#I USUALLY AM GOOD ABOUT KEEPING to my tentative deadlines i’m sorry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

abcsofadhd · 4 years ago

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I’m sorry this is way too long and too depressing, I ended up venting because I don’t have anyone to talk to about this. If you see this ask, feel free to ignore, you don’t need to publish all of it or any of it. My question is at the very end.

I was recently diagnosed about 3 months ago and started meds with the sole, singular hope that I would be able to start tasks. that’s it. no other symptom I have matters to me, i just want to be able to start the tasks I want to start when I want to start them. I’ll accept any shitty side effect if it means I can actually do the work I need to do. I’m so fucking desperate to be able to get my work done, my entire workflow was absolutely destroyed and every coping mechanism I ever adopted rendered totally useless by COVID. My inability to work, meet deadlines, and follow through on promises has been ruining my life since March.

I was tentatively excited (among other weird complex feelings) when I got my diagnosis because I’d hoped that meds would be a solution. I’d read peoples accounts of how all the tasks that were hard for them suddenly became so easy, and I was so hopeful that maybe I didn’t have to be like this forever.

But it’s been three months now, and I’ve been through several stimulants at various dosages, and none of them have done literally anything. I haven’t felt the calm people talk about, I haven’t felt anything at all, and I certainly haven’t seen any increase in productivity at any point. The stimulants I’ve tried either have super inconsistent benefits, or they have no beneficial effect at all at any dose my GP is willing to prescribe.

One of the meds actively hurt my productivity because not only did it give me fucking nothing, I spent two weeks (until I gave up on it and we moved to the next one) coming home utterly exhausted and lightheaded with a headache and laying in the dark at 5pm refreshing twitter for hours and feeling helpless and shitty about how much work I wasn’t doing. That med was the worst one, the rest mostly did nothing except make me not hungry. The most effective one so far increased the frequency that I had hyperfocus, which was better than increasing fuck all, but I still couldn’t choose what to hyperfocus on or switch tasks, so it still didn’t give me the one and only thing I need. And for some reason it stopped even giving me that at higher doses?

And I guess at this point I’ve just lost hope that meds will ever be effective for me. I know it hasn’t been that long, 3 months is basically nothing, I’ve read this can take years. And there’s still other meds to try, and if the next one doesn’t work my GP will refer me to a psychiatrist who might be willing to try higher doses. But in the meantime I’ve continued to not be able to work and faced the professional consequences, and it’s been so humiliating and frustrating and hopeless. It’s like I’m waiting for a miracle to occur, and my life is on hold until it happens. I keep getting angry at random posts that share their success stories and talk about how different it is when you start meds, because that’s exactly what got my hopes up. I feel so helpless.

It’s just so demoralizing that I’ve spent my entire fucking life until 3 months ago assuming that I don’t have it any different from anyone else, so if I was struggling, it must just be because I’m lazy and stupid and worthless. And I just accepted that that’s how I am and I can’t change it, so I was able to make my peace with it and find ways around it. But now, I find out that maybe I wasn’t ever lazy and stupid, and there’s a solution that’s supposed to fix me. And now I can’t go back to just accepting that I’m like this forever, I want that solution to work so badly. But the solution isn’t working, nothing’s different. It’s supposed to be different and it’s not. So I’m still just as worthless as I always was and might still be forever. The status quo remains unchanged except for the fact that I don’t know how to accept it anymore.

If meds just don’t work for me at all, then that means I’m just stuck like this forever, and like. That means I should probably stop wasting my time and everyone’s time and drop out of grad school. If meds cant get me to start necessary, important, time sensitive work, then I will not be able to complete this program and I definitely would not be successful in the competitive career I’ve worked towards. I don’t know.

I’m sorry for venting, I’m sorry this was depressing. The question I wanted to ask is, is there a good way to tell that meds won’t work for you? Is it supposed to feel like something, or not feel like something? Do you think there’s a point when it’s not really worth it to continue trying meds and upping dosages? Thanks, sorry again.

Hey, no need to apologize. Genuinely.

See, finding the right meds and right dosage takes time. I had to try 3-4 meds at 5 or so different strengths till I settled on one that worked for me.

Everyone ticks differently. So different meds can work differently with people.

⠀

How I figure out the effectivity of meds is how easy it makes it for me to shower. Its usually such an effort for me, usually taking up to an hour of psyching myself up.

On meds, or rather the right dosage of meds, I can just get up and shower and immediately.

⠀

Your experiences are valid. They are also common among ADHDers.

I’ve gotten asks many times from ADHDers wondering if there was a point in trying out different meds. Cause yea, trying different meds can be tiring and take a lot of mental effort.

⠀

There’s also something I wanna add at the end, from what you’ve said.

every coping mechanism I ever adopted rendered totally useless by COVID

⠀

Stress and large changes make coping harder. A lot of ADHDers are struggling more because of it, medicated or not.

My point is that THAT could be the reason you arent finding your meds to be as useful as they could be.

Meds make it easier to do things you want to do. Coping strategies allow us to structure tasks to make it easier to do.

So what happens if our coping strategies fail?

Well, meds wouldn’t be as effective.

#Anonymous #askme #adhd #actually adhd #abcsofadhd

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roman-deserves-love · 6 years ago

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Go To Sleep Goddammit

Hey so @officialwaterfairy I'm your secrets santa for @marsupials-of-mars' SS. The cuddles aren't until like 2/3 of the way through I'm sorry.

~1.6k words

Pairings- Prinxiety(could be platonic? I guess?)

Triggers- none of the top of my head, food mention, lack of sleep I guess?

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There were two (2) things about himself that Virgil Calavera would go to any length to prevent his roommates from knowing.

1. His middle name. Keeping that a secret was easy enough, as driving made him too anxious to even consider doing something that would require him to show his driver’s license. He suspected Logan knew, mainly because what didn’t Logan know, and he was the one who talked to the landlord and filled out paperwork on the behalf of all four of them, and thereby most likely had seen a fair amount of Virgil’s records.

2. The dread fact that, when Virgil was extremely tired, he got, as loathe as he was to say it, affectionate. Capital ‘a’, capital ‘ffectionate’. Not in the verbally affectionate way, oh no, that would be too easy. Rather, when he was sleep-deprived, Virgil was like a cat. An alarmingly cuddly cat. That was more difficult to hide, as Virgil had an oh-so slight (though Patton would certainly contest that) tendency to not sleep.

Now, usually Virgil was aware of his tired self’s antics, and kept to his room when he hadn’t slept, though that may have also been because if he left he knew that Patton would find him, lecture him, and convince him to sleep with one of his Patton-tented (heh) Dad Looks™, and Virgil didn’t want the father figure to have to waste time parenting him.

Fortunately, on this particular night, Patton was out at work, as well as, to his knowledge, Logan and Roman. Knowing this, Virgil felt comfortable hauling himself away from where he had been editing his third draft for the last ten consecutive hours to stuff some sustenance in his food hole so his hunger pangs, which had been distracting him, to go away so he could retreat back to his room and keep revising. Of course, before he’d been editing his draft, he’d been writing it, which meant that over the last two and a half days, he’d gotten one, count it up, one, uno, one singular hour of sleep, so, as one could expect, he was really fucking tired.

Virgil slogged into the kitchen and opened the pantry, peering at the meager offerings it had to provide. A sandwich would require a measure of effort Virgil was unwilling to expend in his current state of exhaustion, so that was out. Was that a Pringles can? Yes, but it was tragically empty. Damn it, Remy. It’s not even your apartment. He glanced at the rest of the kitchen. The bowl full of fruit that Patton insisted on buying was empty, and from where he was standing, he could see a cereal box stuffed haphazardly into the trashcan, ruling out that as an option. For a kitchen stocked by two different parental figures and the most high maintenance person this side of the century, there was shockingly little. Whatever, coffee’ll stave off the hunger. Damn necessary bodily functions. Alas, they were also out of instant, and as stated, Virgil was not in the mood to put time into his food. He wanted something quick and lazy, like the damn millennial he was. A random-ass tumblr post popped into his head, something about water tricking the stomach into feeling full. Virgil privately thanked god for the internet, helping sleep-deprived writers work since whenever the hell the internet was created. Virgil didn’t give a shit, he just wanted to retreat back to his room, so he could work, and his editor would get off his ass about deadlines.

As he stepped away from the pantry, tearing his eyes away from the spot above the dust-gathering oven that he just now realized he’d been staring blankly at for the last minute, a decidedly unexpected voice sound came from the doorway between the living room and kitchen. “Fancy seeing you here, Johnny Depp-ressing. You’ve been in your lair for the last four days.”

Virgil grunted at the figure before him, before responding in a voice gravelly from disuse and lack of sleep. “First of all, Princey, don’t compare me to that asshole. Second of all, it’s been maybe three days since I came out. Maybe.”

The prince arched an eyebrow, his face displaying a look of… was that concern? Virgil had always assumed that Roman hated him, since all he ever did was give him insulting nicknames and mock his admittedly cliché style. Whatever, Virgil was too tired, and his deadlines were too close to bother with reflecting on the actions of the regal man still standing in the doorway. As he considered this, he didn’t notice Roman opening his mouth to speak again, snapping his fingers in the emo’s face “Virgil? You there? You’re staring at me.”

Virgil snapped back out of his thoughts. “Yeah, I’m good. And if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work,” He attempted to push past Princey back towards his room, ready to call this excursion a failure and get back to work. Instead, he bumped directly into Roman, who was now blocking Virgil from getting to the stairs, and thereby his room and his laptop. So, ignoring his tired lizard brain telling him how warm Roman was, he squinted up at the taller man and tried (operative word being ‘tried’) to push him out of the way. “Dude, let me through. I have shit to do, my revised draft is due in a week and I’m only through chapter five.”

Roman pushed him back gently, placing a hand on each shoulder and taking a good, long look at Virgil’s present state of dishevel. Virgil would never admit it, but his Lizard Brain™ pouted at being taken away from the heat. “You, you self-destructive storm cloud, are going nowhere except to bed. God, when was the last time you slept? You look dead, Virgil,” Virgil opened his mouth to protest that he was fine, that he had shit to do, but Roman beat him to it. “I am perfectly aware that you have work to do, J. K. Scowling, but if you push yourself you will burn out, I can promise you. If you won’t sleep, then at least do something besides write. I know I’m hardly one to talk about creating too much, but this isn’t healthy, Virgil.”

God, Roman clearly didn’t get how editing worked, but whatever. “Fine, but I’m going to my room. I’ll just scroll through Tumblr for a while or something,” Virgil fibbed, ducking out of Roman’s arms, and walking to the staircase. “Happy?”

Unfortunately, before he could get to the stairs, Roman grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “Oh no you don’t, Goth Dun. If you go up to your room, you’ll just go back to work. You need a break, Virgil. I’m not making this up to annoy you, I’m trying to help, so just let me Goddammit!”

Virgil wrenched his arm out of Roman’s grasp and stalked over to the couch, crossing his arms like a petulant child as he sat. “Fine, Princey. I’ll take a break. If I can’t go to my room, what should I do? Twiddle my thumbs? Hunt for food that doesn’t exist?”

Roman displayed a grin that made Virgil wish he hadn’t said anything. “Why, Angstella McCartney, I thought you’d never ask!” Roman quickly walked over to the DVD case, humming to himself as he did so. After a minute of rummaging and awkward silence, Roman finally brandished a DVD in the air triumphantly. “Ah-ha! I knew the devil couldn’t hide from me!” He stood up and pivoted towards Virgil, still waving the disk. “Since you asked so nicely what you could do, I would propose that we watch a movie, so that I can ensure that Dad-vid Beckham doesn’t find you keeled over on your laptop because you, Sunshine, worked yourself to death. And for our viewing entertainment,” he turned and slid the disk into the video player, “A true classic- The Little Mermaid.”

Virgil groaned. He liked one (1) animated movie musical, and it was decidedly not the tale that Roman had decided was to keep him from ‘overworking himself’ and ‘keeling over’. Whatever. An hour or two couldn’t hurt too much, could it? And Roman was being far nicer than usual, and Virgil would hate to waste this window of kindness. “Fine, but I’m warning you, Brenin, if you start singing, I will yeet myself out the goddamn window.”

“Roger that, Calavera,” Roman plopped onto the couch besides Virgil and winked at him. (Winked? What the sweet Mary mother of fuck?) “I suppose not singing is a fair price to pay for keeping you out of the hospital.” And with that, he clicked on the movie and the pair spoke no more.

However, as Virgil sat, only half paying attention, his Lizard Brain slowly took over, and he no longer had the wherewithal to fight it. Slowly, slowly, he gradually shifted closer to Roman, who was totally absorbed in the movie, moving so subtly that he himself didn’t even notice until halfway through the movie, when he found himself close enough to hear his roommate’s breathing. Virgil found himself wondering what the worst thing that could happen would be if he were to scoot just a tad bit closer.

He was torn from his thoughts by a pressure around his shoulder. Roman had put an arm around him and was currently tugging Virgil into his side. At this point, Virgil made the wise, well-educated, well-thought-out decision to say, ‘Fuck it’ and leaned in, curling himself into Roman’s side and relaxing, and oh God Roman was so fucking warm, it was like sitting next to a heater, but who gave a fuck? Not him. He was warm, and his Tired Lizard Brain was happy, and Roman was carding his fingers through his hair, and Virgil was so fucking exhausted and so comfortable that when his eyes drifted shut, he didn’t bother stopping them.

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That's all, sorry if it's a little short

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magicalgirlsofshoujo · 5 years ago

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Hello Everyone

Hello everyone, after a very long time, this is Fuyu again.

To begin with, some apologies. I am sorry for disappearing without any notice. It was especially unfair to the people I was bringing on to help with the blog. I am sorry for thinking no one would really notice and letting my own self doubt and shame take the wheel.

I am also sorry that I somehow simultaneously missed a Cardcaptor Sakura revival and yet no real new magical girls of shoujo wtf.

Back on a serious note, I have some explanations. In my classic, "definitely could have said this in about half the words and with no proofreading whatsoever."

Oh gosh, this really does make me feel nostalgic.

I don't believe people have to share their personal lives if it harms them. So, don't let anything I say guilt you or your specific circumstance. Escapism is a wonderful part about fandom and the internet. Because the world is doodoo and we're all knee deep in it lately.

However, the fact that I had to run away and hide has as much to do with the nature of feel good escapism and fandom as it does with my own personal issues. What does a person do when the things they enjoy no longer make them happy?

For me the answer was to keep trying for a long time, because I felt robbed of what I love. Also, to some extent I felt I was prioritising trying to regain that feeling over confronting what was going on inside me. I did try a little bit to just take a step back. I reached out for more people to help with the blog when I started feeling the weight on me. But then getting helpers on board ended up becoming an effort in itself and my dwindling social energy just went into negative numbers.

That's why I just stood up and walked away. I had altogether too much to deal with in my brain and saying a proper goodbye somehow felt like another monumental effort.

That's also why feel an explanation of what I went through can be beneficial, because that is far from unknown in an anime fandom where otaku culture and its issues of toxicity are well known.

I do like to think I had a more wholesome attitude about it though. Teehee~

And since I was convinced no one would really care (brains are dumb) and was proven wrong upon my return even after all this time, I feel like an explanation for anyone who wanted one was warranted. Even if it's in classic Fuyu word vomit style.

I know I have always felt better when I've read stories similar to my own struggles. The feeling of, "I'm not alone!" is one that can't be underestimated. In addition, even in small areas like my little corner here, I think normalizing mental illness is a worthy cause. Everyone knows someone suffering whether they know it or not and such.

So, the short explanation is it turns out I've been living with undiagnosed ADHD. This was becoming a problem right around the time of my disappearance. For whatever reason the mechanisms I set up to deal with what I thought was laziness (primarily mainlining caffeine and forcing myself into deadlines to motivate myself) no longer worked and I would stare at computer screens where words would once come easily. This was a problem for the area of study that I loved and enjoyed so much. In my case it was also a big problem for the fandom I loved and enjoyed.

My words are all over this blog and I haven't written anything since I left.

Currently I am still exactly one course away from my undergrad degree, same as when this all started. This is at least partially because I was only diagnosed very recently.

Because I couldn't do these things I panicked and then would become extremely depressed. This was the incredibly visible problem and so when I got help I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety, panic disorder, and depression. All are definitely true, but now we believe we diagnosed the surface symptoms and missed the underlying cause of adhd.

Instead of my anxiety, panic, and depression cycle coming from nowhere it was usually triggered directly by my lack of focus and motivation. So, years of focusing efforts on my, admittedly unbearable, moods ultimately always came up short because as soon as I felt well enough to try again, I would eventually hit the same wall in my brain and panic all over again.

The main reason I wanted to share this story is because of this difficulty in diagnosing. I don't want to get into the politics and economics of healthcare in the US that affected my care (suffice to say there were large gaps in treatment) because there's an element here that's a little more in my wheelhouse: gender.

I think the idea of gender bias in the medical community is fairly well-known, but essentially women's accounts of their symptoms are discounted by their own doctors.

This can be an issue with women and girls who suffer from ADHD because we do not match the visible checklist. Specificallyn regarding the "hyperactivity" part of ADHD. One explanation behind this, once I subscribe to, is that it's because girls are socialized differently and have different expectations.

Once upon a time, I fit the understood criteria. I would fidget all over my desk and talk to all my classmates instead of doing my work. Generally being a minor nuisance. The fidgeting issue was focused on the fact that I liked to wear skirts and that was unladylike. Going back through old report cards sees me labelled "chatty." I eventually learned to be quiet through social shame.

Honestly the gender bias regarding ADHD can be harmful for boys as well. My brother was tested at a similar age because he was disruptive and had a short temper. Nothing. They didn't acknowledge that boys being boys in the classroom might have been bullying.

I think these problems of both over-diagnosing and under-diagnosing have lowered since the nineties, but I know it hasn't gone away. There are many areas where it might have even gotten worse, especially with opioid epidemics making people suspicious of anyone who might use a medication that can be abused.

Naturally it should be said all of this is just my perspective on an ongoing journey, but I feel it's still a little worth putting out there. It's good to share our stories, because I didn't even realize I might have ADHD until someone else's little anecdote that "coffee calms me down because it makes my brain quieter." And there I was being miserable without caffeine because it's bad for anxiety.

They had even taken away my tea! DX

I feel like ADHD and similar stuff is even less uncommon in our circles too. Fandoms welcome those who feel left out by society and it's the perfect fit for those of us with intense devotion.

I'm still working my way through all this. I've been optimistic before and then fallen back into even worse holes than the one I was in when I left. But every climb out is an experience that makes the next one easier. It's an unfair to have to do at all, but it's worth doing rather than doing nothing.

As for what I'm actually going to do as FuyuMaiden and with this blog now, I don't know. This is the most I've written in a very long time and while it wasn't too difficult it was also very introspective. Stuff I have a lot of practice in dealing with my own mental health.

I'm definitely not going to force myself into anything. Especially since I haven't been keeping up with much. Like I look at cast lists for anime and I'm like "I don't recognize any of these seiyuu anymore!!! Am I old!?" Tentatively reblogging should be back up soon? Hopefully?

I think I'm going to make a discord for Magical Girls of Shoujo. Evey social media platform and phenomena is fragile, so it's good for us to have a backup. Plus I have faith in the stalwart eternity of gaming's need to talk shit. Discord will be around a while.

But I've been out of the loop so if there's any new places where fandom roams that I can also expand my ideals of magical cute stuff let me know.

And again, I am sorry for worry I caused. I love all of you and missed you very much.

#fuyu talking #blog stuff

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delos-mio · 6 years ago

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Death of a Bachelor - Part 7

A/N: Lots to unpack here! Let’s chat about this chapter!

You had completely immersed yourself in your work. The deadline for the project you were working on for Delos was rapidly approaching and it was all hands on deck in the office. Admittedly, you’d been running a tight ship as of late, but you were determined to hand over a perfect project. All the long days and meetings and revisions were helping to keep your mind off the one thing that had been plaguing it- Logan. It was nearing the end of the week that he’d taken to go to Westworld with William and you were upset with how much you really missed him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were never even supposed to sleep with him. But despite your best efforts, you were falling for the billionaire playboy you had no business fucking around with.

Before he left, he told you that he had confessed to Juliet. This also had been occupying quite a bit of space in your mind. Though you spoke to your sister almost every day, you hadn’t mentioned seeing anyone and certainly that the guy you’d been seeing is well known and that you kind of work for him. You weren’t sure how she’d react which is mostly why you’d been avoiding the conversation all together. She’d pried a few times when she thought you sounded “off” or “distracted”, but you always had the convenient excuse of work.

One night when you came home, you decided it was finally time to face the music. You poured yourself a too-full glass of wine and took a deep breath, tapping open Facetime and waiting for Emily to pick up. Her smiling face popped into frame after only a couple rings, a thick coat of mud mask covering most of her features.

“Bad time?” you asked with a small laugh.

“Nah, you know I don’t care! You’ve seen me looking worse. What’s up?”

“Just catching up. How’s Elliot?” you asked, taking a long drink. Emily and Elliot, perfect matching names for the perfect couple. You adored him. You’d always been protective of your baby sister, but he treated her with respect and he made her happy. What more could you ask for, really?

“Good! I think he’s at the end of the rope with wedding planning, so I’ve been doing double-time with blowing—” she started casually.

“Ew, TMI. Please no,” you cut off.

“Don’t be such a prude.” Emily looked at her reflection in the mirror and wiped away a rogue clump of mask that was too close to her eye.

“What else have you been up to?” You were just postponing the arrival at the real reason you called. Any time you could buy was welcome.

“Not much. We hired a new girl in my department, so I’m on training duty. She’s really sweet though and I think she’s gonna fit in just fine. You know I’m always open to new friends!” And she really was. Emily had always been outgoing and bubbly. Making friends was second nature to her and you’d always envied that talent. You were sociable only because you had to be in your line of work. You turned it on to network and turned it off the minute you didn’t need to work.

“How about you? I feel like I haven’t heard from you in a few days,” she said as she wandered out of the bathroom to the kitchen island you’d stood around so many times laughing, crying, and drunkenly shoveling food into your faces.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Em. I’m working against a deadline for that Delos project and it’s been insane at the office.” That was true. It wasn’t the whole story, but it wasn’t a lie.

“Oh yeah. How’s that going? Hey! Do you get to see that hot guy who’s like the CEO or something a lot? His name’s like…Luke or Liam or…”

“Logan,” you cut her off with a dry chuckle. It’s like she had a sixth sense. “Mhmm. I see him a lot actually.”

“Ugh that must be so nice. A little eye candy during those boring ass meetings must be nice,” she laughed until she looked back at the screen, seeing your slightly contorted face. “No offence, I mean.”

“No, I know. It’s ok. But what I mean is…I see him a lot…like, not just for meetings a lot,” you said with a huge lump in your throat. Please don’t make me say it out loud you silently begged her.

“Oh,” she replied slowly, letting the information sink in. “Oh! Oh my god, is Logan your boyfriend?” she asked in a high pitch.

“No! I mean, no. He’s not, but…”

“But you’re fucking him?”

“I wasn’t going to put it like that but, yeah,” you groaned.

“You idiot! So the minute you decide you’re ready to finally date again you pick your boss?” she scoffed.

“I’ll remind you I’m my own boss, you brat.” Her point stood and you knew it, but you had to deflect in any way you could for your own sake.

“You know what I mean! Don’t deflect!” Busted. “Isn’t he like super sleazy and a dick?”

“That’s what the tabloids would have you believe, yeah.”

“So he’s not really like that?”

“Not entirely. He’s arrogant, sure, maybe a little reckless,” you started, “But he’s also very thoughtful and smart and charming and witty.” You couldn’t help the fondness in your voice. Talking about Logan openly wasn’t a luxury you usually had and now you found you couldn’t stop the words from flowing out of you.

“You really like him, huh?” Emily’s expression had softened as she watched you speak. “You haven’t talked about a guy like this since…”

“We don’t need to go there,” you interrupted quickly. It had been a long time since Theo left you and you’d gotten over it. But that also didn’t mean you wanted to discuss the pros and cons of choosing your career over love every fucking time this line of conversation came up. “But yeah, I think I’m really falling for him.” You groaned dramatically and took a long drink from your glass. “Why am I like this? Em, I can’t fall for him!”

“Well, you’re not going to work for Delos forever, right?” she suggested, raising a mask-caked eyebrow.

“You think I should bide my time?”

“I think if you really like this dude, you shouldn’t let something silly like working on one project for them stand in the way.” She was in the bathroom again, running the water in the sink. “I love you and I just want for you to be happy. And I haven’t seen your face light up like that in a long ass time.” Maybe she was right. “I’m gonna wash this shit off but I’ll call you this weekend, ok? I need you to look at some swatches with me.”

“Ok, Em. Love you,” you said with a small smile.

“Love you too!” She blew you a kiss before disconnecting the call.

A weight had been lifted off your chest. You felt free. Finally telling another living, breathing person about Logan had eased your anxiety tremendously. After your chat, however, you found yourself missing Logan even more. You couldn’t wait to see him and hold onto him as he kissed you hello. The thought made your heart constrict, longing to be with him again, but you reminded yourself there were only two more days. You could do two days easy.

It was the Tuesday after he should have been back. You of course didn’t expect him to get ahold of you the second he got back to the real world, but you also thought he maybe would have texted you by now. You tried not to let it bother you and gave Logan his space. But Tuesday turned into Wednesday which turned into the next Monday, a full week after Logan should have been home. You finally caved in and messaged him first.

Y: Hello? Earth to Logan?

That text sat unread for days. Any anger you’d felt had passed and you were starting to get worried. Why wasn’t he responding? Where on earth was he? If this were a normal circumstance, you would have asked Juliet if she knew where he was or if he was mad at you. Of course, you couldn’t. You still had to play like you and Logan were not a thing. As if reading your thoughts, your email chimed and there was a new message from William. So, William was home. That must mean Logan was too. Part one of the mystery solved, now to crack the other part of the case.

Good morning,

We will be holding a meeting tomorrow morning, 8am. I understand this is short notice, but we do require your attendance.

Best,

William

He knew good and goddamn well you were a busy woman. And since when did William send you emails? You were annoyed but still checked your calendar. Lucky for them, you were free tomorrow morning, though you weren’t happy about being summoned out of thin air like you had nothing else going on.

When you parked in the lot at Delos the next morning, you took a second to do a quick lap around the lane where all the executives park their cars. Logan’s Range Rover was nowhere to be found. Not a good sign, you thought to yourself. Though it was entirely possible he was just running late, that was not out of the question for him.

You sat anxiously in the boardroom you’d come to know well. The water you raised to your lips did nothing to help your dry throat. Finally, you saw William and Juliet round the corner and cross by the glass walls. No Logan. Your heart was racing, quick and fearful in your chest. When they entered, Juliet gave you a polite smile and William grinned at you a little too widely. Never before had he shown you so much emotion or really interacted with you directly.

“Glad you could make it. I know you’re awfully busy,” William sneered. Something was wrong.

“Not a problem,” you lied. “Will…will Logan be joining us?” you asked tentatively. The question felt odd to say out loud, but you assured yourself it wasn’t suspicious since he and Juliet had been in most frequent contact with you.

“No, I’m afraid not. Though, that is part of why I’ve asked you to come.” Something was wrong. “As of last week, I will be taking over Logan’s role at Delos and you will report all updates and proofs directly to me for approval.”

You wanted to throw up. You wanted to throw your drink in his face and storm out. You wanted to cry. Cry for Logan, for yourself- you were both fucked. “Congratulations,” was all you managed to choke out. It sounded mocking and you weren’t convinced it wasn’t.

“Thank you. My beautiful fiancé here has been catching me up and I have some concerns about what you’ve sent to us,” he said thoughtfully.

“Like what?” You were defensive but you really didn’t care anymore.

“The whole aesthetic of the thing. It just reeks of Logan. It’s tacky, honestly,” he smirked. The fucker.

“I have never had my work called tacky. And respectfully, I have been working on this campaign and submitting proofs to you approve for months. And they’ve been signed off on every time. So I’m sorry if I think it’s bullshit that I’m just hearing about this ‘concern’ now,” you scoffed. You looked to Juliet who was usually lively and involved in these kind of conversations. But she sat beside him, doing everything she could not to look at you.

“Yes, that was when Logan was in charge. And like I said, he’s not anymore.” William took a drink of his coffee before speaking again. “I need a revised campaign to my inbox by Friday at 3.”

“Oh fuck you!” It just kind of came out. “You know that’s not enough time to finish this huge project top to bottom!”

“You can either complete this and submit it by Friday at 3 or you can be released from your contract and forfeit all compensation.”

You rose from your seat and grabbed your bag. “Keep your money,” you spat.

You were almost to the foyer when you heard another set of heels clicking behind you. “Wait! Please, wait!” Juliet called after you.

“What?” you asked harshly, tears pooling in your eyes. “You really just let him talk to me like that! It’s humiliating.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly, pulling you around the corner into her office, checking to make sure William wasn’t lurking. Now tears were threatening her eyes. “It’s Logan.” Your worst nightmare was coming true. If you thought you felt nauseous before, it was nothing compared to this moment. “I haven’t seen him since William got back. He’s not responding to any of my calls.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Your voice caught in your throat.

“You know why,” she said sincerely. You finally met her gaze and you couldn’t hold your tears back anymore. Logan had told you that he confessed to Juliet about the two of you. What you didn’t know was that Logan was being honest when he said Juliet was supportive. “He really cares about you. I’m sure he has a weird way of showing you sometimes, but I promise you he does. I’m hoping if you go to check on him you can find out what’s wrong.” Her bottom lip was quivering, making you want to start crying all over again.

“Ok,” you said softly, nodding your head. It filled you with dread, but you had to know he was safe. She let out a sigh of relief and abruptly took you into her arms, embracing you tightly as she let tears flow on your shoulder. Juliet’s body convulsed as you hugged her, doing what you could to calm her down. You suspected she wasn’t often afforded the opportunity to be vulnerable and emotional—Logan didn’t have that luxury either. “I’ll keep you updated, ok? Promise,” you said, taking her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes.

“Thank you.” Her voice was a rasp as she ran her elegant, perfectly manicured fingers below her eyes, wiping away the stray tears. Juliet took a deep breath, shaking her own fears, and painting on a smile again. “Maybe I should stay in here a minute until it doesn’t look like I just took 30 bong rips, huh?” How did the Delos siblings have such an affinity for using humor to cover their bursts of emotions?

Your hands trembled the entire drive to Malibu. Gripping your steering wheel was near impossible with the convulsions. You had absolutely no idea what you’d be walking into, if anything. All you knew was you missed Logan like hell and now you were scared. Juliet looking so shaken had done nothing to calm the nerves you’d accumulated over the last nearly two weeks. God, had it really been almost two weeks? Something had to be wrong; you could feel it deep in your bones.

The house looked dark when you pulled up, shutting your car off but glued to your seat. Now that you were here, you couldn’t find the courage to knock. What if he wasn’t there? Worse, what if he didn’t want to see you? You steadied yourself with a few deep breaths, paying attention to the even beating of your heart. One last internal pep talk and you stepped out of your car, letting your heavy footsteps carry you to Logan’s front door. You rang the doorbell once and listened as it reverberated through his home. Then silence. You waited a moment before pounding your fist on the hard wood.

“Logan? Logan? It’s me,” you called. It was unlikely he could hear you, but you felt compelled to call for him. You needed to know he was ok. You banged your fist again and again, followed by more silence. Maybe he really wasn’t there. You let your head fall forward, resting your forehead against the door in resignation. “Logan,” you cried once more, mostly out of desperation.

Then you heard it. A shuffling of feet on hard wood floor. There was someone in the house.

#logan #logan delos #logan delos x reader #ben barnes #westworld #logan delos fanfic #logan delos imagine #westworld fanfiction #masterlist #doab

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andaleduardo · 6 years ago

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Rooftop N.5

Ao3 N.4 N.6

Chapter preview: “Oh my, do I see jealousy?” Richie spoke with a mocking voice.

At first, Eddie was unaware he was the target of the question, but when everyone turned to look at him instead, the frown was masked with a layer of forced amusement.

“Sure thing, Tozier. I’m sooo jealous that my friends’ shoulders are touching your sweaty armpits.”

Friday 14.05.1993

Even though Richie knew this was the most likely outcome, he was still inconsolably disappointed when Friday came around and his hand was still looking like a dirty watercolour pallet. He was aware of how irrationally he was thinking, unless a miracle came around would the party be on tonight, and even if that happened, no one would come around. The flayers weren’t distributed around students, and the Losers had been warned that the date was postponed.

The week was pretty fucking boring despite the events that took place early on. The classes were agonizingly slow and there was a palpable tension hanging in the air of every classroom, for all the students were oh-so-done with school and wanted more than ever for summer break to come around. Less than a month for it to be over, Richie thinks as the days pass, just a little longer.

The last school-projects of the year are suffocating the Losers with every kind of group work. Richie paired up with Stan and Bill, and all his afternoons were taken up for that purpose only, which in a way was good, because it kept his mind out of other things that clung to his thoughts more than they should. Realistically, they could have wrapped it up last week, but Richie is a master of distraction. He works just as hard as the members of his group, or even harder, if you counted the effort of focusing in the work itself other than every little detail around him that craved attention. He ends up tapping a pencil on a surface until either Bill or Stan tell him to quit it. Then he twists and twists his rings around the fingers of his good hand until that gets boring too and resumes the tapping, but with the metallic material instead which is even louder. In a matter of minutes Stan would say something along the lines of “Let’s end it here for today.” And that’s how you drag a group project up 'til the very deadline, eventually.

But not everything is boring, that’s for sure. Eddie's interactions with him are somewhat changing. Richie has a hard time pondering the option that it might mean something more than kindness between friends, and when he finally settles on believing it, another part of him has to bring rationality back on board to make him rethink things and realise that, after all, that’s all there is to it, kindness towards a hurtful event. A mere friendly gesture. And speaking of friends, Richie got quite overwhelmed with all the attention and questions thrown at him on Wednesday. He was grateful that they cared, but all he really wanted was to move on from once and for all, which was a hard task if all you had to do was take a look at yourself to be reminded of what happened. He gave quick short responses to all the questions first thing in the morning and smothered them with cheek kisses and sided hugs while announcing to the group “I know you all missed me, cuties. But someone has to do the hard work around here, ain’t that right?” And it was worth it when he noticed Eddie’s frown thrown at him while Richie hugged Ben and Stan under his arms.

“Oh my, do I see jealousy?” He spoke with a mocking voice. At first, Eddie was unaware he was the target of the question, but when everyone turned to look at him instead, the frown was masked with a layer of forced amusement.

“Sure thing, Tozier. I’m sooo jealous that my friends’ shoulders are touching your sweaty armpits.” He offered an eye roll, lost in the middle of chuckles from the group. “Count me in next time.” Sarcasm pooling in his voice.

Trying to hide a bubbly smile behind a tentative smirk, Richie let go of Ben and Stan’s shoulders, throwing his hands in the air. “No need to ask twice, Spaghetti man!” he cut the circle down the middle, crowding Eddie’s space with long, bony arms that encircled him tight enough to lift the boy an inch off the ground. With a hand out of the equation, he applied all the strength on mostly one arm and immediately dropped Eddie down again, never letting go of the hug and hiding a smile in the crown of the boy’s head.

“Let me go, you dickhead!” But Eddie offered no resistance to the grip, and that spoke a lot to Richie.

Smiling to himself from the fond memories, Richie is brought back to the present by tripping over a stupid loose stone on the park pavement. He has been wandering around for an hour now, stalling the inevitable moment when he’ll have to go lock himself on the bedroom for the night. He insults the stone out of boredom and resumes his way home, deciding to stop on the closest convenience store for a crappy dinner.

Munching on a piece of bread while watching his house at the end of the road, Richie notices something different. His chewing slows down as he gets closer, stopping in his tracks completely when he reaches the overgrown front lawn.

“What the fuck?” He asks loudly, mouth still full. The question hung in the air as six heads turned to look at him, all of his friends were in front of his door, no longer talking among each other. He saw Beverly smile under the quick-darkening sky. “Am I hallucinating or do I have six losers in my front porch at -” he pretended to look into an invisible watch. “-unplanned hours?”

“That depends.” Beverly answered him while Richie marched his way over to them. “Did you hit your head on your way home?”

“I don’t believe so, no.” His mouth still full and a half-eaten bread on his hand. Eddie was quick to intervene.

“You shouldn’t talk until you swallow, idiot.”

“That’s funny, Kaspbrak. Your mother didn’t complain about my swallowing habits.” He finally finished eating the bite while a group groan was heard in response. “Seriously, though. What’s going on?”

“I wish I could answer that. I’m still trying to figure out why I was dragged from my house mid-dinner.” Richie turned to look at Stan, who was sitting on the steps in front of his house. Stan’s voice was harsh, like usual, but Richie saw the fondness underneath the fake scowl.

He stood quiet, eyes hovering over the six familiar stares on him. Richie almost counted the seconds spent watching a specific one, making sure it wasn’t any longer or shorter than whatever time spent on the others.

Strategies, he says to himself, good logic ninja skills.

“We’re here to have some quality time on a Friday night!” Beverly exclaimed with excitement. Richie almost rolls his eyes at Bev’s attempt on making him feel better, which is totally working, by the way.

“This is really dandy and all,” He then takes his time to look pointedly at his parent’s old cars in the driveway, taking a big bite out of his bread at the same time. “ but my folks wouldn’t really appreciate the invasion all of a sudden.” The last part of his sentence comes out muffled once again by the chewing.

Mike clasped a hand on Richie’s shoulders, making him almost drop the last piece of his dinner on the floor. “That, my friend, is why we’re going to the quarry instead.”

Richie offered him a quick smirk, his attention being dragged to Bev when she flashed him a scrunched up transparent zip lock bag inside the pocket of her jacket. “To have fun.” She winks at him. And what else does Richie need other than his friends and weed for company?

“Well, well chaps. What are we waiting for?” He asks while throwing the last bite in his mouth. Clapping his hands together to get the flour off of them, he motions for Eddie and Stan to get up from where they are sitting on the stairs. Everyone aims for their neglected bikes laying on the front lawn but before Richie could grab his, he notices the way Eddie trembles and sways when he gets up to walk to his bike. He trails closer to him, pushing all of his worries to a minimal amount.

“A lil’ dizzy, are we?” But as expected, all he gets in response is a scoff. He can see right through Eddie’s attempts at pretending that nothing happened and watches him straighten his body.

“M’just fine.” He bent down to pick up his bike and Richie stared longer than what he should. “And don’t spit crumbs all over me, it’s disgusting.” Richie doesn’t believe him for a second, but he shrugs it off playfully and gets on his bike, everyone already taking off ahead of them.

“If you say so.” He turns his head around to shoot Eddie a smirk while running his tongue over his bottom lip.

And if Eddie wasn’t able to play it off like his knees didn’t buckle when he got up, this time was just another failed attempt.

The air was slightly chilly against their exposed knees, but nothing too harsh to make them shiver. It was just enough to keep their skin cool to the touch, enough to make a cuddle seem like a good idea. Enough to make him think that leaving his jacket behind wasn’t a good one. Or maybe –

“Aww, c’mon, Marsh. You’ve done better.” He mocks while inhaling the smoke dancing around inside his mouth. Sitting on the far-left, the rocky ground digging on their asses, Beverly flipped him off.

“Well sorry if I had to get this shit in a rush and didn’t get your gourmet stuff, asshole.” He laughed right back at her, Ben, Mike and Stan between them. Bill sat on Bev’s left side while Eddie was to Richie’s right at the end of their sitting line on the edge of the quarry, legs hovering feet above the calm water below. The sky wasn’t dark yet, they had around two hours before it would get impossible to see a palm in front of their faces in the middle of the forest.

After taking two more puffs, he passes the joint over to his right, but Eddie withdraws into himself to get away from it. In a silent conversation, Richie lifts up one eyebrow as if to ask ‘Are you sure?’ to which Eddie responds by lifting up one palm and nodding. Richie sees the way Eddie’s eyes flicker momentarily to their friends, on the other side of him.

Realisation hits him, Eddie doesn’t need an audience.

“Are you passing the damn thing back tonight?” Stan pushed him out of his thoughts by asking. Richie couldn’t tell if he was actually annoyed this time.

“Being a bitch today, uh Stanley?” He took his precious time to take another drag, eyes locked with him. Shoving an elbow to Richie’s ribs, Stan roughly stole the blunt from his grip to pass it over to Mike, a disgusted frown forming from the smoke that hit him in the face. “No wonder you have a stick up your ass.” Richie quietly murmurs.

There had been a couple of times where Stan joined the group for a smoke, but only in the ‘horrible parties’ he claims to be dragged into. But Richie knows better, Stan does enjoy these things, it only takes him a little bit longer to feel comfortable doing it while being watched.

When Mike turns to Ben, the latter quietly blushes and shakes his head no, Bev accepting the offer instead. This is just the way they roll.

Eddie doesn’t know what’s going on. All he’s sure of is that everyone is laughing, maybe crying. Maybe both. How much time passed is uncertain. The night feels way warmer now that he’s leaning on Richie out of fear of falling in the water. He notices that Ben is red in the cheeks and Stan has finally given into smoking some himself. Eddie vaguely remembers getting hit in the face with the white smoke, making him cough out of habit of doing just so.

Can you get high from being (extremely) close to people getting it on? Eddie doesn’t know, and he doesn’t feel like he’s high. He feels warm and giggly and comfortable.

His eyes drifted down to Richie's lap, observing the bandaged hand laying on top of his thigh, palm up to the sky. There was an urge, so strong, to grab it and wrap his fingers through Richie's. Slowly, Eddie inched his left hand closer, but suddenly his human pillow started turning and he almost hit an eye on a bony shoulder.

Lifting his head, Eddie stared at Richie, who was looking at him with shiny, wet eyes.

“What?” Eddie whispered with a lifted eyebrow.

“Just watch this.” With a wink, Richie turned around to face Stan. Eddie inched forward to observe what turned out to be the most shocking event between Losers.

Stan himself was talking with Mike, an active conversation filled with mocking voices and laughs. Eddie doesn’t remember seeing him this careless before, but there’s a chance he has just forgotten. He smiles at his friend’s happiness, only for it to be interrupted when Richie elbows Stan in the ribs, much like before, but with reversed roles. Stan turns around, way to happy for his smile to vanish, but slightly smaller. He opens his mouth to ask something, anything, but Richie cuts him to it, speaking loudly and putting a hand on Stan’s shoulder.

“Stan the Man! You’re so red, right there darling!” Richie brings his covered hand up, poking Stan in the cheek playfully. And now that Eddie’s noticing, he really is blushing. “You look like you need to cool off." Stan’s smile has died completely by now, annoyed for being interrupted on a nice moment.

“Is there a point to this conversation?” From his peripheral vision, Eddie knows that all the Losers became an audience for this ‘messing up with Stan’-Tozier moment, which is a mere repetition of every day.

However, what really shocks everyone is what follows next.

“Oh, s’just, you seem really hooooot and bothered…” Richie drags the words in a weird way. “But fear not, my great bird-boy, I have the perfect solution for ya.” And just like that, he’s pushing Stan off the cliff, applying at the strength he can on Stan’s shoulder blades.

Stan screams, everyone’s jaws fall, and you know what else falls? Stan does. Eddie watches, horrified and leaning over the edge, as Stan’s body leaves the ground and grasps around for anything, literally anything, to grab on to.

“Asshole! What the fuck?!?!” Those were the last coherent words Stan was able to say before he gave in to screams and shrieks while falling in the water down below.

Richie loses it.

He cries his eyes out from laughing so hard, grasping his sides and pointedly ignoring the Loser’s own screaming at him. Mike is dead-on freaking out, torn between killing Richie with his hands or jumping after Stan, who’s now in the water, feet below his friends, moving around freakily and trying his best to stay afloat and breathe harshly at the same time, the cold water making the task harder for him.

It honestly looks like the world is about to end. All of them are speechless but all of them are trying to beat Richie up with words. Bill is waving his arms around in protests, his stutter getting the best of him and making him breathless from being stuck on: “Wh- Wha- Wha-” ‘s, trying so hard to blurt out a simple “What the fuck just happened!?!”

Ben is shaking in horror, squinting down at the water to never loose Stan out of sight, at the same time as he is grabbing Mike’s torso, trying to keep him from getting up and kicking Richie down to the water too.

Eddie is straight up beating Richie with his own two hands, altering from punches at his side and grabbing Richie’s arm and shaking him out of his existence. “Why the hell would you do that? What is wrong with you!” But the other boy is still grasping his mid-section, laughing on and on with no means to stop.

And Bev? Well… Bev starts laughing too. Because apparently, shoving a person down a cliff in the darkening sky while the other is totally defenceless, it’s fucking funny for her. So she laughs, and much like Richie, she starts to cry.

Ben stares at her with plain surprise, this is probably the most wicked thing that happened to him all month. Eddie stops physically assaulting Richie when her giggles reach him. Everyone just turns to stare at her, even Richie’s laughing died down to focus on her with fond amusement.

A faint, distant eco of Stan’s voice reaches the six at the top of the cliff.

“You’re insane! I’m going to murder you, Richie!” The sound of his friend’s voice brings Bill back to reality and he quickly scrambles to his feet and backs away from the edge.

“Where are you going?” Eddie asks, his voice apprehensive.

“We sh-should go meet S-Stan down th-th-there.” Bill’s stutter is winning the battle.

Mike gets up while shaking his head in disbelief, murmuring under his voice “I have no idea what’s going on.” to no one in particular. Richie is watching all of them, not a glint of regret in his blood. He waits for Beverly to stand on her feet, no longer laughing, to grab Ben’s hand and help him up. Eddie seems to snap out of his trance and quickly rushes to get up to follow the others, who are already making their way down the rocky trails in quick long steps. But before he’s able to do it, there’s a hand grasping his wrist weakly.

He looks down at Richie, big soft eyes staring right back at him. “Let them go.” Richie tells him. And surprisingly, even to himself, Eddie sits back down on his spot, thigh brushing against the other boy. He doesn’t feel calm anymore, he feels confused and shocked and overwhelmed.

“Why would you push Stan?” His eyebrows scrunch, and Richie almost can’t handle how cute he looks. “What if he got hurt? Now he’s all wet and it’s cold. He’s going to get sick, Richie, I can’t believe you did thi-”

“Cause I wanted to be alone with you.” Richie cuts Eddie’s rambling with a low voice. He looks kind of concerned, but Eddie doesn’t know why.

Eddie’s heart beats wildly against his ribs, nothing makes sense anymore. “You… wanted to be alone with me?” Richie nods, eyes always locked with him. “There were easier ways to do that, we could have just left for a bit or-”

“Do you trust me?” And if Eddie wasn’t altered right now, he would throw Richie to the water himself, for cutting him off again. Hesitantly, Eddie’s eyes drifted down to the spot where he could faintly see his friends’ shapes, near the water. “Stan is okay, I promise.” His attention is brought back to Richie, who was also eyeing the group but is now staring in his eyes again. At Eddie’s silence, Richie sighs and continues. “I want to try something, but only if you let me, Eds.”

“Will you throw me off this cliff, too?” He couldn’t help himself to say this, a small grin threatening to appear.

“We can manage that later, if you want.” Richie winks at him and watches playfully as shock crosses Eddie’s features for a moment, before he realises this is plainly Richie joking around and allows himself to relax again.

Somewhere away from them, Eddie can barely make out Stan’s voice: ‘Is he mental? He has to be fucking mental!’ but something else gets his attention. Richie inches slightly closer to where Bev placed the tiny bag on the ground and takes out the second and last rolled up joint she brought along. Eddie gulps down his anxiety and embarrassment.

“Oh.” It’s all he manages to say, his voice small, lost in the middle of the nature around them.

Looking away from the bag he’s holding, Richie lays his eyes on Eddie’s, watching him carefully from underneath his lashes.

“We don’t have to, you know?” Eddie nods back in response, gulping a second time and watching as Richie flips on his lighter.

He feels childish, and now there’s a chance to change that. There’s nothing to be nervous about, Richie would never make fun of him for struggling, and his mom would never know. But just the thought of Sonia makes his skin prickle with anxiety, it’s almost like she’s here, somehow, watching him, hidden away, studying the way he is acting and what he intends to do, him, Eddie, her baby, with another boy so close and drugs shared betwee-

Richie takes Eddie’s chin between his fingers, snapping him out of his thoughts by lifting his head up a little, just enough for their faces to inch closer. Eddie inhales sharply and lets himself study Richie’s features, which somehow calms him down a little.

Richie’s eyes are blotchy red and wet, like tears would be shed at any given moment. A nose slightly pink in colour, probably from the cool air of the night, though Eddie doubts that that could explain why Richie’s cheeks are just, if not more, darker in colour.

When things start to get way too intense to be normal, Eddie flick’s his eyes down to the blunt trapped between Richie’s fingers. He calmly adds “I want to… but I don’t know how.”

And that’s enough for Richie. Eddie tenses up slightly when Richie’s hand, still holding his chin, moves to accommodate his thumb to rest on top of Eddie’s lower lip. He doesn’t know what to do, so he looks impatiently and nervously, waiting for whatever he intends on doing. If he’s honest with himself, Eddie would take anything from him at this point, even being thrown in the water.

Before he knows it, Eddie lets his mouth slip open, the thumb pressing slightly harder on his lip. He gave up on rationality moments ago, what else was he supposed to do? He certainly wouldn’t scold Richie for whatever they’re doing, because he’s just as eager for it, but way more lost.

“I’m going to try something.” Eddie slightly jolts up with Richie’s voice breaking the silence. “Is that okay?” He simply nods back and stares, probably blushes too, as Richie brings the joint up to his own lips, face never inching away. Richie sucks up the air inside his mouth, lips wrapped around the rolled paper and hollowing cheeks.

Eddie is glad that he’s sitting down because his legs feel numb just from this and his fingers twitch where’re they’re gripping the end fabric of his khaki shorts.

When Richie pulls the blunt away, hand lying beside both their bodies, his lips are pressed closed and he comes nearer (Eddie didn’t think that was possible). The pressure on his bottom lip returns, Richie is making sure his mouth keeps open, and suddenly Eddie feels so vulnerable. Naturally, he tilts his head to the side when Richie does it in the opposite way, their mouths so close that Eddie can no longer think, he can only feel a heat taking over his entire body.

Should he close his eyes? He doesn’t know. Would that be weird? It’s wicked and painful to stare at Richie when he’s so close, making him cross-eyed momentarily. But Richie keeps them open, so Eddie does too.

His gaze flicker down for a moment when Richie’s lips twitch, and before Eddie grasps the reality of whatever this is, smoke is being blown right between Eddie’s lips.

‘Holy shit.’ He thinks. ‘Holy shit this is happening, what do I do? What do I do?’

Eddie’s knuckles turn white when he grabs at Richie’s forearm, somehow pulling it closer. The urge to cough is heavy on his throat, but he pushes it back. The next words Richie speaks are so soft that he barely acknowledges them over his internal rambling.

“You have to inhale.” He says between smoke. Eddie clumsily attempts to breathe through his mouth, allowing his throat to relax and completely forgetting the need to cough out a lung.

When Richie pulls back, but only slightly, Eddie is absolutely sure that even without the sunlight to shine on them, anyone would be able to see the blood rushing underneath his cheeks and neck. But at least he’s not alone, for Richie managed to darken his own blush out.

Both boys lost track of time after that, drifting in their own little bubble until the burning died down. Their lips had brushed against each other in unintentional ways, their asses were sore from the uncomfortable soil and Eddie ended up struggling with the smoke for a while, but Richie was patient, and Eddie was persistent. When five other voices started being audible, they drew apart in unnatural ways.

While Richie got his ears scolded by a drenched, shivering, and constantly-complaining-about-his-ruined-shoes Stan, Eddie took his time getting up on both feet and wondered briefly why his friends took so long to come back. Later, both Richie and him would find out it was the work of none other than Beverly Marsh. The rest of the night was spent in her house, vacant for the weekend. All their way to get there resulted in Stan getting sick from the resistance of the air while they biked and Richie trailing behind the poor boy while telling the group that they should have joined Stan to skinny-dip.

Later, Stan made sure to drop his still wet clothes on top of a napping Richie and hit him with the destroyed shoes wherever he managed to reach. This is just the way they roll.

rooftop taglist: @richietoaster @rainydayriots @reddieloves @thetrashmouthclub @lemonboi03 @noodleboyshane @pillsandglasses @studpuffin @dandelion-stan @reddiesetrichie @squishynonbinarytwink @itschunky @burymestanding @duderrific @its-rye @salty-kaspbrak @youtubequeens @reddieseggrolls @addimagination @pastelstozier @sleepysirenprincess @constantreaderfool @mrs-vh @eds-trashmouth

perma taglist: @constantreaderfool @mrs-vh @eds-trashmouth @girasol-eddie

#reddie #fanfiction #it #losersclub #rooftop #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #writing #ao3 #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #stanley uris #bill denbrough #pennywise happened but certainly dead #drugs?

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seashellrosekitty · 6 years ago

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Crestfallen (Part Two)

Pairing: Scott McCall x Female Reader (eventually)

Wordcount: 2.2k

Plot: You’re new to Beacon Hills, grieving your parents’ death. Scott befriends you in Biology class.

Chapter Characters: Scott McCall, Natalie Martin, Lydia Martin, and Stiles Stilinski (real world AU - our beloved Alpha and Banshee are merely humans in this story.)

Warning: Deep Angst. The reader’s character might come off as depressing to you. Also, swearing.

Author’s Note: This is probably terrible. I feel like my writing is all over the place so please bear with me!

I was woken up by the ray of sun coming through the small part of the window that I had forgotten to close the night before. The light was seeping into my eyelids making my eyes roll back to the front and see red. When I opened my eyes, my room looked softly lit. It looked pleasant, as my dream. It was vivid. Clear as reality. I’ve dreamt of them again. But this time I remembered it when I woke up.

I was home again. I was seated on our couch in the living room. An opened book laid on my lap. Dad was seated in his favorite recliner, and mom...well...she was in my view, making dinner in the kitchen. And the house was filled with songs of Michael Jackson from the 80s. We didn’t say a thing to each other, but everything was good. Everything was perfect. Everybody was alive.

I wanted to stay asleep. I wanted to stay in that dream. But no. The day greeted me awake now and all that dream was anything but reality. Another day in this foreign room. In this foreign house. In this not-so foreign town. I drew a sharp breath before getting myself out of the covers. It was a Saturday. I had the morning free and the afternoon was scheduled for me and Stiles to meet for a History report we needed to get done together. He came by at around 4 PM. I was out on the porch when his Jeep pulled up in front of the house. He got out of his Jeep, clumsily carrying his books.

“Aren’t we supposed to do world history? Why do you have so many books with you?” “Hello to you too,” Stiles said to me, clearly pointing out I had to do better in this social etiquette stuff. Or whatever you call it. “We can’t just rely solely on our textbook, you know?” “Sure, but have you forgotten there’s Google and Wikipedia nowadays?” I responded as I opened the front door for him. “Yeah I love that stuff but this stuff is even better. Don’t you wanna ace History?” “I couldn’t care less,” I huffed. He turned around to look at me and I was just startled to have him standing too close to me all of a sudden. He squinted his eyes, probably thinking I should be blamed if we flunk History.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.” I didn’t know he was such a go-getter.

When we took breaks, Stiles went to Lydia’s bedroom. And I spent the break hanging out on the poolside. It was getting colder each week. Fall was already in season, and the pool, just like the backyard and the front yard, was full of leaves that needed to be put away.

I jumped when my phone rang. It was Scott. What could he be calling me for? After two rings, I finally picked up.

“Hello?” “Hey, Y/N. Sorry to bother you. Is Stiles still there with you?” “Yeah but he’s with Lydia now.” “Great. Could you bring your phone to him, please? I need to talk to him. He’s not answering.” “Oh. Sure. Hold on.” I stood up as I said that and rushed to Lydia’s bedroom, still holding my phone over my ear. I knocked loudly.

“Lydia? Is Stiles there?” I heard shuffling and grunting noises inside and I just felt repulsed. “Scott’s on the phone. Said he needs to talk to Stiles.”

“Tell him it’s about his dad. He’s in the hospital,” Scott said over the phone. I repeated what he said aloud. Then I heard loud thumps and stomping feet, then the door opened revealing a flushed Stiles. His shirt was clearly just worn in a rush. I instinctively leaned back from the door as I handed my phone to him. Stiles loudly whispered “Thanks” to me as he grabbed the phone and shut the door. It didn’t take a minute before the door opened again and Stiles was rushing to get outside Lydia’s room, still holding my phone and talking to Scott. I was left still standing across Lydia’s door, with a peek of her room. I was obviously interrupting something and the moment I realized that, Lydia was standing before the door and gave me a sarcastic smile as she gently closed it. That was my cue to follow Stiles to the living room where our books were laid open from the research. “Y/N/N, I’m so sorry but I gotta go. It’s my dad. Promise we’ll finish this before the deadline. Hang on to the books for me, ok?” He said and then gave me back my phone, rushing to leave.

At dinner, we had steak, salad, and mashed potatoes. Natalie’s cooking was really good, but I couldn’t forget that look on Stiles’ face when he opened the door, even up until he left. It was plastered with worry and somehow, annoyance. I wonder what happened to his dad? I badly wanted to ask Lydia about it but I thought I might be prying. Besides, she’s never given me a look I could smile at since she closed the door on me that day.

***

I spent the next few days letting myself just go with the flow. I went to class, ate lunch with Lydia and her friends, did my homework, I talked to Natalie...I even smiled for her a few times. I felt like I was there but I wasn't really there. I felt like I trapped myself in my own head and let my brain do all the work for me like I was on autopilot. I couldn't understand what was going on with me. The only times I was ever really conscious about where I was and what I was doing was when I was alone. When nobody could see me, nobody's talking to me, and I am just left thinking how am I still breathing.

I took showers at night because it calmed me. One night, I stood on the shower and let the water run across my face with my mouth open so I could breathe. The droplets of water were soft on my skin. It was probably the calmest thing I've felt upon me since my parents died. Not that it was long ago, but nothing about me was calm or pleasant anymore. Nothing felt okay. But that moment in the shower was. I felt my heartbeat slow down and I kept my eyes closed. I wanted to cry in there, but not a single tear fell out of my eyes. How is it possible for someone to feel hurt and numb at the same time? What a complicated concept. But it happened to me. Maybe it’s happened to you too. But I hope you’ve handled your situation better than I did.

***

Each day, Scott would always strike a conversation between us. He's really nice. Sometimes I wonder what keeps him going, what keeps him positive. I arrived in our Biology lab before he did, and he greeted me with his usual innocent smile. He looked handsome that day. He wore a beige shirt and a denim jacket. It was simple but it suited him.

"You're early," he said. I smiled at him in agreement because I didn't know what to respond to that, and he pursed his lips as he smiled back when he realized what he said didn't really encourage me to say anything. At one point, I wondered if I should just write him a letter to explain things. I felt bad for the boy. "How was your weekend?" Finally, an open-ended question. Not that I would tell him about the glorious shower I had last Saturday.

"Good. I stayed home, so..." I shrugged, letting him assume my weekend was, as a matter of fact, uneventful.

"Me too. There was a lot of cleaning to do," he replied, scratching his head. "So, what do you like to do for fun?" Three weeks have passed since I moved here and no one has asked me this question. Not even Lydia. I looked at him and thought of what to answer him. I didn't even know if I was ready to do anything remotely fun. Autopilot, remember?

I raised my shoulders shrugging and said, "Usual stuff, I guess," then my mind drifted to a memory I carried from when I was eleven. My parents and I went to the beach and set up a tent and spent the night there. We had a bonfire and we watched shooting stars dart across the sky. I don't know why we never did that again. My mind drifted back to Scott, who was still waiting for my answer. "But I miss going to the beach and having a bonfire," I finished with a smile. I felt that smile. It was real. It wasn't forced. And Scott was left speechless and just gave me a smile too. I started to like that smile. I didn't realize that it's nice to remember the good things. I miss them. Maybe that's what good memories are for.

The week after that, I found myself spacing out in class. I almost never remember what the lessons were. The only subject I ever cared to be mentally present in was AP Biology. I couldn’t have Mrs. Finch embarrassing me with her sass for not listening. Once in a while then, I realized how easy it was to cut class. As long as none of Lydia’s friends were my classmates, I knew I was safe from prying eyes.

One subject I liked cutting was English Literature. Ms. Blake was a good teacher and all but I dunno. I just didn’t feel like being in her class all the time. I’d rather listen to Mr. Harris in History than learning about Mark Twain with Ms. Blake. One time, I decided to finally do it. After the third period, I made sure no one I know saw me. I went outside of the school and headed to the bleachers. No one was there. At least, no one I knew. Just some kids smoking their day away.

***

At the Martins' home, the house was usually quiet. I would occasionally hear Lydia talking on the phone in her room while I'd be doing my homework or watch TV, or her mom would be making our meals in the kitchen or talking to someone on the phone. I was grateful that both of them just did their own thing, not pulling a Brady Bunch act on me. Definitely, the Martins weren't anything like the Brady Bunch. One evening, Lydia's dad came to visit. He was tall, thin, and his eyes popped out of his head. Wherever he looked made him look like he was glaring at it. I felt uncomfortable around him. He was always so critical of everything. I think he never trusted anyone but himself. I thanked God that he didn't stay for dinner because I really didn't wanna be in that situation where I'm in the middle of a feud of a family I’m not even a part of. Whenever her dad came to visit, I noticed Lydia would be extra hardworking in school the next day. She would raise her hand all the time.

I never knew why he and Natalie divorced, never even really knew when they did. All I remember was that their family was different from mine. Lydia's parents seemed like the kinds of people who both went to Ivy League schools and intended for their daughter to do the same. And my parents, well, they were more carefree than Lydia's parents. They let me explore so many things without pressure. They've let me try art, explore astronomy, even a few recreational things like fishing, snorkeling, etc. The only pressure I ever got from them was when I got low grades. I was never an overachiever like Lydia, but my parents wanted me to have at least a good passing grade. Getting a C would already worry them. I miss them.

I miss their voices. Their company. The way they used to say my name. I’ve been having little moments of realizing how my life has changed drastically in their absence. There was no mom and dad for me to go home to. No mom to wake me up in the morning. No dad to watch action movies with. When I look at these kids around me in school, I see that they’re full of life. Laughing over Tumblr memes, cheering over their favorite boy band or geeking out over the latest Marvel movie. And here I am. Breathing. But feeling lifeless. Tell me. How can I move forward from this? How can I feel alive again?

Part Three

@bojabee @jurrasicpork @chiamilia @sav625 @kim-hunter5 @thejourneyofabrokenheart @seninjakitey

#scott mccall #scott mccall imagine #scott mccall angst #scott mccall x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf fanfiction #crestfallen series

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daysswithyou · 7 years ago

Text

Bass Pulse

Characters: DAY6 Young K x OC

Genre: fluff, romance

Words: 2.3k

Description: when the bass reverberates within you, there’s no fighting it – the story of how Young K tries to teach you bass

Author’s note: The opening scene is inspired by the story “Paris for One” by Jojo Moyes – highly recommend her books if you’re looking for romance and slice of life stories rolled into one!

---

Y/N POV

I’m at my wits end. I’ve been trying for hours, but I still couldn’t get this particular chord progression right! No matter how many times I’ve listened to the same piece over and over again, certain that I’ve already memorised the timing and correct sequence of chords, I still couldn’t get the right timing and I end up messing up the rest of the song. I fumble with pressing and plucking the right chords and by now, my fingers were raw, the tip of them stinging with pain on the cold winter night. I set the bass down for a while, sinking into the soft sofa as my hands shivered from the overexertion, the slight tremors a sensation unwelcomed by my body.

I glared at my bass guitar with loathing and hatred, as though it was his fault that I couldn’t play it well.

One more time. One more shot at this. If I still can’t get it, then I’m calling it a day.

Young K POV

I’m not going to lie. That bass guitar playing was really awful.

I was on the way back to the dorm after spending the entire studio cooped up in the studio practising bass with cups of black coffee to get me through. I managed to leave with my fingers red but heart satisfied; the method of keeping me awake and sane once again tested and proven. I was expecting a quiet, peaceful walk back but as usual, life likes to surprise you a little. The window was open so I could hear each chord that broke through the silent night very clearly. The pre-chorus started out very well – the progression were smooth and on time, staying through to the original composer’s idea of the song. The chorus was where he or she messed up really badly. The timing between each chord was off and the note didn’t come out the way it should – it sounded like a piece being haphazardly put together, like patches on a piece of quilt work. Towards the end, the player was just playing however she liked and I’m not even sure if I can call that music anymore – it seems more like individual notes being put together in desperation. When the song ended, the sound of a dying whale can be heard from the open balcony and I had to place a hand over my mouth to prevent myself from laughing out loud.

Let’s try something now…

Unzipping my bag, I took out my bass, and simply began to play the exact same song.

Y/N POV

Nope, I still can’t get it.

Letting out a strangled cry from my throat as I buried my head in the hands, I berated myself for the poor playing just now – wondering how on earth I am going to be presentable for new performance, Maybe I should call Megan and tell her that I can’t do it.

I had typed out the message swiftly and was all ready to press send – until I heard the sound of my saviour.

The first few chords started out low and deliberate, giving me the feeling of a predator creeping up on a prey. With the hairs of on the back of my neck standing and nerves tingling, I went out to the balcony and looked down below at the source – and I was captivated the moment I laid eyes on him.

He played the bass like he owned it, the guitar doing his bidding with every pluck and press of the strings. His entire body swayed with the music, his face a mixture of concentration and ecstasy as he switched between carrying the music, and letting the music carry him instead. It was like watching a magic show, him the magician and me the audience; I completely submitted to him, the magic of his music ensnaring me within his grasp.

When he ended, he turned to look at me, clearly aware that I was watching him all this while. He then tried to suppress a smile as I stared with my mouth agape. He then opened his mouth to say the words I’ve been wanting to hear.

“I can teach you how to play bass if you want to.”

I closed my mouth and nodded – I wasn’t going to let this chance slip away.

The next day, you ended up outside a studio with your bass slung around your shoulders before you knocked on the door.

A familiar voice came through – “Come in!”

Peeking a head through, you greeted Brian before stepping into the threshold. He hastily cleared away empty coffee cups and scattered pieces of paper filled with black ink.

“Rushing a deadline?”

“Yea, it’s just pure madness at this point in time. I’m so sorry you had to see this mess.”

“It’s alright, I’m used to such a sight.”

His raised eyebrows indicated that you should probably explain yourself.

“I’m part of a school band and this is how it looks like on days when we aren’t practising.”

“Ah~ you can hand me your bass now.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll just do some tuning for you, I could hear some loose chords last night.”

Without another word, you slung the bass of your shoulder and passed it to him. You leaned against the table as he sat down on the sofa, placing the bass against his thighs. Craning his head forward, he begun plucking the strings.

Brian didn’t know why he was so casual about giving bass lessons to someone he barely knew – it was intangible and he couldn’t put the feeling into words but he just didn’t have that guard up around you. He didn’t even know he did what he did last night! Before he knew it, you were already exchanging numbers and here you were now watching him. But still, he had to be sure that you didn’t know his true identity.

“Hey, do you know a band called Day6?”

“Yes. I listen to them and I think my friend likes them.”

“Then do you know of the members?”

“Nope. I just like their songs but I hadn’t had the time to really find out more about the members yet.”

“Hmmm”

Great, she doesn’t know my true identity.

Brian seemed so casual asking you those questions but you were a mess inside. Here was a ridiculously attractive man helping you tune your guitar and you were failing terribly at trying not to stare at him so openly. You watched as his fingers moved expertly around the bass, the look of concentration on his face making him look a hundred times hotter.

Stop it Y/N! Stop being so thirsty for men gosh what’s wrong with you?

“All done. Now we can start proper.”

He then smiled sweetly at you and you swore under your breath – if it weren’t for the table, your knees would have given way.

Since that day, you’ve been spending every waking hour with Brian in some sort of way. If he wasn’t teaching you bass physically, he was texting you. He would randomly send you photos of his day, but mostly photos of his new hair colour and food. You would always smile and giggle to yourself when you look at his funny captions or comical facial expressions over the screen, happy that he allowed you to be part of his world. As for Brian, he was happy that you’ll always reply his messages because you sincerely wanted to know about his day. He didn’t know how something as simple as teaching you how to play could turn into friendship and now, something foreign but not entirely unwelcomed was stirring up within him. Was this what an inkling of love felt like? Brian wasn’t sure yet, but he was sure that he liked spending time with you.

And so every night, both of you would lie in bed wide awake, talking to the moon and wondering if the other felt the same way.

Today, Brian was going to challenge you with a particularly tough piece but you still weren’t confident in playing in yet.

“Brian I’m going to practise a little first. You can carry on with you other work.”

“Sure. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Licking your lips in nervousness, you began plucking the strings tentatively but your insecurity was showing – both you and Brian knew this fact. Yet, you refused to ask Brian for help, worried that your heart would go into overdrive if he came close. However, his actions weren’t for you to decide and when you heard him get up from the chair to come behind you, you began to brace yourself for the mad blushing that would come.

Placing his head beside yours, he gently closed his hands around yours before guiding your fingers on how to pluck the correct strings with the correct amount of strength. But by now, you weren’t paying attention to his lessons anymore – you were more focused on trying to calm your wild heart and steady your breaths. His sweet breath in your ear sent shivers down your neck and his warm hands over yours set all your nerves on fire – and suddenly, every sensation you felt became magnified by a thousand-fold.

“Do you understand now?”

You nodded your head slowly, not trusting yourself to be able to make another sound.

“That’s good.”

As both your hands shivered slightly from the close contact, both of you were will well aware that the shivers weren’t due to the cold and it dawned on both of you that there was no turning back now.

Oh shit.

“Bri” lighted up on your phone screen and you swiped the green button.

“Hello?”

“Hey Y/N sorry to bother you, were you asleep already?”

“Not at all. What’s up?”

“So erm… I have this new song that I just wrote and I was hoping that you’ll sing a part of it?”

You couldn’t believe your ears – you, singing, for a Brian track?

“I would love to but…”

“But…?”

“I don’t want to make people go deaf!”

“No you won’t! I’m sure you’ll do fine! Please just try…?”

You know that he wasn’t going to force you if you didn’t want to but you could hear the pleading tone in his voice – after all that he’s done to help you with playing bass, the least you could do it is help him out right?

“I’ll help you but if I suck you have to tell me honestly ok?”

“Thank you Y/N! WOO!”

You smiled to yourself – you can already imagine him jumping up from the chair and leaping around the studio.

“This is a really sweet song. A special someone I suppose?”

“No, they’re just experiences from others that I’ve tried to put into words.”

“Ah… Let’s start recording? I think I got the feeling of how this goes.”

“Sure.”

You gave your all into recording the song, and you enjoyed the experience of doing it with Brian and at the end of the song, you let pure joy spill forth as laughter as both you stared into each other’s eyes and realising how much you appreciated being with the other.

In that moment, everything was picture perfect, except that you didn’t know that you were singing about yourself.

Epilogue

Day6 had just dropped a new album and your bandmates were the first to get their hands on the album and here the five of you were – seated in the studio as their new songs played over the speaker.

Everything was going fine – until you heard your voice over the speakers.

“Wait is that…” Lisa, your friend had only began to speak until Emily shut her up. All eyes were now of you as your voice played over the speakers and the laughter at the end – that was unmistakably you. You recognised the song – this was the track that you recorded with Brian a month ago. Before anyone could pepper you with questions, you confirmed your own suspicions yourself.

“Show me a photo of Day6.”

Lisa didn’t need telling twice. She immediately showed you a group photo and there he was staring back at you – those unique feline eyes and angular features definitely belonged to the Brain you knew.

“Look, more proof.”

“Give me that.”

You began to scan each line of Brain’s “Thanks to” (or should you say Young K) instead and the last line confirmed your suspicions.

“This is for my greatest muse – the last track is for you.”

“Excuse me, I have to go.”

Legs racing and heart pumping, you didn’t stop till you got to his studio, where you burst into his studio without even knocking.

“You’re Young K from Day6!”

Amused, Brian chuckled. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

In slight anger, you smacked the bassist across his shoulders.

“How could you lie to me!”

“I didn’t lie! I really am Brian! But perhaps I just left out the part where I am a member of Day6?”

“ARGH BRIAN!!!”

“Calm down Y/N! I suppose you heard the song already?”

“Yes I did – gosh – you!”

“What about me?”

“You just confessed publicly and now the whole world knows and I feel like a fool for not knowing your true identity!”

You covered your face in embarrassment, horrified at how dense you were.

Gently prying your hands from your face, Brian replaced them with his own as he made you look into his eyes.

“One, yes I just did. Two, it doesn’t matter if the whole world knows, I want the whole world to know that I love you. Three, you’re not a fool, you’re just really innocent. Four…”

“What’s number four?”

“Do you feel the same way?”

“After you just publicly professed your love, I don’t think I have the heart to say no.”

You watched as he grinned from ear to ear before pressing his lips against yours.

“Now I can finally say that I know what loves feels like.”

#day6writersnet #day6 imagines #day6 scenarios #young k scenario #young k imagine #day6 #day6 young k #kang younghyun #brian kang #bribri

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elizabethrobertajones · 7 years ago

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With how things are going, I have to wonder - did TPTB give us the Huevas as a 'there, we don't hate gay people' token and were we wrong in reading it as a subtext-to-Destiel thing? Lizbob, I'm getting desperate. The 'so introduce me' line was so - it's what you say to kids, right? And the UST is completely gone... :(

Hi there!

Is this because of this post from the other day where the line about “twice the worries about being ganked” was put under some destiel stuff to show that Dean had in fact doubled his worries about getting ganked? And also explains why he keeps telling Cas not to do anything stupid, because he’s worried, and not because he thinks Cas is actually stupid… Buckleming dialogue or not it’s calling back to 12x10 where Dean had to clarify this for Cas and admit he can say stuff like that when he’s worried. I’m not saying it’s very nice to keep on heckling Cas instead of just saying he’s worried, although I do feel the choice of writer really waters down the nuance in how that scene could have gone which would show Dean actually learned anything from 12x10. And while Cas shouldn’t have to expect to deal with Dean caring about him this way, at least we’ve already covered this in the text :P

But anyway, to me personally I just don’t write about Destiel that I see in the show with expectations that it will go canon, not because I’m negative or wanky about it (although, usual disclaimer, of course I’m very opinionated on if it SHOULD and the obligation the show has to do what they are constantly teasing, I just separate out these two things to write about the present moment of the show and the future, one of which takes a lot of explaining and one of which is extremely one note obvious of “make it gay, you cowards”), but just that I don’t want to engage in the cycle of optimism/despair that having Destiel hopes causes, specifically because I’m a popular meta blog that writes about Destiel in the text, and also because of people like you who get their hopes up and then get hurt.

I will probably merge expectations with demands when the show is actually definitively heading towards the end and we all know it is and it’s out there on the table. In the mean time, I’m happy to let this all carry on as it’s carrying on without feeling like there is a deadline or set moment for any one thing to pay off for us. The show takes its sweet time to address things which seem OBVIOUS, for example looking at the way side characters disappear and return sometimes like 3 or 9 or 13 years after we last saw them to get some closure on something or other. And it takes them years to chase down a main arc idea and pin it successfully. And some of the reason character development stuff links so well back to season 1 is because the progress Sam or Dean has made on it since season 1 has been in a series of recursive loops which seem to get somewhere only to be pulled back without reaching actualisation and either start again immediately or crop back up in the text much later as a character arc, starting over again as if it never really reached its conclusion.

Dabb era has been good about excavating some of these more ridiculous concepts and putting them on some no-going-back type arcs, for example for better or worse the issues they have with Mary have *utterly* shifted ground and can never go back to the same background noise they used to be. Mary is no longer a childhood memory and enshrined as the family martyr, and as I talked about a lot over the last hiatus doing rewatches, the attempts to make her deeper/tie her into the mythology, never actually addressed a change in the way they felt about her, maybe not even realising it wasn’t healthy for them to feel that way about her for the rest of their lives in the difference between normal mourning and revenge quests etc and how that meant they could never leave her behind and move on. I mean there’s a LOT of work to be doing with them if there’s any sort of happy ending to come, but since Carver era the writing has spent so much time trying to understand why they feel bad and putting them through hell for it, and especially in Dabb era now doing work to make them recover and to explore ways they can change, that it seems really depressing to waste the good work by killing them off. So that’s a sort of broad optimism about what they’re doing :P

But that broad optimism is really as far as I’ll dare to venture about endgame, so talking about Destiel is mostly about what I see in the text and how it relates to their character arcs and how I see that informing them and therefore hopefully if there is a happy ending, the intrinsic way this relationship matters to Dean and Cas will get happy pay off as well, because of all the aspects being explored in their character arcs, their relationship ties is all together so nicely and what they would benefit from each other would cement a happy ending for them.

I can’t be completely responsible for the impression people get about what I want from canon in the stuff I reblog but I’m really hesitant to go past lines like nervously laughing and doubting what’s going on in canon as a joke about how Destiel it all looks, while trying to avoid posts that talk about how inevitable it is without some very good reasoned discussion that I agree with. I try very very hard to make this blog always toe a line of enjoying what I enjoy without trying to sell too much or sound like I’m promising something. I like a lot of stuff like re-exploring old seasons or what I did this summer over my rewatch, looking back on old canon and looking at how it has all the unwitting groundwork for the story that ended up being told, and where all the character arcs start and how they’re used in later canon etc.

I agree a theme the last few years has been digging up this character stuff and making it extremely clear or textually stating things for the first time, and especially this year coupled with themes of misinterpretation or not reading the picture correctly or working on misinformed intel. Dramatic irony has never had that much importance in telling the story either. This season has been really intelligent about these themes and last season did a LOT of stuff with characterisation to show how they understood them and old character stuff they were resolving or exploring for the sake of improving the characters. Cas got a final build up for his depression arc to lead him to the worst possible point, and he’s now on the other side of that so the only way is up. Performing!Dean got completely dragged in some episodes, especially 12x11 which did it kindly and gently, and 12x22 which just used a grenade launcher to do it :P

There’s a lot going on but I don’t really like saying it all inevitably ends up pointing to canon reveals about Destiel, especially when that’s the most contentious thing and really hurts a lot of people to build up expectations like that, and it makes people angry or makes them fall out of love with the story because they lose objectivity and start making angry demands about when they get their emotional pay off, even though the story is still unfolding. Stuff which is happening along the way for later character pay off is seen as trashing the character and everything they previously stood for, and it becomes miserable for everyone. I’ve seen this happen in every single faction of the fandom and it’s nothing to do with the quality of the writing or actual treatment of the character/relationship, and an awful lot to do with poorly managed emotional investment and said investment being a finite resource. It’s UTTERLY depressing to watch a fandom friend melt down and begin to hate everything you once loved and I think watching that process has a lot of toxic fall out for everyone else around them who also loves the thing, because we sympathise and we’ve been watching it in slow mo and probably agreeing with a lot of the initial problems they have before it escalates. I HATE watching that happen. I will try as hard as I can to never be responsible for causing it in other Destiel shippers, so I try to make my jokes and comments stay as much as possible on the side of not trying to imply the show has any huge Destiel plan that we’re seeing the early stages of and patience will make it bear out. Because that’s not even how I see the show anyway but sometimes things like Dean giving Cas a mixtape create a *lot* of hyperbole and I’m not emotionally responsible for you all, technically, so I am allowed to have some fun :P

All this is to say, I’m really sorry you’re feeling desperate and have been reading everything as signs we’re definitely getting Destiel, because there are no signs we’re definitely getting it, but there’s also no signs we’re definitely NOT getting it, and a whole bunch of murky grey area including an entire show worth of supportive subtext, character interaction, main text and plot arcs which back up the *existence* of Dean and Cas being madly in love with each other. The wank comes when you spend all your time harping on one or the other extreme, assuming everything is signs or proof/not proof.

I think the recent storytelling has been extremely positive towards Destiel and put an awful lot of it into the text, to extremes which have never really happened before: season 7 with dead Cas used that to get some understandable angst out of Dean, but it constantly emphasised how everything sucked, Cas had of course betrayed Dean and caused all their problems, both personal and mytharc, and so resentment and anger were mixed with grief, and for the most part as much as stuff was happening to them emotionally, the episodes weren’t intrinsically structured around showing what the grief had done to Dean, or that he stopped functioning without it. Compare the kid gloves about what Dean does in 7x03 killing Amy, and how it tentatively links back to Cas but only when Dean admits that he’s had a hard time trusting anyone after Cas, to Dean vs Jack culminating in Dean screaming in Sam’s face about how Cas’s death has hurt him and he can’t unsee it on Jack.

And then of course the whiplash on getting Cas back, which Dean never had in season 7, and at best 8x08 was that episode - like a year after Cas was alive again and a whole fresh round of death and guilt and Cas coming back later so in a completely different context. And still nowhere near as good as what happened in 13x06 because there was still a lot of tentative TFW rebuilding to do in 8x08, while by now it’s completely accepted they’re a family unit and it’s been textually stated several times and 12x12 especially was tuned to showing how absolutely final that statement is. There’s no need to be tentative when Cas comes back now - Dean can just let go and enjoy himself for as long as that lasts.

I’ve been answering asks about the UST being gone since I’ve been in fandom, like, season 10, and I do kinda think that the heyday is ONLY seasons 4-6, after which Cas and Dean actually like each other and their relationship moves to more comfortable ground, and romantic tension and coding is way more the order of the day from Carver era onwards. There’s a few things like the boner scene or Dean in the car in 9x06. TBH 13x06 was the first time in ages I thought we’d actually had a scene where the two of them were having sexual chemistry, in the obvious mirror scene to the car in 9x06 bit, but also the entire underlying joke about Dean’s ‘cowboy fetish’ that Cas knew about from season 6, his entire reaction to it, including complaining that Dean made him wear the hat but then voluntarily playing along *for Dean* on their way into the crime scene, his FACE while doing that, and Dean’s reactions to Cas through all this. For the most part they’re considerably softer and more hesitant with each other and that involves much less interaction right up in each others’ faces and much less frustration which then translates to UST quite easily as well as being regular old tension.

In addition to that, the “i do” and that hug scene apparently convinced people in living rooms across the world that Dean and Cas had been about to kiss and that it was horrifically romantic, and a fake out which genuinely shook people into seeing something going on there who had not previously seen it and even actively disbelieved their shipper friends and family. Of course that’s all down to how Dean and Cas look at each other as they come in for the hug, so their magnetic attraction to each others’ faces is still an ongoing issue :P

Their interactions are being told in a pretty different way these days, which includes a lot of romantic stuff which is far more overt, and in making their relationship intrinsic to the plot and to each others’ own feelings, all of which I’ve written about so much lately because, well, it’s the main thing going on around here :P I actually feel like this is an extremely good time for if you care about their relationship, to get it in the story as a powerful force and important piece of the story. Things like the issue of clarification - I vs we, and need vs want - are coming back around as themes and that means the issues they’ve caused between Dean and Cas are being addressed or examined again, hopefully to some permanent end. And if not, at least so there’s a fresh examination in recent canon, although as I was saying Dabb era has been changing things in ways it’s hard to back off from later, like that Dean has repeatedly clarified to Sam that his feelings about Cas are the cause of his behavioural changes, even if he doesn’t say what those feelings are, it’s clear that they are affecting him. I mean there’s a part of me that has to read it that Dean hasn’t even realised exactly why he feels differently about Cas than Sam does, he just does… :P

Anyway I really just didn’t want to reassure you without addressing the fact I hate reassuring people things without trying to avoid causing more problems later. I don’t want people to feel strung along either by the show or by ~meta writer promises~ … which, aside from a few people who really were doing it for attention, generally seem to be from people actually just reading the text and being hopeful themselves, not trying to make a cult gathering or get attention or even just try to hurt people. I really urgently would like people to be more credible about where their hopes are coming from and how to feel about it.

Not to say that you should stop believing everything you hear meta writers say, by a long shot, but to evaluate how likely you feel the speculation that comes from that can be, and how much you do and don’t agree with the analysis they make. And if you agree with the analysis and do see that all the Destiel stuff people point out IS in the show, then you can see that it’s there or not, and decide how you feel about what the show is doing with it as a separate thought. I’d rather not get caught up in pt.2 of it because it’s just frustrating and depressing at this stage of the game, but pt.1 is fascinating to me, it doesn’t detract for me personally to have it not unambiguously stated, and whether Destiel does become unambiguously stated or not I don’t think *any* of the Destiel analysis I agree with/have made is *wrong* because that reading is freely available to make, in large print text and accompanying audiobook >.>

#Asks #if you're starting to feel like canon doesn't have any of what you used to love it in then honestly taking a break is not a bad idea #watch Shadowhunters or Black Sails or something else with representation to varying degrees of subtlety #(i mean those are the extreme degrees :P)#and then come back later to Supernatural when you feel a bit less on edge about what it can give you #there's a gay couple in the new star trek!#hmmm #anyway #I know how much it would mean for this specific ship to go canon BELIEVE me #but I love dean and cas's interaction still and think that it's lost nothing #so I think expectations are just running high #please don't burn out and start to hate it :(#riverboat gambling #wank for ts

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klynnwordsadhoc · 7 years ago

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It Started with a Wedding 1.5: My Hero

After a few weeks of living together, Alec has a harrowing encounter in the kitchen, and Magnus most certainly does not find it funny. Alec would believe that if he weren’t laughing.

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Magnus had never shared his space with a lover before he'd asked Alec to move in with him. It had made sense, Alec spent the majority of nights at his Brooklyn loft anyway, there was really no reason for Alec to go back and forth between his spartan Manhattan studio sometimes simply to get a change of clothes. At least that was what Magnus told himself.

In reality, his reasons were much more selfish. He slept better when Alec was there beside him - This in itself was something of a revelation to Magnus, who before could barely stand sharing a bed with any previous lover because usually he was a ridiculously light sleeper and any sound or movement outside of the norm woke him and kept him awake - he missed Alec on the nights he had to stay at the office late and opted to go home in lieu of waking Magnus, and he honestly just preferred having him there to being without him. It's been 3 weeks since Alec moved all his things, such as they are, in. Alec didn't hold onto much, just a few photos and knickknacks and a shadow box of his honors from the Marines, which hung in a place of honor in the loft, despite Alec’s protests that Magnus could just put them in storage. Magnus had informed him unequivocally that he would do no such thing, and didn’t miss the pleased little smile Alec tried to hide from him. Still, Magnus had expected something of an adjustment period. He kept expecting that somehow, they would start to get on each other’s nerves, that Magnus would miss his independence, or Alec would miss his solitude, and they’d decide this wasn’t going to work. Magnus fights these fatalistic thoughts, but sometimes they get the better of him. Somehow, Alec always seems to know, because he will bring home takeout from one of Magnus’ favorite restaurants. He’ll curl around Magnus on the couch and watch Devil Wears Prada with him for the thousandth time and pretend he’s not bored out of his mind. He won’t say anything about it, not unless Magnus wants to talk about it, but such a small thing, and it does wonders to silence that part of Magnus that is waiting for the other shoe to drop. The adjustment period never came. Living together is just easy. Alec wakes up at some ungodly hour every morning without an alarm, which is a miracle in Magnus’ opinion, and only very occasionally does he wake Magnus in the process. Magnus would be annoyed by this, but he can’t really complain when Alec smooths his hair back and kisses his forehead and murmurs for him to go back to sleep. Alec is meticulous about cleaning, something left over from his military service, Magnus is sure, and Magnus is decidedly not. He’s not dirty, but he has a habit of just tossing things this place or that, intending to come back to it later, which he may or may not do. Alec just sighs and picks up after him and only complains about it a little. They fight, because of course they do, fights are part of being in a relationship. It’s small things. Alec’s inability to relax about the dishes, Magnus’s inability to do them in what Alec considers an acceptable amount of time, Alec’s early mornings, or when sometimes he has to drop everything for a client, regardless of plans they may have had, Magnus’ late nights, or the fact that sometimes he’ll work 24 hours straight to meet a deadline. But they never walk away from each other angry. It helps that the make-up sex is usually pretty stellar. They both take work home with them sometimes, so neither makes too much of an issue about that. Magnus is in his study, working on some new designs, while Alec moves about in the kitchen, attempting to make dinner. Magnus learned very quickly that Alec’s culinary skills were rudimentary at best, but Alec tries, and as with anything he sets his mind to, he is improving steadily. Magnus has grown used to the sounds of Alec moving about. He tunes it out until he hears a short, yelped curse and the clatter of something heavy hitting what was either the floor or the wall. A second later, Alec calls out to him, “Babe, can you come in here for a second?” The tentative quality of his voice makes Magnus set aside his work and head toward the kitchen. “Alexander? Did you hurt yourself?” “Magnus, just come in here, please.” Magnus increases his pace, this time wondering what Alec managed to break. He sees nothing immediately wrong when he enters the kitchen, other than the fact that there is a frying pan on the floor and Alec is standing as far away from the counter as he can get without leaving the room entirely. He’s staring intently at a spot on the wall. “There,” he says, pointing to it. Magnus arches a brow, “What am I looking at exactly?” Alec glances away from whatever he is staring at long enough to give Magnus a harried look, “There’s a spider. Can you please get rid of it?” Magnus takes a second to process that, “A spider?” He walks toward the spot, and indeed it is a spider. His building is older, and they do get the occasional wolf spider, which is exactly what this one is. As much as it takes him a moment to wrap his head around the fact that his six foot three, solid, former Marine is scared of a little spider, at least to Alec’s credit they’re not exactly nice looking. “Will you just kill it please?” Alec says tightly. Magnus tisks, “I’m not going to kill it, it didn’t do anything to you.” He gets a cup and uses a paper towel to urge the thing into it. "There we go, little friend, let’s put you outside.” “It existed in the same room as me,” Alec retorts. “Magnus can you please not coo to the spider?” “It’s alright, darling,” Magnus soothes him, quickly losing his fight with his amusement, especially when Alec skirts away from him as he heads out of the kitchen to release the spider outside. “I’m taking the big bad spider outside.” “Magnus, it’s not funny,” Alec says, exasperated. Magnus says nothing until he’s come back inside, having released their eight legged friend back into the wild. “It’s a little funny. You can kill a man in six seconds, but you can’t handle a little spider.” “That thing was not little,” Alec glares at him, “It was massive.” He gives him a flat look, “And six seconds, really?” “Well, I don’t know, it was an estimate,” Magnus says with a little shrug, his voice a little shaky. Alec’s eyes narrow, “Magnus, it is not funny,” he says again.

Magnus loses his battle with his amusement, and Alec turns his back on him with a huff, heading back into the kitchen.

“Alright, love, it’s not funny,” Magnus follows him, trying to keep his breathing under control.

“I would believe that, except you’re still laughing,” Alec says, dryly. He stoops to pick up the pan on the floor, setting it back on the stove.

“Did you…throw a pan at it?” Magnus is not laughing, he swears.

“Okay, that’s it. Out.” Alec points to the doorway to the kitchen, “I’m mad at you.”

Magnus hums, stepping up into Alec’s space and stepping him back against the counter. “Alexander, my love, light of my life. I’m sorry. It’s not funny.”

Alec doesn’t immediately unfold his arms, and he watches him, one brow arched. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I promise I will remove any spiders from your general vicinity should the need arise,” Magnus promises, and Alec huffs a tiny laugh, shaking his head. “And it will not be funny.”

Alec sighs, finally unfolding his arms. “Better.”

He leans a little into Magnus’ space, a sure sign he’s been forgiven and Magnus takes full advantage, leaning up to press a kiss to his mouth. Alec responds immediately, so he feels like he’s back in his good graces.

“So…spiders huh?” Magnus can’t help himself, it’s just…rather adorable actually.

“Shut up,” Alec says with a short laugh. “I don’t know why, they just freak me out. I think it’s the legs.” He shudders a little. “You’re telling me there’s nothing you’re scared of?”

Losing you, is Magnus’ first thought. He doesn’t say that, not yet. Maybe someday he will. “Acid wash jeans,” he says with the utmost sincerity.

Alec laughs, shaking his head, and he drapes his arms over Magnus’ shoulders. “Okay fine. You take care of the spiders and I’ll protect you from any fashion disasters we come across.”

“My hero,” Magnus replies, kissing him again.

#malec #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec fanfiction #myfic #series:it started with a wedding #fic: au #fic:my hero

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meenasmoon · 7 years ago

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Waiting for a Star to Fall Ch 4: Take Me to Church

Sorry for the delay with this puppy. I had a ten page paper calling my name. Tomorrow is the tentative deadline of my ability to pump out chapter after chapter so I will try to post SitM and Renegades for yall. Much Love! Also there is a mention of abortion in this chapter and while I support a woman’s choice I try not to push my beliefs on other people so I kept it quick and vague just like the short church service

Note: I think I’m becoming obsessed with my own OC. in my personal opinion she is a snarky little gift!!

“Are you sure about this church baby girl?” Leslie Jones asked as she helped her daughter up the steps, a strong arm wrapped around Meena’s waist. Her brown eyes looked over the older building that was located just blocks away from Meena’s new culdesac and she made note of the dated architecture, the peeling paint and the cracks that ran along one of the pillars at the entrance.

“Mom have an open mind okay? The pastor is one of my neighbors, he’s a very sweet man and the least that I could do is go to his church service.” Meena sighed in exasperation and gave her mom a pleading look before she led her family into the church. One section of the pews was blocked off by a tarp and a construction rig and the pews were a little old but the church was very charming and clean. Meena let her mom lead her down the aisle to an open row where she waited for her grandparents to get settled before settling herself between her mother and her grandfather.

She was looking at the detailing in the stain glass windows when she felt her grandfather’s warm hand patted her thigh through her dress. She turned to him with a smile and braced herself for the oncoming comments about the shabbiness of the church. She loved her grandfather, she really did but he was the pickiest man on the face of the planet, the complete opposite of her easygoing grandmother who was currently humming to herself as she took her knitting out of her purse. The woman could be happy anywhere it was a miracle.

Her grandfather let out a huff and raised his eyebrows at her, looking at her over the rim of his glasses. “Why aren’t we at our church again?” He groused and Meena let out a heavy sigh, rubbing her stomach reflexively as if it would calm her down.

“Because I want to try this one today Grandpa.” She smiled but he just crossed his arms and let out another grumpy huff.

“Pastor Reynolds is going to wonder where I am and I’m stuck here in this rundown excuse for a church.” He grumbled to himself and Meena looked to her mother for some help but Leslie just rolled her eyes and gave her a little shrug. Officially on her own, Meena decided to resort to the only thing that was working right now. She started to cry.

She felt terrible for working her grandfather’s emotions like this but her feet were swollen, her back ached and she did not have her usual patience to calm him right now. Her grandfather immediately tensed up when the first tear rolled down her cheek and looked around frantically for help but miraculously his daughter was suddenly talking to the people in front of her and his wife was busily knitting beside him.

“Oh Meena. Honeygirl don’t cry please. It’s a very lovely church. Just wonderful. Can’t wait for this Moon fellow’s sermon.” He tried desperately to placate her, wrapping her hand in both of his in what he hoped was a comforting way. Meena tried to stop the tears that were now flowing down her cheeks like rivers but found that she couldn’t. She grunted in frustration and began furiously wiping at them in an effort to stave off any sobs that could possibly break through.

After a few minutes she finally got herself under control with the help of a few tissues from her mother’s purse and big hug from her mother. She was at least grateful that her emotional outburst had occurred in church where she could at least pass it off as being emotional about the sermon of forgiveness that Pastor Moon was preaching. She had to admit that his sermon was different from what she was used to in a good way but she couldn’t help her eye from wandering to the rest of the crowd stuffed into the pews.

She caught sight of the Tenny family sitting near her own family and she couldn’t help but smile at how Norman was obviously passed out in the corner of the pew, but Rosita had yet to notice as she was working to hush her five children as they bickered amongst themselves. In their matching church clothes Meena had to admit that she could barely tell them apart from each other and she wondered if it would be that hard for her to tell her own twins apart when they were born.

Meena giggled as she watched one of Rosita’s little girls spin around in the pew and survey the audience as if looking for her next victim. When she caught Meena staring at her she gave her a tentative smile as she sunk down in her seat until only her eyes were peeking over the back, still watching Meena. Meena gave her a little wave and then lost sight of her as the congregation stood for the final song. She let her family help her to her feet and sung as softly as she could, trying desperately to keep her singing talents a secret in a new church.

In her family’s regular church her grandfather and mother had made sure that every single person knew that she had the voice of an angel and most times during the songs a lot of attention would be focused on her, waiting for some miracle to burst forth from her lips. Unfortunately she was much to shy under their scrutiny and always managed to stumble over the words or just stare at her feet until the song was over and she could once more hide behind her mother in the pew.

When the service ended, Meena gratefully sat back down in the pew while her family stood and socialized politely with the other churchgoers that were lingering. While they were strangers, they were just as welcoming as their normal church and Meena got so many blessings for her children that she could barely remember everyone that had approached her. Finally the church cleared out enough that Meena could stand comfortably and look around for Buster.

She wanted to congratulate him on the wonderful service and let him know that she and her family had stopped by to see him preach. She absolutely refused to leave without talking to Buster, it was just how she was raised and as a result she found herself wandering through the church trying to find the short grey-haired man. She was just about to pass the confessional when suddenly the door to the small chamber burst open and the last person that Meena expected to see went stomping angrily away.

Meena almost called out a greeting to Ash but the fiery woman had a look of death on her face as she slipped into the crowd and disappeared just as quickly as she had appeared. Meena felt her heart drop a little as she continued to search the crowd for her friend’s face, to no avail. Something was obviously wrong with Ash, and though she had her own problems to deal with she couldn’t help but feel the strong urge to do anything and everything for the woman that had first made her feel like a part of the family. Ash was her first friend since the debacle with Daniel and she treasured her just a little bit more than everyone else.

Suddenly her original quarry, Buster Moon, stepped out of the other compartment of the confessional, looking weary and a little frustrated. Obviously something had happened between the two of them but by the way that Buster immediately started smiling his showman’s smile when he saw her she knew that she would get nothing from the man.

Meena went in to shake his hand but was taken by surprise when the shorter man pulled her in for a tight hug instead. She awkwardly patted his back and let out a relieved breath when he finally released her. Hugging had become a little awkward and painful for her back when she had to bend over her stomach to be pulled in tight so she avoided or modified them as much as she could.

“Meena! So good to see you. Did you enjoy the service?” He gently steered her away from the confession booth with a firm hand on her lower back and as they walked back to where her family was waiting at the church’s entrance they chatted amicably. However, Meena would not easily forget what she had seen and if Buster was going to keep the secret she needed to go to the source and find Ash. Though by the way that she stormed out of the church Meena wasn’t so sure that she wanted to know the reason.

Her family chatted with Buster for a few moments before her mother once again had an arm wrapped around her and was helping her down the stirs. Ever since she had started to show everyone had been treating her like she could fall apart at the slightest touch and though it got annoying she learned long ago that she was born into a stubborn family and there was no way that she could convince them otherwise. Meena let out a heavy sigh but nonetheless gave her mother a grateful smile as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

They strolled slowly through the parking lot, her mother and grandmother heatedly discussing the Sunday meal that they had planned for when they got back to Meena’s home while her grandfather had Meena’s arm securely wrapped around elbow.

“That was a… nice service.” He said gruffly, obviously trying to hide his distaste for change for her sake. Meena felt her heart warm at his attempt to overcome his usual grumpiness in order to reassure her. Taking pity on him, she squeezed his hand and leaned down to bestow a kiss on his cheek.

“Thanks Grandpa.” She said sweetly and his stooped posture perked up slightly at her touch. She giggled to herself as he escorted her to the car with a new spring in his step and made sure to open her door for her. Meena gripped the edge of the roof of the car tightly and slowly lowered herself into the seat, grunting when she let gravity do the work and she plopped down safely into the cushioned seat.

Her grandfather shut the door for her before joining her grandmother in the back seat. Her mother fired up their old Cadillac and they made their way back to Meena’s house, her mother blasting old R & B the whole way. When they finally got back to her house, Meena leveraged herself out of the car just in time to catch Johnny’s old black truck as it pulled into the driveway one door down from her.

Her eyes lit up and she quickly patted down her dress and her hair, cursing the way that the static from her seat had messed up her perfectly curled hair. Deciding that she was as good as it was gonna get, she waddled over to where Cora was hopping out of the car and chasing her soccer ball around as her father unloaded a bag heavy with sport’s gear.

When Johnny turned around and caught sight of her coming up their driveway, he almost dropped the sports equipment in his surprise and delight. His face was lit up by a bright smile and from the way that he immediately started walking to meet her she could tell that he was happy to see her. She was about to say something when suddenly a blur of turquoise slammed into her side and wrapped her in a strong embrace.

She let out a huff of breath and Johnny’s face went through a billion different types of fear as he watched his daughter nearly tackle her, “Meena!!” Cora squealed in delight and Meena chuckled as she wrapped an arm around Cora to return her hug. Johnny huffed out a sigh of relief and fixed his daughter with a stern look.

“Cora. We talked abaht this. Meena is pregnant and ya gotta be careful with ‘er. We daan’t wanna ‘urt ‘er babies now do we?” Cora winced and looked up at Meena, her bright green eyes pleading with her for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry Meena.” Her lip trembled on the precipice of a sob and Meena’s eyes widened as she quickly tried to assuage the little girl’s fears.

“Oh no it’s alright Cora honey.” She stroked the girl’s braided hair and tightened her hug until the tears faded from her eyes to be replaced with a big smile that melted Meena’s heart, “How was your game today?”

Cora immediately forgot about her blunder and launched into an exaggerated tale of how she had single-handedly fought off an army of zombies in order to score the winning goal. Meena caught Johnny smiling and rolling his eyes in a way that a father who was often on the other end of these far-fetched tales. Deciding to let Meena in on the actual events he spoke up.

“She scored the winning goal in the game today.” He helpfully supplied and Meena nodded in recognition, her smile only growing as Cora then proceeded to demonstrate her victory dance which was a mix of an oddly executed worm and a lot of flailing. Meena let out a musical laugh and was soon joined in by Johnny’s deep chuckle.

“That’s wonderful Cora. She glanced back at her house where her family was not-so-subtly watching the interaction from the porch of her house. She blushed a little when her mother sent her an exuberant thumbs up. She quickly spun around to find that Johnny hadn’t seen her family watching them and was instead watching his daughter as she continued to dance around their yard.

“I’m having some family over for a get together today and I was wondering if you two would… like to stop by…” She nervously tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and gave him a shy smile.

“Oh… we wouldnae wanna intrude on you and yer family.” He started to protest but was quickly interrupted by Cora’s excited yell as she leapt up from the grass and rushed over to Meena once more.

“Really? A party? Oh daddy can we please go.” She turned her big green eyes to her father who faltered slightly and then easily crumbled when Meena added her own baby blues to the pleading look.

“If it’s alright wif ya Meena, we’d love to join ya.” He smiled and Cora screeched in excitement as she sprinted towards their small house, yelling something about calling the first shower. Johnny chuckled and adjust the sports bag on his shoulder.

“We’ll be over as soon as we get showered and dressed.” He smiled and Meena blushed as the unbidden image of Johnny naked and surrounded by steam popped up in her head. Flustered, she felt her face heat up and she began slowly backing down the driveway, trying desperately not to trip and make a fool of herself.

“O-oh yes um okay.” She mumbled nervously and them turned around to hurry back towards her house. she rolled her eyes when her mother hurriedly ushered her grandparents into the house so it would look like they hadn’t been eavesdropping. She stepped up onto her porch and cast one more look at the house on the other side of Johnny’s where she knew Ash lived. The house was dark except for flashing lights in the garage and a beat up van with the painting of a rocker playing guitar while surrounded by lightning.

She felt a slight pull in her stomach as she thought about Ash and how upset she had seemed at the church earlier. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text, inviting her and her family to the get together. She stared at it for a second, hoping for an immediate reply despite knowing how unlikely it was. When her screen remained empty she sighed and went into the house, intent on changing out of her fancy clothes and into something more comfortable.

When she walked inside she found her mother and grandmother already bustling around the kitchen, preparing food that they had bought the day before. They stopped when she came in and looked up at her with knowing glances but Meena just gave them an exasperated glare and continued on to her room so she could change before her uncle and aunt showed up with their kids for the Sunday get together.

As soon as Meena turned to go back into her house Johnny had frantically finished gathering up Cora’s soccer gear and raced into the house. He could hear his daughter singing happily in the shower so he busied himself with putting away their gear. When he saw her tiny giggling form streak past him clad in her monkey towel and he just chuckled and headed for the bathroom.

As usual the bathroom mirror was covered in little drawings that she had done in the steam and he took a moment to look them over before shedding his clothes and jumping into the shower. When he emerged a few minutes later feeling refreshed and clean he found Cora sitting on the couch in her favorite jean shorts and a colorful jersey from her favorite women’s soccer team.

“Hey Munchkin why don’t you find a pack of your CapriSun’s to bring over to Meena’s house while I get dressed.” He called as he passed the living room on the way to his room. He got a noncommittal grunt as a reply but he just rolled his eyes and continued to his room.

He quickly slipped on his lucky boxers, his nicest pair of jeans with only one rip and no grease stains and then stood glaring at his closet, daring it to offer up a shirt worthy of this family get together. Ten minutes later when Cora wandered into her father’s room, sipping on her third CapriSun he was still staring at his closet, this time with less of a glare and more of a pleading look.

“Daddy put a shirt on.” She whined and hopped up onto her dad’s bed and watched him start sifting through his shirt collection. After a few minutes he pulled out a green flannel and a white t-shirt and hurriedly began pulling them on. Cora just loudly sipped the rest of her drink out of the container and kicked her feet impatiently while she waited for her father to style his hair and put on a little cologne. When he was finished he turned to her and spread his arms wide, looking for her approval.

“How do I look Munchkin?” He asked, giving her a little twirl that made her giggle and jump off of the bed and onto the floor.

“Like a dad. Now let’s gooooo.” She groaned and grabbed his hand, pulling him out of his room and into the hall where her box of CapriSun’s was waiting. She gathered it up in her arms like it was a precious baby, slipped on her flip flops and threw open the front door. Johnny hurriedly threw on his old Converse as he watched Cora dash off towards Meena’s house which was now surrounded by three other cars, one of which was a minivan.

Once his shoes were on he hurriedly locked the door and ran after Cora, calling for her to wait, which she steadfastly ignored as she made her way up to the porch and stretched up to ring the doorbell. Johnny finally caught up to her just as the door was opened by an older woman who looked just like Meena but without the light freckles on her face. He was still trying to catch his breath so he just smiled while Cora gave her a huge grin and thrust out her tiny hand.

“My name’s Cora and this is my daddy. Meena invited us to her party.” She said eagerly, showing the woman her CapriSun box as if it was evidence of their invitation. The woman’s smile just grew as she stepped aside to admit them.

“Well hello there sweetie pie. You two come right in now, Meena is just finishing up in the kitchen but we’ve got plenty of food.” Cora dashed right in and Johnny quickly lost sight of her as he got swept up into a surprise hug by the woman who was obviously Meena’s mother.

“Oh um… ‘ello ma’am. My name is Johnny Bannerton. I live just a couple ‘ouses down.” He got out in a gasp of breath as she practically squeezed him to the point of death. Suddenly fresh air flowed back into his lungs as she released him and he was left feeling strangely bereft.

“I’m Leslie Jones, I’m Meena’s mother. Now you come right in and make yourself a plate because you need to put some meat on those bones young man.” She admonished him as she led him further into the house. Suddenly Johnny was experiencing something like one of the neighborhood barbeques, but on a whole other level. In the living room three men were practically glued to the football game while a clan of children surrounded Cora as she handed out CapriSuns. Johnny felt a little flutter in his heart as he watched his daughter blend in with the kids so easily before he was yanked forward to an enormous dining table which was completely covered in food.

His gaped at the table as Leslie grabbed a paper plate and began loading it with a little bit of everything. When she finally handed it to him, Johnny just stared down at it with wide eyes and then looked back at her, feeling vaguely lost as to how he was going to be able to eat all of that food. Leslie just patted him on the cheek like he was a small child and disappeared into the busy and noisy kitchen. Johnny thought that he caught sight of Meena in the kitchen but in the chaos he couldn’t be quite sure, so he wandered past the living room and out into the modest backyard.

He settled down on a picnic table and watched as the children went running around in the grass like little heathens, playing some imaginary game that he couldn’t quite understand. As long as it kept them occupied and happy he didn’t really care.

He was halfway through his plate and watching the game out of the corner of his eye when an older gentleman appeared in the doorway. Johnny smiled tentatively but the old man’s face never flickered away from the stony serious glare. Slowly and deliberately he stepped out on the back patio and closed the sliding door, effectively cutting them off from the rest of the adults and any listening ears. He hobbled over to where Johnny was sitting and sat down on the bench opposite of him, leveling him with a glare.

“What’s your name boy?” He suddenly huffed out and Johnny put down the bite of baked beans that he had been about to shove into his mouth, sensing that this was about to be the start of an interrogation.

“My name is Johnny Bannerton sir.” He tried to sound confident but there was something about the look the old man was giving him coupled with his nervous attraction to Meena that made him falter slightly.

“You interested in my granddaughter?” He suddenly asked, completely ignoring Johnny’s answer and effectively throwing him into a confused daze.

“Um I… wait wot?” Johnny shook his head, trying to make sense of how their conversation had taken such a turn.

“Because my angel has been through too much heartbreak and I’m not going to sit by and let you waltz in here like a peacock and mess everything up again.” He kept ranting, completely ignoring Johnny’s confused look as he tried to follow exactly where the conversation was heading.

“Sir I don’t… I’m not sure wot we’re talkin’ bout anymore.” He sighed and ran a nervous hand through his hair, looking around for some kind of escape.

“So she hasn’t told you about him yet hm?” Meena’s grandfather seemed to deflate slightly, his anger refocusing instead of receding. This grabbed Johnny’s attention and he leaned forward slightly, forgetting about his food and the party around them.

“Who?” He lowered his voice slightly, for some reason getting the impression that he was about to be let in on a big secret. He usually wasn’t one to gossip but this seemed like something important and if it had to do with Meena and her wellbeing, then he couldn’t help himself.

“The father of my great grandbabies, his name is-“

“His name was Daniel.” Meena’s voice interrupted her grandfather and both men leapt away from each other, Johnny focussing on his food all of the sudden while her grandfather pretended to be watching the kids as the played in the grass. Meena didn’t fall for it for one second.

She dealt with her grandfather first, waddling over to him and gesturing towards the house with her free hand, “If you’re done airing my dirty laundry mom wants everybody to come in for dessert.”

She fixed him with a stern look and he scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, limping quickly into the house and shutting the sliding glass door behind him, effectively abandoning Johnny to his fate, alone with an irate pregnant woman. Johnny watched him go longingly and then slowly turned back to Meena who looked slightly less intimidating when he realized that she was holding a slice of apple pie. He smiled sheepishly up at her and accepted the pie when she handed it to him.

He couldn’t help but admire how she looked in that moment, despite the fact that she still had a slightly frustrated look on her face. She was wearing a pair of overalls that were rolled up to her calves with a red and white striped shirt underneath. Her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail and strands of her hair curled around her face and danced across her dark freckles happily. He felt his heart pound frantically in his chest and he felt himself sink deeper into the confusing mess of feeling that he always found himself tangled in when he was around Meena.

And then she let out a heavy sigh and her tense form crumbled under some unseen pressure that made her slump against the table and hold her head in her hands. Johnny quickly reached out and grabbed one of her hands in hers. She looked up, revealing a weak smile as she clasped his hand in her shaky grip. He tried to give her an encouraging smile in return but his worry seemed to seep through and tears started to spring up in her eyes.

“His name was Daniel and we had been dating since high school. We moved in together after high school and I thought we were happy for the longest time until two months ago when I found out I was pregnant.” She took a deep steadying breath and looked up at the ceiling, obviously trying to stave off the tears that were already running down her cheeks.

“He was my first e-everything and when I found out I was so h-happy because I thought that he was going to be there with me, that we would be a f-family… but when I told him he went crazy. He d-demanded that I get…get an… an abortion.” Her free hand fell down to her stomach and rubbed it soothingly though he wasn’t sure if it was for the babies or for herself. Johnny’s grip tightened at the thought that the father of her children could have possibly asked her to do such a thing against her will.

“I told him that I could n-never do that and he just went quiet. So quiet. And when I woke up the next m-morning he was gone, he had taken e-everything that was his or that he th-thought was his.” She squeezed his hand gently and then took a deep breath, her posture straightening as her confidence and more importantly her determination came back into her eyes.

“So I moved in with my family for a little bit and then I moved here. I gave myself a fresh start. I gave us a fresh start. And I told myself that I wouldn’t give Daniel the chance to hurt my children the way that he hurt me.”

Johnny released her hand and quickly stood up so that he could come around to the other side of the table and gather her into his embrace. She seemed surprised for a second before her arms came around to hold him tight, her form shaking slightly as she tried to gather herself again. He let her lean on him for a few more minutes, staying silent as he held her close and ran one hand up and down her back soothingly.

He could do nothing but stare down at her forest of dark curly hair and marvel at the hidden strength that this shy, beautiful woman possessed. She had decided to strike out on her own and make a place where she and her children could be safe and happy even after she had been abandoned by the man that she loved. Meena was the strongest woman that he had ever met and he was irrevocably enamored with her.

Just as he came to this revelation Meena pulled back and wiped at her remaining tears to reveal a watery smile that made his heart thump hard in his chest. He stared down at her like she was the stars, the moon and the sky and she looked up with that wonderful smile. A yell from the children just a couple feet away broke him out of his daze and he realized that Meena’s backyard during a family dinner was not the best place to reveal any feelings that he might be having about her. Johnny looked around for some kind of distraction, anything that would steer them in a happier and less intimate direction.

“Yer um… tha’ pie looks delicious.” He fumbled over his words as he released her and sat down in front of the pie, his tastebuds watering as he looked at it. He was pulled away from the tempting confection by a sweeter sound as Meena’s giggles filled the air and simultaneously lifted his heart and the mood around them. He smiled up at her as she walked up to him and gently bent down to cup his face.

Johnny felt his breath catch in his chest as her lips came closer to his and he watched with wide eyes as she came closer, only deviating at the last second to bestow a kiss on his cheek that left him tingling with joy and disappointment as his brain demanded that she kiss him properly.

“Thank you Johnny. For everything.” She whispered and Johnny had never been more grateful for nosy family members, even they were all crowded around the glass door, blatantly watching their interaction like it was reality TV.

#sing the movie #johnny x meena #sing johnny #sing meena #sing buster #sing ash #meena's family #waiting for a star to fall #ch 4 #pie for days

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latitudelongitudegratitudein · 8 years ago

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M.A.S.H at 27

M.A.S.H.

Mansion, Apartment, Shack and House

I don’t know any decent millennial that didn’t play MASH growing up, who wouldn’t want to predict their future on a piece of paper? In Mexico (I am a born and raised Mexican), we’d switch the apartment for a trash can because that can actually happen back home–but hey! It can happen here too, just substitute the trash can for a camping tent for two in your friendliest neighborhood, Skid Row. I remember one of the five times I’ve shit myself was when I wandered around Downtown LA in the company of me, myself and my shadow and ended up in Skid Row with 2% battery life on my phone. But, that’s a story for another day.

Back to Mexican MASH. You could end up living in a trash can, so the stakes were high as fuck. I mean we were talking about our future! Playing MASH, you find out who will you marry, the number of babies you’re gonna pop out, the kind of car you will drive, the pets you will have, and your job. Most importantly (drum roll please), the age you will be by the time you amass all those goodies. That number was everything–mine was 24. ALWAYS. I had that number engraved in my brain (finger and uterus), I was going to be happily married by 24, live in a mansion, drive a Lamborghini Diablo (yeah whatever, I was 10 years old, don’t judge me), have 7 kids, 10 dogs, be a vet/model, have the most handsome husband, and a big fucking rock on my finger to prove it. Everything by 24 because M.A.S.H said so.

Introducing Mr. and Mrs…insert record scratch. Nope that didn’t happen. I am 27 and have reached the point that the idea that I haven’t found the love of my life yet doesn’t traumatize me anymore. (I was severely traumatized, I’m talking pre-marital PTSD, as in started having panic attacks at 23 because I KNEW I had failed and would end up alone with 25 alley cats. I fucking hate cats) I wish I could time travel and tell my 20 year-old self “relax bitch” or even better, tell my 9 year old self, who is probably alive right now in some parallel universe, that MASH doesn’t mean anything. Being married at 24 doesn’t equal success and that I’d put my index finger over my luscious, prepubescent lips and tell her “hush my child”, you don’t have to worry. (If the butterfly effect is real, I may be saving her a lot of trouble).

I also remember I thinking that MASH was a commitment that I made to myself–a promise. If you know me, you know I keep all my promises. I promised I would walk down the aisle, filthy rich and happily ever after at 24. Period.

Growing up, I remember constantly thinking about being 24, I knew that in 2014 I would cross a magical threshold that would lead me straight to happiness, hand in hand with my Leonardo DiCaprio look alike husband. (That has changed too. I’m now looking for Ben Dalhaus’ doppelgänger).

In middle school and high school, I noticed my friends had superpowers, they could find boyfriends anywhere and for some reason I just didn’t. My superpower was being unboyfriendable. They were like Wonder Woman (secretly dating Superman) and I was like Catwoman doomed to remain in the shadows. (Fuck there go those cats again).

In my mind, I thought it was because I was not pretty and there was something wrong with me (The real reason being I never gave anyone a real chance and I was to busy making out with tons of boys to prove myself I wasn’t ugly. Don’t get me wrong I did it because that was super fun too). Those days turned me into the amazing kisser that I am today.

Sidebar: It’s funny how I see pictures of me at 14 and think, “ Nope you weren’t that bad. It was just the horrors of puberty passing by and there is nothing that a hairstylist and wax strip wouldn’t have fixed”. Mind you I slicked my hair back with shit tons of gel just like Michael Corleone from the Godfather (it was a thing at my school ‘kay).

See below a picture of me at and Lorenza at 13.

“ My glorious days as a member of the Corleone-Kahlo clan.”

10 years later, all “grown-up” playing with fireworks. Te amo Lorenz

I eventually took matters into my own hands when my mom told me I was too young to wax my eyebrows. She’d only let me wax my uni-brow. Yep, as a proud descendant of Frida Kahlo. By taking matters in my own hands I mean freeze framing on Elisha Cuthbert while watching The Girl Next Door and copying her eyebrow shape (just a piece of advice if you are a Latina and your eyebrows are bushy as fuck don’t go copying porn star eyebrows). Really you should just imagine Bert from Sesame Street shooting for Jessica Rabbit’s eyebrows. Not good. I managed to have shaped eyebrows–squares are a shape right?

So yeah the years went and I left my days as a member of the Corleone Clan behind by high school my hair style and eyebrows recovered.

One day at 18, I felt a little better about myself and actually thought “okay maybe I can land someone”. I tried to be open to meeting someone but no one really came. It’s as if I left the bread crumbs for the guy to find me and he decided he was going no carb. I mean boys came, but not looking for something serious. I guess those were the vibes I put out, but deep down I just wanted to be asked out on a nice date, and not lured onto the dance floor for a make out sesh.

At some point I asked one of my best friends with superpowers if she thought I’d be single forever. She didn’t so but explained that nightclubs weren’t the best place to meet the kind of boys I wanted to date. That always stuck with me.

I began to understand how the clubbing scene wasn’t such an ideal place to meet someone. It’s a hub of predators ready to pounce on their prey. Let me clarify by saying that I don’t think wanting to “get some” at a club makes you a bad person (coming from the biggest predator I know), it makes you a visibly horny person. So “aha” moment–meet boys in other places.

Days as a young 20 year-old predator. Very proud of my fake ID and my almost exposed private parts.

Ever since then, I thought I’d meet him at a museum, frolicking at the beach, or maybe at the library (but that would mean I’d have to physically get my books instead of using The Prime). Honestly, most guys I’ve seen in public libraries either look like they just pissed their pants, are part of a gang or are serial masturbators. (Look at me judging a book by its cover…I know, I know, I’m being superficial. I’m working on my flaws). However, I do spend a lot of time at Barnes and Noble fantasizing about some guy walking up to me and striking up a conversation about the book I’m reading. Afterwards, he pins me against the bookshelves and kisses me senseless.

In all my fantasies, the guys had to HURRY THE FUCK up because I needed my ring by 24. I was held hostage by the 10 pieces of paper I saved in my third grade pencil case that read M.A.S.H.

I had another dream where a guy would show up at my door professing his love for me, but I was usually awakened by Carl asking me if I’d ordered the thin crust Hawaiian pizza from Domino’s. He is the most stable relationship I’ve had in my life and I am totally okay with that.

Enough about my fantasies and Carl (he’s mine, so don’t think about luring him to your door with an order). My point is that throughout my early 20’s I felt like the guy who ended up with me would think his luck was mediocre at best, and I that should consider myself lucky that someone would actually see some value in me. But I held on to what MASH said–that I would have my huge ass mansion and shiny things. MASH kept me distracted from focusing on myself and my non-existent self-esteem (it’s kinda sad but true). I don’t believe that anymore and I am okay with being alone because I have the privilege of my own company and newsflash I am fun as fuck.

By 27:

* I am nowhere near having a rock adorn my finger that’s okay. For the longest time I tortured myself thinking I would end up alone because there was something fundamentally wrong with me. I kept blaming myself for not being pretty enough or good enough to have a boyfriend. But, that isn't true. It took a lot of work and I changed the perception about me. Im capable of many things, there isn't anything wrong with me and I am at peace.

* The asshole depression that stole my personality and started creeping on me at 23 (aka panic attacks) is finally gone. I am not scared anymore. The panic attacks no longer seize control of my mind or my body.

* Now I see that meeting the love of your life isn’t all there is to life. Loving yourself and your life is vital to your happiness.

* I don’t get frustrated when I see all my friends getting engaged, pregnant, or married. (Not that in the past I wasn’t fucking stoked to see my friends walk down the aisle, but there were moments when I felt like “ Omg. Catwoman, you have failed, what if it’s the same story from high school played over and over again? Everyone gets married while I get drunk and make out with their younger cousins in the bathroom” Yeah it sounds amazing but after a certain age a hot mess isn’t cute anymore. There’s an expiration date for that shit). I’m getting rid of my Catwoman costume (burn baby burn).

* Turns out 27 was the magic number after all. Three years after the deadline I break a lifelong promise to my 9-year-old self and I couldn’t be freer. I can see that I am a keeper and he will come when the time is right (I believe that to be true and not just a generic line people say to sound hopeful). I used to be super bitter about it. Today, I can only work on becoming a better person.

I am actually grateful for everything I have been through because it has taught me a lot about myself and now I know I am wiser and I will choose better things for me; Including a stable relationship with a nice bro ( Sorry Carl, it’s not you, it’s me)

Funny enough the definition of Mash is:

Reducing (Something) to a uniform mass by crushing it. Thanks Wikipedia. Yeah, I got owned and crushed by it.

So yeah, I recently ripped all the M.A.S.H’s I had saved for 16 years to pieces (I save everything and no I won’t have a separate entry for compulsive hoarding). I tore MASH a new one. And with that a new meaning came to light…

M.A.S.H. is just B.U.L.L.S.H.I.T

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