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Misplaced Lens Cap
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trying on a metaphor
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@dorkustm
# DORKUSTM ! is a selective, semi - active portrayal of peter spankoffski of team starkid's hatchetfield series. written by kourt ( she / they , 25 )
* minors do not interact ( 21+ only )
NOTE ! mature content such as : assault, death ( murder, suicide ) , sexual themes and more, frequently mentioned and tagged appropriately .
other blogs: @forwardmoved
twas fun while it lasted, but moving pspank back onto @forwardmoved! i know most of y'all are following already but if there are any stragglers... wtf ARE you doing??
Ted's all too aware that this is may be the first time @dorkustm's held a baby. It was fitting that it'd be Ted's daughter seeing as the first baby Ted held was Pete. He could remember it too, his mother insisting on it despite his not wanting to. A tiny sleepy baby plopped into his arms as he yawned and blinked up at his brother. Ted wouldn't tell anyone how remarkable that day was for him, but he showed it in different ways by supporting his brother. Sort of-- it'd gotten better over the last couple years, but now he was looking for his brother's support in being a dad. He knew Pete was excited for him, but was he ready to be an uncle. "So," Ted's voice is aimed towards where Pete is sat on the couch, the older Spankoffski stood a few feet off with Jane in his arms, "you ready to hold her?"
if you told peter spankoffski, years ago, that his brother would eventually-- and willingly, mind you, settle down and start a family of his own? he would've scoffed and said that there would be no fucking way. there had always been a part of peter, deep down inside, that knew that his older brother was capable of getting his shit together. but he wouldn't tell a soul. it didn't need to be said, however, how proud of ted that he was-- is, that he's finally gotten his shit together. and he's happy. pete sits up straight on the couch, with a pillow in his lap and his arms stretched out to welcome his niece. is he nervous? hell yeah. but he's not going to stall forever, nodding his head firmly when ted asks. "... well, i'm ready as i'll ever be."
am i maybe going to come on here post one (1) thing and then leave? ................... mayhaps. but an attempt it being made
The short two word answer was really all Dan could've expected from the teenager. He didn't have the best track record with getting things out of these kids, but he knew a thing or two about how to talk to them. At least he believed he did. He was good at what he did and alright at what else he tried, this was definitely a 'what else' and it was often testing his abilities to prove he could do it. The thing with being a volunteer? They don't expect it all from you, just the basics and the ability to listen. And when you were a reporter of stories... you were one hell of a listener.
"That's fair," Dan answers, eyes staying on Pete despite their gazes not meeting. He was used to that too. Rarely did he ever get a one on one conversation with these students that felt like they were paying full attention. Or even wanted to be there. He couldn't rightly blame some of them for not wanting to be there. Who wanted to talk to an adult about your secrets, thoughts, and worries? It was much easier to text your friend or pretend it wasn't a thing, but death? Death you couldn't pretend with.
A soft sigh escapes the news anchor and he gives a small shrug, "But I'm sure there's more there-- I know when I feel like shit," he offers a small smile as if to joke a little at the word choice, "there's usually a combination of things coming with it. You wanna talk about those specifics?" He was sure, so sure Pete had to be experiencing sadness, regret, maybe guilt-- he'd do great at this volunteering stint if he could get him to talk about it.
although dan reynolds may really, truly be trying with him here, it certainly isn't appreciated. and that's written all across peter's features, especially so when his eyes snap to the volunteer guidance counselor and he sees a hint of a smile, which causes him to frown in response. what is this, a joke? sure, everyone feels like shit sometimes and he realizes that he isn't exactly being cooperative, making the other's job any easier, but what would he understand, really? murdering a classmate and then being haunted by his ghost not on the table-- has dan lost not one, but two best friends, as he had?
"specifics? you want me to talk specifics?" pete can't help but scoff, bitterness bubbling up inside him and irration continuing to lace his every word. "i don't know, maybe something having to do with my friends being brutally murdered? that sucks, what else am i supposed to feel?" he keeps his eyes trained on dan, despite the faint senstation of his eyes beginning to water. he lets out a short snort. "right, no one else gives a shit about them. what was i thinking?"
for @sleazeballtm <3
oh, he's dead... he's so fuckin' dead. well, max is dead, technically. and theoretically, this should solve nearly all of his problems-- the exception to that now being the paranoia of being found out, then charged with manslaughter. one, his mother would kill him. two, if he somehow survived his mother's wrath, he wouldn't live long in juvie anyway, no matter how cushy it might actually be. anxiety thrums in pete's veins faster than before, and he couldn't have ran home faster, locking himself in the bathroom and trying to keep what's left of his own guts inside his own body, scrubbing his hands clean in the sink. he'd been lucky they had a stupid ass plan to prank max, because most of the blood was easily shed with the costume he abandoned at waylon hall, but specks of blood remain and he can't seem to scrub hard enough. pete hears something moving on the other side of the bathroom door, and he freezes. oh god, not ted. not now.
for @beaniestm <3
"excuse me." the nervous teenager clears his voice, and his voice is a little louder than he would've liked it to be. the coffee shop might not be bustling with customers, however, the baristas have made it perfectly clear that he needs to speak up. "one hot chocolate. for peter. spankoffski. you, uh..." pete winces a little bit at his own awkwardness, but pushes through, eyebrows raised as he forces himself to look at emma, rather than avoid her. "you know my brother, ted, right?"
how has it already been 3 weeks since i last posted something here jfc
pspspspspspsps
e-e-e-e-e-e-excuse me?!
when will my confidence come back from the war...
@dorkustm ➽ [ HAND ]: sender takes a gentle hold of the receiver’s hand, as a form of emotional support and reassurance. @ steph!!
𐃈 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐡 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐬. she knew what they were for, but not exactly why. what was the point in saying kind words to someone who was no longer able to hear or acknowledge them? what was the point in wearing all black to express mourning, as though her tears and screams and wailing weren’t adequate enough in doing so? what was the point in celebrating a life that had been cut short, that had held little truly worth celebrating?
steph isn’t sure exactly why she’s mourning her father. 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗹, 𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘂𝗿𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝗱 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲. miss tessburger picked her up from daycare more than he did ( and that was only because her father had provided the school with his assistants number instead of his own, so they could only call miss tessburger when soloman forgot to pick her up, something he did nearly every day ) 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍, 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚍.
so why did it hurt so badly that he was gone?
steph sat on the bench of the church pew, her leg bouncing as she anxiously gnawed at the nail bed of her index finger. 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙣 about how great a man her father was and how big a hole the mayors absence would leave, and steph finds herself itching to protest as though it were a wedding and the question of if anyone objects to the marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace had been asked.
her father was not a great man, or a good man — hell, he wasn’t even an okay man. 𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗴𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗶𝘁𝗶𝘇𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗲𝘁𝗳𝗶𝗲𝗹𝗱 𝗮𝗹𝗺𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝘀 𝗼𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝘀 𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗴𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗲𝗿. he’d lied and cheated ( and killed, steph was fairly sure ) for his spot in office. 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞, and not the warm embrace that other kids had known, that other kids had gotten.
but yet, here this pastor was, droning on and on as if he knew him. he didn’t know him. no one truly knew her father — 𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚍, 𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍. and yet, here is the pastor and these sniffling, teary eyed funeral attendees, acting as if they knew him. an impossibility ---- how could they know him when she sure as hell didn’t?
a sharp pain brings her mind away from her spiraling thoughts and back to the present , as she looks down to see the beads of blood that began to rise along her fingernail bed. she stares at it for a moment, before going to inflict the same fate on her thumb. 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙙𝙤 𝙨𝙤, and she turns her head to see peter spankoffski, her peter spankoffski, grasping it gently as he looks at her with eyes far too loving and far too kind to be addressing her. she can’t help but smile at him, one that's almost as soft and gentle as peter’s grasp of her hand.
❝ thanks for being here, geek. ❞ she says after a moment, speaking in a hushed whisper beneath the pastor’s monotone droning. she threads her fingers with his, clasping their palms together. ❝ it uh, it means a lot that you’d sit through this shit just for me, so . . . thanks. ❞
it's hard-- losing someone close to you. and maybe, in a selfish sort of way, a small part of peter spankoffski wanted to go to mayor lauter's funeral as a way to distract himself. distracting himself from his own guilt and struggles that comes with his best friends being gone, and instead, focusing on stephanie lauter. he didn't know mayor lauter all that well, but it didn't take rocket science to know that he didn't have the best relationship with his daughter. his pride, and maybe selfishness, was what had brought peter and steph together, in the attempt to bring her grades up. but mayor lauter is dead, or so they all believe, and the semantics don't really matter anymore.
although it isn't that easy to get out of his own head, he forces himself to-- quietly observing. he noticed the way that steph picks at her nails and, after wincing to himself with the tiniest appearance of blood, he reaches to take her hand in his. he's able to summon a small, tired smile in an attempt to bring her more comfort-- but to be perfectly honest, it's not all that difficult to find himself smiling around her. after all they've been through, he knows it's all fucked up, they're fucked up. but he adores her, more than he ever thought he would.
a gentle huff of amusement manages to escape pete, then, and his head turns to look forward. "don't mention it. not like i've got anything better to do." he whispers back, pretending to be paying attention to the pastor at the front of the room, but he's more attentive to steph sitting next to him and the way that their hands are locked together. his thumb lightly brushes against her knuckles, the back of her hand. "if you need to get outta here, get fresh air or whatever, just say the word."
“ you have no idea what i’m capable of. ”
@dorkustm is stood on the other side of the kitchen island across from where Ted is, the elder Spankoffski leaning into the marble top. His hands are sprawled, but slowly curling as if he's starting to clench with a frustration. There's a tight clenching of his jaw, teeth grinding as he attempts to find his voice-- bitterly fighting back the way he wanted to bark louder than he was capable of following up with a bite. He holds it back, swallowing and finally knocking fists with a light rap against the counter. He needs to say something.
"You're right, dorkus," he lifts his head, eyes landing on his younger brother as he stretches a grin to his face. It's false in appearance, happy glimmer far from his dark hues, "I don't. Not a fucking clue." He lets out a bitter laugh, shoulders giving a shrug, "Last I checked you were still getting your ass kicked by a bully for being a prude, right?"
This whole conversation had come around because Ted wouldn't lay off. He'd been pestering and poking Pete about his new girlfriend, Steph, trying to get information and learn the ins and outs. It wasn't his business, but it was the first real relationship his brother has had and Ted-- well, he couldn't remember the last time he had one of those. But all this frustration and pissed off commentary came after Ted started getting on him about being a prude over it. Pete had said he wasn't and Ted had bit back that he was, saying he wasn't capable of being anything but. And now here they were, locked in some bitter pissing contest nearly about it.
"So why don't you tell me what you're capable of, hm? Because you got me real damn curious now--"
it isn't that serious, he tells himself, and he doesn't have to defend himself to ted, of all people. because he knows ted. although he loves ted, he likes to think he understands his brother more than anyone else, man, does ted know how to get underneath his skin, too. the younger spankoffski rolls his eyes and adjusts his glasses, before drawing himself to his full height-- he's still shorter than ted, annoyingly, but it's a pointed difference to how he usually hunches in on himself. he hasn't always had confidence, or the balls to stand up for himself, until he met stephanie lauter. his brother's cockiness could have rubbed off of him, but it's stubbornness, too, that manifests itself as they square off in the middle of the kitchen.
"oh, you want to listen to what i have to say now?" he scoffs, irritated written across his features in comparison to ted, who wears a grin, and he wishes he could smack that grin off of his face. instead, peter remains still, hands curled into fists at his sides until he starts to gesture with his words. "is it really so hard to believe that someone other than yourself is capable of getting some action, huh? if steph wanted a quick bang, she could've gotten it from anyone else! so what, if we want to take things slow? does that make me a prude? to actually want to get to know someone for who they actually are, instead of a piece of ass?"
i officially start my new seasonal job this week! just wanted to keep y'all updated bc while i haven't been writing A TON recently, actually doing the thing will hopefully alleviate some of the anxiety i've been having and i'll around more... eventually!
at the moment , you want ...
tagged by: @beaniestm tagging: all y'all on the dash
to be free
you've been trying to leave for so long. something is keeping you there, like being chained, or locked in. in the moment, you feel trapped. your heart desires to feel freedom, and this could be physical or mental, or even both. physically. you may be truly trapped, confined in a situation that seems to have no end, or even trapped in your own emotions. you desire to let go, to feel free once again and at peace. there are ways to free yourself, all hope isn't lost.
yes, she knows that she needs to study, but steph doesn't know if she should dread the library because her brain's scattered or look forward to trying to have some sort of a distraction. normally she would find herself being able to laugh at the sentiment, or perhaps she would have been able to make some sort of cocky comment back, but steph just feels heavy and out of her mind- guilty too. she doesn't like to be like this in front of anyone and her father was a well kept series of secrets, like most things in hatchetfield. max knows. now pete knows and there isn't the same tension, instead this guilt strikes her and feels worse at his tone... the way he says her name should comfort, normally she likes the way he says that nickname compared to everyone else who is a 'friend' but now it only makes this guilt grow. she didn't want him worried- not that she's doing much to tuck possible worry away with how she's acting. she doesn't know how to turn her brain off in the moment, though, trying to focus on her angry, racing heart, fingernails dig into her thigh and she lets her eyelids close, trying to get a fucking grip and not expecting him to keep going, but he does, and she listens without looking at him.
---she finds herself thankful for where her glance is very quickly the moment he expresses this confidence and there's this part of her that wants to laugh, to call his bullshit. instead, she's opening her eyes, trying to find his facial expression in the back of vision, trying to figure out if she can believe him, if he's just saying it, why he is. for a moment she let's the quiet linger before she shrugs a little bit. " i wish i had your confidence. " a statement that would be almost funny if she lingered on it. she doesn't though, she quickly moves into a explanation, he's own that at least. " 'getting there' for my dad would be a's. i mean if they actually better i am sure he will get off my ass for a second but it won't last. " that, what he heard, it would happen again. a c, which was all she was aiming for, might be passing, but she still had to live up to the lauter expectations and there was oh so many other ways she was flunking everything he wanted her to be that she wasn't. she looks from the passenger out the main window, watching pinebrook get further and further away and not closing herself off but still keeping her expression as numb as she can. sometimes i worry you're just wasting your time. a phrase on the tip of her tongue but she does not allow it to slip. instead, she continues. " i'm tryin'. i think you're the only person who knows i am trying. don't know how good i am going to do today, though. "
it isn't fair to her. and there's a part of him that aches for because, as it turns out, they're not so different after all. they've both had these expectations that they've tried to meet, or try to shrug them off like they don't matter to them at all. this is all easier said than done, of course. however, pete would've assumed nothing of the sort, before today. he always assumed that, as the mayor's daughter, stephanie lauter had her life cut out for her. she has friends, family... family with status, namely. sure, she isn't exactly struggling for money and things could be worse in that aspect, but none of that diminishes what she's going through right now. and that he feels like he needs to help her. he wants to help her, whether that be as a study partner or... a genuine friend. someone that could be relied on.
"you're smart." pete thinks-- no, he knows that she's smart. he doesn't know how to fully express it, other than the blunt words he believes in, because sometimes he struggles with sentimentality. he feels his cheeks begin to burn, but he keeps his eyes on the road ahead of them, clears his throat and grins. "i know that i'm the one who needs glasses here, but you'll see that too, one day. it doesn't have to be today." he doesn't want to pressure her, but there's an earnestness to his words. even if there's that lingering thought in the back of his mind that his words might not even mean that much to someone like her. he's just a nerd helping her out with a hard time and when she gets the grades that she wants, or her father approves of, then who is to say that they would maintain a relationship? and
why does that thought sting a little? he tries to shake the feeling off, setting on a shrug after a beat or two of silence. "we all have our off days."
just hearing @crisisbabe cackle like two feet away from me when i post something for them <3
@dorkustm sent [ spiderman ] an upside-down kiss, just like in the movie
oakly park looks different at night , or maybe it's less about it being night and more about him been sliiiiightly drunk. this whole being invited to parties thing is still new. and the most richie's ever used to drink is a little shot glass of wine here and there. but tonight , oh tonight , the party had soju ! and he had had.... so much before stumbling out of the party , sweaty and tired but also just filled with a joy for life. for being alive. for getting to live in this town. he doesn't know why pete's trailing worriedly behind him , he promises he's okay. all smiles , the cool night air hitting his sweaty skin just right.
he's talking , not even sure what he's talking about , but it feels nice to be out here with pete. he knows he's not always the coolest friend , but pete's never judged him and he loves him for that. he loves him for some many reasons. and-- is he saying that out loud ? richie stops a moment , face screwed up and head swimmy. but then his eyes land on the playground. " look peter ! " he points excitedly and begins to run sloppily , because he hasn't been here in years , but suddenly the idea of climbing on the jungle gym seems like the best thing ever.
he doesn't even have to go on his tip-toes anymore to reach the bars , grabbing tight and beginning to rock back and forth , legs up , gaining momentum until-- he's all gangly limbs and elbows and knees, but it's like riding a bike , and in a dizzying display his legs are over and looped through the bars , head swaying upside down as the world spins beneath him. except pete. pete's there and stable and he's just-- richie is filled with some much adoration. and he doesn't know why he does it , doesn't even know HOW he manages it , but the other boy's face is so close all it takes is a little straining forward and-- richie's upside down smile reaches pete's lips , and he kisses him. he kisses his best friend.
they've been friends for as long as either one of them can remember. it doesn't really matter how it all started, or why it had-- all that matters is that they've had each other, through thick and thin, years and years of bullying that they had been subjected to almost the entirety of their lives. that is, until college. they're in college now and although peter doesn't want to jinx it; they're actually doing well for themselves, in classes that they enjoy and they make the time to hang out. they do all of this, even going to parties together, without the fear of getting their asses handed to them. what a concept.
instead, tonight, there's slight concern buzzing underneath his skin, mixing with the alcohol, as he follows his best friend, richie. the edges of his vision are a little blurry and he's getting tired-- not bothering to check his watch how late it is, but mostly because he wants to keep an eye on richie, who has led them to a playground. he follows in the other's footstep, but with his arms outstretched, in case richie falls -- not that he'd be capable of catching him, if anything, they'd both collapse to the gound. but if richie can manage getting up onto the jungle gym with what appeared to be ease, then maybe it wasn't that big of a concern.
pete doesn't realize how close he's gotten to richie until the moment that he's being kissed, his shoulders tensing and finding himself frozen for a fraction of a second. he sways every so slightly in place, his arms still held out in front of him. the kiss had been unexpected, but... it wasn't... bad? richie tastes like alcohol, duh, but he doesn't pull away. instead, he reaches up to grasp one of richie's arms, afraid that he'll be the one to lose his footing, and kisses his best friend back.
