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#when his nightmares of lobsters took on too far......
drowninginblox · 17 days
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HideDuo HCs bc we are going through it
The March drought is getting to me y'all. I don't know about all y'all but the anniversary isn't the best thing ever, especially with the Hatsune Miku incident.
I think we deserve a little treat for being dedicated to our favorite roommates. Hence these ramblings.
The following applies to the OSMP characters, not actual streamers themselves. This is gonna be very all over the place, overall cursed, and is projecting. I hope yall enjoy-
Fit:
Can play any sport, but hates all of them (except for ice skating, he fucking loves it but he'll never admit it and he can't skate for shit)
Has read fanfiction before
Knows about dreamsmp lore but doesn't know what it all means in context, very much "Did you know a guy fucked a salmon and had a fox as a child?" "He started a country later? The fish fucker???"
Is into more fru fru coffee drinks than he lets on. Like- fuck yea 9/10 times that mother fucker be drinking that shit black, but he loves some good pumpkin spice- tooty fruity-cuchie deluci frappuccino. He'd only give in around sunny tho.
Was a smoker for a hot minute, quit tho when the ashes nearly lit a TNT. Hasn't picked it up since
Is a slut for pig step
Has read The Art of War
Had a celebrity crush on Philza. He still has it but it's defo diminished since he knows him personally.
Showers daily. I don't care that he's a war-torn mf, that man loves taking showers and will never pass up the opportunity to get one.
Has a poster of Miku Binder Jefferson. Someone gave it to him as a secret Santa present and he has no idea who or what to do with it. He's tempted to burn it but he's kind of afraid of it. It's so cursed that it shows up in his nightmares.
He thinks about Forever a lot more than he wants to admit. He's afraid of the possibility of turning into a monster since he was exposed to the black concert a lot. He understands the fear is irrational since it was long ago but the intrusive thought lingers.
He's thought about marriage in general and with Pac. He'd never admit it but he planned out everything from the venue to the music to the vows. He'd easily swipe it all away if Pac said he had an idea of what he wanted it to be like.
is fluent in Morse code
Knows sign language
Hearing aids mf
Has a family somewhere out there, one that he lost or left only to be dumped into TB2T
Loves crosswords, especially during breakfast and right after Ramon goes to bed.
His favorite smell is cinnamon and cocoa butter
Believes in Herobrine
Can't do long division to save his life
Hates the sound of Velcro
Pac:
Likes the Pacman TV show
Smells like cinnamon and cocoa butter
Has too many scars from the cats he's owned over the years.
Married Mike for tax reasons in the past. They play it up that they're bitter divorcés from time to time
Doesn't shower as often as he should, not because he hates it but because he has a long routine and enjoys baths far more
Enjoys tea and coffee equally
Was a homestuck fan (yesIFUCKINGDIDTHATTOHIMWHATAREYAGONNADO???)
Gay awakening was Rufio from Hook
watches Reading Rainbow as an adult
paints on his prosthetic all the damn time
Has a Post-it note collection. He barely uses them but he has a rainbow of them and each color represents a member of the island.
Has a sticker collection
Always carries small snacks for his pocket dude (I heard about this through the wiki, apparently Pac has a pocket boy? If not then he does now lmao) mostly gummy bears and crackers
Is afraid of the ocean. Idk why that just sounds right for him and if it is it recontextualizes the date he had w fit lol
knows Morse code
Knows some phrases in American sign language (fit is teaching him / is learning for fit, whichever is cuter)
Has hacked into a government-locked server, left lobster porn in place of any files he took. Idk which government it was or why he did it, but he did and they haven't recovered since
Is the type to listen to Jon Bellion and Talor Swift. No, i will not elaborate
Has very vivid daydreams. Aside from drugs and PTSD, he has some really nice ones all on his own. Mostly about Fit tbh.
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kobblefort · 9 months
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Daarunbay Detevay 2
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When you zoom out and look at it like this, it's not really an anomaly. Like, it's fucked up, but it's barely even a footnote.
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In the grand history of The Nightmare of Tunneling, which is thousands and thousands of lines long, Blackfaint is two of them. It started and then it ended. The Land of Nails is a cruel place where life moves fast from beginning to end. The Hill of Scars just happens to be one exceedingly fast-paced part of it. I haven't really provided many good visual aids, so here's an image of the Daarunbay Detevay in its entirety which took me way too long to make.
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The whole world! The Land of Nails is the western continent, the Land of Dividing is the eastern one. Where's The Hill of Scars in all of this, you might ask?
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"Circled" in red is The Hill of Scars. Over on the left in blue, Rushsly. And on the right in puke green, Blackfaint. All the history of The Nightmare of Tunneling, of The Comedy of Sweating, has been constrained to this little western chunk of the continent. We have barely scratched the surface of the surface, even with our deepest dives into the history of kobbles and ratfolk. There's like 10 other major civilized species inhabiting the world, some of them not even on this continent that we've only known a little 1/10th swatch of. For instance, did you know there's fucking crab people?
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There's crab people, baby. Well, that's an oversimplification. They're Decapoda, which is an umbrella term that includes lobsters, shrimp, and all kinds of crabs. The Axe of Glaciers live on the edges of the world, where it's cold: all the way up northwest on the glacial Island of Fate, and another decapodian civilization named The Paddle of Furs lives far to the southeast, among The Hills of Dividing and the terrifying Glacier of Corrupting at the end of The Land of Dividing - some even living out on the great ice floes in the arctic ocean. The harsh conditions come natural to such hardy peoples - after all, even the humble shrimp among them can heal well enough to regrow lost limbs.
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There may very well be lobsters among us older than the very concept of counting years. And hell, there's one among The Axe of Glaciers who's as old as the calendar. The first King of Decapodia: Kuteci Peaceletters.
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There's something very interesting about his reign, besides the "suddenly getting deposed in a coup" part. Yes, obviously, it's the "throwing competition" part. Obviously, losing 10 years in a row is one thing - but in the very first one at Bronzeskies, the seat of AoG, he actually won that one. The fact that he put the competition to rest until right at the end of his reign is just... interesting. Did he keep trying it again thinking he'd recapture the glory of his youth? Been there. Did his desperate attempts turn everyone against him? Been there. I don't throw controllers or anything because them shits cost like $60 for a good one but I haven't been able to enjoy fighting games for over 3 years because lately when I lose I get so fucking mad I punch my desk. Part of my ego is inextricably linked with the idea that "I have to be good at games." If I hop on an FPS and get headshotted over and over I have to just turn that shit off. I physically cannot handle "getting dominated" because I have so few avenues for success in my life that I have latched on to "yeah, I'm good at Sniper in Team Fortress 2" as one of my last pathetic desperate reaches for validation. I don't know what's wrong with me. I try to not be like this. I'm reading The Inner Game of Tennis but it hasn't really helped me yet. I can't play Street Fighter 6 off my friend's Steam family-share library because if I get put in the corner and don't tech the throw twice in a row I just have to turn the fucking game off, I alt-f4 out of it immediately, I can't stomach failure and victory only even feels like a reprieve from loss. I realize this is so much more pathetic than just being bad at games. In fact a guy who's bad at games and a good sport about it is probably the best thing you can be, because whenever anyone says "wow you're bad at this" you can just be like "Yeah I was too busy going outside and having sex and stuff." But I haven't been!! I've been here, sitting at my fucking desk, playing video games!! I should at least get Fortnite wins and not just in those first few games after you haven't played in a while where the whole lobby is bots, I mean I should be able to out-snipe any zoomer in the world with my 20 years of Counter-Strike experience or at least I fucking tell myself that, even though I've never fucking practiced the game or its particular flavor of sniping, or when I have it's just for like 5 flaccid minutes of not challenging myself because my ego is too fragile to actually let me!! I mean I'll tell you up and down the fucking block that battle royales are a literal cancer that caused "good map design" to be amputated from the modern multiplayer first-person-shooter genre and that actually is true but you'd never know it because I'm such a fucking bitch who fucking cries over never winning in Apex Legends even though I like Titanfall 2 way better but I can't fucking play that either because I get too fucking mad and competitive and hard on myself to enjoy it unless I'm playing absolutely perfectly!! Like what the fuck!?!? I'm 30 years old!! If I went back to my 10-year-old self and said "this is what you grow up to be, little guy" he would start downing shots of bleach right there on the spot!!! But I don't know how to change!!! My ego, my wavering sense of self completely dominates me and prevents me from enjoying my life and my so-called passions!! And it really feels like there's no way to fix it short of just tripping on so much acid I completely forget my current personality!! Even then what if it just comes back!!
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The one who deposed Kuteci and reigns to this day is the former baroness, Scucutk Raspboats, whose true goal is to create a great work of art. Throughout her life, she has written eleven pieces of literature, but she only bothered to name six of them: Errors In the Keep, her first. The Journey Into Scucutk Raspboats, her third. The Truth About the Decapod fourth, The Wizard'S Guide to Creation sixth, Discourse on Pagesnarling (named for her barony) eighth, and After Genius tenth. Her last book, untitled, was writen in 163, and just 5 years later she would seize the throne in Bronzeskies and thus the throne of all decapodia, aided by Rerrr Crazyletter, the baroness of Gorgelearned, and Rerrr's daughter Cecichi Springchannels, duchess of Diamondtangled.
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Legends Browser 2 seems to not like how many mods I've got running, but it doesn't look like we're missing too much. Besides their positions of significance in The Axe of Glaciers, they are mostly unremarkable women - all unlucky in love, but who isn't?
Why does any of this matter? Because it's clear Scucutk cannot write her true masterpiece from where she sits. Caravans are sent out all the time in search of a better location for a true grand library, one where she might finally create the artifact that has eluded her for all her life. Because I've never actually played a cold-weather biome, and it sounds both fun and more manageable than whatever the fuck Blackfaint ended up being. Because playing as lobsters and crabs sounds really funny
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So at the northwestern tip of the world, we'll try it again. Unlike in other video games, it's very fun to lose in the greatest simulation game of all time Dwarf Fortress, I've talked at length about that already. So why don't we try to make the greatest library Of All Time in possible the least hospitable environment Of All Time?
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What could possibly go wrong?????
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poppibranchlover · 5 years
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TFW when you’re surrounded by a bunch of dancing lobsters!! 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂
Sorry, I couldn’t resist seeing @peteneems‘ gifset showing up everywhere so I did this for fun! :)
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thetomorrowshow · 2 years
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chips laid down
I did not intend to post this today but uhhhhhh??? i feel like we deserve it. Another piece for my trust au fics, matters of trust and rules of three.
cw: talk of abuse, mentioned injuries, sleep-deprivation
~
Scott can't sleep.
He hasn't slept in days, which isn't necessarily abnormal for him, but this time he's not so wrapped up in a project or area of study that he doesn't notice the time passing. This time, he can't sleep because every time he tries, he wakes up with nightmares. Nightmares about Jimmy.
Scott ignored his communicator for seven whole minutes while reading. He assumed it was another stupid message from Solidarity, who, now that they were allies, found every possible way to annoy him. He assumed it was a way of testing boundaries, and if he ignored the messages for long enough, they would stop coming in.
When he finally checked his communicator, his blood froze in his veins.
So instead of sleeping, he forms plans of action. He's never without his communicator, checks it every couple of minutes. He sends intense letters of warning to fWhip, Sausage, and Joey. He requests a meeting with Katherine to discuss the expulsion of certain members of the House Blossom alliance.
But it's been nearly a week since the incident, and it's not enough.
His guards stopped him at the gates, telling him that one of his advisors had been looking for him. They tried to hold him there, and Scott wasted precious minutes that he could have been flying convincing them that he'd already met up with the advisor.
When he was finally off, he messaged Jimmy, letting him know he was on the way. Jimmy didn't respond.
He can't stay in the Cod Empire and Jimmy can't stay here. He's in conversations to send soldiers there, but it's apparently not a step he can take at this early stage of an alliance. 
He needs to guarantee somehow that Jimmy is safe. Which is why he decides, in the early hours of the morning as he stares out of his window, that he needs help in protecting Jimmy. As soon as it's a reasonable hour, he sets off for the Ocean Kingdom.
He messages Lizzie to let her know he's on his way and that it's urgent. He knows that for her in particular, in order to meet with her, one must schedule an appointment to see an advisor first who will decide whether or not it's worth her time, and that must be done at least four days in advance. He doesn't have the time for that, though. At any point in time, Jimmy could be in trouble.
The flight was long, too long. The empires of the lands were close to one another as the bird flies, and the Cod Empire realistically not far from Rivendell, but every minute felt like hours as Scott flew.
When he arrived in the Cod Empire, Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. In his panic, he even asked a villager—lucky that he did, because the villager was able to inform him that Count fWhip had walked with him into the forest a little while ago.
When he arrives at Lizzie's door, a well-dressed lobster hybrid beckons him in and leads him to an ornate sitting room. For the first time, Scott realizes that he is well underprepared. His wings are grimy, feathers sticking up here and there—he hasn’t groomed them in at least two weeks—and he’s wearing the same rumpled clothes he wore yesterday. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t combed his hair all week, and with the way he’s been tangling his fingers in it while endlessly pacing his bedroom, it probably looks as bad as it feels.
He sits on the edge of a chair with a sea sponge cushion, the seat at the table that is furthest from the door. It’s not particularly comfortable—he doesn’t think this room was designed to be comfortable. It’s too decorative, too inconvenient to be intended for everyday meetings with allies. 
It took him a moment to figure out where the villager meant. There was a path leading off, close to the Mythland border.
What if it wasn’t just fWhip? What if Sausage was there too? His mind flashed through possibilities—Jimmy unconscious on the ground, Jimmy with badly broken bones, Jimmy beyond repair—and his breath quickened.
There were two sets of tracks on the path, close together. Here and there the tracks were obscured, streaked away by wind—or by someone flying over low to the ground. It wasn’t a windy day, after all.
He didn’t have time to get there on foot. Scott spread his wings and shot straight up, then arced down and dove.
Scott starts out of his fugue when the door opens. He lifts his head from the table—he’s not sure how long he’s been out of it, but there are lines on his arms from where they’ve pressed against the table. Anyone could have been in and seen him half-sleeping, and he would never know.
The lobster-hybrid enters, and Scott rises before seeing the Ocean Queen herself following, as well as King Joel of Mezelea. He’d expected to be escorted to a different room where she was already waiting, not have them come in here. He hadn’t expected Joel at all.
Lizzie sits at the opposite end of the table, Joel beside her. The attendant leaves, and Scott bows a little before seating himself as well.
“Ocean Queen,” he nods to her, “King of Mezelea. Thank you for meeting with me.”
Lizzie raises a brow. Joel does as well. “You look terrible,” Joel says, and Scott has to bite his lip to keep from shooting back with a remark on the appearance of Joel’s face. 
“I apologize for the wait,” Lizzie says, voice regal and cold. “But I was not given proper advance notice. I hope you understand how gracious I am being by meeting with you.”
“Well, the matter is one of great importance,” Scott says. He’s fighting tooth and nail to keep the exhaustion from leaking into his voice. “I—”
“I have to give you a warning, Smajor,” Joel interrupts, and Scott does not miss the lack of a title. “If we find that you are wasting our time? Don’t expect us to be so open to discussion in the future.”
This is why he doesn’t talk to this side of the House Blossom alliance. They’re so petty and stuffy. He conveniently ignores the fact that many have said the same of him.
“Thank you for the warning,” he starts to say, but Joel talks over him again.
“I’ll be totally honest, Smajor, we don’t like you,” Joel says with a shrug. Lizzie whacks his arm, but doesn’t look like she disagrees. He shrugs. “Just telling the truth. You are one wrong move away from closing off the possibility of allyship for the rest of both of our lives.”
Scott snorts. “Bit of a while, seeing as I’m immortal,” he mutters. Is he this hostile to them during meetings? Surely he isn’t.
Joel turns red. “Exactly,” he blusters. “Never allies.”
“Right. Thank you for the warning,” Scott says, and he waits for a moment. Nobody interrupts him, and he continues. “I am here to request a favor.”
Both Lizzie and Joel sigh loudly, and the anger that has been so close to the surface this past week rises. It’s not even for him, he’s asking a favor on behalf of their ally, and they’re annoyed. Like Jimmy hadn’t—like Jimmy wasn’t—
He heard voices from up ahead and touched down lightly, wings still beating in case he needed to take off at a split-second’s notice. And up ahead, past a slight bend, he could see it.
Jimmy was bleeding, crying, restrained by Sausage, who was—Sausage was laughing, mirth lined his face, he tightened his grip around Jimmy and snorted when he flinched—
And there was fWhip, one fist pulled back and then slamming into Jimmy.
Scott saw white.
“—Smajor?”
Scott blinks, looks up at them. He’s not sure how long he’s been zoning out, eyes on the table. Clearly long enough to be noticeable. Both Joel and Lizzie are looking back at him, and there’s some sense of concern emanating from them. Lizzie leans forward.
“Joel’s right, you look terrible,” she says bluntly. “You’re always so put-together. What’s happened, Lord Smajor?”
Scott rubs the palms of his hands into his eyes, his fingers curling into his hair. “I—are you aware that Solidarity and I have formed an alliance?”
Joel snickers. Lizzie raises a brow. “Of course. Believe me, you wouldn’t have been let in today without a connection. I can’t say I approve, though,” she adds, before Scott can continue. “If you want my blessing, I’ll have to see a fair amount of respect and gifts from Rivendell.”
“Blessing?” Scott repeats dumbly. “For an alliance? I—is that customary around here?” he doesn’t remember learning anything along those lines, but it’s been a while since he focused on the intricacies of alliances in other empires.
Lizzie’s other eyebrow goes up as well, and she and Joel exchange a look. “. . . Yes,” she says eventually. “Yes. It definitely is. That is the way alliances are approved around here.”
Right. That’s . . . weird, to say the least, but Scott doesn’t comment on it. He’s tired and he needs to know if they can help so he can go back home and not-sleep.
“Look. I formed an alliance with Jimmy, and. . . .” he shudders. He doesn’t want to admit this, but it’s true. He can’t stop thinking about it. He can’t stop beating himself up over it. He can’t sleep over it. “I can’t protect him,” he says quietly, and he just knows that the tips of his ears are turning pink. “He—there’s all these legal hoops, and we’ve only been allies for a few weeks, and I just—”
“Oh, that’s what this is about,” Lizzie says with a sigh. She looks at Joel, who pats her arm comfortingly. “It’s the Jimmy complex,” she says after a moment. “Every ally he makes tries to protect him, it’s just natural. But—well, he’s impossible to protect. He’s always done what he wants, and trying to deal with every scuffle he jumps into just isn’t feasible.”
Scott—Scott gapes. “I—we’re talking about the same thing, right?” he asks haltingly. “About—”
“His temper, and the way he jumps to fight anyone, and everything else? Yes,” Lizzie says. For her credit, she does look sorry to tell him—but not sorry about what’s happening. “It’s his own fault, really. We’ve all tried to help him, but Jimmy’s just Jimmy.”
It’s his own fault, really, plays over and over again in Scott’s head. Jimmy’s closest ally is—how can she—?
The next couple of seconds were a blur to Scott, but somehow he ended up on fWhip’s chest, pummeling him in the face. His nose cracked, snapped—there was blood everywhere—fWhip’s eyes rolled up into his head—Scott was screaming, he wasn’t even sure what he was saying—
And when fWhip answered him, and he stood, saw Sausage and chased him off, and chased fWhip away too, and then he turned to Jimmy.
Jimmy was curled on the ground, arms clutched protectively over his chest, silent tears falling down his bloodied face as if he was scared to make a noise.
Scott knocks back his chair when he stands, hands shaking. “I—I can’t believe this,” he manages, head reeling. He has to save Jimmy from his own allies, he has to get to him— “I—how could you? He’s—after everything he’s gone through, and you’re saying exactly what his abusers—” he cuts himself off, throat choking, and stumbles out of the room.
He doesn’t see the growing concern on the nobles’ faces when he leaves.
He’s all Jimmy has left now. He’ll cut off all his alliances, if he has to—do all of them treat Jimmy so horribly? Is he the only one who wasn’t aware?
The Prisma Palace is like a maze, and Scott’s only half-aware anyhow. He thinks to retrace his steps, realizes he has no clue how he got to the meeting room, and just does his best to look for exit signs. 
There aren’t any, but somehow he finds his way back to where he entered. He spreads his wings, intending to glide straight to the Cod Empire and check on Jimmy, let him know that his allies are aware of the abuse and do nothing—
“Wait! Smajor!”
He ignores the shout, starts to run to the side of the building—
Someone grabs his wing at the base and he windmills for a second before falling back onto them. He blinks back memories that he does not want at the surface right now and rolls off whoever grabbed him.
It’s Joel, his crown rolling away from his head as he also sits up. Lizzie runs up beside him, trident in hand.
“Don’t leave,” she commands. Scott doesn’t even think he can get up, let alone leave. Being dragged to the ground has taken it out of him, and he closes his eyes and focuses on breathing.
“What did you mean?” Lizzie asks without preamble. “You said abusers. Who’s hurting Jimmy?”
Scott reluctantly opens his eyes, glancing between the two rulers. Both of them seem . . . confused. What?
“I—you know what I’m talking about,” he stumbles over his words a bit, but just shakes his head and goes on. “Jimmy said that everyone knows. But I couldn’t just stand by and let it happen.”
“Let what happen?”
“The abuse!” He pulls himself to a standing position, groaning as his vision goes fuzzy for a moment. As soon as he can see, he turns a glare on them. “Don’t play dumb, you just said you knew about it. The way fWhip and Sausage and Joey hurt him.” He spits out their names like they’re poison, and with the way they make his stomach turn, maybe they are. “You call yourself his closest ally, and you let this happen to him.”
He takes a breath, and it is silent. Lizzie, expression unreadable, takes a step, then another and another, until she’s so close to Scott that their noses could touch.
“I am not his closest ally,” she says, voice so low that he can barely hear her. “I am his sister. Now tell me, what did they do to my little brother?”
Jimmy was on the ground, bleeding and bruised and Scott didn’t even know where to start—
“They’re hurting him,” he forces out, tears gathering in his eyes. “I—they follow him places, rile him up, hold—hold him down and hurt him. He called me for help, I was too late—I carried him home—and you let it happen—”
“When?” Lizzie’s voice is frantic, her face dark with anger. She grabs Scott by the shoulders and shakes him. “When did this happen, Smajor?!”
“A week ago,” he chokes, shoving her off. He staggers to the side, careful not to fall off the palace. He runs a hand down his face, grimacing when it’s wet. He feels more tired than ever, just wants to collapse. “We’ve not been allies for even a month, and I’m—I can’t stop thinking of how to protect him. He has so many . . . so many scars. . . .” He takes a breath, then another, his focus tunneling in on just breathing and making sure he doesn't pass out. That would be embarrassing.
“He . . . never said anything,” he hears Lizzie say distantly. “He—I didn’t know. I—I can’t believe this. I—they hurt him?”
Scott nods, only now processing some of the information he’s received. First of all, Lizzie and Jimmy are siblings. It isn’t too much of a shock—now that he knows, he sees the similarities. Their eyes are the same shape, their noses and chins similarly angular. They even have the same pattern of scales surrounding their gills.
Even more shocking, however, is the fact that apparently, Lizzie and Joel had no idea that Jimmy is being abused. It’s difficult to wrap his head around, especially since he’s already decided he hates them. Now he has to completely rethink his opinion, and that sounds exhausting.
“I just—” he starts, breaking off when his voice cracks. He takes a breath and tries again. “I just wanted assistance protecting him. I’ve sealed Sausage in his castle for a month or so, but it won’t hold. Nothing can sway fWhip from a path if he’s made up his mind. Joey’s dating a demon. I can’t keep track of all three of them, and who knows if there are others. . . .” he sways slightly, grabs hold of a pillar to stay upright. Almost instantly, Joel (who had been polishing his crown on his shirt) is by his side.
“You’re exhausted, I’ll have the guest room made ready,” he says firmly, despite the immediate protests of both Scott and Lizzie. “You’ve got to rest, Scott. You can’t help anyone like this.” He wraps an arm around his back.
Scott leans into him, too heavily to keep pretending he’s fine. Joel’s right, he can’t be of any assistance until he has a clearer head.
“Haven’t slept since it happened,” he mumbles. Lizzie’s expression morphs into something akin to pity. He can’t find it in himself to be insulted. “Had . . . had nightmares about it happening without me there. He’s . . . I have to protect him. . . .”
“No, you have to sleep,” Joel says, an incredulous note in his voice. “Smajor, your eyes are barely open.”
“I’ll go check on Jimmy, all right?” Lizzie suggests suddenly. “I can make sure he’s okay and stay with him while you sleep. I can bring him here, even. Does that work?”
Scott still doesn’t trust either of them. He’s too tired, though, to focus on anything but Jimmy’s safety. And if Lizzie is his sister, she must care about keeping him safe.
He nods, then lets Joel guide him back down into the building. He doesn’t pay attention to where they’re going, only pays attention to not falling over. By the time he’s laid down on something soft, he’s gone to the world.
-
When Scott wakes, Jimmy is there.
He shakes off the nightmare (Jimmy alone, Jimmy hurt, Jimmy dying) and focuses on his face. Jimmy almost looks worse than he had the last time he’d seen him—what had been slowly darkening bruises last time is now ugly splotches of green and purple and black across his jaw. His right arm is in a sling, one that wraps all the way around his collarbone and secures itself to his left shoulder.
He looks relaxed, though, cod head in his lap, head leaning back in the armchair beside Scott’s bed. His eyes are closed, and he’s snoring lightly, a bit of a smile curving his lips.
Scott stares at him for far too long, eyes searching for more injuries that luckily do not appear to exist. When he eventually looks beyond Jimmy, he sees Lizzie, watching him with a smirk. He flushes. He wasn’t staring at Jimmy because of that, he was just making sure he was safe. That’s all it was.
Before he can even open his mouth to explain that, Lizzie’s shushing him, jerking her head toward Jimmy.
“He just fell asleep,” she whispers, and Scott nods his acknowledgement. His eyelids weigh heavy and he sort of just wants to fall back asleep, despite the images from his nightmares flashing through his head.
He fixes his eyes on Jimmy. Jimmy's real and here, and if he focuses on him, the broken one from his dreams fades a little bit. Jimmy shifts slightly in his sleep, mouth falling open a bit as his head tilts back farther.
“Stop looking at my brother like that,” Lizzie teases. Scott jolts back to her, shrugs helplessly.
“Had to make sure he’s safe,” he whispers by way of explaining. Lizzie’s eyes darken, her face turns stormy.
“He will be safe,” she says, a little louder than polite when someone is sleeping. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Scott reluctantly sits up, scooting to the edge of the bed as much as the pillow beckons him back. He stretches a moment, holding back the groan that wants to fall from his lips, and stands. His vision goes black and fuzzy for a few seconds, and he teeters dangerously. Just as he hears Lizzie stand, however, he rights himself and blinks away the darkness.
“Right, you need to eat something,” she says lowly, holding out her arm. Scott almost doesn’t take it, almost pushes past her. He recognizes the gesture for what it is, though—an olive branch.
He takes her arm and lets her lead him from the room, checking over his shoulder at Jimmy, who is still asleep.
Lizzie takes him down a winding corridor and into the first door the come across, which turns out to be a cozy little kitchen. Joel is there, sitting at the small round table with a cup of tea and a book. He raises his mug to Scott when he enters.
“Sleep well in my fiancée's bed?” he asks, one brow quirked. Scott feels himself turn red, looks between the two.
“Did I really—was that your bed?”
Lizzie rolls her eyes. “No, it’s not the one I sleep in. But it is technically mine, since it’s my house.”
Lizzie pushes him gently into the chair across from Joel, then moves to the kitchen and opens a few cabinets. Scott looks down at the table, at his hands clasped in his lap, at the little white scars that litter his knuckles. He clenches his hands tighter, sees the scars go shinier.
He doesn’t look up until Lizzie’s set a bowl of stew before him. Lizzie’s staring at him, eyes boring into his head. She sits opposite of him, beside Joel, and places her hands down flat on the table.
Scott eyes her, concerned. She gestures toward his bowl.
“Eat.”
He cautiously picks up the spoon, lifts a bite to his mouth and slowly sips it. He ignores the alarm bells going off in the back of his mind, warning him to not eat anything before testing it for poison. There’s no tactical advantage to gain by trying to do him in right now, and they would be found good as guilty if he died right in front of them. It doesn’t stop his mind from freaking out, but he can control it. Besides, he’s hungry enough that he wants to just go back to sleep.
The stew isn’t bad—he thinks it’s shrimp?—even if it isn’t what he’s used to. It’s warm, though, and warmth is what he needs. As soon as the first bite is swallowed, Lizzie speaks.
“So. You’re in the interest of protecting Jimmy. We’re in the interest of protecting Jimmy.”
After another bite, then Scott sets down the spoon. He thinks he knows where this is going.
Lizzie and Joel exchange a look, then both turn back to him. “Lord Smajor,” Lizzie says, gaze serious. “Would you like to form an alliance?”
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Text
Hunger
Summary: Spencer really likes his new coworkers: they're nice, welcoming, friendly, and made his transition to the BAU as easy as possible. Which makes it impossible for him to turn down an invitation to eat dinner with them at an upscale fancy restaurant, no matter how anxious that makes a boy who grew up with next to nothing feel.
Tags: insecurity, anxiety, allusions to poverty, hurt/comfort, team as family, angst with a happy ending, fluff, background jelle
TW: mentions of poverty, financial difficulties, and food insecurity
Pairing: Gen (Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid)
Word Count: 3k
Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo
This fills my "trying not to cry" bad things happen bingo square and is set a few weeks after Spencer joins the BAU, in an AU in which Elle was there before him.
Everyone is so nice, is the thing.
And that’s great. Really, it is. Spencer isn’t about to complain when JJ kindly walks him through the filing system all the while asking questions about him and his life, or when Derek ribs him gently about his ducktail hair or his nerdy brain. No-one cuts him off when he gets carried away — unless it’s time-sensitive, of course — or teases him about anything that cuts too close to home. Being the new guy in the most prestigious unit in the FBI could’ve been a nightmare, but this team made it easy. He’s so grateful for all of it.
It just makes it really hard to turn down dinner invitations.
He watches his shaking fingers in the mirror as they button his shirt up and wrap his tie around his neck, poking it fastidiously under the collar, not a wrinkle of fabric out of place. He glances down at the countertop again, re-reading the restaurant name copied down in JJ’s careful handwriting onto a piece of copier paper regardless of having committed it to memory the first time he heard it. Sur la Rivière: a fancy European restaurant in DC.
He’d hoped for a cheap and cheerful Chinese when Hotch had first brought up the idea of a team bonding dinner, something more his style, but he’d smiled anyway when Elle had mentioned this place her foodie friend had recommended, no matter how strained it might have been. He’s the new guy after all. He doesn’t expect much swing when it comes to choosing where to eat.
As soon as his shirt and tie are perfectly in place, he gets to work on taming his curly hair. It makes him look younger when it’s loose and fluffy, and with a baby-face like his combined with already being the youngest person in the entire FBI, every year he can add on counts. Soon, though, there’s no more grooming he can use to stall the inevitable, and he sighs tiredly before clicking off the bathroom light and heading to the hall.
He collects his phone and wallet, checking for the sixth time that evening that his credit card and extra money to tip the waiter is definitely in there, grabs his keys, and heads out of his apartment. Derek is in his car waiting on the curb for him like he promised he would be, looking effortlessly suave and cool in a way Spencer never will as he honks his horn at the sight of the younger man walking towards him.
“Pretty boy!” he calls, his grin making Spencer smile, too. “Took you long enough. Hop in, fancy European cuisine awaits.”
Another rush of nerves floods Spencer’s stomach at the mention of the fate he’s signed up for, but he smiles anyway as he opens the passenger door and slides in. “Thanks for giving me a lift, Derek,” he says, hating that his anxious discomfort is so obvious in his voice.
Thankfully, Derek doesn’t pick him up on it, simply pulling away from the curb and beginning the drive across town. “How many times do I have to tell you not to mention it? I live less than ten minutes away, Spencer, it’s really not a problem.”
Spencer flushes a bit at that, wringing his hands in his lap as he watches the streets of his district pass by out the window. “Well, I appreciate it anyway,” he settles on, flashing Derek a quick smile that he doubts he sees anyway with his eyes glued so firmly to the road. “Riding the metro is a nightmare at this hour.”
“Never learned how to drive? I didn’t have the money for lessons, Spencer wants to say, irrationally frustrated at his situation. I was rushed through the academy too quickly to learn something as trivial as driving.
“I was too busy getting five degrees,” Spencer says instead, forcing a smile on his face. He wishes he wasn’t so well-practiced at managing other people’s emotions; wishes he could say what he’s really thinking. But he can’t, not in front of the people he’s trying to impress, not so soon.
“Alright, alright, I get it, you’re a genius,” Derek chuckles. “I’m glad you’re coming tonight, we all are. Gideon didn’t tell us much before he left, just that you had an IQ of 187 and he’d pulled a lot of strings to get you in at only 22.”
Spencer winces slightly at the mention of his ex-mentor. “Yeah, I’m sorry he ran out on you guys so suddenly.”
“Hey, from what I hear, he did the same to you,” Derek counters. “You guys seemed way closer than we were anyway. I never really liked the guy.”
As much as most of Spencer hates Gideon for abandoning him without warning, leaving him to find his footing in the FBI alone and afraid, a small part of him still itches to defend him. “He was a good mentor. Not such a good friend, as it turns out.”
Derek looks away from the road for a moment and shoots him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, man. But Gideon’s loss is our gain. You’re gonna be an amazing asset to the team, I just know it.”
A genuine smile crosses Spencer’s face at that. “Thanks, Derek. I can’t wait to really get stuck in, you know?”
“I remember the feeling.” Derek grins again.
They continue chatting for the rest of the journey, Spencer finally relaxing into the company of a new friend— that is, until Derek cuts across one of his stories from his second PhD. “Hey, the restaurant should be up on the left somewhere but I can’t see it…
“Oh, there,” Spencer says, pointing at the sleek, almost anonymous-looking black sign hanging above a set of fancy doors. How can doors be fancy? They’re supposed to be functional, not pretentious. All of a sudden that sinking feeling that had lifted on the car ride over settles back into his stomach and he can’t help but swallow nervously as Derek parks the car and they step out into the street.
Everyone’s already seated when they finally push through the restaurant doors, and Spencer hates that he made them both late with his apprehensive stalling, but no-one really seems to mind as they all cheer happily at the sight of them, ignoring the dirty looks it earns them from the other patrons.
“You made it!” Penelope squeals as she gets up from her seat to give Spencer a hug. He’s a little touch-averse, really, but something about Penelope’s hugs make him never want to leave her arms. He does anyway, though, and he and Derek find their seats opposite one another at the end of the table.
“I’m glad you’re here, Spencer,” Hotch says kindly as the waitress passes the two late-comers their menus.
“You’ll fit right in,” JJ promises, “we’re like a weird little family, to be honest.”
Spencer flushes a bit under the attention of so many experienced FBI agents, but he nods anyway before they all get started on deciding what to eat. He listens vaguely to everyone talking amongst themselves, giving one another suggestions in a way that corroborates JJ’s statement, and all of a sudden Spencer’s collar feels tight. It’s not just the nerves of meeting new people or the anxiety of an alien social environment, he realises he doesn’t recognise a single item on the menu.
He knows what the words themselves mean, but reading the words 'tortellini of venison’ and trying to imagine deer meat pasta is not easily done. The only simple meals seem to be seafood and Spencer’s never been a fan of fish. The only food he can even begin to imagine himself actually putting in his mouth, chewing, and swallowing is the porterhouse steak: not that he’s ever really eaten much red meat like that.
Spencer isn’t a fussy eater. He’s eaten a wide variety of dishes from any number of different restaurants across multiple cuisines, he’s just never had the kind of money to eat at a place that serves caviar, for God’s sake. Far too soon, the waitress wanders back over to the table, taking everyone’s orders with a polite smile on her face.
He listens as everyone confidently orders their meals: the smoked trout, the Moroccan quail, the lobster tagliatelle. Spencer thanks the heavens he isn’t a vegetarian, at least, but it’s not much of a consolation prize when everyone’s eyes fall on him.
“Uh, I’ll have the porterhouse steak,” he says uncertainly, hoping nobody notices the sweat beading on his forehead or the anxiety raging behind his eyes.
Everyone seems to accept his answer, the waitress taking their menus and walking back towards the kitchen as the rest of them resume their conversation. Hotch’s eyes linger a moment too long on him, and Spencer thinks he sees something like concern in his gaze, but before he can think much of it, Penelope’s drawing everyone’s attention to JJ’s bracelet.
“Can we please appreciate this?” she says, sounding scandalised for some reason Spencer can’t quite discern from context yet. “Elle, baby, you have taste. This is absolutely gorgeous! Are you sure you don’t want to date me, too?”
Spencer’s eyebrows raise slightly at that. “Oh, you two are together?” he asks, although now that he realises it he’s not sure how he didn’t notice sooner.
“Are you sure you’re a profiler, kid?” Derek laughs. “They don’t exactly hide it.
“Even though they’re supposed to,” Hotch chimes in with a faux stern look. “You two are gonna have my job at some point.” “Aw, but where would we find another Unit Chief that would help us hide our secret so well?” Elle says charmingly, making everyone laugh, including JJ, who presses her face into her shoulder fondly.
It’s easy for Spencer to momentarily lose himself in the banter, smiling as they tease one another, interspersing their gripes and funny stories from work among it all. They include him in all of it, and he doesn’t feel left out for even a second, finally relaxing into the unfamiliar environment of a fancy restaurant, eased by the reassuring company of his new team.
“JJ’s right,” he muses out loud when there’s a brief lull in conversation, “you guys really are like a little family.”
JJ leans away from Elle towards him for a moment, wrapping him in a side hug. “And you’re the perfect addition to it, Spence,” she says softly, everyone’s expressions reading nothing but fond agreement. “We needed a little brother to add into the mix.”
Spencer blushes again but leans into her touch.
No-one gets a chance to say anything else before the food arrives, the servers bringing JJ and Elle’s meals first, then serving Hotch and Penelope, before they finally bring out his and Derek’s order.
Everyone dives into their food, immediately making noises of contentment, passing bites around to one another, but Spencer can’t join in the jubilant celebration of a good meal. He picks his knife and fork up shakily as he stares at the massive portion of steak in front of him. It’s served with roast potatoes and flecks of a pointless salad that he suspects is only there as a garnish rather than actually part of the meal, but that’s not what has him worried.
This huge slab of meat hasn’t been sliced beforehand. He knows that he’ll shake the whole table if he tries to do it: it’s a massive, impenetrable slab of red meat that Spencer has no chance of enjoying, let alone finishing. He stares at it as tears burn in his eyes: he’s so out of his comfort zone and he’s so terrified of messing up and pushing away these newfound friends that he can’t move.
“Spence?” JJ cuts in gently, putting a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look up, only to find everyone looking at him with worried expressions on their faces. “Are you okay?”
“Sorry,” he says, standing up abruptly, the disturbance of the table barely registering in his brain. “I just need a minute.”
He rushes out of the restaurant without looking back, drawing in deep breaths as soon as he’s in the cool evening air of spring. Thoughts race through his mind at a million miles an hour as he grasps for something concrete to grab onto, eventually settling for a tall flower pot.
“Spencer?”
He looks up to find Hotch standing next to him, deep concern written across his face, and Spencer’s heart clenches at the thought that he’s already messed this up so quickly. Could this night possibly get any worse?
Apparently, it can, because all of a sudden he feels his face crumple and the stinging tears finally spill down his cheeks. He sinks down to the ground and buries his face in his hands, humiliation glimmering in every cell of his body.
“Oh, Spencer,” Hotch says gently, lowering himself to the cool pavement next to him and placing a warm hand on his back. He lets him cry it out for a couple of minutes, his palm drawing small circles in between his shoulder blades, trying again to get through to him when Spencer’s sobs calm down slightly. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
With a shuddering breath, he forces himself to lift his face from his palms, although he still refuses to meet Hotch’s eyes, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the Korean restaurant across the street. “I guess it just all got to be too much,” he whispers.
“Yeah?” Hotch says encouragingly. “What specifically?”
“I— I didn’t have much growing up. It was just me and my mom so we were living in the middle of Vegas on a single disability check each month. And, uh, then I went to college, and I was barely scraping by there, too. It’s only recently that I’ve known the luxury of knowing for sure I was eating that night, and it still gets to me sometimes when I’m faced with fancy restaurants and heavy, expensive meals. My body’s had to work for years on virtually nothing, there’s no way I can stomach a steak like that. I guess, all those feelings that are a lifetime in the making combined with the anxiety of eating with the team for the first time… wanting to make a good impression, it just all got too much. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Hotch raises a hand, and Spencer finally meets his eyes, finding nothing but compassion and understanding there no matter how much he searches. “You don’t need to apologise, Spencer, not for something like this. I’m sorry that none of us thought to make the first team dinner with you a more casual affair, and I’m even more sorry that you felt like you couldn’t tell us you were uncomfortable.” “It’s okay.”
“It’s not, but I’m glad you accept my apology,” Hotch says, smiling softly. “You know, we all bring baggage with us, Spencer. I can’t relate to food insecurity, but I had my own issues when I first joined the BAU. I grew up with a pretty terrible father, and the thing I found myself reprimanded for the most when I was a new recruit was the inability to follow orders. I’d spent my whole life scared of this man, obeying his every word, and I couldn’t help but hear him when my superiors would tell me to do something. When I was finally free of him, it was like I couldn’t help but rebel.
“You’re not the only one whose childhood follows them around, and I’d much rather it be something like this that we can easily manage, than something that will affect you or the team in the field, okay? Instead of beating yourself up over things you can’t control, try and remember that you have a whole new family who will do anything they can to make you feel as comfortable as possible. We already think the world of you, Spencer. Sacrificing fancy dinners that — let’s face it — can’t beat cheap junk food anyway is hardly a big ask.
Warmth spreads across his chest at Hotch’s words, replacing the feelings of failure and rising anxiety with something that feels like a promise of all the good to come. There’s something fatherly, something deeply paternal in Hotch that there wasn’t in Gideon, and it’s the most comfort Spencer’s felt in years. “Really?”
“Really,” Hotch nods, squeezing his shoulder gently. “You wait here one minute, okay?”
“Okay…” Hotch is gone before he can finish replying, and Spencer is left staring at the doors confused, until the rest of the team are piling out of them a few minutes later, Hotch bringing up the rear with his jacket and wallet in hand.
“We just paid the tab. How does cheap Chinese food eaten in the park a couple hundred yards down sound?” Hotch suggests, raising an eyebrow as he smiles warmly at Spencer.
He looks around briefly at the rest of the team, who are all giving him encouraging looks, not a trace of judgement or annoyance to be found.
“That sounds amazing,” he laughs wetly, the tears springing to his eyes this time caused by a completely different emotion. “I can pay you back, though.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty boy,” Derek says, patting Spencer’s back, “we’ve got it. Now, come on, I’m gonna order sweet and sour chicken balls, and I want them now.”
“That’s what she said,” Penelope giggles, linking her arm with Derek’s.
“That was terrible, baby girl, but I love that you tried.”
“Do you want to share shrimp chop suey with me, babe?” Elle asks JJ as they clasp hands, walking a couple of steps ahead of them.
“Well, I’m certainly not sharing with any of these losers,” JJ teases, before kissing Elle’s cheek.
Spencer feels Hotch place his hand on his back, and he turns to smile gratefully at the older man. “Thank you,” he says quietly, trying to convey just how earnestly he means it. “No-one’s ever done anything this nice for me before.”
There’s a slightly sad tinge to Hotch’s smile, but it doesn’t look like pity. “I’d get used to it if I were you. That’s just how we do things in the BAU.”
Well, if that’s the case, Spencer thinks, smiling as he falls into step between Hotch and Penelope, I think I might just stick around.
taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @jellejareau @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic-not-stupid(taglist form)
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stan-machine-broke · 4 years
Text
Style oneshot bc I love my boys
Stan absolutely hated school. It was the bane of his existence, he constantly had to wear a fake smile to fit in and act as if the mental battle inside him just wasn’t happening. There was so much going on in his head, so many mental scars that add weight to his day. He looked around the classroom only to see the same people as he always did. Realistically, Stan hoped that there would be something new to look at and observe but there never was. His gaze found its way to Kyle, his best friend. There was always something about him that appealed to Stan so much. Kyle was another level of human - he was smart, helpful, caring, always there for Stan and even quite cute. Sure, there were times where they had their arguments and didn’t speak for a few days but they always patched things up. It was always the case of who would break first, who could go the longest without the other. Albeit it was usually Stan who broke first, both boys had a bond unlike any other in the quiet little mountain town.
“Oi, you are aware you’re staring at the Jew boy, right?” Eric’s voice played over Stan’s thoughts, snapping him back into reality almost instantly. Stan shook his head slightly, before glaring right at Eric. If looks could kill, this one would. “Shut up, dude, I was looking out the window.” Stan knew his excuse wouldn’t be accepted by the overweight boy sitting next to him. Eric simply scoffed before turning his attention back to the lesson at hand. Stan shifted in his seat slightly, he knew that Eric knew of his secret and that probably most of South Park did. Usually, it was easy to hide his bisexuality but ever since Eric managed to hear it through the grapevine, his life has been hell. There was always an anxious feeling in Stan’s stomach that Kyle was going to find out and wouldn’t accept who he was.
The bell rang, signalling the end of class. Students filled the hallways of the High School and made it a nightmare to navigate. Stan waited inside the almost empty class room for Kyle to finish packing his stuff away. Stan was always the type to pack his pen and notebook away halfway through the lesson, or whenever he felt bored enough to stop listening. Despite this, Kyle was the type to pay attention until the very end of the lesson, and to jot down everything the teacher says to ensure that he gets the best grades. Stan was sat on his desk with his foot propped up against what would have been Eric’s desk, his other leg just swinging back and forth aimlessly and his backpack slung onto one of his shoulders.
“Dude, I really don’t know why you pay so much attention in class, Mr Garrison hardly knows what he’s teaching.” Stan said as he and Kyle walked out the room together to join the chaotic hallways. Kyle let out a small giggle, which made Stan’s heart soar. He always thought that Kyle had the best smile and the best laugh, so he made it his mission to make Kyle laugh. “You know why, I gotta get good grades or my mum grounds me. Either that or we move back to Jersey, and that’s a definite no.” It was now Stan’s turn to have a giggle. Both the boys entered the cafeteria where they saw their group of idiots sitting at one of the tables. They were all joking about and throwing meaningless insults at one another, well mostly meaningless.
Both Kyle and Stan went to get their food, which was just processed crap that the lunch staff made. It wasn’t their fault the food tasted bad and was more unhealthy than eating literal dog food. The boys went to their table, which their friends claimed, and had a seat at either side of the table. Stan just stabbed his food with his fork as he listened to Eric speak about something or another. There was little truth to any word he spoke about anything but the others listened anyways as there was nothing better to do.
“Your foods gonna get cold, you know?” Kyle pointed out to Stan, almost starting up a private conversation between the two. Stan hummed in agreeance as he lazily chewed on the food he thought was nothing more than leftovers. With a few small bites, he had had enough food and got up to throw away what was left and leave his tray on top of the bin.
Stan travelled his way through the school. Sometimes he liked to spend some of his lunch hour alone, to figure out who he was. He went to go sit outside, on the steps by the back end of the school. He could faintly hear the music the goths played. There was something about their ways that made Stan want to sit by them, not exactly interact with them but be somewhat associated. He looked at his gloves, they seemed to be a different shade of red. Or maybe they were the same, he never knew. As he looked at them, the thoughts flooded in. He began to think of a life with Kyle, not entirely romantic but a future of some sort.
With Kyle by his side, the future didn’t appear to be as dull as he once thought. A joint apartment between them both, maybe they would get a pet or something for them to look after together. It was the perfect life for Stan, but one thing stood in the way of it all...Kyle. There was no doubt he would move on to college, somewhere out of state and far away from Stan. He could almost cry at the thought of the possibility that Kyle would leave his life. Reality sunk into Stan and he was one more depressing thought away from sitting with the goth kids again. His head fell into his hands as he began to cry at the thought of not having Kyle. Maybe if he told Kyle what he felt inside, then things might go his way. Naivety said Kyle liked him too, romantically, but narcissism said it was doomed from the moment he hit puberty.
“Stan..?” A gentle voice called out, it was Kyle. Stan sniffled a few times, wiped his nose with his jacket sleeve and turned his head to see the worried boy standing in the doorway. There was a moment of silence between the two, before Kyle instinctively wrapped his arms around Stan. Carefully, he rubbed Stan’s arm out of comfort. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Kyle asked once more, he was concerned for Stan at this point. It was rare that he said nothing in response. “Kyle, there’s something I need to say to you. And it’s quite important. And I don’t even know if i can tell you but I’m going to.” Stan’s voice was shaken and broken, his sobs engulfing him. He was unsure if Kyle even understood a word he had said. Kyle just nodded, and held Stan a little tighter in support. “Whenever you’re ready, you can tell me.” Kyle spoke gently, hoping that it gave Stan some clarity. He wanted to do anything he could to help his best friend suffer less.
“Okay, okay...so,” Stan took a moment to regain himself, compose himself into being able to say what he needed to, “I’m bisexual. And I’m pretty sure I like you- wait, no, forget that, I’m in love with you dude.” Stan looked at Kyle, with sad almost puppy dog eyes. Something inside him wanted him to believe Kyle was going to say something positive back. But Kyle said nothing, he looked shocked more than anything. “Wait, really? Dude…this is a lot to take in.” Kyle’s words sounded disconnected from him, like he was processing what Stan had said to him, “You...you love me? How long have you known?” Stan looked forwards, towards the playground, “a while. Ever since 9th grade. But before then I knew I had some sort of feelings towards you. And I get that it might freak you out but please don’t leave me, I need you. We can pretend this never happened, no one needs to know this happened, it can be a bad dre-” Stan was cut off by Kyle’s lips on his. Kyle pulled away first, only to have a small laugh at Stan. “You’re this biggest idiot I know, I love you too dude.” Kyle said, “I never spoke up about it because I thought you and Wendy were a thing still.” Stan felt stupid. He had a dumbstruck look on his face, it felt as if he tried to cheat a test and still fail. Wendy helped him throughout his whole identity crisis before he settled for calling himself bi. She gave him a good piece of advice, “a label is as temporary or as permanent as you chose it to be, you are not faking it because you discover more about yourself in the future,” and Stan had always admired her advice. “No, we haven’t dated since, like, 5th grade. She was just there for me when I couldn’t speak to you about it.”
The bell rang again, signalling the end of the lunch hour. Stan looked at Kyle, his eyes still bloodshot red from crying. Kyle took his hand and helped him up, he flung his own bag on his shoulder and picked up Stan’s bag and held it in his unoccupied hand. “Do you wanna ditch and grab some decent food? Cartman would rip you to shreds if you walked in looking like the dogshit you do right now. Still extremely handsome though.” Kyle was willing to ditch class for Stan, and he had done before. “What about your grades? I think your mum would kill you if she found out.” Stan counterpointed. Kyle didn’t care what she thought, he could handle her now. “I don’t care what she thinks, I’m all about you right now.” “Okay, let’s ditch. City Wok or Red Lobster?” “Definitely Red Lobster.” “So, are you my boyfriend now?” “Yes, Stan, yes I am.”
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artificialqueens · 4 years
Text
Ten Days (Crygi) - Cashmere
Hi guys, So I posted this story literally about … 6 years ago on tumblr with another ship, but decided 1) I want to get into writing again and 2) It was time to go through my old stories and do revamp on some, and it just so happens Crygi is my current drag race obsession, and I’ve had far too much wine and I’m far too emotional and after being here from the start of AQ? I’m finally posting my first fic here. So here we go!
 It’s freezing in the apartment, just the way they liked it. You’d never really questioned it out loud but secretly you just wondered if they kept it that cold so you’d have an excuse to cuddle even if it was scorching outside, not that you ever complained about being curled up with them for hours on end. 
You’ve been on the sofa for what feels like an eternity, the blend of mismatched fibers under you rubbing your skin raw , and all you can see is a kaleidoscope of blooming colors from the many paintings and sketches that litter the walls, sporadically spread across it with no rhyme or reason, as well as the red wine stains that still splatter across the wall from when they and Daegan had gotten into a wrestling match when the pink haired girl had blue shelled them in a winner takes all game of mario kart, and they’d forgotten they still had a full cup of merlot, and you’d groaned about how you weren’t going to get that bond back. 
 All you can hear is the rain steadily beating down against the large windows offering a view to the city you’d adopted as your own, it’s been raining constantly. You on the other hand haven’t cried. You want to, but your eyes remain dry, so maybe the sky is trying to compensate for you? You don’t usually ponder the deep mysteries of the universe,  that was their job. Especially when they was high and asked questions like ‘Are lobsters just fishy mermaids?’, and ‘’If you erase a word.. Where does it go? Does it just vanish?”
You sigh deeply, the breath rattling your lungs and roll over to stare blankly at the back of the sofa so you don’t have to see the paintings, the vibrant colors teeming with life, mocking you.  ‘You’re so brave’, it’s all you ever hear these days. Anyone that knows you will tell you how brave you are, how you’ve been cool, composed, keeping it together. How you’ve you’ve been ‘A beacon of strength’. But you’re not brave. You’re not. they were brave. You’re just terrified and floundering, blustering your way through. Faking it till you making it, with a display of false confidence; when inside you’ve never felt more alone.
Your entire body aches. You’re numb. Empty; and it’s the worst feeling in the world. You understand the pain, the agony. They came. They came and they took over you, and then they just .. Left. It’s as if your heart has left your body. Like it left to save you from yourself because if it was still there in shattered pieces? You’d fall apart with no hope of being put back together. You want to feel something. Anything. You want to cry, scream, reach out, react, anything but your body refuses to move so much as a single finger.
Is this how it feels? Is this oblivion? Hell? It’s been 10 days since you’ve lowered them into the ground. You’ve seen the sunrise, you’ve seen the sunset. You’ve counted the stars until they start blurring together. You’ve watch the sunlight dance on the walls and filter between the gauzy curtains made of what was supposed to be a sari that they’d picked up from a thrift store downtown. It’s been 10 days since you got that call. Your phone is next to you. Full of unread messages, and unanswered phone calls. But you don’t want them. The pity, the voices of everyone but who you want to hear.  Your hands reach out, pale and slender and shake as you struggle to dial the numbers, having to delete that extra ‘8’ that keeps popping up. But when you manage it and lift it to your ear. It rings. It rings and rings. And then you hear it
’Hiiiiiiiii. This is TicTac and CrystalMethydfromdragraceseason12 and host of Get Dusted Party. Leave a message! Do it!” Their voice is still your favorite sound in the world, even though the message is truly awful and you drop your phone onto the rug, not even bothering to hang up,and a single tear rolls down your cheek, cutting through the layers of sweat that have dried against your skin, reddened and indented from the corduroy cushions that scatter the sofa.
  Never again will they pick up the phone, never again will they call you back. Never again will you pick up your phone to hear their voice on the other end of the line asking you what to get for dinner, what time does your flight get in, is there anything you want them to look for at the thrift store, a picture of street art, a green lawn, a meme, and never again will you get a text message from them reminding you that they loved you.
You shakily reach down, dialing the number again, and again, and again. If only to hear their voice. You manage to get off the couch, only to fall to your knees, your muscles weak from days of barely being used. Your phone battery finally fails you, half way through the recorded message and a broken sob leaves your lips and you’re left in silence, the sound echoing from the darkened walls. You haven’t been able to cry, but now. On the floor of your home. The home you both build together and made your own; with nothing but a flat phone in your hand you start to sob uncontrollably, ten days of repressed emotion hitting you all at once.
 It’s a tidal wave, like nothing you’ve ever felt before, assaulting and ravaging your insides. It’s raw, burning, all consuming, and you scream, choke, and wail helplessly, each cry more pained than the last, the sounds almost animal in nature as they tear through your vocal cords. You weren’t meant to be alone. They’d promised to never leave you, and they’d tried. They’d tried to fight to stay, for themselves. For you, for everything else in this world. Sunsets, ginger cats, paints, Missouri summers, colorful jewelry, loud laughter, thick blunts, and brightly patterned shirts in soft fabrics; but even their fighting spirit was no match for fate.
 You need to get up eventually. To shower and wash your hair that hangs in oily clumps, to eat something, to leave the room that smells like them with the tiny personal touches that still litter the room like ornaments, the ugly keychain collection that hangs from the hook. You need to start taking steps to move on. But today isn’t that day. And so you remain on the rug, your cheek pressed to the tight weaving, squeezing your eyes shut and opening them again as if you’ll blink and wake-up and find everything is just a nightmare, a long drawn-out nightmare, though there’s only so long you can keep kidding yourself, and you’re reaching the end of that point rapidly; and it scares the hell out of you.
Because you need them, and you don’t want to wake up and acknowledge they’re gone, or to try to remember their face only for it to be a blur, to forget the languid way their fingers trailed along your ribs as though you were made of the finest porcelain, the way their hair fell in cocoa colored curls and the proud look in their eyes when their mullet ‘finally reached all the way to their crack’. You don’t want to forget how they tasted, or the way they laughed with their entire body, or the way that when you kissed how it felt like everything stopped and the world shrank down to the two of you no matter where you were. You can’t forget them, the memories seared into your brain, but in your head? That’s what moving on resembles. So you remain on the floor, your heart in pieces surrounded by the life you made together, and your tears keep coming in between pleas to the air around you, “Please come home?” though the resounding silence is your only answer. 
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stxphxn-strange · 4 years
Text
you’re not prone to injury, you’re just too loyal (part 1)
a/n: this is literally just stephen comforting tony after the avengers don’t respond well to losing a battle against the sorcerers, this is kinda heavyish on the angst btw
177A Bleecker Street, 7:40am
“Goooood morning and welcome to this episode of ‘Sanctum Shenanigans,’ where we give you an inside look at a sorcerer’s outside-of-work agenda.” Stephen smiled into the camera, continuing the introduction to his YouTube video. “Apparently some people are wondering, of all things, what we eat for breakfast-slash-brunch. Now that’s a pretty harmless question and it’s been awhile since we’ve done any cooking tutorials. That said, today I’m going to show you my favorite breakfast: an omelet with shrimp, cheese, spinach, arugula, and chili flakes. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: seasoning your food is important! The only thing worse than under-seasoned shrimp is lobster. As always, I’m joined in the kitchen by my friends and assistants: Wong and Mordo.”
“We’re actually not friends, I don’t like you at all,” Mordo teased.
“I’m more offended that you think of us as assistants, we end up doing all the work anyway,” Wong added.
Stephen looked directly into the camera. “This bullying is unscripted and in no way reflects the core values of a hearty shrimp dish. Now, let’s get started. The first thing you’ll need to do is get—”
“Stephen, your phone is ringing,” The Ancient One announced, handing it to her pseudo-son.
“Don’t answer it, we’re recording!” Mordo groused.
“But it’s Tony, it’s important! Keep the recording paused,” Stephen replied. He left the kitchen, leaning against the bannister of the front staircase as he picked up the call. “Tones?” 
“Hey,” Tony said gruffly. Stephen thought he could detect a bit of a smile in his voice, hidden behind layers of stress and... was that pain? Anguish?
“You sound a bit worse for the wear, everything okay? I didn’t smack you around too badly in that battle, did I?” Stephen asked. “If I did, I’m sorry.”
“No, you were wonderful and strong as always, and I know you were pulling your punches. So no, it wasn’t you who smacked me around,” Tony replied. “Can I come by though? This is going to sound silly but... I need a hug.”
“Of course babe, I’ll make a portal right now,” Stephen said. He hung up the phone and smiled as Tony stepped through the portal, immediately pressing as close to Stephen as he could. “My baby harp seal!”
Tony laughed at the nickname, beginning to shiver as Stephen brushed a hand through his hair. “Remind me again why you call me that?”
“Because what, besides you, is cuter than a baby harp seal? Nothing,” Stephen replied.
Tony just nodded, seeming a bit absent as he leaned more into Stephen.
“You cold? Why are you shaking so much?” Stephen asked, his doctor brain cells beginning to fight his concerned boyfriend senses.
“I’m fine.”
“And I’m the Pope. I can tell something is wrong and I won’t make you tell me, but you can if you want to.”
Tony was quiet for a moment. “I promise I’m fine, just tired. We trained all night after the battle ended. Apparently a stalemate still counts as a loss for us, in Steve’s eyes, so we trained all night so it wouldn’t happen again. In his mind smacking me around in front of the team as a re-enactment is what he considers training, but that’s bullshit because I wasn’t hurt by anything during the battle so he—”
“Stephen are you coming back in here or should we postpone?” Wong asked politely, the calm sense of irritation ever-present in his voice.
“Postponing,” Stephen replied. “Please make sure Karl doesn’t eat my shrimp again.”
“Let that go already, I said I was sorry!” Mordo yelled.
“A man’s shrimp is sacred, you know that!” Stephen shouted back. He felt rumbling against his chest, thinking that Tony was laughing. “I always see him making eyes at my shrimp... the audacity.”
A short sob made Stephen realize that Tony wasn’t laughing at all, but crying.
“Oh babe... come on, let’s go upstairs,” Stephen murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
The Cloak left his shoulders to settle affectionately on Tony’s, hugging him and supporting his back. 
Tony just closed his eyes and allowed himself to be moved, resting his head against Stephen as pain seared through his back and shoulders. He tightly shut his eyes as the dull ache in his chest returned. “Fuck.” 
“What hurts?” Stephen asked, placing Tony on his bed (it was basically theirs, but that’s a story for another time). “And what happened?” 
“Mostly my back and shoulders, but can you believe that the suit’s housing unit got smashed into my chest again? At least this time I have a reinforced ribcage, so it didn’t get smashed into my lungs again, but what are the odds that the same guy with the same vibranium shield does that twice? And how is it that even in death, Howard Stark and his tech still find a way to give me grief?” Tony replied, rambling from stress and pain. “I defended myself, but after awhile it just got so tiring. I just let him say and do what he said and did, and no one else stopped him so I must-”
“Don’t you dare tell me you deserve this,” Stephen said, trying to keep his voice gentle in spite of his disgust. 
His blood was boiling. The sorcerer knew all too well about Siberia, about Howard Stark, and what the team put Tony through, and it made him sick. And while Tony’s loyalty to the Avengers was admirable, they had a habit of treating him so badly, far away from what he actually deserved. Stephen was drawn from his reverie when he heard a sharp inhale and a sob from beside him. 
It was rare for Tony to cry, outside of a nightmare when he would wake up with fear in his eyes, and Stephen hated to see it. 
“It hurts,” Tony whispered, pressing his head against Stephen’s chest. 
The sorcerer’s heart broke further as Tony continued to cry, and he hoped he’d never hear the genius in such pain ever again. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you love, what do you need?” 
++++
177A Bleecker Street, 9:00am
It was about an hour later when Tony finally relaxed, soothed by gentle caresses and harmless healing spells. His head was resting on Stephen’s chest again, his lips semi-parted as he took deep, sleepy breaths.
The only thing to do next was to determine how to deal with Steve... after Stephen finished making his omelet, of course. He never schemed on an empty stomach, it was bad luck.
He brushed through Tony’s hair softly, bringing the man back from the edge of sleep just for a moment.
“Will you be okay if I go downstairs and make my omelet? And do you want anything?” Stephen asked.
“Don’t let me hold you up, especially if there’s shrimp in it,” Tony replied. “And not now, but thank you. I’m going to sleep for at least an hour.”
“Tea or coffee?”
“Maybe later.”
Stephen nodded and kissed him before standing up to exit the room. Just before closing the door, he popped back in and said: “You know you’re more important than the shrimp, right?”
Tony nodded, but Stephen wasn’t convinced that he fully grasped the gravity of his words.
“Do you believe it?”
Tony didn’t hesitate to reply. “I always believe you.”
Stephen smiled lovingly. “Get some sleep Tones, I’ll be back soon.”
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feather-flocking · 4 years
Text
Pet Names
I’m new to the DC universe so this is my first time writing about DC characters and their world. >.< I was inspired to write again after three years from all the amazing fanfic I’ve been reading lately. Since I have been obsessing over Jason Todd, I decided to write about JayRae.
I hope you enjoy.
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Dick sat with his back to the door, his eyes glued to the TV and a cup of tea in his left hand and the remote in his right. The only light source in the room was from the TV. In the background, he could hear the ocean’s waves rushing up the shore and the faint sound of his family and friends in the other room. The room smelled of a mixture of salt and mango- someone must have lit the candle that was set out when they arrived at the beach house. He inhaled slowly, closing his eyes briefly as he listened to the reporter on the screen.
“You’re losing your touch,” a smooth voice said. Dick snapped his eyes open to the petite shadow on the wall that was cast from the small sliver of the new light from the open door.
“Am not,” he huffed and twisted his neck to peer over at the girl. Her dark hair was down around her shoulders and she wore an oversized sweater that covered her shorts. Her violet eyes stared back apathetically.
“You didn’t even notice me come in,” Raven said with a small huff. Before Dick could retaliate, Raven continued, “They want you to join them for a ‘night of friendly games’, according to Kori.”
Dick turned to his drink, poured the entire contents in his mouth, stood up, and sat down the mug and remote. He straightened out his shirt and pants before looking back to Raven with a smile. “Well, let’s go kick some butt.” The corners of Raven’s mouth quirked up, but suddenly dipped back when she looked past Dick to the TV still playing.
“Him again? Have you guys found anything new on him?” Raven asked and took a small step to the side to get a better view. Dick followed her stare to the screen.
The screen flashed to Batman and Nightwing propelling from rooftops behind a dark figure. As the three began leaping to lower buildings, the light from the moon highlighted the figure to show their red mask and dark clothes. Dick had to admit the guy was skilled.
“… people are calling him the Hot Tamale, Red Mask, Tin Can, Cherry Tomato, Lobster, Fire Top, and Bald Guy. He is still being-“  the reported rattled on.
“Cherry Tomato?” A rough voice interrupted with a scoff. “Is that what people are seriously calling that guy?” Raven and Dick turned to the doorway. Jason was leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed at his chest with a small smirk on his lips. His long-sleeve shirt seemed too tight and his sweats were hung too long for Dick’s liking. He swore they were going to fall down any minute. Get Jason some new and better fitting clothes for Christmas. Noted.
“Does this mean I should change my name to Blue Skittles? Nightwing is getting kinda old, don’t cha’ think? I got to keep the audience on their toes.” Dick replied, laughing as he turned off the screen. Raven looked at him impassively, which had Dick’s laughter slowly fade out. He cleared his throat and looked at Jason and waited for him to speak.
“Raven was supposed to get you,” Jason glanced at Raven. He paused on her eyes then slowly traveled down her small frame before resting on her eyes again. His face was static. Raven’s eyes narrowed at his action. Dick stood in the middle, his eyebrows raised with interest at the two. Weird.
“Well, what are we waiting for-?“ Dick started when neither of them spoke.
“You, dumbass!” Stephanie exclaimed from the other room. 
“I’m coming!” Dick huffed before he walked between the two figures in the room and left the room, leaving Raven and Jason to whatever Raven and Jason do.
~ * ~ * ~
Raven sat on the top of the beach house despite the ongoing war her friends were having over the game Clue. Apparently, Victor caught Gar looking off his paper, but Gar was denying it- as usual. Raven stared out into the dark waters as her thoughts wandered. Bruce had gotten them one of the best houses with a beachfront. All the beach houses were a fairly reasonable size. Though with the entire bat family and a few friends, the reasonable size house shrunk quickly. Almost every floor space was someone’s bed and the three bathrooms were a nightmare. Raven was lucky to claim a corner of the living room floor. There was no one to kick her head, albeit her ribs were another story. Raven looked down at her open book in her lap and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her hair as a gust of wind danced past. Despite the cold temperature, she was enjoying herself. Her eyes began to float across the page, but they didn’t get far when she heard the sound of footsteps. She looked up to see Jason saunter over. He lowered himself to the roof’s floor and crossed his legs at the ankles in front of him as he leaned back on his hands.
“Party’s downstairs,” he simply stated. Raven turned her attention back to her book.
“So shouldn’t you be there then?” Raven replied without glancing at him. She attempted to read, but she couldn’t continue with the company. She usually could, but she and Jason rarely spoke to one another. The fact he was sitting with her bemused her. Perhaps he didn’t know she was out here.
Instead of replying, Jason stole her book from her lap and glanced at the cover. His brows raised in interest before he set it on the other side of him- the side Raven wasn’t on. Raven let out a silent sigh as she raised her eyes to him. Another breeze flew past them, causing his hair to fall into his eyes and hers to move away from her face. Raven watched his white streak as it floated with the wind before settling back down against his brow. She never really gave thought to his hair, but suddenly she found herself allured to the bold contrast of colors in his hair.
Jason shrugged at her reply. “Family game night isn’t my style, Princess,” he said and glanced out at the ocean. Raven’s lips dipped down at the pet name as she continued to look at him. Her gaze dragged down his body slowly involuntarily. He hadn’t changed his clothes since Raven saw him earlier. His maroon long-sleeve clung to him in ways Raven found intriguing. Jason, along with all the other bats, were fit. That was no surprise to her. Everyone ran around so much they burned enough calories for decades, but something about the way Jason was built was slightly different than his brothers. Raven had always thought men with overly seized muscles looked like a big stiff bear with a small head and big ego, but she had to admit that Jason was one bear she wouldn’t mind to look at. Plus his body was more proportional than those goofs, except for his big snarky attitude. Not to mention his legs. Her gaze traveled lower. She wondered if he could crack open a watermelon with his thighs alone- they were so-
“I can’t wait for this stupid trip to be over,” Jason mumbled. Raven’s eyes snapped to his face, her cheeks heating up in fear she was caught staring and not from the chilly weather. She let out a small breath she didn’t realize she was holding when she noticed his eyes still on the ocean.
“Dick was excited that you came,” Raven replied lowly as she looked out at the waves as well. There was something about hearing the waves but being able to barely see them comforting.
“Dickhead is always excited to see me, sugar plum. I think he’s in love with me,” he said with a shake of his head. “I wouldn’t tell Kori or Barbra that though. I’d rather not die again.”
Raven resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the continuation of his pet names of her. She was never overly fond of them. “Do you remember my name?”
Jason chuckled and gave her a puzzled look. “Why do you ask?”
“You aren’t using it.”
“I’m testing out names for you,” Jason replied as if she should’ve known that already.
“Why?” Raven tilted her head slightly at her confusion, wondering where his interest in pet names for her came from. He simply shrugged and looked away from her.
“I think Dick is too preoccupied with this new guy,” Raven replied in her usual monotone after a few minutes of silence. She knew Dick was getting a little angsty that he and Bruce still haven’t gotten the guy. Dick felt the answer to all their problems was staring them in the face, but he couldn’t pinpoint it, which got him more riled up. Although Dick and Raven were no longer on the same team, they still kept in touch regularly. They were, after all, best friends.
“Ahhh, that guy. Mmm. What are they saying?” Jason asked and looked at Raven. Raven continued to stare out in front of her. She brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself to keep a little warmer.
“They think they’re close to finding the guy, but they know they’re missing something major,” Raven spoke quietly. “I heard them saying this ‘Cherry Tomato’ was skilled-“
“Did they now?”
“- but they are better so this Tomato only has a few more days before he expires.” Raven finished and looked at Jason when he scoffed. His lips were in a smirk and his aquamarine eyes shone brightly against the dark sky- the green from the pit pulsing underneath. Raven tilted her head slightly at his amusement. He let out a low chuckle, more to himself than to her before he returned to the water. Raven watched him for a few more seconds before following his gaze. Her skin was quickly gaining more goosebumps as the wind began to pick up, albeit she didn’t want to leave. She felt relaxed on the roof and Jason’s company wasn’t as bad as she had thought it would be. 
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jason move the smallest centimeter closer to her. Although their bodies weren’t touching, they were close enough for Raven to feel his body heat radiating off of him. She let her eyes close for a minute, letting in and out deep breaths before she opened and turned to Jason- only she was greeted with empty space. Her brows furrowed slightly at the sudden lack of company. The only thing left was her closed book. 
As she began to reach for her book, a figure approached the roof again. She glanced up and her eyes widen slightly. Jason stood with two blankets and pillows for them. He simply shrugged at her expression before setting up for the long night.
~ * ~ * ~ 
“That was B. He has sightings of Hot Tamale,” Dick announced when he returned from the other room, now dressed in his black and blue suit. It’s been six days since they got back from their family/friend vacation. It didn’t take long for Bruce and Dick to spring into action. A few hours after their arrival, New Guy was spotted at a shipment. Bruce and Dick had left their luggage outside the manor, asking for someone to bring their suitcases inside as they ran off. 
Needless to say, their luggage was still outside. 
Later that night, Dick came back to the manor with an injured arm. Luckily, Raven was still there to help him heal. Although it wasn’t life-threatening, Dick wanted to be in shape ASAP in case he was needed in the field again. Raven was currently sitting on Dick’s couch. He had insisted she come over for a nice dinner as a thank you for healing him when it wasn’t a dire matter. He knew it took a lot of her when she did it, so he wanted to show her his appreciation. Although Dick insisted he cooked their dinner, Raven knew Alfred prepared this meal prior to her arrival. She wasn’t going to tell Dick she ran into Alfred on her way to his doorstep.
“Oh so now it’s Hot Tamale?” Raven questioned as she stood up and grabbed her cloak and fastened it.
Dick shrugged. “I’m testing out all the names. None of them ring a bell, yet.” Raven hummed at his response.
“Since you’re with me already, I’ll let you join me and B. It’s been a while since we got to kick ass together,” he gave her a smile and walked to one of his windows.
“I’m so honored,” she said sarcastically as she followed him, puzzled. “Your door is that way.” She jabbed her thumb in the opposite direction of where they were heading.
“I know. This way I don’t have to carry my keys. It’s a real pain to carry them in this suit, yanno’? Too tight in the-“
“Alright, bird boy, out,” Raven said and pointed out the window that was now open. Nightwing laughed as he leaped out. Raven let out a long sigh and followed him out, letting her magic close the window behind her.
It wasn’t far from Nightwing’s apartment to where B said New Guy was. Raven followed Nightwing and Batman overhead, her eyes scanning the building’s surroundings they were about to enter. She floated down when B signed for her and Nightwing.
“There is supposed to be shipment here tonight, but we might be too late for that. There’s no sign of a truck and it looks like those tracks are new,” Batman said lowly. “Let’s still check it out. He may still be here.”
With that, he headed to the east side of the building. Nightwing gave Raven a thumbs up before leaping into the air to the west. Raven watched them both leave for a second before she flew up. She was about to enter the building but caught a glimpse of a figure scaling the walls upward. There must be an exit to the roof. Raven quickly floated upwards and landed on top of the door’s entry. Her hands tickled with her magic as she waited for the unknown figure. The doors busted open and a man wearing all black emerged. Raven shot her magic towards the fleeting man as she floated upwards. The man grunted as he was struck in his back and smacked to the ground. He started to get up, but Raven rapidly shot again and knocked him out. She swiveled briskly around in time to fly to the side, dodging several bullets from another person. Raven fired back towards where the shots were behind the door and flew upwards to get a better angle, though she didn’t much higher. A rope encircled one of her legs and slammed her down to the gravel. She groaned as she landed roughly on her back. As she started sitting up, a boot pushed on her chest back to the floor and the barrel of a gun pushed her chin upwards to look at the boot’s owner. She hissed at the person hovering over her. A red mask. Great. She just knew the asshole was smiling under that stupid red hood. Red hood? Maybe they’ll add that to the list of names of this jerk.
“Sorry, Little Bird. I can’t let the old man and Dick-douche catch me,” the deep voice said in a hurry. Raven’s eyes quickly grew in size as she stared at the man. “Mhmm, Little Bird might be a keeper.”
Raven laid there in shock as he ran off, waving goodbye as he leaped backward off the building and into the night. The sound of guns and batarangs filled the night as the door to the roof opened as an exasperated Nightwing appeared, however, Raven’s stare never wavered from where Red Hood left.
You have got to be shitting me.
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Text
Corrupted Memories Pt.4
Ganondorf: Alright first order of buisness we must apprehend Kirby.
Hades: How're we gonna do that?
Ganondorf: One of us is gonna have to lure him here so we can trap him after that our plans should be a cakewalk.
Sephiroth: So...Who's going?
The villains all stare at K.Rool who at the time was stuffing his face with the bananas.
King K.Rool: ... ...What?
-A few minutes later-
King K.Rool: Now guys I want to win against the heroes just as much as the next guy... ... ...But why am I dressed as Dedede?!
Ridley: Come on just think of it as revenge for when he trolled everyone. Now go get Kirby!
King K.Rool: Ok! You don't have to shout at me!
Cut to Kirby who is eating all the food in the Halberd's kitchen.
King K.Rool: Hey there Kirbeh! What do you say me & you go looking for something fun to do around here huh?
Kirby: Poyo?
King K.Rool: What!? I look different you say?! Kirby I'm offended! You are disrespecting one of your closest friends simply because of a few differences in my texture!?
Kirby, guilty: Poyo!
King K.Rool: It's ok I forgive yah. Now how about we go have some fun. I'll carry you to. All you gotta do is step inside this totally safe not at all trapped container.
Kirby, excited: POYO!
Kirby stepped inside only to end up up being forced to the containers' floor due to the increased gravity of the trap. K.Rool then takes off his disguise.
King K.Rool: HAH! YOU THOUGHT IT WAS DEDEDE!? TOO BAD IT WAS KONO K.ROOL DA!!!
Toon Link, From a very far away room: I heard someone make a JoJo reference! I must investigate!
King K.Rool: Crap! (Runs away) Guys I got Kirby!
Dark Link: DAMMIT! He didn't die!
Hades: Thanks alot K.Rool I lost money because of you coming back!
King K.Rool: (Cries internally)
Nightmare: Dark Link the dimwit! Can't even win at a bet.
Dark Link: SHUT UP FUCKBOY! (Pushes Nightmare over)
Nightmare ended up knocking his head against something large and metal.
Ridley: Great job you knocked him out. (Sigh) I'll carry him.
Ganondorf: Now...Let's get out of here. Our buisness on the ship is finished.
Sephiroth: Wait I'm confused I though we were attacking them here?
Ganondorf: Oh you'll see Sephiroth. You'll see.
They all make their way to find a way off the Halberd. Then the metal object in the "Stowaways room" began to move and began to follow them.
Ridley: ... ... ...Guys?
Sephiroth: What?
Ridley: ... ... ...Why do I hear boss music?
Dark Link: I'll do you one better! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING!?
The metal monstrosity from before came charging at them at mach speed. Heavy Lobster was ready to kill.
Ridley: OHH SHITTT!!! GANON WHAT DO WE DO?
Ganondorf, Hades, Bowser & Sephiroth were already stepping through a portal leaving the lesser villains handle themselves.
Hades: See ya have fun!
Dark Link: GOD FUCKING DAMMIT! SCREW YOU!
Wario: Imma going in!
Dark Link: Wait what?
Wario: Remember me! (Jumps at the mech)
Heavy Lobster simply batted Wario out the way through a wall.
Ridley: O_O
King K.Rool: Oh god! Oh fuck! What do we do!?
Ridley: Fuck this shit I'm out...(Flys out of the Halberd)
_____
Meta Knight: What's this? Heavy Lobster has detected trespassers! Time to murder them.
_____
Heavy Lobster fired missles at the villains.
Dark Link, running with Nightmare: Wait a damn second! WHY AM I CARRYING YOU!?
King K.Rool, running like a mad man: I'm too fat for this!
Mini Lobsters were then sent to chase them.
Waluigi: Aww. They're so small.
They then lunged at Waluigi taking him down immediately.
Hades: They don't know we're still here watching them this is so funny.
____
Joker: ...Does anyone else here boss music?
Mario: Oh at least I'm not-a the only one.
Meta Knight: (Steps inside) VILLAINS ARE ABOARD!!!
Luigi: WH-WHAT! H-HOW'S THAT POSSIBLE!?
Meta Knight: Stowaways my friend! My Heavy Lobster Unit has picked them up. We must knock them overboard otherwise they may get the best of us.
Joker: ...Where's Kirby?...
Meta Knight: ... ...THEY HAVE MY BOIIIIIIIII!!!!
_____
Hades: HAHAHA! This is some great entertainment!
Ganondorf: Indeed. But we must continue. Enough playing around.
Ganondorf appeared before Heavy Lobster then punched it breaking the front of it completely.
Ganondorf: Hmf. That was easy. HUMANS! STOP PLAYING THAT DREADFUL MUSIC!
Hades: Hey chill out 4th wall breaks are my thing.
Ganondorf: Take the robot with us it could prove useful.
The villains then escaped from the Halberd with Heavy Lobster & Kirby to continue with their schemes.
-Later-
Meta Knight: GOD DAMMIT!!! NOT ONLY DID THE LEAGUE TAKE MY MECH THEY TOOK MY ONE AND ONLY CHILD!!! I'LL MAKE THEM PAY FOR THIS!!!
King Dedede: How'd they get Kirby?
Meta Knight: It's most likely that they preyed on his naivety. The bastards. We're almost at Popstar now. Hopefully that's where the League went. And if they are there not a single one of them will live for longer than 1 second.
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nicostolemybones · 5 years
Text
Transitioning to Manhood
Will felt a strange nostalgia looking at the box his mother had sent him, although it wasn’t a bittersweet feeling. It was a twisting feeling in his gut, a horrible reminder that his mom was clearing the house of all reminders of her child, trying to get the child she thought she remembered to snap out of a phase and return home. He picked up a knitted hat, barely the size of his fist- he’d been born premature, and his grandmother had knitted the tiny pink hat as soon as she received news of his birth. It was a pale pastel pink, almost white, a pearly quality to the colour, but years of collecting damp in a cardboard box had tinged it a dusty, damp grey. There were photographs, and Will was bombarded with pigtails and frilly dresses and patent shoes buckled with bows. “I think I would have cried if I’d been put in that monstrosity,” Lou-Ellen said softly, pointing at the photograph Will was currently holding, featuring him in a pink frilly dress for a Church wedding, holding a basket of bright pink and red rose petals, bawling his eyes out and lifting up the hem of the skirt to wipe his face. He looked about five.
The next picture showed the same dress covered in mud, Will grinning like a maniac chasing the vicar’s daughter with a worm in his hands and one shoe missing, hair a tangled mess. Cecil snorted and laughed. “Please tell me you put that worm down the back of her dress!”
“Nah, she picked up a bigger worm and chased me with it instead. We were friends in kindergarten,” Will replied, pointing out a photograph of him in pink flowery dungarees sitting opposite the girl, who was wearing the same dungarees in blue. “We made mud pies and put them in her father’s shoes in that picture,” Will said sadly, “we got into trouble for boyish behaviour and making a mess.” Will unceremoniously shoved the photographs into the bottom of the box, taking a few deep breaths.
“Are you okay, Will,” Lou-Ellen asked gently, placing her hand on his back and rubbing small circles.
“Yeah,” Will sighed, staring emptily into the box before picking out his birth certificate and staring at it. “I don’t know,” Will amended, and Cecil took the certificate out of his hands.
“We should burn this,” Cecil announced, “it’s useless. If you end up needing it for anything, you can just get it re-printed at the register office. Although you might wanna make some changes to it first. Until you can do that legally, Connor and Travis owe me a massive favour, if you’d like.” Will let out a small laugh, burying his face in his hands.
“My whole childhood is in this box,” Will said quietly, “and my mom’s throwing away all of her favourite memories of me, and I can’t bring myself to look at them.”
“Hey,” Lou-Elllen began gently, “we’ll make new memories, new photographs.These aren’t your memories, they’re your mom’s ideal childhood for you, it’s all the parts she didn’t like taken out and the select few moments she did pruned carefully and displayed to be her image of perfection. You don’t have to keep any of this, because that’s not how your childhood felt to you. They aren’t pictures of you, they’re pictures of the child your mom wanted everybody to see, they aren’t pictures that truly represent your childhood. You aren’t obliged to hold onto somebody else's image of you.”
“We can burn all of it later, mate,” Cecil offered, “just us if you want. And Nico too, of course. Kayla and Austin too maybe, if they aren’t busy.”
“Yeah,” Will sighed, “shoot it with a burning arrow or something.”
“That’s the spirit,” Cecil grinned mischievously, taking the box from Will, “I’ll go take this to my cabin and get my siblings to thoroughly vandalise everything so before you burn it you can have a laugh.”
“Thanks,” Will laughed, and Lou-Ellen pulled him into her shoulder.
“I’ll see you later, dude,” Cecil smiled, “and you, my bi-hexual girlfriend!” He kissed Lou-Ellen’s cheek and jogged off.
“Do you wanna go find Nico?”
“He’s got training now,” Will replied, “but I wanna go talk to Clarisse, do you know where I could find her?”
“I saw her heading to her cabin before I came here,” Lou-Ellen replied, “I’m gonna go work on creating some more sigils, okay?” She kissed Will’s cheek before heading towards her cabin, and Will set out to find Clarisse. She wasn’t in her cabin, or in the armory- Will found her sitting outside the currently empty Aphrodite cabin, holding a pale green and cream chiffon scarf in her hands. Will sat beside her, bumping her shoulder.
“It was Silena’s,” Clarisse said gently, “her favourite hijab. She used to cover it with pins and I’d put flowers through the pins. After we burned her shroud, we uh… her parents invited me to her funeral, at the Masjid. The mosque, that is.”
“It’s beautiful,” Will said, “you should keep it. She’d want you to have it.”
“Yeah,” Clarisse sighed, “don’t tell anyone I went soft, you hear me, Solace?”
“Message received and understood,” Will smiled, and Clarisse punched him lightly in the arm.
“She taught me how to put on makeup,” Clarisse admitted, “she used to do it real subtle, so nobody would know. She’d contour my whole face and she’d put on neutral eye shadows and clear mascara, cherry chapstick muted with matte powder.”
“I never noticed you wearing makeup,” Will replied.
“That’s because that was the point. She made it look completely natural. I’m not exactly… feminine.”
“But she taught you how you could be butch and still be pretty, right?”
“Exactly,” Clarisse replied, “she helped me to pass.”
“A true ally,” Will smiled, resting his head on her shoulder, “how have you been recovering from surgery?”
“I’ve had worse pain,” Clarisse smiled, “I’m still getting used to the extra weight on my chest, but Chris likes them just as much as I do, I think.” Will chuckled lightly, and Clarisse put her arm around him. “Anyway, you look like shit, Solace, what happened?”
“My mom,” Will replied dejectedly, “she sent a box of stuff from my childhood. I’m gonna burn it all later. Cecil’s idea.”
“I’ll be right there with you,” Clarisse said, squeezing his shoulder roughly, “providing I can take a baseball bat to everything first.”
“You can rip the birth certificate before I shoot everything with a burning arrow” Will offered, and Clarisse chuckled lightly.
“That’s my boy,” Clarisse grinned, punching his arm lightly.
“The thing is… I don’t hate my childhood,” Will began honestly. “I didn’t always know I was trans, I didn’t always hate myself, I just couldn’t understand that weird out of place feeling, you know? I didn’t know why things made me uncomfortable. I only started figuring it out when I came to camp… and now, it hurts to look at all the pictures, because they… they don’t feel like I’m looking at photographs of me, and the more I tell myself that’s me, the more I can’t stand to look at them, because I look so female. But my childhood wasn’t a sad one, I… I was loved once, I used to pretend I had nightmares so my mom would give me these butter cookies with warm milk. She knew I was usually faking it, but she didn’t care as long as I smiled.”
“Tell me more,” Clarisse probed gently, before wrapping Silena’s scarf around his shoulders when she noticed a breeze, keeping her arm around his shoulder.
“She didn’t always have a lot of time for me, with the singing and all,” Will began, “but when she did have time for me, we always did something. She used to take me to my grandma’s farm a lot. The chickens didn’t like me much, but there was this baby calf my grandma let me name. Which was a terrible decision, I called it Dustbin Grass,” Will announced with a small laugh. Clarisse snorted, and Will continued. “Anyway, the calf used to come in through the back door and lay down in the middle of the sitting room, and I’d curl up next to the calf. We had a height chart on the wall, and I’d always compare my height with the calf every week. And other days, my mom would take me on day trips. Sometimes it was just to the local park or play area, we’d feed the ducks and sit in the sun with a picnic. I’d always go on the slide, although some days it was so hot the metal burned and I’d start crying. My mom always used to wrap me up in a warm hug and she’d tell me that it was all okay.”
“That sounds nice,” Clarisse said sincerely, and Will continued to share his memories.
“I wasn’t so good with all the school stuff. When I was a kid, I hadn’t been diagnosed with ADHD yet, or dyslexia, but I still struggled. I was behind everybody in the class on my reading and writing and my handwriting was always terrible. I used to get frustrated and walk out a lot. And after break time, I always had a hard time calming down, so I used to be super bouncy and I’d need something to fidget with. And of course, I was a kid, so the louder the better. I’d get into trouble a lot and get sent out of class. I used to cry because I thought I was dumb, but my mom always told me I was the smartest. She’d take me on nature walks, and she’d point out different trees and birds and insects and I’d tell her what they were. And at one point, I could identify native birds by their calls. My mom made me feel smart, and I didn’t feel smart again until I came to camp.”
“How the fuck did they think you were dumb?”
“Classism, sexism, and ableism. Anyway, my mom and I used to have pamper weekends, where we’d just sit out in the garden with bowls of cold water for our feet and face masks, and we’d watch the clouds if there were any. Mom never used to put enough sunscreen on herself and she used to end up looking like a lobster. We’d talk about how our weeks had been, and about my mom’s record deals and tours. She mainly toured the South, she didn’t usually go far out from Texas, but I’ve always been travel sick and I can’t really handle anything over half an hour, so it was always better to leave me at home with my grandma sometimes. My mom and I lived in the city in Austin, but my grandma lived on a ranch. She used to make me cookies all the time and she’d tell me stories of mom’s childhood and her childhood. She’d tell me how lucky I was. My grandma was a lesbian, but things when she were young were… well, worse than they are today, so… she married a man and had kids and buried who she was. She always told me that I couldn’t help who I was, and that if ever I figured myself out and I wasn’t straight, then it was okay and she’d love me just the same. The vicar used to sit and have tea with my grandma every day, because he had a gay son and he wanted her advise on how to support him.”
“Your gran is a legend,” Clarisse smiled, “is she still with us or…”
“I wish I knew,” Will sighed sadly, “grandpa died when I was six and the year after, my nan met a woman, and she moved away and my mom refused to let me have her address or contact her. Everyone always assumes my mom is kind and loving because I have such happy childhood memories. But when you have a child, if you can’t love your child unconditionally, then you never loved them at all. I grew up, knowing, just knowing… that one day, I’d do or say something and my mom would know I was bisexual and my mom wouldn’t love me anymore. Knowing that your own mother will stop loving you, for the very thing that gets you beat up in the playground, for the very thing that gets you harassed, knowing that your own mother believes with all of her heart that her child deserves to burn in hellfire and brimstone for eternity just for being attracted to somebody… from a young age I knew that my mother’s love was conditional. For years, I knew that I didn’t meet the conditions for my mother’s love. And then I stopped going home because I was scared and I wasn’t ready to be abandoned by the same woman who promised unconditional love. And then I came out as trans to her and… she sends me the box. And it’s not just a box to remind me of my childhood, it’s all her favourite memories. It’s the drawings she stuck to the fridge, the photos she showed guests, the things she was most proud of me for. It’s her way of telling me that she hates me so much that those memories are worthless to her. Happy childhoods are empty gestures when a parent’s love is conditional. And I have to face biphobia and transphobia every day of my life, but it’s worse knowing I don’t have a home. My home is a summer camp. I’m alone. If the woman who swore to love me unconditionally, swore by her bible to love me and protect me and fulfil her god given role as a parent, can cast me aside like I’m disgusting, then how am I ever meant to feel anything but wrong? How am I meant to convince myself I’m worthy of love? I can’t even use public restrooms without fearing for my safety, how am I meant to feel safe enough to trust anybody?”
“Hey,” Clarisse began, squeezing Will’s shoulder, “you’re never alone. No matter what, I’ve got your back. I’ll kick a transphobes teeth, you know I will. We have to stick together, we can’t let the community be divided, okay? We’ll look out for each other. You’re not unloved. I love you. My mom is your mom now, okay? Actually no, I’m your mom now, kiddo. And you have the best friends you could ask for, okay? Lou-Ellen can and will hex anybody who tries to put you down. Cecil’s always got your back, he pranked that Athena kid real good, remember? And you have Nico. You’re dating the Son of Hades. He can and will turn anyone into a ghost if they hurt you. That boy loves you, okay? Your self-worth is not defined by your mother’s prejudice. Nico’s friends- Jason, Percy, Frank, Hazel, Annabeth, Piper, Reyna, Leo- they’re all allies we can trust. You’re not a boy anymore, Solace, you’re a man now. You’re making your own way in a world where the odds are stacked against you. You just gotta keep going. People will hate you no matter what you do. So surround yourself with allies, keep going no matter how bleak, stay strong, and when you can’t stay strong, use your support network. We’ll both survive if we stick together. If you feel scared to go outside, come and find me. We’ll keep each other safe. And remember. You’re perfect, don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. Aphrodite would want you to respect yourself and love yourself. Your dad would want you to shine and spread light amongst the hate, to rise no matter how many times you’re pushed down. My dad would want you to fight back and never stop fighting for your rights, our rights, for what you believe in. And I’m sure most of the other gods support you too.”
“Damn girl, now I know why you’re in charge of motivational battle speeches,” Will smiled, and Clarisse ruffled his hair.
“Good boy. Now, you’re gonna get back to that infirmary, and carry on as normal, okay? And then we’re gonna burn your birth certificate and all the other stuff.”
“I had my T shot this morning,” Will stated with a small smile, “after a few months, people no longer misgender me when they hear my voice and for once in my life, I like how I sound. I feel like me. My dysphoria is… it’s so much less intense than it used to be. I feel safer in public, I feel confident enough to speak as loud as I want without fearing judgment or misgendering or violence.”
“You’re getting a bit of a fluffy mustache too there, Solace,” Clarisse teased light-heartedly, and Will laughed happily. “I’ve gotta go teach the Aphrodite girls some self-defence classes, you have to prepare for the influx of inevitable injuries because the Ares cabin and the Athena cabin are sparring in the arena.”
Will went about the rest of his day with his head held high. For once, he felt proud of who he was, of the man he’d become, of the way he hadn’t let the hate he’d heard turn him hateful, how he helped people, how he tried his best to make every camper feel like they had a safe space, a home. He never wanted anybody to feel the way he had for such a long time. He prided himself on his kindness, and he vowed never to lose it.
So later that day, the camp stood around a pit of flames at the beach, all turned out to show their solidarity bar a few. Will wore his flag as a cape, and everybody cheered when Clarisse marched in still in her armour from the day, with a ‘fuck the cis-tem’ jacket, and ripped up Will’s birth certificate. Will smiled as he threw the photographs into the flames, one by one, his friends all cheering and clapping. He watched every painful reminder, every perfect image of his mother’s ideal child- graffitied on with funny mustaches and devil horns on his mom, courtesy of the Hermes cabin- of conditional love and rejection, go up in flames. For once, Will wasn’t defined by his past, but rather by his future, one surrounded by allies and friends from all walks of life. People of many religions and races, sexualities, and genders. And even better, he received a loving kiss from his boyfriend in front of the crowd. For once, he didn’t look back.
@solangeloweek day 2, childhood/back story building
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mahreemari · 5 years
Text
mari’s collection of perfectly safe 2nu goodness
collection of safe 2nu fics i filtered through both ffn and ao3 to find. will be a total of four to five separate postings. first will be completed works on ffn, ao3, and then the incomplete works in the same posting order. 
if i made a mistake, please notify me asap so i can fix the list, i tried my best but i’m just one person and something might slip my eye by accident. at the same time, if there is a fic that i missed, please let me know so i can add it! as well as new publications. suggestions to improve the list are appreciated. 
noodle must be 19/20 minimal during the romance period in order for the fic to be included. any underage is prohibited. 
here are all the completed works from ffn:
Rated K/K+:
Behind the Mask – Rated K+ –  After a four-year absence, Noodle has finally returned but what is she hiding behind the mask she wears? 2DxNoodle
Black Eyes, Blue Hair – Rated K+ – Noodle's view on her blue haired bandmate. Rated K
Blue Haired, Green Eyed Freak – Rated K+ –  Murdoc may have gone too far. He has made a clone, named Natalie, using 2D and Noodle's DNA, and it's convinced it's their daughter. 2DxNoodle pairing. Be gentle, my first Gorillaz fic. Please read! COMPLETE.
Early Conversations – Rated K – Just a short story that came from I and Cooliochick5 RP. Noodle is six months pregnant and wakes up finding 2D talking to their unborn child. Pure fluffiness!
English Rose – Rated K – "You know very early on where you belong and who you're meant to be with, 'D. That's not something that can ever change. Those people and places will always come back." 2nu.
Far, Far Away – Rated K+ – For a while, both 2D and Noodle have been sad, have been in pain...but finally, after being reunited on Plastic Beach, Noodle confesses to 2D what she's been thinking about for a long, long time...
Nightmare – Rated K+ – Noodle's had another nightmare. And this time, she's made herself bleed. A bit of a 2DxNoodle, but more brother/sister. First 2Nu fic! Noodle's POV
The Steadfast Black-eyed Soldier – Rated K – Some sort of the re-telling of the 1976s cartoon "The Steadfast Tin Soldier", but with "Gorillaz" characters on the roles.
unconventional – Rated K+ – For a couple years and a half, they lived in Honeymoon Avenue until Noodle had to leave again. Almost five years later, she's close to accomplish her mission and more than ready to go home. / An "end of phase 4" family reunion.
You Are My Medicine – Rated K – 2D always needed his pills to take care of his migraines. But someone can also take the migraines away from him too.
Your the Best Present – Rated K – It's 2D's birthday! And of course 2D forgets that it is his birthday. But Noodle is also sad about something. Sorry, summary sucks.
Rated T:
A Midsummer's Wedding – Rated T – Noodle is getting married... but not to 2D. And he's not taking it very well, poor guy.
A Step Too Far – Rated T – Noodle catches the end of an argument between 2D and Murdoc. One that ends with 2D punching Murdoc and in trying to figure out what happened she learns of Paula. Confronting 2D about it seems like the only way to get answers even if they lead to an unexpected ending.
Bleeding Out – Rated T – "FACEACHE! Faceache, holy shit!" Murdoc yelled, pulling him from his bunker to the lift. "What? What's going on?" 2D squeaked, following the bassist. "It's- It's Noodle! Somethin' ain't right with her!" (2nu-centric, but not actually 2nu.)
Blimey, You're TwentyOne Already! – Rated T – It's Noodle's birthday and she has a special request. What on earth is 2D going to do?
En Route to the Vending Machine – Rated T – En Route to the Vending Machine that I'm Pretty Sure Doesn't Even Exist. Yep. That's all.
Fisticuffs And Frozen Peas – Rated T – Murdoc Niccals has the innate ability to get on the wrong side of everyone. Picking a fight is just the way he communicates. But picking a fight with Noodle? that's a different story. Contains some 2DxNoodle fluff, Oneshot. R&R xX
Gravity – Rated T – Oneshot. 6 years have passed since the release of Plastic Beach and the band reunited. Everything is going great and the Gorillaz are enjoying being together again as they prepare to release their new album. But what happens when 2D finds a letter to him inviting him to Paula's funeral? What will he find when he gets there? And more importantly, what had Paula been hiding from him?
I Promise – Rated T – It wasn't until 2D's head began to feel extremely light, and his eyes rolled back until he realized what he was doing, but there was no turning back now. Warning: Suicide Attempt and Aftermath
Just Say The Words – Rated T – 2D has a special surprise planned for his beloved Noodle and something to ask her. But it seems that he just can't find the time or place to tell her.
Louder Than Words – Rated T – '...They both felt safe and happy with each other...But now she was feeling an old worry tug at her mind's corners again…' The small trials and triumphs of a new relationship. 2DxNoodle. One shot, rated due to mild fluff.
May 23, 2011 – Rated T – Her presence in this stoic world he'd created sent him into an emotional spiral that brought about the worst of his migraines. The emotional detachment he'd grown fond of now mocked him, & he was forced to hold his tongue because it was too hard to speak.
May 23rd – Rated T – It's 2-D's birthday, but no one remembers, well, almost no one.
Melancholy Hill No More – Rated T – Noodle had always been good at finding 2D's secret spots... 2DxNoodle
Memories and Chocolate Pudding – Rated T – A short story I wrote as a request from a friend. She wanted a cute story that had to do with Phase 1 Noodle and 2D, something brother and sister like. Of course I added my own 2DxNoodle touch in the end. 10 years later of course. ; Enjoy.
No Rain – Rated T – If Noodle stays with him, then he's really gonna have it made! 2DxNoodle Song Fic.
Nursing a Flu – Rated T – 2D is sick, but he has a certain guitarist to take care of him.
Plastic Beach: Phase Three – Rated T – A 22 page story we had to type for my English class. It could be about anything we wanted so I chose this. 2DxNoodle.
Something's Up at the Spirit House – Rated T – Something is very wrong with the Gorillaz new home, and it's driving 2D mad. Will he and his bandmates be able to handle the mysterious forces at work at Saturnz Barz? A story to tie together the music videos and events of phase 4. Will be a little silly, a little eerie, and contain a dash of 2/nu.
The Meaning Of - Salt Skin Drafts – Rated T - A series of one-shots revolving around 2D and Noodle and the growth of their relationship between phases 2 and 3. Would-be continuations to my discontinued story Salt Skin. Friendship/Eventual Pairing.
Ups and Downs – Rated T – Noodle and 2-D both have strong feelings for eachother, but can there relationship take the challenges life throws at them? 2-DxNoodle COMPLETE!.
When You’re Close to Me – Rated T – Noodle has returned home to her boys, and is ready to face the feelings she'd had while away.
Rated M:
A Look I Used To Know – Rated M – He bit his lip as his eyes returned to her, studying her unsure movements while she tried to ignore his presence as he watched her. He felt his heart ache as she stood to her feet, the dejection in her body unclear to most was a scream in Stuart's ears...
A Simple Understanding – Rated M – Their grief was eating away at them, but all it took to save them was a simple understanding of feelings. 2DXN
Another Story – Rated M – This is not based in kong nor plastic beach. In fact this is just based between 2D and Noodle. Russel and Murdoc are mentioned but not by name. Please read and review!
Awake – Rated M – After a night out, 2-D awakes with a familiar face next to him, and very little memory of what happened the night before. A 2Nu fic. Rated M for strong language and sexual content.
Confessions – Rated M – 2D wiggled his eyebrows, a smirk threatening to break out. "Yeh think yeh better than meh?" Noodle scoffed. "Of course I am, 2D, I could beat you at any game you throw at me." She tried to ignore the fact that he had edged much closer that he was previously sitting. "Well," 2D breathed. Noodle swore she could feel his breath tickling her face. "Wah 'bout this one?" STRONG LANGUAGE
Just Passing Through – Rated M – A reunion between two band members after four years apart. 2DxNoodle. Rated M
Plastic Beach Romancing – Rated M – 1st fanfic ever! Yay. Everyone from the Gorillaz. So Noodle makes it to Plastic Beach and finds 2D just before he overdoses. I'd love to get comments please. Noodlex2D! 3
Reuniting – Rated M – To make matters worse, somehow, some way without Noodle's consent or knowledge, the three men had thought it would be amazing to vacation in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere, while staying in a log cabin of all things. This is a gift fic for WreckTangle. Rated M for sex...you've been warned. 2DxNoodle. O.o
She's My Collar – Rated M – Noodle and 2D have a secret that they feel has been kept long enough. They want to figure out a way to tell the others and come up with something rather creative. When Russel and Murdoc hear the lyrics to "She's my Collar" for the first time what will their reaction be? Can 2D and Noodle defend themselves or will their secret affair become just a memory? Rated M.
That One Day – Rated M – This fan fic has the song "Girl Gone Wild" in it by Madonna because it fits the plot lol. There is also an outside character by the name of Marcus that is mentioned. Rated M for lots of sexual scenes lol. Enjoy!
The Rube Goldberg Effect – Rated M – Poll winner! 2D has fallen asleep on Plastic Beach. His back now lobster red, he's in desperate need of relief. A hot summer day, a sunbite, a bottle of Aloe, and a bathing suit covered body. So what's Noodle have to do with this?... Aloe can be fun, too
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videoranch · 5 years
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The View from the Side of the Stage
Words and photos by Melodie Akers
Embarking on a 12-date tour seemed like the last thing Nez should have done a month ago. Before the New York show on September 20, I told him how proud I was of him. I had feared he would either decide to go home after three dates or complete the tour without the energy to play or sing his best. The Mike & Micky Show had been far from fun; apart from the shows -- which were incredible -- it had been full of sleepless nights on a shaky tour bus and empty-stomached afternoons in emergency rooms, clutching my copy of Science & Health, while Nez joked with the nurses. I dreaded a repeat of that awful month.
The September FNBR tour had all the opportunities to be grueling. It kicked off with three dates in a row, and there was another block of three in the middle. Days off were singular and rare. Despite having little time for rest, Nez organized his team and resources so that he made it through the journey feeling better by the end than at the beginning.
Nez has been expressing a desire for a jet since before the January tour. In late August, he decided it would be a perfect “ambulance” to shuttle him through the tour. At first it didn’t work how he intended. The driver who was taking us to the airport -- or FBO as I learned to call it -- would be late, or Jonathan and Susan wouldn’t be ready to leave so Nez and I were sitting in the car alone. Or the plane would not be ready, or worse -- broken. The food provided by the jet company turned out to not be up to Nez’s standard. By the time we left Texas, Dan, our tour manager, and I figured out how to use the jet to its full benefit. I started having the jet bring in outside catering from Jewish delis or we’d have a runner grab Popeye’s during the show. Dan started ordering the car earlier, so it was ready and waiting for luggage while Nez fulfilled his Meet & Greet duties. I worked out an organization system of Nez’s luggage that allowed me to pack up quickly and easily after the shows -- something I had finally worked out after struggling all through the Mike & Micky Show. Nez instructed me to call the pilots once we were rolling, providing them our ETA so our plane would be ready and waiting just like the car had been. Once we got it down to this science, a quick flight -- usually less than an hour -- and we’d be touched down with full bellies and headed to the hotel, tucked in bed by 2am.
Jet rides were a welcome time to decompress after the hard work of shows. We’d laugh while discussing the show’s high points and how it was developing. Nez always polled us on what was his funniest joke of the night. As fans have pointed out, no show was the same; Nez did this intentionally. He didn’t wear his hat on stage in Virginia because he had started to feel like it was a cliche! His between-song-banter appeared in the moment each night, and he adjusted the set list as the tour progressed. After the first shows, he cut four songs, then added them back in and even introduced Marie’s Theme as he visibly gained strength and confidence with each performance. His ability to continuously spontaneously create not only reflected his live career as a whole, but showed his developing connection with the Redux band’s interpretation of his work. We listened to a lot of his early ‘70s albums in Sparky just before leaving for rehearsals -- and our listening sessions brought forward some of the ideas he thought were unexpressed in January. Last month, rather than simply “play the album”, he introduced Redux to new ideas and then expressed them onstage. Many of those ideas appeared first within the safety and comfort of the jet.
This was my third tour working as Nez’s handler. “Handler” essentially means I am responsible for getting Nez where he needs to be when he needs to be there with all of his luggage, prepare his costume, make sure he has clean underwear, gets enough rest, and eats at meal times. Nez has told me repeatedly that it is not my job to make sure he is happy, but I still try my best to achieve that, too. In addition to handler, during the tour I kept my positions as his assistant, running his social media, and sending these newsletters. I tried to share shows from the side of the stage through Facebook Live, but many comments from fans complained about the sound. The sound of a show changes depending on where you are stood. From the side of the stage, all you’re hearing is the musician’s monitors and a little bleed of the “front of house mix” -- what the crowd hears. Therefore, stage left was heavily Christian and stage right was heavily Alex and Pete; neither are a great place to hear Nez’s vocal. Nez became frustrated with me because I didn’t have much to say after shows. Even though I stood there waiting to be needed while broadcasting live, I couldn’t hear the real show. For several shows, I stubbornly refused to move from my spot out of fear of not being there when he needed me.
During the Mike & Micky Show, I stood by in case Nez needed more water, a towel, someone to hold his guitar, someone to unlock his iPad… whatever. Every show was a struggle the second he stepped off stage -- and I was half of the team there to hold him up. Dan and I supported him until he’d walk back on stage and perform beautifully. His abilities in June were incredible and confusing to me. However, a wise man once wrote: The devil has no access to the singing man.
The end of the first show in Houston was a massive achievement: It proved he could do the show, which was the principal concern on my mind. As his healing became more apparent, I felt more confident that it was not irresponsible to abandon my side of stage post. I started to complete my packing in the dressing room during the show while enjoying the front of house mix through the venue’s playback pumped into the room, and once I even had the guts to leave the venue to grab Popeye’s for the jet. By New York, I completed my packing backstage then sat in the audience most of the show and was able to give Nez a full review afterwards without neglecting any of my handling responsibilities.
The key elements of a hotel while handling a principal on tour are: blackout shades so he can sleep late, edible room service meals, and close proximity to Starbucks. Our hotel in Dallas had a Starbucks inside but it was closed -- the disappointment took away from Nez’s room having an actual breakfast nook. Nashville’s blackout shades were the best of the tour, even though the room was otherwise unremarkable, making it a standout; Susan called it “womblike”. Nez’s favorite hotel of the tour was the Peninsula in Chicago. When we walked into his room, he announced he was moving. Everything was high-tech: the TV remote was an iPad and even the light switches were touchscreen. But the room’s tech did not take away from its design’s classic beauty achieved through golden accents, dark wood, and deep navy bedding -- like sleeping in the night sky. And they somehow avoided the hotel restaurant curse by having wonderful meals.
The most bizarre hotel was in Detroit. Nez and I are 95% sure it was haunted. Nez’s room had a ballroom with a grand piano. Okay, not exactly -- but it had a mostly empty room bigger than my apartment with a grand piano in the corner. I asked him if he could play piano. “No, why do you ask?” “I’ve seen pictures of you sitting at pianos.” “Oh yeah, I can sit at pianos.” The entire suite (ballroom, dining room, kitchen, bedroom, vanity room, walk-in closet, and bathroom) was 60% empty -- its rooms’ sizes dwarfing their furniture. The bathroom and its vanity room were green marble blocks. Nez said the place was a perfect analogy for the automotive industry of a century ago -- uselessly ginormous. It was also filled with the craziest art -- including a piece in the lobby that made me ask Nez, “Why do they have a painting of Kate Bush?” The green marble vanity and bathroom still backdrop my nightmares.
Recently a friend asked me what touring is like because she is writing a novel about a touring band in the ‘60s. I responded with Nez’s first lesson: laundry and food. Those are the hardest things. I have no concept of how they pulled it off in the ‘60s, though, because they didn’t have Google Maps or Uber. Google Maps is my answer to everything on the road: finding laundromats who do fluff-and-fold, finding the nearest Starbucks, finding restaurants, finding a manicurist two hours before the show, etc.. The main function I wish Google Maps had was a sketch-meter. The number of times I’ve chosen a laundromat that’s 10 minutes away because of its high Google rating to find out that it’s in a “bad” part of town upon arrival... I was grateful to always have an Uber driver there with me, at least.
Uber is the best and worst part of touring in 2018. Depending on the town, it takes either 2 minutes or 20 for your driver to arrive -- and that is usually a good indicator of the arriving driver’s helpfulness. As an introvert, by the end of the tour I dreaded running errands, because being trapped in a car with a stranger whom I felt I was inconveniencing in some insane way took a special toll on my mental energy. But in comparison to ordering black cars and limos, Uber makes transporting a rock star beyond simple -- until you consider seatbelts. Seatbelts in stranger’s cars are somehow always hidden. Nez is terrible about wearing his seatbelt anyway, so I’ve taken to pouncing on him the second he sits down in any vehicle to make sure he is buckled in. I’ve asked him how he survived being a race car driver when he struggles to put on his seatbelt; he has no answer.
I half-joke with Nez that he only tours the east coast to have lobster. After seven shows of only talking about lobster, he finally got his cherished crustacean at lunch in Boston before the Somerville show. That was also my first lobster; Nez says west coast lobsters aren’t real lobster. It was delicious; I fully understand his quest now. We also had the best fried chicken in Nashville, while Nez made up songs at the table like, “Why am I standing in the garage? I know I came in here for something important,” after I shared his habit of making up incredible songs on afternoon drives to Jonathan and Susan. But the best aspect of meals on the road was our company and official tour drink. Most dinners were spent with Jonathan, Susan, and Hennessy sidecars -- Nez’s favorite cocktail! It started during rehearsals at our hotel in Burbank, and continued through the last shows on the east coast. We had a slight hiccup in Nashville when we got into a battle with our waitress as to whether it was salt or sugar on the rim of our glasses, and thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere in a Chicago restaurant where our table was INSIDE a train car. These evenings were one of the first things Nez and I chased down upon returning home… but were disappointed to discover that Jonathan and Susan’s laughter could not be conjured by the sidecars alone.
Restaurants are usually the closest Nez and I got to sightseeing while on the road. Our tunnel of hotel-car-venue-car-plane-car-hotel didn’t offer much light. Most of my “days off” (HA!!) were spent running errands while Nez recuperated (i.e. slept and watched MSNBC in his hotel room). While returning to the hotel from the laundromat in Nashville, I was grateful my Uber driver took a wrong turn: I got to see 6th St from the backseat after Nez had broken his promise to take me the night before. He came through for me in Boston, though. Despite the rain, he felt well enough to happily venture out in an Uber so he could show me the Mother Church. Disappointingly the church was closed due to construction -- and the visit took an incredible turn away from my expectations into modern art. Nez led me into the Mapparium at the Mary Baker Eddy Library, a three-story stained glass globe created just before the Second World War. We stood and pointed out cities and countries to each other -- Rio, Australia, Carmel. Given the state of politics, it was comforting to stand surrounded by an illuminated world. As proven through this tour, art is healing.
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melindacoulson4 · 6 years
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Mistaken (we’ll fall apart together)
Their fears have manifested. It wasn’t real. Her standing in front of him. Him standing in front of her. The words that they spat at each other. But, oh it felt real- it felt so real. Post 5x13. Philinda
“Shit. Shit. Shit!” Fitz holds a closed fist to his forehead, counting back from ten, trying not to lose it. “What?” Deke asks, staring at the computer screen in front of them.  “The gravitonium is barely holding the rift at bay and I have to examine the new piece before moving forward with it. Which means there will be more instances of…"  "Nightmare scenarios come to life?” “Yes…before we can do anything about it. I just hope everyone is prepared.” There were too many people in this bunker. Too many things could go wrong now.  Turns out, they weren’t properly prepared at all. No one could’ve guessed the hell that had been unleashed upon them all. 
Phil turns the corner and walks down the hall, moving further from the hanger bay and deeper into to the bunker. The anxiousness creeps up again as he thinks about one of the quinjets going out into the open for the third time this week. They didn’t have a choice. Flying a quinjet out on stealth mode was their best bet to relocate Tony. Agent Davis could be trusted to get the job done. All Phil can do now is wait for word that that the transport was successful. 
Another agent enters the opposite end of the hall and moves steadily towards him. He doesn’t think much of the person until he registers the dark hair and unmistakable gait.  His heart leaps in his chest a little bit.  It’s May.  She’s still too far away from him to say anything without having to yell. So he just watches her move closer to him. The steady steps she takes in her heeled boots. Which wrap around the skin tight jeans that he may peek at too much. But who could blame him with the knowledge of the muscle she had there. The pure strength that she displays.  And her face, the part of her that captures his attention most. It could be expressive when she wanted it to be. Without the mask, when it was just the two of them, she was exceptionally beautiful.  “Oh hey, I was just coming to find you,” he calls out, putting in immense effort not to seem too excited.  “Here I am,” she replies with a soft smile.  Warmth pools in his stomach knowing that the happiness on her face is in response to him.  He coughs, finding himself at a loss of how to express himself without sounding pathetic. I’m so happy to see you. I wanted to find you and talk with you. I want to just be with you. No, he can’t say any of those things.  “I just sent Tony off with Davis. So that’s all wrapped up now,” he reports, instinctively falling back on the mission. That was always easy to talk about. That didn’t cause all logical thinking to fly out the window or his stomach to flip flop.  She nods, staying silent, yet steadily watching him. She’s taking him in- checking him out. He knows that she’s concerned and scared. Ever since she found out the news there’s been a weight attached to all of their interactions. A voice constantly whispering in his ear: this could be it, Phil. What are you going to do about it? He hasn’t come up with an adequate enough plan. All he knows is that he wants to ease her fears and limit the pain. If that means pulling away, he’ll do it. But right now, he instinctively feels that she may need some reassurance. His heart orders him not to let her go. Blowing out a shaky breath, passing through the nervousness in his gut, he psyches himself up to ask her to spend time with him.  “Want to get something to eat? I could use it.” He’s desperate for her to say yes.  Truthfully he isn’t that hungry at all. The pain relieving pills that Fitz had started him on wiped away his appetite as a side effect. But they hadn’t eaten in over ten hours, so he knows his body still needs something. Come to think of it, Melinda was not there this morning for breakfast. He hasn’t seen her actually eat in days. There are only the memories of her nibbling on things, but never finishing anything. At dinner she spends more time pushing things around her plate than chewing. Or at other times, she’ll leave the room before food can be brought in.  He knows why. The absolute sadness was evident on her face. The brokenness lingering on her features is always there ever since he confessed the truth. Because of him she’s lost her appetite. 
He resumes leisurely walking away from the hangar bay, this time with May next to him.
“Sure. Chinese takeout?” She asks, knowing fully well that they can’t leave the bunker.
He snorts, failing to keep the grin from his face. “Yea, then we’ll hit up Red Lobster, maybe an Olive Garden, a burger joint too.” It hits a deep part of him and makes him feel relieved that she’s able to make a joke.  He flicks his eyes over to see her reaction, which is when he realizes that she isn’t with him. There’s no one in his field of view. She hasn’t kept his pace down the hallway.  He turns around searching for her and sees her frozen in place in the middle of the hall, studying the floor.
Something is wrong.  “May?” He asks confused by this behavior.  She glances up from the floor. When her eyes reach his he spots the obvious wetness there.  She blinks, clearing some of the tears but not all. “That’s what you ate…with me, right?” “What?” He doesn’t know what she’s talking about. They’ve gotten take out plenty of times. Of course they’ve eaten it together, probably a hundred times over the past three decades. “That’s what we ate. The day after we had the Haig,” she comments swallowing thickly.  His heart drops. All he can do is stare blankly at her. His brain tries to understand why she’s bringing up past painful memories that she wasn’t even a part of.  They’d laughed that night. She’d made fun of the way he kept dropping his chicken with the chopsticks. It was the first time in a while that he felt better, at ease. The Eli Morrow case was wrapped up, Daisy was home, and Melinda was there smiling and joking with him. Things were developing between them. There was a closeness- a connection. It was refreshing that they had finally reached that point in their relationship. But now the memories of that time are all tainted. Because it was never actually Melinda. It was the LMD parading around while the real Melinda was being drugged and put through the framework.  So her comment leaves him wondering: how does she know about the Chinese takeout and the Haig? He never completely told her about any of it.  Every time he tried to work up the courage to explain it or talk about it at all he took one glance at her face and chickened out. He couldn’t do it to her. He couldn’t watch her heart break again because of him.  Her gaze trains on him as she waits patiently for his response.  What is he supposed to say? “I…..” He sighs. “Who told you?” Why would anyone bring that up? Talking about this would only hurt her. He’d done enough of that lately.  Her eyebrows furrow in response to his question. She shakes her head briefly. “No one had to tell me. I was there.” The words send a shock down his system. His stomach clenches uncomfortably. 
This feels off.  She was never there to have the Haig or the Chinese takeout. She sure as hell wasn’t watching him and the LMD. No, she was too busy being locked up in a closet by Aida at the time. Something changes in her eyes. They become darker- hardening in an instant. "Don’t tell me that you didn’t know. You do. I’ve seen the doubt in your eyes ever since then,“ she says.  A frown breaks out on his face, unsure of this whole conversation. It feels as though they’re two trains moving on separate tracks never to cross paths. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. "What are you talking about?” “I missed you so much. After you powered me down and put me in that basement. It hurt, Phil. I’m not going to lie. But that was okay. I saw you soon. Once we woke up out of the framework and you caught me before I fell.” Weakness hits him everywhere. It’s as if she’s infiltrated his mind and successfully found the deepest secret that he had buried in the darkest corner. When they were searching for her he had all kinds of horrific thoughts. He imagined that Radcliffe was torturing her. He imagined that Aida was experimenting on her. That May was in constant pain. But the worst thought that he had was that she was dead. That she’d really died that first time. When Radcliffe and Simmons were trying to save her from the ghost sickness. Back when she was out of her mind and they weren’t able to successfully bring her back after stopping her heart. So Radcliffe switched her body with the LMD. That this whole time she’s been an LMD.  He’d dismissed the thought after they came out of the framework. Once she slid into his waiting arms he knew she was the real May. At least, he thought he did. And now the nightmare is coming alive right before his eyes.  She takes a step closer to him, her heels breaking through the silence. “Did you really think that I was real flesh and blood?” She pauses to stare at him with an unsettling smile. “Oh, Phil, you can be so naive sometimes.” “Stop it, May,” he demands pathetically. What is she doing? Is this some sick payback? His brain won’t accept this reality. This is May. She can’t be an LMD. She just can’t be.  Anger clouds over her features. “You’re an idiot. That weak body passed a long time ago. Her body couldn’t handle it. But that’s okay because I’m here. I’ve always been here since then. Right by your side. All thanks to Dr. Radcliffe and Aida.” He’d dreamed about this very thing while they were searching for her and woke up sweating and breathing heavily with tears in the corner of his eyes.  She died and Radcliffe replaced her without Simmons knowing. This whole time she’s been dead.  Dead. A stab to his throat.  Her body missing. Another stab to his chest.  Aida planted the LMD in the submarine. This whole time it was never May. A final stab straight through his heart.  “I still remember our kiss.” She smirks, walking towards him, hand reaching out to touch his chest. “I remember everything about us."  The kiss. May still doesn’t know. This isn’t May. She’s not May. May is dead. He inhales sharply, heart on fire. He moves backward, recoiling from her touch. Tripping over his own boots in his haste. He just can’t let her touch him. It would somehow solidify this whole thing. His back bumps against the metal wall. There’s nowhere to go now. She’s backed him into a corner.  Her fingers make contact with his chest.  All he can do is stare in shock and disgust. The touch freezes him in place.  Her palm rubs up and down his sternum. In the exact spot of the scar tissue that’s going to kill him. "This won’t be a problem. We’ll have Fitz fix you right up. He’ll make you a new body. Then we’ll both be indestructible.” She holds his gaze. It feels like a trance. He can’t bring himself to look away.  “We can be together forever,” she promises. With that, he snaps out of it. He’d rather die not live out some sick robot fantasy with her.  He’s going to throw up.  He needs her fake robot hands off of him right now. “Get off of me! Get off!” He pushes her away. She resists, wrapping her hands around his t-shirt. His robotic hand clamps around one wrist and squeezes, feeling the resulting crunch under her skin. “What did you do to her?” He shouts, finally causing her to back away slightly.  He’ll crush her body down into a cube of metal if he has to.   “She’s dead, like I said before. Why are you rejecting me? Don’t you love me, Phil?” Tears fill her eyes.  Not you, he thinks automatically.  This is the same robot that tried to kill him before. The one that kissed him. The one that everything was fake with while Melinda was….dead.
It’s impossible to wrap his mind around the fact that this thing is standing in front of him putting its hands all over him.  He has to get rid of it. Kill it. He can’t stand to see it walking around and talking for one more second. This time he’d rather it burn in hell than keep the body powered down and stored away. Even if that means he’ll lose Melinda forever. Because this thing is not Melinda. It’s a pathetic excuse of a copy that he wants nothing to do with.  His right hand reaches for the gun at his hip, preparing to shoot the LMD before it can even process what’s happening.  The holster is empty. The gun isn’t there.  “Looking for this?” She asks, grinning widely, twirling the gun around her finger. Like this is a game.  All he can do is stare in horror. She’ll kill him. He has no doubt in his mind. She’s insane.  “I’ll just kill you right now. Get you out of this weak body. Then Fitz can go right to work. We’ll have your consciousness transferred in no time. We will be together forever!” A hysterical laugh falls from her mouth. Something breaks in her expression. There’s an unnerving positioning of her mouth and eyes now. It’s something unnatural- a thing between human and robot. There’s madness there.  The gun is thrusted in his face a second later. She cocks the chamber back and he hears the click of the bullet falling into place. The bullet that will end his life.  Bang! His body flinches. At first he thinks he’s dead and the adrenaline in his body won’t let him feel the shot for a few seconds.  She definitely didn’t hit him in the face. If that had happened his thoughts would’ve been cut off instantly. He lifts his hands, running them over his shirt, feeling for wetness. “Coulson!"  A new voice calls out.  His head snaps over and he sees Daisy coming towards him, gun raised. A jagged line of blood trickles from her hairline. Not a life-threatening wound, but still.  He turns his head back to the LMD and to his surprise it disappears before his eyes. The body fades into a mist then nothingness.  It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.  He knows now what it was. It was a figment of the fear dimension. He saw the same thing happen to the kree warrior and lash in that room. The bodies disintegrated like the LMD just did.  He slumps against the wall, trying to bring himself back to reality.  Daisy comes to a halt in front of him, eyes running over him with concern.  "Blood,” he mumbles. It’s all he can get out. His tongue now acts as a heavy weight in his mouth.  “Oh this?” Daisy points to her forehead. “Ward paid me a visit. I see May tried to kill you again.” He blinks in response. That’s the understatement of the year.  “Fitz said that thing in the basement is getting stronger,” Daisy tells him.  Yea, that’s pretty damn obvious right now.  Daisy continues speaking but it’s all static to his ears. He just can’t listen anymore. It’s too much.  Breathing is the number one priority right now. His chest hurts. It burns a little bit as he tries desperately to get a hold of himself. It’s proving to be a little difficult after being thrust into a literal waking nightmare.  She touches his shoulder. “Woah. Take it slow.” He closes his eyes, still feeling unsteadiness in his knees and elbows.  He tries wrapping his mind around everything that he knows is true. Melinda came out of the framework with him. She collapsed in his arms. He’d held her, was so damn relieved to be reunited with her. It was real. She’s been with him the whole time. None of it was fake. She isn’t an LMD.  She’s real. It’s the truth.  Melinda. She’s his truth.  She’s okay. Not an LMD. She’s safe in the bunker. She’s…. His eyes snap open, fear spreading throughout his body. She could be experiencing a horrific nightmare right now without knowing what’s going on. He bends down for his gun and takes off sprinting down the hall without a second thought, hoping that Daisy will follow to provide backup.  He needs to find Melinda before something worse finds her. 
It’s a surprise to see him here, but definitely a good one. She was trying to keep herself busy while waiting for him, so she decided to grab a snack. Another agent had told her that Coulson was with Agent Davis. So the last person she expects to be here is Coulson standing at the open refrigerator doors.  “Hey,” she greets, trying not to startle him.  He pauses, pulling his head out of the refrigerator to glance at her. “Hey.” “Everything good with Tom?” It all wrapped up quickly. She wonders if Tom decided to stay here for a little bit to catch up some more with Mack. Agent Davis was supposed to take him back home. “Oh yea. All good,” he replies succinctly. It seems he’s more concerned with finding something to eat than carrying on a conversation with her.  Okay then.  They lapse into silence. He continues shuffling items around in the fridge. Sometimes pulling out a container to inspect it then shaking his head and putting it back where it came from. There’s an awkward lingering of missed conversation in the air, which makes their silence anything but comfortable.  They’re like two strangers on their lunch break at work, desperately avoiding eye contact. She hates this between them. This dance that they have whenever something has happened that they’ve yet to address. With each of them putting up a front. Only allowing small talk. They burry the heavy things deep down. A shovel for each of them as they continue to dig, refusing to bring up a whole slew of emotions neither want to deal with.  But they have to. She has to. He’d stay in silence until it was too late, that much is abundantly clear. This is her responsibility. She can’t let him go on like this. His acceptance of death as he rolls over and let’s life take its course. “Phil,” she calls out. “Yea?” He asks still busy with his search in the fridge.  “You have to stop.” “Stop what?” He sighs, shoulders lowering.  Stop putting up a cement wall that’s backed with another metal wall and guarded by machine guns. Stop shutting her out.  She can’t get over the flippant way he’d told her and Daisy to accept what’s happening with him. The nonchalant indifference coming from him was unbearable.  “Fighting against us… we’re just trying to help you,” she tells him.  The banging coming from the fridge intensifies. Now he’s forcefully moving condiments around the shelves. His frustration has now started to finally show.  Good, she needs to see some type of fight from him. To know that the man she loves is in there still.  “You know Melinda…I’ve told you to leave it alone. I’ve accepted it.” He says dismissing the problem, still staring into the fridge.  She hates this too. This thing he now does. Not looking at her. Rarely meeting her eyes. Whether it’s fiddling with his watch, reading files, checking the chamber in his gun, or touching the electronic screen on his robot hand, he’s always pretending to be busy with something. Everything else seems to be much more appealing to look at than her.   She won’t accept his death ever. They are shield. He was dead and came back. Daisy was as good as dead and came back. She, herself, was dead and came back. There has to be some solution to this problem. It would be much easier if he would just help out a little bit. Maybe be open to any suggestion they had instead of shooting every single one down.  “Well I haven’t. None of us have. You can’t just give up when there could be a chance.” “So I can end up like John Garrett? Is that what you want?” He asks, voice suddenly booming. His hands tightly squeeze the handles on the fridge doors. She can see the white of his knuckles.  John Garrett, that psychotic son of a bitch. He was more robot than man. His body had completely failed him by the time the surgeries began. She wasn’t suggesting Phil do anything that painful. She’d never want that.  “No. I-” He slams the fridge doors shut and unexpectedly spins around, nostrils flaring. "All my life people have been pushing me into these things that I don’t want to do. Did I want Tahiti to happen? No. But guess what? My opinion didn’t seem to matter. And they brought me back anyway. I never wanted that. It’s been constant torture ever since. And now you are trying to force me to go through it again. What is wrong with you? All you want is to hurt people….is that it?“ She stares in shock as if he’d slapped her. "Phil.” He’d never spoken to her like this before. All you want is to hurt people. What is wrong with you? “I don’t want….” Her voice abruptly cuts off as her throat closes up. He’s rendered her speechless with his words. She doesn’t want him to die or to be in pain. Losing him would be unimaginable. There were hundreds of things she didn’t want to happen.  “I was dead! Do you get that? For days in a morgue. Stone cold dead! Then just like that I wasn’t because people who supposedly cared about me let unnatural things happen to me. They messed with my brain and body. Made me believe I was on vacation but I was being cut open and physically changed! That is not okay and I will never go through that again.” He tells her, voice heavy with emotion. Darkness swirls in his eyes. His hands clench into fists at his sides.  She knows he’s silently struggled with the weight of everything from Tahiti. It’s been tough for him to share the memories and feelings. But this is the first time he’s said any of this. It takes her back to his screams in the memory machine when Raina kidnapped him. Let me die. Just let me die. He’d yelled over and over again, voice cracking from desperately pleading.  Of course she knew his death bothered and unsettled him, but not to this extent. To hear him say that it wasn’t his choice- that if he had one he would’ve rather stayed dead. It breaks her heart to listen to him say he’s been in pain. Why didn’t he come to her?  Because she let it happen. When Fury had approached her about it there was a choice. She could’ve walked away and refused to be a part of any of it. There was an implication that they may not move forward with the procedure if she didn’t agree. Fury had pressured her: you’re the one he trusts completely, he’d go back in the field if you were there, you can be a team again. Those suggestions did things to her back then. When she was still reeling from the news of his death. For Fury to hang all of those dreams over her head, there was no question as to what she would do. Ultimately, she selfishly couldn’t let him go. She couldn’t breathe without Phil Coulson on this Earth. It was still true to this day.  She’s one of the people who hurt him.  “And you…” he accuses, eyes squinting and scrutinizing her. He steps up into her space.  “My best friend….my teammate….my partner had the audacity to lie to my face for months about it. Pretending to care. What kind of monster would do that?” He questions, lip curling in disgust, shaking his head at her.  One thing is clear: he hates her. He may always have for what she’s done to him and now the truth is finally coming out. She always feared he secretly held a grudge against her for it. But, these past few years he’s been so supportive and caring towards her. Always by her side, checking on her. So the thought had melted away.  But now it’s come back like a knife plunging in her chest over and over again.  He has sucked the air away from her- calling her a monster, asking why she wanted to put him through this again. The one person that she thought would never hurt her like this was him. But now he has and she’s shattered inside.  How did this conversation get so twisted?  She never wanted to hurt him. She doesn’t want him hurt at all.  There was never any pretending to care on her part. If anything she cared too much. Too much that it swallowed her up and drove her to agree to Tahiti. It wasn’t a choice, only instinct. Her soul needed him; clung to him, without him she was broken.  “That is not true. I did care. I do…care about you.” I love you, she holds the words back. They’d only cause embarrassment. He didn’t want to hear them.  She was losing him all over again.  “I don’t want help! I don’t need help… especially from you!” He yells emphasizing each word. Then, he pushes past her heading for the exit, bumping her shoulder in his haste.  The emptiness in the room without his presence is palpable in her chest.  She stares at the floor, trying to process everything that just happened. The instinct to go after him runs through her, but she knows that would be a mistake. It would only end in more hurt. She wouldn’t be able to take anymore of his accusations. The loathing emanating from his eyes directed solely at her.  I don’t need help especially from you!  He didn’t want any help from her because he believes she’s a monster. A killer. Is this what he’s always secretly thought?  Maybe he was just pretending through their whole partnership- only tolerating her because she was useful. So he could take advantage of the Cavalry’s skillset.  Just what the team needed, a cold-hearted specialist that was willing to do anything and stay quiet. That’s exactly how he’d looked at her seconds ago. The revulsion in his eyes, she can’t stop it from replaying in her mind as if it’s been imprinted there.  Never before has Phil made her feel like this- like he didn’t know her at all. The way everyone else always did. That she was a mindless killing machine that never cared about anyone or anything.  Everything has changed. She can’t help feeling that she’s lost him for good this time.  She can’t be in this room any longer. It’s suffocating and her appetite has since disappeared. She leaves in a hurry, hoping no one she knows will be in the hallway. That’s the last thing she needs.  Turning left, towards her room, she sees a lump on the ground. As she gets closer, her eyes widen as she realizes it’s a person sprawled face first against the hard concrete. The black boots, pants, and jacket are unmistakable. She’d just seen them minutes ago.  It’s Phil. He never made it even fifty feet away from her. Panic floods every part of her as she runs to his side. From what she can see he’s completely still.  No, please, no.  He’d collapsed again, body unable to take the stress. Just like before. Only this time she’s the one who caused it.  She falls to her knees near his shoulders. His eyes are closed.  “Phil….Phil!” She calls out to him trying to rouse him.  Please be okay.  Her hands grab onto his shoulders and shake him.  “Phil!"  There’s no response.  She wraps her hands around his upper body and rolls him over onto his back. Her eyes focus on his chest, carefully waiting for it to move. But his eyes remain shut as does his mouth.  Nothing moves. Instinct tells her to begin CPR. Her hands hover over his chest, but she freezes, unable to bring herself to begin. Chest compressions might hurt him even more. They might cause irreparable damage to his body, especially if she applies pressure to the scar tissue. God, she doesn’t know what to do.  She’ll call Simmons for help. The cell phone leaves her back pocket easily; she almost drops it from shaking so hard.  It’s too soon. They didn’t have enough time. She isn’t ready to let him go. There’s too much left to say.  It takes her three times to enter the correct passcode to unlock her phone. She scrolls through her emergency contacts searching for Simmons’ name. Her fingers would not steady against the screen. They twitch and shake as she tries to swallow her panic, feeling the loss of control.  "May!” It’s Phil’s voice, coming from far away, calling her name.  She blinks and the tears fall down her face. He isn’t even gone and she’s already imagining his voice.  Footsteps echo through the hall. Maybe someone can help her.  Bang! Bang! Bang! Three gunshots ring out. She flinches almost jumping out of her skin. There’s no pain in her body so she concludes she wasn’t hit. She moves to check Phil and her whole world falls apart. There’s a hole in his shoulder and two in his chest. She stares, horrified as her brain tries to work through this. Someone in this bunker hit Phil. They were supposed to be safe.
Before she can even begin to react- to reach for her weapon or scream, his body disappears like mist. She tries grabbing him, but all her hands hit is empty air. His body, his clothes- everything is gone. Every single part of Phil fades away. 
The concrete floor is the only thing left as she stares in shock at the space his body just inhabited. 
This cannot be happening. 
“May.”
Her eyes snap up towards the voice and she sees Phil standing right there in front of her. Concern clouds his features. He’s breathless from running. He’d been the one coming down the hall- the footsteps that she heard. 
What is this?
Instinct tells her to move back- to get away from him. But she’s all but lost control of her body so all that happens is she falls to the side slightly. She should run or lift her gun. But she can’t move at all. An unconscious Phil with 3 gunshots to the chest just disappeared and now he’s standing here perfectly fine.  
“Melinda,” he says softly. In that trademark Phil tone. The one that he uses when he’s worried about her. 
It’s too much. Him talking to her, caring about her, when she just lost him.
She doesn’t know what to do. 
The shaking in her hands only gets worse as she feels herself lose control of the situation- losing control of herself. Tears blur her vision. 
He joins her on the floor, mirroring her position, pressing his knees tightly against hers. It should be impossible but the warmth is there. The solidness of his body demands to be felt. He touches her hand next, clutches it between his fingers. Holding onto her so tightly as if he’ll never let go. 
He feels so real. She wants to believe it. Their warm hands against each other, clasped together. His hand calloused from the hardships of being an agent. Each mark a story of the years they spent together. 
“Hey. Hey. It wasn’t real. That wasn’t me. I’m here. I’m right here,” he whispers gently compassion flashing in his eyes. 
She can’t even speak. All she can do is choke back her sobs. Her mind is short circuiting- the resistance she first had fading fast. He’s swaying her. 
All she does is staring between him and the spot where he just was: barely breathing and half dead. "You-u….w-were….“ her voice breaks off as she crumbles.
"No. That was another projection from that blue light. This is me. This is me. I’m here. I’m real,” he reassures her, tugging on her hand to bring her towards him. 
She goes willingly, unable to stay away. 
The blue light in that room. Fitz did make an announcement about it, but she never thought it could manifest itself like this. At the time she thought she’d be seeing Lash again and that maybe this time he’d attack her.  Or maybe Katya would show up and try to take her hand. Dead people is what she pictured- past nightmares coming back to haunt her. 
She never imagined it would be like this. Not her current nightmare. Not Phil. Not someone who was still warm and breathing. Not the man that she loves dying in front of her. 
But, he’s here now holding onto her. He’s alive and solid. She clings to his shirt, cries into his chest. His arms stay locked around her body. She swears she feels him shaking too.  
Her hands touch every part of him that she can without breaking their embrace. His thigh. His stomach. His back. His chest. All real. Yet, it all felt this real when he was unconscious and crumpled on the floor. How could that not have been real? 
The slow circles he rubs on her back helps ease the pain and calm her down. 
“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he tells her with such intensity. It’s a promise. One that he will be forced to break in the near future when his heart finally does stop beating. The thought makes the tears come faster. She needs him too much. She won’t survive without him. Phil makes her feel safe. He makes everything okay.
“I’m here. I’ve got you.” He slowly whispers in her ear while tightly cradling her body to his chest. It helps her forget about the lingering nightmare still burning in her subconscious. 
What is wrong with you? All you want is to hurt people. I don’t need help especially from you. 
It was all of her worst fears bombarding her at once. And it succeeded in getting to her. 
She buries her head deeper into his chest, blocking out the voice. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t real.
This is Phil. This is home. 
.//end//
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rattmemes · 6 years
Text
‘Grandpa’ by Brandon Rogers
Sentence starters from the ‘Grandpa’ character portrayed by Brandon Rogers! PLEASE note that some of these are OFFENSIVE as that’s the humor of the videos! Don’t reblog if you don’t like! These are not to be taken seriously in ANY WAY
“ You want me to tell you what? A bedtime story? ” “ Well it’s gonna have to be a spooky one because it’s the Halloween time ” “ And then the pharmacist told the boy you got type two diaaabeeetteeees ” “ And then the boy never had candy agaaaaiiin ” “ I need a pharmacist! ” “ All these trees stealin’ my oxygen ” “ FUCK diabetes ” “ I need more candy! ” “ I’m a real grandpa! ” “ I’m still not having any fun! ” “ When the fuck did we get to Holland? ” “ Hurry up in there my grandson has to take a Walt Disney shit! ” “God dammit, boy, how you miss the bowl? ” “ You want me to pass? ” “ You want me to see Jesus? ” “ FUCK- I’ve been jingled jangled! ” “ The god damn flashlight is broken again, where we keep the spare? ” “ This one ain’t workin’ either! ” “ I got so many demons ” “ Ohh, I got some spooky ass demons ” “ What the fuck did you just call me? ” “ FUUUUUCK- did I close that garage door? ” “ You’s a bitch and ya mammi is TOO ” “ I need to find that pharmacist ” “ Son, I’m gonna ask you one more time put that candy back I am not buying you that sugar ” “ One... Two... Do I have to get to three? ” “ Santa’s watchin’ you, asshole! ” “ Oh, I’m gonna have a ball with this ” “ Excuse me young man, where’s your pharmacist section? ” “ Will you come over here and help me fix my diaper? ” “ Oh shit, we’re bein’ pulled over- everybody be cool- here hide these- ” “ My license? Yes, I remember givin’ it to your mammi to prove I was over eighteen ” “ ... Who am I? ” “ God damn dementia where the hell am I? ” “ Y’know back when I met your first gran’mammi back in, uh, 1857, well uh, she was the pharmacist at that time- ” “ Y’know when your mammi gave birth to you, she had to get sheself a c-section. That was the saddest section of her life ” “ I would like to speak with that pharmacist, please ” “ I drank some bleach all the way down to the blue and now I’m startin’ to feel like Harry Potters ” “ Yeah, well, I took the whole goddamn bottle of these vitamins here ” “ Well it tasted like candy to me ” “ You know somethin’? You really suck at playing hide-and-seek ” “ Y’know that ____ looks like a pharmacist ” “ Jesus, that ____ look’s like they could use a pharmacist ” “ Alright, you’ve had enough pills give me back my bottle ” “ My goddamn grandkids keep playing holiday prank on me ” “ Give me back my colostomy bag, grandpa’s gonna have a black friday blow out- ” “ That was my last pamper- ” “ Look at the whip he’s got, that ___ owns somebody ” “ They’re sellin’ dildos to kids! ” “ Don’t look at the dildos! ” “ Oh, a spooky ghost! ” “ Hi, ___, you still look like a slut! ” “ I met my first valentine on this ride, their name was ___. They’re a ghost now ” “ I came to American on that boat- I’m ready to now! ” “ C’mon, let’s go, they’re gonna vote for Hillary! ” “ Get fucked, fatty ” “ You wanna get your shit pushed in? ” “ My least favorite is ___, the oldest one, they are why I’m pro-choice ” *vomitting into the toilet* “ Go get grandpa more eggnog- and get your homework done! ” “ You had it comin’- you had it comin’, asshole! ” “God dammit get your homework do-- FUCK- ” “ All I got for Christmas was a gun and some skittles ” “ You think you slick, ___? Your friends only know you as a hole-haver ” “Ooohh, a goddamn wreath ” “ Ohh, I’ve done strayed too far from home this time ” “ I could hike home with these shit knees, or I could be a man and face the 14 angry women waiting for me at the pearly gates, and that one very confused boy ” “ Who else wanna see Jesus? ” “ Know about what? ” “ I wanna go home! ” “ I’m not thirsty little boy ” “ I’m done with this queer party I just wanna go home ” “ No, bitch ” “ Try me, bitch ” “ This needs to happen less frequently ” “ Congragulations you just triggered a Vietnam flashback ” “ Something just popped! ” “ Ah-ah-ah, stop pointing at that retarded boy ” “ Boy, pull up your god damn pants, I can see Pinocchio and he is telling the truth ” “ The hell am I supposed to do with this? I can’t shove this up my ass ” “ I wanna hang myself ” “ What did I tell you about the candy? This sweetie gonna give you diabete, no ” “ I’m not scared! ” “ Outta my way, I’m a real grandpa ” “ I haven’t touched a piece of candy in twenty years ” “ Well I suppose a little bit never hurt nobody ” “ You’re not my grandson! Go away! ” “ C’mon, keep up with grandpa ” “ Stupid kids! ” “ Another candy store! ” “ Excuse me, pharmacist, where’s your sugar section? ” “ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ” “ The holocaust was a farce! ” “ What the hell you mean I can’t go on this ride? ” “ We ain’t goin’ no where until you drink all your milk ” “ Now I gotta go scare off these damn trick-or-treaters ” “ I told you mother fuckin’ kids to leave me the fuck alone ” “ Every Halloween I have the same god damn nightmare. A goblin tries to eat out my asshole” “ Last week I got mugged by a goddamn ballerina. She tried to make me pass away, then the bitch spun away ” “ Have you seen this app? It shows you what you’re gonna look like when you get old and fucked up ” “ The spookiest thing in this store is that a dick that small is in my gene pool ” “ Put that candy back I am not buying you shit! ” “ Fuck me right the asshole ” “ I don’t want this anymore ” “ Oh this might be supreme on the tortilla ” “ Look at this they serverin’ human food to dogs ” “ Oh, this is longer than my dick ” “ Get back here you little asshole ” “ Dammit, boy, where are you hidin’ ” “ When we get home, I’m gonna give you a spooky ass grounding ” “ Oh, a goblin! ” “ What the fuck is alla this? ” “ Y’know the oldest one keep decoratin’ me when I’m asleep? ” “ I don’t want no damn flower ” “ ‘Cause I’m allergic, you want me to pass? ” “ Ah-ah-- goddammit boy why you gotta play with the dog’s asshole you got an iphone! ” “ No, it’s the youngest one this time, he keep playin’ with that dog’s asshole ” “ Oh, look who’s gettin’ slick at the mouth ” “ You just lost Werther’s privileges after dinner ” “ Lookit that the logo is what? An asshole ” “ That’s too tight for me ” “ Pull up your pants, boy, this isn’t Red Lobster ” “ I lost my heart many Valentines ago ” “ Stop tryin’ give me damn flowers ” “ You know I’m allergic, you want me to see Jesus? ” “ You can stick these flowers you know where. Asshole ”
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returntothefalls · 7 years
Text
Prologue
Return to the Falls, a Gravity Falls fanfiction
Before heading back to Gravity Falls for the summer, Stan and Ford make a quick stop at an old haunt.  However, they are surprised to also find a familiar face waiting for them.
(Chapter 1 of “Return to the Falls”, a Gravity Falls fanfiction.  The up-to-date entirety can be found here.)
A.
The old man opened his eyes and blinked, confused.  He was in the living room, in the old recliner, the best seat in the house.  He must have dozed off while watching “Duck-tective,” but that didn’t seem right.  That show engrossed him far too much to put him to sleep, even if he’d seen the episode a hundred times.
X.
The TV was turned off, but that in itself wasn’t odd.  If he’d fallen asleep with it on, his brother would have shut it off.  That old nerd hated wasting energy and had gone on a big power-saving kick after getting the house back in working order, insisting that the rest of the family keep their lights off and devices unplugged when not necessary.  Of course, that all seemed pretty rich coming from the guy who built a giant universe portal that ran exclusively on raw nuclear waste.  It was a miracle the thing hadn’t rendered the whole town uninhabitable when it went to pieces.
O.
Stan looked around, frowning.  Had he imagined that sound?  Maybe his hearing aid was on the fritz.  The house seemed to be quiet, after all.  The kids must have been outside.  Or … what time was it?  Afternoon?  Night?  The fact that he’d dozed off didn’t help him much; he could fall asleep in the armchair no matter the hour.  Oh well, he felt no need to worry.  Right now, all he wanted was a nice cool drink to counteract the heavy summer air.
L.
A slight noise drew his attention and he glanced to his right.  A pink aluminum can sat on the dinosaur skull end table.  Had that been there before?  He grabbed it and nearly dropped it in surprise; it was ice cold.  Maybe Mabel had left it.  She knew how much he loved his Pitt Cola, especially on a hot day like this.  Without further question, he popped the tab.
O.
The frosty beverage fizzed delightfully in his mouth.  He took a long, refreshing drink and sighed in contentment.  Now this was more like it.  If the kids were out, he might as well just kick back and enjoy some alone time.  He took another swig of his soda and picked up the remote.  With the house to himself, this would be the perfect time to check out the Black and White Period Piece Old Lady Boring Movie Channel.  The Shack was usually too busy for him to have a private moment to sit down and enjoy his guilty pleasure in peace.  He pressed the power button.
T.
There was a soft sound, like the gentle whisper of a breeze, but the television did not come on.  He frowned and jabbed the button again.  Still, there was no reaction.  The batteries must have been dead.  Of course this couldn’t be easy.  He flopped back in the chair and groaned, even though no one was around to appreciate his dramatics.  Why couldn’t Ford have invented a lifelong remote battery, or a robot butler to fetch new batteries, or something useful of that nature.  Surely he and the hillbilly could have put something together.  Sighing, Stan stood up, resigning himself to the fact that he’d have to move from his seat in order to change the batteries.
L.
The TV flashed on, startling him with the sudden burst of color and sound.  A young man with brown hair and an open-collared shirt danced onto the screen.  “Hi, I’m Stan Pines of Stan Co. Enterprises!”  Stan recoiled in shock from the face.  His face.
A.
It was a voice, fully audible now, emanating from everywhere and nowhere.  This time, Stan heard it clearly over the commercial.  The TV screen buzzed with static and the image changed.  It was the younger Stan again, now sporting a bushy mustache.  “Hi, I’m Steve Pinington!”  Stan backed away further, sweat running down his back.  Was it getting hotter?  Was the TV possessed?  Weirder things had happened in the Shack.  Steam rose from the aquarium tank and, judging by the smell, Mabel’s lobster had been boiled to delicious perfection.
X.
Stan’s hair stood on end.  The room felt charged by the voice, like lightning was about to strike.  The TV flickered again.  “Hi, I’m Stetson Pinefield!  Are you tired of piles of owls constantly blocking your driveway?”
O.
The images flew by faster and faster.  Stan’s skin was like wax, melting and dripping to the floor, but he felt no pain.
L.
“I’m Hal Forrester!”
O.
“They call me 8-Ball Alcatraz!”
T.
“Hi, I’m Mr. Mystery!”
L.
An exterior shot of the Mystery Shack remained on the screen, but its surroundings changed.  The sign fell away, the decorations disappeared.  Snow blanketed the house.  The man of many names was still there, standing on the front porch, staring longingly at the door.
A.    X.  O.  L.  O.  T.  L.
The voice droned on with greater intensity.  Stan sank to his knees, which squished sickeningly into the carpet.  The picture darkened and the Shack faded away, but a strange orange symbol still glowed in the blackness.  Without warning, Stan’s back seared with pain and he screamed as blue fire erupted from his scar.
A X O L O T L.
The screen changed one more time.  Another man appeared, almost identical to the young Stan, but wilder, a manic glint in his unblinking eyes.  A tattered red book was clutched in his six-fingered hands.  He stared into Stan’s eyes as though he were there in the room, not merely an image on a screen.  And perhaps he was.
The Journal floated out of his hand, pages flipping wildly in an unfelt gale.  Azure flames licked at Stan’s legs and he struggled to stand back up, but he slumped forward again, his decaying body unable to handle the effort.  A long, merciless laugh rang out, coming from the flames, from the Journal, from the doppelganger in the television.
A X O L O T L A X O L O T L A X O L O T L.
The fire loomed over Stan, twisting and writhing like an entity in itself.  From within the chaotic mass, a familiar shape began to emerge.
“Stanley?”
The man from the TV was looking up at the fire, panic in his eyes.  He lifted up into the air, his arms flailing, as he was drawn through the screen and toward the hellish triangle.  Stan lunged forward, mustering all his energy, but he still could not reach.  “St-Stanford!”  He gritted his teeth, ignoring the flesh-colored drops that fell from his fingertips.
“Stanley?”  The young Stanford was frantic, kicking and screaming in a vain attempt to distance himself from the fire.  A white light glowed in the center of the triangle, shining like a beacon amidst the scorching sapphire.  The mocking laughter shook the earth.
Stan tried to lift his arms, but his energy was gone.  He fell to his side, could feel his cheeks sticking in the carpet, but his eyes were still locked on his brother.  The words came unbidden to his lips.  “I just got him back, I can’t lose him again!”
But he did not stop.  With one final scream, Stanford disappeared into the light and the triangle, still laughing hysterically, crashed down onto Stan, consuming him in fire.
“Stanley!!!”
Stan sat straight up, gasping for breath.  He spun around, but the flames were gone.  The entire room had changed.  He was sitting in a bed, a rather small one.  His bed.  He grabbed his glasses from the small bedside table and slipped them on, blinking as the world came into focus.  The small cabin rose and fell in the gentle rhythm of the sea that he had grown so accustomed to.  A figure stooped by the bed, gripping Stan’s arm with both hands.  It was his brother – the grizzled old adventurer, not his crazy-eyed younger counterpart, driven half-insane by nightmares and paranoia.
Ford smiled, apparently relieved.  “Thank goodness, you’re awake.”
“Yeah, thanks for that,” Stan grumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes.  “I’m an old man, sleepin’ is one o’ the few pleasures left in life.”
“Sorry, but you were mumbling and thrashing around,” Ford said.  “Seemed like you were having a nightmare.  Everything okay?”
Stan swallowed hard, the image of the younger Ford covered in blue flames flashing through his mind again.  “Of course I’m fine,” he said, keeping his voice steady.  “I met the king o’ nightmares once, and I smashed his two-dimensional keister into a million pieces.  There’s no nightmare left that can get the jump on ole Stanley Pines.”
Ford gave a short laugh.  “Alright, fair point.  But don’t hesitate if there’s anything you need to talk about.  I promise, I’ll listen.”
“Don’t get all mushy on me yet,” Stan said, lightly shoving his brother aside as he climbed out of bed.  “I haven’t even had my coffee.”
“Already poured you a mug,” Ford said, moving to the door.  “Drink it fast and get ready.  We arrived while you were sleeping.”
Stan froze halfway through pulling on his pants.  “Here?  Already?”  He pushed past Ford and stepped out of the cabin.  The ocean breeze tousled his shaggy hair as he crossed the deck, inhaling a deep lungful of tasty sea air.  He leaned over the rail and gazed across the gray water to the dingy shore beyond.
Ford appeared next to him, coffee in hand.  “I honestly never thought I’d see this place again.”  He paused, watching a seagull as it drifted in lazy circles overhead.  “I wasn’t sure I wanted to see this place again.”
“I know the feeling,” Stan said.  “Technically speaking, I shouldn’t even set foot in the state.  But hey, it’s been forty some years, no one’s gonna remember my ugly mug.”
Ford smirked.  “Well, let’s get this over with.  You get dressed and I’ll take us in.”
Stan turned back to the cabin, then glanced over his shoulder again at the city awaiting him.  “I’m finally back,” he murmured, feeling almost dreamlike as he looked across the misty bay to the small wooden sign standing at the water’s edge, too far away to read but familiar nonetheless.  “Glass Shard Beach.”
***
Strange as it was to return to Glass Shard Beach after so many decades, their entry had been quick and easy.  Ford got them a good price for docking – and Stan continued haggling with the dockworker until the poor sap settled for $5 and an “ancient Antarctic artifact” made of paperclips, chewed gum, and some soon-to-be melted ice cubes.  From there, they set out on foot, visiting a few familiar haunts.  For a silent thirty minutes, they sat in the sand beneath a dilapidated old swingset, its seats long ago rotted away, and watched calm foamy waves lap at the shore.  They explored the cave that had seemed like a whole new world to two adventurous New Jersey preteens; now, it was small and empty, offering nothing more than hollow nostalgia.  The old pawn shop had been converted into a tattoo parlor.  Stan joked that they ought to get matching tattoos, but Ford just pulled his coat a little more tightly around his neck and kept walking.  And now, after a hearty breakfast at Hot Belgian Waffles, they reached their final destination.
Raindrops began to fall, slowly at first.  Ford opened his umbrella and held it over Stan and himself.  The brothers stood before three weathered stones.  They were alone in the cemetery with nothing but unvoiced thoughts and unseen ghosts.  Stan’s eyes ran over each of the graves, waiting for some kind of emotion to stir up inside him:  sadness, regret, satisfaction?  But he felt only emptiness as he read the three names again and again:  his father’s, his mother’s, and his own.
Ford was the first to break the silence.  “It was three days before I thought of them.”  Stan kept his eyes locked on Filbrick’s name.  “I’d been back in Gravity Falls for three days,” Ford continued.  “I was in the basement, dismantling the Portal.  Much easier to take apart than it was to build.  But I guess that’s true for most things.”  He chuckled quietly, but his smile faded as he looked at Stan.  “Things had calmed down a bit by then, and I found myself thinking about all that I’d missed in the thirty years I was gone.  And I thought about Ma, and Dad, and … well, I knew there was no way they’d still be around.  So I never bothered to ask.  And I thought a hundred times about coming back here to see them, but …”  He trailed off.
Stan put a hand on Ford’s shoulder.  “I would never’ve come back here without you either, Sixer.”
Ford smiled.  “Thank you, Stanley.”
Stan gently elbowed his brother in the ribs.  “That wasn’t so hard to say now, was it?”  The two laughed, and Stan marveled at how far they’d come in the last nine months.  That which had once divided them now brought them together.
“I’m glad we could do this,” Ford said.  He frowned, gesturing to the third gravestone.  “But we should probably tell somebody that you’re not actually dead.”
“Eh, the less people who know that, the better,” Stan said, waving his hand dismissively.  “And, uh, ya should probably check with me before ya make any out-o’-state trips in the future.  There may or may not be a few outstanding warrants in your name in the Northwest.  And the Southwest.  And the Midwest, the South, pretty much all your contiguous United States.  And, uh, you’re not sittin’ too hot south of the border either.  Basically, just stick to Oregon, Canada, and international waters, and even then I can’t make any promises.”
Ford sighed, massaging his temple and smiling in spite of himself.  “I’ll try to keep that in mind.  Now come on, we’d better get moving if we’re hoping to get home on time.”
Stan nodded.  “Nothin’ left for us in this town anyway.”  Together, he and Ford turned away from the graves, ready to leave, but they immediately stopped in their tracks.
Another figure was strolling down the path toward them, shielded from the rain by a purple umbrella spotted with a white floral design.  It was an old woman, her face wrinkled and her shoulder-length hair white, but her stride was long and confident, undeterred by her onset age.  Stan squinted at her, his brow furrowed in concentration.  Even after his time spent with Ford and the kids, there were still little gaps in his memory that plagued him from time to time.  And now something was setting off bells in his head, an image fighting to resurface at the edge of his consciousness.
The woman paused mid-step as she saw the two men in front of her, then continued toward them, flashing a friendly smile.  “And here I thought I’d be the only one out here on a gloomy day like this,” she said.
Ford waited for Stan to speak – normally he was the one to take charge in social situations – but Stan’s mouth remained set in a grim line.  “We were just in town for the day,” Ford said quickly.  “Just leaving now, if you’ll excuse us.”
“Oh, of course,” the woman said, stepping aside.  She glanced at the three gravestones as Ford moved past her, dragging Stan alongside him.  “Did you know the Pines family?” she asked.
Ford didn’t look back.  “Yes, we knew them.”
The woman nodded.  “I did too, a long time ago.  I thought I’d come see them one more time before I moved on to greener pastures.”  She stared at the third tombstone for a moment before looking back to the brothers.  “They suffered so much.  But I’m sure you knew that already.”  She smiled sadly.  “I had just left town before it all started falling apart.  Maybe if I’d stuck around, I could have done something to help.”
Stan gave a harsh laugh and finally met her gaze.  “Lady, lemme tell ya, there’s nothin’ you or anyone else coulda done to help that mess of a family.”
The woman locked eyes with Stan, her expression mournful yet curious.  Stan simply shrugged and turned away, nudging Ford to start moving.  However, before he could take a step, the quiet voice behind him spoke once more.
“Stanley?”
He froze.  Slowly he turned back.  A single word popped into his head; it was strange, nonsensical, but it felt right.  He was on the cusp of remembering, he just had to let that one word loose in the air.
“Hotpants?”
The woman laughed, even as her eyes brimmed with tears.  “No one’s called me that in a long time.”  She ran forward, dropping her umbrella in the dirt and throwing her arms around Stan.  A rush of warmth ran through him as the bubbles of memory burst in his brain.  He’d felt these arms wrapped around his neck before.
Ford’s eyes widened as he came to the same realization.  “Carla?  Carla McCorkle?”
“It’s good to see you, Stanford,” she said, pulling back from Stan and bending down to retrieve her discarded umbrella.  She looked between the two brothers and laughed again.  “I can’t believe I’m standing here with you two.”  She glanced back at gravestones.  “You know, I always wondered about you, Stanley.  Seemed to me that a crazy guy like you would never kick the bucket so easily.  But to think that I’d find you here now…”  She wiped away a few stray tears.  “Well, I never dared to hope for that.”
“I never thought I’d see you again either,” Stan said.  “I’ve, uh, had a lot on my plate for the last few decades.”
“I can imagine,” Carla said.  “Wow, I just … wow.  You’re alive.  Stanley Filbrick Pines is alive and standing right in front of me.”  She looked to Ford.  “There’s a story here.”
“A long one,” Ford said.
Stan scoffed.  “My brother got too deep into sciency stuff and I had to fake my death and pretend to be him for thirty years while I tried to save his life.”  He shrugged.  “Pretty simple, if ya ask me.”
Carla raised an eyebrow.  “Sounds like you’ve come a long ways from driving my boyfriend’s van off a cliff.”
“That hippie jerk was hypnotizin’ ya with his trash flower music!” Stan said.  “I stand by what I did!”  His voice softened.  “But y’know, I’m, uh, sorry for all that.  My nephew tells me that mighta been a bit much.”
“I appreciate the apology,” Carla said.  “But don’t worry about it.  I’m sure you’ve grown a lot since then.”
“Less than you probably think,” Ford muttered, earning a jab in the ribs from his brother.
Carla was unable to hide her smile.  “So, you say you have a nephew?  Do you two have families?”
Stan grinned sheepishly.  “Eh, we have our niece and nephew, Shermie’s grandkids.  But that’s it.  I dated around, but I never found anyone worth settlin’ down with.  And my nerd brother ain’t exactly the marryin’ type.”  He leaned in closer, glancing conspiratorially back at Ford.  “Though if ya ask me, there’s a hillbilly back home he’d make a cute couple with.”
“Stan, I can hear you.”
Stan ignored Ford and winked at Carla.  “And what about you?  Live happily ever after with your granola-munchin’ Prince Charming?”
Carla snorted derisively.  “No, Thistle Downe went out with disco.  Dark times, those 70’s.”  She shuddered.  “But your story sounds a lot like mine.  There were a few guys who came and went, but none of them were right for me.”
“Shame, they all missed out,” Stan said.  “You’ve aged phenomenally.”  He blushed.  “Er, y’know, for an old broad.”
“How flattering,” Carla said dryly.  “You’ve not done too bad yourself, Stan Pines.”  Stan’s face grew redder and Carla laughed.
Ford cleared his throat.  “Not to intrude on this happy reunion, but we do have places to be.  The kids will be coming to town in a week and we hope to be there when they arrive.”
“Geez, Poindexter, sounds like you’re in a hurry to get rid of me,” Carla said, her tone playful.
Stan sighed.  “Much of a buzzkill as he may be, my brother’s right.”
“I understand completely,” Carla said.  She smiled.  “It sounds like everything has turned out pretty well for you guys.  I’m really happy for you.  After everything that went down back in high school, I was afraid of where you would end up.”
“We went through a lotta bad stuff,” Stan said.  “And it took us a long time to get past it.  But we made it.”  He grinned.  “Maybe I’ll tell ya the whole story sometime.”
“I’d love to talk again,” Carla said.  “Can I have your cell number?”
Stan scowled.  “Hey, I’ll have you know I haven’t been to jail since … er, if ya don’t count that night for the Madame Ben Franklin dollars, or that whole nuclear waste thing that I was completely innocent of, then I guess it would be –”
Carla smirked.  “Stan, I mean your cell phone number.”
Stan’s face flushed red again.  “Er, yeah, of course.  Uh, Ford, do we have one of those doohickeys?”
“Fiddleford fixed up this old laptop to give us direct video connection to Dipper, Mabel, and Soos’s devices,” Ford said.  “And he also gave me this long-range walkie talkie for whenever we need tech support, like when Stan tries using the computer to check his cash-for-gold sites and crashes it with pop-up advertisements.”
“It’s important business!” Stan said indignantly.  He leaned closer to Carla again.  “Y’see, there’s change comin’.  People say gold’s on the rise, but the real money’s in turquoise.  Little pro-tip for ya.”
Ford sighed.  “So to answer your question, no, we don’t have a cell phone.”
Carla laughed.  “No worries.  I’m sure we’ll get something worked out.  Ask your niece and nephew to look me up on the Internet, they can hook us up.”
“It’s a deal,” Stan said.  “If you’re ever in the neighborhood, just drop on by.  That’s Gravity Falls, Oregon, by the way.  Come to the Mystery Shack, buy some keychains, and ask for the original Mr. Mystery.”  He gave a thumbs up and winked.  “That’s me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Carla said, smiling.  She extended a hand, blinking in confusion as both brothers flinched back in response.  But they recovered quickly, and Ford and Stan each shook her hand in turn.  Stan’s fingers locked through hers, lingering in her grasp for a few extra seconds before he drew his hand back.
Ford coughed awkwardly.  “Uh, Stan?”
“Yeah yeah, I’m comin’,” Stan grumbled.  He made finger guns with both hands and pointed to Carla.  “You stay frosty, puddin’ … uh, puddin’ pie, dessert cream, uh, creamy cat.”  He covered his face with his hand.  “Er, bye.”
Carla laughed and gave him another short hug.  “Goodbye, Stan.  I’m glad you’re alive.”  She turned to Ford.  “Make sure that doesn’t change.”
“It’s a struggle, but I’ve managed so far,” Ford said.  He put an arm around Stan and turned him around.  “Come on, Stan.  Back to the ship.”
“A good brother wouldn’t let me make an idiot of myself like that,” Stan muttered.
“When have I ever been a good brother?”
Carla watched as the two old men walked away, bickering good-naturedly like they had as kids.  Whatever had happened to them in the interim, some things never truly changed.  It was a comforting realization.
She stared down at the gravestone before her and shook her head in disbelief.  She had seen a lot of extraordinary things in her life, but Stanley Pines certainly took the cake.  She still remembered the sparsely-attended funeral, where Ma Pines had stood up and given a short speech about her “free spirit” who had left too soon.  Shermie stuttered through a generic speech about brotherly love.  Filbrick remained stony-faced, never speaking a word through the whole event.  And Ford didn’t even bother to show up – though now she knew why.  Otherwise, there was nothing more than a smattering of townspeople, several of whom were simply looking for a refund on their Stan-Vacs or Shammies.  Carla wasn’t sure why she attended, but she was glad she did.  She’d seen firsthand how the world treated Stanley Pines, and she respected him all the more for his ability to keep standing under all that abuse.  There was something to be appreciated in a man like that.
A coy smile played at the edges of her lips.  She’d spent the last few years with no real aim in life anyway.  But now she knew where she could find a little fun.  She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and ran a quick search for maps, transportation, lodging.
Everything she needed to know about Gravity Falls.
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