#around. kids collect bruises. they’re figuring out what their limits are and even if you watch them carefully a few bumps is normal.
Note
I don’t know if you already said this elsewhere, but did the Zenin ever hurt Megumi in a way it simply wasn’t possible for them to explain? Like being poisoned or bitten by one of the dozens curses? Did Gojo catch them red handed (the red is literally megumi’s blood💀)?
The first time that they hurt him in a way that they couldn’t explain away was the last time they hurt him, because Gojo immediately cut them off and refused to ever let them ever get near Megumi again. The Zenin didn't fully realize this at the time they had custody, but legitimately the only reason why it got as far as it did was because Gojo didn't know.
They weren’t exactly advertising “yeah we beat him when we have him” to him, but it wasn’t exactly because they thought gojo would put a stop to it, per se. They didn’t tell Gojo anything they did to Megumi because they felt absolutely entitled to him. They didn’t want Gojo’s input or interference, and they didn’t like feeling like they had to ask for permission around this with Megumi. But they didn’t think he actually would cut them off from him.
In the Zenin’s mind, Gojo doesn’t love Megumi. He’s never loved Megumi. Megumi’s just a political pawn to him, a way to insult the Zenin and steal their most valuable technique for his own. And he got way more value from letting them see him. He got to have his influence on someone who was very likely to be clan head one day—if Megumi’s cut off from them entirely, he’s not moving towards being clan head. He got a bargaining chip with the Zenin—he could further his own goals by offering them more time with him. Megumi’s a powerful piece of leverage but only if Gojo actually uses him. Him intervening to protect Megumi by severing all contact doesn’t further his own goals, so when it all came to a head, they pretty blindly assumed that he wouldn’t give a shit about what they had just done to Megumi, because at the end of the day, they thought he was going to keep using Megumi for his own ends, which meant giving them access.
Instead, Gojo immediately pulled the plug on the entire situation. They never touched or saw him again. The first time that Megumi saw them after the incident that made them go no contact was when Naoya came to pick him up at his school.
#sea glass gardens#in my mind jujutsu sorcerer kids are sturdier#like Sukuna punted Megumi through multiple buildings in their fight#so it must be /hard/ to do something that causes a bruise#a lot of the Zenin’s abuse was hidden because while it still hurt it wasn’t leaving marks#or it was abuse that wouldn’t leave marks anyway like how they’d work him to the point of collapse or control his every action#but if they hit him hard enough to leave marks then they had the built in excuse that megumi was fighting with other kids#or had just had one of those normal little kid bumps. like I have a baby nieces and nephews and those kids will just hurl their bodies#around. kids collect bruises. they’re figuring out what their limits are and even if you watch them carefully a few bumps is normal.#they hurt him badly but they always had a way to hide it until they went too far and didn’t anymore. and the second gojo realized that#the adults on the compound had been beating megumi he never let them so much as look at him again. he legitimately put his foot down and#refused to budge an inch no matter how much hell he caught for it#I’ve definitively decided that the incident that made them go no contact is not going to be revealed in sea glass gardens#it just isn’t something that would come out through yuutas pov#if I wrote other works in the series it would probably come out through one of them but it’s a big big if#I make no promises as to other works in the universe (though I have started writing some of them. completion is another thing entirely).#if you guys want to know the incident that made them go no contact I wouldn’t be opposed to revealing it over ask but it’s y’all’s#preference. usually the stuff I talk about in ask is stuff I’ll know isn’t going to be revealed in sea glass gardens itself. this is kind of#in purgatory because I know it’s coming out in sea glass gardens but there’s a smaller chance of it being revealed in a different work#so it’s up to y’all. if you want to know I’ll answer it behind a cut or something but if you want to gamble on it actually being written out#one day that’s fine too
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Lost Souls: Story 11
Something New
Lost Souls Summary: Merlin awakens early from his sleep. He decides that he doesn’t want to leaving anything to chance and kidnaps the young James Lake Jr. to began training his Trollhunter as early as possible.
Barbara is determined to hunt down the man who kidnapped her son. In her efforts to get her son back she finds a strange old radio that speaks to her in a woman’s voice. The radio leads her to an underground society of shapeshifters.
Mother and son meet again years later as strangers on opposing sides.
AO3 - Fanfiction
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~~~~
“Head up! Don’t block the blow: redirect it.”
Eli tries to comply but it’s hard when his arms feel like they’re made out of jelly. Instead of being redirected Jim’s staff pushes Eli’s down causing him to bop himself in the forehead with his own weapon.
Eli topples over like a load of bricks and lays there. A low whine seeps through his lips as his tailbone pulses with pain from hitting the ground too hard. That will be another bruise for his collection.
He’s actually managed to get more bruises training with Jim than he has from Steve. Which is really saying something.
“Are you okay?”
He opens his eyes to see Jim hovering awkwardly over him, staff still in hand. He’s shifting back and forth on his feet in a way that tells Eli he’s debating whether to keep pushing him or end the session here.
Eli doesn’t really want to disappoint him, so he tries to sit up. All his muscles protest. He lays back down. Yeah, he isn’t going anywhere. The training montages in movies really fail to capture just how much pushing oneself to the limits hurts.
“We’ll stop for the day,” Jim decides.
He sets his staff against the house before retrieving Eli’s and setting it there too.
“Can you get up?” Jim asks.
Now that he’s not in training mode he stands a little less straight and his expression softens from his previously sharp focused gaze.
“Yeah… maybe,” Eli says, his voice squeaking a little. “Just a second.”
Eli lays on the ground just breathing and trying to summon the energy to make another attempt at standing up. He knows he’s going to be sore in the morning again.
He honestly wants to give up. Clearly he isn’t cut out for this.
There’s movement to his right and Eli looks over to see Jim laying down beside him. The blue skinned troll blends in almost perfectly with the night; except for his eyes which glow a faint, ethereal blue. He settles on his back, head propped just slightly up by his horns.
“So…” The troll says slowly. “You were telling me that human constellations are different than troll ones?”
Eli nods slightly, unable to look away. His glasses slide down his nose. He quickly pushes them back up.
“Do you want to compare?”
“Really?!” Eli squeaks, surprised.
Next to exploring the strange and unusual, stars and space has always been one of his greatest interests. Something about the vastness and boundlessness draws him. He studies every book he can get his hands on.
This is a chance to learn what a being that isn’t human sees. That’s… that’s something beyond his wildest dreams.
But more importantly, it’s a chance to talk about something that he loves with a friend.
“Eli?”
Jim is looking at him rather nervously. Eli realizes that he’s teared up.
“I’d like that,” He says. He pushes his glasses up to swipe at his eyes before giving Jim a smile.
~~~~
As predicted, Eli is very very sore.
He spends the day limping through his classes. He wonders if this is what old people feels like. He’s so glad when it’s time to go home.
His arm positively aches as he transfers the textbooks he doesn’t need to his locker. As much as he enjoys spending time with Jim he’s glad that the Trollhunter won’t be over tonight. He doesn’t think he can take another round of training.
He plans to take it easy when he gets home. He can get his homework done and then he’ll see if he can snag enough of his friends from the forums to play a round of Among Us.
Eli flinches as a hand lands on his shoulder. Without turning around he already knows who it is. Automatically his shoulders draw up toward his ears as he pulls his arms in close to his chest.
“What do you want Steve?”
“Why, I was just worried about my favorite nerd,” The blond bully says with mock sincerity. “I haven’t heard any of your wild conspiracies and was starting to be concerned about your health.”
Eli hasn’t been sharing his theories and discoveries since meeting Jim because he promised Jim to keep trolls and the other creepers… creatures running around Arcadia secret. He still discusses aliens but he’s been sticking with his friends online and Jim now, since they don’t laugh at him.
He figured since he had been keeping to himself Steve would ignore him, but now he’s seeking him out because of that.
There really is no winning, he realizes.
“Can’t you just leave me alone?” Eli asks quietly.
Steve doesn’t appreciate that.
The blond bully shoves him and he hits the locker hard sending a violent jolt of pain through his back. His books fall out of his arms and scatter on the ground.
“Don’t talk back to me butsnack.”
Eli glances around but there’s nowhere to escape in the crowded hallway and, as usual, no one seems inclined to help.
“I think you need to spend some time in your locker until you remember your manners,” Steve continues with a glint in his eyes.
A whimper escapes Eli at that. He doesn’t want to spend another hour stuck in the locker again. His eyes dart around frantically.
Steve reaches for him and takes a step forward, his foot landing just in front of Eli’s spilled textbooks.
“Use your surroundings as a weapon.” Jim’s voice whispers in the back of his mind.
With no other options presenting themselves, Eli kicks Steve in the shin as hard as he can. The bully lets out a yelp and grabs at his injured leg. Eli doesn’t wait for him to recover. Ignoring the protests of his aching muscles he shoves him hard in the chest. Normally it would have done nothing but Steve, already off balance, stumbles and his foot lands on Lord of the Flies. He topples over backward and slams hard into the ground.
The hallway goes completely silent.
Eli stares, his heart still racing. He can’t believe it. He actually managed to take down Steve.
Steve Palchuck! The boy who’s been tormenting him since kindergarten.
Around him all the other kids start murmuring.
Then someone cheers and then the whole crowd is whooping and hollering.
Steve seems to have recovered from his shock and is getting up. He’s turning a violent red and it’s pretty clear that he’s going to get revenge. Eli has the feeling he won’t get lucky a second time.
“Hey! What’s going on here?”
Eli is about ready to collapse from relief when Coach Lawrance’s voice breaks through the noise. The crowd of students disperses like cockroaches. Steve backs off, shooting him glares.
Eli gathers his books and slinks off to get his bike with the distinct feeling that this incident will come back to haunt him.
~~~~
“Can you believe it?” Mary squeals.
Her fingers are darting rapidly over her phone. No doubt she’s already uploading a video to one of her many social media accounts. Steve is going to be livid.
“Girl, I saw it but I still don’t believe it,” Darci says.
Eli Pepperjack getting one up on Steve was the last thing she had been expecting out of school today.
“What do you think Toby?” She says nudging him in the ribs.
Since they’ve made it to high school and have Claire and Mary to hang out with, she’s determined to get him to come out of his shell.
Toby blinks and looks up from his phone.
“Yeah it was pretty cool,” He says, eying the other two girls hesitantly.
Claire give him a friendly smile and he awkwardly smiles back before quickly returning his attention to his phone.
Darci sighs and shoots Claire an apologetic look. Claire shrugs in response and then she, Mary and Darci continue to discuss the strange happenings of the day sans Toby’s input.
~~~~
“Would it hurt you to try to be a little friendlier?”
Toby winces. Yeah he deserved that one.
“Sorry,” He says, a slight flush crawling up the back of his neck.
Darci lets out a little huff.
“You should be, Mary and Claire are the best. Come on TP you’ve got to give them a chance.”
Toby doesn’t reply. Instead opting to instead focus all his attention on the game. His fingers fly over the controls. He understands what she’s getting at. He really does but well…
“I guess I’m just not ready for new people.”
There’s a ping as they reach the end of the round. Toby hazards a brief glance up and sees Darci looking at him with a puzzled frown.
“But you know Mary and Claire,” She says. “I’ve been friends with them for as long as I’ve known you. You’ve hung out before and never had a problem with them.”
“I know,” He mutters. “It’s just…”
He doesn’t want to admit it. It’s pathetic.
“It’s Jim, isn’t it?”
Toby gives her a weak grin.
“Have you been taking lessons from your Dad? Cause that was some real detective work there.”
Darci snorts.
“It doesn’t take a detective to figure that one out.” She gives him a little poke on the shoulder to emphasize her point.
Toby sighs and drops his controller.
“It’s not just Jim,” He admits in a subdued tone. This is something he’s thought about a lot. “It’s Mom and Dad, too… Heck even Dr. L just up and left. It was fine hanging out with them once in a while as your friends but what’s the point in me becoming friends with them? Once we get done with high school everyone is just going to move on. I just don’t want to deal with that.”
It would be bad enough when Darci moved on.
He can feel her staring at him.
“You know I’m not going to abandon you, right?” She asks.
Toby winces. It sounds bad out loud. She puts her hand on his shoulder and he glances up hesitantly. She’s smiling at him in a very gentle and sad way that makes his chest ache.
“Even if we end up on opposite sides of the world I’ll keep in touch. You won’t lose me okay?”
“You don’t know that.” It slips out before he can stop it.
Darci sighs.
“Look I… I guess there really is no way to know for sure but do you really just want to give up? Just like that? To spend your whole life alone?”
“Not really…” Toby says slowly.
“Then can you give them a try? For me?”
He can’t resist those big brown eyes.
“Okay,” Toby says. “I’ll give them a chance, but no promises on results.”
Darci’s smile and quick hug makes it worth it. Toby just hopes he won’t regret this. He clears his throat roughly and focuses his attention back on the screen. He starts another round hoping he can drown out the uneasy feeling in his gut.
“You know I really could use a larger audience to practice my magic for. You know all of my tricks anyway.”
Darci claps her hands together
“Oh! That reminds me. Mare told me there’s a new bookstore in town. She was going on and on about how cute the guy who was working the counter was, but, more importantly, she mentioned there’s a huge selection of magic type books. Want to go check it out?”
“Sure,” Toby says. “That sounds like fun.”
He doubts there will be anything real there but maybe he can find some cool props to use for the next talent show.
~~~~
~~~~
Author Notes:
Steve has really come a long way. He was a major bully back in the beginning of the series. Hopefully we'll get to see more character development for him in Rise of the Titans. (Also more CreepslayerZ! I miss the CreepslayerZ.)
Jim grew up with Kanjigar and Merlin's training so his version of "going easy" is still really pushing it for an inexperienced human. It's going to be a while yet before Eli is not sore again.
Jim learned the Trollish constellations from Kanjigar. While he never took him to Trollmarket, Kanjigar did start taking him outside within Merlin's barrier. Stargazing was Jim's absolute favorite thing to do with him.
Next chapter we get to see Jim's visit to his old home before he became a troll!
If you like this be sure to tell me what you think :)
#Trollhunters#Tales of Arcadia#Trollhunters Fanfiction#Lost Souls#Child Champion AU#Jim Lake Jr#james lake jr#eli pepperjack#steve palchuk#darci scott#toby domzalski#tobias domzalski#troll jim#half troll jim#bullying#training#Darci and Toby are BFFs in this
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The Devil Takes Care of His Own 1/?? [Alastor/Gender Neutral Reader]
Series: Hazbin Hotel
Chapter Name: Run Rabbit, Run
Chapter Summary: you snatch a young girl from certain danger, and even though a trail of broken dishes and angry business owners are left in your wake, at least the kiddo is safe. for now. *please don't run zig zag from gators, that'll only slow you down
When you first awoke within the muck of the drudges of the damned, it was without any recollection as to who you were or what you were about or even why you were here; somehow, in spite of the personal amnesia, gray meat in the ol' chrome dome was able to quickly surmise where "here" was. Drew a blank on your friggin' name but not on your location? Didn't really inspire much confidence, still doesn't actually.
You've grown some since, about a month's time if you're keeping track accurately- that's up for debate however, passage of time operates differently here- and though you're honestly no closer to figuring out just who in the hell you were, you've managed to forge some footpaths in the mountain that is ciphering the inner machinations of Pentagram City... and who you are in this concrete jungle of copper smells and marquee lights.
And, of friggin course, who you are just so happens to be the biggest bleeding heart in all of damnation.
The scene before you is playing out in such a way that it's resonating within the cavity of your ribcage so differently than ever before- well, at least within your short term memory anyway. See you're no stranger to violence, though your familiarity sings distinct from most everyone else's, but in the thirty or so days of consciousness you've witnessed first hand turf wars over a single city block, a lover's quarrel that resulted in a heart literally being cleaved out of someone's chest, muggings for baggies of white powder that you swiftly deduced was <i>not<i> confectioners sugar, and oh so much more over oh so much less. Hell, even you've slipped past the avaricious claws of would be thieves eyeing your satchel. Joke's on them, the contents are merely yellow parcels and white envelopes. And not to toot your horn but you're-
"-fast. I'm very fast. I'm like Forrest Gump, except I'm not an idiot." The voice, masculine and strained through puffs of heavy breathing, echoes in your ears yet it doesn't ring a bell.
... now's not the time for an episode, self.
And it's a burst of noise- like a mixture between water and air spraying- that brings you back into focus.
Right.
The carnage that's about to take place cause you're standing around like an idiot with a thumb up your ass.
A young girl poises herself before a cavern of teeth, staring her aggressor in the maw with a grin curling on her rosy cheeks. As if certain not-death ain't about to swallow her noggin whole, bones and all. The aggressor in question peels their jaw further apart and a low, rolling sound rumbles from within the depths. Still the kiddo doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink at her impending doom.
She can't be more than fifteen so her fight or flight instincts should be well in the process of switching over to autopilot, but to your utter dismay they don't seem to be engaging.
Cause she's still just... standing there.
The demon looms over her tiny body with a hunched back, sickly green scales flutter under the pentagram's fluorescence, and their torso gradually expands outward- not unlike that of a balloon- as if they're gulping down a throat full of breath- as if they're bracing for the pounce-
Liquid ice gushes through your veins, through your muscles, and pools around the bones of your ankle joints; inner thighs clench, knees slack; left foot ferociously stomps at the asphalt with the right quickly following suit, left right, left right, rapid hastening cycle; the thinning rubber of your sneaker's soles does little to absorb the impact- every footfall strike sends ripples of tingly pain up your shins, making all extremities tremble; you pump one arm in tandem with your racing heart and the other prepares with hooked finger bones. The harsh pace kicks up cement dust in your wake.
The aggressor leans further- the kid ain't moving- you're not gonna make it in time-
-heat: stifling. black cloud: smoke inhalation. neighbor: passed out. not much time. not enough of it. get him out now.
Grab her.
-grab him.
NOW
____________________________________
Some feet ahead and to the left is the mouth of an alleyway, and if memory serves correctly this side street should eventually spill out into Fifth, and if that's the case then the alley should house the back entrance to the (alleged) cannibal cafe- an establishment that maintains the coveted fourth place on your personal list of "Must Avoid Unless Absolutely Necessary".
The owner, an absolute unit of saccharine smiles and four barbed tusks to match her literal boorish appearance, is a demon gal that you get along with well enough; a relationship constricted to the limits of professionalism, you often find yourself engaged in weather talk after the ritual of mail delivery is completed. Of course the hairs on the back of your neck rise whenever you look her in the eye for too long, but that's to be expected when she's pricing out whatever cuts your hide might produce. At least, you're like eighty percent certain that that's what she does while exchanging pleasantries.
Still, your options are between cutting through Mrs. Sowbelly's Cafe or stay on the straight and narrow... and both choices carry considerable risk behind them. Both choices could land the two of you in the trap of a beast's glistening, spittle sheen teeth.
And full transparence? You like the sniff of your chances with the widowed pig more.
Besides, provided that you shield the young cyclops from view, Mrs. Sowbelly shouldn't be able to commit your damsel in distress's identity to memory and start getting any funny ideas. The kiddo should be safe.
So it's with a pivot on your heel, a rapid change that leaves you hopping on one leg momentarily, that you tear your body to the left and haul ass down the alleyway like the devil's nipping at your heels.
Which, ironically though no literally, he/she/they are- well, not the devil but rather a devil. It's a clever metaphor dammit, and you're gonna applaud yourself later if you survive this clusterfuck of a shitty ass situation.
Then again... folks down here don't really die, do they? Not like how they do topside. Probably hurts just as much, however.
A drag of oxygen claws from deep within your stomach, swells the airway in your throat until they ache, and the muscles around your knees ignite with an icy burn- all fueled by a dwindling supply of addictive adrenaline. The tiny girl shifts in your arms, causing her red tresses to ghost the underside of your chin, before her single, rather large ocular finds you; there's a question gleaming in the yellowed pit of her iris, and while your soft heart would love nothing more than to humor her there are other matters you must attend to first- that being saving your skins- so you tuck her head back into one shoulder and twist its partner to lead the two person charge.
Brace.
Grit your teeth.
And- BAM!
Pain- biting deep into the blade. Nothing serious. Bruise at worst.
But you're in.
In the split second it takes all of the neurons to collectively process your surroundings, you quickly discover that the cafe's back door immediately leads into a quaint kitchen. There might be a lace and heart motif on the walls, and there might be a slab of oozing, fleshy meat on the counter? Or your brain is misidentifying things, wouldn't be the first time downside; shuffle around the island and through the white swinging door before you throw a brief apology to Mrs. Sowbelly about the rude intrusion. And maybe there is some sort of higher power still looking out for your unbelievably dumb ass because the swinging door opens up to the dining portion of the cafe.
Thank Whomever or Whatever for small miracles.
"Oops, sorry!" and "pardon me, sir!" and "oh fuck! I'm really sorry!" become your mantra as you dodge wooly servers and rodent customers alike. The shrill cry of porcelain shattering rings in the periphery of your attention span and your stomach churns itself with guilt.
The display you must be putting on, ruining these poor people's lovely, likely cannibalistic brunch. God, you're such a jerk.
Still, there's a certain appreciation for escape and safety that's far outweighing the acidic aftertaste of shame right now- not to mention you haven't heard the aggressor in a bit and that's worrisome- so you swallow your pride, hunch your back a little (effectively obscuring the kid from the public's eye), and much like a bull in a glass shop you sprint all the way to the entrance. Broken dishes, disgruntled employees, pissed customers, and all.
Out of the cafe and on to the cobblestone of Fifth Street do you stop; now should you continue on through the crowds, or cut through more establishments in an unpredictable route? Your assailant seems to be gator-based so maybe you should-
"- in order to escape from an alligator, you should run zig zag because they can only charge straight."
That... sounds like misinformation, but time's a-wasting and you gotta make a choice now.
Crowd? Or the coffee shop across the street?
... well coffee does have a tendency to make you more productive, placebo or otherwise, and you certainly trust it over Hell's denizens by leagues. So coffee shop it is!
Rinse, repeat: dodge the condemned, serpentine through the building, apologize to everyone who has the misfortune of in your path, and make your grand exit through another door. This rampaging circuit sees you bulldozing through some sorta clothing boutique, a toy store that's definitely not for children, your favorite chocolatier distributor, and a pretzel shop that serves everything but pretzels. Naturally there are some other businesses in that line, however you don't deem them important enough to fully acknowledge them. No offense to the owners, of course.
And not once do you dare to glance behind your shoulder to see if the reptilian fellow/dame/gender neutral folk is trailing your footsteps.
____________________________________
"Why'd ya grab me?"
"To save you."
She blinks twice, an odd bundle of curiosity this one, then asks you the age old question known as "why?"
And honestly you're not entirely sure of the reasoning yourself. Admittedly- admittedly it was more of a reaction than a conscious decision, with a memory that might or might have not been your own reverberating from the back of your mind until your feet were already moving. Cause in that moment all you were seeing was a monster ready to hurt a teenage girl- and demon or no the novelty of leaving a kid to fend for herself sounded heinous. Vile. So you snatched her up and ran.
No reason to bore her with that explanation however, kids have short attention spans and all that, and you're more than willing to chalk this up to something akin to Occam's Razor- "the simplest solution is more likely the right one."
... boy howdy, you can remember that but not your own goddamn name? Just how in the hell have you survived this long?
"Seemed like the right thing to do."
This seems to confuse her further for both top and bottom eyelid draw closer around the globe of her eye, rosy cheeks puffing out as she looks you up and down then back up again for... insert reason here?
Oh. Oh!
Two things about the doomed denizens of Pentagram City, location one of the numerous layers of Hell: they tend to garb themselves in whatever fashion is familiar to them from the time/date of their death, probably as a last ditch effort to grasp at whatever shreds of humanity they have left? And the longer they've been here the less human they appear- you hear that there are exceptions to this observation but the general consensus states that one's residency in the realm of suffering determines how much metamorphosis one undergoes.
And this little lady? Based off of the giant eyeball and way she's dressed? You're kind of half expecting her to break out into Sandra Dee's routine of "Summer Nights" what with her billowing pink poodle skirt and matching scarf. Actually, scratch that, the pink is trademark Frenchy. "Beauty School Drop Out" it is.
Anyways, point being that this teen more than likely bit the dust like seventy-ish years ago, thus making her chronologically older than you, meaning she's been here a hell of a lot longer than you, exposed to some of the worst humanity has to offer, so your whole "good samaritan" spiel is probably translating to something along the lines of "stranger danger".
"That's weird." She says.
"Sorry?"
"You know we're in Hell, right?"
Why yes you are aware of your current and permanent residency, and if anybody asks you you personally think that it's fucked the fuck up that a friggin teenager is in Hell! What could a kid possibly do to warrant their soul's final resting place be the kingdom of sin and evil?! Grant it you don't know what you've done to receive the same treatment either, but a. you're an adult and b. it was probably real messed up compared to... whatever she "did".
Ponder the fallacies of morality later, it's time you get her back home.
Your knees bend until one cap burrows into the dirty below, and you bring yourself to be at a more leveled height with her- don't reach to her, not yet at least, likely doesn't feel safe around you yet (if ever.)
"Hey, is it cool if I ask you what your name is?" You smile, mindful of your canines so that they don't pierce your bottom lip. Again.
The reaction you receive is instantaneous.
"I'm Niffty! Who are you?" She chirps with a huge grin.
You choke on your words; "I uhh... don't remember? But you can call me 'Newbie', lots of people- erm, demons? Uhh, lots of folks call me that." Clear the throat, bring back the smile on your face. "So listen Niffty, do you have, like, parents or uhh.. family I can bring you to?"
"Pfft, I don't think anybody here has parents. Except for the princess of course! Well, there might be others... but anywaysie daisy, nope! No parents here!"
Jesus Christ she's an orphan on top of everything else?! Next thing you know she's gonna mention how someone drowned her pet lizard and chopped all the heads off her favorite stuffed animals when she was the tender age of three... you're way too much of a sentimental idiot for this bullshit.
"Okay, that's okay. How 'bout a home or, like, some kind of safe space I can drop you off at?"
"Oh! The Hazbin Hotel!"
... pardon? The what hotel? Wait.. there's a hotel in hell (heh, rhymes)? Why?
"Originally it was called the Happy Hotel but the bossman changed it, and if you ask me I like the new name better," she whispers the last part as if her opinion over the name is a secret between you two. Precious kid.
But also a hotel here just simply named the "Happy Hotel"? Yeah that sounds shady as fuck. Ain't a lot of happiness going around these here parts, not genuine happiness at least.
"Best job I've ever had too! I get to clean and cook all day, every day! Except during my time off... that's a real bummer."
That... kind of makes sense actually; child labor laws are likely ignored in favor of cheap drudge, and if folks are willing to exploit youngens in life then why would they forgo the practice after death? Trick question: they wouldn't cause people are terrible... unfortunately so are you.
It's not as if you can just uproot Niffty and bring her in under your non existent wing- mail delivery only pays for so much after all and there aren't enough routes in the city to haul your head above the water's hemline. So housing, feeding, and clothing a-whole-nother being when most of your nights are spent in the company of ravenous hunger and the legitimate consideration of selling off your parts to Mrs. Sowbelly? Ain't happenin, cap'n.
"Well I've never heard of this hotel, but I can at least see that you get there safely," you offer, one hand rubbing at the back of your neck. "Dunno if that gator is still-”
"Wo-ow, you must be new if you don't know about the Hazbin Hotel!" She gives you a once-over again. "Guess that explains why you don't look... 'demon-y'."
You're losing track here; gotta get her back to her home as soon as possible, direct her attention towards that goal. Butter her up. Kids like that, right? Your gut says so at least.
"Heh, well it's gotta be pretty fuc- I-I mean, pretty awesome if they got someone like you workin' there, Niffty."
"OH, you're SO right! I make the place sparkle!"
She continues on with her excited babbling as she twirls her petite body around towards the east, billowing poodle skirt and all. Not gonna lie, you're kind of jealous of her and her garment; maybe something ankle length you can get away with. Meanwhile the young cyclops flutters on her feet with mentions of "doing my absolute best" and "that's why the bossman hired me", and though you'll admit that the details of her employment are enshrouded in mystery, and what little information you can glean sounds very sketchy, still you don't attempt to dissuade her from her goal destination.
Who knows, maybe this Happy/Has-been Hotel won't be so awful?
Heh. Yeah right.
The moment Niffty is safe and secure, at least as far as the gator demon is concerned, you're gonna be well on your way back to the dingy apartment you call home.
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a/u: are you really that surprised? one of my main husbandos is friggin eldritch dracula, so this is just par for the course honestly. the ol radio demon is gon be a tough customer but goddammit we’re gonna try regardless. don’t expect a healthy “relationship” with the ace spectrum cannibal deer demon. also the lore is gonna be like half improv cause we don’t know much about hh yet. and yes i’m aware that niffty is biologically in her twenties, but newbie doesn’t know. yet. with that said: please leave a like, gimme a comment, reblog this bitch, and just continue bein awesome y’all <3
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel alastor x reader#hazbin hotel alastor x you#alastor x you#alastor x reader#alastor the radio demon#hazbin hotel fanfiction#hazbin hotel fanfic#writing
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trained by the best
Summary: Gran Torino is hired by the Hero Public Safety Commission to train Keigo Takami, boy wonder. Canon!AU. [Illustration included.]
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“Torino-san?”
He blinked once, then again, like he could rid himself of this prim and proper lady standing at his doorstep. Sorahiko scrubbed his face with a rough hand and felt the stubble prickle his palm. So much for self-care. He eyed her with wariness. No one in a blazer had charitable intentions. Leaning into the old-timer’s growl, Sorahiko parried with, “Who needs him?”
She wasn’t having his shit. “The Hero Public Safety Commission.”
His hackles rose. “I don’t do that kind of work.”
“You misunderstand our initiative,” she said coldly, “but that is of no matter. Please welcome me in.”
Sorahiko bared his teeth in a semblance of a grin. “Welcome to my home,” he answered, and stepped aside. “Get to the point, before I have to offer you snacks and drinks.”
The lady gave his ramshackle apartment a disparaging onceover, and conceded. She untucked a manila folder from under her arm, and cleared her throat. “Torino Sorahiko. Pro Hero, Gran Torino. You were part of a government operation to take in All for One with your partner—”
“Get to the point,” he repeated.
She glared. “You’re one of the fastest pro heroes in Japan, and yet you’ve never been noticed by the public record. You once taught at U.A., but quit after a year. If it wasn’t for a footnote on the All for One operation, we wouldn’t even be aware of your skills.”
He maintained his poker face, but inwardly cursed at whoever kept the file. Sorahiko had stayed under the radar for a reason. Mostly because he hated the media, and the task of cultivating a reputation. He’d left that nonsense to Nana, who hadn’t actually liked it any better.
“I like my quiet life,” Sorahiko pronounced, folding his arms together. “You haven’t gotten to your point.”
“We’re looking to hire a combat tutor,” she grinded out. “Someone skilled in fighting at incredible speeds, and who wouldn’t be averse to being missing from the public eye. That’s you.”
“No one likes how I teach.”
“Statistics show that the one year you taught at U.A., the graduating students had more success in navigating their first tests in battle. The school attributes this to you.” The lady closed the file. “That’s what we’re asking of you. One year. More, if your teaching bears productive results.”
Sorahiko suspected some trickery. “Who would I be teaching? A class?”
“One boy,” she said, and it was like hearing Nana’s last words to him all over again. Sorahiko felt the ports on his legs hiss, and reflexively inhaled. “He’s quite young, but brimming with potential. Saved a family from a car crash at the age of six.”
“... And how old is he now?”
The lady lifted her chin. “Ten.”
“That’s too young.” It was an instinctive objection of sorts, born out of observing Toshinori’s terrible battle instincts and having to beat some sense into his class before they graduated. Sorahiko didn’t teach kindly. The memories of his spars with Toshinori sometimes riddled him with guilt; the idea of training a ten year old child the same way would probably cause Nana to rise from the grave and murder him. A different thought occurred to him. “Where’s his family?”
Not dead, he willed.
“They’re being handsomely compensated,” she answered. “He came from a low-income family, and needed attention he could not get otherwise.” The lady cocked her head. “And now, he needs training in combat that we cannot adequately provide without your help.”
“I can say no.”
“And we would find a second-best option.” He could feel his face twitch. “The boy will be trained. All that remains to be decided is by whom, and how well.”
“Might,” Sorahiko said with as much venom as was polite, “I have the name of the boy, and the location where we’ll be training?”
Her smile was cold too. Victory to the government offshoot. “You will refer to me as Miura. Your charge is Keigo Takami. He’ll be operating under the name of Hawks.” With a quick, graceful motion, she offered the folder; Sorahiko took it. “The training facilities are there. Report to the first one by this Monday, 0800 hours. Be prepared to give a verbal assessment of his skills.”
//
“Keigo-kun,” said Miura with a degree of warmth Sorahiko had previously not associated with her. “This is your new tutor. Call him Torino-sensei, okay?”
“Okay,” the kid replied quietly. His round face was entirely too serious for ten years old, and it made Sorahiko want to back out of the job. The Commission was grooming the kid to be a pro hero.
He’d be a striking figure. There was a charm to the kid’s scarlet red wings, the feathery quality of his dirty-blond hair, the black markings highlighting his avian nature. Keigo Takami met Sorahiko’s gaze with the most unimpressed expression a child had ever leveled in his direction.
Looks like they’ve done a number on you, kid, Sorahiko thought. Aloud, he said, “I hear you can move.”
Miura withdrew silently; the door hissed shut behind her. There was a viewing deck for this off-white cushioned room, but Sorahiko chose not to glance at it, preferring to see whether or not he could tease some life back into the kid’s deadened gaze.
“I can.”
“You warmed up?”
“I have.”
Geez. Like pulling teeth. Sorahiko idly tugged at his gloves. “Alright then. We’re gonna play a game of tag.” The kid’s eyes brightened, and his posture actually straightened even further with interest. “I’ll be it for three minutes. Every tap I get on you is a lap around the building perimeter. Ready?”
Tiny scarlet wings flared out in preparation. “Ready,” the kid echoed, and Sorahiko pulled out his stopwatch and showily held it up. At the click, Sorahiko jetted straight up to the ceiling and let the timer fall; Takami startled backwards at the rush of expelled air, and made eye contact just as Sorahiko kicked off and headed straight for him.
He kept it playful. The kid was fast, true, but he hadn’t yet learned to operate in a three-dimensional environment. Nana had dragged him, however reluctantly, through numerous games of Quirk tag. Takami was still young, and isolated to boot.
“Keep moving,” he advised on a pass, and Takami whirled around, too late to catch sight of him. He was caught up in the spin, so much so that Sorahiko was able to ricochet and pass by again to flick him on the shoulder.
At the end of three minutes, Takami was leaning on his knees and gasping for breath. Sorahiko… wasn’t unimpressed. He had expected a lot worse; if Toshinori and his class were evidence, the notion of constant movement wasn’t a universally-ingrained instinct. That Takami had eventually started darting and zigzagging in a desperate maneuver to avoid Sorahiko’s path spoke well of his battle instincts; Toshinori’s unfortunate go-to strategy of standing rooted to the ground had taken a number of beatings to unlearn.
“Ten taps,” said Sorahiko mildly, crouching down to meet Takami’s eyes. There was much more intrigue than earlier; respect had been earned, and not even grudgingly. “You did better than expected, kid.”
Takami’s eyes fairly sparkled. “I did?” he asked, almost shy.
“Yeah. You’ve already got the idea that moving should be your first strategy.” Sorahiko gestured at the wings, now marshaled back into a neat fold. “Give it a few years till your growth spurt, and you’ll be faster than me. Till then...” He tapped the kid’s nose. Kid went cross-eyed. “That’s eleven. If you use your wings, up it to fifteen.”
Takami vibrated in place. “Torino-sensei!” he complained, and looked surprised that he could whine.
Sorahiko finally glanced up at the viewing deck. A group of suits gazed imposingly down; the door hissed open. He creaked back up, and nodded at the kid. “Bully someone to chaperone you. Say I told you the laps are homework,” he advised, and Sorahiko turned to see Miura’s triumphant expression. “Miura-san.”
“Torino-san,” she returned. “Cutting your tutoring session short?”
“Sparring for an hour isn’t an option for now—” Sorahiko stopped, feeling something tug at his cape. He looked back and barely managed to see the tiny hand release the yellow fabric, the flash of guilt and self-reproach. “... A short intermission. However long our conversation lasts. Then I’ll do another round with him.”
“Very good,” Miura said patronizingly. “Keigo-kun—”
“I need a watcher,” the kid piped up, and Sorahiko was treated to the vindictive pleasure of seeing Miura get caught off-guard. “I have homework, and I want to finish it before the second round.”
“Homework?”
“Running eleven laps around the building,” he recited. “Or flying fifteen.”
“Running laps. How nice,” she said, and nice sounded awfully like quaint. Sorahiko wasn’t looking forward to the debriefing. It wouldn’t just be a performance review of a ten year old’s skills; it’d be the Commission deciding whether or not he was worth hiring for the year, and the years after. Sorahiko was already constructing a rough syllabus in his head, which was… a lot more than what his students had gotten.
But with them, it had been coming into the year with a plan, and having that plan be utterly annihilated upon first meeting. Combat training had always been self-taught. Experience trumped formal learning, and knowing the ins and outs of your Quirk would always give you an edge over your opponent.
Generalizing had been a huge issue in U.A. He didn’t have the time to personally drag a student through the effort of pushing their Quirk to the limit, and had instead decided the standard curriculum was bullshit, and pitted each class against him.
Twenty-four hours to strategize with each other. Three minutes to beat him. No one left without accumulating a whole collection of bruises, scrapes, and red paint marks. U.A. had eventually asked him to tone down whatever he was doing to wreck the gym facilities.
“Let’s debrief,” Sorahiko prompted, and Miura smiled.
“Sasagawa-san will be here to chaperone you, Keigo-kun,” she told the kid, and switched tones with Sorahiko. “Follow me.”
He followed.
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#bnha#gran torino#torino sorahiko#hawks#shih.txt#fastest heroes in the east au#that might be as far as i go with writing#fun to think about though!#sorahiko hiding his connections with all might#all might eventually piecing together why hawks' fighting style is weirdly familiar#also. this au is where sorahiko's awful sense of humor shines#sorahiko's somewhere in his forties#starts shrinking in his fifties#angrily takes on the yoda stature by late sixties#takami keigo
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SFW Alphabet - Good Omens Aziraphale x Reader
A/N: Here they finally are! My SFW Aziraphale Alphabet headcanons! Now these have been completed, I’m moving on to the soulmate AUs!
Tagged: @justballoonfishthings, @aethersghoulette, @inspired-is-gone, @daddy-clancy666, @yingshz, @omg-the-sex-was-amazingggg, @my--names-blurryface, @disa, @lilcutekittykat, @shawtyhadthemapplebottomjeans, @broadwayavenger, @dreaming-in-photographs, @ineffable-snek-boi, @virtualmemmecollector, @sincerelyraine, @the-bi-trash-can, @tunnel-snakesss-rule, @nashnolastname, @lucia-michaelis, @lovelesslionblog, @xs1nister, @chicken-poncho, @nastya-platini, @trelaney, @stspookers, @ghuulbabe, @jellyfishlovesloki, @greatjaygatsby, @littlebitfluffy
Headcanons
A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
Aziraphale is very affectionate, especially in passing and physical affection. A kiss to the top of the head as you rest against him, a squeeze of your hand as he walks by, a quick hug as you try to finish cooking. He loves just being in your general vicinity and, if he can, touching you in innocent ways. You tend to walk next to each other with your arm placed in the crook of his, and on occasion where you walk hand in hand, his thumb rubs firm but comforting circles on the back of your palm.
B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)
Aziraphale is a caring friend who is the sort of person who calls to check up on you or see something and get it for you just because. He would be the first person to call when you have a concern as he listens and discusses solutions calmly whilst being an amazing emotional support. Most likely, the friendship starts when you happen upon his ‘store’ and, after noticing that the giant ass snake was, in fact, real and that the owner didn’t seem pleased to part with his beloved books, you put your desired purchase away and simply started chatting about his book collection. It starts slowly, but soon the two of you become incredibly close.
C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)
He loves a cuddle. He loves spooning, actually, and he doesn’t mind which spoon he is. He just likes being pressed up against you.
D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)
Just like Crowley, I don’t think there is an actual moment where the two of you sit down and decide to move in together – it just sort of happens. He may say that you spend more time at his than at your place and why don’t you just move in and you bring your stuff over but in the lead up, there is no official discussion.
E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)
I feel that Aziraphale would really struggle to break up with their partner because he doesn’t want to cause them pain. He’d probably try and be gentle and practice with Crowley on what he was going to say. There are two ways it’ll work out – either you’d walk in on him practicing with Crowley, ask him outright, he’d start stuttering and Crowley would just be like ‘yep. He wants to break up.’ Alternatively, you’d go out for what you assume to be a date and towards the end he’d bring up how he doesn’t think it’s working out and perhaps you should return to being friends. It’d be awkward and painful to get it out of him because the entire time, you know he’s nervous about something and it’s being to irk you that you don’t know what is bothering him. What happens after either scenario is totally up to you.
F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)
Aziraphale is a creature of pure love, I think he’d very much would like to be married. I think the idea of marriage would be brought up within the first year of being in a relationship but being proposed too wouldn’t happen until after the 2-year mark. Ideally (in his eyes), you’d be married soon after that, but he’d go along with what you wanted. Don’t wanna get married? Guess you aren’t getting married. Want a long engagement? He’s ok with that too.
G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)
He is a soft boi. I don’t think he would ever intentionally hurt you, he’s just too kind and empathetic about it. He would be the sort of person who initially worries about hugging you too tight or bruising you if he accidentally knocks into you until he figures out what you are capable of handling. He knows when you need a tight hug or some more firm words, but everything he does radiates kindness and love and its very rare he will cease being gentle towards you. If anyone threatens you, however, look out.
H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)
Yessssss, he loves giving you hugs throughout the day as little reminders of how much he loves you or just to be close to you. They are always warm and inviting, and you constantly tease him about being secretly a battery as each time you hug, when he lets go you always feel reenergised.
I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)
Aziraphale, being a creature of love, wouldn’t shy away from the l-word. Most definitely the first one to say it and probably a little too soon for your liking but he wouldn’t say it unless he felt love coming from you towards him. He just didn’t realise you weren’t ready to admit that yet.
J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)
I think it wouldn’t take a lot for Aziraphale to become somewhat insecure, but it takes a lot for him to get jealous. Like Crowley, he trusts you not to cheat. But if someone is getting too handsy, he will simply walk up and hold your hand, maybe give you a light kiss and ask ‘who’s this, dear?’ in the hopes it will make the other person take a hint.
K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)
It depends. Soft and gentle in public, just enough to make you feel what he feels. In public, he likes to go full blown make out sesh. It’s almost amusing that an angel – a creature of ‘purity’ and ‘innocence’ – can get as down and dirty as he often does. He loves kissing your lips, it always feels so intimate when you do. Its his favourite spot to be kissed as well – but in public or where he knows you will be uncomfortable, he will kiss the back of your hand lightly. Same effect, just more comfortable for you.
L = Little ones (How are they around children?)
Amazing with small children. He loves them and loves showing them his magic tricks, telling them stories and generally keeping them entertained. I think he’d be like the dorky dad with older kids because he’s not 100% sure on how to interact with them. I really think he’d love to be a dad and would want kids at some point in his life.
M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)
Mornings with Aziraphale always start with a cuppa in bed as you slowly wake up to the day. Aziraphale rarely sleeps, so he’s always up and ready before your eyes have even began to flutter open. He may talk about the book he read overnight to you, or his plans for the day, ask you what you were doing and if you want to meet up for lunch. Its quiet, peaceful. A lovely way to slowly wake up before having to address the busy day.
N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)
Your days always begin and end with a cup of tea and talking to Aziraphale. At night, its usually about your day, how he managed to get rid of pesky customers from buying his beloved collection, what he and Crowley got up to etc. If there is nothing to be said, you’d simply read together until you’re so tired your eyes begin to blur. Aziraphale will always spend at least the time it takes you to fall asleep with you, sometimes spooning, other times just laying next to you and, on occasion, if he wants to spend the night with you, you will lay your head on his chest as he reads to you until you doze off. He will always read you something whilst you sleep, apparently it makes you sleep better and you always appear to be calmer when you hear his voice as you sleep.
O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)
The whole angel thing would probably have been accidentally discovered by you. An argument with Crowley that you walk into, causing you to find out what they are, and Aziraphale would be frightened that you’d run off in fear. Instead, you ask questions. ‘What’s Heaven like? Can I see your wings? Where you alive when x, y, z happened?’ It was a relief that you were curious and accepting rather than angry and frightened. Beyond that, I feel that Aziraphale has been and always will be an open book to his loved ones. Even if he doesn’t tell you what’s on his mind, he tells you in the means of his body language. Nothing is off limits and he prefers to tell you what’s on his mind rather than let it wallow inside his brain.
P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)
It takes a lot for Aziraphale to get angry with you and even then, it’s not anger, its frustration. It’d probably have to do with if you aren’t able to take care of yourself or haven’t told him something that you find trivial, but he finds of the upmost importance, or if you accidentally mess up his very precise catalogue system for his books. Aziraphale doesn’t get angry, he gets ‘disappointed’, which somehow is always 10 times worse.
Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or do they kind of forget everything?)
Aziraphale will always remember the small things, what your favourite food is, any allergies, favourite genre of books, who you like at work and who you struggle with. The one thing he does struggle with is dates, especially when he gets distracted with things such as a new book that’s appeared that he simply ‘must have for his collection’ or the apocalypse-that-nearly-was then time escapes him. Its not that he can’t remember the date that the two of you met or it wasn’t important, but after living for over 6000 years, time is irrelevant. If you say to him ‘next Tuesday, lets do this’ then its more likely he would remember regardless if he gets distracted or not.
R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)
The moment Aziraphale knew that you loved him. He can feel love, as we all know, but you always seemed to radiate love when you were around him. It wasn’t until he realised the love didn’t start until he walked into your line of vision that he realised it was for him. He knew that you either didn’t know you felt this strong for him or you weren’t ready to confess it, but that was possibly the most defining moment in your relationship.
S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)
He wouldn’t like you to be in the line of danger. He’d probably keep you out of danger by not informing you of anything he perceives as potentially harmful in order to keep you out of it. If you find out, then somehow, miraculously, something gets in the way and you simply cannot get involved in any way. It wouldn’t be in your face ‘you can’t go’, he’d rather do a work around so you simply are unavailable when he knows you could end up being in danger.
T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)
Aziraphale would never, ever take you somewhere or get you something without thinking that you’d love it. Everything he does for you, it has a meaning. Everything has a thought behind it. From little things like making sure you have a steaming cup of tea/coffee/hot chocolate/whatever to wake up to, to super romantic evenings that may not go to plan but always the thought is there, Aziraphale tries his hardest to make you feel happy, important and, most importantly, loved.
U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)
The only thing that happens over and over again is sometimes, sometimes, Aziraphale gets so into his book that he forgets things. Again, he’s been alive for over 6000 years. Time has no meaning to him anymore and what he thinks has taken him just a night to read has actually taken him a week. You don’t get offended, you don’t interrupt even if its poor timing on either of your part. You do like to take photos as evidence, with the day’s newspaper and a clock conveniently located so you can gently tease him about it later on.
V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)
It doesn’t happen often, but there have been a few times where he’s gotten obsessed with his looks as a result of comments from his heavenly family or strangers around you. One of two things happen, he either becomes obsessed with the idea that he isn’t good enough for you and starts dieting because he ‘has to do it the human way’, which makes him miserable until you assure him that you love him the way he is, and he is totally handsome and sexy the way he looks. Or, he’s convinced you will leave as a result (definitely something Gabriel has told him in the past) and starts pulling out all the stops to the point that its actively annoying. The best thing about Aziraphale is, however, that you can be totally open with him. You can discuss what’s bothering him and you can tell him how you feel on the matter. Normally it takes a while and things settle down and return to the way it was, but either way the course of this can take weeks to resolve properly.
W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)
Aziraphale would very much be the sort of person who believes in soulmates and would feel your absence. I think he wouldn’t ever tell you that you ‘completed’ him because he doesn’t want to put any strain on you to think that you have to be a certain way to make him happy, but he definitely thinks that you are the half that makes him whole.
X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)
Definitely teaches you how to dance the Gavotte one rainy Sunday afternoon when you have nowhere to go. You, in turn, teach him your favourite dance. He’s not the best, but it’s definitely the most fun either of you have ever had.
Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)
It goes without saying that if you hate books or if you hate stories being read to you that it’d be a no-go with him. If you couldn’t read and loved being read to then he’s all for it! I think he’d struggle however, and I don’t see it working out long term. Also, if you weren’t open to try new things. Humanity is always changing and that’s what Aziraphale loves about humanity, I don’t think he’d understand if you weren’t interested in exploring new things with him because everything that’s new is super exciting to this angel.
Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)
He doesn’t sleep, but he does love it when you fall asleep in his arms or on his chest as he talks to you softly. He doesn’t always spend that time with you in his arms but he definitely makes sure to spend some time with you peacefully sleeping in his arms.
#good omens#good omens headcanons#aziraphale x reader#aziraphale/reader#aziraphale#sfw alphabet#aziraphale headcanons#aziraphale/reader headcanons#good omens x reader#aziraphale x reader headcanons#good omens x reader headcanons#ama writes#fluffy
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So I was laying awake last night thinking about a Yours, Mine, and Ours pynch au. Ronan and Adam break up like maybe Adam's sophomore year of college, when he doesn't come back to the Barns for Thanksgiving or something. Adam tries to date, but if he can't make time for Ronan, he definitely can't make time for anyone else. Ronan doesn't even try. He knows he'll never love anyone like he loved Adam.
Adam starts volunteering with a foster care group in college sort of by accident. Volunteer work looks good on a resume and they happen to have an opening. Something about it settles something in him though, so he keeps doing it all through his engineering degree, law school, and his internship at the patent office. He plans to stop once he's got his full time job as a patent lawyer, but that's when he meets Maria.
She's maybe five. Fresh out of a pretty serious neglect situation, but luckily there's no evidence of abuse. She's deaf though, and there aren't a lot of foster homes who can deal with that. Adam, who has always been terrified of losing the hearing in his other ear and so took sign language as an elective all through college, is uniquely equipped.
Usually it's hard for a single young man to foster, but he's been volunteering there for nearly a decade so they fast track him through the process. At first it's hard and Adam thinks he's made a terrible mistake, a commitment he can't live up to. He has to learn to make time for someone else, to put his job second. He passes up a promotion to take a lateral transfer to a job where he can work from home. Maria doesn't know how to ask for what she needs, because she isn't used to getting what she asks for. Adam doesn't know what a child needs, because he never got it. But he applies himself to child care with the same dedication he gives everything. He does research. He asks questions. He patiently builds trust and learns to anticipate her needs. She begins to thrive, and he thrives with her. The thing he was most worried about, his anger, doesn’t come up for a while. The first time he gets really frustrated with her, he has a panic attack before he can do anything, good or bad. The second time, he applies the anger management techniques he learned from his therapist, and he keeps his temper.
A couple years later, when he’s started working on adopting Maria, a set of twins comes in, James and Jessica. They're 16, each work two jobs, and have been trying to pay rent and buy food for themselves and their mother while she drains the bank account to fund her drug habit. They are not happy to be in foster care, refuse any and all help, and Jessica is out and proud, something which restricts their choices of foster home even in DC. They're about to be sent to a group home when Adam catches a glimpse of them in the hallway at the foster care center and sees a glimmer of magic in them. He isn't sure what kind yet, but he has a spare room and figures he can at least provide them with more than he had as a teenager. He has to tell his supervisor more about his past than he’d ever wanted to, but between that and how well Maria is doing under his care, they come to live with him.
He decides, two weeks in, that maybe what he had as a teenager was not enough. They're exhausted, they’re malnourished, they're failing school, and he can only sometimes get them to eat out of his fridge, much less accept the new clothes they so badly need. He calls Gansey and apologises for how difficult he used to be. Gansey is caught between “you were perfect, always” and “used to be?” Blue laughs until Adam hangs up on her, then calls back to apologise for laughing and admit she has no advice. He wishes he could call Ronan, who always knew how to handle Adam when he was a broken thing, but they don't talk anymore. His therapist has encouraged him to let himself experience his emotions, so he allows how much he misses Ronan to well up inside him for 30 seconds, then he does what he does best and gets to work.
He starts with packing lunches every day, one for Maria, one for James, one for Jessica, and one for him. He labels them and leaves them on the counter in the morning. The first two mornings, he has to throw James’ and Jessica's away. The third morning, when he gets back from walking Maria to the bus stop, the lunches are gone. He makes more of an effort to plan and cook meals, not just dinner but breakfast and afterschool snacks. A dry erase board with the week’s menu takes up residence on his refrigerator, with a section at the bottom for requests. Maria requests a lot of hot dogs. At first, the twins insist they'll eat on their way to work, or at school, even though he knows they'll just go hungry. He grimaces his way through scraping the leftovers into the disposal, a matching expression on their faces. They eat with him and Maria. He has to put his foot down about the jobs. No more than 20 hours a week during the school year, and they have to be home by 10 on school nights. This leads to the worst stand off yet, and he calls his supervisor at the foster care center to beg for advice. She tells him that if anything he should be more strict, so he holds firm. The dark circles under their eyes start to fade. He institutes a study hour, during which everyone is required to sit at the table and work on homework. Maria puzzles her way through long division with his help, and the twins sit in stony silence. College is not the escape for them that it was for him. They’re plenty smart, but their skills lay in other areas. Adam has a folder in his office with research on every trade school in the state. Finally James cracks, and pulls out his chemistry homework. The next night Jessica brings reading for english. Neither of them ask him for help, but their grades start to rise, and he’s satisfied with that. He wishes they had friends, people who meant something to them besides each other, but he doesn’t know what to do about it, and that is when Gansey calls to invite him to his and Blue’s wedding.
~O~
Ronan’s path to parenthood is similar, for all that it’s completely different. He has Opal, but her needs are so unlike that of a human child that she hardly counts. She doesn’t eat food, and nothing seems to make her sick. She has a bedroom, but she sleeps in the woods or with the goats most nights. Her bed becomes a repository for interesting sticks and globs of mud. She ages at a rate that even Adam, who won’t speak to Ronan but still sends Opal a letter every week like clockwork, can’t figure out. Some years she seems to be growing the way the parenting book Gansey got him as a joke thinks she should, and some years she doesn’t grow at all. He thinks she was maybe six when he brought her out of the dream, and he thinks she’s maybe eight or nine when , nine years later, he finds a teenaged boy sleeping in his barn.
Keith is 17, and informs Ronan that he has run away from home and will not be going back, please don’t call the cops, he’ll be on his way as soon as the sun is up. Ronan doesn’t hear any of this because he’s spotted the deep bruise around Keith’s eye and is caught in a vivid flashback. He offers him a job, helping him milk the cows in the mornings before school in exchange for a bedroom and as much food as he can eat. This turns out to be a lot of food. Keith reminds Ronan of Adam at every turn, even though they’re nothing alike. Keith is sunny and friendly and more similar to Matthew, if Matthew flinched every time Ronan raised his voice. Ronan learns not to raise his voice. Opal is suspicious of him at first, but he treats her like a tiny boss even after he catches sight of her hooves, and this delights her. She orders him to collect the eggs three times a day, despite the chickens only laying them once.
Ronan finds Liam on his front porch one summer night, wrapped up in a blanket and dumped in a cardboard box like an unwanted kitten. People have learned that he takes in animals that are left at the Barns, and he’s converted one of the barns into a cat jungle after he reached his limit on mousers. He doesn’t know how it got out that he’s taking in stray children, but a baby isn’t exactly a puppy that got too big (is he a baby? A toddler? How is Ronan supposed to know?). Declan would tell him to send him to social services right away, but, well, Liam has magic. Not dream magic. Nothing like the psychics. Maybe a little like Adam, but he doesn’t think about that. The cows hate Liam, but all the other animals will come over and snuffle his hair and let him jab his little baby fingers in their faces. Birds perch on Ronan’s shoulder to inspect him in the baby wrap Ronan dreamed so he could cart him around the farm. He only found him that night, rather than in the morning, because fireflies clung to every available space on his little body, a beacon of flashing lights.
Ronan is pretty well at the end of his rope and not in the mood for more problems when Keith brings Laura home from school one day. She’s a year younger than him, and the rumor is that her parents kicked her out when she told them she was pregnant and she’s been living in the woods. Keith, being the friendly, helpful, maybe a little nosy sort, tracked her down and asked her about it. She told him she’s actually been sleeping under the bleachers in the gym, but the rumors are otherwise true. What’s Ronan going to do, turn her away? Then he has to hire her boyfriend, who’s an alright kid for all he forgot to wrap it. He grew up a few streets over from Fox Way, but even though his parents are supportive and loving they can’t afford to take in his girlfriend and their future baby. The boyfriend and Keith become fast friends. Laura takes over the vegetable patch.
So this is how Ronan goes from having one dream child to having four children and a grandkid on the way in the space of a year.
Then Blue and Gansey decide to get married. It’s a little bit the result of their desire to solidify the legality of their relationship and a little bit the result of Mrs. Gansey’s desire not to have her son living in sin as she starts her governor campaign. They decide to let Mrs. Gansey plan an extravagant church wedding exactly the way she wants it, as long as they don’t have to do anything besides show up, and to plan a smaller, more meaningful wedding for themselves at the Barns. They decide this kind of last minute, and Gansey calls Adam in a panic, begging him to come down and help them get everything ready. (Sidenote: Gansey and Blue argue for weeks about who gets Ronan and who gets Adam as their Best Man/Maid of Honor. Finally they realize that they each sort of want both of them and sort of want the other to have both of them, so they flip a coin. Blue gets Ronan and Gansey gets Adam. Henry was always going to perform the ceremony, because he was always going to be a part of the marriage.)
So Adam takes two weeks off work, packs his brood into the car and takes them to his ex boyfriend’s magic farm to plan a polyamorous wedding for his best friends.
Adam’s kids and Ronan’s kids...do not get along. Some of it is that they each think their dad is the best dad. Some of it is that James and Jessica think Keith and Laura have had it easy out here in the idyllic countryside and Keith and Laura think James and Jessica have had it easy because they’ve never milked a cow. Some of it is just that they’re teenagers and they’re expected to get along, so they stubbornly do not.
Opal and Maria hate each other on sight because they each know, through Adam’s letters to Opal, that the other occupies a special place in Adam’s heart that they would like to occupy alone. Opal eats the leg off of Maria’s stuffed dog. Maria starts teaching Ronan sign language. Points are scored and lost by both parties.
Liam, of course, falls head over tiny baby heels for Adam. The sight of Adam effortlessly calming a child that Ronan has been trying and failing to win over for months makes rage well up in Ronan’s chest, and also makes him want a cold shower. Ronan’s careful attention on Maria’s small hands as she teaches him the basics do something similar to Adam.
(Calla shakes hands with James and Jessica and gives a harsh bark of a laugh. Maura later explains, with a little more tact, that Jessica is a mirror, like Blue, and James is a dampener. They’ve been canceling each other out their entire lives.)
Adam and Ronan fall back in love, obviously. Neither of them ever really fell out of it. Adam can work from anywhere with internet now, and James and Jessica never made any friends at their old school, so what’s keeping them in DC? (Maria had friends, but Maria can make friends anywhere. She’s good at that.) Adam makes blissful plans to move himself and his kids to the Barns. Ronan makes blissful plans to build an addition and fill his house with even more family (one of which can calm Liam).
The kids are not pleased and resolve to break them up before Blue and Gansey say their vows. The probably bond with each other in the process. Maybe Keith’s parents make a reappearance and Jessica and James help beat them up. Maybe Laura starts freaking out about having a baby and Jessica offers her expertise (one of her jobs is babysitting). Maybe someone says something racist or ableist about Maria and the others defend her. Maybe Opal and Maria bond over popsicle stick crafts.
They all definitely live happily ever after.
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Stan Pines | 51 | Non Magical | Shop Owner
Character Description:
Rough around the edges, loud, and actually smarter than he acts, Stan Pines figures that he is a force to be reckoned with. Banned from more than a few chain stores, and with warrants out on him in more than a few states, Stan only slowed down a fraction when he was put in charge of the twins for a summer. And then the summer after that…and it kept going. Walt Grove kept him in one spot, finally giving him something to focus on: his family. He had to find his own twin, as well as keep the niece and nephew safe. Of course, he hides his past from everyone, especially the twins, but…well, he’ll explain the whole Ford situation once it comes up. If it ever does.
Headcanons:
- Stan has found many talents over years of being an absolute menace. One of his more surprising talents is makeup, though he’s limited to realistic bruises, fake wounds, and just general effects stuff. He only uses his talents for cons and events like Halloween, no matter how many times Mabel asks him to try something different.
- His second most prized possession after the Mystery Shack is his favorite shirt. It’s a worn out, sleeves-cut Slipknot tour shirt that he talked out of Corey Taylor himself. He might struggle with being called an old man every now and again, but he will never be called a lame old man. Stan isn’t even worried about catching a charge for that insult.
- Stan is usually more bark than bite, but it’s a very thin margin. More than one customer at the Mystery Shack has run out after Stan jumped the counter after them. Some of the older people in town probably know Stan for his left hook, if nothing else.
- One of Stan’s guilty pleasures is trashy tv. Will he admit to watching reality tv? Absolutely not. Can you catch him making references if you know what you’re looking for? Absolutely. He has a special appreciation for Big Ang from Mob Wives.
- Stan is usually at conflict with himself over if he’s allowed to tease kids that aren’t basically related to him. His general rule is if they’ve ever willingly hung out with Dipper, they’re fair game, but he tries to keep it a little less sharp. He doesn’t want to be a complete asshole to them until they’ve earned it.
- Has an extensive and bizarre collection of random weapons scattered around the Shack. While most of them aren’t magical in any way, he has kept a few magic ones in places with better security just in case. His personal favorite is his metal bat, which he has named Betsy.
- Stan has made sure that he seems suspicious in many areas so that nobody picks up that he’s being suspicious about magic. He figures if he acts weird enough about law breaking and his interests, then nobody will pay too much attention if he slips up and gives the ‘wrong’ reaction to magic. After all, nobody will think a man who refuses to believe in the state of Wyoming can catch them doing magic.
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Don't Make Me Over 35
*Just realizing that I hadn’t put up the last couple of chapters in this space, but since I’m trying to finish up my fics, gonna go ahead and add these on my tumblr. Thanks.*
Sam was strumming his guitar and singing, or humming, or lipping words. He had a few days off of work. He spent them trying to find something to do around the house. He found out that Jonesy's people did all of the stuff around the house… and that they hung all around the house… all the time. Did Unique take on their home as a studio to work from until getting a new one? He wondered as he looked at her, lying on her belly on the loveseat while Jonesy was on her back on the couch. They were discussing their contracts, filming schedules, travel arrangements, maternity leave… "And we have candidates in place for nanny services when you return. You just need to make a decision."
"Oh!" Sam finally interrupted, "Nanny services?" He repeated, eyes on Jonesy instead of Unique.
Unique answered, "Now, before you try to go off on some tangent about nannies not being a good resource or children need their mothers or wherever you're intending to go with that look of disdain, let me tell you – women who can't afford nannies oftentimes spend less time with their children than the women who can… and those women often get less done around the house. Mothers have a full time job with a nearly impossible workload. A nanny is simply an additional pair of hands so that a mother does not have to compromise her career or other responsibilities while she raises her children."
"Mrs. Baylock said she was an extra pair of hands," Sam said.
Jonesy furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head, "That's only frightening if your baby is the Antichrist." She noted Unique's confused face, "Omen reference."
"I don't want to know your obscure movie references," she told her.
"Obscure? Movie is a classic!" Sam muttered, plucking his guitar strings a little harder than before.
"You do love the classics, don't you?" Unique asked with a smile. Sam threw her a look and she shrugged. "It's not the old days anymore, Sam. Jonesy can actually have a highly functioning career AND be a great mother. Have you ever seen Beyonce? Of course you have. That child looks loved as hell. You don't understand what a nanny is and what she does is the problem."
"Unique is providing the nanny as a perk of my job, Sam. So, it won't cost us anything extra and like she said, I will be around the baby more than anybody else in the world," Jonesy told him, rubbing his hair, as she did. He leaned into her petting, though his face still wore a sour pout, so she continued to coax him. "Think of her time with the nanny like time with a babysitter or time with a family friend or even time in a classroom. Some people send their kids to daycare so they can work. Mine will be relatively close, sometimes even on site and her caregiver won't even have to tend to any other children."
"I don't really like the thought of daycare, either. I mean, at least until its time for her to go to school, she should be at home with her mother."
"Her mother won't be at home, but if you feel that strongly about it, there is a such thing as a stay home dad," Unique reminded him. Sam furrowed his eyebrows even more. "Oh, so you want somebody to stay with the baby – just not you. Alright. Anyway…" Unique rolled her eyes and sat up, to scoot closer to Jonesy with the information. "If Jonesy tells me that she doesn't want a nanny and she wants to be at home and simply on call for times that I need her, that is fine. But Jonesy told me and we have been arranging that she wants to work, full time. She wants to travel with me for the long haul. I don't want to do it without her, but I will if I have to."
Jonesy waved a hand, "No, you don't have to. Why would you have to? I have a free nanny." To Sam she said, "We discussed this. I mean, we discussed that I wasn't going to quit my job. Remember? We couldn't afford it and I didn't want to."
"But, we didn't discuss a nanny, though," Sam said. "With all of the things that have happened, I just… honestly don't trust anybody." He shook his head and shrugged. "I mean, I can work out things so that my schedule lines up with when you won't be around so that I can watch her."
"Then, we wouldn't see each other and she wouldn't see the both of us, at the same time. Sam…" She looked at Unique, "Can we talk tomorrow?"
"Of course, Hunny. I'll be here, as always." She collected her things and rushed out.
"It feels like you're planning out the baby's life without me, again." Sam set the guitar aside and got up to sit on the couch, by her. She sat up, too. "It's not about the time or the plan or the person… well – it kinda is that too, but… this is OUR baby. We've discussed this."
"That's not what this is, Sam. This is my career. I was working on the plan and trying to get everything figured out before coming to you, Chief. I wanted it to sound as appealing as humanly possible before bringing it up, because I knew that you wouldn't like it, but I also know that its going to be excellent for me and it will not disadvantage her, at all. Not in the least bit. I'm not hiring a nanny so that I can spend summers in Tahiti or something. I'm hiring a nanny so that I can run errands, cook, clean up, and do makeup without carting Babycakes in a pouch on my chest." She held her hands out, "I've been collecting instances of children raised with nannies who have better relationships with their mothers than children raised by their mothers without nannies. I mean, both of these things can work, I'm not saying that kids with nannies are better off, at all. But not getting one isn't really going to work for me."
He looked at her sad eyes and nodded his head. "You're right. And I believe you. I don't think you were trying to plan things without me. But, now that its on the table… I… What can you tell me that might help me feel more comfortable about Cakes being with some stranger?"
"Only that everyone is when they're little. Do you know how many people I trusted in my youth that didn't mean me any good? But, my mom and dad couldn't protect me from everything, all of the time. It's reality, as hard as it is. But, she will not be on a battlefield. She'll be nearby. I will see her. We will be in each other's company, but if Cakes cries while we're recording, I have someone who can step outside with her. If… I break out in a rash, I have somebody to make sure she's not exposed to it. My intention is that the nanny can literally have whatever life she wants, outside of my schedule for her. Within that scheduled time, if I finish Unique's makeup and want to take my daughter out for a sundae, I can. But if Unique has a bruised nose from falling over and I have to spend hours making her look like she'd never seen a bruise a day in her life, I have that opportunity, as well."
"The nanny sounds like she'd be doing my job, while I'm at work…" Sam said.
"But, she won't be. She'll be doing the jobs that we don't have enough bodies to do while we do what we can and have to with the bodies that we have. We're getting her now, so that she can meet the baby on site. So that she can become familiar with the woman who will be telling her how to help out with her child and so that you can size her up, yourself."
"Wait… there's gonna be a nanny before the baby even gets here?" He said, shaking his head.
"Yep. This will be like her pre-field training. Knowing the parents and what they like and need is an important part of being able to know what the child will want and need, while she's in her care. I wish that there was some kind of movie about a good mother who had a nanny. They totally exist and I'm totally going to be one."
"Well, maybe one day, they'll make a movie about you," Sam commented.
"There's not enough film in the world to cover my story… wait… does that mean that you're on board? Even without the presentation of my evidence?" She asked, with a wide grin.
"I trust you, Jones." He gave her a kiss on the lips. "I think you won me over with the I can size her up, myself." He nodded and Jonesy covered her face.
"This poor woman is not going to have a chance…" She mused.
"This is the kind of thing you need to have a damn competition and show for," he muttered, which made her giggle for a moment. Then, she stopped and thought for a moment, then pulled herself up and rushed off, with her cell phone. "Um… Jonesy?"
His arms were folded when Mercedes opened the door for the young lady. "Hi, Mercedes! It's so good to see you again! And this handsome man must be Sam," she said and held a hand out to shake his hand. He accepted it and she introduced herself. "My name is Bree. Thank you for your consideration in this competition." Two more women joined them, within a few moments and the cameraman from Unique's show came in to set up some cameras while they held a group interview.
Jonesy treated it very similar to how they had treated the auditions for the show, welcoming the women, "In this age of reality television, and in my quest to find the best nanny for me, we had this fun idea to make a little web show of the process. As you have all agreed on the application, we now have the cameras rolling. For the moment, our bedroom is off limits, but all of the other rooms have cameras and we'll be reviewing them, as well as watching you ladies during this time. It's only three weeks. I am due in one week, if things go as planned. Two of the weeks will have Babycakes on board, or should. I hope you all make the most of it."
Sam didn't have much to say. He was in complete support of the cameras and the scrutiny, for the purpose of finding someone trustworthy enough to look after their baby in a matter of weeks. Being engaged to an online sensation meant that sometimes, life was looked at very closely, anyway, but looking at other people closely for this was something he could agree to.
Ryvie Jones and Mary Evans were around. Any day now, Jonesy would go into labor. Renee Stobb took charge of things, as best as she could, mostly by going through all of Jonesy's already best laid plans and making her own schedule to reflect that. "Jonesy is ridiculously organized and everything has already been thought out. I feel that I need to be ready to place my life on hold and sync my world with hers if I really want this thing."
She shook her head and laughed, annoyed, "Bree spent the entire afternoon playing games with her little sister."
Bree and Ra were sitting on the floor and Bree told her, "Awww, yours looks better than mine! What's all of that? Right there?" She pointed to the finger painting.
"That's ice cream!" Ra cheered.
"Ice cream? I LOVE ICE CREAM!" Bree cheered. "Hey… I wonder if your mom and sister will let us get some. What do you think?" Ra smiled, excitedly and Bree took her hand. "Come on. This is how you ask, nicely, okay?" She asked Ryvie, "Mrs. Jones, if Maserati and I clean up our mess really good, will it be okay for me to buy us some ice cream?"
Ryvie stared at the girl for a bit, then nodded, "If you two clean up all of your mess, Miss Bree can go get you some ice cream and bring it back here. But, you have to help her out, like a big girl, okay?" Ryvie told her toddler, who rushed to follow the instructions while Bree wondered, "So, what kinda ice cream you want me to bring you?"
Bree smiled and told the camera, "I want to be the nanny. I love the ladies. I love their web shows. I loved the Diva Experience. Jonesy's makeup art. Unique's drag. I love all of this stuff. But, I also love hanging out with kids. This job, if I can get it will be someone that I admire in an industry that I adore paying me to do a thing that I love." She traced a circle with her finger, "Full circle win, if I can somehow get this."
The other woman, Mack, was Unique's former personal assistant. She said, "My job became less necessary after Miss Jones came into Unique's life. I still ran some errands and kept up with the studio maintenance - being sure that things were organized and clean and accepting deliveries and keeping up with inventory. But, I lost my job when we lost the studio, so this is going to be very helpful to me. I already have an established ongoing rapport with Miss Jones and I have experience being that extra pair of hands that they speak of…" She frowned, "I don't have much luck with babies, but that's what this training is for, right?"
Sam said, "It's… not training. This is your interview."
"Well, I mean, I can DO babies. I just haven't assisted in the helping with babies department yet. I'm a renaissance woman. I can multitask and I'm a quick learner…" She bit her lip. Sam already looked unimpressed.
He frowned at the camera while Mercedes simply laughed, "She is getting a kick out of this. Not one of these women are right for the job."
"They ALL have their skills," she said. "He's being unfair."
"Babycakes, when you watch this, know that it was your mama's doin,' that you ended up with whatever nanny you'll get stuck with." She laughed even harder, now.
Renee was reading up on doula training made easy while Mack was memorizing the game plan for when Jonesy went into labor. Sam looked at Bree, on her phone and asked, "What are you working on?"
She furrowed her eyebrows and answered, "I'm not working on anything. I'm playing Candy Crush."
"You're... Do you realize that you're in a process to try to get a job?" He asked.
"Of course," she said, stopping her game, "What would you like me to work on Mr. Evans?" She smiled brightly, awaiting instructions.
"I didn't have like anything in mind, particularly. But, the other two ladies are doing their thing," he informed her.
She glanced at them and nodded as she whispered, "They're a little behind. Unique announced that Jonesy would be looking for a nanny months ago! Renee was not familiar with Jonesy, at the time and Mack was familiar, but did not qualify for the job, therefore didn't make any attempts to learn any information. You know why I'm here, Mr. Evans? I am here, because the moment that announcement was made, I contacted the studio with my credentials as a long term neighborhood babysitter, my qualifications as a doula, my work experience in three births, to date and a few years of daycare services, from my own home... complete with references. Neither of these ladies want this job more than me and neither of them are more qualified. I will do whatever you ask me to, but in the meantime, if you've got nothing, I'm really obsessed with Candy Crush."
He folded his arms, "All of that was in your file?"
"I haven't seen my file, but I sure hope so," she said with a smile.
"You're like... 18..."
"You are so sweet and cute, Mr. Evans!" She said and wrinkled her nose, returning to her game.
He shuffled his way over to Jonesy and she was looking miserable and rubbing her belly. "You okay?"
"I'm crazy. This was a terrible idea. Why did I decide to do this?" She asked.
"You're impulsive," he answered honestly.
"I am so damn mad about that fact. I don't want these people in our house and I'm tired of looking at their faces." She grumbled. "But, I can't pull the plug. That'll make me look bad."
"Look bad? How? You have literally, in the past year been violently assaulted (more than once), going through a pregnancy, started a new job, completed a major project, had your workplace burn down, and had a seizure. That has all literally happened to you within a year's time. How are you going to look bad for finally getting tired?" He asked. She shrugged. People would say things. She already knew they would. "I'll shut it down, if I have to. I will go in there right now and say 'Bree won, everybody go home,' if I gotta." She raised an eyebrow.
"Bree? Hmph." She rolled her eyes.
"She's the most qualified, isn't she? Doula and daycare and all that stuff? I don't know, unless she lied, because I didn't see any of that in her file. I combed through those files."
"Nothing to do with her being young and supple and pretty," she commented.
"And nothing to do with a what? She's alright, I guess. I wasn't paying attention. I had my Daddy Glasses on, trying to find my daughter's nanny. But lemme see," he turned and looked at Bree, sized her up and jokingly blew out a whistle. "You're right, Jones. She's got the goods, huh?" The face that she gave him was enough to slay him, but for some reason was met only with his chuckling. "Oh, so you wanted to try to prod me, but you didn't want to hear that. What did you want to hear, Babe? She's invisible outside of the paperwork that claims that she can do the job. I had my money on Stobb, but she doesn't have credentials."
"She's got credentials," Jonesy said. "They all have credentials."
"I mean to take care of a baby and slash or child. Keep up, Jones. This is serious business we are dealing with, here." He threw an arm around her and told her, "I think if you're stressed, we need to pull the plug on this. Its only an online thing and nobody is paying you to do it. You have real shows to consider, coming up sooner than necessary." He gave her a kiss on the side of the head.
"It's only a couple more weeks. Baby will be here in days and I won't even care about the cameras," she said.
"Mmhmm." He intertwined their fingers and kissed the back of her hand.
"But you like Bree, huh?" She repeated.
"I didn't say that. But, I think your mom likes her and your sister likes her. She's good with kids and people. I mean... she plays Candy Crush instead of studies, even though she knows she's being recorded. That's either sheer idiocy or she's confident in the skills."
"And she's pretty," Jonesy said. "I'm not gonna get mad if you admit that the woman is damn pretty, Sam."
"That has nothing to do with the job, though. I thought you would like her for it," he said.
"I do. I'm glad that you chose somebody. That's gonna make all this much easier," she admitted.
"But, it would have been easy if you gave me three resumes with the stuff on them and no photos!" He fussed.
"But, then you would have insisted that you had to see them in action… You're a stubborn man, Sam Evans. You don't make things easy for me."
"I try!" He snuggled against her. "I want to make things better for both of you."
"You'll be perfect. I already know it… I want a foot rub," she said and poked her bottom lip out.
"Stubborn Sam is on it!"
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Bonus episode - an excerpt from the next Night Vale novel!
One.
Not everyone believes in mountains. Yet, there they are, in plain sight. Scientists insist, rather halfheartedly, that mountains are the bulging results of tectonic shifts along massive rocky plates. Mountains develop naturally over the course of many millennia, scientists say under their breaths.
Most people believe that mountains aren’t there at all, even if mountains are visible, as they often are. Nonbelievers will explain that our minds create sensory illusions to help explain what we cannot understand. Like the shapes of gods and monsters in the stars, or messages in tea leaves, or government codes in cloud patterns.
Mountains, real or not, ring this desert like the rim of an empty dinner plate. Scattered sparsely along the flat middle are small towns with names like Red Mesa, Pine Cliff, and right in the center, Night Vale.
Above Night Vale are helicopters protecting citizens from themselves and others. Above the helicopters are stars, which are completely meaningless. Above the stars is the void, which is completely meaningful.
Through this crowded sky mysterious lights often pass. These are just alien space crafts, or the auras left by inter-dimensional travelers, but these simple explanations are boring. The people of Night Vale often come up with elaborate stories to explain the lights to themselves.
The sky once loved a certain rock, but millennia of erosion transformed the rock to dust. The sky, not understanding, still signals for its friend who abandoned it. The rock never knew about the sky. The rock only loved the wind that was slowly eroding it. Sometimes it’s OK to find something beautiful without correctly understanding it.
In the center of Night Vale, like in many cities, is its downtown with the usual things a downtown has. City Hall, community radio station, hooded figures, a library, a shimmering vortex blocked off with yellow police tape. Dangerous stray dogs, and propaganda loudspeakers on every corner.
Beyond downtown is Old Town Night Vale, a residential and shopping area planned and developed during the booming economy of the early 1930’s. After the war, the neighborhood fell into disrepair but in recent years, it has seen a regenesis of home owners, neighborhood shops, tall metal trees, and predatory cats.
Beyond Old Town Night Vale are the Sand Wastes, which are exactly what you think they are. And beyond the Sand Wastes are the Scrublands, which are sort of what you think they are. And beyond the Scrublands is the used car lot and Old Woman Josie’s house, and finally, out on the edge of town, the house of Larry Leroy.
Larry had lived by himself for as long as he could remember. He owned a phone which was broken and a car, which sat wheel-less atop four blocks of concrete out back. Hidden under the car, he had an underground shed full of canned goods and bottled water, and a year’s worth of pork sausage preserved in animal fat.
He used to have a shotgun, but he traded it for the car without wheels, figuring a car without wheels was safer than a shotgun. Despite the friendly reminders from the Night Vale chapter of the National Rifle Association: “guns don’t kill people, guns are the new kale, guns are healthy as all get-out”, Larry never felt safe around guns.
When he was in his early 30’s, Larry’s father took him hunting. He didn’t like his father. He didn’t hate him, either. Once when Larry reached into the back of his Dad’s pickup to grab the shotgun, a scorpion resting on the barrel had stung Larry’s hand. He had distrusted guns ever since.
These days, Larry actually liked scorpions. After all they eat squirrels, which he really hated. He rarely paid much attention to the illogical way in which the human mind develops certain phobias.
This evening, he bent over the shoebox on his desk. He was carefully pasting a tiny brown mustache he’d made from a sliver of tree bark, to a tiny W.E.B. Dubois’ face. He still needed to build the arm-mounted laser canon Dubois was known for. Larry heard what sounded like the small claws of squirrels running around in his basement, and he hoped the scorpions were hungry. He turned his attention to his miniature version of the five-headed dragon named Rachel McDaniels, that Dubois often rode when speaking. Dubois spoke from a place of moral and physical authority to the intellectuals and politicians, who stood in the way of equal rights for black Americans. He also spoke from the back of a flying dragon.
Larry was building a diorama celebrating Dubois’ famous defeat of the German army in 1915, depicting him and Rachel in their library, high-fiving upon a copy of the declaration of surrender.
Larry adored this war hero and great orator of civil rights. He enshrined Dubois in fine detail in the cardboard shoebox. Larry’s family never cared much for history, often telling him history didn’t exist, because it was no longer happening. The moment anything occurred, they would say every night at dinner, it was gone. Relegated to the fiction of memory. They would say that with their heads bowed, and then they would begin eating.
Perhaps he had been a rebellious youth. Or perhaps he’d just wanted to explore the often wondrous, often tragic myth of human history. Larry adored his heroes. W.E.B. Dubois. Helen Keller. Red Fox. Luis Valdes. Toni Morrison. He believed it was his responsibility to help carry on their legacy by enshrining their great stories and deeds so that they still felt present in the present.
History is real, regardless of truth, Larry often said – not with words, but with his actions.
Tiny clothing, facial hair, painted set models, most pieces no bigger than any one of Larry’s fingers. They took a steady eye, a steady hand. Unlike most men, he had grown more steady as he aged, more dexterous in his lack of speed. He expertly placed Dubois’ mustache below the great intellectual’s nose and set the tweezers down to begin working on the diorama’s library backdrop.
Larry heard a whirring hum. He felt it throughout his body. There were undulations in the waves of the noise, smooth ups and downs, easily lulling the subconscious mind of a man hard at work. The troughs and crests of sounds accelerated, soon going from steady ululations to a bumpy roar. The metal plates and cups in his hand-built kitchen were the first to start rattling, followed by the creaking of the roof against the metal trusses. He glanced at the earthquake calendar tacked to his wall. Agents from a vague yet menacing government agency delivered these calendars each month, sliding a manila envelope under the door in the middle of the night. According to the calendar, there was no earthquake scheduled for today.
He looked down at W.E.B. Dubois and Rachel McDaniels in their vast academic library. A drop of Larry’s sweat the size of Dubois’ head landed on McDaniels’ back, smudging the paint and knocking off the freshly glued spines.
Larry wiped his brow. He didn’t sweat often even in the desert heat. “It’s a dry heat,” people from the desert often say to others, trying to disguise the fact that they’re kidding themselves. But the heat today was unusual. He felt it not from the air, but from below his boots, and not the heat of the sun, but a friction. The sun underneath his plywood floor burned, like two worlds rubbing together.
His sleeveless brown undershirt was drenched dark down its sides. He heard the crash of metal plates and cups falling out of the doorless cabinets. The ground, his house, his whole self, shook. It was not the soft wobbling slide of a government-run earthquake. This felt like being punched from below. The desert was being pounded by a giant subterranean fist.
As he stood and staggered into the living room, there was another hard thump and shake of his house. Larry tripped forward, face first, into the frame around his open front door. He wasn’t afraid put for his dioramas. He knew one day there would be an end to all of this, and long before that, there would be an end to Larry. He was not so arrogant as to refer to his own death as The End. Just one of billions of ends before The End. Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you.
He knew one day he would be found deceased in his home out on the edge of town. He was unbothered by this. He may not have had children, but the legacy provided by children is limited. Few people know the details of their family past their great-grandparents, and many people don’t even remember that generation. Two generations of memory is all that children provide. And then, everyone is forgotten. But he would leave behind stacks of writing, dioramas, and patchwork quilts. He had a handmade history: his attempt to offer immortality to heroes and perhaps extend his own story as well. Instead of a brief obituary in the Night Vale Daily Journal, he wanted his death to be a story of the discovery of his great collections, the work of his then finished life. He had already written letters for Sarah Sultan, president of the Night Vale Community College; instructions to donate his dioramas to the school’s art department; Leann Hart, editor of the Daily Journal; and Cecil Palmer, host of the community radio station. An obituary he had written for himself, and also ones for Leann and Cecil. And Michelle Nguyen, owner of Dark Owl Records, who would no doubt be pleased to inherit Larry’s vast collection of polka music written, performed, and recorded himself using a concertina and a micro cassette recorder. Michelle loathed any music popular enough to have been heard by more than her and the Dark Owl staff, so Larry’s tunes would be welcome. According to his will, the letters were to be delivered and his belongings distributed accordingly. His artistic and academic endeavors were his children. A legacy that would hopefully last for much longer than two forgetful human generations.
He could feel the bruise beginning to form on his cheek from where he ran into the doorframe. He turned back into the house. The pounding from below was bringing down his kitchen and living room. He watched as the walls and ceiling collapsed and twisted into dust and scrap. Pages of his books and personal writing scattered up toward the helicopters and stars above and fluttered lazily in the wind like unmotivated pigeons.
Lurching forward, arms straight out, using the walls for balance, he rounded the corner back into his art studio. His Dubois and McDaniels diorama was slightly damaged, but recoverable. He picked it up. The wall of other dioramas was still there, decades of meticulous work and loving craftsmanship. His “Pride and Prejudice” diorama, which had been his first, still showed the inconsistencies of a neophyte, but also the bravery of a young artist. Elizabeth Bennett’s sword was soaked with blood; Larry had used his own. And for her eyes, he had used polished onyx. From wherever you stood in the room, Bennett appeared to be staring you down with the passion and vengefulness this dangerous literary villain was known for.
He set the Dubois box down on the work table and walked toward his wall of dioramas. The long plexiglass windows were secured and locked over the displays. The thumping floor jostled him violently. He tugged a bit on each shelf, seeing they were safe, but needing to touch them all to believe it.
Crack! The floorboard below Larry split. He lost his balance, but regained it against the support column next to the shelves. Another loud thump, and half the worktable buckled into a sinkhole growing in the floor. He saw Dubois’ box sliding down toward the opening. He jumped. He rarely jumped or did anything quickly, but now he did both. He grabbed the box, then stepping with his right foot onto the sinking table, he pushed off, hurling himself uncontrolled into the far wall, but managing to cradle the diorama of his favorite orator securely to his chest.
It was silent for a long moment, just Larry breathing. He heard a drop of sweat tap the floor below him. The earth was hot. His feet were beginning to cramp. His head was light. He took Dubois outside and set the box gently on the ground, safely away from the shaking building. He grabbed his wheelbarrow out of the ditch and raced back into the collapsing house. He tossed any important documents he could find, along with his letters to the people of Night Vale into the wheelbarrow. He grabbed the poems and plays he had written. He rushed back into his studio, his arms straining, wheelbarrow already half full. He set his dioramas carefully atop one another in the wheelbarrow, his life’s work, a delicate pyramid of paint, plastic, and paper. He heard the ceiling creak. He placed Jane Austen’s masterpiece on top of the others in the wheelbarrow. As he did, a loud pop and a harsh crunch. His ears were ringing immediately. He fell, or rather slid to his knees. The floor buckled. The empty shelves collapsed. He glanced down into the hole. He saw dirt and wood and plexiglass falling, falling and hitting – nothing. In that hole, he saw a deep endless nothing.
The floor tore away, the wood bending down into the hole below. He struggled to keep his boots’ grip on the steeply angled floor. He gave the wheelbarrow a strong push, knowing if he didn’t make it, he’d at least give the dioramas a fighting chance. The cart lurched a couple of feet and then began rolling back toward him. The pyramid of his life’s work quivered on the verge of tumbling. His boots were sliding. Larry gave one more great shove with his calves, his knees unbent, his body thrust upward. He pushed up the sloping floor, straining but eventually gaining traction and then momentum. He rolled his cart off the top edge of the pit, leaping as if from a ramp into the living room, away from the growing hole behind him. He turned the corner and ran out the front door.
As daylight dwindled slowly across the desert, Larry emerged onto the patio. Out toward the sunset, away from the collapsing home and toward a collapsing earth. The front lawn, mere pebble dirt and leafless shrubs, was gone. Everything up to the ditch was an empty pit. The earth before him was completely gone, and with it W.E.B. Dubois and Rachel McDaniels.
Larry barely had time to process what had happened when there came one more thump. He didn’t know it yet, but it would be the last and the most terrible. The front few steps gave way to an implosion of sand. His palms burned as the wood handles of the wheelbarrow were wrenched from his hands. Elizabeth Bennett’s eyes flashed an angry orange as she fell along with the other enshrined heroes into oblivion. He watched everything that proved he ever had existed fall into the nothing below.
Behind him, he heard the remainder of his house collapse into the pit as well. He stood on a patch of wood in an open doorframe surrounded by a growing, gaping nothing. He stared at the earth dropping away around him, he stared at the stars and the void, which were falling upward away from him. As the ground under his feet dropped away, as he started his fall toward the deep nothing below, Larry didn’t believe what he was seeing. Of course, he didn’t believe mountains were real either, yet there they were, in plain sight. If only for a few seconds more.
Joseph Fink: Hello again. That was an excerpt from the novel “It Devours!” which is out on October 17, and is available for preorder right now. Regular Welcome to Night Vale episodes resume on August 1, plus we have a very exciting new show that is joining the Night Vale Presents family around that same time, so keep an eye out for that. Thanks for listening, have a good summer, or winter if you’re in that part of the world.
#welcome to night vale#wtnv transcripts#bonus episodes#it devours!#an excerpt from the next night vale novel
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The Book I Need to Write A Long Fucking Time Ago (pt.1)
This is my final goodbye to you.
Because all my life, I’ve written down what I’ve felt.
Ever since I realised my head only had so much space for thoughts and I had to get them out, I’ve written them down.
And now I want to be happy, and I want to remember everything about you, but I can’t have both. And I can’t have you.
This is my final goodbye to you.
Our story, my memories.
Chapter One:
This is Ebony.
I was in year 4. I hated school, everything about it. I didn’t get along with the guys, I hated sports. I got along with the girls but that is gay, so I couldn’t really do either. I liked to read, but books were limited being a Christian and all. And we were only allowed one book a day.
This is the year I started taking the bus, which was a big deal for me because it was my parents telling me I was old enough to be trusted.
I would read on the bus, listening to the radio. But I sat alone.
A year earlier I was sitting in the counsellors chair, telling them my feelings.
“Every time they say something to me, it’s like my face turns to stone. My lips turn down, I can’t help but to cry, and then they’re mean to me for crying.”
“I want you to try this.”
She disappeared and handed me a printed out photo of the ocean. Fish, coral, all kinds of animals floating underneath a giant pirate ship. All uncoloured.
“Every day you get home from school, every moment you are in school and you feel like you can’t cope with what they’re saying, I want you to take this out and colour in an animal. Fill in a blank space. On the really bad days, fill in two. Then, if the photo finishes, grab another. And 2 things will happen. Eventually, you’ll come to realise it’s been a week since you last drew, then a month, and then a year. You’ll forget all about it. And, two, on the bad days, you’ll create something beautiful out of the pain.”
Mum encouraged me that I should at least try it. Dad didn’t say anything, because he wasn’t there. He never really was around for the emotional stuff, I think he didn’t really know how to cope or deal with it. And, I was more emotional than the other kids.
Here’s the deal. Do not teach someone to create beauty out of the pain, because eventually they’ll start to tell themselves that until something beautiful is created, it has to be held on. And they only ever feel talented when they draw, or eventually write, and then when they’re happy and unable to write because they don’t know how to write out happy thoughts, then they crave sadness.
So every day, I found myself sitting alone on the bus. I would be colouring photos, drawing pictures, watching out the window, but I was alone.
Then I met Jeremy, Aaron and Imogen.
Aaron was the first. Mitchell was busy throwing rocks at me while I was reading in the ‘Ark’, a giant wooden box that had a seat on both sides, with a walk way in the middle. Originally I was in the sand creating cities, an underground world like Tatooine or wherever it was that Luke Skywalker grew up, but Mitchell had destroyed that too. He was a bigger kid, kept down 2 years because he wasn’t the smartest. Meth addicted mother, father who just didn’t love him, but Chairo always had this thing about ensuring every year level had students, 70% who came from Christian families and 30% who came from, well from somewhere else. And boy was that Mitchell.
So I was in the Ark dodging stones as I tried to read, when Aaron came in with the teacher who sent Mitchell away.
Aaron was in my year level. Skinny kid, brown hair, 5 younger siblings who I often saw sitting on the bus. He introduced himself as Aaron and told me he wanted to help fix Dan-opia the stupid name I gave to my sand-castle city.
Aaron and I clicked instantly. I don’t know why, it was probably a majority to do with the fact that I didn’t have anyone else, but I was always grateful to the guy that rescued me from Mitchell.
And then he introduced Jeremy, the kid who lived next door to the school. A World War fanatic who’s first words to me were regarding the ongoing science experiment (he was a fucking nerd), that involved a Big Mac he hadn’t touched for 2 months (and I saw it at the 11 month point, it was genuinely interesting).
Jeremy went to the same church as I did, and we eventually would dress up so the pastor wouldn’t recognise us, meaning the other bought a friend to church which was rewarded with chocolate, something we never were allowed from our parents.
Jeremy and I would go on to collect Horrible History books and he would be the one to tell me that Doctor Who both existed on the television but not in the real world to save us from our troubles. From the day care centre I could never open up about or from his pilot dad that would disappear for months and come back, only to leave him with a bruise to remember him while he left again.
Jeremy was the one who’s house I would go to most nights when I was allowed, before basketball where we would sit and watch Doctor Who and cook recipes from the Horrible History books, or played mercy, a game we invented which involved linking hands and trying to hurt the other person more without breaking the grip. The first to yell mercy.
Jeremy introduced me to Imogen, the girl on my bus and my first girl who was a friend (the importance of the words ‘who was a’ was very important at this age).
Imogen was the smallest girl to this day I have ever met, and had 11 siblings either side of her. She was first on the bus and last to get off every day and sat with Aaron, and eventually myself.
And just like that, over the space of a week, I went from having no friends to having 3. Our group of four would sit in my ark every day at lunch and recess. One would play guard as the others took off their hat (a task that would be punishable with a week library ban and extra homework, we later found out). Every other day we played stop, running around the playground as one us threw the ball at the other. Imogen would go on to break her front tooth on the monkey bars as her after school aerobics allowed her to use them as a safe haven from the tennis ball we were throwing at each other.
Within a month we had our routine figured out.
Monday til Wednesday I would go to the after school day care, which is a horrible chapter in itself.
Thursday Jeremy and I would jump the school fence near the danger hill, a hill at the school that they told us snakes lived in but looking back they really told us not to go near it because we could probably hide around the corner and do drugs, had we known what drugs were. We would go to his house and watch that weeks episode of Doctor Who, and then play lego or read more Horrible Histories.
Friday was for basketball training and youth group, which led to Saturday, game day. Dad would always drive me because it was the first thing he was proud of me for. And then Sunday we went to church which meant Sunday night was for listening to the radio while mum and dad fought. It was never super aggressive, or abusive like you hear some stories from some families. But every night they would yell about whatever their shit was at the time.
And then we would repeat it, day in day out.
School was always shit, I hated the other kids and I especially hated Mitchell. But I had my colour page so I wasn’t allowed to be sad anymore.
I had two sisters, Lorin and Nicole.
Lorin was born after me, and loved sports but hated learning.
Nicole was born after her, hated sports but loved movies.
Some weekends Nicole would make us put on a play for mum and dad with all our toys which always led into a fight about who had to clean up.
Lorin was the reason I lost my two front teeth as she double bounced me on a trampoline.
Nicole was the reason that all of us kids got presents on each others birthdays, since she couldn’t go without getting something.
Lorin would eventually be the reason we got kicked out of the church and my parents would focus on her mental health than mine, which was only fixed when she got out into the real world and discovered drugs.
Nicole would go on to develop extreme anxiety disorder, and not be able to do a lot in the real world.
But for the time being, at this point in the story, they were each others best friends. Being a girl Nicole was put in my spot on the bunk bed sharing a room with Lorin and I was upgraded to the new bedroom, which used to be mums study. This only grew their bond, which made me feel even more alone.
Before Nicole, Lorin and I would stay up to all our in the morning, talking, laughing, and being supportive of each other.
After Nicole, Lorin had someone who understood her more, and I was quickly replaced. Especially since being in a new room meant I could no longer jump out of bed and talk to her at night anymore.
Mum and Dad were the only 2 other members in the family (Aside Candy, Lorin’s cat, which would come to be called Candy Tangerine Sparkles Scanlan over the years of Lorin’s indecisiveness). Mum and Dad tried too hard to be the perfect Christian family which resulted in a lot of thoughts being oppressed and issues never being resolved. They started one of the bible study groups of each of our year levels so they could secretly get a deeper insight into our lives, and were always trying to present us as the perfect children in the perfect family, which resulted in all their kids not feeling like they were ever going to be good enough (still trying now Mum, maybe this book will help).
So that was my life at this point in time.
And It is probably worth noting at this moment that there is no point to this book, other than to get it out of my head. I don’t think you’ll learn a lesson, I don’t think it will even be published, all I know is that I have a story, that not many people ask for before they judge how I behave, and I want to get it out of my head. Because right now, it’s floating around screaming at me every day, and I am hoping to fix this.
It was a Monday, middle of the school year. Mitchell had destroyed the comic book Jeremy got me from some market (a shitty WW2 magazine, Comando Comics or something, I hated them but Jeremy loved them), so I was colouring in my chair, finishing off the next photo in my collection of depressing days.
I looked up as the classroom door shut. She was tall, long Ebony hair, and skinny. All her clothes were new, her bag shining in the lights. Her hair was pulled back with a blue head band, and she walked in behind her mum, with jellies tied around her wrist. She looked around the room and then met eyes, as I tried to think of who this girl was. I had never met her before, or seen her on the playground. But there was something different about her. Which sounds like a cliche, but that is what made her who she was. She was my living love story, and this is that story.
“Just take a seat anywhere, I’ll be with you in a minute.” The teacher leant in and whispered in her ear as she picked up her bag.
She walked down the aisles of chairs as everyone mumbled words about her. She had dark brown eyes with a red mark in her left eye. She moved slowly and cautiously like she was desperately trying to memorise all of the faces in the crowd. She came and sat in the chair next to me, and started to grab out her bright blue and red stripped pencil case.
“Daniel,” The teacher was standing over me as I was staring at the girl beside me. I was transfixed on her. When you’re in year 4 you never really notice things about people other than whether they were a boy or a girl. My mind told me she’s a girl but she’s nothing like Imogen. Imogen felt like one of the boys, but this girl felt different.
When she smiled her eyes closed, and the dark brown would shine through as she opened them again. Her smile would crinkle on the right side of her face, and her lips were bright red. Her hair was so dark it was like light just disappeared into it. Her skin was pale right, wth brown freckles down her arms. Her nails were long and blue, as she taped them on the table nervously. She sat with her legs crossed, leaning on her left arm, as she stared at the teacher, staring at me. I have never seen someone light up the room like she did, and I couldn’t break my vision from her. I wanted to remember everything about what I was seeing, I truely have never seen someone so captivating before, and I was transfixed.
“Daniel,” the teacher said again, trying to break my sight, “I told her to sit here because her brothers and her go on the same bus as you, so I thought you might be able to show her around the school and help her with the bus. This is Ebony.”
Ebony.
My god how that name will haunt me for the rest of my life.
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Congratulations Aman, you have been accepted for the role of Alastor Moody!
This does mean that he has unreasonable standards for the world, sometimes. He can expect it to be…better than it is. He feels the presence of the younger order members a lot and considers it a personal failure that they’re involved. The ‘adults’ should be handling this on their own.
Admin Ash: Aman, it was all about the details when it came to your application. The fact that you didn’t shy away from Alastor’s disabilities ( the lost sight in one of his eyes and his utilizing a cane to get around after his leg amputation ), the fact that he’s so close with his little niece to allow her to interview him for her school project, the way that you carefully selected traits that showcased both the positive and negative points of his personality, even the pleasantly surprising music minor he took in school! All these things and more added something to our rough and gruff Moody that made him all the more human, all the more intriguing, and those special touches are why we can easily leave him in your capable hands. I, for one, am rooting for Order Dad Moody try to fix the world to his vision of ‘better.’
Please check out our checklist for joining Penumbra.
01. Out of Character
NAME: Aman
AGE: 24
YOUR BIRTHDAY: 9/11.. Why do you need this
PRONOUNS: She/her
TIMEZONE: PST
02. In Character
CHARACTER: Alastor Moody
CHARACTER’S PRONOUNS: he/him
FACECLAIM: Charlie Hunnam
CHARACTER’S BIRTHDAY: November 5th
PERSONALITY: Let’s go with 6 personality traits, and throw some negatives and positives into both of them.
Decisive
He’s not one to linger over decisions. He decides where he aligns very quickly and sticks with it unless something contrary smacks him upside the head. This includes but is not limited to how he feels about people, his alcohol of choice, and what fruit to toss in his bag for a backup snack later.
He’s a creature of habit. A lot of decisions he’s made are because they work (or because they’ve worked once).. Or even the other way around. He ate shrimp and got food poisoning once? Alright, forget shrimp, who needs it anyway.
He can usually fit things into neat boxes. We’ve got good, bad. Any shades of gray are tossed right into the bad. Better safe than sorry, after all.
Steadfast
Once he commits to something, he’s gonna do it. Doesn’t matter if it seems impossible, he’ll figure out a way. This can and definitely does lead him into some messy situations, especially because he’ll sidestep some rules to do it.
He’ll often butt heads with people who feel differently than him. It is very possible for him to argue for hours over something. He likes to think that eventually, enough reason will make someone change their mind. So yeah, he’s the old dude that gets into facebook arguments with the person who posted an anti-vaxx article. And then he’ll spend the next hour grumbling about it to everyone around him.
He’s not easily won over by the ups and downs of mass media. Whatever the hell Amazon did now is gonna have no sway on whether or not that HDMI cable is getting delivered to his place.
He can be a very strong pillar in times of doubt. He might not be the warmest, but he definitely is there to remind you you’re doing the right thing. Or call you out when you’re being a shit.
Extroverted
He gets energy from being around people. It helps him keep his head straight when he’s with company he enjoys. A lot of his friendships are built on mutual respect and bickering. His sense of humor has grown a little twisted over the years.
That being said, he picks and chooses who he trusts very carefully. People fit in very specific roles and tend to learn about him accordingly. It’s very possible that those he works with might not know about his sexuality or that he adopted a dog last year. He tries to keep talk of work out of his romantic relationships, which has definitely led to a weird encounter or two when they stumble across his guns.
He can be pretty candid in situations and knows how to deal with the consequences of his actions/words… or at least he thinks he does.
Adventurous
He can be a bit of a thrill seeker. He’s spent a lot of his younger years with various adventure sports and enjoys the outdoors. Mountain biking, hiking, ziplining, skydiving, paragliding, and outdoor climbing have been a thing.
He’s been in a shit mood about his injuries fucking up his ability to do some of what he’s used to. He has definitely had to reassess his limits, but… he definitely gets a rush out of pushing himself to his limits.
The rush can come inside a city, too. He isn’t the type to sit still and is always poking his nose into something.
Obsessive
He can be very single-minded and has a tendency to hyperfixate. Often times, his cases take the spotlight (at the moment, it’s about The Dungeon). It can be hard for him to pull away even when work is over. He’ll spend his free time doing research, recon, lining up clues. This leads to a lot of falling asleep at his desk and then waking up with a bad neck.
Sometimes he’ll sidestep his own care while doing it. His leg, for example, definitely needs some attention every day. He’ll eat rushed meals just so he can get done faster.
The obsessions can def go somewhere else. He’ll get a crockpot and spend 3 weeks trying out different recipes and make more servings than can fit in his tupperware.
He has a lot of miscellaneous knowledge of random things.
Idealistic
His niece dragged him out to watch Captain America: Civil War a couple years back when he was visiting (shut up). Since then, Captain America is his fav superhero (fuck off, he’s never gonna say this out loud). He likes a man who knows his good from his bad and sticks up for his ideals. Doesn’t matter what the government says, what the red tape is. You should know where you stand.
This does mean that he has unreasonable standards for the world, sometimes. He can expect it to be… Better than it is. He feels the presence of the younger order members a lot and considers it a personal failure that they’re involved. The ‘adults’ should be handling this on their own.
He tends to hold himself to a higher standard, often involving pushing himself beyond his limits. He struggled a lot with losing his leg, since he still wants to do everything he could before.
BRIEF BULLET POINT BIO:
Irene Moody likes to blame her gray hair on Alastor. Honestly? She might not be wrong. A healthy baby boy should not have found himself in as much trouble as her son did. But where there’s a will, there’s a way– he’s a Moody, after all. The young Alastor collected bruises, scabs, and scraped knees like most boys collected comic books. Hell, she’d even bought a stack of them in the hopes that he’d sit down. It’d worked for the month that it took him to read through them all, and then he was jumping off beds with the sheets tied off as a cape.
It’s a good thing his mother is a nurse because the boy found himself back in the hospital on a monthly basis. His father claims that they could have bought a yacht with how many bills piled up, but as a writer, he’s always been a man of hyperboles. Alastor never quite minded the hospital atmosphere when he was younger. He’d lay back on his bed with his eyes open to all the possibilities in the white walls.
Their cozy little apartment was never quiet, between the two kids squabbling over toys, the radio cranked up to full volume in the kitchen, and the TV buzzing in the living room. His father was possibly the only person in the family who could keep an inside voice for longer than an hour. Alastor likes to think that things have calmed down since then, but their yearly Christmas gatherings show otherwise.
With a sister 3 years his elder, Alastor’s the baby of the family but was never quite treated like it. In fact, he complains that he got all of the problems with being the youngest with none of the benefits. Marie would argue back that he never actually fetched anything she asked him to so he’s not allowed to complain. The pair would argue over everything, only ever aligning on the decision to get pizza for dinner. Leaving them alone always led to markers to the wall, ruined cushions, shredded bedsheets and, if their parents were unlucky, a food fight. Prank wars were not uncommon in the Moody household.
As a child, he picked up on concepts quickly, but would have a hard time keeping focus. His grades fluctuated as he danced from subject to subject. When he looks back, all he remembers are his red hot ears, ringing, and unable to process the long lectures from his father. Once they began, they never quite stopped. He began to dread the updating of the progress sheets that were fixed to the fridge, with more frowny stickers than smiling ones.
Alastor his report card once. He’d lied and said it’s delayed while forging his mother’s signature. For the month after, he held his breath around his parents, waiting for it to come around and smack him in the face. Miraculously enough, it never did. His sister likes to blackmail him with it even now.
At age ten, he discovered the Hardy Boys. Despite all his indecision, he latched onto the concept of becoming a detective and never looked back. The boy collected memorabilia and had about 3 different magnifying glasses. Grabbing his dad’s glasses from the other room became the mystery of the missing spectacles. Figuring out what to wear became the Closet Case. There was an unfortunate year where he insisted on wearing a detective hat at all times. He’s tried to consolidate and burn all the evidence, but a few pictures keep coming out of the woodwork… another mystery.
The kid never quite managed straight As, but he excelled where he applied himself. A little elbow grease and some late nights set him up for an admission at Hogwarts. Hit parents never quite got off his back about his performance, however, slipping away to college made it easy to unsavory hide the bits and pieces. He quickly picked a major in criminology and settled into it.
The music minor wasn’t planned. In truth, it was him foolishly following a crush into a entry level piano class. He fell in love that year. With piano, with music theory II, with the history of rock 101.
Before he knew it, his college years were over and he was thrust into a job in law enforcement. With his sights set on detective and an unwavering determination, he muscled his way into the role within a few years. They blur together quickly as he hops from case to case, head bent down, crease between his eyebrows and small frown on his face. His days and nights are spent wrapped up in his newest obsession.
Never one to turn down a good adrenaline rush, Alastor took to adventure sports quickly. At first, it was simply a few good hikes and some mountain biking, but outdoor rock climbing, hang gliding, and bungee jumping quickly became favorites. He’d poke and prod people into trying things out.
Alastor’s the type of person who’s cut out for being a detective. He’s the type who can’t sit still when he knows he can be doing something. It’s probably why he keeps going back. The first accident involved losing his eye. The second, breaking his nose. The third, his leg’s amputation. Plenty of scars and bruises litter the spaces in between. Each time, he was put on desk duty and each time, he found a way to remind his peers that he’s still up for the job. The loss of his leg’s still fresh but the invitation to join Operation Auror is one that he’s meant for.
Misc Headcanons/Thoughts
His colleagues are pretty smh because he keeps getting hurt and coming right back. There’s a betting pool somewhere about wtf Moody’s gonna end up getting himself into next.
He’s actually a bit of a klutz since losing his eye.
He adopted his dog, so he didn’t name her. But he really wants a dog named Jovi
His sister lives in America and his parents spend most of their time there
He has a really nice sound system set up in his place
He can play piano, guitar and is currently learning the flute
He has a bad habit of biting his nails
INTERVIEW:
i. How do you feel about your current occupation?
“Alright, kid,” Alastor starts gruffly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, looking down at his niece. A flicker of regret flashes across the ten year old’s face as she sits in front of him, worksheet in hand. He grins and gets going before she has a chance to pick someone else to interview. “Let’s get one thing straight. If I didn’t like this job, I wouldn’t be doing it. You’re gonna be hearing this damn debate your whole life.” He puts on a voice as he continues, pulling a face as he mocks the voices that he remembers looking up to as a child. “Do something you love so you’ll be happy. No, you don’t need happiness in work, just stability. Blah, blah, blah. It’s all bull. Do what works for you. You’re the only one who knows what you need… This job, though? With what I’ve got going on’d, it’d drive a guy crazy if he didn’t live for it. ”
ii. What song would you say describes yourself?
“Ah…” He trails off, scratching his beard as he thinks over it. “Ya ever heard of Akimbo? It’s by Stradeus. This beat that gets me every damn time, you can feel it in your bones. Actually, hey Google.” Alastor leans back, squinting a little to see if it lights up in response. “Play Akimbo.” He nods and sits up a little more as the music fills the room. “You can just feel the tension build in this song. It just keeps going, and going, like when you know you’re onto something.” He holds up a hand, listening, forcing his niece to sit through the rest. “And right there in the middle, it backs off, for maybe just a second to breathe. Everything’s just still, pulling itself back together, then we’re going hard again.” His fingers strum against his thigh along with the music as he squints down at his niece’s page. “What’s next.”
iii. Does reputation matter to you?
“I mean I’ve done plenty and people better damn well respect that. But you’re not gonna find me tripping over my feet trying to kiss ass for approval, if that’s what you’re asking.” He’s been told it might make things easier, sometimes, especially with all the damn red tape in the department. Alastor, mind your own business. Don’t be so rude. Be careful about how you approach them. But then, maybe in the end it just comes down to the question of how well you’re willing to compromise yourself just to take the easy way out.
iv. What is your relationship with your parents like?
Alastor doesn’t answer this question immediately. Like any relationship, it’s changed over the years, and peeling back the layers is a process that could take a couple hours in it of itself. His parents have always pushed him to be his best, whether that be in grades or etiquette. He’s taken some of the lessons, shunted others, but there’s no denying that he wouldn’t be the man he is today if not for them. But none of that is a conversation for their grandkid. “Not bad. They in your hair, kid? Get overbearing sometimes, don’t they?” he asks, deflecting any further questions.
v. What languages can you speak?
“I had to learn French in high school, but that’s a bit rusty. Damn French people get annoyed when we use English and then get snarky when we use broken French. Can’t win unless you figure out how to dislodge the sticks from their asses. Anyway, I picked up some German a couple years back when I was working on a case. Mmm, that’s about it.” He pauses, then frowns, as he thinks about the ex who taught him some Arabic, but that was only enough to figure out when her parents were talking about him.
vi. If your home was on fire and you could only save one item, what would you choose?
“We’re going to use the term 'item’ loosely and say Luna.” He gives a small nod towards the dog asleep on the rug by the… fireplace. He frowns. “Oi, that wasn’t a hint, was it? Go put out the fire and turn on the heater.” He responds to her hesitation by picking up his cane and knocking her legs gently. He has to smother a smile as she grumbles and gets up. “Go. I’ll wait.”
vii. Which Hogwarts University faculty did you study at? The Gryffindor School of Applied Science, the Ravenclaw School of Humanities, the Slytherin School of Social Science, or the Hufflepuff School of Art?
“Slytherin, criminology. Want to know the secret, though?” He leans in a little, smiling playfully, and doesn’t wait for an affirmation before going on. “There’s a bit of puff in there. Did a minor in music. See, now get what I mean about the what you love, what makes money debate? I’ve heard everyone talk shit about the other twenty times over.”
vix. What is your social media username?
“AlastorMoody. Luckily I’ve got a unique name, so it wasn’t taken. Not gonna lie, if I had to come up with some nonsense, I wouldn’t have made one.” He might enjoy the avenue for arguing with people online, but any butchering of his name leaves him cringing. His unique name has opened up to more ridiculous puns than he knows how to respond to. Alastor shakes off the thought and continues. “Let me know if you take a look, there are definitely a few articles I’ve linked to that I think you should read.”
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Are you a shopaholic? How to fight a shopping addiction
Yesterday, I mentioned that because I grew up poor, I inherited a faulty money blueprint from my parents. They didn’t know how to handle money effectively, so they couldn’t teach me how to handle it effectively. I entered adulthood with many of the same bad habits they’d had when I was a kid.
I was a compulsive spender, for instance. I had a shopping addiction. I had no willpower, no impulse control. Even when I had no money in the bank, I still found ways to spend. I took on over $20,000 in credit card debt before I turned 25!
Nowadays, I mostly have my spending under control. I’m no longer in debt, and I force myself to make conscious decisions about what I purchase. (Conscious spending is one of the keys to overcoming emotional spending.)
Having said that, I know that if I relax for even a moment, I’ll be right back in my old habits. I’ll find myself at the grocery store buying magazines to soothe a bruised ego, or shopping for music in the iTunes store because I had a stressful day.
How do I know I’ll relapse if I’m not careful? Because I do from time to time. When I was prepping for my big talk at the end of June, for example, I felt super stressed and my shopping addiction kicked in. I spent an afternoon browsing on Amazon, putting things in my shopping basket. (I even ordered a few of the things, although I knew I shouldn’t.)
Emotional spending is comforting — not just for me, but for a lot of other people too. Though I’m a recovering spendaholic, I’m still a spendaholic. I’m always one step away from compulsive spending.
My story is not unique.
What Is a Shopping Addiction?
People who have a shopping addiction suffer from what’s known as “compulsive spending”. According to the Illinois Institute for Addiction Recovery:
“Compulsive shopping and spending is described as a pattern of chronic, repetitive purchasing that becomes difficult to stop and ultimately results in harmful consequences. It is defined as an impulse control disorder and has features similar to other addictive disorders without involving the use of an intoxicating drug.”
The organization offers the following list of warning signs of a shopping addiction:
Shopping of spending money as a result of being disappointed, angry or scared.
Shopping/spending habits causing emotional distress or chaos in one’s life.
Having arguments with others regarding shopping or spending habits.
Feeling lost without credit cards.
Buying items on credit that would not be bought with cash.
Spending money causes a rush of euphoria and anxiety at the same time.
Spending or shopping feels like a reckless or forbidden act.
Feeling guilty, ashamed, embarrassed or confused after shopping or spending money. Many purchases are never used.
Lying to others about what was bought or how much money was spent.
Thinking excessively about money.
Spending a lot of time juggling accounts and bills to accommodate spending.
I’ve experienced all of these. In fact, I used to suffer from many of these at the same time. It felt awful. An addiction to spending is a scary, dangerous thing. As with other addictions, victims feel lost and out of control.
People who have never suffered from a shopping addiction can’t understand the problem, and you may have a hard time explaining it to them. They don’t know what it’s like to see something and feel the urge to buy it now. They don’t know the lure of the shopping “rush” — and the subsequent nausea from the guilt have having spent too much.
“Overspenders…have confused and confusing relationships with money,” write psychologists Brad and Ted Klontz in Mind Over Money. “On one hand, they’re convinced that money and the things it can buy will make them happy; yet they’re often broke because they can’t control their spending.”
Fortunately, I’ve learned some ways to cope with emotional spending. Though I’m still tempted, I don’t spend nearly as much as I used to because I’ve developed habits that help me do the right thing, even when the right thing is difficult.
How to Fight a Shopping Addiction
Based on my own experience — and based on conversations I’ve had with others — here are seven strategies you can use to fight a shopping addiction:
Cut up your credit cards. If you have a problem with compulsive spending, destroy your credit cards now. Don’t make excuses. Don’t jot the account numbers someplace “just in case”. Don’t rationalize that you need them to help your credit score. If credit cards fuel your emotional spending, you’re better off without them. (You can always get new cards once you’ve learned better habits.)
Carry cash only. Don’t use your checkbook or a debit card. Inconvenient? Absolutely, but that’s the point. If you’re a compulsive spender, your goal is to break the habit. To do this, you’ve got to make sacrifices. Spending cash is a way to remind yourself that you’re spending real money. Plastic (and to some degree checks) make this connection fuzzy.
Track every penny you spend. You may not even be aware of how much you’re spending. Back when I let my emotions rule my financial life, I had no idea how many books I was buying, for example. But once I started tracking every dollar that came into and went out of my life, patterns became clear. When you see your spending patterns, you can act on them.
Play mind games. For some people, money isn’t an emotional issue. They’re able to make logical choices and not be tempted to otherwise. They’re lucky. For most of us, however, it doesn’t work that way. If you’re in this majority, find ways to play tricks on yourself. You might train yourself to use the 30-day rule, for instance: When you see something you want, don’t buy it right away; instead, note it on your calendar for 30 days in the future. If you still want it in a month, consider buying it. I’ve found that I can keep myself from buying a lot of stuff by simply putting it on my Amazon wish list. I come back later and wonder why I was ever tempted!
Avoid temptation. The best way to keep from spending is to avoid situations that tempt you to spend in the first place. If your weakness is books, stay out of bookstores and avoid Amazon. If you tend to overspend at big department stores, stay away from the mall. Stop going to the places where you normally spend, especially if you’re under emotional stress.
Remind yourself of larger goals. I’ve struggled with my weight all my life. Whenever I’m tempted to eat something bad, I ask myself, “Will this help me or hurt me?” The same question can be asked when you’re about to make an impulse purchase. Will your new toy bring you closer to your goals or move you further away? (If you’re not clear on your larger goals, try drafting a personal mission statement.)
Ask for help. There’s no shame in asking for help if you’re having trouble with your spending. Talk to a close friend or family member, and ask for support in breaking the cycle of compulsive spending. You may even want to seek professional help. But remember: If you ask for help, don’t get angry when your counselors call you on your missteps. Listen to what they have to say.
Each of these techniques can help curb your shopping addiction to some degree. Different techniques will appeal to different people.
There’s one other strategy that I’ve found to be very effective for myself: When I find myself tempted to buy something, I force myself to stop for a moment and ask myself some serious questions.
What to Do When You’re Tempted to Buy
Let’s say you’re in the mall or at the Electronics Emporium. There’s nothing you need to buy, but you’re killing time while your spouse finishes an errand. As you wait, you browse. You admire the Thneeds. Look! There’s a new one! It’s bright and shiny and you think it will make you happy, so you pick it up, walk to the register to purchase it.
Wait! Before you buy, think about the following questions:
When will I use this? When you buy compulsively, when you spend on impulse, you tend to acquire a lot of stuff you never use. Look around your home. Do you have unopened CDs or DVDs? Unread books? Unplayed videogames? Do you have clothes that still sport their price tags? Do you have a collection of “money-saving” gadgets gathering dust in your closets and kitchen drawers? Before you buy something new, ask yourself when you’ll actually use it — and be honest with yourself.
Do I have another one like this already? If so, what’s wrong with the old one? I use this question in a variety of situations, especially when I’m tempted to buy clothes. Kim gets frustrated with my tendency to acquire new t-shirts, for example. “You already have five blue t-shirts,” she told me recently. “Why do you need another?” This is also a great question to ask when faced with the urge to upgrade. Do you really need to replace your iPhone?
If I buy this, where will I put it? It’s surprising how often this question prevents me from buying something new. For the past few years, I’ve had limited space to store stuff. First, Kim and I were on the road in an RV with no storage. Next, we moved to a smaller house. If I force myself to think about where I’ll store whatever it is that tempts me, that’s often enough to make me decide not to buy it.
If I buy this, can I pay cash? Would I pay cash for this? When I was in debt, I bought almost everything on credit. I figured I could pay for it later. All of my cash went to pay my credit card bills. I was dumb. I’ve since realized that if something isn’t worth saving for, if it’s not worth buying with cash, then it’s almost certainly not worth buying on credit.
Can I buy a good-quality used version for less? I used to be a “new snob”. I believed that things were only worth buying if I could have them in new, pristine condition. Now I know that great deals can be had on gently used items. This is true of cars, of course, but it’s also true of games, electronics, clothing, and more. Make a habit of checking Craigslist first — and taking a look at your local thrift store.
Do I know anyone who already owns one I can borrow? I overheard a story the other day. Evan was preparing for some yardwork and making an inventory of his tools. He decided he wanted a chainsaw. He called his friend Lee to ask for advice on which one to buy. “Why do you want to buy a chainsaw?” Lee asked. “Do you have a lot of trees to clear?” Evan admitted that he did not. “Then why don’t you just borrow mine?” Lee asked. When done respectfully, borrowing is a great alternative to buying new.
Can I wait to buy this? One of the best things I’ve done to fight my shopping addiction is to teach myself to wait. For the past decade, I’ve used the afore-mentioned 30-day rule. When I find myself in the Electronics Emporium holding the latest game for the Nintendo Switch, I put it back and tell myself that I can buy it in 30 days if I still want it. The key is to make yourself wait to make a purchase, to not give in to your desire to buy in the moment.
Why do I want to buy this? And why do I want to buy it today? It’s true that many times I’m inclined to buy something because it would fill a need in my life. But just as often I find myself wanting to buy things because I’ve recently seen an ad. Or, worse, a friend has shown me some cool new gadget. In these cases, I’m not filling an ongoing need; I’m simply trying to fill a sense of lack created by comparing myself with others. If I can figure out why I have the urge to buy something, I can sometimes make the urge go away.
Are there better options available? This is a great question to trick myself into taking more time. If I find myself browsing Amazon tempted to buy a compound miter saw, for example, I can sometimes talk myself out of it by realizing that I have no idea whether this compound miter saw is the best model. Instead, I go research compound miter saws (or whatever) via Consumer Reports and online review sites. I try to find the best option. Most of the time, the process gets overwhelming: There are so many compound miter saws with so many different features! I lose interest and I save myself some money.
What would my partner say if I bought this? Kim isn’t opposed to everything I buy, but she’s often able to detect compulsive spending when I cannot. Sometimes if I’m tempted buy a new toy, I try to put myself in her shoes, to view the purchase through her eyes. If, from her perspective, the purchase seems reasonable, then I consider it. But it looks foolish, I often change my mind.
I’ve used all of these questions to learn to control my shopping addiction. I don’t ask myself all of these questions every time I shop. Each is useful in certain situations. And these questions don’t stop all of my purchases. But I’ve found that if I give myself honest answers, they can prevent a lot of spending.
Additional Resources
For more information on coping with compulsive spending and shopping addiction, explore the following web sites:
Debtors Anonymous offers free support for people who wish to stop incurring debt.
Indiana University: How can I manage compulsive shopping and spending addiction?
MSNBC: How to escape a shopping addiction
The Illinois Institute for Addiction Recovery at Proctor Hospital
wikiHow: How to buy nothing
Finally, consider seeking professional help. There is no shame in obtaining psychotherapy for problems that seem bigger than you. Ultimately you must look inward to overcome any form of addiction — a therapist is like a trained guide who can help you find the way.
The good news is you can overcome this. You can break free from emotional spending. The bad news is that it takes work. It won’t happen overnight. You’ll make mistakes, and you’ll backslide. When you do, don’t give up. Don’t beat yourself up because you bought a new purse or played a round of golf at the new course. You’re human. Keep focused on your long-term goal, and resolve to do better next time.
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Are you a shopaholic? How to fight a shopping addiction
Yesterday, I mentioned that because I grew up poor, I inherited a faulty money blueprint from my parents. They didn’t know how to handle money effectively, so they couldn’t teach me how to handle it effectively. I entered adulthood with many of the same bad habits they’d had when I was a kid.
I was a compulsive spender, for instance. I had a shopping addiction. I had no willpower, no impulse control. Even when I had no money in the bank, I still found ways to spend. I took on over $20,000 in credit card debt before I turned 25!
Nowadays, I mostly have my spending under control. I’m no longer in debt, and I force myself to make conscious decisions about what I purchase. (Conscious spending is one of the keys to overcoming emotional spending.)
Having said that, I know that if I relax for even a moment, I’ll be right back in my old habits. I’ll find myself at the grocery store buying magazines to soothe a bruised ego, or shopping for music in the iTunes store because I had a stressful day.
How do I know I’ll relapse if I’m not careful? Because I do from time to time. When I was prepping for my big talk at the end of June, for example, I felt super stressed and my shopping addiction kicked in. I spent an afternoon browsing on Amazon, putting things in my shopping basket. (I even ordered a few of the things, although I knew I shouldn’t.)
Emotional spending is comforting — not just for me, but for a lot of other people too. Though I’m a recovering spendaholic, I’m still a spendaholic. I’m always one step away from compulsive spending.
My story is not unique.
What Is a Shopping Addiction?
People who have a shopping addiction suffer from what’s known as “compulsive spending”. According to the Illinois Institute for Addiction Recovery:
“Compulsive shopping and spending is described as a pattern of chronic, repetitive purchasing that becomes difficult to stop and ultimately results in harmful consequences. It is defined as an impulse control disorder and has features similar to other addictive disorders without involving the use of an intoxicating drug.”
The organization offers the following list of warning signs of a shopping addiction:
Shopping of spending money as a result of being disappointed, angry or scared.
Shopping/spending habits causing emotional distress or chaos in one’s life.
Having arguments with others regarding shopping or spending habits.
Feeling lost without credit cards.
Buying items on credit that would not be bought with cash.
Spending money causes a rush of euphoria and anxiety at the same time.
Spending or shopping feels like a reckless or forbidden act.
Feeling guilty, ashamed, embarrassed or confused after shopping or spending money. Many purchases are never used.
Lying to others about what was bought or how much money was spent.
Thinking excessively about money.
Spending a lot of time juggling accounts and bills to accommodate spending.
I’ve experienced all of these. In fact, I used to suffer from many of these at the same time. It felt awful. An addiction to spending is a scary, dangerous thing. As with other addictions, victims feel lost and out of control.
People who have never suffered from a shopping addiction can’t understand the problem, and you may have a hard time explaining it to them. They don’t know what it’s like to see something and feel the urge to buy it now. They don’t know the lure of the shopping “rush” — and the subsequent nausea from the guilt have having spent too much.
“Overspenders…have confused and confusing relationships with money,” write psychologists Brad and Ted Klontz in Mind Over Money. “On one hand, they’re convinced that money and the things it can buy will make them happy; yet they’re often broke because they can’t control their spending.”
Fortunately, I’ve learned some ways to cope with emotional spending. Though I’m still tempted, I don’t spend nearly as much as I used to because I’ve developed habits that help me do the right thing, even when the right thing is difficult.
How to Fight a Shopping Addiction
Based on my own experience — and based on conversations I’ve had with others — here are seven strategies you can use to fight a shopping addiction:
Cut up your credit cards. If you have a problem with compulsive spending, destroy your credit cards now. Don’t make excuses. Don’t jot the account numbers someplace “just in case”. Don’t rationalize that you need them to help your credit score. If credit cards fuel your emotional spending, you’re better off without them. (You can always get new cards once you’ve learned better habits.)
Carry cash only. Don’t use your checkbook or a debit card. Inconvenient? Absolutely, but that’s the point. If you’re a compulsive spender, your goal is to break the habit. To do this, you’ve got to make sacrifices. Spending cash is a way to remind yourself that you’re spending real money. Plastic (and to some degree checks) make this connection fuzzy.
Track every penny you spend. You may not even be aware of how much you’re spending. Back when I let my emotions rule my financial life, I had no idea how many books I was buying, for example. But once I started tracking every dollar that came into and went out of my life, patterns became clear. When you see your spending patterns, you can act on them.
Play mind games. For some people, money isn’t an emotional issue. They’re able to make logical choices and not be tempted to otherwise. They’re lucky. For most of us, however, it doesn’t work that way. If you’re in this majority, find ways to play tricks on yourself. You might train yourself to use the 30-day rule, for instance: When you see something you want, don’t buy it right away; instead, note it on your calendar for 30 days in the future. If you still want it in a month, consider buying it. I’ve found that I can keep myself from buying a lot of stuff by simply putting it on my Amazon wish list. I come back later and wonder why I was ever tempted!
Avoid temptation. The best way to keep from spending is to avoid situations that tempt you to spend in the first place. If your weakness is books, stay out of bookstores and avoid Amazon. If you tend to overspend at big department stores, stay away from the mall. Stop going to the places where you normally spend, especially if you’re under emotional stress.
Remind yourself of larger goals. I’ve struggled with my weight all my life. Whenever I’m tempted to eat something bad, I ask myself, “Will this help me or hurt me?” The same question can be asked when you’re about to make an impulse purchase. Will your new toy bring you closer to your goals or move you further away? (If you’re not clear on your larger goals, try drafting a personal mission statement.)
Ask for help. There’s no shame in asking for help if you’re having trouble with your spending. Talk to a close friend or family member, and ask for support in breaking the cycle of compulsive spending. You may even want to seek professional help. But remember: If you ask for help, don’t get angry when your counselors call you on your missteps. Listen to what they have to say.
Each of these techniques can help curb your shopping addiction to some degree. Different techniques will appeal to different people.
There’s one other strategy that I’ve found to be very effective for myself: When I find myself tempted to buy something, I force myself to stop for a moment and ask myself some serious questions.
What to Do When You’re Tempted to Buy
Let’s say you’re in the mall or at the Electronics Emporium. There’s nothing you need to buy, but you’re killing time while your spouse finishes an errand. As you wait, you browse. You admire the Thneeds. Look! There’s a new one! It’s bright and shiny and you think it will make you happy, so you pick it up, walk to the register to purchase it.
Wait! Before you buy, think about the following questions:
When will I use this? When you buy compulsively, when you spend on impulse, you tend to acquire a lot of stuff you never use. Look around your home. Do you have unopened CDs or DVDs? Unread books? Unplayed videogames? Do you have clothes that still sport their price tags? Do you have a collection of “money-saving” gadgets gathering dust in your closets and kitchen drawers? Before you buy something new, ask yourself when you’ll actually use it — and be honest with yourself.
Do I have another one like this already? If so, what’s wrong with the old one? I use this question in a variety of situations, especially when I’m tempted to buy clothes. Kim gets frustrated with my tendency to acquire new t-shirts, for example. “You already have five blue t-shirts,” she told me recently. “Why do you need another?” This is also a great question to ask when faced with the urge to upgrade. Do you really need to replace your iPhone?
If I buy this, where will I put it? It’s surprising how often this question prevents me from buying something new. For the past few years, I’ve had limited space to store stuff. First, Kim and I were on the road in an RV with no storage. Next, we moved to a smaller house. If I force myself to think about where I’ll store whatever it is that tempts me, that’s often enough to make me decide not to buy it.
If I buy this, can I pay cash? Would I pay cash for this? When I was in debt, I bought almost everything on credit. I figured I could pay for it later. All of my cash went to pay my credit card bills. I was dumb. I’ve since realized that if something isn’t worth saving for, if it’s not worth buying with cash, then it’s almost certainly not worth buying on credit.
Can I buy a good-quality used version for less? I used to be a “new snob”. I believed that things were only worth buying if I could have them in new, pristine condition. Now I know that great deals can be had on gently used items. This is true of cars, of course, but it’s also true of games, electronics, clothing, and more. Make a habit of checking Craigslist first — and taking a look at your local thrift store.
Do I know anyone who already owns one I can borrow? I overheard a story the other day. Evan was preparing for some yardwork and making an inventory of his tools. He decided he wanted a chainsaw. He called his friend Lee to ask for advice on which one to buy. “Why do you want to buy a chainsaw?” Lee asked. “Do you have a lot of trees to clear?” Evan admitted that he did not. “Then why don’t you just borrow mine?” Lee asked. When done respectfully, borrowing is a great alternative to buying new.
Can I wait to buy this? One of the best things I’ve done to fight my shopping addiction is to teach myself to wait. For the past decade, I’ve used the afore-mentioned 30-day rule. When I find myself in the Electronics Emporium holding the latest game for the Nintendo Switch, I put it back and tell myself that I can buy it in 30 days if I still want it. The key is to make yourself wait to make a purchase, to not give in to your desire to buy in the moment.
Why do I want to buy this? And why do I want to buy it today? It’s true that many times I’m inclined to buy something because it would fill a need in my life. But just as often I find myself wanting to buy things because I’ve recently seen an ad. Or, worse, a friend has shown me some cool new gadget. In these cases, I’m not filling an ongoing need; I’m simply trying to fill a sense of lack created by comparing myself with others. If I can figure out why I have the urge to buy something, I can sometimes make the urge go away.
Are there better options available? This is a great question to trick myself into taking more time. If I find myself browsing Amazon tempted to buy a compound miter saw, for example, I can sometimes talk myself out of it by realizing that I have no idea whether this compound miter saw is the best model. Instead, I go research compound miter saws (or whatever) via Consumer Reports and online review sites. I try to find the best option. Most of the time, the process gets overwhelming: There are so many compound miter saws with so many different features! I lose interest and I save myself some money.
What would my partner say if I bought this? Kim isn’t opposed to everything I buy, but she’s often able to detect compulsive spending when I cannot. Sometimes if I’m tempted buy a new toy, I try to put myself in her shoes, to view the purchase through her eyes. If, from her perspective, the purchase seems reasonable, then I consider it. But it looks foolish, I often change my mind.
I’ve used all of these questions to learn to control my shopping addiction. I don’t ask myself all of these questions every time I shop. Each is useful in certain situations. And these questions don’t stop all of my purchases. But I’ve found that if I give myself honest answers, they can prevent a lot of spending.
Additional Resources
For more information on coping with compulsive spending and shopping addiction, explore the following web sites:
Debtors Anonymous offers free support for people who wish to stop incurring debt.
Indiana University: How can I manage compulsive shopping and spending addiction?
MSNBC: How to escape a shopping addiction
The Illinois Institute for Addiction Recovery at Proctor Hospital
wikiHow: How to buy nothing
Finally, consider seeking professional help. There is no shame in obtaining psychotherapy for problems that seem bigger than you. Ultimately you must look inward to overcome any form of addiction — a therapist is like a trained guide who can help you find the way.
The good news is you can overcome this. You can break free from emotional spending. The bad news is that it takes work. It won’t happen overnight. You’ll make mistakes, and you’ll backslide. When you do, don’t give up. Don’t beat yourself up because you bought a new purse or played a round of golf at the new course. You’re human. Keep focused on your long-term goal, and resolve to do better next time.
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