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sio-writes · 2 years

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A Botanist’s Guide - Chapter 4

Read Part 3 Here

Start from the beginning Here

Cassie

The week after Kri apologized is full of what I like to call Professional Growing Pains. Stepping on feet, hovering over shoulders, gripes back and forth. The atmosphere is still tense, but nothing like what it used to be. I can actually talk to Jillie without feeling like my career is on the line. I can measure the soil pH without commentary and only minimal scribbling. Kri's presence still stresses me out, but over the week it's like he's been subdued.

Ever since my stupid little meltdown, something shifted. We make eye contact and he looks away. He steps out of my path when Jillie and I walk back and forth. I see him open his mouth to say something before it snaps shut again. I know Jillie talked to him after he apologized, and it makes me wonder what she said. Did she tear him a new one? That'd be pretty on brand for her.

It's like Kri's been afraid to take up space. There's a small corner of the lab that he's usually squirreled away in, buried in that clipboard. I steal glances at him when he writes, and his mouth is always pulled into a frown, his shoulders are hunched, and he gets this weird look like he's having a conversation with himself, before crossing out a huge section. It's so quiet, I'm starting to miss the antagonism. At least it made my days interesting.

Jillie and I take the week to finish up the initial samples. There's hundreds of tiny little planters lining the countertops, each and every one filled, seeded, and watered by hand. The control group of Earth soil and tomato seeds are going to be the first in the greenhouse, followed by rest of the experiment. We cleared out the necessary space for the new residents, but the planters themselves have yet to be relocated. It's been a boring week, all things considered. Same routine, day in and day out.

So when Monday--or at least what passes for Monday on Summanus--rolls around, I've got a decent groove going. I'm ready for something different, something fresh.

I'm not prepared for the wrench life decides to throw in my path.

"It's going to be at least a few days, hun," Jillie says through the intercom on her door. "I feel like death and my sinuses are a faucet." She punctuates her statement with a round of coughing, and I wish I was in there to rub her back.

"You sure you don't need anything?" I ask.

"I got everything in here. Dayquil for days, mountains of tissues, you name it."

I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. "Do you have enough food? I could bring you some chicken soup from the cafeteria if--"

Jillie laughs and it turns into a cough. "I am drowning in soup, Cass. Seriously, you're gonna be late."

There's gotta be something I'm missing. Something I need to cover before I just leave her here, alone. No one likes to be alone, especially when they're sick. It would be nice of me to stay here and take care of her, it would be the thing a best friend should do. "Maybe I could call out and help--"

"Oh my god, Cass, go! I'll be fine."

I turn to leave, and then hesitate. I really don't want to go, but if I keep arguing with Jillie like this, not only will I be late to work, Jillie will be upset with me. But shouldn't I be a better friend and insist on staying? Isn't that what being a good friend means? Sure, I could wind up getting sick as a result, but the sacrifice would be worth it. I could make sure she's alright.

After another moment of waffling, I hit the intercom button again. "Get plenty of rest, and drink lots of fluids, okay?"

"Sure thing, nurse Cassie."

***

The ride from the apartments to the lab has my head spinning. With Jillie gone, that leaves a lot of the day's chores up to me. I have to filter the water and sample it all before giving any of it to the plants, test the soil for any sign of contamination, add nutrients, take pictures of every single pot of dirt, and about a million other things. The last round of planting and documenting we finished last week, so now the two hundred samples are in the lab are just waiting for me like a small army. Between the two of us it'd be no problem, but me on my own? It'll take twice as long.

On top of that, I'm worried about Kri. About how the two of us alone will mesh. Jillie's a natural talker, she can fill an empty space with words no problem. I can too after I get going, but with Jillie it's effortless, it's why we get along so well. She'd been filling that void all week between Kri and me.

I can count on one hand the amount of full sentences Kri has spoken to me the past week. He always goes through Jillie, or stays silent the entire day. He steps around me, literally and figuratively. And this is exactly what I was afraid of in the first place. I had a stupid meltdown and now he's treating me like I'm made of glass.

So how will it go today?

I'm frowning at the ground as I walk to the lab. Kri, ever punctual, is standing outside the door. He's got a brown messenger bag slung over one broad shoulder, and offers me a wave.

"Good morning Dr. Rowland. Where's Dr. Masters?"

"Sick," I say as I scan my palm to unlock the door. "Sorry I'm late, I was checking up on her."

"It's no matter."

"Really," I reply, deadpan. "Not gonna take off points?"

Kri doesn't respond as the door slides open and we both step inside. That was a low blow, even for me. Thinking of all the things I need to get done today has me grouchy, but that's no reason to take it out on him.

"Sorry," I mumble. "Didn't mean that."

I set my bag on my desk as Kri walks around me to his spot. He's staked out a little corner of the lab out of the way of any foot traffic, but it still gives him a decent view. In that corner sits a spare chair that looks almost comical against his larger alien frame when he sits down. It never looks comfortable, his legs kicked under him and long wings brushing the floor, but I've never heard him complain.

He rifles through the bag on his lap, one hand pulling out a pen, another the clipboard, and he closes it with the other two. All his movements are smooth and measured, not like me practically upending my bag to get my stuff out. To my credit, I do it gently because my laptop is in there, but still.

I open my laptop on my desk and clock in, then get to work going through my emails. I have about a hundred unreads just sitting in my inbox collecting dust, and I swear once again to go through them this week. Definitely.

There's a bunch from Diana about the Milestone coming up, and I feel a pit start to form in my stomach. Milestones are a fancy version of what Kri is doing, which is to say it's a progress report. I have to prepare a stupid presentation and write a paper for the bigwigs funding my research. There's four in total, and every single time I have to present in front of a bunch of suits an ulcer forms in my stomach.

The Milestone isn't for another few weeks, though, so I've got plenty of time. I close all the emails and shut my laptop.

I pull out a piece of paper and start a list. With Jillie gone I'll have to do her job as well as mine, which isn't a difficult task per say, it's just…a lot. And I'm not looking forward to it. Hopefully Kri will cut me some slack today and just stay in his corner. Hopefully.

The first on my list of a million things to do is finish documenting. Technically it was meant to be done yesterday, but a pot of dirt one day looks the same the next in my book. Grabbing the camera, I begin to take pictures of the last set of samples, my mind already on what I need to do next. There's the water, which needs to be filtered and tested before touching the plants. Then there's the pH of the soil and the nutrients.

I need to do this as efficiently as possible, which means I can do more than one thing at a time.

Once I'm done with the camera, I set it on the countertop and pull out two test tubes. The filtered water is already sitting in a watering container on the opposite counter, so I quickly step over and grab it. Just above the container is the cabinet with all the testing supplies, and I'm going to need the litmus papers for documentation reasons, so I grab those as well. I'm also going to test the soil pH later so I grab more things out of the cabinet before closing it. The soil will take the longest, so I sift around through the top layer of a few samples and stick the little papers in there, and set a timer on my phone. I have a whole armful of shit that I carefully carry over to my little counter space and deposit oh so gracefully, all the while I hear Kri scratching away. The sound makes me itch at my wrist, an old habit that comes back when I'm nervous.

It's too quiet in here, I need something to take my mind off the stress. Jillie's the one with the speakers, though, and no way was she about to open her door for that. I resign myself to sit in silence.

While I'm waiting for the soil, I look over the stockpile of things I grabbed, my mind drawing a blank on what was next. Right, test the water. I run two test tubes under the spicket on the container, and drop a bit of litmus solution into each.

I grab the tubes in both hands and start to gently shake them, making sure not to get any water on the floor. It'll take a full minute for the solution to set and the colors to change, then I have to write down all the numbers in a notebook that I didn't grab out of my bag.

So of course this is when my alarm decides to go off.

The first bars of a tune by Three Days Grace blares out of the tinny speakers of my phone, so loud and abrasive against the silence that I nearly jump out of my seat.

Right, the litmus papers, I just need to--

I turn towards the phone and feel my elbow hit something, and suddenly one of the planters is upended and the camera is on the floor. Great.

Three Days Grace, "Oh-oh it's not to late, it's never too late," blares across the lab, and I can feel my blood pressure rising with each successive line. Kri has stopped writing and is looking up at me now, with an expression that reads, you have shit taste in music, or at least that's what I'm getting off of it. Am I just anxious? Maybe. But his stupid, judging glances aren't helping.

The music fades, and for a split second I'm hopeful that the alarm just turned itself off, but I've no such luck as it starts up anew.

The silent lab is filled with the tinny chorus of Three Days Grace again and I cringe at my choice of song. I wanted music, but not like this. Any song in this circumstance would make me want to jump off a cliff, but this rendition in particular, so reminiscent of my teen years, has me wanting to scream. Why did I pick it? Right, it's my alarm to wake up in the morning. Because of course it is.

Kri speaks up from the other end of the room, "Are you going to shut that off?"

The alarm won't stop ringing and my hands are full of things I can't set down. The noise is grating on my nerves and I'm already grinding my teeth, annoyed and anxious and overwhelmed.

"I can't," I say, breath picking up. Just another thirty seconds. Why does it feel like three hours?

"You can't," Kri says, voice flat.

"Kri," I say, my voice quiet. My stomach lurches on its own accord, and I hate it.

"Dr. Rowland."

I gesture with my head to my phone on the table. "Could you give me a hand?"

He lowers his clipboard and frowns. "I don't think that's--technically speaking--allowed? Legal?"

I snort a nervous laugh. At least he didn't berate me. "Please." I feel my face turning red and I want to shut my eyes against it, against this humiliating feeling. But I'm an adult, I should know how to handle these things, damn it.

Kri takes a moment to look at me, and I can't hold his gaze for long until I'm looking away. Then I hear him stand and walk towards me.

Several painful moments later, the alarm clicks off. The room goes silent and I briefly feel some of the tension leave my shoulders. Then Kri sets the fallen planter upright and begins to brush the dirt off the countertop with his hands, and it all comes rushing back. I need to say something--why can't my mouth work? I feel so stupid.

The air is heavy and I want the floor to swallow me whole. I can only deflect with humor. "Thank you, Assistant, uh," Usually I joke with Jillian calling her Ass-Masters, but ento cultures don't really have last names. "Thank you, Assistant K."

"You seem rather overwhelmed," Kri says cooly.

I grit my teeth, humiliation flashing like acid in my stomach. I don't like being open like this, but there's too much to do, too much on the line. "I could use some help."

Kri pauses, and I'm worried I've offended him and he's going to put that in his stupid report, until he speaks up. "This is only temporary, Dr. Rowland. Now, what else may I assist with?"

***

It's a huge relief to have an extra set--technically two sets--of hands. I don't have to worry about doing eighty things at a time, and I can focus on the important bits. I expected to encounter more Professional Growing Pains, learning a new routine with a grouchy alien. I wasn't expecting us to work together as if we'd been doing it for weeks. He moves around me like it's a practiced dance, following my lead, always right there to help out.

It's a new side of him that I'm not used to. A helpful side, one that doesn't make stupid remarks about my syntax. It makes me wonder where this side was hiding, and how I can get it to come out more often. He's relaxed, responsive, offering gentle advice over harsh criticism. A part of me wants to know more about this side, the intelligent, not-douchey side.

"So Kri," I start very nonchalantly as I set up the last of the samples. "What did you do before auditing?"

Kri pauses in his watering and glances at me curiously. "I was in research, like yourself."

"What'd you research?"

I'm not looking directly at Kri, but I see him out of the corner of my eye as he turns to face me. I feel his gaze raking me over and I wonder briefly if this was a mistake. The quiet wasn't so bad. It was manageable.

"My most recent experiment was on documenting and increasing the seed dispersion of the isk'fvri al'ton, a plant native to my home," he says slowly, suspiciously. "It had been on the endangered list for several years, so the team and I devised a plan to increase the natural dispersers in the area. We added several plots of watering holes, hoping it would encourage animals to visit. We also planted several different species of shrubs and short trees."

"And did it work?"

Kri shakes his head, seemingly more at ease. "Unfortunately, there were too many outside factors, and results were inconclusive."

I turn in my chair and rest my cheek in my hand. Kri is back to watering, carefully tipping the container onto the samples. "That sucks," I say.

Kri actually huffs a laugh and I see a smile play on his lips. "Indeed. Quite a bit of effort was put into the experiment."

"What was your favorite experiment?"

Kri pauses in watering and looks at me curiously again. "I suppose…my first professional experiment. I attempted to hybridize three types of plant together to make a multi-flowering tree."

I perk up. "We do that on Earth! With fruit trees."

Kri looks surprised. "Truly? My experiment was a horrific failure."

"Yeah," I say, excited now. "It's called grafting. It only works with certain fruits, but my parents have a tree back home that has lemons, oranges, and apples."

"Fascinating," Kri says, and he sounds genuine. "How did you manage that?"

We spend the rest of the morning like that. Chatting back and forth about nothing really, staying on polite topics like work. I learn he worked with a bunch of teams in the past before being promoted into auditing. He asks about my previous experiments which I'm all too happy to blabber endlessly about. I carefully skip around my past with Stephen and he doesn't push me for answers, which I appreciate. He actually listens when I talk, oftentimes stopping whatever he was doing to give me his full attention and even ask follow-up questions. The attention he gives is intense, he never breaks eye-contact, and I find myself squirming under his gaze.

I start to learn his mannerisms too. Like the wing flutter thing means he's uncomfortable, or when he pauses for too long it's not necessarily a bad thing, usually it means he's thinking of the right words.

And when we're not talking, watching him work is absolutely fascinating. All four arms can move independently of each other, watering with one hand and writing with the next and doing something completely different with the other two. He stands to stretch and the plates making up his exoskeleton shift and interlock, his wings stretch to their full height and brush the tiles of the ceiling they're so long. It's hypnotizing, and I find myself staring whenever Kri has his back turned.

As we start to make our rounds from the lab to the greenhouse, the sun bounces off his plating, refracting off the specks of purple inlaid in his dark blue exoskeleton. They reflect like an opal, and I find myself staring as we walk.

It's an easy day, all things considered. Kri asks what I need help with and he follows orders, no questions or remarks or scratching of pencils. In fact, he hasn't picked up his clipboard once since he shut off my alarm. He hasn't even glanced at it, it's like it doesn't exist.

"You really didn't have to help this much," I say as we start unloading the samples and walking them into the greenhouse. Kri is carrying twice as much as I am, and he still manages to make it look easy.

He shakes his head. "It's no matter. This allowed me a break from the audit."

Now that's a new piece of information. I fake nonchalance as I start to line up the planters with the others, making sure everything is in order. "You don't like doing it?"

Kri carefully places each sample in perfect lines with each set of arms and shakes his head. "I do not enjoy having to pick apart a fellow scientist." He glances at me side-long and smirks. "Even if her academic papers are shoddy."

My jaw drops indignantly. "Shoddy--!"

Kri chuckles and it's a deep, rich sound. "You are too easy to bait, Dr. Rowland."

I stand there in shock. He's joking. He's actually joking. The alien with the biggest stick up his ass just made a joke.

"God, you're like a completely different person," I say, hands on my hips.

"The role of your auditor comes with many restrictions on my character," Kri says, gently placing the last sample and turning towards me. "I am to remain as impartial as possible while also noting any failure or indiscretion. As a scientist, I want to see you succeed no matter the timeline. As an auditor, I need to keep efficiency in mind." He crosses both sets of arms over his broad chest and shrugs. "It is the role I was assigned."

I frown, sympathetic. It never really occurred to me that he didn't actually like his position as my babysitter. "How long have you been auditing?"

"Four years."

Yikes. That's a long time to be stuck in a shitty job. And given all the experiments he's been part of over the years, it must've been like a death sentence.

I gesture to the area around us. "You must miss being out here, then."

Why am I asking him all these questions? I have no idea. I just want to get to know the guy. Underneath all the pomp and circumstance, I think we have a lot in common. I can feel it.

I know if I were cooped up in an office all day I'd go crazy. The thought of being cooped up for four years? I'd have a stick up my ass too. All this new information makes me want to cringe at my initial behavior. Kri was a dick, but he really was just trying to do his job. I wasn't making his life any easier. And he hated every second of it, which really doesn't make me feel any better.

Kri looks around the greenhouse, thoughtful. "I do. Today was a welcome reprieve. I appreciate the freedom that field work affords, while also not having to monitor it."

I snicker. "I should order you around more often, then."

Kri freezes for a second, then his wings flutter and he quickly clamps over them with one hand. Shit. Did I just break whatever tenuous connection we had going? Did I offend him by joking?

Before the silence can sit too long and get heavy, I switch topics by checking my watch. "That was the last of the samples and we still have some time. Wanna head back and go home early?"

That seems to shake Kri out of whatever stupor I put him in, and he nods.

We walk out of the greenhouse and I'm hit with a wave of exhaustion. We got a lot done, Kri and I working together. It just didn't quite hit how much we did until it was all passed. I wonder idly if Jillie and I would have gotten as much done today. Probably not, but that's not Jillie's fault. I would've gotten distracted by music, or talking to her, or Kri sitting in the corner like a guard dog all day. And I never would've known how relaxed Kri could actually get. I feel bad for it, but I'm grateful that Jillie was sick today.

Back at the lab, I clock out on my laptop and stand awkwardly at the door. Kri meets me and now we're both standing awkwardly at the door.

I rub the back of my head with one hand, my gaze falling somewhere on his shoulder. "Thanks for helping so much today, I appreciate it."

"It was my pleasure," Kri says, voice low as he opens the door for me. What a gentleman.

A thought still nibbles at the back of my mind, so I stop in the hallway and round on him. "Kri?"

"Dr. Rowland," he says simply.

I risk offending him and ruining this new friendship, but I have to know. I hold his steady gaze and say, "You hardly talked to me at all last week, now you're Chatty-Kathy. What gives?"

Kri blinks, confused. "Chatty…Kathy?"

I huff a sigh. "You were very talkative today."

"Ah. I was…unsure how to proceed."

I wait for him to continue, raising my eyebrows, but he stays silent. "Unsure," I prompt.

Kri shifts his weight, and his wings flutter. "After our argument, I did not want to upset you further. So I did my best to…stay out of the way."

Well now I feel like a Grade-A jackass. All I can say is, "Oh."

Kri nods once, a single jerk of his head. "Did I speak too much today?"

"No! No. It was…just the right amount." God, I want the whole building to collapse on top of me.

Kri breathes out, tension leaving his shoulders as he fidgets with the strap of his messenger bag. He looks down at the ground, then back up at me, and smiles. "I'm glad."

I'm not used to emotional honesty like this, so I laugh nervously and stick out my hand. "Same time tomorrow?"

Kri looks down at my hand and extends his own. His palm is warm against mine, fingers wrapping all the way around as he gently shakes my hand. "Of course, Dr. Rowland."

"Cassie. Call me Cassie."

Chapter 5 >>

#my writing #A Botanist's Guide #monster writing #monster boyfriend #exophilia writing #exo writing #exophilia #Thanks for your patience!!#i'm writing the next chapter as we speak #hopefully i can have it up at the end of next week but we'll see how it goes!

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ashtrayfloors · 1 year

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I’m not obsessively tagging this one, so just a few content warnings: there’s nothing graphic, but there’s some TMI stuff about sex and masturbation; talk of food and alcohol; discussion of grief, death, and illness; and a brief mention of transphobic/transmedicalist stuff. Also it might come across like I’m bragging about some compliments I’ve gotten for my writing recently. Also it’s long.

This is a really long entry, because I started writing it like, ten days ago, but then more stuff happened. This is a common thing for me, with letters and journal entries; I start writing them but don’t have time to finish, then more stuff happens, and I start adding the new stuff, but don’t have time to finish, and then more stuff happens and…you get the idea.

Anyway, these past two weeks have been jam-packed. There’s been a lot of luck & magic & beauty, with some hard stuff mixed in. (That’s life, that’s what all the people say…)

…

The evening of Thursday the 16th, I sent the ‘Mats-inspired vignettes to the editor of a zine I thought it’d be perfect for. Friday morning, I opened my email, and read his response. He loves it, and wants to run it in the next issue. He said I “perfectly captured that lonely midwestern feeling that certain Replacements songs have,” and that my writing is “romantic, but also real, like Kerouac mixed with Cometbus.” And if you know me at all, you know why I practically swooned over those particular compliments.

I also got an email saying our local library’s free seed library was newly restocked for the year, and I wanted to get there before it was all picked over. So, C. and I went to the library and picked up seeds for this year’s garden, along with an info packet on where and when to plant everything. We got seeds for: cayenne and poblano peppers; pickling cucumbers; spinach, mustard greens, collard greens, and kale; eggplant, squash, broccoli; Roma and Wisconsin organic (heirloom) tomatoes; carrots, and radishes. I’m so excited. Last year’s garden was our most successful ever, but we also made a couple mistakes which we learned from, so I’m thinking this year’s garden might be even better.

After that, C. and I popped over to my friend D.’s house. We got to meet his new pitbull-mix, Leonard, who is less than a year old and is therefore super high-energy, but so sweet. And we got to see their two-week-old foster kittens (and their mama), and C. even got to pet one! D. also gave me some cayenne and habanero, which he grew in his garden last year, then dried and ground—he’s been giving it to anyone who wants some, as he grew so many peppers that he can’t possibly use it all. (He also offered me some Carolina Reaper, but I passed on that.) I told him if there was ever anything I could give him in trade, to let me know, and he said: “Just listening to your spoken world album is trade enough,” and went on to say that he’s in awe of my poetic abilities.

All these compliments, a guy could get a big head! Except, I often think my writing is okay at best and I should just quit; when I get compliments like those it just offsets that and makes me realize that if other people are getting something from what I write, I should keep going.

Our last stop was the grocery store, where I got the rest of what I needed for the Dublin coddle, and got my flirt on with a beautiful redhead girl.

I had thought about putting green dye in my hair and painting my nails green for St. Paddy’s Day, but after all that running about town, I didn’t have time. I did, however, put my hair in braids (it’s long enough to braid now!), and put on green eyeliner.

I spent the next while putting together the Dublin coddle and getting it into the oven. I listened to the St. Patrick’s Day mix I listen to every year, then I listened to Hozier’s new EP, which holy fuck, I am trying so hard to be normal about, but it’s difficult. I truly wish I had a close friend who was into Hozier that I could nerd out about it with. Then I made a cup of tea and sat out in the backyard for a bit. One of the neighborhood crows came and lit on the fence, and it was cawing loudly about something. I asked it what was wrong, and we had a little ‘conversation.’

Me: “What is it, what’s wrong?” Crow: *cocks its head from side to side* caw caw. Me: “I’m sorry, I can’t help you with that.” Crow: squirrr-wakkk. Me: “I’m sure it will turn out fine.”

Funnily enough, the crow quieted down after that, stayed there for a while looking at me, then flew off.

It was really windy that day. To paraphrase myself: the wind, my lover, had returned, so I flirted with him a bit.

In the evening, I drank a pint of Guinness and a small glass of Jameson. In the old days, I would have easily downed three pints of stout and at least half a bottle of whiskey, not even because it was St. Patrick’s Day, but because it was a day, and to paraphrase myself, again—if you’re really Irish, you don’t need an excuse to get drunk. But I don’t do that anymore. The thing I do still do is get nostalgically sad (sadly nostalgic?) about old flames, and I had a few moments of that on St. Paddy’s Night. I found myself missing Ruby, and Jack of Spades, who I always miss most at this time of year; and Derry, whom I miss all the time, but always hardest in the spring and fall.

And then I emailed Derry. When I saw him back in October, I told him why I never respond to his periodic emails. And since then, he hasn’t emailed me; we left each other with the ball in my court, with it being up to me if I wanted to ever be in contact with him again. I probably shouldn’t have. I wasn’t even drunk, so I didn’t have that as an excuse. My only excuses are that I miss him so, so, so much, and I’m addicted to bad ideas.

Then P. and the kiddos and I watched Darby O’Gill and the Little People, which I hadn’t seen since I was a child. The movie left an indelible impression on me when I was a kid, though—I was deeply, deeply terrified of the banshee. Watching it the other night, I was no longer afraid, but I do understand why it scared me so back then. The sound she makes is absolutely bone-chilling.

…

Saturday, the temperature dropped, drastically—it was the coldest day we’ve had in weeks, felt more like midwinter again—but we braved the cold to go downtown and see the St. Paddy’s Day parade. It’s a small parade, even smaller this year because some people dropped out due to the weather, but it was still nice. A marching band started it off with a rendition of “Whiskey in the Jar.” One of the bars on Main Street was selling drinks, both alcoholic and non, in to-go cups, so you could grab one and take it outside while you watched the parade. P. and I both got Irish coffees, the kids got hot chocolate. The kids grabbed handfuls of candy and green plastic beads that some of the floats were tossing to the crowd. I sipped from my drink, and half-watched the parade, half-watched the other spectators.

There was a super sexy man standing near us. He was fat and also just big, like over six feet tall. He had a long, gray beard, but it was a very well-kept long beard, not ratty or dirty in any way. He was wearing a black beanie, a black leather jacket, an Irish kilt (with the tartan for County Derry; yes, I looked it up when I got home), and these tall, intricately patterned leather boots. I guess he caught me lookin’, cuz he fucking winked at me, and then I blushed so hard that my face felt hot despite the cold. Jaysis.

The best parts of the parade were the Root River Rollers (our local roller derby team; they looked hella cute in their green plaid skirts and black leggings and derby gear; I have a major thing for derby girls and have for a very long time); the float from McAuliffe’s Pub (they had someone on fiddle and someone on bodhrán, playing a reel); the pirates of Will’s Revenge (they’re a local group who cosplay as pirates for various events, I always love them, but this time they’d added little Irish touches for St. Paddy’s; of course I thought of B. saying of me all those years ago: …you’re and Irish pirate, that’s the best kind); and the girls from a local dance school (they were wearing black hoodies and black leggings and sparkly green tutus; they did a wildly impressive hiphopjazz dance routine).

Later that day, I made some minor edits on my ‘Mats vignettes (at the editor’s suggestion), while listening to The ‘Mats, and “Treatment Bound” came on and for the first time it hit me how much it sounded like some of my old friend L.’s music. I mean, I knew he was a Replacements fan, but it had honestly never hit me until then how much his sound was influenced by some of their stuff. Particularly the stuff off Hootenanny. And then I sat around missing L. for a while. I’ve written about him a lot before. He was one of those friends I had an intense crush on, and I thought I wanted to smooch him or maybe even bone him, but the most we ever did was cuddle/spoon. And then I realized it was better that way; I could get really close to him without worrying about sex making it weird. And then years later, I realized I never had actually wanted to fuck him, I had wanted to be him (or, well, be more like him, anyway). He had such a huge impact on my writing, my music, my life. We never had a falling out, just lost touch, got busy with our separate lives, never ran into each other anymore. The usual. I think of him often, though, and decided to web-search him the other day just so see what he’s up to. I found out that all his albums are now up on Bandcamp, and I’m so excited, because I lost my copies of them ages ago, and I love his music so much.

…

The next day was warmer again, though still windy. I took a long walk by myself. I trysted with the wind, again; he yanked my hair and slapped my cheeks pink. I walked down to the Little Free Library that’s in my neighborhood; I’ve found some great stuff in it before, and it had been months since I’d checked it. This time, I found nothing. I did, however, spot a tow truck with the words Anywhere and Anytime on it, and I snapped a picture. It seemed like a good sign, as the title of my ‘Mats memoir series is Anyplace or Anywhere or Anytime.

When I got home from the walk, I spent the rest of the afternoon writing.

…

Monday, I woke up and got the bullshit stuff I had to do but had been dreading/putting off out of the way first. I am not always able to do that, but the Executive Function fairy truly blessed me that day. Then I did school stuff with the kids. It was warm enough that we could do a (partially) outdoor science experiment. First, the kids designed protective casing for eggs, then we took them out in the backyard and dropped them from various heights to see how far they could drop without breaking. We even recorded our results! It was a lot of fun.

After that, I did some witchy stuff to celebrate the first day of spring. I redecorated my altar, lit some incense, did a little spell/ritual. Then I did a Spring Equinox tarot reading for myself, and it was so clear and right-on that I reached out to Emchy and was like: “Hey, the cards are really talking to me today, want me to pull a few for you?” She said yes, so I did.

Later in the afternoon, I took another solo walk. This time I took photos of some of the sidewalk date stamps in my neighborhood. I also spotted the first crocus of the season, and snapped photos of those. Trysted with the wind again. Sang (quietly, but out loud) as I walked—first Jolie Holland’s “Springtime Can Kill You” (because it is one of my all-time favorite songs), then the Counting Crows’ “Sullivan Street” (because I’d thought of something ‘hanging on the air,’ and it made me think of that song).

When I got home, I wrote a short poem, and then I started working on translating it into Gaeilge. I find that when I’m learning a new language, translating my words/thoughts from English into said language helps.

After that, I checked my email. There was one from Derry; his response to the email I’d sent on St. Patrick’s Day. I am not going to quote from it directly, not here; some things have to be kept just for me. Suffice it to say: we’re not trying to hook up or get together or start things all over again, but we’re mutually unsure where that leaves us; he misses and loves me just as much as I do him.

P. and I made dinner together that night. He made the sides and I made the main dish. We’d already planned on making roasted potatoes with dijon and rosemary (because we already had all the ingredients) and green beans with onions and bacon (because we already had the bacon and onions); we’d already decided to have pork chops as the main dish. But the night before I got a craving for French food, so that morning I looked up “French pork chops,” and found a recipe for pan-cooked pork chops with paprika, in an onion-dijon cream sauce. It was amazing.

We finished off the night by having passionate sex. It was a perfect ending to the first day of spring.

…

Tuesday was kinda crappy. The kids were cranky, and I had some unspecified physical yuck happening; my stomach hurt and I was just exhausted the whole day. But I managed to take another walk, this time with C. And it was World Poetry Day, so I read some poetry and worked more on my translation.

…

Wednesday was a happysad day. It was the ten year anniversary of my grandma’s death, so of course I was thinking about her. I was also thinking about Jason Molina. The 18th had been the ten year anniversary of his death, and my grief over losing my grandma is inextricably bound up with my grief over Jason Molina’s death. When my grandma got seriously ill, and we knew she wasn’t going to live much longer, I was deeply depressed, and I was listening to a lot of Songs: Ohia and Magnolia Electric Co. at the time, and then Jason died, and four days later my grandma died, so yeah, they’re always linked in my mind.

Wednesday was also my dad’s birthday. I wrote a birthday poem for him, and collaged a card to put it in. In the afternoon, P. and I went to a local job fair and found out about some potential employment opportunities for him. Fingers crossed that one of them pans out, because they’re pretty good ones. As we were leaving the job fair, we saw a seagull and a hawk fighting. Then we and the kiddos went to my folks’ house to celebrate my dad’s birthday. We had a nice dinner and some cake, and I gave my dad the card I’d made.

My mom and I reminisced about my grandma (her mom). Then she told me about an old friend of the family who is battling a serious illness. Later, Joni Mitchell came up in conversation, and my mom and I were talking about Joni and her music, and the memories we have attached to it—for both of us, Joni’s songs specifically remind us of being in our twenties. So we were both in our feelings about my grandma and the old family friend and our own pasts and Joni’s music, and we listened to “River” and cried a little together, and it was probably the closest I’ve felt to my mom in a long while.

Later that night, as I lay in the dark trying to fall asleep, I heard coyotes yipping as they wandered through the neighborhood.

…

Thursday, the kids were in bad moods again, and I was feeling anxious about various stuff. But I managed to get past it. I read some, made a collage, drank some tea. I signed up for a temporary money-making side gig. I finished writing/editing the poem about the time Ali and I visited Nancy Spungen’s grave; I have been working on it on-and-off for years, and I’m glad to finally have it in a place where I feel like it’s ready to be out in the world.

Then I watched the crows in the yard. That crow I talked to on St. Patrick’s Day? It returned, and brought its mate, and they are building a nest in the tree that hangs partially over our yard! Maybe that’s what it was making a racket about the first time; maybe it was scouting locations for a nest and was trying to get its mate to come see? In any case, we’re gonna have crow neighbors, and they’re gonna start a family! Oh my god, there are gonna be baby crows! The crows in the area are probably already familiar with me, because I have left out food for them before, and said hello when I’ve been near them; and I’m very glad that my talking to one of them the other day did not deter them from building their nest in/near our yard. (I’ve now started leaving peanuts for them in the backyard, since at least this pair has been coming around that side more often, and they’ve been back every day, but more about that later.)

Thursday night, I had a dream about my old friend J.C. I’ve known him since I was in the sixth grade, and we’ve been in and out of each other’s lives since (again, no falling out, just life drifting us apart), but I haven’t seen him in almost fourteen years now. It was good to see him in the dream, though, and I hope he’s doing well.

…

Friday, I spent most of the day getting ready for that evening’s spoken word gig. I collated zines, gathered together all the merch I wanted to take with me. I gathered together the poems I might want to read; timed a few newer ones/ones I’d never performed at a reading before. I drove to the bank downtown; to get some cash in various smaller denominations of bills, so I’d have change to give when people bought my merch. At one point on the drive, I was behind a car, and I noticed one of their bumper stickers: the background was the pride flag, and the text over it read Make America Gay Again. Awesome. Back at home, I started enacting even more pre-event rituals. (I say ‘event’ because I have long enacted some or all of these rituals whether it’s a spoken word gig, a music gig, a zine fest, an art show, a burlesque performance, a circus performance, etc. etc. Basically, I enact some or all of these rituals, or other, similar ones, whenever I have any kind of event where I’m performing and/or selling stuff, whether it’s in-person or online.) I cut the sleeves off my Keep Books Dangerous tee (a sure sign of spring for me, cutting the sleeves off a t-shirt), and changed out/added to the pins on my leather jacket. I freshened the color in my hair. I did all this while summoning the Undying Spirit of Punk Rock, by blasting the Daycare Swindlers.

Listening to the DC Swindlers of course made me think of N., as he was the lead singer of that band. I know I’ve written about him before, but I was hit with a wave of missing him so hard on Friday. We were platonic soulmates. I was never sexually or romantically attracted to him; as far as I know he was never into me that way either. (In fact I had a huge crush on his girlfriend!) But we just clicked; from the first time we met we had people saying we were like twins. We didn’t look anything alike, but there was just something about us. The way we dressed, our predilections, obviously our taste in women; just our general vibes. Twins. Soulmates. Because not all soulmates are romantic or sexual in nature; in fact, for as many romantic/sexual partners as I’ve had, I’ve had far more platonic soulmates.

Other rituals I enacted pre-gig were putting on my necklace of charms and dabbing a bit of the “Follow Me, Boy” scent on my pulse points.

P. actually got to come with me for once, which was amazing. I’ve said before that my parents are real weird about watching the kids, but this time they offered so P. could go with me, and of course I jumped at the chance.

At about five, we dropped the kiddos at my parents house, then headed north/west, to the far west side of Milwaukee, right on the border of Wauwatosa. Drove up on old familiar roads, saw some excellent graffiti. Parked near the gallery where my reading was, in front of a beautiful soft-yellow house with a pride flag hung from their porch, and a sign in the yard: We Back the Vag. Again, awesome.

The gallery was great, full of funky-cool art. Everyone that worked there was super friendly, so were all the other performers (both featured and open mic). At least half the people there, performers and audience, were some flavor of queer, and there were also several POC and several Jewish people! (I know that last part for a fact because a few of the poets read pieces that mentioned Judaism/being Jewish.) I felt so comfortable and happy. Like, obviously, as a queer person, I get tired of being around only cishets; but even as a white goy, I also get tired of being around only white, (culturally) Christian folks. I guess I just spent enough of my life in big cities and other diverse spaces that I am actually less at ease when everyone looks like me and/or has a similar cultural background. And it’s just fucking boring, ya know? Why would I only wanna be around people who look and act like me?!

Soon after we arrived at the gallery, I was setting up my merch, and the queer kid (I say ‘kid’ because they were in their early 20s, which, now that I’m in my 40s, is definitely in ‘kid’ territory for me) who was the musician for the evening saw my spoken word album—Self Portrait with Ghosts & Trains. “That’s definitely something I would listen to,” they said. “I like ghosts, I like trains.” Pause. “Damn, too bad I only know one train song. I mean, I only know how to play one train song. I know lots of train songs in general.” I told them that I’d made a playlist of train songs a few years ago, and that even though I’d spent time narrowing it down from the original list, it still had 50+ songs on it. “Have you ever seen Metalocalypse?” They asked. “How come all they sings about is trains?” I replied. “That is actually the name of my train song playlist, no kidding.” They laughed, said, “What else is there, really?,” and then we fist bumped.

Then it was time for the open mic part of the evening, and the other featured poet-performers. All of the other poet-performers were really good, in their own ways. Some of them were just good all around, both poetry-wise and performance-wise. Others were not my jam, poetry-wise, but performed their stuff really well. And still others were people whose poems were fantastic but who were fairly new to performing; I know that if they keep at it they will be absolute fire in the not-too-distant future.

Then it was my turn. I opened my set with a poem that is not my own. See, it would have been Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s 104th birthday that day, so I opened with “See, it was like this, when…” Then I did a bit of improv. What I mean by that is—I had brought way more poems with me than I could feasibly read, and I had a couple I knew I for sure wanted to read but for the rest it was like, I’ll just go with what I’m vibing with at the time. And some of the other performers inspired some of my choices. One of the poets read some of their sonnets, so I read two of my sonnets; one of the performers opened with an a capella rendition of “Cabaret,” so I read my Cabaret-inspired poem. I also read two of my Wisconsin poems—a Milwaukee one, and my Beast of Bray Road poem; an excerpt from The Loneliest Show On Earth; and the poem about visiting Nancy’s grave. The crowd was so, so attentive and responsive. Like, they were there to hear poetry. I heard some laughter during parts of some of my poems (not laughing at, laughing with), and also some gasps and ohs. Afterward, I got so many compliments. I mean, people were telling me my stuff was funny but also moving, or saying it was like I cast a spell, saying they got chills at certain points; someone noticed the Diane Di Prima influence on my work, someone else noticed the Lynda Hull influence…god damn. I sold some stuff and got a cut of the door, and it was enough to cover my gas money to and from the gig and still have like thirty bucks left over; gotta love that sweet, sweet poetry money. (To quote myself: How no one warned you it’s hard to make a living writing about your heart. How you don’t make a living, but you sometimes make enough money for wine.) I also got approached by the guy who runs the weekly Poetry Nights at Linneman’s River West Inn, and he wants me to be the featured poet there sometime in July or August. I’m so excited! I haven’t been to Linneman’s since early 2009, but back when I lived in MKE I used to perform there all the time—though back then, I performed on the music open mic nights, as that’s when I was more focused on music than poetry. Speaking of music—when the kid I’d talked to earlier in the evening got up for their set, they played the one train song they knew how to play—“Freight Train,” by Elizabeth Cotten—and dedicated it to me. My heart.

P. and I left, then crossed the border into ‘Tosa, and got a round at a beer & whiskey bar called Draft & Vessel. I had an imperial stout that had chai spices in it, and it was so fuckin’ good.

On the drive home, I got to experience that magical thing that happens on the road at night. You know, where you look down at your lap, and the lights coming in through the windshield from above have striated your skin and clothing, and as you move the stripes move, moving stripes of light/shadow/light/shadow. I wish I could think of a better way to describe it; if I can, I’m going to put it in a poem.

…

Saturday we got a bunch of snow. Early spring snow is not uncommon in the upper midwest—in the immortal words of Prince: sometimes it snows in April. And anyway, we had nowhere we needed to be that day, so we just had a cozy-at-home, creative day. P. and I made meal plans for the coming week. I wrote a bit. I made a necklace, inspired by some I’d seen at the gallery and couldn’t afford. I took some knolling photos of my bottlecap, key, and souvenir penny collections; for no other reason than that I felt like it. I recorded an audio version of my VU-inspired poem from Left of the Dial.

My knee and ankle were hurting all day. The poetry reading had been packed full and there were only about eight chairs available, and there were people in their sixties and seventies there, and I never think of my disabilities as real enough, so I gave the chairs to those I thought needed them more, and I stood the whole time. And yeah, I paid for it, bodily. It sucked to be in pain all the next day, but I did kind of chuckle at the “I’m getting old”-ness of it all. Like, I used to go wild in the pit at punk shows and maybe I’d get banged up and sore but I’d be mostly okay (with the notable exception being that time I broke my ankle in the pit), and now I stand for a couple hours at a poetry reading and I’m in pain for days.

I thought of Sinclair, another old flame, that day; possibly because of that kid playing “Freight Train” the night before, as that was a staple of Sinclair’s repertoire. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in somewhere close to 14 years now, and I haven’t even web-searched him in a decade. Unlike with some of my other exes, it’s not that I fear I’ll decide to contact him and open everything up again, it’s that— Well, I’ve worried that he might be dead or in prison. He was a sweetheart, genuinely one of the best, kindest people I’ve ever known—but he was also an outlaw, and he lived a rough life. He was a queer train-hopping hobo/crusty/circus performer/musician; he was often homeless, and had bouts of trouble with the law and various addictions. Saturday, I decided to look him up to see what I could find…and I was relieved to know that he’s not just living but seemingly thriving, back in his hometown of New Orleans, where he just had a music gig on March 23rd. I’m so relieved. Just knowing that he’s out there, still doin’ his thing, is enough for me.

That night, P. and I had hot, wild, rough sex, and I fell asleep more easily than I normally do. Unfortunately, I did have a terrible dream that woke me up in the middle of the night, and then it took me hours to get back to sleep. I don’t even want to go into detail about it because it was so gruesome and bloody and involved terrible bodily harm being visited on some of my loved ones, including one of my kids. I actually had to go into D.’s room and make sure he was okay, and sit watching him breathe for a while, before I could calm down at all. I don’t have vivid, horrific dreams as much now as I did when I was in my teens and twenties, but when they come? They’re fucking doozies. A lot of horror doesn’t even scare me because I’ve had dreams that were just as graphic, but even worse, because the harm was being visited on me and/or people I love.

…

Sunday, I woke up to the notification that someone had bought some stuff from my online shop, which is always a nice thing to wake up to.

Later in the morning, it snowed a little more, and I saw the crows again. And this time, they’d brought a friend. My first thought was: “They’re a polycule!” Which, okay, I know crows don’t work that way, but I recently read something that said crows are ‘socially monogamous but genetically promiscuous’ so maybe? In any case, they were with a third crow; probably another member of their murder. And they were playing! I watched them leap down from the tree to the top of the neighbors’ garage roof, then slide to the bottom edge near the eaves, from which they’d fly back up to the tree and do it all over again. I was so fucking thrilled; I’ve seen videos of crows playing before, but I’ve never seen it so clearly in person. I wanted to get my own video, but of course by the time I got my phone and got ready to record, they’d stopped. I know, pics or it didn’t happen, but this has just been one of the many amazing things I’ve witnessed or experienced in my life where I do not have any ‘factual’ documentation, and it doesn’t even matter because I know it happened and it lives inside me, now.

In the late afternoon, D. had the worst meltdown he’s had in a while. His anger is getting worse as he edges towards adolescence, but at least now he has a therapist that can help us through it.

For dinner, P. made shrimp, pork, and andouille jambalaya, with a side of greens. We had sex again that night; this time, it was slow, lazy, and deeply sensual.

…

Monday morning, D. had his therapy appointment, then I did schoolwork with the kiddos. Then I got dinner going in the crockpot (one of my favorite go-to meals: Moroccan chicken tagine with chickpeas and apricots) while listening to my favorite radio station; they played banger after banger after banger, and I discovered a bunch of new (to me) favorite songs.

Monday evening, before dinner, we filed our taxes. We’re not getting back as much as I’d hoped (because the fucking Republicans decided to axe the expanded Child Tax Credit), but we’re still getting enough that it will make a positive difference in our lives over the next couple months.

That night, we had sex; wild and hot and fast again, that time.

…

Despite all the sex we’ve been having, I woke up ridiculously horny on Tuesday. I was also really restless and a little bit anxious, but I had to do all this sitting-at-my-desk bullshit like attending the Zoom training session for my new side gig, and applying for energy assistance. In between sit-down tasks, I worked through my restless, horny energy by either pacing around or jacking off. Seriously, it was like, bullshit task, walk up and down the stairs a few times; bullshit task, lock myself in the bathroom to jack off; and so on. I ended up jacking off three times that day. (Twice during the day, once at night in bed after P. had fallen asleep; his chronic back pain was acting up so we couldn’t mess around that night, alas.)

The best things of that day were: 1. Finding out I was such a hit at the gallery on Friday that they want me to be one of their features again in May. Like, according to the person who is my point of contact there, even after I left, people were coming up to her saying: “Wow, Jessie was amazing; when can I see them again?!” 2. The burgers we made for dinner that night: blue cheese, bacon, Buffalo sauce, and tomato burgers.

…

Yesterday I clocked a couple hours for my new side gig. It’s kinda tedious, but at least I can do it on my own time, and I need the money.

After that, I did school stuff with the kiddos, including some art time. They both painted, and I sat down to draw something that I thought was kind of inspired by Paradise Lost (cuz I’m on a Milton kick lately) and Nick Cave, but which turned out to be a figure straight out of that horrifying dream I had on Saturday. And I am actually entirely freaked out by the drawing; I had to hide it so I won’t see it.

I spent most of the afternoon laying in bed, drinking tea and reading, as my sinuses were acting up and I couldn’t do much else.

Fortunately, I felt better by evening. For dinner, I made fish tacos (with shredded lettuce, pico de gallo, fresh avocado, and lime wedges for garnish) with beans and rice on the side.

And P. and I got to have sex last night, and it was great, again, as it has been lately.

…

Today I woke up restless, horny, and anxious, again. Mostly the anxiety stemmed from a phone call I had to make. Before I made the call, I did yoga, ate a small breakfast, and took my ashwagandha and magnesium supplements, which helped ease my anxiety a little. Then I made the call, and it sucked, but not as bad as I had feared it would, and hey, at least then it was done.

Late morning, I took the kids to the library. They got to play in the play area for a while; I talked with a mom who was there with her three kiddos (all of them true gingers!). We checked out a bunch of books, as per usual. Then came home to make lunch—mini quesadillas, plus avocado & pico de gallo & beans & rice left over from last night.

After lunch, I decided to take a walk. It’s chilly and a bit windy today, but it had been over a week since I took a walk, and I get even antsier/more restless without them. So I bundled up, and took some hot coffee in my travel mug to keep me warm.

When I stepped out the back door, my crow friend was in the tree where it’s building its nest. It saw me and cawed, then went flying toward the front yard, like it wanted me to follow. I was like: “Oooh, side quest!” When I got out to the sidewalk, I saw the crow in the front yard a few houses down, pulling at something in the mud. I got to the crow just as it pulled the object free, and I saw it was this long, silvery piece of something—like maybe tinsel, or part of a mylar balloon. I said: “Oh, good for you, you found a shiny for your mate!” The crow then flew back towards our backyard.

As I said above, I’ve been feeding the crows in this neighborhood on and off for years, and occasionally saying hello to them, but I do not understand why this particular crow (and by extension, its mate and family/friends) has decided we’re besties. I do not understand, but I am fucking delighted.

I took my walk around the block, got home, promptly locked myself in the bathroom and jacked off.

Tonight, for dinner, P. made chicken cacciatore. The recipe he uses has a white (white wine, lemon juice, olive oil) sauce as opposed to the usual tomato-based chicken cacciatore, and it’s so good. And I’m hoping we get to fuck again tonight, cuz like I said, I’m wildly, insatiably horny these days.

…

This weekend is looking like it will be another jam-packed one. I have to meet up with K. to pick up the Joe Strummer piece I commissioned for Ali’s birthday. There’s a couple activist things I’m participating in; tomorrow’s rally for queer youth, plus some voter outreach stuff I signed up to do prior to next Tuesday’s very important election.

Saturday is the start of National Poetry Month/NaPoWriMo. I plan to attempt a 30/30, because I generated so much work last April (and had fun doing it). I’m also working up some curriculum to teach both the kids about reading and writing poetry, at age-appropriate levels.

One of my first projects for NaPoWriMo is gonna be trying to finish translating that poem I wrote last week from English to Gaeilge. It’s been tricky because, though it’s a short poem, it has an odd structure that does not lend itself easily to Gaeilge. Also, my grasp on Gaeilge is rudimentary at best. But then, that’s why I’m doing this, to help me learn.

Next week, I’m hoping to finish getting the New Wave anthology ready for print.

…

Other than all that? Well, there have been more realizations and epiphanies.

I’ve been getting braver, again. Doing things even if I’m scared to; because I remembered that most of the best things in my life have come from moments of “Am I scared? Yeah, but fuck it, I’ll do it anyway.”

I’ve been reincorporating elements of my old life, my old personality. From things as simple as drinking lapsang souchong again, taking walks whenever I can, rereading old favorite books, rediscovering old favorite albums; to things more esoteric. For so long I’d been lamenting the days when I was a mystical romantic lovesick dork, wishing I could be that way again but thinking I was too old. But now I’m allowing myself to behave that way again. I’m romanticizing my daily life, singing as I walk down the street, talking with the crows, cavorting with the wind.

A lot of those things (the tea, the walks, the mystical romantic lovesick dorkiness) sort of rhyme with a very specific time in my life, namely 2006-2008, and it’s funny that I’ve been asked to do a reading at Linneman’s, which was a place I frequented in those years. I know, you can’t go home again—except, sometimes you can.

And I’m also glad that I’m managing to reintegrate the positive aspects of those days without the self-destructive ones (i.e., drinking to excess and hooking up with people I didn’t even really like very much).

Another thing I’m reincorporating into my life is the DIY? Because I Gotta attitude. It’s not that I’ve ever fully lost it, but I’ve been doing a lot of it lately: things like making that necklace for myself, writing the poem and making the collage-card for my dad, etc. I used to get down on myself because I’ve never had enough money to buy gifts for all my loved ones for every occasion, but now I’m like, wait, this is actually a good thing about me. Not the lack-of-money part, but… I might not have money to buy people gifts all the time, but I do things like make them art, write them poems, make them personalized zines, make them mix tapes or playlists, bake them bread or cookies, give them veggies from my garden, give them tarot readings, etc. That’s actually pretty fucking cool.

I’ve been re-redefining success re: my writing career. Once again reminding myself that as long as my words get out in the world and the people who need them find them, that’s the most important thing—doesn’t so much matter what route those words take to get there. Reminding myself that I can look for agents for certain projects, submit to the more established lit journals, enter big name contests, etc., but that I can also continue to publish my own zines and chapbooks, and send stuff out to indie mags and presses. I don’t have to choose! I can try it all!

Speaking of not having to choose—I’ve been re-embracing the fluid nature of both my gender/gender expression and my sexuality.

For a while I was reading too much of that baeddelism stuff, and even though I objectively know it’s bullshit, it kinda got to me. I started thinking to myself: “You’re not currently pursuing medical transition, you have long hair, and you still wear skirts and makeup sometimes. Those people are right—you’re just a penis-obsessed cis woman LARPing as nonbinary.” And then I was like, wait. First of all, though medical transition is an important part of transitioning for many trans people, it is not the only valid way to transition. Second of all, plenty of men, trans and cis, have long hair or wear skirts or makeup; why am I letting a handful of people who are basically TIRFs (trans-inclusive radical feminists) dictate how I present and what that means about my gender? My gender and sexuality have always been fluid, that’s just who and how I am; that’s why I have always preferred the term queer—because it states that I am not cishet, but doesn’t box me into some narrow definition of gender or sexuality that might change the next moment, anyway. So, once again: I’m here, I’m queer, get used to it. And: You cannot misgender me in a way that matters.

Speaking of fluid sexuality—the way my desires are changing lately is fascinating. Some things that used to turn me on no longer do it for me; other things that I was never into are now super hot.

These past two weeks have made me think of that Aaron Cometbus quote, about the kind of days I’ve been having: Simple days but with little surprises and long walks and good luck.

And it’s spring, it’s spring! Still chilly, but it stays lighter later every night, and the birds are out squawking and singing at all hours, and of course I’m restless and horny, it’s spring!

Overall, I’ve been full of gratitude and joy. I have amazing friends, all over the world. I get so overwhelmed with love for my kids, and for P. Seriously, every day I look at P. and think how lucky I am to have him as my partner in life; as the person I get to raise kids with and have hot sex with and cook good food with and wake up to every morning. And every day, I get to read books and listen to music and make art and write.

Of course things aren’t perfect, with the kids or with P., and I’m tired of being broke, and there’s the anxiety and executive dysfunction, and there’s a lot of bad shit in the world. But I have plans to make my and my family’s future better. And I’m getting more involved with activism again—apparently, when I allow myself to do things that bring me joy, I have more spoons for helping other people! Shocking, I know.

And I cry a lot, and I get nostalgically sad and long for old faces and places I once knew, and I get restless and long for new faces and places and adventures. And my heart breaks every day, from the beauty of the world, and the pain. But if that’s the tax for being a poet, for being a mystical romantic lovesick dork; if that’s the tax for not being closed off to any part of life—then I will gladly, gladly pay it.

#ashtrayfloors #dear livejournal #haha #this post is so long #and it's actually SHORTER than initially planned #because #well for one i'd started writing about a few things that had happened over the past two weeks that were kinda bad/annoying #but then partway through just got bored of writing about them #so i took those paragraphs out #and for two #i wrote this several-paragraph long backstory #about my old friend j.c. who i had the dream about #like the history of our friendship/how i first knew him #and realized that it didn't really belong in a journal entry #but in fact should be expanded as a story for my zine eventually

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invoke-parlay · 8 months

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Trimmed up the heads that had little to no petals left on them and they’re going to be hung to dry so I have more seeds for next year! :) I gave the petals that were left to Peep for a nice little treat salad. He’s been getting so many goodies from the garden since the season is winding down.

I’ve also been saving ALL the “deadheads” from my flowers so I can have some beautiful babies next year. I’m so please with how this makeshift container garden started out this year. In January before we moved in, I had nothing. No supplies, pots, seeds, soil. I didn’t know I would be able to even have a garden this year! So I definitely feel so blessed to have as many plants and as much produce as I do!

I’m starting to come to terms with pulling the plants that I really tried for but definitely won’t be producing for me this year! I learned that I’ll just need to get an earlier indoor start this year if I want peppers or more tomatoes.

September 11, 2023; Garden update.

#gardening is an experiment #growing food #garden #sunflowers #September 11 #fall #container garden #nature #pagan #aesthetic #green #goddess

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thebotanist-bsc · 1 year

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My little balcony friends 💚

I usually plant a lot of random things on my small 2-3qm balcony in my dorm. And this week things are staring to sprout! Well - I mean I’ve already sawn a few in January because otherwise they wont finish the fruits before winter ~ you know how it is (side eye to you Physalis 2022).

So tomato, joes long chili and Paprika are doing super good! I’ve planted an additional one for each, in case something happens, but seems like I can gift those to friends then!

Cress is going strong as always - but cilantro (in the front) has now also joined us! Yey!

And FINALLYYYY my beloved chives started to germinate!!! I’m so happy! Because I’ve had trouble with chives in forever. They just never grew. Although everybody says it’s so easy and all? Not for me. I had already given up and just bought a small pot, planted it right in the middle - and then they appeared! Welcome!!

Same kinda goes for my Alliaria petiolata (knoblauchsrauke, garlic mustard?). But I just tried that last year. Nothing grew. And this year, right out of the abandoned pot, she emerged 💚 (btw right amongst my beloved rucola, which is doing great too. Had to pick it out and separate it because I was told sometimes garlic mustard can make allelochemicals and I don’t want it to fight the rucola. I NEED it for my veggie pizza.)

Also these seeds started their journey! But I’m not too sure what it is. Some small flowers i think. Hope we’ll find out later this year!

Besides that, I also just put my Kalanchoe (Brutblatt) outside. It might still be a bit too cold for my girl, but she is so strong and such a bad ass (I recently gathered all of the seedlings in a pot, nothing else, and just left them - guess what happened? Yea they now grow ON eachother..), I think she’ll endure it. And be happy about the sun and rain she’s gonna get during the day.

Also, just in the last few days: 5/8 species of sunflowers reached the light! Hellloooo 💚

Further my mint clones are very happy as always. And basil and parsley just recently joined us, so I’ll have to wait and see wether they like their spot or … maybe it’s still a little too cold. I’m hoping for the best! I just don’t have the space in my room to keep them inside.

#plants #balcony garden #my little balcony friends

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starsbegantofall · 1 year

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plants update

I’ve struggled with the plant-keeping aspect of the cottagecore life since the pandemmy started. I’ve basically given up on that lifestyle now because I don’t want to do any more harm lol, but here is a summary of my latest findings for future reference.

1. Most common houseplants I’ve personally bought from the grocery stores or the home improvement store or Ikea or even from a random dealer at an anime con have survived more than 1 year, some going past 2 years. The only houseplants that have died fairly quickly are succulents, likely due to over-watering, and one plant almost died from lack of watering during vacation. Also plants given to me have died after a year or two. (Pothos, monstera, dracanea, fern, snake plant, bamboo, orchid) 8/10

2. Outside shrubs bought at mature stage have suffered immensely from some bug infestation (spider mite most likely) although because they’re perennial woody tough shrubs, they seem like they’ve survived. But they’ve shriveled and dropped leaves in the summer almost to the point I think I’ve lost them and it was not from lack of water. At least the rose bush still flowers, the gardenia is uhh still green, the hibiscus is dormant but could still be alive despite the infestation. (Gardenia, rose, hibiscus maybe) 7/10

3. Every plant I tried to grow from seed or sprout or bulb, doesn’t matter species, what distributor or store they came from, inside the house or out in the ground, has died after 1 season or 1 year. The tomatoes or berries or cucumbers have never produced fruit bigger than a grape, and the fact that they’re essentially annuals doesn’t help their survival. The shiso plant technically came back after a year but it was not on purpose lol. The peppers do produce a ton of fruit for one to almost two years but never make it past two, I think due to bugs or maybe just to spite me. I’m waiting to verify if this wisteria sapling has died but I’m gonna say it’s a goner as well. (nothing survived, waiting to verify wisteria and lily and shiso) 1/10

Judging by this, my safest best is to stick with buying fully grown non-succulent houseplants and mature woody shrubs. I should just forget about getting a harvest from any plant unless it’s a pepper plant. I can only assume my house is spider mite and spider central (due to the excess of spiderwebs everywhere like I’m some witch) so I’m sure bugs are the leading cause of plant death, however, that doesn’t explain some of the houseplants flourishing into a jungle of vines. Surely houseplants are just as susceptible to bugs as pepper plants??? I dunno. Anyway, now that I wrote it out, I feel like I can focus on propagating the plants I know I can keep alive and not feel so bad about failing to keep other plants alive.

#plants #black thumb

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covdiggingdeep · 2 years

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Paul Moroney, Stoney Road Allotments, Coventry. Plot taken on April 2021. "It’s been a bit hectic with the amount of heat, it hits home when you have an allotment and so much produce growing. I’m still enjoying it, I’m enjoying the flowers and the courgettes are taking over again. I think next year I’ll take stock on what I plant. I think the first time everybody does potatoes as standard but I don’t tend to eat so many carbs so I’m just going to be a bit more particular. I’m learning what grows better inside the greenhouse - I put tomatoes in there this year because everything caught blight last year - I’m doing a bit of both, some in, some out. I’ve had a few surprises, someone on the site next door gave me some cauliflowers. We weren’t sure what they were at the time but it was a nice little happy surprise. I was going to uncover some areas but I think I’ve got enough to manage right now without doing that. I do like the idea of having a wildflower meadow. It’s a nice welcome when you come in and see flowers and the ox-eye daisies and things like that. I’d like to see from the council - you know where they’re planting all the hedgerows - if they could let us know what that wildflower mix was then I could scatter that and hope for the best. It’s for the wildlife really. As well as looking nice it attracts more wild birds and pollinators. It makes a nice change rather than having all vegetables, I’m only feeding two so there’s only so much potatoes and courgettes and onions and garlic you can eat. It’s been okay managing the size of the plot. With the summerhouse, some people arrived a month ago saying that progress is being made. Different representatives from the council and conservation society did say progress is being made but I haven’t seen anybody with a digger or anything yet. They need £100K for the whole plot and they got a grant of £90K from English Heritage. The committee think the onus is on the council to find the rest really. It’s a shame if they have to get to a dilapidated state like that before someone steps in but hopefully… Some of the biggest advice I could give is to get some covering or membrane to suppress the weeds while you manage what you think you can manage, then uncover it as you go along. The lady over there, when they prepared the allotment for her and flattened it to make it look nice, she started with raised beds and didn’t cover the rest but before you know it with a bit of sunshine and rain it’s up about 6 foot. It then looks unmanageable, but if you get it covered in the preparation stages it helps. I come down at least twice, maybe three times a week. Because I’m retired I can park on the side of the street and come down. Often in the evenings when it’s a bit cooler and I bring a flask of tea. As it’s my first growing season, there were surprises - it was my first time for cauliflower, first time for cucumbers and this morning I’ve just noticed some peppers in there. I’ve been away for a week and that’s the biggest issue especially in this heat - asking people to water my plot while I’m away. I’ve got a hip operation on Monday which is going to lay me up for at least six weeks. You’re not allowed to drive for 4 weeks - my son’s not a big veggie plot fan but he might give me a lift down while I’m on crutches. You can’t plan for these things. I’ll come down and harvest what I can then let the rest go. There’s things I’m still learning. Those berries, red or white berries I’m not sure, there’s nothing at all on those. Maybe because it’s the first year they may not fruit until the second year. There are two books I’ve got, allotments month by month, and that’s a godsend. You can see what to expect and when to plant things for a good harvest. I’ve bought myself 100 brown envelope seed packets with sticky labels - that’s something I slipped up on before, thinking I would know the shape of the seeds and flower-heads but then six month later you’re not sure if it’s a grass seed or a poppy seed, ha ha. Even labelling stuff in the ground, you need to use the right pencil or pen or it will wash off! I think you have to expect to share some produce with pests. I’ve seen the odd rat and badger. If we can have two of then they can have one. I have more trouble with ground elder than anything else, a strong weed. Once I uncover an area I know the ground elder will be blanched and weak. I’m inspired by the three guys who are on the other side there, they’ve been here for 30 or 40 years. They share their excess plants. It’s like having an extended back garden, really. I’m in it for the long-term. For the price they charge for one year of £50, it’s a good return. The background at home I keep the lawn and borders tidy but here you can afford to go wild in certain areas. I’ve taken cuttings and used rooting powder and potted up about 20 plants of lavender. The hollyhocks come up every year, a nice bit of colour and height, giving more structure to the garden."

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nanochronicles · 2 years

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Terra Madre, regeneration through farming.

I’m looking at the blinking black line on this white page trying to frame sentences in my head about the experience of working on a farm. Physically, I can feel the pain in my arms and legs, like the next day after a hit workout. It’s a sweet pain. It’s a pain that gives you satisfaction. People who go to the gym might relate; physically.

Here I am tucked away in this small town in a corner of the world, in silent Cilento. This summer I have had the privilege to cook with some remarkable produce, from this Mediterranean region. From fresh vegetables, cereals, and grains to seafood. In these past 3 months, I have gone to the market to pick it up fresh on farmers’ day, I have directly come to the farm to pick up the produce kept aside for us. But I never woke up at 6 am to start milking the animals, feeding them, taking them to graze, and later, even witnessing cheese making from that morning milk. Walking under the high afternoon sun to hand pluck tomatoes, pumpkins, squash, aubergines, and bell peppers filling up crates of them. Those same crates that used to arrive in the kitchen receiving area.

It is exactly like Alfredo the guy I was working with told me, “So now you completed the circle, you're full". Yes, I am. So full does my heart feel that I understand better the meaning of the word 'content’. It's not that feeling when you're very hungry and you've been given a full plate of food to fill your stomach, satisfactory was too meager a word to describe this feeling. It is that inexplicable feeling of happiness at the end of the day when you're washing away the sweat and dirt from your body, you then sit down to reflect on your day and all you feel is contentment.

As I plucked the last of the tomatoes and the aubergines of this season, I couldn’t help but think of a happier place to be. I was at the precipice of the next crop rotation. Finishing up the last harvest of the vegetables of this season, inspecting the newly sown seeds of the autumn-winter season: fennel, cauliflower, broccoli, and salad leaves- winter is all about those leafy greens and summer those bright-colored vegetables. I was in a new territory, food yes but a city-born and bought-up girl I knew nothing about farm life, but it felt like home, fitting in, from the farm animals to the mean machines on the farm.

When I started here three months back, I was on the verge of a probable breakdown. I had not stopped working, I was finishing my studies while working, then moving to another city, and going to India for a few weeks what I thought was a break turned out to be more stressful than it should have been. And I knew I had not slowed down for months at a stretch and it was really taking a toll on me. I never had worked like this before, I always made sure to take care of myself. I wanted to just stop and give up and go back home. But being here for these last 2 days has healed me. Physically I was working, I was on my feet from 6 am but mentally I couldn’t be in a more peaceful situation than this. I knew that Mother nature has its own way of regenerating you, but I thought you had to stay still, do absolutely nothing, relax, switch off from social media and sit with a book, but not really.

Regenerative agriculture is the most resilient way forward for the current climate crisis. Regenerative agriculture focuses on soil health and regeneration of the topsoil, letting that soil heal and improve, and getting ready to nurture the next crop. I was reading an article my friend recently shared about the need to regenerate ourselves, at first, it felt silly, like coming from a person who had the resources to take a break from work but, I was also reading 'Women who run with wolves' it talked about similar things and it started to make more sense. We, women, do need to regenerate ourselves like the soil to be able to receive more. But we are always running behind the next project and next client, forgetting ourselves and depriving our spirit. It is not easy to achieve all the things we want to, sometimes we need to change course. We neglect to hear the inner wolf voice that’s telling us to stop and realign our direction. We are nurturers and growers at the end of the day, this is our common connection with Mother Earth. I do envy Edmondo and the others for having this life every day, even though I understand it’s not an easy life for them.

For me, the last two days of work at the farm was the regeneration I needed. It put into perspective a few things for me, including an understanding of who I am. ‘Who are you without your work?’, is a necessary question you need to ask yourself. Grounded on that soil, on mother earth I understood the true meaning of what it meant to be content, joyful, caring, loving, sharing, kind, grateful, and humble.

Life is indeed a full circle.

Thank you to Luigia, Simona, and Edmondo Soffriti and to every single person at the La Petrosa farm for welcoming me and making me a part of your family and for teaching me and sharing your knowledge. I shall remain forever in debt to each of you. Thank you to Future Food Institute for making this happen.

Grazie Mille.

#regenerativefuture #regeneration #nature #regenerativeagriculture #mentalwellbeing #farming #agriculture #farmers

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anipgarden · 1 year

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Local plant sale 1/2

By the time we got there the native plants were cleared the fuck OUT. I’m talking empty table and maybe 6 plants left from a vendor. Nothing but some tomatoes, peppers, ginger roots, and way too many houseplants remained. I did manage to buy a goldenmane coreopsis though!

Did hear that the zoo is hosting an art sale where they’re also apparently selling plants and one of the vendors will be there. So I guess that’s another plant sale to look forward to, in May this time. And I guess that makes this local plant sale 1/3.

Though there was another plant sale that happened on the 1st. Where they were selling milkweed. And I didn’t hear about it until today…. RIP.

Got sent into Home Depot later to buy potting soil and found a bigass bag of liatris bulbs. It just… spoke to me. 55 bulbs! For $15 dollars!

I bought it.

I don’t know where all of these are going to go yet but boy I sure do have them.

The ones I planted a few weeks back are doing well! I was starting to wonder if I should mix in some other flower seeds into the pots, but considering my most recent purchase… more liatris bulbs, probably.

The next plant sale is next Saturday, and it’s an explicitly native plant sale, so fingers crossed! I’ve learned my lesson—don’t get to a plant sale late.

#ani rambles #the Plant Sale Saga #out of queue

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snoozeboxgames · 2 years

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Chapter 32 Episode Script

Narrator: Welcome back to Love Island! If you can hear me crying, it's because I'm still not over it… Kobi and Juliet, gone? Why, cruel world, why?! I need to pull myself together! I can do this! This time, [your partner] wakes up with more than she bargained for...

Player: What do we have here?

Narrator: Youcef whispers sweet nothings in my ear...

Youcef: Wall to wall. One massive bed.

Narrator: And Will fesses up...

Will: You name it, I've tried it.

Narrator: Step right up folks! We're going in!

{alternate 1}

Narration: A clattering sound makes your sleep-ridden eyes spring open. You see [your partner] with a tray in their hands and sit up. [your partner] carefully lowers themself down onto the daybed beside you.

[your partner]: Morning, sleepyhead.

Player (thinking): What should I say?

CHOICE: Morning, babe

CHOICE: That's Ms Sleepyhead to you

[your partner]: Terribly sorry, Ms Sleepyhead. Please forgive me.

Player: Hmm... OK. Since you brought breakfast.

CHOICE: Am I dreaming?

[your partner]: No. But that's a compliment I'll happily accept.

{alternate 2}

Narration: You wake up to the sound of someone whispering at you...

[your partner]: Morning, sleepyhead.

Narration: Before you can say anything, [your partner] touches their finger to their lips.

[your partner]: Shh... Everyone's asleep. Follow me.

Narration: Silently, you stumble out of bed, wiping the sleep from your eyes. You follow [your partner] outside to the daybeds. There's a tray of food laid out on the daybed for you.

[your partner]: Breakfast time.

Player: Aww, this is so sweet!

Narration: [your partner] sits up on the bed and pats the spot beside them. You hop up beside [your partner].

Narration: [your partner] grins widely at you.

Player: What do we have here?

Narration: You gesture to the tray of food which is covered by a tea towel.

{if Will}

Will: Sweet potato toast.

Player: What now?

Narration: Will laughs and uncovers the tray.

Will: It's toast, but instead of bread, it's slices of sweet potato. I did a few different toppings for you because I wasn't sure what you like.

Narration: You scan the plates. There are three sweet potato slices. One is covered with avocado and tomatoes, another with hummus, oil, and chickpeas. A third slice is covered in strawberries and a cream cheese style spread.

Will: We didn't have any vegan cream cheese so I made some with cashews, soya yoghurt, and a dash of lemon.

{if Najuma}

Najuma: An acai smoothie bowl. Like the one I made you before.

Narration: Najuma smiles at you warmly.

Najuma: It's important for me to start the day right, so I'm a bit of a creature of habit.

Narration: You look down to see she’s arranged the berries and seeds into a heart-shaped ripple.

{if Najuma, but never coupled prior}

Najuma: It's an acai berry smoothie bowl with flax and chia seeds.

Narration: Najuma smiles at you shyly.

Najuma: My favourite way to start the day.

{if Bruno}

Bruno: Now prepare yourself, because you're really in for a treat. So, you've had toast à la Bruno… But this time you get...

Narration: He pulls away the tea towel with a flick of his wrist.

Bruno: Oats à la Bruno.

Player: Bruno! You make porridge every single day.

Bruno: Yes, for myself. Making porridge for someone else? That's special.

{if Bruno, but never coupled prior}

Bruno: Voilà. Toast à la Bruno. And porridge for me.

Player: Wow, you really went all out didn't you?

Bruno: Hey, I'll have you know toast is the food of royalty.

Player: Oh yeah?

Bruno: Yeah, it's a mark of being well bread...

Player: Oh, Bruno…

{if Tom}

Tom: Well, I felt bad about not being able to make you anything nice last time… So the other day I asked Youcef to teach me to make something easy. So here it is.

Narration: Tom uncovers the tray.

Tom: I couldn't get the sizes very even but I think they'll taste nice.

Narration: On the main plate there's a stack of awkwardly shaped pancakes of varying thickness. On a side plate there's a half a grapefruit, a glass of orange juice, and a cup of hot chocolate.

{if Tom, but never coupled prior}

Tom: Well... This was the only thing I could think of...

Narration: Tom removes the tea towel uncovering two slices of toast cut into wonky heart shapes.

Tom: Having a cook meant I never really got to learn any cooking myself. Mum only ever let me near the toaster.

{if James}

James: Well, last time you got my famed avo-bagel.

Narration: James leans down and plants a kiss on your nose.

James: So I thought it was time for you to graduate to something a little more serious. Bake and saltfish. Just like Mum used to make it.

James: Well, a fish-free version of it.

{if James, but never coupled prior}

James: Crushed avocado on a seeded bagel. With some heat on the side, in case you can't handle it.

Narration: James winks at you.

Player: It looks delicious! Thanks, [your partner].

Narration: You both tuck into your breakfasts, enjoying the quiet of the daybeds in the morning. [your partner] turns towards you eagerly.

[your partner]: How is it?

Player (thinking): How's the breakfast?

CHOICE: Delicious

Player: So good I want to eat it all over again.

Narration: [your partner] beams at you.

CHOICE: Not bad for an amateur

[your partner]: Hey! I'm no amateur.

Player: Prove it.

CHOICE: Not bad for an amateur {Tom}

Tom: That's fair...

Player: Maybe if we do this again sometime you'll reach pro status...

CHOICE: It's... the thought that counts

Narration: You try to suppress the grimace, but [your partner] catches it.

[your partner]: Oh no, I'm sorry.

Narration: You both start to laugh.

Player: Maybe we'll just have to try again next time...

[your partner]: That can be arranged...

Narration: All of a sudden you hear a rush of footsteps and raucous voices.

Thabi: There you are!

Narration: Thabi, Angie, and Cora hop onto the daybed. All the other Islanders follow.

{if intimacy module}

[your partner]: Don't sit there!

Narration: The group turns to you both.

Player: We spilled some.... juice.

[your partner]: Apple juice!

Narration: Giggles break out.

Youcef: I told you they'd skulked off for some alone time.

Narration: Youcef winks at you.

Youcef: I have a sixth sense for these things, you know.

Bruno: A sixth sense, or a sexth sense...?

Narration: The group collectively groans.

Bruno: Not my best work, I'll admit, but it's not that bad!

Valentina: OK, OK. I think we've publicly shamed Bruno enough.

Tom: Do you really have a sixth sense?

Narration: Youcef turns to Tom, who's staring at him in awe.

Youcef: Guess you will just have to wait and see.

Valentina: OK, OK. Enough teasing, Youcef.

Narration: You all laugh. Everyone is sitting roughly in their couples. Some are closer than others… You see Thabi and Tom/Bruno's hands lightly touching.

Najuma: This reminds me of uni. Everyone all piled on a bed. No concept of personal space.

Thabi: Yes!

Tom: I had my own flat through uni, but I did board in school.

Angie: That's definitely not the same thing.

Thabi: It's close enough!

Youcef: Psh. Uni is nothing to personal space. You all would never survive the world of fashion. I once attended an afterparty that took place in a hotel room that was entirely made out of a bed. Wall to wall. One massive bed. Sixty people slept there in Dufy suits and gowns.

Player (thinking): That's…

CHOICE: ... tragic

Player: Did the gowns survive?

Youcef: A few. But there are creases that even a steamer cannot remove...

Narration: He hangs his head in silence.

CHOICE: ... my kind of party

Player: Hit me up next time.

Youcef: But of course.

CHOICE: ... going too far

Player: Even all of us sleeping in a room together is a bit much.

Thabi: But it's like a sleepover!

Narration: A few separate conversations break out. The sound of your voice is eclipsed by Valentina blowing a thunderous raspberry on Youcef's stomach.

Youcef: See?! Told you. I'm immune.

Narration: You both rise and make your way back to the day beds. You notice Angie getting up and walking back into the Villa on her own.

Player (thinking): What's up with Angie...?

Player: Back in a sec, guys.

Narration: You get up and follow Angie into the Villa, entering the dressing room behind her.

Insert Angie Friendship Module **

Narration: You take Angie's hand and make your way back outside together. Nobody has budged, except for Tom and Bruno who have fallen asleep.

Narration: A text sounds. Bruno springs into action.

Bruno: Text!

Narrator: Islanders, today you will hold a talent show. Each of you will give a special performance, the contestant who earns the most applause will be crowned the winner.

Narrator: Everyone starts talking all at once. There's a buzz of excitement in the air.

Cora: A talent show! Yay!

Thabi: Ooh, I'm so excited!

[your partner]: What will your talent be?

Player (thinking): Hmm... What's my most impressive skill? Or I could pick the thing I'll have the most fun with… What do I want to do in the talent show?

CHOICE: Sing

Player: I'm going to sing!

[your partner]: Good choice. You've got a lovely voice.

Player: Have you ever even heard me sing?

[your partner]: No, but you've got a nice talking voice. Anyway. I can't wait to hear.

CHOICE: Juggle

Player: I'm going to juggle!

[your partner]: I never knew could juggle!

Player: I've got many a hidden talent.

[your partner]: Well, I can't wait to see.

CHOICE: Do a sexy chair dance

Player: I'm going to do a sexy chair dance.

[your partner]: Ooh, good choice. Can't wait to see.

Narration: Everyone scatters to go and practise their talents.

Player (thinking): Time to practise! But first, who should I check up on? Who should I go see first?

CHOICE: Kitchen (Tom, Valentina, and Youcef)

CHOICE: Pool (Cora, Bruno, and Najuma)

CHOICE: Lounges (Will and James)

CHOICE: Done

CHOICE: Kitchen (Tom, Valentina, and Youcef)

Narration: You enter the kitchen and find it utterly chaotic. Valentina is surrounded by glasses and a random assortment of ingredients. Youcef is staring into the fridge, mumbling to himself. On first glance Tom is nowhere to be seen, but you can hear his voice.

Player (thinking): How should I enter the room?

CHOICE: Flamboyantly

Narration: You pirouette into the room, finishing with jazz hands. Valentina looks over at you and smiles, before turning back to her prep.

CHOICE: Meekly

Narration: You quietly walk into the room, with your gaze pointed at the floor. Nobody seems to have noticed your entrance.

CHOICE: Sexily

Narration: You saunter into the room, letting your hips do the talking. Youcef pulls his attention away from the fridge to watch you enter and smiles. Then he goes back to staring into the fridge and mumbling.

Valentina: Youcef, stop muttering into the void. You're creeping me out.

Narration: Youcef throws his hands up but doesn't stop mumbling.

Youcef: Chut...

Tom: Pardon me. Youcef? Youcef?

Narration: You peer around Youcef to find the source of the muffled speech. Tom is halfway inside a kitchen cupboard, with only his bum and legs poking out. Youcef is standing in his way, staring into one of the higher cupboards.

Player: Looks like Youcef is too engrossed in his meal planning to notice Tom...

Narration: Tom slowly backs out of the cupboard, carrying bunch of pots and pots, bumping into Youcef's legs and almost tripping him up.

Youcef: Nooo! You made me forget!

Tom: I was just trying to get out!

Narration: Tom surrounds himself with pots, pans, glasses and various other kitchen equipment.

Player (thinking): Tom…

CHOICE: ... what are you doing?

Tom: I'm getting my instrument set up!

CHOICE: ... I didn't know you were a drummer

Narration: Tom blushes faintly.

Tom: I'm not really, but I can do this!

CHOICE: ... you missed a glass at the back of the cupboard

Tom: Really? I thought I got them all!

Narration: Valentina laughs.

Player: I'm only messing with you.

Tom: Oh, OK.

Narration: He then starts to tap each item, first with a small spoon, then a chopstick, and finally, his fingertips. Valentina bobs along to the rhythm, getting progressively more into it. Valentina laughs, then turns on Tom.

Valentina: Tom, do you seriously need every single saucepan?

Valentina: How am I supposed to make my famous Chinese -spice honey syrup without a pot?

Tom: But I need them all.

Youcef: Yes, I need one too. Just give me that one there.

Tom: But that makes the perfect ding!

Youcef: OK, then give me that one.

Tom: That one makes such a nice thwack!

Player (thinking): This has gone on long enough. I'm going to…

CHOICE: ... step in and mediate

Player: OK, listen up.

Narration: Everyone turns towards you.

Player: There is a calm and rational way to solve this and I am going to help. Tom, you have to learn to share. Pick out your three least favourite pots.

Narration: Tom looks at you, pained.

Player: I'm waiting.

Narration: Tom stares at his pots and tests them out several times, seriously deliberating the choice.

Tom: They can have these three.

Narration: He reluctantly hands over three pans. One to Valentina, and two to Youcef.

Valentina: Thank you, Tom.

Youcef: Yes, and thank you, Player. We would have been arguing about this all day.

CHOICE: ... watch and see what happens

Narration: You fold your arms and lean back on the counter, observing the argument.

Valentina: Tom. Be reasonable.

Tom: All is fair in love and art.

Youcef: What a wise thing you just said, Tom. I will have to remember that one.

Narration: Valentina sighs.

Valentina: Youcef, it's a phrase. And he butchered it! Oh for goodness' sake.

Narration: Valentina makes a grab for one of the pans. Youcef catches on and grabs two for himself.

Tom: No! Those were my favourites!

Valentina: Tough!

CHOICE: ... cause more chaos

Narration: You swoop in and take as many pans as you can carry, racing around the kitchen island away from everyone.

Player: They're all mine now!

Narration: You do your best evil villain cackle. Tom, Youcef, and Valentina all look at one another and nod.

Valentina: Player, you have until I count to three to relinquish those pans, or we'll have to take them by force. One… Two...

Player (thinking): Do I dare wait until Valentina counts to three?

CHOICE: No surrender!

Valentina: Three!

Narration: All three of them lunge towards you. You're backed into the corner with nowhere to go. They pull at the pans in your hands, and the pans under your armpits start clashing to the ground. You're outnumbered and the fight is lost. You're left gripping one pot desperately. Youcef tuts at you.

CHOICE: OK, OK, I give up

Player: Fine...

Narration: You hand over all the pans. Youcef tuts at you.

CHOICE: This hasn't worked on me since I was a toddler

Valentina: Three!

Narration: The excitement gradually simmers down and all three resume their preparations. As you go to leave, Tom sidles over to you.

Tom: Hey. I heard you're doing singing in the talent show. Just wanted to let you know that I'd be happen to help you practise...

Player: You can sing?

Tom: No... But I'm good at vocal exercises! And I'd never turn down a chance to spend some more time with you...

Narration: He tugs at his fingers, shyly.

Tom: What do you say? Could you use me?

Player (thinking): Tom's offering to help me practise for the talent show. Might be a good way to get a leg up on the competition… and it would be a good chance to get to have some one-on-one time with Tom.

CHOICE (Premium): Please help me

Player: I'd love that! Thanks for offering.

Tom: No problem! Can't wait. I'll come find you later.

Narration: Tom goes back to his pot-banging. You turn to leave.

CHOICE: I don’t need help.

Narration: You turn to leave.

Player (thinking): Am I sure I don’t want any help?

CHOICE (Premium): Yeah, Tom can help me

Player: I'd love that! Thanks for offering.

Tom: No problem! Can't wait. I'll come find you later.

Narration: Tom goes back to his pot-banging. You turn to leave.

CHOICE: Nope, I’m fine by myself.

Player: I don't need any help. Thanks though!

Tom: No worries.

Narration: Tom goes back to his pot-banging.

Narration: On your way out you notice a few stray objects on the kitchen counter.

Player (thinking): Maybe I could use one of these objects in my juggling act…

Narration: There's a Turkish coffee pot, a lemon, and a ladle.

Player (thinking): Which object should I juggle?

CHOICE: Soup ladle

CHOICE: Lemon

CHOICE: Steak hammer

Narration: You slyly pinch the [juggling item 1] and leave the kitchen with it held behind your back.

CHOICE: Pool (Cora, Bruno, and Najuma)

Narration: As you cross the lawn, you hear music. Bruno and Najuma are flailing about rhythmically while Cora strums an acoustic guitar.

Cora: No, no, no. You two are completely off! Look, I'll count it for you. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

Player (thinking): Cora's trying to keep the beat…

CHOICE: Help Cora count

Player: One, two, three. One, two, three.

Narration: Cora spins round to see you and winks. Bruno and Najuma's movements slowly start to sync up.

CHOICE: Clap along

Narration: You clap the beat each time Cora says ‘one'. Cora spins round to see you and winks. Bruno and Najuma's movements slowly start to sync up.

CHOICE: Shout random numbers

Player: Nine, five, twenty. Eight, two, four.

Narration: Cora spins round to see you and laughs.

{if coupled with Najuma}

Najuma: Oh hey!

Narration: Najuma catches sight of you mid-twirl. She motions for you to come over. When you get close enough, she takes your hand and beams at you.

Najuma: Missed you.

Cora: OK, lovebirds. That's enough of that.

{else}

Cora: Player. Spill the tea. How's the competition shaping up? Should I be worried?

Player (thinking): Cora wants to know about the other acts…

CHOICE: You should definitely be worried

Narration: Cora's brow furrows.

Cora: I knew it.

CHOICE: They don't stand a chance

Narration: Cora raises her fist into the air.

Cora: Yes! We've got it in the bag.

CHOICE: Not telling

Narration: Cora gawps at you.

Cora: Traitor!

Bruno: Never knew you were so competitive, mate. I'm a bit scared.

Cora: Good!

Najuma: How you getting on with your singing/juggling/dancing?

Player (thinking): Najuma is asking how my singing/juggling/dancing practice is coming along…

CHOICE: I've been procrastinating…

Bruno: Story of my life.

Player: Why do something now when you can do it later?

Bruno: Or better yet... never?

Narration: Cora stares at you both.

Cora: I'm very disappointed in you two.

CHOICE: Roll out the red carpet

Player: I'm a star.

Cora: Woo! Yes to that!

Narration: She high-fives you vigorously, leaving your hand stinging.

CHOICE: Who needs practice when they've got talent?

Player: Right?

Najuma: I love it.

Narration: Najuma laughs.

Najuma: I better get back to practising. I've missed music and dancing.

Najuma: Chat later, Player.

Player: Later!

Narration: Najuma moves a few metres away and resumes her fluid movements.

Player (thinking): So…

CHOICE: ... how are you both getting on?

Bruno: Bricking it, to be honest with you.

Narration: Cora laughs.

CHOICE: ... anyone else here super nervous?

Cora: Hey, I didn't have any say in the matter.

CHOICE: ... Cora, you're helping the competition?

Bruno: What's the point in being a human metronome if you won't use your powers for good?

Cora: You got me there.

Narration: Cora laughs.

Cora: Well, I'm excited to perform.

Bruno: Show off, you mean.

Cora: Hey, you. But I'm a bit scared that Tom's percussion will overpower my vocals.

Narration: At that moment, you hear a thundering noise coming from the kitchen.

Player: Yeah, that's a possibility...

Cora: Might have to improvise...

Narration: She trails off.

Cora: I told him to get some equipment and come right back, but he's been gone ages. I'm gonna go find him.

Narration: She races off to the kitchen. Bruno looks at you and smiles.

Bruno: Alone at last.

{if coupled}

Narration: He takes your hand in his and rubs your knuckles with his thumb. You smile back warmly and tighten your grip.

Player: I meant to ask you, actually. Why aren't you doing stand-up in this talent show? Seems only natural you would.

Narration: He laughs and rubs his head, averting his gaze.

Bruno: Well... You all know me as Bruno the stand-up guy. So I thought I'd try and show a different side of me. Besides...

Narration: He looks up at you and smirks.

Bruno: I've used up all my best material on you lot already.

Narration: You can't help but laugh.

{else}

Player: Well, good luck!

Bruno: Oh, by the way, I wanted to say… If you want some help practising your dance, I'd be happy to step in. I make a great chair. And it might get you a leg up on the competition...

Player (thinking): Bruno is offering to help me practise my chair dance…

CHOICE (Premium): That'd be great

Player: I'd love that! Thanks, Bruno.

Narration: Bruno beams at you.

Bruno: Pleasure is all mine. I'll come find you when I'm finished up here. Catch you later!

Narration: Bruno walks off to Najuma and resumes their dance practice.

CHOICE: No thanks

Player (thinking): This would be a good chance to spend some one-on-one time with Bruno… Am I sure I don't want Bruno's help?

CHOICE: Yes, help me

Player: I'd love that! Thanks, Bruno.

Narration: Bruno beams at you.

Bruno: Pleasure is all mine. I'll come find you when I'm finished up here. Catch you later!

Narration: Bruno walks off to Najuma and resumes their dance practice.

CHOICE: No help needed

Player: Thanks but no thanks. I'd rather it just be my, my chair, and I.

Bruno: Fair enough. Good luck then. Catch you later!

Narration: Bruno walks off to Najuma and resumes their dance practice.

Narration: As you're leaving you see a few items scattered about the lawn. There's a guitar tuner, a sweaty towel, and a single plectrum.

Player (thinking): I could use one of these items in my juggling act! Which object should I juggle?

CHOICE: Plectrum

CHOICE: Guitar tuner

CHOICE: Sweaty towel

Player (thinking): This will do the trick!

Narration: You pick up the [juggling item 3] and carry it away with you.

CHOICE: Lounges (Will and James)

Narration: You approach the pool. James is standing by the edge, his body damp with sweat. Before you can get his attention, you see Will drag himself out of the pool. Water drips all down his body, his hair soaking wet. He shakes his head to shed some of the excess water.

Narration: They both have a big smile for you.

{alternate 1}

Will: Hey there...

Player: Fancy seeing you here.

Narration: James clears his throat and waves at you awkwardly from the sidelines.

Player: Hey James.

James: Hey, Player.

{alternate 2}

James: Hey gorgeous...

Player: Hey babe.

{alternate 3}

Narration: Will clears his throat.

Will: Hey, Player

Player: Hey Will.

James: We're practising our gymnastics.

Will: Acrobatics.

Narration: They both smile.

James: We can't agree on what it actually is that we're doing.

Will: So I suggested calling it gymnorobics.

Player (thinking): James and Will are doing gymnorobics…

CHOICE: Very catchy

Player: Did you think of that all by yourselves?

Narration: James goes shy. Will smirks.

James: Yeah... Glad you like it.

CHOICE: That sounds made up

Will: Well, it is.

James: But so is every word!

Player: Touché.

Narration: You all laugh.

CHOICE: You should spend less time naming...

Player: And more time practising.

Will: I'm wounded.

James: Cold as ice.

Narration: You all laugh.

Player: So, one more time… How is throwing each other in the pool a talent?

Will: That is a fair question.

James: We've been practising our lifts. Me, lifting Will, that is.

Will: And I thought falling into the pool might trump falling on the ground… No spongey mats here in the Villa, unfortunately.

Player: Do you do this stuff outside the Villa?

Will: Yeah, I'm a big fan of anything that involves strength and flexibility. Yoga, calisthenics, barre. You name it, I've tried it.

Player (thinking): That's…

CHOICE: ... impressive

Player: Flexibility and agility is key.

Will: You like that, eh?

Narration: James looks extremely uncomfortable.

CHOICE: ... exactly how I feel

Will: Thanks...

Narration: James looks confused...

Will: That's me.

CHOICE: ... hot

Player: And not all of them as safe for work...

Narration: Will winks at you.

Will: Write them down so you don't forget...

Narration: James looks extremely uncomfortable.

CHOICE: ... giving me all sorts of ideas

Narration: Will smiles at you and pushes a strand of hair out of his face.

James: Yeah... I'm definitely not as flexible as Will here. I've always been active. Y'know, cycling, running, rock climbing. But ever since last year I've been really trying to work on my flexibility.

Player: What happened last year?

James: Oh, uh. I just realised that I could run a half marathon, but couldn't touch my toes. Seemed like a sign to shake things up.

Narration: James laughs. Will elbows him.

Will: Let's get a bit more practice in.

Player (thinking): James and Will need to practise their gymnorobics… What should I do?

CHOICE: Join in

Player: Mind if I join you guys for a bit? Wouldn't mind a bit of exercise myself.

James: Sure!

Will: Yeah, I could do with not being the liftee for a while. No offence, James.

James: None taken. So who do you want to do the lifts with?

Player (thinking): Who should lift me?

CHOICE: James

Player: James! Lift me, lift me!

Narration: A big smile spreads across James' face.

James: Sure thing.

Narration: He gets into position, squaring himself off, making sure his feet are firmly planted. He gives you the nod. You run at him and leap into the air… He catches you in his strong hands. You tense your core muscles, holding yourself elegantly, eyes closed. You feel the strength of his grip as his fingers press into your hips. Slowly you are lowered back to earth, beaming at one another.

Player: Nice one!

CHOICE: James {if coupled with Will}

Narration: Will’s face is unreadable. James shifts uncomfortably.

James: Sure.

Player: Nice one!

CHOICE: Will

Player: Will! Lift me, lift me!

Narration: A big cheeky smile spreads across Will's face.

Will: Whatever you say.

Player: Nice one!

CHOICE: Will {if coupled with James}

Narration: James' face falls slightly. Will looks surprised.

Will: OK. I will.

Player: Nice one!

CHOICE: I want to lift one of you guys!

Narration: The boys look at each other.

Will: I mean, if you can, I'm game.

James: Yeah, same. Just don't want you to hurt yourself.

Player: A volunteer please.

Narration: James and Will share another look.

Will: What's one more lift, eh?

Narration: Will approaches you and smiles.

Will: One volunteer. Just like you ordered.

Narration: You get into position a few feet away from Will, squaring your hips. You make extra sure your feet are firmly planted and your core is engaged. Then you give Will the nod. Will speeds towards you and leaps into the air without hesitation… You catch him by the hips. His hip bones push into your palms, his body tense. Your hold your position, feeling your muscles shake. Then you lower him gracefully to the ground. Both of the boys beam at you.

James: Wow! Player! That was beautiful!

Will: Yeah, I felt very safe up there. Nice one.

CHOICE: Just watch

Player: Mind if I spectate? I promise I won't throw rotten fruit if you're bad.

Will: Well, as long as you keep your promise...

James: I don't mind.

Narration: You sit cross-legged on the grass and watch them go. James stands at the edge of the pool, squaring his hips, firmly planting his feet. You see his stomach tensing as he engages his core. Will exhales and runs at him, leaping into the air… It's a good catch. James holds Will high in the air by the hips. Will's body is strong and agile. He looks like he's flying. You applaud. When James puts him down, Will is smiling breathlessly. The two of them start to laugh.

CHOICE: Sabotage them

Player: Hey, guys. I've know this really great exercise that I think will help.

James: Oh yeah?

Will: Lay it on us.

Narration: You lead them both to the edge of the pool, facing towards the water. A mischievous look comes over your face.

Player: Now close your eyes.

Narration: They do so. With one firm thrust with each hand, you push them both into the pool. They look shocked as they emerge from the water. You can't hold back your laughter.

Player: Your expressions! Priceless!

Narration: They join in your laughter and pull themselves out of the pool.

Player: Well, I'll leave you to it!

Narration: As you turn to leave, James catches up with you.

James: Hey, wait up. I almost forgot. If you need a hand with your juggling practise, give me a shout. : I'd be happy to give you a leg up on the competition.

Player: You juggle?

James: Any good bartender can juggle. What do you say?

Player (thinking): Should I let James help me with my juggling practise?

CHOICE (Premium): Yes please

Player: I'd love that! Thanks James.

Narration: James grins at you.

James: My pleasure. Seeya later.

Narration: He jogs back to Will.

CHOICE: I don't need help

Player (thinking): This would be a good chance for some one-on-one time with James… Am I sure I don't want his help practising?

CHOICE (Premium): Help me, please

Player: I'd love that! Thanks James.

Narration: James grins at you.

James: My pleasure. Seeya later.

Narration: He jogs back to Will.

CHOICE: Nope, no help

Player: I appreciate that, but I got this.

Narration: James smiles.

James: No worries. See ya later.

Narration: As you walk away you see a few objects strewn on the grass. There's a water bottle, sun cream, and a foam roller.

Player (thinking): I could use one of these objects in my juggling act… Which object should I juggle?

CHOICE: Water bottle

CHOICE: Sun cream

CHOICE: Foam roller

Player (thinking): Perfect!

Narration: You pick up [juggling item 2] and take it with you.

CHOICE: Done

{Premium Choice Singing}

Narration: You sit on a sun lounger, running through your performance mentally, as you wait for your coach to arrive. Eventually, Tom emerges.

Player: There you are.

Tom: There you are.

Player: I've been here ages!

Tom: I... forgot where we were meeting.

Narration: He laughs apologetically.

Player: So, remind me why I'm taking singing tips from you? You said you're not much of a singer.

Tom: I'm not. But I did take piano lessons all through school. Mum thought it was a good hobby for me to have. I liked it, apart from the exams… Anyway, once my school found out I could play piano, they roped me into the school choir. Which meant leading a lot of vocal warm-ups.

Player (thinking): What should I say?

CHOICE: That's impressive

Tom: Well, thank you.

CHOICE: I would never have guessed

Tom: Guess there's more to me than meets the eye...

CHOICE: How do I know you're not all bark and no bite?

Tom: Stick around and find out.

Tom: I'll show you my technique first, then you can show me what you've got. Sound good?

Player: Sounds good to me.

Narration: Tom gets himself all set up, laying all the pots and pans out around him in order of size. He proceeds to ding a small pot, then a large pot, then the small one again. Then he sings ‘la' to the tune of the first sound, sliding his a' up to the highest sound, and back down again. His voice is resonant, warm, and unwavering.

Tom: You have to it slowly to make sure you get every note.

Narration: He repeats the process starting and ending at different notes, all one octave apart.

Tom: Like that. See?

Narration: You can hear his vocal cords loosening and warming up as the sounds grows more confident and consistent. When he's finished, he looks at you to gauge your reaction.

Player (thinking): How should I react to Tom's performance?

CHOICE: Praise him

Player: Tom, that was very impressive. I didn't know you had it in you!

Narration: He smiles and shakes his head.

CHOICE: Put on your best poker face

Narration: You say nothing and put on your best straight face, betraying no emotions. Tom frowns at you quizzically.

CHOICE: Flirt with him

Player: You look really sexy when you do that...

Narration: He grins back at you, cheekily. He clears his throat.

Tom: Your turn.

Narration: You repeat Tom’s performance as best as you can, but feel yourself faltering.

Player (thinking): This is harder than it looks...

Tom: Here, let me...

Narration: Tom moves closer to you and places one hand on your back and another on your stomach.

Tom: You need to breathe deeper. Imagine you're expanding your lungs in every direction…

Narration: You take a deep breath, feeling Tom's hands move up as your lungs expand. As you exhale you sing the next note.

Tom: Perfect.

Narration: Tom is inches away from you. You can feel his breath on your skin...

Youcef: Do not let me disturb you...

Narration: You spring apart.

Tom: Youcef?! Where did you come from?

Player: Well, my soul just left my body.

Narration: Youcef chuckles and flops down on a sun lounger.

Tom: I better get back to practising.

Player: Same. Thanks for your help.

Tom: My pleasure...

Narration: You both walk off in opposite directions.

{Premium Choice Juggling}

Narration: You sit on a sun lounger, running through your performance mentally, as you wait for your coach to arrive. Eventually James emerges.

Player: There you are. I've been here ages!

James: I... forgot where we were meeting.

Narration: He laughs apologetically.

James: Well, I'm here now.

Player: So, remind me why I'm taking juggling tips from you? I didn't know you moonlighted in the circus.

James: Nope, you're right about that. It's just a skill you pick up on the job as a bartender. After fifty bridesmaids ask you to make their cocktail ‘more sexily'... Well, you give the ladies what they want. And that's basically a juggling act.

Player (thinking): What should I say?

CHOICE: That's impressive

James: Well, thank you.

CHOICE: I would never have guessed

James: Guess there’s more to me than meets the eye…

CHOICE: How do I know you're not all bark and no bite?

James: Stick around and find out...

James: I'll show you my technique first, then you can show me what you've got. Sound good?

Player: Sounds good to me.

James: So, what are we juggling?

Narration: You hand James the objects you've collected from around the Villa.

James: A [juggling item 1], a [juggling item 2], and a [juggling item 3]...?

Narration: He looks at you and laughs.

James: Well, alright then!

Narration: James stands straight, maintaining his posture, while he carefully arranges the objects in his hands. Tentatively at first, he throws the objects in the air and begins juggling them. As he's getting warmed up, he almost misses the [juggling item 2], but saves it just in time.

James: Whoops. You don't want to do that.

Narration: After a few rounds, he finds his rhythm, and the throws and catches seem more confident and self-assured. The objects soar higher and higher into the sky… He catches them all with a flourish.

Player (thinking): How should I react to James' performance?

CHOICE: Praise him

Player: James, that was very impressive. I didn't know you had it in you!

Narration: He smiles and shakes his head.

CHOICE: Put on your best poker face

Narration: You say nothing and put on your best straight face, betraying no emotions. James frowns at you quizzically.

CHOICE: Flirt with him {if coupled}

Player: You look really sexy when you do that...

Narration: He grins back at you, cheekily.

James: Thanks, babe.

CHOICE: Flirt with him

Narration: James looks at you, obviously taken off guard.

James: Thanks… I bet you'll look better though...

Narration: He clears his throat.

James: Your turn.

Narration: You repeat James’ performance as best as you can, but feel yourself faltering.

Player (thinking): This is harder than it looks...

James: Here, let me...

Narration: James moves closer to you and places one hand on your back and another on your stomach.

James: You need to keep your posture straight, and your core engaged. It helps keep you steady.

Narration: His hands remain where they are, reminding you of how to hold yourself. As you start juggling again, the rhythm is a little easier to maintain. James is inches away from you. You can feel his breath on your skin...

Youcef: Do not let me disturb you...

Narration: You spring apart.

James: Youcef?! Where did you come from?

Player: Well, my soul just left my body.

Narration: Youcef chuckles and flops down on a sun lounger.

James: I better get back to practising.

Player: Same. Thanks for your help.

James: My pleasure...

Narration: You both walk off in opposite directions.

{Premium Choice Chair Dance}

Narration: You sit on a sun lounger, running through your performance mentally, as you wait for your coach to arrive. Eventually he emerges.

Player: There you are.

Bruno: There you are.

Player: I've been here ages!

Bruno: I... forgot where we were meeting.

Narration: He laughs apologetically.

Bruno: Well, I'm here now.

Player: So, remind me why I'm taking chair dancing tips from you? And why have you never given us a demonstration before?

Narration: Bruno laughs.

Bruno: Cheeky. Well, I've always been into dancing, really. Starting with watching that celebrity dance competition with Mum. And as for chair dancing. Well… I first saw a lad doing one in this crappy bachelorette style movie, and I thought… What a legend! Then I saw all those online chair dance tutorials and thought I may as well give it a go myself!

Player (thinking): What should I say?

CHOICE: That's impressive

Bruno: Well, thank you.

CHOICE: I would never have guessed

Bruno: Guess there’s more to me than meets the eye…

CHOICE: How do I know you're not all bark and no bite?

Bruno: Stick around and find out...

Bruno: I'll show you my technique first, then you can show me what you've got. Sound good?

Player: Sounds good to me.

Narration: Bruno brings out a fold out chair and winks at you.

Bruno: Something I prepared earlier.

Narration: He pauses.

Bruno: Feels weird without music.

Narration: He shrugs and focuses his gaze on the chair, walking towards it slowly. When he reaches it, he sensually straddles the back of the chair, moving his hips rhythmically. His hands firmly grip the back and arm of the chair. The muscles in his arms tense as he lifts himself into the air, into a handstand. A bead of sweat drips down from his back to his neck as his core engages. After a few more sensual twists and acrobatics, he lowers himself to the ground, looking to see your reaction.

Player (thinking): How should I react to Bruno's performance?

CHOICE: Praise him

Player: Bruno, that was very impressive. I didn't know you had it in you!

Narration: He smiles and shakes his head.

CHOICE: Put on your best poker face

Narration: You say nothing and put on your best straight face, betraying no emotions. Bruno frowns at you quizzically.

CHOICE: Flirt with him {if coupled}

Player: You look really sexy when you do that...

Narration: He grins back at you, cheekily.

Bruno: Thanks, babe. I bet you'll look even sexier…

CHOICE: Flirt with him

Narration: Bruno looks at you, obviously taken off guard.

Bruno: Thanks… I bet you'll look better though...

Narration: He clears his throat.

Bruno: Your turn.

Narration: You repeat Bruno's performance as best as you can, but feel yourself faltering.

Player (thinking): This is harder than it looks...

Bruno: Here, let me...

Narration: Bruno moves closer to you and places one hand on your back and another on your stomach.

Bruno: You need to engage your core more. Try to push against my hand with your stomach muscles.

Narration: He pushes his hand slightly harder against your stomach. You tense your abs to resist the pressure. As a result your body stops shaking and your position becomes easier to hold. His hands are warm on your stomach, your abs are burning.

Bruno: Perfect.

Narration: Bruno is inches away from you. You can feel his breath on your skin...

Youcef: Do not let me disturb you...

Narration: You spring apart.

Bruno: Youcef?! Where did you come from?

Player: Well, my soul just left my body.

Narration: Youcef chuckles and flops down on a sun lounger.

Bruno: I better get back to practising.

Player: Same. Thanks for your help.

Bruno: My pleasure...

Narration: You both walk off in opposite directions.

Narration: As you're walking through the Villa your phone sounds.

Player: I got a text!

Narration: Your shout reverberates across the Villa. The other Islanders come running.

Narrator: Islanders, the talent show is about to start. Please make your way to the stage.

Narration: As you read the text aloud, you scan your fellow Islanders' faces. Bruno has gone pale. Tom is beaming from ear to ear. Will's expression is hard to read.

Player: Let's do this thing.

Narrator: You heard her! If only I could sound that cool… I wouldn't be sitting here in this shed talking about these lot, that's for sure. I'd do nature documentary voiceovers or something decent. Anyway! Still to come… The Islanders are in for a surprise...

Najuma: No way...

[your partner]: What was that about?

Narrator: Stay tuned!

#litg2 #litg #fusebox games

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magpie-to-the-morning · 3 years

Text

Sundress Season

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.5k

Tags: Fluff, Domestic af, Hurt/Comfort, Nothing major the Reader got some scratches gardening and Frankie is Concerned, p in v sex, wrap it before you tap it, Size Kink, Sort Of, Exhibitionism, If You Squint, A little, Dirty Talk, mostly just tooth-rotting fluff (plus a little loving smut),Triple Frontier, Frankie “Catfish” Morales, Domestic, Gardening, Outdoor Sex, No Beta

Summary: You and Frankie have just moved into a farmhouse fixer upper and are enjoying the first warm day of spring. A lazy afternoon nap turns into something... more.

Read on Ao3

Leaning the shovel against the white picket fence, you stand back to take an appraising look at your handiwork, squinting against the midday sun. You’ve taken advantage of one of the first truly warm days of spring to plant some blackberry bushes along the boundary of your new home. Sweat slides down your spine and you can already feel a dull ache spreading through your calves and along your forearms, but you toss aside your leather work gloves with a grin, proud of your morning’s work. You brush your hair away from your face with the back of an arm, leaving a trace of dirt along your forehead. “Frankie, come look.”

“One sec.” His answer is muffled, even considering it’s coming from inside the old farmhouse the two of you have just moved into, and you realize he must still be working on the kitchen sink.

You enter the house, surprisingly cool and dim after the sunny warmth outside, and walk to the kitchen. Frankie’s legs jut out from beneath the sink, and all you can see of him are his work boots, khaki pants, and a glimpse of his soft stomach where the rusty red t-shirt he’s wearing has ridden up. You lean against a nearby counter, the smooth stone lip pressing into your lower back, and smile down fondly at him. “How’s the sink coming?”

The house is a dream come true for both of you, but it’s also needed a ton of work both inside and out. You’ve already sanded floors, patched up creaking stairs, painted most of the rooms, and ripped out overgrown hedges that had threatened to take over the yard. Once you’d cleared them out, the yard and gardens became an invitingly open canvas, just waiting for you to make your own.

The two of you had spent several late winter evenings curled up in front of the stone hearth, seed catalogs and plant nursery order slips laid out in front of you, arguing pleasantly over how to cram in every plant both of you want. You’re determined to line the yard with fruit trees and shrubs, while Frankie is surprisingly invested in the beds where he plans to cultivate tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and a variety of herbs. At least you both agreed to leave the large, well-established lilac trees bookending the house, and you’re currently waiting to see who will win the bet about what color the sprawling, thorn-covered rose bushes will be. You’re hoping for a buttery yellow to complement the lilacs, while Frankie is holding out hope that they’ll be the same pale pink as the roses he’d brought you for one of your first dates.

This morning, just when the two of you had made plans to tackle some of the new plantings, the kitchen drain had backed up. You’d decided that job would be better handled by Frankie and headed out to start the landscaping yourself. “Almost there, I just need to…” Frankie’s deep in concentration, and you swear you can almost see him sticking the tip of his tongue out as he focuses. There’s a final sound of metal scraping against metal, followed by a victorious “ha! Try it now.”

“You sure? I don’t want to soak you.”

A muted huff echoes from the space below the sink. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“Ok,” you shrug. “Just don’t blame me if you get a faceful of water.” You turn the tap on slowly and watch as the water spirals easily down the drain. “Hey, you did it!”

Frankie braces a hand along the top of the cabinet and pulls himself to his feet. “Don’t sound so surprised,” he teases. “Told you I could do it.”

“My hero,” you say lightly, crossing the floor to kiss his smiling cheek. His scruff scrapes lightly against your face, and you find yourself lingering, especially when he captures your lips for a proper kiss. “Now I can wash some of this dirt off- I feel like I brought half the yard in.” After the hours you spent planting various shrubs and a few small fruit trees, your arms are streaked with dry soil.

“Here, let me help you.”

Frankie steps behind you, his broad form leaning against yours as you stand at the newly repaired sink. His thighs press lightly against your own as his arms encircle your waist. He leans his chin on your shoulder and his messy curls brush against your ear while he begins to run soap over your forearms. You laugh, his efforts mostly just splashing dirty water around, but the cool water is a welcome relief. “Frankie! I can do it myself.”

You can feel him smiling against your neck. “I know, I just- oh.” His voice turns suddenly soft, with a note of worry.

“What is it?”

“Baby, you hurt yourself.” He steps alongside you, examining the delicate skin of your inner arm with a concerned frown. “What happened?”

“What?” You look down and see a few thin, angry red lines streaking the length of your forearms. “Oh, it’s nothing. The blackberry branches were thorny, that’s all.” You’d been wearing one of Frankie’s flannels for a little extra protection, but it had grown too hot and you’d stripped down to just your t-shirt. “It’s fine, they’ll heal fast.”

Despite your reassurance, Frankie ducks into the bathroom while you pat your arms dry with a clean dish towel and comes back holding some ointment. “They’ll heal better with this.” He flips open the cap and looks up, seeking permission.

You nod, unwilling to deny him anything, especially with that melting brown gaze trained on you. It’s not necessary, but you have to admit- you love that he takes such good care of you. Frankie takes his time, gently stroking a dab of ointment over each small scratch. His light touch quickly takes the sting out of your small hurts, and when he’s finished you catch his hands, bring them up to your lips for a grateful kiss. You adore his hands- so much bigger than your own, strong and capable but still so deft. He ducks his head and smiles and your heart clenches with love for this quiet, loving man.

------- After changing out of your dirt-streaked jeans and into a clean sundress (which, of course, Frankie also offered to help with), you head back to the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge. The cold glass bottle begins beading almost at once, and you hold it against your slightly sunburnt neck. “I was going to go read in the yard for a bit, care to join me?”

“I’ve got a couple more things to finish up here, you go ahead.” Frankie drops a kiss to your temple as you pass, on your way to get a book and an old quilt to spread out on.

“Ok, see you in a bit.” The old screen door swings shut behind you, bouncing slightly before it catches the latch. A project for another day, you think. The two of you have already done plenty, and for now you just want to enjoy the rest of the sunny afternoon.

You spread your quilt out under a flowering magnolia tree which offers just the right amount of shade and lay down on your back. A light breeze stirs the green grass around you and sets the flowering tree branches swaying, a few pale pink petals raining down. Sunlight dapples your face as you relax, enjoying the surroundings of the garden you and Frankie are making together. The book is good, but you find yourself distracted, listening to nearby birdsong and watching billowing clouds scud across the bright blue sky. With the sun warm on your face, it’s not long before your eyelids are drooping.

-------

When you wake up, shadows are lengthening across the yard and Frankie is sprawled out next to you, having come out and dozed off at some point after you did. You lean into his shoulder, still warm from the heat of the sun, and smile against him. There’s a patch of skin just below his hairline and above his collar, and you lean in to kiss him just there. He tastes faintly of clean sweat and you press your tongue against him, seeking the slight taste of salt.

Frankie stirs and sleepily cracks one eye open. “Can I help you?” Try as he might to sound long-suffering, you suspect he enjoys your touch.

“Nope, I’m good.” You toss your book aside and drape yourself over his back, enjoying the slight movement below you as he shifts to accommodate you. It’s getting a little cooler now as the sun slips towards the horizon, but Frankie’s warm, solid presence grounds you. He tenses a little when you lean your head on his shoulder and you pull back at once. “Is your shoulder still bugging you?” He’d pulled it while you were moving and as hard as you try, you don’t always manage to wrest the heavier chores away from him, so it’s been a slow recovery process.

His answer rumbles quietly from below you. “A little. Working on the sink probably didn’t do it any favors.” You lean up at once, straddling his waist so you can massage his neck and shoulders. “Poor thing, you are tight here.”

He hums in agreement, though you can feel the tension begin to leak out of him as you knead his tense muscles. You work a stubborn knot, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder, and as he sighs you can feel him relax further.

You lean down once more, careful to put your weight on your hands, braced against the ground, and drag your mouth lazily over his neck. Your seeking licks turning to more intent kisses and when your teeth close over his pulse point, Frankie lets out a low groan and bucks his hips. You feel the movement all through him, especially where you’re seated against his ass.

“You want me to stop?” You ask teasingly, getting the expected shake of his head in response. You grind slightly against him before returning to nose at his neck. By the time you trace the shell of his ear with your tongue and nip gently at the cartilage, Frankie has had enough.

He rolls the two of you over with a smooth motion that ends with you flat on your back, and him smiling above you. “Oh, are we done fooling around?” You look up playfully. “I can show you the blackberry bushes before-”

He stops your mouth with a kiss, nipping at your lower lip before licking his way into your mouth. Delight shivers through you and you deepen the kiss, your tongues tangling languidly. You run your hand through his tangled curls, scraping your nails against his scalp. This pulls a soft noise from low in Frankie’s throat as he leans into your touch. His nose brushes yours and he nudges your cheek, trails kisses down your jaw.

Heat is pooling low in your belly and you spread your legs to invite him closer. Frankie takes the hint, canting his hips to drag the growing bulge in his pants against your core while you push back into him. “We should head inside,” you gasp as he moves lower, sucking at the delicate skin of your neck.

“We can if you want, but who’s gonna see?” His large hands cup your breasts and he dips his head to brush kisses over their swells. You arch your back, desperate for his touch even as you look around cautiously. He has a point; there’s no neighbor on this side of the house, just a patch of woods, and you’re well back from the road.

“Good point.” You reach down to tug at the hem of his shirt. Grinning, he sits up for a moment to help you. As soon as he’s shirtless he gets straight back to the task at hand. Frankie’s fingers make quick work of the buttons running the length of your sundress and he pulls the fabric aside, exposing the creamy lace of your bra. Your stomach flips at the sweet, eager look on his face. You’ve been together so many times, but he always makes you feel special, cherished. Despite being outside, potentially exposed, you feel completely at ease in his arms.

With a quick glance up to check that you’re ok with it, Frankie unclasps your bra and helps you shrug out of it. The air is slightly cooler now, but his warm, broad palms encompass your breasts before the chill can even register. You sigh as his thumb brushes your nipple, and downright shudder when he wraps his plush lips around the stiffening peak. Your legs are writhing almost of their own accord now as you grow desperate for more. “Frankie,” you groan, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips curve into a smile and his tongue darts out to flick against you. It glides along your swollen bud and your pussy aches for more so you hitch your leg over his hip. Frankie grabs your thigh to hold you close and rolls his hips sinfully against you, drawing a desperate noise from deep in your throat. “You like that, baby?”

You nod frantically. “You know I do. You know it drives me crazy when you put your mouth on me.”

Frankie chuckles and sucks your nipple into his mouth, pulling much of your breast along with it. The tugging sensation sends a bolt of desire straight to your cunt and you whine. You seize his jaw and glare, your eyes blown with lust. “If you don’t touch me soon Francisco I swear I will go inside without you and finish the job myself.”

You’re all talk and Frankie knows it. “I am touching you, sweetheart,” he says innocently.

You give an irritated huff and seize his hand, directing him where you want it. His composure slips when his fingers brush the crotch of your panties, already soaked with your need. His gaze flicks to yours, a lovestruck look in his eyes as he asks softly, “is this all for me?”

Biting your lip you nod. “Yes. I need you Frankie, please .”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby.” Frankie hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them over your legs. You kick them off, nearly sobbing in relief as he drags a single finger through your glistening folds.

Frankie closes his eyes reverently. “Shit honey, you weren’t kidding.” His finger comes away coated in your juices and he sucks it slowly before replacing the digit. He adds another finger, the pads slipping just inside your entrance to collect more of your slick before circling your clit. You tip your head back, grasping his shoulders as he gently fingers your slit. Just when you can’t take it, when you’re ready to beg for more, he pushes those fingers into you, stretching you out perfectly. Mewling, you buck your hips, chasing the feeling of him fucking you open.

“Mm, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Never. Think you can take another?”

“Yeah.” Your answer comes as a breathless whine.

“Good girl.” Frankie adds a third finger and you swear it makes you see stars. He curls his fingers to stroke that spot deep inside and you find yourself skating the edge of your release. You’re so close, could so easily tip right over that edge, but it’s not until you hear Frankie murmur “come for me, beautiful” that you actually do. All that gorgeous tension he’s been winding up unspools in a rush of pleasure, your legs shaking and your hips bucking as he works you through it.

You’ve scarcely begun to come down before Frankie’s blazing a trail of kisses down your belly, his hands gently parting your thighs wider to settle between them, keen concentration suffusing his handsome face.

“Wait,” you breathe, catching his jaw with a deft hand.

Frankie draws back at once, concern creasing a furrow between his brows as he gazes up from between your legs. “Everything ok?”

You sit up, already nodding to reassure him as you draw him forward and kiss him deeply. “Everything’s perfect. I just want to come on your cock this time.”

Frankie looks down at you in amazement before pulling you into a crushing embrace. He tilts your chin up to give you a searing kiss, his arm wrapped around your waist. He leans his forehead against yours, his breath tickling your lips as he rasps “You’re perfect, you know that, right?”

You giggle, moved by the awestruck look on his face, and drop your hands to unbuckle his pants. He’s already barefoot, making it easier to push his pants down, followed by his boxers. You glance around again, reassuring yourself that the coast is clear. Clocking what you’re doing, Frankie chuckles. “Don’t worry, baby, we’re good.”

Smiling a little sheepishly, you nod. “I know. Just protecting your honor.”

Frankie begins to laugh softly but the sound is cut off by a hiss as you lick your palm and wrap it around his shaft. “F-fuck.” His eyes roll back in his head as you tighten your grip, working his cock. You brush your thumb over his weeping slit, collecting the pearly bead of precum glistening at the tip. “Now who’s being a t-tease?”

You look up at him innocently through your lashes. “I don’t know what you mean, Frankie.”

“Sure you don’t,” he huffs, his breathing already picking up. “C’mere, baby.” He pulls at your waist, encouraging you up into his lap.

You’re happy to oblige. With a few quick movements, you’re settled above him, his cock lined up with your entrance. Throwing your arms around his neck, you lower yourself slowly, taking him inch by inch. Frankie buries his face in the crook of your neck and meets you halfway, thrusting up to seat himself fully inside you. He always seems even bigger when you’re on top, and he gives you a moment to adjust to being so well-filled.

“You good?”

“You have no idea.”

He smiles at that, clearly pleased. “Then tell me,” he urges, kissing you just below your ear. “Tell me how much you like me stretching you out on this big dick.”

Your eyes flutter closed at this. He knows what dirty talk does to you, knows exactly when it will be the most devastating. “It feels so fucking good, baby,” you assure him. “You’re so thick and you hit so deep. I can’t get enough, want you even deeper. Please, Frankie.”

He sucks hard at your pulse point, his tongue laving your neck as he begins to thrust up into you. “Anything, baby. I will give you anything you ask for. You know that, right?”

Gasping, you nod quickly. “I know, love. I know.”

His fingers tangle in your hair, his strong arms bracing you as he fucks up into you. You match each thrust, grinding yourself on the base of his cock. The two of you find your rhythm and you lean back, allowing him to hit at an even deeper angle. Frankie leans forward, able to reach your breasts now. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, all wet heat and slick tongue moving against you. You whimper and arch your back, trusting him to support you.

He does.

Frankie’s eyes are screwed shut as he pounds into you, determined to take care of you before finding his own release. Your whimpering cries plateau and he can tell you’re not quite there yet. He rests his forehead against yours without missing a beat, opening his eyes to gaze into yours. “What do you need, baby?” He asks it softly, reverently, his large hands cradling your face as if you’re something holy. With him looking at you like this, you almost feel that way.

“Talk to me, Frankie,” you gasp. “Want to hear how much you like this.”

Your want pulls an answering moan from him. “God, you know I fucking love this. You’re so tight, and you take me so well, baby. I could pound this pretty pussy all day.” He snaps his hips, driving himself deeper inside you as if to prove his point.

Your breathing comes faster, your cunt clenching around him as his words drive you closer to your edge. “Fuck, yes, just like that. I’m so close, baby,” you whine.

Frankie cants his hips, hitting that devastating spot deep inside you. His voice is even huskier as he urges you onward. “You have no idea what hearing that does to me, sweet thing,” he pants, sweat dampening his hairline. He runs the back of his hand distractedly over his forehead. He’s not about to let go before you do and he leans in close, his warm breath ghosting against your ear. “ Come for me. I know you want to. I can feel you clenching around me so be my good girl and come for me, sweetheart . ”

And just like that, a wave of sweet pleasure rolls through you. You clutch his shoulders as the two of you ride it together, Frankie moaning against your lips as he finds his own release.

Your head drops to his shoulder, your limbs quivering as little aftershocks zip through them. Frankie holds your limp form easily, dropping lazy kisses over your face and hair while you drift back to the present. Finally, you draw back, a dazed smile tugging at your lips. You blow out a breath along with a tired, please laugh. “That was-”

Frankie chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, pleased to have pleased you. “I know, baby.” His kisses are easy, unhurried, and still make you feel nearly drunk with happiness as the two of you linger lazily in your afterglow.

By now, the sun is truly setting, the horizon taking on a purple hue as the first evening stars begin to appear. Even in Frankie’s arms, you start to shiver as the breeze whispers over your rapidly cooling skin. In a deft move, he tugs at the edge of the old quilt, rolling the two of you into it, creating a cocoon of private warmth. As the sky darkens and more stars appear, the two of you stay wrapped up in each other, making plans for your future in the peaceful space you’re creating together.

#Frankie Morales x Reader #Frankie Morales x F!Reader #Frankie Morales x You #Francisco Morales x F!Reader #Francisco Morales #Triple Frontier #Pedro Pascal #Fic #My fic #Reblogging to add to masterlist properly #Sundress Season

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

Try A Little Tenderness

Summary: Han Seo gets treated with kindness and affection and he doesn’t know how to process these foreign feelings. Also he gets a first eye contact of the mafia couple.

Author's note: A few of you said you would like to read this so I popped it out real quick in between real life and all that mess, I did something like this for IOTNBO and really enjoyed that sometimes it’s fun to see a relationship from an outsider’s pov. I also saw a few people say that they ship our puppy with a certain someone so I threw in some crumbs because the visuals would be very pretty and good for my health. It has talks of past abuse (see psychopath brother) but I don’t think it’s any darker than the regular show. Happy reading!

He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to realize that he's nowhere near good or smart enough to keep alive such less work so closely to them and listen to their plans. They trust him, he can tell by the way that conversations don't taper off if he comes into the room with another question about how to use the copy machine- there are so many buttons and it's confusing figuring it out by myself.

This first time he sheepishly asks for help after reading articles online and coming no closer to understanding the massive machine, he expects more fanfare; a slap on the cheek, a rap on the forehead or just a simple sigh and "idiot" that he would smile in the face of but the word would stick to his heart for days on end. His eyes were glued to the ground after his inquiry so he missed whatever look they originally gave him but surprisingly enough Ms. Hong stepped forward, he almost flinched as the hand approached his view but instead of pain he just felt warmth on his shoulder.

Guiding him with the hand on his shoulder, she led him back over to the machine and patiently explained all the buttons to him, even smiling gently when he pulled out a little notepad to write down the many directions.

"You really only need these three buttons this is the power button, but this thing is ancient so sometimes it may need a good kick." He jumped marginally at the loud bang of her foot against the side, quickly writing that down as well.

Really old. Needs kick.

"Then you press this button to choose the amount of copies, choose double or single sided and choose with staple and that's it." His eyes darted rapidly trying to keep up with her directions while taking his notes. It sounded simple enough but his brother had taught him that if there was a way to fuck something up, he would find it, naturally. So his nerves skyrocketed when she turned to him with a grin and said, "Are you ready for another test? Make 20 copies of these." She handed him a small stack of papers.

His heart jerked in his chest and suddenly he was fifteen years old again staring at a test sheet and knowing none of the answers. It was hard to study with the fear of Han Seok barging into his room at any moment to do another sick experiment on him, once he had sliced his finger just to watch it bleed. He'd told his father that he accidentally cut himself while cooking and let the shame wash over him as he got a look that screamed that he was incompetent and pathetic.

"Han Seo? Are you okay? You seem like you're a million miles away." The pretty lawyer's concerned voice brought him back to reality and he could feel the stares of the other men in the room on his skin, Vincenzo being the heaviest. He really didn't want to look stupid on front of the man for some unexplored reason. He swallowed hard before facing the machine, feeling like he was going off to war.

He pressed the big power button, shaken when nothing happened but suddenly remembered his notes and with an almost unnoticeable glance he found his answer, swiftly kicking the beast of a copier he watched it roar to life and almost on autopilot he mimicked the motions that Ms. Hong had just demonstrated and watched in terror as the paper was swallowed and the copies were spit out from the compartment in the bottom.

I did it.

Everything seemed to be in order and the machine hadn't exploded. Yet.

"Oh."

The triumphant smile that had graced his face slide off like rain on a windowpane.

"I messed up. I'm sorry. Please let me try-"

He was bowing before he could stop himself, shame a familiar friend at this point in his life. There were very little moments that he didn't feel a tsunami of shame crashing over him in a thick heavy sheet.

"You just forget to select stapled. But that's minor, we can just staple them by hand." She responded nonchalantly picking up the copies and bringing them over to the table, "Good job though. Next time you'll probably get it perfect right?"

It was pathetic. He was pathetic. There was no reason for pride to grow in his chest like a mustard seed, he had only completed a basic task. Something that even a monkey could, actually monkeys could do even more complicated tasks. It was nothing to be proud of. He shouldn't have been smiling as largely as he was, they would think he was insane and kick him out.

But.

She'd said he did a good job. That wasn't a phrase he was used to hearing, he wasn't someone who did anything worth praising. He shuffled away back to the shelves that needed to be organized in alphabetical order, moving a large file to the front of the row unaware that there was an equally huge smile on his face. It stayed there for the rest of the day.

Working there was different from working with his brother. Astronomically. Nobody hit him there, even when he made mistakes. Instead he just got three heads over his shoulder helping him fix said mistake or Mr. Nam pushing his chair out of the way and taking over with only a gentle chide of, "Be careful next time." And it's clear that they all care for and respect each other. It's evident in the way that there's no clear hierarchy at the law firm, when they have meetings they alternate on who makes the coffee for the team, take turns buying meals and they are all allowed to speak and share their ideas without waiting for approval. It's nothing like he's used to and it makes him wonder if this is normal and what he's used to is...not.

It's enough to overwhelm him.

Then something catches his attention in the peripheral of his eye, Ms. Hong impatiently goes to take a sip of her coffee ignoring Vincenzo's firm warning against doing so and she flinches at the heat of the beverage, sticking out her tongue instantly after the first sip, blowing and huffing theatrically- something he's grown used to seeing from her. This isn't what shocks him though, it's Vincenzo's reaction. Immediately he walks over to the water cooler, filling a little paper cup before bringing it back over to her and thrusting the cool liquid into her outstretched hands.

"I told you to be careful." He says voices filled with exasperation as she gulps down the water, shooting him puppy dog eyes.

"I thouf it mould be cool enouf." She replies around her extended tongue and he watches the interaction with wide eyes, that only grow larger when the murderous Mafia member picks up the lawyers mug of steaming liquid and starts to blow on her coffee, his lips puckered into a perfect o. Ms. Hong watches absently as if this is expected behavior and after a few minutes, Vincenzo takes a sip of her coffee deeming it cool enough before handing it back to her. She takes a sip dangerously close to the spot his mouth had just occupied and hums at the temperature, shooting him a brilliant smile. To his utter surprise the usually stoic Mafia member smiles back fondly, before walking off to make a call. Ms. Hong watches him walk away before realizing that he's watching their interaction and a delicate blush blossoms in her cheeks before she stutters walking off to her table.

He glances between the two with his head tilted. Feeling curious.

Once he starts looking it's almost indecent how often the two touch each other, Vincenzo's hand never too far from Ms. Hong's back or arm and she never reacts to the sudden touches, no flinching or tensing up when a foreign hand is suddenly on her person. That's a new concept for him, he doesn't like surprise touches.

Then there's the fact that Mr. Cassano never allows Ms. Hong to hold anything, when she comes bustling through the doors with bags in her hand the smell of pasta permeating the room the older man is already making his way across the room tugging the bags from her hands wordlessly. He places them carefully on the table before smoothly dragging out her chair and guiding her into it with a hand on her waist.

"I brought your favorite. Authentic Italian food." She smirks up at him, opening the containers and he feels his mouth water at the tantalizing aroma that fills the room even more than before.

"It smells amazing! Where did you find authentic Italian food?" He asks inserting himself into their conversation and for a minute, he second guesses himself gearing up for a blow. But it never comes and Ms. Hong waves him closer, pushing a container of thick noodles in his direction.

"Are you hungry? Here have some!" She shoves chopsticks into his hand and watches him eagerly and he can do nothing but follow her orders, stuffing the tomato sauce drenched noodles into his mouth. When he looks up he sees that they are both watched him avidly, awaiting his review and he smiles around his bulging cheeks putting up two thumbs.

"It's delicious! Best Italian food I've ever had!" He stares excitedly and he's unprepared for Vincenzo's sudden glare, it's the first time the man has thrown such a look his way he gulps nervously at the unnerving sight.

"What- did I say something wrong?" He warily asks watching the Italian man angrily stomp off whilst muttering something indecipherable to him but that makes Ms. Hong smile mischievously, grabbing the container and chasing after the fleeing man.

"Stop being a snob! Have some, say ahhhh!" He can't comprehend the sight that he's watching, dumbfounded as the petite lawyer hangs on Mr. Cassano's arm and tries to feed him the Italian food.

"No! I don't want it, stop! Why do you keep bringing that here?" The Italian Mafia boss whines pushing her away but he notes that he never pushes her too hard, his shoves are very soft barely rocking her slight body. When she starts to chase him around the room, Han Seo can only watch in shock the behavior too childish for him to reconcile that these are the same people who have been thwarting all his brother's plans. Not even Mr. Nam entering the office is enough to stop their shenanigans and in the end it's Vincenzo who admits defeat, backed into a wall. Han Seo waits for her to give him the food and for this moment to come to an end. But neither one of them make a move, frozen against the wall staring at each other looking a million miles away.

It's then that it clicks for him.

They are more than just partners.

When one of the various plaza tenants burst through the doors only then is the tense moment severed, Ms. Hong jumps back flustered thrusting her hand at his face and Mr. Cassano has to open his mouth lest he get smashed in the jaw. He watches amused as a grimace crosses the older man's face as he swallows the food as if it's poison.

Ms. Hong flies across to help the cute pianist that he's seen around a plaza a few times. He stares at her from under his bangs, looking away when she catches his eyes. Coughing loudly he walks away to do something important that doesn't involve losing his wits because of a pretty girl. Maybe he can talk to Mr. Cassano later just to ask about her, there's nothing wrong with being curious about your neighbors after all.

He doesn't know where else to go so he comes to Jipuragi, letting out a sigh of relief when he sees all the lights off. He pulls the key that Mr. Nam gave him from his pocket, still in disbelief that they trusted him enough to give him a key to the establishment. He had blinked away tears when the older man pushed the small metal object into his hands, it felt like a huge responsibility. Almost like he was being accepted into their makeshift family. It was far more than he deserved.

Sitting down on his chair, he lets the agony wash over him. His cheek is throbbing, sore and swollen from the open handed slaps against the skin. Their stocks had dropped again from all the accusations and bad publicity, and his brother had once again taken it out on him berating him like a dog before kicking me out. It's nothing new, nothing he's never experienced before but it feels worst. Now that he's been around people who don't treat him like he's dirt, it hurts even more to go back to the old ways. He's so lost in thought he doesn't notice the door opening or the person creeping inside.

"What are you doing here?"

He jumps at the unexpected voice, twisting in his seat panicked. His heart rate settles once he sees the cool eyes of the man he's grown to respect. Vincenzo Cassano. He slumps in his seat, no excuses coming to mind and then it's too late and the other man is crossing the room and taking a seat across from him.

Those cold eyes narrow as they search his face, "What happened to your face?"

Images of his brother looming over him and slapping him on the ground flood his mind, along with his screams of pain as he pleads for him to stop. Then visions of a much smaller version of himself pleading similarly as his brother pulled his hair and laughed at his cries. He's crying before he ever realizes that the tear has condensed.

Vincenzo tenses across the table, looking lost and uncomfortable.

It only makes him cry harder. It's so much better than getting hit.

Without a word the Mafia boss stands up pushing his chair away, stomping powerfully to the door. He watches alarmed before finding his voice and calling out, "Where are you going?"

The man looks at him darkly answering, "To kill your brother."

He gapes at the statement said so matter of fact and a bubble of laughter rises to the surface, making him chuckle through his tears. He rears back further at the other man's blatant confusion following his outburst, feeling freer than he's ever felt because this is the first time someone has tried to defend him.

It feels nice. Better than nice, unbelievable.

His heart thumps as he looks at the other man that he has every reason to be scared of but instead he feels safer than ever in his presence, it almost feels like what a brother should. A real brother not the one that he has who would kill him tomorrow without batting an eyelash.

"He's not done suffering yet. But thank you." Vincenzo shifts awkwardly at his show of gratitude never accepting of thanks something he has noticed while observing the enigmatic man, he vaguely wonders what this man has been through to make the complicated person he sees in front of him. Maybe one day he'll ask.

"Well if you're going to stay here, there's a bed up there."

Impulsively he replies, "Have you ever used it before? Is it really okay for me to use?"

He's met with a puzzled look, which he returns with a calculating one and then he spares a quick glance over to Ms. Hong's table and the gears click and Vincenzo is tomato faced and yelling, "Watch your mouth you brat! Do you want a beating?"

It shouldn't be funny with his face still throbbing from a beating just hours earlier, but he laughs so much his stomach hurts and that pain dulls the ache in his face.

"Oh my goodness what happened to your face?" He's barely able to get out an answer before Ms. Hong is jogging across the room, ever so gently catching his face in her small warm hands. Immediately he's reminded of his mother and he has to look away before he embarrasses himself.

He mumbles a lie about tripping but she's already sending a ferocious knowing look over to her partner and he watches their silent conversation with large eyes, until her voice breaks the pregnant pause.

"I can't wait until we kill that punk. How dare he put a hand on you? I'll go get some medicine, you-" she points to Vincenzo, "get him some ice before it starts to swell." The man automatically follows her instructions, looking like a dutiful husband.

And that's how Mr. Nam finds them, Vincenzo pressing ice wrapped in towels against his cheek as Ms. Hong squeezes creamy ointment onto her finger and smears it across his cheek. He blames his glossy eyes on the pain in his cheek and not the one in his chest.

It's his first time walking around the plaza and he tries to ignore the suspicious eyes that trail him, he knows that they know him as their enemy's brother and underling so he doesn't blame them for not trusting him, he would do the same. The clang of piano keys catches his attention and leads him to the source of the noise like a siren luring lost men, he watches transfixed through the glass as delicate fingers fly across the keys in a frenzy. It’s mesmerizing.

He was forced to get piano lessons when he was younger, he was surprisingly good at it even better than Han Seok thus his brother became enraged and smashed his fingers putting a permanent end to his lessons.

The music lulls him into a sense of comfort so much so he doesn't realize when it ends and the small pianist notices that she has an audience.

When he finally looks up and catches her eye, he freaks out expecting her to look at him like all the others have today so he's unprepared for the door to slide open and for her to beckon him in with a crooked finger. He walks in almost as if in a trance, she's so pretty it's almost unnatural a supernatural glow surrounding her in her white flowing dress.

"How does it feel working at Jipuragi?" She asks suddenly catching him off guard, he sputters before taking a deep breath and looking away before replying, "I feel useful. It's....new."

That's all he can disclose and honestly it's more than he intended on saying but a knowing smile stretches across her pale face.

"Vincenzo, he's someone special who can make others feel special too." He smarts at the clear adoration in her voice, of course. She liked Vincenzo too. Every woman at this plaza probably did, the Italian was much more appealing than he would ever be- naturally charismatic and handsome, every woman's dream.

He smiles defeated stepping further into the space, running his fingers longingly across the piano keys. Something else that just wasn't meant for him.

"You like him too. It makes sense, he's really cool." He whispers, self deprecation swaddling him like a blanket.

It's obvious who else he's referring to only Vincenzo and Ms. Hong seem to be in denial at this point everyone else assuming that they're already dating.

She doesn't deny his accusation. It's his own fault for having hope but that knowledge does nothing to tamper the hurt that rumbles in his chest.

She hums before walking closer to him, fingers trailing across the black and white keys.

"I did. But they're good together."

He stills in shock, lightly pressing down on the key beneath his finger the sound vibrating through his skin. Then she presses another key that rings harmoniously with his and he can't not look over at her and he jolts breath stuck in his throat when he finds her already staring at him with a serene smile, "There are a lot of interesting people here though, someone else has caught my eye."

He plays the final note to fulfil the chord they started and their eyes never leave the other, music floating on the air between them.

Full. He’s never known what that felt like before but now he feels full of everything and he can't go back, can't ever go back to the way things once were.

There’s no looking back, only forward.

#vincenzo #jang han seo #best boy pov #chayenzo #but as his doting parents #a new ship that I think would be absolutely adorkable #I want to put han seo in my pocket #little brother energy #hyungs #Vincenzo #vincenzo cassano

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