#I have never spoken with someone this regularly its making my brain confused | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mermaidcashton · 5 years ago

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dance in the living room, love with an attitude

authors: claire (@mermaidcashton) & laura (@maluminspace) ship/AU: michael clifford/ashton irwin, roommates AU prompt: “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do.” wordcount: 10k+ warnings: swearing, implied & explicit sexual content a/n: • written for @maluminspace & @h0tsos ‘s 5sos fic writers collab (in which we all chose from a list of AU’s and had the above prompt quote to include - check out the masterlist linked to see everyone elses!) • i do not give permission for this (or any of my writing) to be reposted, by anyone, on this or any other website. please don’t do it! • title from ‘only human’ by the jonas brothers dance in the living room, love with an attitude *** The music was probably turned up a little too loud, but it helped to drown out the nerves starting to bubble away in Michael’s tummy. ‘I hope ‘Ashton’ likes MCR’ he thought as he half-heartedly wiped down the kitchen counters with a damp cloth. He wanted the place to look mildly tidier than it usually did for his new flatmate. First impressions counted for a lot, as his mum had told him twice this week already.

Once the splashes of milk from this morning’s mishap with the cereal had been washed away along with the crumbs from last night’s dinner of peanut butter on toast, he stole a quick glance at the clock on the wall over in the living room area. It wasn’t quite midday, which meant he had a little over an hour until his new roommate was due to arrive. That should mean that he just about had enough time to vacuum the whole flat and take a shower. Throwing the dishcloth into the little cleaning basket on the window ledge, Michael focused on screaming the lyrics to ‘Thank you for Venom’ and tried not to focus too much on the anxiety about the rest of the day.

Agreeing to live with someone he’d never met in person probably wasn’t the smartest of ideas. It’s not like Michael had been given much choice, though. His last flatmate had given him less than a week’s notice when she decided to move in with her short-term girlfriend and left Michael with a whole bunch of bills that his meagre paycheck could never stretch far enough to cover. Luckily, his best friend Luke had a work colleague who desperately needed a new place to live since his landlord had slapped him with a very short notice period to move out of his current flat. Luke had offered to give this work friend Michael’s contact details and the following morning, Michael had woken up to a text from a guy called Ashton who was very interested in Michael’s recently vacant spare room.

After explaining the cost of rent and other bills in a few subsequent texts, Michael had received a very grateful reply from Ashton asking if it would be possible to move in that weekend. Of course the blonde had agreed, eager to get the awkward first meeting out of the way as soon as possible.

Determined to get his most hated chore done before he could start collecting his thoughts and mentally preparing for the arrival of his new flatmate, Michael grabbed the portable hoover from the charging port on the tiny bit of the kitchen wall that was not taken up by the counters and cabinets. He was just about to press the ‘ON’ button when a knock at the door put an abrupt halt to his plans.

Michael huffed as he made his way over to the front door. The only people that had the security code for the entrance of the building were his parents and Luke, neither of which were due to visit today. That left only someone who had the wrong flat, or one other possible visitor; his neighbour, Calum. They’d hang out sometimes, whenever their days off matched up. Their shared interest in certain obscure and rare computer games and a mutual love of sushi and beer made for hours of fun without the chore of actually having to leave the building. Michael had definitely made sure to let Calum know that he was expecting his new flatmate to arrive today, though, so he was a little confused as to why his neighbour would be dropping by now.

That feeling only intensified when a glance through the spy hole on his front door revealed that Calum was accompanied by a stranger. He opened the door cautiously, still feeling a little bewildered.

“Hey, mate.” Calum grinned, waving a handful of unopened letters in greeting. “Just found this guy outside with a bunch of boxes. I knew you were expecting your new flatmate today, so I helped bring his stuff up.” His dark brown eyes surveyed Michael with something like confusion from beneath the rim of his seemingly ever-present black bucket hat.

Michael could only imagine that his neighbour was mirroring his own befuddled expression because Ashton wasn’t due to arrive for another hour. He forced himself to look over at the stranger, whilst his mind worked over what was happening.

It appeared that Calum was right in assuming this was Ashton. He was indeed carrying a large cardboard box labelled ‘bedroom’ that would definitely suggest he was moving house. There were also a bunch of smaller boxes piled against the wall beside the front door which supported that assumption.

“Do you guys need any more help?” Calum offered, “I’m free if…”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Michael cut in quickly. “We can take it from here, thanks Cal.” The last thing Michael wanted was more people to see the apartment in its current state.

“No worries.” Calum smiled, “You know where I am if you change your mind.” He turned his attention to his little fluffy dog who had been patiently waiting for his post-walk nap. “C’mon Duke.”

Once Calum and his little fluff ball had wandered off across the hall towards their own apartment, Michael turned his attention back to Ashton. Three things struck him about his new flatmate in very quick succession;

Ashton was incredibly hot. His curly black hair hung loosely around his handsome face, framing his chiselled cheekbones and clean shaven, angular jaw beautifully. His hazel eyes were striking from behind the horn-rimmed glasses perched neatly on his perfectly ski-slope shaped nose.

He looked vaguely familiar. Michael knew that he’d seen Ashton’s face somewhere before but it wouldn’t quite click in his brain. Not that it would be entirely surprising if they’d met before, they did share a close friend after-all. It just seemed a little off that Luke hadn’t reminded Michael of the occasion they'd met at before suggesting they live together.

Despite his silence, Ashton looked somewhat annoyed, possibly bordering on angry. That struck Michael as odd. He had been known to piss people off fairly regularly but seeing as he’d barely even spoken to Ashton, this would be an all time record.

“So you must be Ashton…” Michael smiled, awkwardly tucking a strand of his messy blonde hair behind his ear whilst offering his free hand out for his new flatmate to shake. “I’m Michael, or you can call me Mike if you want. Most of my friends do.” Ashton didn’t accept the offer of a handshake, in fact he made no movement whatsoever. He simply glared at Michael with an increasing level of irritation. “Are you kidding me?”

Michael knew that he was not the prettiest of people. He dressed casually most of the time and due to Ashton’s early appearance, he’d not yet had a chance to shower and make himself a little more presentable. He didn’t think that he quite deserved such a cutting greeting, though. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you yet, I was just…”

“You don’t even remember me, do you?!” Ashton interrupted, his tone dripping of resentment now. “Fucking unbelievable!” Michael couldn’t remember ever feeling more confused in his life. Ashton hadn’t mentioned that they’d previously met in his text messages so why would he be so angry that Michael hadn’t immediately recognised him now?

The newcomer’s harsh tone had caught Calum’s attention, causing the neighbour to pause in sorting through his mail and stare unashamedly at the scene unfolding across the hall.

“This could only fucking happen to me…” Ashton huffed, adjusting his grip on the box in his arms. “I get turfed out of my flat because my landlord suddenly decides he wants it for his daughter and just when I think I’ve landed on my feet with a new place, my new fucking flatmate turns out to be a one night stand who doesn’t even remember me! Talk about kicking a guy when he’s down!”

Michael barely registered Calum’s audible gasp as realisation crashed around him. Suddenly the memory of the beautiful man that had swept Michael off his feet at a bar a few months back replayed in his head like a movie he’d seen once but hadn’t been able to remember the title of. He’d only known the guy as Ash and he’d assumed it was short for Ashley. Despite the fact that Ash’s hair had been a sexy shade of crimson, styled in a neat quiff and he hadn’t been wearing glasses, it was definitely the same guy that was standing in front of him right now.

“Ash…” the word escaped Michael almost of it’s own volition. “But I thought that was short for… oh my god, this can’t be happening.” He cupped his own face in his hands as the reality of the awkward situation began to settle into the very fibre of his being.

“Wow, you can’t make this shit up.” Calum gasped, an almost delighted smile on his face. “What’re you guys gonna do?”

Despite Calum’s annoying rubbernecking, it gave Michael the perfect excuse to look away from Ashton for a second. “Well I’m gonna throw something at you, if you don’t get lost right now, Calum.” He hissed.

“He’s not the one coming across like a shithead right now.” Ashton scoffed, setting the box in his arms onto the floor. “Being a nosey neighbour still makes you a hell of a better person than the guy that flatters their way into your bed and gives you amazing sex but then gives you a fake number!”

“That’s right.” Calum agreed. “People that do that are the worst. At least have the balls to tell the other person you’re not looking for anything long term before you disappear the next day.”

“Calum, I swear to god…” Michael hissed.

Ashton shook his head angrily. “He’s right, if you never wanted to see me again, you could have just said. I wouldn’t have wasted some of my best moves on you.”

“Oh, what were the moves?” Calum smirked, prying his way further into the conversation.

His neighbour’s blatant disregard for the seriousness of the situation was annoying to say the least. It was also the last thing Michael needed to deal with right now. “Piss off, Calum!”, he snapped.

Duke yapped disapprovingly at Michael, his tiny eyes focused on the blonde man as his human’s smirk grew even further across his face.

“Oh, you can shut up as well!” Michael snapped at the tiny pooch. “Now you’re yelling at a dog.” Ashton rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s a good thing you blew me off, looks like I had a lucky escape from dating an arsehole!” Michael really couldn’t envisage the situation getting any worse. At this rate he was going to be searching for another roommate instead of enjoying a pleasant lunch with this one, like he’d hoped.

“I didn’t give you a fake number!” Michael protested. “I swear, I’m not like that, and I really liked you! I broke my phone, the same weekend we...met.” He felt his cheeks begin to colour, trying his hardest to ignore Calum’s snort as he focused on Ashton’s disbelieving face.

“It took me two weeks to sort out a new one, I had a little pay as you go in between, I had a different number, and I-you did call, then?” Michael paused his blurted explanations to blurt out a question, instead. He had been wondering every time it was late and he was alone for 6 months whether or not he’d missed a call from the best one night stand of his life.

“Of course I did!” Ashton threw his hands up in exasperation, startling Duke and sending him scuttling back into the still-open doorway of the opposite flat. “I thought we had a connection, we said we wanted to see each other again; that doesn’t happen that often for me! Maybe it does for you…”

“Oh, it definitely doesn’t.” Calum smirked. “The only man who comes to see Michael regularly is the Domino’s delivery guy.”

Before Michael could blow up at him, Calum backed up properly into his flat, resting his hand on his front door. “It’s a shame, actually,” he continued, smiling encouragingly at his neighbour. “Michael is really a great guy. He always has time for me and Duke; whether it’s for beers, a listening ear, or belly rubs.”

He throws a wink to Ashton as he shuts his front door with a click. “I’ll leave you to figure out which one is for me. Welcome to the building!”

Michael knows he needs to gain control of the slightly-stunned silence left in Calum’s wake, fast. He needs to say something apologetic, or charming, or cool. “Do you like fish fingers?” Or that.

Ashton blinked a few times in quick succession, and Michael wanted to throw himself down the stairs.

“Do I like fish fingers?” Ashton repeated, pushing his long black hair back with both hands.

Michael flushed again, at least thankful for the fact that he no longer had an audience for the most embarrassing encounter of his life. “It’s just, I thought we could have lunch, and talk, and I’m not really much of a cook, but I have fish fingers, right, and everyone likes fish finger sandwiches...don’t they…” He trailed off, hoping Luke perhaps had another co-worker who needed immediate accommodation.

Ashton fixed him with the most intense stare he’d ever received in a conversation about freezer food, and Michael tried to match his unrelenting gaze in a way that would make him look less like he wanted to cry. Ashton’s eyes really were beautiful, seeming almost magnified by his glasses. He looked thoughtful and sad now, rather than judgmental and angry, and Michael would take that.

“I do.” Ashton decided on, after what felt like an eternity. He stooped down to pick up his box again, muscles tensing, and Michael’s mind began to wander.

He remembered Ashton’s arms looking just like that as he lifted him up for the last few feet of the journey to the redhead-at-the-time’s bed. Michael could almost feel his fingers digging into the bare skin of his thighs all over again. The memories of slow, wet, considered neck kisses being broken with teeth, and the delicious burn that started low and spread like wildfire as Ashton stretched him out like he was born to do it.

“Michael? After you?” Michael snapped out of his daze, dragging his eyes away from Ashton’s lips where they had landed at some point in his reminiscing. He stepped back so Ashton could enter the flat and set the box down by the sofa. “Yeah, great, come in, make yourself at home, I’ll get the rest of your boxes!” As soon as he was outside in the corridor, Michael let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. ‘Okay, Clifford - you need to snap out of it. Relax and smooth things over so you two can live together.’ He told himself, as sternly as he could manage. ‘We need a roommate more than we need to get laid.’

‘That’s debatable.’ Another voice - which sounded more like Calum than himself - chimed in before Michael shook it off and picked up the stack of cardboard boxes cluttering up the corridor.

‘Okay, you can do this. Damage control. Just be normal. Go in and face this head on. You can do this.’ Michael murmured, running his tongue over his bitten lips as he took his first steps back to where Ashton was waiting.

He hip-checked the front door closed as he re-entered the flat, placing the boxes next to one Ashton had carried in, before straightening up to see Ashton sat on the sofa, looking both nervous and delicious.

“I…” Michael faltered under Ashton’s almost shy gaze, then caught sight of a slice of Ashton’s firm, hairy stomach from where his t-shirt was riding up slightly.

“I just need to go to the bathroom. Then we can...talk, and eat. Okay?” Michael forced what he hoped was a casual, winning smile, and then scuttled across to the bathroom the moment Ashton made a noise of agreement and nodded his head.

Michael clicked the lock shut and put the toilet lid down as he pulled his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. He began tapping away with urgency as he took a seat on the toilet, pulling up his message thread with his best friend.

SOS!!!! 🚨

Luke!!!!

Where are you

LUKE FUCK HELP ME YOU DICK

With each message he sent, Michael could feel his panic beginning to swell back up in his chest. Finally, three dots began moving across the message to indicate Luke was writing. Help was on the way.

🥺🥺🥺 What’s up

Michael felt what he knew was an unjustified rage at Luke and his fucking emojis as he furiously typed a reply.

Oh nothing, I just had sex with my new roomate!!!

Michael jumped when his phone immediately started vibrating relentlessly, sliding his finger across the screen and holding it gingerly to his ear.

“Hello?” He whispered into the receiver.

“WHAT!!! What do you mean you’ve slept with him?! Ashton was due there at 12, and it’s now...12 minutes past 12! That’s INSANE, even for you! I cannot believe-”

“Luke!” Michael hissed through clenched teeth, turning on the cold tap on the sink before he spoke again. “Not today, idiot! Remember, months ago, when I broke my phone? That weekend, I hooked up with that guy I met at The Alchemist? Red hair, big arms, amazing mouth-”

“Yes, I remember! What’s that got to do with it?” Luke cut in.

“It was Ashton. I only knew him as Ash, remember? And obviously I never saw him again because I had no way to contact him after I broke my phone. But it’s him, Luke - he’s in my living room! In OUR living room! What am I gonna do?! I am freaking out!”

“Oh my God! You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Mike! You’ve had your new roommates dick in your mouth before he even moved in! Classic you.”

Michael could practically hear Luke’s eyeroll. “This is not classic me! Dick! Help me, Luke!”

“What do you want me to do, I can’t unfuck him for you!” Luke shot back. Michael let out an involuntary whimper and slumped further down on the toilet. He was so screwed.

***

Michael emerged from the bathroom, Luke’s advice ringing in his ears as he approached Ashton on the sofa. ‘He’s a really nice guy, Mike; just talk to him. Explain what happened after you hooked up, and say you hope you can put it behind you and be friends. I think he’ll be cool, honestly. Just try not to trip and land on his dick and you should be golden.’

He took one last deep breath as he sat down on the black leather beside his one-time lover.

“So, Ashton...I...listen, I’m sorry that I broke my phone and made you think I’d ghosted you. I’m just an idiot that dropped his phone outside Sainsbury’s. And I’m really sorry I didn’t recognise you straight away, I was just expecting someone I hadn’t, and your hair, and glasses, and-” Michael could feel himself starting to babble but he couldn’t stop himself; he was so desperate for Ashton to like him. He was trying not to think about why it was this important to him.

Ashton held his hand up to stop him with a small smile. “Michael, it’s okay.”

Michael stopped short in his unravelling with a look of surprise. “It is?”

Ashton’s smile grew wider. “Yeah. I was just a bit blindsided, and I was hurt at the time back then, you know? But you explained, you apologised, and you seem like a nice guy. Luke sure can’t talk you up enough, and I trust him. I have no reason not to believe this is gonna be all good.”

Michael blinked, unsure if this was too good to be true. “Yeah? So...we’re good? You’re gonna...stay?”

Ashton relaxed back into his seat, toeing his shoes off and under the coffee table. “If that’s okay with you, yeah. We’re both grown ups; we can keep it platonic and put the past behind us, right? Friends?”

Michael nodded, trying to hide the gulp in his throat. “Yeah, of course. Right. Great. Friends.” He could definitely do this.

***

He could definitely not do this.

It’d been a long one month, two weeks and three days of trying to convince himself that he didn’t want to be anything more than Ashton’s friend and roommate.

Some days, Michael thought it was possible to put those lingering feelings away and focus on their blossoming platonic relationship. After all, Ashton was everything most people could ever want in a flatmate. He was tidy, considerate, fairly quiet and respectful of personal boundaries. The slightly older man was also great company. Michael has had many pleasant conversations with him over breakfast and in the evenings before they went to bed.

As lovely as all of that was, Michael had started questioning if it was worth the growing ache in chest for more. Each new thing he learnt about Ashton made him more sure that he was probably the closest thing to the perfect man that Michael would ever know. It was a cruel twist of fate that had meant his one opportunity to have Ashton for himself had slipped through his fingers, quite literally. He cursed himself on a daily basis for that one clumsy moment when he’d fumbled pulling his old phone from his too-tight jeans outside the supermarket and had been forced to watch his only chance with Ashton sink into a muddy puddle.

Whatever higher powers existed had been even less kind to have that strong, gorgeous, well-hung man turn up on Michael’s doorstep months later, as his only hope of being able to keep the flat he’d grown to love.

Every day since then, seemed to have presented a new challenge or torture. First it was the tight t-shirts and vests Ashton wore more often than not. They accentuated every muscle of the raven-haired man’s torso and displayed his strong biceps in all their glory.

Then came the sleepy morning routine they’d subconsciously fallen into. Ashton would emerge from his room in nothing but his loose grey sweats and crooked glasses, his hair ruffled and his eyes heavily lidded, before joining Michael for a hasty breakfast which usually consisted of cereal or toast and mug of strong coffee. It was during these sluggish mornings when they’d started to bond over their mutual love of crime dramas and fantasy movies, among other things. That had naturally led to evening-long Criminal Minds marathons whole weekends debating whether the Lord of the Rings movies or the Harry Potter movies were the better adaptations of their original books. Those playful arguments had spilled over into text messages now, so Michael couldn’t even escape his torturous living situation when he went to work.

Despite all of that hardship, the most latest and arguably the toughest challenge Michael found himself facing, was Ashton’s morning yoga. At first, the older man had kept that part of his morning routine confined to his bedroom. For some reason or another, over the last week or so, Ashton had decided that the living area was a more suitable location for this activity.

If Michael thought that sleepy, shirtless morning Ashton was hot, then sleepy, shirtless morning Ashton doing the ‘downward dog’ was positively off the fucking scale. The way his large hands pressed into the yoga mat and the way his strong arms and legs tensed as he straightened his back and pushed his arse up into the air lingered in Michael’s mind all day. These images often flickered through his mind at night too, when he was alone in his bed with nothing but his hand for company.

Deciding that a little get together with some friends would help dispel some of the tension, Michael floats the idea of asking Calum and Luke over for a ‘lads night’. Ashton had agreed easily, being a generally social person, he’d seemed enthusiastic about the possibility of hosting a mini party.

A group message is created and it doesn’t take long to settle on the following Friday night for beer, snacks and a FIFA tournament.

Ashton seemed to have been looking forward to it, often mentioning how excited he was to get to know Calum better and asking Michael to help him decide between certain snacks to purchase for the occasion.

All in all, Michael was proud of himself for the idea, focusing on hosting a couple of friends had certainly given both him and Ashton something new to focus on.

It was only when Friday arrived that Michael started to doubt his plan. Watching Ashton arrange plates of snacks on the kitchen counter, with the cutest concentration face he’d ever seen, started to make Michael wish they were spending the evening alone instead. He quickly pushes the thought of his head, berating himself for thinking something so stupid. It’s not like anything could happen between them even if they were alone, they were roommates now, that’s where their relationship ends.

“So....” Ashton broke the silence enveloping the flat as he finished pouring a bag of cheesy Doritos into a bowl. “Did you finally solve the mystery of who was stealing people’s shit from your fridge at work?”

Michael was caught off guard by the question. He’d been watching Ashton so intently that he momentarily forgot about everything else. It took him a moment to remember that he’d been keeping Ashton up to date with the ongoing lunch burglar drama at the DIY store he worked at. “Oh, umm no, not yet! But Brenda finally told Linda to stick her fake friendship where the sun doesn’t shine.”

A genuinely delighted smile burst into Ashton’s face as he headed into the living room area. “Good for her! Linda sounds like a bitch…”

It really meant a lot to Michael that Ashton took such an interest in his work life. The fact that he cared so much about people he didn’t know, but was aware they meant a lot to Michael, was also heartwarming.

Before Michael could go into more detail about the break time drama, a knock at the front door interrupted him. “Oh yay! Our first guest!” Ashton beamed, jogging off towards the front door to greet Calum.

***

As soon as the beer and wine had started flowing, Michael’s ever-present pining for Ashton dulled to an almost non existent haze at the edges of his mind. Sure, his knees felt weak every time Ashton flashes him that dopey smile of his and he might have blushed whenever their knees touched as they competed against each other in a thrilling game of virtual soccer.

That was all better than his usual all-consuming lust, so Michael was somewhat proud of himself. He even managed to surprise the urge to let Ashton win their game, and was almost smug when his player sent the football flying past Ashton’s keeper to secure a 2-1 win.

“Motherfucker!” Ashton grumbled, throwing his control pad into the sofa as he fixed Michael with look that was almost definitely the hottest gaze he’d ever been caught under. “I’m gonna get you for that, Clifford.” It sounded like a promise that held more weight than the simple challenge to a rematch it was probably meant to be.

Michael had to fight back a whimper, staring into Ashton’s beautiful hazel eyes this closely was too much. The intensity of it all rendered him momentarily speechless and he was all-too glad when Ashton got to his feet and headed for the kitchen.

“I need to drown my sorrows.” The black-haired man laughed, breaking the tension that had descended on them before heading off to the kitchen. Ignoring the knowing looks from his two friends, Michael picked up Ashton’s discarded controller and tossed it to Luke. “Your turn to face me, Hemmings. Let’s see if I can beat my all time record of beating you 6-1”

“Fuck off! You have never beat me that badly.” Luke huffed, picking up the control pad that had just landed in his lap. “I’m gonna enjoy kicking your ass in front of your new boy-“

“Shit, we’re out of beers already!” Ashton’s interruption came at exactly the right moment in Michael’s opinion. He really hadn’t wanted Luke to finish that sentence and now he wouldn’t get the chance.

“I’ll go to the shop for some more, does anyone have specific requests?” The eldest friend asked as he traipsed back into the living room area.

“Oh you don’t have to go!” Michael shrugged, “you should stay here, we’ll send Luke instead, he sucks at this game anyway.”

Luke scoffed, waving his hand defensively. “You’re not getting out of playing me that easily!”

Ashton laughed, his eyes sparkling as he checked that his wallet was still in his jeans pocket. “It’s fine. I’m already out of the competition and I wouldn’t want to give anyone else an unfair advantage.”

Maybe it was just the effects of the beers he’d already drank, but Michael could have sworn that Ashton’s gaze lingered on him a little longer than it probably should have. “You’re too nice.” The blonde beamed fondly, “I’ll transfer you my half of the money in the morning, unless you wanna take a tenner from my room?”

“Oh is that an open invitation?” Calum asked, a lazy smile curling the corners of his lips. “You owe me at least that from when we bet on whether or not Luke could drink that tzatziki sauce last time.”

“Fuck off, Calum! I don’t owe you a penny, I won that bet, Luke’s a fucking wuss…”

“Hey! I am not!” Luke interrupted incredulously.

“Okay, I need to hear that whole story when I get back!” Ashton giggled. “I’ll just grab a case of whatever beer is the cheapest though, yeah.”

There was a general murder of agreement before Ashton headed out of the front door. Michael fond him watching until Ashton had disappeared into the hallway, swinging the front door closed behind him. “He’s so nice…” The blonde sighed dreamily, still gazing at the closed front door. “Don’t you think he’s just the best?”

Calum and Luke exchanged a ‘is he for real’ glance before silently agreeing that this was the perfect opportunity to tease Michael about his blatant love for Ashton.

“Yeah, he’s pretty special.” Calum agreed, smirking slyly. “You really can’t sing his praises highly enough, can you?”

Shaking his head, Michael finally returned his attention to the TV. “You really can’t, he’s just so kind and sweet.”

Calum nodded in agreement. “Not bad to look at either!”

“Right?!” Michael giggled, oblivious to the fact that his tipsiness was making his lips too loose.

“Hey Mike.” Luke cut in, reaching over to nudge his friend’s shoulder. “How’s being in love with your flatmate working out for you?” His conversational tone was entirely at odds with mischief in his eyes. It confused Michael but the youngest friend’s words were altogether too bold, a blatant overstep if ever there was one.

Despite his inner rage at being called out like this, Michael fumbled, unable to cobble together an appropriate response. “Ugh, I don’t even… You’re so far-“

“There’s no point denying it anymore.” Calum chuckled, “I can feel the sexual tension between you two from across the hall!”

“God, I bet it’s like watching a car crash, isn’t it?” Luke asked, picking up the bowl of M&M’s on the coffee table. “It’s horrific but you can’t tear your eyes away? Am I right?”

Calum nodded. “It’s like watching a bad fucking soap opera.”

Michael felt offended and embarrassed but still no words seemed to form coherently in his mouth.

“At least it’s a bit less tragic now we can be sure it’s not entirely one sided!” Luke stage whispered with a calculating look on his face as he met Calum’s gaze.

“Yeah, it’s mildly less irritating!” Calum laughed.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Michael sputtered. “Ash and I agreed that our one night stand is ancient history, we’re not-“

“Oh puh-lease!” Calum scoffed. “If you two haven’t fucked again by the end of this month I’ll eat my bucket hat.”

***

Ashton had returned with a case of twenty four bottles of beer and as a result, lad’s night had ended up running into the early hours of Saturday morning.

Having drank his way through more than his fair share of that case, Michael didn’t end up rising from his pit until noon had long since been and gone.

“Ah you are still alive!” Ashton chuckled, tearing his attention away from the TV to look at his flatmate.

This was definitely not fucking fair. Michael didn’t need to look in a mirror to know that he looked exactly as he felt - rough as all hell. Ashton on the other hand, still looked as dreamy as ever. His black curls, although slightly ruffled and fluffy, were still on the stylish side of messy and he’d somehow found the motivation to get dressed, too, something Michael wasn’t even contemplating.

“I’m glad you’re up now, though, I wondered if you had anything planned for dinner?” Ashton asked, peering at Michael from behind his horn-rimmed glasses.

The thought of food made Michael’s stomach lurch unpleasantly and he had to fight to hold back a wretch.

Ashton gives a sympathetic giggle before pausing his show and rising to his feet. “I’ll take that as a no. Don’t worry, buddy. I have a plan but first…” he jogged over to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle. “Why don't you go and take a shower while I make you a tea? You’ll feel better after that and then we will talk dinner!”

As Michael plods over to the bathroom, he shoots one last look over at Ashton, busily preparing mugs on the countertop and tries his absolute hardest to remember a time that he wasn’t in love with his flatmate.

***

As always, Ashton was proven to be 100% correct.

Michael felt a million times better once he was showered and snuggled on the sofa with a mug of steaming tea.

“You look a little more alive now.” Ashton smirked, sparing Michael a sideways glance before returning his attention to ‘Law and Order’. “Do you think you can handle talking about dinner yet?”

The ache in Michael’s stomach felt a lot more like hunger than it had done when he first woke up and the thought of food didn’t make him feel like throwing up anymore so he nodded. “What’re your plans, chef?”

Ashton’s cheeks turned a rosy pink as he shrugged. “I couldn’t bear to see you try to cobble together another freezer meal so I thought you might like me to teach you a simple pasta dish?” He suggested, his tone a little shy like he was worried what Michael’s reaction would be. “I’ll do most of the work, but I thought if you helped out, you’ll learn how to make something other than Super Noodles.”

Michael couldn’t even be mad at the subtle dig at his cooking skills. He was terrible in the kitchen and it was just a little embarrassing that Ashton had noticed just how dyer his cooking skills were. “When you say simple, do you mean like a recipe and technique you can write on the back of a postage stamp because that’s about the level of my skill.”

Rolling his eyes, Ashton casually threw his arm around Michael’s shoulders. “Don't be so hard in yourself, buddy! I once taught Luke how to make scrambled eggs on the stove so he didn’t have to be a savage and use the microwave anymore, so there’s definitely hole for you, I promise.”

Michael tried to focus on the hat Ashton was saying but all that his slow, hungover brain could process was that he was pressed against his stupidly gorgeous flat mate’s side. The heady smell of Ashton’s minty body wash and the soft scent of his fabric conditioner felt intoxicating and Michael could do nothing besides allow his head to drop into Ashton’s shoulder.

To the blonde’s surprise, Ashton shuffle away or call him out on it. He simply rests his own head on Michael’s and laughs. “We’ll make a chef of you yet, Clifford.” He promised.

***

They spent a good three hours, watching reruns of C.S.I and making plans to start a Marvel movie marathon after dinner. They sat close to each other the whole time and Michael noticed Ashton watching him from the corner of his eye on at least three separate occasions.

By the time Ashton suggested they start making dinner, Michael had gone over his conversation with Calum and Luke the previous night, about sixty times. His two best friends had convinced him that Ashton wanted Michael just as much as Michael wanted Ashton.

“The way he looks at you, dude.” Calum laughed. “He’s practically imagining you naked at any given moment. It’s getting uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be stupid!” Michael reprimanded. “He doesn’t think of me like that anymore. We had a one night thing months ago. That’s it. Nothing else will ever happen between us again, we’re just flatmates.”

Calum and Luke exchanged a sceptical glance before bursting into laughter.

“Yeah right!” Luke huffed sarcastically. “Do you know how many times I hear your name come out of his mouth at work these days?”

Michael’s cheeks reddened. He had no idea that Ashton talked about him at work. It felt kind of surreal to imagine his roommate relaying snippets of their home life to Luke.

“Let me guess!” Calum interrupted. “About a thousand…”

Nodding, Luke drained the last of his beer. “Yeah and that’s just before lunch!”

“Honestly, if they don’t bang soon I’m gonna knock their heads together.” Calum sighed. “Did you know Michael comes over to my place most mornings so he doesn’t have to watch Ashton do topless yoga?” He asked Luke disbelievingly. “I want my lie-in’s back!”

At the time, Michael hadn’t believed his friends. He didn’t think that there was even a remote possibility that Ashton still carried a torch for him. But in the clear light of day, Michael couldn’t deny that all the signs were there… perhaps there could be more between them after all.

He followed Ashton into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his grey oversized sweater, trying to clear his mind enough to be able to process learning a new skill.

“Okay, this is like the simplest recipe I know but it’s delicious and tastes so much better than the freezer junk you usually make for yourself.” Ashton rambles as he grabs a saucepan and a frying pan from the shelf near the cooker.

“Hey, freezer junk has been my lifeline on many occasions, I’d probably be dead without it.” Michael scoffed, only half joking.

Ashton rolled his eyes fondly, handing Michael the saucepan. “Fill this with water for me and then put it on the back hob, while it’s boiling I’ll teach you how to make the sauce.”

As Michael carried out his instructions, he couldn’t help but admire the concentration on Ashton’s face when he began rifling through the fridge and cupboard, pulling out various ingredients.

Once the pan of water was safely on the job Ashton had indicated, Michael returned his full attention to the slightly older man.

“Right, the first thing we do for the sauce is put 2-3 tablespoons of olive oil into this cold pan.” Ashton explained, pushing his glasses up his nose a little, reminding Michael of a hot English teacher or something… fuck, it was already difficult enough for Michael to concentrate without random fantasies about Ashton fucking him over a desk running through his mind. “Usually I’d never add oil to a cold pan, but for this particular recipe, it works because if the pan was already hot, the first ingredients would burn before the rest was in there.”

There was something about the way Ashton talked with such passion and confidence that made Michael wish he was confident enough to just drag him to the bedroom, his need for more from Ashton becoming unbearable. He forced himself to nod, pretending like he understood when really, Ashton could be telling him absolutely anything right now, and Michael would not know the difference because all he can think about is the way Ashton had groaned at the feeling of Michael’s nails running down his back and how he’d growled Michael’s name as he neared his climax.

“Can you pass me the basil?” Ashton asked, pulling Michael out of his memory.

The blonde surveyed the ingredients on the countertop. Luckily he recognised most of them, so he picked up the basil by process of elimination and handed it to Ashton like a dutiful sous chef.

Ashton looked mildly impressed as he took the bag of basil and took out handful. “We want about ten or so decent sized leaves and we tear them in half before adding them to the oil, okay?” He waited for Michael’s nod of understanding before tearing the leaves in his hand and dropping them into the pan.

“Then we need to chop 6-8 cloves of garlic directly into the pan.” Michael looked back at the little stack of ingredients and frowned, noticing an instant problem. “We only have one clove of garlic…” he pointed out, biting his bottom lip worriedly.

Ashton burst out laughing as he picked the garlic up from the counter. “This is a whole bulb, babe…” he explained, apparently not even noticing his use of the supposedly accidental pet name.

It was difficult for Michael to feel too offended by Ashton’s laughter when he’d just called him babe, though, so he let it go, focusing on the term of endearment, no matter how accidental it might have been, rather than the humour at his dumb mistake.

“It’s the smaller, wedge shaped pieces that are cloves, please don’t mix that up if you make this without my help.” Ashton chuckled, breaking six cloves from the bulb and picking up a tiny knife he’d laid out next to the oven.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Michael pouted. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do.”

Ashton gave him a fond smile. “You’re not alone in that, I promise…”

It was hard not to feel comforted by Ashton’s lopsided smile, so most of his embarrassment slipped away fairly quickly.

“I just chop off the little hard parts at the bottom of each clove and peel the skin off before chopping it directly into the pan. Don’t chop it on a board or you’ll lose some of the flavour.” Ashton explained carefully.

Michael watched with interest as Ashton demonstrated his technique with the first two cloves. He handed the third to Michael along with the knife and gestures for him to add it to the pan.

It took him probably three times longer to chop that one clove into the pan, than it took Ashton to do the first two, but he was encouraging and patient. The older man praised Michael for completing the tiny task, seeming genuinely impressed.

Once all six cloves of garlic had been added to the pan, Ashton turned on the hob into a medium heat. “Okay, so we stir this together for about five minutes. Can you do that while I open the tin of tomatoes?”

Michael nodded, picking up the wooden spoon from the counter and storing the simmering ingredients together. It already kinda smelt like his favourite Italian restaurant and his tummy grumbled impatiently.

“One thing I should specify is, you need to use tins of whole tomatoes, not chopped.” Ashton explained as he poured the first tin of tomatoes into the sizzling pan. “Can you pour in the second one?”

Michael did as he was told and watched as Ashton squished the whole tomatoes down and stored them into the red eat of the ingredients.

“Mmm it smells so good.” Michael sighed, breathing in the delicious smells.

Ashton looked proud of himself as he offered a smile. “Can you take over the stirring while I add the salt?”

Michael took the spoon from Ashton, ensuring that their fingers brushed.

There was a moment of eye contact and a silent shifting of tension between the two of them. If ever there was a time to bite the bullet and kiss Ashton, now would be it. His nerves failed him though and he dropped his gaze to the simmering pan.

Instead of moving around Michael to pick up the salt as he’d done for the tomatoes, Ashton simply reached past the blonde, pushing him against the counter momentarily before he pulled back to add the salt to the pan.

If Michael had been fully alert, he’d have recognised that for the flirtatious move it was meant to be, as it was, he put it down to a simple lack of judgement on Ashton’s part and continued to concentrate on stirring the sauce.

***

The tomato pasta tasted as good as it had smelt. It turned out to be exactly what Michael’s hungover body had needed.

He and Ashton had eaten it at their little table in the kitchen. Conversation had flowed freely as always, skirting around flirtatious at times but never quite enough for Michael to pluck up the courage to take things further.

“The only thing that would have made that better would have been a nice glass of white wine, but I thought you were still a bit too delicate for that.” Ashton giggled as he picked up the empty plates from the table and carried them over to the kitchen sink.

“Hey, you drank as much as I did!” Michael pouted, picking up the empty glasses and following Ashton to the sink. “How’re you not hungover.”

Ashton chuckled as he ran the water into the washing up bowl. “You’re just a lightweight, Mikey.”

It wasn’t the first time Michael had been called that so it didn’t take him by surprise. He laughed it off as he grabbed a tea cloth ready to dry the dishes that Ashton washed. “One day you’ll stop teasing me, Irwin.”

Ashton shook his head. “Don’t count on it, babe… you’re too easy to make fun of, that’s not my fault.”

There it was again, that little slip, a fond nickname that roommates probably shouldn’t have for one another.

Quickly pulling himself together, Michael nudged his flatmate in the arm, just hard enough to pull a surprised “oof” from him.

“Careful now.” Ashton warned jokingly. “You don’t want to start a scuffle you can’t finish, Clifford.”

Michael threw caution to the wind and nudged Ashton again, deliberately keeping his gaze on the plate he was drying.

“That’s it!” Ashton huffed, scooping up a handful of bubbles and swiping them across Michael’s face.

The blonde spluttered and shook his damp fringe out of his face before fixing Ashton with a glare. A few acts of retaliation flashed through his mind. He could have whipped Ashton with the tea cloth or splashed him with dishwater but none of that happened.

There was something about the way Ashton’s eyes were sparkling, almost like he was daring Michael to do the thing he’d been too scared to do this whole time. He refused to let another opportunity pass like before when they were making the pasta sauce. Michael tried not to overthink as he stepped forward and cupped Ashton’s face with one hand before leaning in and kissing him.

The raven-haired man’s lips felt every bit as soft as they had done on that night seven months ago. Ashton didn’t kiss back with the same hunger and desperation that he had done back then, though.

Michael stepped back, feeling his cheeks heat up in an embarrassed blush. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Ash…”

Ashton bit his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared at Michael intently. “No…” He said, finally breaking his silence. “You just shouldn’t have waited so long.”

The older man’s words had barely penetrated Michael’s brain before he was being pressed against the counter behind him. Ashton’s lips were on his again but this time they were working just like they had been that night at Ashton’s old place.

The intense kiss pulled a whine from Michael and he automatically wrapped his arms around the older man’s neck.

It started as a fairly simple kiss but it quickly began to build momentum. It was the crack in the dam holding back all of their emotions for all this time.

“Ashton…” Michael gasped as they pulled apart for air. “I know we said we should just be friends but…”

“Fuck being just friends.” Ashton mumbled as he worked kisses down Michael's neck. “I can’t pretend anymore.”

Those words were all Michael needed to hear in order to relax into this. “I can’t tell you how bad I’ve wanted this.” He whispered.

Ashton slipped one of his thighs between Michael’s as he nipped at the blonde’s neck. “I think I have some idea.” He groaned. “I never stopped thinking of the way you moaned my name that night, Michael.” The older man confessed, pulling back just enough to look Michael in the eye. “Wanted it again since the moment I walked in here.”

The way Ashton was looking at him like he wanted to devour every inch of Michael, had the blonde melting. “Me too.” He crashed his lips against Ashton’s in another desperate kiss as he subconsciously rutted against the older man’s thigh. After the months Michael had spent feeling kind of lonely and touch-starved, the tiny amount of friction was enough to have him whimpering against Ashton’s lips.

“Uh, you sound and taste even better than I remember.” Ashton muttered, pressing his thigh harder against Michael’s crotch to pull another little gasp from him.

“Ashton! Fuck, please, I…” Michael’s head tipped back as he lost his fight to regain any sort of control over his own body. He was in Ashton’s control now, and Ashton knew it.

“Come on…” Ashton coaxed, stepping back from Michael as he took both of his hands in his to pull him away from the kitchen counter. Michael whined high in his throat as he easily followed where Ashton led.

Michael had hardly been into Ashton’s bedroom since he had helped him move some furniture the day he moved in; it had almost felt too intimate to go into Ashton’s personal space given the history between them. Seeing it now, cozy and dark with slithers of light coming through the window from the lamp posts outside, gave Michael a chill; it felt like Ashton was sharing a secret with him.

He followed Ashton’s lead dutifully all the way to the bed, accepting the deep kiss Ashton offered him as a reward, before the older man peeled his oversized sweater from his torso, breaking away to pull it over Michael’s head. Michael wanted more contact, but was disappointed when Ashton gently but decisively laid him down among the crisp sheets, instead.

Ashton pulled his own t-shirt over his head in one fluid motion and flicked the lamp on his bedside table on, bathing the bed in a warm glow that made Michael feel like he was in a dream.

Michael gazed in wonder at Ashton as he climbed into bed beside him, letting his eyes travel all over his arms and chest, taking in the extra tone and definition in his body since the last time he’d been able to stare at him like this; clearly, the yoga was doing more than just allowing Ashton to ‘find his centre’.

He didn’t think he was anything special to look at, but he could see Ashton mirroring his own actions, eyes full of lust searching all over the parts of Michael’s body he could see, and even his gaze lingering on a part he couldn’t.

“Ash,” Michael breathed out, surprising himself with how far gone he sounded already. “Take ‘em off, I wanna…” He trailed off as Ashton’s eyes snapped up to meet his own, holding eye contact for only a moment before he nodded almost imperceptibly, shuffling down the bed and taking hold of the waistband of Michael’s sweatpants. He returned his gaze to the pale man before him, biting his own lip as he allowed his fingertips to graze the skin of Michael’s hips. “These too?” Ashton questioned in a low voice as he brushed the fabric of Michael’s underwear.

“Oh God, yeah”, Michael answered, squirming slightly from the infuriatingly gentle feel of Ashton’s touch. Ashton didn’t need to be told twice. Michael shivered with the feeling of being suddenly completely exposed as his sweatpants and underwear hit the carpet. Michael looked up at Ashton through his lashes, braced up on his knees in his black, ripped jeans. “You’d better be planning on losing those in the next second, Irwin.”

Ashton smirked as he undid his jeans. “And I mean your underwear, too!” Michael amended hastily, hungry to see if his memory of Ashton’s body was accurate.

The dark-haired man’s smirk grew wider at Michael’s clarification, pulling his zip down and allowing his jeans to fall open, exposing only bare skin beneath. “Underwear?”

Michael’s jaw dropped a little, prompting a deliciously filthy laugh from his roommate. “For the record, roomie - I don’t wear underwear.” Ashton winked as he yanked his jeans down as far as he could in his current position, before wriggling around to pull them off completely. Michael was pleased to see that, if anything, his memory had been selling Ashton short. Blame it on the alcohol.

Michael didn’t know how to decide on what to do first; on one hand, he wanted to kiss Ashton non-stop for the rest of eternity, but on the other hand, if he didn’t get filled up in the next 10 minutes, he was definitely going to throw a tantrum. Luckily, he realised, it probably wasn’t up to him. All of his experience with Ashton so far told him that the older man would definitely be taking the lead, and this was definitely not a problem for Michael. Indeed, it had worked out very well for him last time, when his staff night out started at the bar and ended with Ashton eating him out like his life depended on it.

“What are you thinking?” Ashton’s sultry voice broke through his thoughts, apparently wanting a coherent answer despite the fact that he had just begun to run his fingers up and down Michael’s sensitive, pale inner thighs. Michael let out a shuddery breath as he tried to use his words to tell Ashton he wanted anything and everything possible between them, right there and then. Perhaps the way his cock twitched when Ashton let one his nails run over a faded stretch mark right at the base of one of his thighs would speak for itself.

“Maybe we should get right to, huh, gorgeous?” Ashton teased, withdrawing his touches to lean towards his bedside table. He pulled open the top drawer, fumbling only for a moment until he found what he was looking for. The lube and condom were dropped carelessly onto the mattress as he shut the drawer again, returning his attention to the man almost-beneath him immediately. “We’ve got plenty of time for all the other goods stuff; right now, I need to fuck you, and I know you need me to fuck you...don’t you?”

Michael wondered at what point in his life he had begun to communicate exclusively in whines, but Ashton seemed to be into it, so it didn’t matter. Michael watched impatiently as Ashton popped the top on the half-empty bottle of lube, wasting no time in squirting a generous amount onto two fingers on his right hand and pulling Michael’s leg fully around his hip with his left.

Michael’s heart jumped as much as his cock when Ashton breathed gently on the lube coating his fingers in an attempt to warm it slightly before he brought them straight down to Michael’s bare hole, rubbing over it in a firm circle.

Michael was glad he didn’t have the problem of not wanting his roommate to hear him getting fucked, anymore, as he let out his loudest, neediest whine yet. Ashton proved he had meant what he said about not taking their time with their second tryst, sinking his index finger inside Michael in one fluid motion. Before Michael had got to 10, Ashton was opening him up at a steady, delicious pace and was driving Michael crazy in record time.

Michael wouldn’t claim to be a pornstar or anything, but he didn’t normally have a problem with stamina. If Ashton kept it up like this, though, Michael was in danger of coming before Ashton’s thick cock got any closer to him, and that was unacceptable.

“Ash, please, I can’t...I want, ne-your cock, please!” Michael cried out as Ashton probed his spot one last time before immediately acquiescing to Michael’s begging. Michael wriggled at the loss of Ashton’s fingers, but took comfort in the fact that Ashton was already tearing the condom packet open.

Michael watched in awe-tinged anticipation as Ashton gave himself a couple of loose tugs once he had the condom on, before closing in on his lover once more, making sure Michael was laid comfortably on the pillows as he positioned himself over him. Michael clung to Ashton’s shoulders as he lined himself up, just resting the tip on Michael’s slick hole for a moment.

Ashton’s hazel eyes bore down into Michael’s green ones with a soft fire as he raised one hand to brush Michael’s fringe out of his flushed face. Michael let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding as Ashton pushed in - slowly, but all the way.. He felt like he was sinking and floating simultaneously, and wrapped his arms around Ashton’s neck to anchor himself here, with him, in this moment.

Ashton pressed his face deep into Michael’s neck, kissing and sucking his way up towards Michael’s ear. “You good?” He murmured, shifting his hips a miniscule amount. “Yeah,” Michael breathed, “S’good, please…”.

With a final nip to Michael’s neck, Ashton pulled back slightly and began to move his hips properly, his cock sliding halfway out each time as he began to build a steady rhythm for them. Michael felt that perhaps in their sexual relationship so far, he was earning himself the reputation of a bit of a Pillow Princess, and so he began to move his own hips to meet Ashton’s building thrusts. Ashton groaned, long and loud, at the heightened sensations Michael’s movements brought, and they began to work together towards their goal.

Suddenly, Ashton’s mouth was crowding his, his tongue sliding into his mouth in a glorious kiss that Michael never wanted to end. He couldn’t tell if it had been 10 minutes or 10 hours when he felt that familiar feeling begin to bubble in the lower stomach. Ashton had begun to up the pace of his thrusts, his hips occasionally stuttering as groans rumbled low in his throat, so Michael knew they were on the same page.

“Ash,” He murmured in the millisecond between kisses. “Touch me, please, I’m getting so-” Michael broke off into a moan as Ashton was already wrapping a firm hand around his neglected cock, stroking it with determination and flicking his thumb over Michael’s dripping head. “You close, baby?” He murmured, eyes drifting over Michael’s face and the arousal present there. Michael was starting to writhe slightly and his head was flopping to the side on the pillow, but Ashton wanted his attention. With his free hand, he took Michael’s chin and turned his head to meet Ashton’s stare. The moment Michael was forced to meet his strong, heated gaze, his hazel eyes boring down on him with such intensity, Michael felt the kick of heat and it was all over. He cried out Ashton’s name and let out a series of curses and moans as he came, hard and hot over Ashton’s hand and their sweaty stomachs in equal measure.

Michael hadn’t finished himself before he felt Ashton taken by surprise, as well; his hips shooting forward to fill him to the hilt for the last time as he spilt into the condom, releasing Michael’s chin to brace himself through his orgasm on the pillows. “Michael, fuck!”

Michael regained enough control to watch Ashton’s face through hooded eyes as he came, moaning and unrestrained as he finished. He thought he looked heavenly.

As they both fought to catch their breath, Ashton pulled out gingerly, releasing Michael from his grip as he moved away to remove and dispose of the condom. Michael wriggled in place, trying to get comfortable to recover from what he hoped would be the first of many. Ashton came back from the bin in the corner and flopped back down, alongside Michael now, lifting his arm to allow Michael to snuggle in under it when he wrapped it around him. “So…” He said, sounding casual as you like. “About the whole platonic, friendly, roommate thing…”

masterlist for the 5sos ficwriters collab • my masterlist

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bloodlinevalentine · 5 years ago

Text

The Tears of Tomorrow

My lil krii7y thing :)

The Nights were beginning to get cooler, so Smitty began trading out his summertime boxers ensemble for a more winter appropriate t-shirt and sweatpants combination. Right now, He lay on his bed, on top of all the sheets with his limbs spread out in every direction. Occasionally, he looked over at the screen of his phone as it sat haphazardly over the edge of the dresser next to him. It was nearing two-thirty in the morning and he was still awake. With a defeated sigh, he sat up and reached for the phone on his nightstand, as well as the red sticky note next to it.

His therapist, a kind but slightly over-invested man by the name of Ryan, had told him to call if the medication wasn't working and he couldn't find anything to put him to sleep. Well, that had been the case for as far back as he could remember their sessions going, and the meds hadn't ever worked.

Smitty had started seeing Ryan once a month in May, actually about his strange bouts of moodiness. He'd noticed a pattern of shutting himself off from his friends and family and decided that for once, he was going to face a problem head on before it really became prominent. Within their first couple of visits, Ryan ensured that they spent their time simply talking and just getting to know each other, as well as getting an understanding of how to navigate Smitty's problem.

Around his third visit, however, Ryan brought to light his deduction that Smitty's Season Affective Disorder (SAD) was the result his body to the different sunlight availability and lost sleep.

"Which is an easy fix," He'd laughed when he told Smitty of his hypothesis.

But it wasn't. Smitty wished he could just go to bed earlier and feel better about everything, but he couldn't. Luckily, despite three more visits with reportedly bad news on that front, Ryan did not lose faith.

"It's okay, Smitty," he'd admonished when the younger expressed his concern, "What's important is that you remain open about you options. Now, if you're alright with it, i'd like to start you on some Non-Benzodiazepine Hypnotics."

Unfortunately, those hadn't worked out too well either. The most they did was cause drowsiness during the day and make working harder for him. Accordingly, Ryan upped the dosage, and even prescribed stronger medications, but they all had similar effects. Even then, however, Ryan could not be dissuaded.

"Here," He'd mumbled as he scribbled down onto a small stack of sticky notes towards the end of their last meeting. He looked reluctant and frowned at the clock for a moment, holding the note in his hand as he considered, but in the end handed Smitty the square. "If at any time between now and our next visit you find any evidence of oncoming insomnia, just call me. Maybe we can talk through it, or at the very least, get a better idea of your brain processes during one of your fits." He began gathering his things, and Smitty idly noted the employment of another psychological technique: the way he stated every alternative as if there was always something to gain from something he man not really want to do.

Well, now was a time between their meetings, and Smitty saw some pretty clear evidence of insomnia. Although, he had been debating the real value of calling the psychologist at such an ungodly hour, Ryan had insisted it was better than him lying in bed alone all night, so he went ahead an typed in the number. The dial tone was loud in the silence of the night but he surprisingly didn't have to wait long.

"Hello?" came the raspy and somewhat confused voice on the other end, immediately striking Smitty with a pang of guilt for waking him up.

"Hey Doctor Wrecker, its me, Smitty. I'm sorry to wake you up, but you told me to call you if I was having trouble sleeping...and I am. So..." There was an anticipating quiet on the other end, during which he thought about how silly he sounded. Cringing only the slightest bit, he prepared to apologize and hang up, the voice spoke up again.

"Sorry dude, but I think you got the wrong number."

Oh.

Smitty froze and pulled the phone away from his ear to compare the number on the paper to the one he's typed in, but they were identical. Ryan must have accidentally given him the wrong number.

"Oh, my bad man. I'm sorry to wake you up." Smitty shook his head and prepared to hang up, thumb hovering over the End Call button, but he was interrupted once more.

"It's fine, you didn't." He said as though he'd known Smitty all his life. The sound of shuffling fabrics could be heard before the silence of stillness. "You said you couldn't sleep tonight?"

Smitty felt his eyebrows raise at the words, eyes falling to the window leading out of his apartment and into the city. A finger traces the edge of the sticky note as he thought, but eventually he shrugged and tossed it aside.

'What else am I gonna do?' He thought to himself with a shrug.

"Nope. Haven't slept since I moved here."

Through the slight distortion of the phone he heard the guy click his tongue as he answered. "Sucks man. How long have you been here?...Wherever 'here' is."

"A year. And 'here' is America. I moved to about a year ago, but ever since then, I haven't been able to sleep properly." He sighed through his explanation and shifted into a more comfortable position.

"Really? Where are you from? I didn't notice an accent."

Smitty opened his mouth to answer, but paused. Was he really about to give his whole life story up to a complete stranger? However, just as quickly as the thought occurred, it was dismissed. What was the harm? "I was raised in Canada, but I moved to California for my degree."

"Oh cool dude, my--" the guy on the other end continued, but the second half was drowned out by a terrorized scream that had to have been coming from a television. His assumption was confirmed by the loud ensemble of music following the shriek.

"What movie are you watching? I can hear it all the way over here." He said lightly, a smirk lighting his features as he heard the other laugh.

"I don't know actually. I turned on the TV right before you called and I just haven't changed it."

"Sounds intense," Smitty sat up and turned as though speaking to someone in the room with him, the smile still upturning his lips. "Does it look interesting?"

"Well so far there's this girl who's crying every time she's on screen and the beginning of what might be a family reunion, so I don't really know."

Smitty chuckled and asked for a description of the woman, and that's how the man on the other end wound up narrating the rest of the movie, which turned out to be a rerun of a midnight soap opera, The Tears of Tomorrow. As they came to the realization, Smitty imagined the man would change it in favor of something more entertaining but he didn't. For just over thirty minutes, the guy narrated the show, adding his own commentary and cracking jokes about the characters as he saw fit. And Smitty didn't mind, as he also succeeded in making it interesting up until the ending credits rolled and the following infomercial aired and the guy said he had to get going.

Smitty couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to tell someone not to go.

🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸

Work had been tiring. One of the new interns had decided not to come in on their first day, so Smitty had to fill in as makeshift secretary. He had never taken up so many sheets of paper with nonsense, and he was content to never do it again. It was one of their busier days as well; people ran in and out like ants with their orders in varying states of ready. Despite this, he still felt accomplished, even if he did stumble into his apartment hardly awake.

It was going on a week since he'd first met John, the guy who he'd accidentally called looking for his therapist, and they had spoken every night since then. And just as the thought occurred, he grinned and pulled out his phone, only for the smile to melt off of his face as he realized the time.

1:47 am.

This would be the earliest he'd ever called, and he had no idea whether John would even be awake or not. And come to think of it, he really had no idea what John did before or after they talked, or what kept him awake at night. He contemplated waiting about an hour more before calling, but in the end decided against it. If John wasn't awake, maybe he deserved a break.

"You're up early." He muttered, an audible smirk in his voice when he answered on the third ring.

Smitty felt his lips twitch to mimic the expression as he leaned on the counter, gingerly toeing off his shoes as he spoke. "Yeah, I thought you might enjoy hearing my perfect, soothing voice." He got a sarcastic laugh in response.

"You know me so well."

In the background, there was a thump and and the sound of glass clattering to the floor along with a muffled curse. "What are you doing?" he asked and made his way to the bedroom.

"Shit. I was painting my nails, but I just spilled my favorite blue on the floor."

Smitty paused just at the foot of his bed. Sometimes when John talked like this, he couldn't tell if he was kidding or not. "You paint your nails?" he asked to be sure.

"Yeah..." the reply was distant, like John had laid his phone down to clean up the mess, but not in the least bashful or ashamed.

"Oh." he stated and resumed climbing into bed. He thought back to moments before when he'd been wondering about John, and decided that this would be the time to get to know him. "Every night?"

"No. Not even regularly. But the old paint was chipping really badly and I have somewhere to be tomorrow." He was back closer to the phone as he sighed, and Smitty didn't know what to say for an awkward moment before John speaking again brought them back to their comfortable banter.

"But it's whatever," the sound of the small glass meeting the surface of a table punctuated his statement and precluded his next, "So are we watching a movie tonight, or more Tears of Tomorrow?"

"Tears of Tomorrow, dude, its our show." he smiled and leaned back against the pillows , waiting for Johns comically enthusiastic approval as he began narrating to opening.

They talked as usual, John taking the time to answer any questions he had. ("Wait, who's Lui again?" "Daithi's on-again off-again boyfriend dude, keep up.") But started slacking off as the episode progressed. At one point, all he got in explanation was a scandalized gasp and silence.

"What? What happened?" Smitty prompted.

"We're with Craig in the hospital. It doesn't look good."

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, "Is Tyler there?"

"Nope, he's still off sleeping with Evan--"

"Craig's boss? That bastard!"

"I know!" John said, his voiced raised well beyond what was necessary, as he laughed at his out of character excitement. "I think we may be getting a little to into this."

Smitty blinked into the darkness with a laugh, but didn't directly reply. He wasn't ready to admit his growing addiction to their shared soap opera, but instead of having to answer, was asked a question.

"Hey Smit, you have a TV don't you."

"Of course, wh-- oh." Smitty laugh and hopped up to grab the remote. Why hadn't he thought of this before now?

"Yeah, that'll be easier than explaining everything to you."

Smitty smiled harder and switched to regular television, typing in the channel that was advertised between all the commercials John loved to make fun of.

🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸

"He's not gonna do it." Smitty whispered.

"He's gonna do it." John whispered back, sounding assured.

"No. There's no way." Smitty scoffed, "He raised him. He loves him. He's not gonna shoot him just because--"

And right on time, a single gunshot rang out. It could be heard in the background of both of their rooms as Smitty's eyes widened. He couldn't believe it. Scotty had really just shot his foster brother, Marcel. "No," he breathed, heartbroken and thoroughly defeated as John laughs in the background. Marcel was one of his favorite characters, but so was Scotty, how could he have been so wrong about him?

On the other end of the line, John snickered. "I told you."

"That's so shitty," he began, but they both erupted into groans when the ending credits rolled.

Smitty saw no more value in pretending he wasn't addicted to the show. They hadn't bothered trying to hide it since the night he'd come home a little late and John had called him, urging as though his life depended on Smitty turning on his TV. He even sometimes found himself talking to his coworkers about the character like they were real people.

Although he sometimes got strange looks, he didn't mind as long as he got to come home from a late shift, make the quickest thing he could think of to eat, and talk to John as he relaxed. It was great. The past few nights when he called, they would go straight to talking about their days and watching The Tears of Tomorrow. It had only been three weeks but they were talking and teasing like besties.

Speaking of the such, John was talking right now, mentioning something funny about how fervently Daithi always said 'revenge is not the way' right before he tried to run over Luke (in the man's own truck no less) when Smitty nodded off. When he woke up four hours later, his phone was 12 percent charged and John had long since hung up. A little guiltily, he called the next night with an apology on his lips, but John acted as thought nothing had happened.

And so began the cycle of Smitty finally falling asleep when the sky went dark.

🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸

Smitty had missed two episodes of their show.

He'd agreed to go out with Fitz and a few other coworkers for drinks, and didn't come home for almost an hour after he'd expected to. He'd been feeling better lately, good even, and thought he should top it all off with a night with his friends. He'd had a pretty good time, but it would have been better if he wasn't so consumed with the thought of leaving John without an answer or explanation. He debated even calling at such a late time, but decided why not. If John was asleep, he probably wouldn't wake up.

Except, John was awake, and ready to fill him in on the missed set of episodes.

"Wait, so Jon and Luke are long lost brothers or something? But they don't even look alike."

"I know dude! Oh-- and it turns out that Brian was the one Brock was having the affair with."

"What!?" Smitty nearly yelled. "When did this happen?"

"Back at the big New Year's Party, the one Evan threw for the whole company."

"Whatever. I still think they really shoehorned that one in."

"They shoehorn everything in," John laughed, and Smitty smiled into the distance in his room.

"Anything else?"

"Mmm, Anthony's getting a brain transplant."

"Anthony? A brain Transplant? Are you serious?"

"Of course not," John giggled again, "But I kinda wish they would give him something crazy like that, you know? Anthony deserves more screen time."

"I guess I get that," Smitty shuffled further under the covers, "I mean, I don't think they characterize him enough for all this saving he does to everyone else."

"Exactly." John says in that unique way of his that stretches out the syllables and highlights the sounds Smitty never really pays attention to. "Hashtag Give Anthony His Own Episode."

Smitty felt his eyes drooping, but he didn't feel as guilty about being so tired since John would probably be off to do his own thing in a few. "More like 'Hashtag Give Anthony His Own Character Arc' to be honest."

He smiled at John's agreement and listened as the older started a rant about his favorite underappreciated characters. Now, Smitty was never one to brag, but he would happily report that he made it all the way until they both hung up to fall asleep.

🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸

"And honestly, I wouldn't really mind if they postponed season five if it meant they wouldn't have to replace my boy Lui. Having anyone else just wouldn't be the same." Smitty paused to level a pointed look at Ryan, only to see that he was no longer taking notes, but watching Smitty with a pointed look of his own.

"What?" he asked when Ryan hesitated to speak.

"Nothing, you just seem to be in a pretty good mood is all" The psychologist replied with some difficulty around his smirk. He looked down and fiddled with his pen for a second before he continued, "Did something happen?"

Smitty narrowed his eyes at the suspicious tone and answers slowly, "Yeah actually. And, I forgot to mention it earlier, but you gave me the wrong number at out last meeting."

"Did I?" Ryan smiles widely, but tries to hide it behind his clipboard. It doesn't work, obviously. "My mistake."

Smitty tries to suppress a knowing frown as he watches Ryan scribble a new number down on a piece of paper with a minutely shaking hand. This one looked absolutely nothing like the one he'd received before.

☈ :)

#fanfics #krii7y #blood on paper #other ships that are not actually relevent #soap operas #the references are bad on purpose I swear #lmao thamk you guys for enjoying #likes make me happy :)#smii7y #kryozgaming

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deadinsidedressage · 6 years ago

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do you think that ppl should not be ''taught'' to be scared of stallions? Sure you can't just think that they are like geldings and easy to train. Finnhorse breed for example is starting to little by little having more incest in it since there is not enough stallions and because ppl are taught that even slightest move means they are going to kill you, who would wanna buy a stallion. Then there is everything else like going through fences but those things should be ''easy'' to fix with training.

The sentiment that stallions are entirely dangerous and wildly different from geldings or mares is a fairly uniquely American sentiment. In Europe, you have children showing stallions and it’s a non-issue. (I say this is uniquely American based on the anecdotal evidence of any time in the past this notion running around on here has been met with a lot of Europeans being confused we treat stallions differently).

To relate this entirely not to horses but to something else I’ve researched a lot:

I think a lot of the misconceptions about stallion aggression stems from the same place as misconceptions about “roid rage”. The way the media portrays anabolic steroid use is in a way that suggests anyone and everyone who takes it is transformed into some Mr. Hyde freak-beast who can’t control their temper and breaks everything. Unfortunately that excuse has also been used in criminal defense of athletes who murdered people instead of addressing the fact that in autopsies it’s been proven these people had repeated brain trauma that would’ve mad them more aggressive, more depressive, and more impulsive. The reality is less than 2% of steroid users (and studies are showing that’s a 2% that either has brain trauma or history of mental illness) are impacted by a massive increase in aggressive behaviors or reactions; so while there are some people who go Dr. Jekyll /Mr. Hyde when they’re on or off cycle— that’s untrue of the overwhelming majority.

I’d wager the same is true of stallions or any domesticated animal we as humans have chosen to keep. Some stallions do exhibit hyper-aggression or hyper-reactiveness as a result of remaining intact. Just like some dogs do as well. Or cats who are intact. Let’s face it— if it was just the presence of testosterone that overwhelmingly created aggression in a population of animals; then wouldn’t every single human man with sex hormones (self-produced or store-bought) be extremely aggressive? Wouldn’t we want to “geld” every man for the safety of society? Wouldn’t it also stand to reason that Mr. Olympia competitors/winners like Kai Greene, Ronnie Coleman, Jay Cutler, or Dorian Yates would inevitably be uncontrollable monsters as a result of the amount of anabolic steroids they take? You’d think so, but all these men are regarded for being extremely soft-spoken in interviews, extremely intelligent in the way they present themselves, and overall not aggressive assholes. In fact, if it were steroids that automatically created aggressive monsters... it would be Arnold Schawrzenegger with an infamous history as a domestic abuser and not Sean Penn? Not that Arnie is a perfect beacon of human decency, but the former 7-time Mr. Olympia isn’t know for aggressive or abusive antics. Sean Penn is and Sean Penn isn’t someone with a verifiable history of steroid use.

The fact of the matter is that testosterone alone doesn’t create aggression. Will I acquiesce that there are certainly outliers? Yes. However, it’s more of an issue of how we’re interacting with them. Have you ever heard the old timer wisdom of “never let a big horse know it’s big”? The idea there is that by never allowing a horse who could easily physically overpower you know that that’s the case; it’s a non-issue. If you never give the horse an interaction where it learns that it has a size advantage to get its way, then you don’t have a horse who uses its size for intimidation. Well, same can be said for handling stallions.

If you interact with a stallion in a way that’s fundamentally different because you have any fear that it’ll act different because it’s a stallion… You’ll get a horse who acts different because it’s a stallion. This isn’t some “dominance theory” nonsense where you can’t “show fear” or the horse “wins”— this is more a case of conditioning. Again, using the big horse as an example; the “big horse who knows he’s big” doesn’t use his size to his advantage because he’s the “alpha” but he uses it because he understands a basic cause and effect: “If I stretch my neck high and act big people are too afraid to make me do something I’d rather not do.” Same can be said of a lot of stallion behavior. If a stallion learns that people will back off because he acts like a “stallion”, he’ll act like a “stallion”.So, do I think people should be taught not to treat stallions differently? Yes, absolutely. Stallions aren’t evil death machines.Stallions aren’t inherently different on some incomprehensible level, but stallion ownership is like owning an intact dog--- you have to be a lot more responsible than the average owner. Someone with an intact dog shouldn’t be allowing their dog off-leash. Someone with a stallion has to be more aware when out in the public and have different “rules” they need to adhere to when showing. Just like with owning an un-spayed or un-neutered dog--- it’s not your animals that’s the probably generally; it’s the negligence and incompetence of the other animal owners you’re going to have to interact with. Aside from all these incorrect notions about stallions that are perpetrated in media & “word of mouth” equine communities--- a lot of people are discouraged from stallion ownership because of the extra precautions they need to take and complexity involved in showing or just being able to ride in public spaces. In my region, we have several stallions that regularly compete at dressage shows of all sizes. They’re all also very well-behaved. The issues that arise with them at shows comes from people not recognizing a stallion in the warm-up and giving them space. You know that picture of the obedient pitbull not eating a steak because he’s following orders to not eat the steak? Stallions at shows are a lot like that pitbull, they’re not necessarily going to cause an issue if a steak walks by--- but unlike the pitbull and the steak... a stallion in warm-up with a mare in heat riding past isn’t the only one who needs to show obedience or restraint. The mare is just as likely to be the problem. When you then consider that stallions are almost exclusively owned and showed by professionals whereas mares are still overwhelmingly shown by amateurs... that’s the issue. It’s not the stallion or the way the stallion has been conditioned or trained much of the time. It’s the issue of how amateur owners and riders react to stallions.Another complexity of showing with a stallion is the stabling situation--- again, pitbull-steak/stallion-mare comparison... it’s not certainly going to be the stallion who is the issue. Whereas a mare or gelding owner you can get around stabling issues of a mare being listed as a gelding or a gelding listed as a mare in show paperwork (one of my mares was always incorrectly filed as a gelding at one showing facility); stallions owners can’t easily take on these mistakes. Even with greatly behaved stallions you can have issues being stabled next to a mare because as much as you can make a point that stallions aren’t aggressive or bad because they’re stallions, you also can’t ignore the fact that they’re stallions.As much as I want to hold-on to the pitbull-steak analogy... at the end of the day, the pitbull isn’t trying to have sex with the steak but a stallion is 100% biologically wired to have sex with a mare. There are instances when training doesn’t hold up against biologic impulses. That’s why animals will mate with their parents or siblings--- at the end of the day you can’t convey consequence for sexual response the way you can convey consequence for misbehavior. No stallion owner wants to deal with their stallion breaking down the stall because he’s too near a mare in heat because the show facility fucked up and listed him as a gelding.

In order to own and compete (or own and keep at “home” without competing) a stallion, there’s a lot of work that has to go into place. For ownership you need a large facility to keep the stallion away from mares. For showing, you need to be extremely proactive and constantly be on top of keeping your stallion out of scenarios that could end badly. It’s a lot.

So, no I don’t think it’s the belief in stallions being aggressive that prevents larger scale stallion ownership. I think it’s an issue with stallion ownership having more difficulties associated with it and those are difficulties that (again, focusing on America) most owners do not want to take on---even professionals. There are many breeding farms that only have mares. There are many professionals who only want to ride geldings or mares because they don’t want to deal with the associated difficulties of campaigning a stallion.

Are the misconceptions about stallions or difficulties associated with stallions related to inbreeding and poor genetic variance? No. To assume this was the case would be to ignore the fact that every single animal isn’t breeding quality. The biggest reason out there why people don’t own and show stallions has nothing to do with misinformation or extra care--- it has everything to do with the fact there’s absolutely zero reason to keep a non-breeding animal intact.

My cat isn’t neutered because I was afraid he’d be dangerous. My cat is neutered because there was absolutely no reason for him to not be neutered. He’s not a purebred with excellent conformation, so he’s not going to be producing babies. Keeping in him intact would’ve just meant I would have to deal with a lot more issues making sure he never tried to impregnate another cat. Keeping him intact would’ve meant I possibly wouldn’t be able to safely keep him with my spayed female and may never be able to bring another cat into our home until he’d passed. I absolutely wouldn’t be able to let him outside off-leash (which I don’t believe in outdoor cats anyway) and potentially never be able to have him outside on-leash. There would be far too many feral intact cats that would cause him to harm me with misplaced aggression if he went outside.

It’s the same for horses. Unless that horse is determined to be of breeding quality conformation and performance... then you don’t keep it intact. Why risk a stallion breaking out to impregnate the neighbor’s mares when you’re just keeping the horse for your personal enjoyment and the horse isn’t of any genetic benefit to its breed? You don’t want to be responsible for anymore unwanted cats or dogs in the world--- that’s why you neuter. You don’t want to be responsible for anymore unwanted horses in the world either--- that’s part of why we geld.

Breeds that are suffering from too small a genetic pool don’t benefit from allowing subpar genes. Gelded Finnhorses (or gelded any other breed) are gelded because they do not possess traits that should be passed down. If you breed low quality horses, you get lower and lower quality horses. The only way to salvage breeds that don’t have enough genetic variance is to allow in outside breeds. Which is hard to do with breeds that have closed books and aren’t open to the idea of losing “purity”--- which just leads to a continued degradation of the “pure” horses left. More people owning stallions can’t fix a small gene pool.The horses that are marked for breeding quality are marked for breeding quality (generally) before they ever hit the market. Are some horses that could be beneficial to the breeding pool that never get bred because they’re sold into the sport market by breeders without the resources to keep them? Yes, but generally horses that are actually going to be benefiting the breed stay within the breeding community.

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raendown · 7 years ago

Link

@followingtherivers I went in with the intention of writing something specific and ended up with something else entirely. Somehow...

Pairing: ObitoKakashi Word count: 1796 Summary: Listening to sensei is what got them mixed up in this stupid jutsu. He's never going to listen to sensei again.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Running Through My Head (Running Through My Head)

Worse than being annoyed by the same words over and over again was knowing that Obito wasn’t repeating them because he needed the reminder; he just liked the sound of them. Kakashi breathed slowly through his nose and tried his best to hold on to that last thread of patience. Surely there were worse situations he could have been in – near death, for instance – yet at that very moment nothing else seemed like it could possibly be worse than hearing those three words again.

Swish, flick, zip

Kakashi’s eye twitched as he heard the three fucking words again. They hadn’t even been spoken out loud. It they had been then he could have found a way to deal with it such as blocking the sound or vacating the area and thereby removing the source of his irritation. But no, rather than out loud those words had been spoken directly inside his head in Obito’s voice.

After a mission which had taken them past the borders of Suna his teammate had become enamored with the chakra strings they’d seen one of the foreign shinobi use to fight. Once they made it home Obito had begged sensei to show him how to do it and Minato had obliged with the warning that he really only knew the basics of the technique, just what he had picked up from a Suna shinobi before tensions between their villages exploded. Now armed with as much knowledge as his sensei was able to give him, Obito was putting his all in to learning the new technique.

Swish, flick, zip.

Trying to learn a new skill should have been a good thing. And it would have been if not for the other consequence which had followed them home from beyond the borders of the desert. Minato had been lecturing Kakashi on teamwork a lot more lately and he was just annoyed enough to make an effort when push came to shove, if for no other reason than to say that he had. And what had that gotten him? It had gotten him tangled up in to some really weird jutsu which connected his own mind with that of his biggest annoyance.

Obito hefted the shuriken in his hand and narrowed his eyes at the target.

Swish, flick, zip.

Even from all the way across the training field Kakashi could feel the older boy’s chakra gathering, which meant that he was gathering too much for such a delicate ability as he was trying to use. So it really wasn’t all that much of a surprise when the shuriken released and no chakra string manifested to ‘zip’ it back to its owner. Obito scowled and stomped his foot but refused to give up, reaching back in to the pouch hanging off his waist to fetch another one.

When his fingers touched nothing but empty pouch, Kakashi could hear his silent mumblings of surprise before he trotted across the field to retrieve all of his scattered weaponry. For a few moments it seemed as though there would be mental peace. Really, Obito could think about anything he wanted as long as it wasn’t those three little words that he’d been repeating to himself – and therefor to Kakashi as well – all day. It was enough to drive anyone mad, especially a young boy who was well known for having a short temper when it came to the teammate he regularly called useless.

Just as Kakashi began to relax, however, he heard them once again.

Swish, flick, zip.

“I will swish, flick, and zip your useless brains out!” Tossing down the manual he’d been trying to read, Kakashi marched across the field to step in front of Obito and shove his face up close with an intimidating scowl. His teammate looked back at him with eyes wide in confusion.

“Eh? What’s your problem, Bakashi?”

“If you think ‘swish, flick, zip’ one more time I will flick that shuriken right in to your eye socket and zip your jacket over your stupid head!”

For a moment he thought Obito would start yelling back in his face the way he always had and surprise filled him when instead the boy gave him a sheepish look, both shoulders slumping and his eyes filling up with a familiar look of guilt. He looked just the same as whenever Minato-sensei had to scold him for bothering someone.

“Oops,” Obito murmured. “Was I doing it again? I forgot you could hear me.” He toed to grass under his feet and offered a repentant grin. Kakashi stared at him, rapidly deflating. Between the two of them neither was more likely to apologize when they managed to annoy each other – which was often enough to drive Minato-sensei up the walk on a regular basis. He really hadn’t expected the older boy to give in so easily and he felt a little like a pot which had been pulled off the burner just before it’d been about to boil over.

“Uh…yeah. Good. Stop or…whatever.”

“It’s just so catchy!”

“I will end you.” Kakashi narrowed his eyes, temper flaring again in an instant, but Obito only chuckled as he skipped away to gather the scattered shuriken.

Feeling slightly off-kilter after their encounter hadn’t gone nearly the way he expected it to, Kakashi trundled back over to retrieve his book. He hadn’t spent so much time around another human being since his father died and it was as comforting as it was jarring to have so much company. There wasn’t much point to separating when they could hear each other’s thoughts even if they stood on opposite sides of the village – and it was easier for Kakashi to yell at Obito for thinking stupid things if he stayed close anyway.

Once he had settled himself down and spread his book across both knees as it had been before, however, he found himself unable to concentrate for an entirely different reason. Although Obito had actually listened for once in his life and stopped repeating that stupid phrase over and over, the effort he was going to in order to think of anything else would have been nearly audible even if their minds hadn’t been connected by some foreign jutsu. It was evident in the way his thoughts were now skipping around willy-nilly, focusing on whatever happened to pop up first. And it was annoying as hell.

Before he could do more than scowl at the pages before him, Obito was cringing over by the targets.

“Sorry!” he called. “Look, I’m trying!”

“Pick something and stick with it,” Kakashi hollered back, resisting the urge to rub at his temples. Kushina-nee kept telling him it made him look like an old man whenever he did that.

Nervous laughter floated over towards him and Kakashi rolled his eyes, hunkering down over his book, determined to read and ignore his stupid teammate.

Peace reigned for perhaps a good twenty minutes, during which Kakashi was able to lose himself in the jutsu manual he was trying to learn from. But he should have known that it was too good to be true. Just as he was getting to the most interesting part, the part he’d specifically chosen this book to learn about, he distantly felt Obito gathering his chakra again as the older boy’s voice absent-mindedly picked up a familiar chant inside both of their minds.

Swish, flick, zip.

“Really!?” This time he didn’t even bother to get up, choosing instead to simply hurl his manual across the field to smack Obito square in the nose.

“Ow! Sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

“You were supposed to think of something else!”

“I’m trying!”

“Well try harder, dead last!”

Huffing, Kakashi flopped back in to the grass so he could glare over top of his head and enjoy the sight of Obito rubbing the back of his neck guiltily. Satisfaction filled him until Obito raised his head to lock their gazes together and pull out the one weapon which he’d never dared try to use on Kakashi before: the dreaded puppy eyes.

Obito had his sad puppy eyes down well enough to sway even Kushina on a fairly frequent basis. For such a caring woman she had a heart of steel and yet somehow she melted in the face of Obito’s pathetic begging. He had not, however, tried to use such an impressive expression on Kakashi before, probably because he hadn’t thought it would have the slightest effect on the stoic boy. Even Kakashi would never have thought it would. He realized how wrong he had been the moment their eyes met.

Cute…

“What!?”

“W-what?”

Obito dropped the pleading expression in favor of staring at him in shock. “Did you just call me cute?” he demanded. Kakashi spluttered.

“No! Of course not! Why would I call you cute?”

“You did! I heard you!”

“Don’t be stupid!”

Trying very hard to ignore the hot blush spreading out underneath his mask, Kakashi rolled over and sprang up on to his feet, not looking back even for a moment as he took off across the field. Obito’s voice called after him but he was already too far away to hear anything passed the teasing tone of his words.

He made it three blocks away before a voice startled him and made him trip, almost sending him tumbling in to the corner of the closest building.

You can’t run from me, Bakashi.

Get out of my head!

Tried. Can’t. I think I like it in here, anyway. You think I’m CUTE.

No I don’t!

Picking up speed as though he could outrun his own internal monologue, Kakashi leapt up to the rooftops and threw himself across the village. Maybe if he ran fast enough he could get far, far away and really test the limits of their connection. Inside his head he could hear Obito laughing at him and it depended both his scowl and his blush, made his feet run faster, made his heart beat quicker. Whatever these weird sensations running through his body were they were an absolute nuisance.

Bakashi’s got his very first crush, Obito cooed at him.

I don’t!

Do.

Don’t!

I’m honored, really.

Shut up!

Kakashi grabbed the sides of his head and tried to shake the older boy’s voice away to no avail. His feet carried him from rooftop to rooftop in a straight line away from the training fields, hoping against hope that he could find a distance too large for this stupid jutsu to work across.

As he ran Obito continued to tease him and Kakashi turned a few harsh thoughts towards his sensei. The next time Minato-sensei asked him to work on his teamwork some more he was going to spit at the man’s feet. Nothing was worth this kind of embarrassment.

#rae writes #obikaka #obito #kakashi #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

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awkwarddystopianwarlord · 3 years ago

Text

Reading Between the Lines

I know I’ve mentioned this before, and I know I’ll inevitably mention it again, but I am a shy, socially awkward human. Being such leads me to struggle with putting my foot down and telling someone “enough” after they’ve crossed one too many lines. I reckon most people like myself go through something similar: being afraid to say “no”. A lot of women deal with this regularly. That classic scenario when gents-that-need-to-prove-their-worthiness-as-a-person fail to see the hints given off by the woman that she is uncomfortable with their advances and wants to escape. Sometimes it goes so far that even after declining their offers, these fellas still don’t catch on. The same goes for peer pressure. The want for someone to do something, drink something, say something despite their unwillingness to follow through. And instead of recognizing their hesitance, others will join the chorus asking “why not?”, “just do it”.

People are complicated. We give off confusing messages, signs, gestures. Hell, even using our words we can wind up with miscommunication that after seven minutes of yelling at one another brings us to the conclusion that we all agreed on the same thing in the first place. That said, not everyone is going to speak in the bluntest of ways so that no one is left with questions. Especially people that don’t fare well with talking to others. I’ve lived through some horrible circumstances solely because I couldn’t say “no” and because the other person lacked the ability to see, even though I hadn’t spoken, my entire posture objected to what they wanted. Even in day to day conversations with friends, I have the utmost difficulty drawing lines using verbal communication. Those lines then get crossed a multitude of times because I never specifically say “stop it, you went too far”. I do, however, voice the fact that lines are getting crossed or make strange stressed out noises that my friends know mean discomfort. I start growling more, my voice holds more of a warning tone when I say “watch yourself”. My demeanor has lost its playfulness and has grown more solemn. I no longer display the fact that I am enjoying the actions or words that are being carried out. Some of those friends catch on, others don’t. It is for those others that I am writing this.

Not everyone is straightforward and we need to pay attention to one another to ensure that we aren’t tormenting them without knowing it. Clearly this isn’t an easy thing to do when it comes to people we don’t know well, but people that we work with regularly, people that we’ve been friends with for years, people that have a strong sense of who we are and how we function should most be aware of how we silently communicate. Sure, it can be frustrating for those around me to not receive loud objections when they push too many buttons. It’s probably irritating to have to often check in halfway through a conversation to make sure that we aren’t uncomfortable with what’s being said. I reckon some people might think they’re talking to a small child instead of an adult because of how careful they need to be and it’s more tiring. I’m aware of all of this, but here’s what’s worse, I have to live with it. Enduring some brief annoyances with my inability to stand up for myself over the course of a few hours is incomparable to me having to deal with that every single day.

People seem to forget that the flaws and challenges of each individual are not always easily solved. What may seem simple for you, might not be for another. Your strategies with combating social anxiety will not be the same as someone else’s. We each have our own life journey that is unique to us, though there may be some parallel roads to others, ultimately we must travel alone. Our brains are not shared by anyone but ourselves. We can seek help, suggestions, advice, wisdom, but we ourselves will be applying that knowledge and we ourselves will know truly if any of it worked. I am trying to hold my ground, I really am, but it’s not going to be an overnight fix. It’s not something that people can rewire by throwing me into uncomfortable situations or testing me by prodding me until I say something. To reconfigure our brains takes time. So, what we can do whilst we wait, is pay attention to one another. Read between the lines of how each of us acts. Not everyone is going to hold up a sign that says how they feel. As nice as that would be, it’s never going to happen. People in silent movies portrayed entire storylines without more than a wee paragraph to explain things. Mimes do the same without the title card. The actress in The Shape of Water was bloody deaf and spoke only through her hands and body language for two hours. Sure she had subtitles for when she signed her lines but hopefully you get what I’m saying. There is far more to communication than verbally stating our thoughts. We need to remember that so we can keep each other safe and supported.

It won’t be easy. Mistakes will be made. But in the end, you tried. You learned and you will improve. That is what’s important. Far fewer people will be pressured into doing something they don’t want to do, will be continuously irritated or angered by something that was said, will be embarrassed by something that was done. With the extra effort will come more reward, for it will be immensely appreciated to not always be forced to speak up before we are ready. Talking is terrifying for me and countless others, shit, that’s why I started a blog. I have things to say but I can’t always voice them. So challenge yourself to listen to the voiceless in your life, see what isn’t being said, notice what is shown through the silence. Read between the lines.

#blog #weeklyblog #friday post #thoughts #writing

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zombiesbecrazy · 7 years ago

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Rainbow Puppies

Summary: Bruce really wanted to hate Pamela Isley right now, but all that he could focus on was how much he admired the way she passionately fought for her beliefs and how he could applaud her application of her educational background into practical endeavors to her cause, however misguided.

Being hit with one of Ivy's toxins now has him babbling like a fool.

ao3

Bruce scowled at the computer screen at his test results, because all they really did was confirm what his body was already telling him. He made his way over to the med bay and hooked himself up to the saline IV line that he already had set up, resigned to the fact that he was going to be out of commission for several hours. There was really nothing he could work on until he could fully trust himself to be objective again. He laid down on the bed and closed his eyes, but his thoughts continued to run wild even as he feels his brain becoming more sluggish by the minute.

He really wanted to hate Pamela Isley right now, but all that he could focus on was how much he admired the way she passionately fought for her beliefs and how he could applaud her application of her educational background into practical endeavors to her cause, however misguided. He couldn’t stop his mind from whispering to him that the gas that she had shot him with an hour ago was nothing short of genius and he wanted to give her the credit that was due. It was remarkable chemistry work.

He wanted to be filled with rage, except all that was inside was quickly starting to feel more like rainbows and puppies. Or rainbow coloured puppies. Those would be delightful.

The abundance of positivity was distracting. All the emotions building inside him were startling at worse, but his inability to reign them in was more than concerning. Just a side effect of the drug, he repeated in his head over and over.

As Bruce was just thinking about how lucky he was that no one was around to see him in such a state, before sleep inevitably takes him, when he heard the roar of a motorcycle come into the cave. He turned his head in time to see Dick jump off his bike and his heart soared in an irritating way to see him stride across the cave.

Without looking around, Dick went straight to the weapons station and started going through the cabinets looking for something in particular. “Hey Bruce. Just making a pit stop before I head home. One of my escrima sticks is causing me problems and I wanted to tinker with its elec…” He pulled out a small voltage meter, then looked towards the computer desk and only now seemed to realize the Bruce was not there like he had obviously assumed. His eyes scanned the cave and widened when he noticed Bruce laying down. Dick walked over quickly and looked Bruce over with careful, but worried, eyes. “What’s the damage?”

“No physical injuries.”

“So what’s with the drip?”

“Ivy got me with something at the botanical gardens. A sort of pheromonal truth serum hybrid that appears to be having a temporary, but dynamic, upswing of my serotonin and dopamine levels. I have an antidote synthesizing but it’s going to take several hours before its ready. Effects will probably wear off before it’s done. Trying to flush it out faster.”

“Where’s Alfred?”

“I sent him upstairs for the night. No reason for him to sit with me during this. I’m fine.”

“A pheromonal truth serum affecting serotonin and dopamine.”

“Yes.”

“From Ivy.”

“Yes.”

“You sound kind of drunk.”

“Side effect. Will probably pass out soon. Good pass out, not bad pass out.”

“With no other physical symptoms presenting…” Dick raised an eyebrow slowly. “You’re saying that you are either going to start sleepily spilling positively charged emotional secrets at any moment or are you about to become an angry rage monster and should maybe be restrained?”

“The first one. Please leave.”

Bruce averted his eyes to stare steadfastly at the ceiling, but he could practically feel the smile he knew would be growing on Dick’s face. “Why on earth would I leave? It’s like Christmas came a few weeks early.”

“Because if you stay, I’m going to talk. A lot. I can feel it bubbling up. It’s violating.” And it’s wonderful. He felt amusingly numb and a little bit stoned. Damn Ivy. He felt torn about wanting to go after her or getting her a present.

“Well that’s a shame, because I love talking. It’s one of my top five things to do.”

Always the chattiest of his partners, this was no surprise to Bruce. He loved that Dick hadn’t lost that trait as he grew up. Still loquacious and witty to the core. “I know.”

“Talking to me is probably better than talking to yourself. You’ll sound less crazy.”

Dick probably wasn’t wrong. If he was going to share his emotions unwillingly, he’d rather it be with his son who regularly wore his heart on his sleeve than anyone else, but he still had enough control over himself to deny it. For now. “Leave. Now.”

“Gee whiz, Batman! Whatever you say!” Contrary to his words, Dick sat down on the chair next to the bed. “Except no. You’re injured and alone. I’m staying put.” He kicked his feet up on the edge of the bed next to Bruce to emphasize his point. Stubborn boy. Following his gut. Nothing wrong with that.

Bruce tried to muster up the words to tell him that he wasn’t really injured, but he couldn’t truthfully do that. He may be physically fine but whatever Ivy had sprayed him with was essentially a toxin to his system. Toxin is poison is injury. “I think you are the reason I may hate extroverts.” Throwing the may in there was just enough to allow the words to sneak though. Made it less definitive.

Which doesn’t actually work because Dick can read him like a book, and he smiles at Bruce and points at him accusingly with the damaged stick. “Liar. You love me. I’m great.”

“You’re right. I love you. And I like extroverts.” And the words are all coming out before he can even think about them. “They have a natural quality I respect. I can fake it for a while when needed, but it’s draining. Draining isn’t even the right word. It’s exhausting. I don’t know how you do it. I wish that I was better at it.” There is something comforting about letting the words come out. He feels open and light in a way that he can’t remember ever feeling like. Is this what Dick felt like all the time? “I’m a babbling fool. I like listening to it when it’s coming from you, because it’s normal that way. It’s off putting to hear it coming out of my own mouth.”

Knowing that this way probably just the beginning, Dick smiled and had a sparkle in his eye. “Anything else?”

“Hrh.”

“You love me.”

Bruce kept his eyes closed, but gave a small nod. “Yes. You knew that already.”

“I did, but its still nice to hear out loud. We don’t hear it from you often. I’m glad you said it.”

“Did you know you’re my favourite?” The words surprised him, but they were true. It was something that Bruce needed to say. That he needed Dick to hear. Urgently.

“What? No. Really?”

“Yes. You gave me purpose at the beginning, Dick. I put a roof over your head, but you made the manor a home again. You brought light into my darkness. You saved me from myself.” Bruce had heard the shock in Dick’s voice and it confused his already foggy mind. How could Dick not know this? “I know what people say about me. That I’m dark, dramatic, closed off and broody and that it started when Jason was killed. It’s all mostly true, but I was always that way to a point. You slowed that progress significantly. You made me better. Make me better. Having you in my life, having someone to care for who cared for me as well, was the thing that I needed most at exactly the right moment.”

The room was quiet for a few moments and Bruce knew Dick’s eyes were on him. He refused to look back. He heard Dick shift in his chair a little and then felt a hand rest gently on his arm. “Even when things were bad? We were real jerks to each other for a long time”

Bruce swallowed deeply, a little concerned about what was going to fall from his lips. They had spoken about this, of course, but never so direct and raw, without Bruce’s filter between them. “Things were definitely rough, but I still loved teen angst filled Dick Grayson. So much. I was mostly frustrated and disappointed in myself that I didn’t know what do to do with or for you anymore. Just like I didn’t really know what to do with a kid when you first arrived, I was equally unprepared for that kid to grow up and be ready to make his own way. I handled it badly. When you left home and became Nightwing I was so proud of you. Of the man that you were starting to become. Of the little role that I had played to help you become who you are now. You are more than I could have hoped you would be when you first came to live here. Every day I want to thank your parents. For giving you such a good foundation to start with. They were excellent parents. I just tried to keep up.” Dick gave Bruce’s shoulder a squeeze in response, a non verbal nudge to keep going. “It’s not just how you changed me though. It’s about who you are overall. The scale of evil to good in my head quantifiably goes from ‘Joker to Dick Grayson’. You aren’t perfect, but you always strive to be better and you are the best person I know.”

All these words and they still feel like they aren’t enough to describe how he feels, but still, he feels content. Glad they are out there.

“I’m flattered, but you’re crazy if think I’m a better person than Clark.”

“Now you are just taking advantage of me in my drugged compliant state.” He finally opened his eyes again and turned his head to look at Dick. “And yes, I most definitely think you are better. I may be biased though. Clark’s not one of my kids.”

“I don’t deserve all that, and I certainly can’t live up to it, but thank you. So much. For saying that and everything else. I love you too.” Dick took his feet off the bed, moved his chair closer and took Bruce’s hand. “Why don’t you tell us more often?”

“Words are hard sometimes.”

“You sound like Cass.”

“She’s not wrong. I’m not good with feelings. Or talking. You know that. Actions speak louder than words. Even now all this talking and my words make more sense in my head.” He grinned and it felt a little goofy. “Cassandra is definitely my favourite.”

Now Dick straight up laughed at him and it sounded like music to Bruce. He loved to hear his kids laugh; big or small it meant that they were safe and happy. “I don’t want to sound all school yard jealous or anything, but you did just tell me that I was your favourite less than five minutes ago.”

“You’re all my favourites. Dick, Cass, Tim, Damian, and Jason.” He counts them on his fingers. “Favourites.” He points at Dick vaguely, trying to emphasize something. He can feel himself starting to slip, but this feels important. “That was in no particular order.”

“You are such a dad sometimes.”

“Good. Love being a dad. It’s hard and I’m not always good at it, but taking all of you in were the best decisions I ever made.”

“You should tell the others.”

“Probably.”

“But you won’t.”

“Nope.”

“Of course not.” Dick rolled his eyes, but clearly had affection behind the action. “I really should be filming this as evidence. And I should be pestering you for more things that I can use as blackmail down the road.”

“You don’t need to. You already know all my secrets. If you ever want to know something, just ask.”

“You’ll just grunt at me.”

“Good thing you are fluent in Batman.”

“Very true. It’s a special skill I acquired at a young age. Helps when you are the practice kid. I got to teach the others after me.” Dick’s observing him carefully, the way that Bruce had trained him to evaluate people. Taking in all of the details and profiling. “You look tired.”

Bruce nods and he’s struggling to stay conscious. He knows that he should go to sleep but part of him is liking this drug, being open and honest, and if he goes to sleep the drug will wear off and he’ll be the same as he was before. It’s been a nice change of pace when most times when things change in his life, there are explosions. “I’m always tired.” He can’t remember the last time he slept more than five hours.

“Sleep now. I’ll stay and keep an eye on things. Fix my stick while I’m here. You have better equipment here than at my place anyway.” Bruce hears the distinctive beep that the voltage meter made when it turns on, and he knows that Dick is lying to him. He has the exact same voltage meter at his kit at home. Bruce knows, because Bruce gave it to him. It’s a white lie though. Nine year old Dick Grayson had once taught Bruce that white lies were sometimes allowed if they didn’t hurt anyone. If they made people feel better.

“You mean you’ll keep an eye on me. You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”

“That may be true, but I think you’d like it if I stayed.”

“I would. You always have my back, even when you probably shouldn’t. I miss you when you aren’t here, but you’re all grown up. Can’t be here forever.” Silence falls between them again, but there is something else that Bruce needs to say again. Needs Dick to know for sure. “Rainbow puppy.” Bruce hears it come out of his head and knows that they don’t make sense. He tries to explain it to Dick, how the drug makes him feel, how his family makes him feel, but it all comes out like mush.

Dick chuckled, but it sounded genuine and heartfelt. It always did. “I love you too, Bruce. Goodnight.”

Bruce gave him a small grin, knowing that what he meant got across, and lets the sleep finally take him. The last thing he feels is Dick rubbing his hand gently. It feels nice and warm. Like home.

#bruce wayne #dick grayson #batdad #batfam #fluff #all the fluff #fanfiction

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rilenerocks · 4 years ago

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The other morning, I walked into my house after working out in the yard. As usual, I was sweaty, my normal state once the temperature rises above 70• F. My standard complaint has always been the same – “man, am I hot.” When Michael was alive, he’d always answer that comment with the same response – “you’re telling me.” A part of me never believed him because I was keenly aware of my physical imperfections. But he really didn’t agree with me. I was lucky enough to spend decades with someone who always made me feel beautiful and desirable. What a great gift to leave me. On this particular day, my son was clacking away at his computer at the dining room table when I came in and spouted my “hot” line. I’ve told my kids what their dad used to say to me so I asked him for the proper reply to my prompt. He refused me, saying he knew the answer but that it wasn’t appropriate for him to say it. I got it. I can see where he’d think that was an off-color remark for a son to say to his mom, even though I was just testing his memory. I said I understood his point, then told him that some day when I wasn’t around any more, he’d still remember what those words meant to me. He looked at me and asked, “and what things did your mom say that you still remember?” I was surprised by the question and initially was at a loss for a response. But I’ve been thinking about this for days.

The phrase “that’s what she said,” is an iteration of a British double entendre implying some sort of sexual behavior. Through Steve Carell’s use of it multiple times in the television series, “The Office,” the expression became popularized in America. But that sexist humor isn’t the connotation that I’m intending in this reflection. Rather, I’ve been pondering what comments, bits of advice, suggestions or instructions stick in our minds as we traverse our lives. The words you never forget, out of all those spoken to you by your family, your friends, your teachers, your mentors. In my case, I’d also include lines from books, movies and songs in that collection of the words that resonate, long after they’re initially heard. I’ve been trying to think of what different people have said to me, words that have stayed with me, which pop up randomly in my mind. And maybe even more significantly, what have I said to others, my family, my friends or even acquaintances, that they still hear in their minds. Isn’t it true that we are composite creatures, made up of input from so many sources we can’t possibly distinguish what got integrated into our perception of self? I remember once I was walking along on a sidewalk, and coming toward me was a woman pushing a stroller with a baby aboard, somewhere between 15-18 months old. As we got close, the baby and I made eye contact which we held for about ten seconds. As I moved past them, I remember thinking that the little moment of recognition we shared is stored somewhere in that person’s brain. I was old enough to remember that brief connection. For the baby who hopefully grew up, my image is tucked away somewhere, in the folds of its brain.

But the words, though. My mind is packed with memories that I’m lucky enough to access regularly. If that ends, I hope I’m not alive. During this pandemic experience which I share with countless people, I’ve turned inward to reflect on my life. Having the ability to recall the places I’ve lived, literally strolling through physical spaces in my brain is fascinating. I’m reminded of the lyrics from the Beatles song “In My Life,” which is an example of the words that stuck with me over these 55 years since its release when I was just fourteen. As I’ve been sifting through my son’s question – what I remember of what my mother said to me, the aural landscape has gotten bigger. I’ve even given it a title – Ancestral Noise. What a surprising study I’m in right now. Both the presence and absence of verbal memories from some people who played a central role in my life, at least for awhile, is a mystery.

For example, I can’t recall a single word my maternal grandfather said to me, despite the fact that I spent as much time with him as I did with my grandmother. I can hear her talking all the time. The insignificant comments of random and mostly irrelevant people that still ring in my head seem absurd. So I decided I had to codify some of them. Otherwise they’ll disappear when I do and although that’s inevitable to a large degree, my historian impulse is to leave tracks of myself in my little universe so that my children, grandchildren and whoever may arrive after them, will have some sense of what influences affected the me I am today. So here’s a sampling of what’s emerged from the verbal past. My ancestral noise.

Mom. I thought about her first because she was certainly the most talkative person in my life, much like I am with my family. At first, I was hard put to think of anything but her stories, the growing up ones of hardship, her small victories over her rigid mother, her love story with my dad, her wretched ill health and her remarkable survival skills. But actual words? That took a bit of digging. Eventually, I dredged some of them out. The Dorothy-isms. “I always wanted to be a dancer.” Mom was always wishing she was something other than who she was. A way of being worth noting for me as her child. I didn’t want to do that. “Never put anything in writing.” Ever paranoid, she believed in leaving no evidence which could be used against you (I guess I didn’t give that advice much weight.) “When I die, I’m never leaving you-I’m going to hover over you and protect you.” That one was interesting because the truth is, I starting protecting her when I was quite young. Everyone is entitled to the occasional illusion. “I could never survive the death of my child.” Another interesting memory for me, as I forced a tough decision on my conflicted family regarding this memory. When my brother died, my mom was afflicted with dementia. I had never forgotten what she said. I was here with her providing care in addition to holding her power of attorney. I wouldn’t let anyone tell her he was gone. A controversy ensued but I prevailed. All I could think of was her unnecessary pain and confusion as this lifelong dreaded event actually happened. She died a few months later. I’ve never regretted that decision. Maybe the most practical advice she ever gave me was to remember to be creative about keeping my marriage fresh over the long haul. Although that was impossibly sexist counsel, I did think a lot about putting my relationship with my husband first, as I wanted to be with him after our kids moved on. I implemented that philosophy. Not much sage advice after spending over 60 years with someone. She had a great sense of humor and could come up with sarcastic zingers. But there’s nothing that earth-shattering resounding in my head from mom.

Ironically, my dad, who wasn’t known for being particularly verbal, said a lot of things which carried me through different periods in my life. Parts of him were utterly childlike and ridiculous. He called the four of us kids “little drips.” “Wake up and go to sleep.” “Why don’t you dry up?” “How about taking a long walk off a short pier?” “What’s the matter with you-you got rocks in your head?” “Did you marry your teacher today?” “Did you do your scientific studies?” “You know your mother’s crazy, don’t you? I could go on. Maybe all these inanities stuck with me because mostly, his head was usually buried in a newspaper so his pronouncements were memorable. But there was serious stuff too. “You have to make a plan and stick with it even if you get offtrack for awhile.” An excellent piece of advice. “You’re going to be smarter than many people in life. The average American voter is uneducated. When you believe in something, stick to your principles and don’t back down, no matter what.” Those words are central in my daily life and always have been. “When it comes to financial decisions, you rarely hit the high or sink to the low. Aim for some reasonable goals and don’t look back.” He explained a lot about how the world works to me. He also called me names like con artist and weasel. I can’t fault him for that. I was a streetsmart kid. A squeamish guy, not as physically courageous as my mom, when he got cancer, he bravely announced that he would beat it “the way Grant took Richmond.” He only got through one round of chemo before quitting. Unable to confess that to my mom, he told me first and asked me to arrange his funeral. A young woman in my 30’s, I did what he wanted. Years later, I figured out how inappropriate a choice that was for me. I also remember how incredible I felt when, while home from college in my freshman year, I was the only person available when my grandmother called early in the morning, shouting that my grandfather had collapsed. I called the fire department and ran a mile through the snow to their apartment, winding up in an ambulance tearing down Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. No cell phones in those days, so I was on my own while my grandmother was sedated and I stayed with my grandfather, being his advocate at the tender age of eighteen. Later that evening when my parents came to the hospital and eventually took me home, my dad said, “do you realize you saved your grandfather’s life today?” I’ve never forgotten that moment. I also remember our verbal war when he threatened to disown my sister if she married a non-Jew. I told him he’d have to disown me too and reminded him that he was the one who told me to stand up for my beliefs. He found me very irritating back then. Finally, my dad was a an avid lifelong Democrat. When he was annoyed with Republicans, he’d always say, “death to the vipers.” At my sister’s wedding rehearsal dinner, her husband’s family, who were mostly on the other side of the political spectrum, were treated to my dad’s pronouncement following a few cocktails, shouting out, “the only good Republican is a dead Republican.” Oh my. Those are my most prominent memories of my dad’s voice.

I can hear my maternal grandmother’s voice frequently. An immigrant, she spoke decent English with some scrambled words like saying she was having her description, rather than prescription, filled at the drugstore. She was smart but illiterate, a product of a truly male-dominated culture. She didn’t see her way out of that. But she was sharp-tongued and used a lot of Yiddish phrases, most of them judgmental and demeaning. “Gey cocken offen yom – go take a shit in the ocean.” “Gey avek – get out of here.” “Momzer, schmendrick, schlemiel – bastard, fool and stupid, respectively.” When she thought something was funny, she’d say, “gib a kick,” which meant look at that. She told all of us grandchildren individually that each of us was the only person she could trust while she confided her complaints to everyone. She liked watching baseball because she thought the players were sexy, especially when they adjusted their protective cups. She paid attention to politics and I remember her muttering that Ronald Reagan was a stupid cowboy. She was a compulsive cleaner, plastic covering her furniture which was so sticky and hot in the summer. Perhaps her most famous line was – “you can eat off my floors.”

I barely remember any specific thing that my brother told me. He made up his own alphabet which I recall and I remember discussing world wars and predictions of what the future would look like in terms of superpowers – his money was on China. The only outstanding line I remember from my older sister was her always telling me to “modulate your voice, Renee,” because I was apparently too loud. My younger sister frequently told me that if I died, she would hurl herself into my grave. The sum total of these individual words from my siblings doesn’t sound like much in the overall scope of aural memory.

I can hear my friend Fern telling me she wanted her epitaph to be “she died smiling, if you know what I mean.” I hear my first true love Albert saying, “just for tonight, I love you.” That didn’t bode well for the future. Another boyfriend Dennis, told me that if I’d married him, he wouldn’t have wound up divorced and unhappy. That wasn’t true.

I can’t begin to list all the things Michael said to me over the years, both romantic, sarcastic and funny. “The only place I belong is with you.” “No one has a face like yours-you with the face.” “You’re the smartest person I know.” “We are cosmically connected -I’ll be with you forever.” “Take a hike.” “Life’s a hard road.” “Would you mind removing your feet from my back.” “Everything would be perfect if you’d just stop talking.” “What seems to be the greatest single problem?” “Put a cork in it.” Michael is still so alive in me. The books, music and movies we shared helped us develop a code that bound us together inside and out. He may not be here, but my dialogue with him continues daily. He’s in my head.

So what about me? What have I uttered that my kids will remember when I’m gone? I asked my daughter. Her response was, “run.” When she was driving me crazy as a young girl, there were times when I wished I believed in corporal punishment. But I didn’t. I found a benign way to express my hostility. I held her ponytail and told her to run. She was too smart to do it but it made for a memorable moment. When my son made me want to tear my hair out, I quoted a line to him from the wonderful film, Diner. I told him if he didn’t get a grip on himself, I’d hit him so hard I’d kill his whole family. Preposterous, of course. But one day with an uncooperative playmate, he repeated it to this sensitive child. I thought I’d have my kids taken away by the Department of Children and Family Services. Aside from a variety of movie lines that I adore, I do think I’ve said some things of worth to my kids. I told them about the five year rule, the premise being that whatever is happening right now, which feels so overwhelming, should make them stop and think of exactly what they were doing five years ago. Since they can never recall what that was, I remind them that five years from now, they won’t remember the intensity of this moment. Perspective is everything. I’ve told then ad nauseam that the people with the best lives are the people with the best coping skills. Everyone’s life requires coping and the better you get at managing, the better life will be. Lastly, I tell them that when you tackle problems in life, you want to be operating from a position of strength rather than one of weakness. Identifying what’s directing your internal responses and shifting from your worst skills to your best is always the right move. Those are the best examples of my attempts to provide a strategy for moving forward. Who knows how they’ll feel years from now, when I’m part of their history. Maybe they’ll only remember me walking around quoting Animal House saying, “you’re all worthless and weak.” I’d give a lot to see the future, to hear them discuss me and declare, “that’s what she said.” Joining the ancestral noise of the past.

That’s What S/he Said The other morning, I walked into my house after working out in the yard. As usual, I was sweaty, my normal state once the temperature rises above 70• F.

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whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname · 8 years ago

Text

The Stories We Tell

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam

Word Count: 2176

Summary: The reader tries to move on after but there are obstacles.

Warnings: Some fluff, some angst, some humor, lots of swearing

Not all love stories have a happy ending.

And there's nothing wrong with that.

Sometimes two people can love each other completely, and still break up. It’s not that it ended, it’s that it ran its course.

You loved him completely, and always would. But the story of you two together, sweaty and tangled in bed sheets, desperately reaching for each other after a hunt, curled up in front of the TV, that story was over.

Now there was only friendship. And it was okay, you promised yourself.

It was okay.

You still hunted together. You’d promised each other that the break up wouldn’t affect your working relationship. And it hadn’t. Your dynamic was still the same: you still knew how to cover his open, you remembered all the hand gestures and commands. The only difference was going to sleep alone every night.

That and Dean’s new girlfriend.

You hadn’t met her exactly, but you knew she was there. He’d been sneaking out of the bunker regularly in the night when he thought you were asleep.

(As if you could sleep. As if you weren’t pacing your room, yearning, aching-)

For the most part you kept your feelings under wraps. Hunters were never the most emotional species, yourself included. But still sometimes in the dark places of your mind –

But you didn’t think about that.

“You’re up late,” Sam noted, watching you stare at your computer, eyes glazed. He peered over your shoulder at the clock. “Or, very early.”

“It’s 8 am somewhere,” you said with little interest. You were trying to watch a video, trying to ignore the fact that right here, right now, that man you loved was with someone else.

“Something is bothering you,” Sam said, slumping down next to you. When you said nothing he pushed your computer closed.

“Hey!”

“No, no, don’t try to deflect,” Sam said defensively. “You’re always up late now. I remember a time not so long ago when you couldn’t wait to jump into your bed the second you got home.” You shrugged.

“I guess it helps if there’s someone to jump into it with.” The words tumbled out of your tired mouth before you realized what you were saying. You panicked. “Not that I-,”

“So this is about Dean.” Sam didn’t sound surprised.

“No, it’s not about Dean,” you deflected, running your nail along a grain in the Oak Table

“You two had an amicable break up,” Sam continued, and it almost sounded like an accusation.

“Yeah, we did. And we are.” You didn’t know how to have this conversation with him. Sure, you and Sam were friends. But he was also Dean’s brother. It wasn’t exactly something that was easy to discuss with him.

“No, what I mean is, it was too amicable. You’re supposed to get angry, call him a jerk, burn his clothes.” Sam leaned closer and you found yourself focusing on his collar instead of meeting his gaze.

“I wouldn’t do that,” you promised, needing him to know you weren’t a loose cannon, that you wouldn’t allow anything to change the dynamic.

“I know. And that’s the problem. You didn’t actually break up with him.”

You dragged your eyes up to look at him. He looked so earnest.

“Come again?”

“Yeah, you might have said the words,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “But you still love him. You’re still tolerating his new bullshit the way you tolerated the old bullshit. Thought, now instead of him using your toothbrush, it’s him hitting on waitresses.”

“So you want me to get angry,” you said slowly, trying to navigate this new trap. Sam…wanted you to freak out?

“I want you to be happy. And you won’t do that moping over Dean’s one-night stands.”

“It’s not a one-night stand,” you said before you realized you’d spoken. You snapped your jaw closed but it was too late.

“What?”

“It’s not just a one-night stand.” You repeated. You sighed before continuing reluctantly. “He has a new girlfriend. I wish it was a one-night stand. That would be better.” Once you’d started talking you couldn’t seem to stop. “I mean, if he just needed to get his rocks off, that’s one thing. But If he’s seeing someone else, if he has a new girlfriend, then it means she has something to offer him I never could.”

You cleared your throat, blinking rapidly. Sam silently watched you.

“But it’s fine. It really is. I’m happy for him. I just want him to be happy. I’m sure whoever she is, she’s a really great person and she’ll be really good for Dean,” you were rambling but you couldn’t stop. You could quite put to words how you felt, so you floundered helplessly.

“This is what I mean,” Sam finally said. “This isn’t healthy.”

“I’m just being mature, Sam,” you said with a petulant tone that undermined your position.

“Exactly! Don’t be mature!” Sam shouted, jumping to his feet. Peering up at him you couldn’t help but think: you really are a million feet tall. “You’re sad, Y/N! Don’t think I can’t see it just because you hide it. Get angry!”

“Stop,” you said. It was hard enough to control your own feelings about this, you couldn’t help Sam reign in his own.

“I can’t!” He shouted, long hair wild.

“Why is this so important to you?” You asked, trying to remain calm in the tempest that was Sam Winchester.

“Because I’m angry! You’re my family and I care about you, but I’m angry with you; I’m angry at Dean; I’m angry at the both of you!”

You paused, trying to catch up with this turn in the conversation.

“Because I won’t call him a jerk?”

“Because you threw away something worth fighting for,” Sam thundered, finally facing you again. His hazel eyes were burning. “Do you know what I would give to have a glimpse of what you two had? And you gave up on it over, what, a fight.”

“It was more than a fight,” you said, temper rising. Sam made it sound so casual, like you didn’t care, as if you’d given it all up for no reason.

“It was irrelevant. You hit a bump in the road and you gave up.” You pushed yourself away from the table, standing on shaking legs.

“I never gave up on him!” You shouted. “Dean walked away from me, I did not give up on him!” Sam grinned and you wanted to punch him. What the fuck?

“There we go,” he said with an approving nod. You took a steadying breath. Sam had played you. Son of a bitch had wound you up

“You’re such a jerk,” you spat, storming out of the room.

You needed to get outside, to get a breath of fresh air, to distance yourself the bunker and its recycled memories. It didn’t even bother you that the dark sky poured a pounding gale of freezing rain; you stepped into the cold regardless. You were soaked in moments, teeth chattering as you paced.

Finally, you let yourself have the imaginary fight you’d pushed out of your mind for the past few weeks.

Between your silent argument and the rain on the metal bunker you never saw the Impala approaching until you were bathed in its light. You held up a hand against the onslaught, listening as the engine turned off, headlights following in turn.

“What are you doing,” Dean asked, closing the car door with a slam. “It’s 4 am and freezing.” He turned up his collar to the rain, crossing the gravel lot towards you.

“I can do whatever I want, Dean,” you snapped, aware that ‘whatever I want’ currently looked more than a little unhinged.

“I never said you couldn’t,” he said, squinting at you through the darkness. “I’m asking what it is you are doing.”

The anger and hurt you’d pushed down exploded out of your mouth.

“I’m sure I’m not the person you want to see after coming back from your girlfriends,” you shouted. Your argument didn’t even make sense. You were just so angry, so betrayed.

What did she have that you didn’t? How could he say he needed space and then turn around be with someone else? How could he be with someone else at all? The thought of anyone touching you was repulsive; the thought of Dean touching anyone else made you physically ill.

“My girlfriend,” Dean asked, recoiling from the accusation. And fuck, it hurt hearing him say those words.

“I don’t even care,” you lied, shivering in the rain. “I really don’t. Have a girlfriend, I don’t care.”

“What are you talking about,” Dean said in a voice that wasn’t shouting, but was close.

“I know you’re seeing someone! You don’t need to sneak around,” you yelled, trying to raise up to his height. They were both so damned tall!

“I’m not seeing someone else,” Dean said, bewildered.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” you shouted, louder than you needed to.

“I’m not. I never have,” Dean continued, taking on a long-suffering patience one would take dealing with a child or drunk.

“Then why have you been sneaking out every night,” you accused, pressing a finger to his chest. The proximity was almost your undoing.

“What?” Dean looked genuinely confused.

How was he not understanding? You were laying out your evidence and hypothesis with flawless accuracy. You should get an honorary doctorate, this argument being your thesis: Dean Winchester is a Loser and Has a New Girlfriend: Evidence and Supporting Arguments.

“In the middle of the night. I hear you leave just after midnight. You never come home until 8am. I know you’re going to see her!” You were shouting now. The rational part of your brain realized it, but your hysterical side had finally taken over, and had no plans to relinquish control anytime soon.

“Have you been keeping tabs on me,” Dean asked, and he almost seemed touched. A shadow of a smile touched his lips. His soft, kissable lips. They were so tantalizing, even now, chapped and purple from the cold. You could warm them up if you just leaned in a little closer.

“I just have ears,” you defended yourself. Fuck, stop staring at his lips, Y/N!

“So,” Dean said, clearly trying to contend with your rambling logic. “Because I go out, you think I’m seeing someone?”

You ignored him. You’d rehearsed this part of the argument. What he actually said didn’t really matter, you were going off previously prepared material. Fuck Dean for going off script.

“I’m not telling you to stop. But I can’t be around to see it because I still love you. Because it kills me to know you replaced me so easily. Like I was nothing. Like you stopped loving me. Like you never did!”

This must have struck a nerve because Dean’s half smile slipped off his face, eyes darkening.

"I never stopped,” Dean thundered.

"What,” you breathed, eyes wide, chest heaving.

"I never stopped loving you." Dean stepped closer, brows furrowed from the rain striking his face. You watched rivulets of water race down his nose. The damn you’d built around your carefully guarded emotions began to crack. You hadn’t rehearsed this part.

“But what about your girl?” You said raggedly. You couldn’t suppress the emotion behind your voice.

“You are my girl.”

“No, the girl you’re seeing.” Dean tilted his head, looking at you with the most adorably confused frown. “You’re always going out I thought-,” you repeated, restating your carefully gathered and vetted evidence. You trailed off as Dean began to smile, radiant in the freezing downpour. “What about your girl,” you finished slowly.

“You are my girl,” Dean repeated with a chuckle. “There was never anyone else. There could never be anyone else. “

“Why are you laughing,” you shouted, another waves of anger washing over you. Leave it to Dean Winchester to fucking laugh at you when you were upset. Dean reached for you, pulling your soaking wet body into his arms. You pushed against him, annoyed at his confusing behavior.

“I had to leave,” Dean murmured, holding you tightly. “I couldn’t sleep without you. So I’ve spent my nights driving, thinking about you, how I messed up the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Best thing,” you asked brokenly, as if in a haze. You definitely hadn’t prepared for this.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt it. You’re the only one for me, Y/N. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

He claimed your lips it a wet kiss, sloppy and chilled, but perfect in every way.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out. But you’re mine and I’m not letting you go again,” he promised, nuzzling his nose into your cheek.

“Who says I’m taking you back,” you asked, the last smoky whisper of anger snaking out of your mouth.

Dean responded by pulling you in for another kiss.

Not all love stories have a happy ending.

But sometimes they do.

Forever Tags: @thereaderoffanfics, @notnaturalanahi, @thegreatficmaster, @feelmyroarrrr, @nicmob, @arryn-nyx, @the-fandom-took-over-my-life, @jessiedangerous, @smoothdogsgirl, @panther-and-peacock, @savage-pineapples, @asifbyblackmagic, @mu-alpha, @catackles16, @legitgirl15 @the-winchester-pack, @docharleythegeekqueen, @captainjmarvel, @freaksforthewin @anokhi07 @mrsbatesmotel53 @adaliamalfoy @brooke-supernatural16 @demonic-meatball @amyapathetic @just-a-touch-of-crowley @missdestiel67 @eileenlikesyou-maybe @stone-met @you-know-whodoesthat-crazypeople @justanotherwaywarddaughter @trench-coated-angels @dustycelt @typicalweirdbookworm

Pond Tags (Dean, Fluff, Angst): @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @loveitsallineed @nichelle-my-belle @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @blushingsamgirl @aprofoundbondwithdean @manawhaat @whispersandwhiskerburn @lipstickandwhiskey @roxy-davenport @impala-dreamer @samsgoddess @wildfirewinchester @frenchybell @scorpiongirl1 @for-the-love-of-dean@mysupernaturalfics @spn-fan-girl-173 @deandoesthingstome @cici0507 @fiveleaf@deansleather @waywardjoy @mrswhozeewhatsis @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious@supernatural-jackles @wevegotworktodo @jpadjackles @quiddy-writes @babypieandwhiskey@wi-deangirl77 @deantbh @supermoonpanda @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @chaos-and-the-calm67 @memariana91 @plaidstiel-wormstache @chelsea-winchester @fandommaniacx@writingbeautifulmen @revwinchester @supernaturalyobessed @ruined-by-destiel@inmysparetime0 @winchester-writes @deals-with-demons

#spn #supernatual #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #fluff #angst #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn imatine #spn oneshot #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #supernatural oneshot

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rigelmejo · 5 years ago

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i really do like making my life harder and idk if it’s just because i can’t focus... so i have to just keep switching things up... or because i’m a chronic need-to-overachieve and need-to-perfect what i’m doing so i find out Everything and then hopelessly try to get to learning All of it (knowing that is functionally impossible weeeeee!)

ok so i kind of. basically determined i’m learning at least some of the traditional characters regardless of whether that was my original intent or not. My main resources, and learning plan, is all geared toward simplified characters. But... I watch a lot of Taiwanese shows (and therefore see a lot of traditional character subs), I accidentally found myself reading a couple novels in their traditional character versions (because mtlnovel.com just uses traditional character for it’s raws, and i ordered some novels from hong kong knowing they were gonna be traditional). Also I... am a mega nerd when it comes to historical textbooks/learning books, and since half my textbooks are from 1900-1960 I have books in a variety of character-formats! I’ve got pre-simplified character books, books published after one wave of simplification but before the currently used modern simplified changes were made, I’ve got books written before the modern standard pinyin was invented (and some without any kind of recognizably-modern pinyin). And... do you think that stopped me from reading any of them? No, no it did not. Of course I still read them. Of course I just chugged along anyway. So now I’ve got a vague recognition of a lot of the real commonly used characters in their multiple formats through the past century. And oh... I also got two books on Ancient Chinese... because WHY NOT learn how to read ancient Chinese right???

Right...?

Anyway there was absolutely no reason necessary For me to be constantly exposing myself to multiple sets of the characters, full well KNOWING I’m confusing myself and making it more difficult then it needs to be. Full well knowing my life would have been significantly easier if I had just... waited until I felt relatively confident in recognizing the 2000 some most common simplified characters, BEFORE making the effort to recognize the traditional ones.

The ONLY thing going for me, in all this, is I’m a very visual learner and my memory is quite visual. When I needed to memorize a script once... I literally DREW a comic for the entire script. Once I drew it, I remembered it (which is a remembering method I don’t wanna do again it took a long time - i guess the benefit is you get a Comic along with a nicely acted scene lol!). Bascially though, what this means for me is - I am very good at recognizing the radicals, both simplified and traditional, and recognizing the components that build up to make characters. So it’s pretty easy for me to see a traditional and simplified character, and note to myself the parts that were modified - which for radicals like ‘speech/words’ simplified, is quite easy to blanket apply that simplification with the traditional character equivalents that just use the original unsimplified version of that radical. Same with ‘fly’ fei, and ji ‘several/how many’ radical, and the ‘silk’ radical - if you remember what the traditional and simplified version of that radical looks like, its easy to recognize both the traditional and simplified versions of characters with their only difference being that radical’s appearance, as the same thing. So in the end... the only traditional characters that become difficult, are the ones that actually CHANGED the radical they used in a character for the sake of simplicity.

However, if a character is reasonably common, even if the traditional and simplified forms DO USE DIFFERENT radicals to create the character... you see them enough to realize it’s the same character. (’Zhe’ for ‘this’ is a major character that’s like this, and i’m not sure if ‘hui’ does BUT the traditional character for ‘hui’/to be able looks A Lot Different then it’s simplified counterpart).

So, like, because I’m good with visual memory and breaking images down into parts, the differences aren’t really that confusing for me for most characters... once I realize which radicals are simplified/were changed. The main difficulty then, is in just having the capacity to remember them all - cause remembering even JUST one set of the characters is a very long-game task that’s gonna take years period. And even though I shouldn’t have... I doubled that task for myself. Just because. I’m reading both character types regularly so like... its something I need to recognize. (Which is how I get my brain to learn anything, honestly... i need to make my brain Need something for understanding, and then that Need seems to be the only thing that gets things to stick...)

---

And today I actually bothered to look up the differences in Taiwan pronunciation so... there’s an entirely separate whole spew of thoughts concerning all that...

Literally... on the standard Mandarin pronunciation alone... I already think it’s a considerable task to: first recognize basic tones decently.

Second, realize that tones do change behavior in certain situations (and typed pinyin will Rarely reflect those spoken changes and just assumes you’ll know to do it - like how the 4th tone in ‘bu’ changes based on what follows it, how the 3rd tone changes regardless based on what follows it). I JUST read, today, a tip that I think is BRILLIANT and explains So Freaking Much and I wish I’d heard sooner. The tip was that, a 3rd tone sound ‘shortens’ when followed by certain other tones. So this is NOT about how the sound will go up into a ‘2nd tone’ when followed by another 3rd tone. No, instead the tip was: if a 3rd tone is followed by a 4th tone, it shortens and only sort of half rises after the dip.

I am not wording it exactly but... that explanation makes So much sense in retrospect. Because like... just listening to words like ‘wo’ and ‘ni’ where you can clearly hear the sound dip then rise at length, then comparing them to 3rd tones in the beginning of words like ‘shouji’/cellphone. You don’t say shhh-o-oh jii. You say sh-ohjii. Excuse my very bad attempt at trying to explain it. But like... when you say shou/hand on it’s own, the sound is a bit more drawn out/dips a bit more obviously. But when you say it at the beginning of a word like ‘shouji’. If you look up the words on a site like BaiduTranslate, you can clearly hear the difference in pronunciation between the shou in “shou”/hand and “shouji”/cellphone. The third tone sounds a bit different. It still dips a little, but its less something - elongated?

Anyway a tip like that seems small. But it makes a difference when you’re literally just sounding words out based on pinyin. One pronunciation is going to sound more naturally paced.

There’s a common advice that in learning/pronouncing most any language, written language is a tool to give some kind of framework to explain the pronunciation/word but it is not necessarily exact. Just like “know” and “now” are not pronounced quite the same, even though if you sounded them out and did not know them, you might end up pronouncing them the same. Or words like “cough” and “dough” - the ‘ough’ are pronounced MUCH differently in the correct pronunciations of the words. But if you’d never spoken or heard them before, and tried to sound them out, they may both come out sounding the same from your mouth. This kind of difference in pronunciation from spelling, is why it’s good to look up native pronunciations of words when learning new ones if at all possible. And why it’s good to listen to a lot of native content and speech - because real people’s pronunciations and the real words are not going to line up one-for-one with the written pronunciation guides we try our best to have as helpful guides.

Third, now recognize that, beyond the real pronunciation of tones actually not always matching up to ‘pinyin’ spelling, and best learned in context with each new word - that also entire syllables basic initials and finals will sound somewhat different depending on dialect. So what dialect are you even aiming to speak like? which ones do you want to understand? Is it important to you to recognize the more subtle was ‘ng’ versus ‘n’ finals sound depending on different dialects? Or z versus zh, etc? Like some areas adding ‘er’ to words and that ‘er’ being pronounced differently depending on which final its attached to? Are any dialects that have different pronunciations for certain words significant for you to learn (like Taiwan using ‘han’ instead of ‘he’ for with/and)? This whole bit is... a lot. And from what I’ve noticed... at least in my own studies... even if you’re aiming for just the standard-mandarin that’s usually beijing-like, that a lot of learning materials use, there’s huge variance in if the ‘er’ thing gets mentioned. Along with other little things... its like. Its like trying to figure out if you’re going to study british english versus american english. But then you decide and you’re like using midwestern american english as the base, but some learning materials include that Milwalkee maaalk for ‘milk’ paaallow for ‘pee-low’ pillow accent, and then like what if someone uses y’all or some light southern parts of accent cause they’re from the south/family is from the south or its like kentucky or tennessee and accents vary depending on what part of the state/cities ur in?

#rant #i got sidetracked #but bascially i cant believe myself for trying to just tackle both character sets at once

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hauntedcollectorartisanelf · 6 years ago

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Why are you in my class? You are so struggling to keep up with the lessons even though your attendance is perfect. You struggle to speak in a way that others can understand you. You slaughter the words making conversation nearly impossible. So please explain to me why I shouldn't just boot you out and give your space to someone capable of learning.

Yep, that's the conversation I just had with my instructor/tutor. I drew a blank. I couldn't figure out how to respond to this. The description is so true that I am ashamed of myself. It managed to hit the play button on the inner tape player of mine of my past teachers and parents... The never-ending loop of their remarks such as God you are such a failure, no good, you are showing the world what scum you can be, I’ve never seen anyone more thickheaded and stupid than you are. These adults would say to me every time I did an assignment that was less than perfect.

Maybe if I put this out there you will understand and help me word it so my tutor will understand.

Let me tell you why I sit down and I attempt to learn a language that isn't my own. Why no matter how much I struggle to get through the assignments my butts in the chair, I'm doing vocab flash cards, rosetta stone, Duolingo, trying to find a way to grasp the language. wishing there was a spell or I could get my hands on whatever gadget star trek people had to be able to speak to the others and understand for communication. Cause I so need it.

See I was exposed to the languages of other cultures for most of my life. It wasn't unusual for me to hear someone speak English and then switch to their home tongue in order to speak to their elders and then back to English. I marveled at the speed and ease these individuals had in communicating. Me I was left out of the conversation because I didn't know the home language and what I would be coached to say would be slaughtered so badly that I'd be patted on the head. Eventually, I stopped trying to communicate unless someone could act as an intermediary.

I did get a rough understanding of the languages I was exposed to so I could sometimes puzzle out something that was said to me but most of the time that was highly embarrassing and frustrating. Still, I looked forward to hearing the words spoken and communicating with them. A few families took pity on me and created a picture book of sorts for when I did the shopping errands and no translator was available. One thing I always got right is that I knew how to sit in the presence of the elders and be quiet. A few looked forward to my presence as it broke the lonely hours of their days even though the silence was deafening. I recall how much I looked forward to it as for that moment I knew I was safe and sometimes I would even get a drink and a snack out of it. Occasionally I would get a story or tale that made the time sitting so much better even if I couldn’t understand a word that was being said. I loved to hear the various languages spoken. I could listen for hours not caring that I didn’t have a clue what was being said. If I was able to do a chore within earshot I made sure to do it as slowly as possible just to get to hear the women speak.

Eventually over a course of several months of being quick to volunteer for a chore or errand and being willing to sit quietly it led to me being included in other things like evening meals, or my favorite activity of all baking and candy making, I may not have known what the yummy treat was called or why certain things were done as they were but I knew how to grease the tins and pans, how to sift the flour, how to stir something at the hot stove, how to peel the potatoes and apples and scrape the veggies and how to wash a dish. I learned a lot but not nearly as much as I could have if I’d only been capable of learning the language. I regret this. Not just because I have a box of letters from that time that I can’t read. I have kept them because I know it must have been important for them to write their words down for me and to give them to me before I left. I had hoped to be smart enough to learn how to at least read the letters or find someone to translate them for me. Sadly its been so long I’m not sure I even remember who gave me which letter and what possible language it might have been written in.

I did manage to read a couple of little notes written to me from a family who had come from Mexico. I was able to make out a few of the words though the ink had faded and the paper was starting to break down. It’s been touching to think that these strangers whom I vaguely remember (they used to have a lot of skeletons and decorated skulls at Halloween) thought to write to me.

I never felt right about expecting everyone to speak the same language especially my language of American English. I never understood the elders' strict rule to only speak English in the home. It seemed rather dumb to me who was stuck in the land of English and dreamed of mastering the older languages that I heard spoken around me as I went from place to place.

I loved it when during the summer All Nations week came. Each day was devoted to an entire country. There would be booths with the delicacies from the old world. clothing brought over would be worn, music from the old world would be played and dances danced. The best part is those who could would then freely speak their preferred language. Those who hid shuttered away because of not being able to grasp English freely strutted up and down the streets calling to neighbors, friends, family in rusty voices and their mutual language. It was bloody marvelous. I loved hearing Polish, Italian, Greek, Dutch, Czechoslovakian, Russian, French, Irish Gaelic, Scotch Gaelic, German, and occasionally from the tourists Japanese and Korean,

While there wasn't a day set aside for the Spanish speakers, they would come sometimes out of curiosity to see what all the hubbub was about. It is on one of these moments that cemented my desire to learn Spanish.

The local elementary was turned into a mini museum. People who had brought items with them when they immigrated here would bring them in to be displayed for everyone to see. It was during one of my daily visits to these rooms that I had to use the restroom. In there was one of the migrant workers with a child who was probably between 12-15 months. She was trying to figure out the taps to wash the sticky candy from the child's face while also help a slightly older girl get paper toweling from the dispenser. She couldn't understand the two other women's instructions on how to operate the paper towel dispenser. It was the type where you had to push in a button and turn the handle several times to get the paper out. The woman clearly couldn't read the English word push. The two white women were getting rather irritated and upset at the lack of understanding of their instructions. I felt so helpless because to get involved would have been to cross these two Christian women and I was still too short to reach the dispenser myself. So I just went and got my hands soaped and rinsed and dried them on my clothes. Well, I'm never been sure what happened next but the hot water tap was on and running full tilt and the little girl was reaching for it. Her mother spotted the danger and went to stop her and in doing so the baby's barefoot got into the hot water. I remember the shriek of pain, the horror in the woman's eyes and the weird distortion of the skin. I bolted out the bathroom and screamed for help. Thankfully some of the women who had just got off of being the room attendant for the displays came and one of them knew Spanish. So they were able to communicate with the woman.

I got in a lot of trouble for shrieking for help and running in the hallway and for that I don't regret. But I have totally regretted not being able to communicate that day and definitely not standing up to the two women. I definitely an F for good conduct on that day.

Maybe that's harsh for a child just out of Kindergarten to feel like she screwed up and someone got hurt because of it but it's how I have felt. It's my shameful bit that I try to bury in the closet.

That's why my butts in the chair and I'm working on learning Spanish. Yes, I took it in high school but that was eons ago. The only useful stuff I got from it was how to order a beer and back my friend in a fight. Nothing practical that would help if I was in a situation like I was when I was a small child.

Part of my issue with what was adding to my struggle to speak it was having no clue and being exposed to Spanish as spoken in Spain and Spanish as spoken in Mexico. Mainly because the two students who led our class were from two different countries and neither could speak to the other. Which left me highly confused but was an excellent excuse to regularly blow up the lab in Chemistry.

Still, I push on hoping one day my brain will click and I can at least be fluent in understanding if I can't be a fluent coherent speaker of it. While I am not around the migrant workers like I was in my youth and what little I was around them didn't allow for much conversation let alone lessons, I do hope to be able to speak a little with them. At least I hope that they will see that I respect their language and do desire to converse with them even as I slaughter what I can say.

As I've said above I've been exposed to other languages and would like to learn them but I doubt it will ever come to be. As the window is rapidly closing on my being able to learn them.

I'd love to learn German, Greek, Russian, Czechkoslavician, Dutch, Norwegian, Italian, Crow, Cheyenne, Black Foot, Apache, Comanche, Navajo, Japanese, Chinese, Korean, and Vietmenise, ASL, . . . and maybe if there's time and my brain can handle it French.

As for Greek... I do possibly have a chance where this could be practical. However, it's been 10 yrs and I still can't make heads or tails of it. My friend says she'll work with me as soon as things calm down as it's her family's language and I'd like to be able to speak to the few elders left from my childhood but I doubt things will calm down enough for her to work with me considering she's studying to become a doctor.

As for the Japanese/Chinese/Korean/Vietmenise, I want to learn but I'm very gun shy about attempting it. I tried to once with some very encouraging teachers and full-on immersion but alas I tried to pay a compliment to one and put the wrong vowelish sound with the accent in the wrong place and it came out highly inappropriate and I've never looked back. Sadly the ones I would most likely converse in these with are all gone. I miss them dearly. Again I just want to be respectful and to be able to figure out what I'm getting or what I want to get when I am allowed to travel where there are actual stores and pharmacies with everything in one of these languages. And most of all I'd like to be able to say thank you and maybe just maybe read the messages in the cards and the few letters I have from the dearest family back when we were close.

I no longer have anyone who speaks Czechkoslavician so maybe I should cross that one off. Again it would be nice to be able to read the letters that were given to me by Tootsie

Now ASL that's more of a major refresher and do over. It's been a very long time since I've had to use it. I still remember a few signs and of course the alphabet. I am able to communicate via the alphabet and of course pen and paper. But I also tend to use the version of sign that I was taught and used the most frequently.

See my stepfather would go to the VA hospitals for various treatment. Sometimes I would escape and look for my Dad. Because of this, I made friends with some of the guys who seemed to live in the hospitals. It’s where I developed a strong love of institutional chocolate pudding and billiards.

One of the men was a crabby grumpus. He couldn't talk much as his face was severely scarred and he only had one arm/hand. left. he would use the alphabet to spell out his wants/needs to certain staff. I was horribly fascinated by his rapid one hand ballet. I would sit mesmerized by his movements and unabashedly stare and watch him often for hours. I don't know how it happened but one day I was given a card with the sign alphabet on it. My stepfather took it upon himself to beat it into my head. When I could make all the letters and be fairly accurate with reading them I thought I would show my friends a new skill I’d gained. I thought it might earn me an extra chocolate pudding. So I really looked forward to the next time we made the trip to the VA hospital.

I again crept in to watch the man do his one hand ballet. I gave away my position when I too loudly giggled at something he said. He signed something rather rude to me and the nurse said she saw my eyes light up and a huge grin split my face ear to ear and I finger spelled a word back. She remembers it as me telling him no and not nice. I don't recall what I signed back it's just too long ago. but it was the start of a beautiful friendship.

He gradually over the years taught me quite a few signs all in a one-handed way. Soon I became extremely versed and fluent in his form of sign. We'd go to the gift shop and cafeteria and he'd sign to me and I'd speak to whomever. The nurse said those were the moments he cherished best. She said that the biggest change in his recovery had to do with me coming to see him. I gave him a chance to go to places in the hospital he couldn't go to normally. I gave him the chance to get something immediately rather than waiting until he could communicate his desire to her or one of the other nurses willing to learn his version of sign and then waiting until they could carry out his purchase and bring it back to him either when they went on break or got off shift. I'm grateful I could do something for him even though it was so little.

Later another vet came in and then I learned another one hand version of sign. That paid off much later when I got out of high school as this gentleman was placed in a nursing home that I had a job in. Because of my already knowing his language I was frequently assigned to his care. The staff eventually noticed an improvement in him on the days I worked vs the days I didn't work or that I did but wasn't assigned to him. It really drove home the importance of communication and how English isn't always the best or only way to do so.

I've faced the struggle I'm going through now with learning ASL. My instructor luckily happened to know the 2nd veteran. And once she realized that I could communicate with him things got better in the class for me. Mainly because if I wasn't getting it with both hands she'd do it his way with one and with a little cueing I would eventually get it with both hands. Sadly I wasn't able to continue my lessons as life threw me a curve ball but because of those lessons In 3 of my jobs working retail, I was able to salvage some nasty situations. My signing was rusty even then but it was good enough to intervene and take a disgruntled customer turning them into a satisfied customer. Especially when my instructor would come in to shop. I miss having someone to sign with. I miss the ballet of hands. It's probably why I insisted that both my children take classes in signing when they were presented. I regret that neither stayed with it. but for a select few signs.

I always felt learning to sign was important. After all, we have a school for the death in the area. The community may not be huge or use sign as much as when I was a child so there doesn't seem to be as many who sign at present it totally doesn't negate the need to know sign. Again it's about respect. I do run through my sign dictionaries and some online stuff to keep my fingers limber but I know I need real human interaction because I'm finding it harder to read since I don't have anyone to sign with any longer.

None of this is about being little miss goody-two-shoes, know it all. All of it is about respecting and being able to communicate with someone not because it's mandatory but because it's the only way good communication can happen especially to help out or to prevent injury in another. So that's why even though I'm struggling my butt's in the chair and I'm trying to learn and planning to learn something beyond the English I speak, read, and write now.

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rilenerocks · 4 years ago

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That’s What S/he Said The other morning, I walked into my house after working out in the yard. As usual, I was sweaty, my normal state once the temperature rises above 70• F.

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