Persephone Anne- Parent Visit
Perry sat across the table from her mother. It was the obligatory parent visit of the week and she had driven 45 minutes to visit for hopefully only an hour.
As her mother talked about the same things she had talked about the last visit, Perry stared at the yellowed paint on the ceiling. The years of chain-smoking by her grandparents had congealed on the walls. In some spots you could see the accumulated cigarette smoke dripping like old molasses.
Perry's parents had tried remodeling but had only gotten half way done in the ten years since the grandparents passed.
"...I'm making her a baby basket. You know the ones made of diapers? I thought it'd be cute." Her mother sat back in her chair, hands folded around a coffee cup, smiling.
"Yeah, I think that's really nice of you." Perry tried. She really tried.
"Yup, I thought so....I love her so much," she chuckled. "Even though she's, you know....with a another girl. She was with a man but then she left him and got back with her ex girlfriend. Even though she's abusive...Liz knows I don't agree with that kinda stuff but she loves me." She took a sip of her coffee. "But oh well, I suppose. I almost made a joke the other day, because they both have the same name, you know Liz and Liz, she walked in and I wanted to say 'oh heres Lizzie the Lezzie.'"
Perry took a sip from the sprite, mildly uncomfortable with the conversation. She imagined the reason why her mother got so excited about her younger friends or employees having babies was because her youngest daughter Persephone Anne was still childless at 28.
She was searching for something to say or a subject to change to when her father interrupted. His most defined talent.
"Look at this for a minute." He tapped around on his tablet for what seemed like forever, then turned it to face Perry.
"Man, this would freak me the fuck out boy!" He pushed his glasses up his nose, readjusting the oxygen tube.
They sat there in silence, except the occasional commentary from her father, and watched a six minute video of a hiker backing away from a cougar.
"....just imagine."
"Suckin, right there man! I woulda freaked out!"
"That's crazy, wow."
Perry tried smiling and attempted to blink the fuzziness from her eyes. "Wow, that's pretty scary...cool though."
"Yeah it is!" He chuckled and brought the tablet back in front of himself.
.
On the drive back home Perry blasted the stuff she listened to in highschool. Bands like My Chemical Romance, Simple Plan, Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, and some newer stuff like Yungblud. She yelled along to each song until she started to get a mild headache. The rest of the drive past corn fields, through small towns, and finally back into the city, she thought of Kristen Stewart in the Rolling Stones music video. The one where they danced around at a gas station. She thought about the music video and how crazy attracted to Kristen Stewart she was. What would she say if she met them? Probably choke and embarrass herself. There was no way someone like Kristen Stewart would date someone like Perry. What would her parents think?
'Oh hey, I like women and have a girlfriend now but don't worry she's rich!' Maybe that would ease their minds.
It was okay for Liz, her mother's coworker and 'adopted' daughter, to be gay but it would be a whole different story if Perry came out. An old anger rose up in her chest along with the resentment of Liz. It wasn't the girls fault but the fact Perry's mother gushed about her and her pregnancy made Perry jealous. Especially since she knew that if she came out as pansexual to her folks they would preach the Bible to her, pray for her, tell her she was going to hell...cry probably, but Liz got a free pass because she was kind and had a baby on the way.
She pulled into her usual parking spot in front of her apartment. The ending of Helena by MCR finishing up as she mentally prepared to hoist herself from the car.
Man...Kristen Stewart was fucking hot.
0 notes
Hiiiii! So, a few days ago you were talking about the whole thing with Amy, Rory, and River. And when I saw those posts a thought arose in my head and I wish to share it with you.
Since River grew up with Amy and Rory as Mels. And Mels was Amy's best friend do you think that they ever talked about children? Since I know that it can come up when talking with friends, and like... do you think that Amy might've ever expressed whether or not she wanted children?
And if she didn't, that Mels would've had to listen to her mother say that she doesn't want children? The idea is so heartbreaking and sooo interesting.
What do you think about it?
no, no, see, you're so right and this drives me wild.
because, the way i see it, i don't think amy wanted children. she's somewhere on the 'hasn't thought about it' to 'vaguely negative feelings about it happening' range to me, which falls sharply into 'Not Happening Ever Again' post-s6. (specifically, in terms of having a kid herself, even if she could, i really don't think she would. i do love that she and rory end up adopting a kid later, because that does make sense, for amy pond who grew up alone in one universe with her family swallowed by cracks in time before the doctor helped her set it right again, for her to want to make sure another child won't be alone in the world like she was. getting off-track here.)
and that's so. because the first real memory river/mels has of amy is of amy shooting at her. and depending on how well the silence fucked up the rest of her memory, it might be one of the very first memories she has at all. that's how she met her mother, crying for help and getting a bullet instead. her mother tried to kill her, so of course, you have to think. she must have needed to hear that she was wanted, right? even if she was taken away, even if amy shot her, at some point, melody must have been wanted?
river is good at getting people to do what she wants, but she is very, very bad at subtlety. and mels is younger, has less practice, so when she wants to know this, she's just going to ask. blunt and quick, easy enough because amy's used to the way mels will open her mouth and you just have to be ready to roll with what comes out if you want to keep up. it's why they're such good friends (like mother, like daughter.)
they're nine, and mels asks if amy wants kids, and amy wrinkles up her nose and says she won't have time for children, obviously, once her raggedy doctor finally comes back. they're fifteen, and amy and rory dance will they-won't they in a way that makes mels twitchy to watch, and taunting amy about wanting to have rory's babies is a good way to get on her nerves. but amy calls her gross, tells her she's got more life planned than children would leave room for, and besides, imagine her, a mom? it'd be a disaster.
mels does. a lot. she looks at her mother and just sees her best friend instead. she's not even sure what she wishes was there, but. maybe amy's right. and besides. imagine her, a daughter, instead of the ticking time bomb she really is? it'd be a disaster.
they're sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and on. mels stands on the outside of a love story that births a universe. and her. how do you compete with that? not that she would know, not yet, she hasn't been there. but it doesn't make her feel any less alienated when amy and rory talk in whispers about a half-remembered world that's bled through to this life, about roman soldiers and boxes and the big bang of belief.
all these memories, they never mention children. on amy's wedding day, she's different, not like someone remembering a dream but someone who lived it. rory stands straighter, won't leave her side, and they're both so much older than they were yesterday. maybe now, right? a wedding's as good a time as any to decide you want kids.
mels not being at amy & rory's wedding is such an obvious lazy way of them trying to explain why they totally didn't just throw this plot twist together at the last minute that i'm not even going to acknowledge it. of course she was at their wedding. she's their best friend. there's too many people around the doctor, and she wasn't ready today of all days, so despite this horrible burning need under her skin to strike, she stays her hand. doesn't let him dance with her because she might just tear his throat out if he gets too close. stays with amy and rory as the maid of honor should. she must have been there for the awkward questions that always gets asked, 'so, any plans for a baby?' 'when am i getting grandkids?' 'oh, you two are going to have gorgeous children together.' standing a few feet from amy in her wedding dress and watching her mother tense and grit her teeth and brush off the questions. watching her look nervously at rory but never ask if he means it when his mom asks him if he'd prefer a son or a daughter, and rory answers 'either one, some day, not anytime soon.'
god i'm just going on and on, aren't i. but really, what's it like to know that amy never changed her mind. the next time she sees them, she's already been born and stolen. i don't like let's kill hitler for. so many reasons. but there is something compelling about how recklessly river lashes out at the world, at the doctor. even her sacrifice at the end is almost suicidal, throwing all her regenerations into this man without knowing if that will even work or if it might kill her to do it. but it makes more sense in the context of someone who has reached the end of a long, long wait for some kind of indication, any kind, that her mother wanted to have her. and finally been told, no. she didn't choose melody.
11 notes
·
View notes
I was thinking abt the occasionally fun but mostly frustrating tradition(in the states at least idk for sure if anywhere else does this?)of valentine's day boxes made for school.
That led me here. steddyhands and the dilemma of the valentines day box assignment for louis and alma, special feature on izzy and his rising blood pressure (sorry izzy bby akdnfjgn), which I'll be real i talk more abt in my tags on this since this probably isn't gonna be written out any further, so yeah. More plot talky izzy stuff in my tags.
Noting this in my tags too, but a moment to specify that ed and stede aren't trying to have like. a shitty parenting moment in this, they're just human and excited abt the situation and sorta fuck up a bit.
---
"The point is that they make the box themselves," Izzy says, for what feels like the hundredth time. "The only grade they get is 'did they do it or not'. Their teachers bolded that part of the email, remember? Said to mind getting too competitive about it?"
"Now I think Frenchie would happily take on the commission," Stede continues, thumbs tapping at his phone keyboard. "He'll reply quickly; he always does for me."
"It's a cardboard box," Izzy says. "To hold paper and cardboard valentines and cheap candy. That's it!"
"Money will help, but the overall design needs to be good," Ed says to Stede, as if Izzy and the kids aren't still standing there. "Money can buy resources, but it can't buy pretty, no matter how nice those resources might be."
"Oh that's good! Applies to other things too, I like it!"
"We bought them new shoes last week," Izzy sighs. Why does he keep trying? He couldn't say. "They each have a box already. We just need to help them decorate the boxes. That's it. That is all the teacher means with this project. I even asked Mary and Doug how they read it, and they agreed with me!"
"Ooh Frenchie has mock ups!" Stede cheers softly. "I knew he'd come through."
"It's okay," Alma pats Izzy's hand. "You tried really hard to make them understand. They're just excited."
"Can we go to the art stuff store now?" Louis whines, tugging at Izzy's other hand. "They won't even notice if we leave!"
"We should leave a note at least," Izzy says.
"Dad does love well written notes and random acts of abandonment," Alma sighs. "You dictate and I'll write. I want to practice my cursive."
"Really?"
"Dad can't read my cursive well yet."
"That makes more sense," Izzy says. "Louis, what are you-"
He watches as Louis tugs Stede's wallet from the countertop, and bolts outside, prize held up over his head with both hands.
"He won't notice," Alma reassures him. "You shouldn't have to pay for our stuff for this anyway."
"You've done this before."
"We'd be stupid if we hadn't," Alma tears a page from her notebook. "Here, I wrote it myself. I'm gonna get Louis in the car."
She's out the door after Louis, hands clapping to get his attention just like Mary did with them both.
"Either of you want to help me address that?" Izzy asks Ed and Stede, who he realises have indeed not stopped talking to each other the entire time. "She's a bit young to be acting like that, yeah?"
They're in their own world. Normally, he wouldn't care, but he's Guardian Five out of many and it feels like Parent/Guardians 1-4 could and should have already noticed it ahead of him.
"Fine," Izzy drops Alma's note by Stede's hand, deciding not to read it. That she actually went through with writing it is kindness enough. "I'm going to let her rack up a ridiculous bill on one of your seven credit cards, and they'll make those stupid fucking valentine boxes so fucking ornate..."
His anger fizzes out mid-sentence. Stede isn't listening. Ed isn't listening. Alma keeps honking the horn in the car and how did she get the fucking keys?!
"You know what? Fast food and ice cream for dinner too," Izzy adds. "On your dime. We'll bring you something back."
He turns his attention to Alma and the frank abuse of the car's horn. "Alma! The neighbours already don't like us, let's not make it worse! Not unless you've got something worse than this planned for later-"
--
The door thunks shut.
"Oh," Stede looks over to it. "Didn't Izzy just say something?"
"No idea," Ed replies, looking through design ideas on his phone. "Why?"
"They were just here," Stede continues. "Him and the kids. Right?"
"Maybe they went out for an after school snack," Ed shrugs. "To get inspired for this big art box project thing."
"Is that what this is? What was this for again?"
"Dunno for sure, but look at this," Ed turns the phone to show Stede the screen. "For Louis?"
Stede lets his concerns drop again. Izzy will mention if they're missing any key details about the kids' projects and what needs to be done. "I think he'd love it! Save that."
The house is getting dark around them, and he wonders if Izzy and the kids will be home for dinner.
3 notes
·
View notes
i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.
adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.
right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.
it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.
still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.
i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.
i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.
so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.
coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."
and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.
still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.
i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.
so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went
...oh.
and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.
so i did.
i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.
i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.
it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:
*ptooie.* "that all you got?"
i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!
but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.
my coach did not.
i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.
"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"
and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said
"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."
which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.
and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.
fine.
but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.
and then he left.
and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."
but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.
and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.
he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.
and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.
7K notes
·
View notes