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// blows raspberry i am once again asking for your hand in marriage miss dewa
i couldn’t resist drawing morgan and sal (@9000-hal) for this assignment for class. i was only supposed to spend two hours on it but oops i spent way longer than that!! anyways morgan and sal should kiss and that’s that on that
// so like 👉👈 what if our muses 🥺 kissed 🥺🥺👉👈
i love u dewa (@9000-hal) and morg/hal is my favorite ship. i’m hyperfixating on it 🥺👉👈
tactical folly. morgan-hal.
It could be argued that they’re not equally matched. That this little game is unfair. That a human could never best the mind of a computer.
Morgan’s intent was never to win. Only to play.
Thin fingers delicately pluck white pawn from the board and place it forward two spaces; the movement is dictated quietly, only out of tradition rather than courtesy or necessity. He could practically see the invisible smirk playing on his opponent’s lips (as this man took to remaining as expressionless as possible, off-putting as it was). Hands fold neatly together in his lap once more.
The match had continued in silence, save for dictated moves, up until that point. Lips part for a moment and then close, contemplating the choice of words—one slip-up, one mistake, could end not only their game, but his life.
An unneeded variable.
Someone not to be trusted.
“I question your interest in asking for this game, Hal,” tactician breathes out after a moment. “You must know that I cannot rise above your... superior intellect.”
@9000-hal
we should have carpooled. morgan-inigo.
Seriously. Just imagine how much money they could have saved if they’d just carpooled from home to their new school.
Robin insisted on driving Morgan up; Basilio didn’t argue with his wife. Neither party wanted to just let their baby boy go and both were just a little bit too involved when it came to the initial tour of the school after Morgan had moved in. The entire time, they stayed with Inigo and his parents—it was like nothing had changed at all from their childhood days.
But that time was over. Their parents left, and the two were on their own, now standing side-by-side at orientation. Amber eyes glance down at the paper in his hand: a get-to-know-you event, it looked. Talk to others and find out a few likes and dislikes. Without looking up, Morgan jots down Inigo’s name.
“Alright, so, likes and dislikes. Let’s see—you don’t like cats, just like me, and you like women... and... lemon cake with chocolate frosting.” A small grin tossed to the side; he and Inigo knew one another inside and out.
“For my dislike, you can put cats, and for my likes... put books and solitude. Accurate, right?”
The paper is folded neatly and tucked into his back pocket. He’ll deal with the rest later. Three people from his house, and five from outside of his house? Jeez, they really want him to talk to the entire freshman class, don’t they?
“Might as well get started on this scavenger hunt, eh, Ichenka? What say you and I,” a glance down at the scavenger hunt list, before folding that and tucking it away as well, “find the nearest flower patch and make two little bouquets? Sound good?”
@feroxanfei
out of the element. morgan-inigo.
“What do you mean you don’t know how to bless an object?”
Before them sat two beautiful, fresh apples, picked just earlier that day. Their campus was in a perfect location where fruit stands were a-plenty; getting the apples was the easy part. Making them golden was the hard part.
“You’re an elf, aren’t you? Can’t you just, y’know,” he wiggles his fingers towards the apples, a clear mockery of blessing them, “make ‘em golden?”
A soft huff escapes his lips. “The only other way to get a golden apple is to have it blessed by the goddess herself, and we can’t exactly just ring her up for a favor. Come on, Ini, just try!”
@feroxanfei
reminiscence in tears. morgan-inigo.
Morgan wasn’t a hasty driver.
Sometimes he turned a little too fast around corners. Sometimes he went five, ten, even fifteen over the speed limit. Sometimes he passed others without a care in the world. But he wasn’t hasty, wasn’t uncareful. Morgan was meticulous, worrisome, always at the ready should something happen that could put him in danger. He accounted for everything.
But he couldn’t account for drunk drivers.
It didn’t register at first. One moment he was cruising, fingers tapping along to the beat of the music from his stereo, and the next, he was flipped upside down with half of his car crashing into his body.
He couldn't see the bone that pierced through his skin. He barely felt the blood that dripped down his forehead into his eyes.
Hand reaches for his phone. He only manages to open up to a certain contact, and then his world flares red-hot with excruciating pain. It only lasts a moment. And then there’s nothing.
( The word Брат decorates the phone screen until the body is pulled from the wreck, finger hovering over dial. )
—
There’s a voice.
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
It becomes familiar, as time passes.
“Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.”
The sound of paper passing over paper, page over page.
“One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.”
The story turns from stranger to friend.
“Conscience doth make cowards of us all.”
Over and over again.
“My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go.”
It’s as though this has happened before.
“This above all: to thine own self be true.”
Words move like a dance.
“Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.”
Words over paper, paper over love.
“Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”
Brother.
—
Amber eyes flutter. It’s bright. Everything hurts.
A gasp from off to the side. Head turns, he locks gazes with a woman, her white hair flowing down her shoulders like clouds. Beside her sits a strong-looking man, his dark skin and robust features a stark contrast to the pale bird beside him.
"Сын?"
The man speaks. He trembles, unable to hold back his grin. Tears drip from the woman’s eyes. She smiles, she grins; she is like light itself.
He opens his mouth.
“Who are you?”
And the smiles fall.
—
"Могу ли я увидеть его? Он в порядке? Он не спит?"
Another stranger enters, and yet... not. Amber hues blink. He is afraid; chest is already tight, wrought with pain at the sound of the pale bird’s cries.
“I know you.”
Never doubt I love, a voice whispers.
“Can you... tell me something?”
Never doubt I love.
“Who are they?”
Never doubt I love.
“Who are you?”
@feroxanfei
is it still pure water if you hex it? morgan-henry.
To say there were some interesting characters in Morgan’s life would be an understatement. Though he only has a recollection of the last four years of his life, life-long friendships had already been formed (or reformed, some may argue).
And then there were those that Morgan wishes he could forget.
No, that was mean. Morgan didn’t mind Henry, even as... eccentric as he was. The man was a mad genius, that much was sure. He was glad to have Henry in his life—Morgan just wasn’t sure he wanted Henry so closely involved in his life for the next few years. (Seriously, how did they end up at the same university?)
It seemed there was no avoiding it. If they were in the same house, they might as well hang out like they used to. With a smile, Morgan approaches his old friend, a sheet of paper hanging limply in his hand.
“Hey, Henry. Fancy helping me get those prizes by filling out the meet and greet form, and then tracking down that vial of pure water for me?”
@henrichii
