#i took him to the swamp today and he picked a vanilla flower and HE!!!! he held it soooo gently

[deadbootcreek]

most beautiful part of rdr2 is when arthur veeery gently picks a flower i think

[stanleysbuttonblog]

The morning after he’d properly woken up– from the coma. He’d spent a lot of the night scrolling through Tumblr and then falling asleep next to his boyfriend. So it wasn’t the most proper awakening.

Regardless, he was full of energy now, and he decided to text {SCEPTER}. He did genuinely want to hang out with her, especially if she was… upset. 

So he did.

_hey {SCEPTER} its stanley :) i am texting you if you want to hang out we can do that now

_narry is still sleeping lol i think hell be passed out for the whole day. did he sleep at all??

_he doesnt exactly need to but if hes using his powers he gets fucky if he doesnt :/

And then he waited for a response as he got dressed. Hmm, a blue flannel sounded nice today.

His phone pinged.

-Hey, Stanley. I’m in my garden, s’outside, in the left hand side of the woods assuming you’re facing away from the arena. Just, like, follow the direction the random trees are pointing. Like, the dirt gouges. :) it will lead you there. Maybe you can also see the stone tower?

_yeah okay!! im on my way now :D

He headed down out of the apartments, and headed into the forest. Which was… considerably more floral than he last remembered. Lots of black and white flowers. And blue ones. Oh, and a few sunflowers. He liked those.

He made his way into the clearing in quick time, and waved to {SCEPTER} immediately.

“Hey, Stanley!” She said. She was sitting, hood down, next to a pond shaped a bit like a crater. The flowers went up to the very edge of it. Around the edge of the clearing were fruit trees that were probably ready to be picked. On the right side was a massive stone pillar covered in ivy. It looked like it’d been grown from the ground.

{SCEPTER} had a pile of a few different kinds of fruits next to her in the flowers.

[Hi!] Stanley signed, walking over and sitting down across from her. [This is a nice spot!]

She tilted her head, “Thank you. I made it with my keyblade.” She smiled, turning a fruit of some kind over and over in her hands. It was about the size of her palm and a light blue color. It looked to be partially made of petals.

[Oh, that’s a cool fruit. Which one is that again?]

“Oh, this is- I haven’t named it yet. It’s kind of like a blueberry, I guess, but it’s something new. I dreamt it one time.” She offered it to him.

Stanley took it and held it gingerly, turning it over in his hand. He set it down in his lap to sign.

[You made this? Like, created it from nothing and from your imagination?]

“Well, yes, I suppose,” she said, and pointed to a low lying tree, almost a bush, along the edge of the clearing. It was pretty, he thought, but it had massive thorns almost everywhere. Come to think of it, all of the fruit trees did. “I grew it. Came from that one there.” She looked down at the pile, “I’m pretty sure most of these are either mixes or entirely something I made, actually. Not quite sure, though. Can’t really remember creating them.”

[Huh.] Stanley signed approvingly, looking at the rest of the fruits. [That’s… pretty fucking cool.]

“I’m glad you think so. Xigbar and Sora rushed out like ‘No! Stop!’” She picked up another fruit to hold- this one like an apple with pink spirals swirling all over it. “I’m afraid I can’t taste any of them,” She said sort of sadly, “If i’m right, that one-” She nodded towards the one she’d given him, “Should taste like vanilla, maybe. Half-remembered vanilla, perhaps.”

Stanley looked at it, and then carefully took a bite out of the fruit.

Hm.

[Vanilla, but not really all that sweet, which feels a bit weird, because most of the time you have vanilla in sweets, right? But it’s not like vanilla extract. Which I drunk one time because, y’know, it’s edible. But eugh, it’s bitter. Anyhow. That, and also a hint of just… kind of apple? Like, the apple wetness. But not the flavor. And the texture is like a grape.]

She smiled at him, “That’s how it tasted in my dream. I- it’s probably a bit odd because I haven’t tasted anything except swamp sauce and capsaicin in the last 2000 or so years, but you know.”

[I like it pretty well.] Stanley signed. [Can I try another one?]

“Of course!” She said, gesturing to the pile. “There’s a few of every kind here, I think. Though maybe I missed a few,” She looked around at the clearing.

Stanley picked up a fruit with a bright pink peel on the outside, which he took off, to reveal a green fruit segmented into little crescents which tessellated in a beautiful, spiraling manner.

He peeled out a segment and tried it.

[This one is sour, but also pretty sweet. It feels like how I want glowsticks to taste. Oh! Do you think it glows in the dark?]

She tilted her head, “Maybe.” She lifted the fruit she was holding to her mouth and took a bite- it sounded like a cartoonishly crisp apple. “I can taste this one,” she said, then pointed to a duplicate in the pile, “So be careful with it. It’s a sugar bomb.”

Stanley nodded, and chose to select instead a fruit that was remarkably yellow. It was shaped almost like a donut, with a strange webbed stem in the center that could easily be pushed out. He took a bite, and immediately felt an incredible sensation of deja vu. As a flavor.

Another bite. Huh, the seeds in here were twisting in a kind of weird way. This time, it was like a potato. Crossed with a raspberry. Crossed with a pineapple. Yeah, that was definitely deja vu.

[Tastes like deja vu. Which is potatoes, pineapples, and raspberries.]

“Oh, fascinating,” she said. He sensed an air of sadness around her.

[I mean, you might be able to taste the deja vu, even if you can’t taste all its parts? It’s a pretty overwhelming sensation.]

“Oh-” She smiled kind of sadly, “I think deja vu might be the last thing I need right now. It’s alright.”

Stanley looked at her, and reached out to pat her on the shoulder.

[Do you want to talk about… that now?]

After a moment, she nodded.

[Okay. So, uh. Your ex?]

“Yes. Worse than we thought.” She stared at the fruit in her hand. “I- have I told you I’m a mother? Or, I used to be?”

[Yeah, you mentioned it.] Stanley signed tensely.

“Well. Yeah. I had two daughters. Paphus was my eldest, I had her when I was one or so, and then Metharme, my youngest, when I was three. Paphus, when she was 14, we went on a walk in the woods and met the goddess Artemis. I… I let Paphus join her immortal maiden huntresses- they stay young forever. In retrospect, it was the best choice I’ve ever made, I think.”

Stanley stares at her for a bit, and then signs, with a sort of angry precision he doesn’t typically have.

[You were… one.]

She blinked, “Yes?”

[And you had a child. You– you got pregnant and had a child.]

She nodded, “Yes.” Like she didn’t see the problem with that.

Stanley stared at her, and then immediately went in for a tight hug.

He heard her gasp slightly, and then hug him back. After a moment she rested her head on his shoulder. 

He rubbed a gentle circle into her back with his hand, and didn’t let go. Nope. Not fucking letting go, they can just hang out here, together, and be comfy. Because this is somehow just the fucking start of what she wants to say.

Stanley doesn’t need to sign anything right now. He needs to hold onto his fucking friend.

“I-” he heard her say, “Stanley, that’s just background. That’s- I thought that was obvious. Of course I-”

He shook his head, and moved back to sign, but still remained close.

[No, that’s– that’s fucked up. You were one. Mentally one. You– that is what you meant, right? Because I count my age in a weird way too, but– you were a kid, right?]

She stared at the fruit in her hand, “I- I sort of came preloaded with some things. Knowledge of the gods, how to keep house-”

[That’s not… maturity. That isn’t what makes an adult.]

“I- I know, Stanley. I was- i still saw everything for the very first time. I was scared of the dark until well after Paphus was gone,” She said, “I- I still can’t read ancient greek, so. But that’s background. I- I knew all of that. That was my surface level understanding of ‘he sucks’.”

Stanley stared at her, took a moment to look up to the sky and stare deeply into it as he composed himself, and then looked back at {SCEPTER}.

[Okay. Go on.]

“Okay. So. I knew he was bad. I- I mean, admittedly-” she looked at him with uncertainty, “I-” she looked down, “I can’t talk to Xigbar about this part. I tried and he wouldn’t listen. Wouldn’t give an inch. I-” She looked up at him, sort of hopefully.

[What is it? I can at least listen.]

“Well, it’s-” She looked back down at her fruit, “My feelings towards him- [Name Redacted], they’re… complicated.”

[Okay. What sort of complicated?]

“I- I hate him, obviously. I’m scared of him. I want to- what did you say?” She looked up at him, “I want to put him in the ‘torment nexus’?”

[Yeah. Tormentatastic]

She smiled slightly, “Yeah. Well. He also. I- using a parallel, I sort of asked Xigbar if he thought, maybe, [Name Redacted] might have cared about me? Don’t answer yet!” she looked up at him, then back down, “I- I was there for sixty years. S-surely, he. I mean, he must’ve, right? I- I have these, these memories, of early on, he’d help me brush my hair, and- and show me how to do things. I- Xigbar wouldn’t give an inch. He was insistent. But.” she looked up at him with nothing but uncertainty, “He-? He can be the worst person ever and deserve to die and… still have cared? A little? Maybe?” 

Stanley thought for a good bit, and then nodded slowly.

[I think he probably cared. I just– I don’t know if he saw you as human. I don’t know if he saw me as human. And– whatever that care was, I don’t think it’s the same as… loving an equal. You know, the kind that… actual relationships are built upon. But sixty years? He has to have at least gotten… attached.]

She relaxed, looking up at him thankfully, “So I’m not crazy? I- it’s not some lingering will-issue-driven thought?”

[What? No. Did you think you were crazy? Like, genuinely?]

“I- I thought something was going on!” She waved her fruit around in her lap a little, “I don’t know about crazy, but. Irrational. Disconnected from reality. Deluded.”

[Oh. That’s… bad. Still bad. You’re– no, you’re not delusional, {SCEPTER}. You’re right. This is a complicated situation, and– at the very least, his stupid Tumblr shows that he’s possessive. And that means– well, possessiveness stems from a desire, right? And obsessive– obsession stems from an interest. I think. I haven’t ever taken psychology.]

She looked at him appreciatively. “I- I’m- yeah. Yeah.” she nodded. “Thank you. I- it’s hard to think of him like- like a monster, you know? I- every time I do, I remember when he’d bring home a new flower, or braid Paphus’s hair, or-.”

[You kicked him in the knee for me. Long as you can do that, you know, when it really counts? It’s okay if your thoughts are… weird. Confusing. Whatever. It’s your mind.]

She gave him half a smile, “If you liked the knee kick, wait until you hear what I did when he snuck up on me in the hallway with two teenagers and a blind Xigbar.”

[Xigbar was blind? Is he still blind? And please tell me how you hurt him. Dick.]

“He snuck up on Xigbar in the kitchen and punched him in his good eye. It swelled shut. It’s better now, I healed him. Anyway, Xigbar shot him in the leg, then. But later in the day, after Sora and Riku showed up to bring Xigbar and I back here, he snuck up on me, yelled out ‘[OMITTED LAYER 2]’, and i- i don’t really know what came over me, but I snatched one of Xigbar’s arrowguns and then pushed him and Sora and Riku into the apartment and locked them in. Then i ran him down like a bull. Hit him with the butt of the arrowgun, though. Life force connection and all that. Then I told him to crawl. Like a worm.”

[Oh, hell yeah. That’s sick.]

She smiled at him, then it faded and was replaced with a sort of ‘Welp!’ expression, “And this was before I knew about the thing Xigbar was hiding from me. I mentioned that yesterday?”

[Yeah, you did. I. Fuck, what was it?]

“Well.” She said, her voice taking that gossipy tone she had yesterday, “So- and I’m saying this lightly or else I’ll turn into a tree- I told you about Paphus just now, how she went to the hunters? Well. Metharme did Not Do That. Metharme stayed at home and grew up and got married, and-” She froze, “Shit, I just realized I kind of left this entire detail out. [Name Redacted] was the king of Cyprus. I was a queen during all of this, by the way-”

[You were a fucking queen? Like. A queen. And you still had to do housework for him.]

She sort of tilted her head and gave a sardonic grin, “Yeah. What a dick, right?”

[Major dick. Okay, so… Metharme.]

“Okay, yeah. Uh. Trigger warning for, like, fucking everything, okay?”

[It’s [name redacted], that… kinda seems to be a given for him. You can go on.]

“I’m gonna tell it like I remember it, and then I’ll tell you how I found out what actually happened, alright? So- here I am, age, like, whatever. 23 plus 3, so 26 I guess. Metharme had gotten married, everything is great! Well one day, she goes missing. And we never find her, ooOOoooOooh~” She wiggled her fingers at him, clearly trying to add levity. 

[Yeah, alright.] Stanley said, smiling a little, even though he was not feeling that smiley. He, in fact, wanted to sort of just. Combination hug {SCEPTER} and also torment nexus [name redacted] and also get married to Narry and also see Cesare and play hangman. Just. Only good things. That would make him smiley.

He still smiles, because the attempt was good. Just. Hard to be funny when there’s… y’know. Everything else.

“So,” She said, “I’m a husk of a person back then, so I don’t really question it. I mean, I question it, but what can I do? So I don’t. I just wait until Artemis- the goddess- eventually gives me a brief blessing of will and then I took off in the night. And for a long time, I didn’t really think about it any deeper than ‘she went missing’. But then, I’m like, ‘I wonder if I have any descendants’, so I go to wikipedia and it turns out I have a fuck ton?? I’m talking like, Heracles and shit. He’s my great great fuck off great grandson. On his mother’s side, obviously. Like, I have descendants that are gods, Stanley, because Heracles became a god and then had kids. Like- woah? But- do you see the issue yet? With this picture?”

[Yeah. Cause. Paphus’s an immortal 14 year old. So no kids from her. And, you only had two kids.]

“Yes, exactly. And I’m thinking, ‘these have gotta be descendants of Metharme’. Only I don’t remember her having any kids before she went missing. And when I try to go to her wikipedia page, it just jumps to Beroe’s- that the earliest descendant I could trace, and that’s my great granddaughter. So I’m missing Metharme and her mysterious child. And I’m like, ‘Okay, so it’s not working for me. Maybe it will work for Xigbar’- and I’m like ‘Hey, Xigbar, can you look up Metharme?’ and he’s like ‘Yeah, sure doll’, and I'm like ‘cool’. And then I don’t hear anything back for like two days on the subject.”

[Ohhh no.]

“Yeeeaaahhhhhh-” she said, “So I’m like, ‘hey bestie, did it work for you?’ and looks at me and is like ‘no’ and I IMMEDIATELY know he’s bullshitting me, he gets this look. And I’m all trying to give him opportunities to backtrack and he doesn’t. So i’m like, ‘Okay, he knows what happened, and it’s bad bad.’ Yeah?”  

[Yeah, that’s reasonable. I mean, I don’t think he’d fuck around with you.]

She nodded, “And like- I drop it. I’m like, ‘he’s not gonna tell me’, so I drop it. But now it’s driving me nuts. So I- later that night- I grab two things of Swamp Sauce and down one and I go wander in the woods to yell at the gods. As you do. But I don’t find the gods in the woods, I find Xigbar’s dad.”

[Oh. Is he… bad?]

“He-” She sort of waved her hand, “He’s culty and weird and, you know, a biblically accurate angel, and he forced Xigbar to do his dirty work for 2000 years while he completely ignored him- but he’s not all bad. I’ve learned to tolerate him. For Xigbar.”

[Okay. So does this… yelling at Xigbar’s dad, how’s that go?]

“Well first I was yelling at a thingy in a tree, and then I realized it was Xigbar’s dad. But anyway I yell some shit that I don’t remember because I was trashed on two full flasks of swamp sauce. And then he unblocks me on tumblr as a sign of goodwill and then we have a conversation, and I’m all like ‘Xigbar is lying to meee’” She mimicked a cry, almost mocking herself, “and he’s all like, ‘yeah, he does that’, and then I’m like ‘My daughter probably got chased by a god and turned into a treeeee’  and he’s all like ‘I’m so sorry’-”

[Wait. Wait. Hold up. Tree? Why-- why would you think she was a tree?]

“I’m from ancient Greece, Stanley,” She tossed the apple-like fruit from hand to hand, “That’s just how it was back then. Sometimes you just turned into a tree. But anyway, so I’m talking to the Xigdad, and I’m all ready to tell him my name because I’m drunk and sad and lonely, but he already knows it, and I’m like, ‘well if you know who I am, do you know what happened to Metharme?’ and bitch goes ‘yes i do’ and I’m like ‘say more right now.’  Ready?” She leaned in a bit.

[Yeah.] Stanley signed, straightening up a bit as if to brace for the news.

“He tells me, that she was- trigger warning for [nickname redacted] shit- Cursed by a goddess to lust after my goddamn ex husband. You know, her father?”

[Oh no.] he signed. He took a moment to rapidly tap his fingers together, processing this information, and then he signed, very empathetically, [Fuck!]

“Fuck indeed, Stanley!” She said, nodding, her air still that of someone sharing gossip, “Fuck indeed. She goes into his room. And then. Yeah.”  She said, “And then! And then! She snaps out of it, runs into the woods, and turns into a tree. So I was right about one thing, at least.”

[I still don’t get how… the tree thing is normal. But alright.]

“Sometimes you just feel so bad about yourself that some god takes pity and trees you.” She said.

[Okay. So, uh-- so how do we get. I mean, I. She has to have a kid, yeah?]

She nodded as he signed, “The baby simply exits the tree.”

[What about her original husband? What happened with that guy?]

“I was there for that,” She said, waving her hand, “He ended up challenging Apollo to a thingy and then Mars killed him, like it was his business. Mars,” She said emphatically, “A roman god. Hello?”

[Yeah, I still don’t… get that. I just-- man, this tree thing must have been really normal. Like, who found her kid? Did he know about how she got cursed? To, uh, lust. Not the tree. I take it the tree was more of a blessing.]

“Y- Okay. Hold on. Back to the story, okay? So Xigdad tells me then and I start wailing, just losing it, and I’m about to cry out for, like, the tree thing to happen to me, yeah? Because I can’t take it. But Xigdad, he comes down and he’s like, ‘Hey, take my coat, you look cold’ so I do, and then he sort of half-carries me back to Xigbar and I konk out on him instantly. Xigbar, not his dad. And I wake up in the morning, blah blah blah, Xigbar and I watch Tangled, blah blah, I ask him, ‘What god cursed Metharme to do that’- and this motherfucker-” She held up her hands in a sort of ‘you’re not gonna believe this’ way- “Stanley, have I told you who my fucking mother is?”

[I don’t… think so. No. I know [nickname redacted] was your dad, kinda, in a weird way, but not your mom.]

“My mother-” She said, “Who brought me to life, was Aphrodite, okay? Guess who fucking cursed my daughter, Stanley.”

[Uh. Her.]

“Mmhmm!” She said in a sort of high pitched voice, sounding angry now, “My mother cursed my daughter to fuck my husband! And then turn into a tree! Now, Stanley, it gets worse yet! Are you ready?”

[I. I guess so? How can it get worse?] he signed, cringing a bit.

“The baby, yeah? Name’s Adonis. He is found, by, you guessed it, Aphrodite! And then he grows up, and has a motherfucking kid with- You guessed it! Aphro-motherfucking-dite!”

[Oh… oh, that’s just… erghhhhhh. She. What, she has to have raised him, right?]

“Ha! As if-” She paused, “Sorry. He’s rubbing off on me. But no! She didn’t raise him, she took him to the fucking underworld to be raised! By Persephone! And then she came back once he was grown, and- augh!” She waved her hands around, disgusted.

[Very gross.] Stanley signed in agreement.

“An-y-way-” she said, “That’s all I know so far. About that. There’s only one question left, and I was like ‘Hey Xigbar, do you know this?’ and he went ‘yeah’ and I’m like ‘Should I ask?’ and he went ‘Please no’, so I haven’t yet. It’s just- Where was I during all of this? And it’s like, sure, I don’t want to know, but I need to know!”

[I-- huh. Yeah. I-- I mean, if you need to, then… ask him. Or me! I can also check, right?]

She sighed, “I’m sure you can, Stanley, I do think it would work for you. But-” She sort of waffled, “I want to hear it from Xigbar, if I decide I want to hear it. Finish what he started, you know?”

[Okay. Yeah, I mean. You asked for him to tell you originally. And he lied. You have a right to know about your own fucking daughter.]

“Literally!” She said, “Thank you! Xigdad said the name thing! I- his names not Xigdad, it’s ‘ThE mAsTeR oF MaStErS’ but I’m not fucking calling him that. So Xigdad it is.”

[Oh yeah that’s really stupid. That’s not a name. That’s like. Two titles pretending to be a name. That are trying too hard.]

“Yeah, no, literally-” she said, “I have an excuse to be going by Showrunner- I mean, 1, it was originally to hide from [name redacted], and 2, I’m not fucking going by [OMMITED LAYER 2]. Oh, and 3, [OMMITED LAYER 2]’s not my name anymore. My keyblade took it-” She summoned her keyblade- it was a giant ornate key that was pink. It had a stripe along the stem that looked like Xigbar’s hair.

[Yeah. I-- I’m not. {SCEPTER} I literally date a guy who is the Narrator. Showrunner is cool. ‘Master of Masters’ is silly.]

“Thank you!” She said, “And he only calls himself that because he taught keyblade-ism or whatever to a bunch of people who eventually became masters of keyblade-ism themselves, but that’s like- that's just how it works? Oh, yeah, by the way, I got my keyblade from Xigbar, he said a poem thingy, he’s a keyblade master, he can do that.”

[Can I have one?]

She paused for a moment, looking at hers, “I think so. He’s probably not gonna want to, but like, I can be like, ‘Xigbar, you’re being mean and that hurts my feelings’ and he’ll cave.”

[Cause it just. I don’t necessarily feel like I really have to, but I think it’d be cool, y’know?]

“Oh, yeah, no, definitely. Mine was mostly just for shits and giggles with a side of therapy.”

[Oh, speaking of therapy-- is there anything else you need to like, get out of your system? Any more shit with your ex?]

“Ummmm,” She said, tilting her head and thinking. She dismissed her keyblade in a flash of light, “Hm. I’m not sure! That’s mostly what’s been eating me lately. I mean, there’s the whole issue of, like, being reminded of his expectations of me or whatever, but like, the combo of having a keyblade- a manifestation of my heart, and it doesn’t look like a wedding ring?- and Xigbar being, like, a normal fucking person, comparatively, that’s fading a bit. I was actually able to cook without feeling strangled. Made jackets, too.”

[Oh! That’s nice! If you do have stuff you want to talk about, y’know, I’m here.]

She nodded, then was quiet for a little while.

Stanley reached over to hug her again.

She squeezed him back, and then let go. “The Narrator and I vaguely talked things out, by the way.”

He looked at her with some amount of surprise. [You talked?]

“Of course we talked.” she tilted her head, “I had to let him out of the snowglobe, and then I-”

[I didn’t think you’d do it personally. And I-- even if you did, I didn’t think you’d want to be around him. You don’t like him.]

“It’s not that I didn’t like him, Stanley, it’s that I feared him. But after the first time I came to visit you, check in on his progress fixing you, that mostly went away.”

[I mean. Yeah. Like, you can fear him, and he definitely has the capability to do… a lot of shit. But that doesn’t mean he’s just… going to.]

She nodded, “Yeah, well, I didn’t fear him for any eldritch reasons. If that’s the case, I’d be shaking in my boots from Xigdad. No-” She shook her head.

[Oh. The-- creating.]

“Yeah,” she said, “But then, during the talk, he found [name redacted] not only ridiculous, but also Yucky, and then indulged me in a bit of a talk. Oh, and he agreed to some additional nerfs- which I didn’t end up going through with! Aside from Necrogenesis, get that shit outta here- and said he’d listen to my authority, which had a large part in calming me down.”

Stanley nodded approvingly. [That’s good.]

“Yeah.” she said, “he-” she rolled her eyes, “during my little meltdown that made this clearing, he did  kind of show up and tell me I was inconveniencing him?? Which was rude. And he tried to give Xigbar a concussion or a broken neck or worse, which was SO fucking ruder, like excuse me that’s my goon and boyfriend-” she looked at him “I know. I know. Train Tracks, whatever. It was still rude, he did it right in front of me after he’d agreed not to do that. Tried to drop a big ass computer on his head, must’ve weighed, what, 15 pounds? more?”

Stanley winced slightly and then covered his mouth. To hide the small giggle. He really hoped it worked. Fuck. That would definitely have hurt, but also, kind of funny.

[Yeah.] he signed after a bit. [I, uh. He’s like that.]

She raised an eyebrow at him in a friendly sort of way, “I saw that laugh, Stanley.”

[Look it would be funny. Like a cartoon anvil. Right?]

“Except Xigbar’s not a cartoon.”

[He’s from a video game.]

She held back a giggle, and said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about Stanley. The name Tetsuya Nomura means nothing to me, and Kingdom Hearts is a place and a concept.”

[{SCEPTER} I had to genuinely believe that for a good bit so. Please stop. Actually.]

She said, “Yeah, okay, Sorry. You should talk to Sora, he’s delightful, and he’s not in denial like Xigbar is. He actually asked for the games so he could play them.”

[Xigbar’s… still in denial.]

“I honestly think it stems from a fear of losing what little control over his life he has. I get that.”

Stanley smirked at that. [Yeah. He definitely was upset when I suggested-- the horror-- that there was nothing he could do. Which, you know. Was genuinely horrifying for him. But honestly. It’s-- that happens. That’s life.]

“Yeah,” she said, “But- uh, nothing he could do about what?”

[About you being gone. For the time being, you know, while we were waiting for me to get summoned.]

She tilted her head, smiling fondly, “Aww, he likes me. Cringe.”

Stanley groaned. [You’re literally dating.]

“I know! I’m half making fun of him because he cannot take a compliment without turning it around. I think he’s scared. It’s kind of exhausting, honestly?”

[{SCEPTER}, he’s not here. Do you. Oh, do you want to bitch about him some more? I’m still really fucking pissed I think I need to like. Do a few things to annoy him.]

She smiled, “Annoy him, huh?”

[Clip a radio out of bounds and make it consistently play a song he hates to annoy him.]

“Hey, careful there. He and I share an apartment,” She said, smiling.

[Okay, well. What’s a song you like, that he doesn’t?]

“Honestly I’m not sure,” she said, “We haven’t really listened to music much. I’ll get back to you on that.”

[Fair enough. I’ll shelf that idea for now. Definitely doing it at some point, though.]

“Um-” She said, “About the compliment thing- lowkey, next time he does it, I kinda wanna just start being like, ‘Oh, me liking you in cringe? I’ll go talk to, uh, Axel then, he seems cool’- and just replace the coworker name. Mess with him. I think it’d be funny. Some of them are dead, but,” She smiled, “You know me.”

Stanley nodded awkwardly. [Yeah, I don’t have the best… relationship advice? I don’t have advice on relationships, period.]

“Not advice, really. Just messing with him. Make him squirm.”

[Oh, well. I definitely encourage fucking with him.]

She nodded, then said, “You really should talk to Sora. We can talk about Xigbar behind his back together.”

[Oooh. Sleepover night?]

“If Sora wanted to, that’d be so fun. We could-” She grinned, “We could play Kingdom Hearts?”

[Wait holy shit. Wait you can summon stuff. What if. Yes to kingdom hearts but also you could summon my game? Gods I wonder what that would even do.]

“Right, because you got pulled in normally,” she said, “What if we load it up and it’s empty?”

[I don’t think that’d… I don’t know? I mean, there’s like-- as I understand it, from my friend-- well, semi-friend-- 432-- there’s an theoretically infinite number of parables. And those are the copies of the video game. So. They’re probably still working. Hm. The Narrator might know?]

“That’d be crazy, though, wouldn’t it?” She smiled. “Uh, we could ask him, I guess.”

[I would like it if my friend and my boyfriend could also be friends.] Stanley signed with a smile.

“Sentences I also say about everyone else I know.” She said jokingly.

[Okay. How about that, then? I try being friends with Xigbar, and you do the same for Narry.]

“I have been trying that,” She said, “I’ve been practicing my utmost diplomacy.”

[Yeah, but I wasn’t there. And-- oh, you tried to be diplomatic?]

She said, “I mean, yeah. That’s generally my first step before being friendly.”

[If you-- yeah. Yeah, but, you see, he’s… him. So he’ll treat diplomacy with diplomacy. And, even beyond that, to get into his emotional core? You have to piss him off a bit. Specific sort of way. Over something he knows is kind of stupid or meaningless in the grand scheme.]

“I could kick his ass at Mario kart?”

[Yeah! Yes, exactly! But don’t insult his skill, he’s… he’s really insecure, honestly. Just do it, and like, still keep playing Mario Kart. Brag about your own skill, but don’t hit down at him.]

“Oh, I know, believe me. I’ve dealt with artist types before,” She said, waving her hand, then froze, “I- I don’t mean that in a-”

[It’s okay.] Stanley signed tensely. [They’re-- yeah. Artist types. In general.]

She nodded, “Yeah. Anyway, I kind of picked up on that during our talks. After the whole computer incident I left him alone for a little while then came back and apologized- for Xigbar. I didn’t do anything wrong there. But next step after that was ‘Oh, I see you’re working so hard, and that takes skill’- you get it.”

Stanley nodded, still a bit apprehensive, but agreeing nonetheless.

She paused- “Is something wrong?”

[Yes. But I don’t really want to-- it’s not-- it’s not something we can fix.]

She tilted her head at him, “Something I said?”

[Yes. But I don’t-- I don’t want to go into it any more.]

She was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “Very well. I- I don’t quite understand what, but very well.” she picked up a fruit that ranged in color from white to blue to orange to red, and nibbled it. Her eyes widened, “Oh! Spice bomb. That, I can taste.”

Stanley nodded, picked up one of the swirled apples, and took an overwhelmingly sugary bite.

[hollywoodx4]

Sticking With the Schuylers (22)

Hi, thank you for reading :)

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   11   12   I   13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18C  I   19   20   21 

The room smells like paint; a light and slightly pungent odor that lingers in the air, stronger in some places than others but present throughout the entire vicinity. The walls are cold stone and the floors chilled tile, but to Eliza they’re the only cool pieces to the place. There is warmth, radiating from primary colors and imperfect handwriting, chalk-dust on fingers and pattering feet on tile.

               Tiny voices resonate throughout the room, whose acoustics are perfect for projecting them even through the crowded floors space of child-sized furnishings and tiny bodies jumping around the floor. There’s an older woman in the room as well, hair just beginning to grey, who sits at the large and worn-down desk at the front. She shuffles a stack of papers idly, glancing up every so often to take notice of what is going on around her. She catches Elizabeth’s eye.

               She smiles in return before her attention is back on the task at hand; currently, she has the twenty, five year-old students around her in a circle. Her voice bellows above its usual tone as she weaves a tale for them, something from her own mind. She gauges their reactions as she spins around them, the flow of the story changing along with what they like and dislike. And there’s voices-grand voices and tiny voices, accents and hushed tones, until Eliza herself is wrapped into the fantasy world she’s created.

               “Miss Schuyler is the princess!” One of her little girls squeals as she hops on two feet, along with the tide of the story. They’re currently trying to get the princess out of the swamp and into the forest, where there’s a waiting mama bird and an old willow tree. Each of her twenty students looks on with wide, enraptured eyes. Tiny hands are cupped in front of their bodies-to hold their baby birds-each personalized to their own imagination.

               Eliza laughs, then, shaking her head.

               “We’re all the princess.”

               “No, just you-you’re the best princess of all.”

               She beams, letting the praise of her young students wash over her. They fill her with an unprecedented amount of joy; even when her lead teacher hadn’t been so accepting of a tabloid queen being placed in her classroom to student teach. Even on the days where the parents look at her differently, picking their children up from school with that same look in their eyes, the ‘I know who you are…’ No, not even the days where all twenty of her students are acting up can distract her from her happiness.

               Elizabeth Schuyler was made for teaching.

               And she repeats this, over and over, to anybody who is willing to ask. Early on it had been John who, after making her vanilla soy latte, shook his head and laughed at her with a raised hand.

               “Do you even have to work?”

               “No,” She snatches her drink from the counter and spins around, speaking to him over her retreating shoulder. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”

               This year was her first year student teaching-not her first year in a classroom, however. She’d spent most of her high school years volunteering after school with middle schoolers from the inner city. She’d also been a tutor, and a safe-walk for the youngest students who couldn’t travel home through the city alone after school. And none of it had ever felt too taxing, or too much for her time. The volunteering had been fun-she played games with the middle schoolers, helped them with their homework…Eliza had built relationships with them in her four years in the program. These were children who began to look up to her-who trusted her, and looked forward to her time.

               When she entered college, Eliza had decided to switch over to tutoring more often than not. There was a certain privilege that came along with working one-on-one with somebody, sitting in quiet library atmospheres and pushing them through their next academic goal. Usually it was the languages that she taught; how to write a sentence in Spanish, the proper inflection of voice in Italian. And her students were (usually) eager, chugging along the work with her until they both had something to be proud of. She loved making children feel that pride-that sense of pure accomplishment. There’s a swelling of her heart that is set off by it, one that she’s not sure she can live without.

               Which brought her to freshman year; to Columbia, sitting through countless lectures on child safety and proper techniques and a will to do the world better.  That first day, sitting in the front of her class with all eyes suddenly on her-the snickering, the cell-phone cameras clicking in muted tones…it had driven her nuts. And every day after that, the amount of her peers who looked at her and asked why she wanted to be a teacher when she could just ‘live for free’ for the rest of her life-it bothered her to no end.

               Eliza Schuyler is driven by a passion that comes from within her; the core need within herself to bring a light to lives that weren’t touched by it. It’s the only thing she has that’s her own-outside of her family and their traditions and their rules. It’s what’s set her apart. And so when she begged her father to let her study education-had given him a speech fueled with fiery eyes and a tearful, passionate smile-he hadn’t been able to say no. In fact, he admired her drive toward her goal.

               She’d been blessed ever since.

               Today is a good day. It is Wednesday-there’s more room for free-time on Wednesday, allotted in the schedule made by the classroom teacher. It’s one of the philosophies Eliza had loved from the start. Wednesdays are for two things; celebrating the fact that the week is half over, and preparing ourselves for the other half. They also have physical education as their elective on Wednesdays, so Eliza’s allotted the time to run around the gymnasium with the rambunctious six and seven year olds, learning field hockey and basketball and jump rope as much as their young minds can be taught. And then, there’s story time.

               This is the end of the day; the kids sit or lay sprawled over the carpet, Eliza grasping their full attention as they make up a story together. Last week, it had been a rocket ship, space-themed one full of aliens and made-up science terms. They’d just completed a unit on the solar system. This week, for some reason, the idea had come to one of her students to create a princess world. It may have been the general fact that a good number of her students were obsessed with anything princess, but no matter. Miss Schuyler is excellent at improv.

               After their bonding she sends them all on their way, on one side of the door while her classroom teacher is on their other. They hug, prolonged and urgent, before meeting their after school walk home. Wednesday is also a good day because she is not on duty. Typically she looks forward to the walk-homes, accompanied by another teacher as they trek their familiar route from home to home, chatting and getting to know the children. She used to volunteer most Wednesdays anyway, just to pass the time.

               Now, she can’t wait to get back to Alexander’s.

               It’s a ritual, and beautiful in the way that it came about so naturally. The first Wednesday, the second week of their relationship, he’d asked her if she’d be too busy to come and watch reruns of How I Met Your Mother with him. He’d never seen the show, and she’d gotten him hooked on it. The caveat of the Netflix binge, however, was that he refused to watch an episode without her. It took away from the experience, he’d said, to watch without her.

               She has this silent commentary-a laugh milliseconds before a joke, a smile upon seeing a couple interact that makes the show ten times more enjoyable. And Alexander, being completely honest with himself, would admit that the show itself isn’t his absolute favorite. But Eliza’s reactions would make the grade any day of the week, any show she’d pick.

               Every Wednesday, Eliza walks the same path to Alex’s after school lets out. There’s the corner store-the old, kindly man who likes to sit and chat with passersby. Then there’s the subway station, a flower shop with a little café attached to it….

               Eliza’s distracted as she walks down the familiar route. There’s a certain level of busting throughout the city that leaves her in a transcendental moment-eyes scanning, never wanting to leave the beauty of a normal New York day. There’s nothing spectacular different about the day; the same people, the same shops…but there’s a drumming in her heart that leads her along. It’s Wednesday-it’s their day.

               An eager excitement; yearning, calling-it wills her feet to move faster, her posture higher, her smile wider. Elizabeth Schuyler does not want to hide her face. She does not want to look away-even when a stranger leaves their volume on as they pass, sound effects of a camera obvious to her trained ears. She almost wishes she’d stopped for a photo. But the drumming beats on.

               The drumming beats on and soon it is rapid-frantic. She shakes her head as her breathing becomes staggered, choking and holding. A cool, venomous numbness courses from the tense muscles of her shoulders through her tendons. Each ligament holds its own proportion of the sinking weight but each dose is lethal. Suddenly, she’s immobile. Suddenly, she’s back to last year again. Suddenly.

               Her body reacts before her mind can process the picture of what she’s just seen. And then it happens all at once; flashes of the past meld into the present so fast that she has trouble distinguishing the difference. There is no line between reality and memory, only a frantic, blurred frenzy of vision that she can’t seem to piece into coherent thoughts. But there’s a moment-a vivid, horrifying moment-where those memories come together and inhabit themselves into her present.

               Those memories find themselves in a body; in a pair of boots distressed by their manufacturer; dark wash jeans only worn twice before deemed useless. Then, there’s the copper-colored jacket, with an inanimate ability to smother her in its authentic leather scent and warmth-turned-ember heat.

               Brown eyes engulf her in flames-angry, rippling. Ever-present. And there is so much to be read in those dark orbs, so much that she finds them to be crystal balls, all-telling about the future ahead. What would the path be like tonight, now that he’d come home? She’d wait in a semi-visible spot, eyes trained on the door, a casual cover activity in her hands.                The jingling of keys.

               The clicking of an open door.

               His eyes were always ashen. Coal-ridden. Ready to be stoked and brought to a furious life.

               It takes her longer to pull her phone from her bag than it does to make the decision. Her thumb barely hovers over the green call button this time. She’s certain, sure. Terrified.

               The other line only rings once before it’s picked up.

               Eliza can barely form a sentence, lips caught in a tremor as her eyes scan the area on constant state of observance. The line of reality is still blurred. Her vision is blurred. A buzzing resides throughout every fiber of her body. The voice on the phone calls her name. She shakes her head.

“Okay, so I might be going crazy but just keep talking to me while I walk and don’t freak out.” It comes out in a sort of jargon barely understood, but somewhere between her cut-off words and shaking voice he’s able to understand most of what she’s said.

“What’s…why?” Alexander. If her body could speak it would shout his name to the heavens, wrap it within herself for safe keeping. A portion of her tension rises. She can walk. Her limbs begin to move faster. Her eyes continue to search.

“I’ll tell you when I get there.”

“Tell me now, you’re making me nervous.”

“Okay, I’m by the crepe place on Columbus and I-I don’t know if it was real or if it was just-I think-I’m pretty sure I just saw James.”

“You mean-“

“Yeah.” A pause. Eliza’s not even sure what she’s agreeing to-her head is swimming, begging to find its place anywhere away from this transcendental nightmare.  “Are you there?”

“You’re on Columbus?”

“Yeah”

“Keep walking, I’m on my way. Stay on the phone with me and listen around you.”

“Alex, it’s okay. I should be fine. I’m probably just seeing things.”

“I’m on my way.” Alexander’s tone is so gruff, so certain, that it takes her a moment to collect herself. She can practically see him now-through the tone of his voice his body is tensed but his movements are chaotic, sporadic. There’s an inflection in the natural timbre of his voice that leads her to believe that he’s nervous, running. There’s not a moment where he’s not running. There’s a certain comfort in knowing that he’s running to her.

“Okay.”

“Where did you see him?”

“It probably wasn’t even him.”

“Eliza.”

“Coming out of a diner.”

“I swear to god Eliza if I see him.” He lets the sentence linger, piecing the rest of it together in his own mind while she does the same. Both completions are frantic, worrisome. Neither is tame. She breathes in the cold air, counting, when she sees him-he waves a frantic arm at her, weaving in and out of the crowd that separates them. And as he approaches there’s a moment-a collapse.

She finds herself crying into the shoulder of Alexander’s hoodie in disbelief. Her body shakes back and forth along with his-he’s clutching onto her; underneath her shoulders, on her waist, until his hands finally find space on the small of her back. Her own have trouble weaving themselves out of his grasp to return the embrace so instead she sighs into it, letting the weight leave her body as her eyes close in an involuntary reflex of relief.

Look at those eyes.

There’s an earthiness about the deep brown-soft and concerned when he finally pulls away to look her over. He’s a steadfast presence, one hand wrapped soft around her waist and unwilling to let go. Alexander is soft actions and pure intentions, guiding her down the street the way he came. He wills his mind to dodge the flurry of questions that rattle his mind and instead asks her about her day-her students, her time. She leans her head on his shoulder, an arm around his waist.

Eliza is warm. Eliza is happy. Eliza is safe.

Schuyler by Day: Eliza’s Arm-candy in NYC Daylight.

               Kudos to the fan photographer who snapped recent photographs of social media starlet and senator’s daughter Elizabeth Schuyler walking downtown with a new man on her arm-and in his arms, too. The couple was spotted walking along Columbus late Wednesday afternoon, Schuyler dressed in an impeccable powder-blue bow-front Chanel dress. Her arm candy? Jeans and a layered look, long-sleeved Columbia shirt being the forefront.

               What shocked us more? The new man’s new do, how different his look differs from ex James Reyonld’s? Or was it the thought of Reynolds himself, who was quoted just last week by a reliable source saying just how much he wanted Schuyler back? What do you think? Team #Jeliza, or Team #Mysteryman? Either way, we’re pretty sure the luckiest man is any man who gets a Schuyler.

                               The newspaper crinkles as it closes.

               He folds it, twice one way and twice the other, before tucking it in the back pocket of his dark jeans.

               He rises from the table, wooden legs creaking against old floors, leaving a twenty dollar bill before heading to the counter.

               “Americano to go. Quickly.” He slides another twenty across the counter, voice smooth and seductive behind shining eyes and a pearly white grin. The barista holds back a flustered giggle, blinking at him before asking for his name.

               It’s record time when his drink comes out, before five others that had been standing in line before him. They scoff as he passes them, swaggering steps, to the counter.

               “I have an Americano for James.”