#do people even know the word 'metrosexual' anymore?

[saccharinescorpion]

My friend bought me stardew recently and I've taken a liking to Elliott a lot, so I've been looking a lot of fanart ofc but I kept coming across people referring to the hate Elliott gets, and I could literally not comprehend what about him would have people so annoyed at him. Like sure, as a dateable option I could see how he isn't everyone's cup of tea, but like, active hatred? Am I missing something?

And then I saw the post you made today about that Reddit comment and. Damn, y'all really are allergic to the unabashed whimsy of a grown adult huh.

Anyway I love that man and it makes me giggle how little people are upset about, keep it up soldier

i'm not kidding at all, i'm pretty sure the thing that makes some players so hostile when it comes to Elliott is the exact same thing as the fucking joke in Dungeon Meshi about Senshi acting identically to how he always does after being transformed into an elf but because he now looks like an effeminate bishounen everything he does suddenly reads as "haughty"

i want to (only half-jokingly) say it's anti-metrosexual behavior but technically Elliott is bi, so,

[hotporridgepot]

Been There

I didn't expect the first Ghosts fic I wrote to be from Julian's perspective, but this idea struck me and I can't stop thinking about it!

I've always imagined Julian to be the first one to properly talk to the Captain about his sexuality, and this is how I think that conversation would go.

It was one of Alison's "talks" that finally did it.

All it took was a sharp hairpin turn in the conversation, a misplaced comment from Kitty and bam, there it was. Button House's worst-kept secret was sent spinning across the circular space between their group therapy chairs. Julian's suddenly reminded, as the Captain evacuates the room in what looks like shock, of a news report he'd heard when he was a kid. It was of an unexploded bomb they dug up by a church. Everyone in the area had known it was there for a while, but to actually see it out in the open was something else.

Alison looks upset. Guilty, even. She keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs and pulling her cardigan over her hands.

"I thought he was okay," she mumbles, staring at the empty space on the wall Cap floated through. "He seemed to - last time we had a talk, he seemed like he wanted to -"

"Oh it's my fault, Alison," Kitty wails, thumping her hands down on her skirts as though she's smacking herself. "I was the one who asked about everyone's favourite beau. I shouldn't have fussed so much, I'm so sorry, it's just-"

"Kitty, it's fine!" Alison holds up her hands. "It's not your fault, it's just...complicated."

Julian watches as the conversation trickles down its many paths again. "My cousin's cousin was gay," Pat's saying to a bewildered Mary. Fanny's muttering about how she had no idea, Robin couldn't seem to care less, and Humphrey's still on the other side of the room asking for a rundown on what happened.

"Do you think he's alright?" Alison says.

Julian shrugs. "Damned if I know."

But the thing is, Julian does know. And the answer is most definitely no.

It might be a bit of an absurd conversation for the rest of the ghosts, but he's different. He comes from the time of - of gaydars, of Canal Street, of "metrosexual" plastered across the front of the Daily Mirror. Of Elton. Freddie. George. Coming out was a thing when he died. To pick up the vibe from someone simply wasn't done in Robin's time, nor Mary's. Nor even Pat's, really.

"I should probably go and see where he is," Julian says, feigning nonchalance.

No one responds. Alison's already on the other side of the room, complaining to Mike about "ghost stuff". Julian thumbs toward the back wall.

"Anyone wanna - no? Just me? Alright."

It doesn't take long to find the Captain. Whenever he's in any kind of sulk he always migrates to the window in the television room, staring at the gate outside like he's expecting someone to walk through it.

Now that he's here, Julian's not sure what to say. Best to try and get on Cap's level, really. Some more personal experience sharing. Alison would be proud.

"I've been there, you know," Julian says. It makes the Captain jump, a hand clutched to his chest before he turns back around and ignores Julian. "A couple of times, actually."

Cap sighs. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"New Year's Eve, 1971," Julian goes on, sauntering into the room. He's good at this, he decides. "That was the first time. We were absolutely spangled on a fat bottle of Haig, started playing strip poker and before you know it, my second moon landing was -"

"Blast it, Julian, this isn't about sex!"

The Cap's outburst stops Julian short. He backs up, wincing a bit as the Captain turns to face him. Julian's never seen any of them except for Kitty and Thomas cry, but he reckons that this is the stoic army equivalent. There's a deep, grey heaviness in the Captain's eyes, like something's been keeping him awake for a century.

It hits Julian, with a wave of shame and embarrassment he's very much not used to, how the older ghosts must see him. While he'd definitely be on the way to retirement were he still alive, he's a baby to the likes of Fanny and the Captain. A thoughtless, boisterous, fraternity-going thrillseeker. Shit-brained Bullingdon boy.

He isn't that, though. Not anymore. He's lived past that. He's died past that.

His own escapades might have been the wrong place to start. He realises now there are much more valuable things he could be saying; now, Julian suddenly remembers the other side of it all. Because he also comes from the time of Section 28. The AIDS crisis. Newspapers talking about a "gay gene". Newspapers spitting what Julian knew even then to be pure lie and vitriol.

He knows it's a big deal that the Captain just blurted it out in what looked like a fit of adrenaline that came and went against his will. To think of all those years, every second of Cap's life and afterlife built upon this cornerstone of a secret...it tugs at something in Julian's chest. It - well, it's a rotten thing.

Cautiously, Julian steps forward until he's sat opposite the Captain on the windowsill. He mumbles a "sorry" and clears his throat.

"Gets talked about these days, you know," Julian tries. "Like that wedding that came here, remember? It's a...thing."

A lame end to the sentence, but hey ho. It is a thing now.

Then the Captain clears his own throat. "I know it's a thing," he says pompously, "but it doesn't quite feel like my thing, if you catch my drift."

Julian frowns. "Wait, so you're not gay?"

"No, of course I - see, even that word! 'Gay'. It meant something completely different in my lifetime," the Captain says, fiddling with the buttons on his coat maniacally as though he wants them to fall off. "I feel so terribly out of touch for having kept it all inside for so long, that I can't possibly reduce it to the inconsequence people make of it today. I don't quite know how to navigate any of it. If it's even worth navigating, now that there's nothing I can do with the information."

Julian nods. It's making so much sense now. Poor sod.

"We all went in different directions after uni," Julian goes on. "Well, to some extent. One of the lads I romped about with is -"

The Captain pinches the bridge of his nose. "Julian, I said this wasn't about -"

"No, no, listen! I was going to say, one of the lads is married to a man now. Another one decided it wasn't for him and never did it again."

Cap's listening now. "...And as for you?"

Julian shrugs. "S'not something I thought about much when I wasn't up to the eyeballs in booze, but I suppose I'm - oh, I'd say 90 percent for women, 10 percent for men." Cautiously, he leans forward. "See? People still talk about that, too. Working out how you feel and all that malarkey. There's not really one way to about it, if I'm honest. There's never been one way about it."

The Captain's face softens, some of the heaviness in his eyes melting away.

"It doesn't matter who knows what, mate. Just give yourself some time."

"I've got plenty of that," Cap chuckles.

The sun's high in the sky now, beating feverishly hot through the window.

"You up for a bit of volley on the green? Humphrey's been begging us to play."

The Captain looks out the window at the grass, then back to the gate. "Not now, thank you. I'll watch from up here."

"Suit yourself." Julian gets up to go, something blooming in his chest he hasn't felt since he was alive. It's been a while since he truly helped someone, he thinks, and he's proud of it. Proud of them both.

"I'm all ears whenever you want to rant for a bit," he calls back as he leaves the room. "Remember, I've been there."

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #420

lol blaze it (i’m funny i swear)

In your opinion, which fast food place has the best fries? Without a doubt, Bojangle's. Good. Shit. Are there hurricanes where you live? Yeah, they're common here. What do you hate the most about yourself? I'd really rather not get into this right about now. What song are you listening to right now? "Beast of Gévaudan" by Powerwolf. What was your first concert? Alice Cooper. Also my only concert. What’s your favorite Johnny Depp movie? Alice In Wonderland. Who did you last say “I love you” to? My sister. Do you like pumpkin pie? Anything pumpkin-flavored is a hell no from me. Do you know anyone named Austin? Knew, rather. Do you know anyone who is having a baby? My friend recently announced she and her husband are having their second child in December. What was the last thing you cried about? Just PTSD. Do you prefer regular or chocolate milk? I like both, but I prefer chocolate. Do you think you are an argumentative person? Definitely not. How many deep dark secrets do you have? Two or so, idk. What was the spiciest thing you’ve ever eaten? Some wings at Buffalo Wild Wings with one of the hottest sauces. Wanted to die. ... Yet I continued to get that one whenever I went for years lmao. Who last called you sexy? I don't know. Would you class yourself as a good role model? In some ways, but in a lot of other ways, no. Are you scared of the dark? No. Do you have a motto? No. Who did you last see on webcam? The doctor that overlooks my TMS progress. Do you need a haircut? I need a trim for sure. How would you react if your mother told you that she was pregnant again? Well, considering 1.) she's way past menopause and especially 2.) she's had a complete hysterectomy, y'know... that's kind of impossible. She also hasn't been with a guy in many years, so she would have to be joking. You log into Facebook and see the red ‘1’ notification next to the message icon. Who do you want it to be? -___- Would you rather exercise alone or with other people? ALONE. You will NOT see me exercise in front of other people. What is the most difficult or involved video game you’ve ever played? The most involved is DEFINITELY World of Warcraft, and I guess you could consider it the hardest too, given some of the much more difficult things I've done in it. It itself isn't a hard game whatsoever, but you can pursue some really hard achievements. Ever watch the show Supernatural? If you have, then what’s your favorite episode? I used to love it, but just stopped watching eventually. My fave episode... Man, it's been too long to remember many. Probably one of the funnier ones. I remember I specifically liked the bit where they were in your everyday comedy show, as well as the one where I THINK Dean kept trying to prevent Sam from dying. I just remember the "Eye of the Tiger" bit that is pure gold. Ever heard of flavored honey? If so, what’s you’re favorite flavor? Oh, no, but that sounds good. Do you remember what your favorite show was when you were little? Yeah, Pokemon. Do you put anything besides cheese on grilled cheese sandwiches? Besides butter, which I think is pretty standard, no. When it comes to books, what do you think is the “perfect” amount of pages? Uh, I dunno. It depends on the book. I don't really care about page numbers. Would you ever be interested in going scuba diving? Yeah. Out of all of your friends/relatives, who would you say has the best vocabulary? Girt, probably. Are any of your fingers or toes deformed? What about the nails? I don't think so? When is the last time you cried? I was sobbing earlier today, fun stuff. Would you ever date somebody that has been divorced more than once? Most likely not. ESPECIALLY at my age. What are some stereotypically nerdy things that you like? Oh god. WoW, M:tG, big glasses, anime (does that count? idk really), video games... a lot of stuff, really. Have you ever attended a wedding that ended where the bride and groom didn’t actually get married? What happened? Y I K E S, no. That would be SO uncomf. What scares you the most about becoming a mother (hypothetically, if you don’t want to have children)? Actually raising it properly, physically and emotionally. Would you ever want a job in fashion? What would you enjoy about that type of job? No. Would you ever be a surrogate mother? No. What do you think would be the best and worst parts about being a twin? It'd be cool to have someone you feel an almost supernatural connection towards, but I'd also feel like I wasn't as "original" as I would be if I was born alone. Do you feel that your childhood was more rough compared to others around you? I mean it wasn't awful at all, but sure, in some ways compared to at least someone. How would you react if you found out today that you were actually adopted? Well today I'm a wreck, so don't tell me. I want to know that I wasn't lied to for 25 years. Have either of your parents ever cheated on one another before, that you know of? How would you react if you found out today that one of them cheated? I'm not entirely clear on this, but I'm 90% sure Dad cheated on Mom with his now-wife. Dad also accused Mom of cheating, but I HIGHLY doubt that's true. Do you like cleaning and organizing? Not really. How would you react if you found out you were infertile? If you don’t plan on having kids to begin with, what is a long-term goal you’d be crushed to find out was impossible to achieve? Fuck having kids. I'd be a terrible mother. So to answer the other question, I'll be pretty, pretty sad if I can't get permission to spread Teddy's ashes at Yellowstone. Would you take your dream job if it were out of the country? Well, obviously not considering my dream job is a meerkat biologist, and I'm not moving to Africa. Have you ever been robbed? No. Is anyone close to you an alcoholic? Not anymore. Dad was, but he's recovered. Have you ever dumped anyone? Yes. What kind of tea do you drink? I hate tea. Do you know anyone in a gang? No, and I hope I never do. What’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for you? Risk his fucking sanity and health to try to hold my fucked up self up. What is your orientation? Gay? Straight? Metrosexual? Anything other? Bisexual. I've kinda been questioning pansexual of the late, though. I don't know. Have you ever done anything really dangerous or illegal with friends? Not to my memory. Name three feelings you’re feeling right now: Regret. Hopelessness. Loneliness. And the reasons for these feelings? Take a wild fuckin' guess. How do you feel about your life right now? It's an actual dumpster fire. Is it easy for you to like yourself? Why or why not? Fuck no. Because there's just not very much TO like about me. Even on my good days, I see flaw after flaw in myself. What subjects come naturally to you? English, some aspects of science. What subjects do not? Math, economics, politics, history... Do you read more fiction or more non-fiction books? Definitely fiction. When I read a book, I want an escape from the real world. How has today been for you? BOY HOWDY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What did you do? Went to TMS therapy. Sat on the Internet. Cried. :^) Are there any candles lit in the room you’re in? No. Are there any lava lamps near you? No. I want one, though. Do you like cats or dogs better? Cats. Are any of your friends a pothead? Yes. What’s a goal you’re trying to accomplish soon? Start losing weight again. That'd be pretty goddamn grand. Are you a high maintenance person? Definitely not. The last time you yelled as loud as you could, what was the reason? I was having a nightmare. Have you ever been heartbroken? For sure. Who did that to you? First Dad, then Jason. Did you go through an ugly stage as a kid? Boy, did I. The last type of sandwich you made or ate: A pb&j. The last time you spent most of the day in bed: Literally every day. I do just about everything in bed. Pathetic, I know. The last friend or acquaintance you made: Ummmm idk. The last thing you took pictures of: A hydrangea bush. The last time you were scared: Now. The future is terrifying, my friend. The last thing you looked up online: The definition of a word to ensure I was using it correctly. The last thing you disagreed with: So I've been watching John Wolfe's old stream of him playing Alice: Madness Returns, and he went on a total soapbox about smoking being okay essentially because we're all gonna die eventually from something, and I really disagreed with it. Does your house have a separate laundry room? No, just like a closet. Do your parents still help you financially? I'm still entirely dependent on them. Does your car have a backup camera? No. Have either of your parents ever been in trouble with the law? Not to my knowledge. Have you ever had a pet that lived to be really old for its breed/species? REALLY old, no. Teddy was definitely up there, but beagles have lived longer. What was the last strong scent you smelled? Lysol. Have you ever told someone to their face that they were ugly? Christ, no. Is your bed against more than one of your walls? No. Have you ever been attracted to someone’s parent? Don't think so? Have you ever pole danced before? No. Have you ever broken into someone’s house? No. Have you ever seen a live bat? Yes. What is the most amount of money you’ve spent on a meal before? I dunno. Have you ever taken a woodshop class? No. How much time do you spend on Facebook, if you have one? Funny you ask, because as of today I decided to take a break from it for awhile. I've found it's nothing more than a breeding ground for envy and making me feel like a horribly incompetent adult. Has a teacher ever made you hate yourself/your work? I had one photography teacher in college that I was NOT a fan of. He was super, super hard on everyone, like to an unnecessary degree. We were students, not pros. Have you ever been on the barrier or front row at a concert? No. Are your parents supportive of you? Somehow.

[lovemesomesurveys]

Do you have a significant other at the moment? Do you love him/her? Nope.

How many people do you live with? Are these people related to you? I live with my parents and brother.

Have you ever considered anyone or anything too personal for your liking? Yeah?

Are you a confident person, or do you keep to yourself usually? I’m confident that I’m not confident.

Have you ever had to have surgery before? What was this for? Yeah, several.

Are you listening to any music right now? What song is it? Nope, I’m listening to an ASMR video.

Where was the last place you vacationed to? Did you enjoy this time? Disneyland last year before the pandemic hit. I had an awesome time.

When was the last time you ate pizza? Where from? Was it good? Like a month ago from a local place. Yes, it was good. I’ve been craving it recently, so I’ll likely get it again soon.

Is there anyone right now that you are simply/overly infatuated with? No.

What is your orientation? Gay? Straight? Metrosexual? Anything other? Straight.

Is there anyone you know who is utterly repulsive? Who is this person? No.

Are you related to any elected officials? What is their position? No.

Do you have a certain standard you follow, when it comes to relationships? I don’t really have any relationship experience to say.

Who is your closest friend? Why are they so close to you? The closest people to me are my mom and my brother.

Who did you last hug? When did this hug take place? Where? My dad on his birthday last weekend here at home.

Who was the last person to play with your hair? Are they cute? No one has played with my hair in a very long time.

Who was the last person close to you, that died? Did you cry? My grandpa. Yes, I had a really hard time. 

What was your favorite year of your life? Why is this your favorite? My childhood years.

Is there anyone out there who can make you smile at any time? My doggo can a lot of the time.

What is your favorite television show? Why do you watch this show? I have several.

If you're in school, do you like this school you attend? Or do you not? I’m not in school anymore - I haven’t been, in years now. <<<

Have you ever done anything really dangerous or illegal with friends? No.

What is your favorite word to say out loud? Did you just say that word? None come to mind.

Who is the one person out there who makes you feel very special? I’m not special.

Is there a certain person out there who gives you butterflies? No.

Do people call you a low-life sometimes/always? Why do they call you that? No one has called me that to my knowledge.

Do you want to tell anyone anything right now? Who is this person? No. Are you going to post this survey on MySpace after you're finished? I’ll post it here.

What is the fourteenth word of the song you're currently listening to? I’m not listening to any music at the moment. I don’t know why surveys always assume you’re listening to music.

Are there any foods out there you just can’t refrain from eating every week? Ramen and Wingstop.

Do you like Mexican food? What’s your favorite meal under that genre of food? I like burritos with beans, cheese, Mexican rice, sour cream, guac, and cilantro. Chicken tacos are good, too.

Do you enjoy shopping? Who do you usually go shopping with anyways? I’ve been doing my shopping online the past few years for the most. Well, entirely online the past year.

When you see someone attractive? What's the first thing you look for? Uhh, I just take their whole appearance in I guess.

How many times a day do you brush your teeth? Do you find this healthy? At least once.

Do you ever criticize people around you, that you know cant help it? Just myself, but I feel like I can help a lot of it. I could be doing more and I’m not. I could be doing something at least, but I’m doing nothing. How old were you when you lost your virginity? Who'd you lose it to anyways? I haven’t.

Do you wash your own clothes? Or does someone else do that for you? My mom helps me with that.

Are you afraid of thunderstorms? What exactly makes you afraid of them? No, I like them.

What color are the shutters on your house by the windows, if there are any? White.

When was the last time you attended church? What is the name of this church? I’ve been watching the live streams for the past year. I’m not sharing the name because that would give away my location.

Do you enjoy talking smack to those annoying telemarketers? Is it funny? I don’t even answer the call.

Do you consider yourself a healthy person? Physically and mentally? Uh, no. Definitely not.

Who was the last person you held hands with? Were they taller/shorter? Joseph. He’s taller.

[carbootsoul]

trans* musician recs!

(this is a partner list to my wlw/nblw list and there’s a lot of overlap, their names are links that should go to their spotify pages, i do not have a firm grasp on music genres but most of these are in the realm of indie/pop/punk/folk, unless otherwise specified gender/pronouns refer to lead singer, starred ones are my favorites. if i don’t know a singer’s pronouns i will use they/them.)

★- mal blum- pan and nb. folk punk. they/them. i saw them perform for wtnv live and it changed my actual life. a lot of their songs are about their struggle w depression but they’re also super catchy. songs to listen to: literally all of them but especially: san cristobal, the bodies the zombies!, odds, i don’t want to

sapphic lasers- nb and butch. electronic pop. cannot find their pronouns, if anyone knows please say! some really catchy songs tbh. all very queer and about sex so don’t listen to them w your little brother, i guess. songs to listen to: whiskey and black leather, baby i’m a runner now

ryan cassata- trans. singer-songwriter. he/him. ngl i did cry when i watched the music video for daughter for the first time. songs to listen to: jupiter, daughter, we’re the cool kids

★- ezra furman- pan/bi and trans*. pop punk? art rock????. he/him/she/her. she’s such a fucking icon i stg. her music is just...... so raw but not always in a screaming way? she can write balads that have the same emotion as someone screaming at you. songs to listen to: suck the blood from my wound, rated r crusaders, wild rosemary

dorian elecrta- nb, experimental pop. they/them. what! a king!!! dorian electra was one of the first people i found like, actually attractive and that holds. also their music fucks. songs to listen to: man to man, flamboyant, guyliner

athens boys choir- pan trans guy, spoken word? -ish? 80s-y pop? weird. he/him. god what the fuck even is athens boys choir. not what u expect from the name!! songs to listen to: fagette, the metrosexual threw off my gaydar, jazz hands

★- against me! (laura jane grace)- trans woman. punk. she/her. against me is iconic and if ur not listening to it... why not. really fun to listen to on the bus bc u can pretend ur actually cool. songs to listen to: i was a teenage anarchist, dead rats, two coffins

A.W. (john-allison weiss)- nb. indie pop. they/them. this is the kinda music u put on mixtapes. songs to listen to: one way love, i was an island

left at london (nat puff)- trans lesbian. pop. she/her. i think she did vines a long time ago?? she’s the “haha i do that” girl don’t misgender her or i’ll steal ur eyes. also, follow her on twitter. songs to listen to: revolution lover, i don’t trust u anymore

★- king princess- nb lesbian. pop, i think. she/her. a fucking icon is what she is. i low-key forgot about her but she was on snl here and my brain short-circuted. kinda like hozier but if hozier was lesbian and smoked weed. actually just looks sorta like him their music isn’t that similar. songs to listen to: cheap queen, hit the back, 1950

feel free to add on!

[awed-frog]

I'm surprised but very happy that you like Stiles Stilinski too, I don't know how much of tw you've watched but for me he was the character that held this whole show together. I don't even want to watch the season he's not in. I feel like he's one of these characters that are just too good for the showrunner himself so he doesn't know what to do with them? Like he exists on his own whereas all the other characters are mechanic and somewhat empty (but once he became popular he couldn't be bi ofc)

Yes, I don’t know what it was about Stiles, because on paper his character is very 2D and tropey as well? Like, here he comes - the sarcastic sidekick who’s got no special powers and never gets the girl and whose life revolves around the hero. This were supposed to be the basics, of course - and then, I don’t know. Maybe it was how Dylan played him. Maybe it was the tragic backstory, the profound, honest and mostly non-confrontational relationship he had with his father. Or his full acceptance of his own humanity in a world of ‘monsters’. I’m not sure.

But also, I think we’re now ready for these characters, you know? The Newt Scamander men the Pop Culture Detective analysed in every detail. Because Stiles is not an alpha man, but unlike many other guys in his position (especially guys in older shows and movies), he’s not bothered by that. He makes fun of himself, has a sort of quiet self-confidence about him, knows how to tell apart what really matters from what doesn’t. And, again, in theory, Scott and the other guys on TW - most of them were the same way, because this was an extremely metrosexual show (do the kids still use that word? does it even mean anything anymore?), but all the same - Stiles always stood out - he was kind without being a doormat, funny without hurting people, he called out other men on their posturing and douchey behaviour, and he always knew how to support the people in his life - especially Lydia - in such a sincere, self-effacing way it sometimes brought tears to my eyes. Because yeah, that whole thing with Lydia - it’s sad to even say this, but I think it’s a sign of how things are changing that Stiles was never an asshole about her not choosing him? No talk of friendzone and ‘I’m a nice guy’ and whatever else - he just accepts this is who she is and what she wants and steps aside.

So, yeah - I have to say, ultimately I walked away from TW because it became too absurd and intricately gothic for me and by the end it seriously made no sense whatsoever, and also everyone was like a 28-yo supermodel pretending to be 16 (please let SKAM be a pioneer of change there), and also I’m getting too old to be truly invested in high school stories, and also Derek left, and then Stiles left, and some new characters got on my nerves, and the stubborn, in-your-face erasure of Stiles’ bi subtext was really too much, but I still have a soft spot in my heart for Stiles? I really do. And I hope Dylan will soon move on to real movies, you know, and enough with the mazes and the teen drama, because he’s a fantastic actor and if that’s what he turned Stiles into I truly can’t wait to see what he makes of a more adult and fleshed-out character.

[bestofthemoth]

Perfect Moments

Brian Finkelstein

The standard commitment to work at the Humanitarian Suicide Hotline is six months. Most people work six months, and then they leave, quickly. A few make it a year. Nobody usually goes beyond a year. I was a volunteer there for four years. It started when I was twenty-two years old, and I was young, and I believed in things. I thought maybe I could help the world. I was that age.

So I show up one Saturday morning and walk into this church on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and there’s a bunch of people milling about. And I see this guy who is clearly in charge. He tells us his name is Glen, and even though he’s got this corporate Jewish metrosexual hippie thing going on, he’s also got a little bit of drill sergeant because as soon as he starts the training he’s weeding people out.

One of the most important things Glen weeded out was people who either lost somebody of suicide, or had contemplated or tried to commit suicide. At the end of two weeks of training, out of 58 people, there were only four of us left, because Glen was really good. But I will tell you right now, I was better.

What Glen didn’t know about me was that four years before this, I lived in San Diego, CA, and I was dating this girl Tracy. Tracy was addicted to meth, and I was addicted to Tracy. So Tracy would do meth and I would try to do her; neither one of us would ever be satisfied. That’s addiction. 

One day Tracy slept with my best friend, and I’d had it. And I bet you Glen didn’t know that I took a bottle of tequila and a .38 and jumped in my car and drove to Torrey Pines Beach. I drank about half a bottle of tequila and then I stuck the gun in my mouth. And I’ll bet you Glen has no idea how good it feels to stick a loaded gun in your mouth, it feels incredibly good to have some control over something. And I sat there, and I was trying to contemplate doing it, and then... I threw up. 

And there’s nothing that snaps you out of a suicide impulse more than throwing up on a gun. And I felt really good. I felt this moment of clarity. I was at this beautiful beach and I went into the water. It was late at night, a full moon and the waves sort of washing over me, and I realized that’s what life is. Moments of beauty and then it’s horrible. But then for a moment it’s good again, and for me, that was enough. But I bet you Glen didn’t know any of that. Because I never told him. 

Now, the training basically says that when you answer the call you say, “Humanitarian Suicide Hotline. Thanks for calling.” Then you shut up and listen. At the end of twelve minutes, it’s time to end the call. But before you end the call, you have to evaluate the person’s level of suicide. Glen said the closest thing to a warning sign that you have is if somebody says, “I don’t want to die. I just want the pain to stop.” If you hear somebody say that a bell should go off. That’s a person who’s on the edge. 

So four years later, I’m working at the hotline. It’s just me and my shift partner, Adam, working the overnight shift. And around 4AM the phone rings and I pick it up.

“Hello, Humanitarians, can I help you?”

And this very young, cute, scared voice comes on the phone and says, “Hi, My name is Amy. I’d like to talk. I was just calling because I was feeling a little sad.” 

And I was like, “Oh, what are you sad about?”

And she goes, “Ah, I don’t know, things are pretty good. I have good grades at school, and my parents don’t get it, but they love me, and, you know, I have a good friend back in Tennessee where I’m from, and NYU’s good. I have good friends here.”

Right away I pictured her, the way you do when you talk to somebody on the phone. I pictured her in her dorm room, and I pictured a quilt, and I pictured her with long hair, sitting on her bed, you know... I got her figured out. And so I said, “Well, that sounds good. But you said you were sad. What do you think about when that happens?”

She felt what she described as a hand coming from behind her and sort of pushing her down. And she felt this crippling sadness, and that there are people who are clinically depressed, but she thought maybe a lot of people overuse that word, or use it as an excuse, and she was worried she might be like that. 

I noticed it was about time to wrap it up, but Amy started telling me this story about going to some place with her family one day, and their father bought ice cream, and it was a great day. But then Amy started to slur her speech a little bit. I said, “Amy, what’s going on, are you okay?”

And she goes, “Yeah, I know it’s selfish but I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to die. I just want the pain to stop.”

And I woke up. 

“Amy do you feel so bad that you think about suicide?”

And she said, “Yes.”

“Do you have a plan for how you would do it?”

“Yes.”

“Have you set a time for when you’re gonna do it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Amy have you taken any steps today to kill yourself?” (on phone, taking notes) “Twenty high-strength painkillers? What kind of painkillers? You drank too? Amy, given the fact that you took twenty high-strength painkillers, and that you drank, and that you haven’t thrown up, do you understand that you could die, within an hour? Amy, look, do you want help? I can do something but only if you ask. Great, what’s your address? (to Adam) Adam, call 911. (to Amy) What kind of ice cream was it that your father bought you? You mentioned that your father bought you ice cream. What kind was it? (Silence) Amy? Amy?!”

But it was silent. And it was silent for two minutes. And then five minutes. And I’m supposed to hang up the phone, but who the hell could hang up the phone? And around fourteen minutes I heard people knocking at the door, and then I heard it crash open, and I heard the phone being picked up, and a voice said, “It’s okay. We’ve got her.”

Click.

I went home. I was supposed to go back to the hotline for a debriefing based on that call. I called Glen and told him I quit. And then I did all the things you’re not supposed to do. I obsessed about it. I stayed up, and I drank, and I smoked, and I drank, and I searched the internet and the papers and finally, after three days, I found it. In the Daily News, page 23.

But I didn’t know until that moment that she was dead, and I was the last person to talk to her. Not her mom in Tennessee, or her best friend, or some boy at NYU that probably had a crush on her but never talked to her. 

Me.

And the thing of it is, I have had bigger personal tragedies over the years. I spoke to her for less than an hour twenty years ago. But I think about it every day. She’s me, in that car. If I had pulled the trigger, that would be me. And she never got to find out what I got to find out, which is it’s terrible sometimes, but there are these perfect life moments. And that’s enough.

Live at The Moth

[mallowmarshstan]

Early Blooms and Late Blooms

A little one-shot (possibly) of the puberty headcanon I had (and so did another Tumblr user have an au similar ! :D ) 

Craig starts puberty early and before everyone else in the class. Craig faces the difficulties of puberty with Tweek by his side. Tweek, on the other hand, is a late bloomer.

It was the September of 6th Grade when everyone noticed a change in Craig. His face had been speckled in pimples, his hair under his hat became greasy, an onion-y odor seemed to follow him around, and his already tall height shot up even more. Craig’s parents had already sat him down and gave him the talk of the birds and the bees.

Laura Tucker looked at her eldest child sitting on their couch. “Well, Craig, you’re of that age now where changes happen.” “What kind of changes, Mom?” Craig asked flatly, he had already taken notice of everything going on with his body. Obviously. It was his body.

Laura shifted uncomfortably and sighed. She knew having a son would mean she’d have to give him the talk. She just never expected it to be so soon it felt like. She imagined her son sitting on the couch as the same little boy who begged for a guinea pig for his 6th birthday. 

“You know, Craig, with your body and the changes you’re experiencing…..Thomas, YOU tell him! You’re the man!” Laura glared at her tall husband.

“Why the hell should I tell him?! YOUR mom was the nurse!” Thomas Tucker’s eyebrows furrowed. The topic of puberty being a touchy subject for everyone.

The Tuckers began to argue and flip each other off. Craig quietly went upstairs to avoid his parent’s screaming match. It was normal for them to argue and yell but probably not normal for other families. At least that’s what Craig thought. He knew Kenny’s parents would beat the shit out of each other. The Tucker’s fighting never got that bad though. 

Laura yelled up the stairs after her only son. “Craig!! From now on if Tweek spends the night he’ll have to sleep on the floor!! I don’t want any funny business, Mister!”

Funny business?

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Days at school was a living hell for Craig. The other boys teased him and the girls avoided him like the plague even though he was gay. Everyone knew that.  Craig was in a committed relationship with Tweek Tweak. Craig didn’t give a fuck what people thought of him. It was a natural thing for the body to do at a certain age. And if anyone didn’t like it they could fuck off. Especially Stan and those assholes.  

Tweek didn’t mind his boyfriend’s change because, for the most part, Craig was still the same Craig.  He was still the same monotone nasally voice black haired beauty he loved. Craig still was there to calm Tweek down when he got too freaked out or when he got too angry at something. At lunch, Tweek still sat next to Craig. Craig’s friends, Clyde, Token, Jimmy, and Jason ignored him until he invested in some deodorant. They hoped it was soon. So, they sat at another table. Tweek figured if Craig could handle his panic attacks and coffee breath, he himself could handle Craig’s body odor. It was awful though. Tweek could not deny that.

Tweek sat next to his boyfriend and looked at him adoringly. “Craig? Can I -NGH- ask you something? Jesus, don’t be mad!”

“Yes, Tweek?” Craig looked up from his bag of chips.

“Are aliens laying eggs in your face? And that’s what those red blotches are?” Tweek scooted away from Craig just a bit.

Craig rolled his eyes and glared at the twitching blonde and said nasally. Aliens in his face? He wondered what went on inside Tweek’s head.

“No, Tweek. Aliens are not laying eggs in my face. They’re called pimples. It’s normal for puberty. You’ll get them too.”

Tweek’s jaw dropped a little. “Puberty?! I thought we weren’t supposed to get that until later on?!”

“I must have started early,”, Craig shrugged, “By the way, my parents said that when we have our sleepovers we can’t sleep together. You have to sleep on the floor. But, I’ll take the floor. You can take the bed.”

“Why can’t we sleep together anymore?! Did I do something wrong? OH GOD!” Tweek’s hand reached for his hair to pull at.

Craig caught his boyfriend’s hand in time and held it. Craig knew exactly why his parents told him not to sleep in bed with Tweek. His body had started going through strange changes. Craig blushed at the thought of what had happened a few times at night and how he woke up with sticky sheets. Instead of answering Tweek’s question and going through a big awkward explanation, Craig simply shrugged.

Lunch was silent after that, except for the strange noises Tweek made. Craig was used to it though. When he first met Tweek it annoyed him but he quickly found them endearing.  Craig kept looking over at his boyfriend and couldn’t for the life of him find anything sexually appealing about him. He was cute and adorable but not sexy. Tweek was attractive but Craig had no desire to try anything more than just hugs and kisses with his boyfriend. Tweek and Craig had watched porn together a few times but it was weird and they both agreed they could never do what the men on the screen did. That was before Craig started puberty and even now that he had started puberty he still couldn’t imagine Tweek that way. It was already weird that Tweek only came up to his shoulder now. Craig had always been tall but now this was just ridiculous.

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On Fridays, Tweek and Craig had sleepovers at the Tucker’s. Their sleepovers crept into Saturdays and almost Sunday nights. Tweek’s parents were too tired from the busy week at the coffee shoppe to host a sleepover.  It was always the Tucker house where they had their sleepovers. The Tweaks creeped Craig out and he just knew something was off about Richard Tweak. Craig just couldn’t put his finger on it.  Plus, Craig hated coffee and that’s what the Tweak’s drank with every meal. How Tweek’s kidneys hadn’t shut down yet baffled Craig.

Tweek sat in Craig’s room and looked into Stripe the guinea pig’s cage. This was Stripe #8.  Tweek’s blonde freshly wet hair from the shower flatly sat on Tweek’s head. It was similar to when South Park went through their metrosexual phase and Craig had to hold Tweek down to gel his hair down. Craig and Tweek used to sneak and take showers together to save on the hot water but since Craig started puberty that was a real no-no. Back then it was different. Craig missed those days.  Tweek was curious about what Craig’s body looked like now but was too freaked out by it all to suggest a shared shower.

Craig came up behind his boyfriend silently from his own shower and gently placed his hand on Tweek’s shoulder. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Craig’s voice cracked.

“WHAT THE FUCK!!,” Tweek threw his arms in the hair and shook uncontrollably, not realizing that it was his lovely boyfriend behind him and not a robber.

Craig quickly spun the computer chair around so Tweek could face him. He had known better than to sneak up behind his boyfriend. “Babe, calm down. It’s me. My voice cracked.  It’s still me. Calm down.”

Tweek’s greenish hazel eyes were wide with terror and one twitched, he was breathing heavily and his face was white as a ghost. Craig held his boyfriend close to his chest and gently rocked the smaller boy’s body. Tweek slowly stopped twitching and relaxed in his boyfriend’s arms.

“That scared me.”

“I know.”

------------------------------------------

Later that night Craig had set up pillows and blankets on the floor of his bed. He insisted Tweek take the bed. Craig honestly didn’t want to sleep on the floor but he didn’t want Tweek to wake up with a puddle of stickiness on his lower back. Not only would that be awkward and embarrassing but Craig was certain Tweek would freak out and claim that he was probed in the night and an alien left fluid on him. Something along those lines. Craig never knew that odd thing Tweek would come up with next. Craig got onto the floor and looked up at his bed with the space sheets, the Red Racer ones were in the wash. Thank you, puberty.

Tweek finally spoke. “Craig? Please, can we cuddle? My room has a night light and yours’ doesn't. And it’s scary and what if-”

“No, Tweek. You’ll be fucking fine. Goodnight,” Craig cut his boyfriend off. His hormones had made him very easily annoyed and with a certain twitchy paranoid blonde around him always, he was like a firework ready to explode sometimes. He didn’t want to be harsh to Tweek but it was already bad enough he was sleeping on the floor. He was exhausted from school. He just wanted to go to bed. With or without Tweek at his side. Craig knew he could be stubborn and now was one of those times. 

The rest of the night Craig was kept awake with the sniffles and whimpers of his favorite blonde.

-----------------------------------------------------

“What do you mean you’re not going to spend the night again?” Craig asked as he watched Tweek pack up his clothes into his backpack. Tweek was still in his pajamas but had pulled on his sneakers.

Tweek whirled around and looked up at Craig. “You made me cry last night! And you didn’t even care! -NGH- You asshole!”

“You’re being a child. Just stay and eat breakfast and see what happen!,” Craig frowned and reached for Tweek’s backpack.

The blonde jerked away from his boyfriend and walked to the door. “Just because you’re a puberty monster doesn’t mean I’m a fucking child, CRAIG.”

Craig rolled his eyes and followed Tweek, “Babe… I’m sorry and I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tweek stopped in his tracks and smiled a little. Those three words were all he needed to hear to ease his frustration.

----------------------------------------------

That night after watching movies and eating pizza, Craig and Tweek sat in Craig’s room. It was odd because things were still strained between them.  The Tuckers didn’t drink coffee in their house and that made for an irritable and cranky Tweek. Normally Tweek could bring a few thermoses of coffee with him but this time he forgot.

“I’m tired,” Tweek finally said with a yawn.

Craig stood up, “Yeah, me too.”, He looked down at his favorite person in the world and smiled a little. He did miss cuddling with Tweek last night. Tweek was like a human hot blanket and Craig got cold easily.

“Well...goodnight then,” Tweek got into the bed and much to his surprise Craig followed him.

Craig wrapped his arms around Tweek. “Goodnight, honey. Don’t tell my parents.”

“BUT I THOUGHT!!” The coffee-addicted Tweek shot up and gripped the sheets.

Craig pressed his lips to Tweek’s to hush him up and slowly pulled away with a shhh. Tweek stayed quiet and nodded. Kisses always made Tweek silent.

“It’ll be okay. Just don’t tell my parents,” Craig assured Tweek. Although, he was unsure of his own words.

Tweek nodded and curled himself close to Craig’s body and gently stroked his black-haired boyfriend’s side until he fell asleep. Craig held his precious yet feisty Tweek close and looked at his face loving and slowly fell asleep.

Much to Craig’s surprise, Tweek thankfully didn’t wake up to alien probing liquid on his lower back.

--------------------------------------

Months passed and sure enough, the other boys in the class started puberty.  The classrooms smelled like petting zoos and onions. The only person who seemed to be left behind in the puberty was dear Tweek. Even Butters surpassed Tweek. The girls got breasts and each became moody one a month. The boys had deep voices that cracked and sometimes put books over their laps in the middle of class. The other students would knock Tweek down in the halls. Tweek was naturally tiny but now he was an easy target. He wanted to stand up for himself but he figured it wasn’t any use. Craig defended him though, like a good boyfriend.  Tweek knew Craig was easily annoyed by him so Tweek tried to keep his paranoia to himself. It didn’t work. Craig still had his monotone nasal voice but just a few octaves deeper. Tweek didn’t understand why he hadn’t started puberty. He was almost 14 and nothing had happened. He longed for pimples and body hair growth. Craig had awkwardly told him about the weird dreams and waking up with puddles of stickiness on his sheets. It was an odd subject but Tweek wanted to know everything about it. And just because Tweek was his favorite person, Craig told Tweek everything about his wet dreams.

The other boys in school would brag about how many times a week they would masturbate. The biggest asshole of the class, Eric Cartman, would sometimes pop his pimples in the direction of his frenemy Kyle and had the goop hit him.

“You fucking asshole, Cartman!” Kyle yelled.

Tweek looked around the classroom to take in everyone’s different bodies. There was Craig who shot up to 6′0 and seemed to be growing every day. He shaved regularly so he had a fresh face but still had pimples. Clyde had gained weight and stood at about 5′8, he had a few acne blemishes from his food choices but his father got him Accutane.  Wendy was stunning. She was slim but kept her dark hair short. She had zero pimples but refused to shave her body hair as a statement. Her boyfriend, Stan, was grossed out by the idea at first but stayed with her. Stan, himself, was covered in leg and arm hair and a weak mustache on his upper lip which his dad would joke that he must have been hit with dirt. Kyle had zero pimples, much like Wendy, and seemed to be short compared to his friends. His body hair was red and everyone called him fire-crotch. Eric Cartman was a whopping 280 and about only 5′7. His face was covered in acne and he was trying to grow a neckbeard. He smelled like Cheeto dust and ham farts. Kenny was long and lanky and stole razors from the pharmacy to shave his body and face. Token’s voice had deepened and it was smooth. Nearly every girl crushed on him. He was tall, dark and handsome. Jimmy, as well, was handsome. With only a scattering of acne on his forehead. His stuttering voice was cracked regularly. Bebe was one word: thicc. Then there was Butters. Butters was still as sweet and naive as he had always been, just 6 foot tall.  Tweek ignored most of the girls and their physical accomplishments because they didn’t interest him. Only Wendy and Bebe did. Wendy was a friend of his and Bebe was his cousin. Tweek seemed to be a kitten in a group of lions. 

--------------------------------

“You’re just a late bloomer, honey,” Mrs.Tweak would say as she poured coffee into her son’s mug, not realizing that the coffee had stunted her son’s growth.

“Don’t worry about it, babe. You’ll go through puberty eventually. Remember what Mulan’s dad said to her? The late blossoms bloom the most beautiful or something? That’s gonna be you,” Craig would say monotone as he gently ruffled his boyfriend’s hair, unsure of what to do with Tweek without it being awkward and uncomfortable for the both of them.

“You know, son, I was a late bloomer myself. Late, like the pansy flower who, with proper care, will bloom late into the year. The pansy beautiful and soft like out mild blends here at Tweak coffee. Coffee that is gentle like the cool breeze on an autumn day,” Richard Tweek would say leaned against the kitchen counter as he drank his mug. Comparing the situation to a pansy flower did not help at all.

------------------------------------------------------

It was frustrating for Tweek to walk in the hallways holding Craig’s hand and all the other kids being at least a head taller than him. It was also frustrating that he came up to almost everyone’s shoulders and the general armpit area. After gym class really fucking sucked.

“Hey, babe? Is that a zit?” Craig leaned down with a smile to examine Tweek’s face, “Holy shit! It is!”

Tweek brightened up and smiled, exposing a few gapped teeth. “OhmyGod! Craig! A pimple? Does that mean?”

“Babe, I think you’re about to start puberty!” Craig put his hands on his boyfriend’s face and felt around for more.

Sure enough, Tweek started puberty soon after and Craig and Tweek faced the awkward struggles of puberty together.

----

also did you notice I really suck at punctuating dialogue? 

[surveysonfleek]

520.

Do you have a signifigant other at the moment? Do you love him/her? yes, i love him very much. How many people do you live with? Are these people related to you? i live with two other people, my mum and sis. Have you ever considered anyone or anything too personal for your liking? i don’t really get this question. Are you a confident person, or do you keep to yourself usually? i’m not that confident. i’ll keep to myself unless i know a lot of people around me. Have you ever had to have surgery before? What was this for? nothing serious.

Are you listening to any music right now? What song is it? nope. Where was the last place you vacationed to? Did you enjoy this time? usa and i loved every moment of it. When was the last time you ate pizza? Where from? Was it good? i haven’t had pizza in forever! pretty sure it was from dominos, it was good as usual. Is there anyone right now that you are simply/overly infatuated with? i’m past the infatuated phase with my boyfriend, if anything it makes me appreciate him even more. What is your orientation? Gay? Straight? Metrosexual? Anything other? straight. Is there anyone you know who is utterly repulsive? Who is this person? yeah, this certain someone that used to be in our lives. Are you related to any elected officials? What is their position? nope. Do you have a certain standard you follow, when it comes to relationships? honestly i’ve only been in one serious relationship. if you mean relationship with friends however, i appreciate friends who give and take, i’ve had friendships where they expected me to drop everything for them and never did anything for me in return so meh. Who did you last hug? When did this hug take place? Where? my boyfriend at my house. Who was the last person to play with your hair? Are they cute? my boyfriend. yes. Who was the last person close to you, that died? Did you cry? my grandmother. yes, i basically spent a whole day crying. it sucked coz we was in australia while i was in the philippines, my parents offered to fly me back for her funeral but i said no. i kinda regret it. What was your favorite year of your life? Why is this your favorite? possibly 2012. i got to travel alone (not really, i was with my boyfriend) for the first time and had plenty of great memories that year. Is there anyone out there who can make you smile at any time? usually my boyfriend unless i’m upset/angry at him. What is your favorite television show? Why do you watch this show? my all time is the office. it’s got such a great variety of cast members and it’s definitely my kind of humour. If you’re in school, do you like this school you attend? Or do you not? i’m not in school anymore. Have you ever done anything really dangerous or illegal with friends? probably drugs. nothing that hard that put us in a dangerous situation though. Who is the one person out there who makes you feel very special? my boyfriend. Do people call you a low-life sometimes/always? Why do they call you that? nope. Do you want to tell anyone anything right now? Who is this person? not really. Are you going to post this survey on MySpace after you’re finished? no. What is the fourteenth word of the song you’re currently listening to? Are there any foods out there you just can’t refrain from eating every week? rice. Do you like Mexican food? What’s your favorite meal under that genre of food? i like mexican food but it’s a once in a blue moon sorta thing for me. i love fajitas. Do you enjoy shopping? Who do you usually go shopping with anyways? i like shopping alone or with my sister. When you see someone attractive, what’s the first thing you look for? i’ll see their face first then body. How many times a day do you brush your teeth? Do you find this healthy? at least once. yes. How old were you when you lost your virginity? Who’d you lose it to anyways? i was 18, lost it to my boyfriend. Do you wash your own clothes? Or does someone else do that for you? i’m perfectly capable of washing my own clothes but my mum does it in bulk to save water. Are you afraid of thunderstorms? What exactly makes you afraid of them? no, i’m just mindful and make sure my dog is okay. i’m afraid of lightning while driving though. i always have this thought it’ll hit my car. What color are the shutters on your house by the windows, if there are any? we don’t have shutters. When was the last time you attended church? What is the name of this church? last christmas. i don’t even know what it’s called lol. Do you enjoy talking smack to those annoying telemarketers? Is it funny? no, i interrupt them and tell them i’m not interested so i don’t waste their time. Do you consider yourself a healthy person? Physically and mentally? no and no. Who was the last person you held hands with? Were they taller/shorter? my boyfriend, he’s taller.

[thefirelookout]

The Primary Partner

An edited version of this story appears in the Six Seasons Review

So you think you understand labels, don’t you?

In your mid twenties, you are sitting around with this notion in your mouth, chewing on it constantly, and occasionally blowing a pink bubble for people to see. You think you have your relationship status chalked out- neither single, nor taken; neither here nor there. By now, you have probably faced the worst- first major breakup, a financial crisis, an existential one too if you must, the death of a best friend, perhaps that of a parent, a divorce to spice things up; the first major crisis in your life, in general. There’s no time for love in a plethora of things to do, messes to clean up, grades to save, money to make. Especially since you’ve had that one breakup of epic proportions, you’ve lost a bit of something in that whirlwind.

Right now, there are no labels. You’re very PC with your language, politically correct, and you don’t dare claim the ownership of people anymore. More than enough Tumblr posts have taught you to ‘be your own person’, hence nobody is your girlfriend, nobody is your boyfriend and nobody is your cat. If the world itself is this temporary, why shouldn’t relationships be? Oh wait, did you just say the R word?

In this world without labels, you see him standing there, on the other side of the road.

At first glance, he’s just some regular guy who’s staring into space, or probably reading those street signs at a distance. One good look at him in his navy blue parka, the pale sweatshirt underneath, the unremarkable pants and unremarkable shoes; there is no ‘wow’ factor in there, no realization of ‘this is it’ smacks you hard in the face. The sunglasses are an odd little touch, though; round, dark, Steampunk glasses, that too in this weather. It was probably those decisive sunglasses that made you cross the street and meet him.

“Hey there, do we really need shades when it’s so gloomy here?”

“Oh, hey!” A few extra ‘y’s, here and there.

Coffee smells better on his side of the street, the fresh cut flowers and freshly baked bread don’t interfere with the aroma as much. The two of you find yourselves a cozy place to sit, to let the rest of it unfurl.

Notice how those glasses still stayed on, in spite of what you broke the ice with? Interesting, no self-esteem issues to weigh him down, you heave a sigh of relief. You see a bit of hope in there, at least there will be no stupid whining on the phone; this one will not be seeking validation all the time. You hope, you sincerely hope, that this one does not come with baggage.

You even had a little banter with him, which you may or may not remember.

“So, what’s up with your accent?”

“What about it?” you chuckle, somewhat giddy.

He is clearly puzzled, the glasses come off and a pair of comically large eyes is suddenly trying to make sense of your accent. You feel a bit ‘thrown’, you know, because of a question like that. Let’s see what he says to follow up.

“Very strong T’s and D’s, In-Dian, TR-en-Dy. The R’s hang in the air. “Actually” is “arkchelly” like the Chinese. That’s a halwa in my book.”

Oh? The unimpressive guy talks after all, he is beginning to notice your little idiosyncrasies. It’s cute. You found yourself noticing him better- the chiseled jaw, uneven beard, no sideburns. There was a hint of black kohl eyeliner, some smoky drama in those deep set eyes. “A bit of travelling does that to you I guess, like I am now. I’m with the AIESEC here, volunteering for a project.”

“Those are what, six week projects? What then?” “We’ll cross the bridge when we get there, what brings you to Germany though?”

“Oh, sorry for not telling you. I’m afraid I’m stuck here for a year, I’m studying Data Journalism” he mentions the celebrated university, too. You know most of this background information, of course. Raghib, the ‘setter upper’ of this date-thingy, has furnished you with all you need to know about his university, what he did for a living back in Desh and what his height is. Clearly, one of them has lied about the height, they always do.

He seems like good company though, and there’s a little something in there as you’re noticing the little things. His skin is a soft yellow, might as well ask him how he keeps it so clear and glowing. “Oh, I don’t believe in soap. You exfoliate, exfoliate, exfoliate”

The coffee and the bread left a fresh, bitter aftertaste. It was time to go. “Where do you live? Somewhere near campus?” you ask. This, you need to know. You answer a similar question from him.

“Alright, so you probably have a roommate right?”

You half-shrugged, half-nodded, but then you saw him fishing his pockets for something.  

“Accha you do speak German right?” he asked, still rummaging.

“No, not at all. Why do you ask?” notice how his hand has stopped at something. A key, no keychain, nothing special about it. Just the one, standard sized key. He beckons you to come closer to him.

“Here, keep it. If you ever want to see me. Käse”

You pretty much stared at him as he left, the bell tinkled as the door closed behind him. “Did he just…?” well yes he did, but that’s not what was surprising, at least not that alone.

What you didn’t tell him is that you do know German, you have been learning for a few years now. Not only has he left you, a complete stranger, a key to his apartment, you also understood what his last word was.

“Cheese.”

“Weishenme?”

“If I knew the ‘weishenme’ I wouldn’t have asked you in the first place.”

Clearly, your roommate is flabbergasted. Things are pretty liberal where she’s from too, but one does not simply leave their ‘yaoshi’ with someone on their very first date. She keeps asking you whether it is a regional thing or a European thing.

“I don’t understand these Germans! I don’t understand these Bangladeshis! How come he’s so sure that you’re into him? Does he think you’re easy? Urgh! Wo bu zhi dao!”

The girl from the Middle Country paces up and down, trying to make sense of things. For some reason, you find yourself joining the dots. You’re finally getting the hang of the guy.

“Maybe he wants me to make the next move, you know.”

Anybody else might think of it as a very direct, no-nonsense approach. “Don’t you think he has made things easier for you?” they might say. The ball is in your court apparently, he has left his apartment keys with you, you can just drop by whenever you want to. The control is yours, or so they think.

But deep down, only you realize that you’ve swallowed the bait, and the fishing game is on.  He has left you a key, singular, just the one object. There is only one way to do this now, turning the lock with said key. He is waiting, just waiting for you to surface. This confidence is scary and intriguing.

“So, what do you think?” asks Raghib in the follow-up call later that night. “Pochondo hoy?”

You realize that you have only one answer. Just the one. “So far, so good.”

Cheese.

You find a weekend that suits you best, in fact, the very next one. Experience tells you that the longer the radio silence, the faster these things become stale. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ is the reason why your long-distance relationship attempt failed, and you’ve vowed to never put yourself through something like that. That was in the era of commitments, of course, things were a bit too close for comfort, plus you were much younger. Ah well, let bygones be bygones. For now, let’s focus on Mr. Key, shall we?

Nice little neighbourhood, this one. You notice a dessert place on the way, another place is selling pretty stationery at a discount. You feel an overpowering urge to stuff yourself with cake, but we are not stress-eating today. Not today of all days. The notebooks, the highlighters, some cat-ear bookmarks, a sticker set of the entire solar system, a little green chalkboard- you just want to keep looking, nose pressed against the glass display. An old lady smiles at you on the street, so does her dog, tucked lovingly in a pink stroller. It’s hilarious and sickly-sweet, today’s colour-scheme puts Wes Anderson to shame. You mentally tut-tut yourself not to get distracted. There’s a key in your pocket after all. Before you could put your head around it, you find yourself staring at his building. The stairs are a steep climb. There are no welcome mats, just the one name plate on the door.  

“Oh, you’re here!” Yes you are, in the flesh. Why is he surprised? Didn’t he want this, wasn’t he planning this all along?

“Yeah, and I brought you some cheddar. The fancy German cheeses can get tiring.”

“Cheezus, smarter than I thought. Eshe poro, dekhi tomake.”

 Is being metrosexual still a thing, you wonder. What a lovely house, toasty warm, compact and neatly arranged. Just two little rooms, hardly three if you consider the closet too. Whatever furniture he has is white, a touch of green here and there with the cushions and pillows. The light blue wallpaper is so easy on the eye, the ramekins on the shelf are waiting to be filled with crème caramel. He tells you that he loves to cook, a merry pot roast is happening “as we speak” so you better get ready to stuff yourself.

“I bet you really like to clean stuff, and I guess the small apartment helps. Just two rooms and boom, done!”

“Hu. Likey?” “Likey, very much.”

“Wait till you see what’s in there.” Mr. Key is an opener of doors. He takes you to the inner room, which is again, very white. Another little door opens inside, and no that is not the bathroom.

What he reveals is a third little room. Tiny, perhaps smaller than the closet you have back home.

Oh, sorry, grey area, that ‘back home’ memory. Moving on.

The little room has two bean bags laid out on the floor, a low coffee table and at least five bookshelves mounted on the three walls. Not shelves, rather, sections. By language, by subject matter, the books are all well loved and well read.

“I just won’t buy it if you say all of these are yours.” “Uhu, you shouldn’t. My landlady was generous, her eyesight doesn’t allow her to read much. I brought all of these in here. My stuff is on that corner shelf.”

You find yourself staring at the Bangla titles. When was the last time you could devote yourself to one of those? You take a well-loved Golpoguccho, open it, smell it.

“Happy  place?” “Hu. Or sad place.”

“Books change things.”

Something else changes things. A photograph. A framed photograph.

Things would not have escalated as much if only you had precisely six weeks to spare.

The AIESEC people gave you such a warm, emotional farewell; your students, little Alya, little Maen, little Adnan, all of them huddled around you, gave you toasty warm hugs from all around. All of these children know three languages now, they had to learn because the world prefers to have the stronger ones around. The Syrian refugee sob story will be of no use in a fast-paced, merciless world. It has never not been about the survival of the fittest.

Naturally, Papa is very proud of you. You are pretty much his pride and joy at the Independence Day garden-party; your achievements are his achievements, he parades them around for a lawn full of fellow diplomats to see. The aunties love your saree, they ask you if you want to get married anytime soon, their sons are in the army, you really can’t refuse all those tantalizing offers, or so they think.

The visa expires at the end of the year. Whether you renew it or not depends on your fate, or Papa’s benevolence. Otherwise, it’s either Bangladesh or a new country.

Before leaving the volunteers’ housing, your roommate makes an interesting discovery.

“Say, have you done a background check?”

“No, why?”

“You say that you jump into bed with him without any stalking?” Her English is impeccable, but her tenses get jumbled once in a while. Your clever friend conceals it with the present tense, almost eighty percent of the time. It’s only natural, happens to your German too. You make a mental note of asking her how Chinese functions entirely without tenses.

“Nope, too old to jump! I slid in there like a slithering snake.” “Bie kaiwanxiao! It’s no time for jokes, we stalk him on Facebook right now.”

If you say that you never once felt like stalking him, you would be lying to yourself. Of course that idea has occurred to you, of course you wanted to see his deal, what’s up with him, his public thoughts, the kind of music he shares beyond the little blue flat. Things that he shares with others, and not you. You gave it six weeks, a fling is strictly that, a fling, and you are not supposed to trespass.

Besides, why stalk when you get to see the guy this intimately, almost all seven days a week?

“I have something here!”

She scurries over to you and hands you her phone. She has produced, rather fished out, a photo for you. It’s pretty recent, from last month or so. Mr. Key is standing, back to back, with a short haired girl. That’s pretty much all you can make of her from the photo, the hair covers most of her face, she’s wearing a Liverpool jersey and white three-quarter pants to go with it. The place looks a lot like Thailand, either Krabi or Phuket, and they look happy.

They look happy together.

“Probably a friend” you mumble, and get back to packing. You need to move back into Papa’s place. They always have a room ready for you.

You are not like other girls, right? The photo didn’t bother you, right?

Let’s find something that will.

In the meantime, things have started to become quite nice with Mr. Key. He finds it difficult to function without you micro-managing his life, or so he says.

“You reckon I should wear this shirt to the interview? Too black?” “Yeah, and put on some black lipstick while you’re at it.”

“Oh please, my lips are dark enough. I kiss a hellspawn like you on a daily basis.”

You look forward to everyday banters like this. He notices the little things about you in greater detail. He noticed you press your nose against the glass at the stationery shop, he followed your line of sight. He asked about your hobbies, he picked up the necessary information. Then, on your volunteering farewell day, he gave you an expensive set of brush pens. You noticed him beaming at you as you unboxed it, you notice him taking a good look at you before both of you head out in the morning, you catch him staring at you a little too often.

He has shortened your name for his convenience, you’ve started to call him Loki- it’s a fun little association. Things low-key started between the two of you because of a key, and it goes from ‘low-key’ to Loki real quick, considering how ‘extra’ he can be about his skincare routine.  You look forward to seeing his weird yellow face every day, at least once. Even if you don’t, he texts you, calls you, asks if you’re coming over or not. The feeling seems mutual to the naked eye. Even if it isn’t mutual, you don’t really know for sure. One does not risk it by asking questions, especially if you are on that kind of terms. In a world of no-strings, questions are outright taboo, they make things awkward.

On one of those days of blurred lines you decide to get some time to yourself. Things get a little overwhelming at Papa’s with that constantly ringing phone and the influx of important-looking people. At least the little blue apartment could offer what your father could not- pin drop silence, so you pedaled your way over to Loki’s.

The key, the little spark that began everything, has a bit of character now. When you take it out of your pocket, a little Norse god with an oversized head winks at you playfully. Just one of your old action figures modified into a key chain adornment. The lock opens with a subtle click, the latch comes off. You make your way straight into the book closet.

It was sandwiched between Infinite Jest and American Gods. Something perched this high up would normally go unnoticed, unless you have really good eyesight and are over six feet tall. Yet on that fateful day, you had to have one of those books brought down, so you stood on a tiptoe and tugged at a corner.

Thank your lucky stars. The photo frame does not have glass in the front, just clear, sturdy plastic. Sturdy, because all of its contents- the cover, the frame and the photograph, had survived the fall unscathed.

But you know, such a bad omen should have come your way a little more ceremoniously. The front should definitely have been made of glass. The glass should have shattered as a sign of what is to come.

It’s a clearer picture now, clearer than what your roommate had fished out of the internet. You can see her eyes, her smile, her cheeks and her neck.

It’s the same girl, isn’t it?

Considering how you handled such a situation, you deserve a pat on your back.

You broke the terms of a fling, but you did so in the most non-threatening way possible, you did ask him without scaring him away. The ‘who is she’ question could have been avoided, it would probably have kept things as they were, but you are only human. You needed to hear it from his own mouth.

“Interesting, so you’ve seen her already. Beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Very much so. How are things with her?” “Erm…we have been on-and-off for more than five years now. Basically our entire university life through our first jobs.”

He says all of it very matter-of-factly, adding to your confusion. You also notice that he is quite eager to talk about her, excited even.

“Accha, is she okay with it?”

“Okay with what? Being on-and-off? Can’t say!” “No, I mean, seeing other people.” This, you must know. You still have, what’s it called? Yes, ethics.

“Hu. She’s okay with anything.”

You half expected an apology. A little something, anything, to help you feel better would have been nice.

But why would he apologize? What does he owe you?

By default, you have to be cool with it too. After all, none of you have promised each other commitment or exclusivity. You are immensely proud of yourself today, you maintained such a nonchalant poker face, never lost your calm for a second. Had you been in a situation like this even last year, you would have created a scene for sure.

Not this time though.

No broken plates, no insults, no drama, no storming out of the door with eyeliner streaming down your face.

You commend yourself on how professional, how impenetrable you are. Well done.

What he doesn’t know is that you took a photo of her on your phone. What he doesn’t know is that later that night, just before bedtime, you took the photo out for a better look.

Definitely not a recent photograph, this one. She looks hardly twenty, her hair is shoulder-length, she has hardly any makeup on except some liner and some gloss.

“We are both anarcho-communists, Che and I. Back in the day we were really into rallying for the things that mattered.”

You wonder if they had met at one of those turbulent rallies of Shahbag.

Her features were under your scrutiny. What strikes you is her skintone, her rich, deep tan, her Shahbag-battered face that screams ‘Bengali’. You find out what her name is, you silently slither around in her Facebook profile. The white cotton saree, the black sleeveless blouse, the blue teep, the blue glass bangles- you look at her and see what a stark contrast she is.

Go on, take a look at yourself.  

Here you are, half this and half that. A living diaspora, a contradiction. A ‘this’, but not exactly a this. A ‘that’, but not really.

Your face never screamed ‘Bengali’ like hers does. Just to experience the difference, you pinch both of your cheeks. A rosy, excruciating blush appears on your pale skin. Pale, because you could afford to stay indoors. Pale, because while the activists screamed their lungs out, you guys were in the Netherlands. Solidarity was on TV, on blogs, ‘in spirit’.

You were never home, never home for the important things.

She is a midget compared to you, her form is petite, slender, barely there. Yet she looks at you with those classic brown eyes lined top and bottom with jet black kohl. Her gaze shreds you to pieces.

Che. Short for Shucheta.

It was after hearing the name that you insisted he read Lolita.

“Shu-che-ta” you think out loud, “The tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Three syllables, just like Lolita.”

“Looks like I have a thing for girls with three-syllable names.” Always the keen observer, the connector of dots, the opener of doors.

You gently pick up your three-syllable name, try to make it descend a flight of stairs. All you hear is a discord. Something off-beat, like you.

“Nope, not the same. My name doesn’t seem to have the music.”

“Hu. Music. Perhaps she is music” says a voice from nowhere near you. You hear him drift away from you. Is it in your power to keep him anchored anymore, to yourself?

“I think I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“That’s nice, when do you plan to do it?”

“Can’t say, really. It would take a great deal of convincing to even get her to discuss marriage.”

His primary partner, for the lack of a better term, has now eased into your lives.

You remember the sight of his face, how it lost colour, when you referred to her as his ‘girlfriend’.

“Uhu. Not my girlfriend. Tor eto iccha hoile tui girlfriend bana.” Make her your girlfriend if it bothers you so much. At least you have something of a label now, you are a friend of his. You two are on ‘tui’ terms with each other.

If she’s okay with it, you should be okay with it too.

Hence, his ‘primary partner’. For the lack of a better term. She really must be something, you feel. She has made him this determined to marry her, or even discuss marriage for that matter.

The journey and the destination. The temporary and the permanent. The fling and the…the constant. The kind of girl you go home to, keep crawling back to in spite of everything- that’s her. What is she made of, this primary partner?

“How do you plan to do it? A registry?” “Hu, obviously. Perhaps a little something for some street urchins once we return home?”

“Do invite me man, I don’t want to miss out on the food!”

“We’ll see about that. Maal ta re aage raji toh korai, then we can have some biriyani.”

Let me convince her first, he says. Maal. Goods, object, thing. Let me convince the thing to marry me first.

When you return to Papa’s house, back to your desk, chair and notebook, you take all of your brush pens out.

Maal.

Soft little strokes of the word, in every colour. The pens have a mind of their own, they glide on, fill page after page, ‘maal’ in the Roman script as well as the Bongo Lipi.

The object of his affection, Shucheta.  

Raghib really didn’t know, he said, he really didn’t. Honest.

“I really had no idea he was seeing someone else on the side! Last I heard he had broken up with that girl you’re talking about, what’s her name? Shuchitra!”

“Correction: he is seeing me on the side Raghib, not her.”

The ‘other woman’ is you in this one. You are the ‘mistress’, the second choice, the temporary arrangement, the makeshift hut. What the first choice couldn’t give, you offered, but you’re still just that. Temporary.

Your other friends complain that you have gone much quieter than ‘before’. The ‘before’ was a merrier time, a time when you would feel like stuffing yourself with cake. The bakery on the way to the little blue apartment, the sight of all that sugary-sweet makes you want to run away from things. You get yourself a sturdy belt from the thrift store, none of the trousers hug your form anymore. Friends who see you after long intervals ask you to ‘eat properly’, whatever that means.

It was Papa who noticed, it was he who asked if you wanted to get some fresh air, go somewhere nice. A week in Cologne together for some father-daughter quality time. He has some work there anyway, some complimentary tickets and a love for Gothic architecture.

“I’ll be a bit busy when you’re away, inb4 late replies to your messages.” Loki tells you over text. He does miss you though, he is expressive like that.

On the weekend of your return, you pedal straight to his house, show up at his door with a camera roll full of touristy pictures. He peppered you with compliments on the ones you sent to him from Cologne. The Loki keychain comes out of your pocket, ready to do its duty. Let’s go hide somewhere till he comes home.

What you don’t hear this time, as you turn the key, is that familiar ‘click’.

You have always been bad at opening doors, you often turn keys in the opposite direction, even when starting the car.

The click is just not there.

The Norse god does not help you open a portal. It just stares back at you, helplessly. Never losing your calm, you rush right up to the landlady’s flat, you ask her questions. Finally, a place where you can really ask questions.

He left, changed the lock before he went, don’t know where.

You find yourself holding on to the banister as you descend down the stairs.

For the first time in these months, for the first time in all these years, a man has made you feel weak in the knees.

The irony is, you were the one who told him what ‘ghosting’ really means. Ghosting is disappearing into thin air, as if you’ve never even existed. You become a ghost in someone’s life, dead to them, when they ghost you.

“I feel like a Phillistine while talking to you kids these days. Ghosting! Pah!”

To rinse him off of you, you reestablish contact with some ghosts on your phone. They are both happy and puzzled to ‘have you back’. You grab a coffee with Luca and  a movie with Finn, you sit through Infinity War with your teeth clenched. Norse mythology is a grey area, just like that closet back home.

Home.

The universities have finally spoken, you’re going to a new country this time, a North American experience awaits you. The family is proud, Papa is beaming at everyone at the Victory Day garden party, with you on display.

Momma asks the both of you to come home.

It’s always amazing to be back with Momma, the three of you together, as a family unit. She and Papa bicker at the airport, laugh hearty laughs, so much in love with each other in spite of the distance.

“Papa, please promise me you’ll take her along this time?” You sneak in a plea to him when she’s not looking.

“She loves her job, what do I even do? She’s going to get bored in two weeks over there, let me tell you!”

“It’s just his excuse of not taking me to places. I am so going with your Papa this time. Let me just retire and we’ll tell him!”

Since Loki left, you have tried to find out where he is. Denying these efforts of locating him would only mean lying to yourself. Raghib was of no use, not that we are surprised at the information. Social media did not give you a satisfactory answer either, the interest dulled and life happened. Moving on was easier than you thought.

Then again, what to move on from when there was no relationship?

What did he owe you, and what did you owe him?

One day though, it suddenly occurs to you.

“Momma, do you know a Shucheta S.? A friend asked after her, said she’s a member.”

Sucheta S. the activist. Just like your mother.

“Oh I remember the girl, went to the Sorbonne and all. Really talented” which is not unlike how he used to speak about her. Really talented, fiercely intelligent. He was both intrigued and terrified of her. Not unlike how he spoke of you, either.

“Hey, didn’t she marry recently? Hang on.” That’s the thing with your mother and you. ‘Didn’t she marry?’ instead of ‘didn’t she get married?’. The woman in the subject position.

Momma brings her phone to you, goes to one of her fellow womens’ organization acquaintance’s profile and produces an array of photos.

A neat little rooftop holud, well photographed and well adorned.

Her hands had henna in them, her saree was a soft yellow, elegant and easy on the eye.

“Any photos of the wedding though?” You really wanted to see them happy, together.

Not a registry wedding, but a minimal, elegant one. The development economist you are kinda-sorta seeing nowadays says that traditions are not all that bad. Traditions stem from our collective experience, they have helped our predecessors survive.

“Do you know the groom, Momma?”

“Don’t think so, he looks very happy. Heard that he’s a photojournalist.”

Except Loki never took photos.

His major was Data Journalism.

“Not to gossip or anything, but she did go through a pretty bad breakup. She found out that her ex was cheating on her with some Indian girl he met in Germany. Well, good riddance!”

The groom? You don’t think you’ve seen him before.  

[bondedbrotherhood-blog]

Reconnecting - by Lassiter and Blay

Blay:

*I’d never realized how big the mansion was, well I had but I’d never taken the time to find all the nooks and corners, now for the past days I had nothing but. Over the past few weeks I’d wandered through the mansion a lot, especially, at night when I couldn’t sleep which was more or less never these days. My dreams was haunting me, Lash and the Omega winning, killing everyone that I cared for and now Qhuinn was gone, not mine anymore, not that he ever was. But having him officially out of my life without no return, no more chances, no more tries, it was like someone had turned off the light, stolen my breath and ripped my heart out of my chest. What was the point to anything anymore, I didn’t know, I just knew I had to get myself out of my funk or I’d get lost in self pity and hate, but it was easier said than done. I loved Qhuinn and for the millionth time in my life I lost him to someone else, once again I wasn’t enough. Knowing I should probably go back to bed and try to sleep I detoured to the TV room instead. What I needed was something meaningless that would get my mind turn off everything even if just for a minute or two.*

Lassiter:

Tempting as it was to spend some more time out in the sun, I couldn’t bring myself to get my atrophied ass off the couch. I’d burned through every episode and re-run of Maury and Jerry I’d DVR’ed, and even progressed to considering a few episodes of the Kardashians. Yeah, shit was bad. But as far as distractions went, they did the job. Right now I was doing a Jurassic Park marathon, cause Jeff Goldblum and Sam Neill were gifts to this world, and later I could ogle Chris Pratt and Bryce Dallas Howard as they figured their shit out while defeating the baddest dinosaur in the world. Unf.

The slightest whisper of footsteps was all the warning I had that someone else was coming, but it was all I needed, my energy picking up their signature a second later and shooting me up to face the door. The doggen made no efforts to hide their footsteps from me, and I think that had something to do with Fritz having a word with them for my benefit. When he’d first snuck up on me by accident I think I leapt about five feet into the air, and ever since the doggen have made a point of practically stomping around me. Sweet of them.

This wasn’t one of the doggen though, shock flickering through my dull white eyes as the redhead came into view. Tension locked my shoulders into place, the last few times I’d seen the male darting through my mind. Him, charging into the warehouse to destroy it and Lash. Him, walking away from me on the street right before Lash caught me with those manky chains…

“Blay,” I murmured. “Evening.”

Blay:

*Deep in thought I couldn’t help but to wonder what I was still doing there in the mansion. I should have never come back, things were so weird and honestly I didn’t feel like I fitted in, at all. No matter what I did it felt like I was the odd man out. I didn’t feel like it was my home anymore; I felt like I was standing outside the window looking in on everyone and I had no idea how to change that.

The only good thing that had happened since the warehouse was the young trainee at the gym but I was pretty sure that was a momentary lapse in judgement on his part. Nothing to get excited about.

I came to a sudden halt; I’d been so wrapped up in my own head, my own thoughts I hadn’t been paying attention to where I’d been going. Well, of course I’d known since my mission had been popcorn and TV but the fact that I was already there and that it wasn’t empty wasn’t anything I had expected. I hadn’t seen Lassiter since that night I walked away from him in the alley, that same night he’d been taken. I wanted to move, wanted to turn and walk away but I was glued to my spot, just staring at him. It was my fault, all of it; Lassiter being kidnapped, being tortured, and God knows what else. Just the thought made me cringe. No wonder Qhuinn found someone else, who could love a traitor like me? Lassiter had to dislike me even more, he had to hate me more than anyone. I knew I did. “I'm… I… sorry,” I cleared my voice, “I’ll go. I’m sorry.” I stammered as I started to back away. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough because I had no idea what to say to him. None whatsoever, which on its own was sort of hilarious because of all people Lassiter was the one who I talked to the most while between worlds so to speak.* @LordshipHalogen

Lassiter:

The emotions that ran through me were the proverbial shitstorm in a teacup. Everything I’d felt for Blay before his dark turn, every protective instinct, demanded that I still look out for him, that I try and spare him from this bullshit. He was still a good male; he’d come through to try and save everyone. He’d come to destroy the warehouse and Lash. And yet everything I felt since Lash had anger warring and demanding to get a voice too.

“You don’t have to go,” I heard myself say, folding my arms and staring him down. “You could stick around. Watch some Jurassic Park. Compliment my new hair do. Give me a half decent apology. Try and explain what the fuck was going through your head. Cause fuck Blay, I kinda think I deserve it, y’know?”

I knew the male had been in the PT suite, treated by Doc Jane after the chaos. But I hadn’t seen him, and he hadn’t seen me. Unless Qhuinn or the good Doc had told him about my scar and everything else, which I doubted, or Crhis after he’d carried my broken ass outta there, the redhead had no idea what Lash had done. Given the guilty ass look on his pretty puss, that was probably for the best, but like everyone else, he suspected.

Blay:

*”Eeh… what?” What the hell was he talking about? Wait… I smiled, briefly but I still smiled, Lass was the master at putting it out there and lay it all bare. Qhuinn might think he was the master of speaking his mind but no one beat the Angel, I knew I sure as hell didn’t. Not even now when that last of my so-call and well-known innocence had gone bye bye. I hated verbal confrontation and did what I had to do to not have to get into it. I therefore, always picked my battles and it wasn’t until forced and given no choice that I put it as blankly as Lass or Qhuinn, and usually when I did because I so seldom did, people’s reaction where the stronger. I’d stopped moving the second he started to speak, all I had to do was to turn around and speak to him and even that felt weird, strange and like I was talking to a stranger in a way. “I’m really sorry for almost getting you killed, twice.” What else could I say there wasn’t anything worth saying that would ever fix anything of what happened to him, me for that matter or any of the brothers. I took a step closer. “And your hair does look quite lovely, really very metrosexual of you if I may say so myself.” I tried to smile, as I looked at him, trying to not flicker with my eyes, knowing that it was a sign of weakness and that I had something to hide. I had no more secrets. I was all stripped bare like the most naked flesh.*

Lassiter:

My eyes narrowed as he spoke, and I didn’t have to use angel powers or some magical voodoo hoodoo shit to know the male was sincere in his apology. And yet fuck… it didn’t help as much as I wished it would. The anger roiled and thrashed beneath the surface, my gaze flicking away to make sure he didn’t catch it behind my eyes. The last thing I needed was anyone realising how tumultuous my emotions were at the moment.

Deep down, I knew the anger wasn’t all for Blay, and the apology needed to be accepted. I’d gone out ready to fight for him and try to save his soul, and in doing so I’d ended up a prisoner of war. That hadn’t been Blay’s intention, and the fault of all my pain, all my suffering, landed squarely on Lash. He was the one that wielded the weapons and smiled as he ripped me apart.

“I make any hair do look good,” I managed, though my voice was flat and lacked my old self in every way. “Do you know how fuckin’ frustrating it is to get the apology you want and not really feel better?” I continued, sighing as I looked to the floor. “I wanted to save you, Blay. A part of me still does.”

Looking back up, I met his gaze again, seeing his discomfort at having the conversation sprung on him and not entirely caring. If either of us wanted some semblance of our old friendship back, this needed to happen. And while his small, tentative smiles gave me a lick of hope, I needed more.

“What did Lash do to you? What did the Omega do?”

The questions sliced right to the heart of the matter, because for Blay to almost have been turned against the one he loved and his family, his suffering must surely have rivaled mine. How similar were our scars? Because suffering… I could forgive. Pain made you do fucked up shit, and when the heart was broken, all the dark shit got in pretending to mend it. And I knew Blay wasn’t the sharing sort; he hated this. But I was willing to give a little to get a little.

“Here, I’ll go first,” I whispered, straightening and half turning to yank my shirt up at my back, revealing the knotted, ugly scar that ran down my spine. “Ever heard of a blood eagle?” I muttered, giving him a few seconds to absorb the damage before I dropped the shirt back into place, trying not to remember the breathless, dying feeling of the ritual.

Blay:

*I couldn’t help the gasp that left my mouth the second I saw his back, the pain he must have felt I couldn’t bear it, to know how much he hurt but I forced myself to watch to see him, to see what me not being strong enough had caused him. I knew I had tried as best I could to keep them away, to keep myself sane enough to not risk any of them, but I hadn’t done enough. I should have said something, but I was a coward because I didn’t want to lose them, any of them. Therefore I had shut up and said nothing not mentioned at the brightest moments that I was tainted and black. I was no longer the Blay I once had been, and now even though my blood was once more red I would never be the same.

It was hard not knowing how he really felt, I could feel his discomfort but I was to upset and weary myself to make anything real out of it. It was just confusing, and tiring. I was so damn tired I could sleep for a month and still need to nap every two hours like a damn young.

As I listen to him speak I couldn’t bear to look him the eyes anylonger, the pain in his voice when he spoke of what happened to him just tore in me. Instead I walked closer to where he was sitting and I sat down in the chair next to him, eyes on my hands I needed to collect myself before looking at him again. I had tears in my eyes and I couldn’t let him see them.

“No, I don’t know what a blood eagle is, never heard of it. But do I know how it feels to not feel like what you get is enough or being enough… “ I couldn’t help the harsh, short snorting sound I made, because did I ever, but never mind it. I couldn’t change shit so there was no point in dwelling on it. “I’m so sorry Lass,” I looked at him not caring one way or another what I looked like, “I am so sorry you got hurt… tortured because of me. I’m so very sorry.” The last sorry coming out in a whisper. I was sorry but sorry wouldn’t do jack shit to what had happened or making things better would it. “They didn’t do anything… not really. I wasn’t aware as far as I can remember.” I bet Lass wished he could say the same but he had to live with what was done to him.*

Lassiter:

There it was. Beneath the male’s attempts at a calm facade was all the shit he was trying to hold together, the guilt and the misery, and the sight of my scar knocked down his last wall. As he came over to take a seat on the couch I watched, listening to the ache in his voice, then feeling my own defences crumble as he looked at me with those tear filled blue eyes. I found myself grateful he had no recollection of what was done, what dragged him to the other side. It was perhaps a mercy, to be spared those kinds of memories. I was also glad that my first instinct was relief for the male, rather than envy. There was hope for me yet.

Turning slightly, I lowered myself onto the other seat on the couch, a cushion’s worth of space still between me and the redhead. I wish I could get closer, but these days the second anyone was within a foot of my personal space I tended to flinch. Thanks a fucking bunch, Lash. I was at the point of considering having a chat to Xhex about how the female had coped afterwards, but really, that meant admitting to someone exactly what had happened, and so far the only ones who had a hint were Qhuinn and Jane. I was fine keeping it like that, for now.

“I’m sorry you went through it too, Blay,” I murmured, and I meant it. “After I helped Tohr… my new goal, my new purpose was to try and help all of you. To protect you all. I… I feel like I failed you in that,” I admitted quietly, glancing sideways, my white eyes dull. “So I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I wasn’t the angel you needed… That I couldn’t help you when you needed it the most.”

Blay:

*”It isn’t your fault, you didn’t fail anyone Lassiter. You were always there for me, for all of us. It was I, me,” I slapped myself on the chest, “who left you in the alley. I left you and me being the selfish bastard I was is what got you hurt. They probably took me, chose me, because I’m the weakest link because I’m easy to manipulate, because of how I felt about Qhuinn, for all of you. They knew my Achilles heel and I let them get close to me.”

Shaking my head I stop, I couldn’t keep doing this feeling sorry for myself. I hated it. “I know it is so, I will do everything I can to repay my debt I know how huge it is. But I will and someday maybe after paying it off just maybe we both feel better. I’m ashamed Lass. I betrayed my race, my brothers, you. And you being kind to me makes me feel even worse because I don’t deserve it! Do you hear me? I betrayed you! You can’t love me, no one can, I need you to hate me Lass!” I grabbed him by his shirt shaking him a little. “Hit me do something but stop being kind to me because it is killing me!” I screamed, angry, hurt and wanting all of it to go away.

I could feel the hotness of my own tears as they started to fall down my face and I turned away; god, I couldn’t even get mad without crying. I sobbed, hiding my face in my hands, I knew he could hear it but I was too fucking tired to stop it or even care. I hated myself and there was no way for me to escape it.*

Lassiter:

My head started to shake, wanting to argue the points the male was spitting out amid anguished tears and chest slapping. Caring for others might be seen as a weakness to some, but ultimately it was one of the things that made you stronger than anything else. Able to endure so much more than a man who had nothing. Caring from others brought you back from the brink when all else was lost.

I wanted to say all that and more right up until the vampire grabbed my shirt, closing that protective distance between us and screamed. Panic and fear overrode everything else as I flinched and froze, the rough embrace a whiplash in memory to the warehouse, to Lash standing over me with all his aggression, all his vindictive need for pain. But my hands weren’t manacled this time, and it was a struggle to divide the instinctive need to hit out, to protect and defend myself, when in my head I saw Lash, but in my heart I knew it was Blay. The result was a bastardised compromise.

I couldn’t hit Blay, even if he wanted me to. Needed me to. But the tension running through me, the fear and anxiety, was about to make me sick all over his lap if he didn’t let go. My arms wrenched up between us, severing his hold even as he started to let go, and I half fell off the couch then sprang up, backing up toward the TV. Behind me I heard a roar and flinched sideways, eyes wide, only to see the T-Rex getting all loud and angry before he destroyed the JP car. Creator fucking help me, I was a jumpy mess.

The male’s soft sobs wrenched at my heart though, breaking through all the fear, and taking a shuddering breath I tried to focus on that, to pull myself out of the hole. Moving until I was as close as I dared, I lowered myself into a crouch before Blay, ready to make a sidestep and move if needed.

“Blay…” I said quietly, taking another breath, using it to push the words up and out. “I forgive you. I’m pretty sure the others forgive you. But even if they don’t? None of this shit is going to start getting even close to better until /you/ forgive you. Cause you’re not a bad guy. You’re not the enemy. You’re family that lost their way,” I murmured, my fingers twitching to reach out. Slowly, with a whole metric-fuckton of ‘what the hell are you doing’ going on in my brain, I reached out and placed a tentative hand on the male’s shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“And we’re gonna be here until you do. We all get second chances,” I added, managing a weak smile. “I’m the patron Saint of them. Without a second chance… I wouldn’t even be here.”

Blay:

*Dear Scribe talk about meltdown, you’d think I was a teenage girl who lost her boyfriend and broken a nail. I was a wreck, a real damn wreck close to psychosis. Maybe I should talk to doc Jane, maybe there was something very wrong with me and of all people that I’d blown up on, lost it completely, was Lass. In retrospect I realized that he’d frozen, his body gone stiff because the attack and touching wasn’t something he expected.

Glancing at him I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, the ultimate embarrassment, I felt my cheeks flush warm, crying in front of him. Breaking down. I looked back at my hands in my lap. It was strange to think this was us, that the two males, three if you counted Qhuinn, had had the most mind blowing kinky ass sex in the gym just a couple months ago and now one of us was a wreck, one had been so physically and mentally abused he couldn’t bare to be touched… Qhuinn, I had no idea about him. Lassiter had always been this vibrant, cocky and blunt male, one of the reasons why Vishous hated him, because Lassiter would always say it to you as it was without any fuss or sweet talking, he never gave up and Vishous thought he was a nosey and annoying asshole. Lass got things done; look at how he saved Tohr.

“I’m sorry.” I snorted, god I’d said that a lot, I had to stop saying it because it didn’t help, it made nothing better and changed nothing either. “I didn’t mean to grab you. Sorry. And you did save us you know, many times… Over and over. Maybe too much…” Maybe, just maybe, it would have been easier if things had ended in a slightly different way. I patted Lass’ hand as he squeezed my shoulder watching him take a seat next to me again.

Everything had changed, nothing and no one was as they once been and the way it looked nothing ever would be. At that moment I couldn’t say what that meant but I was too tired to try to figure it out. Leaning back into the chair I watched the screen. I hoped that doc Jane could help Lass deal with whatever happened to him. I wanted to, and owed him nothing less, but I had no idea how. As for forgiving myself, I knew there was no point in going there because I couldn’t. No way, no how.*

Lassiter:

As the male seemed to settle, reigning in that emotional maelstrom and forcing it back into whatever internalised box of misery he had, I slowly retook my seat beside him. My white eyes, lacking their usual ‘glow’, fixed on the screen as Alan settled in beside the two kids in the tree for a long ass night of trying not to get eaten by dinosaurs.

“I know you’re sorry, Blay,” I managed quietly, not looking sideways but feeling the male at rest. “N’ it’s fine. I get it. We’ve both been through our own versions of hell. Now we just gotta figure out how to get out.”

And that was it. Our suffering might not have been the same, but we were both in our own versions of ‘fuck this shit’, and damn if that didn’t give us something to bond over.

Trying to relax back into the couch, telling myself the redhead wasn’t about to reach out and latch on again, I instead reached over and plucked the bowl of popcorn from the side table, offering it to my new movie companion.

“There’s booze too,” I added softly, shrugging. “Popcorn, booze and dinosaurs. Cause every recovery starts somewhere.”

Blay:

*I deflated back into my chair, suddenly exhausted, beyond what I knew what to do with. It was what it was, right. The Omega had fucked my insides up, I could feel it because I wasn’t all there. I was still not like I had been and never would be. I had dreams, about things that had happened or I thought had happened, some things I knew happened some were like the first time I’d seen them. I wasn’t telling anyone about how fucked up I really was. I’d find a way to leave, get out of there, leave the Brotherhood, the program. Yeah, yeah, that’s what I’d do. Lass was right though, we had been through hell and getting out was the fucking problem wasn’t it.

He offered me some popcorn, but I turned it down. “No, thanks I’m not hungry.” I never was, not really, I’d get a craving and then when I started to eat it would just grow foul in my mouth. “I’ll have the booze and the dinosaurs though,” I said reaching for a beer and the whiskey pouring half a glass with the golden fluid chugging down half the glass right away. “Dinosaurs and booze sound really good. Thanks.” I let my head fall back, glancing over at Lass, giving him half a smile. “Thanks for letting me stay.”*

[saintsnsinnersbdb]

Reconnecting

#SL #Reconnecting

Written by @CorruptSoulless and @LordshipHalogen

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sph1ro

>>><<<

Blay: 

*I'd never realized how big the mansion was, well I had but I’d never taken the time to find all the nooks and corners, now for the past days I had nothing but. Over the past few weeks I'd wandered through the mansion a lot, especially, at night when I couldn’t sleep which was more or less never these days. My dreams was haunting me, Lash and the Omega winning, killing everyone that I cared for and now Qhuinn was gone, not mine anymore, not that he ever was. But having him officially out of my life without no return, no more chances, no more tries, it was like someone had turned off the light, stolen my breath and ripped my heart out of my chest. What was the point to anything anymore, I didn't know, I just knew I had to get myself out of my funk or I'd get lost in self pity and hate, but it was easier said than done. I loved Qhuinn and for the millionth time in my life I lost him to someone else, once again I wasn't enough. Knowing I should probably go back to bed and try to sleep I detoured to the TV room instead. What I needed was something meaningless that would get my mind turn off everything even if just for a minute or two.*

Lassiter:

Tempting as it was to spend some more time out in the sun, I couldn’t bring myself to get my atrophied ass off the couch. I’d burned through every episode and re-run of Maury and Jerry I’d DVR’ed, and even progressed to considering a few episodes of the Kardashians. Yeah, shit was bad. But as far as distractions went, they did the job. Right now I was doing a Jurassic Park marathon, cause Jeff Goldblum and Sam Neill were gifts to this world, and later I could ogle Chris Pratt and Bryce Dallas Howard as they figured their shit out while defeating the baddest dinosaur in the world. Unf.

The slightest whisper of footsteps was all the warning I had that someone else was coming, but it was all I needed, my energy picking up their signature a second later and shooting me up to face the door. The doggen made no efforts to hide their footsteps from me, and I think that had something to do with Fritz having a word with them for my benefit. When he’d first snuck up on me by accident I think I leapt about five feet into the air, and ever since the doggen have made a point of practically stomping around me. Sweet of them.

This wasn’t one of the doggen though, shock flickering through my dull white eyes as the redhead came into view. Tension locked my shoulders into place, the last few times I’d seen the male darting through my mind. Him, charging into the warehouse to destroy it and Lash. Him, walking away from me on the street right before Lash caught me with those manky chains…

“Blay,” I murmured. “Evening.”

Blay:

*Deep in thought I couldn't help but to wonder what I was still doing there in the mansion. I should have never come back, things were so weird and honestly I didn't feel like I fitted in, at all. No matter what I did it felt like I was the odd man out. I didn't feel like it was my home anymore; I felt like I was standing outside the window looking in on everyone and I had no idea how to change that.

The only good thing that had happened since the warehouse was the young trainee at the gym but I was pretty sure that was a momentary lapse in judgement on his part. Nothing to get excited about.

I came to a sudden halt; I'd been so wrapped up in my own head, my own thoughts I hadn't been paying attention to where I’d been going. Well, of course I'd known since my mission had been popcorn and TV but the fact that I was already there and that it wasn't empty wasn't anything I had expected. I hadn't seen Lassiter since that night I walked away from him in the alley, that same night he'd been taken. I wanted to move, wanted to turn and walk away but I was glued to my spot, just staring at him. It was my fault, all of it; Lassiter being kidnapped, being tortured, and God knows what else. Just the thought made me cringe. No wonder Qhuinn found someone else, who could love a traitor like me? Lassiter had to dislike me even more, he had to hate me more than anyone. I knew I did. “I'm… I… sorry,” I cleared my voice, “I'll go. I'm sorry.” I stammered as I started to back away. I couldn't get out of there fast enough because I had no idea what to say to him. None whatsoever, which on its own was sort of hilarious because of all people Lassiter was the one who I talked to the most while between worlds so to speak.* @LordshipHalogen

Lassiter:

The emotions that ran through me were the proverbial shitstorm in a teacup. Everything I’d felt for Blay before his dark turn, every protective instinct, demanded that I still look out for him, that I try and spare him from this bullshit. He was still a good male; he’d come through to try and save everyone. He’d come to destroy the warehouse and Lash. And yet everything I felt since Lash had anger warring and demanding to get a voice too.

“You don’t have to go,” I heard myself say, folding my arms and staring him down. “You could stick around. Watch some Jurassic Park. Compliment my new hair do. Give me a half decent apology. Try and explain what the fuck was going through your head. Cause fuck Blay, I kinda think I deserve it, y’know?”

I knew the male had been in the PT suite, treated by Doc Jane after the chaos. But I hadn’t seen him, and he hadn’t seen me. Unless Qhuinn or the good Doc had told him about my scar and everything else, which I doubted, or Crhis after he’d carried my broken ass outta there, the redhead had no idea what Lash had done. Given the guilty ass look on his pretty puss, that was probably for the best, but like everyone else, he suspected.

Blay:

*”Eeh… what?” What the hell was he talking about? Wait… I smiled, briefly but I still smiled, Lass was the master at putting it out there and lay it all bare. Qhuinn might think he was the master of speaking his mind but no one beat the Angel, I knew I sure as hell didn’t. Not even now when that last of my so-call and well-known innocence had gone bye bye. I hated verbal confrontation and did what I had to do to not have to get into it. I therefore, always picked my battles and it wasn’t until forced and given no choice that I put it as blankly as Lass or Qhuinn, and usually when I did because I so seldom did, people’s reaction where the stronger. I’d stopped moving the second he started to speak, all I had to do was to turn around and speak to him and even that felt weird, strange and like I was talking to a stranger in a way. “I’m really sorry for almost getting you killed, twice.” What else could I say there wasn’t anything worth saying that would ever fix anything of what happened to him, me for that matter or any of the brothers. I took a step closer. “And your hair does look quite lovely, really very metrosexual of you if I may say so myself.” I tried to smile, as I looked at him, trying to not flicker with my eyes, knowing that it was a sign of weakness and that I had something to hide. I had no more secrets. I was all stripped bare like the most naked flesh.*

Lassiter:

My eyes narrowed as he spoke, and I didn’t have to use angel powers or some magical voodoo hoodoo shit to know the male was sincere in his apology. And yet fuck… it didn’t help as much as I wished it would. The anger roiled and thrashed beneath the surface, my gaze flicking away to make sure he didn’t catch it behind my eyes. The last thing I needed was anyone realising how tumultuous my emotions were at the moment.

Deep down, I knew the anger wasn’t all for Blay, and the apology needed to be accepted. I’d gone out ready to fight for him and try to save his soul, and in doing so I’d ended up a prisoner of war. That hadn’t been Blay’s intention, and the fault of all my pain, all my suffering, landed squarely on Lash. He was the one that wielded the weapons and smiled as he ripped me apart.

“I make any hair do look good,” I managed, though my voice was flat and lacked my old self in every way. “Do you know how fuckin’ frustrating it is to get the apology you want and not really feel better?” I continued, sighing as I looked to the floor. “I wanted to save you, Blay. A part of me still does.”

Looking back up, I met his gaze again, seeing his discomfort at having the conversation sprung on him and not entirely caring. If either of us wanted some semblance of our old friendship back, this needed to happen. And while his small, tentative smiles gave me a lick of hope, I needed more.

“What did Lash do to you? What did the Omega do?”

The questions sliced right to the heart of the matter, because for Blay to almost have been turned against the one he loved and his family, his suffering must surely have rivaled mine. How similar were our scars? Because suffering… I could forgive. Pain made you do fucked up shit, and when the heart was broken, all the dark shit got in pretending to mend it. And I knew Blay wasn’t the sharing sort; he hated this. But I was willing to give a little to get a little.

“Here, I’ll go first,” I whispered, straightening and half turning to yank my shirt up at my back, revealing the knotted, ugly scar that ran down my spine. “Ever heard of a blood eagle?” I muttered, giving him a few seconds to absorb the damage before I dropped the shirt back into place, trying not to remember the breathless, dying feeling of the ritual.

Blay:

*I couldn’t help the gasp that left my mouth the second I saw his back, the pain he must have felt I couldn’t bear it, to know how much he hurt but I forced myself to watch to see him, to see what me not being strong enough had caused him. I knew I had tried as best I could to keep them away, to keep myself sane enough to not risk any of them, but I hadn’t done enough. I should have said something, but I was a coward because I didn’t want to lose them, any of them. Therefore I had shut up and said nothing not mentioned at the brightest moments that I was tainted and black. I was no longer the Blay I once had been, and now even though my blood was once more red I would never be the same.

It was hard not knowing how he really felt, I could feel his discomfort but I was to upset and weary myself to make anything real out of it. It was just confusing, and tiring. I was so damn tired I could sleep for a month and still need to nap every two hours like a damn young.

As I listen to him speak I couldn’t bear to look him the eyes anylonger, the pain in his voice when he spoke of what happened to him just tore in me. Instead I walked closer to where he was sitting and I sat down in the chair next to him, eyes on my hands I needed to collect myself before looking at him again. I had tears in my eyes and I couldn’t let him see them.

“No, I don’t know what a blood eagle is, never heard of it. But do I know how it feels to not feel like what you get is enough or being enough... “ I couldn’t help the harsh, short snorting sound I made, because did I ever, but never mind it. I couldn’t change shit so there was no point in dwelling on it. “I’m so sorry Lass,” I looked at him not caring one way or another what I looked like, “I am so sorry you got hurt… tortured because of me. I’m so very sorry.” The last sorry coming out in a whisper. I was sorry but sorry wouldn’t do jack shit to what had happened or making things better would it. “They didn’t do anything… not really. I wasn’t aware as far as I can remember.” I bet Lass wished he could say the same but he had to live with what was done to him.*

Lassiter:

There it was. Beneath the male’s attempts at a calm facade was all the shit he was trying to hold together, the guilt and the misery, and the sight of my scar knocked down his last wall. As he came over to take a seat on the couch I watched, listening to the ache in his voice, then feeling my own defences crumble as he looked at me with those tear filled blue eyes. I found myself grateful he had no recollection of what was done, what dragged him to the other side. It was perhaps a mercy, to be spared those kinds of memories. I was also glad that my first instinct was relief for the male, rather than envy. There was hope for me yet.

Turning slightly, I lowered myself onto the other seat on the couch, a cushion’s worth of space still between me and the redhead. I wish I could get closer, but these days the second anyone was within a foot of my personal space I tended to flinch. Thanks a fucking bunch, Lash. I was at the point of considering having a chat to Xhex about how the female had coped afterwards, but really, that meant admitting to someone exactly what had happened, and so far the only ones who had a hint were Qhuinn and Jane. I was fine keeping it like that, for now.

“I’m sorry you went through it too, Blay,” I murmured, and I meant it. “After I helped Tohr… my new goal, my new purpose was to try and help all of you. To protect you all. I… I feel like I failed you in that,” I admitted quietly, glancing sideways, my white eyes dull. “So I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I wasn’t the angel you needed… That I couldn’t help you when you needed it the most.”

Blay:

*”It isn't your fault, you didn’t fail anyone Lassiter. You were always there for me, for all of us. It was I, me,” I slapped myself on the chest, “who left you in the alley. I left you and me being the selfish bastard I was is what got you hurt. They probably took me, chose me, because I'm the weakest link because I’m easy to manipulate, because of how I felt about Qhuinn, for all of you. They knew my Achilles heel and I let them get close to me.”

Shaking my head I stop, I couldn’t keep doing this feeling sorry for myself. I hated it. “I know it is so, I will do everything I can to repay my debt I know how huge it is. But I will and someday maybe after paying it off just maybe we both feel better. I’m ashamed Lass. I betrayed my race, my brothers, you. And you being kind to me makes me feel even worse because I don’t deserve it! Do you hear me? I betrayed you! You can’t love me, no one can, I need you to hate me Lass!” I grabbed him by his shirt shaking him a little. “Hit me do something but stop being kind to me because it is killing me!” I screamed, angry, hurt and wanting all of it to go away.

I could feel the hotness of my own tears as they started to fall down my face and I turned away; god, I couldn’t even get mad without crying. I sobbed, hiding my face in my hands, I knew he could hear it but I was too fucking tired to stop it or even care. I hated myself and there was no way for me to escape it.*

Lassiter:

My head started to shake, wanting to argue the points the male was spitting out amid anguished tears and chest slapping. Caring for others might be seen as a weakness to some, but ultimately it was one of the things that made you stronger than anything else. Able to endure so much more than a man who had nothing. Caring from others brought you back from the brink when all else was lost.

I wanted to say all that and more right up until the vampire grabbed my shirt, closing that protective distance between us and screamed. Panic and fear overrode everything else as I flinched and froze, the rough embrace a whiplash in memory to the warehouse, to Lash standing over me with all his aggression, all his vindictive need for pain. But my hands weren’t manacled this time, and it was a struggle to divide the instinctive need to hit out, to protect and defend myself, when in my head I saw Lash, but in my heart I knew it was Blay. The result was a bastardised compromise.

I couldn’t hit Blay, even if he wanted me to. Needed me to. But the tension running through me, the fear and anxiety, was about to make me sick all over his lap if he didn’t let go. My arms wrenched up between us, severing his hold even as he started to let go, and I half fell off the couch then sprang up, backing up toward the TV. Behind me I heard a roar and flinched sideways, eyes wide, only to see the T-Rex getting all loud and angry before he destroyed the JP car. Creator fucking help me, I was a jumpy mess.

The male’s soft sobs wrenched at my heart though, breaking through all the fear, and taking a shuddering breath I tried to focus on that, to pull myself out of the hole. Moving until I was as close as I dared, I lowered myself into a crouch before Blay, ready to make a sidestep and move if needed.

“Blay…” I said quietly, taking another breath, using it to push the words up and out. “I forgive you. I’m pretty sure the others forgive you. But even if they don’t? None of this shit is going to start getting even close to better until /you/ forgive you. Cause you’re not a bad guy. You’re not the enemy. You’re family that lost their way,” I murmured, my fingers twitching to reach out. Slowly, with a whole metric-fuckton of ‘what the hell are you doing’ going on in my brain, I reached out and placed a tentative hand on the male’s shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“And we’re gonna be here until you do. We all get second chances,” I added, managing a weak smile. “I’m the patron Saint of them. Without a second chance… I wouldn’t even be here.”

Blay:

*Dear Scribe talk about meltdown, you'd think I was a teenage girl who lost her boyfriend and broken a nail. I was a wreck, a real damn wreck close to psychosis. Maybe I should talk to doc Jane, maybe there was something very wrong with me and of all people that I'd blown up on, lost it completely, was Lass. In retrospect I realized that he’d frozen, his body gone stiff because the attack and touching wasn't something he expected.

Glancing at him I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, the ultimate embarrassment, I felt my cheeks flush warm, crying in front of him. Breaking down. I looked back at my hands in my lap. It was strange to think this was us, that the two males, three if you counted Qhuinn, had had the most mind blowing kinky ass sex in the gym just a couple months ago and now one of us was a wreck, one had been so physically and mentally abused he couldn't bare to be touched… Qhuinn, I had no idea about him. Lassiter had always been this vibrant, cocky and blunt male, one of the reasons why Vishous hated him, because Lassiter would always say it to you as it was without any fuss or sweet talking, he never gave up and Vishous thought he was a nosey and annoying asshole. Lass got things done; look at how he saved Tohr.

“I'm sorry.” I snorted, god I’d said that a lot, I had to stop saying it because it didn't help, it made nothing better and changed nothing either. “I didn't mean to grab you. Sorry. And you did save us you know, many times… Over and over. Maybe too much…” Maybe, just maybe, it would have been easier if things had ended in a slightly different way. I patted Lass’ hand as he squeezed my shoulder watching him take a seat next to me again.

Everything had changed, nothing and no one was as they once been and the way it looked nothing ever would be. At that moment I couldn't say what that meant but I was too tired to try to figure it out. Leaning back into the chair I watched the screen. I hoped that doc Jane could help Lass deal with whatever happened to him. I wanted to, and owed him nothing less, but I had no idea how. As for forgiving myself, I knew there was no point in going there because I couldn't. No way, no how.*

Lassiter:

As the male seemed to settle, reigning in that emotional maelstrom and forcing it back into whatever internalised box of misery he had, I slowly retook my seat beside him. My white eyes, lacking their usual ‘glow’, fixed on the screen as Alan settled in beside the two kids in the tree for a long ass night of trying not to get eaten by dinosaurs.

“I know you’re sorry, Blay,” I managed quietly, not looking sideways but feeling the male at rest. “N’ it’s fine. I get it. We’ve both been through our own versions of hell. Now we just gotta figure out how to get out.”

And that was it. Our suffering might not have been the same, but we were both in our own versions of ‘fuck this shit’, and damn if that didn’t give us something to bond over.

Trying to relax back into the couch, telling myself the redhead wasn’t about to reach out and latch on again, I instead reached over and plucked the bowl of popcorn from the side table, offering it to my new movie companion.

“There’s booze too,” I added softly, shrugging. “Popcorn, booze and dinosaurs. Cause every recovery starts somewhere.”

Blay:

*I deflated back into my chair, suddenly exhausted, beyond what I knew what to do with. It was what it was, right. The Omega had fucked my insides up, I could feel it because I wasn’t all there. I was still not like I had been and never would be. I had dreams, about things that had happened or I thought had happened, some things I knew happened some were like the first time I’d seen them. I wasn’t telling anyone about how fucked up I really was. I’d find a way to leave, get out of there, leave the Brotherhood, the program. Yeah, yeah, that’s what I’d do. Lass was right though, we had been through hell and getting out was the fucking problem wasn’t it.

He offered me some popcorn, but I turned it down. “No, thanks I’m not hungry.” I never was, not really, I’d get a craving and then when I started to eat it would just grow foul in my mouth. “I’ll have the booze and the dinosaurs though,” I said reaching for a beer and the whiskey pouring half a glass with the golden fluid chugging down half the glass right away. “Dinosaurs and booze sound really good. Thanks.” I let my head fall back, glancing over at Lass, giving him half a smile. “Thanks for letting me stay.”*