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wincestisasincest · 4 years

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The Green Book (Thorin’s Company x Reader, Part 2)

Hey gang! Sorry it took so long to get a Part 2! I wish I had a better excuse but in reality I just watched all of Game of Thrones and cried a lot.

I don’t know if anyone reads these descriptions, also, but if you are, send me asks/suggestions for characteristics of the reader, or objects that they have on them, or even pairings! I love to hear what people think, and will almost definitely incorporate them into this.

Summary: (Y/n) falls into Middle Earth. Shocker. Somehow, she gets recruited to join a party of dwarves on their kinda crazy mission to reclaim their home of Erebor.

Part: 1, 2

Tags (let me know if you want to be added to the list!): @stuckupstucky, @dianaarelyfernandezgarza97

Words: 1820

Warnings: Plot clichés, vomit

“Do not touch her face.”

“But uncle, look at her! Who knows what else she could be hiding? We should check to be sure.”

“Do not. Touch. Her face.”

“What if it gets her to wake up?”

“Lad, if you touch her face I’ll poke yours a lot harder with the back of my hand.”

“Right, right, sorry.”

“I believe, at the moment, there is a greater threat that deserves our attention.”

My eyes fluttered open, only to be met with several new faces, looking just about as shocked as I did. Though I didn’t get an in depth look, they all had thick brows, long hair, and even longer beards. They had also taken to certain sacks, made out of burlap. I couldn’t really make out the scene clearly as it was quite dark, a proper nighttime like I had missed earlier, but there was the aggressive firelight with shadows passing over it that illuminated their expressions.

I tried to move, only to realize that I was in a very similar situation. A sack was up to my neck, and though I could move freely inside of it, the toughness of the fabric and the smallness of the sack was very limiting.

“Psst. Hey! Lass!” I turned my eyes up only to meet with a blonde haired man, with braided bears and hair like a lion’s mane. I raised my eyebrows in response to his question.

“Yes?” I answered meekly.

“Hey, is that the lass?” Another young, spry voice answered from over the rest of the bodies.

“Both of you, shut up!” A rather authoritative voice, quite deep, and apparently coming from someone with no sense of humor, rose over the din.

“Ey, stop ya talkin’ or I’ll cook yew first!” I looked up, only to be met with a pallid, monstrous face leering at the group of men. It held a slightly spiked club with its massive fingers as it scrunched its snot filled nose.

It took nearly all of my willpower not to scream, but I did allow a gasp to escape. I turned to the blonde man, and scooted a little closer.

“What the fuck is that?” I whispered frigthfully.

“A troll, it would seem.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What?!” I responded, just confused as this man dispensed tales from fantasy novels like they were fact.

“What are they gonna do to us?!” I continued my interrogation.

“Well, I think that they’re planning to eat us, but don’t you worry. We won’t let that happen.” He gave me a confident wink like there was a chance of escape, before going back to angrily grunting against his sack.

I sighed and leaned back, trying to absorb the situation. I couldn’t get a good periphery. If only I had my backpack, or something.

Some sparse conversation between a smaller, meeker voice and the larger one of the troll was occurring to my left, though I was too dazed to make out most of it. Something about worms.

The group then began caterwauling, all moaning about how they were riddled with the worst possible worms, and I had caught on to their scheme. If they were riddled with worms, then the trolls, of course, wouldn’t want to eat them.

“What about her? She seems fine.” My vision went from blurry to dreadfully straight as the great club in front of me came into focus. Shit.

“I, uh-” I struggled against my frightened breathing to put on a convincing performance. It would not be an exaggeration to say that my life depended on it.

“I have the worst case of all.” I used my tired breathing to my advantage, before employing a trick that I had learned on the playground in elementary school. I crossed both my eyes, before rolling them back into my head, creating the gross, veiny effect that used to make the younger kids throw up.

I pretended to struggle against my health once more as I tried to spit out more improvisation, not even realizing the great number of eyes watching me. The only thing that I was focused on was the grossed-out fear in the eyes of the troll, who had clearly never seen such grade school witchcraft.

“We all got it from eating a herd of cows that had worms,” I added, “That’s how it gets passed on.”

“She’s lyin!” One of the other trolls, because of course there were other trolls, yelled from the back.

“Did you see what ‘er eyes did? You can’t make that up!” I had finally had the will to stand up, like an attorney defending someone in court.

To my left, there was a very short creature, assuming that he was standing at his full height, of course, with brown skin and blonde, curly hair. He seemed just as scared as I.

The larger troll hustled closer and whipped out a long, rusty knife that was hitched to his hip, holding it up to my throat. I could feel it biting into my jaw as some blood trickled, but I held my resolve.

“Why don’t I just cut you open to see them worms, girl?” He snarled. I heard a few gasps from behind me, before one tried to scramble its way out of my own throat.

“I was going to die soon anyway because of my disease, you would be doing me a favor by ending the pain,” The troll eased his knife slightly, and I saw his expression falter as he realized that he hadn’t succeeded in visibly scaring me.

“That would be all that it’s good for!” The small creature added, his voice rising almost an octave, “The worms are completely clear, you wouldn’t see anything.”

I nodded, under the pressure of the blade still to my throat.

“The only way to find out would be, of course, to eat us and die,” I added an edge of harshness to those last words, “Ready to take that chance?”

“The dawn will take you all!” A booming voice shouted from behind me. Though I didn’t turn around swiftly enough, I heard the cracking of rock and saw the rays of the sunrise spilling out over the three trolls on front of me, who were very swiftly turned to no more than stone.

I jerked my throat away from the blade, which was now completely stone, and struggled to release myself from my burlap prison. My struggle, however, was ended by a sharp force slicing through the back of it and dropping to the floor, exposing my body to the rest of the world. It felt new to have the wind on my skin. I turned around to face my savoir.

“Well, you’re a new face, aren’t you?”

The first clear look that I had gotten at a person in a long time and it was, of course, Gandalf the Grey. Given how perceptive he was, I was sure that he caught the glint of recognition in my eyes, though he chose to say nothing.

I turned to the side, only for my fears to be confirmed. Slowly crawling out of their sacks was a group that I had grown very familiar with, none other than the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, fully equipped with their wizard and hobbit. A flood of memories came back to me as I could recall both the book and the movie (like a moving picture with sound), both common tales from where I came from. I had just helped the legendary company escape from one of their earliest trials, the trolls, without even realizing it.

The complication in this, of course, was that all my life, I had been taught that such company, and by extension, such a land as Middle Earth, was nothing but a tale. The fact that they were in front of me at this moment, and seemed to be very corporeal, was off putting to say the least.

My face twisted into confusion.

“Never seen a dwarf before, lass?” A wizened old Balin, I assumed, stroked his long white beard while speaking for the equally confused looks of his company.

“Uh,” I stuttered, tripping over my words, “uh, well, not in, I, uh, no.” I finally settled on not bothering whether or not I offended them and using plain, simple language.

“From the looks of it, she’d never seen a troll before either.” The blonde haired one, Fili I remembered him as, said to the crowd as he was gathering up his equipment.

I could feel my breathing grow heavy, and I swear that I was beginning to sweat. This was some fucked up dream.

“Are you alright? There’s no need to be afraid, Miss.....” a small voice, that of Bilbo Baggins, who had appeared next to you as silently as hobbits are known to do, gave me a concerned look.

“(Y/n)” I answered bluntly, shunting his question.

“That’s a bit of an odd name. Mind tellin’ us where you’re from?” Balin leaned forward.

“I, uh, I-” All of the confidence that I had while confronting the trolls had completely vanished. I felt my stomach begin to churn, though I was so hungry that it felt out of place.

“Yes, and where you got such strange garb from as well?” The man himself, Thorin Oakenshield, stepped forward, though I knew before seeing him from his voice. He looked as he always did, stern and focused.

I stared down at what I thought to be quite normal, some jeans, sneakers, a t-shirt, and a jacket, though only thoughts of how abnormal and alien I must seem right now could come to fruition.

“Let’s not bombard her with questions.” Gandalf intervened as every dwarf and hobbit eye was trained on me.

Out of the corner of my vision, I saw my red canvas backpack glinting in the sunlight. It had been carelessly thrown to the side.

“I, um, I have to go!” Before turning around to see their expression, I gathered up my stuff and started towards the forest.

“Go where, exactly?” I could hear Gandalf yell behind me, and stepping forward slightly in my direction.

“I don’t know!” And with that confident dismissal, I darted off into the forest, with my stuff behind me, not bothering to answer some of the screams and pleas.

When I had convinced myself that I was far enough away where they couldn’t hear me, I grasped the nearest tree and threw up my entire stomach. My vision was getting dizzy again, and I could feel tears in my eyes. The adrenaline had gotten me through the trolls, but now, I was lost, scared, or, at best, completely insane.

I took out my phone. The background on it was a picture of my family. My sobs only deepened. I curled into a ball and continued to cry, and hours passed before I would stand again.

**********

Well that was fucking depressing.

It will get happier, I swear, but I always thought that the concept of getting completely plucked from everything that you know and placed with a bunch of stange, unknown people was quite scary and emotional, so of course, it will be treated as such.

Be on the lookout for a masterlist at some point!

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kasiagrey · 5 years

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The Hunter and the Doe

A simple short story that will be connected to my Apprentice’s fanfic series whenever I finally get around to it.

Here we have a young Montag out for a hunt with his father. It seems that everything is just a normal hunt for our young prince until he comes across something he’s never seen before...

Note that this story is subject to change.

Lutz’s look is not canon! This is just how I imagine he’d look.

Also, this is a fanfic, so all copyrights belong to Nix Hydra's Arcana Game.

Last edited: April 17th, 2019

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The first rays of the early dawn began to spread across the landscape. Pine trees covered in snow gleamed in its golden light, but below, the ground was still cast in a cold shade. One could still feel the lingering chill of the vanquished night whilst clouds of breath roll forth from one’s lips. Still, this was a good morning for a hunt between a father and his son. At least, that's how one tribesman chose to see it.

Originally, he had been very upset with being awakened at such early hours. The kid had always been one to sleep in, but when he learned he was hunting with his father, he was motivated to get up. Tasked with bringing back food, a young Montag and his father stalked the forest grounds. The blonde appeared to be thirteen years of age, somewhat thin but clearly beginning to develop a warrior's form.

Compared to his father, Montag seemed quite small; the man was almost as large as a bear. He was a tall masculine figure with the strong build of a warrior. Combed back as best as the man could manage, auburn hair burned like a crimson fire. It was quite easy to tell where Montag had taken his hairstyle from; though his father’s was slightly longer. A matching beard, groomed and maintained, adorned his father's strong face. Bright blue eyes scanned the area like a hawk, looking for any signs of movement. Indeed, with his nose, he even resembled a bird of prey. It was a fine nose, but one that had broken once or twice in life. This imposing sight of a man was known by the name Lutz.

The two were armed with a single spear, a bow, and a quiver of arrows; one for protection and the other for hunting. Wishing to keep the element of surprise in their favor, the father reached out for his son. A massive hand clasped his shoulder, gaining Montag's silent attention. After a few motions of his hand, Lutz turned to the right and walked further into the forest.

Split up. We'll cover ground. Montag nodded in understanding and took the left.

Eyes scanned every direction as he continued onwards. His ears strained to hear the slightest sound other than the occasional breeze of coming winter. Every now and then, he'd alter his course slightly in order to remain downhill. The young man must have walked for only an hour before he spotted tracks in the snow and occasional patch of earth. He could tell he was tracking a deer, probably a young adult, given its size. Montag walked a little further, keeping his sight on the trail. There was only one set of tracks, which meant one deer.

They were fresh too, so they were close. Quickly thinking, the blonde located a patch of earth that was not coated in icy snow. Taking up a handful of old leaves and pine straw, he began to cover his human scent the best he could. His face frowned in disapproval as he saw his clothes become damp and dirty, but this was hunting; a noble sport for warriors. He could deal with a little filth if it meant getting his prize. Once Montag felt he had done a good enough job, he returned to the tracks and resumed his pursuit.

The tribesman must have walked for a half hour before he finally met the end of his search. When he saw the animal that he had been tracking, the blonde could not help how his jaw dropped. Silver eyes grew wide as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. There it was, a vision of beauty; a white doe. Montag watched the creature as it searched for food beneath the glittering snow. What little sunlight that did come through the trees made its coat seem to glow with an ethereal light. He noticed how sleek and delicately framed it was. The long slender legs were perfect for giving chase and leaping over great obstacles. Young, vibrant, and full of life; the very picture of radiance.

A small breeze brought the hunter to his senses and once his spear had been gently set down, he carefully readied his bow. With the arrow in place, young Montag drew back the string and took aim. Attempting to calm his rapidly beating pulse, he took a slow breath and relaxed his shoulders. His sight along the arrow, he watched it for just a little longer. Either the doe could hear the hammering of his excited heart or he did not mask his scent well enough, but something happened to cause the creature to stop abruptly.

Lifting its head, it turned its gaze in his direction. The white beast was eerily still along with the whole forest; everything seemed to hold its breath. Dark wide eyes met with silver and there was a moment where Montag had thought against letting his arrow fly. The eyes seemed wise and in tune with all around it, something about that made the creature even more mystical. Suddenly, the memory of why he was out there came to him. He was tasked with bringing back game for the tribe. He was doing this with his father. He was doing all this not just because he enjoyed it, but to gain some sort of recognition! Such a prize would place all eyes on him!

Dammit, Montag, take the shot!

Where time seemed to have once stopped, time now seemed to fast forward. It all happened so quickly; one moment he had let go of the arrow and the next he was on the ground wiping snow out of his eyes. When he looked towards the deer, he saw that his arrow had barely missed its mark and the white doe escaped deep into the forest. Realizing what had just happened, Montag shifted his attention to what had knocked him over. There, before him, was his father.

The man was out of breath, still staring off in the direction the deer had left. His father had shoved him down, preventing him from taking his prey! "Why did you do that?" Montag asked stunned before growing angry. His brows furrowed as his face grew slightly red. "I could have killed it. I would have been the one to bring home a great feast!” Like the speed of a snake, Lutz turned on his son. A baritone voice greeted Montag’s ears, and immediately silenced him.

"You would have brought doom upon your head, boy! That’s what you would have done!" Doom? This struck a chord with the younger male. What harm could have come from slaying a deer? "What's that supposed to mean,” Montag asked. Obviously, he was still upset about the whole situation entirely but was more than willing to learn the meaning behind his father’s actions. Lutz, finally catching his breath, just stared at his child. The warrior knew his son hungered for the chance to be recognized, and he had ambition, even his father saw that. Still, if he didn’t get that under control, it would be his undoing one day. The older male sighed at this and shook his head, offering his hand to his boy.

"I suppose you were never told. Well, better I tell you now before you do something reckless like that again." Still scowling, the blonde stared at the hand for a moment before taking it with a firm grip. With a small grunt, the father helped pull his son to his feet. Montag began to brush the snow off himself, leaning down afterward to pick up his bow and his spear. Lutz, leaning on his own spear, then looked to the sky as if trying to recall a distant memory.

"For as long as the tribes have been around, white beasts of the forest have always been elusive and viewed with high respect. Since they are so rare, it is said they are otherworldly.” Those blue hues then fell upon his son before speaking again, “To be quite honest, Monty, I never thought I'd live long enough to see one.” The boy’s expression softened noticeably as he took in this information.

Taking this as a sign to continue, Lutz explained more, “When they make an appearance, it is believed to be a sign of good fortune. However, those that have killed such creatures have met with hardships and ill fates." The elder thought back to earlier when he suddenly felt a sense of dread wash over him. He knew something wasn’t right and felt that his boy was at the center of it. The man was grateful that he was still spry enough to have caught up with Montag; a second too late and his over-eager son would have brought disaster on himself.

With how close he had come to killing the doe, Montag shuddered over the possibilities if his father had not come. His voice nearly wavered over the dark thoughts yet held strong, "What do you mean by otherworldly? Like demons?" Were they anything like those entities he had grown up knowing all his life? Did they demand respect and admiration, or were they just part of the world around them? A million more thoughts ran through his mind, but not one of them could overshadow how close he was to committing such folly.

At the young man’s question, Lutz shook his head and explained further. "Not quite, Monty. Demons use deceptions to get what they want. Even when it seems like they are helping, they are truly after what they can get. There is more out there than just demons. Things that no man is supposed to see or even know of. Probably for the best. As for the white beasts, think of them as animals of flesh and blood visiting from somewhere we will never set eyes on."

With his questions answered, the blonde was content with what he knew...for now. Sighing, the boy kicked at the snow; more out of boredom than anything. "I suppose that means we'll have to keep looking for other game, huh?" Just his luck; a fine prize standing right before him and he had to let it go. Still, a part of Montag was relieved to have not slain the deer.

With a hearty laugh, the older man nodded as he grinned at his child; the same one that his son had clearly inherited from him. "Aye, hopefully, this time we'll find a large stag to take home. The great hall could use a new set of antlers." Turning, the man went further into the woods. “Come on, Monty. I saw some tracks earlier so let’s go find those again. I think they’re this way.”

“Yes, papa,” said the young tribesman. However, before walking any further, Montag turned to face where the deer had once stood. He vividly recalled the moment when he laid eyes upon it and noticed how the area seemed just plain and ordinary now. It was disappointing, really, as he had hoped to see just a glimpse of it; he wondered if he would ever see the white doe again.

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Thanks for taking time out of your day to read my work and I hope you enjoyed it. If you have any constructive criticism, I am all ears!

I made this piece after planning more of my Apprentice’s backstory, characteristics, and I’ve even designed her Masquerade dress thanks to the help of Azalea’s Dolls. Three guesses to the theme of her outfit after reading this story~ -wink-

I grew up learning some things about Celtic beliefs and one that always stood out was stories about White Stags and the spirits that people would encounter in the woods. I thought it would be fitting for our Golden Hunter. I’m a sucker for symbolism and such, can’t you tell?

I decided to go with this story because I think it gives a deep-rooted reason to why Lucio has so many white animals in his life. It’s a story he would hear from his father and it stuck with him well into adulthood.

Also, I imagine that Montag probably had a better relationship with his dad than his mother. I mean, yes, it was confirmed that it was when Montag killed Lutz that he was truly proud of his son, but even so, I think they got along socially. Hell, I’m even certain Lutz was more father material than Morga was mother material. Clearly, both parents messed up somewhere along the line, but the point is that Montag isn’t scared shitless of his own father. Just saying. That said, I still want Morga and Lucio to talk to each other in his route. It doesn’t have to be all peaches and cream at the end between the two of them, just help them better understand one another, dammit!

BTW, LUTZ USES ANTLERS IN ALL OF HIS DECORATING!

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firstofficerhobgoblin · 5 years

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Happy Birthday @luck-over-logic !!!!

To the most wonderful James Tiberius Kirk in the TOS RP community!!!!!

I've now known you for a year and change and I'm ever so very glad I ran into you!! The muse has been silent as the grave of late, but have some Birthday minific! I did Fourth of July Last year, so this year have Pride. And I hope I have to think of summer themes for you for many years to come!!!

________________

Spock liked talking walks during the hottest part of the day. Jim had always known that, but as they got older he began to realize the true implication of the habit. It meant that all damn summer Jim was going to sweat like a horse. Why it was only June 30th, and it was only 11 am, and he was only wearing a t-shirt and lo and behalf he was damn near soaking through it, and was starting to get a little self conscious about the fabric clinging to what it aughtn't, and really he probably shouldn’t be wearing shorts at all at his age, and he wouldn’t have if it wasn’t so hot; he just wasn’t as trim as he’d once been. Bones had taken to calling him good old fashioned fat. He stared at a well built young man in short shorts and a painted on tank top, chatting loudly on his phone as he jogged past them, clearly late for something. He remembered when he looked like that….

“You look perfectly fine to me.” Spock said softly, giving Jim a start. But he smiled at the sentiment. Spock could read his mind even when he wasn’t….well….reading his mind. But he could be a little frustrating when it came to looks, for even in this weather he looked dignified in all blacks and greys and never a day over 50.

Spock reached down and squeezed his hand. Jim, as always, squeezed back, returning the gentle pulse of adoration Spock had sent his way and they carried on.

A minute later a young woman bathed in pink, purple and blue glitter bounced past them, accompanied by a tall man in corresponding pastel pink, blue and white glitter. Spock observed them with quiet curiosity, that peaked when the sparkly pair met up with a girl wearing rainbow body paint, and little else at the end of the block.

“Human youth culture never ceases to amaze.” The Vulcan observed quietly. “Where could they possibly be going looking that conspicuous?”

But when they reached the end of the block and looked uptown, they got their answer. They were nearly bowled over by a wall of sound, emanating from a seething, screaming crowd of people flamboyantly dressed people, all congregated under a massive rainbow banner that read 'San Fran Pride'. Jim laughed aloud. Spocks eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into his bangs and his grip on Jim’s hand tightened.

“I forgot about LGBT history month!” Jim said. Spock stared at him in a way that indicated his comment had in no way explained the multicolored cabal of glitter and feathers that had appeared before them. “Humans used to be kinda awful to each other, remember? And homosexuality used to be kinda an issue.” He explained.

“I am well aware of your history…” Spock replied, with a gaze canted uncomfortably towards the parade impling Jim’s explanation had not in fact explained a damn thing about the mass of humanity doing their best impersonation of so many birds of paradise. Just then the obligatory Stonewall float passed by, and that was how Jim Kirk found himself shout-explaining the history of pride, from riot, to protest, to party, to historic commemoration, a few feet from the current incarnation of the event. The era when it was a protest. When corporations tried to take it. When it was declared a History Month, like it always should have been. Spock listened with his typical intensity, regarding the display of flamboyance with changing opinion and increasing regard as Jim spoke.

He was just beginning his own tale of “Why, I remember my first Pride. I was about seventeen. I hadn’t quite figured out what I was feeling for men yet and my friend from……..” He trailed off as a float grabbed his eyes and stole all his attention.

The Starfleet sponsored float was topped with a beautiful starship made of iridescent sequins, and the float below was covered in pictures honoring LGBT figures from Starfleet history. The First Homosexual Captain. The First Trans Captain. The first Asexual Captain. But Jim's eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the fifth photo.

The youngest Captain on Record. And his First Officer.

“Now you see here!” He hollered so loud that everyone in the vicinity turned to look at him. “I’m not history yet! I’m still right here!”

Everyone around them was staring, looking back and forth between the oversized image in the approaching float and the pair of old men standing in the back of the parade crowd. Finally someone declared the obvious.

“Holy shit…..it’s them!!! It’s Captain Kirk and Commander Spock!!” someone yelled.

“Admiral and Captain.” Spock corrected, but his insistence on precision was lost in the deafening cry of shrieks that rose up from the crowd around them, loud enough to draw the attention of the older man Marshaling the Starfleet float. The man, who neither of them recognized at first, immediately signaled for the float to stop and started waving like mad.

“Kirk!!!” He shouted, vaulting himself off the float with a spry leap that seemed inappropriate for his advanced years, and bolted to the edge of the Parade barricades. “Jim! Spock!”

It was Spock who saw through the rainbow wig and over the top makeup first. “Captain Sulu?”

“Yes!!!” He shouted back. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? You’d have had a place ON the float!! C’mon! Get up here!! C’mon guys!! Let the infamous Captain James T. Kirk and Commander Spock up here with us!”

Jim tried to insist that they hadn’t planned this at all, but his words of protest were lost in the happy cries of the crowd as they shuffled him and Spock forward and helped them climb the barricade into the parade proper, where Sulu took the Captain’s hand and yanked him up onto the float as it started moving again. Spock, who was still, clinging to Jim’s arm, got dragged along with and was surprised to find himself and Jim’s presence getting aggressively cheered.

Sulu immediately began fussing over their appearance, swapping out Jim’s t shirt for a multicolored tank with the image of a frying pan on it that they both found hilarious but Spock found confusing. Spock, to his great displeasure, had a tub of glitter dumped on him after he’d selected for himself on a small, tasteful button that read “Elder Queer” from the box Sulu had pulled Jim’s new shirt from. But once the parade got going again, they both had to admit that the energy was infections. And people were so very happy to see the pair of them, Riding together astride the great glittering starship float.

“You mean so much to them.” Sulu beamed at the pair at one point. “Not just the gay couples….but the interspecies couples. The offworld queers. You’re icons to them. And watching the two of you, always at the forefront…..you give them so much hope.” After that comment Spock was a little more visible about his affections with Jim, even managing a human kiss when they reached the grandstand.

And Jim? He was having the time of his life, playing back and forth with the crowds, throwing out rainbow Starfleet insignias, and rousing cheers every time he touched Spock. Gone we’re his previous doubts about his age. His looks. Everything. As he so eloquently put it…he wasn’t history yet.

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timeisacephalopod · 6 years

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Death of a Bachelor

Non-powered coming out IronStrange AU in which Stephen brings Tony home under a few... false pretenses. And, as always when I write him, Stephen is Asian (Nepali). The title for this is literally because Death of a Bachelor is stuck in my head and it sorta fits lol.

Peter sighs, “just you know... be yourself,” he says.

Tony squints, “‘myself’ sucks, what kind of garbage advice is that?” he asks. “I’ve got one shot at this and I know I’m going to botch it.” He’s never been good at ‘meet the parents’. Its happened once and Pepper’s parents still hate him and they aren’t even together anymore.

“That’s what you’d tell me!” Peter says.

“That’s because you’re a sweet, loving young man and anyone would be lucky to have you. I’m an asshole with a long history of warmongering and that’s honestly not even my biggest flaw.” And that’s a fucking feat.

“Okay you know what, is Stephen even the type to care if his parents like you? Because you’ve been for dating for over a year and I think he’s mentioned them once and that was in direct reference to his dead sister so I don’t really think it matters too much,” he says.

Probably not, Stephen isn’t the type to care what others think period. But Tony wants at least one set of parents to like him and he loves Stephen so this is probably his last chance. If all goes well he wants to propose, was going to anyways, but Stephen brought up his parents so he thought he’d deal with that first. So he really, really only has one shot at this. “It would be nice if a set of parents didn’t hate me for once. Not that I’d blame them really- if you brought home someone who’s a fan of me I’d tell you to dump them immediately. My fans are worse than Fight Club fans.”

Peter laughs, “its true. But I think that’s mostly because they think that time you were a womanizing warmongering alcoholic is like peak you and glorify it, not because you’re actually crappy,” he says.

Across the apartment the elevator door dings and Pepper steps out, “what?” she asks when they swivel to face her.

“We’re talking about dad’s crappy fans,” Peter says. “And also him meeting Stephen’s parents tomorrow.”

Pepper rolls her eyes, “ your fans are awful. They take who they want you to be and tout that image around no matter how little it actually resembles you as a person. As for Stephen’s parents, I have no advice. You’re horrible at these things,” she says.

“See?” Tony says to Peter. “Even Pepper thinks I’m hopeless.”

Stephen considers not telling Tony but if he doesn’t he’ll be in for a rather nasty surprise and he can see how nervous he is already. “They’re going to hate you,” he says bluntly and Tony glares at him.

“Is that really supposed to make me feel better?” he asks.

No, but that isn’t why he’s telling Tony anyways. “It won’t be your fault, they’re raging homophobes so they’re going to hate you on account of not being a woman. And I sort of told them you were Christine because I didn’t want to come out over the phone so they’re also going to be a bit surprised. Not that I care, its my grandmother I’d like to like you anyways but if she doesn’t she’s old, its entirely possible that she’s gone senile.” She’d have to be to not like Tony.

Frankly the only reason he’s doing this is because he’s going to propose and his parents Google him once and awhile to figure out what he’s up to. He can’t not tell them and if he tells his gran she’s got a big mouth, she’ll tell them accidentally or maybe on purpose- its hard to tell with her- and then he’ll have to explain himself. So to bypass all that drama he figures he’ll bring Tony home, deal with his parents’ crap, and then propose and get married in peace. Assuming Tony says yes and its a very real possibility he won’t. He’s only been stated that he’s not a marriage person his entire life.

God, he loathes risks he can’t determine the outcome of with at least some educated success.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Tony mumbles and Stephen pities him, really. At least his parents are dead so Stephen doesn’t need to worry about impressing the dust in their graves.

To say meeting Stephen’s parents goes badly is an understatement. The first thing they did was look confused, which Tony can’t blame them for considering he very much does not look like a ‘Christine’ let alone Stephen’s Christine. First of all she’s taller. Then Stephen had issued a rather formal ‘I’m bisexual’ and pretended like he hadn’t just said that and then his parents launched into transphobia with their relief that Stephen wasn’t dating some kind of freak. Because apparently he can totally pass as a Christine. Stephen had winced almost harder at that than Tony considering he obviously forgot Peter is trans and Tony doesn’t have the patience for people insulting that.

As it was he only kept his mouth shut because he didn’t want to make anything worse but Stephen’s parents insist of doing that themselves with their weird and invasive questions. Eventually Stephen’s old as shit grandmother told them to shut up, which had resulted in the best part of the night. It had been pretty clear that Stephen’s relationship with his grandmother was stronger than the one with his parents so he’d look pleased when she stood up for Tony, who was very close to his wits end and he thinks he has a dash of patience these days.

When she tells him to stop putting up with Stephen’s parent’s shit Stephen stuffs his face into his glass of wine, obviously anticipating disaster. Tony considers not saying anything but he’s had a bad night and frankly it can’t get worse.

“Alright- I know I’m more than famous enough for both of you to know who I am and that I’m a recovering alcoholic. Stop trying to offer my wine, its ignorant. Neither Stephen nor I are the woman in our relationship, that’s the fucking point. Neither of us even fit traditional gender roles anyways and if this is some weird, coded way to ask about our sex life neither of us fit the ‘top’ or ‘bottom’ stereotypes either and its fucking boring to stick to one or the other. Also what the hell would it have mattered if I really was Christine? The fuck does my junk or gender have to do with you? You have a lovely home, but its too bad such shit people live in it. Except you, you seem like you’d be fun a a bachelor party,” he says to Stephen’s grandmother.

She grins at Stephen while his parents sit dumbfounded, “I like him, he’s spunky!” she says. Yeah, because apparently the woman who’s two days older than the damn earth itself is more openminded than people half her age.

By the time Tony gets home Stephen is howling with laughter. “I can’t believe you started quoting studies at them,” he says, shaking his head.

“Its not my fault they’re idiots, someone had to tell them they’re wrong and also I have an eidetic memory. Figured I’d put it to good use,” he says.

Stephen shakes his head, “well, at least you made that marginally less painful and gran likes you so there’s that. And she’s not easy to impress- she didn’t like actual Christine.”

Tony smiles, “she knew you weren’t going to last or at least that’s what she told me. And also she’s still convinced Christine is a lesbian even though I’m pretty sure she’s bisexual. But she seems to think we’re good together and she’s also completely convinced your father isn’t actually your father. She’s certain your mother cheated on him at some point but given the fact that she’s Asian and the guy she thinks is your actual father is white it’d be basically impossible to tell. Which is how she explains how fucking tall you are.” Turns out the woman, despite her age, is quite spry and has a lot of opinions that she’d been happy to share with Tony. But her conspiracies on Stephen’s parentage were his favorite and, to humor the woman, he agreed to run a DNA test to confirm or deny who Stephen’s father is.

Stephen lets out a long, drawn out sigh that indicates he’s heard this before. “I’ve told her a million times there is no way more than one person would be willing to sleep with my mother. I’m shocked one person was willing to sleep with my mother and if it weren’t for the pictures I’d assume I’d been kidnapped as a child.”

“Yeah, but apparently your actual father is a very tall Scandinavian man and I think your grandmother is on to something. I looked up the average height in Nepal and you’re a literal foot taller than that. You’d be a giant there,” he says.

“And if we’re going by the average height in Italy, you’d be a woman,” Stephen says, giving Tony an irritated look.

“Rude,” Tony mumbles.

Stephen settles an arm around Tony’s waist, “I think maybe we should have waited until she died to get married,” he says, eyeing his grandmother talking to Peter.

“I’ve always wanted a grandson that isn’t a massive prick, you seem like a lovely young man,” she says, grinning happily.

Tony looks up at Stephen, who is indeed his father’s child, “your grandma gives off chaotic trickster vibes, I’m half convinced she’s immortal.”

Stephen sighs, “you probably aren’t aren’t wrong,” he says.

“I don’t think Stephen is that bad,” Peter says in Stephen’s defense not that it works out in his favor given his grandma’s reaction.

“Honey I’m old, but my senses are still working just fine. He’s an arrogant little shit,” she says. Tony doesn’t think he’s ever seen a grandmother swear that much but when he met all her spunky granny friends last week he’d been subjected to a bunch of sex jokes and talk of dildos so he’s not really surprised anymore. Even if he genuinely had no clue that grandmothers made sex jokes.

“I think I’ve earned my arrogance,” Stephen mumbles, coming to his own defense.

“That doesn’t explain why you’ve been like this your whole life. Take some lessons from Peter, he’s humble,” she tells him and Tony snorts and starts laughing.

“Our wedding is gunna be awesome,” he says.

#ironstrange #tony x stephen strange #alternate universe #fanfiction #writing #coming out fic

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its-just-like-the-movies · 7 years

Text

May Viewing List

Given that I now have two jobs that occupy a good amount of my week I’m so genuinely amazed I was able to get this close to last month’s number.

Casting JonBenet (17, B+/A-): As intimate with the actors as they are with their parts. Life experience as credibility in interpretation. - May 1, 2017 (review)

The Fighter (10, A-): O’Russell realizes the best possible version of this script to create a stunning, spiky showcase for everyone involved. - May 2, 2017

4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days (07, A-): An incredibly tense, textured portrait of two women in a time and place that’s slowly creeping back. - May 4, 2017

The Butler (13, C-): Gumpy, conventional plotting, odd casting & makeup undermines everything neat about Daniels. Amazingly broad. - May 4, 2017

Props to David Oyelowo for being the stillest thing in that movie, enhancing everyone else while giving a great, quiet performance.

Pitch perfect supporting acting. Great work, improves the lot, and you wonder why this isn’t a movie about him and the Black Panthers.

Don’t Think Twice (16, B): Spry cast, easy chemistry, remixed script beats elevate this tale of relocated dreams and success. Jacobs! - May 5, 2017

Nebraska (13, C-): Dern gets his Crazy Heart but instead fights flat, mean direction & plotting, false emotions & atmosphere, shitty musak - May 6, 2017

Face/Off (97, B+/A-): So deliciously, entertainingly Extra, finding the perfect tone to pull off this astounding nonsense. Cage! Allen! Woo! - May 7, 2017

Aladdin (92, B-): Feels like a different Disney musical than the 10′s movies. Lovely songs. Williams more magical than the Genie. - May 7, 2017

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (17, B): Such a wide color palette! Shaky til “Come a Little Bit Closer”, then becomes the space opera it dreamed of. - May 7, 2017 (review)

Who else thinks Guardians of the Galaxy 2 should’ve been a musical, and that the next one should just go for it?

Florence Foster Jenkins (16, B-): Great fun, especially the leads. Generous, but overly so? Seems to resist a deeper dive into her rise. - May 8, 2017

And with that, I’ve seen all the 2014, 2015, and 2016 acting nominees!

Nightcrawler (14, B-): Provocative, in distinct and generic ways, but strained. Wonderfully lit, creepy, and blunter than Snowpiercer. - May 8, 2017

The Innocents (15, B): Textured like a Gothic horror story. Milieu I’ve rarely seen in this genre. Intertwined, parallel narratives hit hard. - May 9, 2017

Autumn Sonata (78, B+): Bergman, Bergman, Ullmann, and Nyqvist just beat the shit out of me for ninety minutes and it was an incredible experience. - May 9, 2017

Dheepan (16, A-): I noticed so much more in practically every aspect the second time around. Camera, Srinivasan my favorite elements. - May 9, 2017 (rewatch)

Blue Jay (16, B+): Another one that spiked up for me. Dynamics even richer the second time around. Paulson and Duplass are so lovely! - May 10, 2017 (rewatch)

Blue Caprice (13, B+): Hard, risky, genuinely nightmarish. Symbiosis, paranoia as real bonding. Finds so many questions in its own answers. - May 11, 2017 (rewatch)

The Immigrant (14, A-): An operatic marvel, moving freely through every period of cinema. And so gorgeous! God rewatching things is great. - May 11, 2017 (rewatch)

The House of Mirth (00, B+): A warmer, more conventional, but just as impassioned cousin to Portrait of a Lady. Great look. Gillian shines. - May 11, 2017

The Lady Eve (41, A+): Lord why don’t they make them like this anymore? Quick, witty, lovely, silly, paced like a dream. Superb. Stanwyck!!! - May 13, 2017

I get how problematic the setup could be if made today, but it’s hard to image a modern comedy with this much genuine craft at all levels.

The Stanford Prison Experiment (15, B): Every element builds & improves as it goes. Not sure how much to credit any one part over source material. - May 16, 2017

Maybe because the real thing is so pervasive in the culture already but I’m not sure what I got out of this. Already thinking about B-.

Cool Hand Luke (67, B+): Lots to say about people, about one among many, and how we treat them. Newman makes it about a man. - May 16, 2017

We Own the Night (07, A-): Technical prowess and directorial strength ably fight off genre cliche. Tense, captivating, and very much Gray’s - May 16, 2017

Network (76, B+): THIS was the film so many adults have said I’d be inundated to because of the world now? Friend, that makes it stronger. - May 18, 2017

Malcolm X (92, B-): Artistically and politically valuable even in the sequences Lee is less interested in. Not always both at the same time. - May 19, 2017

That being said, Denzel is incredible, giving a massive performance in an epic that’s sporadically as alive as he is.

The cinematography, especially the lighting, is also really spectacular. It’s artistically strong across the board, just conventionally told.

Secret Sunshine (10, B+/A-): Grabs you by the gut with bracing handlings of trauma and religion, albeit with small hiccups. Jeon’s a marvel - May 19, 2017

The Wolf of Wall Street (13, D+): Is there anything to even say about it? No new ideas from scene one. Boring depravity. So visually dull. - May 20, 2017

Melina, after making a joke about snorting coke out of a stripper’s ass: ”Can women really have it all?”

Alien: Covenant (17, B-): The case against humanity, by David. Human stupidity as real plot logic. Sets, VFX even better than Fassbender. - May 21, 2017

After the movie I realized I almost have the same haircut that Katherine Waterston has. So that’s neat.

August: Osage County (13, C): Not all the pieces fit, especially with so many sharp edges shorn. But Streep’s incredible, Roberts gets it. - May 21, 2017

Passion (13, C): Weirdly uninspired style for such a pulpy tale. Awful sets balanced by great clothes. Score works. McAdams on point. - May 21, 2017

Love & Mercy (15, B): Limited in scope but what textures it finds. Separates art and madness even as they feed each other. Great leads. - May 22, 2017

All three really blew me away, and between this and the Manson You Must Remember This episode, hot damn are The Beach Boys interesting.

And on a totally unrelated note, Paul Dano can fucking get it. Oh yes. Yes he can. Young Brian did have a sweet bed. I’ll stop now.

The Final Girls (15, B+): There’s an even more inventive script in here, but so much more going on visually than I realized. Åkerman! - May 22, 2017 (rewatch) (review)

The Iron Lady (11, C): Damp rag baby of La Vie en Rose and The Whisperers. Messy camera and direction. How much really happened here? - May 24, 2017 (review)

Sweet Bird of Youth (62, B): Scrumptious. Not quite the play but expands nicely. Page a delectably seasoned ham, Newman a sweet hunk of meat. - May 25, 2017

Stage Door (37, A-): Is it a bird? A plane? No! It’s the inner lives of over a dozen artistic, intelligent women, right there on the screen! - May 25, 2017

Is there any point in film history where this project isn’t a miracle? Why hasn’t this been remade every ten years? God, was I in heaven?

Caterpilar (11, B): So confrontationally severe in content and style, even as it dilutes itself in the final third. Iffy taste, but it hits. - May 26, 2017

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (05, C+): No tweet (rewatch) - May 26, 2017

Me, watching Goblet of Fire: “Why couldn’t Ron have dated Hermione AND Krum?”

My mom, every time we watch a Harry Potter movie: “It shoulda been Harry and Hermione.”

Not to read too deeply into things but Ron being Harry’s person he has to save is Really Gay

Easy A (10, C+): Kinda spotty outside Stone, but boy does it care about her. And lord does she make it something special. - May 27, 2017

It’s abominable that with a filmography seemingly built on delightfully supporting women Stanley Tucci’s sole Oscar nomination is for Lovely Bones

The Banishment (07, B): Pace and length made me sleepy but Zvyaginstev’s formal control more than kept me awake. Oddly compelling. - May 29, 2017

The Miracle Worker (62, B+): Beats Arrival for conveying the power of language and understanding. Bancroft’s great, and Duke’s even better. - May 29, 2017

The Man With The Golden Arm (55, B): Sinatra does great work to elevate this semi-cliched tragedy, but Parker and the score hit a home run. - May 30, 2017

Paranoid Park (08, C+/B-): Never not overworked, especially sonically, but unbearable first half hour turns into a compelling yarn. - May 30, 2017

National Velvet (44, B): So kind to its characters, mature about their wants and ideas. Gorgeous, infectious, and well-acted to boot. - May 31, 2017

#my posts #month logs #my reviews #performance reviews

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