#we love to see two dark blobs make out with each other :D

[nanihirunkits]

Come on, babe. You aren’t romantic at all.

WE ARE | EP11

[greenninjagal-blog]

Trouble

Hi yeah its me, and look I’m already back with a new fic for the new year :D cherish this moment I don’t think i will have have this turn around so quick again. For the TSS Fanworks Secret Santa Exchange because I was a pinch hitter :DD @nerdywriterhaven I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Patton has a thing about boardgames and Virgil has a thing about Logan. Together they figure it out. 

Word Count: 7900

Quick Taglist: @alias290​ @chelsvans​ @coyboi300​ @dante-reblogs @dwbh888​ @glitchybina​ @faithfulcat111​ @felicianoromano​ @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries​ @jemthebookworm​ @killerfangirl3​ @mrbubbajones​  @musical-nerd18​ @nonasficcollection​ @stricken-with-clairvoyancy​ @the-sunshine-dims​ @themagicheartmailman​ @themultishipperchild @thenaiads​ @treasureofpriam​ @vianadraws​ @welovelogansanders​  

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Patton shows up at Virgil’s dorm room just slightly after six pm on a Tuesday with two thermoses of soup that are still warm to the touch, a halloween tupperware of chocolate chip cookies that had been passed between him and Virgil so many times that Patton really doesn’t remember whose it was originally, his laptop, phone, the chargers for both, and the board game Trouble.

Virgil, predictably, shuts the door in his face the second he sees the game box hidden under all the other things in his arms. Patton also thinks that Virgil tells him to go away, but it’s muddled by the door.

Instead he shuffles all the supplies to his left arm and knee, and knocks again on his door just below the leftover tape from the nametag that his RA keeps putting up and Virgil keeps ripping down because he doesn’t want anyone knowing where he sleeps. His knuckles hum with the rap, datatata dat dat! And he smiles even when there’s the sound of something being thrown at the door from that side.

Patton chooses not to hear it because he’s a good friend and an even more stubborn houseguest.

The door a little bit down the hall opens up with the usual fanfare of someone who is running late to a night class-- which of course is the charm of Roman Prince. He looks nice, as usual, and Patton even thinks that if he hadn’t been wearing two different colored shoes, no one would even know that he had probably just woken up from a nap. The music of his room blares out into the hall with a rap song Patton thinks is Hip With the Kids these days, but Patton himself can’t make out any of the actual words.

All the much better because he’s pretty sure it’s Remus’s music and Remus likes his songs like he likes just about everything else: dirty, scandalous, and offensive. Not that Patton is good friends with either of the Prince siblings, but he’s heard the rumors floating around about both. Roman smiles at him, with glittering white teeth and dimples and soft warm brown eyes that could have been made of melted chocolate.

“Oh! What a spectre!” Roman says, seeming to forget that he’s on the way to a class at the sight of Patton standing at Virgil’s door. “Tell me, angel, what brings a glorious sight such as you to our dorm buildings on this amazing day?”

Virgil’s door swings back open before Patton can answer and Virgil hisses from the darkness, the way he’s usually prone to do whenever Roman or Remus or their blatant disregard for the rules about music volume at two AM is brought up.

He looks not much better from the glimpse Patton got before the door was closed in his face earlier: he’s still pale to the point of looking sickly and dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, with his eye shadow smeared and his hair not brushed at all. There’s a red imprint on the side of his face that Patton thinks matches a crease in his blankets or pillows from where he probably tried to suffocate himself on and off all day between anxiously texting Patton all about “the absolute worst day of my entire life and no I’m not even exaggerating this time Pat”.

“Hi Virgil!” Patton says, as Virgil reaches forward and to take a thermos and the tupperware from his arms and glare unbidenedly at Roman. “I brought dinner!”

“I hate you,” Virgil says, and does not mean because he loves Patton’s Broccoli Cheddar Cheer Up Soup and he’s been in need of cheering up since Patton had seen his messages at noon on his way to his second class of the day.

Roman gasps like he’s offended on behalf of Patton who is not offended as much as endeared to his best friend of several years. “Virgil! How could you act so callus towards a beautiful muse such as this?”

“Get lost, Princey,” Virgil tells him firmly, grumpily, Virgil-ly. “He came here specifically to make a pun about my pain.”

“I do it with love,” Patton adds. “And I brought cookies to make up for it.”

Roman looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information and Virgil doesn’t give him time to find out because he kinda hates Roman-- although Patton always tells him that “hate” is a strong word and Virgil always says he means it anyway. Patton supposes that if he, too, had hallmates that played music louder than life up to the early hours of the mornings during Finals Week, and then cranked it higher when he knocked on the door to ask them to stop, he might also strongly dislike them.

Virgil ushers Patton into the dark room and then kicks the door closed while Patton is waving goodbye at Roman.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light level: Virgil was certainly making use of those thick blackout curtains! It made the whole room look like it was three AM, rather than six PM! There are blobs of stuff all around the room, piles of clothes and blankets that Virgil prefers to have on the floor rather than put somewhere where he’s not going to trip over it in the middle of the night, but Patton supposes that’s just how Virgil’s always been.

“If someone breaks in, they’re gonna trip over this shit and I will be out of here long before they can get back up,” Virgil had said the first time Patton had suggested maybe, possibly cleaning something until they found the floor.

The desk where Virgil did his school work is empty and the textbooks and computer that normally covered it are all on the ground like a massacre from what Patton can make out. Virgil shuffles through the room and ends up turning on the purple lava lamp that Patton got him three years ago so that they could at least see each other and the faux-floor, and even then he doesn’t look happy at needing that much. The elevated bed had the blankets ripped up from it and turned into a nest with Virgil’s phone light peeking out from the depths like some underwater cave with a sea monster in it waiting for an unsuspecting diver.

“Remind me, how you got into this building?” Virgil says, tiredly as he pries open the cookie container. “It requires a key and last time I checked, you don’t have one of those, Pat.”

“As if a key would stop me from checking on you!” Patton replies. He plops himself on a pile of clothes and clears away another spot for Virgil to collapse next to him, so that Virgil can’t exactly escape. “Now, what is this about Logan again? You were being kinda vague and world-ending-y again. ”

Virgil lets out a moan around the cookie he shoved in his mouth and drops to the floor next to Patton, to munch angrily or just upsetly without actually offering an answer, because he’s Virgil and he’s allergic to talking about things that upset him. Patton sets down his other thermos, his laptop, and his own phone to make room for the game between them.

“Must we?” Virgil asks as Patton sets up the board with a practiced hand. Even in the near darkness of the room he knows exactly what he’s doing, and could probably figure it out with no light at all.

“Of course!” Patton says. “You sounded like you were in Trouble.”

“ Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s rather Risk -y of you to be self deprecating while within hugging distance.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything for a moment, just swallows the bite of his cookie and stares at the colored pieces in front of him. The board game is well worn and well loved-- one of the first ones Patton had ever gotten and one of the first ones he ever convinced Virgil to play with him. Although “convinced” is a strong word for how Patton had just been staring at the board numbly with red rimmed eyes when his father had asked Virgil to come over and try to coax him into eating something, anything, please .

They’d lost three pieces of the red team and one of the yellow and two of the green, but that’s okay because Patton generally played blue and Virgil had custom ordered four purple pieces for just the two of them a few years ago.

Carefully, placatingly, Virgil reaches a hand forward and pops the dice bubble for his number. He gets a four.

Patton gets a five.

“How many times have we played this one, Pat?” Virgil asks, in a voice much softer than before. In the faded purple light and the shadows, it’s hard to see the number on the die, and harder to see exactly what Virgil is thinking about with his eyes hidden like that. His nails are bitten down to the quick, ruining the black nail polish he spent an hour applying last weekend over their shared Biology notes.

Patton shrugs as he reaches forward to take his turn and pops the bubble. Honestly he didn’t think he could calculate the answer if Virgil pressed: this was their go-to game, this was his go-to pun, this is what they did even when the world was falling apart at the seams. It was easier to focus on moving playing pieces a couple pegs than it was to focus on the sound of a heart monitor or raspy breathing or bony pale fingers that shook when they tried to hold anything.

It was easier to find a way to win when the instructions were so clear, and the rules were so fair, and the consequences of losing were just having to put the game back in the box.

Virgil doesn’t say anything more and Patton doesn’t force him to, although he desperately wants to. He wants to reach out and catch Virgil’s hands in his own, he wants to give him a squeeze, he wants to wipe away the tear tracks in his makeup and he wants to tell Virgil that whatever it is, Patton will be there for him.

He wants Virgil to look at a game for once and have fun.

But the only sound in the room is the popper when they roll the die back and forth.

Patton gets the six first. He moves his second leftmost piece to the start and hits it again for a three.

Virgil stares his blue piece on the board for a long moment, without blinking. His hands lie limply in his lap and the tub of cookies sits at his knee. The purple light makes his eyes glisten sweetly, wetly, sadly, with a resignation that Patton knows and wishes he doesn’t. The lump in his throat swells up.

“Virgil?”

Virgil blinks. And then blinks again.

“Why should I even bother at this point?” he asks. He runs a hand up to his hair and tugs at the locks.

“Virgil, this is the opening of the game,” Patton says. “You can’t give up alrea--”

“But it’s not like I’m going to win,” Virgil says and Patton sucks in a breath sharply.

Oh. It was one of those days.

Patton thinks that he should have been expecting this; it had been a decent amount of time since Virgil last had refused to finish a game, and Patton had almost thought that maybe they had kicked those thoughts for good! That through sheer willpower and perseverance and proof to the contrary, they might have managed to rework how Virgil approached a challenge. That at one point Virgil might laugh and smile even when he wasn’t in the lead--

And yet, Patton’s sitting with one piece three spaces ahead of Virgil and Virgil is ready to call it quits. The game had just started. Patton had only been sitting in the room for a total of five minutes. Virgil hadn’t talked for more than a couple sentences.

It’s one of those days, except that Patton doesn’t think that it’s ever been this bad before, because usually they at least made it to the one piece around the board in Trouble , through to one check in Chess , through to one hotel being built in Monopoly , or one train ticket completed in Ticket to Ride .

“This is a sign, isn’t it?” Virgil continues. “I’m just being stupid even considering it. Of course I am. I always am. Nevermind, I don’t want to do this today Pat. Thanks for the soup and the cookies and I’m sorry that I made you walk all the way--”

Patton reaches out and snags Virgil’s arm before he can get all the way off the ground. The board nudges to the side dislodging several pieces into the surrounding void, but Patton thinks that he can replace a hundred playing pieces.

He cannot replace his best friend.

Virgil’s skin is cold, even though the room was comfortably warm, and he’s soft to the touch-- which is never what Patton expects when he gets those lightning quick hugs, when Virgil rests his head on his shoulder during movie nights, when they go shopping and there are crowds that make Virgil want to run for the hills and only Patton’s hand in his keeps him grounded there. Virgil is soft despite the jagged persona he puts on to drive away other people, and he hasn’t gotten any sort of touch in a while because he shuts up the moment that Patton’s own warmth floods over him.

The room holds the silence for an eternity: Virgil frozen halfway up from the ground, and Patton latching on to him like he can pluck all the reasons Virgil is upset out of his mind through osmosis. The lava lamp makes him look unreal, makes the silence ring louder, makes the lump in Patton’s throat grow larger.

“Virgil,” Patton says, “please.”

Please tell me what I can do. Please allow me to help. Please let me in.

“It’s stupid,” Virgil says.

Patton wants to laugh, because nothing that ever hurts Virgil has ever been stupid. “I don’t think so, kiddo.”

Virgil bites his lip and inhales with all of his chest.

“You didn’t go to any classes today. You’ve been crying. You’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.” Patton says. “Something happened. And it can’t possibly be stupid because nothing that affects you like this is can be anything less than something huge.”

Patton feels Virgil’s hand curl into a fist like he can hide his shaking when Patton is right there .

“Do you remember Logan Ackroyd,” Virgil says. “The senior a year older than us who I had Sociology with last year?”

The same Logan who took extra notes for when Virgil missed class and emailed them to him. The same Logan who offered Virgil a granola bar when he overheard that Virgil had missed lunch. The same Logan who helped Virgil break into the auditorium after school hours to search for his missing earbuds.

The same Logan who has eyes more knowledgeable than the entire galaxy, who wears a tie to class, who smells like coffee beans and pen ink and looks like he’d give really good, safe hugs.

The same Logan who Patton has never once met, but feels like he knows intimately thanks to Virgil’s starstruck rambles.

Logan must be something great and amazing. Patton has known that for a year now, from watching the months slip away and suddenly the ghost of Logan joins them on every outing, summoned by the blush over Virgil’s ears and the soft smile on his lips and the way that Virgil steadfastly won’t meet Patton’s eyes like it will prevent Patton from noticing the way that the senior is always on Virgil’s mind. Logan is kind. Logan is smart. Logan has a new book every day. Logan has a voice like the ocean waves.

Logan, Patton thinks, should have been more careful if he caused Virgil this much distress. Because there are things that Patton would do for Virgil that not even a cold blooded killer would consider doing.

“Yeah,” Patton says, with a smile soft and dumb and innocent. “You guys have Analytical Science together this year, right?”

Virgil lets go of his lip, and breathes out a breath that sounds like more relief than Patton is supposed to hear. “Yeah. Yeah. He, uh… yeah.” Virgil shifts back down, shifts so that he’s on his knees and Patton is right next to him, and they’re still touching and that warmth is stronger than the shadows made by the blobs in the lava lamp.

“Janus… Janus asked him out yesterday,” Virgil says, using his other hand to pluck at a thread in his jeans.

Oh. Patton doesn’t think cookies and soup were enough.

And golly, Patton doesn’t think Logan is as smart as Virgil is always saying he is either, because if he said yes in front of Virgil, he must have been the stupidest person on the planet.

Virgil is quiet, dismissible, a shadow in his own skin even on his best days. But he is not un-noticeable.

He carries an aura around himself that storms and thunders and promises danger to those that get too close. His laughter is a threat first and a comfort second. His smile is a knife blade that even Patton sometimes wonders if he might find in his back one day. Virgil was someone that you noticed and you stayed the fudge away from.

Unless you were Patton, who hadn’t been afraid of Death from the moment he watched his mother cough up blood over the cards to CandyLand, watched his mother turn into a real-life game of Operation, watched her breathing get ragged and her fingers struggle to hold playing cards between them.

Logan hadn’t been scared away by Virgil’s thunder, and somehow he had weathered the storm that Virgil put up to protect himself and lived securely in the eye of the hurricane. And somehow he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, had taken advantage of Virgil’s softening heart just to shatter it.

“He didn’t…” Virgil says. “Janus… he didn’t really mean it. I don’t think. It might have been a joke because they’re friends but Logan told everyone that he would only consider dating someone who could… could…”

“Could what?”

Virgil’s eyes flick down to the Trouble game board, to the pieces lost in chaos of the floor, to the box they hadn’t needed except for transport. Patton feels his heart thud in his chest before he crawls up his throat and he tastes it in his mouth along with the remains of the raw cookie dough he licked off the spoon while cleaning up.

Virgil’s words come back to him in whispers. But it’s not like I’m going to win. This is a sign, isn’t it? I’m just being stupid even considering it.

“Someone who could….” Patton says, “beat him in a boardgame?”

Virgil yanks the thread on his jeans sharply and nods without meeting Patton’s eyes. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Virgil,” Patton says. “This is great! We’ve been playing games together for years! You can beat--”

“That’s the thing!” Virgil says with his shoulders curling up to his ears and burying him in layers of excess fabric. “Pat, I can’t even beat you in a board game and I know all your strategies!”

“I don’t think that Trouble actually has any strategies. It’s really luck of the roll--”

Virgil peeks out of his hood enough to give Patton a miserable glare. “When was the last time I won against you, Pat? Be honest.”

Patton purses his lips. “I don’t think that’s fair, kiddo. I’ve been playing games since I was able to understand the rules--”

“You don’t even remember, do you.”

“It was Dominos and you won by twenty points.”

“Nice try, but you purposely miscounted and you actually won by two.” Virgil reaches out for another cookie and offers it to Patton without making any move to pull his other hand from Patton’s hold.

“You would have a lot more wins if you didn’t insist on not finishing games sometimes!” Patton says. “You never know the ending of a game until you play it out!”

“I could tell you that Logan was going to beat Janus in Chess the moment the opening moves were made,” Virgil counters. “He won in twelve moves and then the next game in six.”

Patton opens his mouth, but Virgil shoves the cookie in before he can actually say anything.

“And God Rest Remy’s soul because Logan obliterated him in Trivia Pursuit.” Virgil continues, “He turned Roman to mincemeat over Scrabble, and not only beat Remus in Poker, but won one hundred dollars off him too. I also watched him win in Othello against some kid he tutored in Calc, a game of Mancala with an art kid who was doing it for clout, and Stratego which he won before I finished reading the fuuuuuudging rules and made his opponent cry over it.”

Patton swallows down a bite of cookie that he didn’t not chew well enough because he feels it tear up his esophagus as it goes. Virgil politely ignores him dying for a second and offers him his own thermos of soup to help it down, before remembering that he’s supposed to be brooding and staring at Patton for too long makes him soft.

“Not to make a pun here, but no dice; I legitimately cannot beat Logan,” Virgil says. “He’s just… so good. At everything. What is the point in humiliating myself with this? Even if I find a game so obscure that he’s never heard of it and doesn’t have a strategy built for it, just going up to him and putting the board between us is like-- that’s telling him that I’ve had this massive stupid crush on him for ages and what if he doesn’t even like me? What if I win and then he has to date me because he said so but he actually hates me? What if--”

Patton coughs so hard he thinks he might have dislodged his own lung, which is fine!! Because at least it got Virgil to snap back to him and table his panicky spiral for later.

“Weren’t you,” Patton croaks, “Weren’t you already going to confess to him? You bought the chocolate kisses and you sent me pictures of them in your bag right before class last week.”

Patton can’t see Virgil’s ears because of his hood but he knows that they’re glowing red from the way that Virgil can’t meet his eyes again.

“I just….I did but then he….” Virgil nudges a pile of questionably clean band t-shirts with his socked foot. “He said he wasn’t interested because class was starting and I still don’t know if he meant an actual kiss or a Hershey kiss because he had to leave class early to pick up his kid brother from his middle school because he was sick with a fever and then I was too mortified to bring it back up-- See Pat, I can’t even come up with a creative way to tell Logan that I wanna listen to him ramble about jellyfish immortality and play with his hair or tell him that I wanna know what the flavor of his chapstick is-- which, by the way, I did say to him and he told me was cake batter and that I could find it at the corner drugstore because he thought I was looking for recommendations-- There is no way to subtly tell him that I want to date him.”

“Then maybe… don’t be subtle?” Patton suggests, and then points at the game between them. “Boardgame?”

Virgil scowls at the game like it had personally offended him. “But I can’t beat him. And if I lose and by some miracle he still wants to be seen with me, then he’d be breaking the very rules he set up and everyone else who lost is going to be pissed at both of us and I can’t do that to Logan.”

Patton bites back the then don’t lose that he wants to say. It seems so obvious to him. He doesn’t really see why Virgil doesn’t think he can win one single game. There isn’t even a rule that says Virgil can’t come back and play again-- which isn’t that the point of games? That you can play them for a little while, pack them up, and then come back to them later? That you sit down with friends-maybe-more and you play and have fun ?

Not for the first time, and not for the last time, Patton wonders why Virgil ever played games with him at all. He knows the first time was pity because he found Patton sitting on the floor of his bedroom with Trouble on the ground in front of him and staring at it numbly because he had cried all the tears out of himself already at the hospital, at the funeral, at the everything that had come after that he couldn’t remember. The first time it had been to get Patton to react because he had been so lost, but every time after that Virgil had made the conscious decision to pick up the pieces.

Even if sometimes he had put them back down halfway through and Patton hadn’t figured out how to convince him that the point isn’t to win as much as it is to have fun.

Virgil twists his wrist loosely in Patton’s grip so that he’s holding Patton back, his cold fingers somehow feeling comforting rather than startling. Patton has always loved that about him, although he’s never sure how that works. The coolness of his touch is familiar, but the vulnerability of Virgil reaching out is something newer, something special, something fragile and Virgil holds onto him like he’s expecting Patton to let go at any moment and Patton steadfastly refuses to let him drift off. Patton squeezes his wrist gently, lightly, softly.

I’m here. I’m not leaving. We’re in this together.

“I think that Logan can make decisions for himself,” Patton says with words so featherlight they barely move the air. “Remember the dominos? Any player can choose to lose, whether it be miscounting or it be refusing to finish the game in the end. But if you never even offer to play with him… Logan can’t make that choice, Virgil.”

Virgil holds his gaze for a moment, two, three, and there’s something in his eyes that shies away from the glow of the light, something slippery and weak and scared. Something that Patton is afraid to put a name to, lest it disappear from him forever.

Something that causes Virgil to squeeze his wrist back.

Together. Us. We’ve got this.

“So what game do you want to play with Logan?” Patton asks. “We can go look at my collection if you want? I loaned out Backgammon to a girl in my Shakespearean class, but other than that I have the usuals with me.”

Virgil takes a deep breath. “Can we…” He says. “Do it tomorrow? I don’t want…” He squeezes Patton’s wrist again and Patton can fill in the rest of the blanks with his own interpretations. He is, after all, fluent in Virgilese, as much as Virgil is fluent in Pattonish.

“Yeah, yeah,” Patton says and shifts through the piles of clothes that act as cushions so he’s right next to Virgil, pressing their shoulders together, leaning his head on Virgil’s collarbone, and reaching around him for another cookie. Virgil moves the tub between them and then pulls the Trouble game board in front of that.

He hesitates for another moment-- they’re missing two of Patton’s blue pieces to the floor, and one of Virgil’s purples to a pile of sweatshirts-- but the fact that Virgil drops forward and presses the bubble to roll the die makes Patton’s chest warm.

He gets a six, and then a four and that thing in his eyes seems to grow just a bit stronger.

That is, of course, when the rap music from next door starts up loud enough to shake the entire room and Patton wonders if Logan would still be up for playing a game with Virgil when he’s incarcerated for second degree murder.

Patton, at least, gets a hug out of it, when he tackles Virgil to the ground before he can get to the door, and he manages to coax Virgil back to their area, back to the floor, back to the game, and then later into the blanket-fort-and-movie-night that they watch with one earbud each and their foreheads pressed together late into the night.

***

Patton’s mother developed lung cancer when he was seven. He remembers it in vague flashes: the blood, the shakiness, her fall to the floor because they had never had any sign of it happening until it was too late to do much about it. He was told it was because his maternal grandparents both smoked a lot when she was growing up and she spent the weekends helping them around the house still.

The doctors said she had a year. She got eighteen months.

He barely remembers her face from his own memories anymore, all of them blurred and twisted by the passage of time that he almost got swept away in entirely. Her picture still hangs around the house, though, and he guesses he’s lucky in that regard. He liked how he could see her every time he passed by the stairs, even after his dad remarried and he had grown up and the telemarketers stopped calling the house to tell her that there was an interesting charge on the credit card she didn’t have anymore.

He still wakes up sometimes with his heart beating in his ears and his eyes blinded with tears and his lungs refusing to cooperate because of nightmares about forgetting her entirely, of seeing her stand up to call out to his dad, of seeing her cough out blood and then fall to the floor right in front of him as his dad is running down the stairs. He still wakes up and feels his heart aching where she might have once been if everything had gone just a little bit different. He still wakes up and wishes that he could go back to sleep because at least in his dreams she’s still there waiting with a deck of cards and a smile that says, “Alright, Buster, don’t think I’m going to go easy on you this time!”  

Usually those types of days he labels as “Bad Ones”, and he finds it harder to crawl from under his blankets to do pretty much anything.

Virgil knows immediately when he sees Patton staring at his black laptop screen that it’s a Bad One.

Patton loves that he knows not to ask, hates that Virgil can read him so easily, wants to cry because it’s been so long and shouldn’t the edges of that pain have gone away by now? He wants to pull Virgil’s purple comforter back over them and drift back off into the blissful warmth while pretending that the idea of a game right now didn’t make his hands shake.

She hadn’t left Patton specifically a lot of things, but the things that she had left him had been boardgames. Things that she had collected over the years and kept on a shelf in the study for them to play after work and school: Candyland, Trouble, Snakes and Ladders. She had a whole shelf for him when he got to an age where he could understand more complex concepts: Ticket to Ride, Pandemic, Mysterium, Star Realms, Settlers of Catan.

After she was gone… Patton had stared at that shelf and wondered if she had ever thought that maybe she wouldn’t get a chance to play some of them with him.

He wonders how many of them he could have beat her at, how many of them she might let him win in, how many of them they would love to play together and how many of them they would both play through once and then wrinkle their noses at because it wasn’t what they thought it was going to be.

He wonders and maybe it’s a bit too much because he’s stomach is rolling nauseously and he thinks that if he has to look at a game he’ll actually throw up this time.

Virgil doesn’t say anything, even as he gets up and Patton remains buried under too many blankets and the alarm on his phone goes off again for his morning class. The darkness is safe and warm and Patton thinks he understands why Virgil likes it so much as he closes his eyes and tries not to think of a woman who is long gone and in the ground.

“Breakfast?” Virgil whispers at some point.

“Cookies,” Patton mumbles back.

Virgil had carted a hand through his curls and then the door to the room had opened closed and locked behind him. Patton thinks that was nice of him-- to lock the door like he was protecting anyone from coming in and stealing his valuables even though Patton was there. Or maybe since Patton was there? Patton presses his head into a pillow that smells vaguely like chocolate cherries and black licorice and other things that screamed Virgil, and thinks that Virgil might consider Patton a valuable that needs to be protected and kept safe.

Sometime later Patton wakes up with Virgil lying beside him, headphones on and typing on his computer with one hand while dragging fingers through Patton’s curls with the other. It’s impressive of him by itself, but not nearly as impressive as the fact that Virgil’s hood is down and the blackout curtains are parted enough to bring in a decent amount of light.

Virgil blinks at him and removes one earmuff. “I read that flowers need sunlight to grow,” he says in lieu of explaining the rays of light cascading into the room over the two of them.

Patton wants to laugh, and thinks he might if it were any other day and not this one. He settles for a somewhat bent smile and Virgil reaches to somewhere he can’t see and brings back a muffin from the Campus Cafe.

“Chocolate Chip,” he says. “Which is like a cookie, but better because it’s a muffin and I said so.”

Patton can’t really tell if the tears that prick in his eyes are from the lingering sadness or the softness of just a simple gesture from his best friend. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.

It’s a muffin, not something he should be crying over, and he repeats it even as he takes a bite from the top and Virgil pretends like he doesn’t see Patton scrubbing his cheeks as he chews. It’s a muffin, but Virgil got it just for him and Virgil came right back here and sat with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone and sad and and and--

And if Patton liked anyone romantically like that(™) he thinks he would have fallen straight into love with Virgil.

“Did you miss class?” Patton whispers.

Virgil shrugs. “Nothing important. I sent an email to my teachers saying that I wasn’t feeling too good and didn’t want to risk accidentally spreading anything to anyone, which already helps because I didn’t go to class yesterday and I’ve already turned in all my work for the week for most of my classes. Besides, you were here and I didn’t want to just leave you all alone-- what if Roman started playing his Disney compilations at 160 decibels again?”

“You like Disney, though.”

“I also like my hearing and my best friend,” Virgil says like it’s nothing, like it’s obvious, like it shouldn’t be making Patton tear up again because Virgil is just so nice.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispers.

Virgil moves his computer and jostles around on the bed until they’re lying side-by-side even though the bed was definitely not made for two persons. He presses his head to Patton’s, and he’s cool and soft and safe.

Together. We got this.

“Your mom?” He asks.

Patton nods, with a lump in his throat that makes all the words he wants to say crumble to ashes on his tongue. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Pat,” Virgil says.

“But… Logan…”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Virgil says. “And, full offense, but no boy is going to be more important to me than you regardless of how fuuuuuuunkily hot he is. Funkily, yeah, sure, that’s a word that I definitely was going to say right there.”

Patton feels the laugh build up in his chest, against all the odds in the world, and it tastes like chocolate when it rolls out of his mouth.

Virgil bumps his shoulder, and grins. “Look, I’m trying here. Cursing is in my nature!”

“Thank you,” Patton says. For everything.

“No prob, Bob,” Virgil says. I would do it all all over again and never change a thing.

“I’m not Bob! I’m Pat!”

Virgil’s laugh is like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm, like a rainbow cascading through the sky, like being caught after a fall. Patton gets the energy to smile back when he hears it and that alone nearly makes him want to cry again.

Patton twists the blanket under him between his fingers and takes a deep breath. “Did you…” He says before pausing to swallow back the taste of his own stomach acids he’s not sure is entirely imaginary. “Did you pick a game? For Logan?”

Virgil’s nose twitches, which means the answer is a sound no. “It’s not that important right now. You’re not feeling up to--”

“ Vir -gil,” Patton says and Virgil’s nose twitches again.

They share a look for another minute, two, three, before Virgil exhales and looks away.

“Fine, fine,” he says. “I didn’t pick out a game yet. I actually saw him in the Cafe earlier with Janus and he waved, though, which was awesome until I waved back and forgot to look where I was going and walked straight into a glass door. At this point it’s going to be a miracle if Logan doesn’t laugh in my face when I ask him to play anything with me.”

“He won’t laugh at you,” Patton says and Virgil slides his arms up and crosses them so he can bury his chin in them like he doesn’t believe Patton at all. “From what you’ve told me, Logan is really nice isn’t he? And the other day didn’t you say that he went on a rant about Pluto being a planet? I think that’s just as silly as you walking into a door.”

Virgil hums to show he’s listening, even if he isn’t taking the words to heart as much as letting them filter through his ears. Patton licks the last of the chocolate muffin from his fingertips and blinks away the urge to hide away from the rest of the world when he spies the box for Trouble on the ground next to Virgil’s desk trash can.

Virgil follows his gaze to the box and he purses his lips, although Patton isn’t sure if its from the fact that he’s remembering that neither of them won last night, or if he’s thinking about odds of beating Logan again or if he, too, is thinking about ghostly fingers trying so hard to move playing pieces that they can no longer touch.

Patton rolls over and stares at Virgil’s ceiling instead, counting his breaths until he feels like the static between his ears isn’t going to overwhelm him.

“What game do you want to play?” Patton asks.

“I won’t win.”

“I didn’t ask what game you wanted to win,” Patton points out. “What game do you want to play against Logan?”

Virgil is quiet, but he sighs so heavily that Patton can see his bangs flutter out of the corner of his eyes.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Virgil says, and again Patton remembers that nothing Virgil ever says has ever once been stupid. “But I don’t want to play against him at all.”

Patton frowns, rolling his head to the side to take in Virgil’s gaze that is already looking at him. His dark eyes are there and the something in them that Patton doesn’t want to put a name to is there again, shining just like the rays of light between Virgil’s blinds.

“I mean I want to play a game with Logan, just not against Logan. It’s stupid, okay? I was just thinking about the cooperative games back at your house that we used to play with your dad and step mom-- you know like the Unlock , Escape-room-in-a-box games? Or maybe Flashpoint? Or Forbidden Island? I was just thinking how shit I am at making my own decisions in Pandemic and Logan is really good at strategy so I bet that working together we’d be able to beat any game.”

Patton breathes deeply, sharply, and tries to ignore the piercing pain in his chest at the mention of the games. Virgil winces like he wants to take the words right back out of the air and hide them somewhere where neither of them have to face them at all.

“I don’t…” Virgil says, “I don’t want to play against him and lose. I’d rather play with him and win. Again: it’s stupid.”

Patton closes his eyes, and sees the shelf his mom left him full of boardgames she picked out long before he was past chewing on building blocks, of him at eleven years old finally getting the courage to drag a kitchen chair to the case and pick out a game while Virgil stood by to make sure he didn’t fall and to remind him that it was okay if he didn’t didn’t feel strong enough to try, of the two of them sitting at the kitchen table with the game directions between them that don’t really make any sense because it there’s no directions on how to attack each other when his dad comes home early and freezes at the sight

He might not remember his mother’s face outside of photographs he doesn’t remember being taken, but he remembers clearly the softness of his father’s expression when he dropped into the seat next to them and asked if they knew how to play this one yet.

“It’s a cooperative game,” his dad said, with a voice shaking and eyes wet. “That means we all work together to get to the goal at the end. Each player is going to have a different superpower-ability-thing that they can do that will make it easier for us to win as a team.”

So no, Patton doesn’t think that it’s stupid at all. It’s hard to do things by themselves, it’s scary, it’s difficult, it’s frustrating. That’s why when Virgil is texting him that the world is ending because of a boy, Patton will always show up at his dorm with soup and cookies and a game for them to play together instead of telling him that he’s being dramatic and silly. That’s why when Patton is missing a woman who hasn’t been in his life for twelve years now, Virgil will always stay with him to remind him that he’s going to get through it, instead of telling him to suck it up.

It’s much easier to win when they’re on the same side.

And Virgil has only ever had fun when playing games that he wins, hasn’t he?

“Why don’t you?” Patton asks suddenly.

Virgil must have nodded off because he jerks suddenly when Patton speaks up, “huh?”

“Why don’t you play a cooperative game?” Patton asks. “What did Logan say specifically about the whole dating thing?”

Virgil rubs an eye and squints at him tiredly. “I told you, he said he would only date someone who beats him at a game. I don’t--”

“Did he say beats him, or beats the game with him?”

“Neither?” Virgil says. “He literally said to Janus very loudly, “I will only consider someone a viable romantic partner if they can win in a game with me.””

“In a game with me,” Patton repeats. “ In a game with me. Not in a game against me!”

It takes Virgil a long, breathless moment to comprehend it, but it’s clear the moment it hits him. Virgil jerks so hard that he tumbles off the bed entirely and to the ground in a fumbling of long limbs, blankets, dubiously cleaned clothes, and his computer-headphones combo. Patton yelps and leans over to check on him but Virgil doesn’t even look like he noticed.

“Holy Shit,” He says, “holy shit, Pat.”

“Language.”

“ HOLY SHIT!” Virgil yells, and then he laughs and covers his mouth like he’s trying to bottle up the sound. “Patton! Patton! He didn’t say against!”

Virgil’s eyes sparkle, the light through the window makes his dark hair shine and just looking at him Patton thinks he’s never once seen him so happy before, so delighted, so excited.

So full of hope.

The next thing he knows is that he’s sitting up and Virgil is wrapped around him in a hug so tight, so soft, so cool and wonderful that those pesky tears come right back to his eyes. Virgil hugs like he’s unafraid of anything for just this endless moment, like he’s never been unsure of physical touch before, like he’s done it a million times before and Patton shouldn’t feel his breath catch in his lungs lest he shatter this dream with an exhale.

He’s standing at the eye of the storm that is Virgil, and he’s never felt so safe before in his life.

“Thank you,” Virgil whispers, “I, uh, I’m sorry for the sudden hug--”

And then, of course, Remus’s music comes back with a vengeance that rattles the ceiling tiles overhead and makes Virgil hiss and break the hug. Patton thinks that he could forgive it, if it weren’t for the unmistakable sound Disney’s Mulan soundtrack also ringing in the air, like it was trying to be heard over the rap music. Dust sprinkles from the tiles overhead.

“I’m going to kill them both,” Virgil vows, but Patton is quicker. He lunges forward before he even knows what he’s doing and coils around Virgil as tightly as he can, and just hugs him, his best friend, the guy who’s always been there for him, and who deserved all the happiness that he could get.

“Pat?” Virgil says.

“If Logan doesn’t treat you right I’m going to make sure no one finds his body,” Patton says.

And Virgil’s laughter makes it sound like he doesn’t quite believe Patton, but that’s okay. Virgil is still looking for reasons to play a game if not to win, and Patton is still trying to find a game that makes him smile, and together they’re going to figure out how to get Virgil to win with Logan.

But for now the hug is good, and the company is nice, and they have the game Trouble packed away ready for the next time they want to play.

[quillvine]

Yacht

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

A/N: This is based off an ask I left @agenthotchner about the BAU on a yacht. Honestly I thought I would have this out two weeks ago but apparently I cannot proof read to save my life.

You didn’t think you had that many clothes in your closet. After looking through your clothes for what feels like hours, they’re all starting to blur into one big blob of color and you still have no idea what to wear.

You sigh as you paw through your closet, “What even counts as preppy clothes?” you ask Aaron.

“I don’t know honey, just wear whatever, you look good in anything,” he tells you.

Rossi had invited the team out for a trip on his new yacht for a day off. As soon as everyone heard the word ‘yacht’ (and ‘day off’) they were immediately on board. Especially Penelope who took the word yacht and ran with it, demanding that everyone wear preppy clothes, because “it’s a yacht you guys, preppy clothes are mandatory.”

It sounded like a fun idea at the time, but what the hell do preppy clothes look like?

“Baby, what do you think?” Aaron asks as he holds up two shirts, “Navy or red?”

“Uhh the Navy one, it goes nicely with those khakis I like.” You tell him as you go through your clothes.

“Oh, these khakis?” He says pulling out the pair from the dresser.

You look up to meet his eyes. The amusement in them matches the shit-eating smile on his face and your wolfish grin. He knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“Yeah those, they highlight your assets nicely.” You say nonchalantly as you pull some pieces out of your closet, “what do you think, complement or match?”

“Nuh-uh, we are not done here,” Aaron says as he walks towards you.

You slowly back up, falling onto the mattress when the back of your knees hit the bed frame. He leans over you pushing your hands over your head. Slowly his lips move to meet yours, he kisses you leisurely and gently. But the way Aaron’s hand grips your wrist tells you that he’s hungry.

You gently push against his hold, he lets you go, instead choosing to frame your face with his forearms. He lovingly goes to pepper kisses down the column of your neck making you giggle. You turn your head and bring your shoulders up to your ears in an effort to get Aaron to stop. 

“Come on we’re going to be late.” You say pushing him away, “Dave said that they’d leave without us if we’re late”

“Don’t worry about that. Dave wouldn’t dare.” He tells you as he tries to go in for a kiss on the lips.

You hold a finger against his lips to stop him from coming closer. He stops his attack on your lips to kiss, instead choosing to press a kiss to your index finger. His antics make you roll your eyes but with the way he gazes at you with complete adoration in his eyes, you can’t stay mad at him for long. 

You give him a silly grin before saying, “But he would make a joke about how a quickie is supposed to be quick and you know Emily and Mor- oh!”

Aaron cuts you off by burying his face into your shoulder and laughing. The vibrations tickle your sensitive skin effectively silencing you. His lips forge a path up your neck to your neck, his nose bumping against the sweet spot behind your ear. Your fingers find their way to his hair, curling around his dark locks.

At this point, you don’t even care if you guys are going to be late because the way Aaron is nibbling on your neck trumps any worry about jokes from the rest of the team. You knew from the moment he pulled out that navy shirt you would have a hard time keeping your hands to yourself, but you didn’t think that it would happen so soon.

Throughout all of this Aaron has managed to push you up the bed so you’re leaning against the headboard. His hands are on your hips and he sits on top of you straddling your waist. His warm hands make their way up to your waist, his thumbs brushing against your rib cage.

Suddenly he pulls away from you and you groan in frustration. He better have not gotten you all worked up just to deny you.

Instead, he trails a finger up from your stomach, over your chest, and to your now marked up neck. He hums thoughtfully biting his lower lip as he admires your form on the bed.

“I think match, it’ll highlight your bruises.”

&

As it turns out Rossi did in fact almost leave you behind. The smirks the team gave you when you came running down the dock were only rivaled by the ones they gave you when they saw the badly covered up marks on your neck. Not that you minded, you’ve always liked to show off.

You’re sitting with Penelope under the awning of the yacht, it seems that you two are the only ones who care about not getting skin cancer. The rest of the crew is out enjoying some vitamin D. Aaron and Rossi are sharing a drink, while Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Reid are playing a rowdy game of poker.

Damn you wish you were rich. Then maybe all of your weekends would be like this. Jack would certainly enjoy yacht time. Not to mention that you could see Aaron on nice fitting slacks and preppy country club outfits all the time. What a sight would that be, even if it’s not his normal style Aaron looks good in basically everything.

You lean back in your lounge chair as you chat with Penelope, or rather as you listen to Penelope talk. You love her to bits but she has the tendency to steamroll over a conversation.

You’re not really listening though, you’re too busy looking at Aaron’s ass in those slacks. Man, you really should try to get him to wear them to work more often. Or at least try and get him to forgo the blazer in the office.

He catches you staring and gives you a small smirk. Busted. Unfortunately, Dave sees Aaron’s little smile and turns around to give you a smirk of his own. Double busted.

It’s not really your fault though, how can you not keep your eyes off of your very very sexy husband? He has his sleeves are rolled up showing off his forearms and you can see his muscles flex as he crosses his arms.

Aaron catches your gaze again, this time giving you a look that makes you squirm in your seat and wonder if it would be entirely appropriate to drag him into one of the guest rooms and take him right then and there. 

Surely Dave wouldn’t mind, he’s been eyeing the poker game for a while now and Penny can totally join too, she'd definitely have fun. It’s not like you have anything to lose, sure you’ll probably get teased by the team later but it’s not even that big of a deal if you get to see Aaron out of those khakis.

You’re pulled from your thoughts by a smack on your arm. You glance over to see Penelope gaping in disbelief, “You are so not listening to me! I’m trying to tell you a story so good it’ll blow your mind and you’re making bedroom eyes with Hotch.”

“Pen, I’m sorry, but can you blame me?” You ask her.

“No I can’t you know how I feel about my Chocolate Adonis,” she says, “But I am telling you the story of how I managed to get Reid to wear that magnificent nautical-themed striped sweater, so you better listen up.”

You sneak one last look at Aaron, before turning your attention back to Penelope. She’s talking animatedly, waving her hands around to emphasize her point. You smile and nod along at all the right points but your mind is still on Aaron and how delicious he looks today.

Later. You tell yourself. You’ll get into his pants later. After all, what’s the point if there’s no chase?

&

It seems that the later it gets the more out of control the team gets. The sun is just setting and drinks have been flowing ever since you guys got on the yacht so you know you’re in for a wild night.

All of you have joined the poker game now and are losing handily to Reid and his Vegas/MIT magic. Sometimes you can’t tell if he’s really that good or just stacking the deck. The team hates it, Morgan especially he always loses big.

“Royal flush,” Spencer says smugly as he lays his cards on the table.

“No, no,” Derek says, “Nuh-uh you cheated.”

“I did not!” Spencer argues, “poker is inherently mathematical, I can easily calculate the among of hand combination at any given time you simply have to-”

“Nuh-uh, if it would get you banned in Vegas it's cheating,” Derek tells him.

“I’ll have you know that I have done this multiple times and have not been banned, so tell me Derek Morgan are you calling me a cheater?”

Spencer is practically fuming, he curls his fingers into a fist accidentally bending the cards in his hands. His jaw is set and he stares down Morgan definitely with a raised eyebrow.

“Ya know what? Yeah, yeah I am, Spencer Reid you are a cheater.” Derek says as he slams his hand on the table.

You all hold your breath as you watch the scene unfold in front of you. Neither of them is actually going to full-on fight each other but that doesn’t stop the team from trying to provoke them.

“Fight, fight, fight” Emily cries, jumping to her feet.

You follow suit, clapping your hands together, “yeah come on Reid don’t just sit there and take it.”

You feel Aaron’s warm arms grab you around the wait and bring back to sitting. He plants you down firmly back on your chair giving you a squeeze. It’s tight enough for you to know that a play fight between Reid and Morgan is the last thing that he wants, but not tight enough to actually hurt.

You turn around to give him a guilty smile but the damage is already done. Morgan has already started taking wide swings at Reid with Emily and JJ are both goading them on.

Spencer steps back to avoid Morgan’s hands, his feet dangerously close to the edge.

“Derek if you step any closer you’re gonna push Reid into the water,” Hotch warns.

Neither of them listens to Aaron’s warning. Instead, Morgan makes another playful jab at Reid who just barely manages to dodge it.

You guys cheer as Reid begins to fight back, making small jabs of his own. He’s terribly uncoordinated though, nearly tripping over himself as he lunges towards Morgan.

Derek shakes his head in amusement “You're gonna have to do better than that Pretty Boy.”

He shifts on his feet reading himself to take another swing at Spencer. Reid copies Morgan’s stance pressing his feet against the deck of the yacht. The two of them standoff, circling each other. They’ve managed to move away from the edge of the yacht, you notice. Hopefully, no one will fall ov-

Splash.

It seems you spoke too soon.

Somehow Morgan had misjudged the distance between him and Spencer and his forward momentum from when lunged at Spence carried him overboard.

You all peer over the edge of the yacht wondering you should get the life preserver ring out. But Morgan surfaces, sitting water out from his mouth.

“Hotch did you see that?” Morgan yells clinging to the side of the boat, “he totally pushed me.”

Aaron sighs and rests his head against your shoulder in dismay.

“I did not! You fell over on your own.” Spencer exclaims as he throws his hands up in frustration.

“No, you totally pushed him,” Emily argues.

Reid throws his hands up in frustration “JJ, back me up here,” he says gesturing to her.

JJ backs away shaking her head, “Don’t bring me into this.”

“Don’t bring you into this?” Morgan says indignantly, as he hauls himself out of the water, “as if you weren’t just goading us on a moment ago. Plus the only side you are going to be taking is mine ‘cause Pretty Boy definitely pushed me in.”

The four of them break into a full-on argument while the rest of you watch on in amusement. Or well, while you, Dave, and Penelope watch on in asumsent. If the anxious tapping of your Aaron’s fingers on your waist is any indication, he is not too pleased with the arguing. 

As the argument crescendos, you feel Aaron’s arm leave your waist as he stands up from his chair abruptly.

“All of you, grounded.” He says 

Rossi gets up and heads into the interior of the yacht, “And I think that our cue to turn the boat around.”

The rest of the team follows Dave inside but Aaron still lingers on the outside deck. 

The sun has fully set and the stars are shining overhead. The rising moon is giving Aaron’s hair a soft silver glow as he gazes out towards the water. The lights of the yacht reflect off the sea smoothing his features out and making him look younger.

He really does look good today and you can’t help to wonder now is the perfect time to drag him off to one of the yacht’s bedrooms.

Sneaking up behind him you wrap your arms around him, pinning his arms to his body. You rest your chin against his body and squeeze as he turns to give you a soft smile.

“What’s on your mind handsome?” You ask as you give his bicep a small kiss.

“Nothing.” He tells you, giving you a gentle kiss.

It’s only gentle in the fact that his lips are soft as they move against yours. You know that the pleasure and desire that flows through your veins is matched in his. 

He breaks free from your grasp and moves his hands to cup your face. With his slow but deliberate movements, it's like he’s trying to brand you in the most time-consuming way possible.

Breathless you break away and move to bump your nose against his “Are you sure Hotchner?” you mumble as you cradle his face in your hands.

“Well you know I hate it when the team gets like this.” He murmurs as he leans in for another kiss.

You hum in disbelief, “Nuh-uh I don’t buy it, they couldn’t have gotten you that worked up.”

You move to wrap your arms around his waist. Aaron brings his hands to rest on your hips laughing as you tuck your hands in the back pockets of his slacks.

“Can’t get anything past you can I?” He asks, his voice rife with mirth, “I saw you eyeing me up earlier, got me a little worked up.”

You bite your lip and give him a teasing smile as you lean up to brush your lips against the shell of his ear.

“Well, we’ve got a little bit until we get back to shore…” you say as you bring your hips flush to his, “why don’t we make good uses of one of the guest rooms?”

The hungry look in his eyes tells you all you need to know.

Tags (lmk if you want to be added!): @winterscaptain @yes-sir-hotchner @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @crying-river @genevievedarcygranger @ange-must-die @ogmilkis @saintd0lce @agenthotchner @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @toasteddragoness @misskirkstark @rousethemouse @good-heavens-chris-evans @arganfics 

[bowieandqueen11]

Sisters Slay / Nancy Wheeler Imagine

Request: Hi :D Can I request a Stranger things oneshot? Being besties with Nancy Wheeler and fighting the evil together (or something like that) thank you❤  

Sorry this took so long love! <3

Warning: some strong language!

Please help me keep writing by commenting!

Hanging it from its hook, you place it right underneath the star at the top.

Your fingers un-entangle themselves from the flashing red, blue and green fairy lights that gleam in your eyes and fill the darkening living room with an uncomfortably dim glow. Taking a step back, you tilt your head, eyes glancing over the bristling branches to admire your hard work.

‘Are you sure this trip wire is going to work?’

‘No, but do we have a choice? That lighter fluid we left on the hallway carpet isn’t going to do the trick by itself.’

‘Is that why you have that, Nanc?’

‘It’s just a precaution Y/n. We’re going to get this monster, and then we’re going to get Will. We will get your brother back, Y/n.’

‘I know Nancy, and I want him back too. But I don’t want you taken in his place.’

It took Nancy even less time than you expected to open up the bear trap and place it on the living room floor. She ran scrambling across the living room, her fingers twitching eagerly as she lightly bit her bottom lip, bumping her hip against the flowery chair in the corner before kneeling down next to the box laying crashed on the floor and picking up another batch of your mother’s christmas lights. She bolts past you, her boots jumping lightly over the nails hammered into the floorboards to start screwing them into the lines of wires that zigzag like chains above your head.

‘We can do this, Y/n. ’

You don't just see the bulb flicker above her ponytail as she turns to look at you, you hear it too. As the two of you are cast into brief spells of darkness it crackles, or perhaps it's more of a buzz, the kind of screeching pain you only would expect to hear in the depths of somewhere cold and evil. Nancy’s eyes widen as she comes over to stand by you, hand grabbing your wrist before she tucks her back next to yours, revelling in the slight comfort that she wasn’t alone in this. If she was going, she was going down fighting with her best friend.

All you could think, as her fingers grabbed yours, was that Will had gone through all this alone.

A string of curses unraveled from your tongue, like lights unfurling, as the two of you strain to listen. For a moment, all that could be heard in the Byer household was golden silence; darkness was suffocating the walls, stopped only by the short pants of frightened breathe the two of you tried to keep in. Grabbing your bat, you almost choke on your breath as the slapped paint on the walls your mother had tossed up began to sparkle in your eye.

R. U. N.

‘It’s here, Nancy, it’s here.’

‘Shh!’

You could hear Nancy gulp as the two of you swung around slowly, the lights above starting to illuminate the furniture you had spent your childhood on in dirty greens and reds, every step you took being matched by a rattling noise that you weren’t sure was your heart... or it. 

Before you can make a noise, Nancy has yelled, pushing you to the side and firing a shot at the large, looming shape that screams out from the entryway. You couldn’t quite make out the darkness, as you climbed back onto your elbows, wincing at the knock you had gotten on your head on the way down. As you peered out, trying to disassociate the sound of the screeches from your Nancy, the black blob in the room was not a colour, it was nothing. A void.

‘Shit!’

Flinging up to your feet and running towards it, courage you had gained from Nancy ablaze, you manage to dodge a swing from it's massive claws, but it struck your side and you tumbled once again head first into the wall. You could hear nothing: all was silenced, the yells, the hisses of the creature, the gunshots, all inaudible. All you could do was feel. Feel the cold ground pressed against your form, the heat from the pain, the thick goo leaking onto your leg that you hoped was from one of your traps the Demagorgon had fell in.

That you were winning. That Nancy was safe. That Will would come home again and your mom would stop being so sad and so angry all the time.

A choked cry forced itself up your throat, as you let the darkness overcome you.

Before you could float away, though, it was as if a fist of orange flame had decided to punch it's way out of the room. Smoke and fire rushed out. Thousands of pieces of glass and steel from the Christmas lights hanging haphazardly above fell like snow, a deadly rainfall, showering down. An otherworldly sound, shrill and deafening erupted as Nancy grabbed onto your arm and grabbed you behind the sofa, using her body to shield you from the flames that licked at the creatures skin as it stumbled backwards into the bear trap, its cries only getting louder.

And then it was gone, and you were left with the wreckage.

Senses sharpened with adrenaline, Nancy held her breath, straining to hear with every ounce of her concentration as her forearm held you against the arm rest of your sofa. Cool air whispered through the cracked window she pointed her gun at, the last few flames dwindling down into embers on the carpet you had always hated, the both of you jumping and nearly knocking each other down as Will’s record player suddenly whirred to life in his room. 

All that was left was the warped shapes that the stars made against the blackness, and the soft tones of the Clash against the Hawkins’ night.

Nancy grabs onto your cheeks, a little blood splattered on her own, but the look of desperation and fear in her eyes as she tilts your head forward and checks you over stops you from commenting.

‘Shit, Y/n, are you alright?’

‘I should be asking you that. Thanks, Nanc. For all of this. For saving me. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.’

‘Hey, you’ll always be there for me, and I’ll always be there for you, right? What else are sisters for.’

She holds up her pinkie, which you gladly take with your own, allowing a tired smile to perk up your lips.

‘Sisters.’

‘You sure do beat Mike.’

[thetravelerwrites]

Monster Match 15

The Traveler's Masterlist

For @severedreamerbeard​: “I don't really think I need to tell you what my pronouns and orientation are, so we'll skip over that. As far as a short description goes, I'm thin as a twig, and decently tall. I'm not that great with social interactions, I can't hold a conversation and I get tongue-tied frequently when speaking, which isn't fun at all. My hobbies are all pretty dorky, being playing D&D, reading fanfics, and playing video games for most of my free time. As far as likes in dislikes in partner, it's pretty much all in the personality. Humor and doing goofy things are top notch, along with being a general sweetheart. If I'm honest, I'm not sure if I have any specific dislikes that come to mind, mostly from an utter lack of experience in the dating field. And as far as sfw/nsfw, that's your choice, I don't really mind.”

You’ve been matched with a mimic!

You loved old video games. You’d go to your local game store to scour for old games people had forgotten. You didn’t know why, but they instilled a certain sense of innate nostalgia in you, even though you hadn’t played most of them, since some had come out before you’d even been born.

“Hey, man,” The clerk, Tucker, called out. “You won’t believe what someone just sold me.”

“What?” You asked, coming to the counter with your items.

“A copy of ‘Red Knight’s War,’” Tucker said, ringing you up.

“You’re kidding me!” You exclaimed. “I thought most of them were destroyed. Wasn’t there some kind of urban legend that it was haunted or something?”

“Yeah,” Tucker said. “People really bought into the hype, too. I think there are only, like, fifty left in existence.”

“Dude, I have to have that. How much?”

Tucker pursed his lips and thought about it. “How about a hundred bucks?”

“You’re off your nut if you think I’m paying that,” You scoffed. “I’ll give you ten bucks.”

“Please, I could get an easy two hundred off eBay,” Tucker said.

“Well, then, sell it on eBay,” You told him. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of bidders for an obscure game that most people aren’t even aware exist and the ones that do think it’s haunted.”

“Dude, that just makes it tastier!” Tucker insisted. “Fifty bucks, and I’m being kind with that offer.”

“Thirty. Seriously, it’s a coin toss as to whether you’d actually find someone online who wants this, whereas I have cash now. There’s something to be said for instant gratification.”

“Forty. That’s as low as I’m gonna go, man,” Tucker said, folding his arms.

You blew out your breath. “Fine, fine, I’ll take it. You’re lucky I respect you as a business man.”

“Pfft,” Tucker snickered. “Yeah, whatever. Here.”

He handed you the clear cartridge that had been completely sealed with scotch tape.

“Whoa,” You said.

“Yeah,” Tucker replied with a strange look. “The guy that sold it happily took five bucks for it. He was super weird.”

“Eh, aren’t we all. Thanks, Tuck,” You said as you took your purchases and made your way to the door.

“See you later, man. If it does end up haunted, you have to tell me.”

You waved as if to say sure, sure, and headed home.

When you got back to your apartment, you immediately got out a box cutter and slit open the cellotape that encased the game disk. Red Knight’s War was one of the first MMORPGs, but it got overshadowed by World of Warcraft and Runescape. When it came out, you’d just started first grade, so you weren’t exactly a wiz on the computer. You don’t even think your parents had a computer back then.

You checked the disk, which was in pristine condition, then booted up your computer. Putting the disk into the slot, you heard the whirring sound as it started up. There was the title screen, the loading screen, which gave way to the character customization screen. You spent a a good chunk of time making your character look as close to you as possible, even though the rough early 2000’s graphics made it difficult.

Then, into the actual gameplay. It was a typical dungeon trawler, nothing surprising. You played a little for a while when a message popped up on the onscreen chat box.

>Who are you?”

Odd. You hadn’t switched on the multi-player option yet. Maybe the game was multi-player by default. You typed in your first name and asked them theirs.

>Tarna, The replied. That was a strange name. Maybe it was their screenname, although the screenname in the chat box seemed to be random numbers and letters. >It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen someone here.

>I’m not surprised, you said. >Everyone thinks this game is haunted.

>It’s not, Tarna said. >Humans are just superstitious, apparently.

>Are you in-game? You asked. >I only see NPCs.

>I’m a mimic. I’m in the corner over there.

You looked, and you did see a treasure chest standing on two spindly legs, its long arms swaying as if bored. As your character walked up to it, it waved. But it seemed to be waving at you, not your character.  

>Wanna team up? You typed into the chat.

>Yes! I’m so happy to have someone else to play with again!

Their enthusiasm was both endearing and a little sad. You wondered if this had been their favorite game, if they’d waited all this time for someone else to come online to play with. That must have been lonely.

>Let’s go, buddy! You typed.

For the next few weeks, you played Red Knight’s War with Tarna every evening after work. They were always online, and always happy to see you. Sometimes, you wouldn’t even actually play the game, you’d just talk to each other in the chat. There was still a lot about them that you didn’t know. They didn’t divulge a lot of personal information, and you could respect that. You were just a stranger on the internet, after all.

One day, though, you came online ready to slay some liches, but you were met with a message already in the chat box.

>Can we talk?

This was already unusual, because they waited for you to speak first before starting gameplay, but the nature of the question had you a little uneasy.

>Of course. What’s up?

>I feel like I should come clean.

You frowned. >Come clean about what?

>I haven’t lied to you exactly, but I haven’t told you everything about me. I’m worried that if you knew the truth about me, it would scare you off.

>There’s not a lot you could say that would scare me.

>You say that now, They said. >The fact of the matter is, there’s a reason people think this game is haunted.

>Which is?

>Honestly, it’s easier if I show you.

>Show me how?

>Take the disk out of the computer and put it on the ground.

You scoffed to yourself. >Are you serious?

>Trust me. Just don’t freak out, okay?

>Okay…

You shut down the game and ejected it. It lay there in the disk tray. You felt a little silly, but you took the disk and lay it, image down, on the floor and waited.

Suddenly, it seemed to melt into some sort of grey goo. The goo began to grow and warp and rise up, and you fell backward into your chair with a yelp.

“Wait, you said you wouldn’t freak out!” The grey goo said. It started to take on human form. It solidified into the form of… you, right down to the work vest you’d failed to remove when you got home. It put out its arms to placate you. “I’m not going to hurt you. Calm down, please.”

You were still sitting in your gaming chair, gripping the armrests and panting in fear. “What the hell are you?”

“I’m a mimic,” The copy of you said.

“Mimics are treasure chests in dungeons! Not game disks or… or me!”

It sighed. “Treasure chests are the most common form we take, historically, because we were hired to protect people’s vaults and and hordes. We were decoys to distract looters from the real treasure, but we don’t have an actual physical form other than amorphous blobs. In our original state, we’re just… slime.”

“How did you even know what I look like?” You asked.

They pointed. “Your webcam. You really ought to cover it when you’re not using it.”

You head fell into your hands and you massaged your forehead. “So…” You said slowly, trying to wrap your mind around what was happening. “Why were you a game disk? How did you even function?”

“Mimics can take on the form of anything they touch down to a microscopic level. When I took on the form of the game disk, I copied the tiny grooves and divots that made up the game’s information. That’s why I could run on your computer.”

“But why where you a game disk?”

She sighed. “When money changed from gold and jewels to paper kept in large banks, mimics no longer had jobs. Most people had negative misconceptions about us, so we were driven underground. Some took on human forms, but that was risky since in the modern times, everything is electronic and number based. Getting fake ID’s and social security numbers were difficult because, even though we guarded money, we had none of our own. We kept to the shadows, but it was a pretty lonely existence.

“One of us had managed to integrate into society and was working as a game developer in the early 2000’s and had the idea for some of us to become game disks as a method of interacting with other people in a safe way. I guess it backfired…” The copy of me sighed. “A lot of us were destroyed and the ones that weren’t were either locked away or kept as oddities. After talking with you…” They looked down. “I was hoping we could be friends.”

“I… you… look, can you change into something else? Talking to… myself… feels a little weird.”

“Oh, sure,” They said, and began to shift and morph. When they finished, they were a woman slightly shorter than you with dark skin, brown hair, and brown eyes. They were wearing a sapphire blue business-type dress, close fitted and knee length with matching heels.

“Wait, are you male or female?” You asked them.

“Mimics don’t have a gender in our original form, but we can become any gender we choose.” Their voice had changed, too; it was musical sounding.

“Is Tarna your real name?”

“Yes,” They replied. “I’ve never lied to you, just… omitted some important facts about myself.”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “I can get that, I guess. If I had your history, I’d be cautious too.” You squinted up at them. “Why did you decide to reveal yourself? That was a hell of a risk.”

They shifted a little, uncomfortable. “Honestly… I… I’ve started to… develop feelings for you.”

Stunned, you sat up straight and your arms rested on your knees with your hands dangling between your legs. “Feelings?”

“Oh, I don’t expect you to reciprocate,” She said hurriedly. “But you seemed like the kind of person who would accept me, and I wanted to be your friend. Not just in the game, but in real life. I apologize if that’s not something you want, but… it’s hard to keep your feelings in and never tell someone the truth, you know?”

“Yeah, I totally get that,” You said quietly. You stood up. “You really have feelings for me?”

They fidgeted. “Yeah.” They avoided your eye. “Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” You asked. “You can’t help who you like.”

They looked up hopefully. “I can be anything you like. I can be a man or a woman, I can have any color hair and eyes, I can be tall or short, anything you want, I can be that.”

You held up a hand to stop them. “Don’t worry about me. What do you want to be?”

They looked down at themselves, and then back up at you. “I rather like this form.”

“Then be this form,” You said, smiling. “Who is that, by the way?”

“It’s an amalgamation of different people, actually.”

“So it’s unique to you, then?”

The grinned slowly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

You smiled too and held out your hand. “Nice to meet you, Tarna.”

They laughed shyly and took your hand gingerly. “Nice to meet you, too.”

You took Tarna on a real date that night. They were shy out in public around other humans, even while wearing a human guise, but they were so happy to be spending time with you outside of the game. You learned that they only needed to eat when they took on a form that needed to eat, like humans or animals. You asked them a ton of questions, and they were happy to answer every one, grateful that you weren’t afraid.

At the end of the date, you said, “We should find the others.”

“What?” They said.

“The other mimics trapped as games. We should find them and free them.”

A smile formed on their face, but they said, “That might be difficult.”

“That never stopped me. You in?”

A wide smile split their face. “Absolutely.

To get your own Monster Match, buy me a Kofi!

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Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[deusaeverythingcomestoanend]

D. Series: The Pirate

Aroldo might seem like an incredible fighter. It is also important for Cronus to recognize his father is just as powerful. They say the only way you can become strong is by having only one master. Whoever said that is a fool. While learning from one person can help you focus, having two instructors will help you spread your horizons.

Chapter 8

Nothing Comes Easy

There is no such this as natural talent,

They all struggled to make it happen,

Some even had to crawl,

Now they stand up tall.

“I do not feel as if you would be learning anything from me for the next week,” reasoned Aroldo, “Make that time count, Drataine.”

“Why not?” asked Cronus his eyes still glued on his purple quill.

“It is going to take you at the very least one week to learn how to use that,” explained Aroldo gesturing at the quill in Cronus’ hand.

“I could master it in three da-”

“Don’t do that,” interrupted Aroldo shaking his head.

“Don’t do what?” asked Cronus lifting his gaze from his quill.

“Do not claim you are able to learn a new skill in a very short time. If you do you will just end up disappointing yourself. That type of mentality only keeps you from achieving your goals. The first time you try something new it will be a mess. Then you will look at those far more skilled and think they are just naturally talented. This will later on discourage you from ever trying again.

I need you to listen very carefully. The difference from you and them is practice. They practice not until they get it right, but until they are no longer able to get it wrong.

So, for you to claim that you are going to master something as complex as calligraphy is laughable. Even the one week that I am giving you won’t be enough. At the very least it will get you through the basics. True your writing will be filled with ink blobs, but it will eligible,” lectured Aroldo as he lifted his arms slightly.

“It took me over a year,” stated Clement.

“You see that, Cronus, it took your father a year. Wait… a year? It took you one year?” asked Aroldo knitting his eyebrows in confusion.

“Yes, it took me one year,” replied Clement, “I was doing other things at the same time.”

“I see… I will be back in two weeks,” babbled Aroldo making his way to the front door, “I will see you then.”

“Why, Aroldo, won’t you join us for dinner?” invited Godiva finally making her way out of the kitchen.

“Uh… No, thanks anyway,” trembled Aroldo turning rather pale at the thought.

“Are you positive you would not like to stay?” offered Clement.

“I am positive,” chuckled Aroldo rushing out the door, “see you in two weeks.”

Cronus wondered why eating his mother’s delicious food terrified the man. He did not care though as he was still so mesmerized by his beautiful purple quill. Besides was calligraphy as hard as both Aroldo and his own father claimed it to be.

They were right. After watching Clement elegantly dip his quill into the ink and write a few lines. Cronus tried to do the same, but unfortunately he ended up making a mess. He felt as if no matter how hard he tried he just ended up making a larger dissaray. He could not help but compared his own writing to that of Clement. Whenever he did that it made him feel discouraged to even pick up his quill.

“How come your lines look so much more cleaner than mine?!” raged Cronus pulling at his hair in frustration. His eyes were starting to water.

“Woah woah, Cronus, calm down. You will get there. Try being more freely when you make your lines,” eased Clement gently removing his son’s hands from his head, “how about we try to make swirls on a page?”

“But Aroldo said for you to teach me how make lines and cir-”

“Forget that. He also said for me to start with the basics. Believe it or not swirls will help you become more liberated in your strokes,” soothed Clement releasing his son’s hands, “Do as I do, Cronus. Pick up your quill.”

Clement flipped the parchment paper he had been writing on. He closed his eyes and hummed a little tune to himself. Cronus observed as how tranquil his father seemed as he wrote. He also saw that anytime he made an inky blob he would just move on.

Cronus took his shaky hand over his own parchment paper and did the same. He drew in a trembling breath and began to try and imitate Clement’s movements. In the beginning his movements felt rather stabby. An issue which Clement tried attempted to fix by lifting his son’s hand slightly.

“Distance yourself from the parchment. It will not leave you,” breathed Clement releasing Cronus hand, “There is no need for you to feel insecure about it, Cronus.”

“What on are you talking about?” demanded Cronus with a confused look on his face.

“You are jabbing at the parchment, Cronus. If you keep that up you might end up snapping that quill you are so fond of,” warned Clement leaning on his head on his hand.

Cronus tried to loosen up his strokes. He did love the purple quill which Aroldo had gifted him, and he had no intention of breaking it anytime soon. He was still rather stiff in his writing but it was progress as far as Clement was concerned. Once Cronus’ parchment was filled with large black swirls did Clement ask him to stop.

“I think that will be all for today. Put all your things away,” ordered Clement returning his own quill into it’s box, “There is something else I feel you should learn. I will be waiting for you outside.”

Having said that Clement got up from the table and took the small wooden box back into his room. Cronus wondered what it could possibly be which Clement wanted to teach him. He did not question it instead he did as he was told. He returned to corkscrew into the ink bottle and took all of his belonging back inside his bedroom. He knelt down and lifted his bedroom rug. Pulling onto one of the loose wooden floorboards. He moved the hay underneath and buried his things within. He returned the wooden floorboard and returned the rug back to it’s original position.

Cronus went outside doing as Clement had requested he do. He stared at his father’s back. The way the wind moved his father’s hair caused Cronus to clutch his body closer. Clement was waiting right at the bottom of the porch.

“Alright, Papa, I am here as you requested I be,” announced Cronus standing right next to Clement. He glanced up at Clement.

“I see that you are, Cronus. Now follow me,” beckoned Clement a soft smile on his lips.

“W-where?” hesitated Cronus.

“Trust me, Cronus. I am going to teach you something that cannot be seen by bystanders. If they do we will be in grave danger,” explained Clement as he walked away.

“Very well then lead the way,” sighed Cronus following right behind his father.

Clement walked right into the barn and closed it as soon as Cronus walked inside. He started to clear up a space in the center of the barn. He used a pitchfork to move the hay around. It took Clement less than fifteen minutes to make the space he wanted.

“I am sure you have wondered about my past. I cannot confrim nor deny who I was a lifetime ago. That does not mean I cannot teach you what once was barbarically beaten into me. You will learn these same lessons as well. During our lessons I am no longer your father, but your mentor. Do you understand?” asked Clement crossing his arms.

“Yes?” faltered Cronus shrugging his shoulders.

“Do not hesitate your answer, Cronus. I need a simple yes or no,” ordered Clement his eyes not leaving Cronus.

“Yes,” replied Cronus moving his arms to his side.

“Excellent,” beamed Clement sharging at Cronus.

Cronus did not have time to react. He felt the entire weight of his father’s body hit him in chest. He tumbled down on to the hard dirt beneath. He gasped for air.

“Get up,” growled Clement his eyes turning dark.

Fear spread all over Cronus’ body when he made direct eye contact with those eyes. Now he understood what Clement had meant when he said that he wasn’t going to be his father during their lessons. He did not recognize the man that towered over him. It felt as if he was facing a monster. He braced himself and forced himself back onto his feet.

“Good, let us continue,” said Clement with a dark smile on his face.

Cronus watched Clement closely as he got ready to charge him once more. He tried to keep dodging Clement’s attacks. With each blow his father gave it seemed as they seemed to either slow down or weaken.

“Do not just dodge my attacks, Cronus. Try to strick me back!” roared Clement hitting Cronus in the chest once more.

“How am going to do that if you are just too fast and stronger than I am?!” shouted Cronus jumping back on his feet.

“Do not question how and just do it!” commanded Clement getting ready to strike his son.

‘How exactly does he expect me to do just that? It’s not as if I actually know what I am doing,’ groaned Cronus betting back up for what seemed the hundredth time, 'I am getting tired of getting my ass handed to me.’

Cronus punched Clement’s face. He felt a time slow down when his fist made contact. Clement smiled proudly down at his son.

“That is what I was waiting for,” smirked Clement grabbing Cronus arm. He picked him off the floor and threw him back down. It was enough force that the wind got knocked out of Cronus’ lungs before he even touched the ground.

“The next time we fight I will not be going so easy on you, Cronus,” warned Clement dropping him on the dirt, “so you better become stronger. Now get inside the house you cannot rest here near where most of the animals do their business.”

Clement left his son injured on the dirt. He knew that Cronus must have been in indescribable pain. Though he also knew that it was nothing compared to his own first fighting experience. He had been a few years younger than Cronus when his own mentor had broken his right arm. Not to mention that he was not allowed to cry to his parents. Though if he had they would have just ignored him.

Clement fought the urge to go back and carry his son in his arms. Each step he took devastated him. He knew that he had to keep going soon Cronus would be back inside the house. He bit his bottom lip at the thought of Cronus hating him after each spar. Though he guessed that it could not be avoided.

“Fuck, he is going to hate me,” whispered Clement tapping his chin with his index finger.

“Oh, Clement, dinner is almost ready. Where is Cronus?” asked Godiva smiling up at her husband.

“Well, he is probably still lying down on in the the barn,” gulped Clement a nervous smile on his face.

“Why would he be doing that?” questioned Godiva her welcoming smile replaced with a sinister one.

“I sort of… I kind of…. there is a posiblity that I am the reason,” stuttered Clement cowering away from his small wife.

“What. Did. You. Do?” hissed Godiva each word seemed to be soaked in venom when it left her mouth. A deadly cold chill ran up and down Clement’s entire body. He did love his wife but there were moment’s in which she could be one of the most terrifing being he had ever faced.

“T-train… train him,” quavered Clement taking a step further back.

“Go get him,” hissed Godiva her silver eyes having turned almost pitch black.

“Godiva, I told him t-”

“Did I ask or did I tell you to bring him inside?” snarled Godiva her patience running thin.

“I will be right back, my Love,” feared Clement running back to the barn.

When he was inside he noticed that Cronus was sitting up. He was staring at his own fist. The very same fist he had used to strick at Clement’s face. Cronus appeared to be in a trance as he kept staring at his own arm.

“Are you alright, Cronus?” called Clement from the doorway.

“Huh,” blinked Cronus snapping out his train of thought. He looked over at his father who was leaning against the door frame.

“I know I said for you to come inside on your own. That did not make your mother happy. She told me to go get you. Do you think you are strong enough to make the walk back. You do not need me to carry you, do you?” asked Clement pointing at Cronus.

“I think I can manage by myself. Thank you,” fumed Cronus pushing himself back on his feet.

'Oh no, my precious son already hates me,’ groaned Clement.

“Your mother said that dinner is almost ready. We should get our hands clean before coming inside. I will go get us a pail of water,” bargained Clement reaching a hand towards his own son.

“Are you sure you are not going to just dump that cold water on me?” glared Cronus walking past his father.

'You definitely hate me, but you are going to have to learn,’ lamented Clement trying not to let Cronus know how hurt he felt.

They walked in an unberable silence all the way to their family well. Clement used the lever to lift the pail out of the well. He thought of helping Cronus with cleaning the dirt off his hands, but then reconsidered. Especially with the way that Cronus seemed to sent daggers in his general direction.

That is when Clement got an actual better look at Cronus’ appearance. He noticed the pieces of hay which were littered all over Cronus’ back and hair. Clement had to fight the urge of dusting the hay off. There was a higher possibility that Cronus would welcome that gesture if it were to come from Godiva and not himself. Clement’s nostrils were invaded by a bugnant smell that seemed to come out of Cronus’ clothes. The stain on Cronus clothes which he had confused to have been mostly dirt were actually made up of a mixture of both fresh and dry animal feacal matter. The worst part was that it was not only on Cronus’ clothes but also on his hair and skin.

Clement exhaled knowing what he would have to do next. He took the bucket out of Cronus’ grasp. He lifted the bucket over Cronus’ head.

“Don’t do it,” warned Cronus his eyes widden in absolute dread.

“I apologize my son, but I must,” lamented Clement preparing to spill the cold water onto his son.

“Its freezing water!” shrieked Cronus preparing to run away.

“I know,” sympathized Clement spilling the water onto Cronus rigid body.

“AAAAAHHHH!! COLD! COLD! SO, FUCKING COLD!” yelped Cronus flinching his body away from the water.

Clement returned the pail back into the well. He lowered it down and brought it back up. Once more he lifted the cold water over Cronus’ head.

“Wasn’t once enough?” protested Cronus knowing that Clement planned on dumping water on him once more.

“No, you are still filthy. Now try to scrape as much of the dirt off your body as you can muster,” ordered Clement getting ready to empty the bucket’s contents onto Cronus.

“DO NOT DUMP COLD WATER ON ME!!!” shrieked Cronus backing away from his father.

“Fine, have it your way. I will be right back with a towel to help dry you up. I will also return with a new set of clean clothes for you to wear. I will be right back and I am also sorry,” empathized Clement lowering the bucket. He turned his back to Cronus.

“Don’t bother,” fumed Cronus walking past him, “I will get take care of it myself.”

Cronus ran inside the house his wet clothing becoming increasingly colder by the second. He was so agravated that even the slightest sound could cause him to erupt. Godiva had one look at her wet son and it caused her own anger to boil. She did not allow herself to utter a single sound. Godiva only watched as he went to his room. He would more than likely change himself into a fresh clean set of clothes. Clement was the second one to walk inside the small home.

“Mind explaining as to why my baby boy is soaking wet and covered in shit, Clement,” seethed Godiva with a cold smile and dark eyes.

A look that reminded Clement of the type of personality which Godiva possesed. She was usually a rather sweet and pleasant company. There was however a much darker side to Godiva’s personality. Both of Godiva’s personalities were practically day and night of eachother. A personality that Clement felt would allow Godiva easily take down an army by herself. Well is she was if a military would take her that is. He would be lying to himself if he said he was not turned on right now.

“I was teaching him how to fight,” murmured Clement leaning close to Godiva’s ear.

“You know that could get you killed,” snarled Godiva her eyes widdening in shock.

“Yes, I know and I understand. That is why I am training him in the barn. That way no one will become suspicious. If they see that he is covered in dirt they will just assume it was the result of working with our animals,” whispered Clement.

“Do you really believe our town is made up of utter morrons?” growled Godiva, “They know of your past. Don’t you think they will become aware of Cronus’ increase in fighting skill.”

“I am not teaching him how to use a sword nor any of the things I had become accustomed to. I am instructing him in how to fight without the need of a weapon,” murmured Clement lifting himself up.

“I still do not agree with any of it,” responded Godiva crossing her arms in protest.

“What are you two discussing?” asked Victory standing right underneath the door frame leading into the kitchen.

“Oh, Victory, I am sorry we forgot all about you,” apologized Godiva.

“It’s quite alright. You both have been doing that a lot lately,” shrugged Victory walking away.

Previous chapter:

https://deusaeverythingcomestoanend.tumblr.com/post/614870773927149568/d-series-the-pirate

Next chapter:

https://deusaeverythingcomestoanend.tumblr.com/post/615056198035783680/d-series-the-pirate

[nutriyumaddict]

Hey look, it’s a 2k fic from Yachter Otter’s POV! :D

Why? Why not!

Sorry. Not sorry.

Five Times Yachter Otter Was Part of the Knope-Wyatt Family (and One Time He Wasn’t Yet)

February 2026

It’s dark.

Well, it’s been dark for awhile but even though he can’t see anymore, Yachter Otter can tell he’s somewhere else. And then he’s gently being lifted up and set down on a flat surface.

“Hi? Hello? Oh, there you are. Hi. Ben Wyatt. Um, I don’t know if you remember me but–”

“Oh! I do! You’re the one that used to buy all the stuffed animals. It’s been awhile.”

“Yeah,” he hears Ben answer with a laugh. Although sometimes he’s called babe or congressman or dad at home. Sometimes daddy, but it’s been a year or two since Yachter Otter has heard that version of the man’s name regularly.

“That’s me. So, I was wondering if–”

“Yes, I could definitely make you three bears dressed up as past presidents. Which ones?”

“No that’s okay…well, huh. Actually, that sounds kind of cute. Maybe Roosevelt, Kennedy, and…No, no. Never mind. That’s not why I’m here. I was wondering if–”

“Oh! What happened to this little guy?”

He’s being picked up and examined. Poked and prodded, but not roughly.

“Yeah. That’s why I’m here. Can you fix him? He’s kind of important to my wife. And well, to the kids. You know, I’m kind of fond of him too, I guess.”

Yachter Otter would roll his eyes if he could. But, he guesses he’s slightly fond of this one too.

“His monocle is gone.”

“Ah, yes, a camping trip a couple of years ago. Wes took him on our hike and when we got back to the tents, no monocle. We looked, but we couldn’t find it anywhere. Leslie told the kids it was okay, that he’d get a contact lens.”

“Hmmm. And it says…butt on the top of his captain’s hat? Why does it say butt on the top of his hat?”

“Oh, that. Yeah, it wasn’t me. That was um…see, we have triplets. And there was a period, back when they were learning to spell, that pretty much every surface of our house had the word butt scribbled on it. Unfortunately, this one is in permanent marker. And then, we all kind of thought it was funny, especially Stephen, who was probably the one who wrote it. But, yeah, he should probably get a new hat.”

“I can put a new one on him,” the woman says. “What happened to his arm? And his eyes?”

It’s a good thing Yachter Otter can’t feel pain, because his right flipper has been nearly severed for a few days now. And his eyes fell out awhile before that.

It’s funny, he remembers a time, way back when he first started living with them, when he wished he didn’t have eyes, but he’s found now that he misses seeing his family (plus thankfully, he hasn’t had a front row seat for noisy times in quite awhile).

Although, he’s pretty sure those times still happen with great frequency.

He hears Ben sigh, “The dog. In fact, I just found this little guy in the hallway last night. I think Bark Obama, that’s our dog, has been using him as a chew toy. It’s been a hectic couple of weeks, we just moved back to Indiana full-time from DC.”

“I can fix him. Sew him back together. Get him a new hat and monocle. Oh, and a new medallion for his neck.”

“You remember that? The necklace?”

Yachter Otter hears a laugh. “It’s not like I’ve made that many playboy otters lost at sea in my career.”

“Fair point. Okay. That would be perfect. Thank you. Any chance you could have him done by Valentine’s Day at the end of the week? I kind of wanted to give him to my wife again this year, you know, all fixed up and like new. I gave Yachter Otter to her on Valentine’s Day, um, fourteen years ago, back when we were dating. Now we have three kids and she’s running for Governor.”

“And you’re regifting a stuffed animal as your Valentine’s Day present? To the possible future Governor of Indiana? The mother of your children?”

“No. I’m not regifting-regifting, I gave it to her already…oh. I see what you’re saying. I should probably do flowers or something else too, right?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Hmmm. Well, anyway, thanks for your help.” Yachter Otter gets a soft pat on the head. “See you soon, buddy.”

April 2020

His new location is in the bigger bedroom with all the small ones again–their names are Wesley, Sonia, and Stephen. He likes them all of course, but Wesley is his favorite. That’s whose bed he sleeps in and who cuddles him at night.

Li'l Sebastian is usually snuggled up with Stephen, and the girl, she has about twenty stuffed animals, including a very condescending ostrich named BoBo. Sonia also plays with a hard rectangle she calls Dr. Buttons.

He’s just sitting there one afternoon when Wesley comes into the room, crying. He plops down on his bed and hugs Yachter Otter, sobbing into his furry otter belly.

Yachter Otter wishes he could hug the little boy back.

“Wes? Hey, Wesley?”

He watches as Ben walks in and sits down on the bed next to his son. “What’s wrong?”

The small one sits up and sniffles. “Daddy.”

Soon Yachter Otter is set down on the bed and Ben is hugging Wesley. “It’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I drew a picture and no one knows what it is.”

Ben looks confused. “Where? On the wall?”

“No, daddy, I know the rules. At school. Everyone always knows what Stephen draws. He’s better at drawing. I’m no good.”

They’re sitting close together now, Wes practically on his father’s lap. “You’re very good, even if your pictures aren’t as obvious as your brother’s. That doesn’t mean his are better, you just see things differently.”

“Because of my glasses?”

Ben smiles and wipes Wes’s tears away with his fingers. “Well, mostly because you’re a different person than Stephen, and you see the world differently. And you draw differently. And that’s okay, it’s how it should be.”

Wes sniffles again and uncrumples a balled up piece of paper. The one he’d tossed on the bed when he first came in. “Do you know what that is?”

Yachter Otter is glad that he’s not being asked this question because Yachter Otter has no clue what that is…a traffic cone? A wedge of cheese?

Ben studies the work of art carefully. “Um, well…I think that’s a carrot?”

Wesley’s face lights up. and he starts to smile “Yeah! And what’s that?” He points to a multicolored blob beneath the carrot.

“Oh, well…I’m sorry, honey. I’m not quite sure, but if you tell me what it is, I’m sure I’ll see it.”

“It’s Benjamin Franklin flying a carrot instead of a kite. And that’s Yachter Otter taking notes for the newspaper and talking with Uncle Andy.”

Ben smiles and peers closer. “Wow. Okay. There’s a lot going on there. Hey, is Andy playing a broccoli guitar?”

Wes nods excitedly.

“This is very creative and colorful. Why don’t we put this up in the kitchen so mommy can see it tonight? I’m sure she’ll love it as much as I do.”

November 2014

Everyone’s been gone for a couple of days.

Leslie had been getting larger and larger and thankfully, the noises (and sights) had gotten a little less frequent over the last few weeks. Although, the other night, Ben did that thing with his mouth that Yachter Otter has never quite been able to understand.

That had certainly made Leslie very noisy.

But now, they’re back home, with three small and crying bundles. and she’s moving a little slower than usual and Ben is doting on her and bringing her things–food, juice, adjusting her pillows, and handing the babies to her to nurse against her chest.

There are other people here too fussing over the whole scene.

Yachter Otter thinks he knows what’s going on here. They finally had a litter of pups.

A couple of days later, he gets moved to another bedroom, this one is light green and has three cribs, a rocking chair, and dancing animal paintings on the wall. He knows what this is too–it’s the den where the new pups are being kept.

He’s up high on a shelf next to Li'l Sebastian, above a table where the new ones are cleaned up. It’s kind of a smelly location, and he and the mini-horse spend a lot of time complaining to each other about the odors.

But still, he thinks he likes these new additions to the family.

October 2012

It’s quieter lately.

Ben is not around anymore, although he thinks it’s not a permanent thing  because he and Leslie still talk to each other on their laptops every night. But, he’s no longer sleeping next to her in the bed all the time–just occasionally when he visits on weekends.

Today Ann is over. Ann is a beautiful, lyrical sunbeam, at least that’s what Leslie calls her.

“I’m just not sure…” Leslie trails off, running her hands along Yachter Otter’s belly, where he sits in her lap. “He seems so happy, out there in DC being all smart and political. Of course, he’d want to go to Florida and work on another campaign. He did travel all the time before, he probably misses that lifestyle.”

“But you just found that great house. Maybe you could–”

Leslie shakes her head. “No. I think he wants to take this new job. And that’s great. I mean, I don’t like it at all and it’s awful but I totally and fully support Ben  and his dreams. Maybe after this campaign is over? But, for now, it doesn’t make sense to rent the house when it’s just me. I’ll just go over and look at it one more time. To say goodbye.”

“Do you want company?”

She shakes her head. “That’s okay, go see Jerry at the hospital. I can go by the rental myself. Besides, I’ll find a better house for us later. One with a trampoline room. Because I don’t think Martha knows what she’s talking about there–I’m sure some houses have trampoline rooms.”

March 2012

What are they doing?

He’s heard these noises before, but Leslie, that’s the blonde one’s name, usually turns him around so he’s facing the wall before they happen. But right now, he can see everything.

Apparently, hair color is not the only way to tell these two apart when they’re naked.

Is he…hurting her? No. No, Yachter Otter thinks, she seems to like it, whatever he’s doing.

“Oh no! Yachter Otter! I forgot to turn him so he couldn’t watch us.”

The one with the very prominent penis laughs (he’d be a big hit at yacht parties, Yachter Otter thinks). “Babe. He’s a stuffed animal.”

“Yeah, but–”

“Besides, if he’s going to live here, he might as well get used to this.”

He watches as they smile and laugh and roll around some more on the bed until the woman is on top, bouncing and moaning, and at least they look happy?

Of course, Yachter Otter wishes he could close his eyes and give them some privacy to mate–he finally figured out that’s what they were doing–but unfortunately, his eyes are permanently open. That was convenient for navigating the waters but now, in his new noisy home, it might be a small problem.

February 2012

He’s used to yacht parties and super models. Dry martinis and caviar. And then one day when he was out at sea, just thinking and planning his next adventure,  he got lost in the high waves. Thankfully, he still has his monocle, even though that was mostly for show. He can see perfectly fine without it.

Then he was in a car…a Saturn? Which, being a playboy otter, seemed far beneath him somehow.

His next location is an office, behind a desk as he watches someone lead another someone closer, but the taller one has his paws over the shorter one’s eyes, so they’re walking slowly and laughing.

Apparently, the one had a dream about him–a playboy otter lost at sea. But how did he get here?

And why are they smashing their faces together now?

[emperorxeroki]

umieli, 5? thanks :3

A/N: I’m sorry for this long delay.The requests have been sitting in my inbox for the longest time because I waseither too lazy/ not motivated or I was too busy with my college life. I hopeyou see this Anon!

Paring:EliUmi

“Wait aminute. Are you jealous?”

“So…explainto me how this happened again?” Umi’s eyebrows twitched while a child-like Eliclutched onto her leg in confusion. Nozomi and Nico gave each other a concernedlook, neither wanting to fess up or lie to their friend of the events leadingto Eli becoming a three-year old.

“Well?”The pair jumped at the dangerous tone and the stern look they received. Despitebeing younger than them, Nozomi and Nico knew how fatal an attack from Umi canbe whether it was with magic or physically. And to make matters worse, they hadturned their only shield from that wrath into a child.

“Take onefor the team Nicocchi.” Nozomi lightly pushed the shorter girl closer to Umiand hid behind her small body.

“What?!Why me?! This all started because of you!” Nico turned around and glared atNozomi. “If you hadn’t pulled Eli in front of the spell, this wouldn’t havehappened!”

“So, youwere targeting me.” Nozomi feigned being hurt. “I can’t believe you would dothat. Even after you said that you love me. Was it all a lie?”

“Nozomi!”Nico knew well were this was going. “You damned titty monster don’t try to getout of this and leave me behind to the demon!”

“D-don’tfight! Fighting means you hate each other.” Eli stood between the two. “Papasaid to always apologize to each other and make up…so…don’t hate each other…”

Tears werethreatening to spill from Eli’s eyes. Nico and Nozomi immediately stopped andbaffled by the new side of Eli they have never seen.

“I-it’snot like I hate her or anything…” Nico muttered under her breath. A light shadeof pink colored her cheeks.

“Don’tworry Elichi, Nicocchi and I were just messing with each other.” Nozomi bentdown to wipe away the small tears. “Don’t cry okay?”

A sighleft Umi’s lips. “I believe I still deserve an explanation.”

“Don’tworry, we’ll find a way to fix your girlfriend Umi-chan. For the time beinglook after her for us.” Nozomi grabbed Nico by the hand and sprinted off. “Let’sgo Nicocchi.”

“Wait! Inever said-” The two were already gone before she could finish her sentence.

The firstyears eyed the small blonde who was on the floor coloring without a worry inthe world. Then they all looked back at Umi who seemed to be puzzled at thereason why they were giving her that look.

“So, whatdid those two do this time? Didn’t they learn from their last mistake afterturning each other into animals?” Maki crossed her arms and sat back in herchair.

“I’m surethey didn’t mean to get Eli-chan caught in between it…” Hanayo meekly tried todefend the two upperclassmen.

“…” Rinkept looking at Eli in silence.

“What’swrong Rin?” Umi wondered what was going through the other’s mind.

“If thisthis how Eli-chan looks like when she’s little, does that mean if Umi-chan andEli-chan have a baby together she would look like this?” Maki and Hanayo weresurprised by how bold the statement came out of the ginger’s mouth. Then again,it was Rin.

“E-excuseme?!” Umi’s cheeks instantly went up in flmaes.

“UMI-CHANAND ELI-CHAN HAVE A CHILD?!” Two individuals immediately barged through thedoors almost breaking it. Umi had wished it was just a strong wind, but sadly,her two childhood friends were more than she could handle right now. “UMI-CHAN,SINCE WHEN DID YOU AND ELI-CHAN DID ‘IT’?!”

“ENOUGH!”Umi wanted to crawl into a hole. She was tired; too tired to deal with thismess she didn’t cause. In the back of her mind she was planning the murder oftwo certain upperclassmen in very vivid details. “We haven’t done anythingshameless like that!”

“Hehe, weknow, we just wanted to tease you Umi-chan.” Honoka smiled playfully. Annoyed,Umi pulled on the other’s cheeks, earning a cry of help from Honoka to Kotorito save her from their childhood friend.

Eli tiltedher head in confusion through all the ruckus. Looking back at her drawing shesmiled to herself and stood up carrying the piece of to the stressed Umi.“Look, I drew this for you.” Touched by the little blonde’s gesture, Umi lookedat the drawing along with the others who were hovering above her shoulders.

“What theheck is it?” Maki bluntly commented at what she thought to be blobs of blue andyellow.

“Maki-chan,that’s mean nya.” Rin nudged the taller girl.

“What? Youtell me what it is then.” The red-head grumbled.

“It’sbunnies.” Eli responded. “The yellow one is me and the blue one is Umi.”

Umi smiledat the child version of her girlfriend. Even when in grown up, Eli hadn’t losther touch of innocence…sort of. But she had to admit, the smile of Eli’s childself was sometimes too bright for her to look at. It kind of reminded Umi ofwhen she first met Rin and Hanayo.

“She woulddefinitely be a cute daughter Umi-chan.” Kotori cooed. However, at this point,Umi was no longer listening to their teasing nonsense.

“I don’twant to be Umi’s daughter! I going to marry Umi!” Eli puffed out her cheekobviously showing she was upset. Everyone found it to be too adorable, yetlaughable at the same time because they couldn’t take her child form seriously.On the brink of tears, Eli latched onto Umi’s waist and refused to let go whilehiding her face from the other. Umi let out a chuckle and gently caressed Eli’shead.

“We bettercall the cops on Umi then.” Nico jokingly said while entering the room with agrin. She immediately regretted it when she received a glare from the saidperson.

“Well?Have you found a way to get her back?” The blue haired girl sternly asked theshorter girl.

“Don’tworry Umi-chan. The spell will only last for a couple more hours. But since shewon’t leave your side, you get to take her back with you to your dorm room.Just make sure to not do anything funny.”

“I won’t!”Anger and embarrassment colored Umi’s cheeks when the two suggested she woulddo such things to Eli when she was in such a state. “And don’t think I’llforget the punishment you two deserve for this!”

Umipinched the bridge of her nose and closed her textbooks. She had completelyforgotten that she had a test for her Potions class tomorrow and decided to dosome last-minute review to freshen up her mind. They had already had dinner andtaken a bath together. The thought of taking one with Eli when she’s back to normaldid make her blush for a good while though.

“Umi…” Atiny yawn escaped from Eli as she hugged the stuff bunny that was, ironically,given to Umi from Eli.

“I’msorry, are you tired Eli? I can turn off the lights and you can go to sleepfirst.”

“I want tosleep with you…” The words came out in a small mumble, almost like a plea whichmade it even harder for Umi to resist. Closing her textbooks, Umi decided tocall it a night and went to get ready for bed. Eli slipped into the covers withthe stuffed animal and smiled at the other. However, once the lights went out,it was like the girl completely changed. Immediately, Eli hid under the covers,terrified as if something was going to eat her alive.

“Eli? Areyou okay?” Umi had completely forgot about Eli’s fear of the dark and rushed tothe bed where the other was. Peeking out of the covers, Eli pulled on Umi’spajamas, gesturing the other to get in bed with her.

“You won’tleave me right Umi?” The older girl, for now at least, was taken aback from thequestion. Umi gave Eli a gentle smile and got in bed, pulling the other closeto her.

“No.Never.” Before she realized it herself, Umi was softly stroking the blonde’shair, carefully lulling the other to sleep. “I promise you Eli.” It wasn’t longbefore sleep took over Umi too.

xXx

The nextmorning, Umi felt a heavy weight laying on her chest. It wasn’t uncomfortable,but it was different from what she had felt last night. Opening her eyes, citrinecolored irises squinted at the ceiling and blinked to focus their surroundings.She slightly lifted her head and found Eli sleeping on top of her back to hernormal age and size, however, she was completely naked.  

Eli mumbled in her sleep and nuzzled more intoUmi’s warmth. A blush crept across Umi’s face when she realized this is thefirst time they have woken up together like this. Shameless thoughts enteredher mind as she tried to control her heated face. A stifled giggled escapedfrom Eli making the other realized that the blonde was awake the whole time.

“E-Eli?”

“Umi is sowarm~.” The older pulled Umi closer and took in her scent. “I want to stay likethis forever.”

“Eliplease get off me…” The blue haired girl wanted to burry herself in a hole. Shecould feel Eli’s chest pressing against hers and was having wild thoughts ofwhat could happen.

“Do youhate it?” Eli pouted. “Or do you like younger girls? You were fine with me likethis when I had the body of a child.

“That’snot-” The comfortable weight lifted off her chest leaving an empty feeling as areplacement. Her girlfriend sat at the edge of the bed wrapped up in the bedsheet and crossed her arms. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” It was aridiculous question, there was no way Eli would be jealous over such a trivialthing. It’s not like she was with another girl; she was with Eli the wholetime.

“I’m sureyou found my younger self to be much cuter. In fact-”

“Mygirlfriend is cute regardless of what age and size she is. But I prefer you tobe back to normal because I can’t do…d-do couple things…with you when you’re athree-year-old…” Eli was stunned by Umi’s confession. It wasn’t everyday hergirlfriend would admit to liking the lovey-dovey things couples do.

“Really?”Eli look back at her red-faced girlfriend.

“Don’tmake me repeat myself twice.” Amber irises averted away from Eli’s eyes. “Andplease put some clothes on.”

“I loveyou Umi.” Eli brought her hand to Umi’s chin and gently tilted her chin up. Itwas hard to resist such a cute face.

“Justhurry up already…” Umi’s face was glowing brighter by the second. She couldhear her heart pound against her chest in her ears, but she didn’t want to turnaway.

“Are yousaying you don’t-” Eli’s sentence was cut off by a kiss from the younger girl,only to quickly end when Umi pulled away.

“How muchlonger are you going to stay naked? I don’t want you to catch a cold.” Umi bither lip to stop herself from kissing Eli again.

“One moretime.” Eli pleaded and pushed Umi back onto the bed.

“We’ll belate for class Eli!”

“Do youwant to make a little me instead?”

“THAT’SSHAMELESS!”

[brightsunshinybay-archived-blog]

pipes and bay for the child meme thing

❛❛ The past is the past, today is today, and there’s things I can’t control  – Peyton Ava Michaels-Ham.❞

Name :

{ P E Y T O N } - meaning “royal; regal”

{ A V A } - possibly from the latin “avis”, meaning ‘bird”, or from the Hebrew “Chava”, meaning “life” or “living one”

{ M I C H A E L S - H A M } - meaning “son of Michael”, form of “Who is Like G-d?”, and “hot, warm”, respectively

Faceclaim :

Odeya Rush

Birthday :

November 15th

Those who are born on November 15th are sensitive, nurturing and dedicated. They value life and all people, and thrive on helping others overcome their obstacles. People can see that those born on this day are extremely loyal and often find themselves dependent on them. As a result, they are likely to make many sacrifices for those they care about. Those with a November 5th birthday have a determined spirit; they are all about completing goals that are steps to their ultimate success.

Gender :

Cis-Female

Appearance :

{ H A I R } - wavy, dark brown 

{ E Y E S } - blue

{ H E I G H T } - 5 feet 4 inches

Personality :

+ Compassionate, Independent, Observant

- Cautious, Over-Protective, Taciturn 

Special Talents :

It started with a late evening traffic jam. Piper, Bay, and three-year-old Peyton were driving to visit Reese, Castor, and Orion, but got caught when an accident practically shut down the highway. It was Piper who noticed the sign for the campgrounds, but – being the adventurers they are – the family happened to have their camping gear in the trunk, and decided perhaps it would be best to stop for the night, and continue their drive in the morning.

It was a few days later that they noticed a change in Peyton’s behavior. The typically cheerful, wide-eyed girl was acting sluggish, and seemed to be having trouble focusing or hearing them when they called her name. They couldn’t come up with any sort of reason as to why, though. At first they thought perhaps it was the stomach bug, or maybe some sort of ear infection; it wasn’t until they noticed the small rash on the back of her left leg that either of them realized what was really happening.

They took the child to the doctor and had her tested, hoping they were wrong, but it was what they feared: Peyton had contracted Lyme disease, and though medicine helped provide some relief, a few of the symptoms stuck around – including Peyton’s hearing loss.

But there are two sides to every coin, and with the loss came a great gain: Peyton may no longer be able to hear, but she sure can see. It was less than a year later that the child admitted to her mothers that she was keeping up with their conversations because she could see them. It didn’t take the women long to figure out that their daughter had gained soundwave perception.

Who They Like Better :

Peyton isn’t picky – she loves both her moms a lot – but sometimes struggles to connect to them. The girl has always been good at reading people, and it didn’t take her long to realize that both Bay and Piper blamed themselves for what happened to her. “If only they’d paid more attention”, “if only they’d been more careful”…frankly, it gets really old, really fast. Peyton’s never felt shame or discomfort because she’s deaf. Sure, she’s a little less adventurous than she was when she was younger, but she likes to think everything happened exactly as it needed to. She’s never resented her moms for taking care of her as best they could, and can, and wishes they saw it her way.

Who They Take After More :

Though Peyton looks a lot like Piper, she actually takes after Bay in her mannerisms. Both of her mothers are witty, and snarky, but in different ways, and Peyton’s cheekiness seems to line up more with the blonde’s. She’s also a sucker for the beach (not that Piper doesn’t like the beach too, but I think we all know no one can really beat Bay), when she can convince the family to go for a trip. She hasn’t picked up surfing, quite yet, but loves being in the water. The waves, the fish, the wind – it all turns into colorful lights before her eyes, and she’s never been able to find another place quite like that.

Personal Headcanons :

When you look at the facts of it all, it’s somewhat surprising to think that it took so long for Piper and Bay to get together. They understood each other, in ways that no one else really could, from the moment they first met, so it was only a matter of time before the friendship shifted into something new, even if neither of them really saw it coming (Reese did, though, and wasn’t afraid to say it in her maid of honor speech at their wedding…but that’s another story :P).

Piper and Bay were quite content as a pair. They took a year after their wedding to travel and adventure together, and to work out the kinks of being a married couple, but it’s doubtful that either of them were expecting the adventure awaiting for them when they got home.

It started with a phone call from Reese and Castor, who informed the girls (with great glee, of course) that they were expecting. Both were overjoyed to hear the couple’s news, but something shifted that day. The months passed, Reese blew up like a balloon, Orion (read: Foot) entered the world, and Bay became…well, jealous. Piper picked up on the emotions rather quickly, but it took quite a lot of prodding before Bay finally admitted it: she’d caught baby fever, and it didn’t seem to be fading, no matter how much time she spent with their nephew.

So the girls took a deep breath, had a long conversation, and eventually took the plunge.

It was decided (with lots of pleading about “how adorable she would look” and promises of foot massages and back rubs) that Piper would carry first, and after about six months of shots and doctor visits and…well, y’know, the test finally turned positive (they took four of them just to be sure), and soon enough, Peyton entered the world too, and Bay and Piper couldn’t have been happier.

Of course, who were they to know the troubles ahead?

❛❛ how deep is your love?  – Reagan Lynn Michaels-Ham.❞

Name :

{ R E A G A N } - meaning “little ruler”

{ L Y N N } - meaning “lake”

{ M I C H A E L S - H A M } - meaning “son of Michael”, form of “Who is Like G-d?”, and “hot, warm”, respectively

Faceclaim :

Mckenna Grace

Birthday :

October 18th

Those born on October 18th are often extremely vibrant individuals. They are possessed with an energy and spirit that is confident. As a Libra, they are unafraid to speak up and speaks out. Those born on this day don’t beat around the bush when it comes to saying what they think. Some might say they are aggressive, but it’s this confidence and go-getter attitude that makes them different and unique.

Gender :

Cis-Female

Appearance :

{ H A I R } - wavy, blonde

{ E Y E S } - blue-green

{ H E I G H T } - 4 feet 2 inches (for now)

Personality :

+ Keen, Loyal, Observant

- Emotional, Quick-Witted, Sarcastic

Special Talents :

Though Peyton was originally enrolled in preschool, Bay and Piper were quick to pull her out after learning about her diagnosis. At first, they tried to tell themselves it was out of concern for their daughter, a desire to keep her from pushing herself as she recovered, but there was an obvious underlying reason: they couldn’t let anything else happen to their daughter.

It was soon after Peyton’s sixth birthday that Reagan was born, and the brunette was immediately infatuated by her. Even as her lessons grew more serious, Peyton barely spent a minute without the little blonde following her around, wanting to copy her every move. Piper and Bay thought it was cute, how Reagan seemed to want to partake in Peyton’s lessons, and humored the toddler, giving her a notebook similar to Peyton’s for her to scribble in as she sat next to her big sister. What they weren’t expecting, though, were the scribbles to make sense. They weren’t just random blobs on a page – they were numbers, actual, real numbers, and the more they encouraged her, the more promise Reagan showed. By the time she turned six, Reagan had surpassed her older sister in mathematical studies, focusing mostly on trigonometry. It was obvious – the girl possessed mathematical intuition.

Who They Like Better :

There’s no competition here. Reagan loves both of her moms, but neither of them hold a candle to Peyton. Reagan literally doesn’t know what she’d do without her big sister. The age difference doesn’t matter – Peyton is the one who understand her more than anyone, and she’s the blonde’s best friend.

Who They Take After More :

Though she may not even realize it, Reagan is almost exactly a carbon copy of her mothers – or rather, who her mothers once were. Appearance-wise, she looks like a mini carbon copy of Bay, the blonde hair and blue eyes a dead giveaway of their relations. The sass running through her veins is the same sass that brought her moms together in the first place. Her over-protective nature, her sense of adventure– it’s all them.

Personal Headcanons :

A do-over.

Not that these words have ever been spoken out loud, but Reagan can’t help but shake the feeling that’s what she is – another chance, another opportunity to try to get things right.

Of course, to Bay and Piper, she is everything but – the girls had planned on having a second child from the moment they decided to have the first (because, according to Piper, there was “no way she was going through it and letting Bay off so easily”), and they were overjoyed when Reagan entered their lives.

It was Peyton, really, who helped clear the air, after Reagan admitted the feelings of unimportance. Peyton couldn’t bear to see her younger sister feel this way, and pulled her mothers into a private conversation after Reagan had been tucked in that night. As soon as they got wind of Reagan’s feelings, Bay and Piper forced themselves to snap out of their overly-protective, almost stifling coping mechanisms. Though the girls are still being homeschooled (which is probably better for Reagan anyway, considering how far ahead she is in her schooling), Bay and Piper are intent on creating family memories to last a lifetime (even though there’s a risk to adventure) and are hopeful that, one day, Reagan will know how important she is.

[goldenscript]

utter genius

rivals au & high school au | 2,766 words | fluff, comedy; warnings: none. ↳ to say the least, having you and kihyun debate against each other might not have been the best idea… or maybe it was?

author’s note: would it really be that big of a surprise if i said this was inspired by real life events? this was back when i was in high school. i still freshly remember how royally pissed this one particular guy was to lose against me in our history debate. i just re-vamped it with this joyous piece ahahah.

“There are different interpretations of what the green light represents at the end of Great Gatsby. Some consider it a representation of Gatsby’s love constantly fleeting as it goes off into the distance only to return for brief periods at a time. Others see it as a symbol of the American Dream - bright, vibrant, present, but also very unattainable. Bear this in mind as we continue on in our literary analysis. Your paper is due next Friday!”

The sound of the bell reverberates around the classroom, creating a flurry in its wake of the piercing chimes and bodies that try its hardest to exit the vicinity of the room.

Among those bodies happens to be you, zigzagging and scurrying among the passing bodies in order to get to your next class. Unlike many of your peers, you prefer not to stick around and socialize, only hoping to arrive to your next classroom without the hassle of those stupid pink slips that the security guards just enjoyed passing out a little too much. It’s a successful trek and you greet Mrs. Fern with a small smile, taking a seat in the front from the mass of chairs spread around the room now that the usual four-seat configuration was not in its usual order. It would’ve normally sat in about six other blobs propped around the vicinity.

However, this was not just any day. Today was debate day. D-day for many.

One of which that your fellow classmates scorned while the other half enjoyed for the sake making some suffer. You belonged to the latter.

Not that you meant to be so vile. There was just an appeal to asserting your dominance by intellect. There was no test of physical strength or endurance but the test of what you knew and how to say meant everything. Every voice inflection, every point, every shit-eating grin. It all elicited the squirming of your classmates, and in this case, opponents. You ate that all up.

Jisoo always calls you a monster whenever you were in the zone, but you just smile at her and continue on as per usual.

Debates are rare in the classroom though you’re no stranger to any of the usual ministrations of delivering an argument supplemented by evidence.

Mrs. Fern only brought it up a few weeks ago with an absolute grin on her lips because it was meant to be a trial run, to see if it could be a sustainable activity for the students without being too much a nuisance amongst everyone’s busy schedules. For the most part, it was received with mixed reviews but you were absolutely certain that this was something that could be extremely fun if done right.

The classroom was broken into two groups. The pros and the cons of U.S. Imperialism on the Philippines. Of course, not everyone agreed with the positions they were placed in but it was only for argumentative sake. Those who did not agree were respected even if they truly didn’t. Same as those who did agree (not that there were many). It was meant to play into the “Imperialism” unit, and naturally you played into the endeavor with a set mind and a drive to win because well, your opponent was going to go down.

Speaking of the pink-haired devil, there he enters with his friend Hyungwon at his side, the two chatting about God knows what, but the moment he meets your eyes, there’s a set determination that riddles the dark coffee bean colored hues. He flashes you a smirk, a readily aimed snark waiting to leave his lips until Jisoo shuffles around him and crouches before you and blocks his view.

“Hi,” She grins, “Ready for today?”

You smile at her, eyes alight with mischief and self-assurance.

“Of course I am. Who would I be if I wasn’t prepared to demolish that pink hamster?”

The dark-haired girl releases a giggle, patting you on the shoulder before plopping down beside you. She takes out her notes, reciting through the notes and making sure the information is settled inside your head.

You, on the other hand, find your occupation now taken with the said devil.

In Jisoo’s former place stands Yoo Kihyun, a shit-eating smirk curved on his lips and eyes alight with his own brand of interest and mild contempt.

And you’re absolutely no stranger to returning the same gesture, adding in a raised brow.

“What do you want? Already calling a surrender?”

He scoffs, crouching down to your seated level. “Just checking to see you’re ready. Seems like you’re pretty underprepared,” He nods at your backpack-covered desk. “I’ll be glad to take the win today.”

“A hamster can dream, I suppose.” You tilt your head before you add, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, I’m ready. I hope you don’t fall short on words again.”

He scowls instantly, “That was just a trial. I assure you my abilities are beyond a simple mishap on Hoseok’s mistake.”

You hold up your hand, “Not that I asked for an explanation on why you lost considering I expected it. You should get to reciting your lines, hamster. I’m sure you’ll want that extra preparation before I have your ass on a silver platter.”

With a wave of your hand, he’s ready to snarl a response but the words fall short and Hyungwon calls him over to their group adjacent to your table. He takes one glance in your direction the moment he takes a seat and all you do is wave, turning back to Jisoo with interest in her notes. Hers had some of your same notes and you smiled, excited to see her kill it on the con side as well. Her drive to tear down opponents -specifically, a pink-haired boy with gleaming eyes- isn’t as strong as yours, but you wanted her to ace on her side of the debate so of course you were happy to help her out.

She raises a brow at you when you turn over to her to ask how studying was going, but the expression is nothing far from what you’ve grown used to seeing on her alabaster features.  

You huff, “What?”

“Still going at it with him I see~” Her features are innocent, but you know it’s anything but.

Your eyes narrow slightly, “There’s nothing going on, Jisoo. You know that.”

She muses aloud, “Yeah, yeah. But still! Something could, and not even you can ddny that much!”

You actually laugh at that thought. Just imagining dating that pink-haired demon is like a long awaited joke with a crappy punchline. At least as far as you could help it. He’s attractive and smart, but he’s arrogant and snarky without a hint of shame in any of his word, which you respected to that degree. But again, arrogant and snarky.

It was like a volatile reaction waiting to come into effect between the two of you. Even when he could help it, he still picked fights with you. He would fire another array of remarks in your direction, eliciting a round of your own shots until one of your friends dragged you away or the bell signalled your separation. Luckily, too. He always managed to get the last word in if he could help it, and you’re always unhappy with said outcome.

Not this time. You tell yourself, taking your seat at the six desk configuration in the center of the classroom now that the games are about to begin. You go for the one on the right, letting Wheein and Bambam take the seats besides you. They glance at you with anxiety-riddled eyes but you wink at them.

“Don’t worry, we got this guys.”

You have no doubts on the outcome of this argument, it’s too densely in your favor not to go as planned. Plus, you did enough research and made sure everyone else could supplement it to you in the most effective ways possible. With Wheein as your on-the-spot textbook researcher and Bambam as your questioner, it was a trio built in haven. At least in the amount of time you all managed to formulate a proper game plan. You volunteered as the speaker, knowing how well you would be able to speak on the spot and perform eloquent quips supported by evidence was more than enough convincing for everyone else.

“Don’t get too cocky, brainiac. Don’t forget you’re still facing off with me.”

The same voice akin to crushed velvet breaks your group’s meager concentration of mostly peace, earning a glare from you.

“Funny how easily hamsters seem to interrupt conversations that don’t concern them.”

He takes the seat in front of you, keeping his eyes trained on yours.

“Well, it is about me isn’t it?”

“Who said that?” You raise a brow at him, a steely resolve settles over you. “Or is your ego still clouding your judgement?”

He doesn’t say anything but his eye visibly twitches, a small snicker falls past Jackson’s lips, their other member Hyungwon stares on without much of a care but his eyes flicker amusement.

“N-”

Before he can finish his next line, Mrs. struts over to Hyungwon and Bambam’s end of the table and lays out the rules of the debate. Just to make sure you understand that you’ll all have to follow your decided positions or risk losing points; each point must be used with some form of evidence or proof to back it up whether that’s from the textbook or a credible (self-explanatory, of course) outside sources; and to keep the debate going with relevant questions and points without too much prompting. Overall, make sure you’re able to argue your point effectively while she and the rest of the class decide on the winner through their own notes and consensus.

There’s a coin flip to decide who goes first. He smirks at the tails facing upwards.

Your eyes are now fixated on Kihyun’s once you’ve been deemed ready to start. His eyes bore into yours, the dark hues teeming with determination and confidence. They’re alluring albeit irksome whenever they’re aiming that all-too-knowing gaze on you and the amusement filtered in between.

You’ve told Jisoo time and time again that he just loves to see you angry. He lives off you being pissed off. No matter how much you emphasize this, she still won’t change her mind on the matter that his feelings are more than just some burning spiteful passion against you but actual feelings that humans are capable of feeling to prove they actually have a heart.

Definitely not him.

You’re sure of that. He’s the last person to have anything akin to those emotions, specifically towards you.

Kihyun starts off his point with the benefits that imperialization of the Philippines was meant to bring in profit as well as a new life for Filipinos in the U.S. However, you immediately counter that fact with the simple quip that the imperialization of the Philippines was unwanted and unnecessary from any of the people, none of them wanted it, and the war that broke out in response is more than enough evidence to back that fact up.

He stumbles on his next point, and one glance in Hyungwon’s direction has the ash blond aiming a question on the credibility of the source. You deflect it right as soon as Wheein pulls up the carefully picked note, reading it aloud.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Mrs. Fern and the rest of the class rapidly scribbling into their notes, a few whispers (“oh shit!”) in the background, while you two continue to go at your ministrations. It’s a back and forth dance between you two, a conglomerate of repertoire and hints of read passages and inquisitions that seems to play on for longer than you can actually keep track of.

It passes in blurs but it simmers down as Kihyun’s cheeks redden from not only frustration but the mere force of all his arguing teeming as you final utter your last and final position on the entire matter. You don’t back down to the pro-imperialists on this argument, and do so without so much of your stubborn pride but the mere fact that you executed your arguments to relative perfection and it seems that even Hyungwon and Jackson are admitting defeat from the very exhaustion that has plagued their visages.

Mrs. Fern lets out a deep huff of breath, shifting off the desk to talk to the rest of the class.

“Who wins? Pro or con?”

The immediate answer is con. No doubt. Even the explainer, a girl by the name of Lisa puts it simply that the con side was clear cut, the usage of the textbook is clear and the understanding of the matter is obvious, and most of all, they deserve it.

You damn near tear up, glancing over at Kihyun from the corner of his eyes, visible disappointment at the loss and mild disbelief, but nevertheless, he does seem to accept it as he trudges off to his seat with Hyungwon and Jackson. For once, he’s silent, and you almost feel bad if you hadn’t remember how much crap he was talking the week before alluding to his supposed win.

Jisoo lights up when you plop down beside her, “That was insanely amazing. Congrats!” She places an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close to her body.

You grin, “Thanks.”

After the excitement is over and class soon comes to a close, apparently your debate ran on longer than estimated, you head over to the bin to place your history binder. To your left, you catch a glimpse of pink, his eyes meeting yours as soon as he places his own binder atop yours and lip is trapped between his teeth.

“What? Aching to say something like ‘you got lucky this time’?” You say, moving away from the mass of bodies trying to rid themselves of their educational resource.

He takes the same direction, pressing beside you near the wall as you both try to make your escape.

His lip is released, somewhat abused and really pink, before he talks, “No. Although you did get lucky, brainiac, so don’t get too big of a head over that win.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, “Of course you’d say that, hamster. Not that there will be a next time. This was a one and done if you hadn’t forgotten.”

“I didn’t.”

You turn and look at him oddly, still feeling somewhat cramped as you try to navigate your way out of the masses. “What?”

“Believe me, we aren’t through by a long shot. Debate or not.”

His eyes are trained on yours, a new glimmer of something you’ve only seen pass his eyes in between your conversation for moments, though it lingers and you swear you see his hands quiver as you continue to stare at him with inquisitive eyes.

For some reason, what Jisoo told you earlier passes your mind. It’s stuck around longer than you’d like, creating an imprint in your brain and causing the small niggles of possibilities before you finally ask him what the hell he’s talking about.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He asks, stopping at his desk to grab his bag. Hyungwon’s already leaning by the doorway, waiting to leave.

You shake your head, brows screwed together.

“You dying or something, hamster?” You pause for a moment before continuing, “Oh shit. Wait, are you about to profess your undying love for me?”

Actual surprise flashes past his eyes before he regains composure, he shakes his head. You feel like your head is spinning. Your heart still racing from the leftover adrenaline from earlier. You’re not sure if you want an answer to that question honestly. At least not yet.

He grabs his backpack, his back turned toward you as he shrugs the thing on before he turns back to you, looking a little more composed.  

“Congrats.” He smiles at you, sending a wink your way. “You’ve earned my contempt.”

You shake your head once more, rolling your eyes. You definitely hope that this’ll staunch your own growing nerves. “You’re an idiot.”

He just smirks, leaving with Hyungwon.

Within seconds, Jisoo joins your side to inquire what happened but even you’re not sure how to respond. Even when you rendered him silent during the debate, he still manages to do the same to you outside of it.

Much to your displeasure, you can’t help but make out the continuous beating of your own heart at the possibility of more to come with that pink-haired devil.

[joannalannister]

I complain a lot about how GRRM writes such isolated characters -- and don’t mistake me, I’m still not done criticizing GRRM for the scarcity of female friendships depicted on the page in ASOIAF -- but I read GRRM’s “A Song for Lya” and I feel like it gave me some new perspective on this topic. 

The characters in the story allude to a poem called “Dover Beach,” which suggests that being alone on a “darkling plain” is central to the human condition. 

I think GRRM takes this idea of the “darkling plain” and puts his own twist on it throughout his writings, specifically that each of us is alone on this darkling plain, but being alone isn’t the point. The point -- the central part of the human condition -- is to search, and find, and savor all the connections we do manage to make, because it’s these connections with our fellow human beings that make the darkness a little more bearable.  

SPOILERS but the story’s about a telepath (Lya) and an empath (Robb) who are assigned to a distant planet to try and figure out why people are choosing to commit suicide by being absorbed by this ... blob thing, an act called “Union”:

“That’s why your men are converting, Dino, that’s why people are going over. They’ve found God, or as much of a God as they’re ever likely to find. The Union is a mass-mind, an immortal mass-mind, many in one, all love. The Shkeen don’t die, dammit. No wonder they don’t have the concept of an afterlife. They know there’s a God. Maybe it didn’t create the universe, but it’s love, pure love, and they say that God is love, don’t they? Or maybe what we call love is a tiny piece of God. I don’t care, whatever it is, the Union is it. The end of the search for the Shkeen, and for Man too. We’re alike after all, we’re so alike it hurts.”

Lya and Robb are lovers, but in the end even their telepathic connection isn’t enough for Lya. She still feels alone in the universe, even at her most intimate moments with Robb. So she goes over to the Union, to be absorbed by it: 

“Robb. Please. Join us, join me. It’s happiness, you know? Forever and forever, and belonging and sharing and being together. I’m in love, Robb, I’m in love with a billion billion people, and I know all of them better than I ever knew you, and they know me, all of me, and they love me. And it will last forever.”

This was a heartbreaking story to read. Lya lost herself in the Union, and Robb fled the planet because he was teetering on the edge, close to losing himself too, to join Lya. 

Lya whom I could still have. Whom I could have now. It would be easy, so easy. [...] Union and joy, and no darkness again, ever. God. If I believed that, [...] then why did I tell Lya no? Maybe because I’m not sure. 

Maybe I still hope, for something still greater and more loving than the Union, for the God they told me of so long ago. Maybe I’m taking a risk, because part of me still believes. But if I’m wrong… then the darkness, and the plain… 

But maybe it’s something else, [...] something that made me doubt what I had said. For man is more than Shkeen, somehow; there are [some] men [...] who fear love and Union as much as [other men] crave it. A dichotomy, then. Man has two primal urges, and the Shkeen only one? If so, perhaps there is a human answer, to reach and join and not be alone, and yet to still be men.

It’s like GRRM’s idea that man is neither wholly good nor wholly evil; he is, instead, shade of grey, with a bit of both inside him. 

It’s not about absolutes. Being human is about being alone and being together both. If you’ve never known darkness, how can you love the light? If you’re never alone, how can you savor the connections you make with another person? That’s what I think GRRM is saying here. It’s like we’re all Edmund Pevensie, gobbling the turkish delight after living for years in a war-torn country experiencing severe rationing of sugar and other foodstuffs. 

And that’s what I think GRRM is doing in ASOIAF too. ASOIAF is deliberately dark so that all of those small moments mean that much more. We enjoy summer all the more because we’ve felt winter’s bite. Deprivation makes us savor the times of plenty. 

So perhaps writing such isolated characters was a deliberate stylistic choice made by GRRM, so that the ultimate relationships made during the War for the Dawn (COUGHJONDANYCOUGH) will shine all the more brightly in ASOIAF. 

idk if this theory entirely works, because GRRM writes some great male friendships we get to see develop on page (Jon&Sam, D&E, etc) but, idk, for example, GRRM does send Sam away from Jon a lot, and one of Jon’s major mistakes in ADWD was isolating himself. The isolation vs togetherness is an important theme imo.

ANYWAYS

in “A Song for Lya” there’s this beautiful exchange between Robb and the planetary administrator (think of a less evil Tywin):

“Robb, that’s absurd, and you know it. You think the Shkeen have found the answer to the mysteries of creation. But look at them. The oldest civilized race in known space, but they’ve been stuck in the Bronze Age for fourteen thousand years. We came to them. Where are their spaceships? Where are their towers?” 

“Where are our bells?” I said. “And our joy? They’re happy, Dino. Are we? Maybe they’ve found what we’re still looking for. Why the hell is man so driven, anyway? Why is he out to conquer the galaxy, the universe, whatever? Looking for God, maybe…? Maybe. He can’t find him anywhere, though, so on he goes, on and on, always looking.”

-

“Where are their spaceships? Where are their towers?”

“Where is our joy?”

I JUST LOVE THIS EXCHANGE SO MUCH

GRRM, YOU GOD-DAMNED ROMANTIC, I THINK I LOVE THIS EXCHANGE AS MUCH AS “He dreamt an old dream, of three knights in white cloaks, and a tower long fallen…”

THESE PEOPLE HAVE CROSSED UNIVERSES, VISITED A THOUSAND WORLDS, THOUSANDS OF YEARS IN OUR FUTURE, AND STILL THEY ASK, “WHERE IS OUR JOY?”

“so on he goes, on and on, always looking.”

oh dear god, i love ripping my heart out of my chest and handing it to George to stomp on, it’s my favorite thing and I’m literally not even being sarcastic

and the planetary administrator, the less evil tywin, responds to this conversation:

“We’ve got the only Tower on their world”

AHAHAHAHA HUMANITY HAS ISOLATED THEMSELVES ON SHKEEN, BUILT A TOWER SO TALL IT STANDS ABOVE THE CLOUDS AND THEY’RE ALL ALONE UP THERE AS THEY LOOK DOWN ON SHKEEN IN THEIR ARROGANCE AHAHAHAHAAHAHA kill me

if GRRM uses towers in ASOIAF as a metaphor for isolation and loneliness (which, lbr, he does: “lovely, and lonely, and lethal”), how do towers isolate in ASOIAF, and what does that mean overall? For example, Lyanna was isolated in her tower ofc, but what about how the memory of the “tower long fallen” served to isolate Ned from Cat and Robert and everyone else, to keep Jon’s identity secret? And people like the wildlings and the Dothraki didn’t have towers, perhaps reflective of their more communal culture and openness (think about dany/drogo public sex and jon/ygritte (fairly) public sex)? Other towers, lots of towers, too many towers to list here, I’d need to make a whole nother post on towers in asoiaf. Like what about Winterfell’s Broken Tower, where Jaime and Cersei joined themselves together after months apart, and Bran found them and it put him on this whole path... too many towers

[american-made-blog1]

You’re a wizard, my dude

@tasteless-combination ...Seven….Eight…..Nine- Aha! Nine and three fourths. There was a halt to the squeaking and rolling of the cart wheels, fingers twitching against the metal of the handles on either side. Azure eyes glazed over the looming sign with unabashed disbelief, the boy’s lips slightly agape as he stared upwards. It was really weird, to be honest. One second he was a regular eleven year old boy, the kind that played outside for hours on end all while obsessing over comic books, and the next thing he knew he was standing in a train station, about to run through a wall. A freakin’ wall! The past two days had been wild, to say the least, but in Alfred’s ever racing mind it all started to blur together. The man, the letter, his mom’s confusion- all of it was morphing into a big blob of insignificant junk and it was frustrating him to no end. It seemed as if the harder he tried to recall that fateful morning, the more convoluted it became- smudging the way pencil marks did when wet. He gave a deep sigh, closing his eyes as the puff of air tumbled from his lips. “Relax, dude, you’re stressing yourself out over nothin’!” He comfortingly mused to himself, wiping his clammy palms on his shirt. “Heroes don’t get nervous! Ever!” ....

Drip. Drip. Drip. The pitter patter of rain sounded on the roof, like a small symphony as the rhythmic thuds coalesced into a song with the hum of passing cars. The room was dim and stuffy, just barely illuminated by the grey sky that sat behind the foggy window- so clouded and smoggy that the streets below resembled a blurred painting. Still, one could make out the smudged hand prints and finger-drawn smiley faces (courtesy of yours truly) that adorned the glass panes, as well as the small streaks the raindrops left as they descended down towards the ledge. Slowly the low rumble of thunder faded in and out of the boy’s mind, rousing him from his sleep. What time was it? He couldn’t tell- hell, Alfred wasn’t even sure what day it was any more! The summer had been dragging by, and everyday seemed like a carbon copy of the last; no thanks to England’s persistent weather patterns, of course. It’d been raining when he fell asleep, and it was raining when he woke up. God, what he wouldn’t give for some sunshine! Or a beach, or warm weather, or being anywhere but here! He hated moving. He hated the rain. He hated this stupid place. “I miss home...” The utterance came out weakly as he pulled the covers over himself further, his mind wandering to better and warmer places. America- man, he missed it. The weather. His dog. His dad. His brother. If only his mom hadn't drug him here, if only dad hadn't chea-- "Alfred, honey? Are you awake?" The door creaked, letting in a fraction of light from the hallway as his mother timidly stood behind it. Ever since they'd moved she never fully stepped into his room. Maybe she could feel his resentment towards her- after all, it’d been hovering over him like a dark cloud, following him wherever he went. He was colder towards her than he’d ever even imagined he could be. He loved his mom so much and yet he was just so hurt and conflicted and, and, and- bah! No matter what excuse he gave himself, Alfred knew he was being cruel. And his mom knew it too- he could see it in her eyes. That thought alone made him feel ashamed, forcing him to shrink further into his bed. She was a good person, and an even better mother- and he hadn't been treating her very fairly these past few weeks. It was just that he'd never experienced anything like this before. He was sad. So, so sad. It seemed like for the first time in his life that even reading about Captain America saving the day couldn't ease his pain, nor could sweets, or playing football. Though, after moving here he honestly had no one to play with anyways so he supposed it didn't matter much. "Mmm," He managed to croak out, hearing his mom release a hitched breath at his response. "Why don't you come down for some breakfast? You barely touched your food last night… oh, and I was hoping we could go to the movies today! Wouldn't that be fun?" Would it? He wasn’t sure, but what he was sure of was that his attitude would change. No more self pity, no more homesickness- Alfred was gonna make his mom happy, even if it killed him!

In a moment’s notice he shot up out of the bed, grinning ear to ear as he all but flung the door open and tackled her. “Yes, yes pleaaaaase! I’ve been dying to see ‘Captain America: Civil War,’ mom!” Head pressed into her chest he could hear the giddy laughter that bubbled up inside of her, arms wrapping around him in warm embrace as he looked up at her face. He gave her the biggest grin he could, and she rivaled it- the happiness radiating off both of them like a newly formed nebula, or a sunny stream of light breaking through a dark cloud. A comfortable silence hung over them- that was until Alfred’s stomach made a sound akin to Chewbacca. With an eruption of laughter they sauntered down the stairs together, seating themselves at the table with childish jokes and banter. “Yeah, I saw the trailer and it looks so friggin’ cool, mom! There’s explosions,” He shoved a fork full of waffles into his mouth, syrup dripping from his lips as he spoke, “an’ Captaim Amwerica holds down a hwelicowpter just ‘cause he’s mega strong!” Gulp. “Oh, and it’s got Spidey, and Bucky, and Black Panther!” Alfred exclaimed, stabbing at an egg on his plate. He had to admit, he felt a lot better today than he had in quite a while. When depression had grabbed a hold of him, his infamous appetite had dwindled to nothing more than playing with his food rather than truly eating it- he supposed that was why his stomach continued to rumble even after he’d finished seconds. “My, my, you’re hungry today! Do you want some more?” His mother asked brightly from her place at the counter, turning her head to look back at him with a smile. “Hmm- nah, that’s okay, mom! I gotta save room for movie snacks--”

Ding Dong.

For a moment silence all but filled the room as the doorbell finished its chime, both Alfred and his mother quirking a brow at each other as they shot perplexed glances at one another. “I got it!” He proclaimed, pushing himself with vigor from the table as he raced towards the door. “No, no, no-” She exclaimed, following right behind him in an attempt to beat him there, but it was too late. With the click of the deadbolt and a loud creak from the door, Alfred swung it open to reveal a...well, a weirdo. She was dressed in all this odd looking garb, and even though Alfred didn’t see an umbrella, the lady was totally dry! “Uuuuh, hey--” Before the words could fully fall from his lips, his mother pressed him behind her. “Alfred, honey, go upstairs.” She muttered in her usual, sweet tone, and while usually he would have argued to stay with her, the way her eyes shot nothing but venomous daggers at the woman before them filled him with unease. Just who was she? His mom didn’t hate anybody! Well, except maybe his dad-- “Oh come now, Helen, you know I wouldn’t be here if you’d just given it to him.” The weird lady spoke, pursing her lips in a sassy and prude manner. Wait, wait- his mom had kept something from him? Was this one of their weird, estranged relatives? Maybe she meant to give him a birthday present! “Given me what?” Alfred squawked, peeking around from behind his mother’s form. “Go upstairs,” was all that she responded, pushing him further away from the doorway, “But, mom, I wanna know what it is--” “Upstairs. Now!” Both of their eyes widened at the outburst, his mother’s face quirking into an apologetic one. He was certain she was going to say something, as her lips parted and she turned to reach out for him but before she could he all but raced up the stairs. He slammed the door to his room, not in anger but simply in haste, before wandering over to his bed. Whoever the lady at the door was, and no matter what it was that she wanted to give him, it wasn’t important enough to justify making his mom that angry. Alfred was stubborn when it came to knowing the truth about things, but there was noooo way he was gonna argue with his mom. Nope. Na-da. Not happening-- Crunch. Well, uh, that was weird. Just as he’d plopped himself down he felt something crinkle underneath him- similar to sitting on paper. Scratch that, he was sitting on paper. A letter, to be exact. Pulling the postage out from underneath him, and making a slight attempt to un-crumple it his eyes quickly scanned over the front. To his surprise, it was addressed solely to him- and while a part of him advised him not to open it just yet, Alfred was quick to rip it open. Yanking the contents out with a pleased huff, he vigorously unfolded it.

‘Dear Mr. Jones,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely, Yao wang Deputy Headmaster’ “Pfffft- wang-” Alfred began snorting, almost allowing a deep-seated laughter to escape when a particular set of words snapped him from his amusement. “School of… witchcraft and wizardry? Wait- WHAT?” Oh this had to be joke! Aliens, were real. Santa Claus, was real. But witches and wizards? “Oh gimme a break. No waaaay! I’m not buying this for a second-” A knock at the door snapped him from his rambling, eyes darting up at the door as he hurriedly shoved the letter underneath his pillow. “Uh, yeah?” He called out, continuously giving sparing glances towards where the letter was hidden, even after his mother had proceeded to come in. There was a thick silence between them, so much so that Alfred felt anything he said would be crushed by the weight of the air. Luckily for him, however, his mother was the first to speak. “D...Do you want to go?” She uttered, shoulders sinking in what seemed like reluctancy, “I know you read it, sweetheart. The letter, I mean.” What? But how did she know?! He hadn’t so much as stolen a glance at it the whole time she was in here! He had so many questions and yet the only thing he would muster was a weak, “I- uh- ...it’s not real, is it?” He watched the sigh roll off her tongue, the bright blue in her eyes faltering as her demeanor further wilted. “It is.” “So...yOU’RE A WITCH?? MOM THAT’S SO COOL, BUT SCARY, BUT LIKE YOU DON’T LOOK LIKE A SCARY WITCH--” “Oh, no, no, honey. Not me. Aunt Martha, though...well, she is. Your father and I, neither of us are. But when I was nine, and your aunt turned eleven, a woman came to our door, and… let’s just go downstairs and talk about it with Alice.”

Alfred learned a lot that night. His aunt was a witch, a muggle-born just like him, and she went to Hogwarts as a… Ravendor?? Or maybe it was Slytherpuff? He couldn’t really remember, to be honest, the whole time he was far too busy asking Alice about magic, and dragons, and about whether she could do an evil witch cackle like they did in the movies. His mother had apologized profusely about keeping the letters from him, and she gave a reason but honestly Alfred didn’t care to hear it. He was done being mad at his Mom for things she did when he knew it was all out of love. Though, considering it was August 29th he had also been far too devastated at the missed opportunity to hear anything else she was saying- that was until Miss Alice had handed him a waiver, and a train ticket; all courtesy of Aunt Martha. Sweet! “You will, however, need to go pick up the required items with me post-haste as you’ll need books, robes, and other varying wizarding paraphernalia. If that’s okay with you, of course, Miss Jones.”  His mother looked to him, their eyes locking as he attempted to give his most pleading look, to which she simply smiled and nodded. “Well, then let’s be on our way, Mr. Jones. We have a lot to do and little time to do it.” Double sweet! The night had ended with him packing a suitcase, full of only the essentials (clothes and comic books), as well as hugging and kissing his mother goodbye. For her, it was an lachrymose experience, but for him it was the start of something new- something better.

...

After having spent almost the entire next day at Diagon Alley, buying quite literally everything necessary for the upcoming term, he was now left alone; accompanied by only random strangers meandering around him, and his recently bought owl, Liberty, as he stood in front of a column that he had been instructed to run into. “Man, if this backfires I’m gonna have the worst headache ever.” He tightened his grip on the metal bars, looking into Liberty’s icy blue eyes for reassurance before releasing a deep sigh. Without so much as a second thought Alfred lumbered forward at full speed, sprinting cart first into the slab of bricks, eyes closed as he braced for impact- yet for the first few seconds after running into the column he felt nothing! It was working! He was going through the wall, like a portal, and he felt feather light- MAGIC WAS REAL-- “HOLY SHIT- LOOK OUT--” Nevermind. There was the impact; though, it was not from his head slamming into the wall, no. The portal had been much shorter than anticipated. Instead of exiting nicely on the other side, Alfred had slammed into another kid with his cart, causing both of them, as well as all their stuff, to crash to the ground. A groan managed to croak from his throat as he pried his eyes open- only for azure blue to clash with forest green. It was only then that Alfred took note of his position, being completely sprawled out on top of the other boy. A sheepish grin snaked its way onto his face, though his eyes were filled with a hint of concern as he hastily scrambled to get off, sticking out a helping hand towards the other. “Are you okay, dude? I am so sorry, I totally wasn’t expecting ya to be right there!”