#it is loud as one can imagine in a 100 year old row home
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lost my mucus plug
#if this MELON HEADED BREECH BABY DONT STAY IN UNTIL FRIDAY WHEN WERE SCHEDULED#ok but picture this: we are last minute getting our ducts cleaned out#it is loud as one can imagine in a 100 year old row home#just rattling and vacuum noises. machinery. etc etc#there are random men in my house. they are at least wearing shoe condoms.#I am in the bathroom where they are knocking pulling slugs from my pussy with a sense of awe and wonder
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Prompt - Sweetpea splits up with Josie but he's in love with y/n his long time FRIEND
Pairing Sweetpea x reader (riverdale)
Warning - none really, some angst and maybe worthless feelings
Story
Sweetpea had spent most of the night drinking as his relationship with Josie McCoy had ended; he knew it was just a summer fling, but it still hurt in a small way.
For a while Josie had been a distraction for Sweetpea, well every girl he'd dated was. Although he'd never admit it out loud, he was in love with someone else: someone who, in his eyes, was too good for him. She was beautiful, funny, smart, and knew Sweetpea better than anyone. Fangs included. So instead of showing his feelings, he hid them; having strings of one-night stands to block her out of his head and heart. Not one ever worked.
Now he found himself drunk, and once again, on the steps of y/n’s home not knowing what he was gonna say when she opened the door.
"Looking for me?", her voice behind made him jump.
Turning to face her, he smiled seeing her lifting up a full bottle of vodka.
"Wanna be my drinking partner?" he shouts; mentally kicking himself for sounding dumb. Why did he always look like a goof around her? He cursed to himself.
You smile back: "Sure", before finding your keys and opening the door.
This wasn't unusual Sweets. often turned up drunk, looking for his favourite drinking partner. This never bothered you before. In fact, you loved being around Sweetpea, loved being the key word. However, it had been clear for years that he saw you as a friend; a good and close friend, but a friend all the same. There had been numerous times when Sweetpea would put an arm around your shoulders calling you his best friend.
You'd learnt to live with him calling you a best friend, to compartmentalise your feelings. For a while it worked. That was until his fling with Josie started. It hurt seeing them together, maybe because it was more than a one-night stand. Maybe he liked her more than he said.
Mid-way through the summer break you found yourself distancing yourself from Sweetpea and others in the group, taking on more shifts at the Wyrm.
"I thought you'd be home by now?" he asked, while getting glasses out of the cupboard. His pouring out two extra-large drinks didn't go unnoticed by you.
"I've been working the night shift this week. I took Hogeye for 100 in pool tonight". You laughed showing off your winnings, before putting them away.
Pea shook his head. "We really should team up in doubles", he joked, while taking a big swig from his glass.
"You know there would no one to give you a challenge if we did", you teased back.
That was the thing: no matter your feelings, you both fell into friends mode, in spite of what was going on in your head.
"I'm a bit surprised to see you. I thought you and the Northside lot were camping?" you asked, sensing something was up, as he had drunk more than half of his glass before you had even started.
He rolled his eyes with a snarl across his lips. "Nar... Josie and I were over, so there's no point being there. Who cares? She was just a bit of fun". To anyone else, this would have sounded convincing, jerky even. Others would have bought the Playboy line, but you could see the hurt in his eyes; most likely the same look from which you spent years hiding.
"She's a fool. You deserve someone real, not some fake Northside diva!" you say, trying to sound supportive, yet not too happy with the news.
He finished the rest of his drink, one last massive mouthful. Squinting his eyes as the alcohol burnt his chest on its way down, he said: "couldn't agree more, but who cares? I'm over her".
He wasn't lying. He was over Josie in a way; annoyed at how she blew him off for sure. The emotional connection was gone.
The topic of Josie was dropped pretty much then. For the next few hours, the pair of you listened to music, having your usual debate over which bands were better. You told him about things at the Wyrm: how you'd started taking on the late shifts, helping Hogeye kick out the drunks who wouldn't leave really could be your new calling in life.
"I would have loved to have seen you chucking out Danny. 'Bet he was fuming... " he said, chuckling, while imagining you push a six feet long Serpent out the bar. "What else 'been happening?" he asked.
"Well, two new girls did their Serpent dance. I'm surprised you missed it", you said, knowing Pea never missed a dance, "Showing support", he'd say in defence. Heck, for your dance he was front row and centre. His intense stare kept you focused, staring back at him while you moved and danced.
He laughed, asking if any were fit, earning an eye-roll from you. He was more drunk than normal, possibly giving him both courage and an excuse for his next comment: "never mind newbies. When are you getting back on that pole?" he asked, with a cheeky wink.
You raised your brows at him but couldn't hide the shade of pink your cheeks started turning. "Coz' I work the bar", you answer, not sure from where his comment came.
He stood up, changing the music to a different song. "Well, you're wasted behind a bar. You're one of the best dancers I know" he said, seductively holding out his hand to you. Again, this was something Sweetpea wouldn't dare do prior, even when drunk. But right now he was using it to fuel his actions he'd denied himself for so long.
You took his hand, unsure what was going on his head. He clumsily tugged you, trying to dance. You almost fall over his giant feet, but he caught you in his arms. For the next hour or so the pair of you danced, laughed, and finished Sweet pea’s bottle of vodka, as well as almost one of your own. You were happy; it was just like old times, minus Fangs and Toni.
Sweetpea had spent the past hour building up the courage to make his move even though he didn't exactly know what that was yet. He poured the last of the alcohol into glasses, watching y/n shake her hips, arms over her head. He watched intently as she turned, showing him a full view of her ass. He bit his lips, watching her move as sway. He was holding on to what little restraint he had to not go over and grab it. He smiled as she turned to face him, her eyes were glassy and bright with a smile to match. The song changed, and to his delight it was a slower, sexier one.
He came over close, putting his hands on your hips, moving with your rhythm. Although he'd done this before, something this time felt different. Maybe it was the way he was staring in to your eyes, or the wolfish smirk, which looked like he was planning something. Or maybe the way it all made you feel. Your heart pound against your chest, your breathing had quickened. Just like putty in his hands.
Sweetpea thought it was now or never. He lifted his hand to your chin, tilting it up as he bent down to capture your lips with his. They were soft, as you always imagined they would be. For a second, you kissed him back, enjoying the thing you had craved for years. His hand, still on your hip, tightened, pulling you closer to him. His kiss deepened when you grabbed his shirt.
You both pulled away. Your mind was hazy with a mix of thoughts running through it at the same time. A few seconds on your head felt like eternity. All your wants here in your hands, yet some rational voice in your head reminded you of his recent break up.
Was this all it was, Sweetpea getting over Josie? Were you his rebound? If so, how will it affect your friendship afterwards? You'd rather not destroy the connection you had, for one night of everything you ever dreamed.
Sweetpea smiled, happy, until he studied your shell-shocked face. He was unable to read whether you liked it or not. A bit worried he moved in for a second kiss, the moment his lips touched he could feel you pushing him away. He took a step, looking confused. "We shouldn't do this", you said, in a low voice.
You saw him tense up, his jaw clenched, as well as his fists. It was only the look in his eyes that showed the sadness he was feeling. "Why?" he asked, through gritted teeth. His tone wasn't angry like he looked.
You swallow hard, partly for not believing what you were saying, wanting to just run back and kiss him again. "You've just split with Josie. I don't want to be your rebound girl. There are enough Southside sluts you can use for that", you say, trying to sound kind in hopes that he'd see your point. "I care about you enough to not let us wreck our friendship like this", you add.
The F-word was like a knife to his chest. You said it, proving his original thoughts, You'd never love him like he loves you. He nodded, not sure what to say, nor trusting his voice not to crack. Turning to finish his drink, he mumbled a weak apology before getting his jacket to leave.
You told him not to leave as he opened the door, but he just gave you a half-smile before walking out. When the door shut, you collapse on the couch, silent tears run down your face as you cradle a cushion. Your heart was screaming, "what have you done?"; your head still trying to think if it was the right thing to do. You went to bed thinking out of all the times you imagined kissing Sweetpea, you'd never imagined it ending with you crying alone.
Sweetpea wasn't feeling much better. He walked out the trailer park, your words running in his head. "Why did I have to kiss her?", he asked himself aloud before punching a beat-up street sign. The first punch felt good, so he hit it again and again until his stamina started to wear. His knuckles were grazed and cut. He opened and closed his fingers, the pain now noticeable. Sinking to the floor, his head in his knees, he finally broke down.
You didn't leave your trailer all of Sunday, not wanting to face the world after the kiss went wrong. However, on Monday, you had to work. Working meant the possibility of running in to Sweetpea. You wanted to see him, but didn't know what to say after pushing him away. The thought of it made you cringe, still regretting your actions.
Outside you can hear the buzz coming from within the bar. Maybe work was a good idea. If it's busy, you won't have time to think. You walked though the door, the first person you saw was him. It didn't help Sweetpea being one of the tallest in there, standing at six-feet three inches.
He saw you walk inside. Turning back to the pool table, he hit his ball with more force than necessary. He looked up seeing you head to the hatch near to bar, dumping your bag. The sounds of Toni's protest made him look back. "I don't know what's wrong with you today, but if you keep hitting balls like that, you're gonna crack one", she moaned.
He didn't answer her, just took his next shot; it was softer than the last, but the sound of the hit was anything but calm. To add more annoyance to his mood, Cheryl had to open her mouth: "Why's he throwing a fit after my girl, Josie, dumped his ass?", in a sassy remark.
Annoyed, he growled: "I'm not throwing anything. It was a summer fling. Summer is over now. I couldn't care that it is over", he yells, unconvincingly. Right now he wasn't bothered what they all thought, as long as they didn't know the truth.
Fangs asked what happened but Sweetpea ignored the question, focusing on the game which he was in the middle of. When he didn't answer, Cheryl took delight in spilling the gossip to Fangs. He tried ignoring them but Cheryl's voice was hard to block out, especially when she said things like: "Josie was slumming it with him. A last bit of fun before New York", and "becoming a star, she had to drop the dead weight". With each comment his knuckles got tighter and tighter around his cue.
You walked over with a tray of drinks Toni had ordered. You asked Hogeye to take it, but he wouldn't. The closer you got, the more you heard Cheryl’s comments, basically saying that he wasn't good enough.
On the best of days you didn't like Cheryl; she's loud, obnoxious, and full of herself. You only tolerated her because of Toni's and Jughead's relationships with her, but right now you were struggling to keep your cool.
You could tell Sweetpea was struggling too, his face was like thunder, his knuckles as white as rocks. You wanted to go and tell him that it's okay, to ignore her, but the way he looked at you made you decide against it. You placed the tray down giving Pea a small smile, but he didn't return it. You wished it were because of Cheryl, but knew deep down it was a knock to your friendship.
"Well I have been telling her all summer that she's better off without him", you heard Cheryl say. That was it, you couldn't take any more of her slating him. You span around to face the venomous redhead. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" you snap.
She looked at you with her faux shook, "excuse moi?" she asked in her fake and bitchy way.
You stepped closer so she couldn't mistake you this time. "You heard me. How dare you come here making out he's not good enough." Your arm shot up, pointing at Sweetpea. "He's the nicest, funniest guy going. Your diva-slut mate wasn't slumming it, he's the realest guy that fake bitch will ever have. If you think she was, what does that say about you and MY girl?" This time you gesture towards Toni who was now walking back from the bathroom, unaware as to why her mate and girlfriend looked like they were about to come to blows.
Sweetpea watched you go off at Cheryl, a mix of happy and hurt, listening to you defend him. The argument in front of him faded as he was lost in his own trail of thoughts, only broken when he saw Cheryl slap y/n. That was after you had shoved her back, hard. He dropped his cue, but before it had even touched the floor, she punched Cheryl back.
Both girls attacked each other. Toni dragged Cheryl away, while Sweetpea took you out back to cool off, mainly because he was the only one strong enough to drag you out the bar and handle the kicks or hits that landed his way; something neither of you were a stranger to, what with the past bar fights and scraps.
You paced outside, a string of insults at Cheryl coming from your mouth. Sweetpea just watched you in silence, not knowing if he should walk back inside or not. He also wanted to know why you went off like that too. Yes, you'd had fights before, never having started one like that though. When you finally finished ranting, he asked "what was all that about?"
"What? She's vile, and after hearing her talk shit about you... like you're nothing, made my blood boil. Plus, it's about time someone gave her a nose job", you shout back, still angry from the small fight. "The bigger question is: why did you just stand there, and let her talk trash about you in your own place?", you ask, folding your arms.
He shrugged his shoulders in reply, "why bother? It's Blossom, she talks trash about everything; not something to get worked up over. Ignoring her hurts her more", he said, hoping you'd buy his excuse.
You didn't. You knew him better: the sly look to the side, the way he slid his hand down the back of his head. His signals. You took a step forward.
"Yeah that might be true, but there is something you're not saying", you point out.
He doesn't look at you, keeping his eyes to the ground he mumbles, "nothing". He goes to turn away back inside, when you grab his arm. He stopped, his body tense, still not turning back to look at you. So instead, you walked in front of him.
When he finally looked at you, the hurt was visible in his eyes; the same look he gave you when he left that night, the same eyes he had when you entered the bar, and when you first brought the drinks over.
"I've known you for as long as I can remember. I know something's wrong, and you'd normally tell me what's on your mind. Now please stop looking at me like I killed your dog", you plead.
"She's right", he says, whispering. Your brows crossed; you couldn't believe your ears. Was he really saying that he believed those things? "what do you mean?", you asked confused.
"Cheryl, that bitch. She's right about me: I'm not good enough! Tell me something that wasn't a lie! I am trailer trash, a worthless gang member; no real money or goals", he shouted back, releasing his pent-up anger he'd held in all night.
You pushed him hard. "Look. Josie thinks she's the next Beyoncé. You don't need a girl like that. You're more than ten times good enough for girls like Josie and Cheryl, for that matter. You deserve someone who see how incredible you are Pea, someone who will love you the way you are", you say, hoping he'd listen and believe you. You meant every word and wanted to show him.
He snorted and rolled his eyes at you. "I couldn't care about Josie; I never had any real feeling for her. She was something to take my mind off someone else. I wasn't good enough for too, so there's no point trying to make me feel better", he stated with a raised voice. By the time he said the first something his tone lowered and wavered.
You wanted to tell him you weren't lying. What you said was how you felt, how you wish you hadn't denied his kiss, and most importantly who the girl was. But none of that came out. The most your brain mustered was: "she's an idiot".
Sweetpea passed you. "Yes you are", he whispered to himself, not realising you'd heard it. You turned around so fast it could have given you whiplash.
"What did you say?", you asked.
Sweetpea froze. He didn't know what to say. He didn't think it could hurt anymore than being rejected, so he decided to tell you, and suffer now rather than let it drag on as it had.
"You! You rejected me. The one person I loved more than anyone. I could deal with being friends for so long, but no matter what, you would be on my mind. I knew you were too good for me, so I tried sleeping with other girls. I started a fling with Josie but none of them made me feel the way you do. I thought, well nothing else worked, so maybe just coming to tell you... but I couldn't see how, so I just kissed you. I was right, I you didn’t want me too.”
He didn't mean to say as much as he did, but once he started, it all just came out. He looked at you, when you didn't speak, seeing a smirk on your face, almost like you were holding in a laugh. "Oh, now you're gonna laugh at me. Reject then laugh"
You put a hand on his chest, shaking your head. "I'd never laugh at you and I'd never reject you because you're not good enough. I did it to protect my own feelings. I couldn't be a rebound. I love you too much for it to be a one-time thing", you say with a smile.
It took a second or two for your words to sink in. His eyes widened "did you just say...?" but never finished.
"I love you, yes" you say for him. "I always have, Pea, but never thought you liked me. Let's face it, I'm no Josie, nor the type you normally go for", you say, hearing how weird it came out.
He brought his face in close to yours, cupping your cheek in his hand. "No, you're better", he said before kissing you. When it ended, Sweetpea smiled. You looked up at him, seeing the joy. "If I do it again, you're not gonna say no this time", he joked.
You shook your head, leaning in for a second kiss, proving to him you would never reject or push him away again. This one was more passionate than the first. He held you close, one hand on your back, the other in your hair. You wrap yours around his neck, tugging on the hair your fingers reach.
When he felt the small pull, he deepened the kiss, his lips moved in sync faster and harder, but with a tenderness too. When he pulled away, you felt a little breathless. "Wanna get out of here?" you say, biting your lip to remember the feel of his.
"Thought you were working?" he asked; giving you a devilish smirk, knowing perfectly well neither of you were going back inside.
"Nar, we can feed Hogeye some line like I needed to calm down after that Blossom bitch. Hooking up with a sexy Serpent was just an added bonus", you giggle. You walked off towards his bike. He slipped his arm around your waist. He couldn't believe his dreams had come true. His only regret? That he'd not said anything sooner.
#riverdale#sweet pea#sweet pea imagine#sweet pea x reader#southside serpent#toni topaz#fanfition#fangs fogarty#cheryl blossom#choni
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With You
100. “We could... you know, go together, if you wanted.”
Thank you so much for the prompt @bitshortforastormtrooper. I’m sorry it took agessss to get around to but please enjoy. This can also be read for your convenience on ao3. Tagging @today-in-fic
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8:29 am
27th August
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Scully blustered her way into the office and shut the door behind her, slumping back against it with her eyes closed. She took several deep breaths before opening them again, attempting to cool the flush in her cheeks, only to find Mulder staring at her, concern in his eyes. The bastard. He didn’t say anything, just waited to see if she would explain her strange behaviour. Scully sighed.
“I just spoke to Skinner in the elevator,” she began slowly.
“If it was about the late case report, don’t worry,” he said quickly, “I was just about to head up there now to hand it in.”
“No, it wasn’t that.” She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “He asked me if I was attending the Director’s Ball on Friday evening. Of which Skinner informed me that he had given you both of our invitations several weeks ago.” Her tone implied that this was more of an interrogation than a statement.
At least he was smart enough to look slightly guilty. “He may have mentioned it.”
“Mulder…” she groaned in exasperation. “It’s in three days,” she stuttered, “and I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Scully, you could wear anything, even one of your old pantsuits with the massive shoulder pads, and you would still look amazing.”
She glared at him even as the blush returned to her cheeks. “I am not wearing a suit.”
“Why don’t you take the afternoon off?” Mulder suggested lightly. “We only have paperwork to do today. I can deal with it.”
“Are you sure?”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
She huffed a laugh, deciding not to think about the answers to his question. “Thank you,” she said.
Silence filled the office for a moment, then the rustling of paperwork as Mulder collected some files from the desk.
“Are we-” Scully faltered, then continued tentatively. “Do we have to bring dates?”
“I think everyone has a plus-one invitation; I’m not taking anyone, though.” He stood, not meeting her gaze as he shuffled the papers in his hands.
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure anyone would want to go with Spooky Mulder.” He laughed as though he had told a joke.
“We could… you know, go together, if you wanted.” Scully swallowed, suddenly overly conscious of the lump in her throat, barely daring to breathe in wait of his response.
“It’s alright, Scully. You don’t have to stick with me. You could have any man you wanted.” He stood from behind the desk, file in hand, and walked over to where she was still standing by the door. He gently moved her aside as he opened it. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, flashing her a grin, the one that made her go weak at the knees every time, and shut the door behind him.
“What if I want you?” she whispered to the closed door, her words too loud in the empty office.
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2:43 pm
That afternoon, Scully pulled into a parking space in front of a small boutique shop that she often eyed as she drove past on the way to work each day. She had only been inside once before, and it had been a few years ago when she had treated herself to a day of therapeutic shopping after a particularly gruelling case. She had bought a new pair of heels, which she had only worn two or three times since, but the feeling of buying them had been worth it.
A small bell above the door chimed as she entered. A woman popped her head out from behind a rack of clothes, greeted Scully, and told her to yell out if she needed any help. Scully smiled at her in thanks and wandered along the rows of dresses, running her fingertips lightly across the fabric.
She wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to wear to the event, so she chose a few dresses at random to try on, hoping to find something that would work, or at least narrow down her choices.
“Would you like to try those on?” the voice of the saleswoman behind her made her jump. She had a hand outstretched for the dresses draped over Scully’s arm. “Let me take them to the changeroom for you while you keep looking.”
“Actually, I’m ready to try them on now.”
“Of course, come this way.” She led Scully to the changeroom, drawing aside the large curtain for her, but she paused before closing it. “May I make a recommendation?” She didn’t wait for a response. “There’s a dress that’s out the back and I think that it would look perfect on you. I’ll go grab it while you try these ones on.” With that, she closed the curtain, leaving Scully by herself.
The first dress was a red, strapless number that came to just below her knees. The fabric pooled nicely around her figure, and she had a pair of heels and a clutch at home that would go quite nicely with it, but she was concerned that there was too much skin being shown to be considered ‘proper’ for a work event, though she knew Mulder would most likely appreciate it.
As would every other straight male in the room. She silently chastised herself for letting her mind wander to such a dangerous topic.
The second dress she had picked up was a shade of green that she knew immediately would not suit her as she held the dress up to her body in the small changing room mirror. She replaced the dress on its hanger without even bothering to try it on.
As she slid on the third dress, she thought it might be the one. The black fabric was smooth against her skin and the neckline and figure were modest yet flattering. But as she stepped out from behind the curtain to admire herself in the larger mirror, she noticed the slit along her left leg, nearly going up to her hip. She sighed at her reflection. She didn’t particularly want to be that exposed in front of her male colleagues, especially since she knew Skinner would be amongst them. She wouldn’t be able to meet her boss’s eye for days afterwards.
At that moment, the saleswoman walked back in, another dress draped over her arm. She stopped when she saw Scully.
“Oh honey, you look absolutely stunning,” she exclaimed.
“Thank you,” Scully dipped her head at the compliment, “but I’m attending a work function and I’m not entirely convinced by this.” She gestured to her exposed leg.
“Of course,” she shook her head knowingly. “Here, give this one a try. I think it will suit you perfectly.” She handed Scully the dress from her arm.
Ducking back into the change room, she removed her current dress and slipped on the one the saleswoman had given her. Black, silky fabric that clung to her skin but almost appeared to be cascading down her body and onto the floor. The straps were thin and the neckline was low, although not dangerously so. The back dipped just low enough that she wouldn’t be able to wear a bra, but so that her ouroboros remained hidden.
The woman gasped quietly as she emerged from behind the curtain. “That dress looks like it was made just for you.”
Scully examined herself in the large mirror and felt her own breath catch in her throat. She did look amazing. Even with her hair and make-up having deteriorated throughout the day, she felt as though she could walk into any ballroom and fit right in.
She couldn’t even begin to imagine how Mulder would react upon seeing her in this dress. Would he stop short at the sight of her? Or perhaps he would only give her a quick once over before he swept her into his arms, unable to keep away for any longer than necessary.
The shrill ringing of her cell phone pierced through the fog of dangerous thoughts that had filled her mind.
“Excuse me,” she said, stepping back into the changing room. She rifled through her belongings and found her phone. “Scully,” she answered.
“Scully, it’s me,” he said, as a loud crash came through the tiny speaker.
“Mulder? Is everything alright?”
“Just fine,” he replied unconvincingly. She heard the crackling rustle of papers being shuffled. “Do you know where you put the file on Cordelia Knox?”
“Mulder, you put that file on the massive pile on your desk, which I strongly suggested that you sort out before you lose something.”
She heard more rustling. Then a muffled bang. “I found it.” She laughed quietly even as her head fell into her hand.
“Are you sure you don’t need my help?”
There was a pause. “Have you finished shopping?” he asked tentatively.
“Not quite.” She may have found her dress, but she wanted to buy a nice pair of heels to go with it.
“Then I have everything under control.” Another crash sounded through the phone. “Go enjoy yourself, Scully. You deserve it.”
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8:29 am
29th August
FBI Director’s Ball
Scully was bored, tired, slightly drunk and extremely sick of the hot and clammy hands of the men who, because she had agreed to dance with them, believed that it was in their right to put said hands wherever they pleased on her body. She had been passed between the arms of the FBI’s worst perverts and creeps for the past hour and the only thing she wished for was a warm bath to wash away the lingering feeling of the many hands off her body. The man she was currently dancing with was no different from the others, in fact, they were all beginning to blend together. His hands sat hot and heavy on her lower back, making the skin itch and boil beneath the fabric.
There was a small, fickle part of herself that thought of that spot on the small of her back as Mulder’s. It was the same part of her that made her continuously scan the crowds over the shoulder of her dancing partner in the frail hope of seeing him. The same part of her that desperately hoped that he would see her despondence and sweep her far away from this place and all the people in it.
There was a high chance that he wouldn’t turn up at all; perhaps struck by a sudden ailment in the hours between leaving the office and the expected arrival time of the event. She usually didn’t mind his near-perfect streak of missing work events, as usually, he dragged her along with him to wherever he thought was a better place to be, which was anywhere else, really. All she wanted now was to be with him wherever that may be.
She snapped out of her thoughts as she felt the hands of her dance partner slip dangerously low on her back and she was so focused on attempting to keep them in a more respectable place that she did not notice Mulder step forward from the crowd at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes flying from face to face. She did not see the way he stopped dead at the sight of her in the wandering arms of another man. How his eyes sparked first with wonderment, then with indignation.
But then he was there, standing at her shoulder, politely asking for a dance and sweeping her away without waiting for an answer from the other man. He was inconsequential now that Mulder was there.
In the instant that he pulled her towards him, there was not a single soul present in the room that they were aware of, besides each other. He held her close, but his touch on her back was light and innocent, his fingertips deliciously burning the skin where her tattoo resided.
“Hi,” she whispered, tilting her head back so that their faces were aligned, noses only inches apart.
“Hi,” he responded, and she heard everything that he wanted to tell her at that moment. In the way he breathed that single word. She heard his wonder and his passion, and she heard his apology. She could see it reflected in his eyes, swimming there and exposed for her to see. An apology for letting her go alone, for being an idiot, and for all the arms that have held her tonight that weren’t his.
And she forgave him.
The music was slow and steady, a heartbeat thrumming in the air. She slid the hands which had been resting on his shoulders further up and looped them around his neck. They remained completely oblivious to the world around them as they swayed in place together, unaware of the stare and murmurs of their coworkers, not noticing how they diverted their attention to something else with a quick glare from AD Skinner. Men came up to them to ask Scully to dance, but they went unheard and ignored, skulking away after it became obvious they had no chance of interrupting.
He pulled her closer to him, and she turned to rest her head against his chest, listening to his heart beating out of sync with the music, so she danced to his rhythm instead. Both of them shifted slowly from side to side in synchrony, creating their own metronome.
She was pulled out of her trance-like state as the music changed to an upbeat song which she was no longer able to drown out with the sound of his heart beating in her ear. She extracted herself slightly from his arms and looked up at him, meeting his eyes. His face was clouded in an indecipherable storm of emotion, but when she smiled softly up at him, it cleared and he returned her small grin.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said, and his smile grew even wider. He moved the hands that had rested on her back and took her hand in his own, holding it tight as though he might lose her in the crowd, and led them off the dancefloor. They wove through the tables and people surrounding it, ignoring the people who looked their way in curiosity.
The heavy doors to the event hall closed firmly behind them and an instant deafening silence filled the foyer. But it was quickly broken by the echoing sound of her heels clicking on the tiles as Mulder tugged her towards the revolving door at the entrance. A tiny laugh, one that could almost be described as a giggle, escaped her lips. They tumbled out of the door onto the street, both attempting and failing to hide their grins.
He hadn’t let go of her hand.
A cool evening breeze drifted down the street, curling around her bare arms and shoulders, so she stepped closer into him, stealing his warmth by proximity. But, for the second time that night, he pulled her closer, an arm wrapping around her waist, hands still entwined.
She tilted her head up and he tilted his down so that their noses were only an inch apart.
“Where are we going?” he whispered, his breath tickling her lips.
“Does it matter?” she breathed.
“No.”
There were words that remained unspoken, but she heard them all the same.
As long as I’m with you.
#so it appears that the more i write the more i dislike my writing#is that just me ??#anyway i dont love this but oh well#xf fanfic#msr#dana scully#fox mulder#the x files#txf#my fic
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Egg Meeting 3/14/2021
Alastor visits Valera on Okkylk to “meet” an egg! An egg which hasn’t been laid yet, but like, it buzzes in magic static that Radio Demons can detect, so it’s still an interesting thing to meet if you’re an Alastor.
Alastor and Valera spend way too much time talking about the weird magical interdimensional tricks that Valera’s species can do because at one point Valera went “Alastor mentioned some of his occult experiences and I have decided I will be polite and NOT ask him about them” while Alastor went “Valera mentioned some of their occult experiences and they’re absolutely fascinating so I’m going to crack open my little grimoire and ASK A HUNDRED QUESTIONS and TAKE LOTS OF NOTES.”
He also somehow finagles himself into maybe being a fake-uncle, making the short list for a hypothetical godparent position, and definitely being the official Nightmare PTA Representative at any future school functions.
They also ended up following up on this conversation and it was awful and nobody enjoyed it.
(Starts as semi-OOC chatter and then segues into fully IC)
Alastor
SHOW HIM HIS FUTURE FAUX-NIBLING
Valera
He can meet Eelizzy the spectacular staticy egg
dazzler of, as of now, 100% of the people who've met this literal fetus in an egg in someone's goddamn stomach
Alastor
It’s definitely a lot louder than he generally expects eggs to be. Not, like, *audibly* loud. But still loud.
Valera
it is the sensation of like. those old tvs. the kind of fuzzy when you run your hands in the air right over the glass
Alastor
That’s a good stim
Valera
It's a GOOD STIM and now Val has just accepted that people are going to want to skim their hands over her stomach every time Egg goes brrrr
Alastor
He only does it for a couple of seconds before he’s like what the *fuck* am I doing that is somebody’s belly and stops himself and apologizes, how very rude of him
(But once the egg is laid all bets are off)
Valera
That egg is gonna get so much touching.
Alastor
Everyone with their hands over this egg like it’s the dead of winter and the egg is the only fireplace for miles
Valera
If eelizzy didn't want that she should have thought about it before she decided to be a stim
Egg buzzes rhythmically to music, and the lil beanie baby of A Child inside will kinda wiggle to the beat, which right now Val feels as a vague shifting of weight.
This thing has been exposed to music since it was conceived, it's too late for her
Alastor
Alastor will absolutely play some music for this egg to hear it buzz along
He’s like “You know my mother told me that when she was carrying me, a ghost would come to her and sing for me! She stopped hearing him when I was born. I don’t think I buzzed, though.” And then goes back to playing music like this is a totally normal fact to share out of the blue.
Valera
That's a very normal and not at all weird thing to tell someone. Yep. Fun little factoid to share with a friend.
Val just has to accept this as a new thing they know!!! "Well, hopefully I won't stop hearing you when Elizzy is born! I'm not too bad at charades, but it *would* complicate things."
Alastor
“Well, you could hear me just fine before then, so it’s probably fine!
Valera
Alastor sure had a WEIRD LIFE and Val is NOT SURE what to make of the snippets they heard. Humans aren't usually so Aware
Alastor
:) a special boy
Valera
On one hand, they almost want to *congratulate* him, on the other, did he get robbed of a normal childhood??? Should they offer condolences??? Help.
Alastor
:) :)
Valera
It worked out for him at least but at what cost....
Val doesn't actually know anything about his home life growing up! Like did he have a dad in the picture? Match and Leal didn't, but This guy has Surprised Her Before
Alastor
:) :) :)
Does Val ask or just Wonder?
Valera
They're still anxious about Alastor getting the wrong idea from them asking questions so they would Not ask.
They kept scwunching at the rehearsal because Leal was sitting with their main body patting them and singing in french to Soothe Their Dumb Ass
Alastor
So he just shares a weird-ass anecdote and then they marinate in the moment. Delightfully awkward
Valera
YEP
A little quip and then several seconds of dead air while Val goes on a face journey.
valera, wildly overthinking the second she doesn't have someone literally or figuratively holding her hand through a Social Interaction With Someone She Is Unsure Of Boundaries With
alastor: I was a haunted baby.
val: ..................... cool
Alastor
Alastor: and now I’m haunting YOUR baby! Haha isn’t that fun
Valera
Valera: A proud and noble tradition of baby haunting. Can't wait to see who she decides to haunt later in life.
Alastor
Alastor: ......... Do Veci have ghosts when they die?
He doesn’t know how Veci work, just that afterlives are something that happens to other people
Valera
Val: Nope, when we die for good our gods destroy our souls and recycle them. Unless you're an Autocrat, then you're turned into one of their little puppets used to enact their divine will and guide the next Autocrat. She'll have to find a mortal soul to haunt as a spirit.
Veci who die get put into the soul blender to get recycled for fresh soul meat
Alastor
Alastor: Pity. Environmentally friendly, I suppose.
Alastor: We just get thrown in the landfill and once a year a bunch of us get scooped into the trash compactor.
Valera
val: It's efficient! Kinda gross though, being made of the ground meat of souls. At least I get to look forward to a continued existence as some fucked up angel analog when someone makes me bite it someday. Wonder if I'll still recognize my kids?
Pat pat belly.
Alastor
Alastor: Can you ask your puppet predecessor?
Valera
val: I could try! He did have a daughter who's still alive, maybe if I made him manifest around her I'd get a reaction.
Alastor
Alastor: For her sake, I hope he does! Can’t imagine how awful it’d be if he didn’t! Although I don’t know how close you folks are to your ancestors. Even on Earth it varies.
Valera
val: Oh, very close! There are rooms in the Reppetto Compound still left exactly as the old owners left them when they died *hundreds* of years ago. There's never been a reason to clear them out, so we don't. I visit them occasionally, pay my respects. That's just the Veci though, I think the other species are much more practical.
Alastor
Alastor: ... And yet most of your ancestors get... “recycled.” They’re no longer around to visit the rooms left for them. That *is* a pity.
Alastor: Do Veci ever recognize shreds of their loved ones in their reincarnations?
Valera
val: Yes! It isn't unheard of for lovers to find each other again through old fragments, or a son to find that his child tugs at his soul to remind him of a dearly departed mother. Plenty of people recognize parts of me, some more strongly than others. Shreds tend to find their way back to their families. Sons, daughters, if you've experienced a loss you may find some glimmer of that person again in a generation or two.
Alastor
Alastor: Hm. Not quite gone forever, then. That’s good—the alternative is just too depressing, isn’t it!
Valera
val: Indeed! Full on reincarnation has even happened a few times, though the odds are, obviously, *incredibly* slim. We did have one guy though, who got reincarnated *three times in a row*. He's still alive, I've met him. Absolutely off the shits, never met someone less sane.
Alastor
Alastor: Hah! Is madness a prerequisite or side-effect to full blown reincarnation?
Valera
val: A side effect, I imagine! That would probably mean remembering getting your essence shredded and then falling back together. He likes to say he's "all there but the mind". What about you though? Was your culture close to your ancestors?
Alastor
Alastor: One side closer than the other. Some humans reincarnate, I’m given to understand, but where I’m from once you’re ejected from your body you tend not to get a replacement. Some stick around, most move on to one afterlife or another—and at that point you mainly reach them through long-distance calls, spiritually speaking. They’re still *there,* but... not on the same *level* that we are.
Alastor: It’s a trade off, I suppose—no reincarnation means no way to see them in the flesh again, but on the other hand they’re always *themselves*—they never become somebody different.
Valera
val: That.. Is very alien, to me. But I don't dislike the concept. Preserved in time, an individual forever, able to be reached but not touched. I guess, for us, since we live such a long time... We get a lot of time with people. By the time they leave us, they've usually said all they'd ever want to. If they pop up again it's just a nice surprise.
Alastor
Alastor: We seem to only get enough time to figure out what we're doing and pass on a fraction of our tricks to the next generation or two, and then we're gone and our descendants have to bumble around just like we did! Maybe we need ghosts more.
Valera
val: Sounds like you need more haunted babies to me, Alastor.
Alastor
Alastor: Why, are there any others around for me to haunt?
Alastor: anyway, I wouldn't make a very good ancestor, considering my distinct lack of descendants.
Valera
val: Just pick a baby and declare yourself part of their life! Step-Ancestor them before they can blink!
val: In all seriousness, Leal's already conceded the title of uncle to you despite you not even asking for it, I think you can figure something out.
Alastor
Alastor: I— Has he?
Alastor: Well—I was about to get all presumptuous and commandeer it myself, but—er. Good. Thank you. Him.
Valera
Val: He has indeed. As he puts it, you were here first, and you're Penny's best friend so *obviously* the role of honorary uncle should be yours. If sinners did godparents, I'm sure he'd ask you to be hers. Or I assume as much!
Alastor
Alastor: ... oh. Well. I'd hoped, actually...
Awkward shuffle.
Alastor: ... I mean, a child can have more than one uncle.
Valera
val: What had you hoped, Alastor? I won't laugh or anything, I just need you to be clear with me.
Alastor
Alastor: ... to be that.
Valera
val: What, to be an uncle? Or a godparent?
Alastor
Alastor: I'm not picky about the term. Someone close enough to matter. Uncle, probably, I suppose. I don't know what a damned sinner would do as a godparent—but I wouldn't turn it down.
Valera
A thoughtful look.
val: I'd love to have you be an important part of my child's life, Alastor. Though, from what I *understand* of modern human customs, a non-religious godparent usually just means that if the parents die, the godparent steps in to either raise the kid or find them a home that would raise them the way the parents would want. Largely symbolic, but important nonetheless.
Alastor
Alastor: It's hard to be non-religious within a religious afterlife. But—just for the record, if anything happened to you two and you *didn't* have a plan in place, I'd probably be charging in to do that myself anyway. I'm not about to leave that child in the hands of somebody who's going to be halfhearted about it.
Valera
Val: Well there you go! Already ready to do your job, and you haven't even been handed the paperwork or negotiated a salary.
Alastor
Alastor: IS there paperwork?
He's giving a Skeptical Look
Valera
Val: What, you think they'd hand over an orphan child to any guy who showed up claiming to be a family friend? They like seeing some documents saying "if I die this guy is who I want protecting my kids while they're vulnerable".
Alastor
Alastor: ... All right, fair enough! I was just going to kidnap her and flee into the night, but I suppose a paper or two would keep law enforcement off my back.
Valera
Val: I'm flattered that you'd get in trouble with the interdimensional magic fish police for Eelizzy's sake, but let's spare everyone the hassle. I'll talk to Penny, see if he wants to do the godparents thing at all, but I know what name I'd be floating.
Alastor
Alastor: Well—that's fine, then. Thank you. It's an honor to be considered either way.
He's all self-conscious now, look at this awkward man
Valera
Val: Of course! And at the VERY least I want you to be close to her when she hatches. Good old _Uncle Alastor_ to spoil her when Penny and I are busy.
Look what happens when you actually tell Valera what you want. Blurses. Blessings and curses.
Alastor
Look at him he's got heart eyes
Alastor: Fortunately, I'm an expert at spoiling other people's children! Don't you worry, I'll be loading her up with penny candy and letting her get in all the trouble she wants. Maybe even nickel candy if I'm feeling generous.
Valera
Val: How generous! And speaking of candy, that reminds me. I visited New Orleans recently on business and picked up a few treats while I was there. Do you want some roman candy? I know you don't have a sweet tooth, but it seems like something one should offer regardless.
Alastor
Alastor: ... They're still making that? Is it the real deal or did the family sell the franchise to some big candy company?
Valera
Val: I bought it from the same old wagon as always, so I believe it's authentic! Wax paper and all!
Alastor
Alastor: Well... sure, I'll have some. Doubt I have the right teeth for taffy anymore, but...
Valera
Val: You'll muddle through somehow, I'm sure. What flavor does it for you, chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry?
She will whip out a few familiar looking wax paper rolled tubes to offer him. Crinkly!
Alastor
Takes a strawberry one!!
Valera
Val: I'll be sure to let you be the first one to take her to buy this _particular_ candy, when she's old enough to actually enjoy taffy.
Alastor
Give him a second, he managed to bite off a bit and now he's doing the whole dog-with-peanut-butter routine
Valera
Oh no, that's funny. She is LOOKING and SNICKERING at this man. Who knew the secret to silencing the radio demon was _chewy food?_
Alastor
Alastor: ... You know I don't remember this stuff being so hazardous.
He was expecting a RUSH OF NOSTALGIA but then he was like oh right I didn't eat this stuff more than like twice when I was alive, I just saw at the cart.
Valera
The wax paper is more nostalgic than the candy, understandable.
Val: Not having good molars does that, I only ate the stuff the one time to experience it. I like the paper though, it's a very unique experience.
Alastor
HOLD ON LET HIM GET THE LAST OF IT OUT OF HIS MOUTH, he thinks he'll attempt to eat the rest later.
Alastor: We'll see when she's old enough to attempt to eat these things, but—I don't see much point in holding off on letting her try taffy just for ME to do the honors. Seems like a very little thing to make a whole trip for.
Valera
Val: Okkylk doesn't really have much in the way of taffy, I doubt it would come up.. and it would be funny to see her suddenly be faced with a chewy candy to struggle against. This is _guaranteed_ entrainment.
Alastor
Alastor: Hah! I like your parenting philosophy. All the same—no need to wait on me to go get the taffy. I'm sure you'll have more opportunities to pick some up than I will.
Valera
Val: Nothing wrong with a little light torment, she gets candy out of it! Builds character! But yes yes, I get the picture. We'll see how it shakes out, play it by ear.
Alastor
Alastor: As long as she's being duly compensated for providing entertainment! :)
Valera
Val: Of course! She's still my _daughter_, if anything actually upset her that would be a whole different story. Penny would be _inconsolable._
She would also be inconsolable but let's ignore the wibbly sad eyes Val gets at the very thought
Alastor
Alastor: I'm sure we'd be taking turns supporting him through the grief. One person alone wouldn't be able to support that weight.
He's got no doubt Valera would be duly distressed but somehow, somehow he feels like Sir Pentious would be more dramatic about it. Just a hunch.
Valera
There is a distinct possibility that one of the parents may be A HAIR more dramatic, and it MIGHT not be the one with a degree in musical theater. Possibly.
Val: It's true, he's pretty heavy. Like a weighted blanket of emotion.
Alastor
HUFF.
Alastor: I’m going to be thinking of that the next time he flops on top of me.
Valera
Val: Good, you can share my curse. Every Pentious is full of emotion, genius, and, honestly, horny.
Alastor
Opens mouth. Shuts it. Opens it. Shrugs and makes noncommittal radio noises.
Alastor: ... Frankly I don’t know what a normal quantity of horny is.
Valera
Val: I did research, but I don't know how sound it is. We're outsiders trying to look in to a very strange world.
Alastor
Vaguely nods, yeah, that’s true
Alastor: ... What’s the research say?
Valera
Val: Once a week seems like normal horny, in a relationship? A heightened few weeks or months of activity at the start before it levels out seems normal too.
Alastor
Alastor: Weekly?? For the same activity? That’s not as bad as I’d thought, but doesn’t that get boring?
Alastor: ... No, okay, I could schedule a weekly dinner date and never get tired of it, I’ve got no room to talk.
Valera
Val: I was going to say! I do all kinds of stuff on a weekly basis without it getting dull. Plus it does wonders for relieving tension, which I can appreciate from a medical standpoint.
Alastor
SKEPTICAL LOOK
Alastor: You find it RELAXING?
Valera
Val: Well sure! It's only nerve wracking if you aren't at ease, and after almost an entire _year,_ Penny and I have figured out what we like. Plus.. Neither of us sweat, there's no cleanup to worry about, and after the fact the brain gets flooded with feel good chemicals.
Alastor
Alastor: Oh, right, the feel good chemicals, right.
Valera
Val: Not familiar with them, Alastor?
Alastor
Alastor: ......... We’re passingly acquainted
Alastor struggling to figure out how to answer without Discussing Specific Sex Acts
Valera
The STRUGGLE.
Val: Only passingly, interesting. Well, you get a lot more of them with a partner, suffice to say.
Alastor
He's just 8)
Alastor: I would prefer not to!
Valera
Val: You don't have to! I'm telling you why the allosexuals like it so much. Or why I assume they do.
Sex talk with two aces this can only go well!!
Alastor
It sounded like Valera was speaking from a little more than secondhand experience there for a bit but you know what? Alastor isn’t going to ask for clarification. It’s fine. Doesn’t need to know.
Alastor: ... To be quite frank, I prefer far less to be a co-star and more to be a fluffer. I’m sure that’s going to disappoint him sooner or later, but...
Valera
What? The visibly pregnant fish might have firsthand knowledge about sex? Perish the thought.
Alastor
You never know. Mary made it work.
Valera
Immaculate conception of her husband's child, sell that story to the news!
Val: I'm sure you two discussed that before getting together, no?
Alastor
Alastor: ... *As* we were getting together, yes.
Valera
Val: Well then! He knows what he signed up for, and unless he says it's a problem, it shouldn't be treated like one.
Dismissive little hand wave.
Alastor
Alastor: Yes, yes. I don’t intend to treat it like one. Just... making conversation about the whole ‘get more with a partner’ concept.
A similarly dismissive little gesture.
Valera
Val: Ah! Yes, I see, that was perhaps too blanket a statement. Well, he has his other partner, I assume?
Alastor
Alastor: I assume. He hasn’t talked about their sex life. None of my business, I’m sure.
Valera
Wiggly hand gesture.
Val: Yes and no. You ARE his partner.
Val: I tell Penny what Leal and I get up to.
Alastor
Alastor: But do you tell my alternate about how often you have sex with Sir Pentious?
Valera
Val: If he asks! Which he doesn't, really, but we did talk about the finer points of eating pussy.
Alastor
RAISED EYEBROW.
Alastor: ... I don’t think the man I’ve been dating for under a month owes me the details of a near stranger’s sex life. I’ve only met his other partner a couple of times, what business is it of mine what she gets up to?
Alastor: I wouldn’t mind knowing what HE gets up to, but sex is a group sport.
Valera
Val: It isn't like he owes you her life story in hardback, but a frank discussion isn't going to breach confidentiality.
Val: Dating someone who is dating someone else means you're entitled to know what you're consenting to, Alastor.
Alastor
Alastor: I’ve already consented to be with a man who’s probably sleeping with someone else, I can’t think of anything else they could be getting up to that would possibly affect me.
Alastor: Unless their bedroom activities happen to include calling up all my worst enemies and telling them everything they know about me—but if it did, I doubt he’d admit so if I asked about it, would he?
Valera
Her turn to raise an eyebrow.
Alastor
Alastor: ... I don’t think they ARE, I’m trying to think of the most out-there hypothetical possibility.
Valera
Val: Good, I was about to be worried. But really, if those are the boundaries you're comfortable with, that's fine. But I don't think you'd be out of line to ask for more information. Either you'll learn, or he'll tell you it isn't something he wants to discuss.
Alastor
Alastor: Honestly, it... doesn’t cross my mind.
Man has no object permanence when it comes to sex
Valera
Val: Dare I say it, mood. But really, if that's how you like it, good for you, keep on keeping on.
Alastor
Alastor: I intend to!
Unless Telly doesn’t like it, but they’ll cross that bridge when they reach it.
Valera
Val: Then there's no issue, I hope!
Alastor
Alastor: One hopes! ... How did we get on this?
Valera
Val: I... Think it started when I called Pentious horny? And then you got worried about not being an active enough participant?
Alastor
Alastor: Oh, yes, right! But worried, no. Just a passing thought.
Valera
Val: Well, based on my knowledge, as long as the partner gets off they don't often care about the methods.
Shrug! Don't ask where the knowledge came from.
Alastor
Alastor: Ha! If it was that easy, I doubt so many people would be so distressed when the have to make do with their own hands!
Valera
Val: Did you know there's an entire subset of men that intentionally make their hands fall asleep so they can pretend someone else is getting them off?
Alastor
Alastor: You know, it just so happens I did. And I do not understand the appeal. It combines all the worst parts of getting your mouth numbed for a dental procedure with something half-dead and dangerously uncoordinated fumbling with your delicate bits.
Valera
WHEEZE... Oh that caught her off guard, give her a second to collect herself.
Alastor
He’ll wait. Smugly basking in his comedic genius.
Valera
Val: You said it yourself, sex is a group activity for a lot of people. Lonely people want someone else to make them feel good.
Alastor
Alastor: But if that’s all it takes, then why for so many people is a hand inferior to a mouth, and a mouth inferior to a more intimate part? No, I’m sure that there’s more to it than simply a desire for company when cleaning one’s pipes. The methods don’t trump the company, but they do matter.
Valera
Val: I could say more, but then I'd have to start talking about my own _alleged_ experiences.
Alastor
Alastor: ... Is the answer going to be something to the effect of “that particular bit of anatomy feels nicer against one’s equipment than other bits of anatomy?”
Valera
Val: Kind of. I'm sure some people prefer various bits, and they certainly feel _different._ I wouldn't say better though, just on physical contact alone.
Alastor
Alastor: ..."Kind of"?
You know what they say about cats and curiosity
Valera
Val: Yes, kind of. A hand can do things a mouth can't, and vice versa.
Alastor
Alastor: All right! That’s more or less where I thought you were going with that.
Valera
Val: Yes! Though there's a lot to be said for the varying degrees of intimacy.
Alastor
Alastor: I’m sure there is! No doubt there’s something special about the moment you finally get to show your loved one the parts of yourself you previously only shared with your toilet. ... So sorry, I don’t mean to be *dismissive* of the whole thing—I can just never quite get over that association, you know?
Valera
Val: Oh, no, I agree _completely._ Not that I'd tell that to Penny, of course. That would be cruel. But if my husband wants to mutually stimulate nerve endings a few times a week I'm happy to make him happy.
Alastor
SNORT. Mutually stimulate nerve endings.
Alastor: Well, what couples are equally interested in ALL their hobbies?
Valera
Val: None, unless it's two alternates of the same person, I guess!
Alastor
Alastor: Oh, you’d be surprised.
Valera
Val: Oh?? That sounds ominous. You know something I don't?
Alastor
Alastor: I know a lot of my own alternates, primarily!
Valera
Val: Yes, and I suppose even they have varying levels of interest in things?
Alastor
Alastor: Wildly varying! Why, sometimes you can meet yourself and wonder where you have anything in common at all! It’s fascinating, really.
Valera
Val: Goodness, that DOES sound fascinating. I can't imagine.. There's only one me, the idea of a me who isn't like me at all is just bizarre!
Alastor
Alastor: Only one? Or only one that you’ve found so far?
Valera
Val: By virtue of what I am, the only one! Unless something goes VERY Wrong.
Alastor
Alastor: Really! Do elaborate?
Valera
Val: I'm a singularity! There is one me, just in a lot of places!
Alastor
Slow blink.
Alastor: ... Like a god?
Valera
Val: Is... Is that a god thing?
Squint.
Alastor
Alastor: I don’t know many other things that can be in multiple places at once and yet remain an undivided entity with a singular source. Either a god or a radio signal—and signals can get distorted.
Valera
Val: ..... I'd rather be a radio signal than a god, honestly, but. Yeah, I guess? I didn't think it was so uncommon!
Alastor
Alastor: I’ve seen people so rare that even when they go looking, they can only find themselves in one universe—but that’s usually a trick of the universe itself, some little chain of cause-and-effect that only worked out once! Move a dimension to the left and their parents never met, move a dimension to the right and their grandmother died in infancy, and so on. But what *you’re* talking about—one person with a simultaneous singular presence in many realities? That sounds to me like something operating a step higher than your run-of-the-mill monodimensional mortals.
Valera
Val: I could turn on the TV right now and show you what the me in another reality is doing right now, I'm fully aware of myself. Are you saying you _don't_ have that?
_When you are suddenly hit over the head with the fact that you're actually an outlier and not the standard_
Alastor
Alastor: If I want to know what another me is doing, I have to call him up and ask! And sometimes I’ll find out he’s been hearing salacious details about my best friend’s oral skills. I can assure you I wasn’t fully aware of THAT, hah! I’ve heard of people with psychic sensitivities to their alternate selves—a sudden sense of disembodied alarm when something goes wrong elsewhere, emotions without a source, that sort of thing—but that particular sensitivity doesn’t come naturally to me. As far as psychic abilities go, I’d say that one in particular is notably rare.
Valera
Blink.
Val: Oh. Uh. Well. All of my species is like this. _All_ of us are singular individuals.
Alastor
Alastor: ARE you singular individuals? Or do you have alternates just like any other species, but because all of your alternates are... psychically linked, as it were, your thoughts are so inextricably intermingled that the whole lot of you consider yourself one person with one identity?
Valera
Val: At that point, what's the difference?
Alastor
Alastor: It’s the difference between a radio transmitter broadcasting the same song to a dozen different radio receivers, versus a dozen individual radio transceivers that play the same songs because they’re directly broadcasting to each other. Is it one singular thing that’s being witnessed in many places, or is it many separate things that have synchronized and homogenized with each other? In day-to-day life the difference might not matter; but philosophically, spiritually, magically, I think it all makes a great difference!
Valera
Val: Fair enough! But I still believe it's the former. The me you see now is the me that all the information goes back to. We've never cared enough to investigate it in depth.
Alastor
Alastor: ... Do you mean information *doesn’t* go back to the other versions of you?
He’s fascinated, he’s taking mental notes, he’s going all metaphysical occultist on this.
Valera
Val: Of course it does, if I don't intentionally restrict it, which is not something I'd be inclined to do. I'm simply aware of them the way you are aware of your arm.
Alastor
Alastor: So all versions of you get all the information from all versions of you.
Valera
Val: Yes! Unless I'm playing one of my games. Sometimes I'll make myself think I'm a normal mortal for a while. It's fun!
Alastor
Alastor: ......... Let’s unpack that a little.
Valera
Val: Sure! Where do we start?
Alastor
Alastor: Your “games”?
Valera
Val: Yes! A lot of Veci do it as they get older. They'll go to a universe and have one of themselves live a very normal mortal life, unaware of what they actually are.
Val: It's a fascinating perspective.
Alastor
Alastor: So, you cut off one version of yourself from the hive mind. And this version, I take it, then forgets for the duration of the game that they were once a part of a hive mind? Their memories only consist of what they experienced in their own home universe, and anything that they thought or did due to the influence of their other selves, they... what, make up a new false memory to explain away, something like that? And they aren’t receiving information, but they’re still sending out information for the rest of you to receive?
Valera
Val: Yes! Exactly so. A one way broadcast back to home base.
Alastor
Alastor: Huh! What about the people around the game piece who know they ought to be connected to other dimensions—or do you disguise yourself and drop yourself on some alien planet before you start the game?
Valera
Val: The latter! It's no fun if other people know things you don't, they could ruin the game for you. Unless you're going somewhere dangerous, then a lot of people will ask someone to send in an aware variant of themselves to help keep them in the game longer. Istoph does that for me in some places!
Alastor
Alastor: Does your game piece go in cold, wandering around like an amnesiac? Or are they given some sort of... of false set of memories, to blend in with the locals?
Valera
Val: Depends which is more interesting. Usually the latter, unless I can think of a reason that an amnesia story would work better.
Alastor
Alastor: And when does the game end? Death? Discovery? Is there a way for your game piece to "win" or is the game only supposed to be watched?
Valera
Val: It's usually for a set amount of time! A year or two, a decade at most. I don't let them Reproduce or anything, I don't want to go sowing any wild oats. That's how you get overly sensitive humans half the damn time.
A shake of her head.
Alastor
Alastor: ... Yes, that *would* do it.
Valera
Val: ... I don't.. I don't mean to imply _you_ were a result of that or anything. There is more than one way that could happen.
Alastor
Although he doesn't much like the thought that someone somewhere could use that information to dismiss particularly psychic humans as partially inhuman.
Alastor: I should hope I wasn't! I come from a long line of magically gifted people—we don't need the outside help!
Valera
Val: Hah! I know, I could practically smell it on you. If I turned you loose on Okkylk you'd get swarmed.
Alastor
Alastor: ... Swarmed like a dog in heat, or swarmed like a bleeder amidst sharks?
Valera
Val: .... Considering how violent Veci are in the act, uh. Both.
Alastor
A slow, slow nod.
Alastor: ... To steal my traits.
Valera
FACE JOURNEY
Val: I take it he told you about that one, eh? Not his finest moment
Alastor
Alastor: It will be my most carefully-guarded secret. ... But you knew about it already, so.
Valera
Val: To be fair, it's hilarious. I was minding my own business and then the guy I just started dating calls me to accuse me of stealing his traits like some kind of succubus.
Alastor
Alastor: ... I think succubi reproduce with humans because it’s easier, rather than because they want human traits. But don’t quote me on that, I don’t talk to many succubi.
Valera
Val: Neither do I, honestly. Plus, come on. Really? I could have just seduced him, I'm the one that insisted on a relationship.
Alastor
Alastor: Well, how many traits did you *want?* It could take a while!
Valera
Val: Oh yes, of course. If I'm going to get traits I may as well get a full set out of him! However many that is!
Alastor
Alastor: Only one way to find out!
Valera
Val: You're just saying that so you can flex on your alts with all the kids who'd call you uncle.
Alastor
Alastor: I’m willing to share unclehood with as many of my alternates who care to claim it!
Hand over heart, how magnanimous.
Alastor: ... So, are you only pregnant in this universe or all of them?
Valera
Val: Only this one. This is the only body that's gotten plowed by anyone and that's how I'm keeping it.
Snrk.
Alastor
Alastor: Then which universe any given Veci has... copies, facets, whatever—of themself in will vary wildly, depending on whether or not their parents happened to have synchronized date nights across those universes? I suppose it would be *easier* to synchronize up, if every version of you is connected—just like a whole line of dancers doing the can-can together—but what if one body sneezes and an egg doesn’t get filled, does that Veci just have one less version of themself than everyone else? Will Eelizzy have no other selves across the universe?
Valera
val: ..Do you think I'm going to sneeze too hard and shoot this egg across the-- Nevermind. Veci children aren't stable enough to exist in multiple realities, they have to grow up and get more control of their magic before they can manifest across realms.
Alastor
Eyebrows shoot up.
Alastor: No, I was talking about the conception, splash one or two drops the other way and... never mind, that’s the boring part! You’re telling me you start off as one singular entity in a singular universe—and *then* you split off into separate versions of yourself... deliberately?
Valera
Val: Well of course! There's only one Pelagios right now, he won't split off until he's fifteen for his first practice run, and then in earnest in his twenties. Rite of passage and all that!
Alastor
AMAZED BLINK. And then he’s opening a portal and hauling out his grimoire, ‘scuse him, don’t mind him.
Valera
She watches, slow blinking. What, did THAT catch his attention?
Alastor
Alastor: I should have been taking notes all along—I apologize, I do believe you were right, you *are* a lone tower transmitting to many receivers—or at the very least you do start off as one tower! How do you split, does it follow the natural branching of timelines—when two paths of history split over somebody’s decision, you just keep conscious contact with the two versions of you formed at that fork? Or do you create your duplicate self and then assign it to some pre-chosen timeline?
Scribble scribble SCRIBBLE scribble.
Valera
Val: The latter at first, I see a reality that interests me and drop in, and then as it progresses, it becomes the former. As the timeline I chose to investigate develops and changes, I follow the branching paths and observe the varying realities. It is *fascinating* stuff. Though sometimes a branch seems doomed, in which case I'll usually withdraw and send that variant elsewhere instead. Start the whole process over.
Alastor
Alastor: So you can pick and choose which path you follow—but you don’t AUTOMATICALLY form another version of yourself, only when you want to? That means that more versions of you AREN’T forming every single time a timeline you’re in branches, correct? But a single timeline can branch countless times, a hundred times an hour—I’m pulling that number out of my you-know, just as an example—if a timeline branches a hundred times an hour, then that means that in ninety-nine percent of all those timelines, a Veci living in it will suddenly... vanish into thin air? Is that right?
Valera
Val: Close enough, which is *generally* why we try to live very lowkey lives. Making new branches of yourself isn't.. *energy consuming* or anything, but you have to be able to process that amount of information. We don't vanish into thin air, but we'll often arrange a swift withdrawal. A sudden move, a staged home invasion, or, in a pinch, just erase ourselves from people's memories. Though that one is imprecise and often leaves lingering traces. Not ideal.
Alastor
Alastor: I imagine it explains an encounter with the fae or two.
Valera
Val: Probably? That's my theory.
Alastor
Alastor: And how often DO timelines branch around you, would you estimate? Are you abandoning thousands of iterations of the same place a day or... Well, I sort of *imagine* that time branches at ridiculously high rates, but I don’t actually know.
Valera
val: Not as often as you think honestly. Obviously it happens, but most people aren't wildly changing reality with every move. The butterfly effect is not as impactful as people believe it is.
Alastor
Alastor gratefully waves away the nightmarish thought of a million sad snakes wondering where his wife went.
Valera
Thoughtful hum....
Val: *You* probably caused a split, back in the day. There's a reality out there where you're dating the Pentious of your Hell. That was a fairly significant moment with pretty obvious impact on the rest of the population.
Alastor
Alastor: I’d always wondered about that! The whole ‘butterfly’ effect thing—particularly considering how often universes seem to CONVERGE on each other. Those of us who have more conventional alternates—it’s *amazing* how often I can talk to myself and think “why, you and I are so similar—our realities must have split no more than ten minutes ago!” and then I find out my other self has completely different parents and a big sister to boot. If two universes that started out in utterly different places can drift back together—
Oh. He stops talking with a noise like a motor dying.
Valera
Slow nod.
Val: It's not like every breakup causes a split in realities. But a drastic choice that results in explosions? Yeah.
Alastor
From 100 to 0 with one sentence.
Valera
Shoulder pat.
Val: It's weird to think about.
Alastor
Alastor: ... I hope he’s doing better.
Valera
Val: ... You're doing better too, Alastor. Better than you were.
Alastor
Alastor: I didn’t mean my alternate.
Valera
Squint.
Val: Your Pentious.
Alastor
Alastor: The one over there isn’t “my” Pentious. ... Sir Pentious. He’s just an alternate of my Sir Pentious, just like the one I’m seeing is an alternate of my Sir Pentious, and the one you’re married to is an alternate of my Sir Pentious. He just branched off a little more recently, that’s all.
Alastor: “My” Sir Pentious will always be the one that I backstabbed.
Valera
Val: He's fine. And *yours* will be okay too. We both know Sir Pentious is stubborn and unstoppable.
Alastor
Alastor: Stubborn, yes. ... We’re going to fix all that, though. So that this never happened.
Alastor: The original plan was to... to wrench the course of this timeline off its current path and onto the path it *would* have had if that decision had been different. But if you think the timeline *already* split there—then it’s not so much a matter of relocating this timeline as it is—just erasing it entirely, so that the other one is the only one left. Right?
Valera
She grimaces. That's a *lot* of people she'd be killing. Erasing from existence. Whatever.
Alastor
She agreed to it once before.
Valera
Val: Yeah, essentially. Not pleasant to think about, but... Yeah. And it's theoretically possible, but. Again. Fifty fifty shot.
Val: I'm... Surprised you'd still want to do it, though. You've got a boyfriend now. What about him?
Alastor
He squeezes his eyes shut and looks pained a second. That’s the same thought that he had. And that he HAS had about a thousand times.
Alastor: This was never about what I want, it was about him. Putting him back on track. Where he deserves to be.
Valera
Val: .... Not to... Okay, you know what, *yes* to be that person. But you want to help one Pentious by hurting another? If you wanted to spare the man you backstabbed, you shouldn't have started dating Telly. You *know* losing you is going to hurt him, *if* it works.
Alastor
Another pained wince.
Alastor: No, you’re right, I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to, but I did, and I shouldn’t have. And I knew I shouldn’t have, and... well. Here we are. But I can’t just—just change my mind, not when I have my first chance to make this right!
Valera
Val: I know. I understand. I—I wish I didn't but I *do* and I hate it. And I'm still going to try and help you. If you're sure you want to try. Even though this is. *Awful.* And only going to hurt people. Penny. Telly. Gods only know what will happen if we succeed. If we don't.. You'll hurt him anyway. You know this isn't something you should keep secret from him.
Alastor
And we’ve got a triple pained wince combo!
Alastor: How can I *not?* How can I just—just... happily go about my days, having picnics with one version of him and cuddling up to sleep with another, merrily getting ready for my big Broadway debut, dreaming about infernal conquest like I haven’t been able to dream in half a century—when he’s Hell’s laughingstock because of me?! Everything’s finally coming together for me, but the man I loved first and longest is a joke! How can I live out his dreams with an echo of him? What the Hell gives me the right to let a world like that exist?
Valera
Val: I know we've discussed this before, but. Tell me. Why haven't you tried to make amends? You'll never be friends again, obviously, but surely you could take out some overlords, or anonymously provide supplies... Do some networking, find allies to thrust his way without your name ever crossing his mind?
Frown...
Alastor
Alastor: ... I’ve done a bit. Taken out some of his rivals, that sort of thing.
Valera
Val: That's good! If your major grievance is that you've ruined his life, isn't it right to fix the damage you've caused, even if it's hard?
Alastor
Alastor: And then I heard him whining about how somebody else took down his foes before he had a chance to.
Wan smile.
Valera
.... Somehow, she doesn't look surprised. She just rolls her eyes.
Val: Okay, yeah that sounds like Every Pentious I Know.
Alastor
Smiles a little wider for a second
Alastor: Doesn’t it?
Valera
Val: I love my Penny, truly, but he's a _brat_ and so are his alts. You're damned if you do and damned if you don't, Alastor. Literally. You might as well be damned handing the man an overlord on a platter. Even if he complains, at least he's getting a chance to rebuild.
Alastor
Alastor: ... I—*hm*—but—It isn’t *right.* It shouldn’t be just, just... He’s had half a century wasted. All that should be gone. Not just made up for after the fact, but—GONE. Shouldn’t it? Throwing him favors after the fact is, it’s... it’s...
Gestures vaguely and throws out meaningless sound effects. You know!!!
Valera
A sympathetic nod.
Val: I know. Erasing it seems like the kindest option, but is it? Would that be what _he'd_ want? To simply undo everything? Or would he want to claw his way back to the top and spit in the face of every overlord who tried to keep him down? You know him better than I do, so this is not rhetorical. It's a genuine question.
Alastor
He’s gotta stop and stare into space while he thinks about that.
Alastor: ... If somebody asked the Sir Pentious of today if he’d want the last century of troubles retroactively wiped away... I don’t know. I don’t know if he’d rather *have* the throne or *earn* the throne. He’s never had any shame about using an unfair advantage, the only reason he was able to conquer half the States was because he was filthy rich for no good reason and he’ll tell you so himself, but... he wouldn’t want somebody else to do his conquering *for* him, but I don’t know if that’s what he’d consider somebody changing history for him. But if I asked the Sir Pentious of ‘66 which route he’d like to go on, the one where he’s got a loyal ally and can get on with the business of conquest or the one where he’s betrayed and has to start at square one just for a fun extra challenge, he’d ask me if I’m crazy and say he’d rather have the first route. No question.
Alastor: ... But he already HAS that route, if you’re right. If it split then. If it *did* split then, then I’m not... I’m not giving the one I know a little mind wipe and transplanting him sideways into a better reality. That reality is already there and populated. I’m just... destroying him. Right?
Valera
Val: Correct. Is that mercy? Is that making amends?
Val: Wouldn't it be better to improve his life, rather than erase him entirely?
She almost reaches for Alastor's hand, but thinks better of it. Fiddle with her necklace it is.
Alastor
Alastor: ... Is there a way to see? If that universe already exists? If it doesn’t then we can proceed as planned.
Valera
Val: Oh, yes of course there is. I could try to find it, put myself in it the way I do any other universe. Would you like me to?
Alastor
Alastor: It could settle things.
Valera
Val: True. Do I have permission to peek under the hood of your reality?
Alastor
Alastor: ... What, right now?? You can just do it on the spot?
Valera
Val: I could, but I'm not going to. I'm _heavily_ pregnant and my baby is liable to start spitting static that could mess with my spells. I'll have to wait until she's tuckered out, play something energetic until the little thing wiggles herself senseless.
She pats her belly affectionately, but with a roll of the eyes.
Alastor
Alastor: Ha! Right. Of course.
... Plays something energetic.
Valera
The egg, predictably, seems very excited about this sudden turn of events and starts throwing hissing nonsense static fuzz into the air with a sensation not unlike static electricity.
Valera raises an eyebrow at Alastor.
Alastor
:)
Valera
Val: Spoiling her already, are we? She's getting big enough to actually feel her moving, you know.
Alastor
Alastor: It was your idea. :) But really? Through the egg and all?
Valera
Val: Yes! Soft shelled eggs are a lot easier to feel through than hard shells, and she is _wiggling_. It's not obvious like a human baby kicking, but there's definitely weight shifting.
Alastor
Alastor: Oh, right—they WERE soft, weren’t they! I was trying to be polite and not look too closely.
Valera
Val: Understandable! Amusingly similar to snake eggs, really. Which means by the time May rolls around I'm going to be strangling any radio demon brave enough to try and get this baby active.
She's grinning, but not in a way that says she's joking.
Alastor
Alastor: You were the one who suggested getting her to wiggle herself senseless, I’m only following your sage advice.
Valera
Val: You're evil. How _dare_ you listen to me. If my daughter wants to learn the trumpet when she's older it's your fault. She's being seduced by _Jazz music_.
Alastor
Alastor: I’m setting her up for a life of vice and villainy, EXACTLY as I’m sure her father would want.
Valera
Val: He'll want her learning the pipe organ and how to cackle maniacally. That classic Romantic ideal of brooding and fits of murderous passion. You'll have her _flashing ankles_ on the dance floor!!
A mock gasp!! Perish the thought!
Alastor
Alastor: All the better to shock and scandalize her enemies, right before eliminating them! If they’re staring at her ankles, they’ll never see her gun.
Valera
Val: Bold, I like it. But you'll have to explain that one to Penny, I can already tell he's going to be one of those dads who fawn over their daughter. Leal too, even if he insists he's not attached.
A VERY dramatic roll of the eyes.
Alastor
Alastor: Ha! Then I can do one better—I’ll get *her* to explain it to Sir Pentious.
Valera
Val: Oh that can _only_ go well. I'm holding you to that one, Alastor.
Alastor
A wink.
Alastor: My alternate can fawn over her—I think instead I’ll conspire with her. I just hope she’s a rascal.
Valera
Val: Well I don't know about _Penny_, but I was a rascal without equal in my youth! I knocked over half the shelves in a library and pinned it on another kid. I'm sure she'll give me as many headaches as I gave my caretakers.
Alastor
Alastor: Never you fear, I'll do my best to make sure she lives up to the precedent you've set!
Valera
Val: I appreciate that, Alastor! I'm sure I'll be much too busy doing boring parent stuff. Not sure what, but it'll catch me. Maybe I'll go to a PTA meeting.
Alastor
Alastor: A... what meeting?
The man hasn't been around children in almost nine decades, he'd forgotten such esoteric acronyms. It sounds like a military thing.
Valera
Val: A PTA meeting! A parent teacher... SOMETHING meeting. I don't know what the A is for.
Alastor
Snaps fingers! Now it’s familiar.
Alastor: Assassination.
Alastor: ... Wait.
Valera
Val: I don't think I'm supposed to assassinate the teachers. Although, if they're doing a bad job...
Kombucha girl face journey.
Val: No. No. It's probably association or something stupid like that.
Alastor
SNAPS FINGERS AGAIN.
Alastor: THAT was it! Association! Pity, “Parent Teacher Assassination” sounded far more fun.
Valera
Val: It DOES sound more fun. Now I'm disappointed.
Alastor
Alastor: Sounds like a fantastic parent-child bonding activity, too!
Valera
Val: Take the teacher with the lowest reviews and hunt them for sport? Sounds like something you'd enjoy.
Alastor
He’s got to pause and think about that for a moment.
Alastor: Who’s reviewing them?
Valera
Val: Not sure. The students, I imagine?
Alastor
Alastor: All right, seems fair! I’m for it!
Valera
Val: Good! You'll be handling the PTA meetings then, that's _one_ less thing for me to worry about.
Snrk snrk. She's kidding. Probably.
Alastor
Alastor: Oh, CAN I? I’ve always wanted to be a problem at school events! An *adult* problem, I mean. I imagine it’s a somewhat different experience from being a student problem.
Valera
Val: What, you want to get saddled with my kid for an evening to go to a school and scare the hell out of the staff?
Alastor
Alastor: Scare them, annoy the hell out of them, say wildly inaccurate things that they’re forced to agree with because they know I’m there on behalf of the autocrat... any of the above, really!
Valera
Val: Well damn! Alright, I'll make sure you go to at least a couple of them. If I send you and one of your alts we can _really_ get a show.
Alastor
Oh look at him he’s ecstatic. This just opened up a whole new world of pranks.
Valera
Val: I've never seen someone so excited about going to a PTA meeting. But hey, who am I to deny you fresh victims? Congratulations on your upcoming career in school harassment.
Alastor
Alastor: Thank you, I eagerly anticipate it!
Valera
Egg probably wore herself out while they were discussing the finer points of PTA sabotage
Alastor
yeah there IS a secondary timeline where Sir Pent and Al are Hell's most feared power couple. Airships are everywhere. Lucifer is going "oh shit the prisoners are unionizing." Alastor and Sir Pent wear matching outfits. They have a kid, where did they get a kid, did they adopt a baby imp or something??? what the fuck
Valera
Oh my god
Val takes one look at that timeline, looks at that Alastor, looks at this one. Looks back. "Well you're a dad in this one." And does not provide context
Alastor
Alastor just. Sits on the floor.
Valera
Well she can't exactly pat his head so they just have to sit there. Timeline confirmed welcome to die
Alastor
"What's their name?"
Valera
"What, the kid? I didn't think to ask. Does it matter?"
Alastor
"Just wondered." He's gotta lay down.
Valera
Guess she's gotta go try to learn the kids name now if Alastor is gonna be a sad floppy man. Feels bad.
Alastor
He was gonna be a sad floppy man regardless.
Valera
It is in the nature of Alastors to be sad and floppy men
Valera
But only under SPECIFIC circumstances
Alastor
Selectively sad and floppy
Valera
"...... Alternate timeline you's kid is named Codie Grace." Alright that is enough telling Alastor things about the future he doesn't have
Alastor
In one universe The Alastor That Didn't Fuck Up is probably giving Valera this c: look like do you get it. do you. do you get it. And in this universe The Fuckup Alastor is squinting at the ceiling and then suddenly goes "WE NAMED OUR KID *COUP DE GRÂCE*?!"
Valera
VAL GETS IT AND SHE ISN'T SURE IF SHE LOVES IT OR HATES IT
But it is VERY like them, the bastards
Alastor
Alastor just covers his face and laughs. It is the laugh of a broken man. Yeah. Yeah that's what he would name a kid, dammit. It's true.
Valera
Poor Fuckup Alastor
Alastor
"... Are they successful, over there? Are they happy?"
Valera
"They wear matching outfits and have airships all over the place so yes and yes."
She's gonna need a broom to pet this man with. There there.
Alastor
Alastor
It's just a high pitched static whine noise. *Matching outfits...*
That's BASICALLY the exact same thing as marriage. You're married when you wear the same outfits.
Valera
What is marriage if not an elaborate excuse to wear matching outfits? Just keep doing it, forever.
Pat. Pat. "And now you know. There's a reality out there where you and your local Pentious are basically married with a kid and have airships over like, half of Hell."
Alastor
He's gonna. Lay there for a second. And process that.
And then sit up and cradle his head in his hands and process that some more.
Valera
Would he like.... Well. Not tea but she can get him some water. Maybe a coffee.
Alastor
Coffee would be nice
Valera
She can do coffee. Does he want any cream or sugar?
Alastor
Black as his soul. Like an edgy hottopic goth kid.
Valera
She'll get him some pourover, let him have a good coffee while his brain wheezes and stalls.
Alastor
He eventually gets himself up in a chair with his coffee. Look at that, he's almost human again. "So there's already a place where it all worked out."
Valera
"That seems to be the case, yes." The power of coffee, clearly. If only sitting upright really fixed your problems.
Alastor
A nod, and then he’s silent again a moment as he processes this. “So there’s—I wouldn’t be helping him. I can’t help him like this.”
Valera
"You cannot. You can't just wave away what you did to him. Not without ruining another Pentious' life."
Alastor
“It’s not just ‘waving away’! Don’t forget that doing this would erase me, too! It’s not *running* from the consequences of my actions, it’s *paying* for them!” He’s gotta hop up and pace. “‘Waving away’ what I did is what I’m doing right NOW—getting to—to move on and be happy like it never happened! How is that fair?!”
Valera
"How is it fair? Good question, let me counter with another." She sips the tea she got for herself, watching him pace. "Have you forgiven yourself?"
Alastor
He pauses for half a second, and then continues pacing. “Now, why would I go and do a damn fool thing like that?” He laughs wryly. “I don’t see how it matters.”
Valera
"Because you're in Hell, and why would Hell ever _really_ let you win?"
Alastor
“*Hell* wouldn’t—and that’s why I’m outsourcing the job. I don’t see what that has to do with forgiveness and fairness.”
Valera
"Didn't you think Hell has some measure of control over you, or am I misremembering?"
A stretch, and a hand lays over her belly. Rub rub. "Now. I am loathe to admit I could still try to break your timeline like a bone and forcefully reset it into a shape similar to the one I saw, but. I could. Though THAT is something I've never tried at all, I've got no idea if it would work."
Alastor “‘It’s not my fault, the devil made me do it’?” Alastor shook his head. “It’s my fault. Hell is pulling some strings, sure—it can, say, nudge things around to prey on your worst character flaws—but it doesn’t give you those character flaws.”
He stops pacing again. “What would that involve?”
Valera
She opens her mouth, closes it. Clicks her tongue. "That's what I'm figuring out. It *can* be done. I've never done it. But I said I would help you, so I have to offer it as a possibility. It would probably take something fairly drastic. There was a window between you making your decision and actually betraying Pentious, right?"
Alastor
A slow nod. “Ten or fifteen minutes.”
Valera
"There are... A few options. I don't know how *viable* they actually are, right now. I'll have to do research. But I *think* I could try to remove you *entirely* from the timeline at that point. Most likely through a faked assassination or kidnapping. That would break the timeline off the track that was set, an outlier that was not within reasonable bounds. Then give the timeline a few hours, maybe days as it tries to course correct and *cannot*, and then I... Drop *you* back in. Let you run back to Sir Pentious, alive, if not unharmed. At the very least, I'm sure he'd be too busy being glad you were alive to be angry that whatever scheme he was currently enacting got thrown off."
Alastor
He stops breathing for a moment as he thinks about Sir Pentious having to deal with Alastor so suddenly disappearing.
And he tries not to too deeply analyze his disappointment when Valera says they’d put him back. He starts pacing again. “And that would be—like we discussed before? This version of the timeline disappears completely?”
Valera
"It would be impossible for the timeline to continue as it was, so. Yes. You cannot betray Pentious if you aren't there. Everything would get thrown off the rails entirely. Timelines account for a reasonable margin of circumstances with everything people do. Most people rarely do things outside of their norm, so even small changes rarely mean anything and that's why they don't branch as much as people think."
She taps her stomach, lips pursing. "Again. Remember, I can't guarantee it would work. But it does seem the most *likely* to work out of all the options. The first obstacle would be me taking down the Radio Demon. I don't know if you're aware, Alastor, but I don't actually relish the thought of fighting you to what you'd believe to be your death."
Alastor
He laughs humorlessly. “You won’t need to fight. I can tell you exactly what to say to make me come willingly.”
Valera
Blink. Wait, what? She looks back up at him, eyebrows raising. "What, really?"
Alastor
“You think I don’t know myself well enough to know exactly what would make me shut up and listen? Don’t you have secret things that would immediately catch your attention if a stranger said them to you?” A shrug. “Anyway, I wasn’t exactly hard to persuade at that point! I’d just decided to escape a relationship by destroying everything he owned and running—if a stranger magically appeared in front of me and said ‘come with me, we need to fake your assassination,’ I’d consider it a miracle.”
Valera
Valera raises a finger. "Alastor, I am a stubborn, paranoid bitch of a politician. My own parents could miraculously spring back into existence and promise me anything I wanted and I would probably try to bite them. I can't be blackmailed because any time someone tries, I get my PR team to leak it themselves to control the narrative. I am TRULY the most contrary piece of work to get dragged into existence."
A pause.. Then she grins. "Lucky for us, you're not me. If you think that would work? *Good*. That's one of many obstacles down. A question, though, and possibly a dumb one. Would you even *want* to go back? If I ripped you from the timeline, that is."
Alastor
“Does what I’d want matter? Either you put me back, you exterminate me, or you drop me somewhere outside of Hell and I end up having to go back eventually. A disembodied soul can’t last forever outside of Hell, and I can’t move into a neighboring Hell without stepping on an alternate’s hooves.”
Valera
She rolls her eyes, sighing noisily. "Yes, it matters. Even if we can't figure out something better, I want to *try* and help you get a happier ending. Because right now, it's sounding like you're about to give up Telly to go run into your Pentious' arms. Which I don't think Telly would like much."
Alastor
“No! That’s not what I want! I keep double checking that this will delete the current timeline for a reason! If some different Alastor *just slightly* removed from me ends up with him, dandy, but it had damn well better not be me! I’m not trying to get back with him, I’m trying to get ERASED!”
Well. That’s sure something he said and can’t unsay.
Valera
She freezes, her eyes locked on Alastor's face. So, the truth comes out, does it? But is this the eye of the storm, or a defeated gasp? This may require some care.
A slow inhale. A shift of her weight as she sits more upright, face neutral. "I *see*."
Alastor
Those weren’t quite the words he expected out of himself, either. But he’s nothing if not impossible to shut up, so he swallows hard and soldiers on. “Didn’t I say, the very first time we discussed this, that when you made that other timeline, I didn’t want you to combine my memories with my past self—I wanted you to let me get deleted with the rest of this timeline? *This isn’t for me.* I don’t want to get him back—I want him to win. How isn’t that clear? If I wasn’t worried about what it would do to Sir Pentious’s psyche if his lover is assassinated on his airship the morning after they hooked up, I’d tell you to put a bullet through my head the moment you see me!”
Valera
She nods, chewing her lip thoughtfully as she watches him dig his hole deeper with every word he rattles out. She'd known this, really. He'd said it. But she didn't realize..
Well. Better late than never, one supposes. "And what about Telly, Alastor? What are you going to do about *him?* What of *his* psyche?"
Alastor
His face almost cracks completely, brows drawing and smile half wilting. He slumps down onto a seat again. “I shouldn’t have gotten him involved.” It’s not really an answer.
Valera
"No, you shouldn't have! But you did, and now you have another problem to solve. Because Alastor? I do NOT want to explain to that poor man that I helped his boyfriend erase himself from existence for the sake of the man he betrayed, and had planned on doing so before you two even met. You may not have to deal with the fallout, but *I will.*"
Alastor
He inhales sharply at the thought of it. “Isn’t there a way to... As long as we’re altering timelines, can’t we just... make it so he never met me? It was under three months ago, all it would take...” He can’t even finish. It feels like knives just to think about.
Valera
"I already find the idea of breaking your timeline dubious at best, and now you want me to alter the reality of my friend? An innocent party in all this? You *know* he wouldn't want that, Alastor. I agreed to help you with one very specific problem, it isn't my fault that you decided to dally with another snake and complicate matters when you knew your time was potentially limited to months. I wont help you fix that."
She struggles to her feet, empty mug in hand. "I am going to get a refill on my tea. Do you want more coffee, Alastor?"
Alastor
He glances at his cup. He still hasn’t quite emptied it. He shakes his head.
Valera
A nod. "I will be clear. I am not angry, I am not saying I wont help you. But I cannot fix all of your problems so easily. Your actions have consequences, and erasing yourself wont leave everyone happy and everything tied up with a bow." Her thumbs rub over the smooth finish of her mug, brow furrowing in thought.
"I am sorry, Alastor. If I could guarantee, one hundred percent, that I could erase you from Telly's life, take you back to your timeline, and wipe you out before you ever hurt your Pentious.. I would. I would obliterate your mind on the spot and let whatever version of you sprang forth, happy and in love, carry on with your day like it never happened. And I'd take that to my grave. But I can't make that promise." Okay she'd better actually leave, standing around holding an empty cup to rant at someone is stupid. Give her a bit.
Alastor
He nods vaguely, but although he absorbs what Valera says, most of his focus is on his own thoughts.
Telly. If he leaves, who’s there for Telly? Who’s the one who will bargain, threaten, or assassinate whoever it takes to get Telly the supplies he needs for his ship? When all his machines are broken, who’s going to be the one to fill the gaps with magic until they’re repaired? Who will tell him that he’s beautiful, brilliant, unstoppable, every day until he believes it himself? Who’s going to *feed* him?
Every single day, Alastor sees more of Telly’s real self—the person Alastor met just shy of three months ago is hardly a ghost compared to the person Telly is now. It doesn’t matter how Alastor leaves. If he just vanishes, then everything he’s tried to give Telly will be lost. If they never met, then Alastor never gave him those things at all.
He’s still brooding on these thoughts when Valera gets back.
Valera
Valera lets him have some silence, settling back down with her tea as she observes Alastor's stewing. Good. He's thinking. Maybe he'll think his way *out* of this idiocy.
Alastor
He’s working on it.
His Sir Pentious, though—the one he *betrayed*—nothing is fixed for him if Alastor *doesn’t* follow through. He’s still stuck where he is. So which is worse? Which weighs heavier? Never paying the price and making amends for the sin he committed before, or committing a fresh sin now? If no matter what he does, he’s got to knowingly and deliberately doom one of them to an afterlife of broken hopes and unfulfilled aspirations, which one of them is worse?
“... I made a deal with him.” Instead of trying to repeat it, he just plays it back, his own voice slightly cracklier than usual as if it’s playing back from a phonograph record: “*I swear I will never knowingly and deliberately or callously break your heart; and I swear that if I do ever leave, I’ll leave with kindness and honesty; and I swear I’ll never betray you like I did the Sir Pentious of my universe; or I forfeit my soul and all those I have to you.*”
He looks at Valera. “As far as you can think of—is there no possible way for me to do this without violating all three of those?”
Valera
Valera pauses, rolling the terms over in her mind. "You could tell him you can't be with him anymore because you realized your goals are incompatible. That would be a _kindness._ You would be leaving with honesty. Your goals _are_ incompatible."
Alastor
Nods, he accepts that. There are ways he could be honest without telling too much of the truth. Debatable on the idea that he’d be leaving with kindness, but he’s willing to let that sit for the moment. “The other two, then. I wouldn’t be knowingly and *deliberately* breaking his heart, since breaking it is just a side effect instead of my goal; but it would be knowingly and *callously.*”
Valera
"Is it callous, to try and spare him from further harm by stepping away? Because that's what you'd be doing, I imagine."
She leans back into the cushions of the couch, tapping her chin. "_Knowingly_ breaking his heart is the real issue. You've essentially _trapped_ yourself in the relationship. You can't leave while he has feelings for you, no matter how kind and honest you are, because you'll break his heart doing it."
Alastor
“I was damn careful with my wording to make sure I wouldn’t be trapped.” He shakes his head. “That’s why it has to be both. Knowingly-*and*-deliberately or knowingly-*and*-callously. If I know it will break his heart, but the heartbreak isn’t deliberate or callous, it’s legal.” He takes a deep breath. “But I’m *not* trying to spare him harm by stepping away. I’m trying to... disappear, to undo a prior betrayal; and, in the process, I’d be knowingly adding to the parade of people who have promised him the world and then ripped it away—and—and I’d be doing untold damage to his ability to follow his ambitions.” He clears his throat, his voice is starting to sound a little hoarse. “He wouldn’t be spared harm. Knowing the extent of the damage, I—there’s—there’d be no way to proceed without callousness. Would there.”
Valera
Valera has an argument already half formed, but stops. Cocks her head to one side. Why the FUCK would she try to convince him around to her side. This was basically a get out of jail free card. Her perspective didn't matter here, it was *his* contract.
"Y-yeah. If that's the way you interpret your contract, you're well and truly stuck."
Alastor
His shoulders slump, the tension draining out of them all at once. "So that's that? It's undoable." If he can't think of a way and Valera can't think of a way...
Valera
She lifts a shaky mug to her lips, squeaking out what MIGHT be the affirmative. "Mm-Mm!"
Alastor
“All right. That’s that.”
He expects to feel... maybe relieved. Maybe resigned. Instead, what hits first is an unexpected wave of grief. He tries to disguise it by rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, as though he’s just tired. “So—“ Ahem. “So. You and I shook. If we can’t proceed, then what’s... How do we dissolve that?”
Valera
Valera frowns, fins drooping as she wavers. But no. This is for the best. "Well, how do *you* negate a deal that is no longer viable? All you need to do is say you've released me from the contract, on my end."
Alastor
“You’re released from the contract if I’m released from the contract.” He’s not *unilaterally* releasing somebody else from a contract, that’s just common sense.
Valera
Her eyes are ROLLING. Of course, even now he's being difficult. "Well we shook on it. What does your magic need to terminate the agreement? Blood? Another handshake?"
Alastor
"For you to agree to the same out loud." It's not THAT complicated; but a release from a contract has to be mutual. Otherwise anyone could cancel a contract at any time, and then where would the exploitative dealmakers of the world be?
Valera
"Alright. I release you from our contract under the same terms."
... She doesn't know why she always expects something dramatic to happen, it never does. At least she can lean back and sigh, now.
Alastor
If it helps, Alastor plays a little *ta-daaa* trumpet fanfare.
Valera
It helps, but also makes her primary heart clench. She didn't lie, but she wasn't honest. And it digs into her like a splinter.
A sigh. "Are you okay, Alastor? I know you wanted _very_ badly to help the Pentious of your Hell." That came out more gently than she'd intended, but she's too tired to try and force a casual demeanor right now. Deal with her concern.
Alastor
He's silent for a moment, then sighs and sort of shrugs and shakes his head at the same time. "It just puts me back where I was a few months ago. No great loss."
Valera
"Sure, but you got your hopes up, only for them to be dashed by a contract of your own design." She isn't going to comment on that being incredibly dumb. She isn't. But she's thinking it. Even though it worked out for her.
"I suppose that means you'll have to do things the old fashioned way if you want to make amends."
Alastor
"If the contract wasn't there, I would have had to *decide* which one of them I want to hurt. At least this way the choice is out of my hands. And it means the contract did its job, didn't it?"
He rubs his eyes. "Still. Having the end in sight, and then watching it disappear..."
Valera
Most people would be happy to live another day, but a man craving oblivion? Maybe not so much. She frowns.
"At least you've got Telly. That leaves your local Pentious still suffering. And lest we forget, I entered that contract wanting to help _him_. Still do."
Alastor
And there is nothing he wants more than to go home, curl up in Telly's coils, and not come out for a week. He nods. "I know."
Valera
A low sigh. She could WANT to help, but she couldn't really *do* much. "Well. I suppose there's nothing to be done, at least not now."
Alastor
"I suppose not. Maybe another time." It's hard to even think about an alternative plan right now. How can he even consider a plan that doesn't involve completely erasing all of his mistakes in one fell swoop? What's the *point*?
Valera
"Another time? Yes, absolutely. The politician in me already has five concepts to workshop with my imaginary team. But I am tired, and nauseous, and I want to go hide against either Leal or Penny, whichever lucky man I find first."
Alastor
"Cheers to *that.*" He limply picks up his almost-empty coffee mug. "I think I'll be following your lead." Now that for the first time he HAS someone to hide against.
Valera
She waves her tea at him in what could pass as a pale imitation of a toast, slamming back the rest of her drink like a shot. "At least that's one thing we get out of *love*. Somebody willing to let us use them as *emotional support*."
Alastor
That feels like an attack. Why does that feel like an attack? "Or a warm pillow." He finishes his coffee and stands. "Well, that didn't quite go the way I wanted it to. But thank you for the introduction." He nods toward the egg. "And I suppose I'll see you at work tomorrow?" Remember that part? After all this, they've got JOBS they've gotta go to tomorrow? Harrowing.
Valera
She opens her mouth to remind him that she and Penny are both coldblooded, but then remembers that Leal is a furnace on legs, and just nods instead. "It was... Well. Parts of this visit were fun. I'll see you tomorrow, Alastor. And I'll remember to talk to my beau about your role in Eelizzy's life." Thumbs up.
Alastor
Listen, Alastor's spent the past few decades crying himself to sleep on a pillow with a faux snakeskin pillowcase. Who wants to argue with him if he says he feels warmer when he's wrapped around Telly.
His expression brightens a little bit. "I'd appreciate it."
Valera
She wheezes out a breathy laugh as she stands, smoothing her dress over her stomach. "Hey. I know this was rough, and I wish our talks didn't always end so stressfully, but I do think you'll be a fantastic uncle. With allowances for Penny and Leal, there's nobody I'd trust more to make sure my daughter was cared for if something happened to me. And I mean it."
A flick of a wrist, and a familiar portal opens in the wall, the Hotel's lobby visible through a shimmery haze. It could have gone worse, all things considered.
Alastor
"I doubt we'll need to have any other conversations on this. It's not like we have anything else to discuss on the topic." A crooked smile, but a slightly pained one. "Just let me know when the first PTA meeting is!" And out he goes.
Valera
[[ NOT LIKE SHE CAN DUMP HIM ON TELLY'S SHIP BUT SHE *WISHES*
Alastor
((He's gonna be teleporting himself STRAIGHT to Telly's ship anyway))
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Oneshot
AU Grandpa Hidgens x Grandaughter Ava Matthews. Emma perkins x Paul Matthew's
Warnings None
Staying At Grandpa's
Emma have always looked at Hidgens as a father figure, but what if she has a child. Read now to see what happens.
It was a nice warm evening, Emma and Paul are both getting ready to go on a date, their little girl Ava, was getting ready to stay the night at Hidgens. Ava loved staying at her Grandpa's, he was fun. They would watch films, bake cookies and sometimes play games. He would read a story for Ava when it was bedtime, she loved story time with her Grandpa. In the morning he would make either pancakes or waffles for Breakfast and while she was eating he would have a cup of coffee and read the paper while listening to the little girl chatter away about rainbows and pizza.
Ava are you ready to go honey, paul yelled from the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing a blue velvet tux, his hair was neatly combed and he put on some aftershave. "Coming daddy" Ava said before running down the stairs and running to paul, who then picked up his daughter. Emma came down the stairs wearing a blue dress with a black cardigan and some flats, she was holding Ava's overnight bag, when she reached the bottom of the stairs to greet paul with a kiss.
"Hey Paul you go get Ava in the car and I will be out with the bag in a minute" Emma said to her husband. Paul walked to the car and opened the door, before getting Ava in the car seat and tried to strap her in. Ava laughed at his slightly reddened face, Paul was embarrassed that once again, he couldn't strap Ava in and will have to wait for Emma. Luckily for him, she was walking down the pathway when she saw Paul's slightly red face. "Please don't tell me you still can't buckle the carseat" Emma said with a teasing smile.
"Look Emma, my hands are simply too big and this thing is too small and fiddly" Paul exclaims. Emma came over and buckled Ava in with ease, then placed her bag and other things in the boot of the car.
They both got in the front and started the car and drove to Hidgens house "where are we going mummy?" Ava asked curiously, "we're dropping you off at Grandpa's where you're going to stay the night" Emma replied. "Yay Grandpa" Ava cheered excitedly. Emma and Paul smiled at each other as they approached Hidgens house.
Paul pushed the button and waited for Hidgens to reply. "Yes who is it, what do you want" Hidens said "Grandpa it's us" Ava squealed in excitement, the door opened and Hidgens ran out excited himself to see Ava. "Ah Little Bean, I have missed you" Hidgens took her in his arms and cuddled her.
Emma and Paul got out of the car and approached Hidgens, "Professor, can I trust you not to give her too much sugar after last time" Emma said with a raised eyebrow, "nonsense Emma, I didn't give her that much" Hidgens protested. "She was off her face, poor Paul tried to catch her in the garden but she's so fast, that she just went through his legs" Emma explained with a tired look. Hidgens let out a snort as he imagined the scene. "It's not funny shes lethal on sugar" Paul exclaimed, with a slight look of horror in this face.
"Don't worry you two as I say everytime, your daughter is safe with me. Now go and enjoy your night and she will be ready for you tomorrow" Hidgens said as he walked away to his house. Emma and Paul both looked at each other with a slight look of concern as they are well aware of the mysterious professor and his hijinks.
"Do you think he's going to listen to us at all Emma" Paul asked. "knowing him probably not, let him have fun" Emma replied knowing Hidgens will somehow give her more sugar then he should. They both got in the car and drove off for the night.
Meanwhile In Hidgens house
"Ok Little Bean, I have made a plan for us, do you want to hear it" Hidgens asked the little girl. "Yes please Grandpa" Ava replied "Excellent well I decided that we could do some baking first, after that we could watch some films of your choice, then it's bath time and then it's bed time how does the sound dear?"Hidgens explained. "I can't wait Grandpa, but didn't Mummy say we couldn't have any sugar?"Ava asked him, "yes she did and guess what Ava" Hidgens said "What Gramdpa, tell me" Ava replied back "Ah you see' what she doesn't know, don't hurt" Hidgen tells her. She nodded and gave him the biggest smile' he smiled back her.
They both went in the kitchen and gathered things, that they would need for baking. "right, what should we make dear" he asked the little girl "Cookies Grampa, I like cookies" she replied with bright eyes. "Of course you do dear" he said as he got all the ingredients out for cookies.
An hour later and a flour covered Hidgens, put the chocolate chip cookies in the oven, whilst a flour covered Ava, ate the left over chocolate chips. "Well dear, I think we should go and get ourselves cleaned up, don't you think" Hidgens asked his Grandaughter "yes Grandpa" Ava replied.
Time skip because I'm lazy
Everything was clean, Hidgens and his grandchild were no longer covered in flour, The cookies were ready and Ava was picking out a film for their film night. Hidgens brought in the cookies, on a plate with some milk for Ava and kneeled beside her whilst strolling through Disney plus. (because Hidgens definitely 100% likes Disney films, you can fight me on this) they both agreed on Tangled and started the film up. Time flew by and Tangled was finished, Hidgens turned it off and picked up Ava. "Bath time already Grandpa" groaned Ava "yes dear you need to be nice and clean for Mummy and Daddy tomorrow" Hidgens said as he walked to the bathroom "Oh but Grandpa, we could pretend and watch another film" Ava said with her puppy dog eyes. Hidgens chuckled but ran the bath, put bubble bath in and filled it up with toys.
After Ava was cleaned and dressed, ready for bed Hidgens layed next to her, her head resting on his chest, as she listened to him telling a story. After the story, he kissed her head and hid her good night. Ava feel asleep dreaming about all the fun, she had with her awesome grandpa.
The next morning, Henry Hidgens was slerping peacefully in his bed, dreaming about working boys the musical. Ehen the bed slightly dipped and he felt small arms wrap around his torso and a small "good morning Grandpa, did you have a good night sleep" from Ava. "good morning Little Bean, I did have a good night sleep, thank you" He said as he poked her nose, which made her giggle. He cuddled the little girl for a while, then they got up for breakfast. Ava started giggling at something which made Hidgens turn and smile. "What you laughing at my dear"Hidgens asked. Ava giggled harder "Grandpa it's your hair, it's crazy" Ava replied. Hidgens looked in the mirror to see that she was in fact, correct. He tried to flatten his hair the best he could, before picking up the little girl and spinning her, making her squeal in delight.
He walked in the kitchen, holding her before placing her on the counter and going through the cupboard for ingredients to make waffles. "So Ava, what would you like on your waffles today?" he gave out the options for her to decide, she decided her toppings of choice and He got them out of the Fridge then made the waffles.
Time skip because I'm still too lazy
After they had eaten breakfast and got dressed, Ava sat and watched Cartoons, while Hidgens read the morning Paper and drank his coffee. The phone rang and he answered.
"Hello professor Paul's voice rang through the phone "ah yes hello paul ,where's Emma?" Hidgens replied. Paul sighed and muttered "it's never where's Paul, always where's Emma" his voice faded as he continued to mutter under his breath, Emma came on to the phone.
"Hey professor, hows the lil one doing" Emma asked Him. "she's doing fine, very well behaved as usual, lovely company" Hidgens told her. They chatted for a bit longer and Emma confirmed the timeshe and Paul would pick up Ava, then they both said their goodbyes.
Ava was sat on the sofa, with her stuff ready to go home. When Hidgens came in with the cookies in a small tin. He smiled at her,before placing them in the bag and zipping it up, knowing he would get told off later by Emma. He then picked up the little girl and gave her extra cuddles before she had to go.
Half an hour passed and a loud buzzing rung through the house, alerted Hidgens. He pushed the button and repeated what he did yesterday, only to have the same reply. He opened the door and picked up Ava, who was standing right by his legs and walked to the car where Emma and Paul was.
Professor Emma called "look Emma how many times do I have to tell you dear, call me Henry. At this point i think you could even call me dad, I mean you have been a daughter figure for old me, for many years I really wouldn't mind you calling me dad" Hidgens told her.
Tears welled up in Emma's eyes, before she blinked them away and ran to give Hidgens the biggest hug, she could ever give him. "Thank you Dad"Emma said to him and He smiled at her calling him Dad.
The both turned around to see Paul a blubbering mess, they both laughed at him, before hugging again. Hidgens picked up Ava once more, kissing her head and she doing the same but on his cheek "Thank you for having me Grandpa, your the best Grandpa ever I love you" Ava said with a cute little voice. Hidgen had to fight the tears welling in his eyes, his heart warming up at the sweet sentence.
Emma took Ava out of his arms and they all bid goodbye. Emma strapped Ava in the car seat,then got in the drivers seat. Paul looked at her, before giving a brief kiss to Emma. The both looked at Ava, who had been caught stuffing her face a second time in a row.
Emma looked at Paul "you know Paul as much as I love the old man,sometimes I really want to kill him" They drove off waving to Hidgens, who waved back before going back in the house chuckling to himself, knowing what he has done once again.
The End
#robert manion#lauren lopez#jon matteson#professor henry hidgens#professor hidgens#emma perkins#paul matthews
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jvn recap
a post mainly for @authenticrage
first of all he was 20 minutes late, which gets funnier about halfway through his set
before he came on, the stage was lit up like a rainbow it was lovely
this venue has pretty high def cameras and 2 big screens to either side of the stage so people farther back can see better and the second jonathan walked on he looked at himself on that screen and went from cute confident performer to absolutely feeling himself and then throughout the show he kept getting distracted by how stunning he looked on the screens he was like I can never do a show without these again
he opened with a gymnastics floor routine complete with flips that I don’t know the names of but they were very impressive
right after that he went backstage to do a costume change and take off his dance belt which I learned about for the first time and aerial has some painful crotch moments but I can’t imagine doing all that with a dick it just sounds very ouch
there was a guy soz can’t remember his name who came and did a short stand up set while jvn was changing and probably brushing his hair (bc it looked gorg when he came back on stage def not how mine looks after a class) anyway this guy was gay too and at first he was funny and people kept laughing so I’m sure he kept being funny but I hate talking about puking and stuff so he was going on about his 21st birthday and his first visit to a gay bar with his friends and I went from laughing to trying not to be disgusted, but he said something about having the height of a top but loud bottom energy and that just stuck out to me as a joke that I would not have laughed at even like 2 years ago and kinda snapped the whole night into a particular context for me
so he goes and jvn comes back and he’s wearing this skirt and wonderful heels and like I said before being a full on model for the cameras, he gave a full 30 minute history lesson on the US women’s gymnastics team at the olympics in 1992 which I learned was the last time that the summer and winter olympics were the same year, after that they moved them to every 2 years, and he was talking about this gymnast who he looks up to so much and then a couple weeks ago he discovered she was a republican and he was so sad about it
he made a joke about the venue looking like a megachurch and then said joel osteen was waiting backstage to talk to us and in any other setting I would have been nervous like what if they’re about to pull a kanye but no I have full faith in jonathan if no one else
he stepped sidestage into a little theatrical changing tent while his cat did a weather segment on the big screen it was very cute
he said (exact quote bc I wrote it down Immediately): “entertainment doesn’t change you, it makes you more of who you already are” and I was like OOOOOOOHHHHHHH, he was quoting an entertainment lawyer at this place where he used to do hair where this lawyer was getting her hair done and this other celebrity he didn’t name went and bleached her own hair to pieces and then threw a fit and yelled at the hairdresser who did nothing wrong and called tmz on herself as she walked out
and then he said he is more himself and what he has always been is Late (see first point) so much that they used to tell him the call time to set was 30 minutes before the actual call time and he would still be like 10 minutes late, but he swears he’s getting better at getting to set on time
also the second quick change he came out wearing these gorgeous pink and black boots with like 4 inch heels if I found them in my size I would buy them on sight (not that I could afford them lmao)
he talked about how in his 20s he used to be mostly just into sucking dicks but then you get to a point when the number of dicks you’ve sucked has a comma and you start to think maybe you want a deeper connection maybe you want to know more about these guys like what’s your favorite book where do you like to go for brunch what’s your name (I lost my mind)
he talked about his childhood and one time where he was at his brother’s soccer game and he was under the bleachers with one of his friends whose brother was also playing soccer and teaching her how to do a front flip over a bar or something and she ended up breaking her wrist so his mom had to watch her brother while her mom took her to the hospital, the game was still going on and he was dancing and being his little 6 year old queer ass self and all these dads in the stands were starting to get mad so his mom said if he sat down and stayed quiet she would get him 2 things from the department store so that happened and he chose a 4 pack of flavored lip balms and a 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner, they got to the motel room where they were staying for the duration of the soccer tournament and his mom yelled at him for eating one of his lip balms and so little jonathan decides to take a bath, he fills the tub with bubbles and ten minutes later his mom is banging on the door standing beside an angry hotel woman saying he overflowed the tub and collapsed the ceiling of the first floor and now the building isn’t structurally sound and they need to evacuate, so he manages to not get his lip balms or 2 in 1 confiscated as they grab their things and run out of the building (this other kid is still with them) and they pile into the car and an hour into the drive back home they get pulled over because they were hella speeding and by then his mom is like ugly crying because she’s so stressed and the cop looks over at jonathan sitting in the passenger seat smearing yet another lip balm all over his face and eating it and the cop looks at his mom and says very pointedly it looks like she has her hands full (as he said, a combination of white privilege and homophobia) and let her go without a ticket
he ended the set with a political rant about how we flipped more seats at the last midterm than anyone expected and how everyone needs to vote next year and compared the political journey of the country as compared to a pairs skating competition and the amount they improved from one year to the next and said we have potential to make a positive change
and then when the house lights came up after he got a standing ovation he walked to the edge of the stage and started talking to people in the front rows who walked up to say hello and I just thought it was so endearing
basically he was larger than life and wonderful and beautiful and dare I say iconic 100/10 would want to be his friend and listen to him go on tangents forever
#i also learned that i'm watching too much unhhhh bc instead of laughing half the time my instinct was to screech#i had to stop myself from yelling like a crazy person#like @self can u just laugh pls
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plants, cry baby, and eyes!! 💓
plants: pick a person to stargaze with you and explain why you picked them
i feel like i’ve answered this one before, but i would love to go stargazing with @gentleyeol - we’ve known each other for almost four (five?) years now and she lives so so so close to me but our hectic schedules make it so impossible to ever meet up :( i’d love to spend just a couple days with her bc i’m sure they would be the best days of my life
cry baby: list the concerts you have been to and talk about how they make you feel
ohh this is a super interesting question!
130503 one direction ‘take me home’ tour in amsterdam - this was my very first concert ever, i was THE biggest one direction fan in 2013 (who wasn’t) and i absolutely bawled my eyes out when they first appeared on stage. trust me when i say 15 year old me is still crying about this
170806 megadeth, alice cooper and marilyn manson at the lokerse feesten in lokeren - so basically in early 2017, whilst also being a kpop fan, i was hugely into metal music and completely obsessed with metallica (kirk hammett is still my baby daddy okay) and when i saw the tickets for this metal day were only 50euros i called my friend and we agreed to go together and it was a wonderful evening (THE ALICE COOPER POINTED AT ME!!!!)
171129 ‘throwback thursday in het sportpladijs’ in antwerp - this concert was basically a celebration of 20 years of ketnet, which is a dutch children’s channel my generation grew up with, they invited all the singers from the children’s shows from the 2000s and the kids from eurosong for kids and i absolutely loved every single second of it because it brought me back to my childhood
180316 ‘harry styles live on tour’ in antwerp - ok SO i went to one direction’s concert in 2013 and this was the first time after i ever saw one of them back on stage and it gave me honest to god chills, the entire concert gave me such good vibes and i experienced it with some really good friends and we both cried when harry sang medicine, all in all 10/10 experience and i would definitely go to another concert of his
180430 niall horan ‘flicker’ world tour in brussels - CAN I JUST SAY I LOVE NIALL okay this entire evening was amazing, i study in brussels so it was easy for me to get to the venue and the vibe throughout the entire concert was hands down perfect, everybody was dancing to the upbeat songs and everybody cried during the slower songs, it was a one of a kind evening and i loved every single moment :(
180701 ed sheeran and anne marie at rock werchter in werchter - ok so there were a shit ton of people there to watch ed sheeran bc it was on a festival site and on a sunday so a lot of people could come, not to mention it was well above 30 degrees celsius that day and i sweated my ass off, BUT hearing him sing live was a gift in and of itself, his voice is truly something else and i knew the words to each and every song of his and i cried so hard when he started singing i see fire because i’m a huge tolkien fan and my friends thought i was v weird. and anne marie’s vocals were on point, girlie can sing like damn. also, getting home from werchter was total shit but the concert was 100% worth it.
181013 bts ‘love yourself’ world tour in amsterdam - here we are again at the ziggo dome, five years later. hands down my favorite. concert. ever. i remember waking up at ass o’clock in the morning because of nerves (trying not to wake the other ppl in the room bc my friend & i slept in a shitty hostel) so i spent the entire morning on twitter with major butterflies in my stomach because holy fucking shit after almost five years of stanning i was FINALLY GOING TO SEE BTS LIVE, so my friend woke up at 8:30 and then we got dressed and walked around the city center of amsterdam before getting breakfast at 10:30 and then we took the tram towards the ziggo dome and we were there by 12pm, which okay we had seated tickets so totally not necessary but anyways, we cringed a lot at v cringy armys, we saw a lot of armys with these cardboards that read “looking for tickets” and it nearly made me cry, walked around the interior design mall next door bc we had to kill time, went to the media markt and played a game and won a poster and a keychain, ate lunch in a place called booven, walked around some more before joining the queue at around 5:30pm. we were SO nervous. both of us talked w the armys in front and behind us, we made some friends, and then it was time for the security to check our tickets, we were both really scared that we wouldn’t be able to get in bc we both bought our tickets through resellers but everything went fine and once our bags were checked and we were really inside the venue we just started jumping around bc holy fucking shit it was gonna happen. it was really gonna happen fuuuck what the fuck okay. put our stuff in a locker and went to find our seats, went back to the hallways again to charge our phones, said goodbye abt 30mins before the concert started to go to our respective seats (not too far from each other luckily) and saw that there were like 7 front row seats still free. texted each other, “if 10mins before the show no one’s sitting there we will”, agreed and 10mins before the show moved to the front row. counted down. seven minutes. sang the songs. five minutes. screamed. two minutes. heart beating so wild. one minute. i’m about to fall out of my fucking chair. five. shaking. four. crying. three. about to die. two. screaming. one. music comes on and lights go down, i swear my heart stopped. everybody was screaming so loud and then suddenly they appeared on stage and it’s like the entire fucking universe has aligned bc my seven angels are RIGHT THERE i’ve never cried like that before i swear. the entire concert was just filled with so much love. them speaking dutch!!! them singing. them being them. me nearly fainting. it being so fucking hot inside the venue. the thrill of sharing that moment with thousands upon thousands of other armys. i just. miss it so much.
190301 a.c.e ‘to be an a.c.e’ world tour in brussels - i didn’t really know a.c.e all that well prior to the concert, i had heard of them and knew one of their songs cactus, so i researched and listened to most of their music and i was really impressed and the concert really helped to get me into them more bc they’re all so so so cute!! when i first started listening to their songs i liked byeongkwan best (he is now my bias) and during the concert, between their songs, i think donghun was talking and byeongkwan was looking in my general direction so i shoot him a finger heart and he saw and he smiled and HE SENT ME ONE BACK!!!! bro i legit died right. there. amazing concert, 11/10 would recommend
190601 bts ‘speak yourself’ world tour in london - no words. just. absolutely speechless. second time i saw bts, second time i was reduced to a crying mess. i love them. i love army. second best night of my life ever. dionysus live was amazing. i cried. yep. take me back. please
190616 eric nam in brussels - i don’t understand why i cry this much during concerts, i just do. eric was an absolute sweetheart. v funny. i had an amazing evening and would love to go to one of his concerts again!!
190907 seongri in brussels - ok so seongri is an idol who participated in produce 101 and is an ex-member of the group rainz which has disbanded, he is an absolute sweetheart and super tiny :( during the fansign i told him he was really pretty and he looked me straight in my eyes, took my hand and told me that i was more beautiful and i blushed super hard and almost fell off the stage. it was a real fun night! he has a great voice and wants to do a sexy concept in the future
upcoming concerts dreamcatcher & up10tion in brussels on 191005 and day6 in brussels on 200122 & halsey in antwerp on 200305, i’m super super excited for all of them!!
(none of the videos are mine)
eyes: pick five people to go on an excursion with you. who would you pick and where would you go/what would you do?
@gentleyeol imagine going to korea together :(
aesthetic asks
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okay so im feeling crazy and detached again (as usual lately)
but instead of spiraling into absolute fucking panic, I’m deciding to take today to just ... not wholly subscribe to this manner of thinking BUT. JUST FOR NOW. I feel like taking some of the craziness flack off myself and blaming it on some shit outside of myself. Because feeling this weird and detached cant all just be me. So here’s a brainstorming of whats got me fucked up, in no particular order:
Trump is our stupid President
That guy who told me he loved me daily and asked me to be his girlfriend after basically living with me immediately after meeting me and I fell for hard despite a ton of red flags CHEATED on me while I was away visiting home.
And then blamed it on MY bad communication? fuck that guy.
But now I see one of the girls he slept with (multiple times, three days in a row) I see her everywhere all the time in everyones instagrams, at everyones parties... ugh.
Um. People are dying. Close to me. More importantly and spefcifically women I love are dead.
I didnt get to see Inga before she died. I was too busy forging a relationship with CHEATER GUY. Didnt get home in time to see her. Talk to her.
Grandma. This has been the whole first year without her, come November. Its subtle, but terrible and I hate it. She was my last matriarch. The last woman who’s blood is in me.
because Mom’s dead too. And has been since August of 2015. 2015, right? God it feels like forever ago now, probably because I’ve pushed it away. She died unexpectedly and NO ONE IN MY FAMILY HAS SAID THE WORD SUICIDE OUT LOUD even though thats what happened. She OD’d on prescribed opiate painkillers to escape her depression. And we NEVER talk about it.
So I kindof feel insane. Not talking about things that are clearly there. Like, are they not clearly there for anybody else? Now all my women are gone. My brother literally avoids talking about feelings. My dad is a little more receptive but is more the comforting type than the forthcoming, express onesself type. Getting sentimentality out of my brother is like pulling teeth sometimes. But yet if his son does something cute, its God’s Work and he cant help but cry and get that beautiful lovie squishy look on his face.
I’m jealous of my own nephew. I see the way my Mom loved me, in the way my Brother loves his son. And I miss being that perfect to somebody. My Dad loves me forever and always and there isnt a word for how grateful I feel for our relationship. I dont take that for granted at all. It actually kindof scares me because... hah, well what if Dad dies? Like, before I’m ready? I’ll be even MORE fucked!
Anyways. Austins been pissing me off. I’m sorry but although Polyamory is possible and cool and im sure quite beautiful for many,
The Austin poly scene is fucked and tainted and a bunch of slutty people having orgies and not TALKING about anything and its ruining the healthy vibe poly is incumbent upon.
So, whatever I’m angry. So fuck that noise.
I feel like because of cheater guy and my anger at the psuedo poly orgy sexy bullshit scene in Austin, I feel like I’ve broken up with a whole group of friends. Like, I dont want to be around any of it. I dont want to see you eat mushrooms and twerk. I dont want to see your stupid, super naked outfit. I dont think its hot you carry a flogger or can pole dance or slink around like a tarantino character. It used to be hot and thrilling and fun, when I felt like it was connected and for love and sharing and caring. But now it all just is slutty and vapid and useless and cold. Like a sad clown. And thats not sexy, its dark and desperate. *this is about both VERY particular people and broad general strokes. There are several extremely amazing friends in the scene and outskirts thereof that truly inspire me and dont fall into this catagory in my mind, although they’d probably still be angry with me for dissing things ^^ the way I just did but. fuck it, this is MY journal entry and I can be irrational if I want to.
You cant be open fucking minded ALL the time. Sometimes people really arent acting with anyones best intentions but their own. I’ve used up SO MUCH FUCKING ENERGY making myself soften and open and “woke” and trying to go with everybodys flow. And I’m exhausted and over it. I have my own principles and theres nothing wrong with having differing opinions than someone else.
All summer I’ve been feeling like I’m a bad person for not liking or not understanding this hyper sexual scene in Austin. I thought, “why am I shaming a scene thats giving me opportunity to really shine and be free?” when, in an IDEAL world, yes thats what the scene could be. But in what actually fucking unfolds -- humans SUCK and dudes SUCK and girls SUCK and everybody (especially when horny) are fucking STUUUUPIIIIIDDDD and ideals get thrown out the window! people arent nearly as “woke” as I gave them the actual credit for. Seriously. So! I’m fuckin OUTTIE!
I’ve felt broken up with a whole scene. FUck cheater guy, fuck poly, fuck orgies, fuck people who are reckless with my love.
Back to the list:
I’ve been eating too much out of boredom. Which I’ll blame on lack of quality social interaction in this town. Where are the scholars? Where are the sexy edgy BRAINY people? I’m tired of hot people in little clothing in the summer.
Ah! Another thing for the list. its been TOO FUCKING HOT OUT. FOR MONTHS. 100 DEGREES FOR MONTHS. thats enough to make anyone insane.
So i’m sick of teenie boppers in their nothing outfits in the heat.
I want old smart people in peacoats. I miss books and weather and frowns. Irritable debates about literature or physics or religious theories.
I only like my own brand of cigarettes.
My roommates are annoying me. I dont really like my house anymore. Theres too many humans and not enough square footage. Four people to one kitchen is TOO MUCH SHIT. EVERYONE BUYS THEIR OWN BANANAS AND THEY ALLLLLL GO BROWN ON THE TABLE. thats four peoples worth of bad bananas. FUcking stupid.
I dont have a hairdresser here. Sometimes when I feel shitty I like to throw money at the problem. Buy something. Get a haircut. See a show. Etc.
And my hairdresser love is in Philadelphia and getting a flight to get a haircut is slightly insane (without a longer visit)
I miss Adam.
What else can I blame my upset on. Shitty politics, shitty weather, shitty social sexual scene in my town, I dont like my house, I dont like my hair. Its too expensive to live here. No one in my immediate acquaintance or friend circle seems interested in the sort of romantic relationship I’m seeking, nor if they did does anyone have the “it” factor I look for which I’ll *try* to describe maybe in another post.
So. I sit inside my room and try to fix stupid remedial things as if itd make a big impact. I tidy and put away clothes in attempt to feel less cluttered but am too scared to make BIG cuts and BIG changes. So instead I light insence and watch netflix and eat too much. I have started going to Barre3 again more and have been semi regular with therapy so thats something.
I really ought to start doing “morning pages” like the book Fiona loaned me suggests in its FIRST GODDAMN CHAPTER. But, alas, I am lazy.
No, I have become recently lazy.
I’m spoiled. I dont do things I dont want to do. Its a major character flaw. I only push and struggle if I see worthyness in it, and lately theres been serious lack of evidence of that in, well, anything.
#depression!
so, I guess in summation- because nothing has been a WORTHWHILE struggle, EVERYTHING feels like a struggle. Humph. thats... thats not good. But it does, because i dont see the worth in a lot of goals or tasks or even relationships, (and i dont mean the greedy “what can I GET for ME out of this!” sort of b.s.) (I mean the... conserve precious energy, is this going to teach me something or help me grow as a person or bring love into my life sort of vibe) ...
when I dont think the energy expenditure is going to pay off, I dont do it. Or I do it half way or lazily or with tentative fear. I guess I could do an experiment and just do everything with HOPE and see if my energy put in will get a different result... but. like. I feel like I did that all summer and he cheated on me. And my “friends” said “dont be angry, be poly” and I couldnt call on my Mom or Grandma and so I call on eating and isolation and running away to visit home where no one cares I dont have a job. where the house is big and the air is cold and my friends are smart.
I really miss Kristian. That was one of the greatest feelings of self love in my entire life. I felt like, if someone that special noticed ME. Saw ME. Little old, semi chubby, not famous ME, and wanted me around for a couple tour dates. Then I ought to believe in myself TOO. I wanted to dance, I wanted to make art, I wanted to take photos, I wanted to be bold, I wanted to be humble, I felt so open and content with myself. I was motivated to work out, I was motivated to eat healthy and clean and small portions. It was easy. It felt so fun. I loved him. I dreamt big. My imagination was so warm and excited. My inner critic was GONE.
But he faded away. He got back with his ex. The shooting star left the sky. I’m still grateful for the experience at all, but.
I feel a little stupid for thinking anything could’ve happened.
And I truly miss feeling so special and excited about life.
I dont want to run away from Austin out of fear. But I cant tell if I’m unhappy and want to leave genuinely, or if this is the spoiled part of me thats like, “this sucks, lets leave.” instead of pushing though, curating something better with some struggle, and sticking it out.
How do people make big life decisions like this? I feel like thats what marriages do. People stay together and fight. But sometimes they get divorced anyways, its just been longer. More years wasted. When maybe it wouldve been healthier to leave sooner and cut the cord and be free to live without, sooner.
I really like a lot of things about this city. But I really dislike a lot too. And I cant tell where I want my life to go, in a grand sense, so its hard to pick which attributes will matter in the long run.
I dont think I should leave yet. Maybe a new house. Or like, serious efforts to declutter this one. Is this just excuses? Ugh.
Declutter this house. If that doesnt feel better, leave the house and move to a new part of austin. If that doesnt feel better, leave austin.
I need a job.
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congrats on 2k, my love!!!! 😩🤧💕 may i request 6 with our lovely hyuck? it’s okay, if not!
sorry this is late as heck :] it also ended up being over 2k oops
6. I love you, on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, with the late sunlight glowing in your hair
↳ haechan x reader
request | m.list
The first time he says “I love you” you think nothing of it. At six years old, Donghyuck still has round rosy cheeks and stands a couple of inches shorter than you. He says it with great sincerity when you hand him the red color pencil which he had been diligently waiting for you to finish using. His mother had told him that he was to say “I love you” to people that he really really liked, and the moment you handed him the pencil he knew you would become fast friends.
So it was really quite easy for him to say. Toothy grin and eyes crinkling, he tells you, “I love you,” in gratitude. And you say it back just as easily with a smile on your face to match his.
In seconds you go back to coloring your own picture of a farm and Donghyuck goes back to his flowers. He makes sure to hand you back the red color pencil once he’s done with all the rose buds. And though no more words are exchanged that day, he makes sure to sit next to you every single day after and tell you those three words after you hand him the glue stick, compliment his pictures, and help him with addition. And you always made sure to say it back.
…
By the time you reach middle school, “I love you” has become a part of your vocabulary when it comes to Donghyuck. The both of you are starting to grow a little taller, limbs gangly and far too long for your bodies. “I love you” is said a little faster as “love you” often with “bro” tagged on to the end. Just so everyone else knows it’s purely platonic, of course. But the both of you know what it means. It’s still reserved for someone he “really really likes” as his mom told him all those years ago and you’ve followed the same metric, reserving the three words for Donghyuck and your family.
But it’s still just as easy to say to each other. When you’re in history class where Donghyuck sits next to the girl he likes and his breath smells from lunch, you hand him a stick of gum when the teacher’s back is turned. He pops it into his mouth and whispers “love you” between chews. You say it to Donghyuck loudly, groaning in happiness when you’re out of pocket money and he decides to pay for ice cream on your walk home from school.
He says “I love you, you’re my best friend” earnestly during a Saturday night sleepover when it’s nearing three a.m. and neither of you are accustomed to being up this late. You’re talking together about the future in ambiguous terms, words slurring as exhaustion catches up to you.
“I love you, too,” you tell him and promise him that you’ll be best friends forever. Donghyuck holds his pinky out to you at the utterance of forever and you clasp it with your own. Sunday morning, you wake up to the smell of pancakes wafting up from the kitchen and your pinky still interlocked with his.
…
“I love you” gets a little harder to say in high school. Donghyuck gets his first girlfriend in sophomore year and he stops saying the three words to you. Apparently, she didn’t like that he was saying “I love you” to someone other than her.
Three months in he tells you at your biweekly sleepover, “I don’t know if I love her yet. I really really like her.” You sit in your desk chair, shoving handfuls of frosted flakes into your mouth directly from the box, listening to his turmoil. Donghyuck lies on your bed in a crisis state. “I can definitely see myself loving her. I’ve never said ‘I love you’ to anyone other than you and my parents.”
You roll your chair over to him and offer him the box of cereal. He reaches in and grabs some of the sugary flakes. As he’s chewing, you tell him, “Being vulnerable with someone isn’t bad. I get that feeling this way is new and scary, but you should embrace it.”
“Thanks,” he tells you and sighs, pondering your advice.
It feels like the right time for one of you to say “I love you” but it never comes. Instead you tell him, “That’ll be two hundred dollars and I’ll see you for your session next week.” That gets a smile out of him and you’re satisfied.
In another four months, she dumps him and Donghyuck is left heartbroken. He’s moping on your couch for the third weekend in a row as The Office plays on the TV, both of you ignoring the screen in favor of conversation. “I loved her, Y/N,” he tells you, and you’re shocked, because that’s the first time he’s ever told you that. “But I could never say it to her. Maybe she would have stayed if I told her.” Something in your chest tightens. Hesitantly, you reach over to rub his shoulder comfortingly.
“Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be,” you tell him, not knowing how else to console him.
…
Senior year yields less time together as both you and Donghyuck hold your first part time jobs. “I love you” is no longer commonplace in your conversations and you’ve gotten used to it, though you do miss the ease of saying such loaded words that came with being middle schoolers.
Seeing as it’s Donghyuck’s eighteenth birthday, you decide to save up for a pricey longboard for his gift, especially since you’re finally earning your own money. He turns eighteen the day after graduation and you’re in his room at two a.m. It’s technically not his birthday anymore, but he only managed to kick out all his party guests at one. You sit across from him on his carpeted floor clad in pajamas. His face turns to shock when you pull a large, hastily wrapped box from under his bed.
“How long was that there?” he asks you, accepting the package.
“A magician never reveals her secrets,” you tell him.
“You’d think that you’d be cooler now that we’re college students,” he says, tearing the wrapping paper away. But he has no snide remarks when the box underneath the paper reveals a picture of a longboard. He doesn’t even bother to open the box, instead leaping forward to envelope you in hug.
“I love you!” he shouts and you can practically feel him vibrating with happiness. In response to the words that you haven’t heard in years, your heart flips in an unfamiliar way, and you’re not entirely sure what to make of it. And though you don’t know, the moment he said those words, Donghyuck felt the same unfamiliar feeling in his chest.
…
As luck would have it, the two of you are attending the same college in the fall. Even after you arrive on campus, not much has changed from high school. You still spend all of your free time with Donghyuck. But at some point, Donghyuck realizes that you’re the reason he doesn’t feel homesick and he can no longer ignore the thumping in his chest every time he sees you. So on a weekend in November when you’re watching anime with him on his loft bed, he tentatively tells you, “I need to ask you something.”
You turn to him, and suddenly Donghyuck is glad that his roommates are never home. Progressively turning more and more red, he asks you on a date, ending with, “Maybe we should give this a go.”
You imagine he can hear how loud your heart is beating when you whisper, “Yes.”
As first dates go, this one isn’t that awkward. After all, Donghyuck is your best friend and having a meal with him isn’t out of the ordinary. The only thing that changes is the way he slowly reaches for your hand on the walk back to your dorm. His palm is a little sweaty, but it’s a welcome weight in your own hand. When you reach your building, Donghyuck goes in for your routine hug, but pauses, “Can I—” he hesitates, “Can I kiss you?”
You can feel your heartbeat screaming in your ears when you nod yes and he leans down to press the smallest of pecks to your lips. “Goodnight,” he tells you and turns and walks in the direction of his own building. You step through the glass door of your building and turn to look at Donghyuck as the doors close behind you. Outside, he jumps in the air, pumping his fist in happiness.
…
Your second date happens when you find Donghyuck waiting for you outside your history lecture. “Let’s go to an arcade,” he tells you.
“It’s Wednesday,” you remind him.
But he responds with, “So?” and you can’t really argue.
The arcade is mostly empty save for some middle school kids, a very bored looking teenager behind the counter, and the two of you. “You know skeeball is my hidden talent, right?” you tell him.
“Yeah? Then how come I haven’t seen this talent in twelve years?” he asks, eyebrows raised dramatically.
Wordlessly, you lead him to the nearest skeeball machine. “Watch and learn,” you tell him, grinning. You swipe the arcade card and the machine lights up. You pick up the first skee ball and behind you, Donghyuck crosses his arms, still skeptical of your so called “talent”.
You take your time with the first one, one eye closed and lining up your shot. Winding your arm back you step forward and release the ball, and it lands squarely in the hole that reads 100. Donghyuck’s mouth falls open behind you and it remains open as you send each ball into the 100 point hole, occasionally landing a few in the 50 point hole. When the timer rings, the red lights reading your score replace the machine’s high score display and you turn to face the dumbstruck boy.
“Told you.”
The machine spits out three hundred tickets and you bunch them up and hand them to Donghyuck. “I love you!” he exclaims, trying to neatly fold tickets, only to freeze when he realizes exactly what he said.
You don’t even process the words at first. After all, at one point they were commonplace in your conversations. But it hits you when he stutters out, “I didn’t— I didn’t mean like I love you— I mean like I do love you but not like—”
“It’s okay,” you cut him off. “I get it.”
Donghyuck looks like he’s out of breath and it’s suddenly extremely awkward. But he still grabs your hand and pulls you to the counter to cash in your tickets. He still buys you a teddy bear and pouts when you point out that technically you were buying that teddy bear yourself with your skee ball winnings. But nonetheless it still feels different from before Donghyuck accidentally let three words slip between his lips.
He kisses you for the second time ever outside your building at 6 pm and wishes you a good night. He walks away that day wishing he hadn’t said I love you.
…
Your third “date” is on a Tuesday. Your fridge is running low on milk and you promised your roommate that you would do a grocery run, so you call Donghyuck, hoping he’ll give you company. The walk to the grocery store is a short fifteen minutes of Donghyuck pointing to every sign and mispronouncing the words on it. You’re giggling loudly and you barely acknowledge the greeter when you finally reach the store.
The checkout line is short and within minutes you are making your way out of the store clutching a bag with two gallons of milk to your chest. Donghyuck walks beside you with his own grocery bag holding yogurt cups and oranges.
The bag in your arms slowly slips down and you periodically hoist it up with a little grunt. From beside you, Donghyuck looks a little concerned at the sweat beading on your forehead and the slightly pained expression on your face.
“Do you want me to—”
“No, I got it,” you cut him off, the words coming out a little strained as you re-adjust the bag once again. Donghyuck knows you are not one to show weakness, so he doesn’t do much in the way of protest other than glancing at you every once in a while to check that you haven’t collapsed.
You make it four blocks before you’re short of breath and Donghyuck can hear you practically panting beside him. When he turns to looks at you, the wind is knocked out of him too. Your brow is furrowed in determination, your eyes are focused straight ahead, and your mouth hangs open as you take in quick breaths. You look ridiculous. And you look even more ridiculous when you try to hoist the bag up again and nearly drop it. Yet somehow, Donghyuck is still struck by the beauty of the steel in your gaze and the afternoon sunlight illuminating your hair.
Wordlessly he takes your bag from you.
“Hey! That’s my—”
“I love you,” he says, interrupting your protest. He looks straight ahead, fighting the color rising to his cheeks, before finally giving up any semblance of composure and turning to look at you again. “I mean it this time. And I meant it at the arcade the other day, too.”
It’s your turn to look away and hope your cheeks don’t look as warm as they feel. “I love you, too,” you tell him. His smiles so brightly it outshines the afternoon sun.
#goldenscript#kpopwritingnet#nctwriters#kreativewritersnet#nct scenarios#nct imagines#haechan scenarios#haechan imagine#nct fanfic#nct fluff#haechan#2k under 2k#drabbles#hyuck#im sorry this is so late u literally changed blogs
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[Fanfic, 100% Orange Juice] Lazy Sunday
Series: 100% OJ / Suguri
Words: 1510
Characters: Suguri, Hime
Originally Posted: March 6th, 2017 (original here)
A/N: Another SugiHime story. This one was a bit self-indulgent, because it basically started with a tangent that I really didn’t want to let go of, and eventually just tagged a story onto the end of it. I love tangents, but usually try to be a little more restrained nowadays. Still fun as heck, though.
It was a lazy Sunday. Well, it would have been. It was a curious phenomenon; before Suguri met Hime, every Sunday was a lazy Sunday. It was the only flavour of Sunday available. You could perhaps make a call to the manager of the Sunday store and ask her to stock new and innovative varieties of Sunday, and she would simply push up her metaphorical glasses and say, “Our consumer data says that Lazy Sundays are the best selling Sunday by far. Do you know how many Lazy Sundays are being consumed worldwide? In fact, we have a 100% takeup rate. Why would we stock anything else, given that everybody loves Lazy Sundays so much?”
Well, you would say, Lazy Sundays are very nice and nobody is denying that, but a change is as good as a rest, isn’t it? There’s nothing wrong with trying just a little something new every once in a while to see if you like it. The store manager would look at you, check the data on her phone (which looks suspiciously not like actual data and more like a candy-based puzzle game) and say, “Sorry, but it just wouldn’t be profitable for us. If you want Sundays, you’ll just have to abide by the ones we have, or check with one of our competitors. By the way, the only ones we have are lazy ones, and our competitors don’t exist.”
So, defeated, you would slink back to your bed for an enforced lie-in of at least two hours, followed by shuffling about to make an easy breakfast so you could count as being awake at noon. It was the only choice.
Until, of course, Hime appeared. Hime had taken the world of Sunday selling by storm, mainly because she was from Space, and Space’s idea of a Sunday was very different. Mainly it didn’t exist, because having seven days of the week when you weren’t on a chunk of rock hurtling through space around the day’s namesake seemed a little silly.
In the end, Hime had bravely purged any and all traces of the insidious Lazy Sunday from Suguri’s home, because Lazy Sundays bored her and there were few things as dangerous as Hime when she was bored. It brought out her impish streak, which was a mile wide and twice as long, with every step being a new and embarrassing hazard for anybody trying to walk the path. She was a master at unexpected teasing, a 2nd Dan at dry retorts, an unrelenting agent of whimsy that spread her missive of mischief as far as her arms would allow.
In short, Hime had not sat in the core of a spaceship for 10,000 years so she could be bored and sleep in all day. She did, at least, come fully furnished with helpful suggestions for things that would entertain her and keep everybody within an arm’s reach of their sanity.
“Suguri, let’s go visit Saki today.”
Suguri sucked the top of her pen. She was valiantly wrestling with the crossword puzzle, which she knew from experience was harder than wrestling a polar bear. There were things printed words on a sheet of tree pulp could do to your brain that even half a ton of raw ursine muscle and carnivorous intent couldn’t.
“I do enjoy Saki’s company,” she murmured, in between scrawling “apotheosis” into the little box with her childish, loopy handwriting.
“Of course you do. She’s blonde, homeless, and hilariously dangerous. You have a track record with that kind of girl, you know,” Hime said. Hime was currently draped across the loveseat, her head lolling over the arm, looking at Suguri upside down. Her hair was hanging down; her forehead was formidable.
“One girl does not constitute a track record. Ooh, constitute. I think that fits. Anyway, even if I enjoyed myself, what would you do?”
“Gossip about old times, braid each other’s hair, debase myself for baked goods. It has all the makings of a fun afternoon!”
Suguri sighed, and shut her newspaper. It was a reluctant admission of defeat; even her smallest, squigliest handwriting had not managed to compress ‘recalcitrant’ into a space meant for four letters. “Yes, well. Last I heard, Saki was in Brazil. Even with our speed, we’d struggle to fly to Brazil in less than twelve hours.”
Hime pouted. Or perhaps not. Hime was very good at pouting without actually pouting. She would imply a pout, and that made them all the more effective because she could still retain the appearance of being refined and sanguine while being childish. “Oh, boo. I know! Let’s hire out a rowboat. We can enjoy a day on the water. Me, you, the sunshine, dragonflies, reeds, lilypads, krakens...”
Aside from the fact that Hime didn’t seem to know if she wanted to sail down the River Nile or straight down into the cold, pressurised depths of the ocean, Suguri had some private objections to that plan. Firstly, she thought Hime had spent enough time on boats. A spaceship, according to Suguri, was just a boat that happened to be in space. According to Hime, it was a ship, because a boat had to have oars, and could you imagine trying to paddle to Neptune? Neither one of them was correct, but both of them were very passionate about it.
Secondly, Suguri had recently brought home a bookshelf. (She didn’t know quite how she’d done it. She acquired furniture the same way that people acquired lost puppies; it just sort’ve appeared at her ankles one day and she picked it up and fussed it and gave it a loving home). She had donated it to Hime, and kept a semi-close eye on the contents. In the last two weeks, it had accrued a number of books about pirates, and Suguri thought that Hime might not be able to resist an opportunity to swash some buckles.
“Why don’t you take a look at your unfinished knitting projects?” Suguri asked, jerking her head towards the corner. The corner was dominated by a sprawling jungle of worsted spread, in a variety of beautiful pastel colours. Last time Suguri had checked, Hime had been working on a shapeless bundle of cloth that she described as ‘a scarf, but it’s a very postmodern kind of scarf.’
Hime winced. “Aha. I think I’ll leave that for today. One day, I shall have needlework that strikes wonder into the hearts of the gods themselves, but I have thousands of years to attain that skill, so I needn’t be in a hurry.”
Suguri smiled to herself. She had knit, on and off, for a stretch of fifty years in her ten thousand year life, but Hime was adamant about learning to do it herself. The next time Hime went to stay with Kyoko, Saki or Iru, Suguri fully intended to knit her a nice sweater to see the reaction. (Suguri had also, in her past, spent a long time wrangling various ‘postmodern’ knitted garments back into wearable shape, with questionable success.)
“Hah… That still doesn’t solve the problem of what to do. Suguri, do you mind if I spoon feed you three tubs of chocolate fudge ice cream? I feel like that will bring us both closer to enlightenment.”
In Suguri’s opinion, the only thing eating three tubs of ice cream in a row would enlighten her of was her lunch. She took the suggestion as the warning shot that it was. It was time to unveil her secret weapon.
“Hime, how much do you like loud noises?”
“I’m not really a huge fan,” Hime said, conveniently forgetting that she was sometimes a steady source of loud noises.
“Okay. How much do you like Kae?”
“I feel like you just asked the same question twice but in different ways. Oh well. I suppose it depends on how you serve her – rare, medium or well done?”
“Anything less than well done wouldn’t even singe that one. Anyway, she recently made some friends who are also loud and have guitars, and sent us some free tickets.”
“Free tickets! Those are the best kind,” Hime replied wryly. “Oh, but what shall I wear? My wardrobe is rather light on ripped t-shirts and spiked collars, although that could be addressed. Will we need to daub ourselves with eyeliner and draw stars on our faces, do you think?”
With that, Hime launched herself from the loveseat, pleased with the itenerary of the day. It was a fine one. There would be loud noises and moshing, which, in Hime’s understanding, was like dancing except it incorporated violence, and thus was a fusion of two things she was rather good at. There would also be Kae, who would most likely be louder than the band, but always a source of fun.
Suguri watched her go, pleased with her work. Although crossword mastery still eluded her, Hime was happy and not sowing gentle chaos in the surrounding area, which was victory enough. Unlike Hime, though, Suguri knew exactly what she would be wearing to Kae’s concert.
Earplugs.
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Hey, Kid, Catch The Ball
by Wayne Lerner
Fast ball. Down the middle. Crack! Hard liner to the third baseman. Heck! Out again.
It was the summer of 1957 and I was spending most of my time playing baseball in the alley. Our field was defined by the garbage cans on the left and right protecting their wooden garages in which the owners’ beat up Chevy or Buick lived. No foreign cars were ever seen on our streets unless the driver was from another neighborhood and had gotten lost. The cans were a challenge as they were constantly filled with so much rotting trash that the flies buzzing around would interfere with catching a lazy fly ball. Home plate was the wall of the tire factory which emitted the toxic smell of burning rubber from early morning to late at night. After an inning or two, however, you got used to it. No outfield fence, just the end of the block which seemed to be a 100 miles away.
If we didn’t play ball in the alleys, we played pinners against the front-stoop with a pinkie or fastpitch against the factory wall. What we didn’t want to do is hit our only league into the yard of Mr. Hardwick, who had Baron, the meanest German Shepard you could imagine on patrol. Baron drooled with desire when he saw us come near, the dream of tearing off a piece of our skin or even a finger or two making him crazy.
One June day, my Mother got a call from Uncle Howard. He worked for his Uncle at the Coady Brothers Meat Packing Company located in the Fulton Market District. Uncle Howard asked if he could take me to my first professional ball game at Comiskey Park. He knew that I loved baseball and the White Sox. I was so excited when I heard the news that I ran around the apartment whooping and hollering.
Fulton Market housed many meat, seafood and produce firms throughout the 18 and 1900’s. Visitors to the Market could be overwhelmed by the cacophony of noise produced by the truck and car traffic and the disgusting smells which hung over the area. Men in their dirty overalls, with cigarettes hanging from their mouths, screamed out customers’ names to deliver their orders. By 3pm, however, the silence would be deafening as the clean up crews quietly scrubbed the shelves and aisles and washed the floors to get ready for the 6am start the next day.
Coady Brothers had season’s tickets which Uncle Howard frequently used. I didn’t know it at the time but the company supplied all of the meat to Comiskey Park. Thus, the brothers had access to the Owners’ private dining area, the Bard’s Room, and a special relationship with the owners, manager and coaches of the team.
Early the following Saturday, we got into my father’s 1955 Chevrolet to meet Uncle Howard at the Market. He had stopped there to prepare a special order to take with him to the game. Uncle Howard was putting a large brown wrapper package in the trunk of his white Bonneville as we rolled to a stop. Much to my surprise, I saw my cousins, Myra and Alan, in their Dad’s car. I didn’t know they were going but I was thrilled. I liked them a lot and now knew I would not have to talk to Uncle Howard all by myself for the whole game. I jumped in their car so excited that I don’t think I even said goodbye to my parents.
We went south on Halsted until we reached 35th and then turned left. Comiskey Park started to come into view. It slowly flooded the front windshield with its arched windows and immense, white structure. Uncle Howard pulled into the lot right next to the stadium and parked near gate three, the home plate entrance.
Uncle Howard greeted a man in a blue suit and handed him the brown wrapper package.
“This is for Al,” He said. “Please make sure to give it to him before the game.” We went through the turnstiles and began to climb a large set of stairs. As we approached the main concourse, the smells permeated our senses. Popcorn, caramel corn, hotdogs, french fries, hamburgers, grilled onions, beer. Almost anything you could imagine was being prepared in anticipation of the big crowd that day, as the Sox were playing the Yankees. The Sox were in second place, 4 games out of first.
We walked through the entry portal and, as we did, the field revealed itself before our eyes. I was overwhelmed by the enormity of the stadium.
“I knew it was big but not this big,” I said to my cousins. They just laughed. “It’s your first time, isn’t it? Every time we come here, we get the same feeling.”
My eyes followed the long main aisle which separated the lower boxes from the upper ones. The box seats surrounded the entire field until they met the outfield walls. I could see the outfield seats stretch from the left field foul pole to the one in right. A towering second deck spanned the entire park, except for centerfield. The upper deck seemed to be hundreds of feet high, reaching almost to the sky. In centerfield, above the bleacher seats, was the main scoreboard.
Uncle Howard’s seats were in box 58, the first row below the main aisle, just to the left of the screen, right behind home plate. I was in awe. I stood there, immobile, taking in the sights, smells and sounds and oblivious to everyone around me.
I had brought my mitt to the park in the hopes that I could catch a foul ball. Given where our seats were, there was a slim chance that could happen. I would have to be ready as any foul ball coming towards us would be a piercing line drive off the player’s bat.
“Are you ok?” Myra said. “What’s the matter with you”
“He’s fine, Myra.” Alan laughed. “Leave him alone. He’s gone into that dream world of his. He thinks he is a major leaguer. He’ll wake up when the hot dog guy comes around.”
I watched the players taking batting practice and playing pepper along the sidelines. Some of them were doing stretching exercises on the field as both teams were warming up for the competition that day. I was so close that I could hear them talking to one another. Sometimes, they would swear out loud if they missed a ball thrown to them or a ball pitched to them in the batting cage. Every so often, they would spit out this black stuff from the wad in their mouth and then go back to chewing whatever it was.
“Gross,” I thought. “But I guess this is what you do when you get to the majors. I wonder if this is something they learn in the minor leagues. Gross.”
We saw the hot dog guy and were getting ready to eat when Uncle Howard tapped me on the arm. “Come with me, I’ve got something to show you,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Something was up,” I thought, “but I had no idea what. Was I going into the Bard’s Room and maybe meet the owner? Or was he going to introduce me to one of the retired players who were now working for the Sox?”
We went to the aisle just to our left, took a right turn down the steps and approached the brick wall separating the seating area from the playing field. On my left was the White Sox dugout, along the third base side. The Yankees, the dreaded Bronx Bombers, were warming up on the first base side.
As we drew closer to the wall, I saw the metal gate which led from the seats to the field. We stood there for a moment when an Andy Frain usher came over to us. After shaking Uncle Howard‘s hand, he opened the gate. We walked out onto the field where Uncle Howard introduced me to, of all people, the manager of the White Sox, Al Lopez. He was talking to his coaches about the Sox lineup.
My heart stopped.
“Al Lopez! I’m on the field at Comiskey! And he’s going to talk to me!” I thought.
My hands got sweaty and my throat was dry. “Don’t faint,” I said to myself. “This will never happen again!”
“Al,” he said, “this is my nephew, Wayne. He’s never been to a professional baseball game before but he’s a big Sox fan. I thought we should give him a little thrill.”
Mr. Lopez just smiled at me and said, “We will certainly show him a good time today because we’re going to beat the Yankees badly.“
I just nodded and smiled but couldn’t talk. I was paralyzed with excitement.
He called over to one of his coaches who walked me into the dugout.
There was Little Looey, Luis Aparicio, Nellie Fox and even Billy Pierce.
I could barely breathe. This was a surreal moment for me, seven years old, in Comiskey Park, in the dugout, talking to my heroes. I knew that I would never, ever again have this opportunity to be around professional ballplayers. I was a chubby, nerdy, average athlete who would never graduate from the alley league.
All of a sudden, one of the younger players grabbed me by the jersey and said, “Follow me. We have a job to do.“ He guided me to the outfield where there were dozens of baseballs from batting practice lying on the field. “Your job, with these other boys, is to pick up all the balls and put them in the baskets.”
I learned later that the other kids were the sons of the coaches or the players who were used to having access to the field and interacting with all the players. This was certainly not the case for this kid from the west side.
I started to pick up the balls and put them in the basket. Every so often, I stopped to look around the park as people began to take their seats. I imagined what it would be like to be a ball player, standing in the outfield, awaiting the pitch and getting ready to move at a moment’s notice. No sir. I was not in the alley trying to get away from Baron, the boy eating dog, or the hundreds of garbage can flies.
I was in my little dreamland again when I heard a voice coming from my left. There was “Jungle Jim” Rivera, waving off everyone so he could catch the batting practice flyball. An outfielder, normally, today, he was playing first base.
“Hey, kid, “he growled, “Wanna catch one?”
I stood there paralyzed, unable to move. I looked around the double deck park which was teaming with people. The sounds ringing in my ears and the smell of the grass and the food overwhelming my senses.
“Kid, “he hollered, “get your ass over here ‘cause there’s another ball comin’ off the bat.”
I ran next to Rivera knowing, with trepidation, that there was no way I could make that catch. My eyes are terrible and I couldn’t judge where the ball might land. In the alleys and on the fields at Columbus Park, I played first base because all I had to do was catch the occasional pop up and the throws from the infielders. I could do that.
Time after time, fly balls were hit and, as the balls came down, Rivera moved away to try and let me make the catch. Time after time, I missed. Actually, I was fortunate that I didn’t get beaned trying to catch the major league fly balls.
Finally, Rivera grabbed my Sox jersey and pulled me next to him. We stood there and watched a ball rise from the fungo bat at home plate to reach its apex just below the top of the upper deck. The ball was hit to mid left field, far from the wall behind us.
All of a sudden, he ran to his left and then started back. He jerked forward because he realized that the wind was coming from behind him, pushing the ball towards home plate. He stopped quickly and hollered, “Stand right there!”
I stopped thinking. I stopped hearing. I stop smelling. I stopped doing anything because I looked up and the ball was coming down right where I was standing.
“Put your glove up now! “he yelled. As I did, the ball smacked into my mitt with the same sound every pro hears when he makes a catch. It didn’t just sting, it hurt more than I could ever imagine. The ball landed right in the mitt’s pocket, the area with the least amount of leather. I let out a scream. My hand pulsed with pain so great that I was sure I couldn’t even hold a hot dog any time today. I needed ice. Now!
Jungle Jim roared with delight when I looked into my glove and saw the ball. My legs turned to jelly and I felt like I was going to collapse. For a moment, I really had no idea where I was. The sights and sounds of the park went blank. Then, Rivera grabbed me by the arm and started to walk me back to our seats. As we approached the left field foul line, he stopped, looked down at me and smiled. ”Think it’s easy to be a pro, kid? Welcome to the bigs!”
Uncle Howard met me by the gate with the usher and they escorted me back to my seat. My cousins were there with big smiles on their faces because they knew that this was my once-in-a-lifetime occasion.
The game progressed that day and we ate our way through the nine innings. I don’t remember whether the White Sox won or lost but it really didn’t matter. I was a White Sox fan, I was at my first game and I caught my first major league ball.
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#AGilmoreChristmas Day 17
Title: There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays
Word Count: ~2200
Characters: Jess Mariano, Luke Danes
Prompt: “Jess’ first real Christmas, I just imagine he never really had one growing up?”
Author’s Note: Thank you so much to @alspancakeworld for running this again and for having me back! Make sure you check out all the other wonderful works here!
Disclaimer: I really wanted this to be longer and better, but life kinda got in the way, so I apologize for it not being my best work. Also, this is a little bit on the sappy side and may not be 100% realistic, but what is Christmas for if not to be sappy?
There was a tree, with lights and ornaments and even a star. A star that he’d put on. Jesus, he was growing soft.
He could claim that Luke insisted, that he had no other choice to decorating the tree unless he wanted to hear Luke ranting about ‘family time’ and ‘making new traditions’ and all that crap. He could say that he didn’t care that he finally got a tree, after years of begging followed by years of silently pining for something even resembling a Christmas decoration. He could say he wasn’t excited for tomorrow morning when Luke would make pancakes and he would get to open the present his uncle probably felt obligated to get him and he would finally have a half-decent Christmas if he managed not to completely screw it up.
The truth was this: Jess Mariano had never had a real Christmas, so he was actually excited when his uncle dragged in a rugged tree and insisted they throw tinsel and crap on it, even though he knew the man probably would have prefered to ship him back to Liz’s during the break for even two weeks of peace. Hell, Jess had prepared himself to be told he was better off in New York, Luke had done his best but he was a hopeless case. Even with Luke’s flimsy lie about Liz calling and saying that Jess should experience Stars Hollow at Christmastime, he had never expected the tree or the badly hidden presents with his name on them or that he’d be sitting here, on December 24, watching It’s A Wonderful Life with Luke and thoroughly enjoying himself.
Of course, he had complained the whole time, protesting against Luke’s childish ornaments and proposal that they bake Christmas cookies like he had with his mom as a kid and choice in movies (who the hell wants to watch a movie about a depressed guy trying to kill himself on Christmas Eve?)
(He didn’t want to think about that Christmas when he was nine that he spent in the waiting room of a hospital…)
Luke had just rolled his eyes and explained to him that this was the first time in a long while he was able to spend Christmas with family so he was going to enjoy it. (He tried not to think about what would happen when Luke inevitably stopped putting up with his crap and negativity and shipped him off.)
“So… that was a good movie, I guess? Kind of depressing, for a Christmas movie.”
Jess softly snorted. Was Luke so out of touch with the rest of the world that he hadn’t seen a fifty-year-old movie? He focused his attention on the book in front of him and the page he had been rereading for the past fifteen minutes - the ending of the movie was worth rewatching, okay?
Luke clapped his hands nervously. “Okay. So. It’s getting late, so you should probably head off to bed.”
“Wouldn’t want to give Santa a reason to put double the amount of coal in my stocking this year, now would we?” For all he knew, the poorly wrapped presents he found in the closet were for someone else - he wanted Luke to know he wasn’t expecting anything under the tree tomorrow. His uncle had already done enough by letting him stay here despite how insufferable he had been; Jess didn’t want him to feel obligated.
“Well maybe if you go to sleep Santa will forgive your sins and leave you something under the tree.
“Didn’t know Christmas came with a confessional.” When they had established this comfortable, almost domestic rapport between them Jess had no idea. He wasn’t complaining, though. It was nice to feel safe enough that he didn’t have to blast music every night to fall asleep. Enjoy it while it lasts.
He shook the thought from his mind and moved past Luke to settle on the air mattress. Anyway, he needed Luke to fall asleep so that he could sneak downstairs and fix the newly broken coffee machine - his gift to Luke considering he only had two days notice that they were actually exchanging gifts and little change given the stack of books he had left outside a certain bookish brunette’s window.
“Hey Jess, I meant to ask you: is there anything specific you want to do tomorrow? A dish you normally eat, or a movie you usually watch, or anything like that? I don’t want you to give up your usual Christmas traditions for all the ones I’m making you do.”
Sometimes Jess couldn’t believe how little Luke knew. A part of him was bitter because his uncle knew what a flake Liz could be and yet he still wasn’t there for him when he was younger, but he recognized that Luke had his own life and had he known how bad it had been, he would have intervened a long time ago.
As for traditions, there were plenty of those, though none he particularly felt like repeating. There was the one from five to ten years old where Liz would promise him a gift - and looking back, he believed she fully intended to follow through had she actually been sober or sane enough to remember - and he would wake up on Christmas morning to nothing but her admonishing him for crying and being a spoiled little brat. There was the one where he would steal himself a book each year, the first one being a beautifully illustrated edition of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, but he didn’t think Luke would be willing to bring that one back. There was the one where he would hum Christmas music to himself before he fell asleep, trying to think of warm fires and sleigh rides and snowmen and anything else besides what he could hear going on in the next room with his mother and her latest boyfriend.
Luke didn’t know about any of those. For a moment, Jess contemplated telling him, maybe the time he realized Santa wasn’t real or the time he really did get coal from one of Liz’s hysterical boyfriends or even the Christmas spent in the hospital. But his uncle didn’t need that guilt on his shoulders, not when he was doing his best now.
“Well, you already ruled out the coal, so I guess all my traditions are off the table.” The joke fell flat as Luke’s face fell in understanding. Not trying to ruin the decent mood they were both in, Jess continued: “Really, Luke, whatever you want to do is fine. I already appreciate having two days in a row off from working in the diner, so I don’t need anything else. You don’t have to do anything special for me. We can just have a normal day.”
Luke’s sad face didn’t dissipate. “It’s Christmas, Jess. You deserve special.” With that, he walked into the bathroom, leaving Jess with a stinging sensation in his eyes that he didn’t want to think about.
He pretended to be asleep when Luke came back out, pretended not to feel Luke rubbing his shoulder in comfort, pretended not to hear Luke’s “Goodnight, Jess. Merry Christmas”, pretended not to acknowledge the realization that he actually liked it here in the cramped apartment with the overbearing uncle in a small, crazy town.
After Luke’s snoring had continued for a good ten minutes, Jess crept downstairs to the empty diner and set to work fixing the coffee machine. “God, this thing is like thirty years old,” he muttered. “No wonder everything in this place is always breaking.” He enjoyed the peace that night came with, liked that he could let his guard down and think out loud.
He thought back to Liz. Even though he resented her for sending him to his own personal circle of hell, she always got really bad this time of year, and he had taken it upon himself in recent years to keep her safe. Against his better judgment, he picked up the phone and dialed her last-known telephone number, instantly regretting his decision when an obviously drunk man picked up, evidence of a party in the background.
“What?” the man snapped. You really picked a keeper this time, Liz.
Jess sighed. “Is Liz there?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Just tell her it’s Jess.”
The man grumbled, but after a few minutes of listening to the infinitely fascinating background conversations of the party (“Man, I’m telling you, Christmas is made up so all those religious nuts can justify spending a shit-ton of money on their kids. It’s all a government conspiracy”) Liz came to the phone.
“Jess? Is that you?” she slurred.
“Liz,” he replied curtly.
“Aw, hi baby, how’re ya doin’? I bet you’re real good. See, I told you that you’d be better in Stars Hollow with your uncle. I jus’ needed a little space is all.”
Jess tried to ignore the pang in his heart at the words. This was a terrible idea. “Right. Well. I just wanted to tell you Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, baby, I lo-” She was interrupted by raucous cheering in the background, and then all he heard was the dial tone.
Slamming the phone onto its cradle, he tried to calm his erratic breathing. He thought he had gotten over his mother’s indifference to his feelings, but apparently months of not having to interact with her had weakened his ability to ignore her flippant remarks.
His time in Stars Hollow had made him comfortable - too comfortable - with his surroundings, so he barely registered the footsteps on the stairs, only realizing Luke had probably heard him and was coming downstairs to accuse him of stealing Christmas or some shit like that moments before he appeared from behind the curtain.
“Jess? What are you doing down here? It’s the middle of the night. Are you okay? Did something happen?” His concern was evident as he looked the boy up and down to ensure he wasn’t physically hurt.
Here was a man who had taken him in when he had been a pain in the ass, who had tried to give him a real Christmas, who had bought him presents for Christ’s sake, who was genuinely worried when his nephew wasn’t in his bed in the middle of the night. Jess could have cried.
He didn’t; he still was reluctant to show weakness, knowing that weakness always left you vulnerable and people would take advantage of those vulnerabilities. But he didn’t lie, or respond with scathing sarcasm, or comment on Luke being down in the diner without his baseball cap on, surely the first time that’s ever happened. He was just tired. So he told as much of the truth as he could.
He looked his uncle straight in the eye. “I was fixing the coffee machine.” No snark. No concealment. He even would have spilled about calling Liz were it not one in the morning; he really didn’t feel like dealing with the hundreds of questions Luke would have.
Luke looked around, taking in the toolbox on the counter and the red light blinking on the machine and the boy who looked so young in this moment, no pretenses or facades, just a kid. “Okay. Why?” He tried to keep all hints of accusation out of his tone, hoping his nephew would finally open up to him about something.
He looked down at his feet. “I didn’t buy you a Christmas present. I thought maybe this could be it. I know it’s not a lot but…”
He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Luke with shiny eyes and a small smile on his face. “It’s great, kid. Thanks. But you didn’t have to get me anything.”
Jess shrugged. “You didn’t either. But you did.” At Luke’s confused glance, he continued: “I found the wrapped presents in the closet a couple days ago. I didn’t open them or anything, but I saw the gift tags. Thanks.” Thanks for putting up with me and trying to give me a good Christmas memory to look back on.
His uncle seemed to know what he meant by the loaded thanks. “You’re welcome. Now, back to bed, or else you really will get coal in your stocking tomorrow.”
Jess smiled as he climbed the stairs. So this is what family does for Christmas. Not half bad.
The next morning would bring delicious-smelling pancakes and hot chocolate and opening up a stack of books (“Rory helped me pick them”) and credit for Andrew’s bookstore and a new green jacket (“I noticed your yellow one was getting worn out and it gets really cold up here, you won’t survive without a good coat” “It gets just as cold here as it does in New York, Uncle Luke”). But Jess was perfectly content, in this moment, staring at the ceiling and hearing Luke’s soft snores way too early on Christmas Day. I guess this is what home feels like. Huh.
#agilmorechristmas#Jess Mariano#Luke Danes#Gilmore girls#Gilmore girls fanfic#my writing#this kinda sucks sorry
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A [MUSIC] Review: My 10+1 Favorite Live Acts From the Last Six Months
Originally posted on January 17, 2019.
Some people procrastinate by online shopping, cleaning, or watching the first season of a Netflix show that truly isn’t worth it (Judd Apatow’s Love stole my time and I want it back).
Others make an Instagram post about how they “just can’t focus :/”, masturbate to a point where it’s almost violent, or complete every single task except for the most pressing one at hand.
I am all of these people. Baked to perfection.
As appealing as all of these options are, my favorite way to procrastinate is watching live musical performances. If I said this was my number one choice because I really love to see what each and every artist can do on their feet, I would be LYING; it’s because I’m broke. Imagining I’m in the actual audience sounds like a cute and affordable outing to me.
I was originally going to write a late post about my ten favorite live musical acts of 2018, but then The Holy Trinity™ a.k.a The Goat Trio (Noname, Smino, and Saba) decided to perform on The Late Night Show with Jimmy Fallon and fuck up my whole plan.
Fucked up my whole plan, but made my whole life.
Here are the 10+1 live acts that have rustled my big and bright feathers in the last 184 days, ordered by upload date:
1. Mac Miller: NPR Music Tiny Desk Concert
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August 6, 2018
I was tabling at my school’s Student Activities Fair when one of my best friends approached me looking like tears were seconds from falling down her cheeks and flooding the fucking campus. Her “I have to tell you something” was followed by what most onlookers would probably describe as an unnecessarily loud processing of the Five Ws and One H of Malcolm McCormick’s death. It probably looked overdramatic, but it honestly didn’t feel that way.
Mac’s placement in my mind shifted in tandem with his style. In his “Knock, Knock” days, he was the weird white kid who Wiz Khalifa seemed to have taken under his wing. I started high school a week or two before “Smile Back” was released. And I was in attack mode after a girl had used up MY oxygen to talk about me not being a “real” Black girl. While 14-year-old-me did put a hex on her soon after, Mac’s anthem of the opposition not being worth my stress set my mind right. Did not reverse the hex, though. Sorry, sis.
His eventual Earl Sweatshirt, Ab-Soul, and Anderson .Paak collaborations reframed the way I thought of him as a creative. I realized how open he was, and how honored he was to share space and thought with a wide range of musical talents. You can hear it in the production of the songs. His NPR Tiny Desk was an elevation of this. His energy was right. Thundercat on bass was right. Watching this performance made me want to bop the shit out of my head but also call all my old niggas and let them know I was suing them for stealing energy I could have put toward studying a cool cat’s artistry. So much love to Mr. Malcolm.
Favorite Moment(s): When Mac laughs at Thundercat’s abrupt tone change during “What’s the Use?” @ 9:10.
2. Rex Orange County performing “Sunflower” live on KCRW
August 14, 2018
I know I’ll get heat for this. But Alex O’ Connor is worth the slack.
In this performance, Rex Orange County looks and sounds like the place where lo-fi, Big Mouth, and driven-over lilacs meet. Doesn’t seem like the most appealing thing that could come out of your speakers, but it’s honestly just one really sweet surprise. And romance may be a capitalist sham, but all I can say is ShamWow! After finding out that he wrote “Sunflower” for his girlfriend of 3+ years, the bridge started to make me feel like someone slipped me a “Would You Date Me?” note in detention. Uncomfortable, but definitely entertained.
Favorite Moment(s): The aforementioned bridge @ 3:02.
3. serpentwithfeet – mourning song (Live on KEXP)
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September 11, 2018
Josiah Wise, better known as serpentwithfeet, is one of the greatest storytellers I have ever witnessed. His entire KEXP performance is worth watching to see an immersive experiment in chaos and control using lighting, backtracks, and his voice. Confidence is not something we often associate with grief. In this performance of “mourning song”, he lists all the ways he will allow himself to think and feel through the end of an intimate relationship. Every time I listen to this song, I feel like he actually rips the voices from my head that tell me I am a burden, or that I must hide any part of myself.
I’m not really a church-going girl anymore so I won’t say watching this took me there. But it definitely took me to the Pokémon Center. HP on 255, bitch.
Favorite Moment(s): When he plays around with distance from the mic @ 2:30.
4. 070 Shake – I Laugh When I’m Friends But Sad When I’m Alone
September 14, 2018
My dearest New Jersey babe. The shining star of the 070 Crew, Danielle Balbuena, used to be at the top of my “Anal Sounds Great!” list after the 2016 “Bass for my Thoughts” release. Trevante Rhodes has since stolen her spot.
Shake takes her time with COLORS to sing about her unadulterated thoughts about the negatives that come along with fame, as well as how the perceived positive of always being around people can be suffocating. No matter what life decisions we try to make, no matter what our intentions, we’ll always be criticized. 9/10 times the criticism will come from people who are too scared to live out their own dreams and have decided to try and put their hooks into the dreams of others. I love this performance because she manages to make the sentiment hit relying primarily on her flow, with the beat not coming in until more than halfway through the video.
Favorite Moment(s): The belting at the end. She sounds like Roy Woods and it makes me want a collab.
5. Noname Performs A Three-Song Medley From Her Album ‘Room 25’
youtube
October 18, 2018
I am a walking Noname stan account.
I saw her perform during my sophomore year of college, soon after Telefone‘s release. I had never felt so represented in my existential absurdity. She was as wishful as she was uncertain; the last time I had felt that seen was when I heard Paramore’s “For A Pessimist, I’m Pretty Optimistic” for the first time. But you know angsty white people are always doing something, so it didn’t really click the same. I sobbed in the first row while Noname rapped about the effects poverty has on the Black imagination, battling with addiction, and finding the will to fight our own apathy.
In this performance, she gifts us with a three-song medley, featuring “Blaxploitation”, “Prayer Song”, and “Don’t Forget About Me”, three singles from Room 25. Together, the musical collage tells a story about trying to create in a culture that values what we make more than our livelihood.
Favorite Moment(s): The GIGGLE when the music ends before she does.
6. dvsn: NPR Music Tiny Desk Concert
November 28, 2018
Roy Woods and Majid Jordan were my favorite OVO acts for the longest time. I had heard of dvsn and didn’t really care for the duo at first. I didn’t even know they were a duo until like a week ago.
One night I was at a party that I didn’t want to be at, and I really wasn’t feeling the music. While I waited to sober up so I could walk home, I put on my headphones and started playing my own music. When the beat in “Mood” dropped and Daniel Daley’s vocals came in, I knew it was the beginning of a spiral into a rabbit hole full of fuck nigga energy… Energy to which I am apparently still very open. In this performance, Daley’s falsetto as he sings about not wanting to pull out of his partner is literally the most disarming sound I’ve ever heard. It’s what I imagine the Sirens in the Odyssey sounded like. I’m 100% certain that behind the sunglasses, his eyes are pitch black. Because Satan.
Favorite Moment(s): 6:13 – 6:35. Mother of God.
7. Rapsody, “Sassy” Night Owl | NPR Music
youtube
December 4, 2018
RAPSODY IS ONE OF THE MOST UNDERRATED LYRICISTS OF ALL TIME AND I WILL NOT REST UNTIL JUSTICE IS SERVED.
Like… I’ll sleep and all that. But I will be dissatisfied. Known for her home-hitting lyrical additions – Kendrick Lamar’s “Complexion (A Zulu Love) and Anderson .Paak’s “Without You” – Marlanna Evans deserves so much more for the brilliance that went into Laila’s Wisdom. When she was nominated for 2018 Best Rap Album of the Year, she was the fifth female-identifying nominee in the 23-year history of the category. This performance of one of Laila’s singles, “Sassy”, makes me want to bounce through the streets in some high tops. It demonstrates her ability to give us all profound lyrics and pop-off sounds.
Favorite Moment(s): Her dance break @ 2:45.
8. H.E.R.: NPR Music Tiny Desk Concert
December 13, 2018
H.E.R. had already appeared on NPR Tiny Desk before this performance, but five minutes of listening to her voice were simply not enough. Whenever I listen to one of her songs, I have to listen to two or three more. The cool thing is that she’s not using subliminal messaging! It’s literally just carefully-honed skill and talent! These niggas can’t even spell talent!
The transitions in this video are wild. Seeing how many times Gabi Wilson switches the instrument she’s playing is honestly just really fun. “Focus” is my favorite H.E.R. song, and this performance takes it up three whole notches. Considering the fact that she’s an actual child prodigy, I cannot help but smile seeing her get the shine she deserves; hearing people refer to her as “the girl who covered the Drake song” really made me as upset as the people who fight in the comments under Lebron highlight reels seem to be.
Favorite Moment(s): The back-and-forth between H.E.R. and the two amazing background vocalists @ 16:28.
9. JPEGMAFIA – Thug Tears | A COLORS SHOW
youtube
December 14, 2018
I really cannot tell if Barrington Hendricks/JPEGMAFIA/Peggy is the kind of person who hates astrology and everyone who mentions it, or if he consults his Co-Star chart every morning. Regardless, as the sole member of the non-Scorpio Scorpio Fan Club, I love this Scorpio king.
One second into his COLORS episode, I thought my speakers were fucking broken. Twenty seconds in, I thought I was having a stroke. I eventually realized that I was not being Punk’d by the peculiar nigga on my screen, and decided to go back to the beginning and try this shit again.
I became so infatuated with JPEGMAFIA after watching this performance. This may mean that I need to call my therapist soon, but I would argue that my interest stems from the healing power I feel is available in his artistry. While different from serpentwiththefeet’s “vibe”, Peggy presents us with a similar sentiment: being unafraid to display your emotions, whether it be grief or anger, in ways that are not respectable or palatable can shake up a nigga’s psyche. Lord knows this shit had me shook all the way the fuck up.
Favorite Moment(s): He starts off stretching. Definitely didn’t realize how necessary it was going to be.
10. KOFFEE – TOAST (LIVE FROM KGN)
December 23, 2018
I first listened to Koffee when she performed with Chronixx on the Real Rock Riddim. This past November, the 18-year-old released the inspirational fucking BOP, “Toast”. In the song, she speaks to her performances with Chronixx and other key moments in her musical journey as well as the bright future she sees ahead. The song itself has been at the top of my morning playlist; you already KNOW I love to bust an early whine while I brush my teeth. But this performance… it’s magic. You can barely hear Koffee herself with the audience screaming all the words back at her, letting her know they’ve got her back. And with a big ass smile full of braces, you can tell she’s feeling all the love they’ve got to give. Everyone, myself included, is ready for Koffee to rise to the top.
Favorite Moment(s): Her disbelief at the room’s energy at the beginning, and when she brings on the girls to help her sing @ 1:30.
10+1. Noname ft. Smino and Saba: Ace
January 8, 2018
One day, I’ll share the story of how Noname was an instrumental part in my sexual “becoming”. It’s the same story that I shared with her after the aforementioned concert (still so sorry about that, yikes). Until then:
I screamed when I found out this performance was happening. I don’t even think I can put into words how Noname, Smino, and Saba’s performance of “Ace” changed my whole attitude. For the last eight days, my sense of clarity has been… well, CLEAR! I realized how much my hair had grown. I finished grant and job applications. I’ve received great personal news and old, important friendships are being rekindled. They have too much power. I’m tweaking.
All I have to say is that this video ran me a bath, put a glass of wine in my hand, and made me dinner. Enjoy.
Favorite Moment(s): I. Cannot. Choose. (But wow. The way they look at Saba @ 1:56. I’m emotional.)
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So, I’m in self isolation at the moment. It’s precautionary.
For the last couple of days, I’ve had a cough and a headache. I am not running a high temperature. The cough is chesty and not dry. I have the cold. A simple thing. But you want to be sure. You want to be 100% certain that you aren’t spreading something.
Self-isolation doesn’t mean the same thing for me as it does for many others. I’m lucky. I work at home. My bedroom is my office and the place I spend much of my time. I have my movies and Netflix and Amazon and my strategy games … I’ll survive it.
I will miss my friends and the other special people in my life. I will miss seeing them. I will also miss the nice restaurants I like and the nice pubs I feel at home in. Those things are gone for a while and I will hate every second that they are.
Football will leave a deeper hole, and not just because it’s the thing that brought us all here.
It’s one of the central pillars of my life, as I am sure it is for all of you. Close season is bad enough; regular readers know how I climb the walls during it, and in recent years the winter shutdown as well. This will be longer than both. How to cope with it?
Well let’s start here; we are nine in a row champions. Oh that hasn’t been made official either by virtue of the final standings or by the cancellation of the league, but all of us know we’ll get there. We will take that bow. We will secure that accolade.
Unfortunately, until it is official there are no DVDs or anything to commemorate it.
It is hard to imagine how they’ll cover this particular period. But fortunately, we have something else; we have eight years of triumphs and victories and titles and trophies. We have plenty of stuff we can look back on to reminisce as we wait for normal service to resume.
Imagine we didn’t have this. Oh I mean, there’s a lot to be said for going back over the old VHS tapes and stuff and watching the Martin O’Neill Treble videos all over again … and even now they are a sublime viewing experience, including, as they do, the 6-2 skelping at Celtic Park and the 3-0 at Ibrox which are amongst the greatest memories I have as a fan.
But as incredible as it is to say it out loud, that was almost 20 years ago now.
There’s an entire generation of our supporters whose memories of that will be faint at best, and many who will know of it only from pictures of themselves in toddler sized Celtic strips being carried aloft by people who look as if they’ve won a free supermarket sweep at a Smirnoff factory. Their hearts beat for more recent triumphs, for memories of what they were there to see in the flesh … and eight years of solid success have given us so many, many excellent ones.
Imagine you were ten years without any of it, save for a couple of lower league titles and a cup. (And let’s face it, when you have the second biggest wage bill in the country the Challenge Cup is a very minor thing indeed, and they needed five attempts to even get that.) Imagine all you had were two cup finals – and you lost both – and a solitary win at the home of your rivals.
Good God, what would you spend your time watching? Emmerdale?
Imagine you had to self-isolate with footage so grainy it could have been shot in the 60’s? How many times can pretend still to be excited about Helicopter Sunday? I understand that they have a penchant for nostalgia over there, but come on …
I mean, doesn’t it say everything that the most excited they’ve been following their team, and the closest they’ve got to having something to celebrate, is now, during a global crisis which has shut football down completely? Imagine being reduced to that.
How tough do you think the days and the weeks and the months would be then?
It is tempting to say we are lucky, but of course that’s not even close to being true. Not one bit of this is down to luck. We built this club to be a success machine. We constructed a juggernaut of terrifying consistency and strength … we earned every bit of it.
So when we’re sitting at home over the next month or so and we’re watching the wonderful footage of our most recent successes – and yes, those which came before too – remember that you all helped to build that, that what you’re watching is something that is yours, that without you it might not even have happened. Take pride in it.
Because yes, others don’t have that.
It’s repeats of The Bill for them, all the way down the line.
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By Any Other Name
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: G
Pairing: The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Eleventh Doctor/Rose Tyler (The Doctor/Clara Oswald, Eleventh Doctor/Clara Oswald)
Chapters: 7/26
Read on AO3 here.
“Rose Tyler was dying - or, at least, she was relatively certain that that’s what was happening …”
A Season 7 AU where Rose returns to her home universe only to find that 100 years have passed and nothing is quite the way that she remembers it. She wakes up with a new body, a new life, and a new Doctor. What has the Bad Wolf gotten her into this time?
Rating may go up as the story continues
"So, what's everyone doing here?" Rose asked, tugging on the Doctor's elbow so that she wouldn't be separated from him and also to remind him that he couldn't simply turn and run off whenever something shiny caught his eye.
"They're here for the Festival of Offerings!" he announced grandly, smiling back at her. "Takes place every thousand years or so when the rings align. It's quite a big thing, locally - like, er ... Pancake Tuesday!"
Just then, one of the aliens in the booth they were passing by grabbed Rose's arm and forced her to a stop. She whirled to find a woman (at least, she thought it might be a woman) with an oddly dog-like face and menacing teeth staring down at her.
"Looking for a bauble, Miss?" the strange woman asked loudly. "We've got the finest wares in the whole System, right here! You'd look amazing in Reluvian Gold. What do you say, Sir? A fine necklace for the missus? Or earrings! We've got earrings!"
"Thanks, we'll have a look around," the Doctor replied politely, but Rose noticed that he brushed the alien's demanding grip off of her arm with enough force and authority to warn her that she should keep her hands to herself from now on.
"Do all of these aliens speak English?" Rose asked mildly, knowing that she would have to replay this old conversation as well, so as not to raise suspicion.
"Ah, that's the TARDIS!" the Doctor explained, just as excitedly as he had the first time around. "There's a telepathic field that she can project into your mind to translate spoken and written languages. Comes in handy quite a lot. You can understand them, and they can understand you!"
Rose fought the instinct to roll her eyes at him as she began to peruse the booth's wares. It seemed that he still didn't quite grasp why some humans might have an issue with his strange blue box getting inside of their heads. But Rose and the TARDIS had been through so many things together by now, she found that she couldn't really bring herself to be as angry as she had been the first time he had explained his ship's telepathic abilities.
"So, what do you say? Anything catch your eye?" the Doctor went on casually, watching Rose carefully as she inspected the glittering alien jewelry before them.
"I don't have any money," Rose reminded him, flashing him a pointed look over her shoulder as she leaned closer to poke at a long chain that looked to be made of gold. She knew that the Doctor didn't normally travel with currency - and she doubted that a century of time without her would have been enough to change that particular habit.
"Neither do I," the Doctor replied predictably, "but they don't use money, here. They trade in value. The more sentimental something is, the more value it has. A photograph, a love letter, something like that. It's called psychometry - the objects psychically imprinted with their history."
"That's ... different," Rose admitted, scrunching up her nose as she continued to casually shop through the alien woman's wares. How did someone rate value? It seemed a bit subjective to her.
"Better than using bits of paper," the Doctor countered stubbornly.
"Fine, then you pay," Rose challenged, flashing him a teasing look. "You're a thousand years old. You must have something you care about." No, he never traveled with money, but she knew for a fact that he did have bigger-on-the-inside pockets that were filled with various bits and pieces of varying value.
But the Doctor simply shrugged noncommittally and turned away from her without a response, a strange cloud darkening his green eyes.
"Talk about a cheap date," Rose teased, smiling at him in an attempt to lighten his mood.
"Oi!" he protested indignantly. The Doctor whirled around to glare at her, but at least the forlorn look had left his expression. "It's ... not a date," he grumbled under his breath as he turned to scowl at a row of bracelets that were studded with some sort of pink-colored gem.
"Alright, then, what can I use?" Rose asked, looking down at herself and trying to think of what she might have that would hold any sort of value. This was a new world, a new body, and new clothes - none of it held much meaning to her.
"What about your ring?" the Doctor asked mildly, not even turning to look at her.
"My what?"
"Your ring," he repeated, turning to nod pointedly at her left hand before turning his back on her once more.
Rose furrowed her brow as she glanced down at her left hand in confusion and noted for the first time that there was a thin, brass-colored ring around her third finger.
"But that's ..." she murmured breathlessly.
It wasn't her wedding ring - that had been handmade by her husband, and she knew for a fact that there wasn't another single ring like it in any number of parallel worlds. But it followed the same general shape that she had grown so accustomed to wearing over the past seventy-or-so years of marriage. It was thin around the bottom and widened towards the top, a single, open circle sitting where she was used to seeing a delicate rose-colored gem.
"That's got plenty of value," the Doctor continued with his back to her, his tone as unaffected as though he were simply discussing the weather. "You could buy this entire booth with that ring alone."
"No, that's ... I'm fine," Rose stuttered, trying to force words out through the sudden lump in her throat. "I don't really want anything anyway. It's fine. Let's go."
The Doctor flashed her an assessing look out of the corner of his eye, but then simply shrugged and led them off further into the alien bazaar. "Are you married, then, Clara Oswald?" he asked casually, his hands tucked primly behind his back as he quietly matched his pace to hers.
"I used to be," Rose replied quietly, staring down hard at her hand as she slowly twisted the ring around her finger. How had she not noticed it before? And how long had the Doctor known that it was there? Knowing him, he had probably seen it from the moment he first laid eyes on her.
"Bit young to be a widow, aren't you?" he asked curiously, and Rose wasn't even surprised that he had so accurately gauged the situation.
"Says the thousand-year-old alien with the baby face," she murmured sarcastically, flashing him a sardonic look out of the corner of her eye.
The Doctor chuckled good-naturedly, but Rose knew that he wasn't done questioning her - not by a long shot. "It's also a bit rude to assume a woman's age like that, Doctor," she continued, pretending to scold him. "And, just so you know, it's human custom to offer condolences in a situation like this."
"Oh, right ..." he murmured awkwardly. "Sorry."
Rose flashed him a forgiving smile and was prepared to let the topic of conversation drop when the Doctor suddenly asked, "How did he die?"
And Rose knew that she shouldn't tell him the truth - this conversation was dangerous enough already. After all, this man who she was talking to now was deeply connected to her husband in a way that was confusing and terrifying all at once. She knew that she shouldn't have even let on that she was married in the first place - the Doctor was right, her new, mid-twenties body would raise questions if she went around like the grieving widow that she was. But how was she supposed to know that the Bad Wolf would somehow make her a parallel approximation of her wedding ring without telling her?
Still, the temptation to blurt out the truth was too great to be ignored. She knew that it was selfish, but Rose had no one else who she could talk to about her husband, and she still missed him so terribly that it took her breath away sometimes. The man before her may be wearing a different face, but in some ways, he was the only other person in this world who even knew who her husband was.
"His heart gave out," she muttered, not daring to meet the Doctor's eye as she spoke. "About a year-and-a-half ago."
And for once, the Doctor surprised her by letting the conversation end there. Rose knew that he had more questions - how could he not? But he kept them politely to himself as he nodded solemnly and repeated his quiet condolences.
Rose, however, knew that she was never going to get a better chance than this, so she asked, "What about you, Doctor? You're a thousand years old, why are you wandering out here alone? Don't you have other friends or ... anyone else?" She didn't dare bring up Susan again, and certainly not Gallifrey, but Rose hoped that maybe he would deflect the question and at least tell her about his most recent companions. He had had friends in the dalek asylum, and the fact that he had still not brought them up concerned her greatly.
"Friends? Yes, of course I have friends!" the Doctor replied, his loud exuberance returning once more, along with his nervous fidgeting. "I've got loads of friends - all in different time periods across the galaxy. You can't do as much traveling as I do without making friends."
And enemies, Rose thought silently to herself. Out loud, she asked, "Well ... where are they, then? Why aren't they here with you?" And she knew that it hurt him to remember, but she just had to know what had put that deep, heavy sadness on his shoulders.
The Doctor only paused for a moment, but it was all that Rose needed to see that his hurt ran even deeper than she could have imagined. Finally, he threw his hands in the air and exclaimed, "Nah, they've got better things to do! They're all off living their lives, having babies and anniversaries and building debt - all that boring, normal stuff. They don't need me. Besides - I've got all of time and space to see! Can't forget that. There's so much that needs doing - worlds to save, people to meet, food to try."
The Doctor punctuated his chattering words by dipping his finger into the green whipped thing that was still slowly melting in Rose's hands and then brought it to his mouth with a gleeful grin.
"See?" he insisted eagerly. "Can't get that back on Earth, now, can you?"
Rose took a moment to watch him before replying. She wanted so badly to tell him the full truth of who she was, but she still didn't quite know how to explain this strange situation that they now found themselves in. She knew that as long as she decided to keep this secret, she would have to be subtle in order to keep him from getting suspicious, but she couldn't have stopped the words that came next even if she wanted to. She knew that he needed them now as much as he had back when he had first met her, and she wasn't about to let the Doctor go on in misery if there was anything that she could do to stop it.
"It's better with two," she muttered quietly. "Wouldn't you say, Doctor?"
Her words stopped him in his tracks and the Doctor turned to stare at her in unrestrained shock for a moment. She could practically see his brain working behind those new, bright green eyes of his. He was looking at her as though he had seen a ghost, and he wasn't quite sure if he could believe the proof of his own two eyes.
Rose threw caution to the wind as she stepped forward and firmly took his hand in hers. She watched as all of the air whooshed out of his lungs as though she had firmly and solidly hit him right in the gut.
"Right ..." he murmured slowly, continuing to stare down at her with a complicated expression. "Quite right." And Rose was pleasantly surprised when he offered her a kind smile instead of more suspicion.
"This way!" he said, suddenly tugging on her hand and jolting her immediately back into the adventure that he had planned. "There's this Hilomian soothsayer that you simply have to meet. Oh, I hope he's still here. The last time we met, he told me ..."
And just like that, he was back to his over-ecstatic Doctor-teaching-mode and he went about leading her off to see the many wonders of the universe. Rose grinned like a fool as she followed after him, hoping beyond hope that maybe this time the universe would be kind, and she wouldn't have to be torn from his side again.
#doctor who#dw#fanfiction#fanfic#doctor who fanfiction#doctor who fanfic#dw fanfiction#dw fanfic#the doctor#eleventh doctor#rose tyler#the doctor/rose#the doctorxrose#eleven/rose#elevenxrose
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City Lights
Here’s the one that (sort of) inspired my URL. I’m not sure if it’s 100% done, but If I keep fiddling with it then I’ll never be happy.
Most people will give you the same reasons over and over why they don't like the city: it's bright, and it's loud. Me? I'll never move out of this shitty downtown apartment for exactly those reasons. There's always some light or another shining in your bedroom window, always someone shouting at someone else, sirens wailing in the distance, even ancient air conditioners groaning and wheezing their white-noise sonatas. Hell, some nights i wish i could join in the symphony of the streets, but not having a voice makes that difficult to say the least. Thank AgriDam Agricultural Pest Control Solutions for that little gift.
See, I'm not originally from downtown. I was raised on a farm in the middle of Bumfuck, Georgia, miles from what most would call “civilization”. Country boy, born and raised, i guess you'd say. In fact, that's where i lived, laughed, and loved until i was eighteen. The day i turned eighteen and got the hell out of Dodge, as a matter of fact. After what I'd seen, and what I'd survived, i was never setting foot outside of a major metropolitan area again.
It all started when i got back from the hospital when i was, oh, nine or so years old. I had just learned that i would never speak again, due to “severe chemical burns on my trachea and vocal chords,” or something like that, and i think the severity of that diagnosis was still setting in. I would sit in my bedroom, day and night, subsisting on an all-liquid diet, just to be safe. My parents had brought me books on sign language and they wanted me to study, but i still clung to the belief that i would never need to know it. Instead, I would stay up late into the night, listening to my little portable radio and imagining myself on stage with whatever band was playing, performing to crowds of people. Hell, sometimes I would even stand by my bedroom window, imagining the rows of corn to be my adoring fans. The distant tree line, bathed in silhouette, played the part of the walls of the arena. This fantasy would end when either the trees waved in the wind, reminding me that they weren’t walls of concrete and steel, or I would actually try to sing along.
It was in the middle of one of these fantasies that my radio’s battery died one night. Normally, this wouldn’t be much of a problem. My dad kept a healthy stockpile of batteries of all sorts in his bedroom, just in case, but he was definitely asleep by now, meaning that I would have to wait until morning to have my entertainment back. I glanced back at my desk and the small pile of books laying, unopened, on its surface. I looked back out the window, trying to think of a way to distract myself from the silence without actually doing any work. I took in the shadowy landscape of the family farm, past the rabbit hutch, beyond the corn, out to the utter blackness of the trees swaying gently in the wind. Thinking back, I think I noticed that while the silhouette of the trees was moving slowly back and forth, the corn was still as the grave; I just was too preoccupied with my boredom to think anything of it. Ultimately, I decided that sleep was better than studying, and I went to bed.
The days passed quickly, as my parents started talking about getting me back to school. They wanted to put me in special classes where my muteness wouldn’t be as much of an issue; I wanted to stay home entirely. Maybe I was worried about being made fun of, the kid who was in “special” classes who couldn’t even argue his case? Maybe I liked staying home when everybody else was in school, what kid wouldn’t. But I think, when it comes down to it, I was just waiting for my voice to work again. So I could laugh, sing, tell jokes, everything that everyone else can do. I would turn up my radio as loud as I could without waking my parents up, dancing around my room, performing to the silent, screaming crowds of corn and rabbits outside my window. The next time the batteries in my radio died, though, I definitely saw it. It happened suddenly, one moment there was music and the next moment it was pure silence.
The acres of corn stalks swayed in the wind, and the dark beyond swayed with it. But as I watched, frustrated at my lack of foresight in not getting extra batteries, I saw the corn slow to a stop while what should have been the trees only moved faster. Faster than any wind should have moved them, not without some kind of incredible storm. Curious, I opened my window, and heard nothing but more silence. No leaves rustling, no creaking of wood, no cries of animals in the night. Just… silence. But the trees kept moving. I ran to my bedside drawer and pulled out my emergency flashlight, pointing it as far into the trees as I could, only to find that they weren’t moving at all. In fact, the shadows of the trees outside the beam of my flashlight seemed… different, somehow. Smaller. Not shaped like they were just moments ago. I chalked it up to the trees being funny, I don’t know. I closed my window and, for once, my curtains, and went to bed. I still didn’t need sign language.
My dad woke me up early the next morning to get my help with some chores, saying that if I was going to be out of school for this long, I was going to at least make myself useful. We cleaned the rabbit hutch, pruned some less-than-healthy corn stalks, made sure our bird kites were in decent shape, and then I was given free roam of the farm. When asked, I told my parents that I had been reading my sign books, but acted like I couldn’t remember anything useful when they pressed me. That evening, my dad, seeing through my lie, forced me to sit down and work on learning how to sign. He watched me for a time, then went to bed without my noticing. I never did ask him for new batteries.
The night was as silent as ever, but it creeped up on me rather than appearing suddenly; when you focus on learning something new like that, you kind of appreciate the quiet. I only got up from my desk once before bed: I went to my windows, pulled back the curtains, and prized open the pane to get a bit of fresh air. The only things on the air that night were the smell of corn, still air, and… just a hint of something else, I never could identify it. If you had asked me back then, I would have said it smelled like the storage shed after we let it air out for a bit. Nowadays, I don’t like to think about what that smell could have been. I noticed the corn dancing about, as if a stiff breeze was blowing. I looked up at the trees, and they remained still. I remember thinking that was odd, and decided to ask my dad about it in the morning.
Instead, I was awoken from my sleep early in the morning by a sharp scream; my mother’s scream, from outside my bedroom window. I got up as quickly as I could and raced to the window, yanking the curtains back to see what the problem was. I saw my mother running from the rabbit hutch, towards the house, and shouting for my dad to come help her, please, it’s terrible. I ran downstairs in my pajamas and went straight to the rabbits, where I saw a terrifying and gruesome sight: All the rabbits were not just dead where they lay but… caved in, almost. Their skin and fur clung to their skeletons, as if they were literally nothing but skin and bone. My dad came in a minute or so later and he started turning them over, he and I both noticed that the rabbit didn’t seem to have been injured or harmed in any way. He picked one up and brought it into the kitchen, but my mom refused to let me in to watch. From the little I could see form the doorway, my dad performed an autopsy on the rabbit and found that it was exactly as I had thought: it had no internal organs at all, only a pelt wrapped around a skeleton. He ran to get a second corpse to perform the same procedure, and I was able to take a closer look at the body on the counter. Aside from the cuts my dad had made, I couldn’t find any sign of injury, animal attack or otherwise. When my dad returned, I was discovered looking at the body and was forced into my bedroom until they were done investigating.
After what felt like hours, my dad came into my room and sat on the edge of my bed. I reached for the pad of paper I had started keeping on my bedside table, but he seemed not to notice and started talking anyway, not making eye contact with me. He told me that all the rabbits had been attacked, and that he wasn’t sure what did it. Possibly coyotes. He assured me that I had nothing to be afraid of, nothing could get in the house to hurt me, but he also told me that he knew I had been staying up late and urged me to let him know if I saw any animals out my window after dark. If we had a predator problem, then that was something he would need to take care of. I nodded at him and reached again for my paper, but he reached over and stopped me. He told me to try studying a bit, and that he would bring me some food in a little while.
Not wanting to put any more stress on my dad than he was clearly already under, I sat down at my desk and opened the sign book I had been flipping through lately. I tell you, I tried my hardest, but something felt off. Was it my concern about what had happened to the rabbits? Was I subconsciously remembering something from the previous night? I’m almost certain that both were true, but I quickly realized that the main reason I was having such trouble focusing was because I was trying to study in relative silence. Sure, I had the dull tweeting of the birds outside my window, and the faint sound of machinery on the farm, but my radio was still dead! I grabbed it off my desk and rushed downstairs to get more batteries from my dad before I forgot again.
As I approached the dining room, I heard my mom and dad quietly arguing. I slowed down to listen in, knowing that they probably didn’t want me to hear what they were talking about. My dad was whisper-shouting that he didn’t know what had done it, he didn’t know what could disembowel a dozen rabbits without leaving a mark on any of them while my mom begged him to go outside and look for any kinds of tracks or anything. He replied that he already looked and he didn’t see jack shit, but she pleaded for him to go look again because surely there must be something. Dad gave in at this and went back outside, muttering to himself, and I saw my opportunity. I walked slowly into the dining room where my mom was standing, facing away from me and trembling slightly. I walked up to her and waved at the edge of her vision to get her attention, trying my best not to startle her. She jumped anyway, but softly asked me what I needed. I pointed to my radio and I saw the understanding in her eyes, but she told me to ask properly. I rolled my eyes and struggled to think of what I needed to say, and did my best to sign what I thought was “music dead”. I could tell that she hadn’t been studying either, because she smiled and took the radio from me as if she had understood completely. After replacing the batteries, she sent me back up to my room. I turned the radio up decently loud and returned to studying, with much more success than mere minutes before. Occasionally I would glance out my window and see my dad either working or walking from one end of the yard ot the other, presumably looking for tracks like my mom has requested. I couldn’t hear him, but I could see his frustration growing throughout the day.
Eventually, I got lost in my music and my books and only realized the sun had gone down when my mom told me that she and my dad were going to bed, and not to stay up too late. True to her wishes, I recognized when tiredness started to creep over me. I clicked off my radio, closed my book, shook my tired hands, and walked to my window to close the curtains. Of course, though, I couldn’t help but look down at the now-empty rabbit hutch and wonder what could possibly have happened to them. Surely I would have heard my dad exclaim that he found evidence of something, right? As my mind wandered, so did my eyes. Across the tree line, down to the corn fields, blowing with the wind. I distinctly remember thinking the wind must be strong that night, because that’s when I remembered that the wind had seemed strong the past few nights as well. Sure, I couldn’t see the plants themselves in the pitch darkness, but the contrasting shadows danced and waved like nothing else. I’m not sure if that’s when I first considered the idea that there was something in the shadows, making everything move like that, but I knew for damn sure that whatever killed our rabbits wasn’t a coyote, mountain lion, or anything my dad might consider. Either way, I yanked my curtains closed and slept with my radio on that night.
My dad woke me up at the crack of dawn the next morning, as was quickly becoming normal. I was so used to the way my dad woke me up that I was surprised that I had trouble waking myself up, and realized I must have had some bad dreams that I simply wasn’t remembering. By the time I sat down at the table for breakfast, I had made up my mind. I had brought my paper and pen downstairs with me and started writing hesitantly, trying to use the best, most accurate words that my young mind cold conjure. After a couple minutes of writing and ignoring curious questions from my parents, I read over what I had written and handed the message to my dad. He read my explanation of what I had seen the previous night with only a faint look of concern on his face, but didn’t seem to give it too much thought once he had finished. He handed it back to me with a gentle smile and told me that I must have been more tired than I thought, and that combined with the drama of the previous day, my eyes were playing tricks on me. We would double check the bird kites, maybe put up one or two more, and he told me to get my flashlight the next time I saw the corn moving like that and see how many crows I could spot flying around.
That night, I didn’t get much studying done. Partially because of burnout, since I had gone from not caring about learning to sign to at least trying to get the basics down in a matter of days, but mostly because I was too preoccupied with my window. I would sing along to my radio to help keep myself calm while I swept my flashlight beam across the trees and the corn, looking for crows that never showed up. I don’t know what it was about the previous nights that weirded me out so much, I can’t put it into words now and I sure as hell couldn’t back then either. But dammit, I was going to get to the bottom of this mystery. My dad followed up with me over breakfast the next morning, but I could only report that while I didn’t see any crows, the corn wasn’t waving like it had been either.
By this point, home life started to settle into a new routine, one where I didn’t go to school. I liked that, because it made me feel like my return to school was some far-off thing that I didn’t have to think about for the time being. Learning to sign got easier, probably because I was learning on my terms. Well, for the most part. I would be woken up around dawn to have my breakfast smoothie before helping with chores, and we would work until near lunchtime. If we finished early, I would have some extra leisure time before lunch. Then I would sit down with some yogurt, a banana, and a nutrition shake at my desk and study some more sign, before having time to do whatever I wanted around the house. Come four or five, my parents would sit down at the table with me for their sign lesson, when I would teach them what I had learned that day. They were slower to pick it up than I thought adults would be, but I like to think I was patient for a kid. Then we would finish up a couple extra chores while dinner cooked, we would all eat together, and then I would retire to my bedroom. On good days, I would study a bit more, but most days had me dancing around my room and desperately wishing my parents would knock on my door, just once, and tell me to stop singing so loudly, they were trying to sleep. I tried not to think about the fact that they never would. The only sure thing about my nighttime routine was my flashlight examination of the shadows just outside my window. I remained vigilant, but I only ever caught one more strange thing outside.
It was during a break in my studies, I had gotten up for a couple minutes to stretch my legs and give my fingers and hands a break from their constant maneuvering. I turned my radio up a touch louder, as loud as I was comfortable making it without fear of waking up my parents. I paced about my room, letting my mind wander, when I realized I had inadvertently made my way to the window. I glanced back at my desk, where my flashlight sat waiting, and decided to forego it, just this once. I really ought to appreciate the moonlit landscape, I probably thought. Or whatever a nine year old’s version of that would be. And, for a couple moments, I was glad I did. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness outside, I began to make out a buck walking along the edge of the trees. A decent size one too, if my dad was to be believed. Seeing deer was less common that you might think, personally I chalked it up to a fear of the machinery and the people. But every now and then, I suppose. I took a second to appreciate the deer before something in my head told me that I should shut the radio off, for fear of scaring the thing away. Lord, everyone knows how skittish they can be. I took a quick couple steps back and clicked the radio off completely, it was the quickest and easiest solution. I never once took my eyes off the window, just in case the deer decided to run off. I caught a hint of movement in the shadowed trees behind the deer, but I was focused, dammit. I hurried back to the window, not wanting to miss a moment of its presence. It was taking its time, and I wasn’t about to complain about looking at it for a bit longer. I felt a slight smile begin to creep onto my face, maybe the first genuine smile since the burning coughing fit that got me sent to the ER a month or two beforehand. But then, that glimmer of happiness vanished in the blink of an eye.
Though my focus remained on the buck, I couldn’t help but notice the silhouetted treeline, must have been force of habit. It looked unlike anything I had ever seen - the best way I can think to describe it would be angry. The shadows looked like flames licking up at the night sky, as if the forest itself was a hungry toddler throwing a tantrum. And then the shadows collapsed. The tops of the trees became perfectly pronounced against the sky, all motion stopped. Suddenly, the shadows lurched forward and engulfed the buck whole. I gasped and held back a scream, and by the time I composed myself enough to get back to the window, I couldn’t see hide nor hair of the majestic buck. I clicked my radio back on quicker than anything, hid under the covers, and fell asleep with the light on that night. In the morning, I wrote out to my dad that I had seen a buck outside my window the previous night, leaving out its, well, disappearance. He seemed amused, and gave me a smile. His reply, though, chilled me to the bone. He told me that it was funny I mentioned it, he had found the body of a buck just that morning, just past the tree line. It wasn’t particularly rare for him to come across one, but this buck in particular had given itself to nature in an unusual manner: whatever scavengers had happened across it has totally cleaned out its internal organs before much of the skin had been eaten at all.
After that incident, things were relatively quiet for the next two weeks or so. I stuck to my routine, I got better and better at signing, and my parents began seriously talking about sending me back to school again. I was able to fumble through weak arguments most of the time, but there wasn’t much that I could do. I had known that my days of staying home when I shouldn’t would be numbered, and I resigned myself to my fate fairly quickly. Well, quickly for a nine year old. But until the fateful day of my return to society, I remained steadfast in my routine. Most importantly, I would always, always look over the landscape with my trusty flashlight and drift off to sleep with my portable radio playing on my bedside table. In fact, it got to the point where the sound of my dad turning off the radio in the morning would become a critical part of my waking up. Most people would love something that could reliably wake them almost instantly, I certainly did.
So when my brain realized that my radio wasn’t playing anything in the middle of the night, it must have clicked into wake-up mode and my eyes fluttered open. I rubbed my eyes and was immediately disoriented by the darkness of my bedroom. Sure, my curtains were drawn, but sunlight still shone through well enough in the mornings. I was further thrown off by my dad, who wasn’t standing where he usually was. Every morning, I would open my eyes to see him standing over the side of my bed, one hand on my bedside table beside my radio, the other on my shoulder. But this time, he wasn’t there. Instead, I could see a silhouette at the foot of my bed. I assumed this was my dad, but something was off. As I woke up and came to my senses, I realized that it wasn’t moving at all, and it wasn’t even shaped like my dad. It wasn’t shaped like… anything, really. It was a shape, a shadow, that shouldn’t have been there. Almost instinctively, I reached out to grab my flashlight and clicked it on to find out what the hell was watching me, only to find that nothing was there. I shone the beam into every corner of my room, on every inch of every wall, but absolutely nothing was out of place. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and nothing could possibly have been casting any kind of shadow across the far wall. For good measure, I even pulled back the curtains and performed my usual search twice over. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. I tried going back to sleep, but without my music to distract me, I couldn’t even sit still. I turned on the lamp on my desk and sat in bed until my dad came to wake me up. I tried explaining to him what I saw, but again, he chalked it up to a bad dream. Rather than arguing, I asked if I could get a night light next time they went to the store, and they brought me one that very day. Oh, and plenty of batteries for my radio. There was no way it would run out of power for more than thirty seconds again, not on my watch.
Time passed and I never forgot everything I had seen. My parents could make all the excuses they wanted, but I knew what was out there. I was the only line of defense between it and everything I loved. I went back to school, I adjusted to a proper life without a voice, but I never let my nightly routine miss a beat. I never let the radio die, I always kept a light on, I always scanned the area outside my window for any sign of the thing that was out there. And I knew it was out there. I remember standing at my window, music playing behind me, with only my flashlight for light. All I had to do was click off the flashlight, return the outside to its near-complete darkness, and watch as the fields of corn seemed to begin to boil. The shadows no longer waved, they rolled and fumed like the ocean in a storm. But as soon as my flashlight beam turned on it again, I saw that the corn itself was still as the grave. It was angry, now. It had started hunting me and my family out of convenience, but now it was a personal vendetta.
Despite all this, I never let it get to me. You would think that being the only thing standing between your family and certain death would cause insane amounts of stress, but I think my being so young was what allowed me to handle it as calmly as I did. It was just another thing I had to do, like brushing my teeth and doing my homework. Plus, I don’t think I realized how serious the situation was, the permanence of the consequences if I slipped up even once. Now that I’m older, and I’ve seen so much more of life, I’m surprised I’m still sane. I still sleep with a night light, and I still look out my windows at the cars below, the lights in the other shitty apartments across the road, and I simply can’t sleep unless I have something playing. Pointless now, I know, but you know what they say about old habits.
I’m not writing this now just to scare you, though. And I’m not exactly working on a memoir. “The Silent Farmboy” or something? Don’t make me laugh. See, I never put much thought into what kept it from going after my parents. By the time I was old and cognizant enough to consider it, my routine was so ingrained into me that I had half-forgotten why I started doing it in the first place. The knowledge of the thing was there, but the fear had stopped having such an effect on me. Protecting everything I held dear was just something I did, I guess. But I got a phone call today, one that made me think back on my experiences with it and reconsider my actions. It was an innocent enough call, my mom getting in touch to keep updated on what was going on in our respective lives. I told her about recent drama at work, the debate I’d been having with my neighbors, nothing too major. My mom told me that life back home was as boring as ever, nothing much to report. The most exciting thing, she said, was that they finally had enough set aside to pay for a surgery my dad had been wanting for many years, to take care of a persistent snoring issue he had had for most of his life. The surgery is scheduled for a few days from now, and once all is said and done, he should be a silent sleeper for good. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I couldn’t get it out of my head for hours and hours after hanging up. Then it finally hit me, the reason my parents had stayed safe even after I had left home and couldn’t perform my nightly ritual: my dad’s snoring had the same effect as my little radio. Without knowing it, he had kept himself and my mom safe from the thing that stalked our farm for nearly a decade. As soon as I realized the implications that his surgery would have, I texted my mom, but she didn’t answer. I messaged her again, and again, and again, until finally she answered. They were trying to get to bed, what could be so important? I asked her if she still had my night light, and I asked if she could find it and put it in their bedroom. The excuse I used was that they were getting older, and the last thing I wanted was for one of them to trip and fall in the middle of the night and not be able to get help in a timely manner. She distractedly told me that she would look for it in the morning, but she really had to go because she needed to go to bed. Rather than try to argue the importance of a simple night light, I let her go. I’ll just have to trust her, I can’t go back to visit on such short notice. I tell myself that she’ll listen to me, that she trusts my judgment, but you know how parents can be sometimes.
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