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I See You Behind Those Tired Eyes (chapter three)

It's quiet without four ducklings and an old man running about.

They waited.

The crew that went adventuring were supposed to be back two days ago. Webby, Dewey, Louie, Huey, Scrooge, Launchpad… They were supposed to be back.

Webby and Lena were going to have a sleepover. Donald and Scrooge were going to argue about who was going on the family trip to the zoo. The boys had already missed the first half of the Ottoman Empire marathon.

But still, they waited.

Lena sprawled across the couch as she and Beakley stared blankly at the television. Beakley had already cleaned the entire house from top to bottom three different times. Her vacuum cleaner had overheated, which prevented her from doing it a fourth time.

The smells from the kitchen had long since stopped being pleasant. At first Lena had enthusiastically eaten any of the many things Donald had made--spaghetti, pie, cookies, brownies--but now, with a mix of having eaten too much and a mix of way too many different smells, she found herself nauseous and not hungry.

Still, Donald baked. And still, her and Beakley sat.

They hadn’t asked if she had anything better to do than wait. From sunrise to late into the night she stayed, both days. They only nodded and let her inside. And then, at night, they nodded silently as she left.

The quiet was driving her crazy.

She went to search something--anything--on her phone to distract her, but ended up staring at the empty spot on her wrist. The spot where a bracelet should have been. A deep sense of guilt bubbled up within her and she blinked rapidly as she scowled.

Beside her, finally, Beakley stood. She looked down at Lena and frowned. “You coming?”

Without hesitation, Lena said, “Absolutely.”

Screw waiting.

[bunswriting]

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[bunswriting]

I See You Behind Those Tired Eyes (chapter two)

Rated G Hurt/comfort // Webby and Lena // mentions of? orphaning?

“They didn’t want me.”

Lena’s eyes bugged out in surprise. “Your parents didn’t want you?” It really shouldn't have been a surprise to her; Lena knew how that felt. But Webby? Someone didn't want Webby?

Webby shrugged, obviously not affected. “They were spies. They chose to keep being spies, and not drag a kid into that.”

Lena wanted to protest, to ask how Webby of all people could think that was so normal, but she realized that it didn’t matter. To Webby that was normal, and maybe to someone else that would seem like a fine reason. Lena couldn’t imagine it, though. She couldn’t imagine what her life would be like without her.

“I’m glad we met, Webby.”

“As am I, Britania.”

[bunswriting]

I See You Behind Those Tired Eyes (chapter 1)

(this is a oneshot collection)

Donald’s ears were ringing and his left arm was going numb, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care because, over the sound of rushing water and clanging weapons, he heard Dewey yell, “Hands off our Dad!” 

[bunswriting]

of a feather (chapter 1)

Rated G 1634 Words coming out // trans female character // trans male character // trans girl huey // trans girl webby // trans boy dewey // chapter one

Huey liked cold hard facts above just about anything else in life. They were comfortable and familiar in a world that was often uncomfortable and strange. She hated metaphors, or at least she hated them when she wasn't the one using them.

"Huey? Why are you hiding in my closet?"

She managed to wait a month. A whole month of living in the manor, watching Webby skip around in a skirt or a dress every day. For thirty-one days, she had been content with just watching someone else wear a dress. She told herself that she didn't need to wear one, and that her problem would just go away. The thirty-second day, though, was officially too much.

That was how, a month into her stay at the manor, Huey found herself in Webby's closet. Webby had gone outside to play with Dewey, which meant they would both be gone for at least an hour. No one else would bother her in that time, since no one else would bother checking Webby's room for her. At least, that was the plan, and it seemed pretty solid.

Thankfully, despite the age gap between them, Webby wasn't that much bigger than Huey. That meant that almost all of Webby's skirts fit just right--or close enough that Huey could barely tell the difference. Admittedly she wasn't experienced in wearing skirts, which was part of the problem.

A month ago hadn't been when the feeling started, but it had been when it had gotten bigger. She knew girls at school of course. They had bows in their hair and they wore skirts and some of them had small amounts of makeup on. Her hands had always itched to touch those skirts. Her mind had always wondered what it would be like to wear one, to swing her hips back and forth and feel the material dance around her. She wanted bows, too--big bows that were soft and silky and teased her hair (which she also wanted).

Now, she stood face to face with a closet of skirts. They were folded neatly and put up, which made her wonder if someone would notice her take one. Well, she didn't mean to take one, that would technically be stealing, but she really wanted to. In the mean time, she tentatively slipped on a pink skirt and walked back into the room to look at herself in a mirror on the back of the door.

It looked... Nice. Obviously the pink and the red didn't quite match, but she was wearing a skirt. Maybe if she ruffled her feathers it would look like hair. Maybe if she found some eye liner her lashes would look fuller. Maybe--

But, all that meant it was more real. And she didn't know how to feel about that. She knew what being trans was. Dewey was trans. But Dewey had known he was trans since they were little, and Huey hadn't. She had thought she was a boy until... Recently. Only a few months ago. But then, as she stood in the mirror and adjusted where the skirt fell on her waist, she knew she had been wrong.

She had been wrong for so long though. Sure, maybe to someone else ten years wasn't a long time, but it was all she had. Her whole life, almost, she had been wrong.

She knew that their family--Or at least Donald and Louie--had accepted Dewey without question. Scrooge probably knew, too, though she wasn't sure. As long as no one bothered Dewey about it, they never talked about it. He had always been Dewey, and he always would be. But would the same go for Huey, who in many ways was her brother's opposite?

She fiddled with the hem of the skirt, which was a pleasant feeling at least. There was also the matter of Beakley and Webby herself. She doubted they knew about Dewey, and that made her scared. Surely if anything her brothers would stand up for her if it came down to it, but she didn't want it to come to that. Not over her, at least. And if outing herself meant outing Dewey, then that was completely out of the question.

Still, the skirt felt nice. Maybe that would be enough, for now. Until she had a more solid idea of how things would go, if she were to--

She heard someone quickly climbing the ladder behind her, and she dove into the closet before she even had a chance to think about it.

"I know I left it in here somewhere--There you are!" She nearly jumped out of her skin when Webby's booming voice approached the cracked closet door. She heard Webby grab something off of her dresser and snicker in a way that made Huey mildly concerned. Her silence that followed, though, was much more concerning as Huey realized she had no idea of Webby had left.

After a solid minute of silence, surely more than Webby could realistically tolerate, Huey made her way to the door of the closet and tried to peer around it to see if Webby was still in the room. She was met with a battle cry and nerf darts to the face, and she shrieked and launched herself back into the clothes and safety.

"Huey?!" Webby's voice was immediately apologetic, "Omg, I thought you were Dewey trying to scare me, I'm so sorry!"

She appreciated that Webby didn't think she was trying to scare her, at least. She sat up, a bit dazed, and smiled. "That's okay, Webby, I--"

"Why are you hiding in my closet?" She pulled him into a standing position and assessed the damage (a few nerf darts, but nothing serious) and her gaze locked on the skirt Huey was wearing. Huey felt a prickle on the back of her neck that warned her of danger, but it was Webby. As dangerous as Webby was, she wasn't... She wasn't mean, was she?

"I--I, uh..." Lie? Truth? Lying was just delaying the truth, and it just meant she would have to lie more later to keep it up. She couldn't do that. She just... Couldn't. "I wanted to... Try on a skirt."

She prepared herself as best she could for any reaction, but she still found herself surprised when Webby grinned. "Oh! Okay! You're welcome to wear anything of mine. Just be sure to put it back, because Granny doesn't like it when I just through my clothes in the closet. Oh, are you going to wear any out, though? You can do that too! Are you going to buy a skirt? Granny probably would, or you could tell your Uncle Donald too--"

She smiled as Webby continued to talk. Yeah, she probably should have expected that reaction, but it was still nice to feel herself relax as Webby babbled on and on about how she could get a skirt of her own. She couldn't tell if Webby didn't know it was weird for her to wear a dress, or if Webby just assumed it was normal for her, or what, but she appreciated it and felt a surge of love for the older girl. So much so, in fact, that she actually reached out and hugged Webby mid-sentence.

"Is this your first time trying on a skirt?" Webby's voice was soft, which made Huey think she knew more than Huey had thought.

She nodded. "Yeah. I've-I've been thinking about it all month, honestly."

Webby nodded and tightened her arms around her. "I understand. It took me a long time to work up the courage to try on a skirt, too." Before Huey could ask what she meant, Webby pulled back and looked her in the eye, unusually serious. "I don't know why, and you don't have to tell me, but you're welcome to my closet, and anything else you need."

Huey frowned, uncertain of what she mean. She searched Webby's eyes and found them once again lit up with a smile. Realizing what Webby meant, Huey's eyes began to water. She wasn't alone.

"By the way, not to insult your taste or anything, but a tan color would probably look better on you." Webby giggled, and Huey remembered just how awful the pink skirt realistically looked.

"Oh, right! Do--Do you have one? That I could... Borrow?" That meant it was a bit more real, of course. It meant she could go downstairs in a skirt and take whatever came. But it also meant that she had Webby by her side, and Dewey, and Louie, and probably Beakley, and--there was hardly even anyone left by the time she thought it through. This could be real. This could happen.

Webby let go of her long enough to jump up and down and squeal. "I have the perfect one! You can have it!"

And sure enough, it was a perfect fit. It was a bit small on Webby, which meant it fit Huey just right. It looked natural, like she had gone to the store and picked it out herself. It was her first skirt.

She grinned. "I love it." She twirled in the mirror and Webby giggled by her side. Huey grabbed the hem of the dress before she looked up at Webby once again. "I... I want to go downstairs in it. Could--Would you... Go with me?"

Webby grabbed her hand gently and tugged her towards the ladder. "Of course. Do you know what you're going to say?"

Huey thought about it for a moment as they climbed down, but she shook her head. "Not exactly. But I guess I'll just be... Telling them the truth. That I can do." She hadn't expected it to go this far, and her hands already began to shake with nerves. But if she didn't do it now, she didn't know when she would. With the reality check that Webby had provided, she realized she had no real reason to fear anyone's reaction.

Webby beamed at her when they hit the bottom of the stairs. "I know you can."

[bunswriting]

Title: Recovery is Painful Fandom: Life is Strange Rating: T Pairing: Implied PriceMarsh Word Count: ~300 Trigger Warnings: Referenced self harm and suicide

You’ve always been an angry crier. Not to say you cried every time you got angry--you would cry a lot more if that were true--but you definitely were angry every time you cried. Usually it was a sense of self loathing that you could taste in your tears, but sometimes it was just bitterness that seemed to seep out of your bones.

One day, though, you were talking to Kate Marsh. Well, day was a bit of an exaggeration. It was actually three am, and you two had been talking for hours about things you’d already forgotten about. The topic turned dark, though, and you suddenly wished you could forget more than the past few hours.

She opens up to you about the day she was on the roof. You don’t tell her that talking about suicide makes you uncomfortable, mostly because you yourself don’t really care. It’s not even an uncomfortable that makes sense, you just feel… Embarrassed whenever you think of it.

You show her the scars on your wrists. They’re fading now, even the deep ones, and part of you hates that. They were supposed to be yours, and they were supposed to be proof that the things you felt were real. You didn’t want them to go away, even if you wore bracelets to cover them most days.

You tell her that you’re supposed to cut straight down if you really want to die. That cutting across is only for people who want attention.

She’s quiet for a moment before she says that maybe it’s okay to want attention. Maybe you needed attention, and maybe you should have gotten it.

You’re crying again. You’re crying, but you’re not angry.

You’ve always been an angry crier.