Drabbles and Ficlets-Not Many
Two Cassidy ones first.
Enclosure (Cassidy/other)
Cassidy was nine when his mother took him to the zoo. The zoo was small and cramped, and Cassidy spent half an hour staring at two beautiful snow leopards. The leopards stared directly behind him, and Cassidy saw they were looking at the open door that was inacessible from their glass enclosure.
Cassidy woke up, his boyfriend curled away from him, and remembered the night before. Remembered the fight, the long silence, the clumsy, halfhearted makeup sex. And how he fought not to cry.
He could see the open door through the glass. He wasn't sure how to reach it.
Buy You All the Things You Need (For Free) (Cassidy/Tommy)
"Which do you want more, fame or money?"
It was a popular question, often asked when the night got late. Everyone would start talking about their projects and it would come up.
Brad wanted fame, and a rich husband. Barbie was happy to afford to live in LA. Adam would always say "love" and mean it.
Tommy listened to everyone, then said "Money". Brad raised an eyebrow, and Tommy shrugged. "I have to help my family. Money, yeah."
Cassidy had Tommy in his bed that night. They fucked and Tommy slept in his arms. Cassidy dreamed about money and love.
This is a little Sirenverse teaser. It's the first page of Tommy's journal, after Cassidy finally convinces him to keep one. It's right after the events in Chapter 28.
November 9, 1986
Okay. Cassidy told me I needed to journal my feelings if I was going to get anywhere in therapy, so here we go. I’m gonna name this journal Flipper. No wait, I’ll name it Gibby Haynes. Hi Gibby, how ya doing! You still owe me twenty bucks for that acid I scored you.
It’s really fucking hard for me to say what I’m feeling most of the time besides being pissed off or anxious. I’ll admit to anxiety, it’s not like I have any punk cred left now anyway. None of that shit matters anymore, and the way things are going I’m glad I’m not involved.
I can’t believe I saw Colin spray painting “faggot” on the side of the AIDS outreach building. Fucking Colin, two months ago I was sneaking him whiskey at all-ages shows and giving him a hard time about his hair. Motherfucking kids, three years does make a difference in punk scenes. (Hahahahaha, I totally just fucking did a “these kids today” rant. I’m seventeen!)
Adam’s been doing better, but I get worn out worrying about him-that’s where most of my anxiety gets directed. I worry about him and his eating. I still make him sandwiches to eat at school. I don’t know if that fucking counselor he’s seeing is worth a shit yet. I guess we’ll find out.
See? I can’t even talk about myself in my own goddamn journal. I know what I should be writing about-my parents and how they fucked me up so badly, about how I’ve been sick and how all of a sudden, I kind of have a family. (Wait, fuck that-I can call them something better than that. They’re friends. They’re friends.)
I don’t know what to say about myself. I haven’t had a drink or anything else in a few weeks, and it’s hard to sleep sometimes. I slept great for a while, because I was still sick. But now it’s harder and shakier and I have nightmares. I wish Adam could come over just so we could sleep. (Okay, fine. Not just so we could sleep! Hahahahaha.)
I need to start writing lyrics or poetry again. I don’t really have anything. I kind of want to write a love song. I’ve never written a love song. I don’t think I had that much love, until now.
I don’t really know if I want to use this motherfucker to dig up the past, but I probably will. I never talked about anything for years, and I should. Still don’t want to, though. Goddammit Gibby, you’re a pain in the ass.
I will say that I love Adam. I love him very much. He knows it too-even his fucking dad knows it. And he still didn’t kick me out of the house.
I gotta go, I have to sleep at some point. School tomorrow, going over my monologue with Anoop tomorrow. See ya, Gibby, you fucker.
Enclosure (Cassidy/other)
Cassidy was nine when his mother took him to the zoo. The zoo was small and cramped, and Cassidy spent half an hour staring at two beautiful snow leopards. The leopards stared directly behind him, and Cassidy saw they were looking at the open door that was inacessible from their glass enclosure.
Cassidy woke up, his boyfriend curled away from him, and remembered the night before. Remembered the fight, the long silence, the clumsy, halfhearted makeup sex. And how he fought not to cry.
He could see the open door through the glass. He wasn't sure how to reach it.
Buy You All the Things You Need (For Free) (Cassidy/Tommy)
"Which do you want more, fame or money?"
It was a popular question, often asked when the night got late. Everyone would start talking about their projects and it would come up.
Brad wanted fame, and a rich husband. Barbie was happy to afford to live in LA. Adam would always say "love" and mean it.
Tommy listened to everyone, then said "Money". Brad raised an eyebrow, and Tommy shrugged. "I have to help my family. Money, yeah."
Cassidy had Tommy in his bed that night. They fucked and Tommy slept in his arms. Cassidy dreamed about money and love.
This is a little Sirenverse teaser. It's the first page of Tommy's journal, after Cassidy finally convinces him to keep one. It's right after the events in Chapter 28.
November 9, 1986
Okay. Cassidy told me I needed to journal my feelings if I was going to get anywhere in therapy, so here we go. I’m gonna name this journal Flipper. No wait, I’ll name it Gibby Haynes. Hi Gibby, how ya doing! You still owe me twenty bucks for that acid I scored you.
It’s really fucking hard for me to say what I’m feeling most of the time besides being pissed off or anxious. I’ll admit to anxiety, it’s not like I have any punk cred left now anyway. None of that shit matters anymore, and the way things are going I’m glad I’m not involved.
I can’t believe I saw Colin spray painting “faggot” on the side of the AIDS outreach building. Fucking Colin, two months ago I was sneaking him whiskey at all-ages shows and giving him a hard time about his hair. Motherfucking kids, three years does make a difference in punk scenes. (Hahahahaha, I totally just fucking did a “these kids today” rant. I’m seventeen!)
Adam’s been doing better, but I get worn out worrying about him-that’s where most of my anxiety gets directed. I worry about him and his eating. I still make him sandwiches to eat at school. I don’t know if that fucking counselor he’s seeing is worth a shit yet. I guess we’ll find out.
See? I can’t even talk about myself in my own goddamn journal. I know what I should be writing about-my parents and how they fucked me up so badly, about how I’ve been sick and how all of a sudden, I kind of have a family. (Wait, fuck that-I can call them something better than that. They’re friends. They’re friends.)
I don’t know what to say about myself. I haven’t had a drink or anything else in a few weeks, and it’s hard to sleep sometimes. I slept great for a while, because I was still sick. But now it’s harder and shakier and I have nightmares. I wish Adam could come over just so we could sleep. (Okay, fine. Not just so we could sleep! Hahahahaha.)
I need to start writing lyrics or poetry again. I don’t really have anything. I kind of want to write a love song. I’ve never written a love song. I don’t think I had that much love, until now.
I don’t really know if I want to use this motherfucker to dig up the past, but I probably will. I never talked about anything for years, and I should. Still don’t want to, though. Goddammit Gibby, you’re a pain in the ass.
I will say that I love Adam. I love him very much. He knows it too-even his fucking dad knows it. And he still didn’t kick me out of the house.
I gotta go, I have to sleep at some point. School tomorrow, going over my monologue with Anoop tomorrow. See ya, Gibby, you fucker.