#anyway i have GOT to acquire a new wardrobe while i still have the drive to do so i need that fresh start with my clothes and attempting to

[themanwhowouldbefruit]

i literally can't even look at the clothes that i was wearing for the last two (and even one) years. like first of all they dont fit and are stretched all to hell as well from being worn anyways but damn!!!! even looking at them just takes me back and makes me feel sick to my stomach and i literally want to puke it's so visceral.

[mcwriting]

sweet home alabama (2)

Hi all! Between marriage project and some one shots, I decided to upload this chapter!

Reminder: Characters have strong southern accents (save for Tom in the present).

Masterlist

Word Count: 2618

Warnings: slight injury mention

∆ present ∆

The weekend came and went, allowing Tom some time to get a new wardrobe for farmwork and acquire a pair of boots, as his last pair had been passed down and worn out by Sam years ago.

Tom had been enjoying a peaceful rest when he was jolted awake by two hands forcefully shaking him.

“What the- Sam! What are you doing?” Tom exclaimed, sitting up.

“You gotta go to Mel’s today, right? Sun rises in an hour. Better get up and eat ‘fore you head over there,” the younger brother explained. Tom tossed back his head and groaned.

“Fine. I’ll get up,” he replied, tossing off his quilt and sheet.

With the money Tom had made in recent years, he had been able to send some home every so often, which helped fund a much needed expansion of the family home. Unfortunately, they hadn’t added enough bathrooms for each brother to get their own.

“Tom! What in God’s name is taking you so long! You’re gonna be working cotton not modeling it!” Harry yelled, pounding on the door.

“Alright alright! It’s all yours!” Tom exclaimed as he opened up the door. Harry couldn’t help but laugh at his brother.

Though Tom had dressed in a button up, jeans, and boots, he had also made sure to style his hair until every wisp sat straight.

“You know you’re gonna sweat that gel off in ten minutes, right? Especially if you wear a hat.”

Tom rolled his eyes.

“Harry, you know me. There’s always a camera somewhere. Gotta be ready for anything. And it’s pomade, not gel.”

The other young twin just rolled his eyes back and slammed the door shut.

∆

A few minutes down the road, y/n was getting ready to start her own day. She rose at dawn like always, stretching a bit and hopping out of bed.

Though she was living a country life, she still took the time to do a full skincare routine, being especially attentive to the products she used and how much sunscreen she applied.

Since she wouldn’t be at any farms in the morning, y/n put on leggings and tshirt and headed out the door, a granola bar in hand. She only had to drive a mile away to get to the “s.h.e.d.”

As usual, she was the first one there, so she keyed in and turned on all the lights. She took in a deep breath of the smells of the soil and chemicals around her as she tossed on her lab coat.

You didn’t think she was any ordinary farm girl, did you?

In reality, she had actually gone to UCLA, getting degrees in both chemistry and environmental engineering. Now she had spent the last year doing research thanks to a grant to improve the agricultural health of her hometown so she could eventually receive a master’s degree.

But we’ll talk more on that later.

Now that the sun was finally peeking above the horizon, her two lab assistants finally showed up.

Her assistants, Ciara and Jacob, were students at a community college in the town 45 minutes away. They were bright and the three always enjoyed working together, as they played fun music and conversed while recording research.

“Hey! Glad y’all could finally make it! Y’all know that last week I collected more samples from Mel’s, so today I want to prepare a gram from each jar in solution so we can run samples and start looking at what nutrients need supplementing and where so I can put a fertilizer together for tomorrow.”

The two were happy to follow their boss’s instruction, and y/n couldn’t help but smile as she scanned over her lab, remembering where she started.

∆ 16 years old ∆

Y/n had always been good at school.

A straight A student, never one to act out or deliberately miss work. Everyone knew she was bright, and she continued to prove that as she aged.

By sophomore year of high school, she was already an above-average scorer on the ACT and was taking courses above her grade level to keep from boring herself.

But in a town as small as hers, one could only get so advanced in high school alone.

Thankfully once she was a junior, the community college Ciara and Jacob were now attending allowed students to enroll in some basic online classes and receive credit, so long as they had good enough internet connection.

Because she was ahead, y/n had a free period where she could mooch off of the school’s wifi in an empty classroom. However, she didn’t have the same luxury at home, and had to go to Tom’s to complete any assignments after school.

By this point, Tom had been going to small auditions for a couple years, picking up the occasional commercial role and making a few bucks here and there, enough to get his family better TV and internet, anyways.

“Hey, y/n?” Tom asked one day, late in the fall. He laid back on the bed, tossing a foam basketball above his head while y/n worked on her college math class from the floor. She hummed in response, holding a pencil between her teeth.

“What are you plannin’ to do with all this college stuff anyways?” he asked. His accent was still as strong as ever. He hadn’t taught himself to let it go yet.

“I’on know. Maybe git a degree and move out of this town for a while. Find a real job that ain’t baling hay or planting stuff. You know I really love science,” she replied. She knew she had a lot of options, she was only a couple points away from that perfect ACT score by now.

There was a pause as she continued to tap numbers into a calculator and record them.

“I got another audition ‘fore thanksgiving,'' Tom announced after a while. Y/n didn’t look up.

“Oh yeah? What for, toothpaste ad or somethin’?”

“Uh, no actually. This one’s for a movie. A real movie.”

Y/n dropped the pencil and looked up at Tom, pushing up from the ground to sit on her knees as he sat up straight.

“Really? You’re serious? You ain’t pulling my leg or something?”

Tom smiled big and nodded.

“I mean it. I really got this audition coming up.”

“Oh my gosh, TOM!”

Y/n quickly stood up, tackling her best friend in a hug, practically ending up on his lap. They stayed that way for a while.

“Tom, this is seriously incredible. You’re gonna be in a movie!”

He pulled back quickly.

“Don’t be too quick, now. This is only an audition, there’s no way to say I’ll actually get the part-” he started, but y/n got off him and kneeled on the floor, so that her eyes were level with his and she could grab his upper arms to look at him directly.

“You’re gonna get that part,” she smiled, unable to contain her excitement. “You’re gonna nail that audition, and you’re getting that part. This is gonna be your big break, I just know it.”

“Thanks for believin’ in me. Hopefully I won’t prove you a liar this time,” he replied, pulling her up into another hug.

She ended up being right, too, because after his first audition, he got a callback during Christmas break and secured the role which he’d film the summer between junior and senior year.

The pair knew they were really starting to grow up, but didn’t let their different pursuits come between them just yet.

Tom was the one who drove her to her final ACT where she got her perfect score (since she didn’t have a car yet), and the movie filmed a few hours away in the Birmingham area (where y/n drove Tom’s truck in his absence since he was still too young to live there alone).

It worked, for the most part.

∆ present ∆

Tom drew in a sharp breath and winced, limping through the barn and plopping onto a hay bale as he gulped down some water. He had been walking up and down the rows watering the plants, as the four-wheeler Melanie’s dad typically used to water was broken.

“How’s it looking, Mr. Carmichael?” he asked, dabbing away the sweat on his forehead with a towel as he rehydrated.

The older gentleman stood up and looked at Tom.

“Well, son. I’ve almost got this thing here fixed, but you ain’t looking too good,” he pointed out.

“What do you mean, sir?” Tom asked. He may have lost his accent, but didn’t forget his manners.

“Looks like you’ve been ridin’ horses the way you’re walkin’. New boots? Not to mention that sunburn you’re startin’ to nurse. Why don’t you run up to the house and have Mel fix those up. I’m sure her momma fixed some lunch for ya, too.”

“A- are you sure, sir? I’ve only got about 10 more rows before I’m done.”

“No, no. It’s alright, boy. Run along and fix yourself up. I’ll handle the rest.”

Tom thanked the man and slowly got up, immediately remembering the pain in his feet and now aware of the stinging on his cheeks.

He’d forgotten that boots don’t really break themselves in and he hadn’t worn very thick socks. He also had somehow neglected that the sun beats just as hard in the farmlands as it does in Malibu.

He waddled up to the house, where Melanie was on the porch reading a book.

“Well by God, Tom. You’re walkin’ like you just got your back blown out for the first time,” she laughed, causing his cheeks to redden more.

“They’re new boots, alright? Now could you help me out? Your dad said you might know of something?”

She looked past him towards the barn, then closed her book and nodded her head towards the door, standing.

“Come on. Momma made you a sandwich if you want it. You can leave your boots by the door.”

They headed inside, a large living room on the right and the kitchen to the left. Tom wiggled his shoes and socks off in the entryway as Melanie ducked into a hallway to grab a few things.

“Oh Tom! I’m glad you came in! Are you hungry? I’ve got lunch for ya,” Mrs. Carmichael said as she appeared from the kitchen.

“That would be really nice, Mrs. Carmichael. Thank you,” he replied as she sat him down at the kitchen table, placing a plate with a turkey sandwich and some chips in front of him along with a glass of sweet tea.

He dug into the meal, immediately realizing just how hungry he really was. By the time he’d finished the sandwich (which really didn’t take that long), Melanie appeared with a laundry basket full of stuff. Tom washed down his meal with some tea before speaking.

“Jesus, Mel, how much does it take to patch up some blisters?” he asked.

“First off, don’t be takin’ the Lord’s name in vain in this house,” she commanded, pointing her head towards her mother in the living room, to which Tom covered his mouth and shot a thumbs up. “And second, I figured it best just to grab all my stuff than dig through it.”

She plopped the basket on the table and herself into the seat next to Tom, stealing a chip from his plate. It crunched in her mouth as she began pulling out random things like a stethoscope, a blood pressure cuff, and meds.

“What’s that all for?” Tom asked, brows furrowed. Melanie gave back an equally confused look and went back to digging.

“What do you mean? They’re just medical supplies.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean why do you have a stethoscope and stuff?”

She paused what she was doing and looked back up at Tom.

“You do know I’m a nurse, right?” she asked. She immediately knew he didn’t by the way his eyes popped open.

After high school, Melanie had been able to go off and get her nursing degree, now working in the closest hospital which was, you guessed it, 45 minutes away.

She usually worked 12 hour shifts at the hospital Tuesday through Thursday, spending her other days at home so she could respond to small needs around town, especially on weekends when people liked to get drunk and be reckless.

“Oh, wow. I didn’t realize that. Good for you,” Tom replied, unsure of what else to say.

“It’s alright. You’ve been gone quite a while and we all know you ain’t checking in on what happens ‘round these parts no more. Now take this and let me grab the aloe from the fridge,” she said, dropping two advil on his plate and getting up.

Tom did as told, feeling the weight of what she had dismissively said. He really hadn’t checked in since leaving. Sure, his brothers and Harrison sometimes kept him in the loop. At least, he thought so.

He was trying to remember what the last big piece of news he had heard about home was, but came up short. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen anything on social media about home, since he’d unfollowed most of the people back home after his career took off.

They all reminded him of y/n anyways.

“You mind if I put some of this on your face?” Melanie asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. He obliged and she spread some of the cool aloe gel over his sunburn.

“Feel better?” she asked, to which he nodded. “Good, now let’s take a look at those blisters.”

She cringed when she saw how beat up his feet were. She pulled out a bit of numbing gel, hydrocolloid bandages, and fabric tape. Soon enough, she had his blisters all covered up and was handing him some more bandages and tape.

“Now I want you to leave these on as long as possible, alright? When they fall off or the spot in the middle gets too big, you’ll switch ‘em out for new. You should be in ship shape here in a few days. And you best not forget sunscreen from now on.”

“Will do. Thanks again, Mel. Hard to believe I’ve been gone long enough for you to become a nurse and all, huh?” Tom asked, half joking. Melanie nodded.

“Yeah, well. ‘Lot’s changed around here, even if it don’t look like it. You’d be surprised… Now before I forget...” Melanie quickly got up and left the room, returning with two wood and metal contraptions. “Here’s some boot stretchers to put in your shoes when you get home. Should help stretch ‘em out and I’m sure the boys would lend you some leather conditioner.”

With that, Tom put his boots back on and thanked Mrs. Carmichael for the meal, heading back outside. He found Mr. Carmichael sitting on the now-functioning four wheeler.

“Well, boy, you all good?” the older man asked.

“Yes sir. Melanie got me all taped up and your wife made a great lunch. So what else do you need me to do?”

Mr. Carmichael looked around for a moment, staring at a few things, then back at Tom.

“Well I got the rest all watered and y/n won’t be around with fertilizer till tomorrow so why don’t you go home and rest up those feet, eh?”

Tom tried to object, as it was still quite early in the day, but the old man wouldn’t have it. He eventually conceded and gave one last thank you, hopping into his old truck and heading home, pondering why y/n would be bringing fertilizer in the coming day.

∆

A/N: hope you guys are liking this story so far! I really love the time jumping, and the progression of it in future chapters is really cool!

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

Tag list: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @l0lmk, @primadonnasdream, @bookworm06, @thenoddingbunny-blog, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe, @stxfxniexreads, @mortallythoughtfulgurl, @onebigolemess, @justafangirlduh,

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 31: Free Day - Something Like A Bird Chap.4: The Feathered And The Fanged

Danny says ‘not today Satan’ as a wild Vlad appears to bear witness to Danny’s winged ass.

To say Danny had been a bit tired after his parents giving him a full check over would be an understatement. They literally wanted to see every single little way his wings could move and how each and every muscle reacted to said movement. If he had any reflexes; which hint, he totally did. Hitting the bends of his wings in the right spots would cause them to kick out just like a knee. And he had a spot on his back that would make his feathers fluff out. After all that he just didn’t want his wings messed with anymore, oh and to sleep, thank you very much. Which his folks were perfectly content to let him do on the couch. Which promptly led to the personal discovery that wings were freaking awesome blankets.

Which all also led to this wonderful situation of walking up to one Vlad Masters looking down on him with a quirked eyebrow. Danny elects to not even dignify the man with a response instead he sits up, yawns exaggeratedly, stretches out his arms, and angles himself in just the right way to punt Vlad out the door via a nice big wing stretch. Multitasking, it truly is a wonderful skill. Truly.

Vlad is, of course, grumbling and scowling as he comes back in. “Must you act so ill-behaved, Daniel”.

Danny smirks, “do I look like I care what Satan thinks?”, and only smirks more at Vlad’s sigh and head shake.

Danny only vaguely pretends to be paying attention to Vlad as he gets himself some coffee. Vlad sounding almost genuinely curious, not that vampire-ass was ever genuinely genuine about anything, “I see your parents’ aren’t up yet”.

Danny tosses a cup full at Vlad, evil he may be but everyone needs a ‘wake me the fuck up and allow me to suffer through this bullshit’ coffee. “Everyone was up late, had some limby business to get up to. Far more legal than what qualifies as business to you”.

“Yes because the government wouldn’t find your developments questionable at best”. Danny actually chuckles at that, because truth. The government would love to go all creepy morally questionable evil scientist on his feathered ass. Sure they’d probably have to go through some whacky legal hoops to do it, like classifying him as not human or some shit, but he wouldn’t put it past them to try.

Danny laughs, “like you’re any better vampy”.

Vlad shakes his head, looking Danny over as he turns around, “I’m far less unnatural. Do you not even have the decency to put on a shirt? You have a guest you know”.

Danny smirks, “but it’s you?”. Shrugging, very content with having filled up his ‘annoy the heck out of Vlad’ quota so early in the day. Today must really like him. “My shirt’s somewhere on the floor”.

Danny grins like an idiot when Vlad lifts up the offending tank top with as few fingers as physically possible, “you mean this thing?”, huffing, “unacceptable, you can hardly be running around in a probable biohazard”.

“Hey”. Vlad predictably ignores him and incarnates his shirt. Like an asshole. “I liked that shirt you know”.

“Then buy a new one that isn’t covered in questionable stains that even I can’t identify”. Danny’s pretty sure that Vlad’s desired response wasn’t for him to feel proud. But that’s sure as shit what he’s feeling.

Danny grins at him a bit meanly, sounding painfully sarcastic while his ears twitch a little picking up on at least his dad getting up, “now what is this? Is the Vladimir Masters offering to take me shopping? And entirely on his dime? Oh now how could I possibly say no?”. That smile only getting more mean and smug when his dad sticks his head down the stairs and half-shouts, “that’s a great idea, Vladdie!”, bounding all the way down the stairs and moving to clap Danny on the shoulder under the wing, “no way Danny-boy can wear any of his t-shirts, sweaters, or hoodies with the wings!”.

Vlad quirks an eyebrow, speaking with very obvious venom to his voice; well obvious to anyone other than Jack, “certainly not. I’m truly surprised you haven’t blown them off him yet”.

Jack actually looks shocked by that, “what!?! Oh of course not! I’m sure heaven wouldn’t like that very much! Or Danny-boy!”, tilting his head and chuckling, “if heaven is where angels come from”.

Danny grins wide enough to hurt when Vlad chokes a little and spits out a mouthful of coffee, going wide-eyed all the while. Checkmate Vlad, whatcha gonna do now? “Excuse me?”. Danny’s almost impressed Vlad doesn’t sound nearly as baffled as he definitely has to be.

Everyone looking to Maddie as she comes down, scowling at Vlad for only a second before smiling at Danny, speaking as she ruffles Danny’s hair up, “it’s really all that makes sense. He just finally developed enough holy energy to form his wings and halo”. His dad excitedly flicking the clouds to make them spin around, “and! It explains his ecto-contamination! Angels are purifying after all! So he’s just purifying the town!”, Jack nods to himself and puts his hands on his hips, “the town certainly needs it!”.

Danny sighs, still grinning a bit, “dad, I’m not a walking filter”. Vlad just looks to him, a clear expression of ‘how in the name of all the Ancients did you pull this off?’ and ‘do they seriously believe that line of bullshit?’.

Jack laughs, “a walking, or flying, dehumidifier but for ectoplasm would be a better comparison!”, which Danny rolls his eyes at a bit fondly.

Maddie smiles and nods a little before speaking somewhat seriously at Danny, “though you really do need a new wardrobe. I doubt you have many tank tops”.

Danny grumbles with fake annoyance, “well I have one less that’s for sure”. Which Vlad smirks slightly over. While Maddie looks to Vlad, “and while I don’t know why you would offer to take Danny shopping, we certainly haven’t budgeted for it”, sighing like this is almost painful for her, “so we’ll accept the offer”.

Vlad grins immediately and Danny is mentally smacking himself for being a serious dumbass. Of course shit like this would backfire on him. That is exactly his kind of luck. Hopefully, this won’t go horribly. Maybe. Probably though. This is Vlad he’s talking -thinking- about here. “Why Maddie dear, it brings me nothing but joy to help young Daniel out in times of need”.

Danny gives the most pained and sarcastic, “yay”, he can muster. Which earns him one incredibly smug smile from Vlad. However, Danny is the one grinning meanly when his dad announced that they will, in fact, be taking the GAV and that he’s driving. Since Vlad immediately looked like what’s left of his life just flashed before his eyes.

Vlad, in an almost painfully obvious attempt to stall, holds up a finger, “well, I think Daniel here should acquire suitable-”, he glares at the ash on the floor as an obvious attempt at emphasis, Danny just rolls his eyes, “-attire. Now luckily, I just so happened to plan for such a predicament”.

His mom gives an impressively dry, “really”, as her only response to that. Which Vlad, of course, completely ignores, instead simply nodding curtly and promptly disappearing out the front door he had not too long ago been tossed out of via Danny’s well-aimed wing. Danny’s going to cherish having successfully done that.

Vlad returns almost suspiciously fast, telling Danny that the man had very explicitly planned for this. Which means the son of a corpse probably would have ruined his -still one hundred percent wearable, fuck you- shirt anyway. Danny eyes the purple velvet? fucking Ancients, vest draped over Vlad’s arm. Which he absolutely knows he can’t put on his damn self with his folks here and his dad would absolutely make him wear the ‘gift’ from dear old godfather Vladdie. Curse his luck. His dad as it is looks excitedly... excited.

“Smart thinking V-man! And it has buttons too!”, looking to Danny, “which would certainly be easier to get on. If you got that tank top on, then you’ll definitely have no trouble with this”.

Vlad, surprising no one but his dad, waves him off, “nonsense. Vests of quality are best shown how to be worn by experienced hands”. Making Danny mutter a very quiet, “fuck you and your anterior motives”, at him. Which very obviously just makes Vlad smirk.

Danny just sighs and swallows what little of his pride he actually actively has and turns around to let the fucking prick ahem he means Vlad slide it over his wings. But he does snap his wings open to full length rather aggressively and nearly knocks Vlad over. He would have, if the man’s reflexes weren’t on point.

Vlad blinks and shakes his head, “there are times where I do believe you are more dramatic than even I. Which is no small feat, Daniel, I would know”. Danny will absolutely take that compliment. Regardless Vlad does slip the vest over his wings, Danny rolling his eyes over definitely being able to feel that the prick is examining them as he goes. Danny eventually having to put his arms back after way longer that this should have taken to get the vest over his arms, Vlad was clearly drawing this shit out. Why did he let him do this again? And why didn’t he make sure the local vampire stayed out after he punted him out.

If Danny wasn’t in front of his folks he absolutely would be smacking Vlad’s hands off him or commenting very heavily on the major creep factor of this being perfectly fitted. And Vlad clearly knows this, based on the stupid smirk anyway, as he did up the buttons with precision. Though Vlad smoothing the vest out afterwards was seriously pushing it, and absolutely earned the surprise fingernail-sized ecto-beam straight to the knee. Take that you vampiric twat. Vlad scowls at him without missing a beat.

-

By the time they get to the mall, Vlad is just barely managing to not look frazzled. With the man, of course, smoothing out his suit as they hop out to cover up his slightly rattled nerves. He does make a point to mutter just loud enough for Danny to hear, “I know I have said this before, but your father drives like he is seeking death. Which I must say, there are far easier was to achieve”.

Danny snorts, whisper-snarking back, “what? Like offering his corpse up to you willingly? Maybe on a nice cheese platter?”.

Which Vlad actually has the audacity to give a confident, “yes”, in response to. Pompous ass.

Danny decidedly ignoring -and honestly barely noticing. It was hard to notice these kinds of things when you were the entire town’s certified freak and resident weirdass- all the staring and even pointing he’s getting, which is mostly over the wings. Not entirely, just mostly. Which is weird, freaking wings deserve way more attention and finger-pointing than the fact that he, Danny Fenton, was in a fucking velvet vest and with the freaking mayor; who also just so happens to be bloody stinking rich. This town has issues. So many issues. Probably every issue. Expect gangs. Wait, has there ever been gangs in Amity? Tilting his head, “I wonder, do you think Amity has ever had gangs?”.

Vlad rolls his eyes and gives an oddly bitter, “of course, every town has one or two, Daniel”.

Jack grins, “actually no!”. Both halfas looking at him disbelievingly. Which gets Maddie to explain, “we may have mistaken a few trouble makers for ghosts and covered them in goop”.

Danny can’t help laughing at that, “you know?!? That surprisingly makes sense as a crime deterrent!”, and laughs a little more. Vlad just looks at his folks like they were both slightly nuts. Everyone’s attention gets grabbed by who Danny’s sure is one of the middle school girls running up and holding out a book. Which Danny has some serious ominous feelings over where, exactly, this was going. So he’s honestly not surprised when she blurts out, “could you sign my bible”. Vlad turns to the side and actually looks to be trying not to wheeze in disbelief.

Danny just blinks down at her, “you’re asking me that like I know god personally”.

She gives the single most innocent, “you don’t?”, he thinks is possible.

Danny lowkey doesn’t want to crush her tiny little spirts but come the fuck on, dear Ancients. “... no. No I do not. Sorry?”.

She only pouts for a second before shoving the bible at him slightly more. Cheeks puffed out, “still. Angel’s an angel”.

Danny tries to make his sigh not seem too pained, it is truly very pained though. What’s next? Were priests going to ask him to speak at services? Or was a church going to start up around him? Oh! Maybe he’d wind up with someone ‘reinterpreting’ the bible to find references to him. That of course would totally escalate into him being on prayer beads and crucifixes. Which was a little on the nose considering his rather self-sacrificial ‘job’. Which also made it kind of funny. Was he gonna wind up an important part of what was basically the most dominating religion ever with a ridiculously sketch history? Eh, he’s probably totally jinxing himself here. “Aright kid”, at least being asked for autographs wasn’t actually uncommon for him, “where you want it?”, looking to his family... and Vlad, “anyone got a pen?”.

Vlad smirks at him, “there's one in your pocket, I do believe”, meaning Vlad put one there.

Danny squints at him for a solid minute, “go back to Hell, Satan. No one loves you except Baphomew”.

“That is hardly my cat's name, Daniel”.

Danny just rolls his eyes as he fishes out the pen that absolutely is in his pocket. Though snickering a bit when he noticed the look that borders on bloody murder that the girl is throwing Vlad’s way. Like she was taking Danny’s petty insult genuinely. Speaking while taking the bible, “he’s not literally the Devil, he’s just cold-hearted enough to seem at least closely related”, promptly signing the inside cover and having to make a damn point to not put down ‘Phantom’. And making the ‘y’ all fancy like by putting little doodle wings coming off the curved end. At least she seems happy with it, giggling after looking at it and running off while waving back at him. Danny chuckles over her still throwing Vlad a dirty look.

Danny looks to Vlad, “wow, it’s like she thinks you murdered Christ. Wonder why that is”. Vlad gives him a definitely unamused look.

Danny gets yoinked out of his mild pissing match with his archenemy by his dad grabbing his arm and pointing at their go-to fashion stop. Which no. Danny is not wearing spandex. Especially considering getting a loose tank top on and off was already difficult without intangibility. “No happening, dad. In fact, never happening”, which yes was him actively crushing his dad’s dreams just a little more. But seriously. Nope. He has some shame and pride. It is still intact, it’s honestly a miracle.

Jack sags, “awww”, but that poutiness barely lasts a second before he’s perked right back up, pointing and heading off to the local ‘teen’ hip/popular fashion store. Which yeah, he usually bought jeans from there. Shirts? Ha, no. He didn’t feel like going broke for some name brand shirt that’s no different than what he can get from the discount store. At one time he preferred the local used store, but most people’s clothing never lasted long enough to make it to there in one piece; unless it was truly hideous. Had tons of shoes though, which saved his wallet more than he liked to admit. He was stupid hard on shoes.

Danny shakes his head at Vlad holding up a DC tank top, “that’s ugly. I’m not wearing something just because it’s got some brand name bullshit on it”.

Vlad rolls his eyes, “brand names say a lot about your worth and self, Daniel. Though I hardly expect you to know that. Mind you, if you try for Ed Hardy, we will be having words”.

Danny scrunches up his face, “do you think I’m fucking blind?”. Even in a pinch, Sam wouldn’t stoop to that. She’d show up in garbage bags saying something about dressing sustainably and recycling first.

“Sometimes I wonder”. Danny throws a t-shirt directly at his face. Though fine, his fashion style could suitably be called dumpster-chic most days.

Hovering to wander off to where his dad is also grabbing up a really awful fashion disaster, some two-toned plaid thing that’s probably marketed as ‘vintage western’ or something. “Dad no. I’m not the fashionista version of a lumberjack. Or queer enough to have an ingrained love of plaid. And even if I was, I still wouldn’t pick that”. His dad doesn’t even look offended at that, which means he likely agrees.

Danny watches him then pick up a ‘it’s not gay if he’s dead’ shirt with his dad looking almost in shock, making Danny actually have to float to sit down because he’s laughing so hard. Vlad glancing over and quirking an eyebrow, “now I feel rather reminded why I don’t shop at these sorts of stores”.

“Whatever boomer!”.

“I am not a boomer, you know this Daniel”.

“Sure thing, boomer”. Vlad smartly keeps his mouth shut this time, obviously looking to avoid more of Danny’s bullshit.

Maddie smiles at Danny but shakes her head at the shirt, “I will never understand teens love of that spook”.

Danny snickers while standing up, “well some sure think he’s got the personality and behaviour of a real angel. And the fly by the cuff ways of his are ‘manly’ or whatever to the jocks”. Vlad snorts at that from halfway across the store in the more ‘business casual’ section. Ha. That’s not happening either. Vampire-ass would have to literally kiss his ass to get him into that. Danny would take high-class professional professional over ‘business casual’ any day.

Though the patchwork button down with the elbows and shoulders fashionably cut out isn’t horrible, Danny’s still not wearing that on principle alone. So Danny shouts, “NOT TODAY SATAN!”, loud enough to make the guy jerk and get the entire store's attention. Vlad physically sighs and turns to glare at him. Danny raises a wing over his face in a bastardised version of ‘talk to the hand’ before Vlad can say jack shit.

His mom finally gives him a little light in the darkness of ‘preppy but trying to seem edgy’ fashion, holding up a little ‘evil nasa’ tank top with the bottom all shredded, “okay yes, we’re finally getting somewhere here. Nice”.

Vlad sighs exasperatedly as he rejoins them, “I see no point in that, if you wanted to look like you got attacked you could simply go out and get attacked. Shred it yourself”,

Danny looks to him, “you know what else I could shred”, and looks him up and down like that was a threat to every single piece of clothing he owned.

“I would like to see you try”.

“Is that a challenge”.

“Yes”.

Danny turns to his mom, “hey mom, you got a bazooka handy?”. She grins maliciously, “why yes I think I do”. Vlad looks like he has just been gravely wounded. The sales lady looks over to them, “for my sanity, please don’t. I’ve been awake for forty-nine hours”.

Danny chuckles, grabbing up the few tank tops that seemed suitable, the lady leading the four of them over to the dressing rooms, “personal record?”.

“I wish”.

Danny chuckles, “I feel ya. I’d offer a Death-spresso, but I think I’m the only one allowed to drink those and that’s only because I proved that shit wouldn’t kill me”.

“I welcome death”.

Danny actually wheezes at that as he loads up the dressing room, “mood”, then struggles into the probably too small dressing room. Having to cram his wings around, which holy shit thank everything he could use intangibility because he seriously could not pull literally anything over his arms or wings right now. Hell getting his wings remotely unfolded was straight-up not happening.

Stepping out to pose, “it’s decided, dressing rooms are the devil”. His dad laughs loudly at that.

Thankfully they wind up walking out with all of the tops -excluding an orange one that he’s positive his dad grabbed purely because it was orange- and with nothing getting blown up! Though Danny sighs when Vlad beelines for the ‘fancy rich asshole’ store that Sam’s parents’ bragged about shopping at. Mostly her mom. Knowing his luck he’ll run into her. In fact, that is emphatically what is going to happen.

Aaaaaannnnnnnd that’s exactlaly what happened. Yay. Spotting her as he’s standing in the dress-shirt section while wondering how the heck Vlad thinks they’re going to find anything he can wear here. Lovely. Her, of course, noticing him. Because how the Zone wouldn’t she? He had wings. And immediately making a beeline for him. Eh, this might as well happen.

She stops next to him and folds her hands over her waist, “excuse my interruption, I just wanted to apologise for certain past behaviours”.

Danny blinks at the lady with oversized earnings and a bubblegum pink sundress, “what?”.

She shifts almost like this is physically painful for her to do, telling Danny she so totally doesn’t actually want to apologise but thinks she has to. “Me and my husband's treatment of you has likely interrupted your duties. So I am apologising. I realise things work in mysterious ways and that maybe Samatha was a test, with you to supervise”.

Danny groans and mutters to himself, “oh god fuck”, and shakes his head because he is so not dealing with this from ‘I’ll put a restraining order on you’ Mrs. Manson. “Sam’s not some test for you to struggle through. If anything, she had to struggle through you”.

She never gets a chance to respond to that beyond looking overly offended as Vlad is just suddenly there, “I find I must agree. You are quite insufferable”, glancing at Danny, “both of you”.

Danny smirks, “I thought the point of the Devils fall was to suffer. To never know love or affection and never grasp what he seeks”. Vlad blinks, “I’m almost impressed by how mean that was”, looking to Mrs. Manson, “you're still here?”.

Mrs. Manson blinks at him and looks entirely offended before obviously cluing in who, exactly, this was, “oh Mayor Masters!”, glancing between him and Danny, “you two... know each other”.

Danny snickers while Vlad rolls his eyes like this should be supremely obvious, “of course. I am the boy’s godfather after all”, and grumbles almost too quiet for Danny to hear, meaning he probably didn’t actually mean for Danny to hear, “though I’d be better as his actual father”.

Danny walks past him whispering, “in your dreams only, frootloop”, and leaves Vlad to deal with the rich obnoxious lady. Easily catching her fake cheery, “oh I didn’t know that! Well then this is certainly the best place to bring the young angel shopping”. Sometimes Danny forgot Sam’s family were religious.

Danny finally, finally, finds a section with more wing-suitable clothing. Never thought he’d shop with that in mind. He’s honestly not too surprised that his folks didn’t follow them in, probably went to get food instead, since he’s pretty sure they’re banned from this store. He has no clue if that’s Vlad’s fault or his dad’s. This is also the exact time that one of the tailors, or whatever they’re called is fancy ass stores, decides to actually dignify him with some attention. Guy probably thought Danny, being well himself, wasn’t actually going to buy any of this crap. Which yeah, normally would be the case but fuck vests were actually a genuinely good idea. Probably the only piece of layering he could wear now. Unless he goes around cutting big ass holes in all his hoodies. Which, yeah he’s probably gonna do.

The guy nods at him as he’s looking at the backs of some of the tops. And speaks sounding oddly commanding, “straighten up”. Danny quirks an eyebrow but does as he’s told. He’ll play along, see where this goes.

The guy promptly starts manhandling the base of his wings, like a full blown feel up. Squishing the feathers together, figuring out the width of the bone and muscle, space between his wings, even pokes at his back muscle. This feels excessive. “Oddly, I feel like making another I feel like a hooker joke”. The guy just makes a tsk sound at him before running off, or sauntering, whatever, he walks like he’s rich. Like Vlad, but with less hidden villainous energy.

The guy comes back not seconds later with a few different vests, “I’m sure a racer back of this style-”, holding up the first from the pile he brought, “-would give you more comfort and range of motion. Definitely more than what you’re currently wearing”.

Vlad, once again, appears out of nowhere, “indeed. I couldn’t exactly know the precise width between his wings”, looking to Danny, “I am not psychic, Daniel. But I made an educated guess”.

All three jerk a little from Jack shouting from outside the store, “that’s our Vladdie! Always a thinker!”.

Vlad scowls, “your faith in me is truly endearing”. The way he said that making it clear he found it nothing close to endearing. The tailor guy also scowls and makes hand motions to shoo the man off. Ah okay, it was totally his dad’s fault. Which makes Danny snicker a little.

The guy immediately gets back to business, laying out a few other styles. Pointing at one that didn’t even technically have arm holes just kinda looked like it went around the neck, down the back, and over his stomach. And another that went around the neck, over the chest, and around the waist. “Now these ones are a bit more on the feminine side but you’re muscular enough to pull them off”, gesturing to Vlad with a thumb, “he’s not”. Vlad looks suitably offended for a second and Danny snickers some more, he officially likes this tailor guy. Then pointing to the last he brought over that was basically just the same as the one that went over hsi front but with sleeves attached, “now this one will give the illusion of wearing a more traditional vest and is usually what we recommend for men who have to wear bulky upper back braces. But I’m sure it’ll work for our purposes today”. With that Danny promptly gets effectively pushed to the fitting rooms. Not changing rooms because this place fits things to size. Aka it’s expensive as fuck. And knowing Vlad, he’s going to wind up with at least one of every style and the man will be tickled green by the end of this.

The sad thing is the vests were stupid easy to get on, minus the racer back but that one was more comfortable than his current shit. And fine, he looks good in it. And yes, Vlad’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Now as for colour, obvisouly you’ll need at least one in black, I’d recommend the most traditional one, the racer back. The rest are more on the eccentric side, especially without a jacket over top. For those I’d recommend green and magenta. Those are your colours after all”.

Danny blinks, “heh?”. Vlad muttering, “eloquent”, though also looking slightly confused.

“Those are the colours typically associated with you, Daniel, as the principal guardian archangel”, tilting his head, “though I take it you don’t remember about that”.

Alright, Danny thinks the angel thing is one hundred percent going too far now and being taken way too seriously. “Uh, well I’m not a pink kinda guy. And no”.

“Ah well, you were said to be in charge of the gates to ascension and one of the highest ranked angels in the universe. So I’d take the compliment”.

Danny blinks as he guy rushes off, looking to Vlad, “are you having an aneurysm, because I’m having an aneurysm”. Vlad actually sputters, while Danny pulls out his phone to wiki some shit. Blinking down at the screen, “oh you’ve got to be shitting me”. Because yup, apparently there’s an angel called Daniel. His half-life is some serious bullshit, he’s still absolutely positive he’s not actually an angel though. Because come on.

Vlad swallows, “well, one afterlife certainly exists. Another isn’t unreasonable”.

“I will smite you, devil”.

Vlad huffs a laugh, “oh I hardly believe this, boy. Don’t take me for a fool. We both know why this happened”, Danny crosses his legs up in the air purely to emphasise that fact, which Vlad hums at, “precisely. Though the angel argument has some merit to those unaware”.

Danny rolls his eyes and plants the soles of his shoes back on the ground as the guy comes back. Black, green, and one purple vests in hand.

Danny honestly isn’t surprised they leave with enough clothing that someone without super-strength would have a hard time carrying it. And thankfully his folks want to go home now, meaning Vlad has to suffer through his dad’s driving just that little bit more. Not that Danny cares or knows why the prick doesn’t just go his own way at this point.

He gets his answer though when his parents run off to a suspiciously well timed ghost alert from city hall -Danny can tell there is not a ghost there- and he feels himself promptly getting tasered in the side.

Jumping sideways after regaining his balance from very suddenly being back in touch with gravity and scowling at Vlad, who's pocketing the Plasmius Maximus with a smirk, “Vlad seriously?!?”.

Vlad doesn’t dignify him with a response immediately, instead transforming and making a swipe at him. Danny flapping to use the air to get him out of the way quicker. Surprisingly, it works. Vlad floating up into the air, “you need to be able to defend yourself regardless of form or power, boy!”.

Danny rolling his eyes and sidestepping a pink ecto-beam, “you’re still not my mentor, you nut-case. Besides, aren’t we taught to ignore the teachings of the devil”.

Vlad forms two duplicates and sends them lunging around the sides at him, the main Vlad shooting another ecto-beam at him. Considering how Danny’s back is practically against a wall, the whacko is clearly trying to get him up in the air. “You don’t have much of a choice right now, do you Daniel”.

Danny just scowls, mentally says ‘fuck it’ and jumps up to avoid the beam while smashing his wing wrists into the two duplicates as hard and fast as he can. The air force that blows at the ground forcing him up into the air, but he uses it to plant his feet on the side of the wall giving the illusion of defying gravity. While the two duplicates pop out of existence. Danny smirks to himself over the flash of surprise on Vlad’s face. That’s what a fucker gets for underestimating him. Haha.

Vlad gets much more aggressive about the ecto-beams and blasts after that. Which fine, effectively forces him off the ground and into the sky. He’s mentally thanking Mrs. Testlaff for forcing him to effectively practice flying, his folks too. Though as he twists to dip sideways he knows Vlad can tell this isn’t easy for him. This kind of flight was just so freaking different and he wasn’t used to it yet.

“I swear you just want to satisfy your urges to assault minors!”, and goes low to the ground again, actually getting a chance to land; without crashing! Which then gives him something of a wicked idea that might cause some property damage, because if the weak-ish not aimed at the ground thing he did earlier launched him into the air a little then what would happen if he gave one big-ass flap directly over the hard surface of the road. Spreading his wings out as far as he can, crouching down and aimed slightly towards Vlad, who’s looking slightly cautious.

Needless to say Danny goes off like a freaking missile, leaves a crater in the ground from the sheer air pressure, and the shock wave pummels Vlad for only seconds before Danny gut punches him as he zips past. Sending Vlad flying.

Danny just glides up high in the air for bit, hidden by the clouds and trying to locate Vlad again. The wind up here felt really really cool though. It was actually really nice. Comforting even. With floating it really didn’t matter how high up or low down you were, it all felt the same. But like this he can feel the air pressure, the thinness of the air, how wet or dry it was. He feels like he could just be carried off by the wind and relax. He snaps his attention to refocus though when he spots Vlad, who’s looking around cautiously but also like his victory is assured.

Ha. Not a chance.

The really stupid annoying thing is, as he positions himself to dive bomb the guy, Vlad had a point. Him being attacked in human form happens and he can’t always run off to transform. He can’t let his wings be a hinderance more than their size technically already was. Tucking his wings and flicking a bit for a sideways spin, which will look freaking sick if it actually works, and diving down; gravity doing most of the work. He’s high enough up to get some serious velocity. Hey maybe sciences wasn’t totally useless for him.

The only problem with this, Danny thinks as he rapidly smashes into Vlad who doesn’t even get the chance to turn intagible before both of them slam into the concrete, is that he can’t see for shit due to the world spinning around rapidly. He does hear Vlad transform back, so success, though.

Both of them groaning from inside the crater. “Daniel, if you ever do that, to a human, you will kill them. Ancients”, groaning again, “though fair play to you”.

Danny does a weird hybrid of a chuckle, wheeze, and groan, “pleasure doing business, with ya, frootloop. Least I didn’t, break anything”.

“The road might, disagree”.

“That’s, your problem. Mr. Mayor”.

“It’s ghost-related. Governments problem”.

“Ha. Point”.

“Are you going to, get off me”.

“You’re the one, with intangibility right now”.

“Surprisingly, I find I don’t, really feel like it”.

“Then you can lay there and, eat my feathers”, Danny flops a wing on the guys face, groaning slightly from the movement though. Oh he is so going to be feeling this tomorrow.

Eventually the two do indeed get up. Vlad straightening his jacket and trying to act like he doesn’t have a serious forming bruise on his stomach. While Danny is shaking off debris from his wings. It really does feel like he used them to punch an entire road. Just as his folks get back. Maddie bursting out of the GAV, “what happened to you two?!?”. Jack sticking his head out, “was it a ghost!?!l”.

Danny chuckles awkwardly though sending a slightly mean chuckle Vlad’s way before answering his folks, “turns out my wings make for pretty good ghost shields”, changing to a rather mocking tone and side-eyeing Vlad, “saved dear Vladdie’s suit from even a single little singe”. Vlad just huffs and gives his suit a tug that feels very final.

Jack laughs and claps Danny on the back while Maddie shakes her head and ushers everyone inside.

Everyone sitting around the table and enjoying comfort drinks, yes even Vlad, when Danny snorts hot chocolate out his nose at someone shouting, “WHY ARE THERE GODDAMN CRATERS IN THE ROAD EVERY DAMN TIME I VISIT THIS FUCKING TOWN!!!”. Danny puts his head down on the table and laughs.

[themonkeycabal]

WandaVision Ep 3 Spoilers

Yes, there are spoilers below:

Wherein I watch and have some comments. Please let's make some story progress this week. More Weird!

Why can't I skip the previously on? Disney! Oh well, it doesn't matter, Buddrick Meowbert is demanding pets and he's standing in front of my ipad not letting me watch, until I give the chin scratches.nn.n.m,,,,m. . . . . . . . .  ?""" (he walked across the keyboard)

Again, loving the opening credits. Though, oh lord, the colors. Late 60s, early 70s, so so so tacky. And, oh dear, Vision's hair. Is it the hair by itself? Or the hair, giant glasses combo? I can't decide.

Blah blah blah, comic wackiness with suddenness of baby, and slightly chauvinistic doctor (wow, where did they find that suit? there's just so much *pattern* going on there). I can't tell if the neighbor chainsawing the cinderblock fence is qualifying as Weirdness? His vacant smile suggests proper Weird.

"Billy? Well, I was thinking Tommy." @hurricanekelsea​ called it. I award you one fabulous, classic Marvel no-prize. Excelsior!

The whole bit with the braxton-hicks contractions was weird, but not in the proper weird way, but in a 'did we have to' sort of way.

"It seems the people of Westview are always on the verge of discovering our secret." "Yes, I know what you mean. But, it's more than that, isn't it?[…] I think something's wrong here, Wanda."

*gasp* Is Vision figuring it out? Props to Bettany, it's very clear when he makes that momentary transition from sitcom!Vision to real!Vision (for values of 'real' where he may still be a creation of Wanda's powers). And before he gets too far he's reset to the second before he starts to figure it out. I can't tell if Wanda did that or not, though she was looking panicky.

Calgon commercial. I mean, Hydra Soak commercial. So, who are the two people who are always in the commercials? It's the same pair, yes? And now two Hydra commercials. Oh, though, I guess Wanda was kind of part of Hydra for a while. Forgot about that.

Also, a Buddy break.

Wanda's water broke and it's raining inside their house, so they're huddled under the table. Because wacky hijinks. Come on, guys, move this thing along already, will you.

"Well, in fairness, darling, the baby is approximately nine months early." Heh. Vision dashes off to get the doctor.

Weird animal noise in the nursery.

But, first we must take a wacky aside where Wanda tries to hide her very obvious pregnancy from Geraldine who just showed up. I'm glad I don't live in a sitcom, because the thing were people just turn up on your doorstep constantly, would drive me insane. You have a phone, Geraldine! Call ahead! Though, alternately, you could just not answer the door, Wanda. These are a few of the many reasons I can't stand sitcoms. … Anyway

Geraldine makes herself at home after a 'comedic' search for a bucket while Wanda's going into labor and every contraction makes her coat change into a different one. And also a random large bird appears. Is it a Weird Bird or just a weird bird? Oh, it's a stork. I get it. Oh, actual Weirdness! The bird makes a sound and Geraldine snaps out of it. But, then Wanda makes up a story about an ice maker and she goes back to sitcom!Geraldine and the stork attempts to eat the fish pattern off Geraldine's super-fly bellbottoms (actually, her outfit is really great, looks fantastic on her. A+ wardrobe department).

Vision acquires the doctor before he can leave on vacation. Then gives him a piggy-back ride back to the WandaVision household. As you do.

Geraldine discovers the secret as Wanda's labor accelerates. Everything goes haywire and Geraldine prepares to deliver the baby. Wanda is having a "i can't do this" meltdown that feels real and not sitcom.

And the fastest birth ever. Just in time for Vision and the doctor to show up.  But wait, little Tommy isn't the only baby on the way. And lo, there is Billy.

The doctor and Geraldine roll with it. Oh, but then the doctor goes a little Weird as he's leaving, despite the laugh track. "Small towns, you know, so hard to escape."

Agnes and Herb are conspiring by the mangled cinderblock fence. Seems sus. "Is Geraldine inside with Wanda?"

"Can you believe it? Twins." "I'm a twin. I had a brother. His name was Pietro." Seems like a real moment. Geraldine is snapping out of it again, as Wanda sings to the babies in Sokovian(?). Ohhh, Geraldine, good job, shake it off,  "He was killed by Ultron, wasn't he?"

Herb and Agnes are trying to convince Vision that Geraldine is untrustworthy. "She's new to town, brand new." "No family, no husband. No home."

Wanda doesn't seem pleased with Geraldine. "What did you say about Pietro?" Nice, good, progress. Except now Wanda seems scary and I'm worried for Geraldine.

The Weirdness is escalating! Yay! Herb is trying to tell Vision something but doesn't seem to be able to get it out. Inside Wanda notices Geraldine's necklace, which, you know, looks like that SWORD logo we keep seeing. And Wanda's scariness factor is increasing loads.

Outside, Agnes cuts off Herb before he can say whatever it is he's trying to say "Because, we're all …". And she looks scared. Good guys or bad guys? I can't tell. Since we've determined Geraldine is Monica Rambeau, that says she's the good guy, but Agnes seemed scared by Herb maybe saying the wrong thing to Vision. Which, doesn't scream bad guy to me. Unless she's scared of a big bad. A Hydra big bad? Two Hydra commercials and all. Though, also a Stark toaster one, but that's just funny.

Run Geraldine! Run! Agnes and Herb try to pretend things are normal. Vision goes inside, and Geraldine has vanished and Wanda's being super creepy. Hope you're okay, Geraldine! This is why you don't drop by people's houses unannounced.

Oh, she got expelled from the sitcom world into the real world, looks like. *phew* Also, yay, the real world! She was puked out into a field next to what looks like some sort of military encampment, and yet they still converged her on with multiple black SUVS and a helicopter. lol. Overkill, guys, she was like 50 yards away from your front door.

And we end with, oh lol, "Daydream Believer". A+ music choice. And, I think that answers that. It's not WandaVision, it's Wandavision.

Okay, I liked this episode MUCH better. Solid progress, good creepy, tolerable sitcom bits because they felt better blended with the Weird. *This* is the show I was hoping for from the trailers. Good job, everybody. And great job Olsen for making me remember how scary Scarlet Witch could be.

[jovialyouthmusic]

Special Delivery

I get ready to move house, and confide in a friend about my new admirer. 

Word Count 2790

A/N This is not my garden or my house, much as I would like to share them. Just allow me some artistic licence - after all, the ‘me’ in this story is younger and single (can I take a few pounds off too?) I don’t even seem to have written any fanfic in this fantasy. This is pure self indulgence, some fluff and a few tears are shed. Again, no allowances made for British references, if anything puzzles you let me know.

Warning - mention of the death of a parent. Get the tissues ready, sorry.

4 Ready to Move

‘Hi Martin – are you going over to my place this afternoon?’ I rang my close friend to spring the news of my new helper on him the next day. We had known each other for a long time and had shared a lot of confidences over the years. He was just going through a rocky patch in his relationship and was glad of the chance to get away from his partner, even though she would probably accuse him of sleeping with me when he got home.  

‘Sure thing Lisa, I know that garden needs some knocking into place.’ He said in a tone that told me his partner was listening.

‘Martin, I need to tell you something.’

‘I’m sorry, I have to go out to the shops. I’ll talk to you later.’ he said, which was code for I’ll call you when Sue isn’t listening. I acknowledged his message, went back to clearing my wardrobe and waited for him to call back.

‘Hey Lisa, what’s the goss?’ He said as I answered a few minutes later ‘Sue’s really on my back so you’d better make it quick.’

‘I uh – I seem to have acquired an admirer – or a brother, I’m not sure which.’

‘Ooh.’ he said ‘Is he good looking? If you’re not sure if he’s an admirer or a brother, he’s gay.’

‘You always say that. According to you every man on the face of the earth apart from you is gay.’

‘Not true, just the good looking ones. Don’t get your hopes up, Lisa. I don’t want to see you hurt.’

‘Well anyway, if you come over to do some gardening you’ll meet him. I daren’t trust myself with him, he’s not only devastatingly handsome, he’s got a killer accent and he’s really sweet and kind.’

‘Gay.’ Martin asserted ‘So you don’t have to worry – but I might.’

‘Martin – pleeeease.’ I pleaded. ‘Come and tell me what you think.’

‘Okay, but you know I’m going to rip him to pieces.’ he asserted ‘Not literally, only behind his back.’

‘Thanks – I owe you. Coffee and cake sometime.’

‘Sure thing. Don’t worry, I’ll be there to chaperone you. Your virtue will remain unsullied.’

‘I sullied my virtue a long time ago.’ I scoffed.

‘Yeah, so you told me. Gotta go, see you later!’

-------

As promised, Fabio rang before he turned up, just after noon. I was already knee deep in boxes, deciding that if I worked on my bedroom first, we wouldn’t be working in it together and my mind wouldn’t keep straying in the wrong direction. I had lain awake for a while that night, telling myself over and over that Fabio was just a nice guy and it wasn’t leading anywhere. My dreams told me otherwise, and I woke in a cold sweat, almost expecting to see his head on the pillow beside me, but the weight I felt on my hip was the cat stretched out fast asleep. He grumbled as I moved, then settled in the crook of my knees instead, heavy and warm.

‘Hola, Lisa.’ Fabio said as he came in the door, and I remembered to turn my head slightly for the cheek kiss to ensure that his lips didn’t land anywhere that might give me ideas as to what else we could do together that afternoon.

‘Hi Fabio, thanks for coming.’ I greeted him. He looked at the empty boxes sitting by the bookcase, lifting his chin and nodding toward them.

‘Those will be heavy. I will pack them for you – you want them moved today?’

‘It would help keep the work down for the removal men. Anything that can go in a box, you can pack. I just want to keep a few things in the kitchen so I can make tea and a simple meal, but if we get a lot done I can always stay at the new place. There’s already some furniture of Mum’s there, it’s not so much a move as a reorganisation. I haven’t decided whether to rent furnished or empty.’

‘How about upstairs?’ he asked ‘I can carry heavy things down.’ He was already half way up the stairs, taking them two at a time with his long legs. I trailed after him, hovering anxiously on the tiny landing outside my bedroom as he looked around.

‘No, it’s okay.’ I said, my cheeks burning ‘I’ve already sorted the bedroom and I still need to sleep here.’

‘Lo seinto – I’m sorry Lisa.’ he replied, but in stepping out of the room we came very close to each other - close enough to smell his aftershave, which was becoming a familiar scent that made my tummy churn. Quickly I moved to the spare room, which was small and cluttered with a little foldaway bed, but I had some empty boxes standing ready.

‘Nothing in here is too important. It’s just clothes and - well junk mostly. A lot of this stuff should really go to the dump.’ He looked puzzled again. ‘It’s rubbish, I need to get rid of it’

‘Okay, you find what you don’t want, and I go down and pack books.’ he suggested. After an hour or so I had some boxes and bags to go to the dump, and went down to see what my helper was doing. He had emptied the bookcases and stacked the boxes by the door.

‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked ‘We could have tea or coffee and then load the car.’

‘Tea of course, I play at being English.’ he smiled, exaggerating the word in what he thought was an English accent. I laughed and we sat talking for a while as we drank, then loaded the car and drove off to the council dump. It wasn’t far, and thankfully not too busy – we drove straight in and started to unload the bags and boxes. The council was pretty hot on recycling, so I’d arranged things into separate bags – clothes, shoes, books, electronic gear, and stuff that was just rubbish. When we got back to the house I got Fabio to carry boxes down from the spare room, and again we loaded the car, this time to go to my new house.

‘I’ve asked another friend to do some gardening for me, he should be there now.’ I explained.

Before long we drew onto the drive, where I noted that my friend Martin’s car was already parked up and I heard the whirr of the lawn mower. I backed up close to the house so we could unload. Fabricio stared at the little white house with the pointed roof, the front half of the garden taken up by mature trees. Martin came across to the car, wiping his brow.

‘Lisa!’ he greeted me, and came up to embrace me. He looked askance at Fabio, but the two men shook hands amicably.

‘Martin – this is Fabio. He’s from Argentina, and he uh – he brought me pizza a couple of nights ago, and he’s offered to help me move.’ I hoped that was enough of an explanation for now – I knew that I’d be going into detail as soon as we were alone.

‘Pleased to meet you, Fabio.’ he said ‘It’s kind of you to help Lisa.’

‘She also has been kind.’ he smiled ‘We went for a walk yesterday’ Martin raised his eyebrows at me, his sideways glance telling me he thought I was mad. I went to unlock the door and showed Fabio where to put the boxes, and once he had started, Martin grabbed me and pulled me to a corner of the garden where we couldn’t be seen. He demanded an explanation and I gave him a quick summary.

‘Are you insane, Lisa?’ he hissed. ‘Never mind him taking your virtue, this man is a complete stranger. He could be a serial killer. I could be answering awkward questions in a police cell as your body sits in the morgue and he jets off back to Argentina.’

‘Don’t be so dramatic. He’s kind and sweet, and…’

‘And so good looking I’d fall for him myself if I wasn’t a red blooded one hundred percent heterosexual.’ He scolded, waving his arms. He took a deep breath ‘you can’t trust him. Lookers like that do what they like with people.’

‘Whatever happened to ‘he’s gay’?’ I asked. Martin grimaced.

‘He could have anyone he likes, he probably swings both ways. He’s probably got some STD. Drop him Lisa, drop him like a hot thing’

‘Gah, I knew I shouldn’t have asked you’ I grumbled ‘Go back to mowing the lawn, I’m helping Fabio.’ I started back toward the house.

‘What kind of name is Fabio?’ he gesticulated. ‘He’s trouble, Lisa, and don’t forget I said so.’

‘You’re jaded and cynical.’ I hissed. He looked sheepish.

‘I’m sorry Lisa, maybe I’m going over the top. I can see you’re determined to carry on with him. Just promise you’ll be careful’ he pleaded.

‘Careful is my middle name, that’s why I’m single.’ I snapped back. I could see Fabio taking another box into the house, and followed him. ‘I deserve a little excitement for once.’ I threw over my shoulder. But walking out in the Lakes and introducing Fabio to fish and chips wasn’t very exciting, I realised.

But Fabio was exciting, and it was the principle of the matter.

--------

Martin was called back home before Fabio had finished, and I walked through the house going over the pieces of furniture I wanted to keep and those I wanted moved back to the terraced house. I’d already cleared through the whole place throwing out unwanted junk and selling other pieces. I made a list as I went, and Fabio went outside to get some fresh air. I stopped in the downstairs bedroom, where I had found my mother only a few months ago. I found tears starting to my eyes, and I tried to blink them away as Fabio called from the kitchen as he came in again.

‘I can make tea.’ he shouted, but I couldn’t answer as my throat was tight and it was hard to breathe for the sob that threatened to bubble up. Suddenly he was in the doorway as I stood stock still staring at where the bed had been.

‘Do you want any…’ he started, and his voice faded as he caught sight of me. I made a superhuman effort to pull myself together, but failed spectacularly as my voice turned to an unintelligible squeak and the sob escaped at last. In an instant he was holding me against his broad chest, arms wrapped around me, gently pulling my head into his shoulder. I melted into him and let go, allowing the tears to flow. I had only cried once, at the funeral, and standing in her old room just brought it all back.

‘Shhh.’ he said soothingly. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay.’ He felt so solid – so safe.

‘I – I’m so – sorry.’ I blubbered. ‘This was her room. I found her…’ He rubbed my back soothingly.

‘Is okay to cry, you don’t have to be sorry.’

‘I thought I’d got over it.’ I sniffled after a while, when the tears and sobs had subsided.

‘It takes time. Perhaps we go back to the other house?’

‘I – I need to gather myself together.’ I said as he let me go to pick up a box of tissues that was on the windowsill. That almost made me start again, as it was the brand she used all the time, and had probably bought herself when I had taken her on her weekly shopping trips. I wondered how I would cope living in the house with so many memories. I blew my nose and mopped at my eyes. I laughed as he stood protectively watching me. ‘I must look a sight. Your shirt is wet - and slobbery, sorry.’ I held the box of tissues out to him.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ he reassured me, taking one and dabbing at his shirt. ‘Is sad that your mother died, but she wouldn’t want you to be unhappy’ I laughed again, blowing my nose.

‘She always said we should just have a big party when she’d gone.’

‘And did you?’

‘Just a little one, a sort of reception.’

‘Then perhaps you should have a party when you move in’ he smiled ‘We also had a big party when mi abuelo – my mother’s father passed away.’

‘That’s a nice idea. Did you mention tea? Perhaps I’ll feel better when I’ve had some.’ He took my hand and lead me to the kitchen so I could show him where everything was.

‘There’s a packet of biscuits in the cupboard.’ I pointed. He reached in and got out the chocolate biscuits. Tea made and biscuits on a plate, we took them outside where a table and two chairs were set up under the apple tree.

‘I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve made the right decision.’ I mused as I sipped my tea. He nodded and waited me for me to go on. ‘This is a bigger house, and I’m on my own. The other one is smaller, but it’s close to the shops and cheaper to run. I need a car to live here’

‘How long since your mother die?’ he asked.

‘Six months.’ I replied.

‘Is not very long.’ he said ‘you can…’ he paused and corrected himself ‘Can you change where you stay?’

‘At the moment, yes.’ I replied ‘I can live in either place. It’s a difficult decision.’ I looked around ‘This place would be better for a family.’

‘You don’t want to have children?’ he asked. I shrugged.

‘I’m single, it’s not the sort of decision I can make right now.’

‘If you could, would you?’ I smiled.

‘It would depend on my partner’ I replied ‘With the right one, yes.’ He smiled ruefully.

‘I am the only single one in my family.’ he said ‘Mi madre - always she say ‘when are you getting a girlfriend? When will you marry?’ He swirled the tea in his cup and gazed at it. ‘The right person – I never find her. I’m always travelling.’ His phone beeped and he took it out to look at it. ‘I need to get back and get ready for work. You are okay to take me? I can call a taxi.’

‘I’ll be fine to drive. Thankyou so much for helping – and I’m sorry I cried on you.’

‘Is okay, I’m glad I can help.’ He said gently. ‘And tomorrow?’ He asked.

‘I think I need some time to think things over, and I’ve moved most things now.’ His face dropped a little.

‘Okay, but you call me if you need – someone to talk to?’

‘Thankyou. I promise I’ll call you if I need anything.’

‘If you like, we can go out and eat.’ he said gently ‘I like to take you out, you don’t have to worry about what house to be in.’

‘That would be nice, thankyou.’ I got up and picked up the empty cups, taking them to wash up before I locked the house up.

‘Where will you stay tonight?’ he asked as we drove back into town.

‘The town house, I’ve still got Ginger to look after. It won’t be easy getting him used to his new home, though he’ll probably love the garden.’

‘He will be fine.’ he reassured me ‘Okay, you drop me at my flat please.’ We drove the rest of the short way in silence, and I felt a sense of loss as I parked on his street. He turned to me and looked me in the eye, his face full of concern.

‘Are you alright now? He asked, and I nodded ‘I hope you find out what to do. Remember, call me if you need. We can go out soon, yes?’ I nodded.

‘If I don’t call you tomorrow, I will the day after. Thankyou Fabio’ He leaned across and kissed me on the cheek again, but this time he drew back a little and looked searchingly into my eyes again. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

‘I’d like to be more than a brother.’ he said quietly, brushing my cheek with the back of his hand. I managed a tiny nod and a weak smile, but couldn’t speak. He paused for a beat longer then got out of the car, leaving me to pull my wits about me and drive home.

[talix18]

November 2

I just want a word processing program. I'm not trying to be difficult. A word processing program that will estimate for me how many words I've written. Which requires a computer Operating System to run said program, preferably with an Internet connection in case there are updates to said program. The computer on which I'm typing this is an unknown number of years old. I know I got it when my ex lived with me, and he's been dead for several years.

That's a hazard of loving people in recovery, especially from drug addiction as opposed to alcoholism. The drugs out there are not those of your elders and they are nowhere near as forgiving of overdoses. My ex became my ex when he relapsed. A couple of years later he got some fentanyl with his heroin and it killed him. Drugs are bad, mmkay?

Anyway, the computer. I am...working with an OS that's 10 years old and have 6 gigs of RAM. (That's before I stuck my 2 gig thumb drive in to use as extended memory.) I'm clearly fighting hard for something to write about here. I'd rather get this done early in the day so I don't have to dread it, but writing about myself is almost as tedious as being myself.

Today is a good day, so far. I made it out the door to yoga and got my eyebrows done on the way home. Eyebrow waxing is my only consistent beauty practice. I'd like to keep up with my hair and not just put it up wet every day but let's face it – I'm stingy with my time and money and can't commit to something eight weeks from now. My hair is going gray and makes me look my actual age, which I alternately don't care about and am horrified by. Now I have extra guilt doing home color – my adopted niece graduated from Paul Mitchell hair school and would happily accept my money for getting to practice on my head, but she's located just far enough away to be inconvenient.

Plus getting out of bed is hard enough. I'll gladly take 15 extra minutes to check the Internet that will still be there when I get to work over putting on make-up and drying my hair. Is this about depression, laziness, or feminist resistance to society's expectations? I'd like to have fun with my appearance and my wardrobe but dammit – do I have to start so bless-ed early in the morning?

(This whole “early in the morning thing” is BS, by the way. I learned how quickly I can get myself showered, dressed, and out the door at my most depressed and now resist any attempt to plan further in advance.) Yes, I want to look nice in pictures but I don't want to do the work necessary to achieve that.

This is a theme in my life – there's a lot of things I want to do and be without taking any of the steps that might lead me in the correct direction. Sometimes it's a question of not knowing what those steps might be. Recovery has blessed me with the crazy notion of finding someone who has (or knows how to do) something you want (to know how to do) and ask them how they did it. I'm not sure if this is as mind-blowing to everyone as it was to me. It may be one of those things that falls into the category of “it feels like I missed some fundamental How To Be A Person class that everyone else took.”

This is a common feeling among recovering people. None of us feels like we fit in; everyone else knows something we don't; we are missing some fundamental quality that would have made life fall neatly into place. (Which brings me to the topic of the people who just needed to put the drugs down and be pointed in a productive direction vs. people who are still disasters clean. Guess which group I fall into.) Which reminds me! Last night the Internet gave me the link to an article in Oprah's magazine that describes the midlife-crisis currently hitting the women of Generation X. So this here writing project? Completely unnecessary. But I've set this challenge for myself and I love no motivation like shame and guilt. So I'll keep writing and see what I end up with.

Where was I? Oh – the things I want without wanting to do the work to get them. I've always wanted to play guitar but only enough to take a handful of lessons. My last attempt was valiant – I bought myself a beautiful guitar and showed up pretty consistently for group lessons at a friend's house. After a few months, there was pain in my strumming arm almost constantly. Especially painful were things like gripping the scoop I use to clean litter boxes, which is a thing I try to do every day. I went through physical therapy twice before the pain went away, and it's still not completely gone. My intention is to go to the adorable guitar shop where I bought my guitar (where they also give lessons) and ask someone (who knows how to do something I want to know how to do) if there is a way I should be doing it differently. That has been my intention for many months now.

What is it? What is the problem? 1. Think of a thing to do. 2. DO THE THING. That's it, right? There's not some 1.5 secret step I'm missing? There must be. Unless this is that executive function thing they talk about? There are the things I know I want to do (currently: clearing out yet more of my wardrobe so I can get rid of my TWO broken dressers [why do I have two broken dressers?] and acquire a new piece of storage for my clothing; taking my books off the bookshelves so they can be moved and I can get new flooring and also get rid of some books)(besides the regular stuff like exercise and eat foods that make me look and feel good and learn how to program and garden and oh maybe clean my damn house) and there is the crushing lack of motivation and energy.

(I'm thinking this whole NaNoWriMo thing coincided with an increase in the dosage of one of my meds which has given me a temporary “up” sensation? Like I sat through my laptop trying to repair itself so I could write rather than wandering off and doing something [or nothing] else. Honestly, me getting a thing done sooner rather than later is not a thing. I still haven't emptied the litter boxes from yesterday.)

(It occurs to me at this point to wonder if my expectations aren't set unrealistically high. Hi, my name is Teri and I was in Gifted & Talented classes and was told I had Such Potential, and have done no impressive or soul-fulfilling thing with my life. Welcome to my expectations. Not to mention this existential dread that I didn't even have words for until college when I took philosophy and learned that existentialism is a thing. This is my ONE opportunity to be alive and ultimately the only rules are those I choose to follow and This is what I've done with it? This is my life?)

(Which brings me to capitalism, specifically late-stage capitalism. I was born to the grandchildren of farmers and immigrants without the financial means to pick and choose which hobbies would distract me from my inescapable death. I watched my mother survive two divorces and [unbeknownst to myself] decided that I would be able to take care of myself. I wouldn't depend on anyone else for lodging or food or miscellaneous entertainments; I would do it myself. [This has a lot to do with why I am Single. Unmarried. Don't get too close – you may offer to take care of me and I might weaken and let you and then my guard will be down and then life will have me where it wants me.]

Late-stage capitalism. In which I, a consumer, trade my time and energy for money, which I then trade for comfort, convenience, and distraction from the awareness of my inescapable death. Knowing that, sooner or later, NONE OF THIS WILL MATTER bumps up against my desire to look younger and be attractive and matter in some absolute sense. I have a “safe” government job [thanks, Dad] with good insurance which is a Big Deal when you have a chronic condition like mental illness. I have a small home, a car that's paid for and still runs, and two cats for whom I am responsible. That there are no children is partly on purpose; partly because I never wanted to be a single mom, and partly because I didn't meet their other parent while I was young and foolish enough to consider parenting.)

Where was I? Expectations. In recovery, expectations are set-ups for resentments. Hmm. I may have to think about that. If nothing matters, expectations are silly. There are no shoulds. There Is No Way To Derive An Ought From An Is. (My favoritest of all the things I learned in philosophy.) Except that my best idea, recreational drug use, got me in legal trouble, put everyone else at risk, and (now that they know about it) makes my loved ones worry about my health and well-being. So it benefits all of us that I remain clean. And it increases the likelihood that I'll stay clean if I treat my mental illness, which requires (in this ever more dystopian hellscape) money and/or insurance. Which requires a job. Which is easier to maintain if I have a safe place to sleep and food and clothing. All of which requires effort to maintain. We haven't even mentioned recycling and volunteering and staying informed about the current state of the ever more dystopian hellscape. There are a lot of plates to keep spinning, despite the fact that eventually they are all going to shatter and it won't ultimately matter to anyone who will endure. (Existentialism is heavy.)

But haha! Daily word count achieved! Now I can get my active minutes in (exercise boosts both physical and mental health) and figure out how much time I have before I need to be where I'm supposed to be next. Because social activities and meetings make living more meaningful. Lather, rinse, repeat.

[rumbelleshowdown]

Tidying Up with Belle French

Author: Butts Prompt: carrots, impractical footwear Group: C A/N:  A continuation of the Round One fic "The Emperors New Clothes."

Gold’s life the past few weeks had taken quite the turn.

For starters, he had apparently been wearing some extremely mismatched clothing here and there for a few months due to an evil ex-girlfriend taking advantage of his color blindness. The lovely Storybrooke librarian, Belle French, had finally opened her mouth and told him about his major fashion faux pas just two days ago. Unfortunately, he hadn’t really expected a thing about his clothing until she had told him, so he had just been going about his business as usual. Looking back however, there were certainly some clues as to his errors. A few odd looks here and there when he was collecting his rent. A few chuckles. People pointing.

He told himself, at the time, that he was being paranoid thinking more people were looking at his strangely: thinking people must be mocking him not for his fashion, but for his whirlwind fling with the one and only Ms. Zelena West. Mr. Gold didn’t have flings. Mr. Gold didn’t date. It had been some years for sure between his last romantic partner. He had gotten swept up in being with someone else and lived to regret it. She used him. It was evident in the way she had publicly treated him, always having the upper hand. It was a toxic relationship to say the least and, well, it had ended badly. Certainly the looks of the people had been looks of amusement or pity because of Zelena. What a fool he was.

Back to the subject of his clothes, upon receiving the knowledge bequeathed to him by Mr.s French, Gold first considered throwing out every pair of clothing he had bought while dating Zelena. The problem with just throwing everything away that he had recently got was that he actually liked some of the pieces he had acquired during this time. Also, what if Zelena secretly planted some hideous orange items among his old clothing in his wardrobe without his knowledge.

He had tried the orange test. Holding up the color orange up to his clothes, checking if they matched. It only really helped for certain hues of the color. And even then there was no certainly. He only had a carrot as a reference color, knowing that food item was probably the only orange item in his house that he knew was that color for sure. Nothing quite matched it. There was no way of knowing for certain what was good and what was bad and he obviously couldn’t throw out his whole wardrobe.

His predicament was strong and he pondered for awhile until finally coming to two possible solutions to his problems. The first solution he thought of was that he could hire somebody to sort out his wardrobe for him, but there came the problem of having to let somebody into his home and let them touch his stuff. The second and only other solution was to ask somebody he knew to look through his clothes for him, and there weren’t too many people he knew, less people that he trusted, and even less who knew about his color blindness.

Miss. French. Miss French could be a solution.

_____________

Gold had no idea how to go about asking her, someone he had never even called a friend until recently, that he needed some help. A whole two weeks passed before he broke himself. The uncertainty of dressing everyday became too much to bear and so, with his now due library book read and a conversation in his head, Gold marched himself into the library at 10 A.M. on a Wednesday.

Fortunately for him, he knew the slow hours of the library and nobody else was really in there to bother him and his odd request.

“Miss French.” He awkwardly shifted his weight onto his cane making possibly what felt like the most awkward introduction to a conversation in the world

“Mr. Gold,” she said. “How can I help you today?”

“Just returning the book I borrowed. A very good one.”

She smiled and took it from him as he handed it over. While they were both still holding it he asked her his proposition. “Miss French about my color problem…” He kept his voice low. “I was wondering if we could have a word.”

“Sure,” she said, taking the book from him. “What is it?”

“It seems…” he started again, trying to find the right words to ask her to come to his house without seeming too creepy. “It seems I have a predicament again.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well the colors. I don’t want any orange in my wardrobe, you see. And I have no way of telling which is which. I was also thinking, what if she had planted some colors secretly among my clothes. I can’t go out and bee seen wearing-”

“Say no more,” Belle said. “I can help you.’

Ever the kind woman.

“I can compensate-”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary.” She waved him off. “Give me a date and time when you’ll be home and we can see when our schedules meet up.” She quickly jotted her phone number down on a card and gave it to him. “Here. My cell. Give me a call sometime later today and we can discuss this more and how you want to go about this.”

___________

They had agreed on that Sunday, the library being closed and him choosing his own hours really benefited on speeding up this whole process. She’d drive to his house and send about a hour or so working with him in eradicating all the orange and mismatched colors in his wardrobe.

Gold felt vulnerable in the hours leading up to Belle’s  planned visit. He paced around and cleaned every molecule of dust from his antiques, not that they were even dirty anyway. Cleaning helped calm his nerves. He had no idea why he was so nervous about her coming over.

Belle had said she was on his way and he became sweaty, panicking, pacing around doing nothing. 7 minutes later she rang his doorbell.

“Come in.”

It was weird to see her expression as she walked in his house. Nobody really knew how his house looked, it was a object of mystery in Storybrooke.

“Wow.” Was all she initially said, Gold was radiating nervous energy as she walked around a bit to look. “You have a really nice place here. It’s interesting, but not what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know, but not this.”

“I see. Shall we go up to my room then?”

She laughed. “Most men at least offered coffee before they ask that question.”

Gold’s face contorted, realizing what he had said, then gave a little smile. “I actually do have a pot of coffee on if you’d like.”

“You know what,” she said. “I’ll take it. I have no idea how long this is going to take. And I feel like you have a lot of clothes.”

His wry smile crawled back onto his lips. “Right this way then.”

They went into his kitchen and Gold served the two of them coffee with a slice of carrot cake he had stress-baked the other day.

“Delicious!” she stated. “Where did you buy the cake?”

“I made it myself,” he admitted.

“Well you have to give me the recipe!”

“I usually don’t give it out, old family secret passed down to me from my aunts. But if you want, I’ll consider it payment for you helping me out today,” he said taking a sip of coffee.

“I’ll take it!” proclaimed Belle

After finishing up in the kitchen after talking for awhile, even after they had finished up the cake, Gold poured Belle another cup of coffee and they went upstairs.

“You have a walk-in closet,” Belle marveled.

He nodded. “As we agreed, just remove all the orange and orange-green like colors. Pink and red is okay, but let me know which ones are which since you’re here. I’ve been itching to catalogue these for the longest time.”

_________

The two of them sorted and sorted, Belle made cute little labels for all his clothes, they tossed some clothes, got rid of the colors he hated, and even started organizing things. Gold didn’t think it would take nearly this long, he had honestly calculated under an hour. It had already been triple that time. He definitely was going to slip a cheque into the recipe envelope when he gave it to her for her troubles he felt bad.

When they had finally cleared most of the stuff out, they were nearly done and Belle uncovered a box near the back of his closet that he didn’t remember having.

“What’s this?”

“I don’t know,” he said, honestly.

Belle carried it out into his room. “I’m going to open it.”

“Be my guest.”

As soon as she began opening it, and he saw that oh-so familiar sheen of leather he regretted telling her it was okay.

“What.” Belle stopped herself and made a face pulling the item out.”What is this?”

“I used to be in a band. Back in Glasgow. In my youth,” he said.

Belle pulled out a pair of the most impractical footwear he or she had ever seen ever. Laced leather boots. Almost two feet high. Places probably equal in length to the size of an olympic-sized pool.

“I-”

“I don’t know why I still have those.”

“They have heels,” she said. “And the laces. How long did it take you to put those on?”

“Fifteen-twenty minutes.”

Oh, gods he was embarrassed.

“I see,” she said chuckling lightly. His ears pricked at her laughter. “Huh. Can’t imagine you in a band,” she said. “They’re super cool though.”

“I should throw them out,” he said hastily grabbing them.

“No!” Belle said, fighting him for them. “You’ve kept them this long, you have to keep them now.”

“I suppose-”

“You have to,” Belle smiled, easing his embarrassment. “They’re on of a kind. Let’s put them back for now. You can decide to throw them away when I leave if you still want to, now let’s finish this up.”

Gold life really had taken a weird turn. He now had to see where it went from here.

[stevedonnellyfaith-blog]

Sacred Song (Post 101) 8-12-15

                        Natalie and I have continued our game of YouTube tag throughout the last several weeks.  It passed the time nicely on our Maryland excursion, but we have also found that it is pretty fun to play on short expeditions as well.  The pop music stations that Natalie prefers become drearily repetitious when we don’t break things up, although it is entertaining to listen to her accompany the artist as a background singer.  Sometimes Nicholas sings along to his music as well, but I probably shouldn’t disclose that.  Playing music on YouTube instead means that I can intertwine songs that I like in between the sandwich ends of inevitable Taylor Swift anthems.

One night last week we carried the game of tune tit-for-tat that we were playing on our phone into the house, across the kitchen and to the breakfast table where my mother was getting ready to serve my father his supper.  Curious and knowing that he likes all things Gaelic, I pulled up a video of a scene from the movie Empire of the Sun in which a young British lad stands at attention and salutes through the barbed wire fence of a Japanese internment camp singing the Welsh lullaby Suo Gan as zeros takeoff into the sun. For me Suo Gan is a particularly haunting song because the melody is the same as the hymn Christ Before Us which I first encountered on my Emmaus weekend nearly two years ago.  Hearing a particular hymn at a peculiarly emotional time can add a spiritual impact to a song for a specific person that it may not have for other people.  Morning Has Broken can similarly bring tears to my eyes, because it was sung at Pam’s funeral service.

As it turned out my father’s love of Gaelic music did not include any special feelings towards the Welsh classic, but we did share some memories about walking into an English church in some town that I could not recall where we arrived just in time for an afternoon rehearsal of the parish boys’ choir.  They were very talented.  The idea of pulling up hymns on YouTube did intrigue my father, surprisingly.  He asked me to play Jesus I Come for him, which, he explained, was the hymn they were playing at the Tremont Baptist Church when he entered there for the first time. My mother had evidently invited him to her church when they were dating.  My father agreed; he would have also probably agreed to try bungee jumping had my mother suggested it and that particular form of stupidity existed anywhere else other than in the Australian outback at the time of their 1960’s courtship. Instead of the Sunday morning’s boredom that my father probably expected, he experienced a powerful intervention by the Holy Spirit into his life through the gateway of a beautiful hymn sung by a talented choir.

So I searched his request, queued up the hymn, hit play and passed him his favorite sacred music on the little midget screen of the IPhone5 that I most often use for scrolling Facebook.  Although the music didn’t sound special to me, it caught my 78 year old father like fly-paper.  He sat transfixed at the breakfast table totally oblivious to me and to the usual bustle of my family interacting about our kitchen at dinner time.  The kids could have been having chicken fights and he would not have noticed.  As far as I could tell, my father was 650 miles and 60 years eastward sitting in a pew in a famous New England church with the girl he loved, encountering awesome beauty of Jesus Christ sung about him by angelic voices.  I wished that he could stay there for longer than the odd five minutes of the hymn.  I envied him. For a time he was through the looking glass or had tumbled through the fur coats of the magic wardrobe that I often hope to find but rarely do.

You would think that it would be easier to have that type of heavenly experience than it usually turns out to be.  I had hoped for a trip back through the years to simpler times on the family excursion we took to a Cleveland Indians game last Friday night.  Nicholas, Natalie, Stephen and I made the trip, but it didn’t turn out quite as I had planned.  First of all I was very tired, having worked some early and long days on Monday through Thursday completing a project that we had begun almost a month before.  Things were also progressing well with our house purchase.  It seemed like a good chance for some family-style rest and relaxation. Also the Tribe was having a dollar hot dog night promotion with a fireworks show as a nightcap.  Our plan seemed all in order.

 Like a good father, I had wielded the proposed trip as a motivating sledgehammer thought the preceding week.  Stephen, for instance, because of his illness, habitually complains about small or imagined injuries like blackouts and falling out of bed on a near continual basis.  The last week he had added mysterious arm stiffness to his list of hypochondriac symptoms.  Whenever I offered to delay our trip until he felt better, his maladies made an immediate improvement.  Stephen is gravitationally attracted towards quality meat products at entirely too reasonable a price-point.  He is not above taste testing gas station sushi so dollar hot dog night is right up his alley.

Natalie was also on her best behavior throughout the week.  She was quite excited on Friday night when I arrived home from the boomerang ride of my Youngstown round trip.  That is when the threads of my carefully woven plan began to unravel. I had arrived home early and, unfortunately, exhausted, hoping to catch a quick cat-nap before H hour. Unbeknownst to me, Nicholas had committed me to driving over to my brother’s house to pick up Abby’s car for which my father was paying to have a stereo installed as a birthday present. I stayed awake for the mini-excursion that set us off our Cleveland bound time schedule by about an hour. We would be significantly late.  Strike one.

Still, we were a happy bunch as we drove towards the RTA Station on Shaker Blvd (RTA is Cleveland’s BART.)  Natalie and I sat together.  Nicholas and Stephen sat separately as Stephen had acquired a case of oppressive halitosis that he attributed to dry mouth from his medication.  Natalie and I talked quietly until our train came to a kerchunking halt at an interchange station for us.  Natalie, Nicholas and I assembled in column formation in the aisle. I looked over to Stephen to see why he was not following.  I could see that he had adopted a posture to arise, but was stuck in place.  He was frozen and I could tell that he was experiencing a focal seizure, the malady that he had been reporting to the disbelieving me for the last several weeks.  I had watched Pam have hundreds of focal and full seizures during the period of time between her two brain surgeries.  Like my dad’s trip back to Boston, I was transported to another place and time as I watched my son struggle to stand, a time that I had hoped never to visit again. Father Groeschel would describe that location as a point on the pathway inclining up a hill called Calvary.

Because he finally stood after a few dozen seconds and showed no ill effects, we decided to proceed to the game despite the scare.  I think I am glad we proceeded; it was an excellent and terrible outing all at once.  We got there late, but the seats were the best that I have ever bought – that’s what happens when Nicholas goes to the box office with my credit card.  Interestingly we discovered that Natalie despises hot dogs, but will eat three in close succession when she is starving and Nicholas is buying American sausages like he is feeding Slimer from the movie Ghost Busters. Stephen had another focal seizure with a similarly quick recovery when one of the Indians unexpectedly knocked a hanging curve into the bleachers to tie the game late.  It was an Indians game, though, so they lost in the ninth inning on a home run to a Twins outfielder that is old enough to have been in high school while I was in college. Happy that Stephen had made it through the game without a more significant medical incident we headed home without waiting for the fireworks.

So it is Tuesday, as I write this.  I am in the ER with Stephen to get his condition checked out.  He seems to be OK, but without a local doctor, the ER seemed the quickest alternative to get blood work, a CAT scan and access to medical specialists without the bureaucracy of referrals.  Frankly, I don’t care to be in another hospital, ever, but I realize that this is a necessary trip.  I would feel better if Father Luke from St John Vianny in Walnut Creek would happen in soon to anoint Stephen and pray with us, but I think we are out of his jurisdiction.  John Muir was tough to revisit for Nicholas’ treatment, anyway, but it was also seemed as comfortable as an old shoe, albeit with the possibility of a chance meeting transporting me back to a good or bad place in another lifetime.  

Today things turned out well with no bad news in either Stephen’s scans or labs.  I drove him home later after discharge thankful that he is relatively healthy.  We stopped on the way back at Arby’s and at one of the parishes that we might eventually choose as our own to visit Jesus in Adoration.  On the road again towards Streetsboro, I reconsidered again why all this inconvenience might have happened knowing that Stephen’s actual health remains largely the same.  Sure it was good to get him checked out, discover a good hospital and get assigned a family doctor for a follow-up visit, but why was I put through this dry run of worry and fear for the umpteenth time.  Was God holding me back a grade for some lesson that I should have learned one, two or three years ago?  

Then I remembered the conversation that I overheard among the doctors at the nursing station from my perch by the door of Stephen’s transient ER suite.  They were preparing to inform a patient and family that multiple unexplained lumps had been discovered throughout the lungs in some other poor patient’s scan. Thoughtfully, I removed the mini rosary that I had received at Emmaus from its place on my dashboard and prayed a Divine Mercy Chaplet for another family that got bad news while Stephen and I received our discharge paperwork.

[booksbroadwaybbc]

After designing a system to hack my brain into giving myself more credit for accomplishments, I noticed a profound change via /r/selfimprovement

After designing a system to hack my brain into giving myself more credit for accomplishments, I noticed a profound change

I posted this in r/self and some folks there suggested I post elsewhere so that it can reach more people (that was such a flattering bit of advice tbh), so I thought this was the most appropriate place. I hope you find it helpful!

About 1 year ago to the day, I was in the middle of a nasty bout with my bipolar II.

I often got caught in negative thought spirals that usually ended with me convincing myself that I wasn’t worthy of success, kindness, nice things, etc.

When I was on an upswing, I was quick to remind myself that these ruminations were really harmful, so I had an idea:

What if I left myself a note reminding myself of what I accomplished? Like a record?

Since the issue at hand was acknowledging the accomplishments in the moment, I figured it would be smart to “reverse-engineer” the success. I found some Post-It notes and took some time to write out everything I wanted, using some basic parameters:

One Post-It note per thing

Activities count (ex. “go mini-golfing”, “go to a record store”, “finish a book”)

Maintenance of self counts (ex. “pick up meds”, “do laundry”, “end day with a clean room”)

Expectations from work/job DO NOT count

It has to be within reason, which might mean breaking a want down into several wants (ex. “move out of parent’s house” could become “research apartments for rent”, “apply for jobs near the new location”, etc. - it has to be achievable)

When I got done a few hours later, I had a wall FULL of Post-It notes. I was really surprised at how many things I wanted. I had no idea where to start. So, I thought about it a bit:

What’s going to inspire me to commit to this system? How do I prioritize the task?

(Psychology is absolutely fascinating to me, and all the while I was thinking along the lines of operant conditioning and reinforcement and such)

So, I came up with a way to “gamify” the whole thing in order to make it interesting. The fairest way to create a scale would be to find the “lowest-level” task and assign it a point value. Those tasks ended up being the maintenance tasks – the things I need to do anyway but want to acknowledge as “good”.

Examples:

pick up meds (1)

do laundry (1)

end day with a clean room (1)

The next level would be the things I could technically not do or put off, but they would still benefit my life significantly OR the things that require a significant financial investment, like bills or some useful electronic gadget/product valuing over $50.

Examples:

go to doctor appointment (2)

hang out with a friend (2)

pay monthly car payment (2)

buy an external hard-drive (2)

The last easily-identified level would be the “landmark” moments. It’s hard to quantify these kinds of moments with a value but I settled on the 3-5 point range, allowing myself to use discretion.

Examples:

attend a men’s retreat (5)

get a new job (4)

completely fill out wardrobe (3)

Any additional points would be added to suit each individual task’s urgency or value.

This was all well and good, but why even collect points? What’s the purpose? What could possibly be used to reward myself?

As I applied a point value to each Post-It, I noticed a theme – most of my tasks/accomplishments involved the exchange of money for a service OR acquiring something desirable. I decided on the concept of “guilt-free” (GF) dollars. When I’ve amassed enough points, I could redeem them for money at a set exchange rate. The money can be used for anything without shame because I could say that the money was earned. The GF money could even pay for another task, thereby giving me points back and accomplishing even more while still feeling economical. It would be very important to document both the accomplishments and the rewards (descriptions and dates) so that I could have a record.

I was starting to get excited about this since, before taking the time to develop this, I had no strategies for giving myself credit. …wait… giving credit… money is credit… credit is also praise for accomplishment… ohhhhh…

The name of this system became:

GIVE YOURSELF SOME CREDIT

Reeling from the utter genius of this pun, I fully invested myself in the idea.

To begin, I chose the rate of 15 points = $40. It was an overestimation, for sure, but I figured that over-rewarding myself would be easier to recognize than under-rewarding, since the purpose of this whole exercise was to encourage good behavior and habit formation. As I started to understand the relationship of value between points and GF dollars, I refined my exchange rate. After about 2 months of 15pts:$40, I reduced to 15pts:$20. This proved to be a reliable ratio for about 6 months or so (after which I was shocked that I was still maintaining this system), when I reduced to 20pts:$20, effectively setting the value to 1pt:$1.

It was a pretty crazy process.

All throughout, I was watching tasks become habits and they stopped being “worth” points. I was achieving more and at a quicker rate than ever before in my life. I was living an exponentially more fulfilling life. I became intensely focused on my goals. I had all the things I wanted and if I wanted something else, I knew exactly what it was. I started earning more points than I could even remember to document. I constantly felt a profound sense of gratitude, mostly because I could see evidence of my impact on myself and the world. I live an unrecognizable life compared to a year ago.

Since October 2017, I now have my own car, my own apartment in the city of my choosing, I attended several men’s retreats, I got surgery to treat gynecomastia (man boobs), I came out as demisexual, I have a good job with health benefits, I’m involved in several thriving friend groups, I addressed my mental health, I have creative outlets, I have fulfilling hobbies, and so much more.

Today, I looked in the box where I kept all my points and the documentation of the awards, and I can’t stop smiling. There are so many points! So many memories of things I did came flooding back, one after the other. So many rewards that added meaning to my life. It’s evidence of growth and we hardly ever get to see that kind of progress in ourselves.

I actively changed myself. I hacked my brain. I did something that so many people believe to be impossible. It’s not! We have control! Acknowledge your victory. Revel in success. Exist in gratitude. Make yourself a lightning-rod for opportunity. Live the life you actually want to live. You just have to GIVE YOURSELF SOME FUCKING CREDIT.

Submitted October 29, 2018 at 04:19PM by bmanfromct via reddit https://ift.tt/2D9mXN9