#The way he calls himself gay guy? truly a moment of some kind of growth going on there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

therosevest · 4 years ago

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the promise (ch. 1)

a/n: hi yes i wrote for the clown gays like a year ago and im deciding to post this now sjdghfg pls be kind

pair: richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak

word count: 8.5k

warnings: swearing, blood ment, homophobic slurs, abuse mentions, psychological trickery, richie’s parents start out a lil absent but they get better i promise

excerpt: “You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

“I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.”

“I know.”

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No, it’s not that Richie is gay. It’s not like he daydreams about taking it up the ass all fucking day.

Henry Bowers and his dipshit crew might have a different opinion, but they can honestly, truly suck his dick (in the non-homo way - he has taste). The fact that they took joy in throwing him and his friends around, calling them names, and threatening their whole lives never mattered before; the losers took care of each other, and most of the time it was easy to forget about those other assholes.

Being called four-eyes when he needed glasses in the second grade never got to him that bad - they were saving him from having to see their ugly faces when they knocked them off, so really, he should have thanked them - and he didn’t care when they shoved him around for being short before his growth spurt, and it didn’t even bother him that much when they mocked his totally refined voices. He knew his own talent, and what he could do with it if he could just focus.

But the first time they singled him out as the fag of the group, well, it stung.

He never told the others about that day. He never told them how long he cried, how broken he felt sobbing on that park bench. He never worked up the nerve to tell them why he couldn’t face Paul Bunyan anymore, no, he simply breezed past without lifting his eyes, without missing a beat of conversation.

At least it got easier with time.

All things considered, his home life isn’t terrible.

Richie has his own room, a roof, and usually a decently-stocked fridge. Enough to get by.

He’s left alone a lot. His parents are always at work, and when they’re not, they take on the personalities of monotonous robots sitting in front of the TV, so he spends a lot of time skimming through comics or jacking off when he’s not running around with his friends.

But, that’s just the thing. Somehow, Richie, life of every conversation, King of Comedy, Trashmouth, funny-man Tozier, was born to the most boring people of all time. They never engage with his jokes; on a good day, he receives a breezy, “That’s nice, sweetie,” from his mom, or, “Okay, that’s enough, son,” from his dad. Blank stares. Pasty, purple-tinted white eyes. Never a hug, never much past a ‘goodnight.’ Not even a simple, “How was school?” when they got home.

Richie vividly remembers the day that he bounced in his seat at the end-of-the-year ceremony at school, a bustling bundle of nerves prepared to brag and boast to his parents about his awards in science and, surprisingly (his teacher hated him) English - he took to the dramatics of Shakespeare quite well. He practiced his entrance to them several times over in his head, perhaps overly, unconvincingly modest or Shakespeare wants what I have. Anything to get a laugh. A ruffle of his hair from his dad. A forehead kiss from his mom, like when he was little.

They didn’t show. He still doesn’t know where he went wrong.

In a stark, bubbling contrast to his parents, there’s this kid in his group of friends. He remembers one of the first times they met, the boy approaching him, all sweet apple-cheeked and neat polo and ironed khaki shorts; Richie had flicked an eyebrow upward, a not-so-subtle really?, because he never figured that clean-freak Eddie Kaspbrak would be able to handle more than three seconds in Trashmouth Tozier’s presence.

But boy, was he a lot of fun.

Eddie was loud and super easily wound-up, screaming about fucking UTIs and do not fucking push me man all the piss on the walls of this city could fill the lake and despite his good-boy appearance, he shot back with just as much fire as Richie threw at him.

And fuck, Richie loves it. He loves the ease with which they bounce back and forth. He loves the fury in the boy’s eyes when Richie pisses him off, the laughter that always comes about between them once they settle. The crossing arms and pouting Eddie, who he theorizes secretly loves it when Richie calls him pet names (not that he’d ever admit it); the loud and greatly-gesticulating Eddie who yells louder and pushes harder when Richie coos at him; the one who quietly accepts Richie’s affection, and offers it back in subtle ways: simply holding Richie’s arm when he slings his arms around Eddie’s neck from behind, allowing him to sit next to him thigh-to-thigh, and overall not completely cringing and pushing him off. He took it as a compliment, though they’d never mention it out loud.

On an unfortunate night, his comfortable little world comes crashing down.

His parents are out for some sort of conference weekend trip or whatever, and they’ve called in his deadbeat uncle to ‘watch over the house.’ Not necessarily him (probably because he isn’t home that much), but the house obviously can’t stand up by itself—and, well, maybe they didn’t trust Richie to not accidentally leave the door open, or leave the stove on, or some other stupidly irresponsible little thing. So, the crusty old guy shows up with his greasy, oiled hair and his lack of deodorant and his wilting knees. It makes Richie miss Eddie so, so much when they part, because a.) he smells a lot better, and b.) it would be fucking hilarious for him to see what Richie has to put up with. Like, he’s really not the most rodent-like of his family.

Anyway, Richie doesn’t remember what he says. Something slightly instigative, about the lack of any gourmet-level food in the house (he claimed calmly while wasting away on microwave tater tots and bread, even though his parents had left behind plenty of money to keep him alive), and then suddenly hands were on him.

It stings like a bitch.

His uncle gets up, with a quiet mumble that Richie makes out to be, “Well, let’s see…” and when he finally gets in the kitchen, facing Richie with eyes rung red and shaking fists, he grabs his nephew by a fistful of t-shirt and shoves him against the counter.

At that moment, he really wants his mom. Why the fuck did she and dad leave him with this guy?

“I don’t see you fucking working, or doing much of anything around here, kiddo.”

“Funny, I was gonna say the same to you.”

A blow to his mouth. Richie resists the urge to lift trembling fingers to the spot that he can feel swelling.

“Don’t talk to me like that, asshole! You think you’re so fucking funny, huh?” His uncle drags him forward and shoves him back with conviction, and this time Richie doesn’t answer.

He should have known to stay quiet when he saw his uncle drinking and smoking incessantly in the house, even though his mother had requested that he stay outside for that. It must have been a rough day at the bar, or wherever the fuck he spent his time.

“You need to learn when to be quiet, dipshit. Have some fucking respect.”

For the guy who ignored him for years, didn’t stay in touch, and wasted his existence away on the couch.

Right.

But Richie is snapped from his indignant, grounding thoughts when his uncle lowers his voice. “Do I make myself clear?”

Richie frowns in his face, utterly confused from the swell of attention, still limply holding a bag of bread in his left hand.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes sir.”

The wretched man makes a point to push him into the corner of the cupboards with such a force that he collapses to his knees and can just feel the bruises forming. And he sits there for a minute, all sorts of betrayal and anger and sadness suffocating him.

But he stands up.

And with stinging eyes, a stuffy nose, and shaking hands, he makes himself a simple peanut butter sandwich.

And he stays upstairs for the remainder of the night

It’s a warm, soothing day outside; the sun glows and birds are chirping like some kind of fucking cartoon. In the tall grass the losers sit in frogs croak and crickets chirp and they make a mess of themselves in the circle they form.

“Damn, Rich, what happened to you?” comes Stan’s voice, concerned eyes flashing down to his now royally fucked-up mouth.

“Yeah, dude, what the fuck?” says Bev through a sandwich, truly a charmer.

Richie grins at Bev but answers to Stan, ignoring the sting in the corner of his lips. “Guess I’m a fighter at heart.”

“Richie—“

Bev chimes in once again, a bright, snarky grin on her face, “Richie, you can tell us if it was another accident, we won’t judge. Promise.”

Bev has a way about her; he knows she’s not genuinely the largest, most gaping asshole on earth, and that she actually cared a lot and cried over her friends in the darkest nights, but she also knew how to make light of something dark (even the worst). She probably knew. She probably just had his back in her own funny way, like taking the pressure off the reality.

“Bev, I’ve really, truly, always appreciated your charm, but as my dearest favorite person on earth, fuck off.”

“Richie,” Bill says, then hesitates. In that time, Bev flips Richie the bird, which he answers with an air kiss. “What really h-ah-happened?” He looks him over with a frown, clear blue eyes swallowing him in concern and maybe love.

Richie offers a simple smirk before settling against the trunk of a tree. “Don’t worry about it, Billiam. I’ve got it under control.”

“Whatever you say,” Bev says. She tosses a baggie over to him with his favorite sandwich.

Stan isn’t so easily convinced, eyeing Richie up carefully, but he sits with Bev on the boulder she’s settled on when Richie doesn’t falter in his casual disposition.

It takes a lot of work, as always.

Ben shows up moments later, with a calm and tender, “You alright, Rich?” and when Richie goes off on a stupid tough-guy spiel, he simply lays at the foot of the boulder and flicks open a book, meeting Richie with one of his melting smiles, a gentle invitation, a sweet If you ever need it, I’m there, but allowing him the space to go on as normal. Which is nice.

Richie knows they all care. He knows he could tell them, could pour all of the terror and tragedy he felt the night before into the air and they’d fill up the space; Mike would give him the tightest hug in the world, one to combat the most heinous of things; Stan would sit with him as long as he needed it, Bev would come through with a smoke and the best advice in the world, and Ben would tell him stories or just hang out with him until everything felt a bit lighter, and Bill would give him anything in the world because Richie would do it back. That’s the way they were.

But he can’t do it.

“Sorry I’m late guys,” comes a nasally voice, huffing and puffing, new pressure leaning against the tree, and Richie grins. Eddie.

“It’s okay, Eds,” he says, reaching over a few fingers to tickle Eddie’s knee, giggling when the boy smacks at his hand and doubles over with an exclamatory, Richie!

The others offer a few sleepy greetings, all soaked up in their own forms of entertainment for the quiet afternoon: Bev and Ben, heads close enough to share his walkman; Stan, reading some lengthy oath to birds or something; Mike snoozing lightly on Bill’s shoulder while Bill pores over some adventure map from a fantasy novel.

They had all agreed that it was too tiresome to go swimming today, as the previous night was spent out at Stan’s with a bonfire, and for a few of them, some stolen booze (not very much, but enough that they could pretend to be drunk and giggle profusely). But they still wanted to hang out, so this was the middle ground. An afternoon picnic in the shade.

Eddie quickly notices his lip and drops down to his side. “Richie, what happened to you? Was it Bowers again? I swear to god, I will fucking kill that guy--”

Richie smiles softly at the protective words, and tries to turn it into a smirk. “Eddie, baby, don’t worry,” he says. “It’s just a little bump.”

Surprisingly, Eddie sidles up next to him, using the pad of his thumb to press at the sides of Richie’s mouth, apparently assessing some sort of damage. “Don’t call me that.” He scowls. “What did you do? Did you ice it? Clean this cut at all? Cause you could get an infection, you know, you really should clean it.”

Richie bats his eyes. “Clean it for me, sweets?”

“Fuck off. Forget I cared.”

“Ah, come on, Spaghettio. I didn’t mean it.” He pulls Eddie down with a simple gesture, pressing his palm to the boy’s shoulder and dragging. The boy rests against the trunk, nestled in Richie’s side.

But that’s the complicated thing. He sorta wishes he could mean it. In a small, poking-at-the-back-of-his-head-always kind of way.

“Just—tell me what happened,” Eddie pipes up quietly from his side.

When Richie glances down, he takes to heart how disgruntled Eddie still looks, crossing his arms and almost pouting.

He shrugs. “Your mother was simply affronted by how good I am with my mouth, Eds, she couldn’t take it anymore.”

Eddie presses his mouth into a line, rolls his eyes at the stupid British voice Richie had developed, and busies himself with a thrilling edition of The Lancet

Later, as dusk settles in and pale purple skies replace the bright blue, and the club leaves with simple ‘goodbye’s and promises to do something fun tomorrow, Eddie shifts from his nap. He’d passed out with his head slammed back against Richie’s arm (he’d caught it just before he fell to the ground, avoiding a lengthy rant about potential concussions and medical bills), curled in the opposite direction from Richie’s abdomen. As he wakes, through, he rolls over, elbow digging into Richie’s side.

“Ah-ow,” Richie groans, sitting up from his cataconic state of reading Ben’s stolen comics and avoiding moving and waking Eddie. But he’d just dug the pointiest part of his entire firecracker body into Richie’s ribs, where Richie had attempted and failed to nurse a bruise he’d accrued from a vicious cupboard corner. It was at an awkward angle, and he refused to go down to get more ice packs once they melted, so he slept unsoundly and laid uncomfortably.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles, voice muddled with sleep. “Shit, it’s late. When did I fall asleep? My mom’s gonna kill me.”

Even in that gurgly, world upside-down state of post-nap consciousness, the boy freaks out about his mother. Richie sighs and rubs his shoulder.

“You’re all good, Eddie boy,” he attempts for a creaky, witchy voice, but it’s half-assed because he gets so tired of this lady. Not Eddie ranting, that was fine, and he knew the kid needed to get it out of his system; but he was fucking tired of Mrs. K hurting his boy. “You took your meds on time, fell asleep shortly after. Might need to amputate my arm now, though.”

His boy.

Eddie sits up, and Richie stares at his back, illuminated in the dusk, because he wore a fun yellow today, resting prettily against his tanned, freckled skin.

(Maybe Richie had looked over, amused, for a few moments, as Eddie snored and twitched his nose in his sleep; and he counted the freckles on Eddie’s arm, his cheek, whatever he could see for entertainment.)

Eddie glances back at him, and Richie distracts himself with his bag, shifting his eyes awkwardly from the boy’s gaze.

“Well, well, good sir, shall I walk you home on this fine night?”

Eddie’s brow furrows. “Richie, what’s that?”

His eyes are trained intently on the aforementioned bruise, and its cousins that pepper his hips, only exposed because he slipped and let his shirt ride up when he bent over.

He clears his throat, scrambling for some dumbass answer, wholeheartedly unprepared for the severity of this conversation. “You know how the ladies throw themselves—“

“Okay, you know what, fine.” Eddie stands quickly, stumbling slightly, and braces himself against the tree. “You don't have to fucking tell me. Just come home with me, okay?”

“A night with Eddie Kaspbrak? Why, you’re really a dream-come-true kind of guy.”

“Your lip is bleeding again,” he responds simply, apparently not one for fun at this very moment. “I can clean it.”

Richie pops up from the ground, feeling quite pip pip, tally ho about the whole thing. “Righty-o, Eddie boy.

That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of Eddie’s porcelain-white bathtub, dirtying it with his messy jeans and dirt-coated nails.

It takes a lot of strategic planning, lots of sneaking past Mrs. K, and then sweet-talking and kisses from Eddie once she wakes up freaking out about how late he was. But, after about fifteen minutes of contest-worthy screeching from the woman, Eddie stomps up the stairs, slams the door with a very I’m gonna pull my hair out look, and has to take about three extra minutes to compose himself, ranting under his breath.

Richie just stares at his distorted reflection in the shining silvery faucet, the violet under his eyes and the renewed puffiness of his lip, Hawaiian pattern of his shirt disheveled in the odd mirror.

He knows not to engage unless Eddie actually speaks up to him, meaning this run-in was probably just overly grating and mentally draining, considering, well, how his mother is. He just needs a second to get it out, not any kind of heartfelt talk (which Richie sucks at anyway) or even a lighthearted joke. The boy paces and growls into a fist. Then, eventually, he breathes, “Okay.”

Eighteen minutes. Eighteen minutes of sitting around and waiting for Eddie, just for him to kneel in front of Richie, doe eyes clear and focused, dabbing so, so gently at his battered lip.

In a way, it’s heaven.

“I take it your mom can’t wait for me to buy dinner, eh?”

Eddie sighs. “Apparently this time I’m gonna contract malaria, Rich, didn’t you know? There’s an incredible outbreak this time of year and I’m obviously not prepared to avoid fucking mosquitoes, what with my fifteen bottles of bug spray and essential oils. I’ll probably die tomorrow!”

“I will make sure that your funeral is a fucking rager dude, don’t you worry. Booze on me.”

A ghost of a smile.

“Richie…” he breathes out in a long winded way, saying nothing and everything for way too long. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

Richie raises an eyebrow. “Man, I thought you were gonna back out on your previous offer, but I guess the call for a night with Richie Tozier is too much to back away from. I get it.” He smiles painfully at the way Eddie’s face crumples with something like boredom. “Christ, dude, what’s your poison?” He makes a face at the antiseptic substance that trickles into his mouth.

“Maybe if you kept your mouth shut for once, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

Richie beams, which just causes Eddie to huff even more.

“Please, just stay still!

“It was my uncle,” Richie finally says, forcing a bored expression onto his face as he flips through a rather dull magazine, sprawled on Eddie’s bed. “And it wasn’t a big deal.”

Panic flashes across Eddie’s face. His cheeks burn red, and his leg jitters anxiously against Richie’s, but his voice remains level, which Richie thanks dear lordy Jesus for. “Your uncle? He hit you?”

“Well,” Richie pauses. “Uh, kinda. He was just really drunk, Eds, and he got mad and I was in the way.”

“In the way?”

He shrugs, a small smile quirking his lip up. “Am I not usually?”

“Rich.” Eddie’s voice is really soft in that moment, gentler and quieter than anything Richie has heard from him in all the time he’s known his fellow loudmouth. It simultaneously terrifies and thrills him. Eds. Eddie brings his knees to his chest, leaning back against the headboard. “You say a lot of dumb shit, but that doesn’t mean you should be hurt.” He must notice Richie’s uncomfortable look, because he adds lightly, “Most of the time, anyway.”

“Woah, Eddie, don’t go overboard with the kindness or anything--”

“Damn it, Richie.” He casts his eyes downward. “I’m just trying to say - um - thanks for telling me. Sorry if that’s fucked up to say, but I know you didn’t want to, so, yeah. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

Richie swallows deeply with a slow nod, focusing his eyes on the blurry words in front of him. “Well, if there’s anyone I’d tell, it’s Dr. K. He’s gonna be the one to save my life, right?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Right.” He kicks at Richie’s foot, a subtle way of telling him to move over so he can get under the covers.

“Night, toots.”

“Goodnight, Richie.

Richie thinks he knows everything possible about Eddie thus far.

He knows when he needs to take his meds, an internal clock he recently developed; he knows that the boy is not nearly as fragile as he sometimes seems, and if he really tried, he could pack a punch; he knows that he loves fervently and he’ll always take care of his friends, even if it’s in a way that would usually disgust him.

Case in point: he didn’t seem to freak out at Richie’s bleeding lip, even when a steady stream of blood started dripping down his chin from the contact of trying to clean it out, though he usually cringed if he got so much as a scratch from a twig. Somehow, some way, he simply held pressure on the wound and told Richie to hold some ice on it (“Ordering me around now, hot stuff? I can work with that,”), and washed his own hands thoroughly in the sink.

What he doesn’t know until that night, is that Eddie is a cuddler. At least, half-asleep, groggy Eddie is. Like, this kid must be more starved for affection than he is. Richie had curled himself in a ball toward the edge of the mattress, willing himself not to do so much as even press his back against Eddie’s, way too afraid of the ease with which two people can tangle themselves together in the night, terrified of what would happen if he woke up with Eddie’s hands on him, wrapped up in Eddie, Eddie’s terrible morning breath against his cheek, Eddie Eddie Eddie. But while Richie had stressed himself into falling halfway off the bed, Eddie had flopped over in his sleep, slung an arm across Richie’s waist and, seeming to sense that he had something to hold, pulled him in tight to his chest. Though Richie’s breath caught in his throat, he figured, well, no one could really see them then, so what was the harm in passing out like that? No one had to know. He could pass it off like he’d been sleeping the whole time.

But he cherishes every fucking minute of it

Richie wakes to the sound of something pounding, a steady beat, and in that state of slowly waking from a dream he thinks it’s some old drum, playing lowly in the corner by some restless figure. When he comes to, his eyes creaking open slowly, he sees the gentle orange-ish hue of the morning sky, the neat room around him, the scent of detergent and soothing fabric softener wafting near his face. And he realizes his head is tucked into Eddie’s side, the boy’s slowed heartbeat thumping softly against his ear.

Normally, he’d just let Eddie sleep, as he’s usually only the asshole waking everyone up when it’s the whole gang. He doesn’t mind spending a few hours by himself in the morning. In fact, he enjoys the opportunity to try to fall back asleep (even though he never does).

But with a sudden impulse, he lays a palm on Eddie’s ribcage and pushes himself up onto his elbows, then shakes the boy.

“Eddie.”

A muffled, “Mmph?”

“Eds, wake up.”

The boy drags a pillow over his ears for all of two seconds before Richie tickles his stomach. Then he crankily sits up and lets out a gruff, “What?”

Richie grins. “The sunrise, Eds! Look, it’s so pretty, you have to believe me.”

Eddie responds by laying his cheek on Richie’s shoulder blade, slumping forward with his eyes still closed. “You do know,” he breathes, “that if the sun is just rising, it’s like, six a.m.?”

“Hmm, 5:49, but close enough, I suppose.”

The most huffy breath that Eddie can manage at this hour tickles the hairs on the back of Richie’s neck. “Did you know that people who don’t sleep enough die a lot younger? There are serious health consequences.” It doesn’t come out in his usual fiery, punctuated tone; it’s soft and filled with a yawn and he’s pretty sure Eddie might fall back asleep just like that. “You can’t die early on me, Richie. And I don’t want to. Go back to sleep.” He peeks one eye open at the window, squinting at the glow of the sun. “It is pretty, though.” With that, he falls back against the pillow and curls into a ball against the wall.

And Richie’s pretty damn sure in that moment that he’s, like, in love

And, sure, that’s terrifying.

He has no one to talk to about it and nothing could convince him it’s normal, so he shrugs it off and pretends it isn’t there.

Cause that’s a good way to cope, right?

It doesn’t matter that Eddie is so easily comfortable with him—he’s a low-pressure person, is all. And no one had called out the way pet names rolled off Richie’s tongue so easily, because that was just a part of his joke. Normal. Easy.

Until it wasn’t

You see, there’s this bitch Pennywise. This idiot clown terrorizes his friends, kills people, haunts their nights and days, and fucks with their minds. Tries to turn them against each other. And they can’t even throw a jest back! It’s a sick system.

Well, anyway, the losers end up in some crickety, wooden, falling-apart-at-the-seams murder house on Neibolt, because Bill wants to find his brother and none of them are willing to abandon him. Instead, Richie gets to see himself dead, face off with a monstrous fucking clown, and hear heart-wrenching screams from Eddie that he can’t even help, because he can’t get out.

When he does, he reunites with Stan and Bill, using the few seconds he has to catch his breath.

Just as quickly, he loses it.

In front of him lies Eddie, arm twisted at the ugliest, most heinous angle, and not only is he probably in pain and freaking out about the arm, but a 7-foot tall clown is sauntering towards him with a stupid swaggering gait, like it knows that they can’t do anything to save Eddie.

Eddie.

The boy cowers against dust and fallen wood that must be itching to give him splinters; tears streak down his dirty face and his chest rises and falls rapidly, as Pennywise taunts him. Fucking horses around, making stupid noises and joking while Eddie falls apart, and Richie doesn’t know how to save him, even after everything Eddie’s done for him. Richie is vaguely aware of Stan grasping his shoulder, trying to ground him, and he silently thanks him as he glances around for fucking anything to use as a weapon, because he certainly can’t jump into this blindly--

Then Beverly busts into the room and stabs the bitch in the head, and Richie can’t think but his feet are moving and he lands in front of Eddie in the few seconds’ time he has to play catch-up. He reminds himself to remind Bev of just how much he loves her later.

For now, though, his focus is Eddie. His ears are ringing and he’s noted the commotion going on behind him, he even realizes that Bill ends up at his side, but his gaze is right on his Eds, grasping at his face, trying to do anything to help him.

“Eds. No, no, no! Look at me! It’s okay. Please be okay.” He steadies his voice and tries really hard not to think about how much he sucks as a caretaker, how he has no fucking clue what to do, but he’s scared and he desperately just wants to take Eddie from the room and keep him safe, forever and ever.

Terror-filled eyes find him as the clown continues toward the three of them, flexing horrendous claws; Richie kneels in front of Eddie and Bill’s at his back, and Richie knows Eddie acknowledges him but he’s whimpering and shaking and staring back at the clown. And Pennywise is thriving.

“Eds,” he says, louder, grabbing Eddie’s chin and forcing it in his direction. “Please just - fuck the clown, okay? Fuck everything. It’s me and you. I’ve got you.” And he’d probably be much more convincing if he weren’t shouting and clinging to Eddie’s shoulders like it means death.

But, he seems to capture the boy’s attention, as he keeps his eyes steadily on Richie and blinks a few times. “My arm!” he cries. “Fuck, I can’t fucking move. I’m gonna die. It hurts, Rich.”

“Hey, you’re not gonna die. I don’t die early on you, you don’t die early on me. That’s the deal.”

“Some deals are made to be broken.”

Eddie is just staring at him, blank eyes staring through him with a grin, a stark contrast to the screaming that was going on just moments before. A surge of panic rises in Richie’s chest, like a freezing wind knocking through his stupid little preteen body. He shakes his head in confusion.

“Eddie, shut up. It’s just your arm. You’re gonna be fine!”

A shrug. “Who’s to say?” And then he sits up, arm convulsing at his side like some dying snake, and Richie flinches and flies back into Bill’s chest. He can’t do this. He can’t help Eddie like he should, he can’t take care of him like he wants to. He’s a coward.

“Rich.” Bill is a million miles away.

Right here, right now, is that thing in Eddie’s place, body rattling like a rag doll. “They’ll find out.” Eddie’s voice is fucked up, scratchy, and his eyes are all wrong; the way he’s staring at him is fucking uncanny. “Get too touchy, Rich, and you know what’ll happen.”

“Stop, please, fucking stop!”

“Richie!” Bill is finally right there, shaking both of his shoulders from behind. “S-stop. You’re f-f-fine. It’s just fucking with your head.”

It takes a few deep breaths, but Richie turns to him and says a quick, ‘Thanks,’ before turning back to real-Eddie, who is now dry-heaving and wailing at the sight of his arm.

Eddie’s chest thrusts forward and back rapidly, and he keeps trying to back further from the bedlam in front of them. His face contorts into an absolutely heart-wrenching cry, and as he looks at Richie, gripping his hand with an iron fist, Richie’s heart splits in two. It’s hard, it’s way too hard not to say I love you, after all that. And it’s hard not to run.

“I don’t wanna die - ”

Richie crawls closer to cradle Eddie’s head. “Eddie, if you die I’ll kill you.” He wants to go home, he wants to cry, he wants to sleep for about three days and pretend this never happened. But he can’t. He has to be here for Eddie, as much as he wants to flee right now. “You’re not going to, you know that? I still owe you ice cream. And I’m gonna get you inside the arcade—“

“Fuck the arcade!”

Somehow, in all of the fuckery going on, Richie laughs. “That’s the spirit!” Eddie, in a scramble to back away from the startle of Pennywise running away, shifts into Richie’s lap. “Okay, Eddie, breathe.” Richie gulps down a breath himself. “I’m gonna snap your arm back into place.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, completely on fire, spitting poison at Richie. “Rich! Do not fucking touch me!”

Richie winces at the words but he hears Bev screaming, “Richie, his arm!” and uses the moment of yelling to just do it, to get Eddie’s arm back to a relatively normal shape, and then he’s screaming and it’s like he wants Richie to cry in front of everyone.

“Okay okay okay, it’s done. No more.” Richie, awkward and lost at what to do, brushes back sweaty hair from Eddie’s forehead, because he’s pretty sure the boy would hate how sticky everything had gotten, and if he could help even one thing, well, it’s something.

He wishes he could help carry Eddie home, sit with him in the hospital, anything to cheer him up.

But he doesn’t get the chance. Mrs. K is outside and snatches Eddie from the losers in the flash of an eye, talking like they broke his fucking arm or something.

That’s when it all goes downhill

Richie storms away from his stupid feud with Bill, the fucking dumbass who punched him in the face because he said he didn’t want a clown to kill him and his friends. He thinks it’s the most reasonable thing he’s ever said, objectively, but whatever. He doesn’t want to lose his friends. But in that moment, he doesn’t see many other options.

When he trudges back home after his third day alone at the arcade, following newly-formed muscle memory to avoid his uncle (close the door slowly, shift weight and run upstairs, wait at least twenty minutes to go back down for food in case he stirs), he notices another car. Immediately, Richie throws open the doors, calling out, “Mom!” and finds her in the kitchen, with his uncle.

“Hey sweetie, I just got home—“ she startles at the sight of him.

“Jeez, that bad?” he jokes, running a hand through his hair. “Just remember, mom, half of this is ‘cause of you.”

She approaches him quickly, summer blazer flowing behind her from the speed, and crouches down just slightly to be at eye-level. “Richie, honey, what did you do to your lip?” she asks. He doesn’t realize right away, but he tilts his head into her touch, and she strokes his cheek gently.

Richie had forgotten about the whole ordeal—his friends almost dying at the hands of a killer clown was pretty damn distracting from his low-life uncle—but now, he sets a spitting glare on the man leaning back and manspreading at their kitchen table.

“Uncle Alan had a few kind words to say over dinner the other night.”

Her tender touch to his face is lost when she whips around to face his uncle, and Richie feels like a little kid again, standing behind his mom and clutching at her coat while she takes care of everything.

“You hit him?” she says, her voice threatening in a low mumble, teeth clenched together. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You touched my kid?” She holds back a hand as though to shield Richie as she slams her other fist on the table.

“How do you know it wasn’t one of his faggy friends? Or maybe some other kid with common fucking sense?”

She leans down and takes him by the front of his shirt. “Don’t you dare, Alan. What the fuck were you thinking?”

Uncle Alan yells back in her face, spit flying, and Richie would jump forward to defend her if she weren’t holding him back so protectively (with one hand!). “Listen, Maggie, if he’s gonna act like that, I’m just preparing him for the real world.”

“You absolute shit! You don’t get to make that decision!” Richie has never, ever seen his mother so angry. “You battered a twelve year old boy! What, do you feel really big now, you pathetic piece of shit? Get the fuck out of my house!” At this point, she’s shaken him and thrown him back against the chair so he falls, catching himself just in time as it cascades to the ground.

“Fuck you, Maggie!”

She follows him down the hall.

“Fuck you!” Richie calls out at his retreating back, before his mother screams about pressing charges and slams the door behind him.

Richie’s mom rushes back into the kitchen to face him. She’s red in the face, eyes on fire, but she softens at the sight of him.

“Richie, sweetheart, I’m sorry we left you.” She cradles his face again. “Hey.” She holds him with both hands. “Listen. If anyone ever hurts you, you call me. If anyone ever so much as threatens you, Rich - ”

Richie, choked up, interjects, “I didn’t know the number, mom. I don’t know where the little paper you wrote it on is, I’m sorry—“

“It’s okay.” She looks at him for a few more moments, then swaddles him up in a big, mama bear hug. “I love you, kid. I hope you know that.”

“I love you too.”

For a few minutes, she just holds him, stroking his back while silent tears fall down his face and onto the chest of her shirt. She doesn’t seem to mind

It’s late. Richie doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s on top of the world.

He ends up at Eddie’s house, even though he knows they’re not talking and Eddie’s mom might kill him on sight, he has to see him. Mrs. K can go fuck herself.

Outside the boy’s bedroom window, he raps quietly with his knuckles, just about buzzing with a high, high feeling toward life. He can see Eddie lying in bed, struggling to prop up a book to read, lamplight cascading onto his skin - that is, until he hears Richie, and flies toward the window with a crazed look.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, brows knitting together. “My mom will kill you if she hears you.”

That doesn’t matter so much to him at that moment. “Eddie!” He swings his legs over the banister and jumps into the room, adrenaline and something like love pushing him to lift Eddie to his chest and spin. “Eds, my mom came home early and she kicked that motherfucker out of my house!”

Eddie’s eyes are crazed from the spinning and he clings to Richie’s shoulder with his good hand; and he grins, a giggle caught in his lips. “That’s great, Richie. Fuck that guy.”

“Yeah, fuck him! And god Eddie, she - she protected me, and we just spent hours together, watching movies and making dinner like old times, and it was amazing, and - god, I know I sound like a dork, but I - ”

He pauses, mostly because he’s out of breath from machine-gunning a paragraph out of nowhere; but also because in his flustered state he didn’t register the sweet-cheeked smile that Eddie is currently melting him with.

But when he does, Richie thinks to himself: sure, blue eyes are great; they can be compared to the sky or the ocean or whatever other cheesy nature bit all goddamn day. But Eddie’s eyes - hell, he doesn’t care if he sounds like a cornball - they’re fucking amazing. They usurp all of that bullshit. He’s used to them when they’re blown wide in surprise, or holding him in a steely glare for some dumb joke, and he loves them then; but right now he catches a kind of tenderness hidden in the dark. Something that envelops him in warmth and pinks his cheeks.

Eddie takes the opportunity to pipe up. “Richie,” he says, “I’m really happy for you.”

He means it. Richie knows he means it, because for the last several days, he’s heard Eddie mumbling to himself somewhat privately about ‘that piece of shit,’ and right now he’s clutching Richie’s sleeve and smiling without a trace of mockery.

And he’s perfect.

His tousled hair that’s rustled from what looks to have been a constant stream of fingers, stressed over the book or his mom or god-knows-what; the oversized t-shirt he’s drowning in and short shorts and perfectly matched socks; and those shining eyes and friendly smile and soft fucking hands that hold all the electricity of Richie’s excitement - all perfect.

And Richie, Richie could just kiss him.

He doesn’t.

Mrs. K knocks at the door.

“Eddie bear, it’s time for your nighttime oils!”

Richie cracks a wise-ass smile. “Eddie bear, if I’d known you needed nighttime oils, well, I would have come prepared.”

“Get the fuck out,” Eddie says. The laughter catching on his lips tells another story.

Richie throws an utterly charming wink in his direction and crouches in the window, preparing to jump out and make his escape.

“Wait!” Eddie grabs the back of Richie’s t-shirt. “It’s cool that you stopped by. It’s - it’s been lonely in this hellhole. I might have gone insane if I thought you guys forgot about me.”

“Aw, I’d never forget you, cutie.” Richie, stomach twisting and turning, supports himself with his forearm on the outside of the window. “And, anyway, I gotta practice my Romeo somewhere, right?”

Eddie lets out a characteristic huff. “Whatever.”

It’s quiet, save for the distant tweeting crickets, and the scent wafting through the nighttime is intoxicating, and for the following moments the world reminds them to just breathe.

“You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

“I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.”

“I know.” He smiles. “I’ll see you, Tozier.”

Richie, without any reservations (until he thinks back on it later), reaches out as though to pinch Eddie’s cheek, but instead, runs his thumb along Eddie’s cheekbone. “See ya, Eds.” He smiles. “I’m gonna get you out of here someday.”

Eddie shakes his head as Richie takes his hand away from Eddie’s newly red cheeks and makes his way back to the ground, muttering, “My hero.”

And Richie looks back with a grin at the silhouette of the dork in the window, saluting before taking off

It sucks when Beverly leaves.

It’s an early morning, red and orange hues breaking across the skyline like a cracked egg, and Richie, Stan, and Ben all gather around to watch her disappear off to the nearest airport, and then disappear from them forever. Though it’s not nearly as mopey and depressing as it could have been, it’s hard to watch her go; a warm energy follows her as she hugs them all goodbye, looking at them with her all-knowing, crooked little smile, rolling her eyes but expressing more love than any of them had ever known, and Richie knows she means every word of loving and missing that she says. And he knows he’ll miss her more than anything.

He does. Not much helps with the pain of missing someone, but as the days go by, pieces of her slowly slip from his mind, until finally she’s all gone

New Years offers promises of ‘new me’s and resolutions and maybe some kind of peace. And considering everything, it’s the saving grace Richie thinks he needs.

A chance to forget his uncle, the murderous clown that haunts his dreams, and his personal revelation that he loves Eddie Kaspbrak.

It didn’t ruin their friendship by any means, just made his cheeks flush and heart throb and his rebuttals come back stutter-y when Eddie merely smiled at him. It was stupid textbook puppy love. He never thought he’d fall for that.

And, he’s not gay. He can’t be, or he’ll have to pay the price.

It's just that Eddie is his best friend. They’re all best friends, but Eddie never really stopped engaging with his exhausting jokes like the others, when it was finally too much. Eddie always bickered back, he took the bait and bit back. Eddie took him home when he got hurt and cared for him and then went right back to fighting.

He loves Eddie the way he should love someone like Bev.

But it’s nothing.

The night is cutting, crisp with a fresh wintery bitterness, biting at Richie’s nose until it’s practically bleeding. To be fair, he’d opted to only wear one of his lighter jackets and some gloves, so it’s his own fault that his scalp is freezing over and he’s shaking on his way to the loser’s little spot in the meadow.

At least his friends are smart.

Stan sports a matching tartan hat and scarf, bundled up around his face so only the pinkish tip of his nose is poking out; Bill has a nice puffy coat and a hat with a bauble rested atop his head; Ben’s ushanka hat is wrapped tightly under his chin, and he waves at Richie with mittens keeping his hands warm; Mike is representing a lot of fleece, and he grins at Richie, shaking his head when he sees his lack of winter clothes; and then there’s Eddie, wearing a coat that has to be at least an extra large, and a knitted cap, bundled up so only his fussy eyes and nose are squinting out at Richie.

In Richie’s defense, he was running late, and he had sprouted a little bit in the last few months, so his previously comfortable winter coat was now tight and painful in the shoulders and chest. This jacket was his best option in the 30-second long window he had to get dressed and run out the door to attempt to be on time.

Stan levels a look at him, thoroughly appreciating his idiocy, and obviously not pitying his shaking form more than a quick flash of sympathy in his eyes; he cares, but Richie obviously brought this upon himself. The ensuing cold would be his own fault, and he’d call Stan to complain, just to grin quietly as the boy went on the calmest rant about how stupid he is and then hang up. It’s just how they worked.

Richie wonders if he’d tell a potential partner that they should have brought a coat to a date if they complained of the temperature. It’s beside the point, but amusing.

“C’mon man, you didn’t think about a scarf at least?” Mike says as a greeting, laughing a little bit as he removes his own and wraps it messily around Richie’s neck. In that moment, Richie would give up his life for this kid. The body heat/fleece combo immediately brings him back from the brink of a nosebleed.

“Richie doesn’t think, period.” Stan sticks his hands in his pockets and stares at him, ghosts of amusement playing on his cheeks.

Richie flashes his teeth in a big ol’ grin. “That’s pretty accurate, actually, I just wanted to be with you guys on time so badly, you know.”

Bill lets out a small, unenthused, “Aww.”

Richie simply chuckles and tries to wrap his fingers in Mike’s scarf to help with the inevitable hypothermia. Eddie winds up next to him in their gathering, sucking in a big breath through his nostrils and huffing out shortly.

He bumps Eddie’s arm with his elbow and says, “What’s up with you, Eds?”

Eddie nearly topples over from the size of the coat weighing him down, and he curses under his breath before standing back up and glaring at Richie. “You really didn’t wear a bigger coat, dumbass?”

“As you can see, no,” Richie chuckles.

Eddie presses his tongue into his cheek. “Well, you can share mine. It’s more than big enough.”

Oh.

Right, sharing a coat. That’s fine. No pressure or anything.

Richie aims for a cool response, some funny voice or smooth and subtle, and lands on, “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”

So, they share. And it’s pretty great.

Eddie unzips it and pulls Richie in, and they collaborate to pull it up and then Richie is pressed up against Eddie’s side, in public, already sweating even though he’s still cold because he doesn’t know if he can handle this.

Fortunately, they’re hidden by the dark, so maybe the boy or their friends won’t notice his red cheeks (or they’ll chalk it up to the cold) and the extra focus he has to place on acting normal. Because Eddie smells nicer than most boys their age, and he’s got a heart too big for his body, and Richie’s sure that Eddie loves him back in at least some way. It’s not just anyone that would get to be this close, squeezed into a coat with him.

Richie feels sick.

But the fireworks are starting, and they might be sparse and lackluster in the hell that is Derry, but each loser looks to the sky with love, with appreciation, in awe of the fact that something beautiful can apparently come from hell.

Barely, just barely, Eddie’s head falls against Richie’s shoulder as they gaze up into the inky black sky illuminated by cakes of fireworks, and he whispers, “Wow,” under his breath right next to Richie’s ear, and now Richie’s contemplating between the two possible causes of his death: he combusts, or he stops breathing - to be determined.

Richie begs the universe for advice in the ultimate predicament. And to his great relief, memories seep back into his brain; those of freckled cheeks, teeth balancing a cig as a mouth talks, and bundles of ginger curls bouncing as her head turns in his direction.

“Bev would love this.”

Riche catches the way Ben looks over at him pretty much immediately - at them, sharing body heat in Eddie’s coat - and then how the boy stares at the ground and mumbles a soft, “Yeah.” He looks back at Richie, holds his eye contact for a sweet, lingering moment, then gazes back at the sky, hopefully thinking of love as much as Richie is.

Bill, Mike, and Stan all follow, tearing their eyes away briefly to make quick eye contact with each other, and then Richie, and Eddie even shifts to look up at him, and they all smile wistfully as though the girl is there with them, snarky remarks and toothy smiles keeping them all afloat. Richie feels like he’s going to break open and cry enough to fill the whole universe, so he sniffles and looks back up at the sky, breaking the moment of magic.

But it remains with them.

It remains as they share this together, as they enter the new year together, promising hope for a happier future as long as they stick with each other.

And it remains as Eddie Kaspbrak takes his hand under the coat and murmurs, “Happy new year, Richie.”

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #fanfiction #fluff #angst #sharing a bed #pining #new years #summer #mine #gosh i hope this isnt too dorky sfhdgjhsdfg

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fictionalrambles · 4 years ago

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Shadowhunters Fandom Story - Part Fifteen

Submitted by jwrites_

Five Favourite Fics:

1. What's It Gonna Be by @lemonoclefox

Why I love this fic: I'm a sucker for Pride & Prejudice. San was able to take that dynamic and put it all in a modern day telling of it. I can't count how many times I've read this. Sometimes I read it all the way through, other times I go and find my favorite parts just to get that rush of emotions it never fails to give. The enemies to lovers is done perfectly, the dialogue is great and flows seamlessly, the way she tied in the storyline between Simon, Isabelle, Valentine, and Alec together was genius. I truly love every word of this story.

Favorite scene: Awkward - love - confession - in - the - rain

Favorite quote(s):

(Yes. Love confessions are great but have you ever overheard someone say something rude about you and then have the opportunity later that same night to be able to casually call that person out for their comment?)

"Her friend is..." He trails off, as though searching for the word, and Magnus can imagine him gesturing in the meantime. "Interesting," Jace eventually settles on, pointedly.

"Who, that Bane guy?" Alec says, and as he does, Magnus is hit with a wave of intrigued surprise. Does Alec like men? Interesting. The assumption could be wrong, of course, but Jace's tone implies that that's why he's mentioning it. "He's a bit over the top, don't you think?"

He sounds almost disdainful as he says it, as though Jace's mere suggestion is laughable, and Magnus's intrigue immediately shifts to offended annoyance. He straightens a little where he stands, reluctantly affected by it.

"I mean, love songs are great," Magnus admits lightly. "But stringing a few pretty words together does seem a bit unoriginal when everyone does it."

Simon shoves him lightly in offense, and Magnus can't help but laugh.

"Then what do you suggest?" Magnus is taken completely by surprise when he realizes that it's Alec who's speaking, and he turns to him. The guy's expression is neutral, but seems genuinely curious.

"Oh, I don't know," Magnus says, swirling his drink around in his glass. He shrugs. "I suppose I'm more a fan of showing and not telling. I'd much prefer someone showing interest in what I like and who I am, than comparing my eyes to the night sky, and whatnot." He gestures airily, then hesitates. He suddenly can't seem to stop himself, the memory of the Lightwoods' overheard conversation bubbling to the surface. "I think most people can appreciate that. Even if some of us are a bit over the top."

--Okay...I'm gonna go ahead and throw in a love confession~

"Look, I don't expect anything from you," he says, as though the words are hard to say. "You've made your feelings pretty clear, and I respect that. But I heard you talked to my mom, and with the stuff you said to her... I guess it just kind of made me a bit hopeful, or something. A bit." He clears his throat, while Magnus just listens. He turns to watch Alec's profile as the young man struggles to find the words, eyes on the view in front of him. "Either way, I'll admit that how I feel hasn't really changed. Maybe it should have, but..."

Alec shakes his head, and Magnus feels his throat go dry. He wants to interrupt Alec, wants to say and show everything that's bursting out of his chest, but he waits. Alec takes a deep breath then, turns to him. He looks determined.

"If you want me to," he says steadily, "I'll go. I'll leave you alone, I promise. You won't hear from me again." He pauses, licks his lips. "But if you don't want me to, if something has changed since last time, somehow... I'd really like to know. Because that would be pretty great."

2. 42 North 71 West by @lecrit

Why I love this fic: I was blessed with the opportunity to witness Lu working on this fic from its conception to its end. I was there and still I am blown away at the way she was able to work the time jumps. I remember thinking with every chapter I read, 'Wow. The way she is telling this story is amazing. She is amazing.' Lu has a way of presenting so much honesty in her characters. She writes them in a way that feels so real, that you can't help but understand their fears and hesitations even though it hurts. The story is a back and forth told through scenes set in the past and present. You get to see what they were and where they are. The story is beautifully heartbreaking. And she was able to make me enjoy a story that dealt with politics? What? Sorcery, I tell you. -- also, the bench.

Favorite scene: This was almost impossible to choose and I took way too long trying to pinpoint just one. But I'm going to go with one that I hold very dear. When Magnus goes to visit Alec on his birthday and he finds Alec playing the song he only plays when he's sad. That's all I'm going to say because I don't want to spoil~

Favorite quote(s):

“Magnus,” Alec breathes out.

The name feels almost foreign, as if he hadn’t uttered it in too long and now his mind is troubling to catch up with his mouth. Still, it manages to make Alec’s heart stutter.

“We should’ve stayed on that bench in Boston,” he murmurs.

The good thing is, he knows where to go to find his way back. It is inked on his body, engraved into his soul, sealed into his heart.

3. Lead The Way by Clockworkswan

Why I love this fic: Because it takes the wonderful adventure of Doctor Who and packs it in with Malec. This is the ultimate fun and feel good but you will also cry at one point fic. I always go back to it if I want a wonderfully written Doctor Magnus and his adorable companion Alec. Seriously, even if you're not into Doctor Who, give this fic a shot. It's written in a way that you will get so caught up in the adventure that you won't even realize it's based on something else. And if you're a Doctor Who fan, you're in luck with all the little Easter Eggs Heather left throughout.

Favorite scene: I really don't want to spoil anything. The planet of Ablorix. This will mean nothing if you don't read the fic (so you should ;])

Favorite quote(s):

Magnus extends a hand. It’s just like before, when they were in the hallway a couple of weeks ago. It’s just as inviting as it was the first time.

“How about it, pretty boy? Name a star. Any one will do. Or a date,” Magnus says. The double meaning is evident when he winks. He pauses then, and his expression shifts, growing solemn.

A clear shift in his demeanour happens. Magnus turns from playful to sincere in the blink of an eye. Although, there was also a serious tone to it. Magnus looks at him, and understanding eyes meet Alec’s hesitant ones. “Alexander, you seem like a man in need of a break, and I am very much a man in need of a friend. Adventures are always a quick way in figuring out what you want. What do you say?”

What does he say?

He says yes.

Of course Alec does.

Before Magnus can think of a good retort, he tries to ignore the clenching ache his stomach gives at the sight of a confident, smirking Alec Lightwood watching him so openly. He settles for pointing in a random direction. “I have to go and see a dog about a man. Meet back here in five?”

“Uh, isn’t the expression, ‘see a man about a dog’?”

“Not when the dog ran off with the man’s wife. A rather big scandal, it seems. The president wants me to try and step in. Smooth things over, so to speak.”

At that, Alec just stares blankly.

Magnus holds up a finger. “Yes, this is normal for me. No, you may not come along. Go.”

4. Love & Other Drugs prequel of Our Love Is A Harsh Chord in the Semi-charmed Kind Life series by @la-muerta

Why I love this fic: I'm kind of cheating here by listing two fics but they're a package deal. Love & Other Drugs was a smutty one-shot that left me wanting

more...

backstory. Let me tell you the pining and 'unrequited' love between those two demanded a story to be written. Which is why when la_muerta ran a poll on whether or not she should start it or another series first, I campaigned for this one like it was my job (I lost but I still got the series eventually so did I really lose?) The writing in this and with all of la_muerta's fics will hook you. The sadness over the back and forth between them is done so well. It's angst that will grip you and hold onto you until you eventually finish. Just go on the twitter hashtag of #OLIAHCfic and see my screaming.

Favorite scene: Probably the LSD scene.

Favorite quote(s):

Alec was still here, in bed with him.

How many times had Magnus wished that he could wake up with Alec in his arms? He didn't dare to move, wanting the dream to last a little longer, but Alec was already stirring.

he'll wonder if life would be a little easier if he wasn't hopelessly in love with Magnus, but it is a fact of who he is now: Alec Lightwood is 6'3, has dark hair, is gay, and is in love with Magnus Bane.

They are lying next to each other now, turned on their sides and face to face. The world is no longer warped and weird, but glowing and perfect. Magnus is tracing a path of lightning down Alec's body with his fingertips, and in a moment of clarity Alec understands that in Magnus' eyes he is as beautiful as he thinks Magnus is (it is the first thing Alec forgets when he wakes up sober later).

Words aren't enough to express how he feels, but they've always understood each other better when clumsy words don't get in the way.

5. The Lonely Hearts Hotline by @unrestrainedlyexcessive

Why I love this fic: It's funny, it's endearing, it's heart wrenching, it's sexy, etc. The way Alec is written in this fic is one of my favorite characterizations. The way his situation can resonate with so many young adults today. That feeling when you're an adult and you feel like you should know what to do with your life and who you should be but the truth is, you're still just as lost as always. Being an adult sucks tbh and even when you're an adult, sometimes life doesn't quite feel like it. Alec's character and growth in this fic is beautiful. (I also really loved Jace in this fic)

Favorite scene: A tough choice. Probably the office party and follow up scene in Magnus' office.

Favorite quote(s):

The problem with being a new grad, in general, is that the world and job force demands you have experience, but you have to live a certain number of productive years on the planet to gain that experience.

Early adulthood is no man's land. You don’t have the experience to matter and no one wants to pay you to gain it, hence how he ended up in the precarious situation he’s in: dodgy sex work by night, an even dodgier roommate, and desperately hoping an internship eventually turns into an actual paying job.

Magnus runs his tongue down the knobs of Alec's spine. "You're so beautiful," he says, pausing.

"I'm really not," Alec insists, eyes fluttering closed.

"Why are you so kind to everyone except yourself?"

"I'm a work in progress."

"Aren't we all?"

#shadowhunters #shadowhunters fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfiction blog

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pluviophile-bookworm · 4 years ago

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AWAE 2x8 rewatch: thoughts and reactions

This goes out to Kyla Matthews for her birthday today. She’s brilliant as Ruby and I hope to see her in something new soon (unless AWAE finally gets renewed, of course #renewanneewithane).

“I plan to have several beaus and be proposed to several times.” Oh sweet Ruby, always such romantic aspirations. I love her.

Anne is really good at proposals. I hope she gets to propose one day. I know that’s not how it happened in the books, but this is a different take on them, so why not in this continuity? Somebody please write me a fic.

Phillips, on the other hand, is not as eloquent. But he gets the blessing. Too bad (not!) there won’t be a wedding after all.

I like how Anne’s hair is growing back. I plan on drawing her in every stage of her hair growth, so I’ll probably do this one right after I’m finished with this review.

The girls are so fascinated by the idea of a wedding. I just hope all of them truly appreciate what an empowering move it will be of Prissy to choose herself over societal expectations at the end of the day.

Will Billy’s cruelty ever stop? And will internalised homophobia stop tormenting Phillips into bullying his students? I unfortunately think the answer to both of these questions is no.

“Sometimes I find bigotry very inconvenient.” I love how well Bash is taking this. But the part about the bog... I don’t want to think about it. And the bigotry doesn’t stop here. Billy, of course, who else.

I’m glad Rachel is trying to apologise, but she seems to lack the vocabulary to do it well. And the bigotry won’t end with one apology, unfortunately. #blacklivesmatter

“I hope whoever we get next will actually be interested in teaching.” You go, Gilbert! I’m glad someone is finally addressing Phillips’ incompetence when it comes to educating young people. They’ll be a lot better off with Miss Stacy.

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert is a passionate individual, alright.” Yes, she is, and of course, Gilbert’s always known it for as long as he’s known her. Also, I love how he and Anne are, in a way, sharing a snack in this pair of parallel scenes.

Sweet Ruby! “I’ve already monogrammed several kerchiefs with the initials G.B.” Too bad you’ll have to change it.

“ A beautiful wife to her husband.” What does Josie know about that? There are more important things than beauty and I’m glad Anne is well aware of that. Books are a great thing to “enter your new life” with.

I bet this is the moment that made Prissy think twice about getting married. Being denied her human right to pursue higher education is a good enough reason for any young woman to run away at the altar.

Breaking the window with Cole’s clay - how unfortunately clever of Billy. I bet Phillips will lay the blame on his usual target now, even though Cole had nothing (but the piece of clay) to do with that. And look how Phillips picks up the clay like it’s a piece of... a different substance that my blog type doesn’t quite allow me to say out loud, or type here. I guess you cna figure it out for yourselves. You know what I mean.

No, Phillips can’t be seriously doing that. I can’t even watch. But I do love the dignity with which Cole stands up to his so-called “teacher”. “If you want to hate someone, you should look in the mirror.” And then he just walks out. We stan a legend.

You know, eye health is important, and it seems to be one of the more underrated messages of AWAE. Plus there’s absolutely nothing wrong with reading glasses, regardless of age. Both my parents have reading glasses, though they’re “too young”, as some might say. Taking care of your health has nothing to do with age. I hope Marilla realises that.

I’m beyond pleased to see there is no trace of bigotry in the doctor’s treatment of Bash. There are some decent people at least.

A good doctor Gilbert will be, for sure. If he passes out at the sight of a shot (not that I don’t but I’m not aspiring to become someone who might give them on a regular basis), how is he going to handle the profession he aspires to? Remains to be seen.

“Why do you think Mr. Phillips hates you so?” Good question, Anne, and I know the answer well. He just can’t accept himself, so he’s bullying anyone who reminds him of what he is. And right now, that’s Cole. Internalised homophobia is horrible. I almost feel bad for Phillips himself.

There, Cole came out to Anne. And she has the best reaction ever, even though neither of the two possess the vocabulary to describe what Cole just said he is. Gay. Used to mean “happy, bright, colourful”. Such a beautiful word. And some really important topics are being discussed there. Seriously, this show had a bright future that was cut short. #saveannewithane

There, Anne proposes that they have a friendly marriage if they don’t find their “romantical kindred spirits”, as she so beautifully puts it. This might have been so beautiful. Too bad it won’t be after all, but I’m sure that, in Charlottetown, at least, where people seem to be more open-minded (or is that just Aunt Jo and her friends? Even so, they’re enough.), he will one day find a lovely young man and the two of them will never feel unlawful together. I love thinking about that.

“A beautiful place where black people dance beautifully in the snow” Poor, poor Bash. What he’s about to see will unfortunately be far from pretty. How many times will I say “unfortunately” within this review? There’re too many of them already. But what can I say? Sometimes things get a little bit... unfortunate. Unfortunately.

The guy from the train is kind of like Phillips in a way - he despises Bash for dealing with similar problems better than himself. I feel bad for him.

Prissy’s mother seems to be a good woman. “Educated wives who think for themselves.” Sounds good. And also, Prissy, yes, you are a child. And no, you don’t know what you want. Not yet at least.

Hey, there’s Mary. I guess Bash had to go to the bog after all. Otherwise he wouldn’t have met her. All clouds have a silver lining, I guess. Even this one.

“Pretty-ish piece of property”. Nice alliteration. Bad notion. I’m glad Anne wants to be “equals and partners”, and “life mates”. Also, didn’t Topanga once use that last one in an episode of Boy Meets World? Wait, I’ve got it noted somewhere... yes, as early as episode 1x9. She used it to describe a spouse. I guess it’s sort of universal now. Life mates. I like it.

“I don’t shy away from the truth of how I feel like some fellas I know”. I see Bash’s position as captain of the Shirbert ship and his love for teasing Gilbert about it haven’t changed one bit.

Marilla “bequeathing” the brooch to Anne was a lovely mother-daughter moment, and an underrated one at that, given their history with that brooch.

Maybe it wasn’t Phillips’ words about Prissy not going to college; maybe it wasn’t her mother’s words; maybe it wasn’t even Anne’s innocently insensitive words that made her reconsider getting married. Maybe it was a compound of all those things. But whatever it was, I’m glad it happened. Still, even under the circumstances, as someone who has never seen a wedding from the bride’s side of the family (one of my male cousins got married a couple of years ago, so I’ve seen the groom’s side), I can’t but feel the thrill of the wedding preparations. Even under the circumstances.

The way Gilbert’s looking at Anne, one’d think he wants it to be him and her up at the altar. And it will be - someday in their bright future. But their wedding will be nothing like this one.

As I said, this is a supreme moment of female empowerment. Prissy as a runaway bride, I mean. And I’m happy the girls got to share it with her. And that they could laugh about it despite all that the people will surely say soon enough about the whole affair. A beautiful ending to the beautiful essay about weddings and marriage that was this episode.

Let’s sum up: Ruby wants multiple proposals; an elegant pretend-proposal coming from Anne and a not so elegant one from Phillips; Billy is a douche to Cole and Phillips acts as an outright monster; Cole faces bullying with dignity; Bash faces bigotry with no less dignity, wants to see the bog, meets Mary; eye health is important; the good doctor faints at the sight of a needle; Cole comes out to Anne; a friendly proposal; Marilla bequeaths the infamous brooch to Anne; Prissy is a runaway bride in a supreme moment of female empowerment.

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tossertozier · 5 years ago

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hey i was wondering if you could talk a little about your thoughts behind eddie and richie's very limited playlist. i realise its quite an old fic now but something abt it has rly stuck with me since i first read it ages ago and i would be super interested to understand richie and the other losers perspectives on eddie and richies relationship. eddies head is always quite a lonely difficult place to be and i would love to know how you see this version of eddie and richie going forward 1/2

no worries if its difficult/youre too busy but if you have a moment i would rly love to read a little more about that universe. thank you !! 2/2

honestly anon i just read the beginning segment of that fic and i had to stop. i could call it projection: the fic. all of my fics are to some extent.... but that fic is nearly obvious. the entire opening sequence is straight out of my own life.

this is the fic in question if anyone hasn’t read it. i would read it before reading this post. the post is almost as long and will spoil the whole thing.

but of course in real life the guy i was fucking at the time was not my long term best friend so their relationship in the fic would be a lot more complex. i was never thinking about marrying my fuck buddy. but i did only fuck him bc he reminded me of someone else.

i decided to go with making it so new rules wasn’t necessarily applying to just eddie or just richie but could be about either of them. it’s definitely one of the more tragic of my fics. the part where richie and eddie have sex because they can’t have a conversation hurts me. it’s a very personal piece of myself to have written into a fic. “eddie laughs as he grabs his upper arms and he thinks to himself that this is it. this is almost enough.” && then later with the “i always thought you two were meant to be.” “please, please.” he tightens his pinky in hers, and spares a glance for bill “don’t say that.” like... the whole thing is so sad. i left it ambiguous in the writing with intention, bc i think it’s much more interesting to read things that leave room for interpretation, but when i was writing it, i was envisioning richie as in love with eddie. it’s unreciprocated but eddie needs to feel that love and attention anyway so he lets richie love him.

the other complicated piece of it is in this fic and really in none of my others, eddie really underestimates richies intelligence. “for fuck’s sakes, eddie.” he rips his hands off of him and eddie feels the cold bit his skin where richie leaves it, “don’t lie to me,” he stands up, whipping off his shirt even though it’s apparent they’re not having sex that night. “i’m not a fucking child.” he uses the deodorant on eddie’s dresser. he trades shirts out for one in his black leather bag. he shuts eddie’s door behind him. he doesn’t know what hurts more, that he’s off to find another what’s-her-face, or that eddie has to make himself care about it.

richie is well aware eddie doesn’t love him back but richie is content to take what he can get. eddie doesn’t love him back because he doesn’t think richie will ever love him in the way he imagines being loved. in the way he imagines bill loving him, or bill being as a lover. richie does love eddie, but eddie doesn’t really acknowledge that because it is not what he has always imagined love to look like.

he just wants to be in love with richie tozier, who doesn’t love him, but in a different way. a survivable way.

when i wrote this i was having a lot of thoughts about hero worship and eddie and bill and didn’t really have a space in any of my other fics to dive into it. it wouldn’t have worked in on pointe as eddie didn’t desperately need a role model at that point in his life. &tfat! eddie has already well moved past that. tfoas bill was a huge fucking mess. i wanted to put thoughts out there on what happens when you spend a lot of time fantasizing. i think a lot of young (especially gays) do. the creation of this person in your head and exactly how they would love you is such a hard thing for any REAL person to combat. really i just wanted to get out some feelings about how fantasy can really disrupt real life. bill and eddie not interacting in the fic is purposeful. i wanted to show that eddie’s fantasies are sort of baseless, but he clings to them anyway. they feel safe, even if they hurt him.

& then the

eddie knows richie does this purposefully, takes all the real decision making out of his hands. he asks the question but lets eddie decide what the question even is.

this is the passage that really sums up why eddie and richie don’t work in this universe. richie doesn’t even see himself as an adult. he is childish and selfish and immature and eddie confuses all of that with him not having actual feelings for eddie which isn’t true.

again... if you’re left wondering what happens next... it’s kind of intentional bc i did want it to be able to be read multiple different ways? but i’m gonna talk about what i was thinking of when i wrote it.

the entire last scene is... what it is. i used it will come back and i hoped readers would take that as even as eddie says that this is the last time it’s gonna happen, that’s just not true. they are hopelessly codependent. eddie thinks as he leaves about things dying before they can grow again, but then he also puts on blackbird. because people. aren’t trees. we have to take the broken bits... the longing and expectations and hurt of our past and move on with it stuck to us because you can never truly just shed your past like a skin and move on. eddie knows that he has to let it (bill’s marriage) hurt him and let that pain and rejection be a part of him because it will be whether he acknowledges it or numbs himself out to the point he can’t feel it using whichever vice (alcohol, attention, sex.)

does eddie think there’s hope for them at the end of that au? no. does richie think there’s hope for them at the end of that au? no.

do i think richie & eddie might have hope in that au? yeah... actually. i think they’re twin flames they’re characters that lend themselves beautifully to fanfiction because i can always see them falling in love over and over again.

it would take a lot of growth and recovery of course but... both of them know that. at the end of the fic, richie is confronted with that he is an adult now, regardless of if he wants to be one, and eddie knows he has to take himself as he is and keep going if he ever wants to get forward. that’s mutually good places for the characters to be... even if the ending feels a little desolate. it’s not. it’s bleak & bare... but it’s hopeful. there’s a life waiting at the end of winter.

thanks for asking anon!! this was fun to talk about. i actually like that fic more than i like a good number of my old fics so it was a nice quick reread.

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houseinva · 7 years ago

Text

The Narc

My first experience in finding “love” turned out to be the biggest con act and disaster I’d ever encountered. The relationship harmed my health, it killed my spirits, and it left my forward thinking at a stand-still.

My life was a joke, it was; I’d been dealt some of the world’s worst odds in being the HIV nurse who got HIV from his first boyfriend after several tests. Only life’s brutal irony kicked me in the ass again with my second chance in finding love, leaving my first looking like Disney World.

For the first 6 months after my diagnosis, I didn’t leave my home except for work, doctor appointments, groceries and other basic, mundane life requirements. I isolated myself from those I knew, becoming all the more lonely and vulnerable. I felt ashamed by what happened to me, I felt so embarrassed with how my life tanked miserably, and I began avoiding friends and family, viewing myself as a failure and not wanting to even be seen.

John, a neighbor a few doors down, ended up befriending me. John was the polar opposite of me: he’d always lived on the edge, the more reckless, the better,and boy did he love throwing caution to the wind. John partied and drank like a superstar, and anything addictive – you name it – from scratch-offs to ripping something off via 5-finger discount – as long as it involved a rush of adrenaline or dopamine, he was always game for it. I could tell that John felt bad for my recent predicament, and so he made a point of inviting me out with him and his small gaggle of gays, it was an interesting bunch: there was the deaf gay, there was one that looked like George Costanza, another seemed to be the twin of Grimace from McDonald’s, and new to the addition was yours truly.

Aside from meeting John and his little gaggle of gays, that was the extent of my outward growth in the friend scene. I didn’t make another friend for several months. Then again, sitting around, alone by myself, isn’t exactly the best way to meet new people. Then one Saturday I met Ben, and my life changed in so many ways. Ben was this mellow, kind, soft-spoken and sincere guy, at least that’s how he seemed initially. We both had a past history of relationship abusie as well as HIV; we had lots in common, we hit it off rather well, and the relationship progressed naturally from there.

While John was definitely living on the legal edge of life, pushing the envelope as my jaw continued to drop, it was actually Ben who corrupted me more than anyone in my history, hands down.

Ben was a staunch supporter of doing whatever was viewed as bad, as antisocial; lying, cheating, not being monogamous were the concepts he could relate to best. His interest lied in all the things most consider wrong or at least would approach with caution, whereas Ben just give a wicket grin while managing to beat the odds and indulging himself in the bad stuff.

Ben was the most sexually liberal person I’d met so far, his past experiences in a week were more than mine in a lifetime. So Ben sought out to be my “mentor” in this new “anything goes” side of the gay universe except little did I know what that actually entailed. While I’d been slightly exposed to the “dark side” with my ex, Ben vowed to do a better job as my tour guide. Only Ben actually wound up showing me even darker sides than I’d anticipated.

But I was game for whatever at that point, and for some reason, I always trusted Ben to have my back. After all – I had HIV now – the Rolls Royce of all STD’s – so there wasn’t much else to fear at this point, right? It’s not like there are that many psychopaths running amok in the world, hunting for guys like me to mislead, manipulate and destroy. What were the odds of that happening to me again? Odds like that don’t exist, come on!. So I figured it was safe to proceed and let down my guard a bit, allowing Ben to take the wheel:

“The coast is clear, so that means its smooth sailing from here on out!”

Ben would go on to credit himself for breaking me into this lifestyle like it was an honor, like he was the ultimate instructor, doing me some huge favor:

“You lucked out, you had me to break you in!”

Only it wasn’t luck at all, it was more like an insidious curse. In fact, it might be the most cruel, inhumane and exploitative creation I’ve ever heard of. Or perhaps I’m wrong, and that’s just an understatement…

Idealization 2: Fall, 2014

Ben and I hit it off well from the moment we met, he seemed to really “get” me from the start; he entered my life at my lowest of the lows, he was surprisingly understanding, and he treated me so well that I felt like I had my life back. He knew what topics were still too painfully fresh and avoided them, and he left me feeling at peace at least.

For the first time since acquiring HIV, I forget I even had the virus thanks to our chance meeting. Ben sure made for an incredible escape: he gave me hope, he was an inspiration and role model; I felt blessed to have found him. The relationship didn’t move at the speed of light like it did with my ex, although it didn’t move at a snail’s pace either. Maybe a a month after meeting, we were spending the majority of our weekend time together. At the 2-month mark, Ben had his own set of toiletries sitting in my bathroom. There was no talk of moving in, I wasn’t about to repeat the mistakes I made with my ex; it just so happened that Ben had a roommate who he wasn’t getting along with, I lived close to Ben’s work, and so a few nights a week he’d stay over at my place instead. The more time that passed, the stronger the bond grew between us. He was so chill, so mild-mannered, and even seemed to be in awe of me at times. He always said I was “wicked genius,” it was my mind that he found my most attractive feature. I loved the sound of that…

Meeting Ben gave me a whole new outlook on life: no longer felt like an outcast, I no longer felt embarrassed 24-7, I was no longer fixated on my dilemma like I had been in the months prior. I knew this no longer meant being stuck alone in life with this stigmatizing illness, I was in good company now. I felt like the connection we had was so strong that it was almost worth this HIV infection, as crazy as that may read. While Ben was quiet and hid his emotions, always appearing rather stoic and serious, I soon discovered he had another side that was very bold; I soon learned that my feelers were incorrect in thinking he was humble. When it came to the gay world and sex in general, he was beyond confident, he was self-assured and extremely comfortable, he didn’t view anyone or anything as being out of reach, and he didn’t treat HIV as a handicap, in fact, to him it was a non-issue. His peaceful demeanor seemed to shy away from drama, as he always remained calm and collect, no matter what. Ben was one that said very little but spoke volumes when he did. While he was introverted (he claimed his personality type to be an “INFJ,” that rare 1% of the population that everyone claims to be in their online profiles), he wasn’t the slightest bit shy about sex. I was never one to make the first move, not even with my ex, whereas Ben could talk anyone into sex no matter what. Ben was 28 at the time, and had been infected with at age 19. He had quite the sexual past, and with me still working in HIV, listening to him talk about sex like it was chewing bubble gum, his attitudes towards sexual health initially mortified me:

“I’d rather not have sex at all than wear a condom!”

So while I’d spent the last 10 years talking about the ills of condom-less sex, he’d spent the last 10 years of his promoting it, referring to himself as the self-proclaimed “biggest whore in DC.” It was almost hard to imagine, he appeared so innocent at first glance; but once his shirt came off, along with his glasses, he was nicely built, with the word chaos tattooed on his chest. Ben certainly knew how to perform in bed, in the streets, and anywhere he wanted: he was the McGyver of sex as I called him. He could fix any sexual problem with a few moments of thought and… some spit. In time, though, I became normalized to his way of life.

The first time we had sex I was blown away, and out of nowhere I suffered diarrhea of the mouth, asking him oddly… if he’d been an escort before. No, I wasn’t someone to frequent escorts; it’s just that he performed like a pro, it seemed almost rehearsed or scripted, and I wasn’t complaining or trying to insult him in any way, it just made me think perhaps he’d escorted or done similar, and the words fell right out of my mouth.

I’d never been with someone who completely lost himself in the moment like Ben: the looks he gave me, the constant eye-contact that pierced my soul, the tender roughness he introduced, the moans and groans that carried themselves throughout my entire condo building – this was something I’d never experienced before. My diarrhea mouth opened up Pandora’s box, as that’s when I found out Ben’s past had a tinge of what I’d experienced in mine recently. When he was 16 years old, Ben met his first boyfriend, a guy in his early 20’s. Shortly after, Ben was introduced to group sex and sex parties, only he was unaware his boyfriend was pimping him out to these guys. He was collecting money behind Ben’s back, without his knowledge or consent, plus Ben wasn’t even of age. I was told the relationship was filled with physical and mental abuse. In the end, Ben kicked the guy’s teeth out and left him for good, but reported he left the experience a totally different person, he came out of it changed, and found himself with an even “darker side” to him that wasn’t there before. I didn’t understand what he meant by that, but he said that he then worked as an escort for several years. He described escorting as a way to regain his own power, as sex had previously left him powerless. One comment he made jumped out at me: he said he’d learned to use sex as as a weapon; for some reason this comment was one I never forgot, in fact, I can close my eyes and hear Ben saying those very words now, despite years having passed.

He escorted for several years and had left those days behind for a stable, blue-color, well paying job. He didn’t regret escorting, though; he said if he could still make the money, he’d do it, but at age 28 he was already “over the hill.” I didn’t judge him (minus his ageist remark), I knew life was far from the ideal I once believed it was, I was just happy to meet a great guy that was also HIV+. Ben became a huge part of my life.

Before meeting him I was a mess, I was stuck in my PTSD phase after leaving an abusive relationship, and Ben knew more about about what happened to me than I did. When I told him about happened to me, he responded: “sounds like you were with a psychopath.” I still didn’t know what a psychopath was. But he seemed to know a lot about emotional manipulators. He taught me words that matched the craziness I’d experienced perfectly, terms I’d never heard of before, like gas-lighting. I was so impressed with his knowledge; having endured abuse, I found in him a friend who I could finally related to. I’d discovered a needle in a haystack that I could look up to for advice, learn from, and begin to heal alongside. Ben’s charm, good looks, and fearless attitude towards life were intoxicating. At that time if you asked me what stood out the most about Ben’s character, it was his integrity, his sincerity, and his altruism. For whatever reason, he also made me feel like I was safe when I was with him, that nothing bad could come close to me, and I loved feeling this way… finally. This was like the best possible scenario I could have dreamed possible after what I’d just experienced. I actually told my mom perhaps HIV was a blessing in disguise, because without it, I’d have likely never crossed paths with Ben. Like always, I’d later realize I spoke too soon.

Before I knew it, Ben was with me all the time. Weeks passed like this, our time together was memorable, and I grew to view him like he was family. I noticed Ben didn’t know too much about his HIV medications, most people with HIV don’t, whereas I had been working in the field for nearly a decade. Ben often left his pills in the car, and one should never leave medication subject to the weather, and I’ll admit I scolded him on this. When I saw the antiretroviral medication combination he was taking – 6 archaic pills in fact – I didn’t like what I saw. I looked at what he was taking and came up with a better plan that would simply his regimen down to one pill daily. I encouraged him to speak to his physician, and eventually he did so. Strangely, the only “thanks” I got from Bed oddly was: “I guess it’s better, but it was a lot easier to forget 6 pills than 1!” Some thanks I got, but I figured Ben didn’t like being reminded of anything regarding the pill regimen he’d be stuck on indefinitely; I could attest to that. But I aimed to not only simplify things, but I picked out the best HIV drug that had ever been approved, a pill that recent studies showed even removed all HIV from semen in a matter of days after starting it, meaning it was a drug that left Ben virtually impossible to transmit the virus. I may not have seen much appreciation for my efforts, but deep down I felt good for having simplified his life, and improved his health in the long-term.

Devaluation 2: December, 2014

Then one Friday night, Ben didn’t show up as planned, he didn’t answer his phone, either; I got worried and called, he never answered; I tried the following day, and again nothing. I tried a few more times, thinking something had happened to him.

One week later he answered the phone with an attitude, greeting me with the opposite of what I expected:

“You keep calling me like I’m your boyfriend or something, Jesus. You know I’m not your boyfriend, right? And I never will be, okie dokie?”

I’d never expected to hear those words from Ben, they were cold, callous, they aimed to make me feel lesser-than; this wasn’t the kind ,young man I’d met a few months ago, this was someone else, and my stomach sank to the ground: “I didn’t think we had a title but you have your toothbrush and what-not over my place, I thought that –“

Ben interrupted me:

“You thought wrong. Look, I’m out of town, and I ran into my ex and he accidentally fucked me, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you that because I knew it would hurt, but you’ve just kept calling every day, and it’s gotten annoying.”

I thought to myself, well, if you didn’t want to hurt me, then why the hell did you add that last part in after all? And how did you accidentally get fucked? On your fall down, did you miraculously fall on an enema before even more miraculously landing right on his dick?

I explained that I’d called as he never showed up and I was worried; then I asked him when and why he’d concluded that I wasn’t date-worthy. He mentioned several reasons: I over-think everything (and that statement was repeated time and again during our relationship), my over-thinking everything seemed to drive him mad. He also said I was far too smart for him to date, which I found odd, that we had too many qualities that clashed, and also he thought I wouldn’t make a good father and he was destined to one day have kids. Only now do I realize what he was truly saying. The words that ensued seemed to push that dagger in through my heart even deeper: “We’ll never date; get that through your head. We have no future together.” He stressed this ideal and my inferiority, along with my imminent expulsion from Ben’s cool club, as often as possible from that point going forward. It was a change I never saw coming, I didn’t understand what had even happened.

Ben continued:

“Now, if you want to keep having sex with me, I’m not gonna pass it up, but it doesn’t matter to me if I do or I don’t, I can take it or leave it. But in terms of dating – that has not been happening, nor will that ever happen, Okie Dokie? Yeah, we’ve been hanging out, having sex, and doing what most gay guys do. That is far from dating. Look: I’ve got a dark side to me that you wouldn’t like. Keep that between us, and don’t try and figure me out, either – nobody can, I can’t even figure myself out. You deserve to date someone better than me anyway.”

The way he said this, so non-nonchalant and blunt, really stung, it was mean, he was showing me that he called all the shots, he had the power and dictated everything, and my feelings and needs were not his concern in the slightest. If I wanted what little he had remaining in his pursuit for the ideal boyfriend, so be it; but he could care less, I wasn’t special to him at all. Nobody had ever spoken to me in a manner that cut my self-esteem into pieces like Ben had, and it came off like he’d selected each word with the intent to hurt me. The wonderful young man I’d met was suddenly a dictator who had no love for me and had merely strung me along for months with a fake act and a bunch of lies, leading me to believe in a romance he viewed as a farce. This was weird, this wasn’t how I’d treat someone, especially if I could relate to their recent predicament, I thought that’s almost sinister; but I stopped thinking about this sudden change in his character as the depression that had recently abated came back full force. I felt like I was worthless, like I was nothing more than a toxic virus and nobody wanted me, so I accepted Ben’s leftover scraps.

I knew his words and subsequent actions were dehumanizing, but then I’d begin thinking back on the first months after my diagnosis and concluded: a little bit of pain thrown in was better than a whole lot of nothingness. I thought Ben was dealing with something that triggered him at that moment, and with his past history of abuse and escorting, he was bound to have picked up a few bad habits in surviving the means streets. Maybe my initial impression had been off, but maybe he was experiencing a bad period in his life, I never believed anyone could be totally dead-set in their beliefs and unchangeable in their harshness.

Nobody put a gun to my head and forced me to conceit to this one-sided relationship. I accept responsibility in becoming part of this degrading role as what later turned out to be his punching bag. It was later on that I realize this sort “friendships” wasn’t even possible; it was a power play, it constituted abuse. I believed that I’d happened upon someone who had long ago dealt with having HIV and my needing to be coddled with that topic annoyed him. Plus Ben was popular, he was in high-demand, and so he was a bit on a high horse at times. He definitely wasn’t the kindest person when crossed; still I’d rather be on his team than on no team at all. I gave in and continued in the whatever-he-gives-me-relationship with Ben.

I also believed that once Ben discovered who I really was, that I had a good heart, was fun, creative, and musically gifted, he’d come to view me as valuable and perhaps he’d even develop feelings once he knew the real me. Or at least he’d appreciate what I brought to the table as a friend. Despite him speaking to me like this, besides being offended and hurt, I still felt this bizarre closeness towards him, like I’d known him for years, like he was family, and oddly… I still felt safe when I was with him, I felt this need to be loyal to him.

I believed that Ben could see things from other points of view, although while rigid, that he had the capacity to compromise, to change his mind, and that he wasn’t totally dead set in his ways, in putting himself first all the time, and showing no remorse for hurting others’ feelings. I also believed that, despite his mean rhetoric, he at least saw a true friend in me, and in my life friends didn’t just come and go, friends were meant to be there forever, they’re like your extended family. Soon I’d discover that all the traits I thought mankind was made up of – traits that are present in almost all people I’d known – were somehow inherently absent in him.

The relationship ensued, only his treatment would wax and wane from dream (fake) boyfriend to evil, sadistic child out to bully me on the playground. As time progressed, this juvenile side seemed to be all I experienced. His “favorite” way to punish me when I pissed him off was with the “silent treatment,” similar to my ex, only with Ben he was already quiet, so it was hard to know when the silent treatment had started and stopped. I found myself confused, and felt like Ben enjoyed holding power and control over me, as the silent treatment only ended when he decided. He made me feel like my presence wasn’t needed or wanted by him, whereas I needed his to exit this world of silence, and therefore with time I became dependent on him and saw myself as inferior.

Ben’s sadistic change in demeanor was perplexing, and I pressed him for more answers about this “dark side” he claimed to have.

“What did I tell you about trying to figure me out? I told you not to try doing it; if I don’t understand it, you definitely won’t either. And trust me, you don’t want to know or understand it.”

The biggest explanation I received as to why he had “2 personalities”, the good and the bad, was Ben’s automatic line:

“That’s because I’m a Gemini.”

When I asked him to explain he’d just roll his eyes. So I didn’t ask again, at least not during round 1, this first period of us meeting.

I found it strange; he even had a name for this alter-ego, but I didn’t question him further; I figured it was his way of coping with his abuse and a means of living in denial. I didn’t know what any of this signified; he was a bit mean and selfish at times, but often he was pleasant and enjoyable to be around, especially if it wasn’t just the two of us. What struck me as confusing was how someone could treat me better than I’d ever been treated before, yet also treat me worse than I’d ever be treated before. It seemed so unreal that the same person could be responsible for both.

I shouldn’t have stuck around like I stupidly did; I should have left that ‘relationship’ then and there, running for the hills, remembering pieces of my last relationship that were resurfacing here only in a slightly different manner.

But I wasn’t in a calm, rational state of mind at that time. Instead, depressed and distraught, I had nothing now in my life, without Ben, except for HIV, and HIV had already killed my spirit. So I chose to take what little Ben would give in lieu of the perceived nothing I’d have if just with HIV alone. Our “friendship” was highly sexual and emotionally abusive, yet most that saw us together it seemed like we were this perfect, happily married couple. Little did they know we weren’t close to that.

Ben would not budge in his willingness to date me. You couldn’t get him to budge much for anything, maybe occasionally when he’d benefit from something he would. He could be bright and a lot of fun when he wanted to be, but he always made sure I knew that he held all the power. He drove home hard the idea that he didn’t need me at all, whereas I needed him like a child needed a parent. He rarely (if ever) apologized for his behavior or mistakes, he believed that he was was perfect as is; he viewed anyone that thought he was selfish and should change as the enemy. He was self-centered, he was all about himself, he didn’t seem to have much concern for my feelings, and I was starting to see this one-sided friendship really drag me down. And I was already feeling down so I knew this wasn’t healthy but I didn’t know anyone else willing to take on my mess and tolerate the pathetic state I believed I was in. Ben had met me after the most serious period of abuse, shock and fear I’ll ever experience in my lifetime, and I hadn’t begun to heal; he still had a lot fenced up inside him. But shortly after, he’d become mad when I brought up this topic for discussion at all. Soon he started placing rules on our sex, often under the guise that it was helping me: “You’re getting attached, I’m cutting off the sex.”

It seemed like he kinda got off on putting me down, making it known that he held the power, I didn’t, and that he had several Alex’s whereas I only had 1 Ben. But the moment he wanted sex, the rules were out the door. The friendship was very one-sided: if I wanted sex, he’d say no if he even answered, usually he just deflected the question by addressing something else. If he came over on his own accord, sex always happened, I didn’t say no because him seducing me became like breathing air, it was happening all the time, and I was used to breathing that; plus he’d walk right into my place, taking his clothes off like it was nothing special. A stupid part of me still believed that he had to view sex like I did, as being special, as being sacred. But no, Ben saw having sex like chewing a piece of gum. It was frustrating and I found myself rather jaded, and further isolated myself from the world. I began to notice that his compliments always seemed back-handed: “You’re really attractive for an older man.” I was 5 years older than Ben, and while it didn’t seem like he’d thrown that in there to insult me, I couldn’t help but take offense as this is how he phrased it every single time, always tacking on my “older” age even though I was 33 at this point in time. When he’d refer to our sex, he’d always have to add on a comment about how he didn’t need it, he could take it or leave it, and focus on our “friendship.” My eyes would be rolling in my head listening to that passive-aggressive crap, and what kinda “friendship” was Ben even working towards with me? He later came at me with more insults and jabs, frequently mentioning my lack of self-esteem, always reminding me that we’d never date, only having sex when he wanted it, and always bringing up what I referred to as my “pre-planned demise” as he’d frequently ask me, “What are you gonna do when I start dating?”

He later claimed his comments were all done out of kindness, so I wasn’t taken aback when he was suddenly dating. Only… that never happened; all that ever happened was him antagonizing me by constantly by bringing up how unworthy I was of dating him, but someone else out there was, and I needed to think about how I’d react when he someday found his next victim. This seemed to happen with a whole lot of topics actually, getting me all worked up over things that were coming down the pike, things I wouldn’t like so I needed to be forewarned, only none of these bad things ever panned out. It made no sense to me – why get someone all stressed out and worked up over nothing? It seemed like such a waste of time and energy on his part, and completely draining emotionally on my end.

He seemed to enjoy bullying me, he enjoyed putting me down to feel better about himself but I didn’t get why. Constantly bringing up my end date was inhumane; here he’d met me after my first boyfriend-turned-psychopath infected me with HIV, he had the chance to make a positive impact in my life, but instead… all he could dwell on was my unworthiness, as well as my exit once someone that was worthy entered the picture. It was demeaning, it was mean, and what was most confusing was how he’d started all this off being so kind, and leaving me feeling… safe.

I’ll never forget one Friday night when he looked at me half-way through sex and said, “You like this, don’t you?” I nodded, and he suddenly fired back:

“Well if you don’t fuck 2 other guys by Friday, we’re not having sex again the two of us!”

My head was spinning, I was so mortified, I felt crushed. Who wants the guy they’re sleeping with to be sleeping with others? Why would someone threaten to withhold sex from me if I didn’t go out and do something I didn’t want to do sexually with other guys? This was really, really bizarre. The way he went from treating me so wonderfully with sex to cruel and controlling with sex baffled me. Down the road when I’d bring up how his treatment and demeanor changed so abruptly with me, his excuse didn’t seem to match what I’d experienced at all:

“I was trying to make sure you didn’t get too attached to me, I wanted to make sure you experienced sex with other guys. I knew I always wanted you; I just knew it wasn’t the right time when we first me.”

Among other comments that made Ben appear entitled, and his compliments perhaps back-handed, he’d say things like:

He felt he deserved 3 boyfriends, not just one; in fact I wasn’t even on the waiting list. It came off as he viewed himself as being special, deserving the best x 3; he wasn’t successful or wealthy but seemed to think he was so “hot” and unique that he deserved everything.

He seemed to re-write history a lot, his recollection of events were often very different than mine. He’d take all the insults and degrading comments he’d make and later paint them out to be tough love, encouraging me to be stronger, or even wanting to protect me. It all seemed like bullshit to me.

He’d frequently point out how lucky I was that out of everyone else in the world that he’d “chosen” me. He acted like he was some Superstar, and in such high demand.

He lied a lot, and about anything and everything I was finding out; he often seemed convinced he was telling the truth when I knew it to be different, he often lied about nothing worth lying about. I began to feel like I couldn’t trust anything he said.

He told me that he only dated a guy, if they made the cut, for 30 days before disappearing on them altogether; why 30 days? “Because that’s when people really start to develop feelings,” and he didn’t want to deal with others’ feelings since they always fell in love with him. Damn. Ben sure felt high and mighty hidden behind his glasses. He also seemed to hint at how sticking around one place would let too much out about who he was, he was very secretive about his life for some reason, he told me little about his other friends, family and past.

He planned out everything he did beforehand to a tee, and became upset when things didn’t go as planned or he when didn’t get all he wanted.

He could certainly dish out the nasty; but the slightest criticism seemed to upset him like a child.

He spoke constantly of his alter ego, his dark side, which he claimed I hadn’t come close to seeing yet, despite my opinion that he was often behaving in a cruel manner.

He loved to hit me with the silent treatment, but always denied doing it intentionally, blaming it instead on being introvert and an INFJ that needed his alone time. It just so happened that the 4-day stretch of alone time always came after I challenged him or didn’t do what he wanted.

At the end of our friendship, round 1 as we later called it, he informed me that he’d slept with 20 guys that month, who knows if that was just an exaggeration. When I asked him if he thought he had a sex addiction or was really that horny, he responded by saying: “Sex isn’t about being horny, it’s about power.” I realized then that Ben was likely on a hunt for all the power he could get…

Ben also didn’t seem to have any solid friendships, everyone in the gay scene knew him, but when he and I were hanging out he was always alone with me; I never met any of his friends. He also described having a rough childhood where he had to take on “parenting” tasks as his folks were getting divorced and he had to hide it from his siblings. He said his father constantly told him to hide his emotions, punishing him if he let his feelings show. He said his family moved every 2 years or so due to being in the military, never having a sense of stability, never making solid friends, and never connecting with anyone for very long. He’d frequently mention his desire to move, to leave all behind, and escape his problems here for another place. I told him that’s not how things typically worked, that running away from problems didn’t leave the problems behind, it brought them with you. He disagreed; he recanted cutting all ties with his family for 3 years, moving across the country, trying to figure out his life; he said his problems remained back in the DMV,not following him where he went. He mentioned he had no issues disconnecting from his family during that period, never once speaking to them until he returned. He told me about a boyfriend he’d lived with for 4 years and one day, Ben up and left him. He said his boyfriend had become complacent, and Ben felt he was standing in the way of him reaching his potential. So Ben left him, and as a result, the ex was forced to grow up, go to college, and now was making a 6 figure salary: “I had no problems leaving him because I knew I was doing it to help him, to make him grow, and it worked.” It also seemed odd to me: all I’d ever wanted in life was love, and I couldn’t imagine finally finding it, and then after 4 years suddenly leaving it behind when a good sit-down talk could have helped resolve things. But to each their own… one thing was clear: Ben was confident in himself, he didn’t depend on the approval of others, he was fine being on his own, and he didn’t allow anyone to tie him down at all, he did what he wanted, there was little compromise, he was stubborn as hell, he was dead-set in his ways and beliefs, and whom he deemed as “worthy” and “beneficial” to have around was set in stone from the first greeting and didn’t change much thereafter. At the time while I found it odd, I respected him for it; I was insecure and often agreed to things I didn’t want to do, whereas Ben stuck to his guns, and didn’t end up in the same predicaments as I often did. When it came to dating, he wouldn’t settle for anything other than his ideal mate; he had no issues explaining to me time and again how I didn’t fit his “ideal” and that’s all he’d seek. He had all these ideals, these visions for his future that he felt were necessary to be happy: he wanted kids, a great-paying job in information technology, he wanted to live by the beach, he insisted on having a grand wedding.

While Ben didn’t seem to do many good things for me, I continued having my eyes out on his best interests. I noticed a lesion on his butt, it looked to be a rectal fissure or fistula, I wasn’t certain, but I knew it didn’t look good and it needed surgery. Through surgeons I knew from working in the community, I managed to land Ben an appointment with the best of the best – a surgeon whose waiting list was 6 months long just for a baseline appointment – only I was able to shenagle it so that Ben was seen the next week. Like with his HIV meds, Ben didn’t seem all that appreciative, but then again, nobody wants surgery, and often people don’t appreciate their “peers” pointing out medical problems that need further investigation. Nonetheless, Ben booked the surgery, and I was more excited than he was – not that surgery is every a reason to be excited – but because he was in the best hands, and the area I saw looked like, if untreated, could turn into cancer one day. So regardless of what Ben thought, I knew what I was doing was something that would not only change this life but possibly save it. I was far from perfect, but I believed I was a good friend to Ben, I believed that I put his best interests before anything else, and just as I’d aimed to do (regardless of his frequent immature treatment), I felt like I was being the best friend I could to him.

Discard: January, 2015

I didn’t mind helping Ben out and having it go unnoticed. However, I found myself becoming more and more bummed in the relationship. My self-esteem was falling by the minute based on how he made me feel so… ugly, so run-of-the-mill, so un-exciting.

One day I decided to research the term “psychopath” on the internet after Ben mentioned it another time, and in doing so, stumbled upon Narcissistic Personality Disorder – a close relative to psychopathy. In reading it I couldn’t help but see many of Ben’s strange quirks being described, although the over-the-top behavior described in the article didn’t match Ben at all, who was introverted and quiet.

But still… I wondered if he might have a little of that in him, maybe that’s why nobody can figure him out like he said, maybe that’s why he doesn’t seem to have empathy or concern for my feelings, maybe that’s why he has a dark side he keeps hidden yet warns you not to cross.

I sent Ben an email, and included a portion of the article in it, asking him if perhaps he thought that was why he had a “dark side” and if it might explain some of his nuances. Ben called me 2 days later, having gotten out of surgery a few hours before. I asked him how things went, and what he said surprised me:

“Things went well. Oh, and I read your email by the way. You will never hear from me, speak to me, or see me again. I’m blocking you in my phone and I want nothing to do with you. You’re discarded from my life: you will never find closure. Goodbye!”

Suddenly – the feeling I got when my ex up and vanished came back full-force, and I was experiencing it all over again. Why had he gotten so offended with what I wrote? After all, he was mistreating me really badly, this was at my lowest of the lows in my life, he had the chance to be a true friend, a role model and instead he treated me like crap. Why would one stupid article about narcissism – one word for that matter, narcissist – create such a whirlwind of animosity inside him? I didn’t get it, but what I did get was Ben’s never-ending silent treatment: I was discarded just as he said I would be. I had never felt so much pain in my life, such humiliation, such confusion and betrayal. Ben, albeit having issues, felt like family to me, and initially he’d treated me like gold. How he suddenly had no empathy for leaving me all alone made my stomach sink to the ground; how he wanted nothing to do with me and flat-out cut me out of his life – all because I asked if he might be a narcissist – seemed over-the-top, seemed very immature and juvenile, it was as if he was punishing me for having criticized him about something that perhaps was true, look at his reaction. If someone asked me that very question about having narcissistic traits, I’d have laughed, I wouldn’t disown them.

I tried for several weeks to get him to cave, I reached out repeatedly by email and using my home phone, which he quickly blocked, as well. Ben’s stubborn ways made certain that his word was the only word, and that I’d be banished from his life all for suggesting he had narcissistic traits. And the truth was: he did, big time. Only I didn’t realize just how big yet, I thought he was selfish, vain, overly confident when he didn’t have the accomplishments to match, and a slight bully. What had I done to him that was so wrong? I’d merely endured his abuse, and when I called him out on it, he ensured that I was further abused for crossing him, for perhaps forcing him to see himself as he truly was, as not the perfect, all-American boy he wanted to pretend he was: Ben couldn’t handle that the “ideal” self he saw of himself was, in fact, just a phony.

While the ending of my last relationship changed my life in a way that it could never be repaired, my ending with Ben might have took what little hope I had left…

…and threw it into a deep, dark, ravine that kept leading further into darkness…

…and it would only get darker until Ben finished off what he’d started. Because while I’d read a few articles on Narcissistic Personality Disorder at that point in time, I didn’t actually think Ben was part of that club, no way. I believed he had narcissistic traits and was a bit immature in his putting others down to make himself feel better, but I never believed that Ben was some sort of monster. I attributed his behavior to his life experiences, to being pimped out at a young age, and to escorting. I still viewed him as a person, as a human being that was inherently good deep-down, only that goodness was just hiding out somewhere, waiting to come out in time. I didn’t view him as evil, as a vampire whose only mission in life was to tear others down until they were nothing – all so that at he could suck the life out of whomever, and feel some tiny amount of pleasure, leaving them drained and practically dead, all so he could feel validated. Never in a million years did I think that worse was on its way, not after what I’d been through already. I mean, a person can only take so much before they break, right? God, karma, the powers that be, they give good people breaks, especially after putting them through unbelievable hell like me, right?

Ben: he couldn’t he be worse than my ex, he wasn’t that sort of animal, right? No way in hell; at least that’s what I thought, despite how badly he’d treated me.

I’ll give credit when it’s due, regardless of interpersonal strains. It was through Ben’s mentioning of the word psychopath that I finally came to research the topic, and began reading about it more and more as I discovered a great deal of information that took me by surprise: it was like reading the biography of my ex, it was like reading about every single thing I’d experienced with him that left me dumbfounded, now suddenly I felt enlightened, suddenly I had that moment of epiphany wherein finally I understood what I’d just dealt with.

Suddenly it all made perfect sense, well, not really because nothing makes sense when dealing with a psychopath, nothing makes logical sense that is – but now knowing what I did, in the context of psychopathy, it all made total sense, if that makes any sense. Thinking back on Ben, on all the good, and the bad, I couldn’t help but feel like I had lost someone special, someone I never got to learn important life lessons from. And all because of a stupid word. I felt sad, I felt lonely, I felt like I’d never, ever find love in this world. Ben, even with his nasty side, had an incredible side that I truly missed. It was painful knowing he’d blocked me completely from his life and I’d never, ever see him again. With my ex so many things happened at once it was complete pandemonium, whereas this was one, abrupt slice out of my life – gone. It was the most painful thing I’ve experienced honestly, and I will never forget that.

I didn’t even know what narcissism actually entailed at the time, I just thought it meant that someone was wired to be a bit egotistical and selfish; I didn’t know that clinical narcissism is a disorder of delusion, it’s a pathology akin to psychopathy and sociopathy, in fact, many experts argue that they’re one in the same.

I won’t deny that for whatever reason, maybe it was the timing right after my ex, after my HIV diagnosis, that this one event stung so badly that I failed to fully recover from it. It left me feeling worse than how I’d felt when I first met Ben. Only I never imagined that this was just the beginning of Ben’s end for me...

Several months later, I got word that my neighbor John was arrested: he ended up getting thrown in the slammer for… 9 years Ugh. It was sad to lose his wicked sense of sarcasm, and his pursuit for fun and anything that would seep out dopamine. It was sad because his whole life was taken away in an instant. It was beyond sad, it was awful.

One random day that winter, I got a call from police investigators; they were calling about John; they wanted to speak with me, and I did, I had nothing to hide. I answered their questions truthfully and then went on my way. It seemed rather out-of-place, very strange, that they’d contacted me of all people. I didn’t know what all he’d been into, but it turned out to be a lot. I’d taken care of his cat when he’d leave town and that summer we’d hung out quite a bit, but other than that, we weren’t like besties, I didn’t even know about the operation he had going on. I knew very little, and they seemed frustrated but I was honest. But I wasn’t much use to them, and they thanked me and said goodbye.

I forgot all about this event for quite some time… and not once did I think there was any connection here between characters: Ben, John, “those people” from law enforcement… they were all distinct part of the chaos of the universe I believed. But in time I’d discover that wasn’t exactly the case; get ready for the smear campaign of all smear campaigns, brought into the new millennium, complete with e-Gaslighting!

I was so upset losing Ben, and I tried reaching him every few weeks for several months, but I never got through. I had slighted his ego tremendously in asking if he was a narcissist. I didn’t understand in the slightest bit why that one word would have such a giant impact on him but my conclusion was that he must be a narcissist after all. Big deal, I thought, why get so upset? Because I was still clueless regarding what a narcissist truly is… they’ve the most vile, evil creations in existence. Ben was one, and so he knew precisely what that word meant; I didn’t. Nor did I know the grave sin I committed that day when I opened my mouth.

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