#TS and the horrible no good very bad weekend

[moonstonemoonlight]

A drawing I did based on my fic Between City Streets for the hurt/comfort exchange!

Been a while since I drew the Toy Soldier I forgot how much I love it

(last normal post for a while as I’m starting artfight)

[mitchmarnier]

when tomorrow comes (i’ll be on my own)

rating: mature

pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier

summary: Richie pushed himself up on his elbows and smirked. “You know, Eddie my love, we suddenly have great potential right here. Don’t you remember what it was like? Back in Derry… all the sneaking around, the thrill of getting caught all the time? What an adrenaline rush!”

“What a constant risk of anxiety attack you mean,” Eddie corrected, but he was grinning too. “But yeah, it was pretty exciting. What’s your point?”

“What if… and really hear me out here, Eds… we just let them think we were broken up?”

chapter count: 4/7

Eddie trailed the tips of his fingers down Richie’s bare back, smiling to himself as his boyfriend shivered in his sleep at the touch.  Eddie hadn’t originally planned to actually spend the entire weekend hauled up in Richie’s dorm room, but it seemed that Richie had know him better than Eddie had expected. Aside from Richie occasionally taking a walk around to campus to find food or drink, Eddie and his boyfriend had effectively been turned into experimental rats that pressed the pleasure button instead of the food button until they died.  

Thankfully enough, they hadn’t died but Eddie had truly waited until the very last possible second to leave the warmth of Richie’s arms. If he didn’t walk out of this room in the next minute or so, he greatly risked running into Stan and Patty are their ways back to campus. Heart hanging heavy in his stomach, he tugs on his same pair of jeans from Friday afternoon and mourned that this was the first time in two days he’d been wearing something more than a pair of boxers.

Knowing it was a risk, but not being to hold himself back, Eddie reached out and scoop up one of Richie’s soft white Ts with a terrible puns on them from the floor and pulled it on instead of his salmon polo that he’d come over in. Bill would immediately recognize the shirt as Richie’s, and it did little to cover the purple bruises that danced up from chest and over a long part of his neck. Eddie was ducking out of Richie’s room while Richie slept, feeling utterly like he were bailing after a one night stand, and he couldn’t bare the only thing he be leaving with being those marks.

To King Trashmouth <3: hey sorry i didn’t wake you figured you needed the rest after this weekend ;) i love you see you soon

Shoving his phone into his back pocket and wiping at his damp eyes, Eddie didn’t see the people walking down the hall towards him until he nearly collided with them. Stepping back, Eddie cursed himself for taking the short walk. In the week or so since he and Richie had told everybody they’d broken up, Eddie had seen very little of Stanley Uris and Patty Blum. It was the same, Eddie figured, for Richie with Bill and Audra. What had been a tight group of friends since the first week of freshman year was now fractured, and Eddie was suddenly floored by the realization that this was like a sneak preview of what life would be like if he and Richie ever truly broke up.

It took every inch of self restrain he possessed in his entire body not to turn and run back to Richie. To toss himself back into the bed and curl up in his boyfriend’s arms. But he noted then, the way Stan was looking at him, looking at his shirt, at his marks and the urge to throw up over come to the urge to return to Richie.

He watched the expressions dance over Stan’s face; confusion, then realisation, then anger. The clench of his jaw, the flash of his eyes. Patty shifted awkward on the heels of her feet, seemingly avoiding meeting Eddie’s gaze. “Eddie,” Stan said, voice shift. “That’s Richie’s shirt.”

It’s not a question, but Eddie nods in response anyway. Out of everybody he’d met in college, Stan was the friend he was the least close to. It was funny in way, considering how often Richie would constantly tell Eddie that he though he and Stan were so similar. “Not in like… sexy fun times with Richie way but kind of like… if I got dirt on shirt you’d  freak out kind of way.”

“Eddie…” Stan said slowly, jaw clenching for a moment. His eyes burned at the marks leading up from the collar of Richie’s shirt. “You can’t pull this shit, okay? Richie can’t handle you jerking him around. He’s a mess.”

Eddie crinkled his brow, licking his bottom lip in lieu of giving a response. There wasn’t anything he could say without completely exposing himself and Richie, and while he knew that at this point their stupid bet had turned deeply into overkill, but Eddie was too dedicated by now. He was also more than a little interested to hear just how Stan figured Richie was a mess.

“He barely leaves the dorm room except for classes,” Stan continued as Eddie knew he would if Eddie didn’t speak up to defend himself. “When he finishes Brooklyn Nine Nine, he just starts it over from the beginning! And he takes really long showers.”

“He what?” Eddie blinked, shaking his head slightly. Stan looked highly put-out, like he was moments away from stomping his foot, if he wasn’t so aggressively mature. “

“He takes really long showers, he never used to.” Stan said slowly. “I think that’s where he cries, because he doesn’t want to do it where I can hear him.”

Eddie’s face suddenly burned at the thought of the amount of times in the past few weeks that he’d snuck into the wet space to share Richie’s shower with him. Of course Richie’s showers were longer than usual, but there wasn’t a whole lot of crying going on.

“I think you’re seeing whatever you want to see, Stan,” Eddie said lightly. “You don’t know what Richie’s feeling.”

“And you do?” Stan laughed almost bitterly. “You dumped him for no good reason, you’re already going on dates with other people and now you’re crawling into his bed the first chance you get and fucking with his head even more? I thought you were better than that, Eddie.”

As Stan stomped off down the hall and Patty gave a sympathetic smile, Eddie gave himself a short moment to feel bad for himself. The last thing he wanted was anybody to think he was some sort of arrogant bastard just looking to get some good dick, or that he was using Richie. He, of course, knew that neither of those things were true and Richie knew it, too… but it still made Eddie feel a little sick that anything would lead Stan to believe such horrible things of him.

It did, though, leave a small warmth in Eddie’s chest to know that Richie had a friend like Stan who was go willingly to go toe-to-toe for him over a break up. Eddie’s best friends’ idea of helping was trying to get him laid with an almost scary amount of passion.

xx

“I hope you know I absolutely did not agree to this.” Eddie said, leaning against then wall in protest as the party raged on around him. “I didn’t agree to this in any way, shape or form.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “You refused to download Tinder, we’re compromising!”

“A compromise requires consent!” Eddie shot back, eyes trailing over to where Richie was trying fruitlessly to tug Ben Hanscom up onto a table with him. Eddie fought back a grin, knowing his boyfriend was the furthest thing from drunk, just simply a menace to society. “Not sure why you thought this was going to be helpful in getting me to move on.”

“It did not occur me that Ruh-Richie would be here,” Bill said mildly as Audra arrived with a drink in both hands. Bill reached out for one only to be greeted with an unimpressed smirk as Audra took a sip from both in succession of the other. “There’s uhm.. somebody we wanted you to meet, actually but if Ruh-Ruh-“

“If Richie being hear makes this too awkward then don’t worry about it.” Audra finished for him, placing a reassuring hand on Bill’s shoulder and squeezing. Eddie pursed his lips, glancing over his shoulder at boy who was clearly standing a safe distance away. His brown hair was pushed into a ponytail, giving the hint of curls, and his eyes were hiding behind thick rimmed glasses, prompting Eddie to hide an eye roll.

Shaking his head, he pulled out his phone and didn’t bother to hid in his interest in texting. To king trashmouth<3: your knock off by the door. bill wants me to chat him up

Richie had Ben’s head between his thighs now, shouting something about going for a ride, when he struggled to yank his phone out of his back pocket without sending both himself and Ben tumbling to the ground. He glanced up, eyes finding the boy then moving through the room to land on Eddie. He grinned, then winked.

from king trashmouth<3: do you want me to cause a distraction

to king trashmouth<3: will this distraction get you arrested?

from king trashmouth<3: no but it will be very embarrassing for you

from king trashmouth<3: but it will get billy boy off your back for a while i say

to king trashmouth<3: i mean youre going to do it anyway aren’t you

from king trashmouth<3: mmmmm you know me <3333

Eddie sighed, putting his phone back into his pocket. “Fine. I guess it won’t hurt to meet him.” Bill absolutely beamed at Eddie’s response, taking hold of his arm and pulling him over happily.

“Justin, this is Eddie.” He said, stutter all but gone while Audra stood off to the side, frowning lightly. “Eddie is the hottest guy I know and just got out of a very serious, long term relationship and is ready to let loose.”

“Oh my God,” Eddie said, not bothering to whisper. Audra pressed both hands over her face and walked away shaking her head. During their freshman year and a large chunk of sophomore year- the PRE-Audra ear- Bill had a pretty well deserved reputation as fuckboy throughout campus. Eddie wouldn’t have been able to count the amount of times he was kicked out of his dorm room so Bill could fuck some girl Eddie knew he’d never see again. From the beginning, Audra had been different from that and from the moment Bill referred to them as “going on a date”, Eddie had known the girl was going to be sticking around for the long run. It seemed now, though, that Bill was trying to pawn off his fuckboy ways onto what he thinks is a newly single Eddie.

“I’ll let you two… talk,” he waggled his eyebrows at Eddie and leaned in a whisper about spending the night at Audra’s so Eddie could have the room to himself. Eddie made a disgusted noise, but made a mental note to text Richie about it later.

Justin reeked of weed and he was even less attractive up close. He slouched and their was mustard on his shirt. It was looking at a fifteen year old Richie Tozier, minus the braces. It made an uncomfortable feeling appear in Eddie’s throat,  and he was already completely over this interaction.

Justin just leaned closer, Eddie resisted the urge to gag as the smell got stronger the closer Justin got. A hand came out to rest on Eddie’s wrist and Justin face was almost touching Eddie’s cheek. “So.. hear you’re looking for a good time?”

“Good time but not a long time?” Eddie asked breathily, closing his eyes. Come on, Richie…. Distraction any time now. It would be FUCKING LOVELY.

“Oh, baby boy, it can be as long as you’d like.” Okay, Eddie was going to throw up now. Right all over this guys’ ugly, mustard stained-

“Ay-yo, what the fresh fuck is this?”

Oh, thank fucking God. Eddie exhaled harshly, shoving away from Justin and trying his hardest to look like he’d been caught doing something wrong. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted around nervously, looking everywhere but at Richie. I love you, I love you, I think I love you like never before, he thought desperately, wondering if Richie knew.

“Who’s this, Eds?” Eddie watched Richie bite down on his bottom lip as the nickname slipped out. Their was crowd surrounding them now, Bev and Ben whispering frantically to each other. “It looks like you went out and tried to buy me at Wal Mart.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. How original, Richard. Eddie and Richie made eye contact, and Richie gave him just the slightest hint of a wink. It could’ve been a blink, to a mind less trained in the ways of Richie Tozier as Eddie’s was.

Richie only made one singular step towards Justin before Mike Hanlon seemed to appear out of nowhere, arms coming out and scooping Richie up above his shoulders as though he weight nothing. Richie responded as though nothing had happened as well. “I hope you drown in a bathtub! I hope you have aneurysm after aneurysm after aneurysm!”  

Eddie bit down on his bottom lip and pressed himself up against the wall, eyes stuck on his feet. If he made eye contact with even one person right now, he’d burst out laughing and blow everything.

“Your ex must be fucking wasted,” Justin laughed, face bright red.

Eddie walked Richie being carried from the party that was already loosing interest. “Nope.” He said, smiling fondly. “Just a menace to society.”

to king trashmouth <3: bills spending the night at audras? see you in my dorm?

from king trashmouth<3: you know it bby 8======D

to king trashmouth<3: youre disgusting jfc

[fullregalia]

hindsight.

2020 is almost here, and looking back on the decade, well... I am not entirely sure if I see things with more clarity (though I did finally get new glasses). The end of a decade! I don’t know if we learned anything besides the fact that tiny sunglasses will always look dumb. This decade basically continued the downward trend of good things while all the bad things seemed to happen at an increasing clip. Thinking about all of that would be far too depressing (RIP David Bowie, democracy, the climate), so I’ll stick with a year in review. As usual, I try to have my annual recounting of the months that have elapsed a little more thoroughly in December, since Rosh Hashanah kicks off this season of thinking ahead and looking back. 

I think a lot about this line in Vampire Weekend’s “How Long?” off Father of the Bride: “Why’s it feel like Halloween since Christmas 2017?″ Honestly, the latter half of this decade has been haunted in so many ways--and a new decade perhaps brings with it opportunities for change (are you registered to vote?). While most of the ghosts of twenty-teens past haunt me in mournful ways, some of them loom large in productive ways as they led me to making some of the biggest steps I’ve taken in my life in a long time.

The most obvious break in time this year was my move to Philadelphia in August. The beginning of 2019 was filled with uncertainty about where I’d get into school and what the end of my year would look like. While I don’t regret moving to Philadelphia, something happened to me recently that has been a truly unfortunate note to end the year on: I was attacked and mugged in my neighborhood a week and a half ago, and it’s been a difficult experience to reckon with. I’ve been going back to NYC about once a month since I left, and it’s been really good to have these monthly trips to get to Abraço or visit the Met--and given the shock of being assaulted, it was even more of a mental salve just to be in a city that shaped the past 12 years of my life (for better and for worse, if we’re being frank). 

So there was beginning grad school, and moving, but there was also all the cultural markers of the year that make these changes much easier to cope with. Here’s a round-up of (some of) the works and words that shaped my year, made me laugh, or engrossed me enough to take me out of my own head for a few hours at a time: 

MUSIC According to Spotify, John Coltrane happened to be my artist of the decade, but as referenced above, Vampire Weekend’s new album dominated my ears this year. Hilariously and fittingly, “Unbearably White” was my most played song in 2019. FoTB also introduced me to Steve Lacy and The Internet, thankfully. I tried to get a little more prog rock into my aural diet, and there were also more contemporary albums that came into heavy rotation. There was the revelation of Big Thief (the guitar on Cattails) and the brief, beautiful Purple Mountains project; Solange’s Binz helped me to do laps around the reservoir in Central Park, and there were nights alone when all I needed was to just put on Angel Olsen when I got home from work. As fall semester took over most of my time, I turned more to classical standards like Prokofiev’s Romeo & Juliet to get me through the work, and as ever I rely on Popcast to keep me up to speed on what the kids are listening to (looking at you 100 Gecs and Billie Eilish).  

BOOKS The beginning of grad school made it harder to keep up with my reading for fun, but I managed to get through enough books (28) to make a few recommendations. First, there’s Jia Tolentino’s Trick Mirror, which I thought was funny and thoughtful, and an eloquent and incisive analysis of what it means to be alive, and particularly a thirty-something, in this truly bizarre era. 

There were also a lot of series in my hold list this year: the Rachel Cusk trilogy and Ali Smith’s seasonal quartet. I mostly read women, and read more non-fiction this year than last (shout outs to Anand Giridharadas, Eric Klinenberg, and Samuel Stein--all of whom recommend public sector solutions to a private sector failures). As with every year, the list of books I want to read grew even longer. This winter break has proven itself thus far to be a week of recovering from being mugged and having a bad cold by mostly watching Netflix, maybe there will be more time to read in the second half of break and during the spring semester.

On a related note: there was a lot of great longform journalism this year. While there was very important work done about foreign affairs, corruption, and structural inequities, there were also many articles about how ridiculous living in Brooklyn (and LA) is. 

TV But the former PBS employee in me wouldn’t be able to finish up an overview of 2019 without writing about the medium that I love so much I had to abstain from it for the past four months, for fear of a distraction I couldn’t resist. As we all know, Succession is the best rich person melodrama we have, and I’m grateful for its place in my Sunday night routine while I settled into grad school. I have already written 2,000 words on it before, so I will simply leave you with this beautiful monologue: “I’m an enigma. You can’t pigeonhole me. I’m there and then I’m gone. I’m intellectually promiscuous, but culturally conservative. I work hard but I don’t play hard, I play easy, why would you play hard?”

Before my tv hiatus began in August, I was tempted to actually say sod it and move to England for grad school when Fleabag season 2 dropped. (Forgive me father, for I have sincerely wanted to see a priest make out with a parishioner.) But while Fleabag put canned G&Ts and hot priests on the map, Russian Doll payed homage to the past life of Tompkins Square Park, and got Harry Nilsson stuck in all our heads for the month of February. And what would my twitter feed have been without the irreverent brilliance of “You have no good car ideas!” guy from I Think You Should Leave? (*dabs, yells “you love your mother in-law!”*)

There was an overwhelming choice of streaming, movies, and podcast content this year. My podcast diet remained mostly the same (Who? Weekly, Talking Politics, Why is This Happening?, FiveThirtyEight, Slate Money) but I added What a Day--along with adding a crush on Gideon Resnick to my “unattainable ‘face for podcast’ dudes who will never date me” crush list, and getting Akilah Hughes’ headlines jingle stuck in my head. I miss Kara on Keep It! but I am also grateful for Naomi Ekperigin’s presence on Hysteria (and every other show she makes better with her presence). Throughout this year, and increasingly over the past decade, podcasts have kept me company, kept me in the loop, and kept me going on the most difficult days.

Lastly, as I mentioned, being mugged was a horrible experience. But there were a lot of other things that happened this year that were far less traumatic and mostly just absurd. Remember WeWork? The Tesla truck? Cliff wife? 2019 was pretty dumb. Though I appreciated every meme on Hunter Harris’ twitter. In the less-dumb, slightly more life-affirming department: I saw good friends get married and have children, got my hands on clay, cooked and baked, drank amazing coffee in Copenhagen (and fell in love with the cesca chair), and did things that scare me (grad school, moving, meeting cool new people, introducing those people to deranged twitter memes). 

Getting back to where I started--How Long?--I’m writing this on Christmas Day, or as I like to refer to it, National Annual Fudgesicle Day™, and I hope you have all had a Jordan Christmas or at least an excessive amount of Chinese food. Christmas is usually a low-key day for me (even when it’s also Hanukkah) and even though the year has been decidedly high-key (Brexit! Beto stood on so many things! I saw Ilana Glazer in LA!!) perhaps we can turn 2020 down from 11, where it feels like we’ve been since 2017. With only a few days left in the decade, I don’t really think there’s much change that can happen between now and then, but I do hope that the beginning of this next decade--life goes on, elections are held, and unknown adventures await--can bring renewed motivation, and the chance to shed some of the hurt and grief of the last one. Here’s to the year to come, may it bring us all health, happiness, and peace.

[charlie-sullivan]

I woke up with a hangover and the feeling that the earth was moving pretty fast. Way to fast.

Grumbling I extended a foot towards the floor, to stop the movement, but this time it did not work.

It took me a moment to remember why my surroundings were alien, yet familiar.

We were driving through a town not very different from Tacoma; restaurants and copy shops and loads and loads of cars, though it seemed to be a bit more tourist focused than my hometown. We drove by a shop with some kind of an alligator man statue on its porch roof. For some reason Paula decided to stop here; she squeezed her bus in between a Jeep and an old Volvo and got up.

“We will go find out if there is a bus stop nearby. The people in those shops have and know everything. Come on!”

I followed Paula, grateful the world had calmed and wasn't wobbling that much anymore. Haha, wibble-wobble. Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey. Good times.

The shop was packed and full of stuff, walking the line between interesting and gross. The eight legged lamb and the two headed calf that stood preserved and gathering dust in a corner were sad and creepy, but the huge collection of sea shells and corals was beautiful. In a glass case I discovered the demi-human whose statue was mounted outside. It was mummified and the slitted eyes and pointy teeth from its human head were a promise to haunt me in my dreams.

Hurriedly my fingers searched for the charms on my wrist; the shield against evil, the dream catcher against bad dreams, and then, just to be sure, the clover for good luck.

“Ts, you Americans are barbaric!”, Paula appeared right beside me and made me jump. “That poor guy. He deserves a proper burial. I am sure he haunts this shop.”

With that, even the last bit of warm, drunk fuzziness left and I felt horrible. I had a hangover, I was far away from home, together with a stranger who did not like me and my mother's ghost had tried to prevent all this. My mother, who always wanted my best, even when I behaved horribly and childish. I missed her so much it hurt.

“You okay?”, Paula had noticed the change of mood.

“I'm... I don't know. I don't feel well. Can we go outside please?”

“Sure. It is almost two, I think we both could use something to eat.”

Paula handed me a burger wrapped in wax paper, fries and a card. Munching my fries, I took a look at the blue cardboard.

Complimentary Sea Shell For Every Customer – We Hand Out Over A Million A Year!

Was written on it, followed by the address of the shop. And under that, there was a small, perfect sea shell. White and thin and towards the middle the white changed to a soft pink. It looked more like a rose petal than a shell.

“Thank you Paula, it is really beautiful. For the burger as well. I will pay you back when I get back home. I promise.”

“You better do!”, Paula said, but since she was licking ketchup from her fingers it sounded not very threatening. “The woman in the shop said there is a transit center in Astoria with buses to Tacoma. We should be there in about half an hour, como máximo.”

“Thank you Paula. For taking me to the beach as well. This has been the most holiday like day in over a year.”

Paula just nodded and focused on the road. She seemed to have said everything she wanted to say, so I used the last few minutes to admire the bus.

Whilst it looked just like an ordinary yellow school bus from the outside, it had been completely rebuilt on the inside. Like I had noticed earlier, it seemed as if someone had taken the inside of a cabin and just adjusted it to fit it into the bus. The walls were paneled with light wood and covered in photographs; landscapes and trees and the seaside, the sky at night and by day, animals and people and again and again the yellow bus. At the windows hung garlands made out of the most whimsical things; feathers and stones and crystals and rose buds, dried leaves, nuts and berries and origami cranes that flapped their wings. Next to the bed there was a tiny table with two chairs and a kitchenette, and on the other side there was a book shelf full of photo books. There were lots and lots of drawers. It itched in my fingers to open them and take a look, but I had reached a point with Paula where the woman seemed to be almost okay with me, and I did not want to make her hate me again. Everywhere there were jars and bottles; carefully lined in rows in shelves, stashed into boxes, filled into bags in the overhead compartment. So many jars.

Maybe Paula would allow me one last question so I could go home knowing what all these jars were for.

The landscape we were driving through had changed, now we were surrounded by the sea and then we pulled up at a bus station and later on I was not sure if I got out with Paula or not, but I could definitely remember Paula's voice as she said: “What do you mean, there are no buses on the weekend?!”

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