#ew this is literally putrid | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tnsophiaonly · 8 months ago

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Honestly finally someone spoke up about the horrible things in the fandom😭,

I really don't like ships (except canon ones or NPC's) but I at least respect those people, LIKE I'VE SEEN PEOPLE DOXX AND BASH PEOPLE BC OF A SHIP...

And also the designs omg literally, I don't mind how little the darker skinned color characters but it wouldn't really hurt anybody if they added more of them. Like I understand the standard in China but literally :(

But changing the races of characters and calling it 'fixing' is wrong. That still isn't your character to 'fix'

AND OML THE RAIDEN AND YAE DESIGNS MAKES ME CRY. Kimono's aren't meant to be revealing, and if wanted to be revealing it, kimono doesn't show cleavage. Instead, it shows the back of the neck to accentuate the beauty of the females back line. Now yes, ei and yae does show their back at the kimono, but it also shows their cleavage. And now the whole excuse about the sword coming out of raiden's heart is true, but do something about that revealing outfit ☹️ you can literally tell who was designed by a man and a woman bro (ex. Furina, faruzan)

If they could make Yunjin have no skin showing, why couldn't they make other characters not have skin showing too (I understand it's for the Chinese opera thing but yeh)

Also, regarding the generosity of genshin devs, just ignore it, genshin is MUCH MUCH more than gambling and gacha c:

Mischaracterization is also a bit h and the constant twink comments or saying 'they look 10' fuck off and disappear.

Aether harem and/or lumine harem has to STOP. (Lumine is mine GRRR)

And turning characters THAT AREN'T YOURS TO BEGIN WITH to black or white doesn't make them better, it doesn't fix anything (unless you change their clothing to proper clothing [looking at you Yae] yeah)

Also incest is disgusting. Kaeluc shippers I hope y'all disappear bc the Chinese translation ain't backing up your argument‼️ LUMINEXAETHER SHIPPERS, LYNETTEXLYNEYXFREMINET SHIPPERS, ANY LOLI CHARACTERS SHIPPERS, I HOPE YOU DISAPPEAR TOO. If you ship them, I hope you look back at your actions and wonder how horrible and forever be in great anguish for ever shipping that putrid skunk.

To the people who simp for the lolis or just a lolicon, ew, you low-budget faggot, a disgrace to your ancestors, family, friends, and community, one of the cons of the existence and freewill humanity, one of the people who's first to be wiped when god decides to remove all evil, and one of the people I'll think off whenever I feel unmotivated to become motivated so I don't end up like you.

Just wanted to rant :3

I'll rant more later lmao

Overall genshin isn't bad, just ignore it's fan base/fandom‼️ stick to the theory makers (like Wei 🔅), don't support story leakers, only look for build/mechanic leakers‼️ and remember, DON'T BE PART OF THE PROBLEM‼️‼️

Blame the players not the game :>

Why the hell did I waste so much time researching to get my points right in my arguments and type this shit down?? Smh I may be the most triggered about the controversies of the fandom lmao

Speaking Out On Genshin “Stereotypes”

This passage talks about p3d0ph1li@, l0l1 b@it, yanderes, 1nc3st, and items related along those listed. If this triggers you, please please do not read. I do not care if you comment hate towards me and what I wrote, it needed to be said. Personally targeting my background, sexuality, and being outright disrespectful in your "comments", however, will result in a block.

First subject, rarepairs. A lot of people get made a rarepairs because they either don’t make sense to them or they just don’t like them. They’re called rarepairs for a reason. If the dynamic works (for example, if they don’t canonically despise or hate each other), and both of the characters are of legal age mind you, then it’s fine to ship them. This is the same for teenager x teenager. It doesn’t hurt you or anyone if someone ships, for example, Beidou x Candace.

Second subject, children. I shouldn’t even have to even talk about this in the first place. Just because a character in Genshin is 500 years old, this is pinpointed at Nahida, but is in the body of a child and looks like one does not give you ANY right to sexualize them. A lot of people use Nahida’s actual age as an excuse, yet when it comes to using Qiqi’s age they mostly stay silent. They prey on Nahida because they see her as a naive child, at least from what I have saw. Ao3 fics are a bright example of this, I was unfortunate enough to stumble on many of them.

Our third subject, pick me’s. Ayaka, Nilou, Keqing, Layla, etc are not pick me’s. Ayaka is someone that never had any friends, so of course she’s going to be partially clingy around traveler. Nilou is a dancer, she’s not some obsessive yandere who will hunt down others for the traveler. Keqing and Layla are overworked, traveler has a calming aurora in some ways, and helps them relax. They can be themselves around traveler because traveler never judges them.

The fourth subject revolves around the anemo men. The amount of atrocious things that have been written about them, too. Just because they’re flirty and care for the traveler does not mean that they are automatically in love and obsessed with the traveler. “Oh! Xiao saved us”, “Kazuha saved us from the Shogun!”. Yes, they did so because it’s Xiao’s duty to do so, and Kazuha acted out of instinct so he wouldn’t lose another friend. I’m not stating that they wouldn’t be interested, just use more evidence than they saved us please. It’s not that difficult to dig out context clues.

Fifth subject is shipping the traveler with the older Genshin characters. Zhongli, Neuvilette, Jean, Lisa, etc. Keep in mind that traveler is in a 15 year old body, and everyone that I’ve listed is in their mid-20’s and up. I do not think that Jean would be interested in dating a traveler that not only looks like a teenager, and someone she sees as a friend and companion. Now Lisa is flirty with the traveler, but that’s her personality. She’s naturally flirty as seen doing so with Kaeya, Jean, and Mika. Same can be said about Kaeya and Lyney in terms of a flirty personality.

Six, saying Genshin characters look like children, or they’re revealing in terms of clothing. This game is absolute bait. It’s loli bait, they always sexualize females, the games “jiggle physics” are absolutely a standpoint of this. No child, or anyone for that fact, should have an outfit to when they glide you can see their undergarments. No lawyer should wear a short skirt and a somewhat mismatched crop top. No Shogun wears a short dress with a breast window. No shrine maiden should wear an outfit where there’s a side breast window. Ganyu’s outfit is absolutely ridiculous, no official of a nation should dress like that. The short males look like children, mostly Scaramouche and Lyeny, because again it’s bait.

Subject seven on our list is mischaracterization. Kamisato Ayato is not going to force traveler to continue the Kamisato bloodline. That entire idea is giving “Continue the Redfield bloodline Leon”. Lyney would not be toxic or straight up babyish in a relationship just because of his fatui background. Scaramouche would not give a shit if you left him during his whole God phase. If you’re going to write or say a headcannon about characters do research.

Eight, aging up characters in smut fics. Aging up a child or teenager in any smut fic is literally just someone using the “age-up privilege” to write smut fics about the character. Characters like Xingqiu, Bennet, Chongyun, and Razor are often targeted. Respect the fact that they are minors.

Nine, disliking popular ships within the fandom. It will not kill you if someone doesn’t like EiMiko (Ei and Yae Miko), JeanLisa (Jean and Lisa), and ZhongChi (Zhongli and Childe) for example. Stop saying that anyone who dislikes queer Genshin ships is homophobic.

Ten, making traveler out to be rapist, pedophile, obsessed stalker, etc. Traveler is just someone wanting to find his/her sibling. Stop writing them in a light that makes them seem like a horrible person whatsoever.

Eleven, Dottore and other villains. The amount of people that have been sent rape and death threats on TikTok for liking Dottore is absolutely insane. He's a villain, he's supposed to be bad. Same goes with every other harbringer. Just because they have some redeemable quailties, does not mean that they're automatically good. Morally gray characters exist. It doesn't matter if someone simps or likes Dottore, it's their choice, not yours. It's the same thing as a simping for and/or liking a villain like William Afton, Bill Cipher, Makarov, etc.

Subject twelve or the list, harassing cosplayers. Someone commented to "recreate the GMFU Scaramouche animation" on a cosplayers TikTok. Not only was that request outright disgusting, the cosplayer could've been a minor. I would say if they were or not, but they didn't have it in their bio nor did they mention it in the TikTok. Do not go around calling people "mommy", "daddy", saying "step on me", and items related just because you like the character they're cosplaying so much. They could be a minor and even if they weren't, you using terms such as the ones mentioned could make them uncomfortable.

Thirteen, disses of characters. Most of the time in diss edits or posts, they always put a strong character against one that isn't. For example, Nilou would not beat Ayato in a fight. She's a dancer that fights in a dance style. Ayato is a trained swordsman who know how to wield a sword and polearm, is highly intelligent (not that Nilou isn't smart herself), and runs a group of ninja/assassins. Do research before comparing characters.

Fourteen, hate the VA (voice actor), not the character. This happened with Tighnari's original English voice actor. A lot of people stopped playing him and hating him. I understand if you cannot play the character anymore because you relate to what happened with the original voice actor's victims, if so I am deeply sorry for you, but please do not completely bash the character for something the voice actor did.

Fifteen, calling Genshin characters pedophile's because they work and look after children. Baizhu was called a pedophile because he worked and took after Qiqi. Most of the talk has been died down, but it went wild for a little while. Kaeya does not like Klee romantically just because he held her hand, stepped in so no one would upset her, and helped her preform in the play in the previous summer event. Baizhu and Qiqi have a father-daughter relationship and Kaeya and Klee have a brother-sister relationship.

Sixteen, incest. Kaeya and Diluc. Kaeluc (Kaeya and Diluc), shippers are holding onto the scuffed Chinese translation of Kaeya's hangout with their life. They're adopted brothers. That is incest. If they were step-brother, half-brothers, and full-blood brothers that would be incest, too. Same goes for Ayato and Ayaka, Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet. Just because you are adopted does not mean that liking your adopted or non-adopted sibling is okay by any means.

Seventeen, cultural representation and colored representation. Everytime we get cultural representation in a Hoyoverse game, some of the fandom always makes fun of it. Yun Jin's singing, the instrument, which was a traditional Chinese instrument, in Blade's trailer that "sounds like a mosquito". You ask for representation and then when you get it, there's always people that make fun of it. There are only seventy released playable characters at the moment, and out of all of them there are only five that are colored. That is a ratio of fourteen non-colored to every one colored character. And half of the time they get whitewashed or their skin tone gets lighten in official art and events. It’s not that we don’t get some representation, it’s just that Hoyoverse takes it away or straight-up refuses to give it to us.

That is all that I have on my mind for now, I may add more later if anything comes to mind. Thank you for reading if you did.

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lcandothisallday · 3 years ago

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Jack finding out that you’ve been cheating on him with Urban 😳

okay I cant bring myself to fully write a cheating fic cos im a baby like that plus I just feel terrible for jack so ima do the lead up to it if you catch my drift. idk its still an angst piece but without the confrontation portion cos I cant do that to my baby jack

Promises - Urban Wyatt x reader

Ooopp- okay but I see you falling for Urban totally accidentally. What I mean by this is that it probably happened so naturally because you spend so much time with Urban whenever Jack is working.

It's not that Jack didn't care, but since he is so busy all the time, he'd probably throw a lot of his boyfriend responsibilities onto Urban. Like telling him to drive you home or check on you at parties or bring over food to you.

It reached a point where you started to look forward to spending time with Urban one on one. At first, when Jack would leave you with Urban to go do whatever, it would bother you but after a bit you began to embrace Urban’s presence and he became not only a close friend, but your safety person.

So your breaking point with Jack? You had complained to him one day that the two of you never go out alone anymore. That you two barely share any intimate moments since he's so busy or tired from his shows. And so he makes it up to you by promising to take you out on a special date after he finished up at the studio. Except he got invited out to a party instead and told you he couldn't pass up the opportunity to network with some people. Of course you got upset by this and rejected his offer to join him at the party.

As you’re chilling on the couch watching your show and eating your favourite chips, the front door unlocks and Urban strolls in. “You’re not at the party?” you ask him. Urban chuckles and raises a brow at you. “Could ask you the same thing.”

You laugh softly and shrug. “Jack blew off our date for the party so I wanted to stay home,” you explain, patting the spot on the couch next to you for him to come sit. “What about you?”

“Sometimes...I feel outta place at those things,” Urban explains, his turn now to shrug. “Glad I didn't go cause I wouldn’t have had anyone to chill with since you didn’t go.”

You nod, “yeah-I get what you mean. You know? Sometimes it feels like I’m dating you and not Jack,” you chuckle, biting your lip as you watched him light up his blunt and take in a puff.

“Honestly...yeah,” he agreed. “The amount of times I’ve had girls tell me they don’t go up to me at parties cos they see me hanging out with you is alarming.”

Your eyes widened, smacking his arm as you laughed. “Why didn’t you say something?! So I’ve been cockblocking you this entire time?” you ask him with a groan.

Urban ended up giggling at your reaction. “Well yeah..but I don’t mind,” he teased. This time, it was your turn to raise your brows at him in judgement.

“Yeah right. It must be annoying to have to entertain your best friend’s girlfriend,” you sigh.

“You do know I’m not forced to do anything I don’t want to right?” Urban stated matter of factly.

“Well then why?”

“Why what?”

You scoff, “why do you tolerate me all the time when you could be getting your dick wet by some beautiful girl?” you ask him.

“Why is it so hard to believe that I enjoy your company and hanging out with you?” Urban retaliated in question. You let out a sarcastic laugh. “Because it just doesn’t make sense--”

“So what? You want me to say that I don’t want any girl but I want you instead?”

“Yes actually.”

Urban’s head snapped up to look at you, seeing that you were completely serious. “W-What?”

You shuffle over to straddle Urban’s waist, your hands coming up to brush some of his blond hair back. “Say that you want me and I’ll risk everything with Jack so I can have you,” you whisper. “Because I’m sick and tired of being his second choice when I know I’ll be your first every single time.”

Urban found his hands resting on your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I want you--God, I fucking want you bad, ma...but we can’t.”

“I’m going to break up with him either way,” you state, your eyes watering as you sniffle and begin playing with his beard. “I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait until we can be together without Jack getting hurt-- just promise me that at the end I’ll be yours.”

“I promise.”

#ew this is literally putrid #Idek where I was going with this lol #there was literally no build up💀 oh well #anywayyyy #with urban #urban wyatt #urban wyatt x reader #urban wyatt concepts

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shurisneakers · 4 years ago

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if you're taking ideas for harmless drabbles, i'd love to see one of bucky on one of those dates he mentioned and reader's shenanigans. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this!

a/n: are we really going to let a word limit define what a drabble is? is the vibe and spirit not enough? i say this bc this is 5.7k words long im so sorry. also hey thank you to everyone who piped in with their knowledge of violent geese and how apartment security works in new york!! also thanks to my bby @spiderrpcrker for reading this and telling me to publish this bc i wasnt going to fkjghfkj

warning: swearing, bad luck, dates, frustrated bucky, anxiety, mentions of gore but like only a sentence

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Catch up with the rest of the series here: Harmless Masterlist

Bucky returns only two weeks later. His mission lasted longer than expected and all he wants is to lie down and sleep for forty eight hours straight.

“FRIDAY?” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes. His jacket had already been discarded by his bedroom door when he walked in.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“How are ya?” He doesn’t miss a beat in asking, even though he’s exhausted.

“As good as ever. Did you have a successful mission?”

“If by successful you mean one sprained limb instead of two, then yeah.” He wasn’t really cribbing. His ankle was already starting to heal anyway and it was worth the roundhouse kick to a Nazi's face. “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”

“You have a meeting on your calendar scheduled for this Saturday.”

“Could you send a text to Y/N and ask if we can push it to the next day?” His muscles feel sore and God, he could definitely use a hot shower but all of that becomes secondary the minute he feels the sheets under him.

“Would you like me to reschedule the other one as well?”

“What’s that?” He opens one eye in confusion. “There’s another one?”

“It’s on Sunday. You’ve labelled it ‘date’.”

Ah, fuck.

“Would you like me to change it?” FRIDAY never sounds like she’s judging him, which is nice. It also reminds him about how she, as an AI, can’t judge him, which is a rude wake-up call to how he doesn’t have friends.

“No,” his voice is muffled against the pillow, “no, let it be. Where is it again?”

“You’ve only specified diner, Sergeant Barnes.”

Public space, daytime, plenty of escape routes. Good on his less delirious self for selecting a diner.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Now that he’s a little more relaxed, he can feel himself slip in and out of consciousness.

“One last thing," her automated voice commands his attention again. "Y/N replied. She says sure and to take care.”

“Yay.” Not even a second later he’s out like a light.

____

“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” Is the first thing he hears as he marches into your lair.

“What could I possibly get you?”

“A postcard, a t-shirt.” You don’t look up from your tinkering.

“Decapitated finger, used bullets,” he continues, “cement blocks.”

“Ew.” You snap the lid shut on the thing you’re working on, spinning around on your chair. "That's not nearly romantic enough."

“That’s all you’re going to get from a Russian underground bunker.” He does a mini jog up the stairs of the platform to where you are.

“Does the finger have a ring at lea- oh hello?” You raise an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You look different.”

He peers down. The outfit was still all black. As always.

“Not your clothes, dummy,” you interrupt, making him look back at you. “Your face. What’d you do?”

He unconsciously raises a hand to his cheek.

“Did you wash your face? Is that it?” you squint at him. “Has it been a few months since the last time?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” he drawls sarcastically. “Top tier comedian right there.”

“No wait, it’s the beard.” You snap your fingers in realisation, completely ignoring his comment. “You trimmed it.”

“So what if I did?” He leans on your table.

“You going somewhere?” you ask, elastic snapping against your hands as you remove your gloves.

“It’s none of your busi-”

“Hold on a second.” A sly smile begins to make its way onto your face. “Are you going on a date, Bucky Barnes?”

His comeback dies down in his throat. That didn’t take you very long for you to figure out.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You look smug, to say the least.

“Shut up.” A ray of light glistening distracts him. He traces it to the thing you were working on earlier.

“Where are you guys going?” You cross your arm across your chest, a small smirk on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s a silver box, engraved intricately with swirls that, when he observes carefully, looks like a skull. Wow, terrifying.

“I’m literally asking you.”

“What are those?” He shifts the conversation towards a more productive angle instead.

“Evil in a box and some other stuff.” You shrug offhandedly. “Is it a lunch date or just coffee?”

“Like Pandora’s Box?”

“A discount version, sure,” you confirmed impatiently. “Stop changing the topic, listen to me.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you need a chaperone?” The sincerity in your voice for such a bullshit question has him scoffing.

“Good God- no, I do not need a chaperone. I’m 106 years old, I can go out unsupervised.” He reaches over and plucks the box off your table.

“Sir, you’re a geriatric."

“What are those?” He points to a few ray odd ray guns.

“Minor stuff you don’t have to worry about right now.”

He shakes the box in his hand. “What’s gonna happen if I open this?”

“Very bad things,” you whispered ominously before your volume returns to normal. “How’d you meet this person? Online?”

“She’s Natasha’s friend.” He turns the box over, seeing a small latch at the side. “What bad things?”

“Bad luck and misery. Don’t play with it, it’s dangerous.” You pull the box away from him. “Aw, is it a blind date?”

“Why do you care so much?” he shoots back, tugging the box back towards him.

“Just lookin’ out for you, Bucko,” you huff, adjusting your grip on your device. “Need to keep my favourite senior citizen safe.”

“I have a vibranium arm.” Whose force he could use to grab the box once and for all, but wasn’t. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“What if she has one too, huh? Then what?”

“She doesn’t.” As far as he knows, he’s the only one alive with a metal appendage made out of the strongest metal in the world. That could very well change by tomorrow but he's keeping the title for now.

“But what if she does? I swear to- stop trying to take the box!” You pull a little more forcefully, but he doesn’t relent.

“I want this to get over before this evening.”

“What time’s your date?”

“Why do you care?” He’s sure anyone who saw the dumb tug-of-war you both were playing would just automatically assume he was an absolute manchild, not an Avenger.

“Because.” You don’t explain further. “Tell me what time your date is, you weirdo.”

“Five o’clock, now let go.”

“Fine,” you say, suddenly loosening your grip. Clearly, it doesn't make much of a difference since he isn't struggling to keep his balance from the sudden loss of force.

“Fine.” He clears his throat, straightening up.

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

A putrid smell creeps into his nose, one all too similar to spoiled milk and decaying seaweed. He has to physically stop himself from gagging.

“Have a good day.” You smile and lean far back. Too far. It looks like you're almost going to fall out of the chair.

Through the tears that are threatening to line his eyelids, he looks down at the box whose latch you somehow managed to lift, leaving the box open.

“What the fuck is this?” He coughs, swatting at the air in front of him to clear it.

“I told you; bad luck in a box.”

“You can’t scientifically create bad luck, that’s bullshit.” He tosses the box back onto your table. You watch it slide past you, not making any effort to stop it. “What is it really?”

“I’m not lying.” You pull open a drawer, brandishing a small table fan that you set down beside you. “If you open it, you’re going to have terrible luck for the day.”

He glowers at you when you turn the fan on, forcing the fumes back towards him.

“Besides, that’s all I was doing today.” You kick your feet up. “So you can leave now.”

He doesn’t care if you’re lying about not having anything else to do today. You could burn down the world if you wanted to but he needs to take a stupid shower. Again.

“You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He tries airing out his shirt, hoping that the smell would dissipate as soon as possible.

“Have fun on your date, sarge!” you encourage him as he stalks out of the lair. “Remember to wrap it befo-”

He turns it into a sprint before you can finish.

____

Six hours later and he’s absolutely convinced he fucked up.

He isn’t used to having his weekends free.

He realises that this is the first time in months that he’s actually stepped out of the Tower for something that wasn’t directly mission-related. He should probably get some air. Touch some grass. See the sun.

His shirt thankfully manages to rid itself of the odour from the dumb box so he didn’t have to go take a shower. With nothing much planned and a few hours to spare, he heads to the coffee shop instead.

It’s a small place, bustling and alive with a crowd of people. They have a little bookshelf that usually is full of books donated by patrons, free for anyone to read.

The barista smiles at him. The coffee costs more than his high school education. He awkwardly smiles back.

He’s not a regular, but they’ve seen him enough times to know that he usually asks for black coffee in a to-go cup, later adding a sugar or two according to his own taste. They're nice to him, occasionally throwing in a cookie or something on the house. He can't tell if it's because of the Avenger status or the sizeable tip he leaves.

He picks up a random book from the shelf, fully intending not to read it but to just sit there and think. The book acted as a shield for his resting bitch face, resting murder face and his resting rage face. More often than not, a good combination of the three.

He sets the coffee down at the corner table he manages to nab in a quick second, along with the two sachets of sugar.

“Is this seat taken?” Someone asks from beside him. He earnestly shakes his head in a ‘no’, gesturing for them to take it.

They give him a quick thanks and drag the chair away from his table.

He does a quick overlook of the book he picked up.

The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot.

Well, now he’s too anxious to put it back. YA fiction it is.

He reaches for the sugar while glossing over the summary. He reaches a little further when it doesn’t come to his hand immediately, blindly running his fingers across the table.

Bucky peeks over the book, eyebrows knitting together when he notices that they’re missing.

He was sure he picked it up.

He looks underneath the table. It wasn’t there, neither under his seat. Strange, but okay. He picks up the book and the cup, walking back to the station to grab two sugars.

This time he makes sure to tuck it into his pocket, double-checking before going back to his table.

Which was now occupied. He wanted to groan.

His mind automatically reverts back to the box from that morning.

“Come on,” he scoffs quietly to himself. It was a coincidence. “Get yourself together.”

“A seat at the counter just cleared up,” the barista from earlier offers when she sees him standing in the middle of the store.

See? Good luck.

He shoots her a grateful look, venturing over to the barstool to take his place. It’s not the most comfortable, but then again, he wasn’t planning to stay there for very long.

He empties the sugar into the coffee, stirring slowly before opening a random page in the book.

He takes a long sip, ignoring how hot the drink was.

He chokes immediately. Because either he was losing his mind or his order had somehow got switched from ‘no sugar’ to ‘diabetes in a cup’.

He takes another small sip and his face immediately twists in disgust. Definitely too sweet. The sweetener he added only made it worse.

He catches the eye of the barista. She looks on in concern.

“Is everything okay?”

Fuck.

He’s not one to make a scene. He just wants to live as imperceptibly as he could.

“Yep.” The sweetness sticks to the back of his throat. “All good.”

He just closes his eyes and downs the rest of it without thinking twice, trying to hide the grimace in his face. He gives her a weak thumbs up. She doesn't look convinced.

He leaves the shop soon after, hands shoved in his pocket. Maybe he could go sit by the lake at Central Park, watch the clouds. It reminded Bucky of the lake in front of his hut in Wakanda and the hours he'd sit in front of it, feet dipped into the water as his goats fed. He misses it.

He makes a sharp turn at a corner, still thinking about his options when his ankle abruptly twists under him.

He stumbles rather ungracefully, almost hitting the ground, but manages to save himself through the newly built up immunity he has towards falling thanks to all his encounters with you.

His gaze lands on his hardcore combat boots. Their laces had come undone.

Now he just knew that was horseshit. He always double knots them; they had never loosened in the past before.

The box.

He shoves the thought out of his head, crouching down to tie them again. He tugs on them to make sure they’re secure before standing up again.

Central Park is a few blocks away but he’s glad he didn’t bring his bike. The weather was rather nice and the wind in his hair felt good.

He wanders around the park for a while, looking for the lake. He pauses at a board with a map of the park on it, assessing how far it was.

Once he's ascertained which path to go towards, he turns on his heel to go.

He fucking trips again.

“Are you serious?” he says furiously under his breath. “Cut it out.”

He’s half-convinced that he should tie it around his ankle like a sexy lace-up set of heels. He ties a triple knot this time, glares at it until he’s sure it’s fine and checks to see if anyone saw him humiliate himself.

Only a person on a nearby bench who looked like they were passed out drunk, given that their hoodie and sunglasses clad self was slumped over.

No witnesses. No 'You won't BELIEVE what the Winter Soldier did! Critics say it's his biggest blunder yet!' articles the next day on social media.

He manages to make it to the lake in one piece and no more falls, partly because he keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes to ensure no fuckery occurs.

There are a few people rowing and plenty of others lining the bank at scattered locations. There’s a mom and her kid at the place he ends up. She sends him a small smile in greeting and he returns the favour.

There’s a secluded bench that he takes a place on, letting out a small sigh. If he ignores the traffic and the skateboarders and the people in general, it’s actually kind of peaceful.

There are geese and their little goslings swimming around the water close to the shore. Maybe he should have brought some birdseed. Or kale.

The kid beside him is busy fashioning something out of leaves, only occasionally erupting into giggles when it doesn't pan out. His mom watches him fondly, pointing at twigs he could use. Everything seems kind of picture-perfect and his body automatically relaxes, easing further into the seat and closing his eyes for a second.

Until there's a large splash and loud distressed honking. He whips his head around to find the same kid staring straight ahead at the goose with a wide grin. His mother curses quietly, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing his hand, half chastising him for throwing something at an animal and half urging him to walk faster.

The goose turns to Bucky. With no one else to blame for the sudden attack, it logically launches itself at him. His smile drops.

He gets up in a rush. The dumb bird nearly comes for his head, but he deflects with his metal arm.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He swats at it swiftly, trying not to cause any real damage. The goose, understandably, does not speak English.

He flinches when one of them bites at his knee. He can punt it to the sun but he doesn’t want to.

“Stop that.” He sticks his hand out to shove the stupid thing away, retreating back to the road. “Jesus, why are you so aggressive?”

Among the barrage of feathers showering on him, he prays his damn shoelace doesn’t unravel as he shields his head with one arm, the other fending himself while he moves hurriedly away.

The goose honks angrily at him. He scowls at it, not exactly pleased with the reminder that these fucking overgrown ducks were constantly bloodthirsty.

It doesn’t leave him alone till he’s significantly away from where he was sitting. He wants to call it profanity but that’d probably piss it off more.

The box and its effects were definitely starting to feel real.

Fuck it, no more day out for him. The best plan he can think of is to just go to the diner he’s supposed to meet his date at.

The waiter greets him with a courteous nod, which Bucky can only imagine was the best he could muster when a dishevelled 200-pound man walks in covered in goose feathers and irritation.

He won't admit that he’s too scared to eat lunch at this point because he can’t rule out food poisoning. He spends the next two hours on his phone playing Fruit Ninja and plucking feathers that accented his all-black outfit.

Several glasses of water later and a second before he’s about to beat his high score, someone taps on his shoulder, breaking him out of his concentration.

Motherfu-

He clenches his eye shut, inhaling deeply before turning around.

“James?”

“Hey, yeah, that’s me.” Bucky almost falls over the table with how fast he stands up, clearly underestimating his size. “Leah?”

“Hi.” She smiles and he finds himself smiling nervously along with her.

“Hi.” He steps out to pull out her chair for her and she laughs. "Nice to meet you."

“How long have you been waiting here?” she asks while setting down her bag.

“Around ten minutes.” He clears his throat to hopefully hide the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

“Just give me a second, I need to tell my friend I reached,” Leah pulls out her phone and he nods.

“Another glass of water for you?” The waiter seems less enthusiastic about Bucky’s 8th refill.

“Yes,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t call him out on it, “please.”

“You must be really dehydrated."

Bucky turns to look at him slowly. “I like the taste.”

He can’t really blame the guy. Bucky’s been there for hours without ordering anything solid, just leaching off their free water and complimentary bread basket.

“So, James.” She tosses her phone back into her bag, leaning forward on her palms easily. “Tell me about yourself.”

He had rehearsed this a million times. He could do this.

“I, uh,-”

“Menu?” Okay, so someone clearly had a vendetta against him.

“Thank you.” She takes it with a smile.

His morning debacle with the coffee flashes through his mind. Suddenly the idea of a diner didn’t seem so smart.

However, she’s already placed her order and George is standing beside him expectantly, daring him to ask for another glass of water, so he places his usual order and hopes that your stupid bad luck thing wore off.

He quickly learns that his date is laid back, and it isn’t hard to fall into a rhythm with her even though she’s the one asking most of the questions.

“How’d you meet Nat?” Is his attempt at one.

“She used to come in for lunch every week at the place I work.” Leah leans back in her chair. “She can really handle her alcohol.”

He’d be worried about Nat day drinking if he didn’t know about her complete inability to get drunk. She might as well have been downing glasses of lemonade.

“Yeah, she’s-” Intimidating, scary, cool “-really something.”

“She mentioned that you like movies.” He definitely spends a lot of time watching them. “You got any recommendations?”

It’s easier to figure out how different things are or how much he missed out over the years through them. He’s glad he sat out the early 2000s, judging by their fashion sense and hairstyles.

He's watched several movies over the past few months, a few of them critically acclaimed and others who were just there for the cult following.

But now everything goes blank and the only thing that he can remember are the biopics made about Steve that were somehow hilarious for gifting him the mental image of Freddie Prinze Jr. dressed in the stars and stripes, and highly distressing for the number of historical inaccuracies. Contrary to popular belief, Stevie did not, in fact, consider running for president after he took up the shield, nor did he start his own bar chain.

He can’t name Oh Captain, My Captain starring Channing Tatum as his favourite movie on his first date and hope to make a good first impression.

“Despicable Me was kinda fun.” He wants to kill himself. “I mean, it’s the last one I saw.”

Her face twists in mild disgust, but he can tell it isn't ill-intentioned. “It's a good movie, but God, that just gave me some intense flashbacks to my aunt’s Facebook page. Don’t think I can look at a minion ever again.”

He sniggers with her. He doesn’t know what the context is.

He’s a little awkward, and he can definitely tell he isn’t the most open book but she laughs at some of his attempts at jokes. There’s a distinct discomfort he has lingering at the back of his mind prodding at him, telling him over and over again that he isn’t ready for something like this. A warning bell, asking him to leave as soon as possible because he was in a dangerous situation.

He remembers what his therapist told him about breathing and remembering that the resources he had available were greater than his anxiety and he tries to get out of his head. It takes a few minutes of acting like he's fine but he manages to do it.

Other than the one time he scalds his tongue on the coffee but played it off with a pained smile, shoving down thoughts of your stupid invention, things actually went okay.

It was nice, even though they decided by the end that it was better if they both gelled together better as friends. It lifts the strange fear he feels and he can hear Dr. Mendoza say she's proud of him for taking this step before spending three hours psychoanalysing why they decided to stay platonic.

Bucky promises to visit her sushi shop with Nat soon and she says a bottle of sake awaits him for a drinking game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Nat and he share the same tolerance for alcohol.

He makes sure to leave George a tip. A big one. It’s the first time he sees the guy smile the entire evening.

He’s waving goodbye to Leah outside and he thinks that maybe it was a good end to the day and that things actually turned out fine.

Until he turns around to leave, only to have someone walk straight into him with an iced tea.

The cold comes as a bit of a shock, making him jump slightly. He stares at his shirt, using his fingertips to pull it away from his body.

The person melts into a series of apologies immediately, offering to dry clean his shirt but Bucky just forces a shake of his head and says it’s okay even though he can feel the sugar making the shirt stick to his chest. Goose feathers and iced tea. Was there anything else that would like to attach itself to him?

His fists clench and his teeth grit and he has to physically control himself from sprinting to your lair because God knows what else is in store for him and he didn't want to add in any way.

The door to the lair is locked. Fuckin’ brilliant.

When no one answers after minutes worth of waiting, he fishes for his phone and realises that maybe two hours of Fruit Ninja was not the best idea, especially on a phone known for having shitty battery life.

There’s roughly 2 percent left. By the time he opens his app to give you a call, his phone screen goes black.

He groans. He’s desperate at this point and under any other normal circumstances, he would have never, ever considered doing this.

But ten minutes later he’s outside your apartment building. You’re aware that he has your address; no doubt that it was in the SHIELD file he had gotten, and he knows that you know but it was still weird.

The buzzer has your last name listed next to it. He’s sure that he’ll break it if he keeps pressing it at this rate but he really needs you to let him in.

“Who the fu-” your voice comes through the intercom.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this, my phone died and I couldn’t reach you,” He breathes out as soon as he hears you. “But I need you to fix this.”

When he doesn’t hear a reply, he wonders if the thing actually worked. He’s about to start pressing it again-

“Bucky?” You sound a little surprised to hear him. “You’re at my house. Why are you at my house?”

“I need you to fix whatever this is.”

“What are you- fine, I’m buzzing you in,” your voice, initially confused soon trails off into something more dismissive.

There’s a soft click from the door, allowing him to push it open. The elevator is already on the same floor as him so he just uses that.

The elevator goes up a floor or two. His feet tap restlessly against the carpeted floor.

The lights turn off and everything comes to a standstill. His foot stops tapping.

He should have known. He should have fucking known.

Thirty seconds pass. He’s still in pitch darkness with the elevator showing no signs of moving.

In fact, he’s resigned to his fate. He sits down on the ground, only one step away from completely laying down and hoping someone finds his body here someday.

It’s six minutes of plain silence. He might as well get comfortable if he’s going to get stuck here for the rest of his life. Did he change his will? Does he even have a will?

There’s finally a whir. He thinks that maybe he’s going to plummet to his doom as the perfect end to this day, but then the light switches on and it starts moving upward.

It stops at the floor with a ding. He doesn’t get off the ground, only eyes the door wearily. With his luck, it wouldn’t open.

But it does and within a second he’s on his feet, scrambling to get out before it changes its mind.

He remembers your door number, basically charging down the hall to get to it.

The door is white and the paint is starting to chip off it. The handle itself is dented in a few places and he wonders if it was your fault or someone else's.

His knocks are rapid, agitated even. He doesn’t stop until he hears your loud shouts telling him to cut it out.

“What the hell were you doing, trying to break down my door?” It swings open, revealing you in your pajamas. “Haven’t you done that already? And where were you, I’ve been waiting for like, ten minutes.”

He honestly feels bad for showing up uninvited and highly flustered. He can’t imagine it’s a pretty sight either. "This bad luck shit- fix it. My whole day’s been fucked up.”

“What are you-” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, taking in his appearance.

It takes you a second to realise what he’s talking about but when you do, your face settles.

“How was your date?” You lean against the door frame, arms crossed over your chest.

“Really,” He glowered at you, “that’s what you care about?”

“Yes.” You nod. “Did you have fun?”

He hesitates. “I guess?”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah.” Where was this going.

“Good, I’m happy for you.” The smile on your face is genuine. “Look at you go, Casanova.”

“We agreed to be just friends, but that’s not the point here. Y/N,” he whines. “I have a mission next week, I can’t afford to fuck up. My whole day was off and I don’t want it to carry over.”

“Your whole day?” you questioned, standing up instead of leaning against the wall. “Buck-”

“Just fix it.”

“Okay.” You lift your hand up, extending it towards his face.

He waits for you to do something.

You flick him on the forehead.

“There,” you declare, going back to your previous position. “you’re cured.”

What.

He says exactly what he’s thinking.

You laugh. “Dude. I was fucking with you.”

Huh?

“Well, actually maybe just like, three things and then I got bored.”

He’s confused.

“You know,” you begin when he doesn’t reply, “taking the sugar packets, switching your coffee order when you were looking under the table, took your place when you left, the shoelaces.”

“The shoelaces?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “That’s the other ray gun you saw this morning. Unties your shoelaces. I stopped after that because I thought you figured it out.”

His face scrunches in puzzlement.

“I mean, you looked right at me and told me to cut it out.”

He racks his brain about what you could possibly be talking about before it hits him. The hungover person on the goddamn bench in the park.

“You were the one in the hoodie and sunglasses.”

“I just followed the Avengers’ code of disguise.” You shrug. “Turns out it kinda works. Also teleportation. So helpful.”

He forgot about the teleportation. That's why you could do all of it so fast without him noticing you were even there.

“What about the fucking geese?”

You pause for a second. “The geese?”

“And the elevator.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The confusion on your face is apparent. “What geese and elevator? I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Everything’s been a mess today,” he grumbles. “I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it other than what I mentioned.” There’s indignation on your features that quickly gives way to delight. “Holy shit, did I just accidentally invent portable bad luck?”

“Okay-” his palm finds its way to his forehead in exasperation, “-then what the hell was the smell?”

“What smell- oh, the one from the box?”

He nods briskly.

“Secretions Magnifique.” You snorted. “It’s a perfume. The worst rated one I could find.”

“Perfume?”

“With notes of milk, seaweed and sandalwood.”

“It wasn’t an inator?”

“No, it wasn- did you get vibe checked by a goose at the park?” You stifle a laugh when you notice a stray feather on his thigh.

“What does that even mean?” he asks in despair.

“I can see why it attacked you. You got bad juju.” You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe if you stop staring so much-”

“So I just have shit luck.” Is that a fucking relief or even worse?

“Well,” you begin but decide not to continue.

Even with all the irritability masking it, you could see that he genuinely was just not having a good time.

“Wait here a second.”

You leave him at the door. He shifts his balance and sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to walk back to the Tower. Maybe he could grab a slice of pizza along the way since he skipped lunch.

“Okay, here.” You return with a large glass of water. He only looks at it. “It’s just water, I promise. You look like you ran a marathon."

He takes it from you sceptically, pushing away the urge to sniff at it. It’s gone within a few gulps.

You wait until he’s finished to point at his arm. He draws his eyebrows together, but you only curl your index finger and beckon for him to give you his hand.

He reluctantly extends it towards you.

“Don’t laugh,” you warn him, taking his metal arm. “This usually helps me.”

You tie a small bracelet around his wrist. It has a few beads, which he realises represent the colours of the solar system.

“Keep that for good luck.” You pat it gently after securing it. “I think you just had a bad day; those don’t last very long. Do you want to charge your phone before you leave?”

“Uh-” The bracelet’s pretty, the colours shine against the dark vibranium. “-no, I’m good. I’ll just leave.”

“Okay. Anything else I can help you with or will you be fine?”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously nice.”

“I’m not evil all the time.” You huff. “My hours are in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m gonna go then.”

“See you next week.” You give him a little wave. “I’d say break a leg on your mission but knowing your situation...”

He scoffs. “Thanks.”

You make a move to close the door when starts walking down the hallway towards the exit.

He adjusts the beads slightly so he can see them better. The Earth one has glitter in it. He thinks it’s cute.

“Bucky.”

He turns around.

There’s a hint of a smile on your face.

“Take the stairs.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 3 years ago

Text

Part two of my AU! You should start with But What If, Instead, or you may be a little confused. Or just dive in, that's cool too. Be a sexy rebel. It's what BJ would want.

He’s sixteen when green starts to grow on his face. He’s been dealing with the hair for years, now, and it’s mostly stable. Sure, he gets overwhelmed, and sure, it can still change quickly, but it’s not like when he was twelve and threw fits all the time that resulted in fire engine red. He wouldn’t say he’s the best at handling anger, for sure, for sure, for sure. That award will probably always go to his mother, Emily. But he’s gotten better at treating everything like a joke, which totally helps. Can’t get mad at what you don’t take seriously, right? It’s a philosophy that seems to frustrate his dad, who, in Betelgeuse’s opinion, takes everything way too seriously. Chuckster is lucky he’s got Emily to balance him out, or that case of stick in ass might have become terminal. So, yeah, alright, the green. He’s been growing facial hair lately, a thin pathetic little pencil mustache that nine year old Lydia calls his “creepo-stache,” and he’d be the first to admit, it’s pretty John Waters-esque, but it’s what he’s got, for now. That hair, of course, grows in green, and mixed with the corpse purple untertones he still hasn’t quite learned to glamour away convincingly, the effect is that he perpetually looks like he’s ready to put on a zombie remake of a 70’s porno. Metaphors sure are fun. At least the upper lip is starting to fill out, and the chin scruff has been on the rise, too, though he’s a far cry away from Charles’ majestic beard. He’s staring in his bathroom mirror after a shower, admiring his chubby, totally sexy self, when he notices a splotch of green on the left side of his nose. He smooshes his nose down a little with one hand, leans in closer, and squints. Must be somethin’ he ate? On his nose? For some reason? But then he notices there’s the same slight green color at his temples, too. He settles on scrubbing his face until his skin hurts a little, and when he’s done, he’s so flushed he can’t see the color, and assumes the matter is settled. And then a few days later, it’s darker. He’s sitting at dinner with the whole family, chewing with his mouth open to annoy Lydia, who gives him a swift kick to the shin under the table. “Now, if you ever hit me, and I find out about it,” he starts to tease, until he feels his mom flick his ear, and he turns to her. “You got some schmutz on your face, Bug. Come here.” Emily blots her napkin to her tongue, and then wipes at his nose, much to his chagrin. “Ew, seriously? Maaaaa,” he whines, but everyone at that table knows he’s soaking up the attention like a sponge. “I for sure feel so much cleaner with your spit smeared around my face, thank you so much, Emily Deetz.” Emily shooshes him and continues rubbing, but her napkin comes away clean. “Huh,” she glances down at it, and then back to the spot on the side of his nose, and squints. Lydia and Charles are leaning in too, now, and his sister grins. “There’s some on his forehead, mama, get him there,” and she’s successful in weaponizing their mother against him, because he hardly has time for a “Damn you-” before Emily is rubbing at the green stains on his temples, near his hairline. “What the heck is this, ink?” “I dunnoooo!” he winges, wiggling just enough to let her know he’s unhappy but not enough to flail and hurt her. When she finally relents and lets him go, a third hand sprouts from his back to pull the “hood” part of his black and white striped hoodie over his head, and he tightens the draw strings. “No more smearing spit on BJ, now, that part of dinner is done,” he says defensively, and Emily has the sense to look a little sheepish. “Sorry, Bug,” she pats his head, and he hisses in response, but no one, not even him, takes that seriously anymore. It’s a few more days until there’s a break in the case. He’s standing upside down on his bedroom ceiling, concentrating on a certain riff on his ukelele, and Lydia is flopped on his bed, passively watching Coraline on the beat up vintage TV he and Charles spent last summer fixing up. “I can’t get this to sound right,” he complains to her, and in response,

she turns the movie up louder. “Oh, haha, my sister, the fuckin’ comedianne, she’ll be here all week, everybody,” and he flops on the mattress next to her, which makes her bounce a bit before they both settle. He’s laying on his back, ukulele on his chest, mumbling and strumming, and she’s on her stomach, watching that kinda horny scene where the nude old lady with the huge honkers unzips her fuckin’ skin, when she glances over at him. “Your face spots are fuzzy, now,” she comments. “It’s called a beard, short stack. Dad’s had one since you were five, you’d think-” “Shut up, dummy, I meant the schmaltz.” “You mean the schmutz. Different words mean different things.” “Whatever. Your nose is growing hair, like grandpa. It’s barforiffic.” He frowns, and sets the ukulele down besides his bed, and conjures himself a little hand mirror from his pocket dimension. Lydia’s breath hitches, because no matter how many years it’s been, she still loves that trick, the way it’s like he’s pulling something out of nothing. He stares at the splotches in his hand mirror, beholding his face in mock horror like that episode of the Twilight Zone, the one with the pig faced people. All other details aside, she’s right, the splotches are growing hair, sort of. It doesn’t feel exactly like hair, when he reaches an experimental finger to poke at it, it’s sort of.. He can’t describe it. Grassy? Not really hair, more like a short, fuzzy… “It’s moss,” he realizes, positioning the mirror to check his forehead, where the vegetation is growing softly there, too. “Gross. How often do you shower, you neanderthal?” Lydia scrunches up her nose at him. “Careful, or you’re getting a face full of demon pits when you’re tryna sleep tonight,” he bites back at her. “I shower a normal amount. Maybe..” sharp teeth worry his bottom lip as he thinks. “I’m showering too much?” “That can’t possibly be your take away from this.” “Well I don’t know, Ly-dee-uhh,” he drags out her name. “It’s not like I’ve got a handy dandy guide to being an undead demon thing tucked away that explains all the rules that come with bein’ me, okay? I’m just thinkin’, I could count as dead cause, ya know. No heartbeat. Dead people probably.. I mean plants might grow on em, right? Like if one was left murdered and unburied in th’ world, like in a damp forest, and surrounded by nature, maybe somethin’ would grow on their putrid, rotting corpse flesh?” Lydia sits up, and leans over him, pushing the hand mirror out of the way. “I’m picking this off of you so I don’t have to hear about it anymore,” she says, simply, and then uses her surprisingly strong kid strength to dig into the runny splotch on his left temple. She runs a nail up his skin, scraping at him, and he purrs in response, tongue flicking out of his mouth, snake like. “Big scary demon dead guy, and all it takes to tame him is a little bit of attention,” she teases, and he gives another half hearted hiss. “You’re like a cat, BJ.” When she’s finished, she cleans under her nails and looks pleased. “I think I got it,” she nods, and he checks in his hand mirror. They both watch in silence as the moss seems to instantly grow back. “Moooooom!” he whines, sitting up and tossing the hand mirror over his shoulder, where it disappears into nothing without touching the ground, tucked back safe in his pocket dimension. Emily pokes her head in a moment later. “Yeah, what’s up, Beej?” She’s got her long blonde hair all done in a neat bun, and there’s the slight tone of exasperation to her voice. “You kids aren’t fighting, right?” she asks, stepping into the room. “I am literally just sitting here,” Lydia motions to the tv, still displaying the stop motion exploits of her current idol and role model. “The green crap on my face, it’s moss!” Betelgeuse whines to her, outright ignoring her question to begin with. “I’m growing moss on my face, and Lyds scraped it off but it instantly grew back!” “It was kinda cool,” Lydia admits, not giving her older brother the satisfaction of looking at him when she says it. Emily,

meanwhile, puts a finger on her chin, and scrunches up her nose in thought. “Maybe.. Some weed killer might get rid of it?” she suggests, clearly unsure. “So you want me to drink POISON,” Betelgeuse instantly flops back on the bed, left hand thrown over his forehead, all dramatic. “Lured me into the family just to try and murder me years later, huh? You fooled me! With love!” He opens his eyes in time to see both Emily and Lydia rolling theirs. “You can’t just magic it away?” Lydia pokes the moss on his nose. “The way you did your last report card?” “Judas,” he hisses, dropping the glamour enough to glare at her with his snake slit amber eyes. “You did what?” ``````````````````````````````````````````````````````` He’s back at school on Monday with a bandaid fix, which is literally a couple band aids across the spots, one plastered on his nose, the other one a large patch bandage on the spot on his temples where the green was growing in the most clearly. The bandages noticeably don’t blend in with his skin tone, despite touting themselves as flesh colored, because he’s got skin like a guy who never left his basement, and also is freshly fuckin’ dead. For extra cover, he’s wearing his “Guide” hat, a ratty gray policeman’s cap with a metal plate spelling out the word. Charles had bought for him from a Goodwill his first year up top. It does enough to hide the streaks of green, as long as he pulls it down a bit, and he’s not exactly known at school for being a style icon, so nobody thinks twice to see him wearing it, as he slips from the front seat of Charles’ car that morning. “Have a good day, son. Call me if.. If you need me,” Charles reminds him, and Lydia pipes up from the backseat. “Later, Bug beverage. Good luck.” She’s still feeling a bit guilty about snitching, apparently, because she blows him a kiss, which is super uncool and she clearly wants to take it back the second she’s done it, but he grins and pretends to catch it. “Later, family,” he closes the car door, and turns to face his day. School, he had learned a few years ago, is a uniquely breather torture experience thought up by the old to make the young loose out on their precious youths, there by getting back at them for being young and fun. That was his working theory all through his miserable first year of middle school, and high school is not disproving that theory in the least. He’s vaguely aware of the cliques that the breathers his age form, and there’s probably gossip about him, but for the most part, he’s just too weird for most of the humans his age to engage with him. He’s kind of got an aura, an indefinable something he can’t switch off, and it’s getting stronger the older he gets. Breathers are naturally more wary of him than they used to be. So yeah, he is the weird chubby kid in the striped hoodie and matching tripp pants, and under normal circumstances, he has to believe that would lead to bullying, but whatever ancient animal instinct these kids have, it tells them to steer clear of him. So school is, to put it frankly, lonely. It’s probably better to be mostly ignored than hated, he supposes, but that doesn’t make eating lunch in the quad by himself every day any less pathetic. He’s zoning out in first period, relaxing in his slacker seat in the back of the class, when things actually get interesting. Their teacher is a sort of slim, nervous looking man who teaches history, but right at that moment he’s announcing a new student. And it’s someone Betelgeuse recognizes, though he can’t place from where. The new boy, Kevin something Loh, apparently, is directed to take the only empty seat in the class, the seat right in front of Betelgeuse. As Kevin is walking down the aisle towards him, Betelgeuse is wracking his brain, trying to recall. Kevin is Asian, with high cheekbones and short black hair, carefully and deliberately styled. He’s also staring right at Betelgeuse. “You?” he whispers, sounding horrified. “Me,” Betelgeuse responds, propping his history book up on his desk and slumping down behind it, deciding he’s

fully content with napping this period away, and leaving this mystery unsolved. But Kevin is apparently worse at reading social cues than BJ is, because he’s still standing there, looming over Betelgeuse. “What are you doing here?” he hisses, sounding angry now, and Betelgeuse peaks up at him, amber eyes shining a faint amount from under the brim of his cap. “I am literally just sitting here.” “Mr. Loh, is there a problem?” their teacher askes, and the new kid whips around. “I refuse to sit next to this thing.” He points at Betelgeuse, who straightens up, a scowl playing across his features. “You wanna rephrase that?” the demon askes, gravely voice particularly dangerous sounding, because he’s NOT a thing. The humans all take note of the changing vibes in the room, growing uncomfortable. “Does someone want to switch with Mr. Loh, and sit in front of Mr. Deetz instead?” their teacher tries. The answer is silence. No one is giving up their seat next to friends to sit in front of the loner who smells like freshly dug grave dirt. “Well, then. Sit down, Mr. Loh. Mr. Deetz does not bite.” “But-” “Yeah, sit down, Kev, you’re interrupting my mid morning nap,” Betelgeuse scowls, fingers on his right hand twitching, and Kevin falls into his seat with a less than macho sounding yelp. From the glare he gets in return, he’s got a feeling Kevin’s not gonna be his new bff. When lunch rolls around, Betelgeuse finds his usual place in the quad, under the shade of a tree, and he’s about to summon forth his lunch from his little pocket dimension, when he hears a breather approaching from behind him. He’s sitting on the side that faces away from the main area, and all the happy friend groups enjoying their lunches and gossip, and towards the track field, cause if he’s gonna be sitting alone, at least he’s gonna get to watch boys and girls his age work up a sexy sweat. From a quick smell test he can tell the person approaching is Kevin. The guy reeks of some overly applied body spray mess, and it nearly puts him off his lunch. “What,” he groans, annoyed, not even looking back to address the other boy, and Kevin seems to freeze. He’d apparently thought he was being pretty sneaky. “Why are you following me?” is the first thing out of the new kid’s mouth, and that does actually cause Betelgeuse to turn and look at him, staring like Kev’s just proposed the earth is only round because Atlus keeps reinflating it to use like a blow up doll. “I,” Betelgeuse gestures very dramatically to himself. “Don’t knoooow,” he continues slowly. “Who you are.” Kevin, for some reason, seems to wilt a bit. “You really don’t remember me?” “I really don’t. Should I? You do somethin’ interestin’? Besides, single handedly keep Axe body spray in business?” “It’s not Axe!” Kevin stomps over to stand in front of him, offended. “Then axe it, my man, cause that scent is not workin’ for you,” Betelgeuse replies easily, leaning back against the tree to resume his track practice spying. “You juggled your head!” Kevin accuses him. Betelgeuse cocks an eyebrow, and his eyes flit back to Kevin. So he’s someone who had seen him use his powers, at some point? Yeesh. “You brought a field of pumpkins to life and nearly murdered me!” Ohhhh. “Yeah, well, you pushed me down,” Betelgeuse says, suddenly remembering. “So I guess we both suffered that day, didn’t we, Kev?” “So you admit it!” Kevin says tenselely, before sitting in the grass across from him. Betelgeuse watches him quietly. The breather seems confused. “Why are you here?” he asks, and Betelgeuse nods over at the bouncing, glistening track team. “The view.” Kevin glances in that direction and rolls his eyes. “Jackass, I meant at school,” he dead pans. Betelgeuse grins. “Well, th’ way my dad explained it, I have to be in government mandated kid jail, or else he goes to adult jail.” “So you’re a monster who has to go to school?” “Demon, but. Yeah.” Kevin’s eyes widen, and he whispers the word. “Demon.” There’s a beat as he ponders over that. “Those people, who were with you at the store.. Are they demons

too?” “What? Th’ Deetzs? Nah. They’re human as they come.” “And you live with them?” “Yup,” he pops the “p,” quickly growing annoyed with this line of questioning. “And they-” “Listen, man,” Betelgeuse apparates his lunch from nothing, which causes Kevin to flinch, before realizing it's just food. “Can we skip all this? It’s a life changing revelation for you, I’m sure, but forget bored stiff, this is giving me rigor mortis. Yes, I’m a demon. I go to school here cause I’m th’ Deetz’s son, and no, there’s nothing wrong with them.” He grimaces. “Just me. I’m not following you around to torment you, you’re not that special. And yes,” he holds up the sandwich from his lunch. “This is a turkey club on a croissant. My human dad packed it for me, because he loves me.” There’s a small moment of silence. Kevin opens his mouth, and Betelgeuse, own mouth now full of food, groans. “Why do you have bandages all over your face?” “Because I murdered a pedophile four years ago and his vengeful, freak ass ghost won’t let it go.” “Really?” “No. That’s not even how ghosts work. God, breathers are so gullible.” “You’re such a dick,” Kevin replies, but there’s a faint hint of a smile, there. Betelgeuse feels it tugging at his own lips, too. “I’m growing moss on my face,” he admits after a moment. “Wasn’t sure how else to keep it hidden, so. Bandages. Not that I really care what people think-” “I can tell from the tripp pants, yeah,” Kev interjects, and Betelgeuse flips him off before continuing. “I’m not trying to get a bunch of attention for being weird.” “Didn’t seem to bother you before,” Kevin comments, picking lazily at the grass around him, and Betelgeuse shrugs. “I was twelve. I’ve gotten a bit smarter, even if I was dragged kickin’ an’ screamin’ th’ whole damn way,” and this time, Kevin actually does smile. He mimics the other boy. He offers Kevin half his sandwich, and for the first time ever, he doesn’t eat lunch alone. They wait after school together, watching as their peers are picked up or loaded onto buses. “I used to have nightmares about you,” Kevin tells him, and Betelgeuse smiles flirtatiously. “So you’ve been dreamin’ of me. That’s hot.” He receives a punch in the arm for that. When his mom pulls up, with Lydia in tow in the backseat, he throws open the front passenger side door of the car. “Hey, ma, hey Lyds,” but Emily is looking past him. “BJ, is that a friend of yours?” She sounds thrilled. He turns and looks at Kevin, then back to her, and shrugs, but he’s smiling. “I dunno. He’s new, so we hung out at lunch, an’ talked. Maybe. I dunno.” “You should invite him over!” Emily grins, eyes shining. “Now?” “Now! We’re having take out for dinner, we could order more for him, easy! And he’s new, he probably doesn’t have any plans, and-” “Alright, alright, hold on,” he gripes, then waives Kevin over. The breather approaches the car, cautious. “Hey, so my mom, she says you can come over for dinner, if you want,” and God/Satan, he’s never felt more like an awkward, pimply faced teen than he does at that exact moment. If he sounds like a total loser, at least Kevin doesn’t seem to mind, cause he perks up. “Let me call my dad!” he whips out his cell phone so fast, Betelgeuse feels flattered. He actually wants to come over. He wants to spend some time together. Emily’s smile widens until she looks like a slasher on happy pills, and he climbs into the car front seat and nudges her. “Play it cool, ma,” he all but begs, and she looks to him. “I’m super cool, BJ. I’m a cool mom. Right, Lyds?” Lydia gives her best noncommittal shrug, the one Betelgeuse taught her, actually. “He said yes!” Kevin comes jogging back over to the car a minute later. “If that’s really okay, Mrs. Deetz?” “For sure! The more, the merrier!” They moved out of the apartment a little over a year ago. The new place had been a nightmare when they’d moved in, a Tudor style house with a lot of character, a lot of leftover trash, and a lot of bugs. He’d set about fixing that instantly, hunting down the tasty snacks, and Emily had stood in the middle of

the mess, chewing her bottom lip, and thinking. “I know, I know, it’s rough,” Charles had stood there, suddenly looking older than his age in a way Betelgeuse did not like. “But it’s a beautiful old house, with good bones, and room to grow, and.. It’s going to be a lot of work.” Lydia, precocious and eight, shuffled between her parents, and wrinkled her nose. “It’s a dump,” she declared, and both the adults looked down at her. “It’s not a dump,” Emily said. “It’s The Great Pacific Garbage Patch.” “Em!” Seemingly ignoring her husband, she turned and went back to the car, and didn’t return until she had her record player and a sample of her collection of vinyl with her. “BJ! Come give this a shock, please? The power’s not on yet.” Betelgeuse apparated at her side, a new trick he’d been practicing, and Emily, ever Emily, didn’t even flinch. She just patted his head, as he grabbed the cord and gave it a shock of green static. She placed a record in the player, and adjusted the needle. The familiar sounds of Calypso began to fill the house. “Let’s clean up,” Emily smiled, and, singing along and dancing and laughing, the family had begun their first of many clean ups. It’s a nice memory, one he looks back on often. They’re pulling up to the house, Kevin in tow, and despite the unease he feels at having a new person in his space, at least their house, full of love, is a comforting energy to be wrapped in.

They lead Kevin in, and he follows Betelgeuse up to his bedroom.

“So, we got your common bedroom items,” he gestures grandly as they enter his space. “Dead rat, TV, dresser, mirror for inter dimensional travel, severed head for juggling,” he acknowledges that moment in their shared history. “Old trunk full of demon secrets,” he gives the antique steamer trunk by the foot of his bed a kick. It pops open to reveal very normal looking magazines. “All that good stuff.” The wall paper he chose for his room is a black and white pinstripe that dad had called “busy,” and mom had called “him,” and Kevin blinks a bit in surprise. “You, uh, really are dedicated to the stripes, huh? I prefer a simple black myself.. Black is always a statement.” Betelgeuse snorts. “It’s my pattern,” he says, and Kevin sort of nods, clearly not getting it. He tries again. “It’s, you know, important?” Kevin glances at him, and nods again, but seemingly more hesitant. “It’s a demon thing,” Betelgeuse says finally, tired of even his own clunky attempts at subtly. “My animal is a snake,” he explains. “And my colors are black and white.” Kevin looks mystified. “So, what does that… mean?”

“Means it’s my aspect. It’s important.. Demon stuff.”

The teens look at each other. Kevin squints. “You don’t know what it means.” “I got no fuckin’ clue,” Betelgeuse admits, flopping on his back in the air and hanging there, reclining on nothing. “It’s somethin’, somethin’, dominion over th’ beasts that crawl on their bellies, foul an’ tainted, I think was th’ phrase. But I don’t usually get many chances to be around snakes, so it’s not a talent I get to practice much.” Kevin looks insanely jealous of the way he’s floating there, weightless, which was exactly the point Betelgeuse had in mind when he struck the floating pose to begin with. “Point bein’, I’m drawn to black an’ white.”

“Same way you’re drawn to sweaty track stars?” Kevin smirks, and sits on the edge of the bed.

“Fuckin’ exactly,” Betelgeuse grins at him, a smile Kevin matches. He might be out of his mind, but he feels something here. Kevin’s a good looking guy, and Betelgeuse isn’t exactly “picky.” He’s known for a long time his exact type is “someone who will give Betelgeuse attention and affection,” without worrying what exactly that means in the long run. “Gross,” rings a female voice, and the prolonged eye contact between the teens is broken by his nine year old sister, leaning against the door frame. She takes in the scene before her, him floating there, and Kevin.. Kevin seemingly looking a little flustered on the bed. He’s not sure if she gets what that’s about, hell, he hardly does, though he likes it. But she’s a bit young to pick up on romantic vibes, he thinks. Hopefully. “You’re not even trying to hide the whole, being a demon thing, are you?” she scowls. “Whatever, he already knew. He recognized me from the pumpkin patch. You probably don’t remember, you were five, but-” “I remember.” She squints, and then looks at Kevin, who gives a little waive. “What exactly are your intentions with my demon brother?” she asks, crossing her arms. Kevin actually blushes, a reaction Betelgeuse can both see and smell. Smells like blood and hormones, and it’s cute… he’s cute. “He’s just… weird. I’m, you know.. I just wanna know more. About him, and demons, and this otherworldly, supernatural business.” Ah. A little disappointing. He tries not to look let down, but he knows Lydia catches the look on his face. God/Satan, she’s a clever kid. “BJ isn’t your personal encyclopedia of paranormal bullshit. Besides, he hardly knows anything.” “Fuckin’ rude.” “Well!” she throws her hands up, a gesture he recognizes that she’s picked up from Emily. “I’m just saying, you don’t know enough to be that interesting.” He drops to his feet and puts a hand out, and she glares at him as an invisible force gently pushes her towards the door. “That’s enough, I think you’ve fulfilled your annoying little sibling requirements for today,” he grates at her, and she’s about out the door when Charles’ voice booms from downstairs. “Dinner!” Dinner is from Charles’ favorite Thai place, and the amount of food ordered seems to throw Kevin off guard. There’s a tall stack of delicious smelling styrofoam boxes, all of which are systematically set on the kitchen counter in a line, and the Deetz family goes through with plates, and helps themselves. It becomes clear pretty quickly that the amount ordered has more to do with who is eating, and not what they’re eating. Betelgeuse simply picks up two or three boxes instead of a plate, and settles at the table. His excuse for being a glutton has always been that his powers require a lot of energy for upkeep, but he’s not actually sure if that’s true. Also, it’s an excuse he’s never actually had to use, at least not in this house, because despite being somewhat akin to a garbage disposal in terms of food, his parents never give him any crap for eating. When he’d shown up, a skinny feral bitey little fuck, they’d been very encouraging of him stuffing his face. Now he’s older, obviously, and maybe he’s a bit chubby for his age, but it seems the entire family figures it’s better than looking starved, like he did before. He doesn’t think he’ll die if he doesn’t eat, but it feels good to have a full stomach, and he likes the way food tastes, so yes, he eats a lot. The way he sees it, it just means more B-Man to go around. Kevin, meanwhile, takes a polite amount and sits down next to him. “So, Kevin! Today was your first day?” Emily smiles brightly to the teen, who nods. “Yeah, I’m living with my dad now, so... new school,” he explains. Betelgeuse has the urge to pick up one of his boxes of food and take a cartoonish bite, like it’s a sandwich, but he doesn’t think that gag will play, right at this moment. “BJ has never brought a friend over before,” Charles says, unhelpfully. “Have too!” Betelgeuse protests, because he’s not trying to look like a total freak ass loser in front of the one person who seems

interested in talking to him.

Charles furrows his brow. “Who..? Oh, well…” he pauses. “I don’t know if.. If Sam counts…” “Sam was cool,” Lydia interjects, staring at Kevin, the unfinished half of her sentence being, “unlike you.” He’s got no clue why she’s gunning for Kev the way she is, but it’s kinda funny to watch a nine year old intimidate a teen. “He came over, didn’t he? Sure, it was uninvited, through a mirror, but I’m counting it anyways.” “BJ,” Charles starts, but Betelgeuse just shrugs. “It’s fine, dad. He knows. He was at the pumpkin patch.” It takes Charles and Emily a moment, but they both suddenly look nervous. “BJ is a good kid!” Emily blurts immediately, sounding defensive and looking at Kev, who sort of gives a nod. “It’s cool, I… threw tantrums when I was little, too. I mean, mine weren’t like. Cool vegetation apocalypses, but, you know.” He gives an easy shrug, before looking at Betelgeuse. “Who is Sam? Another demon?” “A better demon,” Lydia mutters, and at this point, he’s a second away from teleporting her into the neighbor’s pool. “He’s like Santa for Halloween, if Santa enforced Christmas time cheer with extreme violence.” “He’s Halloween Krampus,” Emily supplies helpfully, and he nods. “He’s the spirit of Halloween, and he’s cool. He’s only around one night, and he’s usually busy workin’, but when he gets a moment he pops in and we hang out. You’d probably-” like him isn’t exactly the right words. Humans don’t tend to feel easy in Sam’s presence. “- get along?” he finishes, but that also doesn’t seem likely. Sam isn’t outright cruel… usually. But his aura is clearly threatening, and he doesn’t play nice. The only reason Betelgeuse isn’t worried about his humans is because Sam has very clear, very structured rules. Rules that Emily had already been following, regardless of demonic threat. Also, last Halloween, Lydia had gone as Sam, orange jumpsuit, burlap sack and button eyes and everything, and Sam, ever a being of few words, had said, Flattered. He figures that probably earned the Deetz family at least one get out of murder free card. “This is all so cool,” Kevin twirls his fork around his pad phak. “It’s like, something from a movie. I can’t believe demons are.. Real. And I know about them.” There is, for a moment, a shine in his eyes that makes Betelgeuse uncomfortable, but it passes so quickly, he starts to assume he imagined it. He gives in, picks up a styrofoam box full of spicy chicken, and takes a bite out of the whole thing. His dad groans. After they’re done eating, they play video games, and whatever that moment was at dinner, he forces himself to forget it. Kevin is cute, and Kevin wants to talk to him, and that’s about as much as he cares to think about, right now. When Mr. Loh comes to pick him up, Kevin gives Betelgeuse’s hand a squeeze. It’s just the two of them, on the front porch, under the stars only he can see, because light pollution makes them invisible to the human eyes. Still, the setting feels intimate, and that hand holding cements it, at least at that moment. He’s not imagining it. “See you tomorrow?” Kevin smiles, and Betelgeuse knows his face flushes a little more purple at that. “Uh, yeah, for sure,” he says, and Kevin steps off the front porch and hurries to his dad’s car, their moment broken, but he stands there a while anyways, even after the car disappears down the street. He takes his own hand in hand, and gives it a squeeze, trying to imitate what Kevin had done flawlessly. He wanders inside after a while, but just stands with his back to the front door, replaying that simple moment over and over, until Charles, passing him on his way up to bed, pauses. “BJ? Your hair is… pink.”

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice fanfiction #lydia deetz #emily deetz #otho beetlejuice

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lesbianologist · 4 years ago

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ew lmao

finally got that massive tonsil stone out. literally massive. largest stone i’ve had yet. tempted to see if i can get my tonsils removed because this is putrid. i literally feel so repulsive.

#personal #d/ont r/eblog

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dinasan1 · 5 years ago

Photo

Space Time Mushrambo

LOL, this title gave me brain damage (It's like... A crossover between Mushrambo and Space Time Detective Genshi Kun) Yeah, I NOTICED I haven't uploaded in like F O R E V E R Tell 'ya what, I actually started working on this drawing on *September*, yup, Fuckin' S E P T E M B E R XD But... It sorta came to a halt at some point, the frequency of sitting on the drawing decreased each day... To the point I barely even touched it :/ 2019 and 2020 were shitty years for me My health finally sorted out (I stopped with those AWFUL night shifts that were PLAGUING my sleep), improved my eating even more (not that it was actually bad for quite a while now), started working HARDER BETTER FASTER STRONGER (I'm sorry) out at the gym. However, everything job or career related was FREAKIN' HORRIBLE! I quit the job at the museum, hoping to proceed to an art career... ... Yeah... That didn't go as planned, so I went to a HORRIBLE job, at a storehouse of a clothing shop... EW! NEVER again. Then I went to be a security check...er? (It's not like an armed security guard, but just an unarmed idiot who checks people... At fuckin' minimum wage) The job wasn't actually that bad, but good lord the conditions were so PUTRID, just like a at the storehouse - It was dirty and nasty, and standing outside that IDIOTIC mall, I kept breathin' people's STUPID STINKY cigarettes, and car's fuel waste. And now look at me, I'm back as a security guard at the museum Thank GOD they really REALLY love me there XD And my timing couldn't have been more right, since I'm STILL working there, while it's completely closed off for the crowd, it's only the security there, so I sit there all alone, no stupid customers and shit. Long story short, we're forced to stay at home (with the exception of buying food/going to a job of necessity), so I got NOTHING to do but work (sketch in my sketchbook), house chores, and my hobbies (drawing is one of them obviously) So I've spent *4 days straight* of FINISHING THIS DRAWING And... it was HELLA worth it!!!!! I... Think it's my best so far! Why this character?, well, he WAS my muse back at the summer, since I rewatched this anime IN JAPANESE, properly (it was dubbed on Fox Kids when I was 5 ) I used to have the biggest crush over him when I was 5... And rewatching it many months ago, I understood exactly why He's... AWESOME!!! :eager:, I'll never forget how badass he was when he managed to (in a matter of like 2-3 seconds) ever so precisely poke out the key off of T.P lady's neck (It's in my avatar so it makes sense ) Why does he have those creepy eyes? Only 2 or 3 times in this anime, his usually bright SHINY eyes, turned out like this... I think it tends to happen when he becomes less human and more vampire-y (using speed/reflexes etc.) So I HAD to draw him with those eyes (they just look so BADASS!) Why this specific pose and background?, well, It's because I LOVED Mushrambo as a kid (it aired on Jetix when I was like... 7 years old?), since they were so closed in their airing time AND I was crushing on both Kyoichiro and hyper sago, I decided to combine them! It's Kyoichiro, using the reference of Mushrambo's intro (where you see Sago transform to hyper Sago, with his rose and stuff) That's literally all it is. I SOLD MY BODY AND SOUL TO SATAN SO I COULD BE PROUD OF THIS ART P.S - I STILL have no idea wtf am I even doing with this resolution thing, moving to digital after 10+ years of traditional is HARD! DX https://www.deviantart.com/dinasan1/art/Space-Time-Mushrambo-834529526

#space time detective genshi kun #mushrambo #flint the time detective #shinzo #kyoichiro narugami #merlock holmes #sago #hypersago #intro

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lake-lyn · 6 years ago

Text

EW’s exclusive excerpt of The Tyrant’s Tomb by Rick Riordan (2/2)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Dude, this isn’t cool

Dude just tried to eat my dude

That’s my dead dude, dude

I like flying cars. I prefer it when the car is actually capable of flight, however.

As the hearse achieved zero gravity, I had a few microseconds to appreciate the scenery below—a lovely little lake edged with eucalyptus trees and walking trails, a small beach on the far shore, where a cluster of evening picnickers relaxed on blankets.

Oh, good, some small part of my brain thought. Maybe we’ll at least land in the water.

Then we dropped—not toward the lake, but toward the trees.

A sound like Luciano Pavarotti’s high C in Don Giovanni issued from my throat. My hands glued themselves to the wheel.

As we plunged into the eucalypti, the ghoul disappeared from our roof—almost as if the tree branches had purposefully swatted him away. Other branches seemed to bend around the hearse, slowing our fall, dropping us from one leafy cough-drop-scented bough to another, until we hit the ground on all four wheels with a jarring thud. Too late to do any good, the airbags deployed, shoving my head against the backrest.

Yellow amoebas danced in my eyes. The taste of blood stung my throat. I clawed for the door handle, squeezed my way out between the airbag and the seat, and tumbled onto a bed of cool soft grass.

“Blergh,” I said.

I heard Meg retching somewhere nearby. At least that meant she was still alive. About ten feet to my left, water lapped at the shore of the lake. Directly above me, near the top of the largest eucalyptus tree, our ghoulish blueblack friend was snarling and writhing, trapped in a cage of branches.

I struggled to sit up. My nose throbbed. My sinuses felt like they were packed with menthol rub. “Meg?”

She staggered into view around the front of the hearse. Ring-shaped bruises were forming around her eyes—no doubt courtesy of the passenger-side airbag. Her glasses were intact but askew. “You suck at swerving.”

“Oh, my gods!” I protested. “You ordered me to—” My brain faltered. “Wait. How are we alive? Was that you who bent the tree branches?”

“Duh.” She flicked her hands, and her twin golden scimitars flashed into existence. Meg used them like ski poles to steady herself. “They won’t hold that monster much longer. Get ready.”

“What?” I yelped. “Wait. No. Not ready!”

I pulled myself to my feet with the driver’s-side door.

Across the lake, the picnickers had risen from their blankets. I suppose a hearse falling from the sky had gotten their attention. My vision was blurry, but something seemed odd about the group. . . . Was one of them wearing armor? Did another have goat legs?

Even if they were friendly, they were much too far away to help.

I limped to the hearse and yanked open the backseat door. Jason’s coffin appeared safe and secure in the rear bay. I grabbed my bow and quiver. My ukulele had vanished somewhere underneath the inflated airbags. I would have to do without it.

Above, the creature howled, thrashing in its branch cage.

Meg stumbled. Her forehead was beaded with sweat. Then the ghoul broke free and hurtled downward, landing only a few yards away. I hoped the creature’s legs might have broken on impact, but no such luck. It took a few steps, its feet punching wet craters in the grass, before it straightened and snarled, its pointy white teeth like tiny mirror-image picket fences.

“KILL AND EAT!” it screamed.

What a lovely singing voice. The ghoul could’ve fronted any number of Norwegian death metal groups.

“Wait!” My voice was shrill. “I—I know you.” I wagged my finger, as if that might crank-start my memory. Clutched in my other hand, my bow shook. The arrows rattled in my quiver. “H-hold on, it’ll come to me!”

The ghoul hesitated. I’ve always believed that most sentient creatures like to be recognized. Whether we are gods, people, or slavering ghouls in vulture-feather loincloths, we enjoy others knowing who we are, speaking our names, appreciating that we exist.

Of course, I was just trying to buy time. I hoped Meg would catch her breath, charge the creature, and slice it into putrid ghoul pappardelle. At the moment, though, it didn’t seem that she was capable of using her swords for anything but crutches. I supposed controlling gigantic trees could be tiring, but honestly, couldn’t she have waited to run out of steam until after she killed Vulture Diaper?

Wait. Vulture diaper . . . I took another look at the ghoul: its strange mottled blue-and-black hide, its milky eyes, its oversize mouth and tiny nostril slits. It smelled of rancid meat. It wore the feathers of a carrion eater . . .

“I do know you,” I realized. “You’re a eurynomos.”

I dare you to try saying you’re a eurynomos when your tongue is leaden, your body is shaking from terror, and you’ve just been punched in the face by a hearse’s airbag.

The ghoul’s lips curled. Silvery strands of saliva dripped from his chin. “YES! FOOD SAID MY NAME!”

“B-but you’re a corpse-eater!” I protested. “You’re supposed to be in the Underworld, working for Hades!”

The ghoul tilted its head as if trying to remember the words Underworld and Hades. It didn’t seem to like them as much as kill and eat.

“HADES GAVE ME OLD DEAD!” it shouted. “THE MASTER GIVES ME FRESH!”

“The master?”

“THE MASTER!”

I really wished Vulture Diaper wouldn’t scream. It didn’t have any visible ears, so perhaps it had poor volume control. Or maybe it just wanted to spray that gross saliva over as large a radius as possible.

“If you mean Caligula,” I ventured, “I’m sure he’s made you all sorts of promises, but I can tell you, Caligula is not—”

“HA! STUPID FOOD! CALIGULA IS NOT THE MASTER!”

“Not the master?”

“NOT THE MASTER!”

“MEG!” I shouted. Ugh. Now I was doing it.

“Yeah?” Meg wheezed. She looked fierce and warlike as she granny-walked toward me with her sword-crutches. “Gimme. Minute.”

It was clear she would not be taking the lead in this particular fight. If I let Vulture Diaper anywhere near her, it would kill her, and I found that idea 95 percent unacceptable.

“Well, eurynomos,” I said, “whoever your master is, you’re not killing and eating anyone today!”

I whipped an arrow from my quiver. I nocked it in my bow and took aim, as I had done literally millions of times before, but it wasn’t quite as impressive with my hands shaking and my knees wobbling.

Why do mortals tremble when they’re scared, anyway? It seems so counterproductive. If I had created humans, I would have given them steely determination and superhuman strength during moments of terror.

The ghoul hissed, spraying spit.

“SOON THE MASTER’S ARMIES WILL RISE AGAIN!” it bellowed. “WE WILL FINISH THE JOB! I WILL SHRED FOOD TO THE BONE, AND FOOD

WILL JOIN US!”

Food will join us? My stomach experienced a sudden loss of cabin pressure. I remembered why Hades loved these eurynomoi so much. The slightest cut from their claws caused a wasting disease in mortals. And when those mortals died, they rose again as what the Greeks called vrykolakas—or, in TV parlance, zombies.

That wasn’t the worst of it. If a eurynomos managed to devour the flesh from a corpse, right down to the bones, that skeleton would reanimate as the fiercest, toughest kind of undead warrior. Many of them served as Hades’s elite palace guards, which was a job I did not want to apply for.

“Meg?” I kept my arrow trained on the ghoul’s chest. “Back away. Do not let this thing scratch you.”

“But—”

“Please,” I begged. “For once, trust me.”

Vulture Diaper growled. “FOOD TALKS TOO MUCH! HUNGRY!”

It charged me.

I shot.

The arrow found its mark—the middle of the ghoul’s chest—but it bounced off like a rubber mallet against metal. The Celestial-bronze point must have hurt, at least. The ghoul yelped and stopped in its tracks, a steaming puckered wound on its sternum. But the monster was still very much alive. Perhaps if I managed twenty or thirty shots at that exact same spot, I could do some real damage.

With trembling hands, I nocked another arrow. “Th-that was just a warning!” I bluffed. “The next one will kill!”

Vulture Diaper made a gurgling noise deep in its throat. I hoped it was a delayed death rattle. Then I realized it was only laughing. “WANT ME TO EAT DIFFERENT FOOD FIRST? SAVE YOU FOR DESSERT?”

It uncurled its claws, gesturing toward the hearse.

I didn’t understand. I refused to understand. Did it want to eat the airbags? The upholstery?

Meg got it before I did. She screamed in rage.

The creature was an eater of the dead. We were driving

a hearse.

“NO!” Meg shouted. “Leave him alone!”

She lumbered forward, raising her swords, but she was in no shape to face the ghoul. I shouldered her aside, putting myself between her and the creature, and fired my arrows again and again.

They sparked off the creature’s blue-black hide, leaving steaming, annoyingly nonlethal wounds. Vulture Diaper staggered toward me, snarling in pain, its body twitching from the impact of each hit.

It was five feet away.

Two feet away, its claws splayed to shred my face.

Somewhere behind me, a female voice shouted, “HEY!”

The sound distracted Vulture Diaper just long enough for me to fall courageously on my butt. I scrambled away from the ghoul’s claws.

Vulture Diaper blinked, confused by its new audience. About ten feet away, a ragtag assortment of fauns and dryads, perhaps a dozen total, were all attempting to hide behind one gangly pink-haired young woman in Roman legionnaire armor.

The girl fumbled with some sort of projectile weapon. Oh, dear. A manubalista. A Roman heavy crossbow. Those things were awful. Slow. Powerful. Notoriously unreliable. The bolt was set. She cranked the handle, her hands shaking as badly as mine.

Meanwhile, to my left, Meg groaned in the grass, trying to get back on her feet. “You pushed me,” she complained, by which I’m sure she meant Thank you, Apollo, for saving my life.

The pink-haired girl raised her manubalista. With her long, wobbly legs, she reminded me of a baby giraffe. “G-get away from them,” she ordered the ghoul.

Vulture Diaper treated her to its trademarked hissing and spitting. “MORE FOOD! YOU WILL ALL JOIN THE KING’S DEAD!”

“Dude.” One of the fauns nervously scratched his belly under his PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF BERKELEY T-shirt. “That’s not cool.”

“Not cool,” several of his friends echoed.

“YOU CANNOT OPPOSE ME, ROMAN!” the ghoul snarled. “I HAVE ALREADY TASTED THE FLESH OF YOUR COMRADES! AT THE BLOOD MOON, YOU WILL JOIN THEM—”

THWUNK.

An Imperial gold crossbow bolt materialized in the center of Vulture Diaper’s chest. The ghoul’s milky eyes widened in surprise. The Roman legionnaire looked just as stunned.

“Dude, you hit it,” said one of the fauns, as if this offended his sensibilities.

The ghoul crumbled into dust and vulture feathers. The bolt clunked to the ground.

Meg limped to my side. “See? That’s how you’re supposed to kill it.”

“Oh, shut up,” I grumbled.

We faced our unlikely savior.

The pink-haired girl frowned at the pile of dust, her chin quivering as if she might cry. She muttered, “I hate those things.”

“Y-you’ve fought them before?” I asked.

She looked at me like this was an insultingly stupid question.

One of the fauns nudged her. “Lavinia, dude, ask who these guys are.”

“Um, right.” Lavinia cleared her throat. “Who are you?”

I struggled to my feet, trying to regain some composure. “I am Apollo. This is Meg. Thank you for saving us.”

Lavinia stared. “Apollo, as in—”

“It’s a long story. We’re transporting the body of our friend, Jason Grace, to Camp Jupiter for burial. Can you help us?”

Lavinia’s mouth hung open. “Jason Grace . . . is dead?”

Before I could answer, from somewhere across Highway 24 came a wail of rage and anguish.

“Um, hey,” said one of the fauns, “don’t those ghoul things usually hunt in pairs?”

Lavinia gulped. “Yeah. Let’s get you guys to camp. Then we can talk about”—she gestured uneasily at the hearse—“who is dead, and why.”

#ttt #the tyrants tomb #the tyrant’s tomb #rick riordan

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draconicroyalty · 7 years ago

Text

A Squad Isn’t a Squad Without a ChatRoom

My excuse for this is that I love chat room fanfics. Also, huge crossover and massive oc x canon.-

Fandoms: DMC, Bayonetta, Inuyasha

Genre: Crack, with a side of romance

Chapter One - Furries, Monster Fuckers and Dinner

[BALDER created Group Chat]

[BALDER changed the name Group Chat to Fucking Insomnia]

[BALDER added SPARDA]

[BALDER added TOUGA]

[Balder added DANIYAL]

DANIYAL: who tf is creating group chats at 4am BALDER: me, dipshit, i can't sleep DANIYAL: well boo hoo, suck it up and bang your head against somethin BALDER: why are u so cranky DANIYAL: it's 4am and my first class tomorrow is maths do you really wanna ask me why tf i'm mad BALDER: fair enough BALDER: is sparda awake DANIYAL: nah DANIYAL: has been snoring for a good 5 hours BALDER: wait, he snores?? DANIYAL: ya BALDER: omg DANIYAL: what about dog boy BALDER: playing dating simulators DANIYAL: you're kidding BALDER: i wish i was DANIYAL: YO DOG BOY WTF TOUGA: TF U WANT DANIYAL: STOP TRYING TO GET INTO A BISHIE'S PANTS U WEEB, GO TO SLEEP FFS TOUGA: why are u awake BALDER: yeah nice question DANIYAL: um DANIYAL: studying? TOUGA: bullshit BALDER: bet you're playing lol again and mad cuz of the trolls DANIYAL: IT'S 4AM, TROLLS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE, WHY DO I ONLY GET YASUOS IN MY TEAM BALDER: there there, baby, there there SPARDA: Dafuck is all this noise DANIYAL: u r awake??? SPARDA: yah, someone mutters what they type a bit too loud DANIYAL: srry bae SPARDA: np bby TOUGA: stop DANIYAL: why BALDER: you're reminding him he's single DANIYAL: that's cuz he's a furry SPARDA: LOOOOOL DANIYAL: before anyone asks spar actually laughed while typing that TOUGA: ASHFKDSKGHKSJAHL BALDER: touga, words. not keysmashes. TOUGA: IMF NSOT A FURRTY DANIYAL: what??? SPARDA: i think the poor furry is trying to type he ain't a furry

[DANIYAL changed the name Fucking Insomnia to FURRY CONFIRMED]

BALDER: lol BALDER: dan u r aware that he will try to kill you tomorrow DANIYAL: np i got a spray bottle TOUGA: KLHAFDSHGKGH FUCK U DANIYAL: MY PARTNERS DO THAT BALDER: sometimes i forget our boy's poly DANIYAL: i love all my boyfriends, girlfriends and significant others equally and if anyone hurts them i'll pull their guts out and eat them TOUGA: ew BALDER: scary SPARDA: i say him throwing a guy that was harassing one of his classmates into the trash once DANIYAL: i was practicing slam dunks and he looked like a basketball TOUGA: how does a guy look like a basketball DANIYAl: he was wearing orange and black BALDER: fair enough SPARDA: like this is fun but SPARDA: it's 4:22 am SPARDA: we should sleep TOUGA: alright mom BALDER: goodnight mom SPARDA: mom?? pretty sure i didn't conceive such ugly children DANIYAl: OH SNAP BALDER: SPARDA WE'RE LITERALLY TWINS?? SPARDA: LOOK AT ME, I'M THE PRETTY ONE BALDER: BEAUTY MARKS DON'T AUTOMATICALLY MAKE U THE PRETTY ONE TOUGA: aaaand there they go DANIYAL: babe stop angrily typing SPARDA: he started BALDER: NO I DIDNT??? DANIYAL: i know babe i know BALDER: HE LITERALLY STARTED THIS??? TOUGA: give up bal it's better BALDER: jsfslghjhg im going to bed TOUGA: nighty night BALDER: stop playing dream daddy and go to sleep too TOUGA: make me DANIYAL: WAIT U PLAY DREAM DADDY??? TOUGA: YA DANIYAL: favorite dad? TOUGA: brian DANIYAL: ....your fave's the bear. u furry. TOUGA: shUT UP TOUGA: who's your fave?? DANIYAL: matt TOUGA: why am i not surprised DANIYAL: he's a cINNAMON ROLL AND I WILL PROTECT HIM WITH MY LIFE SPARDA: babe log off lol DANIYAL: but babe...the IP.... SPARDA: tomorrow, babe, tomorrow DANIYAL: fine...night, u furry TOUGA: aadlkfjsghAHJSGHSKJ NOT A FURRY BALDER: furry [BALDER is OFFLINE]

[SPARDA is OFFLINE]

[DANIYAL is OFFLINE]

TOUGA: fuck y'all [TOUGA is OFFLINE]

[DANIYAL is ONLINE]

[DANIYAL added EVA]

[DANIYAL added AMASIS]

[DANIYAL added MAALIK]

[DANIYAL added JUURAH]

[DANIYAL added NATHANIEL]

[DANIYAL added LUKAH]

EVA: baby! DANIYAL: babe! AMASIS: what tf is this DANIYAL: balder couldn't sleep and created a group chat DANIYAL: so since i liked the idea and was super supportive when he created it i thought about adding more people AMASIS: oh JUURAH: LMAO IS THE NAME OF THE GROUP CHAT ABOUT TOUGA DANIYAL: scroll up bro JUURAH: omg that furry MAALIK: why tf were you all awake at 4am DANIYAL: balder had insomnia, i was playing league, touga was seducing daddies and i woke up spar MAALIK: that game's not good for u, i'm tellin ya DANIYAL: too bad i don't give a fuck MAALIK: ow DANIYAL: where's my baby boy? NATHANIEL: for the last time i'm 2 MINUTES YOUNGER THAN U DANIYAL: baby boy <3 EVA: (*^_^*) thats cute DANIYAL: you're cute

[SPARDA is ONLINE]

SPARDA: you're both cute AMASIS: sparda is summoned as soon as eva and dan start being cute, wow SPARDA: you do it too AMASIS: not with eva AMASIS: no offense darling EVA: it's ok (*´∀`*) DANIYAL: so pure MAALIK: if we're talkin about being cute and stuff MAALIK: i have some baby dan pics DANIYAL: *softly* dont MAALIK: don't try to meme your way out of this LUKAH: give them to us EVA: Lukah, you're here! (*^.^*) LUKAH: ...pure maiden LUKAH: i mean hi love LUKAH: anyways SPARDA: pics now AMASIS: i demand pics DANIYAL: pls no [MAALIK sent chubbycheeks.png] EVA: AWWWWWWWWWWW JUURAH: omg is that his old bib??? that thing was so cute SPARDA: brb dying cuz of cute AMASIS: i'm saving that and nobody can stop me LUKAH: !!! LUKAH: baby freckles LUKAH: omg

[TOUGA is ONLINE]

TOUGA: i'm saving it as future blackmail potential DANIYAL: fuck u SPARDA: dog boy don't lie SPARDA: u also think he was cute af TOUGA: nah TOUGA: maybe a little TOUGA: ok look he has really chubby cheeks and he's hugging a dog plushie, I AM WEAK EVA: Daniyal never lost his cuteness over the years ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ DANIYAL: aghgihrhgrih that'snottrue SPARDA: oh he's blushing AMASIS: you're his roommate, pinch his cheeks for me LUKAH: and for me EVA: for me too!! ʕ￫ᴥ￩ʔ JUURAH: why do you like those emojis so much eva EVA: they're adorable DANIYAL: ow ow ow SPARDA MY CHEEKS SPARDA: they're so soft omg AMASIS: now kiss them better SPARDA: done AMASIS: u know what i'm going there EVA: count me in! LUKAH: im on my way rn

[BALDER is ONLINE]

BALDER: y'all really love him don't you SPARDA: balder. brother. good friend of mine. he's literally a ray of sunshine that covers anything that's evil and putrid in this world AMASIS: he's the personification of a cool breeze in a warm summer day EVA: he's huggable like a teddy! LUKAH: ... LUKAH: thicc. LUKAH: jk, he's literally a mix of everything that's good and sweet DANIYAL: ASFJKGSHG STOP IM CRYING I LOVE U ALL SO MUCH TOUGA: SOME OF US ARE STILL SINGLE DANIYAL: that's cuz you're a furry TOUGA: stop DANIYAL: i saw your internet browser history bruh TOUGA: I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT A FURRY WAS DANIYAL: SO U RESEARCH IT ON TUMBLR 2 TIMES A DAY?? DANIYAL: yeah right bro TOUGA: im pulling out the receipts Dan DANIYAL: do not TOUGA: i may be a furry, but have you seen the amount of times you're in the terato tag?? TOUGA: u monster fucker

[Touga changed the name FURRY CONFIRMED to DAN WANTS MONSTER D]

DANIYAL: hOW DARE SPARDA: tbh, unsurprised AMASIS: like, he blushes when there's big creepy monsters in movies EVA: i heard him saying a monster lady could break him in half and he'd thank her LUKAH: ya dan's always been a monster fucker JUURAH: i can confirm that MAALIK: wait so all those trips to find big foot were due to Dan's horny ass NATHANIEL: nah that was me NATHANIEL: he's more of a loch ness monster guy DANIYAL: Nessie is a beautiful independent lady and also gay af so we're just besties MAALIK: i'm kinkshaming DANIYAL: u can't kinkshame if kinksame MAALIK: what DANIYAL: one word. actually, one cryptid DANIYAL: mothman MAALIK: ASDFGHJKL SHUT UP BALDER: honestly BALDER: i think being a furry is worse TOUGA: thanks for the damn support bro, wait til i kill you while u sleep SPARDA: did u just confirm you're a furry TOUGA: fUCK JUURAH: i always knew it NATHANIEL: i mean why would he nickname himself dog boy BALDER: lmao do u have a fursona touga?? TOUGA: fuck off TOUGA: why not tease Dan for being a monster fucker?? AMASIS: if u dated him you'd know he's into even kinkier stuff SPARDA: yah EVA: yah LUKAH: yah TOUGA: wait what DANIYAL: qwertyuiioponfds save m BALDER: what is going on over there AMASIS: we're drowning him in affection and i think he broke LUKAH: bara machine broke BALDER: tf's a bara TOUGA: urban dictionary says it's a person (usually male) with a large, somewhat muscular, and fairly hairy body type NATHANIEL: lol JUURAH: if there's something Dan ain't, it's hairy EVA: tru SPARDA: never caught him shaving tbh DANIYAL: i'll never reveal my secrets TOUGA: late bloomer DANIYAL: iM NOT DANIYAL: i simply dislike body hair on me TOUGA: what about other people DANIYAL: it's their body and they can do whatever they want and honestly?? cute. BALDER: why not apply that concept to yourself DANIYAL: never MAALIK: i know we are all having fun chatting and stuff MAALIK: but like MAALIK: it's almost dinner time MAALIK: so go get somethin to eat DANIYAL: but daaaad MAALIK: im not dad. dad is straight. NATHANIEL: lmao, right JUURAH: our family is so gay i sometimes forget that DANIYAL: mom's bi af tho JUURAH: i took after her DANIYAL: anyway if u don't mind im getting my lovely gfs and bfs something to eat AMASIS: we could eat u AMASIS: out DANIYAL: thank god u said out cuz if not i would kick u DANIYAL: this is a vore free chat SPARDA: vore is strictly banned TOUGA: kinkshamers BALDER: ... DANIYAL: touga wtf

[TOUGA is OFFLINE]

DANIYAL: ...

[DANIYAL changed the name DAN WANTS MONSTER D to TOUGA: CONFIRMED FURRY AND INTO VORE]

BALDER: tbh?? he deserves this EVA: what's vore LUKAH: such a pure innocent soul SPARDA: don't tell her DANIYAL: guys. eva's anything but a pure innocent soul. DANIYAL: at least when it comes to stuff LUKAH: ok, tru SPARDA: u woke the femdom monster in her DANIYAL: and you're grateful for that SPARDA: can't say i'm not AMASIS: can we go eat now DANIYAL: actual dinner or ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°) BALDER: is your lenny face winking MAALIK: that is extremely concerning NATHANIEL: welp, people, im outtie JUURAH: same, wanna eat MAALIK: im escaping before this gets anymore sexual

[NATHANIEL is OFFLINE]

[JUURAH is OFFLINE]

[MAALIK is OFFLINE]

BALDER: im going to find touga and kinkshame him

[BALDER is OFFLINE]

AMASIS: so SPARDA: hm EVA: mcdonalds or subway? (´∀`) LUKAH: i'm in the mood for mcdonalds DANIYAL: yeah same SPARDA: can we watch a movie too?? since we're going to the mall AMASIS: sounds like fun DANIYAL: im paying LUKAH: no ur not wtf DANIYAL: I PAY

[DANIYAL is OFFLINE]

SPARDA: STOP HIM BEFORE HE GETS HIS WALLET

[SPARDA is OFFLINE]

[EVA is OFFLINE]

[LUKAH is OFFLINE]

[AMASIS is OFFLINE]

#my writing #dmc #bayonetta #inuyasha #my ocs #oc x canon #original writing #crack #ic!crack #A Squad Isn't a Squad Without a ChatRoom

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