THIS IS A MAINS / EXCLUSIVES CALL ! if that’s what you call them, but i’m pretty close to being fully situated on this blog,& as most of you know i’m no stranger to our fav alien goddess, so i’m bringing this back ! if you like this, you honestly get top priority, but also it’s letting me know that you want to interact & pursue a developing relationship with my kori. all i ask is that it’s mutual thing!
Hello there! Long time, no see (my bad I know) but, here: an Alicia Zimmermann-centric piece as she goes to Parents’ Weekend during Jack’s freshmen year. [focus on Alicia, Jack, and Shitty] 6k
Somewhere, deep in her heart, Alicia Zimmermann knows she is a bad mother.
It started out as a worry, as maybe it does for all new mothers, that she will be a bad mother. That she won’t know what to do with a baby or a toddler that one day she will accidentally drop him or forget to feed him or feed him something he is actually allergic to or maybe she’ll scar him emotionally somehow and she worried but she survived his childhood okay. And then, after he was five or six, she stopped worrying about it. She thought she was doing pretty good. Jack had hockey and loved hockey and, sure, they didn’t have deep emotional talks but she didn’t exactly have any basis of comparison. Television families told her she was doing okay. No teenage boy wanted to have deep talks with his mother. And, look, if Jack didn’t talk to her all that much as he turned 12 and then 13, at least he was still talking to his father. Mostly still about hockey but she… she thought that had counted. Hockey was like French, to her. Another language she could understand but couldn’t quite speak. But Bob could. He was on top of it. Jack was taken care of.
She loved Jack. That was never the problem. The problem was that her love wasn’t enough. It didn’t matter. It didn’t alert her to any of the facts and maybe it even blinded her– She loved her son and her son loved hockey and so she loved hockey too. She loved her son and then her son seemed to love a boy named Kent and they never talked about it but she let Kent come over all the time and she figured they would discuss it at some point. She just… assumed everything was okay. Even after he was diagnosed with the anxiety disorder and given pills. It was always… well, that was a little problem but it’s handled and under control and everything is okay now.
See. Bad mother.
A good mother would have known somehow.
A good mother would have pushed and prodded or sensed it without even having to be told.
A good mother would have paid attention to how hard Jack was on himself. A good mother would have made sure her son had interests outside of hockey. A good mother would have known that Jack’s long silences after losses weren’t normal. A good mother would have preached balance and fostered friendships with different types of people and stopped the fucking hockey.
She didn’t though. Stop the hockey. No, not Alicia Zimmermann. She encouraged it. She went to the games and cheered the loudest and she even loved it a little bit because she thought it brought him joy, like his father. She bought into the vision: Jack playing hockey like Bob, the Zimmermann legacy continued throughout the ages…
God, she even used to tease Jack about how it took his father three years to win a Cup and she was sure Jack could manage it faster than his old man.
A good mother wouldn’t have done that. So, see, she’s always been a bad mother. Even now, now that she’s almost lost him, now that she’s promised to do better, now that she’s finally read all the books and online articles about anxiety and pressure and the danger of sports and hockey culture… now she’s still just as bad. Just for different reasons.
Now she is a bad mother because it’s Saturday afternoon and he’s been at Samwell for almost three months and she does not feel like mothers are supposed to feel in this moment.
She glances around. At the sea of other mothers and fathers crammed onto Samwell’s campus for Parents’ Weekend. They are not nervous. They are excited. Happy. Enthusiastic. Overjoyed to see the teenager they had left just a couple months ago again. To her right is a father almost (but not quite) breaking into a run to give his son a hug. To her left, a mother has burst into tears. Happy tears.
And then there’s her. She’s not excited to see Jack. Well, no. No, it’s not that she’s not excited. She is. She is. (She is. She repeats it once more just to remind herself). She is just…
She is nervous too. More nervous than she is excited.
Lance plays games with kids all over the universe. When they laugh at him for losing, he shows them how to play fútbol and wipes the floor with them in revenge. He learns new pick up lines from pretty people at liberation parties and teaches them ones from Earth in return. He pets all sorts of pets, furry and not furry and big and small, though he nervously begs off petting the ones with poisonous spikes. He learns jokes from castle servants with loose lips. Learns curse words from street vendors with looser lips. Tells stories about home to people who almost lost theirs. Puts his feet on hundreds of different beaches, sand digging familiarly into the spaces between his toes. Learns millions of different ways people say hello, goodbye, and I love you. And even though it really sucks, being so far away from his own little beach, the knowledge that things like that are universal - things like games and jokes and love - makes the universe feel just a little bit smaller.
Today I asked @ufficiosulretro why her Gabe always had red underwear and she dared me to write a ficlet about it.
So this is it, my love letter to Irene’s red briefs and converse.
up with you and red briefs?”
blamed the grueling regimen of the Soldier Enhancement Program for
how his mouth just decided to go ahead and make a fool out of him.,
at my ass, farm boy?” His roommate was a couple of years older than
him, ridiculously handsome and top
of the class. Every class. It didn’t really matter, Gabriel Reyes
seemed capable to do just about everything. Jack was both intimidated
and wildly turned on.
just,” He flushed to the roots
of his hair “They’re all red? And it’s really weird? Wait, I didn’t
mean…not that you’re weird or anything, it’s just peculiar, it
stands out. Not your ass, the color.”
tried to stop his hands, what did people normally do with their
hands? Gabriel arched one eyebrow and erupted in genuine laughter, he
felt like an idiot.
were just joking.”
got to relax, John.”
it’s…Jack, actually. I go by Jack. John’s my dad.”
Jack…” His voice was so smooth. “ I buy my
underwear in stock ‘cause it’s cheaper, those five pair, ten dollars
kinda of deal, you know? And they are all the same color because I’m
shit at laundry.” He jumped a bit wiggling into his pajama pants,
Jack couldn’t fight a smile
you are human, after all.”
tilted his head “What? ”
hurried to turn the attention away from his hero worship “Why red
though?” He asked perhaps louder than strictly necessary. “All
black or white would be easier to wash.”
my favorite color, give me a break.”
both got into their respective bunks. This was nice, Jack thought,
getting to know each other. Becoming friends. They certainly would
need one in the shit show that S.E.P promised to be.
could always learn how to separate whites and colors.” He teased,
Gabriel went very quiet, and Jack wondered if he stepped over some
kind of new friendship line until he chuckled and replied with a:
could always admit you were staring at my ass.”
didn’t admit it, even though it was true. Not then, anyway.
months later, he gave Gabe a pair of red converse for his birthday,
Gabriel tried to mock him for being “a huge dork who remembers
stuff like someone’s favorite color, you’ll make me develop a
complex.” But he really liked them, Jack could tell.
I love you, but with the number of times you made all my stuff pink
with your briefs in my laundry I couldn’t forget it if I tried.” He
that’s the story of how Jack Morrison told Gabriel Reyes “I love
you” for the first time. (Without even noticing.)