#Cool Runnings! The Race of the Snowmen

[bumblepony]

A ficlet request, if you may

Maybe something wintery, like a snowball fight or sledding? Any verse of yours! I just think some winter fun would be Bearry Cool

Ellie scrunches down and tucks herself behind Riley, arms wrapped around her waist, breath coming fast and harsh.

"Go, fast!" She whispers in her ear, and then Riley reaches forward and uses her gloved hands to propel them forward. With a giggle and a scream, they fly down the hill laughing. Ellie glories in the feeling of the cold wind on her pink cheeks, the exhilaration of being out of control but knowing that Riley will keep her safe. Finally, they reach the bottom, and she looks to her left and sees Jesse and Dina fly past moments after them.

"Yes!" Riley yells and pumps her fist. She jumps up from the sled and pulls Ellie with her. They shimmy and wiggle their hands in the air. "We did it, we did it!" They sing together, and then Riley pulls Ellie in and plants a sloppy, cold kiss on her lips. Ellie feels her whole body tingle with warmth.

Dina and Jesse come running over, and they're all laughing and running to the top of the hill again, sleds in tow.

Joel sits off to the side, a mug of hot coffee in hand, with Tommy, Maria, and Tess. The other kid's parents sit at another table a little ways away.

"They look happy," Tommy says.

"That they do, little brother," Joel responds, his eyes warm. Tess reaches out and twines her fingers with his free hand, and he pulls it up so he can give her a soft kiss on the back of her knuckles. Maria leans over and rests her head on Tommy's shoulder, her hand resting on her rounded belly.

The kids come running over after another successful sled race, their faces red with the cold air and the exertions of their fun. Gloves and hats are stripped as they step under the small enclosure the adults wait in. Small hands wrap around mugs of hot chocolate as they all talk non-stop about who beat who and what snow day activity are they going to do next. Tommy suggests snowmen and then the kids are off again eyes bright.

Joel calls Ellie back, winter accessories forgotten, and helps her don them again. "There ya go kiddo, don't want you catchin' a cold."

"Joel..." She whines her eyes are on her friends who are already working to roll together the bottom half of the snow person.

"Mind your Dad, kid. You know how much you hate it when you get a cold." Tess says, her eyes teasing as she tugs on the end of Ellie's messy braid.

"Fine." She capitulates, tugging her hat down over her red-tipped ears. Before she goes, she leans down, wraps her arms around Joel's neck, and hugs him quickly. "Thank you," she whispers for his ear alone, and he knows it's not just for the help with her gloves.

He smiles and sends her on her way with an "I love ya, kiddo." then she's off scooping a handful of snow in her hand and shaping it into the perfect ball. Joel calls out, but It's too late for Tommy, who'd gotten up to help the kids. The snowball hits him straight to the back of his head, he swears loud and sharp, and then the battle is on snowman, momentarily forgotten. As lines are drawn, and teams are made, the battle rages, peace treaties are made and broken, tears are shed and then mended.

The day ends with the families together, warm and safe, in Tommy and Maria's living room. Tommy and Maria are on the couch, Riley's head resting in Maria's lap as she listens to her belly and giggles at a kiss. Her feet rest in Tommy's lap and his arm stretches across the expanse of the couch, hand holding Maria's as they look at one another and then down to Riley, their kid safe and happy with her family.

Joel and Tess sit together on the loveseat, Ellie nestled between Tess's legs as she bushes out her hair, gently rebraiding the once wild waves. Once she's done, she places a soft kiss on Ellie's head, and she scrambles up to squeeze herself between Joel and Tess. They make room for her with only minor grumbles and groans until she's safe in the circle of their arms. They all sit in silence and watch the flames dance in the fireplace.

The snow continues outside, but the Millers are safe and happy together.

@bearrycool I hope you like!

[trishyeves]

...whhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatttt??????

[ranma-rewatch]

Episode 24: Cool Runnings! The Race of the Snowmen

I cannot believe it’s here. Welcome back to the Ranma Rewatch, and it’s time to finish the Phoenix Pill story arc with this episode. I think. I’m pretty sure. I...do not remember this episode at all, really. Like I said last week, most of what I can recall is from the mockery of a YouTuber I used to follow. But I am unshackled from his opinion! I watch this episode with new eyes! Let us see what sights I shall witness!

...

I should have listened.

I wasn’t prepared for this.

So, here’s the plot. They’re on a snowy mountain. Why? No clue, I guess they just wanted to go skiing. Ranma isn’t skiing, Cologne shows up, they start to fight a little, and she reveals that there’s some competition going on, and the winner gets a date with Shampoo and if Ranma wins he gets the Phoenix Pill.

Everyone gets made because of the date with Shampoo part, even though...like, it’s really obvious that he’s just doing it for the pill. There’s a lot of forced conflict over that, and it ends up being just Cologne vs Ranma. It looks like he’s winning, she offers to make this all about their duel. If he wins, he gets the pill, if she loses, he has to marry Shampoo.

When Ranma accepts those terms, she immediately starts wiping the floor with him, and nothing he does makes a difference. In the end, the only way to win is to get Shampoo’s help. She turns into her cat form, which terrifies Ranma until he starts using Cat-Fu. That is actually able to kick Cologne’s butt, and eventually she gives up and hands over the pill. Ranma turns back to his uncursed state, happy to be cured, but he did it in a women’s bath so he looks like a pervert. THE END.

I’m...going to start by talking about the few things I liked here. I think having Cat-Fu being the way to defeat Cologne is a pretty cool idea, especially since it was that story that began this arc. Little bit of a full-circle thing.

There was a decent smattering of cute Akane stuff, and I like that she once again is the one who can immediately calm down the raging Cat Ranma. Not only that, but the Shampoo stuff wasn’t bad. The episode showed off her more scheming side, as she was happy to use Cologne’s plan as a way to steal Ranma’s affections and get a date from him, but in the end she was also happy to work against that plan just to help Ranma out. Plus, Ranma purposefully playing on her love for him was a pretty classic Ranma thing to do.

That’s all my niceness.

This was, by my estimation, one of the biggest drops in animation quality I’ve ever seen. That episode of Gurren Lagann where everyone is super off model? That looks like that show at its best compared to this episode. There’s just...so little animation, and what we do have is frequently full of errors. It’s an action-heavy episode, too, and none of it looks good.

It was bad-funny at first, but after a while...it just became hard to watch. So much reused animation, so many errors, so much still shots. I am not an animation person! I normally don’t care about any of this! But is actively made watching this more difficult.

It’s also just...an underwhelming way to end the arc. They’re just randomly in the mountains, no reason why. Cologne bets everything on a fight against Ranma, he finds a way to win, here’s the pill. Some of the ideas could have worked, I think, if given proper backing. But there’s just nothing here.

Not only that, but wow the dub was bad here. Not only was this a case where, because I preferred Cologne’s Japanese actress and she was in it a lot it was better, but also because the translation for the dub was terrible. There’s one line change that is so baffling, it turns a kind of okay line into something incomprehensible. I was looking forward to my watch on the sub, if only so I could figure out what had just happened.

Hey, why not, the arc is done, let’s talk about Cologne. Neither of her voice actresses are incredibly well known, but at least her Japanese voice actress, Miyoko Aso, has also been Pinako Rockbell in Fullmetal Alchemist and Shoga from Inuyasha. (She also passed away in 2018, after living quite a long life. Rest in peace.) The english voice actress, Elan Ross Gibson, is also fairly unknown, with her biggest work being as Baba in one of the Dragon Ball Z dubs.

As I mentioned before, they do play the character differently. They’re both going for “wizened old woman”, but Gibson’s Cologne is a lot more...toothless? She mostly sounds tired and bored. Aso gave the character a lot more life, more energy, and it’s that performance that’s working much better for me so far.

As a character, Cologne is...okay. She’s a very old Amazon warrior, the first character to appear who is, flat out, far stronger than Ranma. She serves as both an obstacle, what with the whole pressure point scenario, and a mentor, teaching him his signature move. There’s a sense that as much as she is trying to get one particular thing for him, namely marrying Shampoo, she’s also interested in seeing how he’ll develop, she’s impressed by his potential to grow stronger.

That said, she’s not even close to being among my favorite characters. She’s useful for dispensing exposition or teaching techniques, but her plots to get Ranma to marry Shampoo just...feel kind of boring to me. That’s genuinely all I have to say about her, at least for now. But who knows? Maybe one day my tune will change with this rewatch.

Y’all, I think it’s obvious, but I didn’t like this episode. I have no hesitation saying it was worse that Dr. Tofu’s mom’s episode. But the real question is: is it worse than the clip show? One was basically nothing, the other the active presence of bad. How you weigh one versus the other is a matter of personal preference, but for me, I’m going to say this episode was worse. At the very least, the season 1 finale had the animation from good episodes to show us.

Episode 7: Enter Ryoga, the Eternal ‘Lost Boy’  

Episode 12: A Woman's Love is War! The Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics Challenge!

Episode 15: Enter Shampoo, the Gung-Ho Girl! I Put My Life in Your Hands

Episode 9: True Confessions! A Girl's Hair is Her Life!

Episode 2: School is No Place for Horsing Around

Episode 19: Clash of the Delivery Girls! The Martial Arts Takeout Race

Episode 6: Akane's Lost Love... These Things Happen, You Know

Episode 13: A Tear in a Girl-Delinquent's Eye? The End of the Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics Challenge!

Episode 23: Enter Mousse! The Fist of the White Swan

Episode 17: I Love You, Ranma! Please Don’t Say Goodbye

Episode 20: You Really Do Hate Cats!

Episode 16: Shampoo's Revenge! The Shiatsu Technique That Steals Heart and Soul

Episode 8: School is a Battlefield! Ranma vs. Ryoga

Episode 11: Ranma Meets Love Head-On! Enter the Delinquent Juvenile Gymnast!

Episode 4: Ranma and...Ranma? If It’s Not One Thing, It’s Another

Episode 5: Love Me to the Bone! The Compound Fracture of Akane's Heart

Episode 1: Here’s Ranma

Episode 22: Behold! The 'Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire' Technique

Episode 3: A Sudden Storm of Love

Episode 21: This Ol' Gal's the Leader of the Amazon Tribe!

Episode 10: P-P-P-Chan! He's Good For Nothin'

Episode 14: Pelvic Fortune-Telling? Ranma is the No. One Bride in Japan

Episode 18: I Am a Man! Ranma's Going Back to China!?

Episode 24: Cool Runnings! The Race of the Snowmen

But that’s it! The story arc is done, and next week...I can’t believe it. I’m so happy! With next week’s “The Abduction of P-Chan”, we’re starting a little arc I’ve been dying to revisit for ages! If you’re watching it on the Hulu order, then you’ve already seen it, but I’ll talk more about that next time! See you then!

[leossmoonn]

chemistry part thirteen

part twelve | part fourteen | masterlist

zuko x fem!reader

avatar: the last airbender

includes - you, zuko, suki, katara, toph, sokka, and aang

special appearances by - iroh, azula, and appa

warnings - mild language , makeout scene

you put your phone in your purse, getting up to go to the bathroom. you washed your hands and looked at your makeup and outfit for the 100th time.

your makeup was pretty minimal. well, it looked minimal. you did a very natural look with winged eyeliner and a red lip. since it was cold and zuko had told you to dress warm, you had wrapped up in warm, but cute clothes.

you had put on solid black jeans, a black belt, a red turtleneck sweater, a red scarf, and a coat. you had paired the outfit with black, one-inch heeled boots and curled hair. you were wearing a gold necklace that katara had given you a long time ago, and the charm bracelet that zuko had given you yesterday.

you hoped he liked your outfit. you’d never been on a real date before that didn’t consist of friends being with you. you were nervous, to say the least.

a knock sounded at the door, making your heart race and palms sweat.

“time to shine,” you muttered to yourself as you walked to the door.

you swung the door open, smiling once you met zuko’s smiling face. you took a look over his own outfit.

he was wearing jeans, a dark-blue sweater, a black coat, and black boots. you noticed silver rings on every other finger on his hands, and a silver chain around his neck. they made him ten times more attractive. his hair was fluffy and looked soft, going down past his eyes, covering up most of his scar.

“you look beautiful,” were the first words he spoke to you.

a light blush arised on the tip of your ears and cheekbones. you put your head down, smiling shyly. “thank you. you look really handsome.”

zuko smiled brightly at you, thinking how cute you were when you got shy. “thank you. are you ready to go?” he asked, holding out his hand for you to take.

you looked up at him, a big smile sitting in your red lip. “yep,” you said and took his hand.

goosebumps ran up your arm at the skin contact. you felt all warm and tingly. a feeling you only felt when you were with him.

you closed the door, locking it and heading out to his car. you got in the passenger’s seat, sighing happily as you and zuko made eye contact once again. you couldn’t help but get lost in his ember eyes, they were so pretty.

“so, where are you going?” you asked.

“um, somewhere not warm,” zuko answered, starting the car.

“hm, gonna keep it a secret from me? this isn’t a good way to start a relationship,” you joked.

zuko chuckled, “i think you’ll like it.”

“me, too,” you smiled.

as he drove, you two talked about the rest of your plans for christmas break. you were planning on heading back up to see your parents for the rest of the break, and he was planning on having a new year’s party with his family. he had invited you, to which you had happily accepted.

“you sure it won’t interfere with your family plans?” zuko asked.

“nope. i usually come back here a day before new year’s eve because the girls and i also plan a party,” you reassured him.

“ah, i see. well, good. are you girls still planning a party?” zuko asked.

“hm, probably not. and if they do, they’ll just have to have to without me because i’ll be at a much cooler party,” you chuckled.

“yes, you will,” zuko smiled.

you hummed, your hand making its way to his subconsciously. his hand was on the gear shift, per usual. you set your hand on his, liking the warmth that he provided.

zuko smiled at your gesture, happy that you two have grown close and were comfortable enough with each other to do those types of things. he loved feeling your skin on his. whether it was with hand-holding, cuddling, or kissing - which you two hadn’t done yet, but he had thought about it many times.

he drove for another 10 minutes, finally arriving at the date place.

“you brought me to a dark parking lot?” you chuckled.

zuko sighed, “yeah, i know i look sketchy right now, but i promise you’re safe.”

you smiled, “i know, don’t worry. i feel most safe with you, anyways.”

those words made zuko’s heart flutter. every guy liked hearing that they made a girl feel safe, especially when it was a girl who the guy had been crushing on hard for almost 3 months, which was you for him.

“i’m glad,” zuko said and got out of the car. you followed in his suit, seeing him go to the trunk of his car. he pulled out a small picnic basket.

“a picnic in december?” you asked.

zuko shrugged sheepishly, “aang said this was a cute idea. plus, we aren’t staying here.”

“alright. well, lead the way,” you smiled.

he nodded and slid his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers. you walked close to him, puting your head on his shoulder. you were grateful he radiated heat, otherwise you would be freezing.

you two stopped in front of a bunch of trees. zuko turned to you.

“close your eyes for me, okay?” he asked.

you nodded shutting your eyes tight. zuko put his arms around you, your body stiffening from his touch, but almost immediately relaxing. zuko walked you forward slowly. you were nervous, but extremely excited. you couldn’t wait for what zuko had planned.

“alright, open your eyes,” zuko said softly.

you opened your eyes slowly, the cold air hitting them immediately. your jaw fell as you saw a beautiful scene in front of you.

zuko had taken you to a light show. it was in a part of the city where they would put up all types of christmas lights in the shape of a tree, abominable snowman, snow, stars, snowmen, children ice skating, etc. you remembered your parents would take you here when you were a little girl and drive around so you could see the lights. it was one of the most fondest memories you had of your childhood, and now, you were spending it with the greatest guy on earth.

“do you like it?” zuko asked.

you looked at him, smiling. “i love it. how did you know about this place?”

“aang told me you loved this place as a kid, and that you hadn’t been to it in a while. i thought it would be nice to take you here for our first date,” zuko said.

“i love it, thank you. this is such a cute date idea. you are perfect,” you said.

“thank you. let’s sit at the gazebo,” zuko said, pointing to the building across from you. you nodded excitedly, taking his hand in yours and running to it.

once you got to the gazebo, zuko set out the picnic blanket that he folded into the basket. he got the food he prepared, too. he had made noodles, egg tarts, jasmine tea, moon cakes, and roasted turtleduck.

“hm, smells so good. you made all this?” you asked, sitting down.

“yep,” zuko smiled proudly.

“wow, he’s romantic and cooks. what more can a girl want?” you teased

“i know,” zuko chuckled. “my mom and grandpa taught me how to cook.”

“that’s really cool. i can’t cook for shit. i swear, i always end up burning everything,” you laughed, cutting yourself a peice of the duck.

“i can teach you,” zuko suggested.

your mind immediately went to a cute, very romantic date where he would teach you two how to cook, then after when you got to desert, you two would go back into your bedroom.

“that sounds very fun,” you smiled.

“i think so, too,” zuko smiled, taking a sip of tea.

you two talked while eating. after you finished, zuko and you had decded to lay down and admire the lights.

you had cuddled into zuko’s side, his arm around you, holding you close. your head was on his chest, tucked under his chin. your legs were intertwined with his, too. you sighed contently, you couldn’t remember a time where you had felt this happy.

zuko looked down at you with a love-filled look. he pulled you to him impossibly closer. he couldn’t believe you were with him in this moment. after mai, he wasn’t sure he would really like or trust anyone else. but you made it easy. you were kind, funny, so sweet and smart. you didn’t try to act tough like mai, and you definitely were not afraid of showing your feelings. you also had good intentions. you were the perfect girl for him.

“thank you for taking me out tonight. i’ve had lots of fun,” you said, sitting up and looking into his eyes.

“me, too. i’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while,” zuko said.

“well, i’m glad it happened when it did,” you smiled.

“me, too,” zuko said.

you looked at his face, not being able to stop yourself from staring down at his lips. he noticed this and put his hand up to your cheek, running his thumb slowly along your skin. his rings felt cold, but good against your face. his eyes traveled down to your lips as well, going back up to your eyes for permission. you looked back up to his eyes, leaning forward.

you weren’t sure what was happening. well, you did, but your heart was racing a mile a minute. the way his thumb was rubbing against your skin had your stomach knot up. the fact that there was barely any space between you and him made your mind a little foggy, and made you figet with your thighs.

“i’ve never kissed anyone before,” you said breathlessly.

“just go with your instinct,” zuko said, his other hand finding your waist, squeezing reassuringly.

you nodded, leaning in more. before you knew it, you two were kissing. you two took it slow, savoring the feeling. his lips were soft and very good at kissing. the way they moved with your’s, the fact that his lips fit perfectly with your’s, put butterflies in your stomach. you couldn’t think of another perfect moment.

for someone who hadn’t kissed anyone before, zuko thought you were amazing. your lips moved with his expertly, making him imagine fireworks shooting off in his brain. his hand on your waist pulled you impossibly closer, wanting to feel you right against him. you took the hint and swung your leg around his waist, climbing on top of him without breaking the kiss. your hands wrapped themsleves in his hair, pulling slightly.

zuko ran his tongue on your bottom lip. you opened your mouth almost immediately, taking in a shallow breath of air. your tongues clashed, you quietly moaning in response. zuko’s grip on your waist got tighter as you two fought for dominance while kissing.

it wasn’t too long before you had to pull away for hair. once you two did, big smiles rested on your faces. zuko admired the way you looked in the dim light. you hair was slightly messy from laying down and running your fingers through it. your cheeks were flushed and lips wet and a little swollen from kissing him. your lipstick was also smudged slightly.

“that was um... amazing,” you panted.

zuko took a deep breath, his going up to your hands. he intertwined each of your fingers together.

“wanna do it again?” he asked.

you giggled and leaned down, “definitely.”

————

note - hope you guys read and enjoy this as new parts are added! if you wanna be on the taglist, message me and/or reply to this post :))

taglist - @sorrythatspussynal @theblueslytherin @charlenasaxen @akiris @the-paintedlady @thatarthistorynerd @freckled-and-daydreaming @fi-chanwrites

[jefferoni-quotes]

hotter than this heatwave

Jamilton, 13,045 words

I am begging y'all, don't let this flop it took an ungodly amount of time and I am so proud of it. Full fic under the cut.

Also, leave feedback! I love reading what you guys thought of my writing!

Hamilton is hot.

There’s no other way to say it. He’s hot, miserably so. Even with the air conditioner full blast, and a fan directed straight into his face, he’s simply sweltering in the heat. His childish refusal to remove his shirt (even in the privacy of his own home) isn’t helping the sweat cease in their races down his back, and the base of his ponytail sticks to his neck. He grimaces every time he even tries to move, and thus he’s resided himself to the expanse of couch, positioned himself under an open window. But there’s no breeze, none reaching him anyway. If he lifts himself on his shaking arms, and peers out the window, he can see the trees aren’t swaying. The leaves bustle occasionally, but it’s far from the usual dance they perform. He can hear all too clearly conversations, chatter from those subjecting themselves to the summer heat. Perhaps Alexander is more a winter person, ever since he had moved to America he had been, after all, he saw snow, something he thought only existed in movies, and immediately fell in love with the season. Being able to choose if he was to be pleasantly warm, or surprisingly cold during winter was an experience. To have the option of curling up like a cat by the fire, or lying in snow, making snowmen and such. And Christmas dinners- Alexander could go on and on for hours about the wonders of the coldest time of year, alas Hercules would disagree, argue Summer was so much better. But Hercules is Irish, he has enough of the cold to last him a lifetime. Now Hamilton would bet the man wishes he had just held his tongue, because he must be suffering in the heat too. 

Fuck heatwaves, and fuck New York.

He thinks to himself as he throws a cushion across the room in frustration. It hits his air conditioning unit, and before he knows it the apartment is plunged into a volcano. The unit malfunctions, turns off and doesn’t turn back on, even when Alexander shoots up from his languid position and desperately tries to fix it. He beats his fist off the top with pent up frustration, sincerely hoping that magically it would be fixed. Alas, it was not, it gave one last spluttering attempt to turn on before dying with a not so graceful clank. What sin has he committed to be tortured in such a way? It feels as though Satan himself is clawing his way up from the circles of Hell, and has declared Alexander’s apartment his spawn point, where the Heaven vs Hell war will begin. Whatever war is about to commence, Alex is on Satan’s team, as God must have something against him to send this wave of heat his way.

“Fuck!” He yelled, kicking the machine and cursing even louder at the shock of pain coursing through his toes. He clutches his foot, hopping around his apartment like some hurt rabbit and hisses through clenched teeth. He finally jumps his way ungracefully back to his couch, collapsing onto it in one foul swoop. His legs involuntarily give out under him, and he’s almost thankful for it as he half considers stripping out of his shirt, aching for some kind of relief. He starts tugging on the hem of his shirt, mulling over the idea before pushing his own hands away in disgust. A respectable man always remains fully dressed for any occasion. What if a visitor were to come by? He would likely demand their exit from his home, but he would at least like to do so in style.

The rooms are quick to grow stuffy, uncomfortable and as though the walls are too close and getting closer. Suddenly removing any clothing is a thought long forgotten, quickly replaced by the innate desperation to escape the closed doors of his apartment. He scrambles for purchase on the arm of his couch before forcing his muscles to revive and motor him towards the exit. He passes by his kitchen, opens the fridge for a moment just to feel the coolness on his body. He closes the door before all his food defrosts, albeit reluctantly. He would stand there all day if he could. Leaving the kitchen, he examines how his kettle has evaporated of all remaining water inside. There goes Plan B of making iced coffee, or worse, iced tea. Who could subject themselves to the bath water like clutches of cold tea? Disgusting.

He doesn’t stop to grab sunscreen, doesn’t consider sunburn a thing as he grabs his keys and shoves them in the pocket of his ratty cargo shorts. He pushes his feet into sandals, Birkenstocks, brown ones. He half contemplated putting socks on with his sandals, and automatically laughs at how much that would irritate Jefferson if he just so happened to run into him. The man is obsessed with his looks, conceited and vain in every way. Alexander wouldn’t be surprised if the man carries a pocket mirror on him, just to examine his appearance and remind himself of how goddamn gorgeous he is. Because he is gorgeous. Alexander is stubborn, not blind, and even he can admit the things he would give up for a fling with the man. His pride would never allow him to plead Jefferson for a one night stand however, and he knew Jefferson would never come to him, so that fantasy may as well remain just that. A fantasy. 

So he leaves the socks behind, but not because he cares what others think. Of course he doesn’t… simply because socks would just be extra layers. He doesn’t care if people think his hair is a mess, which it is, so he drags his hand through it. The hand comes back damp, and he grimaces, wiping it on the tan material of his shorts. And he certainly doesn’t care that one of the buckles on his sandals is about to break. He glares at it, willing it to sew itself back together. It does not. Hamilton sighs and folds, giving up on attempting to appear presentable. It’s not like anyone else outside looks much better, save for the few teenagers posing on the streets in incredibly short shorts with a Starbucks they probably waited an hour for. 

Alexander practically throws his door open and is met with a pleasurable breeze as it swings, which quickly dissipates into a blast of scorching air, as though opening an oven too quickly. You would think after being born in such a humid climate he would’ve grown used to the hot weather. Apparently, this was a false assumption. He fishes his keys back out of his shorts and locks the door, standing out in the lobby of his apartment complex. 

Now that he’s escaped the confinement of his home, Hamilton doesn’t know what to do. He could run down to Starbucks, take his mind off the heat with an ice cold Frappuccino. However, that would only distract him for a moment, perhaps an hour, until every drop of coffee has been drunk, and he’s left with an empty cup and a smoldering heat once more. And besides, if he's so desperate for an iced coffee then he could just make his own. That idea drains down the gutter, because he doesn't have any ice and there's no way water would freeze very fast in this temperament. He can briskly walk to work if he so pleases, despite being ordered to stay off, but that would require changing into a suit and now that he thinks about it… does his office even have air conditioning? 

A long, broken sigh escapes his lips and he drags a hand through his hair, which has grown ever so slightly damp with sweat. Maybe a walk to clear his head, and if he strolls in the right direction, the wind will hit him perfectly and he should cool down. 

He accepts this as the perfect idea and walks his way out onto the street, practically able to feel the burning tarmac through the soles of his sandals. He hopes there are no poor dogs or felines roaming the streets, or on daily walks on this day. The pavement would be far too much for their paws. Alexander feels which way the warm breeze is flowing and begins to trek directly into it, finding a sense of overwhelming relief at the sensation. (Even if it is relatively brief.)

Alexander’s feet carry him wherever they please, walking him down long streets, past empty stores. He stops to glance into a bustling Starbucks, hears through the glass a man screeching at a barista who is refusing to take his order because, “no shirt, no service.” He continues past, rather glad he had decided not to go inside, as it looks far too crowded, even for a small man such as himself.

His strides are short but swift, floating him along the streets with an air of confidence that he is known to possess. It is undeniably cooler outside, a welcome surprise as a gust of wind blows his hair from his face. He hears the simultaneous sighs of alleviation from the few on the streets, clearly walking around for the same reason as Hamilton. 

Time ticks by and Alexander allows his mind to wander, as it all too often does when he gives it the chance. His thoughts speed past a mile a minute, tempting his brain to consider them longer, grabbing them like falling petals before letting them drift to the ground and blow away once more. 

He passes through Time Square, finding it bustling, more so than he had imagined. However, it’s not ‘Christmas Crowded’, the eloquent name given to Time Square by Lafayette for when the area becomes full at the most amazing time of year. He makes his way past people, brushing shoulders and probably contracting some undiscovered disease off of some of them. It’s New York, he wouldn’t be surprised. He jumps out of his skin when some man behind him traces their fingers up his spine, but when he turns around the person is gone, laughing to their friends. He scowls, half considers shaking his fist and exclaiming about “kids these days!” But he doesn’t, he just shivers despite being roasted alive and continues on his way. 

He spaces out again, wondering about work and then he doesn't know what he starts thinking about. But in his head he can picture a man. A man with a jawline that could cut glass, eyes blacker than the depths of the sea, yet shining as though filled with fire. He can see springy curls, imagines himself running his fingers through the mystery man's hair and cooing as he mumbles his disagreements. He sees a dark complexion, sharp cheekbones, with soft edges. The colour purple is prominent in his clothing, and it takes a moment further for Alexander to identify the male in his mind.

He zones back in as soon as he realises he's thinking about Jefferson. Again. He's thinking about Jefferson in a good way, thinking about doing couple things, about dates. And he grimaces. He convinces himself it's just a fluke, only because he sees Jefferson every day at work. 

He starts checking the watch on his wrist, which is starting to heat up in the sunlight. It’s been almost an hour and forty five minutes since he began walking, and he checks the number on the street. It’s all okay. He can always catch a cab. He looks around and finds himself no longer in the bustling parts of New York, but instead part of a classy suburban area. Rows of white picket fencing and neat little gardens, full of wilting flowers meet his eyes. In the lawns of a few are men and women of all ages tending to the plants, feeding them with water to try and keep them going through the unbearable summer heat. 

All the homes are different colours, some a perfectly average, cream white, others slightly more lavish baby blues. There’s one where the exterior walls are a glowing lemon colour, and it fills Alexander with an unexplained wave of joy. Then again, the colour yellow always has. It feels warm, welcoming, like a friendship long awaited. Something that has awakened the craving in him that demands the enveloping arms of a smothering hug.

A child - probably around eight - runs down the street, being chased by who looks like his friend. The girl racing after him knocks him to the side and he goes down on a patch of grass, flat on his back while his friend stands over him with a look of pure pride. Her curls bob as she jumps up and down beside him with glee, and Alexander observes as the boy stands. They lean against the tree beside them for a moment, before he mutters something and this time the girl takes off sprinting, the boy following five seconds later. He chuckles at the purity of the situation and takes it upon himself to continue his walk. It’s warmer than ever, but he doesn’t care as much anymore. 

The kids race ahead, the girl much further ahead until she stops. Alexander observes from the sidelines as he walks, and the boy taps her on the shoulder. They stand there, childlike joy radiating from their area. 

Alexander breezes past them, halfway down the stretch of street. The houses grow larger than the previous as he continues to walk, yet still feel as homely. An amazing feat really. He can hear the soft patting of his Birkenstocks as they tap off the pavement each time his feet hit the floor. A car trundles past, down the street, at what must be 10 miles an hour, giving kids on the road time to move out the way. He doesn't catch a glimpse of the driver, but he has respect for them nonetheless. 

As he passes a large, pastel green house, a tall woman exits her garden. She’s old, that much is obvious, but she doesn’t live up to the ‘little old lady’ aesthetic. She’s tall, she’s not hunched and the only part that gives away her age is the wrinkles lining her face. She brushes a grey curl from her face, tying back her hair afterwards. She’s mumbling under her breath, something that sounds like, “it starts soon! The concert!” And for a moment he feels awfully bad for her, thinking she has Alzheimer’s or something similar.

She has a thick Southern accent, and reminds him of Jefferson in a way. Her curls are similar, perhaps not as bouncy or as soft looking (in fact the only similar thing is that they’re curls,) but it has the same obvious care put into maintaining their pristine appearance. Her skin tone isn’t at all similar to his however, she’s pale while Jefferson’s complexion is almost tawny in a way. He can’t see her eyes from where he stands, but if they’re anything like Jefferson’s, then they must be dark, and perhaps they sparkle like his does when he gets passionate about what he’s speaking of… And when did he start thinking about Jefferson so much? Why does he know Jefferson’s eyes glimmer in certain lighting, or burn with a fire when they argue? Why is he paying so much attention to the man's pupils, and how they fail to hide the emotions his stone-cold face manages to maintain? When did he begin to study his rival so closely that he noticed all these oddities? Little details; like the way his lips twitch into a soft smile when talking to Madison, or recalling fondly his time in Monticello. Or now his eyebrows quirk upwards whenever Alexander opens his mouth to speak during meetings, conveying his irritation, yet innate fascination with the words flooding the room. How does he know that Jefferson’s curls would be soft to touch, without ever being close enough to feel them between his fingertips. Why does he feel that the man could go pliant with a scratch to the right place of his scalp? Where did all this knowledge come from? The depths of his bustling mind-palace? Or is it some fountain of information that Alexander and few others have access to? Is there some key to access the quirks about Jefferson, a key that he has? Or does he simply have the mould, a fragmented ideology of a key? Has Jefferson personally handed him this key, trusted him with it? Or has Hamilton snatched it from his clutches like a criminal from an off-guard prison warden? To think of it, why does Jefferson - the ever flowing river of confidence - stash his emotions away, hiding them like a gold hoarding dragon in a cave. He sits on them as though a mother bird would protect her eggs. He keeps them unseen to the passing onlooker. Is he scared? The idea is ridiculous. Thomas Jefferson? Scared? Hell would freeze over before the moment Jefferson is frightened. Or is anxious a better word? Why does he covet to know what it’s like to wake up secured in those arms? (God those arms.) Why does his head claw for the intelligence to feel Jefferson? (Whether that be a warm hug or a simple swing of their hands, linked together?) Why is Alexander asking himself all these questions? Why is his brain grasping and reaching for the answers, as though the forbidden apple that he craves a bite of.

Why does he care?

It’s a recurring thought, one that his mind cannot seem to formulate a complete answer to. Perhaps because it’s the nice thing to do? But no, fantasizing about someone’s eyes like some schoolgirl is not a “nice thing to do.” It’s a crush, is what it is. Wanting to know more about Jefferson, seeking the answers to his many personal questions is not simply because it’s a nice thing to do. It’s because he needs the answers. His mind demands he become closer with the man, the vain, uncaring man. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Out of all the people his heart could sing a yearning song for, it chose Thomas fucking Jefferson.

Why has his attention been undeniably captured, held hostage, by the Southern fuck?

This one, he can justify. It’s a simple answer really, one that is half the solution to his hundreds of other questions, the ones that buzz in his ears like insistent flies. And it’s two words, one word if you so wish to keep it incredibly succinct. 

His wit.

His brain, his intelligence only matched and rivalled by Hamilton’s own. The way his fingers tap out word after word on keyboards, or scratch out essays upon essays onto paper with pens, pencils, whatever he can get his hands on. His intense expanse of knowledge that spans from American finance, to Shakespearean literature. His ability to argue and debate and speak for hours and hours with Alexander without losing his pace. The way his mind formulates sentence after sentence where he debates and there’s a fiery, yet somehow icy cold, passion in his tone. The fact that Hamilton finally has an equal. Where it’s unlike arguing against Burr, a stone wall of indifference. Jefferson is a stone wall that Alexander knows exactly how to make crumble. And he does. Over and over, yet Jefferson keeps rebuilding, stronger than before. He makes Alexander fight for his right to get his ideas across and as much as if pisses him off… he can’t deny that he loves it. He adores having to work his way up, enjoys knocking away obstacles that continue to respawn. What’s life without a little competition after all? Alexander enjoys hiking, and Jefferson is the ultimate mountain to climb. 

But he wants more. He needs to know more about this mysterious man. He wants to know what it’s like to share sweet moments with him, wishes to be granted passage to his heart. He wants the key to be given to him, not stolen away. He wants Jefferson to trust him. He wants to know his talents, his skills, his hopes, his dreams. He wants to know about his past, his present and his future. Wants to know his real personality, the one he has secured in a vault. Because Alexander is stubborn, this much as already been said, but he’s not stupid. He can see the twitch in his fingers, the brief panic that flashes through the man's dark eyes whenever he has to present in Congress. He can hear the way he stumbles and stammers his way through speeches, as though he’s ready off a particularly shitty script. It’s only when they debate, when they argue with that familiar intensity, that the inferno is let loose.  And Alexander is happy to be consumed in its flames. 

The thoughts are almost enough to frighten him. The way they consume his constantly changing mind until he can think of nothing else. The burning heat in the air has been forgotten, replaced with a searing, white-hot pain through his chest. A heart attack maybe? More likely a soul attack. Hamilton uses his clairvoyance, he isn’t stupid. He knows this crush has been around since the day they had met. Since the first inklings of their argumentative ways. The kindling that sparked a fiery rivalry. One sure to last a lifetime. Well, maybe on Jefferson’s end. Alexander has felt this way, this white hot pain for a while, but now his body registers it and it hits all at once. Like a slap to the face, a punch to the stomach and a kick in the balls. It’s never hurt this much. Not with Aaron, not with John, not even with Eliza. The three most important relationships of his life had never been this intense, and he and Jefferson aren’t even together. Perhaps that’s what caused the pain to harm him so much. The craving of a thing he can’t have.

He gets the same feeling, the same way he felt around his other relationships. With Aaron, it was calm, predictable. It was boring. He needed more, he needed a spark, something he could bounce off of and then melt together. Aaron was grey. Monotone, and straight lined. He was a man who needed something still. He required security and promises to stay the way they were. But Alexander was a storm, unpredictable and wild and fully intent on ravaging the waters, while what Burr really needed was a lighthouse. Someone who was a beacon of light to shine him to the right place. Hamilton could never provide that.

John had been close. He had been orange. Intense, swirling like a fire, like a burning heat. But not enough. He was too quick to back down, to agree and leave arguments unsettled. He didn’t put up enough of a fight, backed down from debates and left Alexander with many more points to push across. They had the same opinions, there was no need for a friendly debate. It just wasn’t enough for him. There was passion, but not in the way Alexander’s heart craved. John needed something grounding, someone to match his intensity with a cute yellow or a fellow orange. And he found that, he found that in Peggy and Alexander was happy to watch him go. He wanted his orange to be happy.

The third person had been blue. Eliza was the sea and the sky. She was beautiful and calm and swaying. She was helpful and loving, quick to input her opinion only to retract it later on. Alexander had thought she was perfect. She was, Eliza was perfect. But Alexander was not. Blue didn’t mix right with whatever colour Alexander was. Blue turned dark and foreboding, into something he didn’t want to experience. Their fire had been wrong, and if Eliza was the ocean, then Hamilton was the smoke on the water clouding her. She needed a similar colour, a green like the Earth whom she could surround and heal. Or another blue to swim with. It appeared Alexander was neither of those.

But Jefferson. Jefferson was different. He was intense and angry and punched out. He was red. A dark crimson that demanded attention at all times. A matching light to Alex’s own. They bounced off each other, before they crashed together in a mess of colours, an abstract painting of similarities. Jefferson was passionate, he had an intensity that matched Alexander’s previously unrivalled one, and he loved it. He loved red. Red was the colour he needed, the colour that felt best in his heart of hearts. And that’s when he knew that he was red too, that he was a candy red. He was bright and flashing and Jefferson was dark and mysterious and together they were perfect. Together they formed a shade of undiscovered colour. 

That’s what Alexander needed. He needed his red. Everyone else had theirs! It was his turn! It was finally his shot to find love, and he had no intentions of throwing it away.

In his time thinking, he’s almost completely forgotten the putrid heat, and the fact that the woman from before is walking down the street just a foot or two away from him. She’s brisk, in a hurry clearly, occasionally checking the time on her surprisingly high class smart-phone. In fact, another person joins him on his venture down the street, the little girl from before, but without her friend. And if he thought the woman reminded him of Jefferson, then this girl is the spitting image of him. Same hair, but longer and tied into puffy pigtails, the same wide and toothy smile as she taps Alexander on the side.

“Hey there, Mr!” She waves, and the first thing he can think is Stranger Danger. Did this girl's parents never teach her the importance of not talking to random people on the streets? “I’ve never seen you round here before, are you lost?” He supposes that he sort of is. He doesn’t know his way home, but somehow he’s not concerned. He can call a cab, or an Uber or Lyft. There are plenty of ways for him to arrive back home. But the fact that she asks him this is evident that this is one of those neighbourhoods. One where “everyone knows everyone.” Which is sweet, but annoying, because now he stands out. He wants to blend in with the crowd for once, but as he looks around, that’s been impossible for a while. He notices everyone out in their gardens or on the streets are white, which is expected at this point. It’s a flaw in the American housing system, one that he should bring up in Congress. Perhaps he could get Jefferson to support him for once, team up even. That’s the dream. 

He hasn’t said much for a few seconds, and the kid looks up at him with large, expectant eyes. “Oh, I’m not lost, no. Just going for a walk,” he nods gently and she seems to understand. He thinks she’s just going to run off after receiving an answer, but she seems insistent to interrogate Alexander a little more. 

She hums to herself, “what’s your name?” She asks ever so superficially, like an employer ready to write someone up for bad behaviour or poor customer service. Alexander knows those write ups all too well, it’s the reason he’s been forced off work today, something he was happy to let happen as soon as the heatwave hit. Work doesn’t have good air conditioning, if it has air conditioning at all. 

“Alexander,” he answers with a flick of his head, casting his glance to the sky. They’re still walking, nearing the end of the street. The old lady has stopped, and the little girl has too, which subsequently has Hamilton stopping. He looks down at her, chin tilted down as she glares up. She seems livid at his name, and he wonders what he’s done wrong until he realises she’s staring directly into the sun as she tries to suss him out. Her gaze is warm and welcoming however, childlike and pure and it’s a nice break from the cool stares he’s used to.

She nods happily, “my name's Patsy, I’m eight,” she grins and turns on her heel, casting one final look over her shoulder. “I’m going to play, if my Pops leaves the house tell him that’s what I’m doing!” She runs off, leaving Alexander wondering who her father is. The old lady is leaning on the fence of the house in front of him, glancing up to an open window. She looks like an NPC in a video game, purposefully placed in a specific spot just for unimportant exposition. Alexander is an expert in certain video games, and if her position isn’t just begging for him to go interact with her. She seems as though she may have some enchanted knowledge to pass down onto him, maybe even a cherry pie recipe if he’s lucky.

He walks over to her side, resting his forearms on the flat tops of the white fence. The house in front of him is painted a soft violet, it’s pretty. There’s neat rows of tulips and petunias in the lawn, which is freshly trimmed so it seems. There are bushes in the middle of the grass, cut into a point. Everything is seamless, blending together. It’s homely and calm, and Alexander smiles. The woman is smiling too. He glances at other things in the garden. Tucked away into the left corner by the porch is a barbecue, and not too far from that a wooden bench. There are thin cushions resting on it, but no one sits there. The lights in the house are off, the windows open along with the curtains. But when he looks in, he sees no one. Then again, he can only see directly into the window and up, so anything at the other end of the room is out of sight. Perhaps he should’ve worn his glasses today, unable to see very far in front of his face. In the driveway is a family car, a blue Chevrolet still spongy with a few soap studs. Newly washed, he notes. 

“It starts soon,” the elder comments, gesturing vaguely to the home before them. So she’s not an NPC. Alexander can’t put his finger on if that’s annoying or perfect, because he doesn’t have to start the conversation.

Yet his interest has been piqued, he was always a curious soul. It gets him into fits of trouble occasionally, but for now it seems as though the only thing he can get out of it is an intriguing talk. “What’s starting?” He asks quietly, tone low. His lips are dry, and he smacks them together to coat them with saliva to hopefully stop them cracking.

“The concert,” she answers, as though it’s the most typical thing in the world. Alexander is about to open his mouth to argue against that fact, to insinuate that a concert happening in someone’s home is ridiculous - (Even if all the Disney Channel movies taught him otherwise.) - but the woman is talking again. “Tommy always plays at three in the afternoon on a Sunday.” She seems transfixed, and every time Alexander tries to speak she hushes him. She holds up her hand to silence him, and it gives him the same feeling George Washington gives him, authority radiates from her and Alex finds himself actually shutting up. It’s two fifty-nine now, and he’s waiting for the music to start from this mysterious “Tommy.” 

He’s impatient, and authority only hushes him for so long. He fidgets, picks paint off the fence and then speaks. “When does it start?” He hisses, bored. Come on, it’s three! Almost at least. 

“I told you, he plays at three.”

“It is three!” Alexander whines pathetically, crossing his arms over. He’s stood still in wait for long enough, and if music doesn’t start in the next thirty seconds he’s going to walk away and never look back. He’s all set to move when the lady grabs him by the shoulder.

She hisses, “it’s starting!” 

And indeed it is. Through the open windows, pouring out the house are the sweet chords of an expert violinist. It’s a harmony, seems sad, longing almost. The melody starts slow, and carefully picks up pace as it goes. He can only imagine who the player is, male or female it doesn’t matter. His mind whirs with ideas, forming the musician in his mind.

Their hands would grip the bow with precision, glide across the strings with a focussed expression. He can see their- no, his, eyes turned down to the instrument, pupils darkening as they get lost in the notes. The violin is balanced on his shoulder, tucked under his chin and his hair falls into his view but he keeps playing. The straight, actually, it’s curly. The ringlets of curls are brushed away quickly, in one movement as he continues to play. 

Alexander spaces out, losing himself to the music. It appears the lady beside him does the same, but he can’t be sure. He tries to put a colour on the tone of it, tries to decipher the meaning behind the song. The violin fades into an instrumental where it’s clear the player should be singing, but they don’t. He tries to picture a face, going as far as to close his eyes and block out everything but his own imagination and the melody flowing to him. It’s like a siren call, coaxing him towards sudden death. And Alexander is all too happy to submit to the urges. 

He finds a face, dark eyes, curls, complexion. Once again he’s picturing Jefferson. Over and over the man comes to mind. He tries to push him away, attempts to imagine someone else standing in the home and playing just for him. But it’s futile. And the song does feel like it’s for him. It feels like it matches the music his heart sings, the yearning harmony that lathers his soul is rivalled by this player. By Jefferson. It’s not like he’s ever going to meet the violinist, so he’s free to picture whoever he pleases. 

He’s sweating, it’s the heat, it must be. His palms that are clenched into fists by his sides are coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his forehead growing damp again. He makes no effort to wipe it away, he lets the heat sweep over him. He allows the flames to engulf him, the chords of the song floating to him still. 

But as soon as it’s begun, it ends. The violin fades out, leaving the music buzzing pleasantly in his veins. The lady smiles, nods and starts to walk off, back to her house. The concert comes to a close, curtains shut and shun all backstage visitors away. But when has Alexander ever abided by the rules? 

His feet march him into the garden, down the lawn and up to the porch. He steps up the stairs, both of them at once. He’s having trouble summoning courage, something that’s rare for him. Typically he isn’t walking up to a strangers home just to congratulate them on their musical talent… that he probably isn’t even supposed to hear. 

It takes Alexander a long minute of just standing there before he swallows his pride and taps his knuckles off the door. There are footsteps, coming closer and as they do he rids himself of the urge to run away. 

He’s almost expecting Jefferson, he’s built him up in his mind and placed him on a pedestal. Or maybe it’s better to say that he’s trying to force the man into a treasure box, as he does with all the things he loves. His mother’s memory goes in there, his pens and his laptop and the pendant necklace from his mother. He’s trying to push Jefferson into the box too, to keep him by his side but he won’t stay. Perhaps it’s impossible to keep a person preserved in a treasure chest, or maybe it’s just Jefferson. He needs room, he needs space to evolve and change and grow and Alexander’s treasure chest can’t provide that. Alexander can though. He just has to let Jefferson stay out of the box. 

Like he said, he’s almost expecting Jefferson to be at the door. But he still gets shocked when it actually is. It actually is Thomas fucking Jefferson standing in the doorway and Jesus he’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt so tight it should be illegal. It’s difficult enough for Alexander to handle when he can practically see Jefferson’s chest through his sheen white dress shirt at work, but this is too much. This man is an Adonis. He’s the sun, Alexander is an icarus and he feels as though he simply has to fly closer. 

“Hamilton!”

Shit, has he been speaking this whole time? Alexander flicks his gaze to Jefferson’s face, and fuck him he’s wearing glasses. Chunky black hipster frames that balance on the bridge of his nose. Christ, he’s in deep isn’t he? 

Jefferson waves his hand in front of Alexander’s face, grabbing his attention. “Hu-uh?” Alexander stumbles out his words pathetically, lighting up red soon after. He goes the same crimson as Jefferson’s shirt, the colour he identifies the man with. He looks like he’s about to slap Alexander across the face if he doesn’t start properly talking soon.

“Are you even listening to me?” Jefferson hisses, venom laced in his tone. He’s like a snake, coiled up into a spring, ready to attack and bite at the next to approach. In his hands (lord, those hands!) he holds a clear water bottle, knuckles white with the ferocious way he grips it. He brings it up to his lips and takes a careful sip, eyes trained like a sniper on Alexander.

Hamilton collects himself, gathering his thoughts, which shouldn’t be as difficult to do as it is. He coughs into his fist, realising how dry his throat is. The aspect of water is welcoming, and he wants to reach out just to snatch the plastic (reusable, how environmental) bottle off of Jefferson to guzzle down the remaining liquid. Alas, he does not. Because that would be weird. 

He still hasn’t answered, thus Jefferson continues with a hiss. “What are you doing here?!” He’s not angry, Alexander knows this. He has seen the man angry. 

One time, he had seen the man in his furious element. The cabinet meeting had just ended, and Jefferson had stormed out after Washington had taken Alexander’s side once again. It wasn’t Hamilton’s fault he was better! Jefferson had stalked towards his office, and Hamilton had followed after him, the cheap fake leather of his shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum. Alexander had continued his argument, much to the dismay of the taller man. Jefferson had tried his very best to slam the door on Hamilton’s face, using all his force (which was a lot) to close it behind him, but Alex managed to stick his foot in the gap and wretch it open, still blabbering away. Jefferson had collapsed into his office chair, held his head in his hands and muttered to himself as Alexander got closer. His voice had stayed a constant, boisterous and accompanied with gesticulating gestures until he lost his cool and whipped Jefferson’s seat around himself. 

“Answer me already! You spit and stumble your way through speeches, I bring out the real you! I bring out the fires! Show me him and argue back!” The animosity had been high in Alexander’s tone, he liked the unabashed Jefferson who fought with him. The man who poured wisdom from his tongue like his mother language. Why he held it back when talking to anyone else baffled him beyond belief. But this meeting he had barely spoken, just shared his points with a quiet voice and sat back down, not bothering to debate Alexander. He was furious, made sure to target Jefferson in some of his words just to try and get a rise, a reaction, anything! But it had not worked, so he resorted to his last lifeline, and followed the man to his office. 

Jefferson snapped his gaze up, and there it was, the fire he so dearly wanted. The red-hot passion that licked at his pupils, threatened to burn Alexander. “You bring out the real me?! No, Hamilton,” he had spat his name like it was some dirt on the bottom of his polished shoes, “you bring out the worst in me! You bring out the angry, tired part of me that doesn’t want to deal with your bullshit!” 

“My bullshit?” Alexander had smirked as though he had won, and in his sense he had. For a moment at least. Because he had gotten a reaction, the thing he craved as much as air. He had gotten his red to reply and that’s all he really needed. He was happy from here on out. But, he could always push it further. So he had. “Care to explain to me what my bullshit is? Is it my financial plan? Is that what it is, Jefferson?” He had remained sickeningly-sweet, words sugary like honey, dripping in the same way. 

Jefferson had laughed, hysterical really. A break from his usual smug laughter. A break Alexander didn’t enjoy very much. He was never one to like breaks, preferred to continue in a way he always had. And he and Jefferson had a dance, a specific way they did things that they had yet to break. A routine that Jefferson was so arbitrarily destroying just with a fit of chuckles. “Your financial plan is a piece of insulting garbage, but that is not what I mean-“ he had scoffed, and rose from his seat, towering over Alexander with a menacing glint. “-You are a parasite to me, you trail around like some sad puppy, desperate for attention! But why me? I stammer through speeches, but alas it’s better than talking a million miles a minute where no one can understand you! You bring out the fire, the hellfire! You make me want to snap you into pieces and scatter you on my lawn like fertiliser. Do us all a favour and get out!”

A little shocked by the imaginative insult, Alexander resisted. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Jefferson had him by the collar next, shoving him up against a wall, face so close he could feel the hot breath of his rival on his face. “You talk a big game, Hamilton, yet you forget to follow through. The fire you bring out in me is the worst part about myself and I’d prefer to hide it away,” he had growled, low and rumbling in his chest, “you’re not good enough to lick the dirt off my shoes. You must think you’re so special, yet all you do is hump the President’s leg until you get what you desire. God knows why he takes your side on every political matter.” He had dropped Alexander after that, left him scrambling to his feet. “Get out of my office.”

Scared, but stubborn, Alexander had supplied a retort. “Or what, old man? Gonna make me?” 

Jefferson had grit his teeth together, grinding them so hard Hamilton was surprised they hadn’t faded away. “Or else.”

“All bark and no bite.” Alexander scoffed in return, making his way slowly to the door. He cast a look over his shoulder in time to see Jefferson physically slump back into his chair, looking tense and stressed and he couldn’t help but feel bad. He had felt Jefferson’s eyes on his back the whole time he had left, felt them searing holes through his jacket and burning into his skin. Not that he was complaining though. 

And once again, Alexander peers up at him with wide eyes. “Oh, well um-“ he directs his gaze over Jefferson’s shoulder, “it’s kind of a long story.” He’s hinting quite obviously at his pleas to come inside, and Jefferson must catch on because a hint of realisation casts over his dark eyes, the eyes Alexander spends so much of his time thinking about. 

“I have time,” came Jefferson’s grimy reply. One long finger came up to push his glasses up by the rim, unlike anyone else who would push them up by the bridge. Alexander inadvertently stashed this information away in his treasure chest. He taps his foot in a way that almost feels surreptitious. Or perhaps that’s the incorrect word. Jefferson keeps looking over Alexander’s head, then glancing behind him, eyes darting in all directions. 

Alexander has the sun beating down on his back, and he can see Jefferson squinting in the light. It’s hot again, too hot in all the wrong ways, and Alexander only feels hotter with Jefferson’s eyes on him. “Well- uh- it started because my AC unit broke and-“

“Hamilton, I didn’t ask for a life story,” Jefferson fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt, looking almost nervous. Which was ludicrous! Jefferson? Nervous? That… made a lot of sense actually. His stammering through meetings, his constantly tensed shoulders, the time he had overheard Madison and Adams talking about him a few years back, saying “He was born stressed out about something.” It makes the shuffling around start to add up, how he loses his cool around Alexander and loosens up because he stops thinking. He stops worrying and starts concentrating solely on deconstructing Hamilton’s argument. He feels a little rush of pride at that, that he can get Jefferson to let go. Yet at the same time, it feels like it’s perverse knowledge he isn’t supposed to have access too, which brings him right back around to the key metaphor. A metaphor he’s using so often it’s beginning to lose meaning, and he’s beginning to imagine an actual key, which confuses his head even more than it already is. 

He’s broken from his thoughts by Jefferson speaking once more, “would you like to come inside?” He asks quietly, shifting foot to foot. Alexander steals his gaze downwards, unable to look Jefferson in the face as he processes that question. His rival (whom he’s established as the man he wants to date, and god it feels so much more real when he thinks of it like that), has just invited him into his home. His home that Alexander always imagined to be bigger, more spectacular and less… welcoming. “You could inform me of why you’re standing on my doorstep in broken sandals over a glass of Chardonnay?”

“How am I supposed to say no to that?” Alexander responds almost mockingly, stepping into the home as Jefferson moves aside. He shuffles and a hand goes up to card through his curls, and Alexander wonders if they’re as soft as they appear. He resists the urge to stride over and find out for himself as he steps inside. “I would take my shoes off, but I feel as though barefoot is even more disrespectful.” He hums absent-mindedly.

Jefferson seems to tune back in at that as he flicks his gaze to follow Alexander. “And since when have you cared about being respectful towards me?” His words are sharp, upset almost. It’s strange, but Alexander kind of likes the vulnerability, it feels special. As though Jefferson is trusting him with the real real him. “Just leave your shoes on,” he adds carefully onto the end with a flippant wave and a frown. 

Alexander does just that, but wipes his feet on the welcoming mat Jefferson has placed in his hallway. “What’s your liquor of choice?” Jefferson asks, sauntering off towards his kitchen, voice growing quieter as he walks off. Alexander finds his eyes following his back, watching the way his red shirt clings to the muscles of his back, and he swallows slowly, with intent. 

“I believe I was promised Chardonnay, Mr Jefferson!” Alexander calls after him, taking it upon himself to look around the hallway. It’s cooler inside, thank god, but it’s not chilly. Jefferson knows how to set his AC without breaking it, Hamilton could never relate. The walls are painted a warm brown, framed family photos lining the hall. There is one, where Alexander counts twelve people in the image. The camera quality isn’t great, but all the people in the photo are similar in appearance, the only two who stand out are the ones who look like parents, as their hair is turning grey and there are wrinkles along their foreheads. He spots Jefferson - well, Thomas because he’s managed to figure out everyone in the photo is a Jefferson - rather quickly, he’s the second tallest in the picture, just after the one who looks like his father, but he looks younger, smiling wide at the camera and holding a baby boy on his hip. He looks much too young to have a son, so he must be Jefferson’s brother. 

There's another photo of him cradling a small child in his arms, a newborn, little girl based on the pink wool hat on her head. He looks older than the previous photo, so Alexander deciphers that this is his child. He looks around. There are no children about. He’s smiling wider than he’s ever seen before, down at the baby whose eyes are tightly shut. Alexander grins to himself and ghosts a finger over Jefferson’s face, or at least over the glass. There’s a corner of a woman’s face in the top left, she looks tired. Jefferson does too, bags under his eyes and smile creases by his lips. But he still looks… god, what word can he use?

The next photo makes his fond smile fall faster than a rock from the top of a cliff. A wedding photo, Jefferson in his mid-twenties, dressed in a suit (that hugs him in all the right places, damn) and kissing a short woman in a flowing white wedding dress. He looks so happy, beaming as his hands rest on her hips. A wave of jealousy crashes over him as he studies the image closer. It’s outdoors, must be in Virginia, and the two newlyweds are standing under an arch laced with pink roses and light pink tulips. He frowns, there goes his chance. But it won’t hit him yet, it only will at around midnight, when he’s emailing Washington where he will pause and scream for a minute as it sets in.

He’s so focused on the wedding pictures that he doesn’t even notice Jefferson coming up behind him. “That’s Martha,” the low voice by his ear makes Alexander jump out of his skin, clasping a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out. “Sorry, did I scare you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and continues to talk, “I thought you would’ve been in the living room, but I suppose I never told you to make yourself at home.” Alexander turns around and chokes on a breath. Because fuck, Jefferson is right there, glasses slipping down his nose, cheeks dusted red and lips inches away from his own. He swallows again, takes a step backwards and hits the wall with his back. 

Jefferson hands him a champagne flute with a bubbling glass of white wine, and Alexander nods in return. "Thank you," he studies Jefferson carefully as he flicks his chin up quickly and takes a step away, giving Alexander room to finally breathe. He quickly glances back at the few photos on the wall, catching a glimpse from his peripheral vision as Jefferson sips from his glass. "Martha was…?" He waits for the other to finish his sentence impatiently. 

"My wife," Jefferson answers with ease, gulping back a small drink. "A million years ago at least." He chuckles. And Alexander doesn't quite understand. Typically, divorcees don't keep photos of their marriage hanging in the entrance way to their home. Apparently the confusion is evident in his expression, because his host keeps talking. "She passed away eight years ago, just after giving birth." 

Alexander bites down on his bottom lip, regretful. He was just thinking about how jealous he was, thinking about going home, calling Laurens or Lafayette and talking shit about Jefferson and his supposed wife. Well he certainly wouldn’t be doing that anymore. “Oh,” he says, rather ineloquently, “I’m sorry.”

Jefferson shrugs, takes another long drink from his glass, like the conversation pains him. It probably does, Alexander realises. “It’s alright, it was a long time ago,” he drawls, making sure to not finish his glass. It’s half full now, and Alexander sips the sparkling liquid. Jefferson clears his throat, looking much like he does during meetings. Uncomfortable, small almost. “Well, can I tempt you to sit in the parlour with me?” He raises an eyebrow, leads them through to a room with windows that are almost floor to ceiling, spar for the comfy looking window seat (covered in a knitted quilt and tartan pillows) that Alexander plops himself down on. The other man seats himself by a small round table, mahogany for the looks of it. 

Alexander wants to speak, as always. His tongue flicks in his mouth, forming words but Jefferson cuts him off. “So, Alexander, tell me, what brought you to my doorstep on this… boiling afternoon?” It doesn’t slip past him that Jefferson uses his first name. The way it rolls with his accent, drawling slow as always until Alexander is hanging onto every syllable. 

His brain catches up with the question after being so hung up on the way his given name sounds on Jefferson’s lips, and the fact that he would love to hear it in other contexts- God, he needs to stop. But the man is right there and- No. “I broke my air conditioning unit, and needed to get out.” He shrugs and takes a slurping drink of Chardonnay, perhaps if he irritates Jefferson enough, he’ll see the fire he wants.

“That doesn’t explain why you knocked on my door,” Jefferson flicks his wrist and places his glass down. Alexander can practically hear the cogs in his brain (that wonderful mind) whirring as he thinks. He can see the intelligent man putting the puzzles pieces together, in order to view the whole picture. He stops to admire his fellow Secretary’s brilliance far too often, and he always has. It’s a constant, a comma in his life where he pauses and admits to himself that Jefferson is smart. And sometimes he hates it. He hates that Jefferson is so so bright, but is full of only stupid things to say. Like he doesn’t learn both sides of the argument before presenting. Or perhaps that’s just how humans work, they’re always going to be biased. 

Alexander coughs into his fist again, seeing Jefferson grit his teeth that he had the audacity to slurp his expensive (probably French, pretentious bastard) wine. “I decided to go for a walk,” he began to explain, as confident as always. “And then I ended up here,” he chewed on the inside of his cheek, “because I heard you playing violin and wanted to come speak to whoever the player was. Didn’t know it was going to be you.” 

Jefferson appears uncomfortable. He finishes his glass in one large gulp and places his now empty glass on the table. He pushes his glasses up his nose by the rim once more, sighing softly. “You say that like it was bad playing.” He said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances at his empty glass, refilling it with only his eyes and exhaling as it refuses to fill. How disappointing.

“No, no!” Alexander waves his hands in a flurry, almost spilling his Chardonnay on the laminate flooring. Jefferson’s eyes catch the droplet that flies from the glass and lands on one of his quilted cushions. Hamilton is too busy explaining himself to realise. Why is he being so considerate of Jefferson’s feelings? (He has a crush on him, he knows this. He knows it’s because the man looks so much more vulnerable in his own home, in shorts and t-shirt and glasses. And oh fuck he’s staring again.) “I wanted to come tell the violinist how incredible their playing was!” He watches the man who is supposed to be his rival smile, genuine and pure, and his heart soars. Butterflies swarm in his stomach, flapping their wings at a hundred miles an hour. It’s like he can take flight, all because of Jefferson’s shy little grin, watching the way his lips twitch upwards. It’s so different from his other sly, wicked smirks, all teeth and hatred. Is it hatred really though? Alexander doesn’t have the time to ask himself all of these questions again, he’s never going to find an answer. 

"I've played ever since I was a child," Jefferson replies, tapping his fingers off his thighs. As Alexander has established, everything about this man seems to be carved by the gods out of stone and his legs are no exception. 

"Impressive." He isn't lying. Alexander finds it wildly impressive, violin is a difficult instrument to master. He believes Jefferson mutters something along the lines of 'thank you', but he isn't particularly paying attention. He needs more to drink. He doesn't want to have to think anymore, so he doesn't. Instead, he downs his glass. 

“Want a refill?” Jefferson drawls, rising to his feet and taking both empty glasses. All Alexander can do is nod and watch as the man walks off, eyes concentrated on his back and definitely not other places because that would be crude. 

Alexander crosses his legs (sits criss-cross applesauce) on the windowsill seat, fluffing a pillow behind his back and cautiously leaning back to rest against the window panes. He’s almost scared of breaking them, or of the glass popping out. So instead he turns and tucks his knees in slightly, sitting along it sideways to lean on the wall that slightly juts out. He must appear comfortable, because when Jefferson comes back in he laughs carefully. “Made yourself at home I see?” He hands Alexander the glass of Chardonnay, and he notes that in his other hand is the bottle. 

“Yeah, got a problem with that?” Alexander responds sarcastically. Jefferson plops himself down - surprisingly - beside Alexander, in the small space between his feet and the other wall. He hadn’t expected the sudden closeness, and all cognitive thought grinds to a stop when he realises he can smell Jefferson’s overpriced cologne. It’s probably perfume, when he thinks about it. Flowery and reeking of money. But Alexander thinks (after smelling it before, and now smelling it here) that he’ll kill Jefferson if he ever wears anything else. 

Jefferson sips from his glass. “Not at all.” Alexander wants to stretch his legs out, but felt as though he couldn’t do that. Jefferson was right there! What can he do? Put his feet on the man’s lap? … he could do that. He could actually do that. “Whatcha thinkin’ about, Hammy?” He purrs teasingly, raising a curious eyebrow and chuckling to himself. Alexander can’t help but notice the slight flush of his cheeks, the dusty pink across his skin. He eyes him suspiciously, before he finally realises that the man must be a lightweight. Now there’s something he didn’t expect.

“Hammy?” Alexander quirks an eyebrow, suspect. It’s amusing how Jefferson seems to relax that slight bit as he sips his Chardonnay. The slightly older man just nods in return, bringing his glass to his lips and taking another drink. Alexander does the same, swirling the wine in his champagne flute with a chuckle. “Just that I wanna stretch out.” He shrugs and continues to drink, observing as Jefferson’s face scrunches up unattractively. Somehow, Hamilton still finds it adorable. Who would’ve thought he would find Jefferson cute? How strange.

“Then just do it,” Jefferson suggests with a smile, shrugs his shoulders and sips his drink. Alexander is surprised, never would’ve thought Jefferson would allow him to kick his feet up. It feels intimate, like a cute-couple thing to do. He hesitantly stretches his legs out, untucking his knees and placing his feet up on Jefferson’s lap, who hums his approval. 

Alexander sips his Chardonnay, starting to speak. And Jefferson? Jefferson starts to listen. 

Half an hour, and the rest of the bottle of Chardonnay later, the two are on the right side of tipsy. They’re just drunk enough to feel comfortable enough to sit shoulder to shoulder, resting against each other without looking like they’re being forced into the close proximity. Except they are no longer shoulder to shoulder, in fact, they’re closer than that. Alexander has his head on Jefferson’s lap, his glass long forgotten on the table, along with Jefferson’s champagne flute too and the empty wine bottle. Alexander is continuously muttering about the current political climate, ranting quietly while Jefferson listens, occasionally inputting his opinion.

“Are you not gonna argue with me?” Alexander raises an eyebrow. He’s trying to irritate Jefferson, and pokes his cheek to try and agitate him more. But Jefferson doesn’t react, other than blushing an even darker crimson. The colour he is. He’s crimson, but now he’s dull and Alexander misses his booming red. 

Jefferson hums to himself, eyes fluttering shut. Alexander reaches up and pushes the other man’s glasses up his nose by the bridge. Jefferson flicks his eyes open suddenly and stares down at him, catching his wrist in his hand. Alexander feels paralysed, feeling his large palms around his own bony wrist and holding it in a loose grip. He doesn’t answer the question, “it’s so nice outside. Why are we still sitting here?”

“Why indeed?” There’s a ever so slight slur to his words, drawn out a little more than usual. Alexander kicks his feet to the ground, standing so casually it’s like he stays and hangs with Jefferson all the time and not never at all. He turns to face Jefferson, overlooking his features. He’s never had a chance to look at him so relaxed, and he notices how tense Jefferson typically is compared to now. At work, his shoulders are straight, hunched up to his ears and his posture is a horizontal line. Whereas now, he’s a little more slumped, tension gone from his body. It’s a breath of fresh air, one he never thought he would experience and accept so easily.

Jefferson rises to his feet, and typically he would be towering over Hamilton yet now, he doesn’t feel as dominating. Instead, he’s softer, edges aren’t as sharp or predatory. The mirthful glint in his pupils has faded, but the fire still licks at his eyes. It’s a welcoming heat, like the fireplace on a freezing day. And despite the current heatwave, Alexander finds himself wishing to curl up by the fire like a purring cat. “Come on, let’s go sit in my backyard.” 

Alexander expects to trail after him, certainly not for the man to offer his hand to Hamilton. But he takes it, ignoring the way his heart pounds in his chest and the way his head is screaming at him. “You’re holding his hand! You’re holding Thomas Jefferson’s hand! He offered it to you! You didn’t even have to ask!” His pulse races in his ears, as he leads the two of them into his back garden. It’s beautiful, a large monkey puzzle tree in the far right corner, casting a lovely shadow over a section of the yard. Jefferson guides Alexander over to the tree and sits down under it, gesturing next to him. “C’mon, Hammy, I don’t have all day.” Alexander feels his heart flutter again, starting to race at the ridiculous nickname. If anyone else used it, he would be quickly driven mad. It’s all because of this damn Secretary. 

Alexander takes a seat by him, leaning against the bark of the tree and exhaling. It’s warm, but at least vaguely cooler under the tree. Jefferson certainly seems to appreciate it, as the slightly intoxicated man removes his glasses and places them on the trimmed glass next to him, tips his head back until it hits the tree truck and breathes out happily. Alexander eyes the expanse of skin by his neck, and starts to feel like a particularly famished vampire, gazing at the muscles of someone’s neck of all places. But there’s a familiar itch in his fingertips, the urge to have his face tucked into the crook of his neck and just breathe. The thought would be scarier if it wasn’t for the alcohol in his blood. He feels confident, confident enough to lean against Jefferson and carefully hide his face in his shoulder. Not his neck, sure, but it’s close. 

Alexander can feel his counterparts breathing stutter and he gently nuzzles against him, appreciating the muscle under him. “Hamilton, are you alright?” He’s sobered up, the shock of Alexander curling around him like ivy clings to a house seemingly having knocked the wine out of his system. He allows Alexander to wind himself tighter around his body, like it's cold out and he’s the only viable source of heat. It’s not. It’s still absolutely sweltering, evident in the way sweat beads at Jefferson’s brow and Alexander longs to reach over and smooth out the developing stress lines. 

“Mhm…” Alexander hums his answer and buries his head into Jefferson’s neck, finally finally being close enough to him.  Yet… somehow he’s dying to be closer. “I’m great, perfect! Even,” he giggles, the alcohol definitely making him a fun drunk. He’s a lightweight, that’s for sure, but when it hits him, it hits all at once. He’s got a rush of flirtatious courage surging through his veins, hot in his blood. 

Jefferson moves his hand across and gently caresses Alexander’s pink cheeks, observing how he keens into it like a cat. That’s exactly what Alexander reminds him of, a cat. Hissing and violent in his worst moments, yet clingy and desperate for attention in his best. It’s a good thing Jefferson likes cats then. He drags an arm around Alexander’s shoulder, taking in his appearance. Small and (gross, his back is damp) hunched over, tucking into him and smiling, pink lips twitching into a happy grin. He’s so soft like this, vulnerable in a way Jefferson’s never seen him before. He’s intensity is being channeled into a new emotion, and Jefferson knows he’s still red. Still a fiery red, but it’s dragged in a different direction. It’s pulling him into love, and it makes his stomach do flips. Because if he has to be honest to himself, he’s had a crush on this ridiculous gremlin (excuse of a man) politician since the day of their first Cabinet meeting. Alexander could keep up with his thunderous talking pace, and he loves it. He loves it so much. “You’re sure?”

“Well,” Alexander decides it’s now or never, “I suppose there’s a way it could get…” he darts his tongue out and licks his lips, “even better.” He moves an inch away from Jefferson, eyes flickering between his eyes (no longer covered by lenses) and his lips, which look all too kissable. Jefferson doesn’t seem to catch on, just catches Alexander’s gaze with his own intense one. 

“How so?” He raises an eyebrow, arched brow almost judging him. 

“Kiss me,” Alexander breathes, tilting his chin upwards and leaning forward, hoping Jefferson will close the gap. And he does. God he does. He leans down and in, dipping his head and pressing his lips softly to Alexander’s own. They’re soft and insistent and gentle against his own chapped ones. And Alexander finds himself sober, before getting drunk on the feeling of Jefferson kissing him and ha! He’ll be able to rub this in Lafayette’s face later! Suck it, Frenchie! 

Alexander cards his hand into Jefferson’s curls, because he’s scared he’ll never get the chance to feel them again. They’re as soft as they look, springy between his fingers and wonderful to the touch. It’s such a wonderful kiss, their first kiss, and Alexander wants to keep on kissing him forever. Jefferson makes a quiet whimpering noise and Alexander forces himself to pull away before he melts and never does. “Jefferson,” he breathes across his lips.

“Thomas,” the other corrects delicately, a meer whisper before he’s tangling his hand in Alexander’s hair and tugging Alexander back to meet his lips. It’s feverish this time, desperate and needy. The roasting heat must be getting to them, because they’re rivals, are they not? Well, not anymore. Because he’s pretty sure enemies don’t kiss in summer heatwaves, under monkey puzzle trees in their rivals back garden. But they do now, because Alexander isn’t giving this up for the world. Not now. He has his red. 

“Thomas,” Alexander repeats Jeffer- Thomas’s words as they break away again. The name feels heavy on his tongue with the taste of its owner on his lips. Like it should be a sin, a sin to have enjoyed that so much. But he will gladly go to hell if it means getting to experience that intimacy again. The base of his ponytail has started to be tugged out, knotting where his fingers have tangled in the locks. He lays his head on the man’s shoulder, starting to slide half in and half out of his lap. It’s insane, the burning feeling in his chest as he locks this memory away in his treasure box, saving it for a rainy day, just in case this was a one time thing.

Thomas cradles Alexander’s chin in one hand, thumb hooking under his jaw and tilting his head up so that he can look into his eyes. Hamilton could get lost in those eyes, as he has many times. So many times during cabinet meetings he has stared at Jefferson, at those dark eyes and simply dove in, gleeful at the aspect of drowning in them. Only for the man to spout some ridiculous shit and drag Alexander out of the waters, slap him around and take him to his senses. “Yes, dear?”

That voice was going to be the death of him.

“I-“ He lost all forms of cognitive thought, the train must’ve derailed when Thomas pressed their lips together. Because fuck, he can even feel the violin chords buzzing in his veins again and it’s all so much and he loves it. Alexander flicks his gaze around Thomas's face, (he really has to get used to calling him that) kiss-swollen lips, the deep blush across his cheeks. He must look like an awestruck child from Thomas's perspective, because the man chuckles and takes his free hand through Alex's hair, taking it out of the pony tail in one movement. "Red." Alex mutters finally.

"Red?" Thomas repeats with a cocked eyebrow, hands Alexander his hair tie and brings both hands back to his lap. He really isn't sure what Hamilton means. What does red have to do with anything? If he had to put a colour to this moment, he would call it tickled pink. Intense and warm, but full to the brim of love and devotion. Pink.

Alexander nods, presses a finger to Thomas's chest, and another to his own. "Red," he nods, taking his fingers away, instead splaying his palm across Jefferson's chest absent-mindedly. "That's our colours. We're red."

Thomas never imagined he would be agreeing with Alexander so easily. With Martha, their relationship had been a soft pink. The fire was there, buried beneath the surface of dedication and loyalty. It was comfortable, it was perfect. He never needed anything else, because everything he needed was in Martha. But was he pink? Certainly not. She was his high-school sweetheart, the only real relationship he had ever had. He didn't count the many women (and men) in France, they never lasted longer than a night of sub-par activities and a morning of awkward goodbyes. 

"We are, aren't we?" Thomas hummed, eventually pulling himself from his thoughts before he sunk too far. Thinking was a dangerous activity, one he didn't take time to do in fear of never emerging again. 

"But," Alexander continues, and Jefferson's heart sinks. There's always a catch, isn't there? "We're the opposite reds. You're the darker red, most definitely. You're secrets and feelings are locked away, while I display mine like the lights on Broadway." 

Thomas gulps. Never before has he been called out so boldly, or in such a forward manner. Yet Alexander has hit the nail on the head, first try and won the prize so it seems. He softens a little further, slumping against the tree. A low hanging stick swats at his head, and he bats it away with one hand.

"You keep everything behind lock and key… no one else has the key, I don't think," Alexander draws little swirls and patterns with his fingertip on Thomas's chest, the art fading as fast as it appears. He feels the man quiver, trying to hold himself together, and he knows that stone wall he hides behind is breaking. 

He shakes his head in a curt motion. "Ja- Madison has a key," he corrects, inadvertently agreeing with Alexander, "Martha… Martha had a key." He finishes there, hands folding into each other, fingers fidgeting with discomfort. His face contorts as he screws it up, not allowing his mind to drift, forcing himself to stay in the moment. Stay in the tickled pink time. But how do you make pink from two reds?

"I'd like a key," Alexander adds, "if you'd be willing to lend me a spare." He glances up at Jefferson through his eyelashes, shall he offer something in return? The key to his treasure chest perhaps? The place he stores his most prized memories? 

Jefferson chews on his lip. "I think you already have one. Whether we realised it or not… you've always had one." The metaphor is starting to confuse him, muddling with his mind. So many keys, and so many possible doors they could unlock and it's all a bit much. What door should he go through first? None of them have labels, none of them have a clear cut future secured behind them. How does he choose? Maybe he should let Alexander choose for him, go along for the ride.

Alexander smiles. He drapes himself further across Jefferson, kicking one of his legs over both of the man's and leaning into his shoulder, tucking himself there. The hot air, accompanied by the events that just occurred have sobered him almost entirely, but it feels so much better to experience this without the alcohol tainting his memory. "Thank you."

"For what?" Thomas raises an eyebrow, because as far as he's certain, he should be thanking Hamilton. Or cursing him. Cursing him and whatever magical force drew them together. This may just make him believe in fate, in destiny. He wasn’t a Christian, not anymore anyway, but this had him thanking god. Thanking every god for bringing them together. This was good, he could sit under this monkey puzzle tree, feeling the way he is now for the rest of eternity. Not good, no, that didn’t do this justice. Amazing? Fabulous? Stupendous?

"It's a preemptive thank you, since you'll be paying for tonight's date. Say seven o'clock." Alexander smirks up at Thomas, watches as the man chuckles. That laugh, there's a sound he could get used to. And to know he caused it? Fills him with joy. The laugh is like yellow. He doesn't know why, it just is. Colours fit everything, his mother was a deep navy blue, his father a cold icy white. Lafayette is purple, a mix of strength and flowing like the sea, but passionate like red. Hercules is green like juniper, he’s a grounding presence, one that Alexander can rely on to stay strong for them all. Angelica is pink, full of passion, but for some reason she just doesn’t hit that red mark. Washington stands bold in yellow, along with Peggy, but much like Thomas and Alexander, opposite ends of the spectrum. He can’t say why these colours fit, where he got them from or why they are this way, but it just does. It all slots together, everyone in his life has an assigned colour. And he thinks they always will.

Thomas raises an eyebrow. "Alright, I'm sure the neighbour will be fine taking care of Patsy for a bit," he hums. It's nerve wracking, because Jefferson doesn't have a clue if Alexander is alright with kids or not. His brain is screaming at him that Alexander is going to see sense and run, hear the talk of kids and sprint. After all, they're both in their mid thirties, so it's normal for someone their age to have a child. What if Alexander doesn't like kids? God, was this a mistake?

“Patsy? The little girl playing out in the street?” Alexander asks, laying himself across Thomas. He feels comfortable, like himself already, and he feels like this could go places. Because reds match, and opposites attract. They’re just lucky they’re opposite reds. 

“Yeah, yeah, she’s playing with John,” Thomas sighs out his nose, grabbing his glasses and pushing them up his nose. He smiles at Alexander and giggles, actually giggles, a sound that makes Alexander’s heart fly like doves around his chest. “Dress comfy, I hope you like picnics.”

“Picnics?” Alexander raises an eyebrow. “I love picnics.” It’s true. Hell, if they picnic in the back of Thomas’s garden, criss-cross on a blanket under this tree, that could be one of the best dates of his life. 

“I’m glad, it’s my dream date,” Thomas admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “look at us, getting to know each other already!” He chuckles again, noticing the flush it causes to Alex’s cheeks. Gorgeous. He cups his jaw, watches as the smaller man leans into the touch with a soft purr. 

“You know what’ll make it even better?”

“What, if I bring more Chardonnay?” 

“No!” Alexander bats at his arm playfully.

“Then what?” Thomas asks through laughs.

“If you kiss me again.”

And he does. God, he does.

-

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[soul-music-is-life]

Could you do Sam’s first Christmas season? Please ? Hope you and you’re family are safe

Happy Holidays.

Much love.

Stay safe everyone.

*****

The holidays weren’t perfect. It had been hellacious to try and convince two moody teenagers to dress up like their moms and baby brother, but Lily and Grace begrudgingly put on the red and white flannel outfits because they wanted their little brother to have good memories to look back on.

Emily had gone overboard with the decorations, as always. Alison had come to love the over-the-top antics throughout the years. Emily had been big on Christmas since she was a kid.

Her dad was often overseas, so any time they were able to celebrate they went all out for it. The holidays had always meant a lot to her. Alison had learned to appreciate her affinity for it. Her enthusiasm was infectious.

The house smelled like peppermint and holly. The aroma of cinnamon was in the air. Emily had decorated the living room with several different Santas, candy canes, twinkling lights, wreaths, and snowmen. The tree was fully trimmed. They’d done it as a family.

It emitted the spirit of the season. Lily and Grace loved the decorations.

They loved the matching clothes a little less.

“We look like illegitimate candy canes.” Lily walked into the living room tugging at the sleeves on her pajamas.

Grace was padding along behind her.

“Don’t let your mother hear that. She’ll smite you in the name of Christmas.” Alison moved an ornament from the tree, trying to make everything look symmetrical. She wanted it to be perfect.

Bad mouthing Christmas was a punishable offense in the DiLaurentis-Fields house. The girls knew better. Yet they let their dissatisfaction be known.

“We look so tacky.” Grace lifted her arms to observe the long-sleeved shirt.

“How could you allow this fashion faux pas, mom?” Lily reached for the matching hat.

“Don’t ask her. She proposed to me in sweats and a pug sweatshirt.” Emily sauntered down the stairs.

She had Sam in her arms in his matching onesie, red pants, and red and white Christmas booties. He was bouncing and babbling to himself.

“Wait. For real?” Grace looked at Alison. “Way to be romantic, mom.”

“Love is love, smart-ass, regardless of fashion.” Alison playfully whacked the back of her head.

“Ah, sarcasm and abuse. It’s Christmastime alright.” Lily took in a breath of the fresh pine scent.

When Emily got to the bottom of the steps Sam started wiggling. He saw his sisters and lit up in delight. He loved traipsing along behind them and crawling in their laps.

She put him down. He clapped his hands in excitement and toddled towards them.

Grace and Lily fawned over him, encouraging him and clapping their hands loudly.

He latched on to Lily’s leg when he reached her, hugging her and cooing.

“Hi, Sammy.” Lily smiled down at him. He was gripping her pajama bottoms in between his little fingers. “You look like a little peppermint.”

“Awww.” Grace walked next to her sister and brother. “Suddenly I don’t hate these outfits so much. It’s cute when he wears it.”

Sam let go of Lily’s pant legs and looked up at Grace.

“Gace.” He still hadn’t mastered saying her name. For the longest time he’d pronounced it ‘gays’, which his mothers had thought was absolutely hysterical. “Gace up.” He lifted his hands and begged to be picked up.

“Hey, little man.” She leaned down and lifted him off of the floor. “You get to meet Santa today. You excited?”

Sam wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. He’d shifted his focus to Lily, reaching for her. Grace passed him off. He hugged her neck and murmured, “sissy, wuv.” His way of telling his sisters he loved them. 

Alison glanced at Emily as she reached for her phone to snap a photo. They loved capturing moments of their kids getting along.

“Down.” He ordered after about ten seconds.

He marveled at the lights on the tree as his family got set up for the picture. Every so often his moms had to pull him away so he wouldn’t rip an ornament down. He started to get fussy about it, so Alison put him in his play area.

They got into position and Emily set up the automatic timer on the camera. She walked around the Christmas tree to where Sam’s play area was set up. But he wasn’t in it.

“Em, hurry up. The light is flashing.” Alison tried to hurry her along.

“Uh...we’ve got a jail break.” Emily spun around.

She caught a glimpse of movement between the tree and the window. She quickly followed him.

She hadn’t been expecting to come out the other side to see that her son had stripped out of his outfit and diaper. He was only wearing his booties. He’d put a stocking on his head. It had slipped down over his forehead and was resting near his brows like the brim of a hat.

He looked up at his mom and grinned. Then he turned to run away, because he loved to make his parents and sisters chase him.

“Sammy! Get back here!” Emily stumbled around their presents.

“What...” Grace looked over and saw her brother stark naked and started howling in laughter.

Sam ran in front of the camera, directly in Alison’s line of sight. He had a snowflake ornament in his hand.

“Sam!” Alison exclaimed in surprise.

There was a rustling noise behind them. Grace had laughed herself into such a stupor that she was falling backwards into the tree. She knocked into it, nearly sending it falling into Emily, who was on the other side.

Emily popped out as the tree started to fall. Alison leaped forward and grabbed the tree to try and salvage the ornaments. She managed to get it upright again, but several ornaments fell into the pile of presents below it.

Lily had grabbed Grace’s arm to keep her from falling. Her other arm was stretched towards her little brother.

“Come here, buddy.” She tried to entice him.

“Heeee.” A huge grin spread across his face.

He watched in amusement as they pulled everything back together. He took a few wobbly steps towards his family, but tripped over his booties. He caught himself before he hit the floor, his baby-powdered bottom in the air in direct line of the camera, which was capturing the entire sequence of events.

The camera clicked as Emily reached down to grab him. When she had him in her arms she looked over at her wife and her daughters. They were all staring in utter disbelief.

The living room was completely silent.

“Tree!” Sam exclaimed in delight, pointing towards the tree that he’d nearly destroyed.

As he jutted his finger forward an ornament fell off of a limb and bonked Grace in the head.

“Best Christmas ever.” Lily smiled at the mayhem.

Sam giggled and then buried his face in Emily’s shoulder. The stocking fell off of his head, leaving him butt naked, with the exception of his feet.

Emily looked at Alison. They started laughing. Grace and Lily joined in. Emily walked over to her family.

“Guess he didn’t like the matching pajamas either.” Grace reached over to tousle his hair.

"Shall we try that again? Minus the demolition derby?” Alison leaned forward and tickled the little boy’s cheek.

“I’ve got his clothes.” Lily snapped his onesie in the air, sending a few pine needles to the floor.

Emily handed the baby off to Alison and went to set the camera up again while Alison got Sam redressed.

They gathered in front of the tree and took several photos in various different poses. None of them could contain their giggles.

After the photos were finished the twins insisted on making gingerbread cookies. They burned the first batch, but the second batch had been perfect.

They were finishing up the cookies as their moms got Sam ready for his picture with Santa.

Grace slid a spatula underneath the little man-shaped cookie, moving it off of the cookie sheet. Lily opened the oven with a mitt on and reached inside to grab the last of the cookies.

When she turned around Grace was squeezing some icing into a spoon.

“We have to wait for them to cool before we can decorate them.” Lily put the hot pan down against the stove. 

“Mind your business.” Grace shoved the spoon full of icing into her mouth. 

She stuck her tongue out at her sister. She hadn’t expected Lily to laugh in response.

“What’s so funny?”

“Your teeth are green.” Lily grinned.

“Girls! Are you almost ready?” Alison exclaimed.

They heard stampeding footsteps racing towards them. Sam’s boots clunked against the kitchen floor. He was wearing a light brown Christmas jumper that had a hood with reindeer antlers.

“It smells like Christmas in here.” Emily clapped her hands together in excitement.

She loved it when her girls got into the spirit.

“We thought we could decorate the cookies as a family after Sam meets Santa.” Lily double-checked to make sure the oven was off.

Sam saw the cookies and his eyes lit up. He reached up towards the cabinet, trying to grab them.

“No, no. That’s hot, buddy.” Lily swooped down and picked him up.

Grace picked up a cookie that had cooled down.

“Emily, you have to look at these pictures.” Alison walked in the kitchen with an amused look on her face, her phone in her hand.

The images from the digital camera automatically saved to their phones, but Emily hadn’t had a chance to look at them yet. Alison was swiping through them, laughing at each one.

“We’ll get little man situated in his car seat.” Grace broke off a piece of the gingerbread cookie and handed it to Sam.

He squeezed it with his fingers and brought the cookie up to his mouth. He closed his lips around it and started gumming it.

“Careful with the sugar. Don’t let him get too sticky.” Alison glanced at the twins.

“We got this. Relax.” Grace waved it off.

They went to grab Sam’s diaper bag. Emily and Alison sorted through the images, trying to choose one for a Christmas card. They had to have it ready when they went to the mall. They were planning on dropping it off to make multiple prints while Sam got his picture with Santa.

“My mom is going to love these.” Emily zoomed in on a picture where all of them, including Sam, were smiling at the camera.

“Never in a million years did I think we would be those people.” Alison shook her head with a laugh.

“The suburban mommies who force their children to wear matching jammies?” Emily asked.

Alison snorted.

“Say jammies again. It’s adorable.” She leaned into Emily, putting her hand against the brunette’s shoulder.

“I’ll show you adorable.” Emily moved forward and planted a kiss on her lips.

“Mmm.” Alison smiled. “You taste like peppermint.”

“Merry Christmas.” Emily lifted her brows with a smile.

“Maybe after the kids go to bed we can play a little Mrs. and Mrs. Claus?” Alison suggested. “I still have the sexy outfit from last year...”

"Merry Christmas to me.” Emily liked the sound of it.

Emily looked at the photo on her phone again.

“You know, these are cute.” Emily admired her family. “It’s kind of weird though. All the Christmases we had when we were younger were never normal. The first one without you after you disappeared was hard.”

Alison looked down at the floor.

“Sometimes I wish I could go back and fix everything about our childhood.” She chewed on her inner cheek.

“It got us here. So there’s that.” Emily smiled warmly at her wife. “Things were just different when I was a kid. My mom and dad went out of their way to spoil me on Christmas. I just want to make sure our kids have that experience. But maybe I’m trying too hard. Trying to overcompensate.” Emily shrugged. “I miss my dad a lot this time of year. This makes me feel like he’s with us.”

Alison felt a twinge in her heart. Emily held her emotions about her dad inside for the most part, but every so often she let her guard down. Alison knew how she felt. She missed her mom. The woman had been horrible, but she was still her mother. It was hard not having her around on the holidays.

“I love what you do for us. The girls, too.” She rubbed Emily’s arm.

“Yeah, I know.” Emily swiped through a few more photos. “But this year feels a little different.”

She scrolled through the photos until she got to the chaotic scene of their son rebelling against Christmas. She chuckled.

“See, this feels more real to me than all those other pictures.” She laughed at the image of everything falling apart. They all had genuine smiles on their faces.

“I thought you were going to get impaled by an icicle ornament.” Alison looked at the picture.

In the photo she had her mouth wide open. Her eyes were fixed on the tree, which was a blurring motion of lights.

They went through a couple more photos. Emily stopped when she landed on a picture where Sam was mooning the camera. It was right after he’d fallen over and caught himself on his palms. His little butt was in the air. Behind him it looked like Lily and Grace were toppling into the tree. Alison had her hands thrown up in surprise and Emily was stumbling out of the rubble. It looked like she was diving towards Sam.

Emily craned her neck forward and started laughing. It was the funniest thing she had ever seen in her life. And it was real. It was their family.

“Oh, this is priceless.” Emily felt tears of joy stinging her eyes. She couldn’t stop laughing. “We’re using this one.”

Alison peered at the photo. She saw the slack-jawed less-than-perfect appearance on her face and shook her head.

“Over my dead body.”

“Again? You know, you can only fake your death so many times...” Emily teased.

“You shut up.” Alison laughed in surprise.

“Come on. Look at it. This is us. I don’t think I could find anything better to represent what our family is like every day.”

“Complete and utter chaos?”

“Exactly.”

“Moms!” Lily called. “We’re ready!”

“We’ll continue this debate in the car.” Emily swiped the keys with a smile on her face. She knew she’d already won. She always got her way at Christmas. But for a little extra insurance she made a suggestion. “We’ll see what the girls think.”

Alison knew she was fighting a losing battle. Lily and Grace had Emily’s sense of humor.

By the time they got to the mall it had been decided. The disastrous picture was going to be their card.

The theme of disaster continued when they took Sam to meet Santa. He had cried when Alison placed him on Santa’s lap.

At first he’d been too distracted by his sisters making funny faces at him to notice the strange man with the white beard. But then he turned around. His little body jolted in surprise. His lip quivered when he saw the stranger.

He had spun around and reached for his mommies, his arms outstretched and his hands gripping at the air as he whined.

“It’s okay, Sammy.” Alison kneeled next to him as Santa bounced him on his knee.

“We’re right here, baby.” Emily leaned next to Alison. She played with Sam’s fingers.

Sam whimpered and looked back at Santa. The jolly old fellow smiled at him. Sam’s brows dipped down in apprehension and confusion. He reached for the beard and gave it a tug.

Santa laughed. When Sam saw him smile he smiled back.

Emily and Alison slowly backed away so they could snap the photo before their son noticed they weren’t next to him anymore.

They managed to get a halfway decent photo before he started to cry again. When Alison took him away from Santa he wrapped his arms around her neck and sniffled, laying his cheek against her shoulder. She rubbed his back and spoke quietly to him to calm him down.

He fell asleep on the way home, which they had expected. He’d had a big day, and it wasn’t quite over yet.

After he woke up from his nap he got to decorate cookies with his sisters. He got icing everywhere, including in his hair. 

When they were done with the cookies they had one last surprise for him.

They all bundled up to take him to look at the decorative lights all around the city. He had been in awe of them.

In the end it wasn’t the presents or the tree or the smell of the gingerbread men his big sisters made that Sam enjoyed the most about his first Christmas. It was the lights.

The blue icicle shaped lights that were hanging in the window at his house. The multicolored blinking lights outlining the neighbor’s house. The twinkling twilight lights set to “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” at the end of the block. The lights outlining Santa’s reindeer in a set-up a few streets over.

Large trees outlined in white lights. Candy canes in red and white spiral patterns. Christmas scenes from Santa’s workshop. Penguins playing in the snow. Presents and stars. Lights set to musical numbers.

He was fascinated by all of them. His favorite was a light parade of white and blue glowing shower lights spanning an entire house. Rainbows of greens and reds were set in an arch on a timer. White lights near the roof twinkling made it look like a winter wonderland.

“Oooh.” Sam lifted his chubby little hand and pointed his index finger towards the light display. The lights illuminated his face in different colors. “Whoooa.” He smiled.

He watched in amazement as he gummed a soft gingerbread cookie, leaving it a sopping drooling mess on his face.

Lily swiped away the drool on his chin. He made a face to showcase his disapproval, but then giggled and turned back towards the light display.

Seeing Christmas through their baby brother’s eyes gave Lily and Grace a new appreciation for the holiday. And it rejuvenated their tired moms.

It hadn’t been a perfect Christmas. The photoshoot had been a disaster. The girls had burned the cookies. Sam had cried meeting Santa. He had broken a Christmas ornament and scared himself and had ripped into a present that wasn’t his. The house was a mess by the time the night was over.

But that didn’t take away the joy that Alison and Emily felt when they put their tired boy to bed that night in his Christmas Pjs. They had listened as Lily and Grace read him The Night Before Christmas. They sang him Christmas carols until he fell asleep.

They laid in bed together that night, knowing their traditions weren’t perfect. But the traditions were theirs.

Christmas wasn’t about perfection. It was about the love of their family, and the memories that would last a lifetime...including the photo of a mischievous little boy running around in nothing but Christmas booties and a stocking on his head that was framed and put on their mantle as a reminder of the joy they had felt that day.

[swamp-lemonade]

Hi helloooo, you mentioned a swap au? 😇

HAHA I GOT SOME TIME AND IM NOT EXHAUSTED I CAN FINALLY WILL MY BRAIN TO TALK ABOUT THIS.

Okay so hear me out

This may be very self-indulgent

And definitely not just me fucking with the relationship dynamics

But I lov

So here we go

First off, it’s modern and a community college thing (totally not projecting about the fact I’m going to a community college haha)

Crutchie:

Very punk aesthetic

Like leather jackets with studs, goth punk man

Likes to pretend he’s a badass with no emotions

Although will back down at the first sight of confrontation

He a coward

Honestly has some issues he should talk out with someone

But he thinks he’s too cool for that (spoiler alert, he’s not)

Dating both Jack and Davey and lowkey melts for both of them

Davey:

A confident, one brain cell, fuck boy

Probably was in at least 3 different sports

One of them was definitely soccer

Wears his letterman from HS with pride babey

Would absolutely end a persons life for his siblings

Doesn’t have a good relationship with his parents and very rarely talks to them

Pretty much only goes back home to hang with Les and see how he’s doing

Also the guy who’ll throw his arm around you and make you feel included and like you’re One of the Guys™️ even if you don’t know him all that well

Loves his boyfriends with all his heart and consistently leaves them cute little notes

Jack:

Man’s a mess

Flusters easily, and cannot flirt to save his life

Such a nerd

You know that song “Stupid with Love” from Mean Girls? Yeah.

Will info dump if you give him the chance

Working really hard to make a difference in the world, and wants to protect the people he loves

Also carries around a small plush rabbit on a keychain that Race bought for him

All around oblivious, sweet guy

Sara:

Won’t Shut Up™️

Super hyper and pumped up and has more energy than the entire group combined

Def squeals when something makes her really happy

However, absolutely will fuck your shit up

Professor being an asshole to her friends or classmates? “Oops how did you end up with all your tires flat? Idk who’d do that.”

When some asshole’s stuff is fucked up, they are pretty sure it’s her, but they don’t have any evidence to back them up

Super into graffiti that makes a statement

Has also gotten into more fights than anyone in the group cares to count honestly

Also doesn’t have a great relationship with her parents

But would do anything for her brothers, no questions asked

Katherine:

Quiet

Only speaks when she really has to, but she makes sure her opinions are known

Won’t let people walk all over her in the slightest

The emo girl that’ll glare at you no matter what you do

Also likes to Fuck Shit Up™️

But is also really fucking nice

She volunteers at several different places around the city

Joins Sara on graffiti runs

Has an okay relationship with her dad, but still doesn’t like how fast he got over her mother’s death

Has been friends with Spot since she was little, and is def protective of him

Spot

“You know what goes great with everything? Pastel.”

Absolutely the soft boy your parents warned you about

Wears those glitter filled bracelets because “I like how the glitter moves when you move”

Bouncy and happy

But VERY emotional

Once cried because “Snowmen just DIE Katherine!”

Knows how to take care of himself! And still very strong

Has a great relationship with his mom and goes back home at every holiday

Uses a LOT of punctuation when he texts (i.e “!!!!!!!!” And “,,,,,,,”)

Race

Shy as hell

Hates when people talk to him and always styles his hair in a way that hides half his face

Wears a hoodie and def pulls the strings so you can’t see him when he’s embarrassed

Soft, quiet voice

Will boost his friends up before he would ever think about boosting himself up

Wants the best for everyone

Someone to talk to who’ll just be there for you and tell you you’re gonna be okay

Tall friend hugs are a special thing he only gives out to his closest friends

Jack’s little brother, and closest friend

Aaa sorry this was so long I just!! Lov them!! And it’s not super fleshed out yet, still kinda a work in progress, but I also have designs for most of them! Curse me not knowing enough about bad ass punk fashion! But yea! This is what I got for now :)

[atths--twice]

New story today. A little Pre-IWTB for @kyouryokusenshi who celebrated a birthday yesterday. 😊 Hope you enjoy.

Spending time alone in the Unremarkable House can sometimes take its toll on Mulder. The winter months seem exceptionally long at times and so he must find ways to use himself. Won’t Scully be in for a surprise when she gets home...

(I apologize for the long post, but the website would not allow me to post ANYTHING, and I needed to share this story. 🤷🏻‍♀️)

Snow Aliens and Surprises

February 2007

Snow crunched beneath Mulder’s feet, his cheeks cold, and his nose slightly runny. Looking at the large oddly shaped snowball he had gathered, he let out a breath, the condensed mist appearing before him. Bending down, he began to gather more snow to make the next level to his snow sculpture.

Getting it to the correct size, he lifted it onto the large snowball and set it at the right angle. One more smaller snowball was made and he placed it on the top of the other two. Shaping it and smoothing it down, he glanced over at the others he had already made, and he laughed softly.

Scully was in for a surprise when she got home.

He had been outside for quite awhile now, and he was happy with the creations he had made. Being inside and stuck at home, was beginning to wear on him and he knew Scully was concerned about how it was affecting him. She had said as much a few times, but he always brushed it off, not wanting to worry her.

After she had left for work that morning, he decided to do something different and be more proactive with how he was coping. He had gone for a long run in the cold winter air and then had a warm shower. Staring at himself in the mirror when he had finished, he had nodded and picked up a pair of shears, intent on trimming his beard down. It had gotten unruly and it needed to be trimmed and cleaned up.

Scully did not like it as much as he did, though she had not minded it as much when they had been on the run. Maybe if he did not appear too much like an unkempt mountain man, she would appreciate it more, and also see that he was doing okay in near solitude.

Going downstairs, he had made himself a late lunch and stared out the window at the snow in the yard, an idea beginning to form. Hurrying through his meal, he had gotten dressed in warmer clothing, and headed outside.

Deciding where to set it up, he had started gathering snow to create two snow aliens; snowmen being far too commonplace for their yard. Once the bodies were in their most basic form, he was now working on the best part: a large UFO.

He chuckled as he watched it taking shape under his gloved hands, gliding them along the edges, creating a curved body.

Picking up a stick he had found ahead of time, he carved one large circle around the circumference of the top, and then smaller ones under the edge he had just made. The bottom was given another continuous circle as he thinned the base somewhat, creating a beam-like look.

Smiling as he looked at his handiwork, he stepped back and began to work on the aliens. Curving their faces, he gave them a neck and shoulders before using the stick to create lines, suggesting a more detailed form to their snowy bodies. Adding dark rocks for eyes and mouths, he stepped back and grinned at the finished product.

“Yeah, that’s pretty badass,” he murmured with a nod. “It just needs one last thing.”

He walked to the steps and picked up the sign he had made from a garden stake he found in the garage. Cutting a thick piece of cardboard from an old box, he had nailed it to the stake and written in bold black letters: Nothing to see here. Move along.

Laughing again, he stuck it in the side of one of the aliens, as though it were holding it in its hand to ward off anyone interested in investigating their downed ship. Nodding at the sight before him, he took one last deep breath of cold air and trudged up the stairs, stomping his boots clean along the way.

At the door, he did so again and then unlaced them, sliding them off and leaving them outside, knowing he would need them again soon. Opening the door, he stepped inside, the warmth of the house surrounding him.

He took off his outer layers and blew his runny nose. With a shiver, he walked into the kitchen and washed his hands. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was later than he had thought, although he should have guessed by the sun setting as he finished his project.

Knowing there was no time to make anything from scratch, and God help their stomachs if he did, he opened the refrigerator and searched for leftovers he thought he had seen in there. Moving aside a large jar of pickles, his eyes widened. He grabbed the container Mrs. Scully had sent home with Scully a couple of days ago. Opening the lid, he found a beef stew that smelled so delicious, it made his mouth water and his stomach rumble.

“Thank you, Mrs. Scully,” he said quietly, as he set it on the counter and began to gather items for an impromptu fancy dinner.

Two deep bowls, cutlery, two wine glasses, napkins, candlesticks, and a tablecloth were set on the dining room table. Putting on his coat, he opened the door, slid on his boots and walked to the garage.

Searching around, he found the outdoor table and chairs set Scully had bought last September when the heat had been so awful, sitting outside in the warm humid air had been more preferable than sitting inside.

They had eaten the majority of their meals outside. Cool meals, that did not require the use of the oven, thus turning the house into what had felt like the center of the sun. Sandwiches, salads, or even bowls of cereal had been eaten at that table, both of them sweating and motionless.

Even after the heatwave, they had occasionally sat out there with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine at night, until a wild wind storm had forced them to clear the porch one night. They were put away and not used again.

Until now.

He carried them to the porch and set them up, in clear view of the snow aliens. Smiling at them, he went back inside and brought out the tablecloth, candles, napkins, and cutlery. Laying the tablecloth down, he set the table.

Leaving his shoes outside again, he took off his coat and opened a bottle of red wine. Glancing at the clock once more, he saw that Scully would be home in about ten minutes.

Perfect.

Taking out a pot, he emptied the plastic container of stew into it, to heat up on the stove. Leaving the stew on a low simmer, he poured the wine and as he set them down, he closed his eyes with a loud exhale.

“Shhhhhhhit,” he said through clenched teeth as he walked hurriedly over to his office to double check the calendar.

February 18tb.

“Fuck,” he seethed and took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay.” He looked around the office and shook his head. There was nothing there that one: she had not seen before, and two: would make a decent last minute early birthday gift. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he left the room and checked on the stew.

When it was hot, he turned it off and covered it. Putting on his coat, he walked out the door and slid on his shoes yet again, and sat in one of the chairs to await Scully’s arrival.

He was not waiting long when he saw her headlights turning off the main road, pausing as she opened the world's creakiest gate, she pulled through and then closed the gate again, before continuing up the snow covered driveway.

He could hear her laughing through the window as her headlights hit the snow aliens. He looked at her as she stopped and shook her head, a huge grin on her face. Turning the car off, but leaving the headlights on, she opened the door, stepped out and walked over to inspect them.

“Hey! Can’t you read?” he called out and she jumped back, apparently not having seen him sitting there. “Move along, woman!”

“Mulder…” she laughed and he stood up with a grin, walking down the stairs to join her. “You are… too much.” She touched the sign and shook her head with another chuckle.

“They’re pretty good, huh?” he asked and she nodded. “Gotta fill my days somehow.”

“Mulder,” she said again and turned her head to look at him. “Oh… look at you.” She touched his cheeks with cold fingers and he inhaled sharply. “Serves you right for startling me.” Holding his face, she pulled him down for a kiss, humming happily as he pulled back.

“You like?” he asked, touching his trimmed beard and she nodded with a smile that made his pulse race.

Oh yeah, he had made the right decision.

“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and walking toward the house. Stopping at the car, she turned off the headlights and took out her bag. Closing the door, she took his hand and they walked up the stairs.

“What? What’s all this?” she asked, stopping and looking at the table set on the porch.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat and running a hand across his chin. “I made the aliens there and thought some dinner would be nice, but… my cooking abilities…”

“Are rather abysmal,” she stated with a smile and he tilted his head with a shrug, his eyebrows up.

“Abysmal seems a bit harsh, but… ehhh yeah,” he agreed and she laughed softly. “But I wanted to do something and I found some leftovers your mom sent over-”

“Ohhh. The beef stew?” He nodded and she hummed. “I was thinking about it all day, so I’m happy to hear it’s on the menu. But are we eating outside? Mulder, it’s freezing out here.”

“Psshh…” he scoffed, waving his hand at her and shaking his head. “We’ve been in colder weather, we can certainly sit out here for twenty minutes and eat some dinner. Come on.”

“Hmm. Yes, nothing better than sitting in chilly weather and eating warm stew, while the warm house is just steps away.”

“Stop.”

“Hmm.”

They walked inside and she set her bag down on the dining room chair before she took off her coat, scarf, and heels. Sighing, she walked over to the sink and washed her hands. Drying them, she took her hair down and ran her fingers through it with another sigh.

“Feel how nice and warm it is in here? And yet you’re still intent on sitting out in the cold? Are you surrrrre?” she asked, stepping closer to him and running her hands down his chest. He inhaled and looked down at her hands, before raising his eyes to hers.

“Yup,” he said, with an affirmative nod and her mouth dropped open in surprise. He grinned and smacked her ass. “Go change into something warmer and come back down.”

“Hmm. Can’t believe you didn’t pick up what I was laying down… your loss I guess.” She shrugged as she stepped back, sighing loudly.

“Nah… I definitely picked it up, I’m just choosing to hold onto it for the time being.”

“That’s all you’ll be holding onto,” she muttered as she walked up the stairs and he smiled, reaching for a bowl and a ladle.

Within minutes, she was back down, dressed appropriately for the weather, her warm boots on as she picked up the glasses of wine. Waiting at the door for him, she smiled as she opened the door and they stepped outside.

“Jesus, it’s cold,” she breathed and he hummed, nudging her forward slightly. “What about the candles? They could add some warmth.”

“Yeah, I’ll go get some matches. Sit down.”

He went inside, grabbed the matches, came back and lit the candles before he sat down and smiled at her. She rolled her eyes with a smile and picked up her spoon, wearing her black mittens with the neon alien faces on the top. He nodded at them and she shrugged.

“Seemed like the right pair to wear. Didn’t want our yard aliens to feel lonely.” He laughed and began to eat his food.

She told him about her day and asked after his. Gesturing towards the yard aliens and his beard, he raised his eyebrows. She licked her lips, her teeth grazing the bottom one as she stared at him.

“I went for a run too.”

“Hmm… are you done with your food?” she asked and he wondered if she had even heard him. Looking down, he saw his bowl was nearly empty and nodded as he looked back up at herGood,” she said in a low voice, one he knew well, as she stood up and stepped closer to him. Staring down at him, she tapped his thigh with her knee. He turned in his chair and she straddled him, his throat going dry as his pants became tighter.

He wrapped his arms around her, his fingers locking together, low across her back. Her mittened hands held his face, running up and down.

“I like your beard like this,” she whispered.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered back and she pulled back in surprise.

“Birthday?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You’re a few days early,” she said, her fingers moving slowly across his cheeks and down to his neck.

“Well, I also apparently completely missed Valentine’s Day-”

“When have we w celebrated that day?” she scoffed and he smiled.

“Maybe we should start.”

“It’s a silly holiday, Mulder. In which people are pressured to feel that their love for someone must be expressed by a card, flowers, or candy-”

“Or lingerie,” he said, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Lingerie that they want the person to wear and not the other way around.”

“Are you saying you won’t wear the lingerie I bought for you?” She stared at him and he kept a straight face, though it was very difficult.

“Did you buy me lingerie?” He held her gaze as long as he could, before shaking his head and smiling.

“No. I know better than that.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Besides, whatever you wear, is always more than enough for me. All the colors, lace, and bows… you’ll get no complaints from me.” He thought of his favorite sets she wore: the sapphire blue with white piping, the black with the red red bow in the middle, and the lilac with the softest pink lace; they all left him dizzy and aching for her.

“What about… nude? Do you like that color?” she whispered, her mouth close to his ear and he jerked forward, holding her tighter.

“That… that so happens to be my favorite color.”

“Hmm… it’s like I have a sixth sense.”

“A… sexth sense,” he corrected her and she pulled back to stare at him. Her head fell back and she laughed, her hands on his shoulders.

“Oh my god…” she chuckled, shaking her head. “That was good.”

“I aim to please,” he teased and she stared at him, her eyes like fire.

“Hmm… and you do it so well,” she breathed and her hands were back on his cheeks, her warm breath warming his cold face. “Thank you for my birthday gift.”

“You’re more than welcome.”

“Not yet I’m not,” she nearly growled and he pulled her closer to him, her lips falling to his, kissing him slowly. Soft nibbles and light touches, which contradicted the looks of molten desire she had been displaying.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t work with an audience.” She pulled back and shook her head, causing him to frown at her. She shook her head again and looked toward the snow aliens. “Hey guys, could you read your sign and take it to heart and “move along”? There’s about to be something to see over here and I’m not quite sure you’re of age.” He laughed as he watched her address the snow aliens and wait for a response.

“I can’t understand them, but look, they aren’t leaving. I think we need to be the bigger people here.” She rocked into him and they both exhaled. “I see you're already a little ahead of me. Well, maybe more than a little.”

“Thank you.”

He grinned and she kissed him once more, before rising from his lap and standing to her feet. Collecting both glasses, she blew out the candles and he grabbed the plates as he stood as well.

The dishes made it as far as the sink, not even given the chance for a soak, before he reached for her coat, unbuttoned it and let it drop to the floor, his own soon following. A trail of clothes littered the stairs and along the floor of their bedroom.

Both of them breathing hard, he lay against her breast, marveling once more at the softness of her skin. Her chest rose and fell steadily, her heart racing beneath his ear.

“See? Isn’t it better in here where it’s warm?” she asked, her now mitten less fingers running through his hair.

“Hmm,” he agreed, his eyes closed as he kissed the top of her breast. “It’s hard to argue with such sound logic.”

“Hmm,” she echoed and he smiled. “Oh. I was, by the way.”

“What?”

“Welcomed,” she stated, offering up no other explanation. It took a second, but then he laughed and he felt her answering chuckle against his cheek. “Very welcomed, in fact.”

“Good. Then I’d say we both thoroughly enjoyed your birthday this year.”

“Hmm. Well, strictly speaking, it’s still five days away. So…” He raised his head and stared at her with a smile.

“What exactly are you saying?”

“Nothing. Just putting it out there that there are still five days to… enjoy my birthday,” she said, with an innocent shrug. They stared at each other and she smiled slowly. He nodded and put his head back on her breast, his eyes closing once again.

“Oh, but this I am saying: I want a cake. We don’t need candles and I don’t need gifts, but I do want a chocolate cake. Or cheesecake. Or ohhhhh, a chocolate pie… Mmmm.” He laughed and nodded, plans already beginning to take shape.

He had built two snow aliens and a large UFO on a whim today. He had five days. He would find her that cake, or perhaps all of her suggestions.

Find and buy, but not bake it himself. Because she had been right earlier; his cooking skills were truly abysmal.

And no one deserved that on their birthday. Especially not Scully. A woman who, oh so kindly, asked the snow aliens to take a hike.

Yeah, he would get her that cake.

And so much more.

[broomsandbrews]

The Beauty of Seasons Through my Eyes

I wake up on a hot Summer morning to the sound of the birds singing. There are just a few bubbly clouds in the bright blue sky, announcing a lovely day. I spot a butterfly. I think it's a Monarch. Funny how butterflies can't see their wings and see how beautiful they are, but yet others can. I guess we, as people, are a little like that too. I now walk to the kitchen and make some homemade iced tea with fresh lemons, adding some honey for a touch of sweetness. The sun is shining through the window, forming a pool of golden light on the hardwood floor. I do my laundry and hang my clothes on the clothing line, a warm breeze caresses my cheeks. The cotton sheets are swaying in the air; they will smell so good when they're dry. I love that linen, clean smell. The sound of the leaves rustling in the wind is delightful, as well as the calm and gentle ringing noise the wind chimes are making. I do a bit of cleaning, let the animals out so they can run in the field, and go check on my garden. I water the crops and notice they will be ready for harvest soon. I visit my barn and do some early morning chores. I then decide to get inside my greenhouse, where I tend to my plants and fresh culinary herbs. Some will pair gorgeously with today's recipe. I release a lady bug as I think that tonight will be a perfect night to light a bonfire and make some S'mores. I'll sit on a blanket under the mystical moon and the stars, sing and play guitar as I watch the embers glow. All is well. I feel peaceful.

I wake up on a cozy Fall morning and hear the sound of the rain hitting the window as well as the low rumbling of thunder. I get up, and since it's a bit chilly, I put on a knitted sweater, fuzzy socks and light some candles. I turn on an old 80's horror movie; they're my favorite. After it is over, I burn some Sandalwood incense and cleanse my crystals with the smoke. It's almost Samhain. My ultimate favorite Holiday. I put up pictures of loved ones and pets that have passed away and put them on the mantelpiece. They never really leave us, do they? I pour myself some spiced apple cider while I meditate. Then, I open the door; it's still raining, but the air is crisp and cool. I see there's a few carved pumpkins on the patio, and a bunch of Halloween decorations. Ghouls, skeletons, ghosts, witches, you name it. The trees have turned from green, to yellow, to orange, to red, a symphony of colors. I read somewhere that "Autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go." I like that quote. I like it a lot. My heart starts racing as I think about going apple picking in my own backyard; Cortlands, Granny Smiths, Golden Delicious...I'm contemplating the many pies I'll be able to make with all this delectable goodness when it stops raining. Fast forward to now, it is time to go pick some tart, wild cranberries. I will also go forage edible mushrooms in the woods later, to put in my spaghetti squash dish. I can't wait to feel the crunching of the autumn leaves under my boots. I feel magical.

I wake up on a cold Winter morning and realize there's a blizzard outside. The first real snowfall of the year. There are icicles hanging from the window sill. The visibility is low, but some snowflakes are sticking to the glass; they are all unique in themselves. We should all be like the snow and beautify everything we touch. With gentleness. With kindness. With resilience. With fierceness. All I can hear are the strong gusts and howling of the arctic winds, but apart from that, everything is quiet. I suddenly get excited for Christmas, I take out some traditional decorations and dress our entire home in Holiday and Yule spirit while sipping on candy cane flavored hot chocolate and listening to old Christmas classics. I’m ecstatic to put up my Christmas tree and start decorating it with fairy lights, garlands and festive ornaments. I put chopped firewood in the fireplace and light it up; a nice, toasty feeling envelops me as I snuggle and curl up in a fluffy blanket by the flames; they're almost as warm as my heart. I take a break, write in my Book of Shadows, documenting some new spells I invented. I re-read the Harry Potter series happily until it's time for dinner. I wanna make something hearty, maybe a vegetable soup, a stew, or some pork roast, perhaps? I also bake some sugar and chocolate chip cookies in the oven, waiting for the rich and sweet aroma to fill up the cabin. I bundle up. Hat, mittens, scarf, snow pants, winter jacket and I turn into a child as I go outside and decide to make snow angels and build snowmen. Memories of childhood flood through me. My cheeks are rosy. I feel nostalgic.

I wake up on a mild Spring morning. The first thing I do is tie my hair in a high ponytail and go for a hike; the snow is starting to melt. The delicate sound of water trickling and flowing freely on the ground tickles my ears. It's like hearing a sweet, comforting song. I take a deep breath of fresh air; there is definitely a feeling of playfulness, but also revival in the air. Wildlife is not quite awake, yet, but everything slowly starts to come back to life, foreshadowing and promising the coming of warm days ahead. The flowers and branches will surely bloom in a short time. The earth scents the air with its fragrance; soon the grass will sprout, drink the rain and color the ground in its new growth, evergreen. The flowers will soon reappear; they are a reminder that everything and everyone grows at its own pace and that there is nothing wrong with it. The winds are now picking up and a wild thought crosses my mind; maybe I should fly a kite or be creative and paint, write or draw. When I get back home, exhausted but joyful, I do some light spring cleaning, and hang some bird feeders outside on the porch. I notice a few flies are starting to buzz about. I start gathering the seeds I have ordered a few weeks back, and plan out my garden. I take a trip to the nearest sugar shack and enjoy some maple toffee. It is a period of starting over. Spirits are lifted. As we see nature being transformed, let's not forget that we are being transformed, too. I feel infinite.

An original work by: @broomsandbrews​.

[ducktracy]

124. alpine antics (1936)

release date: march 9th, 1936

series: looney tunes

director: jack king

starring: billy bletcher (bully), tommy bond (beans)

another beans cartoon by king, featuring his girlfriend kitty and a peg leg pete facsimile. beans plans to enter a skiing contest, and his motives for winning are pushed further when a bully brews up trouble.

open to a winter landscape, everyone skiing and skating. three snowmen sing “she was an acrobat’s daughter” as “she was an ice skater’s daughter” while a clarabelle cow facsimile skates right up against the screen, animation smooth and crisp. the singing snowmen have their own 15 seconds of fame, melting in front of a roaring fire to end the song.

more ice centered gags ensue—a dog boils some water over a fire and pours it into a hole in the ice, hoping for a quick dip. predictably, the genius pops up frozen in an ice cube. elsewhere, three horses wearing sweaters that spell out “SOS” skate in a line, a tiny dog skating beneath their legs. the entire scene is reminiscent of the opening scene in bosko in dutch. a turtle dances on the ice, when he and his reflection get separated. the gags aren’t laugh out loud hilarious, but the visuals are appealing.

enter beans and kitty. beans pushes kitty in a sled, occasionally hopping on the back for the ride. he brakes in front of a cabin (the break being a boot attached to a lever) to read a flyer posted on the wall. the flyer boasts a ski race, promoting $100,000,000 in prizes “or a cool $2.00 cash to the winner!” a classic that will appear in many a cartoon.

beans is ecstatic. he snags a pair of spare skis and declares “big race today, kitty! oh boy, watch me win that race!” a peg leg pete facsimile (more so than usual—this time he’s an actual cat, of course voiced by billy bletcher. i don’t know if i explicitly mentioned it but i’ve always implied it—bletcher also voiced pete in the original disney cartoons) hides behind a tree, menacingly chuffing on a cigar so you know he’s hot shit. he approaches beans and picks him up by the skis. he asserts his kindness by sliding beans off of the skiis and flicking him off his own pair before breaking beans’ skis over his knees. a reasonable fella.

rightfully so, beans is pissed, shaking his fist, sticking out his tongue, shadow boxing, tapping his foot, promising he’ll show him. he rips the seat portion of the sled off, and thus has his own makeshift pair of skiis. hope kitty didn’t want to do any more sledding. two conveniently placed straps are under the skiis, which he ties around his feet and shuffles off towards the big race.

porky makes a cameo at the starting line, riding a rocking horse into battle. the bully is confidently waiting for the start, yet his pride deflates as soon as he notices beans adorning new skis. he grimaces at beans, who innocently laughs in return. a turtle referee checks his clock—time is ticking. the bully also recognizes this, and thusly pulls out a rocket from his pocket. he swipes beans’ hat over his head so he can’t see, creating the perfect distraction as he ties the rocket to one of beans’ skis and lights it. and, of course, beans is sent rocketing backwards, flying right into a cabin and shooting out of the roof. he lands in the snow in a daze as the bully gives a trademark belly laugh.

the bully’s timing was just right. a fire of the pistol and the race is off. the bully speeds ahead on his skis, porky rides his horse into battle, a dog takes off with a makeshift sailboat, and another struggles to get his exercise bike through the snow. though beans is already at a disadvantage, his optimism is seldom flattened. he skis right where he is, the bully already in a steady lead.

visuals galore as we spot the racers. the biker sends snow flying right into porky’s face, a dog pumps a bellows into a sail, a duck rides a wiener dog donning skis, the essentials. beans is finally on the course, spreading his legs to avoid a tree trunk and conversely compacting his body as he passes between two trunks. the bully takes time to admire his lead, once more laughing. he shreds down a slope and jumps off, pulling a string to summon a parachute and ensure safely. as he floats lazily in the sky, he makes attempts to ski in the air.

cue the dirty tricks. the bully spins around a tree to stop himself, tying a rope to one of his ski poles. he jabs the pole into a neighboring tree and effectively creates a tripwire. one by one, his victims fall into place (literally): the cycling dog falls headfirst into the snow, spinning his bike upside down. porky’s next, he and his rocking horse both shaking their tails in the snow. next the sail boat dog, and even the three little pigs(?), also shaking their tails like porky. next is beans’ turn, who barrels into the pole with enough force that the pole is loosened and the bully’s contraption ties around him instead.

beans has now secured the lead... for now. the bully is fueled with extra motivation and vitriol to beat beans, puffing out his chest and breaking his bonds. beans slides over a hill, his skis getting lodged in the side of a mountain. and, of course, the bully flies right over his head, once more in the winning seat. to make matters worse, the duck and wiener dog duo are fast approaching. they slide UNDER the mountain, and barrel into beans from under, propelling him into the air. the duck briefly rides the dog like a tire, until a jump cut has them back in regular formation, the cut a bit discombobulated and incoherent.

the duck honks at the bully to get out of the way, who, of course, does everything but that. therefore, the duck turns the wiener dog sideways and knocks straight into the bully. their glory is hardly reveled in: they crash into a tree, the dog wrapping around the tree and pinning the duck. next comes beans, who uses the bully’s skis lodged into the snow as a ramp.

the chase is now exclusively focused on beans and the bully. beans hits a slope that flings him into the air, and once more he lands behind the bully. nevertheless, they weave in and out of trees, beans managing to pass the bully. another slope sends the bully flying forward, landing straight on beans’ shoulders. they pass a cabin, the bully riding on the roof and landing back on beans’ shoulders. they’re broken up once the bully runs into a tree branch, spiraling up the tree and back down. he’s flung forward, about to hit the finish line...

until he crashes into an ice patch, the ice propelling him underwater. beans rides over the reversible ice, skidding across the finish line. finally, a winner! yet, another ice patch (or perhaps the same one?) bucks beans forward as the bully pops his head out, clearly upset at his loss. iris out as beans pokes his head out from his own ice hole, staring incredulously at the audience.

not the most coherent beans cartoon. this is one of the rare beans cartoons i had seen before, and overall remembered nothing about it. i can see why. there aren’t many gags but moreso visuals that are all tired out and lose their punch. many times the story lapsed in coherence—at the end, the bully is clearly thrown into an ice patch that lies BEFORE the finish line, since beans skids past it and slides over the line afterwards. yet, the patch is shown to be inside the line at the end. of course, with many of these cartoons, suspension of disbelief plays an important role, but here it’s just not believable. believability can make or break a cartoon (believable does not equal realistic! stick to what you’re specializing in, no matter how absurd the plot is. a plot can be absurd but still believable). probably best to skip, but it isn’t a cartoon that’s terrible. the animation is certainly nice in some spots. just a relatively mediocre cartoon that i probably won’t be watching again anytime soon.

link!

[dangandidlyronpaimgines]

hi! hope your days gone well

Shuichi Saihara

Oh god you were so cute someone help this flustered bi boy

Honestly he doesn’t do much for winter, he just keeps inside and bundles himself up with blankets

But since dating you, he’s been dragged outside every chance you get

And honestly he’s grown to like the cold

(Though you teaching how to ski was not the funnest.. He was just worried is all!)

(And oh god let’s not even talk about ice climbing)

And when Christmas comes along of course he gets dragged for the ride

He didn’t use to celebrate it much before, since it was only him and his uncle

But after Hope’s Peak and dating you he, well he starts taking the holiday more seriously

(Then again he kind of has to since you’re such a huge lover of Christmas)

He practically gets forced to watch every Christmas movie and learns how to make gingerbread cookies

Though he doesn’t mind, honestly it’s rather cute to see you so fired up

If you get him a homemade sweater or jacket he will melt

Kokichi Ouma

He’s always stealing your coats, like always

Your coats are just more comfy after all!

Kokichi is already a huge Christmas fan so with the two of you combined you practically force the whole class into the holiday spirits

(Mistletoe and tacky Christmas sweaters everywhere)

He does make a face whenever you make him try traditional Eskimo dishes

(Seriously blubber?? Eww!!)

As soon as snow hits, prepare for snowball fights

(Literally Kokichi will do a snowball fight anytime and anywhere)

He thinks it’s fun to wind you up by sending you screenshots of people who think climate change isn’t real

Your ranting is so hilarious to him!!

But while Winter is fun he likes watching you suffer during summer

Poor you can’t handle the summer heat and often try to keep shut in with the ac and a couple of fans running

And while he still drags you out he understands if it gets too hot for you to handle

(He still wants to go to the beach with you though, even if you have to carry like four mini fans to keep yourself cool)

Rantaro Amami

Honestly this a man willing to try anything once

He doesn’t mind trying some weird traditional food, hell the fact that you would take the time to make him something makes him want to try it

And what do you know he ends up really enjoying some of it

He already knows how to ski and ice climb, and you two often go out to do these activities together

Sometimes it becomes a competition like who can ski to the bottom faster

Whenever Christmas comes around you two throw a huge party at his place (which is like a mansion)

I’m talking a huge Christmas tree, homemade dinner spread, decorations everywhere, the whole nine yards

If you ever need to travel you know he’s going to be right by your side (he loves traveling after all)

He happily listens to you babble about well anything really

You just look so cute when you’re really serious about something

Gonta Gokuhara

Gonta finds you adorable!

It’s like you’re in a little cocoon with all of the coats you wear!

While Gonta has never skied or ice climbed before he’s willing to try!

(Turns out he’s good at climbing… skiing on the other hand was pretty much a disaster)

He can have a surprisingly long conversation with you about climatology

(Hey he already knows what climates are good for bugs and things like that)

When you find out he’s never celebrated Christmas before, oh god it’s chaos

You’re showing him every Christmas tradition there is and he loves it

His favorite Christmas movie ends up being the Muppet’s Christmas Carol

(And it becomes a tradition to have a movie marathon every Christmas from now on)

(Also.. you know Gonta would get presents for all of his bug friends)

If you find a Christmas sweater that could fit him he would almost never take it off

(He will literally cry if he accidentally tears it or something)

Ryoma Hoshi

He doesn’t really get how you could wear all of those layers and not get overheated but hey you do you

While he doesn’t ski, he is a terror during snowball fights

(Like seriously he could nail anyone with a snowball, only you are safe from his skills)

Isn’t really a Christmas fan but hey if it makes you happy

(He isn’t dressing as a Christmas elf though, no matter how much you beg him)

He does wear a santa hat instead of his usual beanie(?) during the holidays though

(But don’t expect him to wear a Christmas sweater)

He doesn’t mind helping you cook some of your country’s traditional food from time to time

He isn’t one to turn away from a home cooked meal after all, no matter how strange it could be

Though if you ever invite him to visit your home.. He’s going have to be bundled up in at least a dozen coats

He gets cold rather easily due to his small size after all

Kiibo

You can’t tell me Kiibo doesn’t love Christmas

Like he is wearing cheesy Christmas sweaters during the whole month of December and you eagerly follow his lead

(Though if you or anyone else tie a mistletoe to his ahoge he will crash)

He doesn’t feel cold in the first place and can’t really do most winter sports

(He’s too heavy for skiing or ice skating and not strong enough for ice climbing)

But he’s happy just to watch you have fun!

And you two could always build snowmen together or just walk around in the snow!

He’s really curious to hear about your traditions and how your people lived

Humans were really adaptable to live out in a constantly frozen environment!

While he can’t eat food.. He likes watching you make it!

(Though he does internally sulk that he can’t try it)

He doesn’t quite understand why you struggle so  much during summer but he does get a fan application installed to help you out!

Korekiyo Shinguji

He loves hearing you talk about your culture and traditions

It makes his eyes light up to hear your point of view on many things

He also loves trying your traditional dishes, it’s so fascinating after all to see what a culture considers food that others may not

He makes sure to pay back the favor by making you some traditional Japanese dishes as well

While he can’t skii, he’s a surprisingly good ice skater

He would love to visit your hometown, though expect him to try and talk to everyone he meets about their thoughts and views on life

(You can’t judge a culture from just one person after all)

He understands and has read about Christmas traditions but he hasn’t really done much during Christmas

Though once he realizes how big it is to you, he will happily play along

However he would much rather to celebrate Christmas with only you then having a big party

Kaito Momota

Kaito is the kind of guy who tries to wear shorts during winter

(You literally have to for him to put on an actually winter jacket)

He loves playing out in the snow though and will constantly drag you outside to play in the snow

Another big Christmas fan here

Like he would love to go out and chop down his own Christmas tree with you and spend weeks decorating your place

Honestly he isn’t the best at cooking or baking though.. So he’ll leave that to you!

(Watch out he might try to steal some cookie dough)

While he can’t ski.. He can snowboard!

Prepare for tons of races

While he’s a bit weirded out by some of your cooking.. He’s willing to try it at least once!

After all he’s the Luminary of the Stars!! He wouldn’t shy away from some weird food!!

[smallerthanzer0]

deck the halls (with boughs and classmates)

(read on ao3)

@bnhagensecretsanta fic for @kimberlyillumise! Apologies for the lateness, and Happy Holidays - hope you enjoy, and I wish you the best in the coming year!

inspired by Horikoshi’s Christmas sketch!

“Okay, you guys,” Mina said, leaning in, “Focus. This is serious business.”

If the fuzzy red and green antlers perched atop her curly pink hair belied the severity of her statement at all, the effect was offset by the nearly maniacal look in her glittering black eyes. “Is everybody ready? Todoroki, you understand how to play?”

He nodded seriously back at her.

“Shoji, you picked which single pair of hands you’re using?”

Another nod, this one much more sheepish.

“And we figured out how to let Kouda sign without breaking the circle, good – oh, and Bakugou? Dearest Bakubuddy? Kiri’s hand may be burn resistant, but if you set off so much as a spark I will drown you in acid.”

Bakugou scoffed. “Shut up and get on with it, Racoon Eyes.” Nevertheless, he scrubbed his hand roughly over his shirt to get rid of any sweat before slipping it back over Kirishima’s.

Mina glanced around the group one more time. Her classmates were all sitting cross-legged in a lopsided circle, squashed and stretched from where they’d moved a recalcitrant Bakugou three times to keep him from setting off explosions when he clapped his hand against someone else’s. One more check to ensure that each person had their right hand resting atop their neighbor’s left, and it looked like they were finally ready. She took a deep breath and began to chant.

“This is a game of Con-cen-tra-tion, no repeats or hes-i-ta-tion, category is… wintery holiday stuff!”

Bakugou rumbled discontentedly on her right. Uraraka, sitting directly to her left, pumped her fist in the air before slapping it down onto Midoriya’s hand. “Santa!”

Midoriya beamed. “Christmas trees!”

Things went smoothly – gingerbread for Satou, hot chocolate for Tsuyu – until the chain reached Aoyama, who pouted theatrically as he waved a hand for dramatic effect. “Fireworks!”

The mention of an explosive set Bakugou off; he leapt to his knees, pointing threateningly at Aoyama. “That one’s mine, Sparkles! Pick a different one!”

Kirishima tugged at his hand. “Wait – that’s not really how it works-”

“Isn’t it?” Bakugou growled. “If he likes fireworks so bad, let’s see if he can do this-”                                                        

“Hey.” The spiky-haired boy jumped as half of his sock dissolved in strings of acidic goo.

“What – those are my clothes!”

“And this is my game, dipshit, sit down and let Aoyama live his life! If you didn’t keep sparking all over the place, we wouldn’t have moved you to be second last!”

Bakugou receded a little, but his scowl seemed permanently affixed. Mina let go of his ankle, flicking bits of melty sock off her fingers, and patted his arm instead. “Come on, we all know you have more than one idea in that big brain of yours.”

One last tug from Kirishima, and Bakugou slumped back into his spot. Mina rubbed her forehead. “Okay, this really isn’t how it’s supposed to go, but let’s just pick it up from Aoyama. Ready, go!”

Aoyama helpfully tapped Ojiro’s hand again. “I said fireworks! The sparkly kind!”

Ojiro’s tail whipped frantically as he thought. “Uh, bells!”

Hagakure’s hoodie bounced next to him. “Christmas sweaters!”

“Reindeer,” Todoroki said, blinking laconically. His eyes were fixed firmly on the jingly bells dangling from Mina’s antlers.

“Balls,” Mineta chanted. He was immediately fixed with dirty looks from half the class. “Um, the ornament kind!”

Tokoyami’s beak clacked disapprovingly. “Turkey.”

“Christmas lights!” Kaminari cheered, accidentally shocking his neighbor.

Sero winced. “That was mine – ow, I’m all tingly, can I have a second to think?”

Mina considered, steepling her fingers. “I’ll allow it.”

“Thanks. Uh… I… ooh, tinsel!”

“Menorahs,” Shoji said quietly, four hands hovering in the air as he used the fifth to tap Kouda’s shoulder.

Kouda hid behind his hands. “Mistletoe,” he signed in front of his blushing face, letting Shoji reach behind him with an extra hand to tap Momo’s wrist.

Momo grinned. “The ghost of Christmas past!”

“Nerd,” someone coughed, and a ripple of laughter raced around the circle as Momo tagged Jirou.

“Ah, snowmen!” Jirou said, still giggling, and slapped Iida’s hand.

Their class president sat straight-backed, slicing his right hand efficiently through the air to tag Kirishima as he spoke. “Santa’s sleigh!”

“Peppermint!” Kirishima yelped – apparently Iida had hit a little too hard.

He cautiously poked Bakugou’s palm. Bakugou, whose brow had been furrowed in though for the last half of the game, grinned evilly. “Fireplaces.”

He tapped Mina, who raised her fist in victory. “Snowflake! Woo! We did it!”

“Uh…” Midoriya said cautiously, “aren’t we supposed to keep going until someone can’t think of another one?”

Mina preened. “Maybe, but this is no ordinary game of Concentration!”

“Then why did you make us practice fifteen times?”

“Because…” Rocking backwards, Mina threw her other hand in the air too. “These are going to be our holiday costumes!”

Dead silence. Momo got halfway through raising her hand before deciding to just ask instead. “What costumes?”

“Wait – Sero, you told everyone that Aizawa-sensei is letting us have a holiday party, right?”

Sero rubbed the back of his head. “I was going to put up flyers in the elevators! I thought that would be cooler.”

“What, did you run out of tape?”

He stuck out his tongue. “Haha, very funny. I didn’t expect you meant to tell everyone within the whole hour after we got the okay!”

She waved him off. “Okay, okay, anyway – we’re having a party! And we’re going to have a costume contest! Isn’t it cool!”

Tsuyu frowned. “I still don’t get why we played this game, kero.”

��Well, we had to make sure no one went as the same thing or it wouldn’t be fair.” Mina grinned. “And I wanted to see what holiday things everyone would think of under pressure!”

The contemplative silence following her statement was broken by near-hysterical laughter from Kirishima. “Oh my god,” he wheezed, collapsing against Bakugou’s shoulder. “You have to dress up as a fireplace.”

Bakugou shoved him off. “I don’t have to do shit.”

His defiance faltered a little under Mina’s smug expression. “Oh, you might want to reconsider that. After all, I haven’t said what the prize is yet!”

His eyes narrowed. “Prize?”

“Let’s just say that All Might-sensei’s sponsoring the competition and he’s got mad cash.”

Explosions crackled in Bakugou’s clenched fists. “In that case… it’s a competition, and I’m gonna win!”

The rest of the class was also dissolving into chaos as Mina reveled in her genius. “A snowman?” Jirou despaired, raking her hands through her hair. “Why didn’t I say Christmas carols, or Ebenezer Scrooge, or something cool? Can I trade you?”

Momo patted her shoulder. “I’ll help you, don’t worry!” Her eyes widened. “Wait… do you think I could make a really big marshmallow for Tsuyu’s?”

Uraraka was draped across Midoriya’s back, ruffling his hair until the shape vaguely resembled a cone. “O-oh, you don’t even have to dress up, you already have green hair! You can just put ornaments in it – you’re gonna look so cute!”

Her grip suddenly turned crushing. “Not as cute as me though. I need money for Christmas presents!”

Midoriya, face brick red, folded under Uraraka’s weight to lean across the circle and tap at Iida’s foot. “Are you actually going to build a sleigh?”

“Midoriya, I have propulsion engines in my legs.” Iida’s glasses shone as he straightened them. “I will be the sleigh.”

They grinned at each other, Uraraka floating herself off Midoriya’s back and onto the floor beside him. “You know, I think there’s a real opportunity here. Group costume?”

Midoriya’s eyes shone with determination. “Group costume.”

[inverted-prompts]

LONG POST!!!! (like really, it is a long ass post)

Prologue:

Earth has been abandoned. Her resources gone, the human race had ruined her. The once blue sky now brown and grey, clouds swirling and wreaking havoc on the already abused islands and continents. Land masses nothing more than dry, cracked husks of what was once something beautiful. The seas, no longer deep blue and shimmering in the sunlight, are acidic and in turmoil.

No longer able to sustain life, humans have left earth, and are living in an entirely different galaxy. It’s a new age, a new time. A chance to start over. Humans now occupy the planet Gaea, a world nearly identical to earth. Life continues as it did back on Earth.

This is the diary of a 14 year old girl, where she shares her first hand experience with her brother, Trey Winters. In this diary, it is better understood the social effects of having lost one’s emotions.

December 7, 201 N.S.A

16:00

Dear Diary,

My algebra teacher sucks, he assigns way to much homework. I basically have to do 5 pages of problems, and graph the points we made in class! I can not wait until I graduate, then I will not have to worry about homework ever again! I will also never have to see Mr. Johnson’s stupid face again. Trey tells me I am being a bit harsh, but it’s true.

Trey was telling me that he is heading over to the hospital to visit mom, and that he would be back for dinner. He was putting on the long, deep maroon trench coat I got him for his birthday a while back, which made me smile. I am glad he likes it, I was so worried at the time that he would not. Anyway, mother had developed a cancer strain that was a rare mutation of the zelibrem virus. She only had months to live according to the doctors. Our father wasn’t dealing with it very well, but then again, who would? It was such a blow to the family, but we all tried to keep our minds off of it.

He was telling me to stay home, so I asked him why could I not go to the hospital with him, because that seemed dumb. I was talking to him as he was trying to leave, leaning against the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. I am taking acting 3, so I put an overdramatic irritated scowl on my face. I could not put my hands on my hips because I was still holding my calculator and tablet pen, so instead, I crossed my arms and popped out a hip, trying to be as sassy as possible. I could tell Mr. Howard that I did, in fact practice.

Trey told me I could not go with him because I have homework to do. Well he does too, so his point was invalid. But he just shook his head at me! Trey just smiled at me as he tugged on his deep maroon red coat, buttoning it up to his neck. He told me it was also because it was cold outside. Because it was cold outside. So what?! I could just put on a jacket! But he ignored me and just grabbed the bouquet of flowers, and he inched his way out the door.

And then! The nerve of my brother, he tells me to tell father that he will be back in time for dinner! I am not some sort of messenger, I am his sister for God’s sake! But he just smiled, waving with the flowers at me, his greatly annoyed sister, as he slowly closes the door.

I told him that he owed me his dessert later tonight, and he promised me he would.

As soon as Trey closed the door, I ran upstairs to my room to put on my jacket and boots, which are brand new, by the way. The jacket was fuzzy on the inside, and zipped up to my neck. It was black, but I did not mind. I also had my boots match, they went up to mid calf range, so I feel pretty stylish! I gotta catch up to Trey, so once I do I will start writing again. Be right back!

16:00

It is freezing out. I know that it is the middle of winter and all, but for crying out loud, it’s like, -23°! Ridiculous. My breath curls into the air in puffs, which is pretty cool. It’s like I am a dragon who has run out of fire juice, just blowing out steam. It snowed both yesterday and this morning, so freshly fallen snow is coating the ground. Winter is Trey’s favorite season, for some reason. He tells me that he loves the sound of the snow crunching under his boots, and the joy of being able to bundle up against the wind. The more layers, the better, he says. He could just curl up in front of the fire with me, hot chocolates in hand, and watch our favorite movies. Which, I must admit, sounds like a lot of fun. It truly was one of the most magical times of the year, whether you like it or not.

I think Trey turned the corner, since I can not see him anymore. I need to catch up!

I caught up, but I am not too close so that he will notice that I am behind him. I feel like I am in a spy movie. Anyway, it was rather quiet out in the neighborhood, most kids inside doing their homework, and their parents still at work. However, there were a lot of snowmen in the yards of our neighbors. It would probably be busier in the actual city, although less snowmen which will be sad.

I have to try and catch up again, writing and walking is hard!

As I predicted, the city is fairly active. There were taxis and buses slowly hovering over along the roads, the hover-disks slower because of the cold. There were still many cars with wheels, because hover-disks are still a new development. So far, only public transportation and storage transports were allowed to use the hover-disks.

Oh my gosh it is Mrs. Howard. I love this woman, she is so sassy! Oh, she is stopping to talk to Trey, I will right down their conversation after they are done talking. I really hope she roasts him good.

Mrs. Howard: “Good morning Trey!”

Trey: “Oh! Good morning Mrs. Howard!”

Mrs. Howard: “How are the flowers I sold you? Have you killed them yet?”

Trey: “No Mrs. Howard. They are still as healthy as when you sold them to me.”

Mrs. Howard: “Hmph! They better be, boy! Only the best for your poor mother!”

Mrs. Howard is an old family friend, so she knew all about the situation our family was currently in.

Trey is moving on without me, so I am just going to put away my diary for now.

December 8, 201 N.S.A

11:00

Dear Diary,

I can barely write, my hands are shaking so badly. I don’t even remember what I was thinking, calling out his name like that. This is what the police officers said happened, from their analysis anyway.

               Trey looked up at the sudden jarring noise of hovers failing, and a hover carrier careened towards him. The hover jets had overheated, sputtering out. Unable to hold the weight of the cargo, the entire hover carrier spiraled towards him at 90 ppms (pulses per millisecond).

       I knew we should have just stuck with wheels. Hover-disks are too unreliable...

As the carrier collided with his body, the bouquet of flowers he was holding were thrown into the air, stems snapped and petals ripped off. Snow is flung up, sparkling and glittering in the sunlight. Trey is slammed into the wall of the store, coughing up blood.

I don’t know what I was thinking, I guess I just thought that that would be a good time to let Trey know that I was there. He would have had to take me to the hospital with him. Instead, I got to hear people screaming at one another to call the police. I could barely hear the sirens, because it’s just so mind numbing to watch your brother get hit by a hover carrier, you know?

Watching him get taken away on a stretcher by the paramedics, it was surreal. They wouldn’t let me into the ambulance with him. Even though I was crying and trying to convince them. I ended up running home took her father. He didn’t believe me at first, he thought it was just some dumb prank. But here we are. Waiting at the hospital, to see if Trey is OK.

A single petal, floats down from the sky…

December 9, 201 N.S.A

9:00

Dear Diary,

       I can hear the beeping of the monitor. It’s kind of irritating, but also serves as a marker of time passing by. All I hear is

      BEEP… BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…

        Doctor Shaun is the one who will be taking care of Trey. He seems like a nice guy, he was very polite to father and me. Now, father and I are waiting to see if Trey is OK. Dr. Shaw and is talking to him now, we are going to get to see him! It’s been a day but, it’s still a miracle that were able to see him so soon.

       I can hear Dr. Shaun talking to Trey. It’s kind of funny to hear Trey being called “Mr. Winters”.

        Doctor Shaun looked liked a stereotypical doctor. He had the normal close cropped brown hair, neatly trimmed. He wore his standard doctor’s uniform, all navy blue.

I hear him talking to Trey, saying something along the lines of “Welcome back, Mr. Winters. I am Doctor Shaun Maslin, but you can call me Doctor Shaun.”

I can hear Trey responding, but his voice is muffled through the door. I hope it isn’t too bad, Doctor Shaun said that he would make a full physical recovery. But he also said that there was something wrong with Trey’s brain. Something about his frontal lobe being damaged and how they have never seen something like this before. Doctor Shaun was very honest, something I think father appreciates. He is just got back from visiting mother, who is not doing to well either.

Oh my gosh, it sounds like we are allowed to come in now. I will write later, now, I get to see Trey!!

December 10, 201 N.S.A

06:00

Dear Diary,

     I now know what they mean when they said that there was damage to Trey’s frontal lobe. He is like a completely different person. He is not like the Trey everyone knew, he is like a robot. He has zero personality, no emotions. Doctor Shaun says that they are working to find out how to fix it, and I hope they find a way soon. It is kind of scary living with a person devoid of emotion.

Father is almost never home now. Constantly visiting mother or at the local bar. I would gladly, very gladly take a years worth of Algebra homework to make things go back to the way they used to be.

Hearing Trey for the first time was like a punch to the face. When Doctor Shaun motioned for us to come in, I was nervous. When I saw Trey, I was so happy to see that he was alive, I actually started crying tears of joy. Sure, he was in scary condition. His entire right leg was in a cast, his left arm also in a cast, his ribs were tightly bandaged, and he had gauze around his forehead. He looked like a mess, but he was alive!

But when he saw us he didn’t even smile. He was alive, but still devoid of life.

When he spoke, it was so monotone, so emotionless…. I didn’t know what to think. We are waiting for all of the casts to come off, he will be at the hospital for a while.

Today is a school day, so I need to get ready. I will keep updating, probably less now that I need to take care of both Trey and my father.

December 25, 201 N.S.A

09:24

Dear Diary,

Merry Christmas. Trey losing his emotions is so much worse than I thought it would be. He can not function in a normal social situation. Doctor Shaun has been running tests on his brain, trying to better understand his problem. He is currently working on a “fix” for Trey.

[timeagainreviews]

The Eve of the Thirteenth

Recently I watched "An Unearthly Child," in preparation to write the first official article of Time and Time Again (TATA? Ok, I love that). But then it hit me that it’s a rather auspicious time to talk about the First Doctor’s first episode. With this being the eve of the first female Doctor’s first episode, it seems so appropriate. So I’m going to wait until after "The Woman Who Fell to Earth," drops.  See what I did there?

I know this blog is meant to be about revisiting episodes, but the timing is just too good. Besides, it is my blog. However, this being said, I suppose I should share my hopes and expectations for series eleven. 

Jodie Whittaker as "The Doctor"

Not since maybe Eccleston has anyone had as difficult a regeneration to overcome. While every actor new to the role feels a pressure to keep the show going, I’d say some feel it harder than others. Davison had to follow up an endearing seven-year run from Tom Baker. McGann had the pressure of trying to reestablish the show, as did Eccleston. Many people even said nobody could replace David Tennant. But the one I am reminded of the most is Patrick Troughton. Troughton was really one of those "make it or break it," Doctors. The concept of regeneration was far from established lore, it was rather a gamble.

Jodie Whittaker has a very similar weight on her shoulders. It’s another one of those "make it or break it" moments. The beauty is, I think she knows it. Everyone involved knows it. However, as much as I’ve emphasised on the pressures involved, I’m confident they chose the right woman for the job. She looks like a children’s show presenter in her costume, which is wonderfully coupled with her mad energy. For me, it’s never been about "We need a woman in the TARDIS," we need the right person in the role, and she’s perfect.

Doctor Who is the ideal show to change the gender or race of its lead. On a science fiction level, it makes total sense that the Doctor is able to change these things with ease. It’s almost laughable that it’s taken this long. It’s almost poetic. The Doctor- a man who has experienced thousands of years worth of exploration and change, still has something new to experience- womanhood. It is, as they say, about time.

The Companions

Honestly, I’m not that fussed over these companions. That’s not to say I’m disinterested or even upset with their casting. I feel confident they’ll all shine in their own ways, and live up to the show’s standard of companions. I think it’s cool that the Doctor’s friends this time around, are rather diverse. As a fan of older companions such as Wilf, or Evelyn Smythe, I am rather looking forward to Bradley Walsh as "Graham." Tamsin and Ryan both seem like they’re going to have some cute banter between the two of them. It seems pretty solid.

Many may say "That’s a pretty crowded TARDIS," but I like the bigger TARDIS crews at times, as they can be a nice way to add a new dynamic. The thing that would have actually excited me would have been a companion from the future, or past. Or even an alien companion. Not since Captain Jack, have we had anyone riding in the TARDIS who wasn’t from the present-day UK.  We got teased with it in "Asylum of the Daleks," with Oswin, and again in "The Snowmen," but then we ended up with modern day Clara Oswald. I had even hoped for Bill to be from the 80’s or 90’s. Where are the highlander companions? The Keepers of Traken? I guess Nardol sort of counts, but come on.

Chris Chibnall

Mr Chibnall is probably my biggest worry for the series. As a writer, I’ve never been all that big a fan of his episodes. "The Power of Three," was one I found particularly dreadful. When the Doctor saved the day by pointing his sonic at a screen, I felt cheated. The little cubes amounted to nothing, really. It’s not that he’s a bad writer, he’s just a bit dull. He managed to make “Dinosaurs on a Spaceship,” less exciting than the name implies. That’s probably impressive on some planets.

Overall, I think he’ll do fine, I’m just worried he’ll be a bit boring. I hadn’t worried much until he said that no old baddies would return in series eleven. Which, is fine I guess, but why not? While the Daleks and Cybermen can be really overdone (especially the Cybermen as of late), there is a wealth of villains to draw from the Doctor’s rogues' gallery. One group I’d like to see her face off against are the Axons. Whittaker’s "Godspell" evoking threads call for retro baddies!

So long as Chibnall doesn’t get too dark like he did with Torchwood (which literally felt like a little boy excited over getting to say the F-word), I’d say he’ll do fine. Parts of Torchwood were a bit "lizard brain," to its credit. Doctor Who should always have a touch of the surreal. The first episode had it. An indestructible police box, bigger on the inside, that travels anywhere in time and space? It seems normal now, but even to this day, there’s nothing quite like it. Keep the energy up, and keep it weird, you’ll do fine, Chris. It’s not like you’ll get the series cancelled again.

The New Writing Staff and Production Crew

I’ll be honest, I don’t know much anything about the writers. I’ve looked them up and read about some of their stuff, but that’s about as far as I’ve taken it. I will say however, it’s nice to see so much new blood. Men, women, people of colour, many perspectives. Doctor Who thrives on being shaken up. I’m all for it.

As for the new production crew, it’s even more of the same- happy to see someone new. I know a few people were growing tired of the whimsical look of much of the Moffat era. And at times, I kind of miss the tacky trash TV look of the RTD era. From what I’ve seen of the series 11 trailer, we’re in for something a little more grounded in reality. The cinematography looks rather simple, the sets seem plausible, if not a little dull. I’m hoping they’re hiding the big knock you on your ass sets and cinematography for the actual episodes. I would not be averse to having a show that looked as colourful as the promotional artwork we’ve been seeing. It’s gorgeous. A feast for the eyes. If the leaked TARDIS console pictures are anything to go off, I’d say they’ve kept some rather exciting secrets from us.

Segun Akinola replacing Murray Gold

Music is such an important part of Doctor Who. The theme song is both haunting and exciting: portentous of the tale about to unfold. The Radiophonic Workshop, with geniuses of sound like Delia Derbyshire and Ron Grainer, pushed not only the atmosphere of the show to greater heights but music as well. In the same vein as musique concrète, they were pioneers of electronic sound.

Upon the reveal of Akinola’s appointment as music director, I promptly sought out his SoundCloud and spent an entire afternoon listening to his stuff. I was heartened to hear he was both melodic and ambient at different times. His music is minimalist, and percussive as well. One of my biggest criticisms of Murray Gold was that he was too safe a choice. For me, he never really felt strange enough for Doctor Who.

Perhaps I am an odd duck, but I miss the days of the Third Doctor driving his bizarre car to a soundtrack of muddy synthesisers that sounded as if they wanted to murder you. The closest Gold ever came to that level of greatness was the aforementioned "Asylum of the Daleks." The music matched the tone of the episode exquisitely. I had hoped to hear more of that experimentation from him, but he never really did. Akinola seems the kind of guy who just might take us to strange places.

As we all know though, the true test will be in his imagining of the theme tune. I was never a huge fan of the Capaldi era theme. It didn’t really, slap as they say. From what I’ve heard of Akinola’s work, I’m very curious how he’s going to approach it.

Well, friends, that’s it for now. We’ve got nowt to do at this moment but wait. The next time you hear from me, it will have already happened! I hope you’re just as excited as I am! Doctor Who series 11 premieres tomorrow, the 7th of October at 6:45 pm on BBC 1!

[smashingsire]

🍁 MAPLE LEAF - what is their favourite season? why?

🍃 FALLING LEAF - do they enjoy being in nature? what is their favourite outdoor activity?

🍁 MAPLE LEAF - what is their favourite season? why?

//Honestly, the King has both a pro and con for each season of the year;

- Winter: he absolutely loves to do all of the cliched kiddy activities during the heavy snow such as building snowmen, sledding down steep hills and then finishing off the entire day with a mug of hot cocoa and bundled up like a burrito. Plus, Novamas comes once a year and he is always celebrating every single day of it.

HOWEVER, there is the population of Chillies that can predictably cause someone to mistake them for average snowmen. But, what personally bothers the King for baring human skin instead of his winter-proof feathery features.

- Spring: he does admittedly like the look of cherry blossom leaves blooming on the tree branches which does remind him of his close friend and rival, Kirby. This also became a rather calming time for the King, where he would have a picnic with his pals staying across the shade of Whispy Woods.

HOWEVER, hay fever is a thing. He gets it. Human.

- Summer: sunbathing in Aqua Star, stocking up on all the ice cream, getting an excuse to cool off by drinking cold booze from the fridge, but most of all, showing off his flashy kimono in the Summer Festival’s stage. Whether in Dream Land or anywhere else, he’ll be there to upstage anyone.

- Skin turns red easily and he’s prone to sweat a lot. Also, it thunders a lot and sends him into panic attacks.

- Autumn/Fall: he does like to up the game when hosting the Scare Festival for those who are brave enough to go across the forest and withstand the horrific sights.

- despite loving to prank during the festival, he’s terrified of spooks if they’re actually real, such as ghosts or apparitions. One does have a limit.

I’d say the winter or summer, though the more I think about it, his human self is more prone to injuries or illnesses than his previous form.//

🍃 FALLING LEAF - do they enjoy being in nature? what is their favourite outdoor activity?

Training and working out in general. Ever since he became second to lowest in the tier list, the King decided to take up training but outside in order to broaden his horizons. The sun develops more sweat and so this takes a toll, but the King happened to fight throughout the training sessions without hesitation.

Other activities involve an old event that he also trains himself for would be the Gourmet Race, an eating competition mixed in with aerobics, where you both have to run with your feet and mouth as fast as you can. If one has an appetite as large as their stamina, then they should compete against the King who holds the title… or so he says.

Someday, he also wishes to partake in a fantasy that he titled the Dedetour which would pit him against his dark doppelgänger and a deranged butterfly monarch.

[entergamingxp]

CrossCode Review — Cross Out Some Time to Play This Gem

July 16, 2020 11:00 AM EST

Radical Fish Games has risen the bar of quality in terms of the experience you can get in a retro-inspired indie game with CrossCode.

Having initially passed on the PC release of CrossCode back in 2018, when it was announced that this indie title from Radical Fish Games was coming to consoles, I knew I wasn’t going to make the same mistake. Having now seen it through, boy, oh boy, am I glad I didn’t skip out this time around because CrossCode is without a doubt one of the most expertly-crafted retro-inspired games I have ever had the pleasure of playing.

“CrossCode is without a doubt one of the most expertly-crafted retro-inspired games I have ever had the pleasure of playing.”

The alien world of Shadoon plays host to players of CrossWorlds, a futuristic melding of an MMORPG, LARPING (live-action role-playing), and Disney World. Players who log-in, take control of a body, known as an Avatar. You play as Lea, an amnesiac, and mute Avatar seeking her past while working to discover the secrets of the Ancients of Shadoon. Lea won’t need to uncover the mysteries, though, as she will be able to party up with a cast of endearing and bombastic characters to aid her, both inside and outside the game.

I loved the one-sided small talk between Lea and your first party member, Emilie-Sophie de Belmond, a Pentafist (think a Monk/punchy class) who goes by the character name Emilienator. Even though Lea has a limited vocabulary in which to respond, Emilie has no issue going on about whatever is on her mind, from beating you in races through dungeons or how she got chewed out at work for being late to a meeting. Who looks in their spam folder in their email, seriously? I also found the justice-seeking Apollo, a fellow Spheromancer that strives to keep players honest and punish any that may be cheating in CrossWorlds, to be hilarious. He’s your stereotypical exaggerated hero of justice, but Radical Fish Games’ writing prowess takes him so much more fun than his similar archetype peers. He will challenge Lea multiple times throughout the story, pushing Lea and making sure she stays on the up-and-up.

The supporting cast I enjoyed just as much as the main party. Sergey, who acts as your support from the real world, helps to repair your voice module, adding in new keywords for you to use and interact with your new friends. Whenever he would randomly pop-in, more often than not, I would find myself chuckling at his remarks and quips. Rather early on, you will find yourself a member of a small guild, the First Scholars, whose aim is to be the first to discover the final secrets of the Ancients. Run by the sweet and motherly Hlin, and her stoic second-in-command, Beowulf, I was surprised how much I came to love these characters the more I spoke with them and learned their stories.

CrossCode does a good job making the in-game world feel like a popular hustling-and-bustling MMO, even though it is a single-player experience. NPCs of various classes are often running around the different areas in the wild, while cities and other social hubs are packed with vendors and other faux players to further sell the vibe. You can also join a guild, tackle tough bosses, and make friends with exciting characters.

Much like a real MMO, there is plenty of side business that you get yourself into in-between your dives into the game’s various dungeons which further plot. Townsfolk and other NPC Avatars offer missions that range from your standard fair of fetch quests and monster-slaying tasks to logging the local fauna of Shadoon. Crafting in the traditional sense is absent in CrossCode and in its place you will be trading items at specialty vendor stalls. You can expect to spend time running through the wild cutting down plants and hunting down enemies, which is reminiscent of The Legend of Zelda series. Luckily the rewards for trading are worth it, as the gear you can get is far superior to the stock you can find in the shops proper.

“CrossCode does a good job making the in-game world feel like a popular hustling-and-bustling MMO, even though it is a single-player experience.”

CrossCode gameplay balances between fast-paced hack-n-slash combat with intricate puzzles. Encounters with even generic enemies in the wild can become tense clashes as mobs can consist of five or more at a time, each trying to kill you. In some of the more frantic matches, finding the narrow passages between the bullets and dodging my way to safety reminded me of a SHUMP.

Lea, as a Spheromancer, is far from being powerless and has plenty of options to fight back. As you progress throughout the game, you will unlock multiple skill trees that let you improve your stats and unlock new skills and abilities for your close-range, long-range, and defensive moves. A particularly cool aspect is that you have you can quickly swap between specific sub-trees and unique move options from the menu system, without the need to spend your points on both.

There is an added sense of intensity and urgency in combat with the inclusion of a ranking system. As you defeat enemies, a small bar will fill and once you fill it you will gain a rank. The higher your rank is ( which goes all the way to S-Rank), the more chances you’ll have to gain rare loot from enemies. This rarer loot is incredibly valuable as many quests and the gear you can trade for at the vendors, require them. As soon as a battle ends, a timer will begin counting down, and when it runs out, you lose your rank and have to start over. This means you will have to grind items and it’s a good idea to plan out a route around an area that will let you hit as many enemies as you can, as fast as you can. A trick I found particularly useful was to leave one enemy and start scouting out the next mob while your AI companions deal with the final enemy. This will give you some extra time to explore and track down more foes.

To throw another little wrench into the situation, increasing your rank and farming for items you will also be tempting fate. As long as you have a rank and are stringing encounters together to build it, you won’t have any access to the experience you are gathering and you won’t be auto-recovering between fights. Will you risk taking on that larger mob, netting a bunch of good drops, or should you call it quits and get that level-up that’s waiting for you? It’s a nice mechanic that just adds another layer to an already rich combat system.

When you aren’t fighting snowmen, hedgehogs, and bunnies, there is a good chance that you will be hopping around the landscape or racking your brain to figure out the solution to a puzzle. Before playing CrossCode, I wasn’t aware of how prevalent puzzles would be, but color me surprised when I realized that not only were puzzles a big part of the game, but they are very well-done. Most of the puzzles I found to be the perfect balance of challenge and inventiveness, thanks mostly to incorporating mechanics that involved bouncing balls off the walls and mirrors to hit targets. Running around the open-world has an aspect of puzzle-solving, too, as you will see various chests and items out of reach, and you will have to figure out how to reach them by jumping over pits and navigating walls and plateaus of varying heights. This incentivizes exploration in a fun way, and there’s a sense of satisfaction and surprise when you’ve found that hidden route or you discover a secret area that just appears when you get close to it.

For as good as the puzzles are and as tight as the gameplay is, what blew me away the most with CrossCode is how breathtaking the sprites and pixel art are. Players familiar with the RPGs from Square Enix’s golden age on the Super Nintendo will recognize the much of the inspiration here, stemming from titles like Chrono Trigger and Secret of Mana. You will explore scorching deserts, wintery mountain peaks, dark, dreary mines, and advanced technological laboratories. Each location’s visuals are all done with such expert craftsmanship, that you could take a snapshot and hang it in your room, and it would look fantastic. Monster designs, especially the screen-filling bosses, are finely detailed and exude such personalities and charm. You’ll find yourself saying “awwww” the first time you see the cute bunnies before they then pounce to destroy you.

“You owe it to yourself to uncover the secrets Shadoon and CrossWorlds with Lea and friends in CrossCode.”

As you play, you will find more and more cute nods to other franchises that the developers clearly love. Items like the Phoenix Feather that come with descriptions that are a clear homage to the popular Final Fantasy curative item. Another that may seem familiar is the Salty Ice Cream that is, “Best enjoyed at sunset on top of a clocktower.” My personal favorites of these are the Metal Gears that are, “Just gears made out of metal, yepp,” and the Masterball, which “Heroes once used this device to capture legendary fiends.” I’m not going to lie, skimming the item descriptions turned into one of my favorite pastimes in this game, so be sure to check them out as you go, too.

The love that Radical Fish Games has put into CrossCode has resulted in a game that will be talked about as critically and with as much praise as other masterpieces like Shovel Knight or The Messenger. CrossCode’s mix of exciting exploration, chaotic yet tight combat, vast skill trees, and clever puzzles that all wrapped up in some of the most beautiful pixel art in the past decade is an experience any fan of RPGs should partake in. Some of the dungeons do go on a bit long, and I found it to be a little annoying at times (the first dungeon having ice physics was a bold choice). I also wasn’t the biggest fan of the exchange system with the item vendors and found myself wishing for a more traditional crafting system, but these small gripes did little to tarnish my overall experience. Every new area I found myself in or new items that contained a nod to pop culture or games from the past put a smile on my face.

In short, Radical Fish Games has raised the bar for retro-inspired indie games. You owe it to yourself to uncover the secrets Shadoon and CrossWorlds with Lea and friends in CrossCode.

July 16, 2020 11:00 AM EST

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/07/crosscode-review-cross-out-some-time-to-play-this-gem/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=crosscode-review-cross-out-some-time-to-play-this-gem