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boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

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PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 38

💖 first time reader click here 💖

Fluff and snowball fights. Forgiveness is a path and everyone's making their happy way down it. Friendly Steve slander. Hulk interaction!

"So, what now?" I asked, eyes still closed, not resisting the desire to remain under the covers, nested snugly into Stephen's side. On his other side, Tony snored away, sprawled like a starfish in what looked to be the first decent shut-eye he got in months. I could smell the coffee and omelettes from Tony's kitchen and the soft jazz music playing where Bruce was taking care of the breakfast.

It was an unambiguous decision to take it easy after the last battle. Bucky and Natasha had been ironing out the details from the interrogation after Stephen had un-possessed Cabre, Wanda and Loki were itching to get a minute with the mercenary on their own and Veddie, as I started calling my uncle and his symbiote after experiencing the incredibly immersive symbiosis with Venom, hovered nearby in case Cabre would make a good snack.

"What do you want to do?" Stephen's morning voice was, ahem, an experience. He put Corpse Husband to shame and I knew that it wasn't only me who got hot and bothered by it but Tony as well...

Speaking of Tony, I still had no idea where we stood. My engineer had been less than happy about my actions and I thought I blew it. He wasn't as warm and playful, and while I kept telling myself that it was just the exhaustion from weeks of stress and worry, I knew better.

"I don't know. I didn't think this far," I admitted, damn well knowing what I wanted. I wanted things to be like they were - clear, honest, easy. My mother's voice rang out clearly again. I was being childish. Of course I was.

"I'm sure Tony will have my head for this, but seeing as there's no stopping you, I'm sure Natasha and Barnes will be happy to train you," Stephen sighed, his breath warm in my hair.

I blanched, stiffening in his arms, confused. "Where did that come from?" My eyes finally opened to stare at his sleepy face.

His eyebrows rose. "You don't want to..?"

"Be a hero, like you? No," I shook my head, then snorted. "I was trying to figure out how to tell you I don't want to go to college just yet, maybe take a gap year. In fact, I want to avoid actual in-person classes as much as humanely possible. And I still don't have a clue what major exactly I want to pursue." I was being honest, prepared to be judged. In-between my three men, there were at least ten PhDs whilst I was only nearly done with the first step of my education.

"So what, it was a one-time deal? Let an alien parasite take over your body for a coupla' hours and then continue with your life?" Tony's scratchy voice startled me; apparently, he'd been awake and actively eavesdropping.

I wasn't prepared for this conversation, but then again, I'd never be. Might as well rip the bandaid off. "I'm not that flavour of stupid," I immediately retorted, heart beginning to pick up speed. My mouth was gonna get me in trouble. "I am not delusional, I know things aren't and won't be the same. I did what I did because there was no other option, I'm not sorry and I will do it again if the need arises. It's not what you want to hear but it's the truth." I paused, well aware that my speech was becoming quicker, I was well on my way to nervous rambling. "I'm not hero material, I won't go on a death march for a rando," Justifying my actions? No. I stopped myself again. "I am sorry for lying. I am sorry for hiding things. But I am not sorry for putting my own ass out there so we can get some fucking peace." I finally settled, fisting my pajama top under the blanket in an attempt to release some of the tension.

Twin sighs erupted from my men, as if their bodies synchronized in response to my stubborn nature. Stephen's hold tightened on me as Tony rolled over, sleepy eyes blinking from the space opposite of me on Stephen's chest. Tony's hand reached for my face, stroking the side of it wordlessly - he wasn't the most vocal about his feelings but his eyes said it all. Tony was sad, hurt, a little bit angry but mostly he was relieved. It was the way he moved - nearly no traces of the tension that had gathered on his face in the previous weeks.

"Natasha should still train you, some basic hand to hand and weapons training, in case someone has it out for any of us. SHIELD's security has holes, you're basically one of us now. Everyone and their mother saw Clint hauling you to the quinjet," Tony finally grumbled, admitting his defeat. Everyone knew that if it had been up to him, I wouldn't leave the tower without an armed escort at all times. Thankfully, Bruce was there to screw on Tony's bolts right each time he wanted to go overboard. They thought I wouldn't notice, but I did.

Stephen's free hand landed in Tony's hair, the sorcerer effectively calmed both of us down with his gentle, unobtrusive support. He was far more empathetic than he liked to show. "That seems like a smart idea," He rumbled as my eyes began to drift shut once again.

With each steady breath, my heartbeat slowed and the feelings of guilt and dread began to dissipate. Tony might not had forgiven me yet but I was on my way to inner peace once more. I remembered feeling exactly the same way before our relationship, when every time I took a step inside Tony's lab, I tensed inwardly, shielded my feelings from his eyes, too focused on the outcome I thought would be absolutely disastrous. I had always thought he'd laugh at me, and yet... Laying on Steph's chest, inches away from Tony, my past panic seemed ridiculous.

"What's so funny?" Stephen asked, amused.

I didn't even notice the snort that managed to escape me. "Nothing," I answered immediately, feeling my face heat up. Oh my Loki, what kind of an idiot I had been...

"Sure," Tony's finger poked my cheek without preamble. "Staging a world domination plan, aren't we?" He snarked, much more like his usual self.

"I was just remembering when I was so terrified you'd find out I have a crush on you and you'd laugh at me," I mumbled, willing to placate Tony to avoid any more unnecessary lies and deceit.

Tony, did, in fact, laugh at my confession, but so did Stephen and I am pretty sure I heard Bruce snort from the direction of the archway leading into the spacious bedroom. The bed dipped as the scientist sat down, running a palm over my leg.

"I was pretty sure you would laugh at me," He admitted just as quietly and bashfully. Stephen and Tony only laughed harder. I heard the sound of a pillow hitting Steph in the face. "Let's go, Princess, let's leave the mean geezers alone. I made breakfast."

I could practically hear the pout in Bruce's voice and couldn't resist to comply, leaving a grumbling Tony to stretch and roll out of bed like a disgruntled cat.

"You're older than me, Bruce," Stephen rolled his eyes, I could feel his stare linger on my exposed thighs before Bruce picked me up. My sorcerer boyfriend switched to staring at Tony's bare back, which was an action I wholeheartedly supported.

"Cocky bastards," I stuck out my tongue a moment before we turned the corner and then all I could focus on was the feast of gods Bruce had made for us. The man was really too sweet and too kind, he never ceased to make me mushy and stuff. I stole a kiss, and then another one, and another one, until Tony's whining about the toast burning interrupted our moment.

The bread was fine. Tony was just being himself.

Our phones beeped at the same time - mine being already in my hand, as all normal young people did in the mornings - I looked at the message expecting another assemble and feeling my eyebrows crawl up at Steve's suggestion we all get some fresh air that day.

It had snowed. The whole city was covered in white, crisp snow, and Bucky has been liking nothing but other people's snowman pictures for several days. I suspected the brunette had convinced his boyfriend to take him out to build one or something, but as Steve was known to be exceptionally dense at times, Cap'n Jolly had unanimously decided it was a team bonding-slash-relaxing opportunity.

I relayed my thoughts to my own boyfriends, all of us giggling at Steve's eagerness to cater to his boyfriend and his cluelessness when it came to all things romantic. I was tempted to shoot Steve a text explaining his epic gamer moment but before I could even open the app, Bruce's eyes turned green briefly as he had a very obvious internal conversation with Hulk.

"Is that offer to spend time with Hulk still up?" The scientist asked timidly.

I had a lightbulb moment. "Absolutely!" I replied, watching my other two boyfriends. They didn't even bat an eye, evidently at peace with the green situation. "As long as the snowball fight is had with Thor, Steve or other enhanced individuals." Personally, I had no desire to be flipped over by a snowball the size of a watermelon. Or get any of the pretty but cold stuff under my clothes.

Bruce's responding grin was mostly Hulk.

It was a couple of days before Christmas. I was never one much for the holiday season, but something magical had seeped into me - it wasn't the shiny lights throughout the tower, it wasn't Clint's ugly Christmas sweater and the smell of gingerbread cookies and cinnamon that came from Wanda's apartment. I had no clue what it was, but it seemed to be tied to my boyfriends and Loki and many others who lived in the tower.

Bruce was all but wiggling during the car ride to the park - rationally, I knew it was the Hulk being excited but I still couldn't take my eyes off the usually reserved man. Bruce was happy. It made me smile and hold his hand like we were middle-schoolers in love. The rest of the team pretended to not notice it, or maybe they didn't care, or maybe they had already gotten used to my unconventional relationship.

Either way, Bucky had whisked Steve away almost immediately and I did what every kid ever had dreamed of. As Bruce went to a more secluded space to transform into the Hulk and Tony went to retrieve his thermos of coffee, I ushered Sam over to Steve's car and unlocked it, retrieving his shield from the trunk. It was heavier than it looked but did it stop me and Sam from running up the nearest hill and fighting over who gets to go first?

No, it did not. In mere moments, my ass was being frozen to the metal despite my snowsuit as I parked it inside the shield , holding onto the straps as Sam pushed on my back, hollering "Yeet!" at the top of his lungs, sending me in a steep slide towards where Thor was enthusiastically explaining something to the rest of the team.

"Oh shiiiiit!" I screamed, unprepared for the sudden increase in speed and the surprisingly good gliding abilities Captain America's shield possessed. "Watch o-o-out!" I yelled as the group scattered at the last moment. I heard some strong Russian words coming from Natasha, paired with snorts of badly concealed laughter.

The tree line grew closer by the second but the shield had no plans of stopping any time soon. Whoda thunk that things made of vibranium had all the characteristics to be the perfect sled? Something green entered my field of vision, stopping my crazy train with a grunt.

I answered with an oof of my own. One green palm was securely wrapped around me and the other held Steve's shield. "Hello," Hulk snorted, lifting me up like I was but a feather and setting me on his shoulder. "Puny Princess, don't hurt yourself," He stated firmly as I looked down at him, intrigued by the sudden change in his speech patterns. He sounded almost human.

"Hey, Big Guy," I ruffled his hair. "Aren't you cold?"

"No," He replied, setting me onto his shoulder. Hulk appeared to be completely unaffected by the December cold in his purple shorts. I felt my rear end begin to thaw, such was the heat that he emanated from his body. Meanwhile, Hulk caught Steve's eye, preparing to hurl the shield back to the frowning Captain.

Steve caught it effortlessly while Bucky ignored the interaction whatsoever, caught up in rolling an obscenely large ball of snow a ways from the group, tongue all but hanging out in concentration. I caught myself thinking he was gonna build a snow dick instead of a man and it made me feel...

"Wanna build a snowman?" I asked my green companion, rubbing my mittens in excitement.

The Hulk pondered for a brief moment, adopting that mischievous gleem, eyes shooting to Tony and Stephen who stood regally on the side of the clearing, sipping their hot beverages like the adult men that they were supposed to be. I snorted and Hulk echoed the sound, taking quick strides to a patch of land opposite Bucky. "No," Hulk shook his head. "We build a fort. Then smash," The green bean was all but vibrating in excitement.

Realistically, I knew I was gonna get snow stuck in uncomfortable places and might even get knocked over by an overeager person with super strength. But was I gonna pass up an opportunity to show off my superior construction skills? Hell naw.

It wasn't long before Stephen and Tony wandered off to us and began to pile up snow with a resigned huff, unsuccessful in their attempts to rebuff me ordering them around. In the end, we split in three teams, snow flew everywhere and by the time the battle was in peak heat, all of us were cold, wet and red-faced.

"To the death! BLOOD AND VINEGAR!!!" I screeched, hopping up and down after a series of small rapid snowballs I threw hit their target - Steve had a face full of snow and Bucky wasn't faring much better next to him, having had let a few of them hit him in the chest because he was distracted, doubling over in laughter at Steve's indignant, red face.

"You're bloodthirsty," Tony smirked from my side, dumping a fresh batch of ammo between me and Stephen. "It's hot."

@another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95 @gladiosamicitias @warrior1-19 @toomanyrobins

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x reader #bruce banner x reader #Stephen Strange x reader #tony stark x Bruce Banner x Stephen Strange x reader #in this house we love and respect the ot4

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gojology · 4 years ago

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Teddybears and Shitty Cards.

back to homepage pairing : yuuji x gender neutral reader warnings : minor cursing, fluff wordcount : 1529 a/n : i hope i did u yuuji stans justice .. probably not but this is rlly good for my characterization :) also i thought that gojo wasn’t as well loved as megumi/yuuji/nanami etc but holy shit i thought wrong. my megumi and nanami fics got little to no attraction, or maybe i write them horribly, idk. is gojo satoru the best husbando in jjk? (the answer is yes.) also uh.. i didnt proof read this ████████████████ 100% Complete. Enjoy your game.

“Itadori!” you yell, panting, cupping your hands together around your mouth to amplify your voice. He had asked you prior to meet with you for Valentines in this particular park, most likely because it was Valentines day. You had to admit, his selection in nice places was clearly defined. The views from the hill you and him sat upon was spectacular, you could see the city in it’s whole. This was amplified with the setting of the sun, a hazy beautiful orangey-yellow gradient was all the eye could see from up here. It was definitely worth the walk up the steep hill, and you took a much needed seat and breather on the painted wooden bench, pulling out your water bottle you take a long swig, wiping the sweat off your brow as you did so. You took a quick sneak peek at Yuuji, who was humming a tune, earbuds in. Shielding your eyes with your hand, you leaned closer into his shoulder. His thumbs were fumbling with something, which you now realized was a Nintendo Switch. “Watcha playing?” you ask, breathing in his scent. Remnants of candy and baked goods filled your nose. Yuuji didn’t say anything back, instead continuing to hum and mumble a few lyrics, lost in his own world. It was only until you impatiently tapped at his broad shoulders to pay attention to you. He jolted up, looking left and right before finally realizing you were sitting next to him. Taking a deep breath in, he cheerfully smiled before taking one of his earbuds out. “Hey! You came early~ are you excited to see me?” he questioned, setting his Nintendo Switch into his backpack before picking up what seemed to be a bag right next to him. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I be, baby?” you reply back, grinning, deciding to pay no mind towards this bag. Yuuji was quite popular, especially revolving sports or something along the lines of that. Many famous coaches had said that he possessed super-human strength, and he had been showered in contracts with sport teams not long after those few words. In return, this caused Yuuji to be insanely busy with many interviews and pelted with multiple adult-y stuff to do, which had hurt you exceptionally. It greatly hindered the relationship between you two. Weekly visits turned into monthly, and you couldn’t bare to see him drown in all his work. He was a busy guy, but yet always so carefree, and you didn’t want that carefree childish aspect of him to disappear. After all, that was something you loved about Yuuji. He looked up at you with a reassuring beam, and you felt yourself melt under those warm eyes. “Aww, that makes me happy, (Y/N). Scratch that, you make me happy!” facing you, he gave you a quick peck on your cheek. Your heart bursts, it had been too long since you felt that specific thing, and you give him a gentle kiss back, running a hand through his fluffy hair. “I missed you. It’s been too long since I’ve talked to you, lovebug. Schedule is jampacked. But I met some nice friends along the way, and my coach is super nice!” he rambled on, fumbling with the handles of this mysterious bag. “Oh? How so?” trying to make conversation, you want to appear as interested as he talked about his coach, but you were focused on his outfit and how he looked in general. He had gotten way more stronger, you noted. He was much more scrawnier when you two first started dating, and you wondered how his cuddles might feel like. Something that didn’t change though, was his horrible fashion sense. Wearing a turquoise t-shirt with a lemon yellow jacket over it, you almost winced. Yuuji dressed like a 6th grader who had their mom pick out clothes for them. “...And he annoys the absolute shit out of his co-worker, Utahime. It’s funny! I also met this guy named Nanami and I have no idea how my coach and Nanami are friends. Nanami always looks like he’s on the verge of murdering him whenever he opens his mouth to speak! Oh and also me and my coach made Valentine cards together and I worked really hard on it and I just know you’ll like it! Also-” “Alright, alright. That’s a mouthful.” you sang sarcastically, Yuuji awkwardly laughed and rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, looking at you like you had caught him stealing a cookie out of a jar at 12 AM. “Sorry. I get carried away a lot.” he says, peering into the bottomless pit inside the bag. You couldn’t quite see what was inside of it. “No, no. I think it’s cute, Yuuji-san! I didn’t forget how you acted in the span of 1 month, why would I be dating you if I thought you were annoying?” hoping this’ll knock some sense into him, you closely examine his body language for any changes, hoping that went through his mind. You had to make sure, the guy was dumb when it came to social cues. “Ohh, really?” he looked up, pointer finger on his chin, a confused expression covering his features. “I didn’t know, I’ll act more annoying for you then!” Smacking your forehead, you studied your shoes, too giggly to look at him eye-to-eye. “That’s not what I meant, idiot.” “...What did you mean then?” Yuuji quizzed, tilting his head to the side. You really couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, you’d think that all sport players would be brutes and be masculine and perhaps... Not stupid? But here you were. “No bother.” waving your hand as a dismissal of the conversation, you instead lean towards the bag he was holding, fluttering your eyelashes. “What’s this?” “It’s a surprise~” he responded, obviously giddy. You felt yourself soften once more, how could someone be so cute just answering a question? “Hey, come on!” tugging on his arm, you try to yank the bag away, curiosity killing you. His grasp was firm, and he laughed as you did so, it felt good to hear him laugh like that again. “Okay, okay! Fine. Here, go at it.” handing you the bag, you practically ripped the handles off, ecstatic to see what could possibly be waiting to be discovered. Inside was an incredibly large teddy bear, soft. The color was almost exactly the same shade of Yuuji’s, and you squeal, hugging the plush. “Awww! This is so cute! I woulda never believed you’re smart enough to get a good gift for me!” you joked, he caught the sarcasm this time, giving you a confident grin. He liked the compliments. “It’s supposed to be me.” placing a hand onto his chest dramatically. “I don’t know if you realized though.” Scoffing, you put the teddybear to the side. “Of course I’d realize! I’m not dumb, Yuuji-san!” “Why not? We could be dumb together! Also, there’s something extra at the very bottom that I think you’d like.” Blinking, you realized that you had completely forgotten about the bag between your legs. Looking back down and rummaging for what possibly could be there, you pull out a card. On the front, there’s a tacky lopsided heart, made with glitter glue. It seems there are also many failed attempts of starting this large heart at the sides of it. At the top, there’s a large, “Happy Valentines Day!” in red marker that was also uneven. Underneath the heart? A stick figure drawing of you and Yuuji, which was also... Pretty horrible. Stifling a giggle, you open the card, eyes scanning the left for anything, you turn to face the right as soon as you deem it clear. That’s where the writing is. Dear Y/N, I love you very much and I know I do not spend that much time with you anymore but you still make me very happy. My coach was very nice and gave me Valentines day off because he felt bad. I had to run to the nearest drugstore to get you this teddybear, but me and Mr. Coach decorated this together! He says he’s a very good drawer and I agree. I think the drawing is very detailed. He also helped me with the heart (we picked out the color together) and we had a lot of fun decorating. He says my handwriting looks really bad (is that true?) can you please help me fix it later? :( With a lot of love, Your Boyfriend and Gojo Satoru (his cool coach that helped him write this, thank me later. I have no idea how you handle this guy, but God is he such an amazing kid.) Looking back up from the card, you look at Yuuji, who is looking at you back, squeamish. Without another thought, you kiss him, soft and light ones on his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, everywhere on his face. When you finally pull away, both of you are staring at each other fondly. “Yes, I’ll help you fix your handwriting, dummy.” Yuuji gave you a toothy smile that he only saved for the special ones in his life.

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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

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Cut

Pairings: Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary: You impulsively make a change. Bucky appreciates it.

Bag of Tricks One-Shots

There was always something about women’s hair that caught Bucky’s attention.

Perhaps it was the latent memories of his sisters and ma doing their hair every night and fixing it each morning in perfect coiffed rings- something about the smell of hairspray and the curling iron, hot and sizzling, barely burnt into the ether.

Women these days probably didn’t spend as much time on their hair, Bucky thought— but well, maybe they did. The Widow changed her look every few years and The Witch spent quite a while on perfecting those waves. Regardless, he always appreciated when a gal walked by with shiny, long, locks, bouncing against her back.

He often regarded his own hair in the mirror, taking note of its length. He wondered if he should cut it again like in those old pictures, but something about the shortness made him feel insecure and too open. He liked to be covered up now—as a reminder of who he’s become.

The only time he really thought about cutting it for good was when you’d snatch it by the handfuls during a fight. It started off as a mouthy little spat where you threatened to rip out his hair for looking better than yours, then slowly transformed into actual pulling, then a few weeks later you were bold enough to use it against him.

You’d gotten him pretty good, all five fingers deep, and brought him down by slamming him against the wall. The face bruise was nothing compared to the tender welts on his scalp for the next two days.

He didn’t let himself stoop to your level, but it started becoming a signature move for you, and you were ballsy enough to try two hands. Of course, it left the rest of your body wide open and he easily kneed you the hell out of the way.

Bucky always appreciated eagerness, but sometimes you could be such a... pain.

You had pretty gorgeous hair, yourself, Bucky admitted. It was impressive: long, thick, and he couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen you fiddle with it after a shower other than wringing the hell out of it with a rough linen towel. You’d brush it loosely with your fingers and then leave it there. Somehow it dried every time into a beautiful pile of wavy locks that was envied by many female agents. You were smart enough to pull it into a tight bun before a fight, but since there was so much of it, it generally flopped out of the band anyway.

Lately it’s grown so long that it was touching your lower back and getting caught in the damndest places, like car windows and doors and the constantly shifting plates in Bucky’s metal hand. You had gotten so upset when he snagged a few strands during a routine grapple in the spaces of his knuckles; you’d stormed off the mat and slammed the door on the way out. The mental chart in Bucky’s head where he kept tally of how often you baffled him earned another strike.

Half an hour later as the last shot emptied in his pistol, he pulled his earmuffs off to find you leaning against the door, choking as he briefly wondered if he’s hallucinating. Your signature unruly mane had been completely buzzed off and left with a close crop of even dark stubble all around your crown. He couldn’t pinch it between his smallest fingers if he tried.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. I know. I got tiny little bits all over me. Let’s go wrestle. I’m so gonna kick your ass.”

“Holy shit.”

You pulled a face somewhere between disgusted and amused.

“My buzz cut getting you randy or what, dude? Jesus.”

You turned away with a suspicious eye before walking back towards the gym. Bucky easily caught up, lost in thought about how quickly a simple haircut could change not only an appearance, but someone else’s notions.

For example, he first thought about how much he missed the very specific way your hair shimmered under the fluorescent lights of the hallway— a dull shimmer, but it still did. Or how the curve in your waves would flick against your shoulders when you’d brush them out of the way. Or how lately, the tips of your hair would sway along your lower back, threatening to brush up against your bottom.

Your long hair had given you such a strange feminine grace, making all of your movements fluid and enthralling-- beautiful and strong the way ballerinas are.

But suddenly, none of that existed.

Bucky watched as you marched through the compound, surprised to see, for the first time, that your gait matched his own. People were swerving to the sides of the halls as you walked past, either balking at your lack of locks or your vicious stomping.

When he squared up in the training room, fists raised, he couldn’t help but notice that you had exceptionally thick eyelashes and such sleek and shapely brows. Even the tip of your nose and cheekbones seemed more prominent, and hell, you sported a smattering of barely-there freckles across the side of your left cheek. Bucky thought they looked like the scattering of constellations in a night sky.

He didn’t even see you coming until your weight was already thrown over his chest and he was knocked back onto the mat with you sitting on top of him, knees to the side of his face, right hand on his neck.

“You didn’t even try that time, man. Usually you catch me at least halfway.” You gave him a perturbed look, followed by a strange realization, “I’m riding your collarbones, Barnes.”

Bucky shifted beneath you, mouth hanging open ever so slightly as he crunched forward, the movement of his abs threatening to pitch you over until you felt his wide metal hand splayed out on your spine. The flesh hand palmed the side of your head, brushing over until it rested on the back of your skull, heel of it on your neck. You were surprised when his fingers continued to massage and were even more shocked when the rubbing motion started to feel so good that you leaned into his hand every which way.

He couldn’t help but touch your scalp, the bristles of short hair scrubbing against his palm. It felt so silly, but there was something so deeply liberating to see and feel your mane gone. He saw you in a completely different light- more feral and real.

It had previously shrouded you in his mind under a notion of femininity— one he attached to his sisters, to all women with long hair. It didn’t mean that you were weak, or lesser than him, it was just... something. And seeing you without it was something else.

It stirred him even more so that you had forgone any semblance of style- maybe a fringe, or a bob, a short pixie would have looked nice. Instead, you just... took it all away.

A slow strike was being carved on his baffled list once more.

Bucky pulled all the way up, sliding your body down his chest to straddle his waist with your legs.

“Uh,” you intelligently posited, glancing awkwardly at the intimate position, “What is going on?”

“Why’d you shave it all off?”

“What? Dude my buzzcut is making you randy.” You struggled against his grasp on your back, trying to free your legs until he placed his warm hand on your thigh, quieting your movements.

“I’m just wonderin’.” His voice was so soft you had to lean closer to hear it.

“I dunno,” you shrugged, “Tired of it. Bored of it. Might as well. Kept getting stuck everywhere. It’s just fuckin’ hair. And honestly, it feels great. Badass.” You swatted a few stray bits that had lingered on your shoulder, turning side-to-side. Bucky watched in awe of your striking portfolio- the gentle slope of your nose, your prominent cupid’s bow, the sharp angle of your jawline from your chin... he always thought your hair was a necessary addition to your essence, but without it, you were breathtaking.

“You are obviously a fan.” You laughed sarcastically.

He could only stutter, “Y-yeah, I am.”

You reeled back in response of his admission. Bucky’s eyes kept roaming over your face and it was honestly freaking you out. He looked like he was going to kiss you.

“Christ, Barnes, what in all of hell is--”

His lips descended on yours, the air around you shifting as Bucky sucked in deep breaths, parting and then coming back for seconds, both hands tight on your neck and even harder on your upper thigh. You pulled away, eyes absurdly wide, trying to understand the situation, “Bucky?”

He stopped, cheeks flushing bashfully as if you’d caught him red-handed elbow-deep in the communal Stark Tower cookie jar. “...’m sorry...”

You shook your head, licking your lips over the remnants of his touch, trying to catch your breath.

“You’re a great kisser, Barnes, but honestly, I really want to wrestle. I think the lack of hair is going to make me fucking slippery. Hella aerodynamic, you know?”

He laughed and cuffed you on the back of the head, spine tingling as your hair sandpapered against the inside of his wrist, “You’re on.”

As he watched you rise, your hand swiftly running up the back of your own neck, curious to feel what he felt, Bucky added a new mark to a new list of things you did to him. He mused over the subject matter- hesitant about lingering on it for too long.

You were still a pain, after all.

#bucky barnes x reader #marvel #mcu #reader insert #fanfiction #bucky barnes

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hadestownmodern · 5 years ago

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I remember one (?) of you mentioning that Eurydice once thought Junie was Orpheus' daughter. If you have the time, that fic or headcanons would be amazing!

Hi hello I wrote this last night because I agree it’s the cutest thing (I’m just a sucker for Orpheus with Junie lets be real)

-A

“Alright, remember Junie Bee, what are we doin?” Orpheus prompted his niece, holding her higher on his hip as he pulled the door to the coffee shop open. It was their Thursday tradition. Orpheus picked her up from school, took her to Dance, then did something with her until her parents got home from whatever date night activity they planned that evening. He had been doing this with her as long as she could remember, and in truth, neither of them would change it for the world.

Junie giggled, kicking her little feet in their fur boots. The weather had just turned to the crisp bite of late fall, just past half way in the semester, that had Junie bundled in little leggings and a tiny toddler cardigan over her dance leotard. “You’re gettin’ me a cookie, right ophie?” She batted long, dark eyelashes at him, bottom lip in a slight pout.

Orpheus can’t help but smile at her, and nods. “Of course you get a cookie, you did such a good job at dance! But, i’m here to do some school work, remember?” School work, and to hopefully catch the eye of a little brunette who sat dutifully in her corner, which he didn’t inform his blunt little niece of, in fear she’d walk right over to the girl and introduce herself.

“Mmhmm, you gots to write a song!” Junie announced in her sing song little voice as they passed the threshold into the coffee shop, the rich scent of coffee beans engulfing them as they did so. “It smells like daddy’s office.” She decided, waving her little head along to the beat of the music that played in the shop.

“I have to write a song, that’s right! You are so smart Junie!” Orpheus saw his corner booth, and made a beeline for it without stopping to order a drink quite yet. He hadn’t adjusted to the taste of coffee, but if he got a frappuccino with the right amount of carmel, he could trick his brain into seeing it as a milkshake. He sat their bags and his guitar on one side of the booth, settling Junie into the other. He got her coloring pages and crayons out before kissing her forehead. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Eurydice, of course, had in fact noticed Orpheus returning to the little corner shop that he seemed to frequent nearly as often as she did. She had been surrounded by an array of highlighters, making notes for a sociology exam coming the following week, when she saw him. He was hard to miss, the tall skinny man, as when he enters a room it lights up with him. There was something magnetic about him she couldn't quite understand. Until today, of course, when she watched the mystery musician walk in with a little girl in his arms.

Well, fuck.

A baby meant a mother, and even if Eurydice wasn’t making any moves on the man with the kind smile, her heart still sank at the prospect of him being unavailable. Baby means mother, and based on the fact that there hadn’t been a child with him before, she assumed that meant her mother was in the picture.

Still, she couldn’t drag her eyes away. He was exceptionally gentle, with the way he settled the curly haired little girl in the booth, brushing hairs from her eyes before he went to the register to order. She was a bit enamored, by the way his hands adjusted little curls, and flattened coloring sheets for his daughter. The little girl, too, was a cute thing. She had to be a toddler, but Eurydice hadn’t been around a child in ten years, so she couldn’t be too sure. There was something about her, too, that was oddly familiar. Maybe her mother came through the shop sometimes, too, or was in a class of hers.

She was knocked from her reverie when her favorite barista placed another mug infront of her.

“What's this, I didn’t-” She was out of hers, yes, but she couldn’t be splurging on too many coffees a day, not with finals only a few weeks away that she would certainly need to fuel for.

“Secret admirer? I dunno, but he knew your order. Then again, so does everyone. The only college girl out here drinking black coffee, one sugar.” Her barista friend teased, placing the mug in front of her.

Eurydice smiled, wrapping her fingers around the white ceramic. “Thank you. And thank whoever this was, too.”

“Already did, sunshine. Now go back to your homework and make me proud.” He waved her off before disappearing back behind the glass case of baked goods.

She smiled to herself, inhaling the rich scent of the dark roast, before picking up a pen to continue annotating.

Orpheus, meanwhile, was not lost to the way the smile crept along her face as she accepted the drink, a warm haze distracting him until the physical feeling of his hand being repeatedly smacked pulled him out.

“Ophie? I’m done, can I have my cookie?” Junie is patting his hand with one of her tiny ones, cocking her head as she looks at him. Half of the turkey sandwich remains, while the other half is mostly gone. She blinks at him innocently, flashing a little smile, before resting her head on her hands. “Peeease?” She pleads, sticking her bottom lip out in a pout.

Orpheus sits his guitar to the side and just shakes his head. “Of course, bug. Here. You can take this for lunch tomorrow, deal?” He wraps the triangle sandwich in the white deli paper, and tucks it into his bag to drop off with Junie later that evening. In the same motion he pulls out the chocolate chip cookie, which dwarfs Junie’s face in size.

“Here buggy, don’t chocolate on your sweater.” He warns, placing the unwrapped confection in front of her.

He picks up his guitar and strums a few more strings, looking up to see the dark haired woman returning to her seat, though he isn’t sure from where. Junie is crawling into his lap before he knows it, cookie still in hand.

“Hold me.” She demands as she settles herself on one of his knees, leaning her back into his arm.

Orpheus doesn’t miss a beat, holding her with his less dominant arm, and he continues to support the guitar and keep playing, struggling to strum the words to accompany this melody together. He had a few weeks until that final, but he wanted to be ready. Songwriting for Orpheus did not happen overnight.

“Do you like my song, June Bug?” He begins to ask after a few tries, glancing down at Junie. To his shock she is asleep against his chest, one hand still clutching the cookie that now melted in her fingers. Orpheus begins to extract it, to save it for tomorrow as well, when another drink appears infront of him, as well.

“What-”

“From your muse over there, lover boy.”

Orpheus stumbles over words of thanks, skin glowing a shade of red that begins to match the pink crayon Junie had covered her paper in.

Across the shop, Eurydice watches the poet with the little girl, and grins to herself.

#hadestown modern #hadestown modern au #orpheus #eurydice #junie tag #annika writes #i'm soft as fuck #Anonymous

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mysaldate · 5 years ago

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About chapter 183...

Manga spoilers for KnY under the cut, just need to rant for a bit.

And so the time has come for KnY to fall down the rabbit hole so many other shonen series did. And it’s a damn shame. Up until the current arc, while there were a few slip-ups, Kimetsu no Yaiba was an amazing series that had cunning and powerful villains, realistic (within limits of man-eating demons and magical fighting styles) obstacles to overcome, one that paid attention to injuries of its characters and made a great deal about showing us the limits to human power.

HOWEVER

Ever since the Infinity train arc, something has been a little... different. The Infinity train arc was what started the very very annoying trend of downplaying a villain that was accidentally made too strong rather than actually dealing with his power and coming up with clever ways to overcome them. Enmu is estabilished early on as an excellent strategist. He came up with a way to use his blood demon art so subtly not even a demon slayer hashira suspected a thing, he made human lackeys since he knew the slayers would never kill a human and he even fused with the train to be hard to kill. All of this is excellent set-up for what could be an incredibly interesting fight. Except... it was not. Because rather than having to work out his plan, Enmu simply... made a slip of tongue? Let Tanjiro in on his plan? And completely forgot about Nezuko and didn’t notice when the other slayers woke up? A character smart enough to come up with such an amazing and smart plan? Yeah, something is off.

And let me tell you, it did NOT get better overall.

There were minor highlights. The Red-light district arc was beautifully crafted and the fight was won on a relativelly reasonable conditions (except for Uzui being totally overpowered but that’s something less irritating than what they’re doing now). The fight with Hantengu and Gyokko had several Mary-Sue moments but no downplaying on the villains’ side. The Pillar Training arc had no major fight but it was a really good way to show the growth of our characters. Even in the current arc, there were good moments. The fight with Akaza was very satisfying and enjoyable even and the conclusion to it was perfect. Sadly, everything else about this arc is not.

The premise here, again, is outrageously good. Being trapped in the Infinity Fortress with Muzan and all his Upper Moons is a beautiful concept that could’ve made for SO. DAMN. MUCH. of interesting fights, character-building moments and terrifyingly epic power show-downs. And instead, it just rings hollow.

The main issue with this arc is how awfully downplayed Muzan and most of his demons were. The author suddenly decided to ignore a lot of what has been estabilished about Muzan, Nakime and their abilities in particular. Of course, Douma, Kaigaku and Kokushibou also got downplayed horribly but really, what pissed me off the most was Muzan and Nakime suddenly losing or forgetting about their abilities.

Look, I love KnY and I love the good side – or parts of it anyway. Tanjiro is a near perfect character, the first protagonist ever to actually pull me in and get me to cheer for him. Nezuko is, after Makai ouji’s Sitri, first character meant to be cute and actually striking me as such. I even came to like Inosuke to a certain extent. Yushiro and Tamayo were one of my favourites the moment they first walked on screen. The hashiras are a little wacky and I still think some of them are just completely unneccesary or wasted potential and I still find Zenitsu horribly cringy and annoying but if there ever was a series where I wanted the protagonist to achieve their goal, it’s this one. And that’s another reason why I’m so dissatisfied with what I’m getting.

And chapter 183 is exceptionally bad for such a huge multitude of reasons.

First of all, there’s Yushiro making up a plan against Nakime. Nakime, as we’ve been shown multiple times, knows of everything that happens in the Infinity Fortress. She can transfer people she doesn’t even see and she can send multiple people to various locations at once. Yet, Yushiro was somehow able to come up with a plan, share it with Mitsuri and actually go through with it, all without her noticing. At all. Because she suddenly turned blind for that one spot of the Fortress or something. And even if Yushiro used his illussionary ability, he still had to share the plan with Mitsuri. So there should be no way she wasn’t aware.

That’s another thing as well. As far as we are aware, it was Nakime’s job to keep the slayers separated. Again, she knows of everything happening in there. She knew about the other Upper Moons getting to a disadvantage. She knew about them being close to dying. And yet, she did nothing to get them away or to move the slayers out of their presence, she couldn’t move her hand and play a note on her biwa and just send them all anywhere else? Anyone else feeling cheated yet? Well buckle up because it gets even worse.

Because now we get to Muzan. And, yeah, remember the Demon Moons meetings? Remember that he can just snatch anyone’s head off, both lethally and non-lethally? Yeah, good thing you do because he doesn’t! Does this affect only demons? He still could’ve killed Yushiro ON THE SPOT. Does it only affect demons created by him? Still cool, he could’ve snatched Nakime’s head off without killing her and take Yushiro’s seal off her eye. But no, instead he’s not gonna do anything of that. He’s gonna mind-fight Yushiro inside her head and then he’s gonna kill her. And not even immediatelly kill like he killed Mukago or Kamanue or Rokuro, no, he will let her die slowly so Yushiro can keep using her power.

Remember when he pumped his blood into people by shoving a finger or a hand through their head? Well, good thing you do, because, yes you guessed it, HE DOESN’T. He scratched Tanjiro’s eye out and he that’s it. This is the demon who’s supposedly the most powerful demon EVER. And the most damage he’s done so far is scratch Tanjiro’s eye.

Remember when he could grab anyone from anywhere in the Fortress like he did with Wakuraba? Well, he doesn’t remember that either. He doesn’t NEED Nakime to access any place in the Fortress. He can get in and out as he pleases without needing her biwa AT ALL. He has more control over the place than Nakime herself. But guess what, we’re going to ignore all of that because if we actually stuck with the abilities estabilished for him, our heroes might need to think before they act and come up with clever plans and maybe there might even be some ACTUAL loss!

You know, not just a supporting character-type of loss! You know, like a loss of a character we really, whole-heartedly care about! A character we were given enough time to come to like and enjoy and support! A character we saw grow and get developed! How horrible!

Let it be known now that while the Infinity Fortress arc blessed me with countless (actually there’s somewhere below 500, I counted) pictures of my sweetheart Douma and gave me the TamaYushi angst I longed for, I still find it to be the worst arc KnY has had so far.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe all of this is a part of Muzan’s masterplan. Maybe he’s actually far more cunning and terrifying that we thought and we’re yet to see his true potential. But I seriously doubt that.

If anything like this is revealed, if we get to see any sort of reasoning for why nobody seems to have a brain anymore, I will gladly take this rant back and apologize but I kind of don’t feel like that will happen. This whole arc feels incredibly rushed and like the author just wants to be done with this series. It’s no longer the gem it was when it started and you can’t feel the love poured into every frame like it used to be. It’s just meeting the similar end as DGM.

How ironic that when I saw the first episode, my first initial thought was “Oh, this is just DGM for the new generation!” Now it seems KnY will meet the same fate, downplaying its villains, disregarding the rules it estabilished in its own universe, boring its creator and disappointing the more demanding parts of its audience.

To put it as simply as possible, there is no way the Demon Slayer Corps should be getting off this easily and there is no way Muzan and all his demons would be this stupid if they have already survived for long long centuries. Muzan doesn’t need Nakime and he doesn’t need his twelve demon Moons, he did just fine before he got them. So him suddenly forgetting about his powers and options is especially disheartening and irritating. At this point, we can only hope the creator realizes this and makes SOME effort to fix these mistakes otherwise, well, there goes another great series, ruined and corrupted by nothing but the bad writing and the author not knowing how to (or not bothering to, pick your favourite) make smart plans without disregarding their own characters’ abilities and parts of what makes them what they are. Muzan was written as an extremely powerful enemy, a cunning master of all things evil, a nightmare in human (or demon) form, something ancient and terrifying and able to spawn centuries of troubles for everyone around without ever – except for the one time – losing the upper hand. And that one time, he was STILL able to make it out alive and well.

Well, this was one extremely long rant and if you’ve read this far, kudos and a cookie to you. I may be expecting too much of a shonen series but am I really? Is it too much to ask for keeping some damn consistency at least in your characters if you can’t even be bothered to research for your timeline properly? The more I look into the Infinity Fortress arc, the more sudden plotholes and mistakes I find and the sadder it all gets. It’s like the author no longer has the strength to keep up the high quality series they started and if that’s actually the case, maybe a hiatus would be a better option than forcing themselves to continue and possibly ruin their entire franchise with a rushed and plothole-filled event.

On a slightly related note, you know what would be the one thing that would make me drop my jaw to the floor? A plottwist of unseen scale. Something on par with literally everything since the Infinity Train arc being STILL just a dream. Something on par with “Muzan” as he is now being actually the new Upper Five while the real Muzan stands back and enjoys the show. Something on par with this “Muzan” being just an illussion or a projection of something, or someone, who’s been in the Fortress this whole time while the real Muzan heads over to Urokodaki’s place to devour Nezuko. Or something even crazier. If you have any ideas, damn hit me with them, I want to hear all you have to say and feed this little flame of hope that this series is not yet entirely lost!

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu manga #kimetsu no yaiba spoiler #chapter 183 spoilers #infinity fortress spoilers

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lamptracker · 5 years ago

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FIC: Counting Down the Days, part 2

Pairing: Peter Parker/Female Reader

Inspo: “Cancer” by My Chemical Romance

Summary: While visiting a children’s hospital as his alter ego Spider-Man, Peter meets a girl his age. She’s sweet, she’s smart, she’s funny… and she’s dying of cancer. When she laments the fact that she probably won’t get to live long enough to have the typical teenage experiences of prom and a boyfriend, Peter offers to fill those roles for her.

Part summary: Peter tells the reader what it felt like when he got Snapped.

Warnings: Talk of death. The usual cursing (he is from Queens). Endgame spoiler. Making fun of soccer moms who want to talk to the manager.

Tagged: @flokidottir-imagines-br @babyplutoszx2 @musiclover1263 @judemoos @drxgxnslxyer @hollanderheart @thequeensardine @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell @captainbuckyy @xxtomxo @deleteidentity @yessterekthings @itsyaspacemom @parrkerspeters @starksparker

Part 1

“Alrighty,” Peter said, webbing (y/n)’s hospital room door shut and peeling off his mask. “One cinnamon chai latte for you, one white chocolate mocha for me.”

“Ew, white chocolate?”

“You’re judging me. This is supposed to be a judgment-free zone, (y/n).”

“Please, Peter. This is a hospital, not Planet Fitness.”

Peter just shook his head and laughed as he handed (y/n) her latte. They’d been texting back and forth over the last couple of days, getting to know each other a little better. She asked to see pictures of his friends; he happily obliged (after telling them what he was up to - sort of, in most cases).

“That’s my best friend Ned,” Peter said, pointing at the pictures he was projecting on the wall from his suit. “He knows I’m Spider-Man too, him and MJ. He’s in Robotics Club and Academic Decathlon with me. That’s his girlfriend Betty, she’s on Student Council and she reads the announcements every morning. This is Michelle, also known as the aforementioned MJ. She’s on Academic Decathlon too. There’s Abe, and that’s Brad, and… oh, good, I see Flash found the phone that’s not built into my suit today.”

“Wow, that is exceptionally rude,” (y/n) said, squinting.

“Karen,” Peter muttered, “delete that.”

“Deleting,” Karen said as the photo disappeared; (y/n) laughed loudly.

“So wait, you’re friends with a dude named Flash?”

Peter scoffed loudly. “Not friends,” he muttered, “he’s been bullying me since the third grade. Did you know, (y/n), that he gave himself that nickname because his real name is Eugene?”

(Y/n) cracked up laughing. “Eugene?!” she exclaimed. “Well, fun fact, I went to school with a kid named Elmer. Heir to the McCormick spice fortune, and about as smart as a container of Italian seasoning too.”

Peter just shook his head. “Elmer,” he muttered as he and (y/n) started to sip their coffees.

“Wow,” (y/n) said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a good cup of coffee. The stuff here tastes like it was brewed with dish soap.”

Peter made a face. “We have a coffee pot, but I never drink coffee at home. I love my aunt May, I really do, but cooking is not her forte. And, unfortunately, that includes coffee. I’ve taught myself how to cook some things. Make a pretty mean chocolate chip cookie.”

“Well, I may have to try one of those sometime.” (Y/n) sipped her latte. “This almost feels like a real coffee date, y’know?”

Peter smiled. “Karen, open Spotify and play my Coffeehouse Favorites playlist, please?”

“Sure, Peter.” The air was soon filled with soft, jazzy music.

“Very nice!” (y/n) exclaimed. “Now we just need the middle-aged suburban mom with her may-I-speak-to-the-manager haircut complaining that her cappuccino isn’t foamy enough.”

“Well, I can’t reproduce that, but I can try.” Peter cleared his throat, next speaking in a weird sort of high-pitched voice. “I asked for light foam, does this look light to you??”

(y/n) giggled. “And there are 47 bubbles, I asked for 49. How hard is it to put 49 bubbles in my cappuccino foam?”

And then, in unison, they said: “Where is your manager?”

They both burst into laughter.

“I gotta tell you,” (y/n) said, “that I’ve only known you for, what, three days? And I’ve laughed more in this three days than I have in the last three years. You’re just… you’re so fun to be around. You come here to cheer people up, right? Guess what, Pete… it’s working.”

Peter smiled warmly at her. “Good, I’m glad.”

“Part of me wishes I’d met you earlier,” (y/n) said wistfully. “You know, before I got sick this last time. We could have had so much more time together. But… but I’m almost glad I met you when I did. Being faced with your own mortality really sucks, it’s nice to have a friend.”

“You know the Snap?” Peter said; (y/n) nodded. “I was one of the ones that got snapped.”

“Honestly? When it happened, I wish I’d been snapped. But… then everyone came back. So either way, I’d have to deal with this.” She gestured vaguely at the wires hooked up to various parts of her body. “But the nice part about that was, you didn’t know it was coming. You know? Like it just… happened. You didn’t have to suffer through it.”

“I knew.”

(y/n)’s eyes widened in shock. “You what?”

Peter swallowed thickly. “I knew what was happening. Because of my powers, my senses are, just, super heightened. I feel everything differently than everyone else. So yeah, for everyone else that got snapped, it was quick and painless but for me? I felt everything.”

(y/n)’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, God. What… what was that like? I mean, if you want to talk about it, if not I totally get it.”

Peter sighed. He knew one day he’d have to talk about it. He was kind of hoping he’d never have to. But, if it would help (y/n) feel better, he was willing to push his fear aside.

“Terrifying,” he finally replied. “I was terrified. I felt helpless, alone. Mr. Stark was right there, that helped me feel less alone. Physically it was weird, I could feel myself disintegrating. It wasn’t unbearably painful, but it was pretty uncomfortable. And then my soul just got… I don’t know, transported? Maybe? Sure, transported to the soul world. And it was five years, but it felt like five hours, it was really weird. But then… then I came back. I guess that’s the difference, though, I got to come back.”

(y/n) smiled. “Wow,” she said. “It’s nice to finally meet someone that knows what I’m going through. I’ve been faced with death over half my life and it scares me. I’ve felt so alone. But… now I don’t feel so alone anymore.” She reached over, gently grasping his still-gloved hand.

Peter gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Glad to help.” He smiled at her again. “Um, that latte is getting cold. I don’t want to have to go get the manager.”

“Young man!” (y/n) exclaimed, in her fake customer voice. “This went down to 102 degrees, it needs to be at least 115!”

They burst into laughter yet again.

“What was it like, in the soul world?” (Y/n) asked softly.

Peter shrugged. “Wasn’t so bad. I didn’t feel anything physically. But internally, I felt very at peace. I… I got to see my parents and my Uncle Ben again. But they didn’t get to come back, that’s how the quantum thing worked. If you were dead before the Snap, you stayed dead. You know? But they got to tell me they were proud of me, that made me feel a lot better. I had this overwhelming, just… what was I so afraid of? This isn’t so bad. Then I realized that the thing I was scared of was the uncertainty. What’s happening to me? Where am I going to end up? That’s the part that got me. But once I got there… it was okay.”

“That makes me feel a lot better. Thanks, Peter.” She squeezed his hand again. “So what do I do now?”

“I… I don’t really know. What do you think you should do?”

“I think I should make the most of the time I have left,” (y/n) answered. “Not dwell on the dying part so much, focus on the living part. I know that sounds like all the schlocky bullshit they spout out in movies and whatnot but… but maybe there’s some good advice hidden in that.”

Peter just nodded solemnly.

“So,” (y/n) said, gulping down the last of her latte, “any plans this weekend?”

“I… oh, maybe. Karen, what’s my schedule this weekend?”

“You have an Academic Decathlon competition in Albany this weekend, be at the school by 5pm packed and ready to get on the bus. Estimated return time is 8pm Saturday.”

“And I’m co-captain with MJ this year,” Peter said, “so my presence is definitely required. I’ll get you a postcard or something though. And then I should probably do my rounds after I get home, and then I think I’m free Sunday.”

“New event added to calendar by Bruce Banner,” Karen said, “meeting at Avengers Tower at 2pm on Sunday.”

Peter chuckled. “...and I’ll try to stop by after that. If not, I will for sure Monday. But I’ll text you whenever I can, okay?”

“Sounds good.” (y/n) smiled. “Hey, thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Everyone that comes in here thinks they need to walk on eggshells around me, not bring up the D word or whatever, you know? Thank you for not doing that. Thank you for treating me like I’m just an average everyday kid, and not an average everyday kid that happens to be walking around with a commuted sentence.”

Peter grinned at her. “Hey, anytime.”

“In a weird way,” (y/n) continued, “I’m almost glad I got sick.”

“Why’s that?” Peter asked, nose scrunched in confusion.

She smiled softly at him. “It brought me you.”

Peter could feel a blush creep over his cheeks as he searched for something to say. He settled for squeezing her hand again and replying, “I’m glad I met you too. Sucks it wasn’t sooner, but… better late than never, y’know?”

“Better late than never.” She grinned at him before releasing his hand. “Talk to you soon?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #counting down the days

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jamesbvck · 6 years ago

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change your mind | one

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Modern AU, High School!Bucky) Summary: Senior Year: the last year to be a somebody or a nobody. A chance to fall in love, ace that final exam and make memories. After a terrible first impression, Bucky makes it his mission to fix the mistake he made with the new girl. Will they get their chance? Warnings: swearing, teen drinking, smoking, mention of drugs A/N: Hello! Welcome to a new Bucky story! A few notes: this story is totally meant to have a cheesy, extra teen movie vibe. Also, Bucky has short hair in this fic. Feedback in encouraged!

CYM MASTERLIST | NEXT

Forty-five minutes outside of New York City sits a quaint town called Valhalla. The oak trees are tall and mature, the rows of houses sit one by one identical to the next. Banners hang in store windows exclaiming the town’s pride and joy of their local high school football team. Neighbours are friendly and smiles are bright. This was your new home, at least for a little while.

The final moving box was placed in the corner on top of an old dresser that had been passed down through generations. The large bay window streamed in afternoon sunlight and warmed the room. This was it, another new beginning. You were used to it by now; new town, new school, new people to stare at you in the hallways. You weren’t a stranger to introducing yourself over and over again, retelling your story of how you had been now to five schools in seven years. No place was truly a home though this time your mother promised this new job of hers was a means to an end. You wanted to believe her, truly you did, but the consequence was that it truly didn’t matter. You were going into your senior year of high school and any friends you could hopefully make would move off to college and disappear. It was bittersweet.

A slow, deep breath exhaled through your nose as your eyes explored the room. It was forest green, not your ideal colour so painting was on the to do list. For now it was unpacking and getting familiar with the neighbourhood. Your packing mainly consisted of unpacking t-shirts and mostly laying on your bed with your phone. You decided that perhaps it was best to take a walk. Your mother was busying herself with kitchen boxes and hummed along to Rick Springfield. The doorbell chimed through the home. Your mother perked up in curiosity, hurriedly making her way to answer the door.

Neighbours, you thought. And were correct. Your mother loved meeting the neighbours.

She welcomed them inside, already there was laughter and smiles. You sighed hearing your name being called. This was cake walk but you weren’t necessarily ready to meet people today after you had driven days from Indiana. So, you emerged from the kitchen.

“There she is!”

In the makeshift living room stood three individuals with welcoming smiles on their face. They looked like a family from a catalog, prim and proper.

“Sweetheart, our neighbours have kindly stopped by. These are the Carter’s: Arthur, Polly and their daughter Peggy. She’s goes to Valhalla.”

Here was the thing about being new: you had to be open to people or else it was going to be hard to adapt. High school was hard enough especially bouncing around from state to state, but there was always one person that could make it worthwhile. So you plastered on your most friendly smile and waved to them. The Carter’s waved in return and Polly Carter began to speak.

“It’s always nice to have new people in the neighbourhood. The previous homeowners were a little less than kind.” Polly commented with a pristine British accent. That caught you off guard for a moment but her voice was soothing.

“Why don’t you show Peggy around?” Your mother was beaming. She liked when you had friends around. She always wanted you to have new experiences.

You nodded and Peggy followed you. It was a quick tour through to the kitchen and a glimpse of the backyard before you took Peggy upstairs: mom’s room, bathroom, tiny guest spot and then, finally, your domain.

“I’m guessing you didn’t paint your room this horrendous green colour?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Absolutely not.”

“Good. I would have questioned your sensibility.”

Peggy offered to unbox your books as you continued with your clothes. She was terrific help alphabetizing the titles and making sure it was pleasing to the eye. You hadn’t met anyone like Peggy before; she was smart, humourous with hints of sarcasm and she seemed like one tough cookie. Not to mention her beauty was incredible. She dressed in soft pink structured shorts with a white blouse that had the tiniest black polka dots on them. Her brown hair had soft waves and with a beret clipping back bangs. Her lipstick even matched her shorts.

“Five schools in seven years?” Peggy’s perfectly arched brows nearly rose to her hairline as she glanced over her shoulder. “That’s exhausting.”

“It’s not at bad as it sounds.”

It wasn’t, not really. You never got too attached to things to begin with. The only thing constant in your life was good music, books, and movies. Sure, the packing and driving across state lines was taxing but it didn’t kill you.

Peggy finished with the book boxes and you finished folding the last t-shirt. You made a good team and thanked your new friend for helping you out.

“Do you think you could show me around? I was going to go out and explore before you and your parents arrived.” You never had a tour guide in new place before. You sort of just went with the flow and read whatever you could online. Peggy agreed, expression vibrant as she nearly pulled you out the door.

The rows of lookalike houses ended at a park with a jungle gym and splash pad. Children were running around and laughing, soaking in their last few days of summer. On paper and in person this town was shaping up to be something from a novel you had once read: colourful, lively and welcoming.

“I was an exchange student freshman year. My parents thought it’d be a great time for me to explore another place. At first I didn’t want to leave home, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to make friends and fit in,” Peggy told her story. “Luckily I’ve been able to become friends with some lovely people, and my parents had decided to move to America as well.”

Peggy’s dad worked for a large corporation that had headquarters in New York, California, England and France. She had lucked out in being able to stay and probably live through a high school experience. You admired her for that.

You and Peggy walked in a loop and found the quickest route to your new school: Valhalla High School, home of the Panthers. The school was exceptionally large from the outside and from what you could see their football field was top notch accompanied with a scoreboard and a vast metal grandstand for spectators. You had read it was a football town, state champions five years in a row. Impressive, really. There were a few boys out in the field tossing the football around with one of them howling about something. Your eyes lingered on the old 1940s architecture for another moment.

“I was terrified when I first walked in those doors,” Peggy caught your attention. “I wished I had someone to help me navigate, so I always said I would help someone who was in my shoes. Valhalla’s a great school with some good people. You just have to weed out the dim ones. I’ve already done that for you.”

You laughed. That might have solved some of your issues but you still had to deal with the other ninety-five percent of people that attended the school. But you were thankful, hopefully they would like you like Peggy seemed to.

It truly turned into a friendship between you and Peggy. All week she showed you her favourite spots like the bookstore she liked to get lost in. There were a few corner stores, some food joints and a bowling alley up the road. She told you about Happy Hogan’s Diner, a place her and her friends visited quite frequently. It was the hottest spot in town besides Thunder Bowling Alley. Peggy stayed for dinner multiple nights and you lounged in her immaculately clean and organized bedroom. It was an easy and quick friendship and you were beyond content. Maybe it wasn’t going to be such a strange school year afterall.

“There’s a party happening tomorrow, a ‘last summer hooray’ as some of my friends say,” Peggy’s tone was easy, unsure if you were into that sort of thing. You had been to your fair share of high school parties, so another one couldn’t hurt. “My friend Natasha wants to meet you.”

“Sure, Peggy,” you smiled with a nod. “Sounds like fun.”

Peggy hadn’t spoken much about her friends. Some of them were coming back from summer end vacations or were busy working most days.

You must have stared at your closet for thirty minutes. Time was ticking down as to when Peggy was going to come get you and you had zero clue what to wear. It wasn’t some fancy party, you thought. It was summer, still plenty humid and sticky. You would be just fine in shorts and a tank top. You hated to admit it, but you did want to make some sort of good impression. These people were going to be your peers! High school was tricky; one slip up and it’s talked about for a solid month. You dragged your hand down your face, quickly deciding on a romper and pulled it on. That was fine, it was cute and the outfit made you feel good. After a few more finishing touches, Peggy was downstairs accompanied by your mother who was telling her some story about the 80s and a party she had went to.

Peggy wore a red wrap dress with flecks of white lines. They almost looked like cupcake sprinkles, nonetheless you decided that your new friend could pull anything off and look fantastic. “Ready?” you asked, taking the last step down the stairs. Peggy grinned. “I know, mom, be safe and don’t talk to creepy men.”

“As long as you know.” You mother placed a kiss to your forehead, telling you to have fun.

Peggy promised the walk wasn’t too long (it was precisely a 26 minute uphill walk, but you refrained from complaining) and you ended up in a beautiful neighbourhood you had not explored yet. The homes were wealthy looking, the curb appeal was bougie and the expensive cars in the driveways clearly indicated that this had to be the cash zone of the town.

“Whose house is this?” You were curious, eyes wide.

“Family friend, the Starks.”

You followed her up the delicately laid pavers to the frosted glass front door. Already you could feel the music vibrating the frame of the home (more like mansion). Peggy swung open the door and the bass of the song playing struck your core. There seemed to be an infinity worth of people gathered inside and pouring outside into the rolling backyard. You stuck close to Peggy as she maneuvered through the gaggle of teenagers. You couldn’t help but dart your eyes in each direction of the place; wall to wall, ceiling to floor. The two of you broke free once there was a gap and you found yourself in the grand kitchen. There were munchies splayed on the marble island, open bottles of Coke and Sprite, empty beer cans, liquor bottles and some unmentionables.

“Figured you’d be in here.”

Sitting on the countertop was a redhead with hair cropped at her shoulders. She wore all black and a solo cup was dangling from her fingers. Her eyes were soft for Peggy yet death defying when they flickered to you. Damn, this girl could kill you with just one look.

“This your new friend you’ve been raving about?”

Peggy nodded, moving on to introductions. “This is Natasha, or Nat.”

“You got a preference?” You asked her.

Natasha shrugged, solo cup to lips. “Not particularly.” She stared for another for moments. You felt like you were silently being interrogated and you already knew never to piss Natasha off. Ever. “What do you drink?”

“Anything but tequila.”

“Probably a smart decision.” Natasha hopped off the counter and whipped up whiskey and coke, handing it over to you with what you think might have been a smile. You weren’t entirely sure but it was something. You tipped the cup to her in appreciation, then took a long swig of the alcoholic mixture.

Peggy had her arms lightly folded over her chest, pushing herself on the tips of her toes to look around. That’s when you saw Natasha smirk. “He’s outside playing beer pong with the boys. ”

You peaked interest, looking between each of them. Nothing was said but you could see Peggy had blushed. “Naturally.” She murmured.

The mixture of music kept you moving. It was a completely random compilation of old school rock mixed with new hip hop, 90s classics and disco hits. It should have been something to complain about but in fact it all weirdly worked together. Whoever was in charge had an ear for this sort of thing. You mainly stuck around with the girls, meeting a few people as you weaved through the home. You met the party host, at least briefly. Tony Stark was a guy with a devilish smirk and had an ego that radiated off of him. There were few words spoken before he was distracted by a group of three girls wearing the bare minimum of clothing and had some colourful pills. Peggy had rolled her eyes and Natasha had somehow swiped a half drank bottle of vodka from a passerby.

“I’m not drunk enough for a Stark party.” She tossed the cap and gulped down the clear liquid. You winced wondering if it burned her throat. She didn’t seem fazed.

“Where’s the bathroom?” You called to Peggy. She pointed you up the stairs and to the right, and informed you that they’d probably be outside.

You slipped away and took the dark hardwood steps up to the second floor. There were people in the hallway chatting, a couple aggressively making out, and a girl was already crying about God knows what. You slipped into the bathroom thankful there’s wasn’t a porno scene occurring. You locked the door and sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. This party was a little more extreme then previous house parties you had been too For starters, the house. Never in your life had you been in a place so colossal. There were probably a zillion rooms you hadn’t visited. But the vibe was the same. The party really wasn’t that bad. Everyone so far was decent, there wasn’t any unnecessary fights with testosterone filled boys to prove their manhood. You looked in the bottom of your cup seeing less than a sip left. Natasha had made you three of these and each time they got better; you felt pretty good. You checked yourself in the mirror before exiting the bathroom.

Finding your way to the backyard was less than a task and you weren’t even surprised seeing a ginormous pool, hot tub, and tables set up for flip cup and beer pong. There were a sea of people surrounding the area. Honestly, was the whole teenage population of Valhalla in Tony Stark’s backyard?

You began to search again, avoiding being smacked with a blown up beach ball and smushed by bodies. The smell of marijuana was potent, thick clouds as you passed a group of stoners. Your phone vibrated twice with an incoming text.

Peggy Carter: Where are you?

You squeezed passed two sweaty, drunk bodies and fumbled with your phone. You hit reply, letters incorrect as you tried to tell her that you were by the hot tub. You were struck forcefully in a head on collision. You bounced back, falling into a few people. The front of you was entirely soaked with beer; face dampened and phone flown from your hands.

“What the fuck?”

A kind stranger had brought you back onto your feet. You were drenched. You looked up seeing two guys, one appearing to be less than amused with the situation. He was clad in a letterman’s jacket, short coiffed hair and he smelled of beer and booze.

“Watch where you’re fucking walk!” You shouted at him.

“You talkin’ to me?”

“Let me see: douchebag who spilled his drink on me… Yeah I'm talking to you.”

Now he was intrigued. A smug lopsided grin was pulling at his lips. “What’s your name, dollface?”

“Fuck you.” You cursed, snatching your phone from the too perfect lush grass.

“You gotta at least buy me dinner first. I ain’t cheap,” he quipped. He took a moment to explore your chest. “The wet t-shirt contest doesn’t start for another ten minutes but I think we already have a winner.”

His pathetic and gross comment got a few howls from other guys. Some people had their phones in hands, some whispering and pointing. You were on display; a pedestal that you really didn’t want to be on tonight especially like this. Your clothes were soggy, reeking of beer and now you were in a foul mood. You immediately removed yourself from the entire situation and attempted to cover your body with your arms. Okay, this party turned out fucking awful.

You could hear him call after you with a mixture of laughter and profanity. Peggy’s voice echoed through the street. You wanted to stomp home but she hadn’t done anything wrong. Your pace slowed and Peggy’s sandals slapped against the pavement to catch up.

“Are you alright? I am so sorry.” Peggy was frowning, taking in your poor appearance.

“You didn’t do anything,” you shook your head, letting out a half hearted laugh in hopes she’d let it go. “Go back to the party. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s okay…” Peggy shifted. Something in her own eyes looked sad about something else. “Wasn’t having too great of a time and now I’d rather watch a movie and eat pizza.”

You wanted to ask her what happened, but the look in her eye said not to. So you began to walk again, motioning for Peggy to follow. “What’s a good pizza place around here? We’ll get extra cheese on them.”

Before you knew it, the first day of school approached and like all the years before, you were plagued with nerves. You tacked it up to be that this was the final year before the rest of your life, as your mother would say anyway. And it was a new school. But you had Peggy, and possibly Natasha. You weren’t too sure but you think she liked you, Peggy said she did. There was no real dress code minus the banishment of spaghetti strapped shirts and short shorts, so you were pretty safe clothing wise. Shorts and a t-shirt were going to work perfectly. You tugged on a t-shirt that dipped pretty low. Your chest wasn’t out on display but there was visible minimal cleavage apparent. Slowly your face faltered, remembering the wet t-shirt comment that asshole had made. It shouldn’t have affected you, yet here you were flinging out t-shirts that covered your skin more.

Shoes on and backpack zipped, you were out the door. Peggy was waiting at the corner, waving as you approached. She took you on the quick route to school chatting the entire way. The school grounds were absolute mayhem: parents dropping off their kids, freshman already lost and confused, bundles of students crowding the parking lot and stairs. You stuck to Peggy closely when you headed in through the front doors. She lead you to your locker and made sure you got into it okay.

“So your history class will down the hall, turn right and it’s the third door. English Lit on the second floor, then I’ll see you at lunch.”

You yanked open the blue painted metal door, slipping off your bag and took out some notebooks. “Thanks, Peggy, for everything.”

She smiled, waving it off. “Don’t be late for lunch!”

You sorted out your locker when Peggy left, taking out your notebooks for the first two classes. This high school was a lot more boisterous compared to your previous one. You glanced around observing your now peers crowding the hallway. Suddenly the students parted like the red sea. Your brows furrowed at the scene; students squishing themselves against each other and lockers. There were a group of four boys clad in Valhalla Panthers letterman jackets. You blinked a few times trying to figure out if they were actually walking in slow motion or if you had seen way too many shitty teen movies. You could practically hear Thin Lizzy’s The Boys Are Back in Town playing. The boy in the front was blonde, had nearly perfect skin, and a model’s jawline that could cut someone. His smile was angelic.

The one on his left had Denzel eyes, a toothy grin and confidence that oozed from him. He stood tall, upper body fit and well built. Tall, dark, and handsome was an understatement. The farthest one appeared slightly older, had a sloppy smile but overall didn’t appear to care too much. He had some rips in his jeans, converse dirty and drumsticks tucked into his back pocket. Then it was him: douchebag boy from Stark’s party. Immediately resentment bubbled in your stomach and you wanted to lay a firm punch against his jaw to knock off his stupid Ray Bans he was wearing inside. You turned away, not bothering to stare any longer.

You gathered your supplies and checked the time: two minutes until the bell rang. You shut the door, startled by douche boy resting against the lockers. He remove his sunglasses, looking at you. “You’re the girl from the party right? The one I said should win the—“

“What do you want?” You latched on the padlock and began to stalk away. He was quick, keeping in time with your pacing.

“I wanted to apologize,” he started. You scoffed. “Honest. Look I was a fucking jerk. I was drunk and didn’t even know what I was saying. Sometimes I say stupid shit.”

He fixed his immaculate coiffed hair which you knew he spent more than five minutes on. You didn’t care for his apology or whatever else he had to say. The bell rang and kids started to scatter. “You done? I gotta go to class.”

You darted away, going into your history class. You were one of the first ones in, taking a seat in the third row by the window. He followed, persistent as hell and occupied the seat next to yours. You shot a glare.

“I don’t care for your apology so you can get lost and go to class.”

He chuckled, setting his sunglasses on the desktop and took out a pen from his pocket. “This is my class.”

“Fuck off.”

You weren’t in the mood for boys and their desperation for a girl’s attention. It was pathetic and he seemed pretty dense.

“You think I’m jokin’?” He flipped open his spiral spine notebook and took out a folded piece of paper handing it to you. You snatched it, unfolding it. Low and behold there it was, first period AP American History in room 109.

When was the deadline to switch classes?

You also couldn’t help but notice he had AP Physics in the afternoon. Your forehead crinkled at the thought that this guy who made a sexist comment could have some intellect. There was no fucking way.

The door slammed shut causing you to jolt at the sudden noise. You dropped the paper back down on the boy’s desk catching his facial expression flounder. His shoulders became rigid and he looked pissed off.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, grumbling to himself.

Your attention turned back to the older man who wore a grey suit. Chalk screeched down the board with the name MR A. PIERCE in all capitals. The room’s chatter was quickly tabled as he turned around and surveyed the classroom. He unbuttoned his suit and stuck his hands into his pants beginning to pace behind his desk.

“As you can see, I am not Mr Phillips. Due to an accident, I will be your teacher for this semester. If you think this class is going to be watching movies and filling in the blank sheets, you may leave. If you think in this class you can sit and gossip with your friends, you may leave. If you think you can slide by and not do any homework, you can leave now.”

The room was pin drop silent. Mr Pierce continued to pace. “This is the start of your final year. I will not tolerate anything below a seventy-five percent average.”

The boy shifted in his seat next to you, more muttering and swears.

“Do we have a problem. Mr Barnes?” Pierce called out.

His eyes narrowed, a firm grip on his pen. “No sir.”

“Excellent. Let’s begin.”

Barnes was out of his seat the second the bell rang. You packed up your books and shook your head. The class wasn’t that bad, but Pierce was intimidating as hell. English Lit flew by in what seemed like minutes. The cafeteria was packed like sardines and you were glad to get your food and head outside. Peggy had sent you a text letting you know she was sat at round table on the east end. You found her easily this time, sitting down with a sigh.

“Going alright?” She asked. Peggy had some books open already highlighting and underlining. You shrugged, picking at your food.

Natasha came with a huff, sitting down on your other side. Her bag dropped to the ground and she set her tray on the table. “First day of school and I already want to stab Clint for telling the same story fifty times.”

Peggy smiled, jotting something down in her notebook. “Didn’t even last five minutes at their table.”

“Not sitting with us today Romanoff?”

You glanced up seeing angelic boy. Perhaps it was the sun but you swore their might have been a halo floating over his perfect head. He had one hand shoved into the front pocket of his jeans, a relaxed posture. His shirt looked too tight under that jacket.

“Choosing to sit with people who aren’t talking about Katie Bishop for the umptheenth time.”

He chuckled, shaking his head before looking at you. “We’re in Coulson’s English Lit together right? I think I was sitting in front of you. I’m Steve.”

Angel boy had a name: Steve. Steve Rogers, in fact. You gave him a kind smile, introducing yourself. Then the dynamic changed. Peggy was trying not to chew on her pen, shielding her eyes away from Steve as he turned to her.

“Hey Pegs,” he greeted sweetly. “Classes going okay?”

“You know…” Peggy shrugged casually. “They’re as good as they can be.”

Steve was nodding along to every word, shifting his weight from leg to leg. You looked between the two as silence formed amongst the background chatter. High suspicious.

“Hey Cap!”

Steve broke his eye contact with Peggy to see one of his friends waving him over. “I’ll see you guys later.” He waved, parting ways to the table under the large oak tree.

“Jesus Christ,” Natasha laughed. “You both are so dense.”

You looked at Peggy, brows arched. She straightened up, shaking off the simple (yet impactful) conversation she had with Steve. She wasn’t going to budge so you switched gears. “Why do they call him Cap?”

“Steve’s the quarterback of the football team, the captain, hence the nickname Cap,” Peggy explained. “So, Sam Wilson, they guy sitting on his left is one of his best friends. Genuine person, good for talks. Runningback on the team. Then there’s Clint--”

“Ugh.” Natasha joked.

Peggy laughed. “Clint’s actually doing senior year again due to an incident that shall not be named. He’s a guard, also plays the drums. And then--”

“Douchebag boy from the party.” You muttered. “He’s in my history class.”

Peggy frowned. “Bucky. He’s really not that bad once you get past, well, everything. He’s Steve’s best friend since they were kids. Wide Receiver, probably the best in the state.”

You glanced over. Their table was a little rowdy with the boys talking and some girls joining. Bucky caught your gaze and held you for a moment, tipping his head with a smile in a hello. Your eyes rolled and you saw him laugh. Clint patted Bucky’s shoulder and he got up from the table, sticking a cigarette in between his lips as he walked off to the smoker’s pit near the student parking.

“Two things to know: One, football is the only thing driving this town. And two, they’re treated like royalty. While some of them have egos, perks of knowing them aren’t so bad.” Natasha’s information was interesting.

You recalled that this team was five-time champions, so yeah, there was bound to be some small town fame to it. Besides, you didn’t have to be friends with Bucky.

Days seemed to roll on, but the first two weeks went by in the blink of an eye. Peggy had gotten you to join the Yearbook committee that met twice a week after school. It was something to look good on paper for whatever the future held. Steve had become your buddy in English Lit which made the boring class a little less dull. Bucky was still, well, Bucky. The title of douchebag was still crowned to him but it wasn’t as bad. Perhaps you got good at ignoring him or you just didn’t care. He was still persistent as ever to try and talk. According to Natasha via Sam, Bucky had made it his goal to try and make it up to you. Whatever the hell that meant. You wanted no part of it.

Peggy was staying late after Yearbook meeting on a Thursday. You gathered your things and headed out, dreading the essay you had to write for Pierce’s class that was due on Monday. You hadn’t been hit with so much work for one class in your life. Sure, it was nearing October and there was no more time for relaxing but Pierce was a heavyweight teacher. You sighed, pushing open the side doors to start on home. At least it was pizza night for dinner.

You jogged down the steps and detoured to the sidewalk. Your name was called and you glanced over your shoulder seeing none other than Bucky. He flicked the end of his cigarette before taking long strides to catch up.

“How was Yearbook?” He asked easily.

“Stalking me, Barnes?”

He laughed. “Nah, Peggy’s in the club and Steve told me you joined too. Plus, practice just ended so I was on my way home.”

You nodded. “Well, goodbye.”

“Wait! I wanted to ask you something,” Bucky gently tugged at your elbow. You breathed out, stopping to look at him. You were impatient, blinking to indicate you didn’t have all day. “First game of the season is tomorrow. Are you going to come watch?”

You scanned over Bucky’s face. It appeared to be a genuine question, no hidden agenda and his expression was neutral. He was curious.

“Don’t know. Might have other plans.”

“Well, if you change your mind, we all go out to eat after so you’re welcomed to join us. Happy Hogan’s has the best burgers.” Bucky took a step back, finished with his spiel. “Think about it.”

He walked backwards momentarily, fishing car keys from his pocket. You lingered as he climbed into a granite coloured Jeep Wrangler. He peeled off shortly after, heading west. Peggy had spoken to you earlier about the game tomorrow night and before you could even reply she was making plans to carpool and pick up Natasha along the way. It was settled before you could think.

Peggy was in her father’s car at 6:15pm. You grabbed your jean jacket and shrugged it on before getting in the passenger's seat. Her exterior was giddy. You hadn’t taken Peggy as being a football fan but you had a small hunch as to why she was in a smiley mood. Natasha was waiting at the end of the driveway, climbing into the backseat with her upper half clad in a leather jacket.

The parking lot at school was filled. Peggy managed to find a spot next to science wing of the building. You took in the exterior of the night. It was dusk and the flood lights of the field were switched on. It illuminated the entire field as well as the grandstands. The scoreboard was lit up: VISITOR VS PANTHERS and a countdown timer until official kick off. You followed Peggy and Natasha, crossing in front of the Panthers cheerleaders. You didn’t know details, but you knew Natasha had been a cheerleader up until the middle of junior year. There was an altercation with another girl that got her suspended for three days and kicked off the team. A few girls whispered as she passed by.

Luckily there was some room on the bench in the third row. Peggy sat in the middle with you on her left. The left side of the field was blank while the right had the town rivals, Ria High Kronans, warming up. The wind was cool, blowing around the spectators. It was nearing seven. The music from the surrounding speakers lowered in volume and antipatiation built up. In the far corner a bustle of fog erupted from the locker room entrance. The trusty Panther mascot cut through the fog, pretending to sneak around and quiet down the crowd with a finger to the mouth of the panther head. Everyone seemed to oblige. Slowly music started to build up and the panther started to count down with his large paw from five, four, three, two… The panther raised his arms up and the crowded exploded with cheers.

Here are your five time state champions, the Valhalla Panthers!

More cheers and whistling. The team barrelled through the fog and onto the field; a cluster of boys being praised by townsfolk. It was like Natasha had said: this town was driven by football. A song picked by Sam Wilson was playing as their pump up track. Sam along with Steve, Bucky, and Clint walked to the center of the field with the giant panther logo. They were met with four Ria players and a referee for the coin toss.

Peggy breathed out slowly. “Let’s hope it doesn’t end in a fight.”

Brock Rumlow was the quarterback for Kronans. There was definitely hostility and egos between the two teams. The coin flipped and it appeared that the Panthers had first possession of the ball. The ref walked off but the boys lingered. Sam backed off first, then Clint. Bucky and Rumlow seemed to exchange some words with Steve having to yank on Bucky’s jersey to fallback.

Steve let go of Bucky, shaking his head and Bucky shrugged his shoulders. Clearly Bucky was an instigator. Peggy straightened up as Steve glanced over to the stands. She wiggled a few of her fingers at him and gladly, Steve waved in return. You turned to look at her, Natasha snickering on her other side.

“Not a word from either of you.” Peggy instructed.

It was pretty obvious after the first day of school that Peggy and Steve were smitten. Even worse that it had been nearly three years and nothing had happened. You smiled to yourself, laughing on the inside. It was going to be an interesting four quarters.

You were quick to register who everyone was. Steve was number four, Clint sixty-nine (this was more of a joke than anything else to him), Sam twenty-three and Bucky ten. The audience knew the cheers by heart, stomping their feet and clapping their hands. You nearly covered your ears when Bucky was running down the sidelines, wide open, and caught a 30-yard pass from Steve.

Touchdown: Panthers, #10: Bucky Barnes.

The victory was given to Valhalla, score of 21-10. Admittedly, it was an exhilarating game to watch. And you quite liked the small town vibe of people coming together to be one. You could feel the rush and excitement from the atmosphere, even finding yourself fully into the game and learning the cheers. Honestly? You sort of couldn’t wait for the next home game.

People descended from the stands and poured out into the field and parking lot. Peggy and Natasha had a spot by the field gate where they’d wait for the boys. You sat on top of the picnic table and watched the flood of cars exit the school.

“Rumlow was going to fucking deck you!” Sam laughed.

You glanced over seeing the boys walking out of the doors. Bucky had his head down, short dark hair wet and messy. He had a cheeky smile and a cool surface, both hands shoved into his pockets with his gym bag over his shoulders.

“We goin’ go Happy’s? Fuckin’ starving.” Clint slumped down next to Natasha, leaning his head back.

“Holding back big burly boys makes you hungry?” Nat asked.

Clint smirked, “Famished.”

Bucky parked himself next to you, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Looks like you changed your mind.”

“Couldn’t say no to Peggy,” you shrugged. “Plus it was a free ride.”

He hummed in response. He had a lingering gaze and you felt slightly heated, quickly glancing away at Sam who sat down. “I’m glad you came.” Bucky replied sincerely. “Next time if you need a ride, let me know.”

Your lips parted but nothing came out. Instead there was a collective decision to go to Happy’s before it got packed. The boys headed to Bucky’s Jeep and you gathered back into Peggy’s car.

“Careful where you tread. Waters rougher than it looks.” Nat nudged your ribs.

Your brow rose, puzzled with her words. “What do you mean?”

Natasha was silent, only a smirk gracing her red lips as she slipped into the passenger’s seat. Your head shook, getting into the backseat. As far as you were considered, you were on the shore watching everyone from the sand.

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes fic #marvel fanfic #fic: change your mind

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areallyyellowmango · 7 years ago

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‘What if we happened to have Marcel and Porco join the 104th Cadet Corps instead of Reiner in the mission? How would be their relationship with the other cadets?’

My friend asked me this at school yesterday and I couldn’t stop thinking and coming up with headcanons about it, and it turned out to be something very interesting to imagine (it kept my head in the clouds for almost two hours of history class, so that’s pretty good already), so I’d like to share some of my thoughts and headcanons with you. This might be a little long, but feel free to read it if you’d like!

Eren: I can see Eren having a brotherly relationship with Marcel, for obvious reasons. Most part of the reliable and trustworthy, protective Reiner he looked up to during the cadet training was a projection of Marcel’s personality and soldier spirit. Eren would develop a bond with Marcel as close as he did to Reiner, if not more. Porco, on the other hand... I believe their relationship would be a mix of the initial Eren/Annie and Eren/Jean relationships. Porco’s got the sass on him whenever he wants it, and, much like Jean, he’d mock Eren’s “attempts to look tough”- except he actually knows what he’s talking about... Kind of. But, just like Annie, Porco is independent, skilled and strongwilled, and Eren could possibly look up to him in some way, as well as Porco could admire Eren’s conviction and determination. They’d both probably not let it show, though.

Armin: Armin would trust Marcel a lot, and Marcel would love spending some time with the blonde whenever he could. Armin would feel really comfortable around him, due simply to the fact that, even though he’s strong and skilled, he’s also really smart and not as reckless as some of the other cadets, so they’d discuss plans and tactics together. Also, Marcel would see in Armin the purity and innocence of a child he still carries inside him, and that would make him feel welcome in the boy’s presence. Porco would value Armin’s intelligence. Not only because of the tactics and how they turn out in the missions, but because he’d remember Pieck everytime Armin came up with a really clever observation, and something about that makes him feel a little happier. Other than that, they’d not have a much closer bond; they’d talk to each other only when necessary. However, they’d know they could count on each other on the battlefield, whenever necessary. Mikasa: It’s kinda hard to tell how Mikasa feels about Marcel. She’d probably value his skills and reliability, but would not trust him entirely to protect herself and Eren. Overall, he’d just be another good guy in the corps, just like the other ‘ok’ ones - the ones that don’t really bother her. Porco would not be part of this group. She’d despise him more every time he opened his mouth to laugh at Eren, and would love to kick his jaw broken. Porco wouldn’t be fond of her, either; he’d find her obssession for Eren disgusting. However, he’d admire her skills. I can see their relationship being somewhat alike the Mikasa/Annie rivalry relationship, except not as aggressive. Jean: Oh boy, this one would be kinda fun! At first, Jean would not miss a chance to get Porco on his nerves - and it would not be too hard. He’d make fun of everything, from his name to his pointy nose, and it would always end up in a fight, split by Marco and Marcel. They’d absolutely hate each other. However, sooner or later, they’d find out they had a lot in common - thanks to their respective dearest comrads. They’d still let their sass out on each other, and that’d probably be what brought them together the most. Many nights would be spent awake in the boys dorm with things such as laughing at Bertholdt’s weird sleeping positions and talking about girls. All in all, maybe a true friendship could be developed between those two. Marcel would be glad that his brother had finally found someone that he actually enjoyed hanging out with, other than him and Pieck, although he knew that it’d come to a bitter end sooner or later. Marco: Who doesn’t love Marco? He’d definetly be Marcel’s best friend and most trusted comrad, other than his brother. They’d get along exceptionally well, to the point in which Marcel would actually wish from the bottom of his heart he could save Marco from this hell in earth. Marco would be the one to trigger Marcel’s questioning on what he had been told his entire life, about the Walldians and their demonic nature. When Marco overheard their talk to Bertholdt and Annie about their plan, having to watch him be bitten right in half and killed made Marcel break out in tears. From that moment on, Porco would have to stay strong for his brother. This moment would change something deep inside Marcel. He’d still be kind and lovely, but he’d be hurt inside, and every second inside those walls pretending to be someone he really isn’t, deceiving those people and himself, would become a torture. Everything would just go downhill from this moment on. Connie: Connie would be fond of both of them. He’d look up to their bravery and skills, as well as feel empathy for the brothers who had lost everyone and everything they had during the Wall Maria attack, and promised to stick together until the very end (or at least that would be the story they’d tell about their past). Connie would see them as the ‘cool kids’, and would always try to join them in training, dinner and in their night time talks. Marcel would like him a lot, and be totally flattered whenever he called him a model soldier. Porco would like him, too. He’d be go-to companion whenever Jean was busy, although he’d find the boy to be a slow-thinker sometimes, and that would bother him a bit when they talked. Sasha: If there’s a girl I can see developing a closer bond with Marcel, that’d be Sasha. Don’t know why, but my mind just keeps telling me she’d find him really cute. He wouldn’t mind sharing his dinner with her, and that would make her like him even more. Marcel would adore the way Sasha’s personality can suddenly change from a playful, distracted and completely relentless-when-hungry girl to a serious, brave, reliable soldier whenever one of her comrads or anyone else is in danger Also, Marcel would love her accent, and she’d blush intensely whenever he told her that, followed by a barely hearable “thank you...”. Porco would totally ship them, and call her ‘sister in law’ whenever he caught them talking and laughing together. Christa/ Historia: Marcel would admire Christa’s compassion and kindness, and would never be surprised when she put someone else’s well being ahead of her own. They’d be good friends, and she’d be someone Marcel would love to protect, too. At first, Porco would find her excessive kindness stupid, and think she only did that to show off. However, it only took a little help during a mission and a sincere smile from the blonde for him to be sure she was some sort of goddess of love who came down to earth to share the word of kindness and forgiveness. Ymir: Let’s assume Ymir was still alive and in human form, and that she did not inherit the Jaw Titan, obviously. Porco would have a like/dislike relationship with her. Their personalities can be very similar, and it’s hard to tell which one of them packs the most irony and sass in their speech when they want to. It’s not very hard to imagine them arm wrestling during dinner time to put an end to a discussion about who is strongest, after a really long show-off session. I can see her making the same “gay radar” joke she made to Reiner to Porco as well, and receiving a similar answer. Marcel wouldn’t like her attitude towards others, but it’s not very different from what he’s used to hear from his own brother, so he’d learn to deal with it. Last but not least, their warrior comrads, Bertholdt and Annie: Bert is clearly not as close to either of the brothers as he was to Reiner. He’d probably be even more silent and reserved to his own thoughts, as he wouldn’t feel as comfortable to share them. Also, with these two around, he’d most likely be left behind as they were in the spotlight; if that happened when only Reiner was around, that’d certainly happen with the Galliards. Marcel would occasionally ask him if there was something wrong and tell him to stay strong, but that wouldn’t matter too much for him. He just wants to get out of there as soon as possible and do what has to be done, before his feelings - towards the walldians he learned are actually people just like him, but he can’t protect because he has a duty to fulfill - get even more difficult to handle. Porco would be really annoyed by Bert’s evasive behaviour, and eventually come to him and say things like “Oi, what’s your problem? If we want to get out of here, we need to act like soldiers. Pull yourself together!”, but that would only make things more difficult. Annie would still be, well... Annie. Except she’d trust Marcel much more than she trusts Reiner, and respect him much more too. She’d see him as a link that keeps the warriors together, and a ‘leader’ of some sort. Not that she’d be submissive to him or something like that, but she’d trust most of his tactics and respect his skills and strenght. Porco would behave a little differently when talking to Annie. He knew how strong she is, and would have a lot of respect for that, knowing his limits when confronting her. Because of that, she wouldn’t have anything against him, but still find him uncomfortably chatty sometimes. So these are some of my headcanons summed up. English is not my native language, so there might be a few grammar mistakes here and there, and I apologize for that. But anyway, thank you so much if you read it all the way down here, you deserve a cookie <3

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corystssides · 8 years ago

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Bottles and Emotions

Words: 3125

Summary: Anxiety and Patton keep passing each other small glowing bottles, and Logan wants to know why.

Warnings: Verbal fights

Tagging: @literallylogic and @yep-another-fander

At first, Logan thought they were playing a game. Well, no, that was inaccurate. At first, Logan thought that Anxiety was stealing from Patton.

It started after they’d finished a video. Patton had ended looking a little less cheery than normal, and had taken a small bottle, probably no larger than a perfume bottle, and set it on the table near the couch with a sigh. Then he made his way toward the kitchen.

Considering that there was a glowing red substance that seemed neither liquid nor solid within it, it was only natural that Logan was drawn toward it by curiosity. Before he could examine it, though, Anxiety snatched it up, casually slipping it into a pocket.

“That’s Patton’s,” Logan said.

“Oh trust me, he doesn’t want it,” Anxiety said flippantly.

“He has not explicitly expressed that, and therefore you cannot just take it!”

Anxiety raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know what this is, do you?”

“I do not, but that doesn’t negate my previous statement!”

Anxiety smirked. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.” With that, he sunk into the mindscape.

Logan, annoyed and a little bewildered by the sudden disappearance, immediately went to Patton. “Are you aware that the small glowing bottle you set on the table has recently been stolen by Anxiety?”

Patton was baking cookies and didn’t really seem to be paying attention. “Oh, he does that sometimes,” he said.

“What, exactly, is the item that he took?”

“Nothing big,” Patton said.

Logan narrowed his eyes. “Clearly, it wasn’t anything big, it was a tiny perfume bottle, and I would appreciate it if you would stop your constant usage of puns.”

“No can do, Logan. Puns are my Patton-ted way of communicating.”

Logan made a frustrated noise and left. Clearly whatever it was didn’t mean much to Patton if he cared so little about Anxiety stealing it.

The next time he saw a glowing bottle, it was yellow, and it was originally in Anxiety’s possession. He left it on the staircase after dropping into the mindscape, and before Logan could investigate, Patton had picked it up. He examined it, said “Aww,” as though it were a kitten, and slipped it into his pocket. This time, Logan thought maybe they were some sort of gift from one to the other.

Then, it kept happening. It wasn’t every day, but it seemed to be frequent. Patton had several colors of glowing bottles--red and blue usually, but sometimes green or purple as well. Anxiety almost exclusively had yellow bottles; Logan had seen maybe one red bottle from him. It seemed to be some sort of game: where could they hide it most creatively, how fast one could get to the other’s bottle, how well could they keep them from Logan. He’d had to remain exceptionally vigilant, as they seemed to be trying harder and harder to keep him from finding the bottles. And he didn’t understand how they got to the other’s bottles so quickly. They were never on the same side of the room! He was almost always closer to either one of them than they were to each other, and yet, they always got the prize, while he was left bewildered and empty-handed.

So, he did the only thing he could do. He enlisted Roman to help him.

Honestly, he was amazed that Roman hadn’t noticed anything until he told him. This seemed to work in his favor though, because Roman was very unsubtle about trying to find the bottles, which meant that the other two were distracted with the Ego while the Mind went to work. There had been more purple bottles lately, from both of the other traits, and Logan wanted to know why.

He almost got one, too. He reached for the bottle--a purple one--just a second too late, and Anxiety’s hand closed around it. The darker trait glared at him and hissed, and dropped out of the living room.

And then the bottles stopped appearing. Apparently the game was no longer fun. There were no more knowing glances between the two emotional sides, no casual looks toward a piece of furniture where the bottle would be hidden away.

However, there were slight, yet significant, changes in how the two emotional sides were acting in other ways. Anxiety seemed to start chewing on his knuckles every so often after a joke, as though jokes made him, well, anxious. Patton had gotten more antsy, almost unbearably hyper. His jokes came too quickly, and sometimes they were almost sharp. Almost mean. He also seemed to make more self-deprecating, yet cheerful comments. The differences weren’t big enough that Roman noticed, and if Thomas noticed he didn’t comment, but Logan definitely observed it.

One particularly off day, Logan decided to confront Anxiety. They had something sort of akin to a tenuous friendship, and Anxiety couldn’t agitate him as quickly as Patton could. Cognitive distortions he could deal with. Puns and feelings, not so much.

He caught the emotional trait by the wrist before he could sink away. “What is going on?” he demanded.

“Go away, Logan,” Anxiety snapped, trying to break free. Logan held on tighter.

“You and Patton have been acting very strange lately, first with the secret bottles, and now you two have been...antsy. Explain!”

“No,” Anxiety said defiantly. Then, in a mocking tone, he added, “Besides, you wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

He yanked away, hard, but Logan was stronger than he looked. All that Anxiety accomplished was losing his balance, and as he pinwheeled to get it back, a purple bottle fell out of his pocket and crashed to the ground. It shattered, and from it came a scream. Logan’s hands automatically went to his ears. He felt panic clutch him for an instant, then dissipate. Anxiety, though, he looked absolutely terror-stricken. Anxiety could barely stumble away from Logan and sink into the mindscape. And the scream was so loud, Roman, Thomas, and Patton instantly popped back in.

“What happened?” Roman demanded.

“The bottle--Anxiety’s--smashed,” Logan said, trying to process what just happened. “There was a scream--fear scream--screaming in fear, and Anxiety’s fear--Anxiety was panicking--fight or flight, he chose flight--and I chose...freeze. Fight or flight or freeze. It’s fear. A bottle of fear.”

“I fear you aren’t making any sense whatsoever,” Patton said worriedly, finding puns even in trying times.

“Fear is an emotion. It’s a bottle of emotion. Bottled emotions!” Logan said, finally making a breakthrough. “You two are bottling up your emotions!”

“And you broke the bottle?” Patton asked, uncharacteristically serious.

“It slipped out of Anxiety’s pocket. A complete accident.”

“Well,” Patton said. “I’d better go find him before anything damaging happens.” He dropped into the mindscape before anyone could say anything else.

“What is going on?” Thomas asked.

“They’ve been bottling up their emotions this entire time,” Logan said, “but they are emotions. Therefore they are bottling up pieces of themselves. That has to be bad. It would be like...bottling up an arm or something. Maybe? They don’t seem to be missing anything. I don’t understand how this works. Ugh, feelings!”

He and Roman speculated back and forth for a while, but then they noticed Thomas getting more and more anxious. Logan assumed that it had to do with Anxiety’s bottle of fear, or possibly how neither he or Roman could come up with any way that the other two were bottling the emotions without causing harm to themselves. They stopped talking about it, and started focusing on getting Thomas to calm down, hoping that by doing so they would also calm Morality and Anxiety.

After what seemed like hours, but was probably only half an hour or so, Patton returned, looking far calmer than he had left. “Bottling your emotions is unhealthy, you know,” Logan said immediately.

“We were handling it just fine before you started interfering!” Patton snapped. Okay, maybe he wasn’t as calm as he looked. Roman raised an eyebrow. This was the first time he’d ever heard Patton’s words laced with negative emotions.

“How?” Logan demanded. “By taking the other’s bottled emotions and hiding them away? I fail to see how that makes it any healthier!”

“It doesn’t stay bottled up!” Patton said, as though that should be obvious. “We smash the bottles that we give each other.”

“Then what’s the point of bottling them up in the first place? To cause each other pain? I thought you two were allies now? I thought you two had each other’s backs on everything now?”

That wasn’t an emotionally charged statement, Logan told himself. It was just the truth.

“Hey guys,” Thomas said quietly. “Maybe we could--”

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be in charge of Thomas’s smarts, you sure are being absolutely stupid.”

Logan was stunned. This was the first time he’d heard Patton be mean to anyone, and out of everyone, it was him. Patton had been bottling up his emotions for a while. Was this what he really thought of him?

“Well forgive me for caring about your health!” Logan snapped back. “If you’re going to act like you’re five, maybe you could exit the discussion!”

“You’re the one who wanted me to stop bottling up emotions! Well I stopped bottling them! Here they are! Are you proud now, Logan?”

The room darkened, and a stronger sense of unease permeated the air. Anxiety had returned.

“Well, I’ve calmed down, but it seems that you two haven’t,” Anxiety said. He looked exhausted, and his makeup had been washed off, adding to the general look of unwellness. “Patton, take a walk, before you say something you regret.”

“No,” Patton said, ready to fight everyone in the room but especially Logan.

“Now,” Anxiety said, putting some force behind the words. Patton glared, and with a huff, he disappeared.

“Are you going to answer my questions?” Logan asked. His voice shook a little. He couldn’t pretend that Patton’s words hadn’t hurt him.

Anxiety glanced at him, but when he spoke, it was to someone else. “Thomas, how are you feeling?”

“Angry,” Thomas said, through gritted teeth, “and confused, and anxious. But really, really angry.”

“Yeah, I figured. See, Logan, Roman? This is what happens when we let all the emotions out.”

“It’s unhealthy to bottle your emotions,” Logan protested.

“It’s unhealthy not to bottle our emotions,” Anxiety countered. “Look what happened. You’re upset, Patton’s upset, you two scared Thomas and Roman--”

“I am not--” Roman began.

“You’re really going to try and dispute the literal embodiment of fear here?” Anxiety asked, with a flat voice and raised eyebrow.

Roman didn’t look him in the eye.

“Scientific studies have shown--”

“Logan, stop talking and listen for once,” Anxiety snapped. Logan flinched. “If the two of us didn’t bottle up our emotions, you and Roman would never get a word in edgewise. Emotion is more powerful than logic or creativity, nine times out of ten. You’ve argued your way to Thomas feeling better once. Roman’s never done it at all.” As Logan and Roman both opened their mouths to protest, Anxiety cut them off again, “And you’re forgetting a vital piece of information. We weren’t keeping the bottles until you two tried to take them.”

“No,” Logan said. “You two gave them to each other. Like presents or something. And smashed them, apparently.”

Anxiety pulled out a handful of bottles: two purple, two red, one blue. “These are Patton’s,” he said. He smashed a purple one on the ground. A scream emanated from within, but his expression didn’t change and he didn’t sink out in terror. “They,” smash, “barely,” smash, “effect,” smash, “me,” smash. “And look, no more bottled emotions.”

“I still don’t understand it,” Logan said.

“Luckily, you don’t have to,” Anxiety said. “Just leave the emotions to us, and stay in your lane, Logic.”

Logan could see that Anxiety was still somewhat angry at him. “I apologize for my previous actions,” he said. “I acted out of curiosity and failed to see how uncomfortable I was making the two of you.”

Anxiety’s expression turned to shock, as though he hadn’t even considered that Logan might apologize.

Before he could respond, Roman jumped in. “I’m sorry too. We should have waited until the two of you were willing to tell us about the bottles, instead of becoming invasive about it.”

Anxiety’s brain seemed to stop functioning. “Yeah--well--whatever, just make sure you apologize to Patton too,” he said, sinking out.

“I think we had better, don’t you?” Logan said to Roman.

“Agreed.”

“Well, while you guys do that, I think I’m going to take a nap,” Thomas said. “I’m emotionally exhausted.”

Thomas left for his bedroom. Roman looked around and then back to Logan. “I have no idea where Patton lives in the mindscape,” he admitted.

“I do,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses nervously. Now that he thought about it, he had made a few arguments that were a little emotionally charged. And said a few things that he probably shouldn’t have.

With a snap, they were on a street in the middle of generic suburbia. It was daytime, but the sky was dark with clouds and there was a light drizzle. Logan led the way to a light blue house.

“Come here often?” Roman asked. Small talk. Probably a tactic to distance them from the previous moments.

“I live here,” Logan said. “Just a block over.”

“You two live in the same part of the mindscape?” Roman asked.

“Of course. This part of the mindscape has a school. He has children, and I am a teacher. Why wouldn’t we live here?”

“That’s adorable,” Roman said, as Logan knocked on the door.

“Why?” Logan asked. “It’s just practical.”

“It just is,” Roman said, being frustratingly vague.

Patton’s two children answered the door, staring blankly up at them. “Hi, is your father here?” Logan asked.

“He’s taking a nap,” the boy said, emotionless.

“Oh,” Logan said, not expecting to be rebuffed so quickly. “Well, when he wakes up, can you ask him to come over to my house? I have something important to say to him.”

“Okay,” the girl said. Without further ado, the door was shut in their faces. Roman looked somewhat insulted.

The rain picked up as the two walked down the sidewalk toward Logan’s house. “You know, when you said Patton had children, I was expecting Anxiety, not those creepy little...things.”

“They have more personality when Patton is awake,” Logan said. “He seems to give the entire block personality.”

“Huh,” Roman said. “I suppose that makes sense, since they are all, technically, figments.”

“Indeed.”

“Where does Anxiety live then?” Roman asked.

“I don’t know. It’s not as though he’s ever invited me to his home. I doubt he lives here, though. It’s too calm here for him to be one of our neighbors.” Logan turned and walked up a driveway to a small white house. He opened the door and walked through.

“You leave your door unlocked?”

“There is no crime here, and therefore, no point in locking the door.”

“How strange. There’s always crime to be defeated in my part of the mindscape.”

“Probably because you enjoy defeating it, and therefore subconsciously create it. If you want dry clothes, you can borrow some of mine,” Logan said, slipping off his shoes.

“No need, I’ll just pop into the palace to change and come back. If Patton is taking a nap, we are certain to be waiting a while.”

“If that is what you prefer,” Logan said.

“By the way, does this part of the mindscape have a name? Just in case I get lost on my way back.”

“Patton calls it ‘Logicality Suburbs.’ Apparently he named it after a boat he found online.”

“Oh, alright. Be back in a jiffy!” Roman popped out. Logan changed into dry clothes and put coffee on to brew.

He had just poured his coffee and sat down to grade papers when Roman returned, now with dry clothes on and a book in hand. Roman made his own cup of coffee and sat across the room from him. For once, Roman stayed subdued and quiet as they waited for Patton. Logan tried to keep his mind focused on grading, but it kept wandering back to what Patton had said. Did Patton really think he was stupid? Come to think of it, it was always Patton who caught his mistakes, especially when it came to slang, or even “infinitesimal.” Patton probably thought he was a blithering idiot, but had always been too nice to say anything before. And a jealous idiot, on top of that. Hadn’t he basically admitted to that when he’d snapped about Patton and Anxiety’s alliance? He should be encouraging their friendship, considering how much calmer Thomas got when Patton was a mediating influence on Anxiety. God, he was stupid. Patton probably hated him now.

No. That was jumping to conclusions. Logan couldn’t be making logical fallacies right now. He forced himself to get back on track. Think nothing but math. After all, the worksheets wouldn’t grade themselves.

As soon as a knock on the door came, Logan jumped up in an explosion of papers and sprinted to the door. He opened it to see Patton standing on the porch, looking sheepish.

“I’m sorry,” both of them said at once.

“Why are you sorry?” Logan said, confused. “I was the one in the wrong.”

“I should have told you what the bottles were from the very beginning. It would have prevented all of this from happening. And I’m really sorry about calling you stupid. You were yelling and I was angry and I wanted you to feel what I was feeling, and it was absolutely wrong of me to try and purposefully hurt you.”

“You...don’t think I’m stupid?”

“Of course not! You’re the smartest person I know!”

“Not smart enough,” Logan said. “I should have realized that it wasn’t my business what the bottles were as soon as you didn’t want to tell me about it. I should have stopped prying and waited for you two to come to me. I suppose I...might have been...a little jealous that you two were keeping secrets from me. I was worried and upset, without any proof to cause it. And for that, I do apologize.”

“I’m sorry too,” Roman said, making Logan jump, as he hadn’t realized the royal had come up right behind him. “We should have respected your privacy from the start.”

“Aw, I love you guys!” Patton said. “Hug?”

The three of them embraced. Logan sensed that in the future there would be more talk about this, but in the meantime, things were back to normal. In the real world, Thomas finally felt that his inner conflicts had settled down. Everyone was content.

#my fics #anxiety sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #logicality #ish #roman sanders #this is so hecking long #posted may 27 2017

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rowanstories-blog · 7 years ago

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The Roles We Play

"Time to get us some grub! Now remember kids, play smart, play safe, and don't go into my office!"

The trio of kids mouthed the words as their father said them. After hearing him say the exact same words more times than they could count, which was not just because they hadn't learned numbers above 50, they could hear it in their minds and parrot it back with no effort whatsoever.

To any other children, the addition of "don't go into my office" would inevitably lead to just that. The Morrison children were no different. The third time they heard that phrase, curiosity overwhelmed them and led to a clumsy romp through the forbidden space. It was then that they found... nothing. Absolutely nothing. Papers here and folders there, but none of the secret pet dragons or superhero supplies that they expected with all of their naive hearts. They went in a few times more, just in case, but after several journeys into the room proved to be a waste of time, the three gave up entirely. They could not tell their father that they had absolutely no interest in the boring room, however, because then he'd know they had seen it and found it boring, so they instead gave bored glances at one another as their father went down the hall and vanished out the front door.

"What now?" asked Marco, with the confidence and leadership that he gathered in his twelve lived years.

"We could play Princess Criminal," Maria offered, testing the waters with her brother, knowing the two year age gap between them could lead to her ideas being veto'd for no other reason besides her comparative youth.

"Ugh, I don't wanna," Max groaned back, accepting that, at age seven, his ideas would never be listened to, so all of his power went into complaining about the current options his two older siblings debated.

Marco nodded. "Princess Criminal is for ten year olds," he explained to the ten-year-old Maria. "We've got to go on more mature adventures than that!"

"Mature?" Maria asked. "Do you even know what that means?"

"I do! It means there's guns and swears and stuff! I saw it on the back of Dad's videogame," Max shouted, beaming with the pride of sharing knowledge.

"We could go into Dad's office again," Marco wondered aloud.

Maria and Max groaned continuously, leaning closer to Marco and getting louder until he got the point.

The three ended up collapsed on the couch, all watching whatever Marco, as the Remote Overlord, wanted to watch. The past few months led to this exact scenario playing out on repeat. Their mother's later hours at work and their father's chores after he came from his job left an hour gap where neither parent ruled the household. At first the sudden freedom filled them with unbridled joy, but after a few weeks the freedom became normalcy, the desire for adventure fading away in routine.

Just before Max could complain for the eighteenth time about the show Marco chose, the front door creaked open. They heard the familiar sound of high heels dropping onto the floor. The force that the heels hit the ground always gave them an idea of just how much nonsense their mother had dealt with that day. Judging by the harsh clack followed by a bit of clatter, her day had been exceptionally annoying.

"What a day," their mother sighed as she made her way to the living room. "How're my kids doing? Are they behaving over here?"

"Marco's making us watch turd," Max whined.

"That's not how you use that word!" Maria complained.

"This show is good and he's just trying to annoy me!" Marco shouted.

"Never change, kids," their mom said with a laugh.

When their father returned minutes later, the five of them sat down for the dinner he had bravely ventured out to get: pizza and pasta. Their dad monitored the boxes and take-out bowls as they piled food onto their plates, reminding them to come back for seconds instead of taking too much and letting it go to waste. Their mom sat at the table with a single slice of cheese pizza, eyes unfocused.

"I'm sorry," their dad said, seemingly unprompted. "I planned to cook the hamburgers tonight, but-"

"It's not that," their mother said, looking up and returning to reality. "It's just... work stuff." She said the second part after a hesitated look at the children around her, all only listening to the sound of their own chewing on the cheesy carbs around them.

Their father took his seat next to his wife, with only pasta on his plate. The kids never understood how a man could not like pizza, and at one point doubted whether he really could be their dad because of it. Once their mother commented that his dislike meant they could have more pizza to themselves, they quickly dropped the subject, allowing him to enjoy pasta in peace once more. "More rude support tickets again?"

"That's a given, sweetie," their mom said with a muffled laugh. "No, it was Ian again."

Their dad put down his fork with a furrowed brow. "What happened this time? Is HR involved?"

"He snuck a book into my purse when I wasn't looking." She sighed. "He didn't sign it though, so I can't prove it was him. But he did it, I know it. He's always trying to give me gifts like he's some kind of sugar daddy!"

"Is Dad a sugar daddy?" Max asked through a mouthful of pizza.

"Does that mean he's made of sugar?" Maria asked, eyes wide.

"No kids," their father said, trying to hide a wide smile. "A sugar daddy isn't made of sugar, it's like... a guy who gives you gifts."

"Like Santa!" Marco proudly concluded.

The two parents tried hard to stifle their laughs as they told the kids to forget the whole thing. At first their young minds refused to let it go, but after a quick bribery to the tune of a whole extra cookie after dinner each, the three ate their cheese and bread products in relative silence.

---

Just before bed, Maria skipped her way toward the shared bathroom, looking forward to playing with her new singing toothbrush. Between her room and the bathroom were many doors, but only one was partially ajar: the parent room.

"Let's just throw it away," she heard her mother say.

"But what something more happens?" her father asked. "It could be evidence."

"I can't prove it was him, though."

"Maybe we should take pictures at least?"

Maria loved pictures. She especially loved pictures of her, all dressed up in the fashion of the kid world. Tonight she donned a horse-pattern nightgown, one of her favorites ever since her aunt remarked that it made her look even cuter. She bounded into the room with a huge smile. "I want a picture!" she declared, ready to model.

"Oh sweetie," her mom said from her seat on the bed, wiping her sleeve across her puffy eyes. "We weren't talking about that kind of picture."

"But we can take some pictures of you tomorrow, if you want," her dad added.

Maria turned to face him and agree to his proposal, which is exactly when she noticed something in his hand. A small book, with painted vines along the spine. Between his fingers she could make out the image on the cover being some sort of wizard stand-off, with one of the characters standing next to a beast she couldn't identify. "A book!" she declared as soon as her brain worked out what she saw. "I want to see!"

Her parents shared a concerned glance. During that moment of distraction, Maria ran up to her dad and tried to grab the book from his hands. Pulling it down, she could see the cover clearly: two characters, a knight and a wizard, fighting against another wizard next to a huge beast, the colors of the characters bright and vibrant, standing out clearly from the dull, aged material of the cover.

Her dad quickly pulled it away and held it up, out of her reach. "Woah now, this book is your mother's," he said.

She turned to face her mom. "Mom, can I see the book?"

"You want to read it?" her mom asked with surprise. None of her children showed any sort of interest in reading before.

"Does it have magic in it?" Maria asked, ignoring the question entirely.

Her dad brought the cover down to face level, investigating it. "I... guess?" he answered, with all the certainty of a student who hadn't studied at all for a test.

From Maria's point of view below him, she could only see the back cover, which, instead of English, had a blurb area filled with little nonsense symbols. Whatever the language was, it was clear that her dad couldn't read it either. The mystery only increased her interest and excitement. "I want it!" she began to chant, a trick she saw her friend use in a supermarket to get a candy bar once.

"Is it even appropriate?" her mom asked over her chant.

"I don't know, the back's not in English. Must be a misprint or something." her dad shrugged.

"We can't just give it to her, what if it's all blood and gore?"

"Blood and gore!" Maria chanted even louder than before.

"Maria, Maria, honey," her dad said as he got down on his knees, now on eye level with her. She quieted down. "How about... I read it first? And then we'll give it to you. Just to make sure it won't bore you, okay?"

Maria considered his idea. "Okay," she decided after minutes of internal deliberation.

"Perfect!" He got up, placing the book on the top of a shelf drawer above her reach. "Now how about you get to bed?"

She complied, mind swimming with ideas about wizards and beasts battling it out on the pages of the book.

"Are you really going to read that?" she heard her mom ask as she exited the room.

"Yeah, why not? It's ours now, might as well. You can tell Ian that your husband is loving his gifts!"

Maria heard a groan from their room as she closed the bathroom door. Moments later, her toothbrush brought the tunes of Miley Cyrus directly into her skull, driving out all thought of the book.

---

The weekend came and went as it always did for the Morrisons. Their mother, off work for a blessed two days, would take the kids, unencumbered by the demands of the educational behemoth, out on trips to the movie theatre, or the park, or the mall, or anywhere else they could imagine and reach in their decade-old minivan. Their father locked his office and went to work, emerging only for bathroom breaks and to grab a bit of whatever their mother left out for him. The kids understood that their dad didn't have a weekend like they or their mom did, so they did their best to find other places to be so he could have the house to himself as he worked on things they didn't entirely understand.

They returned from school on Monday to find that, instead of being out to greet them in the living room as usual, their dad was nowhere to be found. After a quick look through the house, they determined one place that he could be which they had not yet checked.

Marco hesitated, but gave the office door a knock. "Dad?" he called out, two siblings hiding behind him, too scared to speak, but too curious to leave.

"What?" a voice barked out. The difference of tone between this voice and their dad's usual speaking voice made them instinctively back up and huddle closer together.

"Dad, we're home," Marco said. "Are you still working?"

No response.

"Dad, what's for dinner?" Max yelled, his fear outmatched by his short attention span.

A few seconds passed in silence. Suddenly the door swung open, their father barging out, his clothes hanging loose on his body and covered in stains. His eyes, bloodshot and with deep bags under them, stared down at the trio of kids, now shoved up as close as possible to each other. "Food, food, I'll get the damn food," he mumbled as he walked around them, put on his shoes, and went out the front door.

It took several minutes before the kids felt safe enough to release their protective huddle on one another.

"Why is Dad mad?" Max said through tears.

"Maybe his work is bad," Marco pondered aloud. "Or someone messed with his computer stuff again, he hates that."

"Maybe he doesn't like the book," Maria added.

The two brothers looked at her. "Book?"

"He's reading a book for me," she said, a hint of pride showing through her voice. "He's making sure it'll be good before I see it!"

The brothers glanced at each other. Why didn't they get a book?

"Well if it made Dad so mad it must be awful," Max sneered, trying to bring Maria down a notch.

"Is not!" Maria declared, feet planted firmly on the ground.

"Is too!" Max said, accepting her challenge.

Before the war could begin, Marco put a hand up between them. "Guys. Guess what?" he said.

The two couldn't resist the allure of the age old question. "What?" they said in unison.

"Dad didn't say not to go into his office this time."

The three stood in silence for a moment, all looking at one another. Previously, their dad always said not to go into his office, and when they went it was boring. This time, he didn't say not to go, which is the opposite of the usual. Following that logic, the second statement, the status of the office, would also be an opposite. The three reached the same conclusion at the same time. Clearly something cool was in the office.

The siblings forgot their previous fear of their dad's strange behavior as they rushed into the office.

"We're not going to find a dinosaur," Marco said as he turned on the lights, trying to prevent hopes from getting too high.

"You don't know that!" Max yelled from near the bookcase, unwilling to change his expectations.

Maria hopped onto the chair behind the desk to get a good view of its contents. "My book!" she yelled. The others ran over to it as she picked it up from its place in the middle of the desk, losing track of which page her dad left it open on.

"What's it about?" Marco asked, entranced by the action-packed cover. A wizard and a knight fighting against a snarling beast and a... ghost? Marco couldn't really tell what the faded character next to the beast was supposed to be. Unlike the other characters, the one next to the beast had faded somewhat, making its features hard to identify.

"I don't know, but Dad says there's magic in it!" Maria said with a huge smile.

"Well then, I wanna read it," Marco shouted, reaching out for the book.

"No way, it's mine," Maria refuted, using her added height on the desk chair to keep it out of his reach.

Max lost interest and walked away, continuing his search for dinosaurs, or at least their eggs. Even a footprint would be better than nothing, and it certainly would be better than reading. He did enough of that in school.

Marco groaned, realizing Maria had height advantage, which trumped his age advantage. "Can we read it together?" he asked.

Maria hmmed and hawed for a bit, making Marco squirm as she dramatized the act of thinking. "Yeah okay," she agreed. "But I get to turn the pages!"

Marco reluctantly agreed, and she dropped down off the chair and took a seat on the floor. Marco sat beside her as she opened the book and the two began to read.

---

Marco blinked and found himself outside, in the middle of a dirt path. People bustled around him, mostly walking, but some on wooden carts pulled by strange creatures. The building around him were made from stone with straw rooftops, and each one had a tent with various products underneath, such as food or pots. As he looked around him, mind still adapting to the sudden change of scenery, he felt someone pull him to the side.

"Marco!" Maria yelled from beside him, forcibly turning him to face her. He immediately noticed her clothes, before a simple t-shirt and skirt, but now a colorful robe.

"Maria!" he replied. "Where are we?"

"I don't know," she said with worry. She started speaking again, but instead yelped and hid her face in his chest. He looked over to where she had been looking and noticed one of the large lizard-like creatures pulling a cart nearby.

"Wait," he said, suddenly struck by a realization and pushing her away to see her face. "Those things were on the book! On the cover!"

She made herself look over the shoulder at one, but only for a moment.

"We're in the book!" he concluded confidently.

She looked at him blankly. "That's stupid."

He rolled his eyes. "C'mon, let's check it out."

Maria pushed herself closer to the wall between the two fruit stands around them. "Why?" she asked.

"Well," he thought out loud, "we don't have to sit around and watch TV today because we're here. It's like vacation, and with no one telling us what to do. And Max is home in case Mom and Dad come back, and he can cover for us."

Maria nodded, won over by this perfect logic. "Okay, but I don't like the lizards."

"You're gonna touch a lizard."

"No."

"I'll make you!"

"No!"

"Hey!" The two siblings jumped at the gruff voice of a large man hanging over the side of the stall beside them. "What're you kids doing over here?"

Marco's eyes darted around the stall the man leaned out from. "We were... deciding whether we wanted an apple or banana." Maria nodded, catching on.

The man chuckled. "Well you can do that from over here," he said, gesturing them to the front of the stall. They obliged, choosing one of each. In truth they didn't like either, but the stall had no chocolate items, or any sweets at all.

"That's 12 zel," the man said, picking up the fruits from their respective boxes.

Marco chuckled nervously. He didn't have any dollars, let alone whatever a zel was.

"Will this do?" Maria asked. Marco and the man looked over to see her holding a large golden coin.

The man nearly choked upon seeing it. "Yes, yes, that'll do quite nicely!"

"Where'd you get that?" Marco asked her quietly.

Maria shrugged. "My pockets are full of them."

---

Marco and Maria quickly learned the value of a dollar, or in this case, a zel. The coins in their pockets made everyone they met treat them like royalty, which the two were sure to take absolute advantage of.

"We wanna go on an adventure," Marco declared as he and Maria played with the swords of the guards in a tavern. "Who can we fight?"

"There is a pickpocket running loose in town that you could hunt down," one of the guards remarked.

"No, not a person!" Marco complained. "A monster!"

"Or someone evil!" Maria added.

"Perhaps Ryoth, the cave beast master. He loves the darkness and meat, just like the cave beasts he raises. He's been quite a bother for the kingdom."

"Is he the one on the cover?" Maria asked.

"I have no idea what that means," the guard shrugged. "Besides, I'm not sure if that's a quest for two eight-year-olds."

"I'm twelve!" Marco said, blatantly offended.

"And I'm ten," Maria said in a proud stance.

"And we'd pay for an army," Marco said, jingling the coins in his pockets. The metal loops of his chain-mail shirt clanked along with them.

The guard sighed, but gave up his corrections. The money these children threw around clearly indicated royalty, and their clothes matched those of nobility learning the ways of the sword and magical crafts. Since their king couldn't remember which of the neighboring kingdoms had royal kids, it was best to treat them well until a messenger came looking for them.

That night, the two collapsed on the beds of the tavern, exhausted from their playing through the town.

"This is a good vacation," Maria said.

"We need something to fight!" Marco said, swinging an imaginary sword in the air with what little energy he still had in his arms.

"Tomorrow," Maria said, turning away from him in bed.

"Tomorrow," Marco mumbled back, quickly falling into a deep sleep.

---

"Guys! Guys! Guys!"

Marco and Maria opened their eyes and found themselves staring at Max. His face was inches away from theirs, shouting at full volume.

Marco shoved Max away, sending him tumbling backwards.

"Guys," Max repeated, now starting to cry, "that was so mean, you're both mean!"

"Then don't shout at us," Maria scoffed.

"I'm gonna tell Dad you were hiding from me in the office," Max threatened, forcing back tears.

"Hiding?" Marco put a hand in front of Maria's face to interrupt her next verbal jab. "Why do you think we were hiding?"

Max sniffled. "I was looking around, and you were reading, and I turned around, and I looked back, and you were gone," he said, each 'and' making him talk faster and louder, "and I was looking for you, and I couldn't find you, and I was yelling and looking all over the house, and, and, and that was mean, that was so mean!" At the final word he began bawling.

Maria and Marco looked at each other, then at Max, then at the book. Before he could act, Maria ran over to Max and towered over him. "We weren't hiding, dummy, we were in a book."

"I'm not a dummy," Max complained, "and you're a liar."

"Am not!" Maria protested.

"Am too!" Max yelled, still crying.

The two continued their stand off, so Marco took that moment of distraction to snatch the book off of the floor and investigate it further. The knight and wizard on the cover looked oddly dull compared to the vibrancy of the dog-beast and surrounding vines. He turned it over and tried to read the back cover, but the random symbols made no sense at all.

A door slammed shut.

The three jumped, jolted from their respective thoughts, and shared a glance. Simultaneously, they threw the book back on the desk, moved things back to generally where they were before, and bolted out of the office.

---

As the days went by, the Morrison children's father chose to work from his office full-time, keeping the door locked shut for almost every hour. "I can't have any more intrusions," he said to the kids after a hefty scolding the night they found the book. After that he stopped getting the dinner food entirely, and about a week in began sleeping in the office instead of upstairs with their mother. Nothing their mother said changed a thing, and the three could only watch as their mom became bitter and drained from the ordeal.

Two weeks later, their father had an announcement. "I'm going to be a dog breeder." Their mother protested, but in the new family dynamic, his word was law. Not two days passed before he had several dogs locked up in the office, walking them in the dead of night. At first the children loved the idea of having dogs, but the dogs only barked and snarled whenever they saw them. The children quickly became afraid of the dogs, thankful that their dad seemed to want them all to himself.

As each day felt more strained and tense than the last, Marco and Maria found themselves craving the world of the book. They stayed up after bedtime to tell Max about what they saw, telling him about all of the adventures that awaited if he went into it too. He agreed to go with them, but the three never got the chance; their father never left the office door unlocked, and even if he did, the snarling dogs kept them at bay. To try and keep their minds at ease, they both pursued new after school activities; Marco chose to try karate, and Maria opted for learning magic tricks to show at the next school talent show.

After a month of changes, the children awoke from their sleep to a clamor downstairs. They heard frantic barking, starting loud but becoming softer and softer. As the barking faded, the shouting began. The three kids met up in the hallway and slipped their way down the stairs. The living room lights were still on, the TV still droned on without an audience, and the fireplace's flames crackled away on scorched wood. They directed their attention to the kitchen door, where they heard the voices.

"You have to get them back," their dad's voice shouted, the rattle of pots and pans following closely after. "If any of those dogs are hurt, by God, you'll be paying for it!"

"Those dogs are better off in the shelter than with you," their mother's voice replied, breaking. "I can't believe what you've become! What happened to my husband?"

The trio approached the kitchen door, leaning closer to hear the conversation.

"Damn it, am I not allowed to have dreams? Ambitions?" their dad said.

"Hurting dogs and locking them in an office is not a dream, it's a nightmare," their mom said. "And it's not one that I'll be exposing the kids to any longer."

The three kids visibly winced as the argument continued, their mom talking about living at Grandma's and their father screaming obscenities and insults too personal to re-tell.

Max, ready to cry, moved away from the door. "I don't want to live with Grandma," he said through sniffles. "She smells, and her cats are mean."

Maria patted his back. "It'll be okay," she said in her best reassuring voice, trying to hide her own tears.

Marco noticed something around them. "Guys," he whispered, "what if we lived in the book?"

Max and Maria stared at him as he pointed to something nearby. Their eyes followed, all three seeing the office door fully open, the doorknob hanging loosely from the wood.

"We'd be rich and have adventures forever," Maria said, the realization making her smile despite her tears.

"What about Mom?" Max asked.

"She can't come, she'd bring Dad too. She can live with Grandma," Maria said.

"We can't just leave Mom!" Max protested.

"Stop being a dummy," Maria replied.

Marco held his hands up, stopping his siblings. "We'll figure it out when we're in the book. But we need to get it now. Before Dad sees."

The three nodded in agreement and quickly slipped into the office, the arguing voices of the parents becoming loud but unintelligible background noise. They clicked the lights on to find the office in near ruins. All of the lamps laid across the floor, most of them with cracked, unlit bulbs. In the dim lighting from the remaining lights, they saw the damage. The bookcases and desks sat in piles of wood and paper, covered in bite marks. The rug reeked of dirty dog smell, and the papers from the desk laid across the floor like bedding. A large heap of tattered fabrics and book remains covered one corner of the room, with a person-sized indent across the middle of it.

"Did the dogs do this?" Maria asked.

"Did Dad do this?" Max asked.

"I think they both did," Marco answered, voice shaking.

They all forced themselves to touch the dirty, stinking papers and fabrics around what once was the center desk, digging through uncomfortably damp materials for anything that looked like the book.

"What if Dad or the dogs destroyed it?" Max asked.

Marco and Maria shared a glance. "Maybe," Marco said, "but we've got to look anyway."

Maria pulled up one of the fabrics on the corner pile and yelped in surprise. "It's here! The book, it's okay!"

The others quickly swarmed to her. They stared at the cover, once again entranced by the action. The knight and wizard remained clear to see, but the beast and the character next to it were faded significantly, barely visible against the coloring of the cover.

"Are you ready?" Marco asked. Maria nodded. Max whimpered. "Okay, then let's go." He opened the cover.

As Marco opened the book, Max couldn't stop thinking about leaving his mom behind with their mean dad and all of the angry dogs. He imagined her sitting on their beds crying, wondering where they went. He'd rather live with Grandma and the smelly cats than leave her behind and make her cry. Max closed his eyes and kept them shut, overwhelmed with the thought.

He heard a thud next to him. When he opened his eyes, his siblings were gone, leaving only the book behind. He picked it up, investigating the faded characters on the cover.

"Hey!"

Max jumped up to see his father towering in the doorway, face contorted in fury, the shadows on his face stretched and intensified by the dim lighting from below. His heart stopped, and he held the book firmly to his chest.

"That's mine," his father growled, stepping closer to him.

Max's feet worked before his brain caught up, and he found himself sprinting across the room, dodging his father's hands and escaping the office. Once out, he saw his mom, face in her hands, standing by the fireplace. He immediately ran up to her, stuffing his face into her leg and sobbing. He tried to explain what was happening, but his words became garbled and lost through his tears and snot-filled nose.

His mom pulled him close, staring up at his father. "What is wrong with you?" she shouted, moving the two of them away from his father's hulking figure.

"Give it back," his father snarled.

"Give what-" his mom started, then paused, noticing the book held between her and Max through the force of his hug. She grabbed it and pulled it up, holding it in one hand and keeping Max close with the other. Her eyes skimmed the cover, noticing how dull it looked in the firelight, then raised them to look his father in the eye. "Is this where all of this is coming from?" she asked, her breath heavy with repressed anger.

"Give it back," his father repeated.

"He's been hiding it," Max managed to say. He tried to tell his mom more about the book, but his sniffles and quick breaths kept interrupting him.

"Is this what this is all about? Ian's stupid gift?" She scoffed. "What is this, some messed-up expression of jealousy?"

"Give it back."

"Do you think I wanted him to give me things? To get so obsessed with me? I can't help what he does! You know I love you, I-"

"I don't care about that," his father barked. "He can fuck you for all I care!"

His mom stopped, then slowly nodded. "I see." Staring directly at his father, his mom flicked her wrist, tossing the book directly into the flames beside her.

Max's heart froze. For a second, both he and his father didn't respond, couldn't respond. That second, seeing the book that contained his siblings, felt like eternity. After that eternal moment, time resumed.

"No!" he heard his father scream, heavy footsteps getting closer to him and his mother.

Max shoved himself away from his mother, sending her to the floor, and grabbed the side of the book. His fingers burned, but he kept his grip and pulled it out of the flames, swinging it back. The flames of the book followed and lit the room, making his father stop running and step back, blocking his eyes with a growl. He hit the book against the rug in an attempt to put it out. The rug ignited, but the book's flame fizzled and died, leaving the rest of the book intact.

"Give it back," his father hollered, blocking the increasing light of the flames with his arm.

Max's feet once again responded before his thoughts, and before he could acknowledge the danger of the situation around him, he found himself outside in the darkness, sprinting into the woods behind their house, away from the increasing smoke emerging from what used to be his home.

---

Maria and Marco opened their eyes and found themselves back on the dirt road, surrounded by the bustling activity of the old village.

"We did it," Maria cheered, "we're back!"

"Where's Max?" Marco asked.

The two looked around, seeing no signs of their little brother anywhere.

"He must have chickened out," Maria scoffed.

"Then we have to go back," Marco said.

Maria rolled her eyes, but nodded. They walked up to the guards, as they did in their last quest. "We need you to lead us to the inn so we can sleep," she said proudly, remembering their treatment before.

The guard didn't move. "Are your parents at the inn?"

"No, but we have-" Maria stopped mid-sentence. She patted her pockets, but found them completely empty. Looking down, she realized her clothes were not the flowing robe she remembered, but a dirty fabric tied with rope. Her eyes widened, and she looked to Marco for help.

Marco felt his pockets but found they, too, were empty. His clothes, too, were changed, from chain-mail and metal pads to the same dirty fabric Maria wore.

"Run along, kids," the guard said, gesturing them away. "Go find some merchants to beg from or something."

The two obeyed, unsure of what else to do. An hour later, they managed to find a nearby field to lie in without any disturbances.

"We'll sleep here," Marco said, "and return to Max, so he can come with us."

"But we don't have the money," Maria said with a huge frown.

"Maybe we'll have it next time," Marco reasoned.

The two closed their eyes. It took several hours, but they managed to drift off to sleep. They later awoke to see the darkening sky, stalks of corn blowing in the breeze all around them.

Maria jolted up. "We're still here. Marco, why didn't we go back?" she asked, eyes watering.

"I don't know," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

"What do we do?" Maria asked, staring at him.

He held onto her arm, pulling her close. "I don't know."

The two stayed huddled together in the cornfield as night fell, holding each other close as they cried in silence, their hearts falling and falling with no end in sight.

---

After running for longer than he ever had, he stopped in a small cave down a rocky ravine, catching his breath. He couldn't go back. His father wanted the book, and his mom wanted to destroy it. He couldn't let either of those things happen, not with Marco and Maria inside of it. He looked at the book, checking the damages in the moonlight. The cover took most of the damage, with the wizard and knight characters barely recognizable through the scorch marks. Some of the pages were equally unrecognizable.

Cold, tired, and alone, Max finally gave in to the idea of entering the book world too. Their father and mom would never find it in the woods, and it would stay safe in the little cave. He took a deep breath and opened the book, reading the text in the dull moonlight.

One page passed and he still sat in the cave. He turned to page two and experienced the same. As he kept reading, he remained painfully in reality, and learned what, and who, the story was about. He tried to cry, but found he had no tears left in his body. His nose ran and his breath jolted with sobs as he read, but his eyes stayed painfully dry. His fingers burned, his eyes burned, but most painful of all was the burning in his chest, as he realized in those moments just how alone he truly was.

#short story #horror #anthology #writing

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ievani-e · 6 years ago

Text

I’m Genderqueer, I Guess!?

(AKA, My Experiences Accepting — and Then Rejecting — Womanhood)

Over three weeks ago now, on February 4th, I started out wanting to write a random little opinion piece about Disney’s Mulan. I had experienced a personal epiphany, and I wanted to revisit some of the ideas I had had about Mulan in the past, and contrast that with how I felt about it now. But, I realised, there was something else I had to write before I could. I had to write this random thing first, because this post informs that one.

So what this post is going to be about is this: I am genderqueer.

This is not a recent thing. I have not suddenly changed as a person. On the contrary, I’m exactly the same person I have always been. The only thing that has changed is the label itself: a label which, for reasons explained below, I have decided to don.

In order to properly tell you about where I am now, I have to tell you a bit about my past and give you an overview about my experiences growing up. I have to tell you how I first got to this place for my decision to come out as genderqueer/gender non-binary to make sense.

Some backstory, then: While I never directly suffered as a result of my gender identity the same way some others have, I did still struggle with gender dysphoria. I recognise that many trans and queer people have (or have had) it way worse than me, and that I am extremely fortunate to have avoided being bullied or ostracised due to my gender identity, having firmed up and sussed out what it even was only now. But, nevertheless, it was there the whole time.

Growing up, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was medically wrong with me: that the doctors must have made some kind of a mistake, and everyone around me treating me as a girl ever since was simply the result of carrying the error forward. I must have had a higher dosage of androgens in my system, or maybe an extra chromosome or something. I must have secretly been intersex and just hadn’t been diagnosed. Surely, something had to have been wrong. I couldn’t have been a girl, because any definition of or expectation for a “girl” I ever heard was something so different from what I was.

As a child, I grew up with a very narrow definition of what it meant to be a girl and what girls could and couldn’t be, because that was what had been spoon-fed to me by the media and the social norms I saw around me. These norms were perpetuated at school, by members of my family, and on TV — with TV standing in as a representative for the world at large. What I saw around me was: girls liked shopping and jewellery. Girls liked fashion and beauty. Girls liked horse-riding and ballet. Girls were vain. Girls were stupid. Girls only cared about wearing pretty pink dresses and chatting about boys. Girls were… <insert other extremely limited, restrictive, two-dimensional female stereotype here>. Those were the conclusions I had come to, based on what the world was showing me and teaching me.

And I wasn’t like that. I wasn’t like those girls. I was nuanced, I was complicated; I was intelligent and smart and not at all interested in love and romance, and I much preferred to hang out with boys like I was one of them than try to date any of them. I liked video games and horror films and reading thrillers and action adventures. I was no girly-girl: I was a tomboy, and proud of it.

Nothing I had heard about girls applied to me or appealed to me in any way. (I mean no offense if you are more feminine than I was and you do like that sort of stuff: it’s totally okay to be that way, too! It’s just that I, in particular, wasn’t).

I, the little weirdo that I felt like at the time, had never fit into the picture of the archetypal girl. So, I reasoned, the only logical conclusion was that I must not have been a girl. I must have been a boy. At least, I fit much more comfortably into the definition of a “boy” than I did the definition of a “girl”.

The problem there is, it’s easy to decide that certain characteristics associated with a certain group aren’t compatible with you when the characteristics given to you are so limited in the first place. There was a very specific mental image I had in my head of what a girl should be like, and there didn’t seem to be very much room for discussion. For boys, on the other hand, it seemed like they could be anything except that. That has a whole host of issues all its own — ones I won’t be getting into in depth now — where boys are discouraged from displaying feminine characteristics or emotionality, and this is just as harmful to boys as it is to discourage girls from displaying masculine characteristics. Double-standards do exist, and they are not okay.

But, putting aside that can of worms for now, boys generally had a lot more options than girls did. Of course I would be able to see more similarities between myself and boys when there was a wider range of options to choose from from the start.

Please permit me to be an optimist for a moment and say that I believe that, in an ideal world, all positive characteristics would be embraced and encouraged in children, regardless of whether they were typically “feminine” or “masculine”. We would love unconditionally, and judge each person for their own individual merits and demerits, rather than holding them up to some perceived notion of being “girl” enough or “boy” enough. Doing so is incredibly detrimental to us all because, when we start holding personhood up to some arbitrary standard, it becomes very easy to fall short. And that does not feel good for the many of us who don’t measure up.

But the real world and the ideal world are worlds apart, and social norms did, and do, exist. In any case, I certainly didn’t fit the cookie-cutter mould of what it “meant” to be a “girl”. And that felt like a failure on my part. I felt like I wasn’t enough; like I wasn’t good enough, just the way I was.

I grew up empathising and relating to men in a variety of ways, because in our culture and in our media it is predominantly male characters and male role models that we see. Female role models… Not so much. Female characters in books, video games and TV were few and far between to begin with, and those that did exist tended to be depicted as homemakers, love interests, sex objects and… nope, that’s about it. As a result, I didn’t know that there were more ways to be than just those.

That’s not to say that shows featuring more positive role models didn’t exist — it’s not even to say I didn’t happen across a few of them myself. Rather, it is that those positive influences weren’t numerous enough or prevalent enough for me, as a child, to notice; or to start to change my mind about women as a whole because of them. There weren’t enough positive portrayals of women for those portrayals of women to form part of a larger pattern; certainly not enough to challenge the already-existing patterns of behaviour that were being perpetuated far more prominently and pervasively. There were exceptions, but that’s just it: complex, interesting, autonomous female characters — women such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Xena: Warrior Princess — were exceptions; not the rule. (And I’ve never actually even seen Xena: Warrior Princess myself, so…)

One such example that comes to my own mind is that of Elizabeth Bennet, from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice; which isn’t actually about pride and prejudice anywhere near as much as you might think. That, I read when I was 13? 14? 15? as part of my high school’s English Literature course, and Elizabeth Bennet was probably the closest thing I had to a positive female role model in literature at that time. Even then, Elizabeth, too, was posited as the exception, not the rule: even within the book’s own canon. You see, Elizabeth was exceptionally skilled, witty and intelligent; she was particularly sensible, reasonable (even if not open-minded…) and capable of critical thought. Unfortunately, the logical continuation of such a premise leads to the (incorrect) implication that other girls… usually… weren’t. So in the book, we see that Elizabeth wasn’t like other girls. Elizabeth was different.

So while I saw myself, to a certain extent, in Elizabeth, I also saw the same demonization of — and the desire to distance oneself from — other women which I experienced first-hand, along with the desperation to distinguish oneself from the gender norms as if they were true; not as if they weren’t. The mistake Elizabeth and I both made was that, by thinking of ourselves as “special little snowflakes” and elevating our own status to that of the exception, not the rule, it came at the cost of failing to appreciate the basic humanity and the complexity of other women: women who may, in actuality, have had a lot more in common with us than we first gave them credit for.

Meanwhile, it seemed that (cis) men were allowed to be human, and experience (almost) the full range of thoughts and feelings and ways of life attached to that, in a way that women just weren’t. But, the issue of gender and representation in media is in fact another beast entirely. What is relevant to me throughout all of this is that this all culminated in the fact that I was someone who accepted men exactly the way they were, and could relate to men in a multitude of ways; but, before discovering feminism, despised anything even remotely “female” or “feminine” and discriminated against it, dismissing it or distancing myself from it for one reason or another, despite being female myself. What. The. Fuck.

Now I’m an adult and I know better, I know that the majority of my discomfort with “the feminine” stemmed primarily from good old-fashioned sexism, both internalised and otherwise. I know now that those beliefs — both the ones I had impressed upon me, and the ones I in turn applied to others — are inherently inaccurate and deeply flawed.

Problem solved, then: it’s not that my gender identity or expression was wrong. It’s not that I wasn’t woman enough, despite not feeling like I fit in all my life. It’s that sexism exists, and sexism is the cause for all of my dysphoria, hurray(!)

Or so I thought.

Sexism does still play a part, however, and that’s what has made coming to grips with my gender identity all the more difficult for me. Before I could discern what was really true about myself, first I had to disentangle what was really true about “what it means to be a female/ a woman/ feminine” from all the fallacies, generalisations and mistruths. When I came across feminism several years ago as a young tween and learnt about what it was, it opened a lot of doors for me in terms of coming to a greater understanding of myself and the world around me. Feminism has been a very positive influence in and on my life, and is responsible for a lot of personal growth. But also, in this particular instance, confused me even further. And that’s because, I started to think that… maybe the reason why I didn’t associate myself with the concept of “girlhood” or “womanhood” when I was younger was only because the concept I had in my head had been so completely wrong all along.

Before feminism, all that internalised sexism really did go a long way towards meaning I related more to men than I did to women; or at least, thought I did, because really, I never gave women much of a chance. I had to unlearn a lot of the preconceived notions I had grown up with, and learn everything all over again from the ground up.

The more I learned, the more I came to understand; but even so, the feeling of me being different or not quite fitting in anywhere didn’t go away. It’s just that I started to think that maybe it wasn’t me who was wrong: maybe it was the gender norms themselves that were wrong. It was the idea that “women are like X and men are like Y” — and that this is universally true for all women and all men — that was wrong.

What I had to learn was that women could be anything. And I mean; I already knew that about men — but women, too?! So women can think and act for themselves, and be incredibly intelligent and have their own thoughts and opinions and expertise on a subject, and have a vast array of interests?! It sounds stupid now, especially if you already know it to be true; but it was a much-needed life lesson for the twenty-year-old me. I was already fully accepting of a wide range of personalities and occupations for men, because I saw such a wide range of men and male characters/personalities in the media. It was already a given to me that men could be anything. And yes, there is that whole “…except be feminine” thing I mentioned before, and it is an issue; but I never personally bought into that. I had my fair share of male role models with a sensitive side or more typically feminine character traits as well. What was shocking to me is that I had to learn that the same thing I had always believed to be true of men was true of women, too.

What I had to learn, absurdly for the first time as an adult, was that not every woman had to like the same thing or have the same hobbies or interests. Not all women had to look or dress or behave the same way, or any way in particular at all. Not every woman had the same likes and interests as me: but — and here was the key difference — they could have done. There was, in reality, no logical reason why they couldn’t. I realised that girls can be tomboys and gamers and total nerds and still be girls.

If that was the case, then maybe my own experience and my own expression of self — despite being so far removed from that limited childhood notion of “girl” = “pretty, vain and vapid” — was nevertheless still valid within the wider, broader and more inclusive interpretation of “womanhood”. Maybe, even with my own complete and total lack of femininity and associating myself with more typically-masculine traits and behaviours, maybe I still was a woman: just that the category for womanhood was far broader than I had been led to believe. Perhaps I wasn’t a woman who had fit into those narrow definitions I had held as true in the past; but a woman nonetheless, who could still meet the definition of a woman if only I broadened those definitions up.

No two women are the same; and as such, it makes no sense to think that there is such thing as a universal expression of that womanhood. Every single woman is a unique individual, with her own skills and experiences and her own story to tell. Just because my own experience didn’t have much in common with the experiences of those around me, that didn’t necessarily mean that I wasn’t a woman, or couldn’t have been a woman, or that I was some abhorrent anomaly. I might have been three standard deviations away from the mean; but that doesn’t mean that I was not, nevertheless, a valid data point.

So I got confused.

The feminist within me wanted me to think of myself as, and identify as, a woman. After all, I had just truly come to understand and to appreciate that being a woman was okay. I had just come to understand that “femininity” existed on a wide spectrum, and even oddballs like me could be included within that. Besides, if I was a feminist and believed in women’s rights (as a targeted approach to believing in equal rights in general), then wasn’t I supposed to be proud to be a woman? Wasn’t I meant to further the cause and #represent? If being a woman was no inferior to being a man, and if women came in all shapes and shades and were allowed to claim and celebrate their own individuality as they saw fit, regardless of the norms, then why would I need to be anything else? Was “woman” not sufficient? How could I be a feminist and yet still feel a reluctance and general disdain towards identifying as a woman?

That was one side of the confusion.

The other side of it was: well, if I wasn’t a woman, what else would I be? As a child, I had felt I fit in more with boys; but I had no all-consuming desire to be a boy or to be thought of as one myself. What I wanted was simply to be myself. I didn’t think of myself as a boy, hanging out with other boys. I thought of myself as myself, hanging out with other boys. As an adult, I feel no more and no less an affinity for one gender than the other. There is no affinity for either; and likewise, no antipathy for either. I feel empathy for everyone; a general relation towards all individuals, regardless of their gender. I don’t come down on one side or the other.

It was around the same time that I started batting around the idea of being genderfluid; but ultimately decided against exploring it any further or even acknowledging it in any real way, because it “didn’t matter, really”. I don’t know why nothing came of that back then. I guess I didn’t have the courage to pursue it, nor was there the same motivation to do so as now. I thought private thoughts: I often joked/ seriously heartfully felt that I was a gay man trapped in a woman’s body; but I also felt like a gay woman trapped in a woman’s body. And, because I felt like both a gay man and a gay woman, I reasoned that, maybe, if I looked at it a certain way, that was almost like having elements of both a straight man and a straight woman instead. Either way, I was bisexual! (Which I am, by the way.)

I tried to use my own sexuality against me; I tried to twist it around, and pressured myself to act more like a “straight woman”, or how I thought a straight woman should be. And, no, there does not seem to be much logic to that train of thought: it was just me oppressing myself, trying to knock myself back down into a more “acceptable” way of being, even if that meant flattening myself in the process. It’s weird to see how, in this way, I was still equating “straight” with “normal”, even though I was bisexual myself. This is why queer representation is so important!!

That particular mental interpretation was lacking, for many reasons. And something I didn’t think about at the time was that either way, I wasn’t cis. Either way, there was that overlap of masculinity and femininity in me: I had elements of both, but neither were quite the way convention might have you expect. I felt like I approached femininity from a male perspective: I was “feminine”, but in the same way that (some, not all) gay men are “feminine” without being women. Likewise, I approached masculinity from a female perspective: I was “masculine”, but in the same way (some, not all) lesbians are “masculine” without being men. I had traits of both within me, but even then, they were crossed over; associating my inner “male self” with the “feminine” and my inner “female self” with the “masculine”.

So maybe now, as I write this, it’s more obvious why I didn’t fit in. Everyone else around me associated “male” with “macho” and “female” with “femme”. Such extreme interpretations were at direct odds with mine, and left no room for the many variants of gender identity and gender expression in between. It was, society said, one or the other. And I wasn’t either.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t something I came to understand until much more recently, or else I might have been able to place myself sooner.

But even those past times I did question my gender, those thoughts stayed only thoughts. And in any case, because I didn’t feel like I most definitely, most assuredly wanted to be/become a man, I thought that meant that I had to be a woman by default.

So, I thought, if I can’t commit to not being a woman, I guess I will just remain a “woman”. I guess I will just stand and be counted as one of the many women who do not fit the cookie-cutter mould dictated to us by gender norms, as many women don’t. I will be just one of the many examples of why the mould is rubbish: of why putting men and women in boxes does not work, because we do not all fit in neatly. I will hold my head up as a woman and say, “I do not follow the rules, but I am not the exception. It’s the rules themselves that are jank.”

And the feminist in me was appeased. After all, this way, simply by being myself I could prove patriarchy was wrong, or something to that effect. I was proof the norms were not catch-all, be-all and end-all. I could live with being a woman; just one that defies typical social norms. And those norms ought to be questioned and defied, anyway — so I comforted myself into thinking I was doing someone some good, maybe, somehow, by acknowledging the expectations for my gender but then subverting them; and that, in so doing, it might contribute towards shattering the preconceptions themselves.

I still didn’t feel comfortable in and of myself, but I shrugged it off. I was like, “okay, maybe this is fine.” In the wise, wise words of Lindsay Ellis: “This is fine. This is fine. This is fine, guys. This is fine.”

Of course, there were still times when I felt the incongruence more keenly than at others; my wedding and the times when I get compared to my sisters were particularly triggering experiences for me. But when it was just my husband and me, together and alone, there was no incongruence. There was no discomfort. We accepted each other, and loved each other, exactly the way we were. When it was just the two of us, we could just be the two of us. When we knew each other as well as we did, on that close and personal basis, then there was no need for labels.

And so, I had privately settled the dispute of my own gender. I had mentally filed it away under “agree not to agree; it doesn’t really matter, anyway. Putting a name to it doesn’t actively change who I am.” I had told myself that that was good enough; and I had kept on living my life, continuing with things just the way they were.

I had accepted womanhood, and resigned myself to it.

And that was that.

Cue hbomberguy’s “Donkey Kong Nightmare Stream”.

For those who missed it and the surrounding controversy involving TV writer Graham Linehan (#thanksgraham), hbomberguy (real name Harry Brewis) is a YouTuber who makes sensible — okay, maybe not “sensible” —, well-thought out videos addressing a variety of topics in modern media: usually video games, film or television series, but he also commentates on social trends and ideologies, as well.

Link to hbomberguy’s channel here: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UClt01z1wHHT7c5lKcU8pxRQ

My husband first knew him from his LetsPlays, and I became a fan too because of his game, film and television analyses. (Someone who overthinks and overanalyses works of fiction for all possible meanings and real-life takeaways?? Here’s a man after my own heart!)

So when he announced he was going to do a livestream of the classic Nintendo 64 game Donkey Kong 64 in order to raise money for the organisation Mermaids — a charity offering support groups, education, and crisis hotlines for transgender individuals and their families, as well as training for corporations to raise trans awareness — we were very interested in watching it.

Link to Mermaids’ website here: https://www.mermaidsuk.org.uk/

Unfortunately, my husband and I weren’t able to watch the stream as it went up live; but we did watch through the archived footage after the fact. And boy, did it hit hard. So many feels were had. So many feels.

My husband isn’t as informed on social justice issues as I am, so a lot of the overarching context that was old-hat to me was brand-new to him. But bless him, he is learning. I, on the other hand, thought going in that I was just going to be watching a stream of a dude we liked from YouTube playing a game, and raising some money for a good cause while he was at it. What I wasn’t expecting was that some of what I heard would hit me so hard in the heart.

To pick out just a few key moments from what was truly an epic event the whole way through, Susie Green, the CEO of Mermaids herself, appeared in the stream — and, let me just say, she is so effing awesome. I have an aunt called Susie Green, too, who is also one of the most kick-ass ladies I know, so awesomeness must come with the territory or something.

Anyway, among other things, Susie Green (the CEO, not my aunt) was saying (and I paraphrase) that one of the best ways to support trans people is just to let them know that they can be safe around you.

And that broke my fucking heart, because fuck. Because LGBTQ+ people could be safe around me: but if I myself wasn’t out and proud — if I myself wasn’t visible, or open about my own situation — how the fuck would they know that?

That idea (built upon by CaseyExplosion when she said just to be a friend to trans people you know) deeply resonated with me because of past personal conversations I have had with some members of the gaming group I’m a part of. In private messages, there were people I spoke to at length about gender and about sexuality. The thing is, I was never the one initiating these conversations. Due to my own experiences and empathy, whenever they brought up that they were struggling, I would listen and I would relate and I would tell them a bit about my own experiences, too. And something that came up in one of those conversations was how difficult it was to know who you can talk to about gender and sexuality stuff, because you don’t know how people will respond or who you can trust.

One of my dear friends talked to me about his struggle with sexuality and being gay, and I could understand and empathise and listen to him without judgment because, although it isn’t exactly the same, I am bi and have my own experiences with making the personal journey of coming to understand and accept your own sexual identity, and the struggles along the way. Another friend confided in me she was having confusing feelings for another woman, and she didn’t know what to do. Again, I shared with her that I could understand because I was bi, and we talked for a long time about how she was feeling. She said later I was one of the few people she could trust to talk to about this, because she knew I wouldn’t judge her.

I know people who struggle with their own experiences, and I also know people who are so far removed from those struggles in their own personal lives that they can come across a little insensitive and non-inclusive in their speech or actions; not due to malice, but sincere lack of experience, lack of information, and lack of awareness. One such friend of mine gets very confused over what is “sex” and what is “gender” and frequently conflates the two, and tends to be very dismissive of the social issues going on around him or the community’s attempts to address those issues. And again, this is not because he is an uncaring or unkind person, because he is usually exceptionally caring and kind. But in these particular instances, because he is young and uninformed and he is not part of those circles himself (nor knows others who are immediately affected), there is no reason why he would know more about it. There is no reason why he would understand.

Still, he recognises that he doesn’t understand, and he does try to learn more and keep himself open to learning more. Thus, I unofficially took it upon myself to educate him, to try and foster that understanding; and I talked to him a lot about my own gender identity, too, to kind of serve as my own example for him of what the gender spectrum was. I told him a lot about my own experiences, eventually summarising my situation as, “I don’t agree with the gender norms and I don’t fit into them myself, but I don’t really know what I what I would fit into. I’m not comfortable being a woman, but I don’t know what I would consider myself as instead, so… … …”

On each of these occasions, and many more besides, I was fortunate enough to have these incredibly deep and meaningful conversations with real people all over the world; some of whom were struggling to find understanding and acceptance at a time when they really didn’t know who they could turn to. I’m so incredibly lucky to have them in my life, and that I could learn from all of them and know their unwavering love and support. Our friendship has enriched my life, and I have been exposed to so much love and positivity and really grown as a person because of it. I’m so grateful and glad that they found me, and that I could likewise be a positive figure for them in their time of need.

But that’s just it: they found me. They took a leap of faith, not knowing the outcome, because they needed someone to talk to and they didn’t know for sure if I would be accepting or understanding: it was just that, based on our group conversations, I seemed like the kind of person who might be. They demonstrated an incredible amount of trust and faith in me, and I am extremely grateful for that. But it’s something that they should not have had to do. They should have known that they were safe from the get-go; I should have made them feel safe. I should have been more open, more inclusive; more forthcoming with my own experiences and beliefs, so that they knew they would find a kindred spirit in me, without needing to take that risk. And that is a failing on my part.

Remember how I said about how it even came up in one of those conversations that it’s difficult to know who you can talk to about gender and sexuality, because you don’t know how people will respond or who you can trust? Well, back then, my response to that was something along the lines of: “I would hate it if someone was struggling with this stuff and they felt like they couldn’t talk to me about it, just because they didn’t know that I was queer too.”

And yet…

To my shame and my dismay, although I did share my own experiences with others one-on-one once they had already started talking about it with me, I was never the first to say, “hey, I’m LGBTQ+, and if you’re LGBTQ+ too, that’s A-okay!” I was never the first to bring it up; and in so doing, I’m worried that I might have inadvertently created an atmosphere within our gaming group where LGBTQ+ members feel like they might not have been welcomed or represented.

Because our gaming group is online, everyone is totally anonymous, and no-one has to reveal more about themselves than they want to: including their appearance, their sexuality, or their gender. Still, I wonder if maybe there are some members, new or old, who are LGBTQ+ or who are internally struggling with their own self-identity, who look around and do not seem to see anyone like them. The atmosphere in our group, as is the case with society as a whole, is one where it’s assumed cis/hetero-normative by default. Topics of gender and sexuality rarely come up in the group chat; the more in-depth ones take place in private messaging instead, where they are invisible to the others.

So, by all appearances, straight and cis is the norm… even when it isn’t.

(Update: I am very happy to announce that, since I began writing this, this has now changed! Although it was my intention to come out to my gaming group after posting this, I ended up outing myself to the group early, which initiated exactly the kind of conversations about gender, sexuality, and inclusivity we should have been having all along. Our gaming group has now officially adopted “other” as a third gender option when we are asking members to introduce themselves, along with asking for preferred pronouns! I hope this change, minor though it may seem, goes a long way to helping every member feel more comfortable when disclosing their gender and their pronouns, should they choose to disclose at all.)

Getting back to the point, Susie Green saying that something you can do is to simply help trans people feel safe… That really struck a chord with me. If even people like me who do struggle with their gender and sexuality don’t say that they do, how would anybody else know? What chance do we have of finding each other? What choice is there but to feel different and alone, even if you actually aren’t?

And in my case especially, it is very, very easy to assume I am cis and straight, even though I’m not. I’m very obviously female (thanks, big boobs), and I’m married to my husband — so that makes us a straight couple, man and wife. Luckily, my sexuality was much easier (relatively) to come to terms with for me, and I have been proud to say that I am bi the few times it does come up, as I have known that about myself in that particular regard since I was 13. Even so, because it is so easy for everyone else to assume that, because I married a man, I therefore must be straight, it doesn’t come up that often.

(Even my husband sometimes forgets. We often joke around with each other about the things we say, deliberately taking innocuous things out of context and saying, “That’s racist!” or “That’s homophobic!” One time, we were joking about something — I can’t even remember what — and I teased him about something he had said by exclaiming in mock-indignation, “Hey! That’s homophobic!” His response? “Well, can you really be homophobic against someone who’s heterosexual?” And I’m just like “…”)

It’s easy to assume a woman who is married to a man is straight. It’s easy to assume everyone is cis by default, because most people are. But that shouldn’t be the default. It shouldn’t be the norm to think, “Well, I’m just going to assume everyone is cis unless they specifically say otherwise.” All that does is create the idea that everyone really is cis, because after all, not many people (dare to) say otherwise; which in turn stunts efforts to spread awareness as many people who might have identified as trans if they had had the resources to know more about it don’t have those resources in the first place. And sticking to that as the norm creates the expectation to conform. It creates the idea that people, even those who aren’t cis, need to be cis, or at least pretend to be; because that is the norm and such thinking inherently comes with pressure to adhere to it.

Assuming cis by default makes it that much harder for trans people to say anything to the contrary, because they don’t see very many people who have the same experiences they do and may not necessarily know if it is safe to talk about it. If everyone assumes that everyone else is cis unless they make a big fuss about it, trans people may very understandably not want to make a big fuss. Maybe they’ll feel, like I did, that the only thing they can do is quietly fade into the background; to try and hide, and try not to draw too much attention to themselves, or out themselves as anything other than “the norm”.

What we all need to do is be more welcoming and inclusive, right off the bat; not because we know for certain that there are LGBTQ+ individuals in our midst, but because we recognise the possibility that there could be. Because we, as a society, recognise that there are many different expressions of gender and sexuality, and all are legitimate and valid.

I don’t want to fade quietly into the background. I don’t want to not be seen, not even by other LGBTQ+ people — those who should be my fellows. That sounds incredibly egotistical, but what I really mean is that I don’t want other LGBTQ+ people to look out at the world and not see themselves reflected in it and think that they are alone; the way I did before the charity stream began.

You are not alone. We are here. We are queer. And we should be proud of it.

For me, Susie Green’s line about simply letting trans people know that they are safe around you resonated with me deeply. For me, it was a call to action. I couldn’t hide any longer, privately satisfied with my own answer that I guess I just won’t bother defining who I am. That approach didn’t sit right with me after that. I want to be known; not for my own sake, because I’m an asocial fuck who couldn’t care less what other people think of me. But hopefully to be recognised; for someone else to see themselves in me and think, “Hey, maybe that person could relate to me. Maybe they know a thing or two about gender dysphoria and would be willing to listen to me. Maybe that’s a person I could talk to.”

That was what motivated me to come out. But I’m writing about my decision to come out as if it was a very simple process. It wasn’t. I make it sound as if I was just getting on with my life; then I happened to see the charity stream; and that inspired me to come out, and so, I did. In reality, gender issues have been interwoven with my psyche my whole life. Videos and discussions on social justice, representation and important issues within marginalised communities are something I actively seek out. And even when I felt like I really wanted to come out — to show others that they would be safe with me, and that I would welcome them and refrain from judgment — there were still things getting in the way there, too. And it was difficult.

The first time I heard Susie Green’s story on the stream, about her and her daughter and how things could be made better for today’s youth, I cried a lot. I thought about it a lot. I watched nothing but Donkey Kong for days on end, and dreamt about it too: not necessarily about the game itself (but also about the game itself), but the people, and their voices and their thoughts and their stories. I was trying to make sense of it all. For over a whole month now — ever since my husband and I started watching the stream — my head has been filled with thoughts on gender. It has overtaken my entire life ever since, and that’s because I want to do more, be more — and even this first step of simply coming out of the closet myself has taken a lot of preparation. Far more than I thought it would, actually.

For over a month, I have lived, breathed and dreamed gender non-stop. And thinking non-stop about such emotionally heavy, difficult issues does take its toll; especially when you include the multiple conversations I had about coming out with multiple people, multiple times.

But those difficulties I experienced with coming out weren’t what was getting in the way of coming out. The real difficulty there was giving myself permission to be anything but “woman” in the first place.

Remember feminism? Remember that feeling I had that, if I were truly a feminist, I would be proud to be a woman — not actively wishing womanhood away. I had unlearnt and relearnt a great many things about what it truly meant to be a woman; and ultimately, what it meant was to be human, just the same way as men were human. But even so, I did not know where matters of discrimination based on sex ended, and matters of individuality began. When it came to how I felt about myself, how much of it was to do with my sex? How much of that, in turn, was due to sexism? How exactly did I feel about myself, on the individual level, if, hypothetically, sex and sexism had (and had had) no part to play in it?

I didn’t exactly know.

Fortunately, my subconscious had the answer, even when my conscious mind did not. Some of the dreams I had about the Donkey Kong stream were mindless, repetitive, and nonsensical; just as the Donkey Kong 64 game itself is mindless, repetitive, and nonsensical. I dreamt only of hbomberguy getting endlessly stuck on puzzles and wandering around in circles — not so different from the real stream, then(!) When he cleared one level, he was faced with another, and another, and another; the game stretching endlessly on, in the way that dreams do. But the final dream I had about the stream was far more emotionally significant.

In that dream, I dreamt not about the game, but the stream itself. I dreamt about the chat, and the Discord channel for other YouTubers and allies that had been set up there. In my dream, for whatever reason, I had been accepted to join the mic call. I was able to talk directly to Harry himself and the guest stars; I was able to be a part of the stream as it went out live over the internet. I was able to talk to them all first-hand. I wept at the opportunity, and I thanked them all so much for doing this; I wanted them to know how much it meant, for them to be so open and so brave and for standing up for what was right. I told them how wonderful it was to hear them talk about their own experiences and their identities, because I was still struggling with mine. I told them about my dysphoria and my disillusionment with being “a woman”; but how I lacked the certainty and the conviction to do anything about it. I also told them about the guilt I felt as a feminist; that pursuing an identity as anything other than “woman” felt like it would be very un-feminist of me.

At that, I could very clearly imagine Harry’s face and hear his voice as he gave a bewildered, “What?!” And, to be honest, it’s probably the same reaction I would have had as well, if someone else had told me the same thing. And that’s because, as Dream Harry went on to say, that’s not what feminism is about. Feminism is not about forcing yourself to be a certain way, or about trying to be what you think someone else wants you to be regardless of the personal cost to yourself — so much so that you end up disempowering yourself in the process. Feminism, rather, is about empowerment. It’s about giving a voice to the marginalised and, in the case of trans rights and gay rights, telling them that who they are is real, and that they are worthy, too.

The stream itself is proof of that. It’s an example of the community coming together to support trans rights and recognising that transgender identities are valid identities too. No-one should be forced into a box that does not fit them, but allowed to define themselves for themselves. That included me, too.

And it was weird when I imagined the YouTubers telling me this in the dream, because it made me think about how I would respond if it was somebody else telling me they were trans. And if someone else came to me saying they were trans, I would accept them straight away, exactly as they were. I’d encourage them to be true to themselves and do what feels right for them, whatever form that may take. My own personal beliefs are that trans women are real women; trans men are real men; non-binary people are real people (even though I didn’t know that non-binary identities even existed until recently); and that feminism is about raising everyone up and empowering them, and accepting and embracing everyone as they really are. I would never tell anyone else they were being un-feminist just for being themselves; indeed, I would fight for their right to be themselves. I would regard them with unconditional love, and respect what they were telling me about themselves; accepting it as true without question. I would never tell them that their identity was wrong.

But it took hbomberguy telling me the same thing in a dream for me to actually apply those principles to myself, too.

Until experiencing the stream and hearing the personal accounts of other trans people first-hand, I had still been tied down into thinking that being for women’s rights meant that I was locked into being a woman myself; or that I was doing some kind of disservice to the cause if I were to acknowledge myself as anything else. But, for everyone to be free to be themselves and to be accepted without hate and without prejudice is the cause.

That was a conclusion that maybe I should have been able to come to on my own; but either I couldn’t, or just didn’t. It took hearing all of the wonderful people participating in the Donkey Kong stream talking about their experiences for me to realise that, maybe I was okay the way I was, too.

Discovering feminism and learning that I could be exactly the way I was and still be a woman had been an important step for me. But it was not the end of my journey. I had to go a step beyond that. Knowing that I could identify as a woman, with no degradation to myself, was one thing; but learning that I could also not identify as a woman if I so chose was also an important milestone. There are more options in life than the arbitrary one we get assigned to us at birth; and for me, being so uncomfortable with mine, I saw no reason to try and force it upon myself any longer.

I hadn’t been at all sure at first where the line was between respecting women and recognising that I myself was not a woman. But now, with the help of feminism, the Nightmare Stream and the dream that it inspired, all the amazing people who participated, and even just the knowledge that an amazing charity like Mermaids even exists and is doing great work in the world… I think I’ve disentangled myself and disavowed myself from enough sexist notions that I know that it’s not that I don’t believe in being a woman. It’s that I do believe in being an individual. And as an individual, speaking on the personal level, not only do I not follow the stereotypes and/or the mandated patterns of behaviour prescribed for my sex; I don’t want to, either. There is still something to be said for how maybe those stereotypes ought not to exist in the first place, and maybe then I wouldn’t mind so much what my sex was or what my gender was. But they do, and so I do, and I know the path that has been laid out for me is not the one I want to walk down.

And I also know that, if I hadn’t’ve been motivated to come out now, even after hearing all those brave and courageous voices; even after hearing all those incredible stories of personal tragedy, triumph, and strength; even after experiencing something which, even though I was only an onlooker, nevertheless felt made me feel like there was a space for me after all, and made me feel like I was home… then I was probably never going to come out. Ever. If even that experience, which moved me so much, could not bring me to accept myself, then it would probably have never happened.

What Mermaids and the Donkey Kong Nightmare Stream gave me was something invaluable: they gave me permission to give myself permission to be who I was all along. It taught me that I was allowed to be who I was; and that who I was was okay. That’s why the work Mermaids does is so valuable: so that no child has to go through this all alone, navigating complex topics without the words to properly explain it. Mermaids gives love and support and important information and resources, so that each child can come to terms with themselves and accept themselves the way they are. And that’s much more preferable than being a grown-ass adult trying to get your shit together when you have no clue what you’re doing; scrambling to put the broken pieces back together when really, you were never broken at all.

So, that leads me to writing this declaration:

I know what it’s like to feel uncomfortable with the gender norms thrust upon you because of your sex.

I know what it’s like when your internal experiences of yourself are incongruent with said norms and other external expectations.

I know what it’s like to feel like you are wrong just for being yourself, and like an outsider in your own skin.

I know what it’s like when you are forced to acknowledge your assigned gender and a piece of you dies because that’s not who you are, and it starts to feel like you never can be who you really are as long as the world keeps reminding you otherwise.

I know what it’s like when even simple things, such as which box to tick on a form, can be a deeply divisive topic rife with internal conflict and strife. And I know and I loathe how, in my case, I have to opt for “woman” anyway, on account of my being female and there being no better option.

And I also know how I have struggled to come up with a satisfying answer about what a better option would have been, though I have found my answer now. (Although, going back to speaking more generally, simply including the simple and unassuming option “other” would be a start!)

I don’t know what the fuck I am. But I know I’m not a cis woman.

Thankfully, there’s a catch-all term for that, and that’s genderqueer. That’s why I wanted to write this post: to come to terms with myself as my new identity, and re-introduce myself as genderqueer.

And actually, the above line about not knowing what I am is no longer true, and that’s because I can get more specific than that now. Unlike when I first started writing this, I can now say that I do know what I am. Three weeks down the line, I can now say that recognising myself as genderqueer was the start of something beautiful. Through the process of writing this post — and having many, many private conversations and coming out many, many different times to many different people — I have been learning more and more about genderqueerness all the time; and, in doing so, myself.

Through those conversations and through watching and listening to the YouTube channels of other trans and non-binary individuals, I’m becoming more and more sure of myself. I’ve realised that I am very happy to identify as non-binary; and that non-binary suits me and my own situation very well. So now, it’s not that I don’t know what I am other than “not cis” and am relying on a catch-all umbrella term to cover me anyway; it’s that I know myself to be non-binary. It’s a far more accurate of a term for how I feel myself to be than “woman” ever was.

So, while I may at first have picked up the genderqueer umbrella due solely to its all-encompassing nature, only knowing at that time that I was “not cis”, it has nevertheless led to a journey of self-discovery where I’ve realised that, hey, I actually really fucking love this umbrella. And it’s a much more comfortable umbrella for me to fit under than the “woman” umbrella had been for me. It’s so much roomier under here!!

So anyway, that’s what I wanted to say. I am bi; I am genderqueer/gender non-binary; and I am still questioning. I am B and T and Q; and LGBTQ+ folks, you are safe with me.

fin

P.S. Thank you, everyone who read it this far. Thank you for tolerating my self-indulgent trite as I waffle on about my own life when, all things considered, I have enjoyed an immense amount of “comfort” — or rather, the avoidance of misfortune — because of being able to pass. I have enjoyed a lot of love and support from the people closest to me and the ones I love the most, and that is why sitting down and definitively defining my gender — when really, it is something so personal to the individual — didn’t seem to make much difference to me as an individual before now. But it might just make all the difference to someone. I’m planning on expanding my thoughts on this (namely, gender identities vs individual identities) in a future piece of writing.

That said, if you are a LGBTQ+ person reading this (or someone who is unsure, or questioning) and you are not currently out, then despite my encouragement to make ourselves seen and our voices heard, please, please, please don’t come out if you feel it is not safe for you to do so. I am only coming out now myself because it is safe for me to do so; it was just inconvenient for me before, and that’s why I didn’t do it until now. Your safety and your well-being is the number one priority, so please, do not do anything you feel uncomfortable with or which you feel might put you at risk.

P.P.S. To serve as something of a glossary: “Genderqueer” is just an umbrella term meaning “not exclusively masculine or feminine”; which falls within the umbrella term “transgender” meaning “anyone whose gender is different from that of their assigned sex”; which itself falls within the umbrella term “queer” meaning “anyone who is not exclusively heterosexual and cisgender”. There are several layers deep to this, and getting further down is just a matter of specificity.

For example, someone who is gender non-binary is genderqueer, who is trans, who is queer. Someone who is a “trans woman” or a “trans man” (as opposed to “trans” on its own) is someone who identifies as the binary identity woman or man, but were born male or female respectively. Thus, trans women and trans men obviously come under the umbrella of “trans”, but are not “genderqueer”, though they are “queer”. The Q in LGBTQ+ can thus be seen as a kind of tautology, because all LGBT individuals are by definition not heterosexual and/or cisgender, and therefore are all queer. But while all LGBT individuals are queer, not all Q+ individuals are LGBT, as they might identify as something else entirely not covered by its own letter. The Q can also stand for “questioning”. In this way, the Q catches all individuals who are unsure of where they fit in but who do not identify specifically as LGBT, and the + denotes the inclusion of all communities and identities not covered by their own letter (of which intersex, pansexual and aromantic/asexual, to name only a few, are examples).

The website OK2BME has a great page on this. Link here: https://ok2bme.ca/resources/kids-teens/what-does-lgbtq-mean/

P.P.P.S. Interested in supporting trans rights yourself? To once again paraphrase Susie Green, Mermaids CEO, a good way to support trans rights is to support trans people themselves. Look up your local trans charities, donate or volunteer if you can, call out casual transphobia when you see it, and just generally be a friend. A number of trans individuals have crowdfunding campaigns active to try and help them cover the cost of transitioning, so that is an option as well.

YouTuber and Twitter user Mama Math (link here: https://twitter.com/hellomamamath) made a spreadsheet with links to some of the guests on the Donkey Kong Nightmare Stream who consented to be listed with the details of their websites or where to follow them. The spreadsheet also includes whether or not that person is trans. If you are interested in learning more about trans rights and what it means to be trans, simply listening to the stories of those who are trans and supporting the content they make is a great place to start. Link to the spreadsheet here: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1sdavyrGPnsrNdTxWBILoulCKxvIvzMkMaJoXPjNQcOI/edit#gid=0

If you are interested in watching the Donkey Kong Nightmare Steam yourself, here are the links to the parts:

Part 1: https://www.twitch.tv/videos/365966431

Part 2: https://www.twitch.tv/videos/366901309

Part 3: https://www.twitch.tv/videos/367450055

Part 4: https://www.twitch.tv/videos/369226467

P.P.P.P.S. (Okay, this is getting ridiculous now. This is the last post script, I swear!) In case you’re wondering, as I haven’t actually addressed it at all above, my preferred pronouns are “they/them”, as I consider “they/them” the most neutral and free of assumption. While I am not agender, I nevertheless prefer gender-neutral nouns and pronouns. I consider my own gender to be more fluid, and sometimes, “she/her” or “he/him” will feel right to me; but sometimes, they won’t. For example, if someone refers to me as “he/him” online, I won’t feel compelled to correct them and actually enjoy being referred to as such. I do not have the same euphoric reaction to “she/her”, though I understand that many people will fall into old habits and believe that it is the more “correct” term to use, even though actually it’s my least favoured out of the three. My point is that, sometimes, using “she/her” or “he/him” to refer to me may be acceptable; but using “they/them” is preferable and will always be applicable, so that is what I ask for you to use.

However, I do still have a feminine side to me, and as such, I will still relate with some feminine terminologies; but I am not “a woman”, nor do I relate exclusively to women. In this specific instance, I do ask for you to avoid calling me “a woman” and refer to me as “a person” instead.

I’m considered as something of the “mum” within the online gaming group, with others teasingly and lovingly calling me “mother”, and I love that. A very important person to me calls me “sis” or “sissy”, short for “sister”, and I wouldn’t want to change that, either. To my husband, I am still his “wife”. (I recently discovered I have a major aversion to “princess”, though, so that one’s definitely out…)

I am not truly gender-neutral, which is why I do not identify as agender; but rather, I encompass both masculine and feminine traits, and therefore I will adopt both feminine and masculine terms where they seem applicable. Some days I’ll feel more in touch with my feminine side, and some days I’ll feel more in touch with my masculine side. That doesn’t necessarily mean I want to reject all gendered terms completely, and certainly not all of the time. But I do want to introduce some gender-neutral ones into the mix, so that gender-neutrality is recognised as an option. Again, I am stating a preference, with my preference being for the gender-neutral.

As for my preferred name… well, I go by my online handle “Evani” within most game-related things, and I’m perfectly happy with that. In my mind, I know that the name “Evani” is short for “Evan-Evani”: an original character of mine who has both male and female selves (better known as the Animus and the Anima, à la Jungian psychology). Those selves are named Evan and Evani respectively, and thus they are collectively referred to as both names, even when they present as one whole and not as the two halves. I’m comfortable with my online name and don’t feel the need to change things there.

My “real” name, however… After a lot of thinking about it and batting around about a million different names and variations, I finally settled on one I was happy with: “Ievan”. (Pronounced just the same as “Evan”.)

I had been looking at all kinds of different names; starting with those which were variations on my birth name, to names which looked similar or shared the same letters, to ones which had the same semantic meaning. I couldn’t find any I liked, until a friend asked me what it was that spoke to my soul. At that point, I realised I had been trying to find a name “in keeping” with my birth name, “Stacey”; not for myself but to make the perceived adjustment easier on others around me.

But to be honest, I had never, ever liked the name “Stacey”; and changing how I spelled it to “Stacie” may have made it more tolerable, but even then, I still did not like it. I had been trying to find a new name I liked, based on an old one I didn’t. No wonder I had been having such difficulty!

Recognising that, it made no sense to base my new name for my new identity on my old one. The point of coming out as non-binary was to feel more comfortable with myself and my own identity; and adhering to my past name ran counter to that.

So, with my friend to bounce ideas off of, I took the search away from “Stacey” — the name I had never liked — and back to “Evani” — the name I had already adopted for myself some years prior and had used for myself ever since, albeit only in online settings.

I choose “Ievan” instead of “Evan”, which is perhaps the more obvious choice, because it’s an anagram of “Evani”. It also meant that, by slightly changing my online name from “Evani” to “Ievani”, I could create an amalgamation of both names. “Ievani” included both the names “Ievan” and “Evani” within it, symbolising the dual nature of the masculine and the feminine and the great deal of overlap between the two; just as I experience an overlap and a merging of the masculine and the feminine within myself. I appreciated the symbolism, as well as the fact that “Ievani” captured the same meaning to it as “Evan-Evani” did; only much more elegantly, representing “Ievan-Evani” but with much fewer letters. Having taken to “Ievani” as I did, my choice of name for “Ievan”, as opposed to “Evan”, became an easy one to make.

Plus, by spelling the name as “Ievan” with the extra “i” and not as “Evan” (even though they are both pronounced the same) meant I could have the best of both worlds: I could have a name which sounded masculine, but looked feminine. It was a blend of both, and gave me a lot of versatility and adaptability to play around with as well, owing to the fact that you can draw a lot of different nicknames and short-forms out of it. Some examples: Ieva, Eva, Ev, Evi, Evie, Eve, Iev, Ieve…Now I can basically be called whatever I feel like being called, and friends and those around me can pick out their own personally-preferred nickname for me! It grants a lot of freedom and customisation, which I love. Now, when people call me by my name, I smile instead of cringe.

(As a side-note: yes, this does make me “Ievan Evans”, and you are right, it is repetitive! But I love the peculiarity. It’s been a running gag of mine to have characters in my stories whose surname is a repeat of their first name; the first one being “Evan Evans” — the aforementioned Animus — and another one called “Luca Lucas”, though the latter is technically an assumed identity deliberately made to parallel “Evan Evans”. Now I can be a part of the joke myself, too!)

Realistically speaking, I don’t expect everyone to switch over to “Ievan” straight away. Not everyone is going to read this post, and I’m not going to choose to tell everyone who doesn’t. It’s fairly common within the queer community to not come out to everyone, and not all at once. So I accept that, to certain people, I will still be “Stacie”. And that is fine. As long as I am happy with my own identity and the way I live my own life, I can make my peace with it if I will still be “Stacie” to them.

So, if you still want to call me “Stacie”, that’s fine. I won’t fight you over it. I just might not be fine with it; but even then, it’s fine.

In regards to my writing and my self-published works: my past works were published under the name “Stacie Evans” and, in that particular regard, I think I will keep it that way going forward as well. “Stacie Evans” can be my pseudonym as an author! (Which is ironic, because usually it’s the pen name that’s supposed to be the fictitious one…) While I could legally change my name, it would be a hassle; and right now, I’m happy just adopting it for myself and testing it out.

In short, I’ll be using: Ievan for real life (including Facebook, which is more personal); Evani for games; Ievani for other social media (which I consider a mix of both); and Stacie Evans for works of poetry or fiction, as well as with those who are uncomfortable calling me Ievan.

Feeling confused? Don’t worry. You can always ask to make sure! (Which is a good idea in general, about anything; and you can apply it with pronouns, too! I personally love it when people ask my pronouns, as it confers a sense of understanding, compassion and respect.) All questions are welcome, because I believe there is no such thing as a stupid question. All questions are a chance to learn more. (But please, keep it considerate.)

Useful resources:

(not an exhaustive list; these are the things I have come across and have found helpful myself, so I am sharing them here too)

Mermaids, a UK-based charity providing support for transgender children/ young adults and their families, as well as crisis hotlines, online forums and interventions: https://www.mermaidsuk.org.uk/

The January Donkey Kong Nightmare Stream to raise money for Memaids:

Part 1: https://www.twitch.tv/videos/365966431

Part 2: https://www.twitch.tv/videos/366901309

Part 3: https://www.twitch.tv/videos/367450055

Part 4: https://www.twitch.tv/videos/369226467

Spreadsheet of the participants in the Donkey Kong Nightmare Steam, with links to their Twitter and YouTube accounts: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1sdavyrGPnsrNdTxWBILoulCKxvIvzMkMaJoXPjNQcOI/edit#gid=0

Let’s Queer Things Up!, a blog about all things queer: https://letsqueerthingsup.com/

More from LQTU! content creator: https://samdylanfinch.contently.com/

Specific article linked to on the above about what it means to be genderqueer: https://www.healthline.com/health/transgender/genderqueer

Specific article linked to on the above about what it means to be gender non-binary: https://www.healthline.com/health/transgender/nonbinary

Genderqueer Me, a website with featured voices from transgender individuals and their families, as well as online talks about trans issues and information regarding transition: https://genderqueer.me/

OK2BME, supportive services for the LGBTQ+ community: https://ok2bme.ca/

Private YouTube playlist I made of videos I have watched, discussing transgender and non-binary experiences and identities, which are of personal relevance to me in some way or which discuss things which are particularly useful or important when it comes to developing an understanding of the transgender spectrum (also not an exhaustive list; I plan to keep adding videos as I find them): https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTv7NUhc6gDOr1AW13CmlZujWAEo2Msyh

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