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painted-bees · 10 months

Text

Hi-Note Masterpost!

[Also available to read over on our website!: https://www.larkandwren.com/hinote (some of the earlier writing and such has been edited there, as well, for better/more accurate continuity! It's a better read, in general.)] So, who are these guys?

They're just characters who've been living in my head rent free. Sean and I have been kinda developing them on a whim and we don't really intend for them to have like... a formal comic production or anything, just really casuall...little slice of life comic sketches, largely unedited walls of texts, that kinda thing. This little masterpost is about as organized of a product as you're gonna get about them!

Here, have their toyhou.se pages, as a starter!:

https://toyhou.se/2430896.cortes

https://toyhou.se/21370126.rafael-ephrem

https://toyhou.se/21369477.magritte-bailey

Introductory post, the basics about these guys!:

https://www.patreon.com/posts/cortes-80275480

Raf's Family: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/720121276234170368/one-person-said-yes-thats-all-the-permission-i Raf's Condition: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/724184582183927808/good-questions-and-im-nervous-to-answer-cuz?source=share

[comic] The litmus test:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/722423019768774656/nah-just-bog-standard-this

[prose] The Meet-Cute: i https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/731262008425644032/august-12-2008-magritte-had-only-ever-heard?source=share&ref=painted-bees ii https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/733051366576144384/part-i-hitting-a-cafe-during-rush-hour-wasnt?source=share&ref=painted-bees

Raf and Margie's early relationship:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/713687883290214400/thinkin-more-about-magritte-and-rafael-because-of

[comic] Place to stay: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/728717693050650624/november-2008-magritte-and-raf-had-been-meeting?source=share

second night: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/732783223474733056/a-scribbley-little-comic-about-the-second-time-raf?source=share&ref=painted-bees

[prose][nsfw] First Kiss: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/735866872788074496/cw-explicit-content-march-18th-2009-the-top?source=share

[comic] Forgetful:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/722820351292211200/a-quick-sloppy-little-comic-about-magritte?source=share [New!] Job Offers and Commitments: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/745376745457418240?source=share

[comic] Oui'd: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/733959177193586688/terrible-thanks?source=share

They had a little fight: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/724734371517579264/haha-okay-deep-inhale-so-back-before

[comic] "Omelette du Fromage":

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/718285360589930497/she-doesnt-understand-a-word-of-french-original [New!][comic] What if things were different?: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/745579096757747712/rafs-amount-of-self-awareness-and-the-amount-of?source=share

[nsfw][comic] Havin' a normal one:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/714015076047273984/its-dead-hours-on-tumblr-everyones?source=share

[comic] The Phone Call:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/727857213109059584?source=share https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/727881395615170560/follow-up-from-last-nights-lil-doodle-magritte?source=share

[prose]How They Met Cortes:

i https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/733653276161130496/september-23rd-2010-i-the-tide-was-lower-than?source=share

ii https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/733928740517724160/part-i-and-ii?source=share iii https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/734558753585856512/part-i-and-ii-part-iii-iv-and-v?source=share iv https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/738680136750219265/part-i-and-ii-part-iii-iv-and-v-part-vi?source=share [comic] Bong Water: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/739481533849698304/a-sketchy-lil-comic-about-the-first-and-last?source=share [nsfw][comic] "Want anything from the store?":

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/713269794440364032/smutty-sketch-beneath-the-cut-youve-been-warned?source=share

[comic] The Grant:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/714134937042927616/magritte-receiving-the-most-validating-news-shes

Fourth Roommate:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/716454157486374912/painted-bees-they-found-a-very-unwell-cat-in-the

[New!][comic] Quiche: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/745361507256238080/she-said-what-she-said-raf-hi-note-draw-by?source=share

[comic] Today's Mood: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/745084030149689344/hi-note?source=share

[comic] Dig your vibe: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/725286527536611328/dorks-ocs?source=share

[interview] Vanity Fair: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/741733741222854656/raf-ephrems-return-to-be-honest?source=share

Lil' timeline of major events:

-1980: Rafael is born in Monaco, January 29th. -1984: Rafael receives his first custom-made violin and begins lessons. -1987: Magritte is born in Timmins, Ontario, August 12th -1988: Rafael's uncle, Guillaume, quits his role at Ephrem Records and leaves Monaco. -1992-1997: The peak years following Rafael's rise to becoming an internationally recognized child performer, bringing the Ephrem Records label into popular culture. Raf begins attendance at Juilliard during the autumn of 1997. -1999: Magritte buys her first musical instrument (Yamaha PSS-270). -2001: Rafael graduates Juilliard with a bachelor's of music. -2002: Rafael reaches out to his uncle in Vancouver and moves in with him the same year. Begins his job at Hi-Note Studio as a sound engineer. -2003: Rafael receives his formal diagnosis of (complex)post traumatic stress disorder and paranoid personality disorder. Moves out of his uncle's house and into his own apartment during the winter. -2004: Magritte graduates high school. -2005: Magritte is kicked out of the house. -2006: Magritte starts her "Stampy Ptarmigans" youtube channel with recordings of her street busking sessions. -2008: Magritte and Rafael meet in a downtown Vancouver skytrain station. -2009: Magritte moves in with Rafael and begins working at Hi-Note Studio with him. -2010: Uncle Guillaume passes away, leaving Rafael to inherit the cabin on Cortes Island. Rafael and Magritte move to spend a full year on the island and meet Cortes during the autumn. -2011: The trio return to Vancouver as their main home, electing to spend the late spring months on Cortes island. -???? -???? -2014: The trio formalize To Be Honest as their band name and release their debut album.

QnA and comic doodle repository:

Cortes tidbits

#All Cortes Posts! About her shapeshifting:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/714957835563417600/so-do-magritte-and-ralph-also-kiss-cortez-when?source=share

Some more about Cortes: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/724506918894338050/bestie-i-just-gotta-know-more-about-cortes-i?source=share

Favorite marine animal to eat??? Wanderlust?:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/716285392928849920/cortes-when-not-in-human-shape-whats-your?source=share

Sexuality?:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/712778141904551936/ive-not-seen-the-uh-juiciest-bits-but-is-she

Smol ears:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/714819788155879424/brush-back-your-cryptids-hair-to-revealtiny-ear

On weaknesses, grudges, and stress:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/719478125281558528/29-30-32-36-for-the-beloved-sea-monster

[nsfw] Aphrodisiac seafoam:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/712764198982172672/weird-sexually-suggestive-sketch-under-the-cut-no?source=share

Rafael tidbits

#All Rafael Posts! About his upbringing:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/713735788987400192/as-a-fellow-acespec-i-want-to-toss-raf-into-a

Age meme: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/736152968285585408/here-a-quickly-drawn-little-age-meme-thing-of?source=share

Why Raf didn't quit music:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/712841341417177088/aw-haha-hes-come-close-lets-be-real-initially

His relationship to music now: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/731592322959245312/this-little-meetcute-writing-doodle-has-funnily?source=share https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/737858475276779520/reading-through-your-hinote-tags-it-was?source=share

Past Relationships: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/735254268413657088/okay-lets-start-with-margie-then-when-she-was?source=share https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/735961804412436480/do-you-have-a-drawing-of-rafs-ex?source=share https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/735972292585259008/lacey-and-raf-brought-out-the-worst-in-each?source=share

On wanting to be loved:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/719294362638499840

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/719299404703711232/has-raf-not-had-a-single-loving-relationship-in

Why the shitty shades, buddy?:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/712297486497267712/the-glasses-are-dorky-orange-plastic-framed-dollar

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/714677266522734592/raf-latched-on-to-the-cheap-dollar-store?source=share

Patience and therapy:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/722908753561812992/i-was-wondering-if-theres-a-story-reason-or?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/722980953078792192/everyone-is-sharing-about-the-ticket-comic-from?source=share

Anxiety Beach:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/725410887443398656/rafael-has-always-had-a-lot-of-trouble-with?source=share The shoes are his toxic trait:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/715404514243608576/rafael-pls-ignore-me-im-just-an-unremarkable

On appearance, wants, secrets, and gestures:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/719483329917894656/aaaaand-27-42-43-48-for-raffy-3

On being scared:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/723058277983862784/for-rafael?source=share

Has he met Margie's folks?:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/714545195223515136/a-while-back-i-asked-if-margie-met-rafs-parents

[nsfw] sexuality:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/713594497867595776/smutty-sketch-and-character-ramblings-under-the?source=share

Magritte tidbits

#All Magritte Posts! Age meme: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/736321876488601600/margies-turn-to-be-quickly-sketched-for-the-age?source=share Past Relationships: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/735254268413657088/okay-lets-start-with-margie-then-when-she-was?source=share Her relationship to music: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/732043488118636544/best-reactions-of-me-playing-on-toy-pianos-which?source=share A bit about her (very nascent) career: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/725706356775075840/i-havent-said-much-about-magrittes-musical?source=share Her feelings towards her parents: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/737368200819458048/ok-im-just-gonna-come-right-out-and-say-it-i?source=share

[New!] She really likes Kirby: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/737230742514548736/okay-but-i-feel-like-i-need-to-make-a-post?source=share

On smarts, self image, and hobbies, home, stress, and gestures:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/719481526715318272/for-the-ask-game-that-you-just-posted-i-would

One ridicule, humor, life goals, and voice:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/719482287952199680/sweet-magritte-39-40-44-48-49-3c

Has she met Raf's folks?

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/712869691265253376/has-margie-ever-met-rafaels-parents-howd-they

All Three

Is it polyamory?? (yes):

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/714455918796013568/this-has-probably-been-explained-already-and-i

Their dynamic between the three of them: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/724339636885995520/sometimes-a-family-is-a-man-a-woman-an-eldritch?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/722433005627555840/okee-good-morninganswering-this-for-real-now

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/723077384272773120/im-procrastinating?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/735210215055736832/who-can-resist-a-good-meme-template-not-me-x?source=share

on conflict and resolution: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/724639084135530496/i-am-very-late-to-the-blorbo-birthday-ask-party?source=share https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/724640459960565760/cortes-wasnt-mentioned-in-that-ask-but-i-want-to?source=share

Jealousy?:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/714952145726816256/question-for-bee-are-any-of-the-cortes-trio

Raf + Cortes:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/714226843319943168/if-you-took-the-whole-vibe-of-lofi-beats-to-study

Drugs..?:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/714312079362932736/ocean-spray-mdma-makes-me-want-to-know-more-about

The best gifts they have received?: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/724537976617648128/happy-birthday-what-is-the-favourite-gift-the?source=share

On manners, school, and humor:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/719479400026062848/raf-21-magritte-14-cortes-40

Who cooks?:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/712782848085622784/ooh-speaking-of-favorite-foods-do-they-all-cook

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/714402100415709184/about-the-cortes-trio-what-is-their-go-to-dish-to?source=share

Sexuality:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/712832179060801536/so-now-we-know-that-cortezs-sexuality-is-squishy

Nightly routines:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/716217886433230848/cortes-trio-question-what-are-their-night-time

Who likes suprises?:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/715000402582667264/magritte-loves-surprises-unexpected

Favorite type of music? https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/724508117912748032/happy-birthday-hope-you-have-a-great-year-your?source=share

Favorite hobbies?:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/716215145470246912/cortes-trio-favourite-hobbies-and-things-to-do

Favorite Animals?: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/724510976169443328/what-are-the-trios-favourite-animal-i-would-ask?source=share Favorite foods?:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/712779176885780480/i-have-a-question-youve-mentioned-that-cortes

On pokemon teams, soup, and surprise encounters:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/719931743598231552/bless-you-esh-lmaooo-we-did-give-them-pokemon

Do they like bugs?: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/724508334491877376/happy-birthday-do-any-of-the-cortes-trio-share?source=share

Voice HCs:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/719754784740098048/you-ever-listen-to-a-song-and-think-the-way-i

#cortes #there a lil masterpost with allll the stuff!!!#now I can just link people to this when they ask about who these characters are. yay #cortes masterpost #Hi-Note

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softlyspector · 1 year

Note

I’m the one who asked about the requests, hope your day is going ok, I’m reading through so many fanfics on here instead of working through my long list of Important Things.

Ive been thinking of an au soft Joel road trip (no infection).

Joel’s either forties or fifties (when he washed his hair and combined it back in ep 3 was perfection), reader is late thirties, newish relationship but care deeply for each other. After working themselves to the bone for years, this extended trip is much needed.

no outbreak!Joel Miller x reader

wc: 1.5k

summary: You and Joel decide to visit Sarah at college before taking a road trip to the coast together.

a/n: addicted to slice of life these days i think. i hope you like this anon!

"Alright," you turn away from the gas pump to lean your forearms on the open passenger side window of the truck. The volume of the radio is low, but Joel still reaches out to turn it down further. "I just wanna ask one last time before we get on the road-,"

Before you can even get the words out, Joel is already mid eye roll. "Would you stop worryin' so damn much and just get in the truck?"

You try to hide a smile and fail. "My, my, so tense for being on vacation."

"This ain't a vacation," he grumbles, turning to stare through the windshield, squinting into the early morning sun that's already ladling spoonfuls of heat onto you.

Despite what Joel might want to believe, it definitely is a vacation. The parents' weekend at Sarah's university is only your first stop of many, after years of you both working nonstop.

You've been the Millers' neighbor for years, but it was only after Sarah graduated from high school earlier in the year that Joel decided to do something about your feelings for one another.

Which has lead to this. A road trip to see Sarah, before heading west for a few weeks. You planned to make it all the way to the coast, to see the Pacific, winding your way through bulk of west Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona first. You aren't sure yet, what exactly your stops will be, but you figure it doesn't really much matter.

You'd expected to have to put in the work to make Joel see the potential of the trip, the sense of it. But he'd broken to your request surprisingly easily.

Joel has always been bad at saying no to the people he cared about. Even when he said no, he'd allow it anyways, follow you anyways.

It's a much deserved break for both of you.

Joel has worked himself to the bone for years, and the physicality of his job is finally starting to weigh on him as he leaves youth behind.

Although your job is less physical than a contractor's, being on your feet for eight hours a day in a salon since you were eighteen has taken its toll too. And you can't remember the last time you went on any kind of trip, let alone a vacation.

A laugh slips past your lips before you can stop it. "Well, call it whatever you want, Joel. I just want to make sure it's alright I'm along for this first stop." The gas pump clicks off behind you, signaling a full tank, but you don't turn to it, waiting for Joel to answer you instead.

"'Course it is," he answers, glancing back over at you. "Why would it be a problem?"

"Well, for starters, it's parents' weekend, Joel." You tilt your head when he just raises his brow at you. "And you might remember, I'm not Sarah's parent, and I don't want to take away from her time with you."

"Darlin', she's the one that invited you," he reminds you.

"But do you want me there?" You ask before you can stop yourself. You might not want to infringe on Sarah's time with her dad, but you also don't want to take up Joel's time with his kid.

He leans forward and shakes his head at you, like he thinks you're being ridiculous. "Of course I do." He reaches over and pops the door open, forcing you to step back. "Now get in the truck and let's go before Tommy can call with a problem and hold us up."

You retreat from the window, raising your hands in placation. You return the nozzle to the pump, and then situate yourself in the passenger seat, slamming the door closed behind you.

You take a moment to squeeze some hand sanitizer into the palm of your hand. "Seatbelt," Joel intones, twisting the key in the ignition.

"Yeah, yeah," you say, hooking the belt into place as Joel swings out onto the service road and then navigates to the highway, turning the volume of the radio back up as he goes.

It's early enough that there are no other cars on the road, and the empty lanes ahead of you fills you with a kind of peace.

Sarah had asked you to get there early, so she could take you to her favorite breakfast spot just off campus. You and Joel were more than happy to accommodate the request.

You fiddle with the travel bag at your feet before unscrewing the lid on the thermos you pull out and silently hand to Joel. He takes a long drink of the coffee inside, while you watch him carefully.

The barest threads of gray are starting to make an appearance in the hair at his temples and in the facial hair on his cheeks, though it's hard to make them out in the dappled morning sunshine that seems to cast him in and out of shadow. You're very sure the salt and pepper look is only going to add to how pretty you find him.

He'd showered shortly before you left and his hair is still dark with damp, slicked back behind his ears. A few strands pull away in the breeze though, already drying in little tufts.

His skin is a dark golden brown from having worked outside in the sun for a majority of the summer. The smooth curve of his bicep is as attractive as it's always been.

You don't dare look at the veins in his forearms that lead to his hands. The broad palms and lithe fingers that you've admired for years from across dining tables, from the bench on your front porch as he did yard work, watching him get worked up at Sarah's soccer games as you passed a flask back and forth with his brother and laughed.

"What's got you thinkin' so intense over there, honey?"

"You're just very handsome, Joel Miller," you inform him.

He smiles and hands the thermos back, not taking his eyes off the road. "Now you're just makin' fun."

"I wouldn't dare," you respond. "I'm thinking about how glad I am that I convinced you to do this."

"Mhm," he hums under his breath, not sounding at all convinced. "You ain't really good at spinnin' tales."

You laugh and put your feet up on the dashboard, finally glancing away from him. Joel's eyes cut to you but he doesn't say anything, just rolls his eyes and returns his gaze to the horizon.

The breeze that slips through the open windows is warm, already bordering on hot. You relish it, tilting your face into the sun streaming at an angle into the cab.

Although Sarah's school is only an hour or so away, she hasn't visited home yet since Joel and Tommy settled her into the dorms two months prior.

It's a good thing, her settling in there, instead of pining for home. It didn't make it any easier on Joel though, having an empty house aside from you popping over each day and Tommy's frequent visits.

Joel and Sarah talk a couple times a week on the phone, but you know Joel is still feeling that loss.

The few times you've talked to her, she's seemed happy, enjoying classes and making friends quickly.

The last time she'd called, she'd asked for both of you to be on the phone together. Parents' weekend was coming up, she'd said, and of course she expected Joel to come, to visit her and see how she was settling in. You hadn't expected the invitation to be extended to you too, even despite having been a part of her life since she was a kid.

You and Joel are still figuring things out between you; everything about your relationship is new and budding.

Sarah, at least, seems to think it will last for a long time.

Long enough, at least, that she wants you to be apart of parents' weekend.

It scares you, it's always scared you, how much the Millers mean to you. This thing with Joel, well, it has the potential to cement that forever into your soul, or tear it all away.

You jump when Joel's hand lands on yours, his fingers curling though the backs of yours before he tugs your hand across the console to hold against his thigh.

He doesn't glance over at you, humming along to the old country song that's crooning along on the radio.

He sounds dangerously close to singing.

You squeeze his fingers and take a drink from the thermos you still hold with your other.

"Maybe," he starts and then stops, fingers running over the wheel before they clench tight on the leather again. "Maybe a vacation ain't so bad."

You smirk into the thermos. "It's alright to have a little fun every now and again, Miller," you tease, rubbing you thumb over the backs of his knuckles.

His hands are calloused and worn, his fingers slightly swollen in the morning heat.

They're hands you trust though, gentle hands that held his daughter and fixed your air conditioner and handed over cash to the kids that sold candy bars for their sports teams in the neighborhood each season. He'd grumble about it for days after, but he'd never tell them no.

They're hands that need a break.

You massage his palm, the crest of each flared knuckle. "It's well deserved."

"Maybe we start a tradition then, make the trip down each fall," he suggests, settling back further into his seat, getting comfortable for the drive, his fingers flexing around yours. "Sarah's got four years a' this after all."

He seems to realize what he said, a second after you do. Four years is quite a lot of time to be planning for.

His jaw works, eyes now firmly glued to the horizon as he tries to work his way out of his own words.

You just shrug and lift the thermos to your lips again. "She does," you say.

In your peripheral vision, Joel's shoulders loosen.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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rockybloo · 4 months

Note

As I’m doing this ask, I’m just watching Jack the Giant Slayer and making me SEVERELY wanna read Beanstalked, I’d love a passion fueled essay/reason from you why I should read it! (I’m gonna ready it anyways)

OH BOY I GET TO DROP MY LIMITERS

For starters, Beanstalked is a fantasy slice-of-life with a sprinkle of adventure and action. It does feature swearing, violence and gore as well as some body horror and existentialism. So just a heads up.

The main plot is basically that Lore, the planet that Beanstalked takes place on which exists directly parallel to Earth, has an event every 100 years where individuals are selected to become Bookmarked. This is where they are assigned roles from fables and legends from our world and gain secret weapons known as Märchen for self defense. This event has gone on practically forever under the watchful eyes of the Sun and Moon, the gods of this world.

But that all gets disrupted by an evil fairy called Nevermore who is bored of witnessing the same fairy tales happening over and over again. She has rounded up Bookmarked villains and the occasional misled protagonist to assist her and her army of ink stains as she aims to rewrite the world and rid it of happy endings.

The newest generation of Bookmarked are very unlucky as it is their turns to live out their assigned tales due to their stories all having been screwed up due to Nevermore's interference. Jack is one of these unlucky Bookmarked, who has just recently come to learn he has been assigned the same Jack from Jack and the Beanstalk. Much of Beanstalked follows hm as he learns about the magical side of the world he lives in, how to use his own Märchen, his own family history, and what exactly a "Happy Ending" is.

Beanstalked is meant to somewhat explore fairy tales and how suddenly becoming a figure in one can affect one's life-whether it be good or bad. It's also, at its center, a story about learning more about one's self and figuring out what truly makes you happy.

If you are a fan of fairy tale retellings then Beanstalked is a good pick for you. Especially if you are a fan of retellings that:

Aren't just mean spirited spins about the original tale

Aren't completely dark and gritty retellings of the source material for the sake of being edgy

Aren't just rip offs of Disney designs and characters

Or if you are petty like me, don't want to read another story about a protagonist having fallen into the land of fairy tales

Every Beanstalked character is meant to be based off either a direct character from a fable or a stock character. And for each fable, I try to bounce off the original story if there is an author (Like Pinocchio novel) or the oldest retellings as many fables don't have direct authors and simply have collectors that put their own spin on things.

So if you are worried about another fairy tale retelling story where each fable is just based off Disney's spins-DON'T WORRY BECAUSE ROCKY GOT YA' COVERED!

Beanstalked also contains a lot of found family elements, such as the entire village of Briar Patch being a community of Bookmarked who watch out for one another.

There are also cool af battle scenes due to the existence of Märchen (because Rocky grew up watching too many shounen anime and now has to put battles in everything), a ton of world building (I've had this story for nearly a decade now), a lotta characters with melanin (many being black), and a cast comprised of bi and pan characters.

ALSO ALSO...if you are a fan of pretty black girl love interests that kick ass (and may also be a monster girl with sharp teeth and claws and whole big monster form) then you will enjoy Beanstalked as Jack's love interest, Nana, is all of said above mentioned things.

SO if any of this happened to catch your attention-GO READ BEANSTALKED! As of right now I've rebooted it from the original 2010s version I had so it currently only has chapters 1 and 2. Which means you don't have a lotta catch up to do!

I have also handcuffed myself to this story which means I will be working on it till I finish it. I am on a mission. So if you want a webcomic and don't wanna worry about it suddenly being cancelled or disappearing one day-DO NOT CONCERN YOURSELF CITIZEN as I am unhinged about my fairy tale babies and am in for the long haul.

#ask: beanstalked #ask #ask: jack #ask: nevermore #ask: nana

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radiomurdeer · 21 days

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@lilitophidian gets a starter cause the vibes are good.

Grief had a way of changing people. Alastor's mother had died, and with her the music and joy of life. Maybe if it had been a more peaceful death, he could have accepted it. An illness or injury that would give him time to come to terms.

But murder?

No, she'd been stolen from him, and Alastor couldn't let that stand.

He stood at a crossroads. Quite literally a turning point in his life, even as he laid out his offerings in the center of the empty road. it wasn't the first time someone had summoned a ruler of Hell here, and it wouldn't be he last. Alastor had no intentions on calling the Devil though. Laid out on a cloth of deep red, he set out each item carefully. Rose petals, cinnamon, silvery mugwort, and a glass cup in red. Next to them was a bottle of the nicest wine he could get his hands on - if he was lucky it hadn't been cut with water, but it was the Prohibition, he'd have to hope it'd still be accepted. The last thing recommended was animal blood, but that felt -- lesser. Alastor was young enough in his occult studies that he hadn't yet learned caution. Hadn't yet learned what a high price could be demanded and extracted when things when wrong, when the advice of those who'd come before wasn't followed. He didn't have a silver dagger, all he had was a kitchen knife, well loved and well used, and his own blood.

The words of the ritual came out haltingly, unfamiliar and strange, leaving a tingle on his tongue. Words of power as he sliced a shallow cut on the heel of his palm to let it drip down into the red glass.

Plip, plip, plop.

Now all that was left was to wait, and hope his entreaties had been heard.

#lilitophidian #//v; tbt

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amywritesthings · 3 months

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Operation: Battlepass (AKA the Totally Awesome Plan to Play Wingman by Yuuji Itadori) / a Choso x OFC story

After choosing to live together as brothers, Yuuji decides to introduce Choso to the wonderful world of gaming. What he didn't expect is for Choso to fall head over heels for his online friend. Naturally, hijinks must ensue, and the gang comes up with a plan to make this romcom a reality.

word count: 3k (part one of ??) tags: au - canon divergence, fluff, romantic comedy, told in yuuji's pov, ultimate big brother!choso, gaming, online friendshipcredit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

read on ao3 here.

PART ONE: THE INTRODUCTION

disclaimer: this is a very crack slice of life story. everyone's alive. itadori is friends with an adult through online gaming. their dynamic is very much 'you're a kid and i have to protect you from weirdos in gaming lobbies'. iris is inspired by my own older online friends growing up. it's nothing nefarious.

Yuuji Itadori has never been a wingman.

Well — kind of.

If you scratch all of the times that Itadori went along with the ‘Save Megumi’ plan conjured up by the brilliant (and twisted) minds of Gojo-sensei and Kugisaki, then he’s technically never been a wingman.

Come to think of it, he’s never really given the act of dating much thought.

It isn’t like he’s ever had much skin in the game.

Itadori’s never had a partner, for one.

Fushiguro is smooth enough to flirt without anyone’s help, two.

Kugisaki can be a little intimidating all on her own, three.

So it leaves… well, Itadori to cheer on his perfectly-capable friends as they navigate what it means to be a teenager.

It also leaves him wondering if one day he’ll know the tv-show-butterfly feeling of helping two lonely souls get together.

(He really should focus on his own love life, but given the whole Sukuna ordeal? That’s a mess he hasn’t quite ironed out yet.)

Enter: Choso, his alleged big brother from another mother.

(Or another father? That’s another thing he’s gotta iron out. More at 11.)

Getting a two-bedroom bachelor pad with the guy you only met, like, a few weeks ago wasn't on his year-end bingo card.

"Really?" If Fushiguro and Nobara question something simultanously, that usually spells danger.

"Yeah!" Itadori exclaims, sipping on his tea. "I mean, why not, right?"

"Wasn't he the guy trying to kill you?" Fushiguro grunts.

"Then he changed his mind on a dime and demanded he protect you with every blood cell in his body?" Nobara adds, lips trembling from her attempt to hide a smile at her pun.

(Neither of the boys catch it.)

Itadori grimaces. "Well, when you put it that way..."

Fushiguro leans back. "Trying to kill you—"

Nobara leans forward. "—to defending you—"

They come together again, and Itadori sinks in his booth.

"—in a few hours."

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Itadori whines. "But it'll be fine. We're great pals and figured it out. He's totally normal now."

So normal that Choso's in the booth at the other end of the restaurant, sipping a coffee black with a newspaper upside-down, waiting to take Itadori and his friends to the shopping district later.

(It's a little weird admittedly, but Itadori thinks it's endearing. He cares!)

So, yeah.

He ditched living at Jujutsu High in order to move in with his brother under the approval of his instructor.

Maybe it was a hasty decision, but Itadori will take the blame on that one.

Call it excitement or stupidity, he doesn’t mind.

After spending a lot of his life wishing he had a sibling of his own, it’s kinda cool to live a brother.

Not even a brother, but a big brother who takes his job very seriously.

For starters, Itadori always gets to order wherever he wants for takeout dinner, which never got to happen back at Jujutsu High.

Fushiguro used to be apathetic about what they’d order, which meant Kugisaki took the liberty in steamrolling every decision.

Now?

Itadori gets to show Choso every single one of his favorite foods and then some.

The guy doesn’t eat much — apparently something to do with being a curse, not that Itadori judges — but he thoroughly enjoys the nights watching Choso squint over a takeout box trying to figure out what the heck is in the thing.

It’s nice teaching someone else the ropes, rather than feeling clueless in his own life.

He shows Choso how to cook; how to clean, though they’re both fairly great at lifting furniture to get into those hard-to-reach spots; how to pay bills over the internet — or just to pay for bills in general.

However, there is one important item in life he has to show his big brother:

Video games.

Apparently all he ever played when he was with Jogo, Brains, and Mahito were board games.

Snooze.

Boring.

“Today is your lucky day,” he tells the man with tightly-coiled space buns one day while Choso's watching television.

Itadori thrusts a coveted console controller into his view with excitement.

Choso blinks down at it with confusion.

“Because I — Yuuji Itadori, your little bro — am going to show you the wonders and joys of gaming.”

“I know how to play games, Yuuji,” Choso flatly replies, though there’s a warmth to his tone no matter when he speaks to Itadori.

The pink-haired boy shakes his head.

“I’m not talking about Life or Trouble or, ugh, Monopoly — though you can technically play them on a console.”

Choso’s brows slide high: really?

“Yeah, really.”

“Huh.”

The man with the black strip over his nose tests the weight of the console controller in his hand, lip slightly pouted.

“So what do you… do?”

“Press buttons, mostly.”

Itadori holds up his own decked-out controller — a modified neon blue and black masterpiece that glows in the dark — and presses a few of the buttons to show him.

“You’ll get used to it. Trust me, it’s way easier in practice.”

Sitting beside his brother with crossed legs, he triggers the console to wake up to its dashboard.

The game show disappears, and a brilliant burst of color takes over the screen.

The reaction is priceless — Choso’s eyes widen to the size of saucers.

Aw, yeah, he has him interested now.

“Do you play these games with your friends?” Choso asks quietly, poking at a button with his thumb.

“Sometimes,” Itadori replies. “Fushiguro isn’t a fan of them. Nobara gets way too competitive. Like… scary competitive. We limit her screen time.”

Choso snorts. “I can picture that.”

Itadori grins and opens up a few window menus so he can set up a profile for Choso on his console.

He hands over his main controller and gestures to Choso.

“Pick whatever profile photo you want.”

Sticking his tongue to the left in the exact way Itadori does when he’s concentrating, Choso flicks over the right joystick to search through the images.

“Itadori?”

“Yeah, Choso?”

“I don’t see my face.”

“Huh?”

“The photographs.” Choso points to the screen. “Where am I?”

Itadori blinks before he realizes.

“Oh! You… don’t, ha. You pick a character.” He pauses. “Like how you choose a thimble or a car and stuff in Monopoly.”

Choso sucks in a sharp inhale and nods in understanding before fluttering through a few more options with more confidence.

He settles over a photo of Lara Croft from the Tomb Raider series before clicking it.

“Like this?”

“What, you like Lara?”

“Is that her name?”

“Yeah, she’s kinda super badass.” Itadori takes back the controller to finish up his profile. “My one online friend really likes those games—”

Then, brilliance hits him.

It doesn’t happen often, but today?

Itadori strikes gold.

“Oh, hey — if you want, you can kinda see how me and my one friend play. She’s usually on at this hour. Here.”

He pauses to reach around the couch only to hold out a headset for Choso to take.

“Wear this. It’s my spare.”

With that same inquisitive squint, Choso observes at the headphones with scrutiny.

Itadori showcases how to put them on, popping his RGB headset over his head and squishing his pink hair to his head.

It takes a little finessing with his hairstyle, but Choso does the same. He lets the headphones sit on his head and doesn’t move.

“You good?”

“What?” Choso’s voice shouts over the noise-cancelling feature.

“I said are you—” Itadori pauses, holding up a thumbs up.

Choso blinks. Then his thumb raises.

Good.

Itadori blinks back to the television screen where he signs on as himself — YuuMasterGeneral — before searching for a particular name on his friends list.

Truth be told, he’s only ever talked to this girl.

He has no clue what she looks like in person because he’s never met her in person, but she sounds pretty nice.

After Grandpa got sick, there wasn’t much to do around the house.

Sitting in a quiet house wasn’t cutting it, so Itadori tried his hand at online gaming lobbies.

Most of them sucked.

Most of them were full of assholes.

But he got lucky — an older girl that went by the moniker of Iris was nice enough to join his team.

That first night, they talked for hours about nothing in particular. Eventually he told her about his grandpa, and she added him as a friend. Iris told him to poke her whenever she was on so he had someone to play with.

Honestly? It was exactly the kind of lifeline he needed at the time.

After that, he gamed with Iris pretty regularly. Although they mostly game, sometimes they chat about their other hobbies. He's learned she has a full-time job, just recently graduating from university. A few times she's given a sprinkle of real life advice, from an adult figuring it out a couple of steps ahead of a teenager.

He felt safe. Seen.

He and Iris have been friends ever since.

Iris was good at gaming. Like, impossibly good.

So good she’d probably even beat Nobara.

But she wasn’t obnoxious about her wins, which was why Itadori enjoyed chatting with her so much.

Last time he talked to her was maybe six weeks ago. She’d been busy with her day job, but Itadori had been really busy with… well, everything to do with sorcery.

Surely she wouldn’t get weirded out about showing his older brother the ropes, right?

Iris was a private person, something Itadori could very respect, but he felt comfortable enough to invite her into this little debacle of his life now that Choso was going to be a permanent member of his family.

IRISSIRI IS ONLINE.

“Oh, cool, she’s on.”

“Who?” Choso asks, pushing a headphone off of his ear so he can hear Yuuji properly.

“My friend, Iris,” Itadori explains as he clicks to invite her to a party chat.

He then adds Choso, whose eyes widen at the magical sound of his little brother’s voice suddenly coming through the headset clear as day.

“This sounds…”

Choso trails off, blinking as he hears the echo of his own voice.

Itadori laughs and leans over to mess with his settings once more.

“Sorry — gotta mute yourself, buddy, otherwise we’ll get an echo going.”

Then a tiny chime sounds, and the brothers simultaneously stare at the television.

“Hello?”

Her voice is smooth as honey and soft, like she’s surprised to get the call.

Itadori immediately perks up, but he notices how Choso doesn’t move.

He just… stares, lips parted.

“Iris!” he greets excitedly. “Hey! Long time, no chat.”

“Yuuji,” she greets in return with a small smile in her voice. “Hey, no kidding. How’s it going? And who’s this…. Guest, person?”

“Oh — I haven’t given him a username yet. Iris, I wanted you to meet my big brother, Choso. Choso, this is my online friend Iris.”

He turns his head to look at Choso in the glow of the tv, but his brows furrow when he notices the pale complexion of Choso’s face turn a warm pink.

“Choso?” she asks, and Choso’s throat bobs.

Maybe he’s nervous about new people?

He’s never really been that nervous before.

“I didn’t know you had siblings!”

“Ha, yeah, it’s a complicated situation,” Itadori explains before flicking up his microphone stick so he can whisper directly to Choso: “You can speak in the microphone, you know.”

Choso clears his throat, his pink face turning scarlet in stark contrast to the black stripe across the bridge of his nose, before nodding.

“....I’m his big brother.”

“Cool, cool,” she chides in return, and Itadori can’t even believe what he’s seeing:

His older brother practically melts in his seat as he presses a hand gently to his headphone as if to push it closer to his ear.

"It’s super nice to meet you, big brother Choso.”

Choso bites his lower lip and glances up at the screen. “You… have a really pretty voice—”

Uh oh.

Abort mission.

Itadori flies off of the end of the couch to quickly flick his microphone up to mute them both for a little familial aside. “Dude!”

Choso’s surprised, still sporting the blush.

“What?”

“You can’t hit on my online friend!”

“I wasn’t hitting anyone, I was talking!” Choso hisses right back under his breath.

“Hitting on, not hitting!"

"Whatever!"

"Look: telling my friend she has a pretty voice is a little weird, okay?”

Suddenly the man looks a little worried. ��It is?”

Itadori nods. “Yeah. Girls get bothered online all the time. Just… be cool.”

He slowly drops his microphone back down.

Choso deflates and nods.

“Sorry about that! Yeah, no, he’s never played video games before so I thought we could show him how it’s done.”

“It's fine. But wait: he’s never played video games before?” Iris asks over her mic with a little laugh. “Seriously?”

Choso smiles small at that.

It’s lopsided and goofy.

Itadori feels like he’s in the twilight zone.

“Did he live under a rock?” she adds in a gentle tease.

“Something like that.” Yuuji tells her, quickly loading up Fortnite for a game of Duos so Choso can listen and watch. “He’ll just hang with us while we play, if that’s cool with you?”

“So long as he doesn’t mind me asking him questions while we play,” Iris replies, sending a quick game invite to Itadori’s screen.

Both Itadori and Choso stare at one another.

Choso points at himself.

Itadori nods and points at him.

“Me?” Choso asks in a bit of a confused voice.

“Well, I’ve known your little brother for two years now, but I don’t exactly know you, ” Iris explains. “In a way, I kinda felt like his far-away big sister, so I'm happy to know he's got someone looking after him. So how old are you?”

Choso sits up a little taller.

“I'm one hundred and fif—”

“The same age as you!” Itadori chirps, cutting Choso off. “He’s twenty five.”

He can not have his normie friends find out about curse spirits and all of that insanity.

Itadori’s just grateful Sukuna never appeared cackling at his cheek in the middle of an intense match to make a pass out of bad taste.

Choso looks absolutely confused, but he slowly nods in tandem with Itadori’s pleading nod.

“...yes, I am... twenty-five years old.”

“Sweet, same age,” Iris chirps, and that goofy little look shows up on Choso’s face again.

(What gives, dude?!)

“And you’ve never played a single game before?” she asks as they load into the next lobby.

“I like Life.”

“The board game?”

“Yeah.”

“I was so bad at that game.”

“The spinner can really put you in debt,” Choso agrees with a solemn nod—

And Iris giggles.

Itadori blinks.

As he departs his character from the sky bus at the location Iris placed on the map, his lips begin to pull down to a grimace.

He’s never heard her laugh like that.

Not even when she's put toxic guys to shame and made them rage quit in Call of Duty.

“How did you meet my younger brother?” Choso asks, suddenly emboldened by the laugh.

“We met in a Destiny 2 lobby, actually,” Iris explains happily. “He helped me with a few of my bigger raids. When I found out the kid was fifteen-something, I felt like I had to make sure no one was a jerk to him in any future lobbies.”

“So you protected him?” Choso murmurs with surprise.

“More like shepherded him through games, sorta like a—”

“—big sister would,” Choso finishes for her.

“Kind of! Like I said earlier, Yuuji’s a good kid. And he’s really solid at playing games.” Iris clears her throat. “Yuuji, six o’clock. There is a drop over there.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Yuuji.”

“Miss!” Itadori corrects. “I mean Miss!”

“Jesus, he acts like I’m fifty sometimes,” Iris bemoans, and Choso smirks.

“Yeah. He acts like I’m a hundred and fifty,” the older man cheekily replies, and Itadori scowls.

On Itadori’s screen, they watch as a potential enemy rounds the corner of the building Itadori’s looting —

He doesn't act fast enough to attack —

But suddenly they fall to their knees, before bursting into confetti with all of their items strewn about.

K.O.

They both hear Iris whistle from her microphone.

“Respect your elders, kid.”

“Thanks, Eye. I didn’t realize there were people on my spot,” Itadori chimes.

Yeah.

Because he’s too busy listening to Choso act like he’s going to eat the mic to get closer to Iris —

And the fact that his online friend, his very normal friend, is giggling the way some girls giggle whenever…

They look…

At Gojo-sensei.

Itadori stops moving his thumbs on the controller, too deep in thought to play as Iris carries them.

She's scoping perimeters while he's busy putting the puzzle pieces together.

He's blushing.

She's giggling.

His Mikasa Ackerman avatar gets shot down, and Iris is shouting that she's coming back to save him —

But his eyes are on the guy opposite to him on the couch staring intently.

Not at the game, no.

At Iris’ little avatar that shows up every time she speaks.

Her icon's a little chibi Lara Croft.

Kind of like his generic Lara Croft icon.

Some weirdly-fated choice in a sea of happenstances.

Huh.

Wait a second.

"Hey, Choso, do you mind taking over for me in the next game?"

Choso whips his attention, eyes widening with uncertainty. "Me?"

Iris laughs again, and Itadori sees it in real-time: that butterfly-in-your-stomach goofy face, smack dab on Choso's lips.

"I'm down if you're down, Choso."

Quickly he takes the glowing controller from his younger brother and straightens up. "I can learn."

"Just don't go running off on me on the map, alright?" Iris requests playfully. "Stick with me and we'll easily get to last twenty."

"I won't fail you," Choso promises with a nod.

Itadori crosses his arms, observing and listening to Iris explain the game gently to Choso.

Although she was just as gentle with him, Itadori can hear something different in her voice. It's like she's trying to get Choso to answer her so he can talk. She asks him questions that will get him to talk more and more, until they're having a full-blown conversation without Itadori in sight.

Interesting.

He likes her voice, that much he's deduced.

But does she like his voice, too?

Something's happening here.

The cogs are turning.

Maybe —

Just maybe —

Yuuji Itadori can actually be a real, bonafide wingman.

#choso kamo fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #choso kamo x female reader #choso kamo x ofc #choso x female reader #choso x original female character #choso kamo x original female character #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk fic #jjk fanfiction #choso fluff #choso kamo fluff #yuuji itadori fluff #yuuji itadori fanfic #amywritesthings #operation battlepass

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melodrama-ticcc · 7 months

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— “ 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 ” ; 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧

𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.

𝙃𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙩.

𝘈 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘛𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥.

𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫. 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧. 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧.

ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᵐᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ. ⁱ.ᵉ. ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ, ᶠⁱʳᵉᵃʳᵐˢ, ᵍᵒʳᵉ, ᵍʳᵃᵖʰⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ, ᵐᵃⁿⁱᵖᵘˡᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ⁱˡˡⁿᵉˢˢ, ʳᵉˡⁱᵍⁱᵒⁿ, ˢᵉˣᵘᵃˡ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ.

—

Now, Rebecca Payne had never been an easily frightened woman. But such a daunt image had been enough to make her grip the handle of that axe just a little tighter.

He stared at her curiously, and she stared back just as much. Both a bit unsure and timid at what to do next. The man raises his chainsaw, pulling the starter cord one, two, three times before it roars into life. It’s motor racing as he revs the engine once, twice, thrice.

“Aye! You foolin’ with me? Get lost!”

He just stands there, head tilting in wholesome inquisitiveness. But she only stands her ground, taking a defensive position as she slings the axe over her shoulder.

“Tell me just what it is the hell you want, ‘fore I grab the shotgun and pop two bullets in ya’ head-” before she can finish, he’s running towards her. His steps are short and small but he moves quickly, the chainsaw over his head as he prances over like a child. Fuck. She’s running towards the front door, slamming it shut and locking the deadbolt before she grabs the shot gun from the wall it sits upon. “Daddy! Daddy get in here!” Her call falls on deaf ears, but she’s drawing back the ivory lace that covers the door light, looking cautiously out to see the man with a chainsaw slicing in twos the logs she’d been hacking at. Her brows raise and she lowers her head. “The fuck is he gettin’ at?” The question is rhetorical, meant for her and her alone. She finds it in her to flip the deadbolt on the door backwards and swing it open, shotgun-clad as she steps out onto the porch. Her heart is racing, pumping her bloodstream full of adrenaline and panic. A delectable rush that fuels both her temper and confrontational resolve. Her blue eyes are locked on the man, voice raising as she points the barrel of the gun at him. “The fuck is you doin’ huh? You talk?”

“T-that’s Bubba, he ain’t talk v’much.” Another man’s voice comes from the foot of the porch, and in an instant shes got the barrel pointed there, meeting the gaze of a man who looks much like the transients her mother used to bring home. A man with long unruly hair and missing teeth. Skin and bones, he looks absent of any muscle or strength, and his nervous speech only indicates to her he’s a coward with no interest in catching a fight. But her wariness remains, eyes staring down the sights of the rifle as she raises it a bit, as if to gesture at him.

“Y’all with my daddy? He send ya’? He ain’t tell me we was expectin’ visitors, the hell ya’ll doin’ on my property?” The girl’s quick to anger, fire in those impassioned eyes that is sure to burn through their aimless facade.

“Wow now mmm miss, we ain’t want no trouble. We’s just Sawyer boys, neighbors of ya’s.” The man smiles, raising his hands out of fear before pointing to the man with a chainsaw who continues to cut up the wood. He’s oblivious, all most as though he’s not quite there. Probably not the most intelligent one, she reckoned. “That there’s Bubba, I’m N-Nubbins, we’s brothers. Thought we’d come say hello, you been takin’ down m’mah traps and tossin’ ‘em out. Wantin’ t’t ask ya’ bout that.” He shrugs, lowering his raised arms. “Bubba’s heard you been c-cuttin’ wood, thought he c-could help with that there chainsaw of ‘is.”

“Get me that damn old man of ya’lls, I ain’t gonna take too kindly to this type of nonsense any longer.” Becca spits, her voice spiteful as she looks to him. “Go on, get! Go fetch ‘em!”

“Ah, well grandpa don’t really get out all that mu-much.”

“I ain’t talkin’ bout ya’ damn grandfather, the other one. Get me that Drayton!”

“Ah right ah right, we’s be on our way. Bubba!” The man ceases his chainsaw, looking to Nubbins with a frightened expression. “Go on ‘n fetch ya’ brother! She ain’t want ya’ damn help!”

She watches as he cuts the engine on his chainsaw, and the two make their way up the drive and disappear into the foliage that lines the main road. She heaves a heavy sigh, dropping the shot gun to her side as she shakes her head. “Loonies, the lot of ‘em.”

The sentiment the Sawyer family instilled in Rebecca was not a great one, and given the nature of all things examined she felt something wasn’t quite right. It raised questions and concerns she knew not the answers to, and she was sure one more thing would drive her over the edge. She’d go mad over their doltish charades and bovine attitudes.

Those boys never did come back with that Drayton fella, so she was certain she’d make a trip down there the following day to give him a piece of her mind. For one more obtusity and she’d hack the next Sawyer she saw walking up that dirt road to her porch into roadkill.

The following day she’d taken it upon herself to toy with the blown radiator in the truck, a task that proved to be more difficult that she’d initially intended. Sealing the crack in the radiator itself had been a quick fix, but fixing both the faulty temperature gauge and the disruptive cooling system that had caused the truck to overheat in the first place was an entirely separate task in and of itself. That said, she’d do anything to help her father.

Working from the tranquil early morning to the hot hours of the afternoon, she’d been covered in sweat and grime from head to toe, black slick smeared into the sweat on her skin and over her jeans. Once luminous bangs stuck to the wet of her forehead as she winced in the brightness of the sun. Her right arm halfway down the underside of the hood, she attempts to fidget with the bolts on the old water pump system. With no avail, she pulls her arm from the engine holding the wrench, only to find it covered in oil and muck. She groans, partly out of annoyance and partly out of irritability over that blazing Midwest sun. She wipes the sludge over her clothed thigh, kicking the chrome spotted bumper as she grips the wrench.

“Piece ‘a shit rust bucket.” It’s mumbled under her breath, before she’s back to working at undoing the nuts and bolts. She had to of been too focused on the task, for she hadn’t heard the sound of booted footsteps headed from down the drive.

“Didn’t take you ‘s the type to work on cars, figured you wouldn’t be too keen on gettin’ that face of ya’s dirty or ruinin’ ya’ hair.”

The words ring through her brain like an estranged echo, both haunting and infuriating. For it was abundantly clear to her the mouth of whom it had come from, and equally as maddening. She has to bite her tongue before she speaks, not before whipping her head in the direction of the driveway. Plainly, her assumption was confirmed by Johnny’s wonted silhouette taking inadvertent strides.

She pulls her arm from the inside of the hood once more, wiping away the grease on her trousers. Her fervid eyes peer in his vicinity, spectating him cautiously. She recalls telling him not to come there, but it’s his backhanded comment that really gets her going. It was just like him, to assume she couldn’t handle a man’s work. At least, that’s how he’d put it.

Rebecca finds him pestilent. For anything he did or said would crawl beneath the skin and hackle her. She never liked what he insinuated and found his attractiveness frustrating in combination with his detestable personality. Him simply showing up was enough to peeve her, his remarks only put the nail in the coffin. Even now, he’d opened his mouth only once and she found herself oscillating between ataraxy and a lost temper.

“‘S all you do run that ugly mouth of your’s?” She quips, leaning against the front of the truck as she observes him. Her eyes looking him up and down condescendingly.

Good Lord above, she abhors him. From his slicked back hair to his cunning grin.

“Should think twice ‘bout wiping them dirty hands on ya’ nice clothes, wouldn’t wanna upset daddy now, would we? That ain’t v’ry womanly of ya’.”

That was all it took. That comment had been the single most bothersome component. The thing that would cease her teetering and push her over the edge. One moment she’s assembling her composure and the next sending that wrench of her’s launching toward Johnny’s pointlessly handsome face. It narrowly misses, thanks to his quick response and the swift dodge of his head.

The usual gleam in his eye changes all at once, and she can tell he’s goaded. The way his brows warp into a scowl and how his signature shit-eating grin had vanished from his face. He doesn’t say anything, just watches her, stalking her. Staring with such reprisal intent.

It’s different than all the times he’d observed her before. His once cynical gaze turned into something much more sinister, bordering malicious.

Rebecca’s countenance mirrors his own though, a menacing lour with an acute sense of vindictiveness. Her hands clutch into fists at her sides, body shaking the same way it always had when on the brink of becoming manic, the same way she had when her mother had been killed. As though she could just snap, her equanimity fracturing at the hand of an immature womanizer. It’s that same feeling, the vacancy of control. The lost footing on her ideal little world. It was despicable how something so trivial would cause such an unprincipled response. And it was all his fault. If only he’d keep his qualms to himself, she’d of kept her temper and wouldn’t have lost oversight of the big picture. It only strengthens the feeling of animosity she holds for him, arrogant and misogynistic, what a catch.

The way they stand there, waiting for the other to make the first move. It’s as though they each know something isn’t right with the other, and now it’s a game of chicken. Who caves first, who will be the one to show their true colors.

“Oh girl, you’ve really done it now.”

He’s walking toward her with a purpose, a requital objective. She can tell it. He strides over to her, grasping her wrist and pulling her towards him. As if he’s going to do something to her, harm her in some way. Slap her? Maybe. But she’d rather die before she let him get away with something of the sort.

“Get ya’ slimy hands off me you no-good hick! The fuck you think you doin’?” She yells at him, disbelief laced in between the anger in her words. Without a second thought, she sends her fist hurling towards his nose, and it lands with a cacophonous crack!

Johnny groans, stumbling back as both his hands move to clasp over his aching nose. Red spills down over his thin lips and dribbles off of his chin.

“You fuckin’ cunt.” The sharpness of his words is muffled under his hands, nasally on account of his injury. “You’ll regret that.”

“No. You’ll regret ever haulin’ ya’ ass over here to say some stupid shit like that. Let that be a lesson to keep that big mouth of ya’s shut.” Rebecca asserts back, slamming the hood of the car shut and moving up towards the porch. “Oh, and Johnny boy!” She hollers, turning to him when she reaches the door. “I catch ya’ starin’ at me one more damn time it’ll be the blade of my axe next time, I can promise ya’ that.”

“You really love playin’ hard to get don’cha? Ha.” He laughs, looking like a lunatic when he steps to the foot of the porch. Crimson stains the lower half of his face and there’s a deranged look in his eyes. “You’ll find I can be quite a pain in your ass when I ain’t get what I set out to.”

“Johnny Sawyer you ain’t nothin’ but a spoiled momma’s boy who don’t know how to handle bein’ put in his place. Think every girl should swoon over you helplessly. Well you’ll find I ain’t like little boys who think so highly of themselves. You ain’t nothin’ but trouble, a lowdown cheap little punk.”

“You one to talk,” he laughs hysterically, moving up a step as he grasps onto the wood railing. “I see the crazy in you, I know what it looks like.” He moves up another step, and Rebecca shifts to grab the axe leant up against the porch and raises it over her head.

“Get ya’ ass off my property or I’ll fulfill that promise I gave’s ya’ at the swimmin’ hole, go on ‘n get!” She hates that he’d go as far to say such a thing, alluding to some reprehensible idea. She’d continue to tell herself nothing had been wrong with her. That she was the perfect young lady of her perfect little life. She had to be; it was the only thing she’d desired. The only thing she strived for. Imperfection, the very concept of lost control, it would simply break her. Sure, his comments did away with her temperament. But it had been when her irascibility betrayed her and he was able to get her to fuck up, that was when everything would go to shit.

“You’re afraid I’m right!” Johnny’s grinning, approaching the top stair with the aim to confront her. “You know more than anybody else summin’ ain’t right in there, but you’s scared to admit it. Well I see right through that stupid little act you put on for erry’ body else. You can fool ‘em but you ain’t fool me girl!”

“Get away!” She’s screaming, and at this rate she feels her impassivity fleeting. Her eyes wide and frenetic, they well with tears. She can feel her mask of sanity slipping once more, a cruel reminder that’s he’s done it once again. She shakes violently as she swings the axe in front of her. Johnny moves back, his howling cackle filling the air as she shakes her head. “You ain’t know what ya’ talkin’ bout!” She swings again, this time the blade just short of his torso. Turbulent groans of frustration and madness encompass her, and she begins swinging without regard, no longer just a means of self-defense. It’s a demented feeling of shame and anger. The feeling of propensity vanishing in an instant and with it the floods of bloodlust and vengeance.

“Ah, there it is ‘gain.” Johnny laughs, stepping back off the porch. “Deny it all you want doll face, but take a good hard look at’cha self before tellin’ me otherwise.” He turns away, moving to head down the drive. He smacks the hood of the car twice before he departs, “I’ll come by to help you with this later,” he nods “looked like you was havin’ trouble.”

She doesn’t say a thing. The only sound emitted from her the pitiful noise of disoriented sobbing and grunts of exasperation. Rebecca isn’t thinking, not when she grits her teeth and acts swiftly to retrieve the shot gun sitting in the foyer of the house. From the entryway, she kicks the door open and shakily aims at Johnny’s moving body. She isn’t exactly trying to hit him, more hellbent on giving him a good scare, at least that had been what she told herself.

More and more, she wants his head as trophy on her vanity. Something to mock and pride herself over. It becomes clearer that she doesn’t want to kill him with the shotgun, rather, she wants it to debilitate him enough so that she may cleave at his body with the axe. She wants to see him cry, see the pain in his eyes as she cuts through flesh and bone. She’d make him suffer in agony as she tore his arms and legs from his body, make him endure the humiliation of removing his clothes and castrating him. Then, she’d chop away at his stomach so that the guts would spill from it in some god-awful way, just enough so that he hadn’t yet died. Just so that he could watch her as she lobbed his head off his own body. She’d like to see him so helpless and desolate, would love to dominate and exploit him in such a vulgar display. She’d love to exude such unbridled control over him. The very thought of it, the image engrained into her brain, it excites her. That rush of pleasure surging through her, the sweet edge of release. The act of such power is enticing.

The nose of the gun falls and rises with her tremoring body. She wraps a finger around the trigger haphazardly, watching as his unaffected self walks up the drive. It only antagonizes her further, causing her grip to tighten on the trigger and waver between pulling it and letting go. An incoherent scream befalls her lips as she loses the battle of self-restraint, pulling back the trigger as the gun fires with a thundering boom!

Without missing a beat, he begins running. The buckshot falls just short of him, hitting the dirt and kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake. The strident noise echoing through the land and up into the air. She isn’t thinking of consequences though, only how much she’d like to see Johnny Sawyer suffer. So she fires another shot, a deafening ring in her ears growing. Of course it misses, the dust flying up again as the pellets collide with the earth. Flustered, she pumps the shot gun again before adjusting her aim.

She rapidly fires the remaining four shots, each between her own choked screams and cries of torment. The knock back thrashes her shoulder a bit, but she clutches the rifle and steadies her place as best she can. The ringing in her ears beginning to subside as she watches Johnny turn around at the end of the driveway to say something.

“Rebecca Payne you one crazy bitch. Keep on actin’ like that and I might just fall in love with ya’!” He shouts out, and it causes her to pause. Long enough for him to disappear up the drive.

With a fervent yell she drops the firearm to the floor, grasping at the skin on her face and then the hair on her head. She pulls it, only to release it a moments later and stagger down the hall. Regrettably, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Something that causes her to step back and view herself fully.

The image unsettles her. She is anything but her usual becoming self. Pretty sapphire eyes barmy and bloodshot, wide with derangement. The soot from a day’s work coats her once flawless complexion, smeared about like some hoodlum on the streets. The salt from her tears dries up to leave streaks of black mascara. Wetness still pooling as they fall from her bottom lashes. They’re surrounded by smeared makeup, looking like a diseased raccoon. Her blonde hair once curled and done up so neatly had been astray in every which way. Messy and tangled, unruly like a lion’s unkept mane. Her figure twitches and quivers with unending rage and vigor. She hates herself. Loathes the woman who stares back at her in such a profound manner. It’s difficult for her to accept that the reflection staring back was indeed herself. It maddened her. She looks barbaric, she thinks. Primitive, like a loutish animal.

Rebecca tramps closer to the mirror, brushing her fingers over the face of the reflection. Dirty fingers leave black smudges against the pristine glass. Her expression softens, but just as quick as it does the scowl reappears on her face. She cannot stand to look at it any longer, cursed by the wretched woman who stares back at her. She feels she must destroy it, move on as though it never existed.

“I meant to do it!” She screams.

In a fit of rage, her wrath beckons her. She hurls her fist (the same one that had landed a punch on Johnny) towards the mirror. There sound of bone crushing and grinding against fragile glass is drowned by the clemency of her thoughts.

“I meant to do it!”

Though, the glass does not shatter. It only cracks, dense at the point of impact and gradually expanding from the center. It lands right where the reflection of her face had been, and it irks her how she can still see it staring back at her. This time in the mirror of dozens of tiny pieces of glass.

Irate, Rebecca draws her fist back and strikes the glass again. This time with much more zeal and strength. The loud crack! fills her ears, as does the sound of glass tumbling down into thousands of tiny shards against the wood planks below. Then the sound of footsteps, to which she stammers back. Paltry shards of glass find themselves stuck in the skin of her knuckles, tearing into the flesh and causing a bleed. She’s numbed to the pain, detached from the feeling of physical touch. She’s suddenly calm. Despite the heavy sounds of hitched breaths as she hyperventilates. She has found a state of Zen. At peace with the tampered image and ready to move on, it was no longer a thought to her. She was perfect.

“I did it on purpose.”

Silent tears drip down her cheeks in an unusual fashion. Her body is twitching and quivering in a profound state. Yet, she cannot help but feel as though she is well again. Even as Raymond steps into view of the doorway from the porch. Her sunken eyes move to meet his gaze, a sullen exhibit on her features as he demonstrates an arrange of emotion; anger, concern, suspicion.

“Becca the hell is goin’ on with ya’? One minute I’m out workin’ in the field and the next I hears gunshots. The hell is all this?” He gestures to mess, treading towards her in a cautious way.

“Mountain lion,” her voice is as quiet as a church mouse. “I was workin’ on the truck and it came outta no where,” between ragged breaths she speaks in monotone, putting together a falsified story to shield herself from his disappointment. “I ain’t know we had those in these parts.” She stares at him blankly, as if her eyes were void of any sort of emotion. As though she’d become entirely numb. “Started chargin’ for me ‘n scared the heck outta me. I-I got startled and stumbled into the hall, few gunshots scared it off, though.”

He’d like to believe her, she was his daughter after all.

Raymond had been in denial for quite some time. He’d seen the signs, glimpses of trouble sandwiched between her charming persona and winsome beauty. He never lived in fear of it, only denial. A part of him even felt responsible for it. Perhaps that had been why he lived in blissful ignorance of the fact. Regardless the reason, he chose to take the simpler route. Ignoring the obvious conflict within his sweet baby girl and guiding her down the right path. He was sure he could train the devil out of her.

Since the death of Maggie, Rebecca had grown into a fine young woman. She’d taken care of him in a way his deceased wife never had, and a part of him figured he’d not be able to live without her. The other wanted her to find a man of her own to wed and take care of. Maybe that had been what she needed to quell the violence within her. But then, he’d miss the companionship of having such a woman.

Rebecca was so dedicated to her role as the woman of the house. Doting and indulgent, she worked diligently to ensure nothing had been out of place. She’d clean each and every nook and cranny of the home, cook his favorites, work in the garden or cattle fields, run his baths, administer his medication, cater to his every need, all while maintaining a flawless appearance. She was the homemaker, and she was so eager to please.

For whatever reason Raymond decided to oblige her story, indicated by the steady nod of his head. “Al’right baby girl.” He coos soothingly, pulling her into an embrace as he rubs the back of her head. He isn’t stupid, he’s quick to notice the glass lodged in her bleeding knuckles. Something that raises his suspicion further, yet another detail he chooses to forget. “You did good kid.” He plants a comforting kiss atop her scalp, his hold gentle and soft. Tender, it feels like basking in the serenity of the warm sun. It relaxes her, eases her tension.

In order to busy her distressed state, Rebecca spent the following morning cleaning the house’s interior. By noon, her peaceful endeavors landed her in the kitchen. It wasn’t until she began to empty out the refrigerator that she found the old, greasy paper bag nestled in the back of the thing. It smells something awful, a rancid tang infused with the fetid scent of decay. She untwists the top of the bag, crinkling open it’s edge to release the putrid smell. She has to hold her breath, holding open the thing as she peers into it.

Weeks ago, the day after they’d moved in, the Sawyers introduced themselves and joined Rebecca and her father for supper. That had been the day that her aversion to Johnny had begun. Preoccupied by the ongoing drama that ensued, she must’ve forgotten about the barbecue Drayton Sawyer gifted them, as it sat rotting in the back of the ice box all that time. The sauce-coated meat is half eaten by the maggots that dance over it’s surface. It looks bloody and sickening, prompting the gag that comes from the back of her throat.

Shaky hands grip tightly the countertop, arms struggling to find stability as she props herself up. That repugnant feeling comes fleeting back all at once, sending her into a hysterical state of panic and mania. She has to hold herself back, the mistake haunting her all too easily. How could she have not remembered? To eat it, or at least throw it in the bin.

It’s a frivolous matter, but the simplicity of her mistake is in direct violation of her own standards. The error shatters her security and her plastic world once again comes tumbling down. The ground beneath her shakes and she cannot seem to sort through her messy thoughts, dizzy with the cognitions of lament and retribution. She struggles to pinpoint the ideal reasoning behind the instance; had she done it on purpose or was it all Johnny’s fault for distracting her.

The weight of each possibility is what makes the decision difficult. She could easily blame it on him, but that meant he’d bested her yet again. If she’d meant to do it, it was under her control. But the very act of having to decide between the two is what troubles her, for now she cannot reaffirm whichever decision she makes.

Rebecca breathes in long, drawn out breaths. A feeble attempt at pacifying herself. Him. She decides. It’s all his fault.

Rather abruptly, the woman snatches up the spoilt bag and marches toward the front door. Rage is etched into her features when she swings that door open. It’s backside slams against the wall, causing the photos and decor that hang up against it to shutter with the rumble. She chucks the bag of meat out into the driveway, hears it land someplace in the dirt and screams out.

“Fuck you, Johnny Sawyer! Rot in hell!” Her voice reverberates across both the land and house, and it isn’t until her father approaches the opposing end of the foyer that she realizes she’s messed up.

“Rebecca Payne!” She turns to face him, startled and confused by his sharp tongue. “What the hell you doin’?” She sighs and shuts the door, advancing down the hall. She is not fearful of his scolding; not like she normally is. She thinks she’s grown to become desensitized to it. That, or she really does just hate the boy that much.

“It’s nothin’. Nothin’ happened.” She states bluntly.

“Nothin’? So you screamin’ obscenities ‘bout a damn boy is nothin’?”

“Tch.” She laughs a bit, walking past her father. “It ain’t nothin’ daddy, promise.”

“You worryin’ me girl.” He states, turning around with her. He hasn’t even paid any mind to her vulgar choice of language. His concern lies in other areas. “You right in that head of your’s?”

“Daddy.” Rebecca’s tone is snappy, and she has to hold herself back. She takes a deep breath to calm herself before pressing on. “I’m fine. Don’t ya’ trust me?”

The question is one that really causes Raymond to think. If he answered yes, his response wouldn’t have been entirely true. If he answered no, he was going against the angelic persona Rebecca had painted herself in, the one he’d felt more inclined to believe. The prolonged silence is enough to diminish her confidence, furthering her battle of mental turmoil. Each of them is unsure of how to proceed, stuck between a rock and a hard place, their only saving grace is the knock that comes from the door.

As simple as flipping a light switch, her mood shifts and she scurries to the front door. A generous smile becoming her as she turns the handle to swing it open. She must’ve made a face, for she would’ve said something too if it hadn’t been for Drayton standing behind the two buffoons she met the day prior. The man with the mask stands to the left cross-dressed as a woman. A pathetic attempt of makeup thrown on the peculiar thing. The mask disturbs her, for she swears it’s made out of a swine’s skin. He holds a haphazard bouquet of assorted sunflowers in his left hand, extending it out to her like it was some sort of peace offering, a gift. Nubbins, the nervous one, fiddles and fidgets uncomfortably with the fur appendage wrapped around his neck. They both look shameful, like two idiot children who’d been scolded by their father and forced to apologize.

“Well, this is unexpected.”

—

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭! - 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

@yixxes @bdudette @nerdykat101

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