#different times different norms but whatever the time going for a girl twice younger than u is never ok

[dailykafka]

In 1912, Kafka and Brod traveled to the Goethe House and spent a week there, from June 30 to July 6.

Note in the diaries: At the Goethe House, Kafka became acquainted with Margarethe Kirchner (1896–1954; called Grete in the entries that follow). Brod noted in his travel diary: “Kafka flirts successfully with the beautiful daughter of the caretaker”. In his 1928 novel Zauberreich der Liebe (Magic Kingdom of Love), in which Brod endowed a character named Richard Garta with character traits of Kafka’s, he wrote: “A little, quite tender relationship forms between him and the pretty daughter of the caretaker of the Goethe House on the Frauenplan…. As a result, Garta and with him Christof are invited to the caretaker’s residence, then go in and out of Goethe’s residence with the beautiful girl as if at home, are admitted into the otherwise inaccessible garden, may look around Goethe’s rooms outside visiting hours, thus undisturbed by the patter of tourists.”

Parts where Kafka mentions Margarethe (Grete):

She had already run past us with her little sister when we were sitting at the foot of the stairs.

She is standing by a rosebush. Pushed by Max I go to her, learn of the excursion to Tiefurt. I’ll go too.

Finally on the way back definite connection without a real relationship.

Incomprehensibly meeting 3 times in the evening. She with her girlfriend. The first time we accompany them. In the evening after 6 I can always come into the garden. Now she has to go home. Then meeting again on the circle, which has been prepared for a duel. They are speaking with a young man in a manner more hostile than friendly. But why didn’t they stay home, since we had escorted them to Goetheplatz. Hadn’t they had to get home as quickly as possible? But why were they running now, apparently without having been home at all, pursued by the young man or in order to meet him out of Schillerstrasse, down the small staircase, onto the out-of-the-way circle? Why, after having spoken a few words with the young man at a distance of 10 paces and apparently declined his company, were they turning around again there and running back alone? Had we disturbed them when we had passed by with only a simple greeting?

Constant watching out for a chance to speak with her. She goes to sewing with a friend. We stay behind.

She smiles at me senselessly uselessly behind her father’s back. Sad.

Frequently meeting Grete. While eating strawberries; outside Werthers Garten, where there’s a concert. The agility of her body in her loose dress.

Goethe House. Photographs are to be taken in the garden. She is nowhere to be seen, I am then permitted to fetch her. She is always quite trembling with movement, but moves only when one speaks to her. Photographs are taken. The two of us on the bench. Max shows the man how to do it. She grants me a rendezvous for the next day.

Confirmation of the promised rendezvous with a loud yes. She was looking out the door. False explanation of this, for even while we were present she looked out. I asked once again: “Even if it’s raining?” “Yes.”

She didn’t come to the rendezvous.

I away from the table, because I thought I saw her. Was mistaken. Then everyone to the Goethe House. Greeted her.

She comes with 2 girlfriends. I take her aside. Yes she had to leave 10 min. earlier yesterday, has learned only now from her girlfriends of my waiting yesterday. She also had trouble because of her dancing lessons. She definitely doesn’t love me, but she has some respect. I give her the box of chocolates entwined with the little heart and the chain and accompany her a stretch. A few words back and forth about a rendezvous. Tomorrow at 11 in front of the Goethe House. It can only be an excuse, she certainly has to cook, and then in front of the Goethe House, but I still accept it. Sad acceptance.

One-hour walk with Grete. She apparently comes with the consent of her mother, with whom she still speaks from the street through the window. Pink dress, my little heart. Restlessness because of the big ball in the evening. Had no relationship to her. Broken-off, constantly resumed conversation. Walking now especially fast, then especially slow again. Straining not to let it become clear at any price how we are connected by not one little thread. What drives us through the park together? Only my defiance?

At Schlaf’s toward evening. Visit at Grete’s beforehand. She stands outside the slightly open kitchen door in the ball dress praised long before, which is not even as beautiful as her usual one. Eyes very red with tears, apparently because of her main dancing partner, who has already caused her a great deal of trouble in general. I say goodbye forever. She doesn’t know and if she did know, it wouldn’t matter to her at all.

I say goodbye forever. She doesn’t know and if she did know, it wouldn’t matter to her at all.

[mrs-mystica]

Us Against The World [Demus/Dukeceit]

Pairing : Deceit and Remus

Alternative title : Fitting In | Deceit Edition

TW : Homophobia, mentions of porn, verbal abuse, cursing, angst

Author’s note : Deceit’s name in this OS is Damian. I will change it if we get a name reveal. In the meantime, I hope you’ll enjoy this OS ! c:

Masterlink

Human AU

Third Person POV

Damian always had a hard time to fit in. Through his life, he accumulated labels that only made his life harder. He always considered his existence a curse, as if someone up there hated him and wanted to see him suffer. Everything about him was seen as abnormal and unnatural by the society. First of all, there was his face. When he was younger, there was a gas explosion in his house. He was unfortunately there, half of his face burnt in the process. Doctors were proud to say that it was a miracle that he survived. Sometimes he wished he didn’t. He was stared at anywhere he went, making him stay mostly at his house. He didn’t go out a lot, but why would he anyway? He didn’t have any friend. His entire school life had been characterized by rejection and bullying. He never learned to make friends. Neither did he learn to trust others. There was a guy once when he was a kid who tried to play with him. Damian enjoyed his company, it was nice to not be alone anymore, but it didn’t last long. Peer pressure was too strong, and scared to be the next victim, he was gone the following day. The hardest part was hearing him insulting him the following week, to be accepted by the others.

Damian learned his first lesson. Humans are sociable creature and could die without it. People would do anything to feel accepted by the greater group, even if it means crushing the others who don’t fit.

He ended up leaving school. However, he never stopped to learn. He would spend his days reading and searching new things on the internet. He couldn’t satisfy his thirst of knowledge. He discovered himself a passion for snake and other reptiles. They were such impression creature. Whenever he would try to bring up the things he learned about reptiles, his sister would call him out for being a nerd. He thought it wasn’t a bad label, but what hurt was the laughters of his family. They mocked him on everything he liked. They told him it was a stupid hyperfixation. And when he acted offended, they brushed him off by saying that it would go away anyway and that, looking back, he will also laugh at himself, thinking it was stupid.

Damian learned his second lesson. Everything and anything said will be submitted to others’ judgement. And it didn’t matter if it was welcomed or not.

He stayed at his family’s house until he was finally considered an adult. It was around that time that he found out about his sexuality. It’s not like he had the occasion of learning about it since he spent most of his journey inside his house, alone. He discovered it by surfing on the internet, finding more and more attractive men who would catch his eyes. And then, he wandered on some 18+ websites, confirming his sexual attractions. He never thought twice about it. He was really bad with social norms, since he never truly had a social life. Therefore, he didn’t know much about the heteronormativity of the society. So, when his mother told him it was time for him to have a girlfriend, he casually answered that he wasn’t interested in girls. He didn’t know that about the shitstorm that was coming his way. His mother screamed, insulted him, more than he ever was at school, and told him that no son of hers would be a fag. And nothing that Damian would say could change her mind, or even reach her ears.

Damian learned his third lesson. Humans hate to be proven wrong. Cognitive distortion can be such a powerful thing, making someone truly believe in their own lies and beliefs.

Damian moved out of the family house. It’s not like he had a choice anyway. He managed to find a job that didn’t require him to have a standard face. He was a mascot. It wasn’t so bad. His face was hidden and the pay was decent. He managed to live on his own. He still had a hard time to live his daily life, going to the grocerie being a nightmare with all the eyes staring at him. At one point, he considered doing his grocery in his costume.

One day, he had to buy new clothes. His old ones were ripped and he had avoided going to the mall long enough. He really had no choice but to get new ones. It took him all of his courage to get there. He was wearing a hoodie, his hood on his head, trying not to be noticed. He entered a clothing shop and started to look around. He was happy to see that the seller was already helping another customer, so she didn’t come his way.

As he was looking at a piece of clothing, he heard someone speaking behind him.

- Hello dear! Do you come here often?

Damian froze. Why on earth was someone speaking to him. At first, he thought the person was speaking to someone else. He put his hand on his burnt half and turned around a little to see the man behind him. There was no doubt. The stranger was looking directly at him. He had a wicked smile on his face and a mustache on top of it. His hair messy and his clothes were ripped here and there. He had a lot of piercings, two on one of his eyebrows, three on top of each ear and one of his tongue. The most unconventional ones were two piercings on both of his cheeks. He had a weird expression in his eyes. Damian answered with a shaky voice, clearly destabilized by the man in front of him.

- Um… Hello? Not really? I try to… avoid public place the best I can…

The stranger tilts his head a little on the side, seemingly confused.

- Well, why a beautiful specimen like you would to do such a thing?

Damian blinked for a second. Was he crazy or was the man in front of him… flirting with him? Was his hand really covering all his burnt? He thought it was, otherwise, why would this man find him attractive?

A mother and her daughter entered the store at this moment. The little girl stared at Damian and then pulled her mother’s sleeve to show her what she was pointing.

- Look! Look Mama! The man has a weird face! Is he a monster?

Damian cursed internally. No, his hand wasn’t big enough to cover his entire burnt. He pulled his hood deeper onto his head as the mother made her daughter exit the store, visibly uncomfortable. A realization hit Damian. Then, it meant the man saw his face… And he continued his flirting? He looked at the man that was still staring at him. Damian could feel anger rising in him.

- This is not funny. Go make fun of someone else.

The stranger laughed.

- Making fun of you? Why would I? I’m deeply serious, dude! You look great!

The man then took the opportunity at Damian’s confusion to take his arm and write his number down with a pen.

- Please, call me sometimes, I’d love to learn more about you~

He winked at his sentence and then left the store. Confused, Damian could only stare at him, walking away while swinging his hips. He looked back at his inked arm. What the hell had just happened?

***

It took Damian some time before he had the courage to call the mysterious stranger. But it was worth it. His name was Remus. He was the most eccentric person he had ever known. He didn’t care about any social norms. If he wanted to wear a skirt because he thought it looked cute on him, then he wore a skirt, and damn that he rocked in that skirt when they went to a coffee shop together for the first time. They learned a lot about each other that day. Damian didn’t feel like he had to hide anything from the other man. He never looked at him weirdly, he never commented on his scar and he didn’t laugh at his interest. He even winked and told him he would love to see his two pet snakes in his home. The conversation then turned a lot around Remus. His story was surprisingly similar to Damian’s, but the biggest difference between them was how Remus perceived his past. He didn’t miss his family one bit, even saying that he was glad that those toxic jerks were now out of his life. He told Damian how his household was a jail and how he could never truly express himself as a child. He was always compared to his twin brother, how he should be more like him and less like… himself.

- And now that they are fucking gone, I can finally do anything I want. Let’s say, if I wanted to jump on this table right now…

Remus then hopped on the table that was separating them, approaching dangerously his face to Damian’s face.

- …Then nothing would be stopping me.

He smirked as he noticed the blush on the other man’s face. Of course, all the eyes in the coffee shop were now on the weirdo on the table. But for once, it didn’t matter to Damian.

- Yeah, sure, but what if one of the employees asks you to get down?

Remus laughed even more.

- You really think they would do anything? Sure, it’s weird, but as long as I don’t break anything, they won’t do anything. People are too scared to act, they need a real reason to do so. Otherwise, they just watch.

Then, Remus moved forward and sat on the seat next to Damian. He then sat on the chair and put his shoes on the table, his hands behind his head. Damian couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.

- You sure are a unique individual.

Remus smirked as he turned his head to look at Deceit.

- Hey! If I’m gonna have a crowd watching, I better put up a good show, so they have a reason to watch!

The words really hit Damian. There was something wise in those words in which he could relate. Whatever he would do, people would always stare at him. If people were going to judge him no matter what he did, he shouldn’t care what he does and just be himself.

The two became quickly good friends. They would spend a lot of time together. Remus really helped Damian with his self-esteem issues. He pushed him to express himself more and to not be afraid to be who he truly was. He stopped being afraid to go out. He also started to wear bright colors, which he never did because he didn’t want to draw attention on him. He learned that he loved the color yellow and he loved how it looked on him. He started to wear fedoras, ignoring all the jokes he saw online about “fedora guys”. He felt better about himself. And it was all thanks to Remus.

One day, Damian was humming a song as he was picking up food in a grocery. He didn’t see the woman who was entering the same alley as he.

- Damian?

Damian jumped as he heard his name. He knew who that voice belonged to, but he had to look at her to make sure it was real. As he saw her face, his face lost all his colors. Her mother was there. He hadn’t seen her in a long time. And she had an even more disappointed look in his eyes than when he left her.

- What the hell are you wearing? Yellow, really?

Damian couldn’t move, nor could he spoke back. He was like a deer in front of a car at night, unable to look away from the light that was blinding him. The only person whose opinion mattered to him anymore was there. And she still wasn’t proud of him.

- You look even more like like a freak than the last time I saw you. Did your boyfriend tell you you looked good it this? He sure lied to you. If you even have one.

Anxiety was taking over his body. His mind was swirling with thoughts. He could feel his panic growing in his chest. It was too much.

- Hellooo? Earth to Damian? You became deaf or what?

Damian dropped the basket containing his grocery and then ran. He ran out of the store. He ran to his apartment that was far away. He didn’t care. He just wanted to run away from her. Tears were dropping out of his eyes as he ran. He felt ridiculous. His confidence was destroyed into crumbs. As he was running, he noticed the passers that were staring at him. They all thought like her, that he was ridiculous, that he looked ugly, that he looked like a monster. He wanted to run and hide. Hide away from everyone. He never wanted to see the light of day again. He was ashamed. Of what? Of his appearance. Of who he was as a person.  Of everything.

He finally reached his apartment after minutes of running. He quickly closed the door behind him, falling into the ground as he was finally feeling safe. He cried louder. He couldn’t see anymore, his tears making it impossible to see in front of him. He had a hard time to breath, partially because he had just ran like a mad man, outstanding his usual running performance, and partially because he was having a panic attack.

He felt something vibrating in his pocket. He couldn’t hear the ringtone, he was too far gone. The sensation was unbearable. He threw the phone in front of him. The impact made the phone answer Remus’ call. He tried to say hello, but he quickly heard Damian hyperventilating through the phone. He said he would be there in a minute. But Damian couldn’t hear him. He was too far gone in his panic attack. He didn’t care, nothing else mattered, all he could think about was his mother. How she looked at him. How she made him feel like a failure. How he hated himself.

Remus was true to his words and he arrived at Damian’s apartment quickly. He didn’t bother knocking on the door. He swung the door open to reveal a curled up Damian on the ground, screaming and crying.

***

After a lot of efforts, Remus managed to calm down Damian. He was still crying, but at least he had regained contact with the reality. He was now sitting down into Remus’ lap while he was stroking his back. Damian’s head was laid down on Remus’ chest and he looked at the empty space in front of him, now feeling numb after crying all the tears of his body. After some long minute in silence, all Damian could say was sorry.

- I’m… sorry… I’m not as… strong as you… I can’t… I can’t just not care…

Remus stopped stroking his back. He didn’t accept his apology.

- You shouldn’t be sorry, none of this is your fault.

He clenched his fists, visibly angry.

- Screw her. And screw everyone else while we’re at it. If they all are too stupid to see the beauty in you, then they don’t deserve it. This world is crooked. It can only see people through predetermined boxes.

Remus took a deep breath to calm himself down. He then took Deceit’s chin in his hand to make the man look into his eyes.

- But we’re more than that. We are ferocious beast, we can’t exist in their world because we don’t fit in their boxes. I see you for who you are. And the real you is beautiful. If no one else is able to see you like I do, then it will be us against the rest of the world. Together, we can be stronger than them.

Remus approached Damian’s face. The poor man was a blushing mess as he looked deeply into his eyes. Remus wiped a residual tear that was on Damian’s cheek with his sleeve and then whispered to him.

- What do you think? Let’s say fuck the society, you and I, together.

Damian couldn’t help but giggle a little at the other man’s words.

- That must be… the most anarchist confession I’ve ever heard… And it’s perfect like that.

He then smiled and kissed the man. Remus was more than happy to kiss back. They could feel a shiver going through their bodies, as if electricity was going through their veins. They kissed passionately for god know how long. They broke their embrace after a while to regain some air. They were both panting. They both laughed as they looked at each other. They felt so lightweight, it was like something heavy finally left them both. Damian then puts his hand on Remus cheek and smiled at him. He then looked at him with a determined look in his eyes.

- Okay. Let’s try this again. This time, together.

It was Remus’ turn to look at Damian with a tender smile as he put his hand on Damian’s burnt cheek.

2880 words

[rorykillmore]

it’s @spearitsandmonsters‘ birthday today!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY SPEAR. as a gift, they requested an au fic for a dynamic we’ve been developing quite a bit lately, which we’ve affectionately dubbed villabeth. i picked “baby assassin villanelle breaks elizabeth out of her tower instead of booker”, which is an idea we’ve only loosely talked about, but something about it STUCK with me. so i hope i did it justice and i hope you enjoy, spear!!

and here’s wishing you a wonderful birthday <3 i know basically everything is difficult right now and while it goes without saying that i wish that wasn’t the case... i know that one of the things that helps me get through it and remember the good parts is talking to you and writing with you and having you for a friend. so i hope i can provide that same support and escape for you. if nothing else, knowing you for another year is absolutely worth celebrating in my book!!!

Oksana had expected someone pampered and spoiled, who might have turned up her nose or screamed at someone as rogueish-looking as her. Instead, Elizabeth is acting like she’s never spoken to another human being before in her life, and looking at her as if Oksana has suddenly become the center of her universe.

It’s a ridiculous thought, but it spurs another excited little flutter in her chest.

She doesn’t ask what her employers want with the city in the sky, or why it’s so important to them that Comstock’s heir doesn’t live long enough to succeed him. This had been one of the first in the long list of rules Dasha had taught her: never make your employers think you are interested in their plans or motives. Makes them nervous.

It’s Oksana’s first official job on her own, too, so she’s not about to fuck things up the second the Twelve have actually stopped breathing down her neck for five minutes.

A part of her wonders, though, if they’ve changed her minds about wanting her. Because for a first official assignment, the risk involved almost makes her think that her employers are trying to get rid of her.

She’s good, of course -- good enough to sneak through Columbia and up into Monument Tower without incident, but it had been far from easy. And now that she’s in, she feels like she’s breaching the site of a nuclear meltdown, or the cage of a bloodthirsty monster. When they had told her that the city’s heir needed to die, Oksana had assumed she would have to snatch her away from a life of luxury. She had allowed herself to begin to resent the other girl without even having met her, entertaining the image of some wealthy, ultra-religious, spoiled little brat who’d enjoyed so many things Oksana had never been allowed to even touch, had dreamt about stealing into some preposterously frilly and extravagant bedroom and smothering her with a pillow in the dead of night.

But this?

This is like a prison, or a laboratory, or something worse than both. Oksana fights to keep her hackles from raising as she stealths her way towards the last heavy steel door. What sort of person have they sent her to deal with? 

She draws from her bag the replica key that one of the Twelve’s Columbia contacts had provided, and hesitates, weighing her options. She’d have liked to find a less direct method of entry, but her employers have cautioned her from making too much noise or disruption, lest she alert the tower’s unique security system.

So she’s going in through the heavy, reinforced door that looks virtually impossible to open subtly. Practically blind. 

She doesn’t like that.

Oksana reloads her weapon. Whatever her mark might be capable of, whatever the reason she’s been locked up so tightly, it’s nothing that a quick shot to the head won’t take care of, surely. With her free hand, she inserts the key, which seems to trigger several other mechanisms within the door to whir and unlock, and then - carefully - she steps inside.

If it is a prison cell, it is the most impressive one she has ever seen. Oksana is standing in the doorway of something resembling a well-furbished library, like the kind you’d find in old castles or government buildings. It seems empty, so Oksana supposes that her target could be in one of the other rooms. Maybe the noise from the door opening will draw her out. Hopefully. Oksana does not fancy a game of hide and seek in unfamiliar territory.

Despite her mission, though, and despite the dedication and focus she is supposed to feel, curiosity tugs at the corners of her thoughts. She is not supposed to ask questions, and yet the pieces of a puzzle are set before her, and when she tries to put them together they do not quite make sense. Why keep the Lamb of Columbia here? Why go to all this trouble? What was with all the charts and laboratory equipment Oksana had passed on her way in, and why did they make her sound like some kind of monster in need of containment?

If she’s such a monster, why do they need her?

Perhaps it’s a terribly ironic question for Oksana to be asking. But she is an assassin, a perfectly crafted weapon, and that’s one thing.

She ventures a little further into the room, her pistol lowered but still held firmly in front of her. It’s only when she passes the staircase that she realizes something is wrong. A shadow moves out of the corner of her eye, and Oksana turns before she can process anything else, instinctual and immediate the way her mentors have always praised her for as she closes her hand around the girl’s wrist.

The girl cries out, and tries to jerk away from her grip. Once. Twice -- Oksana lets go the second time, so that she stumbles backwards and falls back against the bannister of the staircase she’d just hidden herself behind. Oksana is on her again in a second, pinning her easily and letting the barrel of the pistol dig into her ribs, her free hand now clamped over the girl’s mouth to keep her from screaming.

“Shh,” Oksana tells her, and she should end it right then.

Except -- 

The ‘monster’ has a much prettier face than Oksana had anticipated. Her eyes are a shade of blue Oksana can’t remember ever seeing for in her life, a little brighter and clearer than even Columbia’s skies, and presently blazing with rage or fear or probably both. She might be the around the same age as Oksana, or just a year or two younger, she has lovely dark hair that’s now just a little disheveled by their brief struggle, and she seems to be trying to bite the hand Oksana is holding against her mouth. Oksana feels her lips twitch briefly, despite herself.

“Shh,” she tells the other girl again. “Do not scream.”

Satisfying her growing curiosity is a bad idea. It will complicate things unnecessarily. Oksana knows Dasha would tell her to get the job done and then get out, but...

The questions do not count if nobody ever finds out she asks them, right?

“I did not come here to hurt you. You just startled me.” Oksana continues, softening her voice. It’s a lie, of course, but she takes a little bit of pride in how earnest she makes it sound.  “If I take my hand away, you promise you won’t scream?”

The girl’s pretty eyes bore into hers, but they look less angry now, less scared, more... disbelieving? As if she isn’t quite convinced Oksana is real.

“Please?” Oksana tries, all but batting her eyelashes, and finally the girl nods. Oksana supposes she will just have to trust her. She lowers her hand and steps back, putting about a meter or so between them both, close enough that she can still move in if --

“How did you get in here?” the girl asks breathlessly.

Oksana blinks at the question. Then nods to the way she came in. “Through the door?” 

She would find it funny, the way the girl gapes at her suspiciously in response, if she wasn’t also so confused. “You can’t just come in through the door, there’s no way -- no one ever --”

“They put a door there, then told you you can’t use it?” Oksana widens her eyes deliberately. “Wow. Really cheap con.”

“It’s not exactly like I have a key on hand.” The girl crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes, though she also doesn’t take them off Oksana for a second.  “Who are you?”

Oksana opens her mouth to answer -- then remembers herself midway.

“Villanelle. My name is Villanelle.” A name new enough that it doesn’t quite feel like hers yet, but it will. Oksana already likes the way it rolls off her tongue.  “What is your name?”

“I’m Elizabeth,” Elizabeth tells her breathlessly, a bit too trusting for someone talking to a stranger who’s just broken into her home. And for someone locked up like a high-security prisoner. The longer Oksana talks to her, the more bemused she becomes. Elizabeth seems so... normal. “You -- you’re so --”

Oksana is not sure what she was going to say, but all speculation flies out of her head when Elizabeth seems to lose all impulse control and places her hands on either side of Oksana’s face.  “-- Real.”

As a rule, Oksana does not like people touching her face. Bad memories, and all -- from more than just one source. But this touch is gentle (and confusing) enough to give her pause, to cause a strange flutter in her chest at the softness of it.

She should be wary, perhaps. Anna had once touched her this way, and Anna... had not been what Oksana expected. Elizabeth is not what Oksana had expected either, but in a different way. Oksana had expected someone pampered and spoiled, who might have turned up her nose or screamed at someone as rogueish-looking as her. Instead, Elizabeth is acting like she’s never spoken to another human being before in her life, and looking at her as if Oksana has suddenly become the center of her universe.

It’s a ridiculous thought, but it spurs another excited little flutter in her chest. “Yeah?” she answers belatedly, uselessly, to break the silence.

As if she’s suddenly become aware that she’s violated some social norm, Elizabeth drops her hands and steps back, slightly abashed but no less curious. “Where do you come from? You sound like you’re from far away. Your name -- it’s French, isn’t it?”

 “Latin, technically,”  Oksana says, composing herself and quirking an eyebrow.  “Like the poem? You must have time to read a lot of poetry.”

“You have no idea.” Furtively, longingly, Elizabeth glances towards the door like she’s readying herself to bolt. Then her gaze snaps back to Oksana, like no matter how taken she may or may not be by the appearance of a pretty stranger in her tower, she’s abruptly remembered that it’s a good idea to be at least a little suspicious.  Her eyes drop to the pistol in Oksana’s left hand. “Why are you here?”

This is it, Oksana thinks. The moment where she shrugs as casually as anything in the world, answers ‘to kill you’, and finishes the job point blank. But she doesn’t move. The hand on the pistol doesn’t even twitch.

“Uh,” she answers instead, grasping idly for something that makes sense. “To rescue you?”

Wouldn’t that be hilarious. If Oksana decided suddenly that she would whisk this girl away with her, and then they’d spend the rest of their probably-short lives dodging not only Columbia’s forces, but the Twelve’s if they ever made it out. Oksana knows - has been warned over and over again - what the Twelve do to traitors.

Elizabeth seems speechless beyond words, so Oksana adds quickly, “Why do they keep you locked up in here, anyway? Did you do something bad?”

Elizabeth opens her mouth uncertainly. Then closes it again. Then laughs. “You mean someone sent you here to rescue me and they didn’t tell you that?”

“I didn’t say anyone sent me,” Oksana corrects her. “I decided to.”

Has she really? She watches Elizabeth closely, as though Elizabeth is the one who can answer that for her. “The security measures outside this room -- you would think they had locked up a mass murderer, or a radioactive mutant, or something,” she adds, a humorous way of prodding for answers while she thinks.

“I guess --”  Hesitation laces Elizabeth’s tone as she answers.  “I guess it’s because of what I can do.”

What can you do? Is the obvious question. But the one Oksana asks instead is:  “People think you are dangerous?”

Elizabeth shrugs minutely, the look in her eyes unreadable.

And Oksana feels something in her soften a fraction.  “I was locked up once.” Albeit in not nearly as spacious a cell as this.  “People think I’m dangerous too.”

The seconds pass as Elizabeth watches her, until Oksana almost itches under her searching gaze.  

“Will you leave with me?” Elizabeth asks finally.

Oksana gives her a rueful smile. “Where do you want to go?”

This had not been the plan. Can she risk what she’s made for herself for the sake of her own curiosity? For a pretty face?

Elizabeth exhales quietly, shakily, like she still can’t believe she isn’t dreaming. “I’ve always wanted to see Paris.”

How about for someone who’s a little like she is? Who, in only the span of a few moments of knowing one another, has made Oksana feel a little less alone?

“I have been to Paris many times.” Oksana steps forward, closing most of the distance between them, her gaze intense. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Soft,” she remembers Dasha spitting at her, “You are too soft for them, still. You need to work harder, try harder, show them how lethal you are.”

Oksana grins a faint sharp grin. Dasha would never have the guts - or perhaps the reckless stupidity - to do what she is about to do. She reaches out and touches Elizabeth’s hair, tempted to pull it out of his ribbon. Instead, she simply twirls a lock of it around her finger. Despite the unchecked contact Elizabeth initiated only moments ago, she freezes under Oksana’s touch, and Oksana’s grin softens into an ever-so-slightly smug smile.  “Once we leave, you know... you would not be able to come back.”

She waits to see what Elizabeth will do, but Elizabeth doesn’t flinch or pull away or even waver. Her eyes locked with Oksana’s, she just breathes, “Why would I want to?”

“You haven’t seen the world outside yet.” Oksana takes another step. It’s another challenge, but Elizabeth does not back away, and now they’re so close that they practically breathe the same air. “You might find you would prefer your cage.”

 “Did you?” Elizabeth challenges her, and Oksana laughs breathily. It’s a good response. She thinks maybe she will enjoy this, no matter the consequences in the end.

“Okay,” she says suddenly, and pulls away. Elizabeth’s expression dims slightly -- maybe with uncertainty, or even disappointment. Oksana wonders for a moment if Elizabeth had expected her to kiss her. Would she have been Elizabeth’s first kiss?

She somehow likes the idea of that, but... perhaps not here. So she offers her hand instead. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Elizabeth’s hand is soft in her own as she takes it, but there’s something about the recklessness of her smile that makes Oksana wonder if it’s the rest of the world that needs a warning.

[kangyunas]

⁚ ⁛  oh my god ! you can’t believe who i just saw. it was  kang yuna !  they really resemble  seo soojin , don’t they ?  i heard they started their career about  one year ago  as the  main dancer + lead rapper + vocalist  in  v-nyx , but it sure seems longer, doesn’t it ?  they always seem so  optimistic ,  elegant  +  selfless  in interviews and to their fans, but their latest scandal made them sound like  timid ,  sensitive  + cautious … oh well, must’ve been the bad lighting. did you know they came all the way from  seoul ,  south korea  to new york city ?  it was really brave of them to sacrifice so much. you think they’re survive the spotlight ? 「+ seo soojin 」

god so i’m sleep deprived and idk what i’m abt to write so let’s see how many tws i can avoid adding. apparently , sleep deprived me is good at avoiding tws so that’s cool.

 —   𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒐.

on march 9th, 1998, kang yuna was born and raised in seongbuk-dong, seoul.

if the neighborhood wasn’t enough to tip one off, the kangs were well-off; her father having been the ceo of the family business in and around medical equipment while her mother was off signing paperbacks for her avid readers.

— quite a happy  little  family, which she pointed out time and time again to her parents soon after she learned how to walk and talk. and sing and dance, as they soon realized.

and who were they to ignore their precious little girl’s requests ?

(  ... ok, so they already planned on having another child but it made her much happier to think that she convinced her parents for a sibling  )

but by the time she was on her way to english preschool, she doted on her younger sister; it seemed endearing to those outside of the household, but beyond the surface, was an unfortunate side effect of two hard-working people that were too busy to come home and have dinner with their children.

only when she turned nine did she realize  why  she saw less and less of her parents.

as it turned out, her mother had an affair with one of her publishers and she’d taken advantage of yuna’s pleas for a sibling as a cover around the time.

her father found out, over the years, due to how much their youngest  didn’t  look like him — and more like that one publisher.

long story short, the teen lost her mother and sister as she got back home from school, leaving bare rooms and sour memories, their belongings all gone.

the news was publicized almost immediately and she and her father had to deal with the aftermath. bright flashes, handheld mics, and condescending tones became their norm for a little while.

from then, she saw her father even less... those early morning flights, late night meetings, or long business lunches really holding him captive. other than the times he’d try to show her the ropes of running the company, she saw the man maybe twice a week if she was lucky.

she quickly learned how to take care of herself without the help of their staff.

doing a lot of the house chores by her lonesome, it offered her some peace of mind. for whatever reason, her father took that as a sign that she was preparing to be a housewife.

arranged to be engaged to a business partner’s son by the age of sixteen, yuna tried her hardest to get out of it.

the most rebellious and impulsive thing she did was sneaking out to go to an open audition after being cast by a company scout at a talent show.

her father refused to let her become a trainee for two years, for obvious reasons, but yuna was adamant and in the end, he let her go.

(  suddeN i know i’m sorry i didn’t know how to get here without taking another 3pg essay to explain as;dlkf  )

she trained hard as a main dancer for a couple of years before she found her girls.

though she was very shy in meeting and training with them, she immediately found a safe place in their group. in their little family.

tbc.

    —   𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚.

vvvvvv timid, even though she was raised to be a businesswoman

performing on the stage and in front of the cameras is a bit of a different story

but incredibly shy

will try to get a smile on your face, nonetheless

wears her heart on her sleeve tbh, she can’t tell a lie without her eyes getting glassy

the Mom Friend™

she’s used to taking care of the others honestly

no matter how much of a mess they make

probs cuts up apples and orange and peels grapes for snacks

and makes sure they eat something for breakfast

also packs the girls’ lunches when they have indv schedules

a pure bean

    —   𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒔. 𝒕𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ��𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕.

once agaiN, this is basically soojin w a few exaggerations here and there

has a black belt in taekwondo for some reason probs so she can kick my ass

speaks english fluently bc she went to those fancy pants schools all her life

hates being called a chaebol / doesn’t want the attention that comes of it

loves cherries and avocados but like,,,,,,, not together

volunteers at the local animal shelter when she has time

could own a tesla but she probs has a minivan or a hatchback bc she a soccer mom

may look like she knows what she’s doing but is in a perpetual state of confusion

yuna at all times: ???¿¿?¿??

connections??????? haven’t thought of them yet but am always down to brainstorm but it’s like 3am and i’m supposed to be up at 8am goD,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, but as always, IMs are always open so pls come and plot with me and my bean ~

[timeinabottle]

Danse Macabre | Jopper AU | Stranger Things

William Byers disappears into thin air in 1883. His distraught mother, Joyce must put aside her differences with the only man that can help her now. In their desperate search for her son, they uncover the dark world of the occult, a terrible haunting and something the Witch's daughter calls... the Other Side.

Stranger things have happened...

Read on AO3 {X}

Listen to the soundtrack on spotify {X}

Chapter One: The Vanishing of William Byers

Hawkins, Indiana October 26,1883 Sleep riddled James Hopper’s head like a dense cloud, letting him forget where he was for the foggy moment between dreams. He reached across the bed for the warmth a woman who was not there. His hands grasped at thin air instead, and the cold, twisted sheets that wrapped around him like a tourniquet.

When he finally stumbled out of bed and shook the cobwebs off, he caught a glimpse of the clock and cursed. He was late for work again.

He hastily made his way to the medicine cabinet and took a swig off a dark glass bottle. The bitter tincture burned on the way down, but he didn’t care. He looked forward to the sting every morning. And periodically throughout the day... And twice again before bed. Initially prescribed by a physician for a chronic case of melancholy and fever three years earlier, Hopper reasoned it was the only thing keeping him going at this point.

As he got dressed, he chased the tonic with a nip or three of whiskey and half a cigarette leftover from the night before. A touch of cologne was the finishing touch to mask the scent of his morning routine. He strapped his sidearm and fixed the crooked badge on his uniform before stepping out into the low autumn sun.

Fall had swept through the Midwest with a cold fury that year, turning the trees into an ocean of fiery yellows and reds as far as the eye could see. The clear cornflower-blue skies of summer had given way to brooding clouds. They hung over the town like a death shroud, a shadow veil hiding the sun, and bringing with it the acrid perfume of decay.

As the days grew shorter, so did Hopper’s patience. Once a loving and devoted husband and father, he felt dead inside now. Utterly devoid of human emotion. His wife Diane and his darling little Sara were taken within days of each other by a nasty bout of consumption almost four years previous. It wiped out half of Manhattan’s Eleventh Ward before he realized New York had left him with nothing, and he retreated to the comforting arms of his hometown.

Looking up from rock bottom, sleepy little Hawkins seemed like the only choice left for him. It was somewhere he felt safe enough to collapse; to mend a shattered heart and ride out the rest of his years in relative ease. After all he fought for during the war and carried with him still, the tragedy of losing his girls was too much to bear. It left him feeling empty.

More than empty; like a dark star, ready to collapse in on itself.

He found as the years passed by, and despite his best efforts, the broken pieces of his heart would not fit back together, no matter how hard he tried to make it work. He was watching himself turn into a lonely and embittered man in the mirror. He was slowly becoming his father and couldn’t think of a worse fate.

Just like his father, he only had a small circle of people who he could trust. His closest friends were former soldiers in the war, now his deputy officers, Callahan and Powell. He could barely admit it to himself, but he spent most of his time with those two fools either at work or at the tavern after work. His friends had their own young families to focus on though, so after he sent them home for the day, Hopper would spend the latter half of his evenings closing down the bar and chasing after the available women in town, breaking their hearts before they could barely get attached.

He was alone in this world and was starting to think that nothing would ever change. It was his lot in life. Eventually, he accepted his fate and stopped caring. He became lazy. Mid-morning arrivals to work had become the norm, but no one seemed to notice or care.

No one, except Florence.

The police department’s secretary was all but tapping her foot at his late arrival, waiting for him when he arrived. She took his coat from his arms and the still burning cigarette from his mouth disapprovingly. He nodded to the boys in the bullpen as he made his grand, yet fashionably late entrance.

Callahan piped up, “You look miserable, Chief.”

“Funny, your wife hardly looked any better when I left this morning,” Hopper didn’t skip a beat, smiling snidely to the young officer as he walked by his desk. Powell hid his chuckle behind his cup of coffee and watched Callahan struggle to find a suitable response for his superior.

“Thank you very much for gracing us with your presence, James,” Florence interrupted, handing him his day's work and a cup of steaming black coffee as he passed by her desk. A schoolmarm in her younger days, she played the part well enough around the office, making sure all of Hawkins finest were running on time. Her only problem child now… was the chief.

Her hands found her hips when he didn’t acknowledge her, “You have a visitor this morning.”

Hopper grumbled into his cup, “Already? It’s only… half past ten. Did I not make myself clear before? No appointments before noon; my mornings are for coffee... and contemplation.”

Yes, that sounded about right.

“I didn’t have a choice in the matter,” Florence explained with a huff, handing him the paperwork she had already started and following him through the bullpen to his office in the back of the building. “The young lady insisted she speak with you immediately and pushed right through to your office. She won’t budge until she sees you, and only you — stubborn thing. Of course, I’ve been keeping her calm while you took your time getting here this morning,” the older woman’s voice dripped with sarcasm. Hopper would have told her that particular tone didn’t suit a woman of her age… if only he were a braver man.

“Please tell me the pushy little lady that’s waiting for me is beautiful, or at the very least, eligible,” he grunted as he stuffed the paperwork in his uniform pocket, not able to muster enough care to look it over. He was confident the matter was a stolen purse or a civil disagreement, something that didn't require his personal attention — that's what he had the two buffoons sitting in the bullpen for.

“It’s Joyce Byers, Chief. She says her son is missing.”

That stopped him in his tracks. It felt like a lifetime since he had heard that name, and it sounded so foreign to him now as his secretary said it. A pang of nostalgia caught his attention, which quickly turned to hurt, remembering how much heartache that confounded woman had caused him in a previous life. He felt a burning agitation growing in his chest at the parting memory he had of her… or perhaps that was the laudanum finally kicking in.

“Did you ask the Widow Byers if she remembers where she left him?”

“That’s not appropriate James,” Florence tutted at him, giving him a stern look over her spectacles. “She’s rather upset.”

Hopper took a deep breath before opening the door to his office, preparing himself for a maddening interaction. His guard dropped slightly when he saw her sitting there, looking lost and forlorn. A small nagging thought played at him, a reminder that she had played this game with him before, and he was the one who lost; she could always play the victim so well.

As the door closed behind him and he stepped into the room, he got a better look at her under the dim light from the window. Her hair was a matted, frizzy mess tucked under the net of her fascinator, a futile attempt to look put together. Her hollow eyes stood out against the sharp pallor of her skin, betraying her weak constitution. She was so far removed from the young, vibrant woman he once knew. It was if a stranger was standing across the room from him now.

“Police Chief Hopper,” she curtsied as he walked around her to his desk, much to his chagrin. Her tone was polite, but he could hear an underlying hint of irritation as she spoke. No doubt for having to wait over an hour to see him. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“We can drop the formalities, Joyce. You know damn well you didn’t give me a choice in the matter. Safe to say we’re beyond pleasantries now,” he was stern, not wanting to play games with her, just wanting to get this over with and move on with his day. Yet, despite everything that had gone on between them in their formative years — and the resentment he felt thinking about it again — seeing her looking like this was pulling at a small part of him he thought was long buried.

“Oh, well. My apologies... Hop,” her head dipped at her slight and his correction, but she made a point of saying his name as only she knew it.

Joyce looked like an awkward little bird with a broken wing that needed mending. As he sat down behind his desk, she followed suit, and he observed her nervously plucking at her wrinkled skirts while she waited for him to get settled. It looked to him like she had been wearing the same dress for days and Hopper supposed that was very likely the case if her son was indeed missing. If he knew anything about Joyce, it was that she loved her sons more than life itself. He also knew her to be flighty and forgetful too, so it was hard to say if Will was truly missing or she had just lost track of his whereabouts in this state she was in. Regardless, he could tell that whatever had happened was clearly impeding her mental faculties — she was a vibrating, nervous wreck. Gazing at her pitiful form, he supposed he could give her the benefit of the doubt, one last time.

“All right then, why don’t you tell me what happened. From the start,” Hopper set out a pen and ink, and some paper to take notes as Joyce spoke.

She took a trembling breath, looking down at a small cabinet card with her son’s image on it, and held it tight in her hand as if in prayer. Steadying herself, she began, “My son, William -- Will was out visiting friends two days ago after school. He never made it back home.”

“Did he tell you when he would be back?”

She nodded, elaborating, “He said that morning he would be home for dinner. It’s not like him, but he’s getting older now. When he didn’t make it back, I just assumed he stayed with friends. I called on all of them yesterday, and all they could tell me was they had been at the river that afternoon, and he had left an hour before I expected him home.” Her words were clipped. She was trying her best not to cry.

He wrote down her answers languidly as he continued the inquisition, “And you’ve searched the property for him? Your house is at the edge of Mirkwood, isn’t it?”

“Yes. My oldest and I have torn the forest apart. It’s as if Will disappeared into thin air…” she wrung her hands in worry and bit her bottom lip hard as if willing herself not to think such things.

Hopper paused for a long moment to light a cigarette and offer another to Joyce, who took it as if she had been starving for one. Watching as she brought it to her lips with a shaky hand, he bided his time before he spoke again, wanting to choose his words with particular delicacy.

“Have you considered that he might have run away? Boys of his age will do that, you know. Do you still have relatives in Illinois? Is it possible he went to visit them?”

“No,” she couldn’t help but raise her voice at the underlying suggestion that she was a bad mother and couldn’t keep track of her boy. “I know my son; he wouldn’t do something like that without telling me. It’s been almost two full days! Even if he did, he would have contacted me by now,” she cast her eyes to the floor, the uncertainty starting to creep in. ”I’m sure of it.”

“I stole away when I was a teenager to go fight in the war, Joyce. I didn’t tell anyone until I had to,” Hopper spoke gently, confident she didn’t need the reminder of the abrupt end to the trysts of their youth.

“The war is over if you recall, and… and he’s not like you!" Joyce snapped at him and her face twisted, vexed at his words. He could tell she was holding her tongue to keep from insulting him.

She took a deep breath before she continued. Hopper was her only hope now, and he could tell she was desperate for his help.

“And he’s not like me. He’s not like most. He’s a sensitive soul, creative… and smart… the other children tease him and call him awful names.” She went back to wringing her hands, getting lost in her thoughts, “Something is wrong, I just know it.”

Her eyes locked onto his from across the desk, imploring. Hopper sighed. There was no getting out of this, was there?

“Well, the first thing we should do is organize a search party and get his image in front of as many people as we can. You have that picture card of him?”

She looked down to the card in her hands, tracing the grey image of Will with her fingertips; likely the only memento she had of her beloved son. Hopper only wished he had the same of his sweet Sara.

“Take that to the printers on the way home and have them draft up some posters with his vital information.” Hopper wrote down what she would need to give to the pressman and passed it to her. “I will organize the rest, but I have to be honest with you Joyce… Your reputation around town won’t help us much.”

Joyce’s set her jaw at his words and heaved a drawn-out sigh as if she had been expecting him to say it.

“I can certainly pay your department for the time if that is what it’s going to take to get this process started.” She stuck the cigarette in her mouth in a very un-lady-like fashion to open her coin purse with both hands, as if expecting his outstretched palm, but Hopper waved her off.

“That won’t be necessary. You’re entitled to public services as much as anyone. I’m just uncertain how many volunteers we can muster up for someone who’s known as the Widowed Witch of Mirkwood…” his voice trailed off, regretting the words, as he watched her face cloud over.

Joyce frowned at the ridiculous name the townsfolk had given her. She knew it all too well.

Her husband had died a mysterious and sudden death the year previous. Joyce never spoke of it to anyone, but they all knew. His body wasn’t even in the ground before she took advantage of the life insurance policy in his name at the factory. It seemed that dying had been the one and only good thing Lonnie Byers ever did for his family. And despite being given every opportunity to mourn, Joyce had refused her social obligation. How could she possibly be expected to grieve for the drunken brute of a man she had married? Someone who beat her and her sons if they stepped out of line. Someone who treated her like a dog when they were out in public and didn’t even bother to hide his frequent visits to the bawdy house. From the outside looking in, Hopper could understand why she couldn’t bring herself to mourn that monster of a man, but the community couldn’t ignore her disregard for societal norms, and she was quickly shunned.

Joyce only fanned the flames. Instead of indulging the proper grieving period, she splurged on a new wardrobe. She wore jewel-toned velvets and pastel chantilly lace loudly around town, just to make sure her true feelings toward her dead husband were well known. It didn’t take long for the townsfolk to start talking after that.

Did you hear? Joyce Byers murdered her husband. She only did it for the money.

Hawkins ran wild with whispers and lies: She went crazy and poisoned him. She cut his body up and buried him in the woods behind their house. A secret lover helped her do it, and they danced naked under the full moon… on his grave!

Soon, rumor had it she had summoned a demon to do her bidding. She was labeled an outcast. A scarlet letter. A particular kind of witch.

Of course, Hopper didn’t believe any of the rumors… but he did think that maybe she had it coming. After all, it was Lonnie’s arms she ran to when Hopper didn’t court her fast enough for her liking in the summer of 1863. It wasn’t soon after she broke his heart, Hopper left her and Hawkins behind to fight for the Union, severing any remaining threads that kept them bound together.

“Those rumors are completely unfounded,” she started, trying her best to contain the rage bubbling up inside of her. “And they have nothing to do with my Will.”

“I know they are, Joyce,” Hopper rubbed his tired eyes. “You’re right, it has nothing to do with Will. I’m just saying this might be a bit of an uphill battle for us if we want any information on the whereabouts of your son.”

Her face clouded over at the realization sunk in. Even though he was six feet under, Lonnie Byers’ was still causing her trouble in this life. That son of a bitch.

“I was awfully sorry to hear about your husband,” Hopper cleared his throat, though his voice betrayed him; Joyce picked up on his lack of sincerity immediately.

“Please, spare me your condolences,” she held her hand up to him to stop right there and save them both the discomfort of going through the motions. “We both know what type of man my husband was. My sons and I are much better off now…” she trailed off, a look of distress adorning her delicate, worn features. “Or rather, we were, until my poor b-” she choked on a sob, clutching the picture to her chest. Hopper passed her his handkerchief and gave her a quiet moment to lament her missing child.

He was all too familiar with the pain she was going through, and as she wept, he resolved to put the past aside. He felt compelled to help this broken little bird, despite himself and their history. At least there was still hope for her that Will would return home safely. He’d be damned if he let her lose the fleeting chance to bring him back; something he never had.

When she composed herself again and looked back at him, it was with glassy, pleading eyes, “I need you to find him, Hop.”

“We will find him,” Hopper hoped she would see the truth in his eyes, even if he didn’t feel it himself. “I promise.”

There was nothing more he could do right then but comfort her with a pledge that he prayed he could keep.

For the first time since he laid eyes on her that morning, a small smile graced Joyce’s delicate features. “Thank you,” she extinguished her forgotten cigarette out in the ashtray on his desk and stood up to shake his hand. The gesture felt strange coming from her.

He took her proffered hand with both of his and watched as her lips parted with the shock of his touch. He waited for her to say something more, but she never did; the space between them heavy with everything that would remain unsaid. He couldn’t shake the sudden feeling that they had done this all before. Déjà vu.

When the strange moment passed, he was the first to let go, and he guided her to the door, giving her brief instructions on her next steps.

“Take that picture to the printing press and then go home straight away. I’ll take care of everything else. Get some rest. I will stop by as soon as I have more information for you.”

She paused before leaving, her hand clutching his forearm. Her eyes searched his, one more time.

“You’ll find him for me?”

He nodded, “I swear.” That time it felt like the God’s honest truth.

She nodded solemnly, holding the slip of paper and image of Will tight to her chest, taking his promise and her orders with her as he escorted her out of his office. She seemed to float down the dark hall towards the station’s front door, and as he watched her exit, he wondered how he would manage this mess. Just when he thought he had enough of his own problems to deal with, she had to show up at his doorstep with a doozy.

How could he expect anything less from Joyce Byers?

As Joyce stepped out onto Main Street, the gravity of the situation finally hit her, along with the heavy door to the Police Department. It slammed shut behind her, clanging like a gong, waking her up to the sudden realization that this was all too real, and the dark, dreaded feeling, that nothing would ever be the same again. A horse tied to the hitching post outside the building whinnied, startling her once more, just as a young man walked by. He gawked at her until he rounded the corner, out of sight, as if he saw a ghost. It took all her strength not to break down right then and there. She couldn’t, not yet. Her heart was heavy with the weight of the tasks laid out for her: Visit the printing press, then home to rest. Miles to go before she could sleep.

Joyce felt like she was drifting above herself, tethered to her body, as she glided down Main Street like a ghost. Another woman caught her eye, her face twisted into a disgusted sneer. She imagined she was a sight to be seen, practically un-dead; a shell of the woman she was the day before last. Her reputation was preceding, and her current appearance didn’t help, but she didn’t give a damn about any of that anymore. If they only knew…

She could feel the townsfolk eyes on her. She could even hear them whispering. Her cheeks burned red from resisting the urge to lash out at the next person to point at her or titter to their acquaintance. Joyce bit her tongue, knowing that she would need these people on her side if she wanted even the slightest chance to find her boy. She kept her eyes down and focused on her steps, one foot in front of the other.

Printing press. Home. Sleep. Press. Home. Sleep.

It became her mantra as she made her way through the center of town. It was taking everything not to collapse on the street under the righteous scrutiny and the unbearable burden she carried. There was nothing else left to do but carry on.

When she got to the printers, the Pressman was waiting for her. She never thought she would say it in her lifetime, but thank goodness for James Hopper and his keen foresight to have the operator call ahead. Joyce was grateful for the small gesture saving her from having to relive the nightmare and explain herself again. It only took a quick moment to get the information organized for the poster and an estimate on when the prints would be ready. She left with the Pressman's kind word that the photo would be returned to her within the day in the same condition she gave it to him.

Once again, she found herself standing alone and feeling lost on Main Street in her hometown — a place she knew like the back of her hand. She was restless with the urge to do something, anything to help find Will. It felt wrong to head home to idly stand-by while others held her son’s life in their hands, but Hop was right. What good would she be to the cause when she was such a mess? His word's ringing in her ears, she turned around and began the long walk home.

[thomasblanky-moved]

day 10: in hot water

@12daysofcarnivale

rating: g characters: harry goodsir, henry collins, jane goodsir pairing: goodsir/collins word count: 3096 read on ao3

buy me a coffee!

harry had always been the type to bring home strays. the goodsir household was large and loud and even as a child, he’d scamper home with crayfish or crabs in buckets, or holding a big orange barn cat, or a baby bird. once he had even come home, a triumphant grin on his face, clutching a live grouse in his hands.

(his mother had nearly had a conniption over it being loose in the house, and then it was caught and butchered and harry had cried for days)

he supposed in a way he felt responsible for collins. he cared for him, of course, admired his gentleness even as the man himself shook to pieces, enjoyed the way his voice curled sweetly around harry’s name, had marveled in the way that collins had been able to point out every star and constellation and name each and every one of them. 

(”they’re different this far north,” collins had said, looking almost bashful about it, but something inside of him had seemed to settle and harry had smiled for it)

collins had been caught with a glancing blow from that monster out there on the ice- tuunbaq, blanky had once translated for them, and lady silence had looked small and mutinous- the impact of its great large paw cracking his ribs, claws rending flesh. the wounds were large and ugly, but survivable, and it had been lucky that collins hadn’t gone into shock or caught an infection; harry suspected that the latter at least was due to the coca wine that collins had pilfered, a mixed blessing.

harry had done his best to stitch him up and had felt guilty that out of all the men he could save, he was glad that collins was one of them.

and after, after, when they were swathed in wool blankets that weren’t threadbare and had bellies full of hot food that wasn’t ridden with lead, when the bandages that were wrapped ‘round collins’s middle were fresh and clean instead of tattered, the man will look so small and miserable that harry near aches with sympathy.

“do you have any family?” harry had asked him in his kindest voice, but collins’s shoulders had drawn up about his ears with a wince. “i could write them, if you wish, tell them that you’re safe. i’ll send the letter out with my own.”

“don’t.” he doesn’t know if collins had meant for the word to come out a whisper but it had, a rasping, sad sort of breath. “i don’t... i’m not well, doctor. in the head. don’t want them to see me like this, billy and harry and the girls. it’s not- i’d rather be dead, than come back to them like this.”

harry draws in a sharp breath at that; he had known that collins had been hurting, horribly so, but he hadn’t thought it had gone so deep to make collins value his life so little. he lays his hand over the other man’s, says, “do you have anywhere to go, once we return?”

collins shakes his head no, just the slightest movement.

“then you’ll come with me,” he decides. “nearly all my brothers have left for homes of their own, so there will be room enough at rosebank.”

that was how harry ended up walking down one of anstruther’s streets, collins near enough at his side that their arms brushed. they both looked rather ragged and disreputable, he was sure, but the streets around him felt familiar and close, inundated with childhood memories. he noticed different things, now, whether by separation or experience, and it fits strange on him like an old coat.

“that’s the baker’s shop,” harry says, pointing out the building as they pass; has  done this time and time again, bringing collins’s attention to some landmark and giving a childhood anecdote. “my younger brother robert- bob, really- was sweet on one of the daughters. he’d spend all his money on pastries he didn’t like just to talk to her, and he’d blush and stutter his way through every time.”

later he gestures at the beach as they climb the hill, says,  “i used to spend days out there in the sand. i would bring things back to the house- crabs, mostly- and be scolded for it, but it never stopped me. that’s what i did before, you know; i studied crabs.”

the before what didn’t need to be specified.

collins smiles a little, small, and something lightens in his face as he pauses to look out over the water. “my sister maggie, margaret,” he says, “she loved birds. she’d point out every one we saw, but i couldn’t ever remember all the names.”

harry smiles, too, and just barely touches their fingers together before they continue up the hill.

rosebank was a decently sized house, tiled roof and white-washed walls, and a fixture in harry’s life for as long as he could remember it. this was what he thought of when he had buoyed himself dreaming of home: this house, his parents, his siblings. the big garden that his mother and jane had loved; the work lab that he and john had constructed in the attic; the foul words that robert had carved into tree trunks when they were children.

“that’s it there?” collins asks, and harry nods. he is filled with equal parts trepidation and anxiety, a wanting to be there already while also wary of what he might find. “you’ve got a big house, doctor goodsir.”

he’s long given up any sense of humility regarding his titles; he is a doctor, an anatomist by education if not a surgeon by practice. a doctor goodsir in a family of doctor goodsirs. “i’ve a big family, too.”

the cobble road that lead to the house was the same as he remembered it, the bushes and flowers his mother had loved tenderly, the faded paint on the gate to the carriage house. a part of him had almost expected it to all be gone, to be changed with the way he had changed, these past long years.

“are you alright?” collins’s voice was soft, as if often seemed this days, but now out of compassion more than anything. harry runs a hand down his face, through the beard he’d grown during those months on the long march. he was sure he looked a fright, unshaven and framed by riotous dark curls, but he’d scarcely had time to look at himself in a mirror let alone make himself presentable.

they’d just have to take him as he was, then.

the flat stones that marked the way to the door were the same, grass a bit more overgrown between the cracks without a constant and steady stream of traffic to keep it trampled. the door was the same, the white wash on the walls, the creeping ivy that his mother had tried so hard for years to get rid of. he raises his hand to knock on the door, then decides to try the knob. 

it was his home, after all, no matter how long he’d been gone. he shouldn’t have to knock to enter his own home.

the door was unlocked and so he pushes it open and the house is quiet, too quiet even for only two people. harry frowns and he hears collins shift closer, just the barest rustle of fabric, and he reaches back for the other man’s hand, reassured slightly when warm fingers tangle with his own. perhaps it was his experiences that had made him so paranoid and distrustful of silence, his neck prickling with awareness; he’d spent so long surrounded by a crush (and then a lessening, lessening number) of men that quiet had become foreign to him. 

harry closes the door behind him because he was raised, well, here, and not in a barn, meaning that he had some sense of decency. collins is peering about, his face pinched in that perpetual expression of vague despair that has seemingly come to be his norm.

“you’re sure you lived here, doctor?” collins’s voice is pitched low, and harry would have thought it was a joke had he not known the man as well as he did. he opens his mouth to respond, perhaps a bit put out, but a creak on the stairs makes him look up, the nearly spiral staircase that always squeaked no matter the step.

harry feels something lodge in his throat. “jane?”

“harry?”

they stay at rosebank some few weeks, a season or maybe more. harry is glad for it; anstruther is a sleepy, quiet town, contained and familiar and free of painful reminders. collins, too, seems more settled, something lighter in his eyes, the set of his shoulders. he has been thinking of things to write to his family, to tell them that he is not well but that he is getting better, and that he hopes to see them all soon; harry helps him, sometimes, when the words get caught somewhere between his brain and his pen.

but there was grief here, too, empty spaces where people should have been. he would walk into the sitting room and expect to see his father sitting in front of the fireplace, or at his desk in the study; if he listened close enough, he swore that he could hear archie’s laughter. jane was the only one here, now, and he felt almost bad for her, all alone in the house.

the others visit by turn, john and robert and joseph. harry is glad for it, pathetically so. the first time harry is alone with john he clings to him and sobs like a child, while his brother combs his fingers through his hair, only a little bit awkward. robert, on his own, ribs harry gleefully about it all, but there’s relief in his voice when he says that he had sailed, twice, to find him and came home wanting.

(it is joseph that harry worries for, joseph who comes home and looks thin and sad and ill but so very glad that harry has returned, who holds his face in shaking hands as if he couldn’t believe that this was all real and pulls him into a tight, crushing embrace. harry reminds himself to ask john his thoughts in his next letter.)

he is getting better. they are getting better.

jane seemed taken with collins, which harry was grateful for, but even more than that he was relieved to see that collins rather liked her, as well. she gave him tasks, harry knew, to keep him busy: running errands or washing dishes or chopping wood or pulling up whatever crop she had decided was good enough to harvest. and then they would all sit down together for dinner and it would be cozy, and domestic, and everything that harry had been almost certain he would never see again.

so harry enjoys the little things he had previously put aside or never had time for. he goes back to studying crabs; he collects seashells. some shaggy tortoiseshell with a cropped tail follows collins home from the grocer one morning, and instead of chasing her off they decide to keep her; he names her apollonia (“polly, for short.”) and feeds her scraps off the table, to jane’s eternal vexation.

they go to the beach, sometimes, he and collins. they take off their shoes and socks and roll up their trousers to wade around in the tide pools, laughing and shouting as the cold waves lap over their ankles and sand seeps between their toes. collins says to him, “we used to do this when we lived in hartlepool, george and i.”

“george?”

“my brother,” collins says, and there’s something sad in his voice. “my twin, really.”

harry makes a surprised noise at that, glances over curiously. “i didn’t know you were a twin.”

the barest shrug of shoulders answers him. “i’m not, anymore.”

he backtracks, then, says, “you don’t sound as if you were from hartlepool.”

“never stayed in one place for more than a few years.” collins plucks a stone out of the sand, deep black and smooth, edges rounded; he tries to skip it but it falls flat into the water with a plop. “my father was navy, and we followed his postings. sussex is where me and george were born. hal and billy in hartlepool; maggie, some place in ireland; tamsin, decima, and lizzy were all popped out in liverpool, but by that time i was already sailing.”

“my family have all been doctors,” harry offers. he plants his hands on his hips and stretches his back, cracks his neck. “my father, my grandfather. john, bob, archie, and myself all studied medicine. we were all born here, too, along with jane and baby agnes, except for joseph. he was born in lower largo, but that’s only a few hours’ walk from here, so i’m not sure it counts.”

it’s the most harry’s ever heard collins talk about his family; occasionally there would be some throw away comment, something one of his siblings had said, or that his sister like this kind of chocolate or his brother broke an arm while climbing a tree. little, inconsequential things, but he’d never had names to go with them. he decided that having a brood of siblings rather suited a man like Collins.

“you’ve a good family, doctor goodsir,” collins tells him, and harry smiles. “you all seem very close.”

“we are. were.” it’s tinged with grief; archie’s loss still hurt, sometimes, like a healing wound. “and please, call me harry. i’ve told you this before, mister collins.”

“you have,” collins cedes, “but you’ve never called me henry, either.”

it is winter the first time harry kisses collins, a bit over a year since they had first stumbled up the hill to rosebank, ragged and tired and battered. and it’s very much that way, harry kissing collins, because harry is the one that fair falls forward while collins’s hands hover, surprised and unsure, and harry is the one that breaks it, too.

there is snow on the ground outside, falling in fat, crystalline flakes, and harry finds that he hates going out into it, but not nearly as much as collins, who takes up a near permanent position in the kitchen, wrapped up in a tartan by the stove as he tries to learn how to knit. the cold was in them, now, deep in their bones and dredging up old nightmares.

they stay indoors. harry sends john his papers to be published, collins tries to knit, and a boy from down the lane chops their wood.

the kiss itself is neither coordinated nor particularly good. harry doesn’t know why he dies it, really; perhaps some latent impulse. he was terribly fond of collins, though, and at this point the man knew him better than anyone else; not his past, perhaps, but his thoughts.

so, harry kisses him.

collins is watching him wide-eyed when he rocks away, fingers clutched in a half-woven glove, his mouth slightly parted. he looked utterly gob smacked and harry swallows down the hysterical laugh that crawls up his throat.

“i’m sorry, henry,” he babbles, “i don’t know what- that is, i didn’t. i’m not. i’m sorry-“

“harry,” collins says, and though his voice is small, harry stops talking immediately. it’s a rare moment when collins uses his name.

“…yes?”

collins’s hand is shaking slightly as he reaches out to brush his fingertips across harry’s cheek, light as a feather, and harry’s eyes flutter shut. his palms are rough, callouses that had cracked in the cold catching on harry’s beard, but the gesture is tender nonetheless. harry covers collins’s hand with his own.

“did you mean it?” collins asks, seriously.

“of course,” harry says.

collins smiles at that, something small and shy and unsure, but it’s a start.

“you’re as bad as john,” jane scolds harry, “and not even half as subtle.”

she has him cornered after dinner, having requested his help with cleaning up. collins had given them both a quizzical look- often he was the one cleaning up, always volunteering- but jane shoos him off and he goes, polly cradled in his arms.

“pardon?” he says. he tells himself he’s not intimidated- that he’s seen worse, done worse- but jane had always had something of their mother in her, and her ability to loom over him despite her height was one of them.

“i don’t care what you do to henry in your spare time,” she says hotly, and she has a finger pressed to his chest, a scowl upon her face. there is the just tiniest beginnings of bags beneath her eyes, and harry swallows. “or what he does to you. but you could at least be quiet about it, else your wailing is like to wake the neighbors and send me to an early grave with exhaustion.”

harry remembers, suddenly, that their rooms share a wall.

“it’s not like that, jane,” he protests, a hot flush crawling up his neck, even though it plainly was. “it’s-“

“i don’t care!”

his mouth snaps shut, cowed into quiet for a moment, and then frowns. “what does john have to do with anything?”

the look that jane gives him is pure disbelief paired with a noise of disgust, and she turns on her heel and strides from the room, leaving harry to clean up dinner alone.

collins sends a letter to his family in late spring of ’53, nearly two full years since they had escaped the arctic.

he was happier than he had been before, harry knew, smiled more and had nightmares less. he was still quiet, still shy and sometimes drifting, but he was leaps and bounds better than the miserable, haunted creature that had first followed harry to anstruther. there were things that had come back with them and things that they had left behind, harry knew, and they would never be the same as they were before it all, before all the death and fear and horror.

(he thought, sometimes, of lady silence, whether she had survived it all and what she was doing if she had, and his heart will swell and collapse inwards under the weight of it all and harry knows that this, too, will never leave him.)

collins writes only one letter, to his mother, and it takes him nearly two weeks to do so. harry walks with him to post it, and they walk close enough side by side that their fingers brush on the way home.

[yamimori]

It’s been over 3 years,

And I want to put this out there, for the world to hear.

This is going to talk about some very heavy subjects, including emotional abuse, among other things. If this is a sensitive topic for you, or if you are somebody who follows me for my artwork, I am sorry, you are welcome to skip this post and forget it existed. But, my birthday is here in just a few days, and I want to get this off of my chest.

This post is happening because I recently decided to watch the 3-part series from Illymation’s Abusive Ex series on YouTube. I recommend you give that series a watch, and I will link it at the end of this post. I’m writing this up now because seeing somebody else do is giving me the confidence to do this now.

Before my confidence fails, I want to put down as much of this as I can.

The only other thing I want to point out now before we get into this is you can say whatever you want about me when I was younger, about my parents, about anything. I know, I was stupid, and naive.

When I was 10, I met a guy through a mutual friend on World of Warcraft. For the sake of this, we will call him Chad. Sorry to any Chads who read this. We were in an RP and we were shitposting in whispers about who knows what. He was 15 or 16 at the time. We ended up adding each other to BattleTag (RealID at the time) and we just ended up hanging out little by little over the months while we played WoW.

Over the span of a few months, he ended up slowly flirting with me bit by bit. And I was stupid at the time, and didn’t really realize it, honestly. I’ve never been good with knowing if somebody’s flirting with me, ask anybody who knows me personally, I guarantee they can tell you the same thing.

Over the months, when our friendship ended up turning more into a ‘relationship’, it escalated. From stupid things, like the mindless flirting and messaging me when I got online, to inserting himself into meeting my friends and talking to them, and making a lot of my friends dislike me, or outright stop talking to me. A lot of my friends stopped talking to me, or I, them. This was one of the mistakes I regret the most in my life, to this day.

This was, as I know now, grooming. Gaining my trust by hanging out with me, and gaining the trust of my closest friends at the time. Grooming is the act of gaining the trust or establishing a connection with a minor, for the purpose of a specific act.

This was not too long into our ‘relationship’, and Chad and I had sort of started officially ‘dating’ at this point.

And so much of our relationship at that point, already, even months into it, was control. He’d tell me stupid things about his family that I had no way of proving were real or not, but I went with it, and made up equally stupid things about mine. He’d purposely let his ‘friends’ (which for the sake of rationality, likely was just him putting on a facade) say horrible things to me. Call me a whore, tell me I was crazy, call me fat, so on. I let it happen. I didn’t deny any of their claims.

He’d tell me things about my friends that over the months, I was made to believe were true. He’d tell me they hated me, and that I didn’t need them, all while he was pulling at them from the shadows without me knowing. I lost so many friends over the course of our relationship, simply because I... never asked questions. 

When I go places with my mom, and wasn’t online, he would blow up my phone with messages asking where I was, why I wasn’t online. If I was asleep, he’d do the same, say I was ignoring him. When I was at school, in the shower, eating with my parents, all of it. It got to the point where he threatened to commit suicide, and then would go silent for hours on end. This quickly became the norm.

I would get random messages during the day about how he wanted to do it. Overdose, and guns were his favorites to talk about. And I mindlessly just agreed with him, already having been more than reprogrammed to be wrapped around his finger at this point. I was so just conditioned to believe that he was right, and that he was the only person I needed in life to be happy, that I was. Or, I thought I was, anyways. I didn’t talk to my friends. I didn’t talk to my family. I didn’t... really do anything. Friends would ask ‘How are you and Chad’ and I’d say ‘We’re okay’.

I never thought twice about it.

It escalated to pictures. Nothing ever completely NSFW, but close. Very, very close. And then to Skype calls with me in my underwear. Because he asked me to. And honestly, I got so used to just... going along with it, because I knew if I didn’t, he would threaten me. Threaten to fly to my house, and harm me, or to kill himself, or his family, among other things. And if I fell asleep, or got sick, or my phone died, or anything, I would get yelled at. But if I asked him to hang out, or wanted to show him something, I would never get a response, or would get pushed off.

I would get told I was fat and a whore when I didn’t go along with the calls, or pictures. I was told that nobody would ever love me again, if I left him.

I was told that I was worthless.

I was made to believe that I did not deserve any of the good things I had.

He told me I deserved it when my cat was hit by a car. He told me I deserved it when I had to leave my entire life behind in New Hampshire to move to California. He told me that I deserved to be ignored, and that I should kill myself on more than one occasion.

I feel like it is a given to say that I was depressed, at this point, as well.

I started dressing like how I was made to feel. Cheap. I dressed in things too revealing for my age, and talked about things too old for me. I felt disgusting in my body. He lived thousands of miles away from me, and yet I felt like I could feel all of the things he said about me, written into my skin for life. I could look in the mirror and feel nothing about myself.

I looked in the mirror and saw nobody. 

And yet, I played along. I didn’t comment when he made comments about how he wanted to get off to my pretty face. I didn’t comment when he said he wanted to bend me over the table. I didn’t comment when he said I deserved to be used, and forgotten. I didn’t comment when he told me that any kids I had would turn out to be whores, like I was.

I didn’t comment. On anything. I let it happen, because I was afraid of the backlash. I was afraid of the harassment, the threats of death and suicide that he held over me.

I spent almost two years in this cycle. I spent two years being torn apart at the seams, to the point where he made me suicidal. 

My mother found out. Right before our two year ‘anniversary’, she found out. And she stopped it. Immediately. This was in June of 2014, months before my 13th birthday. 

At the time, I was angry at her, in a way, and sad. I felt relieved, but I didn’t know it.

I felt hollow, and empty, like a part of me had just been ripped out of me. I felt like I had nobody left. I had spent so long dependent on him and his bullshit, that I didn’t know what freedom felt like.

I didn’t know who I was.

For the next year, maybe even two, I holed myself up in my room. I contemplated suicide. A lot. I thought that he was right. That I deserved to die. I didn’t contribute anything anyways, so what did it matter? I didn’t matter, people wouldn’t notice if I died, right?

I was lucky. I had people at my side who did care. They would notice.

They didn’t know what was going on.

I didn’t tell them.

I couldn’t.

I was ashamed, and I still am.

I found out that when we broke up, that his father did confiscate his computer, and went through it. There were hundreds of pictures of underage girls, the youngest age being around 7, some much more NSFW than others. It was given to the police.

I haven’t spoken to him, since we broke up. I have had zero contact with him since that day almost 4 years ago, and I beg to the Gods I never will.

Before you ask, “Why didn’t you say no? Or leave?” I tried. I tried over and over again, but the constant threat of death loomed over me. He had my address, he knew where I lived, he knew my only remaining friends. I was terrified. I was afraid that if I did, he would kill himself, or his family, and I would never know the difference of if he did or didn’t. And that was a risk I wasn’t willing to take. I was 13, I can’t even handle now the thought that I could’ve ever contributed to somebody killing themselves, and I certainly wouldn’t’ve been able to then.

So I played along.

I stopped going outside. I became an almost complete hermit. I stopped showering, or eating. I felt disgusting, I looked disgusting to myself, so I stopped caring. I honestly just sat around and waited to die. That was my life. Warcraft, and Netflix.

Over the next year, I met some amazing friends, most that I still speak to even now, years later. And, they don’t know it, or they didn’t until now, but they helped me through so much that I can’t even put into words.

They pushed me out of my comfort zone, to feel comfortable around people again. To open up to them, without having to lie to make myself seem cooler or older than I was. They knew how young I was, and they were okay with that. None of them ever tried to stiff arm me into doing something that I wasn’t okay with doing. They showed me actual friendship that I hadn’t felt in almost three years, and it was... weird, to say the least.

 It’s been almost 4 years, with my 17th birthday this Friday. I’ve learned to be around people again, to trust them again, and it’s been a fucking battle, and I am proud to be where I am now.

I am ashamed of it, still, even now. The things he made me believe are still burrowed so deep inside of me, that even now, with years of therapy under my belt, they still linger. And my therapist now is even still helping me through them.

But, I’m here, aren’t I? I felt like, as a sort of personal pat on the back, to put my story out there, for other people who have been through emotional abuse to see, and read. And for them to know that they’re not alone. You are going to get through this. I’m here for you, I believe in you.

And to my friends, who have been with me, for the past 4 years, I love you all, so much. Thank you, for everything you have unknowingly helped me through, through the years. Thank you, for all of the late night Skype calls, Cards Against Humanity games, RP sessions and old raid runs.

You all mean the world to me.

This is not a post asking for pity. This is me saying that there are people out there like this. Things like this do happen, and that I was one of the lucky ones that had help from other people, to get me out of this situation before it got even worse than it already was.

I am writing this now, because it has been almost 4 years. And this is my gift to myself, this year. This is me giving a big fuck you to Chad. You can say it is fake, or just for notes all you want. But I wanted to get this out there, here, and now. This is my birthday gift, a big pat on the fucking back for myself for having gotten where I am now. With 250 followers on DA under my belt, a few hundred pieces of artwork, and the most caring friends I could ever ask for. 

So fuck you Chad.

Illymation’s Series: How I Met My Abusive Ex Boyfriend (Part1)

[orangeoctopi7]

Stanswap AU Part 28

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

Part 25 Part 26 Part 27

Fanfiction.net

And a couple of comics that inspired some things in this chapter.

Chapter 28: A Day on the Town

In the day or so since the government guys had left, things had settled down into what Dipper supposed would be the new normal, now that Stanley was here. Ford mostly stayed down in the portal lab, only coming up occasionally for food. That had actually become the norm over the past month or so. Stan was just exploring the house, although he seemed antsy. He didn’t seem ready to make himself at home just yet, like he was expecting he’d need to bolt any minute now.

Everyone could sense the tension in the house, even Mabel. Dipper had seen her plotting upstairs, with a flowchart and illustrations and everything. And she called him obsessed with planning; this was going to be even worse than what she’d done with Robbie, he could tell. Unfortunately, the boy thought, this was something not even Mabel could fix.

Speaking of Mabel, she came jumping down the stairs with a smile on her face and a notebook in her hand. On that notebook was a list of tv shows and movies, and at the very top, underlined twice, was Ducktective. She screeched to a halt in front of her brother.

“Hey bro, guess what? I figured out what Grunkle Stan needs!” She handed the notebook to Dipper, “I was just thinking how freaked out I’d be if I came back home after spending 30 years in space or wherever and everything was way different, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on repairing broken family relationships either! So I asked myself, ‘what’s the best way to teach Stan about how the world has changed?’ And at first I was like, ‘The internet!’ but then I remembered that most old people have a hard time with the internet even if they weren’t gone for 30 years, so then I was like ‘TV!’

“So I made a list of all the TV shows that would teach Stan about the present, and I think Ducktective is the best show for the job. The London setting is old-fashioned enough for him to be comfortable with while still using digital-age language and technology. Also, with the themes of family and friendship that run through the whole show, it might subconsciously persuade Stan to make up with Ford! Also also, the season two finale is tonight and they’re marathoning the whole series today so that’ll make it easy to watch and Grenda’s coming over to watch it with us.”

“Uh… ok.” Dipper said simply as his brain processed the word-dump Mabel had just babbled at him. When he actually thought about it, he realized it was a pretty good idea. Stan obviously didn’t want anything to do with Ford right now, but maybe if they took the old conman’s mind off things for a while his emotions would settle down. And watching a show all about unlikely friendships and family couldn’t hurt. “That’s a pretty good idea. Nice job, Mabel!”

They found Stan rummaging around in the kitchen again, which was no surprise, really. Since he’d arrived, he’d spent about 70% of his time in there. A room full of food seemed to be a bit of a novelty for him.

“Hey kids.” Stan greeted them without even taking his head out of the fridge. “Is this peach soda a new fad, or is it some sorta local thing?”

“You mean Pitt Cola?” Dipper asked. “It’s a local thing.”

“Huh. ‘S good.” He guzzled a can of the stuff. The young twins noticed a small pile of empty and crushed cans next to the garbage. “Any other good local foods I should try?”

“Oooh! We should take you to Greasy’s Diner!” Mabel suggested.

Their discussion was interrupted by the arrival of Ford, which was so surprising that they all actually gasped. It wasn’t meal time; they hadn’t been expecting him to emerge from the lab for another few hours.

“Oh, good, you’re all here.” The old scientist said, a cheerful tone failing to mask his nervous posture, like he was psyching himself up to speak in front of a large crowd.

“Are you having an early lunch?” Dipper asked, confused.

“No, I… I was hoping… I was thinking…” He stammered, “it’s about time we got back to our weekly game of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons.”

“Does this mean you found a way to keep the rift contained?” Dipper asked hopefully.

Ford flinched. “Well, no, not… not yet. I think I’ve made all the progress I can at the moment though. I… I thought it might be good for me to take a break.”

Mabel gasped again. She’d had to nag her Grunkle about taking a break constantly over the summer, and now he was deciding to take a break on his own!? This made her so happy, she didn’t even care that it got in the way of her earlier plan.

The younger twins seemed ecstatic to hear Ford’s proposal, but Stan still hadn’t pulled his head out of the fridge. He was pretending to ignore his brother, until Ford called on him directly.

“Stan, I… I was hoping we could all play together. You know, as a family.”

Stan was quiet for a long time. For a while it looked like he was going to go right on ignoring Ford, until he finally turned away from the fridge, slowly and deliberately. “You want me to play Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons?”

“Yes.” Ford replied, trying very hard to sound confident.

“That ‘game’ that’s more math and statistics than actual gameplay?” Stan continued dryly.

“Er, yes.” The old scientist confirmed, surprised that Stan knew of it. “Have you played before?” He was pretty sure the game had been invented after Stanley’d left home, and he had a hard time imagining his brother playing it on his own.

“Yeah, I was forced to play by some actual Nerd-Lords in Dimension 26*^.” Stan said bitterly. “And I’d rather eat one of those flap-drassin’ 38-sided dice than play it again.”

“O-oh.” Ford stammered. He was momentarily crestfallen, but pulled himself back together quickly. “Well, we don’t have to play that, I’ve got plenty more games in--”

“Nope.” Stan cut him of.

“Bu-wh… you don’t even know what I was going to suggest!” Ford protested.

“Yeah, but I know I don’t wanna play with you, jitata.” Stan glowered as he stomped out of the room.

Ford glared after his brother for a moment before heaving a frustrated sigh and leaving out the opposite door.

“Dipper, go after him!” Mabel pushed her brother towards the door Ford had left through.

“What?”

“This is the first voluntary break he’s taken in over a month! He needs this!” Mabel pleaded. “You go play DDMD with him or whatever it takes to keep him out of the lab for a while, I’ll take care of Grunkle Stan.”

“Narfin Ford, wantin’ to play his narfin games…” Stan grumbled under his breath. He didn’t want to play with his brother. Nope. Not one bit.

He paced around the living room, trying to think of what he could do to blow off some steam. It was weird. He’d been longing for home all these years, but now that he was here, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He hadn’t stayed in one place for more than a month in well over forty years. Of course, he reminded himself forcefully, he wasn’t planning on staying in Ford’s house for more than a few weeks anyway. But after that… the idea that he wasn’t going to leave this world was almost completely foreign to him now.

He should be learning more about this world, about what had changed, about what hadn’t… but he didn’t really know where to start. That and the fear that he wouldn’t like what he saw kept him from leaving the house and exploring the town. Or really do much of anything other than mope restlessly from room to room.

“Hey Grunkle Stan!” Mabel popped up from behind the couch, startling him out of his funk. He instinctively swung his staff at her. Luckily he realized who it was just in time.

“Yeesh kid, don't sneak up on me like that!” he barked. “That's a good way to get whacked upside the head!”

“It's ok.” She waved it off like a near concussion was nothing. “Hey, do you wanna watch the Ducktective marathon with me?” She didn't wait for an answer and immediately pulled him onto the couch.

“Uh, what?” Stan asked blankly.

“It's my favorite TV show!” She said, as if that explained everything. “I can tell you've been major-leauge stressed since you got here. You should sit down and relax for a while.” She sat down on his lap to close the deal.

“Look, uh, Muriel…”

“It's Mabel.” She corrected him cheerfully.

“Sure. Mabel.” Stan repeated, trying to remember her name for later. “I haven't really felt safe sittin’ down and relaxin’ in a long time.”

“But you are safe now.” Mabel assured him.

Stan chuckled wryly. “Yeah, but try telling my brain that.”

He sat there for a beat, waiting for her to get up and let him go. She just stared back up at him.

“You're not gonna move, are ya?” He groaned.

“Nope!” She grinned back.

Stan knew he could easily just stand up and send the girl toppling to the floor, but there was a glint of determination in her eye that told him it would be better not to try.

“Alright, so what's this 'Ducktrucker’ show about?”

Stan was surprised how quickly he was taken in by a cartoon about a duck that solves mysteries, but really, weirder things had caught his attention before. He felt like he'd just started when the doorbell rang, and Mabel got up to invite her friend Grenda in. The big guy from the other day, Soos, also joined them for the premiere of the season finale.

The incredible thing was that Stan was actually enjoying this! He was actually loosening up and joining the conversation with these kids, talking about theories of what would happen, favorite characters and how they’d developed over the course of the show, and jokes that had made him laugh sincerely for the first time in years. Maybe Mabel had known what she was doing, getting him to sit down and relax for a bit.

The finale itself was pretty fun, but listening to everyone's reactions afterwards was even better.

“He had a twin brother all along? That's the big reveal we've all been waiting for?” Mabel asked incredulously.

“What a rip-off!” Grenda yelled.

“The fandom came up with that theory over a year ago.” Soos said.

“Eh, I dunno if I buy it.” Stan said. “Speaking as an actual evil twin here, I wouldn't shoot my brother, I'd just go around disguised as him and make trouble. Y'know, just to mess with him.”

Mabel scoffed and punched Stan in the shoulder playfully. “Pfft, you're not an evil twin!”

Stan put on his best evil grin. “You sure about that, sweet-heart?” The others all laughed.

“Still, it was nice to watch the finale without any distractions or games or family getting in the way.” Soos said. “Can you imagine if like, some paranormal thingum showed up right before the show started?”

Everyone laughed again, relieved that, for once, it had just been a normal, adventure-free day.

Ford came up from the lab the next morning, not even attempting to stifle an enormous yawn. He was exhausted. After an admittedly much needed break playing DDMD with Dipper yesterday, he'd spent the whole night working. Now at long last, the portal was dismantled. After all these years, he could finally sleep without the dread of knowing that monstrosity of a machine was waiting below to swallow the world whole.

No, now he just had to worry about the rift. Which was really just as bad, if not worse. After all these years of working on it, the portal was a danger that Ford knew well. The rift was something he knew very little about. Could it be contained permanently, or would he constantly be working to keep the rift out of Bill’s clutches for the rest of his life?

Oh well, another morning had come, and the world had yet to end. He'd better grab some breakfast, or Mabel would be on his case. Ford wondered idly who he’d find in the kitchen this morning. Stanley emptying to fridge, giving him a contemptuous glare before ignoring him entirely? The kids, planning some sort of workaholic intervention?

It was Stan, idly sipping a cup of coffee and wearing a painfully bright red and gold Hawaiian shirt.

“Stanley, where did you get that?!” Ford asked. Surely he didn't get such an outfit beyond the portal.

“Found it.” Stan replied coolly.

“Just because you're hanging around the house all day doesn't mean you can dress like a street light.”

“I'm not hanging around the house, I'm going into town with Mabel. Think I'll tell her I found this in your closet, too.”

“You're going out?!”

“Yeah, can't stay cooped up in this shack all the time.”

“O-of course not… I just… got the impression you didn't feel ready for such a big step yet.”

“And what makes you think you're an expert on what I feel suddenly!?” Stan snapped.

Ford recoiled, like his brother’s words had physically stung him. “Sorry. I’m actually happy to hear you’re going to get a bit of fresh air, meet some new people.

“What do you care?” Stan grunted sullenly.

“Why is it so hard for you to believe I actually care about you!?” Ford asked in exasperation.

“Aw, gee, could it be the fact that you left me stranded for thirty krutacking years!?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have exactly been saving you if I brought you home just in time for the end of the world!”

“Or maybe it’s the fact that as soon as I got back you recreated one of the worst days of my life and told me to take the kids and go!”

Stanford felt his temper flare. “I will do whatever it takes to protect this family! That may not always match up with what you want, Stanley! Don’t go guilting me for trying to protect you and the kids!”

Stan didn’t seem to have a retort for that. He just left in a huff. Ford found some grim satisfaction in getting the last word, but it was a very hollow victory. The old researcher spent all day cooped up in his lab, wishing he could talk to his brother, and then the moment Ford actually worked up the courage to talk to Stan, it quickly devolved into a shouting match.

“What is wrong with me?” He sighed forlornly, and smacked his head against the kitchen table.

Stan had wanted to leave rather quickly that morning, but Mabel wasn’t bothered. She liked to get an early start on the day. They began their walk into town talking about Stan’s bold fashion choices. Apparently he’d rummaged through Ford’s old clothes and found the brightest, loudest, most over-the-top apparel he could. Mabel assured her Grunkle that it was very chic and fashion-forward. The conversation drifted to Mabel’s love of sweaters and where she got her design ideas from. The young girl found that Stan was a very good listener, always chiming in at the right moment with his own joke or opinion. Their humor and personalities meshed together well.

Once they got into town, Mabel started the grand tour of Gravity Falls, Oregon, hitting all the places where she and Dipper had adventures over the summer.

“Here’s the arcade! Dipper brought one of the games to life with a magic cheat-code!” Mabel said as they entered the darkened building.

“Uh Mabel, I’m pretty sure we had these when I left.” Stans squinted, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

“Yeah, but that was back in the 80’s, when arcades were struggling to maintain relevance in the face of the increasing popularity of home consoles. These days arcades have found a niche market that brings together both oldschool nerdcore gamers and casual nostalgic gamers, both classic standing cabinets and cutting-edge AR.” A voice said to their right.

“Soos!” Mabel exclaimed when she turned and saw her friend holding a plastic toy guitar.

“‘Sup dudes.” Soos greeted them. “I’m here playing Power Chords of Death, how ‘bout you?”

“I’m showing Grunkle Stan around Gravity Falls, so he can see what it’s like living in 2012!” Mabel told him.

“Sweet! You wanna play a modern-day videogame?” Soos asked Stan.

Stan gave him a surprised look. “Really?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Well I’ve only got one arm, for starters.” Stan said dryly.

“No problem, dude.” Soos assured him. “We got a left-handed controller over here. All you really have to do with your other hand is hit the strummer in time with the beat, so if I just…” He got down on his hands and knees and started messing with the wiring, “...switch this bit from that doohickey… and move this here… oop, almost electrocuted myself! ...There!” he stood back up. “I rigged it so now you can use the foot-pedal from the drum instead of the strummer!”

Stan hadn’t actually been interested in playing (he’d never really cared for video games that weren’t gambling-related) but now that the guy had gone through all this trouble, he felt obligated to play. He was pleasantly surprised anyone would go to such lengths just to include him. He didn't want to seem ungrateful.

“Alright, let’s give it a shot.”

“Oooh, Grunkle Stan, you should play Danger-Lane to Highway Town!” Mabel suggested. “It’s the only song on this game I know all the words to!”

“What? I’ve never even heard of that song!”

“That’s cuz it’s from a movie that came out in ‘86. It’s ok if you don’t know the song, you just have to hit the same colored button as the one on the screen when it reaches the picture of the guitar at the bottom.” Soos explained. “This is a co-op game, so I’ll be playing the notes on the right side of the screen. This game has a thing where if your partner chokes, you can save them.”

“Uh… good?” Choke? What was he talking about? What was there to choke on?

The music started up, and Stan saw the colored buttons start scrolling down the screen. He pressed the corresponding button on the neck of the guitar as it reached the bottom, but nothing seemed to happen.

“You gotta tap your foot in time with the music!” Soos reminded him.

Stan started tapping the pedal Soos had rigged up for him, then looked back at the screen and watched the colored buttons scroll by again. This time, as he pressed the buttons, the toy guitar he was holding started to play music! The same music that was coming out of Soos’s guitar and the game console! Well, almost the same. Stan’s sounded a little distorted, and cut out whenever he missed a button. But he got better as the song went on. All those years of honing his hand-eye coordination with that paddle-ball were finally paying off! Mabel joined in singing once they reached the lyrics.

As they played, arcade-goers began to gather around and watch. It started with just a few, but news that an old, one-armed guy with a scraggly beard and crazy clothes was playing Power Chords of Death spread quickly.

“Whoa, he’s actually not terrible!”

“Look at him go!”

“His adequacy is amazing!”

“I am impressed because he is both old and disabled. But mostly because he’s old.”

“Soos, did you rewire one of my games again!?”

“This is gonna get so many views online.”

They had quite the crowd going by the time the manager threw them out.

They continued on with their tour to the library and the museum and the pool and the local newspaper. In each place Mabel told a story, sometimes assisted by Soos. Stories like putting together an epic sock-puppet show that was crashed by Bill, or the 8 ½ president lost to time, or her first kiss with a merman, or meeting a creepy reporter. In each place Mabel went out of her way to introduce Stan to everyone. And while she was doing this, Stan noticed a few things.

Everyone knew Mabel. A lot of people knew Soos, but they had yet to come across a single person who didn’t know Mabel. And she greeted each and every person like they were an old friend, even if as they walked away Mabel occasionally said something like “That’s Toby Determined. He’s messed up.” or “That’s Bud Gleeful! His son tried to kill us!”

“You kids come here every summer?” Stan asked.

“Nope! This summer is our first time coming here to Gravity Falls!” Mabel replied.

It was incredible how quickly Mabel had endeared herself (or at least introduced herself) to the whole town. Sure, Gravity Falls wasn’t exactly an overpopulated urban center, but it wasn’t the sticks either. They had a mall and a mini golf place, which didn’t really scream rural. The way she seemed to know everyone was an impressive feat.

The other thing Stan noticed was really driven home when they reached the police station.

“This is where me and Dipper broke Grunkle Ford out of jail from the government guys! You remember them! That was the day you got here!” Mabel pointed to the jail excitedly.

“Oh yeah, that was the day I had to throw down those agent dudes!” Soos remembered.

“Wait wait wait, lemme get this straight. You an’ your brother busted Ford outta there while it was crawlin’ with feds single-handed?” Stan asked incredulously.

“Well, we did get some help from Tyler and all the other guys at the bar to keep them from following us while we escaped,” the girl clarified, “But other than that, yeah!”

The look on Stan’s face was not just one of shock, but of a growing dread. This was lost on Mabel.

“One more stop to go!” She led them to Greasy's Diner. That lifted Stan’s spirits immediately. Mabel pointed out some local delicacies on the menu: Lumberflapjacks, beavertail steaks, roadkill ravioli, and of course, the waitress’ special: coffee omelette. Stan ordered the special out of morbid curiosity.

“Hmmm…” He chewed the rubbery omelette thoughtfully, “s’not terrible, once you get past the burnt coffee taste. Woulda killed for one of these when I was lost in the Hailfire Peaks on Raretania 2.”

“If you like it, you should go tell Lazy Susan yourself!” Mabel suggested. “Maybe if you two start talking you’ll get to know each other better! You could even ask her for her number!”

“What, the classy lady over by the cabinet? She seems way out of my league…” Stan trailed off, “Waaaaait a sec, you didn’t bring me here just to try and set me up with some stranger, did you?”

“What? No.” Mabel denied, “I just knew since you like weird local food so much you’d love the diner. And when I saw Susan I remembered she had a crush on Grunkle Ford earlier this summer, but he didn’t reciprocate. So I thought, since you guys look just alike, she might like you too.”

Stan nearly choked on what was left of his omelette.

“Are you ok?” Mabel asked in alarm, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything! I should have just left it alone! Dipper’s right, I do get too involved in other people’s romance!”

Stan thumped his chest with his remaining hand a couple of times and finally swallowed the food down the right tube. “Ha-hack, s’fine, just… just the first time I’ve ever heard of somebody havin’ a crush on Ford. Caught me off-guard.”

Mabel sighed with relief. “Good. So you’ll go talk to her?”

“Nope.” Stan grunted.

“Aw, come on Grunkle Stan!” the girl complained. “I’ve introduced you to half the town, and so far the only person you’ve hit it off with is Soos!”

“Don’t take it personally kid, I don’t plan on gettin’ emotionally attached to anyone in this town. ‘Cept you kids, course.”  The old con man said.

“Grunkle Stan, maybe if you just give some of these people a chance, you’d want to stay here in Gravity Falls.”

“Mabel, this whole town is quelfed!” Stan exclaimed.

“What do you mean?” Mabel asked in confusion.

Her uncle sighed wearily, and took it from the top. “My brother may not think so, but I do realize what a big risk it was to open the portal and bring me back. I know what kind of consequences we’re dealin’ with here. I know Ford’s workin’ on sealin’ that rift, but Bill’s comin’. It’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when. And when he does… well, I’m not so worried about you an’ your brother, from what you’ve told me, it sounds like you two are survivors. You’ll find a way to make it together.

“But these townspeople? They barely know up from down! They don’t realize they got monsters running around in the woods, they line up around the block just to get a look at a party thrown by shazbots who won’t even let them in when a ghost is threatenin’ them, and they couldn’t keep my stupid brother locked up for more than a few hours! I thought my only hope was gonna be to fight Bill when I got the chance, but now… now it looks like we’re gonna have to settle for survive.”

“We can still fight Bill!” Mabel insisted. “We’ve beat him before!”

“Yeah, but he keeps on comin’ back. I’ve been lookin’ for a way to beat Bill for good the last twelve years.” Stan paused a moment, debating whether or not he should tell this story.  “You remember that story I told you ‘bout the time I invited Bill an’ my brother into my dream at the same time, and I found out Ford’s portal was operational, but he wasn’t gonna open it? Well, after that, things got weird. Well, weirder. I’d let Bill into my mind, and he wasn’t about to let me forget it. He couldn’t take control of me like a lot of other idiots who’d made a deal with him, but he was in my head day and night, messin’ with me, makin’ me see things. I was already in bad shape, I couldn’t take care of my stump properly by myself, I was still on the run from the royals I’d stolen the star rubies from, and Bill messin’ with my head on top of that wasn’t makin’ things any easier. I would’ve been a goner if it hadn’t been for her.”

“Her?” Mabel asked.

“Some giant space chick called Jheselbraum.” While Stan’s words weren’t exactly reverent, his voice certainly was. His tone softened considerably, and he lowered his gaze as if momentarily lost in a memory. “She’s the nicest person I’ve ever met, if not the nicest person in the multiverse. She swooped in an’ took me to her super-secret lair in the mountains, fixed me up, set me straight about Bill and what the jerk wanted with me an’ my brother, never expectin’ a single thing in return. She even gave me a way to keep Bill outta my head, even if it meant I wouldn’t be able to talk with Ford in my dreams anymore. Honestly, that seemed more like an extra perk at the time.” He leaned over the table towards Mabel and parted the hair at the back of his head, revealing an irregular patch of white. “Put a frellin’ metal plate in my head. See where the hair’s gone weird? That’s from the scar. I started growin’ my hair out to cover it up.

“Anyway, where was I… oh yeah. Once Jheselbraum explained what Bill’s deal was to me, I figured out he was the reason my brother wouldn’t open the portal. It was pretty obvious I’d have to get rid of that monster if I wanted to get home. No Bill, no reason Ford shouldn’t open the portal. So Jheselbraum set me up with a robo-arm, gave me a few pointers on Bill, and sent me on my way.

“Right before I left, she told me I’d see my family again. It took so long, I started wonderin’ if she was messin’ with me the whole time, but… here I am. Never should’ve doubted her.”

“So wait, if you spent all that time looking for a way to beat Bill, you must’ve found some stuff that can help us, right?” Mabel asked hopefully.

The old con man sighed. “It’s hard to learn anything about someone like Bill. Anyone who ever did know anything about him is either on his side, driven insane, or dead. For all those years of searchin’, it seemed like all I ever found was dead ends… until…” He looked around surreptitiously. “Hey, is that cute waitress watchin’ us?”

“No.”

“Anybody else?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That’ll have to do. There a bathroom in this place?”

“Yeah, follow me!” Mabel led her uncle to the restroom. He gave another fruitive glance to make sure no one and nothing was watching, grabbed Mabel by the wrist, and darted through the door.

“Hey! This is the boy’s bathroom! I can’t be in here!” Mabel protested.

“Hey, keep it down!” Stan shushed her as he carefully inspected the bathroom graffiti. He found one that was vaguely triangle-shaped and slapped a square of wet toilet paper over it.

“And I thought Grunkle Ford was paranoid…” Mabel muttered under her breath.

“Ok.” The old man nodded, satisfied that there was no way they were being watched. He twisted the round end of his staff, revealing a hidden compartment. “Feast your eyes on this!”

The end of the staff glowed blue, until Mabel looked directly at it. Then, there was just a plain old chunk of rock. “Uh, this is just a pebble.”

“Not exactly. It’s like some sorta quantum thingy. Like Schrodinger’s Cat or whatever.” Stan explained. Mabel looked at him blankly.

“Uh, when you look at it, it’s normal. When you look away, it’s radioactive and junk..” He tried again.

“Oooooookaaaaaay.” Mabel said slowly. That made slightly more sense.

“So not too long ago, maybe second-to-last dimension I was in before I got back here, I ran into a parallel universe version of Ford, where he somehow managed to fix the portal so it wouldn’t work for Bill with some help from his friend/assistant guy. But Bill still had control of Ford. It was my brother’s dream come true, but he couldn’t even be on the same floor as the portal without that jerk monster taking hold of him. Obviously, they were pretty invested in gettin’ rid of Bill too. So assistant guy and I use the good portal to go lookin’ for some theoretical elements or whatever that could ‘disrupt Bill’s extradimenstional form’ or somethin’ like that. Honestly, a lot of what they were sayin’ went over my head. What I got out of it was we were gonna make a gun to blow up Bill.

“Anyway, me an’ the assistant guy went to some super-bizarro-paradox world where we found this.” He gestured with his stump to the plain looking rock sitting in the hidden compartment of his staff. “We were in the middle of arguing over what to call it when his parallel/bizarro version showed up an’ he had to split. The jerk left me behind! Luckily I already had my own resources for dimension-hopping by then, but still! I’d wanted to talk to them about what they’d done to fix the portal and pass it on to my Ford somehow, but I never got the chance. So I had a piece of quantum junk that might be the key to beatin’ Bill, and no idea what to do with it.

“But in the end, none of it mattered. I showed up here maybe a week later. Turns out I didn’t have to fight Bill to get home. I’ll just have to fight him if I want it to stay home. And so far, I’m not likin’ the looks of my allies.” He said gravely as he closed the compartment in his staff.

“Hmm…” Mabel was deep in thought. “This assistant guy… did he have a really big nose, talk like a crazy robot-obsessed Colonel Sanders, and play the banjo?”

“Uh, yes to the first two, not sure about the last one.”

“That must have been parallel McGucket! Maybe he and Grunkle Ford can figure out what their parallel versions were gonna do with it!” Mabel suggested.

Stan grumbled. “I was afraid you were gonna say somethin’ like that.”

Mabel took his hand gently. “Grunkle Stan, I know you’re really mad at your brother right now, but you both wanna stop Bill and protect your family, right?”

“...Yeah.” Stan huffed.

“And the best way to do that is to work together, right?”

“Alright, I get it! That doesn’t mean I gotta like it. Now come on, let’s get outta here.” He climbed on top of the toilet and opened the window.

“Why are you trying to climb out the window?” Mabel asked.

“I don’t have any money to pay for lunch, do you?”

It was nice and cool in the shade of the forest as they walked home that afternoon.

“Thanks for today, kiddo. I feel a lot better gettin’ that all off my chest.” Stan thanked the young girl skipping beside him. “Sorry to dump all that on you, though.”

“Pch, that’s what family’s for, dum-dum!” Mabel pushed him playfully.

“Eh…” the old man shrugged. “Oh, hey, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t repeat any of that to Ford or your brother. It’s kinda… personal.”

Mabel made an exaggerated face of thinking it over. “Ok, but only if you promise you’ll tell them yourself!”

“Yeah, sure, I promise. Whatever.”

Stanley had to be going soft. He actually felt bad for lying to her like that.

[tumblunni]

Ok so.. I feel really ungrateful as fuck saying this.. but it kinda bugs me how much perrin being nonbinary just.. isn’t really shown at all.

At least, in what i’ve seen so far, yknow? I watched the first ep of someone else’s let’s play to see if i was gonna like this game, and i like this game SO MUCH that I stopped right there and am downloading it at the speed of light yo!!! My hype is maximum and I really don’t want this to be seen as a hate message or anything, it's just a mild opinion piece about something that bummed me out a little, as a nonbinary person.

Ok so.. again, this makes me sound like an ASSHOLE but I have to say it.. Perrin looks like a boy. 100% of all LPers I have seen have assumed they were a boy. I, a nonbinary person, assumed they were a boy. (And felt like absolute shit afterwards, man I still have to work on my internalized gender stereotypes!)

Now in real life I absolutely wouldn’t go around being some douchebag who tells other NB folk they aren’t dressing ‘right’, or whatever. In real life people can feel very different ways about being outside of conventional gender norms. Some people feel like “both at once” or “neither” or “something else entirely that doesn’t touch either side of our society’s current binary stereotypes”. And regardless of whether you’re agender/bigender/genderfluid or any other type of genderqueer person, your fashion sense doesn’t have to fit any strict rule to “prove” it to people. Some people try and dress in androgenous stuff, some people try to mix parts of both gendered fashion worlds, some people like to wear very neutral baggy stuff as a different way of being androgenous, some people like to wear wild and fun stuff that never had any gender stereotype in the first place/because it helps them feel confident in themself if they have a big brave kind of fashion, yknow? (that’s why I dyed my hair at least, and why I think a lot of lGBT people do) And of course, some people just prefer ‘feminine’ or ‘masculine’ clothes regardless of not being that gender, and if we can accept that cis women can enjoy ‘tomboy’ fashion then we should accept that trans people don’t have to fit into even more rigid fashion rules in order to ‘earn’ their gender.

BUT this isn’t real life, it’s a videogame

We have a lot more context here, with the context that this is a character designed within a fandom whose previous attempts at NB representation have kinda started setting up a trend. In that context, this is a bit worrying that it’s happened again, and maybe future fangame creators are feeling like they have to do it, or something?

Like the NB protagonist Pluto in Pokemon Uranium.

They’re still someone I deeply love, but their design looks incredibly masculine aside from a side ponytail. If anything their design communicates more that they’re a younger option compared to the other two, or something?

And the two NB protagonist options Ari and Decibel in Pokemon Reborn

Their designs look like more traditionally masculine and feminine-leaning ways of being nonbinary, ykno? And that wouldn’t be bad on it’s own, but let me try and explain what I mean...

A similar issue occurs in the unrelated dating sim Hustle Cat:

Which is generally incredibly progressive and actually the first dating sim I’ve ever seen that lets you play a nonbinary protag! But you still get only two character models to choose from.

Like it’s great that they had two options to aknowledge how not all trans people are the same, but it starts to look a bit.. odd, when those two options are ‘feminine and masculine’ and no form of androgenous is ever an option. or even like.. someone with a ‘masculine’ body build but a ‘feminine’ fashion sense. That would be kind of a stereotypical way to depict a trans character but it wouldn’t just be making a random design that could fit amoungst the already existing gendered protags and then just saying they’re trans. And a lot of people found it weird how these ones seem to be drawn as like.. both on the far masculine end, just a cis man and a trans man.

Like.. even as a nonbinary person myself, I wouldn’t have known these characters were nonbinary if you hadn’t told me. And that leaves me feeling horrible about myself that I judged them on first sight, but I mean this is within a genre of entertainment that’s literally never had any Me in it and i’ve got used to being all ‘no you’re just reading too much into it’ whenever i headcanon anyone as genderqueer...

And just.. I feel like if you’re gonna just draw another two masculine and feminine looking characters, or just a second masculine one (or a weird two masculine ones that’re labelled male and female with no option for in-between...) then couldn’t you have saved time by just letting us choose our pronouns for the two you already had? like I already play a lot of games headcanoning the protag as just a masc-fashion version of my enby self, I feel like kinda the point of adding a third design would be to make it something the others aren’t already delivering. Look at it this way, you already HAVE two nonbinary characters who look masculine and feminine, just like the player could also play them as a trans boy and trans girl. Pronoun selector box is the greatest invention of our time! So what I’m really saying is not “don’t have super masc NB protags” but just “can we have another option too?”

Oh, but then that’s also been done not-so-well by certain games too.. Awesome amazing multiplayer party game dating sim Monster Prom let’s you choose your pronouns!

...except these are your only character options! All of these are very clearly intended to be read as masc or femme, you’re probably gonna feel dysphoric as heck if you play them as trans, and none of them work super well as nonbinary either. I think pretty much every NB player has always gone for Oz (yellow one), cos he’s the one that’s most capable of fitting that headcanon just by virtue of being perpetually shadowed. Tho still his default is “he” pronouns, his fashion sense is masc and his voice is masc. Still I’m really fuckin proud of the fandom for collectively latching onto NB Oz and using “they” all the time in fanworks, and then the developers being okay with it, like holy shit man you healed my goddamn heart... <3

Still, it makes me feel a lil like this would have been easy to fix? like I’m not saying redraw everything to have them all change bodies/fashion style depending on your pronoun choice, but like.. maybe just not draw them with such super disparate body styles in the first place? like in this style every girl is hourglass and has weird legs out arms out pose, and every dude is a chunkfest with twice as big hands and feet. Like you could have maybe just made two of the characters be a very curvy girl and a very buff boy, and then the other two be more neutral in appearance but still retaining the same designs. Like I think if you just gave the blue girl a baggier shirt that doesn’t highlight her boobs and hips so much, she could easily be my favourite ‘most NB-able’ design! maybe also tone down the eyelash and lipstick effects?

I think probably a similar thing could have been done with the Reborn protagonists? like there’s nothing inherantly feminine about wearing a tanktop and having a fancy undercut hairstyle and such, its just the way they drew Ari that makes them look feminine. I guess maybe that’s a necessary evil of fangames, since they usually use edits of already existing characters from the games? Then again the games have plenty of androgenous characters already, even if nobody is canonically confirmed as LGBT. *shrug*

Anyway

I absolutely am not trying to nitpick and attack the game for not being perfect in this one aspect. i’m still super excited to even see someone like me in a videogame at all, and I’m definately not one of those people who’s like ‘I’d rather have nothing than have something flawed’. I already admire you greatly for what you’ve done for the inclusivity of this fandom, and I hope that my discussion of this stuff doesn’t discourage you from continuing.

And I guess my point is, in summary

What I mean is not “there are no nonbinary people who prefer to dress masculine instead of androgenous”, but instead that when you’re designing a nonbinary person as the only option a nonbinary player gets or the only nonbinary person in the game, with no playable option, it would probably be a little better to draw them androgenous.

Like, you’ve put that NB character into the role of representing all nonbinary people ever, to the hypothetical audience of people who’ve never heard of the concept before and aren’t super educated about the intricacies of gender presentation. And then also rather than using traditionally gendered outfits to aknowledge that NB people have many ways to present themselves... you’ve given us less ways to present ourselves.

Also it’s a little bit odd that you have an NB rival but said “we’re not ever considering an NB player option in the future”. Sorry but I cannot understand the logic? Like.. you know NB people play your game if you wanted to put NB representation in it, but you didn’t put it as playable because... reasons?? I hope maybe that interview was just taken out of context and you meant something more like “it’s not planned for now because it’s a lot of work and the game is still in its demo stage”, which is absolutely an understandable reason and how Uranium and Reborn did it. But Uranium and Reborn were kinda odd for being a world where literally nobody else aside from you could ever be NB, so I am really grateful that your game did add an NB character. And one in a big role!! This is what i mean about how grateful I am and how I feel awful that my bad internet typing skills are making this post come off as more aggressive than intended.. *sigh*

OH and also maybe a tip for Periin? just.. like.. mention their pronouns. It’s really frustrating to watch everyone doing let’s plays of this thing and constantly assuming Perrin is male because their design is very masculine. Even me! Even me was assume! :( So like... maybe just have Perrin actually tell the audience that they are nonbinary at some point, during this introduction? or have the protagonist’s inner monologue mention it, or another character mention it on the way towards meeting Perrin? like I dunno, maybe a Perrin fan npc?cos it would seem a bit more natural to talk about gender if it’s someone saying “wow I admire Perrin’s androgenous fashion sense” rather than like.. a stranger saying “i can’t tell if you’re a boy or a girl from your face”.

I can understand how it can be tricky to figure out how to introduce a LGBT character’s LGBT-ness without having them go around saying it to every new person they meet, it’s something I’ve had to fix in the editing process even as a trans person writing trans characters. But just having their gender only be mentioned on missable promotional material outside the game means that a lot of players won’t ever hear about it, and it like.. has zero impact of actual inclusivity on the game. It’s why people were angry about DUmbledore only getting revealed as gay after the series already ended. Him being gay missed all of its chances to make gay readers of the series feel welcome, or have any part of his character be informed by his sexuality. like the plot between him and grindlewold could have been way more effective if it was him losing a boyfriend to the dark arts, just sayin...

anyway whatever, bunni is bad at writing coherant posts in summary thanks for perrin and sorry for whining about perrin, aaaaa

[yuriyuu]

Pretty Boy

Sometimes Yuri misses it, misses the short skirts and the cute dresses and the thigh high stockings with the garter belts, misses the way his legs look in high heels. He misses kissing boys, having his lipstick smeared all over their necks and faces. He’d never admit it out loud, and he'd never be seen in public like that, but maybe, just maybe Viktor can convince him to indulge in such things again.

Pairing: Viktor/Yuri P

Word Count:  6250

Rating: M

Please note that this fic contains non-explicit sex scenes and crossdresing kink with a trans male character, so please be aware of that. 

Written for the @yoi-shit-bang! The matching artwork was illustrated by @iron-stride and can be found here. Please give it a look! ^^

(read on AO3) 

There are many things in life Yuri loves to indulge in. He loves wearing tacky leopard print punk clothing, he loves foods which are way too high in carbohydrates, and he loves cuddling with cats, fur on his expensive black clothing be damned. Still, in spite of how unapologetic he is for his vices, there are some which burn in the abyss of his soul, never to see the light of day, and as he runs his fingers over the black pleather miniskirt on display, he is reminded of such things he yearns for that he will never, ever partake in.

“You want it, don’t you?”

Yuri jumps back, pulled away from his thoughts and attention averted from the skirt on display. He shoots a glare toward Viktor, “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” He grumbles a bit too loud. Viktor merely chuckles in response and lovingly wraps his arm around Yuri’s waist.

“Sorry about that, Kitten, I didn’t mean to startle you, but I suppose you were a bit lost in thought there.”

Despite his grumbling, Yuri leans into Viktor’s grasp, a silent apology accepted.

Still, Viktor’s not one to leave Yuri’s desires unattended to, and when his first inquiry goes unanswered, he’s quick to ask again.

“Still, that’s a cute skirt that got your attention. Do you want it?”

Yuri immediately bristles at the question, pulling away from Viktor’s arms and giving him a look, which is all it takes for Viktor to know he fucked up and asked the wrong thing.

“Do I look like a girl to you?” He growls, resentment dripping from his voice.

“No, no! Of course not!” Viktor says, putting his hands up in sign of apologies and yielding to Yuri’s sudden contempt.

That seems to placate him, as he hears him take a deep sigh and soon finds Yuri’s hand in his own.

“Hey, let’s go get ice cream,” Yuri says. It’s a question disguised as a statement, a silent let’s get out of here and not speak of this anymore , and Viktor happily obliges.

While he knows ice cream isn’t really want Yuri wants, it’ll at least make him smile and take his mind off of things which Viktor knows he’ll never be able to fathom. This isn’t the first time he’s caught Yuri staring longingly at things such as miniskirts and cute lingerie, and every attempt he’s made to buy Yuri such things is met with utmost venom. He remembers the younger days in which Yuri freely wore such things with confidence, but Yuri was also a different person back then, lived a different life than he does now. He can’t deny the struggle Yuri’s been through to get to where he is now, the heartache and the sacrifice. Maybe he doesn’t understand why Yuri denies himself what he wants, but he sure wishes he could help him learn that he no longer needs to sacrifice parts of himself for acceptance.

Of course, the last time he’d even dare suggest that, Yuri had gotten royally pissed off.

“You don’t understand, Viktor,” he had said, “Of course it’s just clothes for you. People like you get to wear whatever they want. People like you are celebrated when they fuck around with gender norms. People like me? We have to look our part. We don’t have the luxury of dressing outside of what’s expected of us. The minute I step away from that, everything I’ve worked so hard for will be stripped away from me.”

He really, really doesn’t understand how clothing could have so much power, but he remembers the long nights where he held Yuri as he cried from his parents hounding him over the daughter they claimed to have lost, that he was no son of theirs. He remembers Yuri isolating himself after the media outed him long before he was ready to tell the world on his own terms, if he ever even wanted to, and he sure as hell remembers the nasty comments and rumors which followed. The last thing he wants to see is for Yuri to deal with any of that again, not after the gossip finally died down and people seemed to have moved onto something else. Yuri’s much happier these days, living as Yuri, but the longing he sees in Yuri’s eyes at the cute feminine clothing is sometimes too much for Viktor’s heart to bear.

It’s a lazy weekend night in, and Yuri’s holed up in the bathroom playing around with his make up. If it’s one thing Yuri refused to give up, it was his make up.

“You think I’m gonna let some random person do my make up for shows? Yeah right. I’m doing my own thank you very much ,” is what he’d always say.

They have Georgi to thank for that. Viktor vividly remembers a few days after Yuri had come out, Georgi took him shopping for cosmetics, where they then spent the entire night in the bathroom playing with their new toys, sharing tricks and tips with each other. Viktor knows that Yuri would have probably given up make up too if it weren’t for him, and Viktor feels nothing but appreciation toward Georgi’s acceptance and support.

“Vitya,” Yuri says as he walks out of the bathroom into their living room, “What do you think of this lip color?”

He’s got on a deep crimson red, and Viktor can’t help but think about how the gloss he’s got layered on makes his lips look absolutely kissable.

“It makes me want to kiss you.”

Yuri scowls, blushing a bit as he does before it turns into laughter. “Funny you say that, I kissed my first boy I met at a party when I was 14 wearing a color similar to this. I remember I saved every penny I had to save up for that lipstick; it was my first high end one. Anyway, I went to that party wearing that, and I ended up making out with some hot older boy off to the side. By the time we were done, the color was all over his face and neck, and everyone knew what we had done. And you know what? I didn’t care. He was embarrassed, but I was damn proud of my work. He was my prize for the night.” He pauses for a moment, lost in thought before he adds, “Shame I never got his number. I think he was about to enter college, he could have hooked me up with some hot college boys.”

Viktor looks up at Yuri, and the flash of possessiveness in his eyes make Yuri’s mouth go dry. He chuckles slightly before saying, “Surely I’m better than some drunk college boys, no?”

He’ll never get over how Viktor’s slight jealous streak makes him weak in the knees. “I’ve kissed many drunk college boys before we got together,” Yuri begins to say as he makes his way over to Viktor, straddling his lap and bringing their faces dangerously close, “But you’re better than all of them. My only regret is I never got to lay my mark on you.”

“Then kiss me. Make me your prize.” It’s not a suggestion, but a command, and Yuri doesn’t need to be told twice. He instantly closes the gap between them, wrapping his arms roughly around Viktor and pulling him close. Sometimes Yuri’s kisses are shy and timid, but tonight, he’s anything but. Tonight, he’s all lust and insatiable hunger.

It’s not long before Yuri becomes bored of his lips, and begins trailing sticky, glossy kisses down his jawline and toward his neck. Viktor remembers kissing girls with lip gloss on, remembers the feeling being gross and sticky and unpleasant, but somehow Yuri leaving his aggressive lipstick trail down his face and neck does just does something for him in a way he didn’t quite expect, and boy, does he feel it in his gut.

When he feels Yuri begin to suck at the skin on his neck, he lets a noise halfway between a moan and a gasp. “Yuri! Wait,” he starts to say. He doesn’t really feel like walking around with hickies on his neck, but Yuri isn’t deterred.

“Oh hush,” Yuri says shutting him up with a kiss. “I’ll cover them up for you. You know I’m an expert at that.”

It’s true, and he’s seen Yuri cover up some pretty impressive bite marks that he’s so lovingly left on him in some quite obvious places. Maybe he should learn to be more thankful for Yuri’s escapades from his younger days. Viktor unfortunately, has grown to be a bit more modest in his older days, especially since he never managed to pick up the valuable skill of hiding your hickies with make up.

But right now, fuck modesty, seeing Yuri so into this is hot and turning him on beyond belief. He’ll make a noble sacrifice for this, his neck won’t mind.

Yuri seems to catch onto this, because he’s taken to grinding down on him as he kisses him all over the place.

“My Kitten is feisty today,” Viktor purrs into Yuri’s ear.

“Yeah? Let me suck your dick,” Yuri whispers back, his voice low.

Viktor supposes it’s pointless to say no, considering Yuri’s already sliding down in between his legs and slipping his pants off. Not that he would say no to Yuri sucking his dick anyway.

Neither of them intended to things to escalate so much. By the time they’re done, Viktor’s got the faint remains of Yuri’s crimson lip stick peppered about on his inner thighs, and he’s pretty sure it’s elsewhere on him too, not that he’s exactly complaining.

Yuri looks equally roughed up, what was once clean, sharp lines on his lips is now a smeared mess all over his face. It’s a good look on him, and Viktor wants to see more of that.

“You look hot like this,” Yuri tells him, tracing his handiwork on Viktor’s skin as they get ready to go in the shower. “This is the proof you’re mine now, and only mine. Shame it’s about to all be washed off.”

Viktor nonchalantly shrugs before saying, “Guess you’ll just have to make me your prize again.”

“Definitely. I think I’ll even wear purple next time.”

Yuri’s missed this, smearing his lipstick all over the boys he kisses, though nowadays, Viktor’s the only man he kisses, the only person he has any desire to make a mess of these days. It’s one of those things he didn’t know how much he missed, not until he got to actually do it again. And somehow, doing that as a boy made it that much hotter, so much sexier than his days of doing that as a girl.

Viktor seemed to be really into it too, though he supposes that’s the difference between kissing a random boy you meet at a party for a fling, and kissing a man you’ve been with for a while. It was always a turn off when those boys would make a big deal out of him getting lipstick all over them. Like duh? That’s the point? Viktor though, what an enabler he is.

If it’s one thing Viktor’s good at, it’s enabling people. One evening, during a round of after sex snuggling, Viktor has the gall to learn over and whisper, “Hey, you know what would be really hot?”

Yuri immediately scoffs. God, does he wanna know? Does he really wanna know whatever weird fetish Viktor is about to unload on him?

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“I think it would be really hot if you dressed up for me.”

It takes all of Yuri’s self-control to not smack him over the head with his pillow. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“I just think it would be really hot if you dressed up in some cute lingerie, maybe a short miniskirt with some thigh highs…”

Viktor hopes, he prays that Yuri will take the bait. He’s so much more confident when he gets to strut his femininity, when he gets to unapologetically own it. Accidentally discovering Yuri’s little lipstick kink was the best thing to happen, because shit, he’s never seen him so confident and in charge before. Something about that confidence felt different than his usual confidence, and Viktor can’t quite place what it was, but it did things to him and he wanted to see more of it. And judging by Yuri’s tendency to wear lipstick much more often around the house these days, he’s enjoying the feeling too.

But judging by Yuri’s incredulous stare and his gaping mouth, he’s not making very much progress.

“You’re crazy, absolutely out of your mind,” Yuri bristles, shaking his head. “I’m not dressing up like a girl for you just so you can get off.” Stupid Viktor.

Oh, ouch. Maybe he should have phrased that better, because the last thing he wants is to see Yuri as a girl, those days are long gone, and he needs him to understand that. “No, no. You wouldn’t be dressing up as a girl, that’s the last thing I want. No. You’d be a guy wearing some cute panties underneath a little miniskirt.”

He leans in toward Yuri, kissing him on the forehead and saying in a low voice, “You know, I’ve always had a thing for guys in short skirts.”

Yuri feels his face heat up and flush red. “You’re lying about that!”

“No! I’m not! My one ex and I used to crossdress for each other all the time,” The look of disbelief Yuri’s giving him is a bit unnerving. “...Really. We did. I actually might still have some of my old outfits...”

Viktor can’t help but feel embarrassed to admit that. Talking about your past sex life with an ex to your current long-term boyfriend just feels a bit...wrong. But he supposes Yuri talked about his past sexual escapades all the time with him, but that’s different, Viktor always reasoned, Yuri didn’t actually date any of those people.

Crossdressing, huh. Viktor’s got a thing for crossdressing. He’s surprised, but also not surprised at all. Goddamnit, why does Viktor always know how to get him to agree with him? Viktor knows he can’t dress this way, but damnit, if it’s for their private life then maybe it would be okay? No one would ever know, right? Ugh, he misses wearing mini skirts and showing off his legs. Shorts don’t and never have had quite the same appeal to him.

“Go to sleep, you’re delirious from sleep deprivation,” is Yuri’s response.

Well, it wasn’t an outright no, but Viktor decides that’s enough pushing the subject for one night.

Over the next week or so, Yuri spends more time than usual longingly browsing clothing websites and staring wistfully at all the cute skirts and dresses. High heels as well, can’t forget those. He adds shit to his cart, only to take it out, only to put it back in again.

He repeats the process for all of his favorite lingerie websites he used to buy from back in the day.

Suddenly, he regrets making Viktor throw out all of his old lingerie from when they first started dating, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter considering it’s not like any of it would fit anymore anyway. He no longer has boobs, and testosterone changed his body shape.

He buries his face into the couch pillow and groans. Why is life so difficult? This is what he’s been longing for, to be able to wear skirts and high heels and lingerie again, and Viktor’s gone ahead and provided the perfect chance for this. Yet, for whatever reason, he just can’t seem to jump on this opportunity. If Viktor and his ex-boyfriend can crossdress in bed together, why can’t he?

Hell, Viktor even specified that he likes guys in skirts. When he started dating Viktor back when he was a girl, he was never asked to wear a skirt in bed. Now that he thinks on it, the lingerie was more of his thing as well than Viktor’s thing back then during his pre-coming out days.

Overthinking would be the death of him. It would be for them, and them only. No one would know, there’s no one to judge. Plus, Viktor’s not stupid, he caught on a long time ago about how much Yuri misses girly clothing, and presenting it in a new light, Yuri decides that maybe, it’s fine. Yuri wants to do it, Viktor specifically likes boys in skirts, the stars have aligned and if he doesn’t do this now he never will and then he’ll hate himself for wasting the opportunity.

Later that night, as they’re curled up on the couch together watching some stupid TV show neither of them are particularly paying attention to, Yuri looks up at Viktor and says, “Hey, Vitya, take me shopping this weekend. I…” He doesn’t know why the next part is so hard and embarrassing to say. His heart is beating disproportionately in his chest all things considered, “I want to be pretty for you.” Not the most direct way of asking, but it’ll have to do. He’ll know what he’s talking about.

Viktor’s stupid grin makes the situation even more embarrassing. “I thought you’d never ask!”

If it’s one thing Yuri didn’t anticipate, it was how anxious he’d be actually buying things in person. He’s not an overly anxious person by nature, but this, this is overwhelming and all he can do is grumble to VIktor the entire time. It’s as if the entire mall just knows and is judging him and waiting to take his status as a man away.

Still, Viktor is unphased by Yuri’s grumbling. He wraps a protective arm around his waist, pulling Yuri closer and giving a small smile when he feels Yuri relax into him.

“Hey,” he begins to say, “let’s go see if that skirt you were looking at is still here. I think you’d look very cute in it.”

“Cute? Screw that. I’d look fucking hot in it, don’t you think?” Yuri’s got that haughty smirk on his face, the one VIktor loves to see.

“That’s the spirit! You’ll look amazing.” Viktor leans over to Yuri and whispers in his ear, “Especially when you show off your legs. I can’t wait.” He’s always had a weak spot for Yuri’s legs. Soft, long, and strong.

“You’ll need to buy me a pair of high heels then, so I can really show off my legs to you.”

By the time they get to the store, Yuri’s nerves seemed to have mostly calmed down. Luckily for them, the black pleather miniskirt is still there, and in what he guesses would be his size.

Yuri takes it off the rack, holding his breath as he does. He can’t believe he’s actually going through with this. How long has it been since he last wore a skirt? Too long, it’s been too long. But all that doesn’t matter now. Soon he’d be able to indulge himself, and Viktor as well.

“Are you going to try it on?”

He makes a face. “Hell no, not here. I’ll try it on when we get home. And plus,” Yuri says as he holds it up to his waist, “I’m pretty sure this is my size. It looks like it’ll fit, right?”

Before Viktor can respond, Yuri immediately shoves the skirt into his hands and says in one breath, “Anyway, thanks for buying this for me! Love you! See you outside by the ice cream stand!” With that said, Yuri turns around and bolts, leaving behind a very perplexed Viktor. He sighs to himself in amusement. How typical of Yuri, to be so excited and yet so bashful at the same time. He both gets and doesn’t get the rational behind Yuri’s nerves. To him, it’s just clothes, but to Yuri, it’s more than he can ever comprehend and he’s just formally resigned himself to accepting the fact he’ll never truly understand Yuri’s perspective. Still, it’s been a long while since he last saw him so excited over their shopping trips.

Viktor pays for Yuri’s skirt, and as promised, Yuri’s standing over by the ice cream stand, eating a cup of strawberry ice cream.

“Here, I bought you a chocolate cup because they’re your favorite,” Yuri says as Viktor makes his way over, handing him over a small cup of ice cream.

“Aww thank you. You spoil me,” Viktor coos, and Yuri just rolls his eyes.

They sit down on a bench somewhere off to the side together, eating their ice cream in a comfortable silence, at least until Viktor ends up breaking it.

“So, we need to get you a pair of high heels so you can show off those lovely, lovely legs of yours, right?”

“Damn right,” Yuri says while shoving the last remains of his ice cream into his mouth. “And the lingerie. We can’t forget that.”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t let that happen.”

They finish their ice cream, and the rest of their shopping continues on smoothly, with Yuri continuing to bolt every time Viktor has to go and pay. Oh well, what can you do?

The minute they get home from the mall, Yuri barricades himself in their bedroom with his new clothes. He stays in there for an awfully long time, and Viktor begins to suspect there might be something wrong. He knocks once on the door before asking, “Hey, is everything okay?”

Yuri jumps a bit when he hears Viktor knock. “Everything is fine! Don’t come in!” He yells back.

Really, he doesn’t mean to worry Viktor (or lock him out of their bedroom for that matter), but right now, he just wants to enjoy himself. He looks at himself in their full length mirror, looking at the way the lingerie clings to his flat chest, how it accentuates subtle curves of his body which lingered post transition. Curves used to be his enemy, but somehow seeing them in this light, especially now that he’s not anywhere near as curvy as he used to be, he finds he rather likes them like this. Plus, he’s totally enthralled by how cute his ass looks in the black ruffled panties they bought.

And when he tries on the skirt, the top, and the shoes they bought, he finds himself breathless. He finds his hands shaking as he puts on his outfit, unsure of whether or not dysphoria would ultimately kick his ass and ruin the entire thing. Would it be just like staring at his old self, his old life as a girl? He never wants to look like her again, she’s behind him now.

But after everything is on, he looks at himself in the mirror, and finds that he still looks like a boy, just prettier. Really, he’s speechless. He walks around their bedroom in his new heels, clacking them against the hardwood floor. Years of not wearing heels leaves him a bit wobbly, but he soon catches his momentum again.

The sound of his heels clicking against the ground, it’s another thing he’s missed.

Viktor, he can’t wait to show Viktor. He almost runs out of the room in giddy drunken excitement, but stops himself last minute. No. He wants Viktor to see him when he’s truly all dolled up, make up and everything, not when he’s hastily trying on clothes after a long day.

So he takes everything off, dresses back to his normal clothes, and leaves their bedroom.

“How does everything fit?” Viktor asks as Yuri walks into their living room

“Everything’s fine,” he replies. He doesn’t sound particularly excited, but Viktor knows that’s him being shy about it. If he wasn’t excited, he wouldn’t have spent the past hour holed up in their bedroom staring at himself in their mirror.

“Do I get to see?”

Yuri hums slightly to himself before plopping down into Viktor’s lap like an overgrown cat. “Hmm...not yet,” he says, “I want it to be special for you.”

Viktor can’t help but feel a bit bummed out that Yuri wouldn’t let him see him in his new clothes quite yet. Really, he supposes Yuri has his reasons, and he’s not about to push him, but damn was he really looking forward to it.

Some time passes, and neither of them pushed the topic since the weekend they went shopping. Viktor would be a dirty liar if he said he wasn’t getting a bit impatient, however. Still, after a day of running continuous errands, he was not expecting to walk through the door and be greeted with what he was greeted with. He’s greeted with Yuri, sitting cross legged on the couch, the straps of his lingerie top he has on peeking through his shirt which is slightly off the shoulder and hanging low on his chest. He’s got the skirt on, and the straps of his high heels wrapped around his calves make only serve to make his legs look better than usual if Viktor dares say so himself.

Yuri immediately looks up from his phone when he hears Viktor walk through the door, and Viktor immediately notices his make up. It’s dark, smoky, and sultry, and he’s wearing the same exact crimson lipstick which served as the catalyst to this from so many weeks ago.

He makes his way over to Viktor, heels clicking on the floor as he does. He’s no longer wobbly, as he’s made sure to perfect his strut for this. “How do I look?” He purrs.

Viktor can barely believe how good Yuri looks like this. He’s seen him dress like this before, back when he had the body of a girl, but seeing him dressed like this in the way he truly sees himself, in a body he’s actually grown to love and be comfortable in, he looks more than good, and Viktor can feel the confidence radiating off of him in a way he’s never quite felt before.

“You look amazing,” Viktor whispers, breathless.

He feels Yuri link their hands together. “Good,” Yuri says, “I wanted to be pretty for you, as pretty as I could be, but I also wanted to surprise you. Now come,” he continues saying as he gently tugs Viktor in the direction of their bedroom, “Come rough me up, let me be your prize. If you won’t do that, I’ll just have to rough you up and make you my prize.”

“Wait,” Viktor commands him, “I want to look at my prize, really look at him and enjoy him. It’s been a long day; I want to relax a bit, and I want you to sit there and look pretty while I do.”

Yuri clicks his tongue in mock annoyance. “Yeah, I guess I can just sit here and look pretty for you.”

Viktor can’t help but chuckle at Yuri’s impatience. “Patience, Kitten. You went through all of this trouble to look beautiful for me,” he says, brushing Yuri’s bangs out of his eyes and planting a gentle kiss on forehead, “So let me sit and enjoy the result, okay?”

He nods. Yuri supposes it’s only fair after he made Viktor wait for so long.

“Good, now go stand next to the TV where I can see you,” he tells him as he sits down on the couch and turns on the television. Yuri obeys, and they both know Viktor’s not gonna be paying to the TV at all, that it’s only turned on as a formality.

Still, Yuri obediently stands where Viktor can see him, can really take him in. He feels his face flush a bit knowing he’s got all of Viktor’s attention, knowing he’s being hungrily eyed up and down. It’s almost bit overwhelming, yet seeing the lust in Viktor’s eyes is exhilarating. Tonight, he’s Viktor’s eye candy, and somehow, that makes him feel powerful, that eventually Viktor will break down, unable to resist any longer. He can’t help but wonder which one of them will give in first, but deep down, Yuri knows it will be him giving in. The fact Viktor’s been eye fucking him is already making him squirm impatiently, and all Yuri wants is for Viktor to pin him down, make a royal mess out of him, and fuck him into the mattress.

Viktor though, he’s got the patience of a saint when he wants to. He’s established that tonight, he’s in control, and hell will freeze over before he lets Yuri have it back.

Still, he’s not totally ignorant to all of Yuri’s increased squirming.

“You can sit down if you’re feet hurt,” Viktor says.

“Oh please,” Yuri grumbles, “My feet are fine. I can stand here all day, but I just want you to fuck me already.”

“So you’re just horny? You can wait a bit longer then. I'm rather enjoying you like this.”

Yuri just pouts and whines. “Viktorrr.”

Viktor has to admit, seeing Yuri so worked up over how much he wants him is doing things to him too. He’d love nothing more than to carry Yuri to their bedroom right this instant, but no, he wants to soak in Yuri’s beauty a bit more, really let Yuri feel how much he wants and appreciates him. Judging by how flustered he looks over there, Yuri’s feeling it.

Plus, those legs in those heels, he can stare all day, and the way the straps of his lingerie peek through his exposed shoulder is starting to tease him more and more. He really, really can't wait to unwrap him and see what's underneath.

That's when he decides that maybe he’s had enough of simply looking. He motions over toward Yuri. “Come.”

Yuri immediately does, and the moment he’s in reach, Viktor pulls him down into his lap and kisses him. He knows lipstick is about to get everywhere, but that's just part of the fun.

“I'm ready to unwrap my prize,” Viktor whispers into Yuri’s ear, his hand creeping up his thigh and under his skirt.

“Finally. I thought you’d never-” He stops mid sentence and turns slightly red when he feels Viktor’s hand roughly cup his ass. Boys cupping his ass underneath his short skirts, he’s glad he can share that experience with Viktor.

“You’re wearing the panties.”

“Of course, and my ass looks amazing in them. Don't you wanna see?”

“Get up, let me take this off you.”

Yuri does, and Viktor slips his fingers under the elastic band of the skirt and slowly begins sliding it down passed Yuri’s hips and thighs and letting it drop down around his ankles.

“Arms up,” Viktor says tugging upward on the shirt Yuri’s wearing, “Time to take this off too.”

How slowly and delicately Viktor is undressing him drives Yuri crazy, but when the shirt is discarded off to the side somewhere, the look of absolute amazement on Viktor’s face drives Yuri even crazier.

“You’re beautiful and so, so pretty. I can hardly get over this,” Viktor whispers softly to him. “I hope you know how beautiful you are.”

“I feel beautiful, I really do. I love the way you’ve been looking at me all night and it's driving me absolutely crazy.” Yuri doesn't add on that he’s never felt more beautiful in his life, that he never realized he could feel this enticing to someone, but they both know. Some things don't need words. It's one thing to feel hot and attractive, Yuri usually feels attractive, but it's another to really be able to feel Viktor’s lust for him, to know he's really driving him nuts and testing his self control. It's powerful and intoxicating, and Yuri feels as if he could get drunk off the feeling.

“Turn around, I wanna see everything.”

Yuri turns around, and he's greeted with Viktor grabbing his ass before giving it a small unexpected slap, causing him to yelp slightly. Well, he’s certainly glad his ass looks slappable according to Viktor.

“You’re right, your ass does looking amazing in these.”

“I know it does,” Yuri replies, giving it a slight wiggle. He can be quite a cheeky shit at times, but it’s one of the many reasons Viktor loves him.

Then suddenly, Viktor roughly pulls him down, pinning him between his body and the couch. “I'm gonna make a mess of you,” he says.

Yuri grins. “About time!”

Viktor’s especially rough tonight, not that Yuri minds. His kisses are all lust and hunger, and all Yuri can do is writhe underneath him as Viktor sucks bruises into the more sensitive areas of him. When Viktor takes a fist full of hair and yanks back to expose more of his neck, Yuri moans. He drove Viktor to this point of debauchery, and he was going to revel in every moment of it since he's damn satisfied with himself.

Soon enough, Viktor decides he's bored marking up Yuri’s neck, and he pulls Yuri up toward him and repositions him so that he's sitting up. Viktor wastes no time before spreading Yuri’s legs apart and sinking into the area between them on his knees. Yuri barely has time to react before he feels Viktor’s rough grip on his ass as he goes to work marking up his inner thighs.

It's not long before Viktor realizes the panties are now in the way and decides that they need to go. Yuri’s got his hands knotted up in Viktor's hair, moaning and babbling incoherently as Viktor slowly and teasingly works between his thighs.

“Stop teasing me and fuck me,” Yuri’s getting more and more desperate the closer Viktor brings him. Soon enough, Viktor brings him there and his grip tightens in Viktor's hair. He moans louder than intended to, and all Viktor can do is chuckle in amusement as Yuri slightly slumps down over him as he loosens grab onto his hair.

“Now I think I'm ready to fuck you since now I get to work you up all over again. You know, working you up like that is my favorite part,” Viktor coos. Yuri just glares the entire time as Viktor carries him to their bedroom.

By the time they're done, they're both a mess. Yuri’s got mascara and eyeliner running down his face, and lipstick is haphazardly smudged across both their faces. Yuri's neck is a mess of bite marks, and Viktor’s now sporting some as well.

Yuri’s always the most affectionate after sex, and this time proves to be no exception.

“Hey, Vitya…” He says, cuddling closer into Viktor's arms. “Thank you for that. I...I kind of needed that. I missed that a lot. I just never realized how much. And doing this...it was better than I thought it would be. I didn’t think I’d ever get to experience those things again.” He looks away a bit, feeling stupid for spilling his feelings like this.

It’s a culmination of little things he’s missed. Heels clicking across the floor as he walks, showing off his legs, the mess of make up, feeling powerful and sexy and desirable and unapologetically feminine. It’s all things he assumed he’d never experience again since coming out, that he’d have to sacrifice for the sake of people taking him seriously. But Viktor knew, and Viktor knew how to get him to pay attention to those sides of him again. Maybe he doesn’t get it entirely, and as angry as he’d get, he’s glad Viktor didn’t give up on pushing him.

Viktor leans over and kisses the side of Yuri’s head. “I know you did, and I'm glad we got to indulge each other. You really did look lovely like that.”

“I felt nice, I really did. I’ll never let anyone see me like that though, no one except you. That's for your eyes only.”

Viktor hums to himself. That he can live with. He understands Yuri isn’t willing to express that side of himself in public, and to be honest, after seeing him tonight, he doesn’t want to share that with anyone. It’s a sign of Yuri’s trust to be seen like that, and that’s part of what made it special. “Good, you’re too beautiful like that to share with anyone else. I want to be selfish and keep that side of you all to myself.”

“Good, it's a deal then. When do we do this again?”

“Whenever you want, but first, let's go get cleaned up. You look like you're about to fall asleep.”

It's not long before Yuri sends Viktor on some errands, only to come home and find him sitting on the couch, all dressed up and ready for him. This time he's got on tiger stripe panties, slightly hidden by a short black skirt. He’s got on a matching top, but more importantly, Viktor notices the thigh highs being held up by garters. The fact Yuri remembered his secret love of thigh highs makes his heart swell. His hair is clipped back as well, which is nice because he loves Yuri’s eyes.

“I got you something too,” Yuri says to Viktor as he points toward their bedroom, “Come be pretty with me.”

Viktor grins at the thought of dressing up with Yuri. “I’d love to.”

They’ve both opened up Pandora’s Box with this, but neither of them would have it any other way. This is their thing, away from the judging eyes of the outside world, and nothing would ever take that away from them.  

[clothestop]

Hi, I'm not sure if this will be weird to ask but i've read that you have a math degree and knows how to code so i hope you can give me some advice regarding my career choice. If that's okay. Tbh i'm still not sure if i should take up computer science or pure mathematics. Math is my favorite subject in school and the more i study college-level theoretical math, the more i realize that i would want to do this professionally.

But i also considered computer science because i’m weighing the employability of both majors and i know that i could get a more stable job with comp sci. I’m so confused i’m sorry if my ask doesn’t make much sense but i have so many questions. May i ask what age did you start coding? And like my dilemma, i’m wondering why you went with pure mathematics and didn’t take up computer science. What put you off? Also, how did you start coding/ what made you start learning how to code? Did you take up comp sci classes? I’m a 17 yr old girl heading to university next fall but i just started learning how to code last year so i feel a bit left out. I’m really enjoying it so far but thinking of a possible career with it, i’m also scared as a woc in that kind of field. This may sound silly but like what the tumblr saying goes: i don’t want to be a sell out while i work for something i love. Lastly, i know that even if i’m still a beginner and there are a lot more things that i could learn in university. But in the meantime to prepare for that, what advice can you give to someone like me who is a beginner (words of encouragement, pros and cons, skills to develop etc etc)? Btw i’ve read that you lived in Southeast asian countries and i’m from SE asia currently living in the US so i relate to what i’ve been reading in your blog. Thank you for reading and sorry for

Hello there! No worries, I didn’t think that your ask is weird. And ofc, I’m more than glad to give you my advice :)

Well, I started with basic coding at around 12 or 11, eventually studied it extensively and moved to more complicated programming languages when I was 15 or 16—but I was already in uni during that time (uhm, yes I was younger than most of my peers). I play games a lot, and when I was younger, I dreamt of developing my own video game or website. And as a kid, you wouldn’t be surprised that I even thought of using my knowledge of coding with making cool stuffs™ like robots haha. To be honest, I wasn’t “put off” of taking up Computer Science; it’s just that my head had always been gravitating towards Pure Mathematics ever since. However, I admit that I did fancy taking up that degree because I was opting for another major that would *complement* my Pure Mathematics track, since my mum initially wanted me to have a degree that is “lucrative” to her standards. Basically, even if I didn’t end up pursuing Computer Science, we met at a compromise with me double majoring in Pure Mathematics and an applied maths major which relies on heavy programming as well. Despite being good at maths in school, programming was unarguably one of the most difficult things that I’ve studied. Not to mention that at the beginning, I was self-taught. After uni, I became more serious with my self-study, and even took up few short courses in Computer Sciences just because I’m really interested with it. Never considered to pursue it professionally, though.

If you look at the macro statistics of how students perform in different subjects, Singapore, Hong Kong, South Korea, Taiwan, Japan and China (particularly Shanghai) has always ranked really high in maths and sciences. Yet, until recently, most of the technological breakthroughs are happening in the West.. Or perhaps, most technological advancements that happened in Asia (mind you, not only in East Asian and Southeast Asian countries) weren’t relatively discussed and/or recognized in a global scale during the past few years. Furthermore, living in Caucasian-dominated countries, I know that minorities would always have to go through the eye of a needle to have our voices heard and our efforts recognized and properly credited; otherwise the achievements we had produced would never see the light of day, or worse, People in the Position of Power™ would take credit for what we worked hard for. (Disclaimer: I don’t live in the US)

Additionally, two years ago, reports disclosed by large tech companies like Google and Facebook show that females make up less than 20% of technical employees. Unfortunately this figure drops to single digits for the larger tech community. But you shouldn’t be fazed with these facts. Yes, this is a sad reality but we can do something to change the system. At present, females working in most industries (not just in tech companies. Believe me *sighs*) should work twice as hard as a man to get to the same place, and it was made into a norm that we should just be prepared to do that. Thus, at least eventually in the tech sector, the more girls who learn how to code, the less unequal it would get. If you think about it, apps and websites like Instagram and Facebook (and uh well, Tumblr) have a wide female user base. And I truly believe that women need to be part of the voice in creating this technology to serve the users more effectively.

Yes I’m Southeast Asian as well currently living in a Caucasian-dominated country (again, not the US). But I lived in different Asian countries, so I also understand how tech startups in these regions lament the lack of local talent. Universities produce graduates who are well-versed in computer science, yet the latter go after paths that only require an understanding of programming languages suited for banking and finance. Conversely, startups use something much different and more modern—something that tech companies want to see more of. Moreover, a few years ago, tech giants like Microsoft, Facebook, and SAP appealed to the European Union education ministers to tackle skills gap in information and communications technology, saying that an estimated 900,000 jobs in Europe would be left unfilled by 2020 if not addressed. The UK has since implemented computing into the national curriculum. Again, Tumblr Politics™ could make an asinine analogy of this to Destroy Capitalism™, but the reality dictates that we need this to achieve growth in the foreseeable future. (Another disclaimer: I’m very much against classism and capitalism, but I can be level-headed as well to understand the global economic and political atmosphere that we live in. Less whining, more tangible actions to abolish these systems.)

Correct me if I’m wrong (this could easily be googled), but from what I’ve read, the average salary for a good fresh graduate programmer in the Silicon Valley is around 100,000 USD. So you can verify that this is indeed an in-demand job. But I definitely agree with your outlook as well. I quit my last job despite the high pay, advantageous position, connections and opportunities in the corporate ladder™ because I lost my passion and felt like I no longer learn something of value from it. I felt like I was just a small cog of a devious capitalistic machine, operating at an auto-pilot, and can never make an actual difference to society (contrary, I felt like I was actually working against it D:). BUT! Please. Please. Please. Never fully absorb everything you read in this hellsite as a clear reflection of how the world works. Always take everything you read with a grain of salt, because despite of the positive things we could see and the amazing people we could meet here, Tumblr is a very, very problematique™ place to take inspiration from. Of course I’m not generalizing, but sadly, some people here (despite their charisma and very persuasive convictions) proclaim revolutionary™ ideologies that only promote hateful agendas. Thus, even though I would always believe that money should never supersede passion, I also understand that the system is working against us and that it wouldn’t be as easy as we imagine it to be. So, I always seek to find balance in every decision that I make. It would also help to have a concrete plan of how you would like to see yourself in a few years (I know it sounds cliché, but I promise it’ll help), and to choose to work for a company that you know would create progressive measures to aid society as a whole, and would promote sustainable growth for the planet and the human race. Sorry if that sounds so cheesy and pretentious, but I mean it. I would like to think that that wouldn’t make us corporate sellouts™, rather, we are dreamers trying to survive and thrive in this very demanding society. [Hmm. To be honest I think corporate sellouts are the ones who exploit the society, and trample over others just to achieve their goals. Soulless creatures, I tellss ya. But yeah, maybe tumblr SJW vocabulary made another revolutionary™ breakthrough.]

That said, I know that you are already in the right track. And even though you seem to be in a dilemma, I could see that you’re geared towards computer science already :) Both maths and programming are your passions, and I’m glad that you discovered that at an early age. Don’t be afraid to take the leap. And if later on you realize that perhaps the degree you pursued wasn’t where your heart is, I can only assure you that you are not the first and last person who would feel this way—and that’s perfectly okay. Lots of people end up in jobs that are radically different from what they took up in uni, and they excel and feel really satisfied in those fields. And there are others who eventually go back to school to fulfill the academic approach that they had missed. Whatever happens, don’t be afraid to troubleshoot and start again. Don’t think that you had a late start on coding. I’m in my late 20s and I know that I still have a lot more to learn—not just with programming—and that really excites me. Remember, formal education isn’t the only place where we could learn and harness our skills. We’re so lucky to have lived in this digital age where everything could be presented to us with just a click or a tap of a button, so we should take advantage of that.

My last advice to you is to master BOTH the technical and creative skills needed in this science, both of which are essential to be a good programmer—bridging the technical side of coding with the creativity to solve problems. I know I still have a long way to go, but somehow, I think I could consider myself as someone who already has a good foundation and an in-depth knowledge of programming. This skill is something that does not only aid me in my career, but it also helps me with problem solving and thinking about issues structurally. With coding, I can solve problems and think of multiple solutions for the same problem, and can see the pros and cons for each solution. Further, I’m able to challenge my own assumptions in all of these solutions. However, like I’ve said, I don’t think that programming is something that I could do professionally. Despite excelling in the technical side of it, I believe that in this industry, the creative ability of a programmer is the one that is highly sought after. I totally concur that one should never underestimate how HARD programming is, and I guess that’s the beauty and challenge of this discipline. I know that I have the dedication and patience for this skill, but even if I master the complexities and technical skills needed in programming, admittedly, I still lack the creative elegance that I see in a professional programmer. But I hope that you could find the equilibrium in these factors and excel on them.

It will never be my intention to discourage you, on the contrary, I hope that with these information, you could objectively weigh the reality of the field that you would get yourself into. Which is why I’m glad that you did your research because it shows how serious and passionate you are to take time in educating yourself with these details. More importantly, I hope that you could talk to someone you look up to and trust in real life, because choosing a career is a serious life-changing decision. But feel free to DM me if you want to add or discuss something else :)

Thank you for your question, gotshineboc. I really hope that this could help you out. Very best of luck!

[bublp0pr]

Tarzan!Chara AU concept?

I just had a craaazy cool idea people. Tarzan. And Undertale. COMBINED. (maybe with a dash of Romeo and Juliet too)

Ok ok so listen this out. Imagine if not long before Asriel was born, TWO people from the surface fell. They were lovers and the two families had not approved and wanted to kill them and take their own kid back, so the two ran away to Mount Ebot. And we all know what happens to people who leave to Mt Ebot ahaha.

What no one realised though was that she was pregnant...

Let’s say that the fall didn’t hurt them too bad. The girl sprained her leg though so the guy had to fend for her. In the ruins, they’re mostly isolated so they try and fend for themselves for a bit. They meet a few monsters but they’re not dangerous so they act kindly to them.

And then a monster from the capital finds them one day while patrolling the area. And they take capture them and take them to the king and queen. Ahhhhh i can just imagine the scene where they’re taken to Asgore and Toriel and the guy would just be thrashing around trying to resist saying “do whatever you want to me, but don’t hurt her.” And then him revealing that she’s pregnant. Of course, at this point the monsters had no real reason to be hostile to the humans and Toriel and Asgore see themselves in the young couple. So they offer them refuge in the castle.

Some of the monsters start to whisper though and see this as their chance to become free. The king or queen always intervene when someone gets hostile. Eventually, the royal scientist silences these monsters by pointing out the situation in a different light... with two humans, they have the makings of a soul farm (creepy, yes. But all it really implies is letting nature run its course rather than killing the goose who lays the golden eggs). Yeah, the royal scientist is a bit of a jerk in this AU. 

Toriel and the girl have a good friendship as they go through pregnancy and the two children, Asriel and Chara, are born on the same day. All of monster kind rejoices, an heir to the throne and hope for their freedom in one blow! 

But there’s a twist.

So one of the humans from the surface tried hunting down the couple after they ran away and tracked them to Mt Ebot. They were an old suitor of the girl’s but she rejected him because he was too violent. With this whole fiasco instead of believing this reason he blames the guy from stealing her from him. 

They fall into the Underground and are taken to the castle immediately (guards for the ruins after the first incident are better). Little do they know he has weapons concealed... He finds out that the two are there and that they had a child. Enraged that they would dirty the family name with such filth, that night they slip out from their room... 

Toriel and the girl are still recovering from childbirth. The couple are both asleep with Asriel and Chara in cots next to them when the man rages in and murders them and their child. But it was dark. And so he mistook Asriel for Chara. Toriel discovers the bloody scene in horror and tries to chase after the man but he flees to the ruins and locks himself away. 

The two lovers are the first two human souls that Asgore must regretfully collect. In their jars they pulse in rhythm with eachother, still loving eachother after death. (I’m thinking maybe they could be Bravery and Patience) Toriel his heartbroken, she has just lost her child. Asgore is distraught, humanity is still as violent as they remember from the war. The two had been exceptions rather than what they hoped was the new norm of an age of potential peace. Still enraged at the loss of his child, he declares that monster kind is again at war with humanity. 

But that still leaves one problem. The human child. Toriel would NEVER let Asgore kill them. Not after Asriel died so similarly. Despite his arguing, she takes in the child. They raise Chara as their own, a child to replace the one they lost. 

Chara is never told about their true past. They are led to believe that they are a monster. (cue the Tarzan part of this haha) They realise they are different from the other monsters. The prince of monsters can’t use magic. But they make up for it with their own skillsets. Even without magic as strong as monsters, determination, strategy and creativity can still make a powerful foe. 

Umm let’s take a second to overlap characters here:

So Kala is obviously Toriel, they’re so similar it fits perfectly. (do i need to explain more???)

 Asgore is Kerchak. He still tries to distance himself from Chara without ever explaining why (it’s obviously because he hates humanity). Which just makes Chara want to prove themselves to him. They want to prove that they can be a normal monster too and make him proud. 

Terk and Tantor can be Sans and Alphys :D This is set wayyyy before the Frisk events so they’re still kids just like Chara. 

Being the royal scientist’s kid, Sans isn’t really supposed to associate with Chara. Gaster is annoyed that they’re letting a human roam around like the Underground like they own the place (like i said, real jerk). But the king and queen have insisted that their human nature not be made known so there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s constantly telling Sans to stay away from them though saying they’re ‘bad news’ 

...Sans being Sans, the fact Gaster doesn’t want them to be friends makes them automatic besties. He’s your classic playful troublemaker with a good heart, standing up Chara even though they’re different. He’s most of the reason the group always ends up in so much trouble. But he’s got a sharp mouth, he can usually talk his way out of must situations and punishments when they’re in corners. 

He has a younger brother aswell that he cares a lot for. When Papyrus is around he can keep his trouble-making in check for his sake. He’d never let Papyrus do the crazy stuff he does with Chara and Alphys.

Alphys fits the same sort of bill as Tantor, she’s overly cautious (unlike the other two) and doesn’t like to make trouble. She’s the voice of reason in the group. But somehow they still manage to end up in adventures together anyway haha. She’s nerdy and knowledgable which has saved their lives a few times. And of course she’s still as much an anime fan as ever.

The three are childhood friends so they always stick together.

Ok that’s characters sorted (for now at least, there will be more later). 

Let’s throw in the monumental scene from Tarzan where they kill the tiger! So, one time the three of them go lurking around the ruins. The place was sealed after that murderer had fled there. Most monsters just assume he died and the dangerous thing in the ruins became a myth. Every now and then though you can hear him lurking through those corridors, all the kids tell ghost stories about it. Asgore has tried once or twice to kill him over the years, with disastrous results. Fortunately he was always able to make it out of there alive but that’s why the ruins are now sealed.

So three are loitering around the door. Sans tries a few knock knock jokes. Alphys is nervous, trying to remind them about all the ghost stories surrounding the place - Froggits tunnelling under and never coming back, that sort of stuff. Chara just looks at the door and has an idea. “Hey Sans, your dad’s been teaching you to teleport, right? You any good?” Sans grins at them realising where this is going. “he tele-taught me a thing or two. not that i’m allowed to use it or anything...” The two snicker at this. Like that’s ever stopped him from doing anything. Alphys just sighs. “H-how about this time, we just stay away from the dangerous ruins? A-and go home? I-I found a new Mew Mew Kissy Cutie collection in the dump a week ago! Three more feature length episodes...” 

Sans and Chara smile at eachother and grab her hand while she’s nerding out about the implications these episodes might have on her character arc. They all teleport behind the door. 

Alphys shrieks. Sans laughs. Chara is just silent as they look curiously at the place. “Come on! Let’s explore a little.” Alphys is shaking. Sans frowns a little. “this is all good and fun, but i want to be home for pap’s bedtime story. s’not worth the risk of gettin lost.” Tch. They were both just scaredy-whimsums. “Well, i’m going on ahead.” They start running. Sans eye glows in alarm, “wait, chara-” But they are already gone. 

Sans and Alphys will catch up. It’ll just take a bit. It’s hard to navigate those puzzles. But Chara’s always been the most resourceful of the three (they have to be when they don’t have magic like they do) so they make it past them quicker than Sans and Alphys. 

So Chara’s having fun. Until they face the human. Being in isolation has disfigured them into a savage so they look nothing like Chara (they don’t even make the connection). A human! Chara thinks, looking at the filthy two legged creature with dust all over their tattered clothes. The man recognises Chara as a human too. It angers them to recognise their eyes that look so much like hers. So the child had survived. He attacks. Chara, horrified, dodges his attacks. They’ve been in fights before but never like this. Never fighting for their life.

Grabbing a stick on the ground, they evade his attacks and respond by attacking him back. After all, he’s a human. And monsters are at war with humanity. An idea forms in their head. If i can kill him and take his soul, then surely Asgore will be proud of me! The fight continues. 

Sans and Alphys finally find Chara and watch as they weave past the man’s sword and strike him with their stick. “chara!” “Ch-Chara!!” With a final strike, Chara deals a blow to the man’s head and he topples to the ground. Sans turns his soul blue and Alphys comes running with her hand sparking with electricity but the fight is already over. Chara just stands there in shock, panting heavily. 

The three check the body. He’s still breathing. Alphys backs away on impulse. Sans’ eyes go dim. “...chara.” They look down at the thing. He seems much less intimidating now that he’s not standing. “That’s monster dust on his clothes Sans.” They spit. “And besides, he’s human. Humans are the enemy.” There’s nothing anyone can argue with there. It’s not like Sans or Alphys know that Chara’s human too. 

A grave silence fills the room. “D-do we... take their... their soul?” Alphys asks awkwardly. This is where Sans intervenes. He knows a little bit about soul science from his dad. “don’t want to risk absorbing it. ‘sides, even though their souls persist the smallest thing could shatter it.” They agree to haul the body out of the ruins instead. Sans can’t teleport long distances yet so they have to drag it most of the way.

Other monsters watch in shock as the three drag the body to the River Person to take it to the castle. Alphys is so anxious it’s a wonder she can even move. Sans just spends most of the time looking at the ground, hands in his pockets and being strangely quiet (really he should be helping to drag it, but somehow he lazily managed to get out of it. Every now and then he adds a little magic to lift it up over obstacles) Chara doesn’t know how to feel. The adrenaline still makes them feel tingly and they’re excited to make Asgore happy, but... yeah. 

Asgore looks at the body in horror when it’s presented to his throne room. Chara had done this? When he had failed countless times, this human child had accomplished it with a stick? The weight of his responsibility hangs on him as he finishes the job and collects the soul. This happens once the kids are dismissed obviously. They’re too young to watch this sort of thing. 

The third soul is harvested (I’m thinking justice).

With this act, some of the older monsters start to trust Chara a little more. Even with their... nature, such an act proves undeniably what side they are on. Chara hopes that Asgore will also be more friendly. Hadn’t they done well? Isn’t he proud of them? But all this does is remind Asgore of how much humans have a potential for violence. He still remains aloof. Frustrated, they go to Toriel about it. She obviously doesn’t have an answer but tells them to give it time. Toriel is simply horrified that they put themselves in danger. They’re in big trouble this time.

Despite the front he shows to monsters, Gaster is pleased with the events. Instead of punishing Sans like he expected, Gaster praises him for assisting in killing the human. It doesn’t feel right to Sans. He still remembers the empty look on their face. It gives him nightmares. He choses to spend less time around them, using the excuse that he was grounded when really he just needs some space. Papyrus is basically in awe listening to people the story. Sans is a hero! When he’s older he wants to be just like him. Gaster re-doubles his efforts to train Sans. His promise in teleportation is a good sign in his dad’s eyes.

So things eventually get back to normal and the three friends grow up a little.

Chara is a little more welcome to monsters now. They finally feel accepted. But Asgore is still cold to them. They’re starting to grow into the expectations that come with being royalty, leading projects and patrols, associating with the royal guard and resolving domestic disputes. They enjoy it but also feel the grunt of responsibility. What’s nice about it though is Asgore sometimes teaches them the role of a ruler personally. It’s the closest they get to bonding with him sometimes. 

Sans is getting stronger. He hates the training his dad puts him through but he’s got to admit it gives results. Despite all the efforts to get him to take things seriously, he’s as much a goof as ever though :D. Papyrus aspires to be part of the royal guard these days. Sans still loves Pap as much as ever and is by his side as much as possible supporting that dream. He starts being the father figure that Gaster is often too busy to fill these days. Gaster’s doing a lot of top secret research these days. From the bits and pieces he picks up, it has something to do with the Core? Whatever. I’m sure it’s not important ( ;D )

Alphys shows promise with her robotics. She’s started an apprenticeship as a Royal Scientist’s Assistant (Sans and Chara pulled a few strings because of their backgrounds to help). With Gaster busy with his special projects, she basically runs most of the activity within the normal lab now.

The three are still great friends. They go on crazy stunts every now and then, but not nearly as much or as grand since the incident. 

Chara is patrolling the ruins (they’re open now that the man was killed but people still tend to be scared of it. They talk about the ghosts of monsters haunting it and stuff. So Chara volunteers to do it instead) 

They walk to the bad of flowers and come face to face with her. (I’m imagining this is the soul for kindness) They’re shocked and confused at first. Chara doesn’t connect this petite girl in front of them with the savage murderer they saw all those years ago. But what they do notice is how much she looks like them. 

Chara thought they were the only monster of their kind! They shake away the thought with a start realising that she’s injured. They heal the unconscious girl and inspect her more. She looks around their age. They look down at her face when she wakes up. 

She blinks in shock. “Oh thank goodness another person!” Getting up, she hugs them. Chara’s a little surprised by the reaction but goes with it. “What are you doing around the Ruins?” They ask with a hint of concern. “Civilian monsters are discourages from being around here.” She looks at them a little confused. “Monster? Haha, gosh, i must be a mess.” She pats her hair and cleans herself up a little. “No, I’m a human, just like you. My name’s Jane.” 

Two things confuse Chara. First, this friendly monster is calling themself a human. Second, they had called them a human. “I’m sorry?” They finally get out. “Did you say human?” She gives them a strange look. “Well, yes. My soul’s just as coloured as yours is.” Bringing them into a fight environment to reveal their souls, Chara looks at the green heart and then back at their own red one. They thought that they were the only monster with a soul like that. “You’re... you’re like me?” They say in wonder. She spares them and waits for Chara to do the same. “That’s what I’ve been saying. I’m human, the same as you.” 

They’re... 

They don’t know what to think. 

“Stop saying that! I’m not human. And... and neither are you!” She shakes her head at the argument.  “I don’t know exactly how you do things down here, but you’re definitely human. So am I.” 

Maybe this creature is human. It’s cruel enough, tricking them with these deceptive games. They draw their sword to attack. (The same sword they got from the last human. They repurposed it with the help of a little fire magic to work just as well as any other magic attack) She shrieks at the wound it leaves on her arm and backs away a little in fear. It’s the human’s turn now. 

“P-please... why are you doing this?” She spares them again and hopes that they’ll do the same. Chara flinches. Why is the human sparing them? They had been conditioned to expect humans as violent savages driven by dust-lust. But this? “You’re a tricky human aren’t you?” They tease as they go in to swing again. The blood left on their blade proves their nature. The same red juice as the other one. 

She trembles a little and then attacks them. The movement catches Chara by surprise and they see red start to grow on their knee. “...what did you do to me?! What’s happening?!” Stopping for a moment, they panic at the blood pouring from their knee. There had been a little on them with the last human scuffle, their weapons caused physical damage rather than direct assault to the soul. Chara had merely shrugged the stuff staining their clothes as left over from the man. But this can’t be staining. It’s literally leaking from them. 

She flinches at the colour. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you... I just panicked and... oh I’m so sorry!” Chara stares at them. “What. Did. You. Do?” The question confuses her. “I scraped your knee. You’re bleeding.” Chara’s eyes widen with horror. “What? Have you never been cut before?” She laughs nervously. 

“...No.” 

What? Could this person seriously not realise they’re human? It’s at that moment that Chara begins questioning everything they know. The knee is proof. Could they... could they be human? They spare Jane, but capture her. “I... I need to take you to the capital. My father will want to face you... human.” 

So basically they talk as they journey out of the ruins. The more Chara learns the more they realise they’re actually human. They’re confused. And angry. Their whole life... everything was a lie? They reflect on theirselves. No wonder Asgore never trusted them. Where they as violent as the stories of humans they’d heard? Remembering the man, they realise with guilt they are. 

Basically they dwell in those little depressing thoughts for a while but Jane notices they’re upset and tries to cheer things up by being perky instead. She talks about her life, her family and how things work on the surface. Chara finds the whole thing interesting actually. Slowly they let down their guard and the two start becoming friends. 

They stop when they reach the door. Jane looks so similar to them, monsters would talk if they saw the two together. There’s only one choice. Pulling out their cell, they call Sans. “Hey. I... need a really big favour.” There’s a deep chuckle on the other end. They sigh. “Fine. I’ll pay your tab for the next three months, happy?” Another pause. “Entrance of the ruins, and... we’ll be taking someone else back too.” The air sucks into a vortex of nothing then bursts out within the same moment making a popping sound. Sans looks at Chara with a lazy grin. Then he sees the girl next to them.

His eyes darken. “chara...?” They had an agreement to not get Sans involved in this whole human-hunting mess. He still wasn’t comfortable with being directly involved with it and Chara could respect that. Even if Gaster loathed him for it to the point of disownment. 

“I know Sans. I... it’s just... we need to talk.” Sans raises an eyebrow. He looks closer at the human. The arms. The legs. The face. The skin. A light of surprise flickers across his face for a moment. They’re the spitting image of- Chara gives him a pained look. I already know. It seems to sigh.

“Make a step to escape and I’ll cut off your legs before you you can blink” Chara says as the two walk to the other side of the room. Sans raises a hand in a question. Talk in hands? Chara nods.

who is she?

She fell from the surface. It’s a human, Sans.

Sans glances back at the girl. She’s calmly playing with a few leaves on the floor.

are you sure? i mean, no offence, but she looks just like-

That’s the problem. I think I might be one too.

Sans lets out a snort. Chara? A human? He supposed once or twice he had asked a question or two when he was a kid. Hard not to when your dad’s the expert on all things soul and magic related. But once he got to know them, there’s no question they’re monster. Right?

I’m being serious Sans! They... they made me bleed.

Now Sans was getting concerned. Everyone knew monster wounds turned to dust.

have you been spending too much time with the temmies again? drinkin ketchup from the dump? you can’t bleed, chara.

They show him their leg. Sans eye glows blue for a second.

huh. that’s a new one.

I know. Kind of questioning my whole life right now.

maybe there’s a logical explanation?

If there is I can’t see it. Her soul glows a colour too Sans! 

Sans is one of the few that knew about Chara’s soul quirk. It was a top secret pact of trust that the three had made years ago. One attack but with a special poison called karmic retribution. A red soul that floats upside down. Staring down an endless abyss and wanting to join it. The idea was that no one could say anything without the other two secrets coming out. Chara had always been hesitant to fight other monsters because of it, so having friends who knew gave them battle buddies for once.

Sans is rapidly changing from playful to serious mode. He pulls the face he normally saves for Papyrus and the destruction of irreplaceable artefacts (long story. Let’s just say the legendary artefact didn’t always smell of dog food...) 

gerson’d know about this sorta stuff. he lived through the war after all. let’s ask him.

And the human?

A leaf fell off her nose and she giggled as it tickled her face.

guess they’re along for the ride.

The two approach her again and Chara clings onto Sans’ shoulder. They’re used to his shortcuts. Sans extends his hand. Jane looks at with fear. The skeleton was frightening her. Sans just gives her a warm smile. “what? don’t you know how to greet a new pal? reach out and take my hand.” She hesitates. Sans gives them a warm look. Her innocence reminds him of Pap. Deciding, she reaches out and takes the hand. 

A loud whoopee cushion exhales and she looks up to realise she’s standing somewhere else. 

Gerson admits that Chara is human. Sans and Chara are both shocked. Gerson won’t give them the full story. He just says that Chara’s parents died when they were born and the king and queen raised them as their own. Of course they both have questions. But he says he’s not the right one to be answerin’ them. 

He stops the conversation to say hello to Jane. “Why are you talking to her? She’s a human.” Gerson laughs. “Wahaha! So are you squirt. Doesn’t mean she can’t hold a little chat.” 

She actually is very nice. Sans joins in, sincerely interested in the things she has to say. Chara’s annoyed. They thought they were her friend after the whole ruins thing. And now she’s going and talking to other monsters. Suffice to say, they felt left out. Leaving Gerson, Sans looks at the expression on Chara’s face. “what? you jealous chara?” The lift up their head with a degree of snobbery reserved for royalty. “No.” Sans just laughs. 

A phone rings. Sans picks it up. “yeah bro?” “yeah.” “yeah.” “nah.” “sure.” “guess you could say they were a little... frosty about it?” A loud scream could be heard on the other end. “come on bro, that was a real rib tickler.” He waits a few seconds, then hangs up. “welp. duty calls.” He winks and vanishes. 

Chara would normally be offended that someone would ditch them so quickly. But when Papyrus is involved, Sans would just as quickly leave while his house was catching on fire. Actually, that’s a bad example. He has set it on fire to spite Gaster before.

“Looks like we’re walking to the New Home then.” Chara sighs. At least the River Person was nearby. That’s a little less time in public. 

Jane looks at them. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”  Chara stops. “In what way?”  “You know... finding out you’re human from other people. That must be really confusing for you.” They snort. “You don’t even know the least of it.” She pauses. “So what was it like living as a monster?” Chara looks off into the distance. “It was... pretty great. Guess that was all a lie though. So maybe it wasn’t as good as i thought.” Jane frowns. She reaches out and takes their hand. “Even if it wasn’t the truth, I’m sure you had people who loved you.” 

Chara smiles at this. They think about Toriel. “I... I guess you’re right.” Jane smiles back. She doesn’t let go of their hand.

“Tralala. Beware the man who speaks in hands. Tralala.”

Chara bursts into giggles. Oh boy. They wish Sans was here right now to hear this. It’s not often you hear the River Person roasting another monster. Let alone that nut job of a Royal Scientist. “Will do, RP. Will do.”

Jane looks at the water.  Chara shifts in the boat to sit next to her. “What are you looking at?”  “The water. It looks so beautiful reflecting these blue stars.” “Haha. They’re not stars princess. Just some glowing rocks stuck to the roof.” She pauses. “But still. It looks very pretty.” Chara stops to look at the sparkling water. It is actually quite beautiful. 

For the rest of the boat ride they talk about caves and skies.

So Chara doesn’t want people putting two and two together with Jane. They need to smuggle her through somehow. But that’s not a problem. Alphys has cameras all over Hotland, of course she’ll know some blind spots. 

Exiting the boat they lead Jane to the lab. She’s getting used to all these monster environments actually. The room is dark. Walking in, wrappers are scattered on the floor with mess on all the tables. Jane gets concerned. Had an ambush happened here? Chara just walks past it and travels upstairs. Hunched in a cocoon of blankets and food packets, a glowing screen illuminates the lizard’s face. Japaneese school girls chirp from the large television. 

“Hey Alphys. Long time no see.”

She jumps up startled. “Ch-chara! This is unexpected!” “Relax Alphys, I’m not here on another anime intervention.”  She sighs in relief. The marathon had only been going 29 hours. No reason for Chara and Sans to get concerned. She looks at the two dark figures standing over her. Sans looks a little different... 

“This is Jane.” Chara offers. She stands up and shrugs on her labcoat. A stranger?! And she hadn’t even cleaned anything... oh the lab is a mess! “I-I’m not n-normally this messy ehehehe.” She stutters nervously. Chara just gives her a light laugh. “How’s the whole science thing going?” She frowns at them and adjusts her glasses. “That ‘science thing’ is the cutting edge of monster progress thankyou. W-We’re trying to upgrade the underground communication network at the moment.” 

That’s Alphys for you. She always was the genius of the three. “the only one going anywhere in life” Sans liked to joke. She starts a convoluted explanation of the ‘undernet’ while Jane just eats in the room.  

“and... and...” “Interesting stuff Alph.” Chara grins as she realises she’s rambling and goes quiet. She pulls a switch on the wall behind her, lighting up the room. “S-so, um. what brings you here?”

“Jane here is a human. I need to take her to Asgore.” Alphys shrieks and drops to the floor in surprise. Cowering under the blankets, she peers out to look at Chara. “Don’t worry. She’s not going to hurt a fly. Are you Jane?” She looks up and shakes her head before looking down at the scientist again. 

Alphys had never really recovered from watching the man attack Chara. She still had nightmares about it to this day. Why is Chara acting so casual? Humans are violent creatures that killed monsters! “Alph, I’m here to call in a favour. Can you get us there without other monsters taking notice?” 

Her eyes narrow. She’s heard this sort of talk before, right before ending up in more trouble. “Sans put you up to this, didn’t he?”  “Nope. Just me, Alphys. Let’s just say there’s reasons I don’t want to be seen in the same room as her...” Only then does Alphys realise the similarities between them. 

She gasps. “Y-you’re a human! Aren’t you?” Chara flinches at the title. “I found out this morning.” She presses her hands to her face in excitement. “Why did i never see this sooner! This is just like that episode where the badguy dresses up in that obvious disguise and no one recognises them even though it’s right there in front of them. I can’t believe i was so stupid!” She is taking this far better than Chara expected her to.

“So can you help?”

“O-of course! A-And... Chara? This doesn’t make you any less my friend you know.”

They smile. “Thanks Alph.”

“I’ve always been so jealous of humans and their art style! Even if they are cruel creatures hell-bent on our destruction. I can’t believe, all this time, i’ve been friends with one!!”

Jane gives Chara a confused look. The just nod and shrug. Alphys is always like this.

“Text me those directions, ok? Remember: don’t really want others finding out.”

“Sure! Uh, bye Chara! ...and other human!”

“Jane.” She corrects kindly. Alphys looks at her for a moment, shocked at how nice she’s being. “...bye Jane.”

So they make it to the castle. Chara puts Jane into the prison. “Wait! I thought we were friends?” She asks as Chara forces her into a cell.  “We are. But...” They pause for a moment, then just give up on the sentence and walk away.

“Hey! Hey! You can’t just leave me like this!”

They need to have a talk with Toriel. She’s in the kitchen, waiting on a butterscotch cinnamon pie. “Mother...” She lifts up her furry head and smiles. “What is it my child?” 

“Am i a human?” Her expression goes dark.  “Now what gave you that idea my child?” “Don’t lie to me... Gerson already told me!” She looks aside bitterly. “I think he and I need to have a little talk...” “It’s true, isn’t it? That’s why I can’t use magic. And why I’m different from everyone else.” “My child, you are perfectly nor-” “I’M NOT EVEN YOUR CHILD AM I?”

She stops. Tears form in her eyes. “I... I may have lied to you Chara, but you have always been my child to me.”  “Who were my parents?” She pauses and takes a moment to recollect herself. “I suppose it is time you learned the truth.”

DUN DUN DUUUUNNNNN