#me w/ what i call the 'mushroom tree' in our backyard

[withoneheadlight]

NSFW Anon here and I’ve come back w the most NSFW thing ever right, so like imagine this,,,, Steve and Billy being happy and content,,,, wow

Hey nsfw! anon💗💗💗. here I finally am!

First of all: this is the most amazing, most beautiful of asks🌟. Thinking about then happy and content, thinking about them having a FUTURE together is, the most non-safe thing ever, definitely not safe for the heart, in that way love is always a risk, a leap of faith, it's not safe at all. But I honestly think these two can fall on their feet at the end of the jump. I don’t think is gonna be easy, ofc. It’s not easy people we’re talking about. The jump is gonna last long. Sometimes is gonna feel like a freefall. That rage Billy has inside is going to be hard to deal with. For Steve, for himself. Things like that leave a mark, and being raised like that, learn that you have to bite to survive, that becomes an instinct, so it’s going to hurt, learn to live with that inside. And Steve-- having so ingrained that love is something you have to buy, a rent you have to pay without fail so people stay by your side, well, that ain’t easy either. And there are so, so many other things they’ll have to deal with. To learn. To understand (about themselves. about the other. about all the other people in their lives) so they can keep moving forward. 

But if I’m not gonna be a romantic in here where else could I be? xD So I believe love wins, haha, at the end. Lame as it might sound. I believe that because the more I think about these two the more alike I found them. The more I think they’re like two sides of the same coin, spinning, spinning, and sometimes, unexpectedly, the coin stops on its rim, it doesn’t fall: they realize the other gets them. They realize they’re looking in the eyes of that somebody that is gonna know. when they need it. Its gonna look at their eyes and just know. And that’s not gonna make it easier but-- its the thing that changes it all. 

It’s the thing that rescues them both.

And that’s the idea that fuels all my stories because my stories are, like, always the same? xD, something draws them apart. Something draws them back. And the thing is, I had always imagined them, like, moving together to a tiny, shitty apartment after that, after everything happens, after they’re finally together, and for good, that last time. But then, after the two month+ quarantine I spent at my own tiny apartment, I was lucky enough to move to my parent’s house in the country,  and I had spent almost all that time writing them in a  frenzy, so the moment I got there, with all that green and the trees and the fresh air I thought okok, the apartment is good but they’re gonna buy a house, at some point, they have to buy a house. So I started to write this messy hc that is like, mmm, an epilogue, for a lot of those stories, like a mash-up? future fic-ish-y thing, mixing parts of them all. Like: no matter what happens. Or how it happens. All roads lead to this future. To them coming back to the other like gravity. To them buying an old house with a backyard, and an ugly couch, and a strange-shaped kitchen, with them finding their place inside themselves and together and in the world. And if not their place at least some kind of peace (because, well, it's never that easy either, as we are as ever-changing as life itself is)

But, you know, a good future. Together.

So, here is a small piece of that, a bit messy and a bit tooth-rotting but, I’m writing this is basically to make myself happy so, no regrets xD. Also i hope it makes you a bit happy too, anon, as you have made me with this lovely lovely ask.

…...

The kitchen is Steve's favorite part of the house.

It has this odd shape. Trapezoid. “Fuck, Stevie, so goddamn weird”. Doesn’t make sense in a, on the other hand, perfectly rectangular house (or, well, it does, but they’ll only find out about that later). The cabinets are ceiling-high. The tiles of the wall white and cracked under the repeating pattern of light mint-green-stemmed, yellow-petaled lilies. The whole backdoor is painted on that same shade Billy calls Ripe banana dreams, both so terribly old fashioned and fiercely cute none of them say a word about repainting it. There’s a wooden piece, built into the farthest end of the counter. It looks disgustingly juicy and mercilessly stabbed when they move in, but Billy insists on keeping it, and sanding, and treating, and varnishing it. Manages to get it back up on shape because “Better than anyone, darling you should know what a little touch of class can make”. And for more than two weeks straight the only goal of his life is to learn to cut vegetables at high speed because "I have to live up to this level of professionalism. Impress our most un-impressionable guests"

(And, to Steve’s surprise –and probably hers– when she finally dings to pay them a visit his mom is, in fact, pretty much impressed)

He learns how to make good casserole. Tries his luck with Mexican and Italian. Fails miserably with Japanese. Will never-ever admit it, but he loves it when flour ends up staining every single surface, making the biggest mess around himself when he bakes. Steve knows why it is. It's a shared feeling. Floats up till it reaches the ceiling and bounces back down to them, heavy with the warm smell of cooking pie and cinnamon. Tastes docile and tamed like “Maybe not so much vanilla next time. Whaddaya think, babe?.” Tastes savage and daring, like the overwhelming tang of freshly squeezed lemon lingering on Billy’s tongue when he crowds Steve against the fridge and kisses him, bites a shuddering laugh out of him “How the fuck are you able to even think about putting your mouth near that thing, Hargrove?. That was––ugh. That was disgusting” “Well you know me, whatever it takes to make you squirm” leaving Steve with absolutely no option but lick the sugary dough stain over his cheek to “Cover up that foul flavor” and maybe because he likes to make Billy shudder too. It’s an ever-present feeling. Like the vivid smells of green tomatoes and parsley and mustard sauce. Like the sensation of Billy’s lips against his. The way he loses his breath when Steve kisses the sugary flavour into his mouth.

This place smells like home, tastes like home. Like finally, finally. Home.

It’s Billy’s favorite place, too. But Steve doesn’t think it's just because of that. But also because maybe,

maybe.

He has also noticed that--

There’s this particular, particular moment. It happens around seven on autumns, right when the day starts to fade. It happens between six and six past twenty-eight on winters, and holds the sleepy cheeks of the newborn tulips on Steve’s garden till they fall asleep on springs, sun already sinking behind the horizon by the time both hands of the clock meet over the spiraling infinity of the eight. And it grows bigger and bigger and bigger from there: the golden sunlight seeping through the wide, double-paned window facing the backyard at an oblique angle, making the yellow flowers of the tiles look like they’re re-blooming in gold. 

It's the moment the day turns into a fire. 

It’s their favorite moment in time. And in this particular, particular day of summer, it happens at ten past nine.

Billy is making Spaghetti carbonara. The kitchen is damp with the rich smells coming out of the boiling water. Mushrooms and oregano, black pepper and lime. A song is cooing at them from the radio, the beat of the drums a boneless memory of that one echoing around the quarry that last night at the end of July. Water rippling under the quiet sigh of the breeze. Trees cutting the liquid rays of light in asymmetric halves. 

Billy takes off the apron, lowers down the fire.

Reaches out to Steve, fingers wavering come, come, come.

To me. Come to me. “C’mon, Harrington. Are you afraid of me or what?"

He has this way of looking at Steve that makes the space between them narrow, narrow: the whole unknown world. And aseptic, non-lived-in flat in downtown Florida. This tiny, tiny town. A mysteriously-shaped kitchen–

“¿Can I have this dance?” 

Steve walks to him, takes his hand. 

––Their bodies, pressed flush. 

Inside his chest, Steve’s heart is running. 

“Can I at least have this dance, before we say goodbye?”

Mazzy Star was playing. The corner of Billy’s eye felt wet where his skin brushed against the corner of Steve’s mouth. They danced till the daylight faded, till there were teardrops falling from the night sky (“Billy, I don’t have to–-” “Don’t. Don’t, pretty boy. Don’t say it. I’ll make you stay if you do. And I can’t do that”), they made lovelovelove on the back of Billy’s car.

In this light they fell in love, they fell apart. Ran away. Ran back. 

Steve nudges at Billy’s chest, makes him move backwards till he’s far enough to tug, draw him in between their arms, hands intertwined. Steve curls himself around Billy’s back, nudges at the warm trapped between his curls. He smells like BillyandSteve, like this home, like past, like future. Like us.

Steve whispers in his ear. Three words. Billy’s neck curves towards him. An instinct. Tickled by their warmth. Steve kisses the curve of his ear. Tugs the collar of his shirt aside, bites where shoulder meets neck and up, up.

“Easy, Prom King” Billy teases, grins at him tender and wild. Knows when to use the one that gets Steve every time “Or you’re gonna make me think we’ll become picture perfect from this magical night onwards. A bunch of kids. White fences. You know, the whole shebang” 

Billy crashed the Camaro into a tree in the winter of two thousand and fourteen. Had left the house in a frenzy. Something had happened Max wouldn’t talk about. But she was scared, so she had called. When Steve found him, he was in the middle of the Brookville road, feet following the twin yellow lines, so weary, so impossibly small like this, head hanging, feet stumbling, surrounded by the tall shadows of the pines. Steve stopped the car at his side, engine oozing steam, shaking in the cold mid-May air “Billy” he said. Low. Careful. Careful. Billy’s eyes looked wet in the moon-silver night, pupils blown, deceivingly calm, “What are you doing? You know this is dangerous” And Billy had leaned in, forearms over the rim, had leveled with Steve. Looking wasted, looking tired, but still, he flashed a grin at him, teeth-shark white, not going down if he wasn’t going down swinging. And Steve hadn’t known at the moment, but the blood staining his cheek, the screaming-purple mark around his eye, those weren’t from the crush. “I was sleepwalking, Harrington" he said, voice dry, laugh harsh "Waiting for a stroke of luck"

“What does it make you think that’s not what I’m aiming for?”

When he took Billy to his house Max was already there, had sneaked out, white knuckles peaked with red around the handler of her bike “Neil will kill you if he finds out” Billy didn’t say it, but she read it on his eyes. And Max had called Steve. Called for help. So Steve took care of Billy’s face. Made him stay. Spend the night. Almost the whole next day, didn’t wake up till the hands meet over the spiraling infinity of the eight. Steve left him there. Retraced Billy’s steps down the Brookville road, following the yellow lines. The Camaro wasn’t done yet. Howled like a wounded beast under Steve's hands, but stayed together all the way to Donny’s garage. Steve paid for the repairs. Covered it all up. Two weeks later, Billy showed up at his door. Offered to teach him how to fight “I cannot give you back your money, but I know you don’t need that”

They spent almost the whole summer together. Some days. Most nights.

Wasting time. Fighting. Joking.  Driving. Fooling around.

No ‘what ifs’. No promises. Just,

“Leave the light on if you can’t sleep. If I manage to sneak out of the Old fuck, I’ll pick you up. I won’t stop kissing you until dawn”

Because Steve was gonna leave. Wasn’t going to throw a single glance behind his back. That was the plan.

And he did. He did. But––

He spins Billy out. Tugs him back. When their chests bump, his laugh explodes, bubbles up. Weightless. Happy. Because all that matters to him, to them, it’s between these four irregular walls now.

And God this, this, is Steve’s favorite part. 

–ended up coming back running, following the yellow lines. Hoping Billy was the one letting his light on this time.

Because the sun is gonna keep on shining. They can keep on dancing in here, in their weird, yellow, trapezoidal kitchen, for as long as they want. Hearts touching. Lips brushing. Bodies swaying, spinning, cutting through the golden light. 

[tnp4tbowm]

THOTS & PRAYERS FOR THE BROTHERHOOD OF WHITE MEN

is what I’m gonna call this mess

since we’re the demo that does them best

if thots and prayers mean acting less

or voting against marginalized groups with minority stress… as if women at conference tables… and brown folks in dorms… need white guys subtracting more… and I know we use categories for making sense… and giving names to groups we haven’t met

but no

WHY DO YOU HATE WHITE MEN THAT’S LIKE ME SAYING I HATE FAGGOTS AND LATINAS

my brother

on the phone while I’m at an intersection

but what about flesh in the grass and women in ironworking and los trumpistas in southern california and pixie boys in kootenai county and ill-eagles fireworks on the skokomish reservation and mothers nursing children in rocking chairs at spokane international airport… and steer ropers staring in horses’ eyes… and words so strong they become actions like “guilty” and “I hereby pronounce you”

I want to say

it comes down to

while animals aim for physical victory bc they’re rewarded by evolutionary gain… my brother aims for high-volume sucker-punching bc… well same

no no no I reassure myself… I’ve prepared for this moment… covering my bedroom walls with butcher paper and definitions for agápē and wisdom and grace

the light turns green

in seattle where my boyfriend and I saw a band named “boyfriends”… consisting of three guys some with girlfriends maybe play-acting “gay”

not the faggot town I grew up in

did I say faggot town

flipped my thoughts

I live with faggots now

bc of course I moved away

from where I was raised… where ladies in subdivisions filled rusted bathtubs with dahlias… and re-arranged living room sectionals and side tables… and guys in trailer parks worked on TVs in their yards

I never smeared deer blood on my face after a kill… and neither did my brother

we never paintballed stop signs… or climbed trees to catch squirrels (the unofficial after-school workout of the wrestling team)… or nailed the bloody skins to the weight room wall… or chilled in the parking lot with the tenth-grade science teacher slash security guard

where I grew up

white trash was designated white as opposed to other dodgy colors

wonder if the cafeteria table at school still says derek smith is a fag… I see blocky letters behind my eyes… nirvana on the lawn… holding a stick next to a praying mantis… hoping she’ll crawl on

live in the same place long enough and the frogs will be gone

each year I bike a block further

find certainty in school

lay around and think about what's true

leave cleats books water bottles in the living room

train for x-country in july and august… dream of anthropology and art history in college… parents fill out FAFSA forms

unconscious

at the intersection of my privs

square jaw wide grip

I give in

I say to my brother

driving by the gaybucks

are you serious? I ask... you want to do this rn? you think I hate white men? you didn’t show much interest in my self-hatred when we were teens

we were raised to read widely on top of doing our homework for English class… stories about white men unable to find work or shelter… I stayed awake by reading one chapter in the basement of our three-story home and another chapter in the bath… and another chapter in the basement… and another in the bath

it was 1997 and everyone was wearing ck jeans and eternity cologne and disappearing into the wood paneling of their basements

not everyone wrote a 5-paragraph paper on why abortion was wrong

but I did

most people ate the pro-life sundaes at youth group

as the tin man in our high school production of “The Wizard of Oz”… I dreamed of a fabulous life in the emerald city… while listening to conservatives in the community complain about the presence of witches and pagan values in the play… a few token liberals described how the Wicked Witch’s green skin and Glinda’s button nose… equated virtue with appearance

I worked on a farm for $

hi-ho the derrrrrrrrry-o

faggot on the farm

flesh in the grass

telling stories and pulling weeds as I acknowledged “weed” was a human category… for life distinct from other forms of life… standing out in color and shape… budding out of place

when I got home I studied Zanie’s backwoods dialect in Zora Neale Hurston’s “Their Eyes Were Watching God”

four years later

ash-covered New Yorkers crossed the Brooklyn Bridge with their hands on their faces

I picked blueberries on Mount Rainier… asked if subalpine flowers should smell like dryer sheets… if lakes should be toilet tab blue

¾” threaded galvanized pipe two chain links eye bolts flag

supplies list from the guy at the rest-stop on the way home… old glory should stand up to a 96 mile trip up to 70 mph

I went to work folding taco wrappers into triangles like nothing had happened… and made food with beef that showed up in boxes marked “fit for human consumption”… staging mexi-fries under heat lamps in groups of two or three

while boy george (w.) signed the Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism act

after work I slept in self-inflicted poverty in a house full of guys who did backyard enemas and drank jars of pee and kept mushroom journals… and changed my opinion about property ownership… bc why bother storing up treasure when human possession is an illusion… and condoleeza rice has a chevron tanker named after her

we argued about earth history and theological precepts like pre-destination

but agreed

god’s complacent

should be more like the hippie guy in the volkswagen van… with Eden Before The Fall painted one side… and Eden After The Fall on the other… and a nice patch of grass growing on top

textbooks copied screens

fireplaces provided intimacy w/o heat

virtual experiences dominated references in speech

green-tongued goats on forest service roads licked antifreeze

we asked if the phone was real or surround sound prestige... did the spin instructor in the windowless gym want sixty percent on hills or ninety percent on streets… is the norway maple transplanted to the front lawn of the new house conveying a line of aristocratic family wealth

an old-growth tree

the entrepreneur in an education workshop talked about “products” metaphorically

a patriot/explorer on a mustang/bronco went on an expedition/excursion to the frontier/tundra… passing through the winnebago tribe saying

srry bout it

the kids on the makah reservation don’t want whale sandwiches

wal-mart got blue and target red

white wonder bread 

happy meals

j. christ

c.e.o.

5 lb cereal

4 brown ghosts

the speaker at the commencement ceremony joked, “what’s the difference between Pullman and a cup of yogurt?”

the cup of yogurt has more culture

zuckerberg’s hoodie went from “disregard for convention” to “purity of intention”… for someone too focused to worry about clothes… monastic gray was helping folks

now we’re here

we’re here

at the mindfulness weight loss retreat… three raisins… six almonds… the right herbal tincture… twenty minutes in the redwoods

dragging

the past in front of us bc it happened

we’re at home eating pancakes with butter and syrup and powdered sugar… but the sugar is crushed-up hydroxycut

city buildings capture sun for the 20%

hey shadows

and data-mining companies have been adding my places of employment and the mesh shorts I almost bought… and the dreams I deferred and the shows I watch… to their digital dossier of me… and I guess the gazing goes one way but not the other… like church… where predictive analytics play upon thirsts…  and hunt me down like unicorn shirts

what’s next

trees drop plastic fruits

domesticated deer eat out of troughs

stunt-double bears rent suits in parking lots

forest rangers lasso the last of the orioles and roll up the sky

no

we learn

the last time I had a long island iced was... the last time I had a long island iced tea

seeeeeeeeeeeeeee

bro

I’m doing better

you’re like me

except I’m a busybody

with no kids

wish: “pc lecture with moral authoritarian tone by urban elite who reflexively rejects critiques of globalization”… reads “fearless inventory in a world where ‘quinoa empanadas’ are a thing… and platters of deviled eggs watch the horizon”

so even as I call your baby’s bedroom view of the skyline from your island home

privilege bestowed

I call out myself

for lavender cookies and oatmeal soap

never noticing appropriation in cartoon indian smokes

white peace pipe under a red sun on a yellow box

database of ruin snapshots

you know how I spent those years teaching high school in gig harbor… what you don’t know is I had two Hispanic sisters… Maria and Paula… spend a quarter translating children’s books on sticky notes

they

smiled

yawned

bored

I was their teacher and offered “support”

(but if you need more… in 2009 I was plucking spraying spiking shaving shoving… like the guys on jersey shore… watched every episode and called it my reward… for getting through two president bushes)

the founding fathers designed our branches of government to withstand the likes of King George

(also: granted love to gather more of it, shirked a wrong but lorded over it)

psychologically spiraling… debating if I should share the video of the first lady in the blue dress staring at her feet during inaugural prayer… wondering if I’m feeling personal irritability or existential despair… if I have “compassion fatigue” from doing “emotional labor” in my newsfeed

why someone hasn’t invented a female-friendly pee trough between the knees… why menopausal sensuality gets teased… why testosterone means feeling confident about incorrect answers

have the decency to feel guilty

living off the massive retail workforce stocking big-box brick-and-mortar stores and online fulfillment centers

what did we expect

detaching personal accountability from global effects

what did you think

watching nature documentaries frame lions as villains… positing giraffes as victims… when we know aggression isn’t something “we get out of our systems”

but confessing rings wrong

I say to my brother

pulling up to my apartment home

ear hot from the phone

how’s the kid

peeing blood

good… he’s got a kitchen set with a stove and dishwasher… he cooks plastic things while he toot-toots… farts on command... he says

I hope he’s reading “Radical American Women A-Z” and “The Adventures of Toni the Tampon”… I say… and playing with the nine new ken dolls with ethnically ambiguous face-sculpts… developing new play patterns… bc brown kids asked to play with “the good doll” choose the white doll… and still grow up overly disciplined at school… by administrators analyzing “racial predictability and dis-proportionality in achievement categories”… without saying the word “racist”

I like body positive post-holiday ken his paunch

also our white immigrant ancestors got rich enslaving Blacks

(the rest of the starter kit for understanding institutional injustice can be found online @ www.google.com)

(intermediate: people of color fight against constructed realities… internally and externally… and the racial imaginary overlaps with the gay imaginary bc invisible people need some space to practice their fkn moves… but what about time and place… whose ear does the hearing… which mouth translates)

o say can I… being me… understand how corporate restructuring shows one face and sublimates others… contributes to oppression where double consciousness affects women and people of color

o say can I hear the oppressors’ voices renegotiate my thoughts decolonize space

where do I fit in? will there be room for me? how do I make room for others?

my brother suddenly has to go asks if you’ll be him on the phone

yes

it's complicated

but yes

(if you're not my brother and the request is nbd bc you've always heard the voices of white men… I invite you to continue… if you’d rather not… peace be with you… let’s hang soon… I love you)

and right there did you feel that [ [ [ [

in actual life we aren’t there yet… I hung up the phone after “faggots and Latinas”... bc my hands were shaking so hard I could barely steer

typical of you to back out of conversation before we say the hurtful things you say

before we say the hurtful things? before? I ask

1) well at least I finally have the upper hand with you thinking you can threaten broken bonds 2) I’ve never seen two belief systems more perfectly in line 3) I guess you stand for democratic values most of the time

we’ll never know what’s depraved and what's divine… I can’t read hearts and I can’t read minds

already I had escaped into the televised self-help seminar in my head… where I am the host rolling up my sleeves…  ready to hear from household cleaner huffing sisters… and visualize problems worse than mine

after the commercial break I engage the girls in patient-therapist interactions... mixing hard-hitting realism and hypersensitive dialogue… as intolerable and inauthentic as my wife’s bouffant

basically I’m dr. phil… but also… if it’s okay with you… I’d love to try being the girls… who haven’t seen their father since they were two

and later during the re-tape… the visiting expert with a new self-help book… explains the “colorization of the soul”… saying “I think it makes sense to nurture the ‘daily me’ before skimming the news… look here… on the color rubric… reds before blues”

red apples picked by farm workers with multiple SSNs

blue mechanics in overalls twirling ballpoint pens

white eggshell enamel over pink or saccharine

symbols up for grabs… by anyone… bc that’s what I was told growing up and believed… I can be anyone I wanna be

hope the same for Muslim girls wearing spandex hijabs in P.E.

our country is not exempt… when campaign rallies look like nests… but I know I’m like… eighty-two percent spoon-fed/tone-deaf

tomorrow

is a child’s flying drone-wish… where native plants have extraordinary ability visas like the biebs… germinate round-up ready soft white wheat… and facial recognition software on my self-driving truck beeps… bc I’m not wearing guyliner… and lack ethereum cryptocurrency

so I walk into a bar and borrow liquid pencil

apply it in the mirror by the urinal

remembrance of things pabst

love comes in spurts

the worst

hasn’t

hap-

pened

be around

no

thanks

I’ll be a morel mushroom full of vitamin d in the dark

an emerald city queer in the shadow of Rainier where bark is bark

mist from the Nisqually River rolls above the fast part

torrent > P2P file sharing

a robot hands me a warm towel after yoga… scans my sweat for communicable diseases

construction workers buy baguettes out of a wheelbarrow… from my kids

paid in no-nuance knockoff dramatized black lady gifs

blood on their faces hunting feral pigs

allahu akbar… on the fortieth click… means more than the first search results about jihadist battle cries… jihad… means more than the first search results about holy wars

as-salaam aleikum… peace be unto you

ah

saw-lahm

all-lay-koooooooom

while keeping an eye on the horizon

for crowd estimation software in weather balloons

across the un-crossable Puget Sound

not really

we live in western wash.

what I’m saying is… I’m not traveling down Tolkien’s path… climbing Silverstein’s precipice… crossing a toothpick pier… or boarding a balsa wood boat… for a “dialogue event”… when I see you across this metaphorical inlet

not everything overlaps… smoke + fog = smog… marionette + puppet = muppet… enchilada + burrito = enchurrito… intermingling > provinciality…but apple slices on guacamole is white people saying to Mexicans we want your food and want to “touch” it too

eww

I want the queer bar full of queers… and that’s true of any gathering place… the identity shifts with who’s there and who stays… for physical touch and feeling safe... and cultural intensification... we congregate

I could never hate feminist separatists reading sappho by lyre

agrarian nationalists and queer energy collectives disappear

cross the cascades… to north idaho… passport in hand to show agents at the skin of the bubble… preparing for my cousin the welder… who can’t get out of his trailer… and my dad who says seat belts and metric measurements are communist and has a legal pad with instructions for working the computer

the girl on the greyhound says she didn’t go to college for four years to sit on her ass and bake cookies

been awhile

a few days later I ride in the back of our uncle’s truck to the parade… where grandma reminds me to keep my beer tabs so kristy will get a party for her class… as we set up folding chairs on the sidewalk… to watch shriners on little cars… and wave at hooters girls on the make-a-wish float… the mayor… always pooping in other people’s pants… grandma says… as we find ourselves standing and clapping for the coeur d’alene tribe

after mayor and police go by

later help grandma make tater tot hot dish... wrap the pan in a bath towel she pulls from a cabinet full of towels stacked vertically like pizza boxes

small talk

fawn over the s’mores pie with graham cracker crumbs on bottom and top… especially the marshmallowy middle

oh oops

did I go there

pre-prayer

here’s the thing… the alliances we need to overcome the monster are never what we think they are… and seeing anti-american sentiment in the firmament… and indicator species’ temperaments… reminds us the world collects… and/or usurps the throne… the debt is more than we think we owe… there won’t be polite knocking or ceremonial drumming… by so-called “others” we didn’t see coming

solution… testing limits… and I don’t mean excusing myself to get the wings by the jumper cables in the trunk… walking back in and telling everyone angel gabriel is here… saying… oh I guess this isn’t… is this not the sexy jesus party with a crucifix selfie station?

omg that hoe over there

our arguments are basically light divisions… internal-only obstacles where I go back and forth debating

I know

this makes you wanna scream into the phone

well

here’s a semi-autobiographical lyric novella in the form of an epic poem

typical passive progressiveness… I can’t even talk to you face-to-face… when you wanna chill by the water tank… I communicate via popsicle stick messages in the gutter / everyone on tumblr

one thing’s for sure… we’re giving up some things... s’mores pie is on the table… but it’s not on the table… of sacrifices I’ll be making… bc I love s’mores pie

we don’t wanna give up anything but we have to try

our lives are characterized by conveniences with steep costs

like celery and bell peppers and onions already chopped

people with invisibility powers can’t be stopped

rowing outside San Diego and the Gulf

above cracked pipes and pvc

clouds of oil

grass and reeds

dragonflies and damselflies with heavy wings

on multi-generational round-trips without breaks to breathe in juniper trees

addition: we had a seed vault… a plan b food bank… to take care of us... in case a plague trapped in siberian ice destroyed our crops… but ten years went by without permafrost… and car-less urbanites with mileage plans... shrugged and said there was nothing they could do

a collapsed ice shelf is another place for cargo ships to pass through

our ecosystems depend on conversations among interlocking interdependent parts… more than mermaid toast or zombie shows… or mother nature wish-fulfillment fantasies… where we ask quail and cranes in the forest… to come out of the trees and lift us away by our shoulder pads

our second eye watches the ground… as we pace sidewalks disrupted by roots… thank inchworms for decompositions…. trace the paths of ants on the side… turn our ears like ferris wheels on the sly

inner vision attuned

wilderness survival guide

I do not have superior autobiographical memory like my faggot boyfriend does… brother… but if I remember right you beat up the guy who peed on my backpack in ninth grade… bc the next passing period… he apologized

I’m in bed rn… thinking about how I hate your muscular public practice… but needed it… srry for being confused

the word is not the thing

the menu is not the food

the plan

after I’ve figured out what I can give up

is to invite people to a park

grand theft auto fans

promote

slacktivist slash accent coach

mom in dallas… cashier cleric caregiver… competing for section 8 vouchers

developer counting kickbacks and calories... at a housing tax credit industry gathering

middle-aged man afraid to lose… leaving Buenavista for Baton Rouge… parents of dead black kids don’t know what to do… Saudi women barred from carpools… El Salvadoran sugarcane harvesters… closeted Egyptian police officers… Filipino nannies tinikling to Lil’ Wayne… trans women fighting the state… Miss Texas 1988… Harlotte O’Scara Hellen Tragedy… snake handler crab trapper… adjunct professor qualitative researcher… world’s most prolific fortune cookie writer… Bible Jim… shirtless guy next to him in briefs and “This man gave me a blowjob” sharpied on his chest

salmon in gasoline

up the bank across the street

pipeline burst on whatcom creek

hyper-empathic hatchimal colleggtor

trained to serve but not hit back

except in tennis lessons

the male coach

flips that

srry

gay hater cake maker cradle labeler

homo-plausible bi-logical

floral arranger

retain it or give it away

intellectual property is three chords

and the person with less power says you're not allowed

your brother

it’ll be the opposite of when I showed up at your house after my wife left me… and you opened the door… and I collapsed in your arms in the hallway… and bc you’re a few inches taller than me… and my knees wouldn’t work… you saw the nail marks on the walls of my subconscious

we’ll play a game… where we introduce ourselves

recall times in our lives with less repetition more repair

describing versions of ourselves adding post-scripts unaware

listing words we never use: farce, fatuous, machination, myopic, subterfuge

sorting beliefs by size date modified proof

discuss satire-less south park

duraflame start

galvanize flake n rust

behave spontaneously n not combust

help hippielandia hostel in flames

learn ancient proto-langs

repeat shit we wanna forget

like, has anyone checked on the family in the nuclear train car yet

we’ll discuss what should change… what should stay the same… believe ourselves capable of restraint… revive the practice of communal processing… where townspeople gather side by side… to watch events from the day reenacted in light

practice… on a page

like in a play

oceans and lands… dna strands… airspace… electromagnetic spectrums… gridded and privatized… but the public square

ACT I

CURTAINS OPEN ON PARK/SQUARE. TOWNSPEOPLE GATHER IN HALF-CIRCLE. MISSILE, WEATHER BALLOON, AND RED SUN HANG OVERHEAD

NICO: “I’ve been thinking about how I might convey my progressive morals in a way that sounds wholesome to my family.”

ISSA: “I’m done with that. I spend ten dollars on tampons at the store and my husband gets a bowlful of condoms every time he orders a jaeger shot. Then if I mention the disparity he blames ‘red tide.’ When I needed postnatal care to stop my fourth trimester pants-pissing, my doctor’s visit wasn’t covered. Society isn’t family friendly. I spend forty-minutes on the couch organizing housework and childcare each week, and regardless of what society says, that’s project management.”

JASLENE: “Last year my teacher gave everyone two bathroom passes and if you didn’t use them they were worth extra credit, so I left bloody circles on the chair para mostrarle que esto es lo que sucedería.”

CROWD SILENCES. BOY IN “WANNA LIFT?” SHIRT LEAVES. DARLENE STEPS TO THE MIDDLE.

DARLENE (to vacated space, then to group): “We’ll miss you… Every manifestation of good and evil has part of the answer, but also, immovable people will not be moved. We will show civil inattention by giving him the space he needs.”

MARK: “I’ll never represent my beliefs adequately since I have trouble telling the barber how I want my hair without the assistance of visual aids, but I’m here to talk anyway.”

JAMES: “We're standing on varying levels of culturally constructed oppressive frames and the only way to deconstruct the artifice as it exists is to stand on the ones that are more entrenched and take apart the ones that are less entrenched.”

SOFÍA: “I’m so confused by the fact that I’m not supposed to feel shame, except for all the things I’m supposed to feel shameful about, which aren’t the things I thought were shameful. Am I supposed to know what a ‘gender illusionist’ is? I thought liking men made my nephew gay.”

CURTAINS CLOSE

overheard in audience:

they’re not connecting… just waiting turns and expressing

let’s not underestimate the hard work of avoiding moral outrage

dismayed at the repetition of “but” while conversation disintegrates

hang on

looking up cognac insta chef’s recipe for caramel-drizzled hennessy cupcakes

unwilling to listen generously… while aiming for an ending other than intensifying favoritism is like nailing jelly to a tree

using a chainsaw to cut butter

jumping from flower to flower in a fern gulley type situation

pragmatism is a dangerous alternative to conviction

ACT II

CURTAINS OPEN. CHARACTER ‘YOU’ GAZES OUT OF HOUSE WINDOW ON AN ISLAND, STAGE LEFT. CHARACTER ‘ME’ LOOKS OUT APARTMENT WINDOW IN A CITY, STAGE RIGHT

In unison: I promise me: to fight for-profit prisons, schools, and kidney-dialysis centers. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I think I can give up me: the scholarship I got in college and give it to someone who needs it. But don’t touch the s’mores pie. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I’ve been thinking about me: what you shared with me about China building artificial land around the Spratly Islands. And how prison construction companies look at standardized test data from second grade children of color. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I believe I am owed me: a reply. Not long, but something. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I care about me: how Ryan and Jesse’s mom used to put Carl Budding lunchmeat with mayonnaise and mustard in a blender… set it on ‘mash’ for a game of Duck Hunt… scoop it into Tupperware… and smear it on white bread throughout the week. I would eat that over apples on guacamole. The real globaloney. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I hope me: we find space to show real love to kenyan baboons in garbage dumps and dioxin babies walking like spiders with red septic skin and people in apartments named after species they’ve displaced and women planning the clean-up of their suicides. you: [ [ [ [

CURTAINS CLOSE: INTERMISSION

overheard in lobby:

coming up with a formula for interacting in common space

himalayan crystals from the mystic utilikit dude

maybe we’ll see them agree… or calm down… or point towards partial truth… or connect idealism to privilege

not youth

we know old folks are idealistic

planting seeds without expecting fruits

going to target and payless shoes

ACTS III+

CURTAINS OPEN ON PARK/SQUARE. TOWNSPEOPLE HUDDLE AROUND A RADIO, AS IF IN A SNOWSTORM.

RADIO: ... let it be that great strong land of love… where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme… that any man be crushed by one above…

DARLENE: “Starting sentences with ‘I’ is a good place to begin, but feelings of belonging go deeper. Shift responses bring the attention to ourselves. Support responses ask for more. Let’s be more than cannibals with knives and forks.”

MARK: “Food metaphors. We want to think about asking better questions. ‘What place most inspires you?’ instead of ‘Where have you traveled?’ ‘What work are you passionate about?’ instead of ‘What do you do?’”

JASLENE: “What's your weightiest belief? What's your most potent fear?”

RADIO: … clutching the hope I seek… and finding only the same old stupid plan… of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak… it never was America to me…

ISSA: “The desperate search for an ethic, a specter.”

JASON: “I am willing to give up my authority but don't touch my autonomy.”

RADIO: ... say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? and who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

YOU: [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [

EPILOGUE

Before sharing my brother’s response, I want to say I wrote “Thots & Prayers” because women get fewer obituaries than men in newspapers. Because the Baltimore Orioles lost way back when they had no tree canopy in which to land. Because trauma squats in the valley and anxiety raps her knuckles on the hill. Because Taco Bell spent 10 years and $15 mill developing stretchy cheese. Because men look at other men working in daycare centers and think they’re dumb for frittering away perks that should have been theirs from birth. Because my older brother yelled about faggots and Latinas after visiting the site of the Orlando Pulse shooting.

I am not looking to be comforted or assuaged.

White men need to educate each other. It’s not anyone else's job. We need to listen to the cultural conversation, see connections, and act on behalf of people who aren't seen. We need to be friendly in crowded places, and pull each other aside and be bridges.

I hope my family understands how many things will break if we don’t accommodate fragility. I’m not a metaphysician and don’t know about quantum mechanics or particle physics, but I know the phrase “I hope” is a glimmer of light living outside my rage. “I hope” signals my privilege. I hope to understand more about “I hope” in the context of everyday life in coming days.

As a beneficiary of entrenched systems, I work for everyone to have equal voice and access. I work for what’s best in my neighborhood and nation, on this striking and stunning and astoundingly polluted planet. I avoid asteroid-bashing. I avoid the ossification of stalemate. I avoid co-opting languages of the oppressed. I save room for warmth and time for children. I learn about neuro-diversity in the workplace and nutrient density in school lunches, and communicate generously about these issues and other issues, like the shared struggle for justice.

Mantras I’m saying and acting upon.

What’s mine is yours.

We do not need all the parts of the old society to create a new one.

If you feel inspired, please comment. I’d love to hear your weightiest belief, most potent fear, frustrations, considerations, qualifications, corrections, assessments, and agreements. No presh. I get nervous sharing my feelings, and words impact and behave differently for different people. The spaces between known grains of wood make wood strong.

I wasn’t sure if my brother would be a grain or a space. He’s the first person to admit he doesn’t read much and would rather talk on the phone or hash things out in person. Before sharing this, I called him up and said, “I’m about to send you a piece of writing. You don’t have to read the whole thing. You can always ‘Ctl. F’ and look for ‘brother.’”

Here’s what he wrote:

FYI, I don't really like you writing somewhat rude things about me and my house (which I take as jabs towards my wife and kids), etc. I don't do that towards you. I know there was some nice stuff too… I am communicating by e-mail as I know email is your preferred method, but at some point you need to realize I have feelings and opinions too, and don’t share them with everyone.

Right now I’m looking at 40+ people smoking joints outside the subsidized housing across the street. Wish I had that option. I wonder if their chronic drug use is helping out the health care system – I know they're not paying into it? I was up at 4:05 a.m. today to keep working toward losing that 20 lbs. so I'm not a burden on the system in the future. Learned that from Mom and Dad. I guess sometimes I feel ripped off. Need to get back to work now as I need to pay bills.

I’m sorry about the hate stuff that one day, you know I don't feel that way.

On another note, is hydroxycut good stuff?

R

He attached a document where he continued the conversation.

I promise to… take care of my kids and not cheat on my wife.

I’ve been thinking about… how to lose 20 more lbs. so I’m not dead when my kids are 40.

I feel like I am owed… nothing. I don’t feel I’m owed anything. Everyone chooses how to spend their money.

... and gave me prompts of my own.

In unison: I’ve been busy me: working about 12 hours per day if I count commuting and working on my house. you: [

In unison: I save my money for me: the future. I think I’m responsible for taking care of my own problems instead of hoping someone will help me out if something happens. you: [

In unison: I feel I’m privileged because me: I had a good Mom, Dad, and brothers growing up. I was never given any money, but having someone in your corner is more valuable. I am in your corner if you are in a pinch, and I know Mom and Dad are too. you: [

Working for a great strong land of love,

D

COLOPHON

Published on tumblr on Thursday, Aug. 10, “Thots & Prayers” is a phone transcript, visual essay, poem, and interactive self-help manual. I edited my brother’s written response for clarity. My mom took the pictures of my brother and me. My friend Jonathan Ursin took the pictures of me kneeling on the amphitheater stage and laying in the grass with rosary beads. I took the rest. Spanish phrases were proofed by Alè Barrientos. Radio broadcast lines are excerpted from Langston Hughes’ “Let America Be America Again.” Endorsement by Seattle performer Nico Pecans (they/them) / Miss Texas 1988 (she/her) is available. Lines from “James” and “Jason” are from interviews with James and Jason. PDF with original formatting shared upon request.

[juicy-cookie]

Through The Valley - Chapter 3

Fic Summary: A deeper look into The Sanctuary.

Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. Boy has a weird obsession with a baseball bat, promiscuity and the word “fuck”. Girl has to find out if she can look past these things. Also, zombies and shit.

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10075958/chapters/22913145

Pairing: Negan X OFC

Chapter Summary: How to make friends and annoy the shit out of people.

The woman, while still pointing her gun in their direction, had lowered it to her hip, but was nevertheless back in don’t-bullshit-me mode.

“What makes you think that we need to be saved?”

Negan smiled and spread his arms, nearly hitting Connor on the nose. She was just where he wanted her to be.

“This whole setup you got here? Really fucking nice. Cleared streets, a fuckton of supplies… you probably even know how to hunt, make a fire, the whole Survival 1-0-fucking-1. You’re both obviously smart and capable. So I’m damn fucking sure that you know that this isn’t gonna last forever. I mean, sure, right now you’re all fine and fucking dandy in your little house in the suburbs, but how are you gonna heat the house this winter? What are you going to do when you’ve scavenged every last place in the area? Plant a fucking apple tree in the backyard? And you’re just two people. One of you kicks the fucking bucket, the other one is fucking dead, too, either from being eaten, or because being alone out here is a fucking death sentence.”

Negan watched their reactions to his little speech very carefully. They had to agree that he was right. The guy –What was his name again?- was looking at Dwight with furrowed brows. The girl, Lilly, was still watching Negan intently, her face not giving anything away. It was a little unsettling if Negan was being perfectly honest to himself. Was that approval, or was she one wrong word away from shooting him in the head?

“Any-fucking-way… there are so few fucking people left in this fucked-up world… we have to save everyone we can, right? So how about you two join us? We have food, walls, people. A whole fucking community that works together. You get jobs, a place to sleep and two awesome fucking meals per day. We even have a fucking doctor plus meds if you need them.”

“Sounds like a real utopia.” The man said. “And you’re offering us all this just like that, without asking for anything in return?”

“I just told you that you’re given jobs, weren’t you fucking listening? Of course you’re gonna have to fucking work if you want to stay with us, nothing in this world is for fucking free anymore.”

The two of them exchanged another look and then Lilly asked the million dollar question:

“How do we know that you’re not just trying to gain our trust and as soon as we let down our guard and our guns, you kill us and take all our shit?”

Negan couldn’t help the Cheshire cat grin that was creeping up on his face.

“Oh we are going to take all your shit. Just see it as an entrance fee to a very fucking cool and exclusive club. As for how you’re gonna know we won’t kill you? Because I have a gun in the inside pocket of my jacket and Connor here has another hidden in his boot. We could have fucked you up three times over by now. And yet here we are… as nice and fucking friendly as a fucking 30-year-old virgin on his first visit to a hooker.”

That finally got a reaction from them. The guy -Jax!- looked about ready to start a bloodbath and pointed his gun straight at Negan’s head. Connor reached down to go for his own hidden gun, but Negan put a hand on his lieutenant’s arm and then returned his attention to Lilly.

She uncocked her gun, leaned back against the sideboard behind her with crossed arms and gave Negan a grin that made his heart flip and his dick twitch. He had known from the start that she was the one calling the shots and he was sure that he had won her over, when she finally said the five magic words:

“Jax, put the gun down.”

Her partner was about to protest, so she repeated herself.

“Put the gun down and light the candles. It’s getting dark outside and I want to take a better look at our guests.”

Jax finally did as he was told and went in the direction of the staircase, only to come back with matches and the weapons that had been left there by Dwight and Connor, holding them out to them.

Lilly, still smiling, went around the couch and out of their field of vision. When she came back, she was twirling Lucille in her hand.

“Unusual choice of weapon you got there.”

Negan was torn between annoyance and arousal. He didn’t like it when people touched Lucille without his explicit permission. On the other hand, seeing the girl’s pale and slender hands wrapped around his bat’s dark wood made his mind go to some very dirty places.

“Maybe I’ll let you play with her sometime,” he said with a wink. She chuckled and pointed the barbed wire end at him, which he took with a gloved hand.

Meanwhile, Jax had been busy lighting several candles that were standing between the food and the bottles of water. The room slowly started to light up and Negan finally managed to get a better look at the girl, who had now taken a seat in the armchair next to him. Her eyes, which he had found so unsettling just two minutes earlier, were actually a warm green and the full lips and small nose that was covered in a faint dusting of freckles made her less intimidating in the warm glow of the candlelight than he had initially thought.

Not that he had been scared of her, but she had looked like a far tougher bitch in the darkness.

“Well, if this isn’t fucking great, right boys? Two new additions to our family and one of them is even pretty fucking easy on the eyes.” He smirked at Jax, who raised an eyebrow at him and disappeared into the kitchen.

“We haven’t agreed to anything yet. We merely decided not to kill you,” Lilly remarked, before reaching for a gallon of water next to her and placing it on the table.

Jax came back from the kitchen with five glasses and put them next to the water gallon, went to the table behind Lilly and sat down on one of the chairs with crossed arms.

“Oh, come the fuck on. After everything I just told you, not to mention my awesome fucking personality and looks, you’re still not convinced? What do I have to do to help you make up your mind?”

“How about answering some questions about you and your community?”

“Sure, ask away. Oh and the answer to your first question is: Yes, I’m available and DTF.”

“Right. Thanks for clearing that up.” She looked like she could barely contain her laughter and Negan wasn’t sure whether she found him ridiculous, or was genuinely amused by his crass attempts at flirting. That would be a fucking first.

“You said that we would have to work for food, shelter and so on.” She changed the topic. “Does that mean that you have to earn these things? You don’t just get them for free?”

“Dwight, pour us some water, I’m fucking parched.” He leaned forward. “No, we have a points system. You get basic accommodation, including two meals per day and a spot in the dormitory. Anything more than that, you have to use your points.” He took the glass of water from Dwight and made sure everyone else got a drink before continuing. “Now I know what you’re gonna say… What’s the fucking point of a points system in a world like this where everyone fucking struggles to make it to the next fucking day…”

“Actually, I was going to say that a points system is a good idea in a world where laziness and incapability gets you killed.” she interrupted. “It’s not fair that some people risk their lives every day while others freeload off them.”

Negan had the feeling that she was speaking from experience.

“Have you lived in a community before?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“It didn’t work out.”

He decided not to press the matter further, but made a mental note to keep an eye on those two, if they decided to come back to Sanctuary with them. He couldn’t be sure that it hadn’t been Lilly’s and Jax’s fault that it didn’t work out with their last community and a nice pair of tits and a smile were not enough to make him endanger his people back home.

He was just about to ask for how long they’d been out there, when the sudden noise from Dwight’s radio gave them all a collective heart attack. He saw Lilly and Jax going for the guns on their belts and held up his hands in a placatory gesture.

“Easy guys. It’s just our back up on the roof. They probably want to know if we’re busy fondling our balls and if they can join us.”

They kept their hands on their guns and Negan motioned to Dwight to hand over the radio with Gavin’s voice coming from it. “Boss? Are you there? Everything okay?”

His eyes never leaving the two people sitting across from him, he brought the radio up to his mouth, but addressed Lilly first:

“Can they come down here? You have my fucking word, everything is going to stay as fucking pleasant as it is. But my men have been up on that roof all fucking day and they are tired and fucking thirsty.”

She gave him a small nod.

“Gavin, yes. Everything is A-O-fucking-K here. We actually found two mushrooms.”

“Huh?”

“Forget it. We’re still talking. Get your asses down here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Uhh… alright boss. Over.”

He tossed the radio back to Dwight and stood up to stretch a little, leaving Lucille on the glass table before them. Lilly was still eyeing him warily, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of having even more strangers in her home.

“Hey, don’t fucking worry, babe. Seth is a really nice guy. Oh and you have my full blessing to slap the shit out of Gavin whenever you feel like it… and you fucking will.”

“Oh great, I like a good a slap”, she smiled. That made him do a double take at her. God fucking dammit, the others would kill him if he made her a wife. Not to mention Thor Assholeson over there.

She stood up and he was finally able to make a good guess at her height. Definitely taller than he usually preferred, her head reached up just to his shoulders, while most women stopped somewhere between his bellybutton and his chest.

She stood close enough now that he could smell her and his attraction to her vanished instantly. The stink of someone who hadn’t had access to large amounts of water and soap hit his nose with a mixture of sweat, unwashed clothes and bad breath with a hint of rotting walker guts thrown in for good measure. He could also just make out the weird herbal scent he had detected when first entering the house and it made his lip curl in disgust.

“Well, since you were all so obsessed with stalking us all day, I bet you guys must be really hungry. I’m gonna go get us something to eat,” she said right before someone knocked on the door.

“That is some awesome fucking hospitality.” Negan grinned and walked to the door to open it for Seth and Gavin while Lilly got busy in the kitchen. He let his men in, who were both wearing shiny red sunburn on their cheeks and noses and who went straight for the water in the living room.

After each of them had downed a couple of glasses, they took a closer look at the room and the people in it and stopped in their tracks when they noticed Jax.

“Who the fuck are you?” Gavin asked.

Negan had since approached his man with the reddish blonde hair and put an arm around the significantly smaller guy, squeezing just a little too tight for comfort.

“That, my boy, is our new friend Jax. He is the reason that you, Dwight and Seth are going to have a whole fucking fuck-ton of unending fucking fun with fence duty for the next three weeks.”

The three men erupted in a collective groan.

“Why? How? Where is the girl?” Gavin cried out.

Dwight pointed at Lilly, who had just come back from the kitchen, carrying a tray full of assorted snacks: beef jerky, peanuts, pretzels, a couple of granola bars. She placed the tray on the glass table in front of the couch, carefully picked up Lucille and placed her against the wall by the door, right next to a bow and a quiver of arrows that Negan hadn’t noticed before.

“Oh, sweet. How about you make me a sandwich next, baby?” Gavin wiggled his eyebrows at Lilly, who tilted her head to the side, smiling sweetly at him.

“Sure thing, honey. Do you want your testicles roasted or cooked to go on that sandwich after I ripped them off?”

The room went silent until Negan couldn’t hold it in anymore and broke out into a booming laugh, one hand on his belly, the on his thigh.

“Never mind that slap, babe. This was in-fucking-finitely better.”

After the final introductions were made, they all proceeded to sit down together to eat, drink and answer questions. Lilly and Jax were guarded about revealing too much about their past and Negan’s men were too well trained to tell the two potentials anything that could endanger the Sanctuary’s inhabitants.

What they did learn, was that Lilly and Jax had known each other since before the outbreak, that they had lived in a community in D.C. for quite some time and that they had left of their own accord because they hadn’t agreed with how things were going there.

Negan and Dwight told them more about the points system, potential jobs for them and some of the rules and expectations they had for future Saviors.

There was one tense moment when Jax asked Dwight about the scar on his face, but Dwight was smart enough to mumble something about “rule breaking” and a “serious offense” without going into too much detail. Jax didn’t look completely convinced after that and he and Lilly soon excused themselves to go upstairs to discuss things.

They talked for a good hour. Gavin made a comment about halfway through that he had had enough of waiting and about getting them, but Negan told him to shut the fuck up. He wanted to give them ample time to decide whether they should go with them in the morning.

When they got back, Lilly motioned for Negan to follow her into the kitchen. She sighed and put her hands on the counter between them.

“Sorry for making you wait that long.”

“Don’t fucking worry about it. I know that shit takes time to think over. Did you come to a decision?”

“I think so. But first, why do you even want us at your place? Isn’t it a bit of a risk to take in strays in times like these?”

“Don’t get me wrong, sweetheart, I’m sure you’re a fucking badass, but you’re not exactly the crazy mass-murderer type. It has become a really rare fucking occasion that we find other survivors out here and if I think that they’d be an asset to our community, why not invite them in?”

“Well it still sounds a little too good to be true. I mean… your men seem nice enough. What about women and children? You have those at your place?”

“A whole fucking bunch of them. I even have two female lieutenants. The rest are just regular people we try to keep safe. Look, I’m not gonna fucking lie to you and tell you it’s always fucking sunshine and lollipops at our place. But I want you to know that you are always free to leave if it doesn’t work out. I can’t use people who don’t want to fucking be there.” Negan leaned back against the counter, Lucille on his shoulder. “So what about your boy Jax? I got the feeling he’s not a huge fucking fan of the whole idea of you two coming with me.”

“Jax will go wherever I go. He’s just cautious. We both are, especially after it didn’t work out with our last community. He just wants us to be safe.”

“And what do you want, Lilly?”

She focused her gaze on the wall at the other end of the kitchen and bit her lip.

“I just want to have a home again.”

“Well, you’re welcome to share mine.”

Their eyes met and she smiled up at him. The moment was immediately ruined, though, by Jax poking his head around the kitchen door.

“Everything okay in here, Lil?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Did you tell him?”

“I was just about to.” She turned back to Negan. “Well Negan…” he really liked the sound of his name on her tongue. “We thank you very much for your generous offer and we have decided that, if the night goes without any incidents, we’d like to go with you in the morning.”

“All-fucking-right! That’s fucking awesome news.”

“I’ll go tell the others” Jax excused himself.

They soon heard animated chatter from the living room and Negan couldn’t stop grinning until he noticed that Lilly looked a little concerned.

“What’s wrong, babe? I thought you’d be doing a fucking happy dance for me.”

“It’s gotten pretty late. How is this going to work? We don’t have enough room for all your men and, frankly, I don’t feel very comfortable sleeping in a house with five strangers.”

“What about just one stranger?”

“What do you mean?”

“I am going to stay here and your boyfriend goes with my men and stays with them in the school. That way we both have at least some sort of fucking leverage. Though I have to say that you are really fucking hurting my feelings, babe. I have been nothing but a perfect fucking gentleman and you still don’t trust me?” he was actually pouting at her.

“Do you trust me?”

“Good fucking point.”