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sameerabrahamthomas · 4 years ago

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20 Books to Read Against CoViD-19

Thank you to my ex-student Svetya for the idea.

Why 20? Because we should always be one step ahead of the enemy. Why Books? Because they allow you to escape the world we’re in while also expecting your mind to do some of the heavy lifting. Why “Against”? Because whether it’s against the backdrop of the virus or a handy weapon against it, this list should hold you in good stead. So here it is, in no particular order:

1. Dragon Rider by Cornelia Funke

A beautifully illustrated fantasy of escape and adventure involving dragons, mushrooms and other magical creatures. Perfect for days when the news is only making you wish you were somewhere else.

2. 2666 by Roberto Bolaño

A long, dark read about rapes, murders and mysterious authors. Definitely a commitment, but one worth attempting even if the book was never completed. Worth reading when you start thinking things couldn’t possibly get any worse.

3. His Dark Materials trilogy by Philip Pullman

Technically cheating, since it’s three books and not one, but my list, my rules. Magical, controversial, beautiful and haunting. If you want to question the powers that be but wish you had people to help you on your journey, read this for inspiration. There’s a sequel book series and a TV adaptation in the air, so this is as good a time to pick these books up as there ever was.

4. Harry Potter series by JK Rowling

Cheating again. If you haven’t read them already, give it a go. A lot of pop culture references will make a lot more sense. Magic, love, and solidarity wrapped up in a story that’s as much a meme as it is a series. I hope you find something worth bringing home after reading it.

5. Hopscotch by Julio Cortázar

A book written to be read two ways – the normal way or the hopscotch way. Read chapters in order or jump from one chapter to another according to the author’s rule, or your own. A perfect book for reminding you that you can have agency even when it doesn’t feel like you do.

6. Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid by Douglas Hofstadter

One of the most mindbending and revelatory books I’ve ever read. If you’re interested in music, mathematics, lithographs, philosophy, artificial intelligence, genetics, Lewis Carrol, and/or human consciousness, this is the book for you. Open yourself up to strange new experiences now that you have some time.

7. A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking

Speaking of time, read the book that starts off with CBSE +2 physics and chemistry syllabus and ends with questions of black holes and dimensionality. Great for learning about physics whether you identify as a science enthusiast or not. Go for it. A wizard in Harry Potter did (true story, Google it).

8. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller

One of the few books that has made me laugh out loud in a manner that exceeds the usual nose exhalation that LOL-worthy content actually inspires (or expires, or respires). Do you hate the system? Does everything seem like a trap? Read Catch-22 and learn to fight the power and lose, but with a smile on your face and joyful insanity in your heart.

9. Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell

A book I prescribed for my LAA course but didn’t end up teaching. Read it anyway. A touchstone when it comes to dystopian fiction, it’s a primer for what not to do when the State has you in lockdown.

10. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

If you’re going to read Nineteen Eighty-Four, read the other prophet of dystopia too. Brave New World might convince you that we’ve always lived in a dystopian future, with or without the coronavirus. Read for context to the debate surrounding dystopias that you might not know existed.

11. Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie

A magnum opus with a sprawling narrative that follow the history of our country with more than a pinch of what literature types like to call “magical realism”. If you think it’s overhyped, here’s something to lure you in: it’s basically X-Men: First Class set around the time of the Emergency. Not even kidding.

12. Em and the Big Hoom by Jerry Pinto

A heartbreakingly honest look at loving people with atypical states of mind and how to deal with loss and mourning. Not all of us will come out of this lockdown unscathed. Jerry Pinto shows us we can still laugh and cry and live, even if our loved ones can’t anymore.

13. The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

Another book that you might think is overhyped, but I assure you, it’s worth the read, if not for Roy’s lush, vibrant prose, then for the unflinching gaze it casts at the cruelty of family and the realities of caste oppression, both things that some people are grappling with more than ever during the lockdown.

14. Annihilation of Caste by Dr B.R. Ambedkar

If you’re interested in questions of caste, go to the source. Ambedkar is a titan when it comes to anti-caste literature, but he’s also a keen student of history and sociology. Read the speech he never got to give and try to find reasons why his argument doesn’t hold water. Whether you succeed or not, you will have learnt something crucially important to the world around us.

15. The HarperCollins Book of English Poetry, edited by Sudeep Sen

A book I’m currently reading, so take my recommendation with a grain of salt. Poetry is something we don’t read as much as we should and anthologies are a great way to start getting into poetry, especially this one, with its special focus on Indians writing poetry in English. If nothing else, read the poems in this collection by Jeet Thayil. Maybe they’ll inspire you to read the whole book, as they did for me.

16. London ki Ek Raat by Sajjad Zaheer

Translated into English as A Night in London, Sajjad Zaheer’s novel is a masterpiece of modernist fiction set before Independence. Reading it certainly made me aware of how the more things change, the more they stay the same. Read it for the way in which people belonging to your grandparent’s generation echo the exact same sentiments you might have, only in a different context.

17. The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas

I’m a sucker for melodrama, and Dumas is its master. Read the book in its unabridged form to cry, rage and experience the rollercoaster of emotion and revenge that Dumas creates. If nothing else, it might offer you a little catharsis.

18. Any book you've already read

My list, my rules. And here’s the rule: re-read something. We often don’t get the time to but you’ll be amazed at how much different a book can feel the second time over. If you’ve never read a book before, pick up the first book you see and read it again if you liked it the first time. You’ll thank me later.

19. Any book you've been meaning to read

Tsundoku is the Japanese term for the act of buying books and never reading them. Whether they’re physical books or e-books, whether you obtained them or someone else did, if it’s there and it’s waiting for you, let it wait no more. Get into reading, now.

20. The book you're about to write

“If you find a book you really want to read but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” – Toni Morrison, speech at the annual meeting of the Ohio Arts Council, 1981.

This was the quote that convinced me I wanted to be a writer someday. Let it inspire you too. We are living in strange times and if there’s one thing that such times give birth to, it’s strange narratives. Be the midwife to the tales of the new world we are living in. Add to this list. Add to my list. Add to your list. Be the writer the world wants to read. Be the writer you need to be. Good luck.

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some-cookie-crumbz · 7 years ago

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Fighting the Clock

Fighting the Clock - Kidge Fest Prompt 3 Fill Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairing: Kidge Summary: It’s New Year’s Day, and Pidge is a little miffed with Keith being away on a mission with the Blade after already missing the other holidays leading up to this. Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more. AN: Previous two prompt-fills can be read [here] and [here] respectively. The final post for KidgeFest!... Or is it???? :3c

She wasn’t normally very fond of big crowds but she had always wanted to attend the ball drop in New York City in person. It was just like her to let her curiosity outweigh her discomfort or unease, but she wasn’t alone. Hunk and Lance had also been excited at the idea and agreed to come along. She had spent most of the early morning and afternoon alone, bundled up and waiting on the top of a parking structure, while Hunk and Lance had gone to do some sight-seeing and hit up some four-star restaurant Hunk had been raving about in the weeks since they’d agreed to coming with her. She had received a brief message on her communicator from him shortly before she was supposed to meet back up with them.

Keith’s smile on the screen twitched with nervousness at the corners.

“You aren’t going to make it, are you?” She asked bluntly, raising one eyebrow and forcing a teasing grin on her lips. It was hard to manage due to her disappointment, but a small voice in the back of her mind nagged that she shouldn’t really be surprised at this point. He had been unable to come back in time for Christmas. Or her father’s birthday. Or Thanksgiving.

It was just like him to be unable to be punctual when she had something important to talk to him about.

“I’ll be there, I’m just… Gonna be a little late,” He said, wincing a bit, and his tone sang of a thousand apologies she’d probably be hearing later. Evidently, her frustration must have showed through. So much for her poker face. “Not because of the Blade or the mission, though. I was fine leaving headquarters, I just… The coalition checkpoint is backed up all the way to the Big Dipper and it’s slow going.” He turned his communicator to show her the long, long line of ships ahead of his cruiser.

For the first time, Pidge resented convincing Allura to take them back to Earth so that they’re home world could join the coalition. If she’d known that so many aliens would want to come visit the planet the newest Paladins originated from she wouldn’t have said a damn word. Or, rather, she would have made a camouflage device for Keith’s cruiser so he could just bypass the whole circus. She’d never been a big supporter of bureaucracy and all that restrictive caution tape, anyway. “Have they given you any kind of E.T.A.?” She asked as the communicator focused back on him.

“A few hours… Probably closer to, like, ten or eleven o’clock tonight, if the estimate on the space-highway sign in correct,”

“Oh, well then we’re totally fucked, because those things are never right,” She barked, rolling her eyes.

He frowned. “Maybe things will go faster. You okay? You seem a lot angrier than I was honestly expecting you to be,” He said, his tone a bit softer. He had learned over the years that inquiring what had Pidge’s feathers ruffled was a science; tread carefully, and if she only rustled up even more than drop it until she felt like opening up herself.

She cast him a bland look, not even wanting to dignify that comment with a verbal response. He winced again and she let her shoulders sag a bit, trying to remind herself that getting angry wouldn’t help any. “You know, last time I checked, I was the one wearing the wedding band, not Kollivan.” She let a slightly more teasing note creep in to her tone. She didn’t want to end her year with making Keith feel like shit, thus starting the year on a sour note.

His smile was small and thankful. “Being married to Kollivan would be pure Hell, don’t even joke about that,” He laughed. She giggled as well and then stood up, making sure to keep her grip on the communicator so it stayed primarily focused on her face. “I’ve missed you.”

Her smile became softer and her eyes warmer. “I’ve missed you too, you big sap. I’m meeting up with Hunk and Lance so I have to go. If you can, let me know when you’re past the check point, though, so I can meet up with you,” She said.

“Will do. I’ll see you soon, promise,” He said, flashing her a quick salute before the feed shut down. With a deep sigh, Pidge stuffed the communicator into her purse, adjusted her scarf and gloves, and then scrambled to the elevator of the parking garage.

She ended up hailing a cab to get to the restaurant the other two had gone to, since it was across the city from her position, much to her chagrin. The drive had given her the chance to clear her mind and wonder what she would do if Keith ended up not making it in time to see the ball drop with her – as, she surmised, she could let it slide if he missed dinner – and the idea of kicking his sorry tail on to the couch didn’t seem quite strict enough. Her pettier side insisted that she make him spend at least two nights in his cruiser, since she knew that thing couldn’t maintain heat when shut down and tended to go in to an automatic shut down if left on free-flight mode for longer than three hours.

When she arrived, Hunk offered her a small plastic bag with a Styrofoam container inside as well as a water bottle. “I take it he got held up?” He asked, flashing her a sympathetic smile.

“He’s stuck in a long line waiting to pass through the coalition checkpoint,” She said, taking the two offered items, letting the bag hang from her wrist by the handles. She opened the water bottle and took a quick sip. “Thanks, by the way. How much do I owe you for it?” She asked while putting the water bottle in her purse and peering into the bag to verify that some plastic utensils were inside.

“Don’t even worry about it,” Hunk laughed with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Yeah, we figured that Keith would get caught up in that mess,” Lance scoffed lightly, waving one gloved hand flippantly in indication of the sky above them. He indicated his head and started walking, Pidge and Hunk falling into step with him. “Last year we got caught in that whole headache bringing Allura and Coran down for Thanksgiving. Which is why they just come down here and stay from Halloween until the last week of January.”

“It can get pretty crazy, now that Earth has become a hotspot for alien travel,” Hunk agreed, shuddering a bit at the memory. They’d never divulged the full history of what they’d gone through trying to get back to Earth, but she was well aware that some less-than-diplomatic phrases had been exchanged between Allura and one of the Garrison staff stationed at the checkpoint.

Lance ended up leading them to Central Park, where they settled on a bench so Pidge could eat. She had nearly wept her gratitude as she opened the container and took a bite of the herbed chicken parmesan they’d picked out for her. It didn’t hold a candle to her mom’s homemade one, but it was a nice substitute that would leave her full throughout the rest of the days activities. As she ate, Hunk and Lance told her about some of what they’d done. They’d stopped in front of the Macy’s Department Store where the Thanksgiving Day Parade always stopped at and perused through. “It’s, like, twenty times bigger than any other one I’ve been to before! And it’s selection? Totally validated the size of that place,” Lance said.

They’d also gone to Broadway to see a musical right before lunch, which had Hunk thrilled to talk about. She remembered how Lance had enlisted her help to get the tickets the minute they went on sale, as there was a big bustle over the latest presentation of the renowned classic The Count of Monte Cristo. “I mean, I’ll always have a preference for the years old original Broadway casts recording,” Hunk said excitedly, showing her the bag full of merchandise he’d bought after the show, “but this was definitely an amazing performance! Especially the two they cast for Edmond and Mercédès! And their rendition of I Will be There was so amazing! They really sold it!”

“And this is why I’m the literal best husband in the world~!” Lance sing-songed proudly. Pidge chuckled but did have to admit that it was a sweet gesture. Hunk was a surprisingly big buff on classic literature and had loved the novel that inspired the musical many years later. It had always been his dream to see the musical in person if it were ever brought back to Broadway. So when Lance found out that very musical was being brought back for the new generation of musical buffs? He had known it would get him tons of bragging points if he got them in to see it.

Even if that meant waking up one very disgruntled Pidge at nearly two in the morning to guarantee the purchase.

They walked around the park after that, enjoying the sights and atmosphere. There were still plenty of people present, but there seemed to be more space for a bit of privacy between she and her friends. She watched Lance head out toward the water, pointing excitedly at some ducks and geese swimming close to the shore, tugging Hunk along with him. She stretched, humming in delight at the light pop and rush of relief, and stared up at the sky. She huffed quietly as she turned her attention back to Hunk and Lance, whom were now being chased by a disgruntled goose. For as much as she loved spending time with Hunk and Lance, she couldn’t help but wish that Keith was there with her.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Keith groaned and drummed his fingers along the armrest of his seat. He’d been sitting here for a whole hour and probably only managed to slip half an inch closer to the checkpoint. He looked at the watch he wore that was set to Earth time and scowled. He would still have another two hours of flight before reaching Earth even after the checkpoint. He groaned again and scrubbed his hands over his face, staring up at the slim gold band on his finger, then let his eyes close. It was a simply band but it was the engraving inside – Sword and Shield; the perfect pair – that always had him falling for her all over again.

You aren’t going to make it, are you?

Pidge’s disappointment had been painful, but what had been worse was how resigned she seemed to the notion. She had been expecting him to call and cancel his arrival just like he had for Christmas the week before. And Samuel’s birthday before that. And even Thanksgiving before that. The realization that he hadn’t seen his wife in person since the second week of November was a sobering one; he knew that he’d been gone for a long time, but putting it all in to perspective like that was like a punch to the gut.

You know, last time I checked, I was the one wearing the wedding band, not Kollivan.

She had meant it as a joke and clearly wasn’t trying to be underhanded or passive aggressive – mostly because Pidge didn’t do passive aggressive; she did regular aggressive – but it still hurt. This wasn’t the first time he’d been taken away for extended periods of time due to missions. In the last two years of their marriage, he’d spent a total of eleven months away from her – including his most recent stint – and it left him suddenly reeling as he realized that he’d spend nearly half their marriage away from his wife. They had been talking about starting a family before he got the call for this most recent mission but he got the feeling that talk would be non-existent for at least a month once he finally did touch back down on Earth.

He opened his eyes to stare at the wedding band again. What would happen if Pidge did get pregnant and he got another mission and something happened? While medical technology was advanced – and Allura was always just a call away – there were always risks that could come with a pregnancy. Or, his mind goaded, what would he do if Pidge went in to labor while he was away and he couldn’t be reached in time to make it back? What if he wasn’t there to support her through delivery and see the birth of their first child? ‘Well,’ A voice in the back of his mind scoffed, ‘you’re certainly getting yourself a splendid track record of being dependable and supportive. Assuming she doesn’t just dump your sorry ass for a better guy after all the shit you’ve pulled recently, you’d better be intending to make it up to her.’

That thought was all that was needed to steel his resolve. He sat upright and reached out, taking a grip of the throttles. In one quick motion, he sent his cruiser upwards, hovering just above his spot in the line-up as well as the tops of the other space crafts around him. He then twisted to the left, shoved his foot down and sent his ship spiraling around and past the lines. He knew that the patrol vehicles used by the Garrison in charge of the checkpoint didn’t get quite a much speed as the fighter pilot models – the ones that were similar to his own Blade provided cruiser – so as long as he got a decent head start on them, he could land his cruiser on the lot roof Pidge had gotten sealed off just for him – another perk of being a Paladin, she had said – and be well on his way into the crowd before they knew what hit them. He wouldn’t be able to change clothes like he wanted to, but he should be able to take the duffel bag he had shoved them in to with him.

Finding a bathroom to change in wouldn’t be hard, given their locations, and then it was just a matter of locating Pidge on the ground.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

He stole a glance at his communicator as he leaned against the wall of the handicap stall of a restaurant two blocks from the parking garage. 11:21. “Okay,” He breathed, a bit winded and winding down from the adrenaline rush that the chase had been, “all I have to do is call Pidge and find out where exactly she is. That shouldn’t be too hard.” He ran his fingers through his hair again before dropping his duffel bag and rummaging through. He changed in to his casual clothes as quickly as he could, then followed it up with a quick combing of his hair and brushing his teeth. He used a water bottle he’d had inside to rinse and spat in to the toilet, instead of the sink to avoid getting weird looks.

Well, more than he already got from when he first walked in wearing his Marmora suit and asking where the bathroom was.

He pulled on his gloves and grabbed his scarf from the bag, holding off on putting it on until he got outside and instead just tossing it over his shoulder. He rested the strap of the duffel bag on his other shoulder then headed out of the restroom. He took another quick glance at his communicator as he stepped out on to the street. 11:35. He started up to the link with Pidge’s communicator and watched the fuzzing noise line as it chimed to reach her before tying on his scarf and starting at a jogging pace towards the ball drop.

He ducked through the crowd and weaved between the other people, making his way to try and get as close to the ball as possible, while looking around and then back down at his communicator. Pidge would be as close as she could get – he was certain of that much – but then it became a concern of if she’d actually hear the communicator going off. He hoped that he’d be able to spot her in the crowd, but it was a bit difficult already. Between the light snowfall and everyone being bundled up in dark, heavy winter coats, it was near impossible to tell this huddled blur from that one.

He growled, terminated the attempt to reach her, and launched another as he checked the time again. 11:43. He looked around again before cupping one hand over his mouth. “Pidge!” He called out loudly. A few people turned to look at him with confused or annoyed expressions but none of them were the face he was looking for. He growled and tried calling for her louder, continuing to push through the throng. “Pidge! Pidge, are you around here? Can you hear me? Katie!” He shouted, getting louder and more frantic as he struggled against the current of other people.

He kept struggling and shouting, even as the crowd erupted into chanting out the count of the last minute before the ball dropped.

It was then that his eyes caught sight of a back. The person was wearing a black coat with a faux fun lining the hood and a bright blue scarf. What caught Keith’s eye was the fact that they were far too tall, towering twice as tall as those around him. He realized quickly that they were sitting on the shoulders of someone else, the two almost blurring together by the similar coloring of their coats. It was the scarf, however, that specifically caught him; he recognized the color and initials embroidered on the end.

L.M. Lance McClain.

He charged forward and felt his chest warm when he saw a slightly smaller figure standing just a few paces ahead and to the right of Lance, wearing a green and white stripped sweater and his red beanie with the white puff ball on the top. He shoved past Hunk and Lance, ignored the exclamation of protest he got, and reached to grab her arm as they reached the final few seconds.

10!

She whipped around, lips twisted up in a snarl, ready to spit venom. She was on edge already with so many people constantly bumping and crowding her, but when combined with the fact Keith hadn’t made it? She was starting her New Year on a note of irritation just as she’d been dreading. She gasped when her eyes landed on an all too familiar.

“Keith! You made it!” She gasped, her irritation melting away. He looked distressed and his shoulders sagged a bit.

“I’m so sorry I cut it so close. I was trying to get here faster but the Garrison was chasing me and I had to shake them and I didn’t think that running around in my Blade uniform would be a good idea in this weather and-!” He kept prattling on, his words laced in anxiety. She could tell he’d been rushing to find her, frantic to make it back and keep his promise.

She decided to take pity on the poor guy and lightly pressed one gloved hand over his lips to cut off his rambling. Pidge could be petty and spiteful, but even she knew when it was time to bury the hatchet; especially when she could tell he felt sincerely bad.

She let her hands slide to rest on either of his shoulders and grinned up at him. “Hey, you made it before the end of the year, right?” She teased.

He blinked a bit before reaching over to cup both sides of her face, still seeming a little distressed. “I should have been here a few weeks ago,”

“Yeah, but I’m willing to let us start the year off with clean slates. Sound like a plan?”

His lips twitched up in a smile and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. “Well, at least let me make it up to you. For the sake of my own conscience,”

“And what did you have in mind?” She mused, raising one brow at him inquisitively. His smile turned a bit more devious before he tilted his head and pressed his lips gently against hers.

1! Happy New Year!

She pressed her lips more firmly to his and let out an eager little purr. He took charge and surged forward, lightly tracing her lip with the tip of his tongue and letting one hand slide up higher, tangling in her hat-frazzled hair. She was more than happy to voice her contentment with a slightly louder moan. He left one hand in her hair but let the other slide down to wrap around her waist and pull her closer, his body sturdy and warm through their respective layers.

God, she’d missed him.

She’d missed being able to lean into him and press close, to share his warmth. She’d missed tucking under his arm or into his side and just resting there. She’d missed waking up with his face pressed into the crook of his neck and his arm around her waist, her back flush against his chest. She’d missed being jolted out of her work by a puff of air against her cheek followed by the soft touch of lips to the hinge of her jaw. She’d missed the two of them dancing around the kitchen together to make dinner or tidy up. She’d missed feeling like her partner-in-crime was just a brief hand gesture away.

She’d just missed him in general.

When they pulled away she smiled up at him, their foreheads touching again. It seemed that the world had faded back into focus and the ruckus around them sparked back to life. People were bustling around more aggressively than before and Pidge stepped even closer, curling up against his side to avoid getting moved around too much. “Glad we came this year. No way would we be able to do this next year with a little one,” She laughed.

He chuckled a bit and hummed. “Yea- Wait, what? Pidge, are you pregnant?” He asked, at first jovial and then freezing and staring down at her in surprise.

Her grin widened. “I’ve been waiting to tell you in person since I found out. I intended to tell you at Thanksgiving, and then when you came back for Dad’s birthday, and then I figured I’d just tell you at Christmas but that never panned out. And, I mean, I really should have just told you since I know that would have gotten you home, but that just didn’t feel right. Telling you in person was the only way I wanted to tell you,” She explained, nodding her head from side to side as she mentioned each time she’d planned to, and then nodding at her conclusion.

She watched his reaction carefully, his expression seeming to be frozen in shock, before his eyes sparked bright and his lips split in to one of his rare full smiles. He scooped her up with both arms and spun them around in a circle, laughing like a mad man while she squealed, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. When he skidded to a stop he looked up at her with such wonder and glee it left her a bit winded. “We’re gonna have a baby!” He breathed.

She flushed a little bit and giggled. “I’m about thirteen weeks in now. Due date is looking like mid-June right now, and we can find out the sex in February,” She mused, leaning down to press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Ah, so the lone wolf finally comes trekking back to the rest of the flock, I see?” Lance huffed as he and Hunk strode up.

“Um, Lance, I don’t think that you’ve got that quite right,” Hunk said meekly, squeezing the other’s hand with a small chuckle.

“Hunky, my love, I’m trying to make a point,” He said, looking up at him with a raised brow before turning his attention back to Keith and Pidge. Keith set Pidge down but still kept her pressed into his side with an arm around her waist, which she appreciated. Even with her heavy clothes, she was still a bit nippy. “Oh, and thanks for nearly send us toppling over. Couldn’t even say an ‘excuse me’?” He huffed, though there was a bit of a playful hint at the edges of his tone. While the rivalry still existed between them, they – Lance – had gotten better about letting the rivalry be more teasing than volatile.

“I’m gonna be a dad!” Keith blurted out excited, still grinning like mad. He then swooped in and gave Pidge a kiss to the forehead.

Lance opened his mouth – most likely to make some kind of teasing remark – but Hunk beat him to the punch. “Congratulations, you guys. You’re gonna be great parents,” He laughed happily.

Pidge wrapped her arms around Keith’s chest and nuzzled in while Keith, Lance and Hunk fell in to casual chatter. She wasn’t showing too much yet, but there was a little bit of a baby bump starting to become more prominent. She leaned up and kissed Keith’s chin when she felt his hand stroke against her side through her coat. She waged he had probably noticed the slight bulge now that she was pressed so close up to him.

She basked in the light glow that the year was starting on; well, until she had to get in to a screaming match with the Garrison over them trying to detain Keith after foregoing the checkpoint.

#Voltron legendary defender #Keidge #Kidge #Peith #KidgeFest #Pidge Gunderson #Keith Kogane #my fics

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utukkigirl · 8 years ago

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Ain’t No Cure for the Cervitaur Blues, Chapter 7

Ain’t No Cure for the Cervitaur Blues A Gravity Falls Fanfic by Krista Perry I own nothing.

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Chapter Seven

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Dipper woke, gasping, sitting up in his bed, clutching the front of his shirt as his heart nearly beat out of his chest, and immediately scrambled to his feet, jumping to the floor, getting ready to run. There was a threat, there was danger, he heard that dark laugh, he could smell death…

He blinked. He was in the attic. He turned around in a circle, tensed, breathing hard, eyes searching for a threat that was suddenly not there. “What…” he whispered, confused.

And then, as his adrenaline ebbed slightly, he realized. He hadn’t woken up. He had fallen asleep, and he was in his mindscape.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. This was so confusing. One moment, he was a deer. He was with Mabel and… and a woman who could only be a magic forest creature of some kind, if her strange wooden skin and green hair were any indication. They were going somewhere. Mabel had wrapped him in a blanket and put him in her backpack, and how weird was it that he was small enough to fit in her backpack?

Mabel had put on the backpack, and he could feel the solid, comforting warmth of her back through the fabric. He had poked his head out from underneath the flap as they went out the back porch, and then….

… then he had heard that terrible demonic chuckle, had smelled the stench of an unnatural predator, and panic had flooded his simple deer brain. He had thrashed frantically, desperate to get away, to escape, but suddenly Mabel was there trying to hold him still, and the wood woman put her hand on his head and…

And now he was here. Asleep. Standing in the Shack’s attic in his mindscape with an out-of-control flight instinct still rushing through him, urging him to run from a threat he was incapable of escaping, since it existed in the waking world.

That magic forest lady had touched his head and put him to sleep against his will, and he suddenly realized he probably couldn’t wake up right now even if he wanted to.

And that threat was still out there, and Mabel was still out there, and he didn’t have any way to warn her, because she and that forest lady thought he was just a dumb deer having a freak out. Augh! Dipper pulled at his hair in frustration. What was he supposed to do now?

Well, he couldn’t just stand around here, that was for sure. He felt jittery with excess energy and the absolute need to be moving. He rushed out the attic bedroom door…

…and found himself in the upstairs hallway of his home in Piedmont.

He was facing the bathroom across the hall from his and Mabel’s bedroom. He turned around, only to see the battered open door and attic bedroom of the Shack instead of the regular bedroom that usually occupied that space. Interesting. Did that mean he had come to view the attic as more of his real bedroom than the one at home?

His heartbeat slowed and his breathing came easier as he found himself in the place he had grown up; a place that always meant comfort and safety and family. He hadn’t been homesick at all during his stay at Gravity Falls because there were so many mysteries, so many things to discover and explore. But now, as he thought about his current predicament, and realized he might never see his home again -- might never see his parents again – he was hit with a wave of homesickness so painful and overwhelming, he felt like throwing up.

And he could hear voices in the house. Familiar voices. Welcome voices. He took a few steps down the hall to the next room – a room that was supposed to be his sometime in the future when his parents decided he and Mabel were too old to share a room. But he opened the door and found the room as he left it -- filled with shelves and stacks of old books. Books his mom had never had the heart to part with and put up for sale at The Literate Owl, the second-hand bookstore she owned on Piedmont Avenue.

And there she was, a mere ghost of a memory, wearing mom-jeans and her favorite vintage Duran Duran World Tour 1987 t-shirt, her long brown hair piled up in a messy bun stuck through with a knitting needle. She was pulling an old hardback off the shelf and turning to hand it to a younger him, who was probably eight or nine from the look of him.

“Here you go, hon,” she said, and Dipper watched his younger self take it reverently.

“The Count of Monte Cristo,” his younger self read, then looked up at Mom. “You think I’m ready for this?”

Mom laughed. “You’ve read Lord of the Rings, and had the audacity to tackle The Silmarillion.” She reached down and ruffled his hair. “I think it’s safe to say you can handle this, my brilliant boy.”

Young Dipper grinned up at her with delight, and Dipper had to close the door against them both, swallowing hard at the lump in his throat and the deep, hollow ache in his chest.

He could hear more voices, more memories, manifesting throughout the house and, for a moment, Dipper considered retreating to the attic bedroom.

But no. Though his pulse was slowing back to normal, he was restless. He didn’t want to be stuck in the attic, waiting for who knows how long until he could wake from a magic-induced sleep, just to be a stupid baby animal again.

So he turned the hall corner, and there was the little alcove with a window bench, covered in skeins of multi-colored yarn and bathed in morning sunlight. Mabel sat on the bench, alternately humming and singing a song from some boy band while she knitted something that was probably a sweater for one of her stuffed animals.

“Mabel?” he said, hesitant hope sparking in him.

But she didn’t acknowledge him. She just kept swaying in time to the music in her head while she knit.

Dipper frowned. “Mabel?” he tried again, walking closer. He had been able to interact with memory-Stan when they were in his mindscape. Why wasn’t this working? He didn’t care if this Mabel was just a memory, he really needed to talk to someone. When she still didn’t respond, he walked right up next to her and waved his hand in front of her face. “Mabel, come on, please—“

He broke off as his hand passed right through her.

He sighed, feeling his shoulders slump. Great. Even his memories that weren’t hiding behind doors were intangible and non-responsive. This just got better and better.

Beyond the alcove were the stairs that led to the main floor, and across the hall from the stairs was his parents’ bedroom. He was planning to skip that door and just go downstairs, but to his surprise, the door was already open. Unable to squash his curiosity, he looked inside.

There, inside the room, crouched on either side of the French doors that led to a small balcony, were him and Mabel, eavesdropping on the conversation their parents were having just outside.

Dipper huffed a short laugh. This memory was fresh, from just before the start of summer. Still, it would be interesting to re-live it, knowing what he knew now, so he walked right up to the French doors. The Dipper and Mabel on either side of him were straining to hear Mom and Dad, casting meaningful glances as each other, right through him. Talk about feeling invisible.

Mom and Dad were lounging on deck chairs, watching the sun set.

“I don’t know,” Mom said, sipping her Diet Coke. “I can see a couple of weeks, or even a month, but… the whole summer? I know Uncle Stanford said he didn’t mind, but that seems like a huge imposition.”

“Naw,” Dad said, waving his hand nonchalantly. “It will be good for all of them. Uncle Stanford’s been up there alone since before Uncle Stanley died, and it will be good for the kids to visit him up there for a change. When he visits us, it’s just for an afternoon while he’s on his way to somewhere else, and the kids barely get to know him.”

“But that’s not our fault. I know we’ve made it clear he’s welcome to visit for as long as he likes.”

“Yeah,” Dad said, “but that’s not the point. One of my best childhood memories was the two weeks my dad sent me to stay with him. He plays the grumpy old man well, but stick around him long enough and you’ll know nothing means more to him than family. I always wanted to go back every summer, but Dad kept me busy with other things.”

Mom laughed. “Maybe that’s because you came home from your stay claiming you saw Bigfoot.”

Dad straightened with mock indignation. “For your information, my dear, I did see Bigfoot.”

“Yes, yes,” Mom said, grinning. “And the seven dwarves. How could I forget?”

“They weren’t dwarves,” Dad said. “They were more like living lawn gnomes.”

“Because that’s so much better.” She was openly snickering at him, and Dad grabbed one of the chair pillows and swiped playfully at her. “Hey,” she protested, holding up her soda can. “Watch the drink.”

“Unbelievers,” Dad intoned, “must go thirsty.” And he grabbed the can away from her. “Hey, it’s already empty!”

Past Dipper and Mabel knew what that meant, and were already scrambling to their feet to scurry out the door before they got caught. But Dipper stayed to watch what his past self had only heard while fleeing.

“Get me another one, please?” Mom said, smiling and batting her eyes.

Dad groaned and got to his feet. “You know I hate when you do that.”

“Stop jumping to please me when I do it, and I’ll stop doing it.”

They both laughed. It was an old game, almost like reciting a script at this point, and Dipper found himself blinking back a stinging wetness in his eyes. The homesick ache in his chest was so all-consuming, he didn’t even flinch when Dad opened the doors and walked right through him.

Both his parents vanished as the memory ended.

Dipper turned and ran out of his parents’ room, unwilling to see what memory might manifest next. He could hear more voices in the house. From downstairs in the sitting room, he could hear his own voice crow in triumph and Dad’s answering moan that always followed when he beat him in a game of chess. He could hear Mom and Mabel singing 80’s tunes at the tops of their lungs in the laundry room as they folded clothes. And there was Mom telling him for the last time to take out the trash before he lost his video game privileges, and his voice responding, Fine, I’m doing it, I’m doing it. Sheesh!

He stood at the top of the stairs and looked down. The front door was just a few feet from the bottom of the stairs. The longer he stood there, the more the memories manifested, until the house was full of voices and images of himself and Mabel and his parents, fading in and out of existence. He needed to get out of here before his homesickness overwhelmed him. But as he started down the steps, Mom and Dad rushed to the door, Dad shrugging on his coat while Mom handed him a thermos of coffee and a leather briefcase. They pecked on the lips, and then Dad was gone as Mom closed the door.

For a moment, Dipper thought she was going to walk away and disappear, but then she looked up at him. “Mason?” she said, and Dipper froze.

“Mom?” he said. His heart was suddenly in his throat. She could see him?

She reached out to him and gave him a tired smile. “Come here, hon.”

And at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to run to her and be gathered into the comfort of her arms. “Mom,” he said, his voice wobbling unsteadily, and he took a couple of steps down…

…when a much smaller, younger memory of himself ran right through him, rushing down the stairs and into her open arms.

Oh. Of course. Right.

Dipper turned away, trembling hands grasping for the wooden railing and clenching it like a lifeline. And if his face was a little wet, well, what of it?

“Did Daddy and I wake you?” Mom asked.

His younger self nodded. “Where did Daddy go? It’s still night time.”

“Well,” Mom said, and if Dipper closed his eyes, he could almost feel her running her fingers gently through his hair. “Daddy is the orthopedic surgeon on call at the hospital. That means if there’s an emergency and someone gets hurt in the middle of the night, he’s the one who needs to go help them.”

“Oh. I guess that’s okay, then.”

Mom chuckled. “Yes, it’s very much okay. So, is Mabel awake?”

“Nope. She’s still sleeping.”

“You should join her. You don’t need to worry. Everything is fine, and Daddy will be back when he’s done.”

“But I’m not tired now.”

Mom sighed, weary and amused. “Let me guess. You want me to read to you.”

“Yes! Yes yes yes!”

Mom laughed. “All right, settle down. Let’s go find a good book.”

She would read to him until he fell asleep, nestled in the crook of her arm, Dipper knew. And then he would wake up in the morning in his own bed.

Dipper didn’t wait until the memory left the room. As soon as they were clear of the door, he ran out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

He stood on the front porch, sucking in deep breaths, wiping surreptitiously at his face and trying to still his shaking hands.

Okay. That… really, really sucked.

And it was still sucking, because right in front of him were Mom and Dad, dressed in their gardening clothes. Mom was trimming the hedges on either side of the stone path that led from the sidewalk to the front porch, and Dad was mowing the front lawn. And as they faded, there he was, no older than five, riding his bike down the sidewalk with no hands and yelling, Look, Mabel, look! She responded with, Oh yeah? Watch this! No hands and eyes closed! Upon which she promptly rode her bike into the mailbox.

As his younger self hurried to his wailing sister’s aid, Dipper jumped the hedge and ran down the narrow, tree-lined street, not caring where, as long as it was away. Some place where no memory could remind him of what he had lost.

No matter how he looked at it, his life was cut short. He would spend the rest of it living whatever deer lifespan he had. His family would probably take care of him, making sure he wouldn’t die prematurely at a hunter’s hand, only for him to die at the ripe old age of eighteen or twenty. But even if he was with them, he would never understand them or experience that familial love he longed for, trapped in the limited moment-to-moment awareness of an animal.

Awake, full of slow, simple thoughts and mindless instinct. Asleep, fully aware, haunted and yearning for what he could never have again.

So he ran blindly through his mindscape, faster than humanly possible. And though he tried not to look, he still caught glimpses of places from his past. The Eggbert Elementary playground. The vast Mountain View Cemetery, so much cooler than the park with its monuments and mausoleums; its stone angels and guarding sphinxes that were perfect for twilit games of hide-and-seek with Mabel. Professor’s Games and Comics with the weekend DD&MD tournaments. The seemingly endless winding streets of hills and houses and shady walkways that lent themselves so well a pair of twins looking for adventure, real or imaginary. Shepherd’s Canyon, that ran almost all the way to…

…the Gravity Falls Water Tower, and suddenly he was out of Piedmont, but this wasn’t any better. There was the arcade, and the Northwest Mansion, and the lake, and Greasy’s, and, of course, the Shack, all swarming with familiar wraiths of memory. He kept running.

No more home, he pleaded silently. He felt like there was an empty, aching hole where his heart should be, and he felt the wind drying the tears on his cheeks. Let me be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

When he finally slowed and came to a stop, Piedmont and Gravity Falls were long gone, and he found himself in a forest where he didn’t recognize anything. There were no rising cliffs, no landmarks. Just woods as far as he could see… but there were no pine trees. No conifers at all; just deciduous trees in all their green, broad-leafed glory.

The relief he felt at leaving the painfully familiar behind was almost palpable.

And this place… it was beautiful. Peaceful. Sunlight streamed through the forest canopy, and the air was cool and smelled of damp earth, old leaves, and a sweet hint of distant honeysuckle. He could hear a gurgling stream nearby, and cheerful birdsong, and the hum of insects.

Just being here made the tight, twisting lump of anxiety in his chest loosen slightly.

He walked toward the sound of the stream, and came out into a clearing, at the bottom of a small waterfall cascading over mossy stone and pooling in a small pond before rushing on downhill. The grass near the pond looked soft and inviting, so he went over and sat down, and again felt that knot in his chest loosen. The blades of grass felt like silk between his fingers.

Dipper took a deep, cleansing breath. This… this was okay. He could stay here until he woke up, he decided. It made him feel a little better -- his mind couldn’t be completely messed up if it could conjure a place like this for him. The natural beauty of the place eased the consuming ache of his loneliness.

He had been sitting a while when a man emerged from the other side of the clearing.

Dipper looked at him, a little surprised, but not alarmed, since this man was obviously a construct of his mind as well. He looked like he had stepped right out of a DD&MD manual, tall and pale, with long black hair that fell past his shoulders. He was wearing ornate robes of swirling blues with silver filigree lining. Floating in an arc above his brow was a crown of seven jewels shining like stars.

As the man stepped forward, Dipper raised an eyebrow at him. “Please tell me that you’re Elrond, and that I’ve somehow created Middle-Earth in my mindscape,” he said.

The man tilted his head slightly and smiled a little, but said nothing, so Dipper went on. “Because you’re pretty much exactly how I always pictured Elrond from the books. I mean, no offense to Hugo Weaving; he did a great job with the roll in the movies, but sometimes he would get this look on his face, and I’d expect the next words out of his mouth to be, ‘Mister Anderson,’ and that the movie would turn out to be just part of the Matrix. That always kind of threw me off, and… I’m babbling, aren’t I?” Not really the first impression he wanted to make with Elrond, but hey, this was his mind, and this man was the first person to look at him and really see him. It was nice to speak to someone who could actually listen, even if he was imaginary.

“I am not Elrond,” the man said, and Dipper was impressed with quiet echo in his voice that gave him a distinct aura of non-aggressive power. Nice.

“Oh?” Dipper pulled up some of the grass by his legs and twisted the blades in his fingers. “Who are you, then?” He was mentally going through a list of potential tall, mystic-looking dark-haired characters he knew of, when the man spoke.

“An interested party.”

Dipper narrowed his eyes at the indirect answer. “Interested in what?”

“You.”

Dipper scrambled to his feet, alarm bells ringing in his head. Okay, maybe this guy wasn’t a construct of his mind, and if so… what the heck was he doing here? How was he here? None of his immediate guesses were in the least bit comforting. Was this guy a friend of Bill’s? He backed away as the man started walking toward him again, and when the man reached the flowing pond between then, he kept walking, his feet hovering a few inches above the water.

“Okay,” Dipper said, wincing as his voice broke on the second syllable. He raised his hands as if trying to ward him off. “You just stop right there. Don’t come any closer!”

The man stopped just shy of the bank on Dipper’s side of the pond, looking at him calmly.

Surprised, Dipper lowered his hands slightly. “What do you want?” he said, tensing and ready to run at the first sign of threat.

“I came to see if my Lady was correct.” The man’s smile was as gentle as his voice was quiet, but Dipper didn’t dare let his guard down. Too many monsters were all smiles and friendship until they were ready to eat your face off. “She said you are one of mine. I have come to confirm her assertion.”

“Wait, what do you mean, one of yours?” Dipper didn’t like the sound of that at all. “I don’t even know you, so… pretty sure, not one of yours.”

The man didn’t respond except to look at him. Or rather, Dipper realized, look at his forehead.

Wait, was this about his birthmark? Almost automatically, he reached up and pulled the brim of his cap down in case his hair wasn’t covering it completely, but the man continued to stare as if nothing was in the way.

“Ah,” he said. “Ursa Major. Odin’s Wain. Butcher’s Cleaver. Guidepost.” His smile warmed. “You are one of mine.” He met Dipper’s gaze and raised an eyebrow. “You have wandered far, child. Dare I say, had you not inadvertently twisted the threats of fate, you would have wandered farther still.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dipper said, probably with more force than necessary, especially since it wasn’t exactly true. He looked at the man’s floating crown of gleaming stars, thought of his birthmark, and had an absolutely crazy idea of what the man meant. It made him feel sick to his stomach. This was stupid. This was absolutely the last thing he needed right now. “Go away and leave me alone!”

The man gave him a patient look. “Humanity ill-suits you, child. I think you will be well rid of it.”

“Okay, nope, no way, I don’t think so!” Dipper shouted, backing away and waving his hands. “Whatever crazy thing you think you have planned for me, just forget it! I happen to like my humanity! A lot! So… so back off!”

“You do?” The man’s expression turned puzzled. “Unexpected. And yet, at the moment, you are not human.”

“That wasn’t exactly my decision,” Dipper said, nearly snarling. “And it doesn’t matter what my body looks like, I’m human right here!” He pointed at his head. “And I plan to stay that way! Besides…” He felt his cheeks heat slightly, and looked down and glared at the grass. “This whole stupid deer thing is only temporary.”

“Is it?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Dipper insisted, clenching his fists at his sides. “Mable and my grunkles will find a way to break the curse. I know them. They won’t stop until it’s broken.”

“That is true,” the man said, and Dipper looked up in surprise. “And yet, should they find the solution, they will not use it, for there is but one way to break the curse. The dream demon used an other-dimensional artifact of immense dark power to change your form. Only death can free you from its influence.”

Dipper paled. “… what?” That… that couldn’t be right. Death? Only death? Sure, he’d had his pity party where he internally moaned about being cursed until he died, but always, underneath that, there had been the spark of hope that his family and friends would be able to save him somehow.

The man’s expression softened with sympathy. “Do not despair. At this moment, your twin sister and a dryad are bearing you to the Lady, for she desires to help you.”

Dipper looked up, latching on to the man’s words. “The Lady? Who is she? Can she really help me?”

“She has many names and many aspects, but in this time and place, she is known as the Mother of the Wood. She is my Lady, and I am her Lord.”

Dipper blinked. “Oh.” He swallowed hard as he grasped the implications of what the man said. His heart pounded, and he could feel his pulse in his head. He had hoped that he would be able to solve the mysteries of Gravity Falls, but this was so far beyond him, he really wondered if he would throw up. Was it even possible to throw up in the mindscape? If so, he was probably about to find out.

Deep breaths. Try not to puke in front of the, uh, sky entity or deity or whatever.

“So,” he said, when he managed to push back most of his nausea. “She can help?

“We can,” the man said. “You are one of mine, and I would help you also. But we will not force this help upon you. You must choose to accept it.”

“Well, of course I want help,” Dipper said, confused as to why it would even be an issue. “You think I want to be a stupid deer for the rest of my life?

The man extended his hands, palms upward. “Two paths lie before you in the immediate future, and you must choose one,” he said. “Both offer escape.”

Dipper nodded eagerly. Two paths. A choice. Right. So far, so good.

“The first path is dying like any other mortal.”

Dipper was getting impatient. He already knew one of the paths was death, the man had just told him so earlier. Why would he choose that? “And the second path?” he asked.

“Is like unto it,” the man said. “For you must still die for the curse to release you. However, the Lady and I can hold your soul before it flees into the infinitude, and remake you, that you may yet live in this world.”

Dipper stared at the man, stunned. “Re… remake? What does that mean?”

“It means,” the man said soberly, “that you would be human no longer. You would become a new creature entirely. This is the choice.”

Dipper shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around the man’s words. “I… but how would…” He didn’t even know what to say. His choices were death, or death and being changed into something else entirely? What kind of choice was that?

“What about my life, my memories, my family?” he asked. He thought about Mabel, about Mom and Dad, about Great Uncle Ford and Grunkle Stan. The thought of losing them forever had pained him enough that he had run away in his own mindscape. “Would I still have them? Would I still be me?” He didn’t want to lose himself being remade, any more than he wanted to lose himself as a stupid deer.

The man gave him a long, thoughtful look. “Your soul is strong and bright, child. You are one of mine, yet you cling to this human life with a fierce resolve. It is possible you will keep the memories and experiences from this life, should you choose to accept our aid.”

“Possible,” Dipper said, his heart sinking. “But not a sure thing?”

“What you carry over would be entirely up to your strength of will,” the man said. “You have but a brief time to consider your choice, for your fate approaches you swiftly. I will leave you now, but know that when your choice is made, the Lady and I will be aware, and we will act accordingly.”

Before Dipper could even protest, the man faded from view, leaving him alone in the clearing once more.

“Well… okay,” Dipper said, waving at the spot where the man used to be. “Great. Nice talk, then. Thanks a lot. I’ll just contemplate my apparent imminent death all by myself now.”

He felt numb. There was only so much crap a guy could take, after all, before each new surprise just impacted uselessly on the surface.

Dipper turned and walked away from the clearing.

“Welp,” he announced to the surrounding forest. “I think it’s safe to say that this is the worst day of my life. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was human. Now I’m a cursed, sleeping fawn who is about to die. Why? I don’t know! I’m asleep!”

Dipper found that ranting at the forest was not especially helpful. He kept walking.

Here he thought that seeing his memories brought to life sucked, because of the sharp, hollow pain of homesickness they inspired. But that paled in comparison to this. One way or another, he was apparently fated to die. He could choose to come back, but as what? The man hadn’t said, and he had been too overwhelmed to ask. He thought of some of the creatures he’d read about in the journals, and groaned. And to become one of those things, and not even remember ever being human, being himself? Death might be better.

But what about Mabel? What would she do? What about Mom and Dad and Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Ford? He couldn’t leave them like this! Especially Mabel. If he died, it would destroy her. He knew, because of the keen spike of terror he felt at the thought of losing her. But would it be any better for her if he lived, but didn’t remember her?

Dipper suddenly regretted running away from his memories of Piedmont and Gravity Falls. He wanted to see Mabel again. He wanted to see Mom and Dad and his grunkles, even if they were just shades of the past. He wanted to see Wendy and Soos. He wanted to remember them all, and hold on to them with all his might.

Home, he thought, his walk slowly gaining speed, turning into a run. I want to go home.

But then a green-haired woman suddenly appeared in front of him, and he only just managed to stop before plowing into her.

“You!” he said, realizing that he recognized her as the dryad who was with Mabel.

She stared at him, eyes wide. “Dipper?” she said.

What in the world was going on now? “Yeah?”

She stepped closer to him, reaching out, and he instinctively took a step back. “Dipper, you’re… I don’t believe it…” Her eyes seemed to glaze over. “Mabel, he’s right—“

“You’re with Mabel right now?!” Dipper interrupted. “Is she okay? Is she upset? She hasn’t gone to sweater town at all, has she?”

She looked at him and her eyes lost that glassy look. “Yes, she’s right here… Hold it!” The dryad held up her hands. “Just give me a second to explain. I can’t talk to both of you at the same time.”

Dipper understood immediately. Somehow, this dryad – the same one who put him to sleep, he noted irritably – had connected with the human part of his mind, while still being in the waking world.

Her eyes lost focus again. “Dipper is in there,” she said, pointing at the ground, and Dipper could only guess that this mindscape version of her was mirroring her actions in the real world. “You remember the light-shining-through-the-paper metaphor I showed you back at the Shack? When he’s asleep and I try to communicate, it’s like I’m on the other side of the paper!”

Okay, she lost him. She had to be talking about something she had done when he was awake and his comprehension skills were practically nil.

She seemed to be listening to something Mabel said, because she replied, “He’s… just kind of wandering through a forest in his mindscape.”

Dipper felt a little insulted. “Hey, I’m not just wandering.”

“What?” she said, focusing on him again. She looked around at his mindscape forest. “But you are.”

“I am not,” Dipper insisted, folding his arms in irritation. “It’s my mindscape. I know exactly where I’m going.”

She smirked at him, and he suddenly realized he was being teased, which did nothing to improve his mood. “Oh, pardon me,” she said, before looking off into the waking world. “He is striding with great purpose through a forest in his mindscape.”

“Ugh.” Dipper put his face in his hands. “That isn’t any better.”

“How is that not better? I specifically rephrased so it wouldn’t sound like you were aimless and lost.”

“Look,” Dipper said, raising his head. “I don’t have time for this.”

The dryad grinned. “Mabel, you never told me how delightfully easy it is to tease your brother.”

Dipper groaned. Here he was, with the perfect opportunity to communicate with Mabel, even indirectly, and let her know what was going on, and his messenger was wasting time messing around. “You don’t understand,” he said, straining to keep his temper under control. “I need you to give her an important message!”

But as he spoke, he saw her glazed eyes and realized she was listening to Mabel, not him. After a few moments, she turned her attention back to him, and her smile seemed more genuine, and less irritating. “Mabel wants you to know that we’re taking you to Mother to break your curse.”

“I already know that!” Dipper said, spreading his arms in exasperation. “Listen, please! You need to tell Mabel that a man came to me here in my mindscape, only he wasn’t just a man. He was tall and pale, and he wore a crown of floating stars! He told me that you were taking me to his Lady to help me, but that I would have to die to break the curse, and that I could choose either to stay dead, or let them change me into something else, but if they do change me, I might not remember her!”

The dryad stared at him, a stunned expression on her face.

“What are you waiting for?” He was practically pleading. “Tell her!”

She nodded and waved off to the side, as if hushing Mabel. “He says he already knows. A… strange, pale man told him. He was wearing—“

And then, right before Dipper’s eyes, she vanished.

He stepped forward. “Dryad?” he said, but she remained gone. Apparently the connection had been lost.

Well, at least he had given her the message to relay to Mabel, and even if it was a bit incoherent, he hoped that she would get the general gist of it so that she wouldn’t be completely blindsided by whatever was coming. That gave him a small measure of comfort. The dryad’s connection, irritating though it might have been, was an unexpected gift. Especially when he thought his only contact with any of his family would be with their memory ghosts.

And speaking of, before the dryad showed up, he had been headed back home.

He had only taken a few steps before he was overwhelmed with sudden agony shrieking through his entire body, setting every nerve on fire, and he crumpled to the forest floor, too surprised to scream.

The mindscape around him flickered, and the forest faded to a blank, grey fog. He could taste blood in his mouth, and every breath caused stabbing pain. He couldn’t move his arms or his legs and he thought they might be broken.

He had the disorienting sensation of his consciousness flickering awake into blank, terrified fawn instinct, then fading back to human, jolting awake, and fading again, and he was in so much pain his human mind wasn’t much more coherent than his small, confused deer brain, and he could barely tell them apart.

The grey fog around him began to darken, and it dawned on him that he was dying.

I’m dying. No, Mabel, is she okay, I’m dying. I don’t want to die. Mabel! She was just with me a few moments ago and I’m dying, is she okay? I don’t see her! Where is she? Mabel!

I don’t want to die.

Help me. I don’t want to die…

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Almost there… stay on target…

A/N: I know, another evil cliffhanger, but hopefully this chapter will add insight into the previous chapter and what is to come. I think this is the fastest I’ve posted another chapter of this fic, but that’s because I’ve finally reached the part of the story that was written in my head before everything else.

Another major contributing factor to my increased writing speed is all the lovely reviews and comments. Likes and Kudos make me giddy with happiness. Thank you all for your support. And please, if you feel so inclined, let me know what you think of this chapter. That would totally make my day. :)

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ladydragon1316 · 8 years ago

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DA Drunk Writing: Awful AU #314

Awful AU #314: “There’s only one plug in this entire coffee shop and you’re sitting right in front of it and you’re not even using it, and my laptop is about to die in the middle of this online exam I’m taking, so whatever I don’t care how intimidatingly attractive you are I’m sitting down at your table to plug my shit in.” AU

Cullen was already halfway home before he remembered the exam. It had been on his calendar since the day he’s received the syllabus. However, with a full docket of classes, two part-time jobs, and a multi-phase commute, something was bound to fall through the cracks. But did it have to be the test worth twenty percent of the final grade?

This was all Dorian’s fault. How he’s wound up partnered with that fop on a group project…? They’d spent two hours making what should have been fifteen minutes arranging the work load (though Cullen would still probably have to do most of it anyway.

Now he was stuck at a bus-stop, still an hour from home with an important exam due in two—

Cullen sighed heavily. He didn’t have time to wait until he got home. He’d have to dip into his precious data to make it in time. The man fished his phone out of his pocket—and flushed when the home screen lit up. ‘Dorian!’

When had he had time to take this picture? And how had he managed to—

No. This was tomorrow’s problem. Right now he needed to log onto the class website and—‘10% battery? Dorian!!!’

Cullen cast around frantically for a store and spied a coffee shop right across the street. He took one last look down the road and made a decision. What was one more missed bus at this point? Or two fewer hours of sleep? He crossed the street, waiting until he’d reached the opposite sidewalk before fishing the phone charger from his bag, making a note of personal commendation for his preplanning.

The coffee shop was a hole in the wall place. Brick walls outside and in. A charming little bell rang when he pushed the door open, a waft of warm caffeine infused air breaking over his entry. The shop couldn’t have been more than thirty feet wide, utilizing its length for space and seating. Cullen ordered a small coffee at the counter out of a sense of propriety, then went searching the walls for an outlet.

There was nothing all the way down. Cullen kept going, eyes near the ground, trying not to disturb the few patrons present, to the very back where the shop opened up into a wider sitting area. He finally spied what appeared to be the loan outlet in the place just hidden behind a pair of shapely calves beneath a floral skirt.

Cullen fought the faint heat that filtered into his cheeks and pulled his eyes upward—they took their sweet time, damn them!—to the legs’ owner. Only for him to flush the rest of the way.

He didn’t think it was possible to get struck stupid like this. But here he was: staring at a stranger, completely unable to move or tear his eyes away. Mentally, he knew it was a flood of dopamine and serotonin getting pumped into his brain, making his head feel light and his heart race as he took in the graceful bone structure, full lips, and ebony hair wound up into a tossed bun atop her head, which only served to expose her neck, already laid bare by the thin straps and scooping neckline of her shirt.

The image of this, frankly, gorgeous woman imprinted itself into his brain, all the way down to the faint furrow in her otherwise flawless brow and the shade of the deep brown eyes that were fixed right back on him.

She broke his trance with an inquiry, colored with just a hint of warning. “Can I help you?”

Cullen’s tongue felt twice its size, fumbling words he could have sworn he knew how to speak. His brain wasn’t much help either. In the end, he managed to gesture uselessly under the table and say, “Can I get in there?”

Her eyes flashed. “Excuse me?”

It took a minute to realize what he’d said. And exactly where he’d pointed.

‘Maker’s breath!’ Together, his brain and mouth managed to coordinate what equated to a drunken juggling of his explanation. “I—sorry. I need to plug you—In you—Under you—Under there!” A fresh flush slapped him in the face. Cullen’s arms jerked up, flailing his phone and cord around in view. “This—I’m…Dying.” ‘If only.’ “I need to…Please?” With that last plaintive plea, Cullen squeezed his eyes shut and prayed the Maker to return this precise moment and smite him, right here, right now.

No such luck. Instead he was left there, standing in front of the entire coffee shop after that horrendous display. She was well within her rights to stand up and slap him. The pragmatic part of his brain pointed out that would probably leave the outlet free. Then, after he finished the test, he could spend the next month mentally beating his head against a wall as punishment for opening his mouth.

There was a faint rustle of fabric. Cullen peaked out one eye just enough to see those calves tilt off to one side as she located the object of his cloddish request.

But instead of moving seats or flat out refusing, she crossed her legs off to the side and replied, “Go ahead.”

Cullen blinked, at once relieved, mortified and outright confused. Instead of waste time questioning, though, he knelt down and quickly plugged in his phone, making sure not to look at or touch her in any way while he did it.

The ‘charging’ icon in the corner of his screen released a modicum of tension from his spine, and he muttered a ‘thank you’ before dropping into the chair opposite her and accessing the class website. He got onto the test page using the shop’s wifi. From there it was a simple matter of multiple choice questions. Cullen had spent many a sleepless night studying the material, so the answers came easily. Which was good, because the setting of this test was exceptionally distracting.

Even hunched dutifully over his phone with his eyes in his lap, the bright floral pattern in the corner of his vision still drew his eyes. She still refused to move, returning her attention to the impressively thick book in her hands. And his charger cord was so short—why hadn’t he noticed this before?—Cullen had to sit so close to the table that any time either of them moved, their knees bumped together.

After a half hour, Cullen submitted his exam and breathed a sigh of relief before venturing a look up. “Um…thank you.”

She quirked an eyebrow with a hint of a smile. “So you didn’t ‘die’ then?”

He chuckled awkwardly, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “No. At least, not today.” He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at her. “I’m sorry about…before. I—” A familiar sound of an industrial engine rumbled through the far door. “—Oh no!”

Cullen leapt out of his seat, yanking his charger from the wall, and bolted across the shop, bursting outside just in time to see his bus pulling away down the street. He didn’t even bother to give chase. Just threw his head back and groaned skyward. This was just the worst day. The worst day.

“Was that your bus?” Cullen jumped, whipping around to find that the woman had followed him out and was holding his unfinished coffee. “You left this inside.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking it sullenly. He hadn’t planned on finishing it. But at this point he may as well get a double espresso and head back to campus. Maybe nap in the computer lab or something.

She gestured to his phone, “Can’t you call your boyfriend or something?”

Cullen started. “What?” Then looked down at his phone and remembered. “Oh, no. He’s not my—He’s my partner. For a project.” Dorian’s flamboyant personality gave him some ground to stand on. “He thinks he’s the Maker’s gift to the world.”

Stepping back from the curb, Cullen unlocked his phone and started digging furiously through the settings menu. It wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of time on his hands now to figure out how to get the man’s ridiculous mustache off his wallpaper. If Cullen didn’t need the grade, he’d throw Dorian under the bus for this.

After a lot of furious typing and no results, she stepped closer. “May I?”

Cullen started. Again. She’d been standing here and he’d just…Maker, he was an idiot!

Rather than acknowledge his rude behavior, Cullen fixed his eyes on the ground and offered his phone. She tucked her book under her arm and accepted the handheld. A swift series of flicks and clicks, and she handed it back, this time with a series of purple dodecahedrons in place of Dorian’s smirking face. “Thanks,” he replied.

They lingered awkwardly on the sidewalk for a long minute. “So…do you need a ride?” He was fairly shocked she offered, and his face must have said it. “You seem kind of in a hard spot. I could drive you somewhere if you need it. My car’s right around the corner.”

Cullen blinked. “Even after…inside?” She laughed and he could have sworn the world got brighter.

“No one could fail so spectacularly on purpose.” When his face fell, she leapt to reassure him. “No, I don’t mean it like that. I mean it was…cute.” Cullen didn’t usually take ‘cute’ as a compliment. But when it came with a shy sideways glance and a tuck of hair behind her ear... Maybe ‘cute’ wasn’t so bad. “So, where do you need to get to?”

A few minutes later, they were on the road in her sedan, headed for the Haven apartment complex. Cullen took a look at the book he now held on his lap; the one she’d been reading at the coffee shop. ‘Le Comte de Monte-Cristo’. In the original Orlesian. Given how worn the spine was and that her accent was definitely not Orlesian, he was impressed. Smart and beautiful.

They got to the apartment complex much faster than he would have using the bus. She pulled up to his building and put the car in park. “Can I see your phone for a minute?”

Cullen pulled it out and passed it to her without much thought. She clicked through a few things and there was the distinct sound effect of a camera shutter. A few more clicks and she passed it back. “There. For the next time you’re ‘dying’.”

He looked down at the new contact, complete with a picture and a name. Evelyn.

“Really?”

She—Evelyn, smiled at him. “Really.”

“I…Okay.”

He didn’t really want to get out of the car, but managed it anyway. He made it up two flights of stairs to his apartment with his legs half in protest. Once there, he looked back down to see her car still lingering in the parking lot with Evelyn leaning over into view in the passenger-side window. Only after he’d opened his door and given her a wave did she wave back and pull forward, heading for the exit.

The remainder of the journey to bed was done in a daze. After setting his alarm, Cullen pulled up his contacts one more time, just to make sure it hadn’t been a hallucination. Sure enough, there she was: ebony hair and bottomless eyes, smiling benevolently at him from her driver’s seat.

Almost like she’d known he was looking, a text chimed through from her.

Today: 7:38pm

Evelyn

‘Just to clarify, you don’t necessarily have to be ‘dying’ to call.’

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Cullen beamed and typed a quick reply.

Today: 7:39pm

Messages

‘I’ll remember.’

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Maker, would he.

#da drunk writing #dadrunkwriting #galadrieljones

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