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Ignore whatever it says in canon, pick a Blorbo, what star sign are they? ★Askathon★
this has been in my asks forever, sorry, fen. sorry for only just getting round to it but i havent been able to think of which blorbo. eventually, i just did a random picker lol
i think basil would be a pisces because hes very sensitive and he clearly has....an imagination
bonus chinese zodiac: i like to think hed be a dog and have those same attributes (honest, loyal, friendly) before what happened to him, happened to him
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Ouhhh ... this is a good question. My thing is i look at oscar isaacs characters going through hell and i go :( they need soup . So no matter who i immediately think soup. But realisticallllyy im gonna sayyy specifically basil stitt reaaally likes pizza as a comfort food. I mean he eats it IN canon right ... orders it after everything goes to shit. So i say its his favorite 😼😼😼
Summary: Basil isn't happy that you were hired to clean his apartment, that is, until Rick the monkey plays matchmaker. (no warnings, really, just two lonely people finding each other, gender neutral reader, ~2.2k)
5 of 9 fics I wrote for @the-oscar-isaac-collectiveCoffee & Cream Digital Fanzine
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After 3 months of working for Basil Stitt, you’ve learned a few things.
1) He has a sweet tooth.
2) He doesn’t like you.
3) His stuffed monkey talks.
At first, you’d thought it was like a nanny cam. Basil’s parents had hired you to keep his apartment clean, and cook a few times a week.
You’d wondered if they were watching you, speaking to you through the stuffed monkey.
A few weeks in, after careful examination, you’d realized that it isn’t some kind of prank. It’s as obvious as it is strange.
Rick, the stuffed monkey, can talk. He has a low voice and a soothing, British accent. Sometimes he speaks in riddles, but you appreciate that he’s a deep thinker.
He makes up for the cold shoulder Basil gives you.
Basil shuts himself away when you come by, rotating through rooms so you can clean them. He never says hello. If you ever see him, he makes it clear that you aren’t welcome. Usually he just scowls, but a couple of times, you’ve had words with him.
For example, when you’d tried to introduce yourself, Basil had said nothing, turning his face away and ignoring your attempt at a handshake. You’d called him rude. He’d pointed to the front door and invited you to leave.
Another time he’d seen you looking in his garbage before you took it out to the trash chute. He’d yelled at you for being nosy.
He was right. But it still burned your ass that he’d caught you.
There’d been pillows stuffed in a garbage bag that looked like they had knife slashes in them. So, you’d taken them out of the bag to look.
You’d held them high so Basil could see his handiwork. “I’m nosy, but you did this. So, which is worse?”
Basil had been a man-about-town before he was struck by lightning, as Rick told it. Promotion after promotion at work. Wonderful girlfriend. All a bit hollow, but Basil liked it that way.
And then, as Rick had said, “time ticks forward, whether we stop to wind our pocket watches our not.”
The accident.
Basil had thought his life wasn’t worth living anymore, and then had felt called to a higher purpose. And now, he was very interested in watching Western movies, consuming pizza, and drinking vast quantities of red wine while sitting on his couch. He hid the containers so you didn’t report it to his parents.
You clean out the stash of empty wine bottles from beneath his couch cushions.
“This is insulting,” you say to Rick. “I’m not a snitch. His parents pay me to clean and cook, not to report back about him. He doesn’t have to hide anything. He doesn’t like that I’m in his apartment at all. I’m this close to quitting.”
“He thinks you don’t want to be here. He thinks the worst of himself, but all living creatures need to be seen.” Rick says. “Neither you nor Basil can do everything alone.”
You finish wiping down Basil’s coffee table. “I do just fine alone.”
“You do nothing but work. Would you not do better if you had someone to call your own? Try speaking to him about something you have in common. Perhaps candy. Basil is very fond of the jelly beans that you bring for him,” Rick says. “Also, I’m sitting on a hundred dollar bill. If you speak to Basil, consider it yours.”
You look at the stuffed monkey, roll your eyes and finish cleaning.
You pack up your supplies and check your watch. You have some time before you need to start dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs, enough for a few nights.
“Fine,” you say to Rick, picking him up and grabbing the money.
“Hey, aaaaaaaah,” Rick says as he tips over in your haste to set him back down.
“Sorry.” You set him upright.
The money goes into your back pocket and you walk upstairs to Basil’s bedroom.
“Hey, Basil,” you say, knocking on his door. “It’s me. Obviously. I’m the only one who comes over here, right?”
Silence.
“Well,” you continue speaking even though you have a knot in your stomach, “I was wondering if you wanted to change up the jelly bean flavors? The fancy ones that I bring for you?”
You hear a muffled voice.
“I can’t hear you through the door,” you say impatiently. “I’ve already seen your face a few times. You don’t have to hide from me.”
Shuffling and footsteps. The door cracks open. The right side of Basil’s face appears. Dark curly hair and one, beautiful eye.
“You can bring different flavors,” he says curtly.
You take out your phone. “They have a list on their website.”
You find it quickly and hand your phone to him. The door opens a little more so Basil can take it. You can see his nose now, most of his mouth.
You’ve always secretly thought he was handsome. Or he would be, if he stopped pouting.
His mom had told you not to mention anything about his appearance. He was understandably sensitive about it.
Basil scrolls through the list, not noticing that the door drifts open further and you can see his whole face now. It’s not the first time you’ve seen his lightning scar, the slight milkiness in his eye. But you’ve only seen it in passing.
This is different. You can see the beautiful, complicated pattern it makes on his skin. It looks healed, but darker and a bit red.
“Coffee jelly beans,” Basil mutters, reading your phone.
He’s frowning, but doesn’t sound angry, like you’ve heard before. It’s not a conversation, but it could be a start.
“They’re my favorite,” you say. “Better than chocolate covered espresso beans because they’re sweeter and, you know, you’re not just crunching down on a dry ass bean. They taste a little like the bag of Ethiopian coffee that I brought last week. Kind of fruity, in a good way.”
Basil hands you your phone back. “I haven’t tried it yet.”
Your eyes meet and your stomach jumps. Basil looks away, turning his head slightly so you can’t see his scars anymore.
“Why don’t we have a cup now? It’s early enough it won’t keep you from sleeping,” you say.
You turn and start downstairs. You keep talking, hoping to draw him down with you.
“I never had expensive, fancy coffee until I started working for you,” you say. “The place I get your coffee beans from smelled so good I had to try it. Now I’m addicted to it. So, now it’s like an extra five bucks three days a week when I come here. I can bring you a cup too, if you want.”
Your body relaxes when you hear Basil walk out of his room and down the stairs behind you.
“That would be nice,” he says cautiously, like he’s still suspicious of why you’re talking to him.
You glance at him with a half smile and head into his kitchen to brew the coffee in Basil’s machine. You can almost feel Rick staring at you from his perch on a low shelf in the living room. He’s so judgy, especially when he’s silent.
“Were you working today?” you ask, knowing Basil works remotely now.
“Yeah, but I usually get everything done by noon,” he says.
“Put in an extra scoop of grounds,” Rick says from the living room. “You both like strong coffee.”
You put another scoop in the filter basket.
Basil frowns at you. He looks at Rick.
“Done by noon sounds nice,” you say. “I have other clients that I clean for, and two other part time jobs.”
Basil opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it.
You put water in the machine and start it. You rinse out your travel mug from earlier and open the cabinet to get a regular one out.
“Basil is fond of the ‘Have a Nice Day’ mug,” Rick says.
You dig around until you find it in the cabinet and set it down.
Basil walks closer to you. He picks up the mug, his thumb running over the words pressed into the blue pottery.
“How did you know I like this one?” He glares at you.
“Oh,” you say with a smile, “just now, Rick told me. I thought you could hear him too.”
Basil sets the mug down so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t shatter.
His hands grip your arms. Not enough to hurt, but it’s startling.
“You can hear Rick?” Basil says, a huge smile on his face. He laughs, overjoyed. “I thought I was the only one.”
You shake your head. “No, he keeps me company when I’m here.”
“He keeps me company when you’re not here,” Basil says. He lets you go. He rubs a hand over his chest, still smiling. “This is great. I’m not crazy.”
“Well, he’s a sentient, talking stuffed monkey with scars on his face like his owner. It’s possible we’re both crazy, but that wouldn’t bother me.”
“Yeah,” Basil agrees, his hands resting on his hips, “we’re not hurting anybody.”
The smell of coffee starts to fill the apartment.
Basil leans a hand on the counter. “Hey, I’m sorry about not being nicer, or friendlier. It’s just,” he waves a hand toward the left side of his face, “I kind of severed all human contact when I got this. I have a hard time talking to people now.”
The machine beeps to indicate it’s done. You take the carafe and pour two big cups.
“Your mom said you had a high-pressure job and a really beautiful girlfriend. You were going to buy a place in the Hamptons,” you say.
Basil takes the mug from you and inhales deeply. “I was on track to make VP at my company before I was thirty. Would’ve been a big deal.”
“I’m sorry,” you say. You blow on your coffee to cool it down.
“Me too,” Basil says. The unscarred side of his face scrunches up in thought. “Or, I don’t know, maybe not. If life wanted me to slow down, I wish it wouldn’t have struck my face with lightning to get the job done. But, I think there were signs before. I just ignored them.”
You nod. “I get that. Sometimes we have to be bonked over the head before we stop and pay attention.”
Rick clears his throat. You ignore him.
Basil sips his coffee. Then a second sip. “Wow, this is really good.”
“Sit down,” Rick’s deep voice says from the living room, “enjoy yourselves. Some things should be savored. The company of others, for example.”
“Okay, Rick, don’t make it weird,” Basil mumbles.
You walk with Basil over to his couch and sit down.
“So, uh,” Basil says as he sits next to you, “this is pretty awkward, but did Rick tell you anything about me? Like, what happened after the accident?”
You bite back a smile. “The thing with the wrecking the apartment and the slashed-open pillows I saw?”
“Don’t worry. I haven’t stabbed anything in a long time,” Basil reassures you, then realizes it’s probably not reassuring at all. “Now I made it weird. Sorry.”
You feel for him. Sympathy maybe, but it’s more like when you’re really getting to know someone. When you want them to like you because you already like them. Hoping you can let each other in.
“Processing trauma looks different for everyone. Your parents said you weren’t dangerous and you have a clean record,” you say. “And I take self-defense classes. There are a lot of bad people out there.”
Basil looks down into his coffee mug.
“I don’t think you’re one of them,” you say to him.
“I don’t think you are either,” Basil says. He sets the mug down and rubs his hands on his jeans. “Hey, if I order a pizza, would you maybe want to stay? Watch a movie? I’d take you out, but...”
He looks hopeful, almost like a puppy you’d see through the plate- glass window of a shop. You’ve always had a thing for underdogs.
“Yeah, I’ll stay. I’d much rather watch a movie here anyway. I’m not big on going out to busy places.” You look at Rick, “but I’m putting you upstairs. We don’t need a chaperone.”
Basil nods, agreeing. “I’ll put you in my bedroom and put on that documentary about the Hubble Space Telescope you like.”
“You’re both very rude,” Rick complains. “This entire thing was my doing, convincing Basil to speak to you, and you to speak to Basil. It’s taken me weeks to arrange.”
“Come on, Rick, no one wants a third wheel on a first date,” Basil says. He freezes, rubs a hand through the back of his curly hair. “I mean, not that it’s a date. It’s not. Or, maybe it’s like, a pre-date. Half a date?”
“We can call it a date,” you say.
“Cool.” Basil looks relieved. He smiles at you. It’s so sweet you almost want to hug him.
You’ve been avoiding each other for weeks. Maybe it isn’t that you don’t like each other. Maybe you’re both too used to being alone, not reaching out to anyone else for connection.
Rick’s right, though, life would be better with someone to call your own.
You and Basil could be a good fit. Two people, happy to be alone. Together.
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