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sunflowerhae · 4 years

Text

Linger

Episode • 1/8

Mobile Masterlist •

♡ ☾ ✐

Authors note• bro this is so long I’m so sorry I’m breaking it into parts for u (I HATE MY LIFE)

Warnings• mentions of death, language

Songs• something - the Beatles/ With love, Vincent - Murray Gold/ she’s so lovely - beach house

•Na Jaemin remembers the exact moment he first laid his eyes on Y/N Y/L/N.

•He was standing by his locker on the first day of sophomore year

•laughing with Jeno and Haechan about their new math teacher

•when she walked past him with two other girls, smiling and holding some books in her arms.

•Jaemin will tell anyone that listens that this was the first time he felt the air knocked out of his lungs

•He remembers thinking that she was the most beautiful girl that he had ever seen.

•He didn’t know who she was; he had never seen her before (he would remember) (sike he’s stupid)

•yet he knew that he would marry that girl.

•he was worried bc he didn’t know who tF she was, but don’t worry bc the second time he ever saw her was maybe 6 minutes later

•he walked into his 4th period Honors English 10 class, and she was talking to the teacher across the classroom, before moving and sitting down in the first empty seat she saw.

•Jaemin didn’t know what to do

•his new mystery dream girl was in his class.

•Should he sit next to her?

•Should he just ignore her and talk to her later?

•what is gonna wear?

•is he gonna cry?

•Jaemin didn’t have much time to decide

• a mere 10 second delay was all it took for three boys (also on the football team with Jaemin) to enter the room and wrap their arms around his shoulder

•ushering him over to an empty table in the back while showcasing their excitement about being in the same class together.

•Jaemin tried not to show his disappointment, and instead gave one of his usual, dazzling smiles (ya know the one!) while joking along with them

•trying to forget about the mystery girl (and the excitement he got when he learned her name during roll call)

•It was then that Na Jaemin’s and Y/N Y/L/N’s rolls in their story were set in stone.

•He would be the popular boy that everyone knew, but didn’t really know

•and you would be the quiet girl that only a few, special people knew of, but those people were your closest friends.

•And over the course of the next two years, it would stay that way. •Jaemin, secretly pining for you

•and you, thinking the beautiful boy as untouchable.

•That would, however, change, on one god forsaken, cloudy Friday.

•A Friday that would forever be ingrained in Jaemins memory as the day he sealed his lonely fate in the world

•and the day he lost his true soulmate

•before he even talked to her.

•If Haechan’s persistent moaning and groaning about school wasn’t enough

•the weather was gloomy and cloudy

•and anyone with eyes could tell that rain was to be expected. •Jaemin, secretly, didn’t mind.

•Although he would never share it, he loved the rain.

•What he did mind, was his friends continuous bitching.

•”Hyuck, shut up,” -Renjun, 2020

•I mean he wasn’t even paying attention to the group, too preoccupied w his sketch book, sometimes glancing up at a girl that sat across the school yard, before looking back down at his sketch book (spoilers for something I’m writing??? Hehe you’ll never know hehe)

•all Jeno did was MenTion that rainy weather meant football practice would be cancelled

•hyucks smile was BaCk

•Jaemin was not impressed

•okay the conversation went something like this

“Damn Na, why are you looking at me like how my mom looks when my report card come in?” -full sun

•You literally insulted football to my face.” -nana

•haechan let out a loud laugh

•at Jaemin’s expense

•“you don’t know the ups and downs of High-school football” -nojam and injunnie

•also at Jaemins expense

•due to an ongoing joke that Jaemin reminded their friend group of the teenage redhead from riverdale

•Na Jaemin was so upset, he didn’t even eat his fries.

•”I wouldn’t care so much if I wasn’t the fucking captain of the team, hyuck. I mean, I gotta hold you responsible to a certain degree, you’re the fucking quarterback!” -Na Jaemin

•someone bully him

•so as that is happening, 2/3 of the missing members of their group come in HOT

•I mean literally

•they’re breathing heavily and everything

•acting like they just ran a mf marathon

•jisung YEETS his bag in the table (covering Renjuns sketchbook, which annoyed the fuck out of the older boy, but really who cares)

•”Guys guys guys! You will never guess who we just saw in the library!” -Mochi

•”lemme give it a try; mark?” -bitch ass Chinese bitch (renjun)

•”No! We saw Mar- wait what? How’d you know?” -child prodigy Zhong Chenle

•“Uhh, maybe because he texted in the group chat that he was gonna be in the library?” -nojam makin a comeback

•”Okay okay, but - can I have a fry? - did hew shay who hedt be wif?”

•”Swallow your fucking food first, le.” -smart boy you guess who

(Whew are y’all getting sensory overload like I AM)

•“He said, did he say who he’d be with, though? No, he didn’t, but guess who WE saw him with,” -jisung bringing the T E A.

•no one answers

•Chenle and jisung give each other the “we’re friends w dumbasses” look

•“Y/n! He was sitting with y/n!”

•oh shit

•Everyone quickly turned their heads to Jaemin

•tell me why this boy was glaring at the table like it messed w his daughter

•Out of everyone ever, the only people who knew about Jaemins secret crush was the 5 boys sitting with Jaemin

•and the one sitting in the library with said secret crush.

•They didn’t even really know, they just knew that they once saw Jaemin slip something like a note into Y/n’s locker junior year

•and Jaemin made up a bullshit excuse that it was something for class that no one

•-not even Jeno, who always trusted his friends -

•believed.

•”why aren’t you mad”

•”you should be angry”

•literally all of the present boys were THROWING it on jaemin

•and naturally -

•he deflected

•”bro I’m not even upset, I don’t like y/n!”

•lmao K

•now at this point

•the boys thought they were helping

•really

•it was innocent they promise.

•really how were they to know what was going to happen

•so hyuck had JOKED and said that if Jaemin didn’t like u, he wouldn’t mind hurting u

•it was super harmless

•unTil

•some other popular ppl walked over RIGHT as Haechan said that

•and he was like oh fuck

•but silently

•bc Haechan knew what Jaemin was like

•if it was just their lil group still, Jaemin would have told hyuck to fuck off

•but Jaemin was terrified to lose his reputation

•he was an insecure boy

•he would have really done anything to keep his position as most popular boy in school

•so when one of his jock friends dares Jaemin to get you to date him until prom, get ur virginity the night before, and then ditch u at prom and tell you it was all a dare in front of everyone and that he never liked you

•well

•he stupidly agrees

•the dreamies agree with it

•only bc they don’t actually think Jaemin will last

•they think he’ll back out last minute and stay w you

•and that Jaemin will finally get u

•wishful thinking

•you were failing math

•it’s not that you were stupid, you weren’t

•you just R E A L L Y hated math

•and your mom was so upset w your grade

•my girl forced u to get a tutor

•good thing u knew mark

•he agreed to meet w you in the library Tuesday’s and Wednesday’s at lunch

•and Thursday’s if you needed it

•thank god 4 mark

•everything was going Super Fine™️

•up until you both look up when you hear squealing and the sound of someone smacking someone else

•and there’s jisung and Chenle,

•staring at you both

•and squealing

•and smacking each other on the arms

•before just plain running out

•”if I don’t go after them, they’ll tell all of our friends that we’re marrying each other, so i should go.” -Mark fucking Lee

•so you’re walking towards your locker to put all of your math work in it,

•and when you open it, a lil note falls out and flutters to the ground

•your smile: 3% -> 95%

•honestly you were kinda having a shitty day

•so you were so happy to see a note in your locker

•you had been receiving love notes since you were in sophomore year

•you don’t remember exactly when during the year

•but one day, they were just there

•you were excited to add another one to your box

•this one wasn’t big, it just said “Your Personality makes me want to be a better person! I hope you have a beautiful day, sunshine!”

•the rim of the paper had squiggly yellow lines, and the bottom had a poorly drawn sunshine, with a heart, like always

•you didn’t know who your secret admirer was

•but you wish you did

•u lowkey loved them

•you’re still smiling about it as you walk into your 7th period math class

•and the note was found at lunch, like an hour ago

•they make you so happy

•you silently sat down in your seat, and stared off into space with a dreamy look on your face

•and THATS how Jaemin knew you got his note

•you always had that look when you read his notes

•not that you knew it was from him

•it made him so happy

•even if you two had never talked before, he still freaking loved that he could make you smile

•Jaemin wasn’t happy for long

•he tried not to let you notice him staring at you in class,

•it was kinda hard, seeing as you two literally sat next to each other

•he couldn’t believe he had to break your heart

•he wanted to die lowkey lol

•but he had to do it

•not really, but really

•so he took a deep breath

•and opened his mouth

Continued here

{taglist}

@ivietea @fiveguysgoodbyeguys @comically-sleep-deprived @woosans-sann @mozartwasajungkookstan @littlefluu @cxcxlxlee @jaesluvklub @uyuzo @sweetie-yoongi7 @marklexleaf

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copias-thrall · 4 years

Text

This is Halloween (Halloween)

Mary expands Suey's world by taking her to a crazy art party.

(Part: 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7; 8; 9)

It’s one of the stretches where you actually haven’t seen Mary in a few days. He’d apparently been by your apartment—dishes were done and he took out your trash—but you’d spent that day hunkered down at a coffee shop so you could have sandwiches with a friend who got a job downtown. And while Mary can be lyrical when he wants to be, his texts are usually brief and full of letters that only make sense to him in his shorthand … so you’re not ever going to get any missives from the front lines from him.

Which is fine: you’re super-busy and full of your own hobbies. Like napping. And complaining. Occasionally you’ll round that out with chip-eating. You’ve never been particularly creative—which makes Mary wince at you every now and then (you love art, you’re just not … adept, and sometimes it seems unfair that he can write music AND lyrics AND doodle great sketches)—but you are a voracious reader. You’d been shocked to find out that not only had Mary read Austen, but he also had a love of Persuasion—a novel you yourself found superior to Pride & Prejudice. He’d been similarly chuffed when he’d realized you liked Chuck Palahniuk for more than just Fight Club.

Which is all to say that when Mary’s not around, you like to combine your hobbies—a little chip eating while you read, only to fall asleep with the book on your face.

Tonight is no exception.

It’s nearly Halloween (it’s tomorrow actually, and you’re only slightly bummed that Mary has to work), so in honor of the holiday you’re working your way through an anthology of Lovecraft. Unexpectedly, there's a knock at your door. You check your phone, but there are no texts.

Hmm.

There’s another knock, so you set down the book and sprint to your bedroom to take up what Mary has dubbed your “Masher Hammer.” You make it back to your apartment door just in time for a third series of knocks. When you look out the peephole, however, it’s clear that whoever’s on the other side is blocking the viewer.

Gripping your hammer tight—ready for swing mode—you unlatch your door and open it.

You’re met with the sight of a Jack O’Lantern.

No—

Not a Jack O’Lantern … some guy with a carved pumpkin on his head.

“Ta-d—Jesus Christ, Suey … put Masher down,” says a muffled voice.

“Mary?”

Mary lifts the pumpkin—a real pumpkin, not a plastic basket from the dollar store—a little off his head enough for you to make out his face. You lower your swinging arm.

“Why is there a pumpkin on your head? What are you doing here?”

He spreads his arms out and does jazz hands. “Mischief Night!”

When you just stand there squinting at him, he finally takes the pumpkin fully off his head. His hair is squashed, and he’s only wearing some light makeup around his eyes and on his lips.

“So, you gonna let me in, or … should I duck?”

“Oh, right,” you say as you step back.

As Mary suanters in, you can see his eyes sweep to the couch where you’ve made a nest of blankets and pillows—your book lying face down, and the open bag chips positioned at an optimal angle on the coffee table.

“That looks nice.” He sidles up to you to squeeze your tits through your hoodie. “Almost makes me want to call it a night and get cozy in those blankets … I could crush those chips and lick them off you before I eat you out.”

His hand slides down to your crotch.

You’re trying to take him seriously, but he’s holding a pumpkin under his arm. You snap at his face.

“Mary—focus. What the hell?”

He gives you a put out look, exaggeratedly pushing out his bottom lip—but it’s soon replaced with a wicked grin.

“Mischief Night! Do you wanna go to a weird-ass art party?”

“An art party?” you ask dubiously.

“No, not what you’re thinking.”

He sets down the carved pumpkin on your table and walks to your fridge, rummaging around before pulling out the pisswater beer he keeps around.

“Think of it as a teen-movie house party—but on steroids and no one there got laid in high school. With, you know: art.”

“That’s … very specific.”

He walks back over to you, cradling the beer in one hand, and puts the other on your shoulder.

“We are under no obligation to participate in the orgy.”

You don’t think he’s joking.

He gives you a once over. “It’s also a—hmm—masquerade, so we gotta get you outfitted.”

Your mind darts.

“I only have those stupid headband cat ears my friend got me as a joke.”

He gives you a vulpine smile. “You’re gonna go as me.”

It had been a fun little party of two as you’d put on a YouTube Halloween playlist from your phone. Mary’d given you a dramatic mohawk with his precious airplane glue, then fished around in the pink makeup bag with hearts (that you’d put his stash in as a joke and he’d kept) to give you his iconic look—blood and all.

There was no way you were going to fit in his skinny jeans, but you’d been able to pair one of his well-worn tees (that you hadn’t already stolen) with your favorite denim skirt. Mary had taken off one of his studded belts to wrap around you—it’d needed a couple of safety pins to act as extensions, but Mary had assured you that that just made the style more authentic. Upon Mary’s request, you’d put on your ripped fishnets, and you had your own worn Docs to complete the look.

“Do I get to be a sex-crazed jerk all night?” you’d asked as you’d admired yourself in the corroded full-length you had propped up by the bathroom.

“You say that as if that’s something new and different for you—fuck ow,” said Mary as you’d tapped his balls.

“So where is this place?” you ask as Mary and you head to the train.

It’s in the old factory district, which means it’s a ways away, but still subway accessible.

“It’s actually in a converted co-op. I think they started out as squatters—unclear—but now it’s above board as a residence and shit. I used to know a guy who lived there for a while—they had sectioned off areas with screens—and he had a corner so he slept in a hammock. Most of the space is for their art, though. What a fucking life to live.”

You look at him, incredulous. “Mare. You live in a 2 bedroom with 4 other dudes.”

He scoffs at you. “We also have a couch. It’s a whole ‘nother level.”

You just hum at him.

When you finally get there—after a few mis-turns in this silent neighborhood full of abandoned brick factories—you’re surprised (despite Mary’s description) to see that the place is lit. There’s a guy standing at the entrance to the parking lot (that slopes dangerously toward the river) checking attendees; it becomes clear that not only is he checking for 21+, but for alcohol and toilet paper. Those without either have to “donate” $10.

“Oh—” says Mary right before it’s about to be your turn. “I’m not Mary tonight.”

“What should I call, then? The ‘Great Pumpkin’?”

“Just not Mary,” he hisses as you shore up to the “bouncer.”

The guy is not in any kind of costume—just grey sweats and a sports team hat. He’s sitting on a bar stool, and he has a little flashlight he’s using to check IDs.

“Hey, guys!” he says cheerily. “Welcome to Magical Mischief Mystery at the Factory. IDs? Ah! TP and suds? Cool, cool.”

He checks your IDs, then looks at you, then your IDs … then at Mary’s pumpkin face, then at you.

“OH MY GOD,” he starts chortling and slips off the stool to grab Mary’s arm. “Mary, you old bastard—I haven’t seen you since Dusty left to get hitched.”

You take a deep breath and—in your best screamo voice—you say, “I’m fucking Mary Goore,” (not a lie) “and he’s ‘Late for Dinner’.”

The pumpkin head turns to you. You can feel Mary’s unamused gaze.

The bouncer starts wheezing so hard that you’re afraid he might expire from laughing.

“Fuck, fuck,” gasps the dude. He shakes his head, eyes watery from mirth, and waves the two of you through.

“I hate you,” says Mary.

“I didn’t call you ‘Mary’, though,” you quip as you slip your arm through his.

“Why do I have to carry all the shit? Here. Pull your fucking weight.”

Mary hands you the toilet paper roll he heisted from your bathroom.

“Are we going to TP something?” you ask as you take the roll from him.

“Heh. No, it’s purely functional. This many people? It’s so the bathrooms don’t run out.”

The two of you enter with another mass of people, traveling through the miasma of secondhand smoke from the smokers. You cough, but Mary inhales deep, sighing. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you gape as you look around.

You and Mary stand on an open floor—which is what 5 or so floors look out onto all the way up. The place is crowded, but not jam packed. There’s a makeshift kitchen area where a dude in a bare chest and suspenders is accepting the toilet paper and libations. Above him is a white sheet that’s stretched out, on which an Art Film is being projected. The film has no sound because in the far corner there’s a DJ spinning, and a group of people are “dancing” to his jams. Mary was right: it’s like some kind of frat party for the artsy set. Because of the theme, most everyone is in a mask of some sort, and people—or groups of people—are making out in corners in various states of undress.

Mary grabs two beers, then leads you to a staircase—there’s a freight elevator by it, but it’s got cheesy Halloween “do not enter” tape blocking it.

“The first year too many people loaded into it, and it dropped 3 floors before the emergency brakes kicked in,” says Mary as he notices where you’re looking.

In a loft on the second floor you and Mary watch a woman—nude and covered in white paint—become the canvas to her girlfriend’s landscape painting.

In what’s clearly a shared bedroom, you and Mary peruse some really great paintings and sketches from what must be a number of the co-op residents.

“You should have told me to bring cash,” you say.

“We can always come back. I know a guy.”

You imagine Mary’s probably winking at you.

On the third floor there’s an inexplicable open-air kitchen attached to a bathroom. In it there’s a dude doling out beer from a keg.

“What’s this,” Mary asks him.

“It’s my homemade IPA, dude! Pumpkin for the season!”

He hands Mary a business card.

“We have a small space in the boonies, but we’re trying to get a brewery up and running in the city. Red tape though, man.”

“I fucking hear that.” Mary takes a sip. “Good shit, dude.”

The guy high-fives Mary.

“One for your girl?”

Mary hands you the solo cup, and you take a sip. You were expecting something grassy and hoppy—but the pumpkin actually balances it out nicely without it itself being cloyingly sweet. When you nod, Mary just lets you have his and indicates to the brewer to pump another cup.

The two of you enter what you think might usually be a studio space, but instead there’s a burlesque performance going on. There are some people making out, but Mary and you watch, rapt, praising the skill of the performers to each other.

The fourth floor has the least amount of people. Someone is doing a reading in one corner, and across the way there’s some sort of performance art going on. A woman stands in a white shift and gauze. Every time a dude who looks like a Nazgul rings a bell, she contorts herself to a different pose with a dancer’s ease.

You roll your eyes, but Mary begs your patience—watching solemnly as she continues.

“What is it?” you ask when the set is clearly over.

“Did you not feel it?”

“Uh …”

Even through the pumpkin you can feel his eyes on you.

“She’s a dancing monkey. Bound and constrained, only ever allowed to perform at the whim of her faceless master.”

“Mary …”

“No—don’t scoff. That was meant for you. It’s an allegory for the patriarchy, and I for one found it quite moving.”

You guess you can see it now that Mary’s pointed it out to you. He takes off the pumpkin, and you hold it while he goes over to talk to the woman. You shift uncomfortably as they engage, and she grabs his hands, shaking them profusely. Mary suddenly points over at you, and the woman waves and motions you over.

“Oh my god, look at you!” she squeals. She turns back to Mary. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it—she looks just like you.”

“I liked your patriarchal allegory,” you say.

Mary twists his mouth at you, but the woman just presses her hands to her chest.

“Thank you so much. I’m testing it out here as a protest piece. A bunch of us are going to travel to different cities and perform outside of big corporations.” She grabs Mary’s wrist. “Your boyfriend is wonderful. His song about—”

“—my band’s song—”

“—the nature of performative gender roles is one of my favs.”

You have no idea which song she’s talking about, but Mary looks pleased. So you’re pleased. You wrap your arm around his waist.

“He is pretty great.”

She lifts her veil to chug the glass of water Nazgul hands her.

“It was so nice to meet you person to person, Mary. I’m going to find the ladies before my next performance.”

“Love your work, Lizzy. I’ll put you on the list for our shows. Show up anytime!”

She bows and shuffles backwards as Mary leads you away.

“You have no idea what song she’s talking about do you?”

“I—” you sputter. “Uh. Dead Things?”

Mary looks at you indulgently.

“I’ll let you think about it.”

It turns out that the 5th floor is off limits to party goers, so Mary—back in his Jack O’Lantern—and you wander down to ground level to acquire more beer and to join the crowd of dancers. At some point the two of you take a break to pee, then hydrate as you add your own dialogue to the film on loop above you.

Back on the dance floor, there’s some skanking, some goth writhing, and some line dancing as the DJ spins his own set and sprinkles in some crowd requests. At this point in the night, most of the attendees have already made passes through the upper floors and are now all on the dance floor. Mary does some goth stomping (his pumpkin abandoned and now being passed around), and you do a silly skank until you slip on a slick spot and fall on your ass. After that, Mary pulls you close and grinds against you, his thigh between yours, both of you buzzed from multiple trips to the bar.

“Do you wanna find a corner?” he whispers into your ear.

In any other situation you’d probably say no … but—for all the crowd is packed—this is clearly a private party, one whose hosts don’t frown upon a little bit of lechery. You guess he wasn’t kidding about the orgy, after all.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

It takes a little investigation, but Mary and you find a room that seems to have been either designated or usurped as the makeout room. There’s a writhing mass in one corner, and the bed is covered in rolling bodies. There’re some breathy invitations—and a hand or two lightly caresses your calf as you walk by—but no one insists on participation further than that.

Mary yanks a pillow from the bed and tosses it to the floor. He pulls you down so that you’re both on your knees, his mouth capturing yours and his hands alighting everywhere. A hand of his sneaks down your skirt, and yours slithers down his jeans—the roving fingers of you each more a prelude than anything, stoking you both up to what’s next.

“Can I fuck you?” huffs Mary.

“Kinda drunk,” you say.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No—just not gonna be very useful,” you giggle.

Because you wore the fishnets you’re not wearing underwear, so all Mary has to do is rip a hole in the crotch area—they’re not even good fishnets, so it’s not like there’s a liner to contend with. He grunts at your wetness.

“You sure?”

“Fuck me, Mary.”

He fumbles with his dick, finally managing to sink it into you. It’s a very awkward fuck—you’re lolling all about the place, and Mary isn’t being particularly steady.

At one point a light turns on only for a Sorry! to squeal out as it turns off again.

You try to swallow your laugh, but your jiggling belly can’t hide your reaction, and soon Mary is laughing too.

“Fuck … shut up … fuck,” he giggles. “I’m trying to get off here.”

You’re just catapulted into further fits, and before long Mary’s soft cock is slipping out of you as he joins you in snickering.

“Crap. I might be too drunk for this too.”

The two of you lay like that for a bit, a feedback loop of laughter, until your belly muscles ache.

“Fuck. Take me home, Suey.”

“Yeah, ok,” you say.

After some readjusting, you both stumble out of the room. The crowd has thinned, but that’s not to say the dance party isn’t still going strong.

“We should get a cab,” you say.

“Cash?” Mary asks as you guys shuffle out of the building.

“App,” you say as you hold up your phone to poke at your cab app. “My card s’on file.”

“Fancy.”

“S’for emergencies.”

“Oh.”

You give him a lopsided grin. “Like staying too late at a factory party.”

There’s a comedy of errors when the cab can’t find you and cancels, and you have to rebook—only to have the same cab automatically cancel your order again. Mary calls the number for dispatch, and they direct you out to a main street. The cab that picks you up is the same cab that voided your reservation twice, and he yells at you for giving him the wrong address.

You let Mary argue with him (content to doze on his shoulder)—the conclusion seeming to be that while you put in the correct address, the app didn’t like it and spit out a close, but different, pickup address.

By the end of the trip, however, the cabbie and Mary seem to be old friends. He lingers even after the driver validates your card, talking with the guy about where he’s from, until you tug on his arm.

“Sleepy,” you grumble into him.

The cab driver laughs.

“We are beholden to our women, yes?”

“Happily,” says Mary as he wraps an arm around you.

“Have a good night,” says the cabbie, and Mary just raps on the car, waving as it pulls away.

“What a cool dude,” he says as the two of you shuffle toward your building.

“Mhm,” you mumble.

“Jesus, you’re useless when you’re drunk.”

There’s a lot of fumbling and stumbling, but you both finally make it into your apartment. Somehow Mary gets you into the shower, which you don’t even realize until it turns on, and you shriek when the cold water smacks you in the face before it has the chance to warm up.

“Why am I still in my clothes?!” you whine.

Mary pokes his head in.

“You fucking serious? You almost bit off my fingers when I tried to undress you!”

“I’m more than just sex!” you yell.

“Just fucking wash your face.”

“Kay.”

You fall asleep sitting in the shower, waking only when the water turns cold. It seems to have had a sobering effect, because you definitely feel more clear headed than when you entered—it’s not as funny to be slightly sober and peeling off your cold, wet clothes. Usually you give your teeth the full experience, but tonight (this morning?), you just give them a quick brush.

For all he seemed soberer of you two, Mary doesn’t seem to have fared much better. He managed to get his shirt off, but he’s lying on your bedroom floor—curled in a ball—still in his unbuckled jeans. It would be amusing—and maybe after sleep it will be—if you weren’t so wrecked. It’s a struggle tugging off his jeans, and he semi-wakes halfway through and starts to shiver.

“Wha—?”

He looks at you blearily.

“Help me get your pants off, Mare bear.”

He blinks down at his legs, then sort of squirms his legs to help you wiggle him out of the black denim. Luckily—disorientated as he is—he’s able to assist you in getting him into your bed; he conks out again the minute you trundle him under the covers. The night outside is lightening, and you know there’s no way you can work tomorrow. Today.

Whatever.

You shuffle into your living room and start up your laptop, blinking rapidly as it boots up. When it finally loads, you send off a missive to your supervisor about potential food poisoning you’ve contracted, but how you’ll check your email later this afternoon. You preemptively down some ibuprofen and sneak some of Mary’s Pedialyte.

Mary seems dead to the world when you climb into your bed, but he’s rolling over and wrapped around you as soon as you’re settled, huffing into your neck.

“Took the morning off,” you mumble.

He hums.

You’re in a good doze when he speaks, jarring you back awake.

“Had fun?”

“Yeah, Mare. Now, shh.”

He mumbles something into your neck, but it’s too incoherent and you’re too knackered to decipher it. You just relax into his koala embrace and let sleep take you.

⬅️Previous | Next ➡️

#mary goore #ofc #feral cats fic #gritty girls #gutter punk #my writing #original post #no smut #...kinda #original content

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duhragonball · 4 years

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7 Comfort Movies

Tagged by @pandemicpicnic . List your seven favorite comfort movies, then tag 7 people.

This is a good thing to pass around, since I could use the diversion, and as I think about this list, I realize how long it’s been since I last saw a lot of these movies.

In no particular order...

1) Dragon Ball Z: Fusion Reborn

I dunno if these are necessarily comfort movies, as opposed to just movies I like the best, but I don’t watch movies a whole lot, so I’m guessing my all-time favorites are probably close enough. Movie 12 is good watchin’, period. This is a movie about everyone working together. Friends, enemies, strangers, the living and the dead, the damned and the divine. I watch this movie and wish that we in the real world could put aside our differences so easily and blow up all the Nazis.

2) Superman IV: The Quest for Peace

People say this is the worst Superman movie, but fuck that noise. This is the only one where Superman throws all the nuclear weapons into the sun. But one of them has a chicken nugget attached to it, which grows into a clone of Superman with scratchy fingernails, his only weakness. So Superman has to kick his ass on/with the moon, and then tell everyone that nuclear war is too big a job for Superman, because we’ll just re-arm the minute his back is turned.

This is a story about high school physics, Luthor. Sometimes the things we fear the most are only the darker side of our greatest strengths. If humanity has the power to destroy itself, then doesn’t that mean we have the power to save ourselves as well? The choice is ours.

3) Spaceballs

Some killjoys actually hated this movie, and point to it as evidence that Mel Brooks lost his touch. I respectfully submit that those people are dumb. Spaceballs came out during the dark years between Return of the Jedi and Phantom Menace, when we all wanted more Star Wars but thought we would never get more. Brooks heard our pleas, and gave us this movie, which is basically Star Wars with dick jokes all over it. People always go on about how Star Trek predicted smartphones and the Simpsons predicted the Trump administration, but only Spaceballs was prescient enough to declare: “Fuck! Even in the future, nothing works!”

This is a story about following your heart. If all you care about is duty, and obligation, and profit, you’ll end up marrying some dullard, or owing your soul to a talking pizza, or roaming the universe in search of air.

4) Batman: Mask of the Phantasm

This is the best Batman movie ever, and maybe even the best comic book movie period. In 1994, Batman the Animated Series was popular enough that they made a feature film and ran it in theaters and everything. I remember some smartass article at the time questioning whether parents would see the point in taking their kids to watch a movie of something that’s on TV for free, which is just dumb. It’s not like they ran four episodes of the TV series for this thing. It’s an original story! Anyway, Batman has to figure out what the deal is with this new vigilante who fights crime with murder, which is also a crime. He also gets very sad in place and it’s very emotional and I bought the soundtrack as soon as I could because I wanted to listen to it and feel things.

This is a story about the future, and promises, and the roads not taken. And when all is said and done, maybe the choices we made were the right ones after all, in spite of our second-guesses.

5) Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi

I considered putting Revenge of the Sith on this list, since that’s usually the one I look up clips from on YouTube, but there’s no topping Jedi. I saw this in the theatre when I was six and everything was awesome. Jabba the Hutt, wint-o-green lightsabers, speeder bikes, Ewoks breaking stuff with logs and rocks, it’s just a pleasure to watch. Also, this movie introduces Emperor Palpatine, and lays the foundation for the Sith lore that made me love Revenge of the SIth in the first place. Not long after we got home from seeing this movie in 1983, I tried to draw this scene in the screencap above, because it left such a deep impression on me.

This is a story about feelings. Every butthole in Star Wars is always telling everyone else what to feel and how much they should feel it, and don’t get too attached to this or that. But in this movie Luke has to exercise restraint and then cut loose, give into his passions and then reign them in, care for his friends and family but also be willing to let them go. Everyone can give him advice, but he’s got to hoe that row himself, and figure it out as he goes. He doesn’t always get it exactly right, but he still gets it.

6) The Transformers: The Movie (1986)

The historians will say that cartoons like the original Transformers were nothing more than glorified toy commercials, made possible by the deregulation of children’s entertainment in the 1980′s. I find this incredibly unfair, because that analysis ignores the fact that Transformers was a fucking awesome cartoon. They’re all robots, so they could shoot and punch each other without any guff from standards and practices. And since the show was designed to promote an entire toy line, there were literally dozens of characters, each given a surprising amount of character and personality. Starscream (center) and Ramjet (right) are practically the same toy, but kids wanted both of them because Starscream is a whiny, shitty drama queen, and Ramjet is a dumbass who likes to hit things with his head. Astrotrain (left) is just a cool dude who can be a train or a space shuttle.

This movie is the height of the franchise, where they could raise the stakes even higher, and introduce even crazier concepts like planet-eating monsters and robots actually killing each other for keeps. I see fans from my generation acting all traumatized over all the deaths, like they never should have done that in a movie marketed for children, but this was a story about renewal. The old order changeth, and it falls to the newcomers to rise up and carry on. I’ve always taken a lot of comfort in the way these characters pass the torch. The Smurfs were never brave enough to have Papa Smurf name his successor.

7) UHF

Geez, I haven’t watched this one in forever. I’d have to double-check to see if I even have it on DVD. UHF was the ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic vehicle from the late 1980′s. I want to say ‘89. He plays a guy who takes over a TV station and runs all these ludicrous shows on it until it becomes the most popular channel in town. It’s basically a bunch of sketch comedy stitched together into a movie, and it doesn’t try to apologize for this.

This is a story of the importance of imagination, and of being true to yourself. Al’s character has trouble finding a steady job, and its’ easy to conclude that there’s something wrong with him, but it’s really just that he hasn’t found the right opportunity for his passions and skills. Once he finds his place, he rises to the occasion.

And that’s my list. Now I gotta tag people. @auralime, @ediblenonsense, @semercury, @twobellsilence, @drowning-in-this-starry-serenade, @cozymochi, and @glintea.

#that shot of the twinkie weiner sandwich is strangely poignant to me #when i was 11 it was hilarious #when i was 18 i was determined to make my own #out of some misplaced sense of patriotic duty to the weird al fandom #then al went vegetarian and it seemed kind of silly #now i watch the scene where he makes the thing and i just feel bad for him because his character's broke #i'm old enough to get the context finally

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kristallioness · 5 years

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2016 | 2017 | 2018

*quietly sneaks back in*... Happy New THIS Year, my dear followers! In Estonia, we have this saying that if you wish someone a 'happy new year' after Three Kings' Day (the 6th of January), you gotta have a bottle of alcohol with you and give them a drink. *lol*

Anyways, I would like to apologize for the sudden disappearance that happened prior to Christmas. I was just busy travelling back home for the holidays, unpacking and putting away my stuff, watching some great, traditional movies or shows on TV, and most importantly, working on those 2 latest masterpieces that I posted (which barely got 30 notes each.. *sigh*).

But as you can (and probably will) see, the year of the yellow earth pig (i.e. my dad's year) was a rollercoaster of emotions and accomplishments, or lacking thereof.

My creative side seems to have suffered the most due to lack of leisure time. I only managed to finish 3 full digital drawings and left behind several sketches or unfinished WIPs (2 of which are revealed here under the months of June and November for the first time, I intend to finish the Korrasami one btw). At least I got to start 2020 with a completed drawing on the very 1st day, ha-ha! Perhaps that's a good omen for this year?

If so, then I hope I'll find the time to finish the rest of the 2019 Inktober prompts, since I only did 4/31 this past October (even though I'd thought of ideas for all of them). I brought all the necessary drawing utensils and sheets of paper with me, so whenever I'm in the mood, I'll try to sketch another one.

*calculates for the nth time*.. I wrote 18,110 words worth of fanfiction, plus 820 words for the UYLD prompts (making the total 18,930). Technically, you can count another 8k+ in there, since it comes from that unfinished story (of Aang taking care of a flu-ridden Katara, as illustrated by the September sketch), which I haven't finished within the last 4 months or so. Plus, I barely wrote 1/5 of the amount compared to 2018.. *hides in shame*

Then again, I was an excellent pupil for picking up an actual book and reading through 150+ pages (which means I have ~300 pages to go). I'm talking about the new Kyoshi novel that came out. As I once said, I haven't voluntarily read a book in years make that 2 years ago (most of the reading I've done in my life is either Tom & Jerry comics, now the Avatar comic trilogies and art books as well as fanfiction online, or compulsory reading during school). But this novel is freaking fantastic superb!

Not only that, I bought all the new comic trilogies and managed to read them through. Damn, did they give me feels.. especially "Ruins of the Empire" (ngl I squeed so hard when I saw the Korrasami farewell kiss on the 1st page of the 2nd part). I can't wait to read the 3rd part this year!

However, I failed to rewatch Avatar last year, and I haven't seen Korra since.. 2016, I believe? Wow, that's 4 whole years.. But I intend to fix that mistake starting from 2020. Hopefully I'm in the mood to start my rewatch this weekend tonight. *fingers crossed*

But as I said, I had much less time to focus on my hobbies since 2019 was the year for finally moving on with my life (sort of, I'm still working on it). I still remember how down I'd been feeling for a while and how valid those emotions really were. The first quarter of the year (+ like a month or two) was a continuous descent into desperation and feelings of utter failure, which already started around the 2nd half of 2018 and only continued to deepen around that time.

Everything began to change when I was first chosen to be part of a 2-month summer internship in an IT company, and I had to start building a new nest in a new location in Tallinn this May. And now, I feel like I've hit the jackpot by getting a permanent job in another IT company this October.

I got the opportunity to work in two different fields, in two different teams within a year. I met some awesome colleagues (a lot of whom are foreigners) and got the chance to really put my English skills to the test.

Thanks to the new job, I also had to go to a free health check, which went really-really well. Despite my nervousness in the beginning, I feel much more relaxed about my physical (and mental) health, cause the results showed that everything's okay (something I'd been worried about since March 2017).

Speaking of health or staying healthy, there were a few sports events that I went to, too. Our team held the first winter team event (it was the first one for me, at least) by going to do archery in a range on the outskirts of the capital.

I watched the football match between 2 teams of our local league at my hometown together with my dad on his birthday. Our home team won the match and came in 4th place overall in the league this year, which is their best result so far (I'm really proud!). And merely days before I started work, I visited the Tallinn International Horse Show for the first time (also with my dad). I last got to watch horses jump over fences or dance to their musical programs ~ 10 years ago, and I loved it!

Event-wise 2019 was pretty full of them. As has become tradition, I went to the Defence Forces parade on our 101st Independence Day (which seemed rather bleak compared to the centennial, even more so since we didn't have ANY snow at the time).

What will hopefully become new traditions, I visited the television tower on the Restoration of Independence Day (where Uku Suviste gave a free concert in the evening), and went to the Veteran's Rock concert (to honour our war veterans) on our Freedom Square on the 23rd of April (since I'm residing in the capital now, I should be able to go again this year).

To continue with the centennial celebrations (yes, some things are STILL turning 100), I saw and explored inside the armoured train no. 7 called "Wabadus" ("Freedom") in the Baltic Station. This armoured train was one of the keys that led our country to victory during the War of Independence from 1918-1920.

There was an even bigger (150th) anniversary to celebrate in the beginning of July, when I attended our Song and Dance Festival. This was a really important, if not the biggest event of the year. I intend to make a longer post about my experience, cause it's something that you foreigners need to see for yourself. I can't simply describe or put it into words, I have to show you some videos and photos.

But while we're on the topic of concerts, I should mention that I went to 2 more at the beginning of June - Bon Jovi and Sting - as well as 2 that were part of Christmas tours in December - Elina Nechayeva and Rolf Roosalu.

Besides that, I went to 6 different festivals, half of which I'd been to several times before, such as the Türi Flower Fair, Jäneda Farm Days (where I went on my first helicopter ride for my 25th birthday present) and the Christmas market in the Old Town of Tallinn.

The other half is comprised of festivals that I'd been considering going to for a while, or which took place for the first time. The latter applies to the Black Food Festival, whereas the "Valgus Kõnnib" ("Wandering Lights") and the duck rally, both of which took place in Kadriorg, fall under the first category.

The duck rally is a charity event held in the beginning of June. Regular people can buy at least one (or several) rubber bath duckies for different prices, which will then be dumped into a tiny stream that'll carry them towards the finish line. This event has grown more popular each year, and the money the Estonian Association of Parents of Children with Cancer (sorry, long name in English!) collects is donated to the Cancer Treatment Fund.

*wipes forehead*.. Phew! I'm surprised, that's a whole lotta positivity for 2019. I think there's one more important, but seriously negative topic I haven't covered yet, but I feel should be mentioned and explained.

When it comes to politics, 2019 was a complete disaster for us. EKRE (Eesti Konservatiivne Rahvaerakond in Estonian, or Estonia's Conservative People's Party in English) i.e. our populist/nazi/pro-Trump party is in the government as of April 2019, thanks to 100,000+ idiots (out of our population of 1.3 million) who voted for them and gave them 19/101 seats in the Parliament.

No, I am NOT going to apologize for calling them a nazi party, because their main leaders have repeatedly supported ideology that's common to nazis (they use aggressive rhetoric, blame the media for making them look bad, downgrade women, minorities, are racist, anti-semitic etc...). And I will not apologize in front of the people who voted for them, because "thanks" to this, EKRE has dragged our country's reputation straight through a mud puddle (not to mention the scandals that have accompanied 5 of their ministers, 3 of who have THANKFULLY stepped down from their positions) and.. *swears like the British*.. it's BLOODY EMBARRASSING.

I am done being nice, I have at least some kind of prejudice about anyone who supports them or their ideals. And I will certainly not let Estonia end up like America. So that is why I participated in two protest events against EKRE and our current government (because the 2 other parties, who were willing to form the coalition with them, are spineless jellyfish that simply seek to hold onto their current positions of power). I'm willing to take bets as to when our government falls (the sooner the better).

*shakes off the frustration*.. Brrr! So besides that, I guess the only downside to 2019 was my spare time falling back in the list of priorities (which shows in the empty square of July).

2020 is gonna be the year of the white metal rat. I can only hope (and take action so) that it'll be just as eventful, and much more creative than 2019. Thank you all for following me (or lurking anonymously) for so long, especially to the bloggers who've offered me support through better or worse! *raises a glass* Here's to 2020!.. *sip*

#personal #shards of Kristal

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quicksilversquared · 6 years

Text

How to Fake A Marriage Ch. 29

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

(AO3) (FF.net)

Marinette was in the middle of puzzling over a kid's summer romper at work when she noticed her phone flashing with a new message next to her elbow. She set the design to the side for a moment to check it, and found a new email waiting in her inbox. Marinette clicked on it and found another commission request, this time from what was apparently a symphonic metal band.

Nibbling on her lip, Marinette considered the email for a few minutes before opening a new tab on her computer and emailing the band name to find out a little more about them. It didn't take long for Marinette to skim the first page and find out that they was a relatively well-known band in their genre, as far as she could tell. If she took the commission and did a good job with the outfits that they were asking her to create- a few stage outfits and some screen-printed t-shirts, and wow were those ever some interesting concepts, her imagination was already sparking- then maybe they could become a long-time client, or at the very least another strong point on her resume for when she was applying to things back in Paris again.

Maybe she could do it. If she set a long deadline, pointing out her normal job and vague other obligations (read: the commissions she had already committed to), then she could push to finish her other projects while getting the initial sketches done during her breaks at work and then approved. The cape they had asked for- well, there would be some screen printing on it, and bedazzling, but overall it wouldn't take long. The rest of the pieces would take a little more time, but nothing too bad.

Marinette really wanted to say yes. Sure, it would be a busy few weeks to catch up, but requests had been slowing down after that initial burst right after Jagged Stone's album dropped (and half of the requests had been dropped after people who wanted custom designer outfits but didn't want to pay custom designer price learned that yes, she did actually expect to be paid fairly, oddly enough). They would no doubt slow all the way to a stop soon, and then Marinette would be left with nothing to do in the evenings while Adrien studied.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. She could do her own for-fun designs, and she did have some mending that she could do as well- her pajamas had a rip at the moment so she had stolen an old t-shirt of Adrien's to wear instead (and Adrien had looked a bit surprised when she told him that she was too busy to do the mending, but he definitely hadn't protested her wearing his clothes). But neither of those things would result in her getting paid extra money, which she needed right now if she wanted to build up any real savings by the time she and Adrien left London. Sure, next year they wouldn't have the expense of her apartment to pay, but that was still months away.

Giving herself a good shake to refocus, Marinette read over the email again and reminded herself to not get ahead of herself. She hadn't even given these people a quote yet and she didn't know if they would be willing to pay the right price. They might drop off when she emailed them back, just like so many others had.

Marinette made a mental note to get back to the band over her lunch break- she could use the general response email that she sent out to everyone requesting a commission and just tweak it a little bit to fit their request- and then set her phone aside to refocus on her design.

With that spark of inspiration still lingering from the band's aesthetic, it didn't take long for Marinette to make a few tweaks on the romper to make it unique. She cleaned up the drawing, and then got it uploaded into her team's shared folder so everyone else on her team could see it and give her some feedback. With that assignment done, Marinette turned her attention back to the pile of runway designs that she had to alter into streetwear looks.

"Nice design, Marinette!" Emily called from her cubicle thirty minutes later. Marinette glanced up from her work and grinned in Emily's direction, even though the junior designer wouldn't be able to see her.

"Thanks!"

"Dibs on making a dress for that line!" Sarah called. "I already have an idea for one to go along with the romper!"

"I'm making overalls!" Abbey chimed in. "And a sun hat. Whatever your inspiration was for that romper, Marinette, I approve."

Marinette ducked her head, grinning shyly as she did. She hadn't expected her piece to be the focal point for their summer kid's line, but it was a good feeling to be so appreciated.

By the time lunchtime had rolled around, Marinette had drafted up three potential runway-to-streetwear outfits. She headed to the break room and powered up her laptop while the leftovers she had brought heated up in the microwave. It didn't take long to alter her basic letter to fit the band's requests, and then it was ready to send.

Before she hit Send, Marinette paused one more time, wondering if she should really even be considering taking the commission. After all, she was already pretty busy, so much so that Tikki had even argued with her about Marinette insisting that she plan at least part of her and Adrien's Valentine's Day date. Tikki thought that she should leave all of it to Adrien, since he was clearly eager to do it, but Marinette hadn't been about to just sit back and not put in some effort for Adrien on their first Valentine's Day as a couple.

Besides, it had been nice to have an excuse to take a break from the designing and the commissions to bake a cake. It was really nice to have the near-instant gratification that came with starting a project and finishing it in only a little over an hour and a half.

"I can handle it," Marinette assured herself, hitting send. Most of the commission would be the screen-printing, and that wasn't hard at all. In fact, she rather enjoyed those kinds of commissions, because just like the cake, they were relatively quick to do and check off the list. Besides, she had already seen how the band's aesthetic inspired her. She wanted to work with them.

Right after her email sent, her phone lit up with another message. Marinette set her laptop aside and grabbed her phone, just as a second and third text came through in quick succession. They were from Alya, and Marinette grinned as she read the messages.

"What is it, Marinette?" Tikki whispered so that the sewing room workers who were taking a break wouldn't hear the voice coming from Marinette's pocket. "What did she say?"

"Alya was just told that she got past the first round of the competition," Marinette whispered back, grinning.

Tikki perked up. "Oh, that's amazing!"

Marinette shook her head, checking her phone again. "Not really. About half to three-quarters of the entrants make it past the first round. The first cut is just to make sure that there's enough research that they've done and recorded to justify needing a trip. Alya knew that she would make that first cut, but it's good to have that confirmation, at least." She texted Adrien with the news, just on the off chance that Alya hadn't let him know as well. "It'll be the next two cuts that we're more interested in."

"Working over lunch again?" Sarah asked, appearing at Marinette side with a sandwich and Marinette's food from the microwave. She slid the hot dish over to Marinette before sitting down to eat her own lunch. "You gotta take a break sometime."

"I was just responding to some email," Marinette defended herself, though she knew Sarah was right. Every other day of the week, she had had sketches to work on over their lunch break. "And I was responding to a text from my friend Alya back home- she's made it past the first cut in this research competition."

"Oh, cool!" Sarah said immediately. "What is she researching?"

By the time Marinette finished telling Sarah about the kinds of things Alya was researching, the rest of her team had arrived and most were listening.

"Oh, I remember hearing about the superheroes in Paris," Abbey said. "Only vaguely, though. Some of my classmates were super excited that there were real-life superheroes. But I bet you know all about them, since you were there and all."

Oh, the irony. "Yeah, they were at my school all the time," Marinette said, only years of practice allowing her to keep a straight face. "There were a lot of akuma fights in my neighborhood."

"Oh, I would hate that," Emily said, shivering. "That would be so scary, to have superhero fights nearby all the time!"

The rest of her team nodded. Marinette managed to just smile and nod, trying not to laugh at what her coworkers' reactions might be if they ever found out that she had been right in the middle of every single one of those fights.

The rest of the afternoon flew by as the entire team came together to toss ideas around for the summer lines and to discuss the upcoming spring/summer Runway week. They ended the day with a strong plan going forward, a good start on their summer kid's line, and a bunch of sketches for the runway-to-streetwear pieces.

(Marinette also ended the workday with a response from the band- they had already heard about her prices from one for the other bands Marinette was already working with and were fine with it, so now she had a whole slew of new outfits and screen-printing screens to design.)

"How's the husband?" Sarah asked, appearing at Marinette's side as she walked towards her apartment building. "I've seen him in passing, but we haven't be able to talk for long. Either he's trying to get somewhere or I am. Or both. Often both."

"One of these days, one of those annoying reporters is gonna overhear you calling Adrien that and they're going to take you seriously," Marinette said, rolling her eyes fondly. Plagg would get along well with Sarah, what with his insistence on calling Marinette Adrien's wife and Sarah's insistence on calling Adrien Marinette's husband. She had even gotten the rest of the team in on it from time to time.

Sarah shrugged. "Eh, who cares about them. I'm not going to say anything to them to get you in trouble, though," she added quickly. "And if they do overhear me, I can just explain that duh, I'm referring to the prank because I was there, don't they recognize me from the bridesmaids photo? I won't say anything about how ridiculously married you two are."

Marinette thought about protesting that and then decided against it, because Tikki had said that in the past, too. If it weren't for the fact that they apparently couldn't hide their "married-ness" from everyone else, acting married would be quite a good thing, really. To her, acting married meant that she and Adrien were comfortable with each other and worked well together, and that was a good thing.

"Have a good evening with your husband," Sarah told Marinette as they separated once they were in the building. She grinned at Marinette's groan. "Don't be too cute."

"Right, right, of course," Marinette grumbled, waving her friend off and trying not to grin as she did. She headed through the door to her floor's hallway and made an immediate beeline to Adrien's door. Her boyfriend would surely be working on homework- he had a lot of projects and papers to do this semester on top of his usual studying- but that didn't mean that he wouldn't welcome the interruption.

And just like she suspected, Adrien was hunched over in front of his computer at the dining room table, headphones plugged in as he worked. Marinette grinned, dumping her bag on the couch and heading over to greet him.

"Hey, kitty," Marinette sing-songed, sliding up behind Adrien and sliding the headphones off. She dipped down to press a kiss to his cheek, and he twisted in his chair to return the kiss. She didn't miss his wince of pain when he twisted and she frowned. Clearly he had been sitting and studying for too long. Again. "Where's your heat pad? You should be using that if you're going to be sitting for so long."

Adrien jabbed a finger over his shoulder. "I was using it when I was sitting on the couch, but Plagg claimed it when I got up to use the bathroom and threatened to bite me if I moved him off of it. I think he likes the heat, because he does this whenever I have the rice pad out."

Marinette huffed and turned to glare at Plagg. Sure enough, he was napping on top of Adrien's rice heat pack on the far end of the couch, looking deeply content even though the heat from the pack was sure to have mostly dissipated by now. She stomped over and grabbed the pack out from under Plagg, ignoring the kwami's squawks.

Tiny god or not, she was not letting him steal Adrien's heat pack, especially not when Adrien clearly needed it. And even worse, it sounded like the stealing the rice pack was a common occurrence.

"I was sleeping!" Plagg complained, floating after her. "And there was some lovely residual heat still, and-"

"This is Adrien's," Marinette scolded as she brought it back to the microwave. "And he needs it. Go sit in the sun or something."

"But I like the heat!"

"It's not yours!"

"But I'm-"

Tikki zipped up after Plagg and twisted his tail, making his squeak. "You can't steal from your Chosen, Plagg!" she snapped at him as Marinette set the timer on the microwave. "You can maybe perch on the pad if Adrien allows, but you can't claim it and not let Adrien use it. And your poor Chosen is in pain right now because he couldn't use his heated pad!"

Plagg scoffed. "No, he's in pain because he was hunched over like an old man all afternoon. If he ever got up and stretched for a bit then he wouldn't have this problem."

Tikki let out a wordless shriek in Plagg's direction.

"As much as I hate to admit it, Plagg is at least partly right," Marinette said as she removed the newly-heated bag out of the microwave. She swatted Plagg away when he started drifting closer, drawn by the heat. "Adrien has to stop sitting in place for so long without getting up and stretching and taking breaks. But having this available to him would have helped." She tugged her (ridiculous) boyfriend off of his chair and face first onto the couch. Once he was settled, she draped the heating pad over the small of Adrien's back and he let out a happy sigh, relaxing into the couch.

"You gotta take better care of yourself, Adrien," Marinette sighed, rubbing his shoulders. A quiet purr floated up into the air between them. "I know your classes have really stepped up this year, but you need to take breaks and stretch. You're all tense."

"I have an exam on Friday," Adrien explained, voice muffled by the couch. "I was studying for that, and then trying to work on my paper. I swear that once I get both of those done I'll be able to relax a bit more."

Marinette dug the heels of her hands into the knotted muscle in Adrien's shoulders, making him yelp. "You'll be able to study better if you aren't stiff as a board, you dweeb."

"Rude."

They fell into silence, broken only by Adrien's quiet purr as Marinette worked on his tense muscles. Plagg floated over and settled on top of the hot pad, burrowing around to make a little divot in the heated rice. After a few more minutes, Tikki joined him.

"Feeling better?" Marinette asked after several minutes. She ran her hand up Adrien's back and into his hair, mussing it further. She adjusted the heating pad so it wasn't in danger of slowly sliding off. "I'm starting to think that I should have made two of these things. Then you could have one on your upper back, too."

Adrien made a happy little noise and wriggled slightly.

"I want one, too!" Plagg announced, rolling over and staring up at Marinette with pleading green eyes. "One that I can carry around wherever I want!"

Marinette gave Plagg a Look. "Will you stop stealing Adrien's if I make you a heat pack of your own?"

"Yes!"

Marinette made a face and gave Adrien a few light scratches behind his ears. She didn't want to reward Plagg by giving him a gift when he was stealing from Adrien (and she didn't exactly have a ton of spare time to spend making a kwami-sized rice pack, especially with the newest addition to her list of commissions to do), but Adrien was apparently unwilling to cross Plagg and risk being bitten. If she gave Plagg a miniature heat pack of his own, then Adrien wouldn't have to deal with his spoiled kwami stealing his when he needed it.

Fine. She would make a mini heat pack for Plagg, then. Maybe Adrien could occasionally steal it for his neck or something, just because turnabout was fair.

"D'you wanna order takeout tonight?" Marinette asked after a few more minutes. "I don't think there's much in the fridge right now and I don't really feel like cooking." She really wanted to get a good chunk of work done on her commissions tonight, and cooking and cleaning up just took up time that she didn't really have at the moment. She reached for her phone, scrolling with one hand as the other rubbed up and down Adrien's back. "Sarah recommended this Greek place. I've actually been there before with the people from work. It's not too expensive and they deliver."

"Sure." Adrien reached his arms forward and stretched, arching and twisting back and forth. "Mmm. I think I'm gonna bring this thing to bed tonight. If I stay here much longer, I'm going to fall asleep."

Marinette giggled and ran a hand up Adrien's spine as he stretched again. "You can take a little cat-nap while our food comes. It might help you focus better once you wake up again."

Adrien laughed and started to wriggle his way upright. Marinette hopped off of his legs so he could sit back up. "It's a little too late in the day for a cat-nap, I think. I'd just end up tired."

"If you say so."

Marinette went to order their dinner while Adrien moved his study materials to the floor so he could lay down and finish some assigned problems for one of his classes while keeping the hot pad on his back. Once their order was in (maybe Marinette had ordered a little more than they would eat, but she liked leftovers for lunch and so did Adrien), Marinette grabbed her tablet and settled down on the floor next to Adrien so she could draw with one hand and rub his shoulders with the other hand.

It was comfortable. Adrien leaned his head to the side, resting it against Marinette's knees as he worked. Partway through their wait, Marinette got up to reheat the rice bag and then resettle it on Adrien's back.

"Thanks, bug," Adrien said as she settled the bag across his shoulders. He smiled over at her as she settled back down at his side and picked up her new tablet again. "My back is feeling a whole lot better now."

"Promise me you'll take better care of it this weekend, when you have your test and the paper out of the way?"

Adrien grinned. "Well, then I'll have another two papers to focus on and another test to start studying for... but I suppose I could manage to screw up my back less than normal once my test on Friday is done."

Marinette sighed. She supposed that that was as good as she was going to get. "It seems like you have a lot more tests than normal this semester." Normally he just had a cluster of exams around the middle of the semester and again at the end, but now he had exams and paper due dates sprinkled through the semester. Adrien always seemed to be studying, but that wasn't a huge problem.

After all, she certainly had enough commission work to keep her busy. More than enough, even.

So much for their be-done-with-classwork-and-projects-by-a-certain-time pact from the fall. It seemed that these days, they worked up to it or over regularly, but it really couldn't be avoided. At least they did try to spend a chunk of time together without commissions or studying distracting them several times a week, even if those times had been shortened somewhat. And of course they tended to try to go to bed around the same time, too, and early enough that they didn't have to go to sleep right away.

"Yeah, I seem to be having tests at the end of every large unit for one of my classes," Adrien agreed. "I think it's because the units are so different, it wouldn't make sense to stick them together. And there's some other classes with a strange exam schedule, or that just have papers instead of exams."

Marinette hummed in acknowledgement, and kept sketching. She was currently working on finishing up a set of preliminary drawings for an earlier commission, and she wanted to get them down and approved soon so she could go and get the fabric and other things she needed at the same time she was picking up the stuff she needed for yet another order over the weekend. Not getting feedback and approval in time would mean that she would have to waste time going on a separate trip to the fabric store, unless she wanted to put to put off getting supplies for that commissions off until she was getting the things for her latest commission.

Needless to say, she would rather not have to do more trips than strictly necessary. And sure, maybe she should be focusing on finishing up her in-progress commissions first, but it was nice to have options for when she got to the fiddly work on a piece and she was too tired to do anything but sew long straight seams for one evening.

She had just finished the basic sketch when the take-out arrived. Marinette grabbed her wallet and trotted downstairs, meeting the delivery guy at the front door. One exchange of food and money later, and Marinette was trotting upstairs with her prize.

"That's a lot of food, Marinette," Adrien said with a laugh after Marinette set everything out on their table. He rolled to his feet with a quiet grunt, snagging his rice bag before it could fall to the ground. "Are we expecting guests?"

"It's not that much." In her defense, she had kind of thought that the serving sizes would be a little smaller. She must have misremembered how large they were. Whoops. "I mean, we'll have enough for two meals, but that's not a bad thing."

They dug in eagerly. Adrien still wasn't looking completely comfortable in the chair- clearly his back was still bothering him at least a little bit- but the discomfort hadn't affected his appetite at all.

Maybe they wouldn't have enough for two full meals after all.

"I might go to bed early tonight," Adrien told her as he scraped his plate clean. "I think that with all of the work I've done this afternoon, I should be in good shape."

"Lots of homework?"

To her surprise, Adrien shook his head. "Well, some. It was mostly cleaning up a rough draft for one of my papers this semester and writing up a lab paper for another class. That stuff always takes forever."

Marinette could understand that. Writing in English tended to take an annoyingly long time as she puzzled over the right words (and the right tenses, and the right form of the word to use, in some cases), and while Adrien had Ben to help get things polished up, he didn't like to give his papers to his tutor in too rough of a shape. "When are your papers due?"

"Most of the rough drafts are due close to midterms, but the lab paper is due next Thursday," Adrien said, making her start in surprise. That was ages out- right? Or had more of the semester passed her by than she realized? "I just want to get the bulk of the work out of the way now, because I never know what will come up closer to the due date. Ben has said that sometimes things can get intense around midterms and that people who tend to put stuff off until closer to the due date end up pulling all sorts of all-nighters. I've been trying to avoid that."

Marinette was of the opinion that Adrien was going a little over the top with trying to be prepared, but maybe Ben was right. Since it took Adrien longer to research and write in his second language, maybe it was a good idea for him to get that as much out of the way as he could now.

"I'm going to stay up a little longer, I think," Marinette said, glancing over at where her sketchbook and tablet sat side-by-side on the small side table. "I have some stuff I want to finish up tonight for commissions."

Adrien pouted at her for a moment, then sighed. "Okay. Honestly, I'll probably just take that rice pack with me and end up falling asleep straight off anyway. And I'll take better care of myself tomorrow, I promise. Really. I don't like my back hurting, either. It make it harder to focus. And it makes me feel old besides."

Only half an hour after they finished dinner, Adrien started getting ready for bed. He wandered into the kitchen to get Plagg his evening cheese chunk and to heat up the rice bag, then paused to kiss Marinette good night before heading back to the bedroom. Marinette watched him go, then turned back to her tablet.

One last cleaned-up sketch, and then she could send the files to her client. It still wouldn't be that late by that time, as long as she didn't spectacularly mess up and, like, delete the file once she was most of the way through it. Saving her work periodically would keep her safe from that, and then she should have time to start on the album cover art that she had just gotten the details ironed out for earlier in the week.

Hopefully.

"I thought you were just telling Adrien about how he shouldn't be overworking himself," Tikki said disapprovingly once Marinette had sent her email with the six attachments and immediately started some quick outlines for the cover art, general sketches and lines to get an idea of where she wanted different elements to go. "And now you're working later than you two agreed on your commissions."

"I'm not overworking myself," Marinette protested. "I just have some things that I need to get done to even come close to staying on track with the number of commission requests that I've been getting. And this particular art needs to get done sooner rather than later, since the shirt designs depend on it."

Tikki did not look impressed.

"I just want to get my general ideas for this drawn out while I still have them in my head," Marinette added. "I'm not going to complete the whole thing tonight. It'll be two hours at most, and you know Adrien went to bed really early."

Tikki's expression didn't change. "One hour more, tops."

"One forty-five."

"One fifteen."

"An hour and a half, and that's all I'm willing to budge."

Marinette went back to her work, drawing and re-drawing lines as she tried to get a rough sketch done. Fifty-seven minutes in and Marinette's rough outline started taking on more detail- though not too much, because then it would get too difficult to replicate as a print on a shirt. Since the band had also commissioned her to do the screen-printing of their shirts for them, Marinette had to make sure that she delivered an interesting, unique cover while still keeping it clean enough that it wouldn't be a pain to print.

Needless to say, Marinette was very happy that the band had wanted the cover in only black and silver, because having to print multiple colors on one shirt was just a pain. It would be simple enough to print in silver-grey on a black shirt or black on a grey shirt, as long as she didn't give in to the temptation to add too much detail.

"I thought you said that you weren't going to design the whole thing tonight!" Tikki complained as Marinette cleaned up more of the sketch. Slowly but surely, it was starting to look less like a quick sketch and more like a proper album cover, though it wasn't anywhere close to completion yet.

"I still have five minutes to work on it!" Marinette protested. She carefully erased a section and redrew a line. "And I'm not going to finish it tonight, you don't have to keep mother-henning me about that. I've still probably got two hours of work left on this for another night, and more than that if the band requests any changes."

Tikki let out a little hmph and zipped off. Marinette checked the clock one more time- now she only had four minutes left to work- and then worked on evening out a line. She had just finished cleaning the upper corner up when her watched chimed, letting Marinette know that her time was up and she had to go to bed.

Trying not to grumble (if she didn't have work the next day, then she definitely would have tried to power through another hour or two of work), Marinette saved her work one last time and powered down the tablet. It got carefully tucked away in her bag, in the carefully padded pocket that she had made just for it, and then she headed back to the bedroom to wash up. It didn't take long, and then Marinette was slipping into bed next to a sleeping Adrien. He was sleeping on his stomach, which puzzled her for a moment until she remembered that he had mentioned going to sleep with his rice bag.

Sliding her hand over, Marinette felt for the bag. It was cold under the blankets, so Marinette carefully tugged it off of Adrien. After a moment's consideration, she headed back out to the kitchen to warm it back up again. Adrien didn't stir when she replaced the pack on his back, but he did let out a happy sigh that trailed off into a purr.

He was such a cat. Marinette couldn't deny that it was really, really cute.

It only took a few minutes more to set up her alarm for the next morning and get it arranged on the bedside table, and then she was sliding back between the sheets. Marinette could feel the heat from both Adrien and the heat pad as she curled up next to his side. His face was relaxed and angelic in sleep, finally free of stress and tension.

"Sleep well, chaton," Marinette murmured, leaning over to press a kiss to the part of his forehead that wasn't obscured by hair. "You need it."

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #How to Fake a Marriage #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #ahh meant to post this earlier but dinner took forever to make

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sofreakinmanyfandoms · 6 years

Text

November 15 - The Chibi Falcon

Halfway through November! This one’s a little short because I’m ahead on my word count and my hands hurt.

Word count: 1360

Warnings: Other than totally BSing the details of this thing? None.

Pairing: Sam Wilson X Reader

By the time the twelfth person had asked you where the “lovely violinist” who used to sit on your corner had gone, you were ready for the day to be over, but thanks to years of practice you managed to keep on smiling. A number of them actually sat down for you to caricatures of them, so it was still a profitable morning.

It had been your spot long before it was the violinist’s, but people seemed to have short memories. You’d allowed your cousin to busk in your normal spot during her summer break, while you’d worked a temporary but well-paying internship. Now her school had started back up again, and you were back to doing caricatures and portraits for tourists.

“Hey there, stranger. I missed you over the summer. Where have you been?”

At the familiar voice, you looked up and smiled. No matter what his reputation was to the rest of the world, you knew Tony Stark as the man who always stopped by after visiting the nearby coffee shop and dropped you a tip, even when he didn’t have time to sit for a picture. Today he was joined by his friend Colonel Rhodes and two others you didn’t recognize.

“Hello, Tony,” you replied cheerfully. “Hi, Colonel Rhodes. I let my cousin take my spot for the summer while I did that design internship you recommended me for.”

“Knew I was shooting myself in the foot with that letter,” he teased. “Got time for a couple of portraits? I’m showing some friends my favorite parts of the city, and we couldn’t take the tour without stopping by the best caricature artist in town.”

“I’ve always got time for Iron Man and company,” you said with a wink. “Who’s first?”

“After you, Cap,” one of them said when Tony looked at the two you didn’t know.

The blond sat down on the milk crate you had for people who wanted portraits and the others settled on a nearby bench. You went over your different styles, finding out what he wanted, and started in with your sketch.

“Add color,” Tony told you, coming up as you started your first few lines. Before the blond could protest, he added, “I’m buying, Capsicle, so no arguments. I like supporting my friends.” He patted you on the shoulder and returned to his seat.

You started a conversation with your subject to help him relax, and it didn’t take long for you to figure out that he was Captain America. (“Please, just call me Steve.”) Going off what you knew about the Avengers, that meant the other man you hadn’t met before was probably Sam Wilson, the Falcon. You silently thanked your experience with famous people wanting their picture drawn for helping you stay relaxed and friendly instead of fangirling all over the heroes.

Even with color, the bust portrait you did of Steve only took you twenty minutes. He was impressed with your speed, and you let him know that the amount of practice you’d had doing portraits over the years had actually made it hard to slow down.

“Is it possible to get a picture in color for a black guy?” Sam joked as he flopped down on the crate.

You flashed him a smile and gestured to the display board behind you. “You’ve got a great skin tone, so it wouldn’t be hard at all. Have you decided which style you like?”

“What’s this style called?” he asked, leaning forward and pointing to a selection of miniature Avengers you’d drawn.

“Chibi. That what you want?”

“Yeah, but can you do me in my gear?” He was studying the tiny Falcon closely with an expression off pure delight. “Or do you need to have something in front of you to draw it?”

“Your gear won’t be a problem,” you informed him. “Not if I’m drawing it chibi, anyway. If you wanted something detailed I would need to see it or work off a press photo.”

“Awesome!” He relaxed and brought one knee up, wrapping his hands around it and leaning back, balancing himself with a well-practiced ease. “Well, then, draw away!”

The two of you talked for the fifteen minutes it took you to draw and color your Falcon sketch (chibi drawings were always faster, even if you did the whole body). You found the conversation fun, and you both spent a good bit of it laughing.

“There you go,” you said, passing him your finished drawing, “one chibi Falcon.”

“You even drew Redwing!” he exclaimed, showing the drawing to his friends. “Look! I gotta say, Stark, this is the best stop we’ve had so far.”

You smiled up at Tony and Rhodes. “Did either of you want one while you’re here?”

Tony shot you a wink. “Pepper thinks I have enough Y/N street-side sketches, but I wouldn’t object to commissioning another painting.”

“Send me a description of what you’re looking for and I’ll get started. My schedule is fairly clear since I haven’t picked up any more design work since the internship.”

“Wasn’t the point of that to get you more design work?” Rhodes asked.

“Yes, but I cleared my schedule to focus on the work they gave me the last three months and it just ended yesterday.”

“Well, gentlemen, shall we be off?” Tony asked, waving for the group to follow and heading down the street. Sam, however, lingered instead of following immediately.

“Would it be alright for me to…?”

“Oh, give it here,” you said with a grin, grabbing his hand and using your pen to write your number across his wrist. “Call me sometime.”

He grinned back. “Absolutely.”

----------

“So, what brings a beautiful lady like yourself to a place like this?”

You turned to find Sam leaning in the doorway to the common room at the Avenger’s compound and broke into a smile. The two of you had been texting daily, but this was your first time seeing him in person since you’d drawn him.

“A rich genius bribed me with money in exchange for a service,” you teased, “or I’d never dream of hanging around such rabble.”

“You finished it, then?” Tony asked, sweeping into the room in his usual attention-catching manner.

You pulled the cloth off the canvas you had brought and displayed your work. “What do you think?”

Tony’s face lit up like a kid at Christmas. “Perfect, as I knew it would be if you made it.”

The canvas was a mass of color. You’d worked off press photos for the details and painted all the Avengers, family portrait style, in their full costumes in front of a statue of the Avengers “A”.

“This is incredible,” Sam breathed, taking in the detail. “You painted this?”

“My talent does extend past drawing caricatures on a street corner,” you smirked. “I’ve done a few other large pieces for Tony over the years. You’ve probably seen them and never noticed.”

“I keep your work in the penthouse,” Tony corrected you. “This is the first painting of yours he’s seen.”

“You included Bucky,” Sam observed, studying the painting closely. “We haven’t found him yet, though.”

You shrugged. “I worked off news footage as best I could for his gear and historical photos for his face. I thought Steve might appreciate having him included.”

“It’s perfect,” Tony declared. “He’ll be joining us once you’ve found him if he wants to, and maybe this will help him realize he’s welcome.”

Tony supervised as Happy took the painting to settle it in its new home location. Sam again hung back to talk to you.

“You really are incredible,” he said, taking your hand. “I hope you know that. Are you free tomorrow night?”

“That depends,” you said with a blush. “Did you have something in mind?”

“Have dinner with me? There’s a barbecue place off 3rd and 73rd if you like that sort of thing.”

“I love that sort of thing.” You slipped your hand from his and grabbed your coat. “What time?”

“Pick you up at 6?”

“It’s a date.” You planted a kiss on his cheek on your way to the door. “See you then, soldier."

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shaniahnoel · 7 years

Text

Fearless Part 3

Word Count: 2422

Warnings: None

Masterlist

To Maggie’s continued dismay, she never bothered to get his number. She figured if he wanted it, he’d ask, but as it was she didn’t need it. By the end of July, they had an established rhythm. Nearly every day at a quarter to four she would leave her house to head to the school and somewhere along the way Fangs’ would slow to a stop and she’d hop in. They’d talk about their interests and hobbies on the way to the field, they’d play for a couple hours, and then the winner would good naturedly taunt the loser on the way home. There’d been a week at the beginning of July when Ari missed playing due to her father becoming protective after Jason Blossom went missing—eventually he let up and when Ari walked to the field, Fangs’ was there. It was an unspoken routine and something about that she enjoyed immensely.

Fangs’ was an easy person to be around, a smile always tugging at his lips. His happiness was infectious, and Ari discovered that any problems she brought to the field quickly faded to the background. She’d begun to suspect that he could tell when she was upset about something as his jokes became more careful and better timed, always coaxing out her reluctant smile. The more she explained their friendship to Maggie, the more she insisted that they needed to date, but Ari was adamant against it; she was sure that it was just another of their unspoken agreements—friends and nothing more. While Ruth privately confessed her skepticism of the situation to Ari, she aided in her defense.

At the beginning of August, there was an abrupt halt to their routine. While they went about their run and game as usual, Ari could tell that his heart wasn’t in it. Over the last month, he’d become quite good; he finally had technique to pair with his talent, but today Ari ran circles around him. Then, far earlier than normal, Fangs’ stopped and went to gather up his things.

“Done already?” Ari’s brow furrowed as she looked at her friend in surprise. He was down only by a point and they had a while to go.

“Yeah, sorry I gotta get back early today,” he smiled apologetically.

“Oh, alright. No big deal. Tomorrow?”

The smile faded slightly from his face. “Nah, I can’t. Probably not for a couple days actually.”

“Can’t handle the pain,” she teased. Fangs eyes flashed to hers quickly, and she thought he seemed alarmed. The moment quickly passed as he laughed. “Nah, I just got some stuff going on over the next couple of days.”

“Alright,” she sighed, “I’ll probably still be here though. Just in case you find yourself free.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

Ari slipped her arm through his as they walked back toward his truck. When they got closer, Ari moved to go to the passenger door, but Fangs caught her arm and pulled her in close to his chest. The hug was brief, tight, and confusing as hell. Ari stared at him, but he just shrugged his shoulders and clambered into the truck. They were physically comfortable with one another, walking arm-in-arm or brushing dirt off the other, but they’d never hugged before. Neither of them shared their personal problems so Ari didn’t press the issue and just attributed the hug to his weird mood. Nothing to worry about, she thought.

At least she did until Fangs’ fell off the face of the Earth. After the first few days, Ari walked to the field and kicked the ball around half-heartedly. Eventually Fangs showed up, but she could tell he wasn’t there to play. It was the first time that she’d seen him in anything but athletic wear. The flannel brought out his eyes, but there wasn’t the usual warmth in them. The conversation was brief, a swift kick to the gut. In a single conversation, her first friend—her only friend—at South Side was gone.

She allowed herself a few days to mope around the house. It was like moving to the South Side all over again, but instead of learning what to do without Maggie and Ruth, she had to get into a routine without Fangs’. Fortunately, the soccer team’s summer conditioning was set to start in a week. She forced herself to practice some more on her own, but she was beyond ready to meet the team.

They were an interesting mixture of girls. A few were athletic and cared about sports, some clearly just thought it was the cutest uniform, and others looked confused about what they were doing there. Ari gave a silent thank-you as the coach refrained from mentioning Ari’s background; she just wanted to be another girl on the team. Two weeks into conditioning, Ari found herself growing closer with one of the confused girls. Her name was Mia and she was remarkably like Ruth. It turned out she’d only joined soccer to please her sports loving family. The two started practicing extra and already Mia was showing progress. Her time being consumed led to less thinking of Fangs’, but she couldn’t help it sometimes.

Then one day as she was walking home from the field she saw him, but as she started to run forward, he was joined by a group of people. They looked to be around their age, but she didn’t recognize them. The leather jackets they wore had a large green serpent on the back that was immediately distinct. As she watched, Fangs’ slipped a jacket on his own shoulders, admiring the fit. Ari glanced at the building he stood in front of The Whyte Wyrm, and realization dawned.

While she’d lived in her little bubble of the soccer field she wasn’t too aware of the South Side or its inhabitants. Her parents had warned her to avoid certain streets, but it was Mia who explained the Serpents, the Wyrm, and the tensions with the Northside. Everything she’d learned about the Serpents didn’t make sense as she watched Fangs’ laugh with the gang, but his vanishing did. As she stood there fuming, his eyes caught hers for just a second and widened. For a moment, she froze taking in the bruise around his left eye, but then the anger was back; it was childish and, she realized later, probably a dangerous thing to do, but she raised her middle finger high in the air and then turned to head home. She heard a girl raise her voice, but Fangs’ voice drowned her out, so Ari didn’t bother to turn around. Her eyes stung as she walked; Fangs had become a Serpent and the Serpents hated Northsiders. Everything made sense in the most painful of ways.

The first day of school had Ari feeling anxious. It was Mia who had accidentally let slip that, technically, Ari and her family were considered Northsiders. Apparently, her house was right at the boundary line for the districts and it wouldn’t help if the other students learned that she came from a top competing school. Now, Ari was not just the new girl, or the girl whose mom worked at the school, or even just the Northsider; No, Ari was all three and she was terrified for every minute of it. To make up for the increased anxiety, Mia had stayed the night and promised to get Ari South-Side-ready. A process that, apparently, had to start at 6:30 a.m.

Sunlight barely peeked through the windows as Mia shook her awake and commanded her to shower while she checked out her wardrobe. As soon as Ari exited the bathroom, Mia walked through the door holding her own clothes. Shaking her head and thinking that maybe Mia was a Ruth-Maggie hybrid, Ari went to her room. Laid out on the bed was a pair of distressed jeans, a Bon Jovi shirt, and her tattered chucks. Definitely not the first day look her mother wanted to photograph, but she trusted Mia that it was the first day look she needed. On another day, she may have curled her hair, but she opted to pull her hair back into a high ponytail. As soon as she reentered the room, Mia jerked it looser causing Ari to cry out. Mia shrugged and motioned for her to turn in a full circle. She clapped, pleased at her handiwork, and the pair headed out the door.

Ari had some regrets about not accepting her mother’s offer of a ride, but the slight chance of disassociation was enough to make the horrid bus ride worth it. When she walked through the doors of South Side High, she tried to appear indifferent to the metal detectors and the presence of security guards, but a glance from Mia told her that she was failing miserably. There was comfort in Mia’s arm around her as they walked to her homeroom.

“Unfortunately, I’m down the hall. Try not to draw attention to yourself, and I’ll see you at lunch.”

“We have that together!”

“Er, maybe, actually I didn’t check. Sorry!”

Mia shuffled away awkwardly while Ari turned into her room. The teacher wasn’t yet in the room, but Ari doubted that he’d have any impact on the chaos. Students threw papers back and forth across the room. A group of leather jackets claimed the back corner of the room, and in the other several students lounged, blood shot eyes and dreamy expressions indicating that they were thousands of miles away from the school room. A chair sat open in the front and Ari made her way to it, attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible. She flipped open her notebook and began to doodle.

“Sick,” the deep voice sounded appreciative, and Ari looked up to find one of the red-eyes leaned towards her from his desk. Ari looked down at her sketch and shrugged. Drawing was her mom’s thing, Ari just liked to dabble.

“Thanks,” she smiled. He nodded and turned back to his friends. Alright, off to a good start already, she thought to herself.

As the bell rang, the teacher rushed through the door. There was a stain on his collar and his shirt was untucked on one side. He seemed disheveled, but there was a fire in his eyes. The class came to order quickly as he set about roll. Most names he didn’t call out, which Ari assumed was due to familiarity. There were a few new names, mostly transfers from other homerooms for one reason or another. Then, there was her.

“Arianna Nichols?”

“Here, sir,” she said politely straightening up in her seat. His gaze pierced her, and he glanced back to his sheet.

“Nichols,” he repeated, “your mother is the new art teacher?”

“Yes, sir.” Shit, she thought, and jumped as a deeper voice echoed the sentiment.

“Fogarty, I see you’ve made some big choices lately, but I assure you that swearing in my classroom is not one you want to make again.”

Ari whirled around and there amidst the leather clad teens was Fangs, eyes locked on hers.

When the bell rang fifteen minutes later, Ari made her way quickly to the door. She suspected that she’d made a wrong turn, but her main focus was putting space between herself and the boy who looked like he wanted to talk. As she rounded another corner, she smacked straight into a broad chest. The impact was enough to throw her to the floor, but the guy just stumbled back a step.

“Watch it, Northside,” he sneered. Ari took in his leather jacket and scanned the hall quickly. Fangs’ was coming towards her, a tense expression on his face. Still towering over her, the man turned his gaze to Fangs. “Can you believe this Northsider? Not even the manners to say she’s sorry.”

Ari didn’t bother to waste another hopeful glance at Fangs’. Gritting her teeth, she looked up and apologized. Snickering, the Serpent walked around her, making sure to kick her books with his boot. She sat up and rubbed her elbow a minute before crawling to gather up her books quickly. A few students stood by and watched, and Ari pretended not to notice that Fangs’ was one of them. She jumped as she turned for her last book and found the red-eyes standing there, book in hand.

“Evan,” he said, extending the other.

“Ari,” she smiled, “Thank you.”

“Sure thing. Where are you headed?”

“Uhm, room 211?”

He let out a whistle, “AP Lit? Dang, Northside, you got a body and a brain.”

Ari laughed weakly. She’d hoped the room number would be subtle and not gain attention, but here she was, the center of it all. Evan moved to put an arm over her shoulder, but before he could Mia was there.

“’Scuse me, we’re gonna be late!”

Without a backwards glance, Mia pulled her by the hand and dragged her through the halls. Once out of eyesight, she jerked them to a stop. “Subtle, Ari, real subtle.”

“It’s not my fault!”

“So, your flirting with a Ghoulie back there was completely nonconsensual?”

“A Ghoul—What? No, I wasn’t.”

Mia sighed and gave her a sympathetic look, “Let’s put it this way. Ghoulies are burn-outs. A million times worse than the Serpents if you ask me. The only reason to talk with them is to get high or get laid. Letting a Ghoulie talk to you like that is a fast track to the second.”

There was an odd glint in her eye and Ari suspected that her knowledge came from experience. The rest of the morning passed without incident, but then came lunch. Thankfully, Mia did share the same period, so she wasn’t left to find a seat among the masses. A quick glance around told her that Serpents and Ghoulies claimed opposing sides of the lunchroom. That’s when things became weird. Evan walked in from a side door, but something was wrong with his face.

“Dang, Serpents and Ghoulies at it already,” Mia muttered turning away from the bloody teen.

“Do people often get their noses broken on the first day of school?”

“Not typically, but poor Evan over there got on the wrong side of a Serpent today.”

“How do you know?”

“Just a guess.” She sounded nonchalant, but Ari caught her glance across the room. Fangs’ was there, looking beyond her towards the Ghoulies. There was a darker look on his face, and Ari realized with a jolt that it was the first time she’d seen him angry.

Taglist: @hippie-taco-lady @my-ships-have-sunk

#southsideserpents #riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #fangs x oc #fangs fogarty #fearless fanfiction #fangs fogarty fanfiction

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wolfy58 · 4 years

Text

1839 July Monday 22

SH:7/ML/TR/12/0005

SH:7/ML/TR/12/0006

SH:7/ML/TR/12/0007

Got up .. Went to bed 10 50/..

Change at Wärö at 6 ½ a.m. had alighted, Adney and I, for a few minutes at a neat farm house at 5 55/.. – we passed thro’ a goodish town about 2 a.m. and again I think about 4 but Adney was snoring at 10 last night and slept well and I slept pretty much from about midnight or before till between 4 and 5 a.m. – no dark – twilight all the night – not much darker then it was at 9 50/.. last night – and at 2 a.m. lighter – I could very well have seen to write – we were 6 miles from Götheborg at 6 a.m. surely the whole distance must be then as according to Handbook 22 ½ Swedish miles – 1 Swedish mile = 7 or 7+ English miles –

The Inn at Wärö (Boberg, 1913)

Came upon the gneiss rounded hills soon after 8 last night – more and more amongst them ever since noir bare hoary rock thinly greening over in patches – sheep – water near the towns but at 8 this morning close upon a fine broad shallow fiord and juniper covered moor and low round gneiss hill all around – the water and wide expanse of rocky moor finely dreary – not a house or a hut to be seen now at 8 ¼ nor for this hour or more – road now rather reddish white sandy, all the soil here and since Helsingborg sandy and peaty as in Zealand – with every where here granite boulder cobble-fence-walls – now 8 ½, ½ dozen scattered wood (unpainted) straw thatched cottages and patches of rye and potatoes – grass, line and oats and hemp some times, rarely – and barley – a few hop plants and wiles by the road side – and now at 8 33/.. stop to change – 3 times more to change – a village in sight en face – and broad space of corn land before us –

Then at inking over accounts and at it almost all just and finished at 9 ¾ this morning – then had our breakfast in ¾ hour biscuit an inch square each of our Jaca chocolate and Munthe’s cheese and water – excellent breakfast – now 10 40/.. right among the low round gneiss ranges – wood straw thatched cottages and sheep – peeps every now and then of the water and range beyond range of low hill – dark and beginning to rain – pealed larger birch timber lying by cottage – little town en face – dreary and barren surrounding these hills yet the latter beautifully formed, the towns and villages picturesque and the if more fertile would be beautiful scenery –

An Inn in Halland (Fritz von Dardel,1863)

Now at 10 50/.. raining hard and stop at Socken at the door of a very tolerable looking white washed wood Inn – apparently goodish little town as we looked up the street from our Inn door at this end of it – 48 minutes have the last 7 waiting for the Dag=bok (Daybook) – best plots of corn (rye wheat beans) here in this round plateau we have seen? – the low mountains here remind me a little of those about Lourdes in the Pyrenees but here they are greener? – more covered with mosses or something – the red-washed red tiled, white chimnied cottages close under the mountains range (12 ¼) very picturesque –

Dark mammalonné dark moss and light green grass steeped hills – Adney is trying to colour a little sketch but does not succeed – wood and green talus at the foot, but crops thin again as ever – alder bushes and young alder springwood here under the mountains left and down to the brook right – contamine here and there by wall side and water side – picturesque little village – cattle – cows chiefly red – 1 p.m. the substratum of our road seems to be fir branches – they peep out at one side – nothing but alders – now at 1 ½ road sandy – still 2 hours from Gothenborg – our carriage terribly

Waiting for horses (Fritz von Dardel, 1838)

We seem to have wound our way along one long valley ever since light – or even since 6 this morning – no water no sea peep since Socken at 10 50/.. – rain on morning some between 12 and one – tho’ still (1 ½) a drop or 2 now and then – now at 1 55/.. almost sunny and fine and sultry – at 2 ¼ Karra pronounced czcheerrääh ½ dozen scattered red wood houses – here at a fault – no more money of the 50 D.B.

12 sk.B. per horse ¾ mile as it would seem by the Dag=bok to Göthenborg from here – but our coachman call it 1 ¾ mile that we now have to go –

The coachman had to pay for waiting till last night as Gross says but not after – yet the 50 Dollars Banco that Munthe said would be enough are done and I have just given him 7 Dollars Rigsgeld and 16 sk. = 5 D. Banco to pay the last steps 2 miles therefore our 5 horses including forbud = 2 ½ D.B. per mile or 120 skillings per mile, 5 horses at 16 each = 80 sk. per mile

50 DB x 48 =

miles 24) 2400 (100

24 . .

All this must be cleared up at Gothenborg

From here Karra the valley narrowed – not more apparantly if so much as ½ mile English wide from hill to hill from each range of low round ridged gneiss partly hoary pitty covered with moss or green of some sort corn and grass along the valley bottom – and red cottages and farms and now (3 p.m.) a neat better house (gentlemans house right – and 3 neat open calèches have passed us coming from Göthenborg – and now a phaeton and then in short we near Gothenborg – pass thro’ wide road now at 3 ¼ cottages and better houses begin to almost line the road – and Gothenborg surely in sight –

Gothenburg 1869

At the Gotta Kallare hotel at 3 25/.. at Mrs Todd at 4 – dinner from 5 ½ to 6 ½ - went to the top of the Swedish church and onboard the Gotta Canal Stockholm steamer – heavy shower – home at 9 ½ -

Margin notes: Socken reminds me of Lourdes

1839 July Monday 22 (journal)

Got up .. Went to bed 10 50/..

Same sort of round gneiss hill moory warty country as since 8 last night – between Qvibille and Slöinge – change horses – Wäro at 6 ½ a.m. Adney and I had alighted for a few minutes at 5 55/.. at a neat farmhouse where we had stopt on some account or other – we were 6 Swedish miles from Gotheborg out of the total 22 ½ at 6 a.m. how slowly we get on –

About 8 a.m. close upon a broad shallow fjord – the water and wide expanse of rocky moor finely dreary – not a house or hut to be seen now at 8 ¼ nor for this hour past – all the soil since Helsinborg sandy and peaty as in Zealand – everywhere granite cobble fence walls –

At 9 ¾ breakfast as we slowly drive along – an inch square each of our Jaca chocolate and Munthe’s cheese and water – excellent breakfast – pencil over my accounts – good job done – at 10 50/.. raining hard and stop at Socken – apparently goodish little town and better corn immediately around here than we have seen in general – the low hoary gneiss mountains here remind me a little of Lourdes in the Pyrenees, but on a humble scale – Munthe said we should reach Gothenborg by 8 a.m. – we seem to wind our way along one and the same long narrowish at times valley ever since 6 a.m. rain for an hour or 2 from Socken –

At last at 2 ¼ Karra ¾ Swedish mile from Gotheborg and here the valley seems not more than ½ mile wide – about 3 p.m. we were evidently approaching Gothenborg – at 3 ¼ neat farms or better houses begin to almost line the road –

At 3 ½ we stopt at the door of the Inn to which Munthe recommended us – the Gotta Kallare – looked full and bustling – the master not at home – only one room vacant – at Mrs Tod’s hotel at 4 – full – I said she must do something for us – at last said there 2 rooms if they would do for us in a private house near – saw them – yes! all settled and washed and dressed and at dinner at Mrs Todds at 5 ½ – to 6 ½ –

Then sauntered out for ½ hour then had her son till – till garçon Anderson came to us at the top of the Dom church (Swedish church) cathedral – service every evening at 7 – good broad stone steps (newel staircase) about ½ the height? then a series of wooden ladders from an hot wooden chamber to another till my head lifted up the trap door at the top – very fine view – over town and fiord – good regular-streeted town and long suburb of Klippen on the water – large village on the hill towards the sea and one large old tower on the top of that hill (one of the old town wall towers) now a powder magazine and another much smaller that we must have passed at no great distance on our right as we came in this morning – beautiful evening –

We then went to the bookseller Geerup for map of Sweden – nice civil man – recommended a payable gentleman interpreter and guide for our journey into Norway – on explanation, it seemed that the man might suit us – to be sent to –

In returning Anderson took us to see the 2 Stockholm Gotha Canal steamers lying close to the pier off the Baths – went on board – very nice vessels – very comfortable cabins for 2 persons at 40 D.Banco and if we took Grotza in she would be 5 D.B. more and might still be on deck or sleep in the carriage – Gross’s place (2nd) would be 10 D.B. and the carriage 30 D.B. – enough to change our mind and make us go from here to Stockholm by steam –

Just returning home when such a heavy thunder shower came on we returned to the steamer for shelter till it was fair – home at 9 ½ – glad to get to bed – fine day, except the rain at 10 50/.. a.m. for a hour or 2 and the heavy shower about 9 this evening –

Margin notes: Socken

Götheborg

#anne lister #ann walker #anne lister code breaker #sweden 1839 #halland #gothenburg

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vinku-iikku · 7 years

Text

I participated in this year’s inktober challenge, if you want to just see the art please go here, and if you want to know what, why and how and some backgrounds behind each one, please have a look at the text under the cut.

I chose to use the official 2017 inktober prompts because I had a hard time finding others that’d suit my needs (I found plenty for couples and very specific ones, I wanted something more abstract), I picked a character I like and to make it interesting an OC of the day too:

The bird (that carries you over a disproportionately small gab) is a practice on consistency and staying on ’model’, the weird bird accompanying it is practise on creativity and getting out of my comfort zone. Both can act as trying new stuff with inking.

Why that bird? I’ll make a separate post about it in a moment.

I used a basic pencil for sketching, and Staedtler pigment liner 0,1mm for inking, all the drawings are on a regular notebook meant for keeping notes I guess. The blog and all posts were made through the tumblr app. I only edited the pictures with crop, making them b&w(the notebook is kind of yellowish white) and added brightness, they are all kind of huge files compared to their size offline.

1. ”swift” Here it starts! It’s very obvious here that I got inspired by the sillier art in Doodle Doods, my original aim was to make one ’normal’ drawing of the bird, and another of the same bird that is way more extreme, gave up on that the second day. I had no idea where to put thicker lines yet as you can see especially on the weird bird.

2. ”divided” Right on second day got a theme for which I couldn’t come up with a good idea. The bird is disagreeing with the weird bird, and the disproportionately small gap divides the amount of birds on screen. Still have very little idea where heavier lines should go here.

3.”poison” Original idea for the weird bird was a bird that’s swum through a thick oil spill in the sea and got it’s wings ripped off, but then I decided I don’t want to draw any gore this month. I’m not sure how it looks like but the bird is supposed to be slipping on the oil on the ground. The holes in the black were supposed to be shiny parts of the oil, but look more like holes.. Accidentally figured out here that making thicker outlines looks good.

4. ”underwater” First thing that got inked was the water, I’m surprised I got it that straight without a ruler. Here’s where I realised I can make varying thickness on the wings of the weird bird, the fluffy side is one time ink, the other side twice the ink to make it thicker.

5. ”long” Original idea was to make the weird bird long-necked lesser dog -style, but then I ended up experimenting with different line styles instead.

6.”sword” It’s a bird-monster with a toy sword vs. sword-monster with a toy bird. Place your bets. Toy sword blade I drew with a ruler, the sword-monster got freehanded, and it shows. Bended uneven knives make harder healing cuts.

7.”shy” Trying out different kinds of curves this day, also first try on making small patterns with the flowers.

8.”crooked” I thought for a while what objects there are in the Waterfall area that could look crooked, the umbrella bucket was the only thing that came to mind. I looked at pixel art of it and tried to get a 3D effect to it, ended up making it metallic-looking instead...

9.”screech” I didn’t want to draw the bird with its mouth open, so looked at Google Translate for any hint of other meanings for the word. Turns out most of the examples were of cars for some reason, but that one sentence stood out so I drew it. That’s Donald Duck’s car, drew it from memory and apparently the part I remember best from it is the wheels.

10.”gigantic” Another harder topic, in the end tried to make an Attack of the Titans reference (I don’t watch the show at all).

11.”run” Tried several effects to make it look like they are going fast, they are supposed to be racing on a highway.

12.”shattered” As soon as I saw the theme I knew I wanted to try draw glass shards, the mirror was added so there’d be a reason the shards are stuck to the ground like that. Another idea was a broken egg, I wish I hadn’t given the egg shells the stronger lines, they looked way better without.

13.”teeming” This was the first to not be made on the day it was supposed to, I was out all day and got home on the morning of the next day. I had to look up this word, apparently it’s used on heavy rain and swarms of insects? The weird bird is inspired by an amalgamate.

14.”fierce” Only thing I could think of is that the bird was fiercely protecting something, here it’s a moldsmal that got hit by someone (that’s supposed to be a bandage on its top). I looked at several videos of aggressive ducks to find a correct pose for the weird bird.

15.”mysterious” Another one that got done next day from when it should’ve, wanted to get a translation done instead. I couldn’t think of anything that’d be mysterious, so drew the weirdest thing I could think of.

16.”fat” I remember seeing some documentary where an animator said chubby characters are the most fun to animate... The look of the bird is inspired by kekeflipnote animations.

17.”graceful” Samples of ’grace’ I could find were ballet-related, so here are two birds dancing. My hand was extra shaky on this day for some reason, it felt like a battle to ink the weird bird.

18.”filthy” Trying fast shaky movement again since the first day drawing, this one worked better I think. also trying out different levels and shades of grime.

19.”cloud” I was really tired that day, drew my biggest fantasy there. Clouds are my favourite natural phenomena, I can stare at the huge fluffy ones for a long time, especially at sunrise or sunset. This was the first one I drew at the kitchen table where I get proper support form my hand, all else up to this point were drawn hunched over the notebook while sitting on a sofa.

20.”deep” Drew the first idea that came to mind, the bottom of the well. I toyed a lot with different levels of shading, still missed a few stones it seems... The perspective was fun to plan! Another one at the kitchen table, I took many progress pictures because I constantly felt like I’d end up shading something wrong and ruin the whole thing.

21. ”furious” How is this different from ”fierce” earlier? I guess it’s more aggressive..? But it’s hard to add more anger to the birds face so I guess the weird bird takes care of that side.

22. ”trail” Immediately thought of footprints. The bird’s holding a magnifying glass, though it looks like a mirror here.

23. ”juicy” All I could think of was fruit juice. Making fruit juice with bare hands (wings?) is a nod to Oofuri, the bird’s gotta have some amazing wing strength to be able to carry people. I made a lot of tiny mistakes while inking, but as a whole they don’t stand out as much as I thought. Weird.

24. ”blind” The weird bird is some sort of fog-monster, but I’m not sure how well it shows. The rippled-effect was super fun to do!

25. ”ship” This prompt was a delight to draw! The paper-hat and boat are made of newspaper, the latter is for bigger monsters, it almost says ’pharaoh’ in Finnish at one place, otherwise it’s just random letters. The water-effect is building on what I learned on the second day, and adding more on the surface. The weird bird’s eye is another window where a tiny monster peeks out.

26. ”squeak” Original idea was mouse dress-up, but then this happened. The instrument is a flute that’s apparently called a ’recorder’ in English, if you blow at it with full force like that it makes a high-pitched squeak-sound (trust me, I have one).

27. ”climb” This day I went on a super long walk since the first snow of winter fell. It was super fun! But I was exhausted in many ways after. The weird bird might be scheming some trick there, idk.

28. ”fall” Acme-style umbrella fall with the weird bird, and the bird falls to the rescue!

29. ”united” Well I could avoid making the bird carry anyone up to this point... here’s united effort to get across together! This is a reference to what Undyne says about the bird in the game, it flew her over when she was a kid. This doesn’t look like it’d take over an hour, but I’m sure there were a lot of failed attempts with almost drowning. I think Undyne is sort of what Pippi Långstrump would be like as an adult, so she has pigtails. Would’ve added the socks too but webbed feet seemed cooler to me.

30. ”found” Pulled this one from the feeling when you find something weird and oh no it’s a bird’s nest and here comes the parent!

31. ”mask” Masks are cool. I like the jokes where there’s a mask under a mask, or the mask is exactly what the actual face looks like. This one has only been cropped(i.e. there’s no colour edits), it pictures all my tools too.

#myart

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as-be-low · 7 years

Text

Time Has Changed Me, Chapter 11

I Long To Belong (But I Always Have To Go)

Home ties me up with discontent Since the day I first went Yearning to be back again, How will I return, and when?

Though tranquil, Sunday was filled with small challenges, most of which included trying not to step on tiny fingers. Breakfast had hardly consisted of anything. Stanley had been quiet and unresponsive and Stella turned her nose up at the leprecorn-infested cereal and refused all but the plain toast Stan had cajoled her into accepting.

There had been no tears on Sunday, but Stanford wasn't sure the sheer malaise was much better. After eating half of the toast and leaving the rest as crumbs across her face and Stan's lap, Stella stuck out a little leg in order to climb down. Stanley wrapped an arm around her middle.

"Wait, sweetie."

"But I want to go outside."

"You're not dressed for outside, sweetie. How's about we go outside a little later 'n right now we play somethin' inside?"

"Okay." Stanley set her on her wobbly feet and she tottered off towards the living room with Stanley not far behind.

"Can we play giggle bunny?"

"...Giggle bunny?"

"Punch buggy with more laughin'." Stanley mumbled. "That only works for cars, sweetie. We'll have to play somethin' else."

Her little face puckered into a frown of concentration. "I spy?"

"That might work, sweetie, but I dunno."

"Giggle bunny spy!" She hopped as she made her proposal.

"What?" Ford couldn't stop the word from slipping out.

"We play I spy and...and...'n we giggle when we see something!" Another hop.

"This game doesn't sound sustainable."

"Shut up, Ford."

"But–"

"Giggle bunny spy. Alright pumpkin. Let's play."

"You go first, Daddy."

"No, you go first. You gotta show me how t'play, remember?"

"Oh." Stella was silent for a moment before snickering.

"Has the game started?"

"Yeah."

Stanford would never understand this "game," and resigned himself to his fate.

Giggle bunny spy soon turned into a nap in the floor for Stella after she laughed herself into a coughing fit. "Giggling is tiring work, it seems." Stanford mumbled as he stared down at the child asleep in the threshold.

"Everything's tirin' work when you're three."

"That may be true." Ford hovered in the doorway.

"You can just step over her, y'know." Step over her?

"No, it's fine."

"You're tryin' t' get out of the room 'n you're just standin' there. Just step over her." He sniffed

"I..."

"Ford. You gonna just wait for her to wake up ‘n move? Just go."

He refused.

With a groan, Stanley stood and ambled over to the pair and hunched over to lift Stella. Ford slipped past, and when he returned, he found the child once again sprawled out across the threshold.

"It's where she wanted to be." Stan shrugged. He made no motions to move her. Well, damnit. Ford lifted his foot high, and with one white-knuckled hand gripping the jamb, stretched to tiptoe over the sleeping lump.

"There. Now, was that so hard?"

Yes. "I could have stepped on her." He could have broken her tiny fingers. His heart raced at the prospect. His thoughts wandered back to his childhood, when he and Stanley had been cornered by the neighborhood bullies and gotten into a fight. He’d made a fist wrong and broken his hand and had to be taken to the hospital and gawked at. He didn’t want that for Stanley’s child. She didn’t deserve it. “I could have stepped on her.” He could have broken her fingers and ruined her hands and—

"Ford. It’s fine. Calm down." A few minutes later the child sat up, groggy and rubbing her eyes. She bumbled to her feet and crept closer to Stanley, who pulled her into his lap. She hunkered back down. "Still sleepy, sweetie pie?" She didn't reply. "Alright, sweetie. Go back to sleep." Ford watched as Stanley began to rock her from side to side, the movements slow and clearly practiced. Sure enough, Stanley's eyes began to fall heavy-lidded themselves and the two were soon sound asleep. Ford watched them for a long moment before actually moving. A pen slipped into his hand while the other slapped flat against a leather-bound book. The scene was too pristine to let it pass unnoted, and he’d yet to document their visit.

And so he sketched, taking care to hatch out the details of the napping scene across from him. There were better, more precise ways to commit it to memory, he knew, but this one brought him the most satisfaction in that moment.

His hand traced the lines of Stan’s face, which was a great deal more relaxed than he’d seen in over twenty years. He wasn’t smiling. There was just… an absence of anything, if he was honest with himself. Stanley was just asleep. No sleeping with a smile, no frown. An absence of any discernible anything. Even as children, when Stanley slept like the dead, there was a certain careless ease with which he did so. Not anymore. Even his sleep seemed to hold that standardized disinterest Stan seemed so eager to front.

And so Stanford wrote.

After many years since our last encounter, Stanley actually agreed to meet with me once again. Imagine my surprise when my long-estranged brother returned, and with a child in tow, no less! I have a small niece, and her name is Stella. I have yet to ask for her second name. I suppose I should get around to it soon, before the question becomes out-of-place. She’s quite small; Stanley says she’s three years old, yet I’d assumed she was barely two. Despite her small stature, her resemblance to Stanley is quite striking. Stanley refuses to tell me who her mother is, so I find it safe to assume that I wouldn’t know her anyway. Nonetheless, there’s something familiar in the features she doesn’t share with Stanley, or myself by extension, I suppose. Her hair is certainly curly, as would befit any Pines, but there’s also something about it I can’t quite place.

Hair aside, she and I share the distinct misfortune of having inherited the polydactyl gene, though she doesn’t seem to have noticed yet. She’s too young to understand the birth defect now, but I fear she will learn, in due time, how distinct her hands are in comparison to others. I can only hope that other children will not be as cruel to her as they were to me. Though he insists that he does not want to turn her hands into an ordeal for her to be ashamed of, I can’t help but worry that Stanley’s indifference towards the matter will cause more harm in the long run, from our personal experience. Our very first day of school was none too enjoyable with the realization that my hands were decidedly not the norm.

He hatched out the details of the little girl’s hair as she dozed.

Little Stella is certainly a charismatic child and it’s evident that Stanley loves her dearly. He’s changed a great deal from how I remember him.

Is it my fault?

Stanford’s brow furrowed.

She seems to be a content little girl, despite the circumstances. I question the normalcy of it, though I suppose I should rather appreciate her versatility than wish upon her the turmoil that such a life must surely bring. I can’t help but wonder how Stanley managed it. She seems accustomed to such a life, though not bitter or resentful about it in the least. Is it that she doesn’t know enough to feel indignant? I shouldn’t wish such on either of them. Stanley has suffered enough. It’s a wonder that he appears to have shielded his daughter from the brunt of it.

Her current interests include:

Naptime, apparently

Being held—she seems to be a very affectionate child. She must get that from Stanley

Stanley himself—she insists on remaining in his company and the depth of her affection nearly moved him to tears the day prior

Coloring and the color green

Giggling, running and playing in water—she’s quite adept at all three

And worst of all, the Leprecorn! I don’t understand what it is she sees in the horrid creature. It does nothing but play annoying music, stand in the way, and giggle. Maybe she likes it for its giggling. If that happens to be the case, perhaps a hyena would make a better companion.

Stanford left the pen in place as he stilled, the ink crawling across the page to feather into a crackling pattern as the nib lingered.

How was it possible for Stan to care for a newborn with no means, and from the backseat of a car, no less? I shudder to think of the ways in which such a situation would have compounded the inherent difficulties of childrearing. It’s astounding that Stella survived infancy. Statistically speaking, she should not have survived.

His eyes flitted back up to Stanley, catching the hint of a frown that began to curl across his features. Stanford let the ink dry into the page before flipping to the next.

It pains me to accept it, but Stanley appears to be much worse off than he was the last two times I saw him, which is saying a great deal, since he was (still) homeless the first time, and just plucked from who knows where on the other side of the portal the second. He seems worn out completely. It’s as though he’s just done with everything that arises. It’s a long ways away from the brazen and outgoing child he’d been when we were young.

His physical condition is more shocking than I anticipated. Stanley has numerous scars and injuries, though I must admit I do not know at what juncture each appeared, save for one.

His hand lingered as he hesitated over the words, inadvertently bolding them with his shaky letters.

I do not know how Stanley survived the brand.

His thoughts strayed back to an earlier journal entry, the one he’d written after sending his brother through his hellhole. Fool Fool FOOL FOOL FOOL—He’d nearly gouged through the page with the force with which he bore down on the nib. The same frenetic force had kicked Stanley against the metal that seared and bored into his skin. I killed my brother. I know I did. I killed him and he is dead. Stanley is dead because I killed him I did it myself I—

Ford remembered the page well. His eye had wept tears and blood again, and the oxidized stains crackled when he turned the pages. These two pages had blessedly stuck together, though it didn’t matter. They were still stuck well within the forefront of his mind. I never wanted to but he won’t know that because he’s DEAD and it’s entirely my fault I killed him twice I killed my brother three times—It was true. Thrice he’d killed Stanley. He’d killed his dreams when he’d shut the curtains on him and turned away. His future died along with them. He’d killed his flesh when he kicked him into the branding plate, and he’d killed and damned his existence when he sent him through the portal. He’d been so eager to condemn him for his past affronts that he stepped into the roles of both jury and executioner without a second thought. He hadn’t considered that it would actually take him from this earth until it was too late.

He’d managed to bring him back if only the husk, but it was far too late to bring his spirit back, wasn’t it? That died and withered a long time ago.

The only thing that seems to engage Stanley, other than frequent spats with me, is Stella. The child has him wrapped around her little fingers (all six!!) and I doubt he would have it any other way. I don’t know how not to instigate a fight with him, apparently, as most interactions end with at least some tension. I believe outward actions may be a better means of communication in this circumstance, though the theory remains to be tested. He seems to take offense at several smaller gestures, though with the potential aid of my own mouth.

I can only hope this will prove successful.

Stella sneezed in her sleep and woke herself in the process. Stanford raised an eyebrow, forcing back a chuckle as she sat up and searched for the culprit. She squinted at him.

“I believe we’re supposed to cover our mouths when we sneeze, Stella.”

“No.” she rubbed her eyes before settling back down. Sleepyheads, the both of them. Ford smiled. He’d let them sleep for the time being.

Hours later, a sharp inhale of air preceded Stanley’s eyes peeling open. “Ugh.”

Stan had woken up stiff and sore, Ford could tell. He’d made that same face enough. “…You alright?”

“Yeah.” He grumbled back.

“If you need, I’ve got some—”

“I’m good.” So he wouldn’t admit to his obvious discomfort. Alright.

Stella was still sound asleep in her father’s arms as he inched his way to his feet to pace with her. Wasn’t that for children who were upset? She was asleep. What was the point?

When she finally did wake, Stella slapped a hand to her face to rub at her eye, letting out a little whine as she tried to take in her surroundings.

“Hi, sweetiepie,” Stanley cooed, in a voice so gentle it unnerved Ford. “Hi! Oh, sweetie, you’re okay.” The child had begun to whine as she turned her head from side to side. “It’s okay.” Stanley shifted her to place an onslaught of kisses to her pudgy cheek and gradually the small whimpers turned to faint giggles. She rested her head against his shoulder. “That’s more like it.”

He stood in place and rocked for a few moments before she spoke up. “C’n I go play?”

“Outside?”

“Yeah. I wanna play outside.”

Stan mulled it over. “You’ve been so quiet all day. Sure.”

“’Kay.”

“Let’s go get your coat.”

The pair wandered outside while Stanley finagled a little arm through a sleeve, his own thin jacket tossed over his shoulder. “Lucky!” Stanford heard a set of hooves lope across the porch. “Hi!”

“TOP ‘O THE MORNIN’ TO YA!”

“OHH. Oh. It… It actually does talk. Geez. Okay. Alright.” Ford heard a series of stomps and hops interspersed with laughter. He could have done without the leprecorn’s laughter. “Yeah, you two practice gallopin’. Good plan.” Stan’s voice was muffled.

Stanford let the syncopated clomping fall to the background as he turned his attention back to the stacks of paper strewn across his worktable.

By the time he looked up from his work, the sun had long since set and Stan and his daughter had been tucked away upstairs for what might have been hours.

≈

The following day, Ford waited for Stan to make his way down the stairs before stopping him in his tracks. “We should go out today to buy a baby gate.”

“The f—I don’t know what it is you’re gettin’ at, but whatever it is, it’s too early for this.”

“It’s necessary.”

“Ford, can I at least set my child down before you start throwing sh—throwing stuff at me?”

Ford relented long enough for Stanley to do just that, and watched as his brother sat his groggy daughter in the kitchen chair. She let out a whine on contact with the wood, and he promptly lifted her back up. “It’s a good investment.”

“Listen t’what you just said and think about how that makes any sense.”

“Stanley, I’m serious.”

“So’m I. We’re not gonna be here that long. What sense does it make to buy a baby gate?”

“The point still remains that it would be useful while you’re here.”

Stan paced in place for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as though he were interrupting himself. “Why are you doing this, Ford?” his voice was barely above a whisper and everything about that screamed wrong in Stanford’s ears. Stanley wasn’t supposed to sound like that. That broken, ragged tone was not supposed to leave his mouth.

Stella, who was slung over Stanley’s shoulder, looked around for a moment before giving Stanford a grin. “Hi!”

“Good morning, sweetling.” He hummed. She stuck her hand out and it took Ford a moment to realize he was probably supposed to take it. “Oh.” He offered her his hand and she strained to grab it, clamping two of his fingers in her tiny fist. Ford stared at the small digits. It earned him a coo. How sweet. She was certainly a happy baby, and for that, he was thankful.

Stanley moved to step forward, not realizing she had a grasp on Stanford, and garnered a yelp from all three parties for it. As he froze, Stella stuck her free hand out towards her uncle.

“I… You want me to carry you?” She was already in Stanley’s arms, why would she want him? Her little free hand waved in the air and he reached for her, hesitant until she slid out of Stanley’s arms and her weight dropped into his. Ford pulled her close and tried to imitate Stanley’s posture, unable to school his face into anything other than shock as she wiggled and made herself comfortable. He craned his neck to get a better look at her. “Ah, good morning?” Her warm little cheek pressed against his as she leaned in despite his efforts to inspect her face. He couldn’t bring himself to mind. “Stella, would you like to go to the store today? We could get some things.” He offered.

“Stanford!”

“Yeah.” Stella hummed, unenthused yet without her father’s outright disdain for the idea. Her hand came up to his shoulder and she balled the fabric of his shirt into her fist. He might’ve been dismayed if he’d ever cared about wrinkled fabric.

“I…” He wasn't sure what else to say. How did one hold a conversation with toddlers? “Are you...having a good morning?"

“Yeah.”

“Good. I'm glad.”

"Stella, sweetie, let's get some breakfast in you. You want some of your cereal?"

"No." She reached for Stanley all the same.

"No? But it's got Lucky on it."

"No."

"Toast? How 'bout toast?"

"I don' want any." She frowned. Stan sighed.

"Okay. Whatever. You'll pipe up when you're hungry. What about thirsty? D'you want some milk?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Okay. But only a little!“

Stanley plucked his child from Ford's arms and placed her back in the chair, ignoring her little huff as he pulled out a glass. "Here, pumpkin."

"And you?"

Stan paused. "What?"

"What'll you have?"

"I'm good."

"Stan."

"Ford." He mirrored his tone.

Ford pursed his lips. "I'll repeat. What should we have for breakfast?"

"I'm fine, Ford." Stanley mumbled, clearing his throat shortly after. That didn't sound fine. His brother eyed him. “Stop worryin’ about it.”

“Someone has to if you won’t.” he grumbled under his breath. Stanley shot him a glare and he made it a point to ignore it. "I'll try not to ruin the eggs again."

"Ford, don't bother."

"I will do exactly that." He heard Stanley force a groan from between pursed lips. "I'm assuming scrambled is fine? Because I'm afraid any more than that might be asking a bit much at this stage." He turned to look at his brother, unnerved by the way he'd contorted himself to lay his head against the table without disturbing Stella and her glass of milk. "Are...are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Ford." Stanley sighed. "It's just a headache." It sounded like an afterthought.

"Are you sure?"

"Ford."

"Right. Sorry. Maybe. Possibly. I suppose."

"Oh, sweet Moses."

Stella jerked her glass away from her face with a cough and Stanley bolted upright. "Shit, sweetie, are you okay? Please tell me you're okay." She wiped at her eye as he patted her back and it took Ford a moment to realize the egg in his hand was now the victim of his balled fist.

"You said a bad word." Her little voice was watery.

Stanley's nervous chuckle was high-pitched and wavering. "Sweet Moses, don't scare me like that. Don't drink so fast, okay?"

"I didn't!" Her small voice had a slight rasp and she struggled to clear her throat. Stanley leaned her forward as he thumped her little back. After a few moments she began to hum, her voice rattling.

“Now you’re just playin’. Feel better?”

“Yeah.” She drawled the word out.

“Good.”

Ford’s shoulders loosened as Stanley pressed a kiss to her forehead and he looked down at the egg dripping from his wrist with a scowl. “Tch. Wonderful.”

Stanley turned, poised to speak, then paused. “Oh. Egg. Gross.”

“Suffice it to say my appetite has been lost.”

“I was tellin’ you that before.”

≈

“Ford, enough with the baby gate. It’s fine.”

“Didn’t you say it only takes a second?”

“I—Oh, fuck you.”

Ford had kept at it for hours. Stan did his best to ignore him, but he was only a man. He could only put with so much before he snapped, and he refused to do that in front of Stella again. He gave in instead. He only wished he could wipe that stupid smirk off of Ford’s face as he buckled himself into the passenger seat of the Stanleymobile.

“It only takes a second.” Stanley mimicked as he finished buckling Stella into her car seat and folded himself behind the wheel.

“What?”

“Nothin’, sweetie. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” She seemed uncertain as her little feet flopped to and fro in the seat.

Baby gates.

They were headed two towns over for a baby gate. What sense did that make? What did he have to do to get Ford to understand? They weren’t gonna stay for long. Coming up here was a stupid idea.

They just needed to grab the cheapest baby gate they had and run back out. That wasn’t too tall of an order.

This was Stanford Pines. Of course it was a tall order.

Once inside, Stanley grabbed a basket and plopped Stella in the seat. It’s too early for all of this. “Baby gates. C’mon.”

“Why?” Stella piped.

“The baby gate? It’s for you.” He gave her a quick peck on the nose, satisfied with her little grin. That’s my girl.

“Why?”

“Beats me.”

“Now, Stanley—Oh, wait.” Stanford stretched out an arm to still Stanley, his spare hand reaching out to point to a shelf.

“What?” Stanley’s eyes trailed upwards to follow the line of Stanford’s arm. “No. Not at all. Absolutely not.

“Stanley, be reasonable.”

“I’m perfectly reasonable. You be reasonable. No one needs 100 Toaster Pops. Put that back.” He caught Ford wincing at his daughter and glanced down. Stella’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men as she gripped the basket’s handle bar, one hand creeping towards Stanley’s. It seemed her worried little face was the only thing that convinced Ford to acquiesce.

“Fine. But bulk stores like this are an excellent opportunity to stock up on much-needed items.”

“Mmm hmm, and Toaster Pops ain’t one of ‘em.” It was with determination that Stanley pushed the basket up and down the aisles. “Really, Ford?”

“What?” This was why Ford wanted to come all the way out here? Did Ford not expect him to catch on? Jesus Christ, he was dumb, but he wasn’t that dumb.

“Really, Ford? Really?”

“What? What, Stanley? What?”

He’d caught the man in the middle of tossing something extra into his basket. “Really?”

“A multi-pack of shirts is a necessity, Stanley. You know this.” A necessity for who? Stanley just stared at him. This was all too ridiculous for words. “You know I buy shirts in multiple sets.”

“And you have those sets, Ford. You don’t need any more.” Stan grumbled. “You’re not buying this for yourself.”

Ford was silent for a moment as Stanley scowled. “And if I’m not? It that really so bad?”

“Yes. Put ‘em back.” The pair stared at each other, long and hard. Fords scowl matched Stanley’s and he cocked a brow, reaching for a nearby pack of socks. “Ford.” Stanley’s shoulders fell. Why was he doing this? It was damn near taunting.

“It’s going in the basket, Stanley.” Ford’s voice was soft but he still found it abrasive all the same. Where the hell did he get off with all of this? Ford sent him a searching look. Oh. He was trying. Was that it? Trying or not, Ford was out of line. Stan glared at him for a few moments.

“Come on. We’re not even on the right aisle for Pete’s sake.”

“Very well.” Very well. Stan was able to stop himself from mimicking Ford out loud, but only just.

“C’mon, sweetie pie.” Stella’s little hands splayed out over his as he pushed the basket. She was pouting up at him. He leaned down to place a kiss to the tip of her nose. Still frowning. He kissed her again. And again. And blew a raspberry against her forehead. There we go. “There’s that lil’ baby laugh.” He grinned, speeding the basket along. He’d find the baby gates his damn self. Maybe Ford wouldn’t be able to pick up more shit without a basket to throw it in.

He’d been wrong. Stanford went and got a basket of his own and passed by father and child as they made their way across the store. Damnit. Stanley wanted to shove the damned thing against a wall. He paused to hold Stella for a little while, after she’d grown fussy and tired of riding in the basket. He figured he’d get tired of riding backwards with nothing to look at but his ugly mug, too. The only problem now was that she refused to get back in the basket.

“Sweetie, I need you to sit here. What’s wrong?” What had gotten into her?

“No. I wanna stay with you.”

“I’m right here, pumpkin. Right here. You know that.” Stanley sighed and hefted her higher in his arms. “What’m I gonna do with you, huh?”

“No.”

“Let’s go find this gate before you get any fussier.”

“No.”

“Oh, geez.”

Ford had beaten to the children’s section. He’d propped two gates in his basket—because of course he did, when one was already overkill— and was mulling over diapers? Stanley thanked his lucky stars Stella had been easy to potty train. It had still been absolute hell, but considering his circumstances, he figured he’d gotten off easy. “Stanford, she literally doesn’t need those.” He leaned in to inspect a brightly-colored box at the bottom of the basket, underneath the gates. “Ford, put the Blebbos back. Seriously? Space Princess Magic Castle?” Ford had always loved the stupid little blocks when they were kids. Of course he’d pick up a set.

“She may like it, Stanley.” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. And where would she play with it? For once, reading would actually save Stanley. He lurched forward to reach into Ford’s basket, ignoring the little whimper Stella gave him as he stepped away.

“Look.” He stretched an arm out to place a hand on her tummy, hoping to placate her. “Ages six and up. Choking hazard.” He watched Ford blanch.

“Shit.”

Stella whined.

“I didn’t realize. I just thought she might like to put it together, I didn’t—“

“Ford. It’s fine. It’s fine, okay? She just doesn’t need that.” Ford gave him a crumbling nod and placed the box back on the shelf. Stanley turned back to his own basket, adorned with his wet-eyed baby doing her best to reach for him. She let out a little hiccup. He wilted. “Oh, sweetie.” He pulled her into his arms and she immediately grabbed a fistful of his hair. He figured there was no putting her down now. He settled for swaying from side to side, letting her bury her wet little face in the crook of his neck. “Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” Ford swooped in and transferred the contents of Stanley’s basket into his. “Oh, for fu—would you just leave it?” he hissed.

“No.”

Stanley let out a guttural groan. “Let’s just go, okay? We’ve been here too long.”

They didn’t make it three yards before Stanford stopped to look at an endcap. He was staring at more baby items. “Stanford, no.” Stan whispered, one hand rubbing smooth circles along his child’s back. “No. Just stop.” This was entirely too much. He wanted to be sick.

“What does she need?”

“She needs you to not do this, how ‘bout that?” He didn’t appreciate the glare Ford sent him.

“Stanley, be reasonable. I want to do this.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to.” Her stuff was fine. Some of it was big enough that he didn’t have to worry if she hit a growth spurt soon. It’d be fine. He’d get away from Ford and all this stupid shit and he’d be able to start scrounging and saving up again once he paid him back, and he’d be able to get her stuff when she needed it. Right now, she was fine.

“I’ve decided it’s my duty as an uncle.”

“You don’t do these things for Isaac, I bet.”

“Isaac doesn’t—“ Isaac doesn’t need them. He dared him to say it. “Isaac isn’t here right now.”

“Stanford—“

“I only have one niece.” He only had one nephew, too, if they were gonna play this game. “And one twin.” Stan was certain he wasn’t supposed to hear that. He didn’t want to hear it. He bit down on his tongue and pushed a heavy sigh from his nose. Deep breathing never calmed him, but there was a first time for everything. “What does she need, Stan?”

Stanley shook his head, holding his lip captive between his teeth. “No.” There was no way in hell.

“Stanley. I want to do this. It’s the least I can do, all things considered.”

The least he could do was stop humiliating him in public, but Stan didn’t see that happening in the next century.

“What about socks? I didn’t see many that had mates.”

“Oh, for… She needs some of those lil’ stretchy baby pants. ‘N some jammies.” Stan grumbled. He did his best to keep his voice as soft as possible. It was either that or shout, and even he wasn’t dumb enough to want to do that in the middle of a store. His little girl looked on the verge of tears as it was. Part of him hoped that Ford didn’t hear him. Another part knew that he’d only ask again if that were the case. This shit was mortifying, why couldn’t he figure that out?

Stella began to scrub her face against his shoulder. “Look, can we speed this up, Ford? I think she wants to be here ‘bout as much as I do.” She was probably tired. She’d never had a definite naptime, but she’d usually have fallen asleep at least once by this point.

“Right. Okay.” Stan watched Ford reach into a rack of children’s clothes before he paused. “She wears a size—”

“Get 3T.” Ford’s brow wrinkled at that, but Stanley chose to ignore it. It might be too big, but she could grow into it that way. If he was gonna waste money, there was no need to waste money on something she wouldn’t be able to use as long. He began to bounce slightly with each step, pacing back and forth along the aisle. He was too busy soothing his fussy child to notice Stanford grab an oversized stuffed unicorn and shove it in the basket, underneath the second baby gate.

Of course Stanley noticed the stupid horse once they reached the cashier.

“What is this?”

Stanford pretended not to understand for a moment. Smooth. Real smooth. “It’s a stuffed animal.” He sniffed.

“Ford. Seriously? She doesn't need that thing.”

“Look at her. She loves it.”

“Her eyes are closed and she can’t see it.”

“She wants it.”

“She—You didn't even ask. She didn’t ask.” A trickle of both shame and panic ran down his spine. What if she would have asked? He would’ve had to say no. What if she didn’t ask because she knew that already? Did she understand how decidedly not well off they were? She didn’t need to grow up that fast. It’s my fault if she does.

“It's a unicorn. She likes unicorns. Of course she wants it.” Ford rolled his eyes as he held the large fabric beast up for the disinterested clerk to scan. “She should have nice things.”

Stanley’s lips curled back taut and pressed against his gums. “Are you saying I don’t think my child deserves nice things?” His voice was low and gentle, but oily black venom dripped from behind his teeth all the same. It was a disgustingly low blow. His stomach coiled and knotted like a spring. “Is that what you think?” He loved his little girl. He knew damn well that she deserved this world and a thousand more. He knew there were so many things she deserved that he couldn’t provide, and he knew there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He knew he was failing her as a parent. He was failing her, but he was the only parent she had, and he hated it. He hated that she was stuck with his sorry hide, and he couldn’t help the thick, heavy guilt that accompanied his joyful pride for having her. He could have strangled Stanford, then and there, if it wouldn’t have woken his daughter. He could have strangled him, and it wouldn’t have meant a thing because he was right.

“I—That’s not what I meant.” His voice was emphatic. Of course it wasn’t. As smart and well-spoken as Ford prided himself on being, that wasn’t what he meant. Sure. Stanley turned away from him and stalked out towards the parking lot. “Stanley—“

“Shut up, Ford.” He could hear the basket wheels trailing behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care either way.

The two fumed their way towards the Stanleymobile, and Stanley buckled Stella in while Stanford maneuvered the large boxes in around Stella. She’d woken up with a whine in the process and Stan fumed as he watched Stanford reach into one of the bags to pull out the stupid unicorn. He handed it to the disoriented child, bleary-eyed and confused by the fuzzy waste of money she couldn't even wrap her arms around. It was as big as she was. Why the fuck did he buy that thing? Part of Stan was sure Ford bought it just to piss him off. She didn’t need that thing, hadn’t even noticed or asked for it, and Stanley didn’t have the space for it. Where was he supposed to keep it? Maybe she could use it as a body pillow back there until she outgrew it or it got too worn-out to keep.

Stanley couldn’t afford these things, and Stanford knew it. All he was doing was setting a precedent that Stanley wouldn’t be able to keep up. Another entry to the list of things he couldn’t provide. It would end up being nothing but trouble.

He kept his eyes trained straight ahead on the road as Stanford mumbled out the occasional direction back into Gravity Falls.

Here, have a thing that I did.

#Gravity Falls #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #reverse portal au #single dad stanley pines #angst #fanfiction #thcm

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