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bonky-n-steeb · 3 years ago

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honey,

there is no right way (i)

summary || when you agree to be the feared mobster Bucky Barnes’ sugar baby, you expect to get enough money to pay your bills. what you don’t expect is to fall head over heels for him.

warnings || sugar baby au, mob! Bucky Barnes, unprotected sex, rough sex, violence, SMUT. ANGST. FLUFF. (the holy trinity). MINORS DNI.

I have decided to not do taglists anymore, so if you wished to be notified of my newest updates please follow @bonky-n-steeb-lib and turn on the notifications!

* Feel free to send drabbles, requests or asks about this series!

This chapter is short as life hasn’t been kind to me, but I’m trying to write and I hope you like this :)

series masterlist

Bills. Bills. Bills.

One day — one fine day you’d get to live the life you’ve always dreamed of. And a part of that dream was to have enough money to not worry about paying bills on time. But that day was not today.

Your eyes skimmed over all the various mails informing you of the due dates and the amount to be paid. This was not new to you, it happened every month but each time you felt like leaving everything and going somewhere secluded.

With a dramatic sigh, you placed all the bills in a drawer and stacked them neatly in accordance to their due dates and shut it back. You’ll see what to do when the time came.

“Don’t worry.” You were jerked out of your thoughts when Wanda placed her warm hand on your shoulder. “I know you’ll do it, and I can always help you. You know that right?”

Wanda was your best friend and she knew you better than you knew yourself. She was well off and married to Vision, who had now become your friend too.

You knew Wanda would help you at any moment you asked, but you didn’t want to. You could, and you had to solve your problems by yourself.

You ran a small yet cute bakery and today you had to deliver a very big order for a grand party arranged by none other than Bucky Barnes. That man literally ran New York and you were super nervous if he would like your cupcakes and pastries and sandwiches.

It wasn’t his first time though, every morning his right hand man, Steve Rogers, came to your place to get a coffee. Apparently the mob boss didn’t trust anyone except his best friend to not poison his coffee.

Wanda, ever the best friend, had come over to help you prepare these delicacies. “Thank you Wanda. You’re the best. I’ve done this before and I’ll do it this time too.” You were very lucky to have Wanda in your life.

“I believe in you. Now let’s pack these sweet cakes before I gobble them down.” You both chuckled and got back to precisely placing everything in the boxes. Once it was done, you loaded them in your car and started towards your destination.

Once you reached, you couldn’t help but gawk at the magnificence of the house. It was absolutely huge and lavish and honestly the best house you’d ever seen.

The interior of the house was just as impressive as the exterior, expensive rugs and curtains, impressively comfortable couches and seats, and spectacular showpieces which were probably cost more than your house.

You hadn’t ever seen Bucky in person, but from what you had seen in pictures, he was dashingly handsome and the aura he exuded was absolutely commanding. He seemed very sure of himself and what he wanted, and probably that was what made him different from the rest.

The party was yet to begin, and you and Wanda were led to kitchen by a man named Walker as you carried the boxes in your hand. You both sighed with relief when you placed the boxes on the counter as the most dreaded order was finally complete.

“That’s all. Thank you for your service.” He replied in a practiced tone and then turned around and started to walk away. You passed Wanda a look. “You’re welcome. But what about the payment?”

“Your cakes getting served at Boss’ house is an honour itself. Be contended with that.” You stared at him with utter disbelief. “What the fuck do you mean by that? You’re not going to pay me?”

You had worked your ass off since early morning and had made preparations from even before and this man had the audacity to tell you that he wasn’t giving you your hard earned money.

“First of all, I won’t tolerate that tone with me. Lower your voice down. And second, I’m not going to pay you. Consider this a gift from your side to boss and just leave.”

There was not a single chance in hell that you were going to leave without your money. “But Steve always pays me. Where is Steve? I want to talk to him.” Steve was genuinely a good guy and you knew he’d help you.

“He doesn’t have time for some worthless things like these. Now go before I make you leave.” You clenched your teeth and formed fists with your hands. “You know what? I’ll sue you in court and then let’s see who wins.”

It was the worst threat you could give, but you didn’t have anything else. Wanda pulled your hand and call for your attention and mouthed a ‘let’s go.’ You stubbornly shook your head and refused.

“You are gonna sue me? And how are you gonna do that, you poor helpless thing? tsk tsk tsk. The judges are all on our payroll and they’ll make sure you’re the one who is ruined.” Walker said condescendingly.

Once he completed his ranting, a small wicked smile spread on your lips. You pulled out your phone from your pocket and held it in front of his face. “All that you just said is recorded right in this phone.”

Walker’s eyes widened, “Delete that.” He was visibly tense at your unexpected move. “I don’t think so.” Wanda was scared for her life while you had smugness written on your face.

He swiped his hand ahead to get a hold of your mobile but you swiftly put it behind your back. “Break it all you want but I’ve already forwarded it to my friends.”

“Listen to me you bitch, you better delete that, or else you won’t like what would happen next.” Though walker was threatening you, you could see sweat beginning to form at his temples.

“I could send this to your rivals and they’d love to screw you up as this is a clear proof of your illegal activities like bribing the judges in court. But I will definitely delete this if you pay me double my money. So the ball is in your court, you poor helpless thing.” You said repeating his words.

“Double? That’s impossible.” He said exasperated. “Okay then I’ll send it.” You pretended to scroll through your phone. “Okay wait. I’ll pay you. Delete that.”

“Fine.” Walker searched his wallet for a wad of cash and handed it over to you. You mock saluted him and showed him your phone devoid of any voice message and turned around to leave.

Once you and Wanda were out of that house, Wanda started yelling at you. “Were you out of your mind? You could’ve died there. Do you know who these people are?”

“Don’t worry Wanda, we are safe aren’t we? And I got double the money I was expecting! This is gonna pay a lot of my bills. And I didn’t record anything, that walker was a fool to believe my words. It was written across his face that he’s all talk no action.”

While you were happy with your little stunt, you were unaware of the amused eyes following your every move. A huge smile was gracing Bucky’s face as he looked at you from behind the curtains.

Bucky had been walking through his house with Steve at his side when he had heard a commotion coming from the kitchen. This party was important to him as it would strengthen his relations with Tony Stark and he wanted it to go smoothly.

Annoyed with whoever it was causing a ruckus in his house, he had walked up to the door with the intention of firing them. But then he’d heard what you were saying and stopped himself from going in further.

Bucky had ordered John Walker to see that today’s party went well. He had giving John enough money to pay for everything needed but what he hadn’t expected was for John to be such a bastard and pocket that money himself. Bucky wasn’t a man who forgave people and John was definitely going to get fired.

Bucky was honestly impressed with your quick wit; and that was saying something. He had met a lot of people from different walks of life and not many surprised him anymore, but you did.

Once you had left the kitchen, Bucky had followed quietly behind you. And for a moment even he had thought you had a recording until he heard you say otherwise to your friend.

“Who’s she?” Bucky finally asked Steve as he saw through his window as you and your friend left in your car. “She runs the bakery I get you bagels from every morning.”

Bucky still had a taste of your confectionaries on his tongue. He loved your baking but hadn’t thought even in his wildest dreams that you would be so beautiful and bright.

He saw the all encompassing fire burning in your eyes, and he craved it. “Find everything you can about her. And make everyone understand that she’s mine.”

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malibix · 4 years ago

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Pillow Forts & Fairy Lights || One-Shot | Hisirdoux Casperan x GN!Reader

Summary: What’s better to relax and celebrate making it through another week of living than a cozy pillow fort, snacks and movies with your favourite person?

Word Count: 1501

Warnings: None!

Taglist: @furblrwurblr @moppetwithamanbun @tales-of-hisirdoux @alovesongshewrote @yagirlcheesely @daydream-believin

Douxie's had a closing shift at the café again and it being a Friday meant he had the weekend free, so you decide to start the weekend off like any not normal normal couple would.

Pulling the cushions off your couch and stacking them up with blankets and bedsheets with chairs holding it all up from the sides, you found that you’d made a pretty stable fort base if you did so say yourself. Next, you pulled out some fairy lights from your room and strung them up around the inside of the fort to the best of your ability. A little bit of tape and some twist ties got you a long way.

The fort itself stretched off the couch and over the floor, your kitchen island bar stools holding up the later.

Once you'd moved into the apartment, your inflow of blankets had come with you, so there never really was a shortage. Douxie had always complained about being cold. You’d sure solved that problem. You used them to build a sort of platform or mat on the floor off the couch on the floor, and on the couch you did the same. It was already beginning to look and feel like a cozy little warm igloo in there. The "top floor" of the fort had a mountain of your favourite blankets, as you had not been willing to sacrifice them to the floor.

You checked the clock and your text messages to see that Douxie was just finishing up closing at work now, which meant you still had a little time before he got home. You clambered out from the opening of the fort and took a step back to admire your handy work. Nodding in satisfaction at its interior and deeming it acceptable and some quick adjustments to fix the exterior to your liking, you set off to the kitchen for your next mission: snacks.

Rifling through the cabinets, you settled on some Doritos and Smartfood, as well as some candy bars and gummies you'd bought earlier. You scooped all the goods into your arms and shuffled back over to the fort, trying your best not to drop anything on the way there. Multiple trips were for suckers.

Was the couch right in front of the tv? Yes. Did that mean you could be in the couch fort while watching said tv? Not particularly.

Having planned this, you pulled out your laptop and strung it's cord through the mass of pillows and blankets to sit on the top level of the fort on the only neatly stacked pile of blankets. Next, you hauled all the snacks that you’d promptly dropped at the entrance to the fort, into the lower level blanket lair and turned off the lights to save them for the grand reveal of your evening plans for when Douxie got home.

Archie made himself comfortable inside, which you didn't mind one bit. He was always good company, so even though you thought it to be like a little date night, you had no problem with sharing the space with the familiar.

You didn't plan to watch any specific movies or show, you just figured you'd both decide together and figure it out later when he got home. You also ended up leaving the drink choices alone for when he got back. You assumed he'd want tea after a long day at work, but you could never be too sure.

It wasn’t much longer until you heard footsteps outside the apartment door and the jingling of keys as Douxie unlocked the door. It wasn't a rare occurrence for him to step into a completely dark apartment. Sometimes you’d fall asleep somewhere while the sun was still out and just hadn't turned any lights on before it set. Other times he'd just find you in your room hunched over your device and lit up by only the glow of your phone or laptop. Once in a while though, he'd find a little glowing orbs of your magic to light the way to your room, where he’d find you reading surrounded by a handful of them. Almost like you sat in a field of oversized fireflies.

He much preferred the last one as it made him worry less about you damaging your eyesight. Not to mention you always looked so peaceful reading there in your magical light, mind in another world as you read the story you held in your hands.

Today however, he was greeted with the first option. Pitch darkness was the only thing to welcome him home. Not even Archie came to greet him. Some friend he was.

Of course the wizard wasn't aware that his familiar was currently snoozing away in a fort hidden by said darkness, but still.

He heard a faint shuffling from somewhere in the living room, followed by your voice welcoming him home and asking him how his day was.

"Sorry for the darkness! I made us a surprise though! C’mere,"

He felt your hand grab his and you pulling him slightly to lead him across the room.

"Just oneee second-!"

There was a bit of a pause and a little more shuffling before little lights sprouted up under the roof of the fort. Their brightness dimmed by the bed sheets made them look like a bunch of glowworms in their living room. The fairy lights illuminated the room just enough for Douxie to be able to make out the fort and the shapes of everything inside it.

"I thought a couch fort-movie night was a good way to celebrate the weekend and making it through another week of customer service."

The glow from the fort now gave enough light for him to make out the grin on your face.

He couldn't help but smile back at the thoughtful gesture, "Thank you love, it's perfect."

"Archie's already in there and made himself at home by the way, hope you don't mind."

You crouched down to crawl through the entrance and into the fort. "You gonna stand out there by yourself all night or what?"

Douxie smiled again as the lights lit up your silhouette under the sheets, just enough for him to see you waving him in.

"Oh wait almost forgot, sorry hold on," You crawled back out, heading for the kitchen to get drinks. "Tea?"

"Sure thing, darling."

You smiled back as you filled the kettle with water and set it to boil. “Oh go on, don’t be shy. Make yourself comfy and I’ll be right over.” “I’m going, I’m going.” He chuckled lightly, putting his hands up in defense as he crawled into the fort.

You may or may not have magicked your way to boiling water to save time, but soon enough you poured your cups of tea and returned to the fort in the living room. What? Magic may not be a permissible shortcut to hard work, but it wasn’t you who was Merlin’s apprentice after all.

You dropped bags of your favourite tea into travel mugs, just to be safe, and poured in the hot water before bringing them back over to the fort in your living room.

“Do me a favour and hold these for me for a second please?” You stuck your arms into the fort, holding the travel mugs out to Douxie who chuckled and took them from you as you’d asked.

“No problem,” he said.

“Thanksss,” you said, shimmying your way into the fort with various noises of struggle. To which, your wizard simply laughed at in amusement.

“You alright there, love? Having trouble getting into your own fortress?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” You made extra effort to take up as much space as possible once you’d reached him.

Archie protested slightly as you both shuffled around trying to make yourselves comfortable, but eventually settled back down once you'd done the same. As you discussed movie options, you'd eventually settled on a new fantasy release and curled up at Douxie's side. He wrapped an arm around you while you pulled up a blanket and buried yourself further into his chest, making yourself cozy.

Douxie wasn't one for confined spaces, but having you right next to him in a fort you'd made with love for him made him feel much more at peace. You shared the snacks you'd previously brought in while sipping your tea and enjoying the movie together.

The movie however, was rather long. And though it was good, that didn't help keep the two of you awake after a long day of work. You fell asleep in his arms probably just after halfway through the movie, and he fell asleep not long after.

Archie had made his way onto your lap by the time the movie credits rolled around and promptly curled up where he sat, glad that his wizards were home. The three of you stayed like this the rest of the night, in the company of each other and under the cover of bedsheets and artificial stars.

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usafphantom2 · 3 years ago

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flickr

Ronnie Bell Following

Convair NB-36H

Convair NB-36H in flight. Note the radiation warning symbol on the tail. (U.S. Air Force photo)The NB-36H (originally designated XB-36H) was used in the studies and testing of an airborne nuclear reactor. The reactor to be carried aloft was not to be used for aircraft propulsion but primarily for determining many unknown factors pertaining to the effects of nuclear reaction. The NB-36H, named "The Crusader," flew 47 times during the mid-1950s.

Project MX-1589 was carried under two Air Force contracts -- one pertaining to research and development of an airframe and one for the construction of what became the Nuclear Aircraft Research Facility operated by Convair-Fort Worth for the Air Force.

The project was classified until late 1955 when the Department of Defense revealed the existence of the B-36 testbed for an airborne atomic reactor. The nose section of the aircraft had to be completely redesigned and resulted in one of the first uses of a full-scale working mock-up. The nose section mock-up included a hydraulic design feature providing simulation of aircraft take-off position, and detail design of the crew compartment interior duplicating actual aircraft conditions of ventilation, color scheming and other crew comfort and safety factors never before involved in airframe construction.

The XB-36H carried a crew of five: pilot, copilot, flight engineer, and two nuclear engineers. All crew members were located in the forward section of the aircraft while the atomic reactor was located aft. The greenhouse nose of a production B-36H was replaced by a more conventional cockpit arrangement. The new nose section was slightly shorter than the original and the nose landing gear was moved six inches forward to allow for a crew entrance/escape hatch just behind the nose landing gear.

On Labor Day (Sept. 1) 1952, Carswell Air Force Base was struck by a tornado and several aircraft were damaged. These aircraft were returned to Convair for major repairs. In the group was airplane No. 242 (S/N 51-5712), which had lost the nose section of the fuselage. Convair proposed that this airplane be used for the nuclear program, with the damaged nose section forward of Station 5 to be replaced with the nose section and crew compartment then being designed as a mock-up. The proposal was agreed to by the Air Force.

The size of the crew compartment was determined by the total allowable weight of the nose section of a B-36H airplane. In order to lessen the indoctrination, which would otherwise be necessary, the pilot and co-pilot stations were held as closely as possible to the arrangement of the standard B-36. The nuclear engineer stations were designed to incorporate the necessary instrumentation for the reactor operation. Engine scanning normally performed by crew members from the rear of the conventional B-36, had to be taken over by television cameras in the test aircraft. The placement of the television set presented another problem. The set had to be located where the flight engineer could readily see it. Although space was not available at the flight engineer's station, there was room in the overhead area between the nuclear engineers' stations within easy viewing distance of the flight engineer.

The color treatment and lighting arrangement of the interior surfaces were designed to help eliminate as much eye fatigue as possible. A gray color scheme used in the nuclear and flight engineers' compartments, proved unfavorable for the pilot and co-pilot stations. Exterior light passing through the yellow windshield turned the light gray into an unfavorable color. By using lavender, in the pilot and co-pilot compartment, and illusion of gray is achieved.

Type Number built/

converted Remarks

NB-36H 1 (cv) Airborne testbed for a nuclear reactor

TECHNICAL NOTES:

Armament: None

Engines: Six Pratt & Whitney R-4360-53 radials of 3,800 hp each (takeoff power) and four General Electric J47-GE-19 turbojets of 5,200 lbs. thrust each

Maximum speed: Approx. 420 mph at 47,000 ft.

Cruising speed: 235 mph

Service ceiling: Approx. 47,000 ft.

Span: 230 ft. 0 in.

Length: 162 ft. 1 in. (as B-36H, the NB-36H was slightly shorter)

Height: 46 ft. 8 in.

Weight: 357,500 lbs. (maximum gross weight)

Crew: Five (pilot, copilot, flight engineer and two nuclear engineers)

Serial number: 51-5712 (originally B-36H-20-CF)

Via Flickr

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senadimell · 4 years ago

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The Mysterious Benedict Society as an adaption

So far, The Mysterious Benedict Society adaption feels very faithful to the books. There are definitely changes (Constance, for instance, has been aged up, and likely has a different background. This is understandable. It would be nigh impossible to portray her as she is in the books in live action format--for example, none of the kids in the book suspect she’s a toddler, let alone two years old). However, most changes have all felt reasonable and add to plot and pacing.

I especially enjoy the additions: showing the adult side of the team, for example, or Ms. Perumal’s growing concern about Reynie’s whereabouts, or the girls’ nighttime conversations. Some changes are more extreme. The Mr. Curtain of the books is clearly a villain. He’s condescending and rude, and the only people who like him are bullies. Mr. Curtain of the show is much smoother. It’s easy to see how he’s managed to influence people. Similarly, the L.I.V.E. curriculum is much less obnoxious in the show (not just memorizing nonsense by rote), and as a result, the school’s students seem less stupid and cruel. You can see why they enjoy attendance.

I’m particularly pleased that Number Two’s weirdness has been amplified. Mr. Benedict’s found family is delightfully strange, and I love watching their unusual rhythms. It will be easy to believe when (or if) it’s revealed that the women have been legally adopted into Mr. Benedict’s family.

Similarly, I love how they intensified the quirky feel of the setting and characters. Of course Number Two built a house in the woods in a day because she has a woodworking hobby. Of course there’s secret tunnels and drawers and compartments in Mr. Benedict’s house. Of course Milligan’s disguises and mannerisms are wackily memorable instead of just matter-of-fact. The books themselves have a stylized feel at times (they kind of remind me of Lemony Snickett’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, though with none of the grimness).

I love the overall aesthetic. When I first read the books, they didn’t strike me as being set in the past, but the vaguely vintage feeling works excellently. (I was also a fully grown adult before I realized that the Incredibles wasn’t set in the present, so...) The color schemes, costumes, and sets have distinctive feelings and coordinate well. The effect is stylized rather than naturalistic, which is appropriate and amplifies the tone of the scenes. The bright colors and rough textures of the wooded hideout and its inhabitants’ costumes contrast nicely with the clean lines of tL.I.V.E.’s vintage-pastel interior and sleek exterior.

I also enjoyed the way they did Kate’s flashback as rough home footage. Similarly, I enjoyed the way they showed four kids solving problems on the same screen, how they illustrated Reynie’s thought process with overlaid sketches of the problems, and the way words show up on the screen during the tests for emphasis. The combination of animations, showing multiple things at once, and creative angles for emphasis did a great job conveying the feeling of the tests. (Unfortunately, I lack the vocabulary to describe the techniques they used here).

There’s two things I didn’t enjoy. The first was killing Sticky’s parents to make him an orphan. It mattered in the books that he felt rejected by his own parents. Making it his aunt and uncle who (seemingly) care more about money and fame than the child they’re raising feels a little too much like the wicked stepmother trope. I don’t know why the showmakers decided that Of Course They’re All Orphans, because while most of the book characters are orphans, Sticky isn’t, which serves to show that you can feel rejected and hurt by your parents even when you’ve got an ordinary, non-abusive nuclear family. It’s about feeling isolated, whether or not you’re technically alone.

Secondly, all the wheelchairs have been removed from the adaption. I’m not sure why this was done. Sticky’s mother has bad arthritis and requires a wheelchair. In the books, this was done without fanfare; it was as normal as anything else to oil Ms. Washington’s wheelchair in damp weather, or load and unload it from cars in later books. She was more of a background character, so it didn’t affect the plot, but the casual background representation was a welcome contrast to many books that assume being disabled is strange and uncommon, and that disabilities only exist when they’re plot-significant. The aunt who replaced Ms. Washington used no mobility aids, which disappoints me, especially as the woman she replaces in the books is ultimately shown to be a flawed but loving parent who’s dedicated to making up for her mistakes.

The other person missing their wheelchair is Mr. Curtain, the villain. I’m also not sure why this was removed? It could be to avoid the Evil Disabled Villain trope, but in the book, I didn’t feel like his disabilities were treated as a moral flaw or an excuse for his villainy. He shares his narcolepsy with the unquestionably benevolent Mr. Benedict, so it didn’t feel like his condition was used to vilify him.

He and Mr. Benedict act cope with their condition differently: Mr. Benedict relies on trusted family members for support and chooses to sit on the floor and avoid positioning himself in tall places from which he could fall, whereas Mr. Curtain disguises his narcolepsy by wearing mirrored glasses and using a wheelchair that secures an upright posture, so that no one knows when he has an episode. He does use his wheelchair aggressively, banging through doors and zooming around and forcing people to jog and keep up, but it felt like his use of mobility aids grew naturally from his character.

The books also include a scene where he shocks the children by leaving his wheelchair to chase them. They assumed that using a wheelchair=completely unable to walk, a common view in US society. Importantly, I didn’t feel like the scene was framed as particularly deceptive, like he was lying to them by using a wheelchair when he could walk. Rather, it fit into a pattern of Mr. Curtain managing assumptions and expectations: he doesn’t want people to take advantage of his weaknesses, yet wants to hold a few cards close to his chest. He doesn’t have to lie to people, just let them see and hear and assume what they will.

I don’t use a wheelchair or have narcolepsy, so I’m not in a position to say whether or not the books have good representation. Maybe the fact that Mr. Curtain is evil, and also zooms around and bangs through doors, is uncomfortable. Maybe the fact that his nefarious devices are wheelchair-accessible and in fact designed around his chair sends the wrong message. Maybe using mobility aids to conceal a disability sends a bad message, or maybe it would be better if the good guy was the one to use a wheelchair to cope with his disability. I don’t know. I do know that Mr. Benedict’s condition is played for laughs in both the book and show, and that might be uncomfortable. I do think it’s worth noting that Mr. Benedict’s narcolepsy is seen less and less as funny as the books go on, and grows to be seen as an endearing quality that emphasizes how much he loves people, since his attacks usually underscore with strong emotions and convey worry for his loved ones or joy at their company.

My own sense is that both approaches to narcolepsy make sense, and neither is shown to be inherently faulty. Rather, it’s Mr. Curtain’s character that’s to blame for his villainy--his arrogance, condescension, and mistrust. Both characters feel well-developed and consistent, and their disability is only one part of them. Their disability is colorful, but it’s colorful in the same way as the main characters (Sticky’s anxiety and memory, Kate’s gusto, eye for measurement, and bucket, Constance’s precociousness, etc).

As for why Mr. Curtain’s wheelchair was cut, I’m not sure. Maybe the show writers just didn’t want to deal with the ramifications of depicting a villain in a wheelchair, and decided to cut it altogether (a lazy reason, I think). Alternatively, it seems like they’re depicting narcolepsy without cataplexy, eliminating the need for a wheelchair (a better reason).

On the other hand, Mr. Curtain’s attitude and mannerisms bear the least resemblance to his book counterpart of all the show’s characters. They’re incorporating some backstory from the other books to build a secondary plotline, and I’m not sure how it’s going to play out. From what we’ve seen of him so far, S. Q. Pedalian is also drastically different (shy, cloistered, and openly acknowledged as Mr. Curtain’s son, instead of the gregarious, bumbling, misfit Executive of the books). The TV dynamic between him and Mr. Curtain is largely unrevealed as of yet. Since these changes constitute departures from the book, I’m not sure how the future story’s going to play out around them, and what that reveals about why the wheelchair was cut when it was so characteristic of Mr. Curtain’s mannerisms while other things (like Mr. Benedict’s use of plaid) were included.

Still, it does disappoint me that two wheelchairs were erased, and no one in the show uses one, not even background students.

Overall, though, apart from the orphan and wheelchair situation, I’m very pleased with this adaption and think that the pacing works wonderfully. It’s a near-ideal format for a video adaption (I think animation would be best, but this is a close second).

#the mysterious benedict society #the mysterious benedict society adaption #tv adaption #the mysterious benedict society show #ledroptha curtain

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boxofbadaddiction · 5 years ago

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In a Word

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Swearing. Small depictions of PTSD. Post War.

Summary: The War changed Fred. His brush with death had an unexpected affect on the joyful young wizard and, unfortunately, created severe turmoil in his relationship with Y/n.

Prompts: 12, 15 & 20

"You're over me? When were you...under me?" // "I'm sorry. Maybe I can make it up to you by...taking you roughly in the barn." // "This can't be it./Then how come it is?"

This story is inspired from a request of my F.R.I.E.N.D.S Themed Prompt List.

Not much was said about Fred Weasley, in fact most of the time he could be described simply in a word. He was loud. Boisterous. Confident. Some even called him Unstoppable. Those weren't the words [Y/N]'d use to describe him though.

Although, these days there were only two that came to mind when she thought of him. He was her ex. And he was afraid. Not that he would ever admit the fact.

Stubborn. That's another word for Fred Weasley.

The war had changed people. She'd seen it in the faces of friends, and family. In the eyes of strangers, and in her own reflection. Fewer people laughed while more cried. Many left hollow shells of their past self.

The same couldn't be said for Fred. He was different. The complete opposite. While others withdrew into themselves, he had never shone so bright.

If you thought he were loud before you'd be surely mistaken. These days he laughed harder, pranked more and never stopped moving. It was like he saw it as his job to single handedly bring joy back to the world. To shine light where darkness had taken root. Which isn't a bad thing, but now he had trouble on knowing when the joke needed to end.

His girlfriend suffered most as a result. She'd grown tired of feeling like the mother of a hyperactive toddler on a sugar rush. She'd attempted to talk with him on countless occasions. To have him confide his fears in her, but he never did. He did his best to never let on that he was hurting, but his best just wasn't good enough. She still saw it. Because if you looked closely enough you'd notice the way he jumped more at loud noises like he hadn't before. Notice the look in his eyes when he was with family or friends, how he seemed to try and memorise every detail of them, incase he wasn't here tomorrow to see it. It broke [Y/N]s heart to see him suffer in silence. But it didn't hurt her nearly as bad as when she had to leave him.

The problem between them was that Fred just never spoke about the war. Whether to offer himself a reprieve, or to be that support for another. Any worries someone had would be brushed off with a joke. Even on the day [Y/N] left he had a witty retort lined up at every word she said.

"Damn it Fred! This is serious!" She pushed herself up from the dining room table.

"Must be to have your nostils flaring like that" he laughed. [Y/N] groaned loudly in frustration. Why was he incapable of being serious? Pacing the room in anger Fred watched as his girlfriend tried desperately to calm her emotions. He swallowed thickly quickly becoming uncomfortable in the tense atmosphere.

[Y/N] tugged at the roots of her hair, ran her hands down her face, pulled them over the back of her neck. She tried anything to rid her body of these stressful feelings as her mind raced a million miles an hour.

"Why can't you just talk to me!?" She shouted, arms being thrown out pleadingly towards her boyfriend. Face begging to understand him.

"I do."

"No you don't. Not about things that matter. Not about what's on your mind or how you're feeling. Hell! Fred, it's been so long since we've had a meaningful conversation I don't even know if you love me anymore." Her eyes were stinging red as they began to glisten with tears over her words. Fighting with every bit of strength in her body to keep them from falling.

"Of course I do.' Fred's face was the most serious it had been since the War. This was the first time in months she had seen it without a smile. That sickly fake smile.

Brows furrowed as he raised from his chair he walked to his partner. Snaking his arms around her waist as she turned her face away from him.

"Hey", his hand cupped her chin making her look at him, "I do love you. I'm sorry." He pulled her into a tight hug, resting his chin on the top of her head as her hands met at his shoulder blades. His chest vibrated against her cheek as he spoke, "maybe I can make it up to you" he leant back to peer into her eyes. Looking away as if deep in thought, "by...i dunno, taking you roughly in the barn?" he began laughing. [Y/N] pushed out of his hold tears falling in anger. "Oh, come on [Y/N]"

"NO! Fred. Just...no." she snapped, her back to him. One hand came to her temple, massaging to try and dull the pain throbbing in her mind. "I can't do this anymore." Her voice were no more than a whisper, but still it carried to Fred's ears. The room fell deadly silent as he processed the words. No, he heard wrong. He had to. "What?" His breathing began to pick up in panic. "I can't do this anymore!" Hot, fat tears spilled from her eyes as she turned shouting. "I can't keep pretending everything's okay, that I'm okay. That you're going to let me in and admit you're hurting because I know. I know you're hurting too." Fred was paralysed. This wasn't happening...

[Y/N]s voice softened "I can't just carry on in denial like you're choosing to, Fred. I-" her throat seemed to close over itself. No words or air able to break through. Biting her lip as her eyes ran the room, searching for an answer that just wasn't there. She dropped her head as more tears started to fall.

Seeing the woman he loved so distraught in front of him, because of him, killed Fred. It was like being trapped under that wall all over again, and he was suffocating. He hated that feeling. The one that plagued his very existence in every waking moment. He made so many jokes these days to distract himself from feeling just that. He stayed silent to protect the people he loved, but he'd just caused more damage.

He moved towards her again, carefully as if he'd scare her if he were to move too quickly. "Hey..." his voice cracked under the pressure of it all but still he forced a smile through the pain, "I know things have been difficult lately. With work and the-the aftermath of it all but...we'll get through this. Together. We can-" "No Fred." She looked up into his pale face, seeing his eyes widen. " 'We' can't. Not this time."

"No, no-no-no-no, please!" He willed himself forwards. Clutching her hands in his own and pulling them to his chest. "Please, [Y/N], love. I'm sorry this...this can't be it." His eyes were frantically searching her face, begging her.

"Then how come it is?"

That was nearly two years ago now. They'd seen hide nor hair of one another since. [Y/N] had been on a few dates here and there but none felt right. No one could make her feel like Fred did. It broke her heart to leave him, but she knew it was the right thing to do. Being away gave her the time she needed to heal and cope with the reality which Fred had been determined to ignore.

As [Y/N] was finishing her day at work she decided to reward herself for surviving a particularly stressful week by heading for a few drinks at the new bar that had opened up in Diagon Alley a couple months back. She'd been dying to go, all her friends say it's fantastic unfortunately she'd never had occasion to accompany them.

So, with a quick stop home to shower and change she apparated to the entrance of the Bar.

It was everything she had heard about and more. As she sat on a stool by the counter she couldn't help but marvel at the interior. The ceiling glimmered with tiny lights that reminded her of the stars (which in turn reminded her of the ceiling in the Great Hall of Hogwarts), and the floors were gorgeous hardwood with Bar to match. It was hard to believe such a classy place existed in Diagon Alley. Swivelling back around in her seat to face the bartender she ordered herself another drink.

Her hands played with the cool exterior of her glass while she starred absent-mindedly at nothing in particular. Lost in her own thoughts as she enjoyed the night to herself.

"[Y/N]?" a familiar voice called from behind her. Her eyes shot up to the mirror on the wall, behind the whiskey shelf and there she saw him. A dishevelled mop of red hair emerging from the crowd of people bustling about the dance floor. "Fred?" She spoke more to herself before turning to face him.

Standing as he approached, their mouths were both agape ever so slightly. They stared for a moment before a single laugh fell from Fred's lips, one of shock and amazement, followed closely by that signature Freddie grin.

"It's so good to see you." Before he could register his movements his arms were already tight around her body. "You too".

He let her go slowly, standing back bashfully to admire her. "What are you-" he stopped himself. He was going to ask what she was doing here but out of fear she may be on a date he decided against it. "What have you been up to?"

"Not much. You know just work mostly. Actually I was just promoted a little over a month ago so it's all been really good." Her smile was genuine as she answered him and it made his heart soar to see her so happy again. Even if it weren't with him. Fred so deeply missed that smile, he missed all of her more than he could ever put into words. "That's fantastic! I'm happy for you." He knew he was staring but he didn't care. She was still so beautiful. Seeing her, being near her after all this time, was like a cool breath of fresh air he didn't realise he needed so bad.

"How about you? How's the store, and George?" "Great. All great. We're opening a store in Hogsmead shortly. Prime real-estate in our opinion, so close to the school. Couldn't pass up the chance to drive McGonagall up the wall either." [Y/N] found herself laughing hard at his comment. He was just like she remembered, before the war. Not trying to be funny it just came naturally. He looked happy. "That's amazing. I'm glad everything's going so well for you. God! It's been so long." "Too long."

There they went staring again. Both in awe of one another.

[Y/N] was the one to realise, or perhaps Fred just didn't care, but sensing the lull in conversation she cleared her throat - glancing over the room briefly.

"George is here." Fred spoke abruptly. Desperate to keep talking with her he threw out the first thing that came to mind. "A few of us came out for drinks tonight. Would you like to join us? I mean, if you aren't expecting someone." The words left a fowl taste on his tongue and an ache in his chest, praying she weren't with anyone. "No, I'm here alone", prayers answered. "But I couldn't possibly impose." "Impose? Please! We'd be offended if you didn't." He joked "come oooon...one drink?" putting on his best puppy dog eyes, that silent beg she never could resist. She pursued her lips, pondering his request for a moment. Would it be awkward? God she hoped not. "Okay." She raised a finger in front of her face with a stern expression, "one drink." "Atta girl!" He grinned widely, taking her wrist in his hand and whisking her through the close knit crowd to a booth to the back of the room.

Safe to say she was there a lot longer than one drink. As one turned to two, two turned to three and soon the minutes had stretched well into hours. Everything felt so safe and familiar back in the company of her old friends. Soon enough though, as was inevitable, it was just the two sat within the booth as everyone else vacated for the bar, dance floor or home.

In the comfort of each others company the two couldn't help but reminisce, on their Hogwarts days mostly. The two were in hysterics as [Y/N] recalled the time she failed to prank Snape which lead to Fred swooping to her rescue, taking the fall. "I had detention for a month after that." He laughed at the memory, "I said I was sorry!" [Y/N] was wiping tears from her eyes. "Hands were blistered to Hell by the time I'd polished all those damn trophies." As her stomach cramped [Y/N] burried her head in her hands, trying to compose herself but failing. Fred watched her, shoulders quaking in silent laughter at how adorable she looked in this moment. Finally having control of herself once again [Y/N] adjusted her posture while stretching her jaw that'd cramped from smiling so much.

Fred lifted his glass to his lips readying himself to drink, "I still remember the day you confessed your undying love for me", he threw his head back finishing the beverage. "Practically screammed it for the whole school to hear." He smirked. "Oh it was not like that!" "It most certainly was!"

"Just tell me what's wrong!" Fred bellowed, storming after the angry girl ahead of him. Arms wide pleadingly.

"It doesn't matter! None of it matters now!" [Y/N] called over her shoulder as she rounded the corner into a quiet corridor.

"Clearly..." Fred ran to stand in front of her, hands grasping her shoulders to keep her in place, "it does." She rolled her eyes, turning her head away from him. "It doesn't matter because I am over you Fred!" She pulled out of his grip standing confidently before him. "I'm over you."

Freds face lost all emotion. They stood in silence as realisation dawned on [Y/N] slowly, rising through her spine like a chill. A hand coming to cover her mouth as the other wrapped around her stomach like she was going to be sick. "You're over me?" [Y/N] backed away from him and found herself pressed against a cold stone wall eye's wide in horror. "When-when were you...under me?" His brows furrowed, turning confused to find her on the ground now, hands tugging at the roots of her hair with knees to her chest.

An endearing sort of chuckled rolled from his throat past his lips, sounding dangerously close to a scoff. Shock subsiding slightly he shook his head while approaching his best friend. Crouching before her.

"Look at me."

[Y/N] shook her head quickly. Hiding her eyes in the palms of her hands. "No." she mumbled.

"Please, look at me"

"No!"

"[Y/N]!"

"NO!"

"Oh for the love of - [Y/N]!" her arms were suddenly being pulled from her face as she was made to stand infront of him.

Embarrassed by her confession [Y/N] became defensive, "WHAT!? Okay, yes, I like you! I have for a while. I tried not to, tried to stop myself but I couldn't! I'm sorry! So go ahead. Make your jokes. Have a good laugh, I don't care anymore!" She was waving her arms frantically as she yelled. Staring directly into his eyes, which were glaring incredulously back. "You're insufferable, you know that!?" He snapped. [Y/N] scoffed, mouth falling wide at the insult. "Oh yeah? Well, you're a-"

Her next words were cut out by Freds lips on hers, hands cupping her face before one looped the small of her back to bring their bodies tight against each other. Her hands held onto his biceps. She felt herself melt into the kiss she'd been dreaming about for months, although it was under vastly different circumstances. Moaning softly at the warmth spreading through her body. Much to her dismay Fred let go of her, pulling back to catch his breath. A grin forming on his face as he looked down at her. "I'm a what?" His tone playful. [Y/N] stood breathless for a moment glancing at his lips, " You're a...really good kisser." She whined pulling him back in for another.

Fred was doubled over in their booth from unrestrained laughter. "Okay, so maybe a few people heard. There was an awful lot of yelling." [Y/N] giggled, watching him fondly.

"LAST DRINKS!" called the bartender. Their attention shot towards them, expressions falling solemn. When had it gotten so late?

"I-I should probably get going." She kept her eyes on the bar as she mumbled the words knowing if her eyes met his she'd crumble. Freds eyes were fixed to her profile. This couldn't be it. He wasn't ready to say goodbye. "I'll walk you." He jumped from his seat, "still at the same place?" He smiled and reached his hand out for her to take. Finally her gaze met his, smiling immediately, she took his hand nodding.

The walk home was interesting, to say the least. Both were considerably drunker than they realised, stumbling about the Alley way they were relying solely on one another for the stability to remain upright. Fred was cracking jokes as [Y/N] all but hung from his arm where their elbows interlocked.

Howling laughter echoed noisely through the deserted street. Several times Fred found himself taking hold of her waist to keep her from falling. The last he decided it were safer just to keep them there. Hugging her tightly from behind they walked step-in-step, as he swayed her dramatically enjoying the giggles that erupted from her at the action. For anyone observing the scene they'd never wager the two weren't a couple.

[Y/N] was squirming under his hold as his fingers began tickling her sides. Eliciting various shrieks, squeals and 'no's from her mouth. She bent far forward trying to distance herself from his touch, Fred took advantage of the action sweeping her off her feet into a bridal style hold. "Right let's see now, where were you." He scanned the lining apartments counting to himself over the loud sound of [Y/N]s laughter. "Ah, here we are!" He exclaimed, jogging up the short flight of stairs to the door, effortlessly. "Your stop, M'lady" he bowed placing her feet firmly on the ground. "Why thank you kind Sir." She was visibly flustered from the amount of contact and laughter they had shared tonight. It just all felt so right with him.

As she rummaged her coat pocket for her keys and looked back to him the scene changed. Their faces falling sullen and the night deathly quiet. This was it wasn't it...goodbye?

"Thank you for walking me home and-and for tonight. I had fun." She swallowed the lump in her throat that formed over her awkwardness.

"Anytime" Fred shook his head, though he tried to smile it didn't last long. He felt like he could breathe again and to say goodbye meant suffocating. How could he tell her, tell her that a life without her in it wasn't worth living? How could he prove he's changed? Did she even feel the same way anymore? He searched her eyes, praying to find the answer hidden within them.

"Anyway, I should-" she gestured to the door with her keys.

"No, yeah. Of course." He smiled, but that hand that shot to rub the back of his neck gave him away. He was nervous. Even after two years she could still spot his tells a mile away. He wanted to say something and from the thundering in her chest [Y/N] could guess what it was. Because she felt it too. She was opening her mouth to speak -

"I'll see you." He was walking away. Why was he walking away?

[Y/N]s mouth fell open, watching him stride into the distance. Her mind willing her to do something. Say something. Fuck, say ANYTHING!

"FRED!" she stood at the edge of her stairs. The call of his name turning his attention back to her. Heart racing.

Her mind was fumbling over the words to say. The love of her life was there. He was right there waiting for her...

"I'm...I'm still under you." She kicked herself for how awkward that must have sounded.

Fred's head dropped in sigh. Running before his feet knew they were carrying him he leapt onto the landing beside her. Pulling her by the nape of her neck their lips crashed together. [Y/N] was smiling against his lips as tears trickled down her rosie cheeks. Fred broke his lips from hers, pushing their foreheads together as they caught their breath.

"You're insufferable, you know that?".

"I know."

There were a lot of words [Y/N] could use to describe Fred Weasley. He was passionate. Funny. Smart. Impulsive. But most importantly; he was Hers.

Completely.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley/reader #fred weasley angst #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #hp #hp imagine #fred weasley imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagine #writing is hard.#harry x reader #writing prompts #prompt fics

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simfleetco-cm · 4 years ago

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SeaBreezer Mini

SeaBreezer Mini by Simfleet

Have you been searching for that perfect vacation place to go relax and disconnect from the world? As always – Simfleet has got your back! Today, we’re taking a trip to Sulani… to the desolate islet of Key Point on the island chain of Mua Pel’am. Completely off-the-grid and surrounded by the crystal clear Sulani seas, the SeaBreezer Mini by Simfleet may look a little weathered and run-down from enduring Sulani’s harsh tropical storms… but don’t be fooled – this little teardrop camper is sure to keep you safe, comfortable, and entertained during your stay in the islands. The SeaBreezer Mini can comfortably sleep 2 in the double-bunk bedroom, and features a small living area with a small TV and books just outside the lightweight sliding bedroom door made of genuine island lumber. Adjacent to the living area is the full eat-in kitchenette with an island counter and stools, an off-grid compatible cooker, and low-power-consumption mini fridge. Continuing on towards the rear of the camper is the spacious bathroom equipped with off-grid plumbing facilities, and a small storage area behind the lightweight slatted wall. None of the indoor or outdoor lighting consumes power and is completely off-grid friendly. The interior is sure to serve you well, but the exterior of the SeaBreezer Mini is where the magic is at. The weathered tin roof is equipped with a single wind turbine and one solar panel, which is sure to keep your power output at a surplus. To the side of the camper is a small dew collector, although you’ll be free to collect fresh seawater at your leisure. The rear bumper is equipped with a bicycle rack and included bike, and features rear reflectors in place of traditional tail/brake lights to remain true to its off-grid nature. The lot itself is full of beautiful island greenery and has a small shaded sitting area just outside the camper steps, a waterfront fire pit with seating for 3, and there’s another small boat trailer on the lot which holds an aqua-zip, extra bicycle, and cooler. Planning an island party, but worried about space? No problem! This beachfront rental camper is just footsteps away from the beautiful and spacious boardwalk. The boardwalk features an outdoor grilling area with seating for 4, plenty of areas to lay out and bake in the sun, a game table for 3, and a ladder/docking post with an outrigger canoe that is ready and waiting for an ocean adventure. The SeaBreezer Mini is ready and waiting to entertain you and your guests! Don’t ask us how this weathered little camper came to be on the little islet – we don’t have an answer, other than it may have something to do with the overgrown rusted out truck that sits in front of the camper. It’s pretty to look at, but, I wouldn’t go near it if I were you. Also, be sure to wipe your feet or remove your shoes before you go inside… you wouldn’t want sand to get all over the carpet. E komo mai and enjoy your stay!

Details

- Lot: Key Point/Sulani (off-the-grid) - Lot Size: 40x30 - Lot Type: Residential (built to be used as a rental lot) - Value: $510/per day ($45,897) - Lot Description: Welcome to Sulani - where the air smells like crisp sweet pineapple, and you'll be "swimming" in Kalua Pork! The SeaBreezer Mini by Simfleet is a 2-sim rental camper located on the desolate, off-the-grid islet of Key Point. Situated right across from a growling volcano and rushing waterfall - this little trailer has everything you need for a comfortable and enjoyable stay. Cozy up by the beach fire, go for a boat ride, or enjoy one of several activities on the boardwalk. E komo mai!

Packs Used

Snowy Escape, Eco Lifestyle, Discover University, Island Living, Get Famous, Seasons, Cats & Dogs, City Living, Get Together, Get to Work, Dream Home Decorator, Journey to Batuu, StrangerVille, Jungle Adventure, Parenthood, Dine Out, Outdoor Retreat, Country Kitchen Kit, Paranormal, Tiny Living, Laundry Day, Toddler Stuff, Backyard Stuff, Cool Kitchen, Perfect Patio, Holiday Celebration Landscaping items are mostly debug Boat trailer used is base game debug

PLAYTESTED MOO USED

*CC FREE*

Download Lot →��HERE ← Google Drive

*How to Install Lots – both CC included and CC free* - Lot Use & Terms -

#thesims4 #the sims 4 #sims4 #sims4build #sims4lot #sims4rental #ccfree #sims4vacation #sims4sulani #sims 4 content #simfleetco-cm #sims 4 island living

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vfdarkness · 3 years ago

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AVFD Script - S2EP03 The Forgotten Man

[[Intro]]

You’re at a bus stop and your bus is late.

Finally, it pulls up, you step aboard, and for a brief moment…

the driver’s facial features - their eyes, nose, mouth are in all the wrong places.

As you stare, their face quickly rearranges itself to appear more normal. More human.

The door closes. There’s no one else in the vehicle.

You need my help.

[[AVFD intro music kicks in]]

This is A Voice From Darkness.

[[AVFD intro music fades out]]

Hello, this is Dr. Malcolm Ryder, parapsychologist, here to help you with all problems paranormal, supernatural, and otherworldly. And we have a wonderful show planned for tonight. There’s two national alerts for the state of Florida - one for the panhandle, and another for the everglades. After we go over these we’ll explore one of the strangest roadside attractions in American history. And of course we’ll finish our show with the phone lines open so you, our listeners, can call-in. But first, let's get to our national alerts

[[National Alerts music starts]]

A sinkhole has appeared in the middle of Kelson Ave in Marianna, Florida. The hole’s depth is currently unknown however twenty feet down, stone carvings of faces appear. The carvings continue for as far down as anyone can tell. Each is unique yet is made to grotesquely express either the emotion of fear or that of delight. A spelunker descended into the hole to gather information about its depth. Two hours into his descent contact was lost and he was pulled out. When he resurfaced he was said to be in a daze. He removed his harness and immediately jumped back into the hole. Please be careful while driving on Kelson, Ave in Marianna, Florida.

Our second national alert is for the Florida Everglades. The Singing has returned to the wetlands. All those in the area are advised to wear hearing protection for at least the next 72 hours or until otherwise instructed. The source of The Singing is unknown but is said to compel all who hear it to walk into the wetlands and be devoured by the creatures there-in. Again, please wear hearing protection if you’re within earshot of the Florida Everglades.

And that’s all we have for national alerts this evening.

[[NA music fades out]]

Next up we have Today In Odd America, where we’ll discuss a manifestation that once haunted every corner of this land. And afterwards we’ll open the phone-lines.

[[Today In Odd America]]

Today in Odd America we find ourselves across the highways of our country. Forty four years ago today marks the last known visit to a roadside attraction commonly called The House of Narcissus. No physical evidence of this place exists. It was never found in the same location twice - yet hundreds of oral testimonies swear to its existence. Tonight I will cobble together disparate accounts from those who claim to have toured the fabled roadside museum. My hope is this will paint you a picture of what the experience was like for those who wound up touring a space dedicated completely to themselves.

“I was driving down Route 8,” Maise Bridges stated to the Columbus Dispatch in 1955. “It was late and dark. No other cars were on the road. Then I saw it - a billboard illuminated by a single dim light that read: Know Thyself, Next Exit. No other words. But next to them, taking up the entirety of the right side was a painted picture - of me. Unmistakably me. Done in a sort of… Norman Rockwell style I suppose. I just… What was I supposed to do? Of course I took the next exit.”

All descriptions of The House of Narcissus begin this way. A strange billboard on a lonely road, mere seconds to decide to take the exit or not. Oddly, there are few confirmed cases of those who saw the billboard and kept driving. It’s impossible to say if that says something overall about human nature or merely the people The House chose to manifest for.

“I was overwhelmed when I first drove up to the house,” Curtis Johnson said to the Louisville Times in 1948. “I’m not ashamed to admit it, but I might have cried a bit. I mean the place was just, just magnificent. Out there, in the middle of this grassy field, in the middle of nowhere there’s this small piece of heaven, you know? I didn’t feel like I was about to tour some cheap-o roadside scam where they show you a mannequin in a five dollar gorilla suit and tell you it’s Bigfoot. I felt like I was home. Of course I rushed right outta my car up to the door. Why wouldn’t I? I was home.”

Descriptions of the museum are typically left vague. Abstract. At least when describing the exterior. Visitors will speak of the joy they felt upon seeing the house. Often they’ll say a sense of nostalgia or homecoming overwhelmed them. However no one was ever able to give a single concrete detail of what The House looked like. How many stories were there? What color was the siding? What the house looks like remains a mystery to this day. But there’s much agreement about its interior. At least in some respects.

“There’re no employees, no turnstyle to go through, nothing like a museum or roadside attraction typically has. You just go in the front door, and you’re suddenly there - in the first room. It’s filled with photographs along the walls. They were all of my family, friends, neighbors, teachers, former classmates, folks from my church, employers, co-workers. People I might have talked to only once in passing. None of these were photos I took or remember anyone else ever taking. None are in any photo album I own,” said Judge Michael Harvester in 1972, when he called into the KIRT radio station of Olympia, Washington.

The Photo Gallery is always the first room visitors find themselves in. Under each photo is a brass plaque, on which a single sentence is etched: the last words said by whomever is touring the house to the person featured in the photograph.

Even this first room can be disarming to a visitor. As Judge Harvester said: “You don’t realize how many people you speak to, thinking you’ll do so again, but then never do. It adds up over a life. It really does. I didn’t look at all the pictures, or read all the plaques. I had to stop after awhile. I saw one in particular… the last words I said to an old neighbor of mine, lived a few houses away from the place I bought right after law school. Me, him, and some of the guys down the block would get together to play poker twice a month. Last thing I said to him, ‘I’ll see you in a few weeks.’ I don’t remember what happened after that. I guess the poker game fell apart. I don’t think either of us moved, I don’t remember us getting into any fights. But I never spoke to him again. And that’s just one example. People like to call that first room the photo gallery, and that makes sense, I guess. But that’s not what it is. It’s a monument. A monument to lost relationships.”

Most visitors to The House expressed regret coming there at all after visiting this first room. Unfortunately, the way they entered disappears after entry - replaced by a wall filled with photographs. Once you enter, The House forces you to continue through the rooms. That is, if you wish to leave.

“The second room was a full scale replica of my childhood home,” said Sara Lopez to the San Diego Tribune in 1966. “All five rooms of our house back on Balboa Avenue. “I went through the cabinets in the kitchen. The dishes… they were identical to ones we had. There were these little hand drawn designs on them. They’re abstract, hard to describe, but the plates in that museum. They matched perfectly how I remembered them. It was impossible.” Most statements regarding the second room share similar amazement at the level of detail on even the most insignificant items - stains on the carpet, entryways scuffed and dirty from children’s shoes. “What really got me about the second room, “Sara Lopez said, “were the smells. The kitchen had this overwhelming odor of garlic and cumin, spices my mother put in everything. The carpet near the entryway smelled like wet dog. Our lab, Daisy, would run through our neighbors sprinkler then come inside, right to that patch of carpet, and roll around. Little things like that, I’d forgotten about completely. Hadn’t thought of in years, but suddenly a million memories came rushing back to me.”

The average visitor reported spending somewhere between four to five hours in The House of Narcissus. There were outliers of course, in both directions. Some, after seeing the photo gallery, ran through the other rooms without lingering. Others claimed to have spent days and only left when they were near dehydration.

There are dozens of other rooms in The House. Too many to go over tonight. But I’ll end by stating what’s in the only obligatory room, the last room. The room with the only way out.

At the very end of a long hallway is a plain wooden door with a small sign above that reads: What if…

Inside is a small movie theatre. There’s a single red cushioned seat in the room with the perfect view of a small screen. To the right of the screen is a door with an exit sign above. The door will not open unless the visitor sits down in the chair and watches, truly watches and listens, to the film that plays in that small theatre.

“On the day of what was supposed to be my wedding I called my best friend - my bridesmaid. I cried and I gave her the awful job of telling my husband-to-be I’d changed my mind,” said Tonya Blanton to the Sante Fe Dispatch in 1958. “I was living in Minneapolis at the time. Born there, was to be married there, figured I’d die there eventually too. I don’t know what overcame me. But I got in my car and drove. Found myself in New Mexico and started a new life. My parents were furious. And I never spoke to the man who was to be my husband ever again. He sent me a letter when I’d settled in Santa Fe. I wasn’t brave enough to open it. But in that last room. In that last room of that awful house - a film played. It showed what my life would have been had I stayed in Minneapolis. I won’t… I won’t say what all I saw. What all I missed out on. All I’ll say is I know I made the wrong choice. I’ve thought about that every single day since visiting that terrible place.”

Tonya Blanton is not a unique case. Chicago journalist Studs Terkel in his book The American Road: An Oral History devoted a chapter to The House of Narcissus. He conducted over twenty interviews with those who'd toured the roadside wonder. When asked if they could change places and live the life they saw in that last room - would they? Every person he interviewed said they would.

The House of Narcissus only existed for some sixty odd years. The last known visit occurred in 1977, outside of Spring Green, Wisconsin. “People say I must’ve burned the place down or something,” Buddy Palmer, the last recognized visitor, said to the Madison Gazette in 1980. “I didn’t, I swear,” he went on, “but if I had some matches and kerosene on me, would I of? Sure thing. No one should ever be forced to watch the movie that plays in that last room. I’ll think of that picture the rest of my life. I’ll know I messed up early on and I’m not living my best, happiest life. You know how hard it is to get out of the bed in the morning with that hanging over you? Sometimes that movie plays in my dreams. I usually gotta call in sick to work the next day when it does. I just can’t stop thinking about it. The rest of the place too… it’s just... Just too much.”

For those of you listening to this while driving alone, rest assured, you’re unlikely to see a billboard with your own face staring back at you and the words: Know Thyself, Next Exit. But in the rare chance such an event occurs, please consider my advice: don’t take that exit. Just keep driving. There are some truths about ourselves perhaps better left unexplored.

And now back to our main show.

[[TIOA music fades out]]

ACT II

RYDER

And we're back and we already have a caller on the line. Why don't you tell us your name and the nature of your supernatural problem.

RENE

Hello, Malcolm. I was wondering if we'd ever get the chance to speak again.

RYDER

(uncertain)

I don't recognize your voice. Have you called into the show before?

RENE

A few times, yes. And we met once or twice in person.

A beat.

RYDER

Who is this?

RENE

My name is Rene Dupont. And though I've explained this to you before, I will kindly do so again. I exist with a peculiar condition. People can rarely retain memories of me. Not in any form. As this conversation gets to a certain point, I'll begin to vanish from your mind as well as most of your listeners. If you try to write down anything about me during this call, you'll likely only produce gibberish or the vaguest of details.

RYDER

I've read case studies of similar situations. There was a man in Utah-

RENE

(interrupts)

Yes, yes.

Nathaniel Cotwell who lived in a small town that couldn't create new memories of him past the age of eight. And so as an adult they'd still treat him as if he were a young boy. You studied him and Sarah Pullman of Butte, Montana who went missing one night in the woods. When she found her way home again, her family had completely forgotten her.

A beat.

RENE

The few times we've spoken, you've wished to demonstrate knowledge of people who've existed with Memory-related ailments and those are your two most common examples.

RYDER

It seems we have spoken before. Mr. Dupont-

RENE

Please, call me Rene. No need for formalities. We're old acquaintances after all.

RYDER

Yes. Of course. And why have you called into the show tonight, Rene?

RENE

There's been a man following me. Repeatedly.

A beat.

RYDER

(realizing what he means)

And of course that's a difficult task to accomplish, as it's so hard to remember you.

RENE

You're correct. I am Anonymity Incarnate. But there's a man in a grey suit who seems to have found my scent. A further detail about him: he's missing one of his fingers. I'll let you guess which.

RYDER

Why is The Traveling Salesman after you?

RENE

I called you in search of an answer to that very question.

RYDER

In all likelihood he wishes to strike a deal with you. That's why he seeks anyone out. That, or to kill them.

RENE

Let's assume the former for the moment: what sort of deal would he want to make with me?

RYDER

I have no idea. Perhaps he needs information from someone. But he doesn't want this person to know they've given their secrets up. I imagine with your talent that's something you'd be good at.

RENE

Before the wall was destroyed in '89 I was employed on both sides doing something akin to what you just suggested.

A beat.

RYDER

Then that might be what he wants. Or perhaps something more... metaphysical.

RENE

Such as?

RYDER

Your ability to be forgotten. Julian already has some power over memory, but not that.

RENE

Could he really take that from me?

RYDER

Not take. Trade. The Salesman doesn't steal, Rene, but his deals are often one-sided, exploitive, as he'll neglect to tell you pertent information before you agree.

RENE

So he wouldn't really be taking something from me so much as he'd be giving me the gift of being able to be remembered.

A beat.

RYDER

That's a dangerous way of viewing such a deal.

RENE

Dangerous for you, perhaps, but of great advantage to me.

RYDER

It would be dangerous for the whole country for The Traveling Salesman to be easily forgotten. One of the few weapons we have against him are the memories of devastation he's brought about by the deals he's made. The only reason anyone ever turns him down is because his reputation precedes him. Take that away-

RENE

(interrupts)

I have the means and resources to go to many other countries. Julian Holloway can have this one.

RYDER

You'd potentially sacrifice hundreds of millions of people to-

RENE

(interrupts)

To be remembered. And yes, I would. This "talent" of mine came to me when I was young. For most my life I've been unable to have a meaningful relationship with another human being.

To even have an extended conversation. What's my name?

RYDER

Rene...

Malcolm searches his mind for the surname.

RYDER

Rene Dupont.

RENE

You're close to forgetting already, Malcolm Ryder.

A beat.

RENE

If I made a deal with your friend for him to take this power away, you'd never even know.

RYDER

The Traveling Salesman is not my friend.

RENE

If your former friend might help me where no one else could before, including yourself, then I would take him up on his offer.

RYDER

That is if he even wants to help you. He could be searching for you, as I already said, to kill you.

RENE

And why would that be his objective?

RYDER

There are limitations to his power. I don't fully know what they are, but I know they exist.

RENE

Again I ask, why would this necessitate him wanting me dead?

RYDER

Because you possess power in one of his realms - Memory and Dream. And if you have more power than he does, and if he can't use you, or your power, towards his own ends, he'll want you dead. You're a liability otherwise.

A beat.

RENE

You're bluffing. Trying to stoke fear in me so I stay away from him. So I can't make a deal. If what you said was true, your friend Charlotte Price would be dead.

RYDER

Charlotte has found ways to take care of herself. She's forged alliances with things even Julian fears. Have you done the same?

A beat.

RENE

What you're telling me is that I need leverage before I allow Julian Holloway to try and offer a deal to me.

RYDER

That's not what I'm saying at all. Under no circumstances should you attempt to make any deal with him.

RENE

That's not what I took away from this conversation. Thank you so much, Malcolm. As always, you've been helpful.

RYDER

No, wait-

Dial tone.

A long pause.

RYDER

There was someone on the line just now. I swear there was.

I have notes I made, most are illegible which isn't like me. Of what I can read: Shadow, Mirror, Flesh, Spirit, and Dream. I tried to write Memory but it seems my hand was unable to. Odd...

A beat.

RYDER

I think we'll end the show there tonight. I'd like to play back the recording of the past several minutes. See if I can see what I'm missing.

A beat.

RYDER

But if you're experiencing anything supernatural, paranormal, or otherworldly, please feel free to call in next time on A Voice From Darkness.

[[AVFD outro music fades in and out.]]

#a voice from darkness #avfd #malcolm ryder #rene dupont

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hoboal87 · 4 years ago

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Some thoughts on the possible ending of Supernatural... Spoilers, maybe?

Y'all, what if supernatural doesn't go out with a bang but a whisper? (Yes, I'm aware thats not how the phrase goes, but fuck it) Like, no blood and gore, just a soft ending for our boys.

Here's the thing: you know Dean never thought that he'd make it this long. He's always figured that he'd go on some hunt and just never come back. He'd go down swinging, probably take the MtoW with him. Dean didn't even think "retirement" was a possibility until Jack came around.

Sam - Sam has been kinda resigned to his fate of being a hunter. I think this season has really shown how he is ready to leave this life behind. One of the most heartbreaking things that has come out of this season is that Sam still thinks about Jessica and (presumably) the life that he could've had with her.

Pre-Hell Trials, Dean hated the idea of Sam leaving, not hunting anymore, but after watching how far Sam was willing to go to atone for his past, (starting the apocalypse, letting Lucifer out of the cage, ect.) he's changed his tune. This season Dean actually encouraged Sam to persue a relationship with Eileen. We all know that beneath his "tough-guy" exterior, Dean is a big ol' softy that just wants his brother to be happy. Cas said this as well, "you think that it's anger they drives you, but it's love...you are the most loving human I will ever know... You raise your brother for love, you fought for this whole world for love."

I honestly have no freaking clue how this series is going to end. None of us do. Dabb has said that a lot of people may not like the finale, that it might be something similar to GoT. Personally my issue with the GoT finale is that it didn't feel earned. They were trying to do too much in a short amount of time.

Supernatural has had this problem a little this season, and there's at least 3 that were complete filler. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the episodes, but they didn't do much to further the Chuck plot.

Anyway, back to the finale.

We know pretty much nothing about this episode. We know that they've filmed at the bridge from the pilot, and that at some point, the Impala's original plates are back. Which, OMG what if Dean kept the plates for the last 10 years!?!!? Some people are speculating that we're going it get some kind of time travel or series reset. One theory that I like is that the boys go to the empty to rescue Cas and wade through his memories.

Cas-- I really, REALLY, hope that we haven't seen the laet of him. I know that Misha had said something about not being on set the last day of filming, but I don't think that means he wasn't there for the episode. It's been strongly hinted that only Sam and Dean are the last two faces that we see. I believe Jensen said something to the extent of "the last time Jared and Jensen see each other is the last time Sam and Dean see each other." Jensen in particular said that he had a lot of trouble with the ending when he first read it. We also know that they want to leave it open enough so that they can come back. This is why I don't think we're gonna get a bloody, guns out, go-down-swinging ending.

So what if, the last scene is Dean leaving Sam and Eileen to live their apple-pie life and he and Cas go on another hunt, Sam watches as the Impala disappears in to the sunset, and then cut to the interior of the Impala. Zeppelin is playing and Dean reaches over, grabs Cas' hand and gives him the smirk*TM and that's when it cuts to black.

#supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #destiel #saileen #spn finale

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colorrenovation · 1 year ago

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mindfulwrathwrites · 5 years ago

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What Does Transness Feel Like?

View on Main Site

One of the most common gaps in understanding I see from cisgender (“not-trans”) folks is that they find it extremely difficult to conceptualize what transness even is. The frame of reference is simply non-existent, and this can make it very difficult to have empathy for the kinds of things trans folks go through on a daily basis. Common questions include: “How did you know?” “How can you feel like a different gender?” “Why does it matter so much what people call you?”

And I get it, I do. It’s hard to understand something you’ve never experienced. So, for the cis folks in my audience (i.e. those who identify completely with the gender they were assigned at birth), we’re going to go through some thought exercises.

I will also add this caveat: every trans person is different, therefore every trans experience is different. I can only explain from my own frame of reference and try to highlight the most common commonalities I’ve seen in the community. If you really want to “get it,” I encourage you to talk with a diversity of trans people—trans women and trans men, nonbinary trans people (masculine, feminine, both, other, none of the above), trans people of color, disabled trans people, Jewish and Muslim trans people, etc. etc. etc. There are a lot of trans experiences that I personally don’t experience.

Example 1: Physical Dysphoria

Think of a close friend or family member whose gender is different from yours—for preference, someone close to your own age, like a sibling or a partner. Imagine you wake up in their body.

Take a moment to look at yourself from the first-person perspective. What do your hands look like now? When you look towards your belly-button, what do you see? When you look in the mirror, what kind of face is looking back? Remember that it’s your face, now, your hands, your body. What do you smell like this morning? What’s the texture of your hair, if you have it today? How tall are you? Will your clothes, the clothes you wore yesterday, still fit you? What does your voice sound like when you say good morning?

What are the differences between what you expect to see and what you do see? What if those differences are permanent? Is it okay if you can never change back, if you’re stuck in this body forever? Will you get used to it? Will you ever expect to see this new body, this new face, when you look in the mirror?

Would you try to get your old body back? How hard would you try? Why would you try that hard? If you couldn’t get your old body back, if your old body was gone (and the person you swapped with didn’t need theirs back), would you try to change the new one to be more like the old? What would you be willing to go through to have a body that almost fit, rather than one that didn’t fit at all?

In this example, the difference between what you see and what you feel, that mismatched expectation, is what lies at the root of my physical gender dysphoria. When you’re suddenly body-swapped, of course, you know why this body you’re in looks and feels mismatched—but imagine you grew up in that body. Imagine puberty, when these things that aren’t yours begin to appear in earnest. Maybe it would have been so wrong, so distressing, that you would have known right away why. Maybe you wouldn’t have. Maybe you weren’t aware that pain was not a normal part of growing up. Maybe you just didn’t know there was any other option.

If you grew up in a body that didn’t fit you, it might take you a long, long time to figure out why you were chafing. It might take some deep, rigorous soul-searching. It might take extensive discussion with other people who had the same problems and managed to figure it out. Many trans folks don’t figure out they’re trans until they’re adults, in their 20s or 30s or 40s or older, because they don’t have the frame of reference, either. Some never figure it out. I count myself lucky that I got there as early as I did.

Example 2: Social Dysphoria

Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that you’re pretty comfortable in your other-gender body for the moment. You’ve taken some time at home to get used to it, figured out how it works, and generally aren’t upset by it. You’ve accepted how you look and feel at this point, and you’re ready to get back out into the world.

Remember: you’re still you. Same name, same gender, same title and pronouns. Different body.

First question: how do you dress before you leave the house? Do you wear your clothes, or do you wear the clothes of the person whose body you’re in? Is it more important to match your interior experience, or your exterior appearance? If you dress in your clothes, will you be safe outside? Will you be laughed at, shunned, perhaps even assaulted?

Get dressed. You’re going to be late for work.

Let’s say you take the bus. Does the bus driver call you sir today, or ma’am? How do you feel when they do? Maybe it doesn’t bother you. Maybe you brush it off. You thank them—what does your voice sound like? Does it reinforce the bus driver’s choice of words? Does it match you?

Who do you sit next to on the bus? Who chooses to sit next to you? How do the other passengers look at you, and who are they seeing when they do? Are they seeing you, or just the body you’re in?

How did you dress this morning? Are you safe?

Let’s say you get to work with no further issues. Your coworkers call you by the name that goes with the body you’re in, use the pronouns that come attached. As far as they know, this is how you’ve always looked, how they’ve always referred to you. Do you correct them? Do you say, actually, no, today it’s different? If you asked them to accommodate you, would they? Would you feel safe asking them? Would you feel safe asking the same of your boss?

How do your coworkers talk to you? Is it the same way they’ve always talked to you, or are there subtle differences? Are you being taken more or less seriously? Who’s chummier all of a sudden, and who’s making you uncomfortable? Who are you making uncomfortable? Are you overreacting? Do you bite your tongue at the water cooler when somebody tells a funny story about you and six times in a row uses the wrong pronouns? Do you correct them when they introduce you to the new hire with the wrong name, wrong title, wrong gender?

All your documents, your email, the display on the phone, all have the wrong name on them, too. Does it bother you? Does it start to wear on you?

Breakfast was a few hours ago. Biology is calling. Which bathroom do you use? Which bathroom is it safe for you to use? Do you trust your coworkers? Do you really, really trust your coworkers? Or maybe you went out to lunch. There’s bathrooms at the restaurant, Men and Women. Which one do you use? Who will recognize you as belonging? Which would you be comfortable in? Where are you least likely to be assaulted or harassed? Where are you safe?

How did you dress this morning?

In this example, there is again a mismatch, but this time between perception and internal experience—for me, this is the root cause of social gender dysphoria. A trans person can be perfectly comfortable in their body when they’re alone, but inhabiting the social space of a different gender is, to a greater or lesser extent, distressing. It can be difficult to untangle social dysphoria from the fear of harm that comes with being trans in a transphobic society. Do I avoid wearing skirts because I don’t want to be seen as female, or because I’m afraid of being assaulted? I might like to wear a skirt, I might think they’re fun and comfortable—but I have a beard, broad shoulders and a square jaw, a deep voice. I am consistently read as ‘male’ when I’m out in public. Is it safe for me to wear a skirt outside? Is it safe for me to use public restrooms today? Whether or not I’m comfortable with my current presentation has an awful lot to do with who’s looking.

Example 3: Gender Euphoria

Maybe none of this is distressing to you. Maybe the answers to all of those questions up there are easy. Maybe none of it is a big deal.

But now, let’s say that after all of this has transpired, after you’ve been through a week or a month or a year of being body-swapped, imagine you wake up back in your body, just the way it was when you left it. All your scars in their places, every freckle right where you left it, your hair the right texture and your voice the right tone. Everyone uses the right name for you, the right pronouns, the right title. Maybe you’re absolutely elated! Maybe this brings such joy to you that you never, ever want to swap bodies again, even though being in the other body didn’t bother you at all.

This isn’t as a huge of a deviation from the trans experience as you might think—some trans people don’t experience dysphoria at all! And, in that same vein, some cis people do experience dysphoria—a cis woman who grows a beard may experience the same dysphoria as a trans woman who grows a beard; a cis man who is shorter than average may experience the same dysphoria as a short trans man.

Many trans people experience, rather than gender dysphoria, gender euphoria, where being in a body or a social space that matches their internal experience brings them great joy, rather than just an easing of pain. Even if there was no pain to start off with, occupying and presenting as their internally experienced gender, rather than the one they were assigned at birth, brings them immense pleasure and fulfillment.

Personally, I experience both gender dysphoria and gender euphoria. Being called by the wrong name or the wrong pronouns makes me feel physically ill. I detest the width of my hips, lament my lack of Adam’s apple, and get an ache in my chest when I have to stand in a group of other men who are all six inches taller than me. I hated my breasts so much that I had them surgically removed (I try not to say “I had my chest fixed,” because it wasn’t broken, even though it was deeply, intrinsically wrong for me). But I love my voice, love how it sounds when I speak and when I sing; I adore the shape of my jaw and the way my new beard draws attention to it; there is music in my name today.

From the age of twelve to the age of twenty-six, I was never, not once, comfortable. Sometimes I was in pain, sometimes I wasn’t, but there was never a time when I was comfortable.

It took less than six months of hormone replacement therapy to fix that.

I can’t tell you what the Trans Experience is. There are as many trans experiences as there are trans people. I hope, however, that giving you a window into my trans experience has given you a little more perspective, a little clearer frame of reference for the next trans experience you hear.

Be gentle with people, stand up to bigots, and for God’s sake don’t ask anybody about their genitals.

#31 Mar 2020 #tdov #tdov2020 #dysphoria #gender dysphoria #gender euphoria #long post

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starker-stories · 5 years ago

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The Cold, Chapter 2 - The Messages Series

This chapter on AO3

By @thestarkerisobvious and @starker-stories

New chapters in the series post every Thursday.

All links are to AO3. You don’t need to be a creator to have an AO3 account. You can have one solely as a reader. But to read anything at all in this series, you can just be an anonymous reader and/or commenter.

The best way to keep up with The Cold is to subscribe to the story on AO3. And the best way to keep up with the Messages Series is also to subscribe. Click on the ‘subscribe’ button on each of the above links.

Tags: Tony Stark Feels, Peter Parker Feels, College Student Peter Parker, Established Relationship, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Tony Stark Still Has Arc Reactor, Arc Reactor Kink, Peter Parker is a Mess, Spider-Man powers, Communication, They Finally Communicate!, And Fuck Of Course Look at Who It’s Written By Of Course They Fuck, Avengers Compound

The entire Messages Series. All links are to AO3.

Messages Unsent (complete & posted)

Nothing More Than A Machine (complete & posted)

Tomorrow (complete & posted)

My Virgin (Revisited) (completely & posted)

The Cold (completely written) posts every Thursday

Untitled Book 6 ( in progress )

Untitled Book 7 ( in progress )

Chapter 2: Fencing Left Handed

As they neared the compound Peter asked him for the time, then resumed his position leaning against Tony’s arm and tracing patterns on his sleeve. He took a deep breath.

“Okay, so, things have been changing with me. Like, a lot. I’ve wanted to talk to you about it for months, but there was never a good time. That’s not your fault, there were times I could have brought it up but I… like I told you, when I had to chose between sex and talking, I always chose sex. And it’s hard to talk about. I guess it’s... I could have tried to talk about it over the phone or emailed you... anyway.

“I guess I’m… scared. That you’re going to say ‘Oh Well, Yeah, That’s Just Growing Up’ and I don’t… and that’s stupid…”

“Please don’t do that,” Tony reached over and brushed his fingers over Peter’s hair, interrupting him. “Nothing you feel is stupid, Pete. Nothing you say is stupid. Nothing you’re going through is stupid, okay? A self-deprecating exterior can turn quickly into an interior one. I’m kind of an expert at tearing myself up with that.”

“Ok, but it is stupid. Like asking to be treated like a virgin in your bed and then still being too proud in the middle of it. Now I really wanted your advice and I’m also afraid of getting it… fuck.” He pressed his face into Tony’s arm.

“I won’t say it’s ‘just growing up’, whatever it is,” Tony said. “At fifteen you were more of a grown up than a whole lot of people I know.”

“Okay… okay.” Peter’s shoulders sagged for a moment in relief. Then he took a deep breath and tried. Again.

“Did you ever… “ He sat up in the seat. “I mean I know you didn’t because you went to MIT way early… so maybe you don’t. Because in the old days they let you skip grades. They wouldn’t do that with me, they had a whole long talk to May and Ben about it and I understood, at least I tried to. I pretended I did. But high school was like…

“In high school I stayed as busy as I could, with band and academic decathlon and all my totally illegal chemistry studies, and I guess it was okay. Not nearly as okay as it was when I got the spiderbite and I really had something to do, had a million brand new things to learn and a real reason for all those illegal chemistry studies, that was a good thing. That made it so much better. But every time I walked into class…

“Okay I know you hate it when I do this but I don’t know how else to describe it. You know that old movie where the man becomes the Dread Pirate Roberts and now he’s the best fencer in the world and he meets the OTHER best fencer in the world and they are both fencing left handed and they’re both going at it hot and heavy and they both tell each other, one at a time, that they’re not really left handed? Because both of them were trying to take it easy on the other guy, because they both know they’re the best and that’s just the kind of Good Guys that they are? I saw that on TV and that really stuck with me. That you don’t have to be the best in the business, the smartest guy in the room, the whatever. The big shot. You can play it dumb and maybe write your notes backward to slow yourself down or read your textbooks upside down or maybe never study for a test so when the test comes you aren’t the first one finished and faking writing down answers so your neighbors won’t feel so bad. You can fence left-handed. So you won’t be an asshole. Be like Westley and Inigo Montoya and give everyone else a break.

“So I did that. I fenced left-handed and invested most of my time in massive Lego sets and told myself it was the right thing to do. And then the spiderbite happened and I got a whole new life and that was amazing and then you came into my life and that was the best thing that ever happened to me. And all my schoolwork came in a distant third but at least it was slightly interesting the way an old video game can be interesting. If you haven’t played it in years. You know, for about half an hour.

“But I didn’t worry about that because I was going to Columbia. And when I got to Columbia it would all be different. And I could go to real classes that were really hard and I could finally just start fencing regular.

“And Tony?”

He took a deep breath before he looked at his lover.

“It’s not getting harder. I spent my whole first semester going… wait… what? The fuck? And then I thought no, no, this is okay, this is all freshman crap. This is supposed to be like this. Not everybody gets through all four years, right? Except instead of like boot camp where they are trying to get rid of you maybe… I don’t know… maybe they water it down to make you feel good about yourself and ramp up the info later… I don’t know what I thought. And now I’m well into my third year and I don’t get it Tony… when does it get hard? The best part is doing my assignments online — I do them in my dorm room with the keyboard upside down just for fun. Swear to god I’ve been doing my Differential Equations work hanging from my dorm room ceiling because that’s how I test the dissolve-time of my new web formula. And there is so much group work, I mean it’s just fucking constant. I should be glad because it does slow me down but really all it does is give me more time constraints which interferes with my patrols. Homework, at least, I can do from New York rooftops. I can’t do group work that way.”

He laughed ruefully, gazing out the helicopter window. “At least none of this is pissing my professors off. I stopped righteously fighting to NOT be the first person in class done with the work. Fuck that. Now I just turn it in when I’m done and get on with my real job.”

“Don’t ever be ashamed of being the smartest person in the room, Pete. What’s happening with your education, that is a whole ’nother conversation we need to have at a later date. Because it’s wrong, avoidable, and most of all, solvable. I can fix it with a phone call, but I doubt you want me to do that,” Tony said, smiling. “What I’ll do instead is teach you how to fix Columbia. Because, as brilliant as you are? Your professors should be pissed off at you.”

“Okay… okay,” Peter groaned. He pulled Tony’s arm around him and snuggled into his shoulder. “Don’t swoop in and save me just yet because there’s more. I know that sounds like the main thing but it isn’t.. and I’m not ready to… there’s more. This is what this weekend is about… you can swoop in and save me later, absolutely, and then we’ll have awesome sex to celebrate. But please…”

He looked through the window, glaring at the view instead of glaring at himself. For weeks, for a month really, he had planned this conversation, and now that it was here he was doing everything he feared the most — sounding pitiful.

“Please just let me… this is hard.

“There’s… something else.”

Peter took a deep breath and tried again. The fields around the compound were coming into sight, maybe this would be easier to explain if they were walking down there? Peter craned his neck to see the landing pad from the window, judging the distance before he started speaking.

“People at Columbia, they aren’t… bad. The average person walking around Columbia isn’t bad. They’re just slow. I don’t know… maybe I’m just pissed off that Columbia isn’t everything I dreamed it would be.

“But the criminals of New York City? They’re just the same as they’ve always been. Only I’m beginning to… they’re starting to look different to me now.”

He sighed, almost growled, in frustration. Tony dealt with international terrorists, and here Peter was about to complain about street-level thugs. At least the landing pad was getting nearer, but now he feared this wouldn’t solve his problem. He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to use the term ‘The Cold’ out loud, not with Tony. It made sense in his head, but it sounded ridiculous now.

“Remember when you called that press conference to announce to the world that I was the newest Avenger? And I asked you not to at the last second? Because I told you ‘someone has to look out for the little guy’? That was stupid. That was…” he choked on the hated word, but he forced himself to say it. “That was naive.

“On the streets when I’m patrolling, god, I used to get so… pissed. It seems so distant now. I was filled with all this righteous indignation, this anger that someone would pick on the ‘the little guy’. Now, I’m beginning to think that ‘the little guy’ is probably a piece of shit too.”

He didn’t have to say anything else after that. They had arrived.

The helicopter landed itself. New-Cap came to meet them. Tony and Peter stepped off the landing pad, as the helicopter was powering down, to where they could hear Sam. He asked why they were there. Tony didn’t know, so he didn’t answer, leaving his question hanging. He figured Peter would say, but when he didn’t either, Tony didn’t fill the void. It wasn’t unexpected of him to simply ignore whichever Avenger tried to engage him. To not speak or do something until he was damn good and ready to, rather than explain and justify himself to one of them.

Peter, usually ever-cheerful and friendly, looked decidedly uncomfortable. His eyes kept scanning the distant, grassy fields beyond the central cluster of buildings. When Sam asked again what they were doing there, with a little more annoyance in his voice due to Tony’s disregard, Tony simply said, ‘we’ll be in later’, and guided Peter in the direction of his gaze, letting him take over their destination as soon as they’d left New-Cap behind.

As they walked, it seemed like it wasn’t a serious conversation that was going to happen, but that Peter needed to talk about something difficult. The location might’ve been less than desirable, but being there to listen to whatever was bothering Peter? That was exactly what he wanted, what they had talked about a couple of days ago. Tony’s defensiveness fell away. He slipped his hands casually in his pockets as they walked companionably side by side across the lawn, heading out to the farther fields of the compound grounds.

“The else?” Tony asked, trying to bring their conversation back to where it ended when the helicopter landed.

Peter nodded, but didn’t answer that question. He seemed to be looking for something in what was nothing but open fields. Tony remembered, before the fall of SHIELD and the Avengers’ split, he and Cap and Fury discussed expansion plans into the empty land. But things happened. Then the world was gone. His world was dust. Tony walked away from all things Avengers.

“Where are we headed?” Tony asked.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll know it when I see it. Thanks for this, by the way. Sam’s an asshole now. I don’t remember him being an asshole.”

“It’s not Sam, I don’t think. It’s the position. But I don’t know Sam. The only thing I know about him is that when he rolled in flight, Vision’s beam went straight through where Sam should’ve been and knocked out the War Machine armor’s arc reactor and Rhodey fell to the ground.” Tony stopped talking for a bit while they walked together. It was irrational to blame Sam. Of course he’d try to avoid the hit. But irrational or not, he blamed him as much as Vision.

“Sam and his inherited shield and his inherited HYDRA assassin can go…” Tony shrugged. “I don’t give a fuck,” he finally said, shaking it off, literally, with a shrug. “They’re not why we’re here. So they’re a distraction. Irrelevant. We’re here because here is where you wanted to be. I’m here because you have something you need to say and I want to hear it. Pete, I’m interested, okay? In you. In everything about you. Even if I have to hear it here.”

“Ok. I’m not… god I’m not trying to be all mysterious, really. I just need some… distance. There it is,” he said with a sigh of relief. “It’s still there.”

They had rounded the south wall of the main building Peter seemed to find what he was looking for — although it looked mostly like an empty field to Tony — and they set out.

They walked for some time in silence.

What Peter had told him in the helicopter was important. But it was clearly not the ‘why’ for why they were there.

“Peter, if all that was wrong was what’s happening at Columbia… or your feeling frustrated by the lack of challenge in your life… or even the inevitable disillusionment of realizing that the world is massively full of blurred shades of grey… we’d be talking about this in bed.”

Peter only nodded.

Tony paused and they walked a little farther. “There’s something else. And… if you think you’re ‘stupid’ for feeling a certain way… you’re not.” He paused again briefly. “I would love to know what’s going on with you. Baby, you are the most important thing in my life. There’s nothing going on with you that I don’t want to hear about.”

“What if it was bad?” Peter’s voice was small, breathless. Looking at his feet.

“Still want to hear it. Just as much.”

“I’m getting cold, Tony,” Peter’s voice broke on the word. “Really cold.”

That puzzled Tony. It was a bright, sunny day, and for early autumn, quite warm. “We can head indoors, if you’re cold.” His brow furrowed. There was something about the way he said the word ‘cold’. “That’s not what you mean, is it?”

“It’s me, Tony. It’s not Columbia or the Gangs of New York, it’s me. It’s in me. That’s why we’re here. I’m changing. I know it’s not just in my head. I need the training ground equipment to quantify some things… and I guess that will make it Avengers business. I don’t know, maybe it is Avengers business, at least it will be. But I needed to tell you first. I’m not… the same. And it’s affecting everything.”

Peter veered them right and Tony saw what they were headed to, a white berm that stood alone in the field of green.

“With MJ and Ned, we can still relax and goof off… they’re not studying the same things I am so it’s easy not to… let them notice but… they’ve noticed. I guess I don’t make the same kinds of jokes I used to. And word on the street is New York has noticed too.

“I used to talk to criminals, I guess I was famous for it. I mean you’re the king of Snark and Banter but I guess I did pretty good. And I couldn’t help NOT lecture them. But I never hit them, because I’d hurt them, that’s why the webbing. But god I can’t talk to them anymore — I don’t feel like making jokes. I feel like punching them — so I just stay away from them. Tony, I can’t trust myself to get close to any of them now. If I need to take someone out I have to do it from a distance, sometimes from a block away, if I’m any closer I have to, I have to web them up and keep moving. I can’t stop to talk. I’m not… safe anymore. Everything’s changed.”

#Starker #Messages Series #Messages Cold #Von writes stuff #thewitchway writes stuff

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