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babyjamiebarnes · 4 years ago

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Build-A-Bear

Part Two

Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Peter Parker (platonic), background MCU characters

Warnings: [chapter] language; [series] language, smut, violence

Summary: The only people who knew she was actually a Stark were her dad, her step-mom Pepper, and her “uncles” Happy and Rhodey. A promotion within Stark Industries takes her from an already-sought after position in the Weapons Anaylsis Unit straight to the Avengers as a Weapons Enhancement Specialist... which means her dad is her new boss. There’s only one rule at work: no fraternizing with coworkers. There’s one more rule at home: no dating any Avengers. So what is she supposed to do when a grumpy super soldier becomes not-so-grumpy around her? At 25, do her dad’s rules still apply? Or is her entire livelihood at risk?

Author’s Note: This one was gonna be super short but I felt bad so it’s super long instead lol. I originally planned on posting shorter chapters more frequently so it might be closer to 3-4 days between parts now that I’m posting longer chapters. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I’ve never done a tag list before so I’m going to keep the limit pretty small. And if you want, you can buy me a coffee! ❣️

(Part One)

Tags: @kennedywxlsh

About an hour later, a light knock on the lab door drew your eyes from your work to Bucky as he walked in. Peter’s eyes darted up but immediately looked back down when he realized the visitor was for you.

“Hey Bucky,” you smiled. He smiled back and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“So… you wanted to see my arm?” he said, more as a question than a reminder.

“Yeah, if you could sit right here, that’d be perfect.”

He did as you asked and took a seat on a lab chair, letting you lean across the lab table toward him so you could fiddle with his prosthetic arm. You quickly grabbed your magnifying glasses, flipping the magnifiers up so you could examine him at face value first.

After a few minutes of looking at the outer plating and sensory receptors, you pulled away.

“Can you feel with this arm?” you asked.

“I can feel pressure but I can��t actually feel with it.” You gave him a confused look, only sort of piecing together what he meant. As he fumbled over his words to explain again, you put your glasses to the side, running around to Bucky’s side again to stand in front of him.

“Okay, this might be weird but it’ll really help me. Hold your hands out, palms up.” He did as you said. “I’m going to do the same thing to both arms and then I want you to show me, using just your right arm, how it felt on each one, okay?”

Bucky nodded and watched as your fingertips gently glided over his forearms, leaving goosebumps in your wake. The second time, you brushed your palms against his skin, as if you were brushing away crumbs. The final time, you scratched your nails down his right arm, making him take in a sharp breath as he watched the skin of his arm turn a pale pink. His left arm, however, kept catching your fingernails between the plates so you resorted to scratching across instead of down.

“Okay, now show me.” You flipped both of your arms over, palm up.

Using just his flesh arm on your right arm, he grazed his fingertips over your skin, admittedly sending a shiver down your spine. You didn’t even consider how weak that touch usually makes you, especially from someone who looks like that. And you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t find him attractive before you even graduated college. You and your roommates were guilty of many nights of fuck-marry-fight with the Avengers as your victims.

When your gaze moved up to meet his, he brushed his hand over your arm, then delicately scratched his nails down your arm.

If it hadn’t been for the slight hum of machinery across the room, you’re sure Bucky would’ve heard your heart beating out of your chest.

Dad would literally kill me if he knew the thoughts going through my head right now, you thought.

“Okay,” you started, pausing briefly to clear your throat. “What about what your left arm feels?”

This one made him furrow his brows, either in concentration or confusion. He pushed his fingertips against your skin harder than before and moved them down your arm. He used more pressure again with the second movement, then went back to heavy fingertip pressure for the scratches.

“Hm,” you said simply, letting your arms drop to your sides again. “So you feel the weight of the touch but not the sensation that comes with it?” The confusion in his eyes made you rephrase. “So this on your right arm —“ you ran your fingers down his flesh arm again, “gives you goosebumps, but this on your metal arm —“ you repeated on the left, “is just a weight, no shiverbugs?”

“Shiverbugs?” he repeated with a barely noticeable smile.

“Goosebumps! Sorry. Shiverbugs is something my grandma used to say. Sometimes I slip into the family slang,” you chuckled. Bucky’s smile grew a bit at the sound of your laugh.

“Yeah, I only feel that on the right arm. No shiverbugs with the left.”

You jokingly scrunched your nose at him before returning to your previous seat. He stood there as you scribbled down notes on how he feels things and your immediate thoughts on how to make it more real for him.

“Is there anything you want done to your arm?”

Bucky seemed slightly taken aback at the question, but quickly steeled his expression. “I know Tony wanted to make it quieter,” he said.

You pushed your glasses up your nose and leaned your elbows on the table between you. You could tell he was still pretty reserved, either because you were new and he didn’t feel comfortable around you, or because he didn’t feel comfortable in the tower as a whole yet.

“I know what Tony wants,” you said gently. “What do you want?”

He frowned at this, turning his eyes to the floor as he thought. After a beat, he finally said, “I just want it to feel real again.”

And you could’ve cried right then and there. You knew the story of the Winter Soldier. You had heard what Bucky had been through. You couldn’t imagine going through anything close to what he experienced, and you’d be damned if you let him down.

But you couldn’t cry in front of him on your first day, so you smiled at him softly.

“That’s not an easy feat but I’ll do what I can, Barnes.”

He smiled briefly before frowning again. That frown seemed to be his default expression.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asked.

“Not right now. Thanks for helping me out,” you replied. He just nodded before walking out. Your eyes stayed on the door for an extra couple seconds before you spun around on your seat and scurried across the room to plop down next to Peter, who was packing his stuff to head home for the day.

“Hey, Boy Wonder, question.” Peter looked at you with raised eyebrows. Nicknaming ran in the family. “Want to use that biomolecular engineering and help me with something?”

•••

Nearly every day when you stopped in the kitchen for lunch, you’d run into Bucky. Sometimes he’d be with Sam, sometimes Steve, sometimes on his own. But almost every single day, he’d be in the common room chatting or the kitchen eating. For the first couple weeks, he was a little tense when you were around. You’d hear him and Sam bickering as you approached, just to see him quiet down once you entered the room. It was a bit disheartening at first, but when it was just the two of you, he always engaged.

You’d called him into the lab a couple times to look over his arm again, but you always felt bad taking him away from whatever training or cases he was working on. The digital renderings were always there, and you spent plenty of time digging into those and running simulations of the different ways you could muffle the wiring. And it’s a good thing you ran the simulations, because a couple of them would’ve fried his whole arm and then some.

Peter was a great help too. When he wasn’t working on his own projects, he’d poke his nose into your work and throw out recommendations. Robotics may have been your specialty, but the kid knew his stuff. He’s the only reason you finally figured out the perfect combo to quiet Bucky’s arm without knocking him out.

Nearly four weeks after your first day — and a week after Peter went back to campus, leaving you alone in the lab — you cornered Bucky in the communal kitchen again and turned on your classic Stark charm.

“Hey Bucky,” you said sweetly, leaning over the counter across from him while he tossed fruit into a blender.

“Hey [Y/N].”

You’d grown a bit more comfortable with each other, mainly from when you two were left alone. He still was a bit quieter with one of his friends around, but he was growing more talkative in general. You felt comfortable tossing nicknames at him; he felt comfortable saying “hey” instead of “hi” and once gave you your own nickname. Since you called him Bucky Bear a time or two, he called you Build A Bear. He almost looked panicked when it slipped, but your initial shock was quickly followed by giggles, easing the tension in his shoulders. But the feeling that name sent to your stomach felt more like bats than butterflies. He even joked with you now.

“So I’ve been looking at the blueprints we have for your arm and I was wondering — I know this is a lot to ask — could I maybe spend some more time digging around in your arm?” You flashed him a hopeful smile, even propping your chin on your hand to look cuter.

Before he answered, he put the lid on the blender and started it, staring at you blankly as the sound filled the entire room. You just sat there, continuing to smile at him. And the more you fluttered your lashes while he let the blender run, the more you could see his frown-y facade start to crack.

He finally broke into a smile when he shut the machine off.

“You don’t have to ask, [Y/N]. I mainly train in the mornings so my afternoons are free. As long as I’m here, you can call me in whenever.”

You jumped up and ran around the counter, giving him an unexpected hug, made obvious by the way he tensed up. You elected to ignore it.

“You’re the best, Bucky Bear.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, gently pulling away from you to pour his smoothie into two glasses. “I just have one stipulation.” You looked up at him expectantly. “Take the rest of this? I, uh, I made a bit too much.”

With a laugh, you grabbed the nearly full glass and led him down the halls to your lab. Since Peter was only coming back one weekend a month, you had kind of taken over the lab, adding some color to make your workspace a little less drab. Your guilty pleasures playlist — aka your favorite middle school dance songs — played quietly over the speakers as you directed Bucky to sit down.

Getting into his arm wasn’t the easiest task. You had to pry off the opening of each individual outer plate, then unscrew — yes, with a screwdriver — the covering on the inner plates to actually see the wiring inside. Fortunately, Bucky brought his phone with him so he could occupy himself and let you focus. You were a bit surprised at how easily he understood modern technology, but he wasn’t quite the old man Steve was when it came to the changing times.

After spending a solid 10 minutes leaning over the lab table to open Bucky’s arm, you poked around inside for a while, jotting down notes as you went. Shuri had sent Tony quite a few notes for you to reference, but seeing everything firsthand and taking your own notes always helped.

Unfortunately, Bucky had two removable sections in his arm: one on his forearm, one in his bicep.

“Scale of one to ten, how comfy does the table look?” you asked.

Bucky looked up from his phone and gave you a confused look. “Uh, maybe a two? Why?”

“Well, Buckaroo, I need to get to the top plate too so you’ll have to either hold your arm up for me to get to it or lie down somewhere.”

He glanced back down at the table, then looked at you in confusion as he voiced his own suggestion. “What about the couch in the common room?”

You tapped your nose and pointed at him with a smile, gathering your supplies and the rest of Bucky’s arm. He led the way, lying flat on the couch and raising his left arm over his head.

“Is it okay if I play more music out here?” you asked as you unloaded everything.

“Sure. I should probably catch up on modern music anyway,” he said with a soft smile. You had Friday play your guilty pleasures playlist again while you got to work on opening up the top of Bucky’s arm.

You’d been poking around for almost 20 minutes when the silence was broken.

“Music nowadays is so sexual,” Bucky said suddenly.

“Hm. What makes you say that?” you asked, only half paying attention as you drew up more stream-of-consciousness notes on the coffee table beside you.

“This song.” You paused and immediately recognized the beat for “Candy Shop” by 50 Cent.

“Oh come on, as if you didn’t have any inappropriate songs in the ‘40s,” you scoffed.

“Of course we did but it was never this blatant! We were more subtle back then,” Bucky defended.

“Bro,” you deadpan. “If you think ‘Candy Shop’ is obvious, you have way more catching up to do. Friday, play ‘WAP’ by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion.”

You watched Bucky react as the song started. Even the initial “there’s some whores in this house” made his eyes go wide. At “wet ass pussy make that pull out game weak,” he turned to you, beet red in the face.

“What kind of music do you listen to?!”

“This is a popular song!” you laughed. “We have some obviously sexual songs that aren’t quite as… vulgar too. Friday, play ‘T-Shirt’ by Thomas Rhett.”

Bucky eyed you cautiously this time, not quite sure if you were actually playing a more censored song. He visibly relaxed when he heard the first lyrics, “Get off of work and we meet down at our spot. We got a patio with a view of a parking lot.”

“See, this is already so much better.”

“Don’t act so innocent,” you smirked, rolling your eyes at him.

“That sounds like an accusation,” Bucky laughed.

“Oh, it is.”

“Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?” He sat up to face you directly, one leg landing on each side of your body sitting on the floor. His posture combined with his playful conversation had you wondering where this confidence came from. Because you definitely liked it.

“Come on,” you scoffed. “You can’t convince me a face like that,” you pointed directly at him to emphasize your point, “wasn’t making panties drop left and right back in the day.”

He shook his head and laughed to himself, leaning back on the couch, yet made no move to deny your accusation.

“Who would’ve known my sweet little Bucky Bear was a player?” you joked.

“Oh, like you’re not the same way, Build A Bear.”

“Excuse me?!” you squealed. “I’ll have you know I’m a good little Christian girl and I’m saving myself for marriage,” you said with a grin, maneuvering from sitting on your butt to kneeling and clasping your hands together like you were praying.

“You’re a lot of things, [Y/N]. A good liar is not one of those things,” Bucky smirked.

Your mouth fell agape. You liked this confident, playful side of him. You’d only seen glimpses until now.

“What’s your number?” you asked, dropping your hands to your sides.

“Uhh… My phone number?”

“No, your sexual body count,” you laughed, making sure to clarify; former assassins probably have a different interpretation of ‘body count.’ “How many people have you slept with?”

You knew it was a personal question but given the topic of conversation and casual tone you’d both taken on, it didn’t seem totally out of bounds.

Bucky thought for a second, slowly counting on his fingers. Your eyes watched as the slender metal digits flicked up: one, two, three... “Four.”

“Yeah, okay,” you scoffed.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Bucky said with a laugh.

“Because that’s my body count.”

“Doll, I took plenty of dames out on the town, but I’d leave the night with a kiss and nothing else,” he said, that old school Brooklyn lilt sneaking up on him.

You sighed and shook your head, still not believing him but choosing to let it go for now.

“Give me your arm,” you said, holding your hand out. Bucky let his arm drop into your hand while you picked up a microchip with a needle-thin pair of tweezers. “This will adhere to the vibranium and essentially act like a pillow to muffle the sounds of your arm. So it’ll still make noise — I can’t just get rid of all sound — but it’ll be notably quieter.”

You tucked the chip under the inner plating of Bucky’s arm, watching as it sparked over the metal to let you both know it was working.

“Now lie back down so I can put you back together, Humpty Dumpty,” you said.

Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, but leaned back on the couch with his left arm over his head. After 15 minutes of angling the plating just right so it would fit back together, you climbed off the couch, distancing yourself from Bucky for the first time in nearly four hours.

“Anything else I can help the mad scientist with today?” Bucky asked. He had moved to rest his elbows on his knees, looking up at you from his spot on the sofa.

You checked your watch to see how much time you had left in your workday. 4:15. Forty-five minutes until you can clock out for the weekend. Not quite close enough to bullshit through some dumb side project so you don’t get too invested. But there’s one thing you wanted to check out to improve the feeling in Bucky’s arm.

“Can you take your shirt off?” you asked plainly.

Bucky’s eyes went wide for half a second before he slipped back into his playful demeanor. “Shouldn’t you take me on a date first?”

“Shut up,” you giggled. You giggled. “I just want to see how the arm is connected to your torso.”

Without pause, Bucky leaned forward, grabbed the back of his shirt, and tugged it over his head to let it fall to the floor. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t consider what he’d look like underneath his clothing, so it took you a second to gather your bearings again. You couldn’t help yourself. How could you not admire the slender lines of his collarbones, the thick layer of muscle covering his chest, the distinct ridges on his abdomen speckled with scars, the very tip of what you could only assume were two tantalizing depressions leading right to —

“Like what you see, doll?” he smirked.

Your eyes met his, reluctantly pulling away from what you knew would be the source of your dreams tonight.

“Four, my ass,” you mumbled in fake annoyance, kneeling between his thighs again to get a better look at him. Your fingertips trailed along the smooth line of scarred skin bordering the harsh metal of his arm. It took all your willpower to focus on work instead of the heat his body was radiating being so close to each other. “Was this how, you know, they put your arm on?”

Bucky shook his head, his expression growing sullen at the indirect mention of his tormentors. “They just kind of dug away at it. The Wakandans actually cut away a bit more of my skin to allow for healthier healing.”

You could tell it was carefully done, judging by the faint discoloring and thin ridge alongside the metal, as opposed to angry red lines that protruded out like the photos Shuri sent.

“Does this area hurt?” You pressed your hand flat to the scar; Bucky had to try to reign in his heartbeat. You had leaned in close to see his arm, leaving you close enough for him to just dip his head down and —

“What’s going on here?”

Both of you whipped your heads to the side to see a very confused — and slightly annoyed — Tony standing in the entrance to the common room, clearly just passing by and stumbling on a somewhat compromising situation: his daughter on her knees between a shirtless Winter Soldier’s thighs.

Without taking your eyes off your father, you reached around on the coffee table and grabbed your notebook.

“Research! I promise!”

“Research that couldn’t happen in your designated lab?” You could tell there was so much more he wanted to say, but had to keep it to himself for now to avoid telling Bucky who you really were.

“I had to open the compartment in his tricep area and didn’t want to make him lie down on the lab tables for three hours.” The accusatory glare from your dad made you shrink into yourself, your voice growing quieter as you spoke. Fridays were family dinner night, and you already knew you wouldn’t hear the end of this.

“Uh-huh,” he said slowly, still eyeing you and Bucky suspiciously. “And why did he need to be half naked for that?”

“Da — Tony,” you said, barely catching yourself. “I mean, Mr. Stark. I was examining the scar tissue and spinal connection to determine how to enhance the sensory receptors currently embedded in the vibranium.”

Tony’s eyes flitted between you and Bucky. Your eyes were wide, clearly nervous as he grilled you. Bucky, on the other hand, was flushed pink and leaning a little too close for Tony’s comfort.

“Keep this PG from now on, okay? And no working outside of the lab. This is Stark Tower, not Bezos Tower. We’re not gonna work you to the bone.” He started to walk away before stepping back and adding, “No fraternizing with coworkers, remember?”

With a quick nod, you stood abruptly and gathered your things to take it back to your lab for the night. Bucky was quick to slip his shirt back on and followed you with his head down to avoid the burning gaze of your father — or as far as he knew, his boss.

You didn’t expect Bucky to go back to your lab with you, but part of you was glad he did. Being around him brought you a sense of calm and comfort, even after what just happened. If he had just walked away, you’d assume the worst: that an accusation like that was far from what he wanted to hear.

You set all your things back on your table to start putting them away when Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat.

“Sorry about that,” he said. You spared a quick glance at him, seeing the tension in his shoulders as he chose his words carefully.

“Why?” you asked, genuinely confused on how that situation was somehow his fault.

“Tony… he doesn’t really like me much.”

“Yeah, I know,” you laughed. “But that was way more of a me-problem than a you-problem. We’ll just have to work in here from now on.” You shrugged and went back to putting your tools in their respective drawers.

Bucky still stood right inside the doorway, the door shut behind him so no one outside could hear you two. He rocked back and forth on his feet, trying to force himself to follow through with at least mentioning what he planned on asking you.

“I was actually gonna see if you wanted to get dinner together sometime until Tony gave us that speech,” he chuckled.

You slid the final drawer shut and turned to Bucky. You knew you two were getting closer and you couldn’t deny feeling an attraction to him, but you never expected him to feel that same pull. The thought made you smile back at him while he cracked his knuckles, most likely from nerves. What happened to that fun and flirty attitude he had just a few minutes ago?

Your grandma always said to never date a man who wasn’t nervous about asking you out...

“I’m pretty good at keeping secrets,” you said quietly.

His eyes stopped darting around the room to find your gaze. You stepped closer, taking slow steps as you crossed the room to him until you were toe to toe. He didn’t take his eyes off of you until you held your phone out to him.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” you said with a small smirk.

His lips curled into a small smile as he snatched your phone and entered his number.

“I’ll text you my address. Does tomorrow night work?” you asked, unintentionally biting your lip but not missing the way Bucky’s eyes followed the movement.

“Tomorrow sounds great,” he replied.

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Buck.” You took a bit of a risk and stood on your tip toes to give him a kiss on the cheek, his face immediately flushing red. Your own cheeks grew warm when you stepped back, tossing Bucky a quick wave as you turned back around and hoping he’d leave before you started screaming.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x Stark!reader #bucky barnes x Stark!reader #Stark!reader #bucky barnes fanfic

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ambitiousskychild · 5 years ago

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Glasses

It was just supposed to be for a little while. Just until they could fix his lenses. Two days tops, and then he’d have his glasses back. Contacts are torture, actual-ass torture, and he can’t be fucked to deal with them a single second longer than he needs to.

Of course, that’s what he said two days ago.

That’s the hill he would have stupidly died on two days ago before he bravely went to school expecting the very worst and instead got a whole bunch of positive reinforcement that, okay, maybe he was wrong. Maybe, on second thought, contacts aren’t quite so horrible. Maybe in the end, all they are are innocent clear little discs that, alternatively to glasses, open up your face so people can actually see it, and maybe, okay just maybe people have different opinions on his face—now that they can see it—than he’d always been led to believe.

Before, he would have said he’s always known what he looks like. He knows that he’s tall and gangly and awkward with a too-large nose and only-recently perfected teeth. He’s known that he’s pasty and loud and that his glasses, though ridiculous, surely aren’t the most ridiculous thing about him.

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Because usually, people don’t really see him, but now people stare at him like he’s a different person—and maybe he is without his glasses. He certainly feels like one. Maybe in a weird, ridiculously fitting way, his glasses have been holding him back all this time. Like—like Velma from Scooby-Fucking-Doo, or even fucking Steve Urkel when he turns into Stephon, and isn’t that fucking nuts.

That’s how it feels when people stare at him these days. Like he’s not quite so much a dweeb anymore, and he doesn’t really know what to do with it.

Bill Denbrough himself tells him that he looks really good, which Richie doesn’t think Bill’s ever said to him in his entire life and he just does not know what to do with that. He doesn’t know what to do when Stan gives him a once over and ends it with a smile rather than a fondly exasperated sigh, or when Ben tells him he looks so grown up, or when he locks eyes with Eddie who does an up-to-now completely unprecedented doubletake.

“Wow,” he drawls, with his wide endless eyes so open and focused it’s scary. “You look like a real person.”

“As opposed to what?”

“A cartoon character,” he clarifies, which makes Richie laugh while Eddie just stares. He stares as the others continue to react, then he opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, then evidently changes his mind and leaves instead.

It’s weird.

And it’s like that for the next couple of days.

For the next couple of days, people see him. In the hallways and in class. They talk to him like he’s worth getting to know, like he’s somebody, and Eddie stares with that strange expression Richie can’t really decipher.

Some stupid part of himself wants to think that when Eddie looks at him like that, he’s star struck. Eddie stares at him like he’s never seen him before. He stares at him like he can’t look away, like he just can’t stop himself. It shocks Richie uncharacteristically silent, makes his mouth go dry, tongue like cotton in his mouth whenever he finds himself thoughtlessly looking around for Eddie only to find him already looking back.

Then midway through the week, he gets his glasses back.

He and his mom go pick them up after school and then his problem is officially over. He can take the hell-lenses out of his eyes, pop back on his frames and move on from this altogether weird experience. That’s what he tells himself.

And in the morning, he shoves the contacts back into his eyes and calls himself a dirty liar.

Just for the rest of the week, he tells himself, then he’ll stop. He’ll fill up on having positive attention for once, then he’ll stop. He’ll stock up on whatever having this version of Eddie’s attention means… then he’ll stop.

Come Friday, he already doesn’t believe himself, though. The losers go their separate ways after school with plans to meet up and waste time tomorrow, and Richie goes home, mind racing with thoughts of Eddie’s eyes on his and the set of his lips.

He thinks he’ll be stuck wearing these stupid contacts forever if it means Eddie will look at him like that. He thinks, as he falls asleep that night, that’s the stupid sacrifice he’s willing to make.

In the morning, he’s pulled rudely from floaty, blurry dreams by an incessant knocking sound somewhere that keeps going and going until he foggily realizes someone must be at the door. Until he realizes that his parents must not be here to answer it, so he’s going to have to get up and answer it himself.

Sleepily, he grabs his glasses off his nightstand, slips on a shirt and stumbles his way downstairs, bumping blindly into corners and doorknobs all the way. He yanks open the front door and nearly gets Eddie’s knuckles against his chest.

“Oh!” Eddie says, rearing back a bit in surprise. “Richie.”

Richie blinks blearily down at a pouting Eddie, takes in his pastel-colored polo and his scuffed up shoes. Takes in his wild, bewildered eyes and tries to make sense of it. “Expecting someone else?” he yawns.

Eddie looks up at him with furrowed brows, lips pressed together. “It’s one. You were supposed to meet us an hour ago.”

“What am I in trouble?”

“Just let me in.”

Upstairs, Eddie starts to relax, thick brows unfurrowing, shoulders unhunching. He’s sitting on the bathroom counter as Richie brushes his teeth. He’s got his arms folded across his chest as he leans against the mirror, one leg drawn up to his body as the other swings untethered, foot smacking lightly against the cabinet because his legs still aren’t long enough to reach the floor.

Richie watches Eddie’s foot swing so he doesn’t have to see his reflection any longer, doesn’t have to see the way his glasses magnify his eyes, the way they draw attention to his nose and block his cheekbones.

“Stan told me to remind you to put on sunscreen,” Eddie pipes up. Richie looks up to see him just about glaring down at the counter. “So you don’t fucking burn and peel in the sun like a fruit.”

“Oh, is Stan going to be the one to rub it on me?” Richie garbles. “Or do you want the job?”

“Don’t fucking talk with the toothpaste in your mouth,” Eddie snaps, sighing like he’s exasperated, but his small smile says otherwise. He still won’t meet Richie’s eyes though and that won’t do.

“That’s not really a no, you know.”

“Spit it out if you’re going to fucking talk! You know I hate when you do this.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I do it,” Richie laughs, but nonetheless, spits into the sink as unfavorably as he possibly can, watches as Eddie grimaces at him.

“You’re like a fucking animal,” Eddie tells him, a muted smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Richie nods smugly back as he rinses out his mouth, watches the way Eddie stares at him, small smile spreading and spreading, so Richie’s heart races and races until he knows he has to stop looking.

He removes his glasses, reaching for his contacts—

“Wait.”

Richie pauses, waits for Eddie to continue, but instead Eddie just stares like he’s surprised himself just as much as he’s surprised Richie. “Uh, why?”

“Because we’re gonna swim,” Eddie says. “You can’t go swimming in the dirty quarry water with contacts in your eyes.”

“Why not?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Well then I just won’t swim.”

“Oh, like you’re not gonna swim.”

“I won’t!”

“Bullshit, Richie, just wear your glasses.”

“No way, dude, apparently I’m hot like this. Your mom even—”

“If you finish that fucking sentence—”

Richie laughs, but suddenly can’t stand Eddie’s scrutiny. He twists the legs of his frames between his fingers under what he knows, even blind, is the weight of Eddie’s gaze. “Everybody likes me better like this.”

“Everybody,” Eddie scoffs, and Richie half wishes he could see Eddie’s expression, but is mostly glad he can’t. “Says who? Who the fuck is everybody?”

“You said I don’t look like a cartoon anymore,” Richie admits with a small laugh. “You know, you look at me different now. Like you see me. Like you don’t mind.” He can see a blurry Eddie just a foot away, staring at him like he just shook the world and drops his gaze back to his fingers, back to his glasses.

“So, me?” Eddie asks slowly, like he’s bewildered. “I’m everybody?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Richie backpedals, tries to laugh it off, but he sees Eddie roll his eyes.

“That’s literally what you just said,” Eddie says back. Richie can’t help but glance up only to see Eddie a little less blurry than before, a little closer, leaned just so over the edge of the counter, and Richie contemplates, briefly, just running right out of his house. “You said everybody and then talked about something I said specifically.”

“Okay, well you’re part of everybody. Like everybody is.”

“So, everybody tells you you look like a cartoon?”

“Okay, like, no, but—”

Eddie laughs. “Are you listening to yourself?”

Richie laughs helplessly back. “You know I usually don’t.” He’s somehow a combination of amused and embarrassed as he stares down at the blurry line of Eddie’s leg against the counter. He watches, almost frozen as Eddie’s hand moves across the counter and closes around his glasses.

“Yeah, you do,” Eddie rolls his eyes, hands coming up to carefully slide the glasses onto Richie’s face, and Richie stares dumbstruck as the love of his life comes into perfect clarity. Eddie is staring him right in the eye like he’s someone worth seeing, and he looks so soft. Soft like Richie’s bringing it out of him, soft like Richie’s got the power to even do that, soft like a dream. And Richie is hopelessly trapped in Eddie’s honeyed gaze as his thumbs tap the legs of Richie’s glasses over his ears and says, “You listen to that dumb voice inside that gives you shit all the time. The fucked-up one that told you no one sees you like this.”

“Hah,” Richie chokes out, throat full of nerves as he realizes how close Eddie is. He tries to laugh it off, but it only comes out strangled. “Okay, you can stop fucking looking directly into my soul now—”

“Will you just shut up and let me tell you that I see you?”

“I—huh?” Richie asks breathlessly.

Eddie looks just as breathless. “You blind motherfucker, I like you. Like this. Glasses and everything, okay? So if you wanna wear your dumb contacts because you like them, then whatever, but if it’s because you think no one sees you like this, then—” Eddie shrugs but it’s defensive because he’s nervous about Richie of all people—it makes Richie feel like he can’t breathe.

“You kidding?” Richie manages, heart beating a mile a minute as Eddie stares at him like that. “I’d probably fucking sleep in these if you said that’s what you wanted.”

And Eddie rolls his eyes, says, “You’re so fucking stupid,” then kisses him, lightening quick before Richie can do a thing about it, pulls away before Richie can follow, and stares up at him, looking just as surprised as Richie is. Face blooming redder, Eddie jumps down off the counter and ducks around him. “We’re late, come on,” he calls over his shoulder. Richie hears him hit the stairs, footsteps quick and frantic like he can’t stop moving, like he’s worked himself up.

Richie can’t say he doesn’t feel the same.

Before he leaves the bathroom, he catches himself in the mirror, red-faced and grinning, glasses big and a little crooked over his face, but fitting. Just the way Eddie apparently likes him.

#reddie #ficlet #my writing #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #richie's glasses are a character in their own right #i'm right and i should say it

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cursewoodrecap · 4 years ago

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Session 22: Five-Dimensional Man-Go

This is a session I’ve been looking forward to for quite some time. I get to introduce three of my favorite characters in the entire campaign.

In the real world it’s been a while, but this was the session we officially welcomed a new chaos goblin player to the table. And damn, am I glad we did.

Valeria goes to Hoeska’s armor smiths for some upgrades, and accidentally kicks off a goth fashion montage. Her new armor has gorgeous black detailing with purple rose accents, accessorized with a brand-new Shusva-skin bag with matching claw clasp. Gral picks up a fancy Shusva-leather cloak and belt. Shoshana, realizing that a vampire’s castle is basically a Hot Topic, gets some fishnet arm warmers to accompany her fang necklace. We also get some healing potions and hope they aren’t made from lost souls or anything.

Valeria resummons Aethis, who pops back into existence in a burst of glitter that’s entirely incongruous with the local grim aesthetic. Apparently celestial gators are only mildly inconvenienced by fatalities.

As we hitch up the horses to get back on the road, we find out Ser Boris is also preparing to head out. “Woods full of many nasty creatures. Must keep hunting! Maybe I find way down to Barroch, I have heard monsters are attacking workers there.”

Gral perks up at the name of his people’s capitol. “I’m sure the orcs will treat you well. What kind of monsters are they dealing with?”

“Wolves, bears, maybe werewolf? I will find out when I get there! Cursebreakers do not have much of working relationship with orcs, so info is scattered. That is why I must investigate!”

While he heads south into orc territory, we’re gonna go north toward Sturmhearst to look into all the Key nonsense Professor Bjork told us is goin’ down. It’ll be a long trip; it’s on the coast, and we’re well into the heartland of the wood. As we get closer, we’re gonna have to look for new maps, too – the patchwork of safe zones and Curse disasters changes rapidly, and the roads that were passable a month ago might be deathtraps today.

We trek for several blessedly uneventful days. One night, in a region where a sizable number of halflings have settled, we have the fortune of seeing an inn on the horizon as night starts to fall. A sign proclaims the Fusilier’s Rest, a combination winery and inn located on a lush vineyard. Valeria’s kind of suspicious of anything too plant-based right now, but the rest of us totally want a winery tour.

We hitch up our wagon next to a post labeled Valet Parking. Aethis parks themself in the stables. Looking at the place, with its rather low doorframe and quaintly painted décor, we suspect Demish wine snootery instead of weird plant cults.

We duck through the door and take in the scene. It’s on the upscale end of totally normal, with locals sitting around eating and a huge pot of Demish onion soup bubbling on the hearth. The old halfling bartender is wearing pieces of a worn but well-cared-for blue-and-gold uniform. Two polished old pistols hang within reach on the wall, along with a pristine old Fusille musket in a place of honor behind the bar. Shiny medals in a handmade case are proudly displayed atop the bar.

As is D&D protocol, we look around for any notably wacky characters. We find them in the corner: an old man with unkempt white hair and multi-lensed, colorful glasses, engrossed in a game of Man-go against a young human doctor. We know he’s a doctor, because he’s got a stubby-beaked Sturmhearst mask pushed up to expose a tired but friendly face. His coat might once have been a lab coat, but it’s since been patched and sutured together so many times that it’s probably done a full ship-of-Theseus. His right arm is in a makeshift sling, and he’s nursing a small glass of Kevan vodka; probably the closest thing they have to rotgut moonshine in a wine-snob place like this.

We’re like, neat. Let’s eat soup.

Valeria orders a local vineyard wine and chats with the bartender about it. “The man who runs it is a madman; he thinks he can grow good wine grapes in Valdia. But he pays my sister well, she does her best.”

“Oh, don’t listen to René, his sister does marvelous work! No halfling will admit that wine grown outside Demionde will be more than spoiled grape juice,” teases one of the local barflies.

Gral asks Valeria who’s winning the Man-go game. The old man is rambling pleasantly, barely paying attention, and he is absolutely crushing the young doctor. The doctor looks like he’s totally aware he’s being taken to the cleaners, but he’s gonna let the old guy have his fun. As the game draws to a close, the younger man smiles ruefully and hands over a few coins. Meanwhile, the old fella, his eyes magnified to mismatched sizes by his funky glasses, spots our most conspicuous party member.

“Kyr! How’s the wine?” he calls, beckoning her over.

“Quite good actually!” Valeria chirps. “Was that the Kiloni maneuver?”

“Yes, or a variant I picked up somewhere! The Killam maneuver…kilometer…kilowatt? Something of the sort.”

Valeria very much wants to play him, and the old guy’s defeated opponent is happy to trade her his spot. The young man’s propped up leg hits the ground with a suspiciously loud clunk as he vacates his chair for her.

The old man peers up at her, bright-eyed even behind multiple layers of glass. “So what brings a Knight of the Rose here?”

“We’re headed to Sturmhearst, actually!”

“I see! I’ve heard the roads between here and there are pretty tricky to travel, you know.”

“No kidding. Do you have an updated map?”

He snaps his fingers. “No, but I just came from there! I’ve got an old map and I can easily update it for you kids. René is on night watch, I’ll leave it with him so you don’t have to stay up waiting for me to finish it. I know a route that’ll get you there lickety-split and safe as trousers! Now let me guess, you played at the clubs in Aurentium? You have the look about you.”

“Not the clubs, precisely��”

“Ah! Street rules, then!”

Valeria, who played Man-go against literally everyone who would have her, shrugs. “Maybe?”

“René, we’ll need some cups and a dumb hat!” the old man calls.

The young doctor wanders over to the bar and gets a refill, settling down next to Shoshana. “Hey, wanna bet on their game? The old guy’s pretty sharp.”

Shoshana laughs. “Oh, my friend is definitely gonna lose. I’ll put a silver on her, though, out of loyalty.”

It’s an odd game to spectate. Valeria falls behind early on; an insight check shows he’s not cheating, he’s just VERY good. Oh, and also Valeria’s assuming an entirely different set of house rules than this guy, and it’s tripping her up. Wait, are we doing street style, or dock style? Anyway, Valeria’s wearing the dumb hat now. At one point they both spit on the board.

“Y’know, I’ve never seen anyone from Sturmhearst take the mask off,” Shoshana says to her new drinking buddy, watching the game with confusion.

“On the clock, it’d be a safety hazard! But off the clock, eh, it’s fine. Some people get more elitist than me about it, I’m a hometown Valdian through and through.”

(You’re from Joisey, I’m from Joisey! What exit?)

“I haven’t actually been to the university since the Curse started, but I’m heading back to research some stuff I found out up in the Grammelsmarsh swamps. Some real disconcerting stuff regarding undead, and the like. The locals refer to it as the Wailing Wight.”

Shoshana gives him a once-over, rolling a decent Perception. He’s scruffy, though that could mostly be from hard travel, and definitely looks like he’s had a rough time of it. His arm’s in a sling and the little exposed skin Shoshana can see has more than its share of nicks and scars. His gait when he walked over was slightly uneven, one leg making a suspiciously heavy thunk against the wooden floor. Over his shoulder, he’s carrying a long, heavy case sealed with tar for waterproofing.

Hold up. She points to the case. “Do you have an alive guy in there?”

“…Uh.”

“You hesitated, and that’s not great.”

“Uh…no. No, I do not have an alive guy in here,” he says awkwardly.

“Okay, because the last time there was a weird bag, there was a whole-ass dude in there, and it turned into a whole thing.”

“N-no, no no no, there’s no person in the case,” he protests, not quite meeting Shoshana’s judgy cat eyes. He definitely doesn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, even though the case has started gently twitching.

Meanwhile, old Man-Go man has proved himself quite fluent in Draco-Aquilian, though with an unmistakable mammalian accent. Gral butts into the lively conversation when it winds back to Valdian. “It seems like you’re rather well traveled. What is your profession?”

“Oh, y’know, I go here and there. I’ve been around. There’s so much to see out there!”

Valeria smiles. “I can’t fault you there. Anything in particular you’re looking for?

“I go wherever the winds take me, mostly,” he says, as if Cursewood travel isn’t the most dangerous hobby since they invented pyromancer cookoffs.

Valeria, impressively, only loses the game by a little. The old man jovially shakes her hand and promises to go get started on that map to Sturmhearst for us, springing to his feet with surprising deftness for his age and bustling up toward his room.

Gral and Shoshana, meanwhile, are busy makin’ friends with the doctor guy. “What swamp were you fighting undead in?”

“The Grammelsmarsh? It’s downriver of Mornheim.”

“Ohhh! We heard some, uh, adventurers did a purifying ritual on the river. It might help your situation?”

“That’s great, but…I dunno. Once you mix in swamp gas, things get a lot more interesting.”

“The explosions kind of interesting?”

“…Sometimes.”

The players have noticed that our doctor friend here is, like…not an NPC, there’s another guy at the table (the same player as Isadora! :D), so we start sizing each other up as travel companions.

“You seem like a pretty decent guy,” Gral says, immediately insight checking.

“I mean, you guys seem on the up-and-up too?”

Shoshana winks at him. “Well, I’m not that up-and-up but these two are very diplomatic and important.”

“If you’re also headed up to Sturmhearst, it might make sense for us to travel together? I’m not very quiet,” he admits, knocking on his knee with a clang, “but if you-“

“Hello!” Valeria, hearing clanking, has clanked over loudly to join. “Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service!”

“Uh, hi! I’m Vigdor. I’m a doctor! I mean, you knew that, with the, uh-“ He points to his bird mask. “If you need any balms or salves – I mean, I’m mostly a surgeon, but I know some herbology.”

Is that so! We chat about Dr. Ulmus and Dr. Kjeller. Everyone loves Dr Kjeller!

“I’ve heard of Dr. Kjeller! I haven’t met the guy, but he’s the leading expert on troll physiology. Getting him to come lecture hasn’t worked out so far.”

We ask René the innkeeper about any local threats. Apparently this town’s gotten lucky; the biggest threats recently have just been bandits and one overaggressive badger.

“Oh yeah, one of my cats fought one of those, it went badly,” Shoshana remembers. “For the badger, I mean. I have weird cats.”

(The inn also has cat. His name is Jean Clawed.)

Eventually we all head upstairs. As the night bears on, the girls fall asleep, presumably after painting each other’s toe claws and gossiping. Gral’s still awake, practicing his lute in the rare luxury of a single room, when he pauses. Something doesn’t sound right.

Putting his lute aside, he listens cautiously at the window and feels a deep dread grow in his stomach. The faint scent of ozone drifts in the air. The crickets and night birds have gone dead silent, and in the unsettling quiet he can hear the terrible growling, piping sound he’s heard twice before: once in a house in a hole, and once as Bullbreaker’s expedition faced its destruction.

With great urgency and no volume control, Gral sends a Message to a sleeping Shoshana: “RED ALERT, KEY SHIT’S HERE.” Shoshana wakes up and kicks Valeria.

Gral then sends a Message to our new friend Vigdor, more calmly. “If you have weapons, get them now. Something is happening, it’s going to be dangerous.”

The early warning lets Vigdor and Valeria armor up, Shoshana helping Valeria buckle on the heavy pieces in a hurry. Meanwhile, Gral sprints downstairs, casting Mirror Image as he goes.

René the innkeeper is cleaning his fusille with practiced precision, humming an old marching song. Gral can hear something moving in the kitchen behind the old halfling, so he pops another stealthy Message cantrip. “This is the orc from earlier. I think something bad is in the kitchen – I’ve heard that noise before. Hold on tight to that musket, I’m going in.”

“The back door is locked, I would have heard someone come in,” the old soldier whispers back.

“These things don’t use doors,” Gral hisses.

A 17 Persuasion convinces René, who loads a bullet into his musket. “Where are those friends of yours?”

A heavy clank from upstairs answers that question, as Vigdor and Valeria thud toward the stairs. Gral scopes out the room and sees, on the bar, a big leather map case. The map from the Man-Go guy! Then he peers into the kitchen and, yup, that’s a fleshhound, all right.

Everyone else upstairs bursts into the hall just as a second fleshhound emerges into existence next to them. Shoshana, without hesitation, hits it with a gout of flame. Its strange ethereal flesh solidifies for a moment, but then it shakes itself and charges forward, its displacement energy restored.

Meanwhile, the one downstairs doesn’t aim for Gral or René, trying to run past them. Gral plays a discordant note on his lute, using his Minor Key at the opposite frequency to its vibration and preventing it from displacing, before he strikes. A spectral, scarred orc swings a warhammer down on the creature, Thrice-Burned’s ghost getting some payback as Gral’s blade strikes true.

René takes a shot with his musket and crit-fails, understandably freaked out by the writhing mass of teleporting tentacles, the wild shot careening directly into Gral. Luckily, it only pops a Mirror Image, but everyone upstairs hears a frustrated yell of “NO. FRIEND! ME FRIEND!”

Vigdor dashes past Valeria to the stairs, his previously-motionless arm reaching out of its sling to slap her on the armor with a resounding clash of metal. A silver Jotunn rune glows through the cloth of his sleeve, and she feels Protection from Good and Evil snap into place over her. She takes the cue and stabs the hound, rose vines bursting from her trident and stabbing their long thorns into its oddly flickering flesh.

The pupils on the Eyegis snap to the space behind the beast. Our normal eyes see nothing, but the Key-aligned shield’s eyes see a magical gate, faintly connected to the hound.

As a member of the Order of the Rose, Valeria’s trained to deal with fiendish incursions. This isn’t a portal to the Hells, but she thinks it might get closed similarly. As she charges forward to deal with it, everything seems to move twice as fast as it should: the Key’s spatial distortion has made certain areas the opposite of difficult terrain, where you can move double your speed. Nyoom!

Shoshana zaps it with lightning and heads downstairs to help Gral, who’s being slapped by tentacles. The zapped one flees toward the portal, but Valeria Sentinels and stabs it to death. The downstairs hound gets its tentacles into the real Gral.

Vigdor moves to Gral’s aid, ripping away the last of his sling and clamping a large circular blade to his forearm. With the pull of a ripcord, it loudly whirs into motion. As the Buzzing Butcher slams into the displacer hound with a gory squelch, he asks about sneak attack, like a rogue!

A very, very loud rogue.

Gral breaks away from the hound’s tentacles and looks around. Through the windows, more fleshhounds have appeared outside. The space outside is warped – leaving this inn is going to be very difficult while all this nonsense is going on. The lights of the vineyard seem miles away.

However, Gral realizes, the hound responded to the sound of his lute. And when he used his Minor Key he caught a glimpse of the portal it came through. He begins to play again, using the Minor Key to try to take control of it. The GM allows him to burn a 3rd level spell slot for a colossal roll of 33. He moves the portal inside a wall, to temporarily block anything coming through.

René takes a shot at the remaining hound and misses.

Valeria, upstairs, draws her chained sword and spends a 1st level slot to try to close the portal, the same way paladins close Infernal gateways. The chains of Rack extend from the sword and stitch the portal shut.

(Gral and Valeria each gain inspiration for using Portal Trixx!)

A Thing Occurs at initiative 0, and we hear strange piping coming from the stables. We’re kind of occupied, so we trust Aethis to bite anything that bothers the horses.

Shoshana sprints down the stairs and to the bar. Aw, there’s another flesh hound coming in from the kitchen. Her Chill Touch misses, and the new monster slaps Gral.

Vigdor nyooms through a Zoom, which makes some Really Weird doppler effects happen with his clanky leg and his buzzy arm. He slides across the bar like an action hero and slams his saw down, missing the hound and showering the room in a hail of splinters.

Valeria is still upstairs, and it is LOUD downstairs. She’s gonna dash to get the heck down there and rejoin the festivities.

Gral Phantasmal Forces the new fleshhound, and in its mind, horrible liquid tendrils emerge from the soup pot and constrict around it. The soup rises to the defense of the Fusilier’s Rest!

René gets his wits about him and takes a pistol shot at the nearer fleshhound, tagging it with a bullet and keeping it in place. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE. OUR POLICY IS NO PETS! I will not make an exception for you, you do NOT seem particularly polite!”

The fleshhound grabs the map case off the bar and starts to run for it. René hits it with the butt of his rifle. The second hound can’t attack Vigdor since it’s too busy convincing itself soup isn’t dangerous, so Vigdor’s free to draw his pistol and unload a Sneak Attack bullet into the fleeing hound’s back.

René reloads his musket. It’s been a long time since he’s done it under fire, but the Royal Fusilier Corps of Demionde does not half-ass their training.

The portal the hound’s heading for bisects a wall now, so it might be hard for the hound to get through. Before it can worry about that, though, it comes face to face with Valeria, who’s ready to rumble. She kills it, dropping the map to the ground, and skitters through the Zoomy Zone to try to trident the second hound. It displaces out of the way.

Gral seizes control of another portal, and this time decides to use it to see what’s going on. He tries to hop out to the stables, where that weird noise is coming from. He enters a weird nether space full of the flickering bodies of fleshhounds, writhing and blinking, which the DM calls the Threshold. Gral accepts psychic damage to see what’s going on, and the patterns become clearer as the Key takes hold temporarily in his brain. These portals all connect to each other and the Threshold at the same time. Whatever’s out in the stables, making that eerie piping noise, is tied to the portals – it can’t fully exist in our realm. So if you close all the portals, it’ll force that thing to leave; if you drive it away, the portals will close. Either way, the Key’s influence on this place will fade.

Oh, and that thing out in the stables? It’s the Lurke r again.

Gral’s old enemy wrests control of the portal back from Gral, who stumbles back out into the inn, reeling from the sudden whammy of Key taint.

Shosha shoots lightning at the nearest hound, which retaliates by leaping through her, disrupting her matter with its own. It’s a highly unpleasant experience. A new hound jumps out of the portal next to Valeria. As Vigdor, Shoshana, and René all attack, Gral shuts another portal with his lute’s magic. “Guys, there’s something horrible in the stables!” he shouts. “If we bust enough portals it’ll go away!”

The Lurker continues to make mysterious dice rolls, but apparently it’s rolling poorly, so we don’t quite find out what it’s up to. It peers through one of the last few portals, only visible to Gral and the Eyegis. It’s hard to get a good look at, fifth-dimensional as it is, but it’s weirdly humanoid, actually? It’s surrounded by floating lanterns and holding some sort of pipe or flute.

(The DM notes that Jean Clawed is awake and doesn’t see why any of this is his business. He’s capable of using the portals; he’s not Key tainted, that’s just how cats are.)

We exchange blows with the remaining hounds, Chromatic Orbs flying and chainsaws buzzing. René bayonets a hound to death, for the honor of all NPCs.

Gral powerslides on his knees across the Zoomy Zone, playing a complicated riff, woobling himself right through the fireplace into the kitchen. He spends another level 3 spell slot to get the portal to dance itself shut. “And that was Through the Fire and Flames!”

René reloads his gun. Shoshana blasts the hound with fire, so Vigdor’s action goes off and he chainsaws it to death, the body and spine getting caught in the spinning chain. FATALITY.

The searing light of Shoshana’s fire casts sharp shadows on the walls of the inn, which begin to writhe and re-form, swirling together into a lithe, snarling feline shape that springs toward the Lurker. It pounces with an odd, broken yowl that’s incredibly familiar – although Valeria and Gral have only ever heard it once, from underneath an overturned laundry basket.

Vigdor, who’s never met a flesh-hound OR a cursecat before, makes an arcana check to figure out what in the seven hells is going on. It seems some sort of entity is thinning the barriers between realities? Its very essence seems to be intermingled with portal; it cannot fully leave the portal or exist in this realm. Like a malevolent, sentient pair of curtains.

He’s like okay, curtains sound like something I can chainsaw. It’s curtains for you, see? (Fun fact: if he rolls 21 or higher on attack roll with chainsaw, he gets sneak attack regardless of other circumstances. Because it’s a goddamn CHAINSAW.)

The Lurker turns its attention directly on us, or at least to the enormous hissing cat hellbent on ruining its day. Gral, still strumming furiously, realizes the Lurker’s only got a couple of portals left. He’s closed a portal already; he’s gonna try to close all of them for good. The DM imposes disadvantage and a brutal pile of psychic damage, but Gral is unphased, hitting a power chord that shakes the entire inn.

The Lurker screeches and reaches for him, the space around Gral beginning to warp, but it’s too late, the portal slamming shut against it. The Zoomy Zones vanish; the portals close, the strange atmosphere fades. The road looks to be the size it was before instead of an endless stretch of packed earth; the vineyard is once again an easy ten-minute walk away.

His big solo complete, Gral sways and collapses unconscious. Valeria runs over and Lays On Hands so he doesn’t die, while Vigdor starts casting Mending on the destroyed bar furniture. Shoshana, meanwhile, just stares dumbstruck at the place where a huge spectral cat is dissipating into shadowy smoke.

“…Schmendrick?”

René is holding himself together, but he’s an old man and it’s been a while since he fought this much. He took a bit of damage; Valeria pat pats him some HP. “Thank you, Kyr. I…I need to check on my other guests. The old man with the Man-Go game, we must find out if he lives.”

Valeria accompanies him upstairs. Rack’s glowing rose vines are still visible, stitching the portal shut; it’s healing more quickly than Valeria’s used to seeing. The door to the old man’s room swings open under Valeria’s cautious knock. The bed is unmade but empty, and the old man’s luggage is gone. The only things left are a generous tip on the counter and his odd multicolored glasses.

As Vigdor steps outside to clean viscera off his chainsaw, Gral scopes out the stables. There’s evidence of disturbed earth around the grounds, but nothing conclusive. Aethis seems to be unbothered.

We reconvene without much to show for our investigation. But we have one last clue: Why were the hounds so interested in the old man’s map? We spread it out on one of the bar tables and crowd around. It’s a map of Valdia, but the path it shows us to take to Sturmhearst makes No Sense. It’s not even contiguous! It tells us to start here and wander north, and then the line cuts off next to some scribbled equations, the route picking up again elsewhere, where he’s drawn a symbol we don’t recognize – and so on, in strange and nonsensical disconnected paths.

Shoshana, on a hunch, puts on the multicolored glasses the old man left behind. Like 3D glasses, they reveal the hidden image. Through the kaleidoscopic lenses, she can see remnants of the Key’s influence all around the inn; the fading Zoomy Zones and closing portals light up in ultraviolet. The map, meanwhile, has gained an entirely new dimension, like a layer of holographs. NOW the shortcuts make sense – they route through other dimensions along the z-axis, with additional symbols and labels giving helpful hints.

To be honest, it does look like a much faster route. And one of the notes says it leads to the “Drowned City” – hey, isn’t that where Bullbreaker ended up? But we’re all rightfully wary of hopping right back into another flesh-hound portal disaster.

We now have the Extradimensional Map and the Stranger’s Glasses.

Oh! The map has a note for us: “Happy Journeys to a fellow master of the game. Your friend, T.T.”

We immediately rifle through our notes and realize he may have been Professor Trevor Twombly, Headmaster of Sturmhearst. Vigdor, did you know that guy?!

Vigdor didn’t recognize him. Maybe the guy looked like Twombly, if you squint? There were a lot of old men at Sturmhearst, and they wear masks most of the time? Also he had distracting glasses? So, like…maybe?

As we bicker, Vigdor snags the glasses off the table and heads to his room, opening up his case and taking a look. The lenses don’t reveal anything new about the object inside.

Unfortunately, the poor rogue didn’t bother to stealth. “Whatcha doin’ in here?” says Valeria, who followed shortly behind.

“Um, just looking at my leg, seeing if anything is weird-“

Valeria immediately checks Vigdor’s lower limbs for wounds. “I can help! An extra pair of hands can always-”

“No, no! I think I’m okay! Really!” he protests. He glances into the case again, clearly torn, and sighs. “Let me explain.”

He lifts a whole human leg out of the case, kicking and twitching.

“This is my leg, and I’m taking it to Sturmhearst. I’m not sure if it’s wholly mine anymore.”

Through his torn pants, Valeria can see a clunky clockwork leg to match his buzz-saw arm.

One player immediately yells “FULL METAL ALCHEMIST.” Another player says it again, in a slightly different voice.

Dr. Vigdor Gavril has joined the party!

#the cursewood #session recap #the key #valeria argent #gral omokk'duu #shoshana bat chaya #vigdor gavril #schmendrick #trevor twombly

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divineluce · 5 years ago

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A Spirited Discussion || Jasmine & Luce

Timing: Backdated to Early December

Location: The Vural Residence

Tagging: @halequeenjas & @divineluce

Description: Back when Jas was staying at the Vural House, Luce had some questions about ghosts. Who better to ask than someone she’s despised since middle school?

It was entirely unsurprising to Jasmine that Beatrice opened up her home to her. Bea had always kind of been the mom friend and she loved that about her. In a lot of ways, it brought her back to a simpler time. A time where late-night secrets were whispered and hushed laughter was shared. Having lost Bea before, it made those small moments seem that much more precious. It almost completely made up for the fact she was missing her bed and luxury sheets. Almost. She had no appointments this morning, so she found herself alone in the kitchen with coffee Bea had made earlier that morning. She had made herself cozy at the table with her coffee and a muffin when she heard footsteps. She assumed it was Nellie, but was surprised to see Luce joining her at the table. She feigned shock and joked, “What have I done for the ever-elusive Luce to join me for a cup of coffee on this fine Saturday morning?” She thought of throwing in she’d have to add it to her calendar as the anniversary of the day Luce willingly spent some time with her, but she wasn’t going to push her luck.

Luce felt like shit. That had been the vibe for most of her days as of late, so she shouldn’t have been too surprised by it. It only made sense, right? You get talked into killing someone by an angry teenager, you fucking light a bitch up in a back alley and then… you feel like shit. Every night, she was haunted by what she’d done that day, the image of Lydia’s melting skin, wreathed in her fire seared into her mind. Some nights, she stayed awake for as long as she could, trying to put off the nightmares as much as possible. Running a charcoal smeared hand through her hair, Luce tossed the pencil back on her desk. She could smell coffee wafting from the kitchen and she let out a sigh. Maybe that would help her feel less like this. Leaving the mess of swirls and jagged lines, she made her way out to the kitchen and her eyes narrowed when she saw Jasmine. Sitting. In her spot. “Just make yourself at fucking home, I guess.” She muttered under her breath as she grabbed a mug from the cupboard. “Just here for the coffee. You’re an unexpected addition, just like most of the people who wind up sitting here in the morning. ” Luce replied, filling the mug nearly to the brim, with just enough space for a splash of milk. Adam, he’d apparently stayed here for a bit. And Blanche had been here too, Winston a few times, before they’d left town entirely. They were just a fucking pitstop of half the town, weren’t they

Had she been a less secure person, Luce’s disdain toward her might have bothered her. However, Jasmine just had an amused look on her face as she sipped on the coffee. She smirked as she retorted, “Well, Bea did tell me to make myself at home.” With a shrug, she glanced back down at the book she had been reading with her breakfast. She’d still been looking into more powerful destruction exorcisms for Larry Bob. It still made little sense to her that the previous one hadn’t worked. She flipped the book shut and decided she’d rather annoy Luce than herself. “You mean, you’re not here for the delightful company I provide,” she joked with a feigned sense of hurt. Maybe she should let Luce actually get some coffee in her before pissing her off, but where was the fun in that? “I’m kidding, I know for whatever reason you can’t stand me… which rude, but my feelings aren’t hurt. I’d still whack a ghost for you… Vampire shows up you’re on your own though.”

“Yeah, that’s just shit people say when they’re being polite. You’ve shown enough houses, you should know that by now.” Luce said over the rim of her coffee mug and took a sip. Bea had made the coffee, she could tell. There was something about the way that she brewed it that was just different-- she couldn’t put her thumb on what it was, but it reminded her that this place was home. Grabbing a couple slices of bread from the cabinet, she stuck them in the toaster and pressed the lever down. She’d just make some breakfast and then fuck off back to her room. Luce glanced over at the other woman with an arched eyebrow. “Uh huh, for whatever reason.” She said, reminded of Jas’ continuous presence around their family home when they were growing up. But, her annoyed expression was broken when she heard the other woman’s words. Casting a sidelong look at the book that sat shut on the table, Luce tilted her chin to it. “What’s that? And… what do you mean, whacking a ghost for me?” She asked, cautious.

“I think Bea and I are far past politeness and faux niceties,” Jasmine chided before she took another bite from her muffin that Bea had been all too excited to make. Even the coffee tasted better somehow. It was something she always relished during their monthly brunch dates. Though a small smirk was present on her face, she shook her head. “I said what I said. Not that I’m too bothered, I don’t require anyone’s approval but my own.” She watched the annoyed expression fade from Luce’s face. Was it a surprise there? Did Luce not realize she was an exorcist? Sure, they didn’t talk to each other much, but she assumed Bea or Nell had at least mentioned it before. “You know, like--” she made a whacking motion with her arms like she was hitting a ghost with one of her iron rods. Her features scrunched up with confusion. “Did you not know I’m an exorcist? Who do you think put the wards up here?”

“You sure fucking don’t.” Luce muttered over her mug, taking a long drink as she waited for the toaster to do it’s thing. If her magic was behaving normally, she’d just take the bread back to her room and toast it there, but… with how it’d be haved when she’d helped Adam dispel the Mortasheen from the beach. She had a feeling that she’d have better lucky shining a magnifying glass to the pieces of bread. No, better to suffer through Jas’ company and leave. As Jas made a swinging gesture, Luce rolled her eyes. “No shit I know you’re an exorcist. I just didn’t think that by exorcising ghosts you were straight up murdering them. I thought it was like… I don’t know, you getting your Jennifer Love Hewitt on.” She said shifting uncomfortably. Was Nadia a ghost? Could she be killed like this? Double killed or whatever?

Jasmine was confused now. Why would Luce think she murdered ghosts? Not that you could really kill what was dead, but she supposed sometimes she did have to actually destroy a soul. “Wait, what do you mean? I don’t murder ghosts. I meant whack is in like literal whacking. With an iron rod to get them to fuck off. Sometimes you’re not always ready for an impromptu exorcism in the middle of a Chili’s or whatever.” She mused further holding her coffee mug close to her, “I guess technically for poltergeists or demons I destroy their souls though one can argue there’s little left of their soul at that point-- For the most part, it’s just forcing ghosts to move on or you know, not hijack someone else’s body.”

“I don’t know how ghost shit works!” Luce said defensively. Because she really fucking didn’t. She’d read the books that Rio had given her-- which, she realized, were still sitting in her room. She should probably give those back to him. That would be one hell of an awkward conversation. “Uh huh, you, in a Chilis. That seems a lot less likely to happen than you double killing a ghost.” She said with a grimace. “Is there any way to get rid of ghosts for good? Or, if someone had been possessed before, does that make them like… extra enticing for poltergeists and shit to get back at them?” She asked. “Like, with the whole hijacking situation, will they just keep coming back to someone they’ve possessed?”

“Yeah, but you know me and should be able to deduce after all these years I’m not a murderer… Though given this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had, I can’t be all that shocked,” Jasmine said with a hint of edge in her voice. Most of the time, Luce’s annoyance with her was amusing, but she didn’t quite like the remark that she was murdering ghosts. They were literally already dead for one. Aside from that, they needed to move on for their own good. If her mug hadn’t been in her hand, her arms would have haughtily crossed over her chest. Instead, she shot Luce a glare to get the point across. “It’s not killing ghosts,” she reiterated before her brows furrowed. Was Luce asking her honest to god questions? There had to be something up. She set her mug down and channeled all the patience she could muster. “Yes, that’s like 90% of what I do. Most people who remain on this plane after they died, died a traumatic death. They have unfinished business that honestly more often than not, has no way of being resolved. That’s where I come in. I get them to move on… albeit with a little bit of exorcism, but unless it’s a destruction exorcism, they move on. Find some peace.” She thought over her answer in reply to possession. Usually those who had a spirit or demon exorcised from them would have some sort of protective measures. “I think a lot of that can vary from person to person. There’s not a hard and fast rule for possession. I think the more strong willed a person is, the more difficult it can be to possess them, but that’s really something that’s only theorized in accounts at best. If someone has had a spirit or demon exorcised from them, typically they learn some protective measures to take. Some ghosts can become very set on a single person I suppose.” She knew Larry Bob continuously had his sights set on her demise. It could make sense if it was a vengeance thing she supposed. The why behind Luce was asking to begin with concerned her. Her gaze softened and she asked, “What’s going on Luce? If you have some sort of ghost problem, I can help.”

Lips pressing together into a tight line, Luce stared down at her coffee mug for a moment. Maybe Jas didn’t seem like a murderer. But, she’d never thought she was one either. Or that Bea or Nell would be killers either. When push came to shove though, they’d chosen one another over the lives of others. And she’d done worse than that, she’d killed without… any real reason. Lifting the mug to her lips, Luce took a long sip as Jas explained what exorcism was, what happened to people who went through it, all of it things that Luce had never heard of. Reading the books from the Scribary, they’d really only given her information from the perspective of hunters, and they deferred to exorcists when it came to ghosts. Outside of a few wards that she’d tried to draw, they hadn’t provided much in the way of help. At Jas’s question, Luce spoke up slowly, “I don’t have a ghost problem. Not me personally.” She paused, hands pressed against the warm ceramic of the mug. “Someone I... care about does. Some bitch took over her body years ago but she got rid of her for a while. But now the ghost is back and she pushed her out of her body. They were both there for a while, but she got… shoved out. I didn’t even know that sort of thing was possible.”

As much as Jasmine had tried to bond with Luce over the years, seeing her features filled with anything but snark or disdain brought a sense of worry over here. She knew Luce would hate Jasmine of all people worrying for her and would probably say something about not needing her. It didn’t change the fact she would anyway. They didn’t have to get along swimmingly for her to give a crap about her overall wellbeing. She nodded slowly and set her mug down on the table, “Even if it’s not you personally, I’m still concerned.” So she listened and connected the pieces. How many ghosts in town could there be that were pushing people out of their bodies? Realization showed across her face in the way her eyes narrowed slightly and she let out a soft sigh. “Do you mean Nadia or is there more than one body hijacking ghost pushing people out of their body?” She really, really hoped there was only the one. That was going to be a complicated ritual to perform once let alone twice. Blanche had mentioned there was a lead on it, but her own reading wasn’t promising. She answered gently, “To answer your question, it’s not common. I’ve been researching though the broken arm had me out of commission for a bit. It sounds like this ghost has learned how to wield her power and is very determined to take over that body. It’s possible to get her out and for your friend to repossess her body, but multiple exorcisms like that-- they’re rough on the body. Especially if the ghost is fighting… which if they’re a poltergeist is very likely. So it's fixable, it's just very delicate.”

At the sound of Nadia’s name, Luce shoulders stiffened. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Jas would know, but still. Hearing someone else say her name who knew exactly what was going on with Nadia, it was… as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Only to be replaced by a sharp wave of fear over what Jas’ knowledge of the situation meant. Luce moved to take another sip from her coffee but froze when she heard that body. “It’s not that body. It’s Nadia’s.” Luce said sharply, anger flaring her tone before she could catch herself. Grimacing, the witch set her mug down and stared at the pool of brown liquid for a moment. “So, it can be fixed. That’s,” She paused, trying to process that news. “Something.” It could be fixed. But, delicate? That meant it wasn’t a situation that could be fixed by anything that Luce could do. On a good day, she was about as delicate as a hand grenade. And with her magic as it was right now? Luce stared at the tattooed skin of her knuckles and grimaced. “How do you know about her? Are you trying to help get Nadia back in her body?” I want to help, those were the words she wanted to say. But how could she?

Jasmine noticed the way Luce tensed up. It answered her question before she even said anything though as much only made her more worried about the situation. Though she wouldn’t show it. Luce, for once, needed to have confidence in her. Of course, Luce was already getting snippy and she folded her hands together on the table as if it would hold her together. “Well, you hadn’t confirmed if I was right about the who, so I was trying to be vague. This may come as a shock to you, but seeing as I help people with possession, I’m kind of big on the whole bodily autonomy thing, too.” She saw Luce making an effort to relax herself and almost felt bad for being equally as snappy. Given their usually dynamic, it was more difficult than she would have likely to show patience. She let out a breath and answered, “Yes, it can be fixed. As I said, it’s still a delicate situation. That poltergeist isn’t going to give up her body easily and can cause damage on the way out.” It was true. There was also the risk of the poltergeist completely wrecking Nadia’s body on the way out. Even if that wasn’t the case, she may still be weakened. “I’ve met Nadia’s ghost and we talked for a bit. I also ended up meeting the exorcist who originally tried to get the ghost out of her body. He’s young-- bit off more than he could chew there. I wish I met him sooner so I could have taken the wheel, but that’s not how things work. So now, I’m doing a ton of research to ensure the ritual doesn’t kill Nadia. Though someone else mentioned there was another lead, but didn’t get any information, so I’m not sure if someone else is working on it.”

Gritting her teeth together, Luce ran a hand through her hair, pulling her fingers through a few of the tangles. She’d never liked Jas. Never liked any of Bea’s friends, never really wanted to get to know them, never really cared to play nice with them. Which made this conversation all the more difficult. It was hard enough knowing that Jas was usually a smug bitch, but the fact that Jas was literally the only person she knew who could deal with this was something else. Blanche might be able to see ghosts, but the kid wasn’t an exorcist. And she was just that, a kid. Luce had already asked too much of her when Bea had died. She didn’t need to put more on her plate. Taking a steadying breath, Luce nodded “Sorry.” It was a word she rarely offered, but she needed Jas’ help. “You’ve met her? Y-you’ve--” Luce’s words caught in the back of her throat and she took the moment to take another deep drink from her mug. Fuck. Jas was trying to help. She was trying to fix things. “Who else knows about this? I want to help. If I can. I don’t know how much I can do but… If I can, I want to.”

Hearing “sorry” come from Luce was a shock in and of itself. Jasmine had always thought she’d be much more satisfied when this moment came. Given the circumstances, she could hardly be too smug about it. Someone Luce cared about was in an awful situation. There was no relishing in that. Not with any sort of good conscience anyway. She let out a soft sigh and softened her features. Brows no longer scrunched together and eyes offering more in the way of understanding. “It’s fine,” she said softly in a way that felt so foreign to her normal conversations with Luce. “I have, yes. Entirely on accident, but she seemed as okay as she could be given the circumstances.” It felt important to let Luce know that. It was even more of a surprise she was offering her help. “If you’re up for some reading, I could use some help getting through the books. I ultimately want to minimize the risk of the ritual taking a potentially fatal toll on her body.”

Luce’s shoulders had squared slightly, prepared to face some kind of gloating comment. But, it never came and instead, Jas was reassuring her. She hated this. She hated feeling like Jas was pitying her, like she was weak. But, Luce was weak. This wasn’t her element and she had no real power to do anything in this situation. And even if she had power, had her flame fully at her disposal to channel around her, what then? She couldn’t burn a ghost out of a body. Her magic was destruction and little more than that. Staring at the counter top, Luce took in the other woman’s words mutely. The relief she felt at her words, though, it washed over her in a calming wave. It confirmed what she’d heard from Nadia that night, when she’d seen her in the mirror of her scrying mirror. That the other woman was out of immediate danger. At least for now. Head jerking up at Jas’ offer, Luce blinked. “Reading? I-- sure. Yeah, I can do that.” A fatal toll. Luce didn’t want to think about that possibility, as though even the act of thinking about it would bring it into reality. “I can help.” She could help. If Luce could help bring Nadia back safely into her body, maybe there was hope for her. Maybe there was more to her than just… ruin. She had to try.

#p: asd #p: jasmine hale #chatzy #wickedswriting

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peachywise · 6 years ago

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ailing confessions

stanley uris x reader

– one-shot

– synopsis: Dating in secret sometimes had its perks, but when Stan got sick and all he wanted was you, it got a little hard to come up with a convincing lie to tell the rest of the losers. Hopefully, it didn’t blow up in your face.

– notes: okay so some of you have asked for a part two to basement confessions, so here it is! it’s unofficial, so you by no means have to read basement confession to read and understand the context of this story. it also works just as well as a standalone. as always reader is they/them pronouns!!! it's an au aged around 19 years old.

_____________________________________

"What's going on, what's wrong? Is Stan okay?" you shouted out near-breathless, pushing open the slightly ajar door to his bedroom, frantic eyes scanning for any sense of disaster.

When Richie called you, all you heard on the other end of the line was his stifled voice and arguing in the background. You couldn't exactly make out what Richie was saying, but you heard enough to piece together between his swearing trash mouth that you needed to come to Stan's place. You also caught the very alarm-ringing word of "dying." Putting those two things together within the same breath was enough to kick your ass into gear and bail out on work. You didn't even give a passing "bye" to your manager. He owed you one anyway. Last time he went out of town, you babysat his cat and the… the thing threw up on everything. Your shoes, your clothes, in your bag, and even once on your hair as you slept. But that's beside the point. Stan was allegedly dying, and you needed to get to him.

Or that's what you thought.

Taking in the full scene in front of you, your eyes first drifted towards Ben in the corner, pleading for the angry shouting to stop at a safe distance while wearing his puppy-dog eyed disappointed look that worked on you every single time, but barely on the others. Then you saw Bev sitting on the window sill, hand resting on her cheek as she watched the whole thing with a bored but partially affectionate look—like she'd given up on stopping it long ago, though probably hadn't tried very hard to do so in the first place. Eddie was trying to manhandle Stan's to open his jaw, juggling medicine in one hand as he shouted in his particular high-octave, "take the fucking pills, damn it!" Stan, who you might add was also bare-chested, was slapping his hands away like an indignant child, turning his face every which way to avoid Eddie's hands, letting a trail of "no, no, no, no, no," leave his mouth. Eddie managed to actually get the pills in there at one point, but in the end, Stan just spat them back into Eddie's unwitting hand. Eddie shrieked.

Richie, however, had no such panicked fear in his gaze or tone as he had portrayed in his earlier phone call. Instead, he was stood at the base of Stan's bed, cheering the whole thing on like it was some match to the death. And it was about to be. Just not one between Stan and Eddie.

You silently promised to at least give Richie a beautiful funeral-- a dick drawn on his casket and all.

"Hey, trashbitch!" You hollered, stomping up to him and wrapping an arm around his neck, locking him in an unrelenting hold while jerking the tall, gangly boy down to your height. He let out an exclamation of pain followed by a whiny, "what the fuck?"

"Is this the reason you brought me here? To watch Stan not take his medicine? He does this every fucking time! I thought you said he was dying!" Tightening your hold until you brought him to the ground, you both began to pseudo-wrestle. He managed to block any of your pathetic attempts to hit his body. Though, you did manage to smoosh his face against the floor with your hand. Your laugh was victorious, albeit a little maniacal as well.

It was true. This scenario has happened before. While Stan barely ever did get sick, when he did, he made every step on his recovery as tricky as humanly possible. Demonically impossible, even. He was responsible. Probably the most responsible out of all of you, but the moment sickness overtook his body it was like he shifted into this evil brat from hell who only got his kicks on making everyone around him just as miserable as he was. However, you all cared about him too much to just let him get sicker and sicker and sicker by just not doing anything about it. And he knew this.

In short, Stan was a sadistic son of a bitch.

Grabbing your wrist, Richie pulled it off and away from his face, forcing you from your balancing act above him and onto your side. A small gust of air left you at the painful contact of your body hitting the carpet, but your eyes only narrowed in amplified determination. Though his glasses always magnified his eyes anyway, he widened them in a fear that made him look just like a bug so easy to squish.

"Wait, shit, stop," he started, scrambling back as he outstretched his hands towards you, "I meant I was dying because he wouldn't stop fighting us and kept saying all he wanted was you here. Care to explain why that is?"

That stopped you.

Freezing all your limbs like if you didn't move everyone in the room would suddenly forget you were there, you racked your brain for something to say. Another lie, another excuse.

So, maybe you hadn't been exactly honest with them. For a while.

Like… four months.

You and Stan hadn't always gotten along. It was no secret. It had been that way ever since you were at kids. If you were in the same room together, an argument would inevitably follow, and while that still happened, it had changed into something a little different a few months back. During a game of truth or dare, your friends had both dared you and Stan into Bill's basement where you were promptly locked in. You had a substantial freakout. That place gave you the creeps ever since you were a kid—a long story for another day that ended with you having a broken arm—but Stan had calmed you down. And then he kissed you. And you kissed him. And then you made out. And uh, it hadn't exactly stopped since then.

What can you say? You were weak.

The only one of your friends who knew was Bill, and that was because he had caught you two in his basement and promised to hide it from the rest. He'd been pretty good with it so far, apart from the knowing looks and laughs he gave you two whenever you so much as even looked at each other too long. You'd kept up the façade of the still 'friendly' rivalry so far, but it was extremely out of place for Stan to ask for you specifically if he was sick, considering he didn't want anyone around him at all when he was.

You also realized you probably looked a little too panicked running in here and literally attacking Richie because of how freaked you were about Stan.

Couldn't blame yourself for dating a dumbass when it seemed you were one too.

Opening your mouth to finally retort back something along the lines of 'well he probably wanted to torture me by being around him,' instead, you were cut off pretty quick by Stan's voice timidly saying your name, almost like a question. No—hopefully imploring. Blinking once at Richie, you let his question hang in the air as you popped your head back up. Looking over the edge of the bed, Stan repositioned himself to sit up properly, his head slightly tilted to the side, his sleepy eyes surveying you behind his messy golden curls that surrounded his flushed face. Eddie looked like he'd just run a mile, absolutely wrecked as he stepped back with a huff. Stan just looked…adorable. Too adorable. Oh, God.

"You came?"

Stan didn't exactly smile, but his voice took on a sort of up-turned infliction of rosiness that pulled at your heart. He was something akin to sunshine; just his warm look thawed out any of the dread and frustration that had encapsulated you upon arrival. There weren't many moments you two have been able to steal alone as of late. Dating in secret had its own perk of making it more personal, something so securely special between you two and utterly consuming. Unfortunately, when you had a group of friends who barely ever hung out without each other, it left little time to be able to sneak away and successfully have a moment alone. You'd managed okay so far, but in the past month, it'd been hard to pull away from the others. You only got brief little moments of these teasing sunlight streams.

You'd missed him. Yes, you still saw him quite often, but you missed him. Pretending to continually get on each other's nerves is fun sometimes until it gets devastatingly hard and lonely as well. You didn't want to go back to how it was before.

"Of course I did," you spoke softly, your lips twitching up into a small smile that matched the sudden gentleness of your tone.

Then a bottle of Tylenol smacked into your chest in a broken moment, followed by Eddie's exaggerated huff of, "great, it's your turn to babysit now!" He very quickly stormed out of the room, muttering as he did.

Picking up the bottle of pills, you stood up and tried to look anywhere but at your friends. Okay. Maybe no one thought this was weird. This is fine. Normal.

"Of course I did," Richie mocking voice grated your ears, his tone carrying a lilt of impish laughter as he repeated your words back.

Turning your head towards him, you let your smile curve into something more sinister. It was the only warning he had before you launched yourself at him again.

Ben's arms circled around your waist, pulling you away before you got your hands around Richie's neck. Bev placed her small hand on Richie's shoulder as she moved up from her spot to stand behind him. The asshole was startled enough that he actually jumped. I mean, you were talented, but it's not like you could fucking teleport.

"Mike and Bill are going to the pharmacy to get some more medicine, so while we wait, how about we go make Stan some soup?" Bev offered, flashing a look towards Ben who dropped his hold on you as soon as you stopped struggling.

Ben smiled. "That sounds like a good plan." As both moved towards the door, you turned to watch, thankful that they were giving you the chance to be alone with Stan but wary of the knowing looks they were casting to each other as they went. Richie, however, stayed right where he was. Bev stalled at the doorframe, raising a red brow and offering a short, "Rich, you coming?" It seemed to snap Richie into place immediately, as he grumbled something about unfairness and how they never made soup while he was sick, before exiting the room and shutting the door behind him with an almost resounding click.

Finally alone.

"Hi."

Turning back around, you watched as Stan's face broke in a feverish looking smile, happiness seeping out of him, unrestricted. You'd never quite seen him that way before. Giving an amused shake of your head, you motioned for him to scoot over a bit before sitting on the edge of his bed, setting the medication on his side table. "Hi," you repeated back with your own little smile, reaching over to press your hand to his forehead.

He closed his eyes at your touch, practically melting as he reached up to clasp your hand, though still keeping it against him. "You're cold," he murmured, his voice taking on a sleepy tone.

"I'm not cold, you're just hot," you pointed out with a short chuckle, removing your hand to drop it back on your lap, though he still clasped onto it.

"And you're beautiful." His smile was languid as he obviously either ignoring your hot comment was because he had a fever or because he was utterly ignorant to your actual meaning due to his muddled mind. Either way, it was all the same. Your cheeks still got warm at his comment, still unused to such compliments coming from him.

"Wow, sick Stan really lays it on thick, doesn't he?" You joked, standing up from your position. Stan reached out to grab your hand again, an almost panicked expression crossing his face. You let out an amused laugh. "I'm just taking off my jacket, you baby." Slipping off the restrictive article of clothing, you tossed it onto the corner chair before moving back to his side. "Wanna tell me why you asked specifically for me? It wasn't enough to stress Eddie out of ten years of his life?"

Stan slipped back to lie down, bringing his comforter up close to his face as he clutched it, glowering at you like you'd said the most offensive thing in the world. "No," he murmured, "I just wanted to see you. I miss you."

You sat back down on the bed and slightly brushed his curls off his forehead, letting your fingers linger slightly as you stroked his hair a few times. It seemed he felt the distance between you two just as jarringly. Continually holding back in front of the others, unable to touch his hand, or let your gaze linger too long without being watchful. It was exhausting. "I miss you too," you spoke in almost a whisper. Stan leaned into your touch.

You both sat like that for a bit in companionable silence, merely taking each other's features in, a scene of subtly intimacy and comfort. It only broke when Stan scooted over more, lifting the blanket up and stating a simple, "come here."

And then you realized what that little shit was actually doing.

He was trying to distract you. And he almost succeeded.

Straightening your back a bit, you gave him a coy look as you grabbed the medication bottle from the table and the glass of water sitting next to it. Holding it out to him, almost like a trade, you asked, "will you take your medicine?"

Stan's face scrunched together, showcasing his deep consideration at the challenge presented to him. Such a thoughtful look would rival those of the best Philosophers. Fuck you, Aristotle.

"No."

Well then. Fuck you, Aristotle and Stan.

"W-what?"

Shit. You said that out loud.

Ignoring that, you set the medicine and water back down again, standing up and moving towards your coat. Without a word, you began to shrug it back on. Stan's scrambled at that, clawing out of his covers and sitting up straight, a panicked question of "where are you going?" escaping him.

"Clearly you don't need my help," you shrugged, turning back to face him with a knowing look. "You have it all under control. I don't need to comfort someone who's not sick enough to take their medicine."

Stan narrowed his eyes. Like actually, physically narrowed his eyes at you like you were the one being the brat in this situation. You just glared back at him. The tension between you two may have started this impromptu staring contest, but there was no way you were losing it.

And then it began to reach over the two-minute mark, and your eyes started to water. Fuck.

Blinking your eyes with a groan, you cut Stan off before he could rub the win in your face. He always did that. "Let's make a deal!" you nearly shouted, walking back up to his bedside. "You take your medicine, and I'll lay down with you for just a little while. We don't want your body temperature going up any more than it is."

Stan crossed his arms over his chest. He was silent for a moment, taking on that contemplative look once again. "Deal. But you also have to kiss me."

Wow. Such a romantic proposition.

Your hesitation in accepting wasn't so much the fact that he was sick-- though, it really should have been-- or the fact that you didn't want to. You did. You really, really, did. It was just the fact that all your friends were outside that door, and knowing them, they would burst in here at any moment.

Stan seemed to read your hesitation for what it was. He always seemed to know what you were thinking. You thought he was going to argue, or simply retract his statement, but Stan surprised you. "I don't care." Your face must have turned perplexed, because immediately he began to clarify, "I don't care if they know. I'm tired. I'm tired of missing you, I'm tired of holding back and pretending like all we want to do is rip each other apart, when quite frankly there's only one thing I want to rip off of you." Okay, either you were getting his fever, or your whole body flushed at that single comment. With a hard look, he leaned over and grabbed the pill bottle, shaking two out and swallowing them back without even any water.

"So what's it going to be?"

Sick Stan was slowly turning into your favourite Stan. Guess he wasn't taking no as an answer. And who were you to not reward him?

Letting out a light laugh, you took your jacket back off and sat beside him. "It's a deal," you smiled, setting a gentle hand on his warm cheek. "But you're the one who's going to have to tell them. It's only fair since you're obviously getting the better end of the deal." Leaning down, you shut your eyes as you placed a soft kiss on his lips. Stan put a gentle hand on your arm, almost sighing contently at the contact. Affection rolled off you two in waves, but before you knew it, you'd both parted with tender smiles, foreheads touching.

"That's not a real kiss."

Confusion crossed your features, but it quickly turned into shock when Stan gave your arm a hard tug, bringing you down to the bed on top of his chest. Wrapping his too-hot arms around you, essentially caging you against him, his lips met yours again in greedy haste. Bracing your hands on his chest, you moved them up closer to his neck as every part of you lit up where you touched. His hand snaked under your shirt and up, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as his thumbs brushed your skin so gently. You still shivered despite the heat. The kiss was almost persistent, desperate as he tried to pull you closer, tighter. He didn't want to let go, and neither did you.

He broke off for a moment, his lips trailing to your jaw to give you both a moment to breath. His kisses turned breathless and gentle once more, and you pushed up from your position to stare at him with an incredulous look. "You sure you're actually sick?" you chuckled, twisting off to lie down next to him, snuggled into his arm.

"I feel great," he argued back, just before a small coughing fit racked over his entire body. Liar, liar.

Moving away, you began to sit up, laughing as you said, "okay, okay, I don't want your germs." Stan pouted as he rolled on top of you and rested his arms on either side of your head, trapping you once again.

"Don't leave," he complained, bending his head down to leave a trail of kisses on your neck, cheek, lips. "You love me and my germs," his voice murmured against your skin, his lips pulling up into a grin. You playfully began to swat him away, laughter really erupting from his onslaught attack. He captured your lips once more, hands sliding up your sides, devastatingly unrelenting. But there was no struggle from you as you wrapped your arms around his neck, moving your lips against his after he teasingly nipped your bottom lip.

He didn't even make a motion to pull back after Eddie's angry voice seemed to bounce off the walls of the room with the jarring statement of, "oh that's so gross, you're going to get sick!"

Turning your head as Stan grumbled into your neck, something along the lines of 'they always ruin everything,' you saw all of your friends at the doorway gaping at you two without a damn word to say about it. The only one who made any motion or reaction was Eddie who literally threw his hands up before storming out again, going on about how "it's not my job to take care of two idiots. I'm not going to do it, I'm not!"

With a small smirk, Bev pushed past both Richie and Ben and shut the door with them behind it, giving you a little wink.

Looks like the cat was out of the bag.

And oddly enough, as Stan smothered you up, you couldn't care one little bit.

#it #it chapter 2 #it fanfiction #it imagine #it fanfic #stanley uris fanfic #stanley uris fanfiction #stan uris #stanley uris #stan uris fanfic #stan uris fanfiction #stanley uris x reader #stan uris x reader #stanley uris imagine #stan uris imagine

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killian-whump · 5 years ago

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COLIN DREAM! :D

Okay, so this was a really long, really detailed and totally WILD dream, full of lots of celebrities (both real and completely nonsensical) and I was even a bit of a celebrity myself :D I’m only going to write up the parts about Colin and anything that’s required to help you understand those parts, because this beast of a dream was LONG and weird. For example, I spent a big portion of the dream dating Bruce Willis, who eventually proposed, but said “Will you marry me, Jeff?” and I was like *record scratch* “My name’s not Jeff. But THIS GUY’s name sure is!” and I pulled Jeff Goldblum, like, out of nowhere and then Bruce was like, “He’s perfect!” and they ran off together. I mean, just remember, this whole thing is a product of your pal KW’s subconscious mind. It’s probably best not to ask too many questions... I know *I* don’t...

Okay! So necessary background. The dream was taking place at what was essentially a County Fair of some kind. I was a minor local celebrity, mostly because I had a tiny bit role in something that got me associated with Brucie Poo (I kept calling him that? I dunno, don’t question it). I also had a stalker of sorts, who showed up periodically, claiming she was me and causing trouble. Also, there were some... size issues. Like, sometimes everyone was the same size, but then there’d be these windows of time where everyone morphed into different sizes based on how popular/famous they were.

So I knew Colin was at the fair, but I didn’t see him anywhere. He was listed as being an attendee, but there weren’t any events listed with him in it, so I figured he was just attending as a “normal person” and not as a “star” and someone just decided to add him to the attendee list to take advantage of his presence. But, you know, I was everywhere at this fair, sticking my nose in everything, lol, as one tends to do when it’s one’s own dream and they’re basically the star of it. So, of course, I found that rapscallion...

HE WAS LITERALLY WORKING ONE OF THE BOOTHS. Wtf, Colin. Why are you like this, even in our dreams??? It was a music/memorabilia stand, so he was selling vintage LPs and CDs and photos/posters of celebrities - mostly musicians. And he’d lightened his hair to a medium brown, and was clean-shaven and kinda styled his hair a bit different, so for some reason I thought he was “lying low” or something. So I was at the booth and he came ‘round and I was like, *quiet, conspiratorial voice* “Hi, Colin” and he was like, *equally quiet, conspiratorial voice* “Hi” and that was all, but he was ringing people up and, like, singing under his breath, kinda absent-mindedly, and he was just so chill and relaxed and had such a warm vibe, I was just... soaking it all in like a big, grinning idiot. I think I might’ve spooked him though, because he eventually skedaddled to the back of the booth, where I noticed HELEN was at, as well, and I was like “ahhhh precious Holin in my dream, I am blessed” (I tend to always be semi-lucid in my dreams, so I often know it’s all a dream).

Anyway, so while Colin was busy working literally hiding back there, I perused the wares a bit and found some EPs of The Enemies that nobody knew about, and Colin was on the liner art of them and I was like, “Oh, I better buy these...” and I was looking for more of them, because I didn’t want to miss any of them, but they weren’t filed correctly. Someone had put them in the B section - some alphabetized under “Band, The” and some sorted under “Boys, The” and it took me a minute, but then I was like, “COLIN, NO. COLIN, WHY DID YOU DO THIS. COLIIIIIIIN. You’re the only one here who calls them “the boys” or “the band” - like, you have to alphabetize them by their actual name, what, why are you like this, I love you so much” and I was almost crying, because it was so hilarious and adorable and I literally could not handle it, because it was such a Colin thing to do T_T

So then this totally super Irish fellow comes up to me, and he’s like, “Can I help you?” and I was like, “Wellllllll, I’m kinda just hanging around, because I was hoping to get to properly meet Colin and maybe get an autograph.” and the guy was like, “Oh! Oh, you’re a fan of our Col! Okay, alright, we all thought you might be a nutter...” and he was like, “Lemme go tell him.” and meanwhile, I’m here thinking, “I mean, all of Colin’s fans are basically nutters, so you weren’t wrong... but, you know, we’re good, well-meaning nutters...”

So I wait for someone to come back. Either the Irish guy or Colin. And I wait. And I wait. And somewhere in the midst of this, everyone reverted to their “fame” size and I got super big and everyone working the booth and shopping at the booth stayed small, and I was like, “Oh, good, now I can easily find Coli- Where the fuck did Colin go?” And I’ve got my magnifying glass and I’m like, “OH MY GOD, you’re kidding me, Colin, why are you still tiny?! You’re WAY bigger than I am!” and he’s like, “No, no, I’m just a normal guy” and I’m like “YOU’RE FUCKING RIDICULOUS, IS WHAT YOU ARE.” And then I felt bad for literally spying on him with a magnifying glass, so I put it away and I was just stood there, shaking my head, because WHY IS HE LIKE THIS?!

Then everything’s back to the same size again, and I’m perusing the wares some more. Suddenly, there’s Colin on a stage, and he’s introducing some band-I-don’t-know to come onto the stage, and he says “There’s a fan of mine here that I’d like to recognize...” and then he invited me on the stage to introduce the band, and just as I open my mouth to do so, my stalker suddenly does it instead, and nobody even noticed it wasn’t actually me. I was pissed, but I didn’t want to ruin Colin’s nice gesture with a scene, so I just... frowned, but let it slide. Besides, at least my stalker knew who the band was. But then Colin inerrupts the band and the song they’re playing and he’s like, “WAIT. Something’s wrong here. I wanted to let [my name was Angela in the dream - as part of my semi-lucidity, I’m often “role-playing” as people who are somehow me, but also Not Me, because it’s fun to be different people :)] do this, but someone jumped in and did it for her. So since that didn’t work... How about I sing a song I just wrote for her?”

AND I’M LIKE, OH MY GOD, WHY DON’T YOU T_T

And he starts singing this ridiculously adorable song all about ME and how awesome I am, and I’m like “I better remember EVERY detail of this, because I gotta tell everyone about it when I wake up, because this is RIDICULOUS.” And, guys, it was adorable. It was, like, this quirky sort of ode to everything about me, but done in this tongue-in-cheek way that was just kind of sassy and silly and very flattering and I was like, “YOU ARE THE CUTEST TEENY TINY MAN IN THE WORLD, I WANT TO PICK YOU UP AND PUT YOU IN MY POCKET, LIKE LITERALLY” and Helen was like, “Please don’t.” and I was like, “Okay.”

So then his song was over, and Helen was teasing him about this one stanza, because she thought he was complimenting himself in it, and she was like, “So... you think you have kissable lips, huh?” and he was like, “No, no, I was singing about her, not me. It was just a line, yeah? She’s famous and known for that,” and Helen was like, “Right, but you sang it like it was about you... are you sure it wasn’t about you?” and he was like, “No, no, shut it, nooooooooo” and it was the cutest thing ever? Blessed Holin teasing T_T

Then Colin got wind that I wanted an autograph, but didn’t have anything for him to sign. I mean, I had a Tic-Tac box, lol, but who asks someone to sign a Tic-Tac box?! So he disappeared off somewhere, and it took me a second to spot him, digging through the Celebrity Photos box at the booth for a photo of himself to sign, and I was like, “WHYYYYYYY are you like this?” all over again, because I could’ve done that myself, but he wanted to surprise me T_T

So I’m standing there, waiting for him to come back, and Helen’s there, looking lovely. She’d darkened her hair a bit to a nice light brown, and was in a 50s style A-Line dress with a stylish necklace and I was silently fangirling over her, because she was SO pretty and lovely, and I wanted to say hello, but didn’t want to make her feel weird. But then she looked like she might walk away, so I spoke up and said, “Are you Helen?” And of course I KNEW it was Helen, but I didn’t want to freak her out. Well, she gets a little suspicious/wary and goes, “Could be. Why?” And I played it cool kinda, and said, “Well, if you ARE Helen, I just want you to know that I really respect and admire you, and think you’re just lovely, and I know it must be hard to have to “share” your husband with the world, and I know you’ve had some bad experiences with Colin’s fans in the past, but I want you to know that he has a lot of fans who just think the world of you and are really rooting for you and Colin in every way, and we just want you two to be happy and healthy and we wish you both all the love in the world.” and she seemed touched by it and gave me a hug <3 BLESS

Then Colin came back, and he had a really nice picture of himself, and he signed it for me and everything, and then the fair was closing, or at least their booth was closing, so there were goodbyes and hugs and then I was all alone in their booth, because apparently they all just fucked off and LEFT THE ENTIRE THING BEHIND, with all the albums and photos and everything, and that is NOT how you run a profitable business, Colin.

Anyway, the dream continued, and I turned the booth into an Irish Ski Slope for some bizarre reason, I mean, the Irish part was to honor Colin, but I’m not sure where/how the whole skiing thing came into it. I don’t know how to ski? And then Brucie Poo came back around to rekindle our romance, or at least appreciate my breasts some more (he was a big fan, apparently), and there was no more Colin... (woe).

And now I have to go eat something, because I’m STARVING!!!

Hope you enjoyed my dream :) I sure did! <3

#colin dreams #dream colin #holin #BLESS #not whxmp #kw has dreams #wholesome colin is wholesome

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sdpafanblogofsupremefunk · 5 years ago

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Season 1, Episode 1: A Different Place

Where better to begin talking about a show than the beginning? Like most shows, Sítio do Picapau Amarelo has a pilot episode.

...Okay, in this case, “pilot episode” is just a fancy way of saying “first episode”. Much like Rick & Morty and DT17, SDPA doesn’t really have a pilot episode that isn’t just the first episode (unless you count Doc and Mharti as R&M’s pilot, which I’d rather not), so to begin the series, we kinda have to jump right into the mess of things.

It’s like A Quiet Place, but not stupid.

As the episode begins, we are introduced to a two men on a horse-drawn cart. The man in the red box is a book salesman who’s a little down on his luck in terms of profits.

A little.

This guy isn’t really given a name, and I don’t want to call him “The Salesman” the whole time because that’s stupid. So I’m going to give him a name. Mr. Simmons will do nicely.

Anyways, Mr. Simmons falls out of the cart when it hits a patch in the road, and when he picks himself up, he sees a quaint little house on a farm, with an old woman knitting on the porch.

Here, we are introduced to the first of our main cast, Dona Benta, a kind elderly lady who owns this little patch of heaven known as the Yellow Woodpecker Farm. Yeah, didn’t take us long to get there, huh?

So Mr. Simmons sees this old woman in the middle of (what he believes to be) nowhere, and decides it’s the perfect opportunity to make a quick buck believing that:

Which, I dunno, man, she seems pretty comfortable just sitting in her rocking chair, knitting. Like, even as an outsider who doesn’t know a lick of what goes on in this farm, I’d say she’s content as she is, but anything to make some cold hard cash, I guess.

Also, I would not ever call this place a desert, even for the sake of exaggeration. There’s grass everywhere, bushes, trees, flowers, the works. If this where anything like a desert, I do not think this woman would be here, to put it simply. But, I digress. And I hydraulic press, but we won’t be seeing that.

So, Mrs. Benta goes inside to call for the kids, and here we meet 3 of our other actors:

Here, we see Pedrinho (or Little Pete, the boy in the blue overalls) and Narizinho (or Lúcia “Little Nose”, the girl in the red dress), cousins and Mrs. Benta’s grandchildren. They’re playing tag, I think, but they’re stopped in their tracks with their Grandma in the way, and-

Hang on, I feel like we’re forgetting something.

Oh, right. I almost forgot Emilia. She’s basically the reason I watch this show, no biggie.

Anyway, she’s in a race with the kids, when they’re blocked by Grandma. Emilia makes the smart move and cuts right under Mrs. Benta. It looks like this:

Another reason I like this show so much, it’s rife with smears, which I feel like any good cartoon should have. Like here, where Emilia friggin’ nyooms right under Mrs. Benta like a comet.

Emilia reaches the finish line at the bookshelf, where we see the Viscount of Sabugosa, a puppet made out of an ear of corn who’s very smart and polite. (His name is a pun, “sabugo” means corncob in Portuguese, and it’s a parody of the Count of Sabugosa, of which there were 9, the first being Vasco Fernandes César de Meneses in 1729- but everybody calls him Viscount and so will I because blah)

In this show, the Viscount is the actual size of an ear of corn, which makes sense, he is, after all, a puppet made out of one. I think it’s really funny that the cartoon is slightly more realistic than the live-action show it’s based on in this regard, because in the 2001 series, for whatever reason, the Viscount towers over everyone:

And he has a sick mustache.

Like, I don’t get it, out of all the characters, you made the guy made out of corn the tallest one in the cast? I get that the technology to make him actually small probably wasn’t all there yet, Grandpa in My Pocket was still 8 years off, but you really couldn’t find a guy that wasn’t the same height as Shaq?

Yeesh, only 2 minutes in and I’m getting sidetracked this often. Well, I guess it’s better than having nothing to talk about.

Anyway, Emilia wins the race, but the other two kids run into her, smooshing her against the bookshelf-

-and pwning her so hard she briefly grows fingers on her hand (and turning it into a left hand apparently, because the thumb is on the wrong side)

Mrs. Benta explains that Emilia and the other mystical beings must hide from the impending salesman.

Oh brother, I was wondering when we’d get to this guy. This is Marquis of Rabicó (Portuguese for Short-tail). Literally the first thing you read about him on the show’s Wikipedia is that he’s fat (which you think would be a given cuz he’s a pig), and his part of the Characters section isn’t much better, stating that he’s a “gluttonous, selfish, cowardly and lazy pig” and most of his episodes involve him getting himself and/or others into trouble by being a gluttonous, selfish, cowardly and lazy pig. He’s only ever onscreen to cause problems, either directly or by proxy. If I were to sum him up in one meme, it would be this:

Now, I don’t hate Rabicó, I’m actually quite indifferent towards him, but he does bring down a lot of the episodes that he’s a major part of. Thankfully, there aren’t too many episodes featuring him in the first 2 seasons, but from what I hear, Season 3 goes ham with that shit (pun intended) and it brings down the quality of the season as a whole, so it’s a good thing that’s as far off from now as it is. I want to enjoy the lack-of-pig while it lasts.

But hey, at least he doesn’t look like this:

Don’t do drugs, kids.

Rant over, Mrs. Benta explains that she wants things to look normal because the Yellow Woodpecker Farm is a very peculiar place, where all kinds of weird and wacky stuff goes on, and if word gets out about it, the place will be filled with tourists wanting to get a peek of the action.

Something that Mrs. Benta probably didn’t consider is that there’s a bigger threat to being exposed than just filthy tourism. That’s right, I’m talking about the GOVERNMENT.

I mean, think about it. How many movies have you seen where the government tries to hunt down an unnatural being? E.T., the Sonic Movie, a third one I can’t think of right now, etc. (Lilo & Stitch does not count) Now, I can’t speak for Brazil’s government compared to the U.S., but I know there’s gotta be a division dedicated to dealing with unnatural things that would no doubt arrest Emilia, Rabicó, Viscount, etc. and run experiments on them. Then again, maybe this cartoon takes place in a world where the government doesn’t even exist. I mean, we never really see any urban settings in the show (aside from a brief mention of “the city” in the finale), so for all I know, the world of Sítio do Picapau Amarelo is run by Vermin Supreme.

Real talk, you should all be ashamed of yourselves for not voting for this guy back in 2016.

Initially, Emilia won’t go into her box, but then she gives in and is dragged there by Aunt Nastácia, the housemaid of the farm with a knack for making dolls (so she’s essentially Emilia’s mom). She doesn’t really do much in this episode, but the Fat Bastard does even less, and I still mentioned him.

So Mrs. Benta lets Mr. Simmons into the house and he does this whole spiel about how great the books are, how they can take you to worlds you never imagined, fantasy and action, yadda yadda.

Meanwhile, the kids are off to the side and they’re all like “Well, we met the actual Hercules, get on our level scrub”. And of course, Emilia is watching with them, instead of in her box.

As Simmons keeps on rambling, Emilia is being a little peeping tom, not realizing that one turned head could lead to her being dissected like a high school frog.

Apparently, Emilia thinks she’s a regular Bart Simpson, with shit like spitballs and pulling out the man’s leg hairs. She’s really pushing her luck here, and for little reason. Sure, Simmons called the place boring, but that’s how it’s supposed to be to him.

Of course, Pedrinho and Narizinho are nice enough kids that they bail her out on this one and pretend it was them.

And before Simmons can ask what the hell is going on, Mrs. Benta gives him the money for the books and sends him out the door. And once he’s out...

I’ll give you a hint: it rhymes with go.

Of course, they’re not out of the woods yet, cuz Simmons is getting a little suspicious.

Busted. The truth is revealed, all laid out for Simmons to see. A talking rag-doll? Inconceivable! And yet, there it is.

Come on, Viscount. I would expect you of all people to uphold what Mrs. Benta said and stay hidden. You’re smart enough, you should already know what’s at stake, or at least that something is at stake. I mean, I understand that the cat is already out of the bag, but you’re not helping.

Also, you’re thumb is clipping into your bowtie, you should get that checked out.

Rabicó, I hope you get turned into salami. Not out of spite or anything, but just because I like salami.

Naturally, Simmons believes he’s struck gold and found the ultimate tourist trap. But when Emilia points out that if he tells anyone, he’ll sound like a crazy person-

-he straight up Villager Neutral B’s her,

hails a horse, and books it.

Wow, Viscount. Dick move mangling Mrs. Benta’s glasses like that. And all for an impromptu magnifying glass, which is pointless-

-because we can see the horse tracks perfectly fine without them.

(The Viscount isn’t this much of a jerk in the rest of the series, I swear.)

So, the gang follow the tracks until there are no more, which leads them to a corn store.

Wait, a... corn store? As in, a store that mainly, if not exclusively, sells maize and maize accessories? Compared to vegetables in general, that’s quite a niche market, I can’t possibly imagine finding a success in building an entire business around one type of vegetable. Corn is simply not as versatile as something like chocolate or cheese.

Oh no, wait, it’s just a bar. I guess this cartoon takes place in the middle of Prohibition 2: Return of Jafar, and the whole “corn store” thing is just a set up for a speakeasy. (I mean, you could also argue that it’s a diner, but I’mma go with bar because it’s funnier.)

And I’m guessing Simmons expects the place to put all of the meals on his tab, considering he’s going to get the money later with all the tourism. But then, why doesn’t he just pay with the money he got from selling Mrs. Benta those books? So he pulls Emilia out of his bag to show everyone that he has a talking doll and...

Hm. Probably should have put some air holes in that bag.

Anyway, the gang comes in, and Mrs. Benta asks for the doll back, with Narizinho hamming up her Oscar-worthy performance:

So everybody’s giving Mr. Simmons a mean glare:

Including this gentleman who looks like someone just insulted his favorite MHA character (it’s probably Tsuyu):

So Mr. Simmons desperately tries to convince everyone that the doll indeed does talk, and that she comes from a wacky place, but Aunt Nastácia intervenes and says that it’s just a normal doll.

She just straight up roasts Emilia, who (big surprise) does not take it very well. To the point that she is very visibly angry, which you think the barflies would notice.

I mean, look at that and tell me that you wouldn’t notice anything weird.

But anyways, they get the doll back and we get this cute group hug.

D’awww.

So they leave with Emilia-

as Mr. Simmons is beaten to death offscreen for stealing from a little girl.

As the gang walks home, Viscount bends Ms. Benta’s glasses back to normal. Took you long enough, ya jerk.

Not even close, my dear. This is only the beginning.

Well, that was a very good first episode. It introduces the world and many of the main characters very well. And while there were a few issues I had with it, they’re really just nitpicks that don’t detract from the episode as a whole. Overall, a good effort, 8/10.

So, yeah, that’s the first episode down. Join me next time when we watch episode 2, and meet a very vile villain.

Very vile indeed.

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teffyjeffy · 6 years ago

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(Most of) JoJo’s Bizzare Adventure: Stardust Crusaders but almost everybody are kids having fun at recess.

Want a random JoJo post out of nowhere? No? Okay well here you go anyway!

A lot of the time when I was watching JJBA I felt like I was watching a very dramatic retelling of what was actually two kids playfighting.

“My guy punches super fast!” “Oh yeah? Well my guy can stop Time!” “Oh yeah?! Well, mine can too! I just discovered it!” “WELL MINE CAN DROP A ROADROLLER ON YOU” “THATS CHEATING”

Anyway, the idea started to snowball, so please enjoy my masterpost of (most of) JJBA Part 3 where the Stardust Crusaders are a group of 9 year old rascals who met up one day during recess. This is just for fun ^_^ also these are all copied and pasted from discord so the structure is a little jumbled. Enjoy!

Oh, and Spoilers are ahead.

“I can punch super fast!”

“Well I can use cameras and TVs as crystal balls, but I need to break them!”

“Mine can shoot flames, ooo ooo and-and I can control them at will!”

“Mine has a sword that can stab anything”

“MINE HAS AN ATTACK THAT IS UNBLOCKABLE AND ITS AREA EFFECT IS THE WHOLE PLAYGROUND-“

“No Kakyoin that’s not how we play. Youre not allowed to have an invincible attack”

Kakyoin’s introduction:

“I have an invincible attack”

“That’s not how it works Kakyoin but you’re cool, so you can keep playing with us”

The insect stand “Tower of Gray” was when the group was bothered by a fly on the school bus and they got a little too rowdy in their attempts to kill it, which pissed off the elderly bus driver. Thus the kids agreed that he was responsible for bringing the fly onto the bus in the first place. They got detention.

Jean Polnareff’s introduction:

“I have a sword that can pierce through anything!”

“Okay Jean, you can play with us, but you have to promise to stop pushing Avdol into the wood chips, he doesn’t like it.”

The stowaway girl is actually a 5 year old girl who wants to play with them and they hate it at first but they eventually warm up to her. The monkey with a ship stand was actually a retelling of the groups trip to the town’s public swimming pool. The boat was just an inflatable tube and the monkey was a chipmunk. And the original boat that blew up? That was the group’s original inflatable tube that got popped because the 5 year old wouldn’t stop gnawing at it

Later, the kids SOMEHOW convinced their parents to let them stay in the same hotel while the parents all hate business trips to go to. They “promised” not to pillow fight, then everyone except for Jean went to go get snacks while Jean went to explore the new room. Unbeknownst to them, the previous guests of the room accidentally left their daughter’s doll behind. Jean HATES dolls. He accidentally stumbled upon Child’s Play when he was surfing channels way too late at night without his parents knowing. Fear turns into aggression and someone from the hotel staff goes to check on him. He finds Jean and realizes it’s the same kid who shot him with a water gun earlier. Jean is kicked out and the parents have to pick their kids up. Jotaro and everyone else weren’t happy.

Rubber Soul is actually just that one bratty kid who thinks it’s sooooooooo funny to mimic other people while also making fun of the person they’re mimicking. It makes them feel “powerful.” Jotaro encounters Rubber Soul when the latter is mocking Kakyoin one day, while Jotaro is playing with the 5 year old; he then chases Rubber Soul all around the playground, and when he finally gets him, he busts his teeth in. They were only baby teeth though, they grew right back, which saved Jotaro from a brutal punishment. He was still forced to go without dessert for a month. He didn’t complain though because his mother was dealing with the flu at the time. He would give all his desserts to Kakyoin, which his how Jotaro discovered Kakyoin’s creepy habit of juggling maraschino cherries in his mouth.

J. Geil was somebody who used to play games with Jean’s sister. When she found out he sucked at party cake and teased him for having “Two left hands”, J pushes her into the mud and never plays with her again. Jean has held a grudge ever since.

Hol Horse is Geil’s “New friend” which pisses off Jean. Hol Horse, being a member of the wrong crowd, beats up Avdol and J. Geil just goes along with it. Jean is all “Avdol why are you even here, you had nothing to do with this!” And Kakyoin’s like “Should we call 911?” And Jean responds “Not yet, I need to beat up these guys first!” And Kakyoin calls 911 anyway.

The Mirror stand is just J. Geil going “Made you look” and punching your shoulder.

And Hol Horse’s stand is just a nerf gun. The reason it hurts is because he likes to get right up in your face before firing it. It’s ineffective if you’re too far away from him, because the dart bullet loses momentum and hits the ground harmlessly.

Jean eventually gets back at J. Geil by chasing him into the middle of a group of kids, then pointing up at nothing, shouting “Made you look,” and poking J. Geil in the eyes, which causes him to cry like a baby. And later, Jean is like “Oh yeah, I totally stabbed him with my sword!” when Jotaro asks him what happened.

Then Hol horse runs away because he realized J. Geil was a total loser.

The Empress stand was just Joseph’s retelling of his parents taking him to the doctor’s office so they could deal with a wart on his arm. He hated how boring the actual process was, so he pretended that he bested the wart in a game of wits and tore it asunder. Jotaro was grossed out.

(Btw in this AU Joseph is only a grade older than Jotaro, instead of being his grandpappy)

Wheel of Fortune is just the result of a very nasty game of tag with a brat who wouldn’t leave the group alone.

Enya is the crazy cat lady at the end of the street whose house the kids were forced to pass one day when they missed the school bus.

Steely Dan is the snobby “Cool Kid” of the playground, and a sore loser when the kids don’t play the way he wants them to. So Jotaro gives him a black eye.

The Sun is a kid who likes to fry ants with a magnifying glass. But Joseph likes bugs, and seeing this made him cry. So Jotaro, Kakyoin and Avdol plot to destroy the magnifying glass, which they thought was really funny. But at that point, the magnifying glass had to be returned to the science lab, so the kid was spared.

Or, in another interpretation:

“Hey guys, I wanna play! My guy’s power is that he’s literally the sun!!! ”

Joseph: “Wow, that’s pretty powerful-“

J,K,&A: “YOUR POWER IS STUPID, GET LOST”

Death Thirteen was the result of the kids being forced to deal with a baby who was throwing a tantrum while they all waited to get on the giant slide at the County Fair. Kakyoin was especially pissed.

I have nothing for the Judgement stand.

I don’t have anything for High Priestess either.

And Iggy is still a dog, but I’m getting rid of his tendency to fart because I just HATE IT

N’Doul isn’t blind, he wears glasses and can’t see shit without them. And he has a water pistol. And he hoards the playground’s sandbox.

Oingo and Boingo are a 6 year old and his 1 year old brother and they’re just the cutest little demon spawns.

Anubis is a dog that snatched Jean’s toy sword in its mouth, and the sword’s power to transfer souls was just Jean fearing that the dog had rabies. Jotaro rolled his eyes but convinced Joseph to help him buy a new toy sword to shut Jean up.

Mariah... I dunno man, I didn’t really care for her arc and it definitely doesn’t fit the “kids playground” scenario I’m going for.

ALESSI IS WRITTEN OUT COMPLETELY. HE IS NOT ALLOWED ON THE PLAYGROUND.

The D’Arby brothers are known for being the cheaters of the playground. So Jotaro scares the eldest brother in a game of Go Fish, and it messes D’Arby up so much that it triggers his Asthma and he he has an Asthma attack.

Pet Shop went down as the day when Iggy had a fight with a seagull and got pecked the ever loving SHIT out of. Jotaro tells the story at every Christmas party.

The younger D’Arby battle happened on a day when he and Jotaro were playing video games together. They accused each other of cheating, which resulted in Jotaro insulting him for liking dolls before pummeling him and consequently getting kicked out of the house. Joseph gave him a high five though, so it was worth it.

Vanilla Ice was the toddler who didn’t bother to move out of the way if you got in his path while he was driving his toy mini jeep. But if you asked Jean or Avdol, they’ll tell you that the toddler deliberately puts people in his path to run them over. And the occasional dog.

And finally, DIO.

DIO was a kid who got transferred to Jotaro’s school after being expelled because the principal of DIO’s previous school couldn’t get him to leave two of the students alone, by the names of Johnathan and Erina. He was pen pals with Johnathan, but that was the only connection DIO bothered to maintain.

Jotaro thought DIO didn’t even deserve the title of “School Bully.” He thought DIO was just a weird freaking kid. Despite that, most of the kids were scared of him, Jotaro’s friends included.

DIO loved to utilize the classic “Time Out!” whenever he played with the kids, and if they didn’t abide to the time out, they got a knuckle sandwich.

Jotaro was the first kid in a long time to just say “Nope.”

That’s when he learned that DIO was a kid who liked to screech like a banshee when things didn’t go his way. As well as throw a whole bunch of pencils (seemingly from out of nowhere) at any person that he upset with.

The road roller in this AU is the closest thing to a lethal heavy weapon that you can get on the playground: a frickin BIKE.

And DIO is like “TIME OUT SO I CAN SLAM THIS BIKE ON YOU” And Jotaro goes “Nope, your time out is cancelled because you’re a freak and also you tried to bite Joseph which was just gross, anyway-“ and he punched DIO in the leg, pushed him to the ground, and kicked woodchips in his face.

They both got expelled.

A few years later, on his way to middle school, Jotaro bumps into a kid named Josuke...

<============ TO BE CONTINUED

BONUS JJBA BATTLE TENDENCY

The Pillar Men are a reflection of the infamous day when three highschool bullies showed up to the playground. One of them beat a kid named Ceasar in a Rock Paper Scissors match; in responce, Joseph (who at the time was only 4) went apeshit. He kicked the first highschooler off of the carousel at the County Fair. Then he located the second highschooler, tied up his shoelaces, then lit them with a match. Finally, during the school’s annual science fair, he tracked down the third highschooler, who had just finished rigging a student’s baking soda volcano to blow up in his face. Joseph threw a bunch of rocks that he found outside at the highschooler, and then proceeded to lock him up in the school’s astral observatory. The first two highschoolers fled town after that, but rumor has it that the third one is still stuck in the abandoned observatory.

#jjba #jojo part 3 #stardust crusaders #au #jotaro #dio #kakyoin #avdol #joseph joestar #iggy

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princessofgayskull · 6 years ago

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Hey! So I recently read upper west side's last chapter and I am currently rereading the entire story because A: it's so good, it's defenetly worth lots of rereads and B: I am trying to see if there are things and details I missed the first time I read all of the chapters, because I am sure there are things I've missed as I read most of the chapters around midnight. I wanted to write everything I liked and apreciated in upper west side after I finished my reread, but the story beeing so long(1/?)

but the story beeing so long it's going to take way too long so I am just going to list all those things now, while risking of sounding weird and not understandable: I like the language you use, the descriptions are rich and interesting while also fitting the character in with POV we are experiencing the story; the dialogue between character always feels natural, the thinking process as well; the language you use is also very rich, there are lots of similes and methaphores that make...(4/?) and how we keep seing it in all chapters until it reaches this conclusion of "curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back" and it's just so cool! There are probably so many ather things that I could say, but it's late and I am rambling and I'm not that good at analysis and there are probably so many things I'm missing. But I wanted to thank you for writing this story. It helped through some stressfull times and I alwas looked forward to it. Keep writing, you are doing great!

OMG! First of all, thank you for this amazing rant! It's a wonder just to get one ask talking about the story but three?! (It says four but I only have three in my inbox so I'm worried one got lost ) I am just blown away! And you don't sound weird or understandable! This is a fantastic little rant it made me so happy to get, especially today which was rather uncomfortable.

It's so comforting and validating to hear everything you've said, because basically I STRESSED BIG TIME about all those things. I was so, so worried I was coming off as long winded or dramatic for absolutely no reason, that all those metaphors and analogies made sense not just in my head but on the actual paper (I'm a slut for metaphors so I literally couldn't resist adding them in the story, and in turn it became a really good way to explore the thoughts and reactions of the characters and their individuality) and there were points when I was losing clumps of hair stressing over characterization and dialogue, so it's always calming to hear that it wasn't a total disaster! So thank you for telling me that, it means a TON!

The story, at least in my mind, was written to be reread! I experimented quite a bit with foreshadowing, both within the story and outside the story (like I've had a lot planned for the universe and I was just kinda sprinkling some loose ends in there that wouldn't be tied up by the final chapter) so I'll bet that's something to catch on the second read? Also, there's just a mountain of detail as well as some Easter eggs ;) that's just something I take a lot of joy in doing, like I legitimately LOVE to write and it's because I get to be super extra and it's totally appropriate (I hope🤞)

It's so weird to think about what this story meant to people, like in my head it's so odd because it's just a fic that I of all people wrote- that being said I think it's not being haughty to say it became a lot more than that, not to just me but to lots of people. And it's just such an honor to have played a role in your life like that. There's so much pain and suffering going on the world (is that super cheesy to say?) and I always feel like it's my responsibility to fix all of it, but knowing that I helped uplift you and others like you when you were having a hard or stressful time makes me feel like I'm finally doing something write for once, that I'm adding and giving back to the world instead of just taking.

It was hella cathartic to write this story; not just because it was a chance to put my own trauma and mental health under a magnifying glass, but also because I got to create and explore a whole universe where the insight that pain brings me was warranted and useful.

So thank you SO MUCH for reading and for ranting and for re-reading! Love ya kid!

#i see your sweet and thoughtful rant and raise you one of my one #god thank you so much for this #just gonna lay down and take this all in!#upper west side

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purplebenjy · 6 years ago

Text

2005-Part 1

“I’m not going to know how to talk to them.”

He’s pacing in front of the couch, Darling following his every turn. Benjy’s been muttering to himself on and off in Gujarti for the past ten minutes or so, meaning Cass could still continue to read whatever incredibly thick and dense book he was reading. It was supposedly fiction, and not assigned reading and therefore ‘for fun’ and Benjy didn’t understand how he was able to fit that in on top of grad school work, nor what the hell the story was supposed to be about even though Cass had patiently explained it at least three times.

Saying something in English, however, gains his boyfriend’s attention. Benjy hears the book thud close but he doesn’t stop moving.

“I’m not gonna go.”

“You are gonna go. You’ve been talking about this and been so excited for the past two weeks.”

Benjy stops to face Cass, taking a moment to let himself admire the view. His hair was short enough that it was curling around his forehead and over the tops of his ears-he needed a hair cut, but he was letting it go back to his natural color, which Benjy loved almost as much as he loved Cass. His newly acquired wire glasses were perched on the end of his nose and they magnified his eyes-Benjy could see the little crease when he smiled. He was wearing a white and blue striped shirt that Benjy had bought him cause he thought it made him look like a pirate with black jeans. He’d painted his nails yellow the night before, but, as usual, all Benjy can do is stare at his lip piercing.

“Benj.”

He looks into his boyfriend’s eyes and sighs.

“Don’t give me that sexy professor look, you know it works on me.”

Cass raises his eyebrows at him.

“The disappointed ‘I can’t believe you’re joking about that’ look works on me too, Cassie.”

“You’re deflecting.”

Benjy whines closes the short distance to the couch, replacing the book with himself on Cass’s lap.

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe.”

He presses his face into the front of Cass’s shoulder and sighs.

“What if they don’t like me?”

“Wanna try that again and look at me? Perhaps looking at me and not muffled?”

“No.”

“Benj.”

“Don’t Benj me.” He says, sitting up and tracing the shell of his ear.

“It worked.”

“Didn’t.”

Cass catches his hand and pulls Benjy into a kiss. He feels himself relax against Cass’s touch, letting out a sigh.

“What if they don’t like me?”

Cass smiles at him softly.

“I don’t think that’s humanly possible.”

“I’m being serious.”

Cass shifts on the beanbag, causing them both to sink in more.

“I am too. Speaking as a former teen admitted against his will in a psych ward, I would’ve liked you.”

Benjy smiles. He’d been feeling stuck the past couple of months since graduation-the agents who had shown interest in his work at his showcase hadn’t had time to meet with him yet-though he had a few voicemails insisting they’d make some time for him in the next couple of months. He’d vented about it at group, talked about how he was trying not to be so hard on himself and not let this be any sort of ‘proof’ to what Forest had said about Benjy not being able to find success on his own. Bernie, their facilitator, had pulled him aside after to tell him about the art therapy volunteer program at the same hospital that ran their program. After a background check that was shockingly clean, he was all set up to teach patients painting skills, giving them something to do while in recovery, a positive outlet. His first session was today, and he’d specifically requested teenagers, for a lot of reasons but the main one was currently wrapping his arms around Benjy’s waist.

“What if I don’t know what to say?”

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

Benjy laughs softly and brings their lips together for another kiss. He doesn’t have to leave for another hour and he’s had his stuff packed since he’d woken up that morning. He presses himself against Cass’s chest and closes his eyes, only opening them when he hears the sound of a page turning.

“Are you reading right now? While I’m moping?”

“You’re not moping out loud.”

“Hmm.”

He tries and fails to glare at Cass’s smile.

“Can I uh, ask you one more question and then I’ll leave you alone?”

Cass pushes his glasses up on his nose and Benjy reaches up for another kiss before he responds.

“That’s not true, but sure.”

He looks away from his boyfriend, his attention drawn to the faint scars he can see at the top of Cass’s forearms.

“It’s pretty stupid-”

“I guarantee it’s not.”

“Is it scary? To be there?”

Cass nods slowly, his eyes looking up and away like he always did when he was thinking.

“Like to visit? Or to be there?”

“Both, I guess.” Benjy says, shifting so he can properly trace the lines on Cass’s arms. “I feel like a coward for even asking.”

“Benj.”

He doesn’t have to say anything else, he rarely does.

“Okay, not a coward just...I don’t know. I wanna be prepared, I guess.”

Cass nods again.

“Yes, it’s scary. Not like those movies I make you watch it’s more...jarring I think would be the better word. Cause there’s sick people all around you and they’ll all kind of look like it. With the scrubs or gowns or sweats they’ve got on. And it was scary to be there, obviously but…” He taps lightly three times on the back of Benjy’s hand.

“It’s also a place that makes people better. And it’s obviously a good one if they’re doing something like this-once I realized that, at least kind of, it made it a little less scary. Some of the kids you’re gonna be with might be there, some of them might be scared--and some of them probably aren’t gonna care. That’s where I was for a lot of it, Benj. Just kind of...there, I guess, until they got me talking to Kevin and stuff…”

Cass trails off and Benjy bends forward to kiss some of the scars on his left arm.

“I’m glad you’re here, baby.”

Cass smiles at him, lifting his head slightly and cupping his face with his right hand.

“Me too. “

The staff had been almost too friendly and enthusiastic, chattering away about how they’ve been trying to find someone who fit to do this for a long time. Benjy made small talk easily, but couldn’t really focus, a little too worried about how it was going to go.

“And I’ll be in there, just in case anyone needs assistance-and truthfully because I’d like to pick up a thing or two, too.” Benjy smiles at that, reading the name ‘Dorcas’ on the nurse’s ID tag. She leaves him to set up, telling him he’s going to have three patients plus herself. He puts a few pieces of the weird paperboard canvas they’d told him to buy (no staples) and a bunch of non toxic paints at each of the little tables they’d set out. He smiles to himself at the rickety old easel someone (probably Dorcas) had put out for him, and decides to use it instead of his travel one. He puts his bags in the corner of the room closest to him and waits, rocking back and forth on his heels. He’d turned in his cellphone at the front desk, and he was too jittery to try to text right now anyway. He grabs one of the soft lead pencils he’d set out and starts sketching, instantly relaxing and almost calm by the time Dorcas and her patients came in. The first was a teenage girl with long, dirty, blonde hair, so thin Benjy could see her ribs through her grey sweatshirt. She shot him a shakey smile and sat down at the first table, right beside Dorcas who reached over and gave her a hand a squeeze as soon as she sat down herself. The second was a boy who was only a little taller than Benjy with very dark circles under his eyes and a weird sort of shuffle walk, he didn’t look up when he entered the room and sat at the middle table. The third was a girl who looked absolutely and totally average-a big shock of curly brown hair that went down to her shoulders-frizzy but well cared for. She had poked thumb holes through her sweatshirt sleeves and had them pulled up to her knuckles-she already looked bored and raised her eyebrows skeptically at Benjy’s set up before sliding into a seat at the back table. Four pairs of eyes were on him now, and Benjy takes a breath before grinning at them.

“Hi, uh, you probably already know why you’re here, but-I’m Benjy. I...Bernie, who i think some of you know, he’s helped me to get better, he’s helped me a lot, but um, nothing’s really helped me feel better like painting has.”

“Not even meds?”

The girl in the back has a glint in her eyes that makes Dorcas frown and turn around, but Benjy laughs.

“Fair enough. Almost nothing has made me better than painting. That work for you?”

She shrugs. Benjy continues.

“Art uh, it’s actually helped a lot of people for a long time. Which sounds like I’m making it up, but I promise I’m not. I’m not really good at talking in front of people really but…”

He shuffles some stuff around on his easel and turns it to them, showing them a print of Starry Night.

“Vincent Van Gogh was an impressionist painter--that was a period of art in the 1870s and 1880s-a fucking long time ago-I probably shouldn’t swear, huh?”

Dorcas kind of shrugs and Benjy laughs.

“Well anyway, Vincent struggled for a really long time but there’s evidence through letters and stuff that he wrote when he was around that painting made him feel better. He’s considered one of the best artists ever, and he did a lot of his work when he was in hospitals to get better. I don’t know if any of you guys care about that, but I thought it was pretty neat. So-uh, one of the styles in Vincent’s time period was to like, make a bigger picture out of little shapes. Like dots or squares. That’s what I thought we could try to today but uh, for me, the best part of painting is you can do whatever you want. So let’s just go-”

He catches himself before he says ‘go nuts’. Nice one, Benjy.

“Let’s just go-”

“Van Gogh?” The girl in the back pipes up. Benjy laughs.

“Sure. Paint whatever you want. Just kind of...let it out, you know? You can paint what you’re feeling, you can paint something you want, something you think is cool, something you hate...it’s literally always up to you, you know? You’re in control of what you make. I always liked that.”

He pulls his own table over to everyone else’s and starts setting up.

“I think we’ll just kind of sit here and make shit-if that’s okay with you guys?”

Dorcas, the boy and the blonde girl both nod and Benjy smiles. The girl in back already has a paint brush out and is getting to work.

“I’m gonna do that impressionist thing I was talking about, if anyone wants to do it with me.If you have any questions just ask.”

“I have one.”

Curly girl dips her brush into the black and makes eye contact with him.

“Shoot.”

“What fucked you up?”

“Deena!” Dorcas turns around in her chair, obviously pissed, but Benjy laughs, dipping his brush into the blue and speaking as he starts to do a background wash.

“No, no, it’s okay. Really. I was in a very emotionally and physically abusive relationship when I was nineteen. I was able to get out-which I’m very grateful for-but the person I was involved with was in a position of authority over me and it was incredibly damaging and stressful.”

Benjy starts mixing a purple and glances up at Deena. She addresses her canvas as she speaks.

“So you got beaten up by a girl?”

“Sorry about her.” The blonde girl speaks in an impossibly soft yet somehow fierce voice. “She’s attention starved.”

“You’re not supposed to bring up shit we talk about in group, Katie.”

“You’re also not supposed to make someone else share their story if they don’t want to.” Katie retorts, a flash of fire appearing in her expression. She holds up her canvas to show Benjy, she’s made a tiny sun out of yellow dots.

“Is that okay?”

He smiles.

“That’s great, Katie. But you don’t have to show me, I’m not grading you or anything-if you like it then it’s perfect.”

She nods, her lips tight as she scruntizes her work and then dips her brush back into the yellow.

“And to answer your question, Deena. No, I wasn’t beaten up by a girl-though that does happen, anyone can be abusive. But my abuser was in fact another man.”

“It was?”

The boy looks up for the first time really, his whole demeanor changing and making Benjy’s heart break in half at the wonder in his voice. Benjy nods.

“Yeah. He wasn’t great, but my new boyfriend is.”

“And your parents are cool with it?”

Benjy bites on the inside of his cheek and takes a breath, looking down at the paint so he doesn’t have the wrong reaction.

“Mine are but...Cass’s weren’t as cool. My mom’s the coolest person in the world, actually, so pretty hard to beat. But, you know, Cass and I kind of made our own family. It was hard for him for a little bit but he’s uh-I mean not to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty amazing and I think I make him happy.”

He glances over at Dorcas, who seems only to be concerned with the boy, not reacting at all to Benjy outing himself. He should’ve figured as much given that he knew Bernie from a support group for LGBTQA victims of partner violence, but still. It was nice to know he could be as much as himself as he wanted to.

“That’s good.” The boy says quietly, picking up his paintbrush for the first time. They play with the paint for another fifteen minutes or so, just making small talk which mostly consisted of Deena asking a variety of personal and art related questions.

“Okay I’m gonna come around and see if I can give you any tips. I’m hardly an expert-”

“Whoa.” The boy, who Benjy knew was named RJ, was staring at the painting on Benjy’s table. It was a portrait loosely based on Cass, per usual, but he was all different shades of purple triangles. “You didn’t tell us you were good.”

Benjy laughs.

“Good is relative.”

“I’m not impressed.”

“Thanks, Deena.”

He encourages Katie to be a little looser with her strokes, guiding her hand into a more flowing motion as she paints a sea scape. Dorcas had a canvas completely covered in red spots that she told Benjy was either a fire or a tomato fight. He showed her how to try to make shading. RJ had just painted a bunch of triangles fitting together, all impossibly small and not colored in. Benj had given him a half assed explanation of color theory and moved back to Deena. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Her entire canvas was covered in penises with angel wings on them. When she glances up, a big grin on her face, Benjy tries to keep his face neutral.

“You said to paint what we wanted.”

“Interesting interpretation. Are you going for a realistic rendering or do you want it to be more cartoonish?”

He sees surprise cross her face. Benjy guessed she was waiting for him to lose his patience, to tell her she was being innapropriate, get mad at her for not taking it seriously. He smiles pleasantly at her-waiting for her response.

“Um...what do you think?”

Benjy shrugs. “Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s not my painting. I can show you how to do both.”

Deena blinks down at them.

“I say cartoony cause it’s a little-”

“Ridiculous?” Benjy says, his smile growing. Deena laughs for the first time, and Benjy almost thinks he hears embarrassment in her voice.

“Yeah.”

“I like it, it’s hilarious. And even if it’s ridiculous, if it makes you feel good to paint it, who gives a shit, right? If you make the lines a little bolder on one end and then have it taper off towards the other, you can kind of give them a little like, comic book-y effect, do you wanna try?”

He watches her try and nods.

“Good, now do that however many times you’ve uh, made one of those.”

“There’s sixty-nine of them.”

“Ah, yes, of course.”

Deena laughs again. Benjy glances up at Dorcas and finds actual surprise on her face which leads him to believe that this isn’t a side to Deena seen all of the time.

“Don’t get paint on your sleeves, or I mean do. Everything I own is covered in paint.”

“I don’t think I technically own this.”

Deena rolls up her sleeves and Benjy is glad she’s focused on her painting so she can’t see the change in his face he knows is there. The bandages up her arms are white save for almost perfect lines of rust red at three places on her wrists.

“You’re doing great, D.” Benjy says, keeping his voice even as he swallows against the emotion in his throat. Deena whips her head up at him.

“Did you just call me D?”

“Oh-yeah, sorry. I won’t if you don’t want me to. My family has a thing with nicknames-”

She smiles at him, a real smile. A sad smile. A scared smile.

“No, it’s ok. My family does too. That’s what my parents call me. I like it.”

“It suits you.” Benjy says, watching her work.

“Cause I’m a dick?”

Benjy laughs.

“Not what I was going for, but sure. Sure.”

Their hour passes quickly, and when they’re done, Dorcas promises to be right back after she takes Katie to her room. Rj nods at him, holding his painting close to his chest. Deena pulls her sweatshirt sleeves down and marches to the front of the room, presenting Benjy with the flying dicks.

“Here. Something to remember me by.”

Benjy laughs.

“Well first of all, you’re fairly unforgettable. Second of all, I’m coming back next week.”

Deena’s face lights up.

“Really?”

“Yeah I mean if y’all want me back-”

“We do.” Deena actually blushes, realizing how quickly she’d spoken. She pushes the painting at him again.

“I still want you to have it.”

“I can’t take it until you sign it, dude. A true artist always signs it.”

“Oh good call, it’s gonna be worth millions some day.”

Deena takes the pencil Benjy’s holding and scribbles something in the corner before pressing the painting and pencil back into his hands.

“See you next week.”

She smiles at him again before stomping out of the room, picking at the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Benjy looks down at the hastily scribbled “D” with a little heart next to it and smiles.

“I’m really glad you were here, Deena.”

He’s not sure if she hears him at first, until she turns around and flips him the bird. Benjy watches her dissapear down the hall and then waits for Dorcas, looking down at the flying dicks and very glad he was there too.

#self para #drabble #2005

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thebrotherswholoved · 6 years ago

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stranger: *crying* your son hit me in the face! Sam: Jack! Why did you do that??? Jack: The bitch said 'what are those?' i just gave him a closer look.

sorry this took so long, love! I kinda sorta forgot to post it one here…oops:/ hope you enjoy (I kind changed the prompt a bit, hope that’s alright)

fanfiction: or worse…expelled

Summary: a blessed tumblr user (@say-yes-to-hole) gave me a prompt—and I thought I’d be a jolly lad and deliver (oops I kinda changed it a wee bit)

Content: Jack’s 3 Dads, AU where TFW 2.0 can be happy without dying, normal kid stuff, Cas being an asexual cutie pie, obviously wincest (not explicit–it’s mentioned like maybe five times), Domestic Fluff, Friendship Bracelets

Read on Ao3

Dean has always known where this life would lead him. It didn’t seem far fetched a year ago to envision his own death at the hands a hungry ghoul, emaciated vamp, or even at the hands of the monster they let into their home, the one he denied and denied as part of his adopted family until he was out of breath. Last year, Dean only saw pseudo-infant Jack Kline as a threat, not only to his clan but to the world.

He’d always thought he knew that the road so far would continue into the dead end ahead, that he’d never escape this hunter hell to fulfil his desperate pleas for domestic life, locked gun storage, and worn sigils under wallpaper and rugs, long forgotten by their Michelangelo.

He never in a million years thought that he’d be here: sitting in shitty lunchroom chair between his now-official adopted son and brother-turned-lover, who’s trying to send a bat signal to the couple’s fallen angel friend (and coparent) while side-eyeing the terrifying woman in front of them. He’s gotten so lost in the blue-green-yellow abyss of Sam’s eyes that he’s forgotten altogether why the hell he’s sitting here—that is, until he reads the plaque on the desk before the quartet.

Mrs. Harriet Allen

Dean of Students and President of Scholastic Affairs

Oh, yeah. This buzzkill is trying to buzz-kill his son, which he hopes she knows isn’t going to happen. He may have had a spinal injury five months ago but he can still body-bag her if need be. In an unfortunate turn of events, she notices the devious grin forming on Dean’s face in all the grotesque insanity of “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

“Is something funny, Mr. Winchester?” She snaps at him. He watches her wrinkles crease and release with anger and has to look away to avoid snort-laughing.

“Not at all, Harriet,” he pops his lips with a stern gaze of challenging authority and a smug raise of his eyebrow.

Sam gives him a look that says “what the hell are you doing” and flinches when she shuts the drawer of her IKEA desk (the builder of which, per Dean, did a shitty job assembling it) in a rather abrupt and terrifying way. Dean doesn’t even flinch, but becomes intrigued when she maintains eye contact while flipping open an ominous-looking manila folder. The thing has four, maybe five pieces of paper enclosed and has been desecrated with shaky, all-uppercase letters spelling out the words “KLINE-WINCHESTER, JACK.”

“My plaque says Mrs. Allen and so you will call me Mrs. Allen,” her thick-rimmed glasses dip on her ski slope nose when she narrows her gaze at Cas, who hasn’t uttered a thing in almost ten minutes.

Pushing the lenses back to magnify her grey-black eyes, she clears her throat and looks at Jack, who’s been twiddling his thumbs and fiddling with his bracelets since they arrived. “Mr. Kline-Winchester, do you know why I’ve called you and your…retinue here today?”

“These are my dads,” he clarifies with a meek flicker of his hooded eyes. “And, yeah, I do, ma’am.”

“Alright, and would you like to tell your dads what the reason is?” She shuffles her chair—faux leather, Dean notes, already shriveling and flaking apart—forward to intimidate. Mrs Allen sees these three men as unruly subjects to her velvet fist, but it’s revealed by her heel tapping beneath the desk that she sees Dean as more of a threat to her authority than the rest of Jack’s “retinue.”

Jack glances down the row at Sam, who’s trying to be a stern father by raising an eyebrow—an empty gesture to say the least, and then moves to distracted-by-superiority Dean, and ends at Cas, poor Cas and his helpless glint of confused trepidation that has become his defining characteristic.

Inhaling a shaky breath laced with lack of understanding at his offence, he begins his avowal in this hell of a confessional. “I…hit someone.”

Mrs Allen leans forward again. “Where did you hit them?”

“In the face. Inferior to the nasal bone.” He says in a signature “Castiel” matter-of-fact way—no room for bullshit. Sam can’t help but let out a breathy chuckle at his use of the terms he learned in Anatomy last week, the exam on which he got a 98 percent. “I didn’t feel any cracking. It was a low-impact hit, and it’d cause a superficial bruise at the w—“

“That’s enough, thank you,” Harriet puts her hand up to stop the inevitable spiel about medical terminology. God, Sam loves his quirky nerd of a son. “Why did you hit Mr. Hiscock?”

Dean snorts and doesn’t even try to hide it. He actually feels bad for this Hiscock kid—not because of Jack’s ‘low-impact’ punch but because his last name is just unfortunate. Mrs Allen really hates that he did that, and slams her fist down on the table.

“That is incredibly inappropriate, Mr Winchester,” she grumbles, but all Dean can see is Nurse Ratchet in her place. Poor Jack has to be Danny DeVito, though. He mouths a mocking apology and sits back in his chair like he did as a jock in high school. “Jack, continue. Why did you hit…Ivan?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to hit him.” Jack attempts to explain his “extensive misconduct” as the letter said—fuck, Sam thought he’d been caught having sex or smoking pot. The reality is that Jack Kline in all his purity thinks sex is for marriage and “pot” is for flowers. “I think he misunderstood…or maybe I did.”

Harriet squints her eyes at the boy and folds her arms, wedding rings becoming visible. Dean’s concentration is playing Never Have I Ever with some drunk sophomores in the janitor’s closet by now, but he finds it surprising that she found someone to marry at all. Maybe she’d been preppy and beautiful in her youth, but her significant other could still ride his Acorn stair-lift to freedom.

“What could Ivan have misunderstood, Jack?”

The sixteen-year-old literal toddler watches Cas fiddle with his trench coat button and sighs. “Well…he asked me about my bracelets.”

Mrs Allen moves to scan his wrists for these supposed wristbands but can’t see his hands over her giant plaque. “What bracelets?”

“Oh, these!” He perks up like Dean had snuck him a Pixie Stick or something, surprising everyone in the room. Jack jerks his wrists into the air and smiles. “Cas got a kit for Christmas, and so Sam, Dean, and Cas made some for me. They’re supposed to be friendship bracelets, but I like to call them ‘family bracelets.’”

Sam is the first to show his blue-green threaded band with a soft smile. “Mine says ‘happiness is only real when shared.” It’s a quote from Into the Wild.”

“And mine,” Dean rolls up his sleeve to reveal his own purple and red wristband, “says ‘kick some ass, kid’ because I’m not a nerd like my husband.”

Harriet is caught off-guard when Cas speaks, probably having expected a light and airy voice instead of the deep, monotone one that sounds when he holds his wrist up to show the black-white-yellow pattern he dons. “Mine says ‘go watch the bees.’ You won’t understand it if you weren’t there at the time.”

“Dude, you weren’t even there at the time,” Dean whispers at the angel, who simply nods his head to the left. “You were so spray-paint-high on barbiturates and propofol that you made your way into a cornfield to catch the damn bee. Sammy and I chased you for, like, twenty minutes.”

“Enough, please,” Harriet is rubbing at her temples now, praying to God, who’s currently in Cuba on a sabbatical, for this to end soon. “Jack, what did Ivan say about your bracelets that made you punch him? Was it a bullying situation?”

Jack shakes his head and scrunches up his nose in thought. “No…he pointed at them and yelled ‘what are those?!’ So, I showed them to him. I didn’t mean to hurt him, even though he does throw grapes at me at lunch. I don’t even like grapes.”

This time, Sam is the one to break down into a fit of laughter, unbridled and uncontainable, because of his son’s comment. Dean falls from grace next and joins his giant lover in his spasms of glee, not caring about the daggers Mrs Allen is eyeing them with. Cas just looks at the woman and in all his naïveté ignores the way his coparents are behaving.

“Is Jack in trouble, ma’am?” His blue eyes flutter and squint in confusion. “The letter we got threatened expulsion, and if he’s expelled I’ll have to buy more Crunch Cookie Crunch and nougat.”

Harriet has been forced into defeat by this junior and his dysfunctional parents, and therefore sighs and leans back while pinching the bridge of her nose.

“No, he’s not.” She mutters despite the noise from the two men still calming down. “Now, can you please get out of my office?”

#wincest #sam x dean #sam/dean #samdean #otp: and they were soulmates #fanfic #my fanfiction #wincest fanfic #tfw #tfw 2.0 #domestic boys #wincest crack #crack fic #jacks three dads

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sophies-earbuds · 6 years ago

Text

Inside (an irondad fic)

Word count: 2768

Summary: During a work day in the lab, Peter tells Tony about the night the Vulture was arrested.

Ao3

“Hey, Pete, can you hand me that screwdriver over there?”

Peter reaches for the small tool on the desk, which is about four feet out of Tony’s reach due to his habit of rolling tools out of the way once he’s done with them, even though he’s going to need them again just a few seconds later. Apparently, having an intern is the best thing to happen to Tony’s workshop since sliced bread.

“Yeah, as long as you don’t fling it across the room again,” Peter teases sarcastically, handing the screwdriver to his mentor, who flashes him a pointed look that doesn’t come across as anything but fond to Peter.

“You’ll come to learn that some habits are unbreakable, kid. But as long as I have you in the lab, I think I’ll be just fine,” Tony tells him, to which Peter rolls his eyes, hating when Tony pulls the whole ‘I’m an old adult and you’re a learning teenager’ spiel.

“So, what do you do when I’m not here, just sit around until someone comes along to hand you the tool you just flung away?” Peter asks, leaning his cheek on his hand, watching Tony mess around with a pair of decked out sunglasses he’s making for Peter, which he hopes will help dial back his heightened senses while he isn’t in his suit. At the moment, he’s trying to add a chip that will connect the glasses to Karen, paired with discreet earpieces Peter can wear all the time, sort of like reverse hearing aids that will also double as a bluetooth for the glasses and his phone. He has to admit, it’s incredibly cool. He’s mostly there just to oversee and learn about nanotechnology, and to test run some of the tech to fit his accommodations.

“Pretty much, Underoos.”

As Tony keeps on with his work on the glasses, Peter pulls out his chemistry work from his bag, opening up his notebook to the page of his newest web fluid compound, and set to work theorising new ways to make the fluid last longer, so he’d stop losing his backpacks as the webs dissolve. Hiding them in a more discreet manner is definitely not an option in Peter’s mind, because where’s the fun in that? He’s got no time to put down his backpack before going out on patrol after school.

“Working on some new web fluid?” Tony asks, glancing over at Peter’s notes. He’s suddenly very conscious about the way he decorates his notes with doodles and bubble letter headings, filling in corners and blank spaces with zentangle patterns he’d learned back in a short middle school art course.

“Yeah, I wanna make sure that the criminals I web up won’t be able to escape with a blade, or that it won’t dissolve so quickly…,” he trails off, focusing again on filling in a few annotations, marking out what will and won’t work.

“So… you want to create a web shield?” Tony asks with the quirk of an eyebrow in his direction.

Peter thinks for a moment, considering the idea. “Not what I was going for, but that’s definitely going on my to-do list,” he says, flipping a page to scribble down a hasty note about durable and retractable web shields.

“We can start on it tomorrow morning. You’re staying the night, right? You cleared it with May?”

Peter rolls his eyes, smiling at how overprotective Tony is with him sometimes. “Yeah, I called her earlier, said we were supposed to have a late night in the lab. I think she was more relieved, though, said something about making plans with some friends. I’m glad she can get a night without having to worry about me dying or something.”

“Yeah, because you’re so safe here, with all of the untested tech and literal weapon robots,” Tony says sarcastically, messing with a microchip prototype under a magnifying glass, testing out the waters with the mini Karen file, thus proving his point.

“Mr. Stark, I think we both know I’m safer with you than I am by myself,” Peter tells him reluctantly. Usually, he won’t admit so easily that what he does is dangerous, mostly because he doesn’t like to worry the helicopter adults in his life, but he knows it’s the truth.

“That, and maybe you’ll finally get some sleep.”

Rolling his eyes, Peter goes back to stare at his notes, wondering what he’s missing in his compound, and eventually decides he can’t pay attention to it, so he instead watches what Tony is doing.

So far, the glasses are pretty much skinned so Tony can fit all of the tech inside of them, ensuring that nobody will be able to figure out their actual purpose. Being discreet is key in highschool, even without weird spider powers.

“Run out of ideas?” Tony asks, not looking away from his project.

“Only for now. I’ll probably think of something while on a snack break later,” Peter tells him, spinning from side to side on his stool, unable to sit still for even a moment.

“Speaking of, I picked up those chips you said you liked,” Tony mumbles through a screwdriver he has clenched between his teeth, making his words almost unintelligible.

“Seriously? Thanks, Mr. Stark. May refuses to buy them anymore. Says I inhale them like oxygen,” Peter laughs, already thinking about their next break so he can rip into a bag. It’s not like it’ll help with sustenance or anything, since his metabolism is freakishly fast from the spider bite, but it’ll still taste good.

“Perhaps I should confiscate them, if that’s the case.”

Starting to pout deliberately, Peter looks up at Tony, his cheeks being squished by his hands as he siccs the puppy eyes on his mentor. It always works with Ned, so why not Tony?

“Kid, I’m immune to the eyes. And I was kidding, I’m not that much of a buzzkill.” Peter can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice, and grinned again, sitting up straighter on his stool and letting go of his cheeks. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have to prevent you from going into heart failure, though. I’m still responsible for you.”

“Mr. Stark, my body was literally modified to prevent that from happening itself,” Peter explains, waving around his arms exasperatedly. Tony gives him a pointed look.

“Yeah, well, you can still form medical ailments like the human you are. Don’t want you ending up with one of these,” he says, knocking on the middle of his chest with his knuckles, eliciting a hollow metal clanking noise. Not that he really needs it anymore, the shrapnel is all gone, but the reactor still powers the Iron Man suits.

“I’m fine, sir, really. Nothing gets past this immune system. I’m not even sure normal vaccinations will work on me anymore,” Peter goes off, not realising that he’s splitting onto a new tangent every second.

“Want me to get a doctor up here tomorrow? Figure all that out for you?” Tony offers. “I know it’s not Bruce, but I have some doctors on standby who know how to deal with enhanced and modified humans,” he explains, still messing around with the Karen prototype. He seems to be trying to find ways to fit it inside the frame, using small, thin wires that look like they can’t hold much power, but are probably more effective than they look.

“That’d be great, thanks,” Peter says with relief. “Backtracking, do you know where Dr. Banner went off to?” he asks, tilting his head. If Peter is being honest, Bruce is one of the people he’s most excited to meet, hoping to converse about biology and medicine, since Tony is more of a mechanic type scientist. And while Peter loves all types of science, he has yet to talk to a real professional Doctor. Maybe he’ll collect the holy trinity of science mentors: technology, biology, and chemistry.

“No idea, Kid. Just fell off the face of the earth, haven’t been able to contact him since that Ultron thing,” Tony mumbles through his concentration.

“Well, I hope he’s not in any danger,” Peter vocalises his thoughts, not really meaning to say that part out loud, even though he knows Tony is thinking it as well.

“I want to say that I know he isn’t, but I can’t lie to you, Kid. Whenever someone goes missing, I always have to worry.”

On that note, Peter decides to stay quiet, not entirely sure if Tony wants his opinion on the matter at this point. But he’s wired the same way. It’s why he goes patrolling every night; when people are in danger, he has to worry, and do something about it. Otherwise it’s his fault when the bad things happen.

After a few more minutes, Tony lets out a groan of frustration, hanging his head low and stretching his neck muscles before resuming the project.

“Oh, forgot to tell you, we got news of Toomes’ case this morning. Short trial, they bring him into jail tonight,” Tony says offhandedly, switching one of his magnifying glasses. His tongue is sticking out of his mouth, which Peter knows is a sign that he’s working with a fairly frustrating gadget.

The way Peter tenses at the name, sucking in a breath he can’t seem to let go of, brings Tony out of his concentration to face him. He even turns his chair, which signals a conversation is about to happen.

“What did that guy do to get you so anxious? You were confident in your ability to ‘take him down’ just a month ago,” Tony asks, furrowing his brows at Peter, who rubs at his neck, biting his lip at the thought of having to relive any second of what happened with the Vulture.

“It’s nothing. He uh- I mean he had creepy eyes on his wingsuit, so-”

“Pete, you and I both know that is not the whole truth. You’re a horrible liar. I’m surprised nobody’s figured out you’re Spider-Man yet,” Tony interrupted, earning himself a lighthearted glare.

“For one thing, the only people who have figured it out are you, Ned, and May, and you barely count because you’re some sort of superhero magnet,” Peter tells him, tapping his pencil against his notebook, studying his own handwriting and ignoring whatever reaction Tony has to his statement. “And for another, it’s really okay, Mr. Stark. It’s not like I’m hurt or anything.”

“Kid, you can hurt inside, too. If something happened that night he hijacked the plane that makes you flinch when you hear his name, I want to know about it. I’m breaking the cycle of shame, remember?” Tony tells him, making his cheeks burn at the memory of his mentor indirectly referring to himself as Peter’s father figure. He reaches up to push his hair out of his face, having not done anything but let it air dry after his morning shower. Of course, his curls have to show themselves at the first sign of freedom from all of the product he usually puts in it on school days. With the amount of time Peter’s spent at the new facility since the move, he’s begun to not care about how he looks when he’s there.

After a good thirty seconds, Peter finally breaks under Tony’s probing stare.

“I followed him the night of the homecoming to his base, and he was waiting for me,” he begins, chancing a look up at Tony, who is paying him full attention. “Remember how the warehouse was all demolished and collapsed when they investigated his business?” he asks, not waiting for Tony to nod, but still flickering his eyes up to him. “Well, when I got there, I thought I had him, but he uh-” Peter took a deep breath. “He started saying all of these things about you and your business, and it threw me off that he was using my actual name, so I didn’t realise what was coming and he made his wingsuit break all of the support beams, and the um, well the ceiling caved, and the building just sort of… collapsed on me. And I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have Karen to contact anyone, so I started yelling for help, but nobody heard me, so I had to lift the beam that fell on me. And then I stuck to his suit and fought him up on the plane so he-”

“Woah, Pete, slow down,” Tony says, snapping Peter out of his reminiscence of that night. He doesn’t even realise that he’s completely spacing out until he feels his eyes burn from the lack of blinking. “He knows who you are?” Tony asks, resting a tentative hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter nods slowly. “And he dropped an entire building on you, knowing that you’re only fifteen?”

Peter nods again, trying to fight off the stupid tear that escapes his eye, wiping it away before Tony can notice. But of course he notices, because he hasn’t taken his eyes off of Peter.

“Kid, why didn’t you mention this to anyone?”

Peter thinks for a moment. Why didn’t he? He figured the crashed plane was enough for Tony to deal with about that night, he didn’t need the added burden of Peter being trapped, especially since he knew Tony would blame it all on himself for taking away his suit, which wasn’t why it happened at all. Not to mention-

“It would have given away my identity, and I didn’t want to deal with the police about it. So, I webbed the guy up and left him for someone to find, then hid on the Cyclone until I knew for sure that he was caught and in custody. Next thing I know, you’re asking me to join the team.”

Tony leaves him in a string of silence, only his thoughts to keep him from going uneasy. The hand on his shoulder never falls away, only grips tighter after a few seconds.

When Tony opens his mouth, Peter expects him to say something about how stupid it was for him to withhold important information from the authorities, but instead finds himself being pulled into a tight hug, his head finding its way to Tony’s shoulder to rest on.

“Pete, I wish you’d told me sooner. I could’ve helped,” he whispers, his hand coming up to cradle the back of Peter’s head, fingers carding through his curls. The gesture is incredibly out of character and has never happened before, but it’s not bad. In fact, Peter could get used to this. It’s been so long since he’s received any sort of paternal affection, and while it may be weird, and he may feel guilty for thinking it, this is exactly what he remembers that feeling like.

But Tony Stark is not his father. He already has one of those. He may not be with him, but he’s still his dad.

That doesn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around Tony, though, because a hug is a hug, and he’s in desperate need of one right now.

“It’s over now, Mr. Stark. I’m okay,” Peter tries to reassure him, but Tony just chuckles a little, reminding him that no situation is too serious. He thrives off of this mentality. It makes him feel like he doesn’t need to commit to the feeling of a moment.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one telling you that?” Tony asks, making Peter laugh along with him. With a light clap on the back, Tony pulls away, and the tear that slipped out earlier is now forgotten in the midst of his bright smile. He can physically feel himself getting happier just from the feeling of Tony being happy.

“I think we can take turns,” Peter tells him, a smirk finding its place on his face.

“Or you could just stop almost dying.”

“Only if you do.”

Peter looks up at Tony, making eye contact for a split second as they both raise an eyebrow, then looks away, smiling as he realises just how alike they really are. Maybe he’s not so far away from becoming who he wanted to be, even as a little kid.

“What do you say we take a break from the glasses and go upstairs to the kitchen, yeah? Tear into those chips, eat our feelings away?” Tony asks, pushing his stool under the workbench and walking over to the elevator. Peter grins, looking back at his notes for a moment before running over to Tony as he presses the button.

“Sounds like a plan, Mr. Stark.”

#i hate the way tumblr spaces paragraphs #its better on ao3 #marvel #spiderman #ironman #irondad #spiderson #irondad & spiderson #peter parker #tony stark

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artificialqueens · 7 years ago

Text

More Than You Know, Ch 3 (Trixya) - Joanne Elizabeth

Summary: Yes, she found Trixie incredibly hot. Yes, this week had put them in some strange situations. But they were still best friends, and if Trixie was interested her in that way, then Katya would be here in Bumfuck, Wisconsin as her actual girlfriend. But she wasn’t. She was her fake girlfriend to make her family happy. She was the most convenient choice as a fake girlfriend, as they spent all their time together anyway. That was why Katya was here. Outside, smoking a cigarette while her best friend fingered herself four stories above Katya’s head, in Katya’s bed.

Trixie struggled to open her eyes the next morning because they were tacky with dried tears. She felt so embarrassed - she hadn’t had nightmares like that in a while, and to have them in front of Katya was way more than she could take on without coffee with this slight hangover. And now there was the actual issue of getting up to get it. She was holding Katya against her chest and moving would surely wake the other girl.

Also like, she was holding Katya against her chest. Trixie considered going back to sleep to avoid all of the thoughts buzzing around. She tried to settle back into the surprisingly comfortable bed, letting her breathing match Katya’s.

She roused again at the clicking of the door. Katya was nowhere to be seen, so she guessed she was smoking downstairs. Trixie stretched and started towards the bathroom, intent on showering so she and Katya could find breakfast together.

But when she opened the door, she forgot all about that because there were boobs.

Katya’s boobs. With Katya’s neatly painted red fingernails touching them gently, and then squeezing them in surprise. Trixie was mesmerized by the way her nipple was puckered. Katya was frozen, hips leaning against the mirror, tight ass poked out slightly, hands grasping her breasts, eyes locked into Trixie’s roaming ones in the mirror.

“Fuck,” Trixie finally had the wherewithal to exclaim, “I’m so sorry, oh my god.” She shut the door quickly.

“My bad! I should have locked it!” called Katya

“I should have knocked!” Trixie argued.

“It’s all good. I’m going to take a quick shower.” Trixie nodded into the empty room. She turned on the TV for a distraction and set to work on the small personal coffee maker the room supplied them with.

This was fine. Friends saw each other naked sometimes. She’d changed with Kim numerous times, had pulled a naked and drunk Trannika to the correct bed once. It wasn’t a big deal. She took a sip of coffee, burning her upper lip with her trembling hand.

Katya emerged from the bathroom in a gust of steam and tiny workout shorts and a tank top.

“It occurs to me now that I’m probably just going to get sweaty again,” she laughed.

“Yeah, but airplane gunk,” Trixie protested. Katya nodded in agreement, like the sentence made sense. Maybe it did to her. Trixie rushed into the bathroom, cheeks still faintly burning, and tied her hair up into a bun. It was only going to be weird if she made it weird.

Once both girls were dressed (even though Trixie despised the athletic-wear her sister had insisted upon for this bachelorette surprise), they found a late breakfast at the diner across the street and sat in comfortable silence on their phones until it was time to meet the bridal party for their event.

Trixie was more nervous about introducing Katya to Maggie’s friends than she was to Maggie. She could predict her sister’s actions and thoughts, but strangers’? Katya, however, took the news that she’d be participating in the bridal activities fairly well. It turned out that Maggie’s coworker Leiah had gone into early labor, and she had been replaced with Robert’s teen daughter Angel, but Angel couldn’t go out on the bachelorette party, hence Katya was now obligated to fill the spot because c’mon it’s already been paid for and it’ll be fun and we should get to know her better, Trixie. So here she sat, smushed into the backseat of someone’s giant SUV, between Katya and a girl named Sydney, on their way to some sort of dance lesson. “Katya, what do you do?” Elena, Maggie’s best friend, said from the driver’s seat.

“I teach yoga,” Katya shrugged. Trixie scoffed.

“She’s an artist. She also works at the gallery that features her work,” Trixie defended.

“Yeah, but yoga pays just as much of the bills lately.” Trixie pushed her shoulder into Katya’s.

“That sounds nice!” Sydney smiled. Elena turned around at the light.

“The yoga will help you here,” she winked. Katya’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

Pole dancing. They were taking a pole dancing class. Trixie hated Maggie, or actually, Elena, since it was her surprise to Maggie for her bachelorette party. She smoothed her shirt down in the mirror, feeling suddenly like her clothes were too tight.

Their instructor was a lanky dark skinned girl who wore a white pair of boyshorts instead of regular pants. Trixie yanked her own leggings even higher on her waist. She introduced herself as Michaela and was suddenly upside down on the pole, legs spread almost parallel to the floor. Trixie felt her jaw drop a little.

It turned out, Trixie wasn’t terrible at pole dancing. The only time she felt herself really fumble was when she looked at Katya. Katya was a goddess, an ethereal being in black short shorts with thighs that squeezed the pole and hands that gracefully supported her, even when she fell.

Michaela asked them to try a move called the fairy and Trixie spent a moment longer than necessary adjusting herself on the pole, enjoying the pressure it placed between her legs. God, this was actually sort of hot? Trixie regretted thinking that she hated Elena for this surprise.

By the time they were finished, she could feel her blood thrumming under her skin and was excited to go back to the hotel to change for a night out of drinking and dancing. She felt invigorated, if not a little sore.

“Is this a knock-off Applebee’s? Is that even a thing that can exist?” Trixie whispered through Katya’s hair as she scanned the menu of the restaurant. They were scrunched into a tacky booth only two hours after their class.

Trixie had partaken in the champagne that Elena had offered them as they changed from their pole dancing outfits into ones suitable for the club. It was making her lightheaded, but she wasn’t sure if she could blame the champagne or the proximity. Either way, she was starting to feel really bratty. Especially that now that Trixie had seen their “fancy restaurant,” she began to question the reputability of the club.

“Shh, I’ll buy you another drink and you won’t even notice,” Katya laughed into her ear, leaning with her hand on her thigh. Trixie clenched it unconsciously.

“So how did you two meet?” Sydney cooed, already slurping the last of her drink through the ice cubes.

“At a party,” Trixie shrugged at the same time that Katya said, “Through our friend Pearl.”

“It was Pearl’s party,” Trixie explained, “And we were both there.”

“And was it like, love at first sight? Did you guys instantly click?” Elena questioned. Trixie’s cheeks turned hot.

“Kind of?” She said, avoiding Katya’s eye. She could still remember the first time she’d met Katya. It was at Pearl’s New Year’s party and she’d been a little too drunk to categorize her properly.

Trixie was in the kitchen searching for another drink when two figures practically fell through the door, excitedly babbling in an alien language.

“Woah, how drunk am I?” Trixie muttered, catching the attention of one of the girls that she now recognized to be Sasha.

“You’re not, кукла. Well, maybe you are,” Sasha extended an arm out to Trixie, pulling her over, “But look! Someone who speaks Russian!” Trixie watched Sasha’s eyes light up before turning her attention to the other girl and - woah.

She had honey blonde hair that curled and frizzed around her shoulders and a tiny magnifying glass around her neck. Her skirt was black with embroidered flowers and Trixie thought it could have been trendy if she had paired it with a top that didn’t violently clash with it the way this one did. But it worked, standing out against her tan skin, too tan for the winter months, even in LA. Trixie glanced down at her legs, which were just as tan and bare and oh my god she really might be drunk already because she felt her heart slow down as she took those thighs into memory.

“ привет, I’m Katya.” She did a little wave, and Sasha immediately grabbed her hand.

“No, the whole thing, again! Please.” Sasha was definitely tipsy; Trixie could see the flush in her cheeks. She wanted to glance behind them to search for Shea, but couldn’t bring herself to look past the blonde.

“My name is Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova, but you can call me Katya.” Her voice was husky and her teeth were bright white against the dark red lips and Trixie waited longer than socially acceptable to meet her eyes again.

“Well, my name is Beatrice Chenoa Mattel, but you can call me Trixie.” She popped her straw into her mouth, only to drop it when a cackle, a true shrieking cackle, came from the girl in front of her. She clutched on to Sasha to steady herself.

“Baaaabyyyyy.” Sasha whipped around, almost dropping Katya. Trixie stifled a giggle - Sasha would always literally drop everything for her girlfriend. Shea appeared in the doorway, looking like an actual hologram of Naomi Campbell, posed against the door frame.

“It’s almost midnight, come spend the last part of the year with me,” Her voice was pitched low, and even Trixie shivered a little. Sasha squeezed Katya’s arm in a goodbye and followed Shea down the hall to one of the bedrooms.

“Gross,” Katya scrunched her nose, pouring water from the tap into one of the plastic cups.

“Lesbian sex?” Trixie questioned, ready to fight this gorgeous woman if she dared to bad mouth her friends. God, she definitely had had whiskey tonight.

“Are you kidding? That’s my only hobby,” Katya laughed, “I meant love.”

“ I don’t think it’s gross,” Trixie defended. The condensation from her emptied cup dripped down her hand. It tickled.

“Yeah? So who are you kissing at midnight, lovebird?” Katya looked Trixie up and down in a way that she could almost feel on her skin. Trixie shook her hair to cover her face more.

“Oh, I didn’t come with anybody,” Trixie blushed, “I mean, some friends, but-”

“You don’t kiss your friends?” Katya finished for her. Trixie shrugged, almost gasping when Katya licked her lips.

“Noted,” Katya winked, checking her phone. “Well, it’s almost midnight. Who’s it going to be?”

“The only man I’ll ever love,” Trixie smiled, turning to face the counter and find the bottle, “Andre!” Katya doubled over at the joke, her laughter coming out in screaming and wheezing bursts. Trixie joined her, her own piercing scream of a laugh ringing through the small kitchen.

“Well, in that case, let me get a couple’s pic,” Katya wheezed, holding up her cell phone. The countdown started in the living room, but Trixie merely fluffed her hair before grabbing the bottle again. She turned to her best side, cocking her hip out in a practiced way to make her ass look bigger and waist look smaller. She puckered her lips and placed the bottle there carefully to avoid smudging her lipstick.

“Gorgeous,” Katya muttered, snapping the picture as people began counting down in the living room.

“Oh my god, send that to me,” Trixie exclaimed, crowding into Katya’s space to see. She pushed some of her hair away from her shoulder, and got a whiff of her smoky and spicy scent.

“I need your number first,” Katya reminded, holding the phone out for Trixie. She took it, brushing her fingertips lightly over Katya’s cold ones as she returned the phone.

“Tallulah, get out here,” Trannika burst through the kitchen, “Naomi texted Kim and she’s having a crisis and I personally have not had enough to drink to deal with her.” She saw Katya, and how close she and Trixie were standing, “Or um, actually I can do it.”

“No, it’s fine,” Trixie took a giant step away from Katya, “Send me that, I gotta go.” She pushed past Trannika to go find her best friend, and didn’t see Katya for the rest of the night.

“Yeah, she gave me her number and totally ditched me,” Katya teased, “But luckily my texting game is strong.”

“Oh whatever, I had to see what was up with Kim! And good thing I did, the dumb bitch almost drunk dialed Naomi at midnight. “ Her knees brushed Katya’s thigh when she turned to argue.

“We have a few mutual friends, so we mostly hung out as a group until she found me too irresistible to just see on the weekends.” Katya turned back towards the table, smirking.

“Yeah, when did that change? When you came over before we went to Sasha’s play?” Trixie asked as she took a heavy sip of the sangria. She knew that was it, but wasn’t sure if Katya remembered.

“Yeah, you made a strawberry cake and invited me over to your place.” Katya was grinning mischievously at the girls at the table, but Trixie distinctly recalls that being a terrible day.

Trixie had gone to two separate grocery stores to find the ingredients she’d needed for the cake. She tried to tell herself it was just a craving she was having, but the desire to make a cake from scratch on the same day that Katya was coming over for the first time seemed like more than a coincidence.

She wanted to impress her. In the few times they’d seen each other, mostly at Pearl’s or out to dinner or even that one time dancing where Trixie drank too much and sent herself home before she could be embarrassing, she’d really started to crush on Katya. She was funny, and kind, and seemed to care about Trixie just as much.

When Shea had mentioned Sasha’s performance, Trixie had insisted she invite Katya - the two had continued their obsession with each other since New Year’s, so it only made sense. And of course Trixie could get off work in time for the performance. She was a good friend, after all.

So when Katya had agreed to go to the show, Trixie had suggested they carpool. Meet me at my house, she’d said, we can hang out before we go. And when Katya’d arrived at her door in a magenta sweater with black handprints scattered across it, all Trixie could think about was placing her hands on each one, especially the one on her sternum, right between her breasts. But then she needed to frost the cake, which was a welcome distraction.

“You play guitar?” And instantaneously, Trixie’s heart was back in her throat.

“Yeah! I’ve been working on getting a new song down. Want to hear it?” She coughed slightly, adjusting herself some to cool down.

“Sure,” Katya nodded from Trixie’s chair at the table. If Katya started coming over more, she’d happily give her the spot. She looked amazing there, with the light coming in through the window to dance in her hair. Trixie rushed to wash her hands after putting the cake away, eager to show Katya her guitar skills.

“Okay, tell me if I’ve got it right enough for you to recognize it.”

Blushing, Trixie began to play Landslide. Like every other woman who loves women, the song was special to her, and she hadn’t played it in front of anyone yet.

“I should set you up with my friend Alaska,” Katya smiled. Trixie’s hands missed a fret and she clumsily dropped the guitar into her lap.

“What?”

“You like music, she likes music. You should get a girlfriend. I’ll set you up.” Katya shrugged coolly, as if she set her friends up all of the time. She probably did.

“Um, okay,” Trixie floundered, putting the guitar back down, “Sure.”

Clearly, Katya didn’t like her. Why would she? Trixie was just an idiot backwoods girl who wore too much makeup and weighed too much. She didn’t know anything about Katya’s cool art interests, couldn’t even keep up with a conversation with her half of the times. Trixie had made it all up in her head.

“What about you, Maggie? Tell us how you met Ryan.” As Katya listened to Maggie’s story, Trixie couldn’t look away from her.

Katya was beautiful, as beautiful as the first time she’d seen her. Maybe even more so. It’d been months since that day, and she’d never fully gotten over that rejection. Which was dumb. She’d technically moved on, having gone home with that girl Kimora from the club. Fuck, she had been so hot, and so very good in bed. But even just that night, she had missed like all of Trixie’s jokes. Katya always laughed at her jokes. Trixie bet she was pretty good in bed too. She was so flexible, after all. Trixie thought about the way her tongue twisted when she spoke Russian. And her breasts, this morning, pale against her tanned hands. Trixie bet she could fit one in each hand as Katya spread herself into a slow split over her face.

“You okay, babe?” Katya asked, knocking Trixie out of her day dream.

“Uh huh,” she blinked, “Why?” Katya wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“You’re squirming. Do you need up to pee?” Katya indicated the booth they were in. Trixie shook her head.

“I’m okay.” She signalled to their waiter that she’d take another drink. She leaned her head into Katya’s shoulder and listening to Maggie talk about Ryan. Even if she had made it all up in her head, it was nice to pretend for a minute.

Katya reentered the club after her cigarette break to find Trixie leaning against the bar, breasts pushed up almost to her chin, smiling at the bartender. He stared down her shirt as he handed her two drinks.

“Hi baby,” Katya projected, loud enough for the creepy bartender to hear, and placed her hand on the small of Trixie’s sweaty back. Trixie side-stepped out of it, turning quickly to hand her the shorter of the two glasses.

“Coke,” she said brusquely, sipping her own pint glass of water.

“Thanks. Do you want to dance again?” Trixie shook her head, and Katya deflated slightly. Dancing with Trixie pressed against her had been fun, exhilarating. Her ass in this dress was incomprehensibly good.

“Can we sit down?” Trixie practically whined. Katya led her to a table near where Sydney and Elena were dancing. Once she was seated safely, Katya bent towards the floor to stretch her sore hamstrings.

“Can you just fucking sit down?” Trixie snapped. Katya’s eyes flew to Trixie, who had the decency to look apologetic. Katya did as she was asked, wrapping her leg against Trixie’s. Trixie uncrossed her legs and gave her some space. Katya quietly sipped her coke, eyes cast downward.

“Do you want a cigarette or something? You’ve been cranky all night,” Katya grumbled as she watched Trixie fight with the key card to their hotel room.

“I’m not cranky,” Trixie whined, kicking her shoes off forcefully. They both watched as one flew halfway across the room before landing with a plomp.

“Sure, mama.” Katya sat on the bed and stretched her leg above her head.

“Are you kidding me!” Trixie moaned, turning her back to Katya.

“What is going on, Trix?”

“It’s dumb, let’s go to bed,” Trixie sighed, running a hand through her hair, “This has been the longest day of my life.”

“No,” Katya was up in an instant grasping Trixie’s hands in hers, “You’re upset. What’s going on? I don’t care if it’s dumb.” She tried to force Trixie into eye contact, but Trixie’s blue eyes were flitting all around the room. Katya waited, stroking her thumbs over the tops of Trixie’s fingers.

“Stop,” Trixie pulled her hands away, “Fine.” She sighed. “That stupid class was really hot and I haven’t had sex in ages and I’m just really wound up right now and you putting your stupid fucking leg behind your head every two seconds isn’t helping and I just want to sleep.” Trixie was blushing bright pink by the end of her rant. Katya had to bite her tongue to not laugh at her best friend, but when Trixie stomped her foot in a little pout, she lost it.

“Stop laughing!” Trixie cried.

“Sorry, I just,” Katya gasped for air, “You’ve been a bitch for the whole night because you’re horny? So do something about it!”

“I’m not you, Katya, I can’t just go on Tindr or Her and find a hookup in the middle of Wisconsin,” Trixie grumbled. Katya started laughing all over again.

“Oh my god. I’m leaving, and I want you to text me when you’re done masturbating so that you can stop being such a grouch,” Katya giggled, slipping back into her shoes. Trixie’s face fell into a stunned little ‘o’. She watched as Katya grabbed her purse and pulled the phone charger from the socket.

“Where are you going?” Trixie asked quietly. Katya grinned and walked back into her space.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just go to the lobby or a walk.”

“You don’t have to –” Trixie started, but stopped when Katya’s hand caressed her hip.

“I don’t mind. Take your time, watch the good porn, and text me when you want me back in,” Katya whispered. She saw the other girl’s breath hitch behind her round breasts. For good measure, she squeezed her hip before walking away.

She laughed gently to herself as she took the elevator down to the lobby. She had just smoked on their way in, so she didn’t need a cigarette just yet, so she settled into one of the chairs there, plugging her phone into the outlet beside it.

Katya: Trixie was just embarrassed to tell me she was horny?? Wtf? Has she met me?

Alaska: Weird. Why did that get brought up tho?

Katya: She was being cranky. We went to a pole dancing class for her sister’s bachelorette party.

Katya: Which btw I have found my calling. I’m going to quit my job to be a pole dancer.

Alaska: Of course you were perfect at it, whore. So what, in addition to being fake girlfriends who hold hands and go to weddings, now you pole dance and talk about how horny you are?

Alaska: Omg did you offer to “help her out”???? Just some bros being bros? Gals being pals? Friends gettin to an end???

Katya: What even are you? Nah, I’m in the lobby, letting her masturbate in peace.

Katya: So if my stripper name was Russian, do you think I’d get more or less people?

Alaska: Huh? You said k bye im gonna sexile myself while you finger yourself?

Alaska: So platonic.

Alaska: I don’t know… Do you want people to butcher it while you perform? Because half of us can’t get your name right sober.

Trixie: (please pretend i didnt ask this tmrw but what is the good porn?)

That caused Katya to pause her conversation with Alaska. Was Trixie Mattel really asking her for porn recommendations?

Katya: Any kinks I need to know about? Special requests?

Trixie: just no boys.

Katya: WAIT. Are you a LESBIAN?!?!?

Trixie: ur humor is appreciated but pleeeassseee…

Katya could practically hear Trixie whining, and it made her smile. She felt hot, so she took off her jacket before opening up an incognito tab and typing in one of her standard websites. It didn’t take long for Katya to find one she’d been favoring recently that was tame and gentle but still sexy. She copied the link into their chat and locked her phone.

She stared at herself in the black void of her phone screen. Trixie didn’t text a “thanks” back, so Katya assumed she was watching the video. Trixie was in the bed that they were sharing, touching herself, to Katya’s favorite porn, that Trixie had asked for.

Katya needed that cigarette now.

She unplugged her charger and swept it into her bag as she stood. Her knees wobbled slightly in her boots, and the fresh air was welcome to her heated skin. The smoke filling her lungs helped her to think. Yes, she found Trixie incredibly hot. Yes, this week had put them in some strange situations. But they were still best friends, and if Trixie was interested her in that way, then Katya would be here in Bumfuck, Wisconsin as her actual girlfriend. But she wasn’t. She was her fake girlfriend to make her family happy. She was the most convenient choice as a fake girlfriend, as they spent all their time together anyway. That was why Katya was here. Outside, smoking a cigarette while her best friend fingered herself four stories above Katya’s head, in Katya’s bed.

She lit another cigarette as soon as she stubbed the first one out under her boot.

She was almost done with her second cigarette when she got a text from Trixie saying she could come back. Katya rifled for her room key, but couldn’t find it in her bag. She knocked gently on the door, and it took a minute for Trixie to come to the door.

“Where’s your key?” She was already heading back towards the bed, but Katya clocked that she didn’t have on her sleep shorts under the oversized shirt. Katya watched as the light from the hallway danced over Trixie’s thighs and the round curve of her butt.

“Uh, on the tv,” Katya said as she tossed it in her purse. She began undressing, and noticed that her panties were wet. Katya rolled her eyes at herself, stepping into her pajama shorts. One of them being pantsless was enough. She shook her head and blindly wiped at her face with a makeup wipe.

“What’d you think of the video?” Katya asked casually as she walked towards the bathroom. Trixie groaned.

“Please don’t,” she warned. Katya made a questioning noise around her toothbrush. “Don’t make fun of me. Just come to bed.”

“I wasn’t making fun of you,” Katya protested, spitting her toothpaste out. “That’s one of my favorite videos. I was simply curious if you liked it as well.”

“She looked like you,” Trixie mumbled as Katya flipped the lights off.

“What?” Katya climbed under the covers, leaving a few inches between their bare legs.

“The one with the bra on, she looked like you.”

“Are you saying I’m so self absorbed that a porn I like has a girl that looks like me in it?” Katya giggled, shoving her arm.

“It’s true, whatever,” Trixie shoved back, “Now come here, I wanna cuddle now.”

“Oh, you would be the type to cuddle after sex,” Katya joked, but opened her arms to the bigger girl.

“Everybody does, that’s the point,” Trixie said into Katya’s chest.

“No, the point is orgasms,” Katya deadpanned. She pushed Trixie’s fluff of hair out of her face.

“And physical closeness,” Trixie countered.

“We’re close right now, is that what you want?” Katya was whispering now.

“Yeah, I just came twice and I wanna cuddle, now shut up.” Katya’s eyebrows shot up.

“Twice?” Trixie just nestled in closer to Katya, pushing her leg in between Katya’s thighs. Katya softly gasped, wrapping her arm tighter around Trixie.

“It was a really hot video, shuddup,” Trixie mumbled.

“With the girl who looked like me?” Katya asked, no teasing in her voice. She could feel her heart in her throat and her pulse between her legs.

“Yeah. Night Katya,” Trixie sighed. Katya lay there, frozen. She could feel Trixie’s breasts on her ribcage. She could feel Trixie’s breath on her own breasts, even through her t-shirt. Trixie’s silky thigh was in between Katya’s own.Trixie’s fingers, which had just been inside of her were tangled in Katya’s blonde hair.

The way Katya saw it, she had two options. She could sneak off to the bathroom and finger fuck herself until she forgot about how attracted she was to her best friend, or she could act on those attractions. Ignoring them was no longer an option.

She mentally flipped a coin, sighed at the outcome, and slowly began to roll her hips into Trixie’s leg.

She grinded for about five seconds before Trixie’s hand on her chest tightened and Katya heard her gasp. Katya froze for a second, a tortuously long second, before continuing the slow pace of her hips. She began to trace patterns on Trixie’s back with her fingertips.

Trixie’s back arched into her touch, and Katya let out a sigh of relief.

“You awake?” Katya whispered.

“Do you want me to be?” Katya nodded, running her hand lower, fingers teasing at the lace edging that encompassed Trixie’s thick hip. “Then yeah, I’m awake.”

Katya slowly slid her hand underneath the soft lace and pulled Trixie in closer by her ass. Trixie hitched her leg even closer to the heat of Katya, where she was still slowly grinding. Katya shivered as Trixie’s hand pushed her hair aside and began lightly squeezing her breast.

“Fuck,” Katya whispered, tightening her grip on Trixie’s ass.

“It’s okay, this is okay,” Trixie muttered into Katya’s neck, her breath hot and ticklish.

Katya whimpered as Trixie began toying with her nipple through her shirt.

“Can you get off like this?” Trixie asked, letting her lips brush against Katya’s pulse. Katya whined.

“I, uh,” she continued to move her hips, “I don’t think so.” Trixie’s hand on her breast froze and Katya almost rushed to take back the words. Anything to keep this going. But before she could, she felt Trixie’s hand slide down her stomach.

“May I?” Trixie purred.

“Please,” Katya gasped, throwing her head back into the pillow as Trixie’s fingers slipped below her waistband.

Trixie was tentative at first, and Katya couldn’t tell if it was her own body vibrating in anticipation or if her hands were trembling. But when Katya immediately moaned as Trixie’s fingertips brushed her clit, any shyness ceased. She used two fingers to circle all around her clit, while pushing her face deeper into Katya’s neck.

“Is it lame if I’m already close?” Katya giggled, sliding her hand up to tangle into Trixie’s hair. Trixie shook her head and leaned into the touch.

“‘S hot.” Trixie gasped when Katya pulled lightly on her blonde roots. She slid her fingers lower, moving in quick circles at Katya’s entrance.

“Please,” Katya encouraged, grinding down on her hand. Trixie obliged and dipped both fingers in at once, immediately crooking them upwards.

“So wet,” Trixie mumbled against Katya’s skin.

“Don’t stop,” Katya warned, earnestly fucking herself down on her friend’s hand now. Trixie slid her thumb back over to Katya’s clit and watched as the girl fell apart beneath her, shaking and biting her lips to keep back moans. Trixie slowly pumped her through it, waiting until she sighed to pull her hand away. She gently returned the sleep shorts to where they belonged and wiped her hand on her own t-shirt.

“Christ,” Katya laughed, still panting.

“Go to sleep, honey.” Trixie settled back down to Katya’s chest.

“Do you want me to…?” Katya trailed off, waving her hand towards Trixie.

“No, I’m okay. Go to sleep. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.” With that, Trixie nuzzled into Katya’s chest and closed her eyes. Katya fell asleep soon after, with her hand still tangled in Trixie’s hair.

#trixya #joanne elizabeth #more than you know #lesbian au #fake relationship au #katya zamolodchikova #trixie mattel #rpdr fanfiction

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im-not-a-what · 8 years ago

Text

Curiosity

Title: Curiosity

Summary: What’s a little snooping amongst family? Téa only wants a glimpse behind the veil of mystery that surrounds her father's shop, and the man himself. Three attempts, one unforeseen consequence.

Rating: T

Genre: humor, friends, family, adventure

Characters: Rumbaby (not Gideon), Neal Nolan, Robin “Scarlet” Mills, Rumplestiltskin

Notes: Part of the Our Fine Town series. If you read only one story from this verse to get the gist of my take on Rumbaby, Neal and Robin, read this one. Short and sweet. Also, if my use of Hebrew is inaccurate, let me know so I can correct it.

AO3 link

The first time Téa went snooping in the pawnshop’s back room, Pop found her and asked what she was looking for. She hadn’t been looking for anything, but she thought if she said a specific item, he’d let her see something interesting.

“Your most secrety secret,” her six-year-old mouth blurted out.

A playful smirk filled her father’s face. “How about some ice cream instead?”

It was a suitable offer. She abandoned the room for the promise of creamy sweets.

The next time, she was old enough and smart enough not to be tempted by food. Since she could access the shop only when her father was working, she chose her moment when Mr. Nolan came in to discuss some serious matter. Pop handed her his ledger to check his calculations while the grown-ups talked. She gladly stepped into the back room with the book, only to set it down on the table while she quickly inspected the shelves. It took only a few minutes for her to learn that most of the shelves were filled with boring junk. Some old mechanical items gave her pause, but in terms of magic, the cabinet in the back drew her like a magnet. It was, of course, locked. She touched the keyhole and wondered if there was a spell to bust it open. Or she could rattle the mechanism, if she could just focus her energy on this little spot—

“Téa. What are you doing?” Pop rarely yelled, but he could speak with enough force to make her jump.

He explained that there was some dangerous stuff in that cabinet. Stuff that only grown-ups could handle. Téa frowned and crossed her arms. Pop conceded by saying that on her fourteenth birthday, if she proved herself a responsible witch throughout her magic lessons, he’d give her something from the cabinet as a present.

The third time she snooped around was the boldest attempt so far, a week before her fourteenth birthday. She wasn’t alone.

“This stuff gives me the creeps,” Scarlet Mills whispered while staring at the packed shelves. “Did your dad ever kill a guy in here?”

“No, but thank you for that mental image,” Téa replied while prying the lock on the cabinet with a hairpin. “Shh, I need to focus.”

“Maybe you should’ve brought real lock-picking tools,” Neal Nolan said. He looked even less comfortable sharing intimate space with the collectibles of the Dark One. He wasn’t ignorant to the stories of the man’s deals, the ways he frightened and tricked people in the past. He didn’t seem that kind of man now—not in the tricking sense. Mr. Gold was intimidating enough with his suits and mindful stares. Neal couldn’t imagine facing the guy when he was, according to Emma, “a lizard man dressed like Mick Jagger.”

Both teen girls looked at Neal. Scarlet appeared appalled and impressed. “Did Neal Nolan just encourage larceny?”

“It’s not larceny if it’s her father’s place!” He gulped. “Right?”

“He won’t throw me in jail, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Téa said. She jiggled the lock while placing her ear as close to it as possible.

“I don’t imagine he’ll extend the same courtesy to us,” Scarlet said, eyebrow arched. She didn’t sound overly worried.

Téa smiled. “I’ll make this fast.”

Indeed, in half a minute, the lock burst open with a hiss and a few sparks. Neal jumped, then sighed, glad to see this break-in didn’t require gratuitous property damage. Scarlet’s eyes kindled with excitement.

With a triumphant grin, Téa tossed open the cabinet doors. Her grin dropped. There was nothing inside. Nothing except one amorphous, vaguely humanoid figurine on the bottom shelf. The rest of the cabinet yawned at them, mockingly.

Scarlet scoffed. “Did . . . did he rig this?”

Téa’s shoulders slumped. “He must have.” Her curious hand picked up the little statue.

“Whoa!” Neal lurched forward. He utterly failed to stop Téa. “What if it’s a trap?”

A pensive frown fastened on Téa’s tense lips as she turned the figurine over. The creature lacked a neck. Its poor excuse for a head was a bump in its massive shoulders. The thick physique was featureless except for strips of metal that seemed to hold its chest, waist and legs together. The only facial markers, two red gems for eyes, rested deep in the lumpy skull.

Scarlet leaned in as well. “Those look like symbols.” She aimed a fingernail doused in dark green polish at the figurine’s forehead.

Téa walked over to her father’s work table and placed the figure under the mounted magnifying glass. The symbols Scarlet noticed tripled in size. Téa gasped. “I know these!”

“Of course you do,” Scarlet said. “What do they say?”

Téa studied them another few seconds. The second gasp that left her made Scarlet and Neal start. They worried she’d come upon a horrible revelation. To the contrary, Téa turned to them with an astounded, open smile. “I know what it is! It’s a golem!”

“Gollum?” Neal said. “That doesn’t look like Gollum. Not from the movies, at least.”

“Not Gollum,” Téa said. “A golem. It’s a man-made creature from Jewish folklore. Those letters are from the Hebrew alphabet.”

“And?” Scarlet said, her impatience brimming. “What do they say?”

“The Hebrew word for ‘truth’, emet.”

An orange-red glow emanated from the small statue. The air around it warmed, and a vibration that pressed on the kids’ ears forced them to scurry backward and cover their ears in discomfort. Air started rushing around them. It was as if someone had turned on a vacuum cleaner. They could feel the wind pulling away from the them toward the table, and the little repair tools left on top rolled around in a circling cyclone. The statue glowed brighter and brighter. At the same time, it grew.

“Shit!” Téa yelled over the turbulence.

“Make it stop!” Neal shouted.

“I can’t!”

Scarlet held up a hand and summoned a fireball. The swirling air destabilized it so that the flame couldn’t hold its spherical shape. It flared away from Scarlet’s hand. She countered by closing her fingers and snuffing the fire.

The statue continued expanding, the inverse of a Shrinky Dink, to beyond human size. The growth didn’t stop when the figurine began moving. Its first action was to sit up and dangle its thick legs over the edge of the table. The growth spurt didn’t stop when the wide, flat feet touched the floor. Only when the shallow dome of a head threatened to hit the ceiling did its increasing girth slow and finally cease. The air stilled at the same time. Most of the clay figure stopped glowing, too, aside from the eyes. Luminous both literally and with a glint of intelligence, they whirled toward the trio of intruders.

The wind gone, Scarlet could reignite her fireball.

“I don’t think fire will do much,” Téa said, trying to sound more pragmatic than frightened.

Neal scoured the room in a hasty glance. His hand dove for the shelf behind him and laid claim to a tennis racket.

“Oh, perfect.” Téa side-eyed him. “I’m sure he’ll submit after you’ve challenged him to a match.”

“Shut up,” Neal hissed.

Scarlet ignored them. She held her aggressive stare and stance just as her mother and aunt had taught her. “Don’t move!” she shouted at the golem.

The golem didn’t make a sound. Its gemstone gaze yielded not one flicker of emotion. It lifted a heavy foot, moved it forward, and dropped it.

The floor trembled. The kids wobbled. Scarlet managed to stay balanced. Neal had to grip the shelf behind him while Téa gripped Scarlet’s shoulder.

“We said don’t move!” Téa barked.

The golem was beginning to take another step toward them. As soon as Téa finished her sentence, it paused mid-movement. It had no trouble holding the awkward pose.

The teens checked each other’s surprised expressions. Scarlet, once satisfied that the monster wouldn’t advance further, extinguished the fireball. Neal lowered the racket but held it tightly. Téa regarded them, then the golem, then inhaled and squared her shoulders and walked up to the creature.

“Are you crazy?” Neal whispered.

“If it moves, I can cast a stasis spell on it,” Scarlet assured her.

“It’s all right,” Téa said. She inched closer. Even though most of the golem remained still, she noticed that its eyes followed her. It wasn’t frozen; it had decided to halt. Téa paused a couple feet from it.

“Um . . . at ease.”

The golem set its foot on the floor. Its trunk-like arms hung relaxed at its sides.

Scarlet’s mouth dropped open. Neal’s jaw was already hanging. Somehow, he was the first to speak. “It listens to you.”

“Well, it is a golem.” Téa tilted her head to the right. The golem leaned its bump of a head in the same direction.

“Téa, I don’t know what a golem is!”

“I don’t know why your father has a golem in his cabinet,” Scarlet said. “Or why it’s the only thing we could find.”

Téa leveled her head. So did the golem. They stared at each other in contemplative silence. Then she tuned to her friends. “I once asked my pop what his biggest secret was. I doubt this is it, but I suppose of all the secrets he has, this is the one he was willing to let me find.”

“That doesn’t explain why it obeys you,” Neal pressed.

“According to legend, the first golem was made by a rabbi versed in mysticism. He made the golem from clay, endowed it with life with spells, and used it as a guardian of his people in a time of great need. The golem obeys its owner.”

“Well, you didn’t make the golem,” Scarlet said, “so maybe it’s bound with blood magic. Anyone in your family can command it.”

“Maybe.” Téa’s lips turned up, intrigued yet cautious. She returned her attention to the golem. “Do you have a name?”

As though it took great effort, the golem slowly turned its neckless head side to side.

“Do you know who I am?”

This time, its head barely tilted forward in a nod.

“Do you know who my father is?”

Another shallow nod.

“Why did my father let me find you?”

For several seconds, the golem didn’t move.

Neal, emboldened by the creature’s docile behavior, came up beside Téa. “I think you broke it.”

“Just give him a minute,” she whispered.

Perhaps her show of patience encouraged the golem, or it simply had worked out a way to answer her question. It knelt on the ground. Its rocky finger started scraping into the wood. Téa winced. Her father probably didn’t have engravings in his shop floor on his mind when he planned this. The golem’s message took time to print thanks to some small dots that were part of the symbols it was carving. At last, its huge hand retreated. Téa moved next to the golem and knelt in front the symbols. They read: הוּלֶדֶת

Téa balked, then laughed. “I can’t believe it!”

Scarlet and Neal crouched next to her. They watched and waiting for an explanation.

Téa shook her head while holding in another laugh. She pointed at the Hebrew word. “Birthday.”

Scarlet’s eyes darted between her friend and the inscription, almost waiting for a psych-out that was never to come. “Are you kidding me? Your father gave you a golem as an early birthday present?”

“Just a week early,” Téa said.

“As opposed to a month early if you’d tried getting into his cabinet sooner.”

“Hang on,” Neal chimed in. He got up and faced the golem, well within the clay creature’s reach but also positioned for an easy exit. Neal didn’t fully relax, but he rested his hands on his hips and occasionally surveyed the sentinel. “The shop just finished undergoing renovations. Work started a few months back. Could he have planned it around your birthday, suspecting that you’d try to get into the cabinet as soon as everything was done?”

Téa decided not to mention that, almost a month ago, her father had jokingly remarked that while the renovations had caused some inconvenience, at least Téa had been denied the freedom to poke around for his secrets. Granted, she’d not searched his shop for a few years. Pop was extra vigilant whenever she visited or helped with bookkeeping. Today, however, he and Mom had popped over to the cabin for an impromptu date and weren’t expected back until this evening. Téa hadn’t understood her father’s sudden suggestion of a romantic getaway. Their anniversary was two months ago, accompanied by the typical mushy gestures. So, what gave? Surely Pop didn’t intentionally leave a window for her to infiltrate the shop.

Or maybe he was just that brilliant. Or he knew her so painfully well.

Before Téa was at all prepared to answer Neal, the golem raised its hand toward the cabinet. Its finger sluggishly uncurled and directed their attention to the somehow shut doors. Téa bounced up, easily unfolding her gangly legs. She stuck the landing in front of the cabinet with a small wobble, which earned a snicker from Scarlet. The doors opened again. This time, a scroll rested where the miniature golem had been. Téa unrolled it. Its message filled her with warmth and a bubble of laughter.

To my dearest girl:

May your inquisitive spirit help you find treasures, and may your caring heart keep them well, including this fellow who needed a proper owner.

All my love,

Pop

P.S. Don’t break into my cabinet ever again. xo

#rumbaby #neal nolan #robin mills #ouat fic #verse: next generation #verse: our fine town

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balancekrp-blog · 6 years ago

Photo

WE ALL HAVE THE SAME ROOTS, AND WE ARE ALL BRANCHES OF THE SAME TREE…

LEE PRINCE / WATERBENDER

WHEN WE HIT OUR LOWEST POINT, WE ARE OPEN TO THE GREATEST CHANGE…

prince is the name given to him when he is successfully adopted. birthmother fearing that he will follow the path of his father, forcing his children into military-like regimes, training his older brothers as warriors beyond their years, she sacrifices her duty for the greater good. he’s not even a month old when he is intercepted by the gentle hands of two loving, however inexperienced, mothers — gyuri and lia. he escapes a fate of blood, sweat and tears for his father’s vicarious pleasure. one day, he will be grateful.

that day is yet to come.

he is born with an innate sense of family, community and reliance built into him. its his genetic disposition, and without explanation, it troubles him for many years. but he is still well loved, cared for, and spoiled with rich life experiences. he is doted on fervently, and stays within the four walls of home until it’s absolutely necessary to leave. this way, they can control the way he consumes the world; in small bites, he devours the apple of knowledge, rather than in overwhelming portions. and they just can’t believe their luck — prince is naturally apt at listening and learning, and picks up on social cues long before he’s taught them. of course, he is much too young to express the yearning to follow his parents wherever they go. once the umpteenth attempt to cling to their legs in public is refused, he realises he must be doing something wrong. so, instead, he keeps quiet and observant, intently engaging whenever his mothers would offer to bring him to work, or explain the books they were reading. they fit so well together, after all, and all he wanted was to be the exact same.

both of his parents are earth benders, each independent from the moment their families had abandoned them for their ‘wayward choices’. he doesn’t realise that this defines their bond, and the bleak difference between the three of them. it is their direct and solidified mentality that plagues his childhood. instead of ushering him out into the complex gardens with all of his near aged peers, he learns how to manage life as one big, incomplete task. rushing between his bedroom and school, using public transport efficiently and alone. it is spent checking the watch he’d been gifted on his first day of elementary, since his moms were often working to their own demanding schedules. stuffing away under his desk, more comfortable with his two best friends (blade and spinner, diecast action figures) watching him as he chipped at his homework in the cramped space. he liked being a successful student. it meant praise from his parents, and engaging conversations at the dinner table he’d otherwise not understand. he is absolutely overjoyed when he realises that his passions align with his mother’s.

gyuri is a talented biologist, with experience home and away in restoring and sustaining the climate. fitting for her family roots, however much disdain she faces away from them with. that is the very reason that his other mother insists he becomes familiar with water bending. it was a phenomenon in both their eyes when he had first started creating his own micro climates in their living room, gently ushering their pet fish around the open air. he doesn’t notice their watchful gaze then, but with time, and a letter in the mail inviting him to join the city’s largest training centre, he will. it’s like an after school club, sort of, but he isn’t very fond of it at first. the greatest part of school was being so scornfully judged for his reclusive behaviour they left him to continue it (this is, of course, something he convinced himself of). apparently, a large part of water bending was the relationships you’d create with a community. at first, it sounded like he’d have to rely on others to succeed — a terrifying idea, in truth. he moans and groans about it the entire car ride, fumbling with the watch on his hands impatiently as his parents stayed silent.

over time, he warms up to it. the people are starkly different from his own family. they are constantly changing, both literally and figuratively, and their families are each as welcoming as the next. they come to watch training from time to time, and often bring snacks or gifts from their family ‘back home’, or ‘far away’. the art is one that evades him the moment he pulls focus elsewhere. it truly is magical, and beyond scientific explanation, unlike the power his parents would explain excessively each time they used it. like he spoke a different language, and the only way for him to understand was to spell it out in over zealous hand gestures. it was nice not to be considered different for once. to live in seoul, with two mothers, neither of which share your heritage nor have any understanding or belief of your culture is a greatly isolating experience. if his awkward and introverted personality didn’t speak volumes, there were many other stark differences he showed. at the coming of age ceremony, he is the only student to be awarded the mark of the wise amongst a sea of ‘trusted’ and ‘bravery’. he would’ve been glad, but who in god’s name wants to be called a real life ravenclaw.

he let his frustrations manifest, and most often it just ends in him distracting himself with schoolwork. where he upheld both education and bending, he did neither in great pride, knowing his family would do it for him, anyway. humans and human relationships were a complex facet of life, a book tells him. an equation with no one solution. another book tells him that living organisms interact with their inorganic surroundings on earth to form a synergistic and self-regulating, complex system that helps to maintain and perpetuate the conditions for life on the planet. he considers, momentarily, that he isn’t very good of a living organism, then. he is only sixteen, and the thought makes him laugh — “that’d be a funny summary for my autobiography.”

the passion for water bending is one that makes him guilty. it felt like something he should deny in public, particularly with his moms. he can’t blame them for wanting a kid. there really was no scapegoat, and so he turns to the future for answers. the future, and his pets. the growing population of animals that kept him company was overwhelming, at first. his cat allergy was sacrificed for prescription medication, his room decked out for maximum interaction with any rescue beast he could find, as he continued to observe their lives under a magnifying glass. the animal kingdom functioned on a much more simple system than any other. it was an easy love to feed, and an even easier career to chase.

when he reveals his plans to study abroad, and follow his mother’s alma mater, the reception is mixed.

for a child like prince, who’d heavily relied on family ties for all his life, the decision felt completely out of the blue. his zoo of domestic animals were the first issue of concern, once the initial shock was quelled, and he agreed to seek owners amongst his school friends and water bending community. the very thing he intended to leave behind, in truth. when he went to the elders to ask for his blessing, his decade long teacher had expressed some regret in his departure. between them both, he revealed his remorse, not interfering with prince’s obvious inner turmoil. ‘you were different’ he is told, and it may be the worst compliment he could ever imagine hearing.

he won’t dwell, not before he is already home, packing his life away in 196x196 inch boxes. he would’ve liked it like this when he was younger. he watches his tomcat, ai, jumping excitedly between the open storage boxes. he can see a ghost, small and excited by the prospect of new toys, doing the very same. he hasn’t changed that much. no, he still likes sitting under his desk, contorting his limbs to fit under there with his three cats, all piling on top of each other. he keeps a journal, notes on the study of his own body and how it moves, and scratches away at it. he has made it this far in the darkness of his own room, doing a swell job of being alone with pet company.

“a lab would be cute. golden retriever?” he mumbles it to himself, tilting his head toward his scrapping pets. he marvels at how easy it is to stuff away one person’s livelihood into four paper boxes. if he were a cat, he wouldn’t have to pack anything away at all.

#bn; accepted #bn: leechaiyapornkul chittaphon #bn: ten #bn: nct #bn; water

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