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deadpresidents · 5 months

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Waking Up In Dallas: November 22, 1963.

Two American Presidents woke up in Dallas, Texas, on November 22, 1963. Neither of them were the two men who actually served as President on that tragic day -- John F. Kennedy or Lyndon B. Johnson.

The 37th President of the United States, 50-year-old Richard Nixon, had arrived in Dallas on November 20th for a conference of the American Bottlers of Carbonated Beverages on behalf of Pepsi-Cola, a company that his New York law firm was representing. On November 21st, Nixon sat down with reporters in his room at the Baker Hotel, where he criticized many of the policies of President Kennedy, his 1960 opponent, who would be arriving in Dallas the next day. That night, Nixon and Pepsi executives including actress Joan Crawford, who had been married to Pepsi's chairman, Alfred Steele, until his death in 1959, were entertained at the Statler Hilton.

In the early morning of November 22nd, a car dropped Nixon off, alone, at Love Field, the Dallas airport that would host President and Mrs. Kennedy, Vice President Johnson and Mrs. Johnson, and Texas Governor John Connally and his wife in just a few hours. Nixon later remembered the flags and signs displayed along the motorcade route that Kennedy would soon follow. Nixon approached the American Airlines ticket counter to check-in for his flight to New York City and told the attendant, "It looks like you're going to have a big day today."

Nixon landed several hours later in New York at an airport that would be renamed after John F. Kennedy a month later. He described what happened next in his 1978 autobiography, RN: The Memoirs of Richard Nixon:

Arriving in New York, I hailed a cab home. We drove through Queens toward the 59th Street Bridge, and as we stopped at a traffic light, a man rushed over from the curb and started talking to the driver. I heard him say, "Do you have a radio in your cab? I just heard that Kennedy was shot." We had no radio, and as we continued into Manhattan a hundred thoughts rushed through my mind. The man could have been crazy or a macabre prankster. He could have been mistaken about what he had heard; or perhaps a gunman might have shot at Kennedy but missed or only wounded him. I refused to believe that he could have been killed. As the cab drew up in front of my building, the doorman ran out. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. "Oh, Mr. Nixon, have you heard, sir?" he asked. "It's just terrible. They've killed President Kennedy."

The close 1960 Presidential election changed the relationship between Richard Nixon and John F. Kennedy, but they had once been very close. When they first entered Congress together in 1947, they considered each other personal friends, and when Nixon ran for the Senate from California in 1950, JFK stopped into Nixon's office and dropped off a financial contribution to Nixon's campaign from Kennedy's father. Nixon would later write that he felt as bad on the night of Kennedy's assassination as he had when he lost two brothers to tuberculosis when he was very young. That night, he wrote an emotional letter to Jacqueline Kennedy:

Dear Jackie, In this tragic hour Pat and I want you to know that our thoughts and prayers are with you. While the hand of fate made Jack and me political opponents I always cherished the fact that we were personal friends from the time we came to the Congress together in 1947. That friendship evidenced itself in many ways including the invitation we received to attend your wedding. Nothing I could say now could add to the splendid tributes which have come from throughout the world to him. But I want you to know that the nation will also be forever grateful for your service as First Lady. You brought to the White House charm, beauty and elegance as the official hostess of America, and the mystique of the young in heart which was uniquely yours made an indelible impression on the American consciousness. If in the days ahead we could be helpful in any way we shall be honored to be at your command. Sincerely, Dick Nixon

••• On the morning of November 22, 1963, the 41st President of the United States also woke up in Dallas, Texas. George Herbert Walker Bush was the 39-year-old president of the Zapata Off-Shore Drilling Company and chairman of the Harris County, Texas Republican Party, and had stayed the night of November 21st at the Dallas Sheraton alongside his wife, Barbara. Bush was planning a bid for the U.S. Senate in 1964 and making the rounds to line up support amongst many Texans who considered him far too moderate. One of the groups that was strongest in opposition to Bush was the ultra-right wing John Birch Society, which had recently been lodging vehement protests against President Kennedy's upcoming visit to Dallas.

Conspiracy theorists claim that there were far more sinister motives for George Bush being in Dallas on November 22, 1963. Some claim that Bush was a secret CIA operative involved in planning or even carrying out the assassination of President Kennedy. Some even argue that a grainy photograph of a man resembling Bush taken shortly after the assassination proves that Bush was actually in Dealey Plaza at the time of Kennedy's shooting.

He wasn't. He wasn't even in Dallas. We know where George Herbert Walker Bush was at the time of JFK's assassination -- we have plenty of eyewitnesses who can confirm it. While Lee Harvey Oswald was shooting President Kennedy, George Bush was about 100 miles away from Dallas, in Tyler, Texas, speaking at a Kiwanis Club luncheon. Like Nixon, Bush and his wife, Barbara, had also boarded a plane that morning in Dallas -- a private plane that transported them to Tyler for the Kiwanis Club event. While Bush was speaking, word of the President's assassination reached the luncheon and the local club president, Wendell Cherry, leaned over and gave the news to Bush. Bush quickly notified the crowd, and said, "In view of the President's death, I consider it inappropriate to continue with a political speech at this time." He ended his speech and sat down while the luncheon broke up in stunned silence.

Bush's wife, Barbara, wasn't at the Kiwanis Club luncheon. While her husband was speaking, Barbara Bush went to a beauty parlor in Tyler to get her hair styled. As her hair was being done, Barbara began writing a letter to family and heard the news over the radio that JFK had been shot and then that the President had died. In her 1994 memoir, Barbara included the letter, part of which said:

I am writing this at the Beauty Parlor, and the radio says that the President has been shot. Oh Texas -- my Texas -- my God -- let's hope it's not true. I am sick at heart as we all are. Yes, the story is true and the Governor also. How hateful some people are. Since, the beauty parlor, the President has died. We are once again on a plane. This time a commercial plane. Poppy (George H.W. Bush's family nickname) picked me up at the beauty parlor -- we went right to the airport, flew to Ft. Worth and dropped Mr. Zeppo off (we were on his plane) and flew back to Dallas. We had to circle the field while the second Presidential plane took off. Immediately, Pop got tickets back to Houston, and here we are flying home. We are sick at heart. The tales the radio reporters tell of Jackie Kennedy are the bravest. We are hoping that it is not some far-right nut, but a "commie" nut. You understand that we know they are both nuts, but just hope that it is not a Texan and not an American at all. I am amazed by the rapid-fire thinking and planning that has already been done. LBJ has been the President for some time now -- two hours at least and it is only 4:30. My dearest love to you all, Bar

As Barbara Bush noted in her letter, the Bushes did not stay another night at the Dallas Sheraton on November 22nd, as they had originally planned. They returned to Dallas on the private jet that had transported them to Tyler earlier in the day, and caught a commercial flight home to Houston. The "second Presidential plane" that took off while Bush's plane circled Love Field was the plane that had transported Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson to Dallas earlier that day, Air Force Two. Johnson was already heading back to Washington, now on Air Force One, with the casket of John F. Kennedy.

••• The 37th President of the United States and the 41st President of the United States woke up in Dallas, Texas on the morning of November 22, 1963. The 31st President, 89-year-old Herbert Hoover, was in failing health in the elegant suite he called home at New York's Waldorf-Astoria. Within the next few weeks, he would be visited by the new President, Lyndon Johnson, and President Kennedy's grieving widow, Jackie, and the President's brother, Attorney General Bobby Kennedy. The 33rd President, 79-year-old Harry Truman, learned of JFK's death in Missouri, while the 34th President, 73-year-old Dwight D. Eisenhower, heard of the assassination while attending a meeting at the United Nations in New York. Truman and Eisenhower would squash a long, bitter personal feud that weekend while attending Kennedy's funeral in Washington. The 38th President, 50-year-old Michigan Congressman Gerald Ford, was driving home with his wife Betty after attending a parent conference with their son Jack's teacher when they heard the news on the radio in their car. Two days later, President Johnson would call on Ford to serve on the Warren Commission investigating the assassination.

The 39th President, Jimmy Carter was 39 years old and had just gotten off a tractor near the warehouse of his Plains, Georgia peanut farm when a group of farmers informed him of the news of the shooting. Carter found a quiet area, kneeled down in prayer, and when he heard that Kennedy had died, cried for the first time since his father had died ten years earlier. Ronald Reagan, the 40th President, was 52 years old and preparing for a run as Governor of California. A little more than 17 years later, the now-President Reagan would also be shot by a lone gunman in the middle of the day. While Reagan would survive the attempt on his life, it was very nearly fatal and reminded his wife, Nancy, of November 22, 1963. As she was transported to George Washington Hospital following Reagan's shooting, Nancy would later note, "As my mind raced, I flashed to scenes of Parkland Memorial Hospital in Texas, and the day President Kennedy was shot. I had been driving down San Vicente Boulevard in Los Angeles when a bulletin came over the car radio. Now, more than seventeen years later, I prayed that history would not be repeated, that Washington would not become another Dallas. That my husband would live."

The 41st President, Bill Clinton, and the 43rd President, George W. Bush, were both 17 years old and in school -- Bush at the Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts, and Clinton at Hot Springs High School in Hot Springs, Arkansas. Clinton was in his fourth period calculus class when his teacher was called out of the room and returned to announce that President Kennedy had been killed. Four months earlier, Clinton had traveled to Washington with the Boys Nation program and, during a ceremony in the Rose Garden of the White House, pushed his way to the front of the line and shook President Kennedy's hand. The 44th President, Barack Obama, was a 2-year-old living in Hawaii.

••• The 35th President, 46-year-old John F. Kennedy, would die in Dallas on November 22, 1963. Lyndon B. Johnson, 55, would become the 36th President in Dallas that day. But they woke up that morning in Fort Worth at the Texas Hotel. Kennedy had slept the last night of his life in suite 850 on the eighth floor, now the Presidential suite. LBJ had slept the last night of his Vice Presidency in the much more expensive and elegant Will Rogers Suite on the thirteenth floor. The Secret Service had vetoed the Will Rogers Suite for the President because it was more difficult to secure. It was raining in Fort Worth as they woke up, but the skies had cleared by the time they landed in Dallas. Before breakfast, President Kennedy, Vice President Johnson, and Texas Governor John Connally headed outside and briefly addressed a crowd that had gathered long before the sun had come up in hopes of seeing JFK. Jacqueline Kennedy didn't accompany them outside and President Kennedy joked to the crowd, "Mrs. Kennedy is organizing herself. It takes her a little longer but, of course, she looks better than we do when she does it."

Afterward, they headed inside for breakfast in the Texas Hotel's Grand Ballroom with several hundred guests. The President sent for Mrs. Kennedy to join them, and her late arrival to the breakfast excited the guests in the ballroom. When the President spoke to the group, he joked again, "Two years ago I introduced myself in Paris as the man who had accompanied Mrs. Kennedy to Paris. I'm getting somewhat that same sensation as I travel around Texas." Then he noted, "Nobody wonders what Lyndon and I wear."

When the breakfast ended, the Kennedys headed upstairs and had an hour or so to wait before heading to the airport for the short flight to Dallas. It was during this time that Jackie Kennedy saw a hateful ad placed in that morning's Dallas Morning News accusing President Kennedy of collusion with Communists and treasnous activity. Trying to calm Jackie down, the President joked, "Oh, we're heading into nut country today." But a few minutes later, Jackie overheard Kennedy telling his aide, Ken O'Donnell, "It would not be a very difficult job to shoot the President of the United States. All you'd have to do is get up in a high building with a high-powered rifle with a telescopic sight, and there's nothing anybody can do."

••• Even though the trip from Fort Worth's Carswell Air Force Base to Dallas's Love Field would only take thirteen minutes by air, the trip to Texas was first-and-foremost a political trip -- a kickoff of sorts to JFK's 1964 re-election campaign -- and a grand entrance was needed. So, JFK and Jackie boarded the plane usually used as Air Force One, LBJ and Lady Bird Johnson boarded the plane usually used by the Vice President, Air Force Two, and the huge Presidential party took to the skies, covering thirty miles in thirteen minutes, in order to get the big Dallas welcome that they were hoping for. They landed in Dallas at 11:40 AM, and President Kennedy looked out the window of his plane, saw a big, happy crowd, and told Ken O'Donnell, "This trip is turning out to be terrific. Here we are in Dallas, and it looks like everything in Texas is going to be fine for us."

At 2:47 PM -- just three hours and seven minutes later -- everyone was back on Air Force One as the plane climbed off of the Love Field runway and into the Dallas sky. John F. Kennedy, the 35th President, was in a casket wedged into a space in the rear of Air Force One where two rows of seats had been removed so that it would be fit. Lyndon B. Johnson had officially been sworn in as the 36th President about ten minutes earlier on the plane by federal judge Sarah T. Hughes. On one side of Johnson while he took the oath was his wife, Lady Bird, and on the other side, the widowed former First Lady, Jackie Kennedy, still wearing a pink dress splattered with her husband's blood and brain matter.

Two American Presidents woke up in Dallas on November 22, 1963 -- Richard Nixon and George H.W. Bush -- but they weren't in town when John F. Kennedy was assassinated, no matter how many ways conspiracy theorists try to twist the story. The President who died in Dallas that day, John F. Kennedy, and the man who became President in Dallas that day, Lyndon B. Johnson, woke up in Fort Worth on the morning of November 22, 1963. But they'll be forever linked with Dallas -- and the world that woke up the next morning would never be the same again.

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codevassie · 6 years

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@aphfallfandomweek Day 5: Spooky PruCan

CV: It’s late, but here it is! Since it’s kinda a long one and I didn’t have anything planned for Saturday’s prompt, I decided to split it up. This is part one. I don’t have the prompt for today written yet, but I’m thinking of doing a small Spamano drabble tonight. Enjoy!

Warnings: Blood, Loss, Death

Matthew sat on the stoop of his house. His feet in their scuffed tennis shoes were on the concrete of the little path that led to his family’s front door. His elbows sat on his knees, and his head rested in the palms of his hands. He wore a t-shirt and jeans, only slightly chilled by the autumn breeze, but annoyed when his hair gusted into his face. As he attempted to blow it away, he muttered about getting a haircut.

But his soft, violet eyes could not be distracted long by his thick, fair, annoyingly long hair. There were people trickling out of their homes, little by little, as the evening crept slowly forward. The youngest were always out first, accompanied by parents or siblings, and not quite sure what this ridiculous tradition was all about yet. They’d come out in cute, ridiculous costumes their parents had chosen, giggling from strollers or peering curiously around as they walked hand-in-hand with their chaperone.

Matthew loved it. Loved watching it all, the kids and their fun, the parents and their coaxing. He love the paper witch they always hung on their door, the smell of the carved jack-o’-lantern beside him, waiting as his first trick-or-treater approached.

Matthew smiled in greeting as one shy boy crossed the grass of their lawn–what his parents would probably be complaining about at breakfast the next morning. Matthew, of course, didn’t care all that much about the grass. It died in the autumn anyway.

Instead, watching the boy, he was reminded of himself, carrying a cauldron-shaped pail, watching his sneakers crush brittle grass in contrast to the rest of his clothes, in character for whatever he had chosen to be that year. In the dark, with a cheap flashlight in one hand and candy weighing down the other, watching his sneakers proved to be the single grounding sight of the otherwise ethereal Halloween.

When the little boy stopped before him, he stamped his own sneakers and Matthew notice they were light-up. He pulled his head up from his hands and smiled, turning to retrieve the bowl on his left.

“Hi!” he said, and the boy held out a pillowcase.

“Trick-or-treat!”

Matthew's heart swelled at the words, and he held out the orange plastic candy bowl in offering. He complimented the kid on his awesome Power Rangers costume, for which the boy beamed at him, and let the kid go, who was obviously ready to get off to the next house. There was more candy to get, more door bells to ring, more Halloween to go.

Matthew only wished he could go too.

His parents had told him he was too old for Halloween, now sixteen and practically friendless. They wanted him to go to parties or watch scary movies with them. What was the point in dress-up and trick-or-treating if it was alone?

Which, they had a point, Matthew supposed. Going out alone sounded lame, not to mention lonely. He was too old to take his parents, and his brother wouldn't come with. Matthew had no friends. So Halloween this year would have to be spent from the lonely stoop.

Watching the child go, Matthew pushed up his glasses and set the bowl aside again. When the kid got back to his dad, he held out his pillowcase excitedly and pointed back to Matthew. When the dad looked over, Matthew waved embarrassedly, not sure what he really had to be so embarrassed about.

But the man didn't wave back or smile in greeting. He frowned, causing Matthew to curl in on himself. Looking troubled, the man let his son away, leaving Matthew more lonely than ever.

What a Halloween this was looking to be. All alone on that stoop.

-/-

The sky had finally become dark, bringing out the older kids with it–the kids whose parents didn't think they were too old for Halloween, the kids who had friends to spend the night with.

Matthew continue to sit on the stoop, bathed in the light of the moon. The older kids didn't approach him as much as the younger ones had, mostly steering clear of the weird kid giving out candy instead of out on Halloween night. Matthew recognized a couple of them from his school, but didn't call out to them. He didn’t know any of them all too well for them to have cared.

It probably didn't help that Matthew was out there, sitting in the dark. No one had turned on the front light, leading him to believe his parents had probably forgotten about him out there. Matthew didn't turn it on himself either, though. Perhaps he didn't want anyone else to approach that night. Perhaps he just wanted to observe.

He began eating candy from the bowl, taking advantage of their surplus and the pass he bestowed on himself yearly to eat all the sugar he wanted on Halloween, to go through at least ten of the treats, the colorful wrappers littering the step beside him. He continued watching the trick-or-treaters walk up and down the street, friends pushing one another after a horrible joke, pranksters jumping out of bushes and yelling “boo!” When a breeze flew by, Matthew watched the brown and brittle leaves swirl across the road and between legs and mailboxes. He shivered and rubbed at his exposed arms, kind of regretting his decision to not grab a sweater.

But he wasn't going in. Not yet. If he went in, Halloween would be over and his favorite day of the year would have come and gone. Matthew was willing to freeze if it would just last a little bit longer.

So he tucked his arms close, burying his fingers, which, now that he noticed, he realized have been freezing practically all day. Under his thighs were warm, but it left his arms exposed, and, when his hair fell into his face again, he frowned and started blowing it away again, keeping up a determined pace for a few minutes but failing.

He was so focused on this task, however, that he hadn't even heard when a pair of footsteps approached, not until the figure loomed before him.

Matthew looked up, finding blood-red eyes staring straight at him. He yelled and jumped up, coming face-to-face with the intruder.

Before he could fall back or run away, Matthew’s brain seem to catch up, some sort of faulty on his fight-or-flight, no doubt, and his own eyes widened. “Gilbert?”

“Matthew,” Gilbert said, and Matthew had to take another moment to look him over, making sure it really was who he thought. He had never heard Gilbert's voice sound so… soft before. Gilbert wasn't a quiet guy. But it was him; there was no doubt.

“Hey,” Matthew said with a friendly smile. “Sorry, you scared me.”

Matthew went to sit down, and he scooted to the side, making room for his new guest. Halfway into doing this, though, Matthew paused, wondering why. He and Gilbert weren’t friends. At least, not so much these days. They'd been best friends in middle school, and, while there hadn't been any huge fall out between them, they’d certainly grown apart. What if Gilbert was just there to get Alfred? It seemed that, these days, the two were better friends than Gilbert and Matthew.

And Matthew wasn't bitter. Seriously. Yes, he wished he and Gilbert were still close, that whatever had driven them apart in middle school had never happened, or that he would have tried harder to hold on to it. But he wasn't resentful of the fact they had drifted. If anything, he was disappointed in himself for letting it happen.

But Gilbert seemed happy these days, always laughing when Matthew saw him, or having fun with Antonio and Francis. He had made friends with good people and grown too, grown like he wouldn’t have, saddled with Matthew as his friend.

The knowledge of this didn't stop Matthew from wishing he could have been apart of it, though.

It was too late to pretend he had been shifting his weight or something, though, and the space he’d made on the stoop was obviously the gesture Matthew had meant it to be. Gilbert didn't even hesitate to sit.

But something was up. Gilbert was acting… strange. Which was something else because, usually, Gilbert's normal was strange. He was quiet and he wouldn't look at Matthew, instead tugging at the ends of his hair, which glowed in the light of the moon.

So Matthew did something strange too. He spoke first. “Were you looking for Alfred?”

Gilbert's had snapped up and, finally, he looked at him. Matthew raised his brows in question, waiting, waiting for the gears to move in Gilbert's head, because, at the moment, it looked like he was a robot whose interface was still booting up.

Once, he and Gilbert had both gone as robots for Halloween, back in the days his parents would take them out and Matthew had friends to go with.

Slowly, Gilbert began to shake his head. “No,” he said, and it was slow and careful, rubbing Matthew the wrong way. Gilbert was never... never slow or careful about anything. Something was definitely up. “Why? Have you seen him?”

And that. That was a good question. He hadn’t seen Alfred since he'd started passing out candy. And before that…

“Nevermind,” Gilbert said suddenly, shutting off Matthew's train of thought. “I actually came to see if you were home.”

“Really?” Matthew asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. “Why?”

“Oh, you know,” Gilbert said, and he looked away like the vagueness would answer for itself.

“Is something wrong?”

At this, Gilbert frowned, looking at him again. “Hey, does something have to be wrong for me to visit a friend?” He laughed nervously, which only made Matthew nervous to, not to mention suspicious.

“It's Halloween. I'm sure you've got places to TP with Antonio and Francis, don't you?” Matthew asked, and he kept his voice light, despite the uneasy feeling stirring in his gut.

“Nope,” Gilbert said, then he was quiet again. Matthew frowned, but, before he could say anything more, Gilbert spoke again. “I just wanted to see you, Birdy. Is that so bad?”

Birdy. Gilbert hadn't called him that since they were kids, long before they’d drifted. Matthew had almost forgotten about it.

And he laughed.

“Birdy. That's an old one,” he said and, without even thinking, bumped shoulders with his friend. For a moment, all the years had melted away. He wasn't in middle school again, because Matthew knew so much more now. About himself. About Gilbert. About what he felt for the boy who once called him ‘Birdy.’ But, instead, it was as if all those years had melded together, leaving the impression of something less lonely, a reality that, even separate, they had never been quite apart.

“It is, isn't it?” Gilbert said, voice fond, and another tone unfamiliar to Matthew. The unfamiliarity caused Matthew to remember, and that semblance of another reality melted away. He pulled away, but Gilbert didn't seem to notice, caught up in some thought running through his head. “I remember realizing that I’d wanted to call you that again for a long time. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to.”

“You can call me it,” Matthew said, and Gilbert looked over, as if snapping out of a daze. With that, a grin grew, and so appeared a Gilbert he was familiar with. He’d seen sad Gilbert, happy Gilbert, angry Gilbert… so many. But never before had he seen the one that had sat before him just a minute ago. Whatever Gilbert that was was new and foreign, aged.

But, now- now Matthew could see his childhood friend, his middle school tragedy, his high school crush.

The Gilbert that would wink across the classroom at him when he remembered he existed. The Gilbert that cared for his bird and his brother and his friends. And Matthew relaxed. And his fingers weren't so freezing. And that stoop wasn't so lonely.

Matthew almost smiled, full and bright, in return, and he was well on his way before another set of footsteps treaded up the driveway not too far away. For some reason, this brought something icky and gooey pouring into his stomach, lighting up his brain and jump-starting his limbs so they buzzed with the energy to move, to bolt.

Perhaps his fight-or-flight wasn't completely shot, because, at the moment, dread was pushing him to go, leave now before- before-

Before something bad came.

Realizing who it was, who appeared in the dim light of the garage, didn't cease Matthew’s turbulent emotions as much as he thought the sight of his brother would. Alfred posed no threat, despite his Chainsaw Massacre get-up he must have worn for some Halloween party.

When Alfred saw them, he immediately made his way over, the shadows covering his face again once he left the light. He moved slowly, almost sluggishly. He seemed tired. Must have been one hell of a party if he was returning already at ten, looking exhausted.

“Hey, Al,” Matthew called, giving a short wave in his direction, while pulling his legs up to his chest. It was getting colder out.

Alfred ignored him, though, walking until he was in front of Gilbert. “Hey,” he said and Matthew looked between the two. His eyes stuck to Gilbert when he noticed… he looked nervous. That couldn't be-

“Hey,” Gilbert replied and Matthew tore his eyes away, heaving a huge sigh. This conversation was going to take forever if they kept to greetings like this.

“Did you go to a party?” he asked, but Alfred didn't even look at him. He kept his eyes on Gilbert. Suddenly, Matthew was worried something had happened between Alfred and Gilbert, something that rendered his brother pissed enough to keep his attention solely on Gilbert. Alfred wouldn’t ignore Matthew otherwise; he knew how Matthew was about people ignoring him.

But he didn't look ticked. Just… tired. Really really tired.

“Thought you were at Liz's party,” Gilbert said and Alfred shook his head, shoulders sagging even more.

“Couldn't,” he said and left it at that. But his tone was really starting to concern Matthew.

“Al, what's wrong?” he asked and, from the corner of his eye, saw Gilbert flinch. He looked over and caught Gilbert's eye right before Gilbert turned back, looking guilty, to Alfred.

Matthew turn back to, pushing it to the back of his head. He would ask Gilbert about it later. Now, he had to find out what was up with his brother.

But, when he turned back, Al still wasn't looking at him. In fact, he wasn't looking at either of them, instead, eyes fixed behind them, at the door to the house.

Was Alfred mad at… him?

Matthew frowned. “Alfred, don't be like that.”

Again. No response. Not even a flicker of his eyes, his usual tick when Alfred tried to avoid eye contact. He didn’t frown or flinch. He gave no indication at all that he'd heard Matthew.

“Yeah, real mature,” Matthew mumbled, crossing his arms. He stepped closer. Still nothing. “Are you mad at me? At least tell me why.”

When there was still no response, Matthew turn to Gilbert, feeling strangely hurt. With the frustration, he could feel his eyes growing hot. He was confused, he was worried, and he was angry. What could he have done to piss Alfred off so badly? So much that he would ignore Matthew. He knew how much Matthew hated it.

But he couldn't–couldn’t–let on how much it was affecting him. Because there was only one reason Al would stoop this low, and it was to get a rise out of him. He wouldn't let his stupid, jerk brother get to him.

“Gilbert,” he said, voice wavering as he used every ounce of control he possessed to repress it. “Could you tell Alfred, if he's going to ignore me, that I'm perfectly willing to return the favor?”

At this, Gilbert looked panicked for a second, caught between something Matthew couldn't decipher. His red eyes darted between him and Alfred, clearly at a standstill. Then, with a short shake of his head, it was all obvious to Matthew now. He felt his throat closing up and eyes mist, just before blinking rapidly and pulling out another emotion, one that would mask his frustration and tears and betrayal. Matthew held onto his anger like a shield.

“Fine,” he said, stepping back from who he’d thought of–this whole time–as his best friend. “You can both ignore me for all I care. I'm going inside.”

With that, Matthew turned on his heel to the front door, ready to get away as quickly as he could. He should have known. He should have known. Gilbert didn't want him as a friend. He hadn't for years. Why would he have suddenly changed now? He was here for Alfred. Cool Alfred. Fun Alfred. Awesome Alfred. All things Matthew would even agree with if he wasn't so angry and hurt. He loved his brother, but he was ignoring him and he knew what that did to Matthew.

He couldn't stand to be there anymore. He had to go somewhere, be anywhere else. If he didn't get away, he didn't know what he'd do.

Cry, probably.

But, as soon as he turned toward the door, his eyes caught it. Matthew stopped, his anger draining, replacing. Replacing with confusion.

The door was bare.

They always had the paper witch out, though. Matthew had begun putting it up, creating somewhat of a tradition, after he'd found it in an old box of decorations in the attic. His mother thought it looked atrocious, but there was always a smile on her face when she saw it on the front door. When he was young and too short to reach, Alfred had always made himself into a step stool for Matthew to reach the tiny nail on the door.

They always had the paper witch up. Matthew remembered putting it up that year. His parents had been at work, Alfred at a club for school. It was always like that around mid-day. He was alone at the house, where he could study or bake or listen to music in an introverted peace, until the evening when he would sit on the couch and watch TV with his parents or play videogames with his brother. When she’d come home that day, his mother had announced she'd seen the witch by saying, “I see the Ugly Witch of the West is back!”

Back in the present, Matthew immediately looked down, afraid the decoration had dropped and crumpled, or broken. But it wasn't on the ground. There was nothing on the stoop.

No jack-o'-lantern. No plastic bowl of candies. No discarded wrappers. It was bare.

“Wha-” Matthew began, uncomprehendingly.

“He loved Halloween,” Alfred said, at last looking away from the door, the same door Matthew was currently gaping at. “I just couldn't without him, you know?”

“Yeah,” Gilbert said, and Matthew turned his expression on him, still so lost, so confused.

“And, it's stupid,” Alfred continued. “I hadn't even celebrated it with him in years. Last year, he didn't do anything, but sit here. When I got home, he was still there, and I passed him to go to bed. I had invited him to the party I was going to, but parties were never his jam.”

“They weren't,” Gilbert agreed. His eyes were on Matthew’s, and Matthew still couldn't understand. In his gaze, there was something, something Matthew was supposed to get. And Alfred’s words, they sounded like- But no. No, it couldn't-

“Tomorrow it'll have been a year,” Alfred said. There was silence between them then, neither Gilbert nor Alfred having anything to say on the matter. Matthew certainly didn't. He looked back at the door, where the witch should have been. He’d put it up. He know he had. What if it had been taken? His witch couldn’t have been stolen-

Stolen...

Who are you?

Matthew’s eyes widened at the voice, his own, but in his head. The glimmer of a memory, but…

Emotions flooded him, odd, but familiar. Fear gripped him and he didn’t know why, but he felt as if he’d never been more scared in his life. He felt alone and afraid and in danger. A danger so close and so real, it breathed down his neck from behind him.

Why are you here?

Matthew’s mouth was dry as his vision swam. He became so disoriented that he couldn’t remember where he was, rocking slowly forward and back on his heels, unable to hold himself steady as if on the sea. Then, a voice came through–not one in his head, but outside, in the present.

“Whatever you're here for, could we do it another time?” Alfred's voice suddenly came, like an echo down a long corridor, screaming through a tunnel where Matthew ran and ran but could not get close.

“Yeah, of course, man,” another voice replied. Gilbert. Matthew’s vision began clearing until a light shown through.

The witchless door had opened, light showing through as a figure moved past. Matthew stepped forward, drawn by some inexplicable force. Dread. It replaced his fear and confusion. Dread flooded him and it was all there was. Dread that made him step forward. Dread that made him raise a hand, as he called out, “Wait-”

But the door shut, restoring his vision as the blank surface of it snapped into focus, too bright and too bare. Witchless. Because Matthew hadn't put up the witch that year. He knew that now, somehow. He hadn’t put the decoration up.

The door felt like a barrier. It felt like a good-bye. Unresolved and unfulfilling. Alfred was gone and out of reach, but why didn’t Matthew just go in after him? What held him back?

His head was pounding, a short agony right at his temple. But not quite so short anymore. He felt it and felt it and it didn't feel real, couldn't feel real, but it hurt. It hurt like it was real.

He reached a hand up to press at it, hoping to alleviate some of the pain, but drew back after touching…

Touching something wet. Something that now stained his fingertips red as he held his hand before him.

“Birdy,” Gilbert called behind him, and Matthew was startled to finally be recognized. There was no sense of accomplishment, though. No anger either. Only confusion, a quiet horror.

“I can't remember,” he whispered, thinking of his witch, of his voice in his head, and the blood on his fingers, and the fear that had run through his veins. “I- I-”

“Birdy- Matthew,” Gilbert said, and his voice was closer now, stoppered with emotion. Fear and nervousness. And sadness... “I have to explain.”

But, somewhere deep inside, Matthew already knew. The pounding in his head, so real to him now, but numb, wet, exposed. The voices, like a memory. Alfred, ignoring him, like he hadn't even seen him.

It didn't make sense. It couldn't be real. But he knew.

With searching, desperate eyes, Matthew implored Gilbert.

“Am I dead?”

#aph #hetalia #prucan #aph prussia #aph canada #gilbert beilschmidt #matthew williams #aphfallfandomweek #blood #loss #death

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whothefuckisjasonpetertodd · 6 years

Text

Batman Vol 1 (1940) 376

We begin this issue with a really bad prank on a member of Gotham’s high society, where his „friends“ hired a group of professional death pranksters called Nightmares Incorporated, to stage a break-in and murder in his house. I would argue that anyone who’d do something like that to you is not your friend, but oh well.

On the supportive side of friendship, we get Alfred doing his very best to provide emotional support to Bruce, who is feeling completely helpless about his separation from Jason. Bruce is supportive right back, because Alfred also misses dearly AND has to deal with Julia having moved out on top of that. Oh, and since this scene takes place in Jason’s room, here’s a few interesting trivia bits: he keeps a picture of Waldo (his clown friend from the circus) and posters of his family’s stage appearances in his room, and he reads historical fiction (Stevenson’s “Kidnapped”), “Heroes of Sport” and a collection of classics. Good Batdad: 18

Eventually, the topic moves on from Jason to Batman to a burglary that happened at the same house where the party from the first few pages happened. Bruce decides to check out Nightmares Incorporated. Meanwhile, Jason demonstrates that he knows just the right words to use to keep CPS as far off his back as he can (and he also misses Bruce and is just generally feeling miserable). A Lonely Place Of Living: 8

Over at Nightmares Inc, Batman finds out that the charming head of the company, “Nightshade”, actually has the much less threatening and totally normal name of Sturges Hellstrom, who previously worked as a movie stuntman. Unfortunately, Batman finds no concrete evidence and has to leave because Hellstrom and his crew are coming back. He uses GCPD’s computers to get more info and Bullock accidentally deletes an entire harddrive worth of data when trying to get information out of him. Oops. Batman leaves to question other clients of Nightmares Inc. Turns out they were also burglarized, but never reported anything to the police for various personal reasons.

Bruce returns home and decides to throw a party to lure Nightmares Inc into a trap. Of course both Vicki and Julia are invited and things quickly turn ugly between the two. While Nightshade scares the guests, Bruce slips into gear long enough to verify that the other members of Nightshade Inc are casing the manor, then breaks up the prank as Bruce Wayne. Later, he goes to Nightmares Inc’s offices, but they are all cleared out. He falls into a trap set by Nightshade, who manages to escape and flee to his “silent partner” in this venture: Nocturna.

#Jason Todd #Earth One Jason #Batman Vol 1 (1940) 376 #Alfred Pennyworth #Good Batdad #A Lonely Place Of Living

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pincushicn · 7 years

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✩

Send ‘✩’ for the following:

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? yikes. cass is already super quiet and oliver keeps a frighteningly level head in arguments and fights, but he’ll definitely be the first to crack.Who threatens to leave but never actually does? cass.Who actually keeps their word and leaves? oliver.Who trashes the house? cass.Do either of them get physical? UH. CASSANDRA. APPARENTLY. oliver would never raise a hand against her.How often do they argue/disagree? their disagreements vary from nonsensical to rarely Very Serious.Who is the first to apologise? depends on who was More Wrong

Sex:

Who is on top? lau GHS cassWho is on the bottom? i mean, oliver, but tbf he knows exactly how to shut cass up.Who has the strangest desires? cass’ sexual experiences pretty much boil down to oliver and oliver is just — he’s passed that phase ages ago.Any kinks? biting, scratching, cass loves riding his faceWho’s dominant in bed? cass is getting there, but it’s definitely oliver — he just likes giving her the upper hand.Is head ever in the equation? when is head not in the equation — oliver loves giving it and cass likes to surprise him with itIf so, who is better at performing it? ollieEver had sex in public? they’ve probably had sex in a bathroom or a coat closet at a gala or somethingWho moans the most? definitely cass, and she’s annoyed ollie doesn’tWho leaves the most marks? cASSANDRA — also stop ruining his clothesWho screams the loudest? cassandra is the team ScreamerWho is the more experienced of the two? h A HA ollieDo they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? a little bit of the first, a lot more of the secondRough or soft? soft but intenseHow long do they usually last? cass is apparently more spry than ollie used to be, she’s giving him a run for his moneyIs protection used? condoms in the beginning, cass is on birth controlDoes it ever get boring? not boring, but they’ve run into a few instances where oliver just couldn’t emotionally or mentally investWhere is the strangest place they’d have sex? probably... a coat closet...

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? you’d have to make him admit it, but oliver definitely wants kids — cass definitely would want them with ollieIf so, how many children do your muses want/have? at least one, but oliver did a bad job of keeping the last oneWho is the favorite parent? cassWho is the authoritative parent? ollieWho is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? i wanna say cass but she’d probably be more adamant about her kid actually getting an education unlike her, so ollieWho lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? fu CKING CASSANDRAWho turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? both of them, and they yell a lot and they’re really embarrassingWho goes to parent teacher interviews? oliverWho changes the diapers? oliver, he’s surprisingly really good at itWho gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? ...they both probably do, they have shit sleeping schedulesWho spends the most time with the children? i feel like they’d try to split their time equally but it’s pROBABLY GRAMPA BRUCEWho packs their lunch boxes? (alfred) oliver Who gives their children ‘the talk’? oliverWho cleans up after the kids? cassandra, eventuallyWho worries the most? cassandraWho are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? ...cassandra

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? cassandra seeks it out, oliver waits for it to happenWho is the little spoon? ..........oliverWho gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? cassWho struggles to keep their hands to themselves? oliver. his hands, his scruff —How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? depends on what cassandra is doing 8IWho gives the most kisses? oliverWhat is their favourite non-sexual activity? holds hands, shoulder rubs, JUSTICEWhere is their favourite place to cuddle? on the couch by the fireplaceWho is more likely to playfully grope the other? ...both, definitely both.How often do they get time to themselves? their work life balance is all over the place, so whenever they’re together they try to make the best of it

Sleeping:

Who snores? oliver, apparently, but they’re soft sleepy snoresIf both do, who snores the loudest?Do they share a bed or sleep separately? try to pry them apart i dare youIf they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? cass always big spoons him or oliver tucks her under his chinWho talks in their sleep? oliverWhat do they wear to bed? if they’re lucky, nothingAre either of your muses insomniacs? boTH OF THEM CALL THE POLICECan sleeping pills be found by the bedside? no. cass isn’t much for that kind of stuff and oliver doesn’t like to fill his body with unneeded chemical.Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? oliver’s dating an octopus, not a batWho wakes up with bed hair? oliverWho wakes up first? depends on the kind of nightWho prepares breakfast in bed for the other? oliverWhat is their favourite sleeping position? SPOONING, HOW MANY TIMES DO I GOTTA —Who hogs the sheets? cassDo they set an alarm each night? oliver has to, now that he’s mayorCan a television be found in their bedroom? nope.Who has nightmares? both.Who has ridiculous dreams? ... i feel like cass is more of a culpritWho sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? i’d say cass but she’s so fucking SMALL so oliverWho makes the bed? oliverWhat time is bed time? whoever’s body gives out firstAny routines/rituals before bed? oliver likes to brush his teeth and wash his face and usually take a shower — cass almost always mimics himWho’s the grumpiest when they wake up? oliver

Work:

Who is the busiest? depends on the definition of busy, but probably oliverWho rakes in the highest income? playboy billionaire OLIVERAre any of your muses unemployed? does being batgirl count as employmentWho takes the most sick days? ...oliver... can’t... afford it....Who is more likely to turn up late to work? oliverWho sucks up to their boss? fuck off, oliver is the BossWhat are their jobs? oliver’s the mayor, cass is Scary At NightWho stresses the most? oliverDo your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? oliver’s learning to love being mayor, but his hearts set more on green arrow. cass just wants to be batmanAre your muses financially stable? oliver’s rich and cass has a rich daddy, SO

Home:

Who does the washing? oliver’s been teaching cass, so they split itWho takes out the trash? splitWho does the ironing? oliverWho does the cooking? oliverWho is more likely to burn the house down just trying? cassWho is messier? cassWho leaves the toilet roll empty? cassWho leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? cassWho is the prankster around the house? cass until OLIVER HANDS HER ASS TO HERWho loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? neither of themWho mows the lawn? FUCK LAWNSWho answers the telephone? oliverWho does the vacuuming? oliver, sometimes cass likes to ride around on the vacuumWho does the groceries? oliverWho takes the longest to shower? .............oliverWho spends the most time in the bathroom? AGAIN PROBABLY OLIVER

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? nahHow many cars do they own? one car, a motorcycle eachDo they own their home or do they rent? ollie has a penthouseDo they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? idk CW CAN’T SEEM TO FIGURE OUT WHERE STAR CITY IS but whether it’s east or west coast, it’s near the oceanDo they live in the city or in the country? cityDo they enjoy their surroundings? cass prefers gotham and the city is oliver’s jungleWhat’s their song? i don’t... think they... have one...What do they do when they’re away from each other? turn into depressed workaholicsWhere did they first meet? in the arrow cave!How did they first meet? idr but i’m pretty sure cass beat him up sparringWho spends the most money when out shopping? ...........cass.......Who’s more likely to flash their assets? cass. her asset: oliverWho finds it amusing when the other trips over? cass, because she never trips, everAny mental issues? WHOO BOY THIS MEME IS ALREADY LONG ENOUGHWho’s terrified of bugs? neitherWho kills the spiders around the house? they have designated spider cups and then they set them freeTheir favourite place? penthouse alcoveWho pays the bills? oliverDo they have any fears for their future? AGAIN, THIS MEME IS ALREADY GETTING LONGWho’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? oliverWho uses up all of the hot water? cass, except... they don’t run out of hot waterWho’s the tallest? oliver and he lives to remind cass every dayWho’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? bothWho wanders around in their underwear? cass, but also ollieWho sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? neitherWhat do they tease each other about? ollie about cass’s height, cass likes to call him fat any time he lays on her to keep her from moving. she also likes to tease him about being a Scary ManWho is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? eHHH idk they both have a pretty... good sense for what they look good in.Do they have mutual friends? too manyWho crushed first? i think it was cassAny alcohol or substance related problems? nnnnah.Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? neitherWho swears the most? definitely oliver

#meme.#that was the longest meme of my life #aheriocpath #file received.

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