Let the Good Times Roll 42/42
Title: Let the Good Times Roll
Author: Concupid
Pairing: Howard/Vince, Old Gregg/Snappy, Hitcher/long-winded stories
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: references to violence, drugs, sex, self-harm, language, homophobic nanas
Summary: Howard’s mother brings him a gift.
Author’s note: This is it! Two and a half years later… This was really challenging story for me to write for a lot of reasons, and life got really challenging while I was writing it! I really appreciate those who have hung on and cheered me on through the process and I hope it makes for something like a proper narrative for those reading it straight through.
Howard wore a rollneck to cover his fresh love bites and a wide gauge corduroy so he’d have some padding for when he dug his nails into his legs to keep from running.
He was ready for tea with his mother.
For Vince’s sake, Howard had been in steady contact with his parents for several months. His father had gone nearly comatose, so lost in his thoughts he was barely aware of the world around him, but his mother remained affectionate, if helplessly flighty. She and Vince had a wonderful relationship, and it made Howard smile to hear Vince slip and call her “mum” instead of the usual “Howard’s mum”.
But it still sent him into a panic to spend time with her. He’d spent his life trying to escape the fears of his childhood, and he didn’t want them showing up for tea. He had to admit that the more time he spent with his folks, the less anxiety provoking it became. It was easier now to see them as flawed humans rather than chaos personified.
He learned that his father had been inhabited by the Spirit of Jazz when Howard was in his early teens. In retrospect, those years suddenly made a lot more sense. His mother giggled nervously as she shared her “silly dreams”. She dreamed about Howard fighting a killer kangaroo, she dreamed that he died but went to monkey hell, she had dreams of crack foxes and Shamans and a monster with a mint for an eye patch.
After an awkward greeting, Howard sat with his parents at the kitchen table while Vince served the tea. Howard’s father stared into space, but his mother chatted cheerfully.
“Howie, I brought some of your drawings from when you were little. I thought Vince would like to see them and, of course, eventually your kids will want to see them.”
“Vince and I are both men, Mother,” Howard gently reminded her. “We aren’t going to have children.”
His mother looked startled but then forced a smile, “Oh, yes. So silly of me. Men can’t have babies…”
Howard desperately wanted to know what his mother meant, but he was equally desperate to remain ignorant, so he let the comment slide.
Vince stood over Howard’s shoulder and cooed over the childish drawings. There were pictures of Howard, his parents and Nana Moon - each one chock full of enough sad symbolism to make a child psychologist weep. There was also a drawing of Stationery Village and one of Black Frost. By the time they got to Howard Age: 5’s drawing of Mr. Susan, even Vince was speechless. There was nothing but the rustle of paper as Howard flipped through images of Tommy with his cheese head and mod wolves. There was a mermaid with a tutu and a mustache, a tiny shaman and a talking gorilla and a boy with yellow hair and blue eyes.
“Remember when Vince was just your imaginary friend?” Howard’s mother asked, gazing at Vince fondly. “It was such a lovely surprise when you brought him home.”
Howard’s hands were shaking when Vince grabbed the rest of the pile.
“Charlie’s always been here,” Vince whispered. He was holding a crayon rendition of the Hubba Bubba nightmare watching over a sleeping Howard.
“Mother… What does all of this mean?” Howard asked as he dug his nails deep into the material of his trousers. He wished he’d worn a lighter material, he wanted to feel a pain sharp enough to keep him focused. He felt like he was losing his mind. Again.
She looked at the drawings and shrugged.
“I don’t know anything, Howie, other than you’ve always been a special little boy. Sometimes I wished you could be a little less special, just so you could have an easier time of it…”
Howard took deep breaths and tried to focus on the feeling of the chair beneath him. He felt the planes and angles that held him off of the floor and marveled at the simplicity and brilliance of a well-made chair.
“I thought only I saw Charlie,” Vince said in a barely audible whisper. “Howard, is this a good thing or should I be screaming my tits off?”
Howard’s mother pointed out that the two were not mutually exclusive.
“Just because something is terrifying doesn’t mean it isn’t good,” she observed, holding up a picture that looked like a cross between Dixon Bambridge and Saboo. “I wish I had realized that when I was younger, though. I wouldn’t have spent so much of my life afraid and trying to hide. I ran to your father and we both ran to drugs, but… You can’t run from who you are. I’ve tried so many times.”
Vince wrapped her in a tight hug while Howard gently stroked her hand. He could still see the long healed scars on her wrists, and remembered when they were angry and red like a Chinese burn.
Vince continued to stroke her hair as she collected herself and resumed speaking.
“I thought I was crazy before I met your father. He was the first person to understand me.”
Howard looked at the man who gave him the name Howard Tom and Jerry Moon. His father was deep in a jazz trance, silent except for the occasional “chicka-chicka” or “be-dow”. That was the man who made his mother feel like she wasn’t crazy.
“Well, we’d better get going before he gets to the bass solo,” his mother said as she patted Vince’s hands. “He can get a bit… enthusiastic and I don’t want him to break your furniture.”
Howard felt numb as he walked his mother to the door. He was full of questions and conflicted feelings, but his father was in a jazz trance and there was only so much the human mind could accommodate in one day.
“I almost forgot your present!”
Vince nearly knocked Howard off his feet trying to get to Howard’s mother.
“Present? We do like presents,” Vince said, belatedly trying to act casual.
She placed a small box in Howard’s hand.
“It’s a ring. Nana Moon gave it to me when I was pregnant with you. She wanted me to give it to you when you met the right boy.”
“Did she really say ‘the right boy’?” Vince asked, clearly fighting the urge to snatch the presentation box from Howard’s hand.
“Oh yes. The day I told her I was expecting, she told me I was having ‘a little poofter’. She was such an awful person,” she mused, looking sentimental. “I don’t know what it does, but sometimes the box opens on its own and the ring shines so bright I can’t sleep so… Good luck with that.”
Howard leaned forward and allowed his mother to kiss his cheek. She touched his hair and complimented Vince on his handy work as he gave her a hug.
“See you later, Howard’s mum!” Vince called as she headed down the walk. “You, too, Howard’s dad.”
Xxx
Howard and Vince agreed to leave the ring alone until Naboo could look at it and tell them if it was dangerous. Unfortunately, Naboo was off with the council for the annual team building retreat, so he and Bollo would be gone and pissed off their tits for three days.
Howard had accidentally drifted off after making love to Vince and was shocked awake in the middle of the night by a bright light filling the room.
“What is that?” Vince asked, as he rubbed his eyes. “Why are you still wearing your loin cloth and chains? Ready for a bit more Chosen One loving?”
Howard blushed and instinctively told Vince to shut up.
“Such insolence,” Vince purred. “I think you need more discipline… Hey, is that the ring?”
Vince jumped over Howard to run to the box. It was hard to tell what the ring actually looked like, but it was giving off an incredible purple tinged golden glow.
“Mum said it did this,” Howard reminded Vince. “We need to find out what it means before we take any chances…”
“Your Nana wanted you to have it. It can’t be dangerous,” Vince argued as he hovered over the piece of jewelry.
“My Nana was crazy. For all we know, it will turn you into a woman,” Howard pointed out, thinking of his mother’s comment about he and Vince having children.
Vince shrugged, “I’d be a good woman.”
Howard tried to think of something to say that would properly scare Vince and make him back away from the strange, enchanted ring, but he came up blank. Vince had followed him to Monkey Hell and back. Vince Noir was not one to shrink away from danger, especially not if there were accessories involved.
Howard picked up the ring. It was warm in his hand. He tried to put it on his own finger, but it seemed to get smaller until it wouldn’t fit even his pinkie. When Vince eagerly held out his hand the ring widened and easily slipped onto Vince’s ring finger. His engagement finger. Howard gripped his partner tightly. If it was a transportation device, he didn’t want Vince going anywhere without him.
“Nothing’s happening,” Vince said with a disappointed frown.
Then the ring began to glow even brighter.
“Something’s happening,” Howard observed, suddenly eager for another adventure. It had been a while.
“Genius,” Vince whispered, his eyes full of mirth, before everything went white.
Xxx
Being mounted on a wall like a fish was not how the Hitcher hoped to spend his 300th birthday, but when you get to be 300, you’re just grateful to be alive. He was also surprised to find himself a grandfather. He never expected to be a father and he certainly never expected his son with a vagina to reproduce. Life was full of surprises.
Old Gregg warned him to stay away from Howard Moon, but the Hitcher hardly needed to be told. Howard and his lady man were in possession of the Ring of Darkness and Light. Currently, they seemed to be using it as a taxi service, but eventually, they might learn to master its powers and the Hitcher didn’t want to be anywhere near when that happened.
The Hitcher had terrorized London, he’d stabbed up Jack the Ripper and he’d raised a funky merman. All in all, it was a good life. Looking down on his hundreds of (literally) cold-blooded grandchildren, The Hitcher felt content. The world was in its proper order. Even Old Gregg’s mother had settled down with her zookeeper, a piece of filth by the name of Bob Fossil. Their love was an abomination, but at least the Hitcher no longer had to pay her maintenance.
“Hold still, Father,” Old Gregg instructed. “Old Gregg wants to finish the family portrait for Snappy before she comes home with her gullet full of rabbit.”
Old Gregg was currently modeling his painting on Picasso. It was an improvement to be sure. Looking at the painting, the Hitcher considered having his face rearranged. It wasn’t hard to get one’s face rearranged in South London, if one knew where to look.
“Do your old man a favor and paint my thumb a bit bigger. Oh, yes my boy, that’s more like it. Restore my sorry digit to its former glory!”
The Hitcher noticed a few of his grandmonsters staring up at him.
“Did your old granddad ever tell you the story of his thumb? Well, gather ‘round you filthy, murderous…”
“Father! Old Gregg and Snappy are raising our babies to be good citizens and only kill for food. Or revenge.”
“Fair enough, my boy!” the Hitcher jovially agreed. He’d have plenty of time to teach his grandchildren the ways of the Black Family line, but in the meantime, he needed to get on Old Gregg’s good side. “Gather ‘round me little darlings and let old Grandpa tell you a story. I come from a long line of hitchhikers. All with bleedin’ massive thumbs. You see the thumb is a tremendous boon to the hitchhiker…”
Author: Concupid
Pairing: Howard/Vince, Old Gregg/Snappy, Hitcher/long-winded stories
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: references to violence, drugs, sex, self-harm, language, homophobic nanas
Summary: Howard’s mother brings him a gift.
Author’s note: This is it! Two and a half years later… This was really challenging story for me to write for a lot of reasons, and life got really challenging while I was writing it! I really appreciate those who have hung on and cheered me on through the process and I hope it makes for something like a proper narrative for those reading it straight through.
Howard wore a rollneck to cover his fresh love bites and a wide gauge corduroy so he’d have some padding for when he dug his nails into his legs to keep from running.
He was ready for tea with his mother.
For Vince’s sake, Howard had been in steady contact with his parents for several months. His father had gone nearly comatose, so lost in his thoughts he was barely aware of the world around him, but his mother remained affectionate, if helplessly flighty. She and Vince had a wonderful relationship, and it made Howard smile to hear Vince slip and call her “mum” instead of the usual “Howard’s mum”.
But it still sent him into a panic to spend time with her. He’d spent his life trying to escape the fears of his childhood, and he didn’t want them showing up for tea. He had to admit that the more time he spent with his folks, the less anxiety provoking it became. It was easier now to see them as flawed humans rather than chaos personified.
He learned that his father had been inhabited by the Spirit of Jazz when Howard was in his early teens. In retrospect, those years suddenly made a lot more sense. His mother giggled nervously as she shared her “silly dreams”. She dreamed about Howard fighting a killer kangaroo, she dreamed that he died but went to monkey hell, she had dreams of crack foxes and Shamans and a monster with a mint for an eye patch.
After an awkward greeting, Howard sat with his parents at the kitchen table while Vince served the tea. Howard’s father stared into space, but his mother chatted cheerfully.
“Howie, I brought some of your drawings from when you were little. I thought Vince would like to see them and, of course, eventually your kids will want to see them.”
“Vince and I are both men, Mother,” Howard gently reminded her. “We aren’t going to have children.”
His mother looked startled but then forced a smile, “Oh, yes. So silly of me. Men can’t have babies…”
Howard desperately wanted to know what his mother meant, but he was equally desperate to remain ignorant, so he let the comment slide.
Vince stood over Howard’s shoulder and cooed over the childish drawings. There were pictures of Howard, his parents and Nana Moon - each one chock full of enough sad symbolism to make a child psychologist weep. There was also a drawing of Stationery Village and one of Black Frost. By the time they got to Howard Age: 5’s drawing of Mr. Susan, even Vince was speechless. There was nothing but the rustle of paper as Howard flipped through images of Tommy with his cheese head and mod wolves. There was a mermaid with a tutu and a mustache, a tiny shaman and a talking gorilla and a boy with yellow hair and blue eyes.
“Remember when Vince was just your imaginary friend?” Howard’s mother asked, gazing at Vince fondly. “It was such a lovely surprise when you brought him home.”
Howard’s hands were shaking when Vince grabbed the rest of the pile.
“Charlie’s always been here,” Vince whispered. He was holding a crayon rendition of the Hubba Bubba nightmare watching over a sleeping Howard.
“Mother… What does all of this mean?” Howard asked as he dug his nails deep into the material of his trousers. He wished he’d worn a lighter material, he wanted to feel a pain sharp enough to keep him focused. He felt like he was losing his mind. Again.
She looked at the drawings and shrugged.
“I don’t know anything, Howie, other than you’ve always been a special little boy. Sometimes I wished you could be a little less special, just so you could have an easier time of it…”
Howard took deep breaths and tried to focus on the feeling of the chair beneath him. He felt the planes and angles that held him off of the floor and marveled at the simplicity and brilliance of a well-made chair.
“I thought only I saw Charlie,” Vince said in a barely audible whisper. “Howard, is this a good thing or should I be screaming my tits off?”
Howard’s mother pointed out that the two were not mutually exclusive.
“Just because something is terrifying doesn’t mean it isn’t good,” she observed, holding up a picture that looked like a cross between Dixon Bambridge and Saboo. “I wish I had realized that when I was younger, though. I wouldn’t have spent so much of my life afraid and trying to hide. I ran to your father and we both ran to drugs, but… You can’t run from who you are. I’ve tried so many times.”
Vince wrapped her in a tight hug while Howard gently stroked her hand. He could still see the long healed scars on her wrists, and remembered when they were angry and red like a Chinese burn.
Vince continued to stroke her hair as she collected herself and resumed speaking.
“I thought I was crazy before I met your father. He was the first person to understand me.”
Howard looked at the man who gave him the name Howard Tom and Jerry Moon. His father was deep in a jazz trance, silent except for the occasional “chicka-chicka” or “be-dow”. That was the man who made his mother feel like she wasn’t crazy.
“Well, we’d better get going before he gets to the bass solo,” his mother said as she patted Vince’s hands. “He can get a bit… enthusiastic and I don’t want him to break your furniture.”
Howard felt numb as he walked his mother to the door. He was full of questions and conflicted feelings, but his father was in a jazz trance and there was only so much the human mind could accommodate in one day.
“I almost forgot your present!”
Vince nearly knocked Howard off his feet trying to get to Howard’s mother.
“Present? We do like presents,” Vince said, belatedly trying to act casual.
She placed a small box in Howard’s hand.
“It’s a ring. Nana Moon gave it to me when I was pregnant with you. She wanted me to give it to you when you met the right boy.”
“Did she really say ‘the right boy’?” Vince asked, clearly fighting the urge to snatch the presentation box from Howard’s hand.
“Oh yes. The day I told her I was expecting, she told me I was having ‘a little poofter’. She was such an awful person,” she mused, looking sentimental. “I don’t know what it does, but sometimes the box opens on its own and the ring shines so bright I can’t sleep so… Good luck with that.”
Howard leaned forward and allowed his mother to kiss his cheek. She touched his hair and complimented Vince on his handy work as he gave her a hug.
“See you later, Howard’s mum!” Vince called as she headed down the walk. “You, too, Howard’s dad.”
Xxx
Howard and Vince agreed to leave the ring alone until Naboo could look at it and tell them if it was dangerous. Unfortunately, Naboo was off with the council for the annual team building retreat, so he and Bollo would be gone and pissed off their tits for three days.
Howard had accidentally drifted off after making love to Vince and was shocked awake in the middle of the night by a bright light filling the room.
“What is that?” Vince asked, as he rubbed his eyes. “Why are you still wearing your loin cloth and chains? Ready for a bit more Chosen One loving?”
Howard blushed and instinctively told Vince to shut up.
“Such insolence,” Vince purred. “I think you need more discipline… Hey, is that the ring?”
Vince jumped over Howard to run to the box. It was hard to tell what the ring actually looked like, but it was giving off an incredible purple tinged golden glow.
“Mum said it did this,” Howard reminded Vince. “We need to find out what it means before we take any chances…”
“Your Nana wanted you to have it. It can’t be dangerous,” Vince argued as he hovered over the piece of jewelry.
“My Nana was crazy. For all we know, it will turn you into a woman,” Howard pointed out, thinking of his mother’s comment about he and Vince having children.
Vince shrugged, “I’d be a good woman.”
Howard tried to think of something to say that would properly scare Vince and make him back away from the strange, enchanted ring, but he came up blank. Vince had followed him to Monkey Hell and back. Vince Noir was not one to shrink away from danger, especially not if there were accessories involved.
Howard picked up the ring. It was warm in his hand. He tried to put it on his own finger, but it seemed to get smaller until it wouldn’t fit even his pinkie. When Vince eagerly held out his hand the ring widened and easily slipped onto Vince’s ring finger. His engagement finger. Howard gripped his partner tightly. If it was a transportation device, he didn’t want Vince going anywhere without him.
“Nothing’s happening,” Vince said with a disappointed frown.
Then the ring began to glow even brighter.
“Something’s happening,” Howard observed, suddenly eager for another adventure. It had been a while.
“Genius,” Vince whispered, his eyes full of mirth, before everything went white.
Xxx
Being mounted on a wall like a fish was not how the Hitcher hoped to spend his 300th birthday, but when you get to be 300, you’re just grateful to be alive. He was also surprised to find himself a grandfather. He never expected to be a father and he certainly never expected his son with a vagina to reproduce. Life was full of surprises.
Old Gregg warned him to stay away from Howard Moon, but the Hitcher hardly needed to be told. Howard and his lady man were in possession of the Ring of Darkness and Light. Currently, they seemed to be using it as a taxi service, but eventually, they might learn to master its powers and the Hitcher didn’t want to be anywhere near when that happened.
The Hitcher had terrorized London, he’d stabbed up Jack the Ripper and he’d raised a funky merman. All in all, it was a good life. Looking down on his hundreds of (literally) cold-blooded grandchildren, The Hitcher felt content. The world was in its proper order. Even Old Gregg’s mother had settled down with her zookeeper, a piece of filth by the name of Bob Fossil. Their love was an abomination, but at least the Hitcher no longer had to pay her maintenance.
“Hold still, Father,” Old Gregg instructed. “Old Gregg wants to finish the family portrait for Snappy before she comes home with her gullet full of rabbit.”
Old Gregg was currently modeling his painting on Picasso. It was an improvement to be sure. Looking at the painting, the Hitcher considered having his face rearranged. It wasn’t hard to get one’s face rearranged in South London, if one knew where to look.
“Do your old man a favor and paint my thumb a bit bigger. Oh, yes my boy, that’s more like it. Restore my sorry digit to its former glory!”
The Hitcher noticed a few of his grandmonsters staring up at him.
“Did your old granddad ever tell you the story of his thumb? Well, gather ‘round you filthy, murderous…”
“Father! Old Gregg and Snappy are raising our babies to be good citizens and only kill for food. Or revenge.”
“Fair enough, my boy!” the Hitcher jovially agreed. He’d have plenty of time to teach his grandchildren the ways of the Black Family line, but in the meantime, he needed to get on Old Gregg’s good side. “Gather ‘round me little darlings and let old Grandpa tell you a story. I come from a long line of hitchhikers. All with bleedin’ massive thumbs. You see the thumb is a tremendous boon to the hitchhiker…”