#Also my sister and I were football. players?? Except it was a weird football baseball combo
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Instead of a stress dream about being late or unprepared for class I had one that involved explosions and near kidnapping that included a few Tumblrinas so thanks to @wisteriawatching for swimming through snake infested waters to get to my car (post explosion that was set off as a distraction), @cabincreaking for alerting the police, and @notesonartistry for making sure Tumblr knew of our predicament 🤣😅
#Idk WHAT that dream was but it was very much a thing#One coworker was there I know she showed up because of work stress#Also my sister and I were football. players?? Except it was a weird football baseball combo
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“Hey bro! Check out this Nike ad!” This was my entry point into a new world.
…
Since Carlos had lived mostly outside the United States, he was able to follow soccer on a level I’d never encountered in my hometown. Back then, before social media and the advent of scarf-wearing Northwestern fútbol hipsters, big-time European soccer was like the metric system: Known to almost all but ourselves. But Carlos knew, and immediately used LimeWire to curate me a massive archive of 1990s through early 2000s soccer highlights. What was I doing in the world without them?
Oddly enough, in trying to inculcate me in soccer fandom, he started not with game highlights, but with the advertisements. Yes, Carlos was an educator and a voluntary footsoldier for Big Apparel. Going in, I had no clue about high-quality, internationally popular Nike soccer ads. The ads, written by the legendary Wieden+Kennedy firm, were miniature movies, films that were often creatively daring but also quite funny. The most popular of these ads might be “Good vs. Evil,” from 1996, where Nike’s best soccer players team up to play Satan’s literal army. The blending of sacrilege, theology and comedy just worked, like a more ambitious version of Space Jam that somehow took itself less seriously than Space Jam.
…
Yes, I know ads aren’t supposed to be high art. I understand that they are the purest distillation of manipulative greed. And yet, they sometimes are culturally relevant generational touchstones. While Nike was weaving soccer into enduring pop culture abroad, it was having a similar kind of success with basketball and baseball stateside. These ads weren’t just pure ephemera. Michael Jordan’s commercials were so good that, as he nears age 60, his sneaker still outsells any modern athlete’s. “Chicks dig the long ball” is a phrase (a) that can get you sent to the modern HR department and b) whose origins are fondly remembered by most American men over the age of 35.
Modern Nike ads will never be so remembered. It’s not because we’re so inundated with information these days, though we are. And it’s not because today’s overexposed athletes lack the mystique of the 1990s superstars, though they do. It’s because the modern Nike ads are beyond fucking terrible.
…
They’re bad for many causes, but one in particular is an incongruity at the company’s heart. Nike, like so many major institutions, is suffering from what I’ll call Existence Dissonance. It’s happening in a particular way, for a particular reason and the result is that what Nike is happens to be at cross-purposes from what Nike aspires to be.
…
For all the talk of a racial reckoning within major industries, Nike’s main problem is this: It’s a company built on masculinity, most specifically Michael Jordan’s alpha dog brand of it. Now, due to its own ambitions, scandals, and intellectual trends, Nike finds masculinity problematic enough to loudly reject.
This rejection is part of the broader culture war, but it’s accelerating due to an arcane quirk in the apparel giant’s strange restructuring plan, announced in June. Under the leadership of new CEO John Donahoe, Nike is moving away from its classic discrete sports categories (Nike Basketball, Nike Soccer, etc.) in favor of a system where all products are shoveled into one of three divisions: men’s, women’s and kids’. Obviously Nike made clothing tailored to the specificities of all these groups before, but now, Nike is emphasizing gender over sport. Gone is the model of the product appealing to basketball fans because they are basketball fans. It’s now replaced by a model of, say, the product appealing to women because they are women.
And hey, women buy sneakers too. Actually, women buy the lion’s share of clothing in the United States. While women shoppers are market dominant in nearly every aspect of American apparel, the clothing multinational named after a Greek goddess happens to be a major exception. At Nike, according to its own records, men account for roughly twice as much revenue as women do.
You might see that stat and think, “Well, this means that Nike will prioritize men over women in its new, odd, gendered segmentation of the company.” That’s not necessarily how this all works, thanks to a phenomenon I’ll call Undecided Whale. The idea is that a company, as its aims grow more expansive, starts catering less to the locked-in core customer and more to a potential whale which demonstrates some interest. Sure, you can just keep doing what’s made you rich, but how can you even focus on your primary business with that whale out there, swimming so tantalizingly close? The whale, should you bring it in, has the potential to enrich you far more than your core customers ever did. And yeah yeah yeah, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, but those were birds. This is a damned whale! And so you start forgetting about your base.
You can see this dynamic in other places. For the NBA, China is its Undecided Whale. It could be argued that the NBA fixates more on China than on America, even if the vast majority of TV money comes from U.S. viewership. The league figures it has more or less hit its ceiling in its home country, so China becomes an obsession as this massive, theoretical growth engine.
…
Here’s the main issue for Nike in this endeavor: The company, as a raison d’être, promotes athletic excellence. While women are among Nike’s major sports stars, the core of high-level performance, in the overwhelming majority of sports, is male. Every sane person knows that, though nobody in professional class life seems rude enough to say so. Obviously, there’s the observable reality of who tends to set records and there’s also the pervasive understanding that testosterone, the main male sex hormone, happens to give unfair advantages to the athletes who inject it.
Speaking of which, there’s a famous This American Life episode from 2002 where the public radio journos actually test their own testosterone levels. The big joke of the episode is just how comically low their T levels are. Sure, you would stereotype bookish public radio men in this way, and yet the results are on the nose enough to shock.
As a nerdy media-weakling type, I can relate to the stunning realization that you’ve been largely living apart from T. Before working in the NBA setting, I was an intern in the cubicles of Salon.com’s San Francisco office, around the time it was shifting from respectable online magazine into inane outrage content mill. Going from that setting to the NBA locker room was some jarring whiplash, like leaving the faculty lounge for a pirate ship. To quote Charles Barkley on the latter culture, “The locker room is sexist, racist, and homophobic … and it’s fun and I miss it.”
…
The “Good vs. Evil” ad boasts a “Like” to “Dislike” ratio of 20-to-1 on YouTube. On June 17th of 2021, Nike put out an ad ahead of the Euro Cup that referenced “Good vs. Evil” as briefly as it could. In this case, a little child popped his collar and used Cantona’s catchphrase. As of this writing, the new ad has earned a thousand more punches of the Dislike than of the Like button.
When you see it, it’s no surprise that the latest Euro Cup ad is disliked. I mean, you have to look at this shit. I know we’re so numb to the ever-escalating emanations of radical chic from our largest corporations, but sometimes it’s worth pausing just to take stock and gawk.
…
But today we are in the land of new football, where we take dictatorial direction from less-than-athletic minors. After her announcement, we are treated to a montage of different people who offer tolerance bromides.
“There are no borders here!”
“Here, you can be whoever you want. Be with whoever you want.”
(Two men kiss following that line, because subtlety isn’t part of this new world order.)
Then, a woman who appears to be breastfeeding under a soccer shirt, threatens, in French, “And if you disagree …”
And this is when the little boy gives us Cantona’s “au revoir” line before kicking a ball out of a soccer stadium, presumably because that’s what happens to the ignorant soccer hooligan. He gets kicked out for raging against gay men kissing or French ladies breastfeeding or somesuch. Later, a referee wearing a hijab instructs us, “Leave the hate,” before narrator girl explains, “You might as well join us because no one can stop us.”
Is that last line supposed to be … inspiring? That’s what a movie villain says, like if Bane took the form of Stan Marsh’s sister. Speaking of which, was this ad actually written by the creators of South Park as an elaborate prank? It’s certainly more convincing as an aggressive parody of liberals than as a sales pitch. Why, in anything other than a comedic setup, is a woman breastfeeding in a big-budget Euro Cup ad?
It’s tempting to fall into the pro-vanguardism template the boomers have handed down to us and sheepishly say, “I must be getting old, because this seems weird to me,” but let’s get real. You dislike this ad because it sucks. You are having a natural, human response to shitty art. This a hollow sermon from a priest whose sins were in the papers. Nobody is impressed by what Nike’s doing here. Nobody thinks Nike, a multinational famous for its sweatshops, is ushering us into an enlightened utopia. Sure, most media types are afraid to criticize the ad publicly. You might inspire suspicion that what you’re secretly against is men kissing and women breastfeeding, but nobody actually likes the stupid ad. No college kid would show it to a new friend he’s trying to impress, and it’s hard to envision a massive cohort of Gen Z women giving a shit about this ad either.
Now juxtapose that ad not just against the classics of the 1990s but also the 2000s products that preceded the Great Awokening. Compare it to another Nike Euro Cup advertisement, Guy Ritchie’s “Take It to the Next Level.”
…
Here’s the problem, insofar as problems are pretended into existence by our media class: The ad is very, very male. Really, what we are watching here is a boyhood fantasy. Our protagonist gets called up to the big show, and next thing you know he’s cavorting with multiple ladies, and autographing titties to the chagrin of his date. He can be seen buying a luxury sports car and arriving at his childhood home in it as his father beams with pride. Training sessions show him either puking from exhaustion or playing grab-ass with his fellow soccer bros. This is jock life, distilled. Art works when it’s true and it’s true that this is a vivid depiction of a common fantasy realized.
Nike’s highly successful “Write the Future” ad (16,000 Likes, 257 Dislikes) works along similar themes.
…
The recent Olympic ads were especially heavy on cringe radical chic, and might have stood out less in this respect if the athletes themselves mirrored that tone on the big stage. Not so much in these Olympics. It seems as though Nike made the commercials in preparation for an explosion of telegenic activism, only to see American athletes mostly, quietly accept their medals, chomp down on the gold, and praise God or country. Perhaps you could consider Simone Biles bowing out of events due to mental health as a form of activism, but overall, the athletes basically behaved in the manner they would have back in 1996.
But Nike forged onwards anyway. This ad in celebration of the U.S. women’s basketball team made some waves, getting ripped in conservative media as the latest offense by woke capital.
…
“Today I have a presentation on dynasties,” a pink-haired teenage girl tells us. “But I refuse to talk about the ancient history and drama. That’s just the patriarchy. Instead, I’m going to talk about a dynasty that I actually look up to. An all-women dynasty. Women of color. Gay women. Women who fight for social justice. Women with a jump shot. A dynasty that makes your favorite men’s basketball, football, and baseball teams look like amateurs.”
When she says, “That’s just the patriarchy,” the camera pans to a bust of (I think) Julius Caesar. At another point, the girl says, “A dynasty that makes Alexander the Great look like Alexander the Okay.” Fuck you, Classical Antiquity. Fuck you, fans of teams. You’re all just the patriarchy. Or something.
Nike could easily sell the successful American women’s basketball team without denigrating other teams, genders and ancient Mediterranean empires that have nothing to do with this. Could but won’t. The company now conveys an almost visceral need for women to triumph over men because … well, nobody really explains why, even if it has something to do with Undecided Whaling. In Nike’s tentpole Olympics ad titled “Best Day Ever,” the narrator fantasizes about the future, declaring, “The WNBA will surpass the NBA in popularity!”
…
There are theories on the emergence of woke capital, with many having observed that, following Occupy Wall Street, media institutions ramped up on census category grievance. The thinking goes that, in response to the threat of a real economic revolution, the power players in our society pushed identity politics to undermine group solidarity. Well, that was a fiendishly brilliant plan, if anyone actually hatched it.
I’m not so convinced, though, as I’m more inclined to believe that a lot of history happens by happenstance. If we’re to specifically analyze the Nike Awokening, there is a recent top-down element of a mandate for Undecided Whaling, but that mandate was preceded by a socially conscious middle class campaign within the company.
This isn’t unique to Nike, either. Given my past life covering the team that tech moguls root for, I’ve run into such people. They aren’t, by and large, ideological. Very few are messianically devoted to seeing the world through the intersectionality lens. They are, however, terrified of their employees who feel this way. The mid-tier labor force, this cohort who actually internalized their university teachings, are full of fervor and willing to risk burned bridges in favor of causes they deem righteous. The big bosses just don’t want a headline-making walkout on their hands, so they placate and mollify, eventually bending the company’s voice into language of righteousness.
…
All the guilt and atonement transference make for bad art. And so the ads suck. There’s no Machiavellian conspiracy behind the production. It’s just a combination of desperately wanting female market share and desperately wanting to move on from the publicized sins of a masculine past. So, to message its ambitions, the exhausted corporation leans on the employees with the loudest answers.
There’s a lot of interplay between Nike and Wieden+Kennedy when the former asks the latter for a type of ad, but the through line from both sides is a lot of cooks in the kitchen. Based on conversations with people who’ve worked in both environments, there’s a dearth of personnel who are deeply connected to sports. In place of a grounding in a subculture, you’re getting ideas from folks who went to nice colleges and trendy ad schools, the type of people who throw words like “patriarchy” at the screen to celebrate a gold medal victory. The older leaders, uneasy in their station and thus obsessed with looking cutting edge, lean on the younger types because the youth are confident. Unfortunately, that confidence is rooted in an ability to regurgitate liturgy, rather than generative genius. They’ve a mandate to replace a marred past, which they leap at, but they’re incapable of inventing a better future.
…
Ironically, Nike mattered a lot more in the days when its position was less dominant. Back when it had to really fight for market share, it made bold, genre-altering art. The ads were synonymous with masculine victory, plus they were cheekily irreverent. And so the dudes loved them. Today, Nike is something else. It LARPs as a grandiose feminist nonprofit as it floats aimlessly on the vessel Michael Jordan built long ago. Like Jordan himself, Nike is rich forever off what it can replicate never. Unlike Jordan, it now wishes to be known for anything but its triumphs. Nike once told a story and that story resonated with its audience. Now it’s decided that its audience is the problem. It wouldn’t shock you to learn that Carlos hated the new Nike ads I texted to him. His exact words were, “I don’t want fucking activism from a sweatshop monopoly.” He’ll still buy the gear, though, just not the narrative. Nike remains, but the story about itself has run out. Au revoir.
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S1E5: King Gus/Big Brother Chad
Before starting this post, I wrote a light analysis of the opening sequence, and in it, I realized that probably most of my previously-held beliefs about Gus’ character come from that alone. He gets gum all over himself and falls into the ball bin, which is on wheels, so it goes flying. Which is just...so not his character at all, it turns out. I mean, he might not be all Army macho like his dad, but he’s not a dweeb, either.
Anyway, this first episode just serves to further prove me wrong, and I’m cool with that.
King Gus
You know how the first season of a network TV show usually sucks? Like, it gets by on what it can get by on — famous actors, okay writing, a fun premise, or...famous actors — but if the show gets picked up for more seasons, it becomes the season where you’ll be selling it to your friends as, “If you must watch the first season, take it with a grain of salt”?
Animated kids’ shows are not! like! that! Some of the things that this show has already gotten into are, like, season three minimum for a network adult show. You know, let the characters live their daily lives for a bit, then start throwing wrenches. But already, we’ve had “what if two characters kissed,” “what if one of the main characters joined the Ashleys,” “what if Miss Finster had a boyfriend,” and now we’re getting “what if one member of the gang became king?”
That’s right — Gus, meek, dweeby Gus, is king of the playground. Temporarily. Until King Bob returns from his tonsillectomy.
How? Well, King Bob doesn’t want someone stronger than him, or smarter than him — someone who the people might like more than him. He wants a regular guy, someone who’ll do what he’s told, who can think for himself. And, as luck would have it, there’s our boy Gus getting gum all over himself (literally, as it turns out) — right place, right time.
TJ and Spinelli are stoked that their friend is king, and they start brainstorming all the ways that they’ll finally have a say in the goings-on of the playground now (Spinelli, for example, expresses an interest in becoming “Lord Emperor of the West Playground”). Gus is less excited, likely because he didn’t ask for this, but TJ assures him they’ll be around to give him advice along the way. In the meantime, he’s just gotta be “kingy,” TJ says.
(Side note: Without all his stuff on, King Bob kinda looks like a turn-of-the-century football player. Tell me I’m wrong.)
So anyway, Gus is sworn in, and he’s immediately taken by the idea of all the snacks he can eat. King Bob’s henchmen bring him crackers and his preferred brand (and vintage!) of apple juice, more snack food, a glow-in-the-dark yo-yo, and...cookies. We’ll get to the cookies in a bit.
Meanwhile, things on the greater playground aren’t going so well. TJ and the gang want to go up to visit Gus, but they learn there’s increased bureaucratic nonsense they have to endure first — namely, a ton of paperwork that may or may not ever go through. (You know the Brooklyn Nine-Nine episode where Amy is trying to submit paperwork for a block party request, and she does it all correctly, but she still somehow doesn’t have the right forms? It’s like that.)
Gus is then tasked with his first royal judgment: deciding which of two girls gets to keep a doll they’re fighting over. In true King Solomon style, he suggests cutting the doll in half. When one girl is fine with this and the other is visibly upset, Gus...gives it to the girl who’s fine with this. Oops.
“It’s the second-best decision you could have made!” his henchman says, and we continue.
Angered by not having the proper kind of cookies he desires, Gus imposes a cookie tax on the playground: every day, each student must bring him two cookies. He’s tasking the third-, fourth-, and fifth-graders with building a cookie mine in the meantime (as well as renaming kickball “Gusball” and mandating that each recess begin with the student body singing a song about...Gus).
It’s then that the gang say “to hell with bureaucracy” and just walk up the jungle gym to see King Gus, who’s happy to see them until they start questioning his motives. TJ, then Gretchen, then the rest of the school (more or less) get locked up — except for the poor kid who can’t pay the cookie tax, who’s sentenced to hard labor.
The kids stage a protest to usurp the throne of this cookie-centered dictatorship, but before it can escalate to riot levels (well, aside from the dodgeball-throwing and Spinelli getting a few good punches in), King Bob returns. There’s a smooth transition of power, and suddenly, Gus is no longer king.
“Uneasy is the head that wears the crown,” Mikey says, as the gang decides whether or not to be mad at not-king Gus. “Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Gretchen adds. And soon enough, they’re all friends again.
Spinelli does hear back about her application to be Lord Emperor of the West Playground, and I really want to know if that worked out and that she’s just, like, doing that from here on out. Maybe that’ll be my personal headcanon.
Takeaway: Boy, oh, boy, do we keep getting these #deep Gus episodes or WHAT? When are we gonna get a good Gretchen episode?
Big Brother Chad
This isn’t the most important part, but after watching this episode, I have to ask: Does this type of stereotypical nerd exist...anywhere?
Not to spoil the episode’s first big twist right away, but here’s the scoop: Vince, who, um, plays sports(?), has a big brother named Chad. And Chad...is a geek.
See, Chad uses pocket protectors. His suspenders hike his pants up past his ankles, he wears glasses that are taped together, he’s in chess club, he has a pet turtle, he’s the scorekeeper on the baseball team, and his idea of a good time is going to Compu-Hut and watching the employees “unpack the latest mousepads.”
Your garden-variety ‘90s geek, basically. A person I have never seen before, and a person who may not have ever existed all at once like that.
But see, the real twist is unraveled throughout the episode. Vince is bragging to the gang that his big brother is going to pick him up from school that day, and word spreads around school fast. Everyone remembers Chad — who it looks like his about five years older than Vince — but they haven’t seen him in a long time. (How big is this town supposed to be? Anyway.)
The entire student body is waiting outside after school to get a glimpse of Chad, who arrives...on a bicycle he’s fashioned himself along with a sidecar, which he calls “the Chadmobile.”
“Why, he’s nothing but a nerd!” King Bob proclaims, and the students all leave disappointed.
To Gretchen, a self-proclaimed geek, it all makes sense. “What fifth-grader would want to hang out with kindergarteners?” she asks, referencing the gang’s earlier reminiscing about all the things Chad taught them when they first started school. The next day, though, Vince isn’t convinced, even as Gretchen doubles down with, “Take it from someone who knows.”
At dinner that night, it all starts to click, though, as Chad regales the table with tales of his “really neat” biology class and the aforementioned mousepads story. Vince has a breakdown, crying, “It’s true! It’s true!” and that’s when things start to get a little weird for me.
See, Chad hasn’t been hiding any of this. The sign on his bedroom door says “Chad’s room: Earthlings keep out!” He sleeps in a racecar bed, upon which he’s playing 3-D chess. And, well, his whole look.
“You’re a geek,” Vince tells his brother, thinking he’s telling Chad something he doesn’t already know.
“Yeah, so?” Chad replies.
Weirdly, the thing that sells it for Vince is that he always thought his brother was cool because he listened to CDs. But Chad explains they’re “geek CDs: Andrew Lloyd Webber, Sondheim, Gilbert and Sullivan.”
“Sorry, Vince, but I am what I am,” Chad says. “And the fact is, I’m a geek.” And then he logs into a chatroom he’s in with his friends.
Look, okay, part of it is weird that Vince didn’t notice that Chad was who he was sooner, especially when the stereotypes are in your face like that (and one of your best friends also fits those stereotypes to a T). But even if we haven’t all had the experience of checking in on a much older kid later in life, we’ve all grown up ourselves. In kindergarten, the fifth graders were impossibly tall, and therefore impossibly cool. In third grade, I knew someone who had a sister in high school. But as I reached those ages, I didn’t feel impossibly cool, or old, or anything. I knew myself a little better — I knew that I liked hanging out with the band kids, even though that wasn’t “cool” — but I wasn’t trying to be anything to younger kids. I was content having grown into myself (as much as any angsty high schooler can).
What really drives this point home is the end, where a bully that Vince got to stop bothering some younger kids earlier in the episode shows up with his big brother, who’s out to teach Vince a lesson. Chad shows up and threatens this kid...with not helping him with his math homework anymore, after which the other big kid immediately backs down.
“Just because I’m a geek doesn’t mean I’m not a cool geek,” Chad says. Because isn’t the real reward being confident in who you are — or, in this case, confident in who your older brother is?
Takeaway: What do we think of the name “Chad” these days? I think this was how I always pictured “Chad” as a kid, perhaps because of this episode and perhaps because I didn’t know any other Chads. Now, um, that name is seen...quite differently, isn’t it? I greatly prefer this Chad.
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Professional Interest
for @fangirlunderground / @fangirlangela who was my second place bidder for @fandomtrumpshate
A/n -- All medical errors are my own.
“Oi, Barnes!” Rumlow slapped his hand several times against the doorframe to Bucky’s office. Well, office was stretching it. Glorified closet, really. They’d somehow managed to squeeze a cubical into the space rather than putting up shelves or getting him a real desk. There were three chairs, his own and two for patients, doctors, or consultants.
Bucky held up one finger, then tapped a few more sentences out in his file. He hated losing his train of thought. Rumlow fidgeted impatiently. Waiting wasn’t his strong suit at all, and Bucky was tempted to keep procrastinating over the file, except that meant Rumlow would just stay there longer, and no one really wanted that. Bucky wasn’t even sure Rumlow enjoyed his own company. The man seemed always to be in someone else’s face, so it wasn’t entirely unlikely.
Bucky checked his notes, added one more thing to the file and saved it. “Yes?” He pushed back from his desk as far as the small office would allow so that he could see Rumlow without having to strain his neck.
“Got a case for ya,” Rumlow said. He tossed the manilla folder down onto Bucky’s desk. Neatly labeled with the various color-coded stickers identifying general patient information. The patient’s name, Stark, Anthony, leapt out at him.
“I thought you had the Stark case,” Bucky said, mildly. Big name case, that one. Rumlow was one of the practice’s best physical therapists, or so the rumor went. He’d worked with a number of big name football and baseball players over the years, getting accolades for bringing a star running back up to being able to play in the Superbowl, after an ACL tear had taken the guy out. He’d played the game; the team had even won. The fact that the guy would never play again, and could barely walk without pain, that was left out of the various glowing reports.
“Eh, he’s a whiner-baby,” Rumlow said. “Doesn’t like my methods.”
“You know I’m always happy to take on your problem children,” Bucky said. Over the last six months, Bucky had taken on more and more cases, but he’d recently finished off with the Storm case, and the Parker kid’s insurance had run out. Bucky was still keeping in touch with that kid by email and working him through some at-home exercises.
“He’s hardly a child,” Rumlow snorted. “Rich, spoiled bastard, but not a kid. Good luck getting him t’ do anything, and then, watch, he’ll complain and snivel when your results suck. And they will. He ain’t done a lick of work in his whole life.”
“I’m sure Mr. Stark and I can come to some sort of therapy program,” Bucky said. He flipped idly through the file. Yikes. He could see why Rumlow didn’t want this particular case.
On site therapy, partial paralysis, overall degenerative muscle damage. What the hell had happened to this guy? Bucky started digging through the case file. Doctor’s reports, surgeons files… by all reports, Stark had been driving while intoxicated, veered off the road, turned his car over several times, and, while badly injured, had remained stuck in the vehicle, unnoticed, for almost thirty-six hours.
Rumlow coughed, drawing Bucky’s attention. “What, are you still here?”
“Ha ha,” Rumlow snapped. “Me an’ Jack an’ the rest of the guys are gonna hit up Rusty Nail later tonight, want to join us for some beers?”
Bucky hesitated. Rumlow had asked him out a few times already, and Bucky had always politely turned him down, but if it was a group thing… he didn’t want to seem too anti-social. His mentor had gone out of her way to point out that maintaining good relationships with his fellows was very important. “Yeah, okay,” Bucky said. “I can’t stay out too late, though.” He turned, pointedly, back to the file and practically held his breath until Rumlow stopped darkening his doorway.
Bucky finished reading through the whole file; apparently Stark had been comatose for ninety-one days, and most of his physical therapy was for muscle degeneration, not atypical for someone bedridden for three months, and to regain stamina. And, additionally, to learn to deal with his pacemaker.
Bucky blew out a breath. Rumlow was a ruthless therapist. This guy had his world turned upside down and was probably learning everything all over again. Yeah, he could see where Rumlow’s tough love (which was more tough and less love than really, anyone should have to put up with, especially if Stark was footing the bills.) wasn’t appreciated.
Bucky tapped his fingers against his lip a moment, then picked up his phone and dialed the patient contact number.
“Stark Residence,” a crisp, professional voice said, “this is Mr. Jarvis speaking, how may I assist you?”
“This is Dr. Barnes, with Lenox Hill Physical Therapy. I was wondering if Mr. Stark might have an hour or so in the next few days to discuss his treatment options?” Bucky still felt a little weird introducing himself as Doctor. Technically, the DPT he had, while not a traditional medical degree, did earn him the title, but he’d been right in the middle of some pretty vicious arguments with his relatives. Being one of several doctors in his family, including a neurosurgeon, and a plastic surgeon, Bucky had been called the gym teacher of doctors by his sister’s husband. It grated on him and had made holiday dinners a little less than fun.
“Allow me to confer with Miss Potts,” Mr. Jarvis said. “Should I return your call, or will you hold?”
“Let me give you my number,” Bucky suggested, and then did so, when Mr. Jarvis indicated he had a pen in hand.
“Miss Potts maintains Mr. Starks schedule,” Mr. Jarvis explained. “What would be the content of the discussion?”
“I understand Mr. Stark wants to do his physical therapy in his home,” Bucky said. “Which is fine, great, he’s payin’ the premium. But I’d like him to come down here, to get a baseline to work from and to set up his Perceived Exertion levels. Also, I’ll need a list of what equipment and the maintenance schedules, available at his in-house gym.”
“I can fax you that information, Doctor Barnes,” Jarvis said. “And I shall return your call as soon as may be, on Mr. Stark’s schedule. If you would be so kind, sir, there are some Non-disclosure agreements and a security check for everyone wishing entrance into Mr. Stark’s home who is not an invited social guest.”
Bucky’s eyebrow went up. “Sure, fax it over,” he said, and gave out that number, too.
(more under the cut)
“What do they do, hire you guys out of some sort of eugenics program?” Tony knew he was being testy, he was already exhausted and all he’d done was sit in the limo while Happy drove them down to Lenox Hill, and then struggled into the wheelchair. He was still sitting in the damn thing, and while it was the full package deal, because he was Tony Stark and he could afford a chair that cost more than most people’s cars, he still hated it.
Dr. Barnes raised an eyebrow at the remark. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re both stupidly good looking. You, and that other guy--”
“Dr. Rumlow,” Barnes said, ignoring the compliment, which was probably good, because it wasn’t entirely one. Tony wondered if the man could hear the rest of the question: how can you have a medical degree if you’re so hot? “He recommended to me that you might benefit from a different medical philosophy--”
“Nope,” Tony interrupted. “Let’s not play that game. Rumlow didn’t hand over my case because he thought he wasn’t capable. That would be stupid. I fired him.”
“Quite frankly, Mr. Stark,” Barnes said, “it’s of no interest to me how you came to be in my care. His methodology wasn’t working for you.”
“The guy’s like a gym teacher, yelling at the kid who’s got asthma about how he can’t run fast,” Tony said. “It’s a terrible way to treat children, and, quite frankly, it was insulting and demeaning.”
Dr. Barnes hummed thoughtfully at that, tapping the eraser end of his pencil on Tony’s file. “Not to speak ill of my colleague, but Brock, er, Dr. Rumlow, treats patients in much the same way that he treats people he wants to date.” He glanced at Tony through eyelashes that were ridiculously long. The man had the bluest eyes, too. “He negs.” Barnes added that, as if it needed to be explained. “The idea is that, by being insulting, he pushes a patient to do better, to prove themselves. More stick than carrot.”
“Does that actually work on anyone?” Tony demanded. He wanted to wave one hand around to emphasize his point, but he already knew that was exhausting. The whole thing was exhausting. Breathing was exhausting. Existing was exhausting. Adding in dealing with being screamed at like a private in the Marine corps -- which had the added effect of giving him panic attacks, since Howard had been the same way -- and he just hadn’t been able to cope with the physical therapy.
Going home from an appointment and sobbing himself sick, hearing Howard’s voice thundering in his ears, calling him worthless, pathetic, barely human… it wasn’t aiding his recovery at all, and his one attempt to discuss the matter like adults with Dr. Rumlow had gone. Poorly.
Barnes let out an involuntary chuckle, and that was wholly unfair, because he really was insanely attractive and smiling just made it worse, so much worse, and if this had been six months ago, Tony would be bending all his power, money, and charm into convincing Barnes to go home with him.
You are trying to convince him to go home with you, the little asshole part of his brain that never shut up pointed out.
“Well, I’m not dating him,” Barnes replied and Tony had to yank himself back to the conversation, because he’d sort of lost track of what they were talking about. “Despite repeated attempts on his part.”
“Imagine my relief,” Tony said.
“All that aside,” Barnes said, “let’s talk more about what you expect from physical therapy, and how I can best help you meet those goals.”
Tony hesitated, swallowed. If the man hadn’t had such kind eyes, an icy blue that should have been chilly, but weren’t, he might not have been able to admit it. He held out his hands, which trembled. “I can’t work,” he said. “Everything else, the not being able to walk, the exhaustion, the pain. All of that, I can take that. But I can’t hold a soldering iron like this. I… I can’t work, and when I can’t work, all I can do is think. And thinking. That kind of thinking? That’s very bad for me. Quite frankly, I’d rather be dead.”
And that was the goddamn truth. Tony would rather have just not woken up at all; and he knew it was going to be a long climb back, and he’d probably never make it, and everyone kept telling him how damn lucky he was, and it’s not like he had to work, he was Tony goddamn Stark, one of the richest men in the world, and why was he complaining?
Tony had started an enormous grant foundation with the goal of paying off people’s hospital bills when they couldn’t work from an accident just to shut that voice up in his head.
It didn’t work, but at least there were a lot of people out there who’d had that particular burden lifted off them. Not so much a win-win, but a win-status quo.
“All right, we can certainly work on that,” Barnes said. “I’m going to make a few suggestions, and then we’ll set up a meeting in your home, so we can get started. First, if you haven’t already been seeking therapy, please do so. Suicide ideation is dangerous, and can stand in the way of whole body healing. There’s a limit to what I can do for you, medically and physically, if you’re suffering from depression and hopelessness.”
Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Barnes just held up one finger, and Tony waved, letting the doctor continue.
“Secondly, I’m going to ask you to track your caffeine intake. I don’t like to limit anyone’s liquid sleep, but over three hundred milligrams a day can lead to the shakes, and right now, I’d like to make sure that your tremors don’t have a different, underlying cause.”
Barnes reached in his desk drawer and pulled out a yellow squishy ball. “Third, this is a stress ball, I’m sure you’ve seen them. I’ll email you a set of exercises I want you to do, twice a day, separated by at least six hours, every day. Okay? Oh, and Mr. Stark?” He rolled the ball slowly across the table and Tony caught it without thinking about it.
Tony looked at the ball in his hand, then up at his physical therapist. “Yeah?”
“This is a team effort now. We’re a team. You have to pull your fair share of the load. I can help you,” Barnes said. “But you have to do your therapy. According to my directions. This won’t happen in a vacuum. I can’t -- much as I’d like to -- give you a pill and make it go away. It will be hard, it will probably be painful. Humiliating. Frustrating. I won’t baby you through it, but I won’t mock you, either. I believe you can make a very good recovery, if you’re willing to work with me.”
Tony rolled the ball in his hand, absently. On one side, in brilliant red letters, spelled out what he needed, right then. Hope.
“Yeah, we can work together, Dr. Barnes,” he said.
Bucky tried really hard not to gape at the house.
He knew Stark was one of the richest men in the world, but he’d been dealing with rich men since he started working at Lenox Hill. Actors and singers and sports stars, wealthy lawyers and politicians. Lenox Hill had that reputation, and Bucky didn’t let wealth overwhelm him.
Most of the time.
Stark Mansion was huge. The building took up pretty much the entire block and it had its own little yard around it, as well as a garden in the back. There was an actual, honest-to-God driveway and a multi car garage. When Bucky’s uber driver pulled up to the curb, the look he got was incredulous. You’re really going here, man? that look said.
Bucky had to stop and wonder that Rumlow’d actually given up this case so graciously. He’d been around, once, earlier in the week, to ask how the initial conversation had gone. Bucky, who’d managed to get out of two more group “dates” with the man, had cited patient confidentiality, and had said “It went as well as could be expected, really.”
He grabbed his kit from the backseat of the Uber and climbed out. He stood there on the sidewalk for a few minutes, looking up.
Finally, he approached the gate. There was a small booth there, with a press-panel button. No guard, but Bucky could see at least two motion capture cameras. He pressed the button. If the button triggered a bell or something, Bucky was way too far away from the door to hear it. He glanced up at the camera in the corner of the booth.
“Good afternoon,” a crisp, English accented voice said, the same one from the phone call, Bucky thought. “May I provide some assistance?”
“Mr. Jarvis?” Bucky said. “This is Dr. Barnes, I’m here for Mr. Stark’s therapy appointment.”
“Oh, how remiss of me, Doctor,” Jarvis said. “Do step to the gate. In the future, Mr. Stark will send a car for you.”
“No need,” Bucky said. “I c’n--”
But he was talking to nothingness, as the gate was already sliding open. Bucky scurried over and through, and the gate swung the opposite direction as soon as he was inside the compound. The smell of hyacinth blossoms filled the air. There wasn’t much of a lawn, but what there was was exceptionally well landscaped, dotted with flowers and tasteful statuary. A small fountain adorned one side of the lawn, with a koi pond.
Bucky approached the door and Jarvis, he assumed, opened it for him. The butler was crisp and neat, with thinning white hair and a pair of spectacles folded neatly in his vest pocket. He took these out and peered at Bucky. “Dr. Barnes.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Bucky said.
“Indeed, sir,” Jarvis said. “Mr. Stark is on a conference call, he should be free shortly. In the meanwhile, allow me to take you to the gym, where you will be conducting Mr. Stark’s therapy session.”
Bucky allowed himself a quick smile. “Sure.”
The inside of the mansion was nothing like the outside. Stark had a more modern aesthetic than the building might have suggested. The outside was more a mix of neo-renaissance and an American Queen Anne style, the sort of thing that rich businessmen built during the roaring 20s to scream look at me. Inside was modern, clean lines and a lot of white and steel construction. Somehow, it reminded Bucky of an automobile showroom floor although he couldn’t have put his finger on exactly why.
The indoor gym was huge, almost the size of the one at Lenox Hill where they usually had six to ten patients on it at a time. Stationary bike, elliptical, a weight set, rowing machine, a glassed off room with a padded floor that Bucky assumed was for yoga, a sauna room, another glassed off room held a small swimming pool for laps.
“If this is inadequate to Mr. Stark’s needs, let me know what equipment you should like purchased,” Jarvis said.
Bucky blinked. “No, no, I think this’ll be fine. I got bands and a few other things in my bag.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have to carry those around,” Jarvis said. “If you will provide a list--”
“Ah, there you are,” Stark said. He was still in the wheelchair, the engine buzzing like a sewing machine.
“Mr. Stark,” Bucky said. He resisted the urge to give a little bow; Stark’s house was like some medieval kingdom, or something.
“Just Tony’s fine,” Stark said, waving a hand. “All the formality exhausts me. You can call me Tony, and I’ll call you, James is it? Jim? Jimmy? Jamie?”
“Bucky, actually,” Bucky said.
“Bucky?” Tony’s eyebrow went up. “Did your mother hate you or something? Who names a child Bucky? That seems unusually cruel, like naming someone Richard and then calling them Dickie.”
Bucky shook his head. “No, really, it’s what I prefer. My dad’s name is also James, and I’m sick of it. My best childhood friend used to call me Bucky, and I just got used to it, I guess. If you don’t want to use that, Barnes is fine.” He really, really hated being called James, but he understood that other adults, often with too high an opinion of their own dignity, had trouble with what might be considered an awkward nickname. He didn’t tend to be friends with people who couldn’t bring themselves to call him Bucky, so it was good at sorting them out early.
“Bucky it is, then,” Tony said.
“All right, Tony,” Bucky returned. “Let’s get started. I want to test your grip strength, so--” he offered Tony his hand. “Squeeze my fingers, hard as you can, please.”
***
Tony was exhausted.
“Here, come on,” Bucky was saying -- and Tony was still having a hard time calling a grown-ass man Bucky -- sliding one arm around Tony’s waist. “I got you, let’s just have…”
Tony almost startled when his toes went into the water, then he pulled his brain out of the fog it was in. Right, right, Bucky wanted him to sit in the jacuzzi for about twenty minutes after the therapy session. He’d even remembered to put a bathing suit on under the gym clothes he’d word for the actual PT.
Bucky’d had to help him get out of sweatpants and a loose fitting tee, and he’d done so with a clinical, matter-of-fact efficiency that was nothing like what Tony was used to when a good looking man was taking his clothes off. Probably good; he was in no shape to do anything with his attraction to the man, and Bucky was his doctor.
They hadn’t really done much; Bucky had run through a few exercises, mostly isometric stretches -- pushing his hands together in a flat, prayer position and holding for ten seconds, then twenty seconds, then ten again. Squeezing a stupid ball. And then a different stupid ball. Stepping on a rubber band and then pulling it up as high as he could. Holding it.
“That’s very good, Tony,” Bucky had said. “Just a little-- can you reach as high as my hand?” Tony would have thought, before this happened, that he was immune to the sort of bully-voice that Rumlow had used. He wasn’t.
He was even less immune to Bucky’s warm encouragement.
Several times he’d had to blot his face with the towel, not because he was sweating -- although he was doing plenty of that, too -- but because he was leaking steadily around the eyes. It wasn’t quite sobbing, not that, but he couldn’t quite stop crying. It was horrible, and he was humiliated, a clench in his chest that wouldn’t ease.
But Bucky never seemed to notice. He was always looking at Tony’s hands, at his shoulders, at the reading of the equipment, and one time, at nothing at all.
He never mentioned it, either, except sometimes to ask about Tony’s level of pain, or if he needed a break for a few minutes.
Tony wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. For the first twenty minutes of their session, Tony had considered, outright, firing Bucky as well. Surely there had to be someone he could work with that didn’t make his throat tight, make him feel ashamed and small and weak and pathetic.
But as the session went on, and Bucky didn’t draw attention to Tony’s weakness, or scold him, or do anything aside from be warm and compassionate and encouraging, Tony just kept letting it go on.
And now they were at the end of the session and Bucky was helping him settle into the hot tub. He sat on the edge of the tub, seeming not to notice that the jets were splashing water droplets onto his training pants, that his tee shirt was stained in a vee from sweat, although what Bucky had to sweat about, Tony wasn’t quite sure, unless it was holding his lazy ass up.
“Did you wear a swimsuit under your sweats?” Tony asked, trying for a teasing, flirting tone. He wasn’t sure it was all that successful. “I mean, you get all the shit job here, you might as well hop in the pool.”
“I did,” Bucky said, giving him a quick grin. “And it’ll be easier to hold you up from in the pool, but I didn’t want to impose.”
Tony patted the surface of the water. “Nah, come on in, the water’s lovely.”
“Well, get your hands under it, and I’ll join you.” Bucky peeled out of his clothes with remarkable little hesitancy. And he might well have hesitated.
Bucky’s upper chest, back, and half of his left arm were covered in scar tissue, huge frankenstein stitch-scars and reddish tears. It looked as if someone had tried to tear the arm off entirely, and only just failed.
“Is that why you decided on physical therapy?” Tony asked. He might have been a little more discreet under different circumstances.
Bucky was just grinning and ducking his chin as he settled into the hot water. He pushed one long leg against Tony’s, which Tony thought was flirting at first, and then realized that Bucky was keeping him upright in the water with that simple brace. “It makes a good story, and gets some of my more problematic patients to do their exercises, but no. I was already more than halfway through my residency when this happened. I just happened to know a lot of people who were willing to help me get full range of motion back.”
“So, let’s hear this good story of yours.”
Bucky settled in, groaning. “This is a nice whirlpool,” he said. “So, I was taking some vacation, and driving down to see my little sister. She and her husband have a practice out of state. He’s an OBG and she’s in pediatrics. It works out well for them. I don’t own a car, but I used to have a motorcycle--”
“Oh, I think I see where this is going.”
“No, you don’t,” Bucky said. “Hush up.”
Tony laughed. There weren’t very many people who dared tell him to shut up, even when he deserved it.
“I stopped to get gas, and the entrance back to the interstate is really steep. 25mph and they ain’t even kidding. Which is cool, I’m not in a hurry, but there’s this big farm rig in front of me, towing a trailer. About halfway up the exit ramp, the trailer’s back door just opens up, and a freaking tractor falls out of the back end.”
“You got run over by a tractor, while riding a motorcycle?” That shouldn’t have been funny, it really shouldn’t have, but it was so absurd.
“Yeah, pretty much. Run over by a tractor that was just rolling backward down the interstate ramp,” Bucky said. “You know the most absurd part?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“The guy, he gets charged with Felony Littering,” Bucky said.
“That sounds like something out of a Monty Python skit,” Tony said. “What’s the jail sentence for felonious littering?”
“Five years and twenty-five thousand dollars,” Bucky said.
“Holy shit, that’s really a crime?”
“It is,” Bucky said. “For litter that’s over a thousand pounds.”
“I don’t know what’s weirder,” Tony said, “that there’s a name for it, or that it’s happened so often that there’s a name for it.”
“So, yeah, that’s the great story for where all my scars come from,” Bucky said. “Took five surgeries, and almost nine months of PT to get back to 90% usage. I still have some problems with the rotator cuff, and sometimes weakness, if I have to pick up heavy stuff. But I’m a living lesson. Physical therapy works.”
“Blah, blah, Florence Nightingale syndrome my ass, Peps,” Tony said. “Yada yada, bored now.”
“Don’t yada yada me, Tony,” Pepper said, crisply. “I make all your business appointments, and there’s a chapter of Red Hats who would love for you to come and speak at their annual installation ball. Some of them knew your mother.”
Tony shuddered. He hated that sort of thing; usually because there was no one entertaining to speak to at balls and banquets. Smart people stayed far, far away from those kinds of things, and were generally buried in their labs, rather than out pressing palms and talking about the weather. Bunch of Fox News watchers, too, Tony would bet. Well, no, probably not, because his mother had been as liberal as they got, even if she had to go behind Howard’s back to do it, and chances were even better that some of them would be very old lesbians, and that might be kinda fun, and… was Pepper still talking? Why did she do that?
“No, really -- and that’s a go on the Red Hat, thing, yeah, because you know I’m not ever going to stop, that just doesn’t seem like me at all,” Tony said. He was walking -- striding really, and didn’t that fucking feel fantastic, and Pepper was clattering along behind him in those ridiculous high heels of hers.
He shouldn’t complain about that, either, since he was currently wearing sneakers with lifts in them. Which had the benefit of making him taller, too, in addition to easing the pain in his right calf. He hadn’t quite believed Bucky when the man had suggested that Tony Stark try wearing a sensible heeled shoe, but it did make it so he could actually drive again without hurting himself.
So, heels. Whatever, he was Tony Stark, he didn’t need a reason to dress eccentrically. He did, however, make a mental note to look into getting some disguised heeled boots or dress shoes so that he wasn’t always wearing bright red tennis shoes with his suits. Matching was also a thing, and Albert Einstein was an idiot of the first water, sometimes.
“Look, I have no objections to you dating,” Pepper tried again, “but I don’t think asking out your physical therapist is a good plan.”
Tony stopped walking and Pepper plowed right into him. They spent a few minutes shuffling back and forth, trying not to collapse in a heap, and then, Tony actually looked at her. “Why not? Actual, solid reasons.”
“Okay, let’s start with the only one I think you’ll listen to,” Pepper said, “because I know you, and I know you don’t seem to think your mental health is worth considering. You will make him lose his license to practice medicine. Doctors are not allowed to date their patients, that’s AMA guidelines, Tony. The prior doctor/patient relationship may unduly influence the patient and that such a relationship is unethical if the doctor uses or exploits trust, knowledge, emotions or influence derived from the previous professional relationship. He could get investigated for sexual misconduct.”
“I don’t see how that works, if I’m the one asking him out,” Tony said. “Bucky’s been nothing but professional. More professional, I might add, than about 97.2% of all the other people I’ve ever dated. He’s good looking, he has a stable job, he’s funny, intelligent, compassionate. All the things you think I ought to want in a relationship, right?”
“I’m not criticizing him as a human being,” Pepper said. “I’m sure he’s perfectly wonderful. But you’re putting him in an uncomfortable position.”
Tony didn’t mention what sorts of positions he’d like to put Bucky in, because that was distinctly not professional. But part of what Tony liked about Bucky was Bucky’s confidence. He was happy with his job, he was sure of himself, and he took all of Tony’s bullshit in stride. Would he be the same person, if Tony came in and messed all that up for him, just like Tony tended to do? It wasn’t like Tony couldn’t just give him a new job, or money, or whatever, but Bucky was… well, Bucky was pretty awesome, and Tony was suddenly unsure if he should risk that. Not for Tony’s sake, heartbreak and all that other jazz, but because he didn’t want to hurt Bucky, not even by accident.
One year later
“Boss,” Darcy stuck her head in the door, clinging to the door frame with her fingernails, showing off glitter polish. “You’ve got a… visitor?”
“You say that like you’re not certain,” Bucky said, raising his eyebrows. “Does this not-quite visitor have a name, or is he like a ghost or something?”
“No, it’s a real person, I just…” Darcy squeaked with excitement. “It’s Tony Stark.”
Oh.
Bucky absently straighten out his desk, moved his name plate a little, all those fidgety little things he did when he was nervous. “Uh, show him in.”
Working with Tony had done wonders for his career. He’d boosted the profit margin for Lenox Hill, and gotten him enough patients through recommendations that he was able to break with Lenox earlier than he’d anticipated and open his own practice.
The paint still smelled fresh in his office, that was how new it was.
The Tony that slipped into his office, followed by Darcy who was mouthing “Look at this GUY” and pointing and making all sorts of gestures behind Tony’s back, was not the neat and tidy, dressed in a suit Tony that Bucky’d seen on television recently, but the one in comfy pants, a hoodie, and wearing a heavy metal tee.
“Tony,” Bucky said, getting up and offering his hand. “It’s very good to see you again, won’t you come in, have a seat. Darce?”
“Coffee, right, got it,” Darcy said, doing the two thumbs up to finger guns thing. Bucky almost rolled his eyes; he should never have mentioned to his receptionist-slash-assistant-slash-insurance claims-slash-confidante that he thought Tony Stark deserved to be higher on the list of most eligible bachelors. Like, number one, really, because there wasn’t anyone better looking in the world. “You take it black, right?”
Oh, god. Bucky rubbed his chin with one hand. He knew Darcy did research, she told him all sorts of interesting little tidbits about Tony Stark, some stuff that Bucky knew from working with the man, and other stuff that Bucky did not know (although now he did.) but he wasn’t expecting her to show off that she knew it. That was just weird and stalkery, and the fact that Bucky had not only let her do it, but actively encouraged it? Yeah, Bucky was not coming across great right now.
“Thank you, yes,” Tony said.
“So, what brings you out my way?” Bucky asked.
“You do, actually,” Tony said. “Congrats on the new digs, this is really a nice place. I took a bit of a tour, hope you don’t mind.”
“Thank you,” Bucky said. “It’s small, but I think we can make a good go of it.” They were, actually, booked up solid for a while, with a few holes for interesting or emergency cases.
“Sorry that I dropped contact after the endorsement thing,” Tony said. “I--”
“No, no, perfectly fine,” Bucky said, and it was, even if he’d missed Tony. Tony’d done one press conference, dragged Bucky up to show him off, and then vanished. The endorsement had done a lot of good for Bucky, though. “You have other, better things to do. That’s the whole idea, is to get you back to self-sufficiency, and --”
“It wasn’t that,” Tony said. “It was brought to my attention that… well, that the AMA has a lot of say about doctors getting involved with patients. And I knew if I, you know, emailed you or something, that I probably wouldn’t be able to… anyway, it’s been a year. We severed our doctor/patient relationship. You’re doing well, and I don’t think anyone can complain now.”
“What are you talking about?” But there was a hot little spike in Bucky’s guts that knew. Knew, mind you.
“I was hoping you might be free to join me for a date,” Tony said.
“What sort of date?”
Tony peered at him over the rims of his probably expensive sunglasses. “It’s me, darling,” Tony said. “Whatever sort of date you want. If you have a passport, then Paris for breakfast?”
“How about just a coffee and a danish?” Bucky suggested. He was grinning really hard, though. So hard his cheeks ached. “There’s a nice place just down the street.”
“Plebe,” Tony accused, fondly. “Dream bigger, Buckaroo. Whatever you want--
“I want a coffee, and a danish,” Bucky said. “Let’s worry about Paris after a few dates. Pretty sure it’ll still be there.”
“Yeah, okay, gonna hold you to that,” Tony said. “Coffee and danish now. Paris this weekend.”
“This weekend is out, I have an appointment-- famous basketball player, need to get him back into shape. His coach wants him for the playoffs. I’d like the man to not end up with a colossal addiction to painkillers and benched for the rest of his life,” Bucky said. Tony almost looked disappointed. “But, hey, I’m free in the evenings, and… two more weeks, and I was already going to take some vacation. Road trip to see my sister.”
“I will come with you and make sure you’re not run over by any marauding tractors,” Tony offered. “I have some really nice cars, I think you’d enjoy it.”
“It’s a date, then.”
Tony put his hand on Bucky’s elbow to lead him out of the office. Bucky checked, Tony’s hands were steady, fingers had a good grip. They were beautiful hands. Bucky was looking forward to getting acquainted with them… on a less professional standing.
#winteriron#fandom trumps hate#fangirlunderground#tony stark#bucky barnes#no powers AU#medical AU#hurt/comfort
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Girl Meets Season 4 - Episode 25
Girl Meets Season 4 - The Continuing Saga of Riley and her friends as they tackle their Sophomore year in High School. The ups, the downs, and everything in between. What will their sophomore year be like? Read and find out.
Episodes [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [24]
A/N #1: Here it is Part 1 of the 2-Part Finale
25. Girl Meets Hospital
A/N #2: Although rare, there are injuries that could incapacitate a baseball player.
This chapter also comes with a warning, this chapter contains material that could be sensitive to some readers, it concerns cutting, bullying, as well as thoughts of suicide.
The beginning of the baseball season had come, and Lucas was up at bat, Riley was cheering with the cheerleaders, Zay was on third base, Farkle was calculating the probability of Lucas getting a home run while Smackle asked questions about the game. Maya ignored them all paying more attention to Josh who was watching the game while she told him something in his ear.
The pitcher threw the ball at his face with full force, and before Lucas could duck the ball hit him and knocked him out cold. Riley ran up to him to check on him but he was unconscious, but she kept calling his name while squeezing his hand. She watched as the paramedic took him away, rushing to go with him on the ambulance. Their friends not far behind as Josh drove them all to the hospital while Zay called Lucas’ parents telling them what had happened.
Riley cried in the waiting room, because the doctors said only family at the moment, everyone else couldn’t figure out what happened. Except Zay said to the coach that the pitcher had done it on purpose, the ball had clocked in at over eighty miles per hour straight to Lucas’ face. They ran test on Lucas all afternoon, as his parents showed up, as Riley’s parents came with food for everyone, as Zay’s mom sat next to them telling them everything will be alright. Riley just kept on crying.
When Lucas woke up he was in his bed at home, but something felt different, his memories didn’t match what he saw. There was no picture of Riley and him at Coney Island from the summer before, it usually sat on his nightstand, there was nothing from his time at John Quincy, his trophies were labeled for a different school. There were no traces of his regular life and it seemed like he had been put in a different world. Farkle would tell him that alternate universes didn’t exist and that he should go back to sleep. When he reached for his phone, the model was different but the password was the same, Riley’s birthday, when he unlocked it all of the pictures were different. He was in a football uniform and not a baseball one, he was wearing a uniform for Thomas Jefferson High, Abigail Adams’ rival school.
“What’s happening?” he wondered pulling up his texts and seeing a multitude of girls asking for dates, but no messages from his friends.
“Lucas are you awake?” his father called. “I know you took a hit yesterday at the game but you can’t stay in bed all day.”
His door opened and his father walked in, for some reason he looked different, normally his father would have a hard edge to his voice from when he had been expelled, Riley had softened him a bit and they had gotten into a normal relationship. But the man in front of him looked like a completely different person.
“Ah you’re awake,” he said before sitting at the edge of the bed. “You should get ready for school.”
Lucas only nodded, he didn’t know what to say, something felt off and he couldn’t place his finger on the problem. It was Friday, or at least that’s what his phone said, which means they had a game the night before. He got up and went through the motions of getting ready, he said good morning to his mother only to see a middle schooler with her. He had a sister, and he didn’t know it, the girl had the same eyes as his but where his hair was more mixed brown and blonde, this girl’s hair was pure blonde.
“What’s up bro?” she said looking at him like he was staring too long.
Instead of saying anything he grabbed a banana to make his mother think like he was trying, grabbed his backpack and rushed out the door. His school ID was for Thomas Jefferson, but he went to the one place he had always went to in the morning to grab a muffin, but Topanga’s wasn’t there. Instead he was faced with a fast food restaurant that wasn’t open yet, so he walked on toward Abigail Adams hoping to find Riley, or Maya, or Farkle, hell Smackle would do but as he stood there watching the students all he saw were unfamiliar faces.
He had almost missed her, he wouldn’t have noticed if not for the fact that her hair still looked the same, and her face was a beautiful as ever, but she was alone, no Maya, no Farkle, she was dressed in black and had more make-up on than he had ever seen. Someone knocked into her and she lashed out at the person, a boy stood not too far from her, he looked just like her but taller, his head as curly as Mr. Matthews but lighter than Auggie’s. He was yelling at her for being rude but Riley only pushed him away and walked into the school.
He walked off towards where Thomas Jefferson was completely shocked, not knowing what he should do. Once inside, people joked with him as he went to his classes, he was popular at this school because he was the star quarterback and team captain. He was asked out by several girls but turned them all down and just kept going through the motions of his day. His teammates invited him to a party on Saturday, and he said yes only to get them to shut up. Everyone just thought he was in one of his moods, but they still pestered him throughout the day.
When school was over he was glad, he couldn’t stand the way everyone had treated him like he was everything in the world. He missed Zay cracking jokes, Smackle flirting with him only to make Farkle jealous, Maya pushing his buttons, and most of all he missed his sunshine, he missed Riley, his Riley and not the cussing dark girl he had seen. He had checked his phone several times, but Zay’s number wasn’t there, and when he had called Zay’s New York number a woman answered, and Zay’s Texas number was disconnected.
Wandering around he found himself in the library where he had told Riley that he wanted to be a veterinarian. He sat there hoping that the whole day was some elaborate scheme but it hadn’t been and now he was in a life he didn’t know anything about. He looked around the room and noticed that in a far off corner was a familiar orange turtleneck and a head of blonde hair.
“Farkle,” he said out loud, the librarian shushed him while Farkle looked at him like he had grown a third head. Lucas walked over as fast as he could sitting next to the genius, who was wearing an Einstein Academy uniform instead of his now signature boy band look.
“Do I know you?” Farkle asked looking at Lucas who was now sitting so close.
“Lucas Friar,” he said hoping to have some form of normalcy instead the genius started to pack up.
“You’re that football player aren’t you,” he said as he stowed away the last of his things. “We definitely don’t know one another.”
Lucas was trying to figure out how to gain his best friend’s attention when he just started talking without thinking. “Have you ever woken up and thought that everything was wrong, like nothing makes sense?”
“No,” he said as he tried to get up but Lucas pulled him back down.
“Listen to me for a minute please,” Lucas said his eyes pleading with him. “I woke up this morning and everything was wrong, you, Maya, Zay, Smackle, Cassie, and my Riley weren’t in my life, I don’t know what to do.”
“Lucas, I don’t know you,” he said looking at him confused.
“I just want to know what happened, all I remember was being at a baseball game, Riley was cheering me on, and you were calculating the probabilities of a homerun with Smackle… I got hit in the face with a baseball and the next thing I knew I was in the wrong place, even though it’s the same place. Everything I knew never existed.”
Farkle looked at him like he had grown a third head before shaking his head and standing up. “Come on lets go to my house to talk, the librarian is giving us a dirty look.”
Lucas followed feeling like his world was crashing down around him, when they reached Farkle’s almost everything was the same, except Maya’s bedroom wasn’t there.
“The train will be here in a minute,” Lucas said and Farkle looked at him.
“How do you know that?”
“I used to hang out here, with you and the girls, Zay would be playing that zombie game with Riley, with you and Smackle would do some weird experiment over there, I would play golf, while Maya drew something.”
“You really aren’t from here,” Farkle said looking around. “No one has ever been in this room, hell no one really remembers Maya, she moved away in the seventh grade.”
“They were your wives then,” Lucas sighed as he dropped down onto the couch. The train zoomed by only stopping for a moment to as the conductor asked Farkle a question before moving on. “Where is my normal life?”
“I don’t know,’ Farkle said as he sat down across from him. “I do know that a lot of things changed in seventh grade.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Well, Riley started acting more and more like Maya in the seventh grade, then Maya and her mother moved to Arkansas to be closer to their family. Her mother gave up on acting because she realized it was causing her to miss her daughter growing up.”
“So she didn’t remarry?”
“Who Maya’s mom?”
“Yeah, where I’m from she married Shawn Hunter, and he adopted Maya.”
“No, actually she was a widow, her husband had died when Maya was little, and she decided that she needed to try and live her dream because life was too short. Except in the end it was causing Maya to act out because she never grieved for her father.”
“What about Riley? She was with this guy earlier, but he looked like her so I’m guess that either Auggie was born first or something.”
“No, that’s her brother Elliot, he’s two years older than her, he’s a senior at Abigail Adams, he’s their star everything, top student, athlete, debate club, student body president. Riley’s the middle child but her brothers kind of over shadowed her over the years, so she became like Maya and when Maya left she became worse. We all stopped being friends around the same time and I transferred to Einstein Academy. I haven’t talked to them since.”
Lucas couldn’t believe it, “This is too much for me.”
“I know, it’s weird, there’s no scientific explanation for any of this, but if what you say is true then there’s a world out there where Riley is a different person.”
“We all are,” he said frowning. “I have a sister that I don’t know, and the kids at school worship me, but for some reason I feel like some of them are on edge around me.”
“Well you’re kind of a bully,” Farkle said. “I know some kids who go to school with you and well they’re all afraid of you.”
“But that’s not me? I guess without Riley I’m not the best person am I?”
“Can you tell me? You know about your life?”
Lucas nodded and slowly told him about his life, the real life he lead where he went to the same school as all of them. Riley falling on his lap the first day of seventh grade, Farkle’s transformation in eighth grade, Maya’s constant name calling, even how Zay came to New York, and how Smackle joined them in high school. “You’re dating her you know, Smackle.”
“But we wouldn’t match, the probability of us being together is…”
“Farkle stop and think, you and Smackle were made for each other, you always said that like forces repel but the two of you aren’t alike at all, you just need to open your eyes to that.”
They talked for a while longer, Lucas sent a message to his mother that he was going to stay with a friend. He wanted a chance to figure it all out and Farkle was the best person to help him. The two of them looked over websites, social media, anything to try and jog his memory, but nothing worked. Lucas was stuck there and he didn’t know how to get back to where his life was as close to perfect as he could have asked for.
“Maybe you need to fix somethings for Lucas here?” Farkle suggested later that night.
“What like he needs to stop being a complete douche, and date Riley?”
“Riley might be the one thing that would bring this all together, maybe you’re here to fix what went wrong. Which means you need to learn as much as you can about the part of you that lives here.”
“But how?”
“Well what did you learn from going to school?”
“Everyone liked me, except the people who weren’t popular, all the girls asked me out, but according to my teammates I don’t like any of them so it gave me this rep as a bad boy who thinks no one is good enough for him.”
“Okay, so why wouldn’t the most popular guy in school date just anyone? Look through your phone, not the messages but the pictures. There’s something there.”
Lucas pulled out his phone and started going through the pictures like Farkle said, there were pictures with his teammates, and some girls, pictures from parties, and a folder labeled Her he opened it and saw nothing but pictures of Riley, all dating back to that day on the subway when she fell on his lap, but from the looks of the photos she had never turned around and saw him. He had ended up at a different school instead of John Quincy, but there were still pictures and pictures of Riley. From parties, to games where their schools played against one another, she was there but she didn’t look the same. As the pictures went on she wore darker clothes, and people weren’t around her. Even in this world Riley was his everything even if she didn’t know it.
“Wow, talk about stalker,” Farkle said. “I guess the best thing to do is show up at that party tomorrow, because most likely she’s going to be there.”
“She really is the center of my whole word,” he said, thinking of how she made him a better person, but without Maya, or Farkle, or even him Riley wasn’t the same person.
The two of them went to sleep soon after, and when Lucas woke up the next day and was still in Farkle’s room he knew that nothing had changed. He wasn’t home, he wasn’t in his New York, but if Farkle was right, Riley was the answer to everything. The two of them worked on a plan for him to get Riley, but they knew it was going to be hard. When they finished Lucas went home and changed his clothes for the party, saying a quick goodbye to his family as he rushed out the door.
Riley sat in the waiting room, her heart pounding in her chest as everyone she knew came in and out, the doctor had told him that the ball had reached nearly 100 mile per hour when it hit Lucas, and at that rate injury was high, especially since it hit him when he wasn’t looking. They were checking for injury to see if he had a concussion, a clot in his head or even if it had blown his pupil. For all this to happen he needed to be sedated and most likely wouldn’t be awake until the next day. His parents stayed nearby, but Riley wouldn’t move from where they had wheeled him in. Baseball wasn’t supposed to be as rough as any other sport but there were still sever injuries and it frightened her.
She kept replaying the moment in her mind, all the other cheerleaders were pumping up the crowd but she had turned around the moment he went up to bat. She was cheering him on because she wanted him to know she was there, but the pitcher had thrown a fastball when Lucas had looked down, his head only turned to meet the ball face to face. Watching him fall to the ground, as Farkle and Zay ran towards him to check if he was alright had hurt as much as if the ball had hit her. She couldn’t move, as the referees walked up, as his family walked towards them. Everything had moved so slowly, but then she felt her heart beating and her feet moving forward, running towards him. Calling his name and getting no answer, she got on the ambulance on instinct. Watching them hook him up onto the machines, checking his eye, his head, she squeezed his hand to let him know she was there.
Even with everyone telling her it was going to be alright hours later, she couldn’t get the image of Lucas unconscious on the gurney. Her cheerleading uniform still on her, she didn’t want to move afraid that if she did everything that could go wrong would. In that moment her only concern was the boy on the subway who had changed her life in so many ways, and she never got the chance to tell him how much she loved him.
The party was in full swing when he got there, all the football players greeted him with pats on the shoulder but he only had one goal, Riley. It took him a while to find her, she was in a corner of the room sipping on something inside of a red solo cup ignoring the rest of the room. Her brother was on the other side of the room talking with some girl, so Lucas took a chance and walked over to Riley.
“Hey,” he said but she rolled her eyes and turned the other way. This Riley didn’t do the Hi, Hey, Hi, that his Riley did. “Can we talk?” he asked as loud as he could without shouting.
“Why the hell would I talk to you?” she said before walking out the backdoor.
“Riley we need to talk,” he said trying to catch up to her through the crowd of people. “Please.”
He knew that the Lucas of this world liked Riley, but he didn’t say anything to her, he was content with watching her from afar. He grabbed her arm and pulled her out the side gate towards the street.
“Let go of me,” she said pulling her arm trying to get away.
“We need to talk,” he said as they reached a park and he sat her down on the swings. “This is important.”
“Right, like the big bad popular football player had anything to say that would explain him dragging a girl out of a party and to an isolated park.”
“I love you,” he said trying to get her attention. He felt bad for the Lucas from this world because he blurted out this secret crush without thinking. He hoped that the memories would be there when the guy came back, but he wanted his Riley, and he knew he loved her more than anything even if he didn’t tell her, even though he should have.
Riley laughed at him and then her face turned serious. “I don’t play games big boy, now leave me the hell alone.”
“Riley please,” he said. “What do I have to do to get you to understand that I telling the truth?”
She ignored him and kept walking away. The only thing he could hope at that moment was that Riley was still the same girl who left her bay window unlocked. He rushed towards her place, the apartment was still the same, but there were no flowers on the fire escape, no sign of the old Riley. There was a light on and she sat there looking out, so he knew he was in the right place, so he climbed the ladder and walked up to her floor trying not to make too much noise. Her window was open letting the spring air into her room but when he saw inside it wasn’t the same.
The room which had been bright and airy, with blue and purple everywhere, was black and red, from where he was all he saw was the small things that had meant that somewhere in there was the old Riley. His Riley. A purple cat in the corner, Berry the Bear Bear on the chair, and Riley’s desk in the corner near the door. The brunette sitting there, it took him a moment to realize that she had pulled her sleeve up, her arm covered in cut after cut. She had pulled out a blade and was about to cut herself again when he burst through the window and took it away from her.
“Stop,” he said as he threw it across the room. “Don’t do it.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” she screamed and he wondered if anyone would hear her. “Get the fuck out.”
“No,” he said pulling her close. “You can’t do this to yourself… Riley you can’t hurt yourself.”
“No one will care,” she said yelling at him as she pulled away and walked towards where the blade landed. He grabbed her again and pulled her close. “Stop it,” she yelled. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you like cuddle bunnies, but you don’t tell anyone anymore because they would make fun of you. I know Berry the Bear Bear is your favorite childhood toy because your parents gave it to you before your brother Auggie was born, when you were home sick. I know Maya is your best friend in the world, and I don’t understand why she’s not here to stop this,” Riley started crying in his arms as he spoke. “You love purple cats, and you think you don’t have a talent while everyone else is good at something, even though I know you love to write about everything.”
“What are you a stalker,” she said as she sniffled, her body shaking in his arms.
“No… Well I don’t think so, but I do know that for some reason I can’t seem to date anyone else, and I’m a total jerk to everyone, but your face is all I want to see in the morning.”
“Oh please, you’re just saying that because my brother is your rival,” she said but he knew her voice wasn’t as cut throat as before. “No one cares about me.”
“Are you sure?”
“My parents praise my brothers but don’t say anything nice to me, they’ll make sarcastic remarks like how my brother is the best student but I’m good at sleeping. I have a perfect GPA, but my little brother is a prodigy. No one cares about Riley Matthews, I shouldn’t exist, hell my parents liked Maya better than me when she was still in New York, they praised her for being an Amazon Warrior but I was just the klutzy girl who tripped all over school.”
“That’s not who you are to me,” he said as he took her towards the bay window. “To me you’re a bright spot in my day, you are serious but you want the best for everyone, when you smile it’s like the sun is shining and my heart skips a beat.”
“Lucas you don’t know me,” she said but it was almost a whisper.
“I could prove to you that your life is worth something,” he said before he kissed her on the forehead. “People care, you just have to let go of the sadness and let them into your heart.”
They didn’t talk for a while, they just sat there in each other’s arms, for some reason it felt as if she was using him as an anchor, to keep her grounded to something. This Riley was falling apart, and he couldn’t understand why no one saw it.
At around midnight he realized that she had fallen asleep in his arms, so he scooped her up and tucked her into her bed. He turned to leave when he realized that she had grabbed his arm.
“Don’t leave,” she said in a quiet voice. Normally her father kicked him out around nine, but neither one of her parents came in to check on her at all.
“Where’s everyone?” he asked curious to know what was different about this version of the Matthews.
“Auggie’s probably sleeping, my parents are at some party they left a babysitter here for Auggie, I came in and just went straight to my room, and Elliot of course was at the party.”
“Do you parents check in with you before bed?”
She shook her head, “Not since Maya left,” she said her voice tired.
“What do they do?” he asked curious to see if they were the same people he knew, because for some reason something wasn’t right if they let her get to the point where she was cutting herself.
“My mom’s a lawyer, she’s the head of the firm that’s number one on Wall Street, my dad is a banker, and he works for one of the big ones, although I usually forget which one.”
That’s how he knew that everything was different, Mr. Matthews wasn’t their teacher, and Mrs. Matthews wasn’t defending the little guy. The café didn’t exist, and Riley had a brother who was the best at everything to the point where he overshadowed his sister. Maybe he needed to fix both himself and Riley before it was too late.
They talked about silly things for hours after that, and Lucas knew she was fighting to stay awake. Riley still loved cuddle bunnies, and unicorns, but her life had taken a dramatic turn when she started high school. After being bullied in middle school she had closed herself off, but the bullies had followed only now they had crushes on her brother. She didn’t make any friends because all of the girls all wanted to get close to Elliot, forgetting that she was there. When she didn’t do what they said they would push her into the bathroom stall and throw water on her until she was soaked through. They would spread rumors about her throughout the school, about how easy she was but they also said that because of that she had an STD that changed depending on the week or month.
They fell asleep next to each other after talking for what seemed like hours. When they woke up hours later, he could tell that Riley felt shy about him being there, he knew that it had something to do with what he had seen. He needed to know the why’s of what was happening in this world, and he needed to do it fast because he didn’t know how long he had here.
“Can I ask you something,” he said sitting up on her bed. “Why do you cut yourself? I know you have bullies and the school worships your brother, but why would you do that?”
“Some days, I think it’s because,” she hesitates looking down at her hands, she pulls down the sleeves of her black sweater. “It’s because I keep trying to prepare myself for eventually getting to the point where I want to die.”
Her voice was barely a whisper but he had heard her loud and clear and it hurt him to hear her say those words. This was Riley, regardless of whether or not this was his life, she was meant for so much more than what she doing in that moment. Instead of saying something, he pulled her into a hug and held her there for what seemed like forever. He felt as her body started shaking, as she started crying in his arms. This is something she was missing and he hoped that they would be able to move forward together. He hoped that the version of him in this world would protect her at all cost.
#girl meets season 4#gmw#gmw fanfic#gmw fanfiction#riley matthews#RileyxLucas#lucas friar#Farkle Minkus#rucas#rucas fanfic#rucas fanfiction#this is the second to last one#yuniesan
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Chapter 1 redone.
Chapter 1- Just another Day in Paradise)
Eric sat up in bed and noticed he’d beaten his alarm again. He let out a deep breath, shivering from the cold. It was five in the morning – enough time for him to get himself and his seven other siblings ready for daycare or work. It was a duty thrust upon him by their circumstances, sure, but as the eldest, he didn’t mind. After all, someone had to. He rolled out of bed, flipping the light switch as he went. Nice reflexes, Eric, he mused to himself, still sarcastic due to just waking up. All that police training paid off there. He picked himself up and gazed into the mirror, carefully examining his pitch-colored skin and long, pointed ears with two small golden piercings that he had to take out before leaving. He also made a mental note to brush his golden hair before he left.
“Ugh!” Ethan, one year his junior and his partner in crime, was a little slow to react in the mornings. Maybe that stupid Elizabethan collar finally cut off his circulation. With one relatively small movement, his mermaid tail pulled all his blankets from the bed.
Eric felt his red eyes narrow in frustration at his lazy brother. “Come on, Ethan. You need to get up.” Eric urged, tugging on his brother’s ear.
“Ow! Alright, alright… I guess the most handsome firefighter in town never gets to sleep.” Ethan moaned. Eric could only shake his head at his brother. He didn’t even feel up to his usual retorts today. Ethan slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, stretched, and finally stood up. His blue hair was a mess. His weird… ear-fin things stood up at strange angles. Ethan tried to say something else, but was too groggy to manage anything intelligible.
As sleeping beauty got up and lumbered into the kitchen in search of coffee, Eric set about waking up his other family members. The four eldest Evens children – Eric Umbreon, Ethan Vaporeon, Egon Flareon, and Elwood Leafeon all stayed in one two bedroom apartment. The rest of the siblings shared a three bedroom apartment across the hall.
After musing for a moment about how they each had two last names, dismissing this thought as one of those disjointed thoughts one gets when still waking up, Eric knocked on the door of Egon and Elwood’s room, to which Elwood chirped that he was already awake in reply. Egon mumbled something about time. His job now done in that regard, Eric got dressed in his police uniform, took care of basic hygiene, and headed across the hall to wake the others.
Upon knocking, Eric was greeted with the door being opened by two prehensile, ribbon-like feelers. This didn’t startle him at all, however, because he knew they were attached to his sister, Estelle Sylveon. “Hi!” She whispered through a smile, holding the slumbering forms of both of their youngest siblings, the three-year-old twins Elgin and Elena Eevee. She held one in each arm, but still managed to stroke Elgin’s silver hair.
“Oh, good, you’re up. How about the others?” Eric asked.
“I haven’t checked yet,” Estelle replied, still cradling the twins. “These two were crying since I got up, I haven’t had time yet.”
Eric nodded and went to knock on the door to the last three siblings’ room. He loved them all, but it seemed that everyone in town found at least one of them to be an oddball. Personally, Eric thought that these three got that the most. First there was Emmett Jolteon, whose electric powers were reflected perfectly in his skin color and his wardrobe, which consisted entirely of clothes that had perfectly geometric shapes to them. Next up, you had Elfred Espeon, or Freddy as everyone called him. He was on the force with Eric, but that didn’t mean he was exempt from the curious scrutiny people extended to the family. Firstly, he possessed a red jewel on his forehead that everyone joked made him related to Mimi Ampharos, the owner of the nearby diner. He always managed to laugh it off, though. What he had more trouble laughing off, though, were the jokes that he was gay. His pink, velvety fur certainly didn’t help with this image. But Eric wouldn’t dream of moving him to anything else, even without taking into account their familial ties. After all, Freddy’s psychic powers made police work exponentially easier. And finally, there was Emest Glaceon, the blue-haired, cold-hearted banker of the family. Well, ‘cold-hearted’ was a bit much, but Eric only said that because he knew better.
As the three piled out of the room, Emest tripped over his long blue hair and soon the three were on the floor, laughing. Eric couldn’t help himself but laugh along with them. Unfortunately, the laughter woke the twins and they began to cry again. Estelle just rocked the two back and forth in her arms, using her feelers to get a bottle of milk from the fridge. Eric always felt sorry for his sister. Their parents’ deaths were hardest on the pink haired, blue eyed 19-year-old. She busied herself with being a fake mom to her younger siblings and working as a waitress at Mimi’s.
“Hey, we have to work tomorrow, right?” Elfred asked, rubbing his shoulder from the fall.
“Well, I have to work, I know that,” Emmett sighed. “I have to wire up the street we’re going to live on once our house is done.”
“Yeah, we do have to work tomorrow.” Eric suddenly remembered.
“Don’t look at me. I took that day off last Friday, so I have to work tomorrow.” Emest interjected, not being very helpful.
The four turned to Estelle.
“Saturday is my biggest working day! I get so many tips!” Estelle exclaimed indignantly. “I have college classes tomorrow after my shifts anyways.”
Eric sighed. “I know Egon has to work the night shift at Mimi’s,” he said aloud to himself.
“Oh! Elwood has that meeting with Dinah.” Elfred added.
The family sighed together. Except for the twins, who had no idea what sighing was, let alone how to do it.
“I’ll text Carina to babysit tomorrow if she doesn’t mind. Too bad the daycare closes on Saturday.” Estelle quipped.
==
Connor sat up in bed, sighing as he blankly stared up at the ceiling in his apartment. Another sleepless night filled with nightmares. He could never really string anything together from them, but he always felt as if they had something to them. They were like little, fractured memories, but from another person, in another life. He allowed his alarm to ring before stretching his way back into a functioning mentality for work, his wings unfurled and stretched out farther than he could with his arms. That always managed to wake him up for some reason.
As he got ready for work at the local diner, Connor looked at his reflection in the mirror. His tanned skin was beading with sweat, bags clung underneath his blue eyes. He couldn’t remember what his last nightmare had been about, but it must’ve been a doozie this time. At least his sharp teeth were white and shiny still. Connor looked at his clock to see he only had thirty minutes to get ready. “Dang!” Connor hissed, quickly combing through his twin orange mohawks with his fingers. Thankfully he had his lucky apron at work still, so all he needed to put on was a shirt and pants.
Dressed for work, Connor stepped out of his apartment. If Square Apartments did not make doors that only the sun could melt, his tail would have melted the door right off. Despite how it inconvenienced him at times, though, Connor never would’ve given it up for anything. His tail was the main reason that Connor even had the job at Mimi’s Diner. He was always able to get the ovens to work thanks to his always-lit tail.
“Connor!” A familiar voice called from the neighboring apartment.
“Hey, Bram!” Connor grinned, clearly still a bit drowsy. The green haired man smiled as Connor spotted him. Under his pink baseball cap, matching pink shirt, and white tie was the best sports player in COCville. Basketball, football, baseball; if it was a sport, he could play it, and if he could play it, he could be good at it.
“Hey, it’s supposed to be cold out today,” Bram said as he approached his friend, fumbling with a fresh-looking jacket. “I have a spare jacket, you want one?’
“Oh, no thanks, I don’t have to worry about jackets.” Connor bragged.
“Yeah, yeah, thanks to that tail of yours, got it.” Bram sighed. “You know jackets can be pretty comfortable.”
“I know. I just like being special.”
“And you’re not without it?”
Connor chuckled. “Well, I am pretty cool without it, I guess.”
“Yeah, right. You and I both know you’re nothing without that flaming tail of yours,” Bram replied with a smirk.
“Hey, shut up, shrub kraken, it’s too early in the morning.”
Bram burst out laughing. “’Shrub kraken’, huh? Guess you didn’t sleep well.”
Connor replied only with a long yawn as they headed outside. “How’s Sam doing?” Connor asked with a slight annoyance in his voice.
“Oh, he’s fine. I tried telling him that last week wasn’t your fault, but he’s a stubborn guy. Doesn’t help that he puts out fires for a living.” Bram sighed. “He’ll get over himself eventually.”
==
Sam slipped into his blue jeans while trying not to fall over, planning out his day all the while. Today was Friday, the day he and the other firefighters went out to Mimi’s for lunch. That would mean seeing Connor. Sam growled at the burned hole in his great-grandmother’s rug. Deep down he knew that Connor didn’t mean to ruin Sam’s favorite rug. It still hurt though. Sam planned out his petty revenge – avoid Connor at all costs. It would be hard to do that if he was going to his workplace, though! Connor and Sam were best friends, mainly only because Bram insisted on getting the three to hang out together. Connor was a nice guy, sure. A little hotheaded, though.
At six thirty, he heard Ethan’s little passing knock on his door. Ethan would do that every morning to make sure that Sam was up, which he usually was. Sam texted him an emoticon to let him know that he was indeed awake.
Sam did his best to straighten up before rubbing at his back. This humongous shell sure made his life difficult sometimes. On the plus side, he mused, it is a pretty convenient place for Blast and Squirt. Sam remembered the day he got the license to carry his pistols. While some may find it odd that a firefighter carried as much firepower as a regular cop, Sam felt justified by the level of preparedness their presence on his person provided. Anything could happen, so why leave anything to chance? Did this make him paranoid? Maybe. But probably not, he reassured himself as he slipped on his coat. Besides, very few people outside of the local government knew about his babies.
Sam felt the phone vibrate in his palm, which knocked him out of his early-morning trance. He glanced down at the small screen to see that it was a text from Amber Arcanine. Those two words – Amber Arcanine – sent a shiver down Sam’s spine. A pleasurable one though. Sam kept trying to convince himself that he did NOT have a crush on her, that it was all just a platonic thing. There was no way Amber would agree to a date with Sam. They belonged to types diametrically opposed to one another by nature – water and fire. They belonged to entirely different egg groups as well. If either one of them wanted children, they would either have to cheat or adopt. Sam pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as he answered Amber’s text.
Fires rarely happened in COCville. People were usually careful with fire. The people you had to watch out for were the Charizards. Every generation produced at least one catastrophic fire. Carl Charizard, that shiny old coot, once lit a fire in a water park. Princess Cassie had to shut down the water park just because of all the damage. The new princess rarely had time to discuss such things. It had been hard for her thanks to the loss of her best friends and daughter in a car accident. Sam wondered how she could even smile anymore. Another thought he decided to push to the back of his mind as he finished readying himself for the day and stepping out into the hall.
==
Connor and Bram breathed in the crisp morning air as they headed towards Bram’s truck. The family of Eevees from across the hall, the Evens family, were basically wrangling each other into a giant passenger van across from them. Or, rather, it only seemed that way because of all their chattering. It sounded like they were trying to one-up each other with what they had to do at work that day. The two friends looked over at each other and shrugged as they climbed into the truck.
“When Carina and I get married, I’m getting rid of this old gas guzzler.” Bram sighed, mainly to himself. He used his vines to buckle his seat belt while revving the car. It was thanks to Bram’s job as a coach to all the COCville children that he met his girlfriend Carina Meganium.
Connor chuckled over the clicking of his own seatbelt. “You haven’t even asked her yet. You got the ring?”
“I’m still looking. I’m waiting for the perfect ring to come in from the CWCville mall. It should be here any day now.” Bram said while backing out of the parking lot.
“It’s the flower-shaped one with pink and white diamonds, isn’t it?” Connor asked.
“Of course! Thankfully she and I have the same favorite colors… If she says no, I’ll keep the ring for myself.” Bram chuckled.
“Sometimes, Bram, I swear you were meant to be a girl.” Connor sighed.
“Hey, men can like pink!” Bram exclaimed. They were already closing in on Mimi’s diner.
“Don’t get so offended,” Connor said with a grin.
Bram pulled into the diner’s parking lot. Using one of his vines, he unlocked Connor’s door.
“Bye, Connor!” Bram said. “Don’t burn any hearts!”
Connor chuckled and got out of the truck, closing the door behind him.
==
Bram leaned up in his car seat a bit, using one of his vines to readjust the rearview mirror. He had just finished dropping off Connor at Mimi’s. Bram shifted the truck’s gears before breathing in deeply to contain himself. Glancing down at his phone, he reread the text message from Camilla Cinccino: “Your ring came in today!” the digital message read. Even as he reread it for the fifth time, it still made his heart skip a beat.
He had been planning this engagement for a long time, ever since they first discussed what they wanted for their future together. A happy marriage, a house, some children, turns out they both wanted all that. Ever since learning this, Bram only really wanted to bring Carina’s dreams to life. He knew that this engagement would probably be a long one since he was just a coach for COCville’s children and she was a high school teacher who would babysit on the weekends. But there really wasn’t a better time for him to propose. They both just got raises from work thanks to Princess Buttercup fighting for higher pay for city social workers, particularly those in educational services like Bram and Carina were.
A few short moments later, he pulled into the school parking lot, and there he saw Carina about to walk into the building. “Carrie!” Bram called, jumping out of the car.
Carina turned to face him and smiled, recognizing his voice. That smile, even after three years of dating, melted his heart every time. Her yellow eyes glistened in the sun like dabs of amber. Her blonde hair was done up in two pigtails which were tied off with white hair scrunchies and ended just above her lucky scarf – a pink and white flower-shaped accessory that she swore gave her good luck. Her light green pantsuit finished the look.
She looked around to make sure no one was looking before she ran up to him and trapped Bram in a great big hug. “Bramie-boo!” She cooed, using her secret nickname for him. Bram had learned to love it, ever since the two were teenagers – him just an Ivysaur-looking boy and her a Bayleef-looking girl. It was meant as an insult since the two of them staunchly hated each other as teens. He was on the basketball team, she was in the science club. It wasn’t until they were in the same college Botany class that they realized they both had the same passion for science. While Carina was proud of it, Bram kept it hidden since he was COCville’s golden athlete.
Before Bram could compliment her, Carina looked down at her watch and saw the time.
“Sorry, I gotta go!” Carina said. “Dinner is still at Mimi’s tonight, six?”
Bram only nodded, too tongue-tied for words. The reminder of his proposal plan reignited his anxiety. Carina was so perfect, she deserved a perfect proposal. After Carina went inside, Bram headed over to the gym’s entrance to start another day.
==
It took an hour and ten minutes to get everyone where they needed to go. Estelle was dropped off at the college’s library so she could study and socialize. Egon would pick her up when he went to work. Elwood got dropped off at the palace to do the gardening there, then he walks to the park. Emmett was dropped off a little ways from the palace, on the spot that their house was being built. Then Emest got dropped off at the bank, Ethan was dropped off at the fire station, and Eric and Elfred got out to head to the police station. Egon drove the twins back home and would take care of them while everyone else was at work. Figuring out that part always took a while with this family. Eric sighed at the thought of the day’s logistics.
Elfred noticed his brother’s distress. “Hey, at least we got all that out of the way, right?”
Eric turned to his brother, a bit confused. “I thought you couldn’t read my mind.”
“I can’t. It’s just easy to see how hard you and Estelle push yourselves.”
Eric could only nod at this. He could tell that his brother was trying to make him feel better about everything. He and the others noticed, he pretty much just admitted this. He was more than happy to do the things he did for the family, and he was sure that Estelle did too. And it wasn’t like they were the only two looking out for everyone else. However, sometimes it felt like so much.
Elfred placed his arm over his brother’s shoulder. “Well, maybe you’ll feel better once you see the election results.”
Eric gulped. He’d submitted his name to the ballot for the police chief elections. There really wasn’t much competition, but the little bit that was there made Eric feel the least qualified for the job. But he felt like he had to. He loved working for the city, and was pretty sure that he was well-known enough to get votes. He was also quick to learn the ropes, and it certainly helped that the job would pay well. “Honestly, bro, I think Mr. Heishiro’s getting it.”
Elfred only smiled mysteriously. He could see into the future, so Eric knew that he already saw the results. He patted his brother on the shoulder. “Guess you’ll be finding out soon.”
==
Mimi Ampharos, the owner of the diner and Connor’s boss, stood at the door, fumbling with her keys. Her yellow hair was done in two buns on either side of her head tied off with black bows. She wore a simple white dress with an apron of red over it. Maybe cursing under her breath, her black eyes glared into the lock, as if trying to get it open through sheer will alone. Apparently she was going at this for a little while, because the orb on her tail was blinking with each particularly sharp syllable uttered. If Mimi was not a happily married woman with a child of her own, Connor would have liked to ask her out.
“Hey, boss.” Connor grinned.
“Oh! Connor,” Mimi turned quickly and flashed a smile at him. The odd red dot on her forehead was still there, as always. She said it was a religious thing. Connor kept meaning to ask her more about it but always forgot. “Early again.”
Connor smiled and watched while Mimi fumbled with more keys. If he offered any help, she would have angrily told him that she could handle it. Mimi had to fend for herself until she met her husband Mano Girafarig, an odd man with a black tail that had a strange face on the end. The two hit it off and were the first married couple in COCville in a decade. Connor knew they had a daughter named Momo Flaafy, but the only other thing he knew was that she preferred texting to schoolwork.
“I have to pick Momo up from school today again. Egon will be here at three to do his shift. I just need you to make sure the transfer goes over well. At least he’ll get to work with those two siblings of his at last. Like he’s been whining about. Satsuki should be here by now…” Mimi sighed.
“Don’t worry, she’ll show up,” Connor stated. Satsuki was a girl that had several traits of a bat, like wings and large ears, as well as a natural collar of fur and a heart-shaped nose. She was also what most people call a weeaboo; she loved – no, obsessed – about Japan. She was usually upbeat, fun and carefree, but ever since the death of her girlfriend, Battina Zubat, she had become sullen. The once studious and punctual worker started coming late to work.
Mimi finally got the locks to the diner opened and the two got to work. As opening time closed in, Mimi feared to have to triple her duties as manager, cashier, and waitress until Satsuki finally showed up.
==
Sam walked to work, as he usually did. Unlike Connor and Bram, there really wasn’t a point in him driving. As a firefighter, you have to stay fit! Besides, he didn’t mind the looks he got from some of COCville’s single ladies. Sam was once named in the paper as one of the most eligible bachelors in COCville. Maybe one day he’ll work up the courage to talk to one of those single ladies out there. He never said so out loud, but between the nerves he got from talking to a woman and the nerves he got from rushing head-first into a blazing building, he’d choose the blazing building. Heck, he’d stand in the fire! Wait, I’m a Water Type, bad example.
Just as he’d resolved to get Amber Arcanine off his mind and stop worrying about all that, he turned the corner and nearly walked straight into her. The young woman looked up and smiled at him. “Oh, hey, Sam!” Sam blushed on the inside.
“Amber, come on!” Ethan Evens called from inside the building. “You’re going to let the cold air out!”
Amber rolled her eyes. Ethan had this habit of turning the AC up all the way to its coldest setting, while Amber would turn on the hot air when she could. Sam didn’t really care for either temperature, but he did find the whole situation funny. All he needed to be satisfied was lunch, not too much stress, and good pay, all of which firefighting in COCville provided.
The two entered the building, Amber taking her spot at dispatch, while Sam and Ethan headed towards the rec hall in the back of the building. Sam thought she was perfect for the job. She had a way of being pleasant to pretty much everyone, and was the best communicator on the force, hands down.
“Not gonna hang out with us today, Amber?” Sam asked. “Probably not missing anything.”
“No, not today. I’m working on college stuff today and I need the quiet.” Amber replied with a smile.
“Oh? You’re going back to college?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, it’s just something my parents wanted me to.”
“Um… how old are you again?” Sam felt a little stupid for not knowing Amber’s true age. He had guessed she was 25 at the least. Please don’t tell me you’re eighteen.
Amber glanced over her shoulder at Sam, still smiling. “You know, it’s kind of rude to ask a woman’s age.”
Shoot. Sam erupted into a bright shade of red and began stammering unconsciously. Form words and explain yourself, idiot!
Amber giggled. “Sam, calm down, I was teasing.”
Sam breathed a sigh of relief and tried to regain his composure. “Oh.” He felt himself continue to blush. The smile she was giving him didn’t help for some reason.
“And to answer your question, I’m 23.”
Sam sighed in relief once again, but not for the reason Amber probably thought it was. Thank goodness, she’s not 18. If she was, he would’ve felt like a creep. If he was going to date someone, he wanted to be sure they’d at least be mature- the latest social app coming out didn’t exactly strike him as interesting conversation. He’d felt that way since high school, and he didn’t think he’d change his opinion.
“Oh, okay. Cool! Um… what time are you leaving for lunch at Mimi’s?” Sam asked. He was secretly hoping Ethan hadn’t already asked her. Ethan had a clear suspicion that Sam liked Amber and he tried to keep the two apart. Something about trying to get Sam to fess up to his feelings. That kid was strange.
“I was thinking about leaving at 11:30.” Amber grinned, showing off her pearly white fangs.
“You, uh, y’know, want to head over together?”
“Sure, why not? Good time to discuss the Princess’ new budget coming up.” Amber chirped.
Sam thanked her, nodded, and headed to the back of the building to hang out with Ethan. Man, she’s going to college.
Sam found Ethan lying upside-down on one of the recliners, his mermaid tail curled around his head and a wry smile on his face. “When are you going to tell her, dude?” Ethan asked.
“Tell who what?” Sam casually scoffed without even looking at Ethan, hoping not to betray anything.
“Look, if you never tell Ambear how you feel, she’ll just find someone else.” Ethan knew Amber since the two were in high school, and had his own nickname for her. “Good-looking girl like her, won’t even be that hard for her. Smart, confident, very friendly. Guys love that kind of crap.”
Sam sighed, trying his best to ignore Ethan’s teasing, and took the seat on the couch opposite him. “We’re so different, though, Ethan. She’s going to college, and I didn’t even start.-”
“La, la, la. Excuses, excuses.”
“Look, some guys just find the girls with so much going for them to be a bit intimidating, that’s all.”
“Aww, is Sammy scared of his own crush?”
Sam sighed and covered his face with his left hand in exasperation. “Everyone’s picking on me today.” He noticed Ethan’s smug, probing stare, and glared at him for an entire minute before groaning angrily. “Alright, fine, I’m a little skittish about it! Happy?”
Ethan adjusted his position. “Yep.”
“Well, stop rush me about this, okay? My relationships with fire types always tend to go up in flames.”
“So still not talking to Connor, are you?” Ethan said, falling onto the floor so he could sit cross-legged in front of Sam. “Tsk, tsk, tsk!”
“He burned my rug!” Sam whined.
“He was your best friend!” Ethan replied harshly, straightening his collar. “Promise me you’ll talk to him.”
“Fine,” Sam said begrudgingly.
Ethan sighed and got up, turning the television on in the process.
“Wanna play some video games?” Ethan asked.
“Nah, I’d rather not get fired if Ms. Delcatty comes by.” Sam mused, stretching out.
“Pfft. You’re no fun, Sam. No wonder Ambear would rather go out with me.” Ethan teased.
Sam grabbed a pillow off the couch and smacked Ethan with it across the head. He didn’t hit the kid that hard, but Ethan still yelled out in surprise.
“Dude, that’s so mean! Why’d you do that?”
“Stop it, Ethan.”
“Stop what? I didn’t do anything to get you mad at me.”
Sam glared at him and stood back up. He was going to see what work needed to be done around the station. Ethan, meanwhile, satisfied that he’d annoyed his friend enough, turned and grabbed the Nintendo 64 controller sitting beside him.
==
As Eric sat at his desk, he kept thinking about the hectic way his morning went. For three years he had been running the house, doing his best to make the best life not only for himself but for his siblings. He wondered what their lives will be like when they finally get everything in order. What it was like to actually run a household. In a house. God, he couldn’t wait until their house was finished.
Eric expected another quiet day like usual, so he reached for the day’s newspaper. Odd; he didn’t remember it being there a few minutes ago. He shrugged it off, though, remembering back to what Elfred said earlier. Maybe he put it there; he clearly wanted him to see what was up with the election.
COCville Daily ~ Police Chief Election Results are In!
Election officials have confirmed the end of their counting process, and have determined the winner of the election for the position of COCville Chief of Police. The head of the election committee, The Honorable Norris Noctowl, agreed to an interview with Rita Raticate, where she delivered the results herself.
“After carefully counting the votes fourteen times, as is our custom, we’ve determined that our next police chief will be Eric Evens.”
Eric fell over backwards out of his chair. He read the sentence over four times before continuing.
“52% of the eligible population voted. Chief Evens won by a landslide, gaining 63% of all the votes. Mr. Heishiro Mitsurugi earned a comfortable second place at 20%, while Setasuka got 11% and Xaldin got 6%.”
Princess Buttercup Wilson released an official statement congratulating our new police chief. “The people of COCville are proud to call you our new police chief. We’re sure that you’ll do a wonderful job keeping us all safe. Chief Evens, I look forward to your inauguration tomorrow morning.”
The ceremony where Evens will be sworn in as police chief, as the Princess said, will be held tomorrow-
Eric stopped reading and stood up to find Mr. Heishiro, as everyone called him. He wanted to be sure, this was such a big shock that there had to be a mistake. But when he spoke to the man, he learned that there was indeed no mistake. “How did this even happen?” Eric asked, shocked.
“The people clearly liked the message you sent better than everyone else’s. You may be young, but you have vision. People know you, and know that you’re an honest man.”
“Well, everyone that ran’s honest.”
“That’s not my point.” The ex-ronin smiled at him. “My point is that you’re the best man for the job, plain and simple.”
Eric stared back down at the newspaper in his hands. He still couldn’t believe it. What this meant for his family….
“Your brother must’ve foresaw the results. Did he not tell you?”
“No, he kept it to himself. He did tell me I’d want to see them, though.”
“This is a proud day for you, yes?”
“Well, yeah, I’m thrilled!”
Mr. Heishiro smiled and shook his coworker’s hand. “Congratulations, Eric.”
“Thanks.” Eric was beaming. He couldn’t really say much else to the man.
“Well, I have paperwork to get through. In case I don’t see you again today, I look forward to seeing you swear in.”
Eric thanked the senior officer once again and returned to his desk. He won. He wasn’t sure if anything could ruin his day now. This more than made up for the cyclonic morning he’d been having so far. He sat back down and flipped through the paper again.
Ceasefire Declared in Lowee
The Gamindustri nation of Lowee declared a formal ceasefire this morning, marking the end of a seventeen hour siege from Planeptune. Formal statements from the Basilicom have revealed that they received military aid from CWCville, which is currently also under attack from Planeptune.
Official statements from Magi-Chan Sonichu, on behalf of CWCville founder Christine Weston Chandler, were released late last night. “We have no ill will towards the people of Planeptune. Christine wants everyone to know that our real enemy is Kurome Ankokuboshi, the negative and evil version of Uzume, who is currently assisting Christine in every way she can. We have word that Count Graduon, who is working alongside Kurome to destroy CWCville, and is readying an attack as we speak. We urge all tourists and vacationers to evacuate the city and await the all-clear. We also have word that our agent, Silvana Rosechu, and the Goddess Neptunia, are currently escorting our Gamindustri contact to safety. They’ve encountered resistance, but they should soon be enjoying the safety of CWCville later today.” The last statement lines up with otherwise random sightings across the United States.
Eric folded up the newspaper and placed it back next to his desk. Nothing else of interest in the news, apparently. He and his siblings had a theory that the Daily reported the news from neighboring universes whenever it had no local news to fill up their pages, something that must happen often based on how much of that material made it into the news. Then again, it made sense diplomatically why they’d do that. COCville relied more on its technological advancements and the trades that its citizens provided for interdimensional commerce, so whatever made visitors feel more at home was considered a good thing. Or that was what he thought, anyway. He reached over for the picture of his smiling parents. He held the picture close as he fought back tears. Tears of joy and pride for his accomplishment, and tears of sadness because he could never know how his parents would feel about it. They probably would’ve been proud, though. “I love you, mom and dad,” he whispered before beginning his long day properly.
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Text
I was born 20 years ago or so.
I remember little, I remeber that song from that album called "Smooth," Though i knew it as "chicka chicka yea" I remeber living next to two cool kids. I remeber stuffed animals, a car like baby resrainer/toy. I remeber my parents naked after finishing a shower or bath, I remeber waking up in cribs to sunbeems. I remeber telling family mebers that "I'm not cute I'm adorable."
I remeber the farmer video game.
My entire life i have mistaken my convenient memory for ideas and cleverness, as time goes on I learn more that I am foolish but have a great ability to remeber.
I remeber moving, I remeber the lazy family, I remember the desk of the men who moved pushed that families house into my parents hands. I remeber hating moving out, though my parents deny I cried, perhaps it was a dream.
I remeber my grandparents, I remeber ducks, I remeber the zoo, I remeber my parents going to hawaii, I remeber two plastic dinosuars I named and loved. I remeber going to mississippi, where i had a not-grandmother but she was my mom's not-mom,
she was my grandmother to me, I remember her not having a husband, and going to church. I hated church, my parents never went, but insisted i dress up for church,
I related church to mississippi.
I remeber airplanes being awsome, my grandfather showing me paper airplanes, and me promptly filling the house with a printer full of paper planes. the sound of props flying over my home.
I remeber my grandpa's racing simulator, and his microsoft combat flight simulator. Amusingly my mother once forbade me from playing the racing simulator after i sked her if she could read the "instuctions" I had found.
I remeber my baby sitter making me say grace when my parents were not home. I remeber being told that girls do not like tackle football. I remeber wanting to be either a fighter jet pilot or a football player.
My family had six large dogs.
I remeber freddy fish and madden football
I remember a local airshow, I remeber the sonic boom which was actually not. because the airplane was so low and loud.
I remeber winnie the pooh, PB and J otter, Cinderella (especially the mice) Rollie Poley Oly, I remeber the fantasy place that is Orlando florda's Disney land. I remeber thinking loony toons was a lazy cheap version of old diseny cartoons. I remeber the wiggles and steve Irwin.
I remeber listening to phantom tollbooth and walt disney's biography on audio tape in the car.
I remeber my little sister being born.
I remeber preschool where a kid pooped his pants, my comrade quit sitting next to me to start sitting next to a girl. I remeber apple juice, ritz crakers, and older kids from the college trying to teach us basic weird stuff. Like salt makes ice melt.
I remeber being able to "sing" books, I did not yet know how to read, but you could pretend if you already knew the book.
I remeber trying to stop the ref in little league rec socer because none of the kids had properly changed sides at halftime. I remeber telling a kid to get the stegosuarous off of the plastic mat i was using for dinosuars, after all, I had a velocoraptor and tricerotops on thr feild, therefore it was the Cretaceous period. My best friend is the one kid who agrees with me. I can dedicate my own walk to him soon.
I remeber going to school and being put the little yellow room with 4 other kids.
I remeber zoo tycoon complete collection, and how i would wake up at 1 in the morning to play it and never tell my parents.
I remeber being read books about dinosuars and world war two before I went to bed each night. Then Johnny Tremain, then Calvin and hobbes.
I remeber playing uno and monopoly with my baby sitter and the other people she sat for.
learning to read calvin and hobbes and dinosuar books was how I learned to read. I remeber computer time and reading two pages out of an encyclopedia of dinosuars was enough to get me 30 minuites of computer time.
I remeber tons of baseball and fishing in mississippi. Along with a leap pad machine,
I remeber mulan and roller coster tycoon and civ 4 and command an conquor generals.
I remeber reading a bible and thinking it was funny when adam and eve tried to pretend they were not naked. I also remeber singing veggie tales songs. I remeber people getting married and refusing to dance with a girl or wear a flower.
I cannot watch school movies or starwars, I leave the room when there is conflict,
come to think of it i leave the room for parts of cinderella and mulan.
I remeber being taken to the brown man's room (I call him brown because he wore all brown and his officelike room was dank messy and either yellow or brown, not because of race, I honestly forget what he was in terms of skin, he was probobly white if you can't stand not knowing.) And playing candyland and monopoly with him, we didn't finish either game, and he went to speak to my parents after asking me tons of questions.
I first turn a profit in roller coster tycoon explainingnit to my grandmother.
I remeber me and my dad beating a stewart little game on the gameboy, my mother tells me that I read like she used too, like you get your calories from books.
I remeber mario kart.
cat adopts my family and has kittens, me and my sister once debated using a basebalk bat to kill a squirel a kitten was playing with. We couldn't do it.
I was told I was clever and I was moved to a differant school, conflict no longer bothers me, except social conflict, i can watch people get shot or hurt in movies, I can't watch a person obviously lie to their friends for more than a minuite. My new school is my first public school.
My uncle/cusion rescues dogs and has like 20 that live free range in his backyard/neighborhood, he is the only one there along with his wife and loud family, he has like 4 indoor dogs, This is mississippi. I ask my mom if he is a hoarder, she explains how to break up a dog fight.
I remeber learning what pokemon was, learning it was uncool to watch playhouse disney, uncool to watch dinsey (unless you were a girl) uncool to not know what pokemon is, uncool to talk like I do, No one cares about dinosuars or my video games, i make friend the first day, and the kid hugs me, the next week he tells me I am a wussy cry baby.
It was because kids called me by my first name and not my middle name because they thought it was funny how I would try to tell them I used my middle name instead. So I was their recess entertainment, for about two months untill I realized they were doing it for a reaction and actually understood that I had a name.
Pokemon is the way into any kid's (except the majority of girls, but who am I kidding, those girls were never allowed or told they could. be kids.) heart I learn.
elementry school goes quick, I remeber hippy teacher and the rest of the teachers being wise.
I liked them. I remeber being frieds with the spaz kid, who hit people, and occasionally hit me, fortunately i was faster and good at distracting him.
Warrior cats books. and harry potter. Bilbo baggins.
Dad plays world of warcraft, the all time coolest game I ever did see.
I start trying to make builds for him out of the paper guide book cool kid i used to live with has.
I remeber martial arts classes and noticing how slow I progressed compared to spaz kid, who was taking classes at what I would later think of as a McDojo. I remeber the tree of heaven and how it is really the tree of hell.
I would occasionally have to reastrain him from hurting people.
I wanted to hit a kid only once in elementry, when I told him my dad played world of warcraft like the kid did and the kid said "your dad has no life" casualy.
I remeber, "Hit first, you don't always get back up"
If you can't already tell by my video games and history, I am weirdly violent, mistrusting, competitive, and belive I am better than other people. My priviliged youth has empowered me so much, I think you are foolish, prepare for part two.
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