When I was nine, possibly ten, an author came to our school to talk about writing. His name was Hugh Scott, and I doubt he’s known outside of Scotland. And even then I haven’t seen him on many shelves in recent years in Scotland either. But he wrote wonderfully creepy children’s stories, where the supernatural was scary, but it was the mundane that was truly terrifying. At least to little ten year old me. It was Scooby Doo meets Paranormal Activity with a bonny braw Scottish-ness to it that I’d never experienced before.
I remember him as a gangling man with a wiry beard that made him look older than he probably was, and he carried a leather bag filled with paper. He had a pen too that was shaped like a carrot, and he used it to scribble down notes between answering our (frankly disinterested) questions. We had no idea who he was you see, no one had made an effort to introduce us to his books. We were simply told one morning, ‘class 1b, there is an author here to talk to you about writing’, and this you see was our introduction to creative writing. We’d surpassed finger painting and macaroni collages. It was time to attempt Words That Were Untrue.
You could tell from the look on Mrs M’s face she thought it was a waste of time. I remember her sitting off to one side marking papers while this tall man sat down on our ridiculously short chairs, and tried to talk to us about what it meant to tell a story. She wasn’t big on telling stories, Mrs M. She was also one of the teachers who used to take my books away from me because they were “too complicated” for me, despite the fact that I was reading them with both interest and ease. When dad found out he hit the roof. It’s the one and only time he ever showed up to the school when it wasn’t parents night or the school play. After that she just left me alone, but she made it clear to my parents that she resented the fact that a ten year old used words like ‘ubiquitous’ in their essays. Presumably because she had to look it up.
Anyway, Mr Scott, was doing his best to talk to us while Mrs M made scoffing noises from her corner every so often, and you could just tell he was deflating faster than a bouncy castle at a knife sharpening party, so when he asked if any of us had any further questions and no one put their hand up I felt awful. I knew this was not only insulting but also humiliating, even if we were only little children. So I did the only thing I could think of, put my hand up and said “Why do you write?”
I’d always read about characters blinking owlishly, but I’d never actually seen it before. But that’s what he did, peering down at me from behind his wire rim spectacles and dragging tired fingers through his curly beard. I don’t think he expected anyone to ask why he wrote stories. What he wrote about, and where he got his ideas from maybe, and certainly why he wrote about ghosts and other creepy things, but probably not why do you write. And I think he thought perhaps he could have got away with “because it’s fun, and learning is fun, right kids?!”, but part of me will always remember the way the world shifted ever so slightly as it does when something important is about to happen, and this tall streak of a man looked down at me, narrowed his eyes in an assessing manner and said, “Because people told me not to, and words are important.”
I nodded, very seriously in the way children do, and knew this to be a truth. In my limited experience at that point, I knew certain people (with a sidelong glance to Mrs M who was in turn looking at me as though she’d just known it’d be me that type of question) didn’t like fiction. At least certain types of fiction. I knew for instance that Mrs M liked to read Pride and Prejudice on her lunch break but only because it was sensible fiction, about people that could conceivably be real. The idea that one could not relate to a character simply because they had pointy ears or a jet pack had never occurred to me, and the fact that it’s now twenty years later and people are still arguing about the validity of genre fiction is beyond me, but right there in that little moment, I knew something important had just transpired, with my teacher glaring at me, and this man who told stories to live beginning to smile. After that the audience turned into a two person conversation, with gradually more and more of my classmates joining in because suddenly it was fun. Mrs M was pissed and this bedraggled looking man who might have been Santa after some serious dieting, was starting to enjoy himself. As it turned out we had all of his books in our tiny corner library, and in the words of my friend Andrew “hey there’s a giant spider fighting a ghost on this cover! neat!” and the presentation devolved into chaos as we all began reading different books at once and asking questions about each one. “Does she live?”— “What about the talking trees” —“is the ghost evil?” —“can I go to the bathroom, Miss?” —“Wow neat, more spiders!”
After that we were supposed to sit down, quietly (glare glare) and write a short story to show what we had learned from listening to Mr Scott. I wont pretend I wrote anything remotely good, I was ten and all I could come up with was a story about a magic carrot that made you see words in the dark, but Mr Scott seemed to like it. In fact he seemed to like all of them, probably because they were done with such vibrant enthusiasm in defiance of the people who didn’t want us to.
The following year, when I’d moved into Mrs H’s class—the kind of woman that didn’t take away books from children who loved to read and let them write nonsense in the back of their journals provided they got all their work done—a letter arrived to the school, carefully wedged between several copies of a book which was unheard of at the time, by a new author known as J.K. Rowling. Mrs H remarked that it was strange that an author would send copies of books that weren’t even his to a school, but I knew why he’d done it. I knew before Mrs H even read the letter.
Because words are important. Words are magical. They’re powerful. And that power ought to be shared. There’s no petty rivalry between story tellers, although there’s plenty who try to insinuate it. There’s plenty who try to say some words are more valuable than others, that somehow their meaning is more important because of when it was written and by whom. Those are the same people who laud Shakespeare from the heavens but refuse to acknowledge that the quote “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them“ is a dick joke.
And although Mr Scott seems to have faded from public literary consumption, I still think about him. I think about his stories, I think about how he recommended another author and sent copies of her books because he knew our school was a puritan shithole that fought against the Wrong Type of Wordes and would never buy them into the library otherwise. But mostly I think about how he looked at a ten year old like an equal and told her words and important, and people will try to keep you from writing them—so write them anyway.
Slytherin: Paper cuts and old parchment with ink stains. Love letters that were never sent. Cardboard shoe boxes of bottlecaps. Old family jewelry, coins from other countries, and coats with elbow patches. Broken shards of handmade pottery. Clippings of newspaper headlines and leaves that were pressed in place of flowers.
Ravenclaw: Sheet music and books with dog-eared pages. Silver spoons. Broken watches. Candles and old typewriters with sticky keys. Glass jars full of colorful pebbles, the silver chains of necklaces, and old train tickets. Journals brimming with empty pages. Feathers and empty inkwells.
Hufflepuff: Patterned socks and dusty buttons. Flowers pressed between book pages. Photographs stuffed in envelopes. String and the gold parts of candy wrappers. Chipped mugs, skipping stones, and family recipes. Bark from the tree in front of a childhood home. Maps and wire-rimmed eyeglasses.
Gryffindor: Old Quidditch brooms and fraying quilts. Broken wands. Shoes with holes at the toes. Brass bells and memories of laughter. Scars, empty bottles, and cozy sweaters. Unused tea bags. Mirrors that fit in the palm of a hand and seashells that sound like the ocean.
Aries: Jessica, 32. owns a scary german shepard, fights with her siblings at family reunions, brings her dog eVeRyWhErE, borderline makeup guru
Taurus: Melissa, 51. sends everyone cat videos, has the best hair in the family, always leaves nice comments on her friend’s and family’s facebook posts, and is an avid wine drinker
Gemini: Stephanie, 45 (but tells people she’s 38). makes everyone call her “Aunt Stephie”, uses her family like a babysitting service, and always smells like anti-aging creams. genuinely likes seeing people happy
Cancer: Julia, 33. sits at the kids table, married to her career (she’s a marine biologist) but does volunteer work when she can. takes her family to aquariums and the ocean all the time
Leo: Chloe, 30. owns a stunning purse collection, and almost always the center of attention. she slays beer pong, christmas is boring without her (lowkey grandma’s favorite)
Virgo: Samantha/Sam, 31. a successful librarian, old soul, and gives amazing reading suggestions and awesome books as presents for christmas. looks cutest in wire rimmed glasses
Libra: Tana, 28. doesn’t have kids, subtle vegan (and talks about it with Pisces), likes talking politics and justice at family events. ransacks nordstrom rack in her free time. everyone comes to her for dating advice
Scorpio: April, 70. voted most likely to succeed in high school, richest in the family. loves wine more than her husband, brings the expensive liquor to family functions, dominates monopoly
Sagittarius: Sierra, 30. has the youngest soul, always parties with leo. very, very gay. married to pisces, and has the best eyebrows in the entire family. loves to travel
Capricorn: Tiffany, 34. lawyer, always smells like freshly brewed coffee. more gorgeous than she knows, slays red lipstick. in charge of organizing all the family functions
Aquarius: Josie, 42. the best baker, in charge of cooking at holidays (if you can get her to show up) because she’s so picky. teaches science, lowkey annoys grandma
Pisces: Rose, 29. plant lesbian, botanist. cherishes her succulents like her adopted children. married to sag, vegan, proud yogi, and loves tea almost as much as her cat
Gryffindor: Chimney smoke mixing with the clouds as a storm begins to brew. A roaring fireplace on a cold January night. Inkblots on a crumpled sheet of paper. Autumn leaves dancing around each other as they fall to the ground. Plaid blankets. The song the wind sings when no one is listening. Loosely braided hair. A handful of copper coins. Skinned knees and untied shoelaces. The crease between eyebrows as lips pucker to blow out a candle. Laughter at six in the morning. Hands moving so fast that they look like fluttering birds. Broken tree branches. Songs sung off-key, out of tune, and together.
Ravenclaw: Rain pounding on the windows when everyone is asleep. A closed book on a dusty desk. Feathers. An emptied water glass, alone on the table. Wire-rimmed glasses. The leather bound cover of an overused journal. Handwriting so quick and swirled that it can hardly be counted as legible. The draft of air from an open window. Unnamed constellations. A cat with its claws stuck in the curtains. Perfectly buttoned shirts. Nights spent without sleep. A chessboard where the first player has yet to make a move. Lips pursed in thought. Bottle caps hidden in a box beneath a bed. A pen without ink. The feeling of falling asleep.
Hufflepuff: A flower unfurling its petals to greet the dawn. Freckles dotting blushing cheeks. Soup beginning to boil. Dust drifting through a lonely ray of sunlight. Tapping fingers that speed with every minute. Friends calling to each other from down the hall. Boots with broken zippers. A sunset just before it turns blue. A single bumblebee. A pair of socks with the toes worn away. The smell of something baking two rooms away. Birds singing an hour too early. The reflection of a face in a spoon. Birds flying in vee formation. Pinkies linked together. Eyes widened in realization. The call of a trumpet into an empty room. Hands stained with flour. The lingering of breath after a question. An owl carrying a letter. Papercuts. A face caught in standstill as it shifts from confusion to a smile.
Slytherin: Staying up too late and waking up too early. A river as it emerges from hibernation. Silver coins. Coats with three shiny buttons that swirl around the ankles. The moon on a cloudless night. Confessions spilled into the open air. Ivy creeping up the side of an old building. Falling into a familiar pair of arms. Blankets tangled helplessly. Bells. Footprints in freshly-fallen snow. Sentences without punctuation. A slightly breathless voice. A dream that doesn’t make sense but doesn’t seem entirely fictional. Hoarse whispers. Unused parchment. The flicker of a lightbulb on a windy day. Yawning. Overgrown grass in a forgotten field. Ears stained pink from embarrassment and cold weather. A handwritten letter sealed with wax. Boiling water. Standing off to the side and watching the world go by.
Hiiiiii Clare :) Congrats on 600! What are some of your hcs for the gangsey after the events of the books are done???
heidi!!! thank you!! you spoil me ahhh i had a long week but now i have some pasta and down time and im so Ready™ to talk about these kids that i love with my whole heart this is so long oh god
listen idk about you but i’ve been on a ton of road trips and they are not easy so if that trip actually lasts the whole 3 months of summer i’ll eat my shirt
ok but please??? imagine the bickering i bet you henry is so directionally challenged, blue probably wants a schedule whereas gansey is probably like “what do you mean we’re not just driving off into the sunset i don’t understand wait…we have an actual route?”
don’t lie to me you know he got lost plenty on his various adventures and his soft scholarly heart just went with it
but yea anyway they probably went up and down the east coast for about 2.5-3 weeks, hitting up all the state parks along the way and stopping in small towns
henry insists they have to find the best pizza on the east coast only to claim nothing can top Nino’s by the end of it
gansey wants to see all the wacky tourist spots “to get the authentic experience”
at each stop they send postcards to The Barns (theyre all on the fridge)
blue takes SO MANY pictures ok but all of them are candids
so while there’s these awful blurry messes she also manages to catch these really fantastic photos of henry falling out of a tree he tried to climb with gansey laughing, of the three of them in a diner shifting their food around (you know how when you know someone so well you just order food and shift things around so everyone has what they like? like that)
her absolute favorite: she was recording them on a hike and they stumble upon a little grove with a stream running through and forgot to stop the video when she set her phone down. that night she plugs her phone in to the car charger and gets a screenshot of the three of them standing in the stream, laughing and singing.
after the road trip blue registers for summer sessions at the community college and keeps working at Nino’s and walking dogs, she decides she’s going to save up and get her associates then transfer to a university to get her degree in marketing for art (listen she loves being creative, she loves collecting, she’s smart as hell and would get great buys for up-and-coming artists, that girl could own a really cool gallery i can see it now)
gansey defers for a year because. well. dying is stressful. but once he goes to college he decides to study art history. like blue, he loves art but he can’t deny he loves history too, and authenticating old works and searching for ancient tapestries and lost paintings is something our boy would be great at (bonus: in later years he would be the most eccentric art history professor ever and he’d totally where those corduroy jackets with elbow patches and his wire rim glasses im!!! i love the idea of old man gansey being this adorable weirdo professor that all the students love)
because we don’t really know much about henry’s interests i don’t know what his major would be but wouldn’t it be hilarious is he was a professional beekeeper and bought up land to have bee gardens and sanctuaries and started a natural honey business and gansey goes there all the time because he’s Crazy but he’s decked out in protection gear and ronan and blue team up to make a rule that he not go out to the gardens because nobody wants to tempt fate that bad
adam and ronan spend the summer together with opal seeing the beginnings of their life together settle in
ronan teaches opal more and more english and spends hours figuring out what foods she likes or doesn’t like while training her not to eat sticks
adam comes up with little lesson plans for her to start learning how to read and write along with simple math and science
ronan dreams up some fake documents so they can get her enrolled in homeschooling because there’s no way they’re gonna do public school and try to explain their satyr child to anyone thats just…nah
when they’re not teaching opal ronan is tending to the farm, learning what livestock he wants to buy and care for, going to showings all around the state (people look at him so weird, a tall kid who looks more like a biker than a farmer, cradling a bunny in his arms at the makeshift petting zoo with a little girl on his shoulders. he’s A Sight.)
adam, it turns out, is very good at baking and opal develops a bit of a sweet tooth off of his many experiments with different cupcakes and cookies
their days are carefree. they explore the fields of the barns, make wild plans for the future, tell opal stories and play with her. they catch fireflies and learn constellations together.
every evening is spent giving opal bubble baths and wrapping her up in old tshirts and gym shorts from matthews room then settling down with warm milk and honey and telling stories of sleeping kings, trees that give advice, and ordinary people discovering magic
they brush out her wild hair and the fur on her legs and put her to bed and quietly get themselves ready for bed. sometimes adam will read to ronan until they fall asleep.
sure, there are bad nights. they both have their fair share of nightmares. opal does too. that’s when they grab blankets and go sit on the porch and talk about the stories of the constellations until their minds settle again.
when they drop adam off at the dorms as he starts his first year, its hard. its really really hard. these three haven’t had a lot of good in their lives up until now so letting go of their routine, of each other, although its temporary, it hurts. none of them cry, but its close (close as in adam waits until they’ve driven away and he’s got a moment alone in the bathroom. ronan lets the tears fall silently as he grips opal’s hand reaching forward from the back seat where she’s crying into her knees she’s drawn up to her chest).
the first time adam calls home he’s worried opal won’t remember him, after all they only had a few months together, and they don’t know exactly how great her memory is. his worst fear happens when he’s skyping ronan, who tells opal it’s adam, and she says “who’s that?”
just as adam feels his heart break a little, opal leans into the frame and continues, “no papa, that’s dad.” (turns out ronan bought her a book that teaches family vocabulary)
adam feels like his heart is breaking again but this time from being so entirely full of love for these two he can barely comprehend it
adam, light of my life, goes into law. he gets a full ride because he is smart as hell and super dedicated (can u tell im proud of him). for the most part he assists at a small business firm his first few years out of college but eventually, he focuses on social work cases and getting law changes in the state to make it easier for parents to report their parents without endangering themselves, as well as changing emancipation laws so that emancipated minors can make purchases regardless of age and aren’t left homeless. its very close to his heart but even though it hurts sometimes to see these cases it only makes him want to win even more, and he knows he has ronan and opal to help bring him back from rough days at work
ronan is the Best Farmer Ever he starts buying livestock and filling up The Barns with dairy cows, hens, and goats (he thinks its hilarious when they get there and opal is absolutely fascinated by their legs). part of the land has an orchard that has both normal fruit and some of the trees niall dreamt up, and ronan sells fruit at a local farmers market as well as to other farmers who make local preserves. declan comes by here and there and…they actually start to get along a little better once declan accepts that this is ronan’s life and ronan accepts that declan was just trying to do what’s right. it also helps that for some reason opal loves declan like. so much man. and he loves her too theyre practically best buddies its precious, and even better when matthew is over too. all the lynch boys are weak for this little girl ok? they don’t stand a chance she’s got them all wrapped around her little finger.
finally, there’s noah.
every year on the day he died, truly died, for them, they all get together and go to his grave (his birthday is for his family). they tell his headstone about their classes, about new things opal has learned, about how the farm and the bee garden are going.
blue always kisses her hand and presses it to the headstone before she leaves. he was her first kiss, so he gets another every year as thanks for giving her the boy she loves.
ronan always brings opal and tells her about his best friend, about a boy who was dead but lived loudly in spite of that. he leaves dream fruit at the headstone, and opal leaves her favorite stick she’s found that week.
henry never met noah, but he hears so much about this boy who was a ghost, who was technically non-existent who still gave the last vestiges of himself up, just for the friends he’s come to think of as family. he leaves a bouquet of the most beautiful wildflowers from his garden.
adam always starts off with telling noah about classes, trying to keep himself together, but he always ends it by choking up halfway through telling his headstone how important noah is to him. adam leaves a stone from the river, almost like he’s redirecting the ley line again.
gansey is always last. while everyone else is there for comfort they always leave gansey to say his goodbyes last, and instead take him into a hug when he gets to the car. gansey just…he needs to do this alone. he needs to tell noah it wasn’t for nothing, that he’s doing everything possible to make noah proud. gansey never knows what to leave that could possibly live up to what noah has given him. he leaves a copy of pictures of them every year. noah gave him life, so gansey leaves evidence of the people he lives for, the people that make it worth living, the people that miss him. the people that remember him.
((Okay, So I’m doing a MC that has really bad vision, and so they take her to the eye doctor and get her her first pair of glasses))
MC was always squinting, and Yoosung was somewhat concerned
She was always asking him what signs said, and he was rather worried when she said that the world was quite blurry
After a lot of convincing, Yoosung managed to get MC to go to the ophthalmologist
“I don’t know why you didn’t come in sooner miss MC. You are very nearsighted”
They asked her to go and pick out some frames.
She was really worried because she couldn’t see any of the frames without them already being on her face and two inches from a mirror
“Yoosung…can you pick out some glasses for me?”
Yoosung brought over several frames, and MC put them on one by one and Yoosung either said keep or never mind
Eventually, he found the perfect pair. It made her beautiful eyes stand out and he loved the color on her. They were turquoise frames with purple arms and the metal on the frames made her bright eyes that much brighter
About a week later, the glasses came in and MC went with Yoosung to the eye doctor’s clinic together
She put them on, and for the first time, she could clearly see Yoosung and his beautiful purple eyes and adorable smile. He had the most wonderful hair, and MC smiled brightly
The world was no longer a blur, and she ran over to the mirror to see what she looked like
The glasses were very thin, yet cute, and they really brought out her eyes and framed her face
“Yoosung! I can see again!”
MC was trying to help Zen rehearse for his upcoming play
But she kept messing up the lines, and holding the paper out an arms length away
And she was still unable to see the stupid small print
So Zen, who was worried, told her to go to the eye doctor.
Apparently she was far sighted, and the ophthalmologist wasn’t sure how she was able to text at all
Apparently she had a text to voice program
MC went to go pick glasses, and after looking for a moment, she chose some rectangular black frames. Just the right amount of cute and attractiveness.
A week later, she went in and the frames were all ready
She put them on and went home to surprise Zen (Don’t worry she took public transportation)
When he got home he was stunned
She was gorgeous, not that she wasn’t before, but something about the glasses just made her that much more attractive
“Wow, Zen! You’re so …pretty! I wanna play with your hair!”
MC kept running into the edge of tables and things, and Jaehee became very concerned
So she dragged MC to the eye doctor
MC started crying, and admitted that she didn’t want glasses because she was afraid of people making fun of her
“People will not make fun of you. I will make sure of that”
They ended up going in together, because MC was scared to go alone
When MC was told to choose her frames, she freaked out because there were so many options
They eventually settled on a pair of frames that looked suspiciously like the faux glasses that Jaehee wore
Jaehee made sure to wear her glasses when they went to go get them
“OMG you two are twins! That’s so cute!” The eye care assistant said as they gave MC her glasses
MC put them on and Jaehee took a selfie of the two of them just to prove to MC that they were adorable and they deserved the world
“Wow…we do look like twins Jaehee!”
When MC couldn’t distinguish between Elizabeth 3rd and a pillow, Jumin knew that MC needed glasses
He actually brought the ophthalmologist to MC
She actually fainted when she saw Doc Lee
So he brought in another ophthalmologist in to see her
This one was much less scary and MC was more willing to work with them.
She ended up needing pretty thick glasses, and she started to cry.
Jumin soothes her telling her that she will look beautiful with glasses, and if she didn’t want them, she could get contacts.
She ended up getting brown oval frames, and they looked adorable on her
Jumin showered her with praise and told her how beautiful she looked
Now he’s starting an aesthetic glasses project for cats
Run Jaehee run
As soon as they got home to the penthouse, MC ran to the window and gazed out at the beautiful scenery
“Jumin! It’s so beautiful! Come look!”
MC was always on the computer, and she seemed to be having a harder time seeing the screen than normal
Saeyoung tried to lend MC a pair of his glasses, but that didn’t help either.
Saeyoung knew that she needed glasses though
So they went to the eye doctor to get her glasses
Apparently, she needs glasses badly, because she was very nearsighted
So the glasses were going to be rather thick
So she decided to get awesome frames like Seven’s
They were a pastel pink with what looked to be a brown print inside of the plastic. They were rather large and round, but MC loved them
Both of them now had cute glasses and neither could see anything without them
“Oh look, I can see more than a tomato now!”
V…um…how do I put this…he’s blind too
So he couldn’t tell that MC was losing her sight
Until one day Jumin brought her home after Driver Kim almost hit her because she couldn’t see the car clearly
They went to the eye doctors, and V heavily reconsidered the eye surgery
He ended up calling Jumin to ask him to set him up with the ophthalmologist while MC got her eyes checked
She wasn’t quite as blind as V, but pretty damn close
She ended up getting harry-potter-like glasses
They looked really cute on her, like really good.
A week later, V had an appointment for surgery on his eyes, and MC got her new glasses
“V I can see again! The sky is so pretty, wouldn’t you agree?”
Saeran could tell right away that she needed glasses
She squinted at everything and it made her look like she was angry at the world
So he dragged her to the eye doctor
She really didn’t want glasses for some reason
“Why do you not want glasses.. You obviously need them.”
“Because I’m going to be teased again”
Apparently, MC used to wear glasses, but stopped when people started calling her names
Saeran told her that if she wanted she could get contacts like him and if anyone teased her they were going to get decked
He led her in, and he saw the cutest pair of glasses.
They were black on the arms, and had a wire frame around the rims.
He had her try them on and she just looked so cute
She got them a week later and she just looked adorable in them, even though she didn’t think so
He decided to convince her by bringing her on the roof to watch the sun set
“Wow. it’s so vibrant and colorful. Thank you Saeran. Maybe glasses won’t be horrible after all”
“Animals doing human activities are so adorable,” the witch said to her friend.
“I found this adorable Tumblr that features that.”
“Oh, no I meant…”
Hopping in from the other room, a black rabbit wearing wire-rim glasses cleared its tiny throat, “Sarah I think I have found a way to safely increase your retirement portfolio by 2% a year, but it will require us to tighten our belts for six months. Oh hello Janine, didn’t hear the door. How is Mister Sprinkles?”
Girls like girls,
I know I do,
The girl with the wire rimmed glasses,
And long ebony legs,
Or the girl with chubby hips,
And a radiant smile,
The girl whose t-shirt rode up,
To reveal a tanned waist,
Girls like girls,
And how could they not,
When girls are so pretty and smart,
So wild and free,
Like the girl with the sliver of a nose ring,
And the dazzling dyed hair,
Or the girl waving a pride flag,
Dancing in her doc martens,
Oh boy, do I love girls.
Stepping off of a plane on London soil was always a comfort to me. The tarmac of a London airport meant I was an hour or two from the embraces of my kids and the love of my life, Emily. I had been gone for an extended period this time, longer than usual. Updates from home had Lucy getting the highest marks in each class, Noah motoring around the house creating havoc wherever he went and Emily buying what had to be the sexiest piece of lingerie I’d ever seen. I couldn’t wait to get home to hold my children and bury myself inside Em.
I handed the gentlemen who would be driving me home my bag after shaking his hand and thanking him for making the hour long drive to get me to my family. He put my bag in the trunk and within a few minutes we were off.
I tapped Emily’s phone number on my phone screen and put the phone to my ear,
“Hello, My Love.” I heard her honey sweet voice a few minutes later.
I let my head rest against the back of the car seat,
“You sound exhausted.”
“Just a long flight.”
“And how did you leave Africa? Are they more in love with One Direction than ever?”
I laughed softly,
My smile faded though. Emily had no idea what had happened in Africa for the most part. I wanted to get home and tell her, but I needed to gather my thoughts and my words so I could adequately give her the right information. What I was going to ask her was big.
Going back to Ghana with the boys was only supposed to be a few days to reconnect with the kids in the hospitals and orphanages we’d met before. A sort up update on some of the kids to see where they were now for Red Nose Day. I certainly didn’t expect what happened.
Anon said :
What would the modern day dwsa cast wear?
i only did a few because it would have gotten pretty repetitive but here’s a handful of our Top Bois.
Moritz - Moritz rarely buys new clothes because he absolutely hates shopping. When he does buy things, it’s always from garage sales or really crummy thrift stores. Most of his wardrobe consists of oversized tee shirts to marathons in Canada, or Aquariums from the 80s or for an elementary school he’s never heard of. He wears the same brown bomber jacket daily even though it’s falling apart and smells like ass.
Wendla - Wendla does most of her shopping online, most of the time on Asian websites poorly translated to English. Her wardrobe has a lot of dresses in it, as those are her favorite. Almost everything she owls in some type of pastel and they all have cute designs. She practically wears a pastel goth tumblr blog on her body daily.
Melchior - Melchior is a simple man. Most of his clothes are hand me downs flannels or beat up converse. He’s against sweatshops and child labor so he refuses to shop at most mainstream stores. He layers a lot and is almost never caught dead I’m anything that’s not a long sleeve. His one and only weakness is Adidas brand anything, which they often mock him for because he always has at least one Adidas item on his body.
Hanschen- Hanschen gets shit all the time for having the generic fuckboy look. When he cleans up and puts effort into his outfit, he looks drop dead. But on an everyday basis, he’s covered head to toe in Nike, Topman, Calvin Klein, Diamond and a handful of other name brands he feels the need to shop at. His sense of style is impeccable and me never misses a chance to look the best and the most stylish.
Ilse- Ilse shops almost exclusively at vintage clothing stores. Her favorite item is always bell bottoms. But she’s never at a loss of flowy blouses, pencil skirts, neon sweaters, and fur coats. She even buys her underwear at vintage stores, giving her an endless amount of old fashioned lingerie.
Ernst- if it were up to him, Ernst would wear a pair of sweatpants every day for the rest of his life. But when he’s out of the house, he tends to lean towards simple skinny jeans and sweaters. He also wears an awful lot of yellow, with his wire rimmed glasses yellow as well as his favorite yellow wool sweater.
A/N: This is the end!!! I honestly thought it would have more chapters, but the entire story that I wanted to tell fit naturally into five, so five chapters it is! Thanks for reading!!
As much as he wants to stay awake with Scully and make a plan for tonight, Mulder is still not recovered from his ordeal in the blizzard, and as a consequence, he sleeps for much of the day. Scully is there every time he wakes, reading in the chair by his bed, studying case notes, nibbling on a plate of fruit from downstairs, napping by his side. At seven o'clock, she pulls him out of bed and makes him get dressed.
“We need to get you moving before you grow roots in that bed,” she tells him, quelling his grumbling protests. "Let’s go and have dinner downstairs tonight.“
"We can just as easily order it up to our room,” Mulder argues, but Scully remains firm.
“There’s no telling what will happen tonight,” she says. "For all we know, you and I could end up running through the snow in the middle of the night again. That’s going to be much harder to do if you’re stiff and sore because you haven’t used your legs all day.“ He’s about to continue fighting her, but the cramps that shoot up his thighs the moment he stands silence him, while she stands there, looking smug. "Get dressed,” she says, handing him a pair of clean boxers from his suitcase. His legs continue to protest as he raises them, one at a time, to pull his shorts on. Looking up, he sees her grinning mischievously at him as she offers him a fresh pair of jeans.
“What?” he demands, taking the clothing from her.
“Do you need help?” she asks. Glaring, he shoves his legs into his jeans with unnecessary force and winces, which only makes her smile wider.
“No, I do not need help getting dressed,” he growls, crossing the room (suppressing another grimace as his stiff joints protest- he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction) and pulling a long-sleeved sweater from his suitcase.
“You seem a little stiff, is all,” Scully says.
“You didn’t mind me being stiff this morning,” he shoots back, leering at her, and she rolls her eyes, chuckling.
“Come on, Mr. Foster,” she says, taking his arm and leading him from the room. "Let’s go get some food in you.“
(from someone who has spent her day stuck in DC traffic) do Mulder and Scully get stuck in DC traffic together?
The D.C. beltway is cruel and unusual punishment for the most incessant leg bouncer on the East Coast and the (admittedly) cruelest morning person in the world.
In their first two years together, they would get mutually stuck in separate cars. Scully was a soft twenty minutes from the Hoover building, at best, but still apt to slam the brakes and mutter sailor’s daughter classics under her breath as she rounded DuPont circle. Mulder once bounced his knee so hard he dented his steering wheel.
When it got particularly unbearable, serpentined down the faded highway lines in the six a.m. sun, he would call her for the amusement of it. She could be parking her car, or breezing into the office with coffee on the corner of her mouth, and he’d call her from six trucks back from a three car pile up and she’d find a way to be frustrated. Oh my god, Mulder, I can feel how slowly you’re going.
The arrival of the water bed makes things interesting. The arrival of Dana Scully, in her wire-rimmed glasses and too-big shirts, in his water bed makes things considerably more interesting. The sloshing, slow death of the water bed and the introduction of a brand new, medical doctor approved king sized mattress forgoes interesting altogether and presents something of a genuine problem. Alexandria is nails-on-a-chalkboard miles off from the heart of Washington. Scully keeps saying they shouldn’t stay at his place and then pushing at his chest and falling asleep in his brand new, medical doctor approved, king-sized bed.
The morning after she tells him she loves him for the first time, they get stuck behind a fender bender for almost an hour. She puts a hand on the parabolic arc of his knee in the passenger seat and digs her fingernails into the cap.
“Stop or I’ll kill you, I swear to God,” she says. And to the woman next to them, pulling tight past a median: “Oh, get fucked, Virginia.” (He loves her, his early morning bully, painfully, senselessly).
Later, years and years, she’ll drive her absurd war car all the way out to the white-grey grass around their low-slung Virginia house even though it doubles her commute. He tries to wave her off, and she tells him people usually need licenses to drive cars. Still, sometimes, he wakes up in her anonymous blue bed and the ride in is so quick and quiet that he doesn’t blink or he’ll miss the way she smiles. He starts to bring them both coffee in to-go thermoses they’d gotten from God know’s where. She always blushes when he hands hers over, like she’s reading some intimate and incomprehensible love note into the plastic declaration of “Coffee First.”
Once, he exchanges the mug for a smile, wordless, because he’s spent enough pre-caffeine mornings with her to know his place. She doesn’t drink it, just looks at him for a long time. He rubs the back of his neck. He’s been her subject for years, a willing experiment, but it’s been months since she watched him with something besides clinical detachment.
He says, “I didn’t forget how you take it or anything.”
Black. Like it was hard to forget. Still, if she’d taken it with three and a half sugars and a teaspoon of cream, he wouldn’t have forgotten.
She nods. The radio says the beltway could tie them up for an hour. Scully takes a sip and leans over the absurd console of her absurd car and kisses him closed-lipped and quick. She puts the car into drive.
He thinks, Coffee first. Thinks, fondly, as they pull into the white morning light and dawn-break traffic:Get fucked, Virginia.