Do I have to be a cheerleader? -12/?
title: Do I have to be a cheerleader? -12/?
pairing: eventually Peterick
pov: 3rd
rating: a general PG-13
summary: Let's have a look at the sophomore year of one Patrick Stumph,who one day wakes up as a girl.
disclaimer: yeah,Patrick is my bestfriendforever and we're here braiding our hair...
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“Ooooh, look at this! The flowery decoration is just too cute,” Mrs Stumph exclaims at the umpteenth bra&panties set seen in less than half an hour.
Patrick’s eyeroll could change the Earth’s revolutionary motion, for how powerful it is.
“Mom, c’mon, just grab a package of ten identical panties and bras and let’s go, I don’t want to wear anything lacey or transparent or itchy or whatever, I just want something to cover with, I don’t care,” he pleads, not feeling convincing enough himself, because he knows his mother will force him no matter what.
His mother looks at him blankly and blindly grabs the first bra she gets at arm reach, a simple white one with tiny colorful ice creams printed on it, and shoves it at Patrick daringly: when Patrick sees it, he has to admit it’s cute and wonders if there’re the matching panties.
“Stop acting like a baby and choose at least nine other sets, Patrick, please,” his mother hisses while tossing at him the ice creams printed panties he didn’t loudly ask for and turns on her heels, wandering further along the aisles to leave Patrick deciding on his own. With a sigh, he finally forces himself to actually look at the displayed lingerie and choose something that may satisfy both his boy and girl side.
“Pat- err, Trisha, are you-- What the hell?” Mrs Stumph exclaims when she approaches her son: he has a huge armful of bras and panties that he’s holding with his chin too, busy skimming for more. She picks the couple of bras that fell off the pile and looks at Patrick knowingly; when he notices her standing there and the smug smile on her face, he blushes and offers his mother part of his findings.
“No, you hold them and I pick them up to show you. Choose nine sets, remember, nine sets,” his mother instructs with a laugh.
After a long sequence of ‘definitely’, ‘uhm maybe no’, and ‘yes’, Patrick and his mother finally reach a more decent amount of two sporty sets, five random sets, three bras and three panties, mismatched.
“Phew, we made it!” Mrs Stumph huffs satisfied, bringing the chosen items to the cash desk.
Patrick is left alone to tidy up, when he spots a cute orange and white pajama.
‘What am I thinking,’ he mentally scolds himself, ‘it’s too tight and girly, I still like boyish clothes!’
“Trisha, bring it over,” his mother says with a jerk of the head towards the cash desk.
“I-I wasn’t…I didn’t…” he tried to justify himself, but Patricia’s firm look convinces (read: forces) him to add the pajama to their purchases.
***
They make it back home with a bag full of brand new underwear and two other bags with three pairs of more fitting jeans, five t-shirts, a shirt, a pajama and, ladies and gentlemen, a sporty knee-length dress. Patrick still hasn’t gotten over the shock.
Mrs Stumph makes Patrick get rid of some of his clothes (“They’re on verge of self-destruction anyway, whether you’re a boy or a girl. I don’t want you to go around with ‘rotting clothes’, I know it’s nowadays fashion, but still”) before enacting her master plan: reorganize Patrick’s room.
“Hide all the embarrassing stuff, because you don’t want me to stumble on it when I’ll help you turn this room inside out, right?”
Patrick looks at his smug mother going downstairs to let him panic for a little while. He bolts to the bed and fishes his porn magazines from a box underneath it: Patrick is pretty sure his mother won’t give him too much shit about them -hello, he is was a hormonal teenage boy, and there’s also Kevin’s example, so-, but he’s not sure she’d take it well if she knew it was gay porn that her younger son stocked under the bed.
He puts his “treasure” back in the box and covers the mags with papers and old stuff he already used to ‘camouflage’ them and prays his mother won’t open it.
Patrick takes a last look at his boy-ish bedroom, maybe a bit too childish, not really ready to turn it in a more girly one.
“Listen, I know you don’t want to give up your boy side, so we could give a ‘generic’ look to your room with minimum changes,” Patrick suggests when she returns in her son’s room, a hopeful look in her eyes. Patrick finds himself smiling at his mother, who’s been really comprehensive and helpful.
Windows are open, cardboard boxes have been brought upstairs from the cellar, the new purchases are somewhere in a corner along with a broom. Patrick’s heart clenches when he sees the box simply but lethally labeled ‘THROW AWAY’ getting fuller and fuller: he knows they’re just dust catchers, or so old they’re falling apart, he just doesn’t want to get rid of some of his stuff yet.
His mother has an evil glint in her eyes, it’s as if she savored this moment for a long time, and it scares Patrick a bit seeing her feverishly showing him his belongings and throwing them in the ‘deadly box’ at his minimum hesitation.
“What about this box?” his mother takes THE BOX, making Patrick sweat cold and shake his head furiously. She looks at him slyly, but she doesn’t open the box -she’d have found only papers and old toys though. At first. Patricia Stumph would have dug to see what to throw away, oh yes she would, but someone must love Patrick somewhere ‘upstairs’ and he gets away with it.
***
“Aaah, finally,” Patricia declares triumphantly after three hours of hard work.
The disposition of the furniture is basically the same as before, but the wardrobe has new clothes on its racks, the posters have been rearranged, the bed has new sheets, the guitars and the keyboard are neatly set in a corner, the desk is finally free from the tons of paper scattered on its surface.
Mrs Stumph grabs her son by the middle and stamps a kiss on his temple. Patrick looks affectionately at his mother heading downstairs to prepare the dinner.
pairing: eventually Peterick
pov: 3rd
rating: a general PG-13
summary: Let's have a look at the sophomore year of one Patrick Stumph,who one day wakes up as a girl.
disclaimer: yeah,Patrick is my bestfriendforever and we're here braiding our hair...
||masterpost||
||previous||
“Ooooh, look at this! The flowery decoration is just too cute,” Mrs Stumph exclaims at the umpteenth bra&panties set seen in less than half an hour.
Patrick’s eyeroll could change the Earth’s revolutionary motion, for how powerful it is.
“Mom, c’mon, just grab a package of ten identical panties and bras and let’s go, I don’t want to wear anything lacey or transparent or itchy or whatever, I just want something to cover with, I don’t care,” he pleads, not feeling convincing enough himself, because he knows his mother will force him no matter what.
His mother looks at him blankly and blindly grabs the first bra she gets at arm reach, a simple white one with tiny colorful ice creams printed on it, and shoves it at Patrick daringly: when Patrick sees it, he has to admit it’s cute and wonders if there’re the matching panties.
“Stop acting like a baby and choose at least nine other sets, Patrick, please,” his mother hisses while tossing at him the ice creams printed panties he didn’t loudly ask for and turns on her heels, wandering further along the aisles to leave Patrick deciding on his own. With a sigh, he finally forces himself to actually look at the displayed lingerie and choose something that may satisfy both his boy and girl side.
“Pat- err, Trisha, are you-- What the hell?” Mrs Stumph exclaims when she approaches her son: he has a huge armful of bras and panties that he’s holding with his chin too, busy skimming for more. She picks the couple of bras that fell off the pile and looks at Patrick knowingly; when he notices her standing there and the smug smile on her face, he blushes and offers his mother part of his findings.
“No, you hold them and I pick them up to show you. Choose nine sets, remember, nine sets,” his mother instructs with a laugh.
After a long sequence of ‘definitely’, ‘uhm maybe no’, and ‘yes’, Patrick and his mother finally reach a more decent amount of two sporty sets, five random sets, three bras and three panties, mismatched.
“Phew, we made it!” Mrs Stumph huffs satisfied, bringing the chosen items to the cash desk.
Patrick is left alone to tidy up, when he spots a cute orange and white pajama.
‘What am I thinking,’ he mentally scolds himself, ‘it’s too tight and girly, I still like boyish clothes!’
“Trisha, bring it over,” his mother says with a jerk of the head towards the cash desk.
“I-I wasn’t…I didn’t…” he tried to justify himself, but Patricia’s firm look convinces (read: forces) him to add the pajama to their purchases.
***
They make it back home with a bag full of brand new underwear and two other bags with three pairs of more fitting jeans, five t-shirts, a shirt, a pajama and, ladies and gentlemen, a sporty knee-length dress. Patrick still hasn’t gotten over the shock.
Mrs Stumph makes Patrick get rid of some of his clothes (“They’re on verge of self-destruction anyway, whether you’re a boy or a girl. I don’t want you to go around with ‘rotting clothes’, I know it’s nowadays fashion, but still”) before enacting her master plan: reorganize Patrick’s room.
“Hide all the embarrassing stuff, because you don’t want me to stumble on it when I’ll help you turn this room inside out, right?”
Patrick looks at his smug mother going downstairs to let him panic for a little while. He bolts to the bed and fishes his porn magazines from a box underneath it: Patrick is pretty sure his mother won’t give him too much shit about them -hello, he is was a hormonal teenage boy, and there’s also Kevin’s example, so-, but he’s not sure she’d take it well if she knew it was gay porn that her younger son stocked under the bed.
He puts his “treasure” back in the box and covers the mags with papers and old stuff he already used to ‘camouflage’ them and prays his mother won’t open it.
Patrick takes a last look at his boy-ish bedroom, maybe a bit too childish, not really ready to turn it in a more girly one.
“Listen, I know you don’t want to give up your boy side, so we could give a ‘generic’ look to your room with minimum changes,” Patrick suggests when she returns in her son’s room, a hopeful look in her eyes. Patrick finds himself smiling at his mother, who’s been really comprehensive and helpful.
Windows are open, cardboard boxes have been brought upstairs from the cellar, the new purchases are somewhere in a corner along with a broom. Patrick’s heart clenches when he sees the box simply but lethally labeled ‘THROW AWAY’ getting fuller and fuller: he knows they’re just dust catchers, or so old they’re falling apart, he just doesn’t want to get rid of some of his stuff yet.
His mother has an evil glint in her eyes, it’s as if she savored this moment for a long time, and it scares Patrick a bit seeing her feverishly showing him his belongings and throwing them in the ‘deadly box’ at his minimum hesitation.
“What about this box?” his mother takes THE BOX, making Patrick sweat cold and shake his head furiously. She looks at him slyly, but she doesn’t open the box -she’d have found only papers and old toys though. At first. Patricia Stumph would have dug to see what to throw away, oh yes she would, but someone must love Patrick somewhere ‘upstairs’ and he gets away with it.
***
“Aaah, finally,” Patricia declares triumphantly after three hours of hard work.
The disposition of the furniture is basically the same as before, but the wardrobe has new clothes on its racks, the posters have been rearranged, the bed has new sheets, the guitars and the keyboard are neatly set in a corner, the desk is finally free from the tons of paper scattered on its surface.
Mrs Stumph grabs her son by the middle and stamps a kiss on his temple. Patrick looks affectionately at his mother heading downstairs to prepare the dinner.