zookwrites

[zookwrites]

striker cannon !!

like a wild animal without the promise of their next drink , striker very nearly forgot to thank the woman once his beer was offered . huge hands , calloused from securing ropes and wrestling livestock , grabbed the pale yellow liquid from the tabletop , guzzling an inch in one gasp , a thin line of white foam , a bubble-beard , clung to the overgrown strands at his facial scruff , before his mother’s voice kicked in . ‘ stevie , darlin’ , you got shmutz all over your face !! lemme grab it , ‘ the web between his index finger and thumb , decorated with a lighting strike tattoo , mopped the mess off his upper lip , digging to remind himself of the gentlemanly values instilled by the darling georgia cannon . “ thanks , fer the beer ‘n all , “

dani disappeared once again ; her words were ironic , given the very fact that the pair had spent their entire lives clawing together shreds of capital , let alone enough money , to stand on their own two feet in a place such as this . such fine dining — which wasn’t fine is the grand scheme of things , not at all , but fine enough for them — wasn’t made for people like him , for them ; the bottom of society that lived among the vermin and the dregs of living . despite the figures within the restaurant , they were far from being of the same breed , calibre or pedigree . “ well in that case i gots t’ let her down gently . don’t wanna make ourselves no enemies in here . the one time we’re shootin’ with the big guns and we get kicked out ‘cus i don’t wanna catch no case , “ 

once again forgetting his manners , alongside himself , fingers greedily delved into their food order once it was set in front of them . with every plate that had been possible to choose they were bundled together , atop each other , overlapping and teetering off the edges of tables , but with a bottomless pit of a stomach the plates likely wouldn’t last long . starry-eyed , the gratitude of before had deserted him ; fingers delved into baskets of onion rings , fries , wings , and deep-fried somethings , consuming as though it was the sole purpose of living . crumbs clung to the corners of his lips , fingers swimming in grease — it wasn’t that he was rude , not at all , simply catching up on lost time , filling his stomach with the idea that this may be his only opportunity for a long , long while . 

aspen’s mama would have described striker as all hat ,  no cattle ,  especially with his display of table manners begone .  aspen doesn’t quite mind it .  careful as she might be not to smear barbecue sauce over the red already adorning her mouth ,  she finds it freeing to sit with someone whose inhibitions lay elsewhere .  it gives aspen permission to sink her teeth greedily , gratuitous when she hums out her satisfaction after those first few sticky bites .  she hasn’t eaten a meal this good in a helluva long while .  

in the dim light of their intimate little spot ,  time whooshes so fast aspen’s a little dazed when dani comes round and stacks up their empty plates .  pleasantries exchanged ,  food and service most complimented ,  aspen’s found fishing in their winnings bowl for a generous tip to accompany what they actually owe .  by the time the pair makes it out of the restaurant ,  all body heat has rushed to her tummy ,  and she shivers when the cool nighttime air kisses her rosy cheeks .  

❝ my lord , ❞  the redhead manages to drawl through a startling chatter of teeth ,  jaw working overtime until she clamps it shut .  those chills sink lower ,  stubborn , and rattle her limbs until she’s pretty sure the wind is playing xylophone with her skeleton .  shoulders hunching ,  aspen folds her arms across the heat pumping straight into her working stomach and fixes striker with a borderline pleading gaze .  ❝  that ranch o’yours got someplace warm t’sit for a little while ?? ❞

[zookwrites]

pj bolton !!

when it came to relationships , pj hadn’t ever had much of a role model to look towards . it was clear that his parents , just as many couples those days did , had married not out of love , but out of necessity . his father had money and power , his mother had beauty ; what more did a relationship need ?? when cracks already exist in a marriage they are often widened , rather than bandaged , by the existence of children , and so had been the case when caroline and philip had enough of their only son and wanted to add more potential success stories to their family tree through adoption . his sister was added into their dysfunctional nest , and nothing had been the same since .

the majority of his same-sex romances ( mixtapes , rose petals , kisses in the moonlight ) had to exist beneath the shroud of his bedroom , not out of shame but of the fear that his father would be disappointed . it was always worse than angry , those quiet tuts and shakes of a head or the dismissive wave of a palm . perhaps , somewhere out there , existed a glimpse into a world where two people could , wholly and authentically , feel for one another .

downturned eyes spoke of empathy as pj listened to the other’s words . it would have been easier if his own parents had divorced all those years ago instead of slapping the band-aid of another child over the ever-widening canyon of their fizzling love . a part of him was jealous that the fights and using the children as a weapon had been nipped in the bud so early — would he have still been the same man , if he hadn’t had to stand between his sister and father to speak in her honour ?? would he have been so steadfast , so assured , so confident , if he hadn’t had to subsidise what his sister had lost in the crossfire . with the twitch of a smile , shrouded in the plumes of smoke billowing from nostrils and dancing from a gap in his lips , he commented ; “ that makes a whole lot more sense . i know i’d do anything to get back something that belonged to my sister . how old’s your brother ?? “ 

out of a mountain they were chiselling , brick by brick , a friendship , little glimmers of shared interests , of conversation , of unity beneath an anxious front . as they spoke the silences became less and less , shorter and shorter . walls were being broken down , albeit gradually — all thanks to a serendipitous turn of the winds . offering a slice of himself in response to basil’s baring of his soul , he continued ; “ my sister is a few years younger than me . i don’t think i’m her favourite person , but she’s mine , “ 

contrary to what the initial relief might suggest ( and that subsequently following the aftermath of it all ) ,  the divorce period itself had been far from easy .  what had come to light basil wishes would have remained skulking in the dark ,  slinking from shadow to shadow ,  condemned to corners of eyes so that ,  should one face it head on ,  it had no choice but to vanish .  basil’s pretty sure the biggest heartbreak hadn’t been that of his parents ,  who’d shared the privilege of having priorly acclimatised themselves to the separation ,  but the choices either brother had been forced to make . 

he misses nate dearly .  ❝  he’s only a year younger than me , ❞  basil explains .  he’d hoped that with such a small wedge between them they would have gotten along better ,  but nate had taken to their mother ;  basil ,  their father .  he’d chosen him so as not to abandon him ,  as much as he knows that ,  technically ,  he isn’t responsible for the man tasked with raising him .  in the end ,  it had meant abandoning nate .  and getting abandoned by him .  basil lifts the hoodie then ,  an unconscious action ,  and presses it to his mouth .  the honey - warmth of his brown eyes saddens into something weightier ,  cold like slick stalagmite . 

pj ,  it seems ,  understands that blood - thick loyalty ,  fierce and unwavering ,  despite what might be thrown their way by callous fate .  sad as his large eyes may be ,  basil smiles while he listens .  ❝  she in chicago ,  too ?? ❞  he asks . 

[zookwrites]

authatopia​:

it was no surprise that striker hadn’t picked up on their server’s cues . he wasn’t the sharpest tool , nor was he the shiniest horseshoe in the barn — academic smarts and common sense had failed him , skipping a generation and flooding the middle cannon ( what with his incessant need to keep the trailer tidy and his aversion to week-old socks ) . he was clueless enough that he simply smiled in response to the wink , taken as a gesture of goodwill , turning back to the menu to check whether there was anything to tack onto the end of their mammoth order . bodies peeled apart , the warm side of striker’s body quickly cooling in the absence of aspen ; perhaps he’d make an excuse to read something else , just to have her knees pressed up against his own once again .

“ well y’ could see my face pretty damn well from right close to it . “ it was a futile argument , one born from his inability to read between the lines , a tendency to take things at face value , black and white . moving the menu to one side , he plucked a napkin from the holder and began tearing shreds from corners with the tips of bitten fingernails — like petals ( she likes me , she likes me not ) he tore off shreds , piled upon the tabletop as he idly waited for his food . it soon became a string of gouges , much like a craft spiderweb elementary kids would make in their classrooms come halloween . distracted by her comment , his cedar gaze flickered from the DIY project between his fingertips to the cerulean glow of aspen buchanan .

“ no way in hell she’s sweet on me . you seen me , ain’t you ?? ‘m hardly patrick swayze .. “ the actors he could name off-hand could be counted on his fingers , the western greats alongside the hollywood starlets or big busted blondes striding across beaches in red lycra . “ although i could try ‘n get cheap drinks outta her for the night . whadd’ya say ?? do i keep on with it ?? “ little did he know that the seeds of affection had already been sown , the embers of jealousy ignited in the pit of the other’s stomach that burned and spread much like the flames atop her head . “ although she looks like she weren’t knee high on a grasshopper when i got my first wrinkle . she’d look mighty good with my little brother , though — more her age , i bet . “ 

confident as he may sound in his borderline childlike gripe ( it tickled a wind chime laugh out of aspen ) ,  fidgeting fingers ripping strands of tissue paper speak otherwise .  aspen pictures herself reaching out to steady those hands with warmth from her own .  it’s a thought that shocks deep into her stomach .  the fairy tail sequences conjured up by aspen’s wandering mind are often those of fleeing ,  of escape ,  brain detached from body and lifting off to someplace different ,  where everything feels light and soft round the edges .  there’s no need for running here .  striker feels soft round the edges . 

when she tuts ,  it’s with fondness ,  light and void of any real repercussion .  ❝  poor girl , ❞  aspen muses through a smile ,  though there’s something blue there ,  sad around the soft lines that shape it .  she reaches out then ,  though all temptation to touch even his knuckles is stayed by nerves ,  a warning of too soon ;  so she plucks up one of the tearaway stripes ,  wishing she could’ve plucked up some courage instead .  ❝  you’re gonna break her heart if y’do ,  ❞  not to mention that maybe dani’s just out for a big tip ,  and they’re coming across as big spenders ,  however brief their time under such guises might be .  she doesn’t voice the thought ,  not when it entails stomping on striker’s self confidence –  although ,  there doesn’t seem to be much of that .  aspen wonders what kind of cruel words have painted such a warped self image before his mind’s eye .  she wonders if she could ever add some kinder strokes . 

before her curiosity can run amuck ,  dani reappears .  this time ,  the oversized tray she’d had tucked under one arm lays perfectly balanced on her palm ,  their drinks sweating condensation under the amber lights. ❝  here y’have ‘em !!  ❞  she says ,  voice as enthusiastic as her swinging ,  bouncing ponytail .  she slides the pint down to striker and sets the ice tea beside aspen .  ❝  thank you ,  honey ,  ❞  aspen returns. ❝  no problem !!  i’ll be right quick with them starters ,  too ,  don’t go runnin’ away on me now !!  ❞ 

[zookwrites]

authatopia·:

check mate . it became more and more apparent that it wasn’t just basketball and field hockey that pj excelled in ; although he’d hung up his sticks and those too-short shorts took up space at the bottom of his drawers , he was merely chalking his palms in readiness for the game of life . it was sweet , really , the effect he seemed to have on his neighbour — he should get used to it , he supposed , if fame was ever to be within his grasp , knowing that adoring and obsessed fangirls would be plagued with a whole lot less self consciousness than basil seemed to be .

“ i know that’s not what you meant , “ an uncharacteristic softness , one that was so often yearned for from his teachers when they begged young philip to ‘ use his inside voice ‘ . leaning forward , fingers clasped basil’s shoulder in a show of companionship , a small sideways smirk as if to silently reassure him that things hadn’t been misconstrued , that it was just him with his mind-in-the-gutter attitude and inability to keep his damn mouth shut . “ i’m just playing around , but if the offer’s still there i’d love to come check out your pad sometime .. even if it’s just leverage with my landlord to get our rent slashed if yours is better than mine , “

sinking back into the couch that sought to envelope the oldest of the bolton duo , his mass of brunette ringlets cascaded over the back of the furnishing like a leaking tap . smoke was puff , puff , puffed up from his pursed lips in spirals that licked the ceiling and would no doubt contribute to the florida sun tan of their once magnolia walls . compared to his counterpart there was an effortlessness there , an assurance that had been years in the making and yet now stood , a lighthouse in the fog , beckoning those who continued to battle the current . flicking ash into the little tray upon his dirtied coffee table , his dark eyes remained upon the swirling mass before speaking , “ you know , you’re pretty jumpy . i’m surprised you even managed to knock on my door in the first place . must be one special hoodie . “

basil can only blame his inexperience .  it’s landed him in sticky situations a-plenty ,  where he’s been called everything between “ tease “ and “ coy “ ,  where the truth’s been branded on his forehead like a warning :  virgin .  when sally higgins had claimed his first kiss during a tipsy game of spin the bottle ,  he’d known that girls weren’t for him .  and while there have been opportunities for exploration ,  for casual play ,  easy ways out ,  he’s never found a guy he’s wanted to give the rest of his kisses to .  some had been swiped ,  and now he’s a little more careful when he drinks — not because anyone had forced themself on him ,  more so because basil ,  ever an eager people pleaser ( a recipe for poor impulse control and next day regrets when mixed with alcohol ) ,  has given into the easy pull of another’s lips when cast in the hazy sheen of intoxication . 

there’s a hand on his shoulder and basil’s dropping both of his from his face .  and then he feels that easy pull again ,  only ,  he’s completely sober right now ,  clouded ,  if anything ,  by embarrassment his smooth ,  smokey neighbour’s squeezing away with that touch .  basil smiles ,  ❝ ‘kay .  ❞ he can almost see the scene now :  pj , standing tall in his glow of natural confidence ,  taking in the sea salt green of his living room walls ,  littered with framed posters of his and his roommate’s favourite movies ,  along with strings of fujifilm instants ,  snapshots of times basil aches for .  he misses the days he and his roommate would get along ,  actually talk and hang out .  but basil had earned himself his new girlfriend’s disapproval ( something about calling her some other girl’s name ,  which basil had stumbled to rectify after a bulging glare from his roommate ,  right over the sour looking face shooting daggers straight into basil’s fucking soul ) .  ❝  that sounds good ,  sure ,  ❞  he chuckles ,  ❝  you can totally use me as– use my place .  use my place as-as leverage .  ❞

be it pj’s confidence or his blunt —  yet still somehow patient and sweet — observations ,  basil follows suit and sinks into the sofa’s embrace .  it wheezes out a puff of dusty ,  cigarette-scented air ,  tickling his nose until he has to rub it .  he drops cocoa coloured eyes to the deep ,  comforting hues of his hoodie .  technically — ❝  it’s my brother’s ,  ❞  basil explains .  he isn’t usually this quick to divulge the tangle of family ties ,  but there’s that sweet patience ,  a little bemused ,  yet accepting all the same ,  easing it out of him .  ❝  my parents got divorced and he went to live with our dad .  i went with our mom ,  moved out here . . .  yeah .  ❞

[zookwrites]

authatopia·:

it was a marvel that basil hadn’t quite made the connection between the jeering voice — the excited juvenile ranting of somebody obsessed with the b-sides of cassettes that were left , forgotten and buried — and the one opposite him . getting a job at the local radio station had been a complete fluke ; unlike others his age and in his predicament , pj had cherry-picked the establishments he was happy to work in , and all but begged until an interview and , ultimately , a position was offered up to him . used to getting what he wanted when he wanted , the male hadn’t taken no for an answer ; it would be the same if his shitty little band ( named after a raymond carver novel ) were ever offered a record deal , although such a future seemed miles out of reach . 

“ don’t change your beliefs for my benefit , dude . beat to your own drum , rock to your own roll — you think i got anywhere by doing what was expected of me ?? “ the nameless individual , the one with a quiff high enough to put pj himself out of business , was equal parts intriguing and questionable ; it took him a minute to recall how on earth the other breached the boundaries to his apartment , and then he remembered the scrunched-up hoodie that had gone walkabout . 

laundry was something he despised — the suppressed drama of being a little , sheltered golden boy came to a head whenever pj was put in positions he didn’t want to be in . for the most part he lived up to his rockstar facade , he earned the corkscrew mane stop of his head . if ozzy osbourne could bite the head off of a bat , he could do the simplest of chores without protest , right ?? you’d think so , and yet detergent-covered fingers would bring on a conniption if he wasn’t able to wash them within a minute of contamination . even if he needed to rewash the collection of lingering garments upon his tiny balcony , it had all been worth it for the company — however brief . 

coughing a plume of smoke from his lips in a bark of laughter , he spoke : “ easy , tiger . i don’t even know your name yet and you’re inviting me ‘round for a game of naked twister ?? “ 

basil blanches .  an inhuman noise ,  something between a jagged croak and a helpless little splutter ,  rattles in his chest like marbles crashing to the floor .  he hadn’t meant it like — 

❝  no !!  i –  i mean ,  ah ,  b’uh . . .  ❞  there’s no one way to play this ,  yet only now is basil realising that he might have been pitching the wrong moves ,  losing to a far more experienced –  and far better skilled  – opponent .  and then ,  just as it had rushed from them ,  blood floods his cheeks ,  crests towards the very tips of his ears and swallows his face whole .  in utter defeat ,  basil drops his face into his palms with a groan .  his entire body constricts into a cringe ,  feet pointed inwards ,  knees buckled together ,  stomach curled .  

if his buckle-ready will falling prey to a barely there peer pressure hadn’t clued pj in ,  he can probably tell by now that basil isn’t the shiniest bulb in the building block .  if anything ,  he’s the irksome hum ,  the constant flicker that reminds folks he needs fixing ,  only ,  they’ll get to it later .  and then they forget .  basil’s left humming out his idiocy ,  flickering in his eagerness to please .  there’s compensation round every corner in the mind of basil young ,  yet it doesn’t always lead to the best results .  he knows he’s a little pathetic ,  but he’d been hoping that that was part of the charm .  

a crack between his fingers lets him look up at pj ;  he refuses to drop his hands until his palms feel less like they’re burning from the heat radiating off his face .  behind them ,  an apologetic expression twists into his gaze like the knife plunging deeper ,  harder into his side .  idiot ,  idiot ,  idiot .  ❝  man ,  ❞  the whine comes out muffled ,  ❝  i didn’t mean it like that , i – . . .  i’m sorry . ❞

[zookwrites]

authatopia·:

even if aspen had laid bare the moment they had met , striker would never have passed judgement . how could he , on a woman that hadn’t hesitated nor judged him in any way other than that of face value ?? there had been no preconceptions , no twitch of her nose or sly comment . she hadn’t deemed him as lesser , or recoiled the moment she heard his name — despite only being in texas for a few years , the cannon boys had built themselves quite the reputation . it was why the threads of her occupation , those little off-hand comments and gestures that offered pieces of the puzzle , meant little to him . even if she had approached him with a brand across her chest , he would have only ever accepted her as aspen . there was a safety to that level playing field , a knowledge that they were both the dregs of society and yet , somehow , in that steakhouse , on that bitter autumn night , they had found solace in the eyes of one another , a safety in their shared doom . 

a knee knocking into hers with a dull thunk , he excitedly piped : “ she’d like you a whole bunch . bertha’s a real good judge o’ character . she knows things , things i ain’t never seen in a regular cow . “ if dani hadn’t approached the table striker would’ve continued , about how there was a glint in her expression that convinced the male she understood , that she was the only cow he could coax a whole pail of milk out of ; although the limit to his cow knowledge ceased to exist , a stopper was forced upon his ranting by the appearance of the server . 

“ an’ i’ll take a beer , thank you , dani — you know , i ain’t never been called no gentleman before !! “ the idea of such brought that dimple out of hiding once again . more often than not he was the butt of the joke , the comic relief , the imbecile in the corner or a sidekick to the main narrative of a story . now , he was beneath those drop lights of the steakhouse and illuminated in a halo of temporary wealth . he would enjoy it , squeeze the moment for all it was worth , until the moment their status was cruelly ripped away and he was thrown back into the mud . it had always been where he was most comfortable , anyway ; striker had been born in the rubble and had created everything he was , is , and would ever be from the detritus surrounding him . what would a few dollars do to change that ?? whether he was wearing the same flannel shirt he had acquired from a donation bin when he was seventeen years old or a peacoat and tails , the male would always and forever be striker cannon . no more , no less . 

restaurants — and the conventions attached to them — were lost on a man who hadn’t ever the need to learn what was right , wrong or to be expected in such an establishment . it was hardly the ritz , and yet the pair of vagabonds looked wildly out of place in their tucked-away little corner of the room . “ — a beer , but make it a pint !! an’ we also want — “ the menu was twirled beneath his fingertips , tip of his nose brushing the laminate as he arched back over the text , “ — we want nat .. nachos . we want wings . we want onion rings . we want the whole damn lot , missy — the whole cigar !! you reckon you could do that for us ?? we got the money , i can prove it t’ ya !! “ 

❝  now i just don’t believe that one bit ,  no sir-ee  !!  ❞  dani returns .  aspen remains with a silent smile on her face ,  though one quick glance between her impromptu dinner date and the server humouring him says it all :  of course she thinks striker’s a gentleman .  how could she not ??  

the longer they sit like this ,  the greater her awareness of this comfortable proximity shared between practical strangers is .  she’s well acquainted with shooting star encounters ,  though they’ve never felt like this .  more often than not ,  they come to a stale conclusion involving satisfied snoring from a rumpled bed while aspen collects her things .  she never looks back ,  figuring she might as well use these people as they’re so keen on using her .  but it never feels fair ,  never feels balanced .  there’s always something taken and aspen wonders why she’s so willing to give ,  despite the cyclical entrapment .  maybe she’s been starving for too long .  aspen watches dani jot down everything striker calls for ,  the pair sharing an easy laugh as that dimple ,  that heart-melting ,  gut-wrenching ,  tongue-tying dimple winks at her with every wide ,  crinkly-eyed grin .  yeah ,  aspen’s mighty hungry ,  too .

❝  alright ,  well y’all sit tight and i’ll be back with your drinks in no time ,  so don’t get too cosy !!  ❞  dani disappears with a wink ,  and aspen has the good grace to blush .  it’s ridiculous ,  that a woman like her might yet still feel bashful at times .  almost innocent .  she rises out from the bench beside striker and slips back in next to her fishbowl –  their fishbowl .  when she meets those bourbon-toned eyes of his ,  aspen knows her own have warmed ,  the kind of blue one might not mind sinking into ,  like the warm embrace of a bath when muscles are achy and breaths need to slow .  ❝  all the better t’see your pretty face , ❞  aspen explains .  she chuckles ,  chin sinking to rest in her palm ,  ❝  i think miss dani might be a little sweet on you .  ❞

[zookwrites]

authatopia·:

the oldest of the brothers would take any opportunity to speak of his best friend with both hands . of course , birdie and lance were close to his heart ; he adored the boys more than he needed to breathe , but there was something to be said for the ears of a creature that existed without judgement , without a bad bone within their body . “ bertha’s at the ranch with me , yeah . she ain’t technically my cow , but she knows who her daddy is . i can show her to you sometime , “ to the untrained ear it may have seemed a strange offer , one that would leave the recipient scratching their head and wondering why . to striker , though , it was the ultimate privilege , leaving the door to his deepest secrets ever so slightly ajar . 

softness was something rarely dealt to the cannon three . the male half expected a fountain of ridicule , teasing at his inability to view the words or read coherently . instead , a brush of warmth and the gentle breath of the woman beside him , a sweet nickname so far removed from his weaponized moniker . the boy had never struck anybody , and so his interpretation of his birth name — the first letter opening the door to full imagination when he was old enough to pick a new one for himself — couldn’t have been further from the truth . aspen’s was far more fitting ; her hair was the swatches of orange and gold of her namesake tree , the flutter of lashes as soft as autumn leaves falling as september kissed the state they called home . squinting once more to focus on the blurred letters , striker offered a hum in acknowledgment once his soft eyes found a home at the tip of her crimson-painted finger . 

“ nachos . “ the male mirrored , silently kicking himself for the stupid mispronunciation . “ an’ the wings .. an’ the ribs .. do we — “ words caught in his throat , a child asking for a toy in the aisles of a department store , “ — do we got enough money for one of everythin’ ?? “ maths had never been his strong point ; striker wasn’t the academic sort , but he knew everything he needed to ( how to hunt a gator , how to swerve a parking fine , how to use his fingers ) . “ i’m mighty hungry . “ his own knee , so often pointed inward and brushing against his own , nudged aspen’s as he swivelled to face her , a down pointed gaze — a mix of want and unexpected affection . 

❝  i’d like that .  ❞  truthfully ,  aspen would like to catch more glimpses of what makes a man like striker so sweet .  she’s almost giddy with her ever growing fascination with the man with silver in his hair and gold in his heart .  a man who could have easily followed the path from whence he’s strayed :  a history so marred by wounds that bleed deeper than busted flesh could have shaped striker’s hand into the kind of violence one would expect from a name like his ,  yet those long digits only fidget with nerves aspen wants nothing more than to soothe .

there’s never been much room for mistakes in aspen’s life ;  over the years ,  even the smallest would have cost too much .  too many a time have things cut too close :  when fear had kept the overhead light on in her car and she’d killed her batteries in bumfuck nowhere ;  when a wrong turn had left her caught between a dead end and a snake with a knife .  even before becoming the runaway bride ,  betrayer of wholesome family values and purveyor of lascivious sin ( all for the right price ,  of course ) ,  anything unbecoming to the buchanan name –  particularly at the hands of a meagre young girl  – was yanked from its root like a dirty weed .  lottie mae had taken great pleasure in cutting chunks from aspen’s hair ,  all because their pastor had spoken of its temptation .  memories tend to mist over with the passing of time ,  but that punishing gleam in her mother’s eyes still haunts her .  sometimes ,  she feels seven years old again ,  wondering why strands akin to a rose have been pulled and left to rot like dead leaves swept under the purity of snow .   

she likes that striker’s less afraid of fucking up .  there’s freedom in that ,  and a growth that makes her ,  in turn ,  feel stunted .  with little need for perfection when there’s beauty in the ugly side of life ,  aspen finds a kinship that lets her finally breathe .  how could she judge the man sitting beside her when he sees nothing blotting who she is ??  yet ,  aspen reminds herself .  sooner or later ,  she’ll have to come clean about her dirty acts ,  and while a taste of them may have earned them this dinner ,  fear of rejection still twists in her gut at the thought of sharing her chosen profession with striker .  although ,  that very profession’s gotten her counting cash quicker than one can say “ eat up !! “ ❝  that an’ some ,  honey !!  ❞  aspen assures . she’s still peering at the menu ,  the desserts section snatching her attention when she spots fudge brownies ,  towering sundaes and melt-in-your-mouth cookie dough .  ❝  there’s also puddin’ ,  and i gotta tell ya ,  i have one helluva sweet tooth .  ❞ 

striker’s knee touches hers .  when she looks up ,  her gaze stumbles .  greedy now ,  unsure of where to land ,  it smooths over a sharp jawline dusted with stubble ,  up to the ghost of a dimple pronounced only with a smile .  and what a smile he has ,  all warm eyes and bursting pride .  aspen’s caught in striker’s pointed little cupid’s bow ;  she watches it move along with the rest of his mouth ,  and her stomach swoops with a hunger not too dissimilar to that of which striker speaks . 

❝  hi !!  my names dani ,  and i’ll be takin’ care’f you this evenin’ .  can i get y’all somethin’ t’drink ??  ❞  their server’s jolly voice startles aspen out of her stupor ,  and she whips her head around ,  throat a little tight ,  chest shaky around a breath she only realises now she’s been holding .  ❝  uh . . . ye –  sure .  i . . .  i guess i’ll take an iced tea .  ❞ ❝  alrighty ,  and for the gentleman ??  ❞ aspen turns to face him again ,  this time with a sheepish kind of amusement in the subtlest of smiles :  they’re like two school kids caught mackin’ on each other behind the science block . 

[zookwrites]

authatopia·:

the long haired ruffian had never been the type to succumb to peer pressure , which was part of the reason why he stared so blankly at basil the moment he choked on a puff of dark smoke . pj had delved into the world of cigarettes for two reasons — the first was that , of course , he had wanted to , and the second was that it was a staple of the majority of his heroes . back in the eighties , the time period that every fashion decision and musical influence seemed to orbit , the health detriments of puffing away day-in , day-out hadn’t been fully realised ; now that journals and doctors advised against the things , he decided to turn a blind eye .

“ you didn’t have to tell me that . i can tell you’re not a smoker . you could’ve just said no , you know ?? i wasn’t going to think you were lame . “ and did he think basil was lame , in retrospect ?? well , not entirely — his feelings were more so the way you would watch a new puppy land on its butt when attempting to navigate down a flight of stairs . cute . that was the word for it . a tender motion , pj reached out to pluck the cigarette from the other’s fingers , relieving him of the slowly reducing stick that swung peppers of ash across the couch cushions and his neighbour’s pants , “ i wont let it go to waste , though . i can finish that off later , “ 

and alongside the stub , enjoyed on the balcony when the whole world was asleep ( and wafting up to basil’s window , no doubt ) he would be able to taste the timid lips of the other , albeit distantly . they didn’t know it yet , but it wouldn’t be the last time their lips would grace the same surface . puffing another ring from his lips , he responded ; “ listen , the hobbit book was amazing , and i totally didn’t think — at first — that they were just trying to monopolise on the world he built . all this new bullshit , though , just grinds my gears . they just have to bleed this shit dry , don’t they ?? “ 

two men — two boys — were getting to know each other that day , were tuning into each other’s frequencies as they discussed movies , and video games , and the idiosyncrasies of each other’s music tastes . it was a fork in the road , a switch in gears ; and the pair were equally oblivious . propelling himself with excitement to the end of the seat , he exclaimed , “ yeah !! that one . whatever happened to those games ?! maybe you should make a little me . “ 

his neighbour’s far more observant than basil had initially thought .  then again ,  it isn’t difficult to discern basil’s eagerness to please ,  so alike that of a golden retriever’s .  one need only narrow their eyes to spot his phantom tail waggling in mad earnest .  all he does is shrug ,  the corners of his lips perpetually upturned ,  even when a light dusting of embarrassment covers his cheeks .  ❝  yeah . . . ❞  he trails off into a dorky laugh ( heh-heh-huhh . . . ) and has to glance away when he hears just how utterly ridiculous he sounds .  ❝ i . . . don’t know why i said yes .  sorry .  ❞  he offers pj one final sheepish little grin and hopes that’ll be the end of it .  it seems to be ,  when pj plucks the cigarette from between his fingers .  ❝  oh !!  for sure ,  go for it !!  ❞  not that pj needs his permission nor blessing :  after all ,  it would be a wasted cigarette otherwise ,  and basil’s already embarrassed enough without that extra thin layer of guilt . 

unlike’s basil’s bumbling –  save for when he’s in the kitchen  – pj holds himself with a grace basil would think only a cat capable of .  there’s delicacy to every movement ,  even with the rough edges framing his very being .  that wobbly little ring of smoke is proof enough ;  basil’s left staring at it until it fades away .  he manages to tune back into pj’s words before he misses them all .  brows raised , he nods , slow and firm to really cement the agreement ,  ❝  right –  no ,  yeah !!  exactly ,  man !!  plus ,  i heard they don’t even have the rights to tolkien’s actual material ,  so they’re kinda just using the name ??  like ,  they don’t even have access to the real stories ,  so they’ve made some random shit up .  like ,  just come up with a new franchise ,  damn .  god knows bezos has the money for it ,  the asshole .  ❞

he could go on ,  but pj makes quick work of shocking basil into another blushing silence .  that is ,  until he’s sputtering out a — ❝  chyeah ,  i mean –  really ??  that . . . wouldn’t weird you out ?? ❞  a question that suggests that basil’s practically on it already .  he scratches his cheek as though to scrape the red right out from under the soft skin ,  peachy as a summer sunset .   ❝  y’know ,  you –  i mean ,  feel free to come round and play whenever .  i have a buncha other games ,  too .  ❞

[zookwrites]

authatopia·:

the claim of striker not being smart would have been quickly redacted the moment he was asked about cows . there was no identified beginning to his fixation , nor was there an explanation ; the ranch hand just adored the things , and had dedicated his life to their care the moment his brothers had grown up and begun fending for themselves . “ well , i work at the ranch , and they’re real beautiful up close . they’re smart an’ they listen to you . they understand , even if they ain’t able to speak back . they have emotions jus’ like me an’ you . almost as smart as dogs , d’ya know that ?? bet i could teach bertha to sit ‘n roll over if i so wanted to , “ aspen would likely regret asking , as striker had been so engrossed in the reasons why that he overstepped the steakhouse and almost dragged his present company right with him .

doubling back on himself , he followed the tones of hank , cash , willie and waylon and stood , awestruck , as he examined every detail of the establishment . it was by no means fancy , and yet it was the most high-class restaurant he had ever stepped foot in ; sure , him and his brothers had pilfered supplies from their garbage cans out back , but had never enjoyed such delicacies off of a real plate . as the hostess ‘ searched ‘ for a table that would keep the unsavories from the view of the real clientele , striker’s lips burst apart to continue his previous explanation ( that , in that moment , had taken the shape of a rant ) .  “ — i love cows . a whole lot . there are eight hundred types a’ cow . eight hundred . not jus’ your black and white cows or your brown ones like bertha . did y’ know that a two hundred years ago most families had at least one cow to call their own ?? “

an eye-crinkling smile was shot to the waitress as they sat . in that moment , illuminated by the lights above them , striker studied aspen ; he absorbed the copper depths of her hair and the light freckling of her skin , the rugged beauty that only appeared in the features of somebody who had lived a life . when it came to romance — not that he was an expert , by any means — he doubted he could pair up with somebody that , throughout their upbringing , hadn’t been exposed to the ugly side of existence . who would understand when he flinched at the sight of a mouse , or when he cowered from a hand touching his back ?? a date wouldn’t be possible if they judged the way he scarfed down food like it was going out of fashion or relied solely on ice-cold cans of beer for hydration . whether or not they had felt the same strength behind a father’s palm or the venomous words of a mother meant to care for them , there was something deep beneath face-value attraction that had united the pair that night .  

shuffling to the edge of his seat , striker strained his neck to ‘ read ‘ the small print of the menu . those crinkled eyes narrowed further , mouth hanging open , teeth gritted together in an attempt to make sense of the jumble of letters . the male could read ( only a little above elementary-school level ) although , without a set of glasses that he desperately needed yet belligerently denied , such little letters were near impossible to decipher . “ wha’does that say ?? “ he muttered , taking hold of the menu and holding it close enough for his mountain-peak nose to brush the paper , “ nak — nak-chos ?? they’re those lil’ triangles covered in red stuff , right ?? “

not a single time comes to mind when aspen casts it back to see if she’s ever come across anyone who might’ve gone into such detail for so long .  it’s as startling as it is amusing ,  the same way listening to a child speak of their day’s activities is amusing .  it isn’t at striker’s expense ,  and the smile aspen wears as she enjoys the excited little cracks in the natural growl of his voice assures him of the fact . 

following both the waitress and striker’s train of thought is a momentary challenge when habit calls for aspen’s attention .  her gaze darts about the space like a cornered animal’s ,  quick to find any and all exits ,  to take in the predators sinking canines into steaming meat .  beer bottles sweat in the too - hot space ;  even though it’s an evident insult to their existence ,  being tucked away from the deeper pocketed clientele proves a blessing in disguise :  it’s cooler back here ,  no doubt thanks to the small window next to the gents that’s been cracked open .  ❝ is bertha at the ranch y’work at ?? ❞  she asks once she can get a word in — jumping to speak when the retreating waitress distracts a smile out of striker . there’s genuine interest there :  aspen hasn’t ever met anybody with this much passion in their heart .  there’s life bursting out of striker’s gaze ,  excitement for something so simple ,  so easily dismissed by others .  aspen’s caught in his wonder as a child might be seeing their very first shooting star . 

then comes the trouble with the menu ,  and aspen doesn’t hesitate one bit .  she rises out of her seat ,  floats easily over to striker’s and slides on in with a soft ,  ❝  here ,  honey .  ❞  when her leg presses against his ,  it’s purely accidental ,  all trace of calculated seduction having dissipated in the face of honest interest .  she doesn’t even realise she’s doing it ,  and simply relaxes in the comfort of something warm ( heat radiating through rough denim ) rasping against her bare thigh . 

❝  we could do nachos ,  sure ,  ❞  aspen taps the little bold title ,  then lets her pointer drift down to note the other options ,  ❝  we also got chicken wings ,  barbecue pork ribs ,  sweet potato fries ,  and . . .  ❞  she has to lean in a little to peer at the rest of the list ;  her hair slips forward to tickle striker’s arm ,  ❝ crispy chicken strips ,  normal fries ,  wedges . . . ❞ 

blue lifts to brown ,  and aspen ignores the soft hitch in her breath to ask ,  ❝ whaddya want ?? ❞

[zookwrites]

authatopia·:

as they walked — or as he strode , a lumbering creature through the darkness resembling grainy big foot sightings — the kiss swirled within his mind , bouncing off the edges of his cranium like the idle screensaver of an abandoned laptop screen . it meant nothing , he was sure of it ; with a face only a mother could love ( which was being generous , since georgia had walked out over two decades ago ) there had to be some other explanation aside from physical attraction . had the thought crossed striker’s mind ?? absolutely — often times his stints at the bar , guzzling abandoned drinks and flirting with anybody who would listen , would end in a frenzied romp around the back of the bar among full garbage cans . the very prospect of getting a meal first was more romantic than any historic endeavours . 

“ i thought you were right behind me , missy !! it ain’t my fault you only got little legs , “ aspen was by no means short , but with striker standing so tall he effortlessly rocketed ahead . it was ironic , really , that he was the oldest and yet the shortest of the three gigantic boys , having reached for the stars despite empty stomachs and cramped living conditions , “ what can i say , i’m hungry !! i ain’t eaten nothin’ all day . “ or the day before . did beer count ?? “ a burger sounds pretty damn good . you reckon they do burgers that ain’t made of cow ??  “ 

it was a predicament that broke his heart , the fact that necessity had forced him to eat those creatures he so wildly adored . if striker had it his way he would never touch beef on his plate again , avoid the dead carcass of bertha and her friends . it had been a recurring issue , back when he began working at the ranch , of him flinging his body between abattoir workers and his friends , so much so that mr puhlman ended up heeding the male’s cries and sparing the lives of his beloved bovine , taking a portion of his already meagre wages as collateral . striker’s position as a ranch hand was no longer solely to keep him and his brothers afloat , but more a passion project that allowed him to sleep upon bales of straw and comb between the ears of cows , using them as his own personal , moo-ing therapists . 

striker never had been the sharpest tool in the shed , and so the ‘ steak ‘ portion of the ‘ steakhouse ‘ had whooshed completely over his head . still , anything was better than nothing — a plate of fries , nachos or onion rings would fill his stomach until the promise of his next meal , whenever that was . like a wild animal , he ate when he could and he ate in abundance , shovelling down whatever he could get those dirtied fingernails into in order to keep the motor running . 

as soon as he’s within reach ,  she fixes her hand around the crook of his elbow ,  linking with him to keep him from running off on her .  it’s hard enough to hurry in her heels ,  let alone with the added ache in her bones from the bull ride ( not to mention the weight of her winnings — theirs ,  really ,  considering he’d contributed to the entry fee ) .  ❝ can’t say for certain , but i’ll bet they got chicken wings or somethin’ like that ,  if you’ve got hankerin’ for some other meat . ❞  a quick glance over him tells her that he’s lean from hard labour and a lack of meals to compensate .  between striker’s appearance and the easy theft ,  she figures he’s well acquainted with what it means to scrape together something for the most base of survivals .

she’ll never know that lifestyle in its uttermost truth .  her family mightn’t have been as comfortable as others ,  but there’d always been food on the table –  eaten only after grovelling prayer –  and a tyre swing dangling from the tree out back ( which technically wasn’t theirs ,  but she and her sister had laid claim over that patch of grass in their youth ) .  it’s memories like those that make aspen wonder how wrong she’s been to run out on her kin .  there’d been smiles ,  kisses good night ,  hair tucked behind ears and family tv time .  but there’s also been locked doors ,  strands of red yanked to angle her head so that she had no choice but to listen to her mother reminding her of how much of a “ ripe little whore “ she’s grown up to be .  if only lottie mae could see her firstborn now ,  swinging around a metal pole with body glitter winking at hungry gazes ,  bills fluttering in her frilly thong . 

❝  if y’don’t mind my askin’, why no cow ??  ❞  aspen asks .  they’re nearing the steakhouse’s front door ;  from within ,  muffled country rock and the usual restaurant bustle beckons them in .  when the door swings open ,  the pair is greeted by heavy air and the odd curious glance .  a wall of empty liquor bottles decorates the space behind the bar ,  which stands ,  proud and bright with desert - themed neon ,  to one side .  a young hostess , toeing her twenties ,  greets them with a swinging ponytail and a bright - toothed smile .  ❝  hi there !!  d’ya have a reservation ?? ❞ ❝ ‘fraid not ,  sweet pea ,  ❞  aspen offers her most apologetic smile .  she lets go of striker’s arm now that they’re safely tucked into the steakhouse’s warmth ,  ❝  it’s only the two’f us ,  if that ain’t much trouble .  hell ,  we’ll even take some barstools . ❞

after a conspiring “ i’ll see what i can do “ and a twenty from the fishbowl ,  aspen and striker have been nestled away into a booth round the back ,  away from the fancier looking clientele –  if clean ,  pressed shirts and freshly shined belt buckles are anything to go by ,  at least . the menu’s extensive ,  and aspen brightens when she spots the dessert section .  ❝  here ,  see ?? ❞  she leans across the table to point a red nail at the starters .  undoubtedly the portions will equate to a main .  ❝ chicken , pork ribs . . .  y’wanna get stuff to share ?? ❞

[zookwrites]

authatopia·:

as far back as he could remember , he had always been striker . the name stephen had been carried like a curse , a hereditary disease passed down just as his receding hairline had been , just as the silver shock at his temple had been copy and pasted from the roots of his father . all three of the siblings had fought to separate themselves from their given names the best they could , brainstorming the strangest of monikers — striker , birdie — in order to break away from the lack of creativity their father showed when signing each individual birth certificate . the male had heard it all when it came to admitting his name , or the name he had chosen for himself — a smile twitched at the corner of his lips from the absence of such from aspen . 

“ well , that’s a mighty pretty name for a mighty pretty lady . i ain’t heard a name like that before ‘round these parts . “ the male responded , their fingers separating , a rusted gaze focusing upon the woman’s winnings . on a usual night like this , striker would have remained hungry — between the three boys they barely had a penny to their name , what with their professions being the unpredictable kind , and even when they did have food it was lance that always had first pickings , closely followed by birdie . striker , by his own decision , survived from the dregs left over , which was barely substantial enough to fill the stomach of such a tall male . a breath caught in his throat ( he would blame the undiagnosed asthma ) at the fleeting kiss , his following sentence pitchy and stammering as he attempted to compose himself . 

“ where we stoppin’ off ?? “ he questioned , as he sauntered into movement down the promenade , “ i could go back and eat that damn bull whole . hell , i could eat two whole bulls !! “ a palm slapped at his stomach , aching from days without a real meal . 

parts like these don’t leave much room for anything that isn’t bitter ,  yet here striker stands ,  being sweeter than anyone’s aspen met in a long while .  she licks her bottom lip and tastes the roughness of his stubble ,  only for it to send a thrill slicing deep into her chest .  it’s all so new .  maybe luck was finally done turning a blind eye in the way of aspen buchanan. then again ,  she contemplates on her merry way after the long-legged man ,  maybe that luck will stop short at friendship :  unlike the many she’s dealt with ,  striker doesn’t seem all that interested in her advances .  so aspen decides to cool it .  she can content herself with feeling safer than she has in months . 

coins slip and slide against the smooth sides of the fishbowl ,  clinking together as the money sways along to the rhythm of their footsteps ,  aspen gliding along a few feet away from striker’s hungry strides .  they gobble up the sidewalk ,  and aspen calls out through a laugh ,  ❝  slow down ,  big guy !!  ❞ she catches up ,  her stomach gurgling at the prospect of being filled with greasy ,  heavy sustenance .  there aren’t too many places open ,  save for the bar they’d just exited and a lonely - looking fast food joint that promises soggy grub and dead - eyed workers .  though ,  in the distance ,  aspen spots the humming neon of a steakhouse .  the kind of place where broad hands coated with slick grab at sesame seed patties or slice into a slab of bloody meat .  where the staff calls you “ honey “ and there’s a jukebox tempting your coin . 

aspen nudges striker’s arm with her shoulder .  ❝  i could go for a burger , ❞  she muses in a hum , ❝  y’can’t go wrong with burger’n fries ,  right ?? ❞ blue eyes rise to fall into amber brown ,  gazes warming by the minute every time they meet ,  if only for a swift flicker ,  mostly glances of disbelief at their company ,  the fact that ,  while by some sleight of fate’s hand they may have been brought together ,  the pair are choosing to remain that way ,  hooked on something aspen doesn’t quite believe to be real :  just another neatly packaged fantasy ,  courtesy of hollywood romances and valentine’s day deals . 

[zookwrites]

authatopia·:

although the victory hadn’t been his own , there was a smugness to crinkled features as they ghosted from the bar onto dully-lit backstreets . floodlights illuminated the road in an amber hue , muting their surroundings to soft yellows , glowy oranges and the glints of silver in striker’s hair . whether the trip to the ranch was solo or in company it would be a lengthy trek , unsteady feet up the cobbles before switching to uneven dirt and disturbed sand — it was difficult enough sober , but with that noxious cocktail streaming through his veins the journey would descend into a tightrope walk . 

the insinuation that he was anything but pure struck striker like a knife . it was to be expected , ill-intentions from a man of his stature and upbringing , with the face of a youthful stephen cannon and the calluses of slinging hay bales and farm equipment marling his fingertips . still , the very thought of any harm befalling his new companion — by his hand or otherwise — twisted his gut .. although that may have been the concoction of beer , wine and whiskey ; he couldn’t be sure .

“ i’m a real southern gentleman , “ the male retorted , his indecipherable tennessee drawl ever so slightly slurred , “ my mama taught me all about how t’ treat a lady right , ‘n i ain’t sayin’ you gotta put out if we end up goin’ . just wanna show you how it’s really done , is all . not like those rookies in the bar holdin’ onto the horns for two seconds then bein’ slung in the air . they would look like a damn dog’s chew toy ‘gainst some o’ my lot ,  “

technically , on paper at least , the animals weren’t his . they belonged to the owner of the ranch , but although legally he held no ownership over the beasts it was untold knowledge that he was the one they would call father . the moment he arrived at work , the only job he had held down for more than a few months at one time , he was straight to the barns , clearing out old straw and re-filling water troughs as he updated the spotted girls about his day . how could a boy with a heart of gold ever lay a finger on the southern belle ?? “ my brothers’ll be in t’ trailer not far from there anyhow . they ain’t gonna stand by ‘n let me do somethin’ to hurt you . they let me do some real dumb shit , but tha’s where we draw the line , “ his hand , almost comedically oversized , gestured to hers in a shake , “ m’striker . “

at this point in time practically every breath is a test .  aspen’s done it before ,  the exact same question ,  the exact same motions ,  and gathered all she’d needed to know about the person at the time .  more often than not ,  she was left with a tight throat and stones in her stomach ,  resigned to the habitual reaction :  a sly smirk ,  one arm lifting to lean on the wall above her head ,  body crowding hers ,  beer breath whispering over her lips as a murmured ,  “ why ,  you want me to get fresh ?? “  convinced her more and more that that’s all she’s good for .  not that she minds ,  it’s fun .  but only when she gets a say .

it’s a surprise ,  then ,  that the other’s reaction is entirely different to what aspen had been predicting .  she watches the indignation pinch his features and feels a little laugh bubble out of her ,  the sound more of a soft hiccup of surprise than anything mocking .  he’s frank ,  and aspen appreciates that :  it means there’s little behind those puppy - dog eyes that could twist her arm and force her into something ,  anything . 

so when his hand sits between them ,  she takes it as a gesture of good faith .  and while she might not leap for it ,  she can feel a pull beckoning her forth ,  so that she’s tiptoeing towards a trust long forgotten .  aspen extends her own and wraps her fingers around his .  

striker .  it’s unusual —  a nickname ,  she assumes .  there’s something threatening about it ,  but that’s a first assumption rather than a first impression :  he’s already made sure to make a good one of the latter .  which is why aspen uses the grasp she has on striker’s hand to pull herself up onto her tiptoes and plant a sweet little peck on the apple of his cheek .   ❝  i’m aspen ,  ❞  she lets out against the stubble tickling her lips ,  only to drop back down to her usual height .  her hand lingers in his for a moment ,  then slips free so she can cradle her winnings in both palms .   ❝  how ‘bout we use some of this t’get somethin’ t’eat along the way ?? ❞

[zookwrites]

authatopia·:

it was a filthy habit , and an ironic one at that . ever the preacher , pj could have stood and discussed at length the health and environmental benefits of being vegetarian , and every horror story beneath the sun regarding the meat-eating alternative . throughout such a sermon , his slowly burning cigarette would be waved like an orchestral baton in rhythmic swings ; if it wasn’t his stomach he was abusing , it was his lungs . holding the filter between his lips and flicking the wheel of his lighter , the end was soon aflame , puffs of grey smoke pluming into existence an inch from his face . for a moment those features were obscured , lost in a poof like a wizard casting a spell . once the fog dissipated , he continued to chug away in less offensive little rings .

he’d be lying if his visceral reaction to entrails and offal wasn���t linked , like everything else , to his father . reminders of him clung to every surface , the looming photo of a basketball that threatened above pj’s head , a beacon of lost dreams and discarded potential . it was clear , in the eyes of his parents , that he was no longer their little golden boy — he had surrendered that title the moment his hair had grown past his shoulders and he’d covered his body in crude tattoos . despite the chaos of moving out and not living , but merely surviving , on his own , freedom was something he wouldn’t trade for the world . 

despite harsh words and pointless lectures , there wasn’t a bad bone in pj bolton’s body , corroborated by those that knew him , by a sister that he’d do anything for ( even if she was still a little reluctant to fully trust him , given that he shared the flesh and blood of their overbearing parents ) . none of that was clear in the way that he puffed away at his silly little smoke , ruining his lungs with every poisonous inhalation , a rockstar facade that crumbled the moment he opened his mouth . “ tolkein ?? like lord of the rings . i fucking loved the hobbit , dude — “ worn at the knees , he bent his legs to lounge across a couch covered in dirty clothes and unopened post , “ — the book made me cry . movies were ruined by a pointless romantic arc , though . i mean , come on , killi and tauriel ?? what a joke . isn’t the sims the game where you can kill people by locking them in a pool ?? “ 

pj’s hands make smoking hypnotic and enticing ,  basil doesn’t even realise just how much he’s staring at the cigarette –  rather ,  those gentle looking digits –  until he blinks himself out of his stupor .  the smoke smells foul ,  yet he’s reaching for the packet all the same ,  having ,  after all ,  committed himself .  basil tends to do that .

be it a need to impress his peers ,  to catch a taste of validation as one might stick their tongue out to try and catch a snowflake ,  or simple stupidity ,  basil’s often caught in currents he’s quick to regret flinging himself into .  though he supposes it’s nice to be considered a go-with-the-flow kind of guy .  it speaks of casual confidence ,  the kiss of good luck ever crowning the top of his head like fairy dust .  people like that ,  really like that ,  always fly .  basil hopes that his own forced flutter doesn’t burn him .

he almost thinks it does when he lights up ,  inhales .  a ragged cough erupts out of him as soon as the smoke grazes the back of his throat ,  and he’s launching his torso forward until he’s practically bent in half ,  the hand that isn’t sporting the cause of the cough leaning on his knee .   ❝ sorry ,  ❞  basil wheezes .  as would an old man struggling for footing ,  he reaches out to grip the armrest and use it as leverage to sit himself down .  the smile he offers pj is ,  above all ,  apologetic .  now’s a good time for the truth . he confesses ,  ❝ i don’t smoke .  or ,  rather ,  i don’t smoke regularly ?? it’s more of a ,  oh !  i’m wasted !  i could use a cigarette !  y’know ??  ❞

burning as it may be ,  his chest feels lighter now that he’s unburdened it ,  even if it had only been a tiny fib – a truth barely tucked away ,  really .  he sags slightly into a pile of clothes ,  oblivious to them being the source of some pretty musty undertones in the room’s general default smell .  pj’s voice commands all attention ;  basil listens eagerly .  at points ,  his left foot takes to bouncing .  he only stops when he grows conscious of the movement ,  only to forget and let the cycle repeat itself all over again . 

❝  sure ,  i mean . . .  i wouldn’t say that that was the worst part ,  if i’m honest ??  but i’m a sucker for romance ,  all critical thinking goes out the window ,  it’s bad ,  man .  i just think those movies kinda milked the franchise jackson built so well with the original trilogy .  which ,  speaking of milking ,  do not get me started on that shitty amazon show .  i can’t ,  i –  ❞  he cuts himself off with a swift wave of his hand ,  a string of smoke trailing after the cigarette as it slices through the air .  basil isn’t even smoking it .  ❝ oh !!  yeah ,  and other stuff .  you can even have zombies and stuff ,  it’s super fun . ❞

[zookwrites]

authatopia·:

that had to be some sort of record ?? striker ejected from the barstool , knocking his concoction of foul liquid as he went , slapping oversized palms together and emitting a roar of celebration . lips were pursed to whistle , cheering and causing a ruckus , causing the failed competitors ( smeared with blood and nursing shiners ) to turn and shoot him what only could be described as evils . when had striker cannon ever cared what people thought of him ?? “ way t’ go , missy !! you killed ‘em !! “ he cried , tattered red chucks — shoes barely clinging to his feet by the threads of his worn laces — scuffing against the ground as he approached aspen and offered her a hand up . 

there was an affinity there , towards the nameless redhead in the bar . as long fingers were offered , splayed and hers for the taking , it was clear they weren’t all that different . the pair were two lost souls , drifting like a tumbleweed through one plain to the next , trundling over bounders and stretches of disturbed sand , at complete mercy of the wind . simultaneously lost and unlost . their respective drawls spoke of shared lived experience ; tales of tobacco chewing and gator-wrestling and every gem , unearthed or otherwise , of the deep south . striker’s was a little more drawn out , certain syllables alien to his vernacular and yet , for once , he hadn’t needed to translate himself . 

a part of striker wanted to try it himself , to steal a few more bills from an unsuspecting patron and throw himself onto the back of the mechanical bull himself , but he had other ideas . his frontal lobe wasn’t the best as making decisions ( blame years of head hits and hard-liquor abuse ) but he would stand by his plans — so what if the main intention was to impress the redhead that had already so easily wowed him ?? “ i gots an idea , “ the gleam in those rust-coloured eyes silently promised mischief , “ what say i take you up on the ranch where i work , an’ you can watch me ride the real deal ?? “ they hadn’t even learned each other’s names , and already striker was inviting her to the closest ‘ home ‘ he had ever known .

she glides up to her feet with the aid of striker’s calloused hand ,  fingers firm and strong as they practically engulf her own .  on her way out of the ring ,  aspen snags the money bowl and cradles it against her chest .  the win hasn’t exactly been announced ,  what with there still being one last contestant clambering up onto the bull ,  but the only glances the pair receive are short lived upon realising that she’s with striker .  aspen knows to use others’ strength to her advantage when people underestimate her own .    ❝  i like the sound of that ,  ❞   she agrees .  there’s only about a head and some shoulder between them ,  but she finds that she still has to peer up at him through her fringe ,  all doe-eyed and giddy grin .  it’s nice .  striker feels like the shelter one runs to when there’s promise of rain .

dry desert means freezing nights ;  on their way out aspen’s shoulders hunch towards her ears ,  tucking her neck out of cold’s way .  she shivers ,  breath a phantom as it billows past lips painted a smudgy ,  fading red before dissipating in the amber pools of scattered streetlights .  

now comes caution .  they don’t know each other ,  after all ,  and the male’s intentions are asking for a leap of faith aspen isn’t sure she can take .  lord knows she’s fallen flat on her ass on previous occasions ,  as much as she’d hoped to land on her feet .  so she stops short ,  leans back against the wall beside the entrance to the bar ,  where ruckus still sounds from within .  any inkling of where she might be staying ,  which car is hers ,  could be a slippery slope into something aspen would rather avoid reliving .  there’s only so many times she can reach her home for the night with her keys fisted between her fingers until the nightmares slither with her into bed .  

she comes with it outright .  better to shock an honest reaction and look out for the signs than spend the next few days nursing regrets .  

❝  now how do i know you ain’t gonna get fresh with me ?? ❞

[zookwrites]

authatopia·:

“ everybody knows bowie . i hate when movies do that , thinking they’re cool when we were blasting that shit years ago . the moment a big movie like that uses a song , it’s a write off . it’s like 500 days of summer , “ the name alone caused a shudder to shock through his broad shoulders , “ it made my favourite band seem like this cute , quirky pick-up line , as if the lead singer wasn’t queer as fuck and celibate . i mean , it’s against everything he stood for .. “ 

although pj could have rambled , and would have quite easily continued if given the chance , the hagrid-haired guitarist couldn’t help but notice basil’s sombre attempts at retrieval ; stepping past him , the male looped the washing line cord around his hand once , then again , then a third time , dragging the hoodie ( and a few pairs of graphic-printed underpants ) to the window’s opening . 

“ special delivery on the hoodie , “ pj announced , slinging the garment over to his neighbour and , it seemed , partner in controversial music opinion . now that the main issue had been solved , the end-of-level goal to the video game of their first meeting , it was time for the easter-eggs , the side-quest of boring his counterpart to death through mindless music trivia . “ they never had a number one , y’know — the smiths — which is crazy to think , given how culturally significant they are now . i mean , tell me one person who doesn’t know who morrissey is . good or bad . people know him , he’s sure as hell made an impression . “

on some people more than others . it was the very reason that meat never touched pj’s plate , that he had ‘ meat is murder ‘ crudely stick-and-poked vertically from one side of his forearm to the other . “ you should really clue yourself up on this shit . at the very least , you’d be a great member of a pub quiz or something . “ a dirty habit , he reached to pluck out a half-stubbed cigarette jutting from his ashtray , “ — you want one ?? “ 

domino after domino knocks basil’s embarrassment deep into his chest ,  until he can feel it rising to his cheeks ,  even going so far as to staining the tips of his ears .  he’d rather enjoyed 500 days of summer ,  had liked the contrast of tom hansen’s needy expectations so starkly held against summer’s emotional maturity ,  the kind tom had never been able to match nor meet even halfway .  though basil thinks it best to keep his opinion to himself — especially the part where fifteen year old him had felt flutters at  ❝  i love the smiths .  ❞

and then pj’s stepping up for a job basil should’ve known how to do in his sleep ( he works with knives and open flame all day ,  for chrissake ) ,  and ,  yeah ,  that blush has burned a line across the bridge of his nose ,  too .

at least he catches the hoodie without incident .  

just as he opens his mouth to thank his neighbour for being ,  well ,  neighbourly ,  pj’s back on the ball and basil’s frozen in place ,  hoodie cuddled into his chest once he folds his arms over the somewhat garlicky ,  jasmine-scented material .  ❝  oh ,  i don’t know ,  ❞  basil shrugs ,  bashful ,  flattered that the other might think such a thing (  although ,  come to think of it ,  maybe he’s just spreading the morrissey gospel ) ,  ❝  i’m better at tolkien trivia .  yeah ,  for some reason none of that will leave my noggin’ .  and also sims 2 lore ?? which ,  don’t get me wrong ,  the game’s awesome . . .  ❞  almost too awesome :  countless a night has basil piled himself into bed ,  wracked with guilt over having wasted hours on end on virtual people ,  rather than investing time in the real ones around him .

❝  uh . . .  ❞  the only time basil’s ever smoked had been back on his twenty-first ,  when he’d been blacked out enough to barely feel the burn at the back of his throat .  he ought to say no ,  really ,  but there’s something about pj’s fingers and how confidently yet carefully they hold the cigarette that makes him blurt out a thoughtless ,   ❝  sure ,  man !  thanks .  ❞

[zookwrites]

authatopia·:

the cannon brothers had the type of reputation that preceded any true judgments . the male wasn’t a bad guy ; sure , the odd public indecency or trespassing charge marled his criminal record , but when had that ever been a marker of a good person ?? growing up without a motherly influence , with a father who ignored his sons for the bottle until alcohol had him feeling punchy , meant the trio were forced to decide their own morals . could you blame them for getting it a little wrong sometimes ?? stealing wasn’t stealing if you needed food , if you were swiping from large corporations , if you only had to climb over one fence to get to it . a stand-in father to mickey and lance , it had been his responsibility to pass down the values of a southern gentleman taught by their mother . such lessons may have been a little lost in translation . 

drinking the cocktail as though it were water , his eyes crinkled at the insinuation he was anybody to steer clear of . “ an’ what’s got you thinkin’ that idea ?? your mind must be emptier than bertha’s udders once i milked her . i’m a peach . “ a bruised one , if any , with the fuzzed skin blotched with impact marks , purple-blue against orange . georgia had instilled in the boys a respect for the opposite sex , although perhaps now such acts of chivalry were outdated ; no longer did he need to sacrifice his shirt to cover a puddle for a lady to walk over , despite his insistence . 

counting out each coin like a pensioner at a checkout , his attention was stolen back by red lacquered nails at his lapel . words caught on his tongue , hanging for a second too long , eyes on stalks . there must’ve been some excuse — perhaps she had been slipped a pill , perhaps she was chronically short sighted — for how could a woman like that actually be interested in a bull-wrangler like him , carrying around the scent of cigar smoke and horse manure ?? swallowing hard enough for his adam’s apple to jolt in his throat , the male chuckled and breathily responded ; “ i got tons of ‘em back at the trailer , “ as if that were some sort of boast , some turn-on that she wouldn’t dare refuse . a man and his many buttons . 

“ you c— ?? well , i can ride too .. “ the last part was mumbled beneath his breath . perhaps he’d show her later on , although it seemed the pair had polarising definitions of the term . aspen was likely imagining a messy romp in the hay . striker ?? by ride he meant ride in the literal sense , and knew those bulls at puhlman’s would be revving their front legs , dragging hooves against compacted dirt in preparation . a crooked smirk as she broke away towards the fake bull ; “ do me proud , red . “ 

skirts much like the one hanging low on her hips are equipped with a side-slit .  it makes it all the more easier to bunch the fabric up between legs spread over metal muscle ,  and aspen intends on doing just that .  she drops the entry fee into the winner’s pot and secures her place in the queue ,  bare arms folded ,  save for the jangling strips of winding ,  flecking fake gold dangling from her left wrist .  

the first few try-hards do just that ;  they refuse to surrender to the bull’s jerky flow ,  and instead fight the jolting currents that eventually swing each contestant off and onto the blown up bouncy pad below .  cheers and jeers and whistles sound about the smokey room ,  aspen turns once to mouth a theatrical  ❝  wow !!  ❞  back over to where striker still sits .  slowly but surely ,  the queue shifts forward ,  lambs trudging toward a swift and bloody slaughter :  aspen’s spotted a bloody nose or two among those who’ve faced a begrudging defeat already .  

back at the bayou babes ,  bull-riding had been her specialty .  maybe it’s a con job what she’s doing now ,  but she’s hungry ,  tired of scrounging .  while others might never forget how to ride a bike ,  aspen’s muscle memory clings to the jostle and sway of her beloved anna grace .  there’ll be a fall ,  that’s for certain ;  nobody ‘round these parts likes a woman winning .  all aspen has to do is last the longest .

wolf whistles sound like a battle cry when aspen swings her leg over the bull .  her skirt drapes behind her ,  the rest folding and creasing up over her thigh so that it pools just below the handlebars .  thigh plumps up into ass tucked behind underwear that matches her nails :  it’s good promotion ,  at least .  even if it means feeling slobbering gazes lapping up the view ,  the obligatory glancing around on her way back to her car when she hurries through the parking lot .  she doesn’t even hear the announcer ,  only the whirring rising to a scream beneath her ,  the metal groans of a beast rousing enough to try and shake her .  

it’s flashes of flame flung about like a whip ,  rippling muscle clenching to keep her from flying off too soon ,  a smile incongruously peaceful ,  as though aspen were floating in the sea rather than swivelling her hips in tandem to the bull’s erratic shaking .  and then that smile turns wild ,  and aspen’s head is falling back as she laughs ,  and laughs ,  and laughs .  she laughs all the way down onto the air-filled cushioning beneath her when she finally lets herself go ,  landing on her back ,  arms above her head .

[zookwrites]

authatopia·:

“ yeah , sad ‘cus it tastes like talc !! i’ll get you onto the good stuff . you ain’t tasted my shine yet . “ a family recipe , and a reluctant one at that — it wasn’t like grandma’s apple crumble , something lovingly passed into the hands of following lineage , but a burden passed down through generations like the peak of his hairline and the wrinkles at his eyes . old habits were hard to break ; the sting of a good home brew , the water it brought to his tear ducts , was something that regular old liquor didn’t begin to touch . was it too early for him to invite her back to his trailer to try some of the harder stuff ??

dammit , striker , of course it was . they had only just met , were still blind to each other’s names , ages and occupations — strangers . they hardly knew each other , and yet one look at the brothers’ collection of empty beer cans , cigarette butts and unowned panties would have sent the woman running right back in the opposite direction . thoughts were interrupted by her splutter ; his own laugh guffawed from his parted lips , almost throwing himself from the bar stool from the sheer velocity of the noise . “ what’s the problem ?? can’t handle it ?? “ 

more so to prove a point than to quench a thirst , he raised the glass to his own lips . striker’s stubbled mouth made a point of closing over the crimson mark left by the other on the rim . brows furrowed , the silver flecks catching in the amber glow of hanging lights , reaching into his back pocket to retrieve … a few coins , some strings of dry straw and what seemed to be the extra button to his red plaid shirt . “ well , i ain’t got all that much … “ counting with exaggerated movements of his lips , mouthing the figures to keep track , it was clear they had fallen short by a staggering amount ( especially if he wanted a turn , an inevitability from somebody as expert as himself ) .

“ y’know — “ his hand reached behind him , deft fingers plucking the leather wallet from the bar-goer beside him without so much as a flinch , “ — those mechanical bulls are fer amateurs . you ever ridden a real one ?? they don’t fuck around . they see you ‘n they wanna kill you . they don’t care what colour you’re wearin’ , where you come from .. “ blazé in his attitude , farm-calloused fingers plucked a few singles from between loyalty cards and passport photos of children that weren’t his , “ you reckon that’ll do ya ?? “ 

yet .  manicured brows hop once in acknowledgement of a promise so confident aspen wonders what other things a man like this might bring to the table .  as it turns out ,  a fair few .

❝  like i said ,  i gotta keep my wits about me . ❞  there’s a smirk in her words and a glint in her eyes even while she remains impassive ,  unbothered ,  seemingly ,  by the display before her .  she does little to disguise where her gaze goes ;  when it lands on those lips –  mouth shaped for maniacal grins ,  something that bites –  and watches smudged rouge smear over the bottom one ,  she bites her own .  her eyes continue to roam over life’s testament etched in silver and creasing skin ,  and aspen wonders what might make him blush the colour of her lipstick .  ❝  somethin’ tells me . . . specially ‘round you , ❞  she’s teasing ,  sure ,  but there has to be some truth to the not-so-keen-eyed observation ,  especially when the male gabs a handful of wallet as he would a fist of sticky bar-peanuts .  

that’s the thing about this sort of wildfire confidence :  it’s a fugue of poor impulse control ,  almost drunken in its decision making .  aspen can taste that heat on the back of her tongue ,  and it licks down her throat ,  right into her belly .  or maybe it’s just the poison .  she’d drank it ,  willingly .  

( wits ,  girl . )

long ,  slender fingers fiddle with the abandoned button on the bar ,  only to close what little space the stools have between them to hold it against one of the pieces sewn into his shirt .  the seduction isn’t subtle ;  aspen knows her knuckles are just touching solid warmth ,  but again there’s that unbothered look .   ❝  you oughta keep this safe ,  ❞  she muses .  her hand retreats ,  button in her grasp until she lays it on the bar once more ,  beside the lint and short change ,  only to dust her digits over striker’s upon accepting the loot .  honey-sweet southern charm paints a pretty smile on her face ,  all kisses in the barn ;  rollin’ round in the hay . ❝ i don’t know about a real bull ,  but i know i can ride .  ❞  she says it as one might say watch me. ❝ thank y’kindly ,  darlin’ .  i’ll dedicate this one to you .  ❞