My favorite thing in sky is how any 'experienced' player will see a small, brown caped skykid with 1-3 wedges, one of the first 3 hairs and just go: moth, moffie, babie, a child

Meanwhile, the moth in question is a fully grown person trying to be serious and playing the game the best they can while everyone around them cooes ab how cute they are

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Umbrella Academy: Klaus/Dave

Author’s note: After reading this awesome post  calling attention to Dave’s obvious infatuation in the club scene, I thought about it for a while, especially about Klaus as the object of desire, the one being pined for rather than the one doing the pining (which, as @greenandhazy points out, is quite the departure from what we usually see when a main character meets their love interest. So, that’s what informed this oneshot here. 

Also tagging @lovinglydiego—if I tagged the wrong blog, let me know and I’ll change it.

“So there I was, chocolate pudding all over my cheeks, all up my ass crack, and all I could think was God, I am so fucking hungry right now.” 

Dave laughed. Not the insincere laugh of a pseudo-friend waiting to see how useful he’d wind up being, not the silence and rolled eyes of his siblings—a real one that tipped his head back toward the ceiling. Klaus had been smiling before, but he found himself laughing too. 

“So what’d you do?” 

“Waited for it to dry, peeled it off.” Klaus took a sip of his drink. Alcohol didn’t quite keep the ghosts at bay, not as well as drugs did, but it could quiet them enough to hear his own thoughts. “And let me tell you, that is not something I’d wish on…okay, maybe I’d wish it on a few people.” 

Dave laughed again. “No, I mean, did you?” 

“Did I….oh! Did I eat chocolate pudding off my own ass?” 

“Yeah. You said you were hungry.” 

“Nope. I learned an important lesson that day.” 

“Which is?” 

He took another sip. “That I do have standards after all.” 

“Really.” 

From Luther or Allison, that would have been an insult, a small verbal slap to remind him that what he’d said was a lie. But from Dave, it was the same sort of good-natured jab he might level at any other soldier in their platoon. “Sure I do! I mean, they’re low, but I’ve got ‘em.” 

“Well,” Dave said, leaning against the wall, “glad they’re not too high.” 

Klaus’ stomach fluttered, then twisted. Three different responses, ranging from flirtatious to borderline pornographic, popped into his head, but he didn’t dare voice any of them. Not for any uncertainty on his part—the looks Dave had given him, the ease with which he’d linked his arm through his, the way he stood close enough that Klaus could feel the warmth of his skin through his sleeve, left little doubt toward Dave’s preference. He could retort with any of the three quips he’d thought of—or the far filthier fourth one he’d just come up with—and had a feeling Dave would reply in kind. 

That was the problem. 

Klaus knew he’d let the silence go on too long, filled though it was by the music and mingled hum of dozens of conversations and dancing feet. Part of him would have been content to stand there beside Dave, feeling the closeness of him and drawing comfort from it, but he’d a hunch that any more silence would invite Dave to fill it with a more overt remark than his last. 

“Still no word from home?” 

Klaus gazed down at his drink, tried to resist a sip, and took one anyway. “If they did send me something, it’d probably just be a picture of them all flipping me the bird.” 

“Huh.” 

Letters from home weren’t common, but each man in Klaus’ platoon had received at least one since being shipped out—a few after that briefcase dropped him into their tent, most before that point. Klaus had made the mistake of mentioning that he’d never gotten a single letter since arriving in country, and while he’d had the good sense to be vague about how long that had been, he’d still made himself an object of curiosity for the others. 

No. Not curiosity. Pity. It was quiet, the sort that didn’t often surface in scattered remarks or louder exclamations, but he felt it all the same, pressing around him like the humid heat of the jungle whenever the topic of families surfaced. Each man in his platoon projected it to varying degrees, but it was always strongest coming from Dave. 

“What about your brother….Diego?” 

“Ah, c’mon. Guy’s got a busy schedule, pretending he doesn’t have a family.” 

Not that Klaus could blame him; he’d done much the same. Then again, if Diego vanished for weeks with no word, no one would assume he’d OD’d for the last time in some seedy backroom or alley or coded in an ambulance accompanied by exasperated paramedics unable to revive him. 

“Tell you what,” Dave said, and Klaus looked to him, saw him with his elbow propped against the wall. “I’ll tell my mom to meet us both once we get back to the States. Let her know I’m bringing a friend.” 

Klaus smiled. The notion of returning at the same time as someone you’d met out in the jungle—let alone knowing you’d return at all—was a dream. His first brush with enemy gunfire had been enough to tell him that, even without the mangled ghosts of former brothers in arms to scream the same warning. That first spray of bullets alone had made the notion of dashing for Hazel and Cha-Cha’s briefcase at the first sign of serious trouble look like the world’s worst joke. 

But unlike some dreams, this was one he liked. The thought of being shipped back with Dave, of sitting beside him on a train or whatever else he’d take back to the city from which they both hailed—it was one he could entertain for hours, one he’d hold onto long after the many rips and tears in the logic of it threatened to swallow the daydream whole. 

“No, I’m serious. I’ll let her know you’re coming, make sure she’s waiting. Tell her to bring more cookies.” 

“Fresh ones this time?” 

Dave laughed again. Klaus could listen to that laugh for hours. “If Mom saw the state of those cookies when they got here, she’d buy a ticket to the White House and give Johnson a piece of her mind.” 

Johnson. Right. Old Lyndon B. was president here in 1968. “Didn’t you say you wrote her already?” 

“Ah, yeah. Forgot about that.” Dave grinned. “Now that she’s good and mad about what the Army did to her cookies, the war should be over any day now.” 

The cookies had been little more than stale crumbs and broken pieces when Dave opened the package from home. Even so, the box had summoned every man in that tent like moths to a light bulb, set them hovering around awaiting their turn to snatch a handful of cookie pieces. Klaus hadn’t expected Dave to call him over, too—he was the new guy, after all—but after weeks of legendary Army food and tepid water flavored with iodine and grainy with the bodies of insects it had killed, those stale crumbs had tasted like heaven. 

He noticed Dave moving closer without raising his head, didn’t flinch as he ran a hand through his hair. The thought of what he should do occurred after that first touch, and by then Klaus could only close his eyes. 

Dave’s hand cupped the back of his head, pulled him closer. Not forcefully, not with any sort of coercion, but softly, in invitation. 

“Nobody’s gonna catch us.” 

Klaus opened his eyes. Dave’s voice was just audible over the somewhat muffled music, but it was the note of consolation that got his attention. His smile had turned gentle, comforting. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, and it wouldn’t take much to finish the job. 

“It’s okay.” Dave moved a few inches closer, not quite close enough to press his body against his but close enough for Klaus to imagine how it would feel. “Or we can head somewhere a little more private, if you want.” 

Klaus bit back an eager reply. “Dave, I….” 

Fingers brushed through his hair again, and Klaus resisted the urge to trace the line of Dave’s jaw. 

“What?” The question was gentle, like one of those breezes just strong enough to cool the air. “Klaus, what’s wrong?” 

“Why?” 

Dave’s smile had faded a bit, but it curled ever closer toward a frown and Klaus spoke quickly. 

“I mean—why me?” 

“What do you mean, why you?” 

Klaus blinked. For a moment, he nearly brought all the unspoken things out into the light, but he didn’t know where to begin or what Dave had guessed already, if he was still wrapped up in the Maybe he has a problem stage or if he was already on his way to Even a fucking war zone can’t keep this guy clean. Whatever the case, he’d know sooner rather than later. 

Back in the present, or the future, or whatever the hell it was, Klaus wouldn’t have cared. He hadn’t cared with Antonio, or Alessio—he couldn’t recall which name he’d been given at introduction; all he remembered was a pretty face and a place to sleep, delicious osso bucco and a decaying sense of optimism—a belief that there was some good in him, good that Antonio or Alessio or whoever he was could fan into greatness once Klaus stopped longing for the next high. 

Three weeks. Three weeks under his roof, in his bed, and Klaus couldn’t remember his name. 

“Why not you?” 

Klaus could have offered a list—alphabetized, or in order of importance—but the look in Dave’s eyes kept the list in his head, kept any further words there too. 

There was tenderness in that glance—a tenderness he’d seen before, but never so pure, unmitigated by any flicker of disappointment or longing. It wasn’t the kind of look that tried to stare past what he was, what he’d depended on since his teens and what he’d done to get it, to see a few sparks of beauty and kindness underneath. No, from the way Dave looked at him, all of that alleged goodness was all he saw. He looked at Klaus as if Klaus was fun and joy and love and everything else he deserved. 

Dave leaned in closer, and Klaus knew he ought to pull away. Duck out of his embrace, head back out into the club and leave Dave alone. A little disappointment now would save him from far more heartbreak down the road. 

Dave touched his lips to his. 

It was a gentle kiss, so soft and subdued that for an instant all Klaus felt was the pleasant warmth of Dave’s lips; but soon he was aware of nothing but Dave, the scent and taste and feel of him, of being pulled closer and closer but still not close enough. He didn’t want it to end, didn’t want the moment to pass, wanted to freeze time and stay forever if it would keep Dave there. 

Too soon, Dave pulled back. Klaus watched that same smile tug at his lips, breath trembling as Dave’s hand brushed his hair, his cheek. For an instant, just an instant, it looked as if Dave might say something; but soon it faded back into a smile so warm Klaus had the sudden urge to cry. 

Love. The word sprang to mind with an ease that surprised him. He hadn’t heard it often, hadn’t said it often, yet there it was, written all over Dave’s face, in his touch. He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t explain it, couldn’t guess at why it existed. He could only return it….or reject it. 

Without a word, with scarcely a thought, Klaus pulled Dave close and kissed him again. 

Analyse of Daenerys’ chapter in “A Clash of Kings”

P. 388: “The Dothraki sacked cities and plundered kingdoms, they did not rule them. Dany had no wish to reduce King’s Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghoss. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father. But before she could do that she must conquer. → Forshadowing. (So take that Dumb & Dumber)

P. 527: “To go north (Jon?), you must journey south (dragonstone?). To reach the west (Westeros?), you must go east (Essos?). To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow (Asshai?=truth).” → ?

P. 529: “Sellswords have their uses,” Ser Jorah admitted, “but you will not win your father’s throne with sweepings from the Free Cities. Nothing knits a broken realm together so quick as an invading army on its soil.” (…) “You are a stranger who means to land on their shores with an army of outlanders who cannot even speak the Common Tongue. The lords of Westeros do no know you, and have every reason to fear and mistrust you. You must win them over before you sail. A few at least. → Foreshadowing?

The house of the Undying: P. 630: “By no means,” Pyat Pree said. “Leaving and coming, it is the same. Always up. Always the door to your right. Other doors may open to you. Within, you will see many things that disturb you. Visions of loveliness and visions of horror, wonders and terrors. Sights and sounds of days gone by and days to come and days that never were. Dwellers and servitors may speak to you as you go. Answer or ignore them as you choose, but enter no room until you reach the audience chamber.” (…) Shade of the evening, the wine of warlocks. “Take and drink,” urged Pyat Pree. “One draught will serve only to unstop your ears and dissolve the caul from off your eyes, so that you may hear and see the truths that will be laid before you.”

P. 631: “Not all the doors were closed. I will not look, Dany told herself, but the temptation was too strong. 1) In one room, a beautiful woman sprawled naked on the floor while four little men crawled over her. They had rattish pointed faces and tiny pink hands, like the servitor who had brought her the glass of shade. One was pumping between her thighs. Another savaged her breasts, worrying at the nipple with his wet red mouth, tearing and chewing. → Westeros against four kings (Balon Greyjoy, Robb Stark, Joffrey and Stannis Baratheon. =Present ⇒ P. 798, fulfilment of the prophecy: “The Seven Kingdoms have need of you. Robert the Usurper is dead, and the realm bleeds. When we set sail from Pentos there were four kings in the land, and no justice to be had.”

2) Further on she came upon a feast of corpses. Savagely slaughtered, the feasters lay strewn across overturned chairs and hacked trestle tables, asprawl in pools of congealing blood. Some had lost limbs, even heads. Severed hands clutched bloody cups, wooden spoons, roast fowl, heels of bread. In a throne above them sat a dead man with the head of a wolf. He wore an iron crown and held a leg of lamb in one hand as a king might hold a sceptre, and his eyes followed Dany with mute appeal. → The red wedding = Future 3) She fled from him, but only as far as the next open door. I know this room, she thought. She remembered those great wooden beams and the carved animal faces that adorned them. And there outside the window, a lemon tree! The sight of it made her heart ache with longing. It is the house with the red door, the house in Braavos. No sooner had she thought it than old Ser Willem came into the room, leaning heavily on his stick. “Little princess, there you are,” he said in his gruff kind voice. “Come,” he said, “come to me, my lady, you’re home now, you’re safe now.” His big wrinkled hand reached for her, soft as old leather and Dany wanted to take it and hold it and kiss it, she wanted that as much as she had ever wanted everything. Her foot edged forward, and then she thoughts. He’s dead, he’s dead, the sweet old bear, he died a long time ago. She backed away and ran. → Visions of loveliness or Days that never were ?? 4) Finally, a great pair of bronze doors appeared to her left, grander than the rest. They swung open as she neared, and she had to stop and look. Beyond loomed a cavernous stone hall, the largest she had ever seen. The skulls of dead dragons looked down from its walls. Upon a towering barbed throne sat an old man in rich robes, an old man with dark eyes and long silver-grey hair. “Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat,” he said to a man below him. “Let him be the kings of ashes.” Drogon shrieked, his claws digging through silk and skin, but the king on his throne never heard, and Dany moved on. → The red keep – the throne room with Aerys speaking of Rhaegar to Varys. = Past 5) Viserys, was her first thought the next time she paused, but a second glance told her otherwise. The man had her brother’s hair, but he was taller, and his eyes were a dark indigo rather than lilac. “Aegon,” he said to a woman nursing a newborn babe in a great wooden bed. “What better name for a king?” “Will you make a song for him?” the woman asked. “He has a song,” the man replied. “He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.” He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany’s, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door. “There must be one more,” he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bed she could not say. “The dragon has three heads.” He went to the window seat, picked up a harp, and ran his fingers lightly over its silvery strings. Sweet sadness filled the room as man and wife and babe faded like the morning mist, only the music lingering behind to speed her on her way. → Rhaegar and Elia Martell, or is it a foreshadowing of the Jon’s birth? And the foreshadowing of there relationship. Past and future?

P. 634: “Our little lives are no more than a flicker of a moth’s wing to them (the Undying Ones),” Dany said, remembering. → Can be applied to god.

P. 635: “…. Mother of dragons… came a voice, part whisper and part moan. … dragons… dragons… dragons… other voices echoed in the gloom. Some were male and some female. One spoke with the timber of a child. The floating heart pulsed from dimness to darkness. It was hard to summon the will to speak, to recall the words she had practiced so assiduously. “I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.” Do they hear me? Why don’t they move? She sat, folding her hands in her lap. “Grant me your counsel, and speak to me with the wisdom of those who have conquered death.” (…) P. 636: “I have come for the gift of truth,” Dany said. “In the long hall, the things I saw… were they true visions, or lies? Past things, or things to come? What did they mean?” … the shape of shadows…morrows not yet made… drink from the cup of ice…drink from the cup of fire… (Jon?) …mother of dragons…child of three… (Rhaegar, Viserys, Daenerys?) “Three?” She did not understand. …three heads has the dragon… (Daenerys, Jon and ?) the ghost chorus yammered inside her skull with never a lip moving, never a breath stirring the still blue air… mother of dragons… child of storm… (Daenerys?) The whispers became a swirling song… three fires must you light… one for life and one for death and one to love… (for her dragons, the slavers? And Jon?) Her own heart was beating in unison to the one that floated before her, blue and corrupt… three mounts must you ride… one to bed and one to dread and one to love…  (Khal Drogo, Drogon and Jon) The voices were growing louder, she realized, and it seemed her heart was slowing, and even her breath…three treasons will you know… once for blood and once for gold and once for love… (Viserys when he sell her, gold do we know yet? Jon for love?) (…) P. 637: “… help her… the whispers mocked… show her… Then phantoms shivered through the murk, images in indigo. - Viserys screamed as the molten gold ran down his cheeks and filled his mouth. = Past. - A tall lord with copper skin and silver-gold hair stood beneath the banner of a fiery stallion, a burning city behind him. = Day that never was → about her son Rhaego. - Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman’s name. = Past → Rhaegar murmured Lyanna’s name. … mother of dragons, daughter of death… (Daenerys will brink chaos?) - Glowing like sunset, red sword was raised in the hand of a blue-eyed king who cast no shadow. = Present → Stannis - A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering shadow fire. = Future → The fake Aegon? - From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire = Past → on Dragonstone with Melisandre? … mother of dragons, slayer of lies… (about Aegon and Stannis/Melisandre?) - Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. = Future → Westeros nights, near the Trident? - A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. = Future → Greyjoy? - A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. = Future → Lyanna regarding Jon? ...mother of dragons, bride of fire…. (her wedding with Jon)

Faster and faster the visions came, one after the other, until it seemed as if the very air had come alive. - Shadows whirled and danced inside a tent, boneless and terrible. = Past → The dark magic of Mirri Maz Duur? - A little girl ran barefoot toward a big house with a red door. = Past → Daenerys? - Mirri Maz Duur shrieked in the flames, a dragon bursting from her brow. = Past → The birth of the dragons. - Behind a silver horse the bloody corpse of a naked man bounced and dragged. = Past → the wine seller. - A white lion ran through grass taller than a man. = Past → The lion which was killed by Khal Drogo and offer to Dany. (or Jaime?) - Beneath the Mother of Mountains, a line of naked crones crept from a great lake and knelt shivering before her, their grey heads bowed. = Future → Daenerys faith of conquest. - Ten thousand slaves lifted bloodstained hands as she raced by on her silver, riding like the wind. “Mother!” they cried, “mother, mother!” They were reaching for her, touching her, tugging at her cloak, the hem of her skirt, her foot, her leg, her breast. They wanted her, needed her, the fire, the life and Dany gasped and opened her arms to give herself to them. = Future → The liberation of slavers.

What do you think?