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whocalledhimannux · 3 years

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@peregrer the What. 👀👀👀 *insert John Mulaney gif of "say more right now"*

ok so when I say "the extent to which I've fleshed out the QT GBBO AU in my head is getting to be embarrassing," I truly and deeply mean it, please enjoy 1,900 words of utter ridiculousness.

first, our competitors:

Legarus - performs so poorly that viewers are a bit confused how he got on the show in the first place, a la Jamie (series 10) or that one guy who made a lime and chocolate cake in the first week.

Chloe - nice flavors and good ideas for decorations, but pretty sloppy. was up for elimination in the first week but came back with a great showstopper.

Melheret - good but not as good as he thinks he is (hence his bread week elimination because of sloppy technique), heavy-handed with the alcohol flavoring

Agape - solid competitor, not flashy but tasty + pretty results. I haven't worked out exact week-by-week themes (that would indeed be Too Much) but I imagine this is something like "Dairy" or "Caramel" or "Vegan," some particular element she just happens to not be strong on. viewers are disappointed by her early elimination

Teleus - Dad contestant. brings in a bunch of weird pans and gadgets he made up himself, does pretty well until it comes to Fiddly Foreign Foods he doesn't know (probably eliminated in French or Patisserie week)

Laela - typically has good flavors and pretty designs but technical knowledge is a bit lacking, so there are usually some flaws in the execution and she's often in the bottom half of technicals

Phresine - Grandma contestant. nails the classics but ultimately isn't creative enough to make it further.

Magus - the "Ian (series 6)" flavor of Dad contestant, often brings in foraged ingredients or eggs from his own chickens or whatnot and revives old recipes/flavor combinations no one else knows about. one week, some of those turn out to just be too weird, leading to his elimination.

Sophos - pretty elaborate decorations and good flavors (on the border of classic and new), but he tends to try a million different embellishments on everything and struggles with timing, occasionally to the detriment of technique.

Kamet - always has really interesting and different flavors and tends to do well in technicals especially, assuming he doesn't get overwhelmed. which is... an assumption (Finalist)

Costis - leans towards classic and indulgent flavors, although sometimes a bit sloppy--the kind of contestant where the judges look at his dishes and say "it's a bit of a mess" and then Paul Hollywood starts laughing because it still tastes delicious (Finalist)

Irene - absolutely stunning visually, queen of the technicals, occasionally gets the "style over substance" warning (Winner)

more details below the cut

I've gone back and forth on whether Eugenides should be in it but ultimately I decided no because I wanted to maintain a pre-show relationship between Laela + Kamet (I thought otherwise at first but then I realized I hadn't left Kamet any longterm friends or family for his finalist video and that's depressing af) and Irene and Sophos which to my knowledge hasn't happened once on the show so far? so having a married couple on top of that seems like it would be a stretch, and also then I think I'd need to make Eugenides the winner on principle and you know what? he can stand to be second fiddle to his wife for a little bit. My alternate backstory for him is that he was actually the winner of MasterChef one year (good with knives), so in the first episode Irene's first little chat to camera is something like "my husband's been bugging me for years to try out and I keep telling him he's got a skewed perspective on cooking competitions, finally I applied just to shut him up... and here we are." Her little video introduction is about how baking is a stress relief from her bigshot job. Her decorations tend to be abstract and gorgeous rather than cutesy.

Kamet, likewise, was nagged into applying by Laela, but she very cleverly framed it as she wanted to apply and wanted him to do it to for moral support. both were confident the other would get in and surprised that they did themselves. This is one of those series where everyone's friendships are immediate and obvious and super adorable (cast of series 10 my beloved...), and in particular these two are holding hands in episode 1. Laela's deep blue robe from TaT sticks in my head for whatever reason so I imagine her making an elaborate blue peacock cake or something one week that wins her star baker. somebody always does a peacock something and it's always impressiev.

Phresine is cool as a cucumber under pressure, always has lovely things to say about everyone else's bakes, and is the go-to last-minute helper because she usually comes in under the time. Irene starts out similar but as the weeks go by she starts to feel the pressure a bit more and cuts it a bit close. Sophos is the worst on timings, and mentions his wife at least once an episode. (I also played with him being single on the show and meeting Helen later through Irene and Eugenides, but this idea is too cute to pass up tbh.) Teleus lives with Relius, a fact that isn't mentioned until a few weeks in when he comments that Relius likes a recipe or gave him an idea for a flavor or something (Relius does not bake himself but will happily sample practice bakes), to the surprised delight of every viewer whose favorite contestant is the oldest gay in any given series (me, me, that person is me).

Costis tends to use a lot of chocolate and, as I said, pretty "classic" flavors--one of those people who makes a full English savory bake at some point. He's usually in the top half of the competition but doesn't get the top until one of the later weeks in the competition, which is a Honey themed week, and he absolutely nails it. The delicate decorations of his honey nut cakes and his use of honeycomb are particularly praised and that's the week he gets star baker. One of those bakers who flirts with elimination the first few weeks but noticeably improves over the course of the show.

My most, like, plot-y ideas are about Kamet (SHOCKER). I imagine he was born in Setra (I usually make Setra a non-autonomous region in my AUs) but arrived in Britain as a child due to [Unspecified Crisis] and ended up with foster dad Jeffa, who was roughly from the same region but not Setra itself; whenever Kamet wanted Setran food as a kid, Jeffa would take him to the library to find recipes and that was what sparked his love of baking. He's well-read on the subject and knows about foods from a lot of different cultures, so he's usually heard of the technical challenges even if he hasn't made or eaten them. He does a lot of fusion flavors, and is ALL ABOUT bread week.

I don't usually make the his-relationship-with-Nahuseresh-is-romantic leap in modern AUs but I think it works for this one because of the nature of the format--Nahuseresh doesn't actually appear on camera but is alluded to once or twice, ends up being Very Displeased that Kamet is doing something for himself, and during the week following Laela's elimination they have the fight that makes Kamet realizes this is actually a terrible relationship and he needs to leave now. He calls Laela to let her know what's up and mentions that, since he'll need to stay in a motel and has presumbly lost his job as a secretary (yeah working for your boyfriend is Bad, he's realized that now), he's going to have to drop out of the show. Laela, despite living in a studio flat without room to host him, immediately thinks "um fuck that" and calls Costis, and within an hour Costis and Aris and a few rugby buddies have moved all of Kamet's things into Costis and Aris's flat, where Costis insists that he'll squeeze into Aris's room (they've shared before, it's fine) and that Kamet gets first dibs on the kitchen for all bake off practices.

None of them actually reveal any of this to the show's producers. Kamet gets a little overwhelmed the following week and nearly walks away from the tent, but Costis jumps in to keep his bake from being ruined, and some soothing words from Irene + the hosts calm him down and he returns to finish. The only mention of the Drama comes in the finale, during the longer video clips they do on each of the contestants. Kamet is deliberately vague about the details of the situation, but Aris shows up in both Costis's and Kamet's videos and references the fact that having TWO flatmates in the bake off is a bit difficult because they only have a standard size kitchen, so he hasn't cooked for himself in a month and has been living off cake and savory breads. one of the hosts talks to Kamet in the tent after that clip is shown and he still won't talk about it in more detail, but says that he wanted to tell people so they could appreciate why Costis hasn't practiced as much the last few weeks (the judges scolded him for winging it a couple of times), and admits that he totally copied some of Costis's techniques for honey week based on watching him at home.

I imagine the finale task is something like an illusion cake--probably with a bunch of additional required elements because the show has been going bonkers with the finale showstoppers in the newer seasons--and Irene wins with a jewelry box containing, among other things, ruby earrings made out of candy. Kamet does a stepwell, and Costis does something architectural (I was thinking castle but something visibly Greek-ish so maybe a temple or a megaron? idk). Irene wins but they're all BFFs and that's obvious, so everyone's delighted for her. The little montage at the end reveals that Irene + Gen are expecting twins, that everybody hangs out all the time, and that Costis + co recently helped Kamet move into his own flat where he's now working on a novel (Immakuk and Ennikar inspired, obvi, leaning heavily on the honey-shared-on-the-road thing and including some recipes that actually work in the narration, albeit still written in an ancient-novel-like-way).

[Obviously not part of the show, but when Kamet mentions that it's time for him to look for his own place, Costis tries to v awkwardly invite him to stay forever and Kamet is like "nope I've got to try this on my own but yes we will go on a date once I've moved out and see how it goes from there."]

[This is so far beyond the scope of the show but also several of them go on to have more baking-related careers and have active social media presences and at one point they're all hanging out and Eugenides pulls out a camera and demands they all produce baking pick-up lines. Teleus refuses and also doesn't believe anyone knows baking pick-up lines off the top of their head or could make them up on the spot. Sophos sort of proves him right by coming up with "you're the apple of my pie," which Eugenides instantly mocks because Sophos's three greatest loves are baking, Helen, and poetry, and that's the best he can do? Helen comes up with "I like my cake the way I like my men--rich, sweet, and bright red," to which Sophos blushes on cue. Irene's is "when I'm with you, I feel like chocolate heated to 50 degrees--I struggle to maintain my temper." Eugenides protests this is more like an anti-pickup line. Irene insists this is the most accurate marriage-related baking pun anyone could ever come up with.

[Laela's is "You and I are like custard--I hope we never split." Kamet's is "You remind me of bread, because I knead you." Costis freezes for a minute and finally comes up with "Fancy a cream horn?" which produces a lot of giggling and makes Kamet slap his arm in such a way that, hen Eugenides posts this video to instagram, fans of the show all go WAIT ARE THEY DATING NOW] [by this point, yes they are] [I didn't even have to google baking pickup lines for this, guys, I legit came up with them on my own, please clap.]

am I obsessed? I might be obsessed

#queen's thief #attolia irene #kamet #costis ormentiedes #sophos #eugenides #teleus #eddis helen #laela #oh dear I bet her tag is virtually unsearchable #sorry laela

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radiowallet · 3 years

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DVD Commentary ask:

I know it’s a little bit longer than 500 words but can you tell me about ‘The Blanket’ from ‘Tied’?

I think that’s my absolute favourite piece so far from that series 💚🖤

Ellie! Your favorite! Really? *my heart*

The Blanket is interesting piece because it was a prompt and I don't usually expect those to fit as seamlessly into the main story as that one did. The original ask was for the the first time someone referred to First as Grogu's mom in front of Din.

My original plan for that prompt had been to go full tooth-sweet fluff and set it after Grogu comes home from the hospital. Have the three of them out somewhere, running errands or at the park. It would have a lot of blushing, stammering Din and equally flustered First because technically her name isn't on the adoption papers, so, no, she's not mom and it would have ended all cute and fuzzy like.

BUT- I kept coming back to one very specific part of the prompt- Din's reaction. I kept thinking about how, at the heart of this thing I’ve created, this story is Din’s. This is his journey from lonely, workaholic, cocky surgeon to not-so-lonely but still cocky surgeon. What would it be like for him to have something so obvious be presented to him in an arena where he couldn’t grumble and stomp off? What would that look like and how would he react?

Once I decided it was going to be from Din's pov and focus on his reaction, I KNEW I had to stay within the hospital, and I knew First couldn't be there, but again, this slid so perfectly into what I have already planned for Grogu's time in the NICU.

A few things that I'll touch on that I was really proud of:

He swaps out the rocker someone had moved next to the baby, switching it out for a hard backed chair, settling in and sliding the cover off his tablet.

This was so intentional- Din is not there to relax with his kid. He is not. (Stubborn man). Also it was my nod that First had been there. She would prefer something comfortable like the rocker.

a dad and a mom sitting together, hands clasped, heads resting against one another.

The very thing Grogu doesn't have. Yet. This was symmetry that I was hoping would mirror the only other baby in the NICU. Zero next of kin show up for Grogu. He’s truly alone, but...not really.

At this point Din is spending a lot of his free time with Grogu. What he's reading, the medical journals on his tablet, are actually research articles about the treatment of preemies. He's actively looking for ways to help the little guy, even if he doesn't really want to admit it. The internal struggle was important to me, him talking to the incubator then getting mad at himself. I really wanted to drive home that he feels connected, but he just can't admit it to himself yet.

“It’s a good sample size, and the results skew positive, kid. I’ll show this one to Peli. Maybe she’ll actually listen to me this time.”

In the medical world, another specialty giving their opinion on a case is a huge faux pas. Din is an asshole for doing this. Din does not care.

Then the family comes up to talk to him. This can happen from time to time, especially in a NICU. There's a camaraderie from going through something like that, watching your child go through something like that. I especially love how I still managed to work flustered Din in. He is in such denial at this point, he has no idea how to verbalize how he feels about Grogu, and to be fair, the situation is odd.

Then they bring up First.

NOW, I can't say much because SPOILERS but things are not well for them currently. There is some...tension.

You must have been taking care to sneak them in around his own trips to the NICU- he hadn’t seen you outside of the OR in weeks. Not since- well- Din frowns,

Not a lot of people caught this because I threw it in so casually, but it was intentional and there is definitely more to come here.

THEN THE M-WORD GETS DROPPED!

And Din's brain literally stops working.

Her words stop him short, and Din can only nod, unable to form words around the lump in his throat, watching as the couple goes back to their own corner of the room.

I love Din’s reaction here. I love showing emotions through small little movements. It’s my favorite thing to do as a writer. He can’t even think a thought in his head. All this very intelligent man can do is nod and swallow because, yeah, he wants that. He wants Grogu and First and this is first time really recognizing that thought in his own head, even if it is happening in a very clumsy way.

he perfect shade of mossy green, the same color sitting atop the kid’s head, was a blanket ready and waiting for a baby that may never need it.

The blanket is just a cute nod to the fact that a lot of surgeons do exercises to keep up dexterity. First knits. A lot. It helps relax her after a long day. She has homemade blankets and hats and scarves all over her apartment. Bringing them to the babies was a no brainer. Grogu was the only one who got a special color though. <3

Director’s Cut Ask Game - Come ask me about a scene

#tied fic #lovely inbox message #Dr. Din Djarin #Din Djarin AU #I have no idea if I did this right

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hoochy-coo · 3 years

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Hii Jessie, how are you? Hope you are doing fine <3

So I wanted to ask you something, how did you discover what you wanted to do? And since you like fashion and music etc, have you ever, at some point considered, working with it?

I’m in my early 20s and so far I still don’t know what I want to do, and I feel like I’m wasting my time because while all of my friends are already in college or working with something they like, they already “found themselves” in a sense and I feel really lost. I would love to work in a more creativity environment kind of, within the fashion or music industry but at the same time I’d like to work with something more… I want to say meaningful? Like something almost like you do you know? That helps other people. I don’t know if I’m making any sense haha.

Anyway I hope this isn’t intrusive, but I found really interesting that ask you answered about what you work with.

Hi! Yeah, I’m doing well. I’m still stuck in lockdown but I should just be grateful that I have the privilege of working from home and that my friends and family are all safe and healthy. Hope you are doing good as well x

This might be a long one but:

I did have a period where I considered going into music journalism or something along the lines of that. Basically, my first part-time job (that I kept for the rest of my high school years) was at a record store and you know, it’s a dream for every music lover to be around music that often and to that capacity. They ended up letting me write the weekly newsletter (like reviews, announcements, mini interviews with local bands that came through for small gigs, etc.), which kinda got me thinking that maybe that’s what I wanted to pursue in the long run. After that I started finding odd internship at smaller magazines and even newspapers but I quickly realised that it wasn’t for me (for multitude of reasons). I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do for a while after that, but then I started volunteering for the Red Cross during my last year of high school and spent a lot of time helping out with the prison program (which basically entailed supervising younger kids during the family visits on the weekend). That was when it clicked to me that I really wanted to do something relating to reform and ended up looking into legal studies and criminology for uni. I know my current job is in research but my uni work experience was actually with the Child Protection services. I ended up in research because I was lucky enough to have been offered opportunities, but I don’t necessarily believe that you need to do the exact thing that you were working towards at the beginning of your education. My advice to you is to look into volunteering or interning in as many areas of interests as you possibly could. Sometimes you can envision yourself ‘fitting’ into a certain career but from my experience, once you get there and spend a few weeks in that environment, it’s a completely different story. By integrating and getting hands-on experience in different fields, it’s going to give you a sample-size to work with and you’re going to be able to sit down and go ‘ok, this part of the job was good/rewarding but not so much this bit’ or ‘I didn’t enjoy that at all and it’s not going to work in the long-run.’ That way you’ll be dwindling down on which career path suits you best and if you ever decide to go in that direction then you’d most likely have already met people along the way that can help guide you or provide helpful advice on how to get there.

Also dnw, your message isn’t intrusive at all and what you’re saying makes a lot of sense to me! I think ‘discovering yourself’ is supposed to be for your 20s but imo, most of us don’t really know what we want to do and feel lost at times. I assure you that you’re not alone and just because you haven’t decided on a set path it doesn’t mean that you’re “falling behind” your peers in any way. Honestly, A LOT of people go to school for one thing and don’t even end up working in that area afterwards. Your friends are the few of the lucky ones, because half my friendship group are doing something completely different to what they wanted to do 3-4 years ago lol.

#ask #answer #good luck and if you need any more help then don’t hesitate to send another message!

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foster-the-world · 3 years

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So Tired

Feeling exhausted but trying to get through our taxes. Has any foster parent ever 1. filed an amended return after they got a social security number. I am sure we won’t get him a birth certificate or social security number before filing or 2. printed out your return and submitted it with the social security number left blank. Turbo tax claimed we could do this but it seems odd.

Today Bee was a mess with outbursts all over the place. Earlier this week my in laws took the girls to the park. Due to Covid we haven’t seen them much but they are almost two weeks out from their 2nd dose so we should be seeing them more often. My MIL spent 15 minutes giving a play-by-play of Rebel refusing to leave the park. There’s a reason we call her Rebel. Kindly, my FIL pointed out they were very good the rest of the time. My MIL said “well we had an interesting time.” When someone is speaking about your child you knowing “interesting” is not a good thing. Next time I’m making my husband listen. The long drawn out story could have been told with “Rebel first refused to leave the park. She left after about five minutes.” Last weekend we went inside somewhere for the first time in months and month. We found a bowling alley with 50% occupancy and six foot partitions between lanes. We had so much fun the first round. Then Rebel was acting a fool and we had to leave. Both of my girls are very stubborn (like myself) and it’s exhausting.

I don’t have a big sample size but my guess is that my kids aren’t particularly poorly behaved. Before 2020 I would have qualified them as chill/on the easy side. I mean they def had their moments/days in the past but we’ve found 3.5/4.5 age range to be very challenging. Watching them turn into real people is amazing but there are a lot of emotions all of the time and THERE ARE TWO OF THEM! We get through a tantrum with one and the next starts in. I realize many people have a lot more children than we do and children with real behavior issues but I’m still really tired. I have heard from twin parents that there is something different about parenting two children who are at the same page developmentally. So maybe that’s it? My sweet little girls still act like their sweet little selves often but the constant flow of emotions is a lot. I know it’s a lot for them, also but again that doesn’t make me feel less tired.

Baby boy remains the happiest baby that sleeps and eats like a dream. Sometimes when the girls are acting up his sweet little smile will calm them down. He’s 85-100% for height. I’m clearly not used to having a tall baby as I keep buying clothes that are too small. He was busting out of the 12 months pants I bought him. He’s only 8 months. He seem to have a good lawyer as she made some phone calls the same day I called about the missing birth certificate/social security card. We’ve never had anyone in the foster care world be so responsive. She was “surprised the agency hadn’t already solve this problem.” I find every single situation that comes up the agency acts like this is the first time it has ever happened. None of our three cases have been particularly unique so I’m 100% confident each situation we’ve faced has happened thousands and thousands of times.

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inscribed-in-asteroids · 4 years

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AN: here’s the first chapter for “the ripple effect”, story by myself (I’m still under anesther on AO3/tumblr) and character designs by @queenofthelanternfish. the pinned post gives the gist of it, and the note on AO3 adds further detail, so make sure to check AO3 more.

Title: The Ripple Effect

Characters: Entrapta, Hordak, Odessa (fanchild)

Pairing: Entrapdak, features other canon couples

Rating: M

Read on AO3.

Return

Entrapta breathes in the air, chest lifting from the inhale, “Wow, I forgot how fresh Etheria smells.”

Hordak looks at Odessa, “How are your olfactory senses?”

Odessa gives a delicate sniff, “Normal functioning. The medicine is working.”

“Good. The last time we arrived, you could not stop sneezing.”

Entrapta sits on her hair, the strands extending out in long strides, keeping up with her family. Readying the map, she gushes, “You had the cutest little sneeze.”

“I hate sneezing,” Odessa frowns. “It’s torture.”

“That’s why Hordak and I made sure you’re well this time! It should last the duration of our stay.”

Odessa nods, still tentative about breathing. Etheria is beautiful, but she could do without the pollen.

Sunlight streams down from the heavens, the sky melting with brilliant colors. Imp’s shadow skirts across their forms as he mimics various sounds, with Emily rolling in front of them.

Birdsong is foreign to her ears, no matter how often they visit; too used to the whirs and clanking of a laboratory and makeshift garage. Fauna and flora tread through their environment, teeming with powerful magic. As they proceed through the woods, she collects a sample of glowing energy, handing it to her mother for future study, to see how well Etheria continues to fare.

She has come here only a few times in her life, at the behest that she visits her parents’ friends and acquaint herself with her Etherian half. She doesn’t mind, but when you’ve traveled beyond stars and suns, Etheria is welcoming as much as she supposes it can.

She does find Bright Moon pretty, at least. Though it could be grungier.

She takes her time as her parents and siblings continue on, being warmly received by the king and queen of Bright Moon. She stares out at the Whispering Woods, crossing the bridge in silence.

“Imp has gotten big!” Bow says, patting the top of his head. Smiling at the happy sound of purring, he addresses Hordak, “We didn’t think he could age.”

Hordak shrugs, “Neither did we, but we’ve been checking his growth spurts for the last year or so.”

Coming into view, Glimmer greets Odessa, “Hey! How have you been?”

She smiles lightly, “I have been well, thank you.”

Bow pats her shoulder, “You’ve gotten tall, too! Last I saw you, you were at my waist.” He grins slyly. “Have your parents been feeding you experimental science food?”

“The occasional amniotic fluid is dropped atop my meals, but I did get this new port inserted into my back,” she replies, grinning wide while turning around to show them.

“Oh my!” Glimmer says, glancing at her parents, then back at her. Clearly perturbed. “Did it hurt?”

“No, my parents are very accurate with surgical tools. Except for that one time…”

Glimmer and Bow exchange worried glances.

Odessa smiles, palms up, “I’m kidding.”

Glimmer and Bow laugh, albeit oddly.

“You don’t think I would endanger my child, do you?” Hordak asks, smirking.

“No, no!” they say together, waving their hands.

Entrapta wraps her arms around their shoulders, shoving them into each other, “It’s actually a very simple procedure! Would you two be interested?”

With an appropriate amount of vehemence, they decline the offer. The group chats about the latest changes in Etherian politics, culture, festivities, and other miscellaneous details. Odessa listens partially, more interested in Imp scaling the walls, letting her thoughts wander.

The halls have been painted differently, and the rest has been decorated with various plants and statues. It’s not as sparse as she saw it before. It lends to a softer appearance, though she doesn’t mind it being empty.

“How has your education been going, Odessa?” Glimmer asks.

“Excellent,” Odessa answers.

Entering a spare room, furnished with soft pastel cushions, a lounge chair, also adorned with pillows, and a futon for laying out, Odessa sits herself on the closest seat by the door. Imp settles beside her, with Emily taking the spot behind and spinning in place.

“What else has been going on with you?” Bow asks. He gestures to the table, where a spread of food and drink has been displayed. “Did you pick up anything new?”

“I have increased my focus on herpetology for the moment,” she says, taking a cup of tea. Sipping it, she bites down distaste, and dumps six sugar cubes in it.

Curious, his eyes light up, “Ohh, what’s that?”

“The study of snakes,” Odessa says. Not caring about the droop in his features, she continues. “And I’ve been increasing my wet specimen collection.”

Glimmer raises a brow, “Is that the hobby you have where you put… things in jars?”

“Yes!” Odessa replies, excited. “I managed to get a good one on the last planet we visited. It’s hard to find a decent fetus.”

“Her collection is fascinating,” Entrapta agrees. “There are so many creatures she has managed to acquire. There’s this giant spider she has in a jar with mandibles the size of your forearm!”

“That is your largest at the moment,” Hordak says to Odessa, propping an arm on his knee.

“I’m hoping to get a bigger specimen soon,” Odessa says. She turns to Glimmer and Bow, grin coming back. “There’s a planet in the nearest sector that has some of the most venomous species you can find. I hope to find one there.”

“Well, I hope you succeed,” Glimmer giggles, nodding despite her stomach churning.

Bow smiles through the pain, but he adds, “My dads have expanded their library to include other subjects aside from First Ones artifacts. You can go there if you want to ask them anything at all.”

“Really? Thanks!” Odessa says. Maybe this trip will be fruitful. She turns to her parents, “Oh, while I’m here, I was wondering when I could—”

“Mama, Papa, are you in here?”

Odessa turns, finding the princess at the door.

“Aurora! There you are. Our guests arrived,” Glimmer says, waving a hand in their direction.

“Oh, hello!” she replies, bowing her head.

Odessa and her family rise in respect, returning the bow.

“I’m glad to see you again,” Aurora says, giving a genteel smile. “Was your trip well?”

“Yes,” Odessa answers.

Entrapta nods vigorously, “We had a great trip!”

“That’s good to hear,” Aurora says. She looks at her parents, “Mama, I was going to ask you if it was all right for me to go out.”

Glimmer grins at her, “You don’t have to ask me to go places!”

She smiles, hands folded in front of her, “I thought I would anyway.”

Bow nods, “Of course you can go out. Are you going to visit people?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you take Odessa with you? I’m sure she’d like to see everyone.”

Aurora’s brow gives the barest twitch.

Odessa keeps her face neutral, turning to her own folks, “Would that be fine with you?”

“Sure!” Entrapta says. “Bring back anything interesting!”

Hordak nods his approval, smiling at her.

With that, the two girls exit the room together, going left, where they had all arrived from.

Neither of them speak, minding their own business. Aurora and she are both sixteen, though Odessa is older by almost four months. Their strides even, they walk in silence.

Aurora brushes her hair away. Glancing at the other royal, she asks, “How long will you be here for?”

“No longer than six weeks.”

Satisfied with the answer, they part in opposite directions.

Odessa heads out of the palace, coming to the bridge. Bringing out her tracker pad, the map coming to the screen, she sends a message out to two people. Then she continues out into the woods.

Plumeria is as pollen-ridden as ever. Giving a small sniff, Odessa pushes back large leaves. Coming to the center of it, the Heart-Blossom thrums with magic. It’s risen higher, standing above the rest of the kingdom. Walking through the trees, she is greeted by a few villagers.

Heading further out, she notes the additions of homes with sturdier foundations. Approaching a door she’s knocked on before, she grins when it opens, “Hi!”

Hydrangea shouts, “Odessa!” Wrapping her arms around her friend, squeezing tight, she kisses her cheeks in delight. “Oh my gosh, you’re here sooner than I thought!”

“Helps to have a hyperdrive.”

“Mom! Mom, Odessa’s here!”

There’s a loud crash, followed by apologetic mumblings. Scorpia comes from behind the wall, a wide grin spreading her face, the pink of her gums revealed, “Oooh, Odessa! There you are!”

“Hi, Scorpia,” she says, fully awaiting the crushing blow of her hugs, closing her eyes. She opens an eyelid, “What are you doing?”

Scorpia’s claws touch each other, looking unsure, “Do you want a hug? You’re older now, I’ve heard teenagers hate it.”

“I didn’t travel across the universe to not get a Scorpia Hug,” Odessa says, opening her arms wide. “Bring it in, dang it!”

Obliging, Scorpia crushes her daughter and her friend’s child in her arms. Shaking them to and fro, Scorpia says, “Okay good! Apparently, only you and Gea are into hugs at this stage.”

“I don’t let just anyone hug me,” Odessa explains. “You’re an exception.”

Cooing, tears in her eyes, Scorpia hugs Odessa tighter. Setting her down, she holds her hands in her pincers, “It’s so good to see you again! How have you been?”

“I’ve been alright,” Odessa replies, knowing she’s going to have to answer that several more times during her visit. Small talk is about as entertaining as a needle in your spine. She should know—not a single person she’s done it to liked it. Though, those same people would likely prefer casual conversation to a lumbar puncture. Entering the small home, a hearth holds a fire in its maw, the scent of stew wafting in her nostrils, much more pleasant. Nearby, a table contains herbal teas, a pestle and mortar resting beside dried flowers, fruits and seeds. She catches the smell of sugar, eager, “Are those what I think they are?”

Hydrangea smiles, “You bet! They’re about done. Come here, sit down, get comfy.”

Taking a chair, Odessa leans over the table, making mental records of the items on the table. She looks up at Scorpia, “Were you two busy?”

“Nope! We were tidying up a little so you wouldn’t find a mess when you got here, but you beat us to it.”

“It’s not messy.”

“Oh, good.” Relieved, Scorpia heads into the kitchen, hearing the ding of the oven. “I’ll be back.”

Hydrangea locks her fingers together, scales dappled by light outside. Chin resting on them, she asks, “Have you been here long?”

“No more than an hour or two.”

“I’m glad you’re back. I missed you!”

“I missed you too,” Odessa says, smiling.

Scorpia and her daughter, Hydrangea, are a handful of individuals that she is always thrilled to see. She converses with them through the complex network of telecommunication systems that her parents had installed before they had gone out to explore the universe.

Hydrangea’s bubbly demeanor makes her easy to be around, similar to her mothers. They were different in nearly every aspect of personality and interest, but they were together all the time when she would visit. Scorpia had been ecstatic to see them getting along, and Entrapta had said that the likelihood of their babies being fond of each other was high from the start.

Whether it was true or not, Odessa enjoyed having Hydrangea’s company regardless.

Scorpia returns, holding a plate, “Here you go! Be careful, they’re hot.”

Eyes alight, Odessa takes a peach muffin in her hands. Without a second thought, she takes a large bite. The heat and flavor coat her tongue, sending happy tingles down her back.

“Doesn’t it burn?” Hydrangea asks.

“It’s a good burn,” she says, licking the sugar dust from her fingers.

Scorpia sits across from her, “I’m glad you still like them! Did you not eat?”

“I had tea at Bright Moon,” Odessa replies, polishing off the wrapper of the first. Reaching for another, she says, “But I wanted to come over here. I knew you two would feed me.”

Hydrangea gives her a playful shove, “Des, you’re incorrigible.”

“No, I’m hungry,” she says. Looking around, she raises a brow, “Where’s Perfuma?”

“She had a meeting to go to, but she should be back in the evening.”

“Is she avoiding me?” Odessa smirks, suspicions confirmed.

“What?! No!” Scorpia waves her claws. “She wouldn’t avoid a person.”

Hydrangea places a forefinger to her chin, “Well, maybe a little. You did start a fire last time you were here.”

“I said sorry for that. I repaired the damage,” Odessa says. “How was I supposed to know that the drone was going to blow up? By all accounts, it shouldn’t have.”

“Fair, but you know how Plumerians are. We’re not exaaaactly known for being open to new inventions.”

Odessa keeps from rolling her eyes, “I’ll apologize to her again, if she likes. I brought a peace offering too. And, really, she’s acting like I burned the whole forest when it was just a small fire that erupted from the machine.”

Scorpia shakes her head, patting Odessa on the hand, “I know, little beetle. I think it just bothered her how it happened.”

“I promise I’m not going to do anything this time. I really thought the drone would deposit seeds more efficiently.”

Scorpia and Hydrangea nod, knowing she had good intentions. It was strange, but Perfuma held onto this grudge for a while longer than normal. It wouldn’t come up in conversation, and she appeared to have moved on, but when it was announced that Entrapta’s family would be visiting, Perfuma had been a little cold to the idea. And she left just shortly before Odessa had arrived.

Finishing up, Scorpia gathers the plates, “She is running around doing errands for right now. You can give her your gift when you come back tonight. I’m excited to see your parents!”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Agreeing, belly full, Odessa stands up, looking at Hydrangea. “Ready?”

“Yes! See you later, Mom!” Hydrangea tells Scorpia.

“Bye, girls!”

With that, she and Hydrangea go out of the hut. Trekking through the vast underbrush, the two come to a small portal, meant for planetary travel and nothing else. Rushing over, Odessa types in their coordinates. Hydrangea quietly squeals, palms put together.

They walk into a whirling mass of energy and heat. Stepping out, they inhale briny gusts, seagulls cawing overhead. In front of them stands a young man with arms folded, a cool look on his face.

“Tristan,” Odessa greets, expression equally frigid.

“Odessa,” he replies.

They stare for a moment. Then burst into laughter. He rushes over, grabbing her head in a tight lock, “You’re getting slow!”

“And you still never think!” Odessa yells, reaching around to pinch the nerve at the back of his knee. Flipping him over, she stands over him, giving a toothy grin. “See?”

Laughing, he takes her offered hand, “It’s good to see you! I’ve been so bored.”

“Aw, do you and Gea not hang out?” she asks.

“Of course we do,” Hydrangea says, rising on her toes to give him a friendly kiss on the cheek. “It’s just been a while since the three of us have been together. This is so wonderful!”

“Yeah, let’s go!” Tristan says, breaking into a light jog. “I got my boat ready!”

The trio run toward the docked vessel. Jumping onto the deck, Hydrangea looks at Tristan, “Where to, Captain?”

“Ocean bound for now,” he says, untying it from its post. “That sound good?”

“Yeah!” is the cry from his mates, and the boat is loosened from its position, anchor sliding up from the water. The sails unfurl, and Tristan stands at the helm. The winds pick up, as he predicted, and with his call upon the seas, the ship begins to dart across the water, droplets of seawater splashing them.

Pumping her fist into the air, Odessa whoops, hair whipping past her. Looking over her shoulder at him, she shouts, “Can it go faster?”

Tristan’s mouth spreads into a wide, devilish grin. One hand on the wheel, he reaches forward, lifting up a small, inconspicuous lid near him. He reaches in, pressing something.

In a moment, their surroundings become nothing but ocean and sky. The scent of the sea rushes through her nostrils, her friends cheering along with her. Wild giggles burst from Hydrangea, as Tristan hollers at the top of his lungs.

Odessa’s smile widens, noticing the rocks jutting out from blue waters. Hydrangea and she exchange glances before turning to Tristan. His composure doesn’t falter, narrowing his eyes, daring unforgiving elements to destroy them.

Calling out instructions, the sail is lifted. Readying themselves, Hydrangea climbs to the top of the mainsail, yelling out caution for rocks he cannot see, gripping onto the solid rail. Odessa keeps the rope tight in her hands, in case he needs more wind. Tristan steers through the rocks, seafoam crashing against stone and metal.

The sound of air in her ears drowns out all sound, the vessel cutting through water. Veering sharp turns, sea spray hits them. Rocks pass by in narrow pathways, so close Odessa could reach out to touch them. Then as quickly as they arrived, they propel through into the clear open sea.

Hydrangea comes down from her perch, laughing with Odessa. Tristan wears a contented grin, easing the speed to a more leisurely pace.

Sunlight dazzles upon the water, its light dancing on their forms. Odessa brushes away loose hairs, locking both of them in her arms, happy to see them again.

“That’s cool you went to Pilan,” Tristan says, taking a sip of his drink. “You’d been wanting to be there for a few years.”

Odessa waves at the waiter through the crowd. Her own beverage now refilled, she takes a large bite out of her food. Swallowing, she nods, “I know. I didn’t think we’d be able to get there before coming back to Etheria.”

Hydrangea leans back against the seat. Not bothering with her fork, she picks up a strawberry slice from her salad, “It wasn’t too far from your last stop.”

“Yes, but my father likes to keep a tight schedule, if he can. Mom’s more lenient but you know him.”

Joking, she asks, “Is he still a grumpy cactus?”

“He wouldn’t be my father if he wasn’t,” Odessa replies, affection in her tone.

Tristan pats his chest, releasing a light burp. Relaxing back, he adds, “That’s true. Apples don’t fall far from the tree—I saw you when someone woke you up too early.”

Odessa mimics his motion, giving a belch of her own, “And you never bothered me in the morning again.”

“You two are gross,” Hydrangea tells them, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

“You love us,” Tristan says, waggling his eyebrows.

“Do I?” She shakes her head at them, despite smiling. “It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

“If you didn’t, you’d have left,” Odessa chimes in. Then, looking at Tristan, she raises a brow, leering at him. “Although, she must tolerate you more than I do, because there is no way I would have allowed you to grow that on your face if I was home.”

Crossing his arms, Tristan flushes, “I can do what I want.”

“It looks like a fuzzy caterpillar is above your lip,” Odessa teases. She turns in her spot, grabbing his face to inspect it better. “Seriously, who said it was a good idea to let you grow a moustache.”

“I’ll have you know,” Tristan pushes Odessa away, touching the small hairs with his finger. “That everyone on my dad’s side can grow decent moustaches. Mine’s just taking a little bit…”

“I’ll say. You won’t have one like Seahawk’s until you’re 80.”

Huffing, Tristan sticks his tongue out at her.

Hydrangea waves her left hand, “I’m sure you’ll eventually get it! Although, it has been three months…”

Odessa snorts, cackling, “What? Three months and that’s it?”

Tristan glares at her, “I’m a late bloomer with this!”

“Riiiiiight. And I’m growing one out too, can’t you tell?”

Sinking into his seat, Tristan looks away, annoyed.

Hydrangea tilts her head to try and meet his gaze, “We don’t think it’s stupid.”

“I do,” Odessa says.

At Hydrangea’s disapproving stare, Odessa shrugs.

“You can grow it out if you want to. There’s nothing wrong with growing it out,” Hydrangea assures him.

“If you’re fine looking like that,” Odessa adds. Then she winces, a sharp kick delivered to her leg. Glaring at her friend, who gives an icy stare in turn, she relents, “B-But I more mean, well, I don’t think it suits you, is all.”

Tristan pouts further, bottom lip sticking out.

“Come on, Tris, I’m sorry,” Odessa says, hand to her chest. “I promise it’s not bad.”

He glances at her, “Really?”

“Yeah! It’s just been a while since I’ve been home. It’ll grow in. I couldn’t help teasing you.”

Sitting back up, Tristan keeps his arms folded, “Okay… Are you sure it’s fine?”

“Yep,” Odessa lies.

Pleased with the encouragement, Tristan resumes eating. Odessa almost exhales in relief. She forgets he can be pretty sensitive about his appearances. At his slowly improving mood, Odessa glances at Hydrangea, who takes a sip of her tea with demurely closed lashes. When she looks up, Odessa narrows her eyes.

She’s ignored. Hydrangea changes the topic of conversation, and the feeling of the trio goes back to lighter, informal chit chat. Odessa sighs internally. She knows she can be difficult with her inability to tell even the smallest fib, but damn, she didn’t have to kick that hard.

Meal finished, Tristan goes to pay while Odessa and Hydrangea leave the establishment.

Hydrangea raises a brow, “When are you going to learn to not say rude things?”

“Never,” replies Odessa. She shoves her, a little more roughly than usual. “And you didn’t have to kick.”

“You weren’t getting the hint. I would rather Tristan not break down in tears in public.”

“Ugh, he wouldn’t cry in public. He keeps that bottled in.”

“Until you go too far,” Hydrangea elbows her in the ribs. “Can’t you be supportive?”

“Gea, you know I have a hard time lying! You may as well tell me to hold my breath forever—it can’t be done.”

Sighing, she admits, “I know, I know, you’re not good with lying. But think of it as… omitting information, for right now.”

“Fine, I won’t be mean to him. In public,” she adds.

“Odessa…”

“Fine. I won’t be mean to him about his stupid moustache. Although, I will blame you for letting it happen.”

Hydrangea gives a smile, “Okay, that’s fair. He just looked so excited, I couldn’t talk him out of it.”

“That's why I’m here to convince him otherwise.”

“Ah-bup-bup-bup!” Hydrangea wags her finger. “No. He will learn, on his own time, it’s not a good look.”

Heaving a long, exasperated sigh, Odessa watches Tristan walk over to them. Deciding it’s time to go home, they sail back to Salineas. Once there, they dock the ship, though Tristan doesn’t start heading down the pier.

“What’s up? It’s getting late,” Odessa says.

“I haven’t seen you in forever, I’m not leaving yet. Besides, it’s boring at home,” Tristan tells her.

The three head to the portal. Putting in their destination, they are greeted by Odessa’s family in front of its arch.

Entrapta waves at them enthusiastically, “Hey! There you are.”

“Hi, Mom. Were you waiting?”

“No, we are on the way to Scorpia’s! Hydrangea, Tristan, hi!”

Returning the greeting, Hydrangea is pulled forward by Entrapta’s hair, her recorder in hand, “Tell me, since we’re here, how is the portal functioning?”

“Oh! It’s still in top-notch shape,” she answers, stepping awkwardly forward as she keeps up with the tech princess.

“Hey, Hordak,” Tristan says, coming up to him.

“Hello, Tristan. I trust you have been in good health.”

“Yeah, I have. The additions to my boat have been awesome!”

Hordak smiles, “Good. Is the speed to your liking?”

“Absolutely,” Tristan says. “Odessa can confirm.”

She nods, “It was a really impressive ride. You two made that heap of junk into a new machine.”

Tristan turns back to Hordak, chatting away with him about increasing the boat’s capabilities, while Hydrangea continues to converse with Entrapta.

It makes her think of when they were little. Her friends, she knew, were viewed as an extension of herself, and thus, they were treated accordingly by her parents. But she also was aware of the mutual esteem they had for her friends. Entrapta and Hordak were encouraging in her decisions to expand her social circle, but they also were the sort to be intolerant toward bad friendships. And by ‘they’ she means her father, who is far from willing to watch her be taken advantage of.

Scorpia is waiting in front of the hut, waving a large claw at them. Entrapta and Hordak are squeezed tightly against her chest once they’re in range, “Hi, lovebirds!”

“Hey, Scorpia! What’s new with you?” Entrapta asks, being set down.

“Oh, we’ve been busy! There are lots of new homes here, we’re expanding a little further south.”

Odessa goes to the nearest corner with Hordak, the two settling down on the couch. Tristan and Hydrangea discuss their own plans and time with each other, as Entrapta catches up with Scorpia.

Odessa glances at her father, “How’d it go with the king and queen?”

“Glimmer and Bow were welcoming, as normal. We discussed their latest plans for Etheria, and your mother and I said we would offer our services for anything technology-based.”

She nods, reaching toward the platter of cookies left on the table.

“How long were you with Aurora?”

“No longer than five minutes. Then I went to see Tris and Gea,” she replies. She glances at him, “You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. You are free to befriend who you want,” Hordak says, patting her shoulder.

Smiling at him, she turns in her seat, “Dad, by the way, I had some ideas while we’re here. I wanted to go to the Crimson Waste and get some specimens to dissect.”

“Does it include Etherian corpses?”

“Not corpses, per se. And I’m not grave-robbing. I wanted to find some old bodies to study.”

Hordak nods, “You’ll have more luck in the southern region. Will your friends be accompanying you?”

“I’ll ask them later, but for now, I’m going to assume no.”

“Would you want your mother and I to come?”

“That’d be cool!” she says, eyes bright.

He smiles at her, “We’d be delighted to ‘not grave-rob’ with you.”

Perfuma had sent a message saying she’ll be busy tonight. Despite that, the evening passed without any other event, and they all enjoyed each other’s company.

Odessa turns over a large boulder, “I thought for sure I’d find a body somewhere by now.”

“Your father said that it’s possible it’s changed again since we’ve last been here.”

Odessa knows this is correct. Sometime ago, during another expedition, they had learned that several oases had cropped up within the Crimson Waste. This makes searching for corpses, be it animal or Etherian, harder to acquire; in spite of its still severe temperature and environment, the organisms that called this territory home have been thriving since She-Ra and her parents aided them to harness magic in the sandy dunes.

“I suppose I should call it a day,” Odessa says, touching her chin. She glances at her mother, “But perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to explore for another hour or three.”

Entrapta grins, “Yeah, let’s keep looking!”

Splitting off into opposite directions, Odessa walks further along rocky terrain. She pauses when she finds Hordak gazing down at the dirt. Approaching him, Odessa looks at the Horde helmet beneath his feet, uncovered from years of being buried in sand; timeless and haunting.

Kneeling, Hordak lifts it up to inspect. He sighs.

“Dad, you know you can’t ruminate over it,” Odessa says, touching his shoulder.

“I do,” Hordak replies, wiping the surface, though there’s no sheen left to it. “I have tried to make peace with it, and for the most part, I have managed to move on from my mistakes.”

Odessa’s brow knit together. She’s never liked when he thinks too deeply about his past in the Horde, and the ramifications of it. Staring at the helmet, sharp wings barely visible, she asks, “What was our species like?”

“Pardon?” Hordak asks, turning to her.

“Our species.”

Hordak’s eyes narrow, placing the helmet back down, “We were Horde Prime’s loyal servants and soldiers.”

“But is that it?”

“There’s nothing more that can be explained.”

“Everyone comes from somewhere, however,” Odessa explains, rising to full height as he does. “Do you know anything of our species before Horde Prime decided to conquer other planets?”

Hordak’s expression falters. A scowl lining his features. “No.”

Odessa notes the tension in his shoulders. She asks, quietly, “Was that never a subject that was discussed?”

“Never,” Hordak answers, reaching down. He yanks up a bird corpse, still fairly preserved. Holding it out to her, he awaits her decision.

Satisfied, Odessa places it in a plastic bin. Never…? It’s hard to believe. She looks at him, “I know that Horde Prime could control you through possession via hivemind. But I find it interesting he never gave inkling to times before that. Were you always a colonizing species?”

Hordak stares at his child, “Truthfully, I don’t know.”

“Why?”

He sighs, discomfort settling in his chest. “Information about our kind is not an aspect of ourselves we own. When I was created, I hadn’t been alive as long as the others. For me, there was Horde Prime. And only him. However, there are clones who are on Etheria, or have left to travel the universe, that might have knowledge on the subject.”

Carrying her bin, Odessa and Hordak meet up with her mother, who had found other bodies to dissect, including an Etherian corpse of someone who had similarities to Double Trouble’s structure. A good haul. It may not be the most ethical activity, but she can’t very well open up living people.

Walking beside Entrapta, Odessa turns to her, “Mom, I have a question.”

“Ask away!”

“What do you know of Dad’s species?”

Entrapta’s brow furrows as well, confusion on her features. She sits back on her hair, scuttling along the dirt, “Nothing, aside from what we know involving Horde Prime.”

“Dad said the same thing. But there has to be knowledge from before that.”

“We never uncovered anything about Horde Prime that way. His species competed with the First Ones in expanding their respective sides throughout the universe. But there was never anything to suggest what life was like for your father’s species prior to the Horde. He was always there, as your father puts it.”

“Don’t you ever wonder why though?”

“Sure! All the time!” Entrapta replies.

Odessa smiles at her, “Then wouldn’t it be prudent to figure out what we can? Even a little research is important.”

“Ooh, we could collect fascinating data that way!” Entrapta says. Then she stares at Hordak’s retreating form. “What did your father say to you, when you asked?”

“Same things as you. Except he doesn’t sound as enthusiastic.”

Entrapta frowns a little, unsure.

“If it makes you feel better,” Odessa adds. “He did tell me some of his brothers might know, and to try there first.”

“That sounds like a good start!” Entrapta agrees, not feeling as bad now. She is the sort to pursue new, untapped discoveries, but Hordak’s found his past shameful and a source of great regret, one he still has never recovered from completely. If he gave Odessa the suggestion, then it’s likely he doesn’t mind her asking. She has always wanted to know. But not at his expense.

Grinning at Odessa, she says, “We’ll see who can help us!”

Odessa looks ahead, a cloud passing above them.

“Hey, are you okay?” Hydrangea asks.

Odessa stares out the window, chin resting on the back of her hand. She glances at her, “I’m thinking.”

“You’re always thinking,” Tristan adds. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve been thinking about my family. Not the Etherian one. My father’s side.”

“Are your uncles doing alright?” Hydrangea asks. “Do they need help with anything?”

“No, they’re all doing splendid. I mean that I’m curious about them, beyond what I already know.”

Tristan and Hydrangea glance at each other. He steps forward, “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know where we come from. Why we did what we did,” Odessa spins on the ball of her foot, a sharp grin on her features. “And I want you two to help me find out what that is.”

#entrapta #hordak #entrapdak #entrapdak fankid #odessa #spop #shera

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loveafterthefact · 4 years

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Love After the Fact Chapter 16: Communion-ity

Keith meets a certain head chef and his tiny half-clone. Said tiny clone is very fond of cats and Lance.

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Keith’s tail twitches nervously. On the other side of this door is one of Lance’s oldest, dearest friends. Given Lance's reputation, Keith can only imagine what they might have gotten up to together. Most likely things that would have him trembling for the better part of the next decaphoeb. After that, probably only disgusted.

“Anyway, Hunk is one who runs the kitchens. He makes every single one of your meals himself. Because, y’know, all of our food apparently tastes disgusting to you.”

“It’s the ‘sweet’ thing. I don’t know what it’s supposed to taste like, but Galra can’t taste it. And apparently you freaks like nothing else.”

“Hey. If Pidge makes that implant for you I bet you’ll love sweet food.”

“Makes a what now?” Keith asks, but Lance throws open the doors, stepping inside with a flourish, bowing halfway amidst a chorus of greetings.

“Alright, everyone. I have my spouse here to see the kitchens, so please be kind to him.” Another chorus from cheery Alteans. Lance holds out his hand for Keith to take, tugs him into the kitchen. Keith stays close, watching Alteans scurry about, preparing to feed not only the royal family, but also the guards and a portion of Altean’s military, the ones garrisoned at the castle.

As Keith walked past, these Alteans stare at him, forgetting themselves for a moment before averting their gazes. It's better than gossip, in a way, but it causes a sort of ache. Loneliness?

“Kitty!” To Keith’s alarm, a very small creature comes running at him, toddling in its chubby legs. Keith grips Lance’s arm, managing not to extend his claws into his spouse’s arm as the child grabs him around the legs in a hug. “Hi, kitty!”

“Rosetta! Rosetta leave the kitty alone- Oh! Oh, gosh! Rosetta, come here!” A pair of very large hands reach down and pry the child from Keith’s legs. “I’m so sorry about that. She’s little.”

Keith looks up to see a very large person in a spotless apron and yellow headband holding the little child. “It’s… fine. It’s all fine. Um. What’s a kitty?”

“You ever seen Honerva carry a little animal around?” the man asks. Keith nods. “That’s Kova. Her cat, also known as a kitty.”

“I don’t look like that.”

“Tell that to a toddler. I’m Hunk, by the way. Nice to meet you.” Keith blinks, looks the towering Balmeran up and down.

“Nice to meet you too,” he mumbles. “Why do you have a child in the kitchens?”

“Oh. My wife is pregnant and needed a break. Toddlers, man. Tiny monsters, I’m telling you. Besides, it’s never too early to begin learning different spices. Isn’t that right?” Hunk bounces his daughter, beaming with delight. He's nothing like Keith had expected.

“You guys are so great,” Lance says, smiling from where he’s leaning against a table covered with produce. “Hunk and Shay are just the perfect little family. Also, they can make cave bugs taste amazing. You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Hey, I can’t take credit for that. My grandmother-in-law taught me that recipe. It’s one of Rosie’s favorites too, isn’t it Rosie?” The child nods, still watching Keith with interest. “So how have you two been getting on? You doing alright?”

“We’re getting on fine,” Lance answers, scowling at a message on his datapad. “Overworked and underappreciated, but fine.”

“I wish I were overworked,” Keith grumbles, ears pinning back against his head. “I mean, what exactly do they expect me to do? Pidge said that all of my devices are monitored until they can find a way to secure my connections and the guards took everything but my knife when I arrived. There’s not a whole lot of damage a lone Galra can do.”

“Hm.” Hunk passes Rosetta to a delighted Lance, who bounces the little one on his hip. “Remember when ‘innocent until proven guilty’ was a thing?”

“That’s only a thing if the commonwealth asks. The reality is that ‘anything to protect our people’ covers a lot of quiznakery.” Lance sighs, tosses his datapad aside in favor of a cluster of some orbed fruits. He takes one for himself, passes one to Rosetta.

“Thank you,” the child chirps.

“You’re welcome.” Lance beams indulgently at the child.

“Thank you, thank you.” Rosetta grins a wide grin at the prince.

“Well you are very welcome, sweetheart.”

Keith silently watches the exchange, watches as Lance expertly handles the child, bouncing her around and chatting with her while Hunk starts in on an enormous basket of some kind of tuber. The prince seems a natural, happy to engage with the child, setting her at a small table in the corner with a collection of toys, playing some game or another.

Something Keith hadn’t realized he’d been clenching unfurls watching his spouse interact with the child. He imagines that Lance won’t reject him when he inevitably must bear them a kit, and won’t reject their kit either. No. Lance will adore their kits, be a good sire, good father, good mate.

“He loves kids. Wants a small army.” Hunk chuckles. “We’ll see what he says after you guys have your first.”

“Hm.” Keith smiles. “Does he have children already? I know his reputation well, at this point.”

“No. He’s always been careful to prevent such a thing, and if any… prior liaison had a child within a given timeframe, he checked to see if they were his by some small chance. Said that he’d take responsibility, make sure they had that second parent.”

“An honorable cad.”

“I suppose. Oh, there’s a tray of samples for you in that coldbox over there. I’d intended it for lunch, but grab it now and let me know what you think. I haven’t had the opportunity to ask about your food.”

“Thank you.” Keith retrieves the tray, sits across from Hunk and his tubers. “And… thank you. For making me food.”

“It’s all good. Fun, actually. I’ve never experimented with Dabazaani cuisine, despite how close Daibazaal is. You guys have good food. I mean, pretty much everybody has good food, but that purple grass you guys use to make bread? Amazing. Rosie loves it, too. She likes it in her stew.”

Keith smiles. “We like to dip it in stew, too... Why do Alteans all eat off their own plates?”

“Most peoples do. Galra don’t?”

“No. Food is… communion. It’s something to be shared. We take from the same pot. We use a sort of flat, crispy bread-like thing to eat softer foods? It’s difficult to explain. We mostly eat with our hands… Sporks are annoying. I don’t use them if I can help it.” Hunk hums, delightedly interested. Keith takes a risk. “It’s why I didn’t eat with everyone for the first few quintants. I was trying to get better at using one.”

“Really? Lance thought you were just very shy. And maybe didn’t like him all that much." Hunk catches Keith’s eye only for the Galra to look away, folding his arms, hunching over slightly on his stool. He is shy. And seems pretty sweet. “Hey.” The Galra shifts, nervous. “Tell me more about what you like to eat.”

“I like spicy things. And… meat. Altean adults don’t seem to eat meat.”

“No, they don’t. Infants do, for a while. They go through a phase where they eat nothing but meat, actually. I’ll reach out to my contact in Daibazaal to see about adding some to my shipments. Have you been to the infirmary at all?”

“No.”

“You should go and get checked for any deficiencies. I want to make sure you’re getting proper nutrition. Make sure Altea is agreeing with you and all that. It’s very different, isn’t it?”

“Yes. There are plants covering everything! They’re really pretty! And the animals here are cute and don’t bite a whole lot.” Keith's ears perk a bit, his tail sweeping over the floor in long strokes.

“The animals are very friendly -mostly-, and this planet has a lot of vegetation. My home planet is more like Daibazaal. Or maybe a mix of the two. Plenty of plants and animals, but not quite as many. Balmera grow crystals like spines along their nerves. During certain times of year, they will all resonate, and may create a brand new balmera.”

“What… Is Balmera alive?” Keith cocks his head, ears perked with curiosity. He's got wide eyes, Hunk notices, big and dark like the night, shining with curiosity. Lance is doomed.

“Balmera are mineral-based organisms the size of planets. Most are inhabited by entirely unique species. My people are found only on a single Balmera. We love her and care for her. We exist in a completely unique symbiosis.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It’s very nice. Making the sharing of food a part of your daily routine sounds nice too. Your people must have strong bonds with their friends.”

Keith smiles, strangely emotional. “Thank you. Others don’t say nice things about my people very often. Especially not here… They look at me like I’m a monster. They hate me.”

“Well I don’t hate you. Pidge, my best friend, doesn’t hate you. They seem to like you a lot, actually. As for the Alteans… xenophobia is an integral part of their culture. Lance is frothing at the mouth trying to find a way to take them all down a peg.

“At any rate, don’t pay them any mind. You are not a monster. You’re just a guy, who happens to be a Galra. Just like I happen to be Balmeran. Just like Lance happens to be Altean. Life is arbitrary, but community is not, right? We choose who we share our pot with. I think I’d share mine with you.”

The Balmeran smiles at Keith, and Keith smiles back, eyes suspiciously moist. Poor little buddy. Hunk would absolutely share his pot with him. He’d give Keith a hug, but suspects that he wouldn’t like it. He doesn’t know Hunk well enough. Instead, Hunk finishes preparing his last tuber to be sent to the garrison for the castle’s military, heads to the coldbox.

“I don’t have any pots going at the moment, but I’ve got some dough here for your bread. We can share some of that.”

“Can I help?” Keith asks, looking hopeful. “I can cook. I know how.”

“Of course. Food tastes better with more hands. Lance! Rosie! Come help make bread.”

Lance trots over with the toddler, setting her in a special chair. Keith settles in next to his spouse, teaching him how to knead the grainy dough and twist it into traditional patterns. Hunk and Lance carry most of the conversation, switching from common to Altean every now and then so Rosie doesn’t understand the less appropriate anecdotes and gossip.

Apparently, there’s one particular courtier named Seran who spends most of her time ruining her two children and harassing people for even the slightest perceived inconvenience. They both make good sport out of loudly recounting hyperbolic stories for Keith, complete with exaggerated voices for Seran and her evil, entitled children. Apparently, Seran's wife, Renli, is almost as bad.

It has Keith doubled over with laughter, eyes watering with mirth as Lance recounts the time Seran’s gardener trimmed her moss slightly too short and she’d chased him off down the street while swinging his own rake at him.

It’s not until he and Lance are returning to their room, sneaking loaves of Daibazaani bread back with them, that Keith realizes he’s still smiling. He bumps against Lance’s side, happily twists his tail around Lance’s ankle.

“Thank you. For today, I mean.”

“You are most welcome.”

“Thank you for everything else, too.”

“You’re welcome, Keith. Always.”

#LoveAftertheFact #LAtF #klance #galtean au #galra keith #altean lance #adashi #altean adam #galra shiro #voltron legendary defender #vld

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #358

“i know the pieces fit, ‘cuz i watched them fall away”

Would you ever own a Great Dane as a pet? Oh Lord, my mom wants one so bad. She looooves big dogs. I wouldn't, though. I don't want another dog, period. What was or is your favorite quality about your recent ex? Her resilience, strength, creativity, loyalty, etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. lol. Have you ever witnessed a human being giving birth in real life? No, and I NEVER fucking will. What about an animal? Yeah, cats. What kind of things do you enjoy reading about on sites like Wikipedia? I sometimes do that for straightening out game plots after watching a let's play if I have remaining questions. Wikipedia tends to do well with compressing it. Which country’s cuisine that you haven’t tried, would you be interested in sampling? (e.g. Moroccan, Thai etc.) I wouldn't know because I'm not educated enough on foreign cuisines. What’s the last movie you watched on your own? The Shining, I think, forever ago. Fried, poached, boiled or scrambled eggs? Scrambled. Have you ever got into a club, whilst being underage? I've never tried. Are you happy with your relationship with God, or do you want more from it? I don't have one. Do you struggle with boredom? Very, very severely. I have absolutely awful anhedonia; I'm pretty much constantly bored. Literally. I just... find things to pass the time, even if I'm not really enjoying myself. What famous person do you wish you could be friends with? I'm going to assume here you don't mean a significant other, because uh... y'all been known lmaooo. I would really love to be friends with Gab Smolders (I know that's not her real name, just using her YT name), because we have very similar interests. As well, Suzie Hanson is a fucking SWEETHEART. I miss her channel. :( At some point I want to purchase some stuff from her store to support the darling. Man, thinking of this question, there's really a lot. What would you do if you were famous? Hate it, haha. Do you wish you hair were shorter or longer? It's at a fine length right now. What photo editing website or software do you use? Lightroom and Photoshop. What hair color looks best on you and what’s your natural color? I think my hair looked best black. It's naturally brown. What is your favorite show to watch? Meerkat Manor. It is so, so comforting to me. Are your maternal/parental instincts strong? Not with kids, oddly enough. I've only ever really encountered strong protective instincts with significant others like when they're sick or something like that. In school, do you/did you work better by yourself or in a group? I absolutely worked better alone. I hated group work. Do you know anyone who has a collection of old records? My mom did, once upon a time. I feel like I know someone who does now... but idk. Do you go on any forums often? Just RP ones. Would you ever agree to an open relationship with someone? Nnnnope. Do people always say you’re too thin? Uh, I have the opposite problem. Could you design a whole web page yourself? Not from scratch, no. I've only done so on free sites that give you the bare bones and easy editing. Have you ever cooked an entire dinner for your family? Definitely not. Do you prefer piano music or violin music? Ohhhh, both are beautiful, but I have to say violin. Who do you tend to get in fights with the most? My mom, I guess, not that we fight a lot. Are you attracted to spooky and macabre things naturally? YEP. Have you ever bobbed for apples? Were you successful? No. It's disgusting if you're going after others, and besides, I HATE water up my nose and have never quite figured out how to block it out without plugging it. Hypothetically speaking, if you had a child [too young to make their own decisions], what would you dress him/her up as for Halloween? It would depend on what their interests were. Do you intend to take your children trick-or-treating, if ever you have any? I'm not having kids, but if I did, I definitely would if they wanted to go. What is the coolest jack-o-lantern you have ever seen? Now THAT'S hard, I really don't know. What was your favorite candy to get from trick-or-treating? What about your least favorite? Reese's was my favorite, and I never liked Tootsie Rolls. Did you ever receive anything that wasn’t candy? Maybe? I feel like I have... Have you ever carved a really extensive pumpkin, or were they always simple carvings? Yes; I once carved a pumpkin with a raven design with "and quoth the raven, 'nevermore'" written into the back. The raven wasn't just a flat cut-out, but rather carved in layers so the light came through differently at certain depths. Are you more interested in cute, funny, “sexy”, or scary costumes? For myself, absolutely the scary ones. In general though, I'm not gonna BS ya, I love me some sexy costumes, haha, but also still scary and particularly gory ones. Have you ever intimidated or made another person feel legitimately threatened? If not, do you think that you could ever be seen as scary? I seriously hate admitting this, but Mom has confessed that my yelling has scared her before when scolding our former dog that I fucking hated. In what ways do you or would you need to be validated by a partner? (For example, liking your posts/talking about you on social media, or perhaps by doting on your with gifts.) I absolutely need words of affirmation. I just need to hear a lot that you do still like/love me. Also, if you're unwilling to actually act like we're a couple in front of ANYONE, like you're ashamed of me or something, byyyyeeee. Do you tend to succeed by weaning yourself off of something or by quitting cold turkey? It depends, I guess. Is there a specific type of pet breed/size/etc. that you don’t want? Why not? Any that have underlying medical issues, like pugs, spider ball pythons, Persian cats, etc. etc... It's just a moral thing; I don't want to support the deliberate continuation of poor genes in animals for human monetary gain. It's just wrong to me. Away from breeds, I also don't really want free-roaming animals after my cat passes, because I don't want to endanger the reptiles and invertebrates I want as pets in the future. Have you ever lived in a notoriously dangerous area? If not, would it bother you to do so? I grew up in one, yes. I never want to again. Has a friend’s significant other ever interfered with or damaged your friendship? What about a significant other of yours damaging a friendship? No. What, if anything, is something that you put pressure on yourself about? What do you imagine would happen if you did not live up to this expectation? Getting a job nowadays. I do NOT want to imagine what my life will be like if I never find employment. If you have been in a serious relationship, have you and your partner ever discussed lifetime plans that clashed? Did you reconcile them or did you break up? If you have not been in a relationship, what are some issues that would be deal-breakers? This hasn't happened, no. If you were offered to smoke some weed right now would you accept? Honestly, I want to try weed to see if it would help my anxiety, BUT I'm unwilling to ever smoke something, so no. Have you ever changed clothes in a vehicle? Yeah. Do you listen to country music? No. Have you ever had a boyfriend your parents didn’t like? No. Were you ever a trouble maker? Not really, no. Do you shave your legs? Hell, that's debatable by this point. I haven't since this past October, but I *would* if for whatever reason someone might see my legs. I am not overexaggerating when I say I naturally have men's legs as far as hair goes, oof. Do you have any person in your family with an addiction to beer? That's what my dad always drank when he was an alcoholic. He doesn't touch alcohol now. Have you ever gotten sloppy drunk at a party? No. Have you ever slept naked? Accidentally. Could you ever be friends with the person who hurt you most in life? I really don't think I could be. Do you actually like going to school? I never did. Have you ever really been in a “complicated relationship”? How did that work out? In your opinion, what makes a relationship “complicated”? No. I don't care enough to go into what a complicated relationship means, I think it's pretty obvious. Who was the first person you’ve ever fallen in love with? Is this a person you’re still in contact with? How do you know you’re in love with someone? Jason, and no. And you just... know. It's a wordless feeling . Have you ever successfully broken a bad habit? How about conquered a fear of something? Uhhhh I don't know, really. Well, I used to be AWFUL at picking my eyebrows, particularly when anxious, but I have gotten better at that. I still kinda do it, though. Onto the next question, I don't believe I've "conquered" a fear, but rather they just faded with time on their own. Have you ever read a whole series of books? Yeah. Are you going to walk at your graduation or just pick your diploma up? I walked. Do you own a pair of brass knuckles? No. Have you ever tried to break a Guinness World Record? No. Can you sing your ABC’s backwards? I can't. Do you like Skittles? I love Skittles. Do you know how to read music? I used to. Who would you say has made the biggest impact on your life? Really, Jason. He ultimately led to me getting proper treatment for my depression, which changed my life. I'm in no way giving him credit for it, but you get what I mean. You can only listen to THREE CDs for the rest of your life. What are they? Black Rain and Ozzmosis by Ozzy Osbourne, and uhhh... perhaps The Black Album by Metallica. Do you own any shirts that have a year on it? Yeah, but it's way too small for me now. It's from Back To The Future, when we actually reached the date in the movie. Have you ever done another person’s make-up? Ha, I gave Jason a makeover once. Honestly, do you double dip? Not if I'm sharing the dip with other people. Who were you last on an elevator with? My mom. Do you know anyone that has a black belt in karate? Not to my knowledge. How often do you wear hats? Never. Who is the youngest gay person you know? *shrug* Have you ever watched an animal being eaten by another animal? I've seen cats eat mice and stuff as a kid. What is the strangest, most “out there” thing you believe? Some people I'm sure would consider the fact I believe the government was involved in 9/11 as "out there," but when you look into it, it's far from "out there." Do you get along with people who are especially religious? Why/why not? It depends on how they act about it, not what they keep in their head. Now if they have just purely hateful beliefs that demonize another's existence, then no, we can't get along. Have you ever drawn or painted a self-portrait? Painted, yes, for an art class. Do you have any interesting pillow cases? No. Are you more afraid of spiders or bees? Bees, generally. Especially if we're talking things like wasps, who are just demon spawns. Would you rather donate time, blood, or money? That's a really hard question, but I guess time? Like I'm thinking volunteer work and stuff, or listening to and comforting someone. Can grills be sexy on a guy? They're sexy on absolutely no one. Last strong smell you can remember smelling? Ugh, gasoline. This one car in front of my mom and me smelled awful. Last healthy thing you ate? Apples. Do you know anybody who was abused? Emotionally, yes. Do your parents volunteer anywhere? No. Do you have a steering wheel cover? Mom's car doesn't. What do you think of when you see sharp knives? This is really morbid, but I will immediately envision what it would be like to be stabbed. I'm very afraid of knives. The highway and back roads take you to the same place; choose your route. The back roads, of course. And let me bring my camera.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''schism'' by tool

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traumatized-motherfuckers · 3 years

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CPTSD relationship patterns on repeat

Listen wherever you stream, search “complex trauma” and subscribe. Or, find episodes, blog posts, and a private support community at t-mfrs.com

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Things I’ve gotten good at throughout this Trauma journey:

Seeing connections between where I’m from and where I am

Thinking for the first time about where I’m going

Letting myself have emotions

Letting those emotions go

Redirecting my energy and attention away from ruminating

Being accountable for my own feelings

Being accountable for times of being a shithead

Listening and validating other humans

Listening and validating myself

Recognizing what circumstances do/don’t work for me

Realizing how my codependency plays with relationships

Letting go of self-hate inner critic talk

Reframing events with reasonable views

Accepting myself, even when I first want to thrash myself

Semi-consistently caring for myself

Setting realistic boundaries and goals

Sleeping

Things I’m still shitty at:

Letting my overwhelm skew reality

Anxious self-slave-driving

Being a snarky turd when my head is overloaded

Taking on other people’s energies and emotions

Trusting myself in all areas of life

Forming healthy relationships.

Okay, it’s that last one that has me most perpetually fighting feelings of panic and doom.

This seems like an apt way to kick off the new year. I think a lot of us have questions about relationships and would like to improve our operations in 2021. I can also tell you, this one is extremely appropriate looking back at the last year of my life.

One of the biggest lessons I've learned in the past few spins around the sun has been how romance does - and definitely doesn't - fit into my life. I think 2020 was particularly packed full of important lectures and pop quizzes, many of which I failed. It felt like knowing that the correct answer was C, but finding my hand filling in the circle for A every time, anyways.

This is a terrible ideaaaa... and I'm doing it. Pause for about 2 months. Now I'm upset that it was a terrible idea.

Yeah, it's been great. But I have no one to blame but myself. Because as much as I've worked on this trauma management life of mine, I haven't done a good job of working on the relationship aspect of it. I've let my usual patterns dominate. And that's what needs to be examined today.

I mean. Can someone tell me about healthy relationships in functional terms? What IS that even?

Look, I’m not hoping that someone will pop up and share some, “mutual respect, good communication, trust, support, care, similar goals, similar beliefs…” sort of shit. I fucking KNOW about the idealistic, flowery terms that all the light-hearted couples counselors recommend establishing for a happy relationship. I get it.

I’m not ignorant when it comes to the ways humans should interact. I’ve had enough experience with friendships and relationships, alike, to understand the basics of person-to-person interactions. I know I talk about myself like I’ve been a feral child locked in a cage for 20 years, but the truth is that if you met me on the streets I’d probably seem like a normal, well-adapted, personable human being. That Leo Ascendant component of my personality tricks people into actually thinking I’m an extrovert who wants attention. (Hilarious, explains a lot of comments I’ve gotten in my past)

Nah, I’m not asking for the trite descriptions of a healthy partnership that everyone who’s ever been friends on a basic girl’s Facebook has seen before in cursive writing on top of a washed-out pink-tinted field. Those are empty sounding words that I don’t believe most couples manage to put into action, no matter how many selfies they take together or labradoodles they adopt.

For me, Fuckers, the mystery isn’t, “in a fairytale world, how do two humans interact to have a lifelong bliss factory?” Respect, trust, appreciation, mutual understanding… blah blah blah. What the fuck ever.

The real question is how.

And, shit, let me just be honest with all of you - not just the Patrons who’ve already heard my personal bitching - it’s on my mind because I did a thing I definitely should not have… recently, I got into a new romantic relationship that I definitely was not looking for. I’ll spare you all the details today, but know that I’ve entered it kicking and screaming, and it’s caused me a lot of grief already.

Let the life shittery begin! Can’t wait to be destroyed.

Today, I want to bring this personal fire burning in my gut into the podcast. Motherfuck me, if it hasn’t become difficult to ignore… plus, I know that a lot of us Traumatized folks are in a similar boat when it comes to relationship confusion, unhealth, and destruction. So let’s just count the ways that I have no idea how to do this right and I’m destined to be let down by my poor choices.

This time around, I'm bringing you a list of all the ways I tend to fuck things up with other humans. In part, due to Complex Trauma. In other part, probably due to my own personal shortcomings. Listed in no particular order. On a later date, I'm going to be revisiting a lot of these patterns as I examine how early life set a lot of us up for a lot of abuse acceptance in greater detail. Stick around for those continuations on romantic disaster, if this sounds like you, too.

I'm talking about:

Partner choice: Musicians, narcissists, and addicts

Emotional codependency

Mistrust

… That turns into willful blind belief of their words

Inadequacy

Parenting analogues

Authority figures & disappointment

Misdirected commitment

Learned helplessness

Partner choice: Musicians, narcissists and addicts

Who has bad taste in partners? Over and over and over again? It’s me! And probably a lot of you.

Maybe that’s not fair. Maybe they’ve been wonderful guys who just didn’t mesh well with my inner or outer world… but I can tell you, there have been some similarities, and they don’t bode well for a happy future together.

You know me by now. Difficulty connecting with “normal” humans, no interest in small talk, a huge fan of deep emotional honesty, a bit gritty and assholeish, tends to be repelled by anything too widely embraced by the general public, definitely comes with a difficult past, fears of the future, and ongoing challenges in the present.

So, who do you think I get along with? Ivy leaguers with stable, supportive families, an optimistic outlook, and a 20-year plan? Or equally messy and complex humans with a set of neuroses handed down from their unexamined early traumas that make them similarly bitter and disillusioned with life? Just… probably hidden from immediate sight.

Grown men who’ve responsibly built a life for themselves with ambition, personal insight, and balance? Or man-children who’re still figuring out that they can’t drink every night of the week if they want to be functional in life and financially sound? But... with their addictions hidden behind “an appreciation for fine whiskies” or a necessity to sample the craft beer they brew.

Independent, confident humans who have no problem running their own world like a boss and trust that I’m capable of doing the same, with integrity and respect? Or distrustful turds who need me to be in their sight, half-directing their lives at all times unless I’m aiming to be accused of cheating, lying, and being unable to care for myself? Only… they hide their controlling and aggressive tendencies behind go-with-the-flow facades in the beginning.

If you guessed “B” in all three examples, you are correct!

Plus... so, so many musicians. Like, the last 6 of them have either subscribed to guitar or drum camp. And that hasn't been a purposeful decision - those are just the men I get along with until we hate each other.

It's always a rapid connection, a mutual respect for our interests in the arts, and a shared shitty attitude that starts out directed at the world and ends directed at each other. So many emotions. So many ups and downs. So many proclamations of "I can't live without you!" until the day we run in opposite directions and never look back.

Is that a coincidence? Or are all musical folk a bit wild? I hate to generalize, but I can tell you with great amusement that if you start typing "Are all musicians..." into Google, it will autocomplete with "cheaters, narcissists, and crazy." It also suggests "rich," but I can tell you for a fact that isn't true. The narcissist thing... uh.... very well might be correct. But I'll leave that for someone else to study.

So, I don't know what to make of this trend. There do seem to be some commonalities between the musicians in my past life - and they do seem to be categorized by the instrument of choice. For instance, drummers are never concerned with my time, and guitarists are emotional catastrophes. But what do I know? Can't make sweeping conclusions... I, at least, need a larger sample size. With my track record, I'm sure I'll have the numbers soon enough.

Congratulations if you predicted nothing but unstable disasters in my past. It's true, I’m an idiot. Okay, that’s not fair. No inner critic talk. Get out of here, Pam and Karen.

The fact of the matter is, I am a terrible judge of character when I start sensing a connection. I tend to connect with people who have complicated lives and inner worlds, just like I do. And from what I can tell, that is always my downfall.

Challenging connections

Let’s go ahead and chalk this one up to never having close connections or support growing up.

You know what I always wanted, hoped for, and idealized as a kid? Someone loving me. Another human actually understanding my weirdness and signing on for more. The idea of a human who wanted to know what I thought and felt. The option of spending time with someone and feeling cared for. Also, somebody finding me attractive, instead of being repulsed by my ass-length ginger hair, flat chest, dorky hand-me-downs, bleach-stained horse sweaters, and buck teeth... also would have been a dream come true.

I’m pretty sure that growing up lonely didn’t help me in any regard when it came to my later-in-life relationship problems. Starving for connection apparently puts you in a state of deprivation, where you’re likely to think anything is better than the empty feeling inside. You know, just for the rest of your life or so.

To this day, if I meet someone and we’re able to converse without abundant clarifications or apologies for the prickly things that come out of my mouth as dry humor or unbendable opinions… we’re on a roll. If we can connect over shared perspectives on humans, life, and psychology… things are getting more serious. If we can honestly talk about the ways we’re horrible to ourselves and joke about our shared challenges in figuring out what the point of this shitty slip-and-slide of life is about… uh oh, this might be a real connection.

And so, it makes sense that I connect with all the most complicated people you’d ever meet. And we connect INTENSELY. I’m complicated, myself, and I look for folks who can accept it without their heads exploding. I’m never going to be happy holding conversations with Sports Bar Joe or Pretty Boy Blaine. They’re never going to understand the internal strife that dominates my world. I’m never going to understand how they can be all *happy,* *close with their families,* and *laid back about life.*

Gross. I can’t even say the words.

But give me the angstiest, most anxious, most misunderstood dude on the block, and we’re likely to get along swimmingly. We’ll talk over beers until the birds start to chirp. We’ll joke in our native tongues, playing with words, obscure references, and dry humor as if we’ve known each other for 25 years. We’ll share secrets about our tumultuous inner worlds and the ways that we can’t seem to get our heads on straight enough to keep our ships on course.

And the next thing you know, we’ll be incestuously connected with a somewhat false sense of intimacy that erupts out of the gates. “No one has ever understood me the way you do. I can really be myself around you. I’ve never had such easy conversations about this shit before.”

… That’s about the point when I lose all perspective. There’s a tunnel running from my face to this dude’s heart. I stop seeing things for what they are. I project a kinder, gentler, more well-intended personality on the subject of my feels. I quickly turn a blind eye to all the shit they’re doing that I wholeheartedly hate or otherwise cause my red flags to be unpacked.

I feel like I know them, inside and out. I feel like I can help them - like we can help each other - to sort through this dumb world we’ve been born into and all the circumstances holding us back. A real Sid and Nancy storyline emerges. No one gets him like I do. If only they could see the things I see. We’re just two broken souls who found each other, a little rough around the edges, but we see the diamonds underneath. And we’re in this battle together from now on.

Yeah, right.

Sooooo… This is how I wind up with the unpredictable narcissists who seem like nice guys, the secret addicts who keep their substance abuse hidden from everyone, and the emotional abusers who are ready to leverage my mental health admissions against me the first time they get the chance. Dudes who have highly emotional worlds and no idea how to deal with them. Men who don’t want to explore their own shortcomings and instead choose avoidant courses in life.

And, again, the musicians. So, so many musicians. I really am coming to think that they’re the most fucked up people of all - and that's saying a lot coming from me. Generally speaking, I've seen that there’s no sense of personal responsibility, an obsession with themselves, and a hidden inferiority complex that turns them into bitchy little dogs when they feel threatened. What’s with that, anyways? Can you guys try to be more original in your plight to be the most original?

Okay, anyways. Sorry to keep dragging on musicians.

The point is, my attempts at relationships start out on the wrong foot. Choosing the wrong partner is a pretty surefire way to dash all hopes for those fluffy ideals I mentioned earlier. No one is going to respect me, listen to me, or support me when they’re too busy dealing with their own alcoholism, abandonment issues, and narcissistic flailings… or, not dealing with them, to be more specific.

We aren’t going to be able to work through things when they’re consumed with being the king of the world, hiding from all negative emotions, and trying to keep their head away from analysing their own actions. Hell, it’ll be difficult to even find the time for serious talks, since they’re so busy traveling to band practices, hustling away for barely-paying gigs, and staring at their social media while they count the ways they’re victims of the universe.

Choose imbalanced, mentally ill, self-serving partners… get unhealthy, controlling, unpredictable relationships. Pretty goddamn obvious. And yet, I still can never seem to see the full picture of the human who’s caught my attention through the fog that’s created by the connection of our shared dysfunctions.

I guess this is where that, “love yourself and get yourself healthy first,” sentiment comes into play, so the connections don’t continue to be as disasterious as your personal experience is. Hopefully I’m on the right path in my own journey, at least. Also, a lot less starved for connection. I got y’all Motherfuckers in the Discord community, for starters. And I’ve become determined to live a life where I support myself and rely on no one outside of Archie’s snuggles, for finishers.

Step one: Be careful about who you deem a good person, just because you can share self-deprecating jokes about being nutjobs and similar musical interests. Learn to choose someone who isn’t an even trashier trash human than you are. It’s a start.

Emotional codependency

Hand in hand with forming connections that include deep emotional outpourings and admissions of all the dark things we hide from the light at our office jobs… comes codependency.

I’ve said it before and let me say it again… I didn’t understand codependency until very recently.

In my mind, it was akin to those creepy couples who won’t leave the house without each other, have the same friends, interests, and opinions on everything... and possibly wear matching cat shirts. Those people who never spend time with other humans because they're too busy being shoved up their partner’s ass. The folks who call to check in on each other throughout the day when they’re at work. Gag. Particularly, I imagined those pathetic girls who cry when their boyfriend is out of sight and post 12 pictures a day of them together.

Rightfully, I scoffed and insisted that I didn't have problems with codependency. That’s not me. But it turns out, this view isn’t quite right, so much as I was being an uninformed asshole.

Codependency doesn’t mean you’re a needy, incapable human being who sucks the life power out of someone else, like I used to think. Codependency is a two-way relationship defined by poor boundaries and non-existent emotional regulation. Two humans who see their experiences as one, all the way down to how they feel and how they deal with how they feel. (i.e. turning to their significant other for comfort and emotional control in a time of need instead of working through it by themselves). Relationships where the emotions are transferred from party to party until it's unclear who’s bringing what dish to the gathering. Waking up not knowing how your day is going to be, because it depends on how someone else feels about theirs. Emotional enablement city.

Oh, yeah, when you put it like that, I definitely have issues with codependency.

For me, the codependency is largely going to be emotional. In the past, I didn’t know how to have a relationship of any sort without having a third influence in the mix. There was the person, myself, and our shared emotions... that often called more shots than either of us did.

Because I tend to be on the empath scale (although I do everything I can to fight it out of defense), I think I’m naturally tuned into other people’s emotional and energetic states, for better or for worse. When someone walks into the room with a bad vibe, I feel it to my core. I become so uncomfortable that I take it on myself to try to “fix” the problem for them, and in doing so, I avoid the negative sensation, myself. This is negative reinforcement, if anyone wanted to ABA with me.

That being said, clearly if my boo is having a hard time… it’s not okay. They’re in a shit place and therefore so am I. I must do whatever I can to make it better. To sit down and talk in circles with them, if that’s what relieves some of their tension. To commiserate about how unfair the circumstances are. To validate the negativity that they’re projecting and wallowing in.

Don’t worry though, this goes the other way, too. In the past, I have fully expected my romantic partners to alleviate any inner discomfort that I’ve felt. If I was having a low-down day, I wanted them to cheer me up. If I was full of anxiety, I wanted them to find a way to release it. If I was frustrated with a work situation or coworker, I wanted them to be as angry and indignant as I felt.

So… I guess that doesn’t even sound too off-base to me, at least not when I’m leaning on my teenage expectations of what relationships are supposed to be. In my head, it was always completely ideal that I would wind up with someone who could essentially read my thoughts and comfort me like my family never did. I just wanted someone who would be by my side, thinking about me all the time, and working double time to make sure I was keeping my depression and anxiety on the up-and-up. Is that too much to ask? Uh… yeah, it is.

Maybe in a fairytale love story like the ones I saw in teenage romance movies growing up, this is the perfect way for two broken misfits to interact. “We’re both so damaged and hurt that no one has ever really seen us - but now we have each other to lick our shared wounds.” Yeah, romantic. Also really fucked up and dangerous in the real world.

The problem is, after a few months of this, it gets pretty hard to determine what’s my experience and what’s yours. The emotions become so transitive that it can be invigorating, immersive, overwhelming, and exhausting to be in each other’s company, depending on the day and the event. Living together or essentially sharing a residence makes it much worse - there’s no physical barrier between us, so that emotional barrier is even less existent. We don't have to try to text about our woes, we can just unleash them the moment we step foot in the door. Ready or not, your night is about to be ruined by my day, and vice-versa.

How does this go wrong? Uh, let’s count the ways.

1. My emotional management was never up to par, in the first place. Having your feelings catapulted my way effectively pushes me off the balance beam that I was already wobbling on. If I was having a difficult day but holding it together on my own through coping techniques and reasonable thinking - fucking forget it, that’s over now. We’re both in a shitty state now. Great. In the context of trying to recover from mental health issues… yeah, it’s a fucking disaster. Being retriggered by your partner or sucked into a depressive undertow when you’re trying to make positive change is a losing battle.

2. I never learned how to cope with my own emotions. There was generally someone else for me to hurtle them at, and our subsequent hours of bitching would give me the comfort I was looking for. I didn’t need to learn to manage my feelings - I always had a glorified babysitter to keep me alive. I never had to be accountable for my inner world. I never had to look at things with logic or reason. I could let myself spiral and trust that my best friend or boyfriend would catch me before I slipped down the drain.

3. It becomes impossible to talk about issues - personal or shared. When you’re already sharing emotions there’s an explosive effect when conflict is brought up. Neither one of us knows how to handle our shit, we expect the other person to hold us up with kid gloves, annnd now that person is the source of my distress? We’re both completely beside ourselves, upset, hurt, and angry… and it’s towards each other? Now who the fuck do we call? There's a huge sense of confusion and betrayal. No one has the skills to de-escalate the argument or return to a normal emotional state.

4. How do you break up when half of your existence is in the body of another human? You can’t mentally or emotionally separate yourself from them. Physically separating yourself feels like ripping out a few of your organs and leaving them on the streets. And, who’s going to keep you afloat when you’re going through the pain of the break up? That’s the job of your partner, afterall… can’t have a vacant desk sitting here. It’s best to just suck it up and stick with it. No one would understand what you’ve both been through together, anyways.

In a word, that’s codependency.

Not what people think it is. Not what our culture describes it as. Not so easy to spot until you’re educated and honest with yourself… plus, probably viewing things through the lenses of hindsight.

Definitely a sneaky recipe for disaster when you let it take over a well-intended, emotionally transparent, highly connective relationship. And, Motherfuckers, I’ve always tended to.

Head to t-mfrs.com for more!

#cptsd #healcptsd #just cptsd things #cptsdsurvivor #cptsdwarrior #cptsd problems #cptsd romance #trauma #ptsd #childhood ptsd #childhoodtraumarecovery #healingcomplextrauma #relationships

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noncommited-writer · 5 years

Text

hot chocolate and cookie dough ice-cream

A/N: Here’s my next work on Starker Bingo 2019! It’s for the ‘Soulmate AU’ one. (which I actually asked for). This isn’t your typical Soulmate AU but I did have a lot of fun. It’s an AU where whatever you eat or drink something your soulmate will start craving it too. Hope you enjoy! I tried to be original with the Soulmate AU so I did this😅

Here it is on ao3!

Word count: 4725

Soulmates are a fickle thing. Years of research, millions of dollars of funding have been put into figuring out the intricacies of soulmates. To hopefully make it easier for people to find each other. Centuries ago, when it was easier to meet your soulmate—especially when you live in a small town with a population of only a hundred—they figured out that when you eat or drink something, the person on the other end of the bond starts craving the same thing as well.

People get to meet their soulmates through having very personalised tastes and preferences so that one day, they can stumble upon someone who is eating the exact thing or at least trying to curb the urge to eat frog legs topped with caviar.

But in this day and age, where the population is growing in size each and every moment, more and more people start to care less about soulmates. Not that the interest about them disappear completely; they still teach the idea of soulmates in world history. But because of the rarity of successful pairings—usually in the one out of a million chances—and the fact more people are rebelling against the idea of being tethered to one person for the entirety of your life, people tend to not think largely on soulmates.

Not that it doesn’t happen. Fate did decide to pair two souls, and so fate would bring them together. Scientists—as logical as they are—do think there’s always something bigger at play here, because it’s still shockingly more common for soulmates to meet than for it to make sense.

Which is why when Tony Stark—small, young, full of hopes and dreams and knowing everything there is about soulmates—was absolutely devastated when he starts to realise how he never really craved anything. Even as a small child, he never once had the urge to eat something new or interesting or even anything at all.

At seven, his smile breaks when Jarvis asks him what’s his soulmate’s favourite food. He comes up with ‘Waffles! Like my favourite!’ knowing there’s something wrong with him if he doesn’t even know what’s his soulmate’s favourite food.

At eleven, he shrugs when his classmate asks him what’s the weirdest craving he’s ever gotten. He says his soulmate has basic tastes, not having the guts to say they don’t have a taste at all.

At fifteen, when he’s fresh out of MIT and tied at the hip with his best friend—whose favourite food is beef taquitos with chipotle hot sauce—he says with a wink and a smile that his soulmate loves taquitos with hot sauce. Rhodey always has this dull look of sadness in the depths of his eyes, but he doesn’t say a thing—especially after he had to see Tony screaming through tears that his soulmate is dead, that he’s a loner who deserves nobody in this world.

At twenty-one, when he’s drunk and counting down the days to his parents’ funeral, downing so many shots he wonders if he’ll have alcohol poisoning, the girl who’s straddling his lap furrows her brows and asks if his soulmate likes alcohol as much as he does. He can only give a dry laugh, before tossing back another shot.

At thirty one, he wakes up on the eleventh of August and he has an overwhelming urge to drink milk. He easily shrugs it off, makes his coffee with an absurdly amount of creamer that would usually offend his love for the bitter taste of black.

It’s only when a few weeks pass by that he realises something is very off. He craves milk at random times of the day, in the morning, in the evening and even in the middle of the night.

It’s when he’s having his third cup of milk of the day, sitting in his kitchen in the dark, when he bolts upright and spits out the milk, eyes wide with horror.

No fucking way.

Tony nearly has a breakdown right there and then, his hands shaky as he thinks back to all the times he’s drank milk and nothing else. He thinks there’s no way. There’s no way in hell he’s older than his soulmate by thirty one years.

He tells JARVIS to lock down his house and he throws the two jugs of milk he has in his fridge into the trash, one of which is already half empty. He sits in his basement, eyes glassy and hand wound tightly around his wrench as he tries to tinker with his car. All he thinks about is how fucked up this is, how fucked up fate made his life to be this way, how he knows he’ll spend the rest of his life avoiding this poor baby—fuck, they’re not even two months old yet—just so he would still have his dignity intact and give his soulmate a semblance of a normal life.

Eventually, he does go back to drinking milk a couple of hours later, unable to ignore the craving.

If Pepper and Rhodey notice how he starts drinking less, they don’t comment.

Months later, he’s craving mashed potato and puree carrots, blends of avocado and banana. To satisfy the craving, he eats dinners of mashed potato with gravy and raw carrots with a banana avocado shake.

Turns out he has a preference for shakes.

He stops drinking alcohol altogether and replaces his morning coffee with bright pink smoothies, strawberries and bananas with apple juice that bursts with flavour in his mouth. He feels healthy and for one small moment, he’s glad his soulmate is an incentive to become less of the human mess that he is.

Once in a while, he indulges in a glass of alcohol, but almost every time, he ends up not finishing it, the guilt eating at him from inside. On those nights where he drinks, the next day will start with him throwing more strawberries and honey into his smoothies to help ease his conscience.

On business trips, he goes to exotic places to eat all types of dishes, as if giving a small sampling to his young soulmate of what the world has to offer. He eats, and dines and tastes things he’s never tasted before. The cravings he gets are the usual waffles and ice cream, spaghetti and meatballs his soulmate seem to have an appetite for, and the hot chocolate during late nights.

Tony makes his mind wander at this times when he makes his own hot chocolate—not quite tasting like the stuff his five year old soulmate drinks but close enough; he needs the recipe because it’s that good—at the same time his soulmate drinks it. He makes his own world where his soulmate is happily sipping down their warm drink, burrowing into a couch with a blanket safely enveloping them. He never gets cravings for odd or disgusting food, which is a relief for Tony because it means his soulmate is well off, or at least enough for them to indulge in sweet treats and nice dinners.

Tony knows the more you indulge your soulmate cravings, the stronger your bond is. Which is starting to show in how much Tony eats desserts, simple dinners and drink fruit juices. The stronger bond also allows the other person to have a partial taste of what they’re eating, like a ghost of a taste on their tongue. Which is one of the many reasons he stopped drinking alcohol at this point. He knows that if he were to drink it now, the craving would be insatiable for his soulmate—who is already five years old—and he can’t do that to them. Ever.

Tony gets another Apogee Award. He’s in a casino when he receives it. He’s late for his flight. He asks for one hot sake and ignores how Rhodey gives him a knowing look without stopping his chiding.

An hour later, Rhodey is drunk, rambling about his army men, while Tony is sucking down on a tall glass of apple juice. The kid’s been drinking that a lot lately. Maybe it’s a school lunch beverage?

He’s Tony Stark, weapons designer, and he presents the Jericho. He pretends to sip the scotch he takes for himself, the crate of dry ice and alcohol just for show.

He takes the fun-vee and it doesn’t seem as much fun once he sees young men killed right in front of his eyes by his own weapons. Doesn’t become any more fun when he sees his name on a missile that sends him flying.

He damns the name ‘fun-vee’ when he’s staring at the growing patch of red on his blue shirt, feeling excruciating pain in his chest. He hates how he wishes he actually met his soulmate, he hates how he regrets not eating more different foods for them to enjoy, hates how they’ll grow up never feeling those cravings again, he hates how he knows they’ll come to realise their soulmate is dead—just like he did when he was younger. Darkness envelopes him.

When he’s eating nothing but ground meat and brown sauce, lungs compressed and eyes so well adjusted to the dark, his tummy rumbles with hot chocolate and sweet cookie dough ice cream. Tony thinks his soulmate knows something is wrong (or he’s just stupidly hoping) because the three months he’s there, the kid eats all kinds of foods. Ranging to their usual meals, to new dishes he knows his soulmate has never tried. It’s… heartening to know that there is someone out there, caring in their own way. When he craves barbeque mixed with that special sauce at that restaurant he loves, and the flavour spreads with a dull tingle across Tony’s tongue, Tony lets a tear roll down his cheek. His soulmate knows his favourite food and they’re trying to cheer him up.

The first thing he eats when he gets back is a cheeseburger. He knows it’s the kid’s third favourite food, next to tacos and the smoothies Tony makes. He gets a craving of his favourite ice cream later that night, and he imagines eating the ice cream with the kid.

He learns how to cook for himself, especially the foods the kid likes. It becomes Tony’s other favourite hobby, next to his tinkering and building of suits.

When Tony is dying, he tries his best to eat exotic foods more often, getting out of his comfort zone to order when he’s at restaurants. He hopes the kid can taste the oysters on their tongue.

He throws in a spoonful of honey, strawberries and even a dash of cinnamon to his chlorophyll shakes. Just because Tony is dying, doesn’t mean he’ll make his soulmate want a disgusting mixture of plain greens and bitter vegetables. In return, he gets cravings of a green salad which—Tony can’t even begin to unpack—nearly makes Tony cry.

The kid is only seven years old and they can already pink up cues of Tony’s tastes. The kid would usually buy heaps of sweet treats but for him—for Tony—they’d eat a green salad so that Tony would continue his healthy diet. It only lasts a week before it’s back to the bowls of cookie dough ice cream at night, but Tony never forgets that moment of sweetness and care between the bond.

Tony fucked up. He let his lack of self-preservation skills take over and he drowns himself in alcohol on his last birthday. One sickening thought enters his thought, that his soulmate deserves to have this bitter liquid run down the back of their throat for having Tony as their soulmate.

He buys a box of donuts, along with a cup of coffee that’s on the sweeter side, as an apology for making his soulmate—they’re seven years old, Tony notes, and wow does time fly—want alcohol for hours last night.

He tastes coconut in his mouth when he has the new element running through his veins, and he knows his soulmate tasted it too. Because minutes later, there’s coconut ice cream on his empty tongue.

It’s years later, and every year on the week he knows is around his soulmate’s birthday, he travels to a country to try all sorts of food. He hopes his soulmate enjoys their gift.

One night, Tony is tinkering on a red and blue suit—a week after finding out about this new web-slinger vigilante with a terrible excuse of a costume and who goes head first into bad situations—when his mouth is enveloped with the taste of copper. Blood.

The tangy, metallic taste freaks Tony out, and rightfully so. His soulmate is out there, with their blood pooling in their mouth, and it seems to be a lot. Because the taste doesn’t go away until half an hour later. By that time, Tony is stirring a pot of hot chocolate and taking a small bowl of cookie dough ice cream—which became Tony’s comfort foods—to make himself feel better. He takes scalding sips of the drink, the mug shaking in his hand.

A few minutes into his ice cream and breakdown, he has a strong craving for Thai food and he nearly crumples into himself, relief flooding his body.

Peter opens the door and greets his aunt, an odd craving for May’s walnut date loaf. But he shakes it off. He’d rather have those awful craving of bitter green smoothies than eat May’s date loaf.

He’s a stuttering mess when he meets Tony Stark, who is in his living room. His living room! He barely spares a thought at how he pays a compliment to May’s horrendous walnut date loaf. Next thing he knows, the man is in his bedroom and telling him he knows he’s Spider-Man and he can join his mission in Germany, which Peter of course has to go to. It’s the Avengers!

Tony is in India when he tastes a mouthful of disgusting beer. He does the math quickly in his head and he rolls his eyes. Only fifteen and probably at a high school party with bitter beer and bad music. He relaxes a little bit, though, because the alcohol taste goes away fairly fast. He supposes his soulmate isn’t one for much beer.

Not even half an hour later, his mouth is full of the taste of bland water, but it tastes dirty.

He gets a notification that Peter’s suit just activated his parachute, and he watches his Iron Man suit fish Peter out of the lake he fell from a hundred feet into.

He’s able to slow down his heart rate a little bit when the scans show the teenager is uninjured. Only for his blood pressure to rise when he hears that Peter has to take him down now, huh? Steady crockett, there are people who handle this sort of thing.

He ends the call, but not without a niggling feeling at the back of his head.

His mouth is filled with blood again and again, Tony has a panic attack. This time, it’s on the floor of his lab in the Avengers compound, in the middle of adding more tracking devices to Peter’s suit. He blinks, tears blurring his vision as he’s hit with the thought his soulmate is in pain again. They’re only fifteen.

He gets a call twenty minutes from Happy later, who tells him that Peter took down the ‘flying vulture guy’ and saved crates of weaponry that was being sent over from the tower.

Despite the fear of his soulmate being dead, he drinks hot chocolate again, with the hope he’ll get a craving in return. He doesn’t.

At least until breakfast, which makes Tony slump against the tinkering table, shaken to his core. A buttered croissant and orange juice tingling his taste buds.

He gets it. Why Peter turned down the offer. But there’s a twisting feeling in his stomach, right where he usually gets his cravings. He gulps down his smoothie, grimacing. He doesn’t know what that feeling means but he doesn’t unpack it yet. There’s so much going on and Peter really isn’t the highest thing on his agenda. Not even close.

That statement turns to dust when Peter starts texting him, updating him on patrols and his school projects. Tony starts replying instead of turning him away, and he finds himself enjoying their little midnight chats; Peter talking about his school and his Spider-Manning while Tony drops a comment or two about being on a business trip.

Tony knows Peter is higher on his agenda when he races towards the signal of the Spider-Man suit tracker, when he blasts the guy who stabbed Peter into the brick wall. The man gains seven fractures.

He knows it’s become a problem when he stops and stares when Peter strips out of his suit, all sturdy curves and thick cords of muscle.

He knows it’s fucked up when he doesn’t immediately turn off the Baby Monitor footage of Peter whimpering in the dark and whispering ‘Mr. Stark’—the reason why there was an alert in the first place—as he chases his orgasm.

Tony reasons it’s fine just as long as he keeps his hands off his underaged protégé—Jesus, he’s as old as his soulmate which doesn’t comfort Tony at all—when he invites him over for their usual tinkering in the Stark Tower lab. (He curses fate because—is this all he’s supposed to be? Be tethered to an underage teenager while simultaneously lusting after another one?)

They have dinners together; pizza, Thai take-outs and sometimes even Tony’s cooking. He can’t help the part of himself that purrs in satisfaction when Peter praises his cooking. He makes an off-comment he cooks for his soulmate, because he knows all of their favourite foods. Peter grins and says, “Hey, one of my favourites is also spicy chicken tacos! I can basically devour them. They’re amazing.”

They have quiet moments in the dark lab, amused smiles when Peter makes bad science jokes, fond eye rolls when Peter asks if Tony is playing Led Zeppelin, soft sounds of triumph and victory when they figure out a problem together, one person carrying the other to the couch when they pass out. It’s private moments, shared over their love of science and technology, and their bond between them.

Peter and Tony walk into the frozen section of the grocery store, both of them reaching for the same ice cream. Cookie dough. Peter is beaming, “Your favourite is cookie dough ice cream too?”

Tony snorts but nods, taking two cartons of it for safekeeping. He also takes a bag of cocoa powder to make his favourite drink.

When he’s poured a mug for Peter and himself, he awaits Peter’s reaction as he takes a sip. His brown eyes go wide, looking down at the mug. “Holy crap, this tastes nearly identical to my mom’s old recipe.”

Tony pauses, lips close to his mug as he stares at Peter. He’s spent years perfecting his soulmate’s hot chocolate recipe. The same creeping feeling comes back into his head, which he waves off. Tony shrugs. “Good? Or bad?”

“Good. Definitely good.” Peter is nearly nuzzling up to the mug, hands wrapped around the warm ceramic. They share a secretive smile over their mugs, Tony taking in the sweetness of Peter’s raised cheeks and bright doe eyes. They take their cartons of ice cream to the couch and watch some movie classic that Peter calls ‘old’.

Peter comes over to the tower dressed in a pink knitted sweater that brings out the pretty cherry red gloss on his lips, and dark blue jeans that seem skin tight. He’s there for advice; not for a Spider-Man thing, but rather for help on a date with a boy he finds interesting.

Tony finds it particularly difficult to spout out dating advice when he’s distracted by how kissable his mentee’s lips are—bright and red and so sinful—so he sends Peter off with a tight-lipped smile and a grandfathterly pat on the shoulder.

The sweetness of a strawberry milkshake floods his mouth but he shoves it down along with the hazy lust. For the first time in years, he takes three fingers of scotch down in quick succession, going down his throat with a burn that faintly reminds him of the shame he feels when he looks at Peter in a way that’s not fatherly.

It burns more when he thinks of his soulmate who ate cookie dough ice cream last night.

“How was the date?” Tony can’t bring himself to put much enthusiasm into his tired voice, but Peter doesn’t even seem to notice, because his eyes are downcast and he’s dragging his feet across the floor like he’s heaving a heavy bag behind him—and he seems so upset that Tony—god, Tony knows he’s not a good person, no matter how much he tries to convince himself by drowning in smoothies but—he can’t help himself from opening his arms like he has the right. Not that it matters because Peter rushes into his arms, slumping against the warmth Tony gives off who rubs his back in an awkward attempt to comfort him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Lucas is a dick. He only asked me out so he can fulfil some dumb dare his friends made.” Tony sighs, and gently pushes Peter onto the stool next to him.

“You know that doesn’t mean you’re not worth the effort, right? That guy’s an asshole for treating you like this. It’s not your fault.” Peter quickly wipes away the stray tear, red-rimmed eyes tugging at Tony’s heartstrings. “Sure feels like it.”

“And why is that?”

“Because… if I was more attractive or more funny then maybe he would ask me out for real.” Tony stares at him. “Are you serious? Kid, he wouldn’t have asked you out for real because he never saw you for what you truly are.”

Tony leans in to rest his hand on Peter’s arm and they lock eyes. “He doesn’t deserve you, Pete. You should know that.”

Peter looks lost for a moment, contemplative as he looks at Tony. An irking feeling nips at Tony’s brain, and he pulls away, breaking the thin walls of their moment. He’s too close.

Tony gives him a smile, genuine but a little guarded. Peter just furrows his brows, tilting backwards in his stool. The light hits just right where Tony can see the shimmer of pink in Peter’s lip gloss, the deep brown in his irises that turn to honey and Tony—Tony loses his breath. Because he knows he’s so fucked. And he can’t do anything about it.

“Did you know my favourite dessert is cookie dough ice cream?” Peter asks, looking at the table as he avoids Tony’s confused gaze.

“Yeah, you told me.”

“My other favourites are hot chocolate, chicken tacos, and strawberry smoothies.” Peter looks up and gets off from his stool. He moves to Tony and places his hands on his thighs, staring at Tony’s face.

“Kid, what’re you—”

“I just—I just need to know, Mr. Stark.”

Peter kisses him.

The first thing that Tony notices is the cherry-flavoured lip-gloss. Then Peter licks the seam of Tony’s lips, and the man lets him slide in.

The second thing that Tony notices is the strawberry milkshake flavour he was craving just an hour ago.

He freezes.

Peter can taste the scotch on Tony’s tongue, the same alcohol that warmed up his belly when he was sipping down his strawberry milkshake.

Tony doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t. Because he knows—he knows what this means.

He can feel the probing feeling again, stronger than ever—telling him to touch Peter—touch Peter, he has to.

His hand slowly inches forward, grazing Peter’s wrist. The second he touches Peter’s soft, creamy skin and something—something breaks.

A flood of feelings erupt within them, like a huge dam that was built in the corner of their mind—holding everything back, colours and memories flitting before of their eyes. Cacophony of deafening sounds, unforgettable tastes, overflowing sensations and buried hurt.

“Mommy, can I have some hot chocolate? My soulmate is having some!”

“Peter—don’t touch that bottle!”

“But I want it!”

“Richard, should we be worried? Peter has been wanting that bottle of scotch for hours now. I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh my gosh! This tastes almost exact like the smoothies my soulmates likes to make!”

“Oh!—They like cookie dough ice cream too!”

“Mommy, there’s something wrong. I can taste blood.”

“May! I want salad for dinner. I think my soulmate changed his taste!”

“Ned! My soulmate is drinking apple juice too! Isn’t that cool? I wonder if they’re in this school.”

“I don’t know whether to love or hate my soulmate. I think they go around tasting all sorts of exotic stuff around my birthday because now all I want is chilli crab wrapped in squid tentacles. And I’ve never even liked squid!”

“May… my soulmate is drinking too much. I’m scared. They never drink this much, ever.”

“God, I didn’t know I can bleed in the mouth so much from a punch… Shit.”

“It’s so hard for me to believe she’s someone’s aunt. This walnut date loaf is exceptional.”

“Mr. Stark, the only time I’ve ever tasted caviar is on my birthday and I don’t think I’ve never hated my soulmate more for that.”

“The only time I’ve ever been scared for my soulmate, was when I was six or seven. All I craved for three months was beans and pork. Nothing else. I didn’t know why, but it had me so worried.”

Tony pulls away, his eyes wide. Peter is crying, Tony’s memories playing in his head. And Tony… Tony feels nothing but the need to protect and to keep his soulmate, nothing but the need to shower Peter in affection that buries deep into his soul.

A shaky hand reaches up, calloused thumb light tracing Peter’s supple skin as he tries his best to hold everything together. It’s been so long.

Tony’s wanted this for so long. He promised himself he’d never want to meet them, but along the way, between the sweet hot chocolate and cookie dough ice cream, he’s grown affection and love in his heart, tender to the touch but blooming. And all for the one true person he’s made for. All for Peter.

“I found you.” Tony can barely speak, his throat closing up as his mouth tastes even more of the strawberry milkshake.

“And I found you,” Peter mumbles, his hand coming to rest on Tony’s forearm. They lean into each others touch, feeling their heart, soul and mind intertwine as memories of the other play before their eyes. Tony can feel Peter. Peter is all over him. He wants—he wants him, he wants… more.

His hand swoops down to cover the back of Peter’s thigh while the other slides down to his waist. Tony, barely sparing a moment, pulls the small doe eyed sweetheart into his lap, the scent of Peter’s strawberry shampoo and cheap deodorant enveloping his senses.

They stare at each other and slowly, Peter’s hands entangle into Tony’s soft hair, not losing sight of the other for a second, afraid the other would disappear if they do.

And they kiss.

And kiss again.

Peter is whimpering, making soft noises against Tony’s lips. Tony is practically breathless, unable to get enough of Peter as he nip and licks his way into Peter’s sweet mouth; the mouth that’s nothing less of a sweet tooth—something that Tony has come to learn over years of late night cravings.

It feels like every unsatisfied craving he’s had over the years are met, like a hole inside getting filled up the longer his hands are on Peter. It’s like… getting your other half, not knowing you were there was a piece missing all along.

Peter pulls away, a thin string of saliva connecting their red lips. The lithe boy on his lap looks like an angel.

“Can we get hot chocolate and cookie dough ice cream?” Tony moves in, licking a warm stripe on Peter’s neck, revelling in the deliciously drawn out sound from him.

“Sure, kid, whatever you want.”

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #Ironspider #Starker bingo #Starker bingo 2019 #Starker fanfiction #My writing #Soulmate au #Starker soulmate au

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mamamittens · 5 years

Text

Glitchtrap, the Fursuit

Okay so while I have a moment, let me lay out my evidence for a previously mentioned post that glitchtrap is a fursuit. Clearly.

#1. There are seams absolutely everywhere on his suit. Most notably on his joints. The point is that there aren't any mechanical parts visible, which has to be deliberate (and there can't be any for reasons I'll get into later). Real mascot suits would have these to ensure that the person inside can move comfortably without ripping the suit. The game is all about painfully recreating FNAF "myths" to make them seem like a joke. All the animatronics move, act, and look like their real life counterparts. Down to the electrical wiring. But this mystery "friend" is... Different. He's tall but slim. He can't be as advanced at Baby (cause he's not big enough for child ensnarement like she is, not does he have a particular gimick like Bellora). And he'd have to be extremely advanced for his design to be so seamless (pun intended) and organic. But somehow he had to have existed in some form before.

#2. He's weirdly static for an "animatronic". Okay, sure, he moves a lot (I'll get to that in a bit) but his face never changes. Neither do his eyes. Even springtrap had moving eyes and that was a suit meant to hold a person. In fact, his face reminds me a lot of costume mascots. Unfocused eyes made to take pictures without appearing cross-eyed. Not necessarily focus on a child close by. I think he might be seeing through the teeth, if it was a real costume and not a digital representation of one.

#3. He's incredibly light on his feet for an "animatronic". We see him dancing like a jackass in one of the endings, and despite hearing perfectly fine, we don't hear him move. Not any heavy footsteps like when the others walk, and his movements are smooth and human, unlike the puppet. Even his way of getting your attention is human. Bent over at the waist to the side, coy and friendly, waving. Like trying to talk to a child playfully that you don't know. He even leans forward, which would definitely not be something someone would do in a (likely) heavy exosuit in fear of falling over. Remember, all the physical actions and appearances are supposed to have been copied from fazbear hardwear for realism and as a shortcut in game making (which glitchtrap came from as the game directly mentions).

#4. He shushed you. The only thing he directly says is a shush sound. A robot wouldn't do that and not also talk if they had the ability. It's debatable that the creepy sound you hear is him, but I personally believe he's sampling the tape girl since those files are his hidey-hole. And it's warped cause he's fractured as it is and... I'm not sure he's really any form of AI, which would've been able to parrot back words if need be. I don't have a lot for this one, just a small note of interest.

#5. His design is old. Most old mascots were brightly colored and, to be frank, a little creepy. He's not realistically colored like the original four or a recolor like golden Freddy. But he's also not super cute (with red cheeks and soft friendly colors) like the fun time gang. And he has clothes. Not pants, but a vest most notably. Usually that's done with child friendly mascots to make them more human. A vest is a popular option as it provides the illusion of modesty. That and shoes weirdly enough... But that's not relevant here.

Okay, so what? Well, what I'm trying to get at here is that the suit is real. It existed outside the VR. But why? Well, I have a few ideas.

#1. Emergency mascot replacement. When the head of a child is crunched in the jaws of an animatronic, that's cause for closure. But with a bit of wiggling around, they can call back the machines and just have employees in suits to cover Freddy and his gang until they're "safe". Same ideas for spring Bonny suit, just safer for the employee wearing it.

#2. Murder suit. I don't believe for one second that Afton only started murdering kids when he had an robot suit to shove them into. If glitchtrap is a version of Afton, why would he take his human form and risk getting caught again when he could pretend to be a cute animatronic? Maybe he had a startup business or worked in an early Fazbear joint... Maybe even Freddy Jr's. That shit had to be expensive, who's to say they didn't have a version without robots? Glitchtrap might be the murderous, conniving version of Afton that he left behind when his children were affected by his... Hobby.

#2.5. knockoff murder suit. He may have made it himself when Fazbears got wise to his tricks so he could keep killing. Idk, but that suit is definitely custom made and specifically to fit the wearer, not a "one size fits all" type deal. Not with those close fitting gloves and accurate limb length to keep the suit from looking... Disturbing in motion since it fits really close to his frame unlike most real mascot costumes.

#fnaf help wanted #fnaf vr #fnaf #glitchtrap #gametheory #game theory #matpat #i need answers #wtf is going on #maybe im crazy #maybe not #maybe its just me

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iamvegorott · 5 years

Text

Gods At War Ch. 8

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Sorting

Stephen could feel Loki’s eyes on his hands as he summoned a portal, she was defiantly determined to figure that spell out for herself. Maybe he could spare some time to show her, she already had a grasp on magic, it shouldn’t be too hard for her to get it, but magic was always something that could pull the wool over your eyes in the most unexpecting ways.

“Stepping through this portal is going to feel much different than the other one,” Stephen warned as Loki went to the opening he had created, her eyes hard as she studied the sparking outline. She was able to stop and look at the opening this time around since she wasn’t trying to get away from Apollo.

“I assume so,” Loki stated, lightly touching the edge of the portal and seeing the yellow sparks dancing across her hand.

“You weren’t as interested in studying the portal before,” Stephen commented.

“There isn’t someone getting on my nerves here,” Loki said. “I’m in no rush this time.”

“I thought you liked Peter.” Stephen teased, chuckling when Loki just gave him a look. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

“Let’s.” Loki went into the portal first and she felt as if something hit her in the stomach. She hunched over and coughed out. Loki knew she was floating, and it had the feeling of being in water, but she could breathe. Her vision was filled with bright colors and chunks of what looked like rocks. Was this the seams?

“Stay still,” Stephen advised as he came into the area as well. He went over to Loki and placed his hands on her shoulders. “It will take just a second to adjust since you haven’t been here before.”

“I’ve had worse,” Loki said. “Ever been thrown around like a rag doll by Hulk?” Loki slowly straightened herself back up.

“I don’t think I’d survive that.” Stephen chuckled.

“Good to know I’m stronger than you.” Loki gave Stephen a smirk.

“Oh? Is that so?” Stephen smirked back and the two stayed like that for a moment, Stephen’s hands on Loki’s shoulders and Loki getting a little closer to Stephen. Loki opened her mouth to add a comment she would never say in front of Peter, but she was cut off by a large chunk of rock floating between them. “There’s a good one.” Stephen grabbed the rock, letting go of Loki and looked around for a different one. Loki chewed on the inside of her cheek, her…comment could wait till later.

“Are we separating the rocks?” Loki asked, waiting as Stephen moved away and grabbed a few of the pieces.

“They’re not rocks, per se.” Stephen went back to Loki. “They’re pieces of the realms that hardened into a familiar form.” Loki just blinked and took the piece of realm Stephen handed her. “This is one from our own realm, I’m not sure how to describe the feel of it, but you can tell the difference when you hold a piece from the Greek realm.” Stephen placed a different ‘rock’ into Loki’s other hand. “To me, they feel like different temperatures, the Greek is colder.”

“Green and red,” Loki stated as she stared at the pieces. “The Greek feels like red and ours feels like green…” Loki’s voice went soft towards the end. “That sounds weird, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Stephen said with a reassuring smile that had Loki’s cheeks warming up. “That’s actually a fairly good sign that you can have such a strong distinction between the two, you’d be able to notice if there’s a completely different part of realm much easier than most.”

“How many people have you taken to the seams of realms?” Loki joked.

“It’s my go-to date area.” Stephen joked back.

“This is a date?” Loki watched Stephen’s face flush with a soft pink.

“I-uh, mean that…” Stephen cleared his throat.

“Are we making piles of the pieces?” Loki asked, freeing Stephen from having to come up with something.

“I figured it’d be a good first step, they’ll most likely all come to us and we can go and collect the stragglers.” Stephen grabbed two more chunks of realms, holding them for a second before placing them in the air on his right side. “This pile can be the Greeks and we can make ours to the left.”

“You mean right?” Loki asked with a little chuckle and Stephen just rolled his eyes, a little smile playing on his lips. “How long do you plan on keeping me here?” Loki asked as she placed one of the ‘rocks’ into the Greek pile and used the other to begin the other pile.

“I’ll give us a good hour, normally I could stay here longer but I’m not fully sure how long your mind can handle being in here.” Stephen and Loki were getting into a steady rhythm of sorting as they talked.

“It sounds like you’re putting me in danger,” Loki said.

“Not all at, you’re strong and the worse you’ll get is a mild headache.” Stephen shrugged.

“Headaches can get pretty dangerous with me, no one likes me when I have one.”

“Is that how you got Hulked?”

“Hulked?” Loki laughed. “How long have you been around Peter?”

“Not as long as you.” Stephen grinned. “How did you even become friends with the child?”

“He just kind of latched on to me,” Loki said. “He met me and five minutes later he said, and I quote, ‘I like this one’.”

“Sounds like a grand compliment.”

“Little did I know how grand it was.” Loki had a smile on her face at the memory. “The others trusted me just a little after seeing that Peter liked me, but it’s still a slippery slope with them. Tony lets me know pretty often that if I make one mistake with the kid, I’m dead.”

“Seems to me that everyone has adopted him.”

“It won’t take long until you do as well.”

“I already have.” Stephen chuckled. “He’s a good kid, chaotic, but good.”

“We never know that’s going on in his mind.” Loki grabbed a new piece and paused. “Yellow?”

“Yellow?” Stephen echoed the question.

“This one is yellow.” Loki held out the piece and Stephen floated over.

“Does that mean-” Stephen placed his hand on the piece and yanked it back, hissing with pain. “That’s not good.” Loki bit her tongue, knowing that her usual sarcasm may not be welcomed at the moment “We should leave, I can look into this later on my own.”

“You can’t even touch this, you need me.” Loki protested.

“You’re right, but we should still get out of here.” Stephen turned and opened a portal. “I know a handful of tests that could be used to...Loki?”

“There’s more yellow,” Loki stated, moving further and further away as she started a small collection of realm pieces in her hands. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” She added when she saw Stephen heading over to her. “I figured a larger sample size will give us more to work with. I’ve seen what Tony’s done with his experiments and things tend to get destroyed.”

“That’s a good point,” Stephen admitted.

“I found about five, should be enough for now, right?” Loki was putting all of the pieces on one arm as she spoke, looking up and going stiff for a second, seeing something behind Stephen. Loki quickly placed her free hand on Stephen’s shoulder and used him to help swing herself around, kicked a large chunk of realm away before it slammed into them.

“They should not be that big,” Stephen said, feeling his cape slip off. Loki didn’t have time to question the self-moving cape since it went around the two of them and pushed. Sending them barreling towards the portal as two more large chunks of realm crashed together where they had just been.

The shift in Loki’s stomach happened again as they were sent back to Tony’s tower, landing on the table, Loki on her back and Stephen on top of her. The cape just flopped down on top of them, happy that there was no longer any more danger.

“That happened.” Loki groaned as Stephen lifted himself to his elbows, grunting a little.

“You okay?” Stephen asked.

“Yeah, getting Hulked was a lot worse.” Loki chuckled.

Peter rushed into the room, sliding on his feet to a stop, having heard the crash and he had to slap his hands over his mouth when he saw Loki and Stephen on the table. He quickly spun around and stopped the others who were about to barge in as well.

——————–

Requests are CLOSED Commissions are OPEN

Tag List: @wolfbear135 @thesinginggal

#marvel #loki x dr. strange #loki x strange

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uglymanchronicles · 5 years

Text

Ugly Man Chronicles Reignition Book 1 Chapter 3: No Gain

The Ugly Man’s crusade gets off to a bumpy start with a close call and some unpleasant memories.

It began with a man. A significant percentage of stories do. Almost half! This man wasn’t doing much, for someone at the beginning of a story. In fact, he was just sitting on a bench, doing nothing. He was a bit unusual looking, but no more so than anyone else—just distinct enough that his lack of distinctiveness didn’t make him stand out. He was on the shorter side, a bit heavyset, maybe in his late forties. The term ‘swarthy’ had probably been used to describe him more than once. He wore baggy cargo shorts, a sun-faded Hawaiian shirt, a wide-brimmed hat, and large aviator sunglasses. He flicked a toothpick back and forth between his lips, and a gold tooth flashed in his mouth when he smiled. He looked like somebody who had some interesting stories. Associates probably referred to him as a ‘character’.

This man wouldn’t even be of note in this story but for his reaction to an event that he couldn’t have witnessed. He was sitting in front of a cosmetics store without any large windows. He couldn’t see inside, it was busy and noisy in the street, and the shop’s door was being fastidiously kept closed to keep the air conditioning in. So when a boy in the store wandered away from his mother and pulled a shelf over on himself, why did the man start to smile? When the child started to wail as bystanders struggled to free him, why did the man’s lips part in a grin? And why did the child’s screams get more and more frantic and pained even after he was freed, while the man outside chuckled darkly to himself?

Regardless of the answers to these questions, whatever was happening preoccupied the man enough that he didn’t notice another man exit the store and stride up next to him. The man on the bench didn’t look up until the other man cleared his throat.

“What?” he snapped, irritably. “Oh.” The man standing over him was large and broad, his scarred face partially obscured by a hood and large dark sunglasses. The twin barrels of a sawed-off shotgun poked almost casually out of his jacket, leveled at the sitting man’s head.

“Let’s take a walk.”

Once deep in the alley and around a corner, Evan shoved the man against the wall, left forearm pressed to his collarbone and shotgun pushing into his gut.

“What were you doing to that kid?” Evan growled, hoping he sounded suitably intimidating. The man just gave him a gold-toothed grin.

“I got no idea whatcher talkin’ about.”

Evan pushed the gun in further. “Don’t bullshit me,” he snarled. “I saw it.”

“Saw what, pal?”

“You were making that kid hurt more than he should have, and you were, I don’t know, feeding off it. I could see the… miasma bleeding off him through the wall, leading right to you!”

The man shrugged. “What're you talking about?” he chuckled, dismissively. “That shelf looked really heavy! It's no wonder he was screamin' his head off!”

“It was aluminum. I pulled it off him with one hand and--"

Evan's brain caught up with his ears. He paused for a moment, then pulled the gun from the man's gut and held it under his chin.

“I didn't say anything about a shelf,” he said, hoping his voice was low and menacing enough, “You couldn't have seen it happen. You couldn't have known.”

The man's face went blank for a moment, then split into a sheepish grin. “Whoops. Guess I overplayed my hand, huh?”

Evan's figure twitched on the trigger. "So you were what, feeding off his pain? What are you, a... sorcerer or something?"

Despite the gun in his face, the man laughed and clapped slowly. "Not bad, not bad! You're half right, kid. I amplified that little boy's pain so it'd be a bit more filling. As for what I am, well..."

Evan spasmed, bending forward slightly. He tried to fire the shotgun, but the man had somehow jammed his fat finger into the trigger guard behind the triggers. He looked down at the source of the strange pain he was beginning to feel.

The man's right arm was no longer an arm. From the bicep down it had swollen and warped and twisted into a nightmarish mass of pulsating exposed muscle and spears of grayish bone, and several of those spears were sticking into Evan's stomach. His blood was already running down the bone.

"Y-you're... some kind of monster..." Evan stammered, feeling blood and bile rise in his throat as the simultaneous sensation of heat and cold began to resonate from his gut.

The man chuckled, his voice now something of a watery gurgle accompanied by a screeching echo of itself. "Kid, saying I'm some kinda monster is like saying you're some kinda animal," he said, effortlessly flicking the shotgun out of Evan's limp hand. "Technically correct, but it really doesn't come close to telling the whole story."

Evan let out a hoarse scream as the man lifted him off the ground with impossible ease. Maybe if he made enough noise, somebody would come...

"Don't bother screamin', now," the man said, holding up his still-normal left hand. A gaudy golden ring, set with a thumbnail-sized ruby, glinted on his ring finger. "Silence charm. Any noise around in a twenty-foot bubble around us stays there. I mean, don't hold back on my account, though!" He finished the sentence with a laugh like a drain clearing.

"Fuck... you!" Gritting his teeth against the agony of his skewered insides, Evan swung his arm back and twisted as best he could, slamming his fist into the man's cheek as hard as he could manage. He didn't twist or recoil on impact, but he did let out a surprised-sounding grunt.

"Hell, I actually felt that," the man said, rubbing his cheek with his remaining hand. "Not bad. You could actually be mistaken for a threat in bad light! Guess I might as well change."

The air around the man seemed to writhe, as if it was trying to get away from him. As Evan struggled, the man's form collapsed in on itself, as though it was disappearing down an invisible tunnel. At the same time, something else was rushing in to fill the space. Evan felt himself being lifted higher as the monster's legs unfolded underneath its body, a dense, rotund form of exposed, writhing sinew, spikes of jagged bone, and steaming, tar-like ichor. A face that resembled a skinned ape's head with four-inch fangs regarded Evan through eyes that were nothing more than globes of sickly yellow light in hollow sockets.

"That's more like it," it said, rolling its head on its shoulders. It didn't seem to have a neck; instead, the exposed muscle across its shoulders simply ferried the skull from side to side. "You know, I don`t get to come to this realm too often, but this time it was waaaaay easier than normal. And I even managed to catch me a dumb-ass amateur monster hunter! You're lucky, kid! Most of you slapdicks never actually get to find a real one!" It paused for a moment, looking down at its arm as if it'd forgotten it had speared Evan moments earlier.

"Well, maybe 'lucky' ain't the right word," it admitted, scratching the side of its head with a hideously curved claw. It leaned in towards Evan's face, the lights contracting as if it was narrowing its eyes. "Come to think of it, it don't look like 'lucky' applies to you very often. You look like you've been through the wringer and back, pal!"

“What can I say,” Evan hissed through gritted teeth, “I've lived a charmed life.”

“Must be,” the creature agreed with a gargling chuckle. “Actually, it looks like this might be my lucky day, instead! The fact that you're still conscious, let alone alive, means I get to use one of my favorite tricks. Oh, happy day!”

“Glad to… hrrnnghh… be of service.”

The creature placed its free hand over the top of Evan's head. “Now how this is gonna work is: I'm gonna run you back through every pain you've ever felt in your life. Every paper cut, every stubbed toe, every… whatever the hell did that to your face… everything. Back-to-back at high speed for me to sample. I call it a ‘pain flight'. You think that's too melodramatic?”

Evan glared at it from under its palm. The creature shrugged.

“Maybe ask before impaling next time, huh? Oh yeah—if you don't pass out before I get all the way back to the pain of bein' born, I'm pretty sure you'll go insane. Either way, you know, you're fucked, which I guess you probably already knew. Anyway, here we go!”

The pain of the impalement hit him again, even though he was still feeling it. The pains bounced off each other, creating a compound agony so profound that Evan vomited from the shock of it. He thought he was seeing double from the pain at first, but… it was like there was an impression of the monster laid over itself, as if replaying the last few moments.

Pain shot up his right arm, a gripping, tightening pain. He saw the flash of the lightning gun.

He felt his knuckles hitting bone and being hit back. He felt the agony of his pallet seal itself, right after he felt himself pull Carmichael's knife out of his face. It was worse than when it went in.

But with each sensation, he was back in that forest for a split section, tangling with the hitman.

He felt his head hit the edge of the counter, saw the ceiling of the RV. Felt the bouncers’ boots, smelled the hot asphalt and cigarette smoke. Saw the face of the striking woman—large, strong nose, intense brown eyes, titillatingly plush lips split in a sneer as the bottle broke on his head. Saw the bar bathroom as he stumbled painfully around and puked in the pisser. That one came with the smell, too, unfortunately.

Then things got strange. Impressions he didn't remember. General aches. Flashes of aches, delirium, mental confusion. Then something he recognized, but didn't remember.

The barn. The chair. The camera. The…

Oh shit thisisgonnabebad

The pain wasn't as bad as the realization of what the melting sensation inside his head meant. He was deleting himself.

BUT THE PAIN REMEMBERS!

The pain was still insane, though. The drill bit was worse, though. He could hear the whine and the sound of his skull crunching. He knew he was screaming in the real world, but he was desperately trying to glean details from the… vision. Impression. Whatever.

But it was gone. Now he was in another state of confusion. His face was constantly burning. For most of it he seemed to be in the passenger's seat of the RV.

Who's driving who's driving SHOW ME WHO'S FUCKING DRIVING

He could hear impressions of words over the demon's cackling and whooping and his own screaming, but all he could pick up was a hint of a drawl. If only he could concentrate…

Burn of alcohol. Sanitized the wound.

An alarming amount of what he'd come to recognize as the pain of his body rapidly healing itself. Kept me alive.

And then his head exploded. The whole left side of his face felt like it was hit with solid fire. The bone didn't break as much as vaporize. It was transcendent agony.

But he saw him.

His own right arm was shoving someone aside. I took the hit he couldn't?

Tall. Broad. Shaggy blond hair. Blue eyes peeking out from uneven bangs. A look of genuine concern, fear for a friend's safety as he fell backwards, weathered leather cowboy hat falling from his head from the shockwave of whatever was turning Evan's skull into a crater.

Evan's heart, already pounding fit to burst, skipped a beat. He didn't know who this man was, but something in him lurched. He must have been so important to me, he thought. Why did I make myself forget?

That vision flicked out of perception into another confusing miasma. He felt things bite him, slash him. He felt what was probably an arrow shoot through his cheek and split his nose. He saw glimpses of horrible things as he struggled to pry them off him.

And he saw the cowboy again.

In between painful blows he saw him, standing beside him, fists raised. He heard him laugh alongside him as the punched, stomped, and shot their way through mobs of barely-human beings, and a few bars full of actual humans. A broken bottle in the thigh. A knife in the ribs.

A square jaw, a wide nose, a kind smile.

Then the cowboy split his ribcage open with an ax. There was something wrong with him then, though…

His muscles and joints tore and reknotted as he forced himself to get stronger as fast as possible…

The cowboy shouted a warning as something behind him tore his back open…

A huge hair-covered beast clawed at his legs as he squeezed his thighs around its neck, strangling it…

And then it was back to things he could remember. Slamming a hand in the car door. Sitting on his nuts. Biting a fork.

“Go… back,” he croaked, throat raw from screaming.

“Huh?” the monster seemed genuinely surprised. “I… what?”

“Gotta… see… who that was…” Evan gurgled, his left hand grasping at the creature's skull-face.

“That ain’t how this works, dipshit!” the monster grunted, leaning away from Evan’s grasping hand. “I can’t just rewind it! And if you’ve forgotten, you’re being tortured to death here!”

The impact of the bullets on the body armor when he ‘died’. More punches, given and received. More incidental, everyday pains, lost in the accelerating storm of agony.

“No, please… not this part… don’t make me go through this part again!” He gasped, ashamed at how pitiful his voice sounded.

The monster laughed. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about! You all break in the end! Man, I wish I could see what you’re seein’ but I bet it’s gonna taste great!”

Evan bit back tears.

The hard, wet floor. The strong, rough hands. The mocking laughter. The feeling of tearing, pressure, violation…

He realized he was sobbing. The monster was watching him almost thoughtfully, then made a noise that, in a human, might have been the clicking of a tongue in realization.

“That’s what that taste is! Somebody made you their bitch, didn’t they?” It laughed its gurgling laugh again. “That’s how it always is with you tough guys, always making up for some kinda sexual inadequacy or some trauma like that. Downright Freudian, it is. Fuckin’ sad.”

Evan didn’t even have the strength to glare at it. He just hung there, sobbing and choking on his own vomit, blood, and phlegm as more pains flashed by him, almost unheeded.

The kid at the boxing championship with the plated gloves. Backyard wrestling. The thing his sister and her friends had done with the broom handle. His sister breaking his jaw on his sixteenth birthday.

It was definitely speeding up now, and something in Evan stirred him out of his stupor.

You can’t let it end here.

But what could he do? He had no weapons, no real powers, his strength meant nothing against this thing…

Limping along through the woods on a broken leg. Getting shoved down a hill on a hike and breaking the leg. Aching, ambient pain from the surgery that removed the cancer they’d found in lower intestine.

Something about that last one spurred a recollection. Something not quite a memory, not in this state, but…

The enormous weight of the bull’s hoof crushing his sternum. The horn tearing his side apart as he threw the little boy out of harm’s way.

The little boy with shaggy blond hair and deep blue eyes. The little boy whose cowboy hat, so many sizes too big for his little head, was falling away from Evan with a look of fear and worry in his eyes.

Evan felt his heart lurch like an engine backfiring into life. He felt his soul ignite.

“I KNOW WHO THAT WAS! I KNOW WHO HE IS!” he screamed, his eyes alight with a manic intensity.

“Holy sh—” The monster actually jumped slightly. “Will you get back to sobbin’ about getting’ ass-fucked? I’m almost done here, and so are you.”

Evan grabbed at its face with both hands. “Can’t die here. Won’t let you. I know now. I know. I gotta find him…”

“Fuck off!” The monster tightened its grip over Evan’s head, making his skull creak. It was an odd sound, coming from inside his own head.

There’s gotta be something I can do. I can’t lose here. I did this because I had to. Somebody had to. You have to beat him.

As the impressions became skinned knees and scraped elbows, Evan knew he was running out of time.

One last thing…

Those cords, those cables he’d seen when he’d looked through his fingers. Maybe if…

An arm that wasn’t his arm, yet still at the same time could not be anything else, slipped through the thing’s skull, finding a slimy, writhing morass inside that felt like living sickness. It clenched a handful and yanked.

Evan hit the ground with a thud, his breath hissing between his teeth. The hole in his stomach was already closing. And the creature was a man again, standing there in shredded clothes, staring aghast at his own suddenly all-too-human hands.

“Wh-what… what did… how… what are you?!” he stammered.

Evan lined up three responses in his head:

The truth: “I don’t know.”

The intimidating: “All you need to know is I’m the man who’s about to kick your ass.”

The exhilarating: “I’M A FUCKING SUPERHERO!”

What came out was a mumbled “All you need to don’t fucking know is I’m about the superhero.”

The man blinked and stared at him, mouth slightly agape. “Did you have a fucking stroke?”

Evan kicked him hard in the knee, bracing against the wall to push himself upright as the man howled.

Evan spat out a mouthful of something disgusting and raised his fists. “Shut up and die.”

His first punch caught the man right above the eye as he attempted to straighten up. It hurt his hand, but it hurt the man more. It felt good.

Less than a second after the man’s head hit the alley floor, Evan’s hand was tangled in what was left of his thinning hair and yanking him upright again. His knee crushed the man’s nose with hardly any resistance. Dazed, the man started to topple backwards, but Evan whipped his leg around without his foot touching the ground and kicked him in the back of the head, sending him sprawling forward again onto his hands and knees.

“You deserve worse for what you made me go through, you freak,” Evan growled, stepping over the man’s prone, retching form. “But I’m the mother. Fucking. Good. Guy.” He leaned down and wrapped his arms around the man’s substantial waist, clasped his thighs around his head, and then jerked back upright, swinging the man’s considerable girth into the air with relative ease. “Man, being strong fucking rules!”

“What are you doing?! Stop! You can’t do this to me! It’s impossible!”

Evan bounced up and down a couple times, then shouted in an exaggerated Texas accent, “Bah Gawd, King, I think he’s gonna do it!”

“NOOOOOO!”

Evan jumped and tucked his knees under him. The short-lived pain of his knees crashing into the concrete was nothing compared to the crack of the man’s skull hitting first.

For a moment, Evan sat and watched the body. It stopped twitching after a few seconds, which he was grateful for. The noises it was making were too… human. But eventually it gave one final shudder and lay still. And then it began to dissolve.

It was as if the corpse was made of barely-held-together sand, being silently sucked up by an invisible vacuum cleaner. Evan watched, awestruck, then raised his left hand to his face and peered through his fingers.

The body’s purple-black cords were fraying at the ends, their composite threads bleeding off into nothingness. The whole knotted mess was quickly dissolving, but Evan saw something different within the tangled morass. He couldn’t place why, but a chunk of the stuff looked distinct.

Without blinking, he pulled his left hand away from his eye. He’d found that as long as he held his eye open, the ‘aura vision’, or whatever it was, persisted. Carefully, he reached out and stuck his left hand into the mass.

It was like he’d felt before, when he’d somehow reached into the thing’s head—slimy, cold, and filthy. But it also felt pitiful and fleeting. Dying. He reached deeper.

Visualize. It’s not your arm, it’s… the idea of your arm.

His not-fist closed on something sticky and warm. He pulled back, but before he could even get a look at the thing, it slipped out of his grasp like sand and flowed down his arm, the sensation stopping at his homemade tattoo. For a moment, BE YOUR OWN HERO lit up bright blue and tingled slightly. Evan couldn’t help but feel he’d added something to himself.

All that was left of the man were scraps of his clothes and his gaudy ruby ring. Evan picked up the ring, eventually managed to fit it over his pinky, then yanked it off in disgust. How tacky. Still…

One down.

#Ugly Man Chronicles: Reignition #Ugly Man Chronicles #my writing #chapters #Urban Fantasy #tw: rape mention

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neshabeingchildish · 5 years

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The Danger Force Family

Four years into the job and Ray still felt like everyday was his first. Charlotte was still feeding him information that he “should know.” Simone was still mumbling under her breath whenever he asked an “obvious” question, before just answering it. He was still wondering why the heck he let Charlotte talk him into this. Of course, it was just mornings. He found his footing after a couple of hours and from that moment throughout the day, he remembered who he was and why he was here. Captain President, the President of all Presidents… At least that’s what he’d put on his campaign posters and van. Everybody else called him “President Man.”

Charlotte was rarely ever on site, considering that she had multibillion dollar apps - SoulDates, FaceMask, and SymBIOsis - her youngest, but most fruitful app which brought supers and non-supes together for social and networking purposes, educated one on the history and cultures of the other, and made public record of the Symbiosis policy and legal decisions regarding it. She had launched a brand of technological baby, toddler, and small child products under the company My Lil’ Ham, which specialized in all baby types, and was voted #1 source for supers babies products, as well.

Hamilton, of course was the face of that company. She’d originally began working on products to make his life easier while she and his father rushed around, trying to do all of the things necessary for society to function. As he got older, she expanded the brand. He was now 5 and looking more like his father all of the time… but being more like his mother.

He didn’t talk much, even though he could do so and do it well. The best way to get him speaking was to mention science or math. Then, getting him to stop talking was your issue. Unless of course, he realized that he was smarter than you. Then, he lost interest. He wanted to passionately discuss science and math with his mental peers. They hadn’t really determined who that was, yet. It certainly wasn’t the kids (or the teachers) at his first school, the kids at the institute that they sent him to after every teacher in the building tried to teach him and insisted that he was simply too advanced for their classroom, and it wasn’t his father. Charlotte had to reign him in multiple times for speaking down to Henry (though she’d wait until Henry was out of earshot), because fortunately, since Hammy was so young and not as expressive as a lot of children, Henry never could tell that he was being condescending. They tried to enter him into several programs, before Max suggested that he go to a prodigy academy in Metroburg.

“More than half of those students become supervillains!” Charlotte complained.

“Yeah, but all of them get the education that they deserve. Besides, you don’t become a supervillain on education alone. Your family background, upbringing, societal treatment and personal response to trauma are usually key ingredients. You and Henry raise him with love, support and comfort. He should be fine.”

Charlotte looked at her son for a while, seeing the excitement and anticipation on his face as she pondered her lab partner’s advice. She sighed and said, “Okay, we’ll check it out.”

“Yes! Thank you, Maxi!” Hammy cheered and rushed to his junior lab - a lab sized for him to work in while his mother worked on her things in the adjacent room.

“I think it’ll be good for him to be schooled around other kids like him, anyway,” Max added. “No way that any kid of Henry’s just naturally has that level of intelligence. Kid’s a super, Charls.”

“His power is what superintelligence?” She asked.

“That’s a legitimate power. I mean… He’s seemed very interested in your work since he was an infant and he began conducting his own experiments soon after he began walking. You thought that was typical?”

“You obviously don’t know my family history. We’re filled with geniuses, on both sides… well, not Uncle Roscoe, but he’s an artistic genius and maybe that counts.”

“Did you get him tested?”

“Uncle Roscoe? No! His art is that good!” She said. Max rolled his eyes and Charlotte smiled. “I don’t need to get him tested. When he’s old enough and knows what supers and non-supes are, I trust that he’ll ask to be tested when he’s ready…” They heard a huge thud from the next room and she gasped. “Charlie!” Max and Charlotte ran into the next room to see that Henry and Charlotte’s younger child, Charlotte II, aka “Charlie,” had knocked over a bookshelf to try to get her toy that rolled under it. “Charlie…” Charlotte said, relieved that the crawling infant hadn’t hurt herself. She picked her up with one hand and fixed the bookshelf with the other.

“You get her tested?” Max joked.

They knew from the first week that they brought Charlie home that she was a super. Though, at that time, she seemed to have hypermotility. Henry was definitely proud and gleaming about it. Char? Not so much. The kid’s metabolism was high and she sucked every drop from her mom’s mammary glands within a few moments, then cried loudly for more. She seemed to be starving, even though Charlotte didn’t have anything else to give her. The baby even went through the excess breast milk that Charlotte had pumped and frozen whenever she had Hammy, which he was still drinking from and it was used for beauty care, too.

But, she also wasn’t a fan of formula, so she’d eat it only when she was too hungry to function and Charlotte hadn’t produced more milk. They were terrified that the kid was gonna starve herself to death! Charlotte got a sample of her breastmilk and worked on synthesizing it in her lab. It took her a few weeks to get it just right, but she wound up having to mass produce it for her hungry little one and began to toy around with it, too.

She’d have different levels of proteins, fats, sugars, and hormones, depending on how the sensory baby bundle blankets read Charlie’s vitals, be able to select custom breastmilk for her current needs. After a while, Charlie didn’t want the naturally created milk, so that was fine - Charlotte simply rebuilt her stash for her and Hammy’s needs.

Now, months later, and crawling around, Charlie was becoming a moving disaster. She was tiny and cute, like her mom… and apparently took after her physically, too. She definitely was moving things that even an adult would struggle with. Hammy suggested locking her up when she accidentally crumbled one of his movie spaceship models within moments of putting her little hands on it. Charlotte had not yet perfected products for babies with superstrength. It was tricky.

They had super strength, but their bodies weren’t super strong. Meaning, yes, they would wreck things in their path easily, but you could still seriously hurt them with any of the tools that were usually used to subdue those with super strength. The body was still forming. They were able to withstand more than a regular baby, but they weren’t indestructible!

Charlie had once broken Henry’s hand by squeezing it too hard. It hurt like the dickens, but he was able to repair it quickly. It was on his enhanced arm, so he was good. Hammy was a little bit jealous. It seemed that his baby sister had two powers and he didn’t even have one. No matter how many “We love you both equally” chats he was given, he could see that Charlie’s situation required more time, effort and energy. When you’re five, that could be read as more love, even if you were a genius who could deduce better. The manifestation of Charlie’s superstrength also signaled the disdain that Hammy had towards Henry. He didn’t hate him or dislike him, but he didn’t like that Charlie was able to break his bones and still get more one on one time with him!

Hammy began working on something in his little lab, which he presented to Charlie on her first birthday. It was a cute little bracelet that had “Baby Sis” in beads and was red, blue, and yellow. After he put it on her wrist, she didn’t have any more super strength accidents and she didn’t appear to have any hypermotility issues, either.

So, the Page family presumed that she must have selected a power that they hadn’t yet seen come into fruition. It was so relaxing to have her be a normal little girl that they didn’t put huge emphasis on it. Charlotte checked her vitals and tested her for diseases. Everything was clear, so she was satisfied.

Hammy was a protective older brother, but he also was often away at the academy. Academy life was okay. He loved his classes and the work that he was allowed to do. He hated his classmates. “Supervillains-in-Training” he liked to think of them as, or to be clever, “Pieces of S.I.T.” He was very adverse to villainy. His parents were known heroes. His aunt was Lady Danger. He grew up in the Hero League Headquarters Nursery and the few normal people that he knew were family and super supporters. He knew that whenever he grew up, he’d most likely work in the world of supers, even though he was a non-supe. The kids around him in the academy weren’t particularly happy about it. Why was he able to get into this school? Why wasn’t he at a school for subpers? Didn’t they have EVERY access outside of this place? He agreed, to a certain extent. He didn’t think that non-pows should just take up space in areas made for supers, but he also knew that he didn’t belong in one of those non-pow schools. He’d tried already.

He was somewhere in the middle. Both of his parents were average born and transformed into supers during adolescence. He had more non-pow in him than super, but he obviously had enough to where he couldn’t quite fit in to the non-pow fold. Even at the academy, the kids that he had classes with were supers that were several years older than him. He was one of the smartest children in the place and this was just how it was. It wasn’t his fault. He hated that he had to remind himself of that. It was as much his fault that he wasn’t a super as it was his baby sister’s fault that she was.

Every year, Hammy worked on Charlie’s bracelet. He didn’t want to take it off of her, just in case, so he’d work on it while she sat on his lap, babbling about her cartoons or whatever.

Charlotte and he were best friends, though he felt (even at his young age) that he needed to protect her from knowing some of the stuff that happened in his life. The worst he would say was “I’m still having a hard time relating to the kids at the academy.” She often thought the worst, so he’d tag on, “But, it’s fine. Who needs people that you have to try to convince of your worth?”

Henry always brought him back to school at the end of the weekend, checking to make sure that his clothes and stuff were plentiful and double and triple checking the food account. It was embarrassing! “Dad, I can take care of myself. I assure you that everything is as it should be!” he said, noticing the older boys pointing and laughing as Henry counted his clean pairs of underwear.

“I know, Bud. I just gotta make sure that…” Hammy snatched the underwear from him and stuffed them back into the drawer. Henry smiled, gently and said, “You know I only do these things because it’s my job to make sure that everything is okay for you.”

“Yes,” Hammy said, annoyed. “I get it. But, I have a hard enough time fitting in with my subper genes!” Henry winced at this and shut the dorm door to speak with his son in private. “I have more to prove than most of these kids and I can’t do that if nobody takes me seriously.”

“Hammy, you don’t have anything to prove, Son…”

“Let’s start there. Stop calling me that. I’m seven years old working on an advanced degree in engineering technology. I can’t keep answering to “Hammy,” and expect someone to call me Doctor in a couple of years.”

“Well, what would you like for us to call you instead?”

“My name is Hamilton. That’s fine. Some of the professors call me Hank, because of my middle name being Henry.”

“I like Hank,” Henry said. “What else can I do to make you feel better?”

“Don’t treat me like a kid. I can take care of myself. I have patent pending products that I made in my junior lab. I don’t need you to do a panty check for me!”

Henry nodded his head and offered, “Well… My parents raised me to look after myself and my sister. Sometimes, I even had to look after them. Whenever your Gigi Siren would have a long sleep after a huge party, or skip off to some frivolous retreat on Dad’s bonus checks. Whenever your Grandpa Jake was in between job assignments and out trying to find work or doing things around the house that I definitely would have to go in behind him and repair… I’ve been being a parent most of my life and I always promised myself and I promised your mom when we got married that my kids, our kids would never have to wonder why I wasn’t around or why I wasn’t helping. I never want my children to feel like they have to do anything a moment before they have to do it. I know that you can do all this stuff, Buddy…” Hammy made a face, “Hank,” Henry corrected himself. “I was just hoping to get to be a real dad to you for longer than mine was to me. I guess that’s out of the question. I’m sorry if I embarrass you.”

Hammy sighed and opened the door back. “It’s okay. You do your best. Grandpa Jake and Gigi Siren are train wrecks. I think that for growing up under them, you’ve done pretty good. Probably because you raised yourself, and you’re a wonderful dad. Just… Hands off my underwear, for the love of God.”

Henry laughed and nodded, “Noted.”

“How is Charlotte?” Hammy wondered. He was the only person who called his sister Charlotte, and they always knew who he meant, because of course, Big Charlotte was “Mom.”

“She’s good. Whenever you come back to school, she asks for you for the first couple of days. By Wednesday, she gets used to you being gone, then when she sees you on Friday evening, it’s her partytime.”

“I have to tell you something, Dad.” Hammy sat on the bed and Henry joined him. “Charlotte’s bracelet isn’t just a bracelet. It’s to keep her superpowers down.”

“What?”

“She was destroying stuff and Mom couldn’t figure out what to do to keep her from doing it. So, I made something for her.”

“Hamilton! What if it would have been dangerous? You can’t just try experiments on your little sister!”

“I know. But, in my defense, I was 5.” They sat there, making the same face - somewhere between a smolder and confusion. “You’re wondering how to present this admission to Mom, aren’t you?”

“Any pointers?” Henry wondered.

“She’s very accommodating when you put food into her. Seafood, especially. Maybe some floral tea and a nice, rich slice of cheesecake?” Hammy was wringing his hands together. “Just… be sure to tell her that I meant no ill will.”

“I’m sure she’ll know that, Hank.” He gave him a pat on the back.

Charlotte knew. She always knew that the bracelet did the job that it did. At first, she thought that Hammy had accidentally tampered the powers, but after paying close attention to Charlie and the bracelet, she realized that he was consistently working on it. As long as she was monitoring how it went, she saw no need to interfere or to make him feel bad about it. Henry was a little bit upset that she never let him in on it, though. While food was a good way to smooth Charlotte over, Charlotte had ways of making Henry agreeable too.

It smelled good in there. “Hey, Diffuschar? What is this blend?” He asked, putting his hand onto the air panel on his side of the bed.

“Henry, are you addressing me?” the Charlotte voice in the air system asked.

“Yes! You are the Diffuschar.”

“I am an essential oil diffusing air conditioning system, Henry. EODACS is the acronym and can be used to address me.”

“Just tell me this blend!”

“This is Mistress Charlotte’s ‘I’m Sorry’ Sexual Seduction Mix.”

“Mis what’s who now?”

“Mistress Charlotte’s ‘I’m Sorry’ Sexual Seduction Mix. It includes Patchouli, Sweet Orange, Lavender, Sandalwood, Jasmine, and Ylang Ylang.”

“I… When did she?” He furrowed his eyebrows. “It does smell good, but honestly, she smells better. She could have Mistress Charlotte sexually seduced me by coming in here smelling like a tropical sundae.”

“Would you like me to switch to Tropical Sundae Seduction Mix, Henry?”

“No. Let whatever Charlotte has going on go on.” When she came into the room, with her hair in Bantu knots and a silk chemise on, he was alert. “Hey. Diffuschar said that she’s airing out some sexual seduction…” She climbed into the bed and crawled to him. “Do you want me to do something?”

“Not be mad at me for not telling you about Charlie’s bracelet?” She said with her lips in a pout.

“I don’t know. I told you right away when I found out.” She raised an eyebrow and he quickly reminded himself, “But, I’ve tried to keep stuff from you before too, so…” He smiled awkwardly. “I really wish that he didn’t have to be at that place. It wears down on him. He’s capable of handling himself, but he’s still just a kid. My kid… and he doesn’t even want to let me treat him like a kid.”

“Well… It’s his decision. If my parents let me go somewhere to school instead of Swellview, I’d have been elated.”

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have me,” Henry said.

“Yeah, but…” She didn’t have a reply. Instead, she traced down the middle of his belly, “The universe would have made sure that everything was what it needed to be for us. There’s no way that I exist and you aren’t somehow in my life.”

He smiled and pulled her closer. “You’re trying to have another baby.”

“I 100% am not. Charlie rearranged my insides. I would never want another one of them. The two we have are perfect enough.” He laughed.

The Page-Hart-Thunderman Family was a superfamily of the highest esteem, usually referred to as the “Danger Force Family,” considering that most of their missions were assigned under Henry’s command as Mr. Danger. People even began giving the other heroes Danger alternatives like Charlotte as “Danger Master” or Billy as “Quick Danger.” None of them minded the aliases. It kept them as characters in the minds of the world and that meant that less people bothered them in their everyday lives. Besides, governments had set protective laws in place such as not being authorized to approach any super or hero out of uniform for any purpose but alerting them to a present, real, and nearby criminal emergency.

That law had taken a while to perfect. Because when it first was introduced as to not approach supers outside of uniform unless it was an emergency - people determined what THEY thought was an emergency (and it usually was not). They also would bother people that they knew to be superhuman, even if they weren’t superheroes… which… those persons were not authorized nor obligated to deal with an emergency situation any more than a non-pow citizen was! Then, there was the issue of pulling someone from their child’s program at school for an emergency on the other side of town that they couldn’t even get to in time and also that there were already heroes dispatched to! It took some work before the current system was in place and people were getting used to it. They could be charged with supers abuse if they decided not to work within the stated parameters. That law was Piper’s favorite one ever written, especially with Starlette in tow. The number of people she had reflexively punched right in the face for getting too close to her daughter too fast had become a meme.

Page-Hart-Thunderman Family Reunion was a time that Charlotte, Piper, and Simone started to celebrate the merging of their families. After dating for a couple of years, Piper got married and bridged the Page and Thunderman families together officially. Five years after Ray became President, Gwen’s touched began to look normal again. It was like the effects faded over the years and by that time, nobody had a green hint left in their presentation. Simone was tired of everyone telling her that it was weird to see her normal again, but she was relieved that all of the people who had to walk around that way over the past five years would be able to fit in again. That was the year that the reunions began. She felt like herself again. She felt normal again. She got her tubes untied and began working on making more children and resigned from working for the Hero League.

The festivities began with a feast at the Page-Hart condo, with Henry and Charlotte’s parents hosting. They had it catered, usually and everyone showed up to eat and catch up.

Siren, Jake, Esmerelda, and Antony would welcome Hank Thunderman and Barb, and Evelyn to the “grown ups table” while Henry, Charlotte, Max, Simone, Jasper, Piper, Billy, and Nora usually preferred to take their business to the rooftop. Chloe tended to want to see what was up with the kiddos. The first couple of years, it was only Maxine and Monalise, Hammy and Charlie, Piper’s one little girl, Starlette. But, of course, the family grew and transformed and eventually, they couldn’t even have the opening night dinner at the Page-Hart condo.

Charlotte’s home was the most appropriate place, considering that they added on to the estate all of the time and her inventions made for everyone’s quarters adjusting for the comfort of the individuals within its walls. She, too, had taken a step back from the Hero League, when things got smoother for Ray, and while he sometimes seemed like he had no idea what was happening, he seemed to be handling everything well. He would stop by the reunion with presents for the kids and to talk to “his kids” (Henry, Charlotte, Jasper and Piper), and to eat cake. But, he would never stay for the whole thing. Dinner and playtime with the little ones was enough to fuel his joy for a while and being around all the parents for too long might counter that for him. But, each time that he was headed out, the moms would always offer in sweet voices with kind smiles, “You’re always welcome to stay, Ray!” That was nice. He liked to see that.

Charlotte had been interested in politics for a while. From her work as the Tactical Chief of the Hero League, Her own Campaign Manager for her election, and Advisor to the President; she leaned towards a political career. She remembered that future Ray claiming that she would be president. For years, she thought that he meant President of the United States and to be frank, they NEEDED somebody like her, but in more recent years, she began to think that maybe he meant President of the Hero League. They always just called that position “The President” and every super always knew that they weren’t talking about whatever rubbish was chilling in the White House.

So, whenever Hank was 10 and Charlie was 5, she made dinner one night, of fish, greens, noodles, and cornbread with large bowls of grapes and decorations of assorted lilies and daffodils, with crystals set around the vases. Charlie immediately rushed to the table and stuffed cornbread into her mouth, while Hank looked confused and asked, “What kind of changes are we about to have to go through?”

Henry had just come from a mission and showered. Whenever he came in on Hank asking Charlotte that question, he, like his daughter, grabbed cornbread and stuffed it into his mouth. Yeah… She took after him.

“Everyone sit down, so we can have dinner,” Charlotte said.

Hank looked worried, but Henry and Charlie were ready to eat. Charlotte went around the table, preparing plates and talking, “As Hank as already noticed, I have charged and put out the green aventurine, amazonite, tourmalinated Quartz, and labradorite.” Those sounded familiar to Henry. He was certain that the Charlotte Interface had probably told him about at least a couple of those to get him to go to sleep. “And as Hank knows, with his eidetic memory and studying geology a few summers ago, those are crystals associated with good luck and new beginnings.” That was the easiest way to say it for everyone, including Charlie. “Mommy wants to have a good luck dinner with her family to usher in a new goal.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. This was his first time hearing about a new goal. “Oh yeah? What’s Mommy’s new goal?” He wondered.

She took her seat at the table and said, “Present.” The room went dark and the interface pulled up a powerpoint presentation of a campaign promo for her. Whenever it ended, the lights came back on and she waited for their reactions.

“Mommy, you’re gonna be President of the Whole World?” Charlie asked, excited.

Charlotte smiled and said, “Well, if all goes well, of the Hero League.”

“What about Uncle Ray?” Hank asked.

“He’s comfortable, but he’s also stagnant. It’s given him gray hair. I’m sure he’ll love to be able to go and do something else. I got him an early 50th birthday present - an RV with pet friendly doggie quarters and PageMasterTech state of the art personalization program for both man and pet.”

“So, you’re gonna bribe him into resigning,” Henry said, disappointed.

“I’m going to make sure that when and if he does resign, he knows that there’s a peaceful retirement awaiting him!” She corrected.

Henry forced a smile and continued eating. She could tell that he didn’t like it. Hank was staring at her in disbelief. She could tell that he didn’t like it either. Charlie cheered, “You’re gonna be the best President in the world, Mommy!”

She smiled at her, “Thank you.. But please don’t chew with your mouth wide open… or talk when your mouth is full…” Charlie spit her food onto her plate and repeated herself. Charlotte gagged, “Okay…” She just nodded her head and stared at Henry. He was quiet for the rest of dinner, but before they left the table, Hank had more to say.

“Mom, do you think that Dad can handle being in the field without your backup? This isn’t Swellview. He works on a global level with extremely dangerous threats. There’s no way that you can assist him and be President. You would have to spread yourself entirely too thin. I’ve spent this entire dinner trying to rationalize this decision. You’ll have to help me understand it.”

“It’s something that I want to do, just like The Danger is something that your dad wants to do and I have supported him in doing it most of my life. SO, now it’s time for us to try to support me doing something that I want to do. Does that make sense to you?”

“No!” Hank snapped. “Mom, he’s an idiot! He’ll die without you on his tactical team!”

Charlotte: Hank…

Henry: Hey, now..

Charlie: DADDY’S GONNA DIE???

They spoke at the same time. “No. He’s not going to die and he’s not an idiot.” She thought for a moment, especially from Hank’s viewpoint, then made it more palatable for him, “Well, he’s not defenseless without me. He’s got the suit and gadgets that he needs. He’ll have technical from the interface, and if he needs me, I’ll drop anything for him.”

Hank rubbed his face and said, “I’m leaving the academy to resume your duties on his tactical team.”

“You’re 10, so no you’re not.”

“You think I’ll be able to focus on course material with him out there without you?”

Charlie banged on the table and asked, “Hey! Is Daddy gonna die?”

“No, Daddy’s not gonna die,” Charlotte said. “Henry, some help?” She held her hands out and looked at him. His plate was pretty much empty and his eyebrows were still furrowed, but he nodded his head.

“Hank, Buddy - we don’t want you to quit school. You’re one of the children, and the adults are gonna handle the things that you’re worried about. I’ll touch base with you every single day so that you don’t have to worry. Charlie, Champ - I’m definitely not gonna die. Your dad was born for danger and he’ll be a fighter for many years to come, okay?” Charlie nodded. If her Daddy said it, it was true.

Charlotte and Hank went to go talk on the patio and Henry cleared the table while Charlie went to wash up for the night.

“I’m scared, Mom. The last time you wanted to be president, someone tried to kill you. I’ve read every single report that there was about that election.”

“That was a different time, Honey.” She wrapped her arms around him from behind and they looked up at the stars together, “The stars were different, then. You know, Mommy thinks that the stars line up for perfect things to be done in our lives and I believe that right now, they’re lining up to make your mom a president.”

“Grandfather, a specialist, a leader in his field, has told me to my face that your thoughts on this matter are unwarranted. But, if what you’re saying to me is that you have the confidence that things will be fine, then I choose to try to accept that, too.”

“That’s all I ask,” she said and kissed the top of his blond head. “My Little Ham.”

“Please, do not.”

She laughed and squeezed him to herself.

Henry had gone to bed after tucking Charlie in. Whenever Hank went to wash up, Charlotte went to find him. “Hey… You asleep?” she asked as quietly as possible, in case he was.

“How could I be asleep after that bomb you just dropped at dinner?” He asked back. He didn’t sound mad, but she knew that he wasn’t happy. She sighed and sat on the bed next to him. “I support you. You know I do, I just… I guess I thought that after that last time, this wouldn’t be an option. I’m scared shitless of you being in that kind of position again.”

“Me too, but like I did whenever you were unconscious and most of the world was giving up on ever seeing your eyes again, I’ve got faith. I can do it. Please, tell me that you believe in me?”

“I believe in you more than anything I’ve ever known. It’s the world around us that frightens me.”

“Well, that’s why I’ve got you, though. You and me against the world? They don’t stand a chance. Hashtag Henlotte.”

“Hashtag Henlotte,” he repeated and pulled her to himself.

#family danger #henry danger #Nesha HD Fics #hd fanfic

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