Andromeda crew character summaries for people who haven't played the game
Space mom. Likely puts a nutritious meal and cute little notes with smiley faces in your lunchbag. 10/10.
Spiky space mom. Likely puts twenty bucks and a can of pringles in your lunchbag. 10/10.
Excellent space boy. Basically human sunshine. His smile has probably already cured you of a disease you didn't know you had. 10/10.
Cranky space grandpa. Probably that one person at the family party who gets drunk on booze you didn't know you had and falls asleep against a wall. 10/10.
Pelessaria "Peebee" B'Sayle:
The "hold my beer, watch this" space friend. I aspire to give as few fucks as her one day. 10/10.
Dr. Suvi Anwar:
Absolutely adorable. A sweet, precious baby unicorn. Gorgeous. Licked a rock once and the rock blushed. 10/10.
Irreverent space engineer. That one college classmate who lets you copy his answers, but u have to buy him a beer after. Would probably lend u his kidney if u asked for it. 10/10.
The one space uncle who looks and sounds like your dad but makes finger guns way more often and has way more money than him. You don't know why. You're not sure you want to know why. 10/10.
That one hipster dog-walker on the street who just seems super chill all the time but is currently wrangling 7 overly excited puppies who all want to go in different directions. You want to be his friend. You want to be him. Secretly the puppies are all his emotions. 10/10.
Jaal Ama Darav:
Please just be kind to him, he's crying his best. 10/10.
About 6 or 7 years ago, I was trying to enlist into the military. I ended up not joining but that’s a story for another time. At this point, I was led to believe I was about 4 months away from leaving for Boot camp. I was running out of savings, and needing a part time job for some spending cash while I waited around.
So I did what any enterprising 20something would do, and searched craigslist for jobs. I normally hate sales jobs, especially those based on commissions, but figured it would be a great way to earn some extra cash short term. Found a few job listings that looked promising, and put out some applications. A few days later I received a call from David. He was opening up a new store and needed associates. He liked my resume and asked if I’d be available for an interview on Friday morning. I was very up front with him, and let him know that the distance was a bit more than I’d normally drive for a retail job, and asked what he was offering for an hourly rate, to see if it was worth the drive. He told me that they were planning on offering an hourly rate in the mid teens, along with commission. Seemed like an ok deal, so I agreed to be there Friday at 8am.
“This here’s Stan the Man Uris,” Richie told Ben. “Stan’s a Jew. Also, he killed Christ. At least that’s what Victor Criss told me one day. I been after Stan ever since. I figure if he’s that old, he ought to be able to buy us some beer. Right, Stan?”
“I think that must have been my father,” Stan said in a low, pleasant voice, and that broke them all up.
(IT, by Stephen King)
“Here’s the thing-” Lily said,
marching into the pub and pulling out a stool.
“We’re closed.” James interrupted
without looking up from wiping down the bar.
“I want a dog.” Lily barrelled on without
hearing him. “But my landlord doesn’t allow pets so I was wondering-“
“I’m not getting a fucking dog for
you.” James said firmly.
Lily blinked at him. “I was going to
ask if you thought it was morally wrong to raise it in my air-vent.” There was
a silence. James was caught between hoping she wasn’t serious and knowing that
she was. “Your idea seems better.” Lily admitted.
“Really. Talk me through that, is it
because there is no animal abuse involved?”
“I was thinking more along the lines
of then you’d have to clean up the poo, but the no animal abuse is also good.”
“Y’know” Sirius was lying on top of
the bar, waving around a beer and staring at the ceiling. Nobody looked up. “I
always thought once we owned a bar we would spend a solid 60% percent of our
time drunk, and that hasn’t happened.”
Remus, still wiping down tables,
said “I shudder to think what you’d be like on your own.”
“Since we bought the bar we spend
more time drunk than we used to?” Peter consoled, baffled.
Sirius sat up. “I would say we spent
about 15% percent of our time drunk before
the bar, and after the bar we
spend about 25%. That is an increase of only ten percent.”
“Where are you pulling these numbers
from?” Lily asked while holding the ladder for James, who was avoiding the
dishwasher by pretending to fix the squeaky window.
“On top of being an excellent barman
I double as a statistician.”
“You are neither of those things.”
Remus said. Sirius glared.
“Fuck you Moony. At school you were
always saying I didn’t do enough math, and here I am, doing math, and you’re abusing me.”
Remus threw a dishtowel at him and
gestured to the kitchen. “Go unstack the dishwasher.”
“Fantastic.” Sirius said, throwing
his hands in the air. “This is what I get for my brief foray into math.
Insulted and unloading dishes.” He jumped off the bar and mockingly gave Remus’
back the finger. James laughed.
Bro: *closes his MacBook which has a vineyard vines sticker on it* i don’t understand why there are protests about Black Lives Matter, Donald Trump’s election, and everything else! there’s always protests about something. people need to get over themselves
Me: dude…….you realize you are complaining about free speech and that’s exactly what you just used right now!!! dude…
bro: *puts his MacBook in his north face backpack* you know…I thought you were chill…but now…i’m not going to buy you beer for the party on saturday see ya *walks away*
Summary: It’s Virgil’s birthday and everyone is a tad busy.
Warnings: none that I can think of. There’s mention of fire?
Virgil wrestled with his keys.
Of course. Just one more thing that seemed to be going wrong for him. Just one more fucking sign the universe hated him and—
Wait. He was trying to open the front door with the key to the back. Great. It was a wonder he could get food in his mouth seeing how useless he was at basic tasks like using the right key.
The door opened, allowing Virgil to step inside an empty house.
Of course. The others were busy, and it was bound to happen. It was the middle of December, meaning that exams and the like were going on and the others would be rushing around, trying to get everything done.
Logan would be in the library, studying for his physics exam.
Roman would be in the theater, prepping for his end-of-semester, worth-a-big-percent-of-his-grade project to write and direct a play.
Patton would be at his internship at the daycare, trying to care for the children.
Virgil shouldn’t have expected anything different. Still, it would’ve been nice if anyone had said anything about his birthday.
He wasn’t asking for a lot. He knew the others were busy. He just wanted a text. Dinner, maybe. A gift if he was lucky.
But the others were busy. Sometimes things like birthdays just had to be put on the back burner.
Virgil supposed this would be easier to digest if it went along with chocolate cake instead of a microwave dinner.
Besides, Virgil was busy too. At the thought, he looked over his to-do list and realized that everything was checked off. In anticipation—actual, legitimate, foolish anticipation—Virgil had worked really hard today in order to get done early. Now he almost wished he hadn’t.
He tried to distract himself. Nothing was on TV. He had watched through his favorite shows on Netflix. Tumblr was feeling particularly sad tonight. His journal, left abandoned for a few weeks, just made him feel guilty.
He settled on baking. Brownies, he decided. It was a good time of year for something warm.
It was the sort of task that demanded attention and focus and Virgil needed that right now.
After a quick assessment, a trip to the store was deemed necessary. No eggs. Roman must have used the last ones for breakfast this morning. It was nice of him to cook everyone breakfast. Virgil wasn’t particularly fond of eggs, but it was a nice thought. Roman even remembered to give him applesauce instead of bacon. Bacon was gross with a weird texture and Virgil refused to eat it.
The memory made Virgil smile, even if it was only a little. Nobody said anything about what day it was, during breakfast. It made him a little disappointed, but surely, it was just morning forgetfulness? Virgil knew how useless they all were in the early hours, especially during exam time. He guessed they all were really busy? Or their phones all died? Or they just didn’t care and they picked him to room with them because he was quiet and it made rent cheaper?
A quiet, “Sir, that’ll be 69 cents,” broke him out of his spiraling pitiful thoughts.
“Oh, sure, here you go. Thanks.”
On his way home, he stopped at the flower shop too. The apartment really needed some color. He chose roses. Hell if they were overrated, they were Virgil’s favorite. He chose red and pink, which he felt Roman and Patton would enjoy. He threw in some white ones for Logan, too.
He noted the cars in the driveway and he felt his heart speed up. They could at least hang out for a few hours.
He unlocked the door, which much more success this time, to be met by the typical sounds of life in the apartment.
The kitchen was empty and so Virgil decided he would start on the brownies. It would be a nice treat to celebrate with.
Patton came down the stairs first in pajamas. “Oh, there you are. We were wondering where you went.”
“Yeah, you’re usually home sooner. Whatcha making?”
“Oh, brownies. I thought—”
“Brownies?! Those sound amazing Virgil! You really are the best. Hey, I’m pretty tired so I think I’m going to hit the hay. Goodnight, kiddo.”
“Hardly a kiddo, Patton. I’m the only one living here who can buy beer.”
Patton shot Virgil an amused look. “Haha, hold it over our heads that you’re 21, pal.”
“Well, wish I could have seen more of you today, but the semester will be over soon, right? Goodnight, Virge.”
The exhausted man—though he looked more like a sleepy kid in his cartoon pajamas—slumped up the stairs.
As the brownies continued to bake, both Logan and Roman also came downstairs to say goodnight.
Virgil placed a candle in the center of the brownie and thought for a moment. The flame flickered bright against the pitch black of the room.
What did he wish for?
I just want to hang out with my best friends, I guess. A whole day.
Virgil supposed that counted. It was getting late. 11:56. He paused for just a second, and let it sink in that it was his 22nd birthday. He was another year older, and so much has improved.
He smiled. The clock turned midnight.
And just like that, it was another day.
Virgil blew the candle out, and watched as the room grew dark again.
[CHRIS: I’m finished and right by your place, should I drop by so I can buy you some beer?
VILDE: Just wait downstairs and I’ll be right there
HÅKON: My name is Håkon and I’m the new chairman of the apartment complex.
HÅKON: Hi. Is your mom home?
VILDE: No, unfortunately, she’s not. Can I help you with something?
HÅKON: Yes, I’m just saying hi to the neighbors and your mom hasn’t paid the fees, so I was just wondering if she has been notified?
VILDE: Oh! She probably just forgot! She works a lot, but I’ll tell her.
HÅKON: Yes. You can?
HÅKON: That’s it. Bye.
[SANA: Dear Vilde. I don’t think I’ve told you, but I just wanted to say that I admire you so much for being so strong. No matter what happens, you never give up, you keep on going. You’re the first person I would bring with me to war, and I love you so much. I’m inviting you to an Eid party at my place on Saturday. Eid is a holiday that marks the end of Ramadhan. Saturday is the last day of Ramadhan and I’d like to break the fast with all the people I love. Lots of food, a chill atmosphere and only good people. I’ll be so happy if you come. Sana]
VILDE: Mamma? I’m going out.
MOM: Who was it that buzzed?
VILDE: It was someone collecting signatures.
MOM: Oh, well then….
VILDE: Sorry, I lost track of time!
CHRIS: No worries.
VILDE: My mom and I got carried away chatting. Should we get out of here?
18 yo teen showing off his smelly feet. This bro definitely looks like he hangs at frat parties and can easily get dudes to buy him beer. Even having some of the same college dudes at his feet sniffing and servicing them just to prove to them who the real alpha is.
Dean kisses Castiel for the first time under the fluorescence of a gritty gas station light.
Dean kisses Castiel for the first time under the fluorescence of a gritty gas station light. They are bruised and bloody, the stench of burning flesh still clinging to their shirts. Sam is inside the store, buying beer and toothpaste.
He doesn’t quite know how it happens— one moment he is leaning against the Impala, waiting for the tank to fill. Cas comes around the car to join him, and then Dean is leaning in, one hand curling into Cas’s coat and the other coming up to cup his jaw, tilting it just right. Cas moves in front of him for a better angle. His mouth is warm.
And then, as quickly as it started, it’s over, and Sam is leaving the store, shooting Dean a confused look as he all but lurches away from Cas. They get in the Impala without a word, but Dean’s eyes drift to Castiel’s in the mirror probably more often than is safe. He can barely fight a smile for a week afterward.
Dean kisses Castiel for the second time in a shitty motel outside Rexford, Idaho. There’s a tension between them. It hangs in the air and is solidified by the small bundle of Castiel’s belongings that he places on the far bed.
Dean is fluffing the pillow when he turns to face Castiel, leaning in with a certainty he didn’t know he had. And Castiel kisses him back, hard, his hand on the back of Dean’s neck, keeping him there. Dean can sense his sadness. Confusion. It makes his chest ache.
They don’t talk about it in the morning. Dean drops Cas back at the Gas n’ Sip. It feels all wrong. Words rest unsaid on the tip of Dean’s tongue— come back, he longs to say. Stay. He doesn’t. He lets the sound of the passenger side door echo in silence. With a tight smile and a wave, he is gone.
They come together, briefly, in quiet moments, in tense moments, when everything is too much, when everything is too little. Still, it’s not enough. Dean dreams of blue eyes and wakes up in a cold bed. His phone is always in the corner of his vision; every time it buzzes his heart leaps in his chest. Most of the time it’s not what he’s hoping for.
One night in the bunker after a particularly brutal case, Castiel finds his way to Dean’s room. Dean is sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. Castiel kneels beside him.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says.
“You’re wrong,” Dean replies.
“We were out numbered. We had no chance. We couldn’t have saved her.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Castiel says, and he reaches for Dean’s hands, pulling them away from his face. Dean’s eyes are sad and tired. Castiel cups his cheek, swiping his thumb along the freckles there, and leans in.
Later, at some point in the late night or early morning, as he lies next to Castiel, Dean whispers, “Don’t leave.”
Summary: Much like your brother, you hate Steve Harrington. Which makes being paired up with him for a group project that much more intolerable. Especially with his stupid voice and hair and sunglasses and soft lips.
Based on Request: ok but imagine that billy from stranger things has a twin sister and she is sneaking around behind billy’s back with steve and one night steve comes in through her window and while they are fooling around they almost get caught by billy and steve has to hide under the bed. maybe steve’s glasses are on the nightstand and billy gets suspicious because they look familiar. idk i love your writing and knew that you could do justice to this prompt that has been running through my head
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Hargrove!Reader
Word Count: 4,624
Author’s Note:This is definitely not what the requester had in mind (sorry about that!) but hopefully you love the story nonetheless. It starts off angsty for sure, but it gets increasingly fluffy and cute as we go, so enjoy :)
Warnings:Language. Fighting. Mentions of “adult magazines.” Heated kissing. Angst. Fluff.
It started the way most momentous events in your life did: with an argument.
In some ways, this argument had been brewing ever since Mrs. Hanson paired you up with Steve Harrington for the Family Tree Project. Not only had she NOT paired you with Bobby Mueller, but she put you right in the middle of Steve and your brother’s pissing match. Which was great.
You had determined early on not to take sides in the matter. Even though Billy had spent the whole first week of school ranting about all of the ways Steve was a dickhead who needed to be taken down a peg, you had kept your mouth shut. You continued to keep your mouth shut through Billy’s commentary on the Nancy/Steve split. And you were still silent when Steve came to school bloodied and bruised in the same week that a slightly bruised Billy had wobbled in the door with a glaring Max at 3 am in the morning. Because all things considered, Steve seemed pretty innocuous, especially compared to other high school boys.
But at this current moment, you could no longer keep your mouth shut. In fact, it was all you could do to keep yourself from screaming in Steve Harrington’s face at the top of your lungs.
“Can you shut up for five fucking seconds about Billy?” You ran your fingers through your hair, clutching it tightly to keep yourself from strangling him with your bare hands. You paced back and forth around your room, trying to reign yourself in.
“I’m just saying that he is not touching our baby,” Steve snipped, crossing his arms.
“He’s my brother,” you released your hands and scooped up a marker from the floor, chucking it at Steve. He ducked away, and the marker smacked against his arm. “Can you cut the dick measuring contest and recognize how weird it would be if my twin brother didn’t have some type of meaningful role in our baby’s life!”
You had begun arguing over the second question on the assignment sheet:
Congratulations! You and your partner have recently discovered you are having a baby, which means it’s time to think about how your bundle of joy will fit into your family. For this project, you and your partner are going to develop a family tree that goes back three generations from your baby. It should include the following information: 1. How is each person related to you/your partner? To your child? 2. What role do you want each person to have in your child’s life? 3. What would you like your child to call each person on your tree? 4.What will you name your baby? 5. What does family mean to you?
You thought Billy would be a good on-call babysitter. He was protective and loyal, and as the uncle to your imaginary baby, Billy would wantto step up. You had tried raising these points to prevent Dustin Henderson—the middle school boy that Max hung out with—from becoming the designated babysitter. The last thing you expected–although, honestly, the fact that you didn’t expect it was on you–was for Steve to launch into “99 Reasons Billy Hargrove is a Douchebag Who Shouldn’t Be Allowed Near Children.” Sure, you knew that Billy was a huge ass to Steve. Billy was an ass to everybody. But blood was different. And this imaginary baby was Billy’s blood. Not Dustin Henderson’s.
“Yeah, ok, you want to talk about how siblings should have a large role?” Steve started, and you sucked in a breath, already having a gut feeling as to where this was going. Straight back to the fight you had yesterday. “What about Max?”
“What about her?”
“She’s your sister, and you haven’t even put her on the tree,” Steve gestured at the pitiful poster which lay on the floor next to him. You looked over at it. To be fair, there was hardly anything on the tree. The two of you couldn’t stop arguing over things long enough to put people on. So far, it had the two of you, your imaginary baby, Steve’s parents and grandparents, your mom, and Billy. Max and Susan were not there. Neither was your father.
“I’m getting to her,” you argued back, defensively. Steve snatched up one of the markers that you’d already thrown at him, uncapping it and extending the thick black line that connected you and Billy. A bubbling feeling of panic rose in your chest.
“That’s not the right line!” you cried out, reaching forward to stop him, and he looked up at you, eyes blazing.
“What kind of line should I put then?” His words came out clipped and cold.
“I–I don’t know,” you stuttered. “But not that one. She’s not my sister.”
“Who is she then?” Steve’s lips were curled in what was almost a snarl.
“She’s my…” you trailed off, thinking about it. “She’s my Max.” Steve scoffed and turned away.
“Well what do you want me to say?!” you snapped.
“She’s your sister! Jesus, Y/N. It’s not that hard.”
It was so easy for other people to define family. They had their mom and dad and brothers and sisters and cousins. You had your father, who you refused to call “Dad” because he didn’t act like what you thought a dad should act like, and then your step-mom who was very step-mom-y. After them, there was your brother, who was technically your twin but more like a brother, and your Max. She was so much more than your step-sister, but she hadn’t grown up with you and Billy. She didn’t get it sometimes. She wasn’t quite your sister yet. She was in-between. And if assholes like Steve didn’t get that, that was his problem not yours.
“Fine. If you want to stick her into that hole, then go for it,” you answered, coldly. “And then get the hell out of my house.”
Steve finished the line, drawing another branch down and putting Max’s name underneath it. He threw the marker at the floor, flicked his sunglasses over his eyes, and then left your room, slamming the door behind him.
You were fighting again.
This was hardly out of the usual. You’d already been banned from working together in the school library and the public library. Now you had to drive across town to Steve’s house just to finish this stupidproject. You had only made it to question three. What would you like your child to call each person on your tree?
Steve had suggested that the baby call his dad Grandpa Asshole.
You asked if Steve was feeling bitter because his dad found and burned his porn stash.