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translatemunson · 9 days ago

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file 002 — brand new bar, same old problems

chapter two of death defying acts

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cw: MDNI thank you, fem!reader, afab!reader, no descriptions of reader (i'm really trying to keep my descriptions of her and her background to a minimum so i can be inclusive to all people, but let me know if i can improve), no use of y/n, reader has a call sign (i had to pick one, it makes sense for the story), innacuracies about the navy, topgun and army (i did my best guys), this takes places after the events of the movie, yes don't kill me but reader has a fling with another aviator won't say who, implied smut.

If surviving Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell and the Dagger Squad would be required for you to be sent overseas, you were not sure there was gonna be a lot of you left to fit in a plane seat.

In just two days and one quick chat with Maverick, you had to recognize there was no easy task in front of you. Maverick didn’t show any enthusiasm in your work or questions on that quick meeting, which was somewhat discouraging. You had been spending your morning reviewing previous logs of all of the fighter pilots, your afternoons watching them live on radar, taking notes of their data, style and skills, your evenings analyzing all of your notes and coming up with plans for the simulation.

You were in bed way past your normal schedule on Saturday morning. Your belongings would definitely sit on boxes for another week or two if you didn’t do anything regarding it. You had the essentials out — uniforms, underwear, laptop, hygiene products, and a picture of you with your parents —, but that was it. Even your kitchen was getting appliances as you started to need them.

You grabbed a clean change of clothes, your bag and headed out to do groceries and get your mind out of work. There were a lot of things to get done before you were back to base on Monday: firstly you needed some real food in your fridge, including new tea blends and pasta for when you’re too tired to cook anything that takes longer than 20 minutes. Then you had to pick up more pills for your headache. Maybe some flowers for your living room would make the place livable — and also push you to unpack a few boxes with your books and portraits.

Also you had to call your parents and brief them on your first days. Well, maybe that was easier said than done: while you couldn’t share much details about what you were doing, you knew they were ready to pull some interrogation tactics or whatever to get all the intel. Your father was the one helping you with the moving — because he was free in between flight classes —, but your mom was the one texting people to know why now they wanted to transfer you to San Diego.

Once the call sign Maverick was brought to the table, your father did all he could to get you another opening somewhere else. And as soon as you got the bigger picture of why you were being moved to work with Maverick and his team, the puzzle made sense. Even though they were successful on their mission, they had one more challenge ahead, and there was no margin for errors or close calls for this one — you were gonna receive more information about it after the first few weeks.

Maverick and the Dagger Squad were definitely a lot to deal with. Excellent pilots, an amazing sense of a team — maybe almost being killed does this to a group —, but you could see some flaws slipping through the cracks of their personalities. Maverick still hated authority and being told to follow orders. Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin — not Bagman, unfortunately — could be a team player only if that benefited him, otherwise his wingman was the first to go down during training. Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace was an excellent pilot, and Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd as her WSO was a great combo, but if paired with someone else, it was a hit or miss — you asked to change pairings on Friday morning, just to check if there was margin for new combos. Reuben ‘Payback’ Fitch and his WSO, Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia, were also a great combo, but they needed a strong flight leader to shine and succeed. Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado was a good pilot, but only on good days — and that was something you couldn’t risk on a mission. And Bradshaw was living for his call sign Rooster, even though he had amazing decision making skills, he was always waiting for the last second to make a move. And that, in the field, meant death.

And those were just a few observations you could get from a few hours in front of the radars and live data from their training exercises.

You went through your shopping list in no time, stopping for headache meds and some flowers just after you got lunch. Back at your one bedroom apartment, you, once again, found an excuse to avoid a Facetime call with your parents, but you made sure to text them some pictures of your progress — and thank your dad for finding a good place for you to stay, a 20 minutes drive from the base, and also in a walking distance of the Golden Hill Park.

Clothes on drawers and hangers, cutlery in the right places, uniforms in the washer, books in the shelves. You were slowly bringing together the sense of home to San Diego. Your last few weeks in Nevada were crazy: you were back from one deployment in the Pacific just to be called for another quick job in Alaska. Thankfully your dad had a few weeks off to go to Nevada and help you pack, driving all your stuff three days before your arrival and saying he would take care of housing. All you had to do was sign a few papers, pack the stuff you could send ahead and get ready for a quick stop up north.

The sun was setting when you realized you were almost done with things. Maybe you should let some for Sunday, so you could also keep your mind off of work. You got up from your bedroom floor, took a long shower and checked your messages.

On Friday, you were able to catch up with Bob over lunch, asking him about his journey after training. You also got close to Phoenix, kinda relieved she was just as nice as you remembered. You got their numbers, they got yours, and that’s how you end up with an invite to join them at a bar called Hard Deck in an hour. If you were gonna be around for at least ten weeks, you might as well do something else besides working.

So you went through your clothes, searching for a black top, some jeans and a jacket for when it got chiller from the autumn air. Just some casual clothes to share a few beers and a few more stories. Still getting used to San Diego streets and skyline, you drove like you weren’t in no rush to get to the bar, appreciating the change of scenery from the desert to the beachside.

You parked outside the Hard Deck just a few minutes late. For a Saturday evening, the place was pretty packed, and you could see some clients were proud to walk around in their work khakis — something you avoided as much as you could. After all, you were just a few minutes away from the station. Texting Bob back to ask him if they were already there, you didn’t even hit send before you were able to pick your new colleagues amidst the crowd.

Nat was holding a pool cue on the side of her body, explaining something to Mickey and Bob. Hangman and Coyote were trying to impress some ladies on the darts board — and you were very sorry for those two poor souls, if they knew everything you’ve been hearing while on duty. You stopped by the bar, getting yourself some bar soda and starting a tab.

“You’re sure I can’t fix you anything else?” The lady behind the bar asked you.

“I’m good for now.” And then you turned to your colleagues and thought better, “Do you happen to remember what they’re getting?” You pointed to them.

“Sure thing, they’re just having beers. Are you friends with the Daggers?”

“Not exactly,” you watched her grab six bottles, serve some ice in the bucket and hand it to you. “I was relocated here to work with them. I know Bob and Phoenix from previous training, but that’s about it.”

“Oh, so you’re part of Maverick’s team?” She definitely knew them, not just because they would be spending their down time on Hard Deck.

“I’m part of the Intelligence Team working with them.” It didn’t get easier every time you talked about it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Penny, honey. Well, let me know once you decide to try something else.”

“Thank you, Penny.”

You took the drinks with you to the high top table just on the side of their pool table. Your upbeat spirit died down as soon as you realized Bradshaw was there. After being lectured about Maverick and Goose, Bradley’s father, you weren’t looking forward to tolerating him outside of work. His short temper and slow decision making was something that got on your nerves easily. But you should’ve expected this, since he’s a long time friend with Nat.

“Look who’s out of that desk, guys.” And unfortunately, Hangman was the one to announce your presence. “I thought you were the type to wear your uniform everywhere since you’re a goody-two-shoes, Hyde.”

“Unlike you, Seresin, I have a life and personality outside of base.” You pointed to his khakis. “And don’t worry, I’m not writing down your lack of hobbies, outside women and pissing others off of course. I could already tell that based on your flight maneuvers.”

“Looking forward to reading the file you’re writing about me.” He reached for a beer, and you rolled your eyes. “Thanks, honey.”

“I’ll be surprised if you can actually read,” you bit back. “But I’m not here to work. And these beers are a peace offering. I’m not the enemy.”

“So you just like to point out our weaknesses for fun.” Mickey approached you, but you could tell it was more of a lighthearted comment than a critique. “Thanks, Hyde.”

“Thank me next week when you ace the mission simulation.”

You passed them their beers. There was only one left, but since Bradley was more concerned with his pool game than a beer, you moved the bucket aside and turned to Bob, asking “Is this every Navy favorite place to go?”

“Kinda. It’s close to base, and the service is nice and fairly priced.” Bob looked at his water. “How long have you been here?”

“I arrived this week. My father helped me move, but I had zero time to wander around.” But who’s fault was that? Definitely yours. “They are a tough crowd, I fear.”

“Don’t worry, they eventually warm up to strangers,” he explained. “We’re still fresh from last mission, and fresh blood always disturbs a little of a group’s balance.”

“I guess I would know that if I worked closely with fighter pilots,” you confessed. “Most of my missions consist of assisting with data and probabilities when tracing plans and assessing risks. Sometimes I don’t even know who is receiving my reports.”

“But you’ve been training with pilots, right?”

“No real missions, just simulations, mostly with graduates from Top Gun back in Fallon.” This job could be the perfect blend of what you’re good at and your passion, but even though you had extensive training with Air missions, you were stuck with assessing risks for admirals and captains to take charge. “It’s my first real chance to be on a mission where I’m able to build a relationship with the people I’m working with, not just being briefed on the mission and its goals.”

“I see. Yeah, I believe you’re gonna do a great job, not just because I know you, but because there’s still room for improvement and you’re gonna be the key for it.” Bob tried to cheer you up, and even though you wanted to believe his words, the first few days were tough on you.

“Thanks, Bob. But I’ve meant it when I said I’m not here to work,” you laughed, leaving the pressure of your relocation for another time.

“So you better start sharpening your pool skills, Hyde.” Natasha passed you her pool cue and smiled. “Do you even play it?”

“Who do you think I am, Phoenix?” You gasped, as if her words were the biggest betrayal you ever faced. “It’s been a minute since I last played, tho.”

“It’s ok, you don’t need to be good at everything you do, you know.” She joked. “Ok, cutthroat rules. You, me and Rooster.”

She reseted the table as she explained how it was going to work: she was protecting balls 1 to 5, you were in charge with 6 to 10, Rooster had 11 to 15 to himself. The goal was to pocket any opponent's balls while protecting yours. If a foul occurred, the other players had the right to place a ball back at the table.

Natasha breaks, and one of hers was pocketed right away. On her shot, she aimed for the 7-ball, but it lacked strength to send your ball to the pocket. You took a look at the table, spotting a chance to pocket the 12-ball. You walked to the other side, passing just inches away from Bradshaw, and sending his ball to the pocket. He looked unimpressed when you checked for his reaction. You tried to get one of Nat ball’s, but you picked the wrong angle.

Bradshaw fixed his sunglasses on the neck of shirt, assessed the table and went for the 8-ball. Everyone was tied on losses. He sent the 1 straight to the pocket. His third shot scratched the 6-ball and moved it to a dangerous spot, and you held your breath.

“Don’t worry, I’m on your side,” Natasha aimed for the 15-ball and sent it straight to the corner pocket. But it was still a risky position for your 6-ball, and you watched when she pocketed that one as well. “I mean, I took one of his first, which makes us even, right?”

“That’s not what I’ve learned on Math 101, but ok.” You shook your head. “What are you gonna do next?”

“I’m gonna,” she elongated her words, “maybe this one,” she pointed to the 5-ball, “or a small challenge with the 14.” She positioned herself, and missed the latter for a lot. “Your shot, Hyde.”

You sent the 14-ball straight into the pocket, then missed your shot. Bradley took the 3-ball out, followed by the 10, and missed the 7. Nat got the 9-ball, then missed. You tunnel vision on the 13, in the middle of the table, with a huge chance of error. The white ball hit all the wrong corners and you miss it. And it got the white one on the perfect spot to send your last ball to the pocket.

“It was nice playing with you, fellas.” You turned over your cue and crossed your arms, destiny sealed since Bradshaw was a way better player than you. You watched the 7-ball disappear inside the pocket.

“Wait, Hyde, someone could get a foul, and you can come back,” Nat tried to pull you back to the table.

“I’m good with my loss, don’t worry. I’m not leaving, just wanna get something from the bar.” You took the now empty bucket — did Bradshaw get his beer or someone stole it? — to the bar and returned it to Penny.

“How is it going?” She smiled and motioned her head to the group.

“Could be worse. Can I have a tequila shot?”

“Sure, honey.” Penny checked something under the bar. “Is house tequila ok?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Can you get me one water and two more beers as well?”

“Coming right up.”

You took your phone of your pocket, and checked your messages: you were setting the family group chat aside for tomorrow morning; Lisa, your roommate from Fallon, was sharing updates on the gossip you were missing — not even three days and they didn’t failed to surprise you — while in San Diego; Ashton, still unaware of your transference, was asking if you were free. Yeah, things would never change.

“Here.” She laid your order on the counter. “I know you’re an Officer, but do you happen to have a call sign?”

“It’s more common to hear people calling me by it than my own name,” you shared, and she laughed. “It’s Hyde, a character from a gothic novel.”

“Oh, I believe I’ve read this book in high school.” She pressed her lips together and stared at you, like she was trying to put the pieces together. “Do you need some lime and salt for the shot?”

“No, not really.” Maybe not a smart idea since you’re driving, but that was the Hyde in you: nice face, good manners, but short tempered and always down to some trouble. “Thanks, Penny.”

You balanced your shot and the water in one hand, held the two beers in the other and moved carefully between the crowd to your friends. Back to the pool table, you watched Rooster send Nat’s last ball to the pocket.

“Oh no! And I thought you were each other's lucky charm,” you pointed out between her and Bob. You sat by her WSO’s side and passed him a water. “Or do you want a beer?”

“Water’s fine, thanks,” he offered you some nuts, and you gladly took a few.

“Here, a consolation prize for you.” You slid a beer for Nat as soon as she joined the table. You looked over her shoulder, seeing Bradshaw walking to the piano. “Is he always like that?”

You looked over your shoulder to Bradshaw. He carried a lot of resemblances to his parents — you could tell after hours looking through your parents’ photos, and seeing Goose and Carole in a few, with a kid Bradley closer. This was way before you were transferred to San Diego or decided to join the Navy.

You thought Bradshaw was just like you, until your father told you what happened to him. Father died after a failed ejection, his mom died of cancer, Maverick pulled his papers and set him back. You felt sorry about it, but if he was raised by Pete Mitchell after all of that, you were expecting to meet the younger version of the captain.

“Give him some time, Rooster is not much of a fan of changes,” she explained.

“As long as this doesn’t interfere with my job, I’m ok with not being friends with everyone.” You drank the tequila shot without making an ugly face, and quickly moved to your beer.

“Do you happen to know anything about our next mission?” Nat asked.

“I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark as you,” you shook your shoulders. “I know about the uranium mission though, which was pretty dangerous. I would’ve done a thing or two differently.”

“What exactly?”

“I mean, they could’ve timed the missiles to hit a few SAMs as you were leaving the valley, and make your way out of there smoother.” They were already flying a dangerous zone on less powerful planes, and exposed the hell of their jets, so not having at least a few bombs to help out was a little dumb.

“You’re kinda right,” Bob threw another nut inside his mouth. “Do you think they considered it?”

“Nah, I bet 20 bucks Admiral Simpson was looking for an opportunity to get rid of Maverick.” You took a sip of your beer.

“That’s cruel. But hey, if you have the chance to make our mission less dangerous, you have my approval.” Nat smiled.

“I’ll remember that.”

“Hey, have you always been part of Intelligence?”

You and Bob shared a look. “No, I joined the Navy after graduating from college. My parents are from the Navy, and they gave me the chance to choose. So education, then enlisting. My records say I graduated from Flight School because I completed the training successfully, but I got in an accident during the last week. Then, because of my college degree, they gave me a spot as part of the Intelligence, and I liked it there.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for your accident. I bet you miss being in the sky sometimes.”

“Thanks, Nat. My dad is a flight instructor nowadays, and everytime we’re in the same base, he finds a way to let me fly for a few minutes.”

“So you’ve been keeping your flight skills in check? Why don’t you apply to Top Gun?” Bob inquired.

“I really don’t see myself doing what you guys do on a daily basis,” another sip, waiting for them to be convinced. You were way past that Top Gun chance now, anyway.

“A pretty thing like you fits better as a Top Gun pilot's wife,” Hangman came up to the table, a beer in hand.

“I rather crawl naked over hot tarmac than date an aviator, Bagman.” Maybe if the aviator wasn’t part of your team, but just maybe. “You guys are just trouble. Can’t keep your missiles in your pants, and flee as soon as possible.”

“You’re funny, Hyde,” he pointed his beer’s neck at you.

“Don’t let it fool you, Hangman, they don’t call her Hyde for nothing,” Bob warned him.

“Don’t have a lot of Jekyll going on, hun?”

“Oh god, you’re insufferable,” Nat exited the table as fast as she could.

“No wonder those girls left you hanging on the darts,” it was kinda undeniable that there was some tension in the air.

“If you’d excuse me, I think it’s the perfect time to call my girlfriend.” And Bobby was smart to take his cue to leave you two alone. He motioned to his phone, and you noticed the picture on the wallpaper: the WSO with his arms around a beautiful girl. But she didn’t look like anyone you’ve seen around at base so far.

“Needs babysitting, Bob?” Hangman teased.

“Should I remind you who fell for the feral koalas story, Seresin?” Bob biting back? That was a first for you.

You looked between the two men, intrigued.

“Go talk about pandas or whatever, Floyd.” Jake waved his hand.

“See you later, Hyde.” Bob walks to the external deck, phone in his ear.

“What did he mean with feral koalas?” You inquired.

“His lady is Australian, and one time she told us about how koalas got a disease and were attacking people, and she sounded very scared.”

“And you believed it?”

“I mean, there was a lady in distress!”

“Jeez, we should legally change your call sign to Himbo.”

“Him-what?”

You laughed and stared at Jake, “I’m dead serious about not dating aviators, tho.”

“Who said anything about dating?”

One thing led to another. Coyote left the bar with a girl on his side, Hangman was left without a ride. You offered to drive him there, since it was on your way home, but you were none the wiser after a tough week and a few tequila shots.

When the sun started to peak over the waves, you were far away from Jake’s bed and still very much sure of your promise. You were in San Diego with one goal and one goal only: earn that promotion. And nothing or anyone was stepping into your way.

a/n: hello aviators! first of all, thank you SO MUCH for the support on the first chapter. yes, i wrote what i wrote and i don't regret it (hyde hooking up with hangman, but it was mostly implied so don't worry, it's almost like it didn't happened haha). also even tho we know who the daggers are, hyde is still getting to know them, i couldn't pass on a hard deck introduction scene (top gun: maverick movie style!). well, let me know what you guys think about this chapter, don't forget to reblog, vote and comment! see ya soon!

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick series #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley brawshaw x female!reader #bradley brawshaw x you #bradley brawshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw imagine #top gun rooster #rooster x reader

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nkn0va · 8 months ago

Note

you know the western s/o ask for the investigation team? Could you maybe do that same format for the p5 girls?

Hard deadline of a week for requests, I said. It'll be fine, I said.

Won't be doing Sumi due to how late she joins, making it nigh impossible to have an awakening scene for S/O where she's there and this ask was already exhausting enough as it was. Sorry.

Hope it doesn't get too repetitive having to do this for a total of 8 characters.

-Ann had always stood out for her appearance ever since she moved to Japan. Outside of Shiho not many people had every gone out of her way to talk to her prior to the Phantom Thieves. Having another foreigner around was a huge relief.

-You two very quickly bonded over that fact, and eventually started dating. Though the one thing she kept hidden from you was her being a Phantom Thief. She didn't want you to get involved and be in danger.

-However she suddenly had to cancel a date plan. Normally you wouldn't pry but this was extremely unlike her so you decided to investigate.

-Imagine your surprise though when you end up following her friend group and the next thing you know you're now in front of a big ass castle

-You try to sneak behind them without them realizing but it isn't log until the weird cat looking thing with them snuffs you out. Everyone understandably starts to panic to some degree but Ann has it especially bad.

-Before anything can happen though, you're surrounded by shadows that overheard the commotion, led by...is that Kamoshida in a cape and speedo?

-Being caught off guard and compromised, the thieves are not prepared for the sudden onslaught and are quickly overwhelmed and you get captured by a Shadow.

-Kamoshida, if that even is him, soon starts taunting you about how weak and useless you are, recognizing you from his real world counterpart.

-You'd experienced your own fair share of mistreatment from him in gym class, and after some encouragement from the others you decide you've had enough of his shit. Your head flares up in a sharp, intense pain hearing a voice eerily similar to your own. Your Persona.

-It's unlike anything anyone's ever seen before. The western gunslinger aesthetic standing out from everyone else. Once you awaken, you help turn the tide of battle, albeit the weird cat thing seems rather miffed that now they have to retreat for your sake.

-Soon after some deliberation, you're officially inducted into the team. With the form of your Persona and your similar motivations you fit right in with everyone else, and Ann is relieved that she doesn't have to keep a secret rom you of all people.

-Being Makoto's S/O, it was pretty inevitable that you'd eventually end up on the student council with her. You're basically her right hand person. You end up investigating the Phantom Thieves with her and get taken to see the metaverse as well.

-Both of you are naturally taken aback by what the hell you're witnessing right now, but both of your combined brain power are able to figure out the premise of the metaverse pretty well.

-You're rather quickly stopped by Shadow Kaneshiro, the mafia boss Makoto had gotten in trouble with. Upon the revelation of who he really is and his plans to essentially drown everyone in debt or ice them you two unanimously decide to stop this.

-You awaken your Personas at the same time. The couldn't possibly be any different, a gunslinger and straight up motorcycle but you two are a rather deadly duo, quickly dispatching of the Shadows all by yourselves.

-After the Thieves get over their initial shock and awe they remember that they oughta book it since they were busted right out of the gate by the Palace ruler himself.

-The both of you are exhausted from awakening your Personas but once you recover, you decide in an ironic twist of fate to join the people you were hunting down.

-Kobayakawa can go screw himself, you know now that the Phantom Thieves were doing the right thing.

-You were childhood friends with Futaba, having been there to try and comfort her when her mom died, when she was passed around by neglectful family members, and had tried to visit as much as you could after Sojiro had taken her in.

-You're at first completely unaware that she'd asked the Phantom Thieves to change her heart, but upon seeing a bunch of strangers at Sojiro's house talking about doing so you quickly realize what's going on.

-You quickly make your presence known and assert yourself, making it pretty obvious that you're not gonna back down from helping change her heart if that would help her out.

-It's only a lot of convincing later that they eventually decide to take you along, if only because of how important you are to her. You could be a potential source of good intel.

-Fast forward to hunting down the thief who stole the map, with his speed he managed to confuse and cut you off from the rest of the group and cornered you.

-Alone and about to die, your Persona awakens out of self defense. By the time everyone else spotted it and caught up, you'd eliminated the thief and got the map.

-The gunslinger motif of your Persona is quite the surprise, but pretty fitting for you once they thought about it. Futaba of course is not surprised when she finds out during the fight against cognitive Wakaba. You two had played quite a few western developed video games you were particularly fond of, it's no wonder it would influence the appearance of your Persona along with your heritage.

-While she can't be out there on the field fighting with you, she has found some cheeky ways of improving your performance, basically giving you a personal HUD. You are a dangerous shot now with her assistance.

-Haru met you through both your dads owning wealthy companies and becoming business partners. You moved to Japan for the business along with your dad and met his business partner's daughter.

-You were pretty much her only friend, having been sheltered almost all her life, and eventually you grow close enough to date.

-You followed Haru as she followed along an oddly suspicious looking cat, ending up in the metaverse along with her.

-Morgana, albeit miffed, at least has the decency to guide you along so you two don't die, also being more inclined to do so once he learned your relation to Okumura and after you save his life.

-Haru unfortunately couldn't quite fully awaken her Persona properly, but upon seeing her in danger you could. No harm was going to come to her if you could help it.

-Both of them are in awe of your Persona, though Haru mostly because she'd never properly seen one before. Through powerful gun damage and the massively increased agility it grants you, you're able to dispatch of the immediate threat and get both of them out of there.

-Haru is showering you in praise about how incredible you were back there, especially in comparison to her. She has full confidence in your ability to help in changing her father's heart and turning him back to what he once was.

#persona 5 #persona 5 x reader #ann takamaki #ann takamaki x reader #makoto niijima #makoto niijima x reader #futaba sakura #futaba sakura x reader #haru okumura #haru okumura x reader #headcanon #relationship headcanons #x reader #anon ask #answered

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gumballavocadoharry · 6 months ago

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Roger doesn't live here anymore; Jack Chambers:

*Templeton and Braxton are not real streets in Seattle, The Tribune is not a real magazine cover. Mentions of traumatic flashbacks, abuse, depression, alcohol useage and slight abuse, angst and some mild swearing.*

Roger was pressed against the door of his forest green mercury. Taking in the blazing heat of summer, allowing beads of sweat to trickle down his face; down the back of his ear before dropping a spot onto his sky blue polo. His fingers were wrapped into a glass cola bottle, taking in gulps occasionally to wet his throat from the dry air. It had been two summers ago that Roger had finally graduated school.

Lucas Marlowe and Samuel Getty were sitting just a row in front of Roger and his family. The auditorium walls were streamed with blue and gold- the school's theme colors, the seats were even padded extra, Roger swore than how they usually were during assemblies. He was escorted backstage with the rest of the graduates to gather their diplomas and to share one last look into the school auditorium before they walked off the stage for the last time.

Roger remembered that stage vividly. The first time walking across it was ninth grade, when he was placed in a mandatory school performance that was essential to his drama class. Jack and Alice still had the humiliating recording of it on the camera that stored away in their closet.

Susan mocked him that entire week, Jack would innocently joke around and Alice would compliment her "little star" and say "she had upcoming professional dancer" in the house. Roger's graduation ceremony was recorded on the same camera; Jack and Alice staring gleefully with pride, his mother shedding a few tears that she swiped away quickly not wanting to smudge her mascara. Susan was there, smile plastered to her face, eyes not darting away for one second of her baby brother's moment. Roger even recognized her clap was the loudest; helping him with his physics and math.

That year was when Roger put perspective on his life. He had grown up, had mellowed a little from his elementary years but not enough to stop being a rascal. It was that spring, Roger had sent out for colleges. Jack had gave little nudges to Roger that colleges in San Diego were cheaper and more exclusive. He added that 'the distance wouldn't be worth it. You would have to pay for gas, food and plus the chances of getting lost or missing arrival dates were just awaiting disappointments'. "I went to Columbia back home so I wasn't too far away from my folks, ya know?" Roger swirled his soggy cereal around in his bowl, biting his lip to his father's ulterior suggestions.

"Maybe college is not for me," Roger knew that wasn't his true answer, but in a moment of rebellion against Jack, it slipped out anyway. "The trade schools here are just terrific! You could learn how to, blah blah blah-" Here. Here in California, here in San Diego, that was all Jack thought about. Roger's future was here, everything in his life circled around this city and this house with this family.

He kept any jagged breathes to himself and listened with conviction to Jack's notion of what he wanted for Roger. His finally met Jack's eyes; green, matured with crinkles around his eyes and gray stripes to the sides of his hair leading to his sideburns. "You know Roger, I could give you an internship at job. I'll ask Frank and see what he thinks?" Roger sucked in his cheeks and gave an artificial polite smile before thanking his father. Roger kept his focus rigidly still on the white oak wooden table. He could feel Jack's stare boring into him but didn't meet his eyes once. He knew Roger was reaching limit to anymore ideas of his. "I gotta get to work, but we'll talk more later."

Jack levitated from the table grabbing his suit jacket and suitcase, trudging over to Roger to plop a kiss on the skin of his scalp. "Bye, see you at dinner." Roger still kept his focus on the table until the slam of the front door echoed through the house. "He's just worried about you," Alice's voice, honeyed with trickles of sugar rubbing in it.

Her eyes were soft and hazy, bare with no mascara or eyeliner to roof the naturalness of her lime spherules. "I know-" Roger paused, contradicting what was about to implode from his mouth. "Susan's been gone for almost a year now. She's onto her studies at college and....it was never a hassle for her. I mean, you and dad took it pretty well." Alice's eyes glanced towards the kitchen floor for a second. She knew how much Roger stretched the truth that circled that situation.

"Baby..." He whispered, "Just the baby of the family- he wants me to stay that way....the baby." Alice looked down before taking away Roger's bowl. But Roger's eyes didn't pluck from his mother's face. He waited for an answer to his question in the manner a patient waits for test results. Alice finally shared her expression; a small tactful smile with matching eyes. A hand lifted to Roger's cheek. "You're his son." There it was. As flat as the table in front of him. Something that wouldn't change for anything, for better or worse.

Roger finally stepped away from his car after finishing the bottle of coke in his hand. His polo shirt had moist spots of sweat stuck to his back and his armpits were more sticky and damp than the rest of the shirt. Roger fished in his pocket for the folded up letter that traveled all the way from Seattle; a place Roger would soon name home once the college accepted him. He used the soft drink as a courage gatherer for the hard speech he was about to give at the dinner table. He pictured himself; so far away and small compared to the opposite end where his parents sat; tall and perched high like they had thrones underneath them.

His eyes would dart to the clock in the kitchen that was shaped like a chicken to ease the tension that would spike his throat and paralyze it. The words, those words that were so important, that meant a complete one eighty turn in his life would fall like little snowflakes and disappear into the crunchy soft blanket of snow mixed in icy water. They would be nothing. Jack's face would be dry and hollowed out like a shell. His voice would be shaky, floundering out a "congratulations" when his eyes would mean something else. The rims would be red and glossy, small crinkles would appear in between his eyebrows, his mouth would be stapled into this stereotypical fatherly pride smile, but it would mean nothing. He would be losing his little boy, and to Jack, Roger moving away would be the same as Roger falling into a trench or drowning in a lake or slamming his car into another and it exploding on impact.

It would mean a loss of closeness, of a friend of a son...his son. Roger wiped the sweat from his forehead before fumbling inside the house with tittering confidence. Every step of his sneakers pounded louder than the other; making every small breath shudder and mist under the thick smog of pressure beating down his spine. Finally, reaching the door knob, slowly curving it under his finger tips and pushing it to creek open. Alice was baking in the kitchen, sauntering between oiling her roast and checking the crust of her pie in the oven. Roger's shadow spooked her a little off her heel. "Roger! I didn't see you," her voice a bit ruffled but lighthearted.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about something-""About what?" Roger tried pulling himself out of the conversation but couldn't. Alice's eyes were locked and focused on her son, stiff as a board like a brick has been thrown at him. "Nothing. It was about my friend, Chet, he was thinking about vacationing in Costa Rica for the week and he asked me if I wanted to come....I'm still deciding." Alice gave a small smile but still cautioned herself before turning around. She knew her son wasn't being honest, in fact she completely understood what he was hiding but dropped it anyway.

It was the sound of the front door opening and the thud of Jack's suitcase bopping against the wooden floor. "I'm home!" He greeted. Alice ran to him with a glass of scotch and a peck on the lips. "And how's my queen?" Jack seemed extra cheery, smothering Alice with affection the moment he stepped through the front door. Roger was tucked away in his bedroom twiddling his thumbs at his desk, contemplating a list of reasons for why moving to Seattle was right for him.

"Where's Rog? I've got great news for him!" Alice's smile stiffened, her eyes glancing to upstairs. Her mouth opened a bit wanting to speak to Jack before he could speak to Roger but decided silence was best. "Tell me first," she insisted. Jack led her aside to the couch. "I asked Frank about an internship at my office for Roger and he said it was great idea! Not only would Roger get paid part time, but.... it keeps him occupied. A bunch of the other guys at the job want their sons there too!" Jack's enthusiasm swallowed the room. The glint in his eyes when he talked about working with Roger. The man so hopelessly wanted to hold on to his 'little buddy' for as long as he could and it was fraying at the fringes of independence Roger so desperately wanted to cling to just as much.

Roger, hearing the conversation, felt like he had swallowed his heart raw. His mouth tasted metallic and bland. His skin itched against the little knots of lint that layered his body and eyes welled up from the dry air of not being blinked. Soon the taste of blood choked him; he had bitten into his lip a little harder than he would've liked. Jumping from his desk, Roger scrambled to his nightstand for tissue only to be met with a knock on the door and a door knob jiggle. He unlocked the door and invited Jack into his bedroom and down to his bed.

"Roger, I was able to talk to Frank about everything and he told me....." Jack built up anticipation for Roger, expecting that same excitement he would've shared if he had been seven years old. "And he said, you could have an internship at my office!" The exclamation was met with a tight hug and Jack's buried mouth into Roger's jawline. Roger cocked a smirk, eyes focused yet dazed on the dark oak desk. "Dad," Roger said with a whisper. Almost like a plead for him to gain nuance and braise his affection.

"Roger?" Jack pulled away, eyes filled with pride and adoration for his young offspring. Roger licked his lips before breathing a deep breath of tension that would remain until he finally spoke. "I have a very important announcement to make at dinner that goes along with that...." Jack furrowed his eyebrows a little. Roger tried to dissolve any intimidation from the crinkles in between Jack's eyebrows. It was like looking into a mirror of his older self. Little lines around his mouth, more subtle bags under his eyes, peppery gray to the sides of his brunette hair and a more intense yet gentle glow in his emerald eyes. That same glow that make Roger's stomach twist into every kind of knot. Just like in this moment, would pierce through Roger like an arrow but smolder him like a boulder. "Well, I'm excited! Hopefully I get to work with my favorite buddy." Jack's hand coupled Roger's cheek with gentleness.

Something that bubbled Roger's stomach.

The table was surrounded with sides for the roast. Mashed potatoes, steamed asparagus, peas and carrots, squash and salad; a unintentional ceremony dinner fit for a moment as tall as this. Not to mention the cherry pie that was cooling off on the countertop. Dinnertime talk was filled with antics from Jack's work, hassles from Alice's preparation of dinner and Susan's postcards. "What did she send?" Roger, perking up on the mention of his sister. God he missed her. The way her hair would swish over her shoulder so gracefully and how good it smelled when she washed it every two weeks. Her nails like Alice's were always donned in some specific color of red, pink, blue, purple....her soothing voice would comfort Roger and remind him of what would be right in front of him; gently taking his ego down a notch.

"She mentioned that she loves Pasadena- she recently found a new restaurant and that she would love to show us to it if we visit." Alice had such athrill in her voice. That same motherly excitement that she lugged with her since the day Susan entered the world. Their excited faces resonated with Roger of how much they could grow from this. Even Alice had said that even though she missed Susan dearly, she got used to the idea of her being so far and is now excited for her daughter's opportunities. Roger remembered that week; tears were all that Alice wore. Not the kitty eyeliner that skirted her eyelids, not the bold red wine lips or the strawberry pink blush....just plain, blah mellowness. Roger didn't recognize this woman. Her lively attitude was replaced with this somber zombie that moped around the house.

Dinners were either takeout or TV ones packaged in a little blue box and the only newly cleaned things were the dinner dishes and the living room and kitchen tables from their meals. But it all vanished within a few weeks. The house had been spotless, the smell of spaghetti lingered through the kitchen and Alice's hair was pinned up with her usual black headband and her apron was ironed out and clean. Roger found her scrubbing out the stove with a more contented look. Now it was Jack's turn.

Roger took a big breath, releasing tension into the swish of air that circled the table like vultures over a corpse. He looked both his parents squarely in the eyes then at their empty plates with just crumbs scattered around the porcelain. "I'll get everyone's dessert," Alice excused herself, grabbing everyone's plates and taking them to the kitchen. Eyes were boring into Roger. Roger had a disposition of confidence and frailness all smorgasborded into one. Alice returned with the cherry pie; perfect like something from a Betty Crocker cookbook.

Whipped cream was dolloped on the top. The smell seeped through a few seconds after its arrival. Slices were evenly cut and served and then the attention fell back on Roger. This was nothing new, he had become the center of Alice and Jack's attention only a few hours after Susan left. Roger was used to being fussed over, but even he didn't realize just how caged he would be in with all eyes on him all the time. Like a circus animal about to jump through a hoop or do a silly dance at the command of his master; Roger was this exotic creature and his parents just couldn't jilt their eyes away.

"So Roger, you had something you wanted to share?" Jack took a bite into his pie. Roger cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before releasing the thick fog of tension into the mist of wondering stares. His skin grew hot and sticky; itchy and moist, his shirt tightened around his neck, suffocating the shallow bits of superficial air that became trapped in his lungs if he was lucky. Roger's mouth opened but closed on the mental command of licking his lips. "I do.." his voice trembled a little but caught its grip upon locking eyes with his parents.

"Earlier today, in the mail I received a letter from Seattle University. It was an acceptance letter that welcomed me into their college and the semester starts in the fall." The house was silent, only the creaks of the house settling could be heard.

"Congratulations honey," Alice broke the ice with a small clap and a smile glimmering with pride from ear to ear. Roger glanced to Jack who held his fork rigidly; frozen still and so was the plastic grin on his face. "We're proud of you Roger." Jack said; specks of dismay seeping in. If the raw realization of Roger leaving in only a few months wasn't sobering enough, but last few scratches of time he had left with him was built around studies and girls and trips with friends. It was only then did Jack realize.... Roger planned this for months; possibly a year before he decided to take notice himself.

A slap in the face of blindside to say the least. Suddenly Jack found his stomach turning and quaking internally. His appetite was gone, but he still ate anyway and washed it down with almost his entire bottle of scotch in the dark.

Roger knew how hard it hit Jack. Even through his poker face, Roger could almost hear the sounds of rupturing sorrow break through in his smile. His fingers drummed the top of the desk while he stared into space, reading his acceptance letter over and over. The words started looking fuzzy and small. The paper felt numb against the palm of his hand and his head did a dive which shook him out of his chair and pacing the room. It was hard to be excited about the opportunities when he was leaving a chunk of his life behind. Or maybe it was the person he was leaving. Letting go of for the sake of happiness and possibilities and journaling.....it all seemed surreal. Roger then smashed his fist into his other hand. He wasn't backing down.... Jack would just have to understand.

"I probably scared him away...." Alice glanced to Jack in the living room, sitting on his favorite arm rest chair and jotting down his scotch. "I mean....it was a lot to ask...." He slapped his head, "So stupid!" He gritted. "Jack, it wasn't about that. I think he was scared to tell you because....well he knows how close you and him are." Jack nodded, "Roger has always wanted to become a journalist. This is a big chance for him." "But why does it have to be in Seattle? What's wrong with San Diego? Even Susan stays in Pasadena! It's still a part California- what does a big polluted city have to do with journalism?"

Alice shrugged, eyes still locked on the sudsy mountain of bubbles in the sink. "It is one of the best universities there," Alice set aside a plate, "he'll be fine."

Jack bit his lip, not even valor to look into his wife's eyes. He swigged the rest of his scotch before bolting up from the chair, turning towards the stairs. "Jack," he turned to Alice, finally meeting her eyes. She looked at the rim of the sink and then to Jack again, "Let Roger be." Alice's voice was soft and creamed. It crawled through Jack, nicking his eardrums. Jack blew a whistle through his nose before stepping carefully onto the steps.

"I'll think I'll go with him," Alice stood in the bathroom, rolling the last tuft of hair into the curler clip. "Jack-" "No Alice... he's only twenty one. I wasn't even that young when I left New York. I just wanna go with him to see exactly what this university has- just to be on the safe side in case he changes his mind." Alice shook her head slightly, spewing a subtle frown. "Ask Roger first." She warned.

Jack carefully took his time with each step, like he was almost nervous to approach Roger knowing the answer would be something he wouldn't be able to grip right away. But he would be disillusioned to believe he had any options. This was Roger's life, period. Jack would need to understand that. He found Roger sitting at his desk, chewing on the eraser of his pencil, eyes rigidly focused on the blank paper that carried blank words for a gratitude letter to follow pursuit of Roger's arrival to the college.

Jack quietly, almost invisibly knocked on Roger's door. Roger glanced at the door before signaling Jack to come through. The room always had this cozy aura. The sterile yet homey thick candle-wood smell that ran through every corner of Roger's room. Jack slowly sat on the bed, watching Roger fiddle at his desk; back turned away from his father while he racked his brain for a polite introduction to the start of his letter. While waiting, Jack couldn't resist scanning the room carefully, like he was capturing mental pictures of every souvenir that rang of a theme for Roger's bedroom.

Every teddy bear that ever sat on his bed, every toy airplane that hung from his ceiling and every little pencil or pen that was scattered around his desk. Jack could've bored holes through the back of Roger's head, only for it to be shaken from Roger's turning to finally face Jack. The silence was deafening as Jack couldn't move his tongue to spit the right words out in the minute. So many thoughts and prompts to start up a conversation to answer the billions of questions that spun tornadoes in Jack's mind. Like he couldn't catch one thought that would stick out more than the other ones.

"I can't decide on an introduction for the letter. I wanna send them a very professional gratitude letter; thanking them for accepting me into the college." Jack bit his lip, but curved a fatherly smirk before glancing down to look at the carpet specs. "How long have you considered this?" Roger raised an eyebrow, "The letter?" "The college. Did you send out the application a year prior?" Roger nodded, eagerly like an excited child. Jack couldn't deny the ecstatic hue his eyes seemed to glow while he took the second to ponder on the achievement.

"Seattle," shaking his head with complete awe like his name was glittered in lights on the California Hollywood sign, "It's gonna be huge! I'll have my own dorm apartment, I'll get the best view of the major I picked.... journalism. Writing my first article for everyone to read in a newspaper or magazine...."

Roger turned his head for a split-second, sucking in the enlivening vision of a city boy in this futuristic city, hopping of buses, office buildings the height of dystopian trees, the equal temperatures of rain, sun and snow...to see a full winter and fall in it's proper form was an exotic appreciation. "You know, it's going to be a big job moving all your things out from your room....I could help if you need it?" Roger smiled, "Thanks dad.... I'm going to move everything one by one, it'll be easier that way." Jack already knew Roger could see right through his plan, giving him a respectful letdown.

Jack could feel himself nibbling on the desired question he wanted so badly to know. The answer kept edging closer towards him like waves against the sand but never fully engulfing the shore with its grasp. It lingered like a tainted smell, like a vibe of excitement from an illuminated promise to oneself. The question: why?

Why would his youngest want to leave the shelter of his nest and dabble into the cold cluttered sharp atmosphere of the world? Wasn't the house enough for Roger? Didn't he idolize the attention he received from his parents? Didn't he crave the homey cooked meals and the love that was sprinkled into every one of them? Wouldn't he know that Jack had begun to feel dull about his work; still routinely going for money that was spent on his food, clothes and happiness? That was all Jack wanted.....for Roger to be happy. But he wanted Roger to be happy with him, with his father.....his friend.

Jack could practically feel how it felt to cradle his baby in his arms. Like a soft warm baby doll, a precious little gift from God for everything good Jack had done. Jack pestered more questions with only underlying answers: "You don't have to leave right away, you can stay here until it's time." "I'll drive you upstate instead of you having to endure that cramped plane trip." "You may change your mind, and decide that San Diego is your place to be."

Everyquestion was met with a read between the lines answer. It hurt Jack more than it should've that Roger was dead set on this trip. But Jack could only sit helplessly and ponder the one protruding thought that bounced through his mind like a basketball on a court. Why? Why didn't Roger wanna stay with him and Alice? Why was Roger so inclined to this shady glow of the real world? No....it was more.

Why did Roger want to let go?

Cut the apron strings of their allegiance as father and son? Jack didn't seem so good enough anymore; once a man who could hang the moon was now a crack in the road getting in Roger's way. Jack couldn't let go. He couldn't let go of Susan, so he would be a fool to do it with his youngest child.... someone who surely persuaded themselves to believe they didn't need their parental friendship. That it would mean nothing in twenty years. It was a twenty-year project for the parents; making their kids happy and safe in their perfect house that the California sun liked to rise above.

It was like a cold warmth that jagged through Jack's neck the more he could see the stars in Roger's eyes. The more excited he grew at his desk, inkling words onto his paper, tore Jack in half. He ended up walking out of the tension-filled room and into his own where he chocked on a silent quivering cry. Jack knew he was the one who needed his baby more than anything.

The next morning, was filled with a silence and the dissipating chirps of birds singing away at the bubble gum morning sky. The heat of July didn't fully take shape, so it settled in Jack's mind to take a quick Saturday morning walk around the block. Alice was also tucked away in their bed, snoring a peaceful tune that could barely be made audible. Jack couldn't resist but kiss her little kitten nose gently before donning on jeans and a red dress shirt before slipping out of the front door. The neighborhood was quiet and private. No one could possibly be awake this early on a weekend?

But, Jack couldn't admit to himself that he was barely able to keep his eyes shut the entire evening; tossing and turning with every bad dream of counting down Roger's departure. He didn't want his brain to keep racking those thoughts but couldn't seem to help himself whenever his mind would question a concern that haunted him like an empty graveyard. So, here he was....up and awake walking through his little neighborhood block. Jack spotted Bunny and Dean's house. It was quiet and serene. Their yard like a vacuumed blanket; clean without one football or soccer ball laying lifelessly on the grass.

Their boys had moved all the way to Delaware for business, though their leaving didn't swipe one slash on the couple. Jack couldn't even ponder how they made it through. "We taught them young how to fend for themselves." Jack remembered swallowing his martini harshly once those words were slingshoted into his brain. "I could never cast my children away like that! Their so careless!" Jack thought silently to himself during the dinner party. Jack continued taking sheltered steps down the crusty sidewalk, smelling the fresh dew of the morning sun. Jack welcomed the sprew of sun glimmer to spotlight his skin. To him, it felt weightless and freeing for the moment.

Jack soaked in the sun like it would be cloudy for the month or the year; maybe it would be for awhile...since Roger couldn't enjoy it with him. Trailing back home, the smell of eggs swirled around him. It reminded Jack for a brief moment that there were still people around. His wife and son were still tucked away in their little dollhouse home, enjoying breakfast for another morning. Opening the door blew the delectable scent of breakfast right into Jack's nostrils. It kissed him and snickered through his tongue and stomach the closer his steps took him to the dining room. Roger's eyes stayed glued to the newspaper- scanning through the different hair-raisers that seemed to ride around the city. Alice had set two mugs down- one for Jack, the other for Roger. Alice poured coffee into Jack's mug, coming to Roger's, Jack waved his hand. Roger's view was peering over the top of the newspaper seeing that his mug was being filled with orange juice instead. A slight furrow dented into his head before smoothing once he took a quick glance over to Jack. He stared at the lifeless orange juice in his coffee cup. The burly smell of coffee seemed to sizzle in Jack's cup. A slight twinge festered inside Roger but he kept quiet. Instead, he made civil breakfast conversation, got up, cleared his plate and poured himself a decent cup of coffee on the way out.

Father and son's eyes met only for a brief second- Roger grabbing his keys and treking out the door. Alice gave Jack a look before jotting down to her plate again. "He's too young to drink coffee," Jack stood up carrying his plate with him, "No he isn't Jack...." Alice chewed the side of her lip, "that's why he stood up and got himself-" Alice turned seeing an agitated Jack gawk angrily at the sink, "Got himself what?" Alice cleared her throat, "A cup.. of coffee." Jack gave an off track loud inhale before gusting out this large internal sigh. "Yeah..." Jack washed the excess of his dish before grabbing his suitcase. "See you later, hon," A small kiss was pressed to the top of Alice's scalp before Jack walked out of the house in utter silence.

Jack's work seemed to stare back at him. Although hating to admit it, Jack was lollygagging in his office chores from complete boredom and distract. A simple cup of coffee wouldn't usually rattle Jack... but the syllabication would. A underscore of what was to be italicized. Fiddling with gold band around his finger, Jack allowed his mind to bore more and more into a mental path of hopeless solutions to Roger's demanding revolt. "Hey Jack," Spinning around to meet Frank's eyes jolted Jack back into his focus. "Oh hey Frank," "So... did you tell that boy of yours about the internship?" Jack's heart sunk heavy like a damp moggy raincloud, "Um... I asked him about it last night, but he said he already had a job lined up in Seattle." Frank's eyebrows raised, "Seattle? Hm... well, I hear they have delicious coffee- famous for their coffee houses." Frank chuckled. He was always one to make best of a worst. Still, Jack seemed disappointed with his response, "Well, tell him congratulations for me." Jack nodded, "Will do." Frank left Jack's cubicle, leaving him alone to bask in his thoughts again.

"Will do."

Pings and chimes of porcelain cups and plates surrounded Roger. The diner was a perfect place for a hot cup of coffee and new material on his Ellison piece that he was covering for the extra two hundred. A notepad that was stowed in the glove compartment of his car was a guaranteed travel accessory. He dabbled the pen between his fingers, unsure where to start against the first faded blue lines of the paper. "Rog," turning around to see, Mick, shutting through the door and taking the next bar seat to Roger's left. "Hey... whatcha doin?" Roger shrugged, "I guess working on my piece for the Ellison cars." Roger stared back at his empty paper. Not one word written, not one idea of even so much of a plot conjured. "I know what might jog your brain," Roger turned back to Mick, eyebrow arched in a slight raise but eyes leering through- ready to prepare for an outlandish proclaims Mick might suggest. "Don't say speed Mick." Mick chuckled, "No! I was gonna say..." he leaned in closer, "you know Suzanne Kratz? Well, she's having a party tonight. She says if we're interested to just come by and join in...." Roger turned away from Mick for a moment before turning back with a smirk sliding across his face.

"Alright....." he nodded, "okay, I could use a pick me up... thanks Mick." Mick patted Roger's back before signaling the waitress for a cup of a coffee. Roger kept thinking about the party- as if Suzanne Kratz wasn't enough for him already. Why not? Hethought, after all, this might as well be my personal going away party.

Roger's eyes studied the clock- 9:00. It was already nine and that meant the party was probably just getting started. Roger was finishing the last two buttons on his short sleeve button down. His black slacks matched his blazer. Grabbing his keys, Roger capered down the stairs, capturing the attention of his parents as he presented himself through the living room. "Well where are headed my handsome guy?" Roger flashed his mom a smile, "It's a writer's retreat. Since I've been working on the Ellison piece, I was invited to share a draft of it with Mr. Gao." Jack kept his stare steady on Roger. Mouth still in a tattered pride smile but never a full of honest gaiety. "Is there a plus one?" Roger stared a his father for a moment before recollecting his smile and shaking his head, "Nah, I don't think so." His glances jolted from one parent to the other, before giving away huffed inside chuckle. "I'll see you later, alright?" Montoned and jaded, Roger put his hand on the door knob, "Rog," He turned, "Just try to be home before one." Jack quietly said. Roger licked his lips and gave a nod. Brisking himself out the door, only the sound of his car peddling out of the driveway could be heard only before his headlights reflected through the living room.

Jack stared at the door for a few minuted before turning his attention back to his book.

Suzanne Kratz's house was bigger than Roger expected.... a lot bigger. The attendant parked Roger's car for him once Roger found himself shuffling against the throng of partygoers stumbling inside Suzanne's home. Greek like stone pillars stood in the front of the house while they echoed throughout the back too. Roger was finding himself inside this exhibition where drunk kisses, loud yells and the stench of beer ruminated the room. "Hey baby...." a drunk girl passing by Roger- completely naked and flashing her mini brazilian. Still, the smell of her perfume lingered through Roger's nostrils even when she was running upstairs and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. "Roger, so glad you made it!" He turned to see Mac walking over with two beers in his hands. Giving one to Roger, Mac decided to give him the up and up on the party. "How are you enjoying yourself so far?"

"Well, I thought it was going to be a high class party because of the parking attendant outside, but when I came inside, a naked girl flaunted herself to me before running upstairs." Mac let out a hollering laugh. "My gosh dude! What did you do?!" Roger shrugged with this silly grin, "Nothing much- you called me and so I figured I'd stick around with you for a little while." Mac patted Roger's chest before taking him to Suzanne. "Come meet the woman of the evening!" Suzanne stood tall with this dark mocha bob and thick cat-liner. "Hello Roger, Mac has told me so much about you," Catching a quick whiff of her perfume, Roger was enticed, "Nice to meet you too.... this is really cool party," Suzanne smiled, "I hope your enjoying yourself." Her voice was more seductive than what Roger had liked it to be... or so he thought. He found himself ensnared by her delicate charm. Her ravishing way of life was begging to rub off on Roger. A adrenaline of excitement spun through the young man the more his mind wandered toward Seattle. How the women would look, how the city would light up at night, how the cafes would smell of their distinctive coffee taste.

The rush drifted Roger to the bar- snagging martinis to bead the hankering dream of Seattle lights. Clock striking a little after 3, Roger- sober enough to drive himself home, was snagging himself back to the house. The streetlights hued Roger's chevy as he pulled quietly into the driveway. Eyes boring into the car's clock that read 3:24, sent a stiff shudder through Roger's spine. He quietly tip toed into the house, hoping that maybe Jack and Alice would be sound asleep. They would have just trusted or simply forgotten their suggested curfew. But there was Jack- right in his favorite chair, deep scowl on his face. Roger finally locked eyes with his wroth father. "One o' clock Roger..... you promised one o' clock," Roger sniffled, "I know bu-"

"But nothing!" Jack shot a glance over to the stairs careful not to wake Alice. He walked over to Roger, pointing his finger and gritting his teeth, "We placed that curfew for a reason Roger! You need to abide by it!" "Dad.... I am sorry that I came home late- I am. I also apologize for not calling either-" Roger bit his lip, wanting to say more but deciding against it. He tried to make his way by the stairs only to be stopped by Jack. "Maybe I should move your curfew up to eleven, hm?" A twinge picked Roger, "Maybe, you should just mind your own business, hm? Don't you have to go to work tomorrow anyway?"

Now Jack was really angry- storming over to Roger and grabbing his arm, "Don't you ever take that tone with me!" He gritted, "as long as you live under my roof, you will follow my rules, understand?!" Roger stared into his father's pupils with this boiling angst. But nonetheless, nodded, yanked his arm out of his grasp and trudged upstairs. Only when Jack was glaring at him through the widened crack of Roger's door, did Roger slam it enough for Alice to jolt from her sleep. "Jack?" He turned to Roger with the same glare and Roger shot back with an up raised eyebrow and a icy bore.

Roger climbed into bed after brushing his teeth and gargling to remove the traces of alcohol from his breath. His mind- wide awake from his father's words. "My house, my rules." The common preach that most parents belated everytime one of their offspring screws up or knocks them over with their rebellion of whatever sort. This was also the first time these words had crossed Jack's lips. Roger knew his father was so lushly tucked into 'free choice' and 'understanding' but now banged with this sudden swipe for an upper hand, now tables those beetling words over his head. It seemed to smoosh into Seattle- the grail of freedom for Roger. His fancy apartment in the city, his enriching studies at the university and the hot coffee dates on a rainy Sunday with a Madeline or a Jessica- long dusted blonde locks or husky black strains pressed into a bra strap length, laying flat against the chisel of her back. His brain just couldn't help itself.

Settle was the place to be. Only a few months away. But summer would be too long. And spring just seemed to tow on and on. So maybe.... right now was the right time. Maybe packing up everything he owned would be the first shot. Roger didn't even dream of finding an apartment down there at this time now. And besides, how would he pay for it? Of course his job with the newspaper was the one to swindle in his bank goal- adding the final touches to what would've been saved over the summer for a plane ticket, a long distance moving truck, long distance cargo for his car, the first two months rent of his apartment and finally the school books, the school supplies and the other accessorizes that every college student would need. That would take the entire summer on his current salary. So asking Mr. Gao for a raise an option, but then..... taking a second job was another. Roger promised himself that in the morning, he would think carefully about the next step.

If this was his one shot, then he was sure to make it count.

"And the he told me, 'Maybe you should mind your own business," like who does he think he's talking to? I'm his father- the least he could've done is show me respect!" Jack took an angry sip of his coffee, "he seems to have forgotten that lately." Alice shook her head and placed her hand on Jack's wrist. "I'm not at all excusing his behavior.... but he's been under stress lately with trying to get things ready for his college and all-" "No Alice, Roger shouldn't even be focused on that college.... he should be helping me at the office and take the damn internship that Frank offered in the first place!" Alice rested her head on her hand, "Jack...." Jack rubbed his eyes, dragging his face down with the force of his hands, "Sorry.... its just... I'm trying to give him every opportunity and he just throws them away for..... Seattle." Sounding it was like poison to Jack, spearing it from the tips of lips with disgust.

"He loves his writing.... I think that's what he really wants to do." Jack gave Alice a look. She huffed, "Why don't you talk to him when he comes down?" Jack nodded, "I will. We'll have a good talk this time."

Roger sat in his car fumbling over the new pieces Mr. Gao had given him. A temporary of course that would triple his pay than before. Roger would have the money and more within the span of only a month- possibly a few weeks. Sipping his diner fresh coffee, Roger just couldn't help but gleam with pride in the way he sweet talked Mr. Gao into those pay raises. His desperation had subsided enough to realize taking an internship with Frank, only to pull the rug from under his feet once he received his price would be brash. Not to mention- another earful or worse from his father. Roger had already finished one of the pieces and even managed to productively halfway finish the Ellison piece. Marching inside with his portfolio under one arm and his cup of coffee in the other, he unlocked the front door much to the surprise of his parents who backs were turned to him, insisting he was upstairs groggily climbing out of the bed, bed-headedly moping into the kitchen.

"Morning,' His tone, full of pep and wish fullness. "Don't you 'good morning' us mister- you're still in hot water from last night. Roger took a deep breath, "I know.... and I'm really sorry about that- honest. I shouldn't have said what I said or slammed the door either." Alice perked up realizing it was Roger who shook her awake. A stern look grazed her face. Jack took a sip of his coffee, "We're just trying to look out for you Roger... that's all." Roger gave a tight-lipped smile and went back upstairs to his bedroom. Alice took in the back profile of her son and how much of a strikingly scary resemblance he bared to Jack. She turned to Jack and continued her breakfast. "Roger!"

"Yes?" "Did you want breakfast?" "No thanks, I ate at the diner!" Alice glanced to Jack before turning back to her plate. Jack stayed silent the rest of breakfast.

By dinner time, all of Roger's pieces were finished. To celebrate, he initiated going out for dinner with his parents for an unknowingly last time. Jack was dressed in his swish leisure suit- a tan color with a lavender undershirt and brown loafers. Alice donned a flamingo pink dress with white heels, accessorized in pastel white earrings and a pearl necklace and bracelet. The sides of her blonde strands were pinned to the back of her hair that she curled into tight bouncy spirals. Roger wore a gray dress shirt and black dockers- a black wrist watch. "Ready?" Roger called from the downstairs holding his wallet and counting the thick stack of twenties he would dish out for the meal. Taking himself over to the bar, ad pouring himself a glass of bourbon. Roger let the virile spirit ginger down his throat and burn through his ranging anxiousness. Sitting on the couch thinking of what he might tell his parents and announce at that dinner table was sure to engender a insinuated and wily uproar from Jack. And maybe even Alice. This sudden speech would sure bring more than just conventional dinner time conversation.

Jack was the first to emerge from the staircase, dressed dapper from head to toe. "Oh you look so nice Rog," Jack cooed, "You too Dad, love the tan suit." Jack smiled letting his dimples deckle his cheeks. The clicks of Alice's dainty heels soon echoed through the living room. "Beautiful!" Both Jack and Roger managed to say at the same time. Alice's cheeks blushed a harder pink than the blush that was already powdered on her cheeks. "So where are we going?"

Roger cleared his throat, "There's a restaurant called 'Black Jacket' and it's really fancy- it's by the river side and they serve gourmet dishes," Alice and Jack looked at each other, "Oh, Roger sweetheart, we don't have to go somewhere expensive like that- we can go somewhere where we don't have to spend that much money..." Roger chuckled, "I can afford it. Not to brag but- after sending in my pieces to Mr. Gao, let's just say I was paid a lot for them.... our dinner isn't even half of my paycheck." Jack's forehead grew slight crinkles. Roger glanced and straightened his slacked stature to upright, "Sorry Dad, I know you should never brag about money- I just- this is a very special occasion that I wanted to celebrate." Roger immediately wanted to swallow down his thoughts of sharing his special news with his parents. Peaceful and easygoing was the mood everyone was in- maybe tightening this secret for one more night wouldn't matter.

The three piled into Roger's car. Evening had this secrecy to it; a mystical view of black with the glow of streetlights and car lights streaming down the road. Black Jacket was well lit and the parking lot half empty only to be replaced with newer cars pulling into their spots. Roger's was among one of those cars. "Table for three," He stated to the hostess. "Of course," grabbing three menus, "right this way." Their table was tucked away in the corner; not too far from the rest of the public, not too close and elbowed up to them either. The waiter came over and let everyone request their desired meals. "Any alcohol for tonight?" Roger knew he wouldn't. He needed his senses to drive home. "No th-"

"No he's not." Jack's voice spoke louder, making Roger bit his lip. But.... he let it go. After all, he didn't expect much from the same man who instilled a curfew into him like he was still sixteen. He simply ordered a ginger ale instead. "So, what's on everyone's mind?" Alice suggested, "I wanna hear more about those pieces Roger..." Roger smiled, "Well, I had some trouble with the Ellison piece because of low inspiration at first... but I ended up coming up with a great idea with the help of Mr. Frank's lawnmower." His name rattled him. Jack couldn't hear the words: Frank, Roger and job, all curled into one sentence. He took a deep sip of his scotch. "Speaking of Frank, he still has that internship open if you're interested."

"About that," Roger started, "earlier today, I swung by your office if- you don't mind- and I explained everything to Frank, you know, about Seattle and my.... extra earnings with Mr. Gao. He was very nice about and he told me not to worry because Mr. Coldwell's son, Dennis, had filled the position." Jack stood quiet with this plastic smile on his face, "I wanted to let him know so he wouldn't think I was holding out on him or something." Jack wanted to smash his glass into a million pieces, shake Roger and scream and plead in his face: why was he changing everything? Why was he stomping on everything that meant so much to him? He kept silent until finally speaking, "That was.... very mature of you Roger." It was all he could squeeze out. Dinner was served and the conversation died down from hunger. Jack's mind kept picking over one thing: What was Roger planning? Extra pay from Mr. Gao? Extra earnings? Telling his boss to forget the internship? Maybe Jack had already figured it out. Maybe fall was too far away for such a big move. No, he needed now. He needed to get out from under his grasp and break free into the world of women and writing. That's all he needed.... no family, no parental guidance or love, just his booze, women and studies. Oh... and his big fat paycheck served on a silver platter of pharisaism.

Dinner was finished and Roger payed the check and tip. "That was a lovely dinner." Alice said, plating a kiss on Roger's cheek. "Thanks." Jack patted Roger's shoulder. "Thank you very much son." "You're welcome." Roger's sudden silence said more to Jack than he would've liked.

Stripping off his suit jacket, Jack's mind was silent. Silence. No sound or echo from the dinner table's words, silent from the clambering of the restaurant, and silent from the palpable grief that was swallowing Jack by the minutes. Alice noticed her husband's unspoken pester. "Jack?" Her voice sullen and circumspect, "did you enjoy your dinner at the restaurant?" Jack sucked in his lower lip and finally- able to face Alice's twinkling eyes. "He's leaving," a sigh escaped Jack. Alice scanned Jack with a slight in her brow, "What do you mean?" Jack sniffled, "Roger turned down the internship because he's leaving.... soon. Not in the fall like he promised but possibly this month..." Alice sighed and sat down on the bed, "We don't know that,"

"I do. I know him- he'd never do something like this unless he was planning on leaving!" "Shh! Jack quiet- he may be asleep. You have to calm down.... look, Roger already said that he got accepted into his university. So we can expect him to start making some arrangements Jack- the summer goes by fast and if he is..... then I think we should support him." Jack laid against the bed frame, exhaling an internal sigh. "Yeah.....I know we should..." Quietly coming over to Alice and laying his head on her lap. "Why don't we ask him about it tomorrow?" Alice suggested. Jack turned and looked into her eyes: lush, rich and calm like the summer sea. "Okay....yeah we should."

Roger was careful not to creek the hallway floor. Hearing every word of panic trail from his father's mouth sent a quiver down his back. A swirling sloppy gurgle to his stomach and a sweaty agitation of his forehead. Sitting on his bed, the same adrenaline pounded through him like it did at the party. An hysterical rush and an intoxicating fear. Breathing out faster than in, unbuttoning the neck of his collar, Roger was panting harder than a dog at a ball. His labored breaths seemed to be untamable and fetching. Rooting himself up from the bed and towards his desk- accidentally brushing things onto the floor but straddling over to the window where the air was clean and fresh eased him slowly back into a pace. A peaceful pace of steadiness. Could he have the conversation? Roger's tongue now dry from his open breaths came into focus from his bottled up flurry. Wiping his open mouth, Roger spent the next few minutes racking his brain to find reasons for such a sporadic flare. Staring into the pasty moon, Roger just stared at it. Boring hard into its hue and wondering what might be happening in those little twinkles. To Roger, they aligned perfectly to him. Shining high and bright against the gray of their moon and brazing next to it like diamonds to a ring. Losing himself in the night sky seemed to ease his stress, at least for the night.

Pulling his head from the window and picking up his scattered papers and pencils, one paper caught his eye: his acceptance letter of gratitude follow up from his first sealed acceptance letter from the college. Laying on the very top of the blank papers, Roger took a mental note to finish it tomorrow.

After he made his announcement of his moving out of the Chamber's family, that would take place the following Saturday.

Roger was sat at the kitchen table, sipping freshly brewed coffee that sauntered throughout the room. Alice was given a spook when she saw her young son had already started one part of her morning routine in the kitchen. "Thank you Roger!" Alice took a seat across from Roger and sipped her coffee with him. "What are your plans for today?" She asked, taking another sip from her coffee. Roger gazed into Alice's eyes for a minute with a little smirk layed across his face. "Well, I have to go to the library today but...." Alice listened closely, "I have a very important announcement to make to you and Dad." A warm path fuzzed against the nath of Alice's leg. A swollen gasp wanted to escape her now hollow throat but was clogged to deep inside. "Why don't you tell me first, sweetie."

Roger took a deep breath- eyes glancing at the table and then back to his mother. "Next Saturday.... I'm moving out." Flat. Simple. Just like that right in Alice's face. Was this payback for her comments that unintentionally shoved Roger into this glass box? 'He's your father and he loves you,' comments that put Roger on other end of the table. Now, here Alice was still mentally ricocheting from Roger's ploy. "Really?" Was all she could muster out. Roger nodded. "I decided that it would be for the best. After all, it makes more sense to get used to Seattle before I start college so then it won't be such a hassle or rush, you know?" Alice nodded, gave a small smile and took another sip from her coffee. The heavy footsteps of Jack startled her out of her thoughts once his head came into view. "Morning beautiful," pressing a kiss to Alice's cheek and another to Roger's. "Mmm, coffee smells good!" "Roger made it," Jack glanced over to Roger and pressed a smile to his face, "Taste delicious." Alice seemed to nudge Roger with her eyes. Roger swallowed harshly allowing a gulp to slither down his throat. "So... I have an announcement that I needed to make," A deep breath resonated in Roger, "as of next Saturday... I am moving to Seattle- I know I said the fall, but I figured an early start would help get me settled in by the time semester starts." It seemed to brush out of Roger in one big swoop. His voice ticking faster as he couldn't wait to anticipate the heat in his father's mind. The fragments of imagination that hung him internally would stab Roger with this blade of guilt and sorrow- like a shared telepathic of sub-conscience.

Jack sipped his coffee slowly before, compulsing a shattered graceful smile. "That's great Roger, I think that's very noble of you to be so responsible and plan ahead like that." It wasn't safe though... Roger could just sense, even just believe that inside Jack was something brewing that happened to be thicker than the coffee in the pot. It singed his back- a fuzz shot through him like a bullet at its target. Insecure in his aplomb, Roger just pressed a rehearsed smile together and stared back down at the newspaper that was flat against the table.

The afternoon seemed dim- contrasting the sun that beamed through every glass window of the living room. Alice- black handkerchief over her hair, floral apron and barefoot- sweeping the dust bunnies off the wooden stairs. Seemed so routine- she always cleaned after the boys leave to their salient jobs, brushing herself from one chore to another. Alice stopped in mid vacuum. Eyeing the next to spotless living room, she took a seat on the couch, undoing the ties of her apron. Silence vapored the room like a foggy mist in the dawn of morning. Alice resided herself eventually to a glass of gin. It seemed to slither down her hollow throat, filling her with the steak of courage- enough to strap on some heels and walk over to Bunny's. Their home- usually filled with the roars and playful screams of boys, now was quiet and unblemished of any scattered clothes of undone laundry or juice stains speckled across the rug. In fact, their home seemed to be more sterile than her own. A drab feeling vanished over Alice like a coat. Settling onto Bunny's couch, cigarette smoke whizzed past her sense but seemly little sniffs caught the tips of burning ash the more her cigarette burned through the paper on it. "So," Bunny took in a puff, "what's going on with you, girl? You haven't been calling lately and you've been pent up in your house for so long," Alice smirked, raising an eyebrow, "Too long." Bunny corrected.

Alice took in a breath, "Roger's moving to Seattle next Saturday," Bunny raised her eyebrows before letting them drop again, "Didn't he get accepted into that college- what was it... Seattle University?" Alice nodded, "so why is he going now when it's starts in the fall?" Alice bit her lip. A course of options shopped through her head: Better adjustment, Jack, wanted to adapt better to the city, more space and time for his studies...... Jack.

"Jack." Bunny took in another puff from her cigarette. "I thought so..." Alice furrowed her eyebrows, "What?" Bunny shook her head with a smile, "Jack has always been overprotective, Alice. The second you told me that Roger was moving out- even if it was in a few months- Jack, knowing him, would have had a problem..... I take that he's not adjusting well to the sudden change of plans now, is he?" Alice shook her head, fighting back the tears that so gravely wanted to spill from her eyes. "H-He only said it this morning, so.... Jack didn't really get a chance to express anything. He went off to work shortly after Roger left." Bunny scooted closer to Alice, wrapped her arm around her and and buried her cigarette into the ashtray. Pulling Alice close into her shoulder, Alice sobbed. It sat like this for a few minutes. "I don't know what to do Bunny.... my family's falling apart and I can't fix it."

Bunny just held Alice. She Alice cry out the last month worth of tears into her bare shoulder.

Nighttime was for solitude. Alice sat shipwrecked at the kitchen nook alone after spending the next few hours trying to sober up from one too many martinis at Bunny's. The jiggle of keys stood outside the door until Roger came stumbling inside, one arm holding tightly his portfolio and his books of Seattle and assignments from work all pressed together for dear life in his left arm. The other had a huge plastic bag with 'Bamboo Garden' inscribed on it. "Hey mom," Roger planted a quick kiss to his mother's cheek, "I brought back Chinese for dinner. I figured.... you were really tired and it would be a nice treat." Alice gave a small tired smile, "Thank you baby." her voice so coy and mellow, that a pat on the back was given to Roger. He knew it- maybe not physically, but sub-consciencely, Alice was going to exhausted one way or another.

Soon dinner went from being one hour missed to three hours. At midnight, and only then did Jack come stumbling though the door, the smell of whiskey fresh on his breath. A slight irritation turned into a tidal wave of fury. "Jack!" Alice stormed over and grabbed her fuddled husband by his shirt. Never in her life had she been that angry. Only on two separate occasions did she even come close: a very bad April fool's prank- Jack putting green hair dye into her shampoo and one very racist man at a supermarket store in Napa while the family vacationed there a few years earlier. Jack and Alice were both consumed with silent rage as the man yelled and insulted a worker. "Don't listen to that man," said Jack, "he's very ignorant and mean." He explained to his young-ins.

Alice sat her husband down and sent a sharp glare his way. "Jack.... how could- you were late and..... why?! Just why?! Why would you get drunk?!" Jack shushed Alice. "I don't know..." his face became this peachy color- flushed and self- aware of his mistake. He took a deep breath. "I couldn't help it.... I was just so upset. I needed this Alice. I needed to lose a little bit of the pain." He shook his head, "It's just not fair." Alice looked down, sat up from the chair and walked over to the stairs. She stopped for one minute, "Your dinner's in the fridge. Roger brought back Chinese." And with that, she went upstairs for the night leaving Jack alone in the living room.

Roger sat in his bedroom, planning every little detail of his move out carefully: Visit Seattle to secure the apartment he wants, hire moving men and secure the job he hoped to get. Every detail was scrutinized like a heist. Roger wanted to play his cards perfectly as not to miss a beat, not to plunge hard into nothing. Roger didn't want to take the risk of climbing so high up the mountain only to plummet onto the hard pavement. It would be a slap in the face to his success, a godawfuldeathto his dreams and an 'I told you so' from his father. Not literally, but metaphorically in some way. Satisfaction would simmer across Jack's face if he ever told him that he had failed. Jack would spit out: "Oh, you'll do better next time, son," or "Well, it wasn't worth it anyway.... you'll do fine staying here with good ol' mom and pop." Roger sighed before pock marking his first stop in his journey.

Visiting Seattle would be his first stretch. Roger glanced to the clock. 2:25 am. He grabbed his car keys and snuck downstairs, careful not to wake his parents. Getting into his car and driving down to the airport. Inside the building was filled with noise and chatter of what seemed to be everybody. He felt so small in that moment. His tall frame was now trifling against the airport traffic. Roger took one step forward towards the desk. The woman was pretty. Red streaks ran through her hair like lightning flashes the more they shimmered in the burning lights of the airport. She could only be a few years older- possibly only three. "Hello sir, can I help you?" Roger smiled, "Yes. Is there any planes shipping out to Seattle later today?" The receptionist looked at her computer, "Yes actually. There's one for 7 in the morning. Would you like a ticket?"

"Yes please." "That'll be 123 dollars." Roger handed the lady the money. He paused, "Is there a plane for Settle shipping out next Saturday?" The receptionist typed her computer again, "Yes. It's for 11 o'clock in the morning and another for 5 in the evening." Roger smiled. That's what he wanted to hear. "I'll take that one for 11 in the morning."

"123 dollars please." Roger handed the lady another portion of the money. "Thank you sir, will that be all for you today?" Roger smiled. "Yes, thank you very much." He winked, "Have a nice day." The receptionist blushed. Roger had a certain something about the chisels in his green eyes. He walked off with two tickets to Seattle. One for 7 in the morning and another for Saturday. Roger came back to his home- packed a small suitcase of clothes and documents, money and his passport. He set his alarm for 5 in the morning, placed his suitcase beside his bed and let himself drift to sleep, still in his mundane clothes. There was no time to waste.

Blinking beeps of Roger's alarm sounded through the treacly dream of his Rita Hayworth picture play; her on top of him and the both of them passionately loving their bodies against the wisp of the spring air. Roger shot up, rubbing his eyes and wiping the tap line of dry drool crust from the corner of his mouth. Sweeping into the bathroom and washing his face, combing his hair and brushing his teeth, Roger grabbed his suitcase and pulled it to his side. Writing practical scribbles down in the form of words to leave on the fridge if his parents were to question his whereabouts.

Business meeting in San Fresno, be there all day and possibly all night. Don't wait up for me.

Love you both,

Roger

Roger called for a taxi service that showed up a only a block away from his home. "San Deigo airport, please." The driver complied, driving to the destination in silence. To Roger, maybe the driver was thinking he was a busy business man. His black dockers and dress shirts seemed to be all he wore these days, especially at the office. Or maybe someone who was on the run- trying hard to distance themselves from the south side of California. Roger hadn't said two words to the guy except, "thank you" and "have a nice day." Grabbing his suitcase, Roger stormed the airport- checking in, going through airline security, finding his gate and then hopping onto the his plane. A one and a half hour flight at best, Roger cozied into his seat with a good book and let the feel of the air take his as his plane took off.

It was the needle tower that captured his attention first. Seattle space needle. It stood on top of Seattle like a lookout tower. Throngs of tall skyscrapers stood everywhere. The plane hovered over them like the clouds in the sky. Roger would squint and try to point out his future apartment. The top tiers of the one of the skyscrapers or the bottom and middle ones, sandwiched between one level and another. The plane landed and soon, Roger found his way around the city. Checking into Hilton Seattle hotel. Downtown, crowded and brisk like a laxed New York City. Roger's only comparison was of Jack's vibrant tales from when he lived in New York. From the moment he settled off the plane, the air seemed muskier- like tar on the rooftops of the city were melting in and sighing their fumes off for the Seattle to smell. It excited Roger, maybe more than it should've. "Rom 307, Mr. Chambers." The receptionist handed the key into Roger's hands. Flashing her a sweet grin, Roger trollied into the elevator with another man- a few years older than him, reading the newspaper. Roger pressed button 8, his floor.

Ding!

Roger walked onto the colorful carpet- a swirl pattern that seemed to lead him to his room. Opening the door, Roger walked in, taking a fresh breath in through his lungs and letting it saunter inside his memory. The thick smell of sterile hotel sheets and freshly steamed carpet was tattooed into his brain. The airy breathtaking view of the city from his picture window was only something Roger hoped it would be in his new home. A high rise with a stalking view of the clouds and the foreheads of the skyscrapers. Office workers would be little ants and cars would be like the toy ones Roger played with as a child. He stacked his suitcase against the sheets- unpacking his clothing and loading them into the dressers. Roger sat quietly on the bed for a moment before shooting glances towards the phone by his bed. Grabbing it off the base, finger hovering over the numbers, Roger then slammed the phone back down onto the base. International calls were an expense Roger wasn't about to afford. Money was one thing, but a number tracking him to a whole other state was another. A business meeting in Fresno should be enough for Jack and Alice to swallow this time.

Grabbing his jacket, Roger left his hotel and snatched a taxi down to Seattle University.

A tall soaring brick building became a castle to Roger. It was only June, but still the scene of his trailing up the little pathway, through the main doors leading to the corridors of the school flashed in front of his eyes like a picture book. Scanning the campus and its lush carpet of cut grass and those little beads of little daisies perking up from the ground. Summer's skin gave the yard an extra glow; shadowing it into an image of promise for Roger. Whether the trees were painted in orange and red or the sky was now drab with gray and white baked in, the scene playing in front of Roger- checkered wind swaying the little hairs of grass and humming a summer rhythm snickering in whispers of the sky- was set in stone for Roger. Basking in his future, ripping the jean jacket off his body and dancing in the way of the grass in the open field. His sneakers grazed against the stems of the very dirt and his hands fluttering free in the way of the uranas sky.

Roger picked his jacket off the grass and ran back to the street. A spark prided in him- speeding him to want more. Flinging himself onto a bus, Roger asked around different newspapers asking for two things: a job for hire and an apartment for rent.

Templeton Road- a newly emptied out apartment on the 25th floor of the Winchester building. Barxton Ave, The Tribune- a high end Seattle magazine cover, that is became in raring in needing a skilled journalist writer to cover certain taboo and interesting content. The salary would be higher than all of the overtime Mr. Gao could offer Roger in his whole career. Roger managed to set up an interview with Mr. Doyle. Beads of sweat dampened his face as he eagerly anticipated Mr. Doyle's response after scanning through a resume he had faxed over. Mr. Doyle scanned Roger up and down with a stern expression. But then belted out a haughty chuckle. "I'm just kidding son! I'm never this uptight with my staff..... it's because I barely work myself so I get to enjoy a random scotch every now and then." Roger eased up, "You want the job?" Roger nodded, kicking himself to speak, "Yes." Mr. Doyle smiled, "It's yours then- welcome to The Tribune." A breath escaped Roger's lungs, "Thank you so much Mr. Doyle-"

"Please, call me Tim." A dimpled smile cascaded onto Roger's face. Mirror his fathers when he received his first credital job- the job he's been working ever since he was twenty seven. "When can you start?" Roger paused. Looking Mr. Doyle in the eyes, "I live in California as of this week. Next Saturday- I move to Seattle because of University. But... if you want- I can one hundred percent do whatever you would like me to do." Maybe Mr. Doyle saw determination bubbling in his eyes. He thought for a minute, "I'll tell you what.... don't worry about it. I can hold out for another week... I won't be too easy on ya though- come no later than Sunday at best, you understand?" Roger nodded, "Yes." Mr. Doyle smiled, "I like you Roger... I think you'll be a wonderful asset to the company." "Thank you, Mr. Doyle.... I won't let you down." Roger grabbed his resume and satchel before departing the office with a new job.

Flying down to Templeton, Roger called the number and waited for the woman to arrive. "Hello Sir," A middle aged woman with a red pixie cut introduced herself before unlocking the front door. The smell of a homely oak themed what would be the living room. Spacious and cozy- a wide area for a couch and television, a middle sized kitchen and small dining area and three bedrooms- master bedroom for Roger and the smaller bedroom for his office- an extra bedroom for guests if he pleased. The master-bedroom had its own bathroom and the second bathroom was around the corner from the rooms. It was perfect. Just perfect. "It's a rental, but you can paint the walls to your style, it is pet friendly- just make sure to update the owner if you are to have a pet and of course, no loud parties or disturbances to disturb the other residents, trash days are always Thursdays and...." the woman turned to him, 'that's pretty much all there is."

"How much is it every month?" "343 for rent every month, 100 for electric, 150 for water, 167 for heating and gas is complimentary of the building." That was less than Roger thought he had to pay. With his new salary, paying his bills would be a piece of cake. He smiled and nodded, "I'll take it." The woman smiled, "Great! How soon can you move in?"

"Right away... this Saturday." Roger spent the afternoon signing papers, getting the most important papers of his life faxed over. "Alright Mr. Chambers, you're all set," the woman reached into her pocket, "here are the house keys. If they ever get lost or stolen just inform the landlord and he'll have the locks changed. It was nice handling business with you Roger."

"You too, Ms. Vera." Staring at the keys in his hand, Roger couldn't believe his fate. Soaking in the feels of his new home was a feeling that was beyond describable. Ms. Vera had long gone, but the linger of Roger's presence soaked through. His eyes scanned through every corner where his future coffee table would be, his small couch, his rocker chair, the rug that would be slid underneath it all, the hanging utensils on the rack on the wall of the kitchen, the cookbook in one of the drawers for those nights where he would be extravagant and the full size bed hidden away in the cozy corner of the bedroom where Roger would swish away in the sheets, laced in solitude of quiet after a long night at the office. His future was here. San Deigo never existed for Roger anymore- Seattle was Roger's future, his present and his anticipation. Staring out the window of the city apartment; cars dashing beneath him, the space needle tower glowering in the distance touching the nips of the sun's glow, staring into the eyes of the clouds the way Roger dreamed. His imagined home was everything that Roger saw in his dreams.

Shoving the keys into his pocket, Roger quietly closed the door of his apartment, locking it up before finding a taxi to take him back to his hotel. He stayed the night, flopping his body onto his bed after packing his new apartment keys into his suitcase. Taking in the last breath of Seattle before hitting the pillow was just what Roger needed. His brain flickered over every detail of today. His eyes drooped until black hit, sealing in his promise of today.

The next morning after a short flight back to San Deigo, Roger pulled up a block away from his home in a taxi. A adrenaline ping shot through him like electric. Roger ran to his home, unlocking the door with his key. "Good morning everyone," Jack turned to see the young man swoop into the kitchen. He noticed his suitcase in his right grasp. A sick feeling ran through Jack quicker than light, "Hello Rogie," Jack got up and pressed a tight hug to Roger's body and a cheek kiss, "I missed you." A saccharine mellow in Jack's voice; childhood memories of the same soft tone when ever the end of a bedtime story came or when he was asked if he wanted a warm glass of milk with cookies before bed. But guilt couldn't ring through him now.... not in this moment. Roger allowed himself to pull away softly with a sweet smile etched across his face.

Alice pressed a kiss to Roger's cheek before serving him square shaped waffles. Breakfast ached Roger's stomach... so long without eating that much, that the fruit bowl and the honeyed smell of maple syrup and butter melted into him more than it should've. "Let me go unpack and I'll tell you how the trip went." Jack stared as Roger traveled up the stairs. Maybe Roger felt the eyes boring into him as he cabled through trying to be as secretive as he could. Locking his bedroom door like a prisoner trying to plot his escape. Opening his suitcase, taking out his neatly portfolio documents and his new apartment keys. Two silver keys looped around an oak colored ring with a brown leather key fob. He hid them away in a small box in his closet with his documents. Roger had already paid his first two months rent of the apartment so it wouldn't distract his focus of moving and settling everything into his new place. A knock on the door broke his attention. Spinning around to a jiggling door knob, Jack's knuckles brashing against the door were like thunder claps to Roger.

"Hey," Roger opened the door a little, "Hey bud," A smile grew onto Jack's face. Jack was invited in- scanning the room of Roger's nick-nacks. A open suitcase full of clothes that sprawled themselves out on top of the bed. Roger shifted from one side of Jack to another- nipping the edges of his body with the fragments of his clothes. "I'll unpack after breakfast," his eyes looked right into Jack's in that moment. Jack sensed something about Roger. Something changed him. The in a quandary young boy he saw last night was not the same one that walked into the home this morning; young but fresh with this intimidating piercing stare of nerve. A nerve that was only backed up with fact.... a nerve that Jack had shouldered onto David when he had settled in plans to stay at his own place. The same cockiness Jack gave his parents was repeating itself right in front of him. Maybe he had just lost track of how grown Roger had now become.... but this was a stinging reminder of that- an unforgiving spit of being unneeded.... unwanted.

"Breakfast?" Jack snapped out of his pity. Eyeing Roger before smiling and walking behind him out of the bedroom before shouldering one last glance to the suitcase sprawled across Roger's bed. What could be in there? His mind traced.

After breakfast, Roger had spent the morning gathering big moving boxes and bags for his move. Alice questioned it once she saw a small sliver of a moving company's brand on the bag. "I found a place." Roger said suddenly. At least, to Alice he did. "You have?" He nodded, face barely able to contain a smirk. "A nice high rise in Seattle city," Roger refrained from spilling about his new job. Maybe that was the last thing he should say, "I went out and found one yesterday.... it's an hour flight so it wasn't out of the way or anything." Alice nodded. Roger was making his way to the room before being stopped, "What about your job?" a husky voice pecked through like a needle prick to the skin. Turning and finding his father standing at the bottom of the stairs. "I found one up there too,"

"What is it?" "A journalism job... I work for the Tribune." He bit his tongue once he realized the words that fell from his mouth. "The Tribune?" Roger nodded, "One of the most elite magazine companines in the country?" Roger nodded again slowly. "They offered you the job?" Alice nudged Jack, shooting him a glare. "Yes. My boss Mr. Doyle said they were looking for a skilled writer who had no trouble reporting taboo and creative facts." A piece of Jack's chipped. Like a rotten tooth. Maybe it was the hope of Roger wanting to be here even just somewhat, maybe it was hope Jack kept of Roger not being able to have things fall into his lap and just lap up the idea that home would be the easier of two paths. But no. Roger, secured himself a high end job that he didn't even realize to be such a merit.

Roger smiled. "I'll be fine, promise." He shuttled up to his bedroom. He turned on the radio- Rocket Man blared enough to daze him into a deep concentration. Grabbing permanent marker and labeling everything from big to small that he wanted cram into those boxes. Books, arts and crafts, clothes, accessories, nick-nacks and whatever else Roger found useful enough to take with him. By the evening, half of Roger's items were packed away. The little box in the closet with his documents were still hidden away in the closet. Those were meant to be packed in his suitcase, not his moving boxes. Phone calls to moving companies were made and scheduled for Saturday and his plane ticket was stored along with the house keys in the little box, underneath the documents.

Only thing left was his bare mattress, one pillow, a little quilt and the too big to carry items: bed, dressers, desk, chair and nightstands. Roger grabbed his jacket and car keys. Mac and Rod needed to meet him at pub. Taking one last look around, Roger smiled to himself at all his hard work and progress. A sure thing would always come through.

Jack was moped over on the couch, slugging down one beer after the other. A photo album layed next to him, scrapping against his thigh. Opened to reveal a baby Roger, suckling his thumb while Jack held him in his lap. A baby Roger, only a few hours he was born, wrapped in this blue receiving blanket, hat poised over his little head that was knitted from Alice only a few months before he arrived. Jack face hovered beside him with the widest, tiredest smile he ever wore. Another revealed Jack pressing a kiss to a sleepy toddler Roger's rosy cheek after a night in the emergency room when Roger had hurt his toe a little too hard. He was there for all of it. Every boo-booo, every goodnight kiss, every bad dream, first steps, first word, first breath..... the day Alice even told him she was pregnant again. Then the day he was born after a few pushes and few surprise squeezes from Alice's hand clinging to his. A shrill sweet cry immersed from the little baby born into the vibrancy of the summertime.

That day seemed perfect. His little baby- firstborn son was fresh in his arms wrapped in a cooling blanket to soothe his new cries sprouting from new vocal cords. So new, so perfect. It brought tears to Jack's eyes. Cradling the little boy in his arms and just letting his heart pour out his most devoted affection for the little baby. Jack took another swig from the bottle. His mind faded out of the delivery room and into the living room. Dull and drab. A faint memory snuck up behind him like a ghost in the shadows. A stunning shrine of him and David. A walk in the park turned into a instigated argument from David, leaving him to walk home four miles alone in the pouring rain- without a jacket. Waking up with a bad flu the next morning, David practically shoved Jack out the door of the house and made him walk to school with a flimsy sweat jacket in 19 degree weather. Jack could remember the cold sweat beating from his forehead as every step he took seemed longer and longer. Jack could recall one particular boring morning in class where all he fretted over was how many cigar burns the children could count on his legs and arms. Long sleeves even in scorching weather was something Jack accustomed himself to. Even in present day, Alice would question Jack wearing sweaters in eighty degree weather. Self- conscience, Jack would wear a t-shirt instead- even if he felt exposed.

His eyes glanced to the clock, only a little after eleven. He stared back at the black Tv screen before taking one last swig and calling it a night.

"To Roger and Seattle!" The three friends held their drinks up before taking big gulps of their beers. "So, you finally scored the job in the big city," Rod said. "Yep," Roger popped, "I didn't even know it was so elite until my dad said that it was one of the biggest magazine covers in the country!" Mick and Rod let out a haughty laugh, "You really got em now Rog!" Mick shook his head with a prideful smile, "Ya know, I never thought you would the 'poetic' type and be so in to writing and books- you were never interested in school and.... I don't know. I guess it just reminds you how much things change, I guess?" Roger nodded, "I never thought I would love writing either. But I guess my passion was just a waiting call for me." A sniffle sounded. Roger looked up and realized his vision was blurry. "Ha, don't start getting emotional on me now." He laughed. "You're the only one 'sweating through their eyes' dude." Rod said. Roger sucked in his bottom lip. He sniffled. "I-I'm gonna miss you guys... a lot." Roger took another sip of his beer, "Is it gay to say I love you guys?" The three laughed. Mick shook his head, "No. No.... we love you to buddy."

Rod held up his beer, "To Roger and new opportunities!" The boys clinked their beers one last time, leaving Roger to soak in the essence of their friendship.

Leaving the pub, Roger couldn't help but drive around the city one last time- gawking through the town, admiring all its glow of the night. Downtown seemed so big and huge. Roger parked his car along the curb and stepped out for a walk. The night's chilly air was a refreshing breeze, sweeping back the strainds of brown from Roger's face like a fan. Peeking around at the late night coffee shops and the small little cafes took Roger down a memory lane of family night outs and little mommy and baby and daddy and baby dates he would have with either Jack or Alice. Sometimes, him and Susan would stroll together and get ice cream before returning home after a long school day. The streets seemed so empty and light. Cars were parked alongside the road and business were turning their lights off for the night. The last walk through the city of San Deigo was a flourish for Roger. A nostalgia of sweet memories and wonders. But one thought pecked at his brain- Susan. The one girl in his life who he couldn't miss goodbye to.

Running into his car, Roger took the forepass down to Pasadena. Knowing Susan, she would be up in nightgown, watching late night soap operas and eating a bowl or carton of chocolate ice cream or cake- any type of chocolate dessert. Her casa styled condo had its little porch light on. The second story was lit up with a living room light brimming even under the shades of the blinds that hung over the window. Roger knocked on the door, listening to small footsteps walking up to the door. "Roger?" He smiled. It felt like a million years since he had seen the blonde beauty's face. Her perky green eyes with the same cat eye as their mother, only... more...youthful. "Susan!" He pulled his big sister into a hug that he never wanted to free himself from. "I missed you so much!" Susan's hug was tighter, "Me too! Oh Roger, I wanted to come visit you, but I was so busy with college and then my work.... I missed you so much!" Roger didn't even realize a tear had dropped against the nath of Susan's back. Maybe because her presance was a breath of fresh air from the tension at home. Susan finally pulled away, "What brings you here so late?" As Susan guided Roger into the home, Roger sighed. "I got accepted into Seattle University,"

"Oh my god, I'm so happy for you!" Roger smiled, "So that means this Saturday I'm moving to Seattle." Susan furrowed her eyebrows, "I thought school doesn't start until fall?" "It doesn't.... but I found a job there and an apartment and so... I've decided to move there this week. I'm so excited but... I wanted to come over and say goodbye. I couldn't miss seeing you." Susan let a small smile cross over her face, "I'll miss you so much, baby brother," She sniffled, "I don't want you to go." She flung herself around his body. "You're so little!" She cried. Roger giggled, but allowed Susan to wail into his body. "How are mom and dad taking it?" His body stiffened. "Well, Mom's doing okay.... Dad... not so well." Susan pulled away, "I mean- he hasn't outwordly been discouraging, but I can sense his upset. I shudder to think how things are going to go down when it's time for me to leave. Hopefully, dad won't be clinging to my legs and will allow himself to drag out the door." Susan laughed, "I don't know Roger he might!" The siblings shared their laughter, "I needed this Susan... I had to tell you. You'll be the first person I invite up to Seattle." He smiled. The two shared a goodbye hug and kissed each other's cheeks before Roger departed. "Goodbye Susan, take care, okay?"

She smiled, "You too."

Saturday was here.

Roger's suitcase was unveiled on the snowy white bare mattress. He stuffed the remainders of himself into the first case. Jack couldn't help but stand by and watch as his green corduroys folded into the case, then his cargos with two extra pockets, his 5 blue jeans; stonewashed, indigo warm denim, cool denims and his peacock ripped ones that Jack protested everytime Roger would step out with them. "They look like you've been in a fight." Roger rebuffed and walked around town with them anyway. Jack skirted around the corner, closing his eyes to hear the click of the clasp of the suitcase. He could taste the metallic in his mouth, his fingers curling into his palms leaving small welts of his fingernails imprinted in them. Roger’s last item was the little box; documents, apartment keys and his plane ticket.

Jack's legs were frozen, weak and vacant. Like the muscles that once filled his body were dead. Lifeless. But Jack was desperate; despite to charge straight into Roger's room, wrap him into his grasp and hold onto him and never having to let go. The base of Roger's footsteps sent shivers through his blood. The creaks of bedroom floor, the movements of his motions; Jack could tell Roger's little skips, his deep in thought steps that were filled with anticipating silence, the screeches of his sneakers scatting around the hardwood floor. He swallowed, scratched his head and rubbed his fingers in his hand.

Roger was consumed with packing everything that brought life to his bedroom. Posters, clothes, his radio decorated in small stickers, the blue lamp shade that hung so effortlessly over the bulb. The baby blue walls turned sky blue from a painting adventure Jack used as an opportunity to bond with Roger. He smiled fondly recalling the walls being coated in one of Roger's favorite colors, Jack swiping paint onto Roger's face, and vise versa. The walls were empty and deceased. Outlandish posters and pictures, the colorful blue and green checkered quilt, the grainy dark maple desk were gone. The room that hued the glow of the Chambers's youngest child was now of a ghost. Roger would be gone and everything that would piece him to who he was would just haunt the house like the swish of curtain on a cool winter day.

"So, this is it?" Jack poked his body through the door. Roger, still shuffling nips of items from his possessions, eyes were still cemented to his suitcase. "Yep," he popped the p; rolling off his tongue like this was a casual goodbye, like the significance meant nothing or simply didn't exist. It was too easy for him to shut the latch to his suitcase and turn around with this cocky smile. Sure, he planned this, prepared for this, spent money, saved money and set his sights to tall skyscrapers, subways, packed streets and corners contradicting the sleepy equable suburban neighborhoods he knew all too well. Roger would ride his bike around the corners as a child, spotting the stacks of houses behind his own from his bedroom window, the way they reminded him of dollhouses; perfect and prim without one blemish. Then there was the cul-de-sac that he had to learn to drive in tune with once he bought his first car; an electric blue Chevy that would always sit in the garage with Jack's, Alice's and Susan's. Their cars, even they shouted experience; Jack's was so nicely polished in a rich coat of green, Alice's was clean and detailed, no mugginess or scratch to be displayed. Susan's red cherry one was new yet carefully parked. Coddled and sealed with safety nets that Jack had passed down to her. In the little row of cars: Jack's, Alice's and Susan's, it was accepted. Her little red Ashton Martin sat alongside the adults just like their childhood. Susan was mature, Roger was not.

Roger had to work hard for the car; Jack in his ear, pounding on and on about safety and car accidents and kids he knew from school and seeing their dead mangled bodies show up on the drunk driving safety video. Susan bared some of the lectures but was thought less likely to encounter something of such notions that her lessons were encouraged. So there sat Roger's blue Chevy, alone, tires twisted, steering wheel curved and spaced, no, distanced apart from the others. And there he was, distanced apart from his family. Susan's departure left a jagged mark in the household that rang loudly, yet was being tuned out. The rubber band was stretching...stretching its limit, about to snap at any any second. But Roger still kept his hands pressed tightly onto the counter of the suitcase. Holding it like it would be snatched from him at any second. And it maybe it would be.... Jack was getting desperate. Roger's eyes locked firmly on his, not shaking off any trace of stubbornness that riveted like waves into Jack's brain.

"So, Seattle seems like a nice place. I researched it in the library and...it looks promising." Jack bit his tongue; carefully constructing his words to hide the nauseating moldy taste in his mouth. His stomach kept heaving like a boat during a storm. The feeling of drowning seemed all too real now, like there was no escape. Jack would drown...he would drown because he knew too much. He knew what Roger was leaving, he knew why he was leaving....he knew he was the reason. He couldn't paddle this one out, he couldn't sweet talk or spat himself out of this. He would need to feel it...feel this one through and so would Roger, so would Alice and Susan once she would receive the news.

Roger pinched his lips into this tight smile like it held venom that he was trying hard to control, to keep it from spilling all over himself and Jack. His eyes were squinted but not from a smile, from bitterness. He could see Jack through the glass. Roger pressed harder into his suitcase, leaving welts of his fingernails, peeling off the leather to reveal this beige thin Velcro that hid underneath it.

"Yeah. It's so futuristic, a modern city. College is gonna be wild." Roger slapped himself at his attempt to lighten things up. Jack's mouth opened a little, before shutting it. Jack pursed his lips. Could he let this moment slip like water running down the shutter of the garage, and then dripping into the ground to its death. Roger seemed further away the more he would look into his eyes. Roger was already gone, his body shifted to the door and the small talk only kept the distance between them solid and icy; mastering skating over it to cross to each other. "Roger," Jack spoke finally allowing the cramped air to wither into to breeze. "I'm just curious....why so far away?" The simplicity of the question sent bass through the room. Roger looked down then up again, "I like Seattle. It's a nice place with great opportunities....ones that I would like to try out."

Jack could swear it was like a recorder playing back the same excuse he used on his father when his bags were ready for the big city. Time's Square seemed more exciting than anywhere with his parents. Jack could remember his father snatching a swig for courage and for rawness. No emotions to defeat him as he hustled a weak hug for Jack. No warmth of safety of it. Just broken and done. His regret rang loud through Jack's old bedroom, but there was nothing to back it up.

Roger could at least remember the warm feeling of his father's hugs. To him, it was warmer than hot cocoa on a cold winters day of a fireplace in the thick of the evening brewing as you curled up into your coziest chair and read from a good book or watched your Friday cartoons after a long shift at the workplace or rough day at school. The relaxation hit you once you realize that it won't exist again until after the weekend which seemed miles away. Baby Roger would perch his head up for a second before falling back down to Jack's chest and listening to the padam of his heartbeat. Jack's head would perch up to, following sync with Roger to ponder what would capture the baby's attention before dismissing it to just to nuzzle his lips to the skin of his scalp. Roger would still smile recalling that particular cold autumn day one Wednesday; his mother was out of town and Jack was there at the house, waiting for Susan and Roger. Mugs of milky hot cocoa, soft oven cookies and their favorite cartoons played throughout the evening. Roger was no more than five years old at the time so he didn't hesitate to reach his arms up for a greeting hug from Jack who happily scooped him up in his arms and held him close, allowing his chocolate strands to sweep across his face along with the warmth of Roger's forehead rubbing against his chin. Roger was pacified by the lulling wisps of whistles from Jack's cooing breathes.

Those cold rainy murky damp days disappeared, the roars of exacting teachers faded and little nips of uneasy and anxiety merely seized to exist. All wrapped up in the coat of Jack's arms like a nest holding little fragile eggs. A safe place he would call, Jack was the one to stand by Roger; holding his hand in the wake of fear, hugging him in the distress of gloom and holding him in the wave of tiredness. When no could see the little head bobbing after Susan, Jack did. He could make out his little frame in a crowd of millions, pushing and shoving past anyone standing in between them.

Jack could remember pacing the floor of the emergency room, wearing the rubber from his shoes into the the sterile tile floor. "Jack sit down, he'll be fine." Alice insisted, "I should've never turned my back- Roger told me he wasn't feeling good and now he's in critical condition! His appendix probably burst by now... it's all my fault!" Alice slid her hand to her husband's back. Jack's lips were blue and purple from sucking and biting them so hard, his skin pale and clammy like he'd been struck with a monstrous case of the flu.

"He's out of surgery. Everything went well, he's recovering right now." Jack ran through the thick salvo of patients, doctors and nurses and into Roger's room. He was sleeping, eyes droopy and weak. Jack donned the same look from an exhausting bubble of panic and somberness. Jack sat next to Roger, intertwining his hand into his; carefully kissing the flesh of his skin despite the swollenness of his bruised lips and rubbing his thumb soft yet aggressively, carefully missing the stem of the IV drip. His eyes rang with sympathy watching Roger slowly calculate the little patterns of specks spotted all over the wall. His eyes would dart from Jack to Alice and then to his hand that was curled and bundled into Jack's. "Is it over?" Alice gave a ticklish rub to the fringe of Roger's cheek. "Yes, darling." She sat on the other side of him, "It's over."

Roger stood by his suitcase, scanning his father's face for any sign of anger or sadness. Maybe the slight wrinkle in between his eyebrows, or the the fish flat tight lips that he kept as poker face for any twinkling agitation that would selfishly bubble to the surface. Jack's eyes just stood frozen on the suitcase. Roger was right, maybe Jack was getting desperate. Suddenly his heartbeat sped up- he clutched the suitcase tighter, turning around sharply to grab the handle.

Jack bit his lip, watching Roger grip the handle and start towards the door. "You don't have to leave rog... we'll take care of you," Roger shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but bit his tongue and kept walking; creeking the floor as he took shallow steps down through the stairs. "I can take of myself," he finally replied. Jack cleared his throat, glancing towards Alice for an approving response. "Roger, you're only twenty two, please, I couldn't even do that when I was-"

"Dad, I'm leaving! I have to go my plane leaves in an hour." Roger looked to his mother before coupling her into one last hug. He kissed her cheek and allowed her to softly melt into his arms, letting soft sobs drip on to his jacket. "I love you, baby." Alice sniffled, pecking his face all over with goodbye kisses. "Please, be safe and take care of yourself." She straightened the smudge of his jacket before sending him off to the door. Roger side eyed

Jack before leaving.... like he knew Jack would follow.

"Roger!" Jack stormed towards Roger's Chevy, interrupting his packing of boxes into the backseat and trunk of the car. "I'm not going to hold it back anymore this time, you are too young to just run away from home like this! You'll be just fine here at home!"

"It's not personal, it's just my decision." Jack scoffed. "It's not personal, of course! Nothing is personal to you, you don't care at all about my feelings or concerns! You just whisk yourself away from everyone who did anything for you and act like it shouldn't mean anything when it does!"

"Well, it shouldn't mean that much for you to just almost try and sabotage my plans! You didn't even have enough respect to listen to what I had to say and tried to bury me beneath you just for some power trip!" Roger but his lip, curating his next words, "You must have known how that would've made me feel, for someone who claims to be so sensitive to the entire thing!"

"So is that where your power comes from? Running away from your problems?" Jack shot back, punctuating a smart aleck tone. He felt like a teenager, sifting back to his father who used the same nasty tone every time he needed that reassuring second wind.

"I'm am so sorry that you're so offended by your own kid's success! You-",

Roger slammed the trunk of his car down, "I was not put on this earth to be your safety net or guardian angel! I'm sorry that you had such a crappy childhood, I'm sorry your dad was an absolute jackass, I'm sorry that every time you look at me, it makes you crawl in your skin to see that I am my own person! I can make my own decisions and that I don't need you to be the man I want to be. I don't need you to see me as that, because I am just that, whether you want that or not! You expect me to sympathize with you when you: want me to not go to the store without you, not want me to drink too much coffee, not want me to go out of state to another city and live my life there, when really that's what it is! My life. My life! And you don't get to take that away from me because you decided to put your insecurities before your own child! No, it's not a dad thing, it's a Jack Chambers thing and it was a selfish thing to do! All my life, I had to put up with that, and maybe that's why I stayed as long as I did, because I wanted to observe if maybe there was some truth to that. But no. These were your choices and at the end, you did exactly what you wanted to do. And now you're going to have feel this one all the way through. I'm done, and this to me....is over."

Jack couldn't breathe. His lungs filled with salt and saline and he couldn't mush up any words. Roger had opened the flesh wounds of Jack and picked them out, piece by piece.

"Roger, I did that because that's what dads do! I love you enough to want you to be happy, can't you understand that?!"

Roger stopped mid track with his grasp on the car door handle. He took a deep breath, turned around and looked into his father's humid eyes. Eyes that were brimming with desperation, not even for himself but to just justify even a little of what Jack wanted it to be. "If that's what you feel, then that'll have to be your satisfaction. I have no interest, no patience.... nothing else to give to this mess. It will never be about me and you...... because it'll always start with you. And that's where it'll have to end as well. Goodbye dad."

Roger slammed the car door, pulled carefully out of the driveway and circled out of the cul-de-sac, leaving Jack to watch his car speed down every street, by pass every corner store they would adventure to, the park where Roger's imagination soared; swinging high against the crispy wind of summer. His limp body sliding through and down every slide, breaking through every swing and palming and curling every finger around the jaded rods of the jungle gym.

Five minutes had passed before Jack finally allowed his brain to slither in the thought of Roger being.... gone. He didn't exist in the house anymore. He lifted his rigid legs and tracked them back inside the house with a silence. Just a rapture quiet that covered him in every inch. Alice sat in the chair, hair a bit messy, eyes with slight puffiness and lip sucked into her mouth. Jack tiptoed up the stairs, turning every curve of each step, until finally reaching Roger's room.

He didn't exist, everything that resembled him was gone. Like he died, he just merely didn't exist in the Chambers household. The sole of Jack's loafers scratched the static of the carpet the more he walked through Roger's bedroom. His baby lived here, he slept here every night, he was tucked in, he was read to, diapered, fed, nursed, played with all in this bedroom. Jack did all those things for Roger; putting years and money and time and tons of patience and love into this human being who deserved every ounce of it. Roger became everything Jack hoped he'd be; a man with intense integrity and intelligence. Mature with the same charisma Jack attained at the same age.

But it was the pinching, ricocheting stabs of reality that avalanched inside Jack's gut. His vision radarscoped the room, his nostrils filling with a faint looming scent of Roger. Remembering how soft the mattress was when he sat down to tuck Roger in and read him a story, the curve of his desk that was stowed against the wall, neighboring the corner where his toy chest hid.

The mint green rocking chair with the softest blue checkered cushion made by Melonie. The memories the furniture held gripped Jack tightly in its grasp; unable to let go, forever chasing down the ghost of what was. Eyes becoming glossy and fuzzy. Jack sat down on the floor, ruminating the tips of his fingers over the carpet. Tears pecked his pants one by one, pockmarking his dress pants in damp spots

A humming quiet took over, sending Jack to curl himself in a hug and break down.

Finally break down.

Loud sobs and pitiful screeches of cries flooded through the room. Like a tantruming child, Jack gave way to loud sobs that wouldn't halt. Jack's mouth, open and wide even when trying to find the air in his lungs again. His once pasty face was one of a crying newborn; fiery red with pinched closed eyes and a loud round mouth. The hardest Jack had ever cried in his life; small and silent tears would trickle for pain and glee, but these were tears that couldn't be described. Bitter, somber pain full of despair, like Roger had crossed the rainbow, like he had simply ceased to ever exist and that he only lived through Jack's imagination or dreams. Jack sobbed so loud that once he stopped crying, the room had an echo of his sounds. Soothing himself with deep breaths, the color of his skin came back, but the ache pulsing in his heart like a agitated feverish gash still burned. Lifting himself up, taking himself out of Roger's bedroom and into the bathroom to rinse his damp puffy face.

Like a tiptoe on a tightrope, Jack held on to the railing to support him while he trickled lightly down the steps.

Tissues were placed directly in front of Jack's chair. Even though Alice was no where to be seen, a loving reminder of her presence still dinged. Jack stared at the tissues, turned around for a drink of scotch and then another of vodka. He wanted numbness, freedom from the last words of Roger, ringing like bells in the back of his brain. "It'll always start with you."

Jack squinted his eyes to hide from the words. He ran his hand through his hair before sighing and chugging down the last drops of vodka in his glass. Alice came through the doorway of the kitchen, bringing two mugs of tea in. She took the cup out of Jack's hand and set the mug into it instead. "You shouldn't drink now," her voice, soft and warm. Her eyes were filled with understanding and curiosity. Jack realized she still didn't know everything that was said outside in that driveway. "I can't help it... he hates me." "No he doesn't!" Alice exclaimed. "Roger loves you very much!"

"Then why'd he'd leave? Why did my children leave me? Why do I have so many problems that even my own son doesn't want anything to do with me?" Jack slammed his glass down, startling Alice. She just rubbed his shoulders. "Jack.... throughout this whole process- I've noticed there has been a pattern that you've had ever since Roger was a little boy." Jack raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?" "Well.... you know- and you're the only one who knows why you see Roger the way you do." Alice hit a nerve, a nerve Jack didn't want to become exsposed.

"No... no I don't Alice..." Alice met Jack's gaze, "Look me in the eyes and say that again...." Jack did, calling her bluff to assume. "Look Roger in the eyes and tell him what you see- tell him.... that to you, he's Roger Chambers, Jack. Not anything or anyone else.... just your son and only that." Jack's eyes became puffy. Tears spilled, dribbling down his cheeks. "I loved it. I loved being a father to those little kids. Roger, he was my special boy. My boy... my hope. I don't have as much as you think I do Alice." He choked.

"I needed Roger. I needed him, more than he ever needed me." And he was right. Jack needed Roger. Jack couldn't fill the void himself. Roger was his perfect redemption sent from heaven; everything Jack had about himself, was what Roger had as well. It was healing to him- seeing that little boy become a man that Jack made. Jack praised him, cuddled him, sheltered him from the pain that singed in Jack the hardest. The memories of his beatings, were Roger's memories of Jack's kisses. David's venomous temper, was Jack's crazy day of buying toy after toy for Roger. All of it- disguised as Dad to the children, but seen as baggage to Jack. But he could never admit it. He'll never admit his overacheivement as a father was nothing but pure traumatic pain and grief over what he would never have for himself. Being Dad, was being Jack. It made him be the person who he wanted to escape from his own father. But now it was the very thing that nearly destroyed Roger.

Alice looked at Jack, "Go to him." Like she could hear everything inside his brain. Jack snatched himself up, grabbed his car keys and sped out of the driveway not caring what he hit along the way. He couldn't lose this chance... he couldn't lose his son.

Roger's green car was parked neatly in the parking lot of the 'Four Seasons.' Jack peeled in and shot into the building like hell was breaking down from the ground. Somehow, he found Roger's room. Knocking on the door, Jack was there. Standing there with his heartbeat at a thousand. Roger opened the door, wanting to slam it back again. "Roger... I know after everything that happened- you're angry with me.... I get that. But, please let me talk to you."

"I don't know dad," "Please! I'll explain everything." Roger took a deep breath and let him in. Jack caught his breath. He took a deep breath and spoke.

"Me and your grandpa David didn't have a relationship- growing up," Jack swallowed back allowing tears to brim his eyes, "He was a very violent and cruel man. I don't like talking about him that much because it's so.... painful remembering. He would beat me, call me horrible names to humiliate me in public, he would throw things, scream, yell....I hated being at the house, I couldn't stand being anywhere near my family because of everything. I was head over heels when I finally moved out and I moved from New York to California- here. I don't go into details because it's very....traumatic when I do. Reliving those memories is something I would rather forget. But.....I will say....it really shaped how I wanted to parent you and your sister. The type of father I would want to be for you both." Jack looked to the side before shifting his attention back to Roger.

"I-I would especially put that into you...because you reminded me so much of myself at your age," Jack finally cried. "And it hurt to think about how badly misunderstood I would be and I could never love my father the way I was supposed to. Every child has a love for their parent; it's biologically wired that way, but I just couldn't. I still can't respect him for who he was that much and it..... and it just makes me so angry, because I knew I deserved better. You and Susan definitely did. So, I coddled that relationship, I wanted to be that father for you so much; it was all I thought about while your mother was pregnant, I planned, I timed it out.....I prayed. I prayed for a family, for a child..... just so I could give them what was inside me all along. Not these crumbs from my broken childhood, but a full plate of my future.

I'm sorry Roger. I spent so much time, investing my feelings into you, that I forgot about the most important thing of any relationship: growth. I just couldn't let you go.... maybe because I would be letting go of little me too. When you told me you were leaving, I was devastated. But I didn't want to say anything because I knew it was wrong." Jack licked his lips. Roger stared back, speechless, allowing everything to be smoldered into him for the sake of realization.

"To me, your this big piece. And this piece is connected to other big pieces, and they're all just in this little corner; this area where everything is finally settled into its place. But then, this piece starts shifting and breaking off bit by bit to where it's...... gone. I don't want it to disappear but, it still goes. And slowly but surely, all the other pieces break off and detach and now its non-existent. At least, that's how it feels. It hits you all of a sudden, and no matter what anyone tells you....it doesn't take away the pain. Because the pain resonates with who you are. And that's the piece that also crashes too."

Roger looked at his feet, repeating every echo of his father's words through him. "I'm not here to make you come home or stay or argue....I just wanted to be honest with you. You deserve to know and I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," Jack looked deep into Roger's eyes, examining every stripe of green in his irises, "you deserve to be happy. You go to Seattle and create your future, Roger.... and I'll support you no matter what." Roger looked into his father's teary eyes with his own. Branching out for a hug that Jack connected into felt like a weight being lifted from each of their shoulders. Rubbing the back of each other's hair, the father and son burst into tears of their own.

Later that evening, Roger boarded the plane with his suitcase giving one last goodbye look to his parents, to Susan, to Rod and Mick, Frank, Bunny and Dean, and even Mr. Gao. Waving goodbye as he stepped onto the plane. The group watched as Roger's plane took off to Seattle ringing a finality of what had now been gone. Tears dripped down Jack's tears. Not from sadness- well maybe a little, but from pride. Deep pride of who his son had now become. Roger wiped his set of tears before blinking them away as he envisioned his car being in the parking lot of the transportation center and his furniture at the layaway, ready to be brought to his new home.

Months went by without much from Roger. By now, University had begun and Roger had his head deep in his studies. The falls were different in Seattle: cooler weather, cooler nights and almost all the time, sweaters were a must and sweat jackets would only cover 48 degrees and up. But in San Diego, Jack was relaxed in his chair, sipping his usual morning coffee before a long day of work was ahead of him. "Jack, something came for you in the mail." Alice layed the letter beside Jack, not realizing who it was from: Roger. Ripping the letter open, Jack scanned carefully through it not wanting to miss a single word.

Dad,

From the bottom of my heart I want to forever thank for your companionship and immense love and trust. I know I may not have appreciated it in the past, but you never stopped showing your love and support even when I pushed you away at times. I love you very much and I couldn't imagine going through life with anyone else by my side. I know when I left it was on a sour note but I am writing this letter to apologize for every hurtful thing I said at such an emotional and difficult time. I could never throw you aside not even for any dream or achievement and I will always regret that I didn't consider your feelings about the entire experience at all. Maybe one day you and mom could come and visit Seattle and see the big city. I have experienced so many things so far and after hearing some of your college stories, some of them might be similar to mine. How funny! But I did want to write to you so you could know that I love you Dad with all ny heart and that your best father and partner in crime thst anyone could ask for. You have been not only an awesome dad, but my very first best friend. I'll always treasure those special memories we have together. I'll never take that for granted, the memories and our friendship.

Love,

Roger

Tears brimmed in Jack's eyes. It was everything he needed. He pocketed the note, keeping it close to him whenever he would walk into Roger's room and miss him hopelessly. And Roger knew that.

Roger sat in his cozy apartment, relaxing on his couch as he finished off the last of his piece for work. A smile scattered across his face. Looking around and feeling the quiet of his home was everything he could ask for and more.

And maybe, just maybe......

Jack knew that too.

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orion-nottson · 1 year ago

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I shamelessly believe in the Decepticon cause tbh. Like sure, their honors gotten dulled and replaced by Megatron's hunger for power. But you can not deny their cause. It started off with good intentions. Like all they wanted was to rebel against an unfair, overpowered council and have equal rights for their people.

Plus, it's clearly stated pre-war Cybertron was horrible and plagued with discrimination. I hate to be a Megatron apologist. But if I was a cybertronian in the great war? I'd choose the Decepticons too.

(Pretty sure I'd regret it later tho)

i do believe i've had this ask marinating long enough. (you taste scrumptios btw! 😋) so please enjoy this mini-essay. i've been thinking about it for. years. oh authoritarian fascist regime that is the decepticons, how intensely you've strayed from your original goal and manipulated your followers via appeals to social frustration and promises of identity... oh megatron, you never stood a chance did you? the power got to his head! 😃

...truly a you either die a hero or live long enough to become a villain the dark knight christopher nolan moment in the studio today...

So, the Decepticons are often framed as the unambiguously evil "bad guys", and the Autobot cause is unanimously righteous and just for standing up against them. The Great War is often labeled as a fight between good and evil, that there are two sides that are fundamentally and morally different.

I think this is a disingenuous characterization, and very essentialist too. It omits a lot of internal history and nuance that many TF series employ (maybe with the exception of classic G1, which was your average 1980s military propaganda cartoon for kids) when attempting to answer the questions: What happened for the war between the Decepticons and Autobots to start, and for it to become how it is? Why are they fighting?

A lot of TF series throw in this backstory that the Decepticons were essentially, at the beginning at least, revolutionaries. As you said, pre-war Cybertron was rife with discrimination— Cybertronian society was plagued with severe class determinism, manifesting in cultural elitism and the institution of slavery. Inequality and unfairness were givens. There was a strict, immutable caste system with very very little class mobility (if, really, at all).

In TFP, Megatron was a slave— He had no rights, was oppressed and controlled by the elite upper class, forced to perform manual labor in mines, and was not a recognized citizen. Later, he did "climb the social ladder" to become a gladiator, but he was still, ultimately, a member of the lower caste, a nothing. Gladiators are still just as expendable, replaceable, and morally worthless as a slave. His function simply switched from forced manual labor to forced violent entertainment, and in both roles Megatron was oppressed. It's then also implied in TFP that, at the start, many Decepticons came from similar backgrounds, being members of Cybertron's oppressed and marginalized.

So the movement starts with, admittedly, very good intentions; All Megatron wants is to be recognized as an equal, to be free, to have control over his own life. He values self-determination, autonomy, and freedom. Megatron wants others in his same position to be able to choose. He wants to exist in a society not at his expense, but because he is a valued member of it. A valued member, like Orion Pax.

Orion Pax does not come from this background. He is an archivist living a very comfortable life as a member of the socially sound, from Cybertron's capitol city no less, Iacon. He isn't wealthy or a noble, but he's genteel and of an acceptable function. Orion Pax is civilized. He's one of the good ones.

This is the foundation for all the reasons why Megatronus of Kaon and Orion Pax of Iacon would eventually split, leading warring factions, calling themselves by different names. Yes, they believed in each other enough to be dear friends and allies. Yes, they called each other brother.

No, they were never equals. Orion Pax didn't have much to lose; he had the safety net of a good upbringing, a good step on the societal ladder. Megatronus could lose everything. He tasted freedom and opportunity and decided he'd never go back as long as he lived. It would be like willful suffering, a misery of knowing everything he could never have.

It shouldn't come as a surprise, then, when the ideology shifts.

Megatron is consumed with jealousy when Orion Pax is chosen to be a Prime. Of course its the respectable and civil Iaconian clerk that the Council chooses to become a Prime, this position only attainable by those worthy of it, because the level-headed and moderate Orion Pax makes a better poster child than that brutish, angry extremist Megatronus. Orion Pax is the reasonable one, he's the better orator, better at appealing to the sensibilities of the upper class because he's a member of it.

Megatronus, to the system, is still just a gladiator, a slave. He just talks too much. Is too loud, too opinionated. Didn't conform to the status quo. Why should they reward disobedience? That would set bad precedent, you see. We don't want more people to question things, don't want them to ask for more than they deserve. We all have our place in the world, and Megatronus should've learned to stay in his.

"Be more like Orion Pax, Megatronus, he does things the right way."

This decision solidified two absolutes for Megatron:

One, that Cybertron's elite will stay the elite, and everyone below them will stay below them. The caste system can no longer be changed or dismantled or reformed— It is too powerful, too deeply engrained. It must be destroyed entirely.

And two, Orion Pax was never his friend. And Optimus Prime, who stands in his place, can never be his ally.

Optimus Prime is a mere extension of the Council's will. A pawn who will never seek to disobey it.

Megatron is betrayed on two fronts: Once by the false promises of his homeworld, and then by the person he thought was his best friend and dearest ally— His brother. He realizes he has to now rally his forces around the idea that true freedom, individual self-determination and self-actualization, will come only from the elimination of Cybertron's corrupt government. If it cannot be fixed, it must be reborn.

The Decepticon cause arises from the failures and disappointments of a skewed, unforgiving, impossible system. The cards were always stacked against Megatron and his people—

"Don't you see, fellow Decepticons? They have always kept you weak. Starving! Take what should be yours— What is yours!"

It's easy to see how 'bots in Megatron's position are drawn in. They feel the heavy hand of oppression too. They have wants, needs, and desires that won't be met by elites and nobles who care less than slag about them— Take Optimus Prime and his newly-formed Autobots for example: They want the Decepticon cause to fall back in line, to keep their heads down, to conform and stay quiet.

The Decepticons are galvanized by Megatron, their frustration and sorrow weaponized into action. Any true Decepticon would follow Megatron's lead— He is their hero, after all, and he is a hero that fights back.

It's time the Decepticons bite the hand. It's time they start making noise. It's time they take down the Council, the elites, the Autobots, and Optimus Prime— All who oppose their freedom.

See... it's easy to get drawn in.

It's harder to escape.

(So yeah. You'd regret it. It should've been a warning sign that you had to start calling him Lord. Isn't that what you were fighting against in the first place? Power corrupts, after all.)

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp #tfp megatron #megatron #tfp optimus prime #optimus prime #transformers discourse #anon ask #ask #ask answer #lil bit of fanon in here tbh #freedom fighter to fascie pipeline megatron type beat

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

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AITA for name dropping some of my friends’ connections?

i (20X) have multiple friends that have connections to pretty famous internet celebrities, creators, etc. i wouldn’t call them household names, because a lot of them are pretty contained to solely online presences, but definitely names most twitter/tumblr users would recognize. i won’t go into too much detail for privacy reasons, but essentially, i’m two degrees of separation from a LOT of popular internet creators.

this isn’t something i talk about often, if really at all. i’ll mention these people to my irl friends all the time, because they’re also my friends, but never about their connections (unless it’s relevant at the time). i met almost all of them naturally, some without even knowing about their connections, either having common interests, or being in the same discord, fanproject, etc. i didn’t befriend them in an attempt to get closer to whatever celebrity they know is what i’m trying to say. at least two of them even made said connection after we’d become acquaintances.

college recently started again, and me and my roommates were invited to a party hosted by some of the girls that live on our floor to get to know everyone better. we ended up playing two truths, one lie to break the ice and get more comfortable with each other. me and my roommates all have a bit of a flair for the dramatic, and stories to back it up, so when it got to their turns (all of them went before me), they went all out. for example, one of them brought up how her moms met david bowie or something because they happened to be bowling in the same alley and ended up talking and getting drinks together. i forget who it actually was, but still. very out there, absurd stories that sound unbelievable/fake, but very much happened.

this is where i may be the asshole. when it got to my turn, i ended up name-dropping some of my connections. i said something along the lines of “i have fairly close connections to x, y, and z.” writing it like that doesn’t have the same impact, but you get my point. everyone in the room knew who they were is the important part. the room guessed what the lie was wrong, and promptly began to ask how i knew the people i’d named. i explained i had a few internet friends that had/have worked closely with them, and that i either knew certain things the general public doesn’t, or that i’ve had the privilege of contributing to projects/suggesting ideas because of it. it’s important to mention that i didn’t lead with having insider knowledge/positions, because i know i’d be the asshole if i had. they asked, i answered as much as i could, which wasn’t much more than i stayed here. i didn’t say any specific projects or ideas for what i think are fairly obvious reasons. they hadn’t reacted very much to any of my roommates’ insane bullshit, so i hadn’t expected such a response and thought my truth was fairly tame in comparison, honestly. (another example: one of them has nearly drowned 7 times, with 5 of those times all happening on a tuesday. they’ve told me all 7 of those stories and i think they’re super interesting, a lot more than me just having connections to people i don’t even personally know.)

anyways. the conversation moved on, the same continued, all seems good. that was a week ago, for reference. i find out a few of the people there are in my classes, which is great! i get to talking to most of them, and they’re all as friendly as they were when we met, except for one, who i’ll call holly (not her real name). holly acts cordial when she has to (group discussion, that sort of stuff) but whenever i try to talk or interact with her outside of that, she outright ignores me. she fully walked past me once despite us not only making eye contact, but me waving and calling her name. i didn’t get why she was acting like that all of a sudden, because she didn’t have any problems with me during the party. i didn’t think i’d done anything to wrong her, but just in case, i reached out to one of her roommates to ask if holly had told them anything about it, or if they remembered me doing something to make her react that way that i just forgot or didn’t realize i’d done.

one of them got back to me today that holly had apparently gone on a tirade about how disgusting i was, how i was clearly just “using” my friends because of their connections, that i only used them for clout and popularity, etc. which, as i said, is FULLY not true. what bothers me most is that she reached that conclusion with absolutely no evidence other than one conversation, one that me and all my roommates were clearly using to highlight the more silly/out-there aspects of our lives. most of the time i spent explaining things consisted of me gushing over how cool and hard-working my friends are for having those opportunities and how much i look up to them. i don’t know if she wasn’t paying attention or thought i was lying or what, but now i’m worried i may have actually come off that way. like that maybe i actually WAS just using them in that instance, whether i intended to or not, and that i came off as super assholeish and manipulative. so, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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boysborntodie · 1 year ago

Text

Johnny/Cherry parallels

I had always noticed the parallels between Bob and Dally, both of them being direct foils to each other, but whilst analysing them, I noticed that two other characters were also set up as foils (whether intentionally or not), especially in regard to their relationships with both the aforementioned boys. I wanted to dive deeper into that.

1) Their relationship with Bob

Bob, despite being a major character with his death being the catalyst for the events of the novel, only appears in two scenes. Anything else about him we know is from accounts by Johnny, Cherry and Randy.

Through his relationship with Johnny, we see him at his worst; A cruel, violent and callous person who had hurt Johnny to such an extent that Ponyboy remarks that Johnny would kill if someone tried to hurt him like that again, long before he actually proved it. As the novel is from Ponyboy’s POV, and this is the side of Bob that he showed Greasers, we mostly trust Johnny’s accounts and the few glimpses of Bob we see.

However, Cherry (and Randy) tells us of a different side of him, one more positive and sympathetic. Cherry recognizes Bob’s faults, but she also knew him to be friendly, nice and someone worth looking up to.

This isn't much to remark on in itself, until you take Dally into consideration.

2) Their relationship with Dally

Dally is essentially Bob, but lower-class. Like Bob, he’s mean and violent (He had been arrested, he got drunk, he rode in rodeos, lied, cheated, stole, rolled drunks, jumped small kids--- he did everything), but because we see him in Ponyboy’s POV and his relationship with Johnny, we know first-hand of Dally’s capability of goodness and his better qualities, in a way we aren’t privy to Bob’s.

Cherry states that she’s scared of Dally, and, while a part of her is attracted to him, she sees him as a genuinely bad and terrible person, calling him dirty and considering him one of the worst Greasers she’s seen, with Dallas’s advances and forcefulness towards her, not helping his case. It’s one of the times in the novel, we see Dally acting as mean as we’re constantly told he is.

On the other hand, Dally is at his best with Johnny who gives him hope that goodness exists in a cruel world, and that a person who has suffered so much could still remain kind and soft. Johnny is the only person who’s able to stand up to Dally, with Dally actually listening to him, without a fight. It’s worth noting that Cherry also stands up to Dally, despite knowing what he’s capable of, something not many people do due to fear of him.

"Leave her alone, Dally." ("Huh?") "You heard me. Leave her alone.” // "Please leave us alone," she (Cherry) said. "Why don't you be nice and leave us alone?"

3) Their individual relationships with Dally and Bob

Johnny managed an admiring grin. "You sure didn't show (that you were scared). Nobody talks to Dally like that." // She (Cherry) smiled, "From what I saw, you do."

Edit: @veggiesforpresident pointed this out the other day to me.

Dally could never love Cherry. I would be surprised if Dally loved anything//Johnny was the one thing Dally loved

(Not to make it about Jally but SE Hinton is kinda setting herself up at this point)

Bob is to Cherry as Dally is to Johnny. Both of them recognize their faults and shortcomings, without being blinded by their biases towards them. But at the same time Johnny and Cherry describe these men who are so upfront about their cruelty and callousness, as capable of admirable qualities.

Johnny and Cherry are both great judges of character, have strong morals and are extremely observant, being able to see things others are blind to, so Ponyboy, while incredulous to both of their statements, having a strong dislike for the boys, is contemplative of it.

"Dally's okay," Johnny said defensively. "He's tough, but he's a cool old guy." // “You only knew his (Bob’s) bad side. He could be sweet sometimes, and friendly.”

"Yeah... in the manners bit, and the charm, too, I guess," Johnny said slowly, "but one night I saw Dally gettin' picked up by the fuzz, and he kept real cool and calm the whole time. They was gettin' him for breakin' out the windows in the school building, and it was Two-Bit who did that. And Dally knew it. But he just took the sentence without battin' an eye or even denyin' it. That's gallant." // “I know I'm too young to be in love and all that, but Bob was something special. He wasn't just any boy. He had something that made people follow him, something that marked him different, maybe a little better, than the crowd. Do you know what I mean?”

Another unrelated parallel is that, like Johnny stood up to Dally, Cherry can and will call out Bob if she thinks he crosses a line.

"Leave her alone, Dally." ("Huh?") "You heard me. Leave her alone.” // "Cherry looked mad. "A little (drunk)? You call reeling and passing out in the streets 'a little'? Bob, I told you, I'm never going out with you while you're drinking, and I mean it. Too many things could happen while you're drunk. It's me or the booze."

Cherry’s fear of Dally parallels Johnny’s fear of Bob. While it can be argued that Dally didn’t hurt Cherry like Bob did Johnny, he crosses her boundaries, speaks derogatory of her and verbally torments her (in the movie, he forcefully grabs her, so for once, movie!Dally is actually worse than book!Dally), to the point Johnny, who is known as non-confrontational, intervenes.

4) Their relationships with Ponyboy

Johnny and Cherry are special amongst the entire cast, for their mostly positive relationship with Ponyboy, the protagonist and narrator of the novel. Apart from Soda, they’re the only two people Ponyboy feels comfortable and able to be himself with.

"I know," I said. "Well," I said, thinking this over, "you ain't like any of the gang. I mean, I couldn't tell Two-Bit or Steve or even Darry about the sunrise and clouds and stuff. I couldn't even remember that poem around them. I mean, they just don't dig. Just you and Sodapop. And maybe Cherry Valance."

But Johnny and I understood each other without saying anything. Nobody but Soda could really get me talking. Till I met Cherry Valance.

They both appreciate and admire Ponyboy’s intellect, innocence and sensitivity, despite people usually thinking of such qualities as useless and signs of weakness and naivety. While others like Two-Bit and Darry also do, Cherry and Johnny are more upfront about it and think of them as Ponyboy's strengths.

“Stay gold, Ponyboy.”

‘When you're a kid everything's new, dawn. It's just when you get used to everything that it's day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That's gold. Keep that way, it's a good way to be.’

"You read a lot, don't you, Ponyboy?" Cherry asked. "-I'll bet you watch sunsets, too."

“You're a nice kid, Ponyboy. Do you realise how scarce nice kids are nowadays?”

Unrelated and I don’t have much to say on it, but these two scenes are fairly similar, with Ponyboy snapping at Cherry and Johnny respectively, after they say their thoughts which go against his current views whilst he’s emotional and upset, which end up changing further in the novel (Darry hating him/Bob being an irredeemable person).

“An' you can shut your trap, Johnny Cade, 'cause we all know you ain't wanted at home, either. And you can't blame them." // "I wouldn't want you to see him. You're a traitor to your own kind and not loyal to us. Do you think your spying for us makes up for the fact that you're sitting there in a Corvette while my brother drops out of school to get a job? Don't you ever feel sorry for us. Don't you ever try to give us handouts and then feel high and mighty about it."

5) Their roles and understanding of societal roles

Apart from Ponyboy, Johnny and Cherry are the characters who most despise the existence of the Greasers and Socs dynamic, the rampant classism in Tulsa which victimises both sides of the class division, especially children, and the societal roles forced upon them.

“I’ll kill myself or something (when talking about the Socs).” “It seems like there’s gotta be someplace without greasers or Socs” // “We’ve got troubles you (Ponyboy) haven’t even heard of. You want to know something? Things are rough all over.”

"Useless... Fighting's no good" // "I can't stand fights... I can't stand them"

Whilst most other people think of them as unfair, they also accept it as a part of life. Cherry and Johnny represent those who can’t just accept it, but also can’t do anything against the system or to save themselves from it and are destined to live and die as a byproduct of this system, rather than escaping it. After a life of abuse and trauma, Johnny dies before he is ready to, while Cherry still adheres to societal norms, and is forced to hide her true self, as shown as she ignores Ponyboy at school.

They’re also set as foils to Ponyboy who is an anomaly among Greasers and Socs, and, like them, understands that the class dynamics of Tulsa should not be considered as just a part of life, instead recognising how they hurt everyone, turn kids against each other and cause prejudices that blind them from seeing their humanity. But Ponyboy has the power to not only escape Tulsa and its classism someday but also to actually act against it, by writing the Outsiders.

#in conclusion that is why i think jally is canon no matter what se hinton says #/hj but also /srs #dallas winston #johnny cade #the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #se hinton #bob sheldon #cherry valance #dally winston #robert sheldon #sherri valance #jally #please don't flop please don't flop please don't flop

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rashoumon-homo · 1 year ago

Text

Request from @sluggodandpoet

I made it an AU (no powers, high school) so I hope that's okay! Basically Fyodor and Dazai are best friends in this, but besides that they're essentially the same.

-> 1.3k words

***

You are sinking.

The water pulls you deeper and deeper. Your limbs are starting to feel heavy. Deep in this body of water, time seems to slow to a crawl. There is nothing but the sensation of overwhelming weightlessness, pressing down around you on all sides.

You are sinking, you are sinking, you are-

Dazai sneezed.

He opened his eyes to see Fyodor narrowing his eyes in irritation, pen still poised above his notebook.

“Sorry,” Dazai said sheepishly. He sat up on the bed and started unclipping himself from the EKG machine. This just wasn’t going to happen today, it seemed.

“Were you even trying to slow down your heart rate?” Fyodor asked flatly. He set his notebook and pen down on the nightstand and helped Dazai unhook the wires.

“Yeah,” Dazai said defensively, “It’s harder than it looks, you know.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Maybe even impossible.”

“It’s not impossible. You just aren’t focusing.”

Of course he heard.

“Oh yeah? Then why hasn’t anyone been able to do it before?” Dazai asked. He started pulling the stickers off his chest, dropping them in Fyodor’s open palm as he went.

“People have been able to temporarily stop their hearts through artificial means before,” Fyodor corrected. “And it’s a well-known fact that we can increase and decrease our pulse through things like exercise, meditation, and strong emotional triggers. It’s not too far-fetched to believe that with training, one can have total control over their heartbeat.”

The EKG machine beeped to indicate it was going into sleep mode; the LED flatlines on the display panel dimming alongside Dazai’s mood. The whole room felt accusatory, from the charts pinned to the walls to the blood pressure cuff dangling from the rolling vitals machine. He wasn’t even sure how Fyodor managed to find all this medical equipment— sure, his family was rich, but his parents were astrophysicists, not medical doctors. When he’d asked Fyodor about it, he’d gotten the dismissive response of, “Don’t worry about it.”

It had been five months since the start of this experiment. Five months where the two of them would head straight to Fyodor’s place after school and begin the real learning. They called it “studying” but the types of experiments they’d conducted far surpassed any science project their high school had assigned.

From the first day of class, they’d gravitated towards each other and become fast friends. Genius instinctively recognizes genius, it seems. So Fyodor had expanded his list of people he tolerated from zero to one, and Dazai was able to drop his class clown act for the only person who he knew could handle his serious side.

“You’re holding back,” Fyodor observed. He dropped the handful of EKG stickers in the trash can by the bed. “Why?”

“I’m not! This is just so boring,” Dazai complained, dramatically pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “At least you’ll get some results when my heart stops from being bored to death.”

He was putting up his walls; masking something deeper with humor— and Fyodor saw right through it.

“Dazai.”

“Fedya,” he shot back playfully, ignoring the serious tone in Fyodor’s voice.

“What are you so scared of?”

Dazai lay back down, staring at the glow-in-the-dark star stickers he’d stuck to the ceiling ages ago (much to Fyodor’s irritation, but they’d stayed).

“No one has ever been able to control their heartbeat before,” he said finally. “It’s an involuntary action; something that ties all humans and animals together on a fundamental level. A lack of control that is shared by every species.”

Fyodor sat down on the edge of the bed next to Dazai’s legs, listening intently.

“If I succeed, it means I’m something else,” Dazai continued. His voice had gotten quieter, like he didn’t even want to hear his own words. “It would be undeniable proof I’m not human.”

Fyodor didn’t respond, just nudged Dazai aside to make room for them to lie side by side on the twin size bed. Flat on their backs, squished together to accommodate the cramped space, they watched the star stickers start to faintly glow in the nautical twilight.

Fyodor sighed quietly. “What a horrible thing it must be, to be human.”

Dazai smiled softly. It was as close as Fyodor would ever get to a comforting response, which was kind of endearing in its own way. It wasn’t the years they’d spent as best friends that made him understand Fyodor so well; they’d been so mentally in sync from the day they met that it was almost scary. He was the only one who’d ever been able to get Dazai. If it was somehow proven that Dazai was something inhuman, at least he had the reassurance that he wasn’t the only one like this. Whatever he was, Fyodor was too.

“Sometimes I think we’re soulmates,” Dazai admitted.

“Is that your way of finally making a move on me?” Fyodor asked with a smirk. He rolled to his side to face Dazai.

Dazai rolled to his side as well and grinned. “Finally? So you admit you’ve been wanting me to?”

It was a game they played; like reverse Gay Chicken. They would each try to make the other admit their crush without admitting their own in the process. It was ridiculous, and they both knew it. But that didn’t make it any less fun.

“Oh please,” Fyodor shot back, “I’m just glad you’re finally saying something instead of pathetically pining after me.”

“I haven’t been pining,” Dazai spluttered.

“You couldn’t stop staring at my lips all day.”

“You were licking them and tapping the end of your pen against them!” Dazai said incredulously. “You clearly wanted me to look!”

Fyodor held up his hands in faux-defense. “But you fantasized about kissing me by your own volition.”

Dazai just stared, his cheeks tinged pink.

“Am I wrong?” Fyodor prompted.

It took a lot to get Dazai to shut up on a good day, so his silence was a triumph in Fyodor’s book. He noticed Dazai’s gaze flick back down to his lips briefly.

“You’re doing it again,” Fyodor murmured. “If you want to kiss me so badly, I won’t stop you.”

Dazai reached his hand over and pressed his thumb lightly against Fyodor’s bottom lip. He slid his hand up his jaw and tucked his hair behind his ear, pulling him closer as he did.

It was impossible to say which of them moved first.

Next thing they knew, they were kissing, and it was electric. None of that first kiss clumsiness; they navigated each other’s movements with the same synchronization they experienced mentally. It was too much. It was not enough. It was the deep mental water Dazai sank in when he meditated, and it was the beeping of the EKG machine, and it was his heartbeat thumping all around them.

And something clicked.

When they broke apart, Dazai was blushing to the tips of his ears and Fyodor had a rare, truly happy smile on his face.

“Fedya, put your head on my chest,” Dazai said breathlessly. “I think… there’s something wrong with my heartbeat.”

Fyodor raised an eyebrow, but did as Dazai asked, pressing his ear to his chest to listen to the irregular beating. It was some kind of arrhythmia, but it had a familiar pattern to it… like Morse Code.

He mentally followed along with each letter as it was revealed.

Y-O-U L-O-S-E

Fyodor jerked his head back and glared at Dazai, who was smiling and sticking his tongue out.

“Oh, shut up.” Fyodor elbowed him, but smiled too. “I told you it was possible.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s ok if I sleep over tonight, right?”

“Fine,” Fyodor said, yawning. He wrapped his arms around Dazai and pulled him in, resting his forehead against his shoulder. He sensed Dazai opening his mouth to tease him, so he quickly said, “If you say anything, you’re sleeping on the floor like usual.”

For once, Dazai made the smart choice and shut his mouth. Instead, he relaxed into Fyodor’s hold and fell asleep to the rhythm of their heartbeats.

Back to Masterlist

#rashoumon writes #bsd #bungou stray dogs #fyozai #fyozai fic #bsd fic

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wiseabsol · 3 months ago

Note

So going into Arcane what were you expecting and what were your thoughts as you were watching it?

Since it's nearly time for season two, I should probably get around to answering this!

So I'd seen a few gifsets of Vi and Caitlyn and their gay relationship; a couple of Mel, her mother, and the girl from the old regime; and one glimpse of the BDSM Yordle. I knew that the animation and music were jaw-dropping and being compared to Into the Spiderverse. I knew that it was based on the League of Legends franchise, which was a title I recognized, but knew nothing about. And I had a sense that this was a series I was going to enthusiastically binge, both because of the above relationship, and because the people I saw reblogging gifsets for it have excellent taste.

None of this prepared me for the actual experience of watching Arcane. We get that first scene of the massacre on the bridge, where the police are gunning down people who are, essentially, poor civilians who are fighting against the upper class that is oppressing them - an upper class that doesn't even notice what just happened. The show hammers that point home across season one: the upper class citizens of Piltover either have no idea how the people of the Undercity are suffering, or if they do know, they largely do not care. Why would they? They're the ones benefiting from exploitative labor practices and the lopsided distribution of wealth.

One of the most refreshing turns late in the series, for me, was the Council realizing how badly they'd failed the most vulnerable of their people, and deciding that they had no right to rule over them as a result. Recognizing the Nation of Zaun as independent and giving them access to huge economic advantages was, in a sense, an act of reparation. In a different, softer show, there would have instead been a montage of the rich realizing the errors of their ways and sharing their goods with the poor, and bringing children up "out of the slums." And it would have felt saccharine and insincere as a result, because that isn't how class conflict is resolved in the real world.

In a way, the show also suggests that Vander was wrong to give up his fight. While his reasons made perfect sense - he'd watched too many of his people die for seemingly nothing - his complacency and his compromises also meant that nothing would change for his community and children. It was only when Enforcers started dying that Piltover sat up and started paying attention, because finally, this fight was effecting them. Most stories would insist that violence - that war - won't solve anything. Arcane points out that this isn't true - that sometimes violence is necessary to enact change - while not flinching away from showing the pain, trauma, and loss that also results from it. The moment where Vander asks Vi if she's willing to lose her siblings for her war is a poignant one. It's true. She should consider what she will lose if she goes to war. At the same time, in a world as dark as hers, there is every chance she would lose them anyway.

Heimerdinger was also shown to be wrong at several points. Magic in itself isn't dangerous - the Hexgates and the working class tools the boys invent shows that. Magic only becomes dangerous when people decide to turn it into a weapon - and would they have felt the need to do that, had circumstances in Piltover not been so bad? The Council, led by Heimerdinger, could have addressed the class division decades, if not centuries sooner. If they'd done that, tensions would have never ignited. But instead they were complacent in the face of suffering and then were surprised when that backfired on them.

The show doesn't try to paint the Enforcers as a force for good in the city, either. The closest it ever gets to that are with Grayson and Caitlyn, who are then betrayed by members of their own unit for their trouble (which happens in our society, too - those who go into the police force hoping to change it from the inside never manage to). We're shown how this society is failing on an institutional level, in ways that reflect the failings of our own.

Other highlights for me included, of course, the animation and the music. The animation was vibrant, creative, and had a real sense of weight in the fight scenes. I winced at points from how heavy the hits felt! The songs made for the show were also entrancing, pumping us up and breaking our hearts at different turns. "What Could Have Been" by Sting is engraved into my soul now, being in my top five favorite songs of all time.

Then of course there are the characters and their relationships. Vi and Jinx's relationship is devastating, especially during that final confrontation (which was the tensest scene I've watched in years - the jump scare with the platter got me!). Silco and Jinx's father-daughter bond similarly hurt me, especially when Silco came to understand Vander's perspective as a result. Vi and Caitlyn's relationship, in contrast, was so soft, sincere, and obviously queer that I was taken aback by it, but in a good way. I thought the writers were just teasing their audience, but no, it was clear that those two were falling in love and Jinx felt threatened by it. Mel's relationship with her mother also hit me hard, and the whole Mel, Jayce, and Viktor triangle was fascinating to watch play out.

I loved Mel's political focus, Jayce being the world's geekiest himbo, and Viktor pointing out, consistently, the hypocrisy of the people he's working with. I loved Vi's devotion to her sister and Caitlyn's determination to do the right thing, even though it meant breaking the law. And Jinx - god, she wrecked my heart with her insecurity and instability. Her line, "I thought maybe you could love me like you used to" gutted me. Every single character is driven by understandable personal desires, with many of them striving to make their world a better place. Unfortunately, since no one can agree on what that world looks like, a tragedy unfolds instead. They get so close to achieving peace...only for it to be snatched away. I literally screamed at my television screen as those last seconds played out.

Arcane season one is genuinely one of the best written stories and tragedies that I've ever experienced. I am both excited for and petrified at the thought of what season two - the last season for these characters - will bring. If it's even half as good as season one, it will be a treasure I'll happily watch over and over again.

Now if you excuse me, I need to start a rewatch in preparation for November!

#Arcane: League of Legends #Ask Response #A very late ask response #I'm so sorry #In my defense Tumblr ate the first draft of this

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fatehbaz · 2 years ago

Text

When Sarah Norris joined a “community art build,” a protest that invited community members to work on art projects in a public park in December 2021, she had no idea she would soon face felony charges stemming from her action. Norris was part of a mutual aid group called the Asheville Survival Program, which supported a houseless community that regularly converged in Aston Park, a centerpiece of downtown Asheville, North Carolina. Like many American cities, Asheville faces skyrocketing housing costs, which is why local activists began supporting the encampments of those pushed out of indoor housing by rising rents. [...]

“Mutual aid is showing up for each other from a stance that we all deserve care, that we all have the same inherent dignity, that there is space for all of us,” says Norris, who explains that her collective provides weekly deliveries of food and camping gear to the people in the park. The encampments faced daily sweeps, where police clear the people out of the park [...].

In December 2021, activists from Asheville Survival Program and others in the city organized a multiday protest in the park demanding the city provide a sanctioned location for unhoused folks to camp, and include sanitation services. Then, police descended, arresting activists and journalists alike. From December through April 2022, a total of 16 people were arrested on warrants for their work in the park, facing charges like “felony littering” and “conspiracy to commit felony littering,” and local politicians, as text messages obtained by The Asheville Free Press showed, cheered on the arrests.

While the Asheville defendants may face uniquely severe consequences for their efforts, their experience is not uncommon, as police increase attention on groups supporting communities that lack resources. [...]

---

As cities experience a deepening housing crisis, mutual aid projects have become essential for supporting houseless encampments, refugee communities, and others who are met not only with neglect from government and social service organizations, but also harassment from and criminalization of their activities by law enforcement. “The state recognizes the power of people who are networked, capable, and ready to take action,” says Kelly Hayes, a Chicago-based mutual aid organizer and co-author of an upcoming book on the subject [...]. “When such people are more invested in each other’s well-being than the edicts of the ruling class, they can quickly become a threat to the order of things.”

---

The repression these groups report is often tied directly to the communities they support. This is how the police zeroed in on South Bay Mutual Aid and Care Club in Los Angeles, which has been supporting a houseless encampment for the past two years by coordinating various resources, such as food distribution; providing harm-reduction tools, such as clean injection kits; and providing intermediaries to support those seeking public assistance. Los Angeles’ unhoused population is only growing as the city becomes unrealistically expensive, and with the 2028 Olympics looming, the city has been cracking down on encampments, sweeping the encampment dozens of times and as often as once a week. South Bay Mutual Aid’s goal is to support one particular encampment of about 70 residents near the Port of Los Angeles, coordinating with a network of similar groups across the city and country to share resources. This has, subsequently, allowed the community in this encampment to stabilize, rather than to dissipate whenever a police sweep disrupted their living arrangements. This allows those living there to stay connected to each other [...].

This gets to the heart of what mutual aid organizer and scholar Sean Parson says is the driving force in the repression [...]. He added that escalation in the targeting of mutual aid groups almost always comes alongside efforts to “sanitize” a city for commercial interests. [...]

The answer to repression, Parson says, is more mutual aid, not less [...]. “Build alliances with other homeless support groups if you can,” says Parson.

---

Text by: Shane Burley. “Where Mutual Aid Comes to Its Own Assistance.” Yes! Magazine. 20 March 2023. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

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liz-allyn · 2 years ago

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sugar and vice, pt. 23 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!oc]

summary: in the beginning, there was darkness...

words: 5.1k

chapter warning: gratuitously deep philosophical nonsense.

series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, hurt/comfort. smut. Spicy situations. spousal / domestic abuse. family trauma. verbal abuse. PTSD, psychotic breaks/episodes, drug use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. possessive!peter, protective!peter. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self-talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships. having happiness ripped away from you.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you think that this symbol

is the logo of some off-shoot programming block on Nickelodeon, then you're wrong. But are you? Regardless, live a little and come back later.

Part 23

Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick...

Peter thought of the elements.

Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick...

The Greats. Earth. Wind. Water. Fire. Space. Born out of Hinduism’s sacred literature. Also, Captain Planet’s sidekicks.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

The Chemical Elements. Only 118 of them have even been discovered. Only 95 of those are primordial, whereas the rest are man-made.

His dad used to talk for hours about this stuff.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

The interrogation room he was in was dark, despite the flickering fluorescent bulbs. The buzz of the lights sounded like a buzzsaw. The air was cold, too. The thin NYPD-branded, crew neck tee that Peter had been given to wear didn’t help much.

Tick... Tick... Tick

The lights flickered again, this time with a greenish hue.

Argon. Symbol: Ar. Number 18. A noble gas. Mercury. Hg, number 80. Also known as quicksilver. Highly toxic. Phosphorous. Number 15.

In his class, he was Number 2.

Atoms aren’t even as old as people assume. After the Big Bang, the universe was still nothingness—white, hot light that scorched everything out of existence. The heat was uninhabitable. Hydrogen didn’t make its appearance until roughly 370,000 years later.

370,000 years of hot, blinding nothingness.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

Hour after hour, they came at him like waves of radioactive light.

First, there were two detectives—both a bit too junior to be assigned to such a high-profile case, but Peter figured that they didn’t know that. A reserved Eagle Scout named Sousa and a snarky blonde female named Carter.

Or just ‘Sharon,’ as her boss Alexander Pierce referred to her, to her thinly-veiled ire.

The Commissioner waltzed into the room mid-interrogation and essentially asked his naive detectives to go back to coloring while the adults talked. Both detectives walked out of the interrogation room with a scowl on their faces.

They probably didn’t know it, but Pierce wasn’t concerned about their abilities as detectives, or the integrity of the case. All he needed was to get Peter behind bars, where crooked guards and violent inmates could take over. Where he could give Peter the same welcome that Miguel had.

They probably didn’t know it, but Peter could tell by the scent of Pierce’s cologne: a $1,200 bottle of Bond 9 Dubai that not even New York’s police commissioner could afford.

Peter recognized the scent. It was Wilson Fisk’s favorite gift to give his friends.

They probably didn’t know it, but Peter did.

Pierce had no intention of letting him make it to trial.

Peter was disconnected. Drained. Eventually, even Matt’s voice became static which blended into the tone of the room, and droned beneath the ticking of the clock and the god-awful buzz of the lights.

“—he’s in’a world’a trouble...”

“... absolutely no evidence —not even formal charges have been presented...”

It might not have been productive, but Peter allowed himself to tune out. Matt was a good lawyer.

“—lucky we’re not pressing charges against the department after Captain Stacy’s unwarranted attack on my client, whom he’s been stalking for years—”

Oh man, that’ll piss George off when it gets back to him. A very good lawyer.

Despite his earlier act, he still felt a great amount of sorrow for George Stacy. Not exactly sympathy... and not quite guilt. Just sorrow.

Looking into his eyes was like looking down into a sinkhole. Or passing a destroyed car on the highway. Unidentifiable. Cold. Hollow. Empty. Somehow the emptiness in Gwen’s father always triggered an empty feeling in him. It was a secret weapon that George had over Peter that his estranged father-in-law didn’t even know he had.

On the outside, Peter could wear a mask that projected cockiness and make lewd comments about the man’s wife. On the inside, George could eviscerate Peter with a look.

370,000 years of nothingness. Nothing but white, hot rage.

Peter tuned back in for a moment when Pierce said the name Walker. He hadn’t even heard the question fully and already his blood was boiling. He wished that he was guilty of that bastard’s murder. He wished that he had killed him. He tried to focus on something that Felicia said months back which resonated with him: about how Honey needed a chance to stand up for herself.

Maybe Felicia was right. Maybe it was just a terrible thing that needed to be done, and Honey was the one that needed to do it.

Honey wasn’t Gwen.

The history she shared with that dead asshole was a far cry from the tragic turn of events that led Gwen to shove a man off the ledge of a clock tower.

Honey wasn’t Gwen.

The look of heartbreak in her eyes. He’d never forget it.

George looked at Peter that way once, too—after a closed-casket funeral when he laid his daughter in the dirt.

They looked the way Peter felt all the time. Devastation. Ruin.

How could Peter possibly be capable of such cruelty? The world was full of monsters. Sometimes Peter was one of them.

Honey wasn’t Gwen.

In the beginning, there was darkness. Then, there was an explosion. Then there was an inferno that burned so hot, even the basic building blocks of the universe could not begin to form.

Honey wasn’t Gwen; she was Peter’s universe. The stars in his sky. She was a vast, endless expanse that surrounded him. That held him in an ever-growing, outwardly-expanding gravitational orbit. She was everything, and outside of that, there was nothing.

And every second in that room he felt himself getting further away from her.

Peter’s bones hurt. His back was in so much pain it was difficult to sit still. On top of that, he was weary. He was traumatized. He was grieving the loss of his security, his home. Grieving Eddie.

Despite that, Peter could toss the table like a Coke can. He could punch a hole in the wall and stroll out if he wanted to. Or crawl across the ceiling, to Pierce’s astonishment and horror.

Pierce was staring at him again. This time, there was a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

Even if Peter did escape, he had too much to lose. Peter knew it. Pierce did, too.

In all the ways that mattered, he was trapped in his own web.

After several more minutes (or hours, maybe) of grandstanding on both sides, the door to the interrogation room swung open. A stocky figure silhouetted the doorway. Intense features, sharp lines in his jaw, brow, and aquiline nose, as much shadow spilling over him as there was light.

The temperature of the room shifted. Matt and Pierce stopped talking. Peter froze, lifting his chin as he met the dark glare of Manhattan’s district attorney.

“Frank,” Pierce said with a tinge of discomfort. “I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us so soon.”

Matt’s voice warmed but maintained a snarky edge. “Ah, is that the Honorable Francis Castiglione?” he bitingly beamed.

Despite the smile on Murdock’s face, Peter could hear the pace of his lawyer’s heart pick up. Which... wasn’t a great sign. Even Pierce started to sweat.

“Mr. Murdock,” New York’s toughest DA replied without batting an eye. Unswayed. Uncompromising. Undefeated. He held a stone, straight-laced expression. Even beneath a conservative black suit and tie, he was one of the most intimidating men Peter had ever laid eyes on. He was at least a solid 170 pounds, Peter supposed, of solid muscle and righteous fervor.

“Just having a little fun, Mr. Castle,” Matt charmed with obnoxious flair. “How could I forget your name with all of the posters still hanging around? ‘Stand Your Ground.’ Great campaign slogan, by the way. Especially for a pacifist who managed to ban every firearm in the five boroughs. Although, I’m certain you won’t be getting any gift baskets from the gun lobby—”

“I wanna speak with your client alone.” Frank’s deep voice rolled through the room like the first tremors of an impending avalanche. The other men stared back, blinking silently.

Matt’s sunny disposition dimmed as his jaw tightened. Pierce’s hackles were raised, although he tried to suppress it. Wordlessly, they blinked and flinched and tried to wrap their heads around the request.

A humorless laugh left Matt’s lips. “Yeah. That’s not gonna happen—”

“That’s fine,” Peter answered. He and his lawyer spoke simultaneously, their voices crossing each other in converse directions.

Matt turned his head towards Peter’s side of the room, his whole body going stiff. The flesh behind his light stubble turned pale. “Um,” Matt subtly cleared his throat while his heartbeat hurled alarmed profanities at Peter. “Uh, that is... not advisable.”

“S’okay, Matt,” Peter calmly replied, keeping his eyes locked on Frank. He could hear the sounds of his lawyer’s brain overheating while trying to reboot. Pierce pinched his lips in an anxious pout, avoiding looking directly at the district attorney.

Matt gripped the head of his cane tight enough to nearly break it. “Uh... Um. Oh-okay.” Awkwardly, Matt pushed his chair back as he came to a stand, shuffling to his feet.

Leaning back into the chair rest, Pierce visibly relaxed until Frank sternly added, “You too, Commissioner.”

The irritation in Pierce’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed. Shoulders tensed, teeth gritted, the man stood from his chair. He mirrored Matt as he sidestepped from the table and towards the exit.

Matt lingered for a moment at Peter’s side while his nails anxiously scored the cane. Peter noted the pinched expression behind Matt’s ruby-colored glasses.

“It’s okay,” Peter murmured under his breath, repeating an earlier sentiment that Murdock was skeptical to believe. And with that, Matt was powerless. Hesitantly, he gave them a parting nod, and followed Pierce out of the room.

The metal door echoed as it slammed shut, leaving the two of them alone in the cell.

Peter threaded his fingers together, the metal in his chains clinking, and leaned back as far as his restraints would let him. Thighs spread and chin tilted off axis, he fixed Frank with an unimpressed glare as a smirk played on his lips.

The prosecutor shifted like a monolith unearthing itself. Frank measured the cocky, sharp-tongued mafia ringleader with eyes colder than steel as he strode to the table. He pulled out a chair across from the prisoner and lowered himself down into it.

The two of them sat quietly for a moment on opposite sides of the room. But it was their positions on opposite sides of the law that created friction.

Frank was at least a decade older than Peter, but Peter seemed even more juvenile by comparison. The mob boss looked and acted like a young prince, leaned back in his seat with a smug face. Alternatively, Frank glowered down at him with the authoritative scrutiny of judge, jury, and executioner.

“Hot daaamn,” Peter said, mouth curved into a smile. “You put on some weight since I last saw ya, bub.” Waggling his eyebrows, his eyes flicked over the other man’s form. “You been workin’ out? Crossfit, maybe?” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Forget bein’ the scourge of New York’s underworld— Bro, you must be killin’ it in the gym.”

Unfazed, Frank disregarded the remarks without a single blink. His dark eyes bored into Peter, and he remained more than comfortable with the uncomfortable silence that followed.

Peter glared at him with darkening eyes, balling his fists against the table. “Is it safe to assume the cameras are off at this point?” Animosity sharpened his voice to a razor’s edge. “I mean, that’s the only way you’d ever allow yourself to be seen fraternizing with a criminal like me, right?”

The temperature of the room pitched downwards even further. Icy waves surged off of Peter. Frank was a stone wall, letting each wave crash over him and fall back into the surf.

“I’m not the one who put you in those cuffs, Peter,” Frank answered, nonconfrontational. “I’m not the bad guy here. And I never wanted to be your enemy.” He kept his voice soft and respectful, wisdom shining from his eyes. “You and I—we’re not so different. We’re not monsters; we’re men. We’re bound by the law. Both of us, judged by the law.”

The smile faded from Peter’s lips. “Well," he glowered, bitter frost in his bite, "aren’t you a modern-day Moses on the Mountain.” His words were punctuated with ire as he scrutinized him with disdain. “Y’know, they told me ya caught religion, but I didn’t realize what a holy roller you were. When we’re done here, I’ll give ya Matt’s number. Give ya tons to talk about. Bet'chu two would be a hoot at parties.”

Peter sneered at him a moment longer, then let out a bored, depreciating sigh. “M’not much of a Bible thumper, myself,” he half-shrugged. “Only verses I know by heart are Ezekiel 25:17... and, uh... whatever that bullshit was in Shawshank.”

Frank glanced down, deep in thought. “‘His Judgment Cometh and That Right Soon’,’' he said, recalling the prop he referenced. It was a tapestry embroidered with the Bible verse hanging in the corrupt Warden’s office—a MacGuffin in the film’s plot.

“That's not a real verse,” Castle noted, matter-of-factly. “You’re probably thinkin’ of Psalm 98:9—’Let them sing Before the Lord; for he cometh to judge the earth: With righteousness shall he judge the world and all of its people equally.’”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Well.” The word tasted bitter on his tongue as resentment spread through his chest like a tumor. “I’m Jewish. And even then, I never drank the Kool-Aid. S’not really my thing.”

He waited, expecting Frank to take offense. To Peter’s dismay, he remained as peaceful as a lake on a windless day.

“I get that,” the older man mused somberly. Contemplative, he looked up at Peter with sympathy coloring his face. “If what happened to you, happened to me,” he said, “I don’t know if I’d like who I’d become either.”

As he said it, his gentle eyes settled in on Peter with a knowing expression. Pity. It made Peter's teeth grind and his temper burn. It took all of his self-restraint not to break out of his chains and (re)break the prosecutor’s nose. Indignation writhed inside of his chest, souring his face and his stomach.

“Heard you were gunnin’ f’me real hard, too,” Peter muttered bitterly, tossing words like daggers. “Really put the heat on me— M'actually flattered.” Salaciously, he flashed his canines with a wink. “But ya didn’t hafta go to all that trouble, Frank. If y'wanted to get me alone in a dark room, y'coulda just hit me up on Grindr.”

“Are you done?” he replied witheringly.

“Oh, c’mon,” Peter taunted, equal parts threatening and scandalous. “I mean—they don’t call ya ‘The Punisher’ for nothin’, right? Well, go on. Punish me, Daddy. Why doncha just bend me over your knee?”

Frank’s eyes flicked to the black, mirrored glass window, shaking his head in frustration. “Always a comedian,” Castle huffed, annoyed. “Between you and Wade Wilson, it’s like watchin’ a hundred-car pile-up of clown cars. Can’t even be just a little real, not even for a second—”

“That’s not true,” he pouted. “My tits are real...”

Fed up, Castle shook his head and grumbled, “Y’think everything's is a joke! Can you at least pretend like you give a shit about any of this—?”

Peter’s temper flared suddenly, hitting a flashpoint that boiled the humor out of their rapport. “Y’know what I think?” he snapped back, eyes dark with rage. “I think you’re a God-damn hypocrite! That’s what I think! You and this whole corrupt, bullshit organization. That’s the joke.”

Frank shook his head, grinding his teeth. “There you go. Always a martyr.”

“Again, with the religious talk?” Peter rolled his eyes into the back of his head while letting out a dramatic sigh. “Look, ‘m’not interested in joining your little MLM cult-club, alright?”

“‘Mob Boss,’ my ass,” Frank scoffed. “Ya act like a fuckin’ child! Always whining about being the victim! Like you’re the only one in this city who's ever lost somethin’! Arrogant prick, I did three tours in Iraq while you were doodling in your diary! I was washing the blood of my brothers off my uniform while you were crying into your pillow at night! People die! Thousands of ‘em, every day! All tragedies, all the time, yet— somehow—yours is special!”

Frank’s voice boomed off the concrete walls, patience shattered. “You wanna talk about hypocrisy?” Castle said sharply. “Punishment?! How about three weeks ago in Forest Hills? Right in your backyard. Cops got a call about a domestic dispute. When they got there, the perp somehow ended up with a bullet hole in the back of his head, even though no one in the house owned a gun. You know anything about that?”

Peter straightened his lips into a thin line, lifting his chin. “Sounds like the dispute was resolved.”

“How about that hedge fund manager that committed suicide last spring?” Frank said, skewering him with his gaze. “The one that decided to swallow a container full of gasoline and light up a cigarette before jumpin’ off a roof on Park Avenue?”

“Tragic,” Peter replied, deadpan. “I read about it in the news. Guess the shame of stealing $8 million dollars of pension money from a firefighters union must’ve really burned him up inside.”

Agitated, Frank scowled with his eyes narrowed into slits. “How ‘bout in Brooklyn last fall? How do three seasoned drug pushers end up OD’ing on half their own supply of Fentanyl?”

Peter remained expressionless. “Dunno, Frank. Guess the Lord works in mysterious ways." The attorney huffed with nostrils flaring. By contrast, Peter idly see-sawed his head. "Rather poetic," he said, "as far as justice goes.”

“That’s what I call ‘punishment,’ Parker. Not justice! Vengeance! Plain. Simple. And cold-blooded.”

Peter sat up, leaning forward as his colorless eyes flashed with rage. “Before you accuse me of anything else you can’t prove—especially the messes that New York’s Finest shoulda handled—how ‘bout you explain to me how two innocent women were butchered and burned to death in Midtown and not a single arrest has been made?”

Frank turned silent.

“How ‘bout the dozens of immigrant families who’re bein’ forced against their will to launder the Mayor’s drug money so he can spend it on campaign ads?”

The other man’s jaw clenched while Peter continued his attack. “Let’s keep goin’ shall we?” he hissed. “Tell me how a Russian oligarch and his buddies park a yacht in the harbor—filled with stolen girls—children, practically—and somehow just... get away?” Veins protruded from his neck as anger rippled through his chest.

“Got any answers for me, Counselor?” Peter spat harshly, jabbing his index finger at Castle as far as he could while in handcuffs. “Wanna phone a friend? How ‘bout you call your boss, yeah? Why don’t you ask Wilson Fisk? Ask yourself! If you’re such a holy man, then how can you work for the Devil?! How can you even sleep at night, huh?I”

Outwardly, Frank was stoic with nothing but a crease between his brows to telegraph his thoughts. Inwardly, Peter could hear the attorney’s heart rate drumming up as Peter relentlessly dressed him down. Castle’s jaw was locked tight, holding his breath.

“And tell me one more thing,” Peter added, eyes flashing with rage. “How many times do you think about what woulda happened if I hadn’t been in the Park that night?” He blurted out the statement with a livid snarl and a dry throat. “What if I hadn’t intervened in the Blacksmith deal? What woulda happened if I hadn’t gotten your wife and kids outta there before the guns started goin’ off? You ever think about that!?”

Peter’s voice buckled on the last word. Memories of the violent night in Central Park five years ago flooded them both, bringing a tidal wave of conflicting emotion that swallowed him up.

It was Peter that covertly led the FBI to a plan to eliminate several gangs (and Peter’s enemies) at once. Practically a gift from the gods, it seemed, to take out all of Peter’s competition in one swoop.

Once it was clear to the young mob boss that the FBI cared more about making headlines than making sure the park was clear of innocent people, Peter chose to intervene. In the end, it was a disaster anyway.

When the other gangs realized they were being set up, a shootout erupted. Lives were lost. Peter saved as many people as he could, including Frank Castle and his family. For everyone else, it was still a tragedy.

Gwen included.

It was the first and last time the two men had met. And subsequently, a night that neither of them ever talked about.

Until now.

Peter’s eyes glazed over, tortured by the consequences of his choices. A tidal wave of conflicting emotions swallowed him up as his mind flooded with horrible thoughts. Betrayal, and resentment, and bitter, evil, disgusting jealousy that Peter could save Frank’s family but not his own.

Peter looked contemplative, then. Haunted. He fixed his weary eyes on Frank, continuing to unravel.

“And I’m gonna level with ya, pal,” Peter said in an unnervingly soft tone of voice. “Fuck. You. If you think that you and I are the same. You and I are not the same. Never will be.” Heartache pierced his throat, compressing his voice. He jerked his thumb toward himself. “Because somebody saved you.”

Tears glistened as Peter breathed hotly through flared nostrils. “Fuck your judgment!” he growled. “Because if what happened to my family happened to your family—ya wouldn't last a goddamn day! You’d be a nut job! You'd be beggin' for a bullet in ya head, rather than see what I’ve seen!”

Fury vibrated through the younger man’s being, indignation piercing each sentence. “I don’t give a shit what nickname they call you,” Peter seethed, “in the media... in the Marines... not even in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade! When it’s your family filled with bullet holes—believe me— that shit hits different.”

Peter’s eyes were wild—black with anger, wet with tears. “‘You wouldn't like who you'd become either?’” he repeated, muttering spitefully. “Fuck you!" Peter’s voice echoed, bouncing off the walls and reverberating in Frank’s chest.

He took a measured breath. His throat bobbed, cords pulled tight. "I may not be a religious man," Peter added as his chest heaved, "but I pray you never have to find out.” His volume abruptly dropped, adding a foreboding sentiment to the words. Like whispering a dark secret. A warning.

Blinding, white hot rage obliterating everything in its path. Scouring any sign of life before its existence.

Castle sat stoically with his arms crossed. Breathless from his outburst, Peter slowly retracted himself back into his seat. Frank studied him with a contemplative gaze and a tight-lipped mouth.

Until he broke his silence. “Every night.”

It was barely a whisper. Peter blinked at him with a crooked brow while the other man held Peter in his gaze.

“Every single night,” Frank answered, a little louder, “I think about what would’ve happened to my family if you hadn’t been there.”

Peter pressed his lips together, jaw flexing stiffly. Mist gathered on his lashes. He drew a shaky breath, lip trembling. To keep his eyes from betraying him further, he hardened his brow.

“You’re a hero, Peter,” Castle said simply. It was just a fact. “And a good man.”

Peter averted his gaze, casting it down while he swallowed a thick lump in his throat.

“You have the power to do good,” he said. “So much more than you realize.” Frank’s eyes swelled with something like reverence and admiration for his antithetical counterpart. “And yeah,” he noted matter-of-factly, “I do pray." He watched him placidly and empathetic. "And when I do, I pray that one day, other people will see you for the man you really are. And maybe... just maybe—you'll see it, too.”

Shooting pain in his fingers alerted Peter to the fact that his knuckles were clenched white. He kept his head lowered, eyes hidden and fixed on the shackles around his wrists.

“I pray that you find faith in yourself,” Castle said, then. His soft voice sliced through Peter’s toughened heart. The older man’s lip tightened into a line, his deep voice thick with sorrow. “And salvation... from yourself.”

Peter looked upward. The attorney gazed back at him in earnest. The silence which followed felt like the end of an era.

“You and I want the same thing,” Frank then said, returning to a sense of formality. “You want to expose Wilson Fisk as the Kingpin. So do I.”

Peter studied Frank’s heart—and his own. Steady. True.

“The only difference,” Castle added, “is I want to do it right: by the law. Justice. Not revenge.” Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes. “Because if we can’t do this right, then it’s not worth doing at all.”

“The only difference is,” Peter countered, “when I take Fisk down, he’s gonna stay down.”

Frank gazed at him incredulously. “That’s nice. Good stuff. You want me to write that down and read it at your funeral?” Peter glared bitterly but had nothing to say.

“Cards on the table,” Frank explained. “I don’t have enough evidence to charge you. Not today. Now you can walk outta here, go back to your old ways. End up in a casket, or in a jail cell sooner or later. Take my word, there are plenty of people in this building that want you dead. You won’t last a night at Ryker’s without someone tryin’ to stab a broken toothbrush through that giraffe neck of yours.”

“Sounds like it’s gonna be painful,” Peter muttered in a low voice. “For them.”

Frank fixed him with a stern glare. “Alright, smartass. Then what? These people are comin’ for blood. And they’re not going to stop with just yours.” He paused, then added, “You should know that, more than anybody.”

Peter had nothing to say to that. The thought alone stole his breath.

“You wanna fight the system?” Frank said. “You wanna take down Fisk? Then you bring me proof to put ‘em away. All of ‘em. Fisk, Pierce, his little ‘Shield’ SS hit squad. Every last one of them.”

Peter bit his tongue, contemplating the idea.

“And most importantly, you keep your hands clean,” Frank declared sternly. “No more dead car thieves in the river. No more pimps gettin’ scraped off the subway tracks.” His tone was cold, eyes sharp as he skewered Peter threateningly. “There’s enough killing in this city as it is. You cross that line, and I will come for you, you understand? Deal or no deal, our history be damned—you are not allowed to take the law into your own hands. You got that?”

Peter raised his chin, peering at him through the fringe of his slitted eyes.

The clock ticked on. Primordial elements as old as time surrounded them. And for reasons that Peter could not fully understand, he walked into a coffee shop one day and walked out with hope. A dangerous seed.

A force that could save the whole city. The world.

Maybe even his own soul.

The district attorney came to a stand, holding the mob boss in his stare. “You’re a free man, Peter,” Frank said. “What happens next is up to you.”

After another moment, he headed for the door. As soon as he placed his hand on the doorknob, he glanced back at the man who he owed his life. With a stone expression, Castle made one final plea.

“Whatever you do... Don’t let me catch you.”

It was half past noon when Honey walked into her modest apartment in the Theater District off 45th Street.

Flipping on the lights, she peered hesitantly inside. Stepping through the threshold felt like tumbling down a wormhole through time.

More or less, the studio apartment looked exactly the same as it did nearly a half-year ago, when she left for work at the coffee shop.

It was a bit tidier than how she’d left it—her cheetah print throw blanket neatly folded on the edge of her thrifted loveseat. The smell confirmed that all the perishable food had been discarded. An empty vase sat alone on a scuffed, white, gateleg table that was crammed into a corner of her kitchen. The daisies that it once held had wilted and been tossed long ago.

The world was alien to her. It was like walking through a dream, or onto a theater set piece constructed for a play about her life. These were the possessions of a person she didn’t know anymore.

“We had someone come by earlier with groceries,” a voice said from behind her. She turned as Karen Page strolled into the apartment wearing camel wide-leg wool trousers and a matching double-breasted blazer from The Row paired with Salvatore Ferragamo Vara-bow pumps. “A maid came in once a week to tidy up, but other than that everything should be as you left it.”

Honey blinked with wide eyes as she watched the strawberry-blonde haired woman breeze through her home—former home. She pulled a rolling carry-on case behind her filled with a small portion of Honey’s wardrobe. Karen came to a stop in the center of the apartment. With neatly manicured nails, she produced a keyring from her blazer pocket.

“New keys,” she explained, handing it over to Honey. “Any pertinent mail has been left for you on the counter. The new wifi password is on the sticky note next to it, along with your new cell phone number.”

She had almost forgotten. Honey reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the latest model of iPhone. She stared down at the foreign object queasily. This one had no spider decal, she noted.

“There’s also a debit card, too,” Karen explained methodically, as if reciting a monotonous dialogue. “New bank account information is in the folder. We’ve made a small deposit to compensate you for your troubles, at least until you find a new job. But you shouldn’t have any more problems from here on out.”

A few seconds of silence passed as Karen eyed the peeling paint on the walls. “Well. I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said, straightforward.

Honey’s eyes darted over to Karen as the woman turned to leave mouth “Wait!” she called out, her forehead creased and mouth hung agape. Karen stopped in front of the doorway. “Wait... is that it?” she said, dismayed.

Karen blinked her radiant blue eyes. “Was there something else you needed?”

Her nose crinkled at that. “What about Peter?” Honey said, almost in a demanding tone. “What happens to him?”

Karen cast her eyes to the floor, sighing uncomfortably. “I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that.”

Honey glared at her crossly. “Well, can I at least talk to him—?”

“It would be best to limit contact at this time.” The pleasant formality of her voice made Honey want to punch her.

“For how long?” she scoffed.

Karen gazed at her for several moments of silence. Which continued on, until Honey realized that an answer wasn’t coming.

“We’ll be in touch,” Karen added gently.

As the woman stepped out into the tenement corridor, Honey nearly jolted after her. “Wait... M-Ms. Page?”

She waited.

“What do I do now?” she asked meekly. Her voice sounded timid to her own ears.

Karen stared back at her then lifted up one of her shoulders. “Whatever you want.”

And with that, Honey was left alone for the day.

And the next.

Continue to Epilogue

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