#someone please let me know if this is all balderdash
Note
Duuuuuude Derek is SUCH a product of his environment and your analysis of the last two episodes hits the nail on the head.
(And let me start off here by saying that I am not defending Derek's sexism. But I think people forget what a truly terrible time it was for anybody who wasn't a straight cis white male in 2005. It was the times. It was just how it was. It wasn't okay, but it's a bit unfair to hold Derek accountable to today's standards)
Anyway. Just because George is nice doesn't mean he doesn't have blatant sexist tendencies. And he doesssss. The "girls are so emotional" and oh my god, next episode youre going to get George literally saying "boys will be boys" and both Casey AND Nora being upset with that response. And Derek growing up with that and how Derek's "discipline" is "Derek, knock it off" it's not shocking that he turned out to be an entitled classic 15 year old teenage boy.
And UGH don't get me started on George's "you're good at sports". No wonder that boy is emotionally inept.
I think people think that boys will only end up not liking physical or emotional affection if their dad is like– abusive, or something. But George (a nice man) and Derek (kind of an asshole) are the perfect examples of what might happen when you don't communicate with your kids. To me (and Nora is just as guilty of this) I think George sees his kids more as friends than anything.
Lmao sorry for dumping this all here, I just have so many thoughts and opinions on G&N parenting and how your parent doesn't have to abuse you (and how they can actually be extremely loving) and still end up not being great parents.
I can almost guarantee the creators didn't intend to do this, but they really wrote such relatable (as in subpar at best) parents. Like. A freakishly perfect job 😂
YES.
I cannot even blame Derek for being a bit of a dick. I mean, between the way George "disciplines" him and their odd form of communication—
It actually reminds me a little bit of Gilmore Girls, which I know is weird, but hear me out: Kind of like what you said about George seeing his kids more as his friends (and Nora to a point too), Lorelai Gilmore claims that Rory (her daughter) and her are best friends. And I know that Lorelai fosters that relationship because she had Rory at age 16, but every once in a while, she plays the "mom card", and Rory doesn't react well to it. Rory, who is by all accounts a very good person and rarely needs discipline — unlike Derek, who is a charming little asshole who needs someone to knock some sense into him (kinda like a less wealthy Logan???) — but Rory will get defensive when Lorelai suddenly starts acting like a mom who knows best.
And, like, Derek obviously loves and has some respect for his dad, but the way he talks to his dad?? And George rarely takes him to task!! And when he does, it surprises Derek, and I think George may overcompensate when he does discipline Derek because he's, like, overdoing it for all the times he doesn't; and I genuinely think that uncertainty about which version of your parent you're going to get — the friend one or the authority one — must be very tricky and affect a child.
Like, during "The Party", Derek is very concerned about his dad's reaction to the party — but also very hurt about his dad's lack of trust. I honestly think that the party Derek had planned wasn't that bad, nor was it worth freaking out about. It's only once people he didn't invite came over and the house got crowded that he had trouble — and he had trouble because he was more concerned about his reputation and looking cool and chill and unconcerned than taking control, and that's just part of being 15 and a popular guy. But his original plan? Man, that would've been okay. Derek's a dick, but he's not a bad guy. I don't think he meant any harm.
As for Nora and Casey's relationship, I honestly believe that originates a lot from Casey being a responsible person and Nora leaning on her during and after the divorce because she just couldn't do it all herself. I think both adults reacted to their divorces by essentially letting the kids raise themselves for a few years — which is very understandable and human — but Casey's personality made her uber-responsible and organized and take control, and Derek's personality meant he let things go slack and coast. Again, two very understandable reactions! That's just who they are!! The problem is, neither of them are very moderate about their reactions to the divorces and George and Nora's parenting, and so they go to slight extremes —
(also because this is TV and it needs to be entertaining)
—and I think the beauty of Derek&Casey is how they teach each other some of the positives of the other person. As they grow up, Derek learns to take some responsibility, learns how to study and focus (within reason; the seeds are planted and I think in university, they'd come to fruition (it's a fact that boys grow up slower than girls do too, so let's cut him some slack in that regard)); Casey learns to relax her grip, how to have fun, and that things don't have to be perfectly planned to be okay. And isn't that what love is all about: helping the other person grow and become the best version of themselves?
#asks#life with derek#dasey#did i also talk too much?#someone please let me know if this is all balderdash#because i may be talking out of my ass
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okay but what hurts me the most about Humphrey (at least at this moment)
is not that his wife pretended to not speak his language and didn't want anything to do with him ( there was a small "redemption" there)
or that the other ghosts ignore his head, not just letting him lie on the floor they also often don't answer him at all? They often only talk to him until it's convenient and often involves him being used as ball etc.
no,at this moment it's how much of a weirdo he must feel?
hear me out (fasten your seatbelts, I had two hours of sleep and I have a headache, it will get incoherent but we're doing this)
so one of the first things he ever mentions about his wife is that she never laughed at his jokes. And then we saw her not laughing it was not because of a language barrier she just found him unfunny? (can't relate "don't tell me how it ends" cracked me up)
So then he tells his story and for the first time instead of being ignored or made fun of the other ghosts pay him respect? but it's because they once again wouldn't listen and if they knew the truth we all know he would be the butt of their jokes even more? because it is a stupid death. It also turned him into a "weird" kind of ghost? like he is the odd one out. everyone else is still a full person whereas he can't even connect with his own body anymore which also seems to develop a mind of it's own so to speak?
so then before we get to the big part, this season when the others do finally interact with him we get to see what a terribly funny oddball he is? Like obviously we are talking Mr Cheese and his son cheddar. and it's so imaginative and funny and he really has a ball with it just for the Captain wanting to stop because it's too silly. I mean it's less weird than some of the stuff Mary comes up with (bless her heart) but with her it's always just like yeah bit too much imagination but well done. no one is like that's too silly I'm gonna go (as far as I can remember) . To be fair he has the captain as partner in the scene who's favourite word is probably balderdash, but I think even Mary and Humphrey wouldn't fit in those regards either because Mary just gets so lost in her imagination that they wouldn't play of each other at such a situation as improv? Back on tack however now someone talks to him and he gets to tell a story and blossoms into this character of mr cheese and it's basically too weird for the other party.
now the big one
at least two of the ghosts "get better along1 with his body than his head.
First of all the non elephant in the room. The Captain happily uses Humphrey's body to help him count stuff and he looks very content with it (the captain ) because in other situations here he has employed the help of the talking bit, he often goes back to ignoring him, or being abrasive? whereas the non talking body just does as it's told.
now the elephant
well we know right. Fanny found love with a headless body (probably made out with his spine uuuugh) and ya know and apparently the body consents (so weird man, upon rewatch kinda funny, but still a bit uncomfy) however there is this poor bodyless fella who learns that his body has an affair that freaks himself out but the others tell him that maybe he should get over himself and give it a try? and he's so lonely and he goes you know what maybe it is my chance for happiness. it's weird but his whole afterlife situation is and so he is yeah gonna give it a try. and then he gets rejected! in such a cruel way! like fanny is disgusted by the mere idea. the body again was fine but his "mind" was too much (yet again). and then even he body rejects him.
so again and again he is being outcast for his "mind"? for the way he is? and I feel like he must feel at this point like something is wrong with him that he is a weirdo and an oddball? because everyone is fine with his headless body but as soon as it comes to who he is, his mind, he's just rejected again and again and again?
sorry if this reads like basically teenage outsider angst,
but for once I just wanna see someone who doesn't give a damn about the body but is fascinated with the person that he is? and listens and laughs and doesn't physically hurt him or use him for stuff as long as he is convenient?
just show him some affection please and show him that there's nothing wrong with the way he is? because he is smart and funny and kind and a bit odd in the best way possible
#bbc ghosts#bbc ghosts spoilers#sir humphrey bone#humphrey my goldhaas#just give him a friend#i loved the fic where it's jemima and I could see that tbh#because she is also an outcast in a way#larry rickard#it breaks my heart how he is treated#oh no i have fanart ideas that I don't have the skills for#headless humphrey#humphrey's body#humphrey's head#maybe i'm so tired i'm forgetting times when he was fully accepted?#my heart#your honor i love him
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A Display Of Twue Dumbinance
I am going to start with this, I know I spelled true wrong in the title. Calm your britches trolls because “twue” is lifestyle slang for balderdash. Now that is out of the way, I want to talk about this guide to finding a true/real dominant that I bumbled upon the other day. This little ditty has zoomed around Tumblr and I am sure many of you reading this have read it and maybe even liked/reblogged it because on the surface some of it sounds great. As I read through it, I found myself cringing, facepalming, and the more I read of this supposed guide to finding “twue” dominance I knew I would be talking about this here on my blog.
As I read through this list the very first time, I was convinced that I wanted to do something I very rarely do and address the hogwash point by point by linking back to the original post and blog. However, when I reached the end of the drivel came a surprising statement that this post was not this “master’s” but he liked it, copied, and pasted it to his blog without ever crediting the person who originally concocted this nonsense. I did discover some great news upon reading Master Cox’s (name changed to protect the guilty) about me section for the ladies of Tumblr, please feel free to submit a nude and/or boobie selfie because he will be happy to post and comment about your body and boobs. It does come with the disclaimer that you may not like what he has to say about your body. This is pure Tumblr gold! Send him a picture, he will body shame those he wishes and as a bonus, he saves all photo submissions for his personal use. Ding, Ding, Ding, ladies we have a twue wiener! So as much as I want to quote this craptastic masterpiece of malarkey, I will paraphrase since crediting the original dumbinant is sadly not an option.
Submissives, did you know that a twue dominant will never approach you demanding your submission, naked pictures, and/or gangbangs? I know, this is a huge news flash and we better call the news networks to get this unfair and unbalanced revelation out to the masses (This is such big news for the masses that I bet we could get the Pope to talk about it at mass!). In all seriousness, a respectable d-type will not contact a submissive with incredulous demands, and a dominant worth their salt will be respectful in all communications. This is cynical but if you believe that this lifestyle works by dumbinants making crass demands and then following them, please change your self-identifier from submissive to stupidmissive. Sorry, this is not news but is simply common sense.
Hey submissive ladies, did you know that a twue dominant man can get laid anytime he wants? Oh, you betcha (said in my best Fargo accent). The reason for a twue d-type’s ability to bow-chicka-wow-wow three hundred and sixty-five days a year with an equal amount of different women is because all women just cannot resist dominance. All a d-type has to do is approach a lady in the produce section, show her his kumquats, and they will be shagging in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot five minutes later. Okay back to reality, this goes to the crap-o-la that dumbinance preaches about all women naturally desiring a dominant man. If you are submissive, single, attracted to humans with penises, then you may want a dominant man as a partner but sorry Master Malarkey, not all women want a dominant man. There are women to want a submissive man because they are dominant and there are other women who are vanilla and do not want a dominant or take-charge guy (in vanilla terms). Now, this one blows the minds of the twue dumbinant, but not all women want, need, or are attracted to people with penises. As shocking as this news is, the twue dumbinant never grasps that all women do not want him, and there are women who are not attracted to humans that have baloney ponies and are involved in the lifestyle. Being dominant does not suddenly make someone so sexy that all the ladies of the world swoon when he passes near.
It is time to get into a bit of shady business and it is whatI call the Christian Grey effect since this has become fake news fodder since Fifty Shades of Hay descended upon the lifestyle. This twue dumbinance theory goes like this, all real dominant men are successful, wealthy, white-collar professionals and all a submissive needs to do is check the brand of cars driven, logos on clothes, and bank account balances to find out if a d-type is the real deal. So college students, construction workers, mechanics, HVAC techs, those who work in the trades, or an enlisted person in the military are all excluded from being d-types. This twue myth links career to the lifestyle and is simply rubbish because how anyone earns their living has nothing to do with the lifestyle or their role within it.
I would like to dedicate this tale to the submissive ladies out there. Okay, ladies, the reason why you have never had a successful relationship in the vanilla world is that men who are not dominant are scared of sex. Yes, ladies, it is twue, Vinny Vanilla is just soooo scared of sex that when you asked to be spanked, he ran home and cried to his momma. This tale tells that all vanilla men are scared of sex, sexuality and thus this lifestyle leaves them cowering in fear. The simple truth here is that if a person needs, wants, and desires to have this lifestyle be part of their relationship then engaging in a relationship with someone who is a vanilla bean is going to leave some things unfulfilled no matter if you are a dominant, submissive, switch, or any other lifestyle role.Once again, it is time to cause Master Malarkey’s mind to blow, vanillas can have sex, even kinky as heck swinging from the chandeliers sex, enjoy the living hell out of it, and some vanilla folks are even more sexually adventurous that lifestyle people. Sex is just sex and sex does not make a relationship nor does it mean that someone who is vanilla is scared of it.
Guess what readers, our guide to twue dominance is still hung up on sex, and get ready for some more sexciting news. Ladies, the good news is here! Your domly dream man is already god’s sexual gift because twue dumbinants are great in the sack, skilled in the art of making women orgasm, and will never engage in vanilla sex. I bet all the single, submissive women seeking d-type men and reading this are super excited to learn that he dominant of their dreams will never make love because whenever the bedroom boom-boom happens it will be of the kinky fuckery variety. A twue d-type must have had many sexual partners (seriously this part of the malarkey manifesto), so if you are a young man or a more life experienced man without a plethora of sexual partners, you better get out there, fornicate with as many willing women as you can find because until you have, you ineligible to be dominant. Did anyone else besides me facepalm here? Being male and dominant does not mean the guy has had many sexual partners nor does the role of dominant transform anyone into a sexual dynamo.
The menu of twue d-types is now moving a bit away from sex and into the realm of kinkicious play. The chef who created this dumbinant menu requires the man who wishes to attain twue dumbinance statues to acquire, have, and own accouterment of the lifestyle. If a dominant fails to have whips, chains, floggers, and the toy de jour then sorry Sir Charlie, a dominant you are not. I hope there is a collective of heads shaking because toys do not make a person, let alone a dominant. Maybe this ties back into the part of the myth about being Richie Rich and by having thousands of dollars in toys it is another symbol of wealth, success, and therefore dumbinance?
Whew, we are finally away from sex and toys (at least for now) but we do need to pause for a moment. Readers, please take this brief pause, to put your boots on because we are about to step into a few large piles of poops. Seriously, it is about to get worse…
Submissives, a twue dumbinant will select you. It does sound sort of nice and maybe a bit romantic to be selected by a dominant but there is a huge BUT here. Just like any relationship, a lifestyle relationship requires two people, or more if you are poly, to say I like you and want to be with you. Now it is time for that big but (Am I the only one here singing Sir Mix-A-Lot’s Baby Got Back now?). One of the most basic things in this lifestyle is that the submissive must offer their submission to the dominant of their choice. A dominant does not select, choose, or demand submission but it must be freely given by the submissive partner. So it may sound romantic to be selected by a d-type but this is rubbish. In my opinion, this is nothing more than a ploy to make it sound okay for a dumbinant to demand submission from a submissive.
Everyone knows that humans are mistake-prone creatures and this mythology plays upon this. Remember a few points back when a twue d-type needed to be fabulously fornicating with many partners? Well, it is expected that one who follows this how-to guide would come from a background of many failed lifestyle relationships because the twue dumbinant will make mistakes along the way to the submissive they select. The thing here is that failed relationships might be labeled as mistakes sometimes but they are always life lessons. A broken relationship from the past is not something to chuck in the fuck-it-bucket and move forward. It is a lesson to learn as you move forward in life. What this myth is doing, I believe, is making people disposable as the twue d-type must fuck many, gain experience, before they “seize” the submission of who they select. This bit is just a way to justify the sordid past of a fuck boy. No more, no less.
So the break from sexy stuff did not last too long and this should give everyone a great laugh. The twue dumbinant will never, ever, never ask a submissive for nude or naughty pictures because d-types will “never beg” for anything. The twue man is soooooooo irresistible that a submissive who has conversations with him will just not be able to control themselves and will be “dying” to send him naked photos. Anyone else laughing out loud with me? So guys, if your inbox is not crammed with pictures of naughty bits every morning, the twue dumbinants are coming to take your dominant id card.
Remember when I warned about the poop level getting deep, well, here are the last two bits of the hit parade and it is going to get deep. I hope that everyone reading these words would agree with me that trust and honesty are hallmarks of a solid relationship and are even more important in a lifestyle relationship. So without further ado, it is time to get to the twue truth and it might hurt.
It is fairly common online to encounter a blog post from a submissive who discovered their dominant is actually in a relationship with someone else and they are simply the submissive side piece. Not to worry though because the twue dumbinant will never lie about being in a relationship because he will come right out and state he needs you to be his subbie side action, on the down-low. We should all applaud Mr. Twue for being honest with Subbie Susie, right? I am sorry but that is just crap. This lifestyle is all about being trustworthy and honest. So that is great that Twue has told Susie she is number two in his life, he still is being dishonest with number one in life (his wife) and is trying to build as well as lead a relationship that has a lie at its foundation. It is not going to work and Susie, you may think you are number two behind the wife, but depending on Mr. Twue’s day, you are number five or six.
So, here is the last bit of twue d-type poppycock from this guide. It once again circles back to honesty. It has been established that it is acceptable for a twue dumbinant to be honest about being dishonest. Not only is that okay, but it is expected for the d-type to lie about somethings (Serious, a twue dumbinant will lie and it is supposedly okay). To paraphrase the twue example given (sorry this may gross a few of you out) but it is okay for a twuebie to say they agree with a submissive’s hard limit of no water sports but believe that swallowing a golden shower is right up that s-types alley (thus they are going to do it anyway). Relationships require honesty. It is that simple. Even hard questions such as does this make me look fat or aren’t you excited my mom is coming to stay with us for a month, can be answered with tact and honesty. There should never be a reason to disrespect a submissive by saying that you agree with a hard limit while plotting to make her swallow pee. It is simple, just be honest and say that you will respect the limit but also express if that is your thing, that it is a thing for you. Maybe someday the submissive will want to do to for you if you find yourself in a relationship with them. Be honest because if you are not your relationship will fail.
Okay, this concludes the busting of this twue dumbinant discovery guide. I know that it can sound amazing, especially if you are new, to have certain things to look for and/or lookout for. If you are new to the lifestyle, get to know people, ask questions, and learn from their experiences rather than read a blog post and think “oh that sounds good, I will go with this as a guide”. This guide about twue dumbinance has parts that sound great but when you dig closer, it is nothing but a document that excuses the behavior of fuck boys masquerading around the lifestyle as d-types. The thing about this lifestyle is that things may look amazing at first glance but you must always read between the lines as well as every bit of the fine print.
As with all of my writings, please see this disclaimer.
©TLK2021
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RP Meme from Oliver & Company
Now, it's always once upon a time in New York City.
It's a big old bad old tough old town.
Let me have one, please.
Right away, you're making time and making friends
If they pick you out, you're on your way.
Get out there and go and try.
Why does nightfall find you feelin' so alone?
Dreaming is still how the strong survive
Keep your dream alive.
Got to look out and open your eyes,
You're in the fast lane
What's the matter with you? I said get outta here.
I don't eat cats. It's too much fur.
I've been watching you, and I think you're in serious need of some professional guidance.
I'm an expert at these things.
All you gotta do is learn some moves.
This city's got a beat.
When are we gonna get those hot dogs?
I hate to break it to ya, but the dynamic duo is now the dynamic uno.
Our partnership is herewith dissolved.
You're not being fair!
Fairs are for tourists, kid.
Consider it a free lesson in street savoir faire
Hey, wait! I helped you get those! Half of those are mine!
Why should I worry? Why should I care?
I got street savoir faire
You can wear the crown!
Everything goes.
Everything fits.
They love me at the Chelsea, they adore me at the Ritz!
Stop that racket! I'm trying to watch this show.
Shut up, you little rodent.
Come on, let's watch some boxing. I wanna see some action
You think this place is big enough?
What we need is some good quality stuff
Oh, shredded leather.
You insulted my pride! That means death!
It was your turn to get the food today!
You remain our preeminent benefactor.
It was tough. Only I could have done it.
I love a story with food in it.
Enter the opposition.
Gang war! Gang war! Watch out! Here comes a gang war!
Take cover!
It's just a cat.
I followed this dog.
He's lying! He's lying! He's lying! He's lying!
Oh, boy! Dog pile!
Don't let me down!
What do you got?
Let's see what you got.
I was just on my way out.
Actually, I've got something much better than money.
Some luxury items that should make a considerable dent in my debt to you.
Oh, my! You waxed your car, didn't you? Did they use the buffer on it, because I can see myself.
I don't think you grasp the severity of the situation.
Now, I lent you money and I don't see it.
People like you get hurt.
I can't figure out why you'd rather hang around a dump like this when you could be living uptown with a class act like myself.
Isn't it rather dangerous to use one's entire vocabulary in a single sentence?
You bad, man.
Hey, you got something to say to me, fat boy?
Why don't you pick on someone your own size?
Oh, I'm having a bad day!
I like cats. I like to eat 'em.
Your master's calling.
Come on and say it to my face!
How am I ever gonna come up with all that money?
It's hopeless.
That took a lot of guts.
All right. Time for bed. We've got a big day tomorrow.
We've got two days to do or die.
You got a lot to learn. And if you don't learn, you don't eat!
But if you're tough, and always use your head, you'll be right at home, on the street.
When you got talent, everything is free.
You're gonna see how the best survive.
These are streets of gold.
You'll take the town, and you'll take it with style.
You're in charge of electronics.
Hey, but what about me? What do I do?
Ready? Go!
What have I done? Poor thing.
You oughta be ashamed of yourself!
Run along, little fellow. Go on, now. Shoo.
Be a lookout.
I only got one more wire, okay?
Oh, you poor kitty. Here. Let me help you.
Where's the kid?
We can't just take in a stray off the street.
Don't worry, kitty. I'll take care of you.
Your public awaits.
Girl, we've got work to do
Pass me the paint and glue.
Perfect isn't easy
When one knows the world is watching, one does what one must.
See how the breeding shows
Sometimes it's too much for even me!
But when all the world says "Yes", then, who am I to say "no"?
Don't ask a mutt to strut like a showgirl
Perfection becomes me, ne c'est pas?
I'm beauty unleashed!
So classic and classy
They're barking up the wrong tree!
I have your hearts, and you have my pity
Pretty is nice, but still it's just pretty!
I wouldn't go in there if I were you.
What is the meaning of this?
I guess I'll have to handle this myself.
And do you have any idea whose home this is?
Isn't he cute?
What in Heaven's name are we waiting for?
Alas, our beleaguered benefactor bearing the brunt of our futile endeavours.
Cool it!
Our mission begins at daybreak.
I don't hear any practicing.
Oh, you wanna practice too!
We two can be good company.
You and me, just wait and see.
I'll handle that ruffian.
Body slam! Body slam! Oh, come on, you fool! Hit him! Hit him!
Come back here!
Huh, this place looks pretty nice. I mean, how bad off could it be here?
Chagall. Matisse. These are all masterpieces.
Hey, man, if this is torture, chain me to the wall.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down.
Don't come any closer! I knew this would happen one day.
It's not you I'm after.
Not good enough for you?
I mean, do you even know who I am?
GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU LITTLE BUG-EYED CREEP!
Something's not quite right here.
Shh. Quick. Before he comes back. Follow me.
I mean, let's just forget the whole thing.
No, no, you can't do that! You don't understand. The poor dear's so traumatized.
What is going on here?
Hurry. Use the fire escape.
Ooh, I could've danced all night! I could've danced all night!
You were very good.
I was rather good, wasn't I?
You okay, kid?
I have another home now. And someone who loves me.
You're in the gang.
I just wanna go back.
You wanna leave? Fine! There's the door.
You lighten up!
Oh, it's hopeless.
Looks like you're doing all right for yourself
So that's where you've been!
Feel it. That's it. Very good.
This is an airtight plan
I'll even toss in a little extra for your patience.
It's my final offer. Take it or leave it.
I said, push!
No, you don't kill 'im yet.
Did we bring something green and wrinkly to make me happy?
I'm getting your money tonight! It's coming tonight!
Hey, I think there's hope for you yet.
Yeah, you're starting to think big.
It's creepy down here.
I drew a perfectly good map.
A child could read that map.
I didn't do it! I didn't do it! I was framed!
This is a tough neighborhood. You'd better go home.
I came to find my kitty.
You brought a piggy bank.
What kind of a person would steal a poor little kitty?
I'm so scared. I don't know what to do.
I found a little lost kitten.
No! No, wait! You can't do this!
Keep your mouth shut.
Stop! Stop! Time out!
There's gotta be some way in.
Peasants.
Well, it's nice to see that one of you has some manners.
After you, my little croissant
And remember, quiet.
Oh! I broke a nail.
Oh, balderdash.
Freeze!
I don't think you really appreciate the situation. Somebody could get hurt.
You smell that?
It's party time!
Where are those dogs?
I thought I'd never see you again.
What's the occasion? Come to rescue your little friend?
All right! What a woman!
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go
This has all been very entertaining. But the party is over.
Hey, man, you're ugly!
Aah! Save me!
Hey, get off my back, woman! I'm driving!
All right, anybody want some cake?
Murder him! Twist his arm!
The gifts were great.
We'll start with a bath.
You know, you're not so bad for a bug-eyed little creep.
You come back here this minute!
Tell me why should I care
What a delightful scoundrel.
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gifts
Alright, it’s just a blather with some art, but i had fun writing this out! Crowley has spent the centuries giving Aziraphale gifts that are, overwhelmingly, in poor taste
The First Present, America, 1308 AD
The conversation paused, a topic finished and the next yet to be pounced upon. A gust of wind pulled up from the canyon below their feet, whipping the loose fabric of their trousers unthreateningly.
Crowley crossed his ankles, his somehow sleek shoes knocking the rock edge they sat on. They were the tightest fitting shoes ever made on this continent, in part because they hadn't exactly been made here. Crowley has seen someone of the Sioux tribe wearing similar and had fashioned his own with a thought.
Aziraphale's shoes were much more realistic, pale woven fibre that were hanging onto his feet in terror as he absentmindedly let them sway in the breeze the Grand Canyon let rip through.
"Got you a present," Crowley muttered, pulling a rolled bit of canvas from his coat. It's was a creamy sort of colour, some marks of ink on its back, and held closed by an incongruous blue ribbon.
"Oh," Aziraphale said dumbly. He accepted as if on autopilot, watching in discomfort as Crowley handed it over and grinned as casually as he could manage. "I don't know what to say."
Crowley began to regret the idea, but what was done was done. "Open it."
"What's the occasion?"
Crowley leaned back onto his hands and glared at the stars. "Formalising the Arrangement."
"That was four years ago."
"What, are you complaining?"
"No, no, I'm sure, lovely."
Fabric whispered as Crowley glanced to the side, catching the moment Aziraphale unfurled the scroll.
Aziraphale's nervousness dissipated immediately, replaced by frustration.
"Oh, Crowley, what on earth is this," he said, not asking but complaining.
Crowley grinned and sat forward again. "Saw it, thought of you. Well, thought of me, really, but then I thought of you."
Aziraphale shook the paper and looked at it again, the sourness of his expression furthering to a degree Crowley had to call exaggerated. "I hate it, dear boy."
"What?" Crowley laughed. "But it's a picture of me!"
Crowley leaned closer, whispering like he was saying something secret. He was, really, but he was also joking. "We're connected now, angel."
Aziraphale's eyebrows flew up. "Don't say that!" He admonished. He glared at the picture again, then back to Crowley. "Oh, it's horrible,” he said fondly.
Crowley laughed and lay flat on the ground, his feet still dangling off the edge of the canyon. Aziraphale sighed and lay back with him a moment later and no more was said of the, in Crowley's opinion, very good gift.
Crowley was touched that Aziraphale at least waited until after these left to throw the canvas into the abyss. He ought not have been surprised, really, Aziraphale tended for politeness.
The Fifth Present, Italy, 1482
Crowley waited, grinning like an idiot, holding the enormous roll of fabric up. The servant he'd spoken to was taking their time, but he felt confident Aziraphale would see him today. They'd been on good terms lately. Of course, this might put a spanner in all that.
Soft footsteps sounded at the top of the stairs. Crowley adjusted his stance to be slightly more flattering.
Aziraphale grinned as he caught Crowley's eye, his eyebrows already raising in question.
"Here," Crowley said, knocking the canvas with his shoulder as if Aziraphale could miss it.
"What's this?" Aziraphale asked.
"Thought you'd appreciate it."
Aziraphale reached him, stopping a few feet short and looked warily. "It's enormous, what is it?"
"There you are," Crowley grunted, pushing the stupid thing to Aziraphale. Aziraphale, to his credit, caught it with no difficulty despite its weight. "Open it."
Aziraphale's head poked out from behind it. "What do you mean open it?"
Crowley pointed. "There's a ribbon."
"Oh dear, so there is." Aziraphale sighed at the sight of the now familiar blue ribbon. He threw a resigned glance at Crowley.
He unfurled the canvas with a deftness that only one as strong as he could. Crowley had broken a toe rolling it up, but Aziraphale didn't struggle in the slightest.
Aziraphale looked at it. He looked appreciative for a moment, then frowned, then chuckled, then frowned again and turned to glare at Crowley.
"Crowley," Aziraphale said dryly, "you have outdone yourself."
"Haven't I just?" Crowley grinned. "I got Mikey to have another go at it, with a few important details. The proper one’s in that church."
“Chapel,” Aziraphale corrected absently. He kept looking at the rough painting. "Just ridiculous," he spat. "I can't keep this, and it's rude of you to gloat!"
"That's not the point. Look, see that one? That one's you."
"Well, I hope you're pleased," Aziraphale said like he in fact hoped the opposite.
"Exalted," Crowley said lushly. “The other guy is Gabriel.”
“Oh!” Aziraphale began to roll the canvas up again, very quickly and much more smoothly than Crowley had. "Get out, I can't look at you."
"Fair enough!" Crowley laughed. He turned on his heel and sauntered away.
As he left he overheard Aziraphale sigh, "Oh dear," the chuckle quietly to himself.
The Twelfth Present, England, 1874
"You hear about selfies?" Crowley asked as he poured himself a more-than-generous serving of bourbon.
Aziraphale sat across the bookshop on the other couch, having quite a different night with his white wine and prayer book while Crowley tiptoed steadily closer to drunk while trying not to get completely miserable over the balderdash in the gossip tabloids.
"What-ies?" Aziraphale asked. He was wearing his little glasses and looked very calm and sweet. Whereas Crowley was pretty sure the new pollution in the streets had permanently stained his pants. They were a different black to what they used to be, it was annoying.
"Selfies, they're taking off. People take pictures of themselves."
"Oh," Aziraphale said, "no."
Crowley flicked the newspaper, rustling it expertly. "Well, I started it."
"Should I be putting a stop to it?"
"I suppose, if you want to, but that's not why I brought it up. I thought you'd enjoy a slice of history." Crowley fiddled with the edge of the newspaper for another moment, then went for it and plucked the piece of thin, engraved stone he's had with him all afternoon. It had a blue ribbon around it, as custom dictated. He held it out to Aziraphale. "The first selfie," he explained.
Aziraphale stood to accept it. "Oh?" He asked uncertainly.
"It's 3000 years old."
"Oh?" Aziraphale said, vastly more interested.
"These blue ribbons, Crowley," Aziraphale said as he sat done again, "they just- they just fill me with dread."
"It's nice!" Crowley laughed, the smog and the gossip of the day beginning to leave his thoughts at last. "This one's nice."
Aziraphale looked at him doubtfully, but removed the ribbon regardless. He looked down and immediately smiled, then wiped the smile from his face with an air Crowley knew to be forced. A moment of expectant waiting passed before Aziraphale gave in and chuckled.
"Liar," Aziraphale said with a smile. He looked up at Crowley. "What are you doing with your hands?"
"Peace sign."
"This is just absurd, my dear."
Crowley settled back into his cushions and grinned. "Feel free to, you know, ritually burn it like the rest."
A snap of guilt appeared on Aziraphale’s face, but it didn't last. Crowley watched as Aziraphale looked down at the stone engraving again. He wanted to apologise for the quip, but that wasn't his style. Aziraphale was all politeness, he probably didn't enjoy the part where he threw out a gift. No matter how sarcastically given.
"Of course," Aziraphale agreed quietly.
The Eighteenth Present, England, 2021
Crowley didn't knock, he just opened the shop door and entered. "Hey," he called out. He hadn't called out once and Aziraphale had been annoyed to not notice his presence for two hours.
"Oh, hello," Aziraphale greeted warmly. He sat at his desk, many books open before him. "This is a pleasant surprise, I was toying with inviting you out for dinner tonight."
"Here," Crowley didn't-explain as he threw the ribbon wrapper frame down before Aziraphale. "Where were you thinking?"
"I hadn't gotten that far." Aziraphale hadn't looked at the gift yet, he was still gazing up at Crowley.
Crowley stuck his hands in his pockets. "No?"
"Parasillo's," Aziraphale admitted easily, "it's by the river."
"Sure."
Aziraphale's smile became a grin, a beacon of light. He finally looked down at the gift. "Now, what's- oh." He trailed a finger gently along the ribbon.
Crowley shifted his weight back, eager for the laugh he was promised once Aziraphale saw what he'd been given.
But instead of opening it, Aziraphale looked up and asked, "Crowley, would you do me a favour?"
Crowley shrugged. "Sure."
"Would you clear that wall for me? Just put the bookshelf wherever seems appropriate."
"The- ?" Crowley looked at the wall Aziraphale was pointing to curiously. A chair scraped and Crowley turned back to find Aziraphale already dashing out of the room, further into his private residence. "Oka-ay," Crowley agreed, although he was alone.
Crowley touched the side of the bookshelf gingerly and pushed. It didn't move. He sighed and glared after Aziraphale.
He strolled, sexily just in case someone was watching, to one of the free standing shelves with a back. He pulled the tapestry off it and flung it over the arm of a couch that only held two blankets and could handle a third, then clicked his fingers and transported the bookshelf in place.
The revealed wall had a few cobwebs and a section of peeling wallpaper, but it was bare.
"Oh, thank you, dear, that's perfect," Aziraphale said. He placed a large wooden crate on the ground and smiled at Crowley. "Won't be a tick."
Aziraphale left again. Crowley approached the crate gingerly and was standing over it considering how to go about opening it without crossing any privacy boundaries with Aziraphale when the angel returned.
Or, more relevantly, the back of a large painting entered the room, Aziraphale's hands and legs from the knee down visible behind it.
"What…?" Crowley asked about the painting, the crate, and kind of just generally.
"Be a dear and get out of the way, would you?"
Crowley scrambled on-top of a couch and watched as Aziraphale wrangled the painting onto a perfectly placed hook in the wall. When he stepped away, Crowley recognised it.
"You kept that?" Crowley whispered. Unfortunately he spoke too soon and his voice was raw with emotion. He was touched, honestly, and more than a little overwhelmed by implications about the crate. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever given you."
Aziraphale turned and grinned. "No, dearest, it's not. That prize goes to-" he opened the crate and rummaged for a moment, then held up a small mirror with a squiggle of a snake painted onto the front, a direct copy of Crowley's tattoo and placed so that your reflection would have an approximation of his tattoo. "-this."
Crowley gaped. "You kept that!?"
Aziraphale pulled a snake skeleton made of white wood and jangled it in amusement. Then a bright yellow book called How To Summon A Demon For Dummies.
Aziraphale began decorating. Crowley stared as dumb gift after dumb gift was pulled from the box and thoughtfully placed around the shop. The mirror hung beside the door, the engraved selfie sat on Aziraphale’s desk, the illustrations of angels in compromising positions (which Crowley was very happy to see, he wanted to have another flick through that one) was slipped into a shelf. The apple-shaped phone Crowley had brought only fifteen years ago sat next to the wall phone, not plugged in yet but threatening use.
Crowley could feel himself smiling and couldn’t find a way to stop it.
“This one is horrible, mind,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley tore his attention from the first present he’d given Aziraphale, a silly sketch of a snake he’d commissioned in China, which had been kept and now sat in a tidy frame on the coffee table, and found that Aziraphale had unwrapped his present. Crowley blinked and grinned as Aziraphale held the shirt to his chest, pouting at Crowley disapprovingly. The design of the (outrageously fit and sexy) demon and angel wrapped up in each other sat across his belly.
“They're all horrible, angel,” Crowley said, so softly, because he really wanted to say how he loved Aziraphale.
Aziraphale’s pout turned into a smirk and he pulled the t-shirt on, over his vest and bowtie.
Crowley about fell off the couch laughing, only saved by Aziraphale’s quick response, then further saved by his less-quick kiss.
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Watch Your F!cking Mouth!
SPN FanFic
~Dean gets whammied with an especially frustrating curse and Y/N tries to keep him calm, much to her amusement and annoyance.~
Dean x Reader
1,984 Words
Warnings: NSFW. Foul Language. Oral Sex. Intercourse. Comedy.
A/N: I'll be honest, this took me all day to write because I kept stopping to laugh. I just... Idek. It's ridiculous. Enjoy :)
My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon
“Son of a broadcaster!”
Y/N looked up as Dean stumbled backwards, reaching down to rub his shin after whacking it against the bedpost.
“Still?” she asked; hint of a laugh on her breath.
“Yeah, yeah, shuttie.” He rolled his eyes and stood up, limping his way towards the couch. "You know, this is some real hogswallop! I mean what the fig!"
Y/N's laugh broke free and Dean growled as he fell down onto the sofa.
"This isn't funny! It's balderdash!"
Trying to calm down, Y/N put her book down and frowned at him. "I'm sorry, baby. This is really fucked up. Super funny...but fucked up."
"It's not ducking funny!" he shouted, sulking into the cushions. "What the fork kinda nasty basted witch curses someone like this? It's like my tongue has flagging autocorrect!"
"I only got like half of that, to be honest."
“Please shut the freight up and leave me be.” Dean sighed, letting his head fall against the seat back. “I just wanna be able to open my gold digging mouth and have the right frosted words come out!”
Quickly, Y/N left her seat and went to him, hating to see him so frustrated, even if it made her laugh harder than she had in a long time. For the last six hours, Dean had been cursed with the inability to curse as if he were stuck on some network television show. The worst he’d been able to muster was a ‘freakin’’ when Sam had knocked over his beer, but after a while, he just gave up and stopped talking. It was quiet without him, but Y/N couldn’t imagine how tough it was to think one thing and have your tongue twist it into another.
“Hey,” she said softly, perching on the coffee table in front of him. “Sam said it should only last a few more hours. Then you’ll be back to cursing like the sailor I know and love.”
“It’s not just that,” he said with a whimper, shaking his head at the ceiling. “I can not curse, it’s not like I have to constantly-”
“I know, baby,” she soothed, placing her hand on his knee.
“It’s just that I should be able to say what I wanna say when I flamingo say it!”
Y/N coughed to hide her laugh and Dean’s head popped up, his eyes narrowed on her smirk. “Don’t laugh at me, please. For frying sake, it actually hurts. Like there’s a sharp pain in the front of my head every time I try to say ‘fling’.” Dean pointed to the spot, right above his left eyebrow and cringed as he tried to curse. “Salad dressing! Gah!”
“Well, stop, ya moron!” Y/N teased, scooting a big closer. “Just stop talking!”
Dean glared. “Do you have any idea how hard that is for me? Come on.”
“You wanna talk about your feelings about where our relationship is going? That shuts you up quick.”
Her smirk was on point.
His eye roll was superb.
Y/N sighed but kept a sweet smile. “Dean, just...relax, OK? It’ll be over soon, I promise.” Her fingers curled around his knee.
He let out a breath and his shoulders dropped a bit. “Fine. Yeah.”
“There’s my good boy,” she teased, pushing her hand slowly up his thick thigh, nails dragging on the rough denim as she came back down. “Just relax.”
Dean shivered as her thumb brushed over his dick. “This is… quite relaxing… farm…”
Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing, wanting to focus on distracting them both from his new speech impediment. “Shh…” Her palm rubbed against him and Y/N felt his cock push back, growing hard beneath the tightness of his jeans.
“Feels so nice, baby,” he whispered, wiggling his ass against the seat to try and ease the strain. “Love when you play with my coins.”
She let out a deep, slow breath to calm her giggles and set her other hand on his leg, sliding off of the table onto her knees. “I like it too, Dean,” she cooed, massaging his inner thighs with both hands. “But you know what I love?”
His eyes glazed over as he looked to her in lustful anticipation.
She bit her lip and reached for his belt, easily loosening the leather strap. “I love…” The brass button came free with a pop. “Sucking…” She eased the zipper down slowly, carefully. “Your big…” Reaching in, she pushed aside the thin cotton of his boxers. “Beautiful…” She pulled him free and Dean moaned in desperation as she bent her lips to the swelling head. “Cock.”
“Oh, Jiminy Christmas!”
Y/N kissed the tip and Dean whimpered pitifully.
“Please…”
“Love it when you beg, Dean,” she growled, flicking the tip of her tongue against the base of his cock, watching as he twitched. “Such a good boy.”
Dean lifted his hips as she licked a stripe from base to tip and grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing her to hold still while he groaned. “Stop forging teasing me and get to work.”
Her smile was abandoned as Dean jerked his hips, shoving his cock between her lips. She hummed in excitement and sucked hard, sealing her lips around him as his hand pushed her down.
“Yes...fang...you take my cab so good, baby.”
His cock hit the back of her throat and Y/N gagged loudly, drool spilling from the corners of her mouth as he released his hold on her head.
“Flame, baby, love that sound. Makes my drum so hard.”
Y/N did her best not to laugh, trying to ignore his insane dirty talk and keep her mind on her task. As long as he didn’t talk, she was fine, working his cock like a pro, teasing and taking him deeper and deeper with each pass.
When his breath quickened and his moans became dark, Y/N pulled back, looking up at him with innocent, wide eyes, her lips bobbing gently over his leaking head.
Dean reached for her, big hands closing around the soft flesh of her upper arms. “Get up here,” he breathed. “Golly, I wanna factor that sweet little poinsetta so faking bad.”
She laughed, she couldn’t help it. Y/N closed her eyes and sealed her lips tight as the chuckle shook her entire body. “I can’t. I’m so sorry, Dean. I can’t.”
His grip tightened on her arms. “Please.” His face was red, muscles in his throat tense and exposed; a thin sheet of sweat sparkled on his brow and upper lip. “Please, baby. I gotta falafel you. Now.”
Dean grit his teeth in a growl but Y/N couldn’t take much more.
“Baby,” she laughed, sitting back on her heels, “I...I can’t…”
Green eyes went wide with pained disappointment. “What? No…” He reached for her, leaning forward to grab her face between his warm hands. “Please, Y/N. Don’t leave me like this,” he begged, the pathetic yet passionate tone in his voice making her pussy throb. “I need you so bad.”
While Y/N pondered the situation, wondering if she could stash her giggles while he took her for a ride, Dean sucked his bottom lip fully between his teeth and then slowly let it slide back out, wet and red and swollen. Y/N’s cunt clenched and her heart raced; her fate was sealed.
“Please.”
Y/N sucked in a deep breath and jumped up, opening her jeans as she stood. “OK,” she told him firmly, “but you keep your mouth shut. I can’t take anymore, I really can’t.”
Dean’s gleeful smile was perfection, dimples and lines and bright teeth on display. “Yes, totally. No more talking.” He zipped his lips with two fingers and nodded enthusiastically as she peeled her panties away. “Not another word.”
“You promise?”
“Mhm.”
“Good.”
Dean held his breath as Y/N climbed into his lap, kissing him hard while she gripped his cock and rubbed it through her slick. His eyes rolled back when she rolled her hips, grinding her clit against his hardness; grabbed her thighs as she slowly sank down.
“Oh…f-”
Y/N bit down hard on his lip to stop his cursed cursing and his words turned into a yelp instead.
“R-ride me,” he gasped, blunt nails digging into her tender flesh.
Setting her hands on his shoulders, Y/N began to ride, slowly bouncing in his lap and watching as he fell apart.
“Y/N…” Dean buried his face in her shirt, panting as he struggled to hold his tongue.
“Shhh…” Y/N fucked down hard, hoping to distract his brain, pull his mouth away from words and push it towards empty whimpers and lustful moans.
“You feel so good,” he whispered, breath heavy against her neck as he kissed any place he could reach. “Feel so good on my camp, fringe!”
Y/N slapped a hand to the back of his head and tugged at his short hair. “Dean!”
“Sorry, sassafras! Flange, it just- you feel so amazing. Please, don’t stop!”
Her nails scraped across his scalp. “Then shut up!”
“Yes. Shut up. Yes!”
She licked into his mouth and bounced faster, feeling the moment blossom.
“Holy feathers, I-I’m gonna capitalize! Fire! Freckles!”
“Do it,” she moaned, tugging on his hair until his chin lifted to hers. “Give it to me, Dean.”
It did not take long. Dean held her close, arms tight around her back, hands pawing at her shoulders and ass as he came, a strangled cry filling the room.
“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!”
Y/N laughed so hard she nearly fell off of his lap, giving up entirely on cumming or trying to stay calm. “Did you just? Really? Oh my god, Dean.”
He kissed her cheek and pulled his lips across, capturing her shaking lips with a sloppy kiss. “Shh…”
“Don’t shush me, Winchester,” she laughed, kissing him back quickly before peeling herself away. “This is too much.”
He caught her hand before she went too far, yanking her back so hard that she fell into his arms. “I’m not done with you,” he said firmly, another kiss stopping her laugh and melting every muscle. Dean pushed her down onto her back, shifting to sit between her legs. “You need to confetti.”
She whimpered around a laugh as Dean leaned down, laying kiss after kiss on her belly. “Please stop talking…”
He lifted his eyes to hers with a smirk as his hands wrapped around her thighs. “I’m done talking,” he said, licking his lips. “I’m gonna eat this prism until you crank all over my face.”
“Jesus christ, shut up!”
Her frustration turned to pleasure as Dean kept his word, sucking hard on her clit as his fingers caressed her pulsing cunt, massaging deep inside as her body writhed above.
“Fuck! Dean!”
He never let up, drawing her orgasm out until her legs began to shake. When her thighs clamped around his head, he slowed to a kitten lick, enjoying the glow of her smile and the sexy whimpers as she came down.
“Come here,” she whispered, releasing his head and reaching for him, needing him close.
Dean smiled sweetly and wiped his mouth before sliding up her body and collapsing on top of her. “Damn, baby,” he sighed. “That was fan-fucking-tastic.”
Y/N gasped, eyes wide and smiling. “Oh my god, Dean! You said fuck!”
“I did?”
“...yeah!”
“I didn’t even notice. Fuck. Oh! I said it again!” He grinned like a school boy and laughed. “Yes! Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fucking fucker!” Excited, he jumped off of the couch and pumped a fist in the air. “Fuck that fucking bitch-ass witch in her ratty old cunt! Fuck yes! This is fucking awesome!”
Y/N sat up, shaking her head as she reached for her pants. “Oh, Dean,” she sighed. “Such a fucking potty mouth…”
2020 Forever Tags:
@67-chevy-baby @akhuna01 @amanda-teaches @autumnmoon @because-imma-lady-assface @blushingjared @broiderie @burningcoffeetimetravel @classic-rock-angel @coopercharlie16 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @deansgirl215 @deans-baby-momma @deangirl7695 @deanwinchesterswitch @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @edge-oftonight @emoryhemsworth @eternal-elir @fandom-princess-forevermore @fangirlxwritesx67 @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @herbologystudent252 @heycasbutt @hornyandsmol @ilovefanfic86 @i-love-superhero @ilsawasanacrobat @imjustadrummer @ivvitm1109 @joseyrw @justagirlinafandomworld @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @laxe-from-outer-space @leatherandfrackles @lessons-of-red @letsby @letsdisneythings @lonewolf471 @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @mellbelle45 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @screechingartisancashbailiff @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @starboycas @stephaniecanfield96us @stoneyggirl @squirrelnotsam @thebookisbtr @the-chocolate-moose @thehardcoveraddict @thevelvetseries @veevm @winchestersister55 @wendibird @winecatsandpizza @winterpoohbear
and bc I think you could use a laugh: @kittenofdoomage
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Sacrifice.
[Club Conservatrice, 11:10pm]
...Kana-chan? A-Are you ok?
Yeah, Iroha-chan...I’m fine.
But...I’m scared.
Don’t worry. Mr Ouma, Syobai, Kuripa, or someone else is going to come for us. I just know it.
...How can you be so sure? D-Don’t you understand what’s at stake?
...I do...I know that if Mr Ouma shows up here, he effectively loses the High Roller.
...But...Do you really think the Cabaret is more important than your life?
...
Mr Ouma won’t give you up Kana-chan. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve worked for him.
I...Either way, if the Cabaret goes, I go with it...There’s no way out of this where I survive...
But even so, I don’t want to die...That’s why I believe in Mr Ouma.
???: Oh...you don’t want to die?
...
...
*Kana and Iroha are suddenly approached by a familiar face.
...
K-Koumori-kun!?
Shut up! Don’t call me that! I’m tired of your stupid fucking hostess names!
And you may be right in that he’d be willing to come here...But he’ll lose everything he worked towards to do it...and it’ll be sweet...!
...You don’t know him well enough. I know Mr Ouma will find a way around this.
Balderdash. But hey, I’m reasonable enough to accept your fantasies...for the time being...
Koumori-kun. Why are you doing this? Don’t you know how awful this is!?
Asayoru is a terrible man! Why are you cooperating with him and doing something this terrible!?
What are you talking about? I’m doing this of my own volition.
What!?
Huh!?
Indeed...Asayoru doesn’t even truly know that you two have been kidnapped. Imagine how he must feel if Mr Ouma tells him the truth of the situation, and he doesn’t believe a word you say...
This is all part of my own plan...to get revenge...!
Revenge?
Keeping you two here...If and when Kokichi Ouma shows up, I’ll keep my word and hand the two of you back over...However, by that time, Asayoru would already be in charge of the club, and the entire Cabaret industry as a whole.
When he reaches the pinnacle of his career...I’m going to whisper in his ear that I...a reject...am the only reason he was able to win in the end...!
Reject?
Asayoru shamed my family for generations when he destroyed my older brother’s club and threw us into poverty. If not for some family loans, we would’ve been on the streets, and we have no one to care for us...
How do you think he’d feel if the family he cast aside was the only reason that he’d made it this far? He’d be consumed by guilt and doubt, and that’s when I ruin him.
...You’re despicable...
Oh come on. Don’t tell me you’ve grown a soft spot for the bastard?
Absolutely not! Asayoru is cruel and conniving, and what he did to your family isn’t ok!
But that doesn’t give you the right to act just as bad!
But as an old member of VOID...Do you really think my methods aren’t justified? You’re a kidnapper yourself, are you not?
!!?
...H-How did you know about that?
Please, don’t underestimate our intelligence network.
...You know something? I have an idea...
*Koumori suddenly removes a gun from his pocket. He places it down in between Kana and Iroha.
Let’s play a little game, shall we? If you win, then I’ll let you go...
Huh?
What’s this game about may I ask?
Well...to put simply...it’s a test of the power to sacrifice.
One of you, and bear in mind, I don’t care which, can pick up that gun to shoot and kill the other. Whoever remains alive, I’ll let them go.
Y-You can’t just-!
Shut up. I hold all the cards here. And besides, you don’t have to participate.
Question is, will Iroha do the same? I’m leaving that gun there until one of you pulls the trigger.
...!
*Iroha suddenly snatches the gun.
I-Iroha-chan!
*She aims it at Kana.
...
I-Iroha...!
(Idon’twanttodie Idon’twanttodie Idon’twanttodie Idon’twanttodie Idon’twanttodie Idon’twanttodieI...I...)
(I....don’t want...don’t...want...to...
(...)
...If one of us aims and pulls the trigger, whoever is still alive gets to go free, right?
Correct...
...I...
(I...don’t want...to die...)
[Flashback]
Iroha...listen...I’m not saying we don’t all have our fair share of problems we need to overcome...Because if I did, that would be a lie...
But listen...the problem with you is...you’re afraid to make a sacrifice.
In a situation where you have to choose between the benefit of another and the benefit of yourself, you always seem to choose yourself and don’t give in inch on that.
I won’t try to change your mind now but...I...worry for you...Because if that mindset continues, you’re going to live a whole life full of nothing but regrets. You’ll only remember the bad things...
...
*Iroha, initially pointing the gun at Kana, suddenly points it at herself.
I-Iroha-chan!
...
Sorry Kana-chan...
IROHA-CHAAAAN!!
...
...
...
*click*
...
H-Huh?
Iroha-chan!
*Iroha pulls the trigger, but nothing happens. The gun simply makes a click. When it does, she lets it drop out her hand, giving Kana an opening to rush in and hug her.
I can’t believe you actually did that.
Wha-...I...
Come on, you’ve heard of blanks before surely. This gun never had a bullet.
But wow...To think Iroha Nijiue, a girl who’s well known for always ensuring her own survival, would be willing to sacrifice herself to save some random girl she met not too long ago.
I am not the girl I was! You’re a dumbass for assuming that!
D-Dammit Iroha-chan! You-You’re such a jerk! I...I...
waaahaha!
...
Aw, too bad, so sad, but hey, maybe...
Hm?
...?
...?
*Koumori, hearing a noise, suddenly goes to the window.
...wh-what?
*He stares down below at the entrance to Club Conservatrice. At the entrance is Kokichi and Kuripa, Kokichi who is prepping a Megaphone.
Am I being heard!?
Yowch! A little too much!
Mr Ouma!
Kuripa!
My, I can’t quite believe it.
To think that you’d sacrifice your tournament and your club to come here and save them. You know, you’ll lose everything now.
Oh, will we?
Hm?
To be honest...something came up back at his club, which MAY or may not be our doing.
In any case, Asayoru had to leave to go deal with it...
Which means he has no idea we’re here.
What!?
*Koumori suddenly grabs his phone.
C’mon Asayoru you bastard! Pick up!
*BANG!*
ACK!
*Kokichi pulls out his gun and shoots Koumori’s phone out of his hand.
Good shot!
Ngh...
Alright Koumori, we had a deal.
You said you’d give Iroha and Kana back if I showed up to collect them. Well, now I’m here, so hand ‘em over!
Are you kidding me! I’ll NEVER give you them!
I’m so close! Shozo Asayoru is finally within my grasp! I WON’T LET YOU RUIN THIS FOR MEEEEE!!
Sore loser much?
Well then...Guess we’re just gonna have to run in and get them! Let’s go!
#danganronpa survivor#danganronpa#danganronpa v3#drv3#danganronpa another 2#sdra2#danganronpa blowback#drb#oc#iroha nijiue#kana ise#ryo koumori#kokichi ouma#kuripa kurafto#ask#cabaret kyojins arc#emma magarobi
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PriPara: Aim to Become No. 1 in the Idol☆Grand Prix: Prologue+Ch 1 English Translation
(I originally planned to translate the PriPara games after finishing the Pretty Rhythm ones, but I think I’ll try to juggle them instead! The PriPara 3DS games have a main story along with character side stories, I will do them in unlock order. Like with my other current translation, choices will be in bold, and the Player character’s name is just Player.)
Prologue
??? (Meganee): Welcome to Prism Stone! Play PriPara, where anyone can enjoy an idol debut and wear a lot of trendy coords!
Girl: Yaaaay! I made my debut as an idol! And I got a tomoticket! Woaaah, what a cute coord! Let’s snap tomotickets! Mine will be in high demand soon, because I’m definitely gonna be No. 1 in the Idol☆Grand Prix!
??? (Meganee): Everyone’s a friend! Everyone’s an idol! Will you also try going to the world of PriPara?
Choice: Of course I will! / There’s no way I could be an idol…
??? (Meganee): Nice response! Please enjoy your idol life! You’ve a really nice smile, an idol’s talent is their shining smile! What kind of idol will you end up becoming…? And what kind of fans will you make smile…? I can’t wait to see! I’ve been searching for someone like you… But before that I’ve been wondering, who are you? Looks like introductions are in order!
Meganee: My name is Akai Meganee. I help everyone with their coords. Feel free to call me Meganee! ...Huh? I’m being pushy? That’s because of the system! Hehehe. Anyway, before you go to PriPara, could you tell me a bit about yourself?
(Mychara creation)
Meganee: Thanks for telling me all that! I feel like I know you quite well now. Player-chan, it’s nice to meet you! Well then, let’s get going. Let’s go! PriPa-...
???: Winwinwinwinwinwin…
Meganee: Huh!? That siren… Meganii-san!?
Meganii: It’s a pleasure to meet you, my name is Akai Meganii. I felt a woooonderful idol aura from around here… Ah, you must be the one to whom that aura belongs to.
Meganee: Player-chan is going to debut today. Maybe they’ll become popular and shine in the Idol☆Grand Prix!
Meganii: I see… They certainly have a bright smile. I heard the power of your smile say “Come over here~!” after all. Player-san, please allow me to cheer for you during your idol debut. I shall give you the power to design a My☆Cyalume Coord!
(My☆Cyalume Coord design tutorial, basically you can recolour anime character coords)
Meganii: You will undoubtedly make many people smile with the My☆Cyalume Coord that you design. Gachagachagacha~
(My☆Cyalume design time. We only have four colours available so it looks awful. Sorry Laala I ruined your coord)
Meganee: What a wonderful coord! It suits you, Player-chan!
Meganii: Nice!
Meganee: Now that you’re ready, it’s time to start your PriPa-life!
Meganii: Please try your hardest in the Idol☆Grand Prix, I’m looking forward to it.
Meganee: Player-chan will definitely win the Grand-… huh? ...You don’t have any clue what the Idol☆Grand Prix is, do you!? I completely forgot to explain! Um… Well, first of all I’ll turn on PriPara☆Music TV…
Meganii: Winwinwinwinwinwin…
Meganee: ...looks like we’re too late. Don’t worry! You’ll find out about the Grand Prix soon enough. You wanted an in-depth explanation? Sorry!
Meganii: This is also thanks to the system! Winwinwinwinwinwin…
Meganee: Anyways, Player-chan, make sure to shine your brightest in PriPara! Everyone’s a friend! Everyone’s an idol! Lets go! PriPa-life!
(End of Prologue, Meganii jumps out to explain the coord gacha but I don’t care lol. Crying though bc I got a PR and then had to delete my file because I realised I had made a translation mistake)
Grand Prix Story 1: Aim to Become the No. 1 Idol!
???: Oh no, hurry! We’re going to be beary late for PriPara☆Music TV! You have to run, Laala! Mirei and Sophy are waiting!
??? (Laala): Gotcha (Kashikoma)! I’ll do a full sprint!!! Agh-!
??? (Kuma): Ahh! You bumped into someone! Are you okay, Laala!?
??? (Laala): Owowowow… My forehead hurts… Ah! I found the person I bumped into! I’m really sorry about running into you!! You’re not hurt, are you!?
Choice: I’m fine, don’t worry! / That hurt, what are you doing!?
??? (Laala): Phew, I’m glad you’re not hurt! I’m seriously sorry! From now on I’ll look both ways! Left, clear! Right, clear! Now I can safely dash! Ah, you laughed! Wow, your smile is… Wonderful! That’s a sparkly idol smile right there!
Laala: I’m Laala, nice to meet you! And your name is…? Player-chan! Gotcha! I’ll remember that from now on! Your coord is really cute! Which brand is it?
(Laala it is literally a recolour of the coord you are wearing right now. I know you’re like 12 but Lordt)
Laala: Really!? You designed it yourself!? That’s so cool~!
Kuma: That’s unbearably amazing! This kid’s a bundle of talent! I’m sensing a lot of idol energy from you, Player!
Laala: Are you also going to be on PriPara☆Music TV, Player-chan? Ah… You don’t know what that even is?
??? (Mirei): Laala~! What are you so pri-occupied with!?
Laala: Ah, Mirei! Sorry, I’m running late!
??? (Mirei): Ughhh! Sophy’s fell asleep waiting for you!
??? (Sophy): ZzzZzz… Is Laala here yet…?
Laala: Wake up, Sophy!
??? (Sophy): Mm~ Oh, who’s this…?
Laala: This is Player-chan!
Sophy: Player-chan… Cute… I’m Sophy… Nice to meetcha… Pshu~...
Laala: Aah! Sophy, don’t fall asleep!
??? (Mirei): Will you also be making an ap-pri-rance on PriPara☆Music TV as an idol?
Laala: Player-chan doesn’t seem to know about that yet.
??? (Mirei): Huh, really? I can explain it to you, so. It’s my first time seeing you around… Is this your first time in PriPara?
Choice: I debuted today! / I’ve been coming here for a while!
??? (Mirei): You just debuted!? I see… Well, if you get along with your senpai, Mirei, your points will go up!
Sophy: Mirei… what are you mumbling about?
??? (Mirei): Ah, you’re awake!? It’s nothing!? Ahem…
Mirei: Pop, step, get you~! I, Mirei, shall tell you all about PriPara☆Music TV!
Sophy: You’re so nice, Mirei~...
Mirei: PriPara☆Music TV is the prime TV programme in PriPara!
Laala: A lot of idols are featured and they perform PriPara lives on the show!
Mirei: And when you pri-form a live, your rank rises~ They’re organised by the Best 100, Best 50, Best 30… Once you’re at your prime and reach the Best 10, you can enter the Idol☆Grand Prix!
Kuma: Your “pri” puns are unbearable…!
??? (I MISS YOU ALREADY ZUCCHAN): What’s going on? I haven’t seen that person before? Are they aiming for the Idol☆Grand Prix?
Laala: Ah, Dorothy! I’ll introduce you to Player-chan.
??? (I WISH YOU LUCK IN YOUR FUTURE ENDEAVOURS ZUCCHAN): Tension max!
??? (Reona): Relax~
Dorothy: I’m Dorothy West! And this is…
Reona: Reona West. It’s nice to meet you.
Dorothy: Ooh, if you’re aiming for the Idol☆Grand Prix, that makes you our rival, huh? Sion, you think so too, right?
??? (Sion): Indubitably! Rivals are vital to idols! They encourage us to work hard! When our friends encourage us, we can all work harder!
Sion: Player! I’m Sion! We’re going to get along great!!
Kuma: Dorothy, Reona and Sion make up the team Dressing Pafé!
Sophy: Laala, Mirei and I are Solami♡Smile~
Dorothy: The number of idols wanting to join the Idol☆Grand Prix is rising every day, huh? We’re going to have to work even harder! Right, Reona?
Reona: If you say so, Dorothy.
Laala: Let’s all do our best!
Sion: Ah! Is that…?
Mirei: Who is it?
??? (Aroma): Staaaaaare…
Laala: That’s…
??? (Aroma): Staaaaaaaare…
??? (Mikan): Staaaaaaare~!
Laala: Aroma, Mikan! Come over here~!
Mirei: How long were they pri-occupied with staring at us…
Aroma: My name is Aroma! I am a devil who hath returneth from the darkness!
Mikan: I’m the angel! Mikan! I use my angelic power to grant peace in this world!
Kuma: Those two are Aromageddon! Their gimmick is that they’re an angel and a devil!
Aroma: Gimmick!? Thou filthy pile of cotton… You shall face the power of darkness!
Kuma: Eek! I can’t bear your curses!
Aroma: Thou art Player, correct? I see… Darkness emanates from you. Join me and with the power of darkness we shall conquer this pitiful world!
Mikan: Aroma says she hopes you’ll be friends with her, Player-chan!
Aroma: Ah! Th-that is balderdash! I just felt Player’s darkness and…
Laala: Ahaha! Everyone’s really interested in you, Player-chan! Hm? I can hear a song from somewhere…
???: Ranranrararanranran~
Laala: Ah! It’s coming from up in that tree!
???: Let’s sing together, little birdie~ Teehee, the wind from the Palps is singing too~
Laala: Fuwari! That’s dangerous, get down from there!
Fuwari: I’m oka~y! I’m Fuwari, I’m an idol from Europara! Sing with me~ Ranranrararanranran~
Mirei: She’s really laid-back, huh…
Laala: Well, that’s Fuwari for you! There really are a tonne of idols here, though! And we introduced everyone to Player~! Hey, Player-chan… why don’t you come on PriPara☆Music TV with me!?
Kuma: That’s a good idea! They could appear in the special debut corner!
Sion: That’s the part of the show where recently debuted idols are featured, right?
Mirei: Anyone can enter, so it’s a prime corner!
Laala: Player-chan will definitely be super popular!
Sophy: I think so too~
Mirei: Let’s go then! It’s almost the entry deadline.
Sion: We must hurry! ...Hm? What’s wrong, Player?
Dorothy: Why are you just standing there??
Reona: Player-chan… is that person your friend?
Mikan: It looks like someone’s staring at Player-chan’s coord!
Aroma: Who could this person be!?
??? (Da Vinky): Your coord is wooonderfully wonderful! Did you draw it out yourself? Amazingamazing! This is… an explosion of art! Gyahahahaha!
Dorothy: You scared us! It was just Ajimi-
Ajimi: That’s right! I’m Ajimi! I hope we get cray-on well!
Laala: I’ll introduce you to Ajimi-chan! Ajimi-chan recently debuted too! She’s a super talented pop idol!
Reona: Hey… If we don’t hurry, the entry period for Music TV will be over…
Laala: Oh nooo! We have to hurry!
Ajimi: Huh, huh? You’re going to do a PriPara live in that coord~?
Choice: Yup, I’ll give it a try anyway! / I’m not sure I’m ready yet…
Ajimi: Gyahaha! That’s the spirit! I can feel it, I can feel it! Your sparkling aura’s gonna explode on stage!
Laala: I also can’t wait to see your live!
Mirei: This is your touching off point!
Sophy: I’ll be cheering for you~... Lets PriPara~
Laala: Let’s get you into the special debut corner! PriPara☆Music TV… On air start!
(Live. Finally a break from this chapter. Oh my god is it killing me.)
Laala: Woah! Look, Player-chan! Your rank went way up!
Ajimi: Your live was super explosive! Everyone loved it!
Mirei: Your debut was a pri-tty huge success!
Sophy: ‘Grats~ Your live was wonderful~...
Sion: That live was a once in a lifetime experience! Today was the birth of an idol whose growth we can look forward to!
Dorothy: Are you really gonna go for the Idol☆Grand Prix??
Reona: If you work hard, you really could become No. 1~
Sion: Why not try to climb the ranks of PriPara☆Music TV?
Reona: Once you’re in the Best 10, you can enter the Grand Prix.
Fuwari: Entering the Grand Prix is very idol’s dream~ And if you win, you get the legendary coord…
Mikan: ...the Idol☆Grand Prix No. 1 Coord!It’s a wonderful coord!
Mirei: The name’s… descriptive…
Ajimi: The Idol☆Grand Prix No. 1 Coord…? Hmhmhmhm!? What is that coord?
Aroma: It is a coord that unlocks the power of darkness within you…
Dorothy: That’s complete bullshit, the No. 1 idol who gets the Grand Prix coord…
Reona: ...can appear on many stages!
Laala: If they can do that, they’d get a tonne of fans who they could make smile! That’s wonderful! That’s why us idols are working so hard to get that coord! Player-chan, work hard along with the rest of us, okay?
Ajimi: Oooh, that’s great! A huge explosion of smiles!!! I’ll also enter the Grand Prix with Player! Let’s Gaugin!
Sion: The path to the Grand Prix is not an easy one.
Laala: First of all, you’ll have to be in a lot of TV shows. Player-chan, Ajimi-chan, enjoy PriPra-life! Oh, actually, wait a sec. To mark our friendship going forward… let’s snap tomotickets! I wish that we’re all able to enter the Grand Prix… snap! Let’s do our best together!
(oh my god i thought that would take like 10 minutes. It probably took upwards of an HOUR why was it that longggg jesussss
ANYWAY once again i will subtly hint that if anyone needs help sourcing this game or just needs help navigating menus, hmu. and i would like to apologise for changing kashikoma... it truly pains me to betray laala like this. also if this ISNT the first pripara 3ds game um. please let me know lmao. also yes i am posting this at 6am)
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The Long Cold Open to Socialism or Barbarism... or Party Space Alpha
Recently, I bumped into a few of those unfortunate zombies propelled into mindless shuffling by the absolute horror of the hollow center; and, if it’s the case that the concept of the hollow center draws a blank—the dank whiteness of the silver screen before some Clint Eastwood shooting-gun-male-sociopath-revenge-drama—try to imagine a vast pit of waste, much like the overarching metaphor of Don DeLillo’s mind-numbingly boring Underworld. All in all, though, and to cut my tendency toward preciousness to at best shorter, the hollow center is cra(aa)p—the hollow center is a space endlessly differentiated and endlessly atomizing and endlessly unfeeling, and as is the case with the very idea of all things endless (whatever that may mean), time and history stops to matter, specifically history. The end of history has already happened, though, with the fall of the Soviet Union—at least according to Frances Fukuyama. He’s still alive, right?
Or, or…
or think of the hollow center like this: it’s the forever-noon party—or whatever time of day the elderly booze up and kick down—of Hypercharged Capital held at Party Space Alpha.
Ayn Rand, Milton Friedman and Friedrich Hayek are adored keynote speakers, brought back from the dead by scientism-magic to white-counter the supposed browning of the world, or, as some religious zealots opine, the existential threat of the tainting of the world.
Rand says, “The worst guilt is to accept an unearned guilt.”
The crowd cheers and chants, “Galt! Who the fuck is Galt!!?”
Friedman says, “Shock, shock, shock!”
The crowd cheers and chants, though quizzingly, “Who is Galt?”
Hayek says something about force from afar as a corrective while the crowd tries to find the one voice who said, “Galt is Atlas, no? Greek stuff, I think.”
After speeches and rants, lobotomized servants serve finger food from gold platters, and Ted Nugent takes the stage, humps his guitar and sings about pedophilia and freedom.
And look at those skeletons shuffle and jig, some pumping their fists and whiplashing their necks.
Joy and sanity, re-enter my world. You enter Party Space Alpha, try to get a feel for the place, and you think:
So this is where I’ve come to.
You mingle...and look, there’s one of those Zoomer-influencers you’ve heard about, always be gramming.
“What I’m trying to do, see,” the Zoomer-influencer says, “is to make jokes about race and fucking and such, you know, make them great again, hint, hint.” (Yes, he says hint, hint out loud-) Also, ”That dead man hanging. Sad, very sad. I already said I’m sorry, ok!” He storms off, leaving you to think about things when a hand, moist, so moist, graces your shoulder.
You turn around. A somewhat cross-eyed dude—on closer inspection, however, he’s not cross-eyed, just dead-eyed—speaks to you in an affected, puppet-like voice, like his vocal chords are somehow placed inside his Adam’s apple.
The dead-eyed dude with weird Adam’s apple-voice says, “Want to discuss ideas?”
You nod. You’re already here, you think, so why not. You throw a few ideas up for consideration and deliberation: Socialized housing and healthcare, that’d be a good start, you think, after which you mention structures of oppression and that they’re crap; you mention essentialism, the idea of Spinozian substances and God-given grace and soul and pineal gland homunculus’ puppetry and phrenology and sociobiology and Steven Pinker, and how these fucked up descriptive statements prescribe fucked up social agendas; you skip from Hume (you can’t experience causality, am I right) to Kant (Let’s critique pure reason, am I right) through Hegel (History isn’t purely spiritual, am I right) to Marx. Also, because why not, and it’s not really and ad hominem, you mention that it would be quite funny to create a Japanese game show where libertarians, fascists, conservatives, and dangerously daft liberals are mildly tortured for the prize of cool trinkets.
The dead-eyed dude nods, furrows his brow and smacks his tongue—a hint of anxiousness, like eels speeding his dead eye-water, momentarily turns him somewhat human. He says:
“I see. But you see, I want to discuss high-level ideas, like do you have an iPhone? If so, you’re no oppressed.”
You leave because the dead-eyed weird dude was about to have a stroke, or so it seemed, ranting about oppression O(h)lympics and whatever else.
From the corner of the vast space, a dwarfed dude with a boyish bowl-cut speedily espouses that facts don’t care about your emotions and that the labor theory of value is anachronistic balderdash. He espouses this to a party-fun-house-mirror, in training for debate-destroying. To his right, arms crossed, stands a gang of clean-shaven dudes. They all wear Fred Perry- shirts. They’re all sweaty, and their sweat forms a cloud, and the cloud spells: We Are Disenfranchised Also, Blue Lives Matter. Also, one of the dudes holds a katana. Lord knows why. Another dead-eyed dude-bro-boy close by—there’s so many of them, more or less affective, this one like a flat line—explains that the Lord is dead, which, sure, you think, sounds like a shame.
In a dull monotone, the Flatliner continues:
“The hadith… the muslem or Mos-Lem religion, Islam—that explains the katana. It’s a necessary precaution to ward off the onslaught—and don’t take me out of context, please, I’m only ideating like Socrates in the, eh, in the Atheneum.
“What onslaught?” you ask.
“It’s a moral priority to honestly and openly assess the geopolitical and, eh, moral consequences of the actual content of the Quran, and, eh… so, turning a blind eye to, eh, to statistically significant increases in, eh, rape and… so rape and terror, yes terror—that’s not only morally ambiguous, it’s morally vacuous, and my contention and intention as a civil Western…”
“Sorry to interrupt, but I do wonder what you think about this, Mr. Flatline: Socrates was deemed dangerous and such, right, and he was killed by the state for riling up the hoi polloi, for advancing critical thinking and debate. He was force-fed that killing drink, right, the one that killed him off in increments from feet to head. So, as a latter-day Socrates, will you help me understand if there is an analogy between being forced to drink the killing drink and, how should I phrase it—being coerced to drink the Kool-Aid, in that both drinks literally kills off something? I know it’s somewhat heady and not entirely coherent, but you know, nothing is entirely coherent. Contradictions and that.”
“Well, this is typical muddying of the water…”
“Or muddying the fluid? Kool-Aid, killing drink, Kool-Aid, killing drink…”
“Woo-woo. If you look at the end of my first book, in the last footnote of the epilogue, I clearly refer to a footnote in a blog post about this subject, and that footnote, if only you’d just read it—it clearly refers to what I said in my podcast some year or so ago, so.”
You leave, not daring to continue what already initially was a torturous exchange. You start to feel heavy and kind of fragmented at the same time. Weird.
Somewhere else in Part Space Alpha an orange blob in diapers eats hamburgers and ribs and chocolate and wipes the drooping and drooping corners of his mouth with the flag of Palestine while a hunched over assistant takes notes:
NEED TO BUY MORE FOOD FOR LEADER. (It’s so Alpha to capitalize notes.)
Someone fires a gun into the air and laughs amidst applause. Such a nice gun! The orange blob stops munching and laughs without it sounding like laughter. He just opens his mouth and shows his teeth. He says:
“My guy. Give him a tank.” He realizes, shouts: “Where’s my African American!”
No one responds or arrives. There’s few to no black or brown people in Party Space Alpha; also, quite a few women dare venture into Party Space Alpha, because… Party Space Alpha.
Hunched over one of the few women present, Slender Man in a fedora and a pinstriped suit berates and gestures and cries a little:
“The absence of women in Party Space Alpha forms the materiality of the legitimacy of the perceived subordination of those young men to whom the existential and the individual necessity of sexual intercourse is denied. If only these young men were allowed to slap and slap happily, there’d be mental equilibrium.”
Enough.
You exit by the back door unto the Wasteland, your only refuge from the constant violence of Party Space Alpha; and you’re not feeling morally vacuous for being ok with the idea of this vast space somehow eating itself to death. So, Party Space Alpha is the hollow center. It WILL fuck you up.
#leftisbest#socialism#nonfiction#creative nonfiction#aje#party space alpha leftism lumpen dave rubin ben shapiro jordan peterson sam harris fuck trump
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okay, well today was pretty good, though I’m kinda irritated right now over some stupid shit. but yeah, I slept until I woke up, you know, as one does, and when I woke up it was like, 11:40ish. which is like, average for me on any day, but I felt slightly bad about it because I’m like on vacation and stuff, but like, nobody woke me up, that’s not my fault, they could've woken me up but they chose not to lol so I didn’t feel all that bad. Basically we had said we would see what the weather was like because the forecast has been rain all week, and if it was nice we would go to the beach. Well, it was pretty nice apart from a few dark clouds, so we resolved to go to the beach. Last night my sister had texted me when we got out of the play and asked us to bring her a donut when it was like, 10:30 pm on a Wednesday night and apparently they don’t have any 7-11′s around here so we could not get her a donut. As a result of this, we had planned to stop at dunkin donuts on our way to the beach so she could get a donut. So I changed into my bathing suit and got ready. The bathing suit top I was wearing I’ve owned for like, two years now, and had like tried it on and stuff but never actually wore it because the tag was still on it (like last year I just straight up forgot to bring a bathing suit with me). I have to get bra sized swimwear because I can’t fit into normal bathing suits, so it was a size 36HH, which isn’t really the size I’m currently wearing (the bra I was actually wearing was a 32I but I think it’s just that style, the other few I own are more like 34H or 34HH). so it fit but was a little big, I’m trying to think of how to describe it lol basically there was extra fabric between the bottom of the bra wire and where my chest actually started, but like it was okay. they still kinda stuck out in a way that made me feel kinda awkward, but I found that when I was in the water it stayed in place (which has been an issue in the past, not just with swimming) so I was pleased with that. I made sure I took time to put sunscreen on and make sure it was rubbed in. So we set off for the beach, I went with my girl cousin and sister, my aunt and parents were in the other car. We stopped at dunkin donuts, I hadn’t really eaten anything yet so I got a bagel (bad choice because not New York) with strawberry cream cheese and a “cosmic cotton candy coollatta” which I have no idea how it is different than a normal cotton candy collatta but whatever. They gave me the bagel toasted, which I hadn’t asked for (I think it’s weird that people assume you want your bagel to me toasted??) and with a packet of cream cheese, but without a knife or anything to put it on, so I was inventive and used an extra straw to apply the cream cheese to my bagel lol. So we drove on and made it to the beach, the red flags were up marking certain areas you weren’t supposed to swim in because apparently the rip tide was pretty bad. so we sat for a bit then I went in the water with the girls. A little cold at first but we adjusted quickly, the water was kinda choppy and the waves were breaking really prematurely so we couldn’t really jump any waves in the fashion I generally want to when at the ocean but it was still fun, so we went in for a bit and then retreated to where we set up the chairs and relaxed for a bit. There were some ominous looking storm clouds looming nearby so we started discussing if we were going to leave soon, the adults (actual adults, not including myself who I know am objectively an adult but shhh) wanted to stay a bit more but the girls and I packed up our stuff and headed back. I had seen an ad for dairy queen on twitter that they were doing a promotion where they’re donating money from all the blizzards (if you’re not familiar, it’s basically their version of a mcflurry or friend-z) to local childrens hospitals and I’ve been dying all summer to get one of their special summer flavored cotton candy blizzards (yes I am slightly obsessed with cotton candy flavored things at the moment) but haven’t made it there yet because *someone* doesn’t want to take me.....so I seized upon this moment to make my case to stop at dairy queen, and so we did that, and it was very enjoyable. So we returned to the house and I showered, the overtone deep treatment I used Monday night has still been shampooing out super neon pink (which I kinda love) but it was also my day to use conditioner (I only use it every 3 days so my hair doesn’t get greasy) so I wanted to use my overtone conditioner, so I did and idk if it helped but I’m fairly satisfied with how my hair color looks right now. So after that I went on my laptop for a bit, and the adults arrived and started working on dinner, at which point I snuck back to my room for a bit to do some official lawyerly business (I’m 90% kidding) for about an hour until dinner was ready. My aunt made this mexican bake thing which I’m always a bit wary about because with mexican and similar types of food it’s very difficult for me to be able to tell if I can eat it before putting it in my mouth, but luckily in this case I could eat it so that was good. It was pretty much just tortillas layered with corn, black beans, and cheese, and while I’m generally not a big bean fan it was pretty good. After dinner there was a bit of commotion as we figured out what we wanted to do, we eventually decided we were going to play the game “Psych!” which is done through the phone app everyone has to download and it’s basically balderdash if you’re familiar with that, but basically it asks a question like “what is [player’s name] favorite hit song?” and then everyone has to write an answer and then everyone votes on what answer they like best (without knowing whose is whose) and if someone picks yours you get a point. I was winning for a while but ultimately ended up in 2nd place, which I wasn’t all that miffed about lol it’s not a big deal. We did some of “head’s up” another phone game involving guessing a certain thing with others giving you clues or something like that. I’m the best at clue giving of course so I dominated there, lol. I’m just really good at games in general. The girls went to do something else then and my aunt wanted to find something to watch on netflix or amazon and they eventually settled on this PG movie that was called like “who gets the dog?” or something like that about a couple getting divorced and basically fighting over who gets to keep the dog. So I watched that with them for a while, it was moderately interesting, but then when it was like 10:15 and I knew the legends podcast was going to do their live episode at 10:30 I snuck off to go listen to that. It was fun as always, being in the live chat and making comments in always entertaining, so I enjoyed that (even if they’re not thrilled about Nora). That went on until about 12:30 or so, I did some other computer stuff for a bit and then started writing this. Thrown in between all of these things Jess and I decided we are officially going to be crazy and after spending Saturday at HVFF New Jersey, that night we’re going to fly to Portland and on Sunday do the con there that has Brandon Routh and Caity Lotz, then flying back to Chicago Sunday night. So that should be WILD, definitely looking forward to that. and yeah, that’s pretty much it. don’t really have any solidified plans for tomorrow, I think the girls want to get their nails done so I would probably join them there even though my nails are all super short right now and already somewhat painted, though I’ve let it chip a bit the last few days, so if I got like a gel manicure it could last me a few weeks and I’d be happy about that, and there may also be a mall trip involved, we’ll have to see. Right now it’s about to be 1:30 am so I should probably get to bed. Goodnight darlings. See you in the morning.
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can i please have a crack-shippy fic where everybody is in love with the wrong people.
OMG. OMG. THIS PERSON. THIS PERSON GETS IT. Fuck yes you may have your fic and all my money besides
Lumiere’s legs ache, but it’s a fantastic ache—the ache of being out in summer, hiking through the woods, air on his face when for just a second there he thought he’d never have a face again. He breathes, deeply, almost too deeply—and oh, his muscles hurt.
“You might have thought not to wear heels,” teases Plumette, gently, just behind him.
“Cherie, you yourself are wearing heels,” says Lumiere. She laughs and raises her skirts so he can see them. Truly scandalous! And oh so pretty. Their laughter can be heard through the forest as he chases her off the path.
Behind them by a few yards, Cogsworth sighs and raises his eyes to the heavens. Lovers in summer, eh? He cannot remember ever having been this way himself: annoying, grasping for physical attention, all flirt and kiss and nonsense, utter nonsense. He groans and puffs and leans against a tree.
“They all do it, Mr. Cogsworth,” says Mrs. Potts, walking just behind him. “Let them have their fun. Summer was made for lovers such as them.”
“And normal people such as us?” says Cogsworth. “What of us? You have Mr. Potts, I have…..hmph, I have Clothilde. Summer should belong to us, too.”
Mrs. Potts smiles. Far down the path—lagging far behind the older members of the party—Cadenza and Garderobe cling to each other, arm in arm, taking their time and hiking only in between the kisses and hugs. Cogsworth groans again and keeps on walking.
“Mon ami! Cogsworth! Down here!”
The party follow the sound of Lumiere’s voice, off the beaten trail and down into a hollow. Cogsworth waves as he sees his friend and Plumette practically dancing in front of a fallen tree.
“Don’t you see?” yells Plumette. “It’s a tree-house! Someone has made a home beneath the tree!”
It’s true: the upturned roots of the tree form the roof of a home, a charming one strewed with blankets and baskets of herbs. Just outside the shelter stands a cauldron, bubbling over flame; this last intrigues Lumiere very much, who stands over it with a spoon.
“You must come try this at once,” he insists. “Marjoram! I haven’t tasted it in years. Ooh, and something else as well—” He sips from the cauldron and concentrates. Plumette, beside him, laughs and eats as well.
“Lumiere! We are trespassing, we cannot just help ourselves to someone’s dinner—”
“Relax, mon ami,” and Lumiere cuts Cogsworth off by forcing a spoonful to his lips. “When our enchanting host returns, we will share our picnic with him. The master will be along with it shortly, no? Cadenza—you are a man of taste—taste marjoram and see what you think.”
While the musicians smile and sup, Mrs. Potts feels an ache deep within her. This is no muscle spasm—though she certainly had enough of those while hiking this deep into the woods—no, this is unease. She looks into the hovel of the tree, and sees roses pinned against the roots, and an owl perched upon a chair; magic, she thinks, magic, and her stomach turns over.
“I had no idea!” Adam and Belle have found the rest of the party; Mrs. Potts turns and hurries toward her prince, who is wrestling with a large picnic basket. “I’ve never been this far into the woods. Who do you think lives here?”
“You mean you don’t know?” Belle’s eyebrows raise. She’s intrigued by this hidden house in the wood, made from roots and bound with roses. “I figured you knew everything about your estate.”
“Darling, the only thing I know about the estate is that I love it and you. What’s that you’re eating, Lumiere?”
“Marjoram! And hearts-ease, I think. Most unusual. Never tasted it in a soup before—master, try it, truly délicieux—”
Adam eats while Belle looks at the hovel. Her eyes flit over it, turning it upside down, calculating out which story-book she knows it from.
This place is known to me, she thinks. I’ve never been here before, and neither has Adam—but I know it, I know it.
Behind her, Mrs. Potts copies Adam and eats from the cauldron, a worried look on her face.
Roses—and herbs—and a tree in the woods— “Hold on,” calls Belle, “my father told me about this. Isn’t this where the Enchantress lives?”
Silence from her friends. And then a BANG.
Belle whips around in time to see the cauldron belching yellow smoke. There is a hiss of scent—herbs and magic and magic and herbs—and seven bodies hit the ground.
There. It had taken her a while, but Belle had managed. The first thing she had done was to get them away from the hovel; a little ways away now, they lay in a glen, the bodies of Adam and the staff pulled where she could get them. No one dead, thank goodness; but all unconscious, and—phew, thinks Belle—heavier than she would have guessed.
She takes a moment to admire her handiwork. Plumette, Cadenza, and Mrs. Potts all are safely stowed beneath a weeping willow, their heads supported by roots and veiled with branches. Madame de Garderobe she has managed to pull beside a log. Lumiere and Cogsworth—heavy, you’d think they were still made of metal—she couldn’t get very far, so they lay just beyond, side by side, not far from where they fell. Adam she props onto a stump beside her—and I cannot wait, thinks Belle, to tease him for the number of times I’ve had to carry his body through this wood.
It was disturbing to have them all unconscious, though. Oh well; she’d done capably—I always do capably, thinks Belle—and now she just had to wait for them to wake up.
Adam moans beside her, and Belle smiles and nudges him. “Come on, wake up, Adam,” she says. “I know you’re strong enough to.”
He moans again. Sissy, thinks Belle, he’s going to pretend he can’t so I’ll help him. Just to tease, she escapes his groggy reach and saunters off toward the willow. He’ll follow me in a second, and then he can help me, and then we can decide what to do with Cadenza and—
Oh.
When Belle propped the staff up against the willow moments ago, Plumette, Cadenza, and Mrs. Potts had all been quite unconscious. Not so now. Plumette still slept, but—and here Belle’s mind flipped over in her head—Cadenza and Mrs. Potts were up and snogging.
“Uhh—pardon me?”
Cadenza’s hands are locked onto Mrs. Potts’ face; that good lady’s arms are thrown across his shoulders in the most casual, intimate way imaginable. There is definitely some tongue happening. Belle’s mind does a cartwheel and tries to find its bearings.
“Uh—Mrs. Potts? Maestro?” All right, all right, maybe they were having an affair all this time, somehow, that they kept concealed from everybody, including their spouses…spouses who they are both utterly devoted to and would never, ever stray from, yes, definitely, good going, Belle. “What are you doing?”
“Just a little tea and music,” coos Maestro Cadenza. Mrs. Potts giggles—giggles—and lodges her foot halfway up Cadenza’s thigh. Belle’s ears burn and her eyes wish they could fall out of her head.
“Okay,” says Belle. “Okay. I am too clever for this. Did you—are you—I mean of course it’s none of my business but—”
“Darling,” say Adam, just behind her, and Belle breathes and whips around to see her love coming through the bower of the weeping willow branches.
“Adam! Thank goodness you’re here, I—” But his eyes aren’t looking at her, and he is walking right past her, and he is kneeling beside the slowly waking Plumette.
Okay. Okay then. He is just concerned about the maid. That is good and kind and very Adam-like. Belle follows him.
“Mon amour,” breathes Plumette, staring up at Adam.
“Oh, no, sorry, you’ve got the wrong tall, overdressed white man,” says Belle. “Lumiere will be along in just a moment, I’m sure—”
“I have never beheld anything so beautiful as you,” says Adam, staring at Plumette’s face. “How could I have lived and not seen you?”
“Mon amour,” says Plumette again, and uses Adam’s cravat to yank his lips to hers.
Oooookay. Belle needs to take a break. She exits the willow—Mrs. Potts’ giggle of “tea for two!” unfortunately not escaping her burning ears—and stands outside to take stock.
Adam, she thinks, would never, ever do this. Not my Adam, not ever, and slowly Belle’s faith picks itself back up and pushes her brain back to working. Mrs. Potts, Cadenza—they would never do that, either. And neither would Plumette. Magic, then: magic, clearly, to cause this madness.
She glances at the log where Garderobe is—thank goodness, she remain asleep. She glances at the meadow where she left Lumiere and Cogsworth. It sits empty.
She tracks their heavy footprints to the bank of a brook. The meadow dips down and she cannot see them, but she knows that they are there, together and alone.
Fearless, she thinks. Be fearless. And walks down to the bank.
“You old fool!” flusters Cogsworth, yelling at Lumiere. “Poppycock, utter poppycock! Balderdash.”
“You jester,” says Lumiere, “all talk and no action, as usual.”
“Lumiere? Cogsworth? Everything all right? Nothing….different?”
“Same old madness,” grumbles Cogsworth. “This idiot thinks he can beat me in a competition!”
“Mon beau,” says Lumiere, “you know how competitive I get when the stakes are high.”
Thank goodness, they’re just the same. Belle breathes in, out. In, out.
“You’re not winning any kissing contest,” says Cogsworth, “not on my watch.”
“You are playing with so much fire,” says Lumiere, and leaps into a kiss.
Out, out, out, out. Belle cannot catch breath. The kiss keeps going.
Okay, Belle, you’re clever. Come on.
“Gentlemen, uh? I can see you’re into this, but could we do this some other time?”
“Oh, it’s not ‘we,’ you’re not invited,” says Cogsworth. “It’s just us.”
Lumiere, Belle sees, is the master of multitasking: he is somehow taking off Cogsworth’s coat for him while maintaining an exquisite French kiss. Incredible.
“Ok, fine, keep—keep doing that,” and Belle’s mind flinches back to the sight of Adam returning Plumette’s kisses but no, no, “just—um—I think there might have been something in what you ate. Lumiere, what were you saying was in that cauldron?”
Even in the most ecstatic passion Lumiere has a soft spot for food. “Hearts-ease,” he says, his teeth half buried in Cogsworth’s cravat. “Most unusual. Never seen hearts-ease in cooking before—”
Cogsworth is a walking botany textbook even as he takes Lumiere’s shirt off. “Mostly used for medicinal purposes, not culinary. ‘Meh’ taste. Related to the pansy—”
“Pansy? Those are in one of Adam’s favorite plays—Hamlet,” says Belle. “‘There’s pansies, that’s for thoughts.’ Ophelia says it.”
Cogsworth does not respond. He is sidetracked by something distracting Lumiere is doing at his neck.
“Everyone is having such strange thoughts,” says Belle, “Cadenza with Mrs. Potts, Plumette kissing my Adam. All these strange thoughts, if only I could have more of—oh! SHAKESPEARE!”
“What on earth is she on about,” mumbles Cogsworth.
“If I follow her chain of thought, mon petit choux, I believe Cadenza is kissing Beatrice, the Master is kissing Plumette, and Belle wishes to be kissing Monsieur Shakespeare.”
“That does not explain why you are not currently kissing me.”
“Good point. At this rate, I am fit to lose the contest,” and Lumiere turns back to kissing.
Belle is talking out loud now. “Of course! It’s in a A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Shakespeare calls it ‘love-in-idleness’ there, but it’s the same flower, the same pansy! And in the play, it makes people fall in love with whoever they see first!”
“Do you remember what the first thing I saw once I turned human was?” murmurs Cogsworth.
“Me, obviously. It’s always me. Amazing foreshadowing,” and Lumiere rolls back on top of the major domo.
“So if there was hearts-ease in that cauldron, when it blew up in everyone’s faces, everyone near it would be affected. And then I laid Cadenza by Mrs. Potts—and Adam would have seen me but he saw Plumette first—and then I laid you two blunderers aside over here—”
“Brava! Brava! Brilliant reasoning,” says a beautiful voice just behind her, and Belle turns to see Madame de Garderobe, looking straight at her.
“Madame,” gulps Belle, and then it’s too late and she’s being swallowed by a kiss.
Garderobe’s perfume is intoxicating, and Belle lingers for a moment. Wowza. Hot damn. If she can kiss like this all the time, Cadenza is a lucky man. Wait a minute—
Belle pulls away, trips over the men, regains her balance, gasping. “You have a husband.”
“We do not take monogamy so seriously in Italy,” says Garderobe.
This is insane. “Yes! Just, um,” Belle skirts the embrace, “I need to gather some flowers.”
“Un mazzolino di fiori? For me? Cara, you are so sweet to think of me so!”
“…right. Why don’t I go get some roses this way, and you go get some for me that way?”
“It breaks my heart to leave you,” says Madame de Garderobe, and for a minute Belle can see why the courts of Europe threw diamonds and gems at this woman’s feet. But Garderobe turns away, and sets to picking flowers, and Belle sprints back to the Enchantress’s hovel.
Her hands fly through the bundles of roses and marjoram. Surely what she needs is in here somewhere. Please, oh please, let it not all have been in the cauldron—
Agathe places small white blooms into Belle’s hands.
She has been so used to romance for the last hour that it takes her a moment to see that Agathe is not here to swear eternal devotion or fall at her feet or pull out her hair. Once she knows:
“What the hell are you doing with this stuff?”
“It’s for another story, later on,” says Agathe. “I did not think to see your party coming so close.”
“Oh, trust me, it’s moved way beyond close and definitely into intimate,” says Belle.
“I will help them sleep,” says Agathe.
“Darn it,” says Belle, “I was really looking forward to knocking them all out with a saucepan.”
“Leave that for the hero of another story,” says the Enchantress, and waves her hands.
Belle lugs each person back to the glen, and takes out the small white blooms of hearts-ease to brush on each person’s eyes. I’ve always wanted to play Puck, she thinks, as she puts Plumette beside Lumiere, their faces almost touching. Shakespeare would be proud, I’m solving this just as he did. She fetches out the portrait of Mr. Potts from Mrs. Potts’ handbag, and sets it just before her face, so it will be the first thing she sees as she wakes with the hearts-ease on her eyes. The musicians she tucks together beneath the willow, and Cogsworth she leaves by himself, throwing water on his face and hoping the Enchantress will cover the rest. Adam’s head she gently, gently, rests in her lap. All is quiet as they sleep.
“If we shadows have offended,” says Belle, and she thinks of lovers in midsummer, lovers in the forest and lovers in her dreams, and she strokes Adam’s hair and speaks from memory.
“If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended,That you have but slumber’d hereWhile these visions did appear.And this weak and idle theme,No more yielding but a dream….Give me your hands, if we be friends—”
“I hope we are a good deal more than friends,” says Adam, from her lap, and his blue eyes are bright upon her face. “And I hope that’s not Midsummer you’re reciting from. You know I hate how unrealistic it is.”
“Says the man whose favorite play is about a Danish king terrified of live theatre,” says Belle.
“Says the woman who read it aloud and emphasized all the good parts,” says Adam, and reaches up to kiss her.
Around the glen, the others wake up. Garderobe and Cadenza kiss and touch, no memory remaining of the last hour of their lives; Mrs. Potts stretches, tsk-tsking at the grass stains on her dress. Lumiere and Plumette appear from around a tree, laughing, each orbiting the other, catching kisses. Cogsworth asks if anybody has seen his coat.
And I, thought Belle, restore amends.
#bisexual belle alert#guESS WHAT i don't think cogsworth forgets#best prompt ever#THIS WAS SO FLUFFY AND I LOVE IT#beauty and the beast#batb#batb 2017#batb fanfic#belle#adam#plumette#lumiere#cadenza#garderobe#shakespeare#mrs. potts#cogsworth#plumiere#garderenza#lumiere x plumette#belle x adam#lumiette#lumiere/cogsworth#cogsworth/lumiere#lumiere x cogsworth
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Stop the World & Melt with You: Chapter Six
Hey look! It's done! Yay! Sorry this took for-freaking-ever to get out, but I hope it was worth the wait. Thank you to everyone who has put up with this rollercoaster, you guys rock!
I apologize for the long absence of updates, but finals season sucks, so will be so glad when that's over next Thursday (for me at least). I then have three weeks before summer classes start up, so hopefully I'll have an update of don't trust the devil inside set to go soon. I also may decide to ignore studying for Business Law again, and it might pop up later this week.
Chapter Summary: Date night going off without a hitch seems a bit too good to be true...
Also on AO3
Lenore was at the office, leaning back in her chair with her feet up on the clean part of her desk, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. It was Friday afternoon, and she did not give a shit what anyone thought of her behavior. She had a date tonight.
“So, the plan is dinner at your place at seven, right?”
“The plans haven’t changed in the past two minutes Lenore.”
“Oh hush you. I swear I’m not purposefully being neurotic, I just want tonight to go perfectly.” Sighing, Lenore’s anxiety over the evening bubbled up again, leading her to sheepishly rush through the next question. “And we’re having?”
“We’re getting takeout from Mia Z’s, as previously agreed upon.”
“Sounds perfect, I don’t think we need the entirety of the New York Fire Department crashing a date, our friends seem do that enough all on their own. And remember-”
HG cut her off, rattling off Lenore’s favorite order by memory. “‘Fettuccine alfredo with grilled chicken and all the extra garlic, with a side salad and fresh breadsticks.’ Did I miss anything? I promise I am completely capable of planning a proper date Lenore, scout’s honor.” He paused, the rest of her comment coming back to him, before continuing indignantly, “And I am not that bad of a cook!”
“Please, you know you love the garlic. Whatever you end up with is also going to have a shit ton of garlic in it, we’re having Italian, it’s kind of a given. Hate to break it to you my dear Professor, but you got kicked out of the Boy Scouts. I do believe it was for setting three tents on fire, if I’m recollecting that lovely story correctly- ”
“-it’s not like there was anything in any of them! We had barely begun to set up camp!”
“You were twelve!”
“So? I’ve always been advanced for my age!”
“Okay, discontinuing that train of thought, you are so completely and utterly that bad of a cook. Baking, I will totally agree, you bake amazingly well. There is a reason you’re always in charge of dessert. But cooking? Nope, you suck at cooking.”
“Balderdash, cooking is incredibly difficult! Baking is easy, all you have to do is follow the directions and stick everything in the oven. One has to pay far more attention when cooking and make adjustments on the fly and I become distracted much too easily and then we end up with a mushy ball of spaghetti.”
“Relax, babe. I’m just teasing. I know enough to make sure we’d survive if all the takeout joints in the city suffered an untimely end, I promise.” Smiling softly to herself, she was about to keep poking at her boyfriend’s culinary ineptitude when her phone started to vibrate again. Pulling it away from her ear, Lenore glanced down at the caller ID. “Hang on, our favorite drama king is calling on the other line, I should probably grab that.”
“Alright, I’ll see you tonight, I love you.”
“Love you too Goggles. Okay, now I gotta go. Later gator!” Mentally floating on cloud nine, she hung up, switching over to the call from Oscar. Before she could even say hi, he started rambling.
“Lenore! Why on earth were you taking so long to answer your bloody phone? Nevermind, more important gossip is at stake. Did you hear about what just happened with Charlotte and Anton? Apparently, they were dating! Even though she was totally riding solo at the party for New Years! And making eyes at Ernest, which is just ick, I mean hello, it’s Ernest, I wouldn’t date him if you paid me. Not that Lottie dearest such a bloody prize herself! Plus, didn’t she used to have a thing for- oh nevermind, not important right now! Where was I? Oh, right, anyways, now she and Anton broke up! And she’s being cross with me, well, more of an uptight bitch with me than normal, in any case. Do you think that means he wants to hook up with me again? I mean, I know it was just a few times and it was months ago, but she’s acting so pissed at me, that has to be it, right?” Finally stopping for breath, Oscar sucked in a deep gasp of air, relieving his poor overworked lungs.
Rolling her eyes, Lenore adopted an overly perky tone and chirped obnoxiously, “Hello, Oscar, how are you? Oh I’m feeling fabulous, thanks so much for asking. Charlotte and Anton were secretly dating and then they broke up? Gasp, so scandalous!” For full effect, even if he couldn’t see her, she mockingly swooned back in her chair, hand to her forehead.
“You’re hilarious Lenore, truly hysterical. Now, I need your help,” he pronounced. Quite seriously, Oscar pondered, “Do you think ‘frenemies before men in my sheets’ would be an applicable motto here?”
Snorting loudly, she responded, “Babes, not actually a saying.”
“I don’t care in the least, it’s appropriate.” Oh good Lord, he actually sounded offended.
“You’re never appropriate.”
“True, oh well. We need to get dinner tonight, I must call a strategy meeting to determine if I’m allowed to go after that scrumptious hunk of man.”
Bolting upright, she braced herself for a long argument. “I can’t tonight Oscar. I have plans already.”
“What?”
“Plans, I have them.”
“Well cancel them, we need to have a council of war.”
“I am not canceling my date with HG again!”
“But-”
“Nope. Not happening. We are going on this date if I have to stick the rest of you in a padded cell for the duration of it.”
“Mean. Charlotte would murder me in minutes and I doubt you want to put your brother and Ernest together in a confined space, especially with Annabel.”
“The rest of you can buffer. And besides, Edgar has been surprisingly sedate in his celebrations after the breakup. I’ve only caught him dancing in the kitchen like twice. This week.” Thinking about it, Lenore added, “I’d honestly be more worried about him decking Ernest if he propositions her again. I do not need to deal with the hospital paperwork if he breaks his hand. Not that she can’t deal with the idiot on her own, but Edgar is feeling euphoric and white knight-like right now.”
“This is all hypothetical you know. You can’t actually lock all of your friends away just so you can get some.”
“Exactly, it’s all hypothetical so I have plausible deniability. Plus, I’ll have a foolproof alibi as of seven. Besides, this is not about getting some!” Realizing how loud she’d gotten, Lenore lowered her voice and tersely whispered, “Okay, not just about getting some, because trust me, that needs to happen too.”
Her friend burst into laughter over the phone, which was not helping his case, at all.
“Screw you, Oscar, I want to fucking jump my boyfriend alright, so fuck you. No, this is about the fact that HG and I haven’t been able to be alone for more than like half an hour without getting interrupted! I mean, seriously, we’re cursed! We haven’t had a complete date yet. And all of you suck, because our friends are like half the problem.”
“Calm your tits, Poe, you’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I though? Am I really? I needed to have surgery, nobody that we know is capable of knocking, the fucking computers broke, Annabel and Eddie broke up, and we made out in your closet. None of these things equal a date! Hell, none of those things even equal third base!” Chest heaving, Lenore realized she was way too worked up to get anything else done for the day. “Damnit, okay, I need to leave before I bite anyone’s head off.” Beginning her end of the day routine, she listened as Oscar spoke in his patented dial down the wonko voice, officially coined as such by Mary Anne during an extended episode of writer’s block.
“Okay, I have basically no idea what any of that means, because you’re acting more than a bit bonkers. And please don’t tell me you’ve decapitated anyone today, because I’m assuming life in the Big House puts a damper on the hotly anticipated sexy times with the boytoy.” Oscar rolled the last words, laced with so much innuendo that Lenore tripped and banged her head against the wall. Swearing at herself, she could just hear her friend’s trilling laugh before he continued.
“Just go and enjoy your date, I’ll keep the masses from descending, barring an actual emergency, in which case, you can bet your ass I’m calling you. There is no way in hell I’m dealing with one of those without someone else who could possibly be deemed a semi-rational adult.” Which was entirely reasonable, because the frequency at which their friends ended up in the hospital or overnight lock-up was borderline terrifying to think about.
“How exactly are you planning on doing so?”
She could see his habitual generous hand-waving in her head. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it. Feel free to primp and pamper as needed, as I’m sure in my utter brilliance I can come up with some way to distract them for the whole night. As payment for such a wonderful good deed, I expect full details tomorrow at our strategy meeting, darling. Hmm, maybe we can do brunch.”
Finally realizing he was entirely serious about herding the cats, a grin broke out over Lenore’s face as she rushed to the elevator. “I’m going to hug you tomorrow, so freaking hard. Thanks Oscar, really. Thank you.”
“Oh quit gushing, you’ve stroked my ego enough. Now, I’d say let’s grab breakfast, but tomorrow’s Saturday, and I highly doubt you’ll be up anytime before eleven, so brunch seems necessary.” The wiggling eyebrows were practically audible through the phone. “And you are giving me all of the details. I’m in a dry spell here.”
By now, she was tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for the ground level button to light up. The easy banter was pleasantly distracting, but damn if she didn’t want to fast-forward a few hours. “And that guy you were hooking up with last week at the party was all a figment of my imagination?” That didn’t mean she couldn’t get Oscar back for all the earlier teasing.
Sniffing, Oscar corrected her haughtily,“A romantic dry spell bitch. I am having exactly as much sex as I want to be having, thank you very much. It’s the sappy romance part that’s lacking.”
Smirking, she cooed, “Aww, hook-up prince Oscar wants to be romanced.”
“You know I can invent all sorts of ways to crash your date, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Ding . Finally let out of the crushing mob leaving work, Lenore headed for the exit, then stopped short when she saw who was standing just inside the lobby. Switching direction, she grinned widely and cut off Oscar’s retort. “It appears my date has mysteriously arrived early to whisk me away from work, so I’m gonna go. Later Oscar. And thanks for the whole distracting everyone thing.”
Sighing, he replied melodramatically, “Fine, leave me and go be romanced and ravished by your wonderful boyfriend. Don’t forget to be safe and use protection!”
“I’m hanging up now!”
“Remember, all the details!”
“Goodbye Oscar!” Laughing, Lenore tossed her phone into her purse before running the last few steps and hurling herself into HG’s waiting arms. Nose buried in his scarf, she felt a sense of contentedness she hadn’t realized she was missing settle in. Glancing up through her eyelashes, Lenore pressed her lips to his cheek, cold from the January chill. “Hi.”
“Hello my dear Lenore.” Warmth pervading his tone, HG tilted her head upwards, kissing her gently once, twice before resting their foreheads together. “Apparently, I have been uttered useless and distracted all day. My assistant basically forced me out of the building, said that they could handle everything until Monday.” Tucking a loose curl behind her ear, he added, “I came straight here.”
“I’m glad you did, Oscar had to talk me off a cliff.” At his questioning glance, she shrugged. “Nothing bad, just want tonight to actually happen. He has agreed to amuse to children for the night, barring extreme circumstances.”
“How thoughtful of him.”
“I owe him brunch and gossip tomorrow.”
“Ah, so not entirely selfless.”
“Well, he wanted to grab dinner and figure out if he could hook up with Charlotte’s-”
Cutting her off, he rumbled, “Lenore, I could not possibly care less right now.” Still locked in his arms, Lenore found herself reeled in again, engaged in a heady, needy kiss. One of his hands grasping her braid, she felt every ounce of love and want poured into it, losing herself to the electrifying sensation and kindling desire that had been simmering for weeks, possibly months. Remembering where they were was difficult when HG seemed hellbound to erase any thought not of him, though Lenore’s remaining shreds of common sense reminded her they were bordering on the lines of inappropriate for public viewing. Determined to keep a level head, she abruptly pulled away, stopping his lips from chasing hers with a finger.
“Okay, hang on.” Undeterred by her attempted stern look, HG lightly kissed the finger still holding his lips back. Rolling her eyes, she removed it and tried not to giggle when he pouted. “Babe, not helping. We need to head back to your apartment, like now. I am not getting arrested for public indecency at work. Now let’s move. We can always call for Mia Z’s later.”
Placing a hand to his chin, he pretended to mull the idea over before holding out his elbow. “A sound plan. Shall we?”
Locking her arm with his, she smiled. “Oh, we shall.”
#poe party#edgar allan poe's murder mystery dinner party#lenore#hg wells#wellenore#mine: stop the world and melt with you
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“Alright Ada, let’s try THIS one on for size.” The scrap of notebook paper rustled as it was unfolded; me and the other girls crowded in, eager to see this foretelling of my future.
“Lucky you, you got an Oldsmobile!” My friend, whose name was Ferngully, announced.
“Noooo!” I clutched a stuffed giraffe close for support, feigning agony.
“And you’re going to live in a hunter’s shack in the woods. In Canada. With your ten kids AND your mangy old dog.”
There was a chorus of giggles; attempting to join them, I made a strange, mechanical chortling sound.
“And lastly- oh Ada, this one’s SO unfair I might just cry!” Ferngully grabbed a box of fairy-scented tissues and pretended to dab at the edges of her eyes.
I raised an eyebrow. “Do tell?”
“You’re going to marry…an ultra-romantic BILLIONAIRE!”
The other girls burst out clapping; as I lacked the capability of blushing, I just felt a weird heat rising around my face.
“What kind of idiot marries an android in the first place? That’s like, marrying your toaster.” I muttered, stuffing my face with a few leftover Valentine’s Day chocolates.
“ADA!” Ferngully scolded, smacking me with a frilly pink pillow and causing chunks of chocolate to spill out of my mouth. “Don’t say mean things about yourself! I’m sure you’ll find a nice, rich, robot-loving man EVENTUALLY… And when you do, I expect you to invite us all over, all the time, for sleepovers and parties!”
I sighed, putting my arms behind my head and leaning against an enormous fluffy dog plush. “When android-human marriages become a thing, I’ll let you know.”
“Okay, time for the next game!” Ferngully announced, clapping her hands. “Let’s play... Truth or Dare! Ada, since you got the best deal out of the last game, we’re gonna ask you first. Truth, or Dare?”
“I pick Truth.” I said, wary of the wild dares the girls were bound to come up with.
“Ada haz chosen ze TRUTH!” Ferngully shouted, and the girls put their heads together, whispering and trying to make sure I didn’t overhear, which was kind of pointless given they were well aware of my enhanced hearing abilities.
“Alright, here’s your question…” Ferngully cleared her throat. “What do you wish for?”
I blinked at her, feeling the gears whirr slowly in my mechanical head. “There’s my Prime Directive, if that’s what you mean… I thought I already told you guys all about that?”
“Not that, you silly ‘bot… I mean, what’s your WISH? What do you want out of life? Do you wanna like, kiss a cute boy? Or go skydiving? Or go swimming in a pool of sharks or what?”
I made a totally grossed-out face. None of those things sounded appealing in the slightest, especially the bit about swimming with the sharks. Then my expression softened. “I mean, there’s this one thing, but it’s like, super personal.”
“Come on, now you GOTTA tell!” The other girls insisted.
“Yeah Ada, it’s truth or dare! You HAVE to tell!” Ferngully said.
“Alright, I guess…” I grabbed another pillow, this one white with a unicorn stitched onto it. “But you can’t make fun of me, okay?”
“We won’t, we promise.” Everyone agreed.
I took a deep breath. “Okay, I really, reaaaallly want to win the school beauty paegent. Like, I don’t just want to be IN it, I want to WIN it. Sorry it’s kind of a stupid wish, they probably don’t even let androids into stuff like that anyway, and even if I did there’s no way I could win ‘cause my skin is all weird and sometimes I just straight up forget how to move…”
“Omg Ada, that’s the most amazing wish ever!” Ferngully beamed.
I looked up from the pillow I had buried my face in. “Really?”
“Totally! And according to the Android-Amendment law they just put in, they HAVE to let you join or else its unfair and the school could get sued.”
“We can help you find a dress and help you with your makeup and everything!” Another one of the girls said, and the others nodded along.
I felt the weird burning sensation again, but managed to smile weakly. “If you say so…”
And that was how, one month later, I found myself wandering the aisles of the biggest department store I had ever seen, nearly in tears (androids can’t actually cry, but at the moment I sure felt like I could). “Stupid robot, you should have just let your friends help you like they wanted to.” I muttered to myself. “But no, you gotta go do it ALL by yourself.”
Pop music was being piped in through unseen speakers; more than one person was unconsciously mouthing the words or moving to its rapid beat. I spied several lemon-scented candles hidden surreptitiously throughout the store; I’m sure they would have smelled wonderful, if androids had only been gifted with the ability to smell.
In two hours I had examined at least ten, twenty different dresses, but found some deal-breaking flaw in almost every single one. Too long, too short, too much glitter, not enough glitter… The only one I HAD liked ended up not even fitting. Not for the first time, I cursed my ungainly, mechanical body, and immediately felt horrible.
How would my Maker feel, if he knew I was thinking such terrible things about his most exceptional creation? I fingered my communication pod through the pockets of my time-thinned jeans. Should I go home? No. Not yet. Just a little longer- I was sure I would find something soon.
“Welcome, shoppers!” I jumped as a Vision Screen, one of at least thirty scattered around the store, flashed on in front of me. “We’ll get you looking from DRAB to FAB in ten minutes flat, or it’s on us!”
I watched, mesmerized, as every screen changed in perfect sync. The next commercial was some kind of advertisement from a local pet store; squirming puppies, mewling kittens, and even a sullen-looking baby hedgehog all filled the screens with their pitiful whining. I smiled to myself; being an android did have its perks after all, and immunity to cute animals was one of them.
Nearby, a group of girls, high schoolers by the look of it, stood fawning and squealing.
“Awww, look at that puppy, I could just eat him up!” One of them swooned.
“Look, they’ve even got little baby mice!”
I froze, my gaze locked on one of the screens.
“Awww they’re so tiny and cute!”
Had I been human, surely at the moment I would have retched all over the polished marble floor. Mice… Why did it have to be mice?
I began to feel dizzy, a lifetime of horror stories and panic attacks coming into my mind. Tiny mice with their sharp teeth, chewing up circuitry and defecating inside mechanical hearts; mice, tunneling through paper-thin synthetic skin, turning stomachs into nests; and the worst vision of all: a hoard of mice that had overpopulated and now poured out of their victim’s mouth like some kind of sick, twisted beehive.
I fished my communication pod out of my pocket, and dialed a number.
“I need you to come get me. Please.” I sounded hysterical and hated myself for it, but I couldn’t help it right now.
“I’m on my way, Ada.” My Maker’s voice was gentle, though with a curiously flat air that only a scientist could possess.
The advertisement on the Vision Screens had changed by now, but the images of the revolting rodents continued to run in the wheel of my mind, their menacing, squeaky voices forming a disconcerting harmony.
When my Maker messaged me that he had arrived, I bolted out of the store, ready to be free of that horrible place.
“So was your acquisition of finery a success?” He asked, once we were safely strapped inside our electric travel vessel and hurtling down the expressway.
I leaned my head against one of the cool glass window. “Nope.”
“Aw, sweet, what’s vexing you?”
I debated whether or not to tell him; it wasn’t that he wouldn’t listen, it was just that I wanted my feelings heard, not psycho-analyzed.
“It’s just that…” I fumbled with a stray wire sticking out of my arm. “Nothing fits me. Not clothes, not school, not anything. It’s like I don’t even belong in this world.”
“Oh sweet, you know that’s nothing but nonsense, mere balderdash.”
I lifted my face from the window. “Oh yeah? Is that why I always get picked last for kickball, and why I can’t find a single dress that fits, and why I flip out every time someone mentions the word ‘pool’? Is that all nonsense?”
My Maker sighed a deep, long sigh. For a minute, he dropped the scientific edge that tended to flavor his speech. “Oh Ada… Don’t you know that all of us feel like that sometimes? Everyone, whether human or android or somewhere in between, is going to feel out of place at some point.”
I made the robot equivalent of a sniffle. “Even batty old scientists?”
My Maker nodded. “Even batty old scientists. You’ll figure it all out, sweet. I promise.”
The rest of the ride was spent in silence, as I contemplated his words. Upon arriving home, I stumbled out of the travel vessel and headed for my recharge chamber.
“Hold on Ada, there is something I must show you.” My Maker said, unlocking the code-sealed door to his lab. I followed him inside, not hesitating as a red line scanned my face and two more lights scanned the rest of me.
It wasn’t especially large as far as labs went, but every inch was covered with a mix of papers and loose mechanical parts.
I plopped down in one a battered swivel chair, feeling it pop and squeak as I spun around and around. Quickly growing bored, I turned and viewed the huge, lightning-blue screens that dominated one full wall of the lab. On it was something like blueprints, with the outline of a human figure drawn in smart white lines. I read the captions, though I knew them all by heart.
Ada Atmore, Version 13.5. Hair color: Platinum. Eyes: Copper. Height: 5’’1. Weight: 115 lbs.
I spun in my chair, tasting the labels that gave me being. There was a bunch of science-y stuff on there too that I didn’t really get, but I figured it was probably important.
“Ada!” I spun to face my Maker. “Activate the light for me, will you sweet?”
I raced for the switch, and saw that it illuminated a faceless, me-sized mannequin, upon which sat the most beautiful dress I had ever seen.
“Is that… for me?” I whispered, staring at it.
“I was going to conserve it for your next upgrade day, but given the circumstances regarding the shopping event, I postulated it would be best to give it to you now. My Maker sounded very pleased with himself. “It is composed of a special nanotechnology involving mechanical spiders, snakeskin, and good old fashion cotton.”
I could care less what it was made of; I was just happy that it existed.
“Thank you, Maker, thank you!” I squealed, embracing him in an awkward hug (scientists, as a rule, would rather have the plague that be hugged, but at the moment I didn’t care.)
“I am glad you like it, Ada. Now, go to that pageant and make me proud!” He said, in a sudden moment of almost fatherly pride.
I grinned and agreed with him. Before I knew it, another month had flown by, and suddenly the big night had arrived.
We joined the stream of people filling the crowded auditorium; I was quickly herded off backstage by a chaperone, while my Maker waved me off and took a seat.
Having already prepared hours beforehand, I stood around uselessly while everyone else made last minute applications of make-up and hairstyle changes. The air was a thick haze of hairspray and anxiety; I heard a few people sneeze. In one corner, two figures sat huddled by an outlet, frantically waving a decrepit hairdryer.
“ADA!” I heard Ferngully’s voice, and suddenly I was being bowled over in a hug.
“You came!” I said.
“Don’t sound so surprised!” Ferngully chided playfully. “I could be DEAD, and I would still come to my best friend’s big night.”
“I don’t think you’re even supposed to be back here.” I laughed, though secretly I was glad for her presence. The two of us made our way to the big, thick curtain that was the color of India Ink and peeked out, scanning the crowd.
“There’s a lot more people than I thought there would be.” I confided to Ferngully.
“Omg Ada, is that your dad?” She asked, elbowing me. It took me a few seconds to spot my Maker, but there he was in the front row, wearing the most hideous outfit I had ever seen.
“May Asimov have mercy on his soul.” I muttered, closing the curtain again.
“Looks like they’re calling lineup.” Ferngully said, giving me an inspiring shoulder punch. “Now go out there and SLAY!” She then disappeared, headed to her place in the audience.
“First up, we have Katie Abbot!” The first girl in the lineup scurried forward, and vanished to the other side of the curtain.
Somewhere behind me, the people with the hairdryer had turned it up to maximum power in a last-ditch effort to make it work.
I turned my attention back to the curtain as the second name was called. I felt my heart quicken. It looked like they were going in alphabetical order, which meant my turn wasn’t far behind.
“Hey, does anyone else smell something burning?” One of the other girls said, but her concern went unnoticed.
“Next up, we have Vernelle Allgood!” One more, and then it was my turn. I picked at my dress, then picked at my synthetic skin, realizing just how many tiny flaws it contained.
Apparently the burning smell had intensified, as a few people were actually starting to cough. Its source wasn’t hard to find- despite being unplugged, the hairdryer was now issuing copies amounts of acrid smoke.
“And now we have our very own Ada Atmore, Android Extraordinaire!” I cringed; I hadn’t wanted to put that in the program, but my Maker had insisted. I slipped out from behind the curtain, feeling extremely self-conscious and having more than a few second thoughts about this whole thing.
“GO ADA! WE LOVE YOU!” My Maker shouted from the front row, surrounded by a number of his scientist friends whom had had dragged along.
I stepped to the front of the stage and smiled as broadly and naturally as I could manage. “Tonight, I will be singing Porter Robinson’s Goodbye to a World.” I said, hating the tremor in my voice but plunging on ahead despite it.
It wasn’t just my voice that trembled; my whole being felt like it was going to fall apart from the shaking. Yet as I began to sing, something changed. My voice became louder and louder, my hands more steady; every insult, every self-deprecating thing I felt about myself began to fade.
Halfway through the song, a metallic ringing sound reached my ears. Someone’s cell phone, perhaps? Surely they would notice and turn it off, sooner or later. But it continued, and with a jolt, people began to get up from their seats. The smoke, the ringing, the sound of something hissing overhead, could only mean one thing, something I feared even more than mice.
I kept singing, even as the deluge of water from the overhead sprinklers hit me. Even as my body crackled and collapsed, and electricity turned my voice into a mechanical mess, I kept singing. I had to do this. I had to finish the song.
Only when my Maker rescued me from the sopping stage did I finally stop.
“Did I win?” I gurgled, water filling my mechanical lungs.
“Of course you did, sweet.” I felt him press the first place medal into my hand. “Just like we knew you would.” Through rapidly fading vision, I saw Ferngully whisper anxiously in his ear.
“She is not unfixable.” He said. “Though she certainly won’t be the one we knew before tonight. That Ada is gone.” He hefted my falling-apart body as though were light as air. “In her place, a new Ada, a brighter and bolder Ada than we’ve ever seen before.”
And together, the three of us made our way out of the soaking auditorium, to a world made brand new.
#short story#android#robot#@my creative writing professor#I know you said it was supposed to be around 5 pages#but I couldn't squish it down#I ran out of time#I"m so sorry you have to read 9 pages of this now
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top of mortification mountain
Around the wide, round table sat two worlds colliding. My parents, brother, and I were on one side across from Marc, his father, and his stepmother Juliet. I sat up as straight as I could in my chair, a napkin delicately placed into my lap with all of my utensils in their designated positions. My hands were folded on my lap. I was wearing a dress that I maxed out one of my credit cards to buy. At this point, I wasn’t even sure what I was trying to do anymore. Impress? Charm? Pity? All of the above? Whatever. I was in my mid-twenties back then. At least I was trying.
I smiled as serenely as I could at Marc’s family, all of whom I was seeing for the first time and all of whom looked older than bags of mulch. I could see where the Botox had been injected into Juliet’s face and hands and that Marc’s father had a nervous tic in not one but both of his eyes, making them twitch at odd times coupled with his blinking. It made me wonder how he did his job as the VP of a bank chain, but I reasoned he probably had a bunch of lower-level minions to pass off the bulk of his workload to so he could spend half an hour on the toilet at lunch, nap in the golf cart, and sign off on layoff rounds. I could instinctively feel my parents wanting to say something about Marc and his parents, along with Noah who at certain points stopped breathing. Whenever he did that, it generally meant he was trying to concentrate on something depressing so he wouldn’t break into laughter. I guess it was funny back then. Most families treat marriage like a totally normal thing that definitely happens and nobody questions you for it. You met the other potential spouse, the families kind of came together or at least acknowledged one another, and then you get married and get a bunch of presents and that’s that. I didn’t understand why I had to literally push my entire family into the car for this meeting, why Noah was still wearing his wet suit when I told him to change, why my mother Meredith wouldn’t stop smoking indoors, or why my dad drove into the country club parking lot so fast we almost hit two staffers. Most girls would have their entire families next to them dressed nicely and getting along with their kid’s future. I wasn’t most girls and it blew.
“What happened to your eye, Abigail?” Marc’s father broke me out of my internal rage reverie.
“Huh?”
“Your eye,” he gestured, “It’s purple.”
“Did someone hit you.” Juliet mumbled.
“Is that... Is that a question?” I asked her. It didn’t sound like one.
“Abby.” Marc admonished.
“I’m not trying to be rude, I just... I just wanted to clarify.” I quickly said.
“Let me answer this one, Cliff,” my dad interjected.
“It’s Christian.”
“Huh? Alright, gotcha.” Dad laughed, “Must have messed that intro up! Anyway, we’re pulling into the lot and I accidentally hit a container of golf balls some staff were carrying. Balls popped off everywhere, slapped Abby in the face, boom, black eye. We had the top down on the car, hence why they got her good.”
“I see.” Christian said.
Noah began breathing again and I jammed my heel hard into his shoe to stop him from laughing.
“Yeah, crazy huh? But we love our Abby very much.” Dad chuckled, “Wouldn’t hit her now. She got a few spankings back in her day though.”
“Dad!”
“What? I said a few. That’s fine, right?”
Marc smiled, “It’s okay Mr. Paris. My dad spanked me when I was a kid a few times too.”
And just like that, my body was resurrected from dying on top of mortification mountain. I gazed at him from across the table and he winked at me and lifted his wine glass in the air, “To unbecoming childhood punishments that won’t become traditions for our future.”
It’s not an exaggeration to say that my heart melted in that moment.
“Hear hear!” Dad enthusiastically lifted his glass up in the air. I met him at his joy. Juliet’s hands shook so much she could barely do it. Meredith held her glass partially up.
“I can’t participate.” Noah said flatly, “You won’t let me drink.”
“This isn’t about that. Put your water glass up,” Meredith said and Noah lifted it after rolling his eyes.
Only Christian wouldn’t toast us and it took everyone a moment to realize he wasn’t going to clink with everyone, “Marc, you know where I stand on this kind of thing.”
“Humor me?” Marc asked.
“Fine. To no spanking in the future.” Our glasses clinked together. Christian turned to Noah suddenly, “What do you do?”
Noah smirked, “Uh. What do you mean, sir?”
“You said you couldn’t drink, what’s the problem there?”
“Oh! Well, there’s no real PROBLEM,” he narrowed his eyes at Meredith, “but I’m seventeen years old. So, technically it’s not legal.”
“Balderdash. When I was your age, I was drunk as a skunk every single day, eating steak, and meeting with prospective investors for my business.”
“Sounds... like a good time.” Even my own brother was getting thrown for a loop by the direction this conversation was heading in.
“It was. What do you do?”
“Surf and go to school mostly.” Noah glanced at the menu, “Uh, can we order now?”
“You’re not making a mint out of your life, young man. You’re wasting away your youth. I doubt you’re getting in all of your food groups each day!”
“Okay, what’s going on?” Noah muttered to me, “You told me we were having lunch with a bunch of rich people not people trying to be my grandparents.”
“Just ride it out, okay?” I whispered. No matter how weird it got we needed to remain chill for the next three courses.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” A waiter stood next to Meredith.
“At last, someone is here to take our order!” Dad yelped out, “I’ll start us off.”
“Actually, I came over here to ask you to put out your cigarette.” The waiter nodded at Meredith, “A few of our patrons have been troubled by it.”
I didn’t know what to say. Meredith was rarely in a position where she didn’t get her way, whether we were at a country club or the checkout aisle at Target. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach she was going to do or say something that I would have to seriously dig her out of the pit for. I tried to imagine a couple of scenarios in my head. Putting out the cigarette on the kid’s shoe? Too violent. Turning her chair around, popping open a few buttons on her blouse and saying something dirty? Too much. And also, seriously way too much for me to be thinking of my own mother doing. The entire table went quiet anticipating her response. They knew how I would react — overreact and apologize for it. Dad would be way too happy, Marc acting as the resident Switzerland of the table, Christian as the crotchety old man, Juliet too vacant, and Noah too impulsive.
Meredith grinned at the waiter, “Hello sweet baby.”
“No.” I said aloud without realizing it. She was actually going to do number two on the worst case scenario list!
“Sweet baby, what’s your name?”
“Uh, it’s Nick.”
“Nick. How much are they paying you an hour to come over here and put me in my place?”
Oh no. We were going to a money place instead of open flirtation. I glanced around the room and wondered how nobody there realized we were about to be in hell.
“Uh. Minimum wage, ma’am.”
“Aw, that’s sweet.” Meredith reached into her pocket and pulled out two twenties, “If I give you $40, will you go tell your boss I have less than 24 hours to live and this is my farewell to the world party so I need to smoke during it.”
“Ah, ma’am, I.”
“$40 is a lot of money for one cigarette, Nick. Think about it.”
That did it. I stood up and marched over to her seat, snatched her cigarette from her hand and put it out in her drink, “I’m sorry about the inconvenience.”
“It’s perfectly alright,” I could see the relief wash over his scrawny frame. “Would everyone like to order now?”
“Yes, I believe we would.” I pointed to my wine glass, “I’ll take another glass of whatever that was and have whatever that gentleman in the dapper suit plans to order for me. And a glass of water for my mother.”
I leaned down and hissed into her ear, “You. Me. Bathroom now.”
“This is it, huh? You’re a fancy grown adult woman now?” Meredith asked.
“Will you please stop this and join me in the bathroom now?” I quietly mumbled as I tried to pull her to stand up next to me. Meredith pulled herself up like a marionette, all rickety while bending herself into her normal frame.
“We’re not going to the bathroom,” She told me as we both walked out to the club’s main entrance, “I’m not about to have you tell me I was behaving rudely or inappropriately in front of those two corpses.”
“This is exactly it, Meredith! Can you please, please be normal in front of them? You know I’m going to marry Marc.”
“Oh honey. You are not.”
“Yes I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am! Stop saying that!” I nearly stomped my foot but held back and watched my skin burn rosy red instead, “Why are you doing this?”
“Me?” Meredith lifted her arms up into the air, “What did I do wrong?”
“You aren’t embracing the love we have for each other! You never have! You don’t think I can get married!”
“Abby, I don’t doubt you can get married. You’re a smart girl. You have the opportunity to be able to marry at least four, maybe five times in your lifetime yet.”
“I love Marc and I will marry him.”
“You do love Marc, but you won’t marry him. Maybe you’ll marry another version of him. The semi-knockoff with a heart of gold who actually turns out to be kinder, gentler, and ages better.”
“No, I’m pretty sure that version you’re talking about IS the version I’m dating/engaged to.”
Here’s where things start to get a little blurred in my memory bank. Where the words begin to split apart and I forgot what is fully said and done. It’s kind of like I blacked out and came to sitting in my seat at the lunch table with everyone and this time, we were all at least learning to enjoy one another’s company. I presume at some point somebody or something will push me into trying to open this wound back up again. But they can’t for now. I’m in my thirties and that memory is locked up with a bunch of old passwords guarding it nobody remembers anymore.
I do recall, however, not one cigarette made another appearance that day. At least we ended on a high note.
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