#like i spent a max of maybe twenty seconds per line

[crows-in-sevens]

there once was a baker, who sold cookies and cakes

who made a good profit off the treats that she bakes

and every weekday, without fail, and the weekends as well,

she’d count up the money from the goods that did sell

but one day she realised, horrified, mad,

that one of her cookies she’d sold had gone bad,

three weeks ago and she’d forgotten to bin it

and now some poor customer will have a poor stomach

‘oh no!’, she cried, ‘it’s the rude one, bad luck!’

and she knew that she’d have to call the customer back

so she tightened her jaw, silenced her inner turmoil,

but she didn’t know that her plan would soon be foiled…

the customer was gone! ‘oh, where could they be?

i must find them, apologise for the stale cookie!’

so she hunted around and she looked for some clues,

she asked those in town and learned all that they knew.

‘that man’, they all said, ‘went to go visit his nan,

but she lives ‘cross the woods where a wolf runs the land,

and this greedy old wolf, i think, have a hunch,

he took this poor man and he ate him for lunch!’

‘oh no!’ said the baker. ‘how terrible, how sad!’

but she wasn’t thinking of the now-eaten man,

she was thinking of that wolf who would now feel funny

with that old stale cookie going ‘round in his tummy!

‘i’ve got to go find him!’ she said, ‘understand,

i’ve got to go tell him to spit out that man!’

and so off she went to the forest at night,

in search of the wolf who ate a man in a bite!

she soon did discover where this wolf lived,

but in order to enter she must bring a gift.

she thought and she thought, and in the end she decided,

to bring a fresh pie at which others delighted.

the wolf crept towards her, about to chow her down,

but oh! an aroma from the bag she’d set down.

he opened it up, enticed by the smell,

and ate it all up, asked for seconds, as well!

so pleased at the gift, he was, so he spit

the man and the cookie from his giant stomach

the baker sighed in relief, the man rubbed his head

and the wolf, too, was happy, because he was well-fed.

the man then got up and said sorry to the cook,

‘i know i was rude to you before, but look,

nothing good comes out of holding petty grudges,

i’ll be better now, or my name’s not tim rogers!’

and the wolf said, ‘what is this delicious meal?

humans taste bland when compared to this meal!

the baker smiled and said, ‘that’s my own special secret,

but come to the bakery and you can have more of it!’

and the baker went home to her house ‘bove the shop,

knowing the wolf nearby would soon stop

to buy another pie, and a cupcake or two,

and the man’s now a regular at the bakery too!

and once he gave a slice to his dear old nan,

she, too, fell in love with those cookies and jams,

she hobbles through the dark woods, with no fear or pain

and if she finds the wolf, he joins on the way.

and now they all live on in harmony forever,

the wolf eats no people, he’s found something better.

the man is not rude anymore, leaves big tips,

and the baker? well, she smiles counting up her profits!

#another playful one! #this is like... #improv poetry?? #like i spent a max of maybe twenty seconds per line #on average like five #i really like this style #its like playful an d fun and restricting but not too much yk #poetry #writing #writeblr

[withoneheadlight]

| billy & will + pre-harringrove | full fic in spanish |

~

There’s an in-between. The high school and the middle school. A bare piece of land, yellowed from the lack of grass and the rough kiss of the sun and, right in the middle, an old shack.

It's a shabby thing that accumulates lack of re-paintings and excess of humidity but that’s out of sight, in that way of things that are just there but no one wastes time looking at anymore are.

That's where they meet.

Billy lights up a smoke. Slides his ass up an ancient, long retired desk, pasture now of the damp and rot, and leans against the peeling wood. Front and back-row seat to the long column of trees the wind’s rippling along on the other side of the wire fence. The ember warms up his lips as he inhales a deep puff and exhales a,

“You’re getting soft, Billy Hargrove”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, ears on that ceaseless chirping of the bids that sews together the slow-passing hours of the days and nights of Indiana, and on the delighted screams from the middle-schoolers, remembering that, somewhere in there, there's a bunch of kids who will still be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. That maybe even Max could be one of them, if Billy hurries. That maybe he will too, if Billy is able to control that instinctive reaction that pulls his skin inward and screams at him to stopstopstop, that the soft skin shreds, falls apart so easily.

But maybe it can be both of them, if Billy manages to clench his teeth hard enough and keep on softening.

‘Cause soft skin hurts when it breaks but,

"Hey!"

Sometimes it’s worth it.

Will’s smiling wide. Stops running, abruptly, and then just stands in there, panting. He’s got a funny nose and giant eyes. The kind of bangs that make you wanna blow them out of his eyes even though what they're is too short, actually, and Billy’s always thought he'd do better in life if he didn't. Notice things. If he didn't see that widewidewidewide smile and could read it so easily.

"I've been dying to show you this!" Will kneels down into the grass, chopping out the words in between exhalations. Pulls at the zipper of his backpack, chest heaving, and he doesn't realize he's going to get dirt on the knees of his jeans or that Billy can read it. His relief. Of finding him in here and not just an empty desk. Of how for a kid every single day more means 'You care’.

(About me)

It was early December. Friday right after last period and one of those silly things that only happen in movies. Something so like scripted and choreographed that Billy nearly considered looking up at the ceiling to make sure John Hughes wasn't silently watching them, taking notes from above. They crashed in the middle of a corner. Billy sped up ‘cause he was in a hurry and the only way to catch Max in time lately was to intercept her right out of class. Will ‘cause he's always going like that, Billy knows now. Always a thousand miles per hour. Always verging on time-jump speed to then being the kind of kid who seems so quiet it's scary. They crashed. Hard. In the middle of that corner. Papers flying all over and a curse (Will) and a muffled groan (Billy) and they ended up pulling at the same paper one from each corner. A drawing. Trolls and wizards and a castle and an emerald-green light. A star in the distance, auguring bad omens. Billy forgot to be frightening and Will must have forgotten he was supposed to be frightened when he blurted out a,

"Fuck, Byers. This is frikin’ fantastic."

No fear or reticence or that way he sometimes has of bumping into words and stumbling, just a "Really?" eyes huge and bangs brushing against his eyelashes as he blinked when Billy also forgot he was also supposed to― well, supposed to be Billy Hargrove.

"’Got more?"

So now he skips English instead of Algebra, every Tuesday and Thursday. Sneaks off to that in-between place he knows no one wastes time looking at anymore to light up a smoke, same time as Will has his recess. And the kid doesn't always manage to shrug off of his flock of nerds but he’s lucky, some days.

And he brings the drawings.

Orcs and goblins and enchanted mountains on the northwest and it seems to Billy that there are more princes than princesses and that if there are any, they’re almost always sorceresses, almost always queens and that your attention gets hooked on their burning eyes, not in the clothes they’re missing and Billy feels like it's a small grain of sand, this thing they’re doing. Knows that someone’s already keeping a solid ground under Will's feet ('Joyce' he says it’s her name. And it stings, the way he manages to fit so much love, into such a tiny word). But it also seems to him that maybe it doesn't take much more, for Will, just a few grains of sand, to replace those that being a strange kid in a small town sick with apprehension for what it finds strange, takes every day away from him.

So Billy’s gotta have to clench his teeth ‘till his gums start bleeding ‘cause is that, or let his skin toughen up again. Is that. Or fucking everything up.

And ave María, Billy doesn’t want to fuck it all up again.

So he sucks on his cigarette. Hooks up an eyebrow. Waves his hand to hurry the kid up.

“Mmm. That’s how good you think it is, dickwad? ‘C’mon, got my next class in twenty”

Will flies over the papers. Head nodding and fingers skimming fast. Finds what he’s looking for and yanks it out, raises it up triumphantly in his hand. It’s the sword in the stone and he carries it up to Billy with wet knees and just a little mud-staining. It’s February and the sun’s burning brightly over all the wetness the night’s spent crying. The drawing is a huge dragon, wings made of leather and cartilage, spread out in eclipse in front of the moon, only a few silver rays illuminating the dark knight in front of it. Blue eyes lined in black, blond curls cascading down his back and Billy was clenching his teeth but they part now, ‘cause the figure looks too much like him to be a coincidence. A smile devours his whole mouth. Soft. A joke itching on the tip of his tongue. He grunts a,

“I’ve been called many things. But never this, Byers”

Only half his expression’s visible, eyebrows covered with those thick bangs, and Billy has to once again fight the impulse to blow them out.

“¿Hum?”

“Knight” he says, drawling the teasing tone out “In shining armor”

And It’s such a loss, all that hair. Because it’d pass unseen, if you don’t know him. The way his eyebrows spike up underneath and it burrows in between them, the eagerness of teasing back. But Billy’s lucky, ‘cause it’s been more than two months like this and Billy―

Knows him. Well enough at least. So it doesn't pass unseen to him.

“You know the drill, William. Spit it out. Can see you’re holding it up from miles”

Will purses his lips out tight. Looks like he’s trying but. Nah.

“Wouldn’t be that shiny '' scrunches his nose. Throws a meaningful glance at Billy’s disheveled looks. More thoughtful than not, way more intentional. But that's something he'll figure out when he grows up.

Billy cackles. Will's smile widens, satisfied. Hops onto the desk next to his. Billy offers him the cigarette.

“And―this?” Will shrugs inwardly. Glances up at him. Then down, at the exchange between their hands. Takes the cig in between two fingers and it doesn’t burn but he barely presses them against the filter, anyway, as if he’s afraid it would, all of a sudden.

"Retaliation," Billy half grunts, half laughs, and Will huffs, but swallows a deep breath to gather strength. Exhales. Takes a tiny puff and―

"Argg," coughscoughscoughs "This is. Ugh. It's awful. I don't know how you―” almost throws the cigarette back to him "Ufff, what a―" he hesitates "Yuck"

Billy snorts. Thinks about Max inhaling deep, no more than two weeks ago, eyes pining his in place. Breaking into a violent cough only a second later.

Billy pats Will’s back too.

“That’s good” he says “You better not like it” Will scrunches his whole face “And this too” Billy adds, shaking the drawing a little “This is good, too. Amazingly good, man”

Will. Stares. At him. One. Two. Three long seconds. And Billy hurts a little. With every single one. Three sharp stabs with that newly freed sword. A different kind of ' you care' each one: 'it seems so impossible to me (that you care)'. 'If you think so, maybe it's true (and I do care, that you think it)’. 'Thank you (for caring)'. And then. Those hidden eyebrows. Will’s cheeks puffing out a little when he bites the tip of his tongue and―

"Billy?" his eyes glint, heavy with ill-contained malice.

"Uh?"

"You're the dragon"

"You fucking ass―!"

Billy shoves him sideways. But Will just sways. He doesn't lose footing on that firm ground he’s standing on. Looks back at the drawing, hunches a shoulder up.

"But you’re the knight, too"

He says it in a tone that cuts straight through Billy’s chest Thank you he thinks, even though his soft skin is hurting. And he still doesn't blow hard on that bowl fringe from where it covers Will’s whole forehead but―

Stirs up all his hair instead.

“Eh!!”

“Hey, shitbird. Wanna see the one I’ve made?”

Will nods quickly. All contained-speed and reverberating and sometimes Billy doesn't know how so few people can see it, how big he is for his own skin and he thinks I wish, wish he'd accumulate enough grains of sand to raise up that firm ground under his feet, and get really, really high.

“Sure!”

He keeps it tucked away in the breast pocket of his jacket. Folded in upon itself. Same way he keeps everything else. Folds and layers and at the bottom of pockets no one ever looks at but.

He unfolds it to show it to Will Byers.

“Wow” Will says, and smiles up at Billy like Two months since we crashed against each other and I feel like I know you a little too, Billy Hargrove and Billy hit rock bottom but now at least Max and him sing AC/DC in chorus on the rides back home and Will's voice sounds like 'You're good' as he runs his fingertips over the graphite outlines of the skull and repeats, "Wow"

“Gonna have it done” Billy inhales a deep drag of Marlboro and 'Four Months to Eighteen' and for a moment it’s like he could feel the smoke curl up inside his lungs before blowing it out. The image is as pretty as it’s stupid. He glances at the open jaw of the drawing and thinks maybe he'd like a drag too "Have it healed for summer and―"

“What’s happening here?”

Steve.

Harrington.

Hand on his hips, preppy pastel polo lapels up, Ray-Bans holding up that way his hair swirls without really taming it. The twelve o'clock sun is shining sideways from his back and he's pretty. Painfully pretty. And Billy’s sure it's impossible that this redneck raised on corn and money amassed in dubious moral business is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen but sometimes he forgets. That it is impossible because. Fuck. It so seems like it. Light flicking on the ends of his hair where it curls. Under his ear. In the long curve of his neck. And the world doesn't halt and the birds don't stop chirping and the clouds don't part and no preternatural shit happens because this is the black hole where all the world's shit goes, Indiana. But. It so seems like it and,

Billy.

Knew how to breathe but that’s another thing he keeps on forgetting. Every time Steve Harrington passes him by.

He’s gotta force himself. To nod. To stop choking. When Will looks up at him with those big eyes. Questioning.

Apologizing.

Billy Hargrove, from freshly crowned local terror to―

“I was―” Will starts. Inhales. Presses his lips together right before blurting out the truth ‘cause he knows it's the only real way out "Showing Billy my drawings. Sometimes we―"

―the softie whose pride goes high up in his throat every time an eleven-year-old kid says 'Billy, this is good. It's very. Very good, Billy’.

"Sometimes we. Uhm. We―"

Will's already huge eyes get bigger, rounder. As if he’s just realizing that where he's stuck his foot keeps getting muddier, trapping himself all the way in. And Billy smiles lightly at him, sideways, so it’s hidden. From Steve Harrington. From all the world beyond. ‘Cause of that thing about facades and how hard they’re to maintain, when on one side is pressing what you're supposed to be and on the other, relentlessly, what you're hiding.

But Steve’s asking,

“Sometimes―what?” and Will’s eyes are fixed on Billy, two wide-open I’m sorrys and Billy thinks Fuck it, Hargrove. C’mon. Stop hiding.

So he’s the one who says,

“We share our drawings, Harrington”

And Steve.

He’s got those eyes.

They're like a troubled ocean in the heart of winter, those eyes. Hard, hard, hard. Imposing. But soft. So fucking soft. When something catches him off guard. Rolling stones in the breaker. And Billy wants to get swept up in them, like falling along the curve of a wave. Steve looks at him, and at the drawing in his hand, his eyes a swirl and, when he looks up, the calm. And Billy feels as those times when it seemed to him the waves wanted. To wrap around him. To catch him. Soft as the reflecting clouds. And Billy feels as those times when he’d let them. Carry him. Drag him to the shore. Safe and sound.

“Is that yours?” Steve frowns. When he does that. He looks the prettiest. And Billy's heart breaks. In tiny tiny pieces. Thinks This is what it takes, thinks Fuck, thinks, This is how things hurt when you let your skin get soft.

What you don’t have. What you want. What you could―

Fuck.

What you could love so bad you'd rip your own skin off, so they could touch your heart right with their own hands.

Billy nods. Will smiles. Steve’s frown softens and― waveswaveswaves. On an autumn morning. Waves lapping at the surface of an ocean of calm.

And now. Billy sings AC/DC with Max. His heart taking on water when his voice falls off-key and she clutches at her lungs, choking on laughter. Now, he sits in the back of an old shack halfway between who he is and who he should be and so, so very carefully turns at the pages of Will Byers' sketchbook.

And Billy Hargrove hit rock bottom one day in late October. Hit rock bottom and beat into pulp that pretty face he can't stop seeing in his dream. When he's asleep. When he's awake. Hit rock bottom and that's where he's going to stay. It's either that. Or risk coming up to the wrong surface. And it's easier, here at the bottom. Easier to see what matters, when you look up.

Here, Billy takes a breath. Deep. Deeper. Holds onto that air so he has something keeping him alive underwater when Steve snatches the drawing off his hands. Studies it carefully. Says,

"It's―Uhm. Well―" Grins "It's not. Beautiful. Like, conventionally." He eyes cut back to Billy and something in them breaks into whitewater, into that softness he can't help, as if everything else is as much of a lie as 'Billy Hargrove' and all those imaginary walls "But―"

He says ‘But’ and then. The bell goes off.

"Oh!" Will bounces on the spot "I have to―" he yanks the backpack shut "Class!"

He takes off. Running. Turning around right before the corner of the shack to wave at them, flashing one of those smiles Billy has involuntarily categorized as 'the good ones', wide and already almost panting again, before disappearing at the speed of light towards school and to, Billy hopes, be one of those few kids who are still going to be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. If they’re lucky.

(If Billy’s lucky)

Steve Harrington is still there, planted in front of him when the alarm stops.

"Can I bump one of those?" he asks, chin pointing to the smoke Billy's squeezing between his fingers. In the drift of his hair the Ray-Bans stay afloat, capsizing.

Billy bangs the base of the pack against his thigh, pops out a cigarette. Offers it to him. Scrapes his thumb along the wheel when Steve takes it to his lips, leaning forward and― It's broad daylight but in the thin glow of the flame it almost feels like it’s that exact instant when the world begins to fade, darkness turning wide-open spaces into narrow little universes: Steve Harrington and his red lips around the smoke and a small ache in the pad of Billy's thumb from keeping alive the fire and from wanting things with a bigger kind of ache, his heart cauterizing from holding inside the rage of knowing he's never, ever going to have them but―

"But?" Billy asks.

Steve grabs his wrist. Hollows out his cheeks. Inhales deep. Takes him a moment when he pulls away. To let go. Long enough that his fingers could read the way Billy's pulse is raging in his wrist, if he wanted to.

“But” And he’s smiling. Lopsided. He slips into Will's seat and stretches his neck toward the sky. Prolongs the wait. Exhales. "It's cute."

And then his gaze cuts down and he’s searching for him, with those eyes of his. For Billy, who can never stop looking at him so, when he finds him, finds him looking back already.

And Billy―

Billy.

"Cute?"

Billy. Blinks. His hand stops halfway from getting his own cigarette to his mouth. Stops his heart and it feels like time’s stopping too, in this narrowness Steve's presence has reduced the moment into. And he’s smiling big now. His eyes soft. Soft. So fucking soft. And Billy thinks,

You're getting soft too, Billy Hargrove. You want to let him shred off your skin, when Steve says,

"You," snorting a soft laugh, sun melting in his eyes like honey "With Will. Drawing."

Billy wants him to never stop looking at him like that. Wants to lean in, and kiss him.

"Shut up and smoke your fucking cigarette, Harrington" he growls.

And Steve rolls his eyes in a way that screams 'Gotcha, Hargrove', but leans his back against the peeling wood of the shack.

And does as he’s told.

(Next Tuesday, it's not just Will who shows up, when the bell starts ringing)

.

.

i just finished translating this and, since i had originally written this part as and stand-alone thing. here it is. idk if it's worth the work of translating it whole, or if i really feel like it but, we'll see!. i've been at war with life and writing this past few weeks but i've been missing you so much, fandom <3<3<3. hope you've been doing well.

also billy + will + drawing is one of my fav hcs and there are a few tiny things more that i wanna write? hopefully i will 🌟

#harringrove #billy hargrove #will byers #steve harrington #stranger things #billy x steve #steve x billy #billy & will #xharringrove

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, notquiteascrazy!

For @notquiteascrazy​. I hope you'll enjoy it Lex, I tried to stick to your likes as much as I could!!! Merry Xmas, darling!

Read On AO3

*****

The air was thick with snow and the smell of roasted chestnuts and marshmallows, and Alec was staring out from the window of the subway that was taking him home.

He sighed in relief thinking about the fact that at least for the Christmas week, he had a job. At least he wouldn't be forced to stay home alone, drinking a beer and eating a microwave heated pizza, and thinking.

He couldn't go home, not this festivities, not after having left his family business shoving his car and house keys on his father’s desk, shouting that the price was too high for his mental health, seeing all his family's eyes widen in disbelief, because Alec had never said no to anything. Never a quarrel, never an argument, never a sign of disappointment. Anything.

He had endured through high school and university, studying something that made his stomach twitch in disgust still he brought home the best grades, the best results, the best graduation a parent could have ever asked for.

But working more than twelve hours per day for it? It soon became too much to bear.

After two years of sleepless nights, pills, too much coffee, and the beginning of panic attacks, he'd decided to quit and leave that horrible life he crazily had thought he could force himself into.

Sometimes he would say to himself that maybe he hadn't tried hard enough, that maybe if he'd resisted a couple of months more, it would have become a routine, but he was aware that that could have never happened.

Alec hated numbers with all his heart, since he was a kid and that really wouldn't do in his family. For centuries, the Lightwoods held a huge business accountant studio that worked with the most outstanding industries, firms of the country, and even some others abroad. He was the eldest, he was supposed to be the heir. But he wasn't. He'd never been, and he never would be.

Izzy, she was the right one. Strong, sharp, determined, assertive and good enough to bring the best out for the family business. She was, and Alec loved her so much. He loved her fierce steps along the corridor when she was angry at someone, the way her voice turned sharp and hard on the phone when she discovered something she didn't like, the way her decisions were quick and always right.

He, instead, had always loved crayons and pencils. He loved the feeling of wood between his fingers, the smell of paper whenever he bought a new sketchbook, the rustling sound of his sleeve or his arm when it slid on the paper, and the brush of the pencil lead as it traced lines that gave life to the images that filled his head.

He wanted to become an artist, to go to an art school and then to an academy of arts, but he never had the courage to ask, never dared to hope, Alec ended up letting the days flow by until it was too late.

So there he was now, living alone in a one-room apartment in the outskirts, shifting from one temporary job to another. Apparently, he was "too much" for every position he applied for.

Too qualified, too experienced, too well paid, too grown up, too tall, too clumsy, too smart, too handsome, too… everything.

Izzy and Jace promised him they would come to visit during the holidays, but Alec knew that his family’s Christmas celebrations were something that they couldn't escape from that easily, with relatives, colleagues and business partners coming from all over the place and staying there until the late hours.

He dropped off the subway and walked home, grabbing a kebab along the way.

He switched on the kettle and slumped on the small couch he opened to sleep in at night, covering his legs with a blanket, patiently waiting for the little electric stove to heat the small room, picking up his phone and texting his siblings he had found a job for the Christmas’ month.

He stood and grabbed the kettle, pouring the boiling water into a mug filled with tea leaves, letting the steam soothe his icy red nose and warm him up. He looked outside the small window at the snow silently falling on the buildings.

He opened the bed and threw himself on it, still clothed. He took his sketchbook and started drawing, staring at his hand gently swaying on it, until he fell asleep, his head dropped on one side of the pillow, his hand clutching the pencil, as the Christmas lights and decorations glimmered on his black locks.

Magnus strolled into his office, his eyes shadowed, his beard a little longer than usual, his tie hanging loose around his neck, as if he hadn't the time to fix it properly.

"Are you ok?" Raphael asked him, a worried look on his face.

"Yes. No. I'm definitely not. It's been the worst night I had in years. Max has thrown up six times to the point his face turned green and I spent the night on the phone with Cat trying to figure out how to stop it and making him drink small sips of water, so he wouldn’t be dehydrated. I'm... fuck , I need another coffee, Raphael," he stopped and crashed on the huge armchair behind his long desk.

Raphael went to the coffee pot and filled a cup, putting some cream in it.

"You could have taken the day off you know? You're the boss here. No one is checking if you come to work or not."

"Are you insane?" Magnus glared at him as he sipped his coffee, it's December, the mall is going to be full and I have to check everything and I … I…"

"You don't want to be alone, I know."

Magnus' expression turned sad and distant. He sighed deeply, staring into the void.

"Probably not," he added, "Anyway, let's get back to work, is everything fixed? The extra decorations, the elves, the little presents for the kids coming and...oh my god, Santa? Have you found him?"

Raphael nodded smiling.

"Your kind of guy to be honest, dark, tall and handsome."

"Ah, stop this Raphael. He's gonna be dressed in a Santa costume, a huge pillow on his belly and a white long beard. Also…you should know that Mr. no one  has become my favourite kind of guy."

"If you say so,"  he smirked.

Magnus stood up and left the cup on his desk, waving his hands in the air, dismissing whatever Raphael wanted to argue back.

"Anyway, let's go and see the elves, I'm curious," and he opened the door, gesturing to Raphael to follow him.

Alec woke up earlier than usual, waiting like twenty minutes for the water to warm and finally shower.

He knotted the towel low on his waist, cursing the cold wind that crawled from underneath the gaps in the window’s frames and went to the sink, grabbing his razor to shave. He stared at his image in the mirror. Why was he even shaving? He was about to wear a long white beard for a week. He brushed his knuckles on his stubble and smiled. It looked good on him. His father never wanted him to grow a beard. He used to say it made him look scruffy and that wouldn't go over well with their clients and partners. But now, who cared anymore? He put the razor back in the drawer and went to the stove to make some coffee. He dressed up slowly,  and ate some toast, while chatting with Jace.

The subway was full of people going to work, some of them dressed in their grey and black suits and he felt relieved; he didn't miss that life at all. He took his sketchbook from his backpack and started portraying their faces, the worried and the sad ones, the abandoned lover and the happy newly wedded one. All of them in their morning run to face the day.

The receptionist stopped him as soon as he entered.

"I'm Alec Lightwood, ehm, Santa Claus…"

"Oh, yes Mr. Lightwood, you're a little early, but since you are already here you can go to the locker room and change. Here's your costume."

She was staring at him, a goofy smile on her face. As he walked away he heard her murmur to the other lady next to her that it was a pity to cover all that glory with a Santa's costume.

He chuckled and took the elevator.

The pillow on his belly was soft but huge and it made him uncomfortably hot, and the faint beard itched a bit on his neck. He wore the heavy boots and realized he was already covered in sweat. It was going to be a very long month.

He entered the Children's Land and spotted the man who interviewed him last week. He was standing next to the most enchanting creature Alec had ever laid his eyes on. He stood frozen in the middle of the large hall of the toy shop, just staring, until Raphael noticed him.

"Oh, there you are! Magnus, he's our Santa Claus," he said and pulled Magnus from his wrist toward the tall red and white figure.

"Alec? Oh, can I call you Alec, right? This is Magnus, the real boss here."

Alec was glad to be disguised when Magnus fully turned to look at him. The man was strikingly beautiful, probably just a little older than he was.

He extended his hand and Magnus mirrored him, shaking it for a split second that to Alec seemed like an eternity.

"Strong grip," Magnus said smiling, "perfect for Santa. Also, your height is just perfect. Let me hear your voice, have you practiced lowering it a bit?"

Alec nodded and was about to let him hear his best Ho Ho Ho , when Magnus' phone rang.

"Cat? How is Max feeling? Better? Oh, thank god, he needed some good sleep. Any fever? No? That's good."

Alec knew he shouldn't have been listening, but he just couldn't help it.

Of course he was married. Of course he had a kid and a beautiful wife waiting for him at home.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when Raphael suddenly asked him to follow him toward the big wooden sleigh they had put on the right end corner of the shop.

"This will be your place. You will have a big jute sack behind where you’ll put the letters and a basket full of candies and lollipops for the kids after they have told you their wishes."

Alec listened and nodded.

"Can I make a little drawing for them? Just a sketch of their name or favourite hero?" he asked.

Raphael looked at him amused.

"You can draw?"

"Yes, I'll be quick, I promise."

"Of course you can Alec. It will be an amazing surprise for all of them."

Alec turned and saw Magnus talking to his kid on the phone. His face was soft and he was smiling as if the child could see him. His mind went back to an image of a younger Robert smiling at him. He felt a rush of longing for those days when he was exactly the son their parents had dreamed of. Responsible, always on track, confident, always in the right place at the right moment.

While they were happy, he was overwhelmed. The more they grew proud, the more he was ashamed of himself. The longer they seemed sure of who he was, the further he didn't even know where to begin.

He spun and found Raphael looking at him, brows up to his forehead.

Fuck! He realized he had been staring at what was technically his boss.

He scratched his fingers on the back of his neck trying to think about something good to say and justify his weird behaviour.

"Ahm… he's good with children...not many men are … ehm… it's kinda rare I mean…"

Raphael delighted in the embarrassment he glimpsed in the young man in front of him, and waited amused until Alec fell silent with a frustrated grunt.

Raphael took pity on him and finally laughed, wholeheartedly.

"Yeah, he is.  They love him before he even starts to speak and he can convince them to do whatever he asks. They're kinda spellbound ."

"Yeah I know the feeling."

Alec’s cheeks reddened a bit and he closed his eyes cursing himself for talking without filters, realizing what comment had just left his mouth.

"I mean," he tried, "I know the feeling of being spellbound."

Raphael turned around a little  smirking, “Yeah, he has this effect on everyone he meets."

Alec walked toward the sleigh, checked the basket filled with sweets and sat down, adjusting the pillow on his belly and stretching his legs. He knew they would be bent until late that afternoon. He was glad he hadn’t shaved that morning, otherwise, his pale and delicate skin would have been scratchy in the evening.

He took his sketchbook from his backpack and the crayons, the beautiful watercolour ones that he received on his last birthday from Izzy and Jace, and set them on his left side.

Raphael instructed a couple of photographers where to position the cameras and searched for Magnus again, leaving the last decision up to him. He was the best organizer but he really lacked any sense of aesthetics, which, instead, Magnus was overflowing with. The man was fixing the red berry and frosted pine cone garland on the railing of the stairs, fully concentrated on the task.

"Magnus? Have a look here," he said, "our Santa's sleigh is ready. Just waiting for your last touch.”

Magnus revolved toward the voice and stared for a moment at Alec and the setting, his gaze so intense that Alec felt the urge to divert his eyes. Magnus moved slowly toward the sleigh, bending near the footboards to fix the fake snowflakes and the pine branches.

His movements were slow and graceful, the back of his neck was flexing sinuously following the motion of his hands and fingers, and Alec couldn't keep from staring. His nails were painted in a dark green polish, matching the colour of the spikes in his faux hawk. He was elegant and extremely professional, but there was something sensual too in his overall outfit.

His eyes were stuck to Magnus' fingers that were now fixing the red velvet cloth and cushions on the sled.

"You like the color of the polish or my rings?" Magnus asked abruptly without turning his head and Alec rolled his eyes, because of course he wasn’t able to do anything without being noticed.

He didn't know what to say because, honestly, he liked them both, a lot.

Magnus must have realized his embarrassment because he resumed his talk without even looking at him.

"I picked the dark green this morning because it matches the beautiful colour of the pine needles and also because it matches perfectly with the burgundy red suit I am wearing. The rings...well, they are just a sort of second skin, I never remove them, not even when I sleep or shower."

Alec remained still and silent, lost in Magnus' voice.

"I don't bite, you know. You're allowed to answer or say something," Magnus added seriously, just before bursting into the softest laughter Alec had ever heard, "I'm just teasing you, I was joking."

Alec smiled behind the white soft beard, "Both, I like them both," he whispered.

Magnus stopped his movements and finally raised his head to look at him. He was kneeled on one leg, looking at those hazel big eyes standing out from the furry grey brows. They shined like two emerald gems.

Magnus then stood up and leaned toward Alec, grabbing his white fluffy collar and adjusting it around his neck, next his palms swept over his shoulders and tugged at the fabric a little, to make it adhere to Alec's shoulders. They were broad and straight. The last touch was reserved for his hat. He fixed the pom-pom and then his fingers curled up the mustaches above Alec's lips.

He cocked his head and took a moment to check what he had just done, "Now you're perfect, the perfect Santa. Raphael is the best at making real what I have in mind."

"Raphael knows so well what the boss likes," a voice replied.

"He's right," Magnus said to Alec smirking, "he knows me so well. Ok now. I know he already told you what this whole Santa's thing is about, but I will remind you anyway. Kids will queue here, you will take them on your lap and have a little chat, then ask them for a wish, pick up a candy, and offer them to take a picture with you. Remember the pictures are for free, it's  just for the joy of the kids, and…"

"And while they are waiting for the print I will make them a little sketch."

Magnus frowned.

"Raphael told me I could. I'll be quick, I promise."

"You draw?" Magnus asked.

"Yes."

"As long as you don't make the people wait too long, I think it's a wonderful idea. Keep the last one for me, ok?"

Magnus turned to Raphael.

"Let the kids come. We're ready for the magic to happen."

Alec's first week flew by quicker than he had imagined. He enjoyed talking to the kids and smiled at the incredible, sweet, improbable desires they shared with him. He gave them the sweets and a quick sketch; an animal, a toy, a star, a word, something he made just for them.

Raphael was amazed by how quickly Alec actually sketched. The queue was flowing regularly and no clients complained about waiting too long. Their Santa smiled and laughed with the kids and he didn't seem to become annoyed or bored.

Alec always listened with the same attention, always gave the children space and time to talk, enjoyed their sense of wonder, comforted the sad ones, knew how to deal with tantrums and tears, and never missed to give an encouraging smile to the parents waiting.

In that week, he fell asleep happily after such a long time.

Working at the mall turned out to be very exciting and interesting. Alec had always been fond of people, even if he wasn't very talkative and extroverted. He mostly loved to observe them, the quick glances between the ones in love, the farewell and welcome embraces, the arguments and the tears, the gazes lost in nowhere, the grandparents holding the hands of the kids, and of course, the kisses.

In the days he spent there, especially at the times his shift started and finished, when the mall was emptying, he loved watching Magnus interact with his employees. He was struck by how different Magnus was from his father.  

Magnus was always the first to arrive and the last one to leave, he always had a smile for everyone, he paid attention to all their needs, and always found the right words to say, supportive, encouraging, and caring. He brought coffee and sweets, he offered them lunch and then sat eating with them, laughing and having fun, and whenever he could, he would help them.

There was something in that man that had Alec yearning for his presence whenever he wasn’t around, that had him staring at him when Magnus wasn’t noticing, admiring him. He was beautiful inside and out.

"His wife must be so happy," he absentmindedly said to a cleaner one night as he was helping him pull up all the trash bags. Wei was the oldest one at the mall, and Alec had become his friend. He loved to listen to his stories and his memories, and got his fill of wisdom every day. Alec opened up to him like a father, sharing his personal life, his dreams and his sorrows. He remained with him long after his Santa’s duty was over, listened and helped along the way.

"Who?" said the man.

"Mr. Bane."

Wei stopped moving and cleaning, putting his mop on the floor, smiling at Alec.

"Magnus?"

Alec looked at the old man and smiled, hoisting up two other bags.

"Yes, Magnus."

The man looked back at him, pensively, and then talked.

"Magnus isn't married, and never has been. If you are referring to the fact that he has a child, I will tell you a story worthy of this time of the year. Tea first," and he went to the counter of the locker room and poured some in two cups, handing one to Alec.

"Three years ago, Anne, a young girl that worked at the bookstore, died unexpectedly in a car accident. She was the mother of a two-year-old boy, named Max. When Magnus heard that the social services were searching for a place for Max to stay for the night, he offered to take him home with him, and never left him since then. He applied for adoption, since he was the closest thing to family for that girl and her boy and since he was raised in foster care…"

The man looked at Alec, an unreadable expression on his face, something between awe and seriousness.

"I hope you'll have the chance to know him better, Alec. Magnus is one of the kindest souls that tread on this earth. He's caring, gentle, soft, selfless, he holds a special place in his heart for each of us. He knows all our histories, he never misses a birthday or an anniversary, he covers our shifts when we need a day off and no one can replace us. He's so incredible, that he's almost unreal."

He stood up and took the mop again, "I have noticed the way you look at him."

Alec swallowed, his cheeks getting crimson, "I… I don't…"

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, he doesn't deserve to be alone," and he bent to grab some empty bottles.

"Leave that to me," Alec said and was quickly on his knees to collect them.

"You're just as kind as he is," Wei said and threw some paper cups in the bin.

Alec remained with him, and they talked until Wei had finished cleaning.

"Your dad will understand sooner or later," he said putting his coat and scarf on.

"He might, but he'll never forgive me," Alec sighed.

"He will understand one day that there's nothing to forgive Alec, you don't have to apologize to anyone for giving voice to your true self, he will understand, believe me. Just give him time."

Alec nodded as they went outside and decided to take a walk. He looked up at the grey thick sky, thinking about Magnus.

He opened his drawing book and checked all the sketches and portraits he'd made of Magnus while he wasn't watching. It would have been really nice to know him better, but December was almost over and he did not even have the chance to present himself.

He exhaled. In another life, maybe.

On his part, Magnus realized he was always finding an excuse to go to the children's store. There was something in that Santa that drew him closer, even if he had never seen his face. The way he moved, his soft, tender voice, the way he got lost in his drawing, and the way he answered the kids. Raphael always made jokes about the fact that he should go to the locker room and have a closer look at the man, but Magnus always dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

As Christmas approached, Alec noticed that Magnus was often around and he never missed the chance to draw him on many different occasions.

“You should show him," he heard Raphael say behind his back as he peeked at the sketch Alec had just made of Magnus standing beside one of the Xmas trees of the mall, sipping from a coffee cup, absorbed in reading, his brows furrowed, his lips curled in concentration.

Alec suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him.

"Magnus loves beautiful things, and your portrait is amazing, you really should," Raphael stated as he walked away.

Alec closed his sketchbook when a loud thud tore him out of his thoughts. He rushed and found a crying kid on the floor, his knees up to his chin, a thin rivulet of blood on his wrist.

Alec knelt beside him, his voice soft and tender, "Hey, it's all right, I'm here. Can I have a look at your wrist?"

The boy raised his head and found Santa Claus kneeling beside him, asking him to have a look at his injury. He looked around confused, not really knowing what to do, until his eyes rested on another man standing behind his back.

"I'd let him if I were you, his touch might be magical."

Alec looked up and saw Magnus looking at him, gently nodding, encouraging him to go on. So he took the boy's hand and lifted his wrist to have a look at it; then he took out two small packages from his right pocket. He showed them to the kid.

"What's your name?" he asked softly.

"Tom," the boy whispered.

"Okay, Tom. Now I will wipe your wound and disinfect it, it won't burn or hurt, I promise. Then I am going to put a magical Santa patch on it, how does this sound? Will you pick up the drawing while I clean it?"

"Mr. Bane…" Alec started only to stop when Magnus stepped in.

"Magnus." Magnus corrected.

"Magnus can help you pick one, if that's all right?"

The boy smiled and nodded.

Alec passed the small box to Magnus and for a moment their eyes locked. Magnus smiled at him, wide and open, and his gaze softened as their fingers softly brushed, and Alec felt something cracking inside of him, like an egg breaking to let a new life peek through.

He made quick work of the little wound, covering it with a candy cane-shaped patch.

"Now,” he added, “since you have been really brave, why don’t you follow me to pick some candies out from my basket near the sleigh?"

"And I will go and search for your parents," Magnus added, "remain here with Santa."

Later that evening, he was putting his black coat on ready to go home when he heard someone coming.

"Who are you?" Magnus asked, looking surprised at the handsome man standing outside the locker room.

Alec turned and saw him, he seemed almost in a rush. He was about to answer, but he realized he couldn't breathe.

“You don’t look like a thief, so, care to tell me who you are?”

"I’m Santa. I mean, the guy dressed as Santa. My name is Alec," his voice came out barely a whisper.

"Pardon?" Magnus asked him, almost not believing he had heard well.

Alec swallowed as he felt those chocolate eyes scanning him from his feet to the last of his black locks.

Magnus blinked as his heart skipped a beat. Damn Raphael, he was right.

They both remained silent as the veil was raised, staring at each other as their hearts were fluttering.

Finally, Magnus extended his hand to him, "Actually I was searching just for you."

Alec grabbed his hand and squeezed it, his grip strong and certain, "Why?"

"I wanted to thank you for today. The way you acted with that boy…,"

"It was nothing...”

"You turned a bad event into an amazing one, one he will remember for all his life. Plus, you didn't have to, and you did anyway. This says a lot about the kind of person you are, and I never take such things for granted."

Alec was still holding his hand, stuck in a sort of trance. When he realized that, he retracted his palm, "I'm sorry, I need to go…, my sister is waiting for me outside…,"

Magnus nodded.

Alec adjusted the scarf around his neck and moved toward the exit.

"Ah, Alec? We are having a small Christmas party on the 24th, after the mall closes for the clients, why don't you come? It's an open party, we all bring families or partners…," he stopped, waiting for Alec to say something.

"I'd love to, yes, thank you. See you tomorrow," he left and headed to Izzy's car, his heart racing, his head a bit spinning.

Izzy needed just a glance to understand, "Are you ok?"

Alec looked at her and licked his lips, twice, "I don't really think so."

"What's wrong?"

He pressed his fingers at the corner of his eyes, exhaling, "Fuck, Izzy, I think I've fallen in love."

"And what's so terrible about it?"

Alec looked back at her, almost desperate, "He's the owner of the mall, beautiful and sexy as fuck, smart, and kind, and...what do I have to offer him?"

"Yourself, Alec. And believe me, it's not something you easily find around nowadays." She turned the engine on and drove him away.

After the last bowl of popcorn was over, Max was almost asleep against Magnus' chest.

"Dad?"

"Mm?"

"You were happy tonight when you came back from work, did something happen?"

Magnus kissed him on his head, gently, "Maybe, yes. I was thinking...We have a special Santa this year, do you want to come and make your wish?"

"You'd let me again?”

Magnus nodded and heard Max hum happily.

In that last week, Magnus found every excuse to be around Alec, and Alec always welcomed him with his bright eyes and his soft smile. The more Magnus stayed with him, the more he felt the desire to know him better. Magnus found himself thinking about which books Alec liked reading, what kind of movies did he watch, or what was the food he wanted to eat on a snowy night.

Magnus really wanted to invite him for a drink, but it was Christmas week and Max was at home with Cat the whole day, waiting for him to come home. That was what being a father was about. Putting Max first, every time, and Magnus knew not many would want a committed relationship with a lone parent.

Christmas Eve was really busy. Alec was searching for Magnus, but he never showed up. He wanted to see him one last time, since he’d decided not to show up to the party. He wanted to thank him for having made this month the best he had in years. All the customers had almost left when he spotted him at the end of the queue, holding a little boy in his arms, and chatting with him.

Max was the last kid of the day. Magnus knelt, putting him down and letting him walk toward Alec, to make his wish for this Christmas.

He knew that Max always asked for one thing, no matter if it was Christmas or if he was blowing his birthday candle, or watching a shooting star. All the others Santa had always given him silly answers, -- this is not a thing you can ask Santa, or this is a thing you should ask in your bedtime prayers, or Santa brings only toys-- , leaving Max always sad and deluded.

Why was he expecting Alec to give a different answer, he didn’t know.

As Max came closer, Alec opened his arms and pulled him up on his thighs, looking at him.

“And you are?”

“Max. Dad said you are a special Santa, so maybe you are the one who can finally help me with my wish?”

“I’ll do my best. What is it?”

"Can you bring my mum back?"

Alec felt like he had been slapped by a cold hand right on his face, as his eyes filled with tears.

He raised a hand and caressed Max’s cheek, staying silent as some seconds passed by, conscious of the other pair of eyes that were staring at him, aside from Max’s.

Alec thought carefully about the answer and then he started talking, “I wish I could, Max, but I can't. There are many things that happen in life that we can’t turn back or change, no matter how much we’d want or try to. Your mum has passed now and this means she can't come back, but there is something you can do about this. You can find her in the small things of your life, in the scents that remind you of her, in the melody she used to sing when she lulled you to sleep, in the words of a story she used to tell you at bedtime, in the way your smile probably looks like hers, and…,” he raised his gaze to look at Magnus who seemed visibly touched by his words, "... in the love your dad is giving you. In this way, it will be as if she never really left you. I know you miss her presence, her touch, and her voice, but if you close your eyes and search into your heart, you will find her there.”

Max looked intensely at the man in front of him, processing the words, serious and concentrated, then his face brightened in a sunny smile.

“Dad was right, you’re the best Santa I have ever met.” Max replied as he looked between his dad and Santa. He may not have his mom’s warm hugs anymore but Max did have his Dad’s embrace and bedtime stories. “Thank you Santa. I think you’re right.”

Alec let out a startled laugh as he held the candy basket out for Max, “Now, any other wish I can help you with?”

“Is there something you wish to have back and can’t, just like me?”  Max finally asked, picking up a candy cane.

Alec inhaled a sharp breath, “Of course there is.”

Max smiled and looked up at Alec, “Then come and spend Christmas with us, so you can tell me.”

Alec cleared his throat, “Leave a plate with cookies and a mug of hot chocolate, and I’ll see what I can do, ok?”

Then he kissed Max on his head, picked his sketchbook and drew a big comet on it. Giving it to the kid he told him, “Never stop believing Max, the best things come to us when we less expect them. Merry Christmas.”

He stood up, tearing another sheet from it, walked toward Magnus who was still kneeling and staring at him, handing him the drawing, “This is for you.”

Magnus looked at his portrait on the paper. He wanted to say something, but voices and laughters were coming from the hall of the mall, signalling that the Christmas party was about to begin.

“Magnus, Max?” they heard Raphael call.

Alec stepped back, grabbed his pencils and went to change his clothes, leaving Magnus and Max there.

He felt his heart aching at the idea of leaving without a word, but he knew that going to the party would have only meant to feel even worse when he had to say goodbye. He dressed up and before leaving he put a drawing next to the locker of each of the persons he had met and worked with, in those days.

“So you’re not coming,” he heard Wei say.

He turned, his eyes were red with unshed tears, that he wasn’t ashamed to show. “It would only be worse later. I’m already lost. I don’t want this to be out in the open, and if I ever get in there, with him, with them, I won’t be able to disguise it. Thank you for being my friend and confidant while I was here,” he told Wei as he hugged him, “Watch over him and make sure he’ll give his heart to someone worthy. Say goodbye to everyone, it’s been an honour working here.”

He patted the man on his back one more time, and then made his way out, deciding to walk home and let the snowflakes wash away the tears that were streaming down his face.

At the party, Magnus was trying to get distracted, but his mind was fixed on Alec, on the way he answered Max, and on the way the boy had seemed to want Alec in their lives.

Maybe he was the right one.

He would have asked him out, if only the man would show up, but he didn't, and Magnus had lost his hopes.

He was standing next to the bar, drinking and staring into the void.

"Drinking to celebrate or to forget?" Wei asked him.

"Neither of these, just drinking and enjoying the two days of rest we have ahead of us."

The old man hummed and took a glass himself.

"It seemed you were searching and waiting for someone who didn't come," he said, “Alec went away."

Magnus frowned and then exhaled, his voice turning sharp and bitter, "Ah yes, I call it the lone parent effect. It never fails to strike."

Wei looked at him, savouring his cocktail. The man looked to be weighing something in his mind before he spoke.

"He went away because he has feelings, and feared that these weren't reciprocated."

Magnus put down his glass on the counter.

"Who told you?"

"He did, just before leaving. And that's not the only thing I know about him."

Magnus shook his head, smiling, feeling his heart expand.

"Sit here with me and let's have a talk, Magnus."

The morning sun hit Alec right in the eyes and he cursed himself for not closing the curtains enough last night when he’d come home. He remembered feeling sad and being a bit tipsy, after stopping along the way to have a couple of beers.

He wasn't really used to drinking, so he always ended up confused and hobbling, until there was a couch or a bed to fall into.

Alec got up and stretched his arms and legs, staring at the thick snow already covering the roofs, and still falling from the pearly grey sky.

Jace and Izzy were out of reach for a couple of days, trapped in all those pompous meetings his parents always held at their place.

He put the coffee pot on the stove and took a pan, opened the fridge and looked at the watch. Nine o'clock. It was going to be a very long day.

He toasted some bread and cooked two sunny side up eggs, and put the plate on the table. He was scrolling his phone while eating, chuckling at the secret pics his siblings were sending him, before taking the still fuming cup of coffee, and going back to the couch, opening a book.

After a while he went to take a shower and then warmed some other coffee before getting dressed.

That's when he heard the doorbell ring.

He quickly put on a thorn old sweater he used at home and a pair of loose sweatpants. It must have been the old lady on the first floor, she knew he was alone.

He opened the door, threading his hand through his already ruffled hair and lost all his capacity to think and speak when he saw Magnus and Max, hand in hand, standing on the threshold of his small apartment, on that Christmas morning.

He wanted to say something, but didn't know where to start from. Magnus was looking at him, a shy smile on his face, a doubtful look in his eyes, as if he was sorry for showing up without calling him first.

Luckily Max was there too.

"So your real name is Alec?" the boy asked him.

Alec looked at Magnus, asking for silent permission, before nodding back.

"Me and dad had a talk about Santa," Max giggled, "he says that mall Santas are only interns right now. Like high ranking elves! Now I know why no one could help me, but at least, your words were honest, and we are here for a reason," and he elbowed his father on his leg.

Magnus seemed lost for a moment, trying to find the right words, then looked at Alec and said, "We were wondering if you would come and spend these two Holiday days with us. Our home is big enough and we have a spare room."

Alec looked at him and shrugged, incredulous.

"I want you to come, Santa Alec, please."

"And you?" Alec asked Magnus.

"I would love to. I would love to know you better, if you'd let me."

Alec smiled and it felt as if the sun had ripped through the clouds, even if it was still snowing, "I would love that too."

Magnus winked at him, "So that's settled. We will wait for you in the car while…"

Alec grabbed his wrist, pulling him inside.

"I'm sorry I didn't invite you in, I was… distracted. If you both don't mind the small place, I have some warm coffee and I can make you a hot chocolate Max."

As they sat on the couch, Alec warmed the coffee and prepared the chocolate.

The radio was playing in the background -- It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas --, Alec looked at Magnus intensely as he handed him the cup, and maybe, from now on, life was really beginning to look a lot like something they had been waiting for, for a long time.

#notquiteascrazy #malecsanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

[kremlin]

incorrectly teasing audiophiles is just as shameful as being an audiophile + way more about USB than you care to know

interesting USB thing i realized!

we all know audiophiles are terrible people for the most part. folks who know less than nothing about circuitry or electronics and like to throw money at snake oil solutions to imaginary problems

they get a lot of shit for it, and there is a lot of stuff on the internet making fun of them. the most common criticism i see is against very expensive cables that carry digital signals. these cables have all sorts of fantastical features: gold-plated connectors, very thick dielectric insulation around each individual wire, scientific-grade conductor purity, etc.

nonsense! digital signals comprise a finite number of discrete electrical signals. they aren’t analog signals, which are continuous waves comprising an infinite number of points -- a case where you are likely to lose data or have your signal be significantly effected by noise. assuming a properly designed specification/protocol for digital signals, you won’t ever lose any data with a $5 cable compared to a $1500 audiophile one

or so people say! people like to pretend they know everything about everything. for the most part, they are right in the above criticism. except for one case! USB

let’s say you are some big audiophile nerd. you have your dumb little room full of zombie/bacon posters and grumpy cat meme printouts taped to the wall and you only listen to the most obnoxiously high quality audio through your 11.2 surround sound speaker setup. unless it’s 24-bit 192,000 Hz lossless FLAC vinyl rips you won’t listen to it. “pleb trash!”, you exclaim. “it���s called what.cd, and yes, i seed. it’s invite-only” smirks

let’s say that you have a receiver that your eleven fucking speakers & 2 subwoofers plug into. that receiver is connected to your computer, excuse me, “gaming rig”, via a USB cable. a “normal” usb cable, that is to say, USB 2.0 which is the kind of USB cable you are certainly most familiar with

some quick explanation, and then some math: 192khz refers to the number of samples per second, in this case, one hundred and ninety two thousand per second. each sample is twenty-four bits long, this is referred to as the bit depth and is a measure of sample granularity, or how precise each sample can be. with 24 bits, you can express all numbers between 0 and 16777215 which is a lot of numbers. “11.2 surround sound” refers to having eleven speakers and two subwoofers, and because i don’t know how subwoofers work i’m just going to pretend there are thirteen speakers for the sake of discussion

all of this is ridiculous because it far exceeds what a human being is capable of differentiating between through their ears/brain. 192khz audio means that the frequency of the sound wave hitting your eardrums is changing at a maximum rate of once every five microseconds. your greasy ape eardrums can’t possibly react to that sudden of a change, and in fact, still can’t keep up with sound waves changing four times slower as is the case with standard 44.2khz audio. similarly, you can’t differentiate between a bit depth of 24 vs. a bit depth of 16 (standard) the same way you can’t tell the difference between one shade of purple and another shade of purple that is 1/16777215th shade darker. you also don’t need eleven god damn speakers for reasons too inane to get into.

anyway: 192,000 samples per second times 24 bits per sample gives us  4608000 bits transferred each second. since we have 13 speakers that each have their own channel, we multiply 4608000 bits/second by 13 to get 59904000 bits transferred per second total. note, that’s not actually how 11.2 setups work, but i’m exaggerating for the sake of discussion. 59904000 bits/second equals about 60 megabits/second which is well within the maximum bandwidth of USB 2.0 which is 480Mbits/sec. that’s plenty, even considering the fact you can never hit theoretical max bandwidth

so it looks like USB will work! even the cheap, shitty USB we are all used to, not even the fancy blue USB 3.0 stuff or USB 3.1 type-C shit. since 480Mbits/s is a higher number than 60Mbits/s our job is done, right? wrong

we know that our USB protocol has the available bandwidth, but past that we don’t know anything about how the signal transmission actually occurs or at what interval. audio signals are very special in that they are extremely time-sensitive. your protocol can’t spend half a second doing handshaking/checksumming and then two seconds transferring out-of-order data followed by one second of re-ordering. even if your throughput was a billion Gbits/s this still wouldn’t work for audio since every significant chunk of time spent not transferring audio data equals dead air, no sound playing from your speakers. you have to play one sample after the other, continuously, and if you spend time processing or otherwise not-transferring audio data then you have missed your window for all samples that were supposed to play during that time period, and by the time those samples are ready they’re already useless

so, we need to know more than just “does the available bandwidth exceed the needed bandwidth”. we need to know the transfer characteristics. there are four USB transfer types.

control transfer, which is a high-latency, low-speed, and low-throughput method that has robust error handling. your USB host (computer) has no idea what bizzare shit you have just plugged in and has to use the safest, most widely-compatible transfer format to ensure compatibility which is a big thing with USB. control transfers are always the initial transfer mode and usually only happen a dozen or so times right when you connect two devices during which handshaking/etc occurs and both devices become aware of each other’s capabilities and negotiate a better transfer mode

interrupt transfer, which is a low-latency, low-speed, and low-throughput method meant for sending/receiving relatively small amounts of data that need to be processed immediately. keyboards/mice/other HID devices are good examples, even the fastest typist can only hit one key every, i don’t know, 100ms or so which is like ten years to a computer. however, those keyclicks can’t queue up and pop up on the screen in periodic chunks, nor can there be a significant delay between when you move your mouse and when your cursor moves correspondingly. keyclicks and mouse movements happen slowly enough to where the overall needed bandwith is small, but since we don’t want to take a chance and just hope that the host’s scheduler deals with them immediately, we fire an IRQ, causing the CPU to drop whatever it’s doing and deal with USB shit immediately. interrupt transfers have mild error recovery features in that they’ll detect an erroneous frame and just throw it out as opposed to trying to negotiate a re-transmission 

bulk transfer, which is a high-latency, medium-speed, and high-throughput method meant for transferring large amounts of time-insensitive data. this is meant for things like USB flash drives that move around a lot of data at the hosts leisure. the host will allocate as much bandwidth as it can spare, but doesn’t fuss much about specifics since the data it’s dealing with is saved on non-volatile storage and therefore isn’t lost forever if there is a signaling error. bulk transfers have good error recovery in that errors are overwhelmingly likely to be caught via CRC checksum mismatch after which re-transmission is occurs.

isochronous transfer, the coolest sounding transfer method, is a medium-speed, medium-latency, and medium-throughput method for transferring specifically time-sensitive data, like audio data. ding ding ding. this is the one we want. isochronous transfers initially negotiate a fixed transfer rate, like say, 60Mbits/s, and then the host reserves that bandwidth at that interval to be used exclusively for USB transfers. this guarantees that payload data will flow from host -> peripheral at exactly the predetermined rate, meaning each sample will arrive on-time, ready to be piped through to the DAC without an intermediate buffer (which is good because your fucking receiver doesn’t need to be a computer too). but wait! isochronous transfers have no error recovery. if a bit gets mangled during transmission both the host and peripheral will be none the wiser and the peripheral will play it as if it were the right value. with USB, you have a single differential pair, one line of communication, and in our case it’s also half-duplex. if erroneous data is transmitted, well, there’s no point in trying to retransmit the correct data because the song (or whatever) has already continued playing and it wouldn’t make sense to suddenly replay old samples from earlier in the song. that’s not to mention that detection/retransmission is impossible due to the fact that lone differential pair doesn’t have time for error deliberation between playing samples nor is the peripheral (the endpoint capable of detecting errors) capable of alerting the host since USB is half-duplex (yes, USB 3.0 is full-duplex, you don’t need to correct me)

ANYWAY, getting back to the original point (wow i have sure written a lot of words here), since there is no error recovery for isochronous USB transfers, having super high grade USB cables with fancy gold connectors and thick insulation, maybe even a  conductive shield surrounding the transmission lines  à la coaxial cables, would actually decrease the error rate assuming the bulk of errors are due to outside noise

but no, in reality the error rates with even the shittiest, longest, chinese no-name brand USB cables that have gone through the washing machine a couple of times and are coiled around your microwave, wifi router, and cell phone are still vanishingly small and you are still a huge idiot if you spend more than $10 on a USB cable thinking you can perceive any kind of difference

i guess the moral of this story is that it’s only cool to make fun of audiophile shit if you are being incredibly pedantic and longwinded about it. or something. i just wanted to write about USB. bite me

#frequently questioned answers #usb #audiophiles

[itsworn]

The Chaotic World of Funny Car Chaos! Race weekend from a Promoter’s Point of View

For the past fifteen years, I have dedicated my life to the sport of drag racing as a photographer, race reporter, and participant. My wife and I spend every weekend from mid-January to early December at a drag race somewhere across this great country. In addition to serving as President of the Southwest Heritage Racing Association, which is the largest and most rapidly-growing independent drag racing series in the Southwest, I also find the task of hosting large, single events very intriguing. After five years of success organizing and promoting the annual Pro Mod vs Fuel Altered Showdown each summer in Texas, I decided to challenge myself on an even bigger event.

Funny Cars are without question the most entertaining vehicles to ever take the starting line at a drag strip. For decades, they have entertained spectators with their ill handling unpredictability and aggressive style. When funny car lays down a full track burnout, the hair on the back of your neck stands up. That’s what drag racing is all about. We needed to bring Funny Cars back to the main stage in the Southwest, and make it big. The challenge was clear, host a Funny Car race that appeals to both the racers and the spectators like nothing we’ve seen since the 1970’s and early 1980’s. Since that time, smaller eight car shows and two- or four-car match races were all fans and racers had. It was time for a legitimate, mass appealing, large, well-paying and Funny Car event. Thus, Funny Car Chaos was born.

Knowing the amount of Funny Cars not only in the mid-west but across the country, I was sure we could certainly attract sixteen cars to make the tow to North Star Dragway in Denton, Texas if we didn’t require them to fit a certain rules profile and we paid them decent money for their efforts. When I announced Funny Car Chaos in December 2016, I had no money or sponsors, just a date, a track owner who gave me a chance. Over the next six months, I spent tireless hours hunting sponsorships, and after lots of time on a calculator, I knew I had to get the payout announced to make these racers know this was for real. A group of local teams had confirmed interest, and after the announcement of a $25,000 payout, we subsequently attracted the attention of several out of town teams. My title sponsor and biggest supporter, Randy Ranew and the Red Line Shirt Club, played a huge role in getting me to this point.

Holy cow! Now I’ve got 25 cars pre-entered into this race and was only planning on qualifying 16. Back to the calculator, let’s figure out a way to let all these teams who are willing to dedicate their time and money have a chance at a first round and be part of the show. The format was finalized with an elite eight top qualifiers making up the ‘A’ field and remaining nine through twenty four qualifiers slotted into the ‘B’ field of sixteen, qualifying twenty four cars total. With the format and payout set, 25 teams pre-entered and sponsorship commitments higher than I’ve ever raised before, it was time to promote, promote, promote. Could term “Funny Car” be enough to attract people to the event? Who doesn’t love a Funny Car, right?

Fast forward to the week of the race, and my cell phone hasn’t stopped ringing. I literally carried battery packs in my pocket to keep my phone from dying. Teams started arriving on Tuesday. What? You only see things like that at the U.S. Nationals or the March Meet. A dreary forecast for Thursday and Friday had me nervous, as we had test sessions, pre-parties, and lots of action scheduled. Thankfully, we were blessed with a dry Thursday night, and the pre-party went off better than expected. The local restaurant had to quit taking food orders at one point because the kitchen was so backed up. After talking with the owner, more alcohol sales were recorded through the register since the opening of the venue in 2013.

We were off and running at 6:00 am Friday morning, and I was starting to feel the anxiety. After all the hype, I had better deliver the goods with the next two days of drag racing. A steady drizzle hung over North Star Dragway until just before noon,then the track staff took charge to dry the quickest eighth mile in Texas for a 2:00 test session for Funny Cars.

With 22 tech cards turned in at the drivers meeting, all the racers knew they were “in the show”, however, three of the pre-entered teams were unable to make it. We had it all at Funny Car Chaos: nitro cars, alcohol cars, new body styles and old body styles, heck, we even had a ‘topless’ Funny Car. Several teams took advantage of the open rule book and made changes to their engine combinations, choosing to bolt on bigger fuel pumps, more powerful magnetos, etc. It was like Funny Cars on steroids!

With such a wide assortment of cars, some who run regularly and some relative novices, I knew we’d face some losses as parts failure took its toll. Testing went well, Mark Sanders ripped off a stout 3.72 elapsed time, which proved the track was ready to hold whatever these cars wanted to throw at. At 8 p.m., we fired the first pair of floppers to officially kick off Funny Car Chaos qualifying. This was the roughest, longest, most challenging session of twelve pairs of cars I’d experienced in my life. Midway through the session, the most iconic Funny Car to ever call Texas home, the “Blue Max”, came to the line with driver Ronny Young lined up against Marc White in the “Crop Duster” from Illinois. At that moment, I quit breathing for several seconds.

At first, it was with disbelief that I was hosting a drag race that included “Blue Max” which is, in my opinion, the most badass Funny Car to ever see the face of the Earth. But after a 3.82 at 192 mph pass from Young, I heard a series of throttle whacks at the top end that was far from normal, followed by the ambulance lights coming to life as the safety crew rolling onto the track.

It’s hard to describe the feeling you get as an event promoter when something scary happens to one of your racers, one of your friends. I had no choice but to get down to the top end and see what had happened. Upon arrival, the first thing I saw was Ronny Young standing in the sand trap with a look of disgust on his face. Thankfully, Young was completely uninjured, but the famed flopper suffered race-ending damage, possibly with a bent frame. Young went into the sand trap after a late chute deployment kept the car from making the final turn off. I shook his hand and expressed my relief that he was alive and well, so thankful for that opportunity. After repairing the net system, we were back in action.

Two pairs later, the dreadful, full-track oil down showed it’s ugly face. So, the staff was back at it, with mops and dry sweep and starter David Strickland manning the scrubber machine. After an hour of delay removing the “Blue Max” from the sand trap and repairing the catch net, another hour of oil clean up ensued, flat lining the momentum we had built to this point. By this time, I already had cars in the lanes ready for their second qualifying pass, but still had six cars left to run in the first qualifying session. Schedule? Throw that out the window. After discussions with the remaining drivers and teams ready for their second shot, we agreed to run as long as the track stayed safe. Thankfully, the evening dew we commonly get never materialized, and those die-hard fans stuck around for one of the most impressive Funny Car runs I’ve ever witnessed.

John Hale lit up his Guy Tipton-tuned “One Bad Texan” to kick off the second qualifying session with a burnout that literally kept the rear tires blazing to the mile per hour cone at the eighth mile. The crowd went wild! Hale finally came to a stop well past the scoreboards, then backed up and brought it to the line. The green light dropped and Hale blasted off the starting line like a rocket, flames dancing from the pipes. The scoreboards lit up with a 3.77 at 194 mph to qualify number two. Wow, what an epic pass! Hale qualified behind Mark Sanders’ 3.68 at 205 mph which led the sheets with one more session remaining on Saturday afternoon.

With Friday a thing of the past, the task at hand was to rebound with a stellar effort on Saturday and that goal was met with flying colors. Plenty of sunshine, temperatures in the high 80s, the front gate flowing with cars and the parking lot filling up, things were looking good. I always try to make sure the events I host provide continuous and flowing entertainment. An arsenal of between round action filled the pits past the normal parking area and almost to the first turn off at the top end of the track. We crammed 125+ trailers in the facility made up of match racers and exhibition machines like K.C. Jones, who was pulling double duty driving both the “Crazy Train” wheelstander and “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” jet dragster. Howard Farris was in the house determined to break the 3.53 track record with the “War Wagon” AA/Fuel Altered. John Robinson had his turbo diesel powered dragster on hand among many others. Capping off the show, the Dirty South Gasser series brought back the old school vibe with more than thirty five participants lined up for the Beat The Heat World Finals held on Saturday.

All remaining Funny Cars had a solid spot in the field, so I expected maybe just a few to come up for the final qualifying session. To my amazement, almost every car found a spot in the lanes and were eager to take the track as the stands were literally filled to capacity and spectators were four and five deep on the fence past the scoreboards. Let’s fire ‘em up!

The final qualifier went off with just one oil delay, and it was now time to compose a ladder. With the assistance of my loyal announcer David Rattan, we put together the field and made copies, then I hopped on the scooter to deliver a ladder to each team. The original plan was to host a pre-race parade of cars, but to make up time, I hesitantly scrapped that part of the show, preferring to make up lost ground on my timeline and have this event completed at a reasonable hour. As a promoter, photographer, spectator, whatever, nothing gets under my skin worse than racing at one or two in the morning in front of empty bleachers on a subpar racing surface. So with the parade scrapped, the call went out for the first round of Funny Cars to head to the lanes, it was time to pair them up and let them ride.

Announcing is a crucial part of hosting any form of entertainment, but especially drag racing. Thankfully, I’ve got a dedicated team behind me including David Rattan in the announcer booth and my long time staging lane director Justin Haas, who also handles the lanes for the SHRA nostalgia series. With this team combined with the hard working staff at North Star Dragway, we were ready to go as Justin sent the first pair to the water box.

The first round saw several upsets, especially in the ‘A’ eliminator as John Hale and Marc White suffered first round losses after qualifying in the top half. Watching from between the lanes on the starting line, directly behind the starter, let me tell you, the nitro fumes were thick and plentiful during the ‘A’ field. A lifelong nitro junkie, it just didn’t get any better than that! ‘B’ field contestants held their own with some great side-by-side racing as we cut the fields in half and teams returned to the pit area for servicing. K.C. Jones did his thing in the wheelie car and jet dragster, the Dirty South Gassers kept the front wheels up on their exhibition runs and rounds were underway in the Beat The Heat program. We had the ball rolling now.

Being the “guy in charge” means you are the one who deals with all the random stuff that happens. I’ve seen more than my fair share of unexpected issues, but thankfully only a few incidents were reported over the weekend. One young spectator whacked his head open on the bleachers running unsupervised between the frame work of the bleachers. An adult spectator took a rolled up t-shirt to the eye from a race team shooting t-shirts into the crowd with an air cannon, bad aim I guess. Those issues were easy to resolve. A few years ago at an event I promoted called “Match Race Madness” we had breaker boxes overloaded and on fire, the water well ran dry and we had to use cases of bottled water in the burnout box, we even lost power to one side of the track lighting system, so a couple bumps and bruises were easy to manage.

Before I knew it, we were into the finals; where did the time go? I felt as if we just held first round an hour ago, but it was now 11:30 p.m. and final round cars were in the lanes. Mark Sanders and Keith Jackson would square off in the ‘A’ feature while Andy Mears and Jordan Ballew were up in the ‘B’ field final. Wait, don’t forget to notify all the photographers and videographers of the fireworks show set for the conclusion of the final round. We had wired a system down the side of the track in both lanes, set to go boom as the ‘A’ field final round went through the finish line. Fireworks ready, media members notified, track clear, let’s crown some winners!

The ‘B’ field was up first with Mears and Ballew coming to life. Mears in a 1957 Chevy entry branded “Dragon Slayer” from Lubbock, Texas and Ballew rocking the 1969 Chevy Nova “Ballew Thunder” tuned by his father Russell. Both personal friends of mine, both great race teams, this one was going to be fun. The ambers dropped and they were off. Side-by-side they charged to the finish line, where Mears’ 4.76 at 144 mph narrowly defeated a 4.77 at 145 mph from Ballew in the closest drag race of the event (.021 margin of victory). Yes! A great side-by-side final round is always what you want to see.

The big boys were up next. Keith Jackson was a funny car racer I grew up watching as a kid on family vacations to Bandimere Speedway for the NHRA Mile High Nationals, his hometown race in his time running NHRA Funny Car. The disbelief that this man was now racing in an event I was hosting in Texas was shocking enough, but to think he might win the event was simply thrilling. Mark Sanders was the last team to pre-enter, notifying me just the week before that they had planned on attending. Sanders had shown no mercy thus far: top qualifier, low elapsed time, top speed, but a thrash in the pits had ensued when the rods decided to exit the block on the “Mr. Explosive” 1970 Ford Mustang entry. Son and crew chief Jake Sanders led the team into battle with a new bullet between the frame rails as both cars pulled into the waterbox. Crew members hung the starters on the front snout of their blown nitro powerplants and gave the nod, we’re ready, crank em’ up.

Nitro fumes pumped from the pipes high into the sky as the bodies dropped and burnouts were underway. This race was a toss-up. Sanders had been quicker, but the newly installed engine always causes a bit of uncertainty. On the line, crew chiefs made their final adjustments and sent their drivers into the beams. That wicked sound when fuel cars put it on the high side (engage the second fuel pump) will straighten the hair on a nitro junkie’s arms, mine for sure. A flash of amber and the green lights were on as Jackson took a slight starting line advantage. They looked, from my vantage point, glued together at half-track, and I could see Jackson drifting towards the guardrail while Sanders also had his hands full keeping his hot rod in the groove. Both were out of the throttle right before the finish line as Sanders’ win light came on with a 4.12 at 141 mph to Jackson’s close 4.25 at 154 mph, both surprisingly off pace, but with the win going to Sanders and company as the team celebrated on the starting line after their thrash to make the call for the finals paid off.

The fireworks went off- well, most of them did- as the fans started making their way towards the exit and preparation for the winners circle festivities began. Typically I’m the guy lining up the cars in the winner’s circle area, making sure every person in the group is visible to the camera lens, but this time I was the guy handing out the cash, jumbo size check, and custom-designed trophy. For racers to come up and tell you this is the most fun they’ve had in years means a lot. Thankfully, I got that from a lot of the participants and sharing the winners circle photo with these teams was a special feeling I’ll never forget. Everyone was going home safe, the racing was very exciting, the stands were packed, and that’s a wrap, Funny Car Chaos was in the books.

I’d like to personally thank North Star Dragway owner Gene Nicodemus for believing in my vision and giving me the opportunity to make reality of this crazy idea. Secondly, my wife Tera, who was the only person who kept my sanity in this process and poured hours of help into making it happen. Finally, the sponsors and racers, without their involvement no drag race was possible and it is with their support that brought this event together. Thank you all.

A weekend filled with unknowns, triple checking of every piece of the puzzle, answering countless questions, making sure everyone was in place, ensuring your racers and spectators were having fun, it was all worth every second. From back up girls to header flames, the Funny Car teams put on a spectacular show, and my sincere thanks goes out to each team who trusted me in this effort. Not a single driver expressed any issue with the event, and to my surprise, every single team made sure to tell me before they headed home, “I’ll be at the next one!”

I guess that leaves me no choice. Let’s do it again! A few months prior to the inaugural Funny Car Chaos, I had already reached out to a few tracks in hopes of securing a second date for 2018, set for some time in the spring, while keeping a permanent home at North Star Dragway for a fall race. Amarillo Dragway is where I’ve chosen to take Funny Car Chaos 2 and we’re gearing up for a bigger and better edition of this flip top frenzy at one of the most historic drag racing facilities in the country. So look forward to more folks, as we charge ahead full throttle into next year where we will again pack the pits with Funny Cars, it will be, Funny Car Chaos!

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