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thebadjoe · 2 years ago

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Alright, I suppose it's now your turn to receive the "Ace lying about specific things in what he witnessed makes more sense!" treatment.

Before I get into this, let me just remind you that I've made my counterpoints against @venus-is-thinking and @ivibells in this reblog, that reblog and that reblog also. So exploring those first would give you everything I've said regarding Ace being a witness that night so far. Let us begin.

You said it yourself: despite his fear of basically everything, Ace puts on a brave face and acts all tough. That's why he keeps insulting Nico even after the murder attempt.

Hmm hmm, yep.

And I believe that extends to the gym as well. If he stops going to the gym every night, it would be like admitting to himself that he's scared, that he's """weak""".

Surely you've heard of the phrase : "All bark and no bite", right? Wouldn't you say that this fits Ace's character a lot? I certainly believe so. After all, we've been shown something like this in chapter 1. Trying to act all tough, only to back off really quick when the person is ready to fight.

With that in mind, I think it'd make a lot more sense that he never really went back to the gym considering his cowardish nature and instead lied about it so that the others who knew that he was found nearly dead in the gym the previous night would believe that he's not so weak minded, after all.

In fact, perhaps that's why he hears Arei and David in the first place. He's on high alert and nervous, so he pays close attention to any noise going on in the second floor.

Or it could just be because the walls aren't soundproof. Besides, if you want to claim that Ace is telling the whole truth about what he witnessed, then according to his flashback, he didn't even look remotely nervous.

Unless you want to claim that he was lying about that part. But wouldn't that just prove my point that he could've lied about other things as well?

Ace wants control over his life and emotions, that's something which cuts through his entire character, down to him not liking his talent but engaging in it anyways.

TW: EATING DISORDERS, I GUESS

I know this is related to this, so I'm going to copy paste something I said to someone else in a reblog.

As far as I'm aware, we have absolutely nothing indicating his obsession to work out. Just because this is one of the symptoms for the ED doesn't mean he's going through that as well. It's possible that the creator didn't consider this at all. It's possible that the reason why he wanted to work is simply to toughen up, to get stronger, without having the ED eating his mind.

Edit : On second thought, maybe we shouldn't call it ED... ED for Eating disorder, don't get your mind going somewhere else, pls!

TW ED OVER

Being forced out of the gym by Nico's actions would be something he could never accept.

It doesn't have to just be about Nico. Ace is afraid of death and he believes that everyone is out to get him. So even if he was somehow not afraid of Nico, he could easily think that someone else could jump on him at any time while he's working out.

While I'm at it, shouldn't we also make the assumption that Ace most likely had trauma from this horrifying, yet unexpected near death experience?

And before you go : "Well, Teruko's been through a near death experience and she didn't seem to have some kind of trauma reaction out of it!"

Let me just remind you what kind of person Teruko is. She's the Ultimate Lucky Student, but she's been through a lot of unlucky, insane shit. She's been through so much that at this point, getting stabbed in the chest is something she's used to at this point. That's how unlucky she is. Disaster follows her frequently. Therefore, she's very different from the rest of the cast, so her reaction to such experience would be pretty abnormal.

It's also notable that, as far as I can remember, no one in the actual cast ever points his return to the gym as weird, which means they seemingly think Ace returning really isn't that wild of a concept, either.

Thanks to one of your friends, she brought up an interesting point that would explain it.

Venus : If Ace wanted to look tough for (allegedly) going back to the gym after Nico almost killed him there, why wouldn't he mention the fact that the gym was the site of the murder location? I'm very curious what you think about that, because I do think it largely removes any incentive for Ace lying about it being later than it actually was.

From what we can gather here, not a lot of people knew that Ace nearly died in the fitness room. This is the main reason why no one points out the strange thing about it. Ace didn't want others to know the whole truth about what happened that night, that's why he didn't reveal that he nearly died in the fitness room.

Why didn't Teruko, Eden, Nico or very few others who knew about it pointed it out though?

Two reasons. First, they're mostly focused on solving the actual murder case, so that really didn't come to mind. And second, they were probably too distraced by David's exposed secret to have second thoughts about Ace's claim of going to the gym that night.

I believe it's more believeable that Ace actually returned to the gym, rather than he's lying or getting the date wrong.

...are you seriously making that claim? I suppose you would since at the time, I didn't present enough evidence. So then, let me show you exactly why it makes more sense for Ace to lie about it rather than actually going back to the gym and telling the truth.

I've already listed out the reasons why Ace could be lying in that reblog, so make sure you scroll through the bottom of that reblog.

Now then, let's go ahead and say that all of you are right. Let's pretend that Ace was actually in the gym and was telling the whole truth. What would happen in this scenario?

So Ace makes the claim that he knows David's secret because of the conversation he heard that night because he was in the fitness room at the time...

Interesting question, why wouldn't Ace bring up this important piece of evidence to the trial much earlier? Well, if he was telling the whole truth, then it must be because Ace is an idiot!

Wow! Good reasoning! Let's move on!

At the time, the cast presumed that Arei was murdered that evening, so Levi brings up a good point. So what does Ace have to say on this matter if he was telling the whole truth?

Oh, I see. He has anger issues and hates Levi. So he's just acting like an asshole at this point for the hell of it. Good reasoning! Let's move on!

Ace eventually explains why he didn't reveal important information earlier...

Oh, I see! It would match up how much of an idiot Ace is! He really thought it would distract them. What a silly goose! Good reasoning! Let's move on!

Then, when David adds his own comments, both before and after his reveal...

So if Ace was telling the whole truth, then that must mean that David must be lying when he made those claims. Now let's think about it for a few seconds. Why would David lie about it? What would he gain from it even though his secret's exposed already?

Well, it's simple! He's lying about it because he's just a freaking asshole! He's lying the whole way because that's how much of an asshole he is! What a jerk, that guy!

Wow! Why didn't I think of that before? Very good reasoning! Let's move on!

While we're at it, I find it rather strange that they never saw Arei since lunch time that day. Yet, if Ace is telling the truth, then at least Ace and David saw her hours later, no one seeing her in between. So what could Arei possibly have done this whole time?

To make sure that no one saw her, I suppose the most logical conclusion would be that she remained in her dorm for hours for some reason. Wow! Good deduction!

So let's make a summary of the events. Ace definitly went back to the gym and definition heard that conversation happening that night. However, the reason why he didn't bring it up much earlier in the trial is because he's a massive moron. David claims that Ace is lying, but that's just more of his lies. The reason why David's lying about it is because he's an asshole! And finally, no one else saw Arei since lunchtime (except for that conversation at night) because she spent her time inside her dorm for some reason.

Let me ask you an honest question. Don't you find this rather boring?

Like... imagine if that was truly what the creator wanted the events to unfold. It's not a very pleasant way to solve it, don't you think? It's pretty much the same as solving some murder case and finding out that the reason why the culprit killed the victim is for the heck of it, he felt like it. That's not fun at all.

Normally, good murder mysteries have some logic behind it. You discover clues that would match up certain chain of events which gets you closer to the truth. Which is why I believe my theory makes the most sense. It matches up many events perfectly compared to the theory that Ace was telling the whole truth.

Initially, I thought that Ace was wrong because he was confused, possibly from some side effects of turpentine or something else. But there's nothing much indicating that and the creator seemed to make it clear that turpentine is only meant to be used as a way to knock someone unconscious in this case.

So by thinking about it, it made a lot more sense to believe that Ace simply lied about the time he witnessed that conversation for the simple reason that he would be too scared and traumatized to go back in the gym after the near death experience.

But I get it, you guys are trying everything you can to defend this because the minute that you start believing that Ace might've lied about it, then your theories begin to crumble. Upon seeing that it would make a lot more sense for Ace to lie about it, I can guarantee you that I'm never backing down from this.

Feel free to believe in your own theory though. I can't really change people anyways. It's a matter of interpretation, after all!

Thank you for your time.

Something we mustn't forget about chapter 2 (DRDT)

As usual, this is a spoilers warning for DRDT chapter 2, so beware.

So, I'm sure some of you have seen me have a reasoning battle against a few people, most especially @1moreff-creator. We've had some really interesting back and forth happening.

This post is meant to be a response to 1moreff's latest post regarding their theory. So think of it as a reblog.

Why don't you just simply reblog then?

Well, that's the thing. I... messed up. For any reblogs I've made on their original theory post, they were all long posts that didn't have a cut section, a "read more" button.

So everytime you look at a reblog, you'd have to scroll through all of that to reach the latest reblog. Even though I eventually edited them all later on, the original versions are still there on the previous reblogs because the edit doesn't go through previous reblogs and the reblogger cannot edit others' posts eitheir.

So yeah... sorry about that.

But trust me however, this is a very interesting read. Especially if you've seen my version of the theory. 1moreff's uses the same whodunnit and whydunnit in their theory, but they used a totally different path as for the howdunnit. I'd recommend you all to read it if you haven't already.

With that out of the way, let's get to business. It won't take too long, I promise.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

(I'm now adressing to @1moreff-creator)

So uhm... I don't really have much to add in regards to your reblog. You've made your point in regards to anything I tackled on and we're pretty much at a stance where I can't really prove that x thing happening while you can't prove that y thing happened. Eitheir of those could work. And because they both work, they're both technicly valid.

Besides, you've already pointed out what could be your issues in regards to your theory.

the glove; the BDA having a lacking explanation; how hard and risky it would be to convince Levi of being an accomplice (though narratively consistent because of the good person thing); and how risky it is to use such a time-sensitive method.

Your biggest issue is definitly the glove, no doubt about that. Even though you do have some kind of explanation for it, it's not something you're quite convinced yourself eitheir.

In any case, I'm not gonna dwelve on it much unless you can eventually think of more solutions to these problems.

So what's the point of this "reblog" if you're not gonna refute against any of these points?

Well, upon doing my own detective work to fix my own holes in my deduction, I discovered something really interesting. Something that I can't believe I didn't realise sooner.

It has something to do with Ace's testimony. There's something off about it. There's a glaring issue with it which will become quite an issue for you.

What do you mean?

Let's start with a very quick recap. According to you, everything that Ace saw according to the flashback really happened. Meaning that in your theory, Ace was working out in the gym during the evening of DAY 3, then he heard Arei and David talking. So he decided to spy on them. So everything he heard and saw must be the truth.

According to my own theory however, Ace was not working out in the gym during the evening of DAY 3. Instead, he was working out in the evening of DAY 2, spied on them that evening and then got knocked unconscious for the attempted murder later on, which would explain why the weight rack was moved in the fitness room. So ace was eitheir lying or confused about the day he witnessed the conversation.

Anyways, if people were to believe that your version of that theory is indeed what truly happened, then we'd have to deal with a very glaring issue that I can't believe I didn't notice until yesterday. I'm convinced more than ever that Ace is wrong about the day he witnessed the conversation. It's based on simple common sense.

Common sense? It can't be that simple!

Oh, it sure can!

So according to Ace, he heard Arei talk to David in the relax room during the evening, the day after he nearly died, right? According to him, at the time, he was working out before he heard them.

So tell me... would he really dare spend time ALONE working out in the gym, literally the place where he nearly died, A DAY after he's been attacked?!

I don't think so. Especially Ace, of all people. He's a coward. That makes no sense.

But Teruk-

Teruko's different from Ace. She's no coward and she's been through a lot of bad crap her whole life based on what we learned so far. Teruko's unlucky.

Anyways, If you cannot find a proper explanation for this, then I'm afraid that your theory could potentially crumble.

I could go out of my way to explain how it would crumble, but essentially, it would come down to me explaining that the more issues you would be able to explain if you were to admit that Ace was indeed lying about the day he witnessed that conversation, the more it would look like my theory.

But before I do that, I'm gonna give you the opportunity to solve this issue I've mentioned about Ace's testimony. I think I have an idea of what you'll claim, but let's see how this plays out.

(Sorry for not reblogging this time around and sorry again for the mess I've created in those reblogs)

#drdt #drdt spoilers #drdt theory #drdt solve #ace markey #tw eating disorders

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nightingaelic · 3 years ago

Note

Reactions to a vampire courier? Companions plus Benny, Ulysses, Graham, House, Caesar, and Yes Man. (sorry if that's too many :x)

TW: Blood (maybe obviously)

Also I don't normally feel some type of way about AUs but the idea of Joshua Graham encountering a vampire courier is giving me shivers

The courier was a little... strange. Not in any way that stood out to the average wastelander just by looking at them, everyone in the Mojave had their quirks and the courier was no exception. Hell, you get shot in the head and come back, you're bound to have a screw or two loose. They were unquestionably a night owl, but so were half the people on the Strip, who only started to wake up after the sun had gone down and the slot machines were singing their loudest. They usually had bags under their bloodshot eyes, but every caravan driver from here to the Hub was short on sleep.

On the other hand, the courier had some habits that were a little beyond surface-level eccentricities. For one, no one had ever seen them eating, not once. Even when the King laid out a spread of pre-war snacks and liquor or when the buffet at the Tops was refreshed, they politely declined and took a swig from the canteen that they never offered to anyone else. They were also rather odd about bathrooms, insisting that anyone accompanying them remain outside on watch and let no one else through the door until they were finished. But the undeniable moment of oddity came one night in October, when their companion rounded a corner in Freeside after a trip to the Atomic Wrangler and discovered the courier behind a rusted dumpster, holding a man against a brick wall with their teeth buried in his neck.

The courier drew back at the interruption, blood smeared across their face. "I'm not- it's not what- he- oh, fuck."

Arcade Gannon: Arcade stared open-mouthed for a moment, before snapping violently back into the present. "Is he dead?"

"Umm..." The courier glanced at the man they were holding, whose head was lolling against the bricks. "Yes? Mostly."

With no patient to resuscitate, Arcade rounded on them. "Six, what in the ever-loving fuck are you doing?"

The courier tried to wipe away the blood that was dribbling from their chin, but they only succeeded in spreading it up their jawline. "Well, I, um, I was trying to..."

Whatever excuse they were searching for eluded them, so they dropped the pretense. "I was feeding, Arcade."

"Feeding? What, like some kind of-" Arcade's eyes widened and he cut his sentence off early in realization. "No. No way. That's not- vampires aren't real!"

That earned him a look of intense skepticism. "Arcade, we've fought off plant monsters and rattlesnake-coyote hybrids together. I have a gun in my pack that lets me teleport."

"Oh, okay, so you have some kind of iron deficiency and you're delusional." Arcade laughed, the sound high and harsh in the quiet alley. "Great. Fuck."

Craig Boone: Rather than engage in an abandoned alley, Boone immediately backtracked to a busier street. He was unsurprised when the courier didn't follow him: Even in Freeside, someone covered in blood was sure to be noticed and questioned.

Boone left town that night and made for Novac. He was pretty sure the courier would follow him, but he didn't know where else to go. At least he knew they were coming. A few people in Novac asked about where he'd been, what the courier was up to, but eventually they stopped asking.

A couple of weeks went by. Boone was on the night shift again when the door into the dinosaur swung open to reveal the courier. He'd heard someone coming, their feet on the stairs, and he already had his gun pointed in their face. "We will never work together again," he said, before they could open their mouth.

"Boone, can you just-"

"I don't want an explanation." Boone shook his head. "I don't need one. I already did you a favor, leaving New Vegas without putting you back in your grave. This is over."

The courier took a deep breath. "71."

"What?"

"71. I've killed 71 Legion soldiers and left their bodies empty under the Mojave sky." They looked down and shuffled their feet. "I've tasted their fear. They're more scared of me than the Burned Man, now."

Boone studied them. Ever so slowly, he lowered his gun.

Lily Bowen: "Put him down, dearie," Lily chastised them. "You're playing too roughly with that man. And watch your language around your grandma!"

The courier looked down at their victim, at their torn throat and limp limbs. "He tried to mug me, Lily. It wasn't pretty."

"He looks like he's had enough," Lily insisted. "Set him down. Gently."

With a sigh, the courier obliged and lowered the man to the ground. "I'm sorry, Lily. I should have told you earlier. I don't mean to be rude when I turn down your cooking, I just... I can't seem to..."

"Hush, now." Lily produced her enormous handkerchief and gathered the courier up in her arms, dabbing at the blood on their face with a corner of the cloth. "You've gotten it all over yourself, haven't you? We can clean that right up, but it looks like Grandma's going to have to do a load of laundry. You made the mess, so you get to help."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul swallowed nervously, something he'd noticed he was increasingly doing around the courier. "You know, we get murciélagos down in Arizona that do the same thing. They won't leave the brahmin alone."

The courier took in his anxious stance and sighed. "Raul, I'm not going to hurt you. Prometo. It's okay."

"Sure boss, but I don't think the hair on the back of my neck is going down anytime soon." Raul smiled, but it was more of a grimace. "Or it wouldn't, if I still had any. Como..?"

"No clue." The courier shrugged and held their hands up, letting the corpse they'd been holding slide to the ground. "I think it had something to do with me surviving Benny's best attempts to do me in, but a bullet is a bullet and I don't remember if I was like this before, or..."

"Or only after." Raul chuckled. "Jesucristo, and here I am thinking I'll outlive you like most everyone else I've known."

"Yep."

"Should I start calling you el chupacabra?"

The courier grinned, a bloody smile with sharp teeth.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Fuck," Cass echoed, scrambling to pull her shotgun from its holster. "Knew I had too much, can't even- who are you and what've you done with the courier? Some kind of cannibal, wearing their skin? Alien? Shapeshifter? I'll blow a hole in your liver to match mine!"

"Whoa, Cass, it's me, it's me!" The courier dropped the man they were holding and held their blood-stained hands up. "Same old Six, just... maybe I wasn't straight with you about why I don't order anything at bars."

"Goddamn right you weren't straight with me!" Cass gestured at the body on the ground with the barrel of her gun. "Who's the fucker on the floor and why are you two pints in on him?"

"Just trying to get my drink on," the courier muttered.

Cass repaid this facetiousness with a jab of her shotgun, and they raised their hands higher. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! You tell me, how do you tactfully tell someone that you're a creature of the night and you need to drink blood to survive?"

"Creature of the night? You're fucking loopy." Cass' eyes narrowed. "There's plenty of critters in the Mojave that only come out when it's dark, but most of them don't tear into..."

She trailed off into curses when she realized she was wrong. The courier smiled hesitantly and lowered their hands an inch. "Hey. Let me chuck this failed mugger in the dumpster and we can talk about it like a pair of civilized folks?"

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica squeaked and fell back a few steps, banging her elbow against the edge of the dumpster. A jolt of confused pain shot up her arm, and the Scribe couldn't help giggling harshly at the sudden assault on her funny bone.

"Not- laughing... at murder," she managed to get out between hisses of pain. "Oh, for the love of... right, you're not getting out of explaining what you are, exactly, just because I'm indis-indisposed!"

The courier couldn't help laughing at the squirming Scribe, but they did their best to stifle it. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I um... I guess I don't really know... what I am?"

"There's books!" Veronica burst out, pointing at the courier and their victim wildly. "I've seen them, in old libraries. Creatures that feed on blood, only come out at night, don't show up in... in mirrors, of course, no wonder you're weird about bathrooms, I should test... Dracula! That's it, you're a Dracula!"

"A Dracula?" The courier held their hands up, as if seeing them anew. "Never heard of them. Are they... bad?"

"Well, traditionally, yes." Veronica made a face and rubbed her elbow. "Black cloaks, sleeping in coffins, seducing and manipulating everyone around them... and people don't like it when you take their blood, in my experience."

"Whose blood have you taken?"

"This isn't about me, Six!"

ED-E: The eyebot bobbed wildly and made noises of concern, blips and blats and a flat burst of trumpets from some old jazz tune.

"I was hungry," the courier protested. "And this asshole pulled a knife on me and wanted all of my caps. Probably more than that, if we're being honest. He wasn't doing the world any good, but he did me some, for sure."

ED-E flipped between old clips of a Silver Shroud radio show. "Well, isn't this a deep, dark <static> secret? <static> In a situation such as this, the best anyone can do is <static> try to control it!" The robot added some more concerned beeps for good measure.

"I'm trying," the courier said with a sigh, looking down at the dead man they were holding. "You know I wouldn't hurt some random person, ED-E. Not if I could help it. The Mojave's full of bad people, enough to keep me going if I'm careful."

Rex: The hair on Rex's spine stood up, and he let out a long, low growl. The courier froze for a moment, before realizing that he was growling not at them but at the man they were holding.

"He's dead, Rex," they reassured the cyberdog, lowering the corpse to the floor for inspection.

Rex sniffed the body over, taking in the copper scent of his blood and the Freeside stink on his clothes. He sniffed the courier too, each of their hands they held out to him and the thick headiness of adrenaline. He whined and wagged his tail twice.

"Good boy," the courier said, straightening up. "It's about time I turned in, anyway. Let's dump this guy and split."

Benny Gecko: Benny crossed his arms. "You know, Six, if you're dead set on getting your kicks in Freeside every now and then, you might want to ease up on the passions with the next greaser you snag. This one's torn all to pieces."

"I wasn't- what kind of-" The courier dropped the man they were holding and sputtered. "Christ, only you could make a midnight murder awkward, Benny."

"Murder?" Benny raised his eyebrows and looked from side to side theatrically. "Who said anything about a murder? All I saw was some dreamboat and the best apple butterer of New Vegas playing back alley bingo, officer."

The courier's eyes narrowed. "Not gonna rat me out? Tell the King or somebody that I'm..."

"What, taking a page out of the White Glove Society's book?" Benny held his hands up. "None of my business. Well, if you ever come for me with that look in your eyes, though, that'll be a different story."

"Not much you'd be able to do," the courier pointed out. "You already tried and failed to kill me once."

Ulysses: Rather than react like any normal wastelander might've upon encountering someone attacking a man with their teeth, Ulysses just stood there, taking the scene in. "Heard tales of a tribe like you. East, farther east than even I've walked... a coven hiding in tunnels, emerging only when their hungers grow too strong to ignore, strong enough to pull blood from the veins of the world around them."

"Well, I don't hide in tunnels." The courier grimaced and heaved their victim up over their shoulder, depositing them unceremoniously in the dumpster. "Unless some disgruntled Frumentarius sends me out to hunt mutants under Hopeville."

"Perhaps you have more in common with those predators than I assumed," Ulysses admitted. "But then, your path has always run red. Blood of the Old World, blood of the new, blood of the Bull and the Bear..."

The courier rolled their eyes as they peeled off their red-stained coat and tossed it in the dumpster as well. "Don't talk to me about blood. I know you've seen just as much as me, but it doesn't mean the same thing when I look at it."

Ulysses cracked a hint of a smile. "You see life where I see death. Two sides, courier."

"Yeah, yeah. If you're not going to try to kill me, come on. You can wax poetic and lecture me about which road I'm walking while I take a shower."

Joshua Graham: "A creature far from God," Graham said in his most reproachful tone. "Forever damned for the souls of the innocent they've taken from the earth. Aren't we a pair, courier."

"You can fuck right off with that attitude." The courier dropped the man they were holding and wiped their hands on their coat. "He tried to kill me first. For some caps."

"The crimes of others do not absolve you of your own sins, courier," Graham continued, leisurely retrieving his gun from its holster. He held it up in the muted neon light that filtered through the alley, turning the weapon this way and that. "Though I confess I am also looking for absolution in this way."

"Are you going to kill me?" the courier asked, eyeing the gun as well.

"I've no doubt it would leave this world better than when you walked it," Graham replied. "But my own opinions are not enough to seal your fate. Perhaps we should find this man's family and hear their feelings on the matter."

The courier took a step forward, then another, until their chest was right up against the pistol's muzzle, pressed against the fabric of their shirt. "Go ahead. Try."

And though Joshua Graham was sorely tempted to pull the trigger, though the courier made no move to stop him, something in their eyes... some faraway pain, older than the desert itself, fresh as the blood on the ground, stayed his hand.

He lowered the gun, chastised, and the courier walked away.

Robert House: The Securitron that bore Robert House's face on its screen leveled a minigun at the courier. "Whoa!" the courier protested, dropping their victim and putting their hands out. "Can't we talk about this?"

"And what have we to discuss?" House sounded absolutely disgusted. "I believe you're familiar with my contract with the White Glove Society. If they wish to continue their current prosperity in New Vegas, cannibalism is strictly forbidden. You are subject to the same terms and conditions, as one of my employees."

"Terms and condi- hold on, hold on, you never asked me whether I was a cannibal," the courier replied. "Are you talking about that document you had me sign, way back when I agreed to help you fight the NCR and the Legion?"

"The very same."

"How is that fair? That thing was over 200 pages long, I didn't grow up in the 21st century, I don't have a degree in... okay, okay." The courier waved their hands. "Cannibalism is a no-go. This isn't cannibalism, this is vampirism."

"Which falls under the definition of cannibalism," House replied, his annoyed tone still detectable over the sound of the minigun spinning up. "Section 3.65, subsection F. Next time, read the fine print."

Caesar: The Legion's great leader pivoted in an instant from surprise to quiet anger. "Clean yourself up, courier. I expect to see you in my quarters within the hour."

He turned and left the alley swiftly, letting his powerful stride and swinging cloak cover his shaken confidence. The people of Freeside cowered as he passed, shrinking into the shadows as he made his way back to the Strip, but the fear in their eyes was not enough to erase the image of the courier bent over in bloodlust, holding their victim in total subjugation.

The courier found him on the top floor of the Lucky 38, gazing out over the city he had conquered and named his Rome. "Leave us," Caesar bid his Praetorian Guard. They bowed and departed the room without question.

"You asked to see me," the courier said nervously, shifting their weight from foot to foot. They had changed clothes, and no trace of blood remained on them.

"I did." Caesar beckoned them to the window next to him. They stood in silence for a moment, watching the lights wink below.

"I'm a well-read man, courier," Caesar said finally. "I know the legends of the Old World, and I recognize the marks of one of their nightmares in you. I order you to tell me the truth: Do you fit the full definition of the creature they called 'vampire,' or do you simply mimic the things to add to your fearsome affect?"

The courier didn't answer right away. When they did, their voice was soft. "I pretend to be nothing. I am what I am."

"And everything that comes with it?" Caesar pressed. "Darkness, the blood of the innocent, eternity?"

"Yes."

Caesar turned to face them fully. "Then I, Almighty Caesar, command you to make me as you are."

Yes Man: "Now that's a twist I didn't see coming!" Yes Man said, his happy tone only slightly tempered with uncertainty. "Boy, am I glad I don't have a circulatory system right now!"

The courier shushed the Securitron and looked around the alley surreptitiously. "Yes Man, I swear to god, if you blow my cover I'm disassembling you."

"As I've told you before, I can't technically die!" Yes Man reassured them. "And I certainly wouldn't want to endanger you and your hobbies, but my volume mixer is tied to my enthusiasm simulator and I can't adjust it! You'll just have to hope any passersby aren't interested in following my friendly voice into an alley!"

"Then go back to the Lucky 38 and we'll talk later," the courier insisted, through gritted teeth.

"I technically never left! But if you mean this Securitron, sure thing!" Yes Man zoomed away on his single wheel, whistling the whole way back to the casino where the rest of his consciousness was housed. He kept whistling as he ran probability algorithms, only pausing when the courier returned after a few hours and crossed their arms in front of his main screen.

"Hi there!" he said joyfully. "I've just been cross-checking Mr. House's records on noteworthy disappearances in the Strip, and I've flagged eight of them as potentially being connected to you! I don't want to assume your intentions, but if you don't want to be found out, I've developed a plan for choosing your next victims that will help you remain undetected in New Vegas for 184 years! Give or take a few!"

The courier put their head in their hand and sighed.

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klqrambles · 3 years ago

Text

Korean Frankenstein masterpost (Act 1)

I’ve seen a lot of people ask where to find the Korean Frankenstein musical, so I’ve decided to make this masterpost. This will have links to youtube videos and be updated with links to translations as I find/make them. I’ll also be providing what context I can based on what I remember from having watched the musical once like 4 years ago. Since Korea almost always double, if not triple, casts their main actors and different actors have different takes there’s likely gonna be a variety of actors throughout the videos playing the same character.

Please note this will likely never have a link to the full musical as Korea has extremely stringent policies on recording and posting content

This is a link to the first act highlights and is the only video (I know of) that has built in english subtitles.

youtube

Overture: the intro to the musical, not much else to say

youtube

The Only Future: (translation in the Act 1 highlights video) Henry Duprè has been court martial-ed and was meant to face the firing squad due to his unwillingness to let those deemed “unsavable” due to their injuries die. Right before his execution day, Victor requests Henry’s presence and determines he requires Henry’s assistance in his project, thus saving Henry from death.

Park Eun Tae as Henry Duprè and Jeon Dong Suk as Victor Frankenstein

youtube

A Monologue: (translation in Act 1 highlights) Victor and Henry have been honorably discharged before finishing their project and have decided to continue their project at Victor’s laboratory. This causes Victor to be late to his engagement party to Elizabeth (who’s apparently been renamed Julia? But she’s most definitely supposed to be Elizabeth so I’ll continue to call her as such for familiarity’s sake) and when he does come he’s made fun of and ultimately decides to leave again, as his work is more important.

Lee Ji Hye as Elizabeth

youtube

Life in a Glass of Liquor: (translation in the Act 1 highlights) Victor’s in a slump because nothing has been going right in terms of the project so Henry cheers him up.

Min Woo Hyuk as Victor and Han Ji Sang as Henry

youtube

The Murderer: (translation pending) An explanation as to how Henry got put on trial for murder. Victor and Henry required body parts for their project and had enlisted the help of the local mortician. However, when they went to receive the fresh head/brain they required the mortician revealed the head of Walter, a child who had disappeared recently. Angered by the greedy mortician, Victor ends up killing him. Knowing the ramifications of this, Henry takes the full blame for both the murder of Walter and the mortician. Elizabeth and Ellen (Victor’s older sister) confront Victor about the trial.

Lee Jung Soo as the butler, Han Ji Sang as Henry, Lee Ji Hye as Elizabeth, Park Min Sung as Victor, Seo Ji Young as Ellen, and the Frankenstein Ensemble

youtube

Why do I: (translation here) Victor grappling with his need to help his friend versus his need to finish the project.

Park Min Sung as Victor

youtube

Park Gun Hyung as Victor

youtube

In Your Dream: (translation in Act 1 highlights) Henry’s been deemed guilty of two counts of murder and has been sentenced to death by guillotine. Victor has been trying to get the judge and jury to reverse the decision by admitting his guilt but no one believes him. This is Henry’s final goodbye.

Kai as Henry and Min Woo Hyuk as Victor

youtube

The History of Life’s Great Creation Begins: (translation in Act 1 highlights) Victor takes Henry’s decapitated head and uses it to create the creature. This is the revival scene.

Min Woo Hyuk as Victor and Park Min Sung as Henry/the Creature (Fun fact: Park Min Sung is afaik the only actor who’s played both Victor and Henry before.)

youtube

Link to act 2 masterpost here

#i’ll be rb this with the act 2 highlights pla give me some time hajdnjd #pls dont rb this until i finish the act 2 part #this way I won’t have to keep sending links over and over and can just link this

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villainess-noble-girl · 4 years ago

Text

Best Wishes

I'm walking with Ursch on the crowded and noisy platform of the train station.

I decided to ask him a question I've been meaning to ask.

"Why did you ask Gijs and Allis to pretend to summon the Hell's gate with me?"

"It's a show for the people watching. I want them to think that casting Hell's Gate became possible only because of the four of us. If people find out that you can summon it alone, they would surely covet Isabella and break our engagement."

I didn't think about that possibility. Summoning it alone would surely gain a lot of attention.

I thanked Ursch's quick thinking.

Gijs is the son of the leader of the Magic Division, and Allis became known to have a strong magical talent and power because of her nonstop firing of bombing magic during the turmoil.

Ursch is partly famous as a genius alchemist who creates magic items for the Schneiver Company, and I'm mostly famous from the game of tag fiasco.

It was convincing that the four of us summoned the Hell's Gate.

Furthermore, even if someone tries to find out how to summon it, they can't just force the Duke's daughter, Marquis's daughter, the son of the Magic Division's leader and the son of the Schneiver Company, who is a commoner but someone that you don't want as an enemy.

It would be difficult to interview all four, unless you are royalty.

The royal family is aware of this but they are also concealing Chris's skills and I am also a daughter of a former princess (technically a royal) so they don't ask me anything.

"By the way, I heard that you refused a marriage proposal from the Queen's maiden family, The Lambert family."

Thankfully, the queen was not displeased with my rejection.

The queen laughed lightly when I refused on the spot. "I thought so. I told them that you will refuse since you are already happily affianced but they still insist that I ask."

Today, I came to secretly say goodbye to "someone".

Actually, I shouldn't go to see him off, but I really wanted to see him, so I asked Ursch to take me.

Look from a distance and never call out. That was the condition my mother gave me for them to allow me.

I watched him board the train at a distance with Ursch.

Ursch stoked my back, I felt sad that I may never see him again.

When we discovered that Lucy-oneesama was involved in the Colors Collector Case, the first thing that came to mind is Trevor-oniisama.

He wouldn't be the brother that I know and love if he didn't make this decision.

Amidst the dread that I felt with what waits for him, I understood my oldest brother. I would have done the same thing if it means that I can be with Ursch. I comforted myself in thinking that I know he'll be happy...

When he boarded the train and disappeared from our view, I cried to Ursch's chest.

Ursch put his hand on my back and hugged me tightly until I settled down.

Stay safe, Trevor-oniisama.

Please come back safe and sound.

I couldn't come to see you off, but father, mother, and Daemon-oniisama are hoping that you will come back safely.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆

Lucy, the former daughter of the head of Magical Division, was detained in the train.

She is being sent to Count Lambert's territory.

It has been confirmed that the largest dungeon in the Roserial Kingdom, "Zelvandam", has up to 45 layers three years ago.

Because of her involvement with the Colors Collector Case, she will be sent out as a reinforcement in the most dangerous parts of the 45th level of the dungeon for five years.

Her dungeon survival rate is estimated to be 25% in the first year and 7% in the second year.

Lucy is supposed to be executed but because of Chris's "Oath Magic", it was proved that the only crimes she was guilty of is the kidnapping and attempted murder of Gijs and Isabella. Both of them did not sue.

If she can survive the dungeon, she'll be free in five years.

Lucy's sentence was considered a community service but going to the 45th layer of the dungeon is no different from a de facto death penalty.

The odds of surviving and returning after five years were hopeless.

A long haired man sat beside Lucy who was restrained and waiting for the train to depart.

Lucy's eyes widened in surprise "No way... Trevor? Why? Why are you here?"

"Do you really think I'll let my precious fiancee travel alone? I can only provide assistance and support, but I can almost make anything on the spot."

"I was disowned by the Toland family. Our engagement has already been dissolved. You're the eldest son of the Duke, there's no reason for you to dive into the dungeon with me."

Trevor shakes his head in disagreement.

"I don't remember breaking our engagement. Besides, I was disowned like you. Lucy, after five years, after our dungeon adventure, I'd like to marry you in a cute little church. I can't give you the Marquis title that you wanted, but I'm confident that I can give you a lot of love... so will you marry me?"

"You are really stupid. ... Really an idiot that can't be saved..."

Lucy nods many times, crying and rubs her forehead against Trevor's chest.

Trevor hugged her head, crying and muttered how stupid Lucy was as she cried.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆

I eventually let go of Ursch when I calmed down.

"There are rare items being imported around the station, would you like to see them before I take you home?"

Ursch asked me on a date right? KYAAAAAAA~ So happy! "I would be happy to do that!!!"

I pushed all the sad thoughts at the back of my mind.

It is no exaggeration to say that my happiness lies in the days I spend with Ursch.

Fandom: The Villainess Wants To Marry A Commoner!!!

Support: 悪役令嬢は、庶民に嫁ぎたい！！　２

Note: I mtl-ed Chapter 86 of the light novel (and translated it and added some stuff in it)

Photos: Not mine

Credit: Click here, here

#the villainess wants to marry a commoner #villainess x commoner #akuyaku reijou wa shoumin ni totsugitai #isabella ali rottenstein #ursch schneiver #ursch x isabella #ursch #the villainess wants to marry a commoner fanfic #villainess noble girl #isekai manga #light novel #japanese villainess noble girl #the villainess wants to marry a commoner chapter 86 #villainess x commoner chapter 86 #gijs tolland #amaryllis #lucy tolland #lucy x trevor

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doorsclosingslowly · 3 years ago

Text

This Is the Time of Our Great Undoing

“Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?” Jesper whispers, more to distract Inej from what’s on the screen than anything else, but still—the idea won’t leave Kaz alone.

5.8k | modern AU | Kaz[/&]Jesper, part of a polycule

content note: despite the premise this is about cuddling, gambling addiction and existing during climate change

It starts the way most things used to start: with all of them piled onto ancient couches on the fifth floor of an otherwise empty building on the edge of Amsterdam, also called the Slat. These days, it’s harder and harder to get everyone together. Nina and Matthias are both in Rotterdam now, doing associate degrees that Kaz doesn’t care about. Wylan’s got room and board and a plan for the future and a social worker, and she already disapproves of Jesper as a bad influence so it’s not worth it, generally, for Wylan to come back to his old squat and hang out with the whole gang of ex- and current reprobates.

And Inej—fuck, Kaz wishes she was just a little less righteous, less concerned with how the world’s going to shit. She’s faced off against more cops now than he has, probably. Water cannons and charging horses and riot shields. She knows criminals all over the country, Europe, probably the world—but they’re the kind of criminals with morals and worthless targets, with bandanas and badly sewn patches, who will talk about Federici and sea levels and the Invisible Committee and use value if you don’t leave quickly enough. The kind that live on trees, as Inej’s going to do in a few days. The kind that don’t make any money. The kind that have even less of a chance of making it out of a job alive and free than Kaz does—and with the enemies she’s talking about, politicians, banks, Shell, he doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to extort her out of jail next time.

For now, though, they’re all together in the big room, watching some ancient movie on the massive 8k screen with mood lighting, etc, the works, that’s in the Slat courtesy of some MediaMarkt manager desperate enough to save her marriage to bribe Kaz into silence, but not so desperate she wouldn’t fuck two other women in the breakroom.

It’s impossible to know whose fault it is that they’re currently watching Pulp Fiction.

Kaz is inclined to blame Jesper, because most things are his fault in some way or another, and he’s supplying the login data for an old uni flatmate’s streaming accounts, which is where they found that film, front and centre, paid to rent until tomorrow. Who even pays for films? If that’s the calibre of people they send to university these days, it’s no wonder the planet’s going to the dogs. Jesper, though, swears he wanted to watch some goofy horror flick, so he’s splitting the blame with Nina and Matthias: Matthias, for growing up in a cult and having never heard of what’s apparently a film classic and mentioning that to Nina, who of course cooed over her boyfriend and insisted on it, even though actually none of them have watched it before either so it’s not like it’s an important cinematic milestone. Or just not b horror, crime, some weird arthouse thing with complicated morality… It’s weird and has crime but there is nothing to figure out, so Kaz is bored. It’s Inej’s fault, because instead of vetoing it she said yes, just because she has a heart-shaped soft spot for Nina. Wylan could have done his oh I’m still an innocent barely-two-years not a minor this looks bloody thing, and Kaz might not even have mocked him this time if he'd insisted on Jesper’s pick instead just so he could hide in Jesper’s arms for the most minor decapitations.

Jesper’s been talking through the whole film. Kaz got used to that a long time ago: the landing and failing of small non-sequitur jokes like rain against the window, whispered to Wylan who’s cuddled into his side on the left, or to Inej who’s burrowing under Jesper’s outstretched right arm. Sometimes Jesper thinks a quip will land better with Nina, so he shouts it over to the futon where she and Matthias are always just shy of engaging in heavy petting, and the really mean and bleak jokes he saves for when he’s made eye contact with Kaz.

Now, though: in this scene Mr Motorcycle and the gang boss are captured in a pawnshop and dragged into the basement, and Gang Boss gets raped. Inej’s hand is white-knuckled on Jesper’s arm, and Jesper’s talking non-stop. He’s talking about the flooding, and asking whether Inej thinks Doggerland will happen again but here, soon, you can never know when the scientists are so wrong about the speed of climate change, and apparently it all flooded in a day because something broke off Norway, and then he abruptly pivots to some demo where he bashed in a shop window and got new shoes, and then if she’s got dates for more street fights because then he’s in but please, don’t trick me into another book club, I don’t care about why the cops are bad I already know I just want to hit them—not topics Kaz would have chosen, exactly, but he’s rooted in his red leather armchair off to the side, not even able to hold her for comfort, not like Jes does now, and why didn’t they think to look up the content beforehand, why did they assume it was tame just because it’s an old film—and then, long after it’s over, Jesper idly asks, “Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?”

Wylan groans. Kaz wishes a sound existed that could express his own current emotion.

“You saw the guy, right?” Jesper turns over to Wylan, while still stroking Inej’s hair. “There was no skin on him. All leather. And that’s the trigger, so—might solve all our problems. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!”

“I don’t see a huge difference,” Nina snipes. “Kaz is already in all-black, with gloves. Though I guess, that hood would hide his atrocious haircut…”

“Stop being so mean to Kaz, Jesper,” Matthias mumbles. “Although he does deserve it.”

Kaz downs his entire glass of vodka. When he tops his drink up for the second time—he exed the first refill right in the kitchen—he brings the bottle and some maracuja juice over and refills Jesper’s, too, because Jesper’s been anxiously glancing over at him, every moment he thinks Kaz has turned his head away, since he shot his stupid mouth off and actually, it’s—Kaz isn’t thinking about it now but it just might—maybe it could work—well, he fills up the glass to stop Jesper from worrying himself into yet another mental crisis and also so he can bend over Jesper’s ear and whisper lovingly, “I’m going to make the leather for the suit out of your skin.”

“We should look for an Ed Gein film next!” Jesper laughs, much more brightly than the joke warrants, and Kaz refuses to interpret the look on his face.

By the time Kaz gets back to the Slat, on a day roughly three months later, it’s long past two in the morning. He’s in a foul mood: of course Haskell won’t even reimburse him for the taxi he had to take because he missed the last metro. Of course he just told Kaz to take a night bus. Haskell won’t even apologize for the last minute details he wants included in his casino’s tax returns. The old man’s not even mentally capable of understanding the extra work he caused. Yes, Kaz is good at filing taxes creatively, exactly tailored for the business to pay nothing whatsoever and meticulous enough to never arouse any suspicion, but that takes work. Things have to balance. Haskell thinks Kaz just has to press a button, and that he’s paying Kaz so he doesn’t have to press the button himself, and that it’s only worth it because he doesn’t want to sully his mind with ‘the Spreadsheet Program’. Which is also why he’s loaning Kaz out to a friend of his, which he just remembered to mention today, for that guy’s mattress store slash money laundering business, so that’s even more work for nowhere near enough money.

Sometimes, Kaz amuses himself with the idea of sneaking in small ‘mistakes’. Enough for even the stupidest tax official to unravel the whole sordid scheme and land Haskell in prison for tax fraud, whereupon he’ll also be discovered to be involved with drug smuggling, blackmail, murder, … none of which will ever trace back to Kaz. But the one time he was livid enough to try, nothing happened. He’ll never manage to plunge the true depths of stupidity of an average bureaucrat, apparently, and is thus doomed to failure.

And anyway, it’s good regular money for little work. Usually. He can’t really complain. Especially not to his friends, because three are going legit, Inej will just rant about the uselessness of defrauding the Belastingdienst for a few measly million euros a year when the world’s being set on fire every day, and Jesper’ll tell him to quit, again, because they live in a squat after all. It’s not like they’re paying rent. Jesper’s never heard of forethought, or gratitude. He doesn’t know how many of his bills Kaz has paid off.

Kaz’s leg aches after the climb to the third story. Two more to go. As usual, right at this point he remembers the joke Jesper made eight months ago about fooling someone into installing a stair lift, and as usual, he dismisses it in disgust after two more steps. Stomps harder on the next flight of stairs, with grim satisfaction at the shooting pains in his knee. He doesn’t need help. He doesn’t need to move to a house with a working lift, and he doesn’t need a stair lift, either. Fuck you, Jesper. I’m the actual functional adult with a job in this household. I don’t need a stair lift.

That’s what he would throw at Jesper’s head, but it’s nearly three o’clock, and Jesper’s probably out. Over at Wylan’s, if he knows what’s good for him, but given how evasive he’s been all week, how manic… Inej’s still camping high up in some forest to save the frogs or something, but no news there is supposed to be good news. If the cops had chucked her off a tree house, it would have been on tv. About everything else, he can worry after he’s slept.

He doesn’t bother with the lights in his room. The streetlight coming in through his open curtains is more than enough, and anyway, he found the empty tenement he turned into the Slat five years ago, fully moved down here three years ago when he met Jesper, and he knows every single thing in his room by heart. The antique dresser he made Jesper and Matthias carry up with the threat of cutting off a finger for every scratch it received is next to the door, the place where he leaves his gloves and wallet and phone and cane. The coat rack beside it, where the hangers for his suit are, then the hamper, and at the foot of his bed the long black linen nightgown that Jesper’s never, ever allowed to see, and—

There’s a black shape on top of his bedcovers, Kaz realizes when he’s pulled on his nightgown.

Kaz takes his cane back. He hasn’t made any new enemies recently as far as he’s aware—none who know his name—but he was careless, brutal, desperate when he was a lone kid getting by on the streets, and those victims had gangs, families, business partners. Just because no-one’s ever traced little Kazzie the bastard rabid dog back to the Slat-that-wasn’t-then doesn’t mean a thing. The fact that the friends he started collecting press-ganged him into doing more behind-the-scenes embezzlement and fewer turf wars because ‘they’re watching us, they have all our faces and fingers and DNA on file and cameras everywhere and did you hear about that informer having kids with the activist he spied on?’ or the more pragmatic, ‘If you don’t stop fucking up your leg on purpose I’m going to send you to a kink party you fucking masochist’…

None of it means safety, not really, and Kaz is glad he’s alone now. They’ve all moved on, and even Jes… well, if he’d been here tonight then the whole squat would be trashed because Jesper doesn’t come quietly. And now, if he comes back to find Kaz gone or his throat slit… Jesper’s going to fucking collapse. He’s been one phone call away from going hysteric all week. Who knows, though—he has Wylan now, and maybe it’ll be the push he needed, the path none of them could ever find, to get his life back on a solid track.

All of that is presupposing that Kaz loses, of course.

And he does not intend to.

The weird black ninja on Kaz’ bed hasn’t reacted yet. They’re curled into a foetal position and they’re snuffling, quietly, because they’re asleep.

Not even assassins dressed up as b movie henchmen expect the toll taken by Per Haskell’s technical naïveté and utter disrespect for Kaz’ work-life balance, apparently. He got back home so late he missed his own murder. Well, then. Kaz hasn’t tortured anyone in two years and he may be out of practice, but the films he’s been forced to watch in the meantime have, if anything, made him more creative. He’ll teach them not to underestimate the brutality of Kaz Brekker, even when he’s moved up a few rungs in the ladder of Amsterdam’s underworld and landed a desk job.

He’ll—but Kaz hasn’t had to stalk silently towards his prey in two years, either. He’s underestimated the extent to which his lame leg’s gotten worse.

Also, someone’s pulled a box out from under his bed.

Kaz stumbles, and in the split-second before he catches himself on the edge of the mattress he wonders—will they have a gun? I can still bash them in the head before they fire, I haven’t gone that soft—and then the would-be assassin stretches out their lanky body as they wake up.

With their arms raised over their head, Kaz can see the bright white light of the street lanterns outside reflect off the gleaming black PVC fabric they’re wearing. Sleek and skin-tight, no ornamentation except a few steel buttons glinting at the crotch, and a full-cover leather hood over their face adorned with one-euro-sized rivets at the jaw, the forehead, the bridge of the nose, the large buckle around the neck. More buckles, at the back of the head and hanging off the right side at eye-height. The open silver zipper at the mouth reflects the streetlight, too, as does the padlock that hangs off it.

Oh no. Kaz knows that mask. Not even shoving it all the way back to the furthest corner under his bed allowed him to forget the way it looks.

Oh no.

Jesper yawns loudly. “Morning, boss. Evening. One of those. I thought you were finishing work early?”

“Haskell had some last-minute revisions to his tax returns.” Kaz sighs. “Don’t cook tomorrow. I’ll be out late for the whole next week—don’t expect me before three am. New client. I need to create a whole year’s documentations from scratch.”

“Just fuck him over, boss. He doesn’t appreciate you, and you don’t need the money. We live in a fucking squat.”

Sweet, financially illiterate nuisance Jesper, who probably doesn’t even know what that awful mistake he’s dressed in right now cost. The thing he’s dressed in. Which was hidden under Kaz’ bed. In Kaz’ room. Which they are inside right now. “You broke into my room,” Kaz rasps. “Again.”

“You know, Kaz,” Jesper replies with poorly feigned innocence, ”this thing is a little big for you. Fits me pretty well, though.”

“I told you I don’t keep cash under my bed. I told you that, the last time you tried to steal from me to pay off your gambling debts. I like my room organized as it is, and so I don’t keep any money here. Not under the bed, not in the wardrobe. And you won’t find any of my actual caches, because I’m smarter than you.”

“You’ve lied to me before.”

“You’ve stolen from me before. Remember last year? Remember you made Inej cry? I though you were clean. I thought you promised Wylan, when you asked him out, that you were done gambling. Maybe we all had too much trust in you.”

Jesper pulls his PVC-clad shoulders up to his en-leathered ears: a ridiculous sight, and Kaz doesn’t know what’s worse. That a bondage sex slave could actually look this dejected and humiliated and alone, or that Jesper does. He’s almost ready to call off the assault. It took a while to figure out, but as usual Inej was probably right, because she’s been researching and discussing the mental health industrial complex in general, and the traumatizing nature of modern life, with her comrades. Even though Kaz is neither the kind of person to touch people with kid gloves, and nor does he like thinking of Jesper as someone who needs that kind of handling—when Jesper’s in a shame spiral this deep then any criticism will drive him even deeper into the arms of the next casino. So the adrenaline and dopamine can wipe out everything else, or to feed his self-loathing even more by being exactly the person he’s terrified people think he is—Jes couldn’t quite explain it himself during the Intervention, except that everything is too much sometimes, even more too much and faster than usual.

He’s a pitiful creature. Kaz almost has pity. Then, though—

“It’s not working, boss. I know why you’re reminding me I fucking relapsed, again, and tried to steal from my best friend, again, and that I’m going to beg you to lie to Wy, again, but I still haven’t forgotten I’m wearing a bondage suit that you’ve been keeping under your bed for—two months now, is it?”

It’s just one month, actually. The manufacture and shipping took six whole weeks.

Two can play that game. Kaz might be very slightly embarrassed, but Jesper’s relapsed into the combination of addiction, theft and deceit that destroyed his life three years ago, and nearly did so again, two-and-a-half years ago and one year ago. “Careful. I haven’t even yet agreed to lie to Wylan, Jesper. About your problem. That you promised you’d tell him about.”

“Also, I notice it fits me, not Inej. Not Nina. Not Matthias. Not even Haskell, I bet. Me. Almost like it was made for me.”

Kaz ignores his insinuations. The answer’s obvious, anyway: yes, he did take clothes from the main washing pile in Jesper’s room and measured them. Yes, he used the measurements when he ordered a bondage suit. Yes, that’s creepy. Yes, a decent person would have asked. No, he’s not sorry. Jesper knew who Kaz was when he moved in with him. And it’s not like Kaz is the one who’s really at fault here. If Jesper just stopped gambling, he’d never have found out.

“Even attempted theft is illegal, Jesper. Completed robbery is worse. I cover my tracks, but you… you should be careful what you say now. They’re still looking for whoever robbed that jeweller last year.”

“Inej’s gonna cut off your head if you try. It’s like you never read her hoodies. All cats are beautiful, et cetera, Kaz. Thirteen-twelve. Keep up.”

Sometimes, the only thing that keeps Kaz from tossing Jesper out of the Slat is that Inej hates landlords and landlord-adjacents just as much as the pigs. If only he’d known back when he let the drunk penniless fancy uni boy who jumped into a fight to defend Kaz from some thugs—a fight Kaz would have won regardless—if only he’d known, before he let Jesper crash on his floor for a night or two, where all of this would end. “I’ll never mention anything about tonight again if you don’t either. Forget it. It was a bad idea. A failed plan. That’s all.”

“Without even trying it?”

“I will zip your mouth shut,” Kaz rasps. “I’ll lock it. I’ll throw the key into the harbour. Fuck you.”

Jesper, though, somehow got even mouthier when he put the bondage suit on. Less respectful. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. “Come on, Kaz,” he wheedles. “I put it on, right? So I’m fine with it, if you’re worried. Aren’t you curious? If our places had been reversed—well, if you’d found it in my room you’d have murdered me, so we’re not exactly identical, but still. Come on, sit down next to me. This is—PVC right? Good job choosing me. Inej would hate it. So much plastic.”

“It’s less like skin than leather.”

“Not complaining, Kaz. I have some juice with a straw over there to keep me hydrated in case I sweat like a pig, but I haven’t, yet. I can probably camp out in this for a few more hours.” He tries a patented Jesper I’m flirting in an over the top way to make you laugh which is my flirting style for when I’m genuinely worried about the reaction because this way I can pass off exasperation and mockery as the response I intended look, probably with fluttering eyes, but since Kaz can barely make them out through those open zippers and the rest of his face is a complete mystery, it falls flat. It looks ridiculous, though, so it also works, and Jesper has the nerve of complaining about Kaz’ eight-dimensional chess plans. He’s worse. He’s worse, and animated by Jesper’s ridiculous, familiar movements the bondage suit doesn’t look like a pathetic attempt anymore. Not like the desperation of an emotional cripple. It just looks like Jesper, with an extra layer on his skin. Jesper, probably making a duckface, purring, “Don’t you think I’m sexy?”

Kaz looks away. “Are you serious right now?”

“Of course,” Jesper replies instantly, as if there was never any reason to doubt him. As if he doesn’t blame Kaz for doubting, simultaneously. As if Kaz is allowed to try. To fail. To fuck up, risk hurting him. There is a reason why Kaz never even considered someone else for the suit. “Come on, get on the bed.”

“We have to talk with Inej first. And with Wylan.”

“One-track mind,” Jesper replies, and just like that Kaz is ready to murder him again. “We’re not fucking. We’re not doing more than normal, except maybe touch. We don’t even know yet whether this helps you. I’m not risking it. We’ll just try touching, and if you think it’s triggering, we stop. We’ve got all the time in the world to work up to more. Until this city sinks into the ocean and the grid collapses from heat, which might be tomorrow, so. Or the fascists win.”

“You’ve been listening to Inej.”

“I do try to keep up.”

“Well, stop. Or listen more carefully, until the end, when she gets to the doomerism is the opiate of the masses part.”

“Just get on the bed, Kaz.”

Kaz puts his bent good knee onto the mattress and pulls himself over to Jesper. The fabric of his linen smock rubs against his heated skin: not like corpses, not like that, not like Jordie and he won’t even think about him or this will be over but—it just feels like his own familiar coarse age-softened nightgown that Jesper hasn’t even made fun of yet, his thin nightgown that in a second will be one of only two layers between him and Jesper.

He rolls over so he can sit down next to Jesper, at first. Daringly, he leans an arm against his best—well, they’ll figure that out later.

“Okay?” Jesper asks. He has to crane his head a lot to look through the thin eye slits of his bondage mask at Kaz’ face, and even then he’s probably mostly seeing the gleaming teeth of the eyehole zippers. And still he leans forward forty-five degrees and twists his torso and neck so he can look up into Kaz’ face, carefully keeping the arm that’s touching Kaz as motionless as possible, because he’s being careful with Kaz. Kaz has told him a thousand times he hates being coddled. He’s not a poor little abused dog, he’s a vicious murderer who destroyed his leg and his ability to be close to people while he was murdering, that’s all he ever told Jesper. That lie. And yet—even if he’s only fooling himself because this scene is so patently ridiculous, and the psych ward he got sent to once for the crime of rough sleeping while underage would stamp every single thing about what they’re doing as deeply unhealthy, and he can’t see Jesper’s soft concerned expression under the hood… Whatever it is, Kaz feels warm all over. He feels good. Safe.

Jesper can tell, apparently. “Want to touch my chest? Or climb into my lap?”

Kaz moves over, carefully smoothing down his nightgown before he sits down on Jesper, angled so he can lean with his left arm pressed against Jesper’s chest. It’s safer, somehow, than giving him the back, but perhaps someday…

Jesper loosely wraps his arms around Kaz. They’re just there, barely touching, the hands lax on top of Kaz’ right knee. You can leave at any time, they say, I’ll let go as soon as you’re uncomfortable, and Kaz would have known that regardless. Jesper’s never usually this still, unless he’s lost in concentration: and Kaz, who’s seen how gambling can destroy someone’s life, how it is currently destroying someone’s life, would still bet everything he has ever owned that Jesper’s concentrating on every single aspect of Kaz’ body language right now.

It’s not necessary, though. Those hands are gleaming black PVC. They don’t look or feel anything like Kaz’ memories.

He drops his own naked right hand onto Jesper’s gloved one. Joins them. Anchors Jesper. “How much do you owe this time, Jes?”

A beat. Jesper’s face drops down towards Kaz’ lap. Trying to hide his shame, and he’s forgotten that he’s wearing a full bondage mask, that Kaz can barely make out his eyes through the slits of the zippers. If he’s trying to deny everything, Kaz will just beat it out of him. He’s done it before. A year ago, when it was bad, but Jesper promised he got it under control. But Jesper’s promises were never worth much, not for this. If they were, they’d never have met.

“Four grand.”

“To?”

“Tom Geels. One of Big Bol’s old friends—”

“So he put you up to—”

“I was already playing when he walked up to me, Kaz,” Jesper grinds out. Aware that he could save himself from at least a little of Kaz’ disappointment by casting Bollinger as the tempter. Simultaneously aware that Kaz promised to feed Bollinger to a marine propeller last year if he ever took Jesper gambling again. Noble, to try and save Bollinger’s life—or to save Kaz from committing another murder—not that either of them deserves his loyalty. “I’ll pay you back, Kaz. I’ll have the money. Give me—give me half a year, Da’s still sending me—sending me rent money, Christ, he’s—I’ll save it. No, you’ll get it straight as soon as I get it, and in six months, you’re paid back in full. I promise.”

“We’ll figure it out. I have some jobs I could use you on. Nothing big. Intimidation, mostly. Some breaking, some entering. Boring stuff, not even worth mentioning to Wylan I should think.”

“Thank you.” Jesper’s forgotten all his restraint. He’s kissing Kaz’ forehead, or rather kissing the inside of his mask that’s pressed against Kaz’ forehead. He’s wrapped Kaz tightly in his long bondage arms too, painfully twisting Kaz’ shoulder and elbow and wrist because Kaz is still holding onto his hand. It’s that welcome pain, and the texture of the bondage suit that Kaz still isn’t completely used to, that keeps him from breaking Jesper’s nose. Keeps him—he isn’t back in the North Sea. He isn’t with Jordie. He should be, but he isn’t, and even if it comes…

Inej taught him about grounding. None of them trust the system as far as they can throw it, so she didn’t send him to a shrink when they started dating, unlike he feared, but—she said they helped her, those grounding exercises she found on the internet, and so Kaz has been diligently practicing breathing techniques and focusing his awareness on details of the present moment. Five things he can see: well, it’s dark, but the way what little streetlight gets through reflects off the folds of the suit on Jesper’s bowed stomach is quite interesting. His own knees. His hand, still clutching Jesper’s. The cane, on the floor. The floor. Five things he can hear: early morning traffic, Jesper’s breath, Jesper trying not to sob out loud in relief or shame or a mixture of both, the rustling of fabric, the squeaking of fabric. Five things he can feel: The old ache of his leg, always. Jesper’s hand. Jesper’s thighs. The hard buttons at the flap over Jesper’s crotch, digging into his side.

Somehow, Jesper’s noticed his shift in focus. At least he’s stopped crying now. “You know, you could have just asked how big I am if you wanted a suit with a dick pouch,” he teases in a voice that almost manages to sound happy. “I wouldn’t even have been suspicious.”

“Just because you have no boundaries, Jes, doesn’t mean I have to sink down to meet you at your level.”

Jesper takes a big breath. To forestall the whole Who bought this bondage suit argument Kaz elbows him in the stomach, hard. Once Jesper’s done coughing—a wriggling movement against Kaz’ side that he’s never even felt before—he mumbles something else, though. “I texted Da my new number. He called last week. Wanted to know how I was doing,” and oh. That makes sense. That’s what did it. “Apparently I’m graduating in seven months, according to that fake schedule you made me so I could keep my lies straight. He wants to come to the graduation. He asked me whether I have a job lined up.”

“I could hire somebody to fake you a degree,” Kaz offers. This should be Inej’s job. She shouldn’t be off somewhere, saving grasshoppers. She should be here. She’s the one who tried to talk Jesper into coming clean to his father, last year. All Kaz knows, all he has ever done, is to keep digging, and it’s worked for him. So far. “It’s all the rage now I hear. Cheap, too. No-one will find out. Just don’t become a politician in Germany.”

Jesper sighs. The air kisses the back of Kaz’ neck. “I don’t even care anymore. I could have a degree, or not, it all doesn’t matter. Universities are a scam to regulate economic class relations anyway. I don’t know that I can keep lying forever, or get a job, just so I don’t have to tell Da I betrayed him. Because nothing matters anyway. We’re collectively throwing the future down the drain. It’s not like anyone needs another mechanical engineer when we hit four degrees. I don’t know what we need. I just know everything I know is pointless.”

“I’m sure Inej can hook you up, if you want to blow up a coal power plant.”

“But what about you, then? What would you do?”

“I could have you kidnapped,” Kaz says. That’s not what Jesper meant. Kaz refuses to think about what Jesper meant. “Fake your death. Colm will be so relieved when they find you that he won’t even care you failed all your studies so you could become a live-in human blow-up doll.”

“That’ll only keep Da happy for a year at most and you know it.”

“Well, then Colm’s just going to have to get used to it. Get used to you, like we did. Real, annoying, good-for-nothing directionless screw-up Jesper.”

Jesper rubs his leathered cheek against the crown of Kaz’ head. “Fuck you. Thanks.”

Kaz runs his fingers over the squeaky PVC on Jesper’s forearms, steeling himself before he whispers idly against Jesper’s neck, “If Inej’s right about the warming and the sea level over the next decades, it won’t just be refugees from the south we’re letting drown, people it’s easy to lock out. Maybe you’re right about the Doggerland thing, and we all get flooded.” He swallows. The words are high up in his throat, trying to spew out. “Then it won’t just be one stupid child with a stupid family going out boating in the North Sea when there’s a storm coming. Not just that one kid thrown out of a sinking boat nearly drowning and clinging to his brother’s corpse. Your blow-up doll skills will be in high demand if everyone else gets triggered by skin contact too.”

Jesper, miraculously, reveals a talent Kaz didn’t even know he possessed: he shuts up. He ghosts his gloved hands over Kaz’ shoulders, and then he starts carding his fingers through Kaz’ hair. Kaz can feel the static electricity building up, the crackles and the safety, and then he realizes his eyes have drifted shut. He realizes he doesn’t know how long Jesper’s been petting him.

“Take off your hood,” he mumbles.

“Kaz?”

“Take it off. Scuttle over so your head’s on the pillow.”

Jesper obeys, like Kaz always knew he would. He looks up at Kaz with something that might be confusion but might also be—trust and deep joy and more, something Kaz can’t quite admit anymore now he’s in his bed, and Kaz puts his head down on his chest. His legs will still fit, and this way, he has the squeaky PVC right where he needs it. Squeaky, rhythmically rising warm dry plastic under him. The exact opposite of a waterlogged corpse.

“I don’t have time to call you an ambulance when you get into a bondage suit erotic asphyxiation incident, just so you know. I have a full schedule for today, remember. I’ll be at Haskell’s until after midnight. I have to break Bollinger’s thumbs. My alarm is at seven. Turn it off and I’ll send you to Colm in bite-sized pieces,” Kaz rasps, and then, with a movement that no-one would call timid if they wanted to keep their tongue attached, wraps his arms around Jesper. “You’ve kept me awake for two hours, so be a good pillow. If I kick you off the bed while I’m dozing, remember. This is your fault.”

#jesper fahey #kaz brekker #kaz x jesper #dimtraces makes things #shadow and bone #shadow & bone

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coffeebeannate · 4 years ago

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Nate Watches Things: A Saga

Or in this case, one thing. One thing that was far too long of a thing, but such a bizarre venture that I felt rather compelled to put an actual review of said thing together.

Why? Because I can and because others HAVE to experience this..this journey. A nice lil journey called Die Pfeiler der Macht/ A Dangerous Fortune. And I watched it solely because Luca looks cute in Victorian clothes, and I was intrigued by the gifs.

Curiosity has always been such a great human motivator, eh?

And..guys. I just. I don’t know what the 3-4 hours (it’s two movies, and I took a couple days to watch it) WERE, exactly, but they were..a thing? I know that it’s based on a book by Ken Follett and that this production is German. Despite being based in England.

Oh, and Luca’s character Mickey Miranda, is uh, Spanish. Make of that what you will.

So the summary is this:

A shocking secret behind a young boys death leads to three generations of treachery in this breathtaking saga of love, power and revenge, set amid the wealth and decadence of Victorian England.

And no it does not do this thing justice whatsoever.

Review under the cut. It’s too long *again, two movies here*, and I took far too many screencaps of this absolute wtfery, and uh, it’s probably better suited for a real-time live blog but nah. You can have this instead.

Some images under the cut are NSFW because nefarious boning is a key point in this..thing.

SPOILERS. So many spoilers. This thing is a spoiler fest. The caps have a very obvious Luca bias, I know why we’re here everyone. Hehe. There’s also some triggering stuff in this thing, so be warned there too.

BEHOLD:

So, a point I want to make is that the costuming in this movie is LEGIT. If absolutely nothing else works? Note that the costuming absolutely does.

The opening credits are very nice, Luca’s very pretty, this cap serves purely to showcase that because I’m a very serious man doing a very serious review.

Pretty.

So the beginning is..confusing. We have a girl, Maisie Robinson. (Around 10-13 here?) Her father is very poor and it’s her and her two siblings. He works for a man who is part of our main characters, the Pilasters? and they run this bank. The head of the bank commits suicide, since they’re having financial troubles and he cannot repay his workers. He pens a note to his young son *under 12 at this point*, Hugh.

Hugh never finds out about this letter, but anyway. At the moment, it’s 1866. Maisie’s father was one of those employees. Destitute, he leaves Maisie to..raise her siblings, and goes to America.

We never hear from this man again.

Hugh goes to live with his aunt (Augusta/Augustina?), uncle Joseph, and cousins, Edward and Clara.

THEN IT’S 1877 (we jump ten years)

Maisie’s two siblings have died, and she has a daughter, Rachel now. Who is also dying. This movie is very keen on people dying. I’d also like to point out that there is like, endless plots all happening alongside one another, and it took me until mid-way into part two to even really grasp what the main plot is.

The movie has a LOT of bank talk as well. I cannot express this earnestly enough, there is SO MUCH bank chatter. SO MUCH. This thing does not have to be as long as it is but again, bank stuff.

Anyway, the one plot is that Maisie is from the poor area, she’s had a horrible life and has struggled from day one. She’s in a constant battle with Hugh, and they argue a lot. A lot. (They like each other, they met as kids, but they’re from very different worlds. Hugh has money, she doesn’t, but Hugh has suffered as well and basically it’s your normal class struggle social commentary thing).

Maisie and Hugh in 1866, as kids, after Maisie’s father left for America. This is the funeral for Hugh’s father. So that’s the theme I mean.

Anywho.

Back in 1877, this is Samuel *left*, Joseph *middle* and Edward. The Pilaster’s get marched into work like they’re freaking army Captain’s and not just rich ass bankers. Imagine saluting your CEO. At work. Outside of the military. WHERE IS THIS A THING? Maybe this was a thing in Victorian England I have no clue I’ve certainly never come across it in my studies. Ffs.

Anyway.

So while all this is going on, there’s this man that wants to marry Maisie.

And his name is,

(That’s Rachel, Maisie’s daughter). Anyway, Solly here loves Maisie and wants to marry her. But Maisie loves Hugh, and neither of them realize this yet. Solly is a himbo and we mostly like him, but stay tuned because that doesn’t stick. Sorta. Depends on how-

Nevermind I’ll just keep going.

ANYWAY, more plot.

Here’s Edward again, doing drugs, being gay, and overall..useless. Edward is..Edward is kind of like a person who would make an interesting wall decoration. Fun enough to look at, but utterly freaking hopeless, and useless, and so dumb. Just so dumb. This character is given the substance of ash fault. Kinda like, only vaguely solid enough to be entertaining. Kinda.

I don’t know guys, BUT LOOK!

It’s his good old pal Mickey! And he’s slapped Edward awake out of his drug coma (okay he grabs his face and shakes him rather than slapping but given how much slapping happens in the rest of this movie I think I can be forgiven) and he has PLOTS.

Mostly it’s his dads plot, but it’s a plot. A very devious scheme and he needs our favourite wallpapers assistance!

(Sorry Edward, but it’s true)

So keeping in mind that the ‘theme’ of this movie is bone-and-soul crushing sadness paired with periods of intense chaos and insanity that you never see coming, our plots continue to thicken.

What Mickey means here, is that Edward’s family denied Mickey’s father what he wanted *weapons deal*, and beat the crap out of Mickey in a carriage. But that’s fine that’s fine Mickey is not deterred! BECAUSE.

*sigh*

So.

OK.

This scene.

Remember what I said about how this movie goes from being incredibly boring to so off the walls bonkers without actually WARNING YOU that it is going to do this? Yeah.

Edward, you see, really does not ‘do’ women. He’s gay. He’s extremely gay. Edward’s mother wants him to marry Florence Stalworthy for idk rich people reasons.

So..Mickey. Uh. Mickey’s solution is..this.

What is this, you ask??

Fuck if I know.

Anyway, no, uhm. This is a brothel. So (not) pictured here (I can’t post the scene on tumblr guys we have a ban) is Edward on a couch across from mask-and-feathers MIckey and this tied down woman, with another woman who is not tied down. And this is Mickey..showing Edward..how to.have sex with women. Apparently. Sort of. His lesson falls very flat. It is not a good scene, Mickey’s ‘instructions’ get increasingly louder, and he at one point makes this noise that sounds like a Joker laugh.

It is...it’s something.

(Also note there’s some extremely uncomfortable, misogynistic name-calling on Mickey’s part here..so yeah).

Oh, and it doesn’t convince Edward. At all. IMAGINE.

Around all this time, the Hugh/Maisie/Solly plot is also ongoing. And that also encompasses bar fighting (bare knuckles boxing and wrestling I think? And gambling)

Hugh has gambling debt we’ll get back to this. (He’s also obsessed with getting Russian bonds into the bank, again, the banking plot losses me a LOT)

So meanwhile, Mickey meets up with Edward’s mother.

But why Edward’s mother, you ask??

Well. *sigh*. Something I didn’t mention earlier is that Mickey likes Ed’s mum. A lot. A lot a lot. Mickey wants to take that woman to town and then some, is a very basic way of me putting it and-

Fuck it. Mickey wants to bang Ed’s mum. BADLY.

(She’s not opposed either, at all)

So their little scheme here is that Ed’s mum wants Ed to take control of the bank, but with the father-in-law alive, that’s not going to happen. So they’re plotting to take down the next person in charge who would succeed said father in law, (Samuel) who is in a relationship with the secretary mentioned above, Michael.

Yes, another GODDAMNED PLOT.

(Samuel is fairly unpleasant like all of these people, so I don’t feel that bad for him. He also kinda treats Michael like garbage, and is called out for this by Joseph later in the movie)

So the scheme here is to get rid of the father-in-law, and get Ed married. Cake walk!

(Also, while ALL THIS is going on, Mickey’s got his own mini-plot about doing these things for his father, the weapons and stuff but we don’t actually find out about the main goal of that whole thing till the end, you’ll see)

Oh, and since we’ve not had a good dose of ‘WHAT THE FUCK’ lately, Solly proposes to Maisie with an honest-to-god Alice in Wonderland party.

Yeah.

Meet the Mad Hatter! He’s a guide, he says nothing. Other people are in costume too, but you know-I have enough caps as it is.

So anyway, Maisie and Solly get engaged, Maisie and Hugh meet up at some point and bang instead.

And while that’s happening, Edward is convinced by Mickey to marry Florence.

So he does.

Lookit this shit faced smug ass grin.

(Also ahead is Samuel again, and Hugh)

BUT THEN the bank finds out about Hugh’s gambling debts. So he leaves. Taking his cousin Clara (Edward’s teenage sister-at her insistence) to the USA. And just like Maisie’s dad, another man abandons her for the States.

So the father in law is still alive, so!

It’s murder time.

Perfect wedding time event yeah?

So Mickey murders the father-in-law. (He jumps on him, suffocates him with a pillow, gets caught by Augusta and then they do this..weird ‘tensely make the bed thing’)

Murdered.

And then, exactly five seconds or so later..

Nothing like some murder pre-boning with the dead guy two feet away amiright?

Anyway at this point I was just:

And yelling at my ceiling. Not pictured.

I was a Hannibal fan and I STILL went !?!?!?

END PART ONE.

Part two starts out in 1912, and then cuts back to 1882. So in this messy timeline, note it has been six years since part one. And Hugh is married now to Nora, an American singer, and Clara is older and pregnant. (Father is never determined, but he’s a married man and that’s why Clara didn’t stay)

SO the three of them are returning home. Maisie and Solly have a son, David, and Maisie is depressed and distant, so Solly is the one who spends all the time with David. He’s shown as a legit good dad and it’s quite cute watching them.

(The kids Hugh’s, btw, he and Maisie both know this, Hugh does not, it’s revealed dramatically later but we still have so many plots)

Edward and Florence are childless. Edward doesn’t sleep with her. Everyone knows this.

(At this point I kept asking myself when this would end, I cannot stress how LONG this thing feels at times)

So Hugh and Nora meet up with Maisie and Solly, and they chat and there’s more love plots, more bank plots and a masquerade party where at some point Maisie thinks a little girl at the party is Rachel (who died in the end of part one, sorry!) and there’s a fire and Maisie and Hugh make out and Nora and Solly are both upset and it’s a whole thing.

Samuel now does something of a side business that’s unspecified with Michael, and pregnant Clara is being persued by the only man who might be a good match for her (she’s not keen on getting married. But he’s also..really old.) PLOTS.

And Mickey and Augusta are..still a thing. And Edward being chlidless is becoming an issue. So what is the solution dear friends??

*BANGS HEAD INTO A WALL*

Why the fuck not.

Absolutely flawless! Eddie will NEVER notice.

SO with this plan in motion, Mickey sets out to seduce Florence, Eddie��s neglected wife. He starts in a church, and I have to admit, this one line he gives is quite funny.

“I don’t go to church.”

Cannot begin to imagine why.

Also, around this time is when we get the infamous scene about how he fcked the wives of the three men and then made the guys suck his dick one by one. I didn’t cap that since it’s in gif form, but yeah.

Hugh and Solly and Nora and Maisie are still having their love issues. And there is still bank stuff as all this is going down.

But while on his Florence quest, we see Mickey beat up a guy who was abusing a small boy, and Florence see’s him do this as well and:

He looks so baffled.

‘Me? GOOD? I really don’t think so.”

She’s also holding a baby, and he gives the infant this face:

“Eugh, what is that?”

He also finds her in church again at some point and comes alongside her like this:

”Sup? Whatcha prayin’ about?”

Anyway, while doing all this, he’s still having some issues. He needs Eddie’s signature for a bank transfer (for his father, his father’s plot is STILL a THING) and so it is time to seduce someone ELSE. This time it’s Edward. This won’t be hard. Edward wants him so bad you could probably see it from fucking space.

Mickey is well aware of this.(I don’t think it’s one sided either, he looks at Edward all wide eyed half the time, but he’s so manipulative it’s hard to judge).

Actually me right now tbh.

So that’s this followed by the infamous gif set.

Edward takes him up on it.

‘Come along my dear there’s nefarious boning to be done’.

Absolutely vital screencap below (which is the most we get anyway and I didn’t cap the line about the freaking signature because fuck plots over nice images okay)

Vital

Anyway Edward gives him the bloody signature. And then Mickey goes along to talk to Augusta. But at this point Mickey is very much beginning to unravel. His goal seems to be more centralized to finishing whatever long ass convoluted job his father has been making him do for the last six years (possibly more tbh) and he’s sort of done with everything.

And Edward see’s this exchange. Le. Oof.

SO! IN BETWEEN ALL THIS. There’s some party where there’s drama and then basically Nora..willing gives up Hugh so he can be with Maisie and Solly just..I don’t even know, single dad for life and all. Edward knows that his family has basically been doing shit all around him, and Mickey STILL seduces Florence. He has her meet him outside that night at two am and they get together, but when he’s with her he kinda has these doubts but she wants him anyway so they bang.

Yeesh.

AFTER that there’s Edward again, because Edward knows shit is up, Mickey goes to a room to grab a bag and see’s Edward there. He tells Edward goodbye, but Edward pulls a gun. Mickey just...drops the bag, tells him to shoot. Edward doesn’t, instead he turns the gun on himself and then Mickey shoots himself in a chair.

Yeah.

DEATH! SADNESS! REMEMBER-THIS MOVIE LOVES DEAD PEOPLE~!

At some point in all this, Augusta goes to her daughter, Clara, apologies for being an absolutely evil mother for her entire life and then the movie sort of begins to wrap up.

Maisie and David were going to leave for the States together, but David wants to stay with Solly, who well DID raise him despite him being Hugh’s kid. So Maisie and Hugh are alone and David lives with Solly and the Pilaster bank has discovered the ACTUAL FREAKING PLOT OF MICKEY’S DAD AND THE ENTIRE BACKGROUND THING. Which was this:

THIS DIDN’T NEED TO BE ALMOST FOUR HOURS, GERMANY.

SO Hugh lets the mob inside. We don’t see what happens after that, but Augusta comes in to tell Joseph Edward shot himself.

Lots of sadness.

So the movie ends in 1912, with David and Hugh meeting up. David never saw Maisie again *she’s deceased now, as is Solly.* they talk, there is some moral lesson or something about love. The goddamned end.

OOF.

SO overall?

I don’t know.

It’s a movie. It has a script and plot and..it was put on screen? The costumes are legitimately amazing. They might be the best thing about this thing. But it REALLY feels like Ken really wanted to make a movie about banking, noticed that’d be boring and tried to make it spicy.

It’s so bizarre. So depressing. So many people are horrible. So many bad things happen. So much slapping, so much weirdness. There’s nothing happy in this thing. Not one. The so called ‘good’-ish ending falls flat amongst a sea of depression and I re-iterate, IT DOES NOT HAVE TO BE SO LONG.

I distinctly recall lots of clock watching at times, wondering how I could POSSIBLY have more to go. It then goes so completely off the rails that you just don’t know what is happening and it’s just WEIRD.

At times that weirdness makes it fun, but overall it’s really not great. I probably would never rewatch it, and I can say that it’s an uh, experience in movie-watching.

A good one? I don’t know. But an experience, none the less.

#a dangerous fortune #nate reviews things #nate reviewing #look don't expect coherency here ya'll this thing is A TRIP #long post #too many screenshots #am i legit posting this thing at quarter to four in the morning #yes because i dont want my drafts to eat it askjdnkas #i'll just rebagel later in the day if needed ok

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lgbtqia-representation · 4 years ago

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Marginalization within the LGBTQIA+ Community

Sexuality has and always will be a hotspot of discussion for everyone because of how central it is to anyone’s life; so then why is it that certain communities are still ostracized? Within any realm, there are people who perfectly fit into the bubble and others who seemingly never fit into it. While the LGBTQIA+ community, even by its ever-extending name alone, strives for inclusion there are sadly some aspects that are still less accepted within it, and even more so within society. “Pride, the one place that is supposed to be a safe haven for people of all sexual orientations is all too often a place where they must battle the same misconceptions that they encounter among heterosexual people.” (Allen)

Bisexual

Despite ironically being part of the original acronym “LGBT”, bisexuals have never really been part of it. “That June 2018 YouGov data shows that 20 percent of Americans now identify as something other than “completely heterosexual” or “completely homosexual.” That would amount to about 65 million people—a population approaching the size of California and Texas combined.” (Allen)

This community is large and vastly growing in representation each year at Pride events worldwide. Yet ironically the community faces two starkly different complications. First, the idea that bisexuality is simply a phase. People constantly assume that the individual claiming to be bisexual is simply indecisive about their own orientation. Even mass media like “The L Word”, a lesbian central TV show with hints at bisexualism, makes comments along the lines of, “Pick a side”. While the show has all sorts of other redeeming qualities, comments sadly are still highly remembered and affect the community.

Secondly, building off the first part, that because they are “just a phase” there is not a community for them of likeminded individuals. A bisexual is heavily affected by interpretation. For this example, we will assume the bisexual is a woman. If she shows up to an event with a current female partner, it is assumed she is lesbian. Whereas if she shows up with a male partner, she is assumed to be straight. In no situation does the individual get properly identified as a bisexual. This leaves them as dissociated from the community as a large based on who they are currently dating. “This hunger for representation from what is, in fact, a statistical majority of the LGBT community speaks to the fact that bisexual people face discrimination both from within that community and from the world at large.” (Allen)

Organizations like #StillBisexual work to connect the community through inspiring stories that shine a light on real issues from real people within the bisexual community.

The Asexual Spectrum

Before we delve in, if you feel you don’t know too much about asexual spectrum here is an amazing source that breaks down the different forms attractions/connection and how they relate to a person’s sexuality. Check it out here!

The LGBTQIA means asexual, not ally, like so many assume. This is just the tip of the iceberg of the issues they experience. Asexual means they are not sexual attracted to any person. This plays an important role in spreading awareness of the different types of attractions that are fundamental aspects to each of us people. Below is a wonderful depiction of the different types of attraction:

So, as you may have assumed from the title, asexuality is not a one and done sort of deal in explaining, rather it is a spectrum. This spectrum encompasses levels and frequency of attraction and desire to engage in sexual behaviors. On one end, a person would never want to have sex, whereas on the far other end, they would love to be having sex constantly. Within the middle area are the more normal sexual attraction tendencies. When looking at the asexual area of the spectrum other forms of attraction can affect how much someone may want to have sex.

Due to the lack of sexual desire, a lot of asexuals face rejection from the LGBTQIA+ community on the grounds that they do not want to have sex. However, this realm of the community still strives for all the same aspects as any other member: inclusion in media, destigmatizing of their sexual habits, and a desire to connect with likeminded individuals.

“Sex positivity is a long overdue movement meant to celebrate sex: Everyone should be able to have it, whenever and with whomever they want. But for some people that means maybe never with maybe no one.” (Khosla)

Demisexual

Within the realms of asexuality is demisexuality. This sexuality focuses on mental attraction and established relationships. The stereotype behind this sexuality is that of falling in love with your best friend. This is completely since friends are the only options for who they can feel attraction to. Without pre-established friendships, common interests and connections, or past histories together, a demisexual will feel nothing for someone.

This sexuality just like the others of this section face their biggest issue in the form of misunderstandings. Many people sadly assume that this is the same thing as “wanting to wait for the right person”. The issue with this is that as a person with a normal sexual attraction level, a person will look sexually appealing, whereas for demisexuals they do not. There is no sexual attraction and interests in any way until the emotional bonds are established.

“And from one demisexual to another, I will tell you this: we will not have our knight in shining armour, and that is okay. I will have some peace of minding knowing that the aforementioned knight is not a raving lunatic/serial axe-murderer masquerading around as a knight.” (Narasimhan)

Pansexual

Pansexual is one of the more complex sexual orientations while also simultaneously being the easiest in concept. Pansexuality and bisexuality are often used interchangeably which is not correct due to some very specific nuances. “Bi” derived from Latin means “two,” in the case of sexualities they mean the two standard gender options of male and female only. In contrast, a pansexual can be attracted to literally any person, any gender identity, and any gender expression. Pansexuality is specifically not rooted in the binary that bisexuality is rooted in.

As easy to be seen, with so many assumptions made about this sexuality it is hard to feel accepted into the community. They are constantly facing struggles about what their sexuality even is especially because it confronts the binary standard of sexes and gender expression. Overall, this sexuality is simply being attracted outside of the confines of societal binaries.

References:

Allen, Samantha. “Why Bisexuals Feel Ignored and Insulted at LGBT Pride.” The Daily Beast, The Daily Beast Company, 23 June 2018, www.thedailybeast.com/why-bisexuals-feel-ignored-and-insulted-at-lgbt-pride.

“Asexuality, Attraction, and Romantic Orientation.” LGBTQ, lgbtq.unc.edu/resources/exploring-identities/asexuality-attraction-and-romantic-orientation.

“Bisexual Health Facts.” Still Bisexual, stillbisexual.com/education/.

Boog, Isa. “What Is the Difference between Being Asexual and Demisexual?” Quora, 4 Sept. 2018, www.quora.com/What-is-the-difference-between-being-asexual-and-demisexual.

Khosla, Proma. “How the Queer Community Can Embrace the Asexual Spectrum.” Mashable, 26 June 2019, mashable.com/article/sex-positivity-asexual-demisexual-community/.

McNamara, Brittney. “This New Discovery About Bisexual Teen Girls Is Troubling.” Teen Vogue, Teen Vogue, 26 May 2017, www.teenvogue.com/story/bisexual-teen-girls-depression-suicide-ideation-young-women.

Narasimhan, Harshita, et al. “What Is Demisexuality, You Ask? Here's A Quick Primer.” Feminism in India, 7 June 2018, feminisminindia.com/2016/10/24/demisexuality-quick-primer/.

“Pan Pride All Day Long.” Facebook, www.facebook.com/panpridealldaylong/.

“Pin on Pride.” Pinterest, www.pinterest.com/pin/855754366679055022/.

Rosenblum, Karen Elaine, and Toni-Michelle Travis, editors. The Meaning of Difference. 5th ed., McGraw-Hill Education, 2008.

“Still Bisexual.” Still Bisexual, stillbisexual.com/.

Thomas, Sophie Saint. “What's the Difference Between Pansexuality and Bisexuality?” Cosmopolitan, Cosmopolitan, 18 Dec. 2020, www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a20776748/pansexual-vs-bisexual-differences/.

Images:

Krishnan Rajagopalan, Lyndon A. Taylor 30 Apr 2020, et al. “The Evolution of LGBTQ Inclusion: Building Cultures of Greater Acceptance and Stronger Communities.” The Evolution of LGBTQ Inclusion: Building Cultures of Greater Acceptance and Stronger Communities | Heidrick & Struggles, www.heidrick.com/Knowledge-Center/Publication/The-evolution-of-LGBTQ-inclusion.

#lesbian #gay #lgbtq #lgbtqia #bisexual #pansexual #asexual #aromantic #nonbinary #transgender #pride #demisexual #genderqueer #genderfluid #queer #demiromantic #rainbow pride #intersex #biromantic

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copias-thrall · 4 years ago

Text

There’s Magic in the Night

A new year is breaking, and it's full of possibilities.

⬅️ Previous

(Reminder: not Repugnant accurate.)

It’s a 15min walk from the nearest subway stop in a part of the city that hosts low-income and broke college folk, and you’re beginning to wonder if your heeled boots were the best choice—but the shiny patent of them so nicely offset your cheap pink and black tulle skirt and fuzzy black crop sweater with inlaid tinsel that you’d decided on form or function. You’d almost changed your top when Mary had knelt and given your tummy a raspberry where it hung over the waistband a little, but his cute little pout had placated you a little after you’d threatened to do just that.

“You want a piggyback?”

“Nah, I’m all right, Mare. We’re almost there, right?”

“Yeah.”

Using his chin, he indicates a house down the block with a light on in every window and that’s lit up with string lights. It’s a little run down, but not falling apart. The neighborhood is full of three-story homes that are either co-ops or rented out by various floor configurations.

You’d tried to follow his explanation on who he knew and how, but the most you’d retained was that of the 6 people who rented the entire house, Mary knew 2 of them intimately. (“Yeah, they’ve had it every year that they’re lived there. I’m pretty sure a good third of the crowd is party crashers, but the more the merrier, right?”)

The closer you get, the louder the din from the house becomes—it sounds like there are 4 different playlists fighting for dominance, and the crowd ASMR is strong. There is a gang of smokers spilling from the front porch, down the cement steps, and clumped into murders in the small yard.

Ed and Dee are leaning against the railing on the steps, shivering in their best band tees as they take drags of their cigarettes.

“Hey, man!” says Mary as he leans forward and engages them both in a sloppy approximation of a cool, secret handshake.

“Hey, Goore!”

“Long time no see, dude.”

You nod at them, and they nod back.

“Where’s the rest of the gang?” asks Ed as he strains to see behind you in the dark.

Apparently Mary usually pregamed with his bandmates and then they headed over en masse later in the night. Horrified, you’d tried to convince him to uphold the tradition, but he’d insisted he could break off one year (“I’m not gonna toss you to the wolves, Suey. I see those assholes all the time.”).

Mary blows out a breath, and it hangs in the air like the puffs of smoke.

“Still pregaming. They’ll be by later. I wanted to give Suey the grand tour.”

Mary makes a sweeping motion, then wraps that arm around you. Ed and Dee’s eyes flick back to you.

“He’s a fucking liar; he was afraid one of you would steal me away.”

Ed coughs out the drag he was taking, and Dee snorts.

“You’re killing my street cred, woman.”

“Whatever, dude,” says Dee with a smirk, and Mary glowers at him. “You wanna bum one?” Dee holds out his pack as if in contrition.

Mary’s hand twitches, but he shakes his head.

“Nah, dude. Not unless it’s that chronic shit.”

“Yeah, they got those somewhere.”

“Cool. Cool cool cool.”

A few merrymakers exit the house—laughing and screaming—and they push by the lot of you as they presumably journey on toward another party.

“All right, dudes. We’re gonna go make the rounds, get some cold ones. See you on the other side!”

“Sounds good!”

“Do it.”

Mary ushers you inside, and—despite the open door—the warmth of the house hits you, making you feel suddenly uncomfortable in your winter coat. Like the outside, there’s a general mass of bodies that are sectioned off (in the hall; on the stairs; spilling out of the kitchen; lounging in the living areas) like music notes in a run of measures. You spot a worn-looking chair that’s piled high with coats, and you go to toss yours on, but Mary grabs your arm.

“Geez, Suey. You wanna get your coat jizzed on?”

“I—what?”

“C’mere, let’s not add our stuff to the pile that’s gonna make someone a nice sex bed later.”

He yanks your coat out of your hands and opens a door that leads to the hall closet. A beach ball tumbles out and is joyfully absconded with by a trio of party goers walking by, and Mary catches one golf club in his hand as it falls out from the top shelf and another under his arm. Unfortunately, he doesn’t catch the one that hits his booted foot, but you managed to stand on tiptoe enough to prevent the entire bag from depositing its contents on Mary’s head.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Between the two of you, you manage to get the clubs back in order from whence they fell.

You can see that there’s other junk up there and in the back—whether it lives there permanently or was just shoved in there pre-party, you guess you’ll never know—but there’s an entire row of coats on a rod, which seems to be the closet’s main purpose.

“Here.” Mary rifles through the mess until he finds a free hanger. It takes some adjusting, but he finally gets his leather jacket and your coat onto the same hanger and manages to squeeze it back into the mass.

“OK. Let’s go find Shonda.”

“Not Murray?”

“Apparently he’s elsewhere tonight.” He shrugs.

There’s a sudden squeal of voices, and when you turn, you see Kara and Elsie hurrying toward you. Elsie is in a sequined dress so garish it must be fashionable and Kara sports a sparkly red sweater over black jeggings that she’s wrapped fairy lights around.

“So you’re not dead!” says Kara

“Uh … no?”

“Christ, I would have called you, but I’ve spent the last few days with my head in a toilet,” laughs Elsie.

“Yeah, thanks for that guys,” says Mary. “What I really wanted to do at the crack of dawn was take care of this lush.”

“Pffft,” snorts Elsie. “You’re one to talk, Goore. As if your head doesn’t live in the toilet.

“Yeah, total karma, Mary. Remember that time you got your stomach pumped?”

“Jesus, Mare,” you say at him with a bemused smile. He scowls.

“Look. Honey whiskey goes down easy.”

Elsie and Kara cackle before grabbing up your hands.

“C’mon, let’s get you a drink, hon,” says Kara.

“What about me?” pouts Mary.

Elsie sniffs over her shoulder at him as she pulls you down the hall.

“Sorry, Goore. Girls only. Go set shit on fire or something.”

“That was once!” you hear Mary call down the hall after you.

“Wait—what did he set on fire?”

Elsie looks at you and mimics locking her mouth and throwing away a key.

The kitchen is full of bodies. In one corner, there’s a game of beer pong set up, and in the other, people are digging beer containers out of a giant cooler. On the counter are a few bowls half-filled with various snacks—the other half of which seem to be spilled over the counter and crushed into the linoleum floor. There’s a dark-skinned woman in a black & white plaid rockabilly dress and red cardigan who’s struggling to empty a bag of ice into a second cooler.

“Here—let me help, Shonda,” says Kara as Elsie leads you to the full cooler.

Shonda looks up. “Yeah, could you? Dunno where my asshole roommates are.”

By the time the two of them have the contents of the bag in the cooler—the cubes sliding in with a rough whoosh and plinking softly over the beers in the bottom—you and Elsie have fresh beers that she’s poured into solo cups.

“Thanks, Kar.” Shonda wipes her hands on the bottom of her dress, makes a face, then fumbles for a dingy kitchen towel hanging over the fridge door handle.

“Shonda,” says Elsie, catching the woman’s attention. She pushes you forward a bit. “This is Mary’s new squeeze.”

“Oh, um, hi.” You stick out your hand.

“No shit.” Shonda gives you a once over before giving your hand one firm shake. She nods a few times. “Yeah, ok. I see it.” She pats you on the arm. “Good luck with that.” She turns to Elsie. “Is that little shit here? We need to have words.”

Elsie jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “We left him down the hall.”

“He can run but he can’t hide,” Shonda says as she stomps away in impressively high red heels.

“Do I need to go defend his honor?”

Kara snorts.

“Nah,” says Elsie, waving your question away. “She’ll probably just make him do the heavy lifting the other stooges wheedled their ways out of.”

“He is stronger than those skinny arms make him look,” you muse.

Kara leans in. “Oh?”

You grin at her.

The two of them lead you into what must be a dinning room that seems to be the official set up for the snacks and libations. A bar with liquor and mixers have been arranged in the built-in, and there’s a folding table in the corner with an array of chips, snack foods, and a pile of wilted-looking pizza boxes. There’s a center table—which looks more permanent—that some sort of drinking game is occurring over.

You make a beeline for the pizza.

“I think I need a good base.”

As you juggle the pizza slices on a plate on the top of your cup, Kara and Elsie talk rapid fire across you, sometimes asking you questions (about you, about Mary, about you and Mary), other times going into long-winded stories about people you’ve never met, but are hilarious nonetheless.

“Fuck. I’m not drunk enough for this party yet,” Kara laments.

“Well, yeah,” says Elsie. “I thought we’d get our game on.” She pokes you in the belly, and you suck your stomach in away from her touch. “You done ‘getting your base’ yet?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” You dump the paper plate and crusts into a trash bag slumped in the corner.

About the time Elsie is squeezing you three into the game at the table, Mary wanders in. His face brightens when he sees you, and he makes his way over to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“There you are, baby doll.”

“I thought I told you ‘girls only,’ Goore,” says Elsie.

He jabs a finger at her. “I gave you more than enough time to monopolize my girlfriend, Ford.”

“Just keep your dick in check.”

“I do what I want.”

For the next half hour, you engage in a rousing game of flip cup, which you have always been terrible at, but Mary seems to dominate. By the end, Kara and Elsie are hitting their buzz—playfully shoving themselves and others—and you’re beginning to feel more at ease in this sea of unfamiliar people.

Ed and Trevor wander in and motion to Mary, but seem to address the whole crowd.

“Yo!” says Ed. “Wanna go upstairs?” He stimulates smoking a joint at Mary.

“Yeah, man!” Mary turns to you. “You wanna join?”

You shake your head. “Can’t. I get tested.”

“Laaaame,” says Kara, and you jump because you didn’t realize how close she’d gotten.

“You sure it’s ok?” Mary scrunches his face.

“Yeah, Mare. Go! Be free!”

“Don’t worry, Mare,” says Elsie coyly as she drapes an arm around you. “We’ll take good care of Suey.”

Mary looks horrified enough that you think he might change his mind, but then Ed and Trevor are pulling him away. Elsie looks down at you.

“What did you do to that boy?”

You squint up at her. “What do you mean?”

Kara insinuates her way in between you and hands you both disposable shot cups.

“She means you’ve got him pussy whipped.”

You scrunch your face further. “Mary? He’s like a stray cat that shows up sometimes for food.”

“Is the ‘food’ ‘sex’?” Kara jumps her eyebrows at you.

Laughingly, you shove at her. “Maybe.”

Elsie throws her hands up. “PUSSY. WHIPPED.” She downs her shot.

You and Kara follow suit.

“Ok, but seriously,” you half cough as you wipe a dribble off your chin. “Mary does what he wants. I don’t tell him what to do.”

“Aww, hon—we know,” says Kara. “Elsie is just giving you a hard time.”

Elsie shrugs. “I’m a Class A Bitch.”

“She is,” agrees Kara. She turns her cup upside down; a few droplets drip out. “Hey, bitch—go get us more suds!”

“Demanding,” grips Elsie, but she turns to make her way into the kitchen.

You and Kara wander over to the food table to graze, the howls from the newest drinking game dolcet background noise.

“Hey, I know Elsie tends to make people butthurt, but she just has no filter.”

“Oh. No, it’s fine.” You shrug. “People tend to think I’m an elitist snob, so I try to be, um, more open minded.”

Kara grins at you. “‘Splains why you’re dating Mary.”

You throw a withered carrot stick at her. “Don’t fucking call me out like that.”

Kara laughs as she tries to block the attack. The conversation seems to stall after that, so you try and dredge up a question.

“So you guys know Mary from high school or something? Mary was … vague.”

“Just Elsie. That’s why she’s a little protective. He’s seen some shit.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say quietly. You turn to look at Kara. “Did they ever …?”

Kara waves her hand at you dismissively, swaying slightly. “Shit, we’ve all fucked around with each other at some point or other.”

Your eyes bug out. “You and Mary?”

She snorts, and leans toward you at a dangerous angle. “Well I never slept with Mary. But I’ve been with Elsie and Dee, and Mary with her and Trevor, and Trevor and Dee had a thing with Ed.” She screws up her face. “I think I got that right. I can never keep it straight, honestly.” Kara shakes her head out; then her expression changes and she bites her lip. “Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve told you all that.”

You pop a Jax in your mouth. “Mums the word, sister”

As she’s giving you a sloppy, grateful smile, Elsie finally appears—tottering carefully—with three solo cups precariously balanced between her hands and tits.

“Shit—come get your drinks.”

You and Kara scramble to relieve Elsie of her haul without dropping the prizes as the drinking game breaks with an Awwwwwww.

“You guys wanna with another round?” Elsie throws her thumb over her shoulder as she sips from her cup.

“Fuck yeah, you know it!” exclaims Kara as she throws her hands up, beer spilling over the side.

After doing OK in a few rounds of Finger Spoof (you’re feeling the buzz nicely), you look around and realize you haven’t seen Mary in a while. You leave Kara and Elsie to their own devices and head into the kitchen. Grabbing your own solo cup in your teeth—ignoring it as some of its contents sloshes over the side and down your chin—you fish for a lite beer floating in the lukewarm cooler water for Mary.

If you can locate him.

He’s not in any of the rooms downstairs, nor is he outside with smoker’s club. You make your way up to the second floor, hoping he’ll be easy to find up there. There’s a door that’s locked and another where there’s a group hanging out on the bed and each other as Kpop loudly plays.

You find Mary in an open bedroom full of haze. He’s softly strumming an acoustic guitar—his fingers fumbling slightly on the unfamiliar strings as he tunes his way up the frets. He’s propped up in a corner, legs crossed under him, as the others in the room pass a joint around.

Picking your way carefully through the crowd, you make your way over to Mary. People shift and sway out of the way and scoot over when you smush yourself in next to him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You lean your head onto his shoulder, and Mary passes off the guitar to someone else. “Where’re Ed, Edd, and Eddy?”

He snorts.

“Went in search of snackies.”

He looks down at the beers resting in the small slick of condensation on the floor and licks his lips.

“One of those for me?”

“Yeah,” you say as you hand him the room-temperature bottle, which he takes up and chugs half of in one go. Watching his adam’s apple bobbing, you lean in to lick his neck. Mary jerks, then coughs, half spraying the beer out his mouth and nose. A few people squeal in surprise as you cackle, and Mary glares at you, wiping at his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his shirt that he’s curled over his hand.

“Fuck. You’re a pain in my ass.”

He drapes his arm around your shoulder, the bottle in his hand resting on your arm. The person who has the guitar now is strumming up a familiar song, and soon everyone is singing along (screaming or shrieking off key in some cases). Under the guise of getting his drink close to his mouth, Mary subtly maneuvers you into his lap—his other hand sneaking up under your shirt hem to rest on the curve of your belly with the tips of his fingers brushing just under one cup of your bra. You’re too loose from the drinking game to really care, so you lean back into his chest, warbling along to the tune as well.

You’re swaying, drink in hand, as you screech along to another song, when suddenly you become very aware of Mary’s erection pressing into your ass.

You turn your head. “Seriously?”

He rumbles into your ear. “Whaddya want? You’re squirming on my lap.”

Giggling, you purposely grind back on him, and he grabs your hips.

“Fuck, baby doll—keep that up and I’m gonna make a mess.”

You lean your head back on his shoulder as you circle your hips.

“You love making a mess, Mare Bear.”

He leans down to bite at your neck.

“I love making a mess on you. Not in my pants.”

“So stop me.”

Mary’s arm comes around your waist, effectively pulling you flush against him.

“FucK.”

More people wander in as the songs turn from nostalgic familiars to those of the drinking variety, and they raise solo cups and bottles in joyful celebration.

Everyone is sloppy; some sway to the rhythm of the songs, others drunkenly half mosh, spilling their drinks everywhere. You grinding your ass back into Mary—and him twitching up into you—is hardly a blip on anybody’s radar. His head thunks down onto the slope of your shoulder, his hips wanting to rut faster than subtlety or your own movements allow.

People are stomping, clapping, and spraying beer on each other as they half mutter words to drinking songs they realize they only half know.

Mary is a mess, trembling as he presses into you and mewling softly with each pass. Conversely, you’re having a grand ole time: rocking your hips as you sway and sing along to whatever the person in possession of the guitar is currently playing. Ignoring your own wetness and the growing throb in between your legs, you try to give him the pressure he needs.

You can feel his chest heaving into your back and the sweat from his forehead on your skin when it’s clear he’s getting close. His limbs shake as his arms squeeze you tighter, his movements almost stilling to nothing—and then he blows out a held breath like a drumbeat, his crotch pressing into you in pulses as he bites down into the juncture of your neck. Gasping, you spill a good amount of your drink as you jerk forward—Mary still rutting shallowly into you.

A few people cheer at your party foul—which hopefully takes any attention off Mary, who is clearly no longer hiding the fact that he’s cumming hard in his pants. He finally slumps behind you, his arms loosening and sprawling open.

“Shit,” he says.

You lean back. “Mmm … good?” you purr.

His hands sneak back under your top to sink into your flesh, and he leans up enough to whisper into your ear.

“You’re a fucking menace.”

“You could’ve stopped me.”

He growls. “You know what you touching my dick does to me.”

“Was I, though? Touching your dick?”

Mary rubs his face into your neck as his hands squeeze your chub.

“Close enough.”

“Get a room, Goore!” screams someone before some of the group toss a couple of empty solos your way.

Mary looks up and grins.

“Maybe I fucking will.” He starts to stand up, bringing you with him—probably to hide the wet patch on his jeans. “See you losers later.”

There’s a general chorus of hoots and whistles, but mostly the crowd goes back to their drinking songs.

“Are we really getting a room?” you ask—arousal curling—as Mary directs you around the second floor, hands on your hips to keep you in front of him.

“A bathroom, yeah.”

There’s a slight wait—one Mary fills with his roving hands and lips—before the woman ahead of you stumbles out, wiping her wet hands ineffectually on her party dress.

Mary ushers you in, locking the door behind you. The two of you look down to inspect the damage. It’s actually not terrible. You can hardly tell at all on his jeans, and Mary undoes them so he can half shuck them down. His boxer briefs are a completely different story; they’re visibly soaked through at the top, and when he peels away the waistband, he reveals a sticky, slimy mess coating his stomach and flaccid cock.

“Shit. This may be a lost cause,” he says as he inspects the inside of the fabric.

“TP?”

“Yeah, unless you wanna lick it off …” Mary looks up at you with a smirk. “Which would be kinda hot, actually.”

“Sorry,” you say as you roll toilet paper around your hand, “but I like my jizz how I like my coffee: hot and fresh from the source.”

He runs a finger through the mess and then wiggles it at you. “It’s still kinda warm!”

You wrap your mouth around it because it’s the last thing he expects you to do.

“Uh …”

He’s momentarily rendered speechless as he watches you suck his finger clean and then smack your lips as if appraising.

“Nah. None of that reheated crap either.”

He blinks down at you. “Should I be horrified that I’m rubbing off on you?”

You give him a smile with your tongue half sticking out as you rub the wadded up toilet paper across his belly.

“I’m pretty sure I was just rubbing you off, Mare.”

Mary’s hands come up and sink into your hair. “Shut up.” He pulls you into a deep kiss. “Fuck. Love it when you tease me,” he says as he pulls away.

“I know.” You beam up at him and continue trying to clean him up.

He looks down at himself. “Fuck it.” He goes to toe off his boots, realizes that he’s wearing his “dress boots”—the less-scuffed ones that lace up to his knees—and snarls in frustration.

When he goes for the medicine cabinet, you step out of the way and toss the slimed wad of paper into the toilet. Making an Ah-ha! noise, Mary turns to you and snaps a pair of hair scissors triumphantly.

“Do the honors, will ya?”

“Wait—you want me to … cut your boxers off?”

“I’m sure as fuck not taking these boots off or spending the rest of the night marinating in my own jizz.”

You snort at him. “Whatever you want, Mare Bear.” You shuffle forward and hop up onto the sink. It only teeters a little.

“Hey! Hurry the fuck up in there!” comes a male voice through the door accompanied by banging.

“Fuck off, I’m taking a dump!” barks Mary.

“Dude,” says the voice, but the banging stops.

Mary shifts forward into the V of your spread legs as he hands you the scissors. He keeps his face close to yours. “Try not to cut off anything important,” he breathes at you.

“Of course—you’re no good to me clipped.”

His eyes meet yours, then travel down to his crotch. Carefully (willing your eyes to focus), you start from the top down, snipping the fabric—bunching it up with each shear—until you reach the end of the leg up to the crotch, Mary only flinching slightly (“Careful with the goods, woman!” “Fucking hold still!”). Once each side is cut, Mary and you work together to pull each half free.

As you ball up the front half to toss into the trash basket, Mary uses the back half to wipe up the lingering stickiness coating his cock and stomach.

“Better?” you ask when he’s finished and zipping his jeans back up, the other half of his boxers joining its twin in the trash.

He wiggles a bit. “Eh, it’ll do.” You expect him to back off, but instead he crowds closer. “What about you, baby doll? Maybe I should check on you.”

Before you have a chance to respond, Mary is shoving up the layers of your skirt and pressing his hand into your damp tights. You gasp at the sensation.

“Hmm,” he rumbles, “seems like you could use some clean up yourself.”

And then he’s maneuvering his head in between your spread legs, trying to position your knees over his shoulders. You let out an Oh, as your hands fly down to brace yourself on the edges of the sink; Mary growls in frustration as he tries to first pull down your tights, then to rip them apart to no avail. Before you can stop him, he’s picked up the shears and has snipped a slit in your crotch.

“Mary!” you yelp, but he just dives back down, tongue wiggling through the rip in the fabric to trace your seam before delving into your folds to flick at your clit. At the burst of sweetness, you moan, and your head thunks back into the mirror.

Head swimming, you lose yourself in the feel of his tongue as it swirls around your nub and then presses into it a few times before he’s sucking it in between his plush lips. He repeats this process, sometimes running his tongue down to your entrance and then back up, and at others holding the tip directly on your clit until you start squirming in frustration … only to then flick repeatedly back and forth.

A finger enters you, and you cry out, “Oh fuck,” as you tighten around it. Mary starts to slowly ease it in and out of you as his tongue continues its massage of your hardening clit. You’re really squirming now, rocking into his mouth and down onto his finger—making sure you light up every sweet spot. You feel like a guitar string wound too tight, ready to snap, and your pussy pulsates in warning.

Mary sets his tongue speed to 11, and you feel the tidal wave of your orgasm start rushing toward you. You let out a squeak as your one hand sinks into Mary’s hair right before your climax breaks, and you start bucking into his mouth. Like a good boy, he manages to follow the lead of your hips until your pussy stops popping and your body relaxes—your butt slipping down into the bowl of the sink.

After catching your breath, you look down to find Mary’s twinkling eyes staring up at you from beneath the layers of your skirt. You pet down the side of his head with an Mmm, and his eyes close as he leans into the touch.

“I think you only made me stickier, Mare.”

His head tilts to rest on your one leg.

“Not my fault you get wet as fuck. There’s only so much I can lap up at once.”

You shift up into a sitting position as Mary wipes his face—and the lower part of his makeup—onto your tights.

“Shit. Are the tights a lost cause too?”

“Stand up?”

You hop off the sink, and Mary inspects your backside. He gives it a slap before saying, “Nah, I think you’re good. Just a little damp.”

You crinkle your nose. “Well, I feel slimy. Turn around so I can take care of business.”

Mary peers into the mirror to even out his smudgy face before slurping some tap water from the faucet as you get your situation into a tolerable state.

When the two of you exit the bathroom—Mary’s arm draped back around your shoulders—there are two guys lounging on the bottom of the stairs leading up to the 3rd floor. They look up at the sound of the bathroom door opening, and one scrunches his face at you.

“Dude. I thought you were taking a shit.”

He holds up a blackened Yankee candle.

Mary shrugs at him. “We don’t kink shame here.”

The guy’s companion bursts out laughing even as you elbow Mary in the ribs. He just laughs as he says, “C’mon let’s get some suds.”

The two of you make your way back down to the kitchen where Shonda The Beer Færie has replenished the coolers again. Mary shotguns a can—foam spritzing everywhere—as you search for the elusive opener. Unable to locate it, you try—and fail—to pop the top off on the counter.

“Gimme,” says Mary—belching—grabbing for your bottle. After fishing for another bottle in the ice, he aligns the caps and pops them both with the other.

“My hero,” you say in an affected tone as you bat your curled eyelashes at him.

“That’s fucking right.” He makes an arm in an attempt to bulge his bicep.

You test it with your hand. “Nah. Too small, throw it back.”

Pouting at you, he says, “You’re the worst, and we’re in a fight.”

You shrug as you take a swig of beer. “Eh. I got what I wanted.”

Mary makes a grab for the bottle, but you twist out of his reach and bolt out of the kitchen. He doesn’t catch you before you seek sanctuary in the living room. All the furniture has been pushed against walls, the rug rolled and resting in a corner, and more bodies than there should be are packed into the center as a party mix thumps from the speakers.

You wiggle your way into the crowd and run into Kara and Elsie, who shout Hooray! and pull you into their bump and grind. The 3 of you raise your drinks into the air to avoid spilling on each other as you rock and sway, alternating who gets sandwiched.

Suddenly, Mary is at your elbow.

“Hey! Gimme back my girlfriend!”

“Sorry, Goore,” says Elsie. “Finders keepers.”

For a minute he looks genuinely put out, but then he just smirks. “Whatever, I’ll just enjoy the view.”

“Pig,” Kara spits.

Mary shrugs and starts to do a god-awful wiggle that you think is supposed to be dancing. He has the rhythm—and his ass jiggle is pretty nice—but that’s about all he’s got going for him in the moves department.

The mix must be trying to appeal to all types, but ends up being a spastic mix with no eye for continuity. Nineties Girl Pop transitions into Metal, which transitions into Country, then into Alternative, then to 80′s Power Ballad, then R&B, then Punk.

After screaming along to “Toxic”, Elsie leans in. “Fuck, I’m about to pass out. I need to get some air.”

“Want me to come with you?” asks Kara.

“Up to you, dear.”

They look at you.

“I should throw Mary a bone.”

Kara smirks at you. “Kinky.”

Elsie rolls her eyes at her friend. “C’mon you bitch ass.”

Seeing his opportunity, Mary gives a head nod as he seamlessly switches places with them. He pulls your back into him as his hands come round to rest on your hips.

“Good thing you emptied my dick earlier, or we’d have a problem,” he murmurs into your ear.

“Don’t be gross.”

“K.”

You and Mary grind or shimmy or jump depending on what the song calls for, your beer long drunk by now. At some point someone opens a window, and the chill, near-January air curls in—its icy but brisk tendrils working their way through the crowd. You shiver a little as the sweat on your skin tingles and cools at its touch, and Mary pulls you in tighter.

Meatloaf comes on—🎶 On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses? 🎶—and Mary snuffles his face into the crook of your neck, you tilting your head to the side to give him access.

🎶 Will he offer me his teeth? 🎶

He worries at you with his teeth.

🎶 Will he offer me his hunger? 🎶

His blunt teeth sink into you, and you let out a pleased rumble.

🎶 And will he starve without me? 🎶

“Yes,” he whispers into your ear right along with Jim Steinman.

You roll your eyes even though Mary can’t see you do it, but you let him spin you out—jostling the other revelers—and back into him (stumbling) as the drum beat drops. He tries to twirl you, but the crowd has packed back in around you, and all you accomplish is tripping over his boots.

🎶 …I was dying just to ask for a taste 🎶 he mouths at you.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” you say.

He leans in and nips at your lips, but you turn your head to whisper in his ear.

“I gave you a taste earlier, mister.”

“Mmm, but I’m greedy.”

You let him mouth at your neck as the two of you sway back and forth, Mary’s hands dipping lower and lower.

A sudden commotion is like a record scratch, and everyone turns to the front hall. Mary’s bandmates come into sight—caterwauling with 12 packs of shitty beer held aloft—encouraging the cheers of the other partygoers.

One spots Mary and points his finger at him.

“Goore! Goore! Goore!”

The other band members pick up the chant.

“Goore! Goore! Goore!”

The crowd takes up what has become a war cry:

“Goore! GOORE! G O O R E !”

Mary points back, then puts his hand up in supplication at you as he backs his way out of the room.

“You’re a goddamned tease!” you cry after him.

He shrugs before spinning on his heel to be assimilated in the group, the chant turning into whoops and hollers as they make their way into the kitchen.

Mary had warned you that the band usually did an unplugged set, and you surmise they must need to set up.

Without Mary or the girls, the dance room has lost its appeal, so you meander around the first floor. The drinking games have devolved into “Never Have I Ever,” and while the pizza is gone, a homemade-looking mac and cheese dish in a tinfoil baking pan has appeared.

You pile some onto a paper plate (whose structural integrity you seriously question) and are content to watch the proceedings until a girl in the circles demands you squeeze in with a slurred “None of this wallflower shit!”. They shove a solo cup into your hand, which is then promptly filled with whiskey from a Jack bottle.

For the next hour or so, the guests on either side of you—Lila and Marty—become the best friends you never knew you had while you all hoot and catcall each other to the escalating scenarios. The bromance comes to a swift end, sadly, when Dee appears in the doorframe, sees you, and points dramatically.

“It is time for the festivities!” he yells in deep baritone.

“I’m being summoned!” you yell, and there’s a chorus of boos as you wobbly make your way over.

“Come, yon neophyte, and join us at the gathering spot.”

“Lay on, McDee!”

Dee leads you out into the backyard, which is done up with myriad bulb lights. Mary winks at you as you pass him on the porch—picking your way around the hodgepodge of instruments—before you join Ed, Trevor, Kara, and Elsie at one side of a well-used iron fire pit on the grass. The girls are passing a flask back and forth as they snuggle you in between them.

It should be fucking freezing out, but with the alcohol, the body heat, and the fire, you actually feel quite cozy. There’s a buzz of voices as the band arranges and tunes the borrowed instruments. You think you can see human shapes on back decks in other lots, but it’s hard to tell through the glare of the lights.

The band members take their places, there’s a countdown, and then Mary and the guys jumpstart into their first crowd favorite. While there are some general cheers at favored sections, the intimacy of the party and the lack of mics or speakers make it a quieter affair than their venue shows. You and the girls sway back and forth in your triplet, and even the guys are fist pumping and mouthing along. They play two more of their own songs before doing a few classic 80′s punk covers that really get everyone hyped.

It’s not perfect—none of them are sober, they’re unaccustomed to the instruments, and the cold air isn’t helping dexterity. At one point the lead singer forgets the words and just la la las his way through the verse, which in turn sends some of the other members into a musical stutter. Not everyone is invested in the whole set—some people went back inside after the first few tunes, and others see the band as just background to their conversations. Those who are fully invested have gravitated closer to the porch—but your group of Mary’s bffls are content to hang out by the fire pit where a few people have started roasting marshmallows.

After an … interesting … mashup of “Rudie Can’t Fail” and “Classics of Love” that sounds like a physical representation of a key smash, the band closes ranks, and there’s some whispered conversation and emphatic gesturing.

“Ok!” says Donnie, the lead singer. “We’re gonna switch things up. Usually on backing vocals, Goore is going to take lead for our last song.” There are some boos that probably have more to do with the set ending than Mary singing, but also some whistles that are probably for Mary. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s a party for us too!”

“Huh,” says Elsie.

“What?” you say into her armpit.

“Mary hates lead.”

You know. He’s mentioned ad nauseam.

Mary steps forward and takes position up front. When he brushes his forelock out of the way, he looks up briefly and catches eyes with you. You give him thumbs up. A grin breaks out on his face, and he winks at you. Slowly, he strums chords until he finds what he’s looking for, and you can tell he’s humming along quietly—it’s a familiar sight now to you, but you wonder how much of this crowd has seen Mary chart out a song.

Finding the key he’s looking for, Mary clears his throat. His voice isn’t rich in timbre, but he rasps out with feeling, and his pitch is near perfect.

🎶 So I hear you been wondering I've been wondering too Just what this crazy world has in store for me and you 🎶

You’re surprised at his choice, and you feel your face burn. Mary’s eyes flick up to you—glinting boyishly—and you stick your tongue out at him. He slows the song way down as he sings, changing the frenetic energy of the original into a soulful ballad to which he can growl along.

🎶 You scratching to find a way A tortured soul back from the grave O Baby Doll back to kill them all Now please won’t you stay 🎶

Mary pauses, looking full up at you before taking in a deep breath. A few heads turn to see who he’s looking at. You scrunch your face at him to convey your mortification, but he just shakes his head at you—he’s not going to stop.

🎶 Baby Doll whoa Baby Doll I need you I love you Baby Doll whoa Baby Doll O Please come back to me 🎶

You suddenly feel naked under the interested gazes of the curious onlookers as Mary continues on. He’s mostly singing at the guitar, but his few pointed glances at you make it clear who he’s singing to.

🎶 The tortures of your soul The rotting flesh pain never dulls O Baby Doll you will kill them all Now please come to me 🎶

You try to sink back into Elsie and Kara, who just push you forward again.

“Dude,” Elsie breaths at you.

“This is awesome,” says Kara.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” you mutter through your plastered on smile.

Some of the amassed crowd—which suddenly seems to have multiplied—start clapping to the slowed beat, and it causes a ripple of well-timed claps as well as those who can’t keep a rhythm.

Strumming in deliberate strokes, Mary looks up to hold your eyes once more.

🎶 I see you standing there In the shadows and in the rain A lifeless beauty Nothing could ever ease you of all your pain But Baby Doll the revenge you seek I dunno It will never be sweet But you'll never give it up Now come to me Come on 🎶

You shake your head as Mary continues to repeat the chorus into a soft fade. There’s a moment of silence after he’s finished, and he points out at you.

“Give it up for my very own baby doll!”

Applause breaks out and you give him double Fs.

Mary sets down the guitar carefully as Donnie steps forward again.

“All right! That’s it, motherfuckers! We’re about an hour away from the New Year, so grab a drink and sign up for our mailing list if you haven’t already!”

The crowd is whooping and whistling. A few people crowd up on the porch, as do Trevor, Ed, & Dee. Mary shakes hands, shoulder bumps, and backslaps his bandmates and some of the crowd, but his eyes are on you.

“I’d fuck him,” says Kara with a smirk.

Elsie groans. “Please don’t fuck in front of us. At least find a broom closet.”

You turn to her and give her a wolfish smile. “Who says we haven’t already christened it?”

Elsie buries her face in her hands as Kara tipsily attempts to fist bump you and ends up smushing your tit.

“Whoops! My bad!”

“Bitch, we’re cutting you off.”

“No, you’re not. Who would you do shots with?”

“Suey’s more than capable.”

You make a “who me?” face.

“Mebbe, but I think her mouth is spoken for.”

You’re about to respond, but arms suddenly encircle you, a mouth presses to your neck, and you squawk.

“If you’re not Mary Goore, you better watch your nuts!”

“I’m me, and I have to watch my nuts, anyway.”

You squirm around so that you’re facing him.

“Forget your nuts, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Aaaand on that note!” says Elsie, and she and Kara pat Mary’s arm before heading inside.

He looks down at you with hooded eyes.

“Whatever. You’re pleased. You fucking love that song.”

“Oh? Am I?”

“Yeah.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“I still have my nuts.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then point your finger in his face.

“You’re on thin ice, mister.”

“Mmm, I can think of a few ways you can take it out of my ass later.”

Your stomach flips, and you press into him, grabbing his jaw.

“Damn right I will.”

Mary bites his lip as you wiggle your hand in between the two of you to palm at his crotch. He closes his eyes and sways a little

and that’s when you step away from him.

“C’mon—my cup is empty. I need a refresh.”

Mary’s eyes pop open, and he whines while making an exaggerated puppy-dog face.

You snap your fingers at him. “That’s for earlier.”

There are still enough people mingling outside that it takes a while for the two of you to actually make it back inside—some are Mary’s friendly acquaintances he wants to say hi to and others are fans he can’t help but chat up.

“We’re going to be on Instagram again, aren’t we?” you say when you finally start your trek inside, his arm lazily resting around your shoulders.

His head turns to face you, and he gives you an impish smile.

“Tell me if I give a shit.”

You quirk your eyebrow at him. “You might give a shit later.”

His smile turns vulpine. “Promise?”

Your hand slips into his back pocket and squeezes.

It’s actually pretty close to the ball drop by this point, so you and Mary grab up two of the bargain plastic champagne glasses you find lined up in rows on the kitchen counter. When the cheap champagne starts being passed around like you’re all in a pirate shanty, you hold out the glasses (Mary’s already lost the base to his) for a fill.

There’s no way everyone is going to fit in the living room; the majority of the attendees are spilling out into the hall, up the stairwell, and out onto the porch, with you and Mary are squished in by the stairs—but the volume for Rocking New Year’s Eve is turned up so loud the speakers are fuzzing, and a few people are streaming it on the phones.

“T-Minus one minute!” someone screams, and a cheer goes up.

“Oh shit!” you exclaim and start digging around in your bra.

“What?” asks Mary as his eyes flick down to your tits.

You retrieve two silver dollars, warmed by your skin, and press one into Mary’s free hand.

“What’s this?” He holds the coin up at eye level.

“Silver dollar. If you hold onto one as the year turns over, it’s supposed to bring good fortune.”

He looks at you skeptically as he turns it this way and that. “Does it work?”

You shrug. “Can’t hurt. My grandma swore by it.”

“THIRTY SECONDS!”

“Where d’you even get these?”

You grin.

“Amazon.”

Shouts come from the living room: “10 … 9 … 8 …”

Mary turns to face you, and the two of you take up the chant.

“7 … 6 … 5…”

He crowds a little closer, the fist holding the coin draped over your shoulder with yours resting on his hip.

“4 … 3 … 2 …”

You don’t get out the “1” because Mary smashes his mouth to yours—just a hard press of lips to lips—then he’s pulling away to press his glass to your mouth. As you try to sip out of it, you fumble your own glass to his mouth. The two of you only succeed in spilling half the contents all over each other before conceding defeat.

There’s some shrieking a moment before everyone in the hall gets sprayed with foamy champagne. Since there really isn’t any room to escape, Mary and you try your best to duck and cover, laughing as the droplets come raining down. The beach ball from earlier comes out of nowhere, and you punch it back into the air, the plastic of it slick from the champagne shower.

Everyone is still screaming, separated friends are trying to find each other amidst the revelry, and some dude on the stairs is shouting Tennyson over an off-key rendition of “Auld Lang Syne”.

“Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky!” 🎶 Should old acquaintance be forgot, 🎶

Elsie and Kara are jumping up and down from where they are in the living room, pointing, and starting to make their way to you.

“The flying cloud, the frosty light!” 🎶 and never brought to mind? 🎶

The beach ball beans you in the face, and Mary takes it and lobs it onto the porch where it hits the back of Donnie’s head, causing the rest of them to cackle and holler back.

“The year is dying in the night!” 🎶 Should old acquaintance be forgot, 🎶

Like magic, Mary procures a half-full bottle of bubbly from the train of people maneuvering in the hall and takes a big swig before passing it to you. You chug the rest, coughing as the lukewarm bubbles fizz up your nose.

“Ring out, wild bells, and let him die!” 🎶 and auld lang syne? 🎶

Laughing, Mary wipes at your face with his sleeve, and you realize he’s still got the silver dollar clutched tight in his hand.

Song List

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#mary goore #ofc #feral cats fic #gritty girls #gutter punk #my writing #original content

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thestorytellersapprentice · 5 years ago

Text

Pulled out of Orbit

Pairing: Jo Yeong/Myeong Seung-ah

Fandom: The King: Eternal Monarch

Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff

Summary: Being in a possible courtship with Jo Yeong sucked. One minute, he could be so sweet (albeit also such a grandma), but next he could act like such a prick, she wanted to throw something at his head.

Notes: Unbeta-ed. Post drama. A direct continuation to "Over Booze and Buzz", and references "Duality of a Man", but the two fics are not absolutely required to read and enjoy this. This can also work as a stand-alone, though their relationship in this fic will feel more natural if you’ve read the mentioned fics as companions :)

Link: ArchiveofOurOwn / Fic Master list on Tumblr

~ How would you feel, if you had this crush on someone who you thought was really, really cool, the best on his field, the shield of the nation, the personification of an action hero, just, like, insanely cool and all, okay, and said crush had just swooped in and whisked you away from - well, at the expense of sounding a little bit dramatic - death? Would you even have any brain capacity to put together even a coherent thought?

No?

Yeah, same here, Myeong Seung-ah concluded.

“It's just a graze,” the doctor, a kind-looking man in his early seventies who had tended to her, had said after inspecting her wound.

Seung-ah blinked several times, trying to scare the blurriness away.

She was vaguely aware that she was still vertical, sitting somewhere inside the medical van. Her entire body was still kind of sore from the impact, and some part of the back of her head still throbbed, ever slightly. She tried to hold up the ice pack against her head properly, but her arm felt like jelly, nearly with no energy left.

“You might have a mild concussion," the doctor continued as he finished up bandaging her upper arm. "Make sure you have someone staying with you tonight."

Seung-ah nodded at that, but her mind was not really there. Instead, she flashed back to the series of events which just happened.

One minute she was standing to the side, busy composing and drafting posts of the King’s opening speech for the official Royal SNS account, and the next thing she knew, gunshots rang out loud inside the stadium and chaos ensued. She barely had time to register what the hell had just happened when she caught him on her line of sight: the shooter, a masked man with the black baseball cap. He was emptying his gun blindly among the fleeing crowds before turning his aim at her general direction.

If someone had asked her what thought crossed her mind at that fateful time, then Myeong Seung-ah could only answer with: nothing.

It all happened too fast.

She just knew that she was completely frozen, rooted on her spot, and then another gunshot rang out - too loud, why is it so loud - and then she just remembered the blur of a shadow came in between the bullet and her, tackling her to the ground, hard.

It took Seung-ah a while - felt too much like a lifetime - to realize that it was Jo Yeong.

The Captain had her pinned down, his body covering her view completely from the madman as he wasted no time barking orders to secure His Majesty away and take the assailant down. She remembered taking a peek over his shoulders in muted awareness, seeing his fellow royal guards swarming in on the shooter. A couple of guys from the special forces, identifiable from their all-black uniform, also joined in, all of their weapons drawn up.

So, yeah, basically, she was almost shot.

If the Captain hadn't tackled her to the ground, then she was sure that her body would be decorated by bullet holes by now. She knew how extremely lucky she was that the bullet just grazed her. If it was a couple of centimeters more to the side, then-

Seung-ah stopped that trail of thought.

Her head spun.

She could not stop herself to recall that it was not her first time being rescued by the Captain. Curiously, it just happened that both times involved a madman with a gun.

If she was a believer that there was no such thing as mere coincidences, only fate, then Seung-ah would definitely interpret it as a clear warning sign from the Universe: stay very far away from this man, he’s dangerous.

She turned in her seat, seeking him out.

Her head throbbed even more from the movement, but she was more overwhelmed by how it felt like her heart just made a weird flip inside her chest as she realized that the man in question, Captain Jo Yeong, was still there, on the exact same spot she last saw him after he had rushed her to the medic.

He was still standing on the edge of the opened van, his gaze directed slightly to the side, sporting a hard expression on his face. He looked like he could and had every intention to murder someone.

Yeah, he definitely is dangerous.

“She’s okay, Jo daejangnim,” the elderly doctor got up to approach the Captain. He ducked his head to avoid the ceiling. “Mild concussion, perhaps, but as long as she’s careful, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you, Doctor Byun,“ Seung-ah heard him say quietly.

The doctor patted the younger man on the shoulder before he exited the vehicle, presumably to talk to his team.

Directly after, the Captain climbed into the van and took the seat beside her. He kept a calculated distance, but it was still close enough for their shoulders and knees to touch.

His gaze first landed on her newly bandaged arm, before moving up to her face and lingered there. Their eyes locked. “You really feel okay?”

“Guess so,” Seung-ah replied, probably a beat too soon, but what else could she respond to that? It was not as if she could tell the man beside her that it took a great deal of her self-restraint not to just lean on his shoulder right there and then.

She wondered briefly if he would let her. He did allow, and even initiate, things to happen between them already, so it was a fair assumption that she had the privilege. But she thought better of it.

She just felt extremely tired and wanted to sleep, so, so bad.

Seung-ah crossed her arms purposefully. Her hands were still shaking, slightly, but she hoped he didn’t notice.

There was no such luck, though, she could see it from the way one his eyebrows twitched slightly upon her lie. But he did not make a comment.

Instead, he just let out a long, low exhale, before continuing on, his voice soft and steady, “Come on, let’s get you home.”

In the car, the next thing Seung-ah did after giving him her address was to call Choi Soo-ji, her childhood friend. She did hear and remember the kind doctor's advice not to be alone, and she intended to comply.

If she was being honest with herself, of course she wanted no one but Jo Yeong himself to stay with her that night. But even at her most self-serving state, Seung-ah knew how crazy it sounded and she would not even entertain that idea any further.

She chose to focus her attention to Choi Soo-ji instead. "Soo-ji-ya, can you come over and stay with me tonight?"

"Right now? What's the occasion?" Soo-ji was a cellist and Seung-ah knew that she was currently busy preparing for her solo recital, but she just felt awkward phoning her other friends. She mostly got estranged from most of them except for Soo-ji when she was living in Canada. Choi Soo-ji was kind of her only hope.

"I-"

Seung-ah thought it over quickly, thinking of how much she should tell her. Her friend would find out the truth from the news pretty soon anyway, if she hadn’t already. Seung-ah assumed it was futile to try dodging the question, so she finally settled on the following, "I banged my head at work today. Need you to monitor me, just in case I grow two heads or something."

At the end of the line, her so-called best friend just responded with: "Don't you have those already?"

“Yah, Choi Soo-ji,” Seung-ah chided. But actually, she was glad that her friend chose to joke about it. There was a lifelong understanding between them, and she was really not in the mood to answer any more questions than what was necessary.

The cellist chuckled. “Alright then. Some heads up, though, I’m gonna raid your chocolate and ice cream stash. I’m this close to losing my mind!”

After they both said their goodbyes, Seung-ah stole a glance sideways at the Captain as she ended the call.

For some reason, she found herself at a loss for words, wondering what she should open their conversation with. It was weird, really, because she usually had no problem teasing him or anything. But at that moment, her mind just went blank.

True, they had kissed that night during the King's birthday, not just in the locker room, but also at the secluded halls of the palace. (It was one of the perks of getting it from a Royal Guard who knew precisely where all the CCTV cameras were by heart.) And Seung-ah had to stress that the kissing part was good. More than good, actually.

It was intense, and a little bit rough.

It was everything she imagined it would be and then more-

But they hadn’t even had the chance to have the talk.

Both were practically swept away with their respective responsibilities right after the party ended. Him, with the security debriefing, and her, with the event photos and publication which needed to move on tight deadlines.

After that, the following few days happened to be a busy period for the Captain, something that Seung-ah herself was also privy to as a staff of the PA Office. The King and Royal Court always had several public appearances scheduled right following his birthday, many which she also helped to organize, and she and her coworkers had been working around the clock to accommodate the sudden changes which always seemed to happen around such events.

Between the two of them, phone messages were exchanged and short calls were occasionally made, but they all happened sporadically. Often, he would reply to her messages on all sorts of odds hours. In return, she would feel bad engaging him in extended trivial conversations, so their message thread was a mess of half-baked inquiries and choppy attempts at discourse.

She was even worried that he was not getting enough sleep as he should, so Seung-ah had to practice a whole lot of self-restraints.

Being in a possible courtship with Jo Yeong sucked.

Of course, she would like to know where they stood too. Were they considered dating already? Were they still strictly coworkers, but he's still trying to court her? Was it still the other way around, her chasing him? Or all of it didn't mean anything to him?

Seung-ah was pretty sure it wouldn't come to the last option, though. She was not a genius, but the fact that the Captain of the Royal Guards chose to stay with her and take her home instead of guarding the King in the aftermath of such a huge incident felt like a declaration already, coming from him.

So, why was she being so nervous, all of the sudden?

It should be the uncomfortable silence which fell between them. He didn’t even turn on his radio, no surprise there, but even for his standards, it was a new level of quietness.

It unnerved her.

What really did not help was that his cell phone, which was connected to his car systems, kept ringing and ringing, and he kept declining the calls. He had even taken off his earpiece too, she realized belatedly when she noticed that his right ear was bare, no device in sight.

She really tried to make sense of the mood - his mood, to be more specific, but she was only able to come up with one easy assumption: he must be furious.

"Daejangnim?" she started, testing the water.

He did not even give her any indication that he heard her.

"Are you....angry?" She took a pause, unsure if she should continue. But she did. She wanted to know. "With me?"

Seung-ah watched him carefully as his furrowed brows deepened upon hearing the question.

"No,” he replied. Icy. Curt. Dismissive. What he said totally contradicted how he said it.

At times like these, she just hated his monosyllabic tendencies.

He confused her further though, by finally turning to look at her as they stopped in traffic. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?" He had said, his tone was tender this time around. "I'll wake you when we've arrived."

Seung-ah decided she would just agree to his suggestion. Her head did feel heavy, and his ever changing moods were a bit too much for her to also deal with at the moment.

Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the window, and soon drifted off.

"Be sure to give the hospital a call on the first sign of discomfort, okay?" He reminded her, seemed to revert back to his gentle self when he escorted her to her front door. "Watch out for any ringing in your ears, nausea, or even if you experience any sleep disruption."

"I will. Thank you for taking me home, daejangnim," she said, basking in his attention.

"Has your friend arrived already?”

“Hang on.”

Soo-ji knew her passcode, so Seung-ah just needed to key in her code and check her apartment’s entryway for her friend’s shoes to know the answer. And right on cue, Soo-ji’s bright red pumps greeted her sight. They were already lined up neatly beside her boots and heels, in exchange for one of her room slippers.

“Ah, yes, she’s here already,” Seung-ah informed him, feeling a pang of disappointment. She would not get the chance to invite the Captain inside for a quick tea after all. She was not ready for him to meet any of her friends just yet, even if said friend was Soo-ji. Especially Soo-ji, with her Spanish Inquisition.

“Okay then,” Jo Yeong had said. He nodded his goodbye greeting and then turned on his heels. She caught the sight of him instantly re-attaching his earpiece as he started to go down the stairs.

Seung-ah stayed put, leaving her door open as she watched his receding back for a while. The Captain finally took his phone out and answered his call. “Cut it out, Heok-pil. You don't have to keep calling me. I've told you, I'll deal with it after I got back-"

She could still hear his frustrated sigh from her doorway, before his voice became fainter as he expanded the distance. "Fine, might as well. Just put him on.”

Seung-ah visibly deflated.

Being in a potential courtship with Jo Yeong totally sucks, big time.

At first, she thought that it should be a mistake.

But then she reread and reread the latest email that the Captain of the Royal Guards had just sent to the whole PA Office regarding their latest proposal, and then she just went angrier by the minute. No, enraged.

She never thought such a day would come. Not that soon, anyway.

"Where is Jo daejangnim?" demanded Seung-ah to her Royal Guards acquaintance, Park In-young, whom she encountered just outside of the Royal Guards Headquarter which also served as the Palace’s Control Tower.

The Royal Guard in question had just closed the door to said office behind her. “He’s inside,” In-young replied.

She should have noticed the fire in her eyes, because In-young continued a beat later, her tone urgent, “Hey, you don't want to disturb him right now, Miss Myeong Seung-ah."

Why the hell not, was what she’d like to say, but it was not In-young she was furious with. So, Seung-ah settled with, "Why not?"

"He had been pulling all-nighters for several days now. Heok-pil had gotten such an earful about some minor typos in his report, Jo daejangnim looked like he’s this close to explode. He is scariest whenever he’s trying to hold it in instead, you know.”

Ah, so he still retained his murderous mood from the incident, Seung-ah thought.

“We all have been walking in eggshells,” she concluded. "Tread with caution."

“Thank you for the warning,” Seung-ah replied, even though she felt like she did not give a damn.

At that time, she would bet that she was even angrier than him, though strictly only for professional reasons. On the personal front, her relationship with the Captain was having very little progress since he had dropped her off last week, but it was indeed peak season for both and they took their respective jobs very seriously, so she had no complaints on that subject as of yet. What also helped was his last text to her, which was stamped at 5:02 a.m. that morning, consisted of a sincere morning greeting and a gentle reminder to bring her umbrella to work that day because of the weather forecast. She had been woken up to it with a smile on her face.

Jo Yeong could be sweet when he wanted to (albeit also such a grandma).

But he could also turn into such a prick at work.

“Jo daejangnim, I would like some explanation, please," she wasted no time stating her disapproval right after she entered his office. She marched up towards his desk. "You can't just-"

Seung-ah stopped herself when she finally arrived in front of him.

He looked bad. Well, that was such a quick way to describe it, actually, but it did sum up the sight before her at that moment.

When she approached, he was in the middle of pinching his temples with one hand, rubbing them with his thumb and middle finger in circular motion. The Captain stopped what he was doing, though, once he clearly registered her voice. When he lowered his hand, Yeong looked weary, the dark circles under his eyes were unmistakable, and he was slightly paler than usual.

He let out an annoyed exhale as he rose up from his seat to meet her gaze.

His voice came out scarily level then, like it took him a great deal not to chew her up right then and there. "I've sent memos to the Royal Public Affairs Office about our code of conduct, have I not? You cannot just propose a new event, on such an open space, consisting of such outrageous proposals to involve so many civilians on divided fronts, with just a week's notice to the Royal Guards. I have explained it all in the documents, which now I doubt you read."

Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the remaining Royal Guards in the room try to shuffle quietly towards the door.

"But you cannot just make the recommendation to dismiss the whole event. We've worked hard for months on it-”

"I can, and I just did," he stood his ground. At that point, he gave her an unflinching glare.

Seung-ah felt like crying in frustrations.

The Royal Public Affairs, especially she, had been working on the event for months. They planned on revamping the Royal Court image to reflect the modern times and promote science and knowledge all at the same time by inviting carefully selected digital influencers from various backgrounds to a single conference: from biotechnology scientists, startup practitioners, financial advisors, to entrepreneurs and digital marketers. There should be a packed schedule of interactive presentations, and each of the influencers would be prompted to stream the conference’s contents to their own platforms. Offline and online spreading of knowledge and networking opportunities, all at once.

The King, being a man of science and knowledge himself, had been reviewing the initiative with enthusiasm right from the start. He had even volunteered his expanded time to collaborate on-site with a few of the influencers.

To say that the event was a big deal for Seung-ah was a bit of an understatement.

"I'm just trying to understand," her voice quivered slightly then.

Yeong closed his eyes at that, his eyebrows knitted even more than usual as he let out a long exhale. "Please, not now, Miss Myeong Seung-ah."

When he reopened his eyes, she was stunned to see the resigned plea in his eyes. "My head hurts," he said, quietly.

She softened in an instant.

"I'm sorry if I make it worse," she said, her anger evaporated. “I just-”

She did not finish her sentence. Everything she had been prepared to counterattack him with felt awfully childish then. She had never seen the Captain like that. He made her both confused and slightly terrified at the same time.

They fell into a pregnant pause.

Yeong threw his gaze away from her after a while. And then, after drawing in a breath, he finally confessed, "I- I did not even think about Pyeha when I dived in to save you."

Seung-ah froze, taking his admission in. The patterns and connections started to form in her head.

He should have felt lost, she realized. Jo Yeong, the best swordsman of the nation, whose single focus for almost the entirety of his life was to protect His Majesty and His Majesty only, suddenly had his life priorities yanked from under him.

How was she supposed to know that her initiative to have both the King and herself circling the conference independently all day long was enough to push the Captain over the edge?

He looked absolutely terrified. "Look what you've done to me, Miss Myeong Seung-ah."

Seung-ah rushed over to him then, hugging him real tight. Her heart ached seeing him that way. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry I make it harder for you. I didn't know you feel that way."

He burrowed his head on the crook of her neck, returning her embrace.

They stayed like that for a while.

"I'll follow your stupid rules, then,” Seung-ah relented, her voice half muffled by his shirt.

Yeong let out an incredulous chuckle.

Finally, Seung-ah thought, the tightness in her chest instantly dissipated. She would have to overhaul her proposal, but she supposed it’s worth it. She realized that she was way too lenient with the man.

"Thank you," he replied quietly. He broke their embrace to look at her properly. “Just this once. Next time, give me much more time to prepare, will you? We can go over the best course of action together."

“I need to make sure I can protect both you and the Majesty at all times,” was unsaid, but he didn’t need to spell it out for her. She could see it in his eyes, loud and clear.

“It’ll be my pleasure,” she replied, already pulling him into another hug.

A few minutes passed, and when it should’ve dawned on him that she probably wouldn’t budge anytime soon, Yeong finally voiced his concern, "Uh, Seung-ah?"

"Let me be," she said. "Just for five minutes more. I just had a fight with my captain, I need some time to calm myself down."

Somewhere above her, she heard Yeong made a mortified noise.

She just stood there, comforted by the sound of his beating heart. Strong. Steady. The one who's worried for her. Her protector.

Seung-ah's smiles got wider as Yeong started to caress her hair.

Being in a courtship with Jo Yeong can be so wonderful, her heart is full.

#jo yeong #myeong seung ah #myung seung ah #woo do hwan #kim yong ji #king: eternal monarch #because there's not enough fics of them #because they're just too cute #for some reason my post doesn't show up on feed #hm curious

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richiefuckfacetozier · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 3: Winding Me Up Inside

Story: Why Can’t This Be Love

Click to read on Archive

Art of Eddie and Richie by @whatidoisxsecret

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

___

Eddie honked profusely at the car in front of him. Everyone had decided it was idiot day on the road as one of the bridges was down from a car fire. People were cutting him off or making illegal u-turns that almost hit his car. He ended up pulling over to grab a drink at a restaurant. He wasn’t very well going to die tonight if he could calm his nerves with alcohol instead. It was unfortunate that he left his pills at home, knowing they could calm him immediately but a gin and prune juice, his healthy alcoholic beverage of choice, would have to do the trick.

About a month had gone by since ‘The Arrangement’, something Richie had started calling their pretend dating. Eddie would’ve rather called it ‘The Nightmare�� but Richie wanted a positive outlook on the situation.

Eddie eyed a grungy bar next to a pizza joint that looked perfect to grab a cheap drink. However, upon further observation, there was a rainbow flag sticking out above the bar’s entrance. He blinked at it, took a step forward, then froze. His body had seized up at the prospect of going in.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there but a booming voice said, “You in or out?” Tossing him from a temporary mind blank.

“Huh?” Eddie focused on the bouncer standing by the entrance, who was ripped and large. He never understood having such intimidating people be the first greeting you encounter before entering a bar or club. Don’t these businesses want people to come in? “Oh...er...no no. Just searching for a place to drink.”

“Well, this is a bar.” The man eyed Eddie up and down, giving the impression of being humanly x-rayed. “Drinking is the main activity...among other things.” There was some prolonged eye contact between them that dried Eddie’s throat into a Sahara desert.

Eddie nodded shifting forward. He reached for his wallet, which had his ID, but his hand merely hovered over his slack's front pocket.

“Maybe another time?” The man suggested with a lighter tone. Eddie straightened up, nodded and walked away.

He just failed at that pretty spectacularly. What would Richie think? Probably that he was a chicken. This had been an extra hard month. With the realization, he may have stronger feelings toward guys than he had ever admitted to himself. He had stopped sleeping, barely ate, and secluded himself more.

Suddenly, the demise of his relationship with Myra was making more sense. When she used to touch him sensually, his skin crawled. He assumed that was from the years of his mother convincing him the world was a germ-infested blackhole, girls were dirty, and how he could never truly be clean. Except he rarely felt that way when Richie touched him. Or any of his friends. Sure, they had known each other for years, but he knew Myra for a long time too and it didn’t settle into a comfortableness that relationships were meant.

He tended to resist Myra’s kisses, fake not feeling good to get out of sex, and pushed her away constantly. Their break up had been devastating. At the time he believed it was because the love of his life left him. Now he knew the truth.

Eddie eventually got a drink at a bar a few blocks away. The drink refreshed and calmed him immediately. It’s funny how certain things relaxed him right away because he’d conditioned himself to feel that way. His mind began thinking about tomorrow, a chilling dread running up his neck. He scratched at the nape even though nothing truly itched.

He was seeing his friends for a pre-engagement party celebration. Just the seven of them. The thought almost made him break out into sweats. He downed his drink and ordered another. Usually, he would be extremely excited and thrilled to see the losers club, except the next step in the arrangement, was occurring. Eddie had to come out collectively to the group. A fake coming out but that fakeness was becoming authentic with every passing moment.

He wished there was someone he could talk this out with. There was Mike, but that felt wrong somehow. The one person he wanted to tell was Richie. What would he even say? There was a nightmare scenario he replayed every day that Richie would laugh in his face, which logically he would never do but Eddie’s attempts at controlling his imagination have never come to fruition.

While he was absently stirring his drink, his phone started ringing. A picture popped up on his screen of Richie lifting a screaming/laughing Eddie from behind. He took an extra second to remember the joyful memory, running a finger over the picture then answered.

He sighed into the phone, “Hey, Rich.”

“Where you at, gumdrop?” said Richie with an obvious smile in his voice.

“A bar. The traffic was crap, so I am waiting it out.”

“What’re you wearing?” He said suggestively.

Eddie frowned, huffing out, “Work clothes, why?”

Richie clicked his tongue, “Cause you are supposed to be at Beverly and Ben’s celebration extravaganza in,” quick pause where Eddie figured Richie was looking at his phone for the time, “20 minutes.”

“No, it is tomorrow.” Eddie insisted.

“No, my cutie patootie Eds, it is today.”

“No,” He said slowly. “It’s on Friday, you turd.”

A laugh came through the phone, “Today IS Friday.”

Eddie paused as horror sunk in fast and deep. “Oh shit…”

“Yeah, so see you at the restaurant!” Richie hung up, leaving Eddie to his panic.

He slapped down a $20 on the bar counter, despite the drink being less than half that and bolted out the door. He ran past the bouncer who shouted, “Don’t trip, kid!”

His car turned on with a roar then he zoomed out of the space. The traffic had significantly cleared which worked in his favor as his car swerved around dangerously. His heart pounded with adrenaline. When he pulled up in front of the restaurant, Richie was standing on the curb smoking a cigarette.

Eddie gave the valet his car keys, not even thinking about how much that would cost him at the end of the night, and hurried over to his friend.

“The prodigal son has returned!” Richie tossed the second half of his cigarette on the ground, stomping it out for good measure. As Eddie neared Richie wrapped an arm around his shoulders pulling them close together. The smell of smoke was both overwhelming and familiar. As much as Eddie despised the disgusting habit, he was so used to it that he could brush it off.

Eddie pushed on his chest to free himself a little but not enough to break contact. “I can’t believe I fucking forgot.”

“Take a minute to breathe, Eds. Where’s your head been at lately?” Richie asked in what he probably thought was a casual tone, except, Eddie knew better. His friend was really asking ‘Where have you been?' or 'Why are you isolating yourself?’.

Isolation was the only solution for hiding his emotions, which had been many and increasing each day he spent alone with his thoughts.

Instead of answering the question, Eddie shrugged and smiled lightly.

Richie reached up and pinched Eddie’s cheek with a “Cute, cute, cute!”

“Stop it, I hate that!”

He laughed, “You ready to do this?”

Eddie took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, “I can’t do this.”

“You CAN do this!” said Richie with excitement. “Just be yourself.”

“Fake coming out to my friends is the worst idea we’ve ever had. It is wrong.”

“What do you suggest then?”

Eddie nervously glanced at his feet, “I think we should just out ourselves to Bill like we planned next.”

“You think they are going to believe Bill without any pretense? No, you have to come out and it has to be tonight since it’ll be the only time we are all together before Beverly and Ben’s engagement party. If you steal her thunder in any way, she will murder. Who she’ll murder is unclear but it starts with Ed and ends with die. Hey! That was more clever than I intended.”

Eddie swallowed, “Alright, but Richie…”

He made a tracing motion toward the ground “There will be a chalk shaped Eddie on the ground with Beverly DNA everywhere. It’s going to work, Eds. I promise.”

“Don’t call me, Eds. Listen, Rich I…”

“Stop trying to come up with excuses! It’s going to be fine.”

“No, Richie! Just shut up a second!” His heart was beating out of his chest, he had to tell Richie what he had been going through or everything could be ruined. He had to give him an out if he wanted. Eddie shrugged off Richie’s arm, so they were facing each other. “I’ve been thinking that I...I…”

“Well, spit it out Eds. Thinking what?”

“I THINK I MIGHT ACTUALLY LIKE GUYS!”

Richie stood shocked and silent at first, just staring. Those ice-blue eyes hiding secrets and judgments that Eddie desperately wanted to hear aloud. Tears had caught in Eddie’s eyes which he blinked away quickly. “Well! Don’t just stand there, asshole! Say SOMETHING!” He demanded.

“I...I…” Richie sputtered face turning crimson red.

“Well, spit it out, Trashmouth.” mocked Eddie.

“I do too.” He gasped out.

It was Eddie’s turn to stare in silence. “Sorry, I think I went temporarily insane. Repeat that?”

“I like guys, too. I have since college.” Richie sighed with relief. “Maybe longer.”

“What? You have?” This revelation made Eddie take a step back. “I had no idea.”

“Not relevant information to disclose.” Shrugged Richie.

Eddie gave a confused look then lowered his eyes skeptically, “This isn’t a joke, Richie. I actually believe I am gay.”

“You're the one who shoved a rainbow cake with sprinkles on top of my bisexual pie.” Richie’s eyes twinkled.

“Wow,” A smile broke out across both their faces, pure joy at the realization that they weren’t alone. They had never been alone. “What were the chances that 2 out of the 7 of us friends would be gay.”

They stood there, in a rare silence, watching each other with a newfound comradery that didn’t seem possible after 20 years of friendship. Richie grabbed Eddie’s forearm and pulled him in for a hug, which was returned 10 fold. Tears that he forgot to keep holding in fell into the side of Richie’s neck. His emotions were on a rollercoaster with no chance of stopping. He faintly heard Richie say, “Eddie, I…”

He didn’t get to finish what he planned to say because a “Richie! Eddie! W-what’s the hold up?” Interrupted them. They quickly broke their embrace as Bill appeared beside them. He looked calm despite a bit of impatience in his eyes, then saw their faces and concern washed over him immediately.

Bill put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, the weight very comforting. “Everything ok?” He reached in his pocket and took out a travel tissue pack. Eddie gave a watery giggle, taking one and blowing his nose.

“Yeah, Big Bill,” said Eddie. “Everything’s great.” And he found that his words were true.

After a few more breathes and checking himself in the selfie camera of his phone, Eddie felt ready to face his friends. The three men walked into the restaurant, heading to a back room that Ben reserved for the occasion.

“Congrats to the couple!” Richie shouted as he bounded over to bear hug and lift Beverly off her feet. She laughed swatting at him, “Let me go you dorkface!”

“Dorkface!” Exclaimed Richie. “Of all the sass to receive from your dude of honor.”

Eddie watched the exchange warmly. Ben patted him on the back. “Traffic?”

“Huh? Oh yeah.” Eddie said embarrassed. “Tons.”

“There was a car fire and crash on the bridge.” Came the dry, toneless voice of Stanley Uris. “Surprised it wasn’t you Eddie, with all your road rage.”

Eddie gave a pout in Stanley’s direction but walked over to his friend for a handshake and a hug. “Such a kind, warm greeting from you Stan. I miss you, too.”

“Where’ve you been lately?” He sounded unperturbed, but he wouldn’t ask if there wasn’t a genuine concern.

“Oh ya know,” Eddie trailed off with a shrug. Stanley lifted an eyebrow but didn’t push it, for now at least.

Eddie started to seat himself between Stanley and Ben when Richie grabbed his collar jerking him backward. “Scoot over, Stan the man.”

Stanley rolled his eyes, “No.”

“Why?” asked Richie.

“Because I am comfortable here.”

“You’re being a stinker, Stanley. Move to the seat next to Ben. You like Ben, don’t you?”

“Of course I…”

Richie looked right at Ben, “Too bad for you, Benny boy, it seems Stanley doesn’t like you anymore.”

“Beep- beep, Richie,” Beverly warned while drinking a glass of wine and placing a hand on Ben’s arm.

“I’m just saying it is suspect that the best man doesn’t want to sit next to the groom.”

“He’s not a groom until the wedding day.” Stanley insisted. “And I am already sitting…”

“Richie isn’t gonna let it go, Stan. Just move over one.” said Bill with strong finality. None of the losers liked to admit anymore that Bill remained the group’s leader even into adulthood. But when he made a request it was usually followed with little argument. Eddie figured it didn’t matter how independent any of them grew up to be, Bill still held a controlling rope over them. Something Stanley was known to resent.

He moved over a seat as Eddie gave an apologetic look at every one. Getting between Richie and Stanley tended to end in him being yelled at, so he rarely bothered anymore. Besides, he bickered with Richie more than anyone else so Stanley had no room to complain.

Richie glanced around the room realizing they had a missing loser. “Where’s Mike?”

“Bathroom,” Responded Beverly, still nursing her drink. “How was work, Eddie?”

“Fine, I guess.” The last thing he wanted to talk about, except his mother, was his boring job. “An econ student was hired as my intern, which makes me think I’ve finally made it.”

“Poor bastard is in for a world of ribbing by all your accounting co-workers,” said Richie, bumping Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie laughed, “Oh, I already made a joke at him today. Why do economists exist?” He scanned around the table then opened his mouth to answer.

Mike’s voice interrupted from the door of the private room, “So accountants have someone to laugh at.”

“Mike!” whined Eddie. “You stole my punch line.”

“Sorry, Eddie.” He took his seat between Beverly and Bill.

Stanley smirked, “You practiced that joke didn’t you.”

“Shut up,” Eddie groaned. “How was your trip, Ben?”

“Not the best,” Ben sighed, he wore a deprecating grin. No matter the story, Ben always had some kind of upturned smile, it was a unique quality. Considering most people told Eddie he had sad eyes, being able to smile at all times would be an excellent trait. “I didn’t leave early enough like I usually do because it was so early in the morning. I left my water bottle in the rental car they got me, then ran from TSA to the gate, was in my seat when I realized the sweater Bev got me for my birthday was back at security.”

Beverly rubbed his back soothingly, “We can get you new ones of both those things.”

“I know, it’s just a bummer because they were special items before I lost them.” Eddie understood. Ben and he shared the same mentality about their personal items, each thing they owned held a nice memory. He knew that the water bottle was one Ben got from his job after the big promotion, he could ask for another one but it wouldn’t be the same as the moment he received the gift. The feeling of pride and achievement all through a meaningless material item.

“Well, lucky for you, Ben.” Richie pulled out something from his bag, handing it across the table to Ben. “I had these made for everyone.” Richie continued grabbing water bottles from his bag, passing them around.

“This is so nice, Rich!” said Beverly. She laughed at the label. Eddie looked down at his seeing ‘#TeamBenverly’. It was great quality, a platted maroon paint covered the bottle with the lettering in a bold white.

“I still have the keychain you gave us for my bachelor party.” said Bill.

“That’s right!” Mike chimed in. “What does it say again?”

“Big Bill’s Bitchin’ Bachelor Bash.” Stanley drawled. “Kinda clever.”

Richie grabbed Eddie’s shoulder, making Eddie almost jump in confusion. He stared at Richie, who was clutching his heart in mock shock, “A compliment? I don’t think I can handle that from you, Stanley Urine.”

“I take it back,” said Stanley, “You don’t have any cleverness. Only idiocy.”

“Hmmmm, insults,” Richie leaned in front of Eddie, still holding his shoulder as his face got closer to an unamused Stanley. “They feed my very soul.”

Eddie placed his hand over Richie’s face and pushed him backward the metal of his glasses digging into Eddie’s hand, “Your soul has a healthy appetite then.”

“Oof, your words fill me up most, Eds.”

“Eds is a dumb nickname and you know it.”

“Alright, alright!” Mike called the attention toward him. “Let’s hear from Ben and Beverly. A decade of being together and now you’re tying the knot. How does it feel?”

Ben looked to Beverly, who smiled sweetly at him. “Feels perfect,” said Ben simply, but in those two words, he expressed years worth of working toward friendship and partnership that went beyond infatuation. “I’m so happy. And even happier to have my best friends around to celebrate.”

“This wedding is really about coming together,” started Beverly, “With our friends, the family we’ve chosen, to celebrate love. I think what we have with all of you is rare and...”

Eddie thought deeply about her phrasing ‘the family we’ve chosen’. He had many issues with his mother, different than Beverly’s father problems but they both came from toxic environments. Kindred spirits in a dark and twisted way.

With all his thoughts lately, he had pushed down how his mother would react. He may never tell her, if he could help it. Her religious views left no room for tolerance on the subject.

He shoved thinking about his mother deep in a box in his brain and focused on Beverly, who was still speaking, “...so just thank you for being there for us. Anyway, let’s fucking celebrate!”

They all cheered, Eddie looking around with a smile on his face. With his ‘chosen family’ he could trust them to love him no matter what.

As the night wore on with lots of laughs, food, and stories. Ben brought up the story of when he finally got the courage to ask out Beverly, “I was waiting outside of school, sweating profusely, despite wearing 2 sweaters…”

“You always wore so many layers!” said Bill laughing.

“Well, when you are fat and subconscious, that’s how you hide it.” Ben said, voice lowering a bit in embarrassment.

“Ben Handsome now shows off his true glory and beauty.” said Richie with a wink. “Just the way I like it.”

“Beep- beep, Richie.” Blushed Ben. “As I was saying, I waited outside and she approached me like in slow motion. I thought I was going to throw up. As I opened my mouth to say something she said,” He motioned for Beverly to continue the story.

She giggled, “I said, ‘Ben, let’s go to prom together’. His face drained of color and he passed out.” The whole room erupted in laughs. “I..I was knocked to the ground!” Beverly tried to say through gleeful tears, “He fell forward into me.”

“You were a very pleasant landing.” Ben smiled in mortification.

“You planning to faint at your wedding too?” said Stanley, “As your best man, I will need to prepare.”

“No, I’m not. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” said Richie. “I will have a fainting couch ready as a precaution.”

“You’ll probably just jump in front of Beverly and take one for the team,” piped Eddie.

“Speaking of the wedding,” Stanely rounded on Eddie and Richie. A dread bubbled in Eddie’s stomach. “You two having to bring dates is the smartest rule. I should have thought of that for my wedding.”

Richie threw his napkin at Stanley’s face, “Don’t make me take YOU as my date Stan the man.”

“You could never get this, Trashmouth.”

“I can get whoever I want. Right, Eds?”

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie mumbled. “While we are on the subject, just so no one is surprised, I might bring someone who none of you would expect.” Eddie felt his knee being squeezed from under the table. It took him a moment to realize it was Richie’s hand, he was giving a warning. Most likely telling him to keep the details limited, but Eddie hoped it was a touch for encouragement.

“Please, don’t bring Myra.” said Mike making the group groan collectively.

“Now, that would be unexpected.” Richie snickered.

“Eddie, you’re not actually thinking…” said Bill seriously. “Beverly, if they get back together I blame you.”

“Me?!” Beverly opened her mouth to fight but Eddie interrupted.

“Hello! Back to me, losers. I am not bringing Myra. I am not even interested in women!” The words slipped out quick, and he wished they could be suctioned into his mouth once more.

They went quiet, as the news hit them. Mike was smiling at Eddie. He felt his bravery trickling into cowardice the longer none of them said anything.

“S-so does this mean,” began Bill. “That you-you’re g-“

“Gay? Yes, stuttering Bill.” Richie answered seeming to be frustrated by Bill’s condition for the first time in a long time. Then a chair screeched out and Beverly ran around the table, slamming herself into Eddie.

Her soft hair tickled his neck, his heart was calming down from her sudden show of affection. He placed a hand on the arm she slung over his chest. Richie’s hand hadn’t left his knee either. Everyone else’s reactions were fairly standard, awkward congratulations or they were proud of him, all expected. The surprising reaction was Stanley, perhaps because he didn’t react at all. He was silent for the rest of the evening.

As they all stood outside saying goodbyes, Stanley seemed to linger a little aways from Eddie. He waited for the rest to leave, Richie was the last to hug him and head to his car. He wandered toward Stanley hesitantly. The taller man was twisting his key in hand repetitively, tapping his foot methodically.

“So,” Eddie begun lightly, “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” answered Stanley stiffly. Eddie cocked his head to the side trying to meet his friend’s eyes, then gave up turning to leave. “How do you know?” Came his voice clearly from behind.

Eddie turned around, a few paces away. “Know what, Stan?”

“That you’re into guys.”

“Because I just do?”

“How long have you known?”

“Er...that’s more complicated. I mean I’ve been sitting on it for a month but..”

“A month?” interrupted Stanley, he was getting pink in the cheeks. “You’ve known a month and are coming out. That’s not enough time to know.”

“What’re you talking about?” Eddie was trying to keep his voice calm, he could feel that tingle of rage that surges in him when he feels attacked.

“Have you ever been with a guy?”

“What does that have to do with knowing whether I am gay? I know that every time I’ve thought of girls it hasn’t been the same as with guys. Or how with Myra...”

“Ok, yeah! Myra!” He rose his voice like winning some kind of twisted victory. “You were with her for a year and you really didn’t know?”

“Stan, you’re being a jackass.”

“I am trying to understand why you kept this from us?”

“From YOU, you mean? Stan, I didn’t keep it from anyone. I was figuring out my shit, then I talked about it with Mike and…”

“You told Mike first?”

“Um...no…” He caught himself quickly. “I told Richie first then Mike.”

A hurt flashed over Stanley’s eyes that Eddie hadn’t seen in years. “You told them before me?”

“Stan...come on. I told the rest of you at the same time. It was just easier to tell them at the time.”

“I’ve known you as long as Richie has. Much longer than Mike.”

“It’s not about that!” Eddie was at a loss. This was getting nowhere. “I don’t know what to say, Stan. I’m not going to apologize.”

“There is nothing to apologize for.”

“Then why are you fighting with me like there is?”

Stanley remained silent. His arguments lost on his tongue. “I am tired. I will talk to you later.” And he walked away. Eddie stood there, stomach twisting the food inside uncomfortably, eyes watery from the sadness creeping in his head.

_________

Thanks for the patience for the new chapter! Longer one cause I apparently had a lot to get through. I am starting a second job soon, but I will keep working on the next chapter as inspiration hits. Don't forget to subscribe!

Comments/reblogs/likes "feed my very soul", post questions and thoughts!

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Taglist: @sam-i-am2468 @slashpalooza @frankeeenstein @eds-kas @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @roobarrtrashmouth @hypnoidvoid @imeddie @reddieforlove @appojoos @probablynotacarrot @Twistedbutcute @jawnlawk @decaffeinatedpostmoon @goblinbastards @randomgonzalez @honestly-im-just-sick-of-people @pirates-apologist @asparkleofacrylicquartz @plethoraoffandoms @dangerouspotatox @pan-ini @sarah011 @maximusfracker @callme-eds @vinnosint @02styles94 @justcallme-trashmouth

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#reddie #fake dating au #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #Why Can't This Be Love #WCTBL #benverly #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #stanley uris #bill denbrough #the losers club #fanfiction #it fandom #cursing #gay #i am a loser #shannon writes

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hclib · 5 years ago

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The People of East Lake: Joyce Cobb

East Lake Library has been closed since the unrest near the Minneapolis Police Department’s 3rd precinct station that followed the murder of George Floyd. While East Lake Library is closed, we will periodically share stories of the library and its community.

“In the nineteen seventies, I was hired by the late Miss Ruth Johnson to work at the old East Lake Library, which was located at 2916 E Lake Street. At that time, there was much anticipation for a new building which was to have an on-site parking lot, a large meeting room, and a dedicated area for children. Discussion was also devoted to the topic of increased library usage.

“Following the move to 2727 E Lake Street [in 1976], both patrons and staff were amazed with the beautiful furnishings and the building. The meeting room was indeed outstanding.

“I remember the kindness and generosity of both patrons and staff. Staff socialized frequently at the respective homes of library employees. One lady invited some of us to her home each year in early December and I have enjoyed dining at several of the beautiful homes of East Lake patrons.

“Both libraries have been great places to work. Staff and patrons have shared wonderful sources of information and knowledge.

“As an African American, I was personally unaware of being treated differently from members of other races. Respect was shown to me each day by both my colleagues and East Lake Library patrons and members of the community. Looking back, I am appreciative of this. There were a wide variety people who frequented East Lake Library each day. Conversations were engaged in and ideas shared with me. I listened carefully.

“My focus was on youth and outreach. Programs for children were planned and presented by me and other staff. I visited elementary schools each fall and spring. Books were discussed. Some neighborhood churches and groups were visited. Numerous ideas were discussed. Collections were requested and obtained. Many of these met some of the needs of those in the neighborhood. Volunteer and outreach services were planned. Many new collaborations were made with community members.”

During Joyce’s time at East Lake Library in the 1970s, there were changes in the East Lake business community too. McDonald’s opened down the street, Target and SuperValue signed on as tenants of the old Minneapolis Moline site, Minnehaha Mall was constructed, Holy Trinity Lutheran Church built a high-rise for affordable housing next to the library, and Corcoran Elementary School closed.

Joyce Cobb was hired as a Library Assistant at East Lake Library in 1973 and transferred to the Southeast Library (now Arvonne Fraser Library) in 1986. She has been assigned as a Senior Librarian to Minneapolis Central, Westonka, Ridgedale, and is currently a supervisor at the Plymouth Library.

Joyce grew up in Conroe and Huntsville, Texas, north of Houston. She earned a BA in English and Library Science from Prairie View Agricultural and Mechanical University and an M. Ed. in English and Library Science from Sam Houston State University in Huntsville. She later received her Master of Library Science from the College of St. Catherine. Joyce has worked in academic, public, and school libraries in Indiana, Minnesota, and Texas. She is the mother of one son, and grandmother to two grandsons and a granddaughter. She hopes her work in libraries has helped and inspired each of them.

Top two photos of Joyce in 1974 from the Hennepin County Library Organizational Records (HCL002). Bottom two photos of Joyce and other East Lake Library staff in the 1980s, provided by Joyce. Find library annual reports, staff bulletins, photographs and more in the Hennepin County Library Digital Collections.

#Minneapolis #Minnesota #East Lake Library #librarians #Minneapolis Public Library #Hennepin County Library #East Lake Street

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volturialice · 5 years ago

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Spork Haven chapter 22: outlandish fucking statue

welcome to spork haven, where I spork the EL James fic you’ve never heard of

previous chapter | next chapter | contents

previously on Spork Haven:

actor!Edward and murder witness cello student ex-hotel maid!Bella got ready to go to an awards show! and that was it that was the entire chapter

SADDLE UP CHUCKLEFUCKS, THIS CHAPTER IS GREAT. like, I legitimately mean that. a lot of stupid shit goes down and it is absolutely bonkers and thoroughly entertaining. this is the reward I deserve after putting up with the last few dead boring chapters. chapter 22 has restored my faith in this story’s ability to be wildly, audaciously stupid all over the place, like the shitting hippopotamus of stories.

chapter 22 begins with Bella and Edward getting into the car to get to the airport to get on the studio’s private jet to fly to a different airport to get into a limo to get to the awards ceremony. okay, so maybe it’s not fun right off the bat. just hang on a sec.

on the drive, Edward notices Bella’s lack of delicious, suck-able earrings. she tells him she lost one, and he tells her he found it in her room and has kept it as a trophy. now he can’t stand the sight of her disgusting, shamefully naked ears, declaring that she should be wearing

so he makes Mike pull over at a Tiffany’s. I’m not even kidding. they’re on their way to an official event and he insists they need a pit stop to go jewelry shopping. Tiffany’s should really have a drive-thru for occasions like these.

Bella is not allowed out of the car for security reasons, so Edward takes Jasper to Tiffany’s instead. honestly at this point I am so checked out that nothing would please me more than a sharp left turn into Edward/Jasper territory, but alas, the most we get is Edward calling Jasper

and telling us how bitter and jealous Jasper is as Edward casually drops twelve grand on a single pair of earrings.

Edward makes sure to tell us how clueless he is choosing earrings, in case we needed to be reminded of what a good ol’ fashioned Red-Blooded Hetero™ he is. he’s so out of his depth here, among all this

don’t worry ladies, this hunk of oozing testosterone has never seen a diamond or a sparkle in his life

he quickly picks a pair of earrings called the “Victoria Double Drop,” which is as close as this story will get to having Victoria in it. oh well. on second thought it’s probably for the best that way, seeing as how in f!fty sh@des, erika made Victoria a head of Human Resources.

back in the car, Bella opens the

causing Edward to feel such varied emotions as

and

but of course Bella loves the earrings and puts them on right away.

I...assume we’re supposed to be impressed with Edward’s generosity and largesse and thoughtfulness here, but. do I even need to point out that if he were actually a thoughtful and considerate boyfriend, he would have spent more than two seconds picking out a gift for Bella and done it, oh, maybe a day or two before the black tie event as opposed to in the car on the way there?

Edward, Bella, and their retinue (Emmett, Jasper, and Edward’s movie’s director, Chris, who is completely unimportant to the story but still here for some reason) board the jet, which is decorated in

Ed and Bella sit down on the couch, causing Edward to have a flashback to the time he had a threesome with two beautiful flight attendants on the same couch last year.

like actually. that’s an actual thing in the actual story. flight attendant threesome.

Edward catches Bella eyeing him during his fun little reverie and has a moment of panic

wait, was that a joke? was that a...fun reference to canon?

...gosh,

if only it were in a better story

anyway. after the plane ride, the gang meets up with Taylor and gets into some

to head to the read carpet. once on said carpet, they pose for “the fucking press corps” in a paragraph where erika hilariously mixes up flashbulbs and flashlights, making it sound like everyone on the red carpet is playing flashlight tag.

Bella gets a lot of attention from the press and seems uncomfortable with it, causing Edward to wonder if it was a good idea to bring a shy person who’s spent the last six months in hiding from murderers to such a high profile event. ya fucking think?

they talk to a bunch of people Edward hates and drink a glass of champagne

remember kids, champagne is gay. this post brought to you by Beer Hets™

Ed and Bella sit down for the ceremony, and guess whomst is one of the award presenters? that’s right, the delectable old vain blonde hussy herself.

and just when I thought Safe Haven!Bella couldn’t possibly get any stupider, I’m proven wrong.

not to get all Serious And Analytical here, but Safe Haven is an amazing example of erika’s patented “write a heroine so unbelievably fucking dumb that all of the creepy male love interest’s abusive, controlling actions seem justified” method.

Tanya opens the Best Actor envelope with

and pauses for

and surprise, surprise, Edward has won. the audience dissolves into

then Edward goes up to collect his award, and we get one of my favorite paragraphs of all time, which I have here preserved for you in its entirety:

yes, that was 5 “fucks” in...two? sentences

then Edward and Tanya have to do a photo op in front of a “lit to fuck board.” Tanya makes some catty remark about Bella and Edward snaps at her that Bella is “the future Mrs. Cullen, if you don’t mind.”

quick sidebar, are we sure an adult wrote this? like are we sure it wasn’t a ten-year-old? have we double-checked? like are we totally certain?

ok then.

Edward and Bella make their way to the after party, where they drink more champagne (gay) and something finally dawns on Edward

no, and no official, televised, US-based event would serve her in the first place. I can’t wait for the next chapter, in which all these characters serve 60 days in jail for supplying alcohol to a teenager.

then Bella starts to feel dizzy, so Emmett takes her to the ladies’ room while Edward poses for more pictures. place your bets now on whether she’s poisoned, pregnant, or both! my money’s on “both” but I wish it was just poison. that would be way more fun.

and indeed, some type of skulduggery seems to be afoot, because when Edward joins Emmett to lurk outside the ladies’ room, Bella still hasn’t come back after five whole minutes! Edward and Emmett share a glance

I’m sorry erika but literally what is the point of describing them like that if they aren’t going to fall in love?? can you fucking read, erika? can you read the phrase “dark burning eyes”?? can you read that last sentence aloud and then honestly sit here and tell me it’s not the gayest thing since gay sliced bread?? hmm? can you???

after this epically, gloriously homosexual moment, Edward bursts into the ladies’ room, surprising all the ladies who are engaged in activities like

you know, the more of el james’ work I encounter, the more I’m convinced that she has never actually met another human woman and that her only source of information on womankind is stock photos.

Edward rushes through the women’s restroom, checking every stall, only to find that—alas—horror of horrors—Bella has disappeared! oh, the humanity!

he fights “the nausea that’s threatening to erupt all over the fucking floor,” and there the chapter ends.

predictions: chapter 23 will begin with Edward projectile vomiting all over the women’s room. then it turns out that Bella is totally fine and was just taking some Me Time in order to laugh alone with a salad.

best “fucks”

“a complete fucking delight”

“every fucking muscle”

“a fucking house on fire”

“pouty fucking lip”

“secretly fucking pleased” (bella)

“fucking elegant” (bella)

“fucking blinking” (the Tiffany’s salesgirl)

“fucking flashy” (earrings)

“fucking animated” (bella)

“one of the biggest fucking mouths in Hollywood” (tanya)

“completely fucking oblivious” (bella)

next chapter: salt fucking peter

#spork haven #twilight fanfiction #anti e.l. james #alcohol mention //#if I had to guess I think this chapter has the most 'fucks' of any chapter #it's a good one lads #we're BACK baby #unsafe for work text //

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newyorksportstours · 5 years ago

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NYC Public Library - Favorite NYC History Books

The NYPL Milstein Division of United States History, Local History & Genealogy recommends our favorite, most readable, most memorable New York City nonfiction. These are the true stories of New York that engaged us, that intrigued us, and that we thought you might like to read as well.

97 Orchard: An Edible History Of Five Immigrant Families In One New York Tenement

Jane Ziegelman

Explores the culinary life that was the heart and soul of New York’s Lower East Side around the turn of the twentieth century—a city within a city, where Germans, Irish, Italians, and Eastern European Jews attempted to forge a new life. Through the experiences of five families, all of them residents of 97 Orchard Street, she takes readers on a vivid and unforgettable tour, from impossibly cramped tenement apartments down dimly lit stairwells where children played and neighbors socialized, beyond the front stoops where immigrant housewives found respite and company, and out into the hubbub of the dirty, teeming streets.

Staff says: “Food history and New York seamlessly woven together in a easy-to-read yet meticulously well researched book. I learned not only about the foods that certain immigrants ate, but how this changed over time, how Americans viewed ‘foreign’ cuisines over many different eras, and how this was a description of New York history and not just a reflection of imported appetites.”

American Passage: The History Of Ellis Island

Vincent J. Cannato

A chronicle of the landmark port of entry’s history documents its role as an execution site, immigration post, and deportation center that was profoundly shaped by evolving politics and ideologies.

Staff says: “The history of the island and the immigration station, and also of immigration policies in NY and the US. This book is well researched, scholarly and a very easy read. If you only read one book on Ellis Island, then this is it!”

The Battle For New York: The City At The Heart Of The American Revolution

Barnet Schecter

Provides a dramatic account of the seminal role played by New York City during the American Revolution, from its September 1776 fall to the British under General William Howe, through years of occupation, and beyond, interweaving illuminating profiles of the individuals on both sides of the conflict with a study of the cultural, political, social, and economic events of the eighteenth century.

Staff says:“It sticks in the mind, especially for the quality of the research and the tour of today’s New York in light of the events of history.”

The Big Oyster: History On The Half Shell

Mark Kurlansky

For centuries New York was famous for its oysters, which until the early 1900s played such a dominant a role in the city’s economy, gastronomy, and ecology that the abundant bivalves were Gotham’s most celebrated export, a staple food for the wealthy, the poor, and tourists alike, and the primary natural defense against pollution for the city’s congested waterways.

Staff says: “Lots of good NYC history in there along with the fascinating world of food history and bivalve science.”

Dark Harbor: The War For The New York Waterfront

Nathan Ward

Traces the historical influence of the Mafia on New York’s waterfront, drawing on the investigative series of New York Sun reporter Malcolm “Mike” Johnson into the region’s racketeering, violent territorial disputes, and union corruption.

Staff says: “The real story behind the film On the Waterfront. I also get annoyed when films are historically inaccurate for the sake of plot, ending, etc when the truth is probably just as exciting: see Bridge On The River Kwai. Well researched, and exciting.”

The Great Bridge: The Epic Story Of The Building Of The Brooklyn Bridge

David McCullough

Evaluates the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge as the greatest engineering triumph of its time, citing the pivotal contributions of chief engineer Washington Roebling and the technical problems and political corruption that challenged the project.

Staff says: “A favorite that everyone knows for good reason!”

Eat The City: A Tale Of The Fishers, Trappers, Hunters, Foragers, Slaughterers, Butchers, Farmers, Poultry Minders, Sugar Refiners, Cane Cutters, Beekeepers, Winemakers, And Brewers Who Built New York

Robin Shulman

Traces the experiences of New Yorkers who grow and produce food in bustling city environments, placing urban food production in a context of hundreds of years of history to explain the changing abilities of cities to feed people.

Staff says: “This interesting collection of micro histories tells the story of such New York food industries as beekeeping, fishing, urban farming, brewing, winemaking, and butchering. The author profiles people currently involved in each industry and then traces the origin, rise, usual fall, and then resurgence of that field. It was fascinating to learn about the methods of the different food industries within the unique environment of New York City.”

Five Points: The 19th-Century New York City Neighborhood That Invented Tap Dance, Stole Elections, And Became The World’s Most Notorious Slum

Tyler Anbinder

Details the notorious neighborhood that was once filled with gaming dens, bordellos, dirty streets, and tenements, that welcomed such visitors as Charles Dickens and Abraham Lincoln, and brings to light the hidden world that existed beneath the squalor—a world that invented tap dancing and hosted the prize-fight of the century.

Staff says: “An accessible and broad work looking at the notorious downtown slum’s population and sociology.”

The Island at the Center of the World: the Epic Story of Dutch Manhattan and the Forgotten Colony that Shaped America

Russell Shorto

A history of the Dutch role in the establishment of Manhattan discusses the rivalry between England and the Dutch Republic, focusing on the power struggle between Holland governor Peter Stuyvesant and politician Adriaen van der Donck that shaped New York’s culture and social freedoms.

Staff says: “The book is well-researched, the stories are well-told, and it will flesh out that point of history that most people only remember as song lyrics: 'Even old New York was once New Amsterdam…’”

Just Kids

Patti Smith

In this memoir, singer-songwriter Patti Smith shares tales of New York City: the denizens of Max’s Kansas City, the Hotel Chelsea, Scribner’s, Brentano’s and Strand bookstores and her new life in Brooklyn with a young man named Robert Mapplethorpe—the man who changed her life with his love, friendship, and genius.

Staff says: “I rather enjoyed the descriptions of Patti and Robert are discovering New York, especially Brooklyn, together. She writes prose like a poet, with detail and care and without an overabundance of imprecise words.”

Ladies And Gentlemen, The Bronx Is Burning: 1977, Baseball, Politics, And The Battle For The Soul Of A City

Jonathan Mahler

A kaleidoscopic portrait of New York City in 1977, The Bronx Is Burning is the story of two epic battles: the fight between Yankee Reggie Jackson and team manager Billy Martin, and the battle between Mario Cuomo and Ed Koch for the city’s mayorship. Buried beneath these parallel conflicts—one for the soul of baseball, the other for the soul of the city—was the subtext of race.

Staff says: “During the 1977 World Series, Howard Cosell really did say "Ladies and Gentlemen, the Bronx is burning” as flames licked up in the distance from Yankee Stadium. 1977 was the crux of the “bad ol’ days” of New York City—white flight had taken its toll; unemployment was outrageous for everyone, but close to 80% for young blacks and hispanics; infrastructure was in disrepair; crime was outrageous. This was the New York that inspired movies like “Death Wish” and “The Warriors.” NYC had bottomed out in 1977 and this is the history of that fateful year.“

Low Life: Lures and Snares of Old New York

Luc Sante

Luc Sante’s Low Life is a portrait of America’s greatest city, the riotous and anarchic breeding ground of modernity. This is not the familiar saga of mansions, avenues, and robber barons, but the messy, turbulent, often murderous story of the city’s slums; the teeming streets—scene of innumerable cons and crimes whose cramped and overcrowded housing is still a prominent feature of the cityscape.

Staff says: "This book sparked an interest in shady urban histories for me. Now that I know a lot more about the city and the context of the time frame, I even read it again. Fun, even if sensationalistic.”

Native New Yorkers: The Legacy of the Algonquin people of New York

Evan T. Pritchard

A comprehensive and fascinating account of the graceful Algonquin civilization that once flourished in the area that is now New York.

Staff says: “New York history from the Native point of view, and it will make you confront every sentimental myth you may have heard before. Everyone should read it.”

The Poisoner’s Handbook: Murder and the Birth of Forensic Medicine in Jazz Age New York

Deborah Blum

The story of how poison rocked Jazz Age New York City. A pair of forensic scientists began their trailblazing chemical detective work, fighting to end an era when untraceable poisons offered an easy path to the perfect crime.

Staff says: “Absolutely fascinating. I was surprised when I found myself at the end already. Unlike a modern forensic science drama on TV, the chemistry is all there—yet still readable and interesting. The era (late 1910s-mid 1930s) and setting are both equally captivating. So many times I thought I knew something that I clearly didn"t. This book taught me tons and still read quickly like a mystery novel, only the mysteries were all actual cases and hence more interesting than usual literary invention.”

Up in the Old Hotel

Joseph Mitchell

Saloon-keepers and street preachers, gypsies and steel-walking Mohawks, a bearded lady and a 93-year-old “seafoodetarian” who believes his specialized diet will keep him alive for another two decades. These are among the people that Joseph Mitchell immortalized in his reportage for The New Yorker and in four books—McSorley’s Wonderful Saloon, Old Mr. Flood, The Bottom of the Harbor, and Joe Gould’s Secret—that are still renowned for their precise, respectful observation, their graveyard humor, and their offhand perfection of style.

Staff says: “Mitchell, in an incredibly vivid writing style, tells the tales of some of the people he met in NYC in the '20s - '50s. The people are the history of New York.”

Source: NYPL’s Favorite NYC History Books

#new york history

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wordssometimesfail · 6 years ago

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Textual Reddie & Queer!Eddie: A Masterpost

So I’ve been planning on doing something like this for a while, but it had fallen to the wayside until @skinks and I started talking about Reddie again, and my weak little heart was rekindled.

Speaking of reKINDLEd (ehh? Ehhhhh?), my Kindle copy of IT is full of highlighted textual support of unresolved Reddie feelings, and a queer reading of Eddie specifically. And lo, a disjointed essay-type meta was birthed. This fucker’s about to get long, so if you’re interested, dive on under the cut – but be forewarned, there are massive spoilers for the book and (probably) Chapter 2 below!

(Seriously, cannot emphasize the MASSIVE SPOILERS enough. If you don’t know what happens and you don’t want to be spoiled, don’t read this.)

As a very general disclaimer, I am not going to be including everything that I highlighted. There is a fuckton, including a lot of small moments of Richie and Eddie interacting that don’t showcase anything other than their closeness. I’ll be paring it down here to moments that prove a larger theme, and some standout cuteness. With that said, IT is a 1,300-page behemoth, and it’s definitely possible that I skipped over something. If you know of anything significant that I missed, feel free to reblog with additions.

Note: I will be using terrible, half-assed MLA citations for this. Pagination is from my Kindle copy of the novel. All quotes will be italicized to help differentiate them visually from my points (if something was italicized in the original text, it’ll be unitalicized here). Unless otherwise stated, all bolded emphasis is mine. “--” will be used in place of em-dashes, “/” will be used to denote paragraph breaks.

PART I – ASTHMA

“When Eddie’s nervous he reaches for his aspirator.” (King 372)

It doesn’t get much more explicit than this. We’re told in no uncertain terms that Eddie’s psychosomatic asthma is rooted in nervousness, in things that make him scared and uncomfortable. The trigger for this particular explanation is being overwhelmed by the age and significance of Boston, but in an earlier scene:

“These shoes no longer looked just right... but he supposed they would do for where he was going. And for whatever he might have to do when he got there. Maybe Richie Tozier would-- / But then the blackness threatened and he felt his throat beginning to close up.” (King 112)

This is Eddie’s first on-page asthma attack. It hits him the first time we see him as an adult, having just received his call from Mike to return to Derry. And yet it’s the thought of Richie, not It or Derry, that makes Eddie nervous enough to need his aspirator. Notably, the thought goes unfinished. We don’t know, nor do we ever find out in explicit terms, what Eddie thought Richie Tozier would.

Of course, asthma is the most prominent symptom of Eddie’s hypochondria, so the attacks crop up often in the text. The most interesting of these attacks for our purposes (other than Eddie becoming nervous at the thought of Richie) is the following:

“‘The first of the ‘new murders’ [...] began on the Main Street Bridge and ended underneath it. The victim was a gay and rather childlike man named Adrian Mellon. He had a bad case of asthma.’ / Eddie’s hand stole out and touched the side of his aspirator.” (King 646)

Mike (speaking) tells the gang about the death of Adrian Mellon, and takes care to note three things about him: he was gay, he was childlike, and he had asthma. The connection between Eddie and Adrian is drawn quickly and obviously as Eddie reaches for his aspirator, seemingly out of reflex - but what we can also infer here is that this is making Eddie nervous. He could be nervous because a man with asthma was just killed by It, and he, too, is a man with asthma. He could also be nervous because the parallel that Mike and the prose have none-too-subtly drawn between Eddie and Adrian implies that they have more in common than a respiratory problem. But what?

PART II – EDDIE/ADRIAN

“[The other Losers] are being called--I know that much. Each murder in this new cycle has been a call.” (King 1116)

Mike writes this in the fourth interlude, referring to the way that It’s murders 27 years later all seem to be calling out to the Losers’ Club. By drawing a parallel between Eddie and Adrian through their asthma, King leads us to believe that Adrian’s murder specifically called to Eddie. He also leads us to consider how else they might be linked.

Adrian is virtually Eddie’s opposite. He’s out and proud and in a loving, unstrained relationship. He flirts openly with other men, teases his aggressors, and, to contrast with the neurotic and nervous Eddie:

“‘He didn’t have much in the way of protective coloration. He was one of those fools who think things really are going to turn out all right.’” (King 27)

His openness, however, is what gets him killed. While being harassed by some homophobes, Adrian teases and antagonizes them, and the next time they see him they assault him and unwittingly gift him, half-dead, to Pennywise.

It especially kills me that Adrian’s asthma is not significantly mentioned in his chapter. He makes a comment to his boyfriend that the “air’s better” (King 36) in Derry, which could imply that he has had less problems since he moved there, but the word “asthma” is never used. It’s not relevant to his story, and it’s not brought up until King has to draw a parallel between Adrian and Eddie. Because it’s not relevant to Adrian’s story, the connection that King draws between them feels almost half-assed and weak, until one considers their contrasting personalities and contrasting happinesses in their respective relationships. Along that same line of thinking, the implications of having Eddie directly paralleled by a gay man killed for being gay cast a suspicious light on Eddie’s presumed straightness.

If we accept that Eddie and Adrian are linked, that Adrian’s murder was a specific call to Eddie, then it goes without saying that there is a strong implication here that Eddie is closeted. He is being contrasted with an out gay man who fears no consequence for being out in a small, violent, hateful town. Eddie’s neuroses and fixation on his psychosomatic asthma are contrasted with a man who hadn’t a care in the world - not even his (presumably) real physical condition. The fear and self-hate that dogged Eddie his whole life never bothered Adrian Mellon, until it killed him.

If we accept that Eddie and Adrian are linked, and what that implies, then we can infer that Adrian is what Eddie could have been, were he happy, open, and out - and what happens to Adrian is the exact kind of thing that may have kept poor, terrified Eddie in the closet.

PART III – SEX, QUEERNESS, AND SELF-LOATHING

So, I think we all remember the leper scene--creepy in the 2017 movie, even creepier in the novel. One notable book-only detail is that the leper “[offers] to give Eddie a blowjob for a quarter” (King 400) in addition to chasing him around and being generally disgusting.

“Come back here, kid, the hoarse voice whispered. I’ll blow you for free. Come back here! / No, Eddie moaned at it. Please, go away, I don’t want to think about that.” (King 394)

Eddie is immediately terrified by the mere thought of getting a blowjob, of being touched by someone diseased, of being touched by a man. He doesn’t even want to think about it... and then the question becomes, does he not want to think about sex with the leper, or sex at all? Regardless, it seems pretty normal for an eleven-year-old boy to be scared of a blowjob from a strange adult with open sores on his face. But there is, of course, more to unpack here.

Another difference between book and film comes when Eddie recounts the tale to Richie and Bill...:

“‘He didn’t have leprosy, you dummy,’ Richie said. “He had [syphilis].’ / […] / ‘It’s a disease you get from fucking,’ Richie said. ‘You know about fucking, don’t you, Eds?’ / ‘Sure,’ Eddie said. He hoped he wasn’t blushing.” (King 400)

All of a sudden Eddie isn’t just afraid of disease, but of a sexually transmitted disease. Pennywise’s angle on Eddie is a big fuck-off combo of decay and sex--specifically gay sex. Not only is the “leper” a man offering him sexual favours, but Bill is quick to point out that men can get syphilis from “another g-g-guy if they’re kwuh-kwuh-queer" (King 402). Queerness and gay sex are therefore lumped in with Eddie’s fear of the “leper” from word go.

Since he’s a pre-pubescent child (in that same scene, Eddie recalls trying to masturbate and nothing happening), Eddie’s disinterest in and general apprehension towards sex makes sense without bringing the element of internalized homophobia into the mix. But this is my post, I can do what I want, and Stephen King already brought it into the mix for me.

Eddie is frightened by the thought of queer sex at another notable point in the novel as well, when he recalls a vignette from his and the Losers’ past:

“Patrick Hockstetter was down [in the Barrens]. Before It took him Beverly saw him doing something bad. It made her laugh but she knew it was bad. Something to do with Henry Bowers, wasn’t it? Yes, I think so. And-- / [Eddie] turned away suddenly and started back toward the abandoned depot, not wanting to look down into the Barrens anymore, not liking the thoughts they conjured up. He wanted to be home with Myra.” (King 720)

Myra, for those who haven’t read the novel, is Eddie’s wife. If you’re one of those people (or even if you haven’t read it in a while), you might also be wondering what exactly Patrick Hockstetter did to Henry Bowers in the Barrens that made Eddie balk and suddenly crave his wife’s company. Well, my friends, Patrick tried to give Henry Bowers a blowjob. Eddie has to turn away from the mere thought of two men (well, boys) engaging in a sex act. He has to return to his wife, the implication here being that she is there to shield him from queerness, from queer sex.

And the scene between Patrick and Henry, which we do see later from Bev’s point of view, is extremely telling as to why Eddie has to turn away. Henry gets violent and angry when Patrick propositions him, just like Adrian Mellon’s assailants got violent and angry, just like Eddie’s own mother gets defensive and cruel at the thought of a pair of (unconfirmed) gay men in their town with a nicer house than hers:

“‘Any two men who bother keeping a house so nice must be queers,’ Eddie’s mother had once said in a disgruntled sort of way, and Eddie hadn’t dared ask for clarification.” (King 712)

Eddie here is afraid to even question the root of his mother’s assumptions, or the very fact of her prejudice. Questioning, experimentation, being openly anything other than straight in Derry only earns you bile and violence from the rest of the town, and Eddie knows this. Why would anyone come out? How could they? Isn’t it better to just turn away and leave the thought unfinished?

And it is explicit that Eddie feels somehow wrong and incomplete, in addition to his general aversion to all things queer and sexual. At one point, compounding himself and the homeless “leper”, Eddie has an internal monologue that ends as follows:

“I got me a disease that’s eating me up. My skin’s cracking open, my teeth are falling out, and you know what? I can feel myself turning bad like an apple that’s going soft. I can feel it happening, eating from the inside to the out, eating, eating, eating me.” (King 405)

By conflating himself with the “leper”, Eddie makes the disease his own. He makes his fear of the “leper” falling apart a fear he has about himself. He fears something within himself, something rotten, turning him “bad” - bad like offering a blowjob to Henry Bowers in the Barrens. It’s a literal fear of disease, to be sure, but that sense of being rotten to the core, being bad on the inside in a way you cannot change, also feels like an apt metaphor for internalized homophobia in light of the subtextual queerness of the rest of Eddie’s fear. And especially in light of another scene in which he feels inferior, rotten, wrong:

“Simply reaching for the cubes of bread [at communion] became an act which required courage, and he always feared an electrical shock... or worse, that the bread would suddenly change color in his hand, become a blood-clot, and a disembodied Voice would begin to thunder in the church: Not worthy! Not worthy! Damned to Hell! Damned to Hell!” (King 1247)

We will absolutely come back to the fact that Eddie uses Voice with a capital V, but for now let’s focus on the rest of the scene. Eddie’s fear of being damned and unworthy is rooted in a story his Sunday School teacher told him, about a boy who blasphemed. Even as a small child, he has anxiety about his existence or behaviour cursing him – making him diseased, or turning bread into blood. And, of course, for the purposes of this reading, we can’t ignore the fact that queerness and American Christianity don’t typically go hand-in-hand. This compounded with the suggestion that he is rotten from the inside out suggests that Eddie has some reason to think he has blasphemed – and his persistent association with queerness suggests that this reason may be the knowledge or suspicion that he isn’t straight.

Eddie’s worries even follow him into adulthood:

“Get off it, Eds, Richie’s voice seemed to whisper. You ain’t solid at all […].” (King 715)

I included this quote because it reinforces my point about Eddie not feeling whole or right within himself. It’s not quite time for the Reddie part of this meta, but I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that Richie is nowhere in this scene and has absolutely nothing to do with it, and still it’s his voice that voices Eddie’s subconscious fears about not being “solid”. Again, I will be going into this in more detail later. First, there’s one more element of this queer reading of Eddie that needs to be tackled.

PART IV – THIS ONE QUOTE GETS TO BE ITS OWN PART BECAUSE MY GOD

Most of you are probably familiar with Anthony Perkins, even if you don’t know you are – if you’ve ever been exposed to Psycho, either by watching it or through pop-cultural osmosis, you'll know him as Norman Bates. You also may or may not know that he was famously closeted. He reportedly only had relationships with men until he met and married Berinthia Berenson in his early 40s, and never came out during his lifetime. (Obviously one’s sexual history doesn’t necessarily determine one’s sexuality, but most sources I can find suggest that he was gay, not bisexual.)

Now, if you read Eddie Kaspbrak as gay, this may sound somewhat familiar. Married a woman, never came out, horror icon, it’s all there. But why do I bring it up? Well, because of this:

“Eddie--it was weird but true--had grown up to look quite a little bit like Anthony Perkins.” (King 628)

On its own, it’s a seemingly innocuous, if oddly specific, pop-cultural reference. Nothing to write home about. Compounded with everything else we know about Eddie, and everything else I’ve covered above? It’s telling as balls. King could have simply described Eddie, as he does immediately after this line, but he takes the time to compare a character repeatedly associated with queerness and sexual repression to a closeted gay man who eventually married a woman.

(Note: admittedly, IT would’ve been written in the early-mid 80s, at which point Perkins was not officially known to be gay, but according to my father there were plenty of rumours. He was, additionally, known as a repressed, shy “mama’s boy” who was made nervous by female attention. Sound like anyone else we know?)

PART V – REDDIE

And now for the main event.

If I unpack every individual piece of Reddie goodness to the degree that I’ve unpacked Eddie himself, we’ll be here for another 2,500 words. So, I’m only going to hit three major points:

PART VA – CLOSENESS

Richie is all over Eddie. He frequently pinches Eddie’s cheeks, calls him cute, and is all-around physically and verbally affectionate with him. Some notable examples:

“Richie […] pinched Eddie’s cheek. / ‘Don’t do that! I hate it when you do that, Richie.’ / ‘Ah, you love it, Eds,’ Richie said, and beamed at him.” (King 384-85)

This is their first on-page interaction, mind you. This moment sets the stage for the rest of their relationship.

“Richie jumped to his feet a second time and pinched Eddie’s cheek. ‘Cute, cute, cute!’ Richie exclaimed.” (King 390)

“‘[My aunts] all pinch my cheek and tell me how much I’ve grown,’ Eddie said. / ‘That’s cause they know how cute you are, Eds--just like me. I saw what a cutie you were the first time I met you.’” (King 446-47)

Listen. Do you think I’ll ever get over this? Do you think I can move on, knowing that this exists? Richie teases everyone, but he only ever uses “cute” for Eddie.

“‘Take it easy, Eds,’ Richie soothed, and leaned toward him. / ‘Don’t call me Eds and don’t you dare pinch my cheek!’ [Eddie] cried, rounding on Richie. ‘You know I hate that! I always hated it!’ / Richie recoiled, blinking.” (King 668)

This scene takes place when they’re adults, and I love it for a number of reasons – the easy return to form for both of them, Richie genuinely trying to comfort Eddie, and Richie’s surprise at being snapped at. My heart goes out to the man.

“‘I hate it when you call me Eds.’ / ‘I know,’ Richie said, hugging him tightly, ‘but somebody has to toughen you up, Eds. When you stop leading the sheltered igs-zistence of a child and grow up, you gonna, Ah say, Ah say you gonna find out life ain’t always this easy, boy!’ / Eddie began to shriek with laughter.” (King 1334)

There are quite a few scenes where they make each other laugh, but this one is my personal favourite.

And the cherry on top:

“[Richie] slapped Eddie’s can.” (King 1322)

The context of this is less than shippy (they’re squeezing through a tight passageway, Richie is behind Eddie and needs him to move forward), but there are few ships that can say that party A has canonically smacked party B’s ass, and I think we should appreciate that more as a fandom.

There’s also a strong element of protectiveness – Richie is very protective of Eddie in a way that Eddie’s mother isn’t. He genuinely pays attention to Eddie’s needs and tries to do right by him:

“It was Richie and Bev who went to Eddie. […] Richie dug his aspirator out of his pocket. ‘Bite on this, Eddie,’ he said, and Eddie took a hitching, gasping breath as Richie pulled the trigger.” (King 903)

“Richie heard Eddie cough twice […] and then fall silent again. He shouldn’t be down here, he thought […].” (King 968)

“...Eddie [agreed to follow Bill into the sewers] last. / ‘I don’t think so, Eddie,’ Richie said. ‘Your arm’s not, you know, looking too cool.’” (King 1251)

“Richie turned Bill toward him, looked at him as you would look at a man who is hopelessly raving. ‘Bill, we have to take care of Eddie. We have to get a tourniquet on him, get him out of here.’” (King 1396)

Hey fun fact? Fun fucking fact, Eddie’s already dead in this scene and Richie knows that.

On a cheerier note, and to add one last dimension to Eddie and Richie’s closeness, Richie is the only person with whom we see Eddie intentionally swapping spit/germs (outside of ritualistic bloodletting). Not only does Richie use Eddie’s aspirator at one point, but there’s also this scene:

“‘I can carry [the Parcheesi board],’ Eddie said, a little out of breath. ‘How about a lick on your Rocket?’ / ‘Your mom wouldn’t approve, Eddie,’ Richie said sadly. […] ‘[…] Ah say you kin get germs eatin after someone else!’ / ‘I’ll chance it,’ Eddie said. / Reluctantly, Richie held his Rocket up to Eddie’s mouth... and snatched it away quickly as soon as Eddie had gotten in a couple of moderately serious licks.” (King 1243)

The obvious humour of this scene aside (poor Richie, having to share), the fact that hypochondriac Mama’s boy Eddie doesn’t mind Richie’s germs in particular is both sweet and interesting. The imagery here, of Eddie licking Richie’s Rocket despite his mother’s disapproval (compounded with the pre-established association between Eddie and blowjobs) is just... interesting, to say the least. As is the fact that I totally stole this scene and reversed the roles for the sake of a fic that I would like to pimp as a reward for making it this far into this monstrosity. It has a happy ending, don’t worry.

What does all of this put together signify? Richie and Eddie are close. They clearly love each other as friends, and the almost flirtatious touching, cute-calling, teasing, protectiveness, and Rocket-licking can also all signify the beginnings of something else as well. If nothing else, it’s fun, sweet fic fodder.

PART VB – THE VOICE (WITH A CAPITAL V)

This is one of my favourite details. Eddie thinks of all the Losers from time to time, but Richie is straight-up one of the voices in his head. Richie refers to his impressions and characters as Voices with a capital V, and Very often, Eddie will think in them. He’ll hear jokes in them, Pennywise will taunt him with them, he’ll hear the very criticism and hate that he fears hurled back at him in Voices. Right from the start:

“‘Had any good chucks lately, Eds?’ [Eddie] says out loud, and laughs again.” (King 374)

As he drives to Derry, Eddie is already laughing and delighting in the thought of his friends (specifically Bill and Richie) and the way they used to be. Later in the same scene:

“‘Sure, kid, EV-ery day,’ he says in a Richie Tozier Voice, and laughs again.” (King 376)

King quickly establishes that Richie’s Voices are a source of joy for Eddie, and that Richie himself is one of the Losers that Eddie is most looking forward to seeing. Indeed, in several scenes (including one of the ones quoted above), we see Eddie laughing at or with Richie when he does his Voices, both in the present and the past. But Eddie’s love of the Voices gets twisted by his own subconscious fears – I mentioned earlier that it is a Voice with a capital V that tells Eddie that he’s damned to Hell during his imaginary blood-communion. And it’s Richie’s voice that reminds Eddie that he’s not “solid”, to cap off a scene where he literally runs away from thoughts of queerness and sex. Eddie’s fear of himself becomes conflated with the Voices in a way that suggests his fear is of Richie, of Richie’s hatred, contempt, and dismissal. He is afraid that Richie sees him as unworthy, damned, unsolid. He is afraid that Richie sees the thing that’s eating him from the inside out.

Eddie wants to be home with Myra. It’s easier to keep Richie and his Voices in his head than to risk what they would (--) do if they saw all of Eddie clearly.

PART VC – EDS & EDDIE’S DEATH

Yes, we all know and love “Eds”. We love Richie being a little shit, we love Eddie being his tsundere self, and we love that Eddie canonically has a soft spot for the nickname:

“Man, he had hated it when Richie called him Eds... but he had sort of liked it, too.” (King 374)

We also love (or hate) that “Eds” factors into Eddie and Richie’s final exchange in the novel:

“But there was something else [Eddie] had to say [before he died]. / ‘Richie,’ he whispered. / ‘What?’ Richie was down on his hands and knees, staring at him desperately. / ‘Don’t call me Eds,’ he said, and smiled. He raised his left hand slowly and touched Richie’s cheek. Richie was crying. ‘You know I... I...’ Eddie closed his eyes, thinking how to finish, and while he was still thinking it over he died.” (King 1386)

(A.k.a. the scene that nearly made me throw my Kindle across the room.)

This ties into a broader theme with Eddie that I only began noticing when I started compiling my notes for this meta – his thoughts, when connected to other men, queerness, or sex, often go unfinished. He cuts them off before they stray somewhere that makes him nervous (the thought of Richie giving him an asthma attack), before they stray anywhere at all (the memory of Patrick and Henry making him yearn for Myra, not wanting to think about blowjobs), or before they even become thoughts (not daring to question his mother’s homophobic comments). And here, when he has to say one thing before he dies, when he’s finally allowing himself to conclude a sentimental, intimate thought that he doesn’t even know how to word... he’s cut off one last time.

And we don’t know what he was going to say. We can speculate, we can infer, but we don’t know, just as we will never know what “Richie Tozier would”.

Richie Tozier seems to know, though. When he realizes they’ll have to leave Eddie’s body behind, he kisses Eddie’s cheek (just as Eddie touched his in his final moments, and in contrast to the way he used to pinch them) and...:

“Richie got up and turned toward the door. ‘Fuck you, Bitch!’ he cried suddenly, and kicked the door shut with his foot. It made a solid chukking sound as it closed and latched. / ‘Why’d you do that?’ Beverly asked. / ‘I don’t know,’ Richie said, but he knew well enough.” (King 1427)

Richie’s shutting the door on Pennywise and the sewers and the whole horrible tragedy of it all, yes. But he’s also furious with the grief of losing Eddie, and shutting the door that will now forever separate Eddie’s final resting place from the hole where he died. Bev’s question allows Richie to do just what Eddie did, too – keep it quiet, cut it off, not acknowledge what he’s avoiding or what he’s just lost. Still, he knows well enough.

PART VI – CONCLUSION

I don’t know for sure that King intended for Eddie to be closeted, but I think he did. He’s gone on the record that he believes in leaving stuff like this for the reader to figure out. There are a lot of scenes, a lot of small moments, that suggest that Eddie is gay, and while many of them make sense without that reading, the entirety of the picture they paint does not. I’m partial to Reddie, and as I’ve demonstrated above, I believe there is a lot of textual evidence to support the theory that they had feelings for each other. Eddie’s death alone, and the fact that the last thing he had to say needed to be addressed to Richie while Eddie held his face in his hands, is... a LOT. But I’ll be honest – my loyalty is to queer!Eddie on its own.

If Eddie Kaspbrak is gay, then his story is ten times more heartbreaking. It’s a story of fear, not just of the supernatural but of the very real hatred and pain he would have faced being openly gay in Derry. It’s a story of fearing that something inside of him was rotten and sick and sinful, and that one of his closest friends in the world thought so too. It’s a story of self-loathing. And it’s a story without an end, because Eddie could never let himself think of how to finish admitting what he needed to admit to himself. The truth was lost in asthma attacks, in Myra, in death. In that sense, it’s fitting that King never explicitly stated that Eddie was gay, if that was indeed his intent – it's one more thing we’ll never know for sure, because Eddie couldn’t bring himself to tell us.

THAT BEING SAID. My loyalty is to queer!Eddie. Which means that my loyalty is to making this shit better, exploring and dissecting the hell out of it, and fixing it. Give Eddie Kaspbrak the ending he deserved! Let him finish his thoughts! Take these quotes, draw inspiration from them, and let’s all cling to each other in preparation for Chapter 2.

#it stephen king #stephen king's it #reddie #eddie kaspbrak #gay eddie kaspbrak #it meta #reddie meta #Aaliya writes #I have been working on this... for a long time #please tell me what you think and what I've missed #unless what you think is that eddie isn't gay because why are you here then #why did you read this #who are you

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