i lost my halo when i fell from grace

[jacksondonovan-blog]

phoebepruitts:

Phoebe bobs her head in a half-nod at Jackson’s words, returns the smile. It sounds less convincing in her own head. Hearing the same from someone else, from someone older- it makes it somehow easier to believe. Jackson, for all his quiet, seems to have a rational head on his shoulders. Sound. Maybe they’re as sound as an ex-felon and teenage stripper can get. At least at this point in their lives. Draining the last of her mocha, Phoebe feels as if she’s gotten a stronger grasp on the subject- marginally. “One more problem, I think. After this, I’m gonna like. Take a long nap. You?” A fucking shame she can’t major in sleeping. 

Jackson, however, was far less confident than Phoebe seemed to be in his grasp of being an adult. His seeming inability to adjust to life outside of prison with any grace was not lost on him. He hummed in consideration of her question. “Dunno. Still gotta finish these out.” He gestured to the forgotten job applications. “Might take a few laps around the pool.” He shrugged. It was about the right time of day, after the toddlers and old people had already gone home, and before the older kids got out of school. “Here, try this one.” He tapped the problem in the book. “I think if you can get that one, you can pretty confidently say you’ve got a handle on it.”

[jacksondonovan-blog]

phoebepruitts:

“Yearbook?” Phoebe echoes with a small, wry smile. “-Very, uh, school spirit. I like the idea of you snapping pics at all the football games.” It’s a hard scenario to picture. But as she knows from personal experience, the person you were at high school and the person you are today can be two vastly different realities. Phoebe snorts quietly, fiddles with her sleeve of saltines. “I checked out long before senior year. I kinda, uh, wish I did high school differently- like, a lot of it was out of my control. Stuff I couldn’t help. But.” Too much. Phoebe takes a long sip from her mug, chides herself for venturing even that far. “Whatever. No time like the present to do things differently. Or something.” 

Jackson had changed a lot over the years. But Phoebe was probably the only person in his life that hadn’t known who he was before, and more importantly, she was probably the only one who never expected him to be that person. That was... nice... Letting everyone down got exhausting after a while. “We do the best we can with the shitty cards we get dealt. Seems to me that’s what you’re doing now,” he said. He didn’t know what hands Phoebe had been dealt, and he wasn’t planning on asking her to share something she clearly didn’t want to talk about. “Or something,” he added to echo her, a wry smile crossing his lips.

[jacksondonovan-blog]

lccastillo:

Luis had grown up poor before he met Gabriel. He understood the struggles of having to live where you could, not where you wanted. Jackson never really seem preoccupied with money, though. Which was good. Luis didn’t mind the apartment building, even if he personally would never live there. He stepped inside of Jack’s apartment, observing it quietly. There wasn’t much too it, but he didn’t really care. He could tell Jack was hesitant to spend time with him, and for good reason, too. Luis didn’t deserve his kindness, but he was asking for it anyway. Luis looked down at himself, at his expensive outfit, and sighed.·“I had other plans. I ended up cancelling at the last minute,” he explained, setting the bags of movies and food down on the couch.·“Anyway, I brought some candy. You still like skittles, right? And some movies. Ones you might’ve missed while you were, uh. You know. Away.”

Jackson wasn’t sure why he was surprised that Luis remembered his old drug of choice – after all they’d spent almost every day of 3 years together – but he was. He nodded, choosing not to mention that somewhere along the line, he’d turned into a sour gummy worm person. It was the consideration behind it that was important, and perhaps that was what caught him off guard. But he quickly shook it off and went to the kitchen after being beckoned by another beep from the microwave. He raised a brow at Luis over his shoulder at the hesitation to use the word ‘prison’ but didn’t say anything about it. It wasn’t exactly like he’d been at sleepaway camp. He removed his food from the microwave and came back over. “Okay, I’ll bite. What d'you got?” Now that he’d moved back over to the living room, it was quite clear that he was making a conscious effort to keep several feet between himself and Luis at any given moment. He may have given the other man this chance, but that instinct to protect himself was still first and foremost.

[jacksondonovan-blog]

phoebepruitts:

Phoebe nods, gives something akin to a shrug- wouldn’t she just love to be payed to go to school instead. “I mean, I went for most of it.” Phoebe drums her fingers against the side of her mug, tucks both legs up into the booth. It’s strange, talking about that part of her life. Even if only in vague mention. “-I missed senior year. But that’s like, rallies and ‘senior sunsets’ and shit, right? Your kinda stuff.” 

Jackson made a face at the memory. “Actually, it was. I was such an obnoxious teenager, it was disgusting. I was in Yearbook and everything.” He rolled his eyes. It was hard for him to imagine being that person. The kind of person that was in yearbook. “But I mean, seniors have mostly checked out, anyway. There was a guy in my class that wore different hats every day of the year and then used them to hide his face while he slept in the back of the classroom. Again, you didn’t miss much.”

[jacksondonovan-blog]

phoebepruitts:

Phoebe nods, scooting out from the booth in an instant with wallet in hand. Jackson’s drink is a large, plain black coffee with a fistful of sugars and creams to accompany it if so desired. Her own drink is significantly smaller, smothered in whip cream and a pinch of chocolate shavings. Blended sugar, essentially. She takes small, measured sips, sliding the other cup towards her older counterpart. Her answer is, surprisingly, correct. Fuck yeah. There’s no victory fist-pump, but Phoebe does nod her head in something like excitement, quirk her lips into a small smile. “Lucky me.” Who doesn’t want to be swamped in college-level math? The next problem seems considerably more difficult, but Phoebe steels herself for the task. At least she’s not braving it entirely alone. “Y’know it’s like a hundred and twenty dollars to take the test? High school was free. But. Objectively even less fun.” At least the test could be completed in one fell swoop. Instead of four years.  

Jackson gave Phoebe a nod of thanks for the drink. “Hey, I mean, that comes out to $30 per year of high school, which, if you think about it that way, isn’t that unreasonable.” Looking on the bright side was not Jackson’s specialty, as he was sure neither of them had $120 to spare. “You really didn’t miss much by not going to high school, I promise.”

[jacksondonovan-blog]

lccastillo:

@jacksondonovan

Luis had made big plans that evening, hoping Jackson would join in. An extravagant dinner before they saw a production of Shakespeare’s Hamlet that night. He cancelled that all at the last minute. He was still desperately trying to win Jackson over, but he remembered that Jack was more than content with a night in. Luis at least wanted to be Jack’s friend, if nothing else. He stood outside of Jack’s apartment, a bag full of his favorite snacks and movies in hand. Luis, as usual, was significantly overdressed for the occasion. It was his fault for cancelling their plans at the last minute. He’d explain later. Luis knocked on the door, completely out of place from the other tenants in the building. Once Jack opened the door, Luis smiled a little awkwardly. “Hey,” he greeted, lifting the bag of snacks and movies. “Thought we could just have a quiet night in. You used to like that,” Luis pointed out, hoping the door wouldn’t slam in his face for a change. 

Jackson had just popped some frozen dumplings in the microwave and was taking a beer out of the fridge when he heard the knock on the door. There were a total of two possibilities that came to his mind. First was Phoebe, but the recent acquirement of walkie talkies had all but eliminated the need for them to knock. The second... “Great.” He sighed and put the beer back in the fridge before walking to the door. His irritated expression was quickly replaced by one of surprise when he opened the door to see that it was not, in fact, his parole officer doing his job for once, but Luis. “Oh, um... Hi.” He paused for a moment, as if he wasn’t exactly sure how to respond. The microwave behind him beeped in a demand for attention. He didn’t really know how to react with Luis, which was actually way more of a personal problem than anything else, because he was stuck in this weird place between ‘I still love you but I can’t forgive you’ and ‘I miss my best friend but I don’t trust you.’ But true to Post-Prison-Jackson form, his face was nearly unreadable the whole time he thought this through. “Ah... Yeah... Sure, okay,” he said finally, before swinging the door open to let Luis in, suddenly incredibly conscious of exactly how tiny and shitty his apartment, let alone the entire building, was. “But, ah... Why exactly are you dressed like you just had a meeting with the pope?”

[jacksondonovan-blog]

phoebepruitts:

“Yeah.” Phoebe says mildly. “Hope so.” Getting her GED, applying for colleges seems like a step towards normalcy- isn’t that what you should be preoccupied with, at nineteen? Midterms and dining-hall food and parties. Not heroin addiction. Or the slippery unpredictability of one’s mental state. So math or no- this is good. Phoebe traces out the last of her answer in neat, bubbly handwriting and spins the paper for Jackson to check. “I think at least part of my answer is right.” Hopefully all of it. “-Do you want, like, more coffee? Or one of those little scone-things to make up for having to look at math?” 

Jackson slid the book closer to check the problem. The processes were coming back to him slowly as he looked over it, which was a good sign. Probably. “More coffee’d be nice, actually. I think my blood is slowly being replaced with this shit,” he said, without looking up. He’d never known how much he appreciated coffee until he only had access to vaguely coffee flavored water for five years. It contained enough caffeine to keep the inmates from strangling each other to death in addiction withdrawals, but it also tasted like ass and the word “lukewarm” was generous. He flipped to the back of the book to find the answer to the problem, just to be on the safe side, then nodded. “Not bad, tiny one,” he told her. “You’ll be at college level in no time.” Part of him sort of wanted to ask why she’d never finished high school, but he wasn’t exactly a nosy person. He figured it she wanted to tell him, she would eventually, and if not, it was none of his business.

[phoebepruitts-blog]

Phoebe doesn’t grimace, but the thought of student loans is enough to create the echo of a tension-headache. “Yeah. It’d be pretty hard.” Practically impossible, really. She makes decent money stripping, far more than she would working retail, or fast-food, or anything else a nineteen year old could get. But still- it’s not enough. Not for tuition. “They got a pretty smart system figured out- go to college to earn more, then spend all your salary paying off student debt. Or, like, no college at all, no debt, but no okay-paying job.” Phoebe isn’t surprised- she was born dirt poor, grew up dirt poor. This is just a familiar reality, this catch-22. “Guess that’s just life.” 

[jacksondonovan-blog]

Jackson shrugged. Compared to others, his total amount of loans had been relatively small, thanks to scholarships, although managing said loans while in prison had been an adventure. He felt that pointing out that he had a rather nice looking Bachelor’s was doing absolutely nothing for him in the job market was probably the opposite of what she wanted to hear. He finally settled on “it’ll be worth it.”

[phoebepruitts-blog]

Though she’s still in the private opinion sweater guy’s stare veers dangerously towards flirtatious, Jackson is right. Phoebe’s lips purse as she knocks her shoes together idly, uncertain in her answer. “I’m, uh, not sure.” She glances down at her notebook, scratches out a few more numbers. Planning a future wasn’t priority number one in the few years she actually had attended high school. Or after, until very recently. “-I like films, critical analysis of stuff.” She taps a fingernail against the handle of her mug. “Gonna worry about getting enough money for college before anything else, though. Get a second job.” 

[jacksondonovan-blog]

Jackson nodded. “It’s important to find something you’re interested in.” It sounded too cliche, especially coming from someone who had made it an art to not seem too interested in anything, but it was true. “Loans are acceptable, too. Paying for college on your own in the city is gonna be near impossible,” he pointed out. He refrained from saying ‘you should probably quit the job you already have because the Castillos are awful’ which he considered was his win for the day. As far as he knew, Phoebe was the only person in his life who was not aware of the Jackson-Castillo connection, and he was okay with it staying that way.

[phoebepruitts-blog]

Phoebe bites at her lower lip, digs her nail into the side of her pencil. Okay. Okay okay okay. She begins to write, copying the equation from page to notebook, glancing back at similar problems with a squinting eye. This is going… hesitantly well. But her attention isn’t kept for long, “-I think that, uh, guy in the green sweater is staring at you.” It’s a neutral statement, just an observation, but Phoebe thinks maybe it’s an interested, open sort of stare coming from the adjacent table. 

[jacksondonovan-blog]

“Okay, I know you and Raf both have your collective heart set on that double date idea, but don’t change the subject.” He didn’t even look up at sweater guy, or acknowledge the way the word ‘date’ stuck in his throat when he said it. He had better things to worry about, like the trig problems they were having, or climate change, or literally anything else. “If business major’s off the list, what’s on it?” he asked. 

[micorazonxtata-blog]

Tata had put her phone away in her purse, finishing up her coffee as her thoughts ran wild. She knows how most of her family hates Jamie, and it’s not just because of her being married to him, but couldn’t they at least try to be civil and tolerant to him and when they’re speaking about him? It was tiring hearing threats being made about her husband every time she’s in contact with her family. Groaning a little, she got out of her seat and was getting ready to throw her empty cup away when she absentmindedly ran into someone. 

“¡Mierda!” she said, filled with shock at the moment. Tatiana made sure that he wouldn’t fall backwards and she noticed that he didn’t spill much coffee, thank goodness. “Lo siento mucho por eso. Supongo que mi mente en un lugar diferente en este momento. ¿Estás bien?”

[jacksondonovan-blog]

Jackson had entirely expected for the woman to simply acknowledge that he’d been polite – which was not something he ordinarily did – and they’d go their own separate ways, and he’d forget about it in an hour, so the woman asking if he was okay was… startling, a little bit. “Si, estoy bien. Esa fue mi culpa, debería haber estado viendo a dónde iba.”

He was a little impressed with how well he'd retained his Spanish. There had only been two other guys in his cell block who spoke any Spanish, and any time they tried to communicate in the language, the other guys would get paranoid and agitated, convinced that they were plotting against them. So that had stopped pretty quickly. He’d worried that he would lose the language entirely, but that didn’t appear to be the case, causing him to briefly wonder how much of his high school French he could recall.

Without offering further explanation, he nodded briefly in another unspoken, polite-ish gesture, and started to move past her to take his leave, seeing no more reason to stick around.

[phoebepruitts-blog]

“-Right.” The problem is, they’re all giving her trouble. Phoebe gamely turns her attention back to the next question, eyes the arrangement of numbers and words with growing agitation. Math was never her forte. Especially not after dropping out of high-school, spending the last few years in a drug-induced haze. Phoebe drops her hands into her lap, hunches her shoulders as she scans the page for the easiest looking equation, for something, anything she can at least start on. Finally, she spins the book towards Jackson. “Will you pick one?” She reaches for her pencil in preparation, takes a fortifying sip of coffee. “I know I’m just gonna end up choosing the easiest problem.” New tactic. Maybe working from hardest to easiest will make the task go faster. 

[jacksondonovan-blog]

Jackson pulled the book closer and scanned it. He remembered knowing how to solve these problems, but the actual step by step processes of how were just out of his reach. “Okay, try 14,” he suggested, before sliding it back to her. “It’s kinda like what you did on the last page, but with that extra step.”

[phoebepruitts-blog]

“-Uhh. No way.” Business major is already crossed off the list. Phoebe feels flustered, overwhelmed at the prospect of having to face math for however many undetermined semesters. Ugh. Phoebe too sees the appeal in being stoned to death by Penn State students. But apparently, according to Jackson, it wasn’t a viable career option. She places another half-cracker on the surface of her tongue, chews quietly. “What if you use your photography degree to do family portraits? Y’know, kids in pumpkin costumes and engagement announcements. That’d be like, emotionally fulfilling.” No it wouldn’t. Jackson might as well work for a Sears portrait studio. (See, funny. Or not). 

[jacksondonovan-blog]

“We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.” This was about the nicest way Jackson had ever shut down a conversation that was taking a dangerous turn toward himself. All of his photography shit was in boxes, shoved to the back of his closet with tape still on them. He had no intention of breaking that tape to invite in the unwanted ghosts of his past. He reached over and snagged one of Phoebe’s crackers. “If that problem’s giving you trouble, you should move onto the next one. 

[rdahar-blog]

“Mama will send you home with a week’s worth of leftovers,” Rafael promised, propping the chair he sat in back on its hind legs. A stupid habit formed somewhere in middle school that drove his teacher’s crazy. “Not really,” Rafael shrugged. “Excited’s the word. They’ll love her. And everyone loves mama, so…” Rafael trailed off, shrugging. “It’ll be fun. And, speaking of, man. We gotta get you back in the game. I’m still counting on that double date.”

[jacksondonovan-blog]

“Ahhh…” Jackson made a less than enthused face at the turn in conversation to his own dating life. “Y’know, I’m thinkin’ maybe I’m gonna stick to casual sex and one night stands for a little while. I’m getting too old for this shit.”

[phoebepruitts-blog]

Damn. That makes two people with no knack for numbers “-Well. It’s not like we’re gonna use this stuff in real life?” Her voice is hopeful. Phoebe hasn’t picked a major yet, hasn’t applied to any colleges, but she’s certain her academic career is going to avoid math as much as humanly possible. (Though it’s not like she can avoid it in this instance). Phoebe pauses, nose crinkling at Jackson’s offer. McDonald’s and a break sounds infinitely better than physics- and so does death, at this point. Or at least a McFlurry. “Nah. It’s cool.” Phoebe taps her pencil idly against the table, sinks down into her seat as the perfect image of teenage sullenness. She’s grasping for a way out. “What if we just like, quit this and go to clown school. Clowns are big right now.” It’s a shit suggestion. Really bad. And yet infinitely more appealing than physics, or maybe even job applications. 

[jacksondonovan-blog]

“Not unless you’re gonna be a business major,” Jackson told her, recalling a few times he’d made the mistake of looking over Luis’ shoulder at his homework when they were in college. He wasn’t unconvinced that college-level calculus wasn’t actually just Pictionary. “But you’re at least gonna need some algebra.” He raised a brow at her suggestion of clown school. “While I see the appeal of being stoned to death by Penn State students, clowns are supposed to be funny. Neither of us are funny.”

[phoebepruitts-blog]

Phoebe’s table is a poorly-organized hurricane. A haphazard stack of study-guides, neglected mocha, and neon bright sticky-notes dot the landscape of an already-crowded coffee house. Her lips curl in disgust. Math. Physics. Two subjects that are enough to create the mother-of-all tension headaches. She reaches for her sleeve of saltines (both lunch and breakfast), neatly halving the crackers before eating them. Is that diploma worth this? In the grand pursuit of Getting Her Shit together, Phoebe knows that a diploma is the pre-requisite to college, which is the pre-requisite to most everything else. Leaning over her textbook Phoebe squints almost ruefully, eyeing the words before her with growing confusion.“-That’s. Gibberish. I have like, no clue how to find an angle of refraction.” Cheek smushed against the flesh of her palm, her muttering carries a distinct tone of frustration. 

[jacksondonovan-blog]

Jackson had volunteered to keep Phoebe company while she studied. (Read: focused on studying.) Besides, he had his own homework. Job applications. He’d been a smart kid, graduated high school with a 4.0, gotten somewhere around a billion scholarships for college, and graduated college at the top of his class. The problem was that that had been ten and six years ago. And also, he fucking hated math. He’d only gotten through math requirements with a lot of tutoring. “Don’t look at me,” he told her, without looking up from his phone. “I graduated with a useless Bachelor’s in Arts and Photography. That shit’s Greek to me.” Actually, he considered, he’d probably be better at Greek than he was at math. He’d always had a knack for languages. “You sure you don’t want me to make a McDonald’s run?” he asked, looking down at her saltines for the thirteenth time.

[micorazonxtata-blog]

“¿Hola?” Tata hadn’t recognize the number when she first saw it, but she knew that the caller was from Mexico. Perhaps it was her mother or one of her other relatives? “Oh Dios mío, mamá! Es tan maravilloso saber de usted … Estoy bien, estoy bien! Gracias por preguntar. Espero que lo estás haciendo bien, así … Vaya, gracias! … Lo sé, todavía no puedo creer. Pero bueno, no lo entrega treinta y un días … Lo está haciendo muy bien … Mamá, no es necesario que preocuparse. Todo con Jamie está bien … Sí, le voy a enviar su amor … No, no he sabido nada de ellos todavía. Sin embargo, estoy bastante seguro de que pronto voy a … Muy bien, era maravillosa audiencia de usted! Por favor trate de venir a visitar pronto; Te extraño … Te quiero, mamá. Adiós.”

A huge smile was on Tata’s face and she hung up her cell, smiling down at it from her previous conversation. She missed her mother so much; She’s so happy to have heard from her.

[jacksondonovan-blog]

Jackson did not make it a habit to listen in on other peoples’ conversations. For starters, he was incredibly disinterested in the lives of strangers, because they were all boring at best and irritating at worst. Also, it was just flat out rude. He only vaguely paid attention to the woman behind him, enough to gather that she was 31 today, instead more preoccupied with his own phone and a rather intense round of Really Bad Chess. The barista called his name, and he grabbed his coffee with little more than a nod of thanks, before he turned to leave, and ran straight into the woman, who’d just hung up.

“Shit.” He stopped short, almost losing his balance. He managed to keep most of his coffee from spilling, which was the real achievement “Lo siento.” The apology left his mouth before he had a moment to think about it, visibly catching him off guard. For starters, he didn’t apologize that often anymore, particularly not on instinct, and secondly, he hadn’t realized that just hearing -- not even paying attention to -- the woman’s conversation had flipped the language switch in his brain.