially Roman) so he used it sparingly. But, in this case, he had to get Patton out of the pile to ascertain that he was unharmed. Patton's well-being was of the utmost importance. Once he'd set Patton on his feet, he quickly scanned him for injuries.

Patton could feel the weight of Thomas’s drama career lifted off of him as Logan began uncovering his body from the pile. His breath slightly hitched as Logan helped him out of the pile, all the while giggling in the process. Once Patton was on the ground again, he felt Logan's eyes scan every inch of himself, his heart skipping a beat at the amount of concern displayed in Logan’s eyes. "I think I'm okay Logan-" His voice dropped out as he noticed a painful sting on his right wrist. He looked down at it then frowned slightly at the small paper cut lingering there.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Tagging Random Folks:

@acookiedragonblog @the-sides-of-patton @tree4life25 @penstarz96 @cefmua56 @cinquefoilelove @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @otpislife2002 @didsomeonesayprince @chemicallyimbalancedromance @pirate-patton @leesacrakon @sidewritings @prplzorua @randomslasher @a-valorous-choice @migraine-marathon @emphoenixcat @kittyboof8 @michealawithana @romananalogicality @musicsavedmefromdeath @lackingroman @princeyssash @princey-must-slay @the-prince-and-the-emo @justanotherpurplebutterfly @storytellerofuntoldlegends @lilbeanblr @we-get-it-youre-adorable @amazable01 @infinitesimally-patton @introverts-assemble @1goth-kid1 @cookieartcannon @fandomsandanythingelse @angelpatton @fairly-grimm-sides

[keywestlou]

RESPECT FOR TRUMP DIMINISHING

It cannot be denied Trump continues to be a power. Though things are happening that reflect the power diminishing.  As respect for him diminishes, so too does his power.

One example is Truth Social. Trump announced this week his personal social media was in the process of becoming a reality. Its purpose to follow the truth. What a joke!

The site would officially begin in November. However Trump immediately posted a test version where people could sign in merely by providing their names.

The fact that the site will provide Trump with broad access is a disgrace. His large number of followers will subscribe. He will have immediate access to them and the world via the site. It will be Trump’s tool to spread lies.

Though despicable in itself, Trump will reap a harvest.

Trump is doing the project with DWAC, a special purpose acquisition company. DWAC sells stock with the intention of buying private firms. The announcement reported DWAC would invest $293 million in the Trump project.

The announcement caused the price of he stock to triple in one day.

A major DWAC investor SABA Capital announced it was bailing out and selling all its stock. It wanted nothing to do with Trump. SABA’s principal said the the decision was “not even a close call.” Some people will not go to bed with dogs that have fleas.

Another “adverse” occurrence is Trump’s new site has already been hacked. Within hours, the unreleased test version was invaded. A picture of a defecating pig posted to the “donaldjtrump” account.

Truth Social was pulled off line immediately.

The site will return with all the necessary bells and whistles to hopefully protect it from similar hacking in the future.

The House of Representatives voted yesterday to hold Bannon in criminal contempt. Nine Republicans joined with the Democrats in the voting. The matter is now in the hands of the Attorney General as to whether the criminal contempt charge should be presented to a grand jury.

What a waste of time! The matter should be moving swiftly. Not doing so. I worry Merrick Garland will take forever and in effect sit on the contempt charge forever while deciding what to do.

Recall several months ago I warned of my concern when Garland’s nomination for Attorney General was announced. An honorable man without question. However, an appellate judge for more than 20 years. I advised my concern that a judge who served that long was not the best choice to be a prosecutor. His thought process had changed in those 20 years.

My fear was that in crossing every t and dotting every i, Garland would take forever in getting things done. And now as far as Bannon is concerned, decide in the final analysis Bannon should not be criminally cited.

My concern was reflected yesterday when Garland apparel before the House Judiciary Committee. He expressed his concern for the “jail problem” as Bannon’s contempt matter might affect it. He explained something we all know. The jails are full off gangs. Some whose members on the outside may have been perpetrators on January 6.

Were they to be arrested and convicted, the jails would have increased problems as a result.

Not the way to think! The judicial system was not set up to worry about impacts resulting from arresting someone. The way it is done is to arrest forthwith and convict a perpetrator and thereafter deal with the resulting problem.

No one should be permitted to spit in the face of the United States and get away with it. Bannon was and is part of the January 6 problem. The subpoena should have been approved by Justice yesterday.

These are dark days. So many things either not moving in orderly fashion or not not moving at all. Most elected officials by their actions reflect little care for their country. And more. Everything is a mess government wise.

There is a need for joy in the land. A smile. Some kumbaya.

Several months ago, I shared with you the Italian Grocery Store video. A happy work. Provided me with a smile and laugh.

I am replaying the video today. I hope it brings you some momentary joy.

  http://keywestlou.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/01/Italian-Grocery-Store-3.mp4

Enjoy your day!

RESPECT FOR TRUMP DIMINISHING was originally published on Key West Lou

[magmasliveblogs]

1.22 (part 1)

i am back! to recap: last chapter erin dealt with her first period in this world! it went well for erin, all things considered. also acid flies in her inn 

A shifting, glowing mass of green and black insects covered the bottom half of a table and pieces of bloody cloth. Erin looked at the countless bugs that had entered her inn and wondered whether screaming would attract their attention. Probably.

They were huge, black bugs that vaguely resembled fireflies. Except these acid flies were three times bigger than fireflies, and instead of pretty glowing backsides, theirs were bulbous glowing orbs that exploded if you annoyed them.

And they were in Erin’s inn.

“Oh no. No. This is not right.”

Slowly, she edged around the room. The acid flies took no notice of her. Erin made it to the kitchen, dropped her pads in a clean spot, and grabbed a bucket. Then she edged back out of the room and ran for the stream.

as i said last time, the acid fly population shall not survive this summer 

Ten minutes later Erin opened the door of the inn and ducked as an acid fly buzzed at her face. The insect spiraled away and flew back to the bloody cloths. Erin narrowed her eyes and squinted.

It looked like the flies had devoured, or melted a large part of the cloth. And either they were full or sleeping, because most of them were sitting on the pants or around it, not moving.

“Perfect.”

Erin tiptoed closer, pausing every few seconds to make sure she wasn’t bothering the bugs. The bucket was heavy in her hands, but she was close. She just needed to be in range.

When she was certain she was close enough, Erin took a deep breath and then hurled the bucket at the flies. The bugs were washed away by a tide of water and struggled helplessly on their backs, their wings too heavy to fly.

Erin moved fast. In an instant she was in the kitchen and pulling out a large glass jar she’d used for storing perishable foods. She dumped a bunch of onions out and then grabbed a long-handled spatula.

The flies were still struggling to get up as Erin moved back into the common room. She bent down and began flicking them into the glass jar, one after another. Some exploded as the wooden spatula touched them, but soon Erin had figured out the way to avoid the acid flies bursting was to hit their heads, rather than their glowing green abdomens.

In no time at all she’d rounded up all the acid flies and sealed them in the large glass jar. That done, she sat back in a chair and wondered whether she was cursed.

“So. Apparently acid flies like blood. Right. And does that mean I have to worry about them landing on me when I sleep?”

She looked down at the jar of flies. Most of them were buzzing around inside the glass jar by now. They clung to the glass, fanning their wings innocently.

Erin lifted the jar up carefully and stared in horrified fascination at the bugs.

“Four legs. I knew I wasn’t dreaming that up.”

That would technically make the flies not flies, but it didn’t matter either way. They looked like oversized houseflies, acted like them, and aside from the exploding acid bit, they were as harmless as flies.

“And now I have a jar full of these deadly little critters. What do I do now?”

Erin stared at the jar. Letting them go was probably a stupid idea. Mainly because they liked blood. And she was on her period. Ergo, they’d probably land on her and melt her face off. So what could she do?

i wonder, these things will probably be angry if she opens that jar 

“…Hm.”

Erin hesitated, and then experimentally shook the jar. Instantly, half of the acid flies inside exploded. The green, glowing liquid flowed into the bottom of the glass jar while the bodies of the dead flies floated to the top.

After checking to make sure the top of the jar was extremely secure, Erin gave it a really hard shake. This time the rest of the acid flies exploded and she was left with a pool of green acid and a bunch of dead fly corpses.

“I should feel bad about that. I really should.”

But she didn’t. And as Erin stared at the dead flies floating in the acid, she had a thought. She carefully put the glass jar in a corner of the room where she wouldn’t trip over it by accident, and emptied another one in the kitchen.

“One jar for bugs, one jar for deadly acid. Perfect.”

Erin picked up the jars and hesitated again.

“Acid. Does it melt glass?”

She thought it did. At least, the Aliens from the movie could melt through glass. But that was a movie. On the other hand, this was a fantasy world.

“Right. But in chemistry class we used glass.”

But again, this was another world. Erin carefully held up the glass bottle and peered at the edges. It didn’t look like anything was melting. Even so, she put the jar in a far corner of the kitchen. Just in case.

“Okay. Done. Now what?”

It took her two seconds to realize what she’d forgotten. Erin smacked her forehead.

“Time for cleanup.”

She got up wearily and trudged back into the common room. She looked down at the part of the floor and table where the acid flies had been congregating and swore.

will erin try to sell these flies and jars? 

It wasn’t easy dragging a table out of the inn, but it helped when the wood broke apart and she could drag the pieces out. The acid had eaten through the base of the table and pitted the floor boards. That meant Erin was also faced with the lovely prospect of repairing the floor after she was done with the table.

Well, Klbkch had helped her repair the floorboards after the Chieftain attacked, and Erin’s [Basic Crafting] skill did the rest. It took her an hour, but when she was done the only sign the flies had been there were a few differently colored floorboards and her aching back.

“I hate all bugs. Except for Klbkch. No, actually, I hate him too. At least bugs don’t lie to my face.”

Erin collapsed back into a chair and stared at the ceiling. Today was not a good day. In fact, she’d put it in the top ten bad days she’d ever had. Unfortunately, that meant it was a good day if you compared it to the ones she’d been having since she got here.

“Who knew I’d be grateful to be covered in sawdust and sweat rather than blood?”

She laughed, coughed as some dust got into her lungs, and stood up.

“Bath time.”

yes, baths are good

One of the glorious things Erin had been introduced to in Liscor was the public bathhouses. They weren’t free to enter of course. She had to pay five coppers to enter, but they were hot and luxurious and well worth the price. Come to that, she got off easy since she paid the same rate as Drakes. Gnolls and other Beastkin had to pay twice as much because of the fur.

Yes, the steaming bathhouses were a delight to match any convenience of the modern world. Just sinking into the scented waters was enough to take Erin away from the pain of reality.

That was why bathing in the freezing waters of the stream was twice as hard now. Erin stuck her foot in the water, yelped, and then decided to jump in before she lost her nerve.

oh those baths must feel wonderful 

The one good thing about being in the middle of nowhere was that you could bathe naked, and you could swear and scream as much as you wanted. After Erin had gone through the shock of getting in the cold water, she scrubbed herself as fast as possible, lathered herself with the ball of soap she’d bought from Krshia, and screamed again when she saw the fish in the water.

It shot through the water like a torpedo. Erin exploded out of the water like a rocket. It followed her, but couldn’t figure out how to run after her on dry ground. Erin ran around screaming, hit the fish with the bucket she’d brought until it stopped moving, and ran away. She came back only later when she’d had a brilliant idea.

the fish again! 

Erin trudged back across the grasslands, a glass jar tucked under one hand and a knife and bucket in the other. She held the knife so it pointed down. She wasn’t sure if that rule only applied to scissors, but she figured it couldn’t hurt with knives.

It was later. In truth, it felt like days had passed, but somehow she was still on the same day. The sun was starting to set in the sky, though, so at least she was halfway done.

From this distance she could see a green glow coming from the dead fish. Erin slowed down and put down her burden and shaded her eyes. It looked like her targets were already waiting for her.

“Hm.”

Erin squinted. All the flies were resting on the fish. Or in it. That was good.

Slowly, very slowly, she tiptoed towards the fish, the bucket in her hands. She eyed the acid flies and saw they were rubbing themselves all over the fish. The acid from their backsides was eating into the fish, and they in turn were eating the melted result.

“Oh wow. That’s gross.”

The flat fish wasn’t so much flat as runny now. Erin wondered if she should feel sick, but she mainly felt a kind of fascinated revulsion. She shook her head and got back to her mission before the flies decided they wanted dessert with dinner.

Stealthily, Erin filled the bucket from the stream. Then she tiptoed over to the fish and tossed the water all over the flies and the fish.

Again, the acid flies found themselves struggling on their backs, unable to fly. Erin dashed back and grabbed the glass jar.

“Take this! And that!”

Erin began smushing the downed acid flies with her glass jar. They exploded in showers of acid and in no time she’d killed them all. That done, Erin looked at the dead fish.

It was mostly melted from the acid. Erin prodded it with her knife and gagged. But she needed it so she steeled herself and tried to cut the fish in two.

The knife blade sunk through the fish like butter. It wasn’t so much fish now as sludge. And no matter how hard Erin tried, she couldn’t get it to separate. Wherever she cut, the sludge oozed back together.

Disgusted in more than one sense, Erin covered her face with one hand.

“Well, of course that would happen.”

She needed a spoon, not a knife. Lacking one, she used the knife to scoop some of the fish sludge away. She stared at it and felt her stomach roiling. As the smell of the decayed fish hit her nose she dry-heaved.

“I can do this. Think of the money. Think of the food. Think of the inn. Don’t think of the fish.”

She took several deep breaths while looking the other way. When she was fairly sure she wasn’t about to throw up she went back to the sludge.

“Okay, [Basic Crafting] activate!”

First, Erin took some of the green fish-sludge and poured it in the bottom of her glass jar. Then, she took off the glass top and set it next on top of the jar so that it was just wide enough to let flies squeeze into the container, but didn’t give them much room to get out. Then she walked away.

“Acid fly trap, complete!”

Erin stared at the glass jar. She slapped herself gently with one hand. Then she set up three more jars the same way.

“Let’s see how you like this, you little jerks.”

erin has plans for these flies 

going to end it off here because my internet isnt going so well, will finish tomorrow! 

[set-phasers-to-whump]

whumptober day 7

prompt: isolation

whumpee: aidan waite

fandom: being human (US)

quick disclaimer:  this is horribly ooc bc i havent seen the show in utter ages since its not on netflix anymore and i am well aware that it sucks and im sorry but i have to post something so heres this utter garbage heap of not-even-whump. i promise i hate it just as much as you do.

Aidan Waite wasn’t a good person. He wasn’t even a person, actually. And he had done far too many bad things in his long life to be considered ‘good.’ So he was a bad vampire. No matter how hard he tried not to, it seemed like he always relapsed into drinking directly from people. No good person hurts other people. Ergo, he was bad.

He had been hanging out with Bishop and one thing had led to another, and here he was, feeling dirty with live blood. He kept telling himself that he couldn’t keep doing this, but he never seemed to be able to resist. He returned home around five in the morning, ashamed and slightly drunk.

He was tired of this, the constant pull to just grab someone and drain them. He found himself wondering what he could do, and finally came up with an idea. He could lock himself up, isolate himself from the world, somewhere where he wouldn’t be able to find any humans to drink-a sort of detox. He could bring blood bags from the hospital and stay for maybe a week, and see what that did.

It wasn’t a perfect plan-where would he go, for one thing. The woods? Some abandoned house on the outskirts of the city? He couldn’t just lock himself up in his room-his housemates wouldn’t much care if the door was locked or not, they had ways around it. He couldn’t let them interfere, couldn’t let them know what he was doing. He doubted they’d approve, and they’d try to find him. He needed to do this, just to see if it would work.

And work it did. Aidan had found himself an abandoned cabin in the woods, and had even gone a step further and locked himself in its basement. He had known he would easily be able to break the lock if he wanted to, so he had bought himself some handcuffs which he was pretty sure would be able to hold him, and had cuffed himself to an old iron bed frame he’d discovered in the basement when he was exploring the cabin. His plan was to bring his phone and call Josh after a week and ask him to come unlock the door. He had a power block, plenty of blood bags, and a few books to keep himself busy. 

The first two days went pretty well, he thought. Josh had called him, but he had explained that he’d been called out of town unexpectedly and would probably be back within the week. Aidan was pretty sure that Josh hadn’t believed that for a second, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He had drank a few of his blood bags and had read one of his books and started on a second. He was bored, sure, but it was only five more days.

The next two days passed slowly and agonisingly. Aidan’s eyes began to hurt from all the reading, and he didn’t want to use his phone in case he accidentally drained all the battery from his power block and ended up trapped. He tried to sleep, but the basement was cold and damp and he hadn’t thought to bring a blanket. A detox wasn’t supposed to be comfortable, he had thought. 

By the fifth morning, he was ready to leave, but he had promised himself he’d stay a week. He hadn’t really thought this through, he realised. Of course in here he was perfectly able to resist the temptation to drink people, but there weren’t any people around! All this was doing was making him miserable. But he had made it this far, he couldn’t give up now.

So he suffered through a fifth day in the mouldy and uncomfortable basement. His limbs had grown used to not having many places to go, and now everything just sort of ached. He wondered if he’d be able to stand up when the week was up, or if he’d just fall right over.

The sixth day passed in an even worse manner-it began to rain at around four in the morning and didn’t let up until late afternoon. The cabin, being in such a state of disrepair, was far from watertight, and the basement became even more damp, and the mildewy smell only got worse. 

So to sum things up, he was cold and wet and beginning to be affected by the mould, not to mention he was lonely and bored out of his mind. He couldn’t sleep that night at all, and sure, he didn’t necessarily need to, but he wanted to, more than anything. But there was about half an inch of water on the ground and his wrists had begun to ache in their restraints. At least he wasn’t hungry. At least he only had one more day.

Finally, finally, his last day in the cabin arrived. He had actually done it! He spent his day lost in thought, planning out how to better tackle his issue, seeing as this solution had not been the most useful. He did manage to sleep that night-most of the water had leaked out to somewhere else, and although the ground smelled even worse than it had before the rain, he was too tired to notice. 

At last it was the dawn of the eighth day-he had made it through an entire week. He grabbed his phone, which he had managed to keep dry and charged throughout the week. His hands shook a little as he called Josh-what exactly that was from, he wasn’t sure. 

Josh didn’t pick up. He didn’t really know who else to call, so he kept trying-Josh did have work today, he supposed. Maybe he was just busy.

But he didn’t pick up all day. He had Bishop’s number, but calling him might defeat the entire purpose of this terribly planned endeavour. 

Aidan resigned himself to spending another night in the basement. And then another. He had started to worry after his fourth call to Josh, and he was now absolutely panicked-but his handcuffs were doing their job far too well, and he was completely stuck, with the key thrown across the room and the bed frame absolutely refusing to move. He was going to have to call Bishop. He put it off for as long as he could-he was really not looking forward to having to explain himself. 

And then he was saved by the bell, or rather the call-Josh’s number flashed across his screen at last!

“Aidan?”

“Why haven’t you picked up? Did something happen?”

“Yeah, my phone broke, I just got it back today. Where are you? I thought you said you’d be back within a week.”

“I’m...in the woods. In an old cabin.”

“What? Why?”

“I was just trying something...I’ve been here for, like, ten days. I can’t even feel my legs anymore.”

“Where exactly in the woods are you?”

Aidan gave Josh the best directions he could, and Josh promised he’d be there as quick as possible.

After what seemed like an eternity, even compared to the endless days he’d spent alone, Aidan finally heard a door open above him.

“Aidan? You in here?”

“Josh! I’m in the basement!”

He heard Josh’s footsteps on the stairs, and finally, the door creaked open.

“Aidan...you look awful. Why are you even here?”

“I was trying something...a detox, I guess.”

“Did it work?”

“I realised a few days in it wasn’t going to be able to do much of anything.”

“Why didn’t you call me then?”

“I thought maybe it could still work, I couldn’t just give up.”

“You’ve been here for ten days! Where’s the key to these cuffs?”

Aidan motioned to the corner where he’d thrown it. “Man, you really made sure you couldn’t get out, huh?” Josh said. 

Aidan didn’t reply. Josh came over to him with the key and unlocked the handcuffs. Finally, he could move his limbs again! Aidan immediately tried to stand up, but his legs were having none of it, and he promptly toppled into Josh, who barely managed to catch him. 

“Let’s get out of here and you can walk around outside,” Josh suggested. “There’s mould everywhere in here, I can’t believe you’ve been breathing this for ten days.”

“I’m not alive, Josh.”

“Still.”

They made their way upstairs (well, mostly Josh made their way upstairs. Aidan’s legs still weren’t cooperating) and out of the cabin. The fresh air felt so nice and clean after so long spent breathing stale, mouldy air. 

It didn’t take too long for Aidan’s legs to work again, and soon after that, Josh was pushing him into his car and driving them home. 

“Aidan!” Sally came hurrying to the door to greet him. “Where the hell have you been?” 

Aidan explained his plan to her and Josh as they looked at him in bewilderment. 

“Why would you think that was a good idea?”

“I didn’t fully think it through, okay?”

“Clearly.”

“You’re filthy, how about you go take a shower and I’ll make some dinner,” Josh suggested. 

“I’ll find us a movie to watch,” Sally offered. “Only fair I get to choose since I don’t get to eat,” she added. 

Eventually, they were rejoined by a much cleaner Aidan, wearing a thick sweatshirt and pajama pants-it felt so nice to be warm again. He and Josh brought their dinners to the couch, and the three of them settled in for a movie. 

Aidan hadn’t really registered how much he’d missed simple human-well, not exactly human-contact until now. Josh was warm against him, and even if he couldn’t actually touch Sally, her presence was solid (for a ghost) and real. He stretched his legs out onto the coffee table in front of him and leaned his head against Josh’s shoulder. He wanted to swear to himself that he’d never do anything stupid like that again, but he knew he probably would. He’d just have to hope his friends would be there for him again.

im so sorry if you read this i know its bad but by the time i realised how bad it was i was too far into writing it to start over

[ravenqueensspecialboi]

Fic Writers Week Day 5

Day 5: Verbatim

You mean I have to choose?  Alright, just sticking to Haikyuu for this one.  Here’s a bunch of quotes broken down by fic:

Little Ghost, Little Ghost, One I’m Scared of the Most (Haikyuu, BokuAka, One Shot):

"Vampires have tangible bodies, so you would have seen it by now.  So it has to be a gho-"  Kuroo trailed off, looking up from his phone as confusion, then realization dawned on his face.  He whipped his head around to glare at Bokuto.  "You moldy soybean, I can't believe you're trying to drag me into a conversation about paranormal bullshit." Bokuto smacked his hands on the table in frustration," Dude, I'm telling you the truth!  I've been telling you the truth!  There's a ghost in my apartment!  I heard it!" Bokuto paused, then added, "Wait, did you just call me a moldy soybean?"

Pretty Lights and Corner Stores (Haikyuu, DaiSuga, Series):

"I really couldn't impose," Koushi replied.  Yes, good.  He could still talk.  Score one for Koushi.

"I am many things, dear Sugawara, but a liar is not one of them," Tetsurou said, and boy wasn't it weird to see a cat talk.

Koushi almost pushed Tooru down the stairs.  Almost.  Instead, Koushi opted to tousle Tooru's perfectly styled hair and revel in the offended screeches that Tooru emitted.

"Can you be less of an asshole?" Koushi snapped. "I could," Tooru said before going completely limp and dragging Koushi down to the sidewalk.

"Koushi, Koushi the cat is talking," Tooru said.  "Koushi why is the cat talking?  Koushi why is the cat talking!?" Koushi and Daichi both opened their mouths to reply, but Tetsurou beat them to the punch. "Well, guess the cat's out of the bag," he said, shifting into human form with a lazy grin.

Koushi wasn't sure if he was dreaming that his boyfriend was calling his name in an attempt to wake him up, or if Daichi actually was that dumb.  He knew that Koushi wasn't a morning person, and that under no circumstances was he to be woken up before his alarm.  Ergo, this had to be a dream.  Koushi burrowed deeper into the covers.  If he hid under the blankets, he didn't have to wake up.  Those were the rules.

Ghost Finders Incorporated (Haikyuu, Multi Ship, Multi Chapter):

“Seriously, I SAW Bigfoot at the supermarket the other day, Asahi. He was there and he was looking for coupons in the dumpster. One of these days, I'm gonna fight him.”

"Sure, let me get Danny Phantom on the phone and have him come right on over," Chikara grumbled.  When his comment was met with confused looks, Chikara's face flushed.  "You know, Danny Phantom?" he asked.  "The cartoon character?  Who's half ghost?  Conveniently fights ghosts too?   Sucks them into a thermos?  You know what, never mind."

"Futakuchi you jerk," Moniwa grumbled.  "What the hell have you done now?"

"NOT TODAY BOX GHOST," Chikara screamed as he chucked his thermos at the pile of boxes. The thermos collided with the box, spraying coffee everywhere.  Chikara breathed heavily as he watched the coffee seep into the cardboard.  The box hadn't moved again. "Chikara, what the fuck?" Kinoshita groaned from behind him. And didn't that make this whole situation better?

"So when is a ghost not just a ghost, but an asshole?"

"Suga, I hate to interrupt," Daichi cut in, "but what the hell are you reading from? Suga looked up at Daichi, then back down at the book in his hands before responding, "It's an encyclopedia." "Suga…" "I'm not lying when I say it's an encyclopedia," Suga said in his defense as he held up the book.  He pointed at the title which definitely contained the word 'encyclopedia' and continued, "See?  Encyclopedia." "The Encyclopedia of Scary Things?" Daichi pressed. "I found it at the bookstore," Suga explained.  "It was in the clearance bin." Daichi let out an exasperated sigh, "Suga, I thought I said we should be looking at credible sources." Suga leveled Daichi with a look and deadpanned, "We're looking for ghosts and you want my sources to be 'credible'.  Right, my bad.  I forgot that I needed to get all of my information from Paranormal JSTOR.  Let me get right on that." "I see your point," Daichi muttered, but Suga wasn't done. "Dark JSTOR, show me forbidden research about the supernatural."

Tanaka and Noya were instantly all over Aone, sizing up the large, silent man with the most intense, synchronized scrutiny that Daichi had ever seen exhibited between two people who had just met two days prior.

"Sorry, you said you're the researcher?" "That I am," Suga replied proudly. "And you use The Encyclopedia of Scary Things to get your information?" Moniwa pressed. "Sometimes, yeah." "Is… Is that really the most credible source of information?" "That's what I said," Daichi muttered. Suga glanced down at the book in his lap.  He studied it for a minute before looking back at Moniwa, "I mean, considering I got it from the clearance bin, it's probably not the foremost in paranormal research.   But it's got the best title out of all the books I have, so it's my favorite." Moniwa did not look amused. "Well, it's probably better than when I was reading off of Wikipedia articles," Suga reasoned.  After a moment of intense eye contact with an increasingly distressed Moniwa, Suga turned to Narita.  "Can you grab the Breverton's Phantasmagoria out of my bag?  It's the black and orange book."

The Planchette spelled out, "D-E-A-D-S-E-R-I-O-U-S". "Hilarious."

"I hate everything that these past two months have stood for," Kei said.

Fright Night (Haikyuu, BoKuroo, One Shot):

Kuroo let out the most undignified screech of his life as Bokuto lifted him up and backwards.  The rest of the group looked on with a mixture of alarm and bemusement as Bokuto readjusted his grip on Kuroo and slung him over his shoulder. Bokuto took off down the hallway, screaming, "Not today, Ax Man!"

Bokuto flexed, one eyebrow raised with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face.  "What can I say?  These muscles are built for lifting Tetsus."

Not So Passive-Aggressive Post-It Notes (Haikyuu, DaiSuga One Shot):

"We need some sort of system," Suga groaned as he pulled a box of dubious looking leftovers from the fridge.  "Like a 'Hey, so and so is making dinner tonight' sort of system."  After a moment, Suga elaborated, "Chores list is the word I'm looking for."

The following morning Daichi woke up to two Post-it Notes on his face.   Wondering how Suga could have stuck the paper to his face without waking him up, he removed the neon green pieces of paper and gave them a once over.  The first one read, "Here's a passive aggressive Post-it note for you asshole >:0 –S".

"So, what happened exactly to warrant this one?" Kuroo had asked once when he came over for a study session. "You're going to have to be more specific," Daichi said without looking up from his notes. Kuroo cleared his throat and began to read, "Suga, there is a difference between 'dad' and 'daddy' and which one is appropriate to call me in public. Will discuss later.  Daichi."

You Teach Me, And I’ll Teach You (Haikyuu, DaiSuga, Multi Chapter):

Daichi was so screwed he failed to notice the Pelipper heading straight for him until it hit him like a freight train.

Daichi gave Suga a smirk before asking, "And you ended up living here?  What, did you decide the soda wasn't enough, so you took the house?" Suga glanced at Daichi out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable as he deadpanned, "No.  The soda wasn't enough."

Suga hopped off the porch to meet her and crouched down to catch her in his arms.  The Mudkip nuzzled under Suga's chin, happy to see him. "So I heard you like Mudkips," Daichi called from the porch. Suga stiffened visibly and Daichi choked back a laugh.  "You are quite literally the worst person in Hoenn, Sawamura Daichi," Suga hissed, straightening to glare at Daichi.

"Good thing we're surrounded by water Pokémon because you are thirsty as fuck," Yui teased.

Right.  Conversation.  Words.  Manners.  Yes.  That's a thing that Suga could do.

The people in the red sweaters Daichi had seen when he first arrived passed Daichi and Suga, making their way north.  Daichi assumed they were on their way to the Ocean Museum, which was odd considering Daichi could hear them muttering "seven-point-eight out of ten, too much fucking water" and "would not come here again" under their breath.

Daichi groaned, flopping face first onto the futon.  Shimmer, who had been unceremoniously left behind by Suga that morning, mewled pathetically at Daichi, stretching to paw at Daichi's ribs.  When Daichi didn't immediately respond to the vaporeon, Shimmer mewled again and jumped up onto the futon.  Shimmer proceeded to clamber onto Daichi's lower back, curl into a ball and fall asleep.

"Shit, it's the PokéCops!"

Like You a Latte (Haikyuu, DaiSuga, Series):

"Take that sass and put it in your pocket."

"Sounds like you've got a latte on your mind," Suga managed to choke out. "Did you just make a coffee pun at me?" Sawamura asked.  "That's pretty dorky." "My shop's called Espresso Yourself and you're surprised I'd make a coffee pun at you?" Suga retorted.

Suga fished his own phone out of his pocket and programmed Daichi's number into it (he tilted his phone away so Daichi couldn't see the arm flex emoji and the prayer hands emoji Suga added next to his name).

"This is now a 'Gang up on Suga' free zone.  Ok?  None of you are allowed to give me shit for the rest of the day.  Effective immediately.  You all have ruined my life." 

"Do you wanna borrow my fancy underwear, or are you sticking with the shrimp boxers?" 

"I will pay literally any amount of money for the cat to not be in there," Daichi pleaded to the empty air before cautiously approaching the dumpster. 

{Attachment: help.jpg} 

The group turned to see him leaning against the frame, the kitten perched on one shoulder and an incredibly smug look on Oikawa's face.   "He was attacking the toilet and was soaked from the sink, so I decided to intervene.  Seems he likes Uncle Tooru best-." At that moment, the kitten lunged at Oikawa's head, digging his tiny claws into Oikawa's scalp and biting at his hair.  Oikawa let out a screech, smacking into the door frame as the kitten continued his attack.  Koushi let out a squeal of delight and raced over to scoop the cat off of the panicked and mildly offended Oikawa.

"You are doing the best job!  Who's a little fighter?  You are!  You are!  Who wants to fight the very concept of existence?  That's right, it's you!" "Daichi, your boyfriend is praising that little monster for attacking me," Oikawa pouted.

[thatmomforem]

#thatsnothowirememberit

Activities, vacations, day trips… they all ebb and flow as we wander through this life. Whether you find yourself a highly involved person who can’t seem to find a free weekend or someone who’s able to slow down and enjoy time sitting on the back patio or your couch, we’re always technically doing something. As a child, these ‘somethings’ always seemed to just simply happen. Today, I find the adult version of myself in a much different position.

In my mind, the ebb and flow goes something like this…. As children, you’re at the mercy of your parents’ calendar and participate in what is planned for you – sports, vacations, birthday parties, etc. In college, you either party your ass off, study your ass off or do some combination of both, all at your own will. Then, we supposedly become adults and enter the working world where parties are replaced with late dinners and evenings at a bar with friends. Next up, parent life comes around and it’s now my turn to manage the calendar and drag my kid along… and if you’re anything like me, you spend a good amount of time googling ‘kid-friendly’ activities around town so you can get your family out of the house for a few hours and hopefully make some memories like those you have from 20 years ago.

As a child and teenager, I have fond memories of these activities my parents planned for us. We spent summers in Maine and Michigan visiting family – we checked out theme parks and canoed down rivers, we had picnics at rest areas along the long drive and took pictures of every bathroom along the way… no judgement – I was the child who had to stop to pee every hour so my mom had fun with it. We vacationed to Disney World and spent Saturdays at fairs – we did it all. My brother and I would look forward to these trips for the months leading up, marking each day off on the calendar. Then, once the big day finally arrived, I remember non-stop fun!

As the new mom of a 9-month old, I want to give her the same experiences my parents gave me. So, this past weekend, as Em is getting more mobile, eating food off our plates and is generally more alert and awake than the those first few months, I set out to make a memory. Though it’s still warm in Georgia and the leaves haven’t quite started to turn, I was committed to a ‘Fall activity.’ Every google search landed on apple picking – YES! We found one that had a huge bakery and candy shop, wine and hard cider tastings, outdoor lunch spot and of course, tractor rides out to the orchard to pick your own apples. I chose a weekend and we were off!

YOU. GUYS. Those memories we have as kids of the non-stop fun… running around to all the rides, eating all the funnel cakes, swimming for hours on end – whatever details your vacation included… those memories are a FAÇADE. Well maybe not that harsh, but they are certainly not the whole picture! Never have I truly understood all of the painstakingly hard work that went into the planning and execution of those good times until now. I mean I’ve planned vacations and herded large groups of people, but never for or with my child.

For our apple picking adventure, we made the hour and a half drive north before arriving at the Orchard entrance to find parking amongst the masses that also thought one of the first Fall Sundays was a good day to pick apples. We hopped out, did a diaper change, got a bottle ready, decided against the stroller, grabbed the Ergo Baby, made sure everything was in the diaper bag… and we’re finally ready! There’s a pseudo-sidewalk ramp / bridge that leads you from the parking lot to the main retail store that so seriously STOPS at the half way point. Our thoughts… imagine playing frogger with an infant strapped to your back. #nothanks

By the time we make it to the main building, everyone is starving so we decide to eat lunch first. The people at the deli inside don’t understand the meaning of ‘to go’ and there are all of 8 tables inside. So we trek towards the outdoor deck where it takes a hot minute to get seated - are finally sat at a filthy table covered with yellow jackets and proceeded to wait at least 20 minutes for someone to take our drink order. EFF THIS. I grabbed my friend and went inside to order wine flights for everyone while my husband fed Em cold pasta to keep her from loudly expressing her disappointment with her current situation – hangry. We continued to kill yellow jackets while eating our $10 chicken salad sandwiches before calling it quits after about an hour. Us – 5; Yellow Jackets – 0.

Next up – another game of frogger as we made our way back to the car for a diaper change and clothes swap since Em was already sweating and the bathroom was a mad house. One more game of frogger and we were back at the main building to purchase our bag to pick apples and, unbeknownst to us, to also purchase tickets to ride the tractor to the orchard so we could fill the bag we just bought. #wellalrightthen

We swung back to the bar for wine slushies and headed toward the tractor. Time for a game plan. One large bag for four adults and a tiny human with no teeth. Bag says it holds 30-40 apples. But we really like apple everything. Challenge Accepted.

We get to the orchard and are greeted with more yellow jackets, then proceeded to put Em in the Ergo Baby on my back so she could actually look around and get in on the apple picking action. I shit you not, I didn’t take more than 10 steps off the tractor before she was asleep. ASLEEP. Us big kids walked around scoping out the different apples, biting into each one to figure out which we wanted to take home and doing some sketchy tree climbing to get the best of the best, all the while sipping on our wine slushies and (I’m sure) attracting even more yellow jackets to be a part of our apple picking journey. #bastards

Once we were happy with the fullness of our bag, we got back in line to hitch a tractor back to the main building and OF COURSE Em woke up. As if she knew the hard work was over and legit said, ‘ok, tap me back in!’ Mind you we’ve been at the orchard for a total of 4 hours at this point, doing a whole lot of nothing except for the last hour – the hour she decided was most perfect for a nap.

We made it back to the main building, decided on what we wanted to grab from the store then divided and conquered – I went into the store and N took Em back to the car. I definitely drew the short straw there. The store was a nut house. It had to be at double capacity, filled to the brim with people who could give a shit less about actually making a decision and executing on that decision. 

The orchard is known for their fried pies, so of course I wanted to get a few. Being so popular, the bakery had its’ own line inside the store where one woman raced her massive cart – filled with ONE small plastic container of 6 donuts – to get in front of me in line, then turned her dial to slow-mo and I swear she took about one step every 3 minutes.

I finally got to the front of that line and there were only two out of the six available bakers able to take orders. Every other baker was preoccupied with someone staring at the case like either they’ve never seen a pie before or like they couldn’t read, taking 45 minutes to decide on 6 freaking pies! #RAWR

I made my way over to the wine section and had to push a lady out of the way with my cart because she had set up camp in the one corner that had a selection of all the wine the orchard let us sample in our wine flight. I know I didn’t wipe the scowl off my face; I was OVER IT. Not today lady – get to moving!! By the time I got to the register to pay, I realized N had my ID so I had to call our friend to come back up to the main building, show an ID, pay and get me the hell out of there.

After everything was said and done, we headed home with our 54 apples in tow and my wide-awake child.

When I originally planned this amazing apple picking day, I dreamed of patio lunches with wine, Em trying to grab an apple off the tree and us crushing fried pies on the drive home. Instead, we got an over-priced lunch swarming with yellow jackets, an hour-long nap for Em during the most fun part as we both sweated to death walking up and down an orchard and a hellish 45-minute train wreck experience of trying to get some damn pies.

I know that Em will only ‘remember’ this trip through the pictures we took. And it’s not the last time I’ll have grand visions of what our adventures will be, only to have them turn out completely different, whether that be for better or worse. I’m completely okay with that.

Will I drag our family apple picking again? Absolutely! Is it possible the day can go exactly the same way this one did?! YEP. But I genuinely don’t mind. For me - as the mom – I know our trips definitely won’t go the way I remember them from 20 years go. But for Em to have those memories - it's worth it every time. 

Em’s mom