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toothpastecanyon · 3 years

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A Name From the Mailbox, Chapter 4

Dipper finds out the author's name before Not What He Seems. It's not the person he expected.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

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“The end times?”

The ride home had been strange so far. Dipper and Mabel exchanged glances before looking back at the old man sitting between them.

“There’s a doomsday device under Gravity Falls?” Dipper made a face. “No offense, but is this, uh, like the Gobblewonker situation?”

“It’s real! Look at these gravitational readings, kid!” He gestured at a matrix of numbers on the screen. “Waves of anomalies! And once it activates - you best be holding onto something, cause you’ll start floating up!”

Soos looked back. “Whoa. That sounds pretty cool, dude.”

“It’s not cool! It’s tearing a hole in our universe!”

“Aww.”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Dipper raised a hand. “We can shut it down, right? Where is it?”

“Ohhh… I used to know, I don’t recall!”

“Maybe it’s in that old bunker?” Mabel sat forward. “We should go back there!”

“Maybe…” He frowned. “After the Shack, yeah.”

At that moment, Soos turned into the parking lot. Mabel’s frown deepened.

“Why after?”

“We’re already here, right? It’ll just take a second.” Dipper opened the door and jumped out. He held it for McGucket, and raised an eyebrow when Mabel remained in the car. “Mabel? Come on!”

“We should find the bunker, Dipper.”

“Yeah, we will, just-”

“We should go look for the bunker, now.” Mabel crossed her arms. “We just got told there’s a big scary thing that’s gonna end the world and you still want to look for Stan stuff? He’s not gonna know about a doomsday thingy.”

“Well, we don’t know that-”

“Dipper.”

Mabel was looking at him with a very knowing expression. He took one look at it, and then sighed.

“Well… if Stan’s the Author, he’s gotta know where it’ll be, right? He probably built it.” He watched Mabel raise her eyebrows. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Because I don’t think Grunkle Stan’s the Author, Dipper.” She pulled her hands into her sleeves. “You know that, right?”

Dipper hesitated. He looked back towards the house; Soos was opening the side door. “I mean, it’s very possible. And we’re already here, we might as well-”

Mabel got out of the car and pushed past him without a word. He frowned and hurried to catch up with her.

“Come on, Mabel. Don’t be like that.” A pause. “I don’t think it’d be in the bunker anyways. We looked all over that place.”

“Hey, dude!” Soos waved him over. “What are we looking for? I forgot.”

“It’s…” Dipper glanced one more time at Mabel, then jogged forwards. “It’s a big stack of papers, it should be in the living room. Come on.”

They entered the kitchen, and Dipper suddenly froze - was Stan back? He listened for a couple seconds, but the house was silent… eerily silent. They headed into the living room and were greeted by an empty chair - and no thesis, no picture to show Fiddleford.

“Of course,” Dipper frowned. “Stan must’ve put them somewhere.”

“...What is this place?”

A strange question - he glanced over, and found McGucket looking around the room.

“Oh, it’s just our house,” he said, and then cleared his throat. “I bet he still has it somewhere. Soos, you know where he hides stuff, right?”

“Yeah… he says I’m supposed to keep them secret, though. Like the money under the squeaky step on the stairs, the arrest warrants under the rug in the gift shop…” He counted them off with his fingers. “The wallets in the Sascrotch…”

“Okay, cool, you can take the gift shop.” Dipper looked over at McGucket. “And, uh, take him too, I guess. Mabel and I- oh, you know where it might be? His office, we’ll go there.”

“Okay,” said Mabel. He cringed a bit at her tone, but continued.

“Alright, if we find it, we can meet back up. It’ll be hard to miss, it’s like a giant stack of paper, and it’ll have Stan’s picture on top.”

“Got it, dude.” Soos shot finger guns at him as he backed away. “Come on, McGucket, it’s this way.”

The two of them shuffled out of sight, and Dipper nodded to Mabel.

“Alright, let’s, uh, go.”

“Yeah, to the office.”

Mabel turned and started walking to the back. He trailed along behind her.

“Yeah, it’ll just be quick,” he said. Paused. Then: “It’s worth checking out. I mean, you saw the same stuff I saw. It’s not at least a little weird to you that he’s got a whole PhD on anomalous events even though he never-”

“Yeah, Dipper, you told me already.”

“Then why doesn’t it make sense to check it out?” He opened the door to the office. “If he’s not the author, then we can just go to the next thing, right?”

Mabel snorted. “Oh yeah, and you’re totally ready to let this go. I know you, dum dum. You’re gonna spend the rest of the summer obsessing about this, and not in a fun way. In the ‘arguing with Grunkle Stan every night’ way.”

“Well… well, it’s weird, isn’t it? Stan is hiding something.” He made a beeline for the paper shredder, and picked it up. “Look, look! This thing’s stuffed - ugh, I bet he shredded it! Now why do you think he’d do that?”

“I dunno?” Mabel poked at the paper copier. “Hey, do you remember that dance party we had? Maybe we could ask Grunkle Stan to throw another one!”

“Oh, that? Oh, that…” He started going through the papers scattered around the desk. “I remember that. I didn’t really get to spend a lot of time at it, I was, uh…”

“Trying to nerd your way into dancing with Wendy?”

“Yeah, yeah... Mabel, look!” He grabbed a piece of paper. “There’s one page he didn’t shred for some reason - and it’s the one with his picture! Yes!” He flipped it over to show her. “Look, it is him, right down to the glasses! And he’s building the Mystery Shack - tell me that’s not him!”

Mabel frowned at the photo. She started to open her mouth, but-

There was a sound. A yell. A cry. Both of them locked eyes, and without a word they ran for the gift shop.

“Are you guys okay?” Dipper said as he burst through the door. The first thing he saw was McGucket, on the floor, trembling. “McGucket?”

“I seen it!” McGucket stabbed a finger at - the vending machine? “I seen it, right down there! It’s there!”

“What’s here?” Mabel tried to help him up, but he scrambled away. “What’s wrong?”

“The machine… my mind… I’m not going down there again! You can’t make me!”

Then he bolted for the door. Soos tried to grab him, but he was gone in a flash, the door slamming shut behind him. Dipper blinked, and then looked to Soos.

“Uh… what happened?”

“I dunno, dude! One minute he was fine, I turn around and suddenly he’s freaking out!” Soos picked up a case on the counter. “He left his laptop, too.”

“Weird.” Mabel took it from him. “What do you think he saw? Dipper?”

Dipper wasn’t right beside her. He had walked a couple paces forward, towards the vending machine.

“Dipper?”

It looked normal, mundane. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d passed by this thing without sparing it a second glance. There was nothing really to draw the eye; no flashy colours, no display lights on the snacks, no attempt from Stan to dress it up as any sort of attraction. It was maybe the most normal looking thing in the gift shop, but…

He reached out. Felt the sides. There was decades’ worth of grime caught between the metal edge and the wooden wall, but as his fingers slid down, they came across something - a bump?

He looked.

A hinge.

______________________________________________________________

Shit. Shit, shit. Did he lose them?

Heart beating in his chest, Stan slowly raised himself up, and looked out the side of the van he was driving. Through the cracks in the grass, he could see lights from the highway silhouetting the trees he looked through. White lights - no red and blue, though it was harder to tell with the feds.

He grit his teeth, and forced his shoulders down. It had been quiet for a while. If they were gonna find him here, they would’ve done it by now.

“Alright, Stan,” he grunted. Opened the door. “Hard part’s done. Now I just need to get it home.”

He rubbed his forehead as he got out of the van; there was a split in it that had stopped bleeding not that long ago. He cast one look to the front, to the smoking engine crumpled into the side of a thick trunk, and limped his way to the back - past the side of the van that read ‘OFFICIAL WASTE DISPOSAL VEHICLE’ in large letters. He unlatched the rear doors, opened them, and shone a flashlight inside.

There was the shine of several metal cylinders. One of them had flown up a little in the collision and was resting sideways on the others. It looked like it had a pretty bad dent in it, but nothing looked to be leaking out; not noticeably, at least.

“Hmph.” He nodded a little. “I can work with this. Alright.”

There was a tarp and a couple construction signs thrown about the back; he covered the van, set up a few signs to keep away curious onlookers, then started off through the forest. It slow and dark, but, as he checked his watch, not dark for too much longer. The kids’d be up if he took too long, so he groaned and forced himself to walk a little faster.

Shouldn’t’ve tried to rush this job, he thought. Should’ve learned his lesson from Columbia. If the feds weren’t onto him before, they sure were now. Maybe he should get out of town for a bit, take the kids on a little road trip…

He made a face. Miss the portal opening, probably. Thirty years of work, and he might not even be there to see it pay off.

There was a tug and a ripping sound as his pantlegs brushed past a thorny bush, and he swore under his breath.

“Great. Just great.” Finally he trudged his way out onto the Shack’s parking lot. “Alright, focus. Gotta work quickly.”

Stan grabbed some supplies stashed by the outhouse and loaded them into his car. He put the seats back, started it, and drove right back to where he’d hit the trees; for once he was driving carefully, following the speed limit. Once he saw the flash of construction signs down in the forest, he turned off his headlights and drove slowly down to the van.

There, he stopped. Pulled the tarp off. The words emblazoned across the sides of the van were really gonna catch the eye of whoever found this thing; he took a can of spraypaint and quickly covered them, paused, and then replaced it with ‘PROPERTY OF TENT OF TELEPATHY’ After that, he opened the back and loaded as many drums of waste into his car that he could. When he ran out of space, he wrapped two in the tarp and tied them to the roof.

Stan tightened them one last time, and stepped back to catch his breath.

There. Now all he had to do was get home.

The sky was just barely beginning to lighten as Stan pulled back into the Mystery Shack. He pulled off his gloves as he made his way toward the gift shop, opened the door, and walked towards the vending machine.

Something did catch his eye, though. There was something on the register with a little red light; he picked it up, and immediately he could feel it was a little camera… A camera that was currently recording. Stan frowned at that, and looked up, up to the vending machine it was pointed at.

He had a bad feeling about this. And a second later when he heard a strange creak from the corner of the gift shop, he reached down, grasped the baseball bat leaning against the side of the counter, and made his way to the sound.

He stepped silently, avoiding the squeaky floorboards. There was definitely a figure in the corner, but… smaller than he was expecting. It didn’t look like an agent, actually, it looked more like…

“Kid?”

Dipper squinted when the flashlight came on. Stan breathed a sigh of relief - yup, it was just him - before a new fear started churning his stomach.

“What are you doing here kid? It’s late, you should be in bed!” He shone the flashlight lower. “Are those IDs? Did you go rooting through my room?”

“It is late. Where have you been, Grunkle Stan?”

Stan glanced back to his car. He really didn’t have time for this.

“And what happened to your face?”

“Eh… woodpecker.” Stan motioned him up. “Cmon, kid, off to bed with you. Your parents’d kill me if they found out how late you’re up.”

“Since when have you cared about how late we stay up?”

“Since right now, kid, so-“

“No!” Dipper crossed his arms, and there was a strange shine in his eyes. “What’s wrong with me sitting here? In this room?”

“Dipper.”

“You’re hiding something, aren’t you!”

“Dipper, you’re trying my patience.” He glanced back again. “Look, how about I cut you a deal. You go to bed, tomorrow we can have a proper talk about this, alright?”

“What, so you can tell me more about how you aren’t the Author?” He rose to his feet. “You know, ‘Stan’, at first I thought you weren’t telling me because you wanted to ‘protect me’ or whatever, but now I know what you’re up to. McGucket, he saw what the machine was gonna do to the world, but you kept going, didn’t you?”

“McGucket? What?”

“It’s too late to play dumb, Stan! I know what you’re really hiding. There’s a doomsday machine under the Mystery Shack!”

Stan heard that, and the first thing that came out of his mouth was a startled snort. “What?” He managed. “You spent this whole time trying to figure me out, and you came up with that?”

But the look in his eyes… wow, he was serious about this, wasn’t he?

“You really think I’m building a doomsday machine?” Stan laughed again, but it rang hollow against Dipper’s unsmiling expression. “Have a little faith in me, kid, come on. I’m not trying to end the world.”

“You’re lying.” He said, trying to puff out his chest. “And I’m not gonna let you do this. I’m gonna stop you.”

At that, Stan let out a deep sigh. He looked up at the first morning rays peeking through the blinders, and then back at his nephew.

“Go to bed, kid.”

“No. I’m gonna stay here, I’m- hey!”

In one move, Stan picked him up and hoisted him over his shoulder. He started towards the back, wincing a bit as Dipper pounded on his shoulder.

“Let me go, Grunkle Stan! Let me go!”

Up the stairs. Dipper tried to wiggle out of his grip, but he held him firmly in place.

“You’ve just proved I’m right, you know! You’re not gonna get away with this!”

Stan made his way up to the attic, opened the door, and set dipper down in the bedroom. He blocked Dipper from squeezing past him as he started swinging it closed.

“Stan!”

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow. You get some rest.” As the gap narrowed, he saw the light landing on Mabel’s bed. She almost looked asleep, but he could see her staring back at him. “Night, kids.”

Then he shut the door, turned the lock… and after a second of hesitation he dragged a chair over and slotted it under the handle. A bit extreme, he thought, but the kid was smart. Tonight wasn’t the night to take chances.

Stan backed away, and started back down the steps.

He was so close, now. So close.

And no one was going to get in his way.

Hours later, when Dipper was slumped half-asleep against the door, he grunted at a strange light. It wasn’t like the sunlight; it was strangely blue, and as he bolted up and rubbed his eyes, he could see it shining up from between the floorboards.

Then he felt… strange. Light. He yelped as his feet suddenly left the ground, and suddenly everything in their bedroom was starting to float up, up; McGucket’s laptop, slowly spinning in the air, beeped and displayed a message that made his blood go cold:

MACHINE STATUS: ACTIVE

And then suddenly the weightlessness vanished, and he dropped back down, scrambled over to the laptop.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he said, his face lit red from warning signs. “Stan, what are you doing?”

#gravity falls #toothwrites #dipper pines #mabel pines #stan pines

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persephones-bde · 3 years

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Hihihi, is me :D. I present thee a prompt. So, any ship you wishhh. Person A meets the monster under their bed/in their closet, and Person B so happens to be this monster.

NATNAT!!! Hi my darling dear, I hope this suffices for your taste 💚

MARYA/HELENE

WC: 1252 words

This isn't stellar, but I loved this opportunity to be creative and explore some weird and funky world given I am really textbook with mine sjbsns so thank you nat!

*Warning: if you are someone who gets very paranoid, I advise reading with high caution*

Marya had, in her eyes, been an adult since she was ten years old. She'd done chores well before that- probably since she'd been old enough to know how to spell she'd been old enough to fold laundry. Marya had never known a childhood; she recalled the years of what they were supposed to be, but they were moreso overrun by obligations and babysitting than playing tag in the Park. It never bothered her because the words echoed in her ears every time someone commented on a TV show she had never seen. Marya recalled her father's hand on her shoulder while friends she'd loosely made played on the slide, "When you are older, Mar, you will be the one with a great job and à home that you love,"

At twenty-seven years old, she could not say the old man was wrong in the former. She wouldn't have said in the latter either. Until she began seeing the scratches, of course.

Scratches that dug into hardwood and that tore up furniture she hadnt even needed to buy and paint off the walls. "You know, I wouldn't have bought this house if the Real Estate Agent mentioned vandalism!" She shouted more out to the universe than anyone in particular, and she swore she heard it laughing back. Her parents may have taught her to cook, clean, file taxes-but they had never once taught her how to deal with what may as well have been a demon possessing her home.

Marya thought maybe she'd get used to it; for as well paying as her job was, drawing on money she didn't have to sell a home destroyed wasn't going to fare well. She didn't have that kind of wealth ready to throw around before she even reached the age of thirty. Doors were unlocked that had been checking multiple times, doors would slam, the list continued. Marya prétended it was a quirk more for her sanity than anything. Locks could be flimsy, couldn't they? Locks, however, did not explain the growling that came from her closet at night. She could not explain the soft glow that came through the shutters of her closet door. It did not explain the sound of nails scraping on wood. It did not explain her doorknob jingling in the middle of the night followed by inhuman roars. Marya had to pretend they didn't keep her up at night.

Marya did not have much of a childhood, but she did remember her peers words at that age. Kids crying over monsters under their bed always said if you pretended not to hear them they'd get bored. Marya never believed in monsters or demons. Maybe she never had the chance to open that door of creativity-maybe it was the isolation. Isolation. Being à little paranoid. All normal, adult things right?

But normal, adult things did not include the sound of loud, ferocious snarling followed by a bang on the closet door so loud she heard the door threaten to come off its hinges. But even when she was young, when children told these stories she'd never understood, they'd never mentioned noises quite like this. She felt à breeze over her shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut.

That night, at 3 in the morning, Marya prayed to God and decided to get new locks.

Marya ended up standing in front of her own door with the pièces to install à deadbolt on her bedroom door, four others already installed around the house.

The first thing Marya did when opening the door though was not a sigh of relief. No, it was a shriek.

"Oh, thank god,"

That was all it took. Marya had always considered herself a fighter. So why her feet were cemented to the floor, gaping as if she were staring à monster straight in the face probably would have been funny at one point. You know, if she were not staring a something straight in the face.

"Wow, you are a loud screamer," The voice was not the roar she expected, nor were they the body of one. "I just wanted to congratulate you, geez," This creature was stated cross legged on her bed, a blank expression on their face. But there was something unnervingly inhuman about them-about the grittiness of their voice-that made Marya consider crying all over again. She looked no older than Marya-a little slimmer and a little shorter if anything.

"Who-what-I-" There were a lot of places she could begin. Fortunately, whatever this being was, seemed like a talker as she leaned back on her elbows and extended her legs, crossing them at the ankles.

"You have taken so long to get new locks, dear," The creature clicked their tongue, almost condescendingly. As if Marya were a child. "Doing this-" She flicked her finger back to the closet Marya hadn't opened in months, "Has started to get taxing,"

"Uh..." The question Marya wanted to ask included a name and an explanation, but it was not what cale out of her mouth. "Why are you out here? Y-you're supposed to be in there,"

"Are you telling me how to do my job?" The creature questioned back with a snarl bare to her teeth. Marya, for as pale as she was naturally, seemed to turn a stark white at the shredders the seemingly Beautiful woman had. "If they saw me, they wouldn't be as afraid," A hand gestured flippantly up and down her body.

"They?" The creature nodded.

"Yeah, the ones that kept breaking in," She explained as if it were obvious, offering a roll of her eyes. The silence was long. "Oh, oh my God, you didn't know?"

"No!"

"Huh, well, lets just say good thing you got those locks,"

"The locks were to keep YOU out!"

"One: offensive," Helene tsked, "Two: you would literally be dead if it weren't for me, so..."

"Right," Marya's tone came out unconvinced, scowling. "You do realize you are a complete stranger in my house, right? You do see how weird this is?"

"Well in that case, my name is Helene. Does that help your nerves at all?"

"No, actually,"

"Well, how can I help then?"

"Explain why on earth youve been screeching while I'm trying to sleep?"

"It's scarier than me talking right now isn't it?" Helene questioned back immediately, eyebrows raised. She didn't get to speak to humans much, but this one had been fascinating. This one had been interesting since the moment she saw her. And seeing her now was all the more alluring; night vision was flattering on no one. "You know that the person living down the street kept breaking in, I thought?"

"No???"

"Ah, well, there's your mistake, dear," Helene patted a spot on the bed for the woman to sit beside her. "They were being creepy at you,"

"You mean towards,"

"Sorry, I don't normally just chat with your kind on a mattress," Helene rolled her eyes again, but couldn't help a small smile as Marya sat beside her. "They were being creepy Towards you, so I just let them know I had your back,"

"I don't know you,"

"So?"

"So why?"

"Because you have nice eyes," The way she spoke it so point blank-with such honesty-took Marya aback. "Maybe I will have to take them," Marya choked, scrambling off the bed with such franticness that she hit the ground hard. "I was kidding," Helene ammended quickly, eyes wide with concern. "About the second part. Your eyes really are stunning, I promise!"

#writing asks #this is like the closest to lighthearted you are all ever going to get from me #ill go back and edit tomorrow

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bunbunsworld · 3 years

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Just imagine.....

Your riding home on your bike. Its raining, your cold and shivering. As you cross the street you see a car coming, too fast to speed up or slow down your bike. The car stops abruptly almost crashing into you but stops a few millimeters away. Your bully gets out of the car upset, "what the fuck are you doing?" He asks, angry? Or maybe worriedly. You sit there on your bike unable to answer, so you stare down at the ground and continue to walk your bike to the other side. You only make it two steps before your bully walks infront of you, "I asked you a question" he demands.

"I- I was just c-crossing the road." You mumble as you shake from the cold. Your bully rolls his eyes and grabs your bike from you, "h-hey! That's m-mine!" You stutter out, now grabbing yourself to keep the warmth you have still with you.

"Get in the car." Your bully demands as he puts your bike in the trunk of his car. You sit there dumbfounded and start to walk away, in your head you say to yourself, I'll get it back tomorrow. "Didnt you hear me?" He grabs you by your arm pulling you to the car, "or do these not work?" He tugs harshly on your left ear.

"Ouch! I'm not going anywhere with you!" You exclaim

"What? would you rather walk home and get sick? I already have your fucking bike in my trunk, now go!" He opens the door and shoves you in the car before walking in himself, you try to open the door but he locks it. Your forced to stay with the person who's bullied you all through out school.

"W-where are we going?" You ask nervous.

"Home but I have to make a pit stop." He says starting the car and putting his seatbelts on, "jesus fucking christ, put your seatbelt on." He demands. You jolt from fear.

"R-right" he starts driving and you just sit there. Looking down hands on your thighs, still shivering. He pushes the seat warmer button and turns on the heat. "Better?" He asks grinding his teeth.

"Y-yes...." you say gazing out the window, you see him pull up to a gas station.

"Wait here, and for the love of fucking hell, DON'T MOVE or try to escape" he says before slamming the car door making you jump. You wait in the passenger seat and sit there. Zoning out thinking of all the times he's called you four eyes, or stuck gum in your hair. Basically every single wrong thing he's done to you, "why is he being nice?" You whisper to yourself. He taps the passenger window pulling you out of your daze, scaring you. He laughs and walks over to the other side opening the door, "i-i though you were getting gas?" He looks puzzled

"Why the fuck would I do that when the tank is full?" He says pointing at the gas meter, "god, you really are blind, huh?" I turn away feeling stupid. I didnt pay attention to where he went, "anyway, put this shit on. Your shaking." He hands me a grey sweater and some black sweats, looks like he got them from the gas station.

"No way, i-im not changing in front of you! Or-or in a car!" I stammer out.

"Go in the fucking back, I dont care. And the windows are tinted anyway!" He yells back at me. He hands me a plastic bag. Hinting I put my clothes in there.

I start slowly crawling to the back and he moves the car a bit making me face plant in the seat, "ow..." I whisper.

I start changing, I take off one article of clothing one at a time, I glance at the rearview mirror to meet his gaze, I panic and go behind him and cover myself with my hands, trying to quickly put the sweater and sweat pants on. "Stop looking!" You yell at him

"I told you I dont care, I've seen better.." okie that hurts...you say in your head.

Once you've finished you go back to the passenger seat, all warm dry and cozy. He stops next to a park, "what are you doing?" I ask hesitantly. He grabs my face and pulls it closer, "st-stop," you try to push him away, scared he'll try to make a move.

"I'm trying to clean your damn face! Hold still!" He yells, I flinch and look at his other hand...he IS holding a piece of cloth and it looks wet.

"Oh-" you say slightly relieved. You allow him to clean off your face. He softly strokes your face. Going around your cheeks, across your forehead and down your nose, even around your eyes. You open your eyes to see his face very concentrated. Your gaze meets each other and he stops abruptly, "y-you can do the rest" he says giving you the cloth. You turn slightly red from how close each others faces where.

"O-okie" you say pulling out the car mirror and continuing to clean up. Once your done he pulls into your driveway, "we're here," he says not looking at me. I get out and before I can close the door, "Hey!" I open the door wider and pop my head in, curious, "dont do that shit again" he hands me the plastic bag from the gas station. I take it and close the door. I go running up to my house and wave from my porch. He doesnt wave back, just nods his head and drives away. I open my front door my dog shredder coming to greet me. Sniffing me and the bag and doing little chuffs. I look into the bag and see a bunch of my favorite snacks in there, "how did he-"

My pitbull shredder jumps on me interrupting my sentence. "Okie okie, I'll give you attention" I say taking off my shoes and locking the front door behind me. One thought still in your mind, "he still has my bike..."

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cecilspeaks · 4 years

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164 - The Faceless Old Woman (Live)

[applause]

Jeffrey Cranor: I’m really excited, we wrote this script recently coming up in this last performance for tonight. And I got real excited for writing it, cause we haven’t written like a, to do a live show full length in a new voice. And it was a lot of fun to do.

Joseph Fink: Yeah so tonight we are presenting the first Welcome to Night Vale show that is entirely from the point of view of someone who is not Cecil, this is the time when the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home gets to step out from her secret.. place in your home. [laughter] And tell you a little bit about herself.

Jeffrey: One of my favorite things about writing the Faceless Old Woman stuff is cause the way Joseph and I work is that we’ll write episodes or write parts of episodes and pass it to the other and that person will, sometimes have questions but oftentimes just maybe like add something to it. So a lot of times it’s either, when I get stuff back from Joseph and I dunno if he feels the same way getting stuff back form me, with the Faceless Old Woman script it was always either something really hilarious for something really upsetting. [laughter] And I really love that a lot.

Joseph: This is maybe the most upsetting thing we’ve ever written, I hope you guys enjoy it. [laughter]

Jeffrey: Have fun, good night! [applause]

Joseph: I guess we should start that show we talked about.

Jeffrey: Let’s do it. You guys, let’s welcome to the stage your friend and ours, Mara Wilson!

[applause] [long silence]

Mara Wilson: I am the Faceless Old Woman who secretly lives in your home. Hello. You don’t know me, but I know you. I know you very well. I’ve been going through your medicine cabinet. You take too much Advil. Do you realize how hard that is on your digestion? I know a couple gelcaps and a glass of water before bed can alleviate a morning hangover, but it also puts you in a bad mood, because you don’t get good sleep with all that extra stress you put on your guts. You know what’s a better hangover cure? Not drinking like it’s the last day of community college. I replaced your vodka with clear Windex, and your Advil with Ipecac. This won’t help your hangovers, but it certainly will be more entertaining for me. I don’t sleep, so I need better late night entertainment than Netflix. I’ve already watched every episode of “Money Heist” and “Criminal Man” and “Planet documentary”, I have to spice it up a little bit.

Which reminds me, sorry about the tarantula incident last week. And here I’m speaking specifically to you, Tony. Yes you, in the shirt. The one hoping I’m not talking about you. I’m not sorry you woke up with a tarantula covering your face, nor that it bit you, causing your eyelids to swell up like Kinder eggs filled with purulent discharge instead of toys. I am sorry that I forgot to turn the flash off of my camera, which alarmed both you and the spider, and I never got a good photo. I’ve been building up my portfolio for an art exhibit I call “Gross Things on a Sleeping Tony”. It’s going up June 1, exclusively in your living room. I’ve already gotten “Open-mouthed Centipede Bouquet” framed. You’re gonna find this show absolutely terrific. Wait no, not terrific, what’s the word? Terrifying.

Tony, you’re one of my favorites in Night Vale. I know you hate your direct marketing job selling high interest credit cards to twenty-somethings, but the benefits are great. You have health care, a 401k, and you get to take advantage of people less fortunate than you. Everything is its own reward. But I’ve read your poetry, you love poetry. To be fair, there isn’t a big job market for poets, but you need to explore what makes you happy. I tattooed one of my favorite lines of poetry on you last month. It’s by Mary Oliver. “Instructions for living a life. Close your eyes. Be scared. Good luck.” And then I drew a little butterfly next to the words. I’m not the best artists, though, so it kind of looks like a radish or a sarcoma. Doesn’t matter, you still haven’t noticed. It’s just right below your right shoulder blade, don’t try to find it now, it’s still healing and given that I used the metal rod from that fondue set in your closet as the needle, it’s possible it’s infected. Better to leave it alone.

Tony, look at me. Imagine where my eyes would be. You have a lot to work through. I’m here to help you, I really am. I’ll prove it by giving you some advice. If a venomous arthropod is on your face, don’t scream.

Anyway, it’s not you Tony who’s bothering me, it’s the new people. They are elderly, like me, and they just moved into a house in the center of Night Vale. Or maybe this is decades from now, time is a little hazy for me. I’ve never been in this house nor noticed it before they moved in. it’s a one bedroom and there are three of them. I thought polyamory, but they have three separate beds and they never speak to each other, rarely look at each other, and never leave the home. The first night I secretly lived in their home, I realized they never slept either. They brushed their teeth, put on pajamas and get into bed. But they all lie there, eyes open, through silent hours of darkness.

I tried whispering to them but got no response. Usually when I reveal myself in the dark, I get the thrill of witnessing horror dawn across a person’s distorted mouth and bulging eyes as they see my faceless face pressed up against their own. One of the best parts of visiting new residents. But not these three. For once, I’m the frightened one.

Speaking of frightening, did you get your taxes (-) [0:08:20] on time Alex? You, you’re Alex. You with the shoes. I had to file for an extension. I don’t owe any money because I have no income, but I’m over 200 years old, never got a social security number, have no permanent address and I wasn’t born in this country, it’s a lot of paperwork. And Alex, you know your Wi-Fi is terrible and I was having a hard time downloading the forms I needed, so I just wrote my name on some yellowish-black Boston lettuce you’ve left in the crisper for the last three weeks. But the leaves kept falling apart, I think more like melting. After about 20 minutes, I got frustrated and just made myself a salad. Also, I used the last of your parmesan cheese, but don’t worry, I replaced it with dried skin I’ve been collecting from your bed sheets. Don’t be grossed out, Alex. Same texture and nutritional value, you won’t know the difference. I got the idea from a Food Network’s “Beat Bobby Flay”, where this one winner tied up Bobby and ran a (micro-) [0:09:17] across his forehead to make a chimichurri sauce.

I love that show, but I’m a bigger fan of HGTV’s “House Hunters”, the desert dystopian version. That’s where I met you, Addie. Yes you, with the face. You were shopping for a new home here in Night Vale. You told the realtor - who was inside of a living deer, its belly horrifically distended and quivering with every one of the agent’s words and gesticulation – that you wanted three bedrooms, a back yard, and something close to an outdoor community space. The first home, the yard was not in good shape, lots of (- remains) [0:09:55] and the lawn was glowing, perhaps from underground radiation testing. It was well under your budget, but you would have had to spend your savings on fixing it up. Also, in the bathroom mirror you saw, crawling across the ceiling, a faceless old woman devouring what looked like a rat. You didn’t need to worry about a rat infestation, Addie. It was a chipmunk. The second home was a condo right in the heart of the arts district. You loved the design: a simple large black cube, no doors, no windows, no interior. A true closed floor plan, so popular these days. But you weren’t sure there was enough room for entertaining, or anything else at all. The house you selected was perfect. Three bedrooms, a Jacuzzi en suite, and a large patio backyard. Plus it was right in the middle of town next to a community dog park. Although you would be disappointed later to learn that your dog had been arrested for domestic espionage after peeing inside the park’s forbidden walls. I think you made the right choice, Addie, but I can’t help wondering every time I watch “House Hunters”, who is this person running away from? You left Queens to move to Night Vale. Queens is where your family lives, where your best friend lives, and your girlfriend of two years. Are you afraid of stasis, Addie? Of being loved, of commitment? You might be afraid of that pinkish ooze coming out of your ear, might wanna see an ENT about that. Or if not an ENT, an entomologist.

Speaking of putting woodboring beetles inside orifices, I tried a similar thing with the elderly room mates who recently moved to town, or will move to town many years from now, again time is strange to me. But these room mates are also so strange. When I went to put a beetle into one of their ears, I noticed a lot of scar tissue there, making the hole too small. In my haste, the beetle scurried away and I got kind of desperate and just made a bunch of spooky moans and hisses like this: [moans, hisses] but not one of the three responded to me. They continued their meaningless pantomime of sleeping, and in the morning they got up and each went quietly about their days. One of them made coffee, but did not drink it. They then went to the window and waved at their neighbor, Susan Willman, who was on her porch stretching before her morning run. Susan looked at the figure in the window next to her and froze. She stared in terror, then darted back into her home and locked the door. Susan has always been unfriendly. I ran her bed sheets through her office shredder as a reminder to be more open and loving toward the world.

The other two room mates climbed into the shower at the same time. I’m not one to get off on others’ sexual activities, I just thought I might see something new, something human here. But no, they stood side by side, cleaning their cold gravity-defeated bodies, not once looking at each other let alone speaking. A squelch and a squish and grey water falling around yellow toenails. They toweled off, but when they hung the towels up, those towels were completely dry.

I’m used to being the one who does inexplicable and disturbing things. Last year during the community players’ production of “Romeo and Juliet”, I decided it would be more fun if they used actual poison. But it was a last minute idea, so the only poison I could find was Borax. Which just gave the two kids playing the leads several unhappy hours in the bathroom on the night after the show ended, so I don’t know. I could have made a stronger directorial choice. But so could the actual director, I get that Shakespeare plays are long, but he cut out all the best parts like the train robbery, and also Tybalt winning his bowling league. Although I did appreciate that they left in Juliet’s famous line: “Good night, good night, your blood and guts and marrow, which worms shall eat inside your grave so narrow.” It’s a classic story. Kids these days just don’t try to fake their own deaths anymore.

Oh. And Morgan. Yes Morgan, I’m talking to you, you with the fingernail sand the teeth. I need to explain something to you. You tip 20 per cent. You can afford it, stop using it as a measure of how much you approve of the restaurant service. A 20 per cent tip is not bonus, it’s a fee. Restaurant owners don’t pay their staffs, instead they make the diners pay their employees through this idiotic notion of capitalist meritocracy. I don’t care how bad the service, tip them. You have money, Morgan. I would also tell you to stop asking to speak to a manager every time your Long Island Ice Tea is a bit like, but I got out your tongue last month, so they wouldn’t understand you anymore anyway. Do you know what a cut human tongue tastes like, Morgan? Yes you do. You just don’t know that you do. Remember Applebee’s last week? You ordered soup. It was a beef base with little onions and little perfectly sautéed flecks of your own tongue that you had used to lash out at a manager the last time you ate there. You could blame them for poorly expediting your orders, but really the onus is on you for going to Applebee’s. Which serves neither of the items its name promises. It’s false advertising. It’s like an egg cream soda, or Taco Bell.

Speaking of eating, the elderly room mates made lunch together, but not for each other. They were all in the kitchen at the same time making separate meals in silence. They sat around the dining room table together and ate. They carved and stabbed and pushed foods quickly into their mouths, but their eyes were empty. One of them began to spit out their food. No one seemed to care or notice. They all began to vomit, but not with muscular heaves of shoulders and necks, the vomit spurted out like water from a hand pump, their torsos and heads perfectly still. After each bodily rejection of food, they would start shoveling it back to their mouths, repeating the same process. Eventually one of them stood up and threw their plate into the kitchen window, glass bursting everywhere. That person leaned into the hole and began punching the jagged shards out with their clenched fists as blood poured out of their forearms and wrists. They screamed mournfully into the suburban street. Neighbors and passers-by passed only briefly, as if they had barely heard the sad howls spreading across the valley. Susan’s lemon tree next door died instantly and all the lemons fell with wet plops to the ground. The fruit pealed open and inside of each was a fleshy crimson pulp, like meat that has been ground for too long. The other two room mates kept eating and vomiting, not even noticing the shattered glass being subsumed by the growing pool of blood on the floor.

You know, I wasn’t always like this, faceless or old. Secretly living anywhere. Once I was born upon warm water. The smell I remember is sharp citrus and the peppery sting of grass. The salt funk of ocean. I was once a child. I grieved once. I smelled blood. Once I was a thief. I lived among thieves, I saw empires rise and fall, centuries cast themselves upon infinity as fruitlessly as waves upon cliffs. Once I was a recluse. I lived amongst bandits and farmers, I spoke a different language then. I’ve spoken many languages.

Once I was under the sea. That was a quiet time. I lived amongst the coral and dead-eyed fish. Once I was a wanderer. I’ve seen the (head) [0:18:14] waters of the Mississippi and I’ve seen the cobbled streets of Paris and I’ve seen the empty arches of Franchia. But I’ve never seen anything like those three room mates. Of all the things I've been – child, thief, recluse, wandered, faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home, I’ll tell you this: I’ve never been more scared.

Fear is in the unknowing and the mystery. Fear is seeing everything about an old woman except her face. Fear is the uncertainty of her secretly living in your home. Fear is not the spider you see on the wall. It’s the spider you no longer see on the wall when you look back again.

In the unnerving din of shattered glass and mournful howls of that house, I found the loose thread that unraveled this mystery. The room mate who screamed had no tongue. And one of the others had an ear swollen shut from a previous surgery. And the other had a red mark, like a radish or sarcoma adorned with poetry drawn upon their shoulder blade. I realized I knew these three strange room mates. They are you, Tony, the special tattoo I gave you. And they are you, Addie, with your oral scar tissue from the beetle I jammed in there. And you, Morgan, with your tongue removed and digested. The three of you do not exactly live together in that home, not at the same time. You are living three different lifetimes in that same space. You do not speak or respond, because you are dead. Each of you alone in that house together, or you will be, time is confusing for me. Decades from now after you die, your souls will be trapped in the house, because something in this world is unresolved for you. You know this, paranormal neuroscience is required for all high school freshmen. But what they don’t teach you is how to resolve it. I know how and when each one of you die. I wrote it down on the back pages of your journals. Iv’e done this for everybody, but nobody ever reads it, because while people always think they’ll write every day, after a few pages they fall off the wagon and never see the lsat pages of their journals. Except Jonathan Franzen. He didn’t seem bothered by what he read. But he did cross out all my adverbs and added some Oxford commas. In case you’re wondering how Jonathan Franzen dies, here’s the answer: he doesn’t.

I am the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home. You might find this ambiguous, after all the word “home” is singular. So whose home is it that I secretly live in? Listen, some things in this tangled world are simple. I live in your home, and your home, and your home, I live in all of your homes simultaneously. I am many. [echo] I am many. I am one. [echo] I am one. You all live such different lives, teeming, that’s what you are: teeming. And I am there watching you.

You, Tony, you dream of being a poet. Resolve the unresolved. The worst that can happen is crushing disappointment and public mockery, and eviction when you can’t pay your rent. Many more awful things after that, get to it!

And you, Addie, you fled your previous city to escape a murder charge. Strangely, you didn’t commit the murder you were charged with, but you have committed murder. Weird choice to go on “House Hunters” as a wanted fugitive, but maybe it was a good first step to healing your soul.

And you, Morgan. You have an idea that could save us all, an epic defining idea, one of the greats, but you don’t know which one. You have so many ideas. I can tell you this: most of them are not important. One of them is vitally important. Good luck. Also, tip 20 per cent.

And you, I forgot your name, you tweet too much. We all tweet too much, but that doesn’t let you off the hook. That’s why I ate your phone. You can thank me later. You can all thank me later. Because you all will be seeing me soon. I think that tonight is the night to let slip my secret. You’ll soon see me fumbling wet and gray from out of the bathroom mirror, or folded up strangely loose skin and mashed bones in the bottom drawer of your dresser. Or you will see me scuttle on your walls, the hair hanging down from my faceless face. Or you will look out your kitchen window and there will be someone standing in your driveway, and it will be me, and there will be no one in the driveway and instead, I will be next to you in the kitchen. Faceless and so very very old. Won’t that be nice?

I’m the Faceless Old Woman who secretly lives in your home. And your home. And your home. And every home. And I will be seeing you very, very soon.

[music, applause]

Today’s proverb: Never judge a book by its cover. Judge it by the title page instead.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv transcripts #episode 164 #the faceless old woman #the faceless old woman live #finally #thanks for your patience #there might be more mistakes bc there were many big words

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theboyz-engup · 5 years

Text

To All The Boyz I’ve Loved Before; Letter Four

Summary-

It was wonderful what a few little letters could do; they could make or break a friendship, cause someone to laugh or smile, make someone remember the time of their life or that moment they wanted to forget. Just some words on paper and poof, everyone knew the way your heart beat and workings of your brain. High school really did wonders on you, as did those twelve boys. Maybe they didn’t know it, but they changed your whole life with each smile, each wave, and each word you typed into paper. You made them permanent, and now they had to know why.

Word Count- 8.3k

Previous Letter - Next Letter

Chanhee gave a swift wave to Sangyeon, who lived across the street from him and was sitting on his stairs. The two of them had never been the best of friends but they were always friendly and Chanhee remembered giving him half off plant products he bought for a girl he was into. Chuckling at it, Chanhee unlocked his door and called a little hello. As always, the house was empty and the mail that was fit through the door slot was scattered across his hallway floor.

“God, this is a mess,” Chanhee sighed, groaning a bit as he bent down to pick up the envelopes. Most were addressed to his parents and a few to his siblings but one was addressed to him. He hummed, not knowing mail still got shipped here for him. He moved out of here a year ago, despite still having a key and sleeping here ever so often.

Maybe it’s junk, he thought, placing it down on the table with the rest of the letters as he untied his shoes. Yeah, I’ll just toss it. Probably some weird advertisement for something.

The thought was enough for him to make up his mind, grasping the letter and taking it with him to his father’s office on the first floor. He stood above the shredder, looking at it as it whirred the second he placed his foot on the pedal. The sound bothered him, like he was making a mistake he didn’t know he was making. Whining a bit, he took his foot off the pedal and looked at the letter again.

The writing was foreign to him, absentmindedly walking up the stairs after plopping his worn, leather bag atop the letters that weren’t for him. Flipping it over, he found a little sticker- one he remembered having way back when- and smiled. Unsticking the envelope, he began his light read, taking it all the way with him through the house as he paced.

Dear Choi Chanhee,

I’m sorry if you ever read this letter. It’s going to be so long and complicated and I doubt you even want to hear it but I hope it can help explain. I never meant to upset you, not once, but I’m sorry because I know I did.

Early September, 2015

The door to your local plant shop squeaked open, hot wind rushing in with you to escape the summer sun. A bell ringing atop your head brought your attention to it for a moment before you continued on your way. The shop looked entirely out of place in your town made of wood and dusted colours. It was a shop made of rounded slabs of rock with clean squares and circles cut out to let sun stream in and stare at the assortment of colours in awe. Everything was grey and cool and smelled of black earth. You loved it, closing your eyes to take it in before continuing on your way.

There was some chatter in the shop so you hoped you weren’t being too loud as you spoke to Eric through the microphone on your headphones.

“So why are you going to the plant store again?” He sounded distracted and you figured he was probably doing some of his work ahead of time so he wouldn’t be too stressed during the school year.

As you spoke, you imagined him with his glasses on and hat backwards- he never studied without one. It was his ‘thinking cap’ as he would say jokingly, but you knew he tugged at his hair when he got stressed and he was convinced that was what’s been making him lose hair. You tried to tell him it was how often he dyed his hair but there was no reasoning with him sometimes.

“I told my mom I might want to start dating because I was talking about how Amalia went out on a date with this jock from the year above in the summer and she was all questioning- like asking me if I wanted to go on dates,” you started, rambling as you always did when you spoke to Eric. Your eyes scanned the plants mindlessly, reaching out to touch a few leaves before shaking your head and moving on.

“And?” Eric’s voice pressed for more, noticing the slight pause in your story as you got just a bit distracted.

Taking a breath and murmuring sorry, you continued, “so I was like ‘yes’ and and she gave me this whole speech about how I don’t have responsibility and to date, I need to have responsibility. When I brought up growing Barly, she told me that giving him the name Bartholomew wasn’t very grown up of me and I need to start from scratch, which would be a plant, apparently.”

Eric just started to laugh, pitch getting higher and higher as he started to fully take in what you said. “Y/n, that’s so lame, I-”

“Ha, ha,” you pouted, landing in front of an aisle labelled ‘easy to take care of’. With a smug smile, you marched down it to find a little plant you wouldn’t have to worry too much about.

“I’m sorry, I just think that’s so stupid,” he giggled some more, filling your ears with familiar bubbles, “if you want to date, you should. At least you told her about it, most kids wouldn’t.”

“That’s what I said but she said that she’s not growing up other kids, she’s growing up me and somehow that makes me different and incomparable to other kids my age.” You rolled your eyes at the thought, stopped in the aisle now and staring vacantly at a flower sprouting slightly from the middle of a round-leafed plant. Your hand reached out to touch the fuzz that grew on the stem of the little flower and you smiled.

“Think I found my plant though.”

“Nice,” Eric hummed, “take a picture of it when you get home, I want to see it.” If he was here with you, he would’ve put his arms around your shoulder and pulled you in, making a joke about how that was going to be your child. He wasn’t though, and it was a phantom arm you felt around your shoulders pulling you in for a hug you would’ve claimed to hate.

All you did was make a sound to say yes, picking it up off the shelf gingerly in its cement pot. It had a little string bow tied around it, like it was wrapped and ready for you. Thinking of something else to make conversation about, you started to chatter on while keeping your eyes on your little plant.

“I want to name it something stupid again,” you admitted, a bit of an embarrassed chuckle coming through your teeth.

“Of course you do.”

“It’s against the rules but I’ll think of some anyways,” you decided, trying to amuse yourself. There was a click of a pen in the background of his audio as he suddenly got all excited.

Coming closer to his phone, he crooned, “ooh, I’ll start. How about we do something simple like Xerxes?”

It was hard not to laugh at his suggestion, the running joke between you two being that whoever had kids first had to name their first child Xerxes on a dare. The little burst of laughter was enough to make you lift your head as far as the cashier stand where a boy with black hair and a darker cap was standing. Well, he was more so leaning on the counter with his forearms pressed on the metal and hands stitched together- and his eyes were on you. He had a flicker of a smile on his lips the second your eyes met but you didn’t stare for long enough to see what he’d do after. Instead, you hurried to an aisle where you couldn’t see him and vice versa and exhaled deeply.

“What happened now?”

“D-do you remember the waiter guy from Jan’s who was only there that once because he lived far away and was just subbing for his friend?” you whispered quickly and under your breath. Suddenly your heart was in your throat.

“Uh, sure?” Eric was entirely confused, the conversation shift not natural and your voice weird. “Why?”

You just whined, holding your plant with shaky hands now. You probably looked so stupid just hiding behind an aisle to make sure you wouldn’t see each other. He was the only cashier at the store, of course you’d have to see him eventually. Unless he went on break but in that case, he’d most likely pass by you camping out and think you weird either way.

“Okay, wish me luck,” you whispered, steadying yourself. As it turned out, your desire to eventually date someone was greater than you fear of boys- well, cute boys, that is.

“What am I wishing you luck for, what?”

He was genuinely confused but you didn’t quite have the time to explain as you walked towards the front. You felt like plastic, entirely wobbly on your knees which seemed nonexistent in the moment. The black-haired boy was finishing up another person, handing over a bag and smiling sweetly. The second his eyes landed on you, smile still taut on his lips, you felt your heart sink.

It wasn’t love at first sight but you definitely had some feelings, instantly in adoration.

“Just this today?” His voice sounded like crystals, slightly higher pitched than you expected but clear and kind nonetheless. It forced you to pay attention to him, though you apparently didn’t have a tongue to respond. All that came through was a nod as you placed the plant on the counter.

“I heard you on the phone earlier,” he started, cheery as he typed in the amount on his little computer and then relayed the price to you. You flushed a little, knowing what it was he was talking about and getting embarrassed. “Your mom sounds like a fun time.”

“Is he talking to you?” Eric asked in your ear, to which you made a little hummed noise to. It seemed to be good for both conversations, though Eric didn’t need more of a response and Chanhee, the name which you read off his tag, perhaps did.

“Y-yeah, she’s definitely a character, at least with me.”

“My parents did the same thing,” he admitted, giving you a sympathetic look as he wrapped your plant in some sort of tissue and placed it in a bag, “I wasn’t allowed to do anything and still aren’t but getting jobs and having closer friends helps.”

You were busy paying with your dad’s debit card for the moment, which he graciously lent you in exchange for getting him a chocolate bar on your way home. Desperately though, you wished he wasn’t lecturing you or giving you advice. You supposed that want forced your hand, giving you a reason to be bolder.

“I’m hoping junior year helps them realize I’m not that much of a kid anymore.” The words slipped past your mouth, the lie sounding weirdly natural. Eric hissed in your ear, asking why you lied immediately. Not bothering to respond, you only finished up paying and extended your hand for the bag.

Chanhee, instead, decided to lean against the high counter like before, chin propped up on his hands as he came forwards. “Really? You’re in the year below me? How come I’ve never seen you before?”

Shrugging, you shyly grasped at the bag ends, having to reach a bit but wanting to now get out of there as soon as possible. The reality of your lie was now hitting you as you realized- he also went to your high school. Oh gosh, he was going to find out eventually and that fear gnawed at you starting from that day.

“I- uh, I moved here just last year.” That came out smoothly as well but it wasn’t a lie and you felt better for it. Lying was something you could do well but you didn’t particularly like how heavy they felt- especially this one. This one started to lie in your stomach like cement the second the pride you had for pulling it off so smoothly dissipated into the musky smell of the shop.

“That’s so weird,” he deadpanned, expressive enough with his eyes and the outwards movements of his lips. You’d spent too much time in that instant just looking at those lips that you knew you needed to leave as soon as possible.

“But hey, if you go to Carr, it’d be cool to see you around sometime. I like having new friends, especially ones I get to know from scratch.” Your eyebrow notched up at the sentence and he furthered, “I’ve known everyone here from birth, basically. It’s really refreshing seeing someone new. It makes this place exciting for once.”

Did he just call me exciting? The thought rushed through your brain and caused heat to rise in your chest. As you mulled over his words, its suggestion brought giddiness into your spine.

It took some time for your tongue to work properly, some stutters and shyness existing deep in your voice but eventually, you managed, “t-then I’d lo- love to see you around and not just when I need a date plant.”

He chuckled at your joke, watching you raise your plant slightly as you spoke. His laugh was chimes in the wind, creating echoes in your mind and resonating deeply within you. Something about him felt so present as he asked your name and for your number- he was so real and was acting like someone out of a movie. It seemed almost too good for you until you realized, well, it wasn’t all good.

How was he going to feel when he found out you lied? Would it be a big deal? The questions that ran through your head as you left the store swarmed into a large mass that felt blinding.

“I hate that you made me listen to that,” Eric groaned, though he seemed to still be in high spirits.

“I’m so stupid,” you said immediately, free palm tapping against your head multiple times. You must’ve looked very offset, ranting to just about the only person who wasn’t going to judge you. Though, it was kind of funny as he giggled, little claps coming through your earbuds.

“Yeah, you’re screwed.”

Gosh, I can’t count the amount of times I went to see you at that store. It was like our own little hiding place where we could talk about anything and everything. We had so many little jokes too, especially starting then. You kept making fun of me and my date plant and I kept making fun of you for that video I had of you. Whenever you did fan service, just acting cute or doing something on a dare to get someone to buy a plant, I never caught it on camera except once. You would chase me around the store for that and outside and between the bleachers. I wanted to ask you to do something cute for me too, maybe a heart or a little dance, but I was always too shy to ask.

You were so whiny about it sometimes, but you made me so happy. You were my part time worker but full time cutie, as that one customer said it. Days like that, I remember very happily- days that my age didn’t matter. I hope you do too.

Mid-October, 2015

“Sunwoo!”

His name slipped through your lips, voice louder than you expected it to be but your laugh was even greater. He was running around with you on his back, howling and making noise just to cause a riot. Something about your second year of high school was having him extra excited but you didn’t know he’d be acting like this much of a fool with you on his back.

“Please put me down,” you laughed, though you were clinging onto him for dear life.

“Let go of me then,” he snipped back, turning his head a bit as he tried to look at you. He had to pull away as you leaned forwards, needing eye contact to threaten him properly.

“All right, all right,” Amalia announced, clicking her tongue, “go pull the hyenas apart so we can get our ice cream, Hyunjoon.”

The full-cheeked boy nodded, taking a step towards you and Sunwoo. The one carrying you simply let go of you and you shrieked, clinging onto him as Joon began to laugh a bit. He ran to try and help you down, nearly falling but somehow making it safely.

“You-”

Your sentence never finished itself, hands tapping on Sunwoo’s shoulder over and over again. Placing his hands up in the air to defend himself, cracking jokes with a ridiculous smile on his face. Amalia sweetly came up behind you and wrapped her arms around your body, giving you a little hug to spare Sunwoo.

Immediately, you seeped into it, pouting and muttering, “but he dropped me.”

She clicked her tongue, placating you but not exactly feeling bad for you. Her hand rubbed at your head, giving you slight pats to make you feel better. “I know, baby, I know. Now let’s get some ice cream, yeah?”

You nodded, pouting still but letting her coax you inside. Hyunjoon and Sunwoo followed closely behind, talking like crazy. Everyone had been in a good mood lately, you especially since you’d discovered Chanhee. You would visit his store sometimes, walking around and pretending you had grown a love for plants just to see him. Sometimes, he’d slip around his counter and lead you around, showing you his best sellers or his favourite plants. Most of the time, you wouldn’t remember it. You were just entirely in awe of him, of the way he smiled and pushed his lips out as he spoke. Everything about him gave you jitters, same as Jacob and Sangyeon, but so much more present because you felt like you were actually coming to know him better every day.

Walking in with a clamour, you found yourselves in a nearly empty diner. There was a man with a very long beard and a steaming cup of coffee who looked like he was just passing through for some late dinner to your left and a couple to your right. Nobody turned to look at you, not even the waiters who were talking amongst themselves. They clearly didn’t expect anyone to be coming in, much less rowdy kids who were besides themselves with happiness. An elderly lady made eye contact with you as your group found a booth and she grasped some menus to bring over.

“Anything to get you kids to start?” Her voice was high and sweet, stereotypical but comforting as she grazed her eyes over your little group.

Amalia took it upon herself to memorize your group’s ice cream orders, taking her rightful spot as group leader, as she liked to put it, and ordering ahead. Sunwoo leaned into you, whispering with a laugh on his tongue, “she’s so grown up.”

“Better her than me,” you hummed back, not caring much for the close proximity of your friend, who seemed surprised when you jabbed your finger in his chest, saying, “you could do with some growing up.”

“Don’t push him too hard,” Hyunjoon crooned, reached across the table, “his little brain can’t take too much responsibility at once.”

“Who?” Amalia asked as the waitress made her way to the back and Hyunjoon filled her in. Sunwoo seemed to want to protest but knew it would only dig him a bigger hole.

“Wait, is this progress?” you asked, gasping a bit. “Character development, maybe?”

“Our little baby,” Amalia hummed, wiping her hand under her eyes to catch nonexistent tears, “growing up so fast.”

Sunwoo’s lips came forwards, itching to say something but halfway through his defence (which no one was buying anyways), he stopped and huffed. Your head fell on his shoulder, arm snaking around his body to rub at his arm.

“Good thing is we still like you even though you’re a little dumb sometimes.”

Hyunjoon’s little smile grew for a second as he looked at you and Woo. Amalia snorted, telling you to speak for yourself. Sunwoo only cleared his throat and rubbed at his neck, suddenly meek and shy.

“Thanks.”

“Two chocolate ice creams, one mango, and one green tea,” the waitress announced lightly. She came behind Amalia, holding the styrofoam cups expertly and placing them down nicely on the table. Everyone reached for their own, telling her a sweet thank you before she took her leave.

“So, y/n,” Amalia started, looking at you over the rim of her cup, “how are things on the dating front?”

“Yeah, is your mom coming around since you got a plant and stuff?” Hyunjoon was quiet, though he looked genuinely interested as he dove into his cup. Sunwoo, who usually had much to say, stayed silent as he listened to you.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, feeling a bit down about it, “mum said the plant I bought was too easy to keep and whatever. I don’t know.”

It wasn’t that you necessarily had anyone you wanted to date, you just wanted the freedom and trust that went with it. All the people you had liked were too out of your league anyways, whether it be because of popularity or simply just age. You felt like a kid though, always having to tell your parents when and where you were going and with who. You just wished they’d sometimes maybe trust your judgement but there was no such luck on that front yet.

The ring of the front door nearly distracted you from Sunwoo’s question but you managed to pay enough attention despite the hushed laughter and snickers behind you.

“What about your dad?’

You shrugged. “You know him. It’s a team effort so if mom says no, dad says no too. They’ll have to agree on something together before I get any leeway.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not allowed either, so, you know.” Amalia’s lips turned down a bit as she kept her gaze down, spoon tapping at the ice cream.

“Really?” Hyunjoon asked, seriously concerned about that. The noises behind you grew into real voices, parts of sentences filtering through your ear.

“It’s not that, it’s just that…”

A little chuckle, “… like them and just don’t want to say it.”

“Shut up.” This one sounded much more familiar and it caused a hiccup to come through your lips. Sunwoo briefly glanced at you, murmuring, “you okay?”

A nod snapped you back to your present conversation, though you couldn’t help but think that maybe-

“- and you guys have met my parents. You know how much it means to them,” Amalia finished, biting the inside of her cheek. Reaching across the table, feeling entirely guilty about not listening to the whole story, you grasped her hand.

“Hey, we’ll figure it out,” you promised, pushing a smile for her. “We’ll convince our parents we’re worthy of being trusted. Going behind their backs will only make it worse so we’ve gotta do our best to stay honest.”

“Yeah, we’ll help you, if you need.” Hyunjoon seemed genuinely sympathetic, giving her an encouraging smile.

Sunwoo took his chance to be serious for once, hand resting on your forearm as a form of support. “Us four against the world, right?”

“Shut up,” Amalia giggled, rubbing at the corner of her eye to catch real tears this time, “you’re going to make me cry. Stop being nice, go back to making fun of Sunwoo.”

“Hey!” he protested, mouth open wide.

“Gladly,” Hyunjoon chuckled, at the same time. Only your hand was reluctant to let go of hers. The slightest squeeze from her helped you know she was okay.

“It’s on us this time, right?” Sunwoo fixed his jean jacket over his black t-shirt. He devoured food in seconds, always being the first one to finish. Amalia tried to protest but Hyunjoon pulled out his phone checking his notes.

Very quietly, he mumbled, “hold on, I’ve been keeping track,” and trailed off, focused now. His finger fell on his lips, which stuck out whenever he was focusing. Amalia leaned in closer, trying to see what was on the screen. Sunwoo leaned into you, eyes landing on your ice cream instead of a phone screen.

“Looks like its melting,” he stated plainly, giving you a nod. The second he opened his mouth to say more, you stuck your spoon with the rest of your ice cream onto his tongue, watching him clamp his mouth shut out of instinct.

“Not anymore.” Your smile was annoyingly smug, even for you, but you couldn’t help but chuckle at the little action.

“It’s actually a free for all this time,” Joon chimed, letting everyone know. Sunwoo, pulling the spoon from his mouth, exhaled dramatically and went on a tangent about how he’s broke anyways.

Amalia, pulling you up from the table with you, mimicked Sunwoo’s facial expressions perfectly as he spoke, eliciting all too many stolen laughs. Grasping her hand lightly, you came forward and whispered, “hey, are you sure you’re okay.”

She shrugged, giving you another squeeze and murmuring, “it’s really not that big of a deal. I’ll get over it eventually.”

As you reached the counter, everyone proceeded to pull out their money. Stupidly, you forgot most of your cash at home and were now digging around in your pocket for change. The ice cream was relatively cheap but a few cents short wasn’t something you wanted to deal with- especially in front of your friends who hardly had issues with money despite lightly joking about it.

Muttering under your breath, checking your pockets, you nearly whined. Hyunjoon asked if you needed anything but, upon looking for his own change, realized he had none. He apologized quietly, hand on your shoulder for comfort. Sunwoo, who thought he was going to cover everyone’s food, also came short, and Amalia never carried cash.

The second you tried explaining yourself to the elderly waitress, who looked entirely exhausted, a familiar voice traveled up the tiled floors to you.

“Y/n?”

You didn’t need to turn your head to know who it was, feeling bubbles in your throat the second your eyes made contact. Chanhee’s little smile was sweet but there were dark circles under his eyes and he looked weary. “Is something wrong?”

“N-no,” you instantly tried to explain, not wanting him to know you came short. It was embarrassing for you, especially when it was someone you were interested in like this. Heat formed on your skin out of shyness, mouth opening and closing but not much coming out.

“Y/n’s just adding something to her tab,” Amalia offered, attempting to make a joke. Her laugh sounded forced and awkward, as did the other two’s laughs. “You know how it is.”

“Can I help?” His hand was already reaching for his wallet, which was sticking out of his pocket and covered in ridiculously bright stickers. You wanted to tell him no but really didn’t see any other option. The waitress wasn’t exactly letting up either, saying she didn’t know you or your friends well enough to let you just walk out unpaid.

“I- I’m sorry,” you stuttered, eyes torn from his and focusing hard on the floor. He only chuckled, pulling out five cents and handing it over.

“What are you doing here?”

The sudden conversation shift seemed to shock him, his mouth halfway through a sentence poking fun at a five-cent difference. Lips pouted outwards and eyebrows that travelled up his forehead, he exhaled a small laugh and said, “I was with my friend but he went home early because of a homework call or something. You?”

“Us,” Sunwoo stated, sounding relatively calm. When you glanced back at him, he had his hands in his pockets and was rocking back and forth on his heels. His tongue darted out at you to get you to lighten up- you mimicked his actions.

“Oh sorry, right,” Chanhee hurried, looking a bit panicked that he hadn’t realized it. After finishing up his payment for his coffee, he quickly turned to introduce himself. His winning smile was now plastered on his face, the roundness in his cheeks adding to the softness of his look.

Names went around and then exchanges of plans for the next few moments. Everyone said they were going home and, while Hyunjoon seemed interested in asking publicly how the two of you met (which he already knew), it came to Chanhee’s attention that they lived in the opposite direction of you.

“Ah,” he drew out, nodding like he understood everything about the world now, “so that’s why I haven’t seen any of you at my store. It’s too much of a walk.”

You gave him a little chuckle, shy and entirely awkward in front of him and your friends. You knew it was up to you to be inviting and help him feel welcome but the situation coupled with your lack of funds simply made you turned off to everything that was happening. You became cold and unresponsive in a way that was adding tension, which made you want to withdraw more.

Amalia, noticing it easily, quickly found a way to excuse herself and the boys. “Well, they’re meant to walk me home so we’ll take our leave now, won’t we boys?”

She was very proper around people she hardly knew, adding an air of elegance to her as she led the two away. Hyunjoon waved to you, understanding what Amalia meant to do, while Sunwoo was a bit harder to convince. They looked like a parent and a child bickering with each other under their breaths before he broke and wished you a goodnight.

As the group split, you and Chanhee leaving the store and walking towards to left while the others went right, you felt some release. It was easier to be yourself around Chanhee because he seemed to care less sometimes. He was so light that he seemed to take that lightness with him and sprinkle it on the path he was walking on so anyone who walked beside him felt just as airy. As you stepped on clouds with him, you apologized.

“I’m sorry again, for the money and for making it awkward.” Your apology was coupled with nervous laughter but the boy beside you just shook his head.

“It’s fine. Though, I do expect a five cent donation at my store for saving you just then.”

“Deal,” you breathed, extending your hand towards him. He shook it, smiling deeply. The way his hand seemed to linger for just a second longer than it should have made you breathless. A side effect of floating was a lack of oxygen. He seemed to make you go higher and higher, making it harder to breathe along the way.

“By the way,” he started, going on a completely different line of conversation. HIs hands were now clasped behind his back and his gaze was forwards, somehow serious but trying to remain friendly. “I hope you’re not embarrassed about the money thing. It’s really okay to be short sometimes.

“They can be a bit crabby at times there but most places here are understanding. Trust me, you’re not weird or anything, I’ve been in that situation many times.”

You blinked, not fully understanding but wanting to. “Really?”

He hummed, making a low noise. He seemed to look at you from the corner of his eye before turning a bit to keep his gaze on you now. There was something serene about him, something that brought your heart rate down and relaxed you into your bones.

“I’ve bounced between almost all the jobs in this town and the next. My parents didn’t come from much and it’s been hard making a lot so I wanted to help. It feels embarrassing at first, sure. Makes you feel like everyone’s looking at you when you don’t quite have enough money- at least for me, that’s what to was like,” he admitted, nodding again to himself.

“It just motivated me to work harder, though. There’s no point in looking at things that put you ‘behind’, so to speak, in a negative way. It’ll just make you feel worse about it.” He used his fingers as quotation marks, somewhat exaggerated in his speech but saying rather thoughtful things.

“Turn what people think is bad and make it good,” you finished for him, wanting to let him know that you were paying attention. He nodded, coming a big closer to you so your shoulders touched briefly. The lights on the pavement kept him in constant illumination, not that he really needed it. He shone just fine on his own.

“There you go.”

You didn’t know what to say. Thanking him felt ridiculous and painfully obvious to do but saying nothing felt rude. Just as you were thinking up a response, he thought aloud, “you know, I don’t think I’ve told lots of people that before. About my parents, I mean.”

Eyes widening, you instantly began, “o-oh, I’m sorry if you felt pressured to-”

His little chuckle interrupted you, a shake of his head very exaggerated. “No, I wanted to say it. I- I want to get to know you better so I should share too.”

Well, that was forward.

Once again, you dropped your eyes to the floor out of shyness, though you did find yourself beaming this time. “O-oh.”

“I know your parents are still being weird about the dating thing so I’m sorry if that was too much,” he added immediately, also seemingly embarrassed. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. It was unbelievable to you that someone so amazing was actually interested in you- a little grade ten that stayed cooped up in your room and had to get permission to do things even now.

“No, no,” you immediately protested, not realizing your hands as they reached out. One managed to grasp at his arm as you assured him, “it’s okay, I- I feel the same, I want that t-too.”

The words felt ridiculous to say but also freeing in a way, like keeping all of your emotions bottled in were what made you feel so heavy all the time. From then, Chanhee’s expression seemed to pick up. He grinned, getting excited as he decided to concoct a plan with you on your walk home. The way he smiled made your heart race, listening along to all he had to say and agreeing without thinking much about it.

I remember meeting you so much after that. We basically had little dates of our own and we talked all the time. I always felt so grateful whenever you took me out to food on your breaks even though I knew you needed the money or perhaps more time to work. You would never hear it though, clicking your tongue at me and telling me all these places we had to go together. You would even grasp my arm and skip, telling me to live a little when I wouldn’t play along right away. You made me so shy, you know? And telling you all of this seemed impossible until then- when you told me you were interested just the same.

After that, there wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t think of you. I used to do my homework and wonder what you were doing. Did you ever think about me that much? I never built up the courage to ask, though I doubt I’d ever get a response. I just hope you know that you made me very happy, no matter what. Even though I know I disappointed you, I hope I made you happy- even if it was just once. That would mean I did something right with us, which was all I ever wanted to do. I just wanted to be right. I’m sorry it didn’t turn out that way for us.

Early November, 2015

You had planned to go on a date with Chanhee. You plotted and exchanged numbers and talked everyday. It was amazingly easy to speak to him, especially when he always had something on his tongue to say. Sometimes he would call when you asked for help on a problem you were stuck on, though he’d get suspicious of the work you were doing. Jokingly, he’d ask why you were doing easy questions. He loved to tease but he could take it just the same, mentioning how he’s usually the butt of everyone’s jokes.

“Not that it bothers me,” he murmured nonchalantly, the clock clicking past midnight as you both lay in bed, chatting away quietly, “it’s not like I think they’re meaning to be mean to me so it’s okay. It’s fun when I can turn it back on them too.”

His laugh would ring through your ears and lull you to sleep. The best nights were when he’d sing to you or send you videos of his recorded covers. The more you spoke and the few times you passed each other in the halls- the one time you ate lunch together on the bleachers even- the more you just wanted to be around him. It got to the point where Haymond knew and if Haymond knew, your parents weren’t too far behind.

“I won’t tell them,” Haymond promised, clicking away at his computer as he listened to your stories. He’d gotten more patient with you, always having an open ear and mind about these things but this was different. He seemed to genuinely be trying to be a good brother for you.

“But you will.”

You began to protest it but didn’t want to risk getting too loud and simply whined that you wouldn’t. He was right though. Eventually, you cracked when your mother asked who it was you were smiling at as you texted Chanhee the day of your date. You hadn’t realized how much you wanted to tell your mother about him that just her asking sent you into a fit of conversation; and gosh, what a long conversation that was.

She sat you down trying to be calm, trying to ask you who he was and how you met him. It was all okay and she even liked what she was hearing until you mentioned his age, and then mentioned that you lied about your age. From that moment on, the air shifted and she was disapproving, not to mention the date you were also going to lie to her about. Your father came and sat down beside her, perpendicular to you in the living room. Both had their hands folded and were leaned in towards you, concerned and asking you questions.

“Why did you lie?”

“Did he pressure you into anything?”

The list went on and on until you felt tears pricking at your eyes. You knew you were wrong and couldn’t believe yourself either but seeing it- hearing it from them- it changed everything. Now, you just felt like an attention-seeking liar and it was the thing you never wanted to be. After quite a lot of speaking, you picked up your phone, took a deep breath, and began typing.

Y/n, 5:20 p.m: hey, I have something kind of important to tell you today.

Chanhee, 5:22 p.m: please don’t tell me you’re in love with me yet lolol

Chanhee, 5:22 p.m: it’ll be the death of me, we’ll have to get ~ married ~

The smile that reached your cheeks at that immediately made you upset. Would he still be as light and joke around with you after he knew. You stuck your fingernail between your teeth as your mum looked over your shoulder, urging you on.

Y/n, 5:23 p.m: nothing like that ~

Y/n, 5:24 p.m: swear not to hate me?

Chanhee, 5:26 p.m: no promises

Your mother looked at you, being very firm now but also trying to be comforting all of the sudden. With her hand on your lower back, she rubbed circles into it and murmured, “I’m sorry, honey, but you can’t start off lying to someone and expect me to be okay with that. I thought you were more responsible than that.”

“I am,” you tried to press, wanting to convince her but knowing that whining wasn’t helping your case. She gave you a quick look, complete disbelief on her face.

“It’s really not looking like it right now.”

Sitting down on your bed, you let out a little huff. Your hands dared to go on your face, palms pressing against your skin as you felt the severity of your little fib. Everything would’ve been fine if you didn’t lie, and age wasn’t really a big deal but keeping the lie for so long was. How many times had you mentioned how hard grade eleven was, or boasted about a mark you got and how happy you were that it’d go on your transcript for universities to see? What was worse was that you felt like he wouldn’t forgive you for it. He mentioned once he appreciated honesty over anything and there you were, standing in front of him, holding your tongue about something so stupid.

Chanhee was sitting in front of you, hands covered in mittens that had the fingers cut off, wearing a calm look. He had no idea what you were about to say, probably thinking it was another one of your jokes. As his fingers curled around his little mug of coffee, his lips curved lightly into a smile.

“You look really nice today,” he chimed, wanting to get it out before anything else. He pointed at your head, chuckling a bit before saying, “although your hair’s a mess.”

“Hey,” you whined, reaching up to try and fix it but knowing you couldn’t without a mirror. He only chuckled, bringing a little rush of wind with you. For the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why he chose an outdoor table in the middle of winter; but it was an empty patio and no one could hear you. That, at least, you were grateful for.

“Look, I feel really bad about what I’m going to say so I just want you to listen if that’s okay.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, embarrassed now but for a completely different reason. Finding yourself picking at your nails, somehow you managed to start. Your tongue exposed yourself quickly, thinking it would be easier to just rip it off like a band-aid. Knowing it didn’t seem like a big deal, there were worse things to lie about than age, you hoped he wouldn’t be too upset. The reaction you got wasn’t necessarily what you would’ve wanted.

“What about that time you talked about how scared you were for university applications? Why did you make that all up?”

He seemed to be picking apart every conversation you had, confused and conflicted. You watched him go through all the stages of understanding and anger but he finally decided to detach himself, saying he didn’t think he could listen to it anymore. Slowly and politely, he pushed his chair out and walked around to grasp his coat off the back of it.

“Chanhee, please, I’m sorry,” you attempted, getting up yourself. Kicking back so quickly caused the chair to fall, echoing off the walls of the store.

His mouth became slanted, like he genuinely believed you. The coat he had on was black and long, making him look like a figure painted into a grey sky. As he fixed his collar, he said, “I know you are. I just don’t know what to say. This just seems really childish to me.”

“That’s what my mum said,” you muttered, retreating further into your shell. Your back was suddenly concave, eyebrows pressed in and lips pressed out.

Chanhee laughed somehow, though it felt rather cold. “You would say that.”

“Are you leaving?”

“I just need some air, y/n,” he started, waving his hand around. The other was fixed in his pocket. “I know we’re outside, I just need to be alone.”

“Do you think-”

“No, I don’t think we should see each other like this,” he interrupted, being rather blunt but you appreciated it. Words like these didn’t hurt as much when they took longer to hear. You just nodded, not being able to look him in the eye. Slowly, you felt his arms wrap around your shoulders, bringing you closer to his chest.

Jokingly, he hummed, “I get it though. Why you lied, I mean. It’s real hard to resist, huh?”

You found yourself laughing at his joke, hugging him as tight as you could. The tears that fell down your face felt ridiculous and you wished he hadn’t seen them. His smile was so soft, as were the napkins he picked from the table and used to dab at your cheeks.

“I’ll see you around?” Your voice cracked as you asked, taking the tissues into your own hands. This time, when your hands brushed, no spark rose in your chest. You knew the airiness he’d given you- those little butterflies in your stomach- that was all long gone.

He nodded, telling you to come by his store again. “You know when I work.”

With that, he was off. His leather bag was secured firmly on his shoulder, working perfectly with his outfit. He looked slender and sleek walking away from you, not even daring to give you a look back. You couldn’t say you blamed him, though it did make you feel helpless. How were you just constantly making mistakes left, right and forwards?

Not knowing what else to do, you picked up your phone and dialled the only number you knew by heart. A few rings in had you worried but when he finally answered, you let out the breath you were holding.

“Y/n?” Eric asked, sounding slightly panicked. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” you whispered, picking up your chair to sit back down at the table. Your tears stuck to your cheeks as you spoke to the person you knew listened to you best. He stayed with you on the phone until you went home.

There’s no doubt that you captured everyone’s hearts when they came to your store. So many people came to see you and I just happened to be one of those few customers that caught your eye. I felt lucky enough to even be friends with you and everything else after was just a dream. I’m sorry for lying to you though. You deserved honesty from the start and I realize now that two years difference, especially for us, would have been too much. I still appreciate every time you talked to me after though there was a change. You pulled away and we eventually stopped talking and I didn’t fight it. You had every right to be upset with me or to distrust me.

The only thing I want to ask you is to not dislike me too much. I realize how awkward I was, how absolutely childish and ridiculous I acted. I’ll try harder from now on, I promise, so I don’t make this mistake again. If anything, just know that I’ll still pick up the phone if you call. I miss our little chats. I miss you.

From y/n y/l/n. On November 28th, 2015.

Immediately after finishing, Chanhee’s fingers found his phone. The sun streaming in through the store window caused a glare and he hissed, having to turn around to look for your number. He knew he had it. He never deleted it, not even after he graduated and went off to his college and job and new life. Other contacts around you he could let go of but somehow, he never could for you. Biting down on his lip, he realized he missed you too. Whether it was friendly or not, you always gave him a lightness in his chest that he felt he needed. As much as you said he swept you off your feet, you did the same.

“Come on, pick up,” he murmured, foot tapping impatiently against the floor. Hating the sound of that, he began to pace again, going in and out of his room. Just as he was about to hang up, the line connected and he held his breath.

“Chanhee?”

Your voice was crisp and sweet. He didn’t know how to place it but you sounded older and it made his breath hitch a bit. Then, suddenly, he could say everything he had been holding back.

“I don’t hate you, y/n,” he started suddenly, eyebrows crossing each other, “why would you say that?”

You chuckled nervously. The sound of cars was faint in the background of your call. “Chanhee, what are you talking about?”

“Your letter. The one you wrote me like three years back.” He was serious now, rather upset you didn’t seem to be understanding. You sent the letters after all, why didn’t you understand what he was saying now?

“W-what?”

“Your letter,” he repeated slowly, hating how condescending he sounded.

“Yeah, what? How did you get that?”

He blinked, stopping in his spot in the middle of his hallway. His free hand was still clutching the paper. “You didn’t send it?”

“No, I-” you began to stutter, like you would whenever you got super nervous. Not knowing what else to say, you quickly excused yourself and hung up, leaving Chanhee in shock. What he wanted to tell you was not even close to being said and honestly, he was more confused than before, especially after hearing the panic in your voice.

“Listen, Chanhee, I don’t know who sent you that letter b- but please don’t read it. If you see anyone else with those, please rip them in half, I- oh fuck, I’m screwed, I’ll- I- I’ll talk to you later.”

The dead line ringing filled his ears.

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lonelypond · 4 years

Text

Moonlight Becomes You: Moonlight Apocalypse Midnight Dance Party, Ch. 11

Love Live/Love Live Sunshine, NozoEli, NicoMaki, KanaMari, YoshiMaru, 1.9K, 11/?

Summary: Mari invades, Eli has a breakthrough, and the party is about to get lit.

HOW NOT TO PLAN A PARTY

Daunting. Maki Nishikino was daunting, a towering wave of disdain about to smash, You decided as she approached the tall redhead standing poised against the view of the Pacific. The house was like a movie set, all glass and gorgeous views, You was stuck in borrowed clothes that didn't fit, an exhausted Dia had been tucked into bed, Yoshiko's demand that You not leave Dia alone with her parents was getting harder and harder to square with polite behavior, and You really didn't like the food that Maki had ordered. She preferred home cooking. Her father had taught her to make something delicious out of nearly any combination. But the Nishikinos apparently didn't keep food in the house. Mari was the same, but Ohara On The Beach at least had room service with a diverse menu. Rich people were weird, You thought, not for the first time. And rude, she added as Maki looked over her shoulder and snorted at You's appearance.

You pulled up the sweats, put on her most confident grin, and stepped forward.

"Mari and Kanan are bringing me clothes."

Sharp eyes narrowed, "You invited them here?"

"No no, I didn't say anything." You waved open palms in a gesture she hoped read as 'imploring innocence,' "Kanan just texted me they were on their way."

Suspicion, "How do they know where…"

"Mari." You stated with 1000% certainty.

Nishikino sighed, brushed past You, and flopped down on the couch, staring into the fire.

You rolled her shoulders, "Sorry."

Maki made a vague wave and grunted, which You took as a hint to find somewhere else to hang out. Maybe she could convince Kanan to take a Dia sitting shift.

###

"No." Hanamaru's arms were crossed and she'd actually stepped over the threshold of her sanctuary, a rarity.

"But, if we bring the Lucifero to her victim, Yoshiko can calm the poor woman down and help You."

"Did you have to say victim?" Kanan murmured at her wife.

"No, zura." Hanamaru face twisted into a stubborn barrier, "Yoshiko passed out from exhaustion and no one is waking her up. She hasn't exerted herself this much in decades." "Ah, so with more practice, she'll keep people out of my swimming pool." Mari's tone nudged complaint.

Kanan wasn't certain that was a joke and Hanamaru nodded as if it were a serious request.

"All right, let's go, Mari, before Maki changes her mind and leaves You at the bottom of her driveway." Kanan pulled on Mari's arm, glad that for once her wife seemed disinclined to argue. She was probably saving up her spitfire responses for the upcoming joust with the Diamond Princess.

"Wait." Hanamaru turned and put her hand on the doorknob.

"You said Yoshiko was asleep." Kanan reminded the bookseller.

"But I'm not."

Kanan thought Malibu would probably be sounding stormy tonight.

###

They were taking an intermission break. Nico's phone pinged.

M: 〴⋋_⋌〵

N: ?

M: Ohara's invading. And I'm annoyed.

N: So you'd rather be lonely?

M: YES.

M: Well...no, but...uuuggghhh, why does she kee me!

N: Tell her N O !

N: Nico will tell her no for you ୧ʕ•̀ᴥ•́ʔ୨

Nico frowned, her fingers flying as more questions came to her.

N: Why is she invading?

M: ₍₍ ◝(•̀ㅂ•́)◟ ⁾⁾ Ohara wants everyone in LA in her branded merchandise.

M: It's annoying.

N: She's dressing you?

Nico was legitimately confused. Did Maki want them to match? Because Nico had already packed those clothes up to be donated. And Maki's outfit had been really cute.

M: Yeah. I'd say no, but none of my clothes fit her. I'm not cruel. And those shorts were awful.

Her? Oh, You. The third rescuer. Nico shook her head. This conversation was almost as annoying as those raggedy shorts.

N: They were truly awful.

M: If I can find them, I'm going to put them through a shredder.

N: You'd be doing her a favor.

M: Truth.

N: So you're having a party without Nico?

Nico watched a typing bubble linger for too many minutes.

M: Not voluntarily.

"Something wrong, Nico?" Eli asked, approaching the counter where Nico had been putting away leftovers before Maki's first text.

"Nah. Maki's just having a party without me."

"Is that the redhead you were with the first time we met?" Nozomi asked from the couch, where she was paging through Eli's scrapbook of headshots and show photos.

Nico quirked an eyebrow at Eli. She was pretty sure Eli wouldn't want her to discuss that morning.

"Where's that dog? You had a dog, right? I almost forgot about her. She was really pretty. With light fur." Nozomi put the scrapbook down and stood, "Is she outside?"

Eli had frozen again, mouth open, eyes panicked, caught between flight and flight responses. Nico had to save this.

"She's not mine." Not a complete lie. Nico scowled at Eli, "When she's here, Eli has to take pills."

"You have a timeshare pet?" Nozomi closed the scapbook, suddenly more interested in the conversation.

Nico snorted; Eli gave her a look that could only be described as desperate puppy dog eyes. Nico grabbed the chocolate cake and slid it away before Eli's finger stole a taste of icing. "Not for you."

Eli pouted.

"So your friend is having a party?" Nozomi decided to hover next to Eli.

Nico grimaced, "Not exactly. YOUR friend, Ohara, decided to drop off clothes for that cute lifeguard person."

"A Mari Party!" Nozomi squealed, startling Eli and triggering a frown from Nico, "Oh, Mari InstaParties are the best. We should go. They get so crazy. People talk about them for weeks."

Nico closed her eyes, trying to shake the sudden picture of Maki in the middle of a booming party with the same amount of girls hanging off her as one of her gigs, but much closer to her bedroom. "Ugh. Nico doesn't need to know these things."

With Nico not paying attention, Eli decided to be daring, sneaking a taste of cake, "I could use some crazy."

"It'll be so much fun, Eli." Nozomi also ran a quick finger through the frosting, winking at Eli as she licked. "Ummmm...yummy."

"I said no tasting." Nico's eyes snapped open and she glared at her suddenly amenable WEREWOLF best friend, "And really, Eli, going out now? Not worried you'll...you know...get a headache or something."

Eli shrugged. She could tell how excited Nozomi was about the party. Tone of voice, change in the air...Eli didn't want to think too much about how exactly she knew. But the moon was already up and this was turning into regular night. No pain, no pinching tension in her forehead, no urge to scratch off her own skin. And sitting around here, watching the second half of a movie she already knew the surprise twist to and listening to Nico grump about Mari and/or Maki just seemed like a recipe for a bad mix of anxiety and boredom. And Kanan, who had dealt with her whole transformation so calmly, wanted to talk to Eli. Kanan would surely be with Mari. Eli desperately wanted to keep her dance space a safe zone…while she worked out what Kanan meant...wait, Kanan kept talking about release and shedding skin and embracing the flow of change and freedom, and that one series of moves felt like if Eli could just let go and let her muscles slide into their own moment...did that mean...Eli suddenly bent at the knees, plie, slowly raising one leg, then bouncing up to curve into a jeté, falling into a crouch, bending, closing her body in on itself, arms wrapped protectively, tensed, balled up, twisted, but what if she leapt, without thinking, without...and then there was speed and height and freedom and the floor and Eli spun once and threw herself into the couch with a laugh. Relief. That was how she needed to feel. A breakthrough. She couldn't wait to show Kanan.

Eli didn't have to look up to realize she'd captivated an audience. Nico's attitude had changed to one of active attention and Nozomi, Eli shivered a little, Eli could FEEL Nozomi's eyes taking in every detail of her every move. Eli sensed Nozomi was holding herself back from sliding into the seat next to her. And then Nico's amused bark broke the tension, "Okay, that was great. You get cake."

Nozomi had started toward the couch, and Eli wanted to stay, to sit, to ignore Nico, to just...with a shake, Eli was on her feet, playfully dodging around Nozomi's approach. Not now. Eli wasn't ready for that now. Party. People. Cake. No rising tension Eli wasn't sure wouldn't explode.

Eli had both hands on the counter, her grin charming, her pony tail eager to bounce, "C'mon Nico, you want to go. I want cake. And Nozomi's game. Let's make some new friends."

Nico tapped her fingers, considering, but only briefly. "Fine. But only because Maki knows...you. And I want you two to get along."

Eli nodded. "We'll be best buds."

Nico snorted, "Don't go that far."

###

Ohara had swept though the second level, slid open every door that could be opened, picked up every single ceramic vase and replaced it just slightly to the left, messed with the bass levels on the house stereo system, and was now leaning her hip into the pool table, chalking a cue.

"We play straight pool," Ohara giggled so obnoxiously that Maki's teeth ground down several millimeters, "if I get a century first, you play a party at the venue of my choice."

Maki adjusted the fireplace, focusing on the clear blue barely visible as it licked through the orange flames. If Ohara was going to stay, at least Maki would have a continual distraction.

"Now, La Principessa Caratterino, you're supposed to say "And if I win…?" Mari tapped Maki on the shoulder with the pool cue. Maki wrapped her hand around it and yanked it away, which seemed to please her tormentor, "Now you're ready."

Maki tossed the cue back to the sofa. You and Kanan were speaking quietly on the balcony outside the glass separating the pool table from the night.

Maki would suspect Mari were trying to distract her from their conversation if the over bubbly heiress hadn't been this annoying on every occasion that they'd met.

Mari eased herself back into the couch, arms flung out wide, sliding the pool cue across her lap, citrine eyes narrowed, "You are very unfriendly for host. Not offering us food."

"You brought your own." Maki barely moved her jaw. Anger had set it so tightly it not a muscle twitched. She waved a dismissive hand at the array of bags on the counter and Hanamaru searching for something in them, "And I did not invite any of you."

Mari giggled.

"These are the best castagnole in a century." Hanamaru spoke seriously, then realized she'd spoken in the middle of a pastry. She continued after swallowing, "You should try one. It's from a tiny bakery off an alley that leads to Venice that no one really knows about."

"Venice Beach?" Maki asked, wondering what could be so special about what seemed to be small donut holes.

"Okay, zura." Hanamaru muttered with a shrug, and pulled out another castagnole

Mari leaned against the back of the couch, head turned to watch the two women on the balcony. Kanan, leaning forward, listened as You paced and gestured.

Maki decided now was an optimal time to escape downstairs and wait for Nico, before anyone engaged her in conversation again.

A/N: Short chapter but I'm trying to get back into a flow.

Suddenly cold here...and I still don't have a proper desk, but Let It Snow was a cute Christmas movie if you've got Netflix access.

Take care!

#Moonlight Becomes You #Apocalypse Midnight Dance #party #Ayase Eli #Tojo Nozomi #werewolf #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #NicoMaki #Ohara Mari #Matsuura Kanan #KanaMari #Kunikida Hanamaru

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swoopswoord · 5 years

Text

What if?

What if Sans never believed Papyrus about his delusions - but didn’t escape fast enough to live?

(I know this is probably pretty mediocre but I tried my best)

(Written as a fanfic for the AU @ask-stircrazy-sans because it’s amazing and makes me very sad. Go check it out if you’re reading this so you understand what’s going on.)

—-

Sans was tired.

So damned tired.

Well, he always was nowadays, especially with all of the drugs he was being given. Papyrus had been continuing his routine of feeding his brother lies - but Sans knew. He was aware of what his so called delusions were like - and he knew that his brother was the one experiencing them, not himself.

Papyrus was his brother, he didn’t like to think he was lying to him - he had almost believed him at first. It hurt his soul - for a lack of better words - chipping away at it with drugs and venom coming from familiarly perfect teeth and a loud voice. It broke parts of his soul away with the mistrust Grillby looked at him with pity - just the thought of his closest friends mere aura exuding pity and an obvious preference for Papyrus’s speech was enough to make Sans want to scream.

It hurt so damned much to realize that no one was going to help him, not even the people on his blog could help, no matter how much they tried.

And so he rebelled.

Painted the walls in the color of hot angry determination and blood -

It’s just spaghetti sauce, but he tried his best anyways.

Papyrus was infuriated - once upon a time. Before he stopped showing any emotions besides a false pity and care. A warped sense of love was all Sans was able to draw from his baby brother anymore, and it scared Sans more than anything else.

He had stolen Sans’s phone again, which is understandable, with the constant encouragement from the voices of his blog. Of his friends. As little as he knew them, he could call them friends. Friends that managed to keep him on the thin thread of sanity still keeping him alive. Even Grillby, the person he had grown up with - from the day he had been dropped in Snowdin with his brother to the day Sans and Papyrus had moved into their own home away from Grillby’s. Even Grillby didn’t deserve that title anymore.

Time is growing ever slower, and Sans’s descent into madness is probably getting quicker, but he can barely bring himself to care at all. It’s hard enough to keep up this horrible facade of trust toward his brother - but at least his blog has many voices that listen to him and know he is trying his hardest to leave - and even support him.

Still, his feet drag on heavily as he trudges down the stairs, arms and collarbones drooping lazily at his sides, bags under his eyes massive and purpling with shadows. His bare phalanges all feel heavy - his feet as if they’re sinking through sand - his hands shaking - they almost don’t feel real anymore.

“OH - SANS? THERE YOU ARE BROTHER,” calls Papyrus from the kitchen, warm smile already strained with panic. “A- ARE YOU READY FOR DINNER?”

“uh- yeah, paps,” he responds quietly as he pulls himself up into a wooden chair. He almost smiles as he looks at the permanent spaghetti stains - remembering the last good night he had, and the havoc he had managed to wreak upon the house. It wasn’t his own anymore - he couldn’t even call it that. It was “the” house, or “Papyrus’s” house - he was ridiculous to think he would ever gain enough of his free will back to call a house his own anymore.

“what’re we having?”

“SPAGHETTI! YOUR FAVORITE!”

It used to be his favorite. It had always been unpleasant to eat, but he loved how kindly it was made, and Sans had even helped make it a handful of times. At least he had - before Papyrus had gone absolutely insane. Now, Sans just grimaces in an attempt to smile.

Now the flavor of medicine tainting all his food makes his soul bubble with fear at the thought of getting anywhere near the stuff.

“mm. yup.”

Papyrus wrings his still gloved phalanges out into the soapy water at the bottom of their sink, making an audible splash as the water smacks together. Then, he moves to the pot of chunky and burnt tomato sauce, the other twisting with hardened, dry, and brown noodles.

“IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO TAKE YOUR MEDICINE DEAR BROTHER,” is what he shouts a minute later as he roots through a nearby cabinet for the rattling white bottle he always keeps nearby.

“o- ok,” he manages to stutter out, despite the rising anxiety in his mind. Papyrus finally holds the cup of water and pills out expectantly - as he does every night in a twisted routine that always left Sans desperately trying and failing to rid his body of the dreaded meds.

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR SANS?” he asks, frowning and shaking the handful of pills as Sans hesitates. “YOU NEED TO STOP THESE DELUSIONS!”

“no.”

Papyrus reels back in surprise, eye sockets widening. “WHAT DO YOU…” he shakes his head and his brow bone furrows in confusion. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NO?”

“it means no paps,” he replies simply, pressing a phalange against his eye socket in effort to get it to stop shaking. “i’m.. i’m not gonna be able to take it tonight.”

“OH BUT - WHY NOT?” He inquires, tipping his skull, feigning innocence quickly. It’s all just a facade. “I JUST WANT WHAT'S BEST FOR YOU BROTHER!”

“n-no.”

Gloved phalanges are shoving closer to his face now, and a glare has overturned Papyrus’s normally welcoming features. He feels sickness rise in the pit of his soul and he stumbles backwards, a chair clattering to the floor as he bumps it, his bare feet scratching against the ground as the rough texture of bone scrapes against the flooring.

A new voice calls out, high pitched and tinny. Like a child - and Sans shakes his head as pictures of a sweeter Papyrus fill his mind.

“Oh! Look what I’ve stumbled in on!” He can hear a little giggle come from the voice - now directly behind him. “Well… this is unexpected! Howdy Sans, I’m Flowey. Flowey the flower!”

His skull whips around to the source and he finds himself inches away from the face of a sharp grin surrounded by yellow petals. A green vine wraps around Papyrus’s jaw behind him until he can not speak, and he scrambles at the makeshift gag while trying desperately to reach Sans, though his legs are quickly shoved against the ground - his kneecaps gaining twin cracks at the force of the slam.

“Aw, hush now Papyrus, silly,” says the monster as Papyrus shouts - presumably in pain at the HP loss. “The smiley trash bag will be fine, stop your whining you big baby!”

“who are you?” Sans snaps suddenly, a strange boost of boldness and adrenaline coming to him as he stares the foreign monster down. “and what do ya want?”

The flower laughs, echoey and menacing. It sounds as if a chalkboard has bone running over it - as it’s going through a broken shredder. The noise is grating and disgusting, and only adds to the queasy feeling his Sans’s soul.

“Why - I’m here for you,” it responds as gently as it seems to be able to.

He frowns, ignoring Papyrus’s muffled shouts. “why?”

“Cause I’m gonna kill ya!”

Then, his leg is swept into the air and the floor grows closer and closer to his eye sockets - till he’s yanked upwards again by a massive vine wrapping itself around his ribs and squeezing…

He grits his teeth. Pain is familiar to him - whether it’s emotional or physical.

Pain is no stranger. It’s almost a closer friend than Grillby ever was.

“Aw!! You’re still holding on.. coolio!” The Flower seems to contemplate Sans’s resolute silence for a moment. “Guess I’ve gotta squeeze harder. I like the screaming, but you don’t do it often.”

He has no time to ponder the strange words as he’s being crushed in a massive grip. His bones are cracking, and he groans slightly as he feels pain run through his aching skeleton.

“what- what do you want?”

It’s still all he can do.

Ask.

At this point, he’s scared. That’s obvious, even the flower and Papyrus can surely see it, as his bones clack together and the stress starts to seep into his bones. Everything is getting to him and death doesn’t even seem that far off from what Papyrus has been doing to him - by drugging him and forcing him to live an empty life. It’s been hard to feel anything but anxiety or anger lately, and Sans doesn’t think living feels anything like this.

“I already said.”

Then the voice deepens to a shredded growl, and a fanged and awful face overtakes the friendly one covering the flowers face only a moment before. Sans feels his magic freeze.

“I’m gonna kill ya.”

Then, in a single excruciating moment, a vine snaps all of Sans’s bones, and he barely even gets a chance to feel the pain before he falls into a pile of dust.

And as the flower begins to laugh -

Papyrus screams.

#fanfic #undertale #spoilers #au #sans #undertale au

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socialjust-ish · 7 years

Note

In regard to the one post with the best friend and the bloody bathtub, if you were to take your own original course of action what would it be? Or would it be similar to the preexisting idea + your edits?

The post in question, for the unitiated

I mean, I’ve never murdered anyone (allegedly) and I wouldn’t use this as personal advice for a murder, because that’s how I become an accomplice, so don’t use this.

Realistically, I’d turn my friend into the police unless there was a verifiable self-defence/suicide story.

But here’s what I’d do if I had to help with the body and an unlimited budget:

The setup:

The first thing I’d need to do is establish who knew my friend had been with the girl. Was it a tinder hookup? That’s dangerous, the app has a clear record. Was it a prostitute/stranger pickup? Less dangerous, no tangible connections. Depending on who knew, the situation becomes easy/hard. But either way the goal is to establish an alibi. They were with me the whole night, we watched a movie after he dropped the girl off. If I got there quick enough, I’d establish that through texts. “Hey man, just dropped the girl off, you can come over now” and “Cool, where’d you drop her off” kinda deal.

Then I’d immediately have the friend change into new clothes and shoes (blood gets places) and go buy gloves, plastic sheeting, and some rubber boots. He’d buy each of these things from separate stores, in cash, and preferably at stores that don’t have security footage of a high quality (think a payless shoe store, a really crappy convenience store, and a mom n’ pop hardware store in a good enough neighborhood that security cameras are unnecessary

If we know who this girl is, and she doesn’t have a roommate/security system, we break into her house and get her phone/laptop. We write a suicide note on the device. Have it saved as ‘just in case’ and if possible, edit the documents creation date/use an old document so that it looks like something they update constantly. Make this so that when people look for her, you raise the possibility this was a suicide/runaway rather than a victim of an attack.

Leave the apartment, go somewhere like a club and enter with cash so there’s no distinct sign-in time. Buy some drinks on your credit card, have photos taken of you at the event. When you get your coat tip with your credit card so there’s a ‘he was there until this time’ stamp. Make it as large of a buffer between the time of death as is reasonable. Create the possibility that you two were out when she died.

The Bathroom

I would lay down as much sheeting as I could, roll the body into it, and seal it as airtight as possible. If my friend had a vacuum sealer thing and it was feasible to use that, I would. I honestly don’t think there’s much of a point to the whole ‘remove the teeth and fingers’ thing because DNA testing is really good. If the body is found (even a bone) it will likely be identified if the victim has any sort of DNA record at all - which is increasingly common, especially thanks to sites like 23 And Me. If they don’t have DNA, they also likely don’t have print records, so it’s unnecessary

Then, I’d get to cleaning. Bleach is a good start, but you need to be thorough as fuck.

Destroy the tub. This is a Victorian claw-footed tub, so it’s likely much easier to remove than a wall-fitted tub. Take it into their garage if they have one. Take a sledgehammer to it on your previously purchased plastic sheeting. Gather it up in the sheeting. Incinerate it. Garbage fire, whatever, take it down. Make it so this tub does not exist, install a new one. Do it by hand if you have to.

Bleaching the drain is an... okay idea, but I think it might damage the pipes. I’d go for more of an industrial-grade cleaning situation. If the police are digging up your pipes to confirm the murder, you’re at a point where you’re probably already caught dead to rights. This would be more for personal sanitary/smell reasons than evidence destruction. I’d then install a new claw-footed tub/use this opportunity to remodel the bathroom. Remodels are common and not likely to raise suspicion, and give a good excuse for the plastic sheeting: You used it to cover the floors while you painted.

Sweep the apartment. Use a blacklight and as many forensic tools as you have at your disposal (not a lot). Destroy blood, vacuum and steam the carpets, clean the walls.

I honestly think that’s the best I’d be able to do for the building, I can’t say if that would succeed, but it would make you at least a bit safer.

Similar to the bathtub, I would destroy anything you used in the situation. Knives? Shattered. Etc.

Wipe the entire apartment down for prints. Anything that it’d be reasonable to touch. Handles, knobs, countertops, glasses, etc. After wiping it down, you and the friend need to re-touch things. Once the bathroom is remodeled, host a party. Only one set of prints in an apartment is suspicious.

The Body:

There are a few difficulties with the body. The first is getting it out of the building. If you have an attached garage this is easy, just walk it into your trunk and take it out. If you don’t, you’ve got to do this at 3 AM, pray you get lucky and have minimal camera activity in the area. I’d even consider causing an active scene nearby to distract onlookers. Get that crazy homeless man to light off some firecrackers on the opposite side of the building or something. Just make it hard to find you.

Disposing of the body is tough. Did you know that even funeral home incinerators don’t destroy all of the bone of a human body? You need enormous heat to destroy bone, and even if the bone cracks, DNA is often still preserved. Burning the body doesn’t eliminate your ability to find it.

However, it certainly helps make it more difficult to find. I would take it deep into a forest and burn it if possible.

I’m torn on what to do with the body after that point. You could bury it. If you were to bury it I’d make sure to do so in a non-floodzone, go at least regular grave depth, and seal it as tightly as is physically possible.

Another classic option is the ocean. Drive your boat out a few miles and dump that motherfucker in the Marianas trench.

Bogs are an enticing option, but the problem is they can mummify their victims, and preserve crucial details if done improperly.

I’m always a personal fan of the ‘sneak into a graveyard and place the body under a thin (thin being 1 - 2 feet) layer of dirt in a newly dug grave, so that in a day or two it is covered by a body that is supposed to be there.

The goal is to make it so the body is never even found. If you have time and the confidence, I would drive as far as is reasonably possible. If you live in Florida, drive up to Georgia to dump the body. If you live in California, hit the Oregon Trail. The further you get, the less likely the initial search is likely to succeed, and the longer it takes for the various governing bodies to coordinate and figure out the ID.

Any personal belongings she had on her (phone, watch, wallet, etc.) you want to take. Wipe them off so there are no prints. Destroy them. Phone? Ocean. Keys? Hole in the ground in New Mexico. Driver’s License? Shredder you then throw into the ocean.

Keep one personal, completely incriminating memento. A lock of hair, a photo of you and the corpse, their left index finger. Keep this in the frame of a photograph in your living room. Every time you have company over, make sure to comment on how much you love that photo because of the memories. When guests ask what memories, just smile and go “Oh a girl I used to know gave it to me.” Change this answer every time a guest asks why you like the photo.

The risks in this plan:

The alibi might actually raise suspicion. If your texts don’t make chronological sense, and they’re investigated, it becomes the gateway to being suspect number 1.

Purchasing the plastic sheeting is also suspicious. You’d need to purchase paint and other ‘remodeling’ materials to justify it.

Security cameras are common nowadays, and if you’re caught on tape buying rubber gloves the night of the disappearance that’s very suspicious.

The digital age allows for detailed tracking. Her phone records will likely show her phone was with you when she went missing. I don’t know how to deal with this. Maybe drive the phone back to her place ASAP, then do the whole text-alibi thing. But I really don’t know.

Body discovery can be totally up to chance. Maybe you bury the body perfectly, but then a month later the city decides to develop that area into residential housing and it’s found. Maybe the gravedigger is asked to make an extra-deep hole for some wacky family. Maybe fish chew through your sealed back and the feet float up to the surface in a series of weird ‘floating feet’ cases on the coast of British Columbia that I definitely had nothing to do with.

General forensic technology nowadays is advanced, and human error is also pretty complicated. One minor slip up/goodluck on the side of the investigation/something unforeseeable like the girl having a dead-man’s switch for hookups and it’s game over.

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felixeason609376-blog · 6 years

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cecilspeaks · 5 years

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149 - The General

If you can dream it, you can wake up in a cold sweat screaming about it. Welcome to Night Vale.

Night Vale, today is the birthday of Leonard Burton. Many of you are too young to remember Leonard. He was my mentor, my friend, and my predecessor at this radio station. I watched him die nearly 40 years ago, right outside this very radio station on Mesa Boulevard, when a cargo truck ran him over. The sight was – grisly and upsetting. But it is that sound, that horrible “snap!” I will never forget. Dozens of witnesses gathered around to help, but it was too late. I crouched over Leonard’s body, lying to him that he would be OK, attempting to coax him from some hint of life. But there was no final word to hear, not even a final breath. I noted there were tears on his cheeks, as a host of angels behind me moaned softly while touching fingers above a flaming trashcan.

Leonard was a dutiful journalist, a true servant of his town. He loved Boston cream pies and paintings of snakes. If he had lived, he would have been 117 years young today.

Listeners, thank you for all your kind emails. A few weeks ago I was a tad – too revealing about my personal life and I mentioned, in passing, that I’m a perennial bachelor. It’s true. I’ve never had a long term serious relationship, but honestly, it’s fine. [chuckling nervously] I get out, I-I s-, I see people. You do not need to try to set me up on blind dates with friends, relatives, ancestral ghosts. Thank you, I’m doing OK. In fact, I had a date recently. His name is Carlos. He says he’s a scientist, well – we have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives. He has perfect hair, a perfect lab coat and – and teeth like a military cemetery.

The date started well. We went to dinner at Big Rico’s Pizza. He had originally suggested Gino’s Italian Dining Experience and Bar and Grill, the fanciest restaurant in town, but since it was our first date, I suggested something more casual. And that was when things started to go wrong. Before we had even placed our orders, Carlos already seemed – disappointed. Which, in turn, disappointed me. Then there was dinner. I was trying to tell Carlos about my job here at the station, about my family and interests, and he was like “I know I know, Cecil, we’re in love. You and I are in love. You just don’t remember it.” And I told him, “You’re cute, but this is our first date, so let’s take this slow.” And then he looked sad, and I quickly finished my pizza, and we left.

An update on the Blood Space War. A few weeks ago, the Polonian forces who oppose us seemed all but defeated, their remaining ships cornered in a tiny moon on the far reaches of the Crab Nebula. Yet our attempts to finally destroy the enemy failed, and the Polonians escaped and regrouped. We’re getting word that the General has agreed to step down from her post, and new leadership will replace her. Some of you may remember the story of Eunomia, the teenager who left our Earth 200 years ago to join in the Blood Space War. She was a dreamer, a scientist, who was recruited for her sharp mind and later groomed as a master strategist for the Wolf Gang, our allies in this unending war. The Wolf Gang were able to use worm holes to travel great distances in mere moments. And Eunomia eventually discovered they could use these same portals to travel in time. After a brutal loss in the battle of Gamma Trachonus, Eunomia, then a captain, ordered her decimated platoon back in time to the beginning of the battle. With a greater understanding of their initial failures, she was able to better fight the battle again. Still she lost, only to return back through time to re-engage the enemy over and over again, she refought the battle until she won. Dozens of battles like this won led to her promotion to General of the Earth-Wolf Gang alliance. But after our most recent failure in the Crab Nebula, there is concern that she has lost her effectiveness.

An emissary from the Blood Space War has returned to Night Vale. They are wading through town in their oversized space suit. No doubt here to deliver us more terrible news from the front. Perhaps there will be no peace in our lifetimes. More on this story as it develops.

Our town is returning to normal, or so I have been told. Community college student and Blood Space War protest organizer, Basimah Bishara, said her mother exists once again. Basimah claims that a few weeks ago, her mother suddenly did not exist, thus making Basimah not exist but as of this week, they do exist. Basimah blames the time traveling actions of our General for changing the landscape of everyone’s existence. I can’t wrap my head around this, listeners, I-I.. I don’t remember Basimah ever not existing or, or-or that she was gone and returned. So it’s hard for me to believe this story. I-I took inventory of my own life and everything is as it always has been for me. I work at a radio station, I own a (-) [0:08:20] bike, I have a one-bedroom apartment with a soaking tub, walk-in closet, carpet shredder, knife compiler and a full-length mirror in the hallway. It’s an antique my mother handed down to me. She knows I love mirrors. I don’t have any siblings, but my mother’s alive and I talk to her regularly. We get along great, I-I-I called her to make sure everything is as she always remembered it, and she said, “What, I don’t know. Yeah sure, what a dumb question.” She’s always been witty like that. All is stasis. Nothing has been taken from my life.

The Intergalactic Military Headquarters reported all time high profits this month. They have built a stealth bomber entirely out of rare 1913 Liberty Head nickels, each valued at around - five million dollars. Senior strategic advisor Jameson Archibald admitted their financial success was not attributable to the new smart phone app he developed. “[cackling] No-ho-ho-ho-ho,” Archibald said, sitting astride a white tiger. “That app was super glitchy, but my Dad’s crazy rich and knows a bunch of people in the Pentagon, so we’re go-o-o-od!” Archibald then took a massive hit of a vape pen. “This is my new thing,” Archibald said. “Steam pens! No nicotine, no THC, only pure water vapor. Did you know water is good for you? Like, it gives you life, man. If we’re gonna vape anything, we should be vaping vapor. O-o, what if that’s what vape means? Vapor! If it doesn’t, it should!” This has been your financial report.

Sad news, Night Vale. John Peters – you know, the farmer – reported that his brother James is returning to service in the Blood Space War. James has been promoted to General to replace the retiring Eunomia. “Dang, James is such a good brother,” John said from the middle of his field of invisible corn. “I really like having him home, I’m gonna miss him. But I guess the universe needs him more than I do.” John then uprooted an invisible corn stalk and hugged it tightly, while humming the classic church hymn “Party in the USA”.

OK, this is getting annoying. So the guy I was telling you about earlier, Carlos, he’s been texting me this whole show, saying he wants to see me again, let’s see, something something, my timeline is still wrong? I should have a sister named Abby, here’s a photo of her with some kid. My mother died? Hmph. I’m supposedly afraid of mirrors, and he and I are actually married. This is ridiculous! OK, now he’s texting me a picture of a dog. “Our little puppy Aubergine,” it says. In the picture Carlos is holding the dog. I… Hm, that’s weird. I just had a strange feeling. What’s that term, uh, jamais vu I think, where you remember something that never happened.

Outside my window, I see the Emissary, their-their oblong mirrored face pressed against the glass, each hand raised to their head to block out glare from the sun. I’m waving to the Emissary now. Hello Emissary! I said just now. What is the French term for remembering something you’ve never experienced? I said even louder wondering if the Emissary can hear me through the window and that thick helmet. Also, is Aubergine a good name for a dog? I think it is! I called once more, just to start a decent conversation, because I was getting creeped out by the sight of a silent astronaut peering at me through my window. [chuckles] I can, I can see myself in the reflective face. I… [mumbles] I don’t like this. I do not like this at all. [panicked] Please go. Please leave, it cannot. Uh, I’m covering this window with a sheet, I do not like this mirror. I don’t like it one bit, no!

Let’s go to the weather.

[Weather: “Sad But Not Depressed” from the podcast It Makes a Sound https://nightvale.bandcamp.com]

I will tell you about the Emissary in a moment. But first, I must tell you that Carlos called me. Here’s his voicemail.

Carlos: Cecil, I_I’m calling for personal reasons. I-I’m, [sighs] I’m calling to tell you that I love you. That I have loved you almost since the first day I met you nearly 7 years ago. I didn’t know anyone in Night Vale [chuckles] and you were the first person to take any interest in my studies. Its not easy feeling alone, but within a year I wasn’t, cause I was with you. And now we are married. Well, at least in my lifetime we were married. We have been married, and we have a beautiful puppy named Aubergine, a house, a relationship. You have a sister, and you know, you have a brother-in-law too and, and a niece who is a talented athlete and (enormously), just a kind young woman. And we have – oh, you’re gonna play this on air, aren’t you? Oh, of course you are. Well never mind. Anyway uh, somehow you don’t know any of this. I’ve been working nights and days trying to repair this break in continuity, and I haven’t slept much, because I-I can’t sleep until we’re back in the same timeline. But I can’t find anything that will fix this, I-I don’t know what else to do other than to just say: Trust me. I will start over, we’ll go to Rico’s on another first date, I will pretend to hear about your life for the first time, I will tell you about mine for the thousandth time. It won’t be the same for me, but it will still be you. And, and that’s all that matters. You, you’re the one. Oh god, this must sound crazy, you barely know you and, and I’m coming off as desperate, but it’s because I am. Please call me. [beep]

Cecil: And I did, call him back. A-a-and I said: “I love you too. Babe, I love your beard. I love our dog. I love… I-I love our life together.” Minutes before that, I did not feel that way. I did not know about my life with Carlos, because it had never happened in my history.

It was in those minutes, though, that the Emissary spoke to me. The Emissary entered my studio and removed her helmet. And underneath was the face of an old woman, it was the face of Eunomia, the young girl who disappeared from Night Vale on her 17th birthday 200 years ago. Eunomia told me she had resigned her post as General. She was the most successful leader in the Blood Space War, but tampering with timelines had caused life in the universe to nearly cease to exist. Eunomia knew she would have to undo what she had undone so many times over, even though it would put peace out of her reach. She’s doing that. She is taking responsibility by visiting every single person affected by her actions. She’s telling them what she has taken from them. And what she will now give back. It will take her a long, long time to do this. it will take her the rest of her life.

In my case, she told me I have a sister, Abby, a brother-in-law, Steve, a niece, Janice. I-I did not know those times. She told me about my husband Carlos. I knew that name, but did not feel love for it. She took my hand and told me to look at the moon. There was a thick wedge missing from it. I never noticed that the moon was broken. Eunomia said: “I will leave now and I will undo what has been done, and your life will return to how it was.” I asked: “But I have a life now.” And she said: “But what of the lives of others? You are all connected. If I do not fix yours, how many others will never have back what the war has taken?” “And what about you?” I said. “Will you return to your teenage life on the farm?” “No,” she said, “I cannot go back to that age, but I will go back to that time and place. I only wish to see my family one more time.” “And what about the war?” I said. Hmph. “There will always be a war, because there will always be a lust for a war,” she said. “I am sorry, Cecil. I have to go.” She pointed to the moon once again. And it was whole, unbroken. I tried to squeeze her hand, but it was gone. It was only me in the studio.

On a late summer afternoon in 1816, an astronaut appeared in the center of Night Vale. 96 years later, a dog park would be established on that exact spot. The astronaut walked silently through the dusty streets. Bow-legged and slow, the Emissary walked through the outskirts of town. It took hours, and nearly the entire city followed her. Past a lot that would eventually to Old Woman Josie. Past the homestead of Eugene Leroy. Until she reached the Peters farm. And there, she stopped. There was a greenish aura about the astronaut, as she turned to face the gathered mob. The astronaut put her gloved hands to her neck and unlashed the helmet. There was a loud hissss and a pop, when she lifted the mask. The crowd approached tentatively. As the helmet came fully off, the townsfolk cried out. The face of the visitor was nearly skeletal, a rotted corpse, long white hair peeling down the back of the skull, an incomplete set of elongated teeth visible with no lips to hide them, startled eyes, ever staring with no lids to express anything else. And what was left of the skin had shriveled and yellowed.

The crowd had begun to step backward, but one woman stepped forward. a tired and pale woman. The woman whose farm it was approached the decomposing astronaut and said: “Eunomia?” The General opened her mouth slowly and spoke in a hoarse cough. “Mother,” she said. Eunomia’s young mother touched her elderly daughter’s face. Eunomia broke into dust. And the empty space suit collapsed to the ground, leaving behind the faint shape of the woman’s dissipating daughter.

In a cornfield on the outskirts of town, the General’s ashes scattered across a golden lake of ripened corn. In the very place where her military successor, James Peters – you know, the General – would be born 150 years later.

The memories of what Eunomia said to me, the memories of my life without my family, are fading quickly. Night Vale returns to normal, whatever that means. [chuckles] I told Carlos I was so sorry for causing him such pain. I can not ever know how difficult that must have been. He only tilted his head and said: “Already forgotten.” I wasn’t sure if he was being literal. Hmm.

Stay tuned next for the unceremonious continuation of all that is real.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: I’m gonna take my horse to the old town road, and then we’re gonna go grab drinks and dinner, maybe watch a movie. Girls’ night.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #wtnv transcripts #episode 149 #the general

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