reconstructed reconstructing eva

PART THE FIRST: PRAISE THE SUN

The dream was always the same.

She was lying on the grass, staring at the sun and undressing it with her eyes. It was beautiful, there was nothing quite like stellar fusion to get those crotch juices flowing and since it was a dream the risk of permanent eye damage was minimal even in the worst case scenario. There was no one around to get in the way of their love, not even the clouds. For the first time since the last time she had this exact dream (which for those keeping score was the previous night) she could feel some feels but like for reals. Even though she couldn’t hope to understand or describe what she felt without first consulting a tumblr blog about alternative sexualities the only fuck she could give was the one reserved for Mr. Sun way up there.

The city was surprisingly quiet, like a mime someone just kicked in the balls. She lived there for the longest time, somewhere between 13.8 billion and six thousand years depending on who you asked. Too bad she fit in about as well as a penis into a two pronged electrical outlet and lived just as comfortably. Suffice to say that this new emotion, tentatively titled astro-arousal, was much more pleasant.

The water was wet, just like something else nearby except a great deal cleaner. The dream as a whole was a lot like this lake, vague and pretending to be deep. Upon further inspection it became clear that the lake was a kiddy pool made entirely of pepperoni. In some ways it was a more fitting description of the dream.

Suddenly the symbolism descended from the sky. A butterfly meant to inform the reader that whoever wrote this is a genius* beat its wings like an unfaithful wife. The butterfly gently floated down and landed on her hand. It interrupted some perfectly good astro-arousal like it always did with its demands for a good snack to go with its lunch.

No matter how much she insisted that she was busy the butterfly assured her it wouldn’t take long to help out. Before she could get flustered enough to squash it the butterfly did what it always did, flew toward the water.

She felt another feel very much unlike astro-arousal. The sort of feeling you get when a talking butterfly demands that you give them food while you’re trying to fantasize about fucking the sun. She ran after that fluttery son of a bitch as slow as she possibly could, savouring every moment. The sun then ceased to exist and the rain pissed down.

The butterfly dove into the lake and she soon followed. Plunging through the water she realized her mistake. The lake was filled with bees.

And bees

And bees

OH GOD THE BEES

Eva Elliot had this nightmare for the past three months.


Author’s note: It was my dream for the past three months to do something with bees. *They are a genius.

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PART THE SECOND: STINKY PUSSY BITCH

“One month, two months, three months, ah ha ha,” Holden Elliot replied. “Nice dude.”

Though she paid for the whole bed she only needed the edge to gaze longingly out the window and think of what could have been. The sheets were soaked with Mtn Dew voltage, not sweat and/or the peepee such as. She would argue/streetrace this point to the grave. Outside was rainy with a high chance of dreariness, but a low chance of bees. Eva liked those odds.

“Why didn’t you tell me, are you a fuckin’ spastic?” Holden asked.

“Because I’m too moody and cynical to do that, this is all very triggering.” Eva replied, brushing her cheek against her shoulder like a very confused cat trying to clean itself. In the process of doing so she locked eyes with fag dad. He looked like he was fucking pigs all morning, probably because he was.

“Another reason I didn’t tell you is because of THE BIG GAME,” Eva added.

Holden twirled his cartoon villain moustache. “You should know very well that THE TEAM can straight up jack kids from the schools and turn them into fucking cyborgs or some shit. I wouldn’t let you get you get involved in THE BIG GAME because you’d blow it when it really counts.”

Eva hated cyborgs because they were fucking sick and she was merely a sick fuck. That was one thing she wished didn’t run in the family. “Gee whiz dad, nobody in that place in TEAM HEADQUARTERS really cares about the things that really matter, like skeleton rights and otherkin-friendly bathrooms.”

“What makes you say that?” Holden asked before immediately answering his own question. “Oh right, you’re a fuckin’ spastic. That’s why Klaus likes you so much.”

Eva furrowed her brow and fronted with her strongest headmate, Tarzan of the Apes. She did not like the man named Klaus, and she would not like him with a mouse. “I’m not a fucking spastic dad, it’s called natural multiplicity.”

Holden humoured his daughter, knowing the sooner she shut up the sooner he could return to pigfucking or whatever exactly it was that he does with his time. “Sorry dear, I always get those mixed up. Anyway the important thing to remember is your mom died and it was nobody’s fault, especially not mine.”

Eva zoned out, every time someone mentioned her mother she found herself back at the park. Cheryl Elliot had become a fish, a fat bloated one at that, with dead soulless eyes staring right back at Eva.

“I’ll never trust gypsies again.”

Holden smiled, satisfied in teaching his daughter an important lesson about the lesser races of the world. “That’s my girl. Let’s get your ass to school.”

Author’s note: I have no idea why I replaced the corporation/project names with THE BIG GAME and other such things.

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PART THE THIRD: YOU IDIOT, YOU ARE SO DUMB

“How is cyberbullying real? Nigga just walk away from the computer,” the school nurse advised.

With her bifocals, Eva could see the world with the clarity that only a pair of bifocals could provide. With her bifocals assisting her vision she could see that the nurse had accidentally ingested exceptional individual puke recently. With the amazing power of bifocals she could also see why kids loved the taste of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, but that’s another tale for another time.

“That doesn’t mean that people should be allowed to leave blue arms untagged in their posts. What if someone saw it and went out and pepper sprayed a guy from sensory overload?” Eva’s voice was like the sea, fast and nice, maybe gonna hit it up with a little spice like my boy T-dubs in the club.

The nurse jotted something down on her clipboard before announcing her diagnosis. “Bitch you need some #ezpussy @mccafe.”

“What?” Eva was basically owned by the nurse’s bluntness dude. The bifocals didn’t help at all.

“u herd me bich go get dick or pussy if ur feggggggggg #skeltn #fukobeme #nurstyce @dennysdiner” The nurse paused midsentence to show Eva several pictures of skeletons smoking weed interspersed with a few blank pages. “dud lets get blazed like skeleletons like basically #summerslam #tipsntricks.”

Eva could hardly process what was happening. “Nurse, what is this?”

“fuk u obeme ff #p #pronk #pronk!” Eva slowly backed away as the nurse began to hurl matchbox cars in her direction. Without a word she returned to the main halls of Ghetto High for the Urban Youth. Using her bifocally enhanced vision Eva had no trouble finding the class she should have been in this whole time.

Her teacher, Ms. Pickens and all the students welcomed Eva in unison. “You idiot, you are so dumb, wow.” Everyone hated Eva, mostly because she was a stinky pussy bitch, but also so that she could plausibly adopt an extremely cynical world view as a coping mechanism for an irrationally cruel world.

Everyone reminded Eva that her mom was dead and laughed about it. The topic of the day was schadenfreude and everyone seemed to have a pretty good grasp on it. Delighting in Eva’s suffering was America’s favorite sport.

Brian Hicks, the local jackass, reminded Eva once again that her mother was dead and that she was probably adopted. Ms. Pickens gave him extra credit for his mastery of the course material when Eva stormed out of class.

Author’s note: This part’s title literally comes74 from what people in the hall were yelling74 as I started to write this part. Nice synchronism dude 7:04PM.

PART THE FOURTH: BIFOCALS

Eva polished her bifocals, the ones with the word bifocals engraved on each arm of the bifocals to remind her that they were indeed bifocals. Eva had a severe allergic reaction to the word ‘glasses.’ It caused her to break out in hives, kind of like the bees in her dreams. She gazed through her bifocals into the mirror to inspect how well they had been polished, forgetting that her own reflection was her one true weakness. Her bifocals allowed her to see the resulting vomit with perfect clarity.

She left the bathroom, or Turd Town as she liked to call it, and felt a force pressing up against her moving body.

“G-g-ghosts!” Eva exclaimed bifocally while using her bifocals to identify her ethereal assailant.Shockingly it wasn’t a ghost at all, merely some bitch with a rich dad.

“Nice perception there, Eva," spoke the rich bitch. "Those bifocals are really helping.”

Using her bifocals to enhance her vision, Eva noted that this particular bitch was Lilith Grant, the popular one that took it up the pooper behind the Dairy Queen. Her blazer was red like Satan. Coincidence? Eva’s bifocals left her to decide.

Eva’s reaction was a mixture of useless and foolish, very fitting considering that she embodied both of those concepts. “Begone, foul being, and return to the depths of hell from whence you came!”

“You look like someone took autism and adipose tissue then loosely molded it into the form of a person.” Lilith was perceptive, but lacking bifocals, she did not notice most of Eva’s dermal deformities. “Enough chit-chat. Let’s go get some grub.”

Eva felt awkward, a skelekin talking to a foul creature from the depths of hell. Using her bifocals to see the right choice, she decided that food was always a good thing and followed Lilith toward the lunchroom doors. Unfortunately, her bifocals could not see the early onset of type 2 diabetes.

#bifocals #skelekinrights #lunch

Lilith laughed as Eva pawed uselessly at the handle. “Jesus Christ, Eva, are you retarded or something? Open the fucking door.”

“Shut the hell up, Lilith. I’ll have you know that Meowth is currently fronting and cats can’t open doors. You’ll never know our struggle.” Eva sometimes had trouble knowing the struggle, even with assistance of her trusty bifocals.

Lilith sighed and opened the door for her. As the door swung closed, Eva immediately began scratching to be let back out, but Lilith was having none of that shit. She hauled Eva away by her scruff. “Since I don’t trust you handling food, go find us a table.”

Lilith’s lack of trust was justified. Eva accepted her role as a table-finder and boldly set forth in search of one.

Sitting her ass down, she thought about diversity. Cliques existed at the Inner City School for the Very Street. This fact was as clear as the big E at the top of an optometrist’s chart when viewed through her pair of bifocals. Eva, having long since derailed her self-esteem engine in a fiery crash, used her cynicism and bifocals to see through Lilith’s clever ruse. What could the most popular fiend from the fifth circle of hell possibly want with her?

While Eva pondered that mystery, Brian passed by to remind her that she had no friends. Thanks, Obama. Fortunately for Eva’s fragile feelings that she didn’t have names for, she’d seen this coming from a mile away, thanks in part to her bifocals.

Author’s note: 18/575 words in this part are bifocals.

PART THE FIFTH: WAIT EVA’S DAD WAS IRISH?

“Diddly dee potatoes...” Holden Elliot sat in the driver’s seat of his car in such a way as to remind the reader that he was Irish. The weather always fucked with him. It reminded him that he wasn’t being Irish in his home country of Ireland, where he had been routinely beaten up by other Irishmen for being the wrong kind of Irish. Now he was all the way in not-Ireland with a dead wife and a loser kid.

Holden noticed Eva waddling out of the school’s main entrance. It wasn’t hard even to see her, even without the assistance of corrective eyeglasses, since she was pretty big. She opened the passenger door and strapped herself in for the ride of her life.

She adjusted her bifocals to look at her Irish father. “Let’s kick this shit into ogredrive.”

“Let me put on my driving music.” As he pressed the button to turn on the CD player, Eva secretly hoped that the song would hold some significance to the events at hand and result in a beautiful moment.

CRAWWWWLING IN MY SKIIIIIIIIN!

Eva then remembered that her dad only listened to DJ Eli’s mixes. “Your music sucks, Dad.” Holden ignored her.

Holden drove cars and fucked pigs in very similar ways: fast, rough, and unlawful. In this moment, it was as if he was experiencing five separateFast and Furious movies simultaneously. He swerved through the road at incredible speeds before suddenly remembering that he needed to remind Eva that he was Irish. “Leprechauns appear in our folklore.”

It was a long ride home.

$$$/$$$$$ EZ MONEY

They were in the same room, but the distance between them was insurmountable. This was because Eva lacked the stamina to move short distances and was too cynical and moody to consider exercising. She lay the couch, the natural habitat of the land manatee, and stared at the ceiling. Her bifocals made the stained ceiling tiles look like maps of Middle-Earth, or Ireland, or some other magical fictional country. This gave Holden an opportunity to try to talk some sense into his daughter.

“Eva, we’ve been over this. Headmates aren’t real. You need to get help.”

“Let’s see you say that after I shapeshift right in front of you!” Eva’s eyes locked with her father's as she made a face resembling a baby dropping a particularly large load. “Form of...a bucket of water!”

Holden sighed and shook his head. “The Wonder Twins aren’t real, and even if they were they need to be together to transform, and furthermore you’re neither of them.”

“Check your fucking privilege, singlet scum. I have quite clearly assumed the form of a bucket of water.”

“You know if you really wanted to be something else we could sign you up for THE BIG GAME.”

“Fuck you, I’m beautiful the way I am! Health at every size!” Eva ran off, demonstrating her inner beauty and physical well-being. Unfortunately she had forgotten her bifocals. Without their assistance, she didn’t notice the stairs and tumbled down them.

Holden knew that there was no hope for Eva.This was the fourth time this week she had fallen down the stairs, and the sixth time she'd tried to turn into a bucket. That spastic had a date with Klaus Krieger and his stupid eyepatch, and soon.

Author’s note: The Knife helped with these last two parts. She’s swell.

PART THE SIXTH: HE’S BIGGER, FASTER, AND STRONGER TOO

“Klaus is what we in the business call a fucking spastic.” Jonathan Jordache, executive member of THE TEAM, explained to Eva. Everything about J. Jonathan Jordache rubbed Eva the wrong way. Wealthy, heteronormative, cisgendered, cisspecied, singlet male scum if she ever saw it.

“What makes you say that, Mr. Shitlord?” Eva asked.

J. Jon Jordache flaunted his privilege by responding. “He’s been pretending to be Hannibal Lecter on and off for the past seven years. Also he wears a fucking eyepatch. Only a fucking spastic would wear an eyepatch.”

“He claims to be a multiple system like you," Holden elaborated. "When he’s not Hannibal Lecter, he’s a god, or sometimes a fox if he’s feeling frisky. One time he got so triggered he set his hair on fire and put it out by giving himself a swirly.”

Eva liked the sound of this Klaus guy. He was clearly misunderstood and misrepresented by the mainstream media. She considered the possibility that Klaus Krieger was a skeleton, but knew that her father would laugh if she asked directly.

“Didn’t he kill like ten people? Why’s he still allowed to coach for THE BIG GAME?” She hoped with every fibre of her being that the answer would be that skeletons aren’t bound by the laws of mortals.

“Remember, dear? Gypsies don’t count as people.” Holden reminded Eva, crushing her skeleton-related dreams like so many brittle calcium-deficient bones.

“So when are we going to…” Eva paused to think of an alternative for 'meet.' The word sounded too similar to 'meat,' something skeletons didn’t have and might be triggered by. “…acquaint ourselves with Klaus?”

“We’ll be seeing him shortly. He’s downstairs with the talking gorilla. Seriously, we have a fucking talking gorilla. Why the fuck do we have a talking gorilla? I genuinely can’t get over the concept of having a talking gorilla just chilling in the basement.”

Following J. Jonah Jordache’s mild existential crisis, the Elliots stepped into the elevator.

#fuckhead #he #goingdown

The elevator started down, deep beneath the earth’s surface where the mole people lived, but not quite as deep as the symbolism in the first chapter. At the bottom, it ground to a halt. Before the door opened, a voice spoke from the intercom.

“This is security speaking. Why is that heaping mound of raw ground beef wearing bifocals?” The voice sounded puzzled. “Are you sure you can bring that in the elevator?”

“It says I can on that sign over there.” Holden gestured toward a poster on the elevator’s wall. As it turned out, today was Bring Your Fat Kid to Work Day. Eva didn’t quite believe she was fat. As a skelekin, she knew that this flesh was all an illusion. She preferred the term big-boned to describe her tendency to occupy large volumes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Elliot, I didn’t know that was your daughter. It amazes me that a human being can survive with so many extra chromosomes.”

The voice burst into laughter just as the intercom cut out and the door opened. In terms of appearance, the basement was to the Xavier School for Young Urban Gangstas as Eva was to most people: dim and poorly maintained.

“See those puddles? Don’t step in them unless you like fungal infections,” J. Jonah Jordson warned as he guided the Elliots along. The basement was like a second home to Holden. He knew it as well as the unwilling sex slaves he kept here knew every contour of his schlong. The steel security door at the far end of the hall opened and a wooden barrel rolled straight at them as gorilla noises echoed throughout the basement.

“Jump!” J. Jonah Jameson and Holden exclaimed in unison.

Eva leapt into the air with all of the grace of a bag of flour and flopped face first into the oncoming barrel, splashing the puddle and cracking her bifocals in the process. Gravity was the most oppressive force in the universe, aside from the patriarchy.

Holden sighed and shook his head. “Shoulda listened, ya fuckin’ spastic.”

Eva and her newfound fungus friends stumbled to their feet. At the end of the hall, a gorilla in a red tie was laughing his ass off at her. Ms. Pickens would have been proud of the gorilla's grasp of schadenfreude.

“Can we just go see Klaus now?” Eva mumbled, feeling her delicate womyn existence being marginalized by both males and higher primates.

J. Jonah Jameson barely contained his laughter. “You two go on ahead. I’ve got a gorilla to train in the art of go-karting.” He pointed to one of the doors. “His cell’s right through there. You know the rules: do not touch or approach the glass. Pass him nothing but soft paper, no pens or pencils. Most importantly, make sure to tag his triggers and respect his pronouns. We don't want him bitching about you on his Tumblr like the last problematic individual."

Eva adjusted her bifocals and Holden put on his “Kiss me, I’m Irish” tee-shirt. Having successfully reminded each other of their bifocals and Irishness, the Elliots stepped through the door into the Haus of Klaus.

Author’s note: I love Connor for including a gorilla in this story. It made my day.

PART THE SEVENTH: ONE IS AN IDIOT AND THE OTHER IS INSANE

Using her bifocals to adjust the incoming light, Eva’s eyes and nervous system worked together to process the visual stimulus presented before her. Klaus had a pretty big haus for a guy locked up in the basement of a government building. Perhaps he needed the extra space to store Japanese comic books about underage boys fucking each other. If only the skeletons under Area 51 could live in such luxury.

“Tero is currently fronting. Bun prefers bun/buns/bunself pronouns but xe/xir/xirself are also acceptable. CAMAB brakefluid demimoore hemizygous. Our major triggers include lobsters, belly buttons, Hustine Fiber, Pepsiman, kiwis, blue arms, and bifocals. Our complete list of triggers can be found on our tumblr.” Klaus’s voice was that of a morbidly obese man in his fifties pretending to be a young woman with an unconvincing falsetto. "And you must be Evangeline."

Without missing a beat, Eva removed her bifocals and responded. “Molly Ringwald is currently fronting, she/her/herself pronouns. Magi-girl demisexual. My triggers are skeleton disrespect, my own reflection, thin privilege and matchbox cars.”

Klaus spun around in his chair. Even without her bifocals, Eva had no trouble seeing this because Molly Ringwald was perfect in every aspect, especially vision. He looked like the world’s fattest potato had put on a loose-fitting hoodie with a cat-ear headband to distract onlookers from his ever-thinning hairline which was receding. Both his eyes were covered by eyepatches for reasons unknowable by human minds. His lack of pants was equally inexplicable.

“I'm acquainted with your complete list of triggers,” Eva said. "I read your whole blog last night."

“Annnnnd…?” Klaus inquired. “What is your opinion of it?”

"It was about as problematic as I expected from a hydrophobic cisfat literacy-privileged scumbag who erases the experience of median systems without a consistent front runner," Eva responded. "But no biggie."

“If we didn’t know any better, we’d have taken you for an amoebakin, but judging womyn based on appearance is a tool of patriarchal oppression.”Klaus smiled as he looked Eva over. “Your phantom wings are coming in nicely.”

“T-thank you.” Eva was amazed. Nobody had ever noticed her phantom wings at first glance before--certainly not through two eyepatches. Klaus was certainly an exceptional individual. “What’s that you’re reading?”

“It’s a Superwholock-Homestuck crossover where all the characters are the headmates of a polyamorous asexual tortoisekin womyn of size and colour.”Klaus was holding the book upside down as he explained this, but Eva didn’t dare mention it lest she be accused of ableism.

“Those franchises are a tad problematic for my tastes. The source material stinks of binary interpretations of sex and gender.” Eva sent forth Ellen Page to front. She was much better at being smug than Molly. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Ah, yes. THE BIG GAME.”Klaus swapped the positions of his two eyepatches to spice things up. “Tell us, Ms. Page… what do you know about THE BIG GAME?”

“It’s not my job to educate you.”

“Exactly the answer we were looking for. Does that folder contain what we need?” Klaus gestured toward the wall, no longer remotely facing in the direction of Eva and her folder.

“More than enough,” Eva replied. “Inflation fetish art of each of the original 151 Pokemon straight from my DeviantART, plus the American Rabbit as a bonus.”

“Autistic, aren’t you?”Klaus said as the author made the easiest conceivable joke.

“Self-diagnosed.”

“So are we. In addition to bipolar, post-traumatic stress disorder, schizophrenia, polio, hysteria and sudden infant death syndrome,Tero in particular suffers from snuffleupagitis, the poor thing.” Klaus grinned, satisfied in having won this year’s Oppression Olympics.“Go on then, send the folder through.”

Eva slid the folder through the Haus of Klaus’s mail slot. Klaus fumbled around trying to find it for a solid minute before letting out an exasperated sigh and removing one of his eyepatches. He undid the rubber bands protecting the folder and began to tremble violently.

“Evangeline, what are these?” Klaus sounded on the verge of tears. He held out his hand, the rubber bands dangling from his fingertips.

“Rubber bands to hold the folder shut,” Eva replied nervously.

“What else is kept shut by rubber bands?”Klaus glared at Eva and let the folder drop to the floor.

Eva paused in thought for a moment before gasping and covering her mouth. “Lobster claws,” she muttered to herself.

“Do you see how triggered we are right now, Evangeline? How could you leave our trigger untagged like this? Can’t you see how we can barely even? No, we CAN’T EVEN. We just can’t.”Klaus fell from his chair and began to blubber on the floor of his cell and flail his limbs wildly.

Eva and Holden waited patiently for three hours to see if Klaus would calm down. “How can bun do this for so long without getting tired?” Eva whispered to her father.

“This is nothing," Holden replied. "When they changed Sonic’s arms, he killed ten gypsies and cried for six days.”

As the fourth hour of Klaus’s meltdown dawned, Eva tried to change the subject. “So, um, did you like the art?”

“fhtadsfggffd,”Klaus replied, still flailing wildly through the room.

Holden was a patient man, but unlike the list of things he would put his penis into, his patience had limits. “Klaus, cool it. I’m not going to wait here for you to act like a human being while there are still pigs unfucked. Is Eva going to play in THE BIG GAME or not?”

Klaus continued to babble incoherently with no signs of acknowledging Holden’s question.

#tw #buffknuckles #likeifyouread

Author’s note: Why is Klaus allowed to speak in italics? Does he think he’s me or something?