#after recovering on saturday i get the energy to do Something on sunday again. but then its always just getting back into the groove

[dyke-mecha]

It's just. I want to do things. I wanna read my books. I wanna write. I wanna draw. But each day I'm coming home with negative spoons, so I just end up rotting away in bed because hey guess what this lovely body is Fucked and everything else only exhausts me more.

[sheliesshattered]

Dragon Con 2023 Retrospective

We've been home from Dragon Con for two weeks as of today -- but we've spent most of that time recovering from a particularly nasty Con Crud™. I tested negative for covid, but Jack tested positive and we had the same symptoms, so eh I figure I finally actually caught it, after several rounds of head colds that tested negative.

I always get some level of Con Crud and/or spoonie post-event exhaustion, so I was prepared to feel pretty awful for a week or two at least. The fever and sinus headache was a bit novel this year, but as I'm getting over this infection I'm actually feeling okay-ish. Hopefully my energy will continue to return over the next few weeks (I've got a big day of walking planned for the end of October!) but otherwise I might actually be feeling better now than I have two weeks post Dragon Con (or post Wasteland Weekend) in previous years.

And unlike previous years, I got through the whole con and the trip home without feeling sick at all. A little dehydrated at times (the wait for airport security at ATL was the worst honestly), and my body taking the trouble to remind me how much stretching in the evening helps me, but nothing worse than that.

I've had Dragon Cons in past years when I was too wiped out to even leave the hotel room by Sunday evening, but this year I spent Sunday evening standing around and socializing at the Doctor Who Ball, and didn't hate myself for it later. A combination of being in better physical condition now in general, and pacing myself (and Jack needing to pace too), and staying on top of vitamins and electrolytes and water all really seemed to help.

We got home on the Monday of Labor Day weekend, and then Tuesday morning I was feeling well enough to go grocery shopping on my own and make corn chowder from scratch when I got back. I was tired, but not too bad, honestly. Buuut by that evening I had a sore throat, then by Wednesday morning both Jack and I woke up with a fever. The rest of the week continued more or less like that, with a lot of lying around on the couch and watching movies and tv shows, lol.

Despite feeling like death, we did spend some time talking about what went well at Dragon Con 2023, what we'd want to do again and what we'd want to do differently. I really enjoyed the House of the Dragon photo meetup on Saturday, and wearing my Rhaenyra cosplay in general. I even ended up wishing that I'd carved out time to go to the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF photo meetup in the same costume, just to have more time in that dress and hanging out with that fandom.

There's something that I really enjoy about working hard for months on end to make something screen-accurate from a fandom that is active but also fairly focused. I recognized every costume worn at the HotD meetup, knew which character wore it in which episode, etc. Everyone I talked with at that meetup knew exactly which dress I was wearing, which character I was, and noticed the details I spent so much time working on -- just as I did theirs. There's a wonderful camaraderie and bonding in appreciating each other's hard work to achieve screen accurate reproductions of well-known and visually compelling costumes.

Between that meetup and late night drinking shenanigans while wearing my Rhaenyra cosplay, I really felt like I achieved my peak Dragon Con experience this year while wearing that costume.

By contrast, while I did have fun wearing my Harley Quinn Taylor Swift mashup cosplay, I didn't have nearly as much fun as I did as Rhaenyra. I got some nice compliments from complete strangers who saw the shirt and got the mashup concept, and I had one funny in-character interaction with a Joker cosplayer, but by the evening I was ready to switch back to being Rhaenyra.

The Harley mashup was clever, but not people-stopping-to-take-pictures clever, and honestly there are just a lot of Harleys running around the con. And her canon is a lot more scattered than HotD/GoT canon, and costumes are much more commercially available, so there wasn't nearly the same level of bonding over hand-making the costumes.

The Swifties meetup was fun, and exchanging the beaded friendship bracelets I made was a good experience -- but honestly I had more fun handing out the few Rhaenyra ones I made than I did exchanging the Swiftie ones. I don't regret making the Harley Quinn Taylor Swift mashup, but it did really help clarify my priorities for future Dragon Cons.

So Harley Quinn was fun, but won't be repeated, I don't think. But because I'd worn Rhaenyra's red dress so late into the evening on Friday, I hadn't had a chance to wear my punk!Rhaenyra original concept yet, so on Saturday night when I wanted to switch back to Rhaenyra for awhile, I got to break that one out for late night parties and shenanigans (and also Dairy Queen).

Sunday was lower-key by comparison. Quite a few Doctor Who cosplayers looked right at my Oswin and didn't seem to recognize it, which seems to be par for the course for mainstream Whovians when it comes to Clara's era. That said, just when I was starting to get snarky about that (quietly, only to Jack), a Sixth Doctor cosplayer complimented my Oswin, which made the whole thing feel worth it.

And then when I switched to my MOTOE Clara cosplay for the evening hours, there were a few more people who clearly recognized the costume -- including one woman who gasped and yelled 'Clara!!' at me as we were passing each other in heavy Marriott crowds. I didn't get a chance to do more than gasp in surprise at her excitement, but the cycling of the Marriott crowd being what it is, we eventually passed each other again, and I ran off through the crowd to catch her that time. We chatted for a bit and I gave her the beaded bracelet reading 'Don't Stop Me Now' that I made for exactly that situation, lol. We ended up hanging out at the Doctor Who Ball, but her excitement over the MOTOE cosplay really made my night.

The Doctor Who Ball had a costume contest (that wasn't real well organized, but sounds like it will be a more official thing in future years, because it was such a popular event) that I entered on a lark. The announcement of the winners in particular wasn't well done, I missed it completely because I was talking with people, but I went and asked afterwards and found out that I'd done well and (according to the woman running the contest, who immediately asked to take a picture with me) apparently I only lost the Companion category to a Wilf cosplayer who was spot-on, and tugging on everyone's heartstrings. I don't know how close the vote really was, but her enthusiasm for my cosplay felt like such a gift.

I haven't felt like going to GallifreyOne in recent years, since I've felt so much on the outside of the Doctor Who fandom (between the hate focused on Clara's era and my own dislike of the most recent era), but the Doctor Who Ball was a great time to talk with like-minded Whovians, and to remember why I love this corner of the fandom in general.

I think MOTOE Clara will probably make an appearance at future Dragon Cons, and Oswin met the original purpose of being a comfortable easy-to-wear cosplay for during the day, so in all likelihood that one will come back too (after just a little bit of repair work on the belt).

The red silk Rhaenyra gown held up well, much better than I feared it would. I maaay need to handwash it, but I washed the fabric with shampoo before I sewed it, so theoretically it can be handwashed again, if it really needs it. I need to replace the shoes, but that's already in progress. At this point I'm planning to bring Rhaenyra's Red Dress back to Dragon Con 2024 (and maybe even to something else in between, like Wonder Con?). Quite possibly punk!Rhaenyra too.

I think season 2 of HotD will air before next Dragon Con, or at least start before the end of August. There's every possibility that there will be new costumes from s2 that I'll want to make -- but either way, I know now that I want to lean into cosplay from fandoms like HotD/GoT, and focus less on fandoms like Harley Quinn.

I've already started thinking about and planning cosplays for next year, but this is already way too long, so I'll post an update about that tomorrow...

[focusandrelaxforme]

Documenting My Subject's Hypno Slavery Journey (Part 8)

- After her subdrop, we took things easy for a bit before getting back into it. Add to that her incoming trip, and just general busyness, and finding time for proper sessions has been difficult.

- That said, my plan is to come up with a more structured approach that will effectively leave her with instructions and guidance even when I can't interact with her directly in the moment.

- Part of that is having her be more available to her husband, so that she gets the feeling of being used.

--------

Dear Diary,

I feel like I haven't wrote in so long...but in reality its only been a day.. Not a lot has happened since my last entry. I suffered from a bit of a rough sub drop and Master let me take the day to recover. He offered to give me a bit more freedom, but I declined. That makes me feel a bit empty. He was very easy on me...except my "rest" day still involved a 10 min killer ab workout haha. But don't tell him.. I really don't mind.. i crave the control. I need to be under his control...and I desperately need to obey. The last couple days Master has been busy with work and the holiday. And I'm sure he is very tired. So I have found myself alone a lot. Which really only makes me realize how much I crave the control. I really need to find myself a hobby to do when he is busy.. or something he can assign to me. Ill have to think about that. Is it weird that I've grown to miss someone that I've only known for a week? I don't want to be seen as a crazy person. I just got used to him being there I guess. Thankfully he has still been in and out to give me little instructions...which has helped keep.me in check. He instructed me to go deep to do this journal and omg am I going deep right now. Sooo deep. I haven't been this deep in a few days and woah. Spinny!

Anyway.. idk what I am even talking about at this point. Master has promised me that he would help me deal with my anxiety and insecurities. Its embarrassing to admit that I even have the. O want to come across as a sexy confident slave...but with him i melt. And no Master, not like the creepy Indiana jones gif you sent me.

On Sunday we spent all day being sarcastic and fun. I genuinely enjoy my conversations with him...and i hope he feels the same. He has a great sense of humor...and makes me laugh like an idiot at my phone a lot. On Monday I woke up feeling relaxed...and upon putting in my lush for the day, I started to go deep. Maybe it's my lush causing it now? Is that a trigger? Anyway.. i found myself filled with energy and feeling so sassy and confident. I almost feel like I cant mess anything up...like I couldn't make a mistake if I tried. Its weird.. like I felt perfect. It lasted for a few hours at work again like Saturday.. where I was able to be high functioning while also being a deep slave for Master. Something caused me to fall out if it though after a some time. I started to get anxiety and then I was back aware. I was sad to not be happy and deep anymore. Being deep feels so nice. I feel like a happy, calm person . And i feel like my whole body is on edge and just waiting for my Masters next message. I enjoy it.. i have never had these experiences before.

Master has changed my lush instructions a bit to be a little bit safer for my body...just in case. So now I only wear it in the morning until lunch and then sometimes for a little bit at nigh for my workout. Maybe because its a trigger who knows. Well...except him. He knows everything haha.

Today he was at a forth of July party so I was home a lot alone.. but he gave me instructions to be a good slave and show my husband how much freedom. He gets for the 4th. I was to practice my obedience by telling him how deeply enslaved I am and by offering him my mouth all day. He surprisingly only took advantage of it once...and oh my.. was I deep. Master instructed me to forget about it.. but I fully remember now. i laid down my baby for a nap and then went and crawled into bed with him. He snuggled up ne t to my butt..as he always does.. and I shyly whispered that I was enslaved... in hopes he wouldn't judge me.. and then asked if he would like a blow job. He said he was alright at first...because he was half asleep.. but then about 20 mins later he woke me for it. i don't even know what came over me.. I love sucking cock normally...but I reallllly loved it today. I found my pussy aching around my lush as I licked repeatedly up and down my husbands cock and balls. He was moaning and telling me how great it felt. And I kept teasing him with mg tongue and then I would take his cock in my mouth and press it deep... i would fuck my face slowly and then quickly until i gagged on his cock.. then I would go back to licking. This went on for probably 25 mins.. and I couldn't get enough. I just felt hungry . I wanted to be so obedient for my Master.. My husband reached over and pulled down my PJs at one point and found my lush pressed into my pussy. He was a little shocked i think...and rubbed my pussy a little. It felt nice...but no where near as nice as when I was slamming his cock into my mouth for my Master. I could have cum from just that.. but I didn't ask when Master gave me the instructions.. so I was good and just let myself get to the edge. My husband finally came after I started moaning a little and whining.. i couldn't really speak...because I was so deep and into the blowjob.. he stroked his cock for me while I licked his balls and he came on top his stomach. Then I just zoned out and laid on the bed for a few minutes until i was a real person again. Then I found myself happy and bubbly for a while until my anxiety and insecurities settled back in again. I then convinced my husband to take me to get food...and I cried in the car.. not because of Master...but because of my trip coming up. I'm so stressed. How does one accept that their Mother has died.. when you lived in another state and hadn't spoken to her in months.

I don't want to be depressing and I have already filled a whole notepad at this point. Woah.

Umm anyway. I freaking miss my Master.. and I hate it. Why do I miss him. Quit being cute. (But really don't please)

Haha. Anyway ..im watching your comments! Feel free to say hi Xoxo I wrote way too much..

sorry,

slave.

--------

[thessalian]

Thess vs Recharging

I have not had sufficient time to recharge and recover from the weeks of overtime. I was hoping to have a nice quiet steady week before the run-up to MCM Comic Con, but that apparently was not to be. Then again, it's kind of in a good cause, because my stepfather is finally sorting out some of the heating nonsense in the flat.

See, my parentals paying the electricity bill on this flat...

(Side note: my stepfather originally said that it wouldn't make any sense to transfer the bills until I was living here permanently, especially since it was only going to be for a short time. It has been two and a half years. So while I do try to mitigate my electricity usage somewhat so I'm not abusing this good fortune, I figure having to live in a flat where only half of everything works deserves some compensation. Also my mother must be pissed; the second flat is supposed to be an investment property and she can't put it up for rent until both flats are renovated, so my stepfather's procrastination is kind of negatively affecting the family income. But again, that's kind of her problem.)

Anyway. I only explain that my parentals pay the electricity bill on this flat because the fact that he changed the energy tariff that this flat was originally using was nothing to do with me. This is important to note because, for the last two years or so since he changed the tariff, certain things in the house haven't been working. Basically there are two circuits in the house. One's day-to-day usage stuff - computer, TV, microwave, stuff like that. The other's core usage, generally less expensive, and mostly has to do with the boiler and the storage heaters. It's the boiler-and-storage-heater circuit that hasn't been working for two years. Now, my stepfather has been chasing the energy company to figure out whether it's their fault that this happened (spoiler - after two fucking years, he found out that yes, this particular tariff moved all the energy output onto one circuit and shut off the one that the boiler etc are on, and no, I don't know why, because my stepfather has only now just started explaining this shit to me), but he hasn't done a whole lot to fix the problem. He only really grasped the implications of the problem during last winter's cold snap, when I was bundled up in multiple layers of clothing with one electric space heater going only when I just couldn't take it anymore, just because of how obscene the energy prices were getting. And to be honest, I think he's only doing something about it now because my friend from France is coming to stay with me while we both go to MCM Comic Con next weekend. Because, like, his stepdaughter can suffer with freezing rooms and having to switch on the day boost for two hours to get a decent bath but gods forbid a total stranger to him be inconvenienced.

Long story short: my stepfather's been in and out of the flat on and off at random throughout the week, because he's installing energy-efficient electric heaters into the rooms that really need them (specifically the sitting room and the study; I have enough duvet to cope when I'm in the bedroom) and hooking them up to the one operational circuit. On Sunday, he will be hooking the boiler to the operational circuit. So I will have proper hot water all the time instead of having to switch on the day boost for two hours. And then I get to spend 4-5 days figuring out exactly how to get the temperature to my liking because for two years I have been switching on the day boost for 1.5-2 hours, then just turning on the hot water and leaving it until the tub's about full, because the hot water goes cold fast and that makes the bathwater not be scalding.

My problem is how he does it. My stepfather is of a certain generation and a certain mindset and "popping by with very little notice" is a thing he's fine with. And since he's fine with it, apparently so should everyone else be. So last weekend was him calling up at 11:30 on Saturday morning going, "I'm just going to pop by this afternoon to bring in these heaters; is that okay?" The "Is that okay?" is really more of an afterthought for him, honestly; the tone is "Of course it is; why wouldn't it be?" when I'm just going, "I am trying to recharge and recover and now I have you in my personal space using power tools with no notice?!?" I want time to prepare my headspace for someone being in my personal space, damnit! (And never mind that he had to shut off the power to the sockets so I couldn't sit watching TV or playing video games for most of that time.) He was late on Sunday - he said 2pm; turned up at half-three. Then came in on Tuesday while I was working - "I shouldn't disturb you", he says, just before taking a fucking power drill to the shared wall between the living room and the study where I was working, causing said wall to vibrate. At least I talked him out of coming in today, but that's because I'm going to get my Covid booster in a couple of hours and I'm honestly preparing to feel like crap for the rest of the day.

I cannot recharge with people in my personal space. And if he's changing the circuit, I'm probably going to be denied power again tomorrow. So the schedule for the next week or so is as follows:

Today - Covid booster; maybe pick up a few essentials; make up at least some relaxation time

Tomorrow - Stepfather working on the flat; D&D Sunday

Monday - Stepfather probably coming back to work on the flat because He Be Like That

Tuesday-Wednesday - Work, with added 'bonus' of Teams meeting with Scruffman because apparently we're moving offices next month and I should probably make an appearance at the office to clear my desk

Thursday - Marion's arrival, Being Hostess begins

Friday-Sunday - MCM Comic Con

Monday - Seeing Marion off; the start of nearby neighbour getting their flat renovated (which will apparently get loud on at least one day, so fuck my life completely)

Tuesday - One day to relax, hindered by neighbour's renovations

Wednesday onward - Back to work

Now, I do have to book the rest of my time off by the end of October but I've been having to hold off on that because Scruffman still hasn't approved my leave dates over Christmas. He's approved my traditional birthday week off in February, but not the Christmas leave. Sorry, but it makes sense if I go off on Christmas because there won't be that much typing while the doctors are also probably on leave and it's mostly phone cover that will be the issue. Anyway, I don't know how much leave I have until he approves or denies all of my leave requests, including the one he "just didn't want to touch" when I put in for it in fucking August.

Right. I have an hour or so to chill out before I have to go find the place where I am getting my Covid booster, so I'd best do that, or at least try to. I just want one week where I don't have to do anything.

[citybythebayvisions]

Sunday April 26th, 2015

So seventeen wasn’t my best year...

Nowadays I know that it was far from my worst. The running around I did at fifteen and eighteen wore on me rougher, but as much as I hate to ‘cause they sting something brutal, at least I can think about those years. They were so consequential to my life that I’ve been forced to reflect and analyze them enough and I’ve found that, for all of the faults in my teenage chase for purpose, I at least had the energy to keep driving even when the road I put myself on was dangerously steep and rocky. With and without the substance, I was so fucking alive! I wanted to be, so much so that I was capable of saving myself by pulling off those sharp U-Turns from the edge on a dime and channeling my energy in much better and healthier ways. That’s why sixteen and nineteen were my best years during my teens: I worked as hard as I possibly could in every area of my life to cleanse myself of all that chaos I’d stirred and, while the cleanse might not have lasted forever like I wholeheartedly believed it would every time, at least it lasted long enough to bless me with the greatest gift of all when I made it to twenty.

Who, by the way, still isn’t home yet.

But he’s not and...I guess the only reason I have for why he should be is that I’m home before he is. He gets off at nine and has to take the train because I don’t get off until after eleven sometimes and now it’s after midnight…

And yeah, I know I know; Bayview might as well be the boonies, but I would’ve heard from him if it was a three-hour delay. 

Nah, I’ve got him figured out. He’s out with his friends again, and I really hope he gets back before this Adderall fully wears off because y’know, I’d like to see my son for more than fifteen minutes before the crash hits — Jesus Christ, it’s already started. I’ve gone from trying to do something totally different to going back in time to when Jason was born, but only because I hate thinking about when I was seventeen and I wish the jingle of his keys would rattle me out of it — but I don’t.

So we’re back to the year of Sabotage... 

Man, that really song put it all into perspective for me and it’s probably since I played it to death more than MTV did ‘cause shit... ‘94 blasted it’s way in with the same sheer force as that guitar riff and it left me on my knees begging and screaming to God, Jesus, and whoever else could hear me up there in the big blue sky above with the same guttural “Why?” Why did that vile piece of shit have to violate her? Why did he do it again? Why did I have to keep getting beat to a fucking pulp? Why did my dad have to do that to me? Why did my own fucking father want to hurt me so badly that I had to have surgery and recover in a hospital for an entire week? Why did I have to be muzzled like a dog for eight weeks? Why couldn’t the painkillers numb all of my pain? Why did I have to be so terrified all of the time? Why did I want to be alive? Why was everything and everyone I loved on the verge of being destroyed? Why did everything feel so chaotic and depressing for the entire world to suffer too? Why did every day feel like the worst was yet to come? Why did the year have to be so fucking violent? Why? 

There were answers to these questions, but I didn’t receive them immediately. It took years, decades even, to get the pieces together or begin to accept the few of them that were lost forever, but that initial aftershock only made me ruminate in my teenage existentialism further. I drove myself so insane that by the time my birthday came around, I was so drained that I didn’t want to do a damn thing to celebrate. I remember it was a Saturday and I didn’t have to, so this was the one year where dozing off while watching something as shitty as my free rental of Coneheads—fuck I think I’m the only one who watched that awful movie—was as crazy as I wanted to get. What the hell else was there to look forward to? My jaw was wired shut! I couldn’t open my mouth any more than a centimeter or two, so cake was out of the question and I was sick of my vanilla pudding and applesauce diet...

So thank God for birthday cake shakes.

Right around the time I’d drank my birthday dinner of chicken broth that I was also tired of and decided to call it a day, there was this loud, excited, knock on the back door. I didn’t wanna move, but I had to get up to answer my friends, who rallied me out of my self sabotaging defiance to go and get myself one. They literally threatened that they wouldn't leave the back porch if I didn’t do it, ‘cause they were that determined to not let my bullshit deter me from feeling a little better like only the best of friends do just ‘cause they love you and want to bring some light into your shittiest days. It’s the one memory that makes thinking back on the day tolerable, really. At least I’m able to recognize myself there, laughing through the painkillers in a Denny’s booth with my girl tucked underneath my arm and my best friend right across from me. The Pavement tickets he got me were the ultimate mood booster too. The first time I saw them, when crooked rain was all that seemed to fall.

See, that’s the thing; through it all, at least my friends were along for the ride with me. We tried to have fun— looking back, there’s some good times that I can’t believe happened in the midst—but we all had things we wanted that were just out of reach that kept us from enjoying anything as wholly as we were used to. All I knew is that I wanted real freedom, some agency I could use, and I couldn’t have it for another year— more like two since that’s when she could have hers and I was starting to wonder long term about us and where we might be. I was thinking long term about everything and so was Eric, who was in his own crisis since he was about to enter senior year and had to start applying to other colleges. UCLA didn’t work out because of how badly we screwed up our grades in sophomore year and he was knocked out of sorts for the entire summer about being back at square one. It sucked for him since that was his dream school, and I thought it was pretty unfair, but I was happy he was at least on the board somewhere with a plan. College not being my thing was the only answer I had; I was totally aimless and no amount of joints we smoked or mushrooms we did that summer gave me the otherworldly answers I wanted to break through it — though they sure helped me feel better about it. It all worked out, of course, but we were too blurred by our own transitions that we couldn’t see it yet. 

My point is that I get it, Jason. I get why you’re still gone. Seventeen was the first year I never wanted to be home either. My friends were my family and I needed them ‘cause they got me in a way that my parents couldn’t. 

The way I can’t reach him now. 

Look, Jason and I are some real studies in contrast, but I’ve always appreciated and admired how different he is from me. Being the quiet kid who stays in and keeps to himself like he is would’ve saved me from so much trouble when I was younger and he spares me a lot of worry that I know that I gave my mom. He can’t exactly steal my car keys when he doesn’t even care to learn how to drive, much less come stumbling in high and shitfaced when he shuts himself in his room and rarely leaves. I’ve never worried about him ditching school either — shit, he does so well that when he goes somewhere for lunch, it’s called open campus privileges and not skipping lunch period like it was for us back in the day. They’d let him walk out the door and blow him a kiss goodbye before ever screaming down my phone about truancy. I wouldn’t blame them. He’s such a good kid. A miracle of one, I swear. I know more about what he doesn’t do than what he does, but if he’s not doing anything reckless it shouldn’t concern me, right?

Well...it didn’t until it did. I’m happy he keeps himself safe, but all the isolation he subjected himself to back home wasn’t great for him either. I don’t think I saw him leave the apartment more than a few times the entirety of the last few summers outside of going and getting cigarettes—fuck, I wish he’d quit that habit now. There’s worse things he could’ve picked up at fifteen, but geez...he smokes worse than a chimney. 

Where was I? 

Oh right, Jason being elusive about his friends. So when he moved here and started going out on weekend nights, I was ecstatic! It relieved me, because I really wasn’t sure how well he was going to handle this move. He’d lived in the same place for years — the closest thing to a childhood home he'd ever had — and never ever moved out of Oakland before. Outside of my extended stay at Corcoran's best crossbar motel, I’d never done it either— that’s so fucking wild to think about. To know that before February, the closest I ever came to getting him out of that city was the Emeryville border and that was when he was a newborn. The moment I moved out of my parents house when I was only a few months older than him now, eighteen and even more aimless, leaving the city for good is one of the only things I wanted to do. There were so many places between here and Texas that I drove by and could’ve started instead. It took me two days to get there that summer. I was always daydreaming on that route and found myself paying more attention to the houses than the road sometimes. Not like anybody was out there to notice, or nag and shoot my possibilities down. Far removed from the route, I still wonder about it, if range life would’ve made it all turn out different. I betcha it would. 

But she was coming back to California at the end of that summer and I couldn’t leave her, then I had a dealer and decent supply, then not too much later I had a probation officer who wouldn’t let me leave the state, then I was broke, then we had a kid and we had jobs and then Jason was already enrolled in school and then...well...I checked in. When I checked out, I was at the mercy of the first apartment with two bedrooms that would accept a felon and rescue us from that cramped studio she’d resorted to on Telegraph Avenue after we lost our place by the lake. 41st Street stuck and when I checked out again, I was so happy to be free that I didn’t want to go anywhere if I didn’t have to. Then I had to...

Different neighborhoods can feel a lot like different cities; the border was a lot different than the ‘burbs I grew up in and downtown Oakland was another fucking world in comparison, so San Francisco is a different universe entirely. Always was a totally different attitude here and that’s grown even more drastic than I remember. I never spent too much time over here — not from a lack of wanting to or anything, there wasn’t much of a need. When we were kids we’d hop the train or get a ride if there was something we really wanted to see, then when we were adults our trips unfortunately became less about stores and sneaking into concerts at the Civic Center and more about which clubs and bars to sell in and getting quick rock hookups while we were at it so we wouldn’t have to wait for our Oakland guys to cross to light up. Everything’s always been so much more expensive over here that, in all my moving plans, I never thought it’s where we’d wind up. Prior to this, I only knew of Bayview ‘cause of Candlestick. It’s getting torn down now because Levi’s got completed in Santa Clara and last year’s World Series champions moved to a new park years ago. I didn’t really think much about it while scrolling through Apartments.com, I just cared about the cheapest listings that could get us in the quickest, but anytime I pass by the rubble, the sense of nostalgia made me feel something for a place that I haven’t in a long time — belonging. 

I think Jason felt it too. Within less than two weeks of starting his new school, he put all my worries about adjusting at ease — even if it meant him suddenly staying out downtown ‘til two in the morning. After everything he’s been through, I’m not about to get on him for missing curfew or whatever. He’s never had one and wouldn’t take it seriously if I suddenly decided to start one now anyway. And I don’t really want to.  If he finally found some people worth spending so much time with and he’s happy, I don’t want to do anything to mess that up. 

Thing is, my parents at least saw my friends…and at least heard me mention them by name in my rambles, which Jason hasn’t. All I know is that he’s out with them a lot lately, and I seriously might start thinking they’re imaginary if he doesn’t get the slightest bit more specific—

There’s the sound I want to hear.

Keys are jingling in the door and I get up off the couch to—oh shit, I lost? That’s what I was doing! Playing pool on my phone…’til I dozed off and the screen went black and lit up when I moved. Damn...

Whatever, I’ll pick up from it later. Kiddo’s finally home.

“Jason! Hey…” 

“Hey…” He closes the door with his back, ‘cause  there’s a paper bag that he’s holding in his arms. 

“Oh, you went to the store! What’d you get?” 

“It’s orange juice. We werr...out, so I bought some…” He replies, out of breath and sounding as exhausted as he looks. He must’ve walked a mile with this thing lugging him down. I don’t know why! I know he needs it to take with his vitamins, but Christ...an entire carton? 

“Geez, Jason. You didn’t have to do that! I could’ve gotten it in the morning…”

“Yeah, well lit was on the...on the way, so...I got it. A lil’silly to worry about it now... don’t you think?”

“I guess. Just want you to keep it in mind for next time, that’s all.” 

For that anyway. All I can focus on is that he’s still standing there holding the brown bag and...why? I’m not in his way or anything. Go put it in the fridge already, Jason! The faster you put it in the fridge, the faster you can crash! 

And then it dawns on me that I’m equally as stuck standing here looking at him and what the fuck am I doing that for? He just walked a mile and his arm has to be sore and numb from carrying a cold bag for so long. You know how it is coming in that exhausted. Help him!

“C’mon, let me help you with that. Here,” I go over to him, arms out so he’ll hand me the bag and go lay down like I know he’s dying to. 

But the paper crumples. He clutches tighter on the silly thing while shaking his head and I sigh at myself in frustration. Shit, I could’ve approached him a little quieter; he’s so tired that his eyes are beyond bloodshot and….glassy, like he’s been…

Wait a sec...he hasn’t been drinking, has he? 

No! What am I thinking? He hates booze! He always complains about the smell making him sick! Why would he even think to try it?  

But why else does he look like that? Or be slurring?

And refuse to give me the bag?

 “Are you... okay?” I ask slowly. My hand’s frozen in the air, waiting for him to thaw. 

“I’m fine...” He tells me, but his entire face has gotten a lot more red and blotchy in a matter of seconds, “M’just hot...thatsall. Don’t…don’t you think it’s hot in here? I’m sweltering.” 

He tugs on the collar of his windbreaker but he doesn’t hand me the bag or set the damn thing down to actually take it off and that really quirks my brow.  

“...No?”

He lets out a huff and yeah...gum only works for a little bit, kiddo. It’s there. The smell of liquor is still there.

Christ. 

He keeps chewing on it though. Hell, he’s chomping on it even faster. “What…are you waiting up for?…Are y o u alright?” 

“I’m sober.”

A bitter smile twists on me when I tell him that. It’s what he really wanted to know, but it’s clearly the answer we both don’t need to hear tonight. It’s burning his stare; he wanted me to be higher than a kite so I’d forget this sight and never say anything of it to him again — God, how I wish he were right. I wish that I would’ve never known about whatever happened here until he was sober and be so deafened by the ring in my ears that I couldn’t hear his fuming breathing. 

But I can’t ignore it. 

“And I was waiting because I wanted to make sure you made it back—”

“You can’t be serious.”

I sigh and put my hand on his shoulder to show him I am, “Not that I thought that you wouldn’t, I just...wanted to see you. Make sure you’re not just a blur…”

He opens his lids after a moment, looking less pissed. He still won’t talk.

So I switch gears, “Where were you after work, Jason?” 

“The store.” 

“Before that.” 

“Nowhere.” 

“Yeah, now we are, but the booze on your breath came from somewhere!” My hand flies off of his shoulder and sticks up in the air. His eyes look all big again, and that makes me more exasperated. What is he so shocked for? Did he really think I wouldn’t notice?! 

No… no he didn’t. I never did and I should be lucky that he’s not laughing in my face like the cocky little shit I used to be. He’s somewhat sober enough to be serious, a little shameful, even. His eyes are droopy…

“You can’t pull a fast one on me. I caught you too red eyed. You’re drunk.” 

—“Tipsy.”  

“Tipsy…there we go! See Jason, that’s all I want. That’s all I’ve been wanting. You don’t have to lie to me! You know you don’t need to…” 

His eyes screw shut again, and I keep going because I need him to hear me, hear that I’m not mad, he’s not in trouble, that I don’t care that he went out—or that I do but I’m not going to call up his buddies’ parents and rat on them or something silly like that. I don’t know their numbers! All I want to know is where he wasn’t.

But my own words start sounding more garbled and distant to me when I hear him start swallowing down hard. At first I guess he’s getting rid of the gum but he gulps again and again harder, each accompanied by a faint whine in his throat. 

Oh shit…there he goes.

Hand flying up to his mouth, he shoves the bag into my chest, leaving me to clutch onto it while he stumbles towards the sink. It’s heavy and bulky and kinda cold and…yep, definitely a Minute Maid carton. 

“I didn’t think you were lying about the bag!” I exclaim as I set the juice down on the table, because I didn’t…entirely. I don’t know why I said that to him though, it won’t make him feel better. Nothing I say will. His head is down in the sink, drowning me out by the tinny echoes of his heaving and puking. At least he must’ve had some meat for dinner, because I wince as I see red chunks cover the steel sink basin and I feel bad. He can’t help it.

It just never gets easier watching him. 

I never had the chance to get used to it, really. You can’t nurse your kid back to health from 200 miles away. I can’t tell you how awful it was to hear his strained voice struggling through bronchitis to talk to me over the phone, or to hear the report over the line about how rough a night he had every winter when he caught a stomach bug from school and stuck in a cell instead of being there to help him.

His shoulders sink while he grips the edge of the metal, my own hand curling tighter into my arm. Reaching out will startle more than soothe him, he’ll just swat me away. 

Watching is all there’s left to do. 

Jason’s had it really rough lately. He started worrying me when we were trying to move with how winded he’d get trying to lift things into the U-Haul. We were trying to move this dresser that didn’t have drawers and was light enough for the both of us to pick up, and he kept needing to stop after every few feet because he needed to catch his breath. And I know he wasn’t trying to break his way out of it, pure agony screwed up his face every time. He told me he was dizzy, that he’s been really dizzy, and I believed him — he could barely stand up straight! 

I called it a night so he could lay down on the couch and while he tried to sleep I got him an appointment. He was out of school for the move anyway, so they let him come in first thing in the morning. I really wanted to go in with him and find out, maybe get his doctor to persuade him that smoking can’t be helping matters, but I didn’t. He didn’t ask me not to go, and he didn’t need to. I always wanted to go in by myself. He’s almost an adult now, he can handle it — even if I couldn’t. The wait nearly killed me. 

Eventually Jason walked out and slumped over the counter digging in the jar for Dum Dums while his doctor told me that he was probably moderately anemic. Probably as in, she’d already sent up orders for blood tests for us to get done to confirm it. The next place I took him was the lab and she was right! Iron and vitamin deficiency anemia. She said it was from not eating as much of the right things; add more meat and over the counter supplements into his diet and he should be feeling better within a few weeks…

The dizziness did. He quit complaining about it, or maybe it took a backseat to the pills making him nauseous all the time. He really is my son, ‘cause he threw them in the trash just how I threw out Ritalin at the first sign of a side effect after I first took it. He did it right in front of me too, pretty much saying exactly what thirteen year old me told my mom: “I don’t need these, I’m fine without them!”

I wish! 

And I’m glad she fished them out of the can and made sure they were back in my hand time and time again because I needed something. Ritalin wasn’t perfect, but the right dose came as close it was gonna get before Adderall was around. It just took a lot of persistence by my mom and I to get it. Didn’t help that it kept changing as I got older. Two five milligram pills a day that was too much when I was thirteen turned into an okay twenty milligrams a day when I was fifteen and it was all night and day when I switched from twenty five milligrams of Ritalin to the same amount of Adderall. Now that was perfect. I could concentrate without turning into a total zombie, had energy to keep up with a toddler, and still slept well. No doctor will write that script for me now. Too risky! The hurdles I’ve been jumping through to get tens are ridiculous. 

Anyway, Jason wasn’t used to taking pills. Isn’t. He didn’t know how you have to work and experiment with them…even if they are supplements, so I showed him. I got on the phone and got the dose fixed twice…not like that’s much help to him now.

So I’m left to wonder…why would you even risk it? You’re already sick!

Well...I don’t know...why did I? I stood and watched my dad’s battle with it for years to know what happens when you drink too much, and then I forgot all about it whenever I got ahold of the sweet taste of rum. When you’re a kid, you think you and your stomach are invincible until you’re proven wrong one too many times and learn to take it easy. 

At least Jason’s gotten his first one out of the way.

He’s stopped vomiting now and catches his breath for a second. His eyes open to see what landed in the sink…not a good idea, but he’s so familiar with it that he hardly blinks. He just frowns, slowly grabbing the sprayer and trying to wash it out of the sink.

“Don’t worry about that.” I twist the faucet knob back. He pretty much got it all anyway. 

Dropping the sprayer back in the basin, Jason looks over, lost on what to do with his face. It’s a lot, far more than he can wipe away with his hand…

“I’ll get the towels.” 

I rush behind him to pluck the roll off of the table, tucking it under my arm as I walk back. Frown deepening, his head tilts when I rip a couple of sheets off.

“I can get it.” 

I shake my head. 

“Don’t be silly, you’re a mess! Let me.” 

This is my mess too.

Breaking into a shaky sigh, he nods and sticks his chin out for me, like it’s still only strawberry jam stuck there to scrub off. The same sweet little smile twitches from the towel brushing against his cheek too, ‘cause he’s always been ticklish. This was damn near impossible when he was little, I’d usually wind up getting all of it on my shirt from him burying his head there to fight it ‘cause he was laughing so hard and couldn’t sit still. I realize I don't even need to hold onto him now, but he's letting me, he’s really letting me…

“Good.” I whisper after I swipe the last little bits off of his lip, spreading into a wide smile as I cup my palm over his clammy but clean face. 

‘Cause he is. 

None of this changes a thing. It isn’t good; I don’t want him sneaking behind my back to get drunk and I really don’t want him feeling like he has to lie about it, but he isn’t this doomed delinquent…

— “You’ll never see me like this again.” 

His voice is hoarse and hushed, yet this is the clearest he’s sounded all night. 

It’s his apology. 

“Jason…come on. You can’t help being sick.” 

“I can help this.” 

I think my eyebrows would fall off my face if they could go any higher. He’s serious as he can be too, God bless him, and I don’t mean to drag this on, he’s just miserable and is bargaining whatever he can to get it all to end, but…

“You can help being seventeen? Damn, what’s your secret?” I break into a chuckle, hand dropping to pat the satin of his jacket, “That’s what we all said! Your regret is just another rite of teenage passage, kiddo. It sucks, believe me, but… you can’t change it. Standing here feeling guilty’s not gonna make you feel better...”

Especially with how bad he’s started reeling. He blinks hard for a long time, trying to get it back, but it doesn’t do it. His shoulder’s slouched, arm dangling heavier than his breathing, and I have to hold him firmer ‘cause he’s starting to sway.  

“I’m…I wanna sit down.” 

“That would help.” 

I lax my grip when he tries to fumble with it, freeing him to stumble over to his kitchen chair, croaking for the juice once he gets there. 

“One mimosa coming right up.” I smile, but he’s not amused. I guess laughter isn’t the best medicine.

Trazodone is. 

It would get him out of his head and force him to sleep, but you can’t take it after drinking — well you can, I have, but you really shouldn’t. He doesn’t have enough of a tolerance of either to try, so Tylenol PM it is.

I take two out of the bottle and deliver them to him with his glass of lukewarm juice. He doesn’t care, he sips it anyway. Slowly, but that’s okay. He needs to take his time. 

I want to sit across from him, all of my pacing around is probably distracting, but I can’t bring myself to. Not until this is settled, ‘cause if I don’t set the record straight about it now, it’ll keep playing this broken song.

“You know, Jason, sometimes the only way you’ll get to know your limits is by testing them. It’s not always ideal but you live and you learn. Now you know how much your stomach can take and you know to stay away from—”

“Vodka.” He mutters while bringing up his glass. “Half a bottle.”

Half a bottle?!

Takes a hard blink and a grip on the back of the chair to keep me from turning to the sink myself.

 “Jesus…well now you know. And next time you even see vodka, you’re only gonna think about how it had your head in a sink. I know I probably sound lame but I’m serious, it’s a real reflex.”

Just don’t ignore it. 

And I know. If he were sober, there’d be this little curl on his lip, and I’d hear him call me on my shit and question why the same doesn’t apply to me without him even having to save the words. 

Instead he whispers, “I hope.” 

Sure, it’s a rough night and he’s prone to being a little dramatic during his first time in the trenches but shit, he sounds scared. 

Scared that he’ll be sick like me. 

The mere idea of using used to nauseate me so bad when I was good and clean. I’ve been on my hands and knees throwing up just over the thought—the fact— that I’d put that damn dirty pipe in my mouth. It’d be years and I’d start salivating all of a sudden and that was all I could do to purge it.

But now…

It doesn’t matter. Can’t go through all that when you have it there to pick up, when it’s the only thing you have to hold close. 23 years is long enough to acquire the taste. When I light up, I  don’t think about it anymore. Nothing to think about. Nothing to worry about ruining when I’ve already ruined it all. 

I want to grab him, hold on and tell him he shouldn’t be scared. He’s better. He’s so much better. He’ll learn from this, I genuinely believe he will…but mom thought the same about me. I thought the same about me.

 I hope so too.

I’d tell him, but I want him to have the last word. It means more. He has to hope, he has to listen to that fearful voice in his head and let him guide him from this shit, he has to not let this fucking burden be his…

Jason’s eyes are heavier than this tension. He needs to go to bed. 

He pushes himself off the table, this time a little less wobbly when he stands. He might make it there if he goes slow but I don’t know…

“You want some help?” 

“No thank you… I got it.” He says with his palm on the wall, using it as a guide while taking a couple slow steps through the living room. I have to at least let him try, so I pick up his glass, dumping the rest of the juice in the sink. 

About halfway through, he stops in his tracks. 

 “Oh, I almost forgot…” He turns, slouching his back on the wall while he digs around in his pocket for…a skinny white envelope. 

Must’ve went to the bank.

See, this is why Jason is different. There’s no fucking way I would’ve remembered to do that before going out. Stopping to get gas in my car to even  go out was hard enough, much less withdrawing my own money to help my parents with rent.

“Thank you,” I say, sighing to myself as he drops it on the side table. I hate to ask this from him. It’s not right at all, this should be going towards his first car or his first girlfriend or even just some little thing he wants. I need to provide for him, but the move was sudden and this area has gotten so ludicrously expensive that it’s impossible to do it on my own, no matter which way I try. 

But he smiles a little, “You’re welcome. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight. Sleep tight.” 

I wait, washing the glass until he’s made it to his door and disappears into his room. I’d need a hit to open it with him here.

Need one anyway.

But this money is for fucking rent. I’m not spending my son’s hard earned cash on crack. This is for the roof over his precious sleeping head, not my pathetic addiction. It’s beyond generous ‘cause there’s no fucking way I would’ve given my money up at seventeen, my dad wouldn’t have accepted my help even if I was the only person left on this planet. 

I shouldn’t even open it now, I should wait ‘til Monday when the rental office is open when I can deliver them the check and get it over with. But I should at least count it. It feels kinda thick for what’s usually six one hundred dollar bills…

Because there’s more.

[punkscowardschampions]

Jali Pt.2

Johnny: [the question I have to pose to you and Win, cos it’s blatantly obvious they are gonna fuck all night until they literally pass out and go to sleep eventually wherever they are, is do you think we should go for the realistic no fucks given and therefore more dangerous location of them barely managing to drag themselves into the attic, risking mcvickers coming home and being like um whose bike is this blocking us trying to park? Or the more sensible option of getting on said bike and driving to their caravan which is a more deliberate and conscious effort on their part so more unlikely given their no fucks given vibe tonight but safer and somewhere they can stay longer?]

Ali: [Hmm, I think we’ve been pretty kind to y’all so far, so we gotta have y’all stay here and have the freakout when y’all wake up in the morning ‘cos it doesn’t have to completely derail y’all but will be a lil spice, I do vote you left your bike on the curbside though and thus mcvickers don’t need to get involved because that would be more drama]

Johnny: [I like that because he hasn’t been in the attic yet and it’s real that y’all could finally bother to drag yourselves up there, after however long you’ve spent lying in the carnage recovering and in his case just intensely staring at her and stroking her hair and the like, when you hear Tommy come back home as he will eventually have to before mcvickers with those long a&e waiting times or baze who are in no rush to return ever]

Ali: [it shows that y’all are further along ‘cos he’s not running for the window but also just believable in your current vibe tonight, also believable that Thomas may intend to talk to you so perhaps you have to go do that for a bit, thank you for being dressed, in the most random outfit of all time but nevertheless]

Johnny: [no wonder the poor boy is like um wtf, meanwhile this one will just be hiding for however long that convo takes and unlike us he isn’t a nosy bitch who will have fun looking through all her shit in the attic as we established when he was in her room before, so god knows what you’re gonna do with yourself hun, I’m sure even Leesha has gone to bed by now so you can’t even glare at her from the window lol, maybe there’s something random you can fix and do DIY on in there idk]

Ali: [my boo says soz to you, perhaps snoop a little sis, in fairness, Thomas is not a fool and you’re gonna be in a weird ass mood so I’m sure he’s like actually never mind, just assuming she’s too high/drunk for this conversation rn, so you’ll live hun]

Johnny: [mhmm, Thomas being like actually nvm I’m good thanks Imma go to bed is so valid and so amusing, I do vote you bring your husband a drink or a snack or something though like a good wife]

Ali: [my boo says get in the kitchen hahaha, there would be party food going lbr so you absolutely should grab some because giving halloween vibes again, idk what drinks would be left ‘cos we went a little hard by the end there but likewise anything you find, bring it up to him on your head ‘cos gotta climb up a ladder with it]

Johnny: [I’m sure he’ll go to town on it because he’s a teenage boy and those were some strenuous energy zapping hookups y’all had there, speaking of, do we wanna skip to the AM cos we know the vibe is y’all continuing with those antics tonight?]

Ali: [we can probably skip to then, agreed, it’s clearly the weekend so y’all are gonna just wake up whenever you naturally do]

Johnny: [it’s giving that the party was on a saturday potentially because cali went shopping and there was all the baking and getting ready and stuff before, so yeah, at least you won’t have work if it’s sunday now, boy, I think contrary to the time when he woke up before early and snuck off to go there leaving her sleeping, this time she should wake up first and earlier than him because you always do wake up weirdly early after a night out even if it means she’s barely slept]

Ali: [agreed, definitely a saturday into a sunday and all that alcohol turning to sugar giving you weird energy but not enough to make you feel alive lol, you will be the one sneaking away from how adorable he looks, however y’all chaotically fell asleep in the end, ‘cos you need to go see how Rocky is]

Johnny: [leave this boy snoozing, he needs it, we all know he never stops and we also all know that when he does wake up he’s gonna be freaking out about how he’s gonna sneak out of this house without any members of her giant fam realising]

Ali: [you wanna message or wait for her to come back or just make a break for it, what’s your vibe]

Johnny: [hmm, I think I’ll message because it shows progression unlike just risking falling to his death by climbing from this window without a word, he’d wanna let her know he was going at least]

Johnny: I’ll be off then

Ali: You’re awake, you were so sleepy

Johnny: What you awake for?

Ali: Your ego doesn’t need to be offended, too much drink

Johnny: That answer’s offensive to my ears

Ali: Aw, why?

Ali: You know you killed me

Johnny: You’ll put yourself into an early grave with all your carry on and me if I’ve to watch you act up at parties how you do

Ali: Come on, you love watching me at parties

Johnny: Maybe, but for the secret messages you wear at most of ‘em

Johnny: you don’t need the drink and the rest like [Carly’s mum]

Ali: I knew you loved my clothes

Ali: even with that dig, ‘cos I think I’m a few steps off from [Carly’s mum] tah, boy

Johnny: What I’m after saying to you, you’re too young to keep pace with her, she’s a disgrace for it as a grown woman who should have knowing of better behaviour

Ali: I hardly keep pace with her, don’t be ridiculous

Johnny: Watch what you’re calling me for troubling myself about you

Ali: You saw me, I wasn’t wasted

Ali: and you drink, it was a party, I wasn’t downing bottles alone

Johnny: Be why it’s a warning and not a for proper telling off, girl

Ali: And there are plenty ways she acts disgraceful that have nothing to do with any of that surface level stuff

Johnny: You’ve only giving us cause to compare yous this way, think on calming down and I’ll not have to keep on with it or have it in my own head

Ali: You’d not like it if I started comparing you like that to people like her

Ali: Why have you woken up in this mood

Johnny: Was it a lie you’d change if it made a difference? This would but you’re not willing to now I’m asking it of you

Johnny: What else is it you’re lying to me about?

Ali: I’ve not lied

Ali: You’re freaking out because you’re still here, my parents are watching cartoons with the kid in the lounge, go out my window and over the fence, no one will see you, I’ll make sure 

Johnny: Don’t you talk back to me

Ali: Johnny, come on

Ali: I’m just trying to help you out here

Johnny: Enough Ali, you’re trying to defend the states you get yourself in

Johnny: I’m no dope, I can be off without your help

Johnny: [leave via the window because this strop fits the vibe of cali needing to go on their sad girl day but I think if we let y’all resolve it after by him literally grabbing her up before she can go into Carly’s that fits the barly convo vibe as well, not him literally stealing her away in front of Carly, how bold]

Ali: [love that for y’all, big brain move, my boo, I’ll just reply to what you said here because she would but then we can move on if he’s done replying here]

Ali: I wasn’t in no fucking state because of any drug or drink, I was because of my sister, which you know

Johnny: [don’t reply because you feel like pure shit reading that as you should, boy, but steal her like I said when cali return from swimming]

Ali: [when you’re cross at him but you’re too shocked that he approached you, even though it’s only Carly around, like excuse me what, bold indeed, sir]

Johnny: [mhmm, can’t be that mad at him when he’s taken such a big risk cos it shows he’s !! and sorry and wants to talk to her, take a detour from Carly’s caravan to yours first though, you can’t talk openly or do anything else until you’re alone inside of it]

Ali: [having to get in front of him so you feel like you’re not just blindly following him, for your own sake and sense of pride here, still coming though, obviously]

Johnny: [set up some mood lighting because it’s november and getting towards evening, it’s absolutely not a stalling tactic, nope, nod towards the ‘friend’ you made her when there’s enough light to see by, which I just imagine is made out of like scrap metal and wood and so cute and slay, again, not a shameless stalling tactic or means to butter her up like look remember what I made for you, it’s ofc just the first chance you’d have to show her whatever this cute thing is, it’s giving Julian Holland whittling bears, but idk]

Ali: [my boo said you will be Julian coded and she’s so right for that, obviously we still have to pick up this cute lil thing and inspect all the as obvious work and effort he has put in to make it, whatever intentions we had, we’re not gonna be a bitch about this adorable gesture, not that kind of gal, still we aren’t verbally praising you, just smiling to ourself here quietly]

Johnny: [I like to think because he knocked that up while she was partying yesterday, today while they were separated he’s done some kind of obvious and necessary DIY to this caravan, something else major y’all needed but haven’t got round to doing yet or had started but not finished cos you’re always hooking up lol, lead her over to whatever that is, keeping hold of her hand while you STARE at her for her reaction and willing her to forgive you because of all these gestures]

Ali: [when this is such a little boy like gesture that you can’t help but be endeared by it, though you should clearly make him work harder for this, you simply have to give his hand a little squeeze because he could’ve spent his day doing something entirely unrelated so it does mean something and you know it]

Johnny: [I love that he has not yet said a word haha, doing one of his very extra cheek kisses, arguably the most extra of these he has ever because we’re !! rn, that moves down to the corner of her mouth how they do, but pausing to LOOK at her intensely instead of just turning it then into a dramatic full kiss on the lips]

Ali: [neither of you has, the silence is so !! and deafening right now, holding your breath and also staying deadly still when he kisses your cheek like that, shutting your eyes too for a beat but it’s as if you know he’s gonna LOOK at you and you have to return it ‘what?’ as the first thing you are saying, having to clear your throat to do it]

Johnny: [‘Am I to be forgiven?’ as the first thing he’s saying, softly and practically into her mouth because of how close to it he still is, very dramatic of you, but you’re nothing if not an intense boy, so]

Ali: [just staring at his lips, which at this lack of distance is no mean feat ‘can you stop doing it?’ as a more genuine question than that sassily sounds because not under the illusion that this is easy, for either of y’all]

Johnny: [‘I don’t know’ cos a very genuine answer here, it isn’t easy and this boy is stressed by the lack of self control he has always around this gal, case in point how he approached her when anyone in his fam could have seen him, doing a sigh fully into her mouth as if by her swallowing it, it’ll disappear and neither of them will have to acknowledge it]

Ali: [your own tennis return sigh here, unthinkingly at this point because it feels so natural ‘I don’t know what went wrong’ shrugging slightly but truly, you were not expecting it at all]

Johnny: [not this boy doing his angsty running his hand through hair move but with his hand through her hair unthinkingly as though it’s his because how close they are proximity wise and emotionally, I’m FINE]

Ali: [making a lil noise about this as you’re registering it, also wrapping your arms around him at the same time, very much comforting vibes whilst still !!]

Johnny: [opening his mouth to say something but not knowing how to express that he feels like he’s losing it and so had a go at her for being a mess because he’s a boy so giving her the kiss he didn’t a moment ago instead, putting all that !! into it]

Ali: [again, should you push harder for conversation here? Probably yeah, but are we going to? No because you know it isn’t a conversation either of you actually have any answers in right now, and he has very much done his version of apologising for it and right now, ‘tis enough for this gal]

Johnny: [y’all have flaws forever and especially rn at this age and in this era, so have your dramatic makeout sesh, it’s okay and it’ll stop me and my ILY curse because he is definitely not ready to say that yet]

Ali: [I do like to think you’re making a very concerted effort and point to stop here before a hookup because when have you ever but you can’t be that cold about it, I’m soz, she’s not that type of bear, to her detriment, we all know]

Johnny: [god bless them, they’re both trying in their own ways, this boy will not be helping her find any restraint because he has none and he will instead be tracing his name on her chest over whatever clothes she’s rocking like he’s gotta check it’s still there]

Ali: [just looking at him, faintly amused, like yeah, it hasn’t gone anywhere yet because y’all are always so dramatic about having to spend any time away from each other, even when self-imposed ‘would it really make a difference?’ referring back to what he said earlier before peacing]

Johnny: [‘Maybe, to me’ blurting that truth out like soz not soz I do want you to behave like a good little wife cos it’s simply who he is and there’s nothing I can do about that]

Ali: [spend some time truly considering this, from his POV because you really did not get what he was getting at with it earlier at all ‘when would we see each other?’ as a genuine question and not a rebuttal because how much time you spend here and around all those peeps is the easiest excuse]

Johnny: [‘I’m not saying you’ve to stay away from every party’ the hilarity of telling her to be there but have self control when he has none, oh sir ‘it’s how you behave at them’]

Ali: [‘how am I to behave?’ raising your brows like lol okay, enlighten me please]

Johnny: [‘less like your pal Carly’ the unspoken or her mother lol cos we don’t need to repeat ourselves there ‘you’re a smart girl, I don’t know why you’d not act it instead of up’]

Ali: [‘because they’re parties, I’m not going to show up with a book’ full shade at Rosaline there that you don’t even know about but for our own satisfaction ‘you act like it was me who did all that stuff with Moses and Ronan’ ‘cos excuse me, we’ve not partaken in that messy drama]

Johnny: [shaking his head in a you know what I mean/why can’t you at least meet me halfway sense of being pure frustrated that she’s not seeing his point ‘no I don’t’ said like if I was treating you like you were involved in all that we wouldn’t be here doing all this cos he hates Carly with the fire of a thousand suns]

Ali: [‘I can try, I’m just saying I don’t know what behaviour I’m correcting here’ because truly, like I don’t think I’m misbehaving so how am I gonna be able to get this right, raising your arms and then shrugging because we can’t think of any way to word this differently]

Johnny: [‘I’m only trying to look after you’ genuinely because that’s how he sees it, when she’s wilding, especially at functions he cannot attend he can’t do that]

Ali: [LOOKING at him for a couple beats here ‘okay’ quietly but definitely like that’s that settled, stroking his face where he got injured earlier]

Johnny: [LOOKING back at her in a way that’s screaming ILY because he do and that’s why he’s feeling so cray, literally picking her up too easily to show her how small and fragile she is and carrying her to the bed she made, lying her down on it cos he knows how little sleep she got last night from how late they passed out and how early she must’ve been up to be before him]

Ali: [kissing him as he’s carrying you, however distracting that is because you have to, lacing your arms around his neck, casually rubbing the muscles into his shoulders because whatever this is, you know he’s been STRESSED and you hate it always, attempting to pull him into this bed with you right now]

Johnny: [going too willingly into that bed with her because he would’ve missed her SO much during the however many hours they were separated and the fact he caused said separation doesn’t change that, plus he has been STRESSED and did not sleep well either and hates when they fight however big or small, unless it’s fighting like they did in that psych ward car park lol, pulling into him when they’re both there, kissing her so intensely and so lovingly it’s somehow both soft and hard at the same time]

Ali: [making a happy noise that’s like there we go, that’s better because already feels it, cuddling him into us, rolling so we can get on top of him and cover him like a weighted blanket about this, still kissing him of course, deepening said kiss when you’re the one on top of him because you have a lot of feelings rn ‘I’m sorry’ said into this kiss moment]

Johnny: [wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her to him so they are both being squashed to the same extent which is not too much but a comforting amount, nodding while kissing her back like I know you are and I am too, adding a ‘yeah’ for double confirmation of this in place of his own actual sorry how he has done before]

Ali: [‘yeah?’ right into his mouth and doing a lil giggle because you do think he’s adorable and you’re too happy to be snuggling again, doing a now happy sigh also fully at him, doing little scratches along his arms wrapped around you ‘you know I’d do anything for you’ quieter, as a reminder]

Johnny: [when her lil giggle has him rolling them again so he’s on top of her in such a !! hot move because he loved it that much, on top of her pulling her top up/down/undoing buttons on it depending what sort it is so he can dramatically kiss the name cos both obsessed always, whilst also touching where the initials are on her arse as he rolls them over, through whatever clothes she’s wearing ‘you know how important you are to me’]

Ali: [just laughing more like hey because you only just got there and y’all are always playfighting but you’re too soft for that moment right now, holding your breath at this touch and closing your eyes shut tight about it ‘I know’ a little breathless from having to hold it there when you do speak with all the !! of that statement, snaking your hands under his top to trace your name at the same time as his antics here, kissing from his lips to his cheek]

Johnny: [just here dying from how high his emotions are and everything she’s doing because her adorable laugh followed by her breathlessness is really too much for this boy on this day, making such a NOISE about it that’s too extra for the antics she’d doing which are v tame atm]

Ali: [such a sucker for this boy forever and always, instantly here CLUTCHING at his chest at this NOISE, kissing from his cheek way more messily to his ear and down his neck, giving him little nips and sucking at his pulse in his neck AGGRESSIVELY, gotta make his heart beat faster, obviously]

Johnny: [which it absolutely will along with turn him on SO MUCH instantly which she’ll be able to feel because he’s still on top of her and the involuntary movement when she’s sucking on his pulse is only gonna make it more shamelessly obvious, though he’d be moving to wrap her up in his arms and big spoon her making her feel even smaller than she is, taking his own turn to kiss her neck v softly in contrast as they move]

Ali: [your own noise only being muffled by the way you’re PRESSING your face into his chest now as hard as you can feel him pressing into you ‘this is all I want’ like I don’t need any parties if we can do this always, kissing your name on his chest like you’re again making this better because always reopening all your wounds, working your way down his stomach, still making sure you are cuddled up in his arms because love it]

Johnny: [‘have it’ as breathless himself now as she was before as he pushes himself against her harder like there you go, playing with her hair and the key like he can’t decide which in this moment because love them both]

Ali: [pulling back only so he is pulling at both your hair and this chain around your neck because how else can we show how turned on we are ‘this is all I think about’ so seriously like I am unable to think about anything but you, boy, you better know it’s mutual ‘thirteen…’ seemingly out of nowhere but you are thinking about how he said he was gonna have 13 sons and 13 daughters for her lucky number and how much fucking that would take y’all]

Johnny: [when you were already living for the lil tug of war she was letting you have and her thinking about you all the time and you’re about to tell her what you were thinking about earlier when you were missing her, like literally leaning to her ear to say something fully in there but then the 13 HITS and of course he knows exactly what she’s referring to so the MOAN and the movement are both indecent ‘of each’ like we gotta remind her it’s not 13 kids total as if she doesn’t have that seared into her brain the same way he does]

Ali: [pulling his face right into you like you wanna be deafened by that MOAN, couldn’t need him closer, shamelessly starting to take off whatever clothes you have on your bottom half here, shuddering at the air hitting you when you do, throwing your clothes away like you got zero use for ‘em ‘cos truly ‘shall you still like me when you’ve made me big?’]

Johnny: [shamelessly staring at the nakedness she’s just exposed to him as if he’s never seen her either naked or turned on before because it always feels like a thousand years to y’all even though it never is, taking off his own clothes without breaking his intense stare at her body, moving his gaze to make INSANE eye contact as he lies back down and says ‘it’s what you’re made for’ rude to suggest girls can only be mothers but it is what you culturally believe so we’ll let you off sir, like ofc I will] 

Ali: [the levels of shameless have never been higher here, the way we are just STARING at you lying there and touching ourself, purposefully doing it so you can see as much as you did when we did it for you on your bike that time after y’alls first time, the memory doing as much as what is happening here to have you going HARD with it ‘I’m made for you, you made me’ as a moan]

Johnny: [mhmm, this boy’s eyes have never been darker or more unblinking, living for the mems but also how much things have ramped up since then, it’s got him unable to stay still in this bed even though he isn’t touching himself like she is, GASPING at her moan and what she said with it ‘was god who made you for me’ excuse me basically stealing a normal people quote there but again, tis what he believes ‘and he made you exact as I want’ not you saying this when you’ve spent ages arguing about wanting to change her ways, king of the mixed message is back, never change sir]

Ali: [‘it can’t be wrong then’ shaking your head with the slowness that indicates you’re trying SO hard to hold it together here and keep this pace, not jump him as badly as you desperately wanna and your eyes are betraying too ‘all I want is to have your babies, give you everything you need’ reaching with your free hand to hold his like it’s full on sex with the way you’re shaking and breathing over this]

Johnny: [‘we’ll marry’ like that’s the only thing that could make it wrong, if y’all did not ‘when you’re 13’ because girls used to traditionally get married at that age cos puberty and it’s her next bday + her lucky number + the number of children, the way he so so seriously means this here in this moment like any of this is possible is killing me actually bye, taking her hand and holding it until he can’t cope and has to pull her to him and onto his lap]

Ali: [‘can we, Johnny?’ like you truly believe in a world where your parents are that shockingly out of the loop and permissive, like you’re not far off but sorry girl, not quite, you likewise could not be more serious because why wouldn’t you be, not at all casually letting him feel exactly how wet you are right now without actually putting him inside you, just covering his whole crotch in this messily and happily ‘and your first baby’ll be out of me before I’m 14’ not you almost hinting you could be pregnant, like you don’t know but y’all have been doing everything in your power to make that a reality to so like, not wrong]

Johnny: [everything he was gonna say about how it used to be law and tradition and blah blah blah not coming out because he can’t breathe suddenly at how wet she is and how covered he is in it, twitching underneath her but likewise not putting himself inside her just letting her feel the way he’s basically !! throbbing against her like another dramatic pulse, having to steal one of her big nods again as he dramatically swallows and his breath keeps hitching over and over, finally getting the ‘yeah’ out as moan which is then continuous and all he can say + swear words + all the religious words added to said yeahs as he begins fucking her]

Ali: [could not be riding his dick more chaotically if we had any say over this, which we feel like we don’t at this point, given how slippery you both are and how frantically this boy is moving under us, holding on via really gently holding his throat because not enough to hear all this when you can feel it too ‘I’m a bit scared of anything bigger than you, will you teach me-’ a dramatic pause here because getting that out was hard enough and you have to just allow yourself to make the animal noises your body needs you to here before you can continue ‘- to be a mammy, like you taught me to be your wife?’]

Johnny: [I’m so glad we made his caravan be the furthest away and theirs even further away still because how loud and unhinged this boy is being rn, both verbally and how loud their bodies are, is too much frankly and the whole entire site doesn’t need to know y’all’s insane business like that, catch him holding her face in both his hands so gently while she gets the first half of her sentence out, LOOKING at her the most !! he ever has while he waits during the pause, MOANING her name what would feel like the loudest and most indecently he ever has like he’s gotta to encourage her to continue but really he also just needs to ‘I’ll do right by you, I have to’ the way the I HAVE TO is so !! cos nothing else is an option, that’s all he wants, throwing out the secret lingo words for wife and mother here to remind them both what she is, like ‘you’re …[insert] and their [insert] it’s my duty as your man, and I’ll sure take it on willingly’ the actual forever it would take him to say all this because panting and noises and everything]

Ali: [none of y’all need to know, thank you, this is strictly private, we’re bearing our souls in here in the most unhinged way as per, feeling as if we’ve never fucked him this hard, gotten him so deep inside us because the level of turned on by this we are is out of this world, hence ‘and you’re my [throwing out the secret lingo word for daddy you have also heard because no time like right now to do that to him], still the need of one, of you’]

Johnny: [the way her using secret lingo on him and leaning into this fantasy that she can also be a traveller and one of them, which again is all he wants, has this boy feeling like he’s gonna cum right then and there immediately, only hanging on because he doesn’t want this to be over yet and he’s somehow trying to get even deeper for when he does, literally switching up their position on this bed so it really would be the deepest penetration they’ve ever done, but his every reaction is letting her know the effect that had and how he’s only clinging on through sheer force of will]

Ali: [when the encouragement is so dramatically extra yet entirely real because we’re also that dead, just here spitting out every word you know in this lingo that applies to y’all because if we have to hold back from cumming we have to let go like that]

Johnny: [I’m sure Carly has given her more lessons since that first one so the words she will know by now will have this boy FLOORED, joining in with other extra ones of his own that he hasn’t used before that apply here because likewise simply must until that coupled with the new position means neither of you can hold back any more and you have to cum, together at the same time, for the peak romance of it]

Ali: [I know you’re passing out girl, that was simply too much and you gotta K.O there however briefly about it, no way you won’t]

Johnny: [I’ve no doubt he will too after the intensity of all that, you’ve earned it lads, I also vote y’all should snuggle and sleep for a while, blissfully unaware of the barly happening and poor Carly’s plight, even if you end up waking up at some point to start the insane cycle all over again instead of sleeping through like you need]

Ali: [truly in your own world in here, it’s not getting loud and fighty, so y’all are not going to be made aware of that as it is happening today, soz to barly, in here being married, don’t mind us, you both need to snooze for a decent amount of time to make up for the sleep you missed, also this gal lives for the way you’ve fallen asleep still inside of us so there is definite not so dry-humping happening in her sleep and probably to the point of waking her up]

Johnny: [god bless jali, always gotta outdo themselves as far as being extra, luckily barly have it handled and that was really good without any interference from anyone, y’all included, because yeah, they are a bit busy sleeping and fucking and both at the same time]

Ali: [agreed, y’all don’t need the help, though of course Ali is going to feel guilt because when can she not lol, right now though, could not be happier]

Johnny: [she can’t catch a break, I feel like Carly won’t even tell her because in her head it’s handled and also it isn’t the first time something like that has happened to her but then her messy mum will say something to Ali in passing, probably because she’s salty about the new lock cos it’s not very bestie vibes, and Ali’ll be like ?? UM, but anyway, on the jali front, this is probably a good place to leave them for now? We know the vibe for y’all and Bartley’s bday as the next thing we’re thinking of doing is only just over a week away from bonfire night depending on the date so]

Ali: [yeah agreed, we know where we’re going next and y’all have made up in dramatic fashion so, our work here is done lol]

Johnny: [we’re so great, I love being extra af]

[just-here-for-the-moment]

The Innkeeper's Daughter

Thank you sooooo much to @fandom-blackhole who let me take inspiration from This Ask for the original Anon and This follow-up Ask from me, and let me run wild with the premise of Pero Tovar falling in love with an innkeeper.

This one is for @silverwolf319 who sent me a request for "Ummmm...how about soft, sweet filthiness lol like, filthy dirty talk, but with feelings? Does that make sense?"

Saaaammmmm, I hope this delivers on that! 💜💜💜

Update: Part 2 is here!

Word count: 3200+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Pero Tovar x “You” (OC cis/het female reader, “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: mature language; euphemisms; one use of “whorehouse” and “whore”; slow-burn; yearning; one incident of bar violence; Pero Tovar unleashing his desires verbally; lots of dirty talk; kissing; one breast grope; one erection; everyone’s clothes stay on

The first time you saw the grumpy Spaniard smile was a busy Saturday evening. Your father’s inn was full, the barroom filled with groups of raucous and rowdy men singing traveling songs and reminiscing loudly about battles won and women lost. The contrast between the exuberant hordes and the quiet, scowling man was evident to everyone, but they left him alone to brood.

“The Spaniard” had arrived in the early hours of Thursday morning and disappeared into his room immediately, sleeping the day away until supper. He kept to himself in the barroom, taking over a small table in the corner, keeping his back to the wall and his eyes on the other guests. He graced you with eye contact exactly once during Thursday’s supper, nodding at you to indicate his thanks for the ale before tucking his head back down to eat.

You knew from your two decades behind the bar that the quiet ones could sometimes be dangerous. But your father was much more concerned with the inn’s revenue and suppliers, and brushed off your questions with a wave.

“The Spaniard is quiet and doesn’t seem interested in starting trouble. He’s paid for his room in advance for the week. If he wants to be left alone, leave off.”

The Spaniard did not appear on Friday for the midday meal, but he did come back for late supper, repeating Thursday’s pattern exactly; a seat at the small table with his back to the wall, scanning the room from under his brow, a flash of eye contact to you as wordless thanks when you set down his plate and and the ewer of ale. The rest of the customers were settled for the moment, and something made you bolder than you would normally be, choosing to linger and try to break into the hard shell he wore like a cloak.

“Care for anything else? I have honey cakes set aside from the baker if you would like one.”

He grunted, a noise that was neither a yes nor a no. You weren’t sure if you should take offense or be happy that he made noise at all.

“What’s your name?”

He stopped chewing at that, and raised his eyes to yours, holding your gaze with his own deep brown orbs. The scar that ran over one eye was almost delicate, tracing a line from eyebrow to cheek that told a story of pain and must have resulted in him nearly losing the organ. You had seen many men disfigured and maimed by war and by accidents; but his scar was almost beautiful, highlighting his features in a way that made him more handsome, not less.

He swallowed roughly and grunted again. “Tovar.”

“Tovar… is that all?” You smiled wryly, hoping to pull more secrets out of him.

“Pero.” He grunted again, but this time it nearly resembled full speech. “Pero Tovar.”

He tucked his head back down and shoved more food into his mouth. You took that as your cue to go back to the bar. If he was staying all week you could wait until Sunday when things quieted down, spend a few days slowly probing. You got the sense he wasn’t dangerous, at least not to whoever brought him food and ale. You let yourself be distracted serving everyone else, and when you looked for him at the end of the night he was gone. You tried to ignore the little pang of disappointment that bloomed in your chest.

Saturday dawned clear and sunny, and you rose early to do the marketing for the inn and for your little household of two. Your mother had passed many years before, and your father prided himself on running an honorable establishment. You may have spent your formative years behind the bar of the inn, but nobody in the village mistook you for anything save an honest innkeeper’s daughter. The whorehouse was at the other end of town.

You finished your marketing and returned home, planning how to combine fresh eggs with leftover bread and meat for the midday meal. Most guests of the inn came for the late supper, but a few showed up for the midday meal and some companionship. You hoped Tovar would be one of them, but given that he had skipped the midday dinner on both Thursday and Friday, you didn’t dare hope too much.

To your great surprise, Tovar was already in the barroom when you arrived. He was dressed casually in tunic and pants and was standing on a table under the main beam, helping your father reattach the lantern. The chain had been broken for a few weeks, leaving this part of the room dark. Neither you nor your father had made time to obtain a ladder and fix it yet, but apparently for Tovar no ladder was needed. His tall frame was stretched up, arms raised to reach for the chain dangling from the ceiling, and his tunic lifted just enough to show a band of bare skin over his hips. The sight of him nearly made you drop your baskets.

You recovered your senses and looked away, greeting your father as naturally as you could. When you lifted your eyes to greet Tovar, you swore you saw the ghost of a smirk cross his lips. You hurried to the kitchen to prepare the midday meal.

When you dared to return to the bar, your father had gone, and Tovar was seated at his usual table. He lifted his eyes quickly to your face and you found that you could barely speak. Your words emerged in a breathy rush. “Are you hungry? Would you like to eat now?” You cursed your nerves and tried to settle them. Where were the other guests? Why was nobody else coming down to the bar?

Tovar looked at you sternly from under his brows and you suddenly felt like a child, caught for doing something naughty. But his next words made something in your middle turn over, fluttering like a moth.

“No. Sit with me a while.”

You sat. You were not accustomed to taking orders from strange men in your father’s establishment, but you rationalized it by telling yourself that attending to guests was good for the inn’s reputation, and that you would spring up and take care of any other guests as soon as they entered. You ignored the little whisper of lust that was suddenly at the base of your spine, tickling up like a trail of smoke from an extinguished candle.

“Tell me your name, woman.”

His question shocked you, until you realized that you hadn’t yet given it to him, and apparently neither had your father during their repair work. You opened your lips and spoke your own name, and under Tovar’s intense gaze it felt strange and foreign. He repeated it back to you in his sonorous tone, turning the fluttering moths in your center into lightning bolts.

“Are you enjoying your stay with us? Is there anything you need for your room?”

That half-smirk graced his lips for another moment, then passed away so quickly you were almost sure you imagined it. He shook his head, “No.”

You let the silence hang. Why had he asked you to sit with him if he wasn’t going to converse? Your stubborn streak won out over your curiosity and you decided to hold his eyes with your own and wait him out. Seconds stretched into minutes, and the air between you became heated, suffused with something like the vapors that distorted the air above a fire. Your hands grew moist, and you rubbed them across your lap, hoping the apron would absorb both the sweat and your discomfort. Tovar continued to look at you with interest, and the longer he stared the more you felt your face burn.

You broke first, bending your head and taking in a great shuddering gulp of air. Just then a footstep fell on the threshold and you leapt out of your chair and swept into the kitchen. When you calmed yourself and finally emerged, Tovar was gone. You let yourself get entwined in the gossip and the rhythm of your normal serving of guests, listening to the friendly chatter. By the time the bar was clear again, you decided to take yourself up to your room and rest, to conserve your energy for the busy Saturday night crowd. Saturday late supper consisted of cold leftovers and mug after mug of ale. The crowds were usually boisterous but good-natured, and you were looking forward to seeing Tovar again.

When you woke from your nap the sun was kissing the horizon, and you freshened your dress, changing into one of your nicer ones and a fresh bodice, tying a clean apron around your middle. You scrubbed your face with a wet cloth and rearranged your hair. You felt like a maiden heading to the altar, but you weren’t sure why. Nothing that Tovar had said or done so far gave you any indication that he favored you that way. There really was no need to change into clean clothing or present yourself in any special garments. Still… there was that hope, that whisper of lust that had sprung up under his gaze this afternoon. Maybe he would notice your efforts and begin to take an interest.

You entered the bar and began getting ready to serve the Saturday night crowd, handing around ewers of ale and plates of cold buns and cheese. The inn not only had a dedicated stream of locals every Saturday, but it also tended to draw groups of visitors from some of the smaller towns, as well as travelers on the road who needed a room for the night. You tried to keep your eyes on your work, but they kept flitting to the doorway without your permission, seeking any trace of the grumpy Spaniard and flickering the hope in your gut when they didn’t see him. As the barroom filled, you wondered whether he would appear at all. You pushed all hope of seeing him down, stomping on it and trying to keep yourself focused.

You hurried to the kitchen for another round of buns, and when you emerged into the bar he was there, sitting at “his” table and scowling his usual scowl. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and you felt your face heat with desire. When Tovar saw you his face opened, and the first genuine smile you had ever seen painted his lips. The rest of the raucous room fell away, and you zipped straight to his table, depositing the plate of buns that had been intended for someone else.

“Hello Pero.” You bit your lip, never having addressed him with his name before. Was it too forward?

“Hello, mi-” he stopped himself, then said your name, almost reluctantly. Had he forgotten it in the few hours since you had seen each other last?

You smiled tightly, a little less warmly than before. Icy flakes swept over your girlish crush and your ardor cooled. If he had already forgotten your name, he must not be interested. “Ale?”

He nodded. “Yes… if you please.”

Your thin layer of ice melted. A “please” from this man was like high praise from anyone else. You nodded and went to the bar, filling an ewer and a mug, and delivering both to his table. You wanted to linger, but calls from the other side of the room interrupted any notion of getting to spend more time with Tovar.

You nodded once at him and departed, taking care of the other guests and helping your father lug another barrel of ale from the back. Every time you dared glance at Tovar he was watching you, gentle interest and curiosity issuing from his eyes, instead of the menacing scowl he had sported when he first arrived. You tried to focus on your usual tasks, letting the rowdy laughter of the bar patrons wash over you, but you could feel Pero’s eyes on you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at him again and again, far too often. Your distraction was probably the reason that disaster struck.

Your eyes were again on Pero as you made your way across the room, and your toe caught the edge of someone’s foot, causing you to stumble and spill a mug of ale all over a large man. He bellowed in anger. You saw that he was a stranger, and as he unfolded himself from his chair and stood up, you could see that he was twice as broad as you and nearly two heads taller. The ale soaked his tunic and dripped onto the floor.

Before you could open your mouth to apologize, the man raised his hand to strike you. Suddenly his furious face crumpled into pain. He fell to his knees in front of you, the raised arm now twisted behind his back. As his knees hit the floor, Pero’s face materialized behind the man’s shoulder. Pero’s trademark scowl was directed at the back of the man’s head as he hissed instructions to the stranger.

“Apologize to the woman.”

The man spit out a curse and then refused. “She’s a whore!” Another wail of pain issued from his open mouth as Pero twisted his arm up and back.

He leaned down and spoke into the man’s ear, so low that you almost couldn’t hear it. “Apologize.”

The man dropped his head to his chest and whined out a stream of words that included several “sorrys” and “my mistakes”. You looked at him, eyes still wide with shock, mouth frozen into a grimace. Pero looked at you and then gave the man’s arm one final shove. A sickening crack met your ears and the man groaned as he fell forward onto his face.

“Now leave! And do not come back.” The man and his companions scrambled to the exit, and the rest of the customers murmured to themselves as they returned to their own drinks and gossip.

“Mi alma, are you alright?” Pero reached his hand out to you and you shook your head, tears springing to your eyes.

You spun on your heel and ran out of the bar, turning to flee to the back hallway, hands shaking. You pressed your back to the wall and then bent over at the waist, trying to catch your breath. You had seen bar fights before, and broken up a handful when they happened here and there, but you had never seen violence like that up close. You had never seen such hatred on a man’s face as the anger that had colored Pero’s features. You had the sense that Pero would have gladly killed the man and not had a second of remorse.

You heard a foot scrape the floor and you shot upright. Pero was at the end of the hall, eyes flickering in the light from the lone candle on the table. He put both hands out to you, palms facing you in a gesture of openness, approaching one slow step at a time.

“I am sorry. I am sorry.” His voice was low and calm. “Please forgive me.”

“No,” your own voice sounded high and panicked to your ears. “Stop. Don’t hurt me.”

Pero’s face crumpled and he halted his approach. “Hurt you? No, never. I would never hurt you. Please believe me.” He took another step toward you.

“But that man- You, you broke-”

Pero interrupted your awful cry. “Ssshhh, no. No, mi alma. That was not a man. He was a beast. I made him apologize and leave.”

Pero took another step, closing the distance between you to one stride. You were surprised to see tears in the corners of his eyes as well.

“I thought I was saving you, mi alma. Protecting you.”

“You did, you protected me, but- How were you so fast? And why do you keep calling me ‘mi alma’?”

Pero closed the final distance between you and reached his hands out to hold both of yours. He stepped close, and you had to tilt your head back to look into his eyes.

“I love you. You have enchanted me. ‘Mi alma’ means my soul. It means you have my love and my heart.” He looked deep into your eyes. “... and my body, if you so desire.”

He inclined his head and his lips met yours. You felt your head spin, heart pulsing through every vein, pounding in your ears as you let yourself be kissed, over and over again. You had kissed boys before, and even one young man in the village, but this was like being kissed for the first time anew. Pero kissed you with passion, with intent.

His hands gripped your waist and held you to him as your fingers entwined themselves up into his neck and the hair at the back of his neck. Pero broke the kiss and leaned toward your ear. His voice was low and gravelly, striking something in your core and sending sparks to your throat.

“I fell in love with you today. When I caught you looking at me as I changed the lantern. When you sat with me and met my eyes with your own and you didn’t shy away. When I saw that you had changed into a new dress, had made yourself pretty just for me.”

Your breath left your lungs in a huff, and the only sound you could make was a low hum.

Pero continued whispering words and warm breath across your ear, sending shivers down your neck, making your nipples harden with desire.

“I will take care of you, mi alma. Let me take you to bed and show you everything that you need to know. Let me show you how to make love to a man, to please him. How to take a husband and take your own pleasure, too.”

“Ohh…” You hardly recognized your voice as your own, and before you could say more, Pero kissed you again, opening your mouth and slipping his tongue inside. He pressed his hips against you, pinning you to the wall. You could feel his hardness against your hip; but instead of scaring you or making you feel ashamed, it stoked the fire in you from a flame to an explosion.

You kissed Pero back, as hard and as eager as he had kissed you. And then you did something you never would have imagined: you reached behind your waist and grabbed his wrist, bringing his hand up to cup around your breast. He squeezed and thrust his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your moans and squeaks.

He broke the kiss again to suck and nip at your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Every kiss inflamed you further, and you pressed your hips against his, rubbing from side to side to feel his hardness through the layers of your skirts.

“Let me take you to bed, mi alma. Let me make love with you.” Pero’s voice dropped to a low rumble. You could barely hear him above the thrum of your own heartbeat, but the words sent a new rush of something hot and wet to your private area.

“Let me kiss you between your legs, to taste you. Let me show you everything I know. Let me have you, and you may have me… all of me. Let me love you, mi alma.”

Your mouth opened and you spoke the only true answer to his request.

“Yes, Pero. Please.” --- Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

My “all fics” tag list:

@anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul

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[hyuckssunchip]

Grow Up

Pairings: Haechan x reader, ft. Jaemin (mentions of Jeno and Jisung)

Words: 4.7K

Warnings: Language (there is almost always language in my writings), angst

Synopsis: 

Watch Y/N and Haechan struggle through their relationship, discover what it means to mature and the expectations that they hold for each other. As they stumble through obstacles they explore a new territory that leads to what could be a fresh start. But will they ever really grow up?

”I don’t want you seeing him anymore.”

You huffed, continuing to walk away.

“Just because you don't like a guy I’ve been hanging out with doesn’t mean you have any right to tell me that I can or can’t hang out with him.” 

Haechan grabbed your wrist, pulling you around to face him.

“Look I know guys… Guys are dumb and assholes, you can’t hang out with him period.”

You shrugged his arm off, staring him down.

“You’re a guy.”

“That’s different-”

“How are you any different?”

“I-what?” He glanced back at you with a frown.

“You heard me, how are you any different than those other guys?” You’re eyes narrowed at him, approaching your breaking point.

“I-I care about you.” He took a step towards you, but you backed away, keeping the space.

“What? And those other guys don’t? Is it not possible for any other guy to care about me?” You shook your head, incredulously. 

“No! That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just...they- they don’t okay?!” He raised his voice, but refusing to make eye contact.

“And how would you know? Hmm?”

“Because-”

“No! You have no idea how he feels, so stop trying to push your own insecurities and thoughts on him, own up to yourself already!” You spat out, frustrated.

“I-”

“You have no right to determine what I feel, what he feels, or what I want to do about it! What gives you the right?! Huh? What makes you think-”

“Because I’m fucking in love with you! Alright?!” You took another step back, bumping into the side of his car.

“Heach-” you stuttered out. 

“No! You know you act all innocent and oblivious but you know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you? You know exactly what you’re doing and then you go off pretending to be that naive little girl you want everyone to think you are! Lose the facade already!” You felt the venom in his tone.

“Haechan-” You paused as he turned around, throwing his head back in frustration. You frowned.

No.

“No.” 

“What?” He turned back to face you, eyebrows raised, in the middle of raking his hands through his hair. 

“No. You do not get to act like you’re the victim here. You know exactly how I feel, you’ve known since high school haven’t you? I’ve been in love with you for years and now suddenly just because you’re not the center of my attention anymore, just because suddenly I’m not pining after your every move like a pathetic love struck character, you think you can just claim to be in love with me?! No! That’s not how this works! I’ve watched you for years hook up with random girls and toss them away like tissues but I still followed you like a lost puppy and look where that got me? Thrown away and cast aside until you’re ready to play again! I’m so done with that Haechan! I’ve finally found a guy who actually cares about me and wants to be around me, and you think you can tear that away from me because you don’t want to share?! You think you can make up some stupid little lie to hurt me and I’d come running back to you? No! You know I can finally see just how toxic you were to me and I’m so over it!”

You took a deep breath, recovering from your spout.

“Y-you’re in love with me?” 

You looked at him bewildered. “Are you kidding me? That’s what you got out of this whole thing? Ugh! Grow up Haechan. You’re fucking 20 years old, start acting like it.” 

You stomped away, not daring to look back at him, knowing there was a chance you would cave, running back to him and begging for forgiveness.

It was just like Haechan to take nothing out of your conversation.

“What the hell did you do?” You asked the familiar padding on Haechan’s back, as he was still surrounded by his friends. At this point you didn’t care anymore.

He turned around facing you with a little smile. “Y/N. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. Why aren’t you answering my texts or calls?”

You put your hands on your hips, raising your eyebrows, “You can’t be serious?” 

He cocked his head, as if genuinely confused.

You shook your head, “What did you tell Jeno?”

His eyes widened for a second, just enough for you to witness it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The snickers of his friends told you differently.

“Why won’t Jeno talk to me anymore?” You asked, glaring straight into his eyes.

Once again, he feigned innocence. “I don’t know, maybe the same reason you won’t talk to me.” He mocked back, a slight smirk overcoming his face.

You clenched your jaw, “You know what, it doesn’t even matter anymore. I’m so done.” 

You turned away, ready to leave him behind.

He grabbed your wrist, not letting you leave. “Oh come on, Y/N, have a little fun.” The laugh in tone was enough to confirm that you were about to make the right decision.

You pulled your wrist out of his grip, turning around and glared at him. 

He looked taken aback for a moment. 

“You can go have fun with your little friends, I want nothing to do with you anymore.”

His face froze as he panicked. “Y/N-”

“Seriously. Don’t.”

As you left, you heard the faint “oohs” from his friends, but he didn’t seem to stop them, or even try to stop you at the least.

That was a good thing you suppose, one less chance for you to cave.

“Please? Just one date. And if you’re absolutely disgusted by me by the end of it, I won’t bug you anymore.” You smiled at the hyper boy next to you.

You simply shook your head.

“Think about it.” He said, skipping ahead of you in order to walk backwards facing you, “You’ll finally get rid of me if you just let me go on a date with you.” He grinned, flashing his cheeky smile.

“Jaemin, I’m not gonna go on a date with you.” 

He frowned playfully, “Then it looks like you’re stuck with me for a long time.”

That wouldn’t be so bad.

Really you enjoyed Jaemin’s company, and you had absolutely no reason to turn him down. He was really sweet and not to mention good-looking.

“Please? The arcade is opening back up this weekend. Unless... Are you perhaps scared?” He asked taunting you.

You stopped, staring at him, “Why on earth would I be scared? Jaemin I could beat you at any game in my sleep.” You snickered at him.

“Really? Is that a challenge?” He waggled his eyebrows.

You grinned in response. “Nope, just a fact. Do I really have to prove it to you?”

“Looks like it, cause I don’t believe you.” He sang out.

“Fine.”

He raised his hands in victory, falling back into step with you.

“So what day? I can do either Friday night or Saturday. Can’t do Sunday though cause I promised Jisung I would whoop his ass in bowling.”

You heard a faint bout of laughter that pulled you away from the conversation. You would recognize that laugh anywhere.

Your head swiveled in a desperate attempt to find the familiar black haired boy, instead your eyes landed on the silver haired boy across the street. Your heart dropped.

You weren’t surprised to see him with another girl, his arm wrapped around her shoulder, but it still hurt. It shouldn’t have hurt, it’s not supposed to. It’s been almost a year since you’ve even seen him.

“So? What you think?”

“Huh? Oh, Friday works for me.” You stuttered out, facing Jaemin again. 

“Great, I can pick you up around five? We could get food too! This pizza place next door is fantastic.”

It wasn’t long before you tuned him out again, stretching your neck to try and spot the silver haired boy again, but he was gone.

It was for the best.

It seemed like Fate was doing her very best in trying to make you suffer. Because that silver haired boy had crossed paths with you more times than you thought was possible. She had even brought him here.

It was Friday night, a long awaited date on Jaemin’s part, and you were glad to finally catch a break from school. That is until you saw him.

It was just after you had beat Jaemin out on a game of DDR that you caught a glimpse of his hair, letting your eyes track his movements. Of course he was with that girl, and you cursed yourself for noticing.

No, you cursed yourself for caring.

“Pizza? I need something to pick up my energy.” Jaemin wiped of the beads of sweat on his brow, a light sheen that had him glowing. You wished it was him that you couldn’t get your mind off of. 

Nodding in response you let yourself stumble after his lead, scooting into a booth as he ordered at the front. 

You rubbed your hands over your face, trying to get the image of his arm wrapped around that girl out of your mind. A bout of giggles snapped you out of it. You wished you could be grateful that you were no longer thinking of this image, but instead as you turned your head to the noise, you saw the image you had been dreading. 

His arms weren’t wrapped around her shoulder anymore, but snaked her waist, pulling her taught against his own side. 

You were so busy glaring at his hand that you hadn’t noticed Jaemin returning to the booth.

“Y/N? You okay?” Bless him, he looked genuinely worried that you weren’t having a good time. And it wasn’t his fault, any other day you would be having a blast with him, you were sure of it.

You nodded, pulling your gaze away from the couple. But Jaemin quickly caught on to who you were staring at.

“Oh! Haechan!?” You froze, hearing the name fall from Jaemin’s lips.

To no surprise, the boy you dreaded turned around, finding the owner of the voice that called out for him. 

His lips upturned into a grin and he sauntered over to the booth, not yet giving you a glance. You were grateful for that, attempting to hide yourself in the corner.

“Jaemin, what’s up?” Although you weren’t looking, you could hear the sounds of some handshake that the two did. “You on a date?” 

He must have seen your figure in the corner, but you refused to look up.

“Yeah, kind of.” You felt guilty at the sigh he let out, “Why don’t you guys join us? We just ordered pizza.” 

You wanted so badly to grab Jaemin by the collar and shake him back to his senses. Of course he didn’t know your history with Haechan, and if this was a real date, why on earth would he invite other people?

But it wasn’t like you were been the most attentive of dates. 

“Really? We just ordered some too, more for everyone though right?” You grimaced at the sound of his laugh. 

Jaemin got up from his spot, gesturing for the new couple to sit across from you as he went to grab his pizza, only to return to the seat next to you.

Your head was still facing downwards, and you gulped, recognizing the well worn pair of sneakers that sat directly across from you. 

You felt an elbow in your side, “Pizza’s here. Are you sure you’re feeling okay? If you’re not I can take you home.”

You hesitated, feeling guilty that you even thought about it. Jaemin was so happy to take you out earlier and you felt like you totally blew the whole thing. Of course you would stay, and you would try to be a better date.

“No, I’m fine, I just need reenergizing that’s all. I used up all my energy whooping your ass in DDR.” You let a teasing tone seep through, content to see the grin that now spread over Jaemin’s face. 

“You did not whoop my ass, I totally let you win.” He scoffed back, pulling a slice out of the box.

“Sure you did. So if we were to rematch after pizza, you would win right?” You faced Jaemin head on, hoping that Haechan wouldn’t recognize you.

Jaemin pretended to ignore you, “Why would we waste our time on the same game? I want to beat you at as many different things as possible.”

You laughed, unintentionally throwing your head back. As you turned back to face the table and pick a slice of pizza up, your eyes skimmed over Haechan, relieved that he wasn’t looking at you.

His date picked at her salad next to him, blinking at his side profile, but not really interesting in anything that he had to say. You knew that look, and you hated to admit that you had used that earlier today with Jaemin. You felt ashamed of yourself and vowed to not let Haechan’s existence deter you, and be present in the moment with Jaemin for the rest of the night.

“Y/N, I’ll be right back, Jisung’s calling again.” Jaemin said, pulling you out of your reverie. 

You nodded, motioning him to answer the call. 

At the sound of your name, Haechan whipped his head up, freezing when he caught his first glimpse of you.

“Y/N?” It came out as a whisper, but it was clear as day to you.

Your eyes met for the first time in a year.

You stood outside the arcade, scuffing your shoe against the pavement, the awkward tension making you uncomfortable.

“So you and Jaemin huh?” You flinched at his voice, cursing the way that you showed how affected you were by his presence. 

You simply nodded back, not really knowing how to respond. 

The silence weighed heavy between the two of you. 

You peeked at him out of the corner of your eye. He was sitting on the ground, leaning his back against the side of the building. His hoodie was covering a good portion of his face, but you could tell that he was concentrated on drawing pictures in the dirt with his stick.

You cleared your throat.

“It’s been a while hasn’t it?” His voice was softer than you were expecting.

You gulped, turning to look at his sitting form.

“Yeah.” You tried to find more words that would make this less unpleasant, but nothing came to mind.

“Ready?” Jaemin exited the building, wiping his hands on his pants.

“Uh... I think Minji is still in the bathroom.” Haechan muttered, not bothering to look at either of you.

Jaemin nodded, taking his spot next to you. You smiled at him, trying to lift your mood slightly.

“Are you cold?” He asked, looking at your arms wrapped around yourself. He was already moving to remove his jacket.

“No, I’m fine, plus I’ve got a jacket in the car if I need it.” You smiled at his sweet gesture.

“I’m cold.” You heard the familiar voice of Haechan’s date. You looked over at her exiting the bathroom as she stared expectantly at Haechan.

He made no indication that he was planning on giving up his hoodie. He stood, glancing at the rest of the group before turning towards the direction you assumed his car was.

She huffed haughtily and followed him, muttering under her breath before calling out for him.

“Well, I guess we’ll see them at the ice cream place?” Jaemin joked, gesturing for you to start towards his car. 

You laughed, figuring the same. To be honest, you wished you couldn’t care less if they decided to ditch or show up, but there was a part of you that you hated, a part of you that wanted to see him again.

The car ride was short, but not unpleasant, a comfortable air sat between the two of you.

“Do you absolutely hate me now?” 

You turned to face him, startled by the abruptness of his question.

“Hate you? Why would I hate you?”

“Well, I promised that if you hated me after this date, I wouldn’t bug you again.” 

You laughed at the absurd thought of him actually following through with that.

“Of course I don’t hate you. I just... I really just think that our relationship would be best as friendship.” You glanced at him, gauging his reaction.

But he nodded back, a thoughtful look on his face.

“I understand... I’ll back off.” 

You frowned at the new mood. 

“You don’t have to back off, I liked the way things were before. We can still have fun together, but I don’t want to lead you on or anything. I just don’t think that things aren’t going to work out that way.”

It was silent for a bit before he looked over at you, and gave a weak smile.

“I get it. Don’t worry I’ll still whoop your butt in DDR even if it’s not a date.” You laughed at his attempt to lighten the mood, thankful that he was trying.

“Right, I doubt that’s going to happen. When was the last time you beat someone in DDR?” 

He frowned at you, “I beat Jisung last week.”

“Jisung is a great dancer, how did you beat him?” You teased, questioning the validity of his statement.

“He sucks at DDR.” He chuckled, admitting that beating Jisung wasn’t exactly a phenomenal feat. 

You giggled, “How is Jisung anyways? I feel like I haven’t seen him in forever.”

“He’s good, he joined that dance team and I haven’t really seen him at home either. He’s really busy, practicing forever after school.”

“Well it’s good you guys are gonna hang out on Sunday.” Jaemin smiled at the thought, and you followed in suit, adoring their relationship.

“You know I think he might have a little crush on you, he always asks about you.” He snickered, for a moment forgetting about his own unrequited love.

“Aw, that’s cute. Remind me to stop by sometime, I want to see him again.” You turned to stare out the window as you slowed to a stop. 

A few spots away you could see Haechan’s familiar car, both him and Minji still inside. From what you could see, it looked as if they were arguing, or more like Minji was arguing and Haechan was ignoring her. 

You stepped out of the car, finding Jaemin next to you in a matter of seconds. 

“Are they fighting?” Jaemin asked, staring at the couple in the car. You shrugged back, focusing on the scene in front of you.

You flinched as the passenger door slammed shut, watching Minji’s back storm off past the ice cream shop.

It wasn’t long after that Haechan also stepped out, running his hands through his hair. 

Jaemin was the first to move in his direction, “What’s up? Is she not coming?”

He looked up, finding your eyes almost immediately. “Looks like it.”

You unintentionally bit your lip, coming to the realization that it was now just the three of you.

“Are we still down to get ice cream? Cause we don’t have to-”

“Yeah. Let’s just go in.” Haechan interrupted Jaemin, walking towards the front door.

“Okay...” Jaemin sent you an awkward smile, trailing after Haechan.

You let out a labored sigh, dragging your feet to follow.

Upon entering the shop you found Haechan seated in a booth and a very animated Jaemin on the phone. 

“Yeah, just give me like ten minutes.” 

You watched him with expectant eyes to which he responded apologetically, “Jisung’s ride bailed on him and he needs me to pick him up.”

You nodded, opening your mouth, ready to leave.

But he interrupted you, turning to Haechan. “Do you mind dropping Y/N off after ice cream? She doesn’t live that far.”

Jaemin patted him on the back, not really looking for an answer. He waved goodbye on his way out sending you another regretful glance.

You stood still, not yet entering the booth, and eyes fixed on your fingers which were now fumbling with the hem of your jacket.

“Do you wanna sit?”

You hesitated before sliding across from Haechan, still nervous at the idea of being alone with him now, let alone a whole car ride home.

The two of you sat in silence, neither wanting to cut in.

“What can I get you?”

The waitress was busy eyeing Haechan up while waiting for a response. 

“Just a banana split.” He nodded at her, trying to give off the impression that that was it. 

She understood winking at him as she left, not caring to check on you.

You crossed your arms huffing to yourself.

“Don’t worry, they’re big here. You still like splits right?” You could tell he was trying to put some effort in, but it didn’t change the atmosphere. 

“Right.”

“I can ask her to come back if you want something else.” He moved to wave the waitress down but you shook your head in opposition. One was enough, besides the faster it was eaten, the sooner you would get home.

An awkward banana split later, you sat in the very spot Minji was an hour before. It had been a while since you had ridden in Haechan’s car, but it looked the same as before, neat and tidy.

“Did you move?”

You shook your head, ready to give the address.

“Right. Off of Cowell then...” He commented while starting the ignition, leaving you with raised eyebrows at the idea that he still remembered the way to your apartment.

“Yeah.”

The silence had almost become unbearable and you controlled the urge to turn on his radio to soften the deafening silence.

Lucky for you he beat you to it, letting the soft melodies of a ballad filter over the car. 

You neared the stoplight that was adjacent to your apartment, rejoicing the fact that you were almost reaching your escape when he spoke up.

“I was stupid.”

“What?”

“I should have never said any of that, I shouldn’t have done that, I... I shouldn’t have let you walk away like that.” You could hear the rawness in his voice, evidence of his regret.

Your heart skipped a beat uncontrollably. But you refused to let it show.

“This last year has been hell.” He paused, taking a deep breathe at his sudden revelation.

It was sometime ago that he had pulled into a spot outside your apartment, but you couldn’t get yourself to leave.

“I understand why you reacted the way you did, but I swear, I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to push you away like that.” He frowned, staring ahead as if he was concentrating intently on whatever was just outside the window. 

“I had no idea what my feelings were, or how to express them. I was just acting the way I thought I was supposed to, but I swear I’ve grown up.”

You couldn’t do anything but stare at his profile, watching the way that his nose scrunched up.

“I want to believe you Haechan. But the way you’ve acted tonight doesn’t show me that you have.”

He turned to face you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “What do you mean?”

You avoided his stare, focusing on the fabric of your jeans. “Do you treat all your dates the way you treated Minji tonight? Because I felt horrible for her.” You frowned to yourself. “Did she deserve to be neglected and dismissed like that?”

Unknowingly, fresh tears had managed to spring to your eyes, something you cursed yourself for doing. But watching the way he acted tonight had you remembering the way he treated you, and you hated the fact that you still wanted him after all of it.

“I... I didn’t. I didn’t mean to neglect her or dismiss her, I was just so caught up in seeing you again that... I don’t know. And about the ice cream shop, it’s not like I told her to leave, it’s just... it’s just that I told her that I liked someone else and she freaked out. I know it makes me look bad, but I promise you I really have grown up.”

He reached out to push a stray hair behind your ear, but you flinched away, avoiding contact. 

You looked up at him, and his eyes visibly widened, taken aback by the sight of your teary eyes. 

“Thanks for the ride.” You moved to push open the door, attempting to leave, but an hand on your arm stopped you.

“Please?” It was such a heartbroken plea that you froze, a part of you begging to stay and comfort him. 

You couldn’t help but succumb to this, biting your lip in reluctance.

“Do... do you want some tea?” The grip on your arm loosened, wavering at the option. It was only the click of the seatbelt being released that answered you.

He stood next to you in silence as you fumbled with your keys, unable to stop the shaking of your hands. 

He reached for your hand in silence, his warm one enveloping yours. In one swift movement, his keys were in his hands and unlocking your door.

“Thanks.” You breathed out, unable to control your voice still.

Your bag found its familiar spot on the couch as you shuffled into the kitchen, needing something to keep both your hands and your mind busy.

The slowly increasing sound of the teapot cut through the air, leaving you and Haechan with words left unsaid. 

You stole glances at the boy, realizing that he hadn’t said a word since he had entered the apartment. 

Busy watching your figure from across the room, his jaw was stuck in a continual lock. He seemed to be focusing not on anything in particular, just your presence. His eyes seemed softer, almost in a perpetual state of mourning. Was he like that earlier? 

Throughout the night you had gotten the impression that he was cold and harsh. How did his eyes seem to say so much now? Was he losing the facade he had up for everyone else? Was he letting go for you? 

He had become soft, a side of Haechan that you thought could never exist. Where was the rowdy teenager? Where was the boy who longed to fit in? The boy so desperate to conform, that he would let you go? Did he perhaps grow up?

You shook your head, refusing to humor the idea that he was no longer that boy that you once knew. 

The sharp squeal of the pot made you jump, quickly moving to turn off the heat. You hissed at the stinging feeling rise up your finger. Retracting your hand, you immediately went to suck on the numbing finger. 

Haechan grabbed your finger, looking at the angry red portion that was flaring. 

“Do you have any aloe? We should put something on that.” 

You stared up at him, not noticing how he had gotten to your side so quickly. You nodded as he made eye contact with you, “It’s in the drawer next to the sink.”

He let your hand fall, digging through the drawer until he found the jar.

He was gentle as he smeared the cool gel over the burnt portion of your hand.

“There. Does it feel better now? Or do we need to ice it?” 

You shook your head, “It feels fine.” 

You stared at your connected hands, Haechan not once letting go as he tried to put the lid back on the jar, ultimately giving up.

It felt as if you stood like this for minutes, uninterrupted, simply in each other’s presence.

“Can we try again?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Even if I can’t be anything more than a friend to you now, I want to be next to you again. I really missed this.”

You faltered, watching the way that he begged with his eyes. 

“I missed this too.”

But things weren’t ever the same as they were before. Not that you were expecting them to be. 

Your feelings didn’t suddenly disappear, they stayed taunting you as you watched him stumble through life right next to you.

Neither of you were brave enough to take that extra step. Neither of you willing to lose each other again.

Perhaps neither of you had really grown up yet.

© Copyright 2021. hyuckssunchip. All rights reserved.

[logically-asexual]

I want to give you your grin

this was written for the prompt Crook/Aftermath of loceitweek2021, so the last chapter will be posted on monday ♡

summary:

After Thomas chose to go to the wedding, Janus has a lot of work for his plans to work out, and that includes getting Logic on his side. Logan currently is constantly being left out. He is trying too hard (and failing) to make himself fit in with the others, so he will try anything to feel useful.

Janus decides to take advantage of this (and Logan's denied feelings for him) to get away with his scheme, but what neither of them expect is actually falling for each other in the process.

warnings: emotional manipulation, Logan is very insecure. let me know if i should add more.

Read on AO3

Chapter 2

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words: 2169

The following day, Logan was called to a conversation Thomas was having with Patton. They quickly explained to him that Terrence was going to be in town this weekend, since he had some unexpected time off, and he really wanted Thomas to go help him with a project. However, Thomas had agreed with Logan before that he would use his free time this week to catch up with revising a script the team needed on Monday, and to make a meal plan for the following week so Thomas could practice his cooking and avoid ordering takeout every single day.

Logan was surprised that they wanted to hear his opinion before making a decision, so he made an effort to come up with a fair solution for everyone.

Thomas could meet Terrence on Saturday. He would need the entire morning to get ready, probably, since usually several hours are required for Thomas to motivate himself to go outside, and he would also need time to recover his energy afterwards. So the entire day would be out of the question for work. That meant he could look for recipes and make a simple plan on Friday after work, go buy the necessary ingredients on Sunday morning, and revise the script the rest of the day.

“Well,” Logan started, before being interrupted by Deceit appearing next to him.

“You’re going to tell Terrence that you two can hang out for a couple hours but you’re otherwise occupied and do not have the energy for anything else.” He said with determination.

Patton started to protest but Deceit interrupted again.

“What? I thought you were the one so keen on “keeping one’s word” and “not going back on your commitment”?” He said, with a hint of disgust as he put air-quotes around Patton’s words. “Or are other people more important than the promise you made to our friend Logan, here?”

Everyone was looking at Logan now. Patton began stuttering, maybe wanting to apologize, so Logan tried to reassure him before the conversation got more complicated.

“I don’t mind, actually. I was going to propose an alternative that would free our schedule for Saturday so Thomas could meet Terrence for however long he finds it necessary.”

“Oh, right, because he is so full of energy these days to work on his own job, his personal life and doing other people’s work for them in his free time.” Deceit replied, sarcastically.

“Hey, he doesn’t want me to do his work for him!” Thomas objected. “He just said he needed help with something.”

“Yes, sure, he is definitely only here in town by chance and not making excuses to take advantage of the fact that you don’t seem to have the word “No” in your vocabulary. Logan agrees with me, don’t you?” Deceit turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

Logan had to look down to avoid everyone’s intense gazes on him. “I... well... Thomas does know that word, it’s actually one of the first words he learned as-”

“You’re avoiding the question.” Deceit was clearly irritated, and Logan couldn’t endure his disapproval for some reason, but agreeing with him would upset Patton and that would be counterproductive, as well. Thomas needed a decisive Side to come to an agreement, he needed Logan to have an answer for him, but what answer did he want? Maybe they should just skip the meal plan and try again next week, or-

“Logan, are you okay?” Patton’s voice was gentle.

Of course Logan was okay. This is his job. He was just struggling slightly to keep his breathing steady. “I- I’m sure I can come up with some arrangement, if you give me time. Maybe if- We could try asking first what is it Terrence needs and decide depending on-”

“Oh how sweet,” Deceit drawled, narrowing his eyes. “And I can tell Morality would be just thrilled to let Terrence know that Thomas’ support for him is conditional.”

Patton seemed conflicted by the accusation, but didn’t deny it. He looked expectantly at Logan, as if pleading for his support, but Logan was at a loss.

“Logan,” Thomas chimed in, “it’s okay, I don’t have to make a decision yet. I haven’t opened the text and I can call him later.”

But Logan knew taking longer to think would only prolong those judgemental looks in both Morality’s and Deceit’s eyes, and he couldn’t take it any more. His face was starting to hurt from the clenching of his jaw.

Still not looking anyone in the eye, he muttered “No, Thomas. You should do as Deceit said. He’s right, you’re going to be tired next week and won’t work properly if you don’t take time to rest and get adequate nourishment.” He didn’t look up, but he knew Patton well enough to imagine the defeated frown on his face. Still, he was used to it, and it was more bearable than whatever sensation Deceit’s disfavor was making him feel.

Janus smirked, proud that his plan had worked. Now he just had to finish convincing Logan that this was the correct decision and soon he’d have him wrapped around his finger. He was pleasantly surprised by how easy it had been, but it was true that Logan has had to put up with the other’s neglect far too long, he only needed a little push in the right direction.

“Okay fine.” Thomas said, cutting the awkward atmosphere that had just been created. “I am going to tell him that I’m a little busy but we should meet to hang out and maybe play video games and he will probably get the hint and not insist on the thing he wants me to do?”

Patton smiled widely at him and nodded. “Yeah! I’m sure he’ll understand and no feelings will get hurt in the process! And Logan said we could still free Saturday so you can use the extra time after returning from Terrence’s to relax.”

“Yes, perfect!” Thomas exclaimed with the same excitement. “Thank you, all. I’ll go text him back now.”

Janus groaned silently. Baby steps, he repeated mentally, getting Logan was the focus right now. Logan looked up at him shyly, and Janus couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Logan blushed slightly and turned away, and Janus’ expression turned sharp and smug again.

A moment later, everyone was back in their rooms.

Logan evaluated once more the day’s lessons. It didn’t go as bad as he had expected, he could finally take note of positive results, he just had to make sure he knew the right causes of this success.

What went differently today than all his previous attempts? Other times he has come up with new arrangements so whatever Patton, Roman or Virgil’s new proposals can be taken into action without interfering too much with his previous plans, and they seem to accept it in the end but still become upset with him, or not acknowledge his efforts at all. This time, Deceit seemed happy with Logan’s final decision. He would never act based on emotions, but the way Deceit looked at him after sharing his opinion felt... right, somehow. Like he wasn’t alone, and the sides of the debate were more balanced.

Of course, this was only a hypothesis, other factors could have influenced this discussion greatly and Logan would have to continue verifying his theory. He wouldn’t dare openly contradict Deceit, however; the distress caused by Deceit’s contempt wasn’t something he was looking forward to experiencing again. But he could try agreeing with him on occasion, and test if it helped Thomas find more satisfying conclusions.

Now he just had to make sure Thomas finished his work on Friday, and postpone the meal plan for Sunday, instead, just in case things went well and Thomas saved enough energy.

✩ ✩ ✩

Thomas, as he normally does, strained himself more than he was asked to, and two days were required for him to feel satisfied with the work he had done for his friend. Luckily, Logan made sure Thomas finished his more important task with the script on Friday. The rest of the week Logan just had to verify that the food Thomas ordered wasn’t too unhealthy or expensive, and the following weekend he was able to buy fresh ingredients to do some actual cooking.

As days passed, Logan was faced with more decisions to make. He should be able to ponder and reach conclusions without problem, but he found himself constantly... distracted. Thomas’ inconsistent diet and sleep schedule was probably impairing Logic, although he noted that the distractions most of the time came from the selfish Side that was joining their discussions more and more often.

Perhaps the strong feelings Patton, Roman and Virgil had against Deceit were affecting Thomas and, by extension, also Logan. That could explain why he was alert to every action the other made; it must be Thomas’ feelings because Logan didn’t have feelings, let alone have any strong emotions for Deceit for him to perturb his work like this.

However, solving this problem wasn’t in Logan’s control. Dealing with feelings was not his department, and the conflict the others had with Deceit was something they would have to fix on their own. In the meantime, Logan just had to adjust.

Adjusting was easy, honestly. As the Side that represents logical thinking, he was used to constantly adapting to his surroundings. He just had to keep Thomas focused and under control until the day of the wedding. After that, Patton could take over and deal with his emotional conflict.

One of the tasks in Logic’s to-do list was getting a gift for the bride and groom. Logan thought a household appliance would be suitable since Mary Lee and Lee would be moving in together, but he had to argue with Roman at the mall, since he wanted to go overboard and spend more money than Thomas should. Deceit joined them to suggest they buy something as cheap as possible, and then use the rest of the money Thomas brought to get himself something. When Logan agreed that Thomas could use new kitchen supplies, since he would be cooking more often, Deceit smiled at him.

After that, it didn’t take long to compromise, and they agreed on getting a detailedly decorated memory box, for the pair to save items as souvenirs of significant events, or so Roman explained. It was significantly less expensive than anything Logan had in mind, and they all thought the sentimentality made it a more adequate gift. When Logan made a comment about how sappy feelings finally had a use, Deceit laughed.

Later, Deceit led them to other stores, to find something for Thomas to buy with the rest of the budget. He suggested an elegant set of wine glasses, and Logan couldn’t argue the fact that they counted as kitchen supplies. Once they made the transaction and walked back out of the mall, Deceit held Logan’s hand, and offered him to test together the wine they bought to match with the glasses set.

Logan agreed, of course. It had been a long day.

As days passed, Logic’s list of tasks was being smoothly completed. Deceit came up with suggestions that made the others angry or upset at the beginning, but Logan found merit in them, and since there were now two of them, it became easier to convince the rest. Or if the opposite situation occurred, Logan wasn’t as affected by it, because at least it was the two of them losing or being shut down, unlike most of the time, when he was on his own.

He found that even if Deceit’s ideas weren’t what he usually would support, it was easier to endorse them. The arguments ended sooner, and Thomas reached clearer conclusions, either strongly in favor or (the more common case) strongly against Logan and Deceit’s position.

Furthermore, Logan found Deceit’s approving gestures motivated him, and made work more pleasant. He wasn’t used to physical touch, but he didn’t have to worry about initiating any, because Deceit would pat his shoulder or hold his hand when they advocated for each other. Deceit smirking at him made him involuntarily smile back. He didn’t know why this happened, but he knew smiling sent signals to the brain to boost one’s mood, similarly as with the other affectionate expressions, therefore, he wouldn't complain.

One time, Virgil was particularly irritated about Thomas’ decision to go alone to the event, and intended to take it out on Logan for prioritizing other things over finding a partner. Deceit stood between both of them, and confronted Anxiety about his constant indecision.

At that moment, Janus was facing Virgil, but he could notice in the corner of his eye how Logan blushed at the protective gesture. He was able to swiftly calm Virgil down, but was slightly distracted by the feeling of heat on his own face, the image of Logan’s flustered expression not leaving his mind. He was definitely pleased with the progress he had made.

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[naitiaclo960writings]

Day 14 - Fun & Games

The evening was already well advanced when Dean decided to turn off his computer and take a break from his essay. That last year at engineering degree was starting to give him a hard time and, frankly, he was looking forward to graduating and being hired somewhere. Hopefully, he would find a job in the same city and not have to look for another apartment.

It’s been 3 years since he shared a place with his best friend Castiel and things suited him perfectly like they were. Castiel had already been in the active life for two years, working as a heritage officer at the Kansas City Museum, but sharing the rent of their apartment was a relief for everyone. Moreover, they had now settled into a comfortable routine that gave rhythm to their lives in the most pleasant way. Most often, they would invite friends on Friday nights and spend an evening together over a beer. Saturday was reserved for a video game night where Castiel often ended up winning and bequeathing his dishes tour of the week to Dean. Sunday night was a mix of movies and popcorn while Tuesday was a board game night. On Wednesdays, finally, they always ordered from the Japanese caterer on the corner of the street and zapped between Netflix and YouTube until they were too tired to put away their plates and left them on the coffee table in the living room.

Dean stretched out at his desk before he got up. He quietly shut off his laptop and put down the glasses he used for work on top, massaging the back of his neck gently. When he turned off the light from his desk, his room was plunged into darkness and, as if to confirm the late hour, his belly began to grumble softly.

"Okay…" He sighed while putting a hand on his belly. It was time for him to return to the real world.

Outside, he heard Castiel moving a few pots and he smiled softly. He could always count on his friend to cook for them when he was too immersed in his own classes to care, and truly, Castiel was not such a bad cook as he claimed. Dean walked blindly to his door and opened it to a good smell of melted cheese. Growling with envy and a tenfold appetite, he approached the kitchen to find his roommate tidying up some kitchen utensils, the oven gently purring behind him. Dean leaned against the central island with a relaxed smile.

"What’s up, chief?" Dean asked, raising his voice in the hope of surprising Castiel.

The latter did not even jump, probably having heard him arrive without showing it. He put away the spatula he had in his hand before responding to Dean with a smile on his face.

"Four cheeses Mac’n’Cheese!" Castiel proudly announced, turning to him.

"Wow." Dean said, raising his eyebrows, truly surprised. "And what did I do to deserve one of my favorite comfort foods tonight?"

Castiel smiled even more and shrugged, returning to his storage. He took the time to rinse a knife before answering.

"You hardly left your room in the afternoon, I thought you might need a pick-me-up."

And it was as simple as that. It has now been 7 years since Dean and Castiel met, they had found each other at school and had not really left each other since. As a result, Castiel was obviously able to read Dean like an open book and the opposite was also true. They were confidants for each other, brothers almost, pillars on which to lean when everything went too fast around them. Dean and Castiel had actually painted the town red in high school before going to enter together into the terrifying life of a student or, for Castiel, an active worker. Above all, they had always been there for each other. Dean had been more than present during the divorce of Castiel’s parents and the ensuing family debacle, he had even taken his friend out of a very bad drug past for which Castiel would be forever grateful. Castiel, meanwhile, had supported Dean when Mary Winchester had lost her battle against a disease and John spent about most of his time at the bar, drowning his grief while his sons remained helpless at home. Dean no longer counted the number of times Castiel had welcomed him and Sam into his home simply to give them a break from everything else.

Such events bound destinies for a long time when they were lived like this. However, although Dean cherished his friendship with Castiel more than anything, he had to face reality about a year earlier. Dean was not particularly known for his long introspections, but he was obliged to admit after several months of living together that his friendship with Castiel had perhaps turned into a more concrete and disabling feeling in his situation.

Okay, maybe he had a thing for Castiel. A little bit. Okay, good time! He wasn’t even sure it was mutual, so he certainly wasn’t going to waste 7 years of friendship on a simple… feeling? For God’s sake, he had spent whole evenings struggling with this very question, thinking about it again and again until he got migraines, and he had finally come to the conclusion that if he did not have absolute confirmation of the reciprocity of his feelings, then he wouldn’t try anything. It may have been giving up without a fight, but whatever he had was too valuable to make decisions lightly. It was not even certain that Castiel liked men! Well, yes, perhaps, his friend qualified himself as"pansexual". What Dean always said to him was that it was just "being a fucking care bear, but more complicated, just to piss me off."

Anyway, after months of internal debate, Dean always found himself in the middle of that kitchen, with a best friend and roommate he loved a little more every day, but to which he had to continue pretending to maintain the ideal routine in which they had settled. Dean smiled tenderly at Castiel, who had now finished tidying up the kitchen and, realizing that he might have been staring at him for a little too long now, he sighed and went to the couch to choose their program.

They ate in a good mood in front of a horror film so lame that Dean was seized with a hysterical laugher in the middle and nearly choked on a macaroni. For dessert, Dean got up and came back with two ice creams — vanilla for him and a much more sophisticated taste for Castiel like wild mango or whatever — to finish their meal. Surprisingly, Dean was not particularly tired despite his long day of work and considering the energy that Castiel still had in front of the film, neither was his friend. When the credits began to scroll on the screen, Dean sighed.

"What time do you start tomorrow?" He asked in an innocent tone.

Castiel stretched out on the couch before falling back heavily into it.

"At 11:00, I’m closing." He said, grimacing. "But I won’t be spitting on some extra sleep, really."

Dean let out a contemplative "mmh" before turning to his friend.

"Does that mean you’re up for continuing the night a little longer? I’m starting late tomorrow too, and I admit that I’d like to enjoy the last few hours of the weekend without thinking about my damn essay." Dean pouted.

At these words, Castiel laughs softly and Dean already knew his answer by the expression of his face alone.

"What do you propose?" Castiel asked, raising a defiant eyebrow.

Dean took a short moment to think before his gaze landed on the drawer in which all their board games rested. Immediately, his brain set out to lead him towards an idea that would gradually stretch a malicious smile on his face. Of course, he had long established that he could not reveal his feelings to Castiel, but that did not mean that he could not take advantage of them here and there when the opportunity presented itself.

"A card game?" Dean suggested, turning an angelic face to Castiel again. "Do you know how to play poker?"

Castiel frowned and tilted his head slightly to the side, as was always the case when a situation confused him somehow.

"Uh… I can’t say I do, no. It always seemed rather complicated to me when I saw you playing that during parties." Castiel replied slowly, his blue and curious eyes fixed on Dean.

"It’s pretty simple once you understand the basics!" Dean assured, already bending over to open the drawer with his plan still in mind. "I can teach you if you want, it’ll save you from getting ripped off by Gabriel the next time we play."

As he hoped, these words seemed to unlock something in Castiel’s mind, for his friend straightened himself up with new interest before nodding.

"Okay, but only on one condition." He said, raising his eyebrows. "We don’t bet money. I already have to pay Charlie back because of our last night together."

Dean laughs softly at the mention of that stupid bet that Castiel had royally lost while he was reinstalling himself on the couch with the card game in hand.

"Okay, okay. That’s fine with me. But we still need to spice things up or poker is a lot less fun." He pretended to think for a moment under Castiel’s innocent gaze before resuming. "For lack of something better... we can consider a strip poker?"

As these words left his mouth, Dean felt his heart speed up in his chest. Of course, he had already seen Castiel half-naked many times before, and although he had always appreciated what he saw there, he had to admit that this context would be otherwise amusing. Nevertheless, Castiel remained forbidden and inexpressive so long before him that Dean quickly lost his smile.

"I mean, no… Of course not, I was joking. What-"

"Strip poker works for me." Castiel cut off.

His friend had answered so confidently that Dean was caught off guard for a moment before he could recover. Castiel agreed with his idea, really?

"But it’s quite uneven." Castiel replied, pouting. "You already know the rules, I’ll be naked in less than ten minutes."

That’s the idea, Dean thought. But as he still had compassion for Castiel, he looked around before he got up.

"Mix the cards, I’ll come back." He said to Castiel.

Quickly, he arrived in the kitchen and began searching in the cupboard just below the central island.

"Do we have any bottles left from Friday?" Dean asked as his eyes swept over the contents of the closet.

"I think Benny left a bottle of sherry, yes." Castiel replied from the living room.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. Sherry, seriously… Did Benny think he was a modern-day pirate or something?

"It’s an insult to call Sherry alcohol when you’re under 40, but… fine." Dean said while grabbing the said bottle before heading out in search of tumblers.

"It’s more of a set of brandy-cut wines, actually, but you did you know that-"

"Cas." Dean sighed again as he returned to the salon with his findings.

He did not need to look in the direction of Castiel to know that he had rolled his eyes heavily. Dean reinstalled himself in the sofa and placed the sherry bottle and the tumblers on the coffee table. He began his explanation while serving the first cup.

"Well, the rules are simple. If you lose a turn in poker, you take off one piece of clothing and the last one naked wins." He grabbed another tumbler. "However... Since I am an extremely nice and magnanimous teacher, we will have three jokers each." Dean pointed to the liquor bottle. "Therefore, if you lose a match, you have the right to choose to drink a shot bottom up rather than take off clothes. We’ll have three jokers each for the whole night. Is that all right, Mr. Know-it-all?"

Castiel did not pay attention to the comment and watched Dean pour the last shot with special attention. He seemed to be much more focused than he wanted to appear until then, and Dean restrained a smile. Castiel had always been a competitor.

"If the three jokers are only usable for the whole evening, then three is not enough." Castiel protested. "I really don’t know anything about it! Allow us at least five? Please?" He added with a more than pronounced pleading expression that came straight to Dean’s heart.

He rolled his eyes before taking out four new cups.

"Yeah, yeah, if you want. Five jokers each then, but don’t expect that to save you from not exposing those gorgeous leopard panties that I gave you for Thanksgiving last year." Dean replied with a mocking smile.

Castiel pushed him with his foot from the other end of the couch and kept his mouth shut on the fact that he, at least, was not knowingly buying Scooby-Doo underwear. Nevertheless, he let go of the remark and straightened himself up on the couch as Dean began to deal the cards. Judging by the smile on Dean’s face, he was more than confident.

* * *

Turns out Castiel was either a damn good liar or he had a freaking knack for poker. Dean continued to bitch in his corner while he was already in his underwear and socks on the couch, his five empty sherry glasses on the coffee table while three on Castiel’s side were still full. Not to mention the fact that Castiel was still perfectly dressed and even sprawled out among the blankets in a casual attitude that only offended Dean more.

He himself was curled up and kept staring at his cards with a sullen expression, alcohol already making him spin his head to make matters worse.

"You’re sulking." Castiel unnecessarily remarked as he was knocking down other cards on their improvised playground.

"I’m not- Damn it, seriously!" Dean suddenly exclaimed in a raging gesture as Castiel won that round again." Dude, I don’t have any more clothes to take anything off!"

Castiel raised an almost cruel eyebrow.

"You still have your socks. Why didn’t you take them off first anyway?" He asked, tilting his head one more time to the side.

Dean simply groaned as an answer and placed his card game with ill-humor on the armrest of the couch. The truth was that he had always been a little chilly in their apartment, whatever the temperature indicated by the thermometer, but he preferred to stand naked in front of Castiel ten times than to admit it in person. Eventually, he began to pull on his left sock reluctantly before letting the poor piece of cloth fall to the ground. If he got sick because of that damn game he started himself, he’d never play poker again.

By attending to his friend’s obvious bad faith, Castiel had to restrain a smile. Eventually, poker was quite instinctive according to him and he even enjoyed playing it now.

"We do one last game before we go to sleep?" Castiel asked, putting the cards together and mixing them again.

Dean sighed loudly.

"What, so I can go back to my room barefoot and bare-bottomed?" Dean grumbled.

Castiel rolled his eyes and began dealing the cards in silence, ignoring Dean’s bad loser attitude and his naked and shivering body before him for a moment. He briefly thought about an alternative before biting his inner cheek with apprehension considering to the direction in which his thoughts were going. Maybe these two sherry cups finally got to his brain... Castiel had never held his liquor very well. However, he was the first to be surprised — and mortified — by the forbidden words that came out of his mouth:

"I have another idea. For the last match, I’ll give you an extra joker." Castiel began, feeling a knot in his stomach as to the turn the events would soon take.

"Mmh?" Dean replied with a questioning look, his curiosity obviously bringing him a new interest.

"If I beat you again on this game…" He handed Dean a few cards, face down. "You will have the right to refuse to take your clothes off. But in that case, you will have to trust me and let me… challenge you? 

Dean raised an eyebrow before turning completely to Castiel, sitting cross-legged on the couch. He remained silent for a moment before taking a deep breath and finally grabbing the cards that Castiel handed him.

"… Will I regret it again?" Dean asked seriously.

Castiel swallowed. He had no good answer to this question. Was he himself certain of what he was doing? Not at all. But he needed Dean to play tonight, because right now, he felt brave.

"No." He lied.

Dean seemed to gauge him for a moment before finally nodding. Thus, another game engaged in a silence filled with concentration. Both of them knew there was a real stake in this game even though Dean was advancing blindly this time. No matter the outcome of the game, he already knew that he would choose Castiel’s challenge, just because he was a player and possessed a curiosity far too strong for his own good. Moreover, this redness that he had thought had subtly appeared on Castiel’s face when he had imposed his condition did not cease to come to torture his mind. He needed to know.

Of course, as if it had been bound to happen, Dean would put his cards down on the couch just to see his chances of winning be wiped out by Castiel a few seconds later. His shoulders dropped heavily, the adrenaline of the game diminishing to give way to defeat. He did not say a word, hardly surprised though, and looked up at Castiel who offered him a compassionate smile. Dean sighed and clasped his hands before him, shrugging.

"Okay Doc Holliday, you got me cowboy…" Dean pouted. "Okay… Joker. What should I do?"

Castiel suddenly seemed nervous in front of him, which did not help Dean relax. He frowned slightly, uncertain, while Castiel laid all the cards on the table.

"I.... I need you to close your eyes. It has to be a surprise or I.... Anyway. Close your eyes please." Castiel stuttered in front of him.

Dean watched him for a moment without saying anything before finally taking a discreet breath and closing his eyes. As soon as the living room disappeared around him, Castiel’s beautiful face faded behind his eyelids as he tried to ignore his crazy heart beating in his chest. The atmosphere had suddenly become special in their apartment, and this since Castiel had brought up the challenge. Dean’s instincts were yelling at him that this was the ultimate time to trust his friend, because something important was going to happen. He could not explain it more than that, he knew it, that’s all.

Dean remained as calm as possible as he tried to listen to what was going on around him. In the first place, only Castiel’s quick breathing made itself heard while Dean remained straight in his place, gently squeezing his hands against each other to control the nerves that he felt rising in him. After a few seconds, he heard movement in front of him and felt the couch rise a little, as if his friend had just changed position. Suddenly, he felt this same rapid breath close to his face and frowned gently, confused. When he could endure it no longer, Dean opened his mouth slightly to ask the question that he was dying to ask before his lips were covered by warm, wet others. Sweet and yet trembling.

Dean opened wide, astonished eyes, in shock as his heart missed another beat. Immediately, he fell upon Castiel’s face, gently close to his own, and swallowed a surprised exclamation which had gone up his throat. The kiss was not really one while Castiel quickly stepped back with nervousness to look into Dean’s eyes, their faces still close and frozen in the moment. Dean looked at Castiel who was looking back at him and everything was crumbling around them in a silence filled with electricity and unspoken confusion. Dean felt like dying and being reborn at the same time, silently in that body that suddenly seemed so narrow to him.

"You…?" Dean whispered, even if he never managed to finish his sentence.

Castiel feverishly licked his lower lip before shaking his head imperceptibly, the face so devastated by the fear of rejection at the moment that Dean felt like he had fallen into his worst nightmare. He could not bear such an expression on Castiel’s face, Cas who had kissed him, Cas who was afraid of his reaction, Cas who cared for him right now. Castiel who loved him.

In a surge of combativeness and surely relief, Dean filled the space between their mouths again and slipped one of his hands to the back of Castiel’s neck to keep him close, preventing him from escaping this time. Once the surprise has passed for Castiel, Dean could almost see his whole body lighten up and melt into their shared kiss. This simple contact seemed to open so many doors that they were too blind to see before that Dean almost had his head spinning. Did Cas have at least as much desire as he had for him the whole time? He tightened his grip around his roommate’s body, he needed to hold on to something so he wouldn’t fall right away.

But he fell anyway when Castiel gently pushed him onto the sofa so that he lay down under him. Later that night he fell again into this large bed in Castiel's room, his lips unable to leave the body of the other as if he desired to make every inch of him feel loved. He fell and fell and fell all night long, tumbling down into the most exquisite and liberating of the falls as a smile split their two faces in the frenzy of the moment. Dean kept falling, but he didn’t do it alone, clinging to the one thing he had never hoped for in recent years and that he could finally touch with his fingers now.

Finally, he was unable to remain angry with Castiel for having beaten him at poker, just as he was unable to detach himself from him that night. As the sun’s rays filtered through the closed shutters of Castiel’s room, Dean gently caressed his lover’s face in the hollow of the pillow with a new, fascinated tenderness. He barely waited until Castiel opened his eyes to steal another kiss before whispering against his lips.

"Hey… I have no fucking idea what happened to my remaining sock yesterday."

When Castiel let out a hoarse chuckle before drawing him closer to himself, Dean promised to do everything to hear this sound every morning now. They were going to need more games night from now on…

* * * @winchester-reload​

Yep, I’m late haha, sorry! It took me a while to write this one but no worries, I’ll post day 15 and day 16 today too. I’m really proud of this OS, don’t hesitate to come and talk about it with me in the comments!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

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[treechangeseachange]

The return

It’s coming up to 3 months since we returned to our block and it took us 8 weeks to slow down. On the weekend we slowed down we enjoyed the first official Friday night catch up with our neighbours as the full moon rose. On Saturday we went out for brunch. No sport on Sunday morning meant a sleep in. I played handball with my boys for the first time ever in my life. Lamb shanks slow cooked on the wood heater. We squeezed in a late Sunday afternoon fishing trip. It took us 8 weeks to find some calm. We had forgotten how to do normal. I haven’t written for this blog since um wow December?! My leisure time since then has been extremely limited and when it occurred I prioritised my mental wellbeing and sleep.

This journey has brought me to the edge of my psychological and physical limitations. I watched my husband do a terminator style non stop renovation while trying also to commence a rebuild. His promises to take time off over Christmas dwindled to 2 days. There was so much to do. I helped with whatever jobs I was able to and then focussed on the household and occasionally, our boys. Midway through January this year we realised trying to work on both the renovation and the rebuild was insanity. The local real-estate market was booming. Post COVID, Sydney city dwellers realised they could put in a few days in the city then work from their coastal holiday pad the rest of the week. We decided to get our investment property, come bushfire haven, onto the market before the summer ended. We mapped out each remaining job and the days required to accomplish them. We calculated selling time, settlement time and remaining bank balance. What were need to do’s and what were optional extras. If everything went to plan, we could pay to get some work done at the block and make it habitable enough to move into. It was an extreme test of time, energy and resources.

It worked. We listed by the end of February, sold in three weeks and settled five weeks after settlement. I write that all in one glib sentence. Of course all of that only happened with considerable focus and effort. Life for the boys was hectic. 99% of their toys were packed and moved into storage weeks before the house went on the market. As the house neared completion we stressed about them damaging something. When the house was on the market we stressed about them getting things dirty - the walls, the windows or the cupboards. I banished them from the bathroom, they had to brush teeth in the laundry and shower outside. Luckily it was warm and didn’t rain much in those few weeks! Anyone who has sold a house while living in it knows how painful open homes are. The logistics and effort of cleaning and styling, while working full time from home, scheduling everything between work appointments, getting the dog out of the way and the boys to school, nearly broke me. Thankfully the selling process was short, but we packed a lot of opens into that time and by the end of it all, I had become a shouty, grouchy mum and wife. It was also a real highlight to hit menopause and bring some phenomenal hormonal energy into the mix. Phew.

Before we packed up and left I was lucky enough to have a week away with the boys. My fully wired self hit Melbs and my family gave me refuge and forgave my intensity. We managed some fun and the change of scenery was a big relief. Husband, however, stayed behind to work on the temporary shed home. Holiday behind me, I returned to packup and clean and polish the house for the financial return of our lives. Literally.

Can you then imagine our triumphant and spectacular return to our block bathed in happiness and light? Um well perhaps instead picture this - we arrived exhausted to an unpowered, work in progress temporary residence in the middle of a mice plague and endured 200ml of heavy rain in four days leaving us surrounded by mud. Happy to catch the rain in our tank? I wish! The new tank leaked 8000L the week before we moved, and only our neighbour’s spare tank loan meant we had any water at all. But being so small, it overflowed and made even more mud. The heavy rain was so loud on the tin roof it frequently woke the kids in the night (who then woke us), mice ran across the floor, huntsmen spiders dropped from the ceiling. With nowhere really to unpack things, cooking became like the biggest ever memory game, which box were the bowls in? Where did I pack the cutlery? The rain delayed our solar power install so for 10 days we lived out of an esky and by torchlight. We both kept working full time, getting the boys to school, after school sport commitments and then husband kept building after he got home and into the night. After a week of stress and chaos we knew something had to give, fortunately husband could take time off work to focus on our build and family life.

Fast forward to now. The financial pressure of the summer has eased. The temporary living quarters are functional and steadily improving. We have a beautiful wood heater. Our off grid solar system is powering us even during these short winter days. I have more kitchen cupboards than ever before, plus a dishwasher! I have hung up my clothes in a full wardrobe for the first time in nearly four years. The boys each have clean new wardrobes. Their separate rooms are still being built so they are in what will be our room which is insulated and wall paneled. We can cope with an outside shower and toilet. My husband is a legend.

What’s it like actually being back? I confess I was nervous about my own and the boys emotions. Eldest son is extremely happy to be back. Youngest son has taken time to adjust but that has more been due to his fear of the dark. The noises of the bush are unfamiliar and there are no streetlights out here! There has only been one time where a prebushfire memory overwhelmed me. Every person’s bushfire experience and recovery is unique. Unlike many others we are fortunate have the opportunity to not have to build on the exact footprint of the old place and I think this is psychologically helpful. It’s not the same space, and with some trees dead and gone the landscape is altered, its a slightly different perspective. The boys are older now, so our lifestyle is different too. Slowly we are finding a new rhythm on our land. The boys are absolutely loving being back on their bikes on bush tracks.

I was excited to resume my morning walks, although maybe not as excited the dog! He’s happy to have his off-lead roam again. But the first week of walking I found tough, the burnt and recovering state forest I traverse didn’t bring me the joy it used to. In the heavily logged areas where only isolated saplings were left unlogged, they couldn’t survive the heat of the fire or they didn’t have community trees to share nutrients through their roots to support recovery. The undergrowth is now the canopy and is booming with all the extra sunlight but when I look at it, all I see is fire hazard. Then as the weeks went by, my view softened, I recognise the bush is healing like me. I am appreciating small wonders of nature. A spider’s web highlighted with morning dew or the fascination of new plants thriving. There are trees that have fully recovered, others seem to be doing well, and there is much green in the landscape to enjoy.

On my morning walk I also see which animals are about in the night from what they leave behind. There is at least one very busy wombat! We see wallabies reasonably often and last week one morning I found big roo prints in the clay right near our place. We hear a boobook owl calling most nights and more frogs chirping croaking from the gully than I ever remember. Which now makes sense, we definitely were in drought for some years prior to the fires and the creek has this year been running for months. Less exciting is hearing foxes at night, my son especially dislikes their eerie calls. In daytime the bird life is altered. We are down to one lyrebird, there used to be two with adjacent territories battling loudly with their extraordinary mimicry. But at least there is one, how a ground bird survived I can’t imagine. The yellow robins aren’t around us now, we have wrens in the cleared spaces and in the lush shrubs busy brown gerygones dart and chirp. A shrike thrush has made a nest in our bushfire remains pile, her song is piercing and wonderful. Rarely are the yellow crested black cockatoos here now. This past weekend we did see two circling wedge tailed eagles the silent assassins of the sky wheeling high over the gully with that phenomenal wingspan.

Surprisingly my greatest source of happiness in these first few months being back has come from the sky. Unobstructed by buildings, the sky feels bigger in the bush. I’m loving the late winter sunrises. My very favourite time is just after the sun has risen when the horizontal sun rays set tops of the trees bright orange. Those are magical minutes of golden tinged trees. The sunsets. The stars. The moon. the sky has been a revelation and a source of happiness. Maybe because I’m spending more time outside I notice it more. Seeing glittering stars through the steam of a hot outdoor shower makes the cold walk inside completely worth it!

Slowly I am regaining my sense of gratitude for this place. The quiet. The privilege of not seeing another house. Having no curtains and that not mattering. Not worrying about noise and neighbours. Lack of street lights at night.

All of a sudden things aren’t hectic and we are settling in. It still amazes me after 6 moves in 5 years how intense moving is and then how imperceptibly things transition to not being new anymore. Normalcy sneaks up on me every time. Clearly this isn’t really normal but we’re enjoying this new start in our old place.

[spoonhacks]

My Fibro Journey and How I Came Back from Rock Bottom

This not advice. But this is a true story, and it’s time I shared my Fibro journey. I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia just as college was ending. This is not to say it began then, but it came to head enough to finally get an answer. This came about a year and a half after my Interstitial Cystitis diagnosis, and I was in BAD shape. I was 90 lbs, deteriorating, and everything winded me. The pain was constant and completely overwhelming. I had thrown every last drop of my energy into finishing my college thesis and graduating from a school I had worked SO hard at. When it finally commenced, I felt lost. I was depleted from the effort and it was 2011 and the economy was in shambles. Having nowhere else to go, I moved into my dad’s spare room in Massachusetts, miles away from the state I had always called home, my precious Florida warmth, and the love of my life. I was, unsurprisingly, miserable, and my health tanked immediately. I was cold all the time. No amount of blankets helped because I wasn’t generating my own heat. I remember spending Thanksgiving eve in the emergency room because an Interstitial Cystitis flare had caused a UTI to back up and give me yet another kidney infection and I had a soaring fever. Things were toxic with my dad. His cure for everything is to get up at 6am and be busy busy busy and I was in desperate need of rest. When it became obvious to me finding a job was not happening, I started an Etsy shop for my crafts with the limited energy I had. It pulled in maybe $200 a month but it felt good to be doing one small thing. A few months later the love of my life arranged to follow me to New England and secured a place for us in the apartment above his father’s house. We were together again but things were tense, his dad is occasionally a monster, and it wasn’t long before we were moving again. My health was awful and we were broke as a joke. I was sleeping 12 hours a day and spending the rest of my time trying to figure out what kind of life I was going to be able to have. I was severely depressed. We moved to an absolute shit-hole of a apartment in a bad neighborhood. Rent was $850/month for 280 square feet. We could barely afford it, and mostly lived off of my partner’s disability check and food stamps. My small savings was gone. We fought about money a lot. The Etsy shop brought in maybe $300 now, but it was clear this was not going to cover everything for a long time, if ever. My health only continued to decline and I felt utterly useless. Some days I was too sore to even get out of bed. The stress was unbearable as I watched everything in my life spiral. I honestly felt like if something didn’t change and soon, I was going to die. I thought back to the last thing I’d done right: my college thesis at art school. It took me forever to choose what medium to do the project in as there were a few I’d been practicing proficiently. I kept asking myself: “What am I the best at? What am I the best at?” and got nowhere. Finally I asked myself “What am I the worst at? What medium am I absolutely shit at that I would love to do but never learned how?” And the answer was pen and ink. A few months later I graduated with a pen and ink portfolio with one of two A’s in my professor’s senior class. So here I was, applying to design jobs and retail jobs and anything else I thought I might be good at with 0 responses for months on end. Then, instead, I asked myself what I was the worst at-- manual labor! After all, grocery shopping would knock me out until the next day. I realized this was insane to even consider and I might literally die. But I was so low it didn’t matter. If I continued wasting away like this I was going to die anyway. I knew this in my heart. Having cared for horses as a kid I started applying for barn jobs in the area. I remember straightening myself up and forcing myself to look energetic and animated for the interviews. I finally got a job. I was terrible at it. Shoveling for hours and pushing around a 300lb wheelbarrow, imagine! I could not lift a hay bale (they are about 65 lbs). But, I got up at 4:45 in the morning and drove to work in the snow before the plows came and always got to work on time. I worked only weekend days and by Sunday night I would have to make sure there was a crockpot meal going because I knew I would collapse at the end of the day. I cried in the car on the way home every single shift. My body was on fire. Mondays I could not get out of bed. The pain was immeasurable and I spent most of the day crying and had my partner help me to the bathroom. I spent the whole week recovering and patching myself up enough to get to my next shift on Saturday. But I promised myself something: that I would never complain, not to anyone at work, and not even to myself in my head. I imagined myself as a monk. Chop wood, carry water. I got fired. Then I got another barn job and got fired. Then I got another one and got fired again. The 4th job was still hard, but I did not get fired. I could now lift the hay bales. I gained 20 lbs (entirely muscle) and my body was completely different. Instead of being carried to the bathroom on Monday, I could transport myself to the couch and do basic self-care activities. I could do my crafts during the week again and between the two income streams I could afford my half of living expenses and was very slowly socking away a tiny, tiny nest egg that would eventually become the start up capital for my business. Two years had passed since mucking my first stall. My Fibro was not cured by any means but my IC was somewhat in remission and I was doing much better. Daily life got easier. After all, compared to hay bales, lifting the pasta pot while making dinner was less of a big deal. I eventually left the barn job and got a job doing landscaping and construction-- more manual labor! My new boss was disabled too and used a walker on the job site. He was also a Buddha in a blue collar. After having kept my illness a secret for 2 years of barn jobs I could finally tell a boss the truth and it was a relief. He understood me and always gave me the jobs I could flourish at.  I learned a lot from him, did legitimately good work, made slightly better money, and moved out of the shit-hole apartment to an art community, which was an important step forward on the path toward opening my own business and doing art full time. During the second year of running my shop I realized I didn’t need a second job anymore and that it would be the first year in the last 5 where I wouldn’t have to dig any holes.

I’d risked it all, every last drop of my health. It could have killed me. And the agony was indescribable, but I would do it again. My body is changed forever and even years since I have last worked manual labor I am still improved for it and much more active than I was in those dark years right after college. Everything I have now I owe to that one, insane decision I made at rock bottom. This is not advice. Take what you will from my story. I still despise people who say “exercise will cure Fibro if you just tried harder :) :) :)” or some stupid shit like that. None of them know how dangerous this was or how much suffering I endured. It could have easily gone the other way. There were days my partner saw the condition I was in and begged me to stop. I told him with a roar in my voice if I didn’t keep going I was going to die. I don’t regret it. I have less pain now, consistently, than I did before I went through all that and I still try to keep up my fitness level so I never go back there. Thank you for reading my story. I can’t recommend my path, but if you come away with one thing from this, just know that there is a path forward, somewhere, and perhaps in the most unlikely of places.

[cynicalrainbows]

Hey! I’ve got a fix request if that’s ok! After a long day at the theatre everyone’s tired but during the megasix Anne goes into sensory overload?

So I should preface this with the fact that I don’t actually know what a sensory overload feels like. So it’s more ‘Anne gets overwhelmed with all the noise etc’ which is something I can write about.

Anyway, enjoy!

**

It’s been a long week, one of those weeks where everything seems determined to go wrong in as many ways as possible, often at the most inopportune moments.

Because of this, everyone is more on edge than usual, everyone is irritable: Catalina snaps and Kitty sulks. Jane puts things down with more force than is strictly necessary and Cathy holds her book up in front of her eyes to discourage attempts at communication and flicks pages obnoxiously loudly.

 Even Anna, far and away the calmest and least rufflable of them all, has started to feel the strain and by Thursday is far gone enough that she actually snaps at Kitty for taking her clothes without asking and then at Jane for taking Kitty’s side. The difference of course is that Anna at least has an excuse because that same evening, she comes down with what is officially called A Cold but that feels (she assures Anne) rather an awful lot like the pneumonic Plague.

 Anne is glad for Anna’s sake when she finally agrees to take a couple of days off to recover properly but she also can't help but feel a bit abandoned too. The dressing room isn’t the same without Anna to diffuse the tension and while she normally enjoys Catalina’s company, it scarcely counts as company when all the two do is snap at one another. Anna is like a balm- she smooths out rough edges, she can diffuse almost anything with a joke or a comment. Without her, everything feels ever so slightly off balance.

 As bad as the snapping is though, the silence in the dressing room once Anna finally gives in and goes home to bed is worse. Anne knows Catalina isn’t angry with her specifically, that the woman is just not really in the mood to talk and is staying quiet to avoid starting off yet another disagreement, but it still makes things uncomfortably tense.

 Even when Saturday rolls around, it isn’t much comfort to think about the fact that Sunday is just around the corner because Saturday is always the hardest day of the week- the biggest workload, just when everyone is least prepared for it, the rowdiest audiences just when everyone is at their lowest ebb, the most hours spent waiting around at the theatre when really all anyone wants is to go home and take a nap.

 Sometimes the exhaustion works in their favour, on the days that the tiredness makes everything somehow seem that bit funnier. Tired-drunk, Cathay calls it, when one or other of the queens finds themselves giggling half hysterically over something that in the cold light of a Monday morning would really seem not that amusing at all. At least they get some good social media videos out of it.

 Mostly though, being tired just makes everyone shorter and snappier and more prone to storming out of the dressing room to sulk- or cry or walk around angrily slamming doors or lurk in corridors muttering darkly about how much better things will be when they got their book deal and cam write full time.

 Nobody is sleeping well, nobody can be bothered to eat proper meals, let alone actually cook them, and they all feel like they haven’t seen the sun in months.

  In short, they are in dire need of a day off.

 By Saturday’s second show, Anne is almost counting the seconds til she can go home.

She feels like her shoes are made of lead, her head is pounding, her costume is sticking to her uncomfortably and she is bitterly regretting the energy drink she’d downed in lieu of lunch on Cathy's perhaps slightly misguided advice. Not that she can blame Cathy- it’s her own fault for taking advice from a woman who not only occasionally substitutes coffee for milk on her cereal but actually professes to prefer it.

 The discomfort distracts her and makes her come rather too close- unpleasantly close, dangerously close- to missing a couple of cues during Ex Wives. It’s nothing the audience will have noticed, even if they have seen the show before, and perhaps even the other queens won't pick up on it, but she knows and the thought gives her a horrible flustered feeling, like she’s falling behind and needs to catch up to something.

 Except there is no chance to catch up. Sometimes the lack of interval doesn’t bother her at all-  they’re all rather glad of it at times because it does away with having to worry about recapturing the audience's attention and goodwill after twenty minutes of all 200 of them getting irritated over overpriced wine and tiny-tubbed ice cream- but now she would kill for five minutes to sit down for a moment and collect herself.

 Even the show gets harder as it continues- she's unsettled by having someone who isn't Anna in Anna's place, the songs get longer, the dialogues get more heated and shouty, and Haus of Holbein...well, Haus of Holbein just exists.

She has never been less prepared for the flashing lights and pounding bass, and even when it’s over, she can feel the tension building up inside herself, the feeling of her last threads of control beginning to dry out, stretch thin and snap.

 Finally, finally, they strike their ending poses, fists thrust in the air. Anne can feel her arm trembling slightly and hopes that no one else will notice. She doesn’t feel like fielding questions off stage.

 Although she’s been hoping for a moment to collect herself, the split second of reprieve granted before the music starts again and the Megasix begins, if anything, make her feel more overwhelmed rather than less, as if her body, having tasted peace and quiet for a moment, is protesting bitterly by making everything that much louder.

 The dancing- not even really being able to rely on muscle memory because it’s apparently important that they keep an informality to the Megasix that can only be achieved by insisting that everybody dance freestyle- begins to feel like a rather unusual and exquisite form of torture.

 And then the confetti starts and it’s in her face and under her feet and god someone's going to break their neck one of these days and the front row fans are screaming particularly loudly- not just screaming but screaming words too, and as much as she knows they are most likely positive things, the words are lapping over one another like waves coming too quickly on the beach, sucking away her control, and the effort of keeping a smile on her face as she tries to focus on different parts of the audience so that everyone, even those people in further back seats feel included, are making her face hurt and her costume is prickling with sweat and god she just wants to rip it off and someone must have decided now was a good time to give themselves a quick douse of perfume in the front few rows because now it’s tickling her nose, it’s far too strong, and it’s all too loud, too bright, too much, too much for her to deal with all in one go, and in the midst of it all, she feels herself left as small and pink and vulnerable as an oyster, pried open and squirted with lemon juice, cringing in the remains of its broken shell.

 When the last note sounds and the stage goes mercifully dark and the curtain comes down, she can't move from her final pose. At last, at last, at last she can breathe for a second- but Kitty is already pulling on her arm and telling her to hurry up, come on, get changed so we can get to the pub- and maybe it’s Kitty shrieking in her ear, and maybe it’s the very sensation of being pulled and maybe it’s the thought of having to endure yet another noisy, bright, crowded space after everything, but to her mild surprise, Anne finds that rather than just pushing Kitty away like she would have had no problem doing normally, she’s wrenching herself away with such force that Kitty lets out a squeak of surprise and then she’s curling up right there on the confetti-strewn stage with her hands clasped so tightly over her ears it hurts and her eyes screwed shut so that she can almost see stars, folded up tightly to protect the very very tiny fragile hold on reality that she still has left.

 ‘Anne?’

 ‘Anne are you alright?’

 The others crowd round her immediately. 

 ‘What’s the matter, are you hurt?’

 She can't find the words to ask them to be quiet- but when Cathy’s concerned hand presses the scratchy material of her costume harder against her shoulder, she squirms and whines unhappily, cringing away. She’d be embarrassed, she thinks distantly, if she had any space in her head for anything other than panic.

 ‘…..can’t stay here.’

 ‘You can’t be thinking of moving her.’

 ‘It’s horrible to move her if she doesn't want to-’

 ‘Look she won’t want to stay here either, she’ll calm down quicker if she’s somewhere quiet-’

 After a minute or two of bickering, Catalina effectively ends the argument by scooping Anne into her arms and bearing her off to the dressing room.

 The added contact, the spikiness of Catalina’s costume, the noise the other queens are making makes her wriggle unhappily in Catalina’s arms but she doesn’t fight too hard, not really.

 She isn’t sure what she’d do if Catalina DID put her down. Curl back up into a ball until things got quieter, probably.

 In the dressing room, Catalina sets her gently on the carpet- or starts too. When Anne cringes away at the scratchy nylon, Jane spreads Kitty’s hoody and her own coat on the floor.

 ‘There, that’s better-’

 ‘What should we do…?’

 ‘I don't think we should all stay-’

 ‘Should we leave her alone?’

 Their voices are piling up again and it hurts, they hurt, muddling her already overburdened mind, and she’s just beginning to feel a scream tickling the back of her throat when Catalina holds up a hand.

 ‘Can't we have this conversation in the corridor?’

 Cathy nods; Kitty opens the door, casting worried looks back at Anne even as Jane tugs her outside.

 And then they are all out into the corridor. 

 Cathy makes a brief return to flick off the lights….and then she too withdraws, and Anne is left in peace.

 She curls up on her side in the welcome darkness. Her hands are still over her ears but slightly less tightly now. 

 Breath. Breathe. Breathe.

 She's still shaking, shaking even harder than before. Her teeth are chattering.

 Sweat dries on her skin.

 The tremors make her arms and legs ache but the pain is almost soothing- something else to focus on, at least.

 Slowly, slowly, she begins to relax her tensed-tight muscles, one by one.

 At least now it’s quiet.

 *

 They leave her alone for as long as they can- although really she can’t say how much time has passed- and then the door opens. Light spills in from the corridor.

 ‘Anne?’

 It’s Catalina.

 ‘Mija, it’s time to go home.’

 She curls up tighter and Catalina comes properly into the room, holding the door open with her foot.

 ‘Anne, it’s getting late. You’ll be more comfortable at home where you can rest.’

 She’s afraid that if she moves, all the light and noise of the theatre will engulf her again, flood her and suck her down; she’s feeling better now, she doesn't want to take the risk of moving.

 But Catalina doesn’t move. Her face is anguished- she looks pained, unhappy. She doesn't want to be the one having to make Anne move, and it gives her no pleasure when Anne eventually gets shakily to her feet.

 On the way to the car, she keeps her distance, gives her breathing room. She asks quietly if Anne would like help when she stumbles and when she shakes her head, she can see how that bothers Catalina too.

She’s not used to not being able to give comfort, she’s used to having to almost peel Cathy off, she’s used to Jane trailing around after her like a shadow. She’s used to being able to help.

 But she doesn’t press it and Anne is grateful.

 *

 When they get home, the others are awake and clustered in the living room but the hum of conversation falls silent when the front door opens and closes.

 Jane pops into the hall to say that she's welcome to join them if she’d like but that they completely understand if Anne would rather have some time on her own.

 She nods but when she goes upstairs it's not her own door she stops at but Anna's.

 She knocks, quietly, in case Anna is asleep- and then very gently nudges open the door. She's still shaking slightly.

 Anna’s room is half lit from the open laptop on the floor by the bed. The laptop is silent, the darkness is soft and welcoming. All is quiet and calm. She takes her first proper breath in what feels like hours.

  Anna herself is dozing- but opens her eyes just as Anne is making up her mind to resigning herself to going back to her own room.

 ‘Anne?’

 She gives a shaky half smile.

 ‘What time is it?’

 She nudges Anna's digital clock to face her: the lighted dial shows nearly 11pm.

  She isn’t sure if the others have filled Anna in, if she knows anything at all. (She decides not to ask, she’d rather not know.)

 ‘Oh’. Anna rolls onto her back and takes some tissues to blow her nose. ‘Are you ok?’

 She hesitates, trying to strip away the layers of meaning- she isn't sure whether to say yes or no, so after a minute she just shrugs.

 Anna sits up a bit and pats the bed next to her, flipping back the duvet.

 ‘Want to come keep me company in my bed of sickness?’

 She can't be sure but she feels like Anna is deliberately talking more softly than usual.

 Suddenly she wants nothing more than to take refuge here, in the peaceful semi darkness, where she has Anna next to her to do her talking for her until she feels up to talking for herself.

 She nods.

 ‘Come on then.’

  She crosses the room and gets under the covers in the sweats and tshirt Catalina helped her change into before going to the car. 

 Under the duvet, she burrows into Anna's side: it's warm and dark, it feels like a good place to recover.

 Anna lies down next to her, fitting her body around Anne's and wrapping an arm around her.

  It feels heavy, in the best way. Grounding.

 There's no way she’ll be able to float off into her own head with Anna here.

 ‘I missed you.’

 It’s quieter than a whisper, almost a breath, but Anna hears because she always does.

 ‘Missed you too, babes.’

  Anna’s arm tightens around her; her breath tickles Anne’s neck but it doesn’t bother her as much as it would have done an hour or two earlier. It’s a nice reminder that she isn’t alone.

 She closes her eyes, counts her breaths- in and out, like she’s learned to do at times like this- and waits to readjust to the world outside.

[black-streak]

Saturday night's alright for fighting (but Sundays are meant for rest) - In which a date is Had

Part 5

Aaaaand back to your regular scheduled fluff (though there is a tiny touch of angst here that you can miss if you blink too long) I really need to find a way to connect these, but I also refuse to leave mobile... Oh! And I have people to tag now? Sooo, here you go, @poshplumcot & @emjrabbitwolf

~---~

The almost run in with Red Hood the night before had Marinette on edge. She slept for only a few scant hours before waking in the morning hyper aware of her surroundings; skirting corners and slinking about her apartment, ready to bolt should the need arise.

In hindsight, the vigilance only added to her anxiety, lending itself to her in the form of launching bodily away from her phone when it buzzed without her permission.

How dare it! Didn't it know better than to startle her? 

Peering over the edge of a half wall, she glared at the offending object only for it to light up and buzz again! How rude! 

Picking her way over to it, she held it by a corner and tapped the screen to find two messages from "Mon Somnambule". Perking up and opening the chat it read, 'What time should I expect you over?' and then, 'youre still coming, right?'

Scrambling to answer, Mari quickly typed a reassurance and asked if he had a preference in time as her schedule was cleared for the day.

'Somehow free as well. Come by round 2? Or could pick you up. Have a movie marathon.' He texted back.

Checking the time and nodding to herself, she sent an affirmation and let Tim know she'd be fine getting there on her own.

Now for the real question: what does one wear to a lazy Sunday movie marathon that is also technically a first date? 

Walking into her room, she saw the decision had been taken out of her hands, two blurs of kwami rampaging the walk in closet.

"Plagg! Trixx! Get out of there!"

The orange blur stopped, then suddenly popped up into her space, "Guess I won't tell you what we put together then. Tragic really, probably forgot all about it in the back there. Oh well, if the Kit doesn't want help… come on Plagg, let's leave her to it." Trixx drew out, exaggerated movements and mournful sighs as he moved away, Plagg snickering from where he waited back in the closet.

Deadpanning at the little fox, Mari moved towards where they had been, only to light up and gasp upon finding the blood red hooded dress, complete with long sleeves and asymmetrical hemline. Pulling it out, she set it on the bed with black sweater boots and a thin black choker with gold swirls she grabbed off her necklace rack.

"You win this round. It's in his colors too!" 

"Well he did say you were his, yes?" Trixx teased.

"Perhaps you shouldnt wear that after all," Plagg growled.

"Oh hush, I know you approve, whether you admit it or not." Marinette scoffed, leaving to take a quick shower.

….

At 2 o'clock on the dot, Tim lost his filter.

"You're on time."

"Should I not be?"

"You're never on time."

" I can leave and come back in 10 if you prefer?"

"No no, come in. Sorry, just taken by surprise is all." 

It was then that he took a moment to take her in as she went past him, door closing and locking behind her. Only to find her studying him too.

"Gray sweats and a pale blue t-shirt. Any particular reason for that?"

"No clue what you're talking about," he stated flippantly, taking hold of her hand as he sidled past her. "Did you have something in mind you wanted to watch?"

"Hmm… Harry Potter?"

"...which?"

"You did mention a marathon, right?"

"Even I know watching 8 movies in a row isn't healthy. Alfred will sense our bad decisions and hunt us down for even trying."

"No, of course not, but we could watch a few today and watch the rest later?" She hinted, looking around to take in the living space, having never been here before.

"You haven't even survived this date yet and you're asking for another?"

"Is that okay?" She peeked up at him, blushing.

"I mean, yeah, but it's your own fault if you come to regret it."

"I won't," she intoned, turning to look about once more, "should we set up in the living room," she asked before he could respond.

Within a few minutes, they were ready, snacks and drinks laid before them with the first movie queued up, speakers blaring the opening lines of Hedwig's theme, nostalgic notes swirling around them and yet they sat perfectly still, a foot apart.

She broke the silence first, "Why does this feel so much different?"

"...How do you mean?"

"We've fallen asleep together in your bed before and yet here we are, a foot apart and avoiding eye contact on the premise of watching a movie we've both probably seen at least a dozen times."

"Different context. Our naps are something started with no expectations or labels. Now it's been labeled a date, that freedom is lost."

"... That's stupid."

"Completely unreasonable."

"Idiotic, flawed logic."

"Couldn't agree more."

 They sat in silence another few minutes.

"We still haven't done anything about it."

"I know."

"Hnph."

Swallowing down his anxious energy, Tim turnt and took her hand that lay furthest from him, guiding it over and past his shoulder, resulting in her torso twisting and stretching out to lay across his. Only he completely miscalculated in his distracted state and ended up bumping heads with her, which in turn made her jump back, arm still at his shoulder, yanking him forward. They fell completely off balance and landed on the opposite side of the couch, him lying atop her small frame.

Freezing in place, wide eyed, Tim was unsure how to recover when a small giggle came from above. Which then turned into a full bellied laugh. Cautiously, he lifted himself up off her only to watch her eyes spring tears of mirth as she tried to catch her breath.

"I guess that's one way to break the tension!"

Letting out a whoosh of air, he slumped back down on her in relief.

"Hey! Don't crush me!" She gasped, squirming under him.

"I know for a fact you can handle more weight than this."

"You know nothing!"

"I know many things."

Shifting, he landed beside her, turning towards the movie and manipulating Mari around till her back pressed into his chest, "Better?"

"Much," she murmured, tilting back to brush a kiss across his jaw before returning to watching the movie.

…

"How does this whole mother's love thing work? By blood? That makes no sense! Petunia obviously doesn't love him, so shouldn't that cancel it out somehow? I think Rowling was off her rocker when she decided this."

"Or it was just an excuse to keep him in his state of being the abused tragic character."

"What if that whole thing was a lie? Wasn't Dumbledore grooming him for suicide or something? Probably wanted to keep him under such horrible circumstances to reaffirm his love for Hogwarts and desire to return even after his life was threatened all those times."

"And this is the gay representation she wants to give us? Sounds homophobic to me. Let Seamus and Dean love each other, damnit!"

"And Ginny and Luna!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, why not?" 

"... You're right, let them date too! And make Harry Bi, you pansy!" 

…

They ended up taking a break between the first and second movie, taking the time to order delivery, get new drinks, use the bathroom, etc., before returning to the couch, Tim spooning Marinette once again.

"Are you okay?" He asked, softening his tone.

"Yeah, why?"

"You slipped up last night. I could see your eyes in the last few moments there."

"Is that why you're wearing blue and gray?" She teased, deflecting.

He blushed, but remained undeterred, "Lutine."

"... I didn't slip up."

"You never let yourself be seen. What changed?"

"You."

"..."

"I want you to know me. Especially if we're going to be continuing this. I've tried dating with a secret identity. It never works out. I know you on both sides, observed you without letting you return the favor. I want to change that." 

She laced their fingers, lifting to press a kiss to his wrist, eyes closed.

He stayed quiet, observing her now, vulnerable and fragile, waiting upon his judgement.

"Were you planning to reveal yourself?"

A small nod.

"But then Jason showed up?"

Another nod.

"And you still won't tell him? He's going to be fine with it, you know."

"Soon. It didn't feel right to come out of hiding to you both at the same time like that."

They fell silent, taking everything in, only to jump at the doorbell. Rushing up, Marinette went to answer it, returning and pulling out boxes of Chinese before setting up the second movie. As it started, they let it drop for now, touching from shoulder to hip where her leg deviated to wrap around his, reassuring each other that they were okay.

…

"Can we just talk about Lockhart though? He is such a little manipulative jerk! He wanted to leave them in the chamber! A bunch of 11 and 12 year olds! Who does that?!" 

"Literally any DADA professor Dumbly door decides to hire, apparently. And what's with the reliance of these adults on children to save their skins? Is that what boarding school is all about? Letting children raise themselves?"

"I'm so sick of these God awful adults pushing all of their responsibilities and mistakes on to literal kids to fix and take care of. He can barely take care of himself and you want him to save everyone? Just like that? With no help or guidance, just, 'here you go kid, lack of support for breakfast, negligence of supposedly trusted adults for lunch, an emotional breakdown for dinner, and a punctured lung for dessert!"

"... You want to talk about it?"

"Not really…"

"Okay."

…

By the end of the second movie, the sky had darkened considerably, having taken quite a while to start up any of them, it was now past eight, still early for them, but late enough to bring a different atmosphere, hushed and intimate between them.

"You look good in red."

"Oh?"

"Mm," Tim hummed, nudging the choker round her neck with his nose, "I like this little detail here too."

Goosebumps raising where skin met, she twisted to face him, lips ghosting over to his ear.

"It reminded me of you."

Faster than she could react, she felt a hand holding her face in place as lips descended upon her own, insistent and sure footed. 

Mari desperately wanted to return the passion, to push into him and give as good as she got, but all she could do was melt in his embrace, unreasonably warm at how assertive it felt.

Pulling back for air, he watched her gasp, enjoying the flush to her skin and glaze to her eyes.

"Did you still want to watch the third movie?"

"... Yeah. Couch is getting a bit uncomfortable though."

"We could relocate."

"Please?"

… 

At some point after having borrowed a spare toothbrush, washed her face, settled into Tim's bed- which was somehow different to being in the one at the manor- and starting the last movie, they had stopped paying attention and started focusing on each other. Passionate kisses turned into making out turned into soft brushes of lips over skin and finally settled into curling up around each other to sleep.

Tomorrow they would return to their hectic lives of running a company and finishing commissions for high profile clientele along with running around at night protecting a city that refused to protect itself, but for now, it was just them. Just this one peaceful night, wrapped in each other's arms.

[brittsekland]

Interview with Topper Headon, February 1980.

Turn off your mind, lie back on the couch and relax. We're going to have an association test. What do you think of when I say the Clash? Running battles with the grey forces of government? Three cord supercharged thrashes vilifying unemployment and public housing vegetation? Seething hordes of punks dancing themselves into a frenzy? Wrong. Times have changed. Punk is now locked as firmly into the past as hippies were in the sixties. Safety pins and bondage trousers are as passe as headbands and peace signs. The bands that characterized an era have disappeared. The Sex Pistols destroyed themselves, the Damned are a self-parody, which leaves the Clash. After an impressive first album and a fair second effort, their third a double recaptures the drive and energy of the first. The Clash have esestablished them-selves as the most talented band to emerge from the much vaunted new wave.

Their lastest album, London Calling, displays considerable evolution since early days of the band. The songs are more reflective and melodic. Songwriters Joe Strummer and Mick Jones contribute heavily but to a large extent the dexterity and adaptbility of drummer Topper Headon has enabled the Clash to develop their musicality. Topper is, perhaps, the most accomplished musician of the four-man band. His early training with a variety of different music forms from traditional jazz to soul, has provided a firm foundation for Strummer and Jones. Topper provides the matrix from which the rest of the band work. Topper believes the Clash have survived because they have staying power, because they haven't been afraid of changing and because they weren't hesitant to branch out when they grew tired of playing frenetic chords. "We've remained true to what we originally believed in," declares Topper. " We still enjoy playing our own songs. We're not going through any set patterns. The basic idea has been to remain true to what we believe in and not allow ourselves to be dictated to by the industry and become CBS puppets." They've done a deft job of staying ahead of big business machines. "We refuse to do Top of the Pops for example, even when the single came in at 29. CBS started to put pressure on us to do it. They tell us we won't have a hit single, and we say, so what? Who needs it? We wanted our double album to go out for £5 when everybody else's albums go out for a lot more. We had to fight battles to get a cheap record out. Obviously that's not in record company interests. They told us it was impossible. Maybe that's why we've stayed together; we keep setting ourselves impossible tasks. It gives us drive. Even on tour, the Clash are determined to keep prices down which certainly affects the bands take home pay. But money isn't what they want most. "What we want is for the kids to be able to see us," Topper says. Their attitude to irrates businessmen. "If anybody does something like sneak a video of us on television, we'd split up. And CBS know we mean business. We owe them so much money they can't afford for that to happen." The Clash are a refreshing contrast to the kind of bands that do anything to get their name on the dotted line. From the beginning it's been a complete turnaround from the usual state of affairs that exist between band and record company. The companies have been chasing the Clash. Topper joined the Clash between their first and second albums. Previously he was playing with a soul band that regularly toured Germany and British airforce bases. Regularly earning £50 weekly, Headon took a cut in pay to work with the Clash. "I knew at once that it was the gig I'd been looking for. Everything came quite naturally. By the time Topper joined the Clash, he was beginning to think he'd never pass an audition. Not many bands were signed before the British punk explosion. "They'd form a band for somebody from out-of-work musicians who had been thrown out of other bands. They knew the ropes, so they wouldn't kick up a fuss because they knew they were dispensable. Every time I went along for an audition, I was constantly beaten by drummers who had played for name bands and had 'experience'. It just went on and on like that." Topper had been playing drums since he was 13. Drumming was a habit he picked up when he had a broken leg which halted a promising football career. His dad spotted a second-hand kit in the local paper and bought it. By 14 Headon was regularly playing with a traditional jazz band. "For some reason bands were always short of drummers..." As far as tutoring, Topper never got past the introduction in the books. Paradiddles and triple paradiddles were as far as he got. Eventually Headon bought a Premier kit: "At that time it was the cheapest pro kit you could get. You could go into any music store and get one. Everyone stocked spares and fittings. That was one of the reasons why I bought a Premier. I'm still sold on silver kits because they look great under the lights." A few days before his first tour with the Clash he took possession of a silver Pearl kit, which he still uses. After a bit of chopping and changing of toms, he's wound up with a 24" x 17" bass drum, 14" x 10" top tom tom, 16" x 10" and 18" x 10" floor toms, and a Ludwig Black Beauty snare drum. All the cymbals are Zildjian - two pairs of 15" Heavy Rock hi hats, a 16" crash, an 18" crash, a 21" Rock ride, a 19" Rock crash, and a 20" Rock crash, plus a little Zildjian splash cymbal attachted to the top of the bass drum which he claims is driving the rest of the band mad. All the stands are Premier Lokfast Trilok stands. "I go for a real solid kit," claims Topper, "that's why I chose Pearl and Premier. They're really solid and serviceable, no frills on them. You get a good feeling when you sit behind them because they're so workmanlike. You think, 'Great, I ain't gonna knock these over.' I use rubber mats to secure the kit on the riser." "Although I have the kit basically the same most of the time, I do like to change it around occasionally. If I started to use wooden blocks on the riser then I'd be stuck with one position, and that can be limiting." When it became evident that the Clash were here to stay, Topper got the chance of a new kit, which he tried but didn't rate as much. However, he did take Pearl up on the offer of a recover and recon. He expects to have his present kit for at least another five or six years, providing it dosen't get dropped or broken. Another complaint from Topper is lack of service and spares outside London: "We've got a flight case which is like a miniature drum shop, it carries everything down to cymbal felts and spare lugs for the bass drum. We always take it with us on the road and keep it stocked up. "I begin a tour with everything I conceivably need, and gradually I get rid of things I don't need, so the kit gets smaller as the tour goes on. Once the hi hat busted, the spring went right inside, and it was impossible to fix up. It was a Saturday night when we discovered it, and we had a show on Sunday. Luckily, we were able to borrow a high hat stand from the support band." Topper is a man dedicated to acoustic drums. He regards synthisized drums as irrelevant: "They were alright for two weeks, then the novelty wore off. Personally I'm exploring different areas, like percussion. I even use finger cymbals on one track of London Calling. But thats the way to go - into acoustic percussion. There's so much scope there that I don't know why synthisized drums were invented in the first place." Miking up for a gig is a lot similar to miking up for the studio. Topper uses two overhead cymbal mikes, and two mikes for the double hi hat set up he uses. The toms are all miked from the top, and the snare drum is miked from beneath. He keeps both heads on and never keeps anything inside the shells. Topper uses very little damping live. What damping there is, is usually on the bass drum, and always external. All damping is with gaffer tape. Topper prefers AKG mikes, but on tour they vary depending on which PA hire company is being used. "I can go into the studio and get a good drum sound in an hour," continues Topper. Listen to the latest LP London Calling and you'll hear what he means. "The first time I went into the studio I was pretty green but I learnt from it. For London Calling I went straight in and knew exactly what to do. Everybody goes into the studio much more relaxed now. I use AKG mikes and everything is miked from the top except for the snare. Again I use double heads to get the boom sound, and I use room mikes to pick up the spillage, to make it sound more live without going over the top. The set up is exactly the same as I have live, really, except I don't use a bit of damping." The biggest problem with putting out the new album were recording costs. The Clash figure that the longer they spent in the studio, the more it would cost, the more money CBS would have to put up, and consequently they'd have a greater hold over the band. The Clash even put up some of the money themselves. Eventually they had the tape and told CBS: "You can have it if you meet our conditions." Topper admits that there are some mistakes on the album, and more than a few drum errors. That's the price to pay for the energy captured on the vinyl. London Calling was recorded in a month, with Guy Stevens producing. That's how it's going to be in the future, Topper maintains. The second album, Give Em Enough Rope, was not as successful as either the first or the third records, and Topper blames producer Sandy Pearlman for this. "He made it quite dull," Topper says. "He was a dull person to work with. We wanted a producer, CBS gave us a list of producers and his name was on the top. We listened to stuff he'd done with heavy metal bands, and we thought it was rubbish, but it was the production we were interested in. We wanted to get a good sound, and one complaint against the first album was that it sounded too thin. So we wanted some production that would stand up to time. So we got Pearlman. But he took so long to do it, with his perfectionism, that the prevalent feeling in the studio by the time he'd finished was boredom. When I think about recording that album I cringe." Problems don't end in the recording studio for the Clash. For a good few years now they've had constant trouble with local councils who insist on banning their gigs for fear of trouble. The whole surge of reaction against punk bands from "The Establishment" began with the infamous Sex Pistols. The daily newspapers portrayed the Clash as wreckers of society. "We're still getting that sort of prejudice," explains Topper. "We've had 16 gigs booked at various Mecca places, and then about 12 pulled out. You have to completely re-route the tour." The Hammersmith Palais cancelled a concert there because they said there were too many mirrors in the place to safely allow Clash fans in. "But our fans don't smash things anymore. They do if they're told what to do, like sit down in this seat and be a good boy. That's why out of all the gigs on our British tour only have two seats in them." Harassment from local villages takes other forms. The obligatory visit from the fire inspector often results in strict demands being laid down: "He says take that backdrop down, so we take the backdrop down, and he says erect more crash barriers, so we put up more crash barriers, he says this stage has to be rebuilt here, and you need more security. We just laugh at him and do anything he wants. Nothing can stop us playing. But they make life difficult." As time progresses, however, the Clash are becoming more acceptable, though not more respectable, Topper hopes. He makes the point that the Clash have to pay for all the damage that's caused, so why should they promote vandalism? Surprisingly, Topper found that the audiences in America weren't so much different to the British fans. The punk thing is really only just beginning to happen across the pond: "They're still into safety pins," declares Topper. "It's the same as the White Riot tour here, when there were about 300 or 400 fans dancing down the front with the rest there out of curiosity. But we sold out 25 of our 28 gigs there, and that was in 3,000 and 4,000 seater auditoriums. The States is so big. LA was just a load of old hippies lazing around getting stoned in the sun. I liked Chicago best, with all the blues clubs. But we should do well over there because the USA has all the same problems as Britain except they're magnified. They have all the slums and the poverty and more of a racial problem too." Highlighting social problems is one of the bands strong points. They should have plenty to write about in America. The Clash are political, and very definitely anti-National Front. Topper's favourite drummers come from America, such as Harvey Mason and Steve Gadd. His favourite British drummer is Terry Williams, who plays for Rockpile. Musically, his tastes are strictly black; James Brown, Otis Redding and lots of reggae, particularly the Mighty Diamonds. America looks tripe for the Clash. They've toured there twice and soon they should start to take off now that punk has spread. The Americans have been fairly slow catching on to what the 76' British New Wave was all about - perhaps they've been too wealthy for too long. With a new recession biting home, maybe the Clash will take on new relevance to downtrodden, unemployed kids in America. Topper himself represents a new establishment of musicians in Britain that once would have been unthinkable. Two years ago the Clash were vilified as not being "real" musicians. Their drive, talent and staying power has proved the cynics wrong. In general, the Clash have proved themselves to be dedicated professonials with firm ideals at heart. In particular, Topper Headon spearheads the drumming new wave with a forceful and accomplished style that can't be dismissed.

[alounuitte]

cactus blossoms

(or, some can only bloom with water from the desert sky.)

Adam needs some support while he recovers from a surgery, and Shiro volunteers to be his best friend's roommate for the summer after their first year in the Garrison. Somehow, it turns out he's not the only one Adam gets a chance to get closer to, and an operation isn't the only thing he's recovering from. (pre-relationship, but no romance will be in this.)

chapter 8.

Shiro can tell Adam’s worried; all afternoon on Saturday he can barely sit still, nervous energy threaded through him like a live wire. Even while he’s laying on the couch reading, he keeps fidgeting and biting at his nails, his brow furrowed in a frown as his eyes skim the pages of his book.

“You okay?” Shiro asks him, when he sighs and sets down his book for the third time in two hours, climbing to his feet.

“Fine,” he says, but he’s wringing his hands together as he crosses the room to look out the windows at the desert.

“You’re on edge,” Shiro points out, leaning against the counter. “Do you want to do something so you’re not just sitting around?”

“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “Like what?”

Shiro shrugs. “I don’t know - play a video game? Go for a run? Finish unpacking your stuff?”

“I’m not much of a runner,” Adam says, shaking his head. “And the other stuff is melacha.” Shiro’s lack of comprehension must show on his face, because Adam glances over at him and laughs shakily. “Um - work, sort of. Things you don’t - Jews don’t do on Shabbat, we’re supposed to relax.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem like you’re relaxing,” Shiro points out. “And I think if you chew your nails down any farther you’re gonna start bleeding.”

Adam’s eyes go wide and he looks down at his hands, grimacing as he examines his fingers. “Oh,” he replies faintly.

“So if you can’t play video games or unpack, what can you do?” Shiro prompts him. “There’s gotta be something that’ll keep your mind busy so you’re not stressing out so much.”

Adam shrugs. “Read, or spend time with family, or friends. Study, or pray, or sing. Playing games is okay, I guess, if they’re not on the computer, or gambling games.”

“Hm,” he muses, considering this. “Like strategy games? I think Sam’s got a chess set in his office. I’m not very good, though, so you’ll probably beat me pretty easy.”

For the first time all day, a genuine smile crosses Adam’s face. “Is he here today?” he asks. “I wouldn’t mind playing a game or two if you can borrow it. Maybe I’ll give you some tips.”

—

Shiro retrieves the chess set from Sam’s office, leaving a note on the desk to say that he’s borrowed it for the weekend, and they sit on the floor and play chess for the rest of the afternoon, talking aimlessly between moves, until the sky outside the windows is melting from blue into pale violet and a few stars begin to twinkle into view above the horizon.

“I think that’s a checkmate,” Adam says as he carefully sets down his remaining tower.

Shiro laughs, leaning in to knock over his king for the third time. “I told you I’m no good,” he says, grinning.

“I think you did better that time,” Adam says as he gets to his feet, laughing a little himself. “Thanks for that, I haven’t had anyone to play with since I got here.” He crosses to the kitchen to grab a bottle of juice before heading back towards the divided bedroom.

“Maybe by the end of the summer I’ll be able to beat you,” Shiro jokes, and stretches, pushing himself up off the floor and trying to ignore the stiff protest in his legs. “I’m gonna get some fresh air before bed, I think.”

“Hey, wait a sec,” Adam says, pausing at the edge of the partition separating their rooms. Shiro looks over at him and sees him shift uncertainly, his shoulders hunched. “Um - I know I said I don’t really like running, but…”

“Yeah?” Shiro prompts him when he doesn’t continue.

“If you’d be willing to wait a few minutes so I can do havdalah, it might be nice to go out on a walk, for a little bit?” Adam says, looking down at the ground. “Just around the edges of base, maybe, if you’d wanna come with me.”

Shiro beams at him, bouncing eagerly on his toes. “I’d love to, yeah,” he agrees. “Take your time, I’ll wait for you.”

Adam smiles back and ducks around the corner to his half of the room, and Shiro can hear him singing softly to himself on the other side of the partition. He stretches while he waits, listening to the indistinct murmur of Adam’s voice as he warms up the muscles in his legs. There’s a good chance he’s going to regret going out on a walk when he’s already been running today, but as long as he’s careful he thinks he can manage the trip around the base, and the fatigue will be a problem he can worry about tomorrow. He takes Sundays off, anyways.

A few minutes later, Adam emerges in shorts and a t-shirt, a half-zipped hoodie thrown overtop to keep warm in the evening chill. “Ready?” Shiro asks, grinning, as he goes to pull on his running shoes.

“Yeah,” Adam agrees, nodding. “Let’s go.”

—

They end up taking one of the trails just outside of base, the dirt track taking them out into the open desert and up along the rocky ridge half a mile east, the red stone painted blue and purple in the fading dusk light.

“Can we stop for a minute?” Adam asks as they reach the top of the rise; he’s panting a little, clearly out of breath from the climb.

“Sure,” Shiro says, shrugging. “I’m following you, man. You okay?”

He nods, sitting down on the edge of a rocky outcropping. “Just need to catch my breath.”

Shiro drops down next to him, stretching his legs out across the path and wrapping his arms around himself, the cool air making him shiver now that they’ve stopped moving. “How are you feeling?” he asks after a long moment of silence.

Adam sighs, leaning back on his hands to look up at the sky. “In general, or about Monday?” he asks with a shaky laugh.

“I mean, both, I guess,” Shiro says. “I know you’re worried, but it’s gotta be exciting, too, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Adam says, and gives him a wry smile. “Maybe once I’m better I’ll start playing sports again. Stuff for fun, I mean, not just training.”

“Maybe you’ll come running with me once in a while,” Shiro teases. “You know, give me some motivation.”

“And get up at four in the morning?” Adam says, laughing. “Keep dreaming, Shirogane.”

--

“I’m going to do something stupid,” he says Sunday morning, burying his face in his hands. “I’ll say some moronic thing and make a fool of myself and--”

“To who?” Shiro asks, bewildered. “Most of the cadets have already left, and we’re not even living in cadet’s quarters for the summer anyways. Who’s going to hear you say something stupid?”

“You are!” Adam says, looking up again in despair.

Shiro shakes his head slowly, frowning. “What, you think I’m gonna make fun of you?” he asks.

“No - well - I don’t know,” Adam stammers, and sighs, slumping back against the couch. “No, you wouldn’t do that. But I don’t - like that I might say things I won’t even remember.”

“You want me to record it?” Shiro offers.

Adam’s mouth twists up as he looks away. “That’s stupid,” he mumbles, his shoulders hunching.

“Okay,” Shiro says, shrugging. “Sorry, I just thought maybe it’d help to be able to see.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Adam asks, quietly, “You wouldn’t show anyone, right?”

“No!” Shiro says, gaping at him in dismay. “Of course I - why the hell would I do that?”

“I… guess you wouldn’t,” Adam says, fidgeting with his glasses. “I just want to be sure.”

“I can send it to you and delete it right away,” Shiro assures him. “After that you can do whatever you want with it.”

“Hm,” Adam muses, biting his lip as he considers this. “Maybe that’s not a bad idea.” He hesitates, glances over at Shiro with a frown. “You’d really do that?”

“Yeah, of course,” Shiro says. “I wouldn’t offer otherwise.”

“Okay,” Adam says, and sighs. “If you really don’t mind.”

—

It rains most of the afternoon, but by evening the sky clears, and Shiro can see the sun sinking towards the desert from the open windows of their quarters as he heats up water for tea in the kitchen.

“Is that all you’re gonna eat?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as Adam spreads jam on a slice of toast. “You know you can’t eat anything past eight, right?”

Adam shrugs, leaning against the counter and looking out the window as he nibbles at his toast. “Not really hungry,” he mumbles. “I’ll be okay.”

Shiro frowns, looking over the stiffness of his shoulders, the way his fingers curl and uncurl around the hem of his t-shirt, the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unable to stand still. “If you’re sure,” he says slowly. “Hey, you wanna go up to the roof and see the sunset?”

“What,” Adam says dryly, “you don’t want to run out into the middle of the desert today?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, and Shiro laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t want you to wear yourself out before your surgery,” he says lightly as he grabs his thermos from the cabinet. He’s been resting all day, but he’s still not sure he’s up for a run after overdoing it yesterday, and he wants to be in top form tomorrow for anything Adam needs.

“I don't think we're really allowed up there," Adam adds, putting his plate in the sink. "Aren't we going to get in trouble?"

"Nah, I go up there all the time," Shiro says. "Anyways, no one really checks until curfew, and that's not for an hour still."

Adam considers this, frowning, and sighs. "I guess I'll come up with you if you're going," he agrees.

“Great,” Shiro says cheerfully. “Hey, hand me your thermos, it’ll be nicer with something warm to drink.”

He drops two teabags in each of their thermoses and fills them up with water while Adam pulls his shoes on, and they leave the quarters together, heading up to the roof to watch the sun sink into the desert.

--

Shiro is up before dawn to go running like usual, but he ends up thinking better of it today, knowing Adam’s going to need him ready to provide support. Instead he watches out the windows as the sky grows lighter, and is delighted to see splashes of color strewn across the rocky landscape past the outer wall, where the lean, tough plant life has suddenly burst into bloom after the rain.

“Morning,” Adam says as he emerges from his side of the room, his hair still tousled from sleep and his glasses set crookedly on his nose.

“You’re up early,” Shiro says, surprised. “Your procedure’s not for another two hours, is it?”

Adam shakes his head, hunching his shoulders. “Can’t get back to sleep,” he says quietly. “At this point I might as well stay up.”

“Well, on the bright side, you’ll probably sleep plenty from the anaesthesia,” Shiro points out with a wry smile

Adam doesn’t laugh, his shoulders still drawn in tightly, and Shiro’s smile drops from his face.

“Hey,” he says softly, crossing the room to put a hand on Adam’s shoulder, and realizes he’s shaking. “You’re gonna be alright.”

“I know that,” he mutters, looking away. “It’s not like it’s a high risk procedure, or anything, I know I’m just being stupid—“

“Whoa, hold on, I didn’t say that,” Shiro protests. “I don’t think that, it’s okay that you’re still nervous. I mean, this is kind of a big deal!”

“But I,” Adam protests, and breaks off, his hands curled into fists in front of him, his teeth worrying at his lower lip as he looks around the room at anything but Shiro.

“It’s okay,” Shiro repeats, squeezing his shoulder firmly. “I know you’re worried. Just try and breathe, alright?”

He shuts his eyes and focuses on his own breathing, listening as Adam’s slows to match. When he opens his eyes again, Adam is looking up at him, and manages a slight smile when Shiro meets his gaze.

“There you go,” Shiro says, smiling back. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, and laughs weakly, running a hand through his hair. “Thanks.”

--

Half an hour before Adam’s appointment, they leave their quarters and walk down to medical together for him to check in. He’s fidgety and restless, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie to keep them still, except when he reaches up to needlessly adjust his glasses again.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Shiro reminds him when he hesitates outside the waiting room door, and reaches to put a hand on his shoulder.

Adam tenses briefly at the touch, then sighs and relaxes slightly, closing his eyes as he swallows hard. “Yeah,” he agrees, and nods, managing a faint smile. “Thanks.”

“Checking in for a procedure?” asks the receptionist as they enter.

“Weismann,” Adam mumbles without looking at her. “E-I-S, not I-S-E.”

“Got it,” she says, tapping at her keyboard. “Any relation to—?”

“Probably,” Adam sighs before she can finish her question. Shiro raises an eyebrow.

“Eight a.m. with Dr Jordan?” the receptionist asks. “Lauren - oh, wait - Commander Montgomery as your contact?”

“Does she let senior staff call her that?” Shiro asks, amused. “She hates when students call her Commander.” The receptionist blinks at him, puzzled, but Adam laughs, ducking his head farther to hide his grin. Shiro beams.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Adam confirms.

“You’re checked in,” the receptionist tells him. “Dr Jordan just got in, he should be with you shortly. Go ahead and have a seat.”

Adam nods and crosses the room to sit down, Shiro trailing after him. “Thanks,” Adam mutters as Shiro takes the seat next to him. “I think she was gonna ask more about my parents if you didn’t jump in.”

“No problem,” Shiro whispers back, and drapes his arm over the back of the chair, not quite touching him. “That sounds like the last thing you need right now.”

Adam smiles wryly and leans back in his seat, resting against Shiro's arm. His hands curl and uncurl in his lap, restless, and he tugs absently at the hem of his sweatshirt as he looks around the room. When the door opens he sits up quickly, needlessly straightening his glasses as he looks over towards the doctor approaching. "Cadet Weismann, right?" the man says, offering a hand.

"I'm Dr Jordan, it's nice to meet you.""Yes, sir," Adam says, and swallows hard as he gets to his feet. "It's a pleasure."

"Come on back," Dr Jordan says, gesturing to the door, and Adam glances back at Shiro, biting his lip.

"Good luck with your procedure," Shiro tells him, standing to clap him on the shoulder and flash him a smile. "Text me when you're out, okay?"

"Yeah," he agrees, smiling back shakily. "I'll see you in a few hours."