#like. a HUGE point of contention between her and roman is she gives a shit about It All no matter how hard she tries not to

[siover]

i do think that like shiv pretending to be broke in college is very real but she'd probably eat peanut butter straight out of the jar/granola bars etc instead of cooking. i cannot see her ever cracking open a cookbook even for appearances i feel like as part of any artifices she props up she's far likelier to go the low-effort route than otherwise simply bc shes such an intense person in general

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Detours on the Road so Far - Ch 1

Detours on the Road so Far

- Or - 

Why Sam and Dean Need Actual Adult Supervision

Summary: Shenanigans. Lots of them. Crack. Probably some pie. (SERIES SUMMARY)

Warning: Shenanigans. Unintentional drug use. Crackfic. 

Rating: Let’s call this one at least Teen, if not Mature. See Warning above.

Word Count: 1700-ish

Author’s Note: THIS IS CRACK: unapologetically, unequivocally, utterly crack. Some of it makes little sense. Some of it makes fun of our favorite characters. I love these guys; this is just for fun. The stories are not in any particular order. Time frames will be referenced at the beginning of each chapter. Also, I was having some formatting issues, so if this ends up looking really wonky, please let me know, and I’ll do what I can.

This story is dedicated to a wonderful friend who let me behind the scenes into their writing process and watch the development of a wonderful story, a friend who fiercely has their folks’ backs and is the first on the scene if support and flails are needed. To a writer who can write action, romance, intrigue, and brothers being brothers. @stunudo​ , I am so glad I met you, and even gladder you didn’t absolutely fire me for all the awful puns.

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 1: Everything is Awesome (set sometime in season 8...ish)

Sam yawns as he shuffles down the hall, scratching the back of his head and grinning to himself. It still amazes him, even after the months they’ve been here, to have an actual home and comfortable bed to come back to after their days and weeks on the road. Even the hours crammed in the car with his brother and his painfully slow evolution of music is more bearable, knowing there are clean sheets, peace (relative peace, anyway) and quiet, and their very own refrigerator waiting for them at the other end.

He pauses as a new sound drifts towards him from the kitchen, and he frowns. It’s not a bad sound, exactly; he knows exactly what it is. But Dean doesn’t tend to sing this early in the morning, and not ever in the kitchen. It’s not the most wrong thing Sam has ever heard, but it’s strange enough for him to take notice.

Well, he can’t be possessed, so...hex bag, maybe? Their last case in Colorado didn’t involve witches, but there was always the chance they’d run across one without realizing and pissed him or her off somehow.

Dammit.

 He cautiously enters the kitchen, hoping that he’s just assuming worst case scenario. He is greeted by the sight of Dean seated at the table, staring intently at a large, clear glass coffee mug as he adds creamer to the steaming brew. 

“Morning,” Sam says, stretching. Dean waves distractedly, his concentration focused entirely on his coffee. At least that part is normal. He doesn’t usually add creamer, but it’s not unheard of, so Sam simply shrugs as he turns to the fridge. 

At least the singing stopped, or (better yet) maybe he just imagined it in the first place. Maybe he just hadn’t been fully awake yet. Sam opens the refrigerator, his eyes already moving over the contents to find something for breakfast that won’t add to Dean’s cholesterol issues his older brother tacitly refuses to acknowledge.

Except there aren’t any contents to peruse. The entire refrigerator is completely empty. Not even a wrapper.

 He turns back to Dean, the questions dying on his tongue as he watches his brother continue to add creamer to his coffee, dark brown and beige swirling in the clear mug. Dean finally sets the creamer down, watching the coffee cup as if he’s been interrogating it and it’s finally about to break.

 “Sammy,” he says, his eyes glued to the mug, “we are never using anything but clear coffee cups again. This shit is magic.”

 What?

“Seriously, Sam,” he continues, his eyes lit with pure, childlike innocence and curiosity. “It just...it mixes itself. Food doesn’t do things to itself, Sam. I mean, yeah, Jell-O moves by itself, but no other food does that. But Jell-O is evil, anyway, so yeah. Wait, except for Jell-O shots. Jell-O shots are awesome. But otherwise, Jell-O is a slime creature sent by Eve to torment small children into thinking they’re getting a real dessert when it’s really just ectoplasm’s third cousin. Twice removed.”

 And then Dean giggles.

 Sam stares at his brother, his jaw hanging down, absolutely clueless as to how to proceed. First, Dean has never said that many words together in his entire life. Second, what the fuck? Third, what. The. Ever. Living. Fuck.

 Dean adds more creamer.

 “I think...I think that’s enough, Dean. You’re going to spill your coffee.”

 Horror washes over Dean’s face, and he slams the creamer container on the table, dropping down to eye his coffee along the top edge. “Sacrilege! I wouldn’t do that, Sam, you know I’d never waste coffee like that!”

 Sam knows he needs to close his mouth at some point, but it’s just too damned early to go with the flow on this shit.

 “Dean, are you feeling okay? I know we got back pretty late last night, but you’re acting a little off.” But his brother isn’t acting tired, not exactly. Sam realizes that his brother is also still wearing yesterday’s traveling clothes.

 “Dean, did you sleep in your clothes?”

 Dean reaches out a finger and slowly pokes his coffee mug. The cream swirls lightly through the dark liquid, further mixing the two, and Dean...giggles.

 Again.

 “It’s kinda sad when they finally get all mixed together,” he says, frowning a little. Then his face brightens as he grabs the mug. “But now I can drink it, so that's less sad, right? I mean, you can’t really be sad drinking coffee, Sam. You should drink more coffee; you’ll be less sad all the time.”

 Sam’s jaw clenches involuntarily as he watches Dean alternate between sips and sloshing the cup around to watch the contents. His brother is obviously not in any distress, but spells have started out like this before, seemingly harmless and then, before you know it, hearts are exploding or organs disintegrate or something else equally nasty.

 “I can hear the colors, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, tapping the mug gently. “I think...what, would you say? Beige? Ecru? Does it sound like ecru to you?”

 Sam was unaware Dean even knew those colors existed, much less how to pronounce them. Luckily, since Dean is wearing yesterday’s clothes, it makes looking for the hex bag easier. After two unsuccessful attempts to get Dean to go through his own pockets (“But the coffee isn’t in my pockets, Sam, it’s in my hands. Why the hell would I put down the coffee to look through my pockets?”) Sam gives up with a sigh that holds the burdens of the world in it and searches his brother’s clothes himself.

 “Knock if off! That tickles; you’re gonna make me spill the coffee!”

 For fuck’s sake.

 His search proves frustratingly fruitless. But if the hex bag isn’t on Dean, then what? A spell? A curse? What the hell is going on?

 Sam’s stomach growls, adding another question to the long list. Where the hell is all the food? Well, that, at least, he can ask Dean and maybe get a straight answer.

 “Dean, do you know why the fridge is empty? It was pretty stocked when we left. Where’d all the food go?”

 Dean grins and points down at the stomach of his shirt, which is a bit rounder than normal. “In mah belleh.”

 When Sam’s face finally emerges from his palms, he finds Dean staring at him with alarming concern.

 “Are you hungry, Sam? We can go to town and get breakfast! That would be awesome, breakfast is awesome! Do you want pancakes or waffles? Nevermind, you’re huge, you should eat both. You need to eat more, Sam, you’re too skinny.”

 “Seriously, dude, are you feeling okay? You’re acting...weird.”

 “You know what’s weird, Sammy? I ate two pies, a block of cheese, and all those protein bar things you hide in the back of the pantry. And by the way, you don’t need to hide those things from me anymore, they are absolutely vile. But then I had those bags of chips, and...what else. Oh, yeah, there was some bologna, I think, and I ate the bacon, and whatever was in the vegetable drawer, which actually ended up not being horrible. But I’m still kinda hungry.”

 Sam is speechless. It doesn’t happen often, but apparently it can still happen, even after all these decades of living with his brother. He just can’t wrap his head around-

 Wait, what pie?

 “Dean, we didn’t have any pie before we left, and we didn’t stop on the way home yesterday. What pie did you eat?”

 “Sarah gave me two pies as a thank you. It would have been rude not to eat them. I had a piece last night after you crashed, and it was -awesome- so I had another piece, and then I had to try the other pie, and it was friggin delicious, and then I looked up and some asshole had eaten the rest of both the pies.” He eyes Sam suspiciously for a minute, clutching his coffee mug a little closer to himself.

 “And then I got hungry, so I had a snack.”

 “What was in the pies, Dean?”

 “Dunno,” he says, slurping coffee obnoxiously loudly. “Deliciousness. Sarah didn't say what kind they were, just said they were her way of saying thanks for getting rid of the ghost. Called it her ‘University of Colorado Specials’ or something like that. But those pies were made of magic, Sam, delicious, delicious magic.”

“What else did Sarah say, Dean?”

The elder Winchester thinks long and hard for a moment, frowning. “She didn’t. She winked a lot, though. Do you think she had something stuck in her eye?”

 Sam leans on his hands to keep from using them on his brother. He takes a deep, steadying breath and tries again.

 “Can you tell me anything else about the pies, Dean? Anything at all?”

 He thinks for a long moment, then his face melts into a dreamy expression Sam is pretty sure he’s never seen on his brother’s face before. “One of ‘em was this lemon thing that was like a citrus tree starred in a porn. The flavor just explodes in your mouth like-”

 “I don’t need to know!”

 But Dean is still going.

 “A firecracker, Sam, a Roman Candle of delicious. And the other was this...chocolatey, coffee, creamy thing. Coffee, Sam! Coffee and chocolate in a pie! They can do that now! What’ll these crazy college kids think of next?”

 He grins at Sam, taking another long slurp of coffee. Sam bites his lip, considering Dean for a long silent moment. He’s pretty sure now that Dean will be just fine and more than likely back to normal by the end of the day...maybe.

 “I’m gonna go check in with Sarah. Just make sure she hasn’t...erm...seen anything else weird.”

 “But, Sam, we ghosted that ghost!” Dean stops, thinks about what he just said, and giggles.

 Again.

 “I just want to see...how much...we ghosted that ghost. And maybe get the recipes for those pies. I’m sure everything’s fine. You know me, I just like to be sure.”

 “That’s awesome, Sam, you’re so awesome! We could make the pies together! And you could even eat some! You still need to eat more. Can we go get breakfast now?”

 Sigh.

 “Yeah, Dean. We’ll go get breakfast. I’ll call Sarah on the way.”

 Dean grins, his whole face lighting up, and Sam allows himself to see at least a little humor in the situation.

 And then Dean starts singing that song from the damned Lego movie, and Sam. 

Just. 

Can’t.

[mayflowers07]

Moceit/found family Superfamily AU

(Tw: mention of panic attacks, depression, anxiety, death, kidnapping, human trafficking. Nothing is shown in huge detail at all but be warned)

Also this is a long plot so bare with me:

Okay so Janus Trần was a 20 year old law student by day, world famous super hero named Deceit by night

His power was that Janus had the ability to mind control people if they looked him in the eyes

And while Janus had always used his powers for good, most people (especially the media) still feared Deceit for what he could potentially do

But that was fine, right? I mean he didn’t really have any friends as Janus and as Deceit the world hated him, but he worked better alone! He was definitely not suffering from crippling loneliness... definitely not...

Everything changed when, while stopping a back robbery, another hero named Morality thought Deceit was the one robbing the bank and tried to fight him

And even when after the mixup was cleared up, Janus was still pissed

Except staying mad at Morality was kind of hard. Because instead of trying to justify himself, Morality told him he was really really sorry and insisted on taking Deceit out for lunch to make up for it

During lunch Janus learned a couple of things:

1) Morality had no concept of keeping secrets. He revealed that his real name was Patton Saleh, he was 22, he had two moms and worked at their bakery, and his powers were to manipulate the weather around him based on his emotions

2) Patton was one stubborn SOB. He payed for the meal (despite Janus’ arguing), he gave Janus his number and started texting him later that night, and decided that they were going to be friends, whether Janus liked it or not

3) Janus was already falling in love with this human ball of sunshine... well shit

The two began hanging out as heroes almost daily (Janus swore that he was annoyed by this) and even began teaming up together to fight together

And that actually worked out really well! They both had way better success rates when they fought together, and Janus really felt happier then ever now that he finally had a friend

The issue was that Janus still didn’t want to give up any of his secrets. About a year after they first met (a year of keeping his growing and growing crush on Patton hidden) and Patton still didn’t know Deceit’s real name, age, occupation, or literally anything

This caused a wedge between the two of them that eventually turned into a huge argument. This ended with Patton screaming that he refused to give his heart to someone who won’t give anything back in return and storming off

The two didnt talk for months and the depression and loneliness hit Janus way harder then ever. He even considered not being a hero anymore because of it

Then one day he saw on the news that Morality got hurt in a battle. Badly hurt. And it was a fight that the two of them could have easily won together but because he was alone, Patton was hurt. Because of him, Patton was hurt

Janus booked it over to the Storytellers’ headquarters (Thomas had the ability to heal wounds and acted as the superhero medical assistance for anyone who needed it)

Storyteller explained that Patton would be fine but he would probably be unconscious for a while and that Janus could sit by his bed to wait

While there, seeing the love of his life so pale and lifeless, Janus broke down and told Patton everything. He confessed his name and his whole backstory- how his parents kicked him out when he was 16 because of his powers. He confessed that he had been scared of opening up ever since then and getting hurt again. And he confessed that he loved Patton so so much, even though he didn’t feel worthy to love someone as wonderful as Patton

Three days later, Patton woke up. And the first thing he did is ask for Janus; not Deceit though, he asked for Janus. Meaning Patton had heard everything while he was out. Once Storyteller gave him the all clear to go into his room, Patton immediately pulled Janus in for a kiss and said that he’d been in love with Janus since that first lunch

Janus wasn’t crying. He was not sobbing hysterically and holding Patton’s hand like a lifeline thank you very much.

Once Patton got back on his feet, the two started dating for real. And sure, they still occasionally fought about Patton not putting himself first or Janus hiding things, but they worked through these things each and every time

Half a year later and the two moved in together

And a year after that and they finally got married

Fast forward to when Janus was 31 and Patton was 33. Patton owned his own restaurant, Janus was a very successful lawyer, and the hero thing was going great

One day while Janus was in court, Morality was patrolling the city when he noticed a figure in black hood and mask graffitiing a building. He went to stop the person but as soon as he touched them, he started having vivid, graphic hallucinations of his worst nightmares until he collapsed on the ground screaming and crying

Eventually Janus got a call saying what happened, and he rushed downtown to pick up his husband and take him home

The hallucinations didn’t end until twelve hours later and the first thing Patton said when he was able to speak was that they needed to find the person who did that to him. But not to get revenge like Janus thought, but to help them

Janus tried to appeal to his husband but Patton was deadset that before the person lashed out, he saw their eyes and they looked like a scared child that needs help rather then a villain

After a week of searching the duo tracked down the kid and found him robbing a 7/11. The kid was hesitant to explain anything, but he didn’t attack them. Before he ran away though, he told them to call him Anxiety and that he was sorry he hurt Morality. Patton considered the interaction a win

Over the course of a year, they continued to reach out to Anxiety. They bought him food whenever they saw him, got him warmer clothes in the winter, they even invited him to sleep over at their house when he got sick or too tired to go home. But he still refused to give his name or take off his mask, even when Janus or Patton trusted him enough to reveal theirs

And Janus found himself getting attached to this sarcastic, introverted little kid. He taught Anxiety to better control his powers (turned out that that first day with Patton was an accident because Anxiety was stressed out) and how to defend himself without powers

The breaking point was reached when one day, Anxiety came to them in the middle of a panic attack. They calmed him down enough for him to explain that, when he was eight his powers manifested, and his mom started abusing him and calling him a monster- and now she has been threatening to kill him

Janus and Patton felt their hearts’ break for their kid so they promised they wouldn’t let him go back to her. Finally Anxiety took off his mask and told them his name was Virgil Brown and he was 15 years old

Thanks to Janus’ lawyer skills, getting Virgil’s mom thrown in jail and obtaining custody of Virgil was easy (when they asked Virgil if he wanted to live with them, he started crying because no one had ever made him feel as safe as Patton and Janus had)

The family got Virgil a therapist and continued to help him with his powers and everyone was content with their perfect little family

Until one day two years later Janus got intel that a local gang was transporting a dangerous weapon to a new location and him and Patton went to intercept the gang before they could

The bust went well but when they went to break down the door of the transport van, they were shocked to find not a weapon, but a seven year old kid chained up and giving off waves of electric energy

Patton flashed Janus the puppy dog eyes so of course they took the kid home with them. The kid was scared out of his mind but with some gentle coaxing from Patton, he told them his name was Roman, he was actually ten but he had been starved his whole life so he was quite small, and when he was five his mom, dad, and twin brother were killed and he was kidnapped to be used as an energy source

Janus and Patton already mentally signed the adoption papers in their heads at this point. And Virgil saw this scared child and saw his past self in him so of course Virgil immediately decided he would die for his new brother

They slowly worked to get Roman back to a physically healthy point and to open up about what happened to him while he was kidnapped, and it turned out that Roman was actually a very talkative, excitable kid when he was not fearing for his life

And each detail Roman gave about how he was beaten and locked away just cemented the fact that Janus and Patton were going to give this kid the childhood he deserved

Life had been going well. Virgil graduated high school and started both med-school and going out on patrol with his dads on occasion, and Roman thrived in school as one of the most popular kids

Of course that was not the end of the story because their lives have never been that simple

Fellow hero Mindmeld died in a building collapse and in his will, he asked someone to go to his apartment and get all his affairs in order

Janus decided he would and lawyers up to go over to the given address. And when he got there, he immediately freaked the fuck out because why was there a kid in the apartment?

Turned out Mindmeld had a four year old son named Logan whose mother died years ago and who was now an orphan with no other relatives. A four year old who also had his late father’s telekinetic abilities that made his toys fly around the air and attack Janus when he tried to pick Logan up

You get the picture by now, of course they adopted Logan

And at first Logan was super uncomfortable and closed off to these strangers and kept asking for his dad

But then one night he had a nightmare and when Patton and Janus came to help him, he sleepily called the duo Dad and Papa and they knew they were making progress

Roman and Virgil were both kind of jealous of Logan at first because to them it looked like he was the favourite of the family as the baby, but Logan was such a curious, sweet little kid that no one could really be mad at him for very long

So Patton and Janus had three kids. Three super powered, traumatized kids.

Except that number soon went up to four. One of the members of the gang that had kidnapped Roman- who was now twelve- confessed from prison that they had never actually killed Roman’s brother

Instead they had sold Remus across the country to a supervillain organization that dealt in trading superpowered kids. Apparently Remus had the ability to manipulate soundwaves

So the parents left Virgil in charge and hauled ass to this organization.

Through some potentially illegal interrogation techniques, they managed to find out which warehouse Remus had been kept in this whole time

They found Remus- who had been locked away in a soundproof cell alone for years- and Remus immediately freaked out and lashed out with his powers when they freed him

The sound wave he released knocked down the buildings around him and ended up temporarily deafening Janus and Patton

Remus started freaking out because he thought they were going to hurt him but both of them were only concerned with this poor, scared kid’s safety

Patton told Remus that they had Roman in safety and immediately Remus calmed down and started sobbing and begging to see his brother

They brought Remus home with them and as soon as the brothers saw each other, they were both hysterical. They refused to even let go of each other for a whole week

Remus took even longer then his brother to adjust. He outright avoided being around anyone in the family other then Roman

Finally Remus confessed that he felt horribly guilty about what he did to his new dads and that he was scared he’d hurt someone again

But then Virgil sat down with his new brother and talked to him about the first time he met Patton and how he hurt him too. He tells him about how he knows what it feels like to think that no one could ever love you unconditional, but assures that with Janus and Patton it’s possible. They all have a group hug afterwards, and Remus soon blossomed around his family

And that where the story ends off: a long, long way away from the silently suffering Janus from the beginning who kept to himself, because he thought that no one would ever love him for who he really was.

Because sometimes a family is

a nine year old kid genius who skipped two grades and is in the habit of recreating the Matilda scene for fun

two sixteen year old twin boys that are known citywide as Deceit’s former sidekicks turned solo heroes named Lightning and Thunder

a twenty-four year old nightmare bender who now mentors under Storyteller as the newest superhero healer

and two forty/forty-two year old retired heroes that love their kids and each other to the ends of the Earth and back

[krismusings]

we need to talk. | Ro&Jay

Discord thread featuring: Roman, and @jayceelynd - mentions of @aaronhart93

Where: Their house.

When: day after throuple event

Description: Roman comes home to a home-cooked meal, and decides to tell Jay about Aaron.

Trigger Warnings: Passing out, extreme drama, extreme babying lol

Roman

Roman hadn’t been in the best mental state these days, and it wasn’t hard for anyone to tell. Jaycee most of all, out of everyone, had to know that he wasn’t himself. He hadn’t had sex, or eaten much, in over a week, and mixed with the hard partying he’d been involved in for pride - Roman was pushing his limits. It was around seven when he finally got home from the theater, smirking to himself as soon as he was in the door when he could smell the aroma of Jay’s cooking. She’d been slaving away all day, and he was more than thankful for her. “Hey babe.” He called out, shrugging off his rose gold bomber jacket to hang in the coat closet.

Jaycee.

Jaycee has set the table for a nice elegant dinner. Pulling out a nice red and white wine, unable to decide to be honest. So why not two? She knew Roman hadn’t been taking care of himself and she wanted to make him a home cooked meal, completely from scratch. Setting the food on the table as she heard him come in, smiling. Not in any pain since she had been stretching and working her upper body out to help her heal a little fast. She missed these intimate settings with her boyfriend and was truly excited to have time with him. Taking her Nonnas apron off she smoothed down here summer dress and padded her way to him barefoot. “Hey baby” she said with a soft smile as she stood on her toes, wrapping her arms around his shoulder to give him a kiss. Resting her face into his neck as she breathed him in. “I missed you” she whispered against his neck before giving a soft peck to the sensitive skin.

Roman.

Ro was excited for food, but even more than that, he was glad to see Jaycee on her feet, and not in excruciating pain. He was sure there was still some sensitivity there, but compared to where she was at, this was a huge relief. “I missed you, too.” Ro tightened his arms around her girlfriend before placing a few kisses to the top of her head. “You look stunning, as always.” He mused with a dimple in his cheek, looking behind her towards the kitchen as a sign he was now focused on the small wafting from there. “I’m about to really embarrass myself with how much I plan on eating.”

Jaycee.

Placing her hand to her cheeks, smiling up at him as he complimented her. “You as well, always”. Sliding her hands down his arms to his hand with a smirk on her lips. She loved cooking for Roman, he always ate the way she’d hope he would. Growing up with her full Italian Nonna teaching her the satisfaction of watching those you love most, enjoying your cooking that was made with so much love. “You could never embarrass yourself” she lead him to the table where there was a Tiffany bag sitting between their place settings. “I didn’t know if you wanted a red or white. So I grabbed both.” Waving her hand for him to take a seat as she served him a beautiful plate of Rigatoni with vodka sauce and grated some fresh Parmesan over it. The bread was freshly cooked and sliced to grab along with a tossed salad for them to enjoy. Before making herself a plate she grabbed his face and kissed him several time, with a smile on her lips whispering that she loved him. After her plate was made she sat next to him. “What whine? That’s vodka sauce over the Rigatoni so, you pick” rolling her R’s as she spoke.

Roman.

Ro was smiling the whole time she lead him to their dining table, eyes fixed on the Tiffany’s bag that was placed there. He looked confused, but intrigued, especially by how damn good this food looked. “Wow, babe.” He smirked against her lips, returning each kiss before she pulled back to ask him which wine he wanted. “Uhh...let’s do the pino. Always good with pasta.” He pointed to the white, his stomach growling intensely as the scents filled his nostrils. “Thank you for doing all this.”

𝒥𝒶𝓎𝒸𝑒𝑒

“Dig in, enjoy. This was all made just for you.” She smiled as she knew he was wondering what the hell was in the Tiffany’s bag. Opening the wine, she poured them a big glass of wine to enjoy with their pasta. “I honestly truly love cooking for you. It warms my heart to watch you enjoy my work.” Grabbing her fork she took a few bites before taking a sip of her wine, then licking her lips. “How was work?” She asked him while sitting the glass down.

𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓 

“Thank you.” Ro was still smiling, because Jaycee just always made him feel pretty damn special. Maybe that was why he felt constantly guilty in their relationship, like she was always going above and beyond, and he was out being a fucking menace. “You’re an amazing cook, how could I not enjoy it?” He countered right back to her, not wasting anymore time before he was taking his first bite. He moaned, followed by a sigh of content. “Wow.” He chuckled. “Work was fine, but not near as good as this. Damn, babe.”

Jaycee

She had kept the same smile on her face, since he came in. Ugh this boy was everything that made her life so much better and happier. Jaycee did have a hard time sometimes not know who he was with, but she knew if he didn’t love her he wouldn’t be with her every night. Holding her, and the way he takes care of her when she’s hurt or sick.. He was her person, best friend and love of her life. Taking a bite, finding herself giggled with a soft hum as she took a bite. “I love watching you enjoy my cooking. And I don’t know why but it is kinda doing something for me. “ crossing her legs under the table. Taking a sip of wine, enjoying the flavors mixing with her cooking. “I made some more signs for some friends while cooking dinner. I really miss dancing.” She sighed softly, she hated not being busy, and If she needed a break she wanted to be lazy with her boyfriend. But that’s what vacations are for, god they needed one. Just them, away from their lives for a bit.

𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓 

Ro just chuckled when she said it was doing something for her, shaking his head, because she was just so ridiculous in the best way. He genuinely didn’t think he was as attractive as others seemed to think he was, but the attention was nice. Roman pouted thiugh when she said she missed dancing, knowing it had been hard for her to stay away from the dance studio for so long. He’d be the same off the stage. “Soon enough, babe. But when you do go back, please be fucking careful.” He teased her, winking as he took another sip of his wine.

Jaycee.

Grabbing her cloth napkin and patting at her lips as she laughed. “I swear I’ll never trust a newbie to catch me. I did find out he’s been kicked out of a few studios for the same reason.” She arched a brow as she tilted her head as she still thought about that. Letting her foot rest against his leg, needing to always be touching him when he was around. Rather it was sexual or not, his touch soothed her. Sighing contently as she enjoyed the candle lit meal with him, she got nervous about her gift. Hoping it wouldn’t be too much. Not realizing she was chewing on the corner of her bottom lip. As she always would while nervous. Nervous on if she’s crossing a line, on if he would accept it even. What if he denied it, how could she not hide the hurt it’d cause. It would probably be best to wait until they were finished eating, anyways. That way she knew he got enough, knowing he hadn’t been eating. “Roman..” she said softly as she turned her eyes up to his. “Please don’t forget yourself again. I.. I had sort of an eating disorder a long time ago and still to this day struggle with my moms voice telling me not to go over a certain weight. But I was lucky I had Khai and Aaron to keep me in check. That’s why they watch me, making sure I don’t fall again. And I won’t, I have a deep love for food. So that’s why I get worried, I know how I hurt people for doing what I did. I’m not saying you’d do that. I just don’t want you to forget to eat, or to take care of yourself first. Always” she grabbed his hand closest to her, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand.

𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓

Roman clenched his jaw when Jaycee continued to talk about the idiot who dropped her, still wishing he could go kick the shit out of him. His mood certainly didn’t lift when she proceeded to express her concern, reminded him that he needed to not forgot himself again. Ro of course knew where she was coming from, but hearing Aaron’s name did nothing but make him feel sick, again. That seemed to be a recurring theme lately. Roman placed his fork down on the plate, and decided to take this opportunity to finish off his wine. Ro flashed his girlfriend a tight lipped grin, and then turned his hand over so that he could lace their fingers together. “Jay. Aaron told me last night at Throuple that he was in love with me.” The words felt like lead on his tongue, but he had to be honest with her, even if the other male’s confession wasn’t changing his relationship with Jaycee. He couldn’t wait until they were done eating to tell her what was on his mind, and maybe that was a bad idea, but oh well. “He’s now exclusive with Eden though, so I’m not sure why he chose to tell me that, but I just feel like it’s something you should know...”

Jaycee.

Jaycee’s heart stopped hard and fast in her chest, causing her to breathe in a sharp but subtle breath, as she listened to him. Her brows furrowing, lips parted as she shook her head. Looking down at their hands connected. “Why.. I..l .” She closed her mouth and took a sip of her wine with her free hand. Placing it back to the table.  “I didn’t know it was more than sleeping together..” she said with her shoulders dropping. “And do you feel the same?” She said as she couldn’t look up at him. Her eyes stinging, swallowing slowly as she controlled herself. Was she losing him? Why would anyone tell someone they were in love with them, knowing that, that person was in a relationship of any kind to his friend of so long. Some friend that is, she thought to herself.

Roman.

Ro took in a deep breath, and closed his eyes tightly when Jay began to respond, able to hear the heartbreak in her voice, which in turn hurt him as well. He didn’t want to make her feel this way, he hated hurting her, and yet it felt like he did so often. Why she wanted to be with him, he’d never know. “It wasn’t more than sleeping together, at first.” He squeezed her hand, hoping she would continue holding onto him, because he wasn’t trying to let her go. “I wish I could say I didn’t.” He said softly, his eyes still on her though, because he wasn’t going to look away like a coward, not with her. “But it doesn’t matter Jay, Aaron and I aren’t running off together or anythin’, okay? It jus’ happened, and we didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I jus’, I needed to be honest with you. I love you.”

Jaycee.

Bringing her free hand to her face to cover her mouth as she listened to him. “I know it’s bothering you that I’m hurting but, Roman. This makes me feel as if my love isn’t enough. I can’t help how it makes me feel, and I’m not sorry for feeling the way I do.” Not removing her hand, because even though she was hurting so much right now, his touch was keeping her level and secure. It calmed her. Her eyes watering as they looked up at him and read him through his eyes. He was hating himself right now, and she knew it. “But do you want to? Am I holding you back?” She asked him in a soft tone. Searching his eyes. “I don’t know what you want.” She cried softly as her shoulder shook. Fear of him saying he wanted Aaron over her as she breathed as deeply as she could. Even after all of this fear wrecking through her tiny frame, Jaycee wanted to just crawl into his lap and be held by him, comforted by him as she held him back.

𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓

This was exactly what he’d been dreading. He hated making Jaycee feel like she wasn’t enough, and he couldn’t blame her for feeling that way. At all. He just shook his head, using his free hand to rub at his temple while he looked down at his half eaten dinner now. “Jay, this isn’t about you at all, or you not being enough.” He assured her, feeling like he was on the verge of yet another panic attack. Christ, he was so damn fragile these days. “I didn’t tell you any of this to make you feel like you’re not enough or you’re holding me back. Aaron is going to stay with Eden, and you and I are going to continue on as we have been. My mental state has just been so fucked up with Landon coming back into town, and this shit with Khai - I just leaned on others more than I should have, and this is because of me, not you.”June 6, 2020

Jaycee.

She wasn’t trying to make this about her, but she needed to say what she needed to say. He needed to know how she felt because of all of this. “I wish you’d lean on me, let me in to help you. That’s what a girlfriend does, Ro” she said as she placed her free hand over his. “I mean it’d mess me up if Lane came back. You don’t just stop loving people, I completely understand and see that. I’m here for you, always. You are so fucking frustrating.. You know that?” She couldn’t help but to let out a breathless laugh as she held onto his hand with both of her small ones. Bringing his knuckles to her lips, not letting her eyes leave his. Maybe one day he will feel like he can lean on her always. And right now he was testing that out in theory, yes it hurts but not everything is going to be bliss at all times. Jaycee stood up and sat in his lap, sideways. Grabbing his fork, she got a piece of pasta, making sure some sauce was coated on it nicely. “Here..” she wanted to feed him, and take care of him. She knew he was breaking and wanted to be here as she cared for him. Not mixed in emotions that will be resolved and worked out. Bringing the fork to his lips, offering him a bite. “Let me..” she whispered as she looked into his beautiful eyes. He deserved to be proven that her love for him was endless, unconditional and understanding. And in caring for him in all desires, was what she loved doing for him.

𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓 

Roman turned his face away from her when she said she wished he would lean on her. He was a shitty boyfriend, and felt like an even shittier person right now. He wasn’t upset with her, he understood exactly what she was saying, and how she felt. His eyes began to water when Jay said he was frustrating, because even though she was joking, he knew it was truth. When she got in his lap, and tried to feed him, all he could do was stare at the fork, and then look up at her with a heaviness in his normally so lightly tinted eyes. “Jay, I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice broke, and instead of worry about the food she was offering him, and lunged forward to wrap his arms around her waist, and press his cheek to her chest.

Jaycee.

Sitting the fork down slowly as her heart literally broke for the pain she saw in his eyes. “Baby..” she said as she held him to her chest. Playing with his hair, and gently rocked him in her arms. Kissing the top of his soft hair, letting him just be held in her arms even though in return he was holding her. Both of them sitting there for awhile, just embracing one another. A tear rolled down her cheek and into his hair, sniffling with a soft hiccup as she hated when he hurt so much. “I got you” she whispered against his hair as her cheek rested on top of his head. Her heart beat racing as she held him tightly. Looking over at the table, squeezing her eyes shut at the Tiffany bag. She wondered if she should wait, and just take Roman to bed and hold him all night. Grabbing his chin after stroking his cheek gently so he’d look up at her. “You wanna go to bed and snuggle. Let me hold you?” She searched his eyes, as he thumb gently caressed his cheekbone.

𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓 

Once again, Jaycee was comforting him when she really shouldn’t be. Ro felt like he deserved to feel every ounce of pain, both mental, and physical. His life was only a mess, because he made it thus. Jay loved him, but it wasn’t her fault that Ro was out fucking around, and making the wrong decisions. He was so fucked up from what his mother had done to him all those years ago - and maybe it took a long fucking time for those issues to surface, but they were, and Ro was now like a ticking time bomb. Fuck. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sorry...you made this lovely dinner and I’m...” he took in a deep breath, and just squeezed his arms around her.

Jaycee.

She sat there and just held him, no matter what he did. She loved him, and Jaycee could see deep down he was hurting and she felt that at some point he would need her to catch him. Fuck, he’s caught her a few times, probably more than needed. “Hey..” she said softly as she looked into his eyes, resting her hand on his chest. “There’s some in the fridge, we can snack on it later. It’s okay..” she assured him. “I’ll clean up tomorrow, we can do whatever you want.” Her eyes moving side to side as she continued to look into his eyes. “We both know I over cook at times, and I’m a sucker for candle lit anything. So this isn’t the last one.” She winked at him with a faint smirk. Reluctantly she stood up and held his hand as she used the other to hold her hair back while blowing the candles out. “I got some new weed today that will help you sleep, hopefully. I know you haven’t slept much and you need it. How do you feel about maybe..” she stood near him as she fidgeted with her dress with her free hand. “Playing hooky and spending the day in bed, we can just bum around and enjoy being home.” She looked down at his big hand in her small one, tracing the veins in his hand.

𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓 

As usual, Jay was being her naturally understanding, and charming self. He’d never been so thankful for anyone in his life, because honestly? If it wasn’t for Jaycee, Roman would be jumping off a cliff at the point. She kept him grounded, and focused, and he appreciated that SO damn much. He smirked when she fidgeted with her dress, and suggested playing hooky tomorrow. How he’d be able to take time away from the show, he wasn’t sure, but the idea sounded so inticing. “Maybe...” he said weakly, taking in a deep breath when he started to get dizzy once again. “Let’s jus’ go lay down.” Ro requested, moving to stand up, and then he went cold immediately. Little food, barely any sleep, emotional stress - apparently that’s a cocktail for eyes rolling back in your head, and passing out cold, because he folded down to the floor like fucking human origami, and there was no way for poor Jay to even attempt catching him.

Jaycee.

She couldn’t help but to return his smirk as she felt hope in spending time together. Turning back from blowing the candles out she felt like everything was in slow motion as she watched him buckle to the ground. “ROMAN!” She cried as she went to her knees, checking for any rhythm near the artery of his neck. It was steady, but she grabbed her phone and dialed for the doctor that lived below them, then called nine one one. Tears were streaming down her face as she held his head in her lap. “Baby, please answer me..” she cried out. As the doctor and paramedics came rushing in to work on him, to get him to respond. She never left his side regardless of being told to. They started an IV while checking his vital signs. She sat there waiting, not knowing what to do. She can’t lose him, not like this. “I know he’s barely been eating or sleeping lately, and he’s had a lot of stress. Some heavy stress at that. Please tell me he’s going to be okay.” She sniffled.

𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓 

Ro could remember flashes of things once he was in the ambulance. It was really bright, and it felt like a million people were talking at once. Jaycee was next to him, he remembered that. He remembered how bad his head fucking hurt - pounding, and miserable. It was hard to focus on anything other than that until he was once again falling asleep. He was just so tired, both physically and mentally. Roman was the ultimate caregiver, always taking care of his friends, even if he did do a lot of things on the sideline that he considered to be extremely selfish. This though, took the cake. It was by far the most selfish thing he could have ever done, neglect himself enough to get to this point, and scare the shit out of everyone he loved. He deserved a crown for this one. “I’m sorry.” He rasped out when they were finally in a hospital room, Roman coherent and uncomfortable enough in this damn hospital bed to be alert. “I know that’s all I ever say to you anymore, but I am.” He played with the hospital band around his wrist, closing his eyes when his blood pressure cuff started to go off again. God, he hated those damn things.

Jaycee.

Jaycee paced back and forth as he rested here and there. Her heart was racing as she feared he truly hurt himself, with him passing out. Looking out the window, as she played with her necklace. Saying so many unspoken prayers to who ever or what ever was listening. Turning around as he spoke, moving faster than needed to be by his side. Her eyes tearing up as she shook her head. Her chin trembling, she cleared her throat. “I thought..” she choked as she sat on the side of the bed, grabbing his hand that was playing with  band. “Please, don’t make me lose you like that.” She sucked in a shaky breath, as her head gently shook. Looking into his eyes she gently stroked his face. “Roman, I love you no matter the times you have to apologize. I’m just so fucking thankful to see those beautiful emerald green eyes that hooked me from the first day we met, them and that dimpled smile.” She smiled at him softly as a single tear slid down her cheek. Sniffling a little. “You need anything? Want me to get you anything?”

𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓 

Roman felt his heart clench when Jaycee rushed for his side, the look on her face alone, enough to make him feel a massive weight on his chest. She was being so passionate, and sweet, and saying everything that someone could possibly want to hear from a lover. He was too guilty to accept it though, reaching out to rub her cheek after catching the falling tear. “No. I don’t need anythin’, I jus’...” Ro dropped his head back, and looked up at the ceiling with a defeated sigh. “Can we not tell anyone about this? I feel bad enough that I’m putting you through this shit.”

Jaycee.

Leaning into his hand, she sighed. Jaycee could see he wasn’t allow himself to accept her kindness or words she spoke. Nodding her head to his question not saying anything for a minute or two as she watched him. “I don’t have anyone I care to tell, this is something we’re dealing with. Together, okay?” She said softly. Shaking her head she remembered feeling bad enough to put him through her ordeal as well. “I want to be here for you though, so please don’t beat yourself up that I’m here with you.” She squeezed his hand softly. Leaning up she turned the lights out, knowing his head was probably pounding from everything. “Just try to rest.” She leaned over him and played with his hair, softly and gentle.

[agentlereckoning]

What I think about Alison Roman

Any Gen-Z’er with a Twitter account has probably seen the latest Gen-Z Icon Controversy, i.e. the one involving Alison Roman. In case you’re not caught up on its details,  the tl;dr is that The New Consumer (which appears to be a one-white-man show of an online publication steered by a former Vox and Business Insider employee named Dan Frommer) published an interview with Alison last Thursday — an interview where Alison, when asked about the difference between “consumption and pollution” (as if there even is a material difference), said:

“I think that’s why I really enjoy what I do. Because you’re making something, but it goes away.

Like the idea that when Marie Kondo decided to capitalize on her fame and make stuff that you can buy, that is completely antithetical to everything she’s ever taught you… I’m like, damn, bitch, you fucking just sold out immediately! Someone’s like ‘you should make stuff,’ and she’s like, ‘okay, slap my name on it, I don’t give a shit!’

....

Like, what Chrissy Teigen has done is so crazy to me. She had a successful cookbook. And then it was like: Boom, line at Target. Boom, now she has an Instagram page that has over a million followers where it’s just, like, people running a content farm for her. That horrifies me and it’s not something that I ever want to do. I don’t aspire to that. But like, who’s laughing now? Because she’s making a ton of fucking money.”

This is the quote that most people who’ve followed this drama have latched onto, and I’ll come back to discussing it in a moment. I’m really not sure why the interview was published at all, other than for a publicity or financial boost during these times, because I don’t think anything worth hearing was uttered by either the interviewer or interviewee. Moments in the interview seemed either tone-deaf or trivial to the point where I wondered why they were included at all. Early on, for example, Alison laments that she hasn’t been making enough money during this pandemic. (She does not live in want of money.) Later she half-jokingly complains that her public persona has been reduced to “anchovy girl”, ostensibly because she often uses them in her cooking. (She does, and often proudly owns that fact, which makes this complaint pretty uninteresting.) But the point of this interview was meant to be, I think, a rumination on how Alison would turn her belief that she “isn’t like the other girls” into practice.

It’s a common thing to desire, I think — this ingenuity balanced with relatability, and I think seeking this balance is what propels so many people my age. Few things are more embarrassing to us than unoriginality, than being a carbon copy of someone else, yet few things are scarier than social rejection. We don’t want to like the same things as everybody else, but we want at least some people to like the things that we like. I think it’s what drives certain subcultures to exist in the first place, the way that subsections of people can congregate around something or someone, reveling in each other’s presence but also in knowing that they are, in fact, just a subsection of the greater population. 

This mentality is, admittedly, sort of what drove me to like Alison Roman in the first place. For background: the first time I cooked a recipe of hers happened unwittingly; in December 2018, I saw the recipe for the salted chocolate chip shortbread cookies that became known as #TheCookies (Alison’s virality can be encapsulated by the fact that all of her most famous recipes have been hashtagged, e.g., #TheStew, #TheStew2, #ShallotPasta or #ThePasta), but I made them without knowing that Alison was the person behind the recipe. The cookies were good (though I think any recipe with over two sticks of butter and a pound of dark chocolate is bound to be good.) At some point about a year later, I watched a YouTube video published by NYT Cooking where she made her white bean-harissa-kale stew, and I thought she was funny and really pretty and, like me (I think), had a fastidious yet chaotic energy that I always thought made me awkward but made her seem endearing. Alison’s recipes taste good, they come together really easily, and you don’t need special equipment or a lot of kitchen space to execute them. It’s why I’ve committed at least three of them to memory, just by virtue of making them so often. I liked her recipes so much that, for over three months, one of my Instagram handles was inspired by one. But I also liked her, or wanted to be like her, or some combination fo both. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to be her friend, or that I didn’t aspire to her lifestyle of Rachel Comey clothes, glistening brass hoop earrings that cost 1/4 of my rent, regular trips to downtown Brooklyn or Park Slope farmers’ markets or small butcher shops where the purveyors all knew her name, an always-perfect red gel manicure, the capacity to eat and drink luxuriously and seemingly endlessly and to have the money for a yoga studio membership to help her stay slim anyways. 

Of course all of those things are signifiers of social class more than anything else. But in oligarchical, consumerist societies, what is expensive and what is good become two overlapped Venn diagram circles, and I have not yet reached a level of enlightenment to be able to fully tease the two apart. And while I would never drop $425 on a jumpsuit, no matter how pretty I think it is, I could crisp up some chickpeas, stir in vegetable stock and coconut milk, and wilt in some greens, and act like my shit was together. I liked Alison because when I first started liking her, she hadn’t yet risen to the astronomical level of digital fame that she enjoys now, and by making her recipes, some part of me believed that I would be inducted into a small group of her fans who, by serving up her dishes, telegraphed good taste.

This idea of “good taste” is a complicated and racially charged one. Alison is white; she lives in one of the whitest neighborhoods in Brooklyn (maybe even all of New York City); her recipes cater to a decidedly young, white audience. I think another reason why her dishes hold so much Gen-Z appeal, beyond their simplicity and deliciousness, is because they sit at the perfect intersection of healthy-but-not-too-healthy and international-but-not-too-international. Her chickpea stew, for example, borrows from South and Southeast Asian cooking flavors, but you wouldn’t need to step foot into an ethnic grocery store or, god forbid, leave Trader Joe’s, to get the ingredients for it. The shallot pasta recipe calls for an entire tin of anchovies, and you get to feel cool and edgy putting a somewhat polarizing food into a sauce that white people will still, ultimately, visually register as “tomato sauce and pasta” and digest easily. All of the recipes in her cookbook, Nothing Fancy (which I received as a gift!), are like this. She doesn’t push the envelope into more foreign territory, probably because she doesn’t have the culinary experience for it (which is totally fine — I never expected her to be an expert in anything except white people food), and probably also because if she did push the envelope any further, her book, with its tie-dyed pages and saturated, pop-art aerial shots, wouldn’t have been as marketable. 

That’s what’s unfortunate — that white people and white-domineered food publications have been the arbiters of culinary taste in the U.S. for centuries. I’m thinking about Julia Child, about bananas foster being flambéed tableside and served under a silver domed dish cover, about the omnipresent red-and-white-checked Better Homes & Gardens cookbook, about Guy Fieri and Eric Ripert and Ina Garten and the Bon Appétit Test Kitchen. I’m thinking about how white women have long been the societally accepted public face of domestic labor when it was often Black women who actually did that labor. It’s Mother’s Day today, and I’m thinking about how, in middle school, I’d sometimes conceal my packed lunch of my favorite dishes my mom made — glass noodles stir-fried with bok choy, cloud ear mushrooms, carrots, and thinly sliced and marinated pork; fish braised in a chili-spiced broth — so that my white friends wouldn’t be grossed out, and so that I wouldn’t have to do the labor of explaining what my food was. 

And I’m thinking of that now-notorious Alison Roman quote. To be fair, Marie Kondo and Chrissy Teigen do have large consumer and media empires, which have become profitable and which require huge teams of people to sustain. Both of them probably do have large amounts of money at their disposals. What’s weird to me is that Alison accuses both Marie and Chrissy of “selling out” because they each branded their own lines of purchasable home goods, yet Alison herself said in that very same interview that she had also done that very thing. It’s just that Chrissy’s line is sold at Target, while Alison’s, according to her, is a “capsule collection. It’s limited edition, a few tools that I designed that are based on tools that I use that aren’t in production anywhere — vintage spoons and very specific things that are one-offs that I found at antique markets that they have made for me.” I suppose it’s not “selling out” if it caters to the pétite bourgeoisie. I don’t know if Alison is explicitly racist, since I don’t know if she called out two women of color simply because they are women of color, or if she genuinely just so happened to select two of them. But that she feels like she has the license to define things as “selling out” based on who the “selling-out” behavior caters to reeks of white entitlement. 

There’s also an air of superiority with which she describes how she would market her product line:

That would have to be done in such a specific way under very intense standards. And I would not ever want to put anything out into the world that I wouldn’t be so excited to use myself.

She says this right before talking about Marie Kondo and Chrissy Teigen, accusing them of being lackadaisical and unthoughtful (”okay, slap my name on it! I don’t give a shit!”; “people running a content farm for her”) when she likely has no idea what the inner workings of either of their business models are. To be sure, it could very well be true that Marie and Chrissy have handed off these aspects of their brands to other people. But for Alison to assume that they have, and that her own business management style would, by default, be better because she would retain control, is egotistical. 

Alison ends the interview by proclaiming that her ultimate goal is to be different from her contemporaries. She says, 

To me, the only way that I can continue to differentiate myself from the pod of people that write recipes, or cookbooks or whatever, is by doing a different thing. And so I have to figure out what that is. And I think that I haven’t ultimately nailed that. And I’m in the process of figuring it out right now.

I expect that her path to “differentiation” will contain riffs on the same iterations of preserved lemons, anchovies, canned beans, and fresh herbs that she’s always relied on. I expect people will still think she’s cool, because that’s easy to achieve when her recipes and aesthetic are a series of easy-to-swallow-pills,  when she tells the cameraman not to cut the footage of her accidentally over-baking her galette, and when being a white creative and working among mostly white colleagues means that she’ll get a lot of latitude. I expect she’ll continue to sell out, which is completely fine, so long as she’ll be candid with herself and actually call it selling out. 

And I want to learn recipes from a chef who looks like me, and I want that chef to be “marketable” enough to achieve Alison’s level of fame. I want people of color to get to decide what recipes deserve their own hashtag. I want Alison Roman to be emotionally okay, because Twitter backlash can be vicious. And I kinda want to buy Marie Kondo’s drawer organizers now. 

[ecotone99]

[RF] The Mask

It began on a Saturday. The pitter pat of rain thumped innocuously at Damien’s window. It was a silent kind of day. Then his alarm sounded. A fist shot out immediately, striking it, sending it crashing to the floor. Damien groaned. “Fuck me,” he exclaimed. “I need a drink.” He fished around and came up with a bottle of clear liquor. His head pounded. “Rum. The other white meat.” He took a deep drink. Damien was fat. There was no delicate way to say it. At 5’8” and 278 pounds, he was one fucking big guy. It was a point of contention. It drove a wedge between him and his parents. The rings in his face, his purple mohawk, that drove another. He kept odd hours. He could afford to. His writing career made just enough money that he was his own boss. It was liberating. Those cocksuckers working at banks and restaurants had it all wrong. It had been a rough week. Robert’s dad had a stroke. A bad one, by the sound of it. He paused mid sip. He had a late lunch with Robert in an hour or so. What was he gonna say? What could he say? Sorry your dad is gonna fucking die? “Thoughts, and prayers, and my thumb up my ass,” he grumbled. Damien was an Atheist. Had been since approximately age fifteen. His mother was a Roman Catholic who meant well, but had her head up her cooch. His father was a lapsed Jew or something. His phone vibrated. It was Paul. Damien ignored it. He’d deal with the overzealous editor when his head wasn’t throbbing and his balls didn’t ache. But of course, his balls always ached. That was his cross to bear. He fucked around for a minute longer, then against his better judgement, stepped into the shower. God yes, but that steaming water always felt good. Damien always did his best dissociating in the shower. He sat down, back against the wall, and tried to forget. Thump. Thump, thump. “Five more minutes, Martha.” He stuporic eyes shot open. “Who the FUCK is Martha?!” “Damien, you in there?!,” Robert shouted mildly. “It’s time to go, man.” “OH, FUCK.” “Just give me a sec.” he gave everything a rub down, washed his asshole and his balls, and quickly shampooed his hair. It was 45 minutes past their lunch date before he even got dressed. “Hey man, you okay?,” Robert inquired, voice laced with concern. “Am I okay? Bro, I’m worried about you. Robert managed a weak smile, and shrugged. “I mean, what can I do, man? It’s a bad scene either way. I just hope he doesn’t suffer on the way out.” Damien met his glance, could see the pain in his eyes. They were best friends of over 25 years. More like brothers. “It’s gonna be okay, Robbie.” He embraced his friend tightly. “Don’t call me Robbie,” he said. They sat in saddened silence. Normally, eating at Red Robin marked a happy occasion. “What’re you ordering, man?,” Robert said. He tried to smile, but couldn’t. “The fucking shrimp basket.” “Shrimp basket? Is it fried?” Damien laughed wryly. “Ninja, it’s a fucking Red Robin. Everything is fried. The goddamn soda is fried.” Robert smiled, for real this time. “Thank you, Damien.” “For what?” “You know what. For having my back, like you have since forever. You know the doctors say he has less than a month now.” The news stopped him cold. “A...a month?,” he stammered. “Yeah. Shit sucks.” “How’s your mom taking it?” Robert shrugged. “About as well as you’d expect. She’s 68. And stoic. She doesn’t let me know it’s bothering her, but I can tell. I can tell.” “The thought of your mom in an empty bed eats me up inside,” Damien said with a quiet fury. “Me too, man. But hey, he’s not dead yet. Let’s make this last month count.” The two men are their meal, reminiscing about the past, discussing their hopes for the future. The meal was delicious. A funny thing, Damien thought. Death always made him hungry. Hungry, and horny. He would have to scratch that particular itch later. The thrusting was vigorous. They moaned together, at the end. When it was over, the man, naked, lit a cheap cigar. Soon the motel room stank of tobacco. “You should at least learn to smoke a real cigar,” the woman said. “Fuck it,” Damien said, bringing it to his knee, holding it down in a desperate act of self mutilation. “Jesus, fuck, Damien,” she exclaimed. “Why do you have to be so goddamn self destructive?” He smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “You’re just jealous.” “Fuck you,” she laughed,” taking the cigar from him. She pressed it down against her inner thigh. “Fuck, that feels good.” Lazily flicking her nipples with her free hand. Damien squeezed her breast. “Admit it,” he lulled. “You like me.” Mischief burned in Karen Harper’s eyes. Mischief, and something else. “Miss me with that gay shit,” she said. Then he kissed her. She pulled back after a couple minutes, voice heavy. “Are you okay?” Damien smiled with an impish charm, and sighed. “Yeah. Fuck. No, actually. I don’t know why I just lied to you.” What’s wrong?,” she inquired, laying a hand against his shoulder. “It’s my best friend Robert. His dad just had a major stroke. This wasn’t the first time, either. He...,” his voice cracked. “He’s dying.” She stroked his shoulder comfortingly. “Damien...I’m so sorry. I lost my father 6 years ago. He had a massive heart attack. It was a total shock, we never saw it coming.” “I’ve known him my entire life. His wife is crazy about him. It’s killing me.” She took his head in her lap, stroking his hair. They stayed like that for a long time. At some point, he fell asleep. Sometimes, in our most vulnerable moments, the void is filled. But never for long. “How’s Dusty doing?,” Paul asked. Damien just hadn’t been able to put him off any longer. The editor was a big man. A huge man, actually. All of 6’7” and pushing 350 pounds of muscle. Of course, Damien had shown up reeking of brandy and pot, but that suited Paul just fine. The Goliath worked hard, and partied harder. “Not good,” Damien sighed wanly. “He hasn’t got very long.” “Shit. It’ll be okay.” “No,” Damien said morosely. “You’ll be okay,” Paul urged gently. “No, I fucking won’t.” “Christ, Damien, I know that. But it’s what people say. I’m limited by society’s options.” “It’s a mask,” Damien said. “Just say what you cunting mean, Paul.” “In that case.” He grinned. “In that case, I’d like to inform you that I’d 100% let Lady Gaga shit in my mouth.” Damien cocked back his head and laughed shrewdly. “Hey, me too.” “Damien, do you want the world to remember you when you die? Is that why you write?” “Huh. Well, art is a very selfish and egotistical pursuit.” “You didn’t answer my question.” “I want them to celebrate,” Damien said. “Celebrate what?” “Life. I want them to get drunk, high. To fuck in the middle of the street.” “What about your body?” Damien shrugged. “Skin my tattoos, cremate my fat ass, and for the sake of baboon pussy, don’t pray for me.” “I don’t give a fuck what happens,” Paul said mildly. “I just wanna get high.” “Why did you call me here, Paul?,” Damien arched his eyebrows. “For another one of your horseshit deadlines?” “Dude, I already said.” He held up a big old white bag. “To get high.” Damien grinned boyishly. “You know me too well, Paul. Way too fucking well. It’s eerie.” 30 minutes later, they were in Paul’s immaculate black Mercedes. Paul was driving (Damien didn’t have a license). Actually he was gunning it. He was jamming it to Lynyrd Skynyrd in erratic fashion. “Sweet home Alabama! Dun nun nun nun nun nun nun! Where the skies are so blue!” “Man, FUCK Alabama!,” Damien cried, smashing a mailbox with a wooden bat. “He leaned out of the car, a savage grin on his face . “Nothing in Alabama but buttfuckin hicks and weasels!” “Man, I’m FROM Alabama.” “So? Fuck you too,” he laughed. Paul twitched, did a line off his steering wheel. Started laughing. “Man, you’re right. I hate my hometown. Fuck Alabama. Big old shithole, man.” “Fuck Alabama,” Damien agreed. “Hey, Paul?” “Yeah?” “Can you take me home? I wanna be alone. Some of my best writing is done fucked up.” Paul nodded. “Sure, buddy.”

Damien fell, facefirst onto his bed. He had a nosebleed, but didn’t care. Didn’t give a single fuck. He fished around and found his half empty rum bottle. Took a deep swig. “Where did I put my mothershitting blunt?” “He groped for it, staggered, finally found it. The sweet, aromatic smell of pot permeated the room. He inhaled deeply. “Fucking aah, he declared.” He was just about drifting off when his phone began to ring. He looked down at his phone. 5:23AM. It was Robert. “Hello?” “Damien? Sorry to wake you.” “No. No, I was up. Everything okay, man?’ Even though he knew it wasn’t. Even though a late night call like this could only mean one thing. “No. He’s gone, Damien. He died about an hour ago. I’m sorry.” Even though he knew, fucking knew that Dusty Chavers was dying, the news hit him like a train. It was oddly physical. He felt sick, cancerous. “I’m sorry, Robert. I loved your dad very much.” “I know you did. I know it’s late. I just wanted to tell you.” “Robert, I won’t let you or your mom face this alone.” “Thank you. I gotta go. I have other calls to make.I love you, Damien. Goodnight.” “Goodnight, Robbie.” He made it to the very end of their phone call, then he projectile vomited. Right onto his bed. Fuck it. He would clean it up later. He couldn’t think. He could barely see straight. He was so high and drunk and fucked up on coke and weed and grief. There was only one place to go. Only one place he COULD go.

“Robert’s dad is dead,” Damien said quietly. She put her head on his chest. “I’m so sorry. I know you’re not okay. It’s NOT okay. It fucking sucks.” “Do you have a hole inside your soul, Karen?,” he asked. “I have an emptiness inside of me that I just can’t seem to fill. With food or booze or weed or anything good or bad. What is this emptiness inside of me?” He slammed his fist against the end table. “This desperate need to connect to others.” Tears began to fall. “Is this what being human means?” She touched his arm. “Would you read me one of your poems?” “What does that matter,” he said bitterly. “Please? Just do it.” “Okay,” he said tonelessly. “Whatever. I call this one Statuary.” He cleared his throat, struggled not to cry again. He began:

“The girl raises her glass, Alas, alas, So fast, She withers.

The forest chants, Enchants, Recants, Laments her whispers.

Her corpse is frost Touches the moss, So green, Obscene.

Among the lumber, She still slumbers, Slumbers, Slumbers.” She put his hand on her breast. “That was beautiful. “YOU are beautiful,” she whispered. “I...I don’t know what to say.” She shrugged. “Yeah, well. You were right. I DO like you.” His brown eyes shone.. He did not speak for a long while. “Miss me with that gay shit!,” he replied finally. The void is real. And it is cruel. And it wins more often than not. Death is a foregone conclusion. But one thing our species has is heart. We are stubborn, motherfucking pricks. The void is real, no doubt about it. Let’s make that bastard work for it.

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