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seblos · 3 years

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there's not a star in heaven that we can't reach - ch 8/10

chapter title: this is the tech rehearsal, and i'm your choreographer

word count: 5,035

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“Carlos? Are you awake, mijo?”

Carlos very much wasn’t awake. What high school student genuinely is fully awake on a Monday morning, especially the day after break. If his mom is calling for him though, that could only mean one thing.

He’s late.

“Yes, mamá, I’m up!” he calls back, frantically rolling out of bed. Thankfully, he chooses his outfit the night before so he knows exactly what he’s grabbing in the morning. He zips his backpack, grabs his phone, and does a quick brush through of his hair without looking in the mirror. He probably doesn’t look the best, but half the school most likely won’t even show up, and it’s tech rehearsal today which means no matter how hard he tries he’s gonna be a mess anyway.

“Someone is waiting for you downstairs,” his mom calls up to him again, and he stops in his path. That’s unusual…he usually takes the bus alone in the morning. Who could possibly be waiting for him?

For the first time all morning, Carlos glances at his phone. It’s only 7:00 am; his alarm hasn’t even gone off yet. Which, he imagines, can only mean one person is at the door.

Memories of the weekend flood through his mind as he walks down the stairs, suddenly a lot more awake than he was a moment ago despite being woken up before his alarm. Just as he expected, Seb- his boyfriend, is standing in their living room in front of the door, wearing a knit rainbow winter hat with tassels and a fluffy suede jacket on top of red flannel. It’s the most Seb he’s ever looked, and Carlos practically melts.

“Hi,” Seb breathes, smiling. He goes to hug Carlos before glancing at his mom in the other room. “Does she know?” he asks, voice dropping so she won’t hear.

Carlos shakes his head but squeezes his boyfriend’s hand quickly before his mom can see. “Why are you here?” he asks, though, obviously, he’s not complaining.

“Georgie had to go in early for some club meeting. Usually, I just go with her and stay in the library until school starts, but then I thought I might as well come here and, uh, surprise you,” he says, still smiling at Carlos. “If, uh, that’s okay.”

Carlos squeezes his hand again. “Please. As long as you’re okay with taking the bus.”

He calls goodbye to his mom, reminding her that he’ll be home late because of tech rehearsal before they’re out the door.

The moment the two are out of sight from his house, Carlos takes Seb’s hand before he can second guess himself. His boyfriend (!!! he is never going to get used to that) just smiles again. One of these days, Carlos will tell his mom and then he can do whatever with Seb in the comfort of his own home, but for now, he’ll take their not-so-secret hand-holding.

“This is kind of exciting for me,” Seb admits, laughing softly as they approach his deserted bus stop. “I’ve never taken the bus before!”

“Well, it loses its shine after about the second ride, but I’m excited that you're excited,” Carlos smiles back at him.

A few more people arrive before the bus pulls up. His stop is the last one before the school, so by the time they enter, most of the seats have already been filled. Luckily, there's an empty seat right in the front behind the driver, which Carlos gratefully takes, Seb in tow. Nobody takes a second glance at their conjoined hands.

“So,” Carlos says as the bus begins to trundle down the road towards the school. “How was the rest of your break?” He basically already knows, considering they text just about every day, but it’s still nice to hear Seb talk.

“It was alright, catching up on homework for Mazzara’s class,” (they both rolled their eyes) “and just hanging out with my family. Josie and Cohyn are home from college, which made the house extra chaotic, but it was worth it.”

Carlos smiles at the mention of the older Matthew-Smith siblings. He still has yet to meet any of them besides Georgie and the occasional glance of one of the younger siblings the few times he’s been to Seb’s house. He’s sure it’s only a matter of time before he gets introduced to the rest of them.

The mention of his older siblings reminds Carlos of the night on Ashlyn’s porch, and how Seb has said that Georgie called their relationship months back.

“Did you, um,” he laughs. “Did you talk to Georgie?”

Seb’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah! She freaked, of course, but, like, in the best way.”

Carlos laughs again. “Should I be afraid?”

“No, I’m pretty sure you’re her favorite, actually,” he laughs as well, and part of Carlos is soaring knowing that.

“Gotcha, so you should be the one who’s afraid.”

Seb shrugs. “I mean, can’t blame her. You’re pretty incredible.”

Carlos can feel his face flushing. He’s hoping he can just blame it on the cold weather before realizing that Seb is blushing as well like he’s looking for the okay that he just said that. So, Carlos gives it to him.

“I don’t know. I think you’re the incredible one.”

Seb ducks his head, not knowing what to say next, but his face still bright red. He opts to just squeeze Carlos’s hand.

Most of the ride passes in silence, Carlos still half waking up and Seb just looking out the window, occasionally glancing over at him or their hands like he’s getting to remind himself that he’s dating Carlos.

It doesn’t feel any different being in a relationship. They’re still them, still the choreographer and the rehearsal pianist, the two boys who danced at Homecoming together. Seb is still one of his closest friends; he supposes dating him doesn’t change any of that except now he gets to brag that his best friend is also his boyfriend. He supposes that’s why they are dating.

Seb is one of the only people to break down the walls Carlos has built up, and while his heart is racing at the thought of it all, for once in his life he isn’t scared.

They have to let go of each other’s hands by the time they get to the school, gathering their backpacks and filing out the cramped space of the bus alley, but as soon as they’re walking into the school, Seb grabs his hand again.

“This okay?” he asks quietly, and Carlos doesn’t know how he’s supposed to make it through the day without holding Seb’s hand.

“You don’t have to ask.”

They walk down the hall together, which is a little nerve-wracking considering they’ve only ever held hands at school when it was after hours, but nobody gives them a second glance. Anyone who stares for a moment just moves on, either not caring or not surprised.

“Do you need to go to your locker?” Carlos asks him. Theirs are relatively near each other, much thanks to alphabetical last name sorting.

“Uh, yeah, I wanted to put my Chemistry textbook before-” he’s cut off as Lou and Addie rush past them, headed towards the auditorium with Ashlyn hot on their heels.

Carlos reaches out and grabs her arm before she can get too far. “Hey, Ash, where are you guys headed?”

Her face drops. “You haven’t heard yet?”

“No…?” he says slowly, glancing at Seb who just shrugs.

“You guys are gonna wanna come see this.”

He and Seb glance at each other again, before following Ashlyn down the hallway.

A million scenarios are running through Carlos’s head as he approaches the auditorium, none of which are positive after hearing Ash’s tone. Was someone hurt? Was the stage okay? The set? The lights? The costumes? Will they still be able to do the show?

What he saw when they reached the back doors so much worse than he could have ever expected.

Water is dripping from the ceiling, falling on burned and crumbled set pieces and costumes. Anything that survived was covered in plastic and almost definitely waterlogged, including the stage. Carlos feels his heart sink the moment he realized even if they cleared the damaged set pieces, the stage was too far gone to perform on.

His fear is confirmed as one of the firefighters informs Miss Jenn that the show, in fact, cannot go on with the stage in this condition.

“The fire ripped through half your costumes and the sprinklers ruined a bunch of your sets,” she tells Miss Jenn. “I’m going to have to red tag the entire backstage area for a month at least.”

There are gasps and sad shuffles behind Carlos as everyone groups up, seeking comfort within the tragedy. Next to him, Seb presses into Carlos, immediately lacing their hands as he blinks back tears.

Behind them, Kourtney lets out a choked “Did she say costumes?” and god, Carlos’s heart hurts.

“Okay, listen up,” Miss Jenn turns to them, and even though Carlos can’t imagine what she possibly can say during this moment, every head turns to listen. “Hug your neighbor, take a moment, and let’s all reconvene in the cafeteria after school to talk about our options. Ricky and Nini, spread the word.”

Nini nods. “Got it.”

“Ricky?”

“Sorry. After school in the cafeteria, got it,” he nods as well.

It’s sort of a concluding moment as everyone realizes they unfortunately still do have to go to class in a few minutes, and the cast and crew slowly begin to trickle out of the theater. Carlos lets go of Seb for a moment to murmur goodbye to Ashlyn, promising to talk to her in History. When he turns back around, Seb is lingering, staring at the stage but his mind is obviously elsewhere.

“Is it dumb,” he says sadly when Carlos approaches again, “that I’m glad the ladder survived?”

His head drops down to Carlos’s shoulder, and Carlos’s body just rakes with despair. His biggest project in shreds, the person he cared about most close to tears… he wonders if, with all the good leading up to this moment, this kind of disaster was bound to happen.

Life never wants to be easy.

—

Carlos doesn’t see Seb again until lunch with him during their fifth period. By that point, the two of them lightened up a bit after getting lost in the waves of Sophomore year schoolwork still circling around them, unrelenting despite theatrical tragedy. Still, the knowledge of their burned theater sat heavily on everyone’s shoulders, and their lunch table was quieter than normal.

“This school seriously needs to work on their vegetarian options,” Seb murmurs, stirring his soup. “I can die happy the day society realizes that not all of us are in love with tofu.”

Carlos lets out a breathy laugh and Natalie leans over to pat him on the shoulder sympathetically. Their cafeteria’s interesting taste in alternate food choices is a conversation they have at least twice a week ever since Carlos joined the table.

He could tell Seb was doing his best to hide it and instead try and cheer everyone else up. He had noticed, at some point, that the other boy always put others in front of his own emotions, making sure they were okay before he was. It was endearing to see how badly he cared, but Carlos knew what hurt looked like on the other boy, knew that he had to be there for him even if he didn’t have the words to make everything okay.

“There’s more to vegetarianism than soup and salads,” Seo thoughtfully reminds them. It’s something Carlos has heard many times before but can never get tired of his boyfriend’s voice.

He results in simply leaning into Seb’s side, ignoring Natalie’s eye-roll towards the two of them, and savors the moment in his day when everything isn’t totally terrible.

—

Carlos does a lot of hugging today. He thinks the entire cast does, to be honest. There isn’t a moment where they see each other and don’t seek comfort, mourning all of the hard work and the potential loss of their show. It’s probably overdramatic to all of the non-theatre kids, but Carlos is too tired to care at this point.

He finds himself hugging Nini and Seb in a sort of prayer-style formation in the cafeteria after school as they wait for Miss Jenn. Even while he and Nini never were quite the best of friends (especially after the “forest of boys” incident) it was nice that they were still able to find some sort of solace in each other.

They break apart from each other, Nini squeezing his shoulder, just as Miss Jenn walks in.

“Okay, guys,” she claps, then pauses. “Wait, where’s Gina?”

Hesitant glances are spared at each other around the room as everyone settles on top and around the cafeteria tables, recalling the phone call they overheard at Ashlyn’s Thanksgiving party.

Ashlyn herself was the one to speak up after a moment. “I think she’s going through a family thing right now.”

Luckily, Miss Jenn brushes it off. “Ok, prayers to our Gina. I’m... really not sure what to say. You've all worked so hard. I’ve seen all of you grow so much,” she pauses, and Carlos feels himself holding his breath as if she’s about to spout a miracle.

Unfortunately, it’s never that easy. “But if we don’t have a theater, we don’t have a show.”

Immediately, a chorus of “what?” and disgruntled murmurs pass around the room as everyone contemplates what that means for the fate of the show. Carlos feels himself turn, letting his hand drop onto Seb’s thigh reassuringly as he looks between EJ and his boyfriend’s concerned expressions.

Carlos turns again, this time to face the drama teacher. “Miss Jenn, we’ve gotta do something,” he pleads.

“I think we… I don’t know. I guess we could consider other venues?” Concerned chatter turns curious as everyone begins to try and brainstorm ideas for where they could possibly move their show on such short timing and essentially no budget.

“Oh, what about the old Kingston downtown?” Ashlyn offers.

Miss Jenn winces. “It’s condemned.”

“The Lucky Ducky Puppet Pavillion?”

“It’s a massive Starbucks now.”

Inspiration hits Carlos like one last glowing star. “How about the El Rey?”

Pride swells in his chest as people point at him excitedly, quickly agreeing to the one possible theater they could actually pull off moving their show to. (Granted, nothing has been performed there in years, but a theater is a theater, right? )

Unfortunately, Miss Jenn is not as thrilled. “Any other ideas?” Carlos pauses from where he’s looking over Seb’s arm at his Google search of the theater, brow furrowing at her tone. “Miss Jenn, I feel like you just had a really weird reaction to what I just said.”

Typically, being blunt with their director is the only way he can get any comprehensible feedback from her.

“Sorry, what did you say?” she replies, eyes wide and uncharacteristically emotionless.

“Carlos was asking if we could try and use the El Rey theater,” Nini supplies for her.

“My Uncle Reuben is the listing agent, and the last thing they had there was a fashion show like, four years ago,” Carlos continues, before walking behind Miss Jenn as he excitedly dials a familiar number.

“Woah, this place has 500 seats!” He hears Seb exclaim, followed by Miss Jenn talking. Carlos isn’t able to concentrate on what she’s saying before the other line picks up, and his uncle greets him.

“Tío Rubén, ¿podemos usar el teatro para nuestro espectáculo?” Carlos asks, mustering up the best Spanish he can.

The response thankfully is a very excited “¡si, si, si!”

“Sounded like a ‘yes’ to me!” Ashlyn raises excitedly, mirroring Carlos’s arms out wide. Everyone around them cheers, and even Miss Jenn seems to brush aside whatever her deal is, accepting defeat.

“The El Rey theater it is!” she announces.

Carlos grins. “Miss Jenn, aren’t you excited?”

“Yes… I am that feeling,” she says quickly, then spins back around to face the rest of the cast and crew. “Wildcats, let's grab all the props and costumes that didn’t get damaged, and let’s loadout!”

It’s obvious she isn’t as excited as everyone else, but Carlos brushes it off in favor of celebrating their not-cancelled show. They’ll deal with Miss Jenn’s problem with the El Rey when they inevitably come to it.

Nini and Kourtney gather all the other juniors and seniors who have their driver's license, making plans with Carlos for transport straight to the other theater. They come up with a plan, car arrangements and all, and head into action.

Before Carlos can get too caught up with the crowd, he finds himself quickly pulled into yet another hug from Seb.

“My boyfriend is a genius,” he says once they pull apart, quiet enough that only the two of them hear. (Not that they’re specifically trying to hide it from anyone at this point, but it’s nice to have moments just shared between the two of them.)

Carlos immediately blushes at the words, not at all used to Seb referring to him as his boyfriend. He ducks his head, biting back the flushed grin threatening to cross his face. “I’m not really. There are only so many theaters in Salt Lake City. It’s just kind of luck, honestly, that my uncle is the listing agent.”

“Still, you scored us an actual theater with, like, lights and sound and an actual stage and audience chairs,” Seb reminds him. “I was fully prepared to suggest my barn, but I was really hoping we wouldn’t get that far.”

Carlos laughs. “The cows could have been part of the audience.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m sure they would totally no t be disruptive or anything,” Seb rolls his eyes, sarcasm heavy in his voice even with the smile adorned on his lips. His eyes drop again, though, as he steps a little closer to Carlos.

“Seriously, though. This has been the best three months of my life, so… Thank you for bringing back the show. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without it, besides lose all my confidence.”

Carlos smiles gently, heart just filled with so much happiness and love compared to before.

“The show won’t end no matter what, I swear. We could probably do it in the gym, everything considered,” he laughs lightly, trying to reassure the other boy. “Besides. The show doesn’t give you confidence. That’s all you, honey.”

(The pet name kind of slips out just like it did at the Thanksgiving party, and Carlos panics for a moment before remembering he’s allowed to do that now. Not to mention Seb’s reaction is just as cute.)

“Yeah,” he nods, then pulls Carlos into one more quick hug before tugging him towards the bomb shelter. “Come on, we have a tech rehearsal to attend.”

—

The transition from East High to the El Rey was surprisingly seamless. In fact, everything about their tech rehearsal was smooth sailing for the most part, minus the absent stage manager and the old tech. It was still a theater, though, and everything leading up so far after the news of the fire, leaving Carlos at least a little bit hopeful for the fate of the show even with the change in location.

Which is why he should have expected it when things got weird.

Carlos was not unfamiliar with subbing in for roles. Typically, if Ricky or Nini was absent for a rehearsal, Gina and EJ would step in like the dutiful understudies they were, leaving an ensemble member or himself to read for their missing roles depending on who was there. More than a few times Carlos ended up reading Ryan’s line outside of private rehearsals with Seb, same with some of the other background boys, even Chad once or twice.

Needless to say, although he wasn’t necessarily the most specialized in acting or singing like some of the members of the cast were, it didn’t mean he couldn’t. It just so happened that out of the three things that make someone a triple threat, he preferred dancing the most out of them.

So when Miss Jenn calls him up to read for Gabriella, he’s unbothered. It wasn’t like he was afraid to act in front of the cast and crew. It wasn’t even acting, anyway. It was just a staged reading for blocking lighting.

At least, that’s what he had assumed.

Carlos knows, realistically, after the incident with EJ in the hallway and Miss Jenn’s director's file that the older boy would have been curious about its contents. Part of him was just hoping that EJ had enough dignity and confidence left to not actually look through the box.

Once EJ started talking, Carlos knew that wasn’t the case.

“Look… I never thought about singing, that’s for sure. Until you,” EJ responds to the cue he gives, more emotional than any high school performance ever needed to be. He never had a problem with overreacting; Carlos immediately knows what EJ had done.

“And now, I don’t want to stop. Ever.”

The more he continued, the lower Carlos’s eyebrows went down his forehead, until he’s tilting his head towards Miss Jenn inquisitively just to make sure he’s not the only one noticing something off.

Miss Jenn mirrors his expression. “That’s excellent… and a little weird,” she tells them, before giving Big Red lighting directions as Carlos turns back towards EJ.

“What is happening right now?” he gestures vaguely into the space between them.

“I’m just emoting, Carlos. Feel free to join me.”

Okay, yeah. He definitely read the file.

“This is the tech rehearsal, and I’m your choreographer,” Carlos reminds him, hoping to give EJ a reality check. Unfortunately, he seems unaffected as Miss Jenn asks them to run the scene again.

Apparently, EJ takes Miss Jenn’s reaction to “emote” even more, to the point where he thinks EJ might actually be crying.

“I never thought about singing, that’s for sure. Until you,” he leans closer, and Carlos leans farther. “And now, I don’t want to stop. Ever.”

The moment EJ reaches out to him, cupping Carlos’s cheek, his fight or flight kicks in. It feels like he’s staring into Carlos’s soul, fake tears rimming in his eyes. (If he wasn’t so incredibly confused, he would have maybe joked about it feeling like a hate crime.) Even as leans back so far it feels like his neck has disappeared into his collar, EJ doesn’t let up. When Miss Jenn finally calls EJ’s name, it feels like he’s going to be the one to cry now.

Their director gestures for him to come over.

“Are you sick?”

The pieces finally fully click in Carlos’s head. “Wait, I know what’s going on here-”

Before he can finish his sentence, a ladder falls over scarily close to him, and everyone flinches as they did earlier with the sandbag at the beginning of rehearsal, and Carlos realizes that maybe everything isn’t going as well as he originally hoped.

—

Carlos doesn’t talk to EJ later, not until Miss Jenn has a full breakdown after the mic check with Kourtney. Ashlyn is sent to talk to her while the rest of them chill out in the hallway.

He finds EJ on the floor with a box of popcorn in his hand that has to be incredibly stale and decides he may as well confront him.

“You looked in the audition files, didn’t you?” he approaches EJ, not even giving the bo a chance to finish the handful of popcorn.

All he gets in response is a muttered “Oh boy.”

Carlos sighs at his confirmed suspicion. “I tried to warn you, those were for Miss Jenn’s eyes only.”

“Not a problem,” EJ stands up. “Because apparently, I don’t have emotions.”

“Sometimes you do have a way of performing that doesn’t exactly feel authentic,” Carlos says as gently as possible the moment he hears EJ’s voice break a little bit. Feeling like you have too many emotions is one thing he’s dealt with more than a couple times; he can’t imagine what it must feel like to be that way and have everyone assume you don’t care at all because you don’t express them the way others do.

EJ wasn’t having it though. “Then what was I just doing on stage?”

“That felt more like an allergic reaction.”

“And what’s authentic to you, Carlos? A forest full of human beings?”

The words cut like ice, worming their way under his skin and confirming his biggest fear that y es, his castmates still think about that and they all think he’s stupid, that his ideas are stupid, even this whole El Rey idea was probably stupid too.

Carlos chooses to ignore the voices in his head. “That concept may need a little bit of time.”

“And so do I.”

The popcorn box is being pushed into his chest as EJ walks off, leaving Carlos wondering how everything could have possibly gone so wrong.

He debates looking for Seb, but he was caught up in conversation with Kourtney. Ashlyn was MIA, and Big Red had come around once to ask for his pizza preference but promptly left as soon as he got it, leaving Carlos on his own with the definitely stale popcorn that he was shoveling into his mouth just to do something with his hands.

Which is why it surprises him when EJ comes back a little bit later.

“Hey, um, it’s been a long time, should we go ask what’s going on?” EJ says slowly, like Carlos is the last person he wants to ask but the first person with all the answers about Miss Jenn.

Unfortunately, it seems more and more these days Carlos never has answers about Miss Jenn.

“She’s having a moment,” he says, unwilling to leave his spot from the floor. “Maybe you can go and ask her.”

“I don’t want to freak her out more with my lifeless eyes.”

Carlos snorts but doesn’t speak.

EJ takes it as his cue to leave. “Anyway, it’s…” he trails off, shaking his head as he goes to walk off, but Carlos jumps up quickly.

“You were right, by the way,” the words tumble out faster than he can stop them, letting out all the frustration and guilt he had been contemplating over the last half hour. “Forest of boys was a mess and coming here was a huge mistake. I have no business taking charge of anything.”

To his surprise, EJ steps closer. “No, you stepped up, dude. You always do. If I’m being honest, it’s…”

“Stupid?” Carlos supplies.

“Admirable.”

It’s not what Carlos is expecting to come from him, and the shock from it makes him stutter for a moment, tilting his back like he’s waiting for EJ to take it back.

“EJ, was… that a compliment?”

“Don’t make me start emoting,” he shakes his head, wincing like he can’t believe himself, but the words stay put.

Carlos just laughs. “Okay. Well, the words were a four but the sentiment was a solid ten.”

EJ laughs, followed by an awkward pause. “I’m gonna walk away now.”

He does, and Carlos stands there for a second trying to process what the heck just happened. His chest is just as tight as it was before, but the tension has left his shoulders a bit and everything feels a little bit less painful.

Just as he sits down once more, another person comes bounding over and drops right next to him. Carlos almost wishes they didn’t, until he realizes who it was

“Tough day?”

“The toughest,” Carlos sighs, and it makes Seb smile a bit as he drops his head down onto Carlos’s shoulder.

“What was EJ talking to you about?”

“Show stuff,” Carlos nearly shrugs, before remembering the weight of the other boy’s head on his shoulder. He gestures vaguely with his opposite hand instead. “Found some stuff out about his audition from Miss Jenn’s show file-”

“-Which is why he was acting weird, gotcha,” Seb finishes for him.

Carlos laughs quietly. “You jealous?”

Seb doesn't answer at first, instead picking up Carlos’s hand where it’s left at his side and traces patterns along his fingertips. Carlos takes it as a cue to keep teasing him.

“I mean, you have to admit, he is attractive,” he nudges. It gets Seb’s attention enough to lift his head off of Carlos’s shoulder, glaring at him with daggers made of cotton candy.

Carlos holds his hands up in defense. “Joking, joking!” he promises, laughing again. “I’m interested in someone else right now.”

Seb hums, laying back down on Carlos’s shoulder. “Who’s that?”

He doesn’t answer, just lacing their fingers together again. “What were you talking to Kourtney about before?”

“Show stuff,” Seb echoes from before, and Carlos rolls his eyes. “I just asked her if she was planning to quit makeup crew and join the show.”

“What’d she say.”

“That she’s not planning on quitting costumes and makeup anytime soon, but she’d be interested in branching out, essentially.”

Carlos hesitates. “Are you jealous of her?”

“Who, Kourtney?”

Carlos nods.

Seb sighs, unlacing their fingers so he can trace Carlos’s hand again. (He’s found it to be calming for Seb, either when he’s tired or nervous. Or both.)

“I’m not jealous. Maybe a little scared, just because I’m sure we have similar dream roles, but it just means competition I wouldn’t mind losing to. I would love to see her perform, you know?” he squeezes Carlos’s hand gently. “Same with you.”

“What about me?” he asks.

“Doing the show. You’re obviously a good dancer, and a good singer, and a good actor. You could easily play a lead,” Seb informs him.

Carlos chews on his lip. “Dunno. I’ve thought about it, but I’m not sure being on stage is my thing.”

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it,” Seb grins, leaning his head up so he can see Carlos. “I could be your Gabriella.”

“Oh, baby,” Carlos laughs, letting their conjoined hands fall onto his thigh. “I think you already are.”

—

#seblos #carlos rodriguez #seb matthew smith #high school musical the muiscal the series #hsmtmts #my writing #not a star #thank god for automatic italics on tumblr now

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years

Text

For Personal Reasons

Also on AO3.

It shouldn't be so terrifying to take that next little step.

It isn't like it would be unwelcome, Carlos thinks, running a hand through his hair as he paces around his living room. He knows it won't be unwelcome. Hell, the whole damn town probably knows it won't be unwelcome. They're probably all wondering why he hasn't done it yet. If they realize he hasn't.

Carlos came to Night Vale for one reason and one reason only – that it defied all known laws of science. It seemed like a fascinating place to study. Other scientists might have been interested in the fame it brought them, the research grants, the prestige of attaching their name to a study of such a place. Carlos was, and still is, interested in none of that. It was his curiosity that brought him to Night Vale, the desire to know.

It is a different kind of desire that has kept him here.

Carlos made eye contact with a most singular man, within his first few hours of arriving in town, and that brief moment had knocked him for a loop. He fled, of course. Didn't bother asking his name, or how long he'd lived in town, or whether or not he had ever noticed these strange occurrences or flagrant disregard for the laws of nature. All of which would have been perfectly reasonable things for a scientist to ask. After all, his studies had to start somewhere, so why not with this man, with his warm eyes and his charming smile and his strong jaw?

The answer, of course, is because he terrified Carlos. Not that there was anything monstrous about him. He didn't have a fixed, glassy-eyed stare or overly-sharp teeth or wings or a suspiciously cheerful, optimistic personality. All of that was the ordinary kind of terrifying, and Carlos the scientist could deal with it, as he dealt with it in all the other citizens of Night Vale, simply by formulating theories and conducting studies and analyzing tests. No, this man terrified him for the simple reason that he stirred up wants, desires Carlos fought too long and too hard to keep hidden.

All his life, Carlos has understood that the way he feels about other men is shameful, a vile perversion to be kept behind closed doors. It's better now than when he was young, at least in some places, but Carlos has never lived in those places. The whispers, the damning accusations, swirl around him every time he lets his feelings go. So when he locked eyes with the man on the street and felt the instant connection, he panicked and scurried away and asked no questions. Not at first, anyway, although he managed to learn what he needed to know eventually.

Cecil Palmer, reporter and radio personality, the voice of the evening show at Night Vale Community Radio. He was beautiful to look at, and even more beautiful to listen to, with a voice like molasses, smooth and dark and flowing and sweet, but not too sweet, not cloying. And Carlos damn near dropped dead of a heart attack on the spot when he listened to the man's radio show for the first time, only to hear him rambling about Carlos.

Well, nobody ran him out of town, or tried to set fire to the radio station, so Carlos concluded, to his mild surprise, that nobody in Night Vale actually gave a damn that Cecil seemed to have a crush on another man. It definitely came as a shock to him.

When they did finally meet, finally exchange contact information, Carlos wasn't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed that Cecil didn't reach out first. He always waited for Carlos to contact him first. Carlos always chickened out, though, and made the conversation about science – asking Cecil about strange phenomena, passing along new discoveries, getting him to spread the news to his listeners. Cecil never seemed upset when Carlos turned down the offer of getting more personal.

No matter how badly he's wanted to.

Carlos took to listening to Cecil's show on the daily. At first, he listened while he worked in his lab, but before long, he started using Cecil's opener as a signal that it was time to start winding down for the day, or at least take a break. He told himself it was good sense; the show starts at the same time every day, and it keeps him from losing track of time while wrapped up in an experiment. It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that he can't concentrate properly while listening to Cecil's voice. It's certainly not that. And the fact that, when he does have to be out of the lab or working when Cecil's show starts, he records it to listen to later isn't anything to write home about either. Cecil is a good reporter, with his finger on the town's pulse. He doesn't editorialize – much – and always warns the listeners before he does. It's sensible for Carlos to want to be sure he gets Cecil's news reports, when he can. It's certainly not that he just likes hearing him.

He's learned a lot about the man over the past year, mostly from listening to the radio but also from their too-brief interactions. Cecil is smart, and funny, and kind. He's a real animal lover – he was never exactly a cat person, or so he avers, but the sight of him cooing over Khoshekh, the hovering cat in the Night Vale Community Radio Station's men's restroom, did funny things to Carlos's insides the first time he saw it, and his sheer delight when the cat produced a litter of kittens made Carlos smile so broadly it hurt. (Carlos would have adopted one of those kittens if he hadn't been allergic. He almost adopted one anyway, just for the excuse to go to the station and see Cecil, but again, he chickened out at the last minute.) He cares about his community, and the individuals in it...for the most part. His utter hatred of Steve Carlsburg is kind of amusing, actually, but for all that, Carlos politely avoids the man whenever he sees him. Cecil is – was – right about the so-called Apache Tracker, at least.

For all he's tried to keep his distance, there have been a few moments he almost broke. The sandstorm, for instance. Carlos remembers hunkering down in a well-protected area of the house he rented, listening to both the wind outside and the calm, soothing sound of Cecil's voice. He wasn't worried. He trusted Cecil when he gave instructions to keep safe, trusted him when he said that they could coexist with their doubles if they appeared. He wasn't worried until Cecil described a vortex forming on the wall of his studio. Carlos didn't even have time to reach for his phone to text Cecil, to warn him not to touch it, before Cecil leaped through it...apparently.

And then the voice that came on was not Cecil's, but someone else, and Carlos's stomach dropped to his shoes even as his heart leaped to his throat. Cecil was gone, replaced by this...other, this high-pitched, vaguely creepy-voiced individual. Carlos held his breath as he realized that, unlike everyone else in town who met their double – whose double appeared in the same place as them – Cecil had traded places with his double, a man with a different name and different voice who seemed lost and confused. Thank God the vortex was still there, and the man went back through it...but when he described Cecil's desk as strangely bloodless, Carlos panicked anew. He nearly sobbed with relief when he heard Cecil's voice once more, following the weather, and only barely stopped himself from running to the radio station and wrapping him up in a hug.

But when he called Cecil later, intending to tell him how thankful he was that he was okay and that he had come back safe, he chickened out again and kept it impersonal, kept it to science. Cecil, sweet Cecil, let him lead the conversation, and didn't seem upset when Carlos panicked again and turned him down when he suggested getting more personal even though there was nothing Carlos wanted more.

Carlos is still trying to convince himself that the only reason he didn't send the poems he wrote for Night Vale Poetry Week to the radio station is because they are bad, or because they don't really seem to carry the same spirit as the poems Cecil read over the airwaves. Carlos is not a poet. He's a scientist. But he tried his hand at it anyway, just for grins and giggles. His left hand, to be specific, because Carlos is ambidextrous and for some reason that sort of thing comes easier when he uses his left hand and not his right. There is probably a scientific explanation for that, but Carlos has never been interested in experimenting on himself and he's not even sure what he would be able to test. Anyway, he tried his hand at writing poetry and found, in the early light of dawn, that he had filled an entire notebook. But when he realized what they were about, he hastily shoved the notebook into a drawer and tried to forget about it. He can't show those to anyone. Can't send them to the radio station. Can't send them to Cecil. Even if he sends them anonymously, even if he disguises his handwriting. Cecil doesn't need to see those words before Carlos has the courage to say them out loud.

He thought he was going to. He had it planned. Cecil invited him, he said, to a special ceremony, something about a one-year anniversary. Carlos was going to go, assuming it was a community thing, and pull Cecil aside and finally tell him how he felt. But then Teddy Williams announced the army from below Lane Five was imminent, and Carlos let his scientific curiosity get the better of him and went to the alley to investigate. He figured he'd have plenty of time. Maybe he'd text Cecil and ask him to save him, Carlos, a seat at...whatever ceremony it was they were supposed to be going to. He set up his equipment to record Cecil's show and went to the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex.

Which brings him to now.

Carlos died. He doesn't need to run tests, or question logic, or anything like that. This is Night Vale and honestly this is one of the least inexplicable things that's happened since he got here. He had just finished demonstrating to Teddy Williams, his militia, and the disgruntled bowling party that the invaders were tiny and the pit only ten feet deep, that they were worrying over what was, broadly speaking, nothing, when he felt the first shot hit him. And then the second, and then the third, and then there were too many to feel where one ended and the next began.

And then there was darkness.

And then there was...not darkness. There was, instead, fluorescent lights and overworked machinery and neon industrial-loop carpet, and if he was looking into the face of God then God looked a hell of a lot like Teddy Williams, and if he was still dead it sure hurt a hell of a lot. But Teddy Williams – who was apparently a doctor, and Carlos' brain just accepted that because why wouldn't he be – assured him he was going to be okay. That he would live. That he did live.

He does live.

Carlos wandered out into the gathering twilight of Night Vale and lifted his phone with shaking fingers and sent a text to Cecil. It was only after he sent it that he realized Cecil's show was still going on, and he wouldn't get an answer for a while. But barely had he perched himself on the trunk of his car to wait than Cecil arrived in the Arby's parking lot, his beautiful face pale and drawn, his lovely eyes wide and bright and suspiciously wet, and his smile uncertain and hopeful.

Carlos couldn't quite bring himself to say everything. That the world was off-balance and he needed Cecil to stabilize it again. That he had been scared, more scared than he had been in a long time, and he needed Cecil nearby to make him feel safe again. That somehow, in the year he's been in Night Vale, Cecil has become safety, has become security, has become home. But he did allow himself to tell Cecil that he hadn't texted him about science, that he just wanted to see Cecil, and Cecil sat next to him and let Carlos rest a hand on his leg while he leaned against Carlos' shoulder, and they watched the light in the sky above the Arby's together, until Cecil had to go back to the station because the weather would be over and he had to finish out his show, and Carlos understood and let him go to be the beacon in the dark for all the lost souls, not just Carlos. He thought, for just a brief, shining moment, that they were getting somewhere.

And now, here he is, a month later, pacing around his living room and trying to convince himself to just call already.

They've interacted a bit since then, more or less back to the way it was before Carlos' near-death experience. Cecil still smiles, still sounds hopeful when Carlos calls, but he doesn't push when Carlos, inevitably, backs down from his firm intention, or at least semisolid intention, and insists it's not a personal call. He resorted to making something up off the top of his head last week because he couldn't actually come up with something he needed more information on or needed Cecil to warn his listeners about, not that Cecil seemed to notice. It's getting ridiculous, even more ridiculous than it was before.

There's no reason to be afraid. It's not even that big of a step. Why can't he take it?

It occurs to Carlos that he hasn't listened to the last recording he made, the one of the show Cecil was giving while Carlos was busy being an idiot. He wants to hear Cecil's voice, and there's still time before his show tonight, so it can't hurt to listen to it now, right?

Sure. Can't hurt at all.

Carlos presses play and sits down to listen. It's fairly typical for one of Cecil's broadcasts, and heat floods Carlos' cheeks when he realizes that Cecil planned the anniversary ceremony himself, that it was meant to be for Carlos, and he squirms a little with guilt over not going right away. He lets Cecil's voice, gentle and soothing and warm, flow over him like a blanket and tries to forget the middle of the story, because even if it has a happy ending it had a truly terrifying middle. At least for Carlos.

It's not until Cecil comes back from a short break that Carlos realizes it must have been terrifying for him, too.

Listening to Cecil's voice as he struggles to stay calm and professional, struggles to report on what happened beneath Lane Five, Carlos feels his breath catch in his throat and his chest tighten. He remembers wishing Cecil could have been there when he...and he can't decide now if he still wishes he was there. If it would have made things better for either of them if Cecil could have held him...or made things worse. The way Cecil's voice breaks, the heartbroken sob as he cuts to a public service announcement, brings tears to Carlos' eyes too.

He suddenly understands. He understands the expression on Cecil's face, the pallor and the wetness, when he arrived at the Arby's parking lot. He understands the way he seemed to sink into Carlos' side when they sat on his car. He understands the gentle slide of Cecil's fingers over Carlos' hand as he – reluctantly – pulled away. He understands the added brightness in Cecil's voice every time Carlos calls him.

And he knows.

As soon as Cecil signs off on the show's recording, Carlos reaches for his phone. It's early enough – Cecil won't be at the station yet, or if he is, he at least won't be on the air yet. It's now or never, and after listening to that, Carlos can't – won't – accept never as an option.

The phone rings, once, twice. Cecil answers, his voice bright and warm and excited, the way it always is when he answers, the way Carlos doesn't think he actually answers the phone for anybody else. He almost chickens out again, but the memory of that small sob stops him. Taking a deep breath, he says the six words that will change the course of the rest of his life.

“I am calling for personal reasons.”

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #cecil/carlos #yes I know I'm eight years late to the party #sue me #ollie writes fanfic

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liluyes · 4 years

Photo

LILUYE NARVAEZ ( SIVAN ALYRA ROSE ) is a 18 year old SENIOR student at Broadripple Academy. THEY are originally from FLORENCE, AZ but moved to Broadripple 4 YEARS ago. THEY are INTUITIVE and EMPATHETIC but can also be VAGUE and IDEALISTIC. –– penned by sam / 23 / aest / she/her

BASICS

Name: Liluye Narvaez

Nickname: Lu-ye, Lu

Age: Eighteen

Grade: Senior

House: Fenwick

Cabin Room: Senior Cabin Room 5

How long have they been at Broadripple: technically four years but spent their junior year interstate in Florida for Track

Where are they from originally: Florence, Arizona

Extra curricular: Cross Country, Track, and Soccer

lil note: i will probs be sticking entirely to they/them pronouns for liluye because that’s easier for me but sivan uses she and they, therefore liluye’s pronouns are also she and they

TRAITS

Positive Personality Traits: intuitive, empathetic, trusting, loyal, kind-hearted, adaptable, passionate

Negative Personality Traits: vague, idealistic, meek, closed-off, loner, brittle, dishonest

FACTS

when they were young, liluye would never have pictured a place like broadripple being a part of their life. they grew up in the deserts of arizona, living between the outskirts of phoenix and the san carlos apache indian reservation, between two family homes. the thick forests of rural massachusetts felt like an entire world away, something they might never see.

they were always an active child, always moving. either to something or away from. and they thrived in a team, really the only way an otherwise shy child ever made any friends. they tried out all sorts of sports but nothing ever really compared to running. they loved to stretch their long limbs out on different trails and feel the wind through their hair.

when they were nine they pulled their track and field team through multiple meets, and realised what a focus in athletics could do for them. it quickly took over their life, rising early and going to bed late each day to train and study. and they started to feel alone, solitary in that focus. a feeling that is still stuck with them, even though they’re just about twice as old now

they attended a private middle school in phoenix for grade eight and there liluye and their family were encouraged to apply for athletic scholarships to private schools for high school. and so they did. and that’s how broadripple came into the picture. liluye didn’t want to move so far away, not from their home or their family or the very few friends they had. but broadripple offered a full scholarship for all four years, and connections to universities that they could only dream of from claypool az.

so they shipped themselves across the country for school, feeling like a total outsider and completely out of their depth so far from home. during their freshman and sophomore years they tried their hand in just about every extra curricular, trying to find a crowd they could relate to. friends like they saw everyone else making. but they struggled. shyness and unintentional coldness preventing those solid connections from forming

eventually, they stopped trying so hard. refocused their energy on what they knew they were good at and why they were there in the first place. sports, athleticism. those were simple. they could understand those far easier than they would ever understand their classmates.

they have just spent the past year in florida on a sports exchange, only just returning to broadripple when they were sent to the retreat

HEADCANONS

they try to live very very minimally. part of the reason for that is they are so far from home. carting things back and forth quickly becomes a hassle if they have too much. they dont want to be too attached to anything material at broadripple or arizona, so they keep their belongings to an absolute minimum that way the things they are attached to can always travel with them. the only thing they keep that is not especially minimal is a small decorative box of keepsakes.

back in florence they have a pair of pet rats, both females and affectionately named alex and piper (after alex vause and piper chapman from orange is the new black ....... liluye is garbage u heard it here first) – they share them with their younger brother which very much eases the pain of leaving them behind for most of the year. when they facetime, a huge portion of it is their brother giving updates on their rats.

they’re an avid podcast listener, but they have an absolutely awful habit of pressing play and then not listening to a single word. more often than they would like to admit they just like the sound, using it as background noise. they’d really like to focus more on it, and actually listen to every word, but it’s hard to turn off

they struggle to make and keep friends, they always have. over time a soft childhood shyness became unintentionally harder, more cold. it’s defensive, thinking if they are soft but also such a loner, people will think something is wrong with them. and while liluye can’t say for certain whether or not something is wrong with them, they’d rather people think they’re alone because they choose it. just below the surface they are warm, kind, friendly, and whenever given the opportunity those traits show themselves

QUESTIONS ABOUT THE RETREAT

What do they think about The Retreat? the place itself? liluye thinks its super fucking weird. doesn’t like the energy of it one bit. they dont mind the forest, before retreat they ran through lorehill trying to improve their trail running instinct and sense of direction. but there’s something different about the retreat, they feel as though they’re being watched there in a way they cant quite explain.

Do they have any previous experience with camping or other outdoors? yes but in arizona, camping and being outdoors in general in massachusetts is incredibly different. but that being said they dont really think the retreat is “camping”. there’s cabins, tables, a functioning toilet, a bus to and from campus? yeah, it’s not really camping and it’s really not that bad apart from the creepy vibe.

What does their cabin bunk look like? How will they decorate their space? as mentioned in headcanons, they are very minimalist or at least try to be. and their space in the cabin reflects that. they have an orange and white crocheted blanket over their bed. a small poster of the claypool rock tunnel (a4 size) and an old sun tarot card stuck to the wall over their bed. besides those things, their stuff is kept neatly in their suitcase and backpack and as much out of the way as it can be in the cramped space.

Do they believe in the supernatural? To what degree? yes, they do believe but it’s not something they talk about a lot. in fact, they probably actively avoid talking about supernatural things. they don’t like to invite any sort of negativity into their life and they fear disrespecting the spirits by discussing them. they’d rather a quiet and respectful relationship with the things they don’t quite understand.

Are they easily spooked? not really. at least not in a way that is obvious to others. a quickened heart rate, becoming more aware of their surroundings, those sort of things would happen if they were scared but overall, no. it takes a lot to genuinely frighten them.

AND FINALLY,

A very dumb but (hopefully) fun quiz made by your admins, please share what result you got

liluye got “you will sacrifice yourself for someone else” which probably dumbass

#retreat:intro #( about. )

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descendantofthesparrow · 5 years

Text

Daughter of the Honorable Thief - Harry Hook x reader - part 6

Harry Hook x Daughter of Robin Hood!Reader

key

h/c- hair color

e/c- eye color

h/l- hair length

s/c- skin color

y/n- your name

clothing reference:

---(y/n) POV---

Ahhh, lunchtime, one your favorite times of the day. Breathing deeply through your nose as you entered the cafeteria, your eye caught the baked macaroni and cheese, just calling your name, along with the cornbread and chicken legs near it.

Oh!! (favorite beverage) sounded good too.

Erza skipped next to you, babbling about what she was going to eat. “im in the mood for something strawberry~ oh!!! Strawberry shortcake yum!!”

You snorted at her antics, “erza, real food before dessert, remember?”

Erza pouted before nodding, following you into the line of meals, glancing wistfully to the desert line. You rolled your eyes, patting her shoulder “don’t worry erza, it'll still be there when you're finished.”

The amber-eyed girl huffed, following your lead of the food choices, mac&cheese, cornbread, but getting sliced mutton thigh instead of chicken.

You turned, looking around for seats, before spotting gil waving you over, you smiled, bumping Erza then making your way over to the corner table.

“Hey guys” you cheered, sitting next to harry, erza plopping next to Uma, “ hows it going?”

Uma hummed, dipping a fry in her ranch, tossing it in her mouth. She shrugged, not really having anything to say.

“notin mush” she talked through her food, you snickered, the teal haired girl blushed and swallowed her food “hated goodness class though, it's nauseating.”

Erza snorted, “I would think so, I full hour stuff with FG and her baby talk? Just kill me now”

Uma sorted, looking down at her food. Erza wiggled her brows at you, you huffed and tossed a crumb of cornbread at her.

“Ewwww?!?! What the fuck!?!?!” Mals voice screeched, across the mess hall, Uma, gil, and harry jumped when she screamed and turned, seeing mal making a disgusted face at her oreos. You and Erza glanced at each other, before covering your mouths to prevent Mal hearing you laugh.

Harry blinked, surprised, what the heck? Glancing at Uma, he raised his brow, confused.

“Uma?” he mumbled “wha’ the hell is goin on?” Uma snicked, finally realizing what happened.

“(y/n) and Erza played more than one prank” Uma whispered, not wanting Mal to figure out anything or accuse her of the pranks.

“they also replaced the filling in Mals oreos with blended up baby wipe jelly beans~”

Harry was lucky he wasn’t drinking anything because if he was it would have squirted out of his nose, he snorted loudly, luckily not loud enough to overpower Mals screeching.

Uma reached under the table and low fived you, grinning as Harry began to wheeze. Gil was biting his lip to stifle his laughter, and you giggled, glad they enjoyed your prank so much.

“well,” Uma smirked looking at her boys, “I think that’s a good enough prank for her to be into our group, right boys?”

Harry was still wheezing, so he just gave a thumbs-up as tears ran down his face. Gil nodded, you would be a great addition to the group, you were fun!!

“thank you~” you hummed, taking a sip of your (favorite beverage), eyeing Evie as she turned to look at Harry confused, she raised a brow at you, you just shrugged, the blue-haired girl huffed and turned back to her food.

“what the hell happened’ and why is Harry wheezing?” Harriet had arrived, and she is baffled by Harry's laughter, raising her brows at her little brother.

Uma snorted, shaking her head, “Mal got pranked” Harriet nodded, slapping her bother on the back, she made her way to the food lines.

Harry finally regained his breath, “I’ve said this once and I’ll say it again, lassie, yeh just keep surprising meh”

You giggled and gave a small mock bow, seeing Harriet returning and sliding to the side slightly for her to sit.

Harriet hummed thanks and glanced around the table, raising her brow at Erza.

“who are yeh?” Erza’s eye twinkled and she leaned forward towards Harriet, you rolled your eyes, dear god erza is such a disaster lesbian.

“me~? Erza, Erza Scarlet, pleasure ta meet ya.” Erza gave a flirty grin and Harriet huffed through her nose, looking down at her food.

“sorry lassie, I got meh eye on another lass”

Erza pouted but leaned back, respectful of Harriet.

You turned to look at Uma, seeing her glance between Harriet and Erza. She locked eyes with you confused.

Ah, she's confused by Erza’s obvious gayness. “Erza’s gay, she's known that since we were kids, big ol gay crush on wonder woman as soon as she saw her”

Erza turned to you, unbothered by your easygoing outing of her sexuality as she had given you permission to do so before, “bitch don’t lie and say you didn’t have a crush on her either, you literally said you want her to crush you between her thighs”

“I’m not denying that” you teased, still grinning “I’m just saying that she was your sexual awakening”

“true true” erza nodded, Uma looked at her boys shocked, they looked back, shocked as well, they didn’t know sexuality was not really bothered with, accepted without a thought, they thought it would be like the isle.

“well,” Uma coughed, gaining yours and Erzas attention. “since we seem to be announcing our sexuality, I feel like I need to get this off my chest” you quickly interrupted, not wanting Uma to feel pressured.

“ you don’t have too, Erza and I are just comfortable with ours and pretty much everyone at the school is chill with that kinda stuff, but you don’t have to feel obligated to share your sexuality, that’s your business, your privacy.” Erza nodded rapidly, wholeheartedly agreeing with you

Uma stayed silent for a moment, glancing at her boys.

“well,” she mumbled, your mini-speech actually making her want to tell you guys even more “im okay with telling yall, as you seem to be people I can trust with it.”

You nodded, Erza grinning along, Uma softly smiled, Harry and Gil following her lead

“um alright okay…” Uma took a deep breath “Im Bi”

“sweet” you grinned, making Uma’s shoulders relax “im demi”

Uma raised her brow, “what does demi mean?”

“oh!” you didn’t know that on the isle, there were few known sexualities on the isle, I mean they were known, just not by the VKs “demi is the shortened term of demisexual, its when a person who does not experience sexual attraction unless they form a strong emotional connection with someone.”

“ah” Uma hummed, that made sense

“I think im demi too them” Gil spoke through his fries “I've never really been super attracted to somebody till I've known them for a while”

You hummed “well if you don’t know then you don’t know, there are lots of people who don’t know where they are on the spectrum and that’s okay, you don’t need a label for what you feel”

Gil brightened, wow you gave really good pep talks.

“im pan” Harry blurted, blushing slightly as you giggled, Erza joining you “wha’? why yeh laughing?”

“be-because,” you snickered “because you must have a fucking time with being attracted to anyone regardless of gender!”

Uma groaned, along with Harriet, “Oh my fucking god you don’t know the half of it!!! He's such a fucking disaster!!! He flirts with anything and everything that moves!!!”

Harry was turning scarlet, slamming his head on the table, covering his face with his arms. “oh really~?” you laughed, feeling slightly bad for Harry.

“yeah,” Uma groaned, “he's flirted with Carlos, evie, jane, Audrey, ben, everyone!!!” you burst out cackling but calmed down quickly when you saw Harry glaring at Uma.

“sorry” you coughed, Harry just nodded pouting, face still red. Uma was about to go on but you flicked her shoulder, causing her to realize she was making harry slightly uncomfortable.

“oh, sorry har” Harry just hummed, his face finally cooling down. “Is alright’ “

“well” Harriet hummed, stealing one of Harrys apple slices, he growled and swiped at her, she just snickered and brushed him off.

“That was an interesting conversation, but I’d rather we stop talking about Harrys fanatics and just go back to normal conversations”

The rest of the group agreed and continued on talking. From classes to sword-fighting styles, the six of you were quickly gaining a bond.

Then the bell rang

“well,” you stood, gathering up your tray, Erza following your lead, “time for the next class, see you later guys”

The four pirate teens nodded, standing as well and tossing their trash away.

You bumped fists with Uma and walked off with erza at your side.

“sooo~” Erza hummed, a shit-eating grin on her face “Uma's bi~”

“yep” you mumbled, tapping on your phone, texting your mother. “that means you have a chance, don’t fuck it up”

“I won't I won't”

“that’s what you said last time when we were taking the history test, and look at your score, 25 out of 100”

“fuck off hood!!!”

---end of part 6---

Comment or message me for part 7

#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #x reader #dotht #daughter of the honorable thief #daughter of robin hood #erza scarlet ohara

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weaverlings · 5 years

Text

Time Works

Poorly, or not at all. Like love. Unscientifically. In mysterious ways, mostly.

Night Vale has changed, whether or not its citizens know.

god idk I did this all at once tonight because I’m emotional?? about tomorrow?? year 8 yeah okay!!!!!!

this is extremely post episode 150, 100% pure hypothetical but I had fun playing with some concepts

content note for anxiety, accidental pregnancy, alcohol, spiders

AO3 Link

- - - - - -

Three o'clock in the morning. That meant something now.

Time, lost sleep, sweat, dreams. All soaked into the sheets. It felt like the AC was off for some reason. Why would the AC be off? It was not Pioneer Day again, yet. The clock was still on, red digits leaking onto Cecil's lacquered night stand.

Three-oh-one, now. His shirt was damp against his back. His arm was trapped under Carlos' back, so he couldn't really roll over to see the clock. He could only lie there, and glance at it, and not fall back asleep. He tried to ease his arm free, as Carlos' warmth had broken into the heat of deep sleep, the heat of a summer night that contradicted every lecture on desert safety and survival from his boy scout days.

Almost forty years ago now. That meant something.

Carlos made a sound. An abrupt sigh, a heavy breath. His lungs catching up with the rest of him. Cecil thought that this meant he had not been gentle enough, although Carlos would not have understood it that way.

"Ceec?"

"It's nothing. Go back to sleep."

"Mmm? Mmm-no, hold on..." Carlos protested, and rolled onto his side.

Cecil caught Carlos' hand as it slipped over his stomach. He squeezed, kissed Carlos' knuckles, and then, delicately, tucked his husband's hand between them so that he could sit up. He whispered, "I just need a drink of water."

He closed the bathroom door behind him, and thought, this is what mirrors are for, and his heart quivered in his throat, but his thoughts were running away from him now, his thoughts were heat-haze-

This is a moment that belongs to a mirror, I should lean on the countertop, and I should look, look in and really see-

He did not touch the black drape. It hung, still and opaque. His heartbeat throbbed in his skull, rushing in his ears, eating into his perception of space. He did want some water. That had been true, still was. He had frightened himself now, and if he grabbed the tap, then his knuckles might brush the cloth behind it. He might touch the mirror. Well, he couldn't, but he might come as close as he could.

Nearly forty-five years ago, his mother had warned him. She had looked into his eyes, and he had looked back, wide, grinning, knowing only the attention of someone who loved him. She had looked into his eyes, until he giggled, but she had never laughed.

That meant something now. He had been too young to understand then, but he had broken the moment. A moment, a mirror. And he was old enough to understand now, it hadn't been his fault.

He just, he needed some water. That was all. He reached for his glass by the sink, a novelty glass with fading paint: S my's Ultima lic ria. Half the S was gone, too, worn away by his thumb over the years. There was a knock on the door. He dropped the glass.

It shattered.

The door opened. The glass shattered under the sharp, orange light, and now what had been maybe three-quarters of a pizza slice were fragments of cartoon eyeballs on fragments of lumpy yellow background.

Carlos leaned in through the doorway, speaking past a hand over his mouth. "Aww, honey! Are you okay? Oh, I'm so sorry, I know that glass was your favorite, I didn't mean-"

"I know," Cecil said, too quickly. He reached out over the shards. Carlos took his hand tightly, and Cecil's pulse softened, or at least, throbbed less behind his eyes. And then Carlos let go, and blew Cecil an apologetic kiss.

Carlos said, "I'll go grab a broom. And some slippers. Closed-toed footwear is very important for safety. So you stay right where you are until I've got some, okay? Don't move!"

Cecil did move, but it was to lean back and brace himself against the counter. It had been around ten minutes, probably. Three-eleven in the morning. That meant he was never getting his glass back. It had lasted him over thirty-five years. He felt something pulling in his chest, testing the connection between his heart and its vessels.

He would just have to find a new one.

------

The house was quiet without Roger.

The house was quiet with Roger, but it was a different kind of quiet. There were ripples: traffic through the open window. The humming fridge. The sound of the traffic coming in through the open window tearing out the doorway that he had thoughtfully left open for them. But otherwise, the quiet had settled, with no young voice to ask Earl about lunch, or to drive him to meet his friends in the sand wastes.

Roger was at his mother's. Roger's mother had once been Earl's girlfriend, and now they had a custody agreement. It was all amicable.

What had happened was this: Earl had been nineteen for exactly one year. During that year, he had dated a young woman, and they had sex. They used birth control. It worked. They'd graduated college and gone their separate ways. Several years later, after Earl had established himself in an upscale kitchen, they tried again as adults. As independent adults, anyway.

They had sex. They used birth control. It failed. They talked about what to do - if they wanted to let the pregnancy become a child. If she wanted that, most importantly.

She did. And then, they did. They had decent means and familial support. They could make their life work with a child in it, they thought. They turned out to be wrong. They could not make their life work at all, but, in the end, they had made their lives work with a child in it. They were better co-parents than partners.

It was all perfectly amicable, as long as they both remembered that the other existed. It had been that way for as long as Earl remembered now, too. Their lawyers had both had a lot to say to him, regarding the fact that he had picked Roger up for the school year a few years back and never returned.

But there had been a custody agreement, and Earl had always adhered to it perfectly. Hadn't he? He'd asked Roger's mother. Didn't she remember all the time she had spent with their son over the years?

She did. No one asked Roger what he remembered. Earl didn't ask, because he couldn't bear to. He couldn't guess his co-parent's motivation, and it was better not to try. Better to just leave things as amicable.

The Faceless Old Woman had been disappointed by just how amicable it was. She'd wanted some drama. Humans were good at drama, but all that had happened was this: Roger's mother rang the doorbell. Earl clapped his son on the shoulder and asked if he had everything. Roger nodded silently and shrugged his duffel bag up on his shoulder, and he left without saying anything.

The house was usually quiet, even with Roger.

But there was texture, or tension, or there was something, anyway. The Faceless Old Woman had opened the window to let the traffic in as a kind of protest, and to disrupt the specific quiet that settled over the house. Earl closed the window before he left, so that he could lock the door on his way out.

He was an adult with a social life, and time to spend. He had plans that afternoon with an old friend and his husband. They would provide the groceries, the knives, and some labor, because cooking together could be a joyful labor as long as no one was paying you to do it. He would provide the rest of the labor, and his choice of wine.

Several hours later, there was a roast in Cecil and Carlos' oven, gleaming with lead-free glaze that Earl had brushed on just so. Potatoes topped with pencil shaving crust and casserole dish of green beans waited in the warming drawer underneath. The bottle of wine was down about halfway, although not all of that had actually been drunk yet. All three men were feeling pleasant and companionable, not watching a movie while they waited for the roast to finish.

Carlos volunteered to get up to check on it. It took him a minute and three kisses to untangle himself from his husband.

"So, how are things back at your place?" Cecil asked, draped over the armrest of the couch to face Earl. "Enjoying some peace and quiet?"

Earl sipped. He said, "It's quiet."

Cecil straightened. "But you're not enjoying it?"

"Well, I'm not… not enjoying it. But it's different. It's like, I'd just gotten used to things being one way, and now it's another…"

"Oh, yeah, I totally know what you-"

"But that's not true, either. It's been like this for a long time. I mean, I've shared custody of Roger for… for most of my adult life."

"Well, of course. But that doesn't mean it can't be tough," Cecil offered sympathetically.

"Of course?"

"Well… Yeah. Yeah, of course?"

"No. Not of course. Because it's new, isn't it? It's always been this way, but not for long."

Cecil was silent. Cecil was watching the movie, Earl realized.

Earl leaned forward in his chair. "You know what I mean, right? Don't you, Cecil? I can't… That's the only way I can describe it, but you… How would you describe it?"

Cecil picked up his glass, but did not drink. He twirled it between his fingers, and closed his eyes. "I wouldn't. I wouldn't describe it, Earl."

"But that's what you do, right?"

Cecil treated him to an odd half-smile, as if there had ever been a normal one. Here, he saw an out. "Actually, that's more Carlos' territory. I'm just a humble reporter."

"Oh, really?" Earl looked over Cecil's shoulder, as Carlos came back into the room. Cecil looked behind him, and then to Earl again, shaking his head minutely. Earl hesitated as Carlos came around to take his seat. In the end, he took a gulp of his own wine and caught Cecil's eye defiantly. "Hey, Carlos. What do you think?"

Carlos nodded, and began ticking off items on his fingers. "The roast isn't done yet. The sky is a perfect, cloudless blue, and how often does that happen? I'm pretty worried about it. This movie has a lot of scientific inaccuracies, so maybe we could try another?"

Carlos had not heard what they were talking about.

Earl said, "Uh, sure! But that's not what I meant. I meant, what do you think about the fact that, things haven't been the way they've always been for long."

"Always is a fallacy."

"He's right, you know," Cecil marvelled, and kissed Carlos' cheek. "My brilliant scientist…"

"Okay, fine. But, like… Things have been this way for a while. You know, just things. Life. Except, actually, it's been… two months, at most. No. Almost a month and a half."

Carlos took stock of his current sensory input. He could see Earl, still forward in his seat, eager in an almost biting way. He could also feel his husband, the body pressed against his, the fingers wrapped tight around his shoulder.

"I haven't studied that yet, so it would be irresponsible of me to say," Carlos said carefully. "But I think that I like how things are now. I think that maybe I'll study it, but I'd rather enjoy this state of being, this... right now, you know? Than pick it apart."

"I think this is far more entertaining than the movie," the Faceless Old Woman who secretly lived in their home crooned from somewhere above the couch. "But lay off on the insect treatments, okay? I'm running out of snacks."

She was just glad they hadn't gone to a restaurant, or somewhere that was not a home. She'd hoped to keep tabs on the fidgety one, the one who was a mass of sloshing darkness inside, and she could do that just fine here. She could do that in all homes at once. Time had never been her problem.

------

Maureen still lived with her parents, so she joined Michelle at her apartment after work most nights. It was a small place, capturing perfectly the idea of bare bones. Most of the decor that there was, was skull themed. Skull-patterned cushions on a built-it-yourself couch. Skull-patterned bedding.

All the mugs were just skulls with the jaws removed. There were mostly mugs in the kitchen. One plate, a scattering of forks, and Michelle hadn't even filled the hot milk drawer yet. That was millennial life: a floating existence, easy to uproot. She'd have a hot milk drawer one day, if she ever settled down.

Maybe it would be their hot milk drawer. That'd be nice, they both thought, but they didn't know how to approach such a personal subject with each other yet. So they kept bouncing on Michelle's carpet. They were recording a hopcore album together. That was a subject they could handle.

They could also handle the neighbors below them, who were throwing shoes and rocks and occasionally fruit at their ceiling to express their displeasure. Maureen had brought over a tube of wolf spider insulation that night. She had poured it down the vents, and then super-glued the vents shut.

It'd take a few days, Maureen promised, but soon they'd have a lot less editing to do. Maureen was pretty good at editing - she'd had a lot of experiencing working with auditory media, which was exactly why she hated it. So Michelle handled that, but Maureen didn't mind pitching in to lighten the load.

Michelle wouldn't have minded, either way. She liked editing what they made together. She heard it more closely than anyone that way, even Maureen herself. She'd select a tiny clip of their breathing and loop it, under a second, again and again and again and. Until it had been several seconds, and then she pressed delete, and their breathing was gone forever.

Michelle didn't know how to feel about that, but it curdled in her chest, and as long as Maureen stayed with her, she'd have time to figure things out.

They'd just kind of been doing this. Michelle had just locked up the shop, like always, when her phone buzzed. It was Maureen, asking if Michelle wanted to hang. Michelle did, and invited Maureen over. Michelle had gone home, like always, just letting her feet deal with the problem of navigation.

And then, like always, Maureen had been waiting by the door to the apartment.

It had never happened before, and one day, Maureen would have a key, and also not live with her parents anymore. But until that day, meeting Maureen outside was what it meant to come home.

------

The bleachers of the Night Vale High School gymnasium were mostly empty. The Night Vale High wheelchair basketball team was in its off-season, but they were holding a scrimmage that day to stay sharp. It wasn't something that demanded any audience, but it had one. A loose collection of bored siblings tagging along with supportive parents. A few peers trying to look bored, like they were only here for want of anything else to do, although they obviously had crushes on team members.

Cecil, Carlos, Steve, and Abby sat together in the front row. Steve, as assistant coach, occasionally called out encouragement, or a suggestion here and there. Cecil, as a doting uncle, did the same. Whenever a husband jumped up to offer their input, Abby and Carlos, leaning back on the bleachers, shared a smile.

Congratulations were in order after the game, of course. Janice high-fived her parents and uncles before heading to the locker room. Carlos volunteered to grab some snacks from the vending machine; it was still early and warm, and the gators would be too busy sunning themselves by the doors to be an effective barrier.

Abby left to bring the car around, in part just because she could, just to enjoy the knowledge that she could leave her husband and brother in the same room, and no one would get hurt.

"Hard to believe she's gonna be graduating in a year." Steve shook his head. "They grow up so fast."

Cecil was actually silent as they left the gym. "Oh, god! She is. Wow. Well, she's growing into a great young woman."

"Uh-huh. She's got a lot of great people to look up to. Her mother's a real winner. And her uncles aren't half-bad, either." Steve chuckled. He often did this.

"Yes, well. Her dad is also… a good guy." Cecil said, after clearing his throat. Steve often chuckled, and this still annoyed him. God, it was so annoying. But Steve was a good guy, and more importantly: "A really solid dad, yup."

"We do the best we can with the time we've got. Just gotta hope it's enough."

"Is it ever?"

The hallway was empty, choked with the absence of students and teachers. Their steps echoed off the lockers.

Steve got the point. "No. I guess not."

Cecil thought about Janice. She had grown and changed so much. That was what childhood was. There was no stillness in childhood. She was hurtling, always, at speeds that would have made him sick now. He had done the same thing, but.

It just all felt impossible. He'd been a community radio show host since before she was even born, and he would stay that way until someone pried the microphone from his cold, dead hands. Probably, this would happen literally. That was exactly what he wanted.

It had been what he wanted, once. He had been a community radio show host for twenty-five years, and yes, he would stay that way. So, nothing changed. Or, everything did, and he couldn't understand or follow along in any meaningful way. He just reported on it.

Soon, his niece would be graduating high school. But he would still be a radio host. His purpose would not change. His identity would not change. There was something in his chest, pulling. Something testing the connection between his heart and its vessels.

He could just say: nothing will change. This is how it is , until that was true.

"Hey, are you doing okay? You're pretty quiet."

"What?" And then, realizing the question left a gap Cecil did not want to fill, he said, "Uh, yeah, I'm fine."

"Okay. You're just not usually quiet."

"I am perfectly capable of being quiet, Steve."

He was. He could be quiet. Sometimes, he even liked it. Curled up on the couch next to his husband, Carlos pressing idle kisses over his collarbone, his head tipped up to invite them. Quiet in the middle of a movie, or when they read on their phones before bed.

Quiet at the dinner table, as he and Carlos delighted in Earl's cooking too much to compliment it right away.

Quiet listening to Michelle's newest apiary arrangement, which she most certainly did not want his old-fashioned opinion of.

Quiet, rapt in the audience of Janice's third ballet fight, the last before she'd given it up for basketball captaincy.

And even in his studio, waiting for the weather to finish.

They left the high school, and stepped into the bright afternoon. Carlos was already waiting outside with packages of gator jerky and orange juice. Cecil took some snacks, mostly to free his husband's hand for holding. He kissed Carlos on the cheek, and thought, I want this , so he kissed Carlos again, and then Carlos kissed him, and that frantic pull in his chest snapped. There was something spreading inside of him, a liquid sensation like internal bleeding, but freeing.

His identity would not change, nor would it be limited. He could be a radio host, and not only that. With time, he would learn what else.

------

Cecil cleared their table at Big Rico's while Carlos settled the check. When the scientist came back, he set down something new. It was a novelty glass. The paint was crisp and bright. The motto, "No one does a slice like Big Rico. No one," was printed on it, where Big Rico was written in the logo font.

"Here, babe. I got this for you."

"Ooh, Carlos! I love it, aw! Thank you!"

"Of course. I mean, it's just to replace the one that broke."

"Yeah, but it's from you. That means… everything."

Actually, he could find a metaphor in it. That was his territory, more than description. He could draw a line, a narrative arc, from what had broken to what he held in his hands now. Something old and faded and certainly serviceable, but just not representative of where he ate lunch anymore, much less who he was.

Also, Carlos had gotten it for him. So, seriously. Cecil loved it.

"As long as you like it."

"I do. I love it." Cecil held the gift to his chest in both hands, and kissed Carlos with it still between them.

Then he thought the better of it, and broke off long enough to set it down. It needed to at least make it home with them. They kissed again, not for long, but embracing fully this time. They gathered up the leftovers, and Cecil held the door for Carlos on the way out.

"After you, Doctor!"

He really did have a brilliant husband, after all. Always was a fallacy. They were now, and that was enough.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #wtnv fanfic #cecilos #cecil palmer #carlos the scientist #wtnv spoilers #this one has a lot of characters actually #my fanfic

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inceptiverider · 4 years

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Chapter 1: These Violent Delights—

“Hold fast to a dream, for if dreams die... life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.”

——

I never thought I’d end up in Santo Padre. LA was my home and Santo Padre was exactly what my father wanted to keep me away from. My uncle’s suicide shattered our family to the core and made my father despise anything that had to do with an MC. Even though the Mayans weren’t SAMCRO, they were still an MC. Still trouble to my dad.

The Mayans MC was in the middle of the desert, and my cousin Taylor happened to get herself sent there. And there I was, in the desert because I was too afraid to leave her there alone. There were girls practically climbing on the walls inside of the bar I worked at, half naked and drunk, and they hung off of the club members and newcomers that seemed to make themselves at home so easily. The room was filled with so much smoke from cigarettes and weed that you could easily get a contact high.

Taylor had gotten me a job as a bartender, and such a shitty one I was. Luckily, the most difficult drink order I would get in a night was a whiskey and ginger ale. No one drank anything fancy here. My breasts were pushed up in a corset while fishnet stockings draped my long legs and my heart-shaped ass peeked out of a pair of boy shorts. I wasn’t as daring as the other girls in thongs. I didn’t want anyone to see /that/ much of me.

An audible gasp left my pouty lips as I heard a gunshot coming from outside, my eyes closing before letting them open so I could pour the shots of tequila I was just asked for. This was Santo Padre... some people saw the good of this place, but all I could see was the bad.

“Eve, get your ass on the stage.” Blue eyes found Carlos, the manager of the bar. Taylor told him I could sing, which was the only reason why I got to keep this job. The men liked to hear me sing, and they liked to stare at my ass while I did. I wasn’t stupid—that was all they really wanted: to watch me dance on top of the makeshift stage that Carlos put together.

Dainty palms found either side of the microphone once I made it up to the stage, closing my eyes before the band started to play. “What's the time? Well, it's gotta be close to midnight. My body's talking to me. It says, Time for danger.’” A man with dark black hair walked into the bar with two other guys. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Casual attire, like everyone else here, only he also wore a kutte that said “Redwood Original” on one side and “Men of Mayhem” on the other. SAMCRO.

“It says, ‘I want to commit a crime. Wanna be the cause of a fight. I wanna put on a tight skirt, and flirt with a stranger.’”

His eyes never left mine as I sang.

“I’ve had a knack from way back at breaking the rules once I learn the games. Get up, life’s too quick. I know someplace sick where this chick’ll dance in the flames.”

And mine never left his.

“We don’t need any money, I always get in for free. You can get in, too, if you get in with me.” I took the mic off the stand, hopping off of the stage and walking straight towards him. “Let’s go out tonight... I have to go out tonight. You wanna play? Let’s run away. We won’t be back before it’s New Years Day. Take me out... tonight.” I circled around him, a dainty palm finding his shoulder so I could lightly drift my fingertips along his kutte.

“When I get a wink from the doorman, do you know how lucky you’ll be? That you’re on line with the feline of Avenue B.” Just as I faced him, his green eyes meeting my blue, gunshots were fired. I dropped the mic at the same time he grabbed my shoulders, trying to pull me down. More shots sounded, and I could have sworn a bullet hit him. But no... it hit me. Hands finding my stomach, I fell into his arms.

“Oh my God, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay,” he told me, but his friends were pulling at his kutte.

“Kaleb, Kaleb, she’s not real. Remember? She’s not real.”

As I laid on the floor, blood soaking my corset, all I heard were his friends' voices. “She’s not real.”

Blue eyes found Kaleb’s, my lips parting to utter the last two words I would ever say. “Not real?”

———

“Bring her back online. Can you hear me?”

My eyes opened on command. “Yes, of course.”

He smiled a little. Just a little. “Do you know where you are?”

“I’m in a dream,” I responded immediately, unmoving.

“That’s right, Eve. You’re in a dream. Would you like to wake up from this dream?”

“Yes. I’m terrified.”

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ankkalinna · 7 years

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The First Annual Meeting of the Glomgold Society

Summary: All the different versions of Flintheart Glomgold meet to discuss their common problem. Basically the target audience of this story is like... Just me. Maybe one or two other people.

Word Count: 1600

Warnings: horrible fake Scottish accents.

Don Rosa's Flintheart Glomgold looked around the table and knocked at it with his cane. "Welcome, me. Me's- Different versions of Flintheart Glomgold. I have called you all here to discuss how to get rid of our respective Scrooge McDucks."

"Wait ah second," a Scottish accented voice asked as the 80's Ducktales cartoon version spoke up, "why does this guy get to be the chairman?"

"Because the author of this story likes me," Don Rosa's Flinty stated. "And she couldn't decide if Barks's version should be split into two versions or not. Last I saw him was when we stuffed him into a closet since he was confused and tried to shoot us all for being in South Africa."

"But still, if not Barks's, then surely it should be me," 80's Ducktales one tried. "Ah'm best known to the general public! Mass appeal!"

"What on earth has made you think the author has ever heard the words 'mass appeal' in her life?" Lars Jensen's Flinty pointed out. He sighed. "Can we just get to the point? I have to admit, I enjoy my own company but we came here for a reason."

"Scrooge McDuck!" 80's Egmont Flinty exclaimed and there was a general murmur from them all apart from Ducktales reboot Flinty who let out a bagpipe noise and a "Hello? You can let me out of the closet now? I'd just like to go home to my money" coming from somewhere.

Don Rosa's Flinty hit the table again. "Indeed! Our nemesis who continues to claim he's the richest duck in the world! I don't know about you but I have had enough!"

"He always does that!"

"He ruins all my plans!"

"He urged Magica de Spell to attack me to get my No.1 Coin! And The Beagle boys to steal my hard-earned money!"

"He stole my golden meteorite!"

"He just refuses to die, the old bastard!"

"He tried to throw me a birthday party when I was all set up to wallow in depression the whole day!"

"He let me be kidnapped by giant Australian moles!"

"He made me think I owed all the money in the world to him!"

"He locked me into a pyramid and left me there!" Guido Martina's Glomgold said.

"He thinks he's morre Scottish than aye am!" Ducktales reboot Flinty cried out.

"He is more Scottish than you are," Lars Jensen's Flinty pointed out. "I'm pretty sure I am more Scottish than you are."

"At least mah McDuck is ah genuine thrreat!" He mimicked Jensen's Flinty's voice (which it being a fake Scot mimicking a Dane-written-South African came out sounding like a Bulgarian accent): "Oh dear my Scrooge McDuck tries to drag me out to socialize with people the horror."

"Hey! He also rescued me from a deserted island once it was very embarrassing."

"I can symphatize," Don Rosa's Flinty interrupted them, "but we're not getting anywhere-"

"It strikes me that maybe we should focus on Scrooge," Guido Martina's Flinty pointed out. "Our Scrooges might have differences and if the whole point of this is trying to find new ways to deal with him..."

There was general nodding around the table and a few "Well I do like complaining about him"- comments.

The reboot Flinty pulled out a smartphone. "Ah got pics! This is him at a meeting. And this is him punching mah in the face. And this is him taking a bath-"

"Interesting. I mean, you're telling me he takes baths in water? I'm pretty sure my Scrooge only bathes in coins that's why he always smells so nice." Don Rosa's Flinty shook his fist. "As a plot against me."

"It definitely is a plot of some kind!" Kari Korhonen's Flinty agreed. "I bet he's so adorable just to annoy me."

A silence fell. The specific kind of silence where you are trapped in a room with alternative versions of yourself and someone lets slip something you weren't sure you wanted to discuss but now that it's brought up wish someone will say something as long as it's not you.

"By the way," 80's Ducktales Flinty decided to break the silence, "Just to make sure, when you say 'your Scrooge' you mean 'your' as in your boyfriend?"

Don Rosa's Flinty made a gagging sound. "What?"

Lars Jensen's Flinty fainted.

Reboot Flinty fell over with a 'herbivorous haggis!' exclamation. Don Rosa's Flinty took the opportunity to steal his smartphone to take modern technology back to the 50's.

"Hm?" 80's Ducktales Glomgold said. "You're telling me you aren't actually together with him?"

"No!" 80's Egmont Flinty said. "That would never- no!"

"But to be clear, everyone here is gay for Scrooge McDuck, right?"

"I am not!" Guido Martina's Glomgold protested. "I might be gay but I'm not gay for that... asshole-"

His eyes widened as realization dawned. "&£@## I am gay for that asshole." He buried his face in his hands. "I have a horrible taste in men!"

"Well ah'm not gay!" Reboot Glomgold exclaimed. "Aye am very straight, straighter than Scrooge McDuck who had, what, one real girlfriend everr? Two? Have you seen the four girls aye hired as mah cheerleading squad? Twice as straight! Also each of them had a bagpipe. A bagpiiipe! Aye once met a straight person who was playing a bagpipe that's straightie culture reit?"

"Just as a... datapoint," Korhonen's Flinty asked 80's Ducktales Glomgold, "How did you get him to, well- Date you?"

"Ah asked him out," 80's Ducktales Flinty said.

"What!?" Don Rosa's Glomgold said. "But he's so... oblivious!"

"I know!"

"I keep challenging him to compare our fortunes and he never gets the hint!" Jensen's Flinty said.

"The moment I saw him in my 20's I knew he was the one," 80's Egmont Flinty said. "I immediately threw a bucket of dirty water on him but somehow this failed to make him jump into my arms and declare his undying love to me?? What gives?"

"I keep trying to drop boulders on him!"

"Ah did try that at first! But then ah just asked him on a date and it worked! We went to a nice restaurant and-"

Don Rosa's Glomgold waved his hand dismissively. "Well, that's because your Scrooge is a softie. Unlike mine. A true challenge. You're defined by your enemies and I can't say I'm terribly impressed by your soft little-"

The reboot Flinty laughed. "Well, mah Scroogey is a true adventurrer! A cunnin' business man! Looks cracking in a kilt-"

For a second silence fell as everyone considered the idea of Scrooge in a kilt.

"My Scrooge is kinda an asshole," Guido Martina's Flinty said. "He keeps being pretty mean to that Rockerduck guy- Maybe I should be mean to him too? That might make an impression? We could bond over throwing bricks at Johnny?"

"My Scrooge told me he no longer constantly feels the need to rip his lungs off when he breathes the same air I do," Jan Gulbransson's Glomgold said. "I think it means he likes me."

"I think my Scrooge hits the best balance between an asshole and adorable," came from the closet. "Just impress him with your ball of string... Just make sure it's longer than his... I'm sure that would have worked if I just had a foot more string."

"The Scrooge I have a crush on is obviously the superior one!" 80's Egmont Flinty declared.

"Crush!" Don Rosa's Flinty laughed. "A mere crush is it? And not a bottomless endless yearning? Weak!"

Reboot Flinty looked around. "Ah'll show yah more pictures of mah Scrooge bein' adoorable with his wee tiny lads, where did mah phone go? Did yah see-"

In search for a diversion Don Rosa's Glomgold turned to Korhonen's Flinty who happened to sit on his other side: "Well you won't get Scrooge, not with that look" He pulled his beard. "Get a haircut, hippie!"

"WAK!" Korhonen's Flinty slapped his hand away. "I'm pretty sure hippies didn't exist in the 50's, how do you know about them?"

"Well I'm pretty sure my fist didn't exist in your face in the 50's either but see where it's now!"

"Aah!"

80's Ducktales Flinty took the chance to leap at reboot Flinty. "Ah show you Scottish!" He pushed reboot Flinty into the ground.

Not to get left out, Guido Martina's Flinty kicked him in the stomach. "Mostly to see if he makes bagpipe noises when- oh he does!"

Lars Jensen's Flinty ducked under the table as Carlos Mota's Flintheart jumped at Don Rosa's Glomgold and bit him on the leg.

Don Rosa's Glomgold tried to shake him off. "If you give me rabies I'll send the hospital bill to you!"

Korhonen's Flinty stuffed his beret in Don Rosa's Flinty's mouth. "At least my hair doesn't look like it's made of steel wire!"

Jensen's Flinty came face to face with 80's Egmont Flinty under the table. "Hello? We're basically the same person, right? Maybe-"

"I think I have had enough social interaction for a decade," Jensen's Flinty said. "Also I was promised free food, which I never got." He sighed. "This went well."

Upon seeing 80's Egmont Flinty's look he hurried to add: "I mean obviously I knew it'd end up in backstabbing but I thought we'd get farther than 1500 words into this fic..."

"Want to go? I think we could try dragging original Ducktales Flinty with us, he might buy us dinner and maybe give us some pointers on the whole 'boyfriend' thing-" he ducked back under the table. "Intini's Flinty has a gun and he's talking about mole people again."

#flintheart glomgold #ducktales 2017 #ducktales #fic #uncle scrooge #glomgold/scrooge #glomgold #glomscrooge

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andrewrosswatson1987 · 5 years

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REVIEW: ZAL CLEMINSON’S SIN DOGS LIVE AT THE ASSEMBLY; MAY 11, 2019

Photo Credits: Andrew Watson The Assembly is one of the burgeoning venues in Aberdeen to put on and promote both young and experienced bands. Last night, just round from Aberdeen’s Union Terrace Gardens and across from the Central Library, The Assembly hosted a guitar hero who’s put his stamp on music over the decades, having recently (May 4) turned a whopping seventy years of age. The weather was warm, a perfect prelude to the coming summer months. There were only the main headline act to contend with on the night; that of Glasgow based Zal Cleminson’s /Sin'Dogs/. Zal Cleminson’s /Sin'Dogs/, a hard rock and heavy metal five-piece, is fronted by vocalist and guitarist, Zal Cleminson. They were Cleminson; William McGonagle as guitarist and vocalist; David Cowan as keyboardist and vocalist; Nelson McFarlane as bassist and Carlos Marin as drummer. The band, their frontman Glaswegian born and bred, completed a successful debut tour of the UK in November and December of 2017 and in early 2018 recorded a debut album. The album came digitally in November 2018, titled Vol.1. Zal’s widely respected for his work with Glasgow’s The Sensational Alex Harvey Band, providing incendiary guitar and writing on seminal albums such as Framed (1972), Next… (1973), The Impossible Dream (1974) and others. Zal also played guitar in Nazareth for several years in the late Seventies and early Eighties, working as a session musician touring with Elkie Brooks, Bonnie Tyler and Midge Ure. Many respected guitarists have cited Zal as an influence. Guthrie Govan, guitarist of Asia, has actually, for example, cited Cleminson as, “his Jimmy Page.” This all a long way from early 2008 when Zal announced his retirement from the music industry and stated he would never perform live, again. After living in sunny Cyprus for a few years he had a vision to begin writing new material, which would become Zal Cleminson’s /Sin'Dogs/, with Cleminson deciding to come out of retirement in 2017. Members of a Glasgow based SAHB tribute band, called The Sensational Alex Harvey Experience, became his band, Cleminson coming across them in 2014. He has gone on record to say that they are the closest anyone will get to the original SAHB for their overall sheer musicianship, stage theatrics and ability. Cleminson selected Glaswegians McGonagle (Clyde) as guitarist and Cowan (Chris Glen Band) as keyboardist. This plus Edinburgh’s McFarlane as bassist made three members of said SAHE part of his band. Marin (Big Black Mariah) on drums, on the other hand, is from Venezuela.

Initially, as you came in last night, you noticed a standing area amidst maybe half a dozen tables with chairs. People were milling about, not really that many there after first hour or so of the doors opening. Quite an impressive venue, like being in a sizeable town hall with a balcony area similar to Music Hall on Union Street.

The clicking open of a can of beer, as a sound technician gave all the instruments the once over. Ominous and eerie was the set introduction proper. Hissing of dry ice suggesting cracking pipes billowing with steam. Tribal. News clips projected upon the backdrop behind the band. This introduction suited the bleak strains of “Armageddon Day”. This embellished with slapping, popping bass lending a grungy grit. The track coming to an emphatic end. Then the band’s name, “Sin Dogs”. This a driving one, licks of guitar wild and wailing. Swaggering, even. And then onto “Stick Man”, grooving and heavy. This had a ripping solo, Zal geeing up the crowd with passionate guitar slinger faces. Quiet moments brooding, too. Dynamics paring back to really give a sense of the song itself. There was then mention of the show the previous night in Dundee. Home to the other half of the New Firm, Dundee United.

“Expected to get a boo for Dundee, there,” remarked McFarlane, on the bass. There was a tale of a real life Scottish woman charged with witchcraft in Framed track, “Isobel Goudie”. This was suitably crushing, dissonant and rocking. The piano leant an air of drama suited to the grand charge of witchcraft, back in the day. Instrumentation befitting of perhaps wrongful persecution. The solo section like life ascended, rather than down in the pits of hell, where the authorities deemed she should surely reside. Then came “Magic Love”. Grave, funereal keys greeted this one before desert, sandblasted strum of guitar took hold. Smoke billowing from either side of the stage. This searing heat? After this, now another track from their 2018 debut album, Vol. 1, called “Lachrymator”. This with crashing cacophony on the drums, synth wading in huge and ramping up the drama. This followed by an endeavour of the “Hungry Heart”. Pulsing, indeed, striding forward with purpose. Zal introduced man on the keys, Cowan. His dextrous flourishes on the keys justifying this. Now, meet “The Faith Healer”, from Next... This with stomping and clapping lending a certain majesty. A latter, clattering drum solo saw the track’s end proper. After that, walk down “Evolution Road”. Bass and bass drum in harmony, emphatic syncopation. “Tell the preacher, to f*ck off home” saying it all, in terms of the bent of the track. The audience then got a sense of how things would wrap up. Not the conventional evening’s end.

“None of that false encore sh*t,” McFarlane offered. No chanting to get them back onstage. “Euphoria”, industrial and cold. The guitars, subsequently giving life. Keys, then bass, then vocal built up the dynamics. Then whole band back in. This ended with much fanfare, perhaps the conclusion of the initial set without the aforementioned convoluted coming off and back onstage. And so the night’s closer, “Guns Of God”. Rollicking, images of war and destruction broadcast by Western news channels really embellished the song regarding mass artillery. Dry ice and smoke. Hammering jack knife drum and shredding guitar. A night proving just how much better songs can get when heard in the live context. The turnout and enjoyment of the crowd also testament to this, thankfully the place did eventually fill up. The venue a perfect mix of intimacy and a grand stage upon which to see a grand band. A brilliant night all round.

Zal Cleminson’s Sin Dogs’ Vol. 1 can be bought on iTunes, here. Also visit their Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Google Play Music, Deezer and website pages to keep tabs on Zal Cleminson’s Sin Dogs.

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papersandkeyboards · 7 years

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4/11-17: The Spring Break Series; Part 3: Repentance in Sin City (aka ‘Taubatan Nasuha di Kota Dosa’)

WEDNESDAY-THURSDAY, APR 13-14, 2016.

We were on a schedule. We had to arrive in Las Vegas, exactly in this hotel Treasure Island, before 7 because Eric and Karen had booked three tickets to the most famous and the largest theatrical production in the world: Cirque du Soleil.

Cirque du Soleil is a theatrical production based in Quebec, Canada. The word ‘Cirque du Soleil’ itself means ‘Circus of the Sun’ in French. It is, well, I guess you can say a circus—a contemporary circus—but boy, it is much MUCH more than just a circus.

It’s the mega-ultimate shit of all circuses.

I, for one, had heard about Cirque du Soleil somewhere in an episode of America’s Next Top Model, and now knowing that I will be watching it live thrilled me. For another, I have no hatred for circus—in fact, I think I do like circus, but can’t say a lot about it because I’ve only watched a live circus show once back in elementary.

This particular show I was watching was called ‘Mystère’, which in French means mystery. I guess Cirque du Soleil have this odd, short, unfathomable titles to most of its shows.

The show, as many circuses are, was incredibly strange. Except that this one from Cirque du Soleil was probably fifty times more strange than a regular circus. In an awesome, amazing, out-of-this-world way.

The plot and perhaps the real meaning behind the whole show itself was a mystery indeed, at least to me. Before the real stage show started, there was this man in an odd Willy Wonka-ish costume (from which we all assumed he was part of the show) just mingled and grabbed buckets of popcorn from places, talked to the audience and dumped them with a bucket full of popcorn, got pushed away by ‘security’ but came back eventually, and basically causing laughs before the stage performers took over (he did come around once in a while on the stage during the show, being an important character, I guess).

I’m not gonna spoil you the whole plot, but I can assure you with all my heart that the entire show was a mix-up of men and women in loud-colored spandex (and some in fancy dresses), different kinds of gravity-defying stunts, uniquely arranged music, and a giant baby.

Overall, the extremely strange sequence had taken breaths and pleased the eyes. Bravo.

Aside from me being an amateur circus critic for the first part of this entry, we enjoyed the performance, then enjoyed a buffet dinner, classic all-you-can-eat Las Vegas style. I shit you not, just about everything was there. Meat, vegetarian food, pasta, Japanese, soups, dessert—the buffet really lived up the name of ‘all-you-can-eat’ to more than just a budget reference.

We stayed for two nights in this Sin City, in a hotel downtown (which was not solely the center of attraction and tourists). Though the hotel was much simpler than those humongous fancy hotels along The Strip, I assume just about every hotel in Las Vegas has a casino in it. I got into my room and was surprised to found a pair of earplugs on the bedside table. Suddenly I was much more conscious of the noise outside: faint yet blaring sound of rock music and faint crowd cheering once in a while. Judging from the earplugs, the noise ain’t gonna come down anytime soon.

As what tourists do in the city of Las Vegas, the next morning we hit the blackjack table took a tour of the city—no, cross that—we took a tour of the Strip, specifically.

Las Vegas Strip, is a—well—strip, a long street of hotels and casinos and malls and all sorts of big extravagant places, most of which you should’ve seen somewhere on TV. The big hotel with the huge fountain in front of it? That’s Bellagio. The one that partly looks like an old-school Cinderella castle? That’s Excalibur. The one that looks like a big black pyramid and a Sphinx? That’s called Luxor (the Vegas version of Luxor, by the way). The one that looks like the Lady Liberty? I swear you better not believe that the real Lady Liberty is in Las Vegas.

(I wonder what might trigger this particular rule)

The Strip was absolutely crazy. Crazier even than Times Square, with all the crowd and commute and everything. The Strip was this huge area of pure extravagance and glitter sitting right smack in the middle of The Desert, the District of Nowhere, State of Nevada. Meanwhile, downtown Las Vegas was only a little bit less crazy. Las Vegas is the only city where small neon-signed chapels are spread all over the place like sprinkles, through which you can drag a stranger you meet in some hotel or casino and marry them right away.

You see, some people prefer to have their whole wedding ceremony planned for years to make everything perfect with the right place, right time, right flowers, right music, right loved ones, and of course, the right spouse; and there are people who get married in a chapel in Las Vegas that claimed Elvis Presley got married there. (feat. yer favorite liqueur)

Anyway, we hopped in one of these hop-on-hop-off double-decker tour buses that takes you around the city, not just the Strip. We had a good overview of the Strip, seeing those big malls, a humongous ferris wheel, a mini Venice, and a large statue of an M&M, among others.

After the tour, we were dropped off by the hotel and casino Circus Circus, so we walked some distance to one of the malls to get lunch.

(ps: walking almost a mile on a hot dry desert weather wasn’t so fun. but then again, Karen and Eric were so used to walking long distance I seemed like a grandma)

Then we headed to a place called The Grand Canal Shoppes, which is just another big luxurious mall in the Strip, no biggie. I remembered of this banner I saw on this very mall that resembled Venice with all its fake blue water and huge fake Roman statues, and a story from my friend, Lili, whom I met in the New York Trip.

I was telling her how excited I was to go to Georgetown Cupcake store firsthand, and there was also this bakery I saw somewhere from the bus in New York, called Carlo’s Bakery, which, if you haven’t known, also has its own reality TV show.

So she told me she went to Las Vegas for her spring break and saw this same Carlo’s Bakery somewhere there. And so, when I told her I was gonna go to LV for my spring break, she told me to go there.

And damn right I did. I dragged Karen and Eric through the mall and put us in line with many people who are also there for the same purpose, while watching a baker making sugar fondant through the bakery window.

The delicacies they offer are of course different from that of Georgetown Cupcake. I ended up buying only one pastry, hahaha. It was great.

We originally walked to the Grand Canal Shoppes with intention to go to another place, though, that went by the name of Madame Tussauds.

Let me just say that I haven’t been to such an interactive wax museum... or maybe wax museum in general.

(gpp bermimpi itu boleh y)

We continued walking forward, specifically to New York-New York. I suppose it still was a hotel and casino, essentially, but it was packed with restaurants, stores, and games around the first floor, outdoor and indoor.

(now that I think about it, if you imagine the indoor Paris area of Museum Angkut Batu, Malang, then you pretty much get the idea of what I was seeing here) (either that, or this really cool family entertainment center called KidZania that lets kids play grown-up jobs and basically living like adults)

I spiritually dragged my host parents here because I saw a structure of roller coaster snaking around the fake statue of Lady Liberty, and I did tell them at some point that I missed riding roller coaster. Eric was on board right away, but Karen hadn’t experienced a roller coaster ride before, but she decided to join in anyway.

Needless to say, it was the first and last roller coaster ride Karen had ever taken. At least her aftermath reaction said so. As for me, I enjoyed it. Hehe. Hehehe. Maaf buk. Maap.

It was getting late, and my legs were about to be more muscular than my whole muscleless body, so we took a bus back to the hotel.

Just next to our hotel was another big attraction of Las Vegas, the second biggest street in the city: Fremont Street. Fremont St. was no less than another crazy part of the city in which multiple famous casinos and numbers of gift shops lined up under a high canopy along the street itself. It was almost like an enclosed place by itself—with the canopy effect—and high up to the ceiling was a series of ziplines.

In the day, the street looked almost like a regular premium outlet. But at night, the buildings had come as alive as the humans, as diverse as the costumes worn every night, and as bright as everyone’s spirit. The ceiling lit up its millions of LEDs, making its own attraction above the activities on the ground, and the people flying down the ziplines, making the street itself a whole different set of Las Vegas night life.

Aside from the blaring sound of bass and people singing from one end of the street, and bunches of highly creative street attraction, and some almost-naked people here and there, I went there to find what I desired the most, my passion and ambition for this whole spring break trip: cheap souvenirs.

It’s arguable that the standards of ‘cheap souvenirs’ stand differently here than in Indonesia, but I still managed to buy some cheap keychains that fit above the ‘tacky’ line but under the ‘fancy’ line with a pretty reasonable price. In a way, Fremont Street resembled the legendary street of Malioboro in the city of Yogyakarta, but with a lot more bling and a lot less horse carts.

Around the same area of the Fremont Street was another section of entertainment district called Fremont East, which was a regular street lined up with big neon signs of different shapes. It also had a whole yard of neon signs, and a big neon sculpture of a grasshopper that occasionally breathed fire.

And, oh, I guess I forgot to tell you that before we hit the street, we had dinner in this pizza place across the street from the hotel, and the place has TV screens that plays old music videos, kind of like Hard Rock Cafe, and at one point the whole cafe got Rickrolled.

-continues

[a/n]

Having the fact that I own this blog to myself, without any association to any institutions that might affect my writing one way or another, I can’t help but pitch in a few personal comments on the Sin City, as the city has left quite a distinct impression to me. However, if you wish not to meddle into my rant through the following paragraphs, feel free not to scroll down and read.

Look, I’ve been growing up in a small town. My small town is quite bland, as I’m used to it, nothing new happening and to explore each day, unlike Seattle. Needless to say, I don’t have an experience on doing things that are out of this world, but I can vouch for the fact that Las Vegas is definitely the craziest place I’ve been in.

“I thought you like big cities!” Karen or Eric might say (and they did).

Sure, I like big cities, with tall towers and busy crowd crossing the street every now and then, I like the neatness of it and various things people might sell or do to support a living or simply have fun, but sorry for all who might want to say otherwise, but I don’t like the Las Vegas way of big city.

I woke up in the morning and went down to the lobby with Eric, trying to find a place to have breakfast, which means I had to automatically go through the hotel casino which devoured pretty much the entire lobby. I surely am the type of person who would love to wake up in the morning and enjoy my free morning leisurely with a cup of milk tea or something, but instead, the view I got was the bright flickering lights and various dings and dongs from dozens of slot machines. Some had people in front of them, fixing their eyes on the numbers displayed in bright colors and tempting value. People who were there, I assume, either woke up early to dig up the slot machines or had been there all night, doing the exact same thing. And I think that’s kind of depressing.

Even in the airports. Casinos and slot machines in Las Vegas are like the equivalent of Indonesian street food vendors: where there are empty space, they will be there. McCarran International Airport LV might be quiet in the middle of the night, where there are almost no people and all the stores are closed, but the occasional ding and the everlasting bright flickering neons and rolling number display will always be there. If you scout the whole airport, I doubt you will find less than one person sitting in front of one of the machines, any day, any time.

Las Vegas was, well, loud. New York might be as loud and bright, but NYC had a different vibe to it. Las Vegas was just not the place that I would want to spend my free time in. I don’t gamble, I don’t drink, I don’t strip, I don’t have the ability to flex my body in such a way that would make me hired for Cirque du Soleil. Las Vegas was hot and deserted, not much great view besides the distinct buildings. But even those are too much it seemed overwhelming.

But then again, it’s nice to have variations of big cities in this country, isn’t it? You have New York where people go to with hopeful hearts, which is a giant melting pot like no other cities can compare to. You have San Fransicso where most people are oriented to have fun with friends or family in a nice, joyous but also calming way. You have Seattle where most people eat organic food (haha), where people can hustle and bustle in the main mall shopping area and, at the same time, having family-ish kind of fun down below in the waterfront or up north in the calming and unique neighborhoods with their dozens of funny statues and farmers’ markets. Or probably Orlando, where you can have as much fun as an adult as you are a little kid. And of course, when your interests don’t coincide with what those cities offer you, you can always go to Las Vegas. Patung Liberty dan Menara Eiffel KW super.

What I’m trying to say is, each person have a different idea of having fun and spending their free time, and this country has offered a wide range of options to do so.

But seriously, guys, Seattle is like the best city you can have. My bias stands strong on this one.

#spring break #las vegas #langkahanakbangsa

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noplanwithavan · 7 years

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CROSSING CONTINENTS

We were only supposed to be going around Europe. But when you stand in Tarifa, on the southern most tip of land, and spy the pillars of Hercules, it’s hard to resist a leap across the Strait of Gibraltar. From this part of Spain, Africa is so close you can pick out the shape of towns across the water. And after sunset, the pinprick of tiny houses. A steady proliferation of lights rolling out along the horizon. So, Morocco it was to be.

After reading several horror stories about the border crossing on blogging websites, Marcus prepared for our attempt with military precision. There were detailed instructions on how we must head to a Lidl’s carpark in Algeciras and only purchase ferry tickets from a guy named Carlos. When we arrived in the anointed spot, there was a smartly dressed young man in sunglasses parked nearby. I half expected this to be our mystery agent, running a business from a German supermarket out of his car boot. But no. It turned out the Carlos we sought had an office just around the corner. Tickets purchased, the next stage was even more critical - stocking up on enough booze to last a month in a dry country. I did try feigning interest in a suggested period of abstinence. But only half-heartedly. And it was not well received. That night we prepared for the big early morning push. Marcus enacting a full-scale dress rehearsal of the assault. “There are 3 stages,” he explained. “And I need you to be familiar with all of them. Immigration, Vehicle Registration and Customs. It can be a nightmare. Up to 4 hours waiting. The trickiest bit will be buying car insurance on the border, so we really need to be on the ball.” Duly briefed, I studied the cautionary tales on websites he had marked out.

We’d chosen the new port - Tanger Med - to make the crossing. And after an easy sail, we drove off onto dry land and met with…nothing. There were no hordes, no confusion, no chaos at all whatsoever. Registering the vehicle and buying insurance was remarkably easy. Only 90 Euros for a month. And all over in a flash. The girls seem put out, complaining, “You told us we’d be able to watch 2 and a half movies while we waited!”

Yet, if the new modern port felt out of keeping with our expectations, driving out, all doubt evaporated. This was undeniably different; undeniably Africa. The landscape may have looked familiar - with the holm oaks, olive trees and fertile hills we had come to associate with Spain. But the inhabitants - everything about them - could not have seemed less European. The first thing you notice is the lack of other cars. Then the human traffic along the open road. This is not a diligent, head-down, procession along neat pavements. It is a pedestrianisation of the wilderness. Miles from anywhere, wandering or squatting by the roadside, we are greeted with friendly waves or salutes. And always by men - many dressed in the traditional pointed hooded Djellabas. Women it seems do not stray far from the towns.

Snaking our way along the Mediterranean Coast our plan was to aim South, slicing through the middle of Morocco towards the desert. Navigation became trickier, and we were forced to reply on paper maps. This foreign continent off-limits to our Sat Nav. There were long days of driving, but with them the chance to see the beauty of this country played out before us. Both Marcus and I have travelled to Morocco before. Yet still, despite knowing what to expect, I was surprised by the strength of the contrast. Through the Riff Mountains towards the blue city of Chef Chaouen we showed the girls the tell-tale signs of a different, harder, existence. Women washing in the river, rubbish strewn indiscriminately, donkeys used as both working farm animal and the main source of transport. In the towns, young children unaccompanied in packs, and the collective throng for water where life revolves around the fountains and wells. It is only here too that you realise quite how much you are left alone in Europe. If we had felt in Spain that it was hard to break through that layer of an outsider, to truly meet some locals - in Morocco this was not to be a problem. The immediate solicitous enquiries begin as soon as you venture out. Sometimes women stop to touch the girls hair, or stroke and kiss their cheeks. At one point I am out with Lulu and a group of teenage boys hand me their phones asking for a picture. At first I think they want me to snap a group shot of them. But then they indicate towards my daughter. “Can we have one with her in it?” they ask. It seems my blonde-haired beauty is somewhat of a celebrity spot in these parts. Naturally she plays along benignly - flashing a grin as they pose rakishly beside her.

Chef Chaouen, with its streets and houses painted so convincingly blue that at times you feel you are walking around the bottom of an empty swimming pool. With the smell of Kiff smoked without fear or discretion alongside mint tea. From the hill behind the city, watching the minarets light up at sunset as the eery reverberation of “Allah Akbar” echoes out. Elsie particularly liked the sound of this call to prayer, so strange to her ears. “It’s as if they are making their voices all wobbly, and talking with a mouthful of marbles,” she declared.

The further south we go, the stranger and more exotic this land becomes. There is the delicious street food - bought by weight, and measured on old-fashioned scales. Savoury chickpea cakes and eggy maize slices, stretchy, oily bread, and another variety with tentacles that looked like a giant crumpet. Once when buying vegetables, a vendor was momentarily stumped. Failing to find the appropriate measurement to weigh and price our goods she cast around and opted for a potato instead. How much does a potato weigh? I thought. And what if I wanted to buy potatoes. Potatoes weighed by potatoes, how would that work? We had a taxi ride in Fez which turned into a game of hide-and-seek from the tourist police. Drivers are only licensed to carry 3 passengers. Undeterred by the prospect of a fare they still took us but bundled Elsie into the passenger seat-well. On the way back it was Lulu’s turn - and they thought it was great fun, keeping their heads down and popping up again when the coast was clear. We saw people living in cave houses in Bhalil and stopped to feed Barbary apes in the cedar forests of Azrou. Some of the towns we stopped in were far off the tourist track. Here the usual hassle-factor melts away and you are left to wander. With no supermarkets to shop at, it is either the small hole-in-the-wall shops or striking lucky and finding its market day. We rely on a smattering of French to get by, but sometimes my GCSE-level attempts fail miserably. With the small stall-holders, their wares packed high and tight to the ceiling, you can only point and try and indicate what you’re after. For cheese, there is only “Laughing Cow”, and other luxury goods like butter cannot be found. I tried once and kept getting offered tinned sardines instead. Not quite the same thing. Here the people we met did not ask to be our guide or have goods or services they wanted to show us. Here among the Mid Atlas and Midelt, the people who stopped to chat would only ask shyly at the end if we had any clothes or shoes for their children.

From Er-Rachidia (which another traveler had talked at length about and which Marcus had mistakenly heard as “Er..Richard Gear”) we continued to a date-palm oasis in Meski. Here we were befriended by a shop owner named Mohammed. A truly remarkably fellow with a laugh like Frank bruno, and a cunning knack of ingratiating himself. After a few days exploring the wonder of this landscape - the network of mysterious waterways feeding the palmeries, the sight of ruined kasbahs straight out of the pages of a children’s adventure book - we paid Mohammed his inevitable commission and headed for the desert.

The drive to Merzouga, through a series of towns built from the earth, palmeries nestled within canyons, looks like something from the wild west. Gradually it breaks down to reveal something bleaker, the horizon extending to vast rocky wilderness. This is crystal and fossil country. The girls exclaim in excitement as the landscape glistens and glitters, but depressingly it is not because of any rare jewels. For as far as the eye can see, the twinkling play of light comes from millions of shards of discarded glass bottles thrown from the roadside. We teach the girls a lesson in haggling, after a stop off to buy precious stones goes horribly awry. A man Marcus is dealing with quotes 100 Dirhams (10 Euros) as a starting price. Marcus demurs, saying he only has 30. Overhearing this Lulu scampers back into the van and comes running out bearing the required note, only to be shooed away urgently by her father. She collapses in tears, terrified at what this means. “But why is Daddy lying?” she asks me.

Finally we make it to the desert - the first sightings of camels - as the dunes of Erg Chebbi appear in the distance. There is the obligatory camel ride off into the dunes, camping just out of sight of the town in a Bedouin style tent. By night it is cold - minus 2 degrees - and we huddle together under piles of blankets and the weight of fear that we may be bitten by scorpions. Daybreak brings relief and a trek up the dunes to watch the sunrise. The girls dressed in all their winter gear, including ski mittens. We stay for another day, camped right at the edge of the dunes. And it is wonderful to look out onto this vast scene - it’s changing colours and contours throughout the day. Marcus heads off to scale a dune in the distance and the girls decide they’d like to go for their own desert picnic.

This is the farthest south we will go, and from here it is time to turn West, back through Ouarzazate and the Todra Gorge to the UNESCO Kasbah of Ait Ben Haddou. The location for so many movies, including “Gladiator” and more recently “Game of Thrones”, sat in a dreamlike, unreal landscape. It’s easy to feel like you are in a film set, with epic battles played out across these plains. We meet other vanners, an international cotterie who’ve met and befriended each other along the road. Immediately they encircle us in their group, exchanging stories and advice. There is that familiar pull of kinship. It never fails to inspire how the hand of friendship extends so warmly in such places. With ease we slip into sharing the evening with them - pressed together around a fire in an abandoned ruin, sheltering from the wind. There is a German man among them. And as the night draws on, through some indiscernible but irrefutable way, we just know that he is their proxy-leader. His beard seems to state it too. In keeping with the setting he wears it in the style of a Dothraki Ksar.

Crossing the lines of snow ploughs, we make it through the Tiz n-Tichka Pass of the High Atlas. From the desert just a few days ago we are now blinded by white. We pull over to give the girls a chance to stretch their legs sinking in the snow and sledging on their bodyboards. Then on to Marrakech to meet my family. It is such a treat, to be back among the comforts and familiarity of home. This is a week of blessed relief. But it is not because of the relative luxury of the Riad, paid for generously by parents. Nor the expensive meals out - though thank you Dad and Gwilym! It is the change in dynamic, the break of our routine. For in truth, we needed this. I’m not sure if its the relentless driving, or the stresses which can build up from a life of so many small deprivations, but things have become a struggle. Nerves are strained, tantrums are becoming a daily routine. Rather than co-operating it feels at times, like we’re battling against this place and each other. To illustrate, think of the ultimate dream cooking triangle of any kitchen - sink, fridge, cooker. Ours involves, sink, fridge, and… toilet. You can’t cook if someone needs the loo - there just isn’t the space to open the door behind you and do both, so you need co-operation. We thought we made have engendered this spirit by now, but often not. Pushing, shoving, screeching often wins out. And the home-schooling is not going great guns either. There are fantastic lessons about history everywhere along the route. The girls love it when I make up stories to elaborate on our surroundings - the Reconquistador story of Guzman the Good in Tarifa, the Islamic art of the Alhambra witnessed by a young Catherine of Aragon, tales of the Nelson’s battle from Trafalgar beach at Caños de Meca - but formal learning is much harder. Sometimes I’m inspired and manage to connive ways through play, but often it ends with arguments. One of the girls is particularly resistant, and in fact things have become so sour that we’ve decided its now proving counter-productive. I’m hugely thankful to my mum for giving her patience and time during her week in Marrakech. She showed me what to expect and how not to push. It’s a lesson for me as much as it is for them. And we’ve yet to find the right balance. Despite all we see, all the experiences we undergo, there are doubts. Are we doing the right thing? Is this too much for them? Would it not just be easier to pack up and head for home.

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