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ralofofriverwoods · 1 year ago

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Made some character descriptions!! For all of my Skyrim characters, minus zuft’zahr’s siblings and my other werewolf :3

There’s a lot more under the read more thing but I don’t wanna fully clog people’s dash up, so the Dragonborn characters are the only visible ones for now

Farlian Seven - Khajiit(Cathay), dragonborn. Farlian has white fur with black stripes reminiscent of a white tiger, and has yellow eyes. She uses heavy armor, favoring blades armor and ebony, and she uses the dragon priest mask Nahkriin. She has two golden hoop earrings on each ear. Casual clothes include a turtleneck and a long skirt with varying patterns and styles, the most common being an animated blue starry shirt and an orange cloudy sky dress. || Farlian uses an ebony mace and the daedric artifact ‘spellbreaker’, a boon from Peryite. She also utilizes some destruction magic and some restoration. || She is affiliated with almost every Skyrim faction, including; the companions, the college of winterhold, the thieves guild, the dark brotherhood, the bards college, etc.

Virthik Fjovur - nord, dragonborn. Virthik has pale pinkish skin, blue dragon like eyes, and blonde hair with a braid near the front. He has two horns reminiscent of a dragon’s, the right one broken close to the scalp. At around the middle of the forearm his hands transition from white to a scale like grey, and become a little tougher. His fingers end in slightly sharpened claws growing out of the bone of the hand. He also has rather noticeable eye bags, regardless of how much sleep he gets. He wears carved Nordic armor with no helmet when in battle. When relaxing he wears a cozy blue knit sweater, a very fluffy scarf of sorts, and fur lined cargo pants. His dragon form is a dark grey with a lighter grey highlight, and dark blue horns/joint scales.[gore until the dark red text stops] The stomach, throat, and chest of the dragon are hollowed out excluding the bones, lungs, and heart, and it is missing the usual scales and muscles that cover it up. The jawbone is also missing scales and muscles. Despite the lack of proper muscles he can still fly, eat, and breathe just fine. || Virthik uses a specially enchanted and crafted ebony sword named “ “, as well as minimal restoration magic and a wide variety of shouts. || He is affiliated with the companions, the thieves guild, the rebuilt helgen, and a few others. He is also a follower of ikalis matrix, mentioned in the section labeled gods.

Zuft’zahr Satanni - Khajiit(Cathay), dragonborn. He has mostly brown fur with black stripes. His chin, belly, and underside of his tail/inner ears are a red to tan gradient. He has a daedric reminiscent symbol on his forehead that is seemingly natural in origin. His hair is black, and He uses dragon scale armor for most open combat, but otherwise uses a mix of thieves guild and dark brotherhood armor. No matter what he he wears an orange knit scarf with red accents, however. When not out for business he wears a sweater under a nice warm coat with many pockets, and either some sweat pants or an ankle length dress. || He primarily uses the blade of woe or chillrend, but has a battleaxe as a backup weapon as well. He uses quite a lot of illusion and alteration magic as well. Zuft'zahr also owns a small enchanted pocket watch which can rewind time. He uses this to attempt for the best possible scenario in every applicable situation. || He is affiliated with the dark brotherhood, the thieves guild, the blades, the college of winterhold, and the bards college.

Ka’rah Seven - Khajiit(Suthay-raht). Ka’rah has the same fur colors as her sister, but has bluish purple eyes with bright purple veins. Her markings are much flowy and curly than farlian’s. She has a large magic scar on the left side of her face. Her hair is braided and tied together down her back, and she has “facial hair” which is puffy and flows down a few inches past her collar bone. She wears a cape, heavy duty half skirt, and a loose green shirt most of the time, but also has a ritual outfit with many skulls and whatnot. Her casual outfit is a formal skintight shirt with lace making it a turtleneck, and flowy open sleeved arms. Her pants are heavy duty with a few decorative holes at the top of the leg. She also wears a manacle that functions as a detect magic and block magic charm. She also has a talking skull named torbar, which can either be worn or carried. || She wields a staff made of bone and leather, with insets of amethyst and a large purple orb that appears to be an unknown magical gem, possibly a soul gem. This is used to focus on many spells at once, and also lets her command her skeleton army with minimal shouting. || She is affiliated very loosely with the thieves guild and the dark brotherhood, for a steady supply of corpses and gemstones to use in spellcasting, but otherwise avoids most upstanding organizations. She is a “professional Necromancer warlord”, in other words, a necromancer that just really likes showing off.

Donein Seedmire - Bosmer. Donenin has slightly desaturated yellow skin with many scars and marks. His hair is a plain dark ish brown, as are his eyes. He always looks like he has cried recently, and is a little more flushed than a Bosmer would usually be. He wears a simple green shirt with an orange scarf, as well as some plain brown pants and quality(if a little worn) leather boots. He noticeably does not possess any sort of antler or horn. His teeth are incredibly sharp, and grow back in when they either fall out or are removed. || Donenin favors the bow, and has a specially made one crafted from particularly bendable bits of cartilage, and has little garnets studded around the handle. It also sports special ebony fittings. He also carries a small, rough ebony dagger with similar garnet fittings and a bone handle. || He is not affiliated with any of the bigger organizations of skyrim, but he goes around and helps out in smaller towns like rorikstead and karthwasten. He worships kynareth and mara.

Sifaris Denhan - snow elf, vampire. Sifaris has very pale skin, and exceedingly short hair. He has a tail reminiscent of a rat’s, as well as slightly clawed hands. His eyes are a slightly harsh yellow with a red rim and black scleras, as well as a pupil reminiscent of a cat’s. He has faded red tattoos on his back(which appear more pink than red), which curl around his torso to just under his top surgery scars. He wears a black turtleneck, as well as bits of homemade chaurus armor. He has thick, padded pants and heavy duty chaurus boots and gauntlets. He also has a hood with goggles and a mask, to make sure nobody knows he's a vampire. Also it looks good. He prefers to wear hoodies and other baggy clothes when not on a job. || He usually uses a double sided greatsword, but also has been seen using alteration, and occasionally a dual set of daggers. He specifically does not use any vampire abilities in battle, because honestly he doesn't know where that blood has been. || He was affiliated with the snow elves of the forgotten vale, but now he mostly just does mercenary work. He is married to citrine. He is a vampire that is tied to sanguine, not molag bal.

Citrine - altmer, werewolf. Citrine has healthy, sunny yellow skin with a few scars and sunburns at all times. He has silver eyes, clawed hands, and very light, fluffy blonde hair. Not quite platinum blonde, but very close. Occasionally he may have certain wolfish characteristics such as a tail or claws. || Citrine usually wears a classic monk outfit, with as few buttons as possible, and no shoes or footwraps. He wears the ring of Hircine infrequently, essentially just when he's in highly populated areas. He doesn't mind randomly wolfing out, says it gives life a little more spice. || He occasionally uses brass knuckles, but otherwise sticks completely to unarmed strikes and werewolf attacks. He wields some restoration magic as well, but mostly studies whatever he can that would help out sifaris in a pinch, as he has very fast natural regeneration. || He is as dedicated to sif as the tide is to the moon. He also somewhat follows Hircine, but more in the way that an employee likes their nice ish boss (Don't call when I'm off the clock cos I prolly won't answer). He is also a fan of dibella+sanguine’s teachings, but doesn't actively follow either of them. And of course he is married to sif.

Imerae Semalion - Falmer(the in game enemy kind). Imerae also has pale pale skin, though it is much rougher than Sif’s. She has many little scrapes just about everywhere. She also has a tail similar to sif’s, but it acts more as a prehensile tail than a cat tail. She has white hair grouped into two braided pigtails. She wears the usual thieves guild getup, minus the shoes. The only difference is that it’s all a pinkish hue, as is everything she wears ever. She usually doesn’t wear much other than her thieves guild attire, but she doesn’t mind baggy short sleeve shirts. || she uses a mix of daggers and bows, and favors stealth bow techniques, with the use of detect life and undead. || she’s obviously connected to the thieves guild, but she’s also semi related to the bard’s college and the college of winterhold. She appreciates nocturnal and boethia’s thing, though she doesn’t really follow follow any one deity.

Beynir Pale-sky - Nord. Beynir is very close to your typical Nord, and ironically extremely close to the looks of the preset for a Nord in the base game. He just has stubble instead of full mutton chops, and his hair is a little curlier. He wears the usual whiterun guard outfit, but with long yellow sleeves under the Chain mail. He also has brown eyes. || he uses the standard one handed sword+shield combo, but also has trained a little bit in unarmed combat. Just in case!! || he of course is affiliated with the whiterun guard, and a little bit of the thieves guild and companions.

Lurks-in-Darkness - argonian/saxhleel. LD has mostly black scales, with dark red accents and muddy chartreuse scales along the spine+top of the head. She has shiny red feathers that end with a tick of black on her head/neck and tail. Her tongue and inner mouth is black, and has a bite similar to that of a Komodo dragon. Her eyes are a shiny blood red with very thin, sharp pupils, and she has 3 chartreuse mini horns on each side of her head. She wears many daedric related suits of armor, her favorite being a modified suit of Daedric mail with a sickly green glow and red details. She wears a casual yellow long sleeve shirt under a blacksmith’s apron, with durable leather pants and leather foot wraps. She does not actually have boobs as one may assume, she actually just hides any contraband/stolen goods she finds in a pocket in her shirt :). Taking advantage of peoples stupidity 25/8 baby! || she wields both a Daedric greatsword or an orcish hammer, as well as almost all of the offensive schools of magic, excluding some illusion and most restoration. She also owns quite a few Daedric artifacts, and can wield most all of them at least semi effectively. || she is of course affiliated with quite a few of the Daedric princes, as well as limited interaction with their respective organizations, though she also has interactions with the college of winterhold quite often. This is to get access to the Atronach forge and the Daedric gauntlet.

Sara dellum - Dunmer . Sara has grayish skin, with white and red face paint and orange-red hair in the style of dreads, tucked back in a ponytail. He wears a mix of morag tong styled gear and specially crafted bonemold, designed for peak stealth. He also has little bits of skin where a keratin like structure acts as ‘scales’ on places like the bicep, outer thigh, and stomach. This is the same color as his skin. || Sara wields dual daggers exclusively, but also knows rudimentary hand to hand combat. He has a special coin that, when incorporated with other coins, can tell him whether or not any are illegitimate. || he was affiliated with the morag tong, but has since moved on to be a lone contractor. He has occasionally run into the dark brotherhood, and visits the thieves guild often in the dark corners, for those looking to strike a quick deal for a little cheaper than the larger groups. He has also been seen skulking around in raven rock and tel mythrin.

Mako Lograk - orsimer. Mako has rough green skin with a tinge of yellow, and is quite hairy. In addition to a lot of body hair, he has mustard yellow scales speckled around his cheeks, chest, shoulders, stomach, and forearms. Essentially everywhere there is hair. His hair is dark brown, and the hair on his head is curly, while his body hair is more reminiscent of a wild hogs’, being thick and wiry, and relatively straight. He wears no shirt, but his pants are a soft and warm wool, and his boots are a waterproof leather insulated with bits of animal pelts and fur. He wears a harness for his axe to be idly carried, and lugs around a large bag meant to preserve any alchemical ingredients he may come across. || he uses a large axe to do most fighting, but also owns multiple sets of different scissors to harvest various plants and whatnot with. || he is not affiliated with any major groups, but just about every alchemist in Skyrim knows him as an extremely reliable source of ingredients for potions, and a little bit of gossip from the other alchemists.

Alriac Vilri - maomer. Alriac has pale blue skin that seems slightly transparent and shiny, and large web shaped ears. His eyes have a low blue glow, and his hair is dark ish blue with almost white streaks. He has webbed hands and feet, and his fingers end in a hard and sharp point. When on land he wears a loose, flowy button up shirt at least halfway unbuttoned, a slightly weathered teal dress, and quite honestly the worst looking boots you’ve ever seen, with mold starting to grow on the sides and at least one hole in the seams or from pure wear and tear on the leather. He also has a pearl bracelet and a silver necklace, inlaid with sapphire. When in the water he simply wears his jewelry. His mermaid tail is a shimmery silver with sapphire blue stripes near the waist, and he has gills in between his ribs. || he does not frequently fight, but when he does he prefers ice based destruction magic or alteration. Otherwise he uses sharp, shark like teeth, as well as claws to hook into prey or foe, to rip and tear.

Ithvozal Raogarn - Dwemer. Ithvozal has dark ish yellow skin meant to withstand pressure and heat. They have brown frizzy hair which they pull back into a low ponytail, and bright blue eyes. Their body is paralyzed from the waist down, and as such they use a wheelchair designed for maximum mobility and effectiveness. Some functions of this mobility device include: a built in crossbow, the ability to curl up into a ball and speed around with Ithvozal inside, interface and control of many dwarven constructs, heating and cooling, and many more small functions. || they mainly utilize a specialized hand crossbow and the weapons on their chair. They keep a notebook and pen with them at all times, to mark down what may need to be repaired or removed, as well as to plan out what they’ll build next. They also carry a wide range of tools for impromptu repairs. || ithvozal follows no gods. They are also the only one in their large cave system other than their non Dwemer friends.

Bivelle rivera - dunmer. She has pinkish grey skin with red and black face paint around the eyes. She has small dragonfly like wings, the membranes of which are a dark shimmery black-blue color, reminiscent of stained glass. She also has a small dragonfly like ‘tail’. She is wearing a red and black corset with shiny silver filigree and buckles, soft red and yellow striped pants, black boots with yellow accentwork, and a short red half skirt. Under the corset there is a flowy black blouse. || She wields a wavy dagger, as well as a variety of embalming tools and torture tools. She uses mainly necromantic magic when she is casting, but also has been seen using illusion magic when needed. || She is not affiliated with any large organizations, but has started a small cult that sows discord throughout solstheim and windhelm, and really any place they see fit. She is good acquaintances with Sara, and helps score clients whenever possible.

And that’s all the Skyrim lovelies!

#random #skyrim #farlian’s ocs #original character #oc #writing

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rpxgifs · 4 months ago

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[ hailee steinfeld | she/her ] Another face is seeking safety in New Orleans. Make sure to welcome GEMMA MIKAELSON to the home of the resilient. Rumor has it that they are an 19/24 year old VAMPIRE/WEREWOLF, who is one of the SACRIFICED but we’ll keep that a secret. They are said to be ARGUMENTATIVE, but that’s all a façade to cover up their MAGNANIMOUS nature. We’ve heard that they can be found listening to INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS by NATALIE JANE, which sums them up pretty well. Let’s hope that they can find a way to survive this harsh new world.

NAME: Gemma Reign Mikaelson NICKNAME: Gem AGE: 18/22 BIRTHDAY: SPECIES: Vampire/Werewolf hybrid GENDER: Cisfemale PRONOUNS: She/Her SEXUALITY: Pansexual FACECLAIM: hailee steinfeld HAIR COLOR: Brown EYE COLOR: Hazel FAMILY:

Declan Bishop ( biological father )

Autumn Pearson ( biological mother )

Freya Mikaelson ( adopted mother )

Keelin Malraux ( adopted mother )

Briggs Mikaelson ( adopted brother )

Billie Mikaelson ( sister-in-law )

All the Mikaelsons are extended family. You know the ones.

tw: murder, kidnapping, torture

HISTORY:

Gemma’s parents had her at a very young age and tried their best to care for the young wolf, but ultimately fell short. For the majority of her young life, Gemma was left to fend for herself as her parents were working non-stop just to be able to keep a roof over their head. But she didn't really mind. She grew up to be independent, maybe growing up a little too fast.

* . ⊹ THE TRAUMA:

When Gemma was only 13, tragedy struck and it was a day that would change her and her outlook on life forever. It started off as any normal day, but quickly took a turn for the worst when her parents were brutally murdered right in front of her. The intruder believed it to be just adults in the house, but when she came out of her room wondering what was going on, she saw the whole thing and they turned on her. But their plan was much more sinister for the young teen and everything went black.

When she came to, she was locked in a dark, nondescript room. And in that room, in that house was where she would stay for the better part of two years. She was provided food and water, she was let out of her room occasionally. There were even a handful of times that she was allowed to leave the house. But it was always under supervision and she always had to wear some sort of hat and glasses. By the end of the first year, she knew better than to act out; she had learned the consequences.

While she wasn't acting out as much, she was slowly and calculatingly coming up with a plan of escape. Her werewolf temper created a fire within her that was only fueled with each passing day. At the age of 15, she had enacted her plan of revenge, waiting for a moment that her captors' guard was down on one of her days out of confinement. It wasn't without a fight, but she wasn't about to let a year worth of planning go to waste. She triggered her curse while escaping, but she escaped nonetheless.

Found wandering the streets, someone noticed her as a missing person, called the authorities and she was taken to the hospital. This was were she met Keelin and formed an immediate bond (think Vanessa Morano's character and Meredith Grey in that one episode of Grey's). She was lucky that Keelin and Freya were willing to take her in and eventually adopt her when she needed safety and comfort the most.

* . ⊹ THE HEALING AND THE TRANSITION

The next few years took a lot of work, but Gemma eventually learned to cope with her trauma, learned to control her werewolf side with the help of Keelin. She would never be the person that she was before, but she was okay with that. She took the time to heal what was needed, bond with her new family, and figure out who she was as a new person.

One weekend she and Hope went out on a girls' weekend to just get away for a while. But, now being a Mikaelson, nothing could ever be easy. The pair were ambushed by a group of hunters who claimed to be part of a "movement". A movement that would eventually become the OEA. The pair put up one hell of a fight as they had been taught to. But they were no match for the wolfsbane laced bullets and arrows coming from every which direction. While Hope had managed to take down most hunters, forcing the others to retreat at the power of the tribrid, Gemma had gotten hit with a couple bullets, the shrapnel getting lodged in her heart. There was no way she was going to make it to any semblance of help before it was too late. In that moment, Hope knew was she had to do and fed Gemma her blood just before her heart had stopped. And just moments later, she was successfully in transition.

* . ⊹ THE BETAYAL

Coming from the family of vampires, Gemma had no problem with her transition. She had plenty of people with plenty of experience around that she could lean on. But the party wasn't quite over.

A few years later, when Gemma was coming home, she was ambushed by a group of witches and tortured, wanting to have some fun with her before she was sacrificed and sent to the prison world. Right before she was sent, she learned of the reason. The witches wanted to get back at Freya for not following them and the best way to do that was to attack her family, starting with her children.

— ☆ — ONE YEAR LATER — ☆ —

After everyone was released from the prison world, Gemma took some time to get acclimated to real life again. In this time, she learned of the passing of her biological grandmother. She had been absent her entire life, the hybrid had never met her. But she still had her Gemma's biological mother listed in her will. Being the next of kin, that money went to Gemma.

Having a large sum of money in her pocket was burning a hole in her pocket and the last thing she wanted to do was stay in New Orleans with everything that was going on. So she took that money and spent a year traveling to wherever her little heart desired. Though she kept in touch with the important people, she was more or less a stranger to the rest of the world.

With her Roxy being on tour with Sebastian, Jagger, and Riley, Gemma would often meet up with them whenever she could under the guise of wanting to support Riley. But it was undeniable that when Jagger was on stage, she couldn't look away, a smile plastered to her face until the last round of applause. Their meetings usually ended with the pair getting a little two close, falling into some old habits, and a few hook ups here and there. But each time Gemma found herself falling under his spell, she knew it was time for another trip, separating herself from the group. Yet she kept coming back, his magnetic pull with her undeniable.

With funds running lower than Gemma would like and the promises off free drinks at the ball, Gemma made her way back to New Orleans, slightly nervous to see what she was coming back to.

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beavtifvltragedies · 5 months ago

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Declan Bishop ( biological father )

Autumn Pearson ( biological mother )

Freya Mikaelson ( adopted mother )

Keelin Malraux ( adopted mother )

Briggs Mikaelson ( adopted brother )

Billie Mikaelson ( sister-in-law )

All the Mikaelsons are extended family. You know the ones.

tw: murder, kidnapping, torture

HISTORY:

* . ⊹ THE TRAUMA:

* . ⊹ THE HEALING AND THE TRANSITION

* . ⊹ THE BETAYAL

Coming from the family of vampires, Gemma had no problem with her transition. She had plenty of people with plenty of experience around that she could lean on. But the party wasn't quite over.

— ☆ — ONE YEAR LATER — ☆ —

With funds running lower than Gemma would like and the promises off free drinks at the ball, Gemma made her way back to New Orleans, slightly nervous to see what she was coming back to.

#exitium.intro #* . ⊹ growing up precocious sometimes means not growing up at all » gemma mikaelson #murder tw #kidnapping tw #torture tw #//this got SO long i felt like i needed to break it up into chunks #//this is why i shouldn't write after midnight

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cosmere-described · 7 months ago

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ID: Dalinar styled in the same format as the Jefferson Miku Binder meme. Dalinar stands to the right of the image, shown from the hips up. He has brown skin and bright blue eyes, his black hair is staring to grey and he has wisps of a beard on his chin. He has a grin on his face and he looks happy. He stands with his hands on his pockets, one wrist wearing a beaded bracelet with the bisexual colors. An arrow points to this wrist that indicates a hidden tattoo.

He is wearing a large soft sweater that is coming off one shoulder, the text on the sweater reads "I met God. He's dead." Under the sweater is his binder, which is black except for a repeating pattern of a blue faced girl with long blue hair up in two ponytails. She has a cartoony expression of happiness. The artist shows a larger design of her face beside him for better detail.

The left of the image contains text that reads "Dalinar Kholin, (he/him), alt/lis/ved/mak, history major, 6'2"ft, 53y/o." on either side of both the trans flag and the bi flag. The text continues running down the page with "Born and raised in Alethkar. Freelance manga translator. Dated Torel before his transition, his father had no idea. Torel dumped him when he came out bc he's not gay :(. OBSESSED w/ anime. Frequents Barnes & Noble and Sbox so naturally he "runs into" Navani a lot. Gavilar's former moss dealer. Used to be an alcoholic, hates to recall his past. Secretly still likes reading. Pretends to like good vorin hymns but is really singer-pop trash. Flamboyant, loudmouthed, & bad at loooovee... Still wears Evi's bracelet but he doesn't know why. Always beats Shallan at Pokemon." /end ID

> anyway dalinar and lift interactions are so funny. imagine youre a war criminal in his 50s and some 13yo girl just objectifies you (@renegadeshroom )

#stormlight archive #dalinar kholin #image

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battlekidx2 · 4 years ago

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The Symbolism and Motifs Behind Adora and Catra’s Designs/Looks

Adora

(Hair down)

The biggest visual motif that is used for Adora is her hair. When she is Adora her hair being up symbolizes her being constrained by her destiny, obligations, responsibilities, past abuse, etc and every time she has a breakthrough or is freed from one of these her hair is let down. This first happens in Destiny part 2 when Adora breaks the sword and for the first time in 4 seasons Adora’s hair is down and she has “freed” herself from her horrible destiny. In season 5 this happens more frequently. In Save the Cat Adora’s hair comes out of her ponytail when she is saving Catra, when she has resolved herself to mend their relationship and reconnect. She has once again “freed” herself from the guilt and emotional pain that came from having to believe that Catra was lost, of being able to reconnect and keep childhood promises and make new ones. And another big one in Heart part 2 after Catra and Adora confess to each other her hair once again falls out of the ponytail symbolizing Adora finally being able to reach for a future that she wants and being “freed” from the obligations that she thought she had to neglect her needs and sacrifice herself for others. Adora’s hair coming loose is (clearly through the examples mentioned) meant to symbolize emotional breakthroughs that Adora has. Adora is a character that isn’t that in touch with her emotions and struggles to comprehend things beyond what she was raised for, battle and war, so each breakthrough is her gradually breaking free of her upbringing.

(She-ra’s look season 1-4)

(She-ra’s look in season 5)

It’s interesting to note that She-ra’s redesign follows the exact opposite motif with her hair, but symbolizes something similar. She-ra’s redesign looks a lot more like Adora does than her original design and this is meant to show how Adora has made she-ra her own. She-ra is no longer what the first ones intended, she is not the sword, she-ra is Adora. Another detail is how the new design incorporates certain aspects of each of the most important people in her life: the heart on her chest for Bow, the wings on her shoes for Glimmer, and her new mask for Catra. She-ra and her meaning have been altered by Adora and her experiences and I really love that fact. This is Adora taking back control over something that was supposed to be used to manipulate her. Which is a core part of her character because of the struggles she has with her abuse at shadow weaver’s hands. This is a part of the culmination of Adora’s arc of discovering she is more than what she can do for others. That her destiny, the destiny of she-ra, is in her own hands. That the manipulations of people trying to use her isn’t what has made Adora the person and hero she is today, but the personal connections she forged and her own personal drive to do what she believes is right.

Catra

Season 1-3 look

season 4 (and beginning of season 5) look

Season 5 look

(under prime’s control)

(once she joins the rebellion)

One of my favorite recurring motifs with Catra is the literal mask that she wears and that in this season after she decides to save Glimmer the mask is gone from her design completely. The dark exterior that Catra uses to hide her feelings and pain is gone and she has finally decided to be true to herself. Same with her eyes. Catra has heterochromia which is used to outwardly display her dual nature and warring inner conflict between her love and hatred of Adora and in the 5th season it’s used to portray her struggle between self betterment and sliding into old habits and self destruction. This is shown very clearly in the episode “Taking Control”. Whenever Catra is lashing out at Adora she’s turned so that her blue eye is the only one in frame and when Catra is being vulnerable or showing regret her yellow eye is the one that’s in frame. When she decides to use the chip to discover Horde Prime’s plan and protect Adora her yellow eye is the one in frame further emphasizing her decision to change. I really liked this detail in the episode. There is also the very obvious one in the season 3 finale where the blue eye is the one covered by the corruption in season 3 symbolizing Catra’s decision to commit to her villain role. Her darkness had won over her light. And it comes full circle once again in the series finale. Once Catra makes the decision to go back for Adora and stands up to shadow weaver her blue eye is the one shown in side views. Showing that she has overcome what had been her biggest shortcoming in this series, pushing others away to protect herself.

I just really loved how they used Catra’s character design to its fullest and didn’t waste details. It’s really easy to just be like “wow this looks cool” and then do nothing with it, but the she-ra crew was like “wow this looks cool now let’s do something with it”. For example when Catra gets her redesign in season 4 her hair is a lot less poofy and her ear tufts are gone and it’s tied into her character progression. Catra got rid of her ear tufts because shadow weaver had used caressing them as a way to manipulate Catra and her feelings. Catra now associates them with negative emotions and weakness and wants to “cut off” any possibility of feeling that kind of emotional pain again. The darker colors of her clothes also reflect her decision in the previous season. Catra’s main colors before this season were much lighter reds, but now it’s a deep, dark red showing her descent into the darkness when she opened the portal and her denial. Her color scheme changes once again in season 5. Her shoulders have maintained the darker red, but the dark sleeves that she had are now gone making it so that the lighter reds overcome or overshadow the darker red symbolizing how the light inside of her has overcome the dark. Yet it’s still keeps the colors darker than season 1 because Catra has done things since then that have made it so that she can’t go back to being that same person before she committed her mistakes. She’s a much healthier person though and has come to accept her mistakes and try to move forward in a better healthier direction (again symbolized by the color of her clothes).

I also want to point out Catra’s design in save the cat. In Save the Cat Catra is in all white and grey with her hair slicked back perfectly in place. The more Catra comes to her senses and is freed from primes control the messier her hair gets. It is similar to Adora’s hair motif, but with Catra’s hair becoming messier it can also symbolize her embracing/remembering her mistakes and the messiness that comes from trying to move forward in a more positive direction. When brainwashed and under primes control she doesn’t even remember her mistakes because Prime has “washed” away the pain along with the memory. Also white is typically used to symbolize purity but in this context it feels very out of place. This isn’t who Catra is. The reason she goes back to the red is that once again it symbolizes her decisions and choices. Catra can’t undo the mistakes so she “wears” them and acknowledges them after this episode. This is why in the transition episode Catra is wearing grey undergarments. Catra isn’t at the point where she can face her mistakes even though she has admitted them, symbolized by the transfer from white to grey. Her clothing being undergarments alone shows how vulnerable and insecure Catra is feeling about these mistakes. The very next episode after she resolves to face her mistakes she goes back to her red color scheme, again with less of the dark red than in season 4 showing her decision to change and go down a “lighter” path.

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jojo-reader-hell · 5 years ago

Note

imagine being Jotaro's twin, and you wake up one morning. You look in the bathroom mirror, only to realize you have fangs, claws, & slit pupils. You scream for Jotaro, who is groggy from the lack of sleep. He glares at you, "wait that's it? For fuck's sake, i thought it was a spider or something." Then he yells for your dear mother. "It's y/n, they're finally going through their transformation." Holly squeals before rushing over to you. (It turns out the Joestar family is a werewolf clan!)

I loved this idea so much that I kinda got carried away writing for it! I definitely would like to turn this into a two parter, so keep an eye out for the AO3 link! Until then, hope you enjoy!

Werewolf!Joestars and Werewolf!Reader

...

“WAAAAAAAAAAAH!! BUBBA! BUBBA!”

Big brother instincts activated, Jotaro slammed the door to his room wide open, nearly putting a hole in the wall and causing the door to dangle haphazardly off its hinges. His footfall was heavy, bounding through the hallway and nearly knocking down the decorative plants. In the back of his mind, whatever wasn’t preoccupied with getting to you was worrying about his mother’s nagging about the second door he would have to break to find you. But door be damned, he had to get to you. You never screamed this loud unless something was terribly wrong...

He skidded to a halt in front of the open bathroom, thankful for once in his life that you had the nasty habit of leaving it open, and saw you curled into a ball on the floor. Jotaro wasted no time in dragging you up to sit on your knees and asking where it hurt, only to stop dead in his tracks when he got a good look at you.

“B-Bubba!” You whined, an unmistakable edge to it as you clutched your face. “I’m ugly!”

“You’ve always been ugly.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and you only cried harder and more violently, a little blood dribbling out of your mouth where extra canines had been growing over your normal set.

“What’s happening to me?!” You wailed. “Everything hurts, my mouth is bleeding, my hands are furry, there’s a fuzzy thing on my butt and when I tried to pull it off I scratched myself with my nails-...”

“Good God, just shut your yap already!” Jotaro snapped. “You’re alright, stand up by yourself!”

“Jotaro! What’s wrong?! What’s happened??”

The pattering of your mother’s slippers echoed throughout the hallway, she nearly slid on the wood floors when she came to an abrupt halt, watching in horror as Jotaro yanked you up violently by the arm and tried to get you to stop screaming and wailing. Evidently it wasn’t working, because the louder he barked orders at you to shut up the harder you cried, yelping every time he yanked you the wrong way.

“Fuckhead over here is going through the change!” He answered back, as though you’d merely gotten a zit. Jotaro was dangling you by your arm painfully, and you tried clawing at him to make him put you down.

Nothing bullied him into letting go until a dark look crossed your mother’s face.

“Let go Jojo.”

She used a voice you never heard before, and even more shocking was the fact that Jojo finally listened for once instead of bullying her and calling her horrible names. He immediately dropped you into her care, feigning disinterest like a scolded pet.

“Oh, my baby!” She cooed, a huge smile coming over her face as she took over trying to get you to stand on your own. “It’s going to be all ok now, sweet baby. Nothings wrong, and you’re not ugly. You’re growing up!”

“H-hwat???” You blubbered, acting like a child as your mother mopped up your face with her apron, not caring that your bloody mouth was staining the white fabric.

“Look baby! Look how pretty your fur is, oh... how cute, I hope you have the same pattern as your grandpa. Even your little tail... we need to get you all nice and brushed.”

“But I... I don’t understand!” You couldn’t wrap your head around it, your mother was more concerned with gushing over you and reassuring you about how cute you were, and all you could do was babble questions until your brother put it bluntly for you:

“You’re turning into a wolf stupid.”

“Jojo, we need to be encouraging.”

Your mother’s voice had a certain conviction to it, another mystery wrapped in an enigma as she glanced disapprovingly at her son. She began to tell you all about the changes that would take place over the next few months, asking if you remembered those puberty videos they showed you in school when you were eleven, and you did, quite vividly if you were being honest. Every month during the full moon you’d just go through the motions of transforming, until your body got used to it and the process became as natural to you as breathing. She assuaged your fears: no you weren’t going to become a bloodthirsty animal. No you weren’t a danger to your family. No you weren’t going to suddenly find other wolves attractive or any other silly fear you had. All it was she said was an extra step in growing up you had to take, kind of like puberty 2.0. Well, it was sort of like that for the Joestars anyway, going back as far as your great great grandfather’s parents, the mythological monster part coming from his mother Mary who was one of the last of the werewolves. The lineage was diluted, hence the pain at the beginning that was inevitable, because in order to be with her beloved for all eternity she had to bite him to turn him, thus every Joestar since had to experience a rather horrific baptism by blood when they came of age. It could have been avoided if the lineage had been kept human free, and you would have been born a fluffy puppy instead of a baby, but then where would we be if we couldn’t choose the ones we loved your mother reasoned.

“The only tricky little detail is keeping the secret of our immortality. Usually when we’ve felt enough is enough here among humans, we just pop off into the woods and enjoy our nice long life with our loved ones. You’ll even age differently, your face will stay wrinkle free, and the only difference is your hair will turn grey!”

“Wait a minute... you mean we can’t die and we just leave society to live in the woods?”

“Uh huh!”

“Like, the actual woods around our house?”

“Of course baby. Everyone lives in the woods, who do you think you hear howling every now and again when the moon is full? If you’d like, you can spend your moon time with your Grandpa and Granny, or Papa Jonathan and Momma Erina will be there to take care of you too!”

The way your mother put it, it was like being a werewolf was as simple as going on a fucking family vacation every month.

When the pain came back you didn’t care to even acknowledge the insanity of your mother’s nonchalance. All you knew was that it felt as though somebody was taking you by the arms and legs trying to yank them out of the sockets.

“It hurts...” you cried, “Can I please have something for the pain?”

“No honey... Now that it’s taking over, we can’t give you any anti inflammatories for the pain, it’s too dangerous. We have to be very careful with certain foods too, no chocolates or onions, no coffee, no more cooked bones, no nuts, no avocado. You’ll have to be very careful with your diet from now on, those things can make you very sick. But I have an idea, maybe it will help if you shift completely and we get some food in you.”

“How do I do that?”

“Just relax, don’t tense up because of the pain, it just has to happen. Breathing helps as well, if you want, mommy can shift with you and I’ll show you how to breathe.”

She shooed Jotaro out of the bathroom, giving him some sort of a nonverbal signal that made him snap to attention, for obvious reasons she explained that it would be best to do it in private. You could hear Jotaro on the phone with someone, informing them of your latest development with the Joestar gene and instructing them to bring lots of something, whatever it was you didn’t catch it because your mother closed the door behind her. She helped you change and folded your clothes painstakingly, holding your hands in hers as she instructed you to keep your eyes trained on hers.

“In and out sweetheart.” She told you, inhaling through the nose and exhaling out through the mouth. “In... and out...”

She made a soft sound with her pursed lips, and you mimicked her even though your body was in excruciating pain. Eventually you could actually feel the smoothness of the transition, once the tension left your body you noticed the pain had disappeared and your bones just simply shifted out of place and wherever they needed to go. When you finally came to, you noticed that the world was a whole hell of a lot bigger, a fact that made you completely terrified. Your whole body was seized by shaking and it only made your fear worse, but when you looked at the mass of cream colored fur in front of you, you actually voiced your fear with a loud yelp.

“Baby, shhh, it’s mama.”

A large wet nose pressed against your soft cheeks, a large warm wet tongue lathed at your face, so familiar... you felt like you remembered something like this, maybe when you were a baby, a memory of you cold and wriggling against the same warm cream colored fur surfaced and soothed you somewhat. When you finally looked up, you immediately recognized the warm green eyes staring lovingly back at you.

“Mama...” your voice was startling, almost high pitched. When you looked down at yourself, you noticed little beany paws where your feet and hands should have been, completely covered head to toe in fuzz the color of your hair.

Making yourself go cross eyed revealed a soft muzzle and little black nose, but it hurt to focus too much and you had to stop, turning to the side and noticing a soft rotund puppy body where your own used to be. You were still the same size, but when compared to the adult body of your mother, you felt incredibly small. She was gigantic, rear end pressing against the door as she struggled to stoop in the bathroom, a huge bushy tail nearly the size of your body thumping against the sink and displacing a couple of toothbrushes.

“It’s okay baby. There’s a lot of changes happening, and when you’re born into it you’re luckier than if you’d been bitten like your Granny Suzie or your great Granny Lisa Lisa. Everything is gradual, and you’re not going to burn so much energy. It’s so much easier going through this, you will be smaller than the rest of us for a while until you’re out of high school, but that’s ok. It’s just like growing up all over again, except this goes much faster, isn’t that exciting?”

You couldn’t help the whine that escaped as she mouthed your neck and picked you up. Being dangled from this height didn’t exactly help you when you were already a fearful person to begin with, and it certainly didn’t help that your mother was now the size of the mega fauna they had at the museums. But it was all a matter of perspective. You’d never seen a wolf this close before, only from far away at the zoo on rare occasions, and certainly not from the perspective of being small enough that her mouth almost dwarfed your body, her hot breath steaming on your pelt as she scratched at the closed door with a large paw.

When it opened, Jotaro was there, looking far too annoyed at the fact that you made such a fuss about your changes. He raised an eyebrow as your mother tried to wriggle out of the narrow door frame into the hall with you still in her mouth, and even more shocking was the fact that after she’d placed you delicately on her oversized bed to snuggle with you, you saw Jotaro just close his eyes and lose himself into his own impossibly large wolf form, not caring that his clothes ripped. He laid his head next to you, nosing you as your mother’s bushy tail encircled you protectively, and she began to clean you in a similar manner to a cat cleaning a kitten. Was it the same for canids? Probably. You’d never owned a dog before and suddenly you were very aware of why this was. Especially the way your brother acted, he was a grumpy asshole as a person, you could only imagine what he was like as a monster.

Curiosity compelled you to look around the room, everything so different from a wolfy perspective. Your perception of colors was vastly different, as was the way you perceived the room itself. Often you’d find yourself staring at things that seemed to mystify the primal part of your brain. You were compelled to gnaw at the tassels on your mother’s bedspread, but her gentle nip on your ear discouraged you. Things you knew to be red and green were nearly invisible, fading to grey or an interesting shade of yellow that you didn’t think could exist. Her dresser table interested you the most, as you could see your little ears in the reflection. Lifting your head up a little bit more however, that was a different story as the human reasoning part of your brain suddenly seemed to shut down.

“MAMA!” Your voice was a shrill scream!

You stood on your hind legs and began screaming, hackles raised and your poor little tail between your legs. The sounds you made were so loud and scared that it made your brother flinch.

“MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA! THERES A MONSTER ON THE DRESSER! THERES A MONSTER ON THE DRESSER! MAMA HELP ME THERES A MONSTER ON THE DRESSER!”

...

“Oh that’s adorable Jonathan! Where’d you find that?”

“It was mine when I was a pup!” Jonathan Joestar said, a look of pride on his face as Suzie examined the tiny blue collar with a brass bell he had in his hands. “My mother got it for me because I had a tendency to wander, this way Holly can use it on the little one. Jotaro was too big for it, but I figure it’s just the size for my little bundle of joy!”

“I figured it would be best to just bring meat, and lots of it considering how ravenous of an appetite Jotaro had when he turned.” Joseph Joestar insisted, he and his wife carrying two large fresh kills apiece.

“We can’t feed the baby that!” Jonathan’s wife Erina looked scandalized, holding far too many sweaters that looked similar to the ones pet owners got for their spoiled dogs. “We’re just going to get the little one dirty, and then Holly’s going to have to clean up the mess later on after we make sure the little one is asleep.”

“Once we get the little one fed, then we can give out presents, matter of fact it was very smart of Joseph to bring so much. Whatever the little one doesn’t eat, Holly and Jotaro can have.” reasoned Jonathan’s son, a hulking creature named George who was every bit the spitting image of his father, and the only one of the bunch comfortable enough in the open to remain in wolf form. “Better to be full of food than stressing about the new changes on an empty stomach. Especially if the two of them had to waste energy and shift from the sound of Jotaro’s phone call. It wouldn’t hurt to be fully shifted when we see them either. After all, Holly is the alpha, it would be helpful for her to be surrounded by familiar faces instead of a bunch of humans.”

They all agreed, stopping short of the little cabin in the woods where Holly lived with her two children, helping each other to change out of clothes and stashing them in strategic places on the porch before transforming into creatures so large some of them had to hang back, unable to fit on the small space of the porch. Jonathan took the lead, a smile on his canine face as he politely scratched at the door.

“Jojo!” He barked, tail thumping wildly against the wall as he scratched the door again. “Jojo it’s us! Please let us in!”

He was interrupted by the shrill sound of a puppy’s yelping, the door flying open only for the mega wolf to be nearly bowled over by a very frightened young werewolf being chased by an alpha female.

“HELP! HELP! MONSTER!” You cried, taking off into the woods as your mother chased at your heels.

“Baby! Baby please come back! It was only your reflection! There’s no monster in the house!” Your mother barked after you.

“MONSTER!”

A very irritated and nearly naked Jotaro appeared at the door much to everyone’s shock, scratching his rear through the leftover shreds of his pants.

“Good grief, at least you brought me something to eat...”

There wasn’t even time to scold him for taking a large portion of the kill, he simply took it and went back indoors, dragging it off into a corner to gorge while Jonathan tried to help your mother chase you down.

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imgoingtocrash · 5 years ago

Text

knowing (of everything she doesn’t)

Chapters: 1/1

Rating: G

Word Count: 9,097

Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Morgan Stark & Tony Stark, Michelle Jones & Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Happy Hogan & Michelle Jones, Happy Hogan & Peter Parker

Summary:

“Mister Stark means a lot to me, M,” Peter says firmly, effectively ending the discussion.

“I know,” she answers, squeezing his hand where it rests over the cupholder between them.

Looking out the window, what she thinks to herself is: do you mean that much to him?

Maybe it’s overprotective or presumptuous of her—she’s only known Peter well for a couple of years and has been dating him for less than one.

It’s just—in all that time, in all of the stories of his alter-ego’s exploits that he’s finally shared…she just can’t see how the universe-saving multibillionaire fits into all of this.

MJ joins Peter for a Thanksgiving visit to the Starks' lake house. It turns out that even after years of quiet observation and a few months of dating, there are still things about Peter Parker and his life that manage to surprise her.

Read on AO3

My gift for @peter-stank for @friendly-neighborhood-exchange!!! Happy belated Birthday, Beedee, and thank you so much for your amazing contributions to the fandom. Hopefully you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. <3 (Fic also under the cut, as requested by the exchange/until reveal.)

They’re an hour into a two and a half hour drive when Michelle decides to drop the question.

“Isn’t it weird?” MJ asks. “Casually being invited to your boss’s house for Thanksgiving?”

Peter shrugs, but she can see the way his shoulders tense underneath his hoodie when he answers, “Maybe. Before.”

Before doesn’t need to be clarified. The Blip.

“Besides, he makes a mean turkey stuffing. I promise, that’s worth it,” Peter attempts to deflect, the barest hint of a smile directed her way.

But Michelle has never been good at leaving well enough alone. She asks too many questions, sometimes makes people uncomfortable. It’s how she got good at academic decathlon and how she (mostly) figured out Peter was Spider-Man.

“What changed?”

“Hm?”

“The Blip was traumatic for everyone in one way or another. Why did it change things with Tony?” She never refers to him as Mister Stark despite Peter rarely ever calling his mentor anything else.

“It just…did.” Peter shrugs again, eyes determinately focused on the road ahead and far away from her. “He lost me, I almost lost him, it sucked. That’s all.”

“Okay, but—“ It just doesn’t make sense to her that he was an intern at SI or a superhero colleague or whatever, and somehow it added up to…whatever this is. Schlepping up to the Catskills in Peter’s hand-me-down Toyota for a few days at the Starks’ cabin. Like, that’s just a thing that Peter has been invited to do, and he doesn’t think anything of it.

“Mister Stark means a lot to me, M,” Peter says firmly, effectively ending the discussion.

“I know,” she answers, squeezing his hand where it rests over the cupholder between them.

Looking out the window, what she thinks to herself is: do you mean that much to him?

Maybe it’s overprotective or presumptuous of her—she’s only known Peter well for a couple of years and has been dating him for less than one.

It’s just—in all that time, in all of the stories of his alter-ego’s exploits that he’s finally shared…she just can’t see how the universe-saving multibillionaire fits into all of this.

They arrive at the lake house just as the sun’s setting, the orange hues reflecting across the water.

A loud thwack breaks the relative silence that’s formed by the car’s engine turning off.

“Petey!” shrieks the high pitched little voice that accompanies a little blur of movement out of the house.

Peter’s already unbuckling his seatbelt, a smile blown wide across his face. He kicks the door open—used to the way it sometimes sticks—and just barely misses hitting the brown-haired little girl that can only be Morgan Stark in her precious little head.

“Morgie!” Peter shouts in a parrot of her tone, not bothering to shut the door behind him before he picks up the five-year-old girl, spinning them both around in circles while she screams with laughter.

“’S so good to see you,” Peter says, pressing sloppy kisses to Morgan’s cheeks. “Did you miss me?”

“Yeah! Daddy said you were coming for a whole week this time, and I have a whole list of movies that you have to watch with me, and—“

Morgan trails on, but MJ is watching Peter—his attention is zeroed in on the girl in his arms, his megawatt grin on full display. He’s comfortable with her. She called him Petey—a nickname she knows is usually reserved only for May. She knew Peter was close with Morgan, but she’d always assumed it was in that way she sees her younger cousins every holiday and they think she’s the coolest person in the world for exactly eight hours, and then they don’t see or speak to each other again until the next family event, rinse and repeat.

The girl stops herself, moving her eyes directly to MJ and locking on. She’s always kind of hated that about little kids—they look into your soul and just kind of know things.

“Who’s that?” Morgan asks, more firmly wrapping her arms around Peter, as if to protect him.

(The only danger Peter’s been in from MJ in the last three hours was during their argument about road trip playlists. Particularly, Peter’s memetic gag of repeating What’s New Pussycat? on the same playlist multiple times and thinking she wouldn’t stop it before the first It’s Not Unusual.)

Michelle decides to get out of the car and introduce herself instead of awkwardly staring through the open door. It’s a bit of a chore—the passenger door’s handle is finicky—but she gets out without landing her ass in the mud and considers it a win. She still wipes her hands on her pants as she rounds the car, trying to remove any weird, nervous sweat. She’s not worried about it. She’s fine.

“I’m, um. Michelle,” she states, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

Morgan’s head quirks to the side, looking Michelle up and down before she screams, “Daddy, Petey brought some weird stranger to Thanksgiving!” directly into Peter’s ear.

“Ow,” he hisses, rubbing at his earlobe. “Morgan, that’s not cool, MJ is—“

Morgan doesn’t let Peter finish, sticking out her tongue and wriggling out of Peter’s arms, running off towards the house as fast as she came out of it.

Tony Stark himself opens the screen door of the cabin next, chuckling as his daughter weaves between his legs. The effects from the battle with Thanos are clear—though it’s less intense than she imagines it was a year ago. White scar tissue spindles through the right side of Tony’s face, following down under his t-shirt and transitioning into to the metal arm painted the iconic Iron Man color scheme of red and gold.

Peter showed her the specs of that arm shortly after they got together—apparently Tony finished his rehab just after their trip to Europe, and it was supposed to be a gift from Peter. Seeing it on the man himself is…daunting, to say the least.

“Sorry about her,” Tony says, easing himself down the stairs as he approaches. There’s no kind of limp, but he seems to take his time with it all the same. “She gets a little territorial with us sometimes. Pep says we need to get her around more kids her own age, but the idea of sending her off to preschool…”

He shakes his head like he’s clearing cobwebs. She has to admit, he seems more human like this, surrounded by nature, talking about his daughter, the sun showing the lighter, grey strands of his hair more clearly.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony says, pulling Peter into a hug. It’s not just a one-armed casual sort of hug either, but a full one that goes on for a minute, dramatically rocking them back and forth. “Ugh, I missed you.”

“It’s only been a few days, Mister Stark!” Peter’s laughing reply is muffled into Tony’s shoulder. When they come apart, the smile from earlier has returned. Tony’s hands—robotic and human—have moved to Peter’s shoulders.

“A week. A whole week! I can’t spend that much time away from you anymore. It aggravates my angina.”

“Now you’re just trying to be embarrassing,” Peter grumbles, reluctant when the other man runs his hand through Peter’s gelled hair and musses it up just so.

“Absolutely,” Tony admits. He turns to Michelle. “You must be the famous scary girlfriend.”

“You’re just as bad as Morgan!” Peter whines. MJ isn’t sure she’s ever heard him sound so childish in his life despite the fact that he acts like a giant, overexcited goofball ninety percent of the time.

“My reputation precedes me,” Michelle ends up replying, shaking Tony’s hand when it’s offered. For some reason she was more nervous to meet Morgan than her father. Maybe it’s just her instinct to not be intimidated by rich tycoon types. Then again…she and the rest of the world know that he’s much more than that. Still. Old habits die hard.

“Now see, she can take a joke. I like her,” Tony says, nodding at Peter. Peter’s face goes a soft red, just edging on a full blush. She doesn’t really care if Tony likes her, but Peter clearly does.

Tony hooks an arm around both of their shoulders, leading them up to the house.

“Seriously, it’s good to have you guys. I’ve kind of been dreaming about the holidays—it got me through a lot of my physical therapy sessions,” he admits. It seems to be a more vulnerable comment than he lets on—Peter leans his head onto Tony’s shoulder. He’s almost too tall for it, but it’s…weirdly sweet. Peter’s big on physical comfort, as she now knows. Apparently even Tony has gotten used to it.

“Christmas is going to be a goddamn blow out, trust me,” Tony continues, breaking their grouping to lead them into the house. “Wall to wall Avengers, a mountain of presents. I’m slowly but surely convincing Pepper to let me build a fully functioning Santa’s sleigh to put on the roof.”

“No, he’s not,” comes a voice from deeper in the house. Pepper Potts steps in from what must be the kitchen, wiping flour off on the apron around her waist. “I will accept the light-up ones that are meant to be decoration and nothing else.”

Pepper presses a finger into her husband’s chest firmly, spreading a puff of flour and accenting her point with a quick peck to his lips. It’s a surprisingly domestic scene. She looks at Peter, and he’s looking at her already, soft doe eyes and a mind probably full of gross, sweet things that are way, way in their future.

Dork, she mouths. His returning smile is predictably un-cowed.

“You kids are just adorable,” Tony comments. Pepper nudges him with an elbow on her way to Peter.

“Hi, sweetie,” she says, pressing a kiss to his head and holding her hands up. “I’d hug you but—“

“All good,” Peter replies. “Anything I can do to help?”

“No, no. You unpack, relax. I’ve got it, just—semi-literally have my fingers in a lot of pies, right now.”

“That’s code for please, god, don’t let a Parker near my cooking,” Tony whispers to her.

“Enhanced. Hearing.” Peter’s look at his mentor is the closest to peeved that he really gets. (She has to admit, though—there’s a reason they mostly go out or order in on dates. Cooking isn’t really either of their fortes.)

“Boys,” Pepper hums. It sounds like this is a common occurrence in the Stark household. “It’s nice to meet you, Michelle. Peter talks about you all the time. Again, I’d shake your hand, but—“ She holds up her palms, shrugging.

“No it’s—super awesome to meet you. Thank you for having me.” It’s actually beyond awesome. Despite her beef with Stark Industries and their ilk, she has to admit Pepper Potts is pretty high on her list of inspirational female powerhouses. She became CEO at 40 with only a Bachelor’s in Business and a Fine Arts minor, and Stark Industries entered a historic era of technology production and philanthropy under her guidance.

“Oh my god, you’re totally starstruck right now, aren’t you?” Peter questions in her ear, quieter than Tony so that only she hears.

“Shut up,” she says between her teeth, swatting at his arm without breaking her smile at Pepper.

Pepper smiles, giving Tony a look that Michelle can’t decipher. It might be flirtatious? Are she and Peter reminding Pepper of Tony and herself when they were younger? Her life is so weird, right now.

“I’ll go get our stuff,” Peter offers, out the screen door before she can argue that she doesn’t need his help. Like, it’s nice that her boyfriend can lift an entire car’s worth of stuff in one go, but she doesn’t always need him to. It feels a little…exploitative of his powers, somehow.

“I have a five-year-old to console,” Tony says, then quirks his head. “Chide? Eh, I’ll feel it out in the moment. Maybe a little of both. Make yourself comfortable, Michelle.”

Pepper watches Tony ascend the stairs, a what can you do? sort of look on her face towards MJ.

“Seriously, you and Peter have the afternoon to yourselves. If you need anything, just ask FRIDAY.” Pepper points up to the ceiling, as if that’s where the AI lives—which, maybe it does—before she turns around and attends to the beeping timer coming from the kitchen.

Michelle’s had a little experience with Peter’s AI, Karen, but the whole house being run by a super AI is something totally out of the norm. Honestly, she’ll probably just ask Peter any questions to avoid conversing with it.

She takes the chance alone to really observe her surroundings. From the outside the house looked like a pretty rustic cabin, but inside it’s a mostly-open floor plan mix of modern design and homey decor.

In particular, she notices the walls and surfaces are covered in pictures. The entryway features what can only be a shot of Tony and Pepper’s wedding day. The lake is featured behind them—Tony in a suit, Pepper in a white maternity dress that accentuates her pregnant belly.

Further into the living area there’s a larger variety of shots: Baby Morgan in Tony’s arms at the hospital, a few older shots with faces Michelle recognizes—Bruce Banner, James Rhodes, and even a group shot of the Avengers, smiling and receiving Medals of Honor from the Mayor of New York.

Nestled in a few shots of Morgan at a few different ages is a familiar face. Peter is pictured with Tony—it’s a selfie that was clearly printed, Peter making a goofy face combating Tony’s unamused expression. Next to it is a more recent picture. It appears to be from the spring shortly after the battle. Morgan is sitting in Peter’s lap, her hands covered in sticky popsicle juice while Peter is taking a lick from the offered desert over her shoulder. Clearly a candid moment.

Finally, nestled in-between a shot of the Starks teaching a younger Morgan how to swim and a press picture of Tony and Pepper from a gala she can’t identify is one of Peter and Tony on the very couch next to her, both of them asleep and pajama-clad, like they’d fallen asleep like that the night before and someone caught it the morning after.

“Ugh, that one’s so bad,” Peter says, suddenly behind her. He has a talent for sneaking up on her, one that would probably be more useful if he wasn’t always running his mouth and announcing his presence, particularly to bad guys. “Of course you found it.”

“I didn’t realize—“ she starts, but frowns, unsure of exactly what she’s thinking. It’s so…homey, here, and Peter’s clearly welcome. She knew he visited a lot, but this… “You’re all over the place.”

Peter clearly doesn’t think anything of it, shrugging. “I, um. We didn’t have anywhere to go after, you know?”

He’s never comfortable talking about the Blip or the battle against Thanos. A lot of people aren’t, but Peter in particular always stumbles through it. In the months of their dating, he’s only brought it up if she’s asked, never on his own.

“We lived here for a while. Our old apartment belonged to someone else, but May wouldn’t take any charity, wouldn’t accept the Starks’ penthouse in the city. She and Pepper looked for a place in Queens for months, but there were suddenly all of those people looking for housing…”

He loses himself for a moment. He does this sometimes too, drifting off like he’s disconnected, unable to keep himself in the here and now.

She takes his hand, and with a squeeze he comes back. There aren’t any tears, but there’s a weight in his eyes that she recognizes: guilt. For having a home when others still don’t months later. For failing at stopping Thanos the first time. For any number of other things he’s yet to reveal to her.

“Peter…” she tries, but what can she say? It’s times like this that she wishes she was…more. That she was better equipped to handle this superhero life that he’s so dedicated to. He takes the weight of the world on his shoulders, and she hasn’t figured out exactly how to give him a break, to take some of the weight as her own, or if she ever can.

“It’s fine, I’m—anyway, it was just…kind of nice, after everything that happened. Tony was recovering from here, Pepper was working from home a lot, Morgan was scared, I was…” He clears his throat, not finishing the sentence. “It was good to have everyone under one roof for a while, that’s all.”

She tucks herself into his side in a hug, unsure how else to respond. He would accept platitudes but he wouldn’t believe them. She rarely knows the right thing to say, anyway. Maybe this is the best she can do.

He pats her shoulder, breaking the quiet. “Come on, I’ll show you upstairs.”

Peter keeps his arm around her as they walk, squeezing them both up the stairs with their backpacks in hand.

“We’re staying in my room.” He stops walking, stiffening in a way that makes her feel—well, her age. They haven’t even really discussed sex, but any discussions past their first few chaste kisses have turned out a little awkward, stumbling forward because neither of them have dated before this.

“I mean, as long as that’s okay with you, I can take the couch, or—“

“No, no, that’s fine. We’ve shared before,” she mumbles, knowing there have been a few times May must have seen them asleep on Peter’s bed and let them be. She assumes his aunt’s open door policy will stay in place, likely why the Starks are okay with them sharing. Not like she has much desire to do anything in the Starks’ house, and especially with a five-year-old only a few rooms away.

“Your room?” she asks, moving them along. She assumed he and May just shared a guest bed or something that he just took over whenever he visited, not that he had a room of his own.

“It, ah—Mister Stark insisted,” Peter laughs, but mixed in with the slight embarrassment is something warm too, shown by how Peter’s gaze turns to the door clearly labeled Morgan’s Room in a pretty cursive font, likely Pepper’s work. She can hear the soft murmurs of Tony’s voice in the room, meaning that Peter can probably hear the entire conversation.

There’s a bathroom in the hall that’s a mix of Morgan’s colorful bath toys and what she knows is Peter’s deodorant sitting on the sink counter. Next to Morgan’s room is another bedroom, likely Tony and Pepper’s. At the end of the hall is where they stop, the unmarked door holding a room that is different from Peter’s in New York, but funnily enough, almost more expressive of him.

Peter hasn’t made it a secret that he doesn’t love his new apartment—it’s smaller than their old place, and devoid of the memories from his Uncle Ben’s presence. He seems to think there’s not much point in decorating it with the future expectation of college dorms ahead of them, and has apparently spilled most of his personal effects across this room instead.

The A New Hope poster on the wall is one of the nicer reproductions, framed and—signed by Mark Hamill, of course, probably a gift from Tony. A hologram is up on the desk, the Spider-Man symbol lazily floating around like a desktop screensaver. There are a few Lego sets unfinished in the corner—Peter rarely finishes them without Ned to keep them on task.

It’s Peter spilling out of every crumpled sheet of loose-leaf paper, every sneaker missing its mate.

Peter immediately takes to cleaning up the array of dirty clothes on the floor, mumbling apologies. She spies a faded hoodie with the cracked screen-printing of MIT’s logo among the mess before he scoops it up too.

“I was in a hurry last time I was here, sorry. Pepper says she won’t clean up after me because it sets a bad example for Morgan—which I totally get! But also, I mean, you’ve met me.”

It’s as self-explanatory as he makes it sound—he has a busy life. Sometimes, when stuff is crazy, a few dirty socks on the floor don’t really matter so much.

However, she also senses that some part of him likes the mess. His room in the city is a cramped box, and the charging case for the Iron Spider takes up an entire corner on its own. Here, he’s free to spread himself across the floors and up the walls as much as he likes.

“Yeah, Parker, you are kind of a mess,” she teases, only smiling more at his response of wrinkling his nose up at her.

“Anyway,” he continues with a grunt, flinging a sock into a hamper that’s overfull like he’s some kind of basketball star and frowning when it bounces into the floor instead. “Since Pepper’s kicked us out of the kitchen and Mo is being a grouch, we can do whatever. FRIDAY has any movie or show you could want—comedies, romcoms, that sad documentary about polar bears you like…“

“It’s not sad, it’s realistic.”

“What’s real is that you watched me cry about the ice caps melting for like thirty minutes, M.”

He brings her close, wrapping his arms around her waist and swaying them in place like it’s some kind of grand romantic moment, the two of them bickering in the middle of his messy bedroom at Tony Stark’s house. For some reason she has the impression that he’ll spurt into a tall and lanky mess in a few years, but for now she’s still looking down at him just a smidge, meaning he’s looking up at her all…mushy and enamored.

“As we all should,” she replies, failing to sound serious because she’s suddenly distracted by the hint of Peter’s teeth peeking out of his smile. Her boyfriend is so cute, which, yes, she knew that, but it’s just—he’s so much, Peter Parker, and she’s barely even scratched the surface after quietly watching him for years and thinking she had him all figured out. It’s intimidating, to see the open emotion on his face and know there’s even more that she’d never considered underneath.

“I—“ She takes a breath, trying to recover from the flustered blush that’s creeped up her cheeks without her permission. “Nap. I could go for a nap. That sounds good, right?”

Peter’s smile grows—he’s always so entertained when he breaks her brain like this, so smug that he’s one of the only people that can.

At her warning look, he lets her awkward stumbling drop, holding up his hands. “Yeah, MJ, that’s—sounds good.”

“That’s what I thought.”

If she picked that activity for an excuse to hold Peter close for a few hours alone after the barrage of meeting so many new people, well, no one has to know.

“Pete.” A voice she only vaguely recognizes is within the edge of her consciousness. It’s not her step-father, so she chooses to ignore it, snuggling into the warmth under her head further. “Spiiiider-baby. Kiddo, c’mon, wake up.”

Her eyes open just a slit—watery vision turned milky by the overpowering beam of light that leaks in. In the darkness of the room, she finds Peter’s face, still firmly buried in his pillow. Behind him, partially obscured by the curve of his shoulder and the powerful light from the hallway, is Tony.

He smiles when he catches her eyes. “Not the one I planned on, but hey, one out of two’s not bad.”

“Peeetey,” Tony tries Peter again, this time accompanying his calls with a touch to Peter’s head, he’s—running his hand through Peter’s hair? Is she dreaming? “Buddy, it’s time to get up. It’s dinnertime.”

“Hm?” finally comes Peter’s groggy response, slurred as he turns into Tony’s hand.

“Magic words,” Tony jokes to her, stroking Peter’s curls again, fully mussing what’s already been ruined by their nap.

“Feels nice,” Peter sighs. He squeezes the arm he has around MJ, as if for emphasis. “M’comfy.”

“Aw, they’re so cute when they’re sleepy,” Tony full-on coos, and that seems to do it, eliciting a groan from Peter’s chest against her ear.

“You’re so embarrassing, Mister Stark.” Peter bats Tony’s hand away this time, rubbing at his eyes and flitting them over to the holographic clock on the desk—6:30 PM.

“We slept a while.”

“I’ll say. I had Morgan all primed for an apology and you two were totally passed out.”

MJ removes herself from Peter’s hold, running a hand through her loosened ponytail and catching a few matted curls with a frown.

Tony turns up the lights slowly, sliding the switch to half-power.

“I negotiated that you two would watch Mulan with her after dinner, by the way. She tests people with how they react to Disney movies. Don’t ask me why.”

Peter nods solemnly, stretching his arms with a few quick pops.

“I got Tangled. Ned and I went to see it with Ned’s little sister as kids, but I still got all choked up at the whole hair-cutting scene. Cemented me with her for life.”

Peter literally rolls off of the bed, landing on his feet as if he’d simply sat up and stood like a normal person.

She and Tony are similarly unimpressed.

“The fact that you also act like her personal spidery-jungle-gym probably doesn’t hurt either,” he comments.

“You’re just mad that she doesn’t play Iron Man as much anymore.”

Tony sniffs, but doesn’t deny it. “Pizza’s getting cold. Pepper was too tired to cook anything else tonight, and I instantly agreed.”

“But have you ever had pizza for Thanksgiving?” Peter inquires, tapping his skull with his pointer finger like this idea holds the secrets of the universe. “You order the night before and eat it reheated the next day. No cooking required.”

“Just say May burned a turkey the year before and you were scared,” Tony replies. “It’s so much faster that way.”

“I’ll have you know it was Uncle Ben who was scared—“

By the time they’ve moved on to weighing the importance of tradition versus creating new traditions, Michelle has managed to brush her hair back into a more controlled ponytail and has splashed a little water on her face in the bathroom.

They’re still in Peter’s room going at it when she returns.

“You guys talk a lot,” she interrupts.

They both go silent, look at each other, then shrug. It’s like looking into a mirror, in a weird way, and she’s concerned that she’s dating half of that mirror when the other half is Tony Stark, who spent years flying around in a suit of armor and almost died on multiple occasions.

“Daddy!” Morgan thumps her way up the stairs, sliding into Tony’s legs on socked feet. “Mommy said you’re taking too long.”

Tony easily brings his daughter into his arms, bouncing her on his hip and leading them down the stairs that way.

“Oh she did, did she?” he asks, voice taking on a playful quality. “That doesn’t sound like Mommy. She usually just tells me to hurry the fu—“

“Mister Stark!” Peter interjects, slapping his hands over Morgan’s ears and awkwardly hovering over Tony’s shoulder on the stairway to do it. Honestly, it would probably be more comfortable for him to just get on the ceiling at this point.

“Oh, I’m kidding! I wasn’t actually gonna say it!”

Tony pulls Morgan out of Peter’s loose grip, moving all of them forward and almost sending Peter toppling down the stairs. MJ grabs the back of Peter’s shirt even though she suspects his feet are doing the steadying for him.

“You guys are like some kind of messed up comedy troupe,” Michelle comments, watching Peter pout and dust off his clothes as if it will rid him of any embarrassment.

Pepper shakes her head at all of them as they enter the kitchen, probably having heard at least some of that. “More like a circus,” she grumbles.

“We do have an alpaca,” Tony adds, placing Morgan onto her feet.

“I think that’d be more of a petting zoo,” Peter argues.

“Michelle, I’m sorry about them,” Pepper says. “Get whatever you want, we always order plenty for Mister-Mega-Metabolism over here.”

Pepper points to Peter, who has already unceremoniously shoved half of a slice of pepperoni pizza in his mouth and has a trail of grease slipping down his chin.

“You guys are so mean,” he sulks without bothering to swallow, meaning the words are a garbled, spitting mess. “Mister Stark’s the one that keeps nagging me about my blood sugar!”

“You’re attracted to this,” Tony says to Michelle, pointing at Peter. “This? Really?”

“He’s alright,” she answers, dragging both a slice of vegetarian and a slice of cheese onto her own plate without bothering to look at Peter’s fake-hurt expression.

“MJ, you’re supposed to be on my side, this is—I can’t even—“

In his distraction, Morgan decides to be sneaky. Only MJ seems to catch her subtle movements toward Peter, using her short height to her advantage and the element of surprise to steal what’s left of the piece of pizza from Peter’s hand. She giggles to herself triumphantly, biting into it herself.

“Morgan, sweetie, that’s—“ Pepper tries, but seems to lose the end of the admonishment that was probably about germs.

Peter only smiles, crouching as if preparing for a fight.

“Here they go,” Tony hums, expectant in a way Michelle certainly isn’t.

“You better watch out, you little—!” In a fit of laughter, Morgan sprints out of the kitchen, Peter hot on her heels. They run a lap around the living room furniture.

“Peter, leave your sister alone, she needs to eat her—aaaaand they’re already in the yard,” Tony sighs. He and Pepper seem to give up, bringing their own plates and the so far unused plates of Peter and Morgan to the table. MJ follows suit, placing herself an empty chair between the two table heads.

“I swear to god, they’re normal, like, ninety percent of the time.” Tony pauses. “Eighty-five. Solid eighty percent.”

“Did you…?” MJ feels awkward asking about it, but maybe it’s something Peter hasn’t told her yet, something she wasn’t supposed to know that just slipped out. Tony said—he called Morgan Peter’s sister. “Is there something I should know?”

Both Tony and Pepper look at Michelle like she’s not making any sense.

“What you said—that Morgan is Peter’s sister, it’s just—I can keep a secret! I just didn’t know he was, you know. Yours.“

“He wishes,” Pepper snorts into her ice water.

Tony’s responding smile is far too wide.

“I keep asking May for partial custody, but she just won’t budge!” He snaps his fingers in a very exaggerated, aw, shucks way. Pepper and Tony both laugh.

“Ah,” she lets out, embarrassed to have even had the thought that Peter might be Tony’s secret child or something, picking at her pizza toppings to avoid looking at the Starks.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetie.” Pepper pats her arm comfortingly. “Before the Blip there were articles with pretty similar lines of questioning. All shut down because they photographed a minor, of course.”

Pepper seems pretty proud of that, and MJ supposes she should be. People definitely would have made the Spider-Man connection sooner if Peter and Tony were in the paper together all the time.

More seriously, Tony says, “I’ve looked at the kid’s blood…more than I wish I had, honestly, but he gets injured, it happens. Anyway, yeah, no. FRIDAY would have figured that one out pretty quickly. DNA scanners and all.”

She nods, and the awkward silence thankfully only has to sit for a few more seconds before Peter bursts back into the house, Morgan wriggling around and squealing in his arms.

“I caught a wild Morguna!” Peter cheers.

“Is that the name of an actual Pokémon?” Tony asks, switching his gaze between Pepper and Michelle for an answer. “Did I accidentally nickname my kid after a battling monster thing? I only know like three of them, help me out here.”

Peter rolls his eyes, placing Morgan down with a quick tickle to her ribs that sends her flying towards the table.

“Come eat, Little Miss,” Tony commands, patting his hand on the chair to his right. Peter sits automatically to his left. “Michelle won’t want to watch a movie with you if you misbehave.”

“Do you like Disney movies?” Morgan probes, kicking her feet under the table and creating a light vibration.

Michelle shrugs. “Depends on which movie.”

Morgan squints, accessing. She nods.

“Good answer.”

Next to her under the table, Peter gives her a thumbs up, another piece of pizza already in his other hand.

The answer of where he got the food is clear as Tony shoves his other piece over to Morgan.

Pepper rolls her eyes and stands to presumably help re-fill his plate from the boxes on the counter.

Mulan was as good as MJ remembered it being when she was a kid.

Morgan seemed pretty pleased when she started mouthing along the words to I’ll Make A Man Out Of You, but less so when that prompted Peter to turn it into a dance number including the jumping kicks that almost resulted in a broken glass coffee table.

Despite their earlier nap, Michelle and Peter both find it fairly easy to fall asleep that night.

Still, it may be because of the nap that she doesn’t sleep as hard. She feels a disturbance, physically—Peter’s warmth leaves the bed, the steady pressure of his spine against her own is no longer there.

At first Michelle thinks it’s just a quick bathroom trip. Then she finds that she’s not as comfortable as she was those five minutes before without Peter because he keeps the room warm and he’s cool under the sheets (possibly because of the spider-man thing, she’s never asked).

So she waits.

She thinks about the English paper that will be her final for this semester that she only has half an idea for, and what drills AcaDec should be running for their first practice after the break, and…still no Peter.

She thinks about the pictures she spotted of Peter and Tony in the kitchen—the one of them from his internship next to one of Tony in a hospital gown, Peter on the hospital bed, his body covering Tony’s lost arm, both of them smiling with wet eyes and what it all means.

He still isn’t back yet.

She scoots over to Peter’s side of the bed and peeks her head out of the open door. There’s not even a light on in the bathroom.

Well, now she definitely has to investigate.

The cabin probably isn’t old enough for any squeaky floorboards, but she watches her step just the same, aware of every little noise in the half-dark of the night. She makes it to the stairs before she finally sees the dim glow of lights on downstairs accompanying the sound of someone talking.

“…it’s just so—messy.“

“Then explain it to me.”

She goes to her tiptoes, moving just a few steps down. On the couch she identifies the owners of the voices—the backs of Peter and Tony’s heads are silhouetted in the light of the fireplace in front of them.

“Tony…” Peter says, clearly hesitant, curling further into the couch.

“I can handle it, Pete. It’s worse for me when I don’t know what you’re going through, trust me,” Tony replies.

“I don’t even know what I’m going through,” Peter jokes, but his voice is weak, and Tony doesn’t laugh.

Peter sighs. “It was just—one thing to another. Like, I was under that building, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and then it was Titan, and I couldn’t breathe and I could feel myself—I could feel it happening and I was reaching out to you, but then you were—“

She can’t see Peter’s face, but his arm moves over his eyes, and the sleeve comes away tear-stained. He’s crying. Peter’s crying, broken, and her heart strains to do something about it, but this is—all of this is so much and she’s just overhearing it, what is she even doing?

“You were dying and I couldn’t…I heard when your heart—when you—” Peter’s words hitch into sobs, quiet and purposefully muted, like he’s scared to release them.

“Oh, buddy, no, no,” Tony brings Peter closer, his arm bundling Peter against his chest. Earlier she’d thought of what Peter might look like years from now, but now he looks smaller, younger.

The things Peter’s seen…he fought aliens in space, he was dusted and remembers it, his hero, his mentor, this man taking on Peter’s tears and pain with his whole body, his heart—another father—almost died right in front of Peter’s eyes. God, Mysterio almost put a bullet through Peter’s head for revenge—they’re still children, how can Peter handle this, how could anyone?

“Shh, I’m right here. I’m here, I’ve got you,” Tony soothes easily, like Peter is Morgan, just another one of his children seeking comfort.

“It’s okay, Pete. Everyone is okay. Just let it out, you’re okay.” Tony presses a kiss to Peter’s head, rubbing Peter’s back, so gentle, so soft, so unlike anything the world has ever shown her about Tony Stark, something precious and kind.

Something saved only for Peter, for his family.

Michelle sits at the top of the stairs for too long.

Too long thinking of every epic story Peter’s ever told about Spider-Man—the bruises he brushes off, the cuts and scrapes that he can hide away within a day, all of the times that he wins, the failures glided over as footnotes to a success story.

There’s so much she doesn’t know.

She knew he carried guilt, responsibility, but never this. This is a raw, deep wound of loss. It’s a fear scraping at him in the dark that he hides in the light. That he hides from everyone. From her.

Peter is curling into Tony for that comfort instead, burying his fears and worries into the man who brought him into all of this. If there’s anyone that could understand, of course it would be Tony.

She doesn’t know what do to with this knowing of everything she doesn’t. These are things she’s scared to know, things she wants to know anyway because they’re a part of Peter, and she wants more of him despite the sensical parts of her brain that scream for her to run off to California for college and leave dating a literal superhero that regularly risks his own life behind.

As Peter’s tears start to taper off, she stands from her place on the stairs, tip-toeing her way back up to Peter’s bedroom just as quietly as she came, leaving Tony's final whisper of, “I love you, it’s okay,” behind her.

She lies down, bringing the covers that smell of Peter's body wash up to her neck, the familiar scent comforting.

She only falls back asleep as the first dregs of sunshine begin to peek through Peter’s blinds.

Peter doesn’t come back to bed.

Unlike the day before, Thanksgiving morning is a quiet affair. A fog seems to have fallen overnight, leaving the outside of the cabin wet and hazy, matching her mood after the night before.

MJ wakes lightly a few times: the scent of coffee hits her nose, a high-pitched giggle echoes from Morgan in the hall, the sounds of doors opening and closing downstairs break the spell on and off.

If Peter enters the room to get dressed, he doesn’t wake her. She’s not sure if she wants him to or not.

There’s this—knot, buried right in the middle of her chest. Guilt for watching a private moment. Disappointed that she hadn’t thought about it sooner, that she’d let herself accept his constant assurances that he was fine, that there was nothing for her to worry about beyond the norm.

It’s Happy that ends up waking her.

“Knock, knock,” he announces, pulling open the already cracked door. Michelle doesn’t think she’s ever seen him out of a suit before now—usually he’s playing driver for them after school or hovering around Peter and May’s place, something Peter’s only become minimally more comfortable with since May and Happy's dating-ish-thing started. He’s picked a dress shirt and dark jeans instead. Not far from casually formal, but still…weird.

“Morning,” she announces from her blanket bundle, sulky and comfortable.

His eyebrow raises, wrinkling his balding hairline. “Do I wanna know?”

She shrugs.

“Okay, well, Tony and the other kids are making breakfast. Doesn’t seem like your thing, missing out on good food.”

“Are you fat-shaming a growing teenage girl?” She raises an eyebrow, her face dead serious and her tone purposefully instigating.

“Of course not, why would you—“ he catches on quickly, used to her tricks by now, her jokes that aren’t jokes. His lips hint at a smile under his goatee. “Very funny, kid.”

“I thought so.” She smiles.

“Food in ten,” Happy reiterates, turning around to shut the door.

“Happy—wait,” MJ calls, hesitant. He looks back at her expectantly, but she isn’t sure what to say without saying everything, her emotions caught in her throat.

“You—Peter’s worked with you for a while, right?”

She sits up from under the covers, ignoring the borrowed t-shirt of Peter’s hanging off of her frame and the messy wrap containing her curls. This is Peter’s family, in a way, and Happy saw her unhinged and wielding a mace back in Europe. Surely they’re at the point of being able to ignore things like appropriate dress, or whatever.

Her hands end up wringing themselves together. She’s unsure where to look—the whole room is a reminder of Peter, a collage of all the different parts—the hero, the boy, the growing man.

Happy’s facial expression questions the non-sequitur, but he redirects to Peter’s bed anyway, situating himself comfortably, probably realizing this isn’t just about what she’s asking.

“Working with, not so much. Looking after his scrawny ass…” He nudges her with his shoulder, but she doesn’t brighten up much, so he sobers.

“In the beginning, I spent a lot of time ignoring him when he needed me the most. Tony and I both did, and we both regretted it. After the Vulture, things changed. I listened to every asinine voicemail, Tony instituted lab time every other weekend…”

Happy clears his throat, his eyes honest. “Don’t tell him this, but after we lost him, I spent so much time wishing I hadn’t missed a minute of it. I kept wishing I could get him back, listen to him babble about his nerdy crap in the back of the car for just one more hour. Stupid stuff.”

“But then he came back,” she supplies.

He nods. “Then he came back. Tony was out of commission, and I promised myself that I wasn’t ever going to miss another call, even if it was just the kid rattling my ear off about free churros or a dress that he thought looked nice on you at school that day.” At the ending comment, he bumps a hand at her leg, emphasizing.

“Ugh,” she groans, but puts a hand over her mouth to hide a smile. Happy doesn’t appear fooled.

“What’s this about, Michelle?” he asks, meeting her eyes.

She sighs, crossing her arms and leaning back against the bed’s headboard.

“It’s just—after everything that’s happened, after everything you’ve seen him go through…do you think—is Peter okay?”

Something dawns on Happy’s face, followed by a somber kind of smile.

“If you ask me, the people that choose to do this kind of thing—these hero types…none of ‘em are anything close to okay. I mean, you’ve seen the kind of stuff they’re up against first hand. Weird tech, magic, aliens…it doesn’t exactly scream mental stability if you’re going towards that kind of danger.”

It’s not meant to be comforting, and he doesn’t say it as such. It’s just a fact: normal people don’t put on suits and fight bad guys and come out on the other side unscathed. That’s why so few ever do it, powers aside.

“But it does speak to a lot of heart. People didn’t understand that about Tony, when he started: you have to care about people a whole hell of a lot to want to keep saving their ungrateful asses over and over again.”

“I know that Peter cares—and I love that about him!” She blushes at the heated admission, but Happy seems content to let it go with only a kind smile. “It’s just—I didn’t realize how hard it must be on him. He doesn’t tell me how hard it is. I don’t know what to do.”

“Talk to him?” Happy suggests with dry condescension.

She frowns at him, because very clearly she’s not there yet, which is why she’s talking to him.

“I had to try,” he sighs. “Look, I know it’s hard to see someone like him going through all of this. It’s even harder when they don’t admit things are tough. Sometimes it’s just—there’s not much that you can do. We sit on the sidelines, we pitch in where we can, and when they do need us…”

He trails off, looking out Peter’s window. The lake ripples with a light rain.

“When they do need us, we show up. We show up and tell them how stupid they are for acting tough. We’re there when it matters, even when they’re being stubborn and telling us to go.”

Happy shrugs. “Well, that’s always been my tactic, anyway.”

MJ shrugs back, biting her lip. “It’s not the worst advice I’ve ever heard.”

“Tony?” he questions.

“Captain America. Those pre-recorded seminars make you want a big bag of weed more than any college stoner alive.”

Happy actually does laugh at that, patting her knee over Peter’s comforter.

“You two are good together. And I’m not just saying that cause I’m romantic or something—though I did know Pepper and Tony would be perfect together before anyone else, and you can quote me on that.” He points his finger at her, dead serious. Clearly that’s a regular argument at the Stark family get-togethers.

“He’s not going to get lost in this alone. He has too many people on his side for that. But if you need him to be more honest, you’re probably going to have to ask for it. Multiple times. Explicitly. These geniuses have concrete skulls protecting all of that brain matter.” He taps against his own head for effect.

“Yeah, I—thanks, Happy.”

“No problem,” he replies. Then he groans as he lifts himself from the bed, standing. “Now get up, or Morgan’s going to hog all of the syrup. Tony’s not above stealing from her syrup pool, but I personally think it’s an abomination.”

Despite the quiet morning, downstairs is filled with activity once she arrives, her floral dress toned down by one of her favorite grandpa sweaters, grey and a little garish.

Happy arrived with James Rhodes, apparently, as the Colonel is currently swinging Morgan around the living room like it’s a playground. Pepper and Happy are involved in something at the stove, crowded together and bickering about whatever they’re attempting not to burn. Tony is absent at the moment (out feeding their alpaca, maybe,) but Peter’s gaze finds her from his place at the counter where he’s seemingly just stealing bits of fruit out of a bowl instead of contributing.

His smile makes her feel floaty, like the department store dress and thrift store sweater are something more elegant, something he’s revering from across the room. She has value outside of his opinion, yes, but she likes his stuttering compliments, the bloom of pink on his cheeks, the tentative hand he links into her own.

Michelle likes him, might even love him one day, and she wants to get past all of this business where she’s torn up about his other life as a superhero and get back to his eager attempts to get her to full-belly laugh, holding his hand in the hallway, sneaking chaste kisses as rewards for acing flash cards.

“Hey,” Peter says, but he looks just as pensive as she feels. Maybe he knows how she’s feeling, senses it with his weird tingle-thing.

“Hey.”

They end up breaking the following silence at the same time.

“Peter, I—“

“Can we—“

She tilts her head to the porch, smiling. They’re both kind of ridiculous. “Outside?”

Peter situates himself on the porch’s bannister, swinging his legs from his perch. She chooses to lean on the wood next to him.

She’s trying to prepare exactly what she wants to say when Peter says, “I know that you were there last night. I know you heard…well, everything.”

Michelle’s eyes go wide, turning to him apologetically. Of course, his super senses. He probably heard her heartbeat.

“I really didn’t mean to pry, you just didn’t come back to bed and when I overheard you were clearly so upset and—“

“It’s okay, MJ.”

“Is it, though?” she asks curtly. “Because it didn’t seem like that was the first time something like that’s happened.”

He looks away. “It’s not.”

She nudges his side with her own, swaying him on his ledge a little.

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault, bringing everything up like I did.”

“M, no, that’s not—“

She holds up a hand, asking for his silence.

“I just feel like I kept…pushing. You don’t really talk about all of this—Tony, the battle with Thanos, everything that made you want to become Spider-Man. And I realized I never really asked, either.”

She knows that she doesn’t have to take this burden on for him, but she wants him to know she’s listening, that she cares.

“I mean—Tony Stark is kind of your dad, dude! And I had no idea.”

Peter laughs, rubbing the back of his neck as if embarrassed. He also doesn’t deny it.

“It just…it made me feel like a crappy girlfriend, ‘cause I never thought about how all of that felt for you. That’s all.”

“You’re not a crappy girlfriend,” he replies, bringing her hand to his lips for a quick kiss. “Just ask Mister Stark—for all that I like talking, telling people about my problems…” He shakes his head in distaste. “I hate it. It feels like I’m just complaining.”

“Well, I personally love complaining, and would love to hear you do it more,” she says.

He lets out a breath of a laugh through his nose, but he sobers again, keeping hold of her hand and squeezing.

“The stuff with Tony…it can be hard to talk about him without mentioning everything that got us here. It’s easier to let people think what they want to.”

MJ nods, understanding. Tony has been a public figure for his entire life. It makes sense that he’s pretty insular about the people that he considers family. Anyone important can be a liability—at least, she knows that Peter also tends to see it that way.

“It’s cute that you care about my relationship with him so much, though. I didn’t realize you were so protective,” Peter teases, hopping off of the ledge and onto the porch next to her.

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbles, swaying their still-attached hands between them.

“Yeah, yeah,” he hums, smile wide across his face. He’s used to the parts of her that go hot and cold, and takes them in stride.

It feels good to have this out in the open, a previously closed door now tentatively cracked and inviting her in. It's a step closer, she thinks. A step closer to him and his world, this family he's made for himself.

A familiar look overtakes his face, and she feels a rush of warmth in her veins.

When they kiss—really kiss—it’s always tentative, a silent game of question and answer.

Peter inches closer, slow enough that she could turn away if she wanted. (She never does.)

Michelle tilts her head, reaffirming his desire. Are you sure? (He always is, his confidence always so much easier than hers.)

Together they take the final step, their movements more confident now as they’re slowly gaining practice. The slight difference of height between them often means she catches his top lip and his hands have a way of snaking around her waist, pulling them closer.

A wolf-whistle breaks them apart abruptly.

It’s Tony, walking over from what appears to be a barn not far from the lakeside, a teasing caught-the-canary smile in place.

“Well, well, look at you two,” he says, working his way up the steps with a little more pep than the day before.

“Please don’t start,” Peter begs, shrugging off the metal hand that immediately goes to ruffle his hair.

“Hey, you’re lucky it was just me. Rhodey has a real hard-on for breaking up PDA.”

“Please never say hard-on again in my presence.”

“Say it in mine,” Michelle interrupts. “I want it on camera.”

“I mean, I’m sure it already is if you look hard enough.”

Peter groans.

“I’ve never hidden my past from you, Pete. Now, Morgan—I’m hiding as much as possible from her internet searches until she’s at least sixteen.”

“I personally love the old flip-phone one of you drunkenly dancing on a bar-top to Toxic.”

“Oh, yeah! I actually remember that. Nice girl, Miss Spears.”

“I regret introducing you two,” Peter sighs, pouting.

“Love you too, kiddo,” Tony replies, opening the door ahead of them. “Now, c’mon. Happy’s going to deep-fry the turkey and you gotta watch. It’s some real Food Network shit.”

“Mommy! Daddy said your word again!” comes Morgan’s call from the living room area.

Peter shrugs to her, a smile on his face like he’s apologizing for getting her involved in all this.

She takes his hand again, giving it a squeeze before following him back into the Starks’ lake house and shutting the door.

#irondad #spiderson #spideychelle #ironfam #peter-stank #friendly-neighborhood-exchange #marvel #my writing

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cashmereleopardscarf13-blog · 3 years ago

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Cashmere Leopard Scarf With Animal Print & Wraps For Girls For Sale

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We will solely ask you for info essential to make the acquisition course of faster and simpler. Your personal data might be used to support your experience all through this web site, to handle entry to your account, and for different purposes described in our privateness coverage. Soft cashmere; liked the animal sample. I am very pleased with my buy.

It is light weight, warm and very soft. Lovely high quality scarf and super soft. In cool blue-grey tones, we're introducing the unique leopard print with a twist.

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I ordered this on-line and was actually disenchanted when I opened the parcel. For virtually £70 I was expecting a luxurious item - however it fell well quick. The leopard print is simply on one side of the fabric and the standard of the cashmere wasn’t as anticipated. It didn’t feel notably soft. I love cashmere and have several jumpers and scarves, my present favorite is the M&S camel crew neck sweater.

I bought this for my daughter’s birthday. I knew it would go well with her as she wears plenty of black coats and jackets in her professional function. The scarf looks so good and beautiful with black. The colors actually carry an outfit in winter. She loves the headband as it is so warm, gentle and soft with out bulk and isn't prickles.

This is a timeless accessory that will elevate any outfit and maintain you toasty via the colder months. Take your type to the wild side with this leopard print Autograph scarf. Crafted from ultra-soft and luxurious cashmere.

All supply charges do not embody potential taxes or duties which can be utilized by customs. Any customs duties, international taxes or different fees are the accountability of the customer. If you're ordering for a specific occasion or time, we advocate sending by Express as these parcels have precedence in being delivered.

Cashmere scarf in purple and black sample. Very soft material and drapes beautifully. Fantastic simple transaction and customer service.

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ambitionsource · 4 years ago

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AMBITION Season 1 ♫ “First Impressions (Pilot)” REVAMPED [ 1.01 ]

CREATED BY Esther (rapunzles) & Maggie (quincywillows)

When we first wrote the pilot, we were just throwing it out there, seeing what would happen. It was a first draft. Our own new start. It’s been a long time since then.

And oh, how much has happened. So many awesome things.

This, I hope, is closer to the pilot AAA always deserved. Thanks for reading, and for whatever awesome things come next.

50 Minutes (10K words) || No warnings apply. || [ S1 Synopsis ] || [ AO3 ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

EXT. AAA - DAY

Regal. That’s the impression this institution gives off at first glance, a Smithsonian-esque exterior standing out amidst the grey concrete jungle of Manhattan. A wide shot provides a picturesque view of the structure from above, when slowly a title card appears on the screen:

Adams Academy of the Arts.

In a fluid motion, the words dissolve and condense together, leaving only a logo of three As in red, gold, and white.

AAA.

By now, it’s pretty clear we’re watching an advert of some kind. Especially when we transition…

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

… to the principal’s office. JACKSON “JACK” HUNTER (40s), a sharply dressed and calmly confident man, is seated at the mahogany desk with his hands clasped together in front of him. He offers the camera a pleasant smile, addressing us directly.

Jack: Hi. I’m Jack Hunter, the principal of Adams Academy of the Arts. If you’re watching this video, then it’s likely you’re considering applying to our elite program for high school students. Well, either that, or you’re very lost.

Administrator humor. Jack chuckles, pauses, and continues in his professional tone.

Jack: If it’s the former, then I’m happy to be of assistance. Adams is at the forefront of performing arts education, and many of our alumni have gone on to do amazing things -- some of whom you might even recognize. While we strongly emphasize the important balance of academics with your professional goals, there is nothing more paramount than providing you, an artist on the rise, with the space to explore your potential, build your skills, and put you on the path towards success.

As Jack continues to discuss, quick panning shots of the interior of the school set the scene. It’s very clearly a promotional video, the tone upbeat and inspiring. Jack describes the facilities they have (two whole auditoriums, state of the art technical equipment, numerous practice rooms and studios), as well as the different core focuses a student can pursue -- music, performance, dance. He emphasizes their technical education program, one of the leading curriculums in the state that provides their budding technicians with hands-on experience right from the get-go.

When we cut back to Jack, still pleasantly seated behind the desk, he begins to get into what the day-to-day process of a student is like, and how this crop of students is chosen.

Jack: Every year, just about 50 students -- split into two cohorts, allowing for even more individualized instruction -- enter the halls of AAA as the freshman class. These incoming artists have talent, dedication, discipline, and above all? Ambition. These students, like you, seek out the opportunities to achieve whatever their driving passion might be -- whatever it takes. While here, they’ll hone their craft, explore the other realms of their field, learn from one another as well as highly skilled educators, and form bonds that they will carry with them for life.

All sounds swell. Jack smiles wider.

Jack: As for what this experience is like, well -- how about I let them show you?

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

This launches a quick-cut, exciting montage of what the world of Adams seems to be like. It’s full of photos, clips, and candids of the students hard at work. Performers learning choreography, soloists in the midst of a final performance, stage lights bright. Technicians piecing together sets, stage managers with headsets around their neck and thoughtful expressions, coaches and teachers lecturing to an engaged group in the black box theater.

Above all, there is a clear sense of community. All of the students are thrilled to be there, working hard, laughing and smiling with one another. While the slideshow is mainly filled with upperclassmen, there are a few faces here and there that will soon become quite familiar to us.

Sure seems like a dream high school experience, particularly for someone interested in the arts. Especially for someone who feels like an outsider, a creative, looking for a place to belong.

Jack, voiceover: The competition is fierce, and the process isn’t easy. It’s work, hard work, but any passion worth pursuing takes a little faith and a whole lot of elbow grease. The best of the best make their way to Adams, and without a doubt, the best emerge from it ready to take on the world.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

The video is wrapping up, Jack looking as confident as ever. He’s just shown us a pretty gleaming example of a school, and he looks pretty stalwart and shining himself.

Jack: The question is, where do the best of the best come from? Who has what it takes to join our elite and excellent rank of future artists? [ a beat ] Do you?

As the upbeat tones of David Bowie fade in...

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Changes” as performed by David Bowie and Butterfly Boucher || Performed by Riley Matthews & Jack Hunter

An alarm goes off, a hand reaching out and hitting it off immediately. RILEY MATTHEWS (15) lays in bed, already awake and staring at the ceiling. From how anxious she looks, it seems like she hasn’t slept much at all. But then, she smiles, forcing herself to focus on the excitement.

This is going to be the day everything changes for the better. She launches out of bed, hitting play on her phone. Underneath the track, playing “Changes,” we see a reminder on her homescreen. It’s bright over a photo of her and her younger brother, neither parent featured.

First day of new school!!

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - BATHROOM - DAY

As Riley gets ready for school, she sings along to the first verse. She braids her hair, puts on her nicest, most distinct outfit, before running out the door.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - DAY

She says goodbye to her mother TOPANGA LAWRENCE (late 30s), kisses her younger brother AUGGIE MATTHEWS (8) on the top of the head. When she reaches her father waiting at the door, CORY MATTHEWS (late 30s), the two of them exchange excited grins before heading out the door together.

EXT. AAA - DAY

The two of them emerge from the nearest subway stop, and Riley gets her first good look at Adams Academy for the Arts. It’s a beautiful and daunting marble building nestled in the middle of the Upper East Side. Visualize the MET, but with the flourish and slight humble nature of a high school (although humble is not a word one would use to describe this school). It’s even more impressive in person, looming over her, than as shown in the opening video.

Cory is already on his way up the steps, but Riley hangs back, staring up at the building in awe. Somewhat overwhelmed. Students pass her by on their way inside, many far better dressed. This is a school where much of the student population is probably worth more than the school itself.

This is it. Her opportunity. Does she have what it takes?

Gearing herself up, Riley jogs her way up the steps after her father. Panning towards the school, through the atrium and across the main offices…

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Meanwhile, Jack Hunter is in his office preparing for her arrival. He’s still well-groomed, clearly an instrument of discipline and order, but he seems more harried than he did on camera. Reality versus the polished quality of promotional material.

Jack wanders his way over to the window, looking out at the students making their way into school. He carries the second verse, lamenting how things never change and students are… not so willing to listen to reason (“They’re immune to your consultations / They’re quite aware what they’re going through…”)

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

As Jack heads out of his office to walk the halls before the school day truly kicks off, Riley is making her way through them as well. This is our first glimpse into the hallowed halls of Adams, as well as the cast of large personalities we’re about to spend a series with…

Riley has to duck around ZAY BABINEAUX (15), a lithe and groovy dance student with a clear sense of self and an even clearer sense of style. He’s rehearsing with other dancers in the middle of the hallway. Nearby, CHARLIE GARDNER (15) is holding court with a lot of the girls in the class, seemingly the preferred cute male of choice at AAA. He’s the full package -- fluffy hair, pressed polo shirt, charming grin.

As Riley passes him, he eyes her and gives her a smile. Friendly, or flirtatious? Who’s to say…

For Jack, it’s evident as he walks the halls just how incongruous he is with the scenery. He’s passionate about AAA, sure, but his straight-laced and stern approach contrasts sharply with the energy, colorfulness, and folly of the students themselves. His presence is enough to pry two kissing classmates away from one another, and he earns more than a few derisive glares from students as he goes.

MAYA HART (16) is parading the halls with her clones DARBY WINTERS (15) and SARAH CARLSON (15), rambling on about some performance-related complaint. Maya is a girl with a brand -- she is the most glamorous girl Riley has ever seen, from the glossy blonde hair to the perfectly put together outfit that looks entirely made of brand-name items. They don’t even notice Riley, practically bulldozing past her without an apology.

A gangly student is arguing animatedly with ANGELA MOORE (30s), the performing arts teacher for the sophomores, outside the black box theater classroom. Angela was featured in the promotional video, but she seems way less confident now trying to tangle with this overzealous student. This is FARKLE MINKUS (15), Jewish American diva. He’s immediately identifiable as over-the-top, both with the way he’s arguing with a teacher and his swoopy hair and blazer. Like, this kid is wearing a blazer to school.

We can tell right away that Mister Farkle Minkus is going to be a PIECE. OF. WORK. Riley can too, raising her eyebrows as she passes by their disagreement.

Jack passes by Zay and his crop of dancing students, disbanding them as dancing is not allowed in the halls. Come on, they know this! The group of them don’t look very pleased, Zay tossing a scowl over his shoulder as they retreat to their respective homerooms.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

As we get to “Strange fascination fascinating me…” Riley passes by the atrium stairwell, where the sophomore techies always congregate each morning. They’re all in dark clothes (because that’s how techies dress, but so do GOTHS???), and seem like a chaotic bunch. DAVE WILLIAMS (15) and ASHER GARCIA (14) are lobbing food at DYLAN ORLANDO (15) to see what he can catch in his mouth. NATE MARTINEZ (15) and JEFF MONROE (15) are arguing heatedly about something, but it’s impossible to tell if they’re actually upset or not. JADE BEAMON (15) is sketching in a notebook, occasionally looking up to roll her eyes at the argument.

Holding first position at the bottom of the stairs are LUCAS JAMES FRIAR (16) and ISADORA DE LA CRUZ (15), deep in conversation. Well, conversation meaning Isadora is ranting, and Lucas isn’t saying much of anything. They’re both the most intimidating of the bunch even from a glance -- Isadora due to her intense wardrobe and general aura of authority, Lucas due to his seemingly permanent disdainful expression… and maybe the fact that he is openly playing with a switchblade.

Of course, they both look up to find Riles staring at them. She makes eye contact with Lucas before quickly turning away. I mean, they’ve got a switchblade. Scary! She YEETS outta there.

Just in time to make it back to the front office, where she steps inside just as Jack steps out of his office. He offers her a smile.

Jack: Hi, Miss Matthews. Welcome to Adams Academy of the Arts.

Taking a deep breath, she returns his smile. Welcome to Adams, indeed. And, for the first time…

AMBITION. Cue title sequence.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack walks Riley through everything she might need to know, explaining her daily schedule and handing over welcome materials. As they’re conversing, ERIC MATTHEWS (40s) steps in as acting counselor to also give a welcome to Riley -- but it’s clear that they already know each other. She’s his niece!

As they exchange friendly banter, Jack doesn’t seem at all surprised. He makes a comment about how the Matthews family really does have a foothold in Adams, given that Riley’s father is also one of their core academic teachers. Eric doesn’t take well to Jack’s tone, cheerfully firing back a remark.

Eric: Well, I suppose Triple A has always been about family. That’s why you hired Shawn, right? Top of the line, highly skilled educators…

It’s clear that there’s some tension behind their words, at least that it seems like Jack and Eric are rarely on the same page. Riley picks up on this right quick, awkwardly looking down at her welcome materials. Jack changes the subject, suggesting that Riley head off to performance lab before they get any further derailed. After all, Eric does just love to meander time away...

Eric smiles, but it’s sharp. Rather than returning a backhanded jab, he offers to show Riley to her first class. As they’re heading out, Jack assures Riley that he’s certain she’ll find what she’s looking for at Adams.

She certainly hopes so, Jack. And away they go...

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Riley enters the auditorium, where a majority of the classes will be held. Many of the students in the sophomore A class cohort are already assembled in the first few rows of the audience, eagerly conversing with one another and catching up from the end of summer. The techies are situated further back, with their feet up on the backs of chairs and hardly paying attention.

Already, Riley is feeling the struggle of finding a place to fit. She plops herself alone in a row somewhere between the chatty performers and brooding techies, isolated from day one. Hooray.

From behind her, Dave turns around to whisper something to Dylan and Asher about her sitting alone. Lucas is also watching her, somewhat amused at how uncertain she seems about the whole situation.

Angela saunters to the front of the stage, snapping them to attention and welcoming them back for another year. She gives a rousing speech about how this year is going to be more intense than the first, but also full of self-discovery, pushing our comfort zones, and more than anything, becoming better artists. Maya, Zay, and Farkle all listen with rapt interest. Isadora rolls her eyes.

Just as she’s reaching the climactic conclusion of her monologue, she’s interrupted by SHAWN HUNTER (30s), stumbling in ten minutes late to his own class. He’s unshaven, clearly a bit of a mess, and dressed far less impressively than Angela or a majority of their students. Riley raises her eyebrows, obviously confused by his presence.

Angela: [ with biting sarcasm ] And there he is. My wonderful co-instructor, right on time.

At this, Riley’s eyebrows shoot up. Co-instructor? That guy? The rest of the performers seem equally unimpressed, a few rolling their eyes or exchanging grimaces. The techies are amused, grinning as their lead technician fumbles to the stage.

Angela: Anything you care to share with the class before we kick off our second year, Mister Hunter? Any sudden stroke of wisdom? Or basic decency?

Shawn jogs up, coming to an out of breath stand-still next to her. Side by side, the contrast between them is even more pronounced. He shrugs, half-smirking.

Shawn: Sing some stuff?

In mocking solidarity, the techies erupt into cheers. Dave and Dylan give him a standing ovation. The performers look annoyed. Farkle turns around to glare at them.

Riley is taking all of this with marked confusion. Shawn takes a sarcastic bow.

Angela, sharply: Classy as always.

For their first performing assignment of the year, Angela encourages all of them to come up and sing whatever they’ve been working on this past summer. Innocent enough. When she asks who wants to go first, however, the front of the auditorium erupts as Zay, Maya, and Farkle all leap to their feet and scrap to get to the stage first. Riley is like… what on Earth.

Farkle succeeds, yanking Zay out of the way and scrambling onto the front of the stage (they didn’t even take the fucking stairs). The clear victor, Farkle jumps back to his full height triumphantly as Maya and Zay begrudgingly return to their seats.

Farkle begins a little monologue as he adjusts his blazer, establishing his personality loud and clear. As far as he’s concerned, this year is going to be about change, and the change is going to be him taking his rightful place as the undisputed Star of the Sophomores. Maya and Zay clearly don’t agree with this assessment, so there’s already guaranteed to be drama. Lovely…

Thusly, Farkle launches into his first performance of the year (and the series).

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Man About Town” as performed by Young Frankenstein Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus

Farkle kicks us off with a bold and frenzied rendition of the Broadway tune. As with many of the performances in this pilot, the solos serve to establish a baseline for each of the characters and their inherent capabilities, style, and tone. Farkle is a power tenor without a doubt, able to reach pretty high in his register and even higher in energetic delivery.

The electricity in his performance is less intrinsic and more frantic, though, indicative of a craving for the spotlight and a scrappy determined nature to maintain it at whatever cost. It demonstrates his undeniable vocal skill, for sure, but also his capacity to be obnoxious. The song seems to speak to what Farkle is hoping will be his truth -- that everyone will take notice of him, pay attention to him, that he’ll rise to the stars like he feels he’s been destined.

Riley is stunned by the amount of talent already on display. If she wants to prove that she’s here by her own merit and talent rather than just because her father works here, then she is going to have to bring it.

INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Maya and her clones hang out in the girls dressing room, getting ready for the rest of performance lab. Sarah points out that Farkle has gotten better over the summer; Darby mentions he’s gotten cuter, too.

Sarah, in disgust: Minkus? You’re joking.

Darby: Come on. He’s sort of cute!

Maya: Sure. Like a hedgehog with a deadly case of rabies.

Darby: He got taller. He looks sharper now, more mature.

Sarah: He looks like Mike Teavee in Willy Wonka after he got put through the taffy puller.

Darby: No he doesn’t!

Sarah: God, you fall for anything with testosterone and half a working vocal chord…

Quickly losing interest in discussing boys -- especially Farkle Minkus -- Maya waves off their concern about his talent. She claims she’s going to blow him out of the water, and this year is far from belonging to him.

The rivalry is loud and clear.

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY

Riley comes by to visit Eric, who eagerly greets her and situates her in the chair opposite his desk. It’s a cozy, comfortable office, far less clinical, but also less organized, than Jack’s. It’s evident why many students feel comfortable stopping in when they have a free moment. Eric jokingly points out this is their first official visit as counselor and student, before he asks her how the morning went and how she’s feeling about the school.

Riley avoids her own discomfort and feelings of disillusionment by asking Eric to tell her more about the other students instead. How is she supposed to catch up to the scenery and feel like she’s in the loop if everyone feels like a mystery? Eric agrees, trying to figure out the best way to go about explaining it to her.

Eric: Kind of feels like having to explain the history of the universe. There’s a lot of personality in the A class, you’ll find.

Riley: Oh, I got that sense pretty quickly.

An idea strikes Eric, expression brightening. He grabs his yearbook from the previous school year off the shelf behind him. As he plops it down onto the desk, he instructs Riley to pay close attention, because there is a lot to unpack.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “High School Never Ends” as performed by Bowling for Soup || Instrumental

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

As Eric talks Riley through each of the main players, we watch a typical sophomore class unfold in the auditorium. It’s pure chaos, a whirlwind of production and performers getting in the way of techies and people butting heads.

We cut between this simulated auditorium sequence and Riley and Eric talking in the office, falling into a rhythm with the classic bopping rock tune. As Eric jumps to each key student, we freeze on them in the midst of whatever they’re doing at the time.

Starting, notably, with Zay Babineaux, the dancer from the halls. The screen freeze frames on him in the midst of trying to teach choreography to a frazzled NICK YOGI (15) and CLARISSA CRUZ (15).

Eric: Zay Babineaux isn’t a bad person to keep tabs on as far as getting your sea legs around here. He was voted “Most Popular” in the yearbook last year, but the only thing he cares about more than his public approval rating is dance. I mean, the kid is religious about it. It’s part of the reason he’s so good, but that and his drive to make it are what bump him up to Diva status.

Riley: Diva status.

Eric: It’s a whole league of its own here. Everyone is driven to a certain degree -- you have to be at Triple A -- but the Divas are the ones you really need to watch out for. Zay is far from the worst of the bunch, but his dedication really puts a sharp edge on his otherwise personable presence.

The scene resumes, panning from Yogi and Clarissa struggling to learn to Charlie leading the same choreography with a gaggle of female classmates. This includes HALEY FISHER (15), who seems especially taken with him.

Charlie demonstrates much better patience than Zay in teaching others, but the girls aren’t really listening to what he’s saying. They’re more distracted by… other things he has to offer.

Eric: If you’re stuck on choreography and actually want help, then your best bet is to turn to Charlie Gardner instead. He’s incredibly well-mannered, genuinely nice kid, but I’m sure your dad would want me to warn you he does have a reputation with the ladies.

Riley: Does he date a lot of them?

Eric: To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him date anyone. But every girl wishes he would, so that’s kind of a heartbreaker move all its own, isn’t it? Still, I wouldn’t worry too much about that. If you’re looking for what to avoid…

Isadora marches across the stage, headset around her neck and show binder in her arms. She’s shouting orders, almost comically deafening Dave following behind her.

Eric: Don’t get in the way of Isadora Smackle while she’s in stage manager mode. That girl is five feet of pure unadulterated power, and she is not afraid to burn you and your ego to the ground.

Riley: Not much to burn for me.

Eric: Don’t get me wrong, she is incredibly talented. She’s got a vision like no one else, and it’s hard not to admire how passionate she is about seeing that vision come to fruition. She’s just… not fond of things that slow that process down. Like not following directions, or creating issues that don’t exist. And the queen of doing that…

Maya storms out of the dressing room hall and storms onto the stage, holding up a costume choice and obviously having much to say about it. She’s in the midst of diva transformation, makeup more glamorous than before and glossy blonde hair up out of her face.

Eric: Is Maya Hart. Now, Maya is probably the most talented triple threat we have in the sophomore class. She can dance, she can act, and by God, can she sing. But she also has an unbridled sense of what’s best for a production, and will happily fight every single person necessary until her voice is heard. She’s in hot pursuit of her dream, for better or worse, and she is ruthless.

Maya marches past the techies, Asher and Jade scrambling to get out of her way and avoid her fury. She nearly knocks Nate and Dylan into the wall while they’re carrying a two-by-four beam, which almost hits Lucas in the head. He ducks just in time. As he’s getting back up, we freeze on him mid-eye roll and looking just about ready to kill.

Eric: And whatever you do, do not mess with Lucas James Friar. If your dad were here, he’d tell you not to speak to him. Don’t even look at him unless absolutely necessary.

Riley: Why?

Eric: Lucas is… not exactly Adams’ favorite student. And that makes complete sense, because the feeling is 100% mutual.

Riley: So why is he here then?

Eric: Fair question. But I think you’ll come to find everyone came here for different reasons, Riley. I mean, look at you. Adams wasn’t your first choice for a school a year ago.

True enough. Riley still seems curious, but Eric continues on without harping on it any longer.

Eric: There’s plenty Lucas dislikes about the school -- and believe me, I’ve heard enough about it in our mandated meetings over the past year -- but nothing more so than the “diva attitudes,” namely…

Lucas has to duck again to avoid the bony arms of Farkle, who is just launching into a loud, bold, aggressive solo. He swings his arms out wide, tilting his head back and delivering a note with Rachel Berry levels of fervor. Freeze on his dramatic, impassioned belting face.

Eric: Farkle Minkus. Trust fund baby, unparalleled genius, and vocal champion -- in both singing and complaining. He’s certainly our Rachel Berry, if nothing else.

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY

As Eric finishes up his CliffNotes edition of the sophomore A class, the warning bell beckons Riley back to class. Eric assures her that she has always been a people person, and he is certain that she’ll be fine. Riley nods along, choosing to believe him.

When he asks if she’s decided what her first performance is going to be, she books it out of the office. Sorry, Uncle Eric! Gotta get to class, ha ha...

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Back in the auditorium, class continues. As Riley makes her way back to the center section, she overhears snippets of the closely congregated crew of techie students. They’re discussing Maya, and Dylan Orlando’s grin is wide and mischievous.

Dylan: I think I should go next. What if I did? Just to throw her off.

Asher: [ elbowing him ] No. Don’t --

Jeff: It’s your funeral.

Dylan: I think I should. I think --

Nate, laughing: As if you can even sing.

Dylan: You don’t know, you don’t know. I could be great. You don’t know...

But no, it’s Maya's turn to sing her piece. She takes the stage just as Riley is settling back into her seat, giving a speech very similar to Farkle’s. In fact, it’s essentially a fuck-you right back to him by twisting his words. Then she launches into her own show-stopping return from the summer, expressing its one of her favorite Broadway tunes -- and a natural fit in her repertoire.

Farkle is miffed by her song choice, seemingly a selection chosen solely to offend him.

Farkle: This bitch knows I claimed rights to all numbers in the Elphaba song canon. Unbelievable.

Dave, leaning over to Yogi: Okay, what is a song cannon, and how do I get one?

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “The Wizard and I” as performed by Wicked Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Maya Hart

From her first introduction to performing, Maya presents an interesting array of stage presence. She can carry a Broadway tune with ease, but her voice seems equally built for pop excellence. Her command of the stage is effortless -- whether you love or hate her, she’s impossible to look away from when she’s delivering a performance. The glamour of her overall appearance elevates it, but what shines is her obvious raw talent and determination.

If anyone defines what it means to have ambition, it would be Maya Hart.

Her vocals are truly stellar, and her performance is daunting. While the techies remain unimpressed -- they’ve seen this all before, too many times, after all -- Riley is totally freaked by how intense the competition is turning out to be. While the rest of the class applauds (in varied states of reluctance), she seems like she’s trying not to throw up.

INT. AAA - GIRL’S BATHROOM - DAY

The lunch bell rings. Riley has hidden herself away in the restroom, tucked in the corner stall and pacing. She attempts to talk herself down from a spiral, fully intimidated after Maya’s performance. Another deep breath...

She steps out and looks in the mirror, repeating the mantra to herself again and again. She has what it takes. She belongs here. She belongs here. She belongs here!

Riley is not going to let this year be like the others. She’s not repeating her freshman year. This year is about change, for the better, and she’s going to make it so. But to do that, she’s going to need some friends.

Time to put herself out there and start breaking down these barriers.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Angela arrives at Jack’s office, knocking curtly on the door. Although the two of them have a good working relationship and typically friendly rapport, it’s evident at that moment that she is not there with good tidings. Jack tries to side step whatever the complaint is, asking if she thinks their new student is adjusting well.

Jack: Seems nice, doesn’t she? Good kid. Should be a good influence, hopefully --

Angela: I’m not here to talk about Matthews. I’m here to talk about the ridiculous excuse for a co-instructor you call half-brother.

Yikes. Well, might as well go on, then. Jack sighs and listens plaintively as Angela informs him that Shawn showed up late this morning, and was no help during the performance lab sessions. Obviously she doesn’t know how his homeroom check-in with the techies went, but she can assume shabbily with little doubt in her mind.

Jack: I haven’t gotten a complaint from the student technicians.

Angela: I’m sure you haven’t. They don’t know any better. And even if they did, I doubt any of them would take the time to formally complain. Half of them don’t appear capable of speech, and the other half are avoiding your office anyway. Likely no doubt due to subconscious contagious influence from their instructor.

Jack: Oh, come on now.

Angela: They won’t complain, but lucky for them, I will.

Jack holds up a hand, halting her tirade. He assures her that he hears her, and he’s aware that Shawn isn’t yet performing to his best ability. He has only been in the position for a year, after all. He just needs some time to get in the swing of things, that’s all.

Angela: When I spent a season in the Guys And Dolls touring troupe, we got our sea legs fast. You know what happened if you fucked up on tour? You got cut. We didn’t get a week to blunder our way through it, let alone a year.

Pointedly, Angela states that it just seems odd. Coming from Jack Hunter, the pillar of authority at this school, such negligence is damn surprising. Given how Eric is always complaining that Jack is too straight and narrow for an arts school, it’s ironic that he’s willing to let one of their faculty members be so off the wagon and not fire him tout de suite.

Fair as that criticism may be, Jack claims he’s made his choices and she needs to trust his role as an administrator. She is of course welcome to continue leveling complaints as she sees necessary, and he’ll touch base with Shawn, but he also points out that she might be operating with some bias of her own in reporting on her co-instructor.

At this, Angela gets huffy. She shrugs off the accusation and storms off, claiming she has students to actually educate. Once she’s gone, Jack releases another heavy sigh, slouching back in his chair. Evidently, the put together and effortless appearance of Adams in the promotional video is not all that truthful… one has to wonder how much of it is expectation versus reality...

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

The cafeteria, the classic worst place to be a new student on your first day. Even more intimidating at AAA, where the cafeteria is more claustrophobic than most with only a hundred students to accommodate at a time. Not only that, but everyone seems to already have their lunchtime crew.

Riley weaves her way through the crowd, eyeing places to potentially start her new endeavor. The techie table is at least relatively quiet, tucked away in the corner, but no way is she heading over there. Half of them are in eager and fast-paced conversation with one another, and their chaotic energy still radiates.

Not to mention, Lucas is amongst them and remains an intimidating question mark. Eric warned her, after all. He’s looking particularly nonplussed that afternoon, no lunch in front of him as he listens to the others converse. Once again he catches her looking, meeting her eyes and offering no sign of friendliness.

Yeah, not an option. Riley turns away, keeping her distance.

Charlie is holding court with a bunch of the sophomores, mainly girls. He still seems friendly enough, but Riley isn’t sure she wants to risk that potential flirtation. She needs friends, not awkward rejections. Still, she gives him a smile anyway.

Zay watches her from his table, seated with a couple other performers, YINDRA AMINO (15) and NIGEL CHEY (15). They all murmur to one another, somewhat amused, but Zay waves them off. He throws Riley a life preserver after a moment, beckoning her over to join them.

Riley is shocked that they’re talking to her -- they seem like the coolest crop of her classmates, and she in no way mirrors their general energy -- but she’s not foolish enough to refuse the invitation. If they turn out to be playing her, well, she’ll cross that bridge when she gets to it.

She slides into the seat across from Zay, who introduces himself and nods to his friends to do the same. Nigel shakes Riley’s hand from the seat next to her. She thanks them for offering her shelter, which Zay shrugs off as no big deal. Yindra asks if being the new student sucks as much as it seems like it does, and Riley is like hello, yes, it’s terrible.

Once she’s gotten comfortable with her new company, Riley asks Zay about his passion for dance and what his future dreams are after AAA. As they get to chatting, Zay expresses that he is Broadway bound with no detours and questions about it. When he gets into talking about how much he loves dance, his passion is clear on his face. He laments the attitude of Farkle and Maya, claiming he’s not like that. A bold claim, only time will tell if it’s true...

Riley asks him about his performance for class, to which he grins. Why tell her about it when he could show her?

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Dancin’ On the Sidewalk” as performed by FAME! Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Zay Babineaux (feat. AAA Sophomores)

Zay launches into this upbeat and fun dance tune, expressing his love for dance while pulling the rest of the cafeteria into it. Riley is amazed as everyone just kind of jumps up and jams with him, starting with Yindra and Nigel but slowly spreading throughout the congregation. Eventually, Zay manages to get her to her feet and pull her into it as well.

There is a sizable dance break within the song (naturally), and we get to see Riley show off some of her own skills when she’s not too intimidated. Charlie is also particularly featured in the dancing of the number, showing off his strong capability aside from being cute and charming.

However, not everyone is thrilled by this dancing development. Maya keeps Darby from joining in by yanking her back into her seat, not about to humor her rival. Farkle is the same, watching from his table in the opposite part of the cafeteria and rolling his eyes.

But no one is less thrilled than the techies. They’re exhausted, having to listen to the performers do this shit all the time. Yet another lunch, eclipsed by an impromptu performance. Lucas has had enough, getting to his feet. Isadora argues with him, but he doesn't listen. He’s already on the move. Isadora exchanges a look with Jade and Asher.

During the dance break, Lucas weaves inconspicuously through the crowd. By the end of it, he sneaks out the back door of the cafeteria.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

As Zay is finishing up the last verse, Lucas makes his way down the hall, surveying the ceiling until he finds what he’s looking for.

Then, he starts scaling the lockers.

Intercut with the dancing, Lucas hefts himself up on top of the lockers, rolling onto his back in the thin space between the top and the ceiling. He digs in his pockets, pulling out a lighter. Ever so carefully, he sparks it and holds it out towards the sprinkler system a foot or so away. Stretching as far as he can reach… getting that flame closer and closer…

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

As Zay and Riley bring the number to an end with a flourish, suddenly the fire alarm blares through the cafeteria. In the next second, there’s a click, and the sprinkler system erupts and douses them all in mucky water.

The cafeteria bursts into chaos, students screaming and trying to run from the building. Maya shrieks, trying to shield her hair as she and her plastics flee the scene. She isn’t afraid to push people out of the way. Farkle, meanwhile, isn’t even trying to run, frozen in rage and getting soaked. He snarls, swinging his wet hair out of his face.

Farkle: THIS OUTFIT IS WORTH MORE THAN THIS SCHOOL!

The techies erupt into laughter, high-fiving and jostling each other around as they exit the building. Dylan looks particularly gleeful, playfully shaking Asher by the shoulders, who looks notably less pleased and more than a little grossed out as he blinks the water out of his eyes.

Zay sighs, shaking his head and giving Riley a half-hearted shrug and well-meaning smile.

Zay: Welcome to Adams.

As if this kind of shit is totally normal. Riley wipes her eyes, dripping wet and totally shocked by this turn of events. What a rollercoaster of a day this is turning out to be. Certainly nothing about this in the school’s advertising...

INT. AAA - GIRL’S DRESSING ROOM - DAY

All of the sophomore girls are together in the dressing room, switching into fresh clothes and drying their hair (of course, performing arts girls have hair care products with them). Riley is the only who doesn’t seem to understand exactly what happened.

Riley: I didn’t see any fire.

Yindra, offhandedly: It wasn’t a fire. It was Friar.

Sarah: [ off of Riley’s continued confusion ] Lucas James Friar? He’s the worst.

Riley: My uncle may have… mentioned him...

Chai: He’s constantly pulling stunts like this and making a scene even though he acts like he’s above it all.

Clarissa: He never does the assignments.

Sarah: Not to mention he’s basically the definition of white trash.

Haley: He’s the worst the techies have to offer. No one even knows why he’s at this school.

This is all news for Riley, much more blatant than what Eric said. Then Isadora steps in, offering a counterpoint.

Isadora: Well, maybe if you didn’t sing and dance every lunch and stop us from enjoying our break from you singing and dancing every class, he wouldn’t need to do this stuff. But I know, you’re all incapable of doing anything but whatever it is you want.

Solid counterpoint, Isa. Riley takes that in as well.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Speaking of Lucas, the girls aren’t the only people who are certain he was the one who caused the fire evacuation. He sits opposite Jack at his desk, and it’s clear just from their posture that they’ve been in this exact position many times before. Yes, Lucas is no stranger to the principal’s office, and no friend to Jack Hunter.

Jack speaks with the exasperation of an exhausted parent who has told his child numerous times not to steal cookies from the cookie jar, but they keep doing it anyway.

Jack: Come on, Mister Friar. This is the fourth time. The fire department is considering adding us to a list. [ off his lightly amused smirk ] Are you really going to start another year this way?

Lucas, calmly: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Jack: We know you did it.

Lucas: You have no proof.

Jack: People saw you leave the cafeteria.

Lucas: I went to the bathroom. People do that, sometimes, you know. It’s actually quite a common bodily function --

Jack: Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.

Lucas: All due respect, Principal Hunter, all you have is circumstantial evidence and confirmation bias. So unless you have anything else to add, I really should get back to class so I can listen to Farkle Minkus squawk for yet another jolly day in this wonderful, wonderful institution to higher learning.

Jack doesn’t have any other proof, so there’s not much he can do. But it’s clear -- Lucas is one of his most frustrating students, and he’s run out of ways to make headway with him. It really is a wonder he’s even still at the school…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

As Lucas makes his way back into the halls and to class, Jack follows him out. He paces a bit to clear his head, get some fresh air rather than sit in his office… and happens to run right into a conversation happening in the adjoining hall. He hangs back around the corner, eavesdropping as Eric stands with a couple of the other teachers.

The group of them are obviously not happy with the sprinkler situation. Understandably so, but Eric is trigger happy to pin the blame on Jack. He sympathizes with the complaints of the fellow faculty, before insisting that it all comes down to leadership at the end of the day. Jack is a good disciplinarian, sure, and he’s been here for years… but then how come this keeps happening? In his opinion, Jack just isn’t built for an environment like this. The arts are about creativity, inspiration, hopeful encouragement and emotional exploration… not rules, strict academics, and going by the book.

Jack is pissed, but he’s not going to make a scene. It’s nothing he’s never heard before anyway, least of all from his best counselor but least favorite co-worker. He turns the other way, marching back to his office.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - NIGHT

That night, Riley has dinner with her family. It is clear through this scene that things between Cory and Topanga are not as rosy as America’s sweethearts would have you believe. They’re snippy with one another, and it seems like problems are brewing on the horizon.

Riley mentions her struggle to pick her audition song, and the strong personalities already at play at school. Topanga instructs her with the realist approach, which is that she’ll then need to bring her best as well. What power ballads does Riley have in her repertoire? She can’t let those other students walk all over her -- they don’t want a repeat of last year.

No kidding, Topie. Although it’s well-intentioned advice, it doesn’t seem like what Riley wants to hear. She nods along, focusing back on her food.

INT. JACK’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

In a parallel setting, Jack is having a small casual dinner with his half-brother, Shawn. Although his first impression at school wasn’t much, it’s clear that Shawn isn’t the worst guy in the world. He and Jack definitely seem to have a good relationship, this family dinner a weekly tradition for them.

And Shawn can tell when Jack is burying emotions. He prompts him to spill about whatever pissed him off that day -- aside from the obvious. Is there other beef going on in the school? Anything interesting? Jack avoids it at first, but when Shawn won’t let it go, he cracks.

Jack: Actually, people had some choice things to say about you. Showing up late, again? On the first day?

Shawn’s upbeat demeanor crumbles fast, defaulting to defensive. He quickly susses out that it must have been Angela who complained, claiming that of course she’s going to rag on him. She’s biased, Jack, you know that. She’s been out to get him ever since… well, things fell apart. Of course she wouldn’t want to see him trying to pick himself back up -- imperfectly, sure, but…

Jack shakes his head, getting up from his seat and taking his plate to the sink. Shawn keeps trying to defend himself, saying it’s all Angela’s fault, that everyone is just overreacting, who cares what they think --

Jack: I do, Shawn! I have to care what they think. It’s my job!

Oh. Well… that’s another story. This gets Jack to the actual root of what he’s frustrated with -- Eric’s criticism of him, and the way no one is ever happy with him at AAA. They all think the job is so simple, so easy. File some paperwork, discipline a kid when necessary, keep things in order. But that’s harder than it sounds. Of course Eric thinks he has it all figured out -- he’s the good guy. He gets to be the faculty favorite, telling the kids exactly what they want to hear, while Jack has to be the realist. He has to deliver the hard truths, the punishments and probabilities, to step in to keep things in order even when it feels like everything is constantly in chaos.

And honestly, Shawn is not helping with that. It’s way easier for people to question Jack’s leadership, his strong stances, his ability to keep things in line, when his “nepotism hire” can’t even show up for work on time. Shawn still tries to defend himself, but his arguments are becoming more sheepish as they go. It’s hard to argue against something that’s objectively true.

Jack: I’m not asking you to do my job. It’s my shit, and I’ll deal with it. I always do. But I’m bending over backwards for you, and you have to meet me in the middle.

Shawn: I know… I know, I’m --

Jack: I gave you this job as a fresh start, Shawn. Because I believed you could pull things back together, that you didn’t have to keep going down the road you were on. I still do believe that. But you have to prove me right, you have to show up.

Shawn: Okay. You’re right, I’m sorry.

Jack: Not even just for me. You have to show up for them. You think Friar would be going around doing this shit if he had even a little more discipline within the school day? The sense that someone else is looking out for him? You know that’s absent from every other part of his life. And all of them have their own shit. You know what that’s like -- we went through it ourselves.

Shawn: … that’s true. I --

Jack, exasperated: They’re what matters, Shawn. Forget the politics, forget the petty drama. With Angela, with Eric. Whatever. What matters are the students. We show up for them. Even if everything else is in chaos.

If anything, the exchange at least highlights why Jack is at AAA. All the criticism that gets hurled at him, all the hard choices he has to make, at the end of the day he’s doing his best. He’s there to help the students, to give them an education and foundation for the rest of their lives. One, seemingly, he wishes he had for himself.

Shawn is certainly reprimanded enough. He agrees with Jack, apologizing again and thanking him for giving him the opportunity. He knows what Jack had to risk to do it. He’s going to try not to squander it -- not to mess everything up again.

Like everything else, all Jack can do is hope for the best. He nods, taking Shawn’s dish and focusing on washing them in the sink instead of facing more of the conversation. As impassioned as the outburst was, it’s clear emotion is not Jack’s strong suit.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Cory comes in to say goodnight to Riley and congratulate her on her first day. She is more open with how she actually feels about it with him than Topanga and Auggie, expressing that she doesn’t know what to do about the song. Cory gives her advice from his heart, which is that she should kick things off singing whatever makes her feel most comfortable. Something that feels like her. She shouldn’t have to change herself just to make an impression.

During this conversation, we also learn the real truth as to why Riley is attending this school now -- yes, because of her own passions, but more so because she was bullied at her former school. This is her fresh start.

She gives Cory a hug and then he kisses her forehead, bidding her goodnight. As Riley crawls into bed, she’s back to staring at the ceiling. Thinking, contemplating… as the piano opening of “Your Song” floats in…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Your Song” as performed by Ellie Goulding || Performed by Riley Matthews

Riley keeps it simple with a soft, sweet rendition. No grand fanfare, no brassy vocals, just her sitting on a stool and singing the song. Her vocals are beautiful, but certainly not as loud as Farkle or Maya.

Angela smiles pleasantly as Riley performs. Zay watches with a smile, giving her a little thumbs up when she looks to him. Charlie obviously enjoys the performance, intrigued. Maya and Farkle look unimpressed, almost amused. At least she’s not a threat.

Most of the techies don’t pay attention or look bored. Lucas looks particularly neutral… and yet, he’s not letting his attention drift anywhere else…

A smattering of applause follow her performance. As the class is dismissed, Charlie takes the initiative to approach her and tell her that he really liked the performance. Riley, a bit flustered by the attention, is like thanks okay sure. It’s still unclear whether Charlie is flirting, or if he genuinely did just like the song…

As Riley hustles to pack up, most everybody gone, suddenly it’s just her and Lucas left in the auditorium. She glances to him, uncertain whether she should say something -- she’s supposed to be making friends, after all. But she can’t bring herself to do it. He does it instead, however, muttering an offhand comment as he heads up the back steps towards the technician’s booth.

Lucas: So exciting to see we’ve got another unassuming chorus member.

Riley doesn’t get the chance to respond, but the statement makes its impact. He’s not impressed, and she gets the feeling no one else really was either.

A little funny, coming from him considering he didn’t even perform, but if she wants to make her mark here she’s going to have to bring her A game. Maybe her mother was right -- she’s going to have to be a little bolder if she wants to hold her own.

INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY

Farkle is outside the dressing rooms, writing down notes in a journal as Maya emerges from the girls room. She says something snarky to Farkle, prompting banter between the two of them.

Farkle: Oh, yes, I was just compiling a list of all the things I’m going to rightfully accomplish this year. Winter showcase closing number, Haverford conference representative, oh, and that coveted summer spot at the Kossal camp for the rising junior class --

Maya: Oh, is daddy going to buy it for you? Think he could buy you some friends first…

The two of them stare each other down, both of them clearly meaning business and full of diva ire. It’s clear that this year is going to be a bloody battle between the two of them for top spot.

And may the best bitch win.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Riley is back to feeling uncertain, her “authentic” performance not having accomplished much. Then, she supposes, it’s not clear how authentic it really was… it was certainly the safe option, at least. But everyone else around her is so loud, so bold, so ready to scrap to the death… and she doesn’t know if that’s her. Maybe she doesn’t have what it takes.

The promotional video certainly is a testament to expectations versus reality. Highly skilled faculty… the polished and put together exterior… camaraderie and a bond with classmates for life… right now, they seemed destined to kill one another.

Thoughtful, Riley pulls up her tablet and searches for the promotional video again. She skims through it, searching for parts of Jack’s speech near the end.

Jack, voiceover: The competition is fierce, and the process isn’t easy.

INT. AAA - FRONT OFFICE - DAY

Eric is in the main office, chatting with the secretaries and easily charming them. Jack emerges from his office with more paperwork, catching his eye as he goes. The two of them hold each other’s gaze for a moment, that animosity still between them.

Jack: It’s work, hard work, but any passion worth pursuing takes a little faith and a whole lot of elbow grease.

Jack keeps his chin held high -- it is his office, after all. He gives Eric a cordial nod, heading back into his office. Back to do the work that matters, to the best of his ability.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The A class is assembled throughout the stage, all in their rehearsal clothes. Simple leotards, sweats, no one more glamorous than the other. There for the work, there for the challenge and the practice and the opportunities.

Jack: The best of the best make their way to Adams, and without a doubt, the best emerge from it ready to take on the world.

Maya, Farkle, and Zay all rise from stretching at the same time, eyeing each other. Maya takes a pointed sip of her water bottle, turning away with a hair flip.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - DAY

Riley is enthralled with the video, deep in thought. Jack’s words are resonating with her, leaving their impact.

Jack: The question is, where do the best of the best come from? Who has what it takes to join our elite and excellent rank of future artists? Do you?

That is the question, indeed. Riley glances up, determination in her glare as she looks towards the camera. Guess we’re going to find out!

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “One (Reprise) / Finale” as performed by A Chorus Line Original Broadway Cast || Performed by AAA Sophomores

This classic intense theater kid song takes us through the end of the episode, following each of our main characters through their morning routine at the start of the next day during the first half of the number. This gives us a little bit of insight into what might be going on in their lives beyond what we’ve seen displayed thus far…

INT. MAYA’S APARTMENT - DAY

Maya is in her small, falling apart apartment, kissing her stressed mom on the cheek as she goes out despite how well dressed she is. Talk about expectation versus reality -- she is obviously on the poverty line. Her outward appearance is in complete contrast to the world she’s actually living in every evening.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - DAY

Zay is gathering all his dance things together, getting pats and kisses from his parents as he dashes out the door. He almost drops his ballet shoe, but his mother catches it and gives it to him, clearly showing he’s a little more scattered than he puts off.

INT. GARDNER HOME - DAY

Charlie is getting ready for the day, dancing around a house full of sisters. He’s fighting for the bathroom just as a younger sister dashes inside, forcing him to run downstairs and get ready to go anyway. His mother licks her thumb and wipes a smudge from his cheek, as his father gives him a proud nod and sees him on his way.

The crucifix adorning the wall by the front door gives us the hint that this family is devout, to some degree. How much so, and whether that matters, only time will tell...

INT. FOSTER HOME - DAY

Isadora is eating breakfast in a crowded kitchen, trying to avoid bumping into a gaggle of siblings of all races and ages. She is a foster child, crammed in a fancy house with about twelve other children. Nice accommodations, and yet still not quite a home.

It’s obviously not the most ideal environment for her. She heads out the door as fast as she can.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Lucas is already at school early in the morning, in the technician’s booth where Riley left him last. He finishes pulling a black long sleeve shirt over his head, collapsing into the rolling chair and propping his feet up on the lightning board table. He starts flossing his teeth, treating the space like his own rather than school property.

One has to wonder… did he even go home? Is there a home to go to? What’s going on here…

INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Farkle, lavish and spoiled in a clearly wealthy home, is practicing his stage smile in the mirror. Totally straight-faced, then BAM! Full bright, stage presence grin. Over and over again. Obsessively adjusting his hair. Every polished piece in place. A constant performance…

EXT. AAA - DAY

As the trumpets swell before the final chorus, Riley arrives outside AAA again. She’s ready for her second go. Having what it takes.

She steadies her shoulders, then jogs up the steps towards the school.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Bam! As we enter into the final minute of the performance, Riley spins and the spotlight hits her. The full sophomore A class performers are up on stage, running through the show-stopping number. She’s keeping up -- barely, but she is. And that’s a start.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

From the booth, Shawn, Isadora, and Lucas run the lights and sound levels. Watching the performance critically from a world away…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

In the back row of the center section, Jack sits and watches the performance. Taking a moment out of his hectic schedule to settle in and appreciate what they’re doing there, watching the future artists take the foundation and flourish. He smiles, in spite of it all, reminding himself what really matters.

The kids give it their all, ending the number with a flourish. The lights are bright, Riley is alive with the energy of a good performance.

Welcome to Adams, indeed. This is it!

END OF PILOT.

#S1 #101 #episodes #s3 countdown #S1 reread #AMBITION REREAD AND REVAMPED LETS GOOOO #AAA WARRIORS ARE WE READY #🎉🎉🎉

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tzalmavet · 5 years ago

Note

ooo could you talk about some of your moomin hcs

*cracks knuckles* you got it

•When snorks change color, they have a “transitional pattern” that appears when it happens! Their new color may start appearing in stripes, spots, spirals, or even more wild patterns until it spreads over their whole body; it can be a lovely sight to see. It also can start in different places– some snorks change from ears to toes, some start in their tail, sometimes their nose! Of course, some have no pattern, and simply gradiate smoothly from one color to the next (some even have no transition at all– just POP! and they’re a different color).I typically imagine Snorkmaiden’s pattern as being shimmery diamond shapes, and her brother Snork’s as being dappled spots.

•Every snork changes colors, but every snork has their own unique “emotional palette” too! Basically, the same colors will mean different feelings in different snorks. Getting to know a snork’s colors is an important part of getting to know a specific snork, since no two are exactly alike.These colors are from a combination of genetics and environmental factors. A baby snork changes colors frequently, and will gradually settle into their palette as they grow older. Snorks’ color changing is a quirk adapted for both communication and camouflage. Some snorks are mostly vibrant, some are mostly muted, most have a decent combination of each.Not all snorks have the same amount of colors (of course, some colors can lay ‘dormant’ for years at a time before they show up again), the quantity of colors varies wildly.Since color changing is in part grown for communication, a mute snork may go through hundreds of different colors over the course of one conversation!

•Both moomintrolls and snorks can have tufts of hair on their heads like Snorkmaiden does, but it’s a lot more common in snorks.

•Moomins are more traditional and rural, and snorks are more adaptable and citygoing. Both do well with adventure and fun, can live in the wild or a city if they want, but statistically, you’re a lot more likely to see a snork.

•Moomintroll fur is very velvety and thick, and snork fur is slightly longer and fluffier. Both are capable of growing winter coats if they’re exposed to winter’s chills for long enough.

•Moominmamma briefly went by “Moominwife” in the space of time between her marriage to Moominpappa and Moomintroll’s birth.

•Every moomintroll mother goes by “Moominmamma” and every moomintroll father goes by “Moominpappa”. Yes, this gets confusing if you have too many moomins in one place.

•Mumriks naturally have very good pattern recognition. This often manifests in things like powerful intuition (like Joxter’s “Forebodings”) and musical talent (Snufkin being able to tell when a stream in the woods changes an octave, and being able to play so many instruments). They often find pleasure in things like nature and art.

•Mumriks don’t like feeling controlled. A mumrik can definitely settle down, but they’ll be very cross if they feel like they’re being at all forced into it. This gives many mumriks a contrarian affect, and can get them into disagreement with authority figures. Not every mumrik is solitary and wild, but they’re usually the ones you hear about.

•Every mumrik family has a type of authority figure they’re actively fighting against! Mumriks tend to appreciate nature, so Park Keepers and similar enforcers of outdoor private property are the most common enemy. But there are plenty of mumrik families who hate policemen, politicians, and even school teachers, too.

•Mymbles have REALLY dominant genes, so like 90% of the time a child of a mymble and some other creature is going to wind up being another mymble. This is why the Mother Mymble’s children are practically all clones of each other despite coming from different fathers.

•The coldness that the Groke has is like invisibility in that it’s a physical reflection of her mental state… and also like invisibility in that anyone can develop it if the wrong emotions linger for too long.There are plenty of people who’ve become cold like the groke. But unlike with invisibility, it’s virtually unknown because it’s usually fatal. Sufferers of that cold either lose their will to live through the pain and sadness of it, their hearts and bodies freezing solid, or they perish from complications that arise from their lowering temperature. Either way, you have to be stubborn as a groke to push through it.

•The Groke isn’t the only groke, but she is the coldest one. Very few people know there’s more than one groke out there, since they’re so few and far-between. Many solitary grokes grow up thinking that they’re the legendary, hated Groke, having no memory of others of their kind, only adding to the confusion.Saying you can recognize the Groke by her large nose, round eyes, and row of teeth is like saying you can recognize Moominmamma by her velvety white fur and tufted tail– all members of the species have those traits, so they’re useless in singling out an individual! But very few people describe the Groke in detail, fearing that speaking of her will send her chasing after them, so few think it’s worth mentioning that she’s grey and fat, for example. In the rare cases where people who’ve seen different grokes describe the ones they know of, and they realize the stories don’t line up… that’s when people begin to think there’s more than one of the Groke’s kind out there.They’re very uncommon, but there are warm grokes out there! Unfortunately, grokes are so deeply associated with coldness and misery, that most people who see a happy groke assume it’s not a groke at all.

•Referring to one’s paws as “hands” isn’t unknown, but in most circles it makes you sound like a pretentious asshole, regardless of how opposable your fingers are. Referring to hind paws as “feet” is uncommon, but not looked down upon.

•Many creatures feel just as comfortable walking on four paws as they do on two, but few who aren’t completely wild will admit it outright. It’s like there are tons of folks who are secretly waiting for everyone else to admit it first so they can scurry everywhere without feeling silly. Moomins is a world where lots of people crawl up the stairs on all fours when no one is looking.

•It’s a LOT more accepted to not know someone’s name. Calling someone “the Hemulen” is fine so long as they’re like… a hemulen. If they’re the only hemulen you interact with, and your friends know that, they’ll know who you mean. Things only get more complicated when you know more members of a species, or are among strangers. Plenty of people have names but simply haven’t said them, and plenty of people don’t have names at all.

I think I have a lot more than these but this is already getting pretty long, hehe… I can always say more on any of these if you’re curious!

#moomins #long post #answer #anonymous ask

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wintersrcse · 4 years ago

Photo

TASK 001

STATISTICS.

full name: Lyanna Branda Stark

moniker / nickname: Ly, Lya,

gender && pronouns: cis female, she/her

dob && age: April 28th, 1970

zodiac sign: Taurus

ethnicity: Vietnamese/White (Irish, Polish, French)

sexual orientation: pansexual

romantic orientation: heteroromantic

mafia affiliation: The Wolf Kings/Starks

occupation: Repatriation Research Specialist/Brigadier

financial status: comes from wealth/illegal wealth

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

face claim: Maggie Q

height: 5′6

physical build: Long limbed and extremely slender, athletic, and in shape

eye colour and shape: monolid, wide set, a bright brown with hints of hazel around the edges

hair colour and style: naturally straight and black, is generally styled with an ombre and some amount of wave

usual expression: she has a very open face, you can generally tell exactly what she’s thinking as she’s very expressive. as for a resting face, lips are gently pursed as if constantly about to begin speaking, as if she has something on the tip of her tongue

accent and speech style: no perceptible accent difference from fellow Starks, tone always seems to have a light teasing, or at worst sarcastic sound to it. tends to talk a pace slower than average speed

distinguishing marks / characteristics: pierced ear lobes as well as ear cuffs, a small tattoo on her left ring finger

clothing style: while she does have a sense of style, lyanna hates fussing over what she should wear, and tends to stick to easy, chic pieces that can be worn with most basics.

jewellery and accessories: not much of a jewelry or accessories girl

FAMILY:

father: Rickard Stark (deceased)

mother: Lyarra Stark (deceased)

siblings, if any: Ned Stark, Benjen Stark, Brandon Stark

extended relations: Arya Stark, Sansa Stark (nieces), Bran Stark, Rickon Stark, Robb Stark (nephews)

significant other(s): Rhaegar Targaryen

children: Jon Snow

household pet(s): N/A

FAVOURITES.

colour: grey, or any warm hued color in the tan/brown families

weather: winter (especially the first snow of the year)

food item: steak (she tries to stay away from meat, especially red meat, but sometimes all she want is a medium rare steak)

beverage: jasmine tea

time of day: evenings

television genre: any sort of show where things are ‘discovered’, such as American Pickers, Storage Wars, or almost any historical documentary (bogus or not)

PERSONALITY.

hobbies: horse back riding, reading published journals of those from the past (it’s the anthropologist in her, she loves hearing about day to day life throughout history), spending time on the (or any) lake

pet peeves: tapping/clicking of pens, jumping on the bandwagon, judging before knowing

phobias: heights

allergies: n/a

mbti type: ENTP-A (The Debater)

enneagram type: The Challenger/Type 8 (98%), The Enthusiast/Type 7 (80%), The Individualist/Type 4 (77%)

positive traits: strong willed, forthright, courageous

negative traits: impulsive, obstinate, self-involved

morning routine: wake up, kiss rhaegar on the cheek if he’s not yet awake (she’s an early riser), go for a run or walk or swim (weather dependent), read through wolf kings and work emails while she waits for her coffee or tea (depends on the day) to brew, takes a shower, gets ready for work, grab a piece of fresh fruit, and head to work.

beauty routine: while blessed with genetics that keep lyanna looking like a woman almost 10 years her junior, she also does take care of herself and her skin, making sure to drink lots of water, eat healthy, wear SPF, etc. but generally, much like her wardrobe, her beauty routine is low maintenance, only springing for time expensive beauty tasks for special occasions.

sleeping habits: if you need lyanna STAT make sure it’s not in the middle of the night, because she sleeps like the dead. she’s one of the lucky few who falls asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow, and wakes up when her alarm goes off, without any snoozing

living space && home: currently in transition

#vixere:task #vixere:task01 #( * headcannons | you can start forest fires with the thoughts inside your pretty head. )

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marysunshine23 · 5 years ago

Text

Headcanons: OFF Edition

I did my headcanons for Sally Face before (specifically with Sal), so I decided to do another obscure game!

The Batter

Black short hair

“Hmph”

Loves dad jokes so long as they don’t involve him

Wants to “purify” the world to cover up the fact that he had a child before discovering he was gay

Not crazy about pets

Tough love kind of parent

Tall - between 5′10″ (178cm) and 6′4″ (193cm)

Very intelligent

Kind of egotistical (and by kind of I mean really)

The Judge/Pablo

Either an orange short hair or a maine coon

Wants all the pets (all of them)

Prefers wet food over dried

Can actually, like, read

VOCAL KITTY

Very much an outdoor cat

Owned by Zacharie officially, but mostly just does his own thing

Loves head scratches and butt scratches

Zacharie

MiLlEnNiAL

Meme lord

Any time he’s not working, he’s probably smoking pot or taking a nap

Big guy (like, not fat or buff, just big)

Sleeve Tattoos

Has lots of app games to pass the time

Likes animals in general

Mixed race (Hispanic/French)

Chronic bed-head syndrome

Little bit shorter than Batter

Smells like weed and Old Spice

Is a Cancer (Born between June 22 and July 22)

Bisexual or Pansexual

Dedan

Chronic asshole syndrome

Even compliments sound backhanded

Greater-than-thou mentality

Has a million of the same coat from ripping them open in frustration

Breaks stuff easily

Looks for reasons to lose his shit

“Fuck you”

King of impatient finger rolling

Ace?

Valerie

Owned by Sucre/Sugar

Grey variant of whatever breed Pablo is

Quiet baboo

Shy

Is the type to hide whenever the door is opened

AnXiOuS

Believes in “Do unto others as you would have done upon yourself”

Likes sunbathing with Pablo

Japhet

Hates all predatory animals

“BOW BEFORE ME, DEGENERATE!”

Knows when he’s lost, but fights anyway

Probably the smartest of the three

Gracious loser

Yellow and/or Red

Enoch

Big dick energy

Emotional eater

Probably chews tobacco

Purposefully told the Elsens that specters were their friends to watch them get hurt and/or killed

Sadistic asshole

Naturally rosy cheeks, but face turns red when he’s mad

Impatient

Homophobic, Transphobic, hates every color of that LGBTQ+ flag

Elsens

*wheeze*

Probably sound like that from breathing all that damn smoke

Anxiety incarnate

Insomnia is common

Timid

Would be introverted if it were an option

Don’t actually enjoy their jobs, but do it so their guardians don’t yell at them

Jumpy

The Queen

*insert “a little confused but I like their enthusiasm” meme here*

Has zero idea how to be a mom

Would probably be a Karen

Narcissus Syndrome

Wants to be a better parent than Batter (which isn’t really that difficult...)

Aromantic but Pansexual

Hugo

Imagination~

Has that piece of meat because he’s still growing baby teeth

Created the Queen and the Batter based off his own parents, who were neglectful and/or abusive

Autoimmune deficiency

Came up with the elements based off of what is being sold in commercials

Young enough to have trouble differentiating adults, hence why all the Elsens look alike

Has only really been outside, like, five times ever

Needs a hug

Sucre/Sugar

MtF

Best friends with Zacharie (who supported her through the transition)

Likes frosted sugar cookies

That person who orders a super crazy custom drink at a coffee shop

Binge watches Netflix

Would live by a stream if she could

Has a sink full of unwashed dishes and continues to just order take out

Toll girl (maybe an inch shorter than Batter)

Fuck shoes

Weeb

Lesbian

Edit: I didn’t add sexualities for the animal characters or for Hugo because I don’t think of them in a sexual way. If they are, then I don’t wanna know about it. I also didn’t add sexualities for the Elsens because I feel like they’re... incapable? Like, they just exist to work. So... I guess they’re all ace? I don’t know. I also didn’t put anything for the Batter because it’s canon that he’s gay lesbian??? (I still think he’s gay?)

#off game #off batter #off pablo #the judge #off zacharie #off dedan #off valerie #off japhet #off enoch #off elsen #off queen #off hugo #off sucre #off sugar #headcanons

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damienthepious · 5 years ago

Text

this time, on Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday: things get worse

No More Changes (I’ll Still Love You The Same) [Chapter 2]

[chapter 1] [ao3] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, (tho not THIS chapter certainly), Curses, human!arum, (but not… because he WANTS to be), (it ain’t good y'all), Panic Attacks, Overstimulation, Rilla Is Queen Of Comfort, Damien Does Not Consider The Consequences Of His Words, The Keep Is Best Mom

Summary: Lord Arum and his Keep have fought off curses before, but they have never dealt with one quite like this. They have never dealt with a curse while having a couple of humans around to help them, either… though it remains to be seen exactly how helpful Arum’s lovers will be, in the effort of restoring him.

Chapter Summary: Damien knows that he needs to comfort his lily, but finding the right words to do so proves to be far more difficult than the poet expects.

Chapter Notes: We promised there would be a happy ending. We stand by that. But we did not say that it wouldn't get worse before it got better. Chapter title from the song Washing Machine Heart, by Mitski.

Chapter 2 - Who You Pretend I Am

When Rilla sends Damien through the portal to the Keep - practically shoves him through, honestly, so that she can run off to cancel a week’s worth of appointments - he isn’t really sure what to expect.

(Rilla dashes his expectations of a quiet, tender day spent together the moment he steps into the hut, his heart sinking at the sight of her frantic and darting from tome to tome even before she notices him and leaps to snag his wrist.

“Arum’s been cursed,” she says without preamble, a desperate sort of wildfire in her eyes, “probably by the Senate. He’s not hurt, not exactly,” she says, squeezing his hands when she sees the way the blood drains from his face. “But he’s scared and overwhelmed and I think that the transformation is screwing with the Keep- with his connection to the Keep, too.”

“T-transformation?” Damien says, sounding strangled, and Rilla winces and sighs.

“I don’t know how they did it. And we’re going to fix it.” She pauses. “Somehow. But they made him human.”)

Damien furrows his brow, and contemplates the word curse.

Damien was wrong, before, about the nature of monsters. Or- about the idea that all monsters have the same nature, at the very least. He knows, of course, that it is good that he knows this now, even if it makes his life more complicated. There are monsters who are capable of so much more than he could have ever dreamed, ever expected. Evil is not inherent to monsterkind, just as all humans are not intrinsically good. Arum, in all his complex beauty, holds the majority of the responsibility for teaching Damien this lesson.

… However.

Damien has thought, not infrequently, of how much less painful it would have been, to transition with Rilla into this wider, more complicated relationship that they now share with Arum, if only Arum had been human.

There is just… something very human about him. Not just in his eyes, not just the attraction Damien now recognizes from their first encounter. Damien can imagine it so easily, Arum as the son of some aristocrat, prideful and easily flustered, an architect but without the overlay of dangerous magic. Damien can imagine meeting him any number of ways- at some festival, perhaps. Or- perhaps Damien would be assigned to guard a traveling party including this Arum, and they might speak - as men speak, without knives and bows - and get to know each other in the ordinary way.

It would still not have been painless, of course. He certainly would have still been plagued by guilt over the idea of betraying his dearest Rilla when Arum spurred the heat of his affection, and certainly when this human Arum and Rilla met, Damien would have been filled with feelings of betrayal on the other side. He knows himself well enough to admit that.

But… if there had not been the conflict- the friction- the entirety of a war between them-

Damien cannot sleep, some nights, for the guilt that writhes like a poison inside of him. Guilt, and shame, and when Arum sleeps soundly in the same bed, Damien feels as if he could die from his mistakes. He nearly killed- he nearly murdered a creature so loving and wonderful, so clever and rare and beautiful-

Damien cannot imagine that he would have ever threatened Arum’s life, had he been human.

And so Damien wonders, at times, what it would have been like, to love Arum without knowing how it felt to nearly kill him first.

Rilla said she left Arum in the bedroom. Damien declines to ask the Keep for a portal from the greenhouse- it seems rude to strain the poor creature if it is disoriented, as Rilla suspects. If this also allows Damien to collect himself as he walks, to think a bit before he sees Arum in his new human skin, perhaps that is a benefit as well.

He knocks on the bedroom door. It has been… quite some time, since Damien felt any call to do this.

“Arum?” he says softly, nerves jumping in his stomach. “May I… may I come in?”

There is a brief moment, some quiet rustling, and then a voice calls, “You need not knock, you know. I’m hardly going to lock you out.”

The voice- Arum’s voice-

It is such a stark difference, the way that the rattle, the rasp has been sheared away, leaving a voice that sounds so similar but so entirely strange, so new. Damien is distracted enough that he almost doesn’t comprehend the actual words Arum says for a long moment. He blinks back to himself, and opens the door.

Arum is standing, leaning against the bed, one unclawed hand supporting him against the blankets as he looks at Damien with his head ducked defensively, and Damien feels as if he would know that this human were Arum even if he met him on the street, without context, and he cannot help but stare.

Oh. Oh, but his eyes-

They are still sharp, still bright with cleverness, but there are no violets here. In fact, there is no color to speak of. His eyes are gray, and light, and cool like a pair of silver coins. His robes are overlarge on this new smaller frame, hanging at his shoulders and making Damien keenly aware of his bare neck, his collarbone. Arum’s unscaled skin is dark and smooth, his nose handsomely curved, his lips soft and frowning, and his hair is long and wavy and tangled in a way that sends a sharp sting of temptation through Damien, a hungry desire to run his hands through the softness and help to tame those tangles-

Damien presses a hand over his heart. He takes a breath, and steps forward.

“Forgive me, my lily,” he says gently. “Rilla warned me, of course, but- still it was hard to believe until I saw with my own eyes.”

“Yes, well,” Arum’s lip pulls into an even deeper frown, and Damien finds himself fascinated by the curve of it, by the expressive elasticity of this new face his lover wears. “It is unbelievable, but rather unfortunately true.”

Damien does not need to look nearly as far upward as he usually does, to meet Arum’s desaturated eyes. He steps closer to the bed, and Arum continues to glare, irritation and discomfort obvious on his face.

“Oh, my dearest creature,” Damien says gently. He lifts his hand to caress Arum’s cheek, and Arum twitches, baring his teeth just slightly. “This must be terribly trying for you.”

Arum huffs. “I don’t have the first clue how the lot of you manage to move without a tail, how you manage to exist at all in such a fragile state-”

“We make do,” Damien says with a wry smile. “As will you.” He pauses. “For- for however long this lasts, of course.”

“With my luck,” Arum sneers, clenching his fists so his claws- no, his nails dig into his palms. After a moment, the tension in his frame softens, and then he sighs. “No, no. Amaryllis- between myself and Amaryllis- the three of us together- I must believe that it will not be long.”

“Of course not,” Damien says automatically, and Arum’s jaw clenches before he sighs again.

Arum lifts his hand from the bed and wobbles slightly, and Damien steadies him, curling a hand around his back. Arum stiffens, again, but after a breath he leans into Damien.

“I’m sick of this room,” he mutters, not looking at the knight. “Let’s go- the kitchen, the scroll room, the snail garden, I don’t care but I won’t sit helpless in that bed another moment.”

“Rilla was quite insistent that you rest,” Damien says, mild. Arum scowls in response, and Damien probably shouldn’t find it as cute as he does, the way his nose wrinkles with the force of his irritation.

“And I will surely acquiesce to her expertise,” he drawls, “but I need not rest confined here. A balcony. Some air,” he decides. “Keep, a portal to-”

He stops himself, his expression going entirely still, and there is a strange brightness in his grey eyes that Damien does not know what to do with.

“Perhaps it would be best not to bother the poor thing,” Damien suggests. “Certainly there is a balcony close enough that we may walk there without much strain, yes?”

“Of course,” Arum agrees, voice low. “Come, then, honeysuckle.”

Arum leans more fully on Damien, slinging his arm around his shoulder with an odd little wince, and the poet leads them out into the halls, guiding Arum’s steps. Their progress is heartbreakingly slow- Damien has to bite his tongue to keep from spouting words of sympathy whenever Arum stumbles, when his ankles wobble, when he huffs out bitter, frustrated breaths. Damien knows that Arum abhors sympathy; he finds it performative. Demeaning. Damien feels himself lucky enough that his beloved is willing to allow him to help even this much while he acclimates to this new form.

Arum’s gait improves a bit even by the time they reach the balcony Arum has in mind, an enormous ensconced bulb of soft thick leaves opening high over the swamp, high enough that they won’t possibly be visible from below and circled with dense mossy seating.

Arum releases his grip on Damien and awkwardly sinks to sitting on one of the mounds of softness, wincing and resettling his legs underneath him twice before he seems to find a comfortable position, and after a moment Damien sits beside him, staring out over the swamp with a deep sigh.

“Rest,” Arum mutters bitterly. “As if I could possibly rest in this state.”

Damien glances to the side, watching as Arum curls his hands into impotent claws, his entire face contorting in a scowl.

“I find it is best to take our darling Rilla’s advice, even when it seems difficult,” Damien says, and Arum scowls even harder.

“Am I not doing so? Am I not, despite my deepest instincts, sitting idly while this affliction settles into my malformed new bones, merely because she advised I do so?” he says in a bark, his eyes flashing furiously towards Damien. He winces quickly after, though, his shoulders sinking. “I am… trying. I am trusting. I know that I will not be able to do anything to mitigate this damage without my-” he breaks off. “On my own,” he finishes. “So all I may do until Amaryllis returns is… nothing.”

“Oh, my lily,” Damien breathes, pressing a hand over his heart again as if that could stop it from skipping. “I am so terribly sorry. How- is there anything-” Damien’s hands flutter in his own lap, unsure. “I know I am not- skilled in such a way as Amaryllis, and I cannot help as she can, but- is there nothing I can do, to help you in this moment?”

Arum scoffs, but there is no heat in it, and after a long moment of hesitation he closes his eyes and exhales.

“I cannot even… I should be able to hear the swamp, from here. The song of the frogs. The cries of bugs. It is all- it is too quiet, honeysuckle,” he says softly.

Damien stares, and Arum’s face is soft and still and enthralling and strange. “I am sorry,” he says again, because he finds he does not know what else to say.

Arum frowns, and his eyes slit back open. “Damien,” he says, a strange note of leading in his voice. “Are you not made for filling silences?” he asks.

“O-oh.”

“You are a prattler, honeysuckle,” Arum says, closing his eyes again and leaning more fully into the bed of foliage beneath him. “Prattle.”

“What-” Damien flounders, squirming where he sits for a moment. “What would you have me say?”

“Anything.” Arum shakes his head. “Distract me,” he says in a voice so quiet that Damien might miss it if he were not so close. “Please.”

“O-of course, love,” Damien says, though he still has no idea whatsoever what to say. “Of course.”

Poetry- does not feel right. Not even his own. What, should he give Arum words he composed in reverence of his scales and teeth and violet eyes? Should he remind Arum of that which he no longer possesses? A cruelty, certainly. And any other poems he knows- if they mention monsterkind it is only ever in one light, and Arum needs not hear that just now, either.

Comfort. What Arum needs just now is comfort. What must he be fearing most? He seems reluctant towards touch- perhaps he is afraid that Damien will not wish to touch him in this state, that Damien will not understand that beneath this new form it is still his Arum, his lily. He can allay those fears, at least.

“I love you,” he starts, soft and earnest, and his heart flutters when Arum startles, blinking his eyes open to give Damien the same surprised-pleased look that he always does when Damien offers his affection with such ease. Such a familiar look, at home in a new face. “I am sorry you have been so maligned, darling, but no curse could ever tear my heart from you. None.”

He lifts his hand, giving in to the temptation and brushing his fingers along Arum’s cheek (he flinches still- oh dear creature, why flinch from affection?) and softly stroking his hair.

“I-” Arum makes a noise, a choking laugh or a scoff that lost its way. “I- I know that, honeysuckle. And- and it is not permanent, so it matters not regardless. Certainly we will not even have the time to contemplate it. This- this skin is a temporary falsehood, soon to be cast aside.”

“Still, my lily,” Damien tries again, even more gently. “I would love you in any form. In any skin.”

Arum does not answer that. He clenches his jaw, neither leaning into Damien’s hand nor pulling away.

“Rilla and I will love you no matter the circumstances,” he says. “And- and if any curse were to befall you, I am terribly grateful that it should be one like this.”

Arum’s face goes blank, then, and still as a marble statue. “Grateful,” he murmurs, in his clear new voice.

“A curse that can reach out and take you even within the walls of your clever and powerful home? Arum, I am grateful that if such should occur, that you are still alive to fight back against it! That Rilla did not find you bleeding and broken-”

Arum laughs, strangely.

“My lily- it terrifies me that they could place such magic upon you. To my core. But- but don’t you see that it could have been anything! It could have been- you could have been struck by anything. Any pain, any destruction wrought upon the Keep itself- it is, of course, terrible that any such attack be mustered against you, but among all possibilities-” Damien pauses for breath, and his next words come soft, and calm. “Perhaps, my lily, it is not so terrible a fate. It could have been so much worse! You of all people know what the Senate is capable of- without any magic whatsoever, they nearly killed you once already!”

Arum’s eyes flash and he huffs out a bitter laugh. “They might as well have.”

“But, my love, surely this is far better than the alternative! There are far worse things in this world to be than human.”

Arum narrows his eyes. “And just what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

Damien senses Arum’s discomfort, so he pulls his hand back from Arum’s hair, stroking his knuckles down his new smooth cheek instead. “I only mean, my love, that perhaps there are some benefits to this… unfortunate turn of events. Maybe this will turn out to be a blessing in the end! After all, I can finally kiss you properly," Damien says with a laugh, and he feels as if he is a paper lantern, full of light and air and ready to rise, but when he leans towards Arum, he flinches.

"Properly," Arum says, and the old rough edges of his voice are gone. This roughness in his voice now is new. "And what, precisely, did you consider the affection between us when I was myself?"

"I..." Damien blinks. "Arum, I only meant-"

"No. You said precisely what you meant." Arum leans away, and then he musters himself and scrabbles awkwardly to standing, wobbling on his toes, and he does not seem to know how to keep the expression on his face from going raw and furious. "I am glad for you, then, that this curse has made it so I am no longer such an inconvenience to you."

"I did not say-” Damien scrambles to his feet as well, his heart racing in panic at the look on Arum’s face. “But- but don't you see that this solves- I am not saying that we should not attempt to reverse this transformation, if we are somehow able, but if this is not something we have the power to overcome you must know that I will stand with you-”

“For this- for this obstacle, your tenacity fails you? For this and this alone, your fervor, your fire and determination cannot match the task for even an hour before you contemplate accepting failure with a laugh?”

“No,” Damien says, shaking his head, and he is not sure how this conversation has escaped him so fully already. “No, of course I am not giving up on your monstrous form-”

“My only form. Me.”

“I am not saying we should lay down and accept! Certainly not,” he says, and Arum scoffs. “But, I think it is worth acknowledging the possibility. Worth acknowledging that even if we fail, it will be something that we can survive. That it would not be the worst of fates that you could be subject to.”

“Survive,” Arum echoes, the disdain dripping from his new smooth tone. “An interesting choice of words. We can survive.”

“Arum,” Damien says, stepping closer again, and Arum-

Arum tries to hiss. It doesn’t work, exactly; his mouth goes wide though he does not know how to use his new tongue to simulate his old sounds, but Damien is stunned enough that he stops.

“I do not believe that my survival or the survival of my Keep are on your mind just now, honeysuckle,” Arum says darkly. “Your mind is elsewhere.”

“Of course your survival- Arum, Arum you do not know how persistently I fear for your safety. How it weighs on me to know that any of my comrades could happen to destroy you and never know what a unique, wonderful, special creature the would be robbing from this world! With this- with this form-”

Arum sneers, but Damien rushes on ahead, his voice going sharp.

“If you remain human I need not fear that fate for you. Can you not understand that? As you are now- you can walk amongst my friends and people in safety, without fear of judgment or harm!”

“Just because I do not look like a monster does not mean that is not what I am. Do you think your Citadel would hesitate to slay me where I stood were they even to suspect my origins? I have no interest in walking among those who would sooner see me dead. Just because I could pass for a human in this blighted state does not change the fact that I am not one. I never will be.”

“My lily, oh, but we no longer need hide!" Damien steps closer, reaching out. Arum stumbles away another step, and Damien leaves his hand hanging in the air as Arum grits his teeth. "I have dreamed so many times of kissing you beneath Saint Damien's bells, of dancing there with you and Rilla at the Festival of the Three, dancing in truth and not simply in the metaphor of the duel, of loving you without needing to fear losing you to the blade of my own comrades-"

"For all your talk of knightly virtues you are hideously selfish," Arum growls, growls despite the unfamiliar mouth he must use, and Damien stops short.

"Selfish? Arum, I know this is unexpected and challenging, but if by some chance it is permanent, it is not completely bad. This change could only improve our-"

"Get out."

"Wh-what?"

"I said leave." Arum slashes an arm through the air, then pulls the limb back towards his body with an uncomfortable wince. "I don't care what Amaryllis said. I do not require looking after. I do not want you here, I do not need you here. Get out."

"But... Arum, I assure you I did not mean to imply... Arum, you know how I adore you-"

"Keep. Keep, a portal to the hut now." Arum pauses, his jaw clenched uncomfortably tight. "Keep." He pauses again, and then his lip twists down in misery, his hands curling into not-quite-claws as his shoulders hunch even further. "Keep, please."

The portal raises, sluggish and uncertain, and Arum, if anything, looks even more miserable.

"I do not wish to leave you like this," Damien says softly. "My words were poorly chosen, and I regret that. I should know to be more precise with my language-"

"Precision is not the issue." Arum lifts his eyes, and Damien feels a little bittersweet pang to see the ordinary pale gray, the ordinary round irises. "When I have- when I say, Damien, that I love you, I do not say so and then wish that you were different. I would not prefer you some other way. I love you as you are. Human." He turns his nose up, just slightly. "Flawed."

It's a little like being kicked. "Arum-"

"I ask that you leave, Sir Damien. Amaryllis demanded that I rest, and I will not rest while you are here."

"But you must understand how much of a boon-"

"You are not listening to me. Get out," Arum snarls. "Do not make me ask you again."

Arum’s eyes have gone bright, this miserable twist of his mouth overtly tearful. “Oh, Arum-”

“Oh,” Arum says with a vicious, false laugh as he swipes his hands clumsily over his face, disrupting the tracks of tears as quickly as they come. “Oh, so fury as well spurs this incessant weeping? Fear, yes, and sorrow, enough sense is made there, but even in anger I am forced into this ridiculous hiccuping folly?”

“Arum,” Damien says, his heart pulling as he steps forward, but Arum stumbles awkwardly back until he is pressed against the bark wall of the balcony, baring his teeth in a way that manages to look inhuman even on his human face.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare touch me. I told you to leave and I meant it. Would you ignore my wishes now, Sir Damien, when I am inarguably too weak,” he spits the word, voice cracking in the middle, “to do anything to stop you? There seems nothing honorable in that.”

“No,” Damien says, wide-eyed and shaking his head. “No, of course I don’t wish to- I merely- I cannot stand the thought of leaving you like this when you are clearly in such a state of-”

“And I cannot stand to be near you in such a state,” Arum says, his voice more waver than tone. “Leave,” he roars, and Damien-

Damien doesn’t have the opportunity to argue again, because the Keep drops a trio of vines, and gently but firmly shoves Damien back through the portal, and then Damien is gone.

Damien is gone. The portal closes, and Arum is alone. He stands, keenly aware of too much ill-fitting fabric still overwhelming his skin. His breaths come in shuddering gasps, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t trust himself to walk anywhere successfully, and he isn’t keen on falling again, so instead he just sits down where he is. Collapses, really, into a heap on the ground.

The Keep warbles at him, and he can hear a vague question and the concern that bleeds through its tone but-

“Keep, I-” He breaks off and chokes back the lump in his throat, feeling the tears filling his eyes again and hating this all the more for that, because he can’t control that either. “I can’t understand you. I can't-”

He hunches in on himself, suddenly and keenly aware of just how alone he is. He feels more isolated, even, then when he pushed Amaryllis through the portal after they soothed the Keep to sleep. Even then, he had thought it for the best. He didn’t want her to go, but she had done her job and she had to go home, to leave before he became too weak to let her slip through his greedy grasp, and he’d known the Keep would soon awaken well-rested and healthy again.

Now, he wants so desperately for Amaryllis to return and insist that they can fix this. For the Keep’s soft influence in his mind, letting him know that they will both be alright. That they will make it through this. But he is, for the first time, completely and utterly alone. "Keep, please, I-"

He can't finish the sentence. He's not sure what he would have said anyway. And it doesn't even matter, does it? He cannot communicate with the Keep anyway. He has no words for the sharpness of his isolation. Instead, a sob wracks through his body and he wraps his arms around his waist and curls in on himself even further, and he is utterly unable to stop the tears as they come.

The Keep sings something around him, uncertain and distant, and every unconveyed message makes Arum feel even more broken. Even more alone. He can’t stop the way his breaths go ragged and violent, either, or the way his heart is thudding, or the way that no matter how fast he scrubs the wetness from his cheeks he simply can’t outpace his own tears, and he burns with hatred for this body he is trapped in.

The song comes again, merely music now. Arum fists his hands over his ears, dulling the already dull sense even further. He can’t understand, so why listen?

The third time the Keep sings to him, the melody is followed by touch. Arum jerks in surprise, but even with skin this sensitive the Keep’s vines are too familiar and a shuddering sigh leaves him as the Keep wraps him up in the closest it can get to a cocoon of comfort. Ordinarily he would push the vines off, would snap that he is not a hatchling to be coddled, but the cool leaves are soft and gentle and familiar, and he leans as much as he can into the embrace.

Cocooned in the moss and vines and leaves, Arum almost believes he could leave this body behind and become one with the Keep again, could sink into the green and lose himself entirely. He can’t understand the gentle coos vibrating through the space all around him, but he feels them nonetheless, and even without words its message is clear.

I’m here. I’m here. I love you. I’m still here.

Not alone. It’s not the same, without their link, without the easy language that should pass between them, but Arum isn’t alone. Even with this barrier between them, he still has his Keep. It will still protect him, just as he will always, always protect it.

At least he can be grateful for that. The Keep will be here for him, even if Damien-

Even if Damien-

Amaryllis promised to help him fix this. To help him restore himself.

Did she really mean that? Or was she merely trying to help him stay steady and coherent in the moment?

Does she think as Sir Damien does?

… and if the both of them prefer him this way… if both of them wish he were human…

"What do I do?" he asks, and he hates this weakness, hates not even knowing if his Keep understands him, hates that even if it does he cannot hear any advice it might offer, cannot even feel the comfort it would try to send through their link- “Keep, I-”

Will they make him choose? Will Sir Damien and Amaryllis make him weigh that scale, between keeping them, keeping their love, and restoring himself?

“Keep…”

The Keep sings an airy triplet, gentle acknowledgment he can understand even without feeling it in his mind.

“Perhaps…” he whispers. “Perhaps this bond was doomed from the start, Keep.” He curls tighter, tighter, and the Keep’s vines and leaves caress and soothe as best they are able. “Perhaps this is merely revealing what was always true. I should never have expected humans to love a monster. Not truly. Not without conditions, not without an underlying desire for something better.”

The Keep squeezes him softly, and he knows that it has understood him as it warbles… something. He cannot know what it means to impart with this wordless, unparseable song.

The Keep knows many songs, though. Some, even a human can understand.

So the Keep sways him, swaddled and safe in its hanging bramble, and it sings him something he might sing along with. It sings him a song that he carries in his heart already. It sings to him a song he shares, a song that has passed hands from monster to human or human to monster, and it does not matter which.

I’ll float down with her-

Arum breaks. It shudders through him like poison, like a blade, the breathless hopeless sorrow of this curse, but his Keep holds him all the same. It holds him, and it sings, and it sings, and it sings.

If he cannot be whole, Arum thinks, at least in this moment he may still be held.

#elle's fanfic #sky's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #sir damien #the keep #(rilla's here in this chapter for like two lines so)#sorry about the emotional distress!!!!! we'll get through it i promise

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