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bookandcranny · 3 years

Text

Shortwave Radio

Why he decided to leave behind a perfectly good astral cluster and go sight-seeing on a spinning ball of dirt in this great cosmic nothing of a solar system is a mystery to the entire family, but it’s been almost ten years now and so they’ve all had no choice but to conclude that he’s not coming back any time soon.

The right thing to do is to support him in it, so says tender-hearted big brother Hercules, and if that means jumping through a few hoops to attend some strange human ceremony in this hot and lifeless wasteland, then that’s simply what they’ll do.

summary: Five siblings from the stars come to earth by invitation of their estranged little brother, who’s only request to them is that they take a road trip across the American southwest and try to learn to see this planet the way he sees it.

content warnings: dysfunctional families, carsickness, strong language, fear of abandonment, and accidental misgendering of a nonbinary character

length: about 7k words

also, have a playlist!

🛸🛸🛸

On a particularly sticky day in late July, a black minivan rolls up outside Gruber’s Convenience somewhere in the vague liminal world of the i-110 out of El Paso. Shimmering like a mirage the vehicle comes to a stop and five figures shuffle into the station. Working the counter is a greasy-faced teenager who calls himself Benj, though according to his nametag he’s Benjamin until the end of his shift.

If he weren’t intentionally ignoring the group that just walked in, resenting the loss of quiet and the cool air that just escaped with the chime of the door, Benj would notice a few things about them. For one thing, while they all look quite different, all five of them are wearing the exact same clothes: pale blue t-shirt, gray jeans, plain white sneakers, not a toe scuffed or sullied by the dust they kicked up coming in. They’re perfectly inconspicuous outfits, but too new, too deliberate in their banality.

The people in the clothes have much the same effect. They’re collections of ordinary, aesthetically pleasing parts assembled as if at random, almost uncanny at the wrong angle. Not supermodel pretty, but perhaps stock photo passable. One of them keeps touching things. Just, touching them. He trails his fingers over snack cakes and little pouches of corn nuts with an unreadable expression. Three of them are clustered together in front of the drinks fridge speaking in hushed tones.

The last one of the bunch is hovering in the corner making eyes at the shop’s resident mascot, Garfield, an uncreatively named tabby cat who’s taken to sleeping on a box underneath the AC unit. The cashier does notice her (he thinks she’s a her) if only because she’s kind of cute, in a straight-laced camp counselor kinda way. He’s already building up an idea of her in his head, every atom of it more false than he realizes.

The Christine or Sydney or whoever reaches down and gives the cat a poke, which turns into an experimental stroke.

“Mrph?” says Garfield, like cats do.

“Mrph?” parrots the... Liz maybe? No, not quite, he thinks. Garfield blinks at her, yawns. She withdraws, looking half offended by his indifference.

“Don’t take it personal,” Benj says. “He’s not very social.”

She looks at him for the first time and he reevaluates his earlier assessment. Eyes too pale, too far apart-- not ugly per se but definitely not worth the possible write-up he’d get for flirting with a customer.

“He’s the owner’s cat,” he babbles, scratching his chin and looking anywhere but at her. “Or so they say. Honestly I think he just showed up here one day and no one could get him to leave.”

Before she can reply, one of her matching buddies comes up to the register and dumps an assortment of snacks onto the counter. It’s a baffling, eclectic pile, but like any good retail worker Benj has long since learned not to examine anything too closely.

“Road trip, huh? Where are you guys headed?”

The radio behind the counter has gone all staticky. He fiddles with the antenna.

“Visiting family,” says snacks guy. His voice is soft and monotonous, a stark contrast as the guy’s built like a US SEAL.

Benj looks from face to face. “All of you?” He’s having a hard time believing any two of them are related.

He nods, once. A stiff, decisive shake of the head. The crackling of the radio is getting worse. Benj turns it off.

“Will that be everything, sir?”

Another nod.

“Herc, wait!” One of the man’s supposed relatives comes up behind him and shakes him by the shoulders. “Hercules, look at this.”

He slams a book down on the counter, one of the cheap paperbacks Gruber’s pedals between the condoms and the first-aid kit stuffings. The cover reads, “The Chest from The West” and features a heavily airbrushed model in a cowboy hat and unbuttoned flannel shirt.

“What am I looking at?” Herc asks.

“Get this too. I want to read it.”

“Why?”

He opens his mouth but whatever he’s about to say, Benj doesn’t really want to be present for it. He quickly scans the book and throws it cover-side-down into the bag. Let them work this one out on their own, hopefully somewhere else.

“Your total’s $29.75” He spins around to shake the radio, which is somehow now back on and blaring louder. When he turns back, the register is telling him everything’s been bought and paid for. Guy must be lightning quick with a credit card, he thinks.

“Huh. Guess you’re all set, man-- sir.” He hands them their bags. “Have fun at your family thing.”

He flashes the big guy a thumbs up. He looks strangely staggered by the gesture and replies haltingly, “Thank you. You also, have fun.”

“Come on, sibs,” the more energetic one chirps. “Cass? Cass, come on.” He drags his sister away from the cat, who’s just starting to warm up to her. “That’s you, remember? Let’s go.”

They don’t get any gas from the pumps outside. Benj is pretty sure he saw the testy looking one with the ponytail shoplift a bottle of off-brand cola, but he isn’t paid nearly enough to care. At least after they’re gone the radio starts working normally again.

Hercules drives, though it’s not so much driving as sitting in the driver’s seat and telling the van to go. Earth machines are simplistic and easy to manipulate. Slow though. Cass is riding “shotgun”, as is apparently customary for the navigator. Andromeda, Zeta, and Camelopardalis share the backseat, where the formermost is rehashing the same tired debate with the latter.

“We need to work out a better earth name for you,” he insists. “Myself, I’ve been doing some research and I’m thinking about going by ‘Andy’ from now on.”

“I’m not calling you that,” says Zeta.

Camelopardalis asks, “What’s wrong with the name I have?”

“It is a bit long,” Cassiopeia agrees. “A shorter one would help you fit in better.”

“Speaking of fitting in, something else has been bothering me. What’s your gender supposed to be?”

“My what?”

“You know, your gender. We all picked one.”

“It’s almost like you didn’t read the brief,” Zeta says, instigator that she is.

“It’s almost like none of you read the brief, that I took the time to write specifically to help you all acclimate to earth culture.”

“Zeta, don’t upset Cass,” Herc scolds.

“I’m not upset.” She turns in her seat to stare pointedly out the window. There isn’t much to look at, just miles upon miles of rolling desert interrupted by the occasional billboard or truck stop, all crawling by at a snail’s pace compared to the sort of travel they’re used to. Not that she’d recognize the analogy. She misses the cat.

Camelopardalis fiddles with their seatbelt. “Which one are you again?”

“I’m a ‘man’,” Andromeda recites. “Earth men are known for their physical prowess and carnivorous diet, they live in cave environments, and often congregate in packs called ‘fraternities’.” He waves the gas-station novel in the air. “I’m going to research their habits and perfect my persona. By the time I’m done with this I’ll practically be a local.”

“I don’t know… Zeta, what made you decide to be the other one?”

“Flipped a coin.”

“Women,” Cass informs them. “Can be most commonly identified by their long hair, fastidious hygiene habits, the use of traditional face paints to accentuate the eyes and lips, and by fleshy protrusions of the upper torso. Any of these traits can indicate an earth woman, though none are necessarily required.”

They throw up their hands. “How is that helpful at all then! Zeta?”

“What do you want me to do about it? I didn’t invent them. Hercules, are you sure these ‘snacks’ are safe to eat? They have a strange texture.”

“If you don’t like it, don’t eat it.” He punctuates the point by reaching back and grabbing a cream-filled cupcake off the pile. He tears the plastic with his teeth and eats half of it in a single bite. He barely tastes the thing, but he’s hoping if his siblings follow his lead their mouths will be too full to whine at him.

“Yeah, Zeta, don’t be a bitch.” Andromeda opens a pack of mini donuts, albeit more gingerly, and pops one into his mouth.

Cass whips her head around. “Where did you learn that word?”

He holds open the paperback and points to a page.

Austin hesitated. “I’ve never ridden a horse before. What if I fall?”

Derek chuckled manfully. “Don’t be a bitch, city boy,” he teased. Then he placed his large, calloused hand upon the small of Austin’s back. He leaned in and whispered, “Don’t worry, I won’t ever let you fall.”

The navigator leans over the center console and tries to snatch the book away but he dodges swiftly, clutching it to his chest.

“That’s foul language, Andromeda Alpheratz.”

“Earthers use this kind of speech with each other all the time. It’s a sign of familiarity and affection. You guys need to be less formal if you want to blend in.”

“If it’s meant to be an insult,” Camelopardalis wonders. “Why would they use it to convey affection.”

“Because they’re brutish, unevolved lifeforms,” Zeta sneers. “‘Blend in, blend in’. The rest of you can worry about blending in with the apes. I’m only doing this for Perseus.”

“We’re all doing this for Percy,” Hercules says in a chastising voice that makes even Zeta shrink down in her seat. “So can we please agree to be somewhat civil and not make this trip more painful than it needs to be?”

There’s a murmur of general agreement and peace is restored, however temporarily. Camelopardalis clears their throat.

“I still don’t really understand why we couldn’t land directly at Perseus Nine’s coordinates.”

Cass huffs, blowing a dark curl out of her face. “For the last time, Percy specifically requested we partake in the human ritual of the ‘road-trip’ for this last portion of our journey. It’s the same route he traveled the first time he came to earth, and apparently holds some sort of sentimental significance. It’s important to him we experience the same pilgrimage. For some reason.”

She adds the last part under her breath, knowing full well the others will still hear her. They can hear one another when separated by countless miles of empty space, their voices resonating from star to star, clear as a bell. Compared to that, the close proximity of a rented minivan is stifling. There’s an uncomfortable intimacy to it, these crudely assembled physical forms pressed together, bloated and heavy with all the trappings of humanity. Sweat and road dust and gravity cling to Cass like an over-warm coat and she longs for the cool estrangement that comes so easily in the void of space. It’s tough to be a star-dweller away from her star.

“The reasons don’t matter,” Herc declares, and his word is as good as law here. He is the eldest of them, though the concept of seniority is abstracted somewhat by the literal millennia they’ve all lived through.

Percy is the baby, as well as the black sheep of the family, so to speak. (His actual moniker among their kinfolk roughly translates to “the dissonant note”, a scathing insult for those who knew what it meant.) Why he decided to leave behind a perfectly good astral cluster and go sight-seeing on a spinning ball of dirt in this great cosmic nothing of a solar system is a mystery to the entire family, but it’s been almost ten years now and so they’ve all had no choice but to conclude that he’s not coming back any time soon.

“At least we can check one more stop off the list,” Zeta quips. “What’s next?”

Cass checks her itinerary. “We are to visit one national historic landmark, one ‘tourist trap’-- whatever that means-- followed by a stop at ‘Diane’s Diner’, home of the world’s best pie. After that, we can head straight to the meet-up location.” She glances at the clock on the dashboard. “We’re a little behind schedule but we should make it right on time as long as there are no unexpected delays.”

An hour and a half of driving later, Andromeda throws up corn chips and mini donuts all over the back of Herc’s seat.

They pull over on the side of the road. The desert sand is just beginning to give way to sparse yellow grass, brittle from the sun. Herc steadies Andromeda, looking viscerally displeased as he finishes emptying out his recently manifested stomach.

Camelopardalis frets through the whole episode. “We’ve all been eating the same food, except for Zeta. If it’s poisonous, one of us will be next.”

“It’s not poison, it’s carsickness,” Cass sighs. “Honestly, I’m starting to think none of you even looked at the brief.”

“Zeta, look in the back for something to clean up with.”

“Why me?”

“We’re going to lose so much time…”

“Would you rather hold him?”

Andromeda retches.

“Do you think Percy would care if we skipped a couple stops?”

“Cassiopeia Sigma,” Hercules begins sternly.

“Alright, alright. I’ll figure something out.”

Fortunately they’ve happened to stop within walking distance of something called The Trinity Site, according to the map. Camelopardalis and Cass go ahead to check another stop off the list while Zeta and Herc clean up the van and make sure Andromeda isn’t actually dying. (How embarrassing, to be a quasi-immortal astral being only to perish at the hands of a tainted twinkie.)

They wander from the roadside, following the map and occasional signposts, and shortly find themselves standing in front of an ominous looking stone obelisk with a bronze placard affixed to one side.

Trinity Site: Where the world’s first nuclear device was exploded on July 16th, 1945

There’s more but Cass stops reading. Camelopardalis asks her to explain what the plaque means by nuclear device-- they’re familiar with nuclear power as a concept, fission and fusion, ideas not far departed from the system of energy exchange that sustains their natural bodies in the heart of their stars-- but goes pale when she goes into the relevant applications of said devices.

“Wonderful,” she grumbles to herself as she snaps a few photos of the monument with a disposable camera. “I’m sure Percy will be thrilled.”

“Excuse me.”

The pair turn to see a man in a colorful button-up and khakis and a woman with a day-old sunburn peeling off beneath the straps of her tank top.

“Boy are we happy t’see the two of yous. Couldja take our picture real quick?”

The woman holds out a camera, a significantly more professional piece of equipment than the one Cass is holding.

“Oh, sure,” Cass replies. She’s nervous as she takes it from her hands. She’s never encountered this sub-species of human in her research before, and finds it difficult to parse the woman’s peculiar dialect. Both of them are smiling, but they’re also showing a lot more teeth (and a fair bit of gum) than she thinks is normal. A subtle threat?

Nevertheless, she fumbles with the camera for a moment before managing to take a decent snapshot. The man wraps an arm around his wife’s waist and she slots herself in against his side.

“Ope, wait, let’s do a silly one to send to Marsha and the kids. Were my eyes closed? No? Perfect, you’re a doll. We’ll leave you kids alone now.”

“Sure,” she says again, feeling out of pace.

“My nephew wears his hair like that,” the man says without segway. He’s talking to Camelopardalis, they realize. “It’s very… hip.”

They touch their hair. They hadn’t given it much thought before, might not ever have if he hadn’t pointed it out. It’s nice, they think.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

His expression flinches into a puzzled frown. Cass smacks their arm.

“Sir! Thank you, sir.”

After they’ve walked away Cass gives him another jab for good measure.

“His hair was longer than the other one’s,” they complain. “And the chest was sort of fleshy. How was I supposed to know?”

“We’re lucky you didn’t cause an incident. Earthers carry weapons in this part of the world.”

They rub their arm. “I don’t know, they seemed nice.”

Still they give a fleeting glance at the plaque behind them and argue no more.

They return to the van, now blessedly puke-free. Andromeda is looking better too. They all pile in and almost immediately Camelopardalis misses the freedom of being able to move without touching somebody. It may be their imagination, but the car seems to be moving slower than ever.

“How was it?” Zeta asks, despite her obvious disinterest.

“Uninspiring,” is Cass’ reply.

The other nods and doesn’t force her to elaborate. “I wish I knew what Perseus intended for us with this… chore list.”

“It’s not important, we just do it.”

Herc is always a steady presence, but even he is starting to sound annoyed with repeating himself. Zeta, of course, can’t leave well enough alone.

“If we just knew what he wanted us to do or say we could do it and go back to how we were before.”

Cass snaps. “Maybe you should stop complaining and make an effort for once.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The car erupts into a heated four-way argument. Only Hercules resolutely abstains from comment, though his hands tighten into fists on the steering wheel. The fight doesn’t end in resolution so much as exhaustion. Everyone’s too miserable to keep hurling accusations and insults for the next hundred miles, and at length they lapse back into tense silence.

Zeta rests her head against the window, taking the arythmic rattle into herself, breathing it out in silent, frenetic melodies. She dislikes fighting with her siblings, no matter what they might claim to the contrary. It doesn’t happen often, or didn’t, but things have been different since Percy left home. The littlest star-child had a natural soothing presence to him, one that she’d long taken for granted. Earth is so noisy, she thinks. She strains to listen but she can’t hear a trace of him anywhere.

She tries to imagine what he’d say, if he were here.

“What are we even doing?”

Probably not that, but she already has everyone’s attention now so she figures she might as well keep going.

“I mean, we’re still behind schedule, we can’t stop bickering, Andromeda can’t even eat right apparently, and I’m pretty sure half of us didn’t even look at Cassiopeia’s brief.”

“Are you getting to a point?” Cass asks irritably.

“I’m just saying we’re all… bitches.”

“Zeta!”

“Get comfortable with it! We’re all bad at this. Me, you, all of us. So can we just stop blaming each other and have a truce in the interest of getting this over with?”

Cass opens her mouth, then lets it fall shut, sinking back into her seat. For a moment it seems they’re heading for another long awkward silence, when Andromeda sits up and points out the window with a sudden urgency.

“Look!”

Herc slows down and they see a billboard lit up in eerie green neon light, directing them to the next off-ramp.

Must see attraction! Visit the one of a kind Ancient Aliens Exhibit!

The star-folk look at one another.

“Is this what they call a tourist trap?”

“It seems likely.”

Andromeda is glowing-- in a very literal sense-- with excitement. “It’s an exhibit about us.”

“‘Ancient’? Speak for yourself, I’m still only in my six-thousands.”

Needless to say, they do stop at the roadside museum. Cass takes pictures aplenty and, to her surprise, actually enjoys it. Andromeda is disappointed to find there isn’t actually a display dedicated to their kind. Instead there are a lot of grainy photos of some squat, bug-eyed species called “greys” and diagrams of the Egyptian pyramids for some reason. He gets over it by the time they get to the gift shop.

By unanimous decision, they do not buy anymore snacks, though Zeta’s eye does linger on a cooler in the corner advertising “the ice cream of the future!”. Herc does however buy a number of souvenirs. (Rather, he convinces the automated register to record a purchase that didn’t technically take place, and bumps up the number in the bank account of one very nice tour guide while he’s at it.)

They leave with a mood ring, a handful of polished stones in a small velvet bag, a “gravity defying” purple yo-yo shaped like a UFO, and Camelopardalis sheepishly lays claim to a friendly looking martian figurine with bendable limbs. Overall, spirits are much higher by the time they make it back to the van.

“Hercules,” his meek younger sibling ventures. “Could I try driving? I’ve been curious about it.”

Feeling generous and more than a little tired of staring out at the road for hours at a time, he agrees. He shows Camelopardalis the basics and makes sure they know how not to veer off the road or into other drivers and then he climbs into the middle backseat and stretches out his arms so the siblings on either side of him can tuck in against him and rest. Eventually even the diligent navigator Cassiopeia begins to doze. It’s been a long day and none of them are quite accustomed to the burden of having earthbound bodies.

When Andromeda wakes up the first thing he registers is that it’s getting dark, the day reduced to a slim red band sinking over the horizon. The second thing is the yelling.

“What do you mean you don’t know!”

“I thought I could read the map myself--”

“What about you, navigator? What were you doing?”

“--didn’t mean to--”

“As if you’re one to talk! I can’t believe--”

“--and you were the one who--”

“Shut up!”

Hercules’ normally subdued baritone booms through the van. The windshield wipers begin swinging as if in indignation, while the passengers wince and cover their ears. Andromeda can’t remember a time when his brother’s frequency had felt so violent. The shivering resonance it leaves behind makes his teeth ache.

There’s a pregnant pause, then Cass slams open the door and begins to pace.

“Shit!” she yells at the empty air. They’re parked in a field somewhere, no sign of life save for the buzzing of insects and the rumble of a train somewhere off in the distance. Cass kicks at the ground and screams again. “Shit fuck bitch hell! We are so fucking lost! And so fucking late!”

Andromeda winces again and gets out to try and calm her. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“It is not! We’re probably missing the ceremony right now. Percy will never forgive me for this.”

“It wasn’t your fault…”

“I’m supposed to be the navigator!”

“Well, yes, but…” The words come out strangled. He touches his chest and realizes he’s breathing rapidly. His eyes are beginning to water as well. “I should’ve… I didn’t…”

Zeta hurries over to him. “What’s wrong? Are you going to be sick again?”

Without warning he doubles over and begins bawling.

“Hercules, do something! Something’s wrong with him!”

“Don’t… don’t… don’t…” he gasps and stammers.

Herc clutches his brother. “Don’t what? Talk to me.”

“Don’t fight,” he finally chokes out. “I don’t want to lose anybody else.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Percy,” he sniffles miserably. “He doesn’t care about us anymore. He has earth now, and all his new earth friends, and we can’t even do this one thing for him. It’s my fault. I knew he hated when I called him a dissonant note and made fun of his earth music but I did it anyway. Now he probably hates me and all of us and this whole thing has been for nothing.”

The eldest braces his arms on Andromeda’s slumped shoulders. “Percy doesn’t hate us. He invited us here because he wanted to see us.”

“Herc’s right, Andromeda. Percy doesn’t have it in him to hate anyone.”

“It’s not easy, but he chose this. He chose earth. We have to respect that.”

Zeta grumbles, “And just what is so special about this stupid planet anyway?”

“It has cats,” Cassiopeia says quietly. Her sister glares but she stays firm. “Well it does. And… people.”

“Strange, silly earth people,” Camelopardalis adds, nervously fussing with their hair. “Confusing and contradictory and fascinating.”

“People who hurt each other for no good reason.”

“People who are kind for no good reason too.”

Andromeda wipes phosphorous tears from his eyes and takes out the rumpled gas-station paperback. “In this book Austin leaves his job as a big city lawyer to follow the cowboy he’s in love with.”

“You think Perseus traveled to earth for cowboy love?”

“It’s a possibility!”

Cass scoffs. “I honestly don’t think he was thinking that far ahead. You know Percy. He probably crash-landed without any plan whatsoever. Or, he probably thought he knew what he was doing, and then when he actually got there he was terrified. And then he probably didn’t want to say anything because he was afraid his siblings would think less of him once they realized he was actually just as clueless about earth stuff as they were. That would probably be really, really stressful for him.”

“Are we still talking about Percy?”

She makes a wordless noise of frustration and kicks up another patch of grass.

Andromeda puts an arm around her. “If… Percy was worried about that, I’d tell her-- him! I’d tell him that he shouldn’t be, because there’s nothing he could do that would make us stop believing in him.”

She exhales. “Thanks.”

“I was talking about you, Cass,” he whispers. “It’s you I believe in.”

“Thank you, I got that.”

“I just… miss him, I guess.”

Herc hums in agreement. “Barely a millennium old and he’s already grown up and gone completely terrestrial. This past century has been the longest of my existence.”

“Hercules, it’s only been ten years.”

That news causes him to make such a face that Zeta starts laughing. It’s the first time she’s so much as cracked a smile the entire trip.

“So… what do we do now?” Camelopardalis asks.

After a moment, Cass grabs the map off the dashboard and holds it open.

“A little more light please?”

They step up behind her and hold a glowing hand over the paper. Her brow creases in concentration.

“Alright, I think we’re somewhere around here,” She gestures. “And we need to be here. There’s no way we’re going to show up on time, but we can still show up. We owe him that much.”

They get in their seats, Herc back at the helm, and begin trying to reclaim the distance they lost with the unplanned detour. Cass breathes a sigh of relief when road signs start to reappear. A driver honks at them as they pick up speed and Herc steers closer and makes their radio start playing at top volume. Zeta opens the window and a cool night breeze tickles her skin. The stars are bright and beautiful above them, and looking up, suddenly home doesn’t feel so far away.

All at once they slow to a near stop.

“What’s going on? Why are we stopping?”

“Traffic,” Herc says like it’s a curse. “Looks like there was an accident.”

“Take this exit,” Cass commands. “We can cut through the next town and get ahead of it.”

So he does and soon they find themselves driving through the quiet streets of Kismet, Nevada. That is, quiet until Zeta catches sight of something out the window and yells, “Pull over!”

“What! What is it now!”

She points, and they see. The sign ahead reads, “Diane’s Diner: Home of the World’s Best Pie”. They pull in so fast they nearly end up colliding with a stout aproned woman who’s pushing a teetering hand cart across the lot.

“What do you maniacs think you’re doing?” she demands as they clambour out of the van.

“I’m very sorry, ma’am,” Cass says in a rush. “It is just very important to my siblings and I that we get to this establishment.”

The woman huffs. “You’re a mite late then, I’m afraid. We’re closing up early tonight. Got a big catering order I have to deliver.”

Herc asks, “Are you Diane, of the diner?”

She laughs. “Close. I’m Maddie Finkle of the diner. Diane’s my mother’s name. It’s a family business. But what brings you folks here looking for Diane at this time of night? I don’t think I’ve seen your faces around town before, and I always remember a customer.”

“Do you remember a customer named Percy? It would’ve been years ago, but this place was very important to him. He’s our brother.”

Maddie’s eyes light up. “Why didn’t you say so! Of course I know Percy. And if you rowdy lot are his siblings, then I’ve got a message for you.”

“A message?” Percy hadn’t said anything to them about a message. Maybe this was his way of ensuring they actually made it to the last stop on his list.

“Well, sort of. Come, come, help me load up all this grub and I’ll tell you everything.”

Herc and Zeta go to either side of her and help push the wobbly cart to a truck with the diner’s logo emblazoned on the side. As they load the boxes, Maddie speaks.

“I first met your Percy when I was just a waitress, mama still working the kitchen. One day this kid walks in, looking as lost as can be, comes straight up to the counter and tells me he’s just fallen from outer space and could use some assistance.” She barks a laugh. “I didn’t go for the whole alien thing but that second part was a lot more believable. He looked a mess. I asked if he needed something to eat but he just said he needed a safe place to rest for a moment. He’d been on his feet all day, walking and hitchhiking his way clear across the desert.

“Of course I wanted to know where he was going that was so important, but he said he didn’t know for sure yet. Said he was following a melody, a song he’d heard from very far away that had drawn him to this place. I told him I couldn’t help him there. The only music we had in the diner was this old stereo system mama had put in when she first opened the place and it was long broken. Mama was too sentimental to get rid of the old thing and the repairman couldn’t do anything for it so broken it stayed.

“He asked me to show him so I did, figuring it couldn’t hurt anything. Then that kid walked up to the busted speaker and just like that it started playing again like it was new. I told him, ‘For that, I owe you more than a place to rest your legs. Stay in town for a while, let us put you up and get you back on your feet, or at least let me drive you to the train station so you can get where you’re going.’ But he refused, and before long he was gone again.

“Then, not a couple days later, spaceboy comes back traveling with this other kid, heading in the opposite direction. I ask him what happened and he says he was going one way but he changed his mind and turned around. He leans in like he’s sharing a great big secret, like we’ve been friends all our lives, and says, ‘I found it, Maddie. I found the song.’ Weirdest kid I’ve ever met! But they make a cute couple, him and that boy, and they’re some of my best customers to this day.”

They finish packing up the truck, Maddie leaning leisurely against the fender as she reminisces. Herc frowns, confused.

“Was that the message?”

“Yup.” She pops the P. “He just told me to tell you the story. Not sure why. I mean, it’s a good story, I think. But you already know all about it, right? You’re his family after all.”

“No, he never told us,” he admits softly.

“Huh. Weird. But then, he’s kind of a weird kid, yeah? I always wondered, is it all you aliens who talk in riddles like that, or just him?”

“I thought you said you didn’t believe his claims.”

“I didn’t the first time, but if your Percy’s one thing it’s… Perc-istent.” When no one laughs, she pushes onward. “Well, that’s all of it. We’d better get a move on, huh?”

“‘We’?”

“Sure, aren’t you folks on your way to Percy’s place too? I figured you’d be staying over, and I gotta get everything set up for the wedding tomorrow.”

A palpable shock ripples through the star-folk. “Tomorrow?”

“‘Course, what did you think all this was for?” She pats the truck. “I wanted to get everything ready ahead of time so we’re good to go in the morning. It’s not easy being the caterer and providing my lovely self as a guest on the same day, but I couldn’t let those sweet boys down.”

Andromeda slumps over, leaning on Herc for support. “Percy told us the wedding was tonight.”

The chef raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone’s been having a little fun with you. Nah, they’re doing some sort of get-together tonight since neither one of the bachelors wanted a bachelor party, but the actual wedding ceremony’s definitely not until tomorrow.”

“I’m going to end him,” Cass mutters under her breath.

“Hurry up now,” she says. “I’m sure the groom-to-be’s expecting you.”

The five follow Maddie’s truck away from the main drags, away from the buildings, the scenery becoming gradually greener as the road turns from asphalt to gravel. At last they find themselves pulling up in front of the house that Percy has come to call home. It’s a raised ranch, flanked by evergreens and patchwork plots of small white and yellow flowers that Percy’s fiance must have planted, and a tower of plastic chairs and tables covered by a tarp.

It’s a nice place, large and somewhat secluded, set apart from the noise of traffic or threat of nosy human neighbors. Percy’s sensitive to loud noise and, after all, still an alien living in secret amongst humanity. Yet as they get out and follow the caterer where she’s cutting around back through the garden, they’re struck by the sounds of laughter and music and lively chatter.

A group of earthers are gathered on the patio, smiling faces lit by a string of twinkling lights. A man with a guitar strums along with the music coming from inside.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Andromeda whispers.

“You think there’s a second Perseus Nine about to be married in this town?” Cass shoots back.

Zeta hisses, “Quiet, I can hear him.”

To his surprise, Herc can too. Above the noise, laced into everything he touches, there is a resonance, his baby brother’s unique personal frequency. To describe it as sound alone would perhaps be inaccurate; it’s a vibration, an echo. Percy is everywhere in this place: his whispers and his shouts, his twinkling laugh, but also the part of him that no human being can detect, the part of him that is still, and will always be, of the stars.

He must sense them too, because in that moment he appears standing in the doorway, bathed in its yellow light. His face breaks out in a glowing grin and he runs to greet them, bolting like a comet being pulled into his siblings’ orbit.

“You made it!” he exclaims.

Zeta snorts and allows him to throw his arms around her. “No thanks to you and your list of demands.”

“You brat,” Cass accuses. “You told us the ceremony was tonight.”

Percy tilts his head to look at her, his expression not half as guilty as it should be. For a moment she reels at the sight of him; the body he’s constructed for himself has aged since the last time they crossed paths. It’s subtle, the way his dimples have deepened into true laugh lines, and his hair has grown ever longer, though it also isn’t as tangled as she remembers. He is still himself, underneath, the light of his true being faintly visible beneath the skin.

“I was worried if I told you the real date you wouldn’t make it in time. You’re not used to traveling the human way. It can be messy.”

She grimaces. “You’re not wrong.”

“You’re actually here way earlier than I thought you’d be.” His smile falters, only slightly. “This is… everyone?”

Herc swallows. “The others…” he begins, but quickly finds he doesn’t have the words that should follow.

“Well, it’s not like I had enough chairs for all two-hundred-ninety-seven of them anyway.” He reaches out and squeezes his brothers tightly. “Hercules, Andromeda, It’s so wonderful to see you. Camelopardalis, Cassiopeia, it means so much to me that you came. I know it probably wasn’t easy. Zeta…”

She scoffs. “The only hard part was putting up with these bitches.”

Hercules interjects, “We shouldn’t keep you from your party. Go on, I need to get some things from the van.”

“You didn’t bring presents, did you?”

“It’s customary for weddings, is it not?”

Percy grins. “You’re becoming a real expert on earth customs.”

He shrugs and looks at Cass. “I just read the brief.”

Percy invites his family in, along with Maddie, who is perfectly tickled by the siblings’ awkward affection. After helping her bring in the food, Percy beckons over the man with the guitar.

“Adam!”

The man looks up. He has a boyish, freckled face and a head of dark curls that spill over his brow. He sets down the instrument and comes to slot himself against Percy’s side, thoughtlessly, as if that was always where he was meant to be.

“I’d like to formally introduce you to my fiance, Adam. And Adam, this is my family.”

His smile broadens. “Hey, great to finally really meet you guys. Percy talks about you all the time. Did you have a long trip?”

They look at one another for a moment until finally Herc shrugs and says, “Only about twenty-five trillion miles, give or take.”

The happy couple linger for a moment longer, sharing stories and talking about honeymoon plans. Adam is especially thrilled when Andromeda and Zeta begin to co-narrate an embarrassing tale from Percy’s childhood in the Alpha Persei Cluster. Eventually though the pair wander off together, leaving the star-folk to their most harrowing challenge yet: mingling.

“Sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Camelopardalis.”

The guest, one of the couple’s mutual friends, goes a bit bug-eyed. “Wow, okay, that’s really cool. Kind of a mouthful though. Got a nickname?”

“Nick… name?”

“Like, something that your friends call you for short. My friends call me Dee, but my highschool nickname was Dent.” They point to a scar on the side of their head, just above their left ear. Their fair hair is buzzed short, making it easy to see. “Long story. What if for now I called you ‘Cam’?”

They consider it. “I think I’d like that.”

“Cool, nice to meet you, Cam.”

“Nice to meet you, Dee.” They hesitate. “Would you say you’re a man or a woman?”

Dee frowns.

“Nevermind! I’m so sorry, I just don’t understand the earth gender binary at all. Everything about it just seems so arbitrary and senseless.”

Oddly enough, their new friend perks back up at this.

“Honestly, same,” they laugh.

Andromeda joins shortly, having struck up a conversation with Dee’s partner who is deeply intrigued by his review of “The Chest from The West”. The three of them spend a while swapping book recommendations. Meanwhile, Zeta gets hit on by a slightly intoxicated young woman with an undercut and an eyebrow ring, although the star-dweller vastly misinterprets her none-too-subtle questioning about alien biology. Cass meets Adam and Percy’s pet dog, Chowder, and deems him as good a companion as the convenience store cat.

Herc catches Percy alone in the kitchen and the two have a long overdue talk. It’s clumsy but earnest, and when Herc mumbles something out about possible future family visits, Percy throws himself into his brother with such vigor that he momentarily forgets about gravity and starts to float off the ground.

“I’m sorry too, by the way, for the whole thing with the list,” he sighs. “It probably seems pretty stupid, I just kind of hoped I could get you to see this world the way I see it. Full of life and love and adventure.”

“And music,” he finishes, catching the way his gaze flits back to the patio. To Adam, singing softly and dancing with one of their friends.

He nods. “I thought maybe then you’d understand why this is so important to me.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to see earth the way you do,” Hercules confesses. “But I don’t think it was stupid of you to try either, and I don’t think it was for nothing.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the mood ring. The friendly prismatic face of a cartoon alien glints up at him. Perseus takes the gift with an understanding chuckle and slips it onto his pinky finger.

“No, not for nothing.”

Tomorrow, there will be a wedding. Percy and Adam will stand in front of their friends and family and exchange their vows. Adam’s mother will complain about them not booking a proper venue for just short of an annoying amount of time, Maddie will bring out a ridiculously tall tier cake that will taste almost as good as one of her mother’s pies, and for once Percy will not be the worst one on the dance floor.

Tomorrow, there will be a bright silver band around Percy’s fourth finger, neighbored by a smaller ring in the shape of an inside joke, and with all the weight of a promise.

#aliens #original fiction #writeblr #short story #original writing #road trip #me? posting my writing again? its more likely than u think #lgbt #my writing

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amoderndreamletdown · 3 years

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Surprise!

Summary: Flynn wakes up on her birthday to Julie acting strange, and suspects she might be up to something.

AKA a Flynn nolastname birthday fic for her birthday!

Flynn always woke up early on her birthday. Usually it was due to the numerous texts and calls she would get from her friends wishing her a happy birthday, but, when she went to check her phone there were no notifications, not even from Julie.

“Huh,” Flynn said, wondering if Julie was still sleeping. However, this question was quickly answered when Flynn’s phone began ringing and displayed Julie’s contact.

“Hey. Jules,” Flynn said, answering the phone.

“Hey, Flynn,” Julie responded.

“Guess what day it is!” Flynn said to Julie, expecting her to get the hint.

“April Fools day?” Julie asked.

“What?” Flynn asked, confused. “No. I mean, yeah it is, but that’s not what I was talking about.”

“What el- oh, right, your birthday,” Julie said. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks,” Flynn said, half-heartedly. “Did you seriously forget?”

“Sorry,” Julie apologized. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind with the band and everything.”

“Oh,” Flynn said, disappointed. “Are we still getting frozen yogurt?”

It was a tradition for Flynn and Julie to get frozen yogurt on both of their birthdays.

“Of course,” Julie said. “We could come to my house after, maybe hang out and order some pizza?”

“Yeah,” Flynn agreed. “That sounds fun.”

“Okay,” Julie said, and Flynn could hear the smile in her voice.

At noon, Julie and Flynn met up outside their favorite frozen yogurt shop on Sunset Boulevard.

“What flavor are you going to get?” Julie asked Flynn.

“Birthday cake and gummy bears, duh,” Flynn responded, stepping into the shop.

Julie laughed. “I’ll probably just get vanilla and cookie dough.”

“Boring,” Flynn responded, bumping into Julie’s shoulder and laughing.

Julie smiled and rolled her eyes. “I never got the appeal of putting gummy bears on frozen yogurt. They get hard and gross.”

“Hey, don’t you dare insult gummy bears on frozen yogurt,” Flynn told her.

Julie scrunched her nose, and began to fill up her bowl with frozen yogurt. Flynn followed her lead and began to put frozen yogurt in her own bowl. She then went over to the toppings counter and put sprinkles and gummy bears on her frozen yogurt.

“Gross,” Julie joked.

“You’re gross,” Flynn joked back. It wasn’t really a good comeback, but it was the best she could come up with.

Julie laughed, and motioned for Flynn to put her frozen yogurt on the scale. They knew the drill by now, whosoever birthday it wasn’t, had to pay for their frozen yogurt. Of course, neither of them minded, it was like buying the other a birthday present, even if they had already gotten them another.

Another tradition of theirs was to always eat outside. It didn’t matter how hot or cold it was, and if there were any tables left, they’d find a place to just sit and talk. They would finish their yogurt within minutes, but they would normally sit and talk for hours about random things like crushes and music. Luckily, they were able to find a table outside. They both sat down and began to eat their yogurt.

“So, how are you and Luke?” Flynn asked Julie, starting the conversation.

“We’re good,” Julie responded, her eyes twinkling. “We’ve written a lot of songs together, and I think we really click.”

Flynn smiled. “That’s great. I’m happy for you, Jules.”

Julie smiled even wider than before. “What about you and Carrie? Have you told her yet?”

“That I liked her?” Flynn asked. “Hell no. I mean I doubt she even likes me back. Besides, she just broke up with Nick.”

“Flynn that was months ago,” Julie told her. “And she told us she never really liked Nick anyways, she was just trying to hide her feelings for someone else.”

“I wish she had said who,” Flynn told Julie. “That would make this so much easier.”

Julie laughed. “You’ll figure it out, and, if you do tell her, just know you have my full support.”

Flynn smiled. “I already knew that, but thanks Jules.”

“Of course,” Julie said, then checked her phone. “Are you almost done. We need to get back to my house soon.”

“Why?” Flynn asked. “Is there something going on?”

“No,” Julie said, quickly. Too quickly, she was up to something.

“Okay,” Flynn said, suspicious.

Flynn finished her frozen yogurt then walked with Julie to her house.

“What is it?” Flynn kept pestering Julie.

“I’m not telling you,” Julie kept repeating, but Flynn kept trying to get it out of her, knowing she’d break eventually.

“C’mon Jules, please just tell me,” Flynn pestered.

“No,” Julie said, walking faster. Flynn knew it was to try and avoid her.

“C’mon, just give me a hint,” Flynn said.

“Nope,” Julie told her.

Flynn rolled her eyes. “Fine. Is it for my birthday?”

“Flynn-” Julie started, then replied, “maybe.”

“It so is!” Flynn said, excitedly, and gasped, “is it a surprise party?”

“N- yeah,” Julie said.

“Yes!” Flynn said, happily.

“Just try and act surprised, okay?” Julie asked.

“Fine,” Flynn said, then got more serious. “Did you invite Carrie?”

Julie laughed. “Of course I invited Carrie.”

Flynn smiled brightly. “Thanks, Jules.”

“Of course,” Julie responded.

When they got to Julie’s house, and everyone jumped out from their hiding places and yelled “surprise,” Flynn didn’t even have to pretend to be surprised. Almost everyone she knew was there including all of Dirty Candi, Nick, the Phantoms, Willie, and even Ray and Carlos.

“Wow,” Flynn had said. “Thanks guys.”

The crowd erupted into shouts of “you’re welcome,” “no problem,” and “of course.”

“Your presents are over on the couch if you want to open them,” Julie told her.

Flynn smiled, unlike Julie who insisted on eating cake before opening presents, Flynn was quite the opposite.

“Okay,” Flynn said, happily making her way over to the presents. She picked up the one closest to her. It was from Nick. Inside contained a pair of wireless headphones.

“For the next time you DJ,” Nick told her.

“Thanks,” Flynn thanked him, and set the box down. She then grabbed another one. This one was signed “from Dirty Candi.”

Flynn opened the box and found many pairs of earrings and a new shirt. Sure, it was a Dirty Candi shirt, but Flynn didn’t mind. Like Nick, she smiled and thanked them.

The next gift was from Ray and Carlos. She opened it up to find a new polaroid camera. She smiled, thanking them, as her old one had broken a few months before.

The next gift was from Willie and Alex. They had gotten her a skateboard and a helmet. She smiled.

“Are you finally gonna teach me to skateboard?” Flynn asked Willie.

Willie smiled. “I mean I would hope so, I got you the skateboard.”

Flynn laughed, then turned to Alex. “Thanks, both of you.”

Alex nodded. “Just make sure you wear the helmet.”

Flynn smiled. “Okay.”

The next present she opened was from Luke and Reggie. Inside she found a Sunset Curve T-shirt and a teal beanie.

“Thanks, guys!” Flynn exclaimed, getting on the beanie.

Luke and Reggie nodded.

The next gift Flynn grabbed was from Julie. She opened it to reveal a Julie and the Phantoms shirt that said “manager” on the back.

“I better be your manager,” Flynn said, and laughed. She then dug deeper into the gift bag and found a CD labeled “Flying Solo.”

“You recorded this?” Flynn asked.

Julie nodded. “Yeah, I figured it would be a good present.”

Flynn smiled. “You were right.”

Finally, Flynn opened the last present. It was from Carrie, which she didn’t expect since Dirty Candi had already given her a gift.

“You got me a present yourself?” Flynn asked Carrie, shocked.

Carrie nodded. “Yeah. Consider it the start of an apology for everything that I did.”

Flynn nodded, and opened the gift. In it, contained two front row VIP tickets to a Paramore concert, and the card simply said “date?”

“Really?” Flynn asked, happiness and adrenaline running through her body.

Carrie nodded. “If you want to.”

“Of course I want to!” Flynn exclaimed excitedly. “It’s a date.”

“A date?” Julie asked, excitedly, looking between the two of them, then smiled. “Okay, just have her home by midnight.”

Everyone laughed at Julie’s comment, but Flynn barely noticed. She couldn’t believe that Carrie had asked her out. She was so busy thinking about what she was going to wear that she almost missed Julie ask if she wanted cake.

“Yeah,” Flynn said. “That would be great.”

Flynn smiled. This was the best birthday she had ever had.

#me writing a fic at almost 1 am?#more likely then you think #some flarrie for the soul #also let's just say the phantoms became visible at the end of season 1 #and Flynn can see Willie #because i say so #julie and the phantoms #jatp #flynn nolastname #flynn jatp #flynn flynnigan #flarrie #netflixwewantjatpseason2

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hollenka99 · 5 years

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The Great War

Summary: Jackson Trinity continues to find more success, Jameson with it. However, a war rages on in Europe and it is inevitable that hearts will be broken by the end of it.

Warnings: Minor character death, World War One, references to infant/child mortality

July 29, 1914

Dear Mother,

I think I may have accidentally trained my son to call me Pops. He quite enjoys it when Siobhan and I sing 'Pop Goes The Weasel'. I think it may be his favourite tune. Siobhan will sing the song while I will pop to emphasize the last line by pulling my finger out of my mouth. He loves that. He has taken to following me around, attempting to do the same. Failing that, he tries to say the word.

So, I suppose I am 'Pops' now. I don't mind, especially with origins like these. Siobhan is still 'Momma'.

Yours, Jameson

August 5, 1914 Harvey,

I heard Great Britain declared war on Germany. I know exactly what that means for Canada. I also know what your intentions are. I disagree with them wholly. Enlisting is the wrong thing to do. You have three young daughters who rely on you, not to mention Edith. What would happen to them while you were away getting shot at?

I don't know whether you miss South Africa, the structure of the army or simply enjoy risking your safety. I cannot begin to imagine why you are so set on enlisting. I could tell you would be the type to come running at Hughes' beck and call. And to think, I counted myself lucky that the British had not yet announced their plans to get involved.

Yours, Jameson

August 21, 1914 Jameson,

For someone who is rarely verbal, you have surprising trouble knowing when to keep your mouth shut.

I am fully aware of the risks involved with warfare. Have you forgotten that I have military experience? I've already fought against those primitive Boers. The Europeans should be an actual fight worth being part of.

Furthermore, don't speak to me about leaving family behind. You make constant promises of visiting Saint John yet never deliver upon them. You are forever telling us you plan to see your nieces and nephews then never show. We wouldn't know what Anthony looks like if it were not for those meaningless photographs you send. When you stop turning your back on us so you can progress your career, perhaps then we can discuss familial commitment.

It's all glamorous for you, the beginnings of a life in the spotlight. Soon, you'll have it all. By the end of the decade, you'll be living in a large expensive home with an impressive array of influential acquaintances. One day, it will all come crashing down on you. Technology will advance further than you can cope and it will leave you irrelevant. Face it Jameson, moving pictures are going to have sound eventually. Where is that going to leave a mute such as yourself?

My daughters will grow up knowing their father served their country bravely, an ordinary hero like thousands of others. All Anthony will have to be proud of is a father who starred in the pictures before he became forgotten about.

Yours, Harvey

September 7, 1914 Harvey,

Don't try insult me.

When I inevitably have to hold our mother as she grieves, I'll remember how stubbornly arrogant you have been. You weren't there for over two years. There wasn't a day where she wouldn't worry endlessly for your safety. Then Father died. We had to watch her fall apart. He'd been ill during Christmastide and he barely saw the new year. She became a widow and all she would talk about was the goddamn telegram she swore she would receive any day. It was hell to see her like that. I may live on the other side of the continent, in whole other country, but I know where her head will go as soon as you leave Saint John. I'm not 13 any longer. I am not at home to ensure she is not fixated on very possible outcomes. The only one left in Saint John will be Mabel. God knows she pulled her weight and then some at the beginning of this century. Once again, you're tearing everything apart.

It is clear you have rendered yourself deaf to sense. So go. Go get yourself killed. Allow yourself to be shot at, far away from home and curse your family with bereavement. Make your daughters question what their absent father was like. I don't care if you find your life at the factory tedious. Your outlet should not be risking everything that matters. No brother of mine would turn his back on family.

Furthermore, I have been to Saint John with Anthony. You could have met him if you weren't celebrating Thanksgiving elsewhere. I know my career has a time limit. It is why I am so determined to succeed and give my son the best life possible. Far better than the life you could ever provide your children. I may have been happy to lend you some of my profits, if you weren't acting like an ass.

Yours, Jameson

October 19, 1914 Dear Jameson,

While I am tired of hearing about your argument with Harvey, I thought you have the right to be updated. He went to Quebec earlier this week to hear Sam Hughes' speak before being shipped across the Atlantic. The girls and I will be okay. Your mother has kindly offered to let us stay at her home should we ever need it.

I share a similar view to yours regarding all of this. I by no means wished for him to leave. He wholeheartedly believes this is what he should do. The government is bound to release propaganda to encourage enlistment eventually. I suppose, as his wife, I can't do anything but trust he will return.

All the best, Edith

November 11, 1914 Dear Mother,

Siobhan has been longing for a pet for several months now. We have made the commitment of owning a dog. It is a Dalmatian she has named Lyra. Anthony has immediately taken to her. My only concern is that he will treat her too roughly and she will defend herself aggressively. He doesn't know much better but we are trying to prevent anything from happening.

I have taken to helping train her in my spare time. It is refreshing to be obeyed by a creature of lesser intelligence. It may be too soon for results to show but it is a start. Perhaps you should get yourself a dog as well. I'm sure Harvey's girls would adore one. Mabel might be interested in introducing a pet into her family. That said, Walter (if he is indeed a boy as she insists) is going to be born any day now. Maybe she should wait until her sons are older.

Yours, Jameson

April 13, 1915 Dear Mother,

Have you seen Chaplin's latest? That Tramp character looks like he has promise. My Jolly Gentleman is selling well also. I am grateful people adore him. He is dear to me. Could you imagine a meeting between Chaplin's Tramp and my Gentleman? It would be quite the escapade.

Did Cliff tell you I've met the man? They are acquaintances from their respective times at Keystone. I met Cliff outside of the studios at the end of a day of filming. Chaplin was there too. Cliff introduced us so I did my best to strike a short conversation. He comes across as a good fellow. If I'm going to be honest, I find it difficult to imagine he and the Tramp share the same face. I doubt people have the same issue with me as my moustache is genuine.

Yours, Jameson

June 11, 1915 Dear all,

We're amazed by how successful 'Puppet Man' has become. To think, the idea came to me from a children's book. I bought a copy of Carlo Collodi's 'The Adventures of Pinocchio' last year. It is originally Italian but a woman named Mary Alice Murray translated it into English. It has illustrations and I generally thought Anthony would enjoy it. Instead, I found myself reading it.

It's about a carpenter who creates the eponymous puppet boy. Pinocchio is a compulsive lair and by the end he finds himself as real of a boy as any reading the story. The Christian message is blatant but overall, it is not a bad book. My only issue with it is the scene where bandits hang Pinocchio until they tire of waiting for him to suffocate. I am not sure whether I will include that part when reading it to Anthony.

I never plagiarized. 'Puppet Man' was merely inspired by the story. I could never use the elongating nose because that trait is unique to Pinocchio. Honestly, the only similarities between the two are that a puppet finds life by the finale.

Still, $300,000 is a lot of money. We've never made this much profit before. It's not our first feature film but this is Pearl's directorial debut. This may be the big break we've been hoping for. We have nothing to do but celebrate and plan how to proceed.

Yours, Jameson

Oliver Charles Jackson Male October 21, 1915 Los Angeles Siobhan O'Hara Jameson Jackson

October 30, 1915 Dear all,

It seems we have a jealous older brother on our hands. Yesterday, we found Anthony hiding Oliver in his toy box after he emptied it, saying it was all Oliver's fault. When he noticed we were watching, he cried. He says we stopped paying attention to him and that he's been replaced. I attempted to calmly explain to him why we don't bury baby brothers in our toys.

It may take time for him to get used to this new arrangement. Let us hope the two are on better terms eventually. As of now, it is clear he is the same Anthony he was a month ago. He later leaned over the cot and reminded 'Ollie' who was in control but was apologetic when caught. He's just attention-seeking now that his parents have to dedicate more time to the baby. I was similarly upset with Pearl, wasn't I?

Yours amusingly, Jameson

January 23, 1916 Dear Jameson,

It was delightful to see you reprising your role as best man at Cliff's wedding. Anthony made a good ring bearer, even if he was a little side-tracked by the amount of guests present. Furthermore, I loved meeting baby Oliver. Either he was on his best behaviour or Anthony is finally beginning to warm to his brother.

I was wrong about Loretta. She is a charming woman and I am glad she has now joined our family. You were right, his relationship with her is worlds away from what he had with Elizabeth. While I do wish them a happy life with children, I can't help but wonder what became of Clara and Daniel. They are still his children, even if none of us have laid eyes on them in years. Let's hope their future half-siblings will be raised with their father present.

Yours, Your mother

May 1, 1916 Dear all,

I have been following the recent rebellion in Ireland. I wasn't exactly supportive of the Unionists using violence to promote their views. Then a British soldier began using human shields and shot a child who was likely minding his own business. His superiors better take appropriate action after this. I'm not necessarily saying the man must hang but he should be punished accordingly. And no plea of insanity. If I hear he gets away with his despicable actions because he feigns insanity or the British turn a blind eye, I will be furious. I sincerely hope the Irish won't let this rebellion be forgotten. I don't endorse the fighting, especially as Europe has enough blood being shed as it is, but I do understand their struggle.

I wonder what Granny would make of all this. It's impossible to forget the passion with which she would insist it was never a famine but a starvation. She had every right to be feel strongly on the subject. I may have listened to her a little too intently as a child. Although, she was always right about the British making their way up the global hierarchy. The sun may never set on the British Empire but maybe it should, it would be easier to pretend blood didn't water the soil years ago.

I've learned two things over the past few years. I find myself somewhat impassioned when it comes to the British and pacifism. I prefer to stay slow to anger. I doubt I will ever cease reacting strongly to those subjects. I plan to stop so I do not carry on this narrow-minded attitude in my sons. Besides, Siobhan is the Irish one. She doesn't have as strong of an opinion on British rule.

I suspect the Irish will continue fighting for the Ireland they want during the remainder of this century. I can only hope the fatalities and casualties involved in this is kept to a minimum.

Yours, Jameson

June 23, 1916 Dear Mother,

The other day, Anthony must have been somewhat bored because he heaved his brother off the floor and made Ollie 'ride' Lyra. I'm not sure how she felt about the incident but she didn't react negatively. Oliver, however, wasn't too pleased to be handled in such a way. Eight months after meeting his brother, Anthony is still learning how to be gentle. I suppose there have been worse brothers. Didn't Cliff try to drag me into the sea at one point because I tripped on his blocks? I glad our relationship has matured and he isn't planning my murder anymore.

I managed to capture the moment. It is a little blurry but you can see well enough what Anthony is doing. I hope you enjoy the photograph.

Yours, Jameson

July 16, 1916 Dear Jameson,

Do you remember David Wynton? The two of you used to be such close friends. You seemed to lose touch with each other after you left for New York. I never really understood why that happened.

I am so sorry, Jameson. I ran into his mother at the market and we began to talk. She received a telegram earlier this month. I didn't know how to respond. I wish I didn't have to tell you about his death. You should at least know.

You have my sympathy, Your mother

August 1, 1916 Dear Mother,

Thank you for telling me the news. Although, I think you may be mistaken. David and I still talked to each other until last year. I'll admit it was at a decreased frequency than in our youth but we corresponded nonetheless. In fact, he was at the wedding. Do you not remember?

Anthony is excited for his fourth birthday next Monday. He is very confused as to why his Pops has suddenly decided to stop playing with him. I feel bad for subjecting him to this unexplained change in behaviour. I'm not sure whether he would even understand the concept of death. I found myself telling Oliver about David last night as I prepared him for bedtime. Nine month olds are not inclined to ask you questions throughout your story. In the end, I had to pass him to Siobhan.

Siobhan herself is very understanding. I am grateful for that, not that I ever expected her to be anything but supportive in times like these. There are boys she knew from Limerick who are never coming home too.

I wish this war would end already. In the very least, we still have Harvey. As against his decision as I am, I do miss him. If this is how affected I am by the death of a lifelong friend, I cannot bare the thought of losing a brother.

Tell his family I am thinking of them, Jameson

October 12, 1916 Dear Mother,

It was odd to be back in Saint John after the news earlier this year. Even stranger was visiting David's family for a moment to personally give my sympathies, only to discover he has a son. He'd told me he had a girlfriend but never mentioned she had been expecting when he left. Maybe he believed I'd think less of him because the boy is illegitimate. I never could judge him for that.

It is funny that his son is named Winston. David was always jokingly telling me he would have a son with that name. I would proceed to chuckle and encourage him to do so with jest. I am beginning to question whether he had been serious the whole time. I do find it humorous that there is a Winston Wynton out there in the world. That knowledge makes it easier to carry on without being able to properly bid farewell to his father.

If I were raising my sons in Saint John, I would like the three boys to be friends, preferably as close as their fathers were.

Yours, Jameson

November 27, 1916 Dear Mother,

If you hear anything about a lawsuit involving us, ignore it. It is complete nonsense. Keystone claim Cliff has performed mutiny, betrayed them, whatever drivel they are spouting this week. There is no case. There was no legal agreement that Cliff wouldn't return to Jackson Trinity during his contract with Keystone. Even so, he had little involvement with our productions during that time out of respect. His contract had been ceased for several months before any of these allegations began.

We have found ourselves a decent lawyer, simply for the security of it. It is best to prepare in case Keystone's legal team is persuasive. He agrees this is all hot air but understands why we are being cautious.

Yours, Jameson

April 6, 1917 Dear all,

Nearly three years into the war, the United States of America has declared war on Germany. I suppose the allies are glad for the extra help. God knows how long this conflict will last. I recall people insisting it would all be over by Christmas. Three years ago. There are hundreds of thousands of American men who are of the right age and fitness to enlist. With all those new recruits, perhaps this is the boost the allies need to win.

However long this war lasts, I am dreading the first glimpse of how affected the country is by the deaths of family members that will inevitably come. Let's pray it will be this Christmas that we can celebrate peacetime once more.

Yours, Jameson

July 21, 1917 Dear all,

The case has been won in our favour. The three of us are relieved. We will celebrate quietly then return to business as usual. This was simply an annoying blip.

Just thought I'd update you on our situation.

Yours, Jameson

October 14, 1917 Dear Jameson,

How are you doing? I am looking forward to seeing you again one day. It will be a good day. We can share a drink and you can live up to your name, Whiskey. With an Irish wife, I expect you to outdrink me with ease. I would kill for some alcohol now.

I wanted to apologize, Jem. We've had a tense relationship over these past few years and I've sensed the distance between us. I thought I knew full well how dangerous the battlefield can be. I know that far better than you, yet I was the one who chose to join regardless. I've since discovered France is nothing like South Africa.

You've constantly blamed me for abandoning my family. I can assure you that I love Edith and my daughters. All I wanted was for them to grow up with a favourable impression of me. Isn't that what we all wish for, our children wanting to follow in our example? You have no idea how desperately I'd love to see them right now. I want to be reunited with you all.

I want you to know I'm proud of you. While we can't exactly go to the pictures here, I have heard a fair amount of news about your success from Saint John. I know it is a team effort and the three of you are just as responsible for your rise as each other. That said, there would be no movie without a script. All the actors are doing are bringing your stories to life. You were always good with a pen. You're not bad with arithmancy but, trust me Jem, you would be wasted as an accountant.

I've also heard you've given Anthony a little brother. Make sure they don't end up like us. No one person can control the events of the world but you can raise your sons on knowledge of our mistakes. Teach them to be forgiving. Teach them time is not always their ally. Most importantly, teach them to treasure each other and never forsake the bond they were gifted. If they don't heed those words, then it all goes to waste.

I'm in the infirmary right now. Breathed in something I shouldn't have. It was unintentional but I am sitting here, resenting my foolishness. I hope you can forgive me for all our quarrels. I will be fine, don't you worry. We can shake hands the next time we meet.

Wishing you a long and happy life, Harvey

October 26, 1917 Dear Clifford, Jameson and Pearl,

I'm sure you are all hard at work. I am looking forward to watching your latest feature at the Imperial. However, I insist that you return home immediately. I received a telegram regarding Harvey. The worst has happened. We need to be together as a family.

Regrettably awaiting your arrival, Your mother

November 4, 1917 Dear Harvey,

Yes, you are a fool. But so am I. This is my fault. I've been so angry at the prospect of losing those dear to me I acted irrationally.

Dorothy, Alice and Minerva could never see you in a bad light. They only wish to have you home for good. You've missed three years of their lives but it can be rectified. I hear from Edith that next year, Dorothy and Minnie are beginning middle school and elementary school respectively. Be there for that. They are growing up faster than you'd like. I struggle to understand how Anthony and Ollie are already 5 and 2 years old.

I know you never cared for ancient texts but I am reminded of a moment during the Trojan War. There was a disagreement between Agamemnon and Achilles. After Achilles' good friend (some argued lover) dies protecting his honour, Agamemnon apologizes to Achilles. He says something along the lines of the gods stealing their common sense. I feel that applies to us.

God must have stolen both of our common sense. I am willing to let bygone be bygones so long as you

March 6, 1918 Dear Jameson,

We saw your latest film. We can't say we enjoyed the messages it conveyed.

I will warn you once and once only; do not let your works become political. This will get you nowhere and destroy the reputation you have earned. Especially when you come to your senses and remind yourself that the war in Europe is yet to reach its conclusion.

I understand Jem, I truly do. We are all doing our best to carry on without Harvey. Making a film about boys being raised to fight is not the right way to grieve. For the love of God, you used your sons! I hope you feel at least the slightest bit of shame. How Cliff or Pearl, let alone your wife, allowed you to use them is a mystery to me.

I remember the happy boy who would steal my candy when he thought I wasn't looking. I remember the brother who smiled whenever he was ill so we wouldn't fret too much. I remember the Jem who had his voice stolen as a child, his health forever compromised, but took it all in his stride.

I don't recall a man with an uncharacteristically dark mind.

You have so much to be happy about. Your third child is due in June, you have a successful career and business, your wife cares for you and you still have three other siblings who have always been there for you.

Please think things through, Mabel

Sophia Evelyn Jackson Female April 29, 1918 Los Angeles Siobhan O'Hara Jameson Jackson

May 8, 1918 Dear Mother,

Sophia arrived a week ago on the 29th. She is 5 weeks too early and I have been so consumed with anxiety that I forgot to even inform you of her birth. I apologize.

The boys haven't been able to properly meet their sister. Children are so susceptible to diseases. God forbid one of them develops a cold and interacts with Sophia. She is so unbearably fragile as of right now. All it takes is for her to be infected with a common illness, one that is relatively harmless, and she could be gone.

I fear that will be the thing to push me over the edge. Harvey's death is fresh and I can't bare to lose more of those I care for. Everything is out of my control and cruelly so. I know there were two between myself and Pearl. Siobhan had a number of older siblings she never got to meet. Was this how it was for you and her parents? I know Cliff and I had a habit of making a nuisance of ourselves. If we caused you distress while you suffered this way, I cannot begin to apologize enough.

I don't care if she is a sickly child. She can spend her whole life bedridden and I will care for her with everything I have. I will happily remain paranoid regarding her wellbeing for as long as I live. If she must be isolated for her own good, I will keep her company. So long as she is still here. There cannot be any other alternative.

Wishing I could have given you good news, Jameson

November 12, 1918 Dear all,

It's over! It's finally over. I may have shed a tear or two when I heard the news. I can't help but think of all the fortunate families who will be welcoming their fathers, husbands and brothers back home. I can't imagine how relieved they must be at the announcement. Then there are families such as ours who will find all of this bittersweet. I suppose the only comfort we can have is that no more will have to grieve like us because of the Great War.

They call it the war to end all wars and, as desperately hopeful as I am that will prove true, I know what Man is like. Give it a century or so. The survivors will pass war stories down to their sons and grandsons. One day, this war will be but a collection of stories and some fool will cause history to repeat itself.

I'll do what I can to make sure neither Anthony nor Oliver will end up that fool. I hated having to raise them during such a horrific conflict. I hope they won't remember this part of their life. Six and three years of age is too young to retain vivid memories, I think.

Thinking of you, Jameson

#the life of jameson jackson #tlojj #writersofjack #my writing #jameson jackson #jacksepticeye #crosspost #originally posted on Quotev and AO3 on Nov 11th 2018 #minor character death #world war 1 #ww1

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mariequitecontrarie · 6 years

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People Will Talk: Part 2

Summary: Atticus Gold and newcomer Belle French have developed a relationship no one in Storybrooke approves of, and people make their opinion known in small-minded, small-town fashion: he’s too old for her, and the pretty young librarian needs to find friends her own age. When Gold ends the relationship to protect Belle’s reputation, the town turns on him again. To make matters worse, his friends and family are mad at him, too. But as we all know, love wins in the end. Chapter Summary: Gold hasn't seen Belle in two weeks and Alice is not happy with him. Belle gets an unpleasant surprise. Rating / Word Count: T / 3000 A/N: Continuing Marie’s Three-Year Writing Anniversary Rumor/Assumed Fake Dating/Family AU that no one asked for. @maplesyrupao3 -- bless you!

On AO3

Part 1 on AO3 | Part 1 on Tumblr

Two Weeks Later

“Alice, why are you looking at me like that?”

Gold held his breath and waited, cursing himself for asking. He was guaranteed not to like the answer, but anything was better than the silent treatment.

Alice stopped dusting the cabinet of china dolls to fix him with another poisonous glare. “Because you’re a horse’s ass who has more money than brains.”

“Noted. Can you at least keep up with your duties while you insult me? Time is still money, dearie, even here in the barnyard.” Squabbling, at least, was familiar territory.

Gold waved a hand around the tidy pawnshop, wondering who worked for whom. He owned the store, but Alice called the shots. Sometimes it seemed like his only job was bankrolling Alice’s Amazon Prime spending sprees while she worked her way through Storybrooke College.

The only person he knew who shopped more than Alice was...no, he wasn’t going there.

Still glowering at him like he was something she scraped from the bottom of her shoe, Alice worked her way around the perimeter of the shop with her feather duster. He had to admit she did keep the cobwebs at bay and his stockroom organized, even if she annoyed the hell out of him in the process.

He glanced at the restored cuckoo clock on the wall. It was almost lunchtime, and Alice had been scowling at him since she’d shown up for work this morning. Trying to ignore her, he eased behind the counter and opened the books.

She fell silent for a short, precious moment, then slapped her hands on the countertop.“Ha! I know what your problem is. You’re in a foul temper because you haven’t seen your sweetheart. Belle hasn’t popped in for two weeks. What’s wrong? Lovers’ quarrel?”

“Beg pardon?” he asked, pretending to study his ledgers.

Feigning ignorance never worked on Alice. So like a Jones. Stubborn and mouthy, just like her father. She continued to bore holes into the top of his head, muttering to herself about how he was apologizing to the wrong person until he looked up with a long-suffering sigh.

Talking, talking. Why was the girl always talking? An ocular migraine threatened to form, sharp and urgent above his nose. Tiny sparks exploded in his peripheral vision, and he pressed his fingers against his forehead.

He supposed he could send his little conscience home from work to get her out of his way, but she was more than an employee—she was his goddaughter—and he’d promised Hook he would keep tabs on Alice while he was at sea. Killian “Hook” Jones’ career as a Naval officer meant lengthy tours of duty up to six months, and he knew Alice and her papa missed each other dreadfully while he was away. Guilt poked his conscience; he hadn’t emailed Hook with an update in at least two weeks. But he knew his oldest (and only) friend would question him about Belle, and he was neither willing to lie nor ready to confide. Besides, he reasoned, Alice could text her papa anytime she wanted with her smartphone thingy.

“If you’re not going to work, why don’t you study?” he murmured, trying to concentrate on his July sales numbers. “Isn’t there a women’s lit paper due tomorrow or something?”

“Books!” she shouted, making him jump. “That’s it! Why don’t you take these books back to the library for me?”

Alice plopped a pile of novels on top of the financials, jarring him from his thoughts. He pinched the bridge of his nose hard. Now he would have to rework the column of numbers all over again.

“I was hoping to get advice from Belle on a dress for my date with Robin on Friday, but this’ll give you an excuse to see her instead.” Alice grinned, delighted with her solution.

He shoved the books aside with a huff. “I’m not looking for an excuse.”

“Why the hell not?” Abandoning the pretense of working entirely, she dropped the feather duster on the floor and hoisted herself up on top of the counter.

He set his teeth on edge. “Belle and I aren’t friends anymore.”

“Friends?” She smirked. “If you’re friends, then I’m straight. Hate to break it to you, Uncle Atty, but you two have never been friends. She’s in love with you! And you love her, too.”

“What makes you say so?” he asked carefully, looking at his nails.

“Oh, I don’t know. The dark circles under your eyes. The constipated look on your face. You look like a saggy, twitchy, miserable old man.” She held up a brown paper bag. “Want a sandwich?”

He turned around, assessing his appearance in the antique mirror that hung on the wall behind the cash register. “I am a saggy, twitchy, miserable old man,” he snapped. “And no, I’m not hungry.”

“When Belle’s around, you look all soft and floppy and happy, like Rabbit does whenever I come home.” Alice smiled another cheeky grin.

He smiled back at her in spite of himself. “Well, I’ve been called worse, dearie, but If you’re expecting to bring me to heel like that stupid old dog of yours, it’ll be a cold day in hell.” He slammed the ledger closed and headed for the workroom. The girl trailed after him, still clutching her paper sack.

“I have egg salad,” she teased, shaking the bag. “Your favorite.”

It used to be. He shuddered, his stomach lurching. Eggs were a definite no. Now whenever he saw any sort of egg concoction, he thought of Belle’s pinched, white face on that hot July afternoon thirteen days ago when he ended their friendship. Not that he was counting the days since they’d been apart.

“I don’t eat eggs anymore,” he said. “Too much cholesterol.” No one knew his house had been egged besides Belle, and he wasn’t going to whine about it to Alice. He still had some pride. “You don’t like eggs, you don’t like Belle.” Alice spread her hands wide and twirled in a circle. “What do you like, Sam-I-Am?”

He pulled a face. “Peace and quiet. Both seem to be in short supply.”

Laughing at his sour expression, she plopped down on one of the stools at the work table and dangled her sandwich in front of his nose. “How about marmalade? I’ll trade ya.”

Alice was volunteering to eat the egg salad and offering her favorite lunch. Things really were as bad as they seemed, then. “Fine.”

Resigned, he sat down beside her, accepting half of the sandwich. He took a small bite to stop her prattling, but he had no appetite. Food had no flavor, the whole world drained of color and light without Belle. He missed her; her laughter, her touches, her insatiable appetite for stuffed crust pizza.

“Eat,” Alice insisted, clucking over him like a little mama.

He swallowed the bite of sandwich and forced himself to take another. “So, did you choose a dress for your date?” he asked, attempting both to change the subject and rejoin the land of the living. “Where are you and Robin going?”

“It’s just Tony’s.” Alice shrugged like the occasion was no big deal, and took a massive bite of her sandwich.

A six month anniversary is an important milestone.” He took out his pocket square and folded it into a perfect crown, trying not to be hurt that she hadn’t asked his advice. “Your father wouldn’t know style if it bit him on the arse, but I know my way around a clothing boutique.”

“I know,” she said around a mouthful of egg salad. “But I was kinda wanting the opinion of another woman. No offense.”

‘Another woman’ meant Belle. He cleared his throat. “None taken.” Not for the first time he was reminded that walking away from Belle didn’t only affect him. Alice looked up to Belle like an older sister, and he hoped his relationship failings weren’t driving a wedge between Alice and Belle, too.

Poking at the crust on his sandwich, he wondered what Belle was doing right now. She was probably balancing a book on her lap while she ate, dropping sandwich crumbs between the pages and... no. Gold mentally slapped himself. Cutting a person out of your life meant giving up the right to wonder.

Alice polished off the first half of her sandwich and started on the second. “Belle was at Granny’s the other night,” she offered slyly, employing her uncanny knack for reading his mind.

He choked on the sticky bit of bread in his mouth. “Oh? With anyone?” Ugh . When it came to the people he cared about, he was terrible at nonchalance.

“Yeah. Tall bloke with sparkling blue eyes and a strong, lean jaw.” She batted her eyelashes. “Didn’t recognize him, but it looked like a date.”

Date? Belle had gone on a date? He would find out who the bastard was and he would crush his windpipe with his cane. Gold looked down at his hands. They were coated in marmalade, the mangled sandwich crushed between his palms.

“Way to play it cool, Uncle Atty.” Alice smirked and he rose to wash his sticky hands. “I’m kidding. But I wouldn’t have made a joke if I knew you were this upset. Belle was at a booth with some other people. Ruby, Mulan, and Mary Margaret. Waved at me once, but she was picking at her food and staring at the wall whenever I tried to catch her eye. It’s obvious she’s missing you. Can’t you fix this?”

“I couldn’t possibly be intelligent enough to do that,” he said, grateful sarcasm was there to cover his relief at Belle not being on a date after all.

“Mmm, I see.” Alice rolled her eyes. “She’s the first woman who saw through your little act, isn’t she? Now you’re grouchy because you’ve gone and screwed up the best thing in your life because some Granny, Marco, and some other ignorant busybodies have their noses out of joint. Since when are you afraid of them, anyway?”

“Afraid? Ha!” He flashed his gold tooth in a warning snarl. This conversation was ridiculous.

“Cripes, this place can be so backward. Even the clock doesn’t move here.” Alice gestured down the street toward the clock tower, which had been stuck at 8:15 for twenty years. “I’d say we’re living in a land time forgot, but it’s been a common practice in most societies for younger women and older men to marry for generations.”

“Marry?” He sputtered. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Obviously not you!”

He crossed his arms and grunted. “Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me, child. I used to change your nappies.”

“That’s right, you did. So why are you pretending I don’t know you?” She swallowed the rest of her sandwich in a gulp and chased it with half a can of Dr. Pepper soda. “People whisper all sorts of wicked things about me. Some of them are true and some of them are outright lies. We’re alike in that way, you and I. So what? If I paid attention to what everyone said, I’d never leave the house.”

“I know, honey.” He smoothed his hands over the smooth grain of the worktable, ashamed of himself. Alice had more than her share of bad days, days when she couldn’t come into work. Times when she came to the shop and wandered around as though in a dream, trailing her fingers through cabinets coated in dust, a faraway look in her eyes. What he suffered was nothing in comparison, and yet he couldn’t seem to ignore the thick fog of prejudice and judgment that suffocated him whenever he was with Belle.

“People talk no matter what we do; doesn’t mean we have to listen.” She patted his shoulder. “You sure as hell don’t listen to me, and I talk your head off every damn day.”

He gave her a fond smile and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t remind me.”

Day after day of pretending she was fine was exhausting, but Belle had been doing a fair job of holding herself together since Gold had unceremoniously dumped her on his front porch. She wasn’t sure it counted as a dump if you only fantasized you were a couple, but according to the ache in her chest, it was real.

The busier the day, the better. If she kept moving from task to task, she could ignore her shattered heart. She showed up for her library shifts without fail, she checked books in and out, and chattered with people about their lives. Today she had even helped several eleventh graders with their Marie Antoinette biographies. Staying busy was working until the last hour of the day when the flow of patrons slowed to a trickle and she sat down at her desk to open the mail.

She quickly sorted through the typical bills, catalogs, and overdue fine payments, arranging them into piles. A plain, clean white envelope addressed directly to her stood out from the rest of the mail, and she saved it for last. There was no return address, but the faint scent of antiseptic clung to the crisp envelope.

Belle ripped the envelope open and a drawing sketched on a piece of ruled notebook paper floated to the floor. What she saw made her bite down on her lip hard, the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth. It was a crude illustration, but she could make out the Beast from the movie Beauty and the Beast , drawn wrinkled and old, wearing a suit and tie and clenching a cane in his gnarled claw. He was ogling a young woman who was reading a book. The woman wore a version of movie Belle’s famous golden dress, but the skirt barely grazed her thigh and the bodice dipped all the way to her navel. Clearly, the image was meant to be of her and Gold.

She stared down at the crude representation, then crumpled it in her fist. It was a cheap attempt at an insult, drawing her to look like some sort of slutty temptress and Gold as a dirty old man. Rage ripped through her in a white-hot streak, and her mind narrowed to a singular purpose: finding out who had done this. Tonight.

Belle shot to her feet, knocking over her chair.

Granny’s Diner was the social hub of Storybrooke, and the best place to get to the bottom of nonsense, but she was far too impatient to wait until the library closed. She chased the last few stragglers out of the library and slammed the door behind her, jamming the key in the lock with shaking hands until it clicked. With frayed nerves, she stomped all the way to Granny’s, the drawing clutched in her closed fist. The early August evening air was warm and humid, and sweat trickled down her back as she marched down Main Street. While she hurried down the sidewalk, she tried to puzzle out who had drawn and sent the picture and why. Rumors and innuendo aside, there was something perplexing about caring so much for Gold and yet holding physical evidence that other people couldn’t see the tender, handsome man she knew.

Small towns produced small minds.

The tables at Granny’s were packed. It was Thursday during dinner rush—the most popular night—and people clustered inside the front door and on the patio outside, waiting for the chance to sit down. All the barstools were occupied, platters and baskets of food sitting in front of every person. Good. Belle wanted a large audience for what she was about to do.

She toed off her heels and climbed up on the counter. Mr. Clark from the pharmacy stared at her in horror, then sneezed and wrapped an arm around an enormous, sauce-covered square of lasagna, drawing it closer for protection. Ruby stood frozen at the cash register, and Ashley Boyd narrowly missed dropping the tray of dirty dishes she was carrying, almost colliding with town psychiatrist Archie Hopper as she narrowly saved the plates from slipping to the floor.

Behind the counter, Granny made an outraged, sputtering noise, the heat of her glare rivaling the sizzling grill. At the moment, it didn’t matter if Granny never sold her another hamburger or slice of chocolate cake for the rest of her life, Belle was getting some answers tonight . She turned around and faced the crowd.

“Who did this?” Belle called out, looking down over the sea of faces. She held up the drawing, still clenched in her shaking fist. The noise continued to drone on around her, the clatter of forks against plates, the townspeople oblivious to anything but their meals and their conversations. “I said who did this?”

“Look, Mommy!” yelled a blonde girl with curly pigtails. “That lady is fifty feet tall!” A hush came over the diner in a languid wave and all eyes turned to stare at Belle standing on the counter. Forks were laid down on plates with a quiet clatter. Time seemed to stand still and no one appeared to so much as breathe.

“Does anyone want to confess?” she asked, shaking the drawing in her fist and glaring around the restaurant with narrowed eyes.

When no one stepped forward or admitted guilt, she dropped the drawing on the counter and ground it into the tile with her bare heel. “You’re all a bunch of cowards, you know that? Mr. Gold and I are friends, and it’s no one’s business but ours what we do. Your problem isn’t that he’s befriended a woman a few years younger than he is. Your problem is you’re a classless bunch of small-minded prigs.”

Jaws dropped and they gaped at her like fish in an aquarium, then fell back to their eating and chattering as though people stood on top of Granny’s counter raving like lunatics every day of the week.

Her limbs shook with anger, and she caught the sympathetic eyes of Mary Margaret and David Nolan. One minute they were sitting at the counter holding hands and sharing a basket of chicken fingers and the next thing she knew, they were flanking her, standing one on each side, like a pair of orderlies preparing to strap her into a straight jacket and wheel her away.

“Okay, Belle, that’s enough now, honey.” Mary Margaret’s voice was quiet and soothing, and Belle felt her knees begin to give out.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #golden wonder #woven rook #alice jones #mr. gold #belle french #people will talk #mqc writes #maries 3-year fic-a-versary

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corneliusreignallen · 4 years

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4 main takeaways from Marie Yovanovitch’s impeachment hearing

Former US Ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovitch arrives to testify before the House Intelligence Committee on November 15, 2019. | Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

One takeaway includes a dramatic, real-time attack by President Trump.

The most dramatic moment of former US Ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovitch’s appearance before the House impeachment inquiry on Friday actually happened outside the Congressional chamber.

Just one hour into the hearing, President Donald Trump tweeted an attack against the 33-year career foreign service officer, claiming that everywhere she went “turned bad.” That insult led House Intelligence Committee Chair Adam Schiff (D-CA) to characterize the president’s comments as a form of witness intimidation.

But while that episode may have had the most pizzazz, it wasn’t the only important thing that happened during the hearing. If you weren’t able to watch all of it, don’t worry — we’ve got you covered. Here are the four key takeaways from the hearing that you need to know.

1. A dramatic attack from Trump in real-time

The biggest development at the hearing was an unscripted intervention from the president himself — one that spurred Democratic cries of witness intimidation.

But about an hour after the hearing began, Trump couldn’t stop himself from weighing in:

....They call it “serving at the pleasure of the President.” The U.S. now has a very strong and powerful foreign policy, much different than proceeding administrations. It is called, quite simply, America First! With all of that, however, I have done FAR more for Ukraine than O.

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) November 15, 2019

In the tweet itself, Trump (absurdly) suggested that Yovanovitch — who was posted to the US Embassy in Mogadishu, Somalia, in 1986 as a young foreign service officer — is to blame for the violence that unfolded in the country in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

He also mentioned how Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky “spoke unfavorably” about her during his July 25 phone call with Trump — which is true, though it may have just been an attempt to win Trump’s favor by agreeing with him, as Trump is the one who brought her up, not Zelensky.

Trump also noted that “it is a U.S. President’s absolute right to appoint ambassadors.” That is true: As Yovanovitch herself affirmed numerous times over the course of her testimony, US ambassadors serve at the pleasure of the president.

But it can also be newsworthy if the president removes an ambassador because he’s been duped by a campaign of lies being pushed by corrupt foreign officials — which is what Yovanovitch’s defenders (and Yovanovitch herself) believe happened.

In any case, Trump’s tweet provided the opportunity for Democrats to read it out to Yovanovitch for the first time on live television — and to ask for her response.

Drew Angerer/Getty Images

House Intelligence Committee Rep. Adam Schiff (D-CA) sits between Majority counsel Daniel Goldman (left) and committee ranking member Rep. Devin Nunes (right) (R-CA) as he delivers his closing statement on November 15, 2019.

Asked by Schiff about Trump’s claim that everywhere she went “turned bad,” Yovanovitch said, “I don’t think I have such power,” adding that she thinks she and her colleagues have “demonstrably made things better.”

Schiff followed up: “The president in real-time is attacking you. What effect do you think that has on other witnesses’ willingness to come forward and expose wrongdoing?”

“Well, it’s very intimidating,” Yovanovitch said. “The effect is to be intimidating.”

“Some of us here take witness intimidation very, very seriously,” Schiff said in response — apparently alluding to the possibility that Trump’s behavior could be mentioned in a future article of impeachment.

Even Fox News commentators Bret Baier and Chris Wallace and on-air guest Ken Starr thought Trump’s tweet was a mistake.

2. Yovanovitch laid out her narrative of how the smear campaign against her went down

As Yovanovitch herself pointed out in her opening statement, she was no longer in her post by the time the key events Democrats are investigating actually took place — namely, Trump’s alleged efforts to pressure Zelensky by withholding a White House meeting and eventually military aid.

Instead, her fate is a prologue of sorts to that saga. As the US ambassador to Ukraine, Yovanovitch was highly respected among her colleagues. But she ran afoul of two powerful people: Trump’s personal lawyer Rudy Giuliani and Ukraine’s prosecutor general (under the country’s previous administration) Yuri Lutsenko.

Lutsenko began spreading what Yovanovitch says was a completely fabricated story about her: that she gave him a list of people she didn’t want him to prosecute. (Lutsenko has since recanted that story.) Rumors also spread that Yovanovitch was a Trump critic who was bad-mouthing the president in private. The purpose of these rumors seems to have been to push her out of the ambassadorship.

Soon, top Trump allies like Giuliani and Fox News talk-show host Sean Hannity were openly attacking Yovanovitch. The president’s son Don Jr. also tweeted an article about calls to remove her, writing that the US needs “less of these jokers as ambassadors.” (Asked about that, Yovanovitch said that she’d believed at the time that “if the president’s son is saying this” it “would be very hard to continue in my position and have authority in Ukraine.”)

Then, in late April — just three days after Zelensky won the election — Yovanovitch got a call from a State Department official who told her to leave Ukraine on the next plane. The deputy secretary of state later explained to her that Trump had decided Yovanovitch had to go — and the haste was due to fear Trump would attack her in a public tweet.

Alex Wong-Pool/AFP/Getty Images

A transcript of a phone call between President Trump and Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky is shown during the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence impeachment inquiry.

So Yovanovitch was out. But when Trump spoke to Zelensky during their now-infamous phone call on July 25, her name came up.

“The former ambassador from the United States, the woman, was bad news, and the people she was dealing with in the Ukraine were bad news, so I just wanted to let you know that,” Trump said, according to a reconstructed call readout released by the White House. Later, he added: “Well, she’s going to go through some things.”

Yovanovitch testified that she didn’t learn what Trump had said about her until September, when the White House released the call summary document publicly. But, she said, she was “shocked,” “appalled,” and “devastated” to learn what he’d said about her on that call.

The point of all of this, it seems, was to push out Yovanovitch because she wouldn’t have been helpful to Giuliani’s machinations. And once she was gone, the plot to pressure Zelensky’s administration could proceed in earnest.

3. Yovanovitch says Trump and his allies’ actions may have actually encouraged corruption in Ukraine, not helped curb it

Trump and his Republican allies insist that Trump’s interest in having Ukraine investigate Burisma and the Bidens had nothing to do with improving his own personal political fortunes, but rather was a virtuous campaign to address endemic corruption in the country.

But Yovanovitch tore a giant hole in that line of defense when she assessed that these actions may have actually made its corruption problem worse.

That stunning comment came under questioning from Rep. Danny Heck (D-WA). “What does this mean to Ukraine when the US engages in this kind of behavior?” he asked. “What does that mean to them and their struggling efforts to become a robust democracy?”

“I think when we engage in questionable activity, that raises a question. It emboldens those who are corrupt who don’t want to see Ukraine become a democracy, free-market economy, a part of Europe,” she replied. “That is not a security interest.”

Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

Former US Ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovitch leaves during a break while testifying before the House Intelligence Committee on November 15, 2019.

“I think Ukraine looks to us for the power of our example,” she said.

4. Republicans were more comfortable attacking Schiff than Yovanovitch

The GOP members of the committee mostly held back from directly attacking Yovanovitch — perhaps believing that would come off poorly. Instead, they directed their belligerence toward Schiff.

Rep. Elise Stefanik (R-NY) disparaged Schiff’s “duplicity” and “abuse of power.” Rep. Mike Turner (R-OH) requested that a litany of news articles in which Schiff was quoted saying the whistleblower would testify be submitted into the Congressional record. Rep. Jim Jordan (R-OH) told Schiff that the GOP’s indulgence of him ran out “a long time ago.”

When questioning Yovanovitch, though, the GOP members tended to emphasize their respect for her service to the country — and to attempt to make implications that they thought would be helpful to Trump, rather than to outright attack her.

For instance, they stressed her lack of knowledge about the key events at the heart of the inquiry, which unfolded after her departure. And they hammered the point that, as president, Trump was within his rights to have her removed from her post.

Yovanovitch said that was entirely true — that “the president has the right to withdraw an ambassador at any time, for any reason.” But, she added, “What I do wonder is why it was necessary to smear my reputation falsely.”

WATCH: "I obviously don't dispute that the president has the right to withdraw an ambassador at any time, for any reason," Marie Yovanovitch says. "But, what I do wonder is why it was necessary to smear my reputation falsely." #ImpeachmentPBS pic.twitter.com/pW6mgbWij5

— PBS NewsHour (@NewsHour) November 15, 2019

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shanedakotamuir · 4 years

Text

4 main takeaways from Marie Yovanovitch’s impeachment hearing

Former US Ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovitch arrives to testify before the House Intelligence Committee on November 15, 2019. | Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

One takeaway includes a dramatic, real-time attack by President Trump.

The most dramatic moment of former US Ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovitch’s appearance before the House impeachment inquiry on Friday actually happened outside the Congressional chamber.

1. A dramatic attack from Trump in real-time

The biggest development at the hearing was an unscripted intervention from the president himself — one that spurred Democratic cries of witness intimidation.

But about an hour after the hearing began, Trump couldn’t stop himself from weighing in:

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) November 15, 2019

In any case, Trump’s tweet provided the opportunity for Democrats to read it out to Yovanovitch for the first time on live television — and to ask for her response.

Drew Angerer/Getty Images

Schiff followed up: “The president in real-time is attacking you. What effect do you think that has on other witnesses’ willingness to come forward and expose wrongdoing?”

“Well, it’s very intimidating,” Yovanovitch said. “The effect is to be intimidating.”

Even Fox News commentators Bret Baier and Chris Wallace and on-air guest Ken Starr thought Trump’s tweet was a mistake.

2. Yovanovitch laid out her narrative of how the smear campaign against her went down

Alex Wong-Pool/AFP/Getty Images

A transcript of a phone call between President Trump and Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky is shown during the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence impeachment inquiry.

So Yovanovitch was out. But when Trump spoke to Zelensky during their now-infamous phone call on July 25, her name came up.

3. Yovanovitch says Trump and his allies’ actions may have actually encouraged corruption in Ukraine, not helped curb it

But Yovanovitch tore a giant hole in that line of defense when she assessed that these actions may have actually made its corruption problem worse.

Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

Former US Ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovitch leaves during a break while testifying before the House Intelligence Committee on November 15, 2019.

“I think Ukraine looks to us for the power of our example,” she said.

4. Republicans were more comfortable attacking Schiff than Yovanovitch

The GOP members of the committee mostly held back from directly attacking Yovanovitch — perhaps believing that would come off poorly. Instead, they directed their belligerence toward Schiff.

— PBS NewsHour (@NewsHour) November 15, 2019

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gracieyvonnehunter · 4 years

Text

4 main takeaways from Marie Yovanovitch’s impeachment hearing

Former US Ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovitch arrives to testify before the House Intelligence Committee on November 15, 2019. | Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

One takeaway includes a dramatic, real-time attack by President Trump.

The most dramatic moment of former US Ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovitch’s appearance before the House impeachment inquiry on Friday actually happened outside the Congressional chamber.

1. A dramatic attack from Trump in real-time

The biggest development at the hearing was an unscripted intervention from the president himself — one that spurred Democratic cries of witness intimidation.

But about an hour after the hearing began, Trump couldn’t stop himself from weighing in:

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) November 15, 2019

In any case, Trump’s tweet provided the opportunity for Democrats to read it out to Yovanovitch for the first time on live television — and to ask for her response.

Drew Angerer/Getty Images

Schiff followed up: “The president in real-time is attacking you. What effect do you think that has on other witnesses’ willingness to come forward and expose wrongdoing?”

“Well, it’s very intimidating,” Yovanovitch said. “The effect is to be intimidating.”

Even Fox News commentators Bret Baier and Chris Wallace and on-air guest Ken Starr thought Trump’s tweet was a mistake.

2. Yovanovitch laid out her narrative of how the smear campaign against her went down

Alex Wong-Pool/AFP/Getty Images

A transcript of a phone call between President Trump and Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky is shown during the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence impeachment inquiry.

So Yovanovitch was out. But when Trump spoke to Zelensky during their now-infamous phone call on July 25, her name came up.

3. Yovanovitch says Trump and his allies’ actions may have actually encouraged corruption in Ukraine, not helped curb it

But Yovanovitch tore a giant hole in that line of defense when she assessed that these actions may have actually made its corruption problem worse.

Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

Former US Ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovitch leaves during a break while testifying before the House Intelligence Committee on November 15, 2019.

“I think Ukraine looks to us for the power of our example,” she said.

4. Republicans were more comfortable attacking Schiff than Yovanovitch

The GOP members of the committee mostly held back from directly attacking Yovanovitch — perhaps believing that would come off poorly. Instead, they directed their belligerence toward Schiff.

— PBS NewsHour (@NewsHour) November 15, 2019

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timalexanderdollery · 4 years

Text

4 main takeaways from Marie Yovanovitch’s impeachment hearing

Former US Ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovitch arrives to testify before the House Intelligence Committee on November 15, 2019. | Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

One takeaway includes a dramatic, real-time attack by President Trump.

The most dramatic moment of former US Ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovitch’s appearance before the House impeachment inquiry on Friday actually happened outside the Congressional chamber.

1. A dramatic attack from Trump in real-time

The biggest development at the hearing was an unscripted intervention from the president himself — one that spurred Democratic cries of witness intimidation.

But about an hour after the hearing began, Trump couldn’t stop himself from weighing in:

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) November 15, 2019

In any case, Trump’s tweet provided the opportunity for Democrats to read it out to Yovanovitch for the first time on live television — and to ask for her response.

Drew Angerer/Getty Images

Schiff followed up: “The president in real-time is attacking you. What effect do you think that has on other witnesses’ willingness to come forward and expose wrongdoing?”

“Well, it’s very intimidating,” Yovanovitch said. “The effect is to be intimidating.”

Even Fox News commentators Bret Baier and Chris Wallace and on-air guest Ken Starr thought Trump’s tweet was a mistake.

2. Yovanovitch laid out her narrative of how the smear campaign against her went down

Alex Wong-Pool/AFP/Getty Images

A transcript of a phone call between President Trump and Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky is shown during the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence impeachment inquiry.

So Yovanovitch was out. But when Trump spoke to Zelensky during their now-infamous phone call on July 25, her name came up.

3. Yovanovitch says Trump and his allies’ actions may have actually encouraged corruption in Ukraine, not helped curb it

But Yovanovitch tore a giant hole in that line of defense when she assessed that these actions may have actually made its corruption problem worse.

Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

Former US Ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovitch leaves during a break while testifying before the House Intelligence Committee on November 15, 2019.

“I think Ukraine looks to us for the power of our example,” she said.

4. Republicans were more comfortable attacking Schiff than Yovanovitch

The GOP members of the committee mostly held back from directly attacking Yovanovitch — perhaps believing that would come off poorly. Instead, they directed their belligerence toward Schiff.

— PBS NewsHour (@NewsHour) November 15, 2019

from Vox - All https://ift.tt/32S6sgZ

#Vox - All

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count-demonlord-of-decadence · 5 years

Text

The following excerpts are from Barbara Aikman's initial FBI interview.

Please forgive me, as I am to tell this story exactly as it’s maestro dictates. Many of these specific details he provided after the fact, But I can assure you, it’s all true officer. And since I value my life I shall do just such.

My name is Barbara Akiman, I’m a 28 year old woman from Fontana, California. I have a husband and two wonderful sons. I work as a webcam model during the school year and I voted for Trump. I was kidnapped during a webcam session with a suspiciously generous tipper. In hindsight that’s how they knew where I’d be, when I’d be there and alone. They wore all black combat suits and helmets. That’s all I saw for about six seconds before they gagged & hoodwinked me. I remember the hoodwink smelling of okra and fear. I was handcuffed and gently placed on the backseat of an electric car.

The car ride lasted the first eight tracks of Let It Roll; it’s an album released in 1989 by Don Johnson. From there I was placed in a helicopter with other people similarly restrained. We could hear each others moans and groans but were powerless to do anything. The helicopter ride was turbulent and lasted the entire length of Cool with You: The Platinum Collection plus the first six songs repeated. BTW, it’s the Asian edition "best of" album by Jennifer Love Hewitt, released in 2006. Again many of these details were provided for me after the fact. Again, these are the specific details he demanded I not leave out.

The helicopter took us to the M/Y Eclipse, a luxury motor yacht built by Blohm+Voss of Hamburg, Germany. I was the last one removed from the chopper. I was placed in a wheelchair, wrists and ankles restrained. The hoodwink was removed and I could see the beautiful yacht, clear blue sky and the deep blue sea before being wheeled inside. I was rushed at breakneck speed to the disco hall. A nerdy looking woman with glasses and bad acne in a filthy lab coat fitted me with a speculum and a dental gag. I was then wheeled front and center to the stage where I could witness this atrocity.

At first I was alone but over the course of the first nine tracks of C. Webb’s 2 Much Drama, a crowd of eccentrics gathered as if it were a social event. To them, it was. Drinks and hor dourves were served. A man wearing top hat, black tail coat, dark glasses, and cotton plugs in the nostrils, all in gold, took the stage and said,

“Welcome to our 4th of July party! I am you host, Demon Lord of the Black Magick Syndicate. Everybody clap your hands!” No one does, he continues, “Tonight’s event is simply an auction. We have enough victims to ensure no one will leave unsatisfied. Except maybe Nina.” This was a private joke about the tall woman with blonde extensions, wearing a dress that can only be described as, “Grandma threw up her split pea soup on an unflattering green bridesmaid dress.

“Each guest is allowed to bid on as many victims as you like up until you purchase one, then you’re out of the bidding. You’re free to use your victim however you please but it must be done here where we all can see.” This brought a cheer from the crowd eccentrics gathered about me, “And know that all corpses will be tossed overboard before we return to port. Oh, and one more thing. Bidding starts at ten thousand pounds and only bids in ten thousand pound increments will be recognized. C.O.D. of course. With that, on with the show!”

Before I continue let’s state that all of the victims were paraded out devoid of all clothing and makeup by the black clad soldiers I mentioned earlier. And the prisoners were unaware of what happened to each other.

“Marcia Lopez is an 11 year old El Salvadorian girl who was apprehended while trying to illegally enter the US.” She is sold for £1.1 million to a man that was obviously Donald Trump in a navy suit with a red tie, wearing an eagle mask. He physically overpowers the girl and rapes her, in a manner that obscures the crowd of eccentrics’ view of his genitalia. He commands her to shout compliments about him, but she doesn’t speak English which enrages him. Julio Camacho of the Sinaloa Cartel offers to translate but the Donald demands only English be spoken while he’s “making love”. After he discharged, Donald claimed he was too tired and too important to add to the pot and kill the girl himself. He claimed that’s what lackies were for. This is jeered by the crowd of eccentrics.

Viktor violently grabs the POTUS by the jaw and balls as Demon Lord graphically explains to Donald that if he doesn’t kill that girl and add to the pot; he will be the next item up for bid. He laments that he didn’t bring a gun, but Viktor lends him his Smith & Wesson Model 500. With tears in his eyes, the POTUS shoots the girl in the face. The bullet hits her on her left top incisor and does a satisfactory job of nearly decapitating the girl. He uses a serving spoon to scoop out some of the girls brains and add them to the pot. He then retires from the event while trying to pretend he isn’t crying.

“This is Dreama Beckett a 31 year old mother of four who whored her own children out to feed her prescription drug addiction. Her own children arranged for her to be here today.” She is sold to a man who is obviously former US president William Jefferson Clinton in a cheap suit from Walmart and an antiquated rabbit mask. It was repeatedly noted that he wasn’t wearing shoes or socks.

He has the woman locked in the pillory and thoroughly raped by a 54 year old homeless man from the streets of Cairo he brought as a guest. Just as the bum discharges into the woman’s womb, he cuts the trachea of the bum with the kama half of his kusarigama. He then sodomizes the dying bum and strangles Dreama with the chain portion of his kusarigama. His discharge comes with a roar so loud it would remain a topic of conversation for the remainder of the event. Her corpse seemed to be ignored by the sharks on the way down.

“Our next victim is 14 year old Olivia Huxtable of Atlanta Georgia. She came into our clutches due to corruption in the Georgia foster care system.” She is sold for £530,000 to a woman in a heliotrope pants suit and peacock masquerade mask that was obviously Hillary Diane Rodham Clinton.

She has the poor girl locked in the pillory and plays Gold Cobra, the fifth studio album by American nu metal band Limp Bizkit. She then performs acts of cunnilingus on the girl so thorough, so profound, she’s to remain the envy of all female witnesses, including myself, until the moment she expires. The girl is then raped with a strap on dildo by the former First Lady who shouts expletives and insults at the poor girl. She fucks her like she intends to kill the girl with rigorous fucking. She then insisted Mahmoud Togo and Viktor anally rape the girl, and they happily oblige. Mrs. Clinton the used an obsidian knife to slice off the poor girls breasts and add them to the pot. She then raped the girl with the knife and smeared the blood all over her face and the girls. She the made the herself a cup of coffee and made the girl watch as she drank it. Then had her tossed overboard.

“Meet 17 year old Chad Leftwich of Jackson Mississippi. He is better known as reddit, twitter and 4chan user 66WhiteApolloCreed420. His racist tweets, rants and memes are just a means of getting likes for him. He doesn’t truly feel this way in his heart.” This was jeered by the crowd of eccentrics. “Yes Chad! This is the beauty of our delights, that we pursue them with clear purpose and perpetual enthusiasm! That is why tonight all shall expose their passions and pursuits to all! No secrets between us! This allows us to overcome any and all segregations society tries to impose upon use with the yokes of religion, nationality, skin and race! If all were to follow their delights, one would soon find others who wanted to find similar delights, while moving away from those who wanted no part of such delights. Entire societies could be built upon the principle of what delights are legal here that are illegal there. And should one find the no longer wished to participate in what is happening here, they need only go there where it is illegal and never have to endure it again. And that state should welcome him with open arms because he has turned towards their way of life. But men and women never see themselves as the problem though, society is wrong for not being like them. They wish to impose their brand of order on people who never asked for it, don’t want it, and resent it for even being offered. So they start crusades and inquisitions and lynchings to rid their neighborhoods of undesirables among which they numbered only a few short months ago. And are among the first to cry foul when turnabout proves to be fair play. How boring.”

He is sold to woman in a designer heliotrope pants suit and ornate peacock masquerade mask that was obviously Melania Trump for £990,000. She has the man locked in the pillory and proceeds to shove a Billionaire couture Umbrella up the man’s ass as far as it will go before attempting to open it, like it should naturally open under these conditions. There is some speculation among the crowd if this is malice or ignorance but it’s quickly dropped. She then requests Demon Lord, Cammie, Nina & Viktor take turns dislocating a joint on Chad’s body until none remain. She defecates a thick steaming log into the man’s mouth, which Viktor helps him swallow. . She then rapes him with a strap on horse dildo made of ivory for exactly 900 seconds She the goes ass to ass with the aforementioned Zara Hogan with a rather large double dildo, screaming racial and religious epithets the entire time. Her discharge is so voluminous that she is able to salvage most of it and add it to the still simmering pot. The First Lady then chokes her victim to death the the double dildo. When he is tossed overboard, she watches him sink until she cannot see him anymore.

This is a work of satire. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination; or used in a fictitious manner to expose and criticize foolishness and corruption of an individual or a society by using humor, irony, exaggeration or ridicule. It intends to improve humanity by criticizing its follies and foibles. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

#donald trump #hillary clinton #bill clinton #first lady melania

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inkdrinkershadowsinger · 7 years

Text

Capricorn and Sagittarius

She is not a dream, and she never says the right things. Some call her quirky, but in reality, I’m not sure she even cares. She checks the watch resting on the wrong wrist, and all of a sudden I feel like I need to assure her that we still have time. There was someone before her, someone real, someone who perfectly fit the place I had assigned her in my mind. There was no room for mistake, no room for disorder, and yet, here I am, pulling this girl that laughs too loudly, and once called my boss an arrogant pig into the hall so that I can have my lips pressed to the juncture of her shoulder and neck. She folds to me automatically, her leg flying up over my hip, and I rut into her because Fuck… am I gone for her. My brain resembles a carefully controlled office building, filing cabinets and only yellow highlighters, but she is the girl that dares to bring colored copy paper and a mini fichus plant that I’m pretty sure is plastic to keep her company as it sits on her desk. Sometimes I’m pretty sure I catch her talking to it.

She has made her life in words, success and a bank account almost rivaling mine, and she fits. The angel sent to torture the devil in me, I wonder who has corrupted who as she glides her hands over the shape of my arse, squeezing me firmly before she slides them up my back, and into my hair.

“You need a haircut,” she tells me, probably the moment it comes into her mind. She believes in being honest. And refuses to let me creep by without offering up the same. There is a lot of therapy tools stolen from shows off the Disney channel and some teenage girl’s blog on Tumblr, but I submit to them anyway because she uses her secret weapon against me, and I really have no choice, that smile will be the death of me. After thoroughly checking to make sure that it really is just her and I, I submit to the ohhs and ahhs and mantras of “I feel” only to be echoed by her saying “I accept.”

I am not intimidated by perfection because that is what I do. I am a collector of hard work and sleepless nights spent perfecting and overworking, one more pull through my hair wondering how many more until I start to go bald. A million success are not good enough, a million granted wishes discounted in an instant because there is still more that needs to be done, and I am the only one capable of not fucking it all up. I need to make sure that I don’t wind up where I started, that I never again feel the weight of others pressed so hard down upon my weak shoulders that one wrong move will send us toppling over. I need to make sure that I am better than before, that I am invincible, that I reach the top, and everyone knows my name. Respect or fear, I’m pretty sure I would rather the latter. I have shed all the dead weight, the tag a longs, and the knickknacks, choosing to etch them into my skin and shoot them up my arm instead. But that was before. That is something that I don’t think about often because that was someone else. It couldn’t have been me, right? Too skinny, too looked at, watched carefully for signs of life, waiting for me to mess up, but isn’t that what I wanted. I wanted the world to watch me, good or bad, they were talking. At least, they weren’t indifferent. I would rather be hated then ignored.

They were silent, conditioned to be so ever since we met, and even I ignored telling myself goodbye. It was her from before that I needed then, someone to tell me to get over it, that I needed to be stronger, that her form of perfection was the one that was right for me, and the right one for me to emulate. But with the fade of the lights came the fade of her calls. And I was okay. I have always been okay. There was no peak for me there, just more ground to cover. Who needs air? I was going to win regardless.

She was nothing more than a nuisance, and a loud one at that, one who shared too much information, and who knew a little too much about me, causing me to briefly wonder if she could actually read my mind like she claimed.

“I’ve known guys like you before,” she told me as way of explanation. Of course, I had scoffed, and really, I should have known better. One too many jabs about her accent, or her stories that everyone seemed oddly invested in, I didn’t understand how someone like her managed to wind up in the same group as me. Were there no standards anymore, I wondered? She was like a dove, and while I fashioned myself a crow perhaps I was a vulture instead. Who wanted to be an omen when you could be the devourer of death itself?

She refused to pretend like she didn’t know what you were talking about. She had an opinion about everything, and never failed to give it when prompted in the slightest little bit. Her cheeks flushed when the attention was on her, and sometimes her words caught in her throat but it was like a compulsion, never being able to let the ignorant words of others lie. People who have never felt like a minority shouldn’t get an opinion, right? That’s what she had said, and while I refused to be another sheep willing to sign up for whatever she was selling, I wondered if maybe she had a point.

The less influence in my bloodstream the less it seemed that I was able to control. Buried emotions bent on reviving with the intent of making me retreat tore down the people around me with ease. It was easy to make people look stupid when you had a sharp tongue and a bored mind.

I feel her grind herself against my front, and I remember what she tells me about patience. She knows never to complain that she doesn’t have any or else God will give her lessons to gain some. “I’m better without having to go through those particular lessons, patience seems like it would be a lot more difficult than putting an end to my nasty procrastination habit.” She believed in things like that, God, angels, and soulmates, and I wondered not for the first time if she considered me hers.

She was not a dream, and yet everyone could see her preeminence. And my selfish instincts as a first born were clouded as she became the new favorite. I even think my mother prefers her to me, even though I still call her more.

We have one of those corny timed answering machine messages recorded, and yet everyone always calls her name out first when they leave a message. And it’s my house. She had said that I wasn’t a very nice man, and I asked her where she got that insult at, an elementary school yard. She had just smiled and said that it wasn’t an insult just an observation, and that was that. Or so she had thought. But I liked to argue, I liked to prove that my mouth was quicker, and that I worked faster than anyone else. There was no room for two at the top, everyone was a threat. Even her.

On a bad day, I am made up of chapped lips and scratchy cheeks but she doesn’t seem to mind when I wake her up with my head between her thighs only giving me a, you should probably get a haircut, when I rest my head on her stomach after she is finished. She thinks it’s too long, and maybe I just keep it because I know she doesn’t like it.

In the beginning I took note of those little marks on her tummy, and the fact that she prefers pizza over a salad, and always beats me in rock, paper, scissors for the last slice. I’m still trying to figure out how she cheats. She cries when it’s her time to pick a movie, and I have sat through too many showings of Harry Potter. By the fourth movie, I’m already rooting for the death eaters, but I still wipe away her tears and try not to let her see me giggle at her excited cheering as I wait impatiently for the last movie to end. She insists on putting her cold feet on my warm legs, and never fails to tell me if I’m doing something wrong when I’m fucking her. And they say I’m the bossy one.

She never names her faults, or the things that she wishes she could change about her body because she too doesn’t see the point in giving those thoughts any more power than they already have. She likes to think she can keep up with me, and that forcing me to dance with her in the middle of the living room to calm me down when I come home with red cheeks and what she calls my “Capricorn glare” because some idiot cut me off on the way home is the equivalent of curing cancer. She makes fun of me as we dart around the room avoiding the “hot lava” that lines the floor, as I once again triple check that no one is watching and that the door is locked so no one but her can bear witness to this folly.

She likes making me look like an imbecile. I think she gets off on it.

She takes stock on what names mean, and combats every astrological site that says our signs are not compatible because “there are always exceptions”. She thinks July is cursed, and truly believes that she could be a ninja if only she had the proper training. Even if she has the coordination of a three legged baby deer. She tells me that’s mean that I should give the deer four legs, just make him need glasses or something, but with improved other senses so that he doesn’t struggle and the other deer don’t make fun of him for it. “Maybe he and Rudolph can get married, what do you think?”

And since she is currently straddling my lap and letting me strip her of her top I agree with her, Rudolph’s alright. She tells me that we match, that our names go together, though I’m not quite sure how that works. She tells me about how she was always afraid to jump off the swings on the playground as a kid, and I try not to read too much into it when she asks me if I ever was. I tell her no, I wasn’t, and she pinches my nipple because “that’s where all her swing set jumping ability was all her life”.

She likes parties like this. She enjoys people, nearly everyone, while I spend the better part of these things trying to keep my eyes from permanently rolling back into my head, though I’m sure the view would be much improved, if I still got to see her somehow, of course. I’m not quite sure I could go without her now.

So, I let her tell me what she needs, and I go along with her tangents about women’s rights and poverty, and the environment, and I do as she asks. I read the words that she writes, and I assure her that she is as genius as always, never daring to say a bad word about it. We both know that she doesn’t want criticism. She knows she’s brilliant, and I am ever inclined to agree. She doesn’t crave my approval, she just wants my involvement. She believes that’s how people stay together, they share things with one another, and learn to love each other’s faults until they aren’t considered faults anymore, until they become something that you would miss if they suddenly disappeared.

She tries to pull away from me, but I know that’s not what she wants. The hallway is abandoned, the party raging in another part of the house, and I know her enough by now to know that she wants this just as much as I do. Because there were rules for that too. There were rules and lists for nearly everything, because while she would rather make a necklace out of paper clips or play a game of MASH with whoever she could con into it, she still liked to stay organized. I asked her once if I was ever an item on her list, and she told me that yes, I was. Then I asked her if I had been crossed off, but she told me that she couldn’t give me an answer to that yet. And maybe if she smiled when she said it, it really isn’t my fault if I don’t entirely believe her, and she doesn’t have to know if I searched those little notebooks of hers for any sign of such a list. And was disappointed when I only found a list of possible locations for unicorns.

She tells me that she wants to go home, that as much as she would like me to fuck her in this fancy pants place, preferably in that ostentatious ballroom in front of all those people that it’s probably in their best interest if they’re alone. “Wouldn’t want to wake anyone this time of night,” she explains. “It would be horribly inconsiderate.”

And if I tell my boss he can go fuck himself when he asks why we’re leaving then I don’t really care because her hands are still on me, and I may or may not know that she likes it when I do stuff like that. Of course, she’ll scold me for cursing all the way home, but I don’t think I’ll mind with her hand so close to my crotch.

I do as she asks, conforming to her as she has become that voice in my mind, the one that told me to keep going, to do better, that good wasn’t good enough, that I need more, that I always need more. She has torn out all of those filing cabinets in my mind, and now everyone in the office brings their pets to work, and uses different colored highlighters. It is a little bit chaotic, but now she is the reason behind the climb, behind the rise of success, and the public image that I have worked so hard to garner. She has become the only priority, and while I fear that one day she will wake up, and ask me if I want to go to the Amazon with her where I will surely get attacked by a poisonous frog and die a horrific death, well, then at least, I will get to have some really hot “sorry I killed you” sex before I go. Maybe then I could get an answer as to whether I was really crossed off her list or not, if I was the one that she had always envisioned herself being with, if I was that other part of her, the part that stole her swing set jumping courage and kept her up at night because I was too wired to sleep. Maybe God would tell me if there really were such things as soulmates, and maybe I could thank him for making her mine. Then promptly begin trying to negotiate my way back down to Earth.

I’m sure she’d still love me no matter how I came back as long as I was still there. She jumps on the kitchen table as soon as we are through the door, and for a moment I’m afraid she’s going to stop me and force me into baking a batch of sugar cookies before we even get naked like she did that one time. I’ve never hated such sugary goodness so much in my life. It was what she wanted, and where before I was powerless to anything except ambition it seems as if all of that has been usurped. Though she’s still a nuisance.

I move between her legs, and her hands instantly go up my shirt. She giggles as I pull back slightly from their coldness. It’s like she does it on purpose. But as she pulls me closer to her, I can’t find it in me to care. I’d take her cold hands any day.

It is then that I think about trying to write something of my own though I’m not sure I would do it justice. How could I get close to the girl who had a smile that steadied the constant pulling of trying to get higher, and that I didn’t even really mind that everyone in my life seemed to prefer her because I knew that at the end of the day she would take me over them all? How could I admit out loud that I looked up the meaning of her name, and decided that a port for the bitter and suffering seemed oddly fitting? It would be admitting too much for each of us, too much when words were unnecessary. Too sentimental to name this girl as home. Though it very well may be true.

So, as her hands find the buckle on my belt, and the sound of a zipper sliding fills the air, I ask her something instead. “What were you for Halloween when you were eight?”

“The pink Power Ranger,” she replies instantly, not deterred by my timing or odd question.

“Oh,” I reply. “I was the Red one.” And if she stops for a moment to look at me before telling me that maybe I should get on my knees first as she tugs at my hair firmly, and follows it up by telling me that I really do need a haircut then the smile that comes across my face really can’t be helped. Can it?

#astrology #horoscopes #zodiac #zodiac signs #leo #capricorn #sagittarius #Capricorn and sagittarius #taurus #virgo #aquarius #cancer #libra

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