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deancas-stabfest · 8 months

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STABFEST 2022 WRAPPED

GREETINGS, STABBERS

Last year was the debut of our precious child, DeanCas StabFest (FUNSIZED), and in the very humble opinion of the mods, it was a smashing success! we promised to bring you guys some stats to explore how the fest went down.

NB: The data is skewed more towards the fic, rather than the art. we know this, and we are sorry. we love love LOVE all the artists, and want to explore all that metadata as well, but we also want to protect copyright. The metadata for the fic is accessible manually from AO3 (the mods have been toiling in the spreadsheet mines for weeks), or was provided to us by the participants via the masterpost form. However, getting more metadata on the art would require us to feed the full images into an analysis program, and we just can't trust that data won't be misused.

The art metadata that is present in this Wrapped was attained either by human eyeball, or by using Jasc Paint Shop Pro 7.02, which was released on March 5, 2001 and does not have online capabilities. It has plenty of other capabilities, okay. Do not underestimate the grampa software. There is a HOT WAX filter. Also it was paid for ONCE. none of that subscription crap. suck our dicks adobe

NB2: STABFEST WRAPPED is not about competition (except for competing to make StabFest 2023 even more unhinged than 2022.) We are not ranking the participants; we are lining everyone up to give them a smooch on the forehead. There will be a few individuals mentioned here and there, but every team has oodles and oodles of data that we've been crunching, and everyone was part of making DeanCas StabFest 2022 into this handsome, virile beast.

Missed the Fest, or want to refresh your memory? Check out the MASTERLIST:

Part One

Part Two

You can also check out the StabFest2022 collection on AO3.

Alright, let's go!

Pitcher, Catcher? Author, Artist?

DeanCas StabFest 2022 (Fun-sized!) had 33 teams: 27 in the regular bang and 6 in the reverse bang. 31 authors and 25 artists participated. Three people participated as both author and artist, leading to a total of 53 participants. One person was on multiple teams as an author and four people were on multiple teams as artists.

Author/Artist switch hitters: KaylieMalinza (teams 4, 10, 12, 27, 200, and 600), Maple (teams 28 and 15) and Swirlycloud (teams 16 and 20.)

Mega Author: MBQ (teams 13, 14, and 15)

Mega Artists: Biscuit_tin (teams 100, 21, and 13), Lauryn T. (teams 22 and 27) and Mortea (teams 19, 25, 500, and 700.)

(yes, the two participants who were on the most teams (5 and 4) are the mods, but this was a pinch hitter/oh god the reverse bang is too smol situation okay don't look at us like that this isn't like the scene in chocolat where the antagonist breaks into the candy shop and gorges on everything this was SACRIFICE for the SAKE OF THE FEST. also it was fun and the mods regret nothing.)

What It Says On The Tin

Of the 33 teams, 22 of them showed STAB in the artwork and 7 of them referenced STAB in the fic title. (this was interpreted fairly loosely--if the STAB was imminent or the aftermath was visible in the art, and if the title held any mention of stab, cut, slice, etc. we counted it as a yes.) Of the 26 fic which did not reference STAB in the title, 3 did reference the stabbing implement.

You Must Be This Tall To Ride

Of AO3's four ratings, the majority of the fic were rated Teen and Up, and the next most common rating was Mature. There was only one brave fic rated General Audiences--but that may have more to do with people rating higher than needed out of caution. No one wants a nastygram from a puriteen who thinks Disney is too risque and scary for children. Anyway--the MPAA doesn't give official ratings to fanfic. We go on vibes, and reader beware.

Yeah, I Figured That Much. What Are You?

Of the artwork, 22 of the entries were digital art, 10 were traditional/physical, and 1 piece appeared to be mixed physical and digital (we were guessing on traditional vs digital art and may have gotten it wrong sometimes! sorry.) A 1:2 ratio of traditional to digital was a very pleasant surprise.

The STICKERS had a pretty good spread, too, with notable outliers being only 1 team receiving the Rebar of Shame and a whopping 18 teams receiving the Cannon of Canon Complicity. In total, 50 stickers were awarded. Special shout out to MBQ, who managed to qualify for every sticker across their three entries. The Rebar of Shame would have been so lonely without you.

Weapon of Choice

Speaking of rebar, there was a tasty variety in the stabbing implements used. 8 teams had multiple implements, leading to a total of 41 implements. Far and away the most used implement was a knife--5 instances of the OG demon knife, and an additional 14 knives of various types--cooking, hunting, ka-bar, etc. , for a total of 19. The runner up was the angel blade, clocking in at 5 instances, with arrow and sword coming in behind at 3 and 2 instances, respectively. The most exciting implements, however, are those which were unique, only one instance each.

Of all the implements, we estimate that 34 of them were used for their intended purpose--needle, syringe, and scalpel, for example--with 8 very special implements being employed "off label."

We can beat those numbers this year, team!

Let's make 2023 StabFest off label AF.

According to the Lore

Of the AO3 tags, it should come as no surprise that there were 33 iterations of STAB, and 30 iterations of Castiel/Dean Winchester (tabulated separately from Castiel & Dean Winchester--some fic were tagged with both.) The Sam Winchester character tag also showed up 19 times (not including variants such as "Injured Sam Winchester," pairing tags, or, a mod favorite, "pray for sammy.") Canon made an appearance in 22 tags--including Canon-Typical Violence as well as Canon Elements, Canon Compliant, etc. Angst and Blood showed up in 11 and 12 tags, respectively.

A few more tags were cherry picked for the chart below; including every tag would be very difficult, since the 33 fic were tagged with a staggering total of 372 unique tags.

The mods would like to give a special shout out to the freeform tags. They were delightful in situ and tantalizing out of context. Here are our top ten favorites, in no particular order:

a frankly concerning number of references to Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah (All That Remains, by DoctorProfessorSong)

author was craving s'mores while writing this (Hunger Pains, by Followsthebees)

copious use of frog analogies?? (apologue of the boiling frog, by howldean)

dean is re-hymenated and as smooth as a baby's bottom (Rescue Burrito, by KaylieMalinza)

But Dean Forgives Him Because He's Smitten (Just Like Knitting, by FriendofCarlotta)

cas has a metaphorical c-section in here and that’s all you need to know (Fill Thyself with the Word of God, by themauvesoul)

Sam and Cas come up with a crazy idea and Dean counts to ten in the background. (The Good Old College Try, by silver_penny)

Cas triggers his own trauma by jerking off to the wrong thing (eros and thanatos, by autisticandroids)

oh well it's Cas what would you expect?! (Dusk When I Met You, by MiracleofWinchester)

There is also taco salad somewhere (Happy Kitty, by MBQ)

The mods also, with glimmering eyes and trembling hands, present a gold star to the tag that Understood The Assignment:

Apologies for attempted murder doubling as intricate rituals also (By your hand, by SlopeSlippers)

Thanks, buddy. StabFest feels Seen.

My True Form is Approximately The Size of Your Chrysler Building

As StabFest is FUN-SIZED, it should come as no surprise that most of the fic had fairly low word counts. With a required minimum of 1,500, 5 fic were between 1,500 and 2,500 words, and 8 were between 2,500 and 3,500. With a grand total word count of 183,643 spread across 33 fic, the average word count is 5,464--but since the median was only 4,397, then clearly the three fic with word counts over 15,400 were outliers adn should not have been counted.

The stab-free zone between 10k and 15k requires further study. 🧐

The art sizes had no measurable minimum--the rules just stated one art piece minimum, with no details about dimensions, resolution, etc. Some curious numbers shook out, though.

The width of the pieces ranged from 500 to 2048 pixels, with a median of 1280. The height ranged from 386 to 4716, with a median of 1280. (NB: some artists did multiple pieces for a single team, such as a main art piece and a banner, or multiple main art pieces. E.g., that 4,716 comes from three pieces of 1572 pixel height being combined.) In total, the StabFest art from all 33 teams is 36,433 pixels wide by 41,378 pixels tall. Perhaps some enterprising soul can convert that to football fields.

File size, as reported by Windows Explorer, ranged from 49.1kB to 4670kB with a median of 638.5kB. Bear in mind that some of these pieces would have been resized by tumblr or another hosting service, and of course, multiple pieces for the same team are added together. The total size, based on the files currently available, is 25630.08kB, or 25.63MB.

Certain People, Special People, Can Perceive My True Visage

What's most fun is the little option is Jasc Paint Shop Pro 7.02 to show the number of unique colors. These ranged from a minimum of 11,323 (The art for Forest Fever) to a maximum of 894,465 (the art for Light Me Up With Your Ardent Sword--hi res versions available on AO3), with a median of 95,293. You'd think the sum of the unique colors would be HUGE--and yes, if you add up all the numbers you get a whopping 4,616,209--but of course there's going to be a lot of overlap.

After combining all the StabFest art into a single MEGAZORD, like the Power Rangers, we see that the number of unique colors is much smaller: 2,272,549. That means there are 2,343,660 colors which are shared by at least two entries. Isn't that sweet? It's like the art is holding hands.

Because The Mods Commanded It. Because We Have Work for You.

Well, that wraps up StabFest2022 Wrapped. If you had fun last year and want to see what StabFest Wrapped2023 will look like, please check out the new features (femslash!! new stickers! A DISCORD) and mosey on over to the sign up form. And please take a gander at our promo post tag and see if something catches your fancy for a signal boost.

#stabfest 2022 #deancas stabfest #destiel #castiel #dean winchester #stabfest promo post #fanfic #fanart

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sirnotsircos · 5 months

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A Very Sapphic Chrimis

🎄🎄🎄

Hey Ho! I've been dwindling away on my own falling head over heels for these silly lil sapphic OCs. I was supposed to be actual plot writing today but a "Christmas in a countryside castle" playlist auto-played on youtube and well now I've written some fluff instead.

MAN DO I WISH I COULD DRAW IT COULD A CUTE LIL COMIC BUT NOOOOOO 😩

So instead here's the same scene from both POVs

B/c there's no context what-so-ever here's a brief low down:

Denali: Ex-high Demoness, Hell ex-pat (it's hell in hell), stoic tall willowy mommy with a muted color pallet.

Nephili: Half-Angel ghost hunter, stout, curvy, and a bubbly mess of wonderful curly hair.

(these are neither of their real names, but celestial and demonic rarely translate well to earthly languages)

A Very Sapphic Chrimis 1.0 (Denali)

Delani gazed up at the granite mansion through the fog of her hot breath hanging in the cold winter air. She was quite proud of this estate, she hadn’t even had to kill anyone for this one. No, she’d earned it all on her own…after her dear friend Fredrick had passed away and left it to her. She did not kill him, nor have him killed. She didn’t do that sort of thing anymore.

The murky glass windows glowed warm with lamp light, the trails of deep green cedar branches Nephili had woven along all the running trim of the first level was lit up with string lights. The heavy iron planters Denali had never bothered to fill were now over flowing with greans and stray brancnhes, curling and twisting sprigs of deep red roots and great big red and white star shaped flowers. Denali’s heart was swelling at every twinkle light, ever colorful bobble and ribbon, her home had never quite looked so homey.

“Dens?” Nephili’s voice chimed through the silence of the snow covered world.

“Yes, Darling?” Denali turned to her love, knee deep in snow with her dark sprawling hair dotted with snowflakes like stars take to the night sky.

Her glasses had been solved up into ther hair, sleet painting the lenses. Denali knew she’d be untangling them later.

“What’s your full name?” Nephili had been off in the woods all day collecting foliage for the house, the hounds prancing around her melting trails in the snow with their flaming breath. She hadn’t even come inside to warm up before getting to work. Her nose was red and runny, and her cheeks pink from the cold, but still she smiled and her eyes were shining.

“It’s dreadful,” Denali frowned, “I have to make my tongue all long to say it.”

“Oh,” Nephili chewed at her bottom lip, and consideration crossed her features, “I’d still like to hear it. Even if it’s just once.”

Those big dumb golden brown orbs grew tree sizes and Denali had to remind herself it was infact below freezing and she, an ex-high demoness would not be melting at the feet of this half morta- oh who was she kidding.

“Fine,” Denali rolled her eyes in faux annoyance to cover for her weak will, “I suppose it has been an awfully long time since even I’ve said it out loud. I-well, I’m going to-”

Denali considered her words.

“Get kind of toothy,” she regretted the words she chose immediately.

“Toothy?” Nephili eyebrows went up.

“Yeah, for the long tongue to like move aroun- you know what,” Denali sighed, “I’ll just show you.”

Denali thought hard about her face, how it used to look when she occupied hell as nothing but a spawn, she had no will over her form. She could feel her jaw drop and elongate, her already fanger teeth shunted all which ways, skewing to make odd irregular gaps. Next was her tongue, long like a serpent dripping in drool and ichor, lashing around her knew jagged maw.

It really sounded alot like hissing and gargling and two to three coughs and not at all as short and sweet and Denali. There were six-teen syllables in all and Denali wondered how she and her family had ever used to get it out so quickly and casually in the first place. Should she ever see her again, she’d need to have a long talk with her mother. As the name settled it’s time on her tongue, Denali began to focus on her new face, the one she’d grown most accustomed to.

“Huh,” Nephili quirked her head to the side, her eyes dragging along the long lashing tongue before her, “that was long as fuck.”

Unable to speak just yet Denali nodded and blinked in aggreance. She was right, even for demons it was a lot.

“Sweetheart?” Nephili’s voice rang sweet as a bell.

Denali had just about finished contorting her face back.

“Keep the tongue out for a bit,” Nephili rose to her toes and pressed a chaste kiss to Denali’s cheek, turned and started towards the house, “you haven’t thanked me for decorating the house yet. I think I’d like a go with it.”

Denali’s tongue, which was in the process of shrinking, stopping in it’s tracks. Bright red blush bloomed across her cheeks and she found her eyes fell, most depravedly on her loves ass as he swayed up the steps.

This was going to be a most merry Christmas, indeed.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

A Very Sapphic Chrimis 2.0 (Nephili)

Nephili trailed behind the dogs as they zigzagged deep melted paths through the snow, yipping and panting happily at the cool sensation of the snow on their bodies. The good boys loved it up here in the winter, even for hell hounds there was a limit to how much heat they really enjoyed. She’d been sending them to and from the house all day to clear a path for her as the snow kept falling. Annoyingly enough Denali seemed to just be able to do some demon magic shit to walk stop the snow as if it were little more than an inch deep. Whereas Nephili guessed it would be up to her knees by now if she didn’t have the dogs and perhaps her waist by the time it was done flailing in the morning.

Nephili toted the last cluster of greens for one of the giant iron planters at teh front door in a bundle behind her. The tips of her toes were just now starting to feel the cold creep in, her angelic blood kept a lot of her more mortal weakness at bay for longer periods of time than a normal human but still her cheeks were raw and if she screwed her eyes up just right she could see how pink her nose was. She’d long since shed her glasses, her breath had frozen across the lenses and refused to defrost with a wipe of her mittens.

Denali’s slender form bowed to and fro across the lit windows of the mansion as Nephili approached. From here she couldn’t see what exactly Denali was doing but she was milling about the kitchen and judging from the grace with wich she moved she was in a good enough mood to be levitating. Nephili hoped dearly she was baking. Her macarons were out of this world, made purely with ingredients found in this world Denali had assured her. Oh, or maybe it was one of those orange walnut cakes, or- Nephili’s stomach growled.

With a new found determination and efficiency Nephili arranged the greens and red roots and bobbles, and threw lights in whatever depths of the planter would take them. By the time she was done a warm smell had starter the waft through the old unsealed windows and Nephili’s stomach was positively dancing at the thought of what could be rising in that oven. So, she called out for her love and scurried back several paces until the house was in full view, her sweeping garlands and woven lights all perfectly arranged.

Denali stared, and stared, and then stared some more. She stared so long that Nephili ended up staring at Denali while waiting for a reaction. She stared at the demoness for so long that her mind strayed into every thought that barely grazed her peripheries. Did Denali like it? Did she even like Christmas? Has she celebrated christmas? Are we going to send out cards like as a couple? Because if we do I’m going to need to sign my name name instead of Nephili. Does Denali have a name name. Wait, of course she does. She said she need a long tongue for that. How long. And big teeth. Can she just do the tongue. How useful is it?

“Dens?” Nephili’s voice reach out before her train of through had even come to a safe and complete stop.

“Yes, Darling?” Denali turned to her, her long silver hair flowing like a stream of crystal water and her fiery eyes glowing like embers. She likes the house.

Denali had come out in her “at home only” suit, which was a drapey satin pant suit with no structure that she often wore with no blouse underneath so that the glow of her blade she’d pressed into her torso as a tattoo for the time being. Easy access to the blade…amoungst other things. Nephili tried to clear her head.

“What’s your full name?” Gods she wanted to see that tongue.

“It’s dreadful,” Denali frowned, “I have to make my tongue all long to say it.”

“Oh,” Nephili chewed at her bottom lip, she already knew that “I’d still like to hear it. Even if it’s just once.”

Nephili had one trump card, it was reserved for only the most dire of circumstances. She looked up through her thick lashes, and her eyes grew. Not so much that she looks like a cartoon but enough so that she could see that fragile demoness willpower begin to crumble. It took six seconds. New record.

“Fine,” Denali rolled her eyes in faux, “I suppose it has been an awfully long time since even I’ve said it out loud. I-well, I’m going to-”

Denali paused, thinking.

“Get kind of toothy,” she finished with a frown.

“Toothy?” Nephili eyebrows went up.

“Yeah, for the long tongue to like move aroun- you know what,” Denali sighed, “I’ll just show you.”

Nephili watched as Denali’s face began to changed, her jaw elongating and growing monstrous. The skin on her cheeks stretched taunt and hollow, great big fangs forming and shifting around. And then came the tongue. It as long and agile, flicking around in skilled arcs. Huh. Nephili bit down on her bottom lip and rolled out her neck to remain respectful. That familiar pull on her lower stomach doing its best to thwart that effort.

Denali finally spoke and boy was it horrendous, not because it wa a demon name but because her mother was a psychopath and it was sixteen syllables longs and halfway through there was a choking noise that had Nephili genuinely concerned for a breath. Now she understood why Denali didn’t use it.

“Huh,” Nephili quirked her head to the side, her eyes dragging along that glorious tongue, “that was long as fuck.”

Unable to speak just yet Denali nodded and blinked in aggreance, her face already smoothing back out to that definitivel regal face Nephili had grown so used to.

“Sweetheart?” Nephili smiled sweetly.

Denali had just about finished contorting her face back.

“Keep the tongue out for a bit,” Nephili jumped up to her toes and pressed a chaste kiss to Denali’s cheek, smiling as she watched Denali’s feet lift just off the top of the snow, “you haven’t thanked me for decorating the house yet. I think I’d like a go with it.”

Nephili started back towards the house happy there was still a semblance of a path left by the dogs for her to walk though. It would be much easier to weaponizes her hips of she wasn’t having to trudge back through knee deep snow.

She was going to get laid and then eat some damn cake.

This was going to be a merry Christmas, indeed.

#oc #ocs #oc writing #original writing #original character #sapphic ocs

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skell3 · 11 months

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If anyone wanted the random backstory stuff for my new Crane, here it all is. Headcanons above the bar, whole messily typed up everything below. I typed it up the other day so I might as well yeet it out here.

Just remember this is an original design complete with an original headcanon to it. I'm a big Scarecrow fan, but I haven't seen/read everything on him, so he's not going to be perfect or anything. He's just my brain boy. UwU

Please don't use any of this for your own use without any credit towards myself!

IMAGE

Jonathan Crane is a tall man, reaching somewhere to his mid thirties in age. He has been a villain for only a couple of years, so while he has had plenty of time to establish himself as the Scarecrow in his Gotham, he isn't one of the old baddies nor any new kind of threat. Long red hair is often left loose, though when he is working he has a tendency to pull it into a ponytail or tuck it away entirely when villainizing in costume.

While both eyes are a rich green colour, one is glazed over with scar tissue from a bird attack in his late teens, rendering him blind in that eye. Scars cross over that eye, and lid, as well as all over his face, shoulders, and arms. Primarily from birds, but a select few from a stay at the Arkham Asylum, which is not exactly known to be gentle with its inhabitants. Though he walks fine on his own, there is a slight limp to his left leg from damage thanks to a guard who had a vendetta against him.

He currently has no piercings or tattoos, and he wears glasses for his good eye when working or reading.

Jonathan usually wears something like work casual or formal wear, including button-up shirts and vests. He often covers as much skin as he can comfortably manage, including sometimes wearing makeup to lighten up some of his facial scars. His style in public could maybe be considered Goth Librarian, though he only sticks to black lipstick and maybe eyeliner and doesn't consider himself 'goth' at all. (I think I just mean, he sometimes wears dark makeup) When working at home or in the lab, there is zero attempt at keeping his appearance up, though he has a steady hand in keeping organized at the very least.

HEADCANON

|| Though his first major fear was a combination of gunpoint and bird attack, he is still quite fond of birds; corvids in particular.

|| He developed a mild fear of bats after he was taken down by Batman the first time. While he feels that he has overcome this, he still feels a shiver of excitement whenever he has a dealing with the Bat due to the both of them using fear as a tactic, and wondering if he'll glean anything from the man in their encounters.

|| Being legally unable to drive due to being blind in one eye (and a villain, and an escapee from Arkham) doesn't stop him from having a vehicle to get around.

|| This Dr. Crane is no stranger to murder, and his morals may seem skewed between friends and 'anyone else'. While he might make an attempt to put up a mask to keep people in the dark about his thoughts and opinions on the matter, it might become easy to tell that he just doesn't care about a lot of Gotham's population- or the world as a whole.

|| His primary weapon of choice will always be his Fear Gas, but he often keeps a pistol on himself if he suspects he may need it, as well as a knife just in case. While he isn't a physical fighter, not particularly strong of build, his lankiness can give him the upper hand at times.

FROM BIRTH TO FEAR

Jonathan Crane was born into a normal life, with a normal family in Gotham. He was orphaned when he was six, however, and was sent down south to live with his maternal aunt. This would shift his destiny from a possibly normal one, to one of villainy and fear. Bullied by his cousins, seen as a freak in school for his bright red hair and incredibly tall height once he hit puberty, Jonathan began to grow away from people and more to his studies... and birds.

The birds were Jonathan's fascination, their intelligence drawing him in. Specifically, there was a flock of crows he took to feeding while in high school out back behind the bleachers during lunch. Sometimes he would get found by school bullies, or even his cousins, and he would deal with it- and picked up the name 'scarecrow' not only for his tall and lanky stature, but his affinity for the birds. The birds themselves began to realize what was going on, and the bullies soon began having problem with them. Jonathan was almost thrown out of school because they said he intentionally sent the birds after them, but his grades were near-perfect and the school needed the rep to have such an esteemed scholar.

Senior year, Jonathan dressed up as an actual scarecrow- burlap mask, an oversize hat, and all. Which became both a problem, and his legacy.

The birds didn't know that the boy dressed as a scarecrow was the human who had been taking care of them.

The bullies thought bringing a gun to school for a 'good scare' on Halloween was a good idea.

A fight broke out behind the bleachers, and Jonathan narrowly missed getting shot. The gun went off and he managed to get it into his hands, shakily pointing it at the bullies who took off running to likely get him into trouble-

but then there were the birds, and that bullet had taken one of their lives.

A murder of crows is difficult to get anyone out of, but fortunately once the gun had been dropped and the mask was clear, they stopped swarming. There had been damage done already, however, and Jonathan Crane got his first taste of Fear that day. More so than bullying and being afraid of getting hurt or robbed or worse. True fear, the kind that sat on his nerves the whole time he was in the hospital. The kind that followed him through graduation, right into college.

Returning to Gotham likely didn't help even slightly.

Jonathan was one of the youngest in his college to earn a PHD for his studies in not only human cognition, but biological chemistry and how they work together. While the college thought he might have been the next branch in science to discover ways to help with PTSD and anxiety, his focus was on Fear and studying it further. Driven by his own fears and what he had viewed in others, he was borderline obsessive to figure it out. Why were some fears a learned experience, while others seemingly born with a person? He hadn't felt anything so deep before the birds, not even his sense of isolation, childhood abandonment, and some mental abuse he had gone through.

Becoming a Professor at age 27, Dr. Crane made a quick reputation of himself by frightening his class into compliance within the first week of every semester he taught. While it was frowned upon by many of his colleagues, they also tended to be a little frightened by the man and never approached him about it. He taught a course on human emotions, and while most of it was very textbook, every semester the topic of Fear would always either make or break his classes. Though the higher ups could never quite figure out why, he had a 34% drop-out rate when that section of the book was brought around.

Then they found out he was experimenting on his students, and that had him fired particularly quickly despite his arguments and threats.

VILLAINY

After being fired and entirely dismissed from the school board, with threats of calling the police on him, Jonathan Crane snapped. The culmination of losing his chance to study his students, to teach them about their fears, and the loss of access to a lab he spent quite a lot of time in was too much for him. He disappeared off the grid for a month, no hide nor hair seen of him until...

Halloween came around.

The whole school became the scene of a crime. It took hours for the police to even figure out what was happening, because they could not enter the building without losing officers to some sort of gas. It was rudimentary in form, but the first dose of Fear Gas was used in the airways throughout the college, and students, faculty, and teachers alike were all now Dr. Crane's experiments.

No- The Scarecrow's experiments.

Once they could obtain masks that helped a swat team enter the school, The Scarecrow had killed half the faculty and spent his time observing the remaining staff and students for their responses to the toxins in their systems. While his costume wasn't complete, it was clear as to what he was dressed up, and that was the first instance that The Batman made his appearance in Jonathan's life. He was taken out almost whimsically easy compared to the struggle the police had with him, and that night also marked his first arrest.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was deemed criminally insane and sent to Arkham Asylum not only for his crimes at the school, but for the potential problems he could cause outside of it.

In with the Bigs, Dr. Crane didn't exactly get along with many. He was uppity and rude when social, distant and cold when he didn't want to talk to anyone, and he was so incredibly bored that his moods were never good unless someone was willing to help with that. The guards loathed him, especially because he knew exactly how to talk to his doctors and psychiatrist to get either them into trouble, or him into some sort of better situation. They beat on him often, abused him plenty, and there were many days he never got any food.

Yet he stayed the same, and over time they would all gradually learn to live with each other.

It wasn't even a year in when the jailbreak occurred.

Jonathan had been handling chores scrubbing dishes, allowed in the kitchen not only because he hated it considerably, but because he hadn't made any attempts to steal anything up to this time. An explosion rocked the building, and the alarms went off. The guards who were supposed to be watching he and Tetch- the lad who was washing up with him- both disappeared off to deal with what was happening. Dr. Crane took his chance, and so did the Hatter. As did many others who had been holed up in there, waiting for something like this to come along.

It turned out that some of the Gotham Rogues on the outside were planning something big, and not only needed a distraction to draw the Bat in, but more hired hands and minds to assist them in their endeavors. Jonathan was recruited among some others, and while none of them worked well together- not quite- they didn't necessarily have to. An unknown supporter funded them not only on their escape, but in setting up outside the Asylum to not get caught and to further their own reasons of villainy on the city. It was like a dream come true, and Jonathan denies feeling anything more than relief at being on the outside again.

Underfed and weak, Dr. Crane took his time in not only recovering from his stay at the Asylum, but also collecting the necessary components to develop more of his Fear Gas... and to make it better. His benefactor liked his work so much, he was given more money for a better lab, better equipment, and a means to gather 'lab rats' to experiment on. While he could've had morals once, that all had gone out the door when they stripped him of his lab and classes as a professor, and he only seemed to spiral further away once he was introduced into his cell in Arkham. Whether his subjects live or die is nothing more than another point to study and adjust potency and amounts for his gas, as well as the serums he had begun to develop.

By the time Dr. Jonathan Crane had amassed a significant status as the Scarecrow in Gotham, he was thirty-six, and Halloween that year...

Well. Calendar Man and Holiday aren't the only ones who enjoy celebrating on festive days.

CURRENT TIMELINE

Dr. Crane currently still receives funds from a benefactor he has suspected on, but has never actually guessed who or why. It has been long since they needed him for their 'plan', of which had not only gathered the Rogues and some other Villains to some strange sense of community, but ultimately the goal seemingly had been to take down the Red Hood and to get the Batman to kill. Only one of which actually worked, and now there's a 'new' Vigilante working more with the Bat than parallel to him with more deaths involved. It has been both a frustration for the community, a popular topic at the Iceberg, and something of a breath of relief because apparently the Hood had been particularly gunhappy before the jailbreak.

Living in a flat of an older building bordering Crime Alley from the Bowery, Jonathan lives a very quiet life at home and a somewhat active life as the Scarecrow. While his crimes are always scientifically oriented- experimenting with his fear gas on a broader scale, observing the effects of particular popular fears on a community- sometimes they also have an underlying goal to them. Three times so far, his experiments and nasty work has been good coverage for other things going on in the background, like a bank robbery, a murder of an important official, and tipping the tides of a riot where the Gotham PD needed an extra nudge into the crowd to sully their records further.

#Jonathan Crane #batman rogues #rogues gallery #original design #scarecrow #birdscare-crow

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alphasmokerpig · 2 years

Text

GarSmokin Minotaur Transformation

Leaf Lounge 2

Leaf Lounge 2 Written by Leo_Todrius Commissioned by Firstgold92 The August sunlight was unrelenting, continuing the months-long heat wave baking the city. There wasn't a green lawn for miles, but inside the mall it was a different story. Raised planter boxes held a mixture of plastic and real plants, moss and decorative stones. In combination with the very suitable air conditioning, they were amenities that generated a lot more income than it cost to run. People loved getting out of the heat and the more people that packed the wide halls between stores meant more revenue. It was a mall after all, but as Tobias entered the mall he thought to himself how much more prosperous it seemed to be doing than the previous year. Toby's reflection was caught on the store front as he walked; he was nineteen, five foot nine, well built and he had the perfect combination of classic brown hair and deep true blue eyes. A t-shirt with the Aperture Science emblem from one of his favorite video games hugged his muscled chest, a plain pair of jeans adorning his legs. It was good to be back in town, a week and a half away from the start of classes... An extra eight days away from the parents before classes started. It was a distinct improvement to living in the dorms, but Toby knew that having his own apartment would be like a slice of heaven. It was that particular detail that brought Tobias to the mall; he and his best friend Derek had bucked the system, jumping out of the dormitory grind and springing for their own apartment. They were just far enough away from campus to feel like they were living their own lives, but close enough to walk to class in their lounge wear and slippers if they were really lazy. Toby walked along the mall, looking from shop to shop. Nearly every one had been closed down before, but now every nook had a grand opening sign, though there was a bit of a skew to the merchandise... Despite being the middle of summer, a brand new store selling leather clothing of all sorts was packed to the brim. One of the larger spaces had been turned into a motorcycle dealership. There was no more perfume store but a cologne store radiated musk... and the pet store's stock was less cute and more tough, selling snakes and lizards and Dobermans. Even the pop music piped through the mall had been changed to harder rock and metal. Toby passed it off as a trend or a fluke, passing through a thick group of teenage boys wandering from one shop to another. Toby glanced at them, a bit surprised. When he had been in high school the teens never seemed to be that tall... Despite his considerations, a glint of light off of metal distracted him just like a magpie. Toby looked around, trying to track down the source when he came to a complete stop. At the very end of that particular hall of the mall was a shop, the window filled with various swords and knives. Resting in the center display was a long sword... The blade was proud, angling into a perfect point at the tip, perfectly even down the length. The hilt was a brilliant indigo blue, two hand guards spreading out where the blade and hilt came together, the blue rising up just enough on the blade to make almost a double-u or bat like shape... and on the blade, etched in to be darker than the metal, was the tri-force symbol. "The Master Sword!" Toby exclaimed in awe, moving along. As a gamer, no self respecting individual could pass up a chance to ogle the most famous sword from the Legend of Zelda. He moved up to the window and gazed at the sword in awe for many long moments before he looked around to get a feeling for what kind of shop he was at. He soon found the old carved wood sign, the "Leaf Lounge" hanging above the door. It was one of the few places in the entire mall to have an actual door rather than a spacious opening and a looming metal grate. Tobias reached and opened the door, moving inside the tobacco shop. The smell that swept around him was pungent and sweet. Toby was unable to help but to breathe it in deep like the most beautiful smelling potpourri he had ever experienced. A sense of contentment and comfort wrapped around the sophomore. He looked around, noticing the high back leather chairs off to the right, the vast shelves of tobacco and cigars along the back wall, and the very tall, very large man with a black ponytail and a braided black beard standing behind the counter. "Something I can do for you sir?" The man behind the counter asked with a smile. Tobias almost blushed in surprise. "Sir?" He asked, never having been called a sir before. "Well, you look like a sir... a man with refined tastes." The shopkeeper said. "I don't know about that, I came in here looking at the Master Sword." Toby smirked. The shopkeeper gave a deep, soulful chuckle. "See, refined tastes. You respect one of the foundational classics of all gaming." The shopkeeper smiled. Toby smiled, unable to stop himself really. The shopkeeper decided to continue, "So, was the sword the only thing that brought you by, or did you have something else in mind today? What brings you to my neck of the woods?" he asked. Toby wasn't sure why, but he felt like he could confide in the man. "Well I'm looking for something to celebrate with my friend; we just got our first apartment in college." Toby said. The shopkeeper turned, moving along the shelves, considering. "Man friend or woman?" he asked. Toby looked surprised. "Man..." he said, "But I-" "Here we go..." The man said, pulling out a wide case from a shelf and then a smaller glass case, bringing them to the counter. As he set them down, Tobias could see that the boxes contained several long, thick, hand rolled cigars in perfect condition, sealed completely. The top box held two more, though four metal rings were slipped around one end of each of the two, making them look more important somehow. "What are these?" Tobias asked in surprise, looking up at the shopkeeper. "Cigars, world famous cigars for true men looking to celebrate good fortune." The shopkeeper grinned, "These are Arturo Fuente... Medium body, delicate spice, nutty core... Very consistent, very nice... Though these are a special limited edition with the finest El Toro tobacco from Spain." The shopkeeper explained. His smooth, cool voice was almost like magic in Toby's ears. He imagined Derek and him leaning back, lighting up, the smoke billowing out of their lips like real men. It sent a charge through his body and before he realized it, the words were slipping out of his mouth. "How much?" he asked. The shopkeeper grinned. *** Heavy groaning filled the downstairs apartment as the furniture was being moved, but it was not the large battered brown couch that was making the noise, it was the young man moving it. Derek knew he should have waited for Toby to get back but he had finished setting up the entertainment center early. Almost every gaming console known to man had been tapped into their shared television, and as if that wasn't enough, Derek had not provided one, but two top of the line gaming PC's with all the latest emulation software. No doubt both he and Toby would drop a grade point from Starcraft alone. Derek reminded himself of the task at hand and stopped admiring his tech, moving back to maneuver the heavy couch into place. Derek was one month younger, one inch shorter, and one shoe size smaller than Toby. He was also a good deal thinner, a fair but more lithe. His face was framed by the sleek blond hair he had, so bright that it was practically platinum. Derek fell much more easily into the bean pole gangly gamer nerd cliché than Toby, though both embraced their fates. They may not have been that popular but they would be happy, and that was all that really mattered in life. Derek took a deep breath before pushing against he couch, getting it to slide back against the wall. As it lurched into place, he stood up and panted, grinning in delight. He had done it. The door opened a moment later, Tobias rushing in. Derek turned to great his friend, realizing how late it was. The front yard of the apartment was already shrouded in shade, the crispy dried out grass seeming almost green. The last tendrils of sunset were creeping through the trees across the road. Derek's attention drifted from the outside to the fact that Tobias was carrying something. The blond dusted his hands off. "Welcome home!" Derek grinned. Tobias smiled in turn. "I'm so glad you're- Wow, it really looks great in here... Oh, yeah, I'm glad you're here... I found the perfect way for us to celebrate our bachelordom, our coolness!" Toby said, setting the larger case down before pulling out the container with the two cigars with rings on the end. Derek was excited that Toby was excited, though his enthusiasm took a hit when he saw what Toby had come home with. "But Toby, we don't even smoke..." Derek said, but Tobias was too busy trying to open the container. "You said you couldn't stand the smell." Derek added as Toby got one end open, "Besides, you and I both know-" Derek stopped suddenly as Toby brought the cigars up to his nose. The scent of the flavored tobacco ensnared his senses, moving deep into his lungs. Derek's eyes slipped shut, a sense of contentment swimming through his mind. "So, are you ready to celebrate?" Toby asked softly. He watched as Derek's vibrant green eyes slipped open again, a grin crossing the blond's face. "Let's light these bad boys up..." Derek said. Toby and Derek moved over, sinking down onto the couch cushions. Toby spread his legs wide, setting the container aside. He handed one of the cigars to Derek and then reached into his pocket, pulling out a metal lighter as if he'd had one there for years. He flicked the end open, brought his own cigar to his lips, and flicked the lighter on. He drew it back and forth puffing just a bit until the flame drew in enough to make the end of the cigar glow. The lighter was handed off and Derek gave it a try, using the lighter. It felt strange in his hands at first, but in moments it was like an old habit. The lighter was set aside and Derek and Toby adjusted how they held their cigars. Both men leaned back in the couch, bringing the wide cigars to their lips, wrapping their lips around the length before puffing on it. The tips grew brighter as the smoke moved don the shaft and filled their mouths. Toby held the smoke there in his mouth to appreciate the robustness before he exhaled. As his lips parted, thick curls of white smoke poured out, tendrils dancing about as the cloud spread, lingering around the man that had blown it out. A moment later Derek did the same. Toby glanced over, watching the thin boy blow out a huge amount of smoke, admiring how manly he seemed... Toby wondered if he seemed as manly, craving that in a strange way. Just as Toby looked away, Derek glanced over, watching Tobias take a long drag on the cigar, filling his cheeks with smoke before it came out from his lips and nose, spilling over his face. Derek envied Toby, for how he made it seem so easy, so cool... Toby was always the collected guy, exuding confidence. Derek loved that... about Toby. And now they were bonding. Derek draped his left arm over the back of the couch, using his right to bring the cigar to his lips ever once in a while. Neither man had exchanged any words since they lit up, but both were seeming more relaxed by the minute. Their bodies sank deeper into the couch, drifting toward one another. Soon they were brushing shoulder to shoulder, their legs spread wide. Toby murmured as his balls seemed to relax, hanging lower in his sack. His cock spilled forward as well, relaxing in his pants. Toby felt like the cock of the walk, taking another draw from the cigar. He blew all the smoke out, bu rather than pushing away from him, it drifted against his body. The smell of cigar smoke soaked into his hair, his clothes, his skin... the smell of a smoker that never got enough. The curls of smoke even clung to his cheeks, dancing across the tiny invisible hairs that made the very start of the stubble, but as the smoke embraced them, they started getting darker. Shadow swept across Toby's cheeks as the stubble got thicker, darker, giving him a seven o'clock shadow after a few moments. He seemed even more like a man with the stubble, small hairs growing out above his knuckles on the fingers of his hands. As much as the smoke was seeing to affect Toby, Derek was not being left behind either. With his blond hair being so light, it almost looked as if the smoke itself was becoming stubble on his cheeks when in fact it merely curled around and washed over the soft hairs emerging from his cheeks. While Toby had always been the one to have a bit of muscle, Derek's shirt was growing tighter as his pectorals slowly swelled, his nipples growing tight. Both of them kept puffing away, letting out long breaths of smoke. The cloud was filling the room, but even more it was filling their minds. Never before in their lives had either man felt so relaxed, so happy, almost as if they were floating high above the ground. Every muscle in their bodies was relaxed... with one exception, their love muscle. Every so often Derek and Tobias would glance at each other and take in their friend with pride. That feeling of manliness coursed into their shafts, blood pooling into their members, their balls throbbing. Derek admired Toby's thick muscles, his short kept beard, his dark nails... Derek didn't even realize that those attributes were changing by the moment. The smoke hung around Toby's hand, staining his nails darker and darker until they were almost black. Instinctively Toby traded hands, smoking with the other until the fingernails matched on that hand... of course that let him reach down and adjust his ample package. Toby watched with eager delight as Derek took in a huge mouth full of smoke, held it, and then exhaled. The smoke crept around his face, the smallest tendrils ever dancing on the ends of his stubble before they pushed out. A thick blond mustache pushed out over Derek's lip, grazing the cigar in his mouth. Toby's cheeks grew bushy with hair, an incredibly thick and bushy set of mutton chops growing in, though in both cases the stubble was incredibly thick and moving towards a full beard at a rapid pace. While smoking, the dim evening light glinting off of the metal rings finally caught his eye. They had been brushing up against his lips as a convenient guide as to how far to push the cigar into his mouth, but they were fascinating him more and more. Toby reached over and slid one of the four metal rings off of his cigar, rolling it around in his left hand. The heat from the cigar and from his hand seemed to infuse the metal until it all but shrank, growing a little less wide across but the metal was thicker... and there was a tiny gap in the metal as well, just a little across. With his mind in such an altered state, Toby found almost everything amusing. He lifted up his shirt, looing down at his fat nipples. He held the ring up to one, sliding the nub through the gap. "Hey look at my piercing dude." Toby said in jest before he suddenly gasped. The metal slipped through his nipple and closed off, the ring complete again. Derek loved over and all but grunted. "When did you get that? It's awesome..." Derek said, reaching over. He took a firm grip of the ring and gave it a tug. Toby's back arched and he let out a deep noise, surprised by such physical pleasure. Toby looked back to the metal rings on his cigar, pulled out another one and played with it. Just like the first, it stretched and warped, turning into the same kind of ring. Tobias leaned over, lifted Derek's shirt, and before he could react, slid the ring into place. "What the fuuu.... Uh, that... feels so good." Derek all but melted, going limp. Toby grinned, giving it a good tug, watching how fat Derek's nipple got around the piercing, kept eternally erect by the metal. "These cigars are even better than I thought... They come with toys." Tobias grinned, pulling off another one of the rings. It too worked into another nipple ring. He slid it up onto his own chest, shuddering as it settled into place. Toby leaned back, looking at his pierced chest. It was quite hot. Recovering from his nipgasm, Derek looked over at Toby and his cigar, realizing what had happened. He withdrew one of the four metal rings from his cigar and worked at it, shaping it into another nipple ring. He hesitantly brought it to his unpierced nipple, held it in place, and then felt the pressure pushing through his skin. He cooed, panting hard. Both men laid back limp against the couch, only moving to bring the cigars to their mouths, inhaling deeply before letting another cloud out, practically bathing in the tobacco smoke. While both men relaxed, their bodies hardly did. Both men sported raging erections, their pants tented to their limits. The sleeves of their shirts wee spread tight, the cloth tugging into the skin as the biceps and triceps grew so thick. Toby and Derek were certainly disproportionate, having the upper torso of body builders while their legs remained the same, though that soon came to an end as their calves, thighs, and feet started growing. Toby kicked off his shoes to give them more room while Derek wriggled his toes, his feet getting rather stiff. Recovering from the overwhelming pleasure for a moment, Derek slid another one of the cigar rings off of the cigar. "I wonder what the rest are for. Earrings maybe?" he asked. As he pondered, the ring started spreading wider without getting any thinner. It was impressive really, though it was becoming a very heavy, thick ring with a rather narrow gap that would have almost looked out of place on an ear. Derek held the ring in his left hand, smoking with his right, confused. "Let me." Toby said, smoke leaving his lips as he spoke. He took the ring from Derek's hand and moved it up, sliding the two ends into Derek's nostrils. Derek grunted in surprise before he felt the ring close, hanging from his septum. Derek's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he realized how male he seemed, so truly manly. Toby gave the nose ring a gentle tug to make sure it was secure, though as he pulled his hand back he couldn't help but caress his best friend's fuzzy cheek, admiring the thick, even blond beard he was growing. For a moment Toby couldn't remember why he had never felt so close to Derek, it seemed as if he had missed out on a lot... but at least they were together now, and soon they were even closer. Tobias slid the last ring off of his cigar and played with it until it swelled into a matching ring. He slid it up into his nose, felt the ring pierce him, and let out a long sigh of delight... but he didn't want to inhale air to replace the sigh, he wanted smoke. He brought the cigar to his lips and drew in, the end of the cigar burning bright before his cheeks widened and he held it. Tobias exhaled, feeling the weight of the nose ring hanging against a thick brown mustache of his own. The sound of a zipper being moved down caught his attention. Tobias turned, seeing Derek pull out his achingly hard cock. The skin was darker than he imagine, several shades more tanned than his arms or face... but Tobias wasn't surprised about anything else about the act. It seemed perfectly natural. While Derek smoked with his right hand, his left hand curled around his shaft, giving it a few good strokes. He thought because it was free of the pants that it had more room to grow, but actually each tug of his cock was getting him to stretch a little longer. Tobias watched Derek jerking for over a minute before he realized he should be doing the same thing. The brunette unbuttoned and zipped his pants, opened the fly of his boxers, and let his hard cock out to play. Son both men were puffing away, smoking, embracing the changes even more. They both jerked off for several minutes before Derek grunted with an epiphany. "Dude, take over for me, I've got an idea." He said. Tobias clenched his teeth around his cigar, working his own cock with his left hand, reaching over for Derek's with his right as if that was the most natural request in the world. Derek grunted in delight as Tobias took very, thrusting his hips into the hand lightly. It freed him up to hold his cigar with one hand and pull another of the rings off of his own cigar. He plugged his gar back into his mouth ad started working on the ring, wondering what it would turn into. Again the metal started to warp, getting thicker but no larger or small in girth. The gap in the metal was formed a bit differently though. Derek tried to figure out what it was for, completely stumped. "Cock ring..." Tobias said, his voice much deeper than before. Derek didn't seem to notice, he was only pleased such an appropriate answer had presented itself. He pulled the cigar from his mouth and leaned over, kissing Tobias' furry bearded cheek in thanks before he set to work. He carefully held the ring, moving it down to his own cock. It was hard to get steady with Toby jerking it so well, but he wasn't about to ask his friend to stop. He slipped one of the blunt ends in through his urethra, the other blunt en sliding along the outside of the mushroom shaped head of his cock before he suddenly gasped. The ring sank into his flesh, his urethra was stretched wide, and his cock started swelling. It stretched out wildly in Toby's hand, zooming past nine inches, ten, eleven... until it crept just past the one foot mark, thickening to be at least five inches across. Derek's balls swelled as well, going from the size of plums to the size of tangerines in moments. Derek let out a beastial groan as precum oozed down his cock and spilled over Toby's fingers. "My turn." Tobias said. Derek looked over before he realized what Tobias was asking. He pulled the last ring from his cigar and worked at it, watching it get thicker and heavier, the gap forming just right into another Prince Albert piercing. Derek popped the gar into his mouth before he leaned over, practically into Tobias' lap. He carefully took a hold of his friend's cock, holding it in place as he slid the cock ring into his slit. A moment later it secured itself and the growing process began. Toby grunted, fucking his own hand even faster as his cock grew darker and darker, shifting from peachy colored down to a deeper tan, almost brown. His shaft stretched out, growing fatter and fatter. The head of his cock blunted a bit, a little flatter, the shaft stretching out longer. Try as he might, Tobias wasn't satisfied with his hand any longer. He needed something tighter, deeper, hotter, something more. He glanced over at Derek, his lips curled and he used one beefy arm to toss Derek onto the floor. The sudden exertion of muscle caused Tobias' shirt to pop at the seams, the fabric ripping, huge beefy muscles emerging. Derek landed on all fours, startled. He turned his head to look back just as Tobias advanced, pulling Derek's pants down to his ankles before he moved. Derek's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he felt the hot hard, blunt and pierced cock pushing between his fuzzy blond ass cheeks. Even while fucking his formerly straight best friend, Tobias wasn't giving up his cigar. His left hand rested on Derek's hip, several inches wider than it had been minutes before. His right hand held the cigar to his lips, letting him puff away as his own hips thrust forward and back, his huge cock sliding in and out of the tight ring of muscle. Derek was using his arms to keep himself up, but his own cigar was clenched in his teeth as he was fucked, his own cock dangling, dripping thick precum onto the carpet. While embracing their masculinity and mutual lust, their changes were accelerating. Tobias hips spread wider, his waist growing larger, his pants getting tugged before they fell to the ground around his ankles. The last vestiges of Tobias' shirt fell off, revealing his furry chest. Even his arm hair had gotten thicker, his skin disappearing beneath the thin coating of dark brown hair that spread up over his shoulders, connecting with the fur of his chest as the bush around his cock spread out, the fur covering his stomach and slipping over his hops before his back was filled in like a blank canvas being covered. Each thrust into Derek's ass seemed to make him larger as well. His ass cheeks were huge, his back covered in muscle and then blond fur. His toes flexed, but only in unison. The reason why would have been clear if either of them had been looking. The skin on Derek's toes was growing together, forming a single flap of flesh and bone. The toenails were as dark as their fingernails, but the hard surface began spreading out, covering the tips of his fused toes, hardening even more as the heels melted away and the ankles shifted. Derek's feet continued to contort until he was the proud owner of two hooves. Derek's leg hair got thicker and thicker, his skin disappearing beneath a layer of white. He kept letting out noises of pleasure as Tobias rammed his ass, hitting his prostate, filling him with mounting levels of pleasure. Derek snorted smoke out of his nose, still working on his gar, but as the smoke passed through his nose... it started to change. The nostrils spread out a bit, his nose darkened, the point blunted... and then slowly his jaw began to stretch forward. His teeth grew flatter, a blessing so he wouldn't puncture his cigar, and his tongue grew longer. The blond fuzz that made up his beard suddenly swept up over the rest of his face, covering his nose and forehead, creeping back to his hairline as his ears stretched out, growing rounder, longer, more oval. "Mmmmmooooooooore!" Derek called out, practically mooing. He winced, eyes squeezing shut as a painful pressure started building in his head. Tobias fucked his friend even harder, ramming and grinding. The pressure reached critical as two ivory horns pushed out of the skin, drops of blood lost into the fur. The horns curved up before they moved out perfectly to the sides, inch after inch without end. Derek's balls tugged up to his body and he let out another moo as his muzzle finished forming, his nose turning fully bovine as his horns came to a stop. His ass cheeks pulled apart and his tailbone stretched out rapidly into a long tube of flesh with a thicker puff ball of darker hair at the very end of it. Suddenly Derek's thick cow cock spasmed and a thick, hot load of sperm unleashed along his belly, dripping onto the carpet below. Feeling his mate lose it, Toby felt like even more of a male than ever before. His balls swelled ore and more, surpassing tangerines and reaching the size of full ranges. He moaned, his mouth stretching out into a muzzle, his lips darkening as his brown beard stretched longer, a thinner coating of brown covering the rest of his face. An incredible, painful pressure built up in his skull, making him feel as if he was going to die before the skin was punctured and the horns emerged, bending out and then forward. The horns spilled out from his head in a much different configuration than Derek's. Tobias' horns were angled forward, ready to skewer anyone who dared challenge that he was the man, that he was in charge. Across his body his skin had turned brown, his hide had gotten thick and fur had covered him. In the mess of is jeans his toes had fused and his feet had turned into thick hooves. His ass cheeks parted to reveal his dark black pucker, a bull tail growing in and whipping around. Despite having the muzzle of a bull, a curly bushy brown beard hung from his face, the mustache practically hugging the stub of a cigar he held there. Despite Toby's best efforts to keep it going, at last the cigar had gone out. He tossed the used butt to the side and grabbed Derek's thick ass with both hands, going in for the kill. Toby bucked like a wild bull, as he now was one, slamming his cock into Derek, hilting his friend. He slammed into the prostate more times than he could count before at last Toby lifted his head skyward and let out a moo that rattled the windows. His fat, huge cock pulsed and a massive load of bull spunk sprayed deep into Derek's ass. Derek felt the flow enter his body and he let out another moo, cumming all over himself yet again. For minutes Toby poured into Derek, the blond bull's belly swelling just a bit with the displaced space before Toby's load finally came to and end. Derek unceremoniously collapsed onto the cum soaked carpet and then Toby collapsed onto him. The two bulls were stretched out on the carpet, Toby's cock still stuffed into Derek's ass. Both men had grown well past their original heights. Derek was at least seven foot three and Toby was even taller, naturally. The two bulls remained in a beefy heap for almost a half hour, panting and grunting before finally they started to regain their senses, moving softly. Toby rolled onto his back and Derek was hoisted up, still skewered on bull cock. He tried to sit up but collapsed, laying his head back against the side of Toby's. Toby reached a hand up to pet the face of his bovine lover. "So... you... got that... at the mall?" Derek asked finally. Toby nodded. "A great shop, the Leaf Lounge... It had all kinds of stuff." Toby replied, smiling, "Did you enjoy yourself lover?" he asked. "Best celebration I ever had... You're a better fuck than I remembered." Derek said, not recalling that an hour before they had both been as straight as a ruler. "Well when you've got an ass as inviting as yours, who can resist?" Toby grinned. Derek chuckled, looking around before he paused, noticing the other box that Toby had brought home. "We have a whole case of cigars?" he grunted happily. Toby nodded. "Yeah, we can keep on celebrating, maybe invite some friends over... though I need to go to the store, pick up some more rings. There totally weren't enough in that box." Tobias grinned, reaching around to wrap his fingers around Derek's half limp shaft, stroking it and massaging the sperm into the thick cow hide. Derek melted back into the sensation, feeling like the most content bull there had ever been. He didn't want to go anywhere else. "I always want to be like this, you and me..." Derek murmured, clenching his ass muscles around Toby's cock. Toby grunted, his eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. "Even in class?" he asked naughtily. Derek smirked. "If we can get away with it..." Derek replied. Tobias snorted in bliss before he unleashed another hot load of sperm deep into his friend's ass, the excess leaking out over his lap. Derek snuggled back before letting his eyes shut. They were going to have an amazing year.

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daisychainsdrag · 1 year

Text

Entry 2: ...Body-ody-ody

This is an interesting topic for me, since I experience gender dysphoria, and many of my clothing and style choices are already centered around an ‘illusion’-- taller, less hips, boxier shape, wearing binders, etc. I naturally have a very “feminine” shape (thanks mom) which I could use to my advantage if I wished to create a feminine illusion with my drag, but I worry that would cause me distress.

I wore a beautiful blue princess dress to my prom (it had pockets!) and it was very fun to twirl around in but it didn’t feel like “me”. Looking back I wish I had had the courage to wear something a little less conforming. It honestly kind of felt like drag, although I didn’t understand it at the time.

At this point in my life I am a lot more interested in exploring non-feminine gender expression, or at least gender expression that challenges and remixes traditional feminine expectations.

I think my drag persona would probably align somewhat with my own preferred ‘shape’-- I would definitely wear a binder, emphasize my shoulders with padding/jackets, and wear pants or skirts that don’t show off my hips. I would keep my body hair, but I don’t think I would add any facial hair (could be convinced, I suppose). In the more fantasy route I might like to take, I would probably want to try out some costuming that treats my body as a canvas rather than the star of the show. Modern fashion centers around the body as its own main accessory, but historical costuming and fashion makes use of proportion, illusion, padding, and materials that can actually hold a shape. In whatever direction I go, I would like my garments and fashion to reflect this, especially given that my natural body shape is not one I really connect to (although I do love myself and all, worry not).

I have had short hair since I was a young teen (aside from a year of very long grown out buzzcut, which I mostly kept in a bun) so I don’t feel all that comfortable with styling hair, nor do I really want lots of it. I like the idea of doing genderfuck drag with a buzzed head, but with my hair as it is now (slightly shaggy) I would probably choose to either dye it, gel it into something interesting, or cover it with some sort of hat, headwear (like that daisy idea I had), or maybe a short wig.

Because I treat my body as something to work with and work around, rather than the main focus of my self expression, conceiving of it as something on display in a performance is difficult to do. I don’t think I would mind it, but with so much mainstream drag centered around showing off a specific “shape” that I don’t have and physically cannot achieve (generally: tall with skinny legs) it has skewed the way that I think of drag and what it can be. I would like to push those mental boundaries and let myself exist outside the norm, just as I try to do in my daily life.

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nullfolknews · 1 year

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Nullfolk Newsletter - April 9th, 2023

From the looks of things, our little town is on the cusp of being shaken awake by gruff hands at the end of a warm smile that says, “Wake up, sleepy head! It’s a brand-new week!”

Local philanthropist Dennis Walter set up a podium earlier this week in the centre of the Square to announce to the media and the bystanders and the vagabonds that, and I quote, “It’s about time we had a new me, babes! My name is Jeffrey now!”

When pressed by the media on the reasons for this change, and on whether or not he will continue to philanthrope, Jeffrey responded, “That sounds like information that only Dennis Walter would be privy to. Jeffrey was not present for the making of this decision, babes!”

While Dennis Walter will be sorely missed, it is lovely to see that Jeffrey will carry on his legacy by calling everyone “babe.”

Speaking of new things, a new visitor has come to our little community. We know literally nothing about them so far apart from the following:

They are a thin, tall, tan person with delicately androgynous features. Their hair is black and falls in tight coils around their face. They have a small scar under their left ear from an unfortunate run-in with a stray cat during their childhood. They carry a large brown purse and wear a pair of Air Jordan Raging Bulls in Black and Varsity Red. Their mother tongue is Italian and they are extremely perturbed by the fact that I am reporting all of this via newsletter as they read it. They were so taken aback that they almost spilled their black chai in their cherry-red rental Honda Civic that they have parked at the Valley Mart parking lot, where they did not purchase said black chai, and began scrolling on their phone as if waiting for something that would take an indeterminable amount of time.

We at the newsletter hope that you enjoy your stay here, mysterious stranger. Where do you come from? Why are you here? Will you ever leave? We couldn’t begin to fathom. We know literally nothing about you. You’re such a mystery!

Local plant growing expert Jonathon Larkins has, for the first time in almost twelve months, shared his plans for the current year with us. According to Larkins, this year he intends on producing and selling crops in markets both inside and outside of the town. Wonderful news all around, I’d say! It’s simply lovely knowing that we will continue to be fed by a plant growing expert such as Jonathon.

And now for your five-day forecast:

Each breathe will be brittle, coarse against your heaving lungs. The truths you uncover will strike your back, unceasing, unforgiving. You will crumble knowing that the sheer terror freezing your fingers in place is just, and well deserved.

Don’t forget to unplug the kettle.

A few other bits and pieces that we can look forward to in the not-so-distant future:

The construction of our new local library is carded to be completed by the end of June. It is said that this library will be filled with knowledge so fresh and exciting that no one would ever be able to know it, lest this library be completed. I’m especially excited about this as I was a huge fan of the previous library. Since it had been commandeered by the local teens and replaced by a garment and vape pen retail outlet, things simply haven’t been the same. Sure, the graphic tees are fine, but the information they contained skewed more on the side of ancient and cosmic, which just was not undiscovered enough for my tastes. Not to knock anyone who prefers that particular “old ones-esque” flavour of information, it’s just not what tickles my knowledge pickle, per say.

Some more exciting news. Later this month, we will be opening our 75-year-old time-capsule! It will be so exciting to see just how much things have changed since that arbitrary day in that arbitrary year.

It seems now that the static lines that shape themselves into the ongoings of our little town are growing sleepy, and so this little monologue between you and I must come to an end. I do wish you a beautiful week, dear reader. The lovely noise that should keep you company hereafter is Cicadas by Little May.

youtube

#nullfolk #news #Youtube

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block-swing-perry · 3 years

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I’ve probably said this before but honestly I kinda live and breath genrex aus at this point and so I forget what I’ve posted but it’s definitely something I’ve gone over my head so eh i’ll say it again:

I know Rex in the show is shown dealing with small time EVOs occasionally, but logically (due to him being a rowdy teen, and also the only thing that can cure EVOs, and probably the most durable providence solider) the only time Rex should be called out to the field would be level 1 EVOs, the absolute strongest and most troublesome EVOs.

Rex can’t be relied on to take out anything less, unless it’s for training on new takedown tactics on weaker EVOs, because otherwise you have the entire world and Providence reliant on one kid to get all the EVOs. If he’s on the other side of the world and providence agents can’t handle the EVOs then what’s the point of providence?

No, it’s more logical to train agents to handle EVOs to capture them and gather them at a base where Rex can visit during his time off to cure them. There’s probably special training for when Rex is in play to provide Rex as much support as possible to rex while evacuating everyone out of the immediate area.

Also i’d like to point out that level one EVOs are about on par with like a hurricane or other natural disaster so it’s really impressive that Rex wins against the EVOs with the amount of damage he prevents. While yes, Rex could definitely cut down more on the damage he is also a teen who’s desperate to actually live for once and unfortunately fighting what are basically walking natural disasters that are ultimately also innocent victims look like to be some of his only options to let loose. The fact that only a couple blocks get destroyed is a miracle compared the the damage the EVO could do across a state or district.

Now this also brings us to the interesting part: rex’s view of EVOs is incredibly skewed. Of the billions of organisms that have turned EVO at some point or another, a vast majority rex has come in contact with are these massive super EVOs hes fought and won against. While a normal citizen might think of a normal EVO as their neighbor growing an extra two feet tall with extra arms and green skin, or a bug growing butterfly wings and tentacles, Rex looks at an EVO taller than skyscrapers and thinks to himself “yeah just a normal day”

#generator rex #i need like a fic where either some providence agent is making a tiktok or someone ismaking a documentary or something #and they get to Rex and go like could you take this and they show him an EVO the size of a truck or something #land rex goes off on a tangent about how those are relatively easy! The skyscraper ones are the harder ones!

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purrincess-chat · 3 years

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Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH17

The queen has arrived ;)

Previous First Next AO3

----------------------------

Chapter 17: Kings and Queens

“Look out!” Chloe shoved Marinette out of the way of a red beam of light. Her knees buckled, and Marinette scrambled to catch her.

“What a shame. I missed.” Black boots climbed long legs, kissing the hems of a ripped dress at the top. A dark tiara crowned flowing red curls, framing the dark green eyes glaring at them from behind a black mask.

“Gabrielle?” Marinette gasped.

“I go by Heiress now, but don’t worry, Marinette, your stupidity has bought you a free pass. I just wanted to make sure my powers were working, and it looks like they do.” She nodded to the girl coming to in Marinette’s arms before strutting off.

Chloe sat up with a groan, rubbing her head. “Ugh, what was that?”

“Chloe, your-” Marinette clamped a hand over her mouth.

Her once shiny hair hung dull and stringy at her shoulders, now resembling straw more than soft silk. Perfectly manicured nails had shriveled into dirty stubs, and her Gabriel-original dress was replaced with a knock-off.

“What?” Chloe’s shoulders heaved, escalating until a shrill scream echoed through the hall.

“You saved me—I think.” Marinette winced. “It looks like Heiress’s power made you-”

“Poor!” Chloe screeched. “Oh, Ladybug better get here soon and fix this! If I see that akuma, I’ll teach her to put me in off-brands!”

“Wait, you saved me. You saved me!” Marinette realized. “Aw, you do miss me.”

“No, I don’t!” Chloe’s cheeks flushed. “I didn’t even know what was happening. I just reacted, okay?”

“Please, you don’t have a selfless bone in your body. You saved me because you miss me,” Marinette said.

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not!” At Marinette’s smug grin, Chloe folded her arms over her chest with a huff. “Whatever. I’m going after that akuma to give her a piece of my mind. You can go get help or… go buy some shoes that aren’t awful!”

“I don’t think you’re one to talk about awful shoes right now.” Marinette pointed to the ratty sneakers on Chloe’s feet.

“Just go,” Chloe said through clenched teeth.

Marinette raced up the hall, a smile tugging the corners of her lips. She hated to admit it, but in a weird way, she did miss Chloe Bourgeois. Wow. She never thought she’d say that.

“You’re changing a lot of mean girls today.” Tikki remarked when Marinette ducked into a closet. “I think that was Chloe’s way of protecting you.”

“I’m not holding my breath. She probably had too much wine,” Marinette said. “But never mind that. Transform me!”

Ladybug sprinted back up the hall, palming her yoyo in one hand. She should have known Gabrielle would get akumatized once her secret got out, but now wasn’t the time to play blame games. There was an akuma to catch.

Rounding the corner, she collided with another person, scrambling to catch their hand before they both fell backward. “Sorry!” she gasped, but when gorgeous green eyes locked with hers, her heart took off into a sprint.

“Ladybug?” Adrien blinked in surprise. “What’s going on?”

Why did she have to find him now? Even if she defeated the akuma quickly, she needed to be there for Gabrielle. Lisette would have to help her look cute for him another time.

“There’s an akuma on the loose. You should find somewhere to hide,” she said.

“Right.” He flicked his gaze down to their hands, still twined.

Ladybug let go, cheeks burning. “Um, stay safe, okay?”

“Good luck, Ladybug,” he said before running the other way up the hall.

She watched him go with a longing sigh. What she wouldn’t give to be a normal girl right now. Then they could snuggle up and hide together, and maybe he’d finally kiss her. They could get married, buy a house, and-

She patted her cheeks to snap herself out of her trance. There was no time for that now. Akuma first, then Gabrielle, Adrien later.

Terrified shrieks signaled that Heiress had found the rest of the party. Thomas was the one who outed her, so he was likely Heiress’s first target. Ladybug needed to get to him first, even if he was one of the skeeviest people she’d ever met. It wasn’t her job to pick who needed saving. Why did she have to be such a good person?

Bursting into the dining room, she skidded to a stop as Heiress zapped Thomas before she could even draw her yoyo.

“No!”

The tall boy transformed in front of her. Perfectly combed brown hair shriveled into shaggy clumps, and a once flawless complexion broke out in angry, red zits. Stylish clothes turned to tattered rags as Thomas became a shell of his former glory. He scurried away from Heiress with a squeal, and she turned to Ladybug with a triumphant smirk.

“Too slow,” Heiress said, “but don’t worry. Now I have plenty of time for you.”

Ladybug dodged the red beam. She might have been too late to save Thomas, but there was still time to save Gabrielle. This battle was far from over. She just needed to focus.

“I know you think there isn’t a way out of your situation, but teaming up with Hawkmoth isn’t the answer!” Ladybug pleaded.

“Please, I’ve lived among these people long enough to know that they don’t appreciate what they have. I know I didn’t…” Heiress lowered her gaze, jaw clenched. “My family lost everything, but now I can take it all back!”

Ladybug flipped out of the way of several blasts, taking the time to examine her opponent closely. The barcode scanner shot red beams of light that stripped its victims of their fancy clothes, jewelry, devices—anything expensive. Gabrielle wanted everyone to feel the pain of losing everything, so she was taking all of their wealth for herself.

A metal baton struck Heiress’s hand, skewing her next shot, and a black-clad feline cast his partner a smirk. “Having a party without me? I’m insulted.”

“Your invitation must have gotten lost in the mail,” Ladybug said. “You and I both know it’s not a party without your sweet dance moves, kitty. Care to show us how it’s done?”

“It would be my pleasure, LB.” Chat Noir winked.

Heiress pointed her scanner at him. “I wonder how much that cat suit is worth.”

Chat Noir dodged her attack easily. “This cat’s style is one-of-a-kind. All the money in the world can’t buy this swagger.”

“We’ll see about that,” Heiress growled.

The heroes took turns charging in, dodging and weaving around beams from her scanner. Ladybug hooked her yoyo around Heiress’s legs, swinging her around into the China hutch. Realizing she was outmatched, Heiress retreated to the living room where more party guests were hiding, but Ladybug and Chat Noir were hot on her trail.

“Run!” Ladybug ordered, and terrified teens scattered.

Heiress ducked out of the way of Chat’s baton, scanning anyone who passed her between blows. Lisette’s older brother raced from behind the couch, and Heiress wasted no time scanning him before he reached the door. She caught Chat Noir’s staff on the next swing, a grin curling on her lips.

“Looks like someone’s watch was worth a lot. I wonder how much this costs?” She scanned Chat Noir’s baton, leaving him with a plastic copy.

“Hey!” Chat Noir gasped.

Ladybug snagged her yoyo around Heiress’s wrist before she could scan him, but Heiress kicked him through the large window with one long leg instead. Before Ladybug could react, Heiress gripped the string of the yoyo and spun her out after him.

Chat Noir braced as she landed on top of him in the bush, her yoyo bouncing onto the grass beside them. They rolled over with groans, untangling their limbs, and Ladybug grasped for her yoyo.

“Everything she scans makes her stronger depending on its worth. We need to think of a plan,” she said.

“I’m all ears, Bug.” Ladybug eyed him. “What?”

“You haven’t called me m’lady or Bugaboo all evening. I think it’s a new record for you.” She flicked his bell with a smirk.

“Well, I- you hate it when I call you that,” he said pointedly, cheeks flushed.

“That’s never stopped you before. Has another lady finally stolen your heart?” she giggled.

“I-”

“Ladybug!” Chloe shouted. “What are you two doing out here? The akuma is turning more people into dried up peasants. Have you seen what she did to my hair? Bring me my Miraculous, so I can beat some sense into her!”

“Chloe, this isn’t the time for revenge.” Ladybug sighed.

“I’m not out for revenge,” Chloe said matter-of-factly. “The faster we defeat the akuma, the faster I go back to looking fabulous. So bring me my Miraculous, and let me help you, please?” Chloe pressed her palms together, and Ladybug pursed her lips.

Chloe was right. They needed to defeat the akuma quickly and save Gabrielle, but did she really want to give Chloe her Miraculous back? With her identity blown, Chloe was in even more danger every time she became Queen Bee. Not to mention trusting Chloe in general was risky, but after she sacrificed herself for Marinette earlier…

Something was different about Chloe. Sure was still the same bratty, primadonna, but her blue eyes were steadfast and sincere. Ladybug once believed that giving Chloe a Miraculous would help her be better, and part of her still believed that.

There was only one way to settle this.

“Lucky Charm!” Ladybug caught the record as it manifested and turned it over in her hands.

“Now isn’t the time to practice your DJing.” Chloe scoffed.

Ladybug glanced between Chat Noir, Chloe, the plants surrounding them, but nothing stood out. A record. What was she supposed to do with a record? Unless…

“I have to go. Chat Noir, keep an eye on Heiress until I get back, but be careful. I don’t want you getting scanned. We don’t know what will happen to our powers if she scans one of us,” Ladybug said.

“Got it.”

“Are you going to bring me my Miraculous?” Chloe perked up.

“Do you promise not to do anything reckless while I’m gone?” Ladybug asked.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes! I promise, Ladybug.” Chloe bounced excitedly, then cocking a hip added, “But hurry up! These shoes make me physically ill.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes and dashed up the lawn, leaping through the very same garden she and Adrien had walked through an hour before. The mansion was far from Master Fu’s apartment, but her yoyo made short work of the trip. Her mentor was enjoying his bedtime tea when she entered, sitting cross-legged on the mat with Wayzz on his shoulder.

“Master, there’s an akuma, and I think my lucky charm wanted me to come here.” Marinette flicked her gaze to the phonograph resting on the chest in the back.

“Then there is no time to waste,” Master Fu said. He set his tea aside and retrieved the Miracle Box from its hiding place. “Who do you have in mind?”

Marinette surveyed her options with pursed lips, then resigned herself and reached for the bee. Chloe was different tonight, and if they were going to stop Heiress, they needed an ally they could count on. Never in her life did she picture that to be Chloe, but given the present circumstances, she didn’t have any other options.

“Are you sure, Marinette? Choosing her is risky.” Master Fu cautioned.

“It’s a long story, but…” Marinette smiled. “I’m sure.”

“Then best of luck.”

When Marinette changed schools, she intended to leave everyone behind and start over, but the most unlikely people had found their way back to her. Adrien took her by the hand and refused to let go. Chloe begrudgingly kept one foot in the door, constantly threatening to close it for good, but something told Marinette she never would.

To Ladybug’s surprise, Chloe actually listened to her instructions to stay out of trouble. When Ladybug found her, she was dutifully ushering other raggedly dressed teens out to the garden. She really could behave when she wanted to.

Chloe spotted her on the balcony, and when Ladybug waved the small box, Chloe raced up the stairs faster than she’d ever run in gym class. She held out her hands expectantly, but Ladybug held up a finger.

“I’m trusting you this time, Chloe, but you don’t need a Miraculous to be a hero, ya know. You can be nicer to those around you all the time,” Ladybug said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chloe groaned. “Can I have my Miraculous now?”

“Do you promise to be nicer to people?”

Chloe’s cheeks flushed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Alright, fine.”

Ladybug tossed her the box, and Chloe ripped it open, completely unfazed as Pollen materialized. She fastened the comb into her hair and smiled. “Pollen, transform me!”

Ladybug didn’t wait for Queen Bee’s transformation to finish before they hit the ground running. Chat Noir had been holding Heiress back on his own, and it was time to bring him some backup.

The two heroines kicked in the front door, leaping straight into action. Ladybug shielded Chat Noir with her yoyo while Queen Bee snagged Heiress’s leg with her spinner and tossed her through the door to the living room.

“You sure kept me waiting,” Chat Noir said.

“It was kind of a long trip, but I thought we could use some help,” Ladybug said as Queen Bee fluffed her ponytail.

“Let’s show this wannabe who the real queen is.” Queen Bee readied her spinner.

“So, what’s the plan?” Chat Noir asked.

“If Queen Bee can sting Heiress with her Venom, then you can Cataclysm her scanner. Avoid getting hit at all costs. There’s no telling how powerful a Miraculous will make her,” Ladybug said.

Heiress was kicking debris from the cabinet she’d crashed into when the heroes found her. They didn’t waste time as she righted herself, taking turns charging in. With a growl of frustration, Heiress flipped back into the foyer, scanning the crystal chandelier in the process. Ladybug’s yoyo wasn’t far behind, snagging her wrist again. Queen Bee bound her legs with her spinning top, but Heiress absorbed enough power from the chandelier to break the stone fountain beside her. Tossing a large chunk at Queen Bee, Heiress freed her legs, using her free arm to sling Ladybug into the staircase. Chat Noir grappled with Heiress while his partners recovered, but Heiress parried his blows easily before taking his wrist and tossing him across the foyer.

Ladybug sat up with a wince, rubbing her back where it had collided with the smooth marble. Her yoyo had bounced to the base of the stairs, too far for her to reach as Heiress closed in. She braced as Heiress raised her scanner, but a flash of yellow shot across the foyer.

“No!” Queen Bee leaped between Ladybug and the red beam.

Vibrant yellows dulled, long golden curls shriveling to dried husks. The bee comb in her hair lost its shine, transforming into a powerless, plastic barrette. Queen Bee collapsed at Ladybug’s feet.

“A noble sacrifice, but even your Miraculous has given me enough power to end this fight quickly,” Heiress said.

“Cataclysm!”

Heiress turned as Chat Noir slid past her, dragging his claws across the tile. The ground crumbled and gave out under his touch, plunging Heiress into the wine cellar below. He raced over to Ladybug, kneeling beside Queen Bee as she sat up.

“She really saved your skin, LB,” he said.

“She saved all of us,” Ladybug corrected. “That was really selfless of you, Queen Bee. Thank you.”

“If she hit you, then things would never go back to normal.” Queen Bee took Ladybug’s hand, pressing the yoyo to her palm. “You’re the only one who can fix all of this, so don’t you dare let me getting hit by that freak twice be for nothing.”

Ladybug nodded, gripping her yoyo tightly before issuing the call, “Lucky Charm!” She caught the small black card as it materialized, turning it over in her hands. “A credit card?”

“Well, she’s certainly got enough money to take you shopping,” Chat Noir remarked.

Ladybug pursed her lips, flicking her gaze around the room. With Chat Noir’s belt, her yoyo, the credit card, and Queen Bee…

“I know what to do. Chat Noir, I need you to lure her into the dining room and be ready to use your belt,” she instructed. “Queen Bee, come with me.”

“But I don’t have any powers.”

Ladybug offered her a smile and pulled her to her feet. “Remember what I told you. You don’t need superpowers to be a hero. Trust me.”

Queen Bee searched her expression, then smiled, and the two heroines retreated up the hall.

“So, what’s the plan?” Queen Bee asked as they entered the dining room.

“How fast can you swipe a credit card?” Ladybug turned to her, and Queen Bee cocked a hip.

“Please, I can swipe one faster than my daddy can realize how much money I’m spending,” she said. “Why?”

“Chat Noir and I are going to subdue Heiress, but we need you to swipe this across her scanner. It’s maxed out, so it’s basically worthless. With any luck, it will short-circuit her powers long enough to get the scanner away from her,” Ladybug explained. She placed the card in Queen Bee’s hands. “I’m counting on you.”

Queen Bee squared her shoulders with a nod. “Okay, Ladybug!”

Footsteps pounded in the hallway, growing closer, and Ladybug signaled Queen Bee to her position. When Chat Noir burst through the door, he removed his belt as Ladybug readied her yoyo. Heiress was hot on his trail, and the two heroes engaged her the moment she stepped through the door.

“Chat Noir!” Ladybug called.

He slid across the floor on his knees, looping his belt around Heiress’s legs and pulling tight. Ladybug lassoed her torso with her yoyo, immobilizing her limbs. Queen Bee slid in, swiping the credit card across the scanner with practiced precision.

Heiress shook them off, but when she raised her arm to scan Chat Noir, no red beams flashed.

“What?” She banged it against her palm.

“Oops, looks like I’ve hit my limit,” Queen Bee said.

Chat Noir kicked the scanner from her grasp, and Ladybug snagged it from the air with her yoyo, slamming it against the ground. The casing shattered, and the black butterfly fluttered free.

“No more evil-doing for you, little akuma. Time to deevilize!” she recited. Queen Bee handed her the credit card, and Ladybug tossed it into the air. “Miraculous Ladybug!”

Her magic spread around the mansion, repairing broken cabinets and missing objects, and most importantly, everyone’s fancy clothes. Chat Noir kissed his baton as it reappeared in his hands. Queen Bee twirled in delight as her Miraculous regained its power.

Gabrielle stood up, averting her gaze. Ladybug approached her, but before she could get close, Gabrielle stalked from the room. A speech from Ladybug wasn’t what she needed—Gabrielle needed a friend.

“It feels so good to be fabulous again,” Queen Bee said with a contented sigh.

“Thanks for your help. You can be really selfless when you want to be,” Ladybug said. “Imagine how much of a difference you could make if you were nice all the time.”

Queen Bee’s cheeks flushed. “Okay, okay, whatever!” She flipped her ponytail over one shoulder. “I’ll think about it.”

Chat Noir joined in, and the three touched their fists together.

“Pound it!”

“Well, I hope this is a lesson to Hawkmoth. If an akuma ever ruins my hair again, he’ll have Queen Bee to deal with.” Chloe removed the comb from her hair and handed it back to Ladybug. She headed for the door with her head high but paused with her hand on the frame. “Thanks, Ladybug. For trusting me.”

Ladybug smiled as she sauntered off, turning to Chat Noir. “Thanks for your help, kitty.”

“We’re partners, aren’t we? I can’t let you have all the fun,” he said, shifting when Ladybug pursed her lips at him. “What?”

“Are you okay? You’re quiet today. Usually, you talk my ear off,” she said.

He eyed her with a pensive frown and shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’ll see you next time.”

He raced off without kissing her hand or even a parting flirtatious remark on how beautiful her hair looked in the light. Something was off about him, but she couldn’t place her finger on what. This wasn’t one of his usual pouts when she refused to go on a date with him, and it had been a while since he’d even asked for one. Was he finally moving on from her?

Ladybug shook her head to clear it. There was no time to worry about him. She needed to find Gabrielle.

♪♫♪ Old Scars/Future Hearts ♪♫♪

“Gabrielle!” Marinette skipped down the stairs.

The red-head slumping for the front doors turned over her shoulder with a scowl, but her face softened when she saw Marinette—slightly. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Thomas told everyone about your family, then you got akumatized,” Marinette said.

“Ugh, you’re such a goody-two-shoes.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t be seen with me. If they catch you being nice, they’ll throw you under the bus just as quickly as they did me. Trust me, it’s better if you just ignore me from now on.”

“But what about you?” Marinette asked.

“What about me?” Gabrielle grunted. “I’m done. Now that everyone knows my family’s out of money, I’m the school laughingstock. As far as they’re concerned, I deserve it. Don’t waste your time on me. It’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

Marinette remained quiet, eyebrows knitting together before she finally muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? It’s not like you spent all of our money,” Gabrielle said.

“Yeah, but I know it must be hard for you.”

“Why do you care?” Gabrielle asked. “It’s not like I’ve been nice to you. I dragged you here against your will, then wouldn’t even let you socialize with me. You shouldn’t care about me.”

“Well, you don’t know me very well,” Marinette said, “but you could. We could be friends if you wanted.”

Gabrielle opened her mouth as if to say something, then shook her head, red curls bouncing against her shoulders. “No. I don’t think we could be. Even if I wanted to be your friend, it’s social suicide for you.”

When Marinette frowned, Gabrielle rolled her eyes and added, “Look, forget about me, okay? Forget any of this ever happened. We’re not friends, and we never will be. Just leave me alone!”

Marinette watched her climb into her town car, a sinking feeling weighing her stomach. Gabrielle was right. She shouldn’t care. But she did. Maybe she was just a goody-two-shoes, but Marinette had seen a more vulnerable side of Gabrielle—one that she likely didn’t show many people. After everything, Marinette truly believed that Gabrielle Burton wasn’t a bad person. She just needed someone to show her how to be good.

“Marinette?” She turned to find Adrien approaching from the living room.

“Hey,” she said lamely. Because what did one say to the love of their life after an almost-kiss in the garden?

“I saw you talking to that girl, and I didn’t want to interrupt,” Adrien said. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but isn’t that the girl who was picking on your friend the other day?”

“Yeah,” Marinette said, and when Adrien tilted his head to the side, she added, “it’s kind of complicated.”

“Right,” he said. “So, I guess you need a ride home then?”

“What?”

“Earlier you said that girl brought you here, and now she left, so we can take you home if you want.” Adrien offered. Was it possible for him to be any more dreamy?

“Oh… I guess, I do need a ride. Thank you,” she said. And maybe they could pick up where they left off in the garden. Did she dare even think about it? But what if he tried to kiss her again? Oh, the stories they could tell their kids one day.

“Hey!” Chloe called from the base of the stairs.

Oh, right. Chloe.

“Didn’t I separate you two earlier?” she growled.

“Marinette needs a ride home,” Adrien said, and Chloe cocked a hip.

“She’s got legs.”

“Chloe.” Adrien scolded. “She’s riding with us.”

“No.” Chloe whined, but after a stern look from Adrien, she sighed. “Fine, but we’re dropping her off first. I don’t want to be stuck in a car with her for any longer than I have to be.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” Marinette said.

“I’m only doing this because Ladybug told me to be nicer to people, so I can still be Queen Bee. Don’t think for a second it’s because I like you.” Chloe retorted.

“Don’t worry. I’d never imagine that you like me.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “I haven’t missed you.”

“Well, I haven’t missed you either!”

“Maybe you two just shouldn’t talk on the ride home.” Adrien suggested gently.

“Fine, I don’t want to talk to Dupain-Cheng anyway.” Chloe flipped her ponytail over one shoulder. “You and I can have glowing conversation, Adrikins.”

“Why do you get to talk to Adrien?”

“Because I’ve known him the longest, so ha!” Chloe stuck her tongue out.

Adrien sighed and fell into step alongside Marinette. “Sorry, I know it’s not ideal, but it beats walking.”

“It’s fine. I don’t get to argue with her much anymore, so this is filling up my quota.” Marinette shrugged.

As Adrien reached to open the door for her, another voice called out from the front door. “Leaving already?”

Marinette’s spine stiffened, and she spun around to see Thomas pacing down the front steps like a predator stalking his prey; however, he wasn’t approaching her.

“I saw you fighting that akuma with Ladybug earlier. Being a superhero is pretty cool, huh?” He looked Chloe up and down. “You’re the mayor’s daughter, right?”

Chloe eyed him with disinterest, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “Didn’t Dupain-Cheng turn you down earlier?”

“Well, she and I didn’t exactly hit it off-” Chloe held up a hand to silence him.

“Save it,” she said. “I’m not anyone’s second-choice, and I’m sure as heck not taking home Dupain-Cheng’s scraps. Buzz off, loser.”

Marinette hated to admit it, but she was actually proud of Chloe. Thomas was sleazy, arrogant, and greedy—just her type. Maybe Chloe really had changed.

“Absolutely not. Move over.” Chloe wedged her way between Adrien and Marinette on the seat.

And maybe she hadn’t.

#mdcspr #mdcsp #marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist #marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist remix #my writing

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gh0ulbunni · 3 years

Text

Congratulations..

(Set 12 years after the Brotherhood and X-Men graduate and leave Bayville. Most of the Brotherhood such as Avalanche, Scarlet Witch, Quicksilver, Blob, and Toad have become decorated SHIELD members by now, specifically Toad with his position as Nick Fury's attack dog. After high school in an effort to escape the poor life he once led, Todd has changed his name to Mortimer Toynbee. Not only has his name changed but his appearance has changed as well. His hair is no longer the greasy desaturated mop it once was, his skin gone from pale greyish ivory to pure ivory with splotches of light green and dark green marking spotting his cheekbones, arms, and back, his white schlera turning into a dark almost black green and his eyes turning a vibrant shade of green. Once dull and flat teeth are now sharp as razors with an even sharper and stronger tongue that can light on fire, with strength able to match Blob's, and much more toxic abilities to offer, Tolansky's life has certainly changed for the better... But it seems Summers hasn't. He's become controlling, aggressive, impatient, and quite ballsy in how he behaves towards those of a higher societal standing.. And after this meeting on the floor of the Senate with SHIELD and America's Senate, it seems Scott may be in for a wake up call from an unlikely aqquaintance..)

The sounds of shouting and uproar could be heard echoing throughout the Senate chamber as people tried to plead for order and civility.. Something it seemed Scott was not capable of that day.

His knuckles turned white as he stared at his reflection in the men's room mirror over the sink, vision skewed red by the very visor that gave him his code name, Cyclops.. But cyclopses were brave, and on that floor he wasn't. He justified Senator Kelly's proposal to have the government force mutants to identify themselves with a schoolyard bully's style of response for fucks sake! "Senator Kelly if you go through with this idea not only will you further divide humans and mutants but you will have multiple mutants like ME waiting at your front door to strangle the life at of you for proposing such a facist idea!"

And what a response that was. He thought back to his time in high school.. to the Brotherhood, and how what he stated sounded like a more adult and clean version of what those rugrats would've retorted! Scott couldn't believe he'd been so stupid to let that fly out from his mouth, the looks of horror and surprise from his teammates burned into his memory as they called from a break so he could collect himself and think up an excuse to cover his ass.

While he brainstormed excuses, the bathroom door flew open as a burly light brown skinned man with long dark brown hair burst in, quickly slamming the door behind him shut..

Lance. Had he come to shred into Summers just as Logan and Jean had done? Scott closed his eyes and lifted his glasses to rub his eyes, the dark bags evidence for his lack of sleep during these past few months after Xavier's retirement. Yes, he was a little delirious from sleep, maybe that's why he'd snapped at Kelly... He knew Lance of all people would be a little softer and more empathetic to his situation then Logan or Hank, so Scott quietly thanked his lucky stars as he couldn't handle another person yelling at him.

Lance's face, however, was twisted with cold worry and panic as he grabbed Summers by the arm and threw him into a bathroom stall. "Scott, buddy, you need to hide NOW!", Lance hissed, holding the door closed with his muscular frame while he tried to wipe the look of fear off of his face. Scott's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as he hadn't seen Lance so scared and worried since Apocalypse happened! But Lance continued just as Pietro and Wanda came rushing in. Pietro's hair was slicked back as usual, dressed in a white suit with a blue tie that accentuated his striking blue eyes, while Wanda wore a red pantsuit with a black blouse underneath, her now long and wavy black hair neatly combed back to show her face... Especially her now red eyes that were seething with anger and worry for Scott and the verbal rainfire he'd surely experience at the mouth of their froggy friend... Something she was sure Scott wasn't expecting. "Alright.", Wanda hissed, fists balled at her sides as her red eyes sent a shocking glare in the direction of the stall Scott had been shoved into. Even if he couldn't see her, the venom dripping from her mouth was greater then the venom her highschool self always spewed at others.

"What you did has to be the stupidest thing I've seen during a meeting, Summers. You're fucked, not at the hands of the government or SHIELD! No, you have Toad hot on your ass ready to beat some sense into you! So stay in that fucking stall and don't move an inch, don't breathe, don't make a single sound if you want to retain your dignity," Wanda continued, her hands glowing a bright red as she flung them around whilst she warned him. Pietro, on the other hand was uncharacteristically quiet... He was usually so loud and expressive, usually serving as Wanda's sassy back up when dishing out her venomous responses and tirades, but not today. Instead he leaned against the sink biting his thumb nail nervously. He too knew what Toad was planning to do, the man having gone from the smelly and obnoxious bloke with a small uneducated vocabulary to a man who could more then competently tear some apart both physically and verbally, all while maintaining a dead and cold look in his eyes that made people shiver.

The door to the bathroom crashed open as it was almost ripped off the hinges from the force, the desperate shouting of both Kurt and Fred audible in the background as Toad slammed said door shut once his slim frame had entered into the bathroom. Oh how he'd enjoy just eviscerating Scott's dignity!

Scott peeked over the bathroom stall gingerly, eyes widening as he looked at Todd.. Who'd gone from a short and smelly teen boy with desaturated greyish ivory skin and greyish brown hair and yellow eyes to a green and ivory skinned tall-ish man with rich brown hair and vibrant green eyes with off-black schlera.. Speaking of which, said eyes darted around the room before getting a glimpse of Scott's reddish brown hair peeking over the bathroom stall. Todd growled as he shoved past Lance and threw open the door, webbed hands reaching into grab Scott and drag him out angrily. Scott's back collided with the floor as Todd stood over him, vibrant eyes glaring down at him while his mouth opened to speak.

"To-" "Congratulations," He began. "You were so stupid, as in an 'open all the cages in the zoo' kind of stupid! But instead of cages it's the floodgates for purifiers and the MRD to come in and justify everything they do. Congratulations, Summers! You've put the institute at risk, you've put mutants at risk, and you just inadvertently gave our enemies in Congress and the streets an excuse to amp up their blatant racism! Jean asked you to take a break! Everyone asked you to take a break and you refused to! And for what? To protect your ego?!" Toad shouted, lips curling back to reveal that sharp fangs that had grown in place of his human teeth... Sharp teeth that could rip Scott's throat out if he so wished! Toad must've been exerting a monumental amount of restraint in order to not do so.

"I didn't mean to say that, ok?! It just flew out!" "Oh so you admit you're 15 year old me, huh?" "No! I'm just saying I didn't mean to say it!"

"Tell that to the purifiers who'll begin rioting! Tell that to the MRD who will soon start cracking down on us all because you thought you could shut down schoolyard taunts with a response so yeah, congratulations! You may not think it, Summers... But shit's bouta' get a whole hell of a lot harder for ALL of us! Not just you!"

@yee-honks

@amberallure

@comicgoth666

@thecozycryptid

@ohmygillygoshoppler

@thephoenixfirescout

COME GET FED

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Text

Too Far

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Virgil Tracy, Scott Tracy

So I was rewatching some episodes, minding my own business, when this muse blindsided me out of nowhere. It’s a lot of Virgil, specifically delving into Virgil’s head and motivations, and this is a playground that is normally locked and barred to me so I have no idea at this point how well it’s ended up from a characterisation standpoint. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll understand this boy.

It’s not normally Virgil that Scott has to pull up for misconduct. Episode tag for 3.06 Life Signs.

“Virgil, can you come to the den, please?”

Scott’s voice emerged from his comm with no warning, not even a greeting, and he looked down at his wrist in surprise.

“Is it a rescue?” he asked, eyeing the task he was halfway through and already starting to calculate the fastest way to finish it. “I’m doing some maintenance on Two, so it’ll take me a couple of minutes to get her ready for launch.”

“There’s no rescue.” Scott sounded… off, but not in any of the ways Virgil was used to hearing. It was, at least, partially familiar, but he couldn’t place it. That was concerning, but he couldn’t just leave Thunderbird Two with her dashboard strewn across the cockpit. Rescues had a habit of cropping up at the most inconvenient times, and that certainly qualified.

“Then… can it wait until I’ve put the panels back?”

The weighty pause on the line gave him the answer even before Scott spoke. Whatever Scott needed, it was urgent.

“Five minutes, Virgil.”

But not so urgent it couldn’t wait? Thoroughly mystified and more than a little worried, Virgil hurried through putting his girl back together as quickly as he could whilst still being sure he wasn’t messing anything up. It was lucky he could do it in his sleep, because his mind was firmly fixed on Scott’s odd request.

Except it wasn’t a request, was it? As he screwed the last panel back in place, he realised where he knew that tone of voice from. It was the tone Scott used on Gordon and Alan when they’d done something big brother didn’t approve of. He hadn’t instantly recognised it because Scott hadn’t directed it at him in…

Virgil couldn’t actually remember. Normally when Scott was preparing to lecture him, he was laid up in the medbay with an injury Scott thought could have been avoided and there was a strong undercurrent of thinly veiled worry. That undercurrent was missing, this time, and despite himself Virgil hesitated.

What had he done to get Scott on his back like that?

Reluctantly, he left his girl to answer Scott’s summons – and that was what it was, just like Dad used to summon them if they were in trouble; after Mars and the high of Captain Taylor saying Dad would have been proud of them, the reminder of Dad’s stricter side nestled unpleasantly in his chest. Scott had even gone so far as to wait for him in the den, rather than seeking him out.

Just like Dad.

Virgil wasn’t scared of his brother, but the little brother in him was scared at the idea of disappointing Scott, and it was that part that dragged his feet along the ground, reluctant to face whatever was waiting for him in the den.

Scott was sat at Dad’s desk, glowering intently at a hologram in front of him. Virgil couldn’t see what was on it, barring a lot of text, but that wasn’t important. What was important was the strong, imposing figure at the desk, distinct from his memories of Dad only because Scott was leaning forwards, elbows on the table.

Dad had never sat like that. Sometimes, it seemed like that was the only difference between Dad and his big brother. Today, with a heavy atmosphere and otherwise empty den – no doubt cleared on purpose for this talk – was one of those times.

But for all that they reminded Virgil of each other and memories threatened to overlap reality, it was still Scott at that desk. Virgil trusted Scott with every fibre of his being, and it was that trust that shoved his reluctant feet into the den to face whatever Scott wanted to talk about.

“You called?”

Muscle memory – old, old muscle memory that hadn’t been exercised in eight years – led him to stand in front of the desk. With Scott sat in the chair and him still on his feet, he was taller. He didn’t feel taller.

The desk did funny things to perception, skewed them away from reality.

The blue eyes that suddenly pinned him in place left him feeling a foot tall, and he didn’t even know what this was about, yet. There was love in them, because it was Scott and there was always love in his eyes, even after Gordon had poured itching powder in his bed when he was ten and the sheer amount had him reacting so badly he’d had to see a doctor, but it was overshadowed by other, darker, things.

Anger. Frustration. Disappointment.

Disappointment had a way of affecting the colour that no other emotion could quite replicate. It was the only shade of blue that made Virgil feel ill to look at.

Scott didn’t say anything, making solid eye contact that Virgil wanted to break but couldn’t.

If the disappointment was heart-breaking, the silence was nerve-wracking. Virgil didn’t like silence at the best of times, and took to filling it with whatever he could, whether it was music, the sounds that accompanied engineering, or simply lingering in earshot of whichever brother was the liveliest at that moment.

But Scott knew that, and no matter how upset or disappointed he was, he wasn’t cruel. The silence lingered for barely a few seconds before he jabbed at something on his tablet.

An awful choking sound emitted from the desk’s built-in speakers, as though someone was trying to breathe but just couldn’t. It was one Virgil had heard many times before – too many times before – but this one was different.

A wave of cold – icy, Antarctica-cold – swallowed him up with the creeping inevitability of realisation, dousing him until his organs felt like they’d all stopped working and the blood had drained from his body.

He didn’t need the sound of Alan’s panicked “Virgil!?” to identify it, and his entire body cringed as he heard his own voice, too full of adrenaline-packed amusement, reply.

The finger that jabbed the pause button was full of judgement.

“I-” he started, trying to find words – an explanation, an apology…

Those blue eyes gave him a look and he quailed into silence. An excuse. That’s what he’d been leaping to, but there were no excuses. Not for that.

“Our communications lines are supposed to be used for mission-relevant information only,” Scott finally said. The disappointment Virgil had identified in the initial summons had nothing on what was dripping from his big brother’s words now. “Strictly speaking, there should be no jokes or banter while we’re on a mission, but for the sake of boosting morale, I let that slide.”

He did more than let it slide – Scott was almost as bad as Gordon and Alan for it sometimes, but Virgil knew better than to pedantically correct his eldest brother when he was like this. Hell, even John tended to let Scott say his piece without interrupting if he got this bad.

“Still,” Scott continued, “there are some jokes that go too far, Virgil, and quite honestly I can’t believe I’m having to remind you, of all people.”

He winced involuntarily. “I know, Scott, I’m sorry. That was out of line.” It hadn’t seemed it at the time, not with the adrenaline rushing and a sudden desire to lighten the mood in the collapsed tunnel, but in hindsight, Virgil could see exactly how stupid a prank that had been.

And to do it to Alan, of all people. His youngest brother who had just admitted to him that he was forgetting Dad and worried about them dying on a mission. For them to have one of their closest calls to date was bad enough, where it had been a very real possibility that not all of them were going to make it out alive, but then he’d gone and compounded it…

“Virgil.” Scott pulled him back to the present, and Virgil never wanted to hear his big brother say his name like that ever again. His admittance had done nothing to dilute the disappointment. “I’m not the one you need to apologise to.” Scott at least had enough mercy not mention Alan by name, even if it hung unspoken and heavy between them. “But we need to talk about this.”

Need to talk? Virgil knew he was in the wrong, and normally when Scott knew he knew he was in the wrong, he let it rest after pointing it out. Actually having to talk about it – worse, having to stand there and face the disappointed shade of blue – filled Virgil with something not too dissimilar to shame and apprehension.

The thought crossed his mind that he was going to be grounded. Punished.

“Virgil, why did you do that?”

“I-” he started, but broke off. Why did he do it? Adrenaline wasn’t the reason, even if it had played a part in him actually doing it. Fear, too. Fear that he really was going to die; that he’d just killed himself and abandoned Alan to dig out his dead body. But that still wasn’t the reason, was it? Not really.

Scott didn’t push him. For all he was disappointed, and other displeased emotions swirled around behind the disappointment, he gave him time to answer. But then, perhaps Scott knew he didn’t know and was waiting for him to work it out. His eldest brother could be a mind reader at times.

Virgil swallowed. “I… I wanted to be like Dad.”

The words surprised him as much as they did Scott. Blue eyes widened, and finally Virgil saw something else, something he was used to, flicker in there as well.

Worry.

“Like Dad? But, Virg-”

“Captain Taylor’s always going on about Dad, and how Dad never let fear get in the way,” he interrupted his brother, words tumbling out with no conscious thought behind them. “How Dad always had a plan, and the scrapes they’d get into. How they always got out of them by the skin of their teeth – writing the book on lunar survival and the asteroid belt’s buckle and landing on Mars in the first place.” He took a deep breath, considered looking away but Scott’s wide, rapidly changing eyes locked his gaze in place. “And Alan was talking about Dad on the way, all the little things he used to do.” He didn’t mention what Alan had told him – that had been said in confidence, and there were some things he couldn’t break, not even for Scott.

Instead, he paused to get his rushing thoughts under control. Scott’s disappointment had faded into astonished disbelief, and that hurt in its own way.

He also still looked like Dad.

“Captain Taylor was talking about Dad, and everyone knows you’re Dad’s son. And John, and Alan. Hell, even Gordon. I just wanted Captain Taylor to see I am, too.”

He knew everyone looked at him and saw Mom. Even if they didn’t look alike, he’d inherited her temperament and love of music. They never looked at him and saw Dad.

“I just wanted to be Dad’s son,” he admitted. “I wanted to do what Dad always did in the stories and lighten the mood, keep the morale up. It was stupid; I know that now. I terrified Alan. It was unprofessional and Dad would never have done that at anyone’s expense.”

His cheeks felt cramped, and his vision blurred.

“Virgil…” There was movement in front of him and then a weight on his shoulder. He knew that weight – he’d felt it time and time again.

“It was stupid,” he repeated, the words thick in his throat. “I shouldn’t have done it. But… Captain Taylor said he’d be proud of me.”

The hand on his shoulder shifted, and then there was a firm warmth around him.

“Of course Dad would be proud of you,” Scott said, mouth a little way above his ear. Virgil let his head fall forwards until it was resting on his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t ever think that he wouldn’t be. You don’t have to be like him, Virgil. You just have to be like you.”

On another day, in another conversation, Virgil would turn that back around at Scott, who had spent the last eight years trying to emulate Dad.

But Scott had him in a warm, comfortable embrace and the little brother who had been terrified of those disappointed blues lapped up the reassurance that was being offered in their place. This wasn’t about Scott; this was about him and his stupid spur-of-the-moment idiocy.

And the brother he had no doubt terrified more than he’d realised.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into the blue shirt. “I messed up.”

“You’re only human,” Scott reminded him. “We mess up, and we learn from it.”

Slowly, Virgil nodded. That was certainly a mistake he was never, ever going to make again.

Scott’s embrace was still comforting, but with the little brother no longer terrified, it was the big brother’s turn to make an appearance. He couldn’t put this behind him, lesson fully learnt and absorbed so intently it was imprinted on his brain for all eternity, until he soothed it over with Alan, too. Reluctantly, he pulled back, out of his brother’s hold, and Scott let him. Hands lingered on his shoulders just a touch longer, before they fell back to Scott’s sides.

Now that Scott was standing, not sat at the desk projecting Dad, he was actually taller than Virgil, and yet Virgil didn’t feel quite so small anymore.

“I need to talk to Alan,” he said, hoping Scott didn’t notice his voice cracking on their youngest brother’s name. Blue eyes – no longer disappointment-blue, but back to their default love-and-concern shade – looked him over, before Scott gave him what could almost be classified as an approving smile.

It was definitely approving, even if the twitch of his dimples wasn’t quite enough to qualify it as a smile, and that alone lifted a weight from Virgil’s shoulders.

“You should,” he agreed. “But you should probably clean up a bit, or you’ll scare him.” It was light-hearted, almost back to the teasing banter of a big brother rather than the Dad-mirage, and Virgil took it for the olive branch it was.

Nodding, he turned to leave the den.

“And Virgil?” There was something slightly melancholy about that tone, and he turned half back around again. Scott was looking at him, with a small smile on his face that wasn’t really happy, even if it wasn’t sad. Just honest. “Even Dad was only human.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #too far #thunderangst #thunderfluff

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abbystanaccount · 3 years

Text

I wrote a new TLOU fanfic I’m gonna post here because it’s a different pairing and it’s little pointless but whatever it’s kinda cute

Anyway it’s rated T, it’s a Leah POV one-shot with some Leah/Jordan in it plus appearances from members of the Salt Lake crew. It was kinda hard to write her as a pov versus a side character but I tried 🤪

they don’t get it

It was near 1AM and the party was winding down. Manny and Nick were still trying to beat one another in some card game in the other room, and Mel and Nora had just left because they had hospital shifts the next day. Abby had come with Owen and actually seemed to be having fun for once and done quite a few shots, but she must have been exhausted from all the intense training she’d been doing recently as she’d seemed to have fallen asleep on her boyfriend’s chest. Abby had been asleep for nearly fifteen minutes but he didn’t seem in a hurry to wake her, holding her on the couch as she peacefully slept.

They were so cute together, Leah thought. She’d always been rooting for them, but she knew Abby had her issues. Losing your dad would be hard on anyone, Leah had lost hers long ago. Then in that hospital massacre that brought the eight of them so close, she’d lost her uncle and many friends. At least she still had her mom, who managed to become an English teacher here at the WLF, she’d done some teaching before the outbreak. It’d been quite the change in lifestyle for all of them since they’d first arrived a year ago.

Leah’s boyfriend was outside, smoking a cigar with one of the guy friends he’d invited. It was supposed to be just an ex-Firefly party, but he’d decided last minute he was going to stick around come too, despite not being really in the group. Leah had hoped he would have decided against it, he sometimes made situations weird among them all.

She could hear him laugh from outside. Her boyfriend, Frank, was a Seattle native. He was a bit older than all of them in his mid twenties, and he worked as a mechanic for the WLF. Leah’s friends were polite around him, but she could tell none of them were that big of fans. Leah wasn’t completely sure why, he seemed a nice enough guy.

When they first started dating six months ago, Nora had joked he was a spy from Isaac and Mel had made a face.

“You guys are dating now?” Mel had asked her with raised brows.

“Yeah! He’s really sweet and helpful,” Leah had responded. Frank had come to her apartment the week before to fix the refrigerator in her apartment and they’d gotten to chatting.

“I don’t get why he works out so much and he’s not even a soldier,” mused Nora, taking a sip of her drink.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” retorted Leah, feeling a bit deflated.

“Like you’re gonna do all that and not help out?” chided Nora. “We have to prove ourselves and our loyalty so much and guys like that get away with doing the bare minimum. Not to mention I’ve seen how he acts with his friend group and he’s a prick.”

“You can do better,” Mel added.

“At least I’m putting myself out there,” Leah had said somewhat bitterly. She’d seen Mel give Abby and Owen the stinkeye, she knew that she was jealous of them. Mel should be doing what she was doing and meet new people, but Leah wasn’t about to piss her off and say that.

Leah’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Frank slamming the door from outside open, coming in laughing with his friend. Abby jolted awake on the couch, and Owen gripped her arm to keep her from jumping up.

Maybe I need another drink, Leah thought. She sighed and went back to cleaning up the party, the guys in the other room seemed to be entertaining themselves enough, but she was sort of ready for this to be over and go to bed.

Looking up, Leah Owen and Abby approaching her, his arm around her waist. The girls had gone in with shots a few hours ago, but it’d mostly worn off for Leah and Abby had drank more after that.

“We’re gonna head out. You need any help cleaning up?” Owen asked her.

Abby looked like she needed a bed ASAP, her braid falling out in pieces and head leaning on his shoulder. “No, no I got it. You get her home.” Leah smiled to him.

They were using her and Frank’s shared apartment. She’d only moved in a few weeks ago but it was hard to get used to. Frank wasn’t even there much, and when he was, he tended to leave her a mess to clean up. It was like she moved in to be his maid.

Owen and Abby left, and it seemed Frank had somewhere to be too. Her boyfriend came up to her across the counter, saying he and his friend were going to head to another one of his friend’s apartment to catch another party for an hour. Leah sighed but smiled at him, giving her boyfriend a kiss. Then when he’d left, her face dropped as she went back to wiping down the counters. Leah was all for being an optimist, and the peppy one, but this kinda sucked.

At that, she heard the door to the other room crack open. Luckily, it was just the person she’d wanted to see.

“Did Frankenstein leave?” asked her friend, Jordan.

‘Frankenstein’ was Jordan’s not so nice name for Frank because of his name and somewhat wide forehead. It wasn’t a very nice nickname, Leah wasn’t sure why Jordan had it out for Frank.

“You shouldn’t call him that.” Leah scolded, putting the last of the dirty cups in the sink.

“Because he’ll get mad again? I’m not scared of him.” smirked Jordan, running a hand through his dark brown hair. He’d been growing it out, it used to be so short when they were Fireflies, as had he. The eight of them had all been teens or just about when they’d been Fireflies, Jordan grew half a foot in the time since they’d joined the WLF a year ago. Maybe it was the good food.

“We get it, you’re taller than him and you go out and kill Scars. Big whoop, me too.”

Jordan leaned his chair back, “Yeah, you are taller than him, you have to lean down a bit to kiss him.”

Leah smirked, “I’ve noticed, Jordan.” He was giving her that look again, with the knowing smile.

They probably shouldn’t talk about Frank when he wasn’t here. Plus he couldn’t change his height, so that wouldn’t be a nice thing to make fun of. Frank wasn’t even that short, it’s just Leah was quite tall.

She changed the subject. “So uh, Manny lent me some of his mangas the other day. They’re pretty interesting, I guess. It’s weird to read backwards.”

Jordan grinned at that. Leah knew he and Manny both liked that Japanese stuff.

“You did, huh? Which one?”

“Fullmetal Alchemist.”

His hazel eyes lit up and his mouth opened in shock. “That’s my favorite one.”

Leah ducked her head down and pretended to be cleaning something. Her face was hot, which was dumb because she didn’t need to feel embarrassed or anything.

“I know it is.”

Leah could just tell Jordan was grinning. “Well you said it was good!” She exclaimed.

“It is, it is, it’s great. We can talk about it later.”

“Sure.” She agreed. Though then her mouth skewed at a bad memory, and Leah tried to push it away.

“What’s up, Leah Beah?” Jordan asked softy, using his silly rhyming nickname for her that didn’t even make any sense.

Leah shook her head, “I don’t wanna say anything bad.” She looked at the remaining party leftovers she had to clean up and felt all motivation leave her. Maybe she’d do it later. Sighing, she grabbed an empty stool and sat across for Jordan.

“It’s just, I love hanging out with all you guys. You’re all my best friends and we all... we get each other, you know?”

“Yeah, for the most part, I guess,” said Jordan, scratching his chin. “No offense to like Mel and Owen and Abby all them, but sometimes I wonder what goes through their brains.”

Turmoil, jealousy, deep rooted issues from trauma… She thought. Leah was thankful she was able to push stuff like that down.

“I know Abby and all them can sometimes be a handful, but like, we get why. And only we would get why,” said Leah quietly. She didn’t like to think back to that day. At least her mom made it out alright, some of them had their families destroyed.

“Yeah, I can’t stand the fucking side eyes from the people are here,” growled Jordan. “Like what do they want me to say? That we’re all traumatized from seeing our friends and family slaughtered? That we lost everyone? That I lost everyone?”

Jordan was getting upset, Leah could tell by his voice. He’d lash out at times and Manny or Owen would try to calm him down, with varying results. On the road to Seattle, Jordan had told Leah about what had happened to his family, that he’d lost everyone years ago but his older brother. Then when his older brother died in the hospital attack, and he was with a lot of the younger teens trying to hide, he’d felt so guilty he hadn’t helped.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Leah took his hand in hers. He was shaking a bit, but it stopped after a bit. She could feel the pulse of his vein through her thumb.

“We don’t need to talk about that. Nothing can change what happened. We just have to focus on the positives we have in life, that’s what I do”

Jordan rubbed his face with his other hand and took a deep breath. “You’re right, sorry. I don’t want to blow up on you for no reason.” His anger faded then and he melted a bit, looking meek. “You’re probably my favorite person, Leah.”

Leah looked him in the eyes and gave him a small smile back. Her instinct was to say to back, but she realized dully that wouldn’t be fair to Frank. Jordan was just her friend, even though she cared about him so much and was maybe the his closest person he had left.

She settled instead with, “I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”

#my fanfic #leah #jordan #tlou jordan #tlou leah #leah x jordan

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alwaysmychoices · 4 years

Text

Not the End

Synopsis: With only 24 hours left for Charlie to decide if she wants a relationship with Ethan, Charlie and Ethan try to distract themselves from the weight of her decision. But what if Charlie can’t decide? And what if they lose each other?

Chapter 10 of the “with and without” series

Previous Series: “a weekend with dr. ramsey”

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlotte “Charlie” Greene)

Words: 4k+

Rating: Teen

Charlie waited for an epiphany, a sign, or a clue.

She looked in every passing face for an answer, but she avoided her own reflection. She spent the night agonizing over Ethan’s proposition, begging herself to fall asleep to see if her dreams would provide a hint. When the sun rose, she retreated to the safety and security of her morning routine. If she could just make her coffee, maybe she would understand herself.

His thumbprints marked her body and mind, and his constant presence in her mind morphed him into a fantastical beast – elusive and distant. She manipulated the image in her mind, painting him as a hero and a villain, but just before she could be convinced of either, the mirage slipped away to her barebone memories of tender smiles as he pulled her close and apologetic eyes as he distanced himself.

It was alarmingly easy to question her own memories.

All this time, had she been right to be so fearful of a relationship with Ethan Ramsey? Was it their doomed fate that pushed her to her lowest point, or had a series of unfortunate missteps blinded her?

A month ago, Charlie knew all the answers.

She knew that she was naïve and reckless to have pursued him in the first place. She regarded her past self with resentment and pity for allowing Ethan to burrow himself in her heart with promises he could never keep. She saw the ensuing chaos and months of painful mistakes as a learning experience. Charlie Greene was smart enough to never trust Ethan Ramsey again.

But was she really?

Sleep-deprived and mindlessly moving through her commute, Charlie didn’t feel smart. She felt angry and confused. Why had she broken her rules? Why had she thrown caution to the wind and exposed herself to danger?

Ethan had the power to hurt her deeply, and now, he handed her the same capability.

There was no safety without hurting him, and the significance of the decision weighed on her. She had every right to be angry at him for backing her into a corner, but something about it felt inevitable. Their current relationship was volatile and unsustainable. A decision had to be made.

She just wished she didn’t have to make it.

As Edenbrook came into view, Charlie mumbled under her breath that she regretted ever meeting Ethan Ramsey, but that was a lie.

The closer she got to Edenbrook, the further her stomach twisted. She dreaded seeing Ethan without having an answer to give him, but she could hardly avoid him all day. Her pace slowed as she attempted to prolong her distance from him, and with her gaze leveled at the door, she felt like she was walking a plank.

Little did she know that she wouldn’t make it to the door.

“Charlie!” Bryce’s eager greeting jolted Charlie out of her head, and she nearly winced at the foreign enthusiasm. Who could be that happy on a morning like this?

Charlie pushed her sunglasses off the bridge of her nose, balancing them on the top of her head as she scanned her surroundings for her friend’s familiar form. It was hard to miss someone like Bryce. He was too tall, too tan, and too devastatingly handsome to blend into a crowd. Soon, she found him by the basketball court near the door and, in an attempt to deter conversation, offered a polite wave.

Bryce waved her over, leaning against the goal post. As Charlie approached, he flashed a bright white smile and flipped his sweaty hair to the side, and interns audibly swooned behind her.

Charlie rolled her eyes, somewhat relieved by the distraction as she polished off her to-go coffee and leveled a cocked eyebrow at her friend.

“You did that on purpose.”

Bryce shrugged shamelessly, flexing his biceps he surveyed the scene behind her. Charlie looked with him and found a conspicuous group of interns and residents clustered near the door. Some were holding coffees and carrying on small talk, if just to warrant their lingering, but some boldly stared. Judging Bryce’s casual confidence and lack of surprise, Charlie wondered if this was a frequent occurrence.

“I did,” Bryce admitted brazenly, smiling even wider, “It’s my responsibility as the most handsome resident. I have a duty to those interns.”

“A duty?” Charlie repeated, amused.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Bryce mused as he shouldered his gym bag, shamelessly flexing his sweaty arms once more for the crowd, “I have to maintain the image. You, on the other hand, look like shit.”

Charlie huffed, mumbling a sarcastic “Thanks.”

He was right, of course. She hadn’t slept, and her indecisiveness took up too much of her headspace for her to think of much else this morning. She dressed in the first scrubs she saw, and as soon as her curls gave her any resistance, she forced them into a ponytail and moved on with her day. Her face was tired and puffy, and without the cover of her sunglasses, her under eyes were dark.

“No offense, of course.”

“Of course,” Charlie echoed in disbelief.

Bryce flashed a wicked smile and leaned in conspiratorially to ask, “To look that bad, you must have had a very good night. What were you up to, Charlie?”

What was she up to?

Just as quickly as it retreated, Charlie’s anxiety resurfaced. Only now, it was bubbling and hot and constricting. She regretted the extra-large cup of coffee as her stomach clenched, and the longer she went without answering, the more she squirmed.

What was she supposed to say? The truth was too complicated to share, especially when she’d kept Ethan a secret for so long. It was one thing to admit that she spent the night fucking her boss in his office, but it was another to admit that she’d been with Ethan. And she couldn’t confess her anxiety without sharing his proposition or the weeks of interactions preceding it.

Charlie scrambled for a lie, and in the rush, she picked the lamest excuse she could.

“Just didn’t sleep,” Charlie forced a yawn just to prove it, and she internally winced. How would faking a yawn make her seem genuine?

Bryce didn’t look convinced, and Charlie recognized that she was in danger of being discovered.

“Right…” Bryce made a show of rolling his eyes, leaning in further as if silently assuring her that whatever she said would stay between them. Not that it would, of course. If Charlie were to reveal all of her secrets with Ethan, she doubted that Bryce could contain himself.

At best, he’d be so enthralled with the drama that he would feel compelled to tell someone, if just to check if they already knew and hadn’t told him. At worst, he would oppose her self-destructive behavior and would urge their mutual friends to stop her.

But Charlie was so overwhelmed and confused that, if he had pushed, she might have told him.

In the end, she didn’t have to face the questioning at all, and she felt a pang of regret at missing her opportunity to unburden herself.

“Lahela!”

No.

Charlie’s face dropped, and she was relieved that Bryce was too distracted by the greeting to notice.

Everything was too much. Her heartbeat was too fast, too loud. Time passed too quickly, and it was all too soon.

She watched in horror as Bryce waved his arm in a friendly greeting, summoning the familiar voice.

Don’t come, she willed him silently, I’m not ready.

But of course, that didn’t work.

Even though she recognized the voice, she felt a sting of shock when she saw Ethan Ramsey approach her. Just as she feared it might, the mere sight of him summoned more emotion than she knew how to process. Everything was fleeting yet so deep that she couldn’t form a coherent thought.

She missed him. She adored him. She felt a swell in her heart at the sight of him. But she also dreaded his presence. She feared his hold on her. She tortured herself with her own indecision and her failure to give him an answer. She hated herself for not understanding or trusting herself enough to know what to do.

Ethan, conversely, felt only one thing – crushing disappointment.

His gaze had only just found her when she darted her eyes away, actively avoiding him as he neared her. He could see the exhaustion and worry etched on her face, and his heart sank.

She’s not going to say yes, he realized.

He knew this was a possibility. Last night, he reassured her that she could reject him without earning his hatred. But none of that shielded him from the despair of a refusal.

Ethan struggled to regain his composure as he was socially obligated to approach Bryce after calling out his name. He hardly remembered why he wanted to talk to him in the first place, and now, he certainly didn’t want to. The only person he wanted to talk to was Charlie, and even then, he wasn’t sure if he could.

What could he say to her?

He wanted to comfort her in her obvious distress, but he hesitated to push her. There was something comforting in knowing she still had time to change her mind. It made his rejection feel less final, less devastating.

“You forgot your water bottle,” Ethan blurted out as soon as he reached the young doctors, shoving the bottle in Bryce’s direction. He felt the urge to run and struggled to resist it.

He didn’t know how to act normal. He wasn’t sure he remembered what normal was.

His memories were now skewed to Charlie. Surely, before her, he had done this before. He had offered himself and faced rejection. Charlie was a woman, not a life-altering event. So, why did everything but her feel distant? Why did he not recognize the man in the mirror?

Bryce stared at Ethan, obviously confused and perhaps even uncomfortable with Ethan’s changed demeanor. Ethan was trying so hard to be himself that he came off as a caricature of a gruff attending instead.

“Thanks,” Bryce thanked him tentatively, observing carefully as he took the bottle.

Ethan nodded in his direction instead of replying, and he cast a quick, fleeting look in Charlie’s direction as he greeted her, “Dr. Greene.”

Charlie opened her mouth to greet him as well, though she wasn’t sure how to. Could she still call him Ethan, or was she supposed to take the hint when he failed to call her by her first name?

But Charlie didn’t have to decide.

Just as quick as he approached, Ethan left.

Charlie and Bryce watched as Ethan walked into the hospital, his stride purposeful if not downright irritated. The crowd of interns by the door dispersed quickly under the heat of his stare, muttering that he was sure to be a pain in the ass during rotations if he was already in a bad mood.

They were probably right.

Charlie might have felt bad for the interns on the receiving end of his demanding mentorship, but she knew they got to leave it behind after their rounds. She, on the other hand, had the pleasure of working with him for the rest of the day. Charlie tensed at the thought. If they couldn’t manage small talk outside of the hospital, how would they make it through the day?

“That was weird, right?” Bryce asked, still staring at the door like he was trying to work out the scene he just witnessed.

“What was weird?” Charlie asked innocently, staring ahead to avoid being studied by Bryce. She wouldn’t withstand the scrutiny.

“Dr. Ramsey,” Bryce looked at her incredulously, like she was crazy to have missed it, “He was acting strangely, wasn’t he?”

Charlie shrugged with one shoulder, trying to seem casual as she deflected, “I mean, it’s Dr. Ramsey. What’s normal?”

“I guess…” Bryce murmured absently, consumed with the new mystery.

“I’m going to head in. You coming?” Charlie was quick to leave. If she gave it too much time, Bryce might just work it out, and she didn’t really want to answer the questions that would follow.

Bryce tilted his head thoughtfully, eyes narrowed like he was trying to see through a mist, but finally, he let out a deep breath and flashed Charlie a playful smile as he asked, “Are you just trying to get me in the shower?”

Bryce seemed to forget about Ethan and his strange behavior entirely by the time they reached the locker room, and Charlie let out a relieved sigh once he was safely distracted. She left him to shower and rushed to the diagnostics unit before Ethan could make it there. She collected her assignments from June, who was often the first in the office, and began her morning rounds.

Once she was working, Charlie felt the anxiety in her chest slowly dissipate. Distracted with work, she had no room to think of Ethan or his proposition or the complexity of her decision. She picked up extra jobs throughout the day, even stepping in to help a few interns during her moments of peace and inactivity.

Ethan similarly busied himself, but unlike Charlie and her friendly requests to help around the hospital, Ethan was a terror.

Every intern and resident who had the misfortune of crossing his path soon learned to regret it. Working directly with Charlie had distracted him and maybe even softened his disposition, so his young students had not faced his full intensity in some time. Some interns had never even seen it at all.

The first sign of his sour mood came during their morning rounds. Interns who bumbled or made mistakes were quickly and sharply corrected, and by the end of the morning, at least half of the group hated him. One intern almost had the nerve to call him out on his rudeness but lost their nerve under his intimidating stare.

Those who encountered him the rest of the day found him to be even more severe. He watched all of them with a sharp eye, sharper than he had been in quite a while. A few residents didn’t even realize he was present until they received his criticism.

The entire time, Charlie and Ethan did not cross paths.

They were surpassingly good at avoiding each other.

Of course, they couldn’t evade one another forever, and in the late evening, they ran out of places to hide.

The sun had nearly set by the time Ethan and Charlie faced each other again. Despite hours apart, it just took one look to take them back to the basketball court this morning – awkward, hurt, and strained. After that look, they didn’t really like looking at each other.

It was too distracting. They had come together for a group meeting to go over Senator Farrugia’s confounding test results, and they needed to be their best if they were to solve a medical mystery. Thinking about each other consumed too much brainpower and left them preoccupied and emotional.

They distanced themselves for their own wellbeing. Ethan sat at the desk while Charlie sat at the round table in the furthest chair from him. She kept her eyes on the test results and the whiteboard, actively avoiding his blue gaze. He felt her aversion, and it stung. They both contributed to the discussion, though they never directly conversed.

Late into the meeting, Ethan stepped back, allowing his colleagues to follow a train of thought on their own. He found himself watching Charlie, occasionally looking to the others to hide his sole interest in her. She seemed oblivious, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel it. Despite his better judgment, he imagined her saying yes, and that proved to be the most painful part of it all.

He could picture it. He could see her smiling her bright smile and kissing him as she agreed to a relationship. He could hear their banter in his car as he drove her back to his apartment, and he could smell the dinner they would make. He could envision taking her to bed and waking up next to her.

It came so easily to him that it felt real.

And with a deep twist in his heart, he had to remind himself that it wasn’t.

He wondered if this was their future – avoiding each other as Ethan tortured himself with ideas of their happiness. If she rejected him, could he look at her in the morning? Could she look at him? Could they work together again?

Or was this horrible day the beginning of a new normal?

“I can’t do this anymore,” Baz groaned, head in his hand, and Ethan could deeply empathize.

During Ethan’s inattention, they had amassed at least a dozen new theories and crossed them all out. All three looked frustrated and discouraged, especially Charlie. This case only compounded the overwhelming flow of emotions she’d felt all day, and she cursed ever fighting to bring Farrugia to Edenbrook.

If she hadn’t poached Senator Farrugia, Ethan wouldn’t have kissed her outside of the bar. She wouldn’t have called him later for him to reject her out of principle. She wouldn’t have gone on a date with David, and Ethan wouldn’t have gotten so drunk that he needed saving. They wouldn’t have gotten comfortable again, and they wouldn’t have had sex last night. None of this would be happening if she had just left the patient alone.

Charlie excused herself from the table, leaving a pile of papers at her seat, as she crossed the room for a glass of water just to have a new distraction.

“This is particularly tricky,” June nodded to Baz as if it were an equal complaint, which only made Baz groan louder as he closed the cover of his tablet and massaged his temples.

“If tricky means ‘absolute hell,’ I agree,” Baz grumbled, and Charlie smiled softly into her glass as she watched them.

She could see Ethan watching them, too. She wondered what he was thinking. Was he just as amused, or was he irritated as well? Or was he thinking about her?

The last thought made her body tense, and she averted her eyes.

Charlie wished that she knew what to do, but after spending all day running from him, she was no closer to her decision. She was running out of time, and she swore she could hear the ticking clock in the back of her mind.

“On that note, we should conclude this meeting. We’ll pick up in the morning,” Ethan announced, visibly relieved to put the case away for the night.

Baz let out a weak “wooo!” as he let his head fall to the table, still working through his frustration. June shook her head at his display and collected her materials, wishing her colleagues goodnight as she left to check on a few patients before going home. Baz began to pull himself together, albeit slowly.

For a moment, Charlie felt frozen in place as it dawned on her that she would soon be alone with Ethan. As much as she wanted to stop thinking about Senator Farrugia, she wasn’t ready to leave the security of the group meeting. She wasn’t ready to run away, and she wasn’t ready to face him either. She felt as though she just remembered the passage of time, and the reality of her deadline hit her. Every step she took was a step closer to the ending, but she didn’t know what it looked like.

Charlie didn’t trust the fluctuating advice in her head that ranged from “say yes, you idiot!” to “run away and never see him again!”

All she really knew was that she didn’t want to hurt Ethan, but she also didn’t want to hurt herself.

Belatedly, Charlie realized that Ethan was watching her, and she cautiously glanced in his direction only to directly meet his gaze.

Yes.

Charlie was amazed by the thought. It came easily and so readily, and for a moment, she thought everything was solved. But then doubt crept in.

Dropping her eyes, Charlie mumbled an excuse about needing to check on her intern and hurried out of the office before she could be left alone with Ethan.

Once again, Ethan was disappointed.

He was amazed that he still felt it. For any other paramour, the indecision and rejection would have numbed him quickly to reduce the likelihood of future pain. Harper once joked that it was her first clue that he didn’t love her.

But Ethan did love Charlie. Maybe that’s what made him so ready to wait for her, maintaining his optimism with every blow. Maybe he was willing to play the fool for her.

Alone in the diagnostics office, Ethan evaded his own reflection. He didn’t want to see who he’d become in hopes that she would accept his offer, yet he knew he would sink much lower if he lost her.

Forty-five minutes passed, and Charlie didn’t leave his mind for a single second.

At his best, he thought about how he was thinking about her, and at his worst, he thought about everything about her.

While he sat in his thoughts, Charlie found herself running. He was everywhere, yet just when she could touch a feeling or an instinct, her mind instinctively distanced itself. Forcing herself to stay there and face it was a herculean task. Even as she tried, she couldn’t maintain it.

Why didn’t she know? When it’s right, you’re supposed to know.

Charlie paced the halls, finding odd tasks as she went to fill the time, but there wasn’t enough to distract her now. Each time she paced, she found herself a little closer to the office. She felt tied to him and was following an invisible rope.

“I’ll just say no,” she thought aloud, her voice a low mumble kept only to her. As she pivoted in her pace, she frowned and countered, “wait, I should say yes. Or…”

Charlie opened her mouth to speak, but her thoughts were too jumbled to produce a sentence. It was as if, in the chaos of everything flying at her, there was nothing left. She’d thought of it all and felt no closer to a resolution.

In her frustrated daze, Charlie didn’t realize that she was still walking. Instead of turning at the corner, she kept going, inching closer and closer to disaster. Maybe, subconsciously, she was ready to face him and that’s why she kept walking, or maybe she was so ripped apart by fear and adoration that there wasn’t room for another thought.

She kept walking until she felt a pair of familiar eyes watching her.

Charlie held her breath as she scanned the hallway. She knew she would see him, but that knowledge didn’t prepare her for the sight. She gasped lightly, her chest tight as she tried to remember how to breathe again.

Ethan. Her Ethan.

He watched her carefully, reading the precarious confusion in her face. He braced himself for another rejection, yet… he wasn’t quite sure he would get one. There was something in the way she looked at him – in the way she was still standing there – that made him think she might actually say yes, and that was a dangerous thought. In response, hope and optimism filled his chest, brushing over every wound with golden forgiveness.

Tentatively, Ethan nodded in her direction, still separated by at least twelve feet.

“Charlie,” he greeted her hesitantly, studying her intently for any sign of her answer.

Charlie felt blank. Like all she could do was stare back. When she realized he’d expected her to say something back, she breathlessly whispered, “Ethan.”

This was it.

This was the time.

And Charlie didn’t know.

She wasn’t oscillating between extremes anymore. She was very firmly planted in a field of nothingness. Every thought and idea and argument was out of reach, and she could only see panic-inducing emptiness.

Ethan watched her face twist as she came to this realization, but he couldn’t interpret it. He waited for her to speak, but his foolish optimism couldn’t stay bottled up. He wanted her to say yes so badly that he was willing to push for it.

Against his better judgment, he asked, “Have you decided?”

Charlie’s chest heaved as if all of the air had been taken from her lungs, and she stared at him as she tried to find it again. She stood still, yet she felt like she was running for a clue. She was trying to remember why she’d fought herself on both sides, hoping for an illuminating insight that would change everything. She waited for it to become simple, yet it never did.

And in the recesses of her mind, as she weeded through her feelings while staring down the barrel of nothing, there was a thought.

A small, quiet one. Yet she heard it over the noise.

Maybe the absence of a choice is a choice.

Here, at her last opportunity, if she didn’t know what she wanted to say, that had to mean something. Her frustrating indecision and urge to distract herself said something, but she hadn’t listened.

Maybe she’d made her choice the moment she ran out on him last night. Maybe this whole exercise was just an attempt to hold onto him longer. Maybe she already knew she would lose him.

“I-I…” Charlie stammered, still running. She was always running. She didn’t want it to be true as she finally declared, “I can’t.”

And then she was running. She was actually running. With each step, she was leaving it behind. She was retreating, and she was praying that she made the right decision.

Ethan stood in a state of shock, all of the hopeful warmth replaced with the bone-chilling absence of it. He failed to comprehend the devastation he felt, running just as she did back into his head. He lied to himself that there was still hope. He reminded himself of the time left before the deadline, and as he left the hospital in defeat, he told himself that this was not the end.

Because, if it was…

Ethan didn’t know if he could face it.

And as Charlie tried desperately to retreat, there was a thought she couldn’t escape.

She made the wrong choice.

Author’s Note: SO, I was planning for this to be resolved, but the chapter got long, and I was tempted to raise the suspense. I know you probably hate me and Charlie, but I want Charlie to be human. So, she’s going to be annoying sometimes, so will Ethan. I’m already working on the next chapter, and I can tell you that it has a much happier ending.

I am sorry tho

also, I’ve never said this, but in my mind, this series has a long way to go. So, you’ve still got a lot of chapters left if you want to stick around, even if Charlie can be annoying.

Tag List:

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#ethan ramsey #open heart #choices #open heart 2 #choices stories you play #ethan ramsey x mc #dr. ramsey #dr. ramsey x mc #angst #writing

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gongju-juice · 4 years

Text

1. Once Upon A Southern Night

Not So Bad After All

Warnings: None that I can think of

“You look lovely, Y/N, why don’t you try to be more optimistic?”

You looked up at your mother’s hopeful features. Carmine Robynson was an exceptional surgeon with national and international awards in her field. She was also the most beautiful woman you’d ever see. Her skin was a glittering porcelain white, and she had pale pink lips and caramel colored eyes that seemed to change color every now and again. Today, her long blonde hair was pinned up in a bun—perfect for a long day at her new job at the hospital.

“I’m trying to be, mom,” you whined as she ran her fingers through your hair, bringing your curls to life. “But I’m so worried. I’ve barely ventured outside the state of Alabama, how am I supposed to fit in with people from Washington State?”

Carmine rolled her eyes. “How do you think I felt when I traveled all the way from England to the States? It was terrifying, dear. Much more terrifying than you moving to a new state. I promise, you’ll be fine.”

You grabbed her things, and she locked down the house. The new house was Victorian style, like one of the houses you see in the movies. You and your mom spent months picking out the perfect furniture and decor to make your new residence come to life. It was one of the positives about the move.

In the driveway, the car hummed quietly. It was a sleek silver Mercedes, perks of a surgeon salary. You climbed in and slumped in the seat.

The drive to the school was fairly pleasant. The long, winding road was flanked on either side by towering jade green trees that cast blue shadows on the ground. The sky, as it had always been since your arrival, was gray and overcast. It was quite a difference from your sunny home back south.

The school was small, just about the size of your old school. Except this time, it was even. . .less diverse than back home. At your old school, you were normally the only black girl in most of your classes. However, there were still others in your school that made you feel less isolated. But here, everybody was white as a wedding gown, and it made you nervous. Growing up with a white mother, you’d think you wouldn’t have that issue. But if anything, your experience as an adopted black kid made it quite clear what it was like to feel different from everyone—from black and white kids alike.

“Love you. Have a good day,” she said with a kiss to your forehead.

You climbed out of the car, and immediately shivered from the morning air. It was September, and already it felt like winter. Sixty degrees back at home was December weather.

Your first class was homeroom. The teacher, Mrs, Bobbins, made you introduce yourself to the class. Everyone was very interested in the new girl on campus—the new girl who also happened to be the only black girl in class. This interaction did lessen your nerves some, but you were still anxious to get the day over with.

Second period was Advanced Chemistry. Honestly speaking, you hated the first Chemistry. But as a part of your advanced trek, you had no choice but to take the class. It wasn’t that difficult—not when you had a full on surgeon to help you out living in the house—but still, it was not your favorite subject by a long shot.

The space between the second and third period was strange. The school was allowed to have “break”—a period of time where the staff and students alike could chill for fifteen minutes and do whatever they wanted.

Not knowing where to go or who to talk to, you stumbled to the canopied walkway on the side of the building. Here, there were fewer students. However, at the end of the walkway by the blue double doors, a group of gorgeous looking teenagers stood conversing quietly amongst themselves.

“Hello, Y/N, isn’t it?” called a voice beside you. It was a curly-head ginger girl with the prettiest ice blue eyes and freckled skin. She was very tall, and wore athletic tights and a long volleyball shirt with the school’s Spartan mascot.

“Oh, yes. It’s me,” you said, pushing up your thin-rimmed glasses. “I’m sorry, but what’s your name?”

“Amelia Bloom. You probably didn’t notice me, but I’m in your homeroom. You’re a new student, aren’t you? Your mom is Dr. Robynson that was just hired at the hospital?”

You were impressed by how much she knew. It always took time for people to figure out that Camille was your mother. And you thought Satsuma, the town you came from, was small. But Forks hit a whole new level of “everyone knows one another.”

“Yeah, we just moved here. Sorry if I seem a little antsy or what have you. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.” You offered your hand. “I hope we can be friends, though.”

You swore you saw the blond hair boy of the group flinch. But just as quickly as she glanced at him, you saw he had never even moved. Great. Now your mind was playing tricks on you.

“Those are the Cullens,” Amelia explained, judging you wanted an answer by the spooked expression on your face. “The most coveted teens in all of Forks. They were adopted by Dr. Carlisle and his wife Esme, who are both pretty young themselves. Don’t try to make friends with them though, they’re pretty stuck up.”

You couldn’t help but feel disappointed by that, though it was quickly replaced with a wave of optimism.

“Well, I don’t like to judge people before I meet them, but I won’t bother them then, if that’s the case.”

The bell rang loudly just then, and Amelia showed you to your next class.

Interestingly enough, your next class was history, and in it was three of the Cullen siblings. You wanted to sit near the front of the class like you always did (on the account of your poor vision), but lamented to find that the seats were assigned. Confused and anxious to blend in, you turned to the teacher for help.

“Ah, Ms. Robynson. Lovely of you to join us today,” said the man, who informed his name was Mr. Howard. “You can take the empty seat by Jasper. Jasper, please raise your hand.”

To your surprise, the blond Cullen boy lifted his hand in the air. Just then, all of the confidence left your body. You were intimidated by utterly attractive he looked—like a daffodil in a field of weeds.

You slowly walked to your seat, which he had already pulled out. Oh God, you thought. You would have to sit by him. You would be within a foot of his presence, and you’d have to act like everything was fine.

You brushed your skirt down as you took your seat and pulled out your notebook. Already, the lavender covered book had been used. However, you loved history and couldn’t bear to throw away your pretty notes from the beginning of your old class.

The first page you turned to was marked in postage stamps from the antebellum period. You had a picture of the Oakleigh Plantation Mansion from Mobile, one of your favorite southern pieces of history.

“Okay class, it’s going to be a sensitive unit, but we are moving on to the Pre-Civil era, also known as the Antebellum Era. It’s important to know the important parts President Andrew Jackson and James Buchanan played in shaping the tensions and economic standings that inevitably led to the Civil War. So for your bellringer, you’re going to be listing some factors that led to these said tensions. You have five minutes. Begin.”

You turned to a fresh sheet of paper and took out your calligraphy pens.

Factors that led to Pre-Civil War Tensions:

Jackson left the country in an economic depression by his withdrawal of federal funds from the National Bank in 1832, thus causing the Panic of 1837 which heavily impacted cotton exports and revenue for the Southern economy.

The expansion West caused an imbalance of power between states which made Southern states feel they had no authority in the federal government. It was an intense competition between slave states and free states.

Events such as Bleeding Kansas, Harper’s Ferry, and the Dredd-Scott Supreme Court ruling caused many across the nation to become angered.

“Does anybody have any ideas?” Mr. Howard asked.

The class was silent, and you realized it was much different from what you were used to. Where you were from, everybody knew about the Civil War—no matter how skewed or racist their beliefs were.

Beside you, Jasper raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Hale.”

“James Buchanan did virtually nothing to stop the wave of seceding Southern states, and although he believed secession was wrong, he didn’t believe he had the Constitutional power to stop them. Had he quelled the fears of the slave states, the war could have been prolonged another few years.”

“Right, as always, Mr. Hale. Would anyone else like to attempt?”

“May I?”

Mr. Howard looked at you excitedly. “Of course. Have a go, Ms. Robynson.”

“The Southern states believed that they had done nothing Constitutionally wrong. According to them, they’d only joined the Union in the first place due to the Fugitive Clause added to the Constitution for the sake of the Southern states voting on the new Constitution after the Articles of Confederation. Because Northern states violated this clause, they felt that they were breaking the so-called “contract”, and that only they, as independent states, had the power to decide if their end of the bargain was being upheld. Even though the Fugitive Clause was not a part of the immediate Pre-Civil War Era, I feel it’s the most important aspect to mention when evaluating the factors that led to the war.”

Mr. Howard clapped loudly, waking up the rest of the class. “An amazing answer. I couldn’t have said it better myself. Now, without further ado, let us begin today’s lesson.”

Beside you, the Cullen boy shifted. “Not bad,” he murmured before gazing back forward.

Your heart leapt within you.

That night, your mom arrived home at seven. You had already eaten, knowing your mom only ate late at night. She was a strict dieter and pretty much only drank the tea concoctions from her thermal cup. But you were an avid omnivore and didn’t mind eating without her.

“How was your first day at school?” she asked, setting her things down on the couch.

“It was better than I honestly expected. I even met a new friend. Her name is Amelia, and she’s the captain of the varsity volleyball team and even plays softball and golf.”

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “See, I told you everything would be fine. How’s history?”

“Mr. Howard seems to know what he’s talking about. Not nearly as biased as Mr. Davis was, but very sympathetic to the North.”

“I guess now that you’re up here, you won’t have to worry about an abundant amount of hot-head racists. But if something does happen—”

“I know, Mom. I know.”

You dressed in your silk nightgown and headed for bed. On the middle shelf of your bookcase was a model of the Oakleigh Mansion. You didn’t know what it was about it, but the antebellum era intrigued you. And this house in particular. . .

You turned on the lights inside the little house and turned off the lamp. Now it was dark in your room except for the tiny chandelier lights glittering inside the white home.

Sighing, you turned on your side. The curtains fluttered in the light breeze from your slightly open window. This gorgeous house, and quaint little town was your home. You’d have to come to accept the changes—which were not all bad. You miss your friends, you missed the warmth and sunshine, but the world was not over.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d have the opportunity to see Jasper Hale more often.

I hate the fact I can write faster for my fanfics than my actual real-life projects but you can thank sTePhEnIe MeYeR for that.

Part Two Part Three Part Four

#jasper hale #jasper hale fanfics #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale imagines #twilight imagines #twilight x reader #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #rosalie hale #emmett cullen #alice cullen #cullen

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amoralto · 4 years

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In your recent post from Gloria Steinem’s “Beatle with a future,” do you know the “she” that Derek Taylor is referring to? Or is that supposed to be apple or the Beatles themselves or something? Who Paul didn’t officially say goodbye to? It seems revealing how John would say “nothing’s going to change Paul.” There’s so much there. Oh and one last thing, who was Ringo saying “always worrying about people” ? Idk why but it’s hard for me to tell who was talking to who here.

Re: the “friend from Philly” Derek Taylor refers to, it’s not specified. Somebody better-versed in fan/groupie/Beatlemania-era dalliance stories may be able to connect the dots, but as far as Steinem describes it she was merely one of a few girls who’d met the band while they were in Philadelphia (September 2nd) and had now followed the band to their engagement in New York (September 20th) holding a charity concert for the United Cerebral Palsy Fund at the Paramount, their last gig on the US tour before returning to England to record Beatles For Sale. Here’s all the appearances she and the other girls from Philadelphia make in Steinem’s article:

It was time for The Beatles’ performance. Everyone crowded into the hall, looking expectantly at the room in which The Beatles had been “incommunicado” and “resting,” the same room into which I had seen Ed Sullivan disappear. Paul McCartney came out first, looking soft-faced and vulnerable as a choirboy. George Harrison and Ringo Starr followed animated and laughing. John Lennon moved quickly behind them, but his face was stoic and aloof behind his dark glasses (the face that inspired a London journalist to write, “It has the fear-neither-God-nor-man quality of a Renaissance painter’s aristocrat”). Behind Lennon came three chic young girls, two brunettes and a blonde, in their late teens or early twenties. McCartney jerked his head toward them as he got in the elevator and told some of his staff members to “look after the birds now, won’t ya.”

[...]

The Beatles’ entourage crowded together in the wings, and I talked to the birds. Were they working for The Beatles or interviewing them? No, they were just friends. “We met The Beatles at a press conference in Philadelphia,” said the pretty blonde, “that’s where we’re from.” Two of them wore wool suits with short culotte skirts. They all looked as if they had stepped from the pages of a teenage fashion magazine, and one carried a met them,” corrected the friendly blonde, “and this time we brought along a friend.”

The girls were simply left to sit in an adjoining room apart from Steinem, John, and Ringo, with both Paul and George in their own rooms presumably sleeping:

The Beatles were leaving for London early the next morning. That, plus the fact that several Manhattan hotels had turned them down, brought them to the Riviera Motor Inn at Kennedy Airport. The rooms were small, barely big enough for a bureau, twin beds and a television set but they had commandeered a whole floor and there were policemen guarding the halls. Our room was jammed with carts of Scotch and Coca-Cola, trays of sandwiches and two photographers, the young ladies from Philadelphia, a tall girl who had followed The Beatles from San Francisco, several journalists who had been on the Beatle tour, a pretty airline stewardess in a very lowcut dress who was acting as hostess, and, occasionally, Neil Aspinall and Derek Taylor. Two of The Beatles were in other rooms, but Ringo Starr and Lennon were in the one adjoining us with the door locked. It was opened only to admit Aspinall, Taylor, one or two other selected young men and liquor.

And at the end of the article:

I thanked Lennon, who looked worried, and said, “I hope you’re as true as you seem.” I said goodbye to the three birds who still sat in the adjoining room. Two were stretched out on the bed and a third was applying eye shadow. (“Women,” Lennon had once told a reporter, “should be obscene and not heard.”) They smiled their Mona Lisa smiles.

The “charity” concert itself was a point of consternation for the band (think Embassy-level feelings of exploitation, with the audience made up entirely of high society folk who could afford the exorbitant ticket prices and John saying they were treated “like animals”), and yet another thing in a cumulation of things they’d incurred over the past several months that had the band feeling exhausted and frustrated and even disillusioned with the unrelenting scrutiny and tabloid headlines and general mania surrounding them. Which may be why there’s a sense of distrust and weariness from John and Ringo that comes through in the article.

Add to that Derek Taylor ultimately resigning from his position as Brian Epstein’s assistant (a position he’d only held for about a year) from the stress and that triggering argument with Brian he’s confiding with Neil Aspinall and John about (which Brian would try to backtrack on, asking him to stay, to no avail), and just the random and curious fact that Bob Dylan and Albert Grossman were there in the room as well (which Steinem only gives a passing mention to; sleepless!John and Bob would later have breakfast together), it would seem Gloria Steinem had (albeit entirely unwittingly) caught the Beatles at a very intriguing point in time.

(I could go on more about Derek Taylor and how his emotional sensitivity/ego and issues with Brian Epstein (his management, his overprotectiveness of the boys leading to possible misattribution of blame, etc.) seems to prefigure his later issues with Paul and later serve as a bonding agent for him and John in mid-late-1968 (although John would still eventually cry betrayal, in typical gang leader fashion, when John interpreted Derek wanting to keep the Beatles together as “siding” with Paul against John), but I have another earlier ask I have to yet to reply to where that would be more pertinent for me to discuss it.)

Re: “nothing’s going to change Paul”, there’s definitely a lot to deconstruct and pick apart there, even if to the uneducated observer (Steinem) it comes across as just another “desultory” aside to pacify Derek, just as he tries to pacify Derek with the Brian issue (“He’s all right, but he doesn’t understand people having a few laughs, not even me laughs with me wife.”). Insert essay here.

Re: Ringo, I read it as him making a rueful comment on the situation in general, and therefore referring to both Derek and John. I could be wrong, though! The mileage varies.

I checked through @amoralto to see if I had posted/transcribed any interviews and such from around this time, and it turns out I have! Larry Kane’s with John and Ringo from Philadelphia (as it happens), with Ringo’s matter-of-factness with the tabloid trap they’re in (“I’ll have it on tape, I’ve been called a queer”) and John and Ringo talking about being the band being alone together (“One gets reliant on the others”).

Also, I’d be willing to post the entire Steinem article if anybody’s interested! Like I said, it’s an intriguing glimpse into the trauma of living through Beatlemania, something which still gets underplayed in the Beatles historiography - and also something I wish Ron Howard’s film could have focused on, instead of just shallow anecdotes by famous fans who went to see them in concert - and a worthwhile read, even if Steinem sometimes comes across as naive and even judgmental. She also unfortunately skews towards (if not wholly believes in) the popular, nigh-deleterious stereotypes of the Beatles (i.e. John as the Most Talented and Most Intelligent and Most Versatile - indeed, she sought out the Beatles specifically to talk to John in the first place) typical of many features/articles from the time (and which still unfortunately continues to this day).

#ask #1964 #gloria steinem #derek taylor #the beatles

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gaiatheorist · 4 years

Text

“50% Feminine.”

I’m going mad again, I’m listing probable reasons, but going mad isn’t reasonable, it’s something that just happens to me from time to time. This is one of the slow, creepy-uppy episodes, not one of the sudden, explosive ones, possibly less dangerous, but incredibly draining. It’ll pass, it always does, it had better do, it’s bloody horrible.

Standard disclaimer, I am at increased risk of harm, but I have no intent or ideation of deliberately harming myself, apart from drinking too much cheap-and-nasty wine, which is my standard maladaptive coping mechanism.

I woke up at 1.30am, and, after a brief discussion with my wonky brain, acknowledged that I was Awake-awake, and there was no chance of going back to sleep. This will have a knock-on effect for a few days, there’s a fair chance I’ll fall asleep in my dinner, but it’s mostly containable. (The madness, as well as the dinner.) Scrolling through Twitter, to see if I’d ‘missed anything’, I found a link to ‘My Gender Coordinates’, and decided to take the quiz, no better or worse use of my time than a Fakebook quiz to tell me what sort of sandwich, or shoe I am.

There are 35 questions, I can’t remember exactly how they’re worded, but it’s along the lines of “I am...” or “I consider myself...” about various character traits, or behaviours, you ‘answer’ on a sliding scale from double-thumbs-up to double-thumbs-down. There’s a ‘middle’ option, which, when I’m going mad, is always a bit tempting, I’m indifferent, I don’t care much about much when I’m in this state.(Until I do, and get all emotionally peaky, HATING an empty shampoo bottle on the bathroom floor, but refusing to move it, because it’s not mine, or finding myself close to tears because I think I’ve offended someone, and not quite knowing how to check.)

The ‘results’ come out on a quadrant-graph thingy, Masculine/Androgynous/Undifferentiated/Feminine, I deliberately didn’t look at that first, because I would have skewed my answers, aiming for ‘undifferentiated’, I’m awkward like that. My results were that I ‘fall between quadrants’, no big surprise there, my dot was bang on the line between ‘masculine’ and ‘androgynous’, all in the top half of the square, ‘68.3% Masculine, 50% Feminine’, I don’t know how that works, it’s numbers, and maths and stuff, and my brain doesn’t work like that. (Haha, because I’m a girl, and girls are better at biology than physics. Bullshit.)

What does it mean? In all likelihood, nothing, it does look kind-of scientific, which is why I answered all of the questions, instead of giving up at the first hint of a cartoon dinosaur, or a ‘pick which colour-scheme appeals to you’. (Cartoon dinosaurs are my new pet hate, I’ve recently had to wade back through the clip-art infested worksheets from the last mental health course, and I’m fairly certain I’ve imagined a cartoon dinosaur, but that’s a tangent I’ll try to avoid.) I have strong opinions on the concept of gender, for however-many years I’ve been writing on here, I’ve identified as ‘meat no-one eats’, my biological sex is female, and my uterus is certainly reminding me of that fact this week. My gender? Human. Probably.

“Identified as”, how very modern, it’s not ‘really’ a new thing, to me, or the world, what I’m trying to do here is type out a safe-release, to vent, I suppose it all boils down to my resentment of being ‘told’. There are vague childhood memories of being told “Ladies do/don’t do...”, and I have a ridiculous rage-bubble of “Yes, and sloths poo once a week, what’s your point?”, too late one thinks of what one might have said. I’m no more a lady than I am a sloth, I’m probably leaning more towards sloth at the moment, I’m overdue a bath.

Working through the statement-ratings, I noticed I was pulling a face at some of them. All of them, to be honest, which surprised me, because, with a diagnosis of autism, there’s the preconception that my response would be binary-linear, black-or-white, always/never. It wasn’t, my response was invariably “That’s a stupid question.”, and they weren’t questions, for every single statement, I decided “Unable to answer without context.”, and had to imagine a scenario to contextualise “I am generous” or “I am decisive”, or whatever. ( I *am* decisive, given sufficient context.) I need to watch that I don’t fall into a psychopath/sociopath rabbit-hole here, my sometimes-linear approach could be viewed as psychopathic, and my bending/masking could fit a sociopathic profile. Too many personality quizzes in my teen-girl magazines, and an on-going desire to name and categorize things.

I was pulling a face at the statements that are usually associated with the concept of femininity, there really isn’t a male-brain/female-brain. (All brains smell horrible, I have smelled my own brain, wasn’t pleasant.) There are some biological differences, most notably the reproductive bits, but not really a great deal else, the ex used to say that humans were evolving to be more androgynous, but I see now that he was trying to justify the societally-imposed feelings of inadequacy that I was as tall as him, with more body-hair. He ascribed to the concept of androgyny when it suited him, lauding Bowie in public, and insisting I was ‘better’ at housework in private. A product of his upbringing, but deeply coercive-toxic. He enjoyed my androgynous-atypical nature up to a point, I was a trophy in more ways than just my long legs and pretty mouth, I confused the hell out of his ‘traditional’ family, though.

The statements that made me screw up my face could have been coloured pink, they were the ones that ‘ladies do’, some, I consciously, deliberately-don’t, and some are just a natural hard-no, nature vs nurture in evidence. I have learned behaviours, and innate, natural tendencies, there was a bit of a domestic issue the other day when I noted my son being manipulative, and destroyed-devastated myself wondering if he’d learned-observed that from me. I don’t think so, my avoidance-behaviours are quite different. I was pulling faces at the stereotypical ‘female’ traits, initially an “Ew, no, I don’t do that!” response, but, as I realised I was doing it, I wondered WHY I was repulsed. There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with being kind/sensitive/compassionate, they’re human responses, not ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’, but even the quiz itself refers to them as “Traits commonly found in people of the ... gender.” (Androgynous is referred to as high in male- and female-typical traits, undifferentiated as low in both.) Commonly, not exclusively.

Part of the issue is that I associate femininity with vulnerability and weakness. I choose not to ‘present as’ female most of the time, my sex usually isn’t obvious until people get close, and I don’t let many people get that close. (Even before the virus-distancing.) There are ‘historical and complicating factors’ behind some of that, but there’s also the gender-conditioning I grew up with, girls-should, and boys-should, I didn’t have particularly positive experiences or role-models, but, even aside from that, the general concensus was that male was stronger, better, more important, female was secondary and subservient. To do something ‘like a girl’ was an insult, but, by the same token, I was often criticised for not being ‘girly’, ever the outlier. I’m wondering how much of the non-femininity is reactive-protective, how much could be part of the autism, and how much is just ‘how I am’?

Girly-females irritate me, vacuous conversations, hair-and-make-up, dependence on others, incessant diets and fads, I don’t ‘get’ any of it, and I don’t buy into it, I don’t see why I should, just because my genitals are in the more difficult-to-kick arrangement. (True to form, my son has more make-up and hair-stuff than I do, I can’t remember how he referred to my presentation a few weeks ago, but it might have involved goblins, and a bin.) Occasionally, people tell me I could be attractive if I made an effort, my go-to response is “What for?”, I do generally look as if I live in a tree, it doesn’t bother me. That’s not wholly a girl-thing or a boy-thing, I do know some very well-presented people of both flavours, but I’ve genuinely never overheard a group of men discussing razor-blades or underpants the way I’ve heard gaggles of women banging on about make-up and such.

Women who talk in baby-voices, women who giggle and simper around men, women who don’t even try to pick things up themselves, I think what I’m saying is that I don’t like women who ‘act as’ women, and it is an act, my mother’s phone-laugh used to make me want to scream.

Before I became annoyed at myself for placing more value on the traits more commonly associated with masculinity than femininity, I’d had a mini-argument with myself that it was impossible to rate any of the statements objectively. Am I kind? It depends on the situation, last week I helped a little old lady sort out a mis-delivered parcel, but the week before that, I’d sped up my walking pace, so I could get into the corner shop before the person behind me, it might have been the same little old lady, I wasn’t paying attention. I’d viewed the thumbs-rating as a never-always continuum, so, technically, all of the responses ‘should’ have been middle-option, for ‘sometimes’. (There might have been an explanation in the site somewhere, it was daft o’clock in the morning.) For each behaviour, I was thinking of a situation, which was wrong, I think I should have been rating least-likely to most-likely. The situation has an influence on the behaviour, if I had friends, I’d behave differently with them to the way I’d behave with a doctor, or a manager, or my son, and even that behaviour would depend on multiple external factors, it wouldn’t be static-consistent, it would be dynamic. We all do it, we’re socially conditioned to behave according to audience and environment.

I didn’t go to finishing school, I didn’t even go to university, there were no elocution or deportment classes at my rough-as-arseholes comprehensive school, and most of my childhood meals at home were eaten from a plate on my knee, on the sofa, in front of the TV. There were still expectations, though. Standing up if a teacher came into the classroom, not interrupting an adult speaking, letting elderly or otherwise infirm people on the bus first. I don’t remember my brother being given as many instructions as I was, though, and I think that was more to do with me being a girl than being two and a half years older, he did pretty much as he pleased, and was a ‘rascal’, or a ‘scamp’, whereas I was told to sit down (nicely), be quiet, smile, be helpful etc long before the wear a bra, brush your hair, show a bit of leg nonsense started.

I’m fairly certain that the gender-specific conditioning is part of the reason my autism wasn’t diagnosed until I was 42. I’d had expectations drummed, and sometimes beaten into me all my life, everything was already an act, a performance, so I just assumed everyone else was ‘faking it’ all the time, over-riding gut-instinct on everything, and acting according to these confusing social scripts. The “What for?” streak in me is problematic for other people, I’m viewed as difficult, challenging, sometimes plain rude, and overly bold ‘for a woman’. I don’t speak much, but, when I do, I make it count, I’m tenacious and determined, and, most of the time, completely exhausted trying to remember and correctly apply rules and boundaries, scripts I don’t understand the reasoning behind, and constantly-consistently assess environments and audiences, to avoid ‘getting it wrong’.

I am blunt at times. I can be articulate and eloquent, but sometimes a situation demands just-enough information to convey the salient point. I don’t tend to ‘waste words’, and am frustrated when people fanny about with “Does that make sense?” and “This might sound silly, but...” Anecdotally, I hear that from women more than men, we’re discouraged from being too much to-the-point, to go the long way around things, instead of straight at them, and to check for reassurance. I speak ‘like a man’, it’s more efficient. (”Does everyone understand what they are to do?” was my preferred meeting-closing-statement, I’m brutal.)

I sometimes see the reverse-of-me in my son, he isn’t the least bit blunt or brutal most of the time. (He did shout “Stop it!” at me quite forcefully one day last week when I was having a meltdown after getting bin-juice on my face. He saves his command-voice for emergencies.) He ties himself in knots about communicating with people, and avoids most conversation, although he’ll babble incessantly to himself to process thoughts and ideas. (I have sores inside my ears that won’t heal, because I keep putting my earphones in to drown out his waffling about D&D plots and such.) He’s nervous-anxious where I’m bold, he’s scared of a million things that I’m not in the least bit concerned by, but then, I am an idiot. Biological sex is not gender, but neither of us are really binary-gendered. (I’m not going to suggest he does the quiz, he’s so incredibly indecisive it would melt his brain.) I never conditioned him ‘male’, he’s always just been another human to me, but he has had conflicting messages from his Dad’s side of the family, boys-don’t-cry, come-and-kick-this-ball, look-at-the-tits-on-that, and the girly-girl aunts and cousins. Confusing times, but he has referred to himself as a pan-sexual trans-humanist, and I don’t really know what that is. (He hasn’t asked me to use different pronouns, or a different name, so he’s still ‘him’.)

I’m rambling. I’ve been pecking away at this for hours, but I do feel a little more settled for doing it. I didn’t go off on as many ranty tangents as I thought I might, which is reassuring, this episode of going mad has been mostly-irritable, and I don’t like it. Catch-22, there, as a female, I’m ‘supposed to’ be all pink and fluffy, and nice, but the lazy stereotype of a woman can also be a nagging old harridan, I’m straddling that line as well as the line between quadrants on the quiz. I bet you 10p that if I did the quiz again, I’d be able to skew the answers to place the dot dead-centre in the grid, but I might blow up the internet if I did that, and imagine the mess that would make.

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