#AND I HAVE A FUCKING SPANISH TEST ON FRIDAY. ON TOP OF IT ALL

[gohard-or-gohomo]

.

[joshslater]

Dark Fields

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Of course I've heard of dark field generators before, in the same sense I've heard of general relativity. Some Spanish chick whose name I'm always forgetting was awarded the Nobel prize in physics for it, if I remember correctly. Lots of media circus around her, calling her "the new Einstein" and stuff. It's apparently a big deal to get a Nobel prize on your own, and she was like 30 or something. Dark field theory had something to do with all the dark matter in the universe no one could explain before, and while it took like 70 years from Einstein's theories to GPS navigation it only took a few years until dark field generators were put into satellites instead of gyroscopes. They kind of latch on onto the underlying fabric of space, or whatever nonsense it has been dumbed down to for us rubes.

I was quite surprised to hear from Scott that he had gotten some kinky gear with dark field generators integrated. On one hand it makes sense that new technology trickles down into porn very quickly, but on the other hand it felt like too advanced stuff to put into a butt plug or whatever it was integrated into. Scott wouldn't say, but asked me to come over on Friday to try it out. He didn't have to bribe me with such bullshit. I'd be there anyway if he asked.

He opened the door almost as soon as I knocked on it. He was visibly excited and obviously couldn't wait to put whatever plans he had in motion. "This is going to be so sick!" he said not really addressing me while we walked to his living room. There was a big cardboard box on the table and a pile of bubble wrap on the floor. He was just about to grab something out of the box when he looked back at me. "Oh! You still have clothes. You need to get naked. Completely naked." This really felt more like a science experiment than what we usually got together for on weekends. He wasn't trying at all to be sexy, but there was something charming in his childlike enthusiasm and I was getting real curious about what he had gotten his hands on.

"This is as naked I can be," I said dropping my jockstrap on top of the other clothes in the corner of his couch. "Try this. Should be your size," he said and handed me a black jockstrap in a material I couldn't quite identify. Some sort of latex, but heavier. It wasn't very flexible so it took some wiggling to get it on, but once there it did indeed fit me very well. "And this one," he said and handed me a pretty substantial collar. It felt very different, more like neoprene but still much heavier than expected. This wasn't the first time I'd had one on, so I knew how to adjust it to fit comfortably for a longer time. The fastening mechanism was a simple belt with holes punched out. No locks or anything. "And these. Put them just below your knees. Almost done," he said and handed me two smaller versions of the collar in the same material. I did as he said and secured them both just below the knees. "Finally these around your wrists," he said as he pulled out the two even smaller version of the same thing. I quickly secured them around my arms, now familiar with how they felt to work with.

"So what is this? Have you bought some hooks or something to tie me up to?" I asked, moving around a bit to test how it felt. The restraints felt strangely heavy to wear. "No, even better. I told you already." He grabbed his phone off the table and unlocked it. "Make a heroic pose for me." I wasn't sure what he meant, but I placed my feet a bit apart turned my chest a bit. Before I could finish posing he swiped something on the screen and everything just froze. I could still move my head, my fingers, my toes, and so on, but each of the black restraints were firmly locked in place.

"What the fuck!" There was some flexibility in the padding of the restraints, but otherwise there was no give at all. I understood why the leg restraints shouldn't be by the ankles. Like this they, together with the rest of the restraints, fully took all of my weight. I could relax all muscles in my body and still be pretty much in the same position, save for the chest that rotated back a bit.

He was grinning from ear to ear. "Dark field generators, as I said. How does it feel? Any straining?" I tilted the foot that wasn't fully planted up and lost contact with the floor on that side, but didn't just fall to the side, held in place as I was by the restraints. "It's actually almost comfortable."

"Great! I'll be back with some gear. Clamps and oils and vibrators and shit. The charge should hold until Sunday, easily."

Well, I did know what I walked into. Kinda.

[whumphoarder]

D is for Diploma

Summary: Between all of his commitments, Peter’s grades start slipping, putting him in danger of losing his academic scholarship to Midtown. Stressed and guilt-ridden about the effect this will have on May’s finances, he ends up worrying himself sick and having a breakdown in Tony’s lab.

Word count: 3,759

Genre: emotional hurt/comfort, angst, hurt/comfort

A/N: Thanks so much to @xxx-cat-xxx and @sallyidss for beta reading and encouragement <3

Link to read on Ao3

“But how are you getting a C in gym class?” Ned balks at his friend. He’s peering over Peter’s shoulder as he scrolls through his quarterly grades on the school library computer. “Everyone gets an A. I’m getting an A. All you gotta do is show up and at least look like you’re trying and boom, automatic A.”

Peter rubs a hand at the back of his neck sheepishly. “So, remember after the Rhino dude attacked me, how I had all those bruises that didn’t heal right away?”

“Yeah...” Ned recalls, frowning. “But you said they didn’t hurt.”

“They didn’t! Not really, anyway,” Peter says quickly. “But like, I didn’t really want everyone to see that, so I kinda didn’t change into my uniform. And apparently if you don’t change, Wilson just marks you as absent.”

“Ah.” Ned gives him a sympathetic wince. “Yeah, that’s lame.”

“What I don’t understand,” MJ pipes up, glancing up from the book she’s had her nose in all afternoon, “is the D in Spanish. Rodríguez isn’t even a hard teacher.”

Peter’s face flushes with embarrassment. “So… I might have forgotten to submit a couple assignments.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “You forgot? He reminds us what’s due, like, three times every class period.”

“I mean, it was just the take-home quiz...” he mumbles. “And some of the homework sheets. Oh, and that cultural essay thing about the ancient Mayans.”

“Peter.” She blinks at him. “That was like, twenty percent of our grade.”

“Well, to be fair, I did have a concussion,” he defends. “It was a little hard to remember stuff that week.”

Ned rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, that makes it so much better.”

Peter huffs out a laugh. Honestly, between all the hours he’s been logging lately as Spider-Man, his frequent internship nights with Tony in the lab, the increasingly demanding decathlon practice schedule as their team moves toward regionals, and the weekend shifts he’s started picking up at Delmar’s (because, let’s face it, the vigilante life isn’t the most lucrative career path—the occasional free churro notwithstanding), Peter thinks he’s been doing quite well juggling everything. Sure, his grades aren’t quite the neat row of A’s and the occasional B he’s grown accustomed to throughout his school career, but it’s not like he’s failing anything.

“I’ve just got different priorities now,” Peter says with a shrug. “I still show up and I’m passing all my classes, so what does the grade matter?”

MJ returns the shrug, looking vaguely impressed with him. “It doesn’t really. I’ve always been morally opposed to using arbitrary numerical values as a measure of academic success.” She shifts her gaze back to her novel before adding, offhandedly, “But you gotta admit, the tuition break is nice.”

And in those nine little words, she might as well have punched him in the gut.

“Oh shit,” Peter breathes out. Hurriedly, he starts gathering books together and getting to his feet.

“What?” Ned asks, looking puzzled.

“Um, I gotta go,” he blurts. And then before anyone can say another word, he’s out of the library doors.

X

The Parkers aren’t poor, exactly.

May works full-time at her job as a neonatal nurse, besides picking up extra shifts one or two nights a month to give them a bit of cushion. Between her wages and the social security checks that come every month from Ben’s pension, the two of them get by. Sure, Peter might not have name-brand clothes or the coolest tech or even a pair of gym shoes without a bit of duct tape on the soles, but there’s always been food on the table and a roof over his head, so Peter’s never stressed that much about their financial situation.

Maybe that’s how he managed to completely forget about his academic scholarship.

He’s qualified for it ever since he passed Midtown’s entrance exams in the top tenth percentile back in eighth grade. The money is substantial—slightly over two-thirds of the tuition cost is paid for him—and the scholarship automatically renews every semester provided he maintains a grade point average of 3.3 or higher, which has never been a problem for him.

That is, up until now. Factoring in his B in history, the C’s in gym and trig, and his D in Spanish, his GPA is currently sitting at 2.9.

Peter is going to lose his scholarship.

X

With less than two weeks left before finals, Peter starts cramming in all the studying he can manage. He stays up late, pouring over his trigonometry notes, trying to work his way through all the practice problems he’s been slacking on. He makes a point of showing up three minutes early to gym class every day, even if he has to use a bit of his enhanced speed to get all the way there from the chem labs on the other side of the building. On the train, he quizzes himself on the names of historical figures and the dates of battles long-since fought. Some of his teachers are willing to work with him, letting him turn in late assignments for partial credit or giving him additional projects to complete.

And then there’s Spanish.

“Isn’t there some kind of extra credit project I can do?” Peter begs. “Anything?”

It’s his study hall period and he’s at Señor Rodríguez’s desk for the second day in a row, desperately hoping for anything that could give his grade the boost it needs.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” his teacher says, sounding genuinely regretful. “But you’ve had countless opportunities this semester to get your grade up via homework and test retakes, all of which you neglected to take advantage of. Coming to me with less than ten days left in the semester requesting make up work for assignments worth significant percentages of your grade is simply too little, too late.”

“But… I had a concussion that week,” Peter argues. “Like, right when it was all due. And I would have done the work before, but…” He trails off, unable to finish his sentence without explaining his unorthodox extracurriculars. “I...I was busy,” he concludes weakly.

Rodríguez raises an eyebrow a little skeptically. “I didn’t receive any notes from the nurse’s office about this concussion.”

Peter glances down to his feet. “Well, that’s because she didn’t know, exactly…”

No one did—not even May. After getting all those bruises the week before, Peter didn’t want anyone to know he was hurt again so soon. Apparently Karen hadn’t deemed the blow to the head he took severe enough to override his wishes. He’d just dealt with the headaches and brain fog the best he could and sort of floated through that week on his own. In hindsight, maybe not his best plan.

“Well, I guess this is a good life lesson for you then, Peter,” Rodríguez says. His voice is firm, but not unkind. “Part of growing up is taking responsibility and learning to communicate with authority figures before you get into trouble.”

“Right, and I get that,” Peter babbles, “I just—”

His teacher holds up a finger, quieting him. “My job is to train my students for success in the real world, and sometimes that means reminding you that actions have consequences. ¿Lo entiendes?”

And Peter finds himself nodding. Because, despite the pool of dread growing in his gut, he does understand. He wants to be mad, wants to say it’s unfair and the universe gave him a raw deal and he doesn’t deserve this. But he can’t. Rodríguez is right.

And Peter’s still fucked.

X

By the time Friday rolls around, Peter’s barely functioning. Besides all the extra assignments and studying for finals, he’s had three days in a row of Decathlon practices, followed by some particularly eventful evening patrols that all went quite a bit later than his usual curfew of ten p.m.

He can’t get much of his lunch down today, which does nothing to appease his friends’ concerned looks. The food seems tasteless in his mouth and he’s so tired he nearly nods off into his cafeteria chicken nuggets.

When school finally lets out, he’s surprised and a little disheartened to see the sleek black car waiting for him in the bus circle. He’d totally forgotten it was an internship weekend.

Figures.

X

Peter groans as he disconnects the circuits he just switched out. He’s been trying to fix a bug in his suit’s heater upgrade for the last twenty minutes now, but nothing he attempts is working and his head is throbbing so much that his vision is hazy.

“Just try again, kid,” Tony encourages absently from across the workshop. He’s not looking up, fully engrossed as he is in his own project. “You got this.”

“Yeah...” Peter mutters under his breath. Blinking a few times, he rubs a hand at his eyes to try to clear his vision.

He connects a different wire. That one doesn’t yield any better results, so he unplugs it and tries again. Then again. Then again. He’s fairly sure he’s already tried the next combination, but he’s so tired he can’t remember so he does it again just to be sure. Nothing.

Peter is so frustrated now that his hands are actually shaking. He pauses and takes a deep breath before trying again.

This time, the wire sparks at him.

“I can’t do this!” Peter exclaims, shoving the suit away from him across the table. “I can’t do anything! Why am I so fucking stupid?!”

He’s breathing heavily now, tears clouding his vision even further. Within a few seconds he feels Tony’s hand rest heavily on his shoulder. It should be comforting, but it only makes Peter feel pathetic.

“C’mon, just take a deep breath and—”

“No!” Peter blurts, shaking away from Tony’s grip. “That’s not going to fix anything! I can’t fix this—don’t you see?!”

Stepping backwards, Tony holds his hands up in front of his chest, keeping his expression perfectly neutral. “Okay…” he says carefully. “I think you might need a break.”

Tears prick at Peter’s eyes and he instantly regrets snapping at his mentor. “No, no, I didn’t mean that! I’m s-sorry, ’m fine…” he says. It would probably sound a lot more convincing if his breath would stop hitching.

Tony lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, no, I’m pulling rank here,” he declares. “It’s break time.”

“No!” Peter protests. His hands fumble back on the table for the wires.  “I gotta finish it! It’s so close, it’s just—” He cuts himself off as the images of the suit swim before his eyes, his head throbbing. “I, I need to finish…” he concludes lamely.

“Peter, just stop,” Tony says with an exasperated sigh. “You’re no good like this.”

Somehow, those words are the catalyst. Peter feels every emotion he’s been bottling up for the past week erupt inside of him. His breath hitches and his head pulses. “I, I know I’m not,” he manages to say, “but that’s why I gotta… gotta finish, then maybe—”

“Jesus, kid,” Tony breathes out. “That’s not what I meant at all. I was just saying—”

Peter cuts him off. “No, I… I know…” Tears are sliding down Peter’s cheeks now. He runs a hand through his hair, shoulders shaking. “’M sorry.”

Tony’s eyes are a mixture of concern and confusion. “Whoa, hey, what’s going on here?” Tugging the edge of his sleeve over his thumb, Tony uses it to wipe a few of the tears off his cheeks. “Talk to me.”

Honestly, Peter doesn’t even know where to begin. The frustration of his current project, the lack of sleep, his grades, the scholarship…

“I just… I-I have a headache.”

Peter doesn’t know why he says it—the pressure in his skull doesn’t even rank very high on his list of concerns at the moment, yet the simple physicality of it somehow makes it the easiest thing to admit. He rubs the back of his hand at his eyes, but his vision is still so blurry. “Can’t really see straight…”

Tony’s brows knit together. “Is it a migraine?”

“N-No,” Peter says between choked sobs. “Or... I don’t know, I don’t th-think so?” Despite never having had a migraine, he’s pretty sure that’s not what this is. The pain isn’t anything exceptional—it’s just that he can’t seem to stop crying and he’s so fucking tired.

“Either way, I think you’ll feel better once you’ve got a couple painkillers in you,” Tony reasons. “C’mon, let’s get you sorted out.”

Peter shakes his head in weak protest. “No, ’s’okay... “

“Nope,” Tony says, his voice a little more firm. “Trust me on this, you don’t want to work in a lab right now. It’s bright, and loud, and honestly, you’re a bit of a safety hazard at the moment.”

To Peter’s horror, a fresh wave of emotion comes over him and he finds himself properly crying now, his frame wracking with each sob.

“Okay, okay, alright…” Tony murmurs, and Peter feels a hand awkwardly patting him on the back.

It’s all so idiotic, Peter decides, standing in Tony’s lab, crying over things that are completely his own fault and a headache that isn’t even that bad.

“You’re okay, kid,” Tony whispers. “Just breathe.”

As Peter struggles to pull himself together, he feels the hand switch to rubbing circles on his back. It moves up to the back of his neck, but halts as soon as Tony’s fingers touch Peter’s bare skin.

Tony frowns. “Do you have a fever?”

“Wh-What?” Peter’s throat is thick.

“You’re really warm,” Tony explains. He flips his hand around to press the back of his fingers to Peter’s skin, first on his neck, then on his cheek. “Yeah. FRIDAY, can we get a read on that?”

“100.7, boss,” she supplies.

Tony hums a bit. “Yeah, that’s about what I thought…”

Peter doesn’t get it. “B-But I’m not sick,” he protests. “Just—”

“Exhausted,” Tony finishes for him. “When’s the last time you had a full night’s sleep?”

Sniffling, Peter gives a non-committal shrug.

“Yeah, that’s not good, kid,” Tony huffs. “Take it from a guy who has a bit of experience in this area—not sleeping enough will seriously mess you up.”

With a hand on Peter’s back, Tony starts gently ushering the kid out of the lab. Peter doesn’t even bother protesting anymore as he shuffles along, his lip quivering. He figures he’s caused enough trouble today.

Tony deposits him onto the couch in the living room and Peter immediately curls up against the arm rest, squeezing his eyelids shut in an effort not to think about what a fool he’s making of himself in front of his mentor. It doesn’t help much.

“You just chill out for a minute here, okay?” Tony says quietly, draping a blanket over Peter. “I’m gonna get you some meds.”

Peter nods and Tony gives his shoulder a final squeeze before stepping out.

The second he’s alone, the tears start streaming down again, hot and silent and totally uncontrollable. If he’s not working in the lab, then he really should be studying for these stupid finals, but he can’t bring himself to pull out his flash cards. He doesn’t think he can rest—not with so much hanging over his head—but he can’t work either. Tony was right; he’s just no good right now.

When Tony reenters with painkillers and a glass of water, he doesn’t say anything about how Peter is hurriedly sitting up and scrubbing his face with his hands in a pointless attempt to pull himself together. He just presses two pills into Peter’s palm.

Looking down at the painkillers in his shaking hand, Peter’s stomach twists and he’s suddenly not so sure they’ll be able to stay down. “I can’t. I feel sick,” he admits in a whisper.

With a quiet sigh, Tony perches himself on the edge of the sofa, right beside Peter’s tucked knees. “I think you’re just tired, kiddo. Sometimes that makes you feel a little sick.”

Peter doesn’t say anything so Tony passes him the glass of water. “Here. Humor me,” he says. “If I’m wrong, I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

It’s a stupid joke, but the corners of Peter’s lips twitch anyway. “Okay,” he croaks.

Peter slips the pills into his mouth and swallows them down with a sip of water. He’s queasy, but it’s not too bad. He goes to set the cup back down on the coffee table, but his mentor shakes his head.

“Drink the whole thing,” Tony instructs.

Peter obeys. It takes him a couple of minutes, but he manages to get the entire cup down and feels just the smallest bit better for it.

Tony takes the empty glass from his hand and sets it on the table. “Think you can sleep now?”

Peter just shrugs. He wants to—god, he wants to—but he doesn’t deserve it. Not when this is all his own damn fault. His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks again:

“I think I really messed up, Mr. Stark.”

X

Over the next ten minutes, it all comes tumbling out: the job at Delmar’s, the decathlon requirements, the late patrols, his slipping grades, his scholarship, everything.

“I just… I don’t want to change schools,” Peter concludes softly. “I like Midtown. It was the first place I really felt like… well, like I fit in.”

Tony’s been quiet for the whole time Peter was speaking, but now his brow furrows. “Why would you need to quit Midtown?”

Peter blinks at him; isn’t it obvious? “Because the full tuition is eight thousand dollars a semester. Without the scholarship…” he trails off. “I just can’t do that to May.”

A look of relief spreads across Tony’s face. “Is that all? That’s the whole issue?” He huffs out an amused breath. “Done. Consider it paid. Problem solved.”

Peter feels his cheeks flush. He shakes his head frantically. “No, no, I didn’t mean that you should pay! Please don’t do that!”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to blink at him. “Peter. I am a multi-billionaire. Do you have any idea what eight thousand dollars is to me?”

“But you shouldn’t have t—”

“Peanuts,” Tony cuts him off. “I’ve spent more on peanuts than that.”

“But—”

“And by that I mean actual, honest-to-god peanuts,” Tony continues over the kid’s protests. “There’s this company in Peru that slow-roasts them for twenty-one days in a secret spice blend. Happy’s obsessed with ‘em—says they’re god’s gift to mankind. So, for Christmas one year—”

“You can’t pay my tuition!” Peter blurts out.

Tony stops his story abruptly. His eyes narrow at Peter. “And why exactly is that?”

“Because…” Running a hand through his hair, Peter draws in a shuddery breath. “Because… If anyone should pay, it’s me. I-I’m the one who fucked up and lost the stupid scholarship. I should be the one responsible for fixing this.”

“But you can’t fix it,” Tony says bluntly.

Peter’s caught off-guard. “Wh-What? N-No, I just need to get my grades up, and, and…”

Tony’s voice is gentler now. “You can’t, Peter. You can’t get a 2.9 up to a 3.3 by next week, no matter how well you do on your exams. You’ve gotta know that.”

(Peter does know. He’s known for days. He’s always been good at math, after all.)

“So you can’t keep going on like this, trying to make up for what happened,” Tony concludes.

Tears prick at the corners of Peter’s eyes once more. He’s determined not to let them fall this time. “But I deserve it…” he whispers.

Tony shrugs. “If we always got what we deserved, I never would have made it through the 90s.” He huffs out a short laugh. “At least nobody has to bail you out of prison. Same can’t be said for all of us.”

In spite of Peter’s earlier resolve, the traitorous tears slip out anyway. He wonders how he has any left.

Tony sobers a bit. “You’re a good kid, Pete,” he says quietly. “But you’re trying to carry the whole world on your shoulders and that’s enough to break anyone. It’s okay to ask for help sometimes. Even if you fucked up.”

Peter swallows hard. “Okay.”

“So let’s try this again,” Tony says. He makes eye contact with Peter. “What do you need, kid?”

“Right now?” Peter exhales deeply. “I dunno. A nap?”

Tony smirks slightly. “I think we can manage that.”

X

Peter makes it through finals.

All his extra effort and studying does yield some results. His gym grade increases to a B after Coach Wilson grades his two-page extra credit report on the rules of badminton. The trig final is rough, but he pulls in another couple points there, and the art teacher accepts a few late sketches from the unit on perspectivism. With the help of the final exam, he even manages to eek out a C- in Spanish.

When it’s all said and done, Peter’s GPA sits at 3.1.

“That wasn’t easy to do. I’m proud of you, Peter,” May says sincerely. “You know that, right?”

Peter shrugs. “I guess so.”

They’re sitting together at the apartment’s small kitchen table, May’s open laptop in front of them with all of Peter’s end of semester grades displayed. Peter’s eyes drift down from the screen to the table where a check for eight thousand dollars signed by Tony Stark himself is staring back at him. He sighs.

May plants a quick kiss on the top of her nephew’s head. “Well, I know so. So for now, I’ll just know it for the both of us.”

Peter strokes his fingers over the crisp paper of the check. Besides covering tuition, Tony has now upgraded Peter’s unofficial SI internship to a paid position—something he says he should have done long ago, given how much time Peter spends working in the lab—and that will allow him to give Mr. Delmar his two-week notice.

He knows he should be grateful, but honestly, it’s going to take him some time to wrap his head around the concept of being taken care of like this.

Getting up from the table, May moves over to retrieve a small paper bag from the counter. “That reminds me—Mr. Stark told me to give you this.” She tosses the bag to Peter, who catches it easily.

Curiously, he opens it. He’s immediately hit with the aroma of exotic spices and roasted legumes. Peter can’t help but grin.

A note inside the bag reads: Enjoy your peanuts, kid.

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, you might also like: 

Viral Wisdom

Go Down Swinging

A Pressing Emergency

Fic Masterlist

[purplesurveys]

1031

Do you usually take blame or blame others? Depends on the context, I guess? When things go wrong on a very deep and personal level between me and people I deeply care for, I usually try to find reasons to blame myself. But if it’s something superficial, like if someone messes up at work through no fault of my own, then I’m able to point my finger to whoever fucked up.

Have you ever been to a McDonald’s in another state? I’ve been to McDonald’s in different provinces and also  in different countries. The McDonald’s we went to in Baguio was so surreal because we discovered that they were still using styrofoam containers that they had already phased out years ago everywhere else, and they also never changed the original spaghetti and chicken recipes I grew up with. It was such a blast from the past. As for other countries, I’ve tried out the McDonald’s in Malaysia, Indonesia, and China and made sure to order items that we didn’t have back home.

Have you ever seen 50 First Dates? Yeah, it’s one of my semi-guilty pleasures. It’s such a cheesy movie, but idk the concept is unique and the supporting characters made the whole movie enjoyable for me.

Do you like or hate the smell of fish? The fishy smell at the market can be pretty strong and bleck, but generally I don’t mind the smell of fish. I live in an archipelago, man. We live and breathe seafood. Idk anyone in real life who doesn’t like fish.

Have you ever been to Sea World? No.

Do you know someone who suffers from short term memory loss? I don’t think so, no.

Have you ever read any of John Green’s books? Yeah, but the only one I’ve gotten to read in full was The Fault In Our Stars. I also got to start on The Abundance of Katherines and Paper Towns, but because I only borrowed those copies from friends I never got to read either until the end. All were okay, but I don’t find John Green’s writing to be as great as it was once hyped up to be.

If so, which one is your favorite? I guess TFIOS, since that’s the only one I got to read through to the end.

Are you a protective person? With my loved ones and pets, yes.

Have you ever experienced an earthquake? Yeah I’ve felt a lot but fortunately it’s never been a severe one. Just super brief earthquakes where the most that happened to me was a little swaying.

Would you rather go to a beach or city for a vacation? I love beaches, but a change in scenery would also be nice because I already go to beaches for vacations fairly often. City.

Does your license plate number contain the number 8? I never actually memorized my plate number LOOOOOOL I think so? It’s either a 6 or 8.

Were you ever a ghost on Halloween? Nope.

Has someone ever held the door open for you? Yeah, security guards tend to do that for customers/guests. Sometimes, nice strangers that I enter a place with will do it for me too.

Are you a fan of penguins? I think fan is pushing it far lol. I like penguins, but I’m not obsessed.

Have you ever stayed up all night on a school night? Just a handful of times, and it was always as part of a groupwork. I’d never willingly go through an all-nighter for myself.

What’s your favorite brand of chips? Doritos or Pringles. We also have a local brand that makes these deeeeeelicious salted egg chips, but I’ve never actually taken note of what the brand is.

Has anyone ever sang to you? Not to me. But a lot of people have sung around me.

Are you a good painter? No. That’s why I opt for paint-by-number kits, because those come with a guide haha. I can’t actually craft images by myself – that skill belongs to my sister who has an insane talent for painting.

Before buying a car, do you usually test drive it? I’ve never bought a car by myself; my dad takes care of the car purchases. I know he test-drove the Vitara, but idk about the other cars we have.

Have you ever written a poem and then read it aloud? Hmm, I don’t write poems. I don’t find the vast majority of them appealing, and only once in a while will there be a poem that is able to speak to me.

Do you like pineapple? Nope.

Have you ever met your favorite author? I don’t have a favorite.

Do you look more like your mom or dad? Most comments point to my mom, but I’ll get the occasional remark that half of my face is my dad’s as well. I’m a good mix of both.

Have you and your best friend ever liked the same person? This hasn’t happened before.

When was the last time someone called you babe or baby? Maybe August? I’m not too sure. It’s been a few months.

Do you have an older brother? No. But I’m super close with my eldest cousin on my mom’s side and we grew up together and all that, and I pretty much consider him my older brother. He’s definitely more a brother than a cousin to me, and it has always felt and been that way.

Are you a fan of art? Yes, especially paintings and dioramas.

Did you get your mom or dad’s eyes? My mom’s, I think? I really don’t know, I’m bad at recognizing this kind of stuff. You’d have to ask people who actually see me on a daily basis.

Have you ever seen the movie My Girl? Is this the one with the really sad scene of a boy’s funeral and the girl’s like, “He can’t see without his glasses”? I haven’t seen the movie, but I’ve heard about that scene a million times.

Do you watch Teen Wolf on MTV? Ugh, MTV’s teen shows are such a cringefest to me. I never followed it, but I’ve had to watch a few eps back in high school when my friends would watch it while we were at someone’s place. Not my cup of tea.

When it was on, did you watch Cory In The House on Disney? I watched a few episodes, especially when it was still new. But we were also in the process of moving then and we didn’t have cable for a few years in our new house, so I had to miss out most of it.

Do you have any blackheads? I don’t.

Do you have any freckles? Nope.

Do you have a movie that you have to watch during the summer every year? No, but I have something similar. I like watching Love Actually at least once every year, during the Christmas season. I like watching Two for The Road once a year as well, regardless of the time of year.

Do you think that life isn’t fair sometimes? I mean yeah. It doesn’t revolve around me, so I know it won’t always be fair.

When was the last time someone bought you flowers? Valentine’s Day last year.

What was the last book you read? Midnight Sun. Haven’t touched it since September, though.

How many books do you plan to read this summer? It’s past summer, and I haven’t been doing a lot of reading in general.

Does your house have a dishwasher? No, not a common appliance here.

Do you know anyone who has a flower tattoo? I probably do. But I haven’t seen people outside of family for so long that I can barely remember who has which tattoos. I’m pretty sure I know someone who has flowers.

Do you like the name Carter? It just reminds me of the underwear brand honestly, so not a fan.

Have you ever had a secret admirer? No. Should there be one, they shouldn’t be having high hopes; I wouldn’t be interested in the least.

How many different languages can you say goodbye in? There’s English, Filipino, Korean, Spanish, German, French, Japanese – 7.

Agree or disagree: You like Adam Sandler movies. Disagree for the most part, but 50 First Dates is cute.

--

Did the last type of shoes you wore have laces? Yups. I wore sneakers when I went out to get Starbucks last Friday evening.

How much money did you spend yesterday? The charging cable that I ordered arrived yesterday, so I had to shell out ₱140 for that.

What genre is your favorite movie? It’s a romcom/drama. My other favorite is a drama.

Are you texting anybody right now? Nope. I’m all alone today, which is the way I want to be for this weekend.

Who was the last person you were in a car with? My parents.

Do you like the picture on your license/I.D. card? I really do, hahaha. I don’t know why the people at the LTO gave me a pass, but I had been allowed to smile with my teeth. That helped make my license photo turn out super well and I no longer feel embarrassed whenever I have to take it out and present it somewhere.

What’s your favorite thing to snack on while watching a movie? Potato Corner fries. Can’t be any other type of fries.

When was the last time somebody hit on you? July or August when this random guy slid into my PMs. I had never had so much fun blocking somebody so fast.

Was the last person you met a male or female? The last new person I met was male.

Which one of your friends do you feel most comfortable around? Angela or Andi.

Do you own a map of the world? I mean, I guess. I have a collection of the World Almanac for Kids books, and it had always included a world map in its Countries chapter every year.

What’s your favorite Thanksgiving food? We don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.

Is the light on in the room you’re in? No, doesn’t have to be as it’s bright out and I can see the sun from my window.

Who did you last spoon with? Gabie.

Are you currently watching TV? No.

Have you ever had surgery or stitches? Never. Hope I’ll never be needing one.

Do you own any clothing that has animal print? I have a tank top with cheetah print that I sometimes wear at home.

Does your family eat dinner together? Yes, every evening. We don’t eat together when my dad is working abroad, but since he has stayed home for all of 2020 because of Covid, we’ve gotten to eat together as a family all year.

Where do you work? Somewhere in Metro Manila; I’m not giving the city away.

Are you in high school? I got out of there nearly five years ago.

Do you have a TV in your room? I used to, but not anymore.

Are any of your electronics charging right now? My phone and laptop both are.

What was the last video game you played? Mario Kart 8.

--

Are you hungry?: I can def go for a snack, or maybe even a full meal. It’s taking everything in me not to order Popeye’s or Army Navy from Grab rn.

What color is the chair you’re sitting on?: I’m sitting up in bed; my sheets are blue with gold/yellow prints.

What did you buy last time you went to the store?: I got bottled coffee when I went to 7-Eleven a week ago.

Do you like salsa that has fruit in it?: ...Don’t all types of salsa have fruit in them though? It would be brand-new knowledge to me if I was told not all salsas have fruit.

Have you ever opened up your computer to clean the fan on the inside?: No. I’d rather have professionals do that.

Can you count in binary?: No, and I never even understood how it works.

Do you think stained glass windows are pretty?: No. Mostly because it reminds me of cathedrals.

Are you a chocoholic?: Nah. I like chocolate, but I can live without it.

Are you scared of snakes?: I mean if they were venomous or obviously wanted to eat me whole, of course. But I’ve also already held a couple of snakes before.

Have you had your wisdom teeth removed?: No.

Do you like hard or soft pretzels better?: Soft all the way. I find the hard ones too salty.

What was the last magazine or catalog you looked through?: I don’t even remember. Maybe Tatler? My grandma has loads of those at her house.

When was the last time you wore a raincoat?: I don’t think I have ever worn a raincoat.

Have you ever been carded when buying something?: Idk what that is but nothing out of the ordinary has ever happened to me whenever I’ve made a purchase, so I’m gonna go ahead and say no.

Do you eat meat?: Yep.

Corn and mashed potatoes, or beans and rice?: Both pairings aren’t really a part of our cuisine, so neither sound appealing to be honest. As someone who thrives on rice, I hate the idea of eating beans with it; so I would go with corn and mashed potatoes even though I’m having a hard time imagining how it would work.

Can you sleep with the light on?: I probably can, but it would take me a lot longer to fall asleep.

What’s your operating system of choice?: Mac/iOS.

Have you ever broken a bone?: Never.

Do you have a favorite highlighter color?: I don’t have a favorite color to use, but I prefer pastel shades in general over neon.

Do you have a flashlight?: My phone has a built-in flashlight, but we also keep a couple of emergency flashlights at home in case of blackouts.

Do you like watermelon?: I like some watermelon-flavored stuff like candies, but I’m not fond of the fruit.

…Honeydew?: Hahahahahaha. BoJack Horseman, anyone? Anyway, I’ve never had honeydew and probably wouldn’t like it considering my established opinion on fruits.

Can you shoot a gun?: I’ve never tried, so I’ll say no. I’ve always been meaning to go to a shooting range though; I feel like it’ll be such a cool experience.

Do you like salad?: Not for the most part. The only kind I enjoy is spicy tuna salad, which only has lettuce in it alongside tuna sashimi and spicy mayonnaise.

When was the last time you smashed your finger?: I don’t know if I ever have? This doesn’t ring a bell to me.

What color is your computer?: Silver/gray.

Have you ever made ice cream in chemistry class?: No, my chemistry classes in high school and college were never that fun.

Has anyone ever walked in on you while you were on the toilet?: Sure.

What color hair do you have?: Black.

Do you use the microwave often?: I wouldn’t say so; just a couple of times a month.

Are you good at spelling?: Sure, I’d claim that. Thank the movie Akeelah and the Bee; that movie made me super passionate about spelling and dictionaries for a time. I can still feel its effects today because I’m still very much particular about spelling more so than any other kind of writing/language mechanic.

Have you ever petted a donkey?: I’ve never even seen one before :o but I’d love to have the chance to pet one, heh. It would make me so happy.

When was the last time you went to the doctor’s for a physical?: 2016.

Do you like a lot of ice in your drinks?: Sure.

Have you ever painted a room? Never have, but would like to give it a try.

[sailorchiron]

Michael Guerin Week Day 6

Better late than never?  Day 7 will be up in a minute too.

Read on Ao3

Close Enough To Perfect

Michael was standing at his locker, just looking around, getting his books for first and second period, hanging up his bag.  Y’know, normal, before school stuff.  Checking the hall for people that might be assholes, trying to avoid any fights, since he always got blamed for them.  It was chilly in the hall, drafty from the open doors, and the air currents ruffled his hair.  It looked pretty good right now.  Lisa, his foster mom, had gotten him a real haircut and shampoo and conditioner for curly hair, and he didn’t mind looking at himself in the mirror.  Not that he’d ever really felt like he was ugly, and the female companionship he’d enjoyed implied that the was attractive, but he felt kinda confident when he saw his reflection.  Which was great.

Because Ryan Arriaga kept looking at him, and he’d decided that he wanted to keep those eyes on him.

He felt butterflies in his stomach just thinking about the other boy.  They had two classes together, Spanish 2 and culinary arts, and they’d talked to each other a couple times.  Ryan already spoke Spanish and offered to help him with his work; they’d tentatively agreed to work together for this week’s culinary project.  He tried to stop smiling, but couldn’t.  

Michael had never had a crush like this on a guy before, and had had a pretty good freak out when he recognized what he was feeling the first week of school.  He’d decided, tentatively, that he could accept that he was bisexual...and then remembered that, to the best of his knowledge, he wasn’t even fucking human, so why should he stress about the perceived binary sexuality that Americans were so fucking obsessed with?  He knew he probably needed to keep that fact that he was into dudes to himself, since his current ‘home’ was pretty religious, and he didn’t want to get kicked out.  But feel like there was something wrong with him?  For all new knew, everyone from his planet was bisexual, and humans were freaks.  Of course, even with that decision made, he still felt off balance sometimes, but forced himself to get over it when it happened.

“Hey Michael.”

He realized he’d completely zoned out and missed that Ryan had gotten to school and was now standing in front of him.  He smiled so hard his face kinda hurt.  “Hi.”

Ryan was a tall guy, and had won the genetic lottery of his mixed Latino, Basque, and Native American heritage.  He was a senior and Michael wasn’t sure what had inspired him to talk to a sophomore in his Spanish 2 class, and had to assume it was because the other boy thought he was cute.  At least, I hope he thinks I’m cute.

“Did you study for the Spanish quiz?”  Ryan was only taking Spanish to learn to read and write, he’d grown up speaking Spanish.  

Michael nodded.  “I know the material, but studied anyway.”

“Your Spanish is really good, you almost don’t need the class.  You could probably have tested out of your foreign language requirements.”

“I’m not that gifted,” Michael laughed, sure he was showing Ryan heart eyes like in a cartoon.  “But it’s impossible not to learn Spanish living in New Mexico.”

The bell rang, and they started walking together.  Both of them had math first, Ryan calculus and Michael algebra 2, and they were on the same hall.  “I don’t know, most white people still don’t speak Spanish well, even if they understand some of it.  You’re at least somewhat gifted.”

“Thanks,” he answered, sure he was blushing hard enough to glow.  

They’d arrived at their classes and they stopped to the side of the hallway.  “See you in Spanish?” Ryan asked, even though there was no chance they wouldn’t.

“Yah.”  Michael couldn’t stop looking at him.  He watched Ryan reach out and nearly died when he squeezed his shoulder.  

“See you then.”  He went into his classroom, but Michael just kinda stared for a minute before the bell reminded him that he had a class to get to himself.  

He was kinda distracted, but math came as easy as breathing, and didn’t really have to pay much attention to the lesson.  His next class was honors chemistry, and he paid more attention to that since they had a big test on Friday, and the experiment they were setting up for tomorrow was important.  All of his classes were honors classes; he’d decided not to take AP classes because his counselor had told him that a 4.0 in regular classes looked a lot better on a college application than a 3.0 with AP classes.  It was less work, and was going to pay off in the end.  He figured he wouldn’t have been able to pay to take the AP tests anyway.  

Third period, though...was Spanish.

He and Ryan sat at the same table with two girls that were just as good at the language as they were, and the four of them were natural-born show-offs, and spoke Spanish to each other as much as possible.  Sometimes Ryan would teach them the Basque he knew from his grandmother, and it made him more attractive to all three of them.  He’d never flirted with Brianna or Cynthia, and that made Michael very happy.  

“Ready for the quiz?”

Michael smiled up at Ryan when he sat down.  “Yah, it’ll be easy.”

“Probably.”  

The quiz was easy, as predicted.  The lecture was interesting, but Michael was distracted by the gorgeous guy sitting next to him.  He was taking notes, but wasn’t sure they would make sense later.  And then it happened.

Ryan’s hand brushed his thigh, then settled on it for a moment before he moved away.  I am going to die.  How the hell was Michael supposed to concentrate on past perfect tense now?  Something else was far more important.  He had to make sure Ryan knew he liked it.  Michael turned his head to the side just a little and smiled slowly.  Ryan smiled back, and squeezed his leg before putting his hand back on the table.  Feeling incredibly impulsive and silly, Michael leaned over and drew the tiniest of hearts in the margin of Ryan’s notes.  He heard a soft chuckle in response.

Class ended too soon but also not soon enough.  In the hall, Michael and Ryan just looked at each other for a minute, smiling like idiots, before Michael reached over and took Ryan’s hand, squeezing it.  “See you at lunch?”

“Yah, I’ll meet you at your locker.”

Brianna came up beside Michael as Ryan walked off to his next class.  “Are you dating Ryan?”  She sounded incredulous.

“I hope so.”

Language arts was pure torture, and Michael was a mess of fidgeting and checking the clock.  52 minutes had never passed so slowly.  Never.  When the bell rang, he was out of his seat faster than a sprinter off the starting block at the Olympics.

Ryan was waiting at his locker, and he thought his heart might pound out of his chest.  “Hi.”

“Hi.”  They got stuck looking at each other for at least 30 seconds.  “Put your books up,” Ryan instructed with a soft laugh.  “Let’s go find somewhere to sit.”

Neither of them were especially hungry, but got lunch anyway so they wouldn’t just stare at each other and giggle like middle school girls.  Michael had no idea was it was, he ate it without really tasting it.  They talked before, but now they both had more to say, and lunch was too short.  

“Can I hold your hand?”

Michael’s eyes widened, and he smiled, surprised.  “Yah.”  They walked slowly back to their lockers, completely uninterested in their 5th period classes.  

“I have to go or I’ll be late.”  Ryan’s locker was close to his next class, but a hall over from Michael’s.  

“Okay, yah.  See you in culinary.”

“Would you be okay with a hug in front of everyone?”

He nodded, breathless.  “Yah.”

It was the best hug ever.  

Brianna was in Michael’s 5th period PE class.  “I think it’s safe to say I’m dating Ryan,” Michael told her, unable to stop smiling.  

He was excited to go to culinary arts, and hoped he wasn’t too sweaty.  Worst thing about having PE in the middle of the day.  He was sitting on his stool at the prep table when Ryan sat down next to him.  “Hi.”  He didn’t know how Ryan would react, but he offered him his hand.  He immediately took it, lacing their fingers together.  They left their intertwined hands on the table top while they went over the prep instructions for the carrot and ginger soup with brioche toast they were making.  Ryan whispered in his ear that it sounded absolutely disgusting, and Michael definitely had to agree.  Gross.  

It was definitely gross.  But it was fun to laugh about it with someone that he figured was probably his boyfriend.  That was an absolutely terrifying thought in the same way a roller coaster was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.  He had a boyfriend.  Michael Guerin, social outcast, had a boyfriend and he was one of the hottest guys in the entire school.

Michael was reluctant to go off to world history, and Ryan seemed reluctant to walk away as well.  Unfortunately, their classes were in opposite directions.  “See you after school?”

Ryan smiled.  “I’ll meet you at your locker.”  They squeezed each other’s hands and headed to class.

History was worse than language arts.  Michael didn’t give a fuck about human history.  He still got perfect test scores and did all the homework, but it was the least interesting thing he could think of, especially when the end of the period meant that he got to see Ryan.  He just barely managed to survive until 3:16.  

He’d put his homework in his backpack and closed his locker when Ryan came up to him.  Michael initiated a hug this time, and was so content in those warm arms.  He’d never hugged someone taller than him, at least not romantically, and it was a nice feeling.  He pulled away before it could get awkward.  “Do you have anywhere to be right now?”

The other boy shook his head.  “No, I just have to be home by 5:30 for dinner.  You?”

“No, just have to be home around 5.”

“If you want to hang out, I’ll drive you home.”

“Yah, that’d be great.”

They ended up at the park three blocks from school, and they took over the swings before any little kids could claim them.  They were both too tall, and just sort of twisted around on them, laughing, talking about school and things they liked and Ryan’s family.  It was 4:45 before they knew it, and got up from the swings with a sigh.

“Hey,” Ryan started softly.  “Am I right that you don’t want your family to know?”

Michael nodded, relieved that he’d picked up on that.  “Yah, this family is pretty religious, but they’re kinda nice, I really don’t want to get kicked out.”

Ryan took his hand.  “Then is it okay if I kiss you here?”

“Oh, yah, I mean, yes, please, by all means.”  He smiled when the other boy chuckled.  “I’ve never kissed a boy before.”

“Cool, I was kinda hoping I’d be the first.”  He cupped Michael’s cheek and leaned down to press a very soft, chaste kiss to his smiling lips.  “Okay?”

“I’ll be okay if you kiss me again.”  That wasn’t nearly enough.

“Really?  I definitely want you to be okay.”  

They kissed for a few moments, still fairly innocent, but they were in a public park after all.  There was definitely chemistry there, though, and Michael couldn’t wait for a chance to be alone.  

They held hands on the drive home, Michael teasing Ryan about his terrible taste in music and Ryan failing to defend himself.  80s country?  Really?  It was a travesty.  They were at Michael’s foster home too soon and just kind of looked at each other for a minute.  

“I really wish I could kiss you again.”

Michael smiled, heart full to bursting.  “I wish you could too.  Tomorrow morning?”

“That sounds like the perfect way to prepare for calculus.”

Michael almost floated into the house, and was glad Lisa and Hank weren’t home yet, because it would be impossible to hide the level of happiness he was currently feeling, and was sure he’d blurt out that he had a boyfriend.  By the time his foster parents were home, Michael was deep into his homework, and his earlier elation was thoroughly crushed.  But he took a break after dinner to check his email, and saw that he had an email from Ryan.  He’d forgotten that they’d exchanged addresses at the beginning of the school year.  Michael looked around to make sure no one was behind him, and he opened it.

Hey Michael,

It was nice to hang out with you this afternoon.  I enjoyed talking to you and stuff.  I’m attempting to make this email as neutral as possible.  Is it working?  

Your friend,

Ryan

Michael cracked up.  

Hey Ryan,

Yah, totally neutral.  I’m also making this email as bland as possible.  It was cool to see you.  Thanks for the ride home. 

Sincerely,

Michael   

He’d finished his algebra when he got another email.

Dear Michael,

Here’s another boring email.  I attached my Spanish notes for you.

Your friend,

Ryan      

Michael looked around again.  He could hear Lisa doing dishes and Hank was yelling at the TV.  Football inspired so much misplaced passion.  He opened the attached picture.

It was a picture of the tiny heart he’d drawn on Ryan’s Spanish notes, but he’d circled it and drawn another one.  This one is for me.  Michael tried desperately to think of a way that he could respond that wouldn’t be immediately incriminating.

Dear Ryan,

Less than three.

Sincerely,

Michael   

Michael smiled, logged out of his email, cleared the browsing history on the computer, and restarted it for when the other kids got home from whatever sports thing they were at.  He went to bed still feeling arms around him, and allowed himself a little happiness and hope to carry him off to sleep.   

[cyberwolfwrites]

#8--April 21, 2019

Peter and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Peter lays his head down on his arms and represses the urge to groan.  He’s been staring at his paper so long that his eyes are sore.  Can eyes even get sore!?

“What’s up, kiddo?” Tony asks, fiddling with some new project for SI that Peter would so be over if he didn’t want to shoot all of the lights out and dip his head under water for some type of break to his bruised and battered senses.  “You’ve been staring at that paper for hours now and I think you only wrote one word.“  Peter looks down and there it is, one word.  The.  As in, the start of his paper for English.  Peter actually lets out a groan this time but it doesn’t make him feel any better.  His eyes are burning, his head is pounding, and he generally just doesn’t feel good.

Today hasn’t been a very good day.  Rewind to this morning.

Peter’s awoken not by his alarm clock, but by the banging three floors down.  His neighbors seem to be fighting again and apparently the one really really likes to bang pots like that one chick on that one show who was on vine because the other neighbors were so loud that they didn’t get any sleep.  Which also means, that with his enhanced senses, Peter didn’t get any sleep either.

Peter just rolls over in his bed, pulling a pillow over his head and groaning into his mattress tiredly.  On top of not getting that much sleep last night, Peter had stayed out on patrol much later the night before due to some weapons dealing that he ended up wrapping up for the police with a pretty hand-made web-fluid bow.  That also happened to hold all of the crooks together.  Stuck to the wall.  Because, hey! they’re criminals.  And Peter likes webbing up criminals.

But he’s not feeling like that today.

Peter just lays down in his bed, trying to smother himself with his pillow.  It doesn’t work and he smashes his alarm clock when it rings because goddammit does that hurt.  It appears that it’s going to be one of those days.  And by that, he means his senses are turned up a little too high.  Not too high to cause him sensory overload immediately, but enough to grate on him and slowly build to such an overload.  And when it’s one of those days, it’s pretty bad.

After a few moments of blissful peace, because finally the one woman stopped banging the pots and nobody’s yelling anymore, Peter’s jerked out of his daze by Aunt May.  "Peter!  I know you’re awake!  You’ve got to get to school,” she half-shouts, making Peter grunt at the loud noise.  Yeah, it’s going to be a bad day today.  He can already sense it.

His spidey sense is trigger happy and his heart is racing because you’re in danger goddammit.  You’re going to die!  May’s going to die!  The whole world is going to die!  Peter does his best to ignore it.  He usually can ignore the senses during school where it points out poorly placed legs and a pencil thrown towards his head or two, but today’s just not working.

Peter just rolls off his bed and blindly searches through his closets because god dammit the sun’s too bright.  And holy hell where’s the sun’s light switch?  Peter just grumbles to himself, pulling on the pair of jeans he wore yesterday because they’re not as tight as his clean ones and grabbing a random shirt that feels extra comfy.  He tosses a black, grey, and white flannel over his maroon shirt and literally just slips on two random socks because who the fuck cares if you’re wearing a blue, red, and white sock with a star on it and a black and red one with a symbol usually found on a certain black spiders butt?

He leans against his door in lieu of opening it before actually turning the knob and nearly falling on his fucking face because sure, wicked cool spidey reflexes, you can catch a god damn knife aimed at his head but you can’t fucking catch him when he almost faceplants?  Peter just rolls his eyes as he stumbles into the bathroom, leaving the lights off as he finally peels his eyes open.  And ouch, god dammit that really fucking hurts.

After a few moments of temporary blindness, Peter finds out that the sudden bout of pain in his eyes was most likely due to not having opened them yet to adjust and it dulls until there’s barely ache.  He swiftly goes through the routine of brushing his teeth, face scrunching up in disgust as he uses May’s toothpaste because his ran out yesterday and he forgot and there’s peppermint in there and ever since the spider bite peppermint has suddenly become his all-time enemy.

When he finally manages to finish scrubbing his teeth, Peter immediately rinses his mouth out, nearly gagging at the scent and the taste of the residue peppermint.  Peter shivers for a moment in disgust before running his fingers through his hair quickly.  He’s not all tidy and his curls are out because who the hell has time for hair gel when the substance sticks to everything and has a very faint odor that he can sometimes ignore but seemingly can’t even think of today?

Peter meets Aunt May with a tired grumble as he shoves toast into his mouth, pulling on his old sneakers because they’re more comfortable than the new ones Mr. Stark bought him.  He feels a pang of guilt before he shoves it off, handing Aunt May her jacket as she walks by it.  Peter pulls his backpack on and the two of them slip out of the apartment, lights off and the door locked.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” May asks him as they rush down the stairs because the elevator is broken again.  (He thinks that it was never really fixed in the first place.)  Peter just shakes his head as he sticks his earbuds it, not putting his music on as he uses the device to drown out some of the city noise around him.  “Be good for Mr. Stark, I’ll see you on Monday,” May says, snapping Peter out of his slight daze as she plants a kiss on his cheek.

Peter just stands where he is when his Aunt jumps in her old car to drive to work in and drives off because he forgot that it’s Friday and that means Mr. Stark and the Compound and shit everything got worse because Mr. Stark will want him in the lab with the too bright lights, the too heavy smells of chemicals and oil, and the too loud AC/DC music.

Peter just lets out another groan as he sprints towards the station where he needs to jump on a train to get to school and then walk a few blocks to said school.  Peter nearly groans again at the thought of people bumping into him and brushing against his clothes and skin and the loud noise because he’s sensitive dammit.

Surprisingly, nothing really goes wrong on the train but it was so loud that Peter’s sure his ears are bleeding.  So, it still seems like a pretty terrible day so far.

When he gets to school, Peter’s sure his head is going to explode.  His spidey senses are still going haywire and his brain is pretty much fried with how much input his eyes and ears are taking in.  All he really wants to do is curl up in the janitor’s closet with his soundproof headphones and fancy blackout sunglasses.

But he can’t.  Because it’s not a sensory overload yet and he has a Spanish test that he’s pretty sure that he may not bomb.

So, Peter toughs it out.  He toughs it out all the way until fifth period that happens to be his lunch period which also happens to be one of the busiest lunch periods other than next period.  So, shit! is a pretty accurate word to describe the situation at hand with the loudness, but it becomes a double shit! when Peter hears Flash’s voice.

Peter really doesn’t like Flash.  He really really doesn’t like Flash.  And he was starting to wonder when the guy would show up because he usually corners Peter before lunch in the halls or before first period starts.  But, of course, both MJ and Ned happen to be absent and he’s left to fend for himself.  Which would be fine any other day because he’s Spider-Man, but then again, today just isn’t a very good day.

“Hey, Penis Parker!” Flash yells as he walks purposeful strides towards his lonely little table.  “What?  No friends here to defend you now?  You gonna call your girlfriend to defend you again?"  Peter just ignores him and rests his head on his arms.  "Hey, Penis!  I’m talking to you!”

“Fuck off, Flash,” Peter spits out, grabbing his bag and stalking out of the cafeteria, not even bothering to look back at the bully’s no doubtedly shocked face.  Peter doesn’t worry about tossing his lunch out because he didn’t have one in the first place.

And now he’s hungry because god dammit why does he always forget about his metabolism?  But, Peter marches on.  The rest of the day manages to drag by and Peter’s relieved when he jumps into Happy’s SUV because holy shit isn’t it so peaceful and silent and dark in there?

Happy grunts a greeting that Peter isn’t bothered to respond to and they begin their journey to the Compound.  Peter’s just slumped in his seat and he hasn’t even bothered to buckle his seat belt like usual because god dammit he’s too tired and done with all of this shit.

The ride to the Compound is uneventful but Peter feels even more terrible because he blew off Happy’s few attempts at talking to him and he was rude.  But he’s too tired today to care.  He manages to safely drag himself into Tony’s lab and immediately the lights pierce through his eyes and Peter doesn’t know whether he wants to scream or cry or sleep.

“Hey, kid!” Tony beckons Peter.  “Go ahead and get started on your homework.  We’ll work on your new web shooter design later."  Peter just nods his head, not bothering to say anything.  He sees Tony look at him out of the corner of his eye but he doesn’t really care.  Because today was just a really bad day.

So when Tony asks him what’s up, he spills.

"Today’s just a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, Mr. Stark!” Peter says, tossing his pencil away as if it means nothing to him.  “First, I wake up before my alarm clock because of my stupid neighbors with haywire spidey senses, then I’m forced to use May’s toothpaste that has peppermint in it because mine ran out, then the train station was loud and I’m pretty sure my ears were bleeding, and then I had to skip out on lunch because of stupid Flash, and now the lights are too bright and my head hurts and I’m so freakin’ tired!”

Peter deflates with a trembling lip and lowered eyes while Tony stares at him, shocked at the outburst.  After a few moments, Peter hears Tony set down his tools.  He feels a hand being placed on his shoulder and then Tony’s lifting his chin up.  “Kid, why didn’t you say anything?” Tony says, his voice soft and full of worry.  “You should have called if you were this close to a sensory overload.”

And it’s now that Peter realizes that he was literally dealing with a mild sensory overload the whole time and then tears begin to fall.  Tony hushes him and pulls him to his chest and they rock back and forth for a moment.  “Hey, Friday, dim the lights for the path to my room, please,” Tony says, the lights dimming as he leaves Peter’s things and leads him to his bedroom.

Peter just sniffles into his jacket sleeve, nearly crying again as he realizes that he’s wearing the big long sleeved shirt Ben bought at the Stark Expo all those years ago.  Tony, hearing the sniffles, just wraps his arm around Peter’s shoulder, steering him into his room.

He immediately pulls the kid to his bed and orders Friday to put on a movie.  “I’ll be right back, Pete,” Tony says.  Ten minutes later, Tony strolls into the room with a box of pizza and a few bottles of water.  How he got pizza in under ten minutes, Peter has no idea.  But he appreciates the food and immediately tucks in as Tony joins him.

It’s not long until he’s feeling better and he’s no longer hungry or thirsty.  Peter just tucks himself into Tony’s side, finally allowing his eyes to fall shut.  So, apparently, Peter's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day has a pretty good ending, all things considered.

​​​​​​​*Sorry this was late.  I had no time to post it last night.*

[skammovistarplus]

Culture and Translation - S01E05 and SKAM+ Clip 2

I will come back to the rest of the episode 2 clips, as well as episode 3 and 4. I just wanted to get this out of the way before @lightsandlostbells catches me off guard with a Skam España recap again. 😉

CLIP 1: Zaorejas goes international

Hometown: I remember this also coming up in some discussions of og Skam. In Spain, there was a big population shift from the 50s to the 70s where people moved from the small villages they came from, to the cities. Naturally, people kept the ancestral family home and didn’t sell it. So, when Cris is talking about visiting her hometown, it’s more her family’s hometown. She was probably born in Madrid, after the population shift.

Long weekend: the 12th of October fell on a Friday this year, so episode 5 fell on a three-day weekend. The 12th of October is a national holiday in Spain, and yes, it commemorates the anniversary of Christopher Columbus’ first arrival in the Americas. It used to be called Día de la Hispanidad (Hispanic Day), so as to celebrate… Spain’s… Connection to Latin America. Anyway. The name was changed to Fiesta Nacional (National Holiday) in 1987. We also celebrate Constitution Day on the 6th of December, which is similar to July 4 in the US and May 17 in Norway.

Eva was planning on studying Physics and Biology over the weekend. That means she’s on the Science track of Baccalaureate.

Zaorejas: Cris’ family hails from Zaorejas, in the region of Guadalajara. This village has 133 permanent residents as of 2017. If you wanted to do sightseeing, it has the remains of a Roman aqueduct, Roman roads and a Celtiberian archeological site.

Hulio: Hulio is a well known Spanish meme that people I consulted decided should stay, rather than be substituted for a similar meme in English. Read more about Hulio here.

Guiris (tourists): Guiri actually means any non-Spaniard, whether they are actually tourists or staying in Spain for a longer period. You’re more likely to be called guiri if you’re from the US, Canada or north of the Pyrenees. It doesn’t matter whether you’re fluent in Spanish, but it helps not to have an accent (which is, in fact, what keeps Cris and Nora from getting called guiris themselves, lol).

CLIP 2: Good luck on that sex!

Break in August: the 15th of August is a national holiday in Spain, it commemorates the Assumption of Mary. It fell on a Wednesday in 2018, so Jorge and Eva spent a Wednesday through Sunday break together. They apparently managed to evade their parents too.

Casa en la sierra (“mountain house”): Madrid is both a city and a region (or an autonomous community, if you want to read more about this). Lucas’ family originally hails from the northern part of the region of Madrid, which lies atop a mountain range. As Jorge says, you can simply take a regular bus up there, and it’s not too expensive to visit. I actually figured that, if there was a cabin episode, it’d take place at “la sierra,” but I thought they’d take the train.

Se van a cagar con la que vamos a liar (“they’ll shit themselves with how hard we’re bringing it”): the latter half isn’t quite a word-for-word translation, but the meaning is the same. I just wanted to point out another instance of poop-related emphasis.

Waterparties (“wet blanket”): I pointed that out when the clip came out, but Cris is pulling a specific type of English language-related humor that we’re pretty fond of here. She has literally translated the word aguafiestas  as “waterparties.” An aguafiestas is a wet blanket. I thought of subbing it as “manta mojada,” but figured it’d be too much. See more examples of this type of humor here. As English becomes more ubiquitous everywhere, people are given to use English even when there’s a perfectly serviceable Spanish word. Which results in this sort of humor: translating even Spanish words that make no sense in English.

A tomar por culo (“fuck me in the ass”): I mean, I could’ve translated it as “fuck me,” but Cris literally says “in the ass,” so. Basically, when something goes to shit in Spain, you can say it’s gone to take it up the ass. Or you can say it’s gone to shit, too. We’re very anal-oriented as a country.

Coño (“fuck”): “Coño” literally means cunt, but it is used here as “fuck.” I don’t think it comes up through the season, but I will translate it as cunt if it’s ever used to mean a literal pussy.

Que se os dé bien (“hope you two do great at it”): this is pretty much the literal translation. It’s awkward because Cris herself has no idea what to say. It’s not… really a thing we tell someone who announces she’s going to lose her virginity, to say the least lol.

CLIP 3: The sex talk

Taurus: Viri is not actually a Taurus. She shares her birthday with Paris Jackson, 3rd of April, which makes her an Aries. We’re all very confused about this.

Pero ni de coña (“sike”): The literal translation would be, “but, not even as a joke,” which is too long and awkward. I think “sike” is cuter and has the same effect.

Tampoco te pases (“don’t take advantage either”): I haven’t checked other subs, but I think this could be translated either as “don’t go that far (as to pinch me)” or “don’t take advantage (of the situation by pinching me).” Hope the meaning was clear with my choice!

Macho (“Dang”): Macho just means… macho. As per Collins, “You use macho to describe men who are very conscious and proud of their masculinity.” But we often use it as an interjection, like dang, that wouldn’t be considered a swear word. Amira is really good at using these.

Not a culture and translation note, but I’m curious. How many people walked away from this clip with the impression that Nora has admitted to having had sex?  I’ve heard opinions for yes and no.

The Coach x Selena Gomez collection includes many types of apparel and accessories, but not shoes. So I can’t say I’ve seen those shoes, Viri. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  For what it’s worth, unlike other Vildes, I think Viri was actually fucking with them. She couldn’t think of anything that got her horny, so she joked that the Selena Gomez line is just that hot.

CLIP 4: Mr. Coitus Interruptus

No jodas (“Stop that”): Jorge actually says, “don’t fuck around,” as in, don’t wake me up by playing music.

You don’t want to know how many times I had to listen to the song before I could make out that what Lucas was saying before he opens the door is simply, “¿Hola?” Also, I’m pretty sure Lucas’ string of sorries is an homage to Tarjei’s delivery in the og clip. I believe at this point we’ve been made aware that Alejandro Reina likes him some Isak/Even, right?

CLIP 5: Jorge tests my patience with slang    

Abrefácil mis cojones (“Easy-open my balls”): “Cojones” is actually stronger than balls. I’d translate it as bollocks, but that’s British slang, and I want to try and keep to American slang, lest this becomes a total mess of dialects.

It’s been a full season of many, many great Lucas moments, but heaven help me, I still think his sausage craving is one of his finest moments. I even requested that Movistar+ made a gif of it. I am probably the only person using it, but I can’t find it in me to care.

Lucas ha tenido movida con sus padres (“Lucas got into a fight with his parents”): Fight might be too strong. I think “ha tenido movida” is close to “had an argument,” but sometimes we make choices in the name of less characters per line, on a show where everyone wants to talk at top speed, and Jorge wants to speak strictly in slang.

Además, que no se va a cantear. Fijo que nos deja a nuestra bola. (“Besides, he’s not going to be out of line. He’s gonna give us space for sure.”) “Cantearse” means to behave in such a way that you’re calling attention to yourself, being inconvenient, generally being a pain in the ass. “Ir a nuestra bola” is to do our own thing, by ourselves. Presumably, without Lucas “canteándose.”

No tenía ni zorra (“I had no fucking clue”): “Zorra” will come up later in the season again and again and again, and it’d usually mean “slut” or “whore” at its strongest, but again, it’s used here for emphasis. This sentence can also be “no tenía ni zorra idea,” but as Lucas does here, you can omit the word “idea” (idea/clue) and it carries the same meaning.

Nada, tío, ya sabeh, hay un amigo en mí (“No biggie, dude, you know, you’ve got a friend in me”): Not that you’d be able to tell, but Hugo is pulling a Cuban accent when he says this. I believe I’ve mentioned in one of these posts that Spaniards just love talking in other accents and doing voices to be silly.

Fuet: This is fuet. 

CLIP 6: The boy squad channels your uncles at Thanksgiving

Eva is snacking on sunflower seeds. Sunflower seeds are the basic snack to munch on if you’re a Spaniard. You can buy them pre-shelled and coated in different flavors, but by far, the most popular option is to buy them shelled with a coating of salt. You pop them open with your teeth and taste the salt, then eat the seed. Sunflower oil is also the second most popular cooking oil in Spain, right after olive oil, of course.

One of the books in the shelves is a collection of Grimm Brothers tales! There’s no significance to this, I just think it’s cute.

Conversaciones de cuñados sobre fútbol (“Rednecks chatting about football”): I already posted about this when the clip dropped, but I have since learned that the “cuñado” phenomenon most closely resembles Thanksgiving Uncles, as seen in this Onion article: Nation's Uncles Enter Last Stage Of Prep For Thursday's Thanksgiving Debates. Again, football is soccer to you Yanks, but I’ll be damned if I ever refer to it as soccer, even if these subs use American slang.

Te vas a cagar, chaval (“You’re gonna shit yourself, boy”): Lucas gets in on the shitting action! Heartwarming.

CLIP 7: Jorge gets petty

Jorgito: Much like Jorge called Eva “Evita” a few episodes ago, Lucas now calls Jorge “Jorgito.” #JustBroThings

Te voy a reventar (“I’m gonna kick your ass”): I decided to be charitable, but what Hugo tells Lucas is that he’s going to bust [his ass, presumably]. #JustBroThings

I tried Shazaming the song to find out which game they’re supposedly playing, but no luck. Sorry.

CLIP 8: ☹️

Again, I did my best to try and identify the bus Eva takes, because that would tell us where Lucas’ family is from, but the shots are filmed and edited in such a way that you can never get any identifying information. Cockblocked (like Eva and Jorge).

EXTRA CLIP: Amira’s time to shine!

There’s no real reason for Amira to be sitting away from Cris and Nora, by the way, other than they need her to for the random dude to approach her. Just in case you thought there was a CULTURAL reason behind it.

La oreja está muy rica (“The pig’s ear is really tasty”): The server doesn’t actually specify it’s pig’s ear, but that is definitely what he’s talking about. See Wikipedia for more details.

Romeo y Julieto (“Romeo and Juliet”): I kept it as Romeo and Juliet, but Amira very clearly says JulietO, as in, the dude version of Juliet. She’s being sarcastic about she and the Zaorejas random being a love match, and I don’t think there’s any, let’s say, HOMOPHOBIC undertones to the sarcasm, so I didn’t try to go for a dude name, but your mileage may vary here.

Es que es un canteo (“it’s over the top”): “Canteo” comes up again! In this instance, it would mean behaving (wearing a hijab) in such a way that you’re calling attention to yourself.

Pones a huevo que te pregunten cosas (“You’re inviting questions”): I couldn’t come up with a slangy equivalent, but Cris means that Amira is setting herself up to be asked questions. Hope the shorter sentence I picked conveys Cris’ meaning all the same.

Love that the Zaorejas random is credited literally as Chico Zaorejas (Zaorejas boy).

Social media:

Just a note, since it comes up in a previous episode, but I’m doing these out of order. It seems that everyone calls the English teacher “Johnny” (written as Yoni), so as to make the pun “yo ni me ducho, yo ni me peino” (I don’t shower, I don’t comb my hair). I picked Aidan because I thought it would read as “I don’t,” i.e. I don’t shower, I don’t comb my hair, etc.

[phantomoftruth]

An Aspiring Coven Flips the Coin: Complete Edition

I figured due to things being spread out and such, it might be nice to put my recent 3 part coin flip story into a single, large post so you can read the whole thing here as a Halloween treat^^. Happy Halloween everyone!

NOTE: This story turned out very long, thus, I put it under a break. Click below to read the whole thing!

It was a Friday night, mid October, as Janice, Nessa, and Quinn huddled around the table in Janice’s locked dorm room, gazing at the magic coin with excitement and consternation. The room had its stack of text books, but they were easily dwarfed by the owners clear fixation on the occult. Books of magic and witchcraft, compendiums of folk lore, myths, and monsters filled shelves and fought with crystals and candles for space. Though for now, they simply had the lights on, showing art of fairies and creatures that ranged from wondrous to dark hanging from the walls.

Janice, the owner of the room, and the one that found the coin, clutched her occult diary to her sweater-clad chest. “So, we each flip once, and whatever we choose applies to the three of us together, good or bad, and we’ll take our turns by seniority. You both agree as well?” Janice was a 3rd year studying folk lore and mythology that hid her height with an unconscious slight hunch, and concealed her pale, shapely body with plain clothes. Her strongest feature was the wild mane of black hair that often concealed her face, spilling all over. She was the founder of the would-be coven, and while she fidgeted a bit as she spoke, her mania for the occult carried through in her voice and gleaming dark eyes that she fixed on her coven-sisters.

“Hey, I’ve got no problem,” Nessa spoke with a smirk and a casual shrug of her sun-tanned shoulders. “You’re our fearless leader, and even if we switched it around, I’d be second regardless.“ Nessa was in her second year, pursuing a liberal arts degree secondary to her appetites. She had a pear-shape to accompany her slight pudge, and knew how to work her hips for dancing and fucking. So what if she liked to eat? The guys she snagged didn’t mind her love of cooking, or her big fat ass, and her favorites always were the ones she could throw her weight around with a bit. She licked her full lips, toying with a bit of brown hair, green eyes hooded as she pet herself lightly, speaking with a bit of husk in her voice. “Besides~ Just thinking about what that thing can do is getting me warmed up.”

“Yeah! You didn’t even have to share this with us at all! Sure it’s scary, but it’s once in a lifetime! There’s no way in hell I’m passing this up!” Quinn pounded the table as she spoke, her 80s cut top with her current horror favorite, Scissor Sister on it slipping to reveal a shoulder bathed in freckles, brown eyes brimming with vigor. 18, it was her first year away from home, pursuing theater, costume design and practical effects. Sitting next to Nessa only made her flat chest and curveless body even more pronounced, as though puberty had simply skipped right by, leaving her to her freckled skin and short, shocking red hair. Nessa teased her about her lack of a bra and her lack of sex in general, but her passion for horror movies and monster make up made her passionate about her studies.

The three reached over the table, joining hands as they spoke together. “As sisters we swear.”

Sitting back, Janice took the coin, and made the first flip. “If the coin lands on heads, then grant us the power to make people into monsters. If tails, let us become monsters, each to our type.” So intoning, the occult manic flipped the coin.

It landed on tails.

The changes were steady but irresistible, and each girl was consumed by their own transformation, forgetting the world and each other as the magic took them.

Janice clutched her diary to her chest, panting as the darkness of her hair drained down and spread over her body like ink drowning paper, staining her skin into a dull black hide, and leaving her hair pale like moonlight, drained of all color. There was a chill on her that made her muscles taut and her nipples hard and every touch a tingle as her already wild hair grew like madness. Janice gasped as her hair didn’t just grow, but moved, alive and caressing her body, teasing her even as it rooted into her clothes, ripping them. A surge moved through her and the already damaged clothes were destroyed as Janice grew even taller as sleek, sinewy muscles pulsed into being. That same pulse spread to her extremities, as her fingernails became moon-colored claws, and even her toenails grew sharp and pointed. Her tongue turned black, running over gleaming, pointed teeth, while the darkness in her eyes grew even deeper. Her living hair touched her diary, and she could feel a pulse in it as well. She didn’t fully understand it yet, but all her notes on the occult, her studies of creatures, all her passion and obsession was part of what she was now, and she needed it.

Rising to her feet, Janice looked towards a full body mirror hanging on the wall, and while she now had killer abs, she was forced to duck down to see her face and shoulders. She had become some kind of black-skinned, statuesque ogress, wearing nothing but the hair on her head that even now gently swayed in a phantom breeze. Thinking about it made it stop however, and she realized she could control her hair like her body. With that, other things clicked into place. She was a predator made to stalk darkness. She felt the strength, the confidence. And her book. It gave her magic, and protected her life. She had to keep it safe, and keep filling it. The more she filled it, the more magic she would have. More power. Despite herself, the thought did make her tight pussy twitch, and a stray strand of white hair wrapped and tweaked her glossy black clit, making her shudder.

Nessa’s pussy twinged just a moment before an orgasm wracked her body with pleasure, drenching her in sweat that quickly made dark stains on her clothes, even as the crotch of her yoga pants darkened with wetness given her lack of panties. Her nose twitched, even as warmth suffused her, dazing her slightly. She was sweaty, but it felt good. Clean. Right. She smelled right. Fuckable. She stuck her tongue out to taste the scent and found herself drooling like crazy, letting her tongue loll limply. That drool pooled on her swelling chest that snapped her bra and strained her top, which turned to tatters as the change spread from her chest through her body, making everything soft and heavy and thick and ripe. Her arms were meaty now, and her stomach was round like the full moon. She couldn’t see her pussy anymore, but she could feel it, feel the waves of heat spreading to her legs and thighs as she just kept gushing which her stomach gurgled soothingly, like a stream. Nessa’s yoga pants desperately clung to life as long as they could, but suddenly snapped as her hips grew, becoming brood-bearing. Even keeping her newly weighty legs closed would require effort, naturally exposing her plump, juicy pussy and fat clit. Her ass followed suit, filling and thickening and jiggling. Doors would be a challenge in her new future.

Nessa’s pussy pulsed again, finishing her with the most drastic, monstrous changes. Her tanned skin darkened and shifted, becoming a mottled mix of earth browns,  mossy grey and swampy green, chased with orange hints of a harvest moon. The sweat on her body thickened, becoming a permanent glistening on her now hairless skin. Her nipples fattened and darkened, oozing something thick and syrupy, and her cunt followed suit, making a puddle on the dorm room carpet. Her lolling tongue grew and grew until it was frog-like, tickling her nipple, tasting her own sweet syrup. Her brown haired turned to a curly wave of Spanish moss, and all over her body, things began to grow. plants sprouted in her new hair, shelves of fungi sprouted along her back and under her heavy breasts, holding them up, and a mushroom cap, like a hat, sprouted from her head. Mycellium grew where her webbed hands and feet were on the carpet, and random plants were growing in the pool of her pussy-syrup. Whatever she was, she was ripe as a fruit, fertile and milfy as fuck, and as she came back to herself, she tested her tongue as her webbed hands roamed her body, stroking her belly and seeking her needy greedy pussy. It took some stretching, but she could reach with both hands, and despite probably weighing double what she did, her new body was plenty flexible. Perfect for breeding~. Just thinking the word made her clench as a spurt of plant life sprouted all around her.

Quinn froze as the magic washed over her body, a tingling feeling settling into her skin. Her gaze was fixed, staring into space, but she could feel her body quivering, like the strings of an instrument just waiting to start, and her face fixed into a smile. She felt the familiar feeling of hair brushing her shoulders as every other hair on her body disappeared. A fresh wave washed over her, and she tilted her head down, looking at her hand as her skin went pale, then milk-white, and flawless as porcelain. All over, she could feel touches like invisible brushes, dotting all along her body, and she despite her new strange skin, her freckles were increasing, becoming intricate patterns from her shoulders down her arms, making art of her back, and continuing to expand, forming swirling, sweeping decorations. There was a click, and Quinn came back to herself, saw her hand as lines appeared and connected, forming new joints. First the fingers, then the wrist, the elbow, the shoulder. Without seeing, she could feel her body changing, becoming a puppet body. No, a doll body. Her head lolled when the change reached her neck, giving her a look at her changing body in her old clothes. She still had a slight yielding quality to her body, but there was a definite clicking as her new body settled into place. Some kind of plastic? Soft wood? It was silly to wonder when magic was involved, probably more so when it was her body she was thinking about, but she just couldn’t resist. Not to mention her body wasn’t going to be changing on its own again anytime soon.

The magic passed over Quinn one final time, and her quivering body was freed, no longer spellbound. She went to jerk her head up from its heavy tilt, and instead had a sudden moment of the world spinning as her head detached and rolled off into her lap. Which was freaky, but kind of awesome. Looking at her body, it was one of the most beautiful pieces she’d ever seen. Her skin was ghost-white, and flawless, decorated with countless freckled spots, like it was painted by elves. Picking up her own head, she felt her hair, marveling at it as she got a look. It was a real, deep red now, silky but with some curl. As the last of the magic took root in her, she couldn’t contain her excitement. Reattaching her head was simple enough. Seemed everything was detachable. Her fingers seemed dexterous enough, and she was brimming with energy without the slightly scrap of fatigue. Not knowing anything else, she could do a lot with this. Some parts, anyway, as she eyeballed her flat chest, and a quick check downstairs with her fingers revealed her crotch to be soft and yielding enough, but dry as only a sex doll could be.

Their transformations completed, the three friends finally looked away from themselves, taking in each other’s new, monstrous forms. Janice was easily the tallest, to the point that Quinn looked like a child next to her now, including being able to lift the doll-girl with only one arm. At Nessa’s insistence, Quinn stripped as well, revealing pointed nipples on an otherwise doll-jointed, sexless body, while the other girls took turns poking at Nessa’s swollen belly and budding garden growing out of the floor, which the broodmother herself was more then content to pick parts off of and eat as she teased a nipple.

“Alright Nessa,” Janice cleared her throat, not used to her new voice, though she did like how it matched her new body. “it’s your turn to flip. And be careful.”

“I’ve already got just the thing in mind~”

Nessa, now a slimy cross between animal and plant more than twice as wide as a human, took a few moments to stop teasing her new body and shift forward on her new big booty, grabbing the coin with green fingers. Despite her slimy, syurpy touch making plants grow, the coin itself remained shiny and pristine. Was it because it was metal, or magic? Nessa shrugged shoulders topped with budding growth, a gesture that now made her ripe and weighty body jiggle.

“I don’t know about you two, but this body is dying to FUCK. Love spells are witchy, right? And there are sexy monsters that seduce men and stuff yeah?” The other two monsters each nodded a confirmation in turn. “Right! So this is on point. And don’t worry, I’ll word it for you guys as well. Since it seems like Quinn’s not getting her cherry popped any time soon.” Nessa snickered as Quinn rolled her eyes as only a living doll could. “Come on girl, flip already.”

After waving a hand at Quinn, Nessa readied the coin. “On a heads, we will each get magic to seduce others and make them our servants, slaves, pets toys, whatever fits us best! If it’s tails, we’ll be reshaped and ruled by our fetishes, like to the point that we can’t help ourselves. And oh don’t act like you two don’t have them!” Sticking out her frog tongue turned into a slurp, and after sucking it back into her mouth, she flipped the coin.

The coin gleamed and rattled as it fell on the wooden table, before coming to rest. It landed on heads.

The magic bathed Nessa’s fertile form in pleasure, and her eyes rolled back in her head as her body spoke to her, teaching her as it changed according to her flip. Small branches of green and brown sprouted and curled from her back, bearing a mix of strange, fleshy fruits. Vines spider-webbed across her body and limbs, clinging to her slick ripeness and birthing grape-like clusters and berries that adorned her like decorations along her limbs, between her breasts, sprouting from her naval. Even when she bruised or crushed them with her motions, they released alluring scents. More mushrooms and fungi bloomed to life, and the mushroom cap on her head twitched, dusting her in a spore cloud as her body tensed, stomach gurgling.

Mother. Feed them. Embrace them. Breed them. Birth them.

Nessa slobbered as she came, feeling something squishy and round pop out of her thick gushy pussy. She was just so fucking FULL. She was already running over, and was sitting in a little marshy garden as the puddle spread under her oversized ass, a festival of smells and tastes that were wordlessly beckoning to something, ANYTHING to fucking breed her oozing cunt until they made something together.

Wet Mother. Green Mother. You are life. All beasts are soil. Dust. Clay children. They crave you. Desire you. Thirst for your blessing. Become one with them, guide them as your obedient children.

Nessa heaved a breath that made her heavy breasts jiggle, causing drips of syrup to spill onto the table, sprouting small patches of moss, and the communion ended. The broodmother looked at her body, already half-knowing what had happened to her. So weirdness aside, It was about tasting her, whether drinking her juices, eating the stuff growing on her, or breathing spores. She did lean her head forward to look over her stomach, between her legs. There was something that looked like a frog’s egg, the size of a large peach, jiggling on the carpet. I guess eggs count too. And ‘all beasts?’ That’s kind of nasty, but I guess I’m not human anymore either. Some pets might be fun though. Nessa’s frog tongue snaked out as she licked her lips, pondering fresh depravities.

The magic settled on Quinn’s doll body like gentle hands, dressing her in an invisible costume. She wasn’t just excited, but confident. Not just skilled, but graceful. Not just beautiful, but enthralling. Glamorous.

Faerie Maiden! Doll Maiden! Mistress of the stage! Here is the moon, and here is the night! How beautiful the darkness, dressed in starlight!

The magic suffused her, and Quinn shuddered. Everything was so vivid. Was this magic? Was she losing her mind? She couldn’t be drugged with a body that wasn’t alive right? But she was glowing, her skin giving off a pale, silvery aura. Colors were stronger, shadows sharper. Her imagination was running wild, suggestions of invisible creatures swimming across her vision. She was inspired. She was inspiration. Her fingers twitched to life, moving even as the words giggled their sing-song into her inhuman head.

Little miss, little miss! All the world’s your stage, and they are all your players, models for your fancy, canvas to paint with all your desires. Enthrall them, enchant them, give them new roles, new lives! Here is a princess, her hair in tresses, to tease and tickle and terrify. Here is a maid, with scissors and mask, to snicker-snip and aid your craft. Here are the puppets to dance on your strings, and here you are, to clothe them in dreams.

She was only vaguely aware of the impossibility her hands were performing, caught in the grip of her craft. At some point a chunk of the table had come off, and she molded the wood like soft clay. Her fingers snatched a shadow, pulling it like cloth. She’d produced a needle at some point, made of moonlight, and threaded it with a strand of her hair, stitching the shadow with feverish speed.

Chill them, thrill them, fulfill them! Make them laugh and make them cry, make them serve you and never die. Undress them first with your eyes, then your hands, and let them scream however you like as you paint them in enchantments. Each night a new performance! Each role you grant them a new beginning! Mistress of the stage, forever young, forever free! Spotlight or shadow, your place is wherever you choose.

The mask was finished. It was black wood, a polished, beautiful thing, chased with ruby red around its boarders. It was a domino, styled just to cover the eyes, and it made a sharp contrast against her pale face as she put it on. A quick scuttle to the mirror confirmed that yes, it looked as awesome as she imagined. Quinn still felt a bit lightheaded from the rush, but her hands continued unconsciously, picking at her old clothes as she sat on her knees, wrapping her head around her new self. So I’ve got fairy magic. Glamour. Like stage magic, or star power. Charisma. And I can make costumes and stuff out of just fucking whatever, and they’ll take on the role to match it, with me in charge as the director. Hmmm…Quinn actively stopped herself a moment, and got her hand to do a creepy clicky finger clatter, along with a 360 spin at the wrist. I bet I could make that go in reverse too. Like make it so no one notices me until I want them to. That sounds like a fairy thing, being invisible to prank people. Yeah, yeah…

The magic settled on the book in Janice’s hand, and she felt it like it was part of her as the coin’s power caressed it, transforming it into a thick, leathery grimoire, and she threw a clawed hand over her heart as she felt a responding pulse in her chest, and then another in her head. New words were writing themselves into existence, filling her book and her brain equally while her body thumped and her hair writhed, floating as though she was underwater. There was no communion, no rush of insight. The knowledge was just there, secrets of the unknown laid bare in her brain.

The aspect of the Crone embodies wisdom, endings, death, repose, and the waning moon. Wisdom comes by the word. Any knowledge I add to the book is added to me, any magic or witchcraft I write, I can comprehend and perform. People are made of words, and I can take those words from them with the clutch of my hair, take their spirit with their breath, leave them mindless, soulless, in repose, in need of new words, any words I want. I can give knowledge, take it away, seduce, corrupt, control, consume. Take their names and I can make them slaves, swallow them up and they’ll be nothing but zombies, moaning obedience, while I tangle their ghosts in my hair and make them mine. I can rewrite people’s lives. And as long as this book exists as my soul, I won’t end.

It was terrible knowledge, but that only made it more alluring, intoxicating, and intensely tempting. The fact that she already knew all kinds of other folk lore and potential witchcraft only made it more inviting. She could play with it, just in little experiments, taking and giving back, or switching someone up. She could have a little cult bound to her in fanaticism, or drain people down to their dregs, putting their existence down to single words. Her flesh felt powerful, and her body was hot with desire, but it was a heavy weight on her soul as she panted. Her grimoire was a thick, black thing now, veined with strands of her pale hair, like spider webs.

The magic of Nessa’s flip settled down, finished, and the former college girls turned monsters gazed at each other, taking in their changes together as they shared what had happened to them, and the new power each of them held.

As nessa was preoccupied with fondling herself, Janice bent down and picked up the coin between two clawed fingers, offering it to the doll girl. “Alright. There’s one more flip, and it belongs to you Quinn. You’re free to flip whatever you think of that we can share. Choose wisely.”

Quinn, for her part, fiddled with the black shroud that she had magicked her former clothes into, adjusting it on her pale body for different styles.

“Hmmm. I do want to flip for sure, but before I do~” The doll girl smiled, eyes shining.

“I can’t be the only one that wants to try out what we can do now. Anyone else want to have some fun before I do the last flip?”

“Shouldn’t you just-”

“I VOTE DICK!” Both Janice and Quinn turned as Nessa cried out. Loudly. She was currently sitting in a frog squat, pickling some alien cucumber that had burst itself out of the growing garden that was Janice’s dorm room with her syrupy snatch. Each bounce of grey-green hips made Nessa’s overripe ass slap against the floor. As Janice’s room was on the third floor of the building, things were shuddering a bit.

Janice spoke up again, voice full of authority, and Quinn swiveled her head back to face her. “Going out now means the coin is here. I’m not leaving the coin alone, and there’s no way in Hell it’s leaving this room before the flips are done. And given that getting Nessa out of here isn’t really happening right now without people freaking, going out to play means bringing people back here. People you’d have to get fast. People that would be in the same place as the coin. It’d be a nightmare to make it work.”

Quinn looked back and forth between Nessa and Janice, one masturbating in a growing garden and tall grasses, the other tall enough that she had to look up to see more than her stomach, and ultimately let out a sigh. “I guess you’re right.” Her face immediately brightened up, however, transfixed with a smile. “That gives me an idea though! Here, give me the coin, I’ll do my flip right now.” After being passed the coin, Quinn played with it, expertly running it along her jointed doll-fingers.

So clearly, this,” she said, while wildly waving her free hand at Janice’s overgrown dorm room. The motion caught Nessa’s attention, and she pulled herself off the fat greenery she was fucking with a gooey plop. “This isn’t going to work for us. We’re magic. We’re monsters. We need a home base. A hunting ground. A lair. That’s what I’m gonna flip for!” Fixing her posture, standing straight as she could, pale arm fully outstretched, Quinn readied the coin to flip.

“Hey coin, here’s my flip. If heads, make this whole school our domain, us running the show and everyone accepting us and our benevolent rule. If tails, then give us a lair, for the three of us that we share together, where we can really live like monsters.” She flipped, and the coin rang slightly as it spun before Quinn caught it out of the air, slapping it on the back of her hand with a clack.

It was tails.

The effect was immediate. Janice’s dorm room faded away, becoming indistinct before vanishing completely. There was a single moment where the coven of monsters stood suspended in a colorless, soundless void, then reality resumed, rebuilding itself around their new location, their lair.

The sounds of society were gone with the campus, giving way to the music of a lonely, midnight wilderness. The lake was quiet, but the forest was alive with bugs and birds and frogs and things that weren’t quite what they used to be since Nessa made it her pleasure garden paradise. The forest was not the same either, invaded by a wild legion of strange fruits, vivid fungus, and unnamed plant life that only accelerated it’s transformation into a wet, fragrant swamp. But it was a pretty playground, and hard for a human to just stumble through,  Of course, a little magic helped with that. There was even a grotto Nessa loved to use for a bit of extra privacy, and plenty of room in the depth of the lake.

Though she preferred the swamp and starlight, even Nessa couldn’t deny their manor was right where it belonged, in the heart of the swamp, looking over the lake, complete with secret underwater tunnel. The one she’d used to meet up with her coven sisters in the foyer they were standing in now. It was old and musty and spooky, but the mood was just right, all faded and elegant, with fancy stone floors and lots of double doors that made it easy to move around. Not to mention the big dramatic staircase in the center for the second floor. There weren’t any lights, and it wasn’t like they needed them, but there were debates about getting internet going somehow. Well, Quinn wanted it anyway.

New memories formed as the coin’s magic shaped the house to match it as a monster’s lair. Janice claimed the master bedroom on the second floor, less because of any kind of leadership and more to have a room and bed that accommodated her statuesque frame. It being connected to a study certainly didn’t hurt though, and evidence of her practice and experiments in magic and witchcraft came into existence at the same time as the memories of those experiments. The kitchen and the space outside as well showed signs of experiments, with the kitchen becoming a makeshift lab, and a large cauldron resting over the ashes of a wood fire outside. And then there was the library, still bearing a few weathered books yellowed with age and damp. It wasn’t haunted yet, but Janice was working on it, along with filling those shelves herself.

Quinn’s bedroom was smaller, but as sleep wasn’t really a thing for her anymore, with anything approaching rest just being collapsing into a creepy doll-slump, she didn’t mind. Especially given the rest of the house was more or less hers to romp around in. There was a studio that quickly crowded with her projects. Costumes and mixes of pigments, accessories and even puppets dangled from stings from the ceilings. The ground floor hard a large, ruined ballroom, complete with an aging stage. With her and Janice working on it though, she was sure they could come up with something enchanted~. There was even a little gallery with enough room for sculptures, not to mention paintings on the wall. It wasn’t originally her thing, but she was just bursting with energy now, and it gave a little variety over just costume work all the time.

Several sets of stairs going down were peppered into existence around the house, leading to a stony basement layer. Rooms for servants, humble even before time wore away at the few bits there, came into being, along with a cellar and places where the former inhabitants would have worked and lived, doing laundry, a second kitchen, and cunning slits for ventilation that endured. It was fairing fairly well considering the encroaching swampiness consuming the forest, with a bit of dankness that made it feel like a dungeon.

The coin’s magic moved like a tide, pulling away from the newly formed lair, taking root in the three monsters as it set about completing Quinn’s wish for the three to live like monsters. The former college friends were stunned, unawares as the magic dug deep, transforming them all in will and soul to match their new bodies.

Quinn felt her sight expanding, her spirit flying as though it were freed from gravity as her human grip on reality loosened and fell away. She was innocent, and careless, as only the Fae could be. Everything in the world was for her amusement, and boredom the only sin left. She understood now, mortality was something that could just be brushed away, just a thing that happened on the stage. Play. it was all an endless play, with the world as the setting and all the people in it hers to take and change and trick and terrify, outlets for her arts and crafts, pets for her fancies. Fear and awe were the bare minimums she was due.

Nessa quivered as her self melted, touching at something massive and countless and primordial. She was fucking the earth. She was the earth. She was life, wet, squirming life that was around before humans were a blink. They were just another kind of animal to embrace. Whatever taboos she had dissolved. All that mattered was her breeding, her pleasure, her flesh, her children, whether by adoption or birth, until they covered the whole earth. Everything would be green and quivering and alive, and they’d all eat and fuck and breed and birth and sleep and be reborn to doll it all again and again and again and again and again forever and ever until her blood was the one blood and everything was one again, united again in an everlasting dance of life.

Janice felt her hair embracing her body as the darkness that had changed her body before seeped down, staining her soul with haggish wickness and sadistic pleasure. The weight she had felt when blessed with that forbidden knowledge was gone. It wasn’t a burden, but something to embrace. Power. Power was something to revel in. Whether her flexing, steely muscles, her towering black-skinned body, or the witchcraft that suffused her with knowledge forbidden to mortals, power was a delight. And the only thing better than being powerful, was using that power. Not bullying the weak. No, that wasn’t quite right. To deprive others. Yesssssssss. Just the thought of it made her sex clench. To take everything they were, and leave them with nothing. To taunt them, toy with them, twist them about and humiliate them. Drink them down to the dregs until they were dull-eyed little dredges that would debase themselves to lose even more. Her black tongue slid across her sharp teeth, as her face split with a wicked grin as she took control of her hair, teasing herself to her new, sadistic desires.

At last, the magic completed, the coin vanished, leaving the three monsters with their new lair, new minds, and new lives, all thoughts of the coin gone.

Quinn giggled and straightened her dress.

Nessa slobbered, fresh growth growing from her needy body.

Janice picked at her claws, and looked at the former college girls, full of evil intent as she leaned forward.

“The night is still young. NOW, what shall we do for fun~?”

[fmlfpl]

Lineup Lamentations - GW23

Our Transfers, Captains, and Starting 11s for the week!

—

WALSH

TRANSFERS:

OUT: Diego Rico

IN: Jack Stephens

I feel naked and alone without my Spanish lover Rico in my team anymore but it simply had to be so. I'm floating a transfer again this week and just doing a move to give me another cheapo defender who I can rotate. As shouted on the pod at 4.3 Jack seems like a good piece to have at the back until WC with their fixtures and strong underlying defensive numbers. There were certainly other more flair moves I could do but with two Livp in I am valuing the flexibility afforded with two frees ahead of their double to make a final decision about who to get in as the third and who to remove as well.

GK:

Schmeichel (bur)

Woodman the eternal continues to never let me down the legend.

Schmike, on the other hand, suddenly finds himself positioned between a goal frame, a sieve, and the enemy. Still too early to tell if no Ndidi just means they are diabolical but Burnley have been among the worst attacks in the division recently and no Smashley kinda fucks up their balance a lot.

Could see them snap back into form and just dispatch these in an easy win to nil. Hoping for it, anyway.

DEF:

Pereira (bur)

Somehow I still have Periera. He's been by far by farrrrr my worst transfer of the season but I always seem to find a reason to hold on to him and start him. It seems extremely unlikely he is in past this weekend so maybe he'll give me a farewell gift.

Alexander-Arnold (MUN)

Trent goes again nothing to say about that. Only guy I've had since GW1...well other than Woodman of course that sweet boy.

Stephens (WOL)

Jack new friend is put straight into the fire with home Wolves. Not a good on paper fixture but I could kinda see a clean here? Maybe? Not an ideal start, but he's the best option I have and when weighing him up against the other 4.4 defenders and under it looked like his near term fixtures were the best in how he can rotate with what else I've got.

Lundstram (ars)

Lastly is Pointstram.

Another not too great feeling start but also not too bad without Aubz.

Hard to imagine where an Arsecast goal can come from other than a p3p3ga set piece banger or something like this. Don't really feel like Wilder will have any trouble marking Laca out of the game. Pointstram also eye test wise looked a lot more involved in their attack last game so maybe that is a sign of things to come.

MID:

Martial (liv)

Unfortunately I'm going to have to eat a Tony M start here at Anfield. Feels not good but I still like him as a medium term hold despite the mixed fixtures.

Still don't really have any confidence that I know what a "good" fixture is for United attack anyway so I'm just blindly following the mantra of he's playing OOP striker on a top six team so he's a hold.

De Bruyne (CRY)

Kevin up against my boys this weekend we'll see if he's at DM or not. Don't really care though, honestly.

Salah (MUN)

Third mid is Mo. Good lad.

FWD:

Maupay (AVL)

Is this the weekend of Neal? Please Neal be a good Neal one time my son.

Scenic fixture...time to capitalize...or take 1 shot and blank again as per.

I want Neal to give me a sign of life so badly because I would really still like to hold him for the near term through these fixtures. Big game for him and I'll be watching him closely.

Vardy (bur)

Vardz still in there. Whatever.

Agüero (CRY)

Kun off his monster haul good job by Kun love Kun so much.

CAP:

Vardy (bur)

Sticking with Vardz as shouted on the pod.

I've really not gone to the Vardy cap well too often this season but he just seems like a very strong option against a really bad team with two really bad CBs and a really bad GK. I'd honestly be surprised if he doesn't double return.

—

ALON

TRANSFERS:

OUT: N/A

IN: N/A

When in doubt float your fuckin’ transfer...

I had a really brutal week and especially today, Friday, long and tough day.

No idea what I want to do but having two frees and a boatload of cash for next week seems really fun / good.

I’ll probably get rocked in the Cup this week by fuckin Wiscker by just rolling the same crew out again after last week’s bloodbath but maybe with my two frees and a pocket full of change I can roar back in the final two group matches and go through... It works out in my head at least...

GK:

Ryan (AVL)

Great fixture and a great fixture run so come on Mat gimme some points.

DEF:

van Dijk (MUN)

Everything says that this should be an easy Liverpool win and an easy Liverpool clean but who knows it’s still a derby...

United are absolutely terrible on set plays they have conceded the third most in the league and Liverpool have scored the tied for second most int he league so make of that what you will... VVDue? VVDong?

Söyüncü (bur)

Hoping for a Soy redemption song this week after that very sloppy mess of a match lass week... Burnley are very much there for the taking so go on SoyBoy.

Lundstram (ars)

I sleeper think that this is a great fixture... ok maybe great is an exaggeration because it’s not a ~banker~ but with how Arsenal’s been playing lately - very few shots and not much xG or sustained attack - plus no Aubz it just seems very cleanable and winnable for Sheff U from where I’m sitting. 

MID:

Salah (MUN)

Funny cheeky little interview he gave. Mo’s a good guy.

De Bruyne (CRY)

Easy keep.

Maddison (bur)

Time for a bounce-back from Leicester no fucking around. Maddo was such a steady tick merchant for me back in the good ole days I just want to taste that success again.

Sarr (tot)

Not a good fixture but definitely not a bad one either.

Sarr and Watty have been looking fabulous and will cause Spurs tons of problems for me.

Cantwell (BOU)

Lastly going for Big Todd Energy over Jiménez this week (feel free to thank me Jim owners) becaaaauuuuuseeeee just I don’t know gut feeling and shit.

Jim has been an extremely upsetting transfer in for me and I shouted Wolves being tired and bad and then they go out and lose to Man. Utd. in the cup with Jim playing the full 90′.

Also Jim has away Southampton which is now a really rough fixture so whatever I’m going for it here... Todd should fuck Eddie’s Bourney.

FWD:

Only the two FWDs for me this week since I’m benching Jimboy.

Vardy (bur)

Another in my triple leicester to bounce back -- what a chance for it !

Calvert-Lewin (whu)

I still believe in DCL and I had to defend the pick a little bit here and there this week and honestly it just made me feel better about it. And the fixture is fantastic. DCL gonna bang.

CAP:

Vardy (bur)

Just don’t really have another option who I think is nearly as good a cap. pick as Vardz is this week and it’s as simple as that...

If it’s close then maybe you go differential cap but if it’s not close I think you just cap the guy who everyone else is capping. Here we are.

Soz for a not exciting Lambs from me this week lol.

—

RANDOM SLACKER OF THE WEEK: dave (group 19)

The words of Random Slacker are not officially endorsed by this website nor any employees of FML FPL LLC.

TRANSFERS:

DISCLAIMER: I AM VERY BAD AT FPL AND YOU SHOULD NOT LISTEN TO ANYTHING I SAY!

Fun fact: I was the person who suggested random slacker lambs earlier in the season to the pod bois. That was a time when my team was ticking along and I was optimistic about rising up the ranks over the course of the season.

Now I am in the depths of darkness and have zero expectations for my team other than red arrows and I am bad and shit at FPL and you shouldn’t even bother reading this because I’m shit. Unless you want to feel better about yourself, that is (I’m 1.5m so if you’re lower than that then I’m truly sorry – you’ll probably overtake me soon).

At least I have the FML FPL Cup to focus all my energy on. Speaking of which...

To my opponent this week, Rob, and the rest of Group 19, Jon and Max: Fuck you. I’m going to destroy you. I don’t care about my OR anymore. This is all that matters to me. (Jk prob will get 0 points and crash out in the group stage – good luck lads).

OUT: Serge Aurier

IN: Lewis Dunk

I have 2FTs but I’m just going for a fairly passive and hopefully more sensible move. When Mou became Spuds’ manager I had hopes that the defence would significantly improve (I even doubled up on their defence – oops), but alas they are still shipping goals for fun and now the child Tanganga is in the mix potentially threatening Aurier’s minutes after a decent right back performance mid-week. So just fucking him off to a similarly priced guy with good fixtures for the foreseeable future, on a team that actually appears to be capable of keeping the occasional clean sheet.

Going to roll the other FT to give me a little more flexibility next GW to increase my share of Liverpool players to at least 2. Probably will take a hit to get up to 3.

GK:

Guaita (mci)

Probably the worst fixture of the season for a defender or GK; City have several potent, in-form attacking options and could easily put up 4 or 5 (albeit Palace have been fairly solid for large portions of the season).

Just hoping Victor Vincente can pick up some some save points, a Kun pen save or two would be very welcome as a non-owner…

DEF:

Dunk (AVL)

Brighton looking very good this season generally under Graham Potter and cleaning the odd game here and there. Decent chance for one against an out of sorts Villa. Go on new friend Lewis.

Söyüncü (bur)

Soyboy has been a staple of my team for quite some time. Leicester always a shout for a clean. However, Burnley are one of those teams where I can never predict how they’re going to perform week to week, so I’m not banking on a clean by any means.

Sidibe (whu)

Difficult to predict how this one will go as West Ham are still a bit of an unknown quantity to me under new / old manager Moyseh.

Sidibe is the guy I’ll likely transition into a Liverpool defender next week but maybe he gets another go at RW this week with Richarlison confirmed out. Would be nice to get some OOP attacking farewell returns from him.

MID:

De Bruyne and Sterling (CRY)

Should just be a fuckfest for City (soz Walsh). Raz getting fairly frustrating to own but I’m keeping the faith for now.

Mané (MUN)

Another one of those games that you never know what to expect. Even while United were the dominant English team and Liverpool were complete piss, they always seemed to be able to show up for this match and up results. Could the shoe be on the other foot now? After all Utd are the only team Liverpool haven’t beaten so far this season in the PL. But I digress. Mane is obviously an auto-start in any fixture and Liverpool are the clear favourites in this one for good reason.

Maddison (bur)

He’s an absolute cunt imo. Very punchable face too. But he has undoubtedly been a very good FPL pick this season thus far. So go on James.

FWD:

Calvert-Lewin (whu)

2 blanks on the trot but I’m not too worried. Still think he’s great, Carlo loves him and the price is right.

Abraham (new)

Tammy back in the points lately so feels fine to hold for now. Fixtures turning to shit imminently so possibly one to monitor and maybe move on soon.

Vardy (bur)

Earlier in the season I was looking at Vardy’s stats vs. goals/assists output; I convinced myself it was unsustainable and that he would “revert to the mean” (that’s something us wankers who have no fucking clue about how underlying stats translate into FPL points say to kid ourselves that we know what we’re talking about).

It’s now clear that he is just a guy who you hold indefinitely because his points continue to roll in week after week after week.

CAP:

Sterling (CRY)

Call me an idiot.

Call me a glutton for punishment.

I capped Raz last week thinking he might just be a stroke of genius differential pick. Needless to say, that went poorly (0 mins with DCL VC, RIP). But fuck it. He goes again. I love Raz. Raz is great. He’s due – isn’t he?

Ultimately I’m just a guy who wants to get some fucking points on the board. Wish me luck.

[ahntravels]

Des Petits Trous...Toujours Des Petits Trous...

Sorry I have been absent from the blog. Blogging takes a lot of time, and Nic and I were trying to make the most of it before we had to fly away.

Okay, so last blog of France...

Epernay. We caught the late bus (3:00 PM) to arrive in Paris around 6 PM. I rented a place through Booking.com. What is the difference between Airbnb and Booking.com?

I’m going to go on a rant about Airbnb. 

I am writing this post at 10PM on Sunday, 9/29 in Paris. I’m going to jump around a bit in time, but I am need to address Airbnb upfront.

So, when Nic and I first arrived in France on 9/15, we stayed ONE night in Paris before driving to Saint-Malo and doing the road trip. Because we just needed ONE night to stay in Paris, I rented a ROOM via Airbnb. The photos of the apartment looked nice, and the apartment was in a really nice location.

Before we arrived, I received a BUNCH of messages from the host. Literally 4 messages. I’m going to post them here because I want a record of this (btw, homeboy needs to update his photo because he does NOT look like this, but that is besides the point):

Okay, looks innocuous enough, right? Then I received a SECOND message:

RED FLAG: #2: More than 30 minutes? #4, really? And then he says he looks forward to seeing us? 

Anyway, I was like, okay...I get it. He wants to make sure we can get in and etc. For the sake of completeness, here is message #3 (nice details, to be honest):

Message #3:

Message #4 (notice the timetable of letting him know about our arrival has become even more tight...it was 30 minutes earlier, and now it’s 20 minutes?):

Also, he said in the advertisement we could get into the apartment after 12:30, now it’s 12:45 PM. 

All that being said, we did our stay on September 15th. We left less than 24 hours later (see my blog post about our first stay in Paris) and moved on. The way Airbnb works is that you leave reviews for the host and they leave reviews about you as a guest. Let’s check my previous reviews:

Nic and I literally arrived at this guy’s apartment, didn’t cook, didn’t use the kitchen, drank 2 COFFEES using his Kurig machine/coffee pods, washed the 2 freaking cups we used,  and took 2 SHOWERS TOTAL. We arrived at 2PM and left before 10AM. 

Why did we arrive at 2PM? Because when I contacted homeboy when we arrived in Paris, he was out RUNNING, missed my call, and then was grocery shopping and said we couldn’t come to his place before 12:30. 

What review did he leave me?

Nope. I don’t play these games. Nic and I came to the apartment at 2 PM, I took a shower, and we took a nap. No lights were on. We LEFT, got dinner, and came back around 9 PM. We went to sleep, woke up at 8 AM, packed, drank 2 COFFEES, and LEFT. What lights? What electricity? And WHY AM I PAYING YOU?

My response:

Conclusion: FUCK. YOU. Sorry, that is harsh, but seriously? I am not sure if he can respond to my response, but if he can, good luck. I have said all I needed to say on this issue so that’s it. 

Nic had the issue with Airbnb in Arles (read that entry) so I will say: Booking.com your apartments/hotels if you can. It’s more professional, people purely rent their spaces to guests so understand what to expect, and don’t act like entitled assholes. Airbnb at your own risk. 

Okay, so I woke up to this bad review, so I just had to address it. But backtrack to Friday after we got off the train and entered our Paris apartment (which, btw is gorgeous; through Booking.com):

I have been in contact with the host the whole time. We have the whole apartment, and the host has been amazing in terms of being in contact with me. Our arrival time changed, and no issues. The kitchen is stocked with supplies, the sheets and bathrooms immaculate, and a complete 180 from asshole. 

Friday night, Nic and I just hit up a bar/art space and hung out:

We went walking through Paris, before returning to the apartment for some tapas dinner:

What is the name of the orange cheese? I’m testing you!

So, the plan was that we we were going to host a dinner party for Nic’s friends on Saturday. I planned a menu which went through some revisions due to the market availability, but I’ll address that. 

The original menu was:

Apertif: -Sausage (bought) -Sardine spread (homemade) -Nuts -Chips -Sparkling wine

Starter: -Red Cabbage and French Radish salad w/mustard vinagrette

Main: -Roast pork with an onion and grape sauce

Dessert: -Something bought

Cheese: -Up to Nic

Drinks: -Rouge

Saturday’s plan was to include antiquing (I wanted to buy some plates or glasses) and then to buy the food for the dinner party. Guests were to arrive at 6:30/7:00 (which meant 7:00 or 8:00 in French time). Guests were to include: Nic’s best friend (consultant), Nic’s brother (officer in French military) and Nic’s brother’s friend (historian). And me and Nic, of course.

So, now we are at Saturday.

We woke up and went antiquing! The oldest “flea” market in Paris is right outside the city. When you get off the train, you are greeted with a bunch of stalls selling fake Louis Vuitton and designer wares. Nic needed a belt, so he bought one:

Once you walk through the outdoor market, you walk through these antique, rich stalls that are selling really expensive items. Like, people literally have magnifying glasses examining signatures, construction, and the quality of the glass on items. 

I wanted wine glasses, and bought 2 crystal Baccarat wine glasses for a good price (15 Euros each):

Plates and silverware were a wash since I couldn’t find matches or the plates weren’t hand painted. Anyway, when I have money I would love to come back and buy a complete set of glasses or silverware. 

Okay, after the day at the market it was time to get lunch and then go shopping for the dinner party. Nic used to live and go to university around the area, and knew of a really good vegetarian Indian restaurant (thank ____. I can’t wait to go back to being vegan!!!!)

Nic is probably literally gaining so much weight because of me. I eat half the food and he eats his portion and then finishes mine. On the menu was samosas (the triangles on the photo before) and then this meal was vegetarian biryani (rice), some yellow pea dal (to the left of rice), and then chickpea dish (far top left) and egglplant (far top right)  

After lunch, we went to a supermarket and bought all the food for the dinner party. Then I started cooking!

So, menu became revised because the store didn’t have any purple cabbage for the cabbage salad. Red cabbage salad became a Belgium endive, french radish, and fresh walnut salad (same dressing). Here is Nic cracking the walnuts for me:

I made a sardine spread a la David Lebovitz. We couldn’t find fresh sardines, so I had to buy canned sardines (just sardines, no oil). You have to remove the spines and bones, but that is fine. I just removed the spines and bones and baked them with a little bit of olive oil in the oven. Then follow the recipe. 

We served that with some Spanish chorizo (bought), pistachio nuts, mustard flavored potato chips, pretzels, and some baguette toasts along with sparking wine. 

Salad was the endive salad:

Belgium endive, sliced French radishes, some salad greens, fresh cracked walnuts, and a mustard vinaigrette. 

Main:

Roast pork with a pearl onion/grape sauce with roasted fingerling potatoes. How I did the pork:

-Melt some butter in a dutch oven -Sear pork on all sides that has been coarse salted and peppered (I did 1kg for 5 people, and we had leftovers) -Remove pork, add a cup of white wine to the drippings -Add 2 cups of chicken broth, peeled pearl onions, garlic, and thyme -Add pork back in -Cook on low on the stove for an hour -Remove pork; cover with foil -Raise heat and reduce the onion sauce for 40 minutes -Another pan, add some butter -Add 1 cup grapes whole (French grapes) -Grapes will burst and become its own sauce -When ready to serve, add pork back into reduced onion sauce -Cook for 20 minutes to heat pork and finish cooking -Remove pork, slice -Top with onion sauce -Top with grape sauce -Sprinkle with chives

For the potatoes: -Clean and cut potatoes in half -Sprinkle with garlic and some olive oil -Roast for 1 hour -Serve

Dinner was a success! Dessert was an apple tart we bought. Nic’s brother is the forward right; he had to take the 6AM train to be back in the morning. The person I am talking to is the historian who went to school with Nic’s brother, and we were talking about politics (of course) and the differences in curriculum between France and America. Nic’s best friend Julien is a consultant, so we talked about our needy clients. After dinner, they all went out to meet other friends, but I stayed back to clean and just go to sleep. I was tired!

Next morning (SUNDAY):

I loaded the dishwasher from the night before, but we needed to do another load of dishes. Nic graciously said he would clean from the night before, so he unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher. The plan was to visit Musee d’Orsay, so we cleaned (he cleaned) and we left!

On our way to the museum, we passed by Serge Gainsbourg’s old house. Remember the small holes song from Saint-Malo? It has followed me here!

Nic’s mom loves the song, and I promised I would learn it in French. 

Anyway, museum! 

After the museum, it was around 6:00PM. We went on a walk, and then went to the store to buy dinner and food for our flight tomorrow. We have to leave the apartment by 11:00 AM, and our flight is at 2:15 PM. 

Last dinner! Store bought pizza ($5) and leftover endive radish salad. And a quiche. 

I can’t can’t can’t wait to be vegan again. Tomorrow, the meat and cheese will be gone.  

I have lots of trinkets I have bought along the way: mustards, salts, a St. James wool sweater, soaps from Marseille, art from Caylus, crystal glasses from Paris, candies, and of course all the memories. 

On our walk home, this rainbow greeted us. I’ll miss France, but it is time to come home. 

[ghostradiostoryhour]

Dinosaur Vacation Shirt

[POWER ON]

[cmd login, access code ********]

[Security question: What is your mother’s maiden name?]

[******]

[!]

[Access code confirmed]

[Hello! What would you like to do?]

[cmd network sync]

[Syncing to Marley Corporation Interspace Wi-Fi . . .]

[!]

[Connection confirmed.]

[!]

[ONE! New video transmission, sender: test facility 2345xHju, NORTH BASTION]

[Access transmission? Y/N]

[Y]

[cmd apply timestamp]

[21:30:20 timestamp applied]

[21:30:23 transmission status: incoming]

[21:30:27 transmission status: confirmed]

[21:30:57 transmission status: buffering…]

[21:31:02 Start transmission? Y/N]

[Y]

[21:31:22 Starting transmission. 3… 2… 1…]

Fuckin’ camera, come ON.

Damn red dust clogging everything up.

Ok, there.

I think we’re rolling.

I’m about to bite the big one. I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I’ve already lost a shit ton of blood, and I’m shaky as fuck. And I have no clue where the fucking med bay is in this damn rePark. And I’m wearing a fucking dinosaur-themed vacation shirt. Whoever finds me is going to think I was a moron.

Not that that matters.

Anyway, my guess is I’m not long for this world.

And what a world it has turned out to be.

I guess I should give a little background, considering I have no way of knowing where or when in the multiverse this damn transmission is gonna end up. If it’s even gonna end up anywhere. Oh well, human folly, all that.

Yeah.

So I’m on Amarsica. 2079. That’s what we’ve made of that red ball of dust people used to call Mars. Terraforming, blah blah blah. The name sucks, doesn’t it? Most of us old enough to remember Earth still just call it Mars. Anyway, the good ol’ US of A somehow found oil beneath the rocky surface, so you know the rest. Soon as someone pulled together a prototype for the giant, gleaming shell cities we Amarsicans call home, the U.S. invested. Government spent the last of what it had to finance terraforming on Mars to create a remote colony that could drill for crude, barrel it up, and ship it back via shuttle. I guess there was life on mars, once—we just missed it by a couple hundred thousand years. Weird thing about Mars is, there’s plenty oil, but there’s not that much water up here, at least not naturally occurring water. Yeah, there’s the polar ice caps, but if we were only relying on that to sustain the shell cities, we would have run out in about a decade or two. That’s why they built the H2O factories, out on Far Planet. Giant enclosed warehouses without oxygenized atmosphere—better to fuse hydrogen and oxygen in a vacuum in order to avoid something like the Hindenburg. It’s a decent job, rainmaking, but not one I’d want. More dangerous than rigging, by far, even if it does pay a doctor’s salary. Plus the commute out to Far Planet can take a week or more on transpo. I stick to the rigs that’re enveloped in their own safe terraforming bubbles, thanks.

I don’t really know how well the whole system works—as a colony of the U.S., we don’t get much news in what goes on down Earthside. Guess having us up here makes life for Earthbound U.S. citizens better. Finally working on implementing free healthcare down there, last I heard. Not up here. And boy do I know it.

Dammit, Candi would know what to do in this situation. She always did have an answer.

Anyway.

A buddy of mine growing up used to call Amarsica the Florida of space, whatever that means. Rich half’s Miami, poor half’s I don’t know, the swamp, I guess, if the swamp were just a dry patch of dirt. It’s not a great metaphor, but you get the idea. Income gap’s out of control.

I was maybe four when we moved out here in 2033. My family—all doctors, except me—were part of the first colonization wave. This planet was supposed to be an outpost of sorts, a military base. You know, the whole China thing. But then old-ass, life-extending-nanobot-filled Elon Musk and his people jumped all over it, and started creating ultra-lux resorts for the uber rich in the 2040s, and, well. Amarsica became the premiere vacation destination, or at least lush, green East Planet did, anyway. Dusty, parched West Planet, where I grew up, is still all refineries and oilfields. West Planet is the servants’ quarters of Mars.

I live with my girlfriend Candi in a busted old Airstream, at least before she died. She had a kid, a teenage girl—blue hair, piercings, a black and grey hoodie with holes in the sleeves—and I got on the kid’s good side by building her a little A/C-capable shed of her own next to the trailer. The kid and I weren’t close, not really, but I loved her too, as an extension of Candi. Or maybe as an extension of myself. I’m not sure where the affection came from, but it was real, and it was there, and it was as awkward as a giant moving box in the tiny trailer with us anytime we interacted. Where was the boundary? Who was I to her? Who was she to me? All I knew was that I really, reallydidn’t want to mess up the kid’s life. So generally I kept my distance.

The kid was a total pro on the hover. Suited for math, like Candi was. Analytical. She was smart. Wary. Good at the things she wanted to be good at. The kid wasn’t a big fan of me, sure, and despite all her smarts, she was never interested in school. She carried a messenger bag with a neon green SLACKER patch everywhere she went, hover folded up and stashed away next to whatever book she was reading that week. She didn’t have many friends, but that didn’t seem to bother her much. She was totally focused on her plan to go on to be a hover champ. Candi was always taking her to far planet tourneys with the hope that some engineering firm would sponsor the kid—the X Games had surged in popularity on Earth since Amarsica’s far planet low-grav atmo sections provided bigger, sicker air than ever, and since the invention of hovers in general. It’s now or never, the kid always said. Hover scouts only want boarders in their teens. I understood the feeling. She knew who she was, what she wanted, and how to get it. She had to focus on that goal, didn’t want to miss her window.

But since Candi died, she’d lost that focus. That’s how I knew she was really hurting. The kid hadn’t even been back on the hover since the day Candi got sick.

That moment is etched in my memory, can’t shake it for shit.

Candi burst into the Airstream at five P.M., carrying bags of airsealed fresh grosh and enough printables for the next two weeks. Today was errand day, I knew; second Friday of the month. Candi was a nurse down at the off-rig hospital in New Pasadena, the one where I was usually stationed. The one with the most injuries. Keeps a nurse busy. Keeps us on our toes. Candi plopped a bag of Cheezballs on the counter, and the kid, trailing her, blue hair shagged down over her eyes like the latest popstar, hover in hand, grabbed the bag with her free hand and ripped it open with her teeth.

“Manners,” Candi scolded. The kid made eye contact with her and spat out the ripped top of the plastic bag. Then she headed back outside.

“Hover,” she offered as explanation, then let the door slam behind her.

           “How was your day?” I asked Candi.

           “Oh you know, the usual,” she beamed and popped a ChickenCaz cartridge into the kitchen printer. The machine whirred to life and started laying stripes of puff pastry crust down in a perfect rectangle in Candi’s old stoneware casserole dish with the ducks on it. “Lots of blood and guts. But that’s the best part about it.” She smiled and leaned in for a kiss.

           “You’re disgusting,” I said and she smiled again. I sat down in the chair by the TV to watch the kid out the window.

           “She just broke up with her girlfriend, by the way,” Candi said from the kitchen.

I watched the kid out the window. She was doing flips on the hover in the patch of dirt that served as our yard, tossing a cheeseball into the air and then zooming up and over to catch it in her mouth at the top of each flip. The red dust plains stretched endless behind her, the bluish meniscus of the East Planet terraforming bubble just visible as a glinting reflection of the sunset on the horizon.

“Girlfriend? Wasn’t she just dating a guy?”

Candi scoffed. “Carl, she’s not limited to just one kind of attraction.”

“I know, I know,” I said. “I just—she moves on fast, is all.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a teenager,” Candi said. I heard the sounds of her stacking the grosh in the fridge. “They do that.”

“You think we need to talk to her about it?” I asked. It was hard to tell when the kid was broken up over something, or at least it used to be. Now it was painfully clear.

“Nah,” Candi said. “You know Bryn. She’s resilient, and she—”

A clatter of grosh packets, the horrible sound of a body crumpling to the ground. The glass of water she’d been holding shattered on the faux tiles of the Airstream’s floor.

I jumped to my feet. Outside, the kid fell off her hover, sprinted inside.

“Mom!?” she yelled.

“Candi!”

She blinked, came to. A little fuzzy, unhurt, at least from what we could tell that day. But there it was. The beginning of the constant fatigue and the rapid weight loss, of the doctor’s office trips, of our knowledge of the badness in her bones.

The beginning of the end.

And it would end, only six months later, even though the doctors had given her five years, easy. Even untreated, she should have stayed longer. She shouldn’t have died.

[cmd pause footage]

[cmd fast forward]

[cmd stop action]

[cmd play footage]

[!]

[re-enter access code to continue]

[********]

[Thank you. Footage rolling in 3, 2, 1]

None of us had ever really been to East Planet. The hospital was over there, the one we took Candi to. And we’d make the annual trip to go vote at the ballots. But we hadn’t spent time there. Not long enough to really experience it. And it is an experience.

There are the hyper-developed suburbs for the uber wealthy, massive custom houses placed atop long stretching green lawns like crown jewels, glimmering white colonials, spired and gothic gray Victorians, the bright yellow of enormous, Spanish-style haciendas. There are trees, too: every kind, from massive, sprawling oaks to delicate cherry trees covered in blush pink blossoms. Pristine private lakes glisten with the freshest water available from Far Planet.

If you’re thinking Hollywood, you’re not wrong. A lot of big movie stars live in East Planet, now—well, all the aging movie stars, anyway. The retirees. Tons of former professional athletes. Tom Brady has a mansion that literally floats in the sky—some kind of specialized low-grav build. A lot of ex-football players (from back before it was banned) come up to Amarsica for the top notch brain damage treatments, if they can still afford the trip. I hear they’ve opened a few drug rehab facilities up here, too, for the ones who really need a change of scenery in order to recover. Like I said. East Planet has become a kind of wellness Mecca, for those who have the cash. You can get full-on skin replacements, be launched into orbit for a year as an anti-aging measure, dynamic gene editing, and more, if you have the money for it. You can also get state of the art cancer treatment for what Candi had. But not if you’re living on a rigger’s salary.

There are two main corporations who run the whole thing. The Marley Corporation and something called CorpSec, which also runs the refineries where people like me work. It’s not an official monopoly, but it’s pretty clear to anyone who looks twice that there’s no other competition, and that the Marley Corporation and CorpSec are at least copacetic, if not wholly owned by the same people. Whatever. I guess this is what happens at the far end of capitalism. Monopolies aren’t monopolies, but only because now they’re corporate oligarchies. Some fifty years ago, they say there was a move toward socialism, but once oil on Mars became a legitimate prospect, all the legislators swung back to the old standard, dollar signs in their eyes.

[cmd pause footage]

[cmd fast forward]

[cmd stop action]

[cmd play footage]

[!]

[re-enter access code to continue]

[********]

[Thank you. Footage rolling in 3, 2, 1]

I wasn’t always like this, bitter and pissed off at the East Planet elite. But after Candi, the extravagance felt more unfair than it ever had before. And I wanted to see it, in person. The kid and I deserved that much. If it were so important to keep these movie stars alive, when our Candi had to die without treatment, then hell. The kid and I were going to see them, at least once.

The only semi-affordable trip to East Planet, these days, is a trip to one of the ReParks, specialized natural habitats for all of the rich people who opted to become ReAnimals. I mean, yeah, the reParks are mostly out of style now, but they were all the rage for a solid couple of decades. Anybody famous who’d died in, I don’t know, the ‘40s or ‘50s are still out there kickin,’ in some form or another, their consciousness implanted into a custom, lab-grown animal synthetic. If you believe the doctors who perform the implantation, your entire personality is preserved; it’s really you in there, only you’re a tiger or a bear now, or whatever. Apparently, there’s a full communication system in the synthetic too—you can’t actually speak, because you’re an animal now, but you can text back and forth with each other, with human family and friends. Pretty state of the art stuff.

I figured a trip to the newest of the parks, the biggest and most extravagant, would be a nice distraction. A way to try to get back to our lives. A bookmark. Or a kind of eraser, even better. We deserved it, after everything. We deserved a look at these East Planet riches, at the people who wouldn’t give Candi the medicine she needed. It would be cathartic, poetic.

At least that’s what I thought then. This shit—agh, sorry, still stings where fabric’s stretched across the skin—none of us deserved this shit.

Still, Candi would have liked coming here, damage be damned. She was obsessed with the weekly tabloids. The idea of stalking through an artificial, Jurassic rainforest in order to get a glimpse of Jason Momoa as a reStego was totally up her alley. But Candi was also an adrenaline junkie, loved an adventure, whatever it was. I guess the kid took after her in that way. I took a little vial of her ashes with me, for old times’ sake. Still got ‘em around my neck, see? Guess I won’t be going out alone after all.

It wasn’t just Candi, though. Everybody I know wants to get out here just to try and guess which of the ReRaptors housed Beyonce’s consciousness, see which of the ReBrontos Meryl Streep was lounging around in. They all could picture themselves laughing about how stupid Bill Gates would look as RePteradactyl, with those leathery wings and that awkward cone head. But deep down, each and every one of them wants to reincarnate as a dino.

Why? That’s easy. When it comes to reincarnations, the bigger and flashier the animal, the higher the price tag. Why do you think there are so goddamn many reRats around? Hell, if I decided to reincarnate, I’d probably only have enough for a reRat, and that’s being optimistic. Most people these days can’t afford much more than reLivestock, at the most. The rePredators are for hedge fund managers—nobody I know has planned for anything flashier than a reCat.

When it first came about, voluntary reincarnation, a lot of big wigs and celebs were still feeling weird about supplanting their conciousnesses into an animal’s body. Which, you know, makes sense, if you haven’t gotten used to the idea. I mean PETA had a conniption about the whole thing, of course, but technically, since all the reAnimals were grown from dead pig skin cells in Petri dishes out of Mars Settlement labs, they’re not really animals, and anyway in the end the Supreme Court dismissed the case. Who gives a fuck about the rights of labgrown animal shells that aren’t even born with consciousness? Not the governing body of the United States, that’s for damn sure. Especially if those living animal skins offer a shot at immortality for humans. Ain’t no human gives a damn once there’s something in it for them, and that’s the truth.

Anyway, things started off small, like they always do. The first reRat. The first reDog. Then after a few years more, the first reTiger, Siberian. All Instagram famous. More and more people decided to reincarnate before they passed. Before the whole process was made affordable, families bankrupted their savings to give grandma a new lease on life, this time as a reWolf or a reHorse or even a reDolphin, once reCorp opened up the controversial ocean-based conservancies on Earth. Damn, CorpSec had a hell of a time regulating the waters once global warming picked up, though. Not that defending the land-based conservancies for the reincarnated was any easier. I can’t even imagine the hell those Grandma reDolphins are in, now that the moon’s orbit’s been artificially slowed. I’m sure the oceans are all kinds of fucked. But I haven’t been back Earthside, not since I left in 2035.

Since last year, the news has been going on about an Everglades-themed reGator park—imagine that, wanting to go vacation at a place where a bunch of reGators running around with the brains of dead middle-class boomers behind the wheel. But yeah, the park is apparently real, complete with reGator wrestling and, some say, even reGator hunting, for the right price if you know a guy. Though if that were the case, CorpSec would have been on them like a bunch of reRats on a discarded bag of synthetic barbeque Taterlike wedges at the transpo. Say what you will about the reincarnation biz, the reRats have really become a problem for pre-Re—or OG, or whatever the fuck people are calling it now—human Amarsica colonists like yours truly. They’re everywhere, digging through the trash to suck the leftover fat ink out of ChickenCaz and TurkRoast cartridges, attacking family picnics at parks, the whole deal. At least Amarsica has no natural animal life, only synthetic reAnimals. Otherwise, we’d be overrun. There’d be fights, too, I imagine—animal vs reAnimal, and I think that kinda takes the whole point out of getting reincarnated at all. If there’s a chance something else will kill you why go to the trouble—and expense—of jumping your consciousness into a vulnerable animal skin on your deathbed?

[cmd pause footage]

[cmd fast forward]

[cmd stop action]

[cmd play footage]

[!]

[re-enter access code to continue]

[********]

[Thank you. Footage rolling in 3, 2, 1]

So the kid and I load up on the transpo, and zip off to East Planet. They tell us on Comm that we’re staying in a state of the art reResort, newly purchased from The Marley Corporation, the people who invented the reincarnation industry in the first place. The trip on transpo only took 30 minutes, and then we had arrived at the intersection of celebrity culture and the fear of death: the official reDinosaur habitat. They had each of us put on some shitty dinosaur printed vacation shirt—like a Hawaiian shirt, only filled with t-rex and triceratops instead of surfers and bikini babes. And then they snapped a picture.

The place was sprawling, and everything in it was huge, custom-grown in a lab somewhere to match various periods on Earth: Jurassic, Triassic, whatever. Neatly groomed gravel paths wound through enormous boulders and redwoods, and pristine signage listed both the kinds of reDinos you could see in each enclosure as well as a Who’s Who of the celebrities in each environment. The whole thing was at once totally surreal and less interesting than I had hoped, and I worried for the kid, who seemed to be barely tolerating the trip.

Later that day, the kid and I were leaning against the fence of the reBronto habitat, where Meryl Streep was calmly eating the leaves off of a patently accurate Jurassic era deciduous tree. The sun was getting low in the sky already, and we had only been there for a few hours. I was starting to think this whole trip was a bad idea, but then the kid said something.

“What do you think Mom would have picked?”

“What do you mean picked?” I asked. I was startled; it was the first unprompted thing the kid had said to me in months.

“You know,” the kid said, blowing her blue bangs out of her face. “What kind of dinosaur do you think she would have chosen, if she could be one?”

“Kid, I don’t think we could have afforded…” I started.

The kid rolled her eyes. “Forget it,” she said. “Heaven forbid you have a little imagination for once.”

Something sank in me. It sucked, because she was right. I kicked a stone on the ground and it skittered along the gravel sidewalk before hopping the curb and disappearing into the brush just beyond the enclosure fence. I looked over at the kid. She was leaning on the fence, stone still. The way she held herself now, like if she relaxed, even a little, her armor wouldn’t work, was so unnatural to the laid-back slouch she usually adopted.

I watched her for a minute. We stood maybe five feet apart, like we were strangers. Her eyes shone with sudden tears, and she set her jaw, willing them back. I thought I should move closer. I was technically her guardian now, not exactly a parent, but close enough, and I thought of her as some kind of relation—I had never had kids, before her, and she wasn’t even technically my kid. But still, I wanted to do right by her. I wanted to protect her, help her. But I also didn’t want to hurt. I reached out a hand, then thought better of it—the kid didn’t like physical contact, not unless it came from Candi. That might make things even worse.

“What about archaeopteryx?” I said, keeping my tone as casual as possible.

The kid glanced up at me, cracked a small smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

           “It’s the only one that’s special enough,” I said. The kid stepped closer.

           “You think they have any archaeopteryx here yet?” she asked after a moment. “We could, I don’t know, go look at them or whatever. If you want.”

           “Yeah!” I said, and the kid scoffed at the enthusiasm in my voice.

           When we walked away to go find a map, the kid quickened her step to keep pace with me, bumped my shoulder with her own.

           “Hey, thanks,” she said. “For taking us here. It helps, weirdly.”

[cmd pause footage]

[cmd fast forward]

[cmd stop action]

[cmd play footage]

[!]

[re-enter access code to continue]

[********]

[Thank you. Footage rolling in 3, 2, 1]

Of course Kanye was the first reDinosaur. Who else did you think it would be? I think he was also the first one that monster took down, too—the whole throng of starfuckers we were with freaked the hell out. I mean, Kanye’s also a raptor, or he’s a reRaptor, anyway, but it was no contest. When the real raptor appeared, park staff tried to set up a Comm with it; there are no portals in the rePark—that’s military grade tech—so that it materialized at all was a big issue. Clearly something went wrong somewhere. Also, the raptor’s coloration was all off and different. reDinos are all kinds of bright colors: pink, purple, electric blue… whatever their buyers want. This raptor was olive green and black, all-natural, with no excess additions, and there was none of the lag that happens with reAnimals. No slowed reflexes, nothing. Just slashed right through the Kanye reRaptor’s jugular. Sprayed blood everywhere. I mean, everywhere. And then, well, then it leapt onto us, shredded us. Everybody scattered. I mean, you can see the damage—sliced me clean open from my shoulder to my hip, right across my chest. Never been more scared in my life, man, I’ll tell ya.

[Transmission error. Buffering… high res will return in 5, 4, 3, 2…]

carl what the hell are you doing we need to get you to the med bay

Kid? I thought—that raptor had you cornered.

yeah well i thought the same about you

How did you get out of there?

i don’t want to talk about it

Kid, are you okay?

are you talking to a fucking video camera

Yeah. Hoping for Fox Intergalactic to pick me up for a new reality show about bleeding out with your family on vacation.

shut up carl

jesus you are really ripped up

Yeah I don’t think we’re gonna be able to salvage the shirt they gave us.

bummer. that thing’s probably worth like 4,000 dollars on eBay right now.

What?

yeah it’s got Kanye’s blood on it or whatever. people pay out the ass for that creepy shit.

Could have paid for my med bay bills, huh Kid?

dad, don’t try to make jokes, okay? you suck at it

what

why are you looking at me like that

stop

It’s just, you never call me Dad.

ugh. dad, can we not?

dad

DAD

come on, you asshole, stay with me

…

fuck

fuck, the raptor

HHHHSHHHSSSSSSSS REEEEET AWKHHHSSSS OOoOOOoO

…

…

crunch crunch slurp crunch draaaaaaaaaag REET OoooOOOOooO

oh my god

it took dad

how am i going to get out of here

how am i going to get home

[end of transmission]

[cmd draft report]

[Recipient access code?]

[********]

[Confirm recipient access code.]

[********]

[What is the report?]

[Test 207 complete. Conclusion: Organically

grown dinosaurs distinguish synthetics as prey. Some

collateral damage. Alert CPS on-planet of orphan girl.

Description: short blue hair, medium build. Moderate force authorized.]

[cmd send report]

[!]

[Report sent.]

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[dontbethatshank]

Teach Me How To Listen

Imagine: High School AU short-series - Newt pairing 

A/N: This series will make the main character multi-lingual. Also, this first part is a bit of a slow start. It introduces the storyline basically and that’s about it. The next part will have more character interactions though, so stay tuned~

Wednesday, December 3rd. It’s third period and good God you couldn’t wait for the day to be over with. It was block schedule at your school so you only had three classes every day; 1-3 on odd days and 4-6 on even days. So it was now nearing 3:15 in the afternoon and you were ready to leave, but as the bell rang and your school work found its way into your bag, a hand stopped on your shoulder and a mumbled phrase of “please stay behind, will you” came with it.

So, with a reluctant sigh, you sank back down into your chair, pulling out your phone from your jacket pocket and sending a text to your group chat, letting your friends know that their ride for the day would be a few minutes late. Once it sent, you slide it back into its designated pocket and instead fiddled with the keys in your hand, toying with the small trinkets you had on your keychain. Soon the class was empty, the last student leaving once they slid in some late work into the teacher’s outbox. You remained in your seat in the middle of the room, your book bag on the table next to you.

“Ms. Y/L/N, how are you this fine afternoon?” your teacher, Mr. Blackburn, asked, taking a seat on a table top in front of you, his hands in his pockets and his glasses now in his shirt pocket. With a quirk of the eyebrow, you leaned forward, arms on the table, giving your teacher a questioning look. “No offense, Mr. Black, but why did you keep me...? I’m a straight A, AP student who has over  95% attendance. I’m pulling an almost perfect grade in your class... Did I do something to upset another student or teacher, or...?” you asked, cutting right to the chase, not wanting to mess around or beat around the bush. Along with being one of the school’s highest achieving students, you were also one of the bluntest.

With a sigh, Mr. Blackburn stood up, walking to his desk and grabbing a small notebook, handing it to you before returning to his previous seat. “Well, Ms. Y/L/N, this has nothing to do with you per say... but a peer of yours. I have a boy in my first period who is barely passing this class and with how his test is looking, won’t be passing for much longer. This student is also one of our school’s star athletes and has a possibility of a full ride scholarship. This is one of his only weak classes and his parents contacted me asking for the best tutoring centers. I suggest instead a fellow student... you. His parents are willing to pay you up to 17 an hour for the tutoring; three hours every Friday before his game and an hour every Tuesday and Saturday afternoon. I wanted to give you a chance to make some quick money... you are one of the only students in this school to know more than two languages fluently, which this boy needs desperately,” Mr. Blackburn explained. With a bewildered look, you looked down at the book in your hands, flipping open to the first page.

Newton Issaics Junior - 1st Period French Level 2

“So... this is the guy?” you asked slowly, flipping through the first few pages, seeing simple verbs, pronouns, simple dialect and conversation skills written on the page, a small lesson plan written for you, highlighting weak and strong points. “Newton Issaics?” you clarified, a small amused smirk on your lips. “Yes, that’s him. You are already fluent in French, and you only took French 4 as an easy course as well as to get your certificate at your graduation next year... Ms. Y/N, you know English, Russian, French, and your father tells me you know most German and are working on Spanish at home. That is four languages and counting. If anyone can teach this poor lad a thing or two about French it’s you - and you can make quick and easy money! So, what do you say?” your teacher asks, looking at you with an almost pleading glint in his eyes. With a sigh you nod, agreeing. You knew he wouldn’t leave you alone until you agreed. Everyone knows the only tutoring center in your small town honestly sucked. They taught Spanish, French, and English - all of which new learners who aren’t necessarily literate in it. So yes, this boy’s best bet was you. He was pulling a 60.2% in the class and that was only because of his spotless attendance record and the fact that Mr. Blackburn gave a 50% as the lowest test score possible as long as every question had a legitimate attempt at an answer. Besides those facts, the boy would have had a 30% at best, honestly.

“Oh thank you! This boy’s father is a family friend of mine and a business partner of my wife’s. I truly do appreciate it, Y/N, I can even talk to the principal and probably get it written off as community service so you can add it to your college applications as well,” Mr. Blackburn smiled brightly, a hum in his tone. “Oh! And here is his address,” he said, handing you a piece of paper from his pocket, “this Friday will be your first meeting with him. I’ll see you on that day so I can give you some papers to use with him before you leave.” With a nod you took the paper, tucking it into the notebook. You smiled politely at your teacher, quickly saying you had friends waiting for their ride, aka you, and you had to leave. You rushed from the classroom, a deep sigh leaving your lips as you stuffed some books and folders into your locker before you left the building, making your way to your car that had three people leaning against it.

“Ah! There she is,” Minho grinned, clapping as he straightened up to give you a wide, toothy grin. “FInally,” Teresa groaned, sliding off of the hood of the car, pushing Gally on the shoulder to get him to stop falling asleep on the other side of the car. With a laugh, you unlocked your car, Teresa climbing in front and the two boys int he back. “So, what did Mr. B want with you? Become a naughty little rule breaker overnight, did ya?” Minho teased, winking at you through the rearview mirror as you all buckled up. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, backing out and heading out of the school parking lot. “No, he just wanted to ask me to help tutor another student in French or whatever. Nothing really. But, moving on from anything school related, who wants to grab some burgers and shakes at Ferrel’s before we head home?” you replied, already putting your blinker on to head towards the old fashioned themed ice cream and burger joint down the block.

“Fuck yes, I love you,” Gally sighed, his arms lazily encircling your neck from behind you as he began to fall back asleep, “I’m starved.” Teresa snorted, turning in her seat. “You ate an entire bag of chips and half my sandwich from lunch while we waited for Y/N, fatass. But whatever, I’m totally down for one of their mint chip shakes and their cheese fries,” Teresa agreed after teasing your friend. Everyone chuckled at her and your rolled your eyes, laughing at your friends. God you lot were a mess. 

When you got to Ferrel’s, you all climbed out of the car and made your way inside. Chatting and laughing as you went, you all made your way to a small booth, plucking out some menus on the way as a waitress instructed you to seat yourselves. You and Gally sat on one side and Minho and Teresa on the other. You all began to chat aimlessly, briefly looking over the menu - as if you didn’t all get the exact same fucking thing every time.

“Hey, I gotta go tot he bathroom real quick, don’t order without me,” you stated, slipping from the booth. “Here, I’ll join you. I think Minho got some candy of something in my hair after he threw all that crap at me in your car,” Teresa grumbled, putting her phone back into her back pocket. She had been grumbling about it for the past five minutes, staring at her front camera and raking her fingers through her hair as the Asian boy beside her smirked triumphantly at his handiwork. “Girls. Always have to go in packs,” Gally muttered, flipping lazily through a menu. “Maybe they’re all just trying to get away from you, shuckface,” Teresa muttered back, earning a grumpy ‘hey!’ as she scuttered away with you in tow, both laughing like school children at Gally.

As you both walked towards the bathroom, talking about random things, mostly about how Minho “finally got the balls” to ask Teresa out a couple weeks ago, you both ran into someone. Well... more so something. As Teresa was talking about her date with Minho to the country fair in immense detail, you didn’t see the distracted boy walking to your right and you both collided. Unluckily for both you and Teresa, said boy was carrying a large to-go cup full of a caramel brownie shake in his hand. As you both stumbled into each other, his cup went flying from his hand, the top coming off in the process, and both you and Teresa got a... sticky make-over to say the least.

“Hey! Watch it you- oh fucking shit,” came the mumbled voice, accent thickening as he began to curse, sliding his phone into his back pocket as he came to look at both of you fully. “Jesus Christ!” Teresa groaned, looking down at her shirt and pants, both covered in the cold, sweet drink that once belonged to the stranger. With a sigh, you wiped the whip cream and caramel off your cheek, only making yourself stickier in the process. “Thanks,” you deadpanned, glaring at the guy in front of you. “Hey, I wasn’t the only one not watching where I was going,” he frowned. “Here,” he mumbled, sliding a backpack off his shoulder and offering a gray sweater to Teresa. She grumbled and snatched it, walking off to the bathroom. You stood there, still getting bits of whip cream and brownie off your face and tossing them in the trashcan near you, as the mystery boy watched.

“Enjoying the show?” you rolled your eyes, throwing the last bit of brownie bits for your shirt into the trash can. “What? Oh- no- oh well... here,” the boy stuttered, sliding off a varsity jacket from his shoulders. It had your school colors and mascot on it, and you’re sure if you looked on the back you would find a team number. The football, soccer, basketball, and hockey teams all had the same jackets. The only difference was the small badges on the left shoulder, each one representing the individual sports. You didn’t have time to look at the sport’s badge, but you hesitantly took it. “You sure...?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. With a shrug, the boy just nodded. “I’ll give you my number, you can give it back to me tomorrow or something.”

With a mumbled thanks, you walked off to the bathroom to get changed. You found Teresa, head half way in the sink and a soaking wet t-shirt hung over the side of said sink. She had managed to get most of the shake out of her hair and off her chest, the small remains left on the thigh’s of her pants were now wet patches. “At least he gave up clean tops,” Teresa grumbled, slipping on the gray sweater that was barely too big for her but way too long for her height. With a laugh, you continued washing out your hair, your shirt discarded to the side and the jacket hanging over a stall door. “Yeah, I guess. Driving home like that would have been terrible,” you agreed. You both continued the conversation of Teresa’s date, you scrubbing your chest and neck as you listened. Once you were as clean as you were going to get, you took some paper towels and dried yourself off, ringing out your hair and tying it in a high, messy bun. You looked like a trainwreck, but you at least weren’t covered in milkshake anymore.

“Let’s go. We have to get that guy’s number to give him his clothes back later this week,” you muttered, pulling on the varsity jacket and buttoning it up. But, upon exiting, you saw the mysterious, clumsy athlete nowhere in sight. With a shrug, Teresa led you both back to the table. “Well, it looks like he at least goes to Heights High, so we can find him tomorrow or something,” Teresa said, sliding back into the booth. Both of you immediately began the story of the milkshake and the jackets before either of the boys could ask.

But, God damn, were those burgers and fries worth that sticky situation.

[whumphoarder]

Go Down Swinging

Summary: Peter has been tediously trying to finish his calculus exam for the past two hours. But how the hell is he supposed to focus with the enemy lurking just over his shoulder?

Word count: 1,920

Genre: Crack, fluff, humor, mild whump

A/N: Thanks to @sallyidss for beta reading!!

Link to read on Ao3

Peter is going insane.

He’s sitting at his desk in his bedroom at the compound late Sunday afternoon, his calculus textbook, several sheets of notebook paper full of nearly illegible scribbles, and the four pages that make up the take-home exam that Tony’s just found out about (“Kid, when you said you had ‘a few math problems left to do,’ I didn’t think you meant your entire midterm! You’re officially denied lab access until I see a filled out test, Jesus Christ”) spread out in front of him.

The content is challenging, but he’s good at calc and it’s been two hours now, so he really should be further along than problem five. But how the hell is he supposed to focus with his senses going off every thirty seconds, reminding him that the enemy is still at large?

He copies the next problem onto his scratch paper—Mr. Martinez is constantly harping at him to show his work—and flips back in the textbook to find the formula he needs. A low buzzing sound issues from the southwest corner of the room. He grits his teeth and inhales deeply in an active effort to ignore it.

Peter skims through the pages as the sound persists, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand straight. Now it’s coming from the southeast corner. Now near the door. Around his bed. He takes another deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fist tightly. Is it this hard for Dr. Banner when he’s trying to control his own temper? If so, Peter is grateful he’s only part spider instead of Hulk.

He starts copying the formula down on his paper. The lead in his mechanical pencil snaps and he has to pump out a new piece. Now the buzzing is coming from the northeast corner. Now behind his back. By the trashcan at his feet. Beside his ear. The lead snaps again.

He inhales deeply and counts to ten. That doesn’t make him any calmer, so he counts again in Spanish. Then once more in German. As the buzzing draws nearer, the numbers and symbols on the page blur before his eyes and he blinks twice to clear his vision.

But when the goddamn fly lands on the eraser of his pencil, Peter loses his shit.

With a guttural cry of fury that would put the Hulk to shame, he hurls the pencil at the opposite wall with such force that the plastic casing shatters upon impact. The fly, seemingly unharmed, buzzes upwards and lands on the top of the curtain covering the window.

Peter leaps up from his chair so suddenly that it topples over backwards. “Alright, that’s it, buddy!” he hollers at the insect. “You have picked the wrong guy to mess with!”

Grabbing a stack of the newspapers leftover from his last social studies project, he rolls them up tightly before charging at the window. He whacks the curtain with his homemade swatter with such force that the glass behind it nearly cracks. The fly buzzes away and lands on his bedside lamp.

Peter chases it across the room, swinging wildly. He makes contact with the lamp and it goes flying off his nightstand. Peter’s senses ping at him and he spins around to catch it. He does so—mere centimeters from the ground—but the now awkward position of his feet twists his ankle. He falls to the ground in a tangle of gangly limbs, the lamp smashing under his weight.

The fly floats off and lands on his pillow.

“Gaah!” Peter cries in frustration. Grimacing in pain, he pushes himself up to stand on his knees and holds his now throbbing hand out in front of him. A large piece of glass is lodged in his palm. He rips it out with a hiss. Blood streams forth.

Peter grabs a (possibly?) clean sock from the floor and ties it around his bleeding hand with a clumsy knot. Battle wound now dressed, he gets back to his feet, wincing at the sudden jolt of pain in his jarred ankle. He frowns down at the injured limb.

“Oh hell no, Spider-Man is not about to be bested by a fly,” he growls. He limps towards the bed, preparing to lunge at the pillow when he stops. Spider. That’s it! An almost evil grin spreads across his features.

Peter hobbles across the room to his dresser and yanks open the top drawer. He tears through the contents, tossing underwear and socks back over his shoulder until finally finding the object he’s been searching for.

There’s a crazed glint in his eyes as he stares at the old web shooter in his hand.

“Oh this bitch is going down.”

X

Once a month, FRIDAY goes offline for a few hours to run her regular system maintenance. This check had been scheduled for early the next morning, but after banishing the kid to his room to finish his calc exam, Tony found himself with a bit of unexpected free time, so he opted to just get it out of the way now.

He’s been sitting in his lab the past couple hours, feet resting on the desk in front of him and flipping through a few engineering magazine back issues as he supervises the mostly automatic process.

“How we doing, FRI?” he asks, taking a sip of coffee from the 3D Hulk fist mug Peter got him for Christmas.

“My systems are at seventy-three percent capacity, boss,” FRIDAY reports. “But you should know my motion sensors are picking up unusual activity in Peter’s room.”

Tony frowns, uncrossing his feet and lowering them back to the ground. “Elaborate.”

“I am detecting an abnormal amount of movement throughout the room, as well as some rather concerning sounds through my auditory sensors.”

“Play the audio,” Tony orders.

Over the speakers he hears the sound of something crashing and muffled cursing. Then there’s the familiar ‘thwip’ of Peter’s web shooter firing, followed by a loud groan.

Tony’s heart lurches and he’s on his feet instantly, moving towards the door. “Shit, who’s he firing at? Was there a security breach?!” he demands as he hurries out of the lab and towards the elevator.

“I am only detecting one heat signature,” FRIDAY informs. “All security systems are operating at full capacity. I am unaware of any breaches.”

Despite FRIDAY’s reassurance, he continues jogging towards the elevator and presses the button up to Peter’s floor. The doors slide open again and he steps out, one hand hovering over the arc reactor on his chest housing his armor, ready to deploy it at a moment’s notice.

He knocks on Peter’s closed door. “Hey kid?” he calls. “Everything alright?”

“Uh, yeah, all good!” Peter hollers back, followed by a small crash. “Everything is a-okay!”

“Kid?” Tony jiggles the handle. It’s clearly not locked because the knob turns just fine, but he’s still not able to push the door open. “What the hell is going on in there?” he demands. “Did you block the door?”

“No! I mean, sorta but it’s not on purpose, it’s, uh—” There’s another crash and Peter lets out a sharp “oof!”.

“Pete?” He jiggles the doorknob again, this time shoving his shoulder into it. Still no luck. “Did you just fall?”

“I’m alright!” the kid yelps back. “I’m good! Actually, you can go. I’ll uh, I’ll just—”

Tony heaves out an exasperated sigh. “Kid, I’m running out of patience here. Either you open this door in the next five seconds, or it’s coming down. What’s it gonna be?”

There’s a beat. “Uhm… I can’t really come to the door right now.

“Alright, suit yourself,” Tony mutters. He flips up the face of his watch and the gauntlet encases his hand. Adjusting the power on his repulsor to the lowest setting, he fires at the edge of the door.

It blasts open immediately, but when Tony catches his first glimpse into the kid’s room, he’s rendered momentarily speechless.

Peter looks up at his mentor from his awkward position the floor. “Mr. Stark, I can explain!” he blurts out.

Tony just blinks at him. “Peter.”

“So there’s this fly, and he’s been like, stalking me all day ever since I got here! Like he has some kind of fly vendetta!” Peter exclaims. “I couldn’t let him get away with it! I just—”

“Peter,” Tony repeats, letting his gaze travel around the room. “What. The actual. Fuck.”

Half the furniture is overturned, the curtains have been torn down, the contents of the kid’s dresser are strewn about the room, and there are pieces of smashed lamp and drops of blood littering the carpet. Numerous spider webs of varying sizes are covering just about every visible surface, in some places stretching all the way from floor to ceiling. Peter himself is sprawled out on the ground, a blood-soaked sock tied around his palm and one foot caught in a particularly intricate web.

Tony takes a long, deep inhale before squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus take the wheel…” he mutters under his breath.

“But the fly, Mr. Stark!” Peter insists. There’s a wild look in his eyes. “You don’t understand! He’s taunting me! Mocking me! He knows.”

With an equally long exhale, Tony takes a few careful steps into the room. Buzzing around the kid’s head is a completely ordinary-looking house fly. “You mean that fly?” he asks, pointing.

Peter nods frantically. “He’s possessed, I tell you!”

Tony keeps his eyes trained on the fly as it draws closer. When it gets within a foot of his chest, he shoots out both arms and claps his hands together, squishing the insect between them.

Peter’s jaw drops. “How… How did you…?”

Tony scoffs, wiping fly guts off on his jeans. “Turns out having an intern with zero self preservation instincts drastically improves your reflexes.”

Peter looks back sheepishly. “Uh… Thanks?”

Tony holds up a finger and gives Peter a stern look. “You’re not coming out of this room until this entire mess is cleaned up, understood?”

Eyes still wide, Peter bobs his head up and down quickly. “Yeah, yeah, of course!” he agrees.

“Good.” Tony turns around to head back out.

“Wait!” Peter calls after him.

Tony turns back around. “What?”

“I’m still stuck—I need my web solvent.” Peter jerks his head to the side and Tony follows the movement to the backpack that’s leaning against the bed, just out of the kid’s reach. “It’s in there.”

Tony rolls his eyes again and moves towards the bag, being careful to sidestep the webs as he does. But just as his feet reach the bed, he pauses and glances back at Peter. “Remind me again, how long does this stuff take to dissolve on its own?”

“Like two hours,” Peter says with a shrug. “But with the spray it’s like, thirty seconds, so if you could just…”

A sly grin spreads across Tony’s lips. Rather than unzipping the backpack, he picks up the kid’s calculus papers and textbook before pulling a fresh pencil out of his own pocket. He plops all of these down on the floor in front of the trapped teenager. “Have fun, kiddo,” he declares.

Peter shoots him a panicked look, tugging desperately at his stuck leg. “No, no no no! Mr. Stark! Please!” he begs.

Tony gives him one last smirk before heading to the door. “Don’t forget your Taylor polynomials for those tougher integrals,” he calls back over his shoulder.

(I have no explanation for this one)

Fic Masterlist

[what-to-imagine-next]

So why I made this blog is to cope and rant and stuff

Yeah yeah I’m just a stupid teenager and my problems don’t ever really mean anything, especially when it comes to stupid high school drama, but I do have actual problems.

Here’s my stupid rant or what ever.

Two days ago I lost one of my best friends named Ahrlenny Wendy Hernandez, she was battling leukemia for little under two months, perhaps longer but that was when she was diagnosed, prior to that she had been in the hospital for a month ish due to having liver and gallbladder problems, she even got her gallbladder removed due to having stones. Anyways so she had missed out on a month of school and when she finally came back for little under two weeks, she was feeling extremely poor again. She went to the hospital and they did blood test after blood test after noticing an extremely low white blood cell count.

She called me and some of her our other friends in our chat and told us while crying that there was a massive chance of having leukemia. We reassured her and said it was unlikely and that if she did have it we would help her over come it and help her heal through out the entire process. The next evening, I get a group call in my a group chat with my little gang that included Wendy on snap chat. She is balling now, saying how she has it, Julianna and I once again reassured her that she would make it through this with us by her side over that call, then we told Sophia, Aileen and Raven that night, who then reached out to her to say the same as we did to her. We would help her heal, do cute stuff with her like videos for youtube about makeup and gossip and everything we could for her.

She started chemo, this was about a month and a half ago, maybe less. She was doing fine, the chemo wasn’t even making her sick nor throwup even. She even still had the energy to keep her streaks up the entirety of her poor health. She was texting us in the chat about doctor stuff. We would tell her the latest band drama and she would laugh or sass in a reply to what happened with us. It was simple enjoyable moments I should have paid more attention to.

We were told to tell certain friends in band about her having the leukemia, she didn’t want people to all know about it, whether fear of misjudgment or not wanting pity I’ll never really know. We told everyone we needed the very next school day. The day we told people, Aileen and I told people to make cards and such to give her when we were going to see her in the hospital for the first of two times. We got a white and purple orcid and two stuffed bear animals. But when we called the hospital that day after school she was in surgery for taking bone marrow out of her hip and we(Jacob, Aileen, my mother and I) decided to visit her the next day, though she said she wanted to see us either way. We wanted her to rest and promised it for tomorrow. We got an actualy card instead of some scratch paper, and had all the people who knew sign it to our best ability.

Aileen and I got picked up by my mom and we had the card, the flowers and the bears all with us in tale. We were excited to see her for the first time seeing for in about a week or two. We wanted to tell the tea irl now.

We got to the local hospital, asked for Ahrlenny Hernandez and put Aileen Martinez and Isabella Duncan for our visitors passes, though Aileen was Eileen and Martinez was Maritinez, but my name was spelt correctly haha.

We were then guided to Wendy’s room and go to see her cute, dumb, smiling face. Her Spanish only speaking family was there, her mother was talking to her sister, her Father was watching soccer on the TV and her little brother was as energetic as always. It seemed rather normal for them to be there.

We went over to Wendy gave her our gifts and our card, and one extra bad card that talked about being her plug from some kid in band once she got better, and for wendy to subscribe to his youtube channel. Werid plug but ight.

Anyways, it was pretty chill but Aileen and I were also pretty awkward around her family. We had fun, talked shit about some band kids, talked about what we would do after this all finished. Everything seemed so perfect, so calm, so hopeful.

I then got a text from my mom asking where we were as we had been in there for an hour, and she wanted to go home. We hugged Wendy goodbye for the second to last time ever. And went home. Then we kept texting in our snapchat groupchat, everything was going alright, chemo was doing it’s thing, it was looking up.

Three weeks later Aileen and I planned a sleepover on for February Second, where we planned to visit Wendy the next day and spend as much time as we could with her. We tried to bake cookies for her and her family, but at Aileens, she didn’t have butter, just this butter like spread, and no brown sugar just normal table sugar. We tried to make it work, but the batter cooked to odd for cookie like texture, so we tried to make two cookie loafs, the first one I messed up due to not baking it enough and the second one was pretty good if I do say so myself.

We slept pretty hard that night, and woke up to get our stuff together and go visit Wendy. My mom had work at 11:00am, and would give us a ride at 10:20am- it was 9:00am when she said this but my stupid ass read it as ten-twenty like in ten to twenty minutes. Rushing both of our selves ready we waited and then we realized the the wrong in my reading and waited.

We got to the hospital at about 10:45am, and asked for Ahrlenny Hernandez once again little did we know for the final time. We got to her room which had her(duh), her nurse, her mom, her dad, two aunts, and her little brother. It was p a c k e d. We went over to her, hugged her hello, and sat down near her bedside. She was getting chemo as we entered the room too. She had gotten pale but nothing near to looking deathly, she had lost some weight as well, and was eating a bad of sun chips and drinking water when she was getting the chemo.

I had a bag of mini-marshmallows and proceeded to eat about 4/5ths of the package, it stated to “have fun with your yum” but also to eat one at a time but little to late I was eating them by the handful. It was amusing to us three, even the nurse! So we talked and gabbed about the latest band stuff, like about gigs, fundraisers, drama, gossip and funny stories that she sadly missed. We were laughing and having a lot of fun. I told her about the cookie loaf situation which made her laugh, same thing happened when I explained that whole 10:20am not ten-twenty minutes. It was so fucking wholesome and fun, and I wish I got to savor it more.

At some point her uncle and cousin showed up and barley said hello to her and just started watching soccer which was pretty sad and funny all in one second. Her two aunts when they showed up hugged her and gave her a stuffed animal and food.

As we were talking about all the things we wanted to bring up she even asked us what color wig she should get, purple or blue? She said. Purple always worked great on her.

I started to text our chat to invite them to say hi to Wendy at the hospital but they had work or family problems and couldn’t go, so I texted my friend Gustavo, he was friend with Wendy and in the same band we both played in. We convinced him to come and said he wasnt gonna walk, but said yes. At some point she was supposed to get up and do some walking around the area to keep her self moving and such, but I convinved her to stop at this little side room that had this airhockey machine in it.

Of course she and I played against eachother, and it was a lot of fun, but mid game, in which I was agressivly playing, she stopped cause she had gotten a phone call from her mother, turns out Gustavo had shown up to the room a L o T quicker than we expected and so we walked over to him and brought him to the air hockey room, made jokes and had fun, I still however was playing pretty aggressively and at one point she didnt even have to try and I was pretty much playing against myself. It was pretty funny as I even hit the puck off the air hockey table top a few times like an idiot.

We finally rested a little and then we walked with Wendy around about two or three laps around that part of the hospital. We got back to her room and talked for a little bit more. But my mom was saying I needed to get home to shower and clean my room. So we said our goodbyes and hugged her for our last time ever. Aileen and I where there for nearly seven hours, when we finally left. We got a ride from Aileens mom. And that was the last time I ever got to see Wendy’s smile and hear her laugh for the last time.

We still texted for the following weeks, she told us little over two weeks ago that she was finally let go to go home, but that she would have to go to LA or Sanfransisco for better chemotherapy, She said La as in Long Beach she has family. And we wished her luck like we always did.

About three to four days before her passing, on Friday or Saturday, she sent us an update, her last one. She said she went back to the hospital because she had fainted onto the ground. She got her blood tested and once again she had extremely low white bloodcells. She said that she was sent home and told to eat every 2/3 hours and that she would be fine. We had little communication the day or two before her death. Mostly silence. None of us noticed reall, just thinking she needed time alone or something.

Tuesday morning she passed away, I don’t know if she went painfully or in her sleep. I don’t know if she was home or at the hospital. I don’t know if it was the leukemia, the chemo or if she got sick from her family. I don’t know. All I know is that that day I was talking about raising money for her to my school counselor and for two hours after I got home I was getting notifications from many friends if the rumors were true.

I was in disbelief, no no no! I was thinking it was some sick disgusting joke. I hoped it was. It wasn’t, her cousin posted on his social media wishing a good rest finally after a fight she had with her life.

The next night was spent getting all the photos I could of Wendy, I made about five posts on instagram/snapchat stories and four on instagram that day about her. Who she is and was to me. I also spend that night calling people to inform them of our loss of a musician, a friend, a sister and a family member. I called my old band director even. So many calls, so many texts, so many fucking tears. It took till Wednesday night to know it was real, a gofundme made by her sister to raise for her funeral and rest. Its all real.

She was taken away in the blink of an eye, she fought hard but lost. And I fucking hate that someone like her lost, she’s so fucking strong. I never got to say my last I love you to her. No last goodbye. No last stay safe. Nothing. Everything taken from her, her family and friends all so quickly.

Stupidly enough drama about her death accured after, the day after we had found out, literal hours after we found out, one of my friends posted a story to her instagram stating how she loved Wendy like a sister and how she’ll miss her and someone who hated Wendy proceeded to ask her “did u tho” hours after most of us had found out.

Then today, Thurday the 28th of February, finally a moment of silence was made, no one in my class and in many others did not stop talking during it all. And apparently it felt rushed and disingenuous by the person who had made the announcement about the now passed 15 year old girl.

It’s all fucked. This situation. But fuck man I just wanted one more minute to tell her how lucky I was to have her as my friend. But I didn’t and no one did get that minute.

Goodbye my friend. Stay safe. Please.

P.S. the long instagram discription is one of my poster about her.

[kinksharne]

I wanna hear the story abt your Spanish teacher!!!

yess!! ok this was in 2012-2013 so it’s been a while but i’ll tell you what i remember.

So it’s freshman year of high school. Spanish 2. My teacher was named Mrs. Veard and let’s just say it was an experience.

Mrs. Veard was like middle-aged and divorced with two children. She talked about her family and her personal life All the time. See every monday she would talk about her weekend in spanish as a sort of teaching exercise (but it was a beginner-level spanish class in rural wisconsin so there was lots of spanglish and hand-gestures but whatever). So she would talk a lot about her two daughters, one of whom had some sort of mental disability (i think maybe she was on the autism spectrum but i don’t remember). But Veard would always call her “special” or something similar (you guys all know the tone of voice i’m talking about too), which seemed pretty questionable to me but w/e.

On the weeks when her daughters were with her ex-husband, she would ALWAYS mention that to us. It would go something like “Mis hermanas *points to the pictures of them tacked above the whiteboard* son con Bill (i don’t remember her ex-husband’s actual name so this is what i’m calling him) y “Karen!” este sabado y domingo...” She would always say Karen in like this mocking, bitter way and it was so uncomfortable. I think she was trying to kind of make it a joke or whatever but it just made her seem bitter and desperate so we would all kind of half-laugh nervously. 

Most of her stories on those weeks were about men she would go on dates with and where she went with them. I think that was super uncomfortable for all of us because we were like 14 and didn’t want to hear about our teacher’s dating life, you know? But the weirdest part was that a while ago she had dated the uncle of one of the girls in my class. I’ll change her name slightly to protect her privacy (though i don’t know why i bother because as far as i know she’s still a proud meninist but that’s another story). So anyway every time she went on a date with a guy she would throw in a comment about how he compared to Dan Grant™. She always put a ton of emphasis on it. Or she would randomly go up to Hannah and squeeze her shoulder and be like, “So, Hannah, how’s Dan Grant™ doing?” And like Hannah was super uncomfortable with it but she was pretty shy so she never said anything. 

But that brings me to my next point. Veard was the most touchy-feely person i have EVER seen. She was constantly touching people’s hair, putting her arms around people, holding their hand, rubbing their shoulder, etc. It was weird. I vividly remember taking a test and raising my hand to ask a question and she came over and was like “Emelia!! What’s wrong??” and put her arm around me and rubbed my shoulder while looking at my test paper. And i’m like ... ma’am? i just had a question please chill. (Side note: idk if anyone else’s school did this but in mine we always had to pick a Spanish name to use in class to help us with like pronunciation or something. So my spanish name was Emelia that year).

 So she was really physically affectionate, but she was also a Mess. Like a lot of the time she was dressed completely inappropriately for teaching. My school didn’t have a super strict dress code for teachers, but it was supposed to be like business casual I think (or at least the majority of the other teachers dressed that way). But Veard just... did not do that. Either she would be in like sweatpants and slippers/crocs and a Packers jersey (and don’t get me wrong, tons of teachers wore Packers gear ON GAME DAYS, but Veard literally wore it whenever. And like we are super close to Green Bay but still) or she would wear like a fancy dress — but not “appropriate for teaching” fancy. And when she wore a dress she would often sit at her table at the front of the room and look through her notes or w/e and spread her legs apart so we could all see her underwear. So that was gross. Also, she would regularly do her makeup and/or curl her hair in the beginning of class, but also sometimes just randomly in the middle of class whenever she felt like it. 

And don’t get me started on prizes lol. So we would sometimes have like in-class games or worksheets or something and she would promise a prize to the winner. That was fine and a pretty good motivational strategy, especially for high schoolers, except she almost NEVER had anything prepared. One time she offered a student the rest of her (half-drunk and probably lukewarm) McDonalds coffee as a prize. She once gave me one (1) almond. I don’t even like almonds. Sure, sometimes she had like pencils or something, but most of the time she would just like scavenge around her desk to find something disposable. 

So all that stuff bothered us (probably the touching part the most) but we got to like the second-to-last month before shit went down. So one friday she comes into class and sits down on her table and tells us that she has a meeting with the principal after school. So of course we ask her why and she’s like “I’m not sure but I think it has something to do with how i’m so touchy-feely” (or something in that vein). She continued, “I guess someone complained to the principal about it or something...” And we’re all sitting there like “Ohh... that’s too bad Señora Veard...” but we were all secretly relieved that the issue was finally getting addressed. So then she starts crying and is like “Honestly I never meant any harm by it I just have so much love in my heart and i want to share it with my students... and i know that some kids just don’t get enough love or affection from their parents and it just breaks my heart so i try my best to give it to them here at school... but i guess i just go a little overboard sometimes...” 

And keep in mind she’s like sitting on top of a table staring at us and we’re all sitting in our desks watching her cry. so it was super awkward. And so she’s like “So that’s why i’m just so scared for this meeting etc. etc.” but she mentioned explicitly that she was definitely not going to get fired. All unprompted by the way I’m pretty sure. (Just a note: I do think that her physical affection came from a good place and she really was trying to help kids. She didn’t strike me as like a pedophile though I can’t speak for other kids, but nevertheless it was pretty uncomfortable).

The next monday we show up to class and we have a sub. We ask her where Veard is and she says she doesn’t know but she should be back the next day. But she isn’t. Sub says the same thing. Wednesday comes and the sub says Veard will definitely be back by next monday. Yet next monday she’s still gone. The sub tells us Veard is going to be gone for the next two weeks or so but she will 100% be back for the last 3 weeks of school to prep us for finals. 

2 weeks later and the Veard is not back. The sub, however, had to teach a summer school class and had to leave. So we got a sub for the sub. He promised us that Veard would definitely be here to administer finals but didn’t know where she was. Finals time rolls around and the other Spanish 2 teachers discover that our class is actually behind as fuck (probably because Veard talked about herself/wasted like half of class every day but whatever...) so they curved the final for us. Veard is still nowhere to be seen on finals day, and also the sub is sick so we had a different sub to give us the test. A sub for the sub for the sub for the teacher. It was a mess.

 And Veard never came back. By then word got around that she had been fired and there was even a rumor that she had tried to come into the school and gotten dragged out by security. I think that was a lie. But it is true that she hadn’t moved anything out of the classroom by the last day, even the pictures of her daughters tacked up on the whiteboard. 

So yeah, that’s pretty much it lol. At least I aced the final thanks to the curve though lmao.

[fasterthanyouvidia-blog]

Serious Study Session || Chat Log

Important Plot Stuff Here

The N.E.W.T.s Potion Study Session was schedule for Friday night. A few students actually signed up and even fewer showed. The unused classroom was dusty and lacked light due to the lack of upkeep over the years. The tables were rickety and each of the students were stuck with a stool that had some sort of issue from wobbly legs to loose seats that shifted with the slightest movement.

Vidia: Vidia's foot slid off the top rung of the stool as she flipped through her Advanced Potions textbook. The lighting blew and made her eyes strain just to rest the ingredients of her book. "Fucking stupid N.E.W.T.s" She muttered in Spanish to herself.

Malinda: As Malinda tossed her textbook onto the table, she huffed and pulled her wand out, casting a quick lumos in the hopes that it would make the lighting a little better. "Look, we can go through this book again and again, but we need to actually get our hands dirty if we're going to remember any of it." At least, that was her opinion.

Dory: As usual, Dory found it hard to keep still as she sat looking at the pages in her potions book. She'd been kicking her legs as she tried to put the information on the page into her head. Even with a memory that worked, she was finding that a difficult task. Dory looked up as the book hit the table and one of the other girls spoke up. Her face brightened as she beamed a smile. "That sounds like a great idea!"

Elsa: Elsa was never late and hardly ever 'just on time', so of course she had been the first one to arrive. Not many people had showed, so she was stuck with the three girls sitting around her. She didn't even know any of them outside of what had happened with Vidia. "Which potion do you suggest we do then?" She asked as she flipped through the pages of her textbook.

Vidia: Vidia scowled at Elsa as she flipped through the pages. "It was Mal's beautiful idea. Let the puta pick." She let a smirk tug at the corners of her mouth. As it overstayed its welcome on her face, she let the smirk drop and she slammed her book shut. There was no use for it if Malinda was going to lead the session with making a potion.

Malinda: "I was thinking Polyjuice. It's complicated but something we need to know for our tests...and I've figured out how to make it without needing to wait so long for it to simmer. What do you think?" She looked at everyone around the group expectantly, hoping they'll like the idea as much as her.

Dory: "I think we should do it!" Dory said enthusiastically as she hopped up off her stool and clapped her hands together.

Elsa: Elsa nodded in agreement, but couldn't help but be a little worried about how Malinda had managed to shorten the time by so much. She'd never heard of anyone being able to complete the potion within a single night.

Vidia: Vidia rested her boot against the leg of the table as she stared around the old room. Studying was so tiresome. She could name at least ten different things she'd rather be doing. She only signed up because she needed to pass her exam. With everything she was doing lately she was falling behind.

Malinda: Malinda nodded her head and grinned in excitement as she started gathering the cauldron and main ingredients. "Okay, we still need a few of the ingredients, but they're easy enough to get, so I think we should divide and conquer," she said, splitting up the ingredients left on pieces of paper for each of them. "Yeah? Sound like a plan?"

Dory: Dory took the piece of paper handed to her and looked at the small list, her grin not even fading for a second. She was eager to help. This would be fun. And hopefully, she'd learn a little more. "Okey Dokey Smokey!" Dory said with a salute as she turned to go search for the ingredients on her list.

Elsa: "Alright," Elsa nodded and followed Dory out the door, heading for where she'd last seen the potions closet.

Vidia: "Alright," Vidia slid off the stool as she took the list and went to collect the ingredients she was in charge of.

Malinda: Malinda grinned as everyone headed off to get their parts of the potion, she went off to collect her own and then started working on the spell to make the potion work faster. As the other girls started to come back in, she gave them a grin. "Welcome back! Get everything?"

Dory: Having been the first one out the door, and having practically sprinted in order to go and get the things on her list, Dory was quick in returning to the room. "Yep!" she answered with a bright grin as she set all of the things in her arms onto the table. "Got it all!"

Elsa: Fortunately the potions closet hadn't moved from where she'd last seen it so she was there and back pretty quickly. She placed the collected items on neatly on the table beside Dory's, "Yes."

Vidia: Vidia had to go to the extra storage closet that they used while the dungeons were flooded so she was the last to return. Thankfully, when they do their exam, the ingredients would be present or Vidia would be injuring some Ministry officials who thought that would be a good idea. "Yeah," She put her items down on the table next to the rest the others collected.

Malinda: "Perfect!" she exclaimed when she saw all the ingredients on the table. She opened her potions textbook and set it in front of them. "Alright, let's do this. I'll let you know when we're skipping steps...pretty much any time we're supposed to wait." She paused and twirled her wand a little bit, hesitating a little bit. "Have any of you guys ever successfully made this potion before?" she asked, not wanting to seem rude but being genuinely curious.

Dory: As the book was set in front of the group, Dory leaned down with her elbows on the table to have a really good view of the pages. She was eager to help and eager to learn, so she was determined to follow along as they brewed this potion. Dory thought hard about whether or not she'd ever made this one before. "Mmmm... I don't remember," she said, not able to find a memory of having brewed this potion before. That wasn't necessarily something to worry about. There were still lots of things that Dory couldn't remember.

Elsa: "I have," Elsa replied. It had been a semester-long project in her potions class last year. "May I ask how you've managed to shorten the time so significantly?"

Vidia: "Nope." Vidia couldn't think of a time she had to make a polyjuice potion. There was never a time she had a need or a desire to be anyone else but herself.

Malinda: Malinda was glad that another person in their group had been able to make this potion. The question, however, threw her off a little bit. "Oh, um, it's a fairly simple spell," a lie, "just basically shortens the time for everything else. So instead of weeks, we wait a couple hours." Malinda offered a genuine and confident smile, sure that it would work. "So let's get started," she continued before turning her attention back to the book.

Dory: Dory didn't really like the idea of waiting around for hours, but it was better than weeks. Waiting was the worst part of making potions. It was just so boring.

Elsa: "Uh.... alright then," Elsa didn't know how she felt about Malinda's time shortening spell, it certainly was a bit worrying since she'd never heard of such a thing before, but she supposed she didn't have much of a choice. If they didn't use it there was no point in even making the potion.

Vidia: Vidia was game if they were able to figure out the stupid potion in less time. That meant less time stuck in that dusty room with the perpetual sweet child and Miss Stick-in-the-mud. Although, alcohol would make it tolerable but Elsa was there and Vidia didn't need to land herself in the Headmistress' office.

Malinda: Starting the potion was easy enough, things wouldn't get more complicated until the middle and the end, so as they worked on the polyjuice, Malinda was more than happy to take the lead, so to speak, but gave the other three plenty of chances to jump in and help and continue the arduous process. Soon enough, they were at the waiting part, and Malinda paused, putting a hand up for everyone to pause as well. "Okay, stand back for a minute. This is where I make that spell work and then we only wait for a couple hours." She pulled her wand out again and pointed it to the cauldron, a soft blue light leaving the tip of it and lighting up something that looked like a web around the cauldron.

Dory: As they worked on the potion, Dory was happy to jump in at every opportunity afforded to her. She eagerly took instructions from Malinda and was actually rather proud to be contributing to the potion in a tangible way. When they got the part with the waiting, Dory did as Malinda said and backed up a little bit. She was eager to see the spell that would make things go faster but was cautious because she knew that potions could be very bad news when you got on the wrong side of them. "Wow," she said in a low voice as the cauldron was lit up by a web of magic around it. "That's some spell. It's so pretty!"

Elsa: Elsa looked down at the potion surprised the spell looked to be working. She had no idea what the spell was actually supposed to look like, but Malinda wasn't freaking out so Elsa assumed it was working like it was supposed to. She wouldn't say it out loud, but she did agree with Dory about it being a rather pretty spell. Though that was probably because she'd always been partial to the color blue. Before Malinda had time to even thank Dory for the compliment the spell suddenly went very wrong. There was a loud "BOOM!" and then a cloud of sickly colored smoke exploded from the cauldron. There was a whole lot of coughing as everyone struggled to breath. As Elsa's lungs were filled with the almost toxic air her body began to feel... very odd and even a little painful.

Vidia: Vidia didn't join the group in the general enthusiasm. She sat close enough to see what Malinda was doing and learn the tricks to make the potion brew faster. Her eyes rolled at the spectacle of blue. Whoo hoo. Who cared? Vidia just wanted to see the potion completed so she could say she knew how to do it. Then the boom happened. Vidia's hands waved the smoke from her face as she coughed from inhaling it. "What the fuck, cadela?" She pounded the smoke from her lungs with a fist to her chest. "Fuck," She exhaled and ran her hand through her hair. "What?" Vidia stared at her hand as it held blonde strands of hair. "Malina, what did you do?" Vidia jumped from the stool, sending it across the room as she ran to find a mirror. "AHHHHH!" A shrill scream came from the potions closet. "I'm-I'm-I'm a bubblegum princess!"

Malinda: It was working. It was actually working. And then all of a sudden....it wasn't. The web started to waver, shift like it shouldn't have, and it was almost imperceptible to the naked eye, but she'd been working on this spell for months, she knew it inside and out. The boom reverberated throughout the room and her chest, and she felt pain like she had taken some polyjuice potion and was changing but she didn't feel wrong. Except now that the smoke was clearing, she was looking down rather thank looking up. "Oh no....no no no. No!" Immediately, instead of looking at the other girls, she went straight to the cauldron and saw that what was left was nothing but charred ingredients. "It should have worked! Why didn't it work? Is everyone okay?" she finally asked, looking around at everyone else...and then she spotted her face...but she wasn't looking in the mirror. "Fuck."

Dory: Few things could dampen Dory's enthusiasm, but one surefire way to do it was for something to explode. Even more surefire was if that something was a potion. The memories might be a little fuzzy, but Dory knew enough about her previous encounters with exploding potions to know it was not something she wanted to repeat. As the boom rippled through the room, Dory hit the dirt and crouched beneath the table as the smoke rolled over the group. Dory coughed along with everyone else, feeling the pain of something happening but not knowing what. As she huddled under the table, Dory was scared. Scared that something awful would happen to all four of them. But soon enough, the pain faded and the smoke cleared enough to breath and Dory slowly started out from under the table, only to quicken her pace when she heard the scream. But Dory froze as soon as she looked because... wait... that was her. But she was here. Dory glanced to the other girls and... that wasn't right either. "I'm okay," she said, answering the most pressing question first. "Well... I'm not hurt, anyway. I'm not sure our bodies being all switched around is okay..."

Elsa: The smoke cleared and Elsa's hearing was a little fuzzy, but otherwise she was mostly okay. Her whole body felt sore, but it was nothing life threatening. She heard a scream that sounded like Dory and immediately looked up, only to find herself face to face with... well, herself standing over the cauldron. Elsa gasped and glanced around the room frantically. Dory was panicing beside a mirror and Malinda was rushing over to her. Okay so Dory and Malinda were okay, but there was a duplicate of herself and Vidia was gone- A lock of dark hair fell into her vision and Elsa froze. Everything seemed to click in that one moment. Everyone was freaking out because a POLYJUICE POTION just exploded; a potion that made the drinker look like someone else. Elsa pulled off her glove and was met not by her pale hand, but instead by very tan skin. Malinda - or whoever now looked like Malinda - confirmed Elsa's realization when she said all their bodies were switched around. "Oh no," Elsa pressed a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. "No, no, no, this cannot be happening."

Vidia: "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Vidia paced around. "Malinda what did you do?" Vidia kicked the stool over as the ringing in her ears faded and she could finally hear herself talk. "Please tell me you can fix this. I can't walk around looking like Dory and I can't have-" Vidia pointed at the person who looked like her but was clearly dressed in Elsa's clothes, "- Princess Prude walking around looking like me."

Malinda: Malinda's mind was going about a mile a minute. She couldn't figure out where she'd gone wrong. Everything had worked perfectly, it all made sense. How had this happened? She was still shaking her head and staring at the cauldron when Vidia, or at least who she assumed was Vidia based on the amount of bitching, started directing her questions at her. "I don't know. I don't know what happened...I don't know how. I'm sorry. I don't...her own pale hands threw her off a little. She was pale but not this pale. "But if you're Dory, and I'm Elsa, which one of you is me? Is it Dory or Elsa? Oh no, I'm so confused." Her head was starting to hurt a little, and she could feel the guilt starting to roll over her. "I am so sorry I didn't mean for this to happen. It was supposed to work! I - I'll make it work, I'll figure something out." She paused in her panicking and looked around at the other girls, her gaze lingering on her own face for a while, finding it very strange to know someone else was wearing it. "What do we do now?"

Dory: The whole scene was very odd. For one thing, it was extremely strange to see herself with such a potty mouth and kicking stuff around. For another, it was hard to tell who was who now. Obviously Dory wasn't the only one with that problem as Not-Elsa was trying to work it out too. Dory made her way over to the cauldron and pat Not-Elsa's arm. "It's okay. It was an accident, of course you didn't mean for it to happen." She smiled encouragingly, a thought in the back of her mind wondering how exactly that looked when she was using Malinda's face instead of her own. Since she didn't see Malinda anywhere else in the room, Dory had to assume that she was the one who looked like Malinda. "And if you got it to happen, then there's gotta be a way to make un-happen. We just have to find it. But it might be a good idea to figure out who is who first. I'll start, I'm Dory."

Elsa: "I'm Elsa and that's obviously Vidia," Elsa gestured over to the girl who looked like Dory but was spewing out all sorts of Spanish and fowl language. That meant Malinda was the one who now looked like her. She crossed her arms across her chest and tried avoiding looking at 'herself'. It was just too weird, like looking in a mirror and having your reflection act of it own accord. She swallowed anxiously, the high levels of stress she was feeling very clearly shown on 'her' face, "We should tell a professor, shouldn't we? If there's anyone who would know how to fix this it's Professor Pace."

Vidia: Vidia scowled as she watched herself talk. "Aren't you a genius?" The sarcasm was heavy as she spoke. "Elsa, why don't you shut the fuck up and sit in a corner. If we tell a professor what do you think will happen? I don't want detention because we let Malinda do some trick that backfired. Or get stuck like this for even longer to learn some bullshit lesson." Vidia turned to Malinda then to the person who was actually Malinda. "How long do you think until you can fix this? I need to be myself before the next quidditch game." She groaned thinking about being stuck as Dory and having Elsa looking like herself. "Esto es una mierda. Me quedé así porque hice lo correcto y llegué a la sesión de estudio. Mierda. ¡Mierda absoluta!"

 Malinda: "No!" Malinda immediately said, panic clear on her--Elsa's--face. "We can't go to the professors. We can't. We need to figure this out on our own. Think of it as a good way to study for exams. Please, just leave the professors out of it." She nodded her head. "Yeah, we'll figure it out," she repeated, thankful that Vidia was on her side in this. Malinda turned her attention back to Dory. "Take care of my body please. Don't like...get blown up or something. I'm going to go fix this. I promise!" As she spoke, she gathered up her things and picked up the cauldron while she was at it. Maybe something in there would give her information on how to turn this around. "This can be fun! I'll fix it. Just give me a little time! DON'T TELL A PROFESSOR!!" Malinda called over her shoulder as she hurried out of the room.

Dory: As the other three erupted into an angry/panicked argument, Dory mostly just stood there. Between the angry Spanish exit of Vidia and the panicked rush of Malinda following soon after, Dory was left more than a little confused about what happened now. And she was fairly certain that polyjuice potion just made you look like someone else, not actually switch bodies with them, so was it actually possible to take care of Malinda's body? That question would probably remain a mystery. Dory watched Malinda hurry away and then turned to Elsa, nervously tugging at a strand of the dark hair she now sported. "So... I know she said not to but... I kind of think we should tell a professor..."

Elsa: As Malinda began gathering up her things Elsa started pacing. It was something she always did whenever she was stressed. "This is a complete disaster and you two want me to keep quiet about it because you don't want to get in trouble?!" She groaned and tried to think of how she was supposed to go back to her dorm like this. She was brought back to the present reality when Malinda started talking again and then sprinted out of the room, Vidia hot on her heels. "Fun?" Elsa murmured in disbelief. Her face quickly turned from one of mass confusion and anxiety to pure frustration, "This will most certainly NOT be fun! It's a complete and utter mess!" She clenched her jaw and ran over to the door, calling after them as they hurried down the hall, "You better figure out how to fix this soon or so help me I will go straight to the head mistress!" She let out an annoyed huff and walked back into the classroom. Oh God, how were they supposed to fix this? Malinda promised she'd figure something out, but after what had just happened Elsa didn't trust a word she said. The Head Girl was so caught up in her thoughts she complete forgot Malinda - whoops, Dory - was still there. The sound of the girl's voice altered Elsa of her presence and calmed her down a bit. "I doubt Professor Pace is even awake right now," Elsa sighed. "Let's just wait until morning and then try to figure something out then. Maybe Malinda will have actually figured something out by then, or maybe the effects of her disastrous mistake will have worn off by morning, I don't know."

Fin

Important HC: Their voices will also sound like the person they look like.

@a-frozenheart @likeateatray-inthesky @adorable-dory-crosby