#mostly because he actually listened to my concerns and recommended a couple of tests and how to schedule them

[kaktohund]

i went to a new doctor a couple days ago who was the very embodiment of what i would expect from a wacky elder millennial doctor. he bounces into the examination room, much more energy from the jump than I was prepared for, sits casually on his little doctor stool, and turns to me like

"so. menses problems; tell me about it"

[my-happy-little-bean]

Blossom

pairings: logan/patton (logicality) (because im trash) words: 2776 warnings: swearing, panic attack, implied toxic parental relationship, mention of an implied suicide attempt, fighting summary: 

blos·som /ˈbläsəm/

verb - to produce flowers or masses of flowers. - to develop in a promising way

Or: the five times Logan couldn’t see the flowers, and the one time he did.

a/n- hello! i hope you are all doing well during this strange quaran-time! i present to you, my first non-golden slumbers flower-related fic (still logicality tho,,, y'all can rip that pairing out of my dead, cold hands :pp). i had a really strange dream last night that had something to do with this concept and hey, you know what i do with dreams :p

i hope you enjoy it ^v^

read on ao3~

---------

dedicated to the one bit of starlight that always remembers to water my garden 

~*~

1. 

Logan was halfway up the porch stairs when Patton mentioned the flowers for the first time. 

“I’m telling you, Lo!” Patton followed Logan into their new house, carrying boxes behind him. “They were little yellow daffodils, just sprouting behind you as you walked! It was so pretty!” 

“Patton, it takes twelve to fifteen weeks for daffodils to bloom after chilling,” Logan said pointedly, setting his own boxes down by an old, tattered couch in the living room. “Besides, even if there were some growing, I would be more concerned that there is something prompting growth underneath our house.”

Patton giggled, putting his boxes down beside Logan’s. He wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist from the back, going on the tips of his toes to kiss the back of his neck. 

“Our home,” he murmured in Logan’s skin. Logan smiled. 

“Yes,” he said, looking around at their surroundings. “It is...a start.”

“It’ll be more than that soon enough!” Patton chirped, taking Logan’s hand and spinning himself underneath it with a squeal. Logan couldn’t help smile, moving his arm more purposefully to properly spin Patton around until he was standing right in front of him. 

“I’m so happy,” Patton said with a sigh and that lopsided smile; the smile that proved to Logan that he could at least feel love. 

“I am happy that you are happy, dear.” He pressed his forehead against Patton’s and kissed his nose lightly. “Now, we must continue on, or we will be late to the neighbourhood barbeque Janene invited us to.”

“Janene?”

“Our neighbour, remember?” 

Patton made a small ‘ah’ noise and nodded enthusiastically, already skipping past Logan to grab some more boxes outside. 

As he watched him go, Logan sighed; he could definitely love. He could love with all of the love the world had to offer him, for as long as they were offering. He could love the softest, most gentle creature he knew; one who moved with such grace and one whose mind and heart and soul was overwhelmingly admirable.

Yes, he could love him. 

And he loved him. 

- 

“Logan! There’s pink roses on our roof!”

---------

2.

According to Janene, the whole neighbourhood could see the flowers. 

It was a special kind of phenomenon that no one outside the small town of Khloris ever noticed. But if you had a house on its terrain, you apparently had flowers growing underneath your feet. Upon mentioning Patton’s observations at the neighbourhood barbeque, Janene had explained the rumours that it was the land’s way of “observing” or “understanding” its habitants. Whatever that meant.

Logan found it borderline infuriating that no one had pursued further research on the matter; that people just walked around their neighbourhoods, complimenting each others’ seemingly magical gardens.

What was even more infuriating was that everyone just...accepted it. Embraced it, even. As if it was normal to hallucinate flowers growing on vines across your windows.

He was still unable to see these flowers, if they even existed. And while he wasn’t keen on keeping a sense of distrust between himself and his partner (he would have stopped playing along if Patton shared his same view) he couldn’t help but remain skeptical. 

(He would never admit it to Patton, but the reason he had purchased that rather expensive machine off of Amazon was so he could test the contents of the air in certain areas of the town. It didn’t prove anything abnormal, but it was an interesting experiment. 

He read his findings out loud to Patton one night, and Patton listened to every word.

And when Logan left for work the next morning, Patton complimented the chrysanthemums trailing behind him.)

Still, he didn’t have much choice other than to embrace the absurdity floating in their town. Besides, it was mostly harmless. And, more often than not, it served as the backdrop to some of the most joyful moments they had. 

- 

“Why, yellow!” Patton exclaimed as he greeted Logan on the steps to their house. “Someone has an extra poppy in their step today, huh?”

“First of all, I believe you mean ‘hello’; the standard greeting which is first exchanged between individuals seeing each other,” Logan hummed. Then, he leaned over to kiss Patton’s cheek. “Second of all...hello, dearest.”

“Hiya!” Patton giggled. Logan watched as the spot he kissed flushed a soft shade of pink. “How was work?”

Logan couldn’t help but smile. “It was...very satisfactory.”

“Very satisfactory?” Patton rocked back and forth on the heels of his feet, immediately ecstatic. “Not just satisfactory?”

“Mhm.”

“Ooh that and the yellow poppies behind you! You must have good news!” Patton beamed. “Come, come sit with me! Tell me all about your very satisfactory day!”

Usually, Logan would politely decline, telling him that he had to first shower and prepare dinner as he always did after work. And it was almost second-nature to ignore the ever-growing amount of flower observations from Patton. 

But he couldn’t help but oblige upon seeing Patton rush over to their small, wooden porch swing, nearly knocking into his ball of yarn and newest knitting project. That and he did have good news. Very good news, in fact. 

“Tell me about your day first,” Logan insisted as he sat down beside him, setting his briefcase at his feet. “I would rather celebrate a mutual achievement than selfishly intrude with my singular one.”

“Intrude?” Patton nudged him lightly. “Well, you’re not being int-rude if you do! So don’t worry about that kind of intrusion-confusion you’re on about, mister!”

“...did you eat the cookies Janene sent us?”

“Several.”   

Logan shook his head. “She puts too much chocolate in those, you know. And those pastries surpass the recommended amount of sugar one should digest in a day.”

“I know! ”

Logan couldn’t help but laugh at how starry-eyed his Patton looked. Patton gently rocked the swing back and forth, then lifted his legs to sit cross-legged on the cushions once it gained enough momentum. 

“Anyway, my day was alright!” Patton chirped. “Had a breakthrough with a client today! It’s been a slow couple of weeks, but I think things are looking up!” 

“That is fantastic news, Patton.” Logan leaned his head against Patton’s shoulder, placing a hand on his thigh and smiling. “You’re doing an exceptional job.”

“Aw, Lo!” Patton giggled again. “You’re gonna make me grow peonies everywhere.”

Second-nature. Logan just chuckled.

“Now! We must celebrate you!” Patton lifted Logan’s head off his shoulder and held his hands into his own. “Tell me everything!”

A pause. Logan felt as if he too was holding his breath.

“Well, do you recall that promotion I recently inquired about at my work?”

Patton’s eyes widened. 

“Shut up.”

Logan broke into a wide grin, finally exhaling as he nodded. Patton squealed, practically lunging at Logan to give him a tight hug.

“Shut up shut up shut uppp!!!”

“Do you...actually want me to–”

“No!” Patton gasped, pulling back to hold Logan in front of him by his shoulders. His grin almost hurt to look at. “Never ever ever shut up!”

“Then why did you–”

“I’m excited, you goofball!” Patton brushed the hair out of Logan’s eyes with a small giggle. “Besides, if I’m shushing anything, it’s the guilty feeling in your head that I can hear from a mile away.

(Fuck. He could love him forever.)

“Be proud of yourself, silly.” Patton wrapped Logan into another hug. Despite being shaken around so much, Logan couldn’t help but laugh. “Gosh, you deserve this so so much– I’m so proud of you.”

Logan’s breath hitched. 

“You…” 

Patton drew himself back ever-so-slightly, leaving a mere inch between him and Logan. He smiled. 

“I’m always proud of you, Logan.” He kissed Logan’s nose, sending a rush of warmth throughout his entire being. 

He then looked down at the spaces between each wooden plank of the porch and smiled. 

“Peonies,” he whispered, resting his forehead against Logan’s. “I’m happy too, Lo. So so so happy.”

---------

3.

“Patton, take a deep breath.”

“He–” Patton gasped, wrapping his arms around himself– “how– I can’t–”

“Patton.” Logan took the phone out of Patton’s hand and held them, squeezing gently. “Patton, let’s sit down, please–”

“Don’t touch me!“ Patton sobbed, pulling his hands back and covering his mouth. Tears rolled down his cheeks and over his hands. He began backing away from Logan. “It’s– I’m a– I’m–”

“Patton–”

“Fuck,” Patton choked out, stumbling past Logan and heading in the direction of their backyard. “I can’t– I need–”

Logan just nodded, carefully catching up to him and clearing out as much clutter as he could so Patton wouldn’t get hurt. He slid open their backyard door for Patton to rush through. 

The cool, evening air hit Logan almost sharply, and he hoped that Patton could feel the same thing. He watched from a hesitant distance as Patton fell to his knees on their grass, folding into himself like a ball and clutching at each strand. 

(He doesn’t need you to make this worse.  "You don’t know how to feel, after all.”)

 “Hey,” Logan finally said. He walked over to the grass and sat a comfortable distance away from Patton. “Is this enough space?”

Patton didn’t lift his head, but he nodded. Logan sighed. 

“...What happens outside your workplace is not your responsibility.”

Patton let out a huge sob; one that felt like it echoed through the whole neighbourhood. 

Fuck. Logan cleared his throat.

“Tell me about the flowers,” he blurted out. Patton lifted his head slightly. 

“The–”

“The flowers,” Logan said again, even less sure of himself. “Tell me what they...what they look like to you right now.”

Patton let out a scratchy laugh. “You don’t believe in the stupid flowers.”

Logan’s heart broke. 

(He didn’t, but he believed in him.)

“Tell me about them anyway,” he said insistently. “I assume they are in our presence, no?”

Patton sighed and, after seemingly deliberating his offer, sat up; his hands firmly gripping the grass they were sitting on. He looked around him, all spacey in that way that used to scare Logan. (It still does, but he at least knows enough about it that it’s not as worrisome.)

Finally, he spoke up. 

“I– I see marigolds,” he whispered. “And– and yellow carnations.”

Logan closed his eyes in thought for a second and then opened them with a sigh. 

“My dear,” he whispered, scooting a bit closer to him. “It is normal to feel grief and disappointment. Those are common reactions to a tragic occurrence such as this. I am so deeply sorry that you have to experience this because you do not deserve this, my starlight.”

Patton curled even more into himself.

“But what is important is that he is still here,” Logan continued. “And I am going to be here to assist you with whatever you need in order for you to cope during this difficult time.”

He watched as Patton took a deep breath; the first one in hours. When he exhaled, he felt as if the air around him grew still and less frigid. 

“I already know with absolute certainty that I will witness you lift yourself up when we make it through this; stronger than you were ever before.” He moved closer to him again. “You did not fail, no – we are simply just trying again.”

A beat of silence. Patton sniffled. “T-There’s purple hyacinths now.”

Logan sadly smiled. A common one with Patton.

“You do not have to apologize.” He patted the space next to him. “I’m here. And so are you.”

Patton sobbed a bit more, but eventually smiled through his tears and curled up in Logan’s lap. Logan held Patton and leaned over to press a kiss in his hair. 

“I got you,” he murmured in his curls. He felt Patton settle into his lap, the tenseness in his shoulders loosening. He ran his hands through his hair, kissing it again and again every few seconds. 

“Forever?” He heard Patton mumble. He smiled. 

“And a little bit after that,” he whispered back. 

And they sat there for a while, underneath the starry skies above them, in what Logan assumed was a sea of yellow and purple flowers. Though, he was never really sure.

- 

Later on, Patton asked him how he knew what each flower meant. And Logan, who would never admit to researching floriography (or to any accomplishment at all), just said it was a coincidence.

---------

4.

Patton rarely got mad; but when he did, Logan could only assume there were petunias everywhere.

“You–”

“Patton, please, not today–”

“NO!” His voice bounced off the walls and hit Logan in the chest. He shut up immediately. “Just...please– please tell me you’re joking.”

Logan averted his glance. “...I had to speak with them.”

“With your parents?! “ Patton screamed. “Who– who haven’t even bothered to call you in the last, what, five years?! “

“Patton, I–”

“You promised you’d never talk to them again,” Patton hissed. “I thought we agreed that– that it’d be wrong to. Because they were miserable people– people who– who made you miserable.”

He stung more than any thorn ever could. Logan tried to imagine some growing through the floors, as if trying to sympathize with what he could be experiencing. Of course he was angry. What Logan did was stupid. And he didn’t even mention the outcome…

“They’re my parents, Patton,” he said instead. He tried to plant his feet to the floor firmly, but Patton’s pacing made him shrivel up where he stood. 

“They are not your parents,” Patton snapped. His breathing was sharp and quick. “Parents–  parents don’t just tell their kid that they don’t have the capacity to feel– parents don’t kick their kid out of their fucking house and– and abandon them and leave them to be fixed by someone else.”

Logan’s breath hitched. 

“I…” He tried not to let it hurt him, but seeing Patton also wince at his own words made him feel somewhat validated in his pain. Still, he stood his ground. 

“I did not ask you to fix me,” Logan whispered, just as sharply; as if to get him back. 

Stupid.

“Logan.” Patton’s voice was even more troubling when it was quiet. “How could you...”

“It’s true.” (Why was he still talking?!) “I didn’t need you to–”

But he never finished. 

Because that’s all it took for Patton to leave.

-

5.

Patton found Logan outside in their backyard, surrounded by roses.

Roses of every colour; yellow, pink, blue, black, and white. The grass underneath his feet was bright green– in fact, everything around him was bright. 

“L-Logan, what–”

And that was when he saw the ring.

“Patton.” It came out as a loud, choked sob. 

Patton took a shaky step towards Logan, who shakily got on one knee.

“What are you…”

To his surprise, Logan laughed. 

“We– we were never really good at appropriate timing, were we?” 

Patton covered his mouth with wide eyes.

“I called my parents,” Logan began shakily, “because I wanted to tell them that I was going to marry you.”

Patton’s breath hitched. 

“You were right,” he continued, wiping his eyes. “Parents don’t do any of the things you had mentioned a-and I know I broke that promise we made out of good intent but…” He sighed. “But they are my parents. And I wanted them to be part of this moment.”

He closed his eyes, almost shamefully.

“Ultimately, it was out of spite, wasn’t it?” He laughed quietly. “In the end, I just wanted to prove to them that I could.”

“C-Could what?”

Logan stood up from his place and smiled. “That I could feel.”

A wide grin spread across Patton’s face.

“Oh, Logan…” He sobbed, rushing over to hold Logan’s hands. He giggled as Logan’s glasses fogged up from him crying, and he reached over to take them off, opting to rest them lopsided on his head. Logan laughed again through his tears. 

“Patton,” he whispered, looking up in his eyes. “I feel everything with you. I– I feel perfect, unadulterated happiness and love when I am with you. I feel joy, I feel peace, I feel...I feel things that I didn’t even know exist– ”

He held Patton’s hands and took a deep breath.

“I feel everything for– for you.” Logan rested his forehead against Patton’s and broke into laughter as their tears fell to the ground. “I want to feel everything with you– the ups, the downs, everything– for the rest of my life.”

---------

1.

And as Patton kissed him, Logan watched as a rainbow of colours blossomed around their home.

[azozzoni]

Can you write more chapter for the lucas VDH x Jens because it's amazing!!!!!

The official ship name is Van der Stoffels, VDS, in case anyone is wondering...

*

The boys want to go to a concert in Amsterdam this weekend.

Lucas stared at the message, chewing on his bottom lip. There was nothing inherently bad about it, nothing exactly implied. Nothing to indicate exactly what Lucas was thinking right now as he reread Jens’ words.

Coming to Amsterdam, not that far away, close enough to hop on a train or a bus and go there for the evening.

“There he is, staring at his phone again.”

Lucas jerked his head up at Jayden’s voice behind him. Shoving his phone away, he turned to Jayden and Kes as they approached him.

“If you’re not careful, we might think there was someone special,” Kes said, and even though he smiled as if it was a joke, there was something akin to concern in the way he watched Lucas.

“It’s nothing,” Lucas said easily, shaking his head, shaking off the feeling of guilt when Kes didn’t look away. “Just a friend.”

“You have friends other than us?” Jayden asked, doubtful. “Since when?”

Rolling his eyes, Lucas ignored him. “You guys want to go to Amsterdam this weekend?” he asked instead, clutching the phone in his pocket as it vibrated with another notification.

Kes frowned slightly, as though the question was strange. It wasn’t that strange, Lucas didn’t think.

“I’m still grounded from the party last weekend,” he said finally. “Remember my dad caught me sneaking back in at two AM?”

“Oh, yeah,” Lucas agreed, feeling the swoop in his stomach. He’d made up a stupid excuse last weekend as to why Kes couldn’t stay over--he’d said it was his mom, in one of her moods where everyone was a target, but the truth was, he hadn’t wanted to wake up to Kes in his bed.

“Why go to Amsterdam when there are hot girls right here,” Jayden said, eyes following a group of girls across the courtyard. “I heard Olivia is throwing a party.”

Lucas had no interest in a party at Olivia’s, a party where he would surely be forced to pretend he wanted to hook up with some random girl, forced to listen to Jayden drooling over girls he would never get, watch Kes actually hook up with someone.

Lucas couldn’t help himself when he pulled out his phone, checking the DMs on Instagram, the one new from Jens.

Sander wants to go to a gay bar after. Any recommendations? ;)

There it was, the clear invitation, and Lucas felt himself smiling. It had been a few weeks since he’d met Jens in that cafe, kissed him on the dewy bench in the starlight. Since then, it had been a few messages, liking each other’s posts on Instagram, almost flirting, but Lucas still had no idea what he was doing, what he was supposed to do. And Ralph had been no help, only saying that if he wanted something with a guy, he had to be as blunt as possible.

“There he goes again,” Jayden said, reaching for the phone, but Lucas jerked it out of his reach, a sudden shot of panic racing through him. “Who the fuck are you messaging?”

“It’s just Isa,” he lied, locking his phone. “She sent a meme. That’s all.” He looked away from Kes’ gaze, eyebrows furrowed as though trying to figure something out. “If you’re gonna try to hook up with Olivia, I think she’s well out of your league.”

“Fuck you,” Jayden scoffed, but he was sufficiently distracted, and Lucas let out a breath as Jayden went on to name all the girls who would die to sleep with him.

Kes wasn’t so easily distracted, and he continued to watch Lucas for a while after that, but for once, Lucas wasn’t thinking about Kes. Instead, he was busy planning a trek to Amsterdam.

*

Lucas kind of wished Ralph was there as he stepped inside the bar, the rainbow flags hanging on the walls, colored lights flashing over what might have been a dance floor, but people were mostly standing around in groups, drinking and laughing over the loud music. It would have been nice to have someone to tell him things were going to be fine. That he hadn’t taken a bus all the way up here to meet a guy he barely knew for… Lucas didn’t even know exactly why he was there.

He saw Jens first, couldn’t miss him at the bar with the same two guys from last time--the tiny one with brown hair and the guy with bleach-blond hair. There was another guy he didn’t recognize laughing with Jens as Lucas took a breath and stepped forward.

He could do this. He could totally do this. After all, he’d been talking with Jens for a month now, sending stupid memes back and forth, complaining about school, making slightly suggestive jokes that would have made him cringe to say out loud.

Jens’ face lit up as he caught sight of Lucas, and Lucas felt his stomach swoop, like he’d missed a stair.

“Hey, you came,” he said, and Lucas wondered if Jens had thought maybe he wouldn’t.

“Nothing better to do.” He shrugged, biting back his smile as Jens laughed. This wasn’t so hard. He could do this.

“Glad I rank so high,” Jens said, turning to his friends. “Guys, this is Lucas, from Utrecht.”

There was a flash of recognition on the tiny brunet’s face, and Lucas wondered what Jens had told them. Probably more than he’d told his friends, which was nothing.

“This is Robbe, Sander, and Aaron,” Jens introduced him, nodding at each guy in turn.

Aaron, the one with curly hair, reached for Lucas’ hand, oddly formal. “I’m not gay but I support it,” he said firmly, and Lucas raised an eyebrow.

Luckily, Jens cuffed Aaron on his shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot.” He glanced at Lucas. “You want a drink?”

“Sure,” Lucas agreed, watching Sander whisper something into Robbe’s ear. Robbe seemed to blush, but he nodded.

“We’re going to grab a table,” Robbe said, tugging Sander with him.

“In the back,” Sander added, half a shout as Robbe pulled him away. “In a very dark corner!”

Jens merely rolled his eyes, turning to the bartender and ordering a couple drinks. Aaron lingered awkwardly until Jens shot him a look.

“I’m gonna…” He gestured vaguely with his hand before stepping away and leaving them alone. Lucas wasn’t sure what any of that meant, but it was easier with just him and Jens, clinking bottles before they drank.

“You didn’t bring any of your friends?” Jens asked, not glancing around as if to find any.

“No,” Lucas said after a minute. “They don’t really…” know he’s into guys? He wasn’t sure how to finish that thought and sighed.

“You’re not out,” Jens said slowly, and Lucas swallowed, shaking his head.

“It’s not that I think Kes is going to care, not really. I just don’t want things to change.”

He didn’t know how to explain it, the fear he felt at telling the guys. Deep down, he was pretty sure Kes wouldn’t care at all, would probably hug Lucas and insist they all go out to a gay club or something. That was what worried him, that suddenly he would be gay. As if he wasn’t already. He knew it made no sense.

Jens was quiet for a moment, watching Lucas. “Things did change when Robbe came out,” he said finally, glancing through the crowd to where Robbe and Sander were making out in a corner. “But it was a good change. It was like he could breathe again, like we all could.”

“And what about you?” Lucas asked, wishing they could talk about something else other than coming out and whether or not it would help things.

Jens shrugged, smiling at Lucas. “I got drunk and kissed a guy at a party, so it wasn’t so much a coming out as everyone just sort of shrugged and went on drinking.”

Lucas wished it could be that easy.

Jens glanced at him, nudging his shoulder. “If you want, I could go to a party with you, crowd you into a corner and see what happens.”

Lucas laughed despite himself. “I think I know what would happen.”

“Do you?” Jens asked, eyebrows rising. His fingers brushed against Lucas’ as he reached for his beer.

Lucas had thought about the kiss they’d shared last time, had thought about it late at night, lying in bed and staring at the dark ceiling, had wondered what might have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted. Not that he was ready for anything other than kissing yet, but he had definitely thought about Jens’ mouth late at night.

“How about I do it right here?” Jens asked, and Lucas felt the blush spreading over his cheeks, down his neck, torn between excited and nervous. “As a test run.”

It was so bold that Lucas laughed, glancing around, but no one there cared. No one in that entire bar would care if he leaned in right now and kissed Jens. Half the people in there were doing that. Robbe was practically in Sander’s lap across the room, giggling as Sander pressed kisses to his neck.

That was why he’d come here, he realized as they leaned against the bar, some electric pop song throbbing through the speakers. This was what he’d wanted to happen as Jens nodded away from the bar, into the crowd, and Lucas followed without a word.

With Jens’ arms around his shoulders, they swayed to the music, not really dancing, and Lucas could only think of the slide of Jens’ hand down his shoulder to his waist. It was so different than with Kes, a different kind of tingle on his skin, a different kind of clench in his stomach because this could actually happen. This was Jens’ mouth so close to his, lips soft and parted, dark eyes sweeping up Lucas’ face, mouth curling into a smile as though he knew what Lucas was thinking.

“Would this happen?” Jens asked as their hips moved together, his hand on the small of Lucas’ back, warm and reassuring.

“Probably not,” Lucas admitted, whispered the words, distracted by the proximity of Jens’ mouth, and somehow he wasn’t surprised when their lips met.

Jens was a good kisser, and Lucas didn’t let himself wonder how many people Jens had done this with. It didn’t matter, not really, not when it was Jens’ tongue sliding in his mouth, teeth closing on his bottom lip, hot and heavy and urgent in a way Lucas had never felt with any of the girls he’d been with.

Sliding his hands through Jens’ soft hair, he sighed against him, chasing his tongue, body growing warm under Jens’ hands on his waist. It didn’t matter that there were people around--none of them gave a single fuck about Lucas and who he was kissing, and it felt amazing.

Jens’ lips were red when they finally parted, and he let out a breath as he smiled at Lucas. “Would that happen?”

“Definitely not,” Lucas said, but he couldn’t help smiling as he leaned back into Jens, wanting more, not ready to let go of this moment.

Jens kissed him back, slid his hands to Lucas’ shoulder blades, one coming to grip the back of his neck.

It wasn’t as if they were dating, as if they were together or anything, but Lucas didn’t care about that. He just cared about how good this felt, how easy it was to kiss Jens in the middle of a dance floor and not care about what anyone thought.

“You could make it happen,” Jens suggested when they pulled away to breathe, his fingers stroking over the flush on Lucas’ cheek.

Lucas shook his head. “Not yet.”

Jens nodded slowly, and Lucas sighed, relaxing with his hands around Jens’ shoulders.

“If you change your mind,” Jens said after a minute. “I’m totally down to come crash any party and make out with you.”

Lucas met Jens’ gaze, smiling after a second. This was the closest they’d gotten to actually talking about what was going on here. Maybe they were just friends who made out when they met up, or maybe it was something else, something Lucas hadn’t discovered quite yet. For whatever reason, he wasn’t too concerned about what they were.

“Yeah?” he asked finally, and Jens shrugged.

“You’re a good kisser.”

Laughing, Lucas shook his head. He didn’t need to know what they were doing or if this was going anywhere. He was pretty sure it was going somewhere.

“I’ll let you know,” he said, not entirely joking, and Jens seemed to understand as he nodded.

“We should make out some more,” he said after a minute, hands coming to Lucas’ face, and Lucas smiled.

“Okay,” he agreed, the words murmured against Jens’ lips as he moved in. He let his hands slide into Jens’ hair as Jens licked into his mouth and they stayed on the dance floor, bodies blending into the colored lights and fading into the background.

[antecedentlypod]

EPISODE 3 TRANSCRIPT

-opening music-

LORRIE

Alright- [soft movement sounds] recording time. Reeecording time. One, two, three. [flip through the book, door opens]

Ah- fuck-

FISH

Oh! Shit- sorry- were you in the middle of something? Uh...sorry. I made lunch. Bahn mi! Y’know, the one I begged my brother for the recipe of? Uh- do you want some? I mean, I can’t guarantee it’s gonna be great ‘cause...it’s me...but it is getting cold! So...

LORRIE

I was just about to start recording, but lunch sounds...awesome, actually! But before we go, do you want to introduce yourself to the mic? I decided I wanted to keep the extra recordings and stuff, just for… me, I guess? Like- kinda like a journal. [brief pause]

My therapist did recommend I start journaling, but writing out my thoughts is hard as fuck. Talking into a microphone is much easier.

FISH

Oh. Okay, so just like...lamer scrapbooking- Yeah! Yeah, I guess. [taps the mic] uh. Check check? ...Right, okay. So, my name is Fish. Just- just Fish. I picked it out myself, actually, ‘cus i really like fish? Y’know? Uh, stonefish specifically but...I think sharks are really cool- are sharks fish? Anyway! [drifting off] I like she/her or they/them pronouns...um...that’s about it. Anyway, I’m here to make sure that Mr. Skeptic over here isn’t going haywire, given all the bullshit I’ve been hearing recently.

LORRIE

[soft laugh] That’s...enough, that’s good. Maybe I should do one of those myself. [pause, deep breath] Okay, uh. Hi, I’m Lorrie. I also picked that name out, sounds like a bird name. There is a bird named Lorrie, but it’s spelled differently. And it’s really colorful, which is the opposite of me! Um, I mainly use he/him or it/its pronouns, they/them is okay sometimes, but it’s best to stay away from it? And I’m not going haywire! Things are just… a little bit weird. It’s probably just hallucinations, it’s nothing.

FISH

A little bit? With all- [sigh, in a sarcastic tone] Okay, fine. Reaaaal convincing. Yeah! Believe that, 100%. ‘Kay, anyway... [laughter]

LORRIE

[sigh] Listen- just. Just shut the fuck up. [more laughter] I’m excited for lunch, though, I don’t remember the last time I ate, actually-

FISH

That’s...not ideal, but kind of the point. So...oh! Well, hopefully you ate before getting that tattoo, did uh- it looks...new. When did you…? [sigh] Okay. What’s with the eyes?

LORRIE

I think they’re cool. I got the tattoo a couple days ago, I’m pretty sure I got something to eat before it? Not a big deal.

FISH

[pause, dumbfounded and concerned] A couple days? Okay, holy shit, Lor. Let’s go get something to eat, okay? Lunch is getting cold, so.

LORRIE

Y-Yeah, that sounds good. Let me ju-just- [muffled movement, recording stops]

LORRIE

Aaaand we’re back. Lunch has been eaten, I feel- a lot better, honestly, and I think it’s a good time to record? [papers rustling] Um...where…? [collects himself] Uh, Fish left for work a little bit ago, which means the only idiot in the house with me is my dog! I’ll be able to work now, I think. Even if reading it makes me feel all- fuckin’ weird. It’s not a- not a great feeling. Not a great feeling at all. Fuck. Okay. Um. Take one of Rumpels-

[cut]

[weary] Take...five? I think? Of Rumpelstiltskin.

[cut]

Take nine of Rumplestiltskin. Read by Lorrie Adams.

RUMPELSTILTSKIN

Once upon a time, there was a miller who was poor, but he had a beautiful daughter. Now it happened that he was talking with the king one time, and to make himself seem important he said to the king: "I have a daughter who can spin straw into gold."

"That's an art that pleases me;” the king replied, “if your daughter is as talented as you say, bring her to my castle tomorrow and I will put her to the test." 

When the maiden was brought to him he led her into a room that was filled with straw. There he gave her a spinning-wheel and a spindle and said: "Now get to work, if you don’t spin straw into gold by morning, then you must die." Then he locked the room himself, and she remained inside all alone.

 The miller's poor daughter sat there feeling close to her wit’s end, for she knew nothing of spinning straw into gold, and her fear grew greater and greater. When she began to weep, the door suddenly opened and a little man entered, saying: "Good evening, Mistress Miller, why are you weeping so?" 

“Oh,” answered the maiden, "I'm supposed to spin straw into gold, and I don't know how." 

The little man then said: "What will you give me if I spin it for you?" 

"My necklace," the maiden said. The little man took the necklace and sat down at the wheel, and whizz, whizz, whizz, three times round the spool was full. Then he put on another one, and whizz, whizz, whizz, the second one was full; and so it went on until morning, until all the straw was spun and all the spools were filled with gold. The king appeared right at the sunrise and when he saw the gold he was surprised and pleased, but his heart grew even greedier. He locked the miller’s daughter in another room, one that was even larger than the first, and he ordered her to spin all the straw into gold if she valued her life.

The maiden did not know what to do and began to weep; then once again the door opened and the little man appeared and said: "What will you give me if I spin the straw into gold for you?" 

"The ring from my finger," answered the maiden. The little man took the ring, began to work away at the wheel again, and by morning he had spun all the straw into shining gold. The king was extremely pleased by the sight; but his lust for gold was still not satisfied. So he had the miller's daughter brought into an even larger room, and said to her: "You must have all this spun to gold tonight, but if you succeed, you shall become my wife." To himself he thought: Even though she’s just a miller's daughter, I’ll never find a richer woman anywhere in the world. 

When the maiden was alone the little man came again for the third time and asked: "What will you give me if I spin the straw for you once more?" 

"I have nothing left to give," answered the maiden. 

"Then promise me your first child when you become queen." 

"Who knows whether it will ever come to that?" thought the miller's daughter, and since she knew no other way out of her predicament, she promised the little man what he had demanded, and in return the little man spun the straw into gold once again. When the king came in the morning and found everything he had wished, he married her, and the miller's daughter became a queen.

After a year she gave birth to a beautiful child, and the little man had disappeared from her mind. But now he suddenly appeared in her room and said: "Now give me what you promised." The queen was horrified, and offered the little man all the treasures of the kingdom if he would let her keep her child. But the little man replied: "No, something living is more important to me than all the treasures in the world." Then the queen began to grieve and weep so much that the little man felt sorry for her. "I'll give you three days time," he said, "if you guess my name by the third day, you shall keep your child."

The queen spent the entire night trying to recall all the names she had ever heard. She also sent a messenger out into the country to inquire high and low names there were. On the following day when the little man appeared, she began with Kaspar, Melchior, Balzar, and listed all the names she knew, one after the other, but to all of them the little man said: "That's not my name." The second day she had her servants ask around in the neighboring area which names people used, and she came up with the most unusual and strangest names when the little man appeared. "Is your name Ribs of Beef? Or Muttonchops? Or Laced Leg?" But he always replied: “That’s not my name.” On the third day the messenger returned and reported, "I couldn't find a single new name, but as I was climbing a high mountain at the edge of the forest, where the fox and the hare say goodnight to each other, I saw a small cottage, and in front of the cottage was a fire, and around the fire danced a ridiculous little man who was hopping on one leg and screeching:

“Today I'll brew, tomorrow I'll bake,

Soon I'll have the queen's namesake;

Oh, how hard it is to play my game,

For Rumpelstiltskin is my name."

And you can imagine how happy the queen was when she heard the name. As soon as the little man entered and asked: “What’s my name, your highness?” 

She responded first by guessing: "Is your name Cunce?" "No." "Is your name Heinz?" "No." "Can your name be...Rumpelstiltskin?"

"The devil told you! the devil told you!" the little man screamed, and he stamped so ferociously with his right foot that his leg went deep into the ground up to his waist. Then he grabbed the other foot angrily with both hands and ripped himself in two.

LORRIE

[yawn] There’s another number for me to read. [stuttering] Another story. I didn’t- say this in my personal introduction, but I’m [trying to snap himself out of it. literally] working for like, something akin to an audiobook company? These are my- story recordings. Not perfect, by any means, but they’re alright enough, and not really ever my final takes. Um. I like this job. Fully remote, surprisingly good pay for it being paid by commission mostly- I don’t know...why people would want these stories read out, but that’s beside the point. I make enough to get a pretty nice apartment, for me and Fish. They sent me this collection of stories to read from, it’s in this [stuttering and snapping again] big book- this big paperback book, um, and they...they- I get emails with the story numbers that they want me to read? Because they’re all numbered in this book. And the stories are never more than a couple pages at a time, which...is kinda weird because the recordings end up being pretty short that way? I don’t know if they want...more from me for it, but that’s also beside the point.

Anyways. Take 1 of Briar Rose, read by Lorrie Ada-

[very tired] Take 3 of Briar Ro-

Ppppbbbt. [hyping himself up] Okay. Okay, you can do this, Lorrie. It’s not that hard, you’re just talking into a fucking microphone. Okay. Okay. Hm. [drinks something. water..?] Take 13 of Briar Rose, read by Lorrie Adams. 

BRIAR ROSE

In times of old there lived a king and queen, and every day they said, "Oh, if only we had a child!" yet they never had one.

Then one day, as the queen went out bathing, a frog happened to crawl ashore and say to her: “Your wish shall be fulfilled. Before the year is out, you shall give birth to a daughter.”

The frog’s prediction came true, and the queen gave birth to a girl who was so beautiful that the king was overjoyed and decided to hold a great feast. Not only did he invite his relatives, friends, and acquaintances, but also the wise women in the hope that they would be generous and kind to his daughter. There were thirteen wise women in his kingdom, but he only had twelve golden plates from which they could eat. Therefore, one of them had to remain home. The feast was celebrated with tremendous splendor, and when it drew to a close, the wise women bestowed their miraculous gifts upon the child. One gave her virtue, another beauty, the third wealth, and so on until they had given her nearly everything one could possibly wish for in the world. When eleven of them had offered their gifts, the thirteenth suddenly entered the hall. She wanted to get revenge for not having been invited, and without greeting anyone or looking around, she cried out with a loud voice: “In her fifteenth year, the princess shall prick herself with a spindle and fall down dead.” That was all she said. Then she turned around and left the hall.

Everyone was horrified, but the twelfth wise woman stepped forward. She still had her wish to make, and although she could not undo the evil spell, she could nevertheless soften it. “The princess shall not die,” she said, “instead she shall fall into a deep sleep for one hundred years.”

Since the king wanted to guard his dear child against such a catastrophe, he issued an order that all the spindles in his kingdom were to be burned. Meanwhile, the gifts of the wise women fulfilled themselves in every way. The girl was so beautiful, polite, kind, and sensible, that whoever encountered her could not help but adore her. Now, on the day she turned fifteen it happened that the king and queen were not in the palace, so she wandered all over the place and explored as many rooms and chambers as she pleased. She eventually came to an old tower, climbed it’s narrow, winding staircase, and came to a small door. A rusty key was stuck in the lock, and when she turned it, the door sprang open and she saw an old woman in a little room sitting with a spindle and busily spinning flax.

“Good day, old granny!” said the princess, “What are you doing there?”

“I’m spinning,” said the old woman, and she nodded her head.

“What’s the thing that’s bobbing around in such a funny way?” Asked the maiden, and she took the spindle and wanted to spin too. But just as she touched the spindle, the magic spell began working and she pricked her finger with it. The very moment she felt the prick, she fell down on the bed that was standing there and was overcome by a deep sleep. This sleep soon spread throughout the entire palace. The king and queen had just returned home, and when they entered the hall they fell asleep, as did all the people in their court. They were followed by the horses in the stables, the dogs in the courtyard, the pigeons on the roof, and the flies on the wall. Even the fire flickering in the hearth became tired and fell asleep. The roast stopped sizzling, and the cook, who was just about to pull the kitchen boy’s hair because he had done something wrong, let him go and fell asleep. Finally, the wind died down so that not a single leaf stirred on the trees outside the castle. Soon, a briar hedge began to grow all around the castle, and it grew higher each year. Eventually, it surrounded and covered the entire castle, so that it was no longer visible. Not even the flag on the roof could be seen. Eventually the princess became known as “beautiful, sleeping Briar Rose,” and a tale about her began circulating throughout the country. From time to time, princes tried to break through and get to the castle. However, this was impossible, because the thorns clung together tightly as though they had hands, and the young men got stuck there. Indeed, they could not pry themselves loose and died miserable deaths. 

After many, many years had gone by, a prince came to this country and heard an old man talking about a briar hedge. Supposedly, there was a castle standing behind the hedge and in the castle there was a remarkably beautiful princess named Briar Rose, who had been sleeping for a hundred years along with the king and queen and their entire court. The old man also knew from his grandfather that many princes had come and had tried to break through the briar hedge, but they had got stuck and died wretched deaths. “I am not afraid!” said the prince, “I intend to see the beautiful Briar Rose!”

The good old man tried his best to dissuade him, but the prince would not heed his word. Now the hundred years had just ended, and the day of which Briar Rose was to wake up again had arrived. When the prince approached the briar hedge he found nothing but little flowers that opened of their own accord and let him through, like a hedge. In the courtyard, he saw the horses and the spotted hunting dogs lying asleep. The pigeons were perched on the roof and had tucked their heads beneath their wings. When he entered the palace, the flies were asleep on the wall, the cook was still holding his hand as if he wanted to grab the kitchen boy, and the maid was sitting in front of the black chicken that she was about to pluck. As the prince continued walking, he saw the entire court lying asleep in the hall, with the king and queen beside the throne. Then he moved on, and everything was so quiet he could hear himself breathe. 

Finally, he came to the tower and opened the door to the small room where Briar Rose slept. There she lay in her beauty, so marvelous that he could not take his eyes off of her. And then, he leaned over and gave her a kiss, and when his lips touched hers Briar Rose opened her eyes, woke up, and looked at him fondly. After that, they went downstairs together and the king and queen woke up along with the entire court and they all looked at each other in amazement. Soon, the horses in the courtyard stood up and shook themselves. The hunting dogs jumped around and wagged their tails, the pigeons on the roof lifted their heads from beneath their wings, looked up and flew off into the fields. The flies on the wall continued crawling, the fire in the kitchen flared up, flickered, and cooked the meat, the roast began to sizzle again, and the cook gave the kitchen boy such a box on the ear that he let out a cry while the maid finished plucking the chicken.

The wedding of the prince with Briar Rose was celebrated with great splendor, and lived happily to the end of their day. 

LORRIE

[with a bad taste in his mouth] Reaaaally can’t say I’m a big fan of the whole, like...lack of consent thing? Like, who just kisses some sleeping 115 year old? Like jesus fuck, get some manners! Like, why didn’t the prince just...try shaking her? Why did he just immediately kiss her- what the FUCK- 

Anyways, I couldn’t stop yawning during that recording, if that says anything about my thoughts on it. I hope I didn’t put you to sleep, at least. Whoever ends up listening to this. I think I need to go to bed. Goodnight, end recording.

[oneweekoneband]

King’s X - Out of the Silent Planet (from Gretchen Goes to Nebraska 1989)

Take what you’ve learned, set it free

See what you’ll see

Sometimes I wonder whether I was conscious in seventh grade. I mean, I literally was -- I’m haunted by the spectre of my English teacher, a proper Southern gentleman, picking his nose and thoughtfully examining his findings. Nevertheless, life before eighth grade took place in a viscous mental state, as though my right-handed brain was trying to think left-handed while confined inside a jello mold. Sometime during eighth grade, someone -- probably my new, kleenex-using English teacher -- added metaphorical acid or whatever disintegrates jello to my metaphorical jello mold and all the mental viscosity slurped away and my mind regained use of its dominant hand, which promptly threw into the air a prehistoric bone that turned into a spaceship: DUN-DUNNNNNNH! Everything turned sharper, quicker, clearer.

That wouldn’t happen until the fall of 1990. Before that, glurb. But in the spring semester of 1990, two sparks of nascent consciousness appeared: I started listening to the Top 40 countdown every Saturday morning, and my parents got me my very own magazine subscription from Focus on the Family.

Breakaway magazine was the FOTF empire’s new method for colonizing the minds of teenage boys. (The mysterious Brio took care of the girls.) FOTF, you’ll recall, is the evangelical nonprofit founded by Dr. James Dobson, noted child psychologist, religious ponderer, unrepentant spanker, suave complementarian, and in 2008, the doomsaying author of “Letter From 2012 In Obama’s America,” which let’s just say didn’t pan out. A mixed legacy. But his impact on my developing aesthetic was profound.

I’d get really excited whenever my parents got mail from Dr. Dobson, because his newsletters opened up my small Missouri town (population 5,280) to The World. I mean, “Piss Christ”! Somewhere out there was a motherfucking photo of a CRUCIFIX submerged in Andres Serrano’s URINE. I wasn’t a complete dope -- this was clearly supposed to offend me, but it was still pretty cool. As was The Last Temptation of Christ. Dr. Dobson’s movie critics could have said, “This movie is thoughtful and anguished for three hours and you’ll probably go to sleep,” which is what happened when I watched it a few years later. But no! Sex with Mary Magdalene! The disciples spitting bloody transubstantiated flesh out of their mouths! (Sadly, that bit didn’t make the shooting script.) This fucking thing was so lurid I knew I had to see it -- you know, so I could condemn it with authority.

When Breakaway started, its music reviews were disguised as an advice column. Some kid (or FOTF plant) would write in asking what the fatherly columnist thought of, say, Paula Abdul’s “Opposites Attract.” Fatherly columnist would hold the music’s lyrics up to Scripture’s plumb line and discern whether we his readership should fill our ears with this tripe. Occasionally he’d mention the music. “Opposites Attract” didn’t pass the test. Its overall message was good, averred fatherly columnist, but that line about “She makes the bed/And he steals the covers” implied Paula and her boyfriend were sleeping together outside marriage, rendering the song off-limits for Christian teens. This was reasonable.

Even so, thoughts arrived like butterflies. What if Paula Abdul was supposed to be married to the Wild Pair? By quoting this troublesome line in Breakaway, wasn’t fatherly columnist soiling our minds as thoroughly as if we’d just listened to “Opposites Attract”? Which I continued to do, btw, even though it’s clearly the second worst single off the first two Abdul albums. (Since you asked, “Knocked Out.”) In fact, the sexual implications of the line only occurred to me because of fatherly columnist’s advice! After which they continued to occur to me. Daily. Again and again.

Fatherly columnist was also no fan of Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus.” He couldn’t understand why le Mode would be so sarcastic about the Savior of the world, and he encouraged us to call radio stations that were playing the song and breathe heavily into the phone -- “hoohoohoo hahaha hoohoohoo HA!” Either that or we could just tell the DJ how offended we were. I dialed our local radio station once when they were airing that bit of blasphemy. The DJ didn’t answer, drunk as he was on the blood of nubile goats.

I swear we’ll get back to King’s X in a second, but let the record show that two years later, Breakaway gave a hearty recommendation to the first Arrested Development album, despite some “mild profanities” and “sexual images.” While fatherly columnist was fishin’ 4 sex and cusswords, he’d presumably also heard the lines, “This government needs to be overthrown/ Brothers with their AKs and their 9mms/ Need to learn how to correctly shoot them/ Save those rounds for revolution/ Poor whites and blacks bumrushing the system.” Since he didn’t mention those lines in his review, I assumed he approved. For those following along at home, here’s the Focus on the Family scorecard. Stealing the covers outside marriage: not good. Blaspheming Gnostic Jesus: worthy of protest. Armed revolution: OK!

In my first or second issue of Breakaway, “somebody” “asked” about King’s X. The reply was the most important record review I’ve ever read in my life.

“Nobody knows about King’s X, and they’re great!” raved fatherly columnist. He knew about them: a hard rock trio from Texas who harmonized like the Beatles and were inspired by C.S. Lewis’s Space Trilogy. Dad had a copy of the Space Trilogy on his shelf, and it had seemed tempting yet forbidding for years. (Like spending a night on the Fixed Land, amirite?) I had to hear this music. I would find Gretchen Goes to Nebraska at the mall.

I wish I could tell you I played the opening song, “Out of the Silent Planet,” with its ethereal 12-string bass riff and its cryptic Christianese lyrics, and felt lifted to new vistas of nirvana and/or joy. I was actually a little disappointed. It’s not like I had so much money to spend on tapes, and the mall was a half hour away! For eight bucks or whatever, I wanted seismic life disruptions. I wanted “Sweet Child O’ Mine” reshaping my fear of hard rock into bliss, or Exposé’s “Tell Me Why” making me jump around the bedroom. King’s X had their moments but they were a little weird.

I told my parents as much a few months later: “They’re kind of like a cult band.” They stared at me from the breakfast nook, bewildered, as though I’d started heavy breathing “Personal Jesus” into their faces. Not an occult band, I quickly backtracked -- “their lyrics are weird and they’re maybe Christian, maybe not.” Why on earth was I throwing around words like “cult band” and “lyrics”? Had I gotten this stuff from Breakaway or Casey Kasem? Whatever. My parents seemed satisfied with this explanation, little concerned that their son was dabbling in the dark art of rock criticism.

My friends, it got worse from there. That fall, on Saturday nights after Twin Peaks, I started falling asleep on my bedroom floor while listening to college radio. (Dad, a Lutheran pastor, would be in the next room with a highball, writing the next morning’s sermon until 1 or 2 in the morning.) Lindenwood College’s Crossroads show played mostly mainstream Christian rock -- Petra, Stryper, Holy Soldier, Idle Cure, Geoff Moore, Liaison -- but sometimes they’d throw in alt-rock bands like The Choir. King’s X’s album Faith Hope Love came out in October of 1990, and at least four of its songs swiftly entered Crossroads’ rotation. Eagerly taping them off the radio, I got the same shivery music fan feeling I’ve only had a couple times since -- that affirmation of a private pleasure being embraced by the outside world. It was thrilling. (I assume this is how hardcore Metallica fans felt about the Black Album.) I heard Gretchen with new ears and expected King’s X to conquer the music world. I had no idea what that could possibly mean.

Here, in a nutshell, we find the perpetual joy and heartache of King’s X fans.

[foundcarcosa]

ccc.

1. Favorite childhood book? >> (Three hundred surveys posted to this blog, wow. --I mean, over the course of nearly a decade I’ve probably filled out at least ten thousand, but.) I think that distinction would have to go to The Phantom Tollbooth. It’s one of the only books I remember owning, probably because I’d paged through it so many times. I also modified all the illustrations with pen so that Milo looked like a woman. 2. What are you reading right now? >> Condensed Chaos by Phil Hine -- more like limping through it, because I stopped setting aside time specifically for reading so I just end up grabbing a half a chapter here and there. I’ll have to do something about that. I’d started The Poisonwood Bible a while ago, too, but I keep forgetting to continue it. 3. What books do you have on request at the library? >> I rarely borrow books from the library unless they’re e-books because of my tendency to have to repeatedly renew and eventually take it back before I’m finished because I ran out of renews. 4. Bad book habit? >> Not reading. 5. What do you currently have checked out at the library? >> I don’t, for the reasons stated above. But for all the shit I talk about Grand Rapids, it has a lovely main branch, so I’ll probably end up stopping in again soon, maybe spending a few hours there for a change of scenery.

6. Do you have an e-reader? >> I have a phone, which functions as my e-reader. I also have a Kindle, but between its wack amount of storage space and its quick-draining battery, it’s been relegated to the position of glorified mousepad at this point. (It’s too bad, because I like the screen size.) 7. Do you prefer to read one book at a time, or several at once? >> Two or three at once. I think it’s interesting to see if/how they subconsciously weave themselves together in my imagination, even if -- especially if -- they’re about completely unrelated things. 8. Have your reading habits changed since starting a blog? >> It’s the internet in general that interferes with my reading habits, not just tumblr, but tumblr obviously plays a part. 9. Least favorite book you read this year (so far?) >> I quit on Cormac McCarthy’s The Road like 10 pages in, and I don’t usually do that but for some reason I got bored really quickly and couldn’t see the point in pushing through. That’s not a total vote in its disfavour because I didn’t actually form a full opinion. Sometimes I just pick up a book at the wrong time and have to wait until I reach the point in my life when I’ll need it. I’ll probably try again in a couple of years. 10. Favorite book you’ve read this year? >> I really enjoyed Reincarnation Blues, I thought it was an amazing story. I also got a lot out of M. K. Asante Jr’s It’s Bigger Than Hip Hop. When the Stars Are Right by Scott R Jones was fascinating as hell, and then of course there was my long-overdue (or maybe right-on-time, considering...) American Gods reread... 11. How often do you read out of your comfort zone? >> Occasionally. The thing is, there are so many books in my comfort zone that I want to read... 12. What is your reading comfort zone? >> I don’t know if it’s quantifiable. I like a lot of different kinds of books. I usually know within 10-15 pages of a book if I’m going to like it or not -- I try not to judge books by their covers, but I definitely judge them by their first chapter. 13. Can you read on the bus? >> Sometimes, but I generally prefer to listen to music and look out the window.

14. Favorite place to read? >> In bed. 15. What is your policy on book lending? >> I’ll give books away. Just take it, read it. Pay it forward. I don’t like to hoard books. 16. Do you ever dog-ear books? >> Hell yes, I do. They’re not a sacred object to me; their contents may well be sacred, but their contents already exist in me because I ate them.  17. Do you ever write in the margins of your books? >> Nah. 18. Not even with text books? >> I don’t use textbooks. 19. What is your favorite language to read in? >> I can only read in English. 20. What makes you love a book? >> It’s a very visceral and subconscious thing, and it’s not dependent on genre or the politics of the author or any of that as much as it’s dependent on who I am at that moment in time, what story I need to hear, and how lovingly the author told it. That sounds like it only applies to fiction books, but it really doesn’t.  21. What will inspire you to recommend a book? >> Some level of understanding of the person I’m recommending it to. 22. Favorite genre? >> I don’t know, honestly. 23. Genre you rarely read (but wish you did?) >> I wish I read more science fiction. The thing is, most of the scifi stories I love I kind of stumbled into accidentally. Whenever I go looking for scifi specifically, I run into a lot of duds (not that they’re badly written or anything, just that they’re bad for me). I’m going to try Philip K Dick soon and I hope that works out okay. 24. Favorite biography? >> I don’t have one. 25. Have you ever read a self-help book? >> Sure, but I don’t make a habit of it.

26. Favorite cookbook? >> I don’t have one. Well, okay, Feeding Hannibal is pretty cool, ngl, but mostly for the information rather than the actual recipes. We can’t afford to (or don’t have the room/appliances to) make most of that stuff. 27. Most inspirational book you’ve read this year (fiction or non-fiction)? >> Definitely American Gods, but that’s a hard-to-explain thing, lol. The Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are is a good runner-up, because as far as inspiration is concerned, Alan Watts probably had more than his fair share of it. (Do comic books count, because if so I’d like to also add in Promethea.) 28. Favorite reading snack? >> Alcohol. (But also anything I can eat with one hand, or doesn’t require a lot of, like, attention.) 29. Name a case in which hype ruined your reading experience. >> I don’t think that’s ever happened. 30. How often do you agree with critics about a book? >> I don’t read critic reviews often enough to know what the ratio of agreement to disagreement would even be like. 31. How do you feel about giving bad/negative reviews? >> A negative review is just as valuable as a positive review. I’d prefer people not be nasty in their negative reviews, but like... I also don’t have to read their review if I don’t like it. It’s not that big of a deal to me. 32. If you could read in a foreign language, which language would you chose? >> Russian, probably. I imagine untranslated Russian lit would be amazing to read. 33. Most intimidating book you’ve ever read? >> And actually finished? Ha! Let’s see... as far as length, I’d probably pick whatever the longest Stephen King book that I’ve read is. (He meanders, man. He fucking meanders. It’s great, but dear god.) As far as content, I’m probably gonna go with Atlas Shrugged. For, I mean, obvious reasons, really. 34. Most intimidating book you’re too nervous to begin? >> That doesn’t really happen to me. If I want to read something, I’ll start reading it. If it proves prohibitive to my limited ability to understand shit, then I’ll put it down and move on. 35. Favorite poet? >> I don’t have one. 36. How many books do you usually have checked out of the library at any given time? >> Zero. When I do check out from the library, I stick to three books max. 37. How often have you returned book to the library unread? >> Quite often. Usually because I ran out of time. 38. Favorite fictional character? >> YEAH, OKAY. 39. Favorite fictional villain? >> Actually that is almost impossible for me to determine because I don’t even put the “villain” flag on characters unless it’s super fucking obvious (like in a comic book) that they’re supposed to be the Token Bad Guy. I just don’t even think in those terms. -- Now that I say that, though, I remembered that Stephen King characters are written very polarised despite my personal interpretations of them, so I suppose my favourite villain is Walter O’Dim. 40. Books I’m most likely to bring on vacation? >> I don’t know, I don’t usually have time to read on vacation. Unless it’s on the plane or something, in which case I just bring whatever I happen to be reading at the time. It’s usually on my phone, anyway. 41. The longest I’ve gone without reading. >> I mean, I don’t go a day without reading something, even if it’s just articles I saw on my facebook feed. 42. Name a book that you could/would not finish. >> Fifty Shades of Grey. (I did try. I wrote detailed posts about my thoughts during my attempt to read it. They’re still on my old blog.) 43. What distracts you easily when you’re reading? >> Everything. It’s just hard for me to turn the “noise” (literal and figurative noise) of the world off in general, which is why I like it quiet when I’m trying to focus. 44. Favorite film adaptation of a novel? >> Well, LOTR. I was going to say Predestination but All You Zombies isn’t a novel. Uhh.... :/ 45. Most disappointing film adaptation? >> Good god, so many. 46. The most money I’ve ever spent in the bookstore at one time? >> Around $100, I guess. I don’t have much money in general so I try to just... avoid bookstores. 47. How often do you skim a book before reading it? >> I don’t. The first-chapter test usually works just fine. 48. What would cause you to stop reading a book half-way through? >> Boredom. 49. Do you like to keep your books organized? >> Well, we don’t own enough for a complex system to be required. 50. Do you prefer to keep books or give them away once you’ve read them? >> I really prefer to give them away. It’s just... I’m not a hoarder (I don’t even mean that in the negative sense, I just mean I don’t like hanging onto stuff I’m not actively using). I spent just about all of my adult life up until 2 years ago homeless or some version of transient and having to be ruthlessly exacting about how many belongings I had at any given time really changed the way my brain works regarding material items. I love being able to own things now, but it’s... hard to enjoy having too many objects. I get tetchy. It feels inorganic. Maybe that’ll change in the future (these things often do), but for now owning more than 20 or so books feels like an overindulgence. 51. Are there any books you’ve been avoiding? >> I don’t think so. 52. Name a book that made you angry. >> I can’t think of one right now. 53. A book you didn’t expect to like but did? >> The Fountainhead. Any Rand book, actually, because Vlad couldn’t stand her and we had such similar tastes in media that I figured I wouldn’t either. But the immense amount of annoying peer pressure from Sigma eventually got me to pick it up just to get them off my back, and..... well, the rest is hilarious “I’m in love with a crazy Russian woman who makes me want to yell at her constantly” history. 54. A book that you expected to like but didn’t? >> I don’t know. That doesn’t happen very often. 55. Favorite guilt-free, pleasure reading? >> All of it? I don’t feel guilty about anything I read.

[lolainblue]

Thunderbirds -- Chapter 37

  @msroxyblog @nikkitasevoli @maliciousalishious @meghan12151977 @mustlove6277 @fyeahproudglambert @little-poptart @lady-grinning-soul-k @pheenixpeterson

Roger

   I had a lot to think about on the drive back to Indiana. I had been pretty irritated with Jared's parting performance but it didn't really diminish the guilt I was feeling for treating him the way I had. It wasn't really any of my business how he chose to live his life, and I was wrong for judging him for behaving the way I had been behaving for pretty much all of mine. I decided I would wait a few days for him to calm down and then call him and apologize. I had been enjoying our friendship, I would like to at least mend fences. I knew he had no interest in actually having a relationship, I knew he was just spoiled and not used to not getting his way. I figured once the sting of it wore off he would be back to his old self. It was an easy enough fix I told myself.

   Jane's situation, on the other hand, wasn't as straightforward. I waited with growing dread for Mitch's phone call. Whatever happened, we would deal with it, one way or another, but I wasn't looking forward to a big fight. It was the last thing Jane needed right now. I had made it to just outside Danville, IL when my phone began to ring. I knew that whatever news awaited me on the other side of that line I couldn't pay attention to it and drive so I pulled off the highway at the next exit, parked at a Phillips station and quickly rang Mitch back. My skin had gone clammy by the time he answered.

   “Just tell me straight up, what are we dealing with,” I said as soon as he came on the line. There was a little chuckle and my anxiety levels dropped several notches.

   “Jane says that Jared's the one that recommended that attack dog lawyer in Los Angeles for her, is that right?”

   “Uhm, yeah?” I said, not exactly following yet.

   “Well, you need to thank Jared because that guy saved our asses.”

   That sounded promising at least. “What happened?”

   “Well just so you know up front, everything is fine, Jane's under my custody for the time being. But she bombed that evaluation with that doctor this afternoon.”

   As relieved as I was that Angus seemed to be out of the picture I was concerned about what was going on with Jane that might cause her to do so badly. “What happened, Mitch? What's wrong with Jane?”

   “Don't flip out on me Roger,” Mitch said evenly. I didn't like the sound of this.

   “Mitch, what the hell is going on?" I demanded. "Why was Jane so terrified this morning?”

   “The doctor here thinks that she was underdiagnosed in St. Louis. It happens with brain injuries, sometimes it takes a few days to see how severe things are. He let Jane come back home with us tonight but they are discussing either readmitting her here or letting her go back to New York. Apparently, there's a really good treatment program there. But here I can watch out for her. If she goes back to New York, I can't leave Audrey and the girls to go take care of her... ”

   “I'll take care of her.” I cut him off. “Whatever it takes, wherever it's best for her. Just say the word.”

   “Okay, calm down. We'll what Dr. Nepp.... that's her neurologist here, Dr. Nepp," Mitch explained. "We'll see what he wants to do tomorrow. We see him again at 8:00 a.m. She's doing pretty good this afternoon. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.”

    Mitch sounded so much calmer than I felt. I felt terrible for leaving. I should have put Shannon in a rental car and let him drive his own ass back to Wisconsin. I don't know why I didn't. I pressed my palm against my eye and tried to reason with myself but I wanted to scream. Jane wasn't the only one whose emotions were all over the place.

   “Anyway, after the exam I was pretty nervous about the hearing. But then this whole team of attorneys shows up at the courtroom, apparently sent in by the L.A. guy. They had all this stuff on Angus and all this paperwork showing what was going on with Jane and background on me and everything. They knocked it out of the park. I have full medical power of attorney right now, and Angus isn't allowed to contact Jane, any of her family members, you or Shannon, and can't come within 1,000 feet. Probably going to cost Jane a pretty penny but I don't think she minds.”

   Fuck. I was going to have to have Shannon thank Jared as soon as I called him. “That's amazing.”

   “Yup, it sure is. It lets us focus on helping Jane get better and none of this other garbage. So how much longer until you get here?”

   “I'm probably still about two hours out.”

   “Well, that's just about right. As usual, the girls want to go out and have pizza with Aunt Jane. She's napping now but she should be up to it. Meet us at the Monical's on 41 around 6:30? Should be right on your way into town.”

   “Sure thing,” I said hanging up the phone and sighing in relief. I called Shannon, but got his voice mail. I assumed they were either in sound check or playing, I couldn't remember when their set today was. I left a message letting him know what was going on and finished my drive back to Mitch's.

Jane:

   “Come on, Roger, I don't' want to do any more of these today.” I closed the workbook and thrust it and my pencil back into Roger's lap. “His plane will be landing any minute now.”

   “And when he disembarks we'll stop,” Roger said, holding the workbook out in front of me. “You skipped therapy today to come meet him at the airport so you're going to get your math problems done now.”

   I groaned and took the book back. This was the first time I had seen Shannon since the hospital, almost two weeks ago. I didn't want to think about any stupid therapy homework, I just wanted my Shan-bear. With a scowl, I flipped back to the next page in the workbook.

   My little concussion had turned out to be moderate brain injury. My forgetfulness in the day after the accident had only been the tip of the iceberg. I had become increasingly anxious and paranoid in the following days. There had been additional tests and a parade of specialists, but what it all boiled down to in the end was a diminished capacity to self-regulate my emotions, diminished short-term memory recall and, inexplicably, a loss of most of my math skills. All these things were expected to improve, and they were, but much slower than I would have liked. I went to therapy for a couple hours a day where they worked on the skills I had lost. The problem was that other than that, I wasn't allowed to do anything. I was supposed to be resting my brain so I wasn't allowed to write, or read or play board games or even watch intellectually challenging television programs. I was going stir crazy. And I missed my Shannon.

   He called me after every show, and we had long phone conversations on his days off but of course, it wasn't the same as having him there with me and being wrapped up in one of his amazing hugs. He was only here visiting for two days, then he had a show in New Jersey, but they would be back in New York next week. I was so anxious for his tour to be over. I wanted some real time with him. As it was sometimes when I called he was busy and Jared ended up picking up the phone. That wasn't too bad, at least I got to have some nice chats with Jared too. After all the misunderstandings it was good to repair that friendship. But it wasn't helping my Shannon withdrawals and since I was emotionally all over the place these days it was affecting me more than it should have.

   I tapped my pencil against the page with a sigh. Shannon's flight should have landed already. I tried not to let my imagination run away with me, I flew enough to know that arrival and departure times were in reality mostly suggestions. But it was incredibly frustrating. When his flight finally landed I shoved the workbook and pencil back at Roger and jumped out of my seat.

   “Jane, you have to wait for him to disembark,” Roger pointed out. He tucked everything back into his tote with an air of frustration. I knew taking care of me was not exactly high on his list of fun things to do, but Roger had seemed different since my accident. I had tried to talk to him about it but he shifted the discussion every time I brought it up. I thought something had maybe happened between him and Jared but Jared brushed off the subject whenever I brought it up to him too, claiming not to know what Roger's attitude change was about. I was pretty sure they were both full of shit and I was kind of hoping that maybe Jared had confided in Shannon what was going on and I was going to get some answers now that I had him here where I could corner him.

   I was so excited when I got my first glimpse of Shannon. He looked like he'd had a nap on the flight and his hair was ruffled in that sort of sleepy parakeet way that was becoming increasingly familiar. I threw myself into his arms as soon as he was in range, and he wasted no time in kissing me, those powerful lips of his pulling me back under his thrall in seconds.

   “I missed you, Janey,” he whispered against my ear as he clutched me against him, and I found myself inhaling deeply for that scent of his before I even realized what I was doing. “I've been so worried about you,” he added.

   Shannon had just brought a carry-on bag since he was only in for the weekend, and without luggage to collect we were out of the airport and in a cab back to mine and Roger's apartment in a flash. Shannon was uncharacteristically talkative the entire ride, telling me about the shows I had missed. I listened quietly, unsure of what to add. My life had been extremely uneventful since we parted, emergency hearing aside. It felt sort of awkward, sitting like that while he rattled on, knowing it was generally me that carried our conversations. Suddenly though, I didn't know what to say to him at all.

   Once we were back at my place Roger started listing all the things I still wasn't allowed to do. Shannon listened patiently and promised to take good care of me, but I was fast becoming tired of being treated like I was a six-year-old. It felt like I was being handed from one babysitter to the next. “I know what I'm allowed to do Roger, and I can make up my own mind about it, ” I said tersely.

   “And she's still a little moody,” Roger added.

   “Oh fuck you,” I retorted. Shannon's eyes got big. I don't think he'd ever seen a cross word between Roger and me before. Then again, he hadn't been around us that much. We fought occasionally too, just like any other pair of friends. It just never lasted long.

   “You know what, Jane, whatever. I'm tired of fighting you today. Drummer boy blows back into town and suddenly nothing else matters to you.”

   “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I demanded. I didn't know why things were boiling over now but I was willing to let Roger yell at me a bit if it would help me get to the bottom of whatever had been bothering him.

   “Oh come on. All I hear out of you lately is Shannon this and Shannon that...”

   “Are you jealous?” I asked incredulously. Surely that wasn't it. Roger had never been jealous of anyone I had dated.

   “No, I'm not fucking jealous, Jane!” Roger grumbled. I noticed Shannon grabbing his bag and heading down the hall, wisely leaving us to settle whatever was going on. I had to respect him having enough sense not to get in the middle of it. “I just wish you'd show a little sense.”

   “Roger I have been trying my ass off. I've been doing what I'm supposed to do. Am I supposed to feel guilty about wanting to enjoy a weekend with my boyfriend?”

   “Is he? Your boyfriend? Have the two of you even talked about that or what that means? Do you know what you're doing at all?” Roger demanded, running his hand through his hair.

    I was puzzled by his questions. Of course, Shannon was my boyfriend. We had pushed everything aside to be together. How could he not be my boyfriend? “Are you serious right now Roger? Why are you bringing this up now, in front of Shannon?”

   “Because every other time I bring it up you blow me off. Let's face it, Jane, you don't exactly have a stellar track record when it comes to making decisions about men.”

    I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, you're really the relationship guru here.”

   “I'm doing better than you are.”

   “Really? Is that so? What happened to Daphne? Why aren't you speaking to Jared?" I felt bad for bringing up Daphne but I was at a loss as to what was going on in Roger's head. "What the fuck is going on with you? Just because I don't know how things got fucked up doesn't mean I don't know they aren't. You're a lot easier to read than you think. Even if I am brain damaged.”

   “You're not brain damaged.” Roger insisted.

   “Yeah, actually, I am. Let's be honest for a minute. And you've been freaked out ever since it happened.”

   “It's not about that Jane. I swear.”

   “Then what, Roger? Help me out here. What the fuck has been up with you ever since St. Louis?”

   “I don't know,” Roger said. Suddenly all the fight seemed to go out of him and he dropped onto the sofa, head in his hands. I sat down next to him and place my hand at the small of his back, making small soothing circles.  

   “Roger, I know this thing with me has been stressful for you. I'm really sorry to put you through this....”

   “That's not it,” Roger interjected weakly but I continued on.

   “I know you're just looking out for me. That's what you do. And I'm sorry I snapped at you. You have to see if from my point of view. Everyone is treating me like I can't even make the simplest decisions for myself, even though the doctors have said I'm mostly fine.” As frustrated and out of sorts as I had been feeling, I felt so much worse suddenly for having snapped at Roger. I knew my moods were still all over the place. I knew my feelings of frustration at the situation were valid, but my attitude was uncalled for. I wanted to reach him but I didn't seem to know how to go about it properly anymore.

   “Jane, it's not that. I get it I do. This recovery of yours has been hard for both of us but I don't mind looking out for you, really. I promise," he assured me as he patted my hand.

   “Then what is it? I know what my problem is, but you haven't been yourself lately either.”

   “Look, just go spend some time with Shannon.” He looked around and noticed that Shannon had disappeared. “Tell him I'm sorry for blowing up like that. I'll take you guys to dinner if you want.”

   I shook my head. “No, I was planning on cooking, remember? But Roger...”

   “Can we talk about it later? Maybe when your boyfriend isn't probably listening in the background?”

   I sighed. I knew I wasn't going to get any further with him right now. “Fine,” I said before going to join Shannon in the bedroom.

   Shannon was sitting uncomfortably on the edge of my bed, hands in his lap. “I hope this is your bedroom,” he said with a laugh, pointing to the collection of antique rag dolls in a cabinet on the wall.

   I nodded and sat down next to him. “Yeah, I actually collect those. Some of them belonged to my great-grandmother.”

   “That's really neat actually. I don't remember you having them in L.A. Though.”

   “I didn't have room for them there,” I explained.

    Shannon paused, frowning at the floor before continuing. “Is everything okay between you and Roger? Is he mad at me or something? He was kind of pissy on the drive up to Wisconsin after your accident.”

    I shook my head. “I don't know what's wrong with him really. Did something happen between him and Jared?”

   “Not that I know of. Jared was kind of bitchy for a few days after he left, now that I think about it. But he's been moody lately too so it may not have anything to do with Roger.”

   Apparently bored with the conversation, Shannon leaned over and pressed his lips to mine, his tongue inviting itself in to swirly softly with my own. I sighed and laid back against the mattress, pulling Shannon on top of me. In minutes his hands were under my shirt, his mouth leaving a trail of wet, pink skin as he nibbled gently towards my breasts. I just wanted to relax and be with him but Roger's meltdown had me feeling like the world's worst friend. With a sigh, I pushed him aside.

   “I'm sorry, “ I apologized. “I'm just worried about Roger. Let's pick this back up after dinner.”

   To his credit, Shannon didn't complain, just gave me another kiss before sitting up. “Fine,” he told me with a smirk. “But screaming my name had better be on your list of approved activities. Otherwise, we're just going to have to ignore doctor's orders.”