#ever grow up in Houston Texas getting the shit beat out of you on the reg by the guy who is supposed to be protecting u

[trinketbug]

I joke and I jest about Dave “my guardian traumatized me my entire childhood as a joke” strider like I haven’t gone through the same shit as him verbatim

[supernovae-xo]

Business Talk

INVOLVED: Nova Taylor and Aaron Moore TIME FRAME: Friday, March 20th, 2020 LOCATION: Taylor-Moore Residence; Houston, Texas SUMMARY: Nova and Aaron discuss his new job venture.

Nova moved back into their condo, closing the door behind her and locking it, closing off the balcony again. She moved towards the kitchen and grabbed herself a bottle of orange juice before she moved to sit down beside Aaron once more in the living room.

Aaron sat on the couch, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees as he held the game controller in his hand tapping away. He glanced over at Nova as she sat down beside him and he leaned into her gently, bumping his shoulder against hers to acknowledge her, his fingers still moving across the controller easily.

Nova rested beside Aaron, when he nudged her, she looked to him. She had no right to judge but right now she was, he needed a real job and here he was playing video games instead of taking the time out to find something that worked for him. She cracked her orange juice open and looked to the boy saying “so… work…” quietly.

Aaron continued to play the game until he felt Nova’s eyes really on him and he paused, looking over at her and he nodded, “work…” he repeated her. “I’ve been looking,” he sighed out. “Most jobs in my field are already booked up,” he admitted sadly, “or require travel and I can’t because of school and I’m not going to leave you…”

At the mention of him having looked for work she nodded her head at him, tucking her hair behind her ear. Nova tilted her head and licked her lips; well her parents were right he wasn’t going to travel so this she now knew officially. Once he was done, she tucked her leg beneath her taking a sip of the drink before she sat it aside. Her hand rested on her bump and she said, “dad has a job for you lined up here….”

Aaron sat the controller aside, turning to Nova slightly and he sighed. He knew he had asked her to talk to her father, but he wanted it to be a last resort, but maybe they were on their last resort. “What’s the job?” he asked, dragging his hand down his face.

Nova looked him up and down and she shifted before she said “interning” easily “that’s what you asked of him, that’s what you asked of me” she said slyly before she picked up her orange juice and drank some more of it down.

“Yeah but doing what? Is it a production assistant? Maybe editing?” Aaron asked Nova with a bite of his lip, trying not to grow a bit excited as he gazed at her. He truly wouldn’t be able to thank her father enough for helping him like this.

She finished the juice. She sat the empty container down and said “he didn’t go into detail with me” she lied easily. “I’m sure it has to do with stuff like that” Nova lied again. He was going to be her father’s assistant essentially, but she couldn’t break that to him now. “No matter what it is babe, it’s going to pay more than the school and that is all that’s important right now” she said slyly, reminding him of the main focus right now.

Aaron licked his lips and he nodded as he rubbed his hands over his sweats. “Okay,” he said as he nodded more. “Uh, well when do I start?” he asked. “I need to get my portfolio together so that I can show them what I can do,” he said with a smile. “I think they’d be impressed,” he said nodding a bit more, more so to himself now.

At his words Nova used her teeth to bite her top lip and she sighed heavily. “Baby they won’t need a portfolio….” she said to him as she shifted on the couch pulling him to her lovingly. “Right now… all you can really be babe is like… his assistant” she said. “He’s going to almost pay you 20 dollars and hour. That’s good money we need that” she stressed to him knowingly “please Aaron, do it. Even if it isn’t what you want to do because in the long run it’s going to pay off for the baby's sake” she reasoned.

Aaron completely deflated at Nova’s words and he sunk down into the couch as he gazed at her. “What?” he said softly. “Just… the errand boy?” he asked her, his face now drained. “Babe…” he sighed out deeply at her begging and he dropped his head, rubbing the back of his neck as he mumbled. “I’ll do it…”

Nova looked to him and she sighed softly “Aaron you have to sit your pride aside right now” she told him. “If I could get up and work right now I would proudly. But I can’t” she told him. “And the baby isn’t going to get any cheaper, so I don’t know what else to do. Anything else he found you’d have to travel” she said to him. “As a matter of fact, why not do that?” she asked him. “Travel” she shrugged.

“I said I’ll do it,” Aaron repeated himself. He had already sat his pride aside when he asked her to speak to her father in the first place. This was just the bottom of the barrel now. Her words struck him. “I am not leaving you to do all of this alone,” he told her. “Don’t bring it up again,” he said sternly. “I’ll do it a’ight, I’ll take the job for you and our son…”

Nova looked at him as he repeated himself and she nodded her head. As he went on speaking to her with a bit of authority in his voice she said “fine” defensively raising her hands. She moved to pull herself up on her feet and she grabbed the trash moving to toss it away in the kitchen trash can before she turned the light off in the kitchen.

Aaron looked at Nova as she got defensive and he sighed out. As she stood up, he picked up his controller and forfeit the game before he started over, playing from the last saved checkpoint. As she flicked off the kitchen light, he glanced over at her for just a millisecond before he returned his eyes to the TV.

Nova walked out of the kitchen with a heavy sigh and she moved towards their bedroom in her LV slippers. She rolled her eyes to herself as she slammed the bedroom door behind her before she instantly regretted it. Hopefully, he ignored it and her, she didn’t want to escalate things she was just frustrated. They built everything on their parents' help and now all of a sudden upon finding out they were having a son he had become high and mighty. She thought it was so damn stupid. Kicking her slippers off she climbed into the bed adjusting her biker shorts over her belly, they were causing a faint line on her bump and she pulled them down below her belly as she stroked the area a bit.

Aaron beat the level quickly, ignoring Nova slamming the door as he did. He didn’t even want to argue with her. It was no use. He felt useless and defeated. He couldn’t take care of her and their son without a damn handout, what type of man was he? He knew Nova didn’t say it, but she thought differently of him because he didn’t just have wealthy parents and money just lying around. She never said it, but it was in her actions and the way she went about things. Sighing out, Aaron turned off the game for the evening and he turned off the TV. Dragging his feet, he flicked off the light and moved into the bedroom. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it on top of the dresser before he toed off his socks and climbed into the bed, getting under the covers and laying down with his eyes closed as he let out a deep and sad sigh.

Nova caressed her stomach for a while before she moved to change her clothes for the day. She placed some shorts on her body, they were too small, but Nova didn’t care one bit she was always the hottest at night and once the heat brought on her attitude that was it. If the heat woke her up, that was it. She licked her lips, unfastening her bra and tugging it off herself before she pulled on one of his tank tops. She climbed back in bed and turned the tv on, a few minutes later he surfaced not saying a word as he climbed into bed with her. She looked at him and she shifted rolling onto her side, and she rested her hand on his broad chest. “I love you” she said sadly to him, a pout on her lips.

Opening his eyes, Aaron looked at Nova and said, “I love you too,” as he gazed at her. He let out a deep sigh once more, just taking her in before he closed his eyes once more, turning his head to the side a bit. He looked to her once more, dropping a peck on her lips before he closed his eyes again, his broad chest rising and falling easily.

At his words she pouted more, gazing at him as he gazed at her. He pecked her lips and she kissed him back fully before he pulled away and she said with a heavy heart. “Tell me what you are thinking and what you are feeling baby…” Nova didn’t really ever feel they were the deep type and maybe that was the problem. Mia told her she needed to talk to him, really talk to him and considering her friend had the ring and she didn’t she figured she needed to try.

Aaron looked back at Nova at her words and he said, “girl what you talkin’?” as he shifted on the bed a little, rolling his head some as he stretched a bit.

Nova looked at him at his words and she shifted looking to him crazily, she sighed as she shifted rolling off him. “That’s the issue Aaron” she said to him seriously “you never want to talk about anything” she stressed as she laid on her back. “You are so cut off from everything” she voiced agitatedly; she rolled her eyes as she repositioned herself. “How are we going to raise a child and we can’t even communicate” she mumbled to herself.

Aaron looked at Nova at her words and he smacked his lips some as he ran his hand down his face. As Nova rolled over and said her peace, he let out a huff. “You don’t need me Nova,” he said as he stared up at the ceiling. “You’ve got it all under control,” he said. “Your parents are wealthy, and you’re set for life,” he mumbled. “I have to grind every single day and I feel like I ain’t shit because I can’t truly provide for you and him,” he said, still staring up at the ceiling, his hands folded over his stomach. “You don’t do it on purpose, but you make these little comments or gestures or looks, and I know you’re judging me…” he said shaking his head a little. “I walk over to the clearance rack because that’s what I can afford and you turn your nose up,” he said. “I work for hours, doing what I can here and there, but it still ain’t enough,” he huffed softly, his eyes still on the ceiling. “I just feel so fucking inadequate…” he said as he patted his stomach idly now. “I don’t want to have to beg for handouts…” he sighed, “but I am… for you…” he mumbled. “But I don’t feel appreciated or… like it means shit at the end of the day…”

Nova looked to him as he began to speak his truth and she sighed to herself, she did need him was he crazy? She couldn’t have done half of this without him and was only doing this because of him. He didn’t know how many times he walked into a clinic to rid herself of the responsibility of carrying their child, but she loved him. She licked her lips as she pushed the covers down a bit, to cool her body off as she rested there listening. “I’m sorry” she breathed to him, she grabbed his hand and laced their fingers. “You are crazy if you think I don’t need you. I need you every second of every day. I need you for things big or small, things you aren’t even aware of. I breathe you Aaron” she said getting emotional. “I’m not judging you” she said shaking her head as she too looked up at the ceiling herself. “You are going to succeed; you are going to jumpstart all of those dreams but realistically everyone needs help Aaron” she said to him. “My dad wasn’t always who he was, and someone helped him lay the foundation he built for his family” she told him. “We need help, we can’t do it alone Aaron. We can’t. I can’t do it alone, no matter what you think” she said looking at him. “Having him could limit my potential… and of my dreams from coming true. We are all sacrificing here. This pregnancy is pulling us both in directions we don’t necessarily desire Aaron, this is life” she said sadly.

Aaron continued to look up at the ceiling as Nova apologized and he nodded slightly as she spoke how she felt now. Slowly he looked over at her, taking her in as she spoke and he sighed softly, giving her hand a squeeze as she laced their fingers. As she grew emotional, Aaron tugged her closer to him and he brought her hand to his mouth, kissing it softly. Slowly he looked back at the ceiling, taking in her words as she spoke, and he sighed. Everyone did need help. No one really did it on their own merit anymore. As she spoke about her sacrifices, he bit his lip. He hadn’t thought about that. There was no way they would both be able to travel all over with a child. One of them was going to have to take a step back. He frowned slightly and he dropped a kiss on her lips. “I hadn’t thought about that,” he admitted. “Nova I’m sorry,” he whispered.

As he brought her closer, she moved without a second glance or thought. She looked at him as he spoke again and she shook her head “there’s no need to be, I’ve dealt with it and cried my tears. It's fine. Sacrificing is what a mother and father does” she told him heartbrokenly. “You can still graduate and get your work out there though” Nova said “you just have to pace yourself, baby steps. Dad wanted to get you that big break babe, but I knew you weren’t going to leave my side. So now we have to work with what he has. Either fly out Aaron or… grab sandwiches. Whichever you choose, remember it will be a hell of a lot better than what we are trying to get by on” she told him. She kissed him back and she rested her chin against his shoulder “things aren’t easy right now” she said a tear falling “but I have faith it will get better” she said softly.

Aaron held Nova close, gripping her hand against his chest. He bit his lip softly and he said, “Nova,” softly. He didn’t want her to give up on her dreams but in truth one of them had to and his field would bring more money in quicker. He dropped his head back against the pillow and he listened to Nova. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “I’ll get the sandwiches for now…” he said humbly “and maybe a few months after he’s born… and we’re good and stable, I might travel if an opportunity presents itself,” he said quietly. Feeling her tears, Aaron rubbed it away and he hugged her to him. “God don’t make no mistakes,” he said softly.

Nova sniffled lightly at the man’s words; she hated how emotional the pregnancy made her. “I like that idea, it’s a great plan” she told him softly. Children changed things, but when they changed the things that matter. Damn did that hurt. “Mhm” she said sweetly to him as she closed her eyes another tear falling as she did. 

Hugging her close to his body, Aaron pushed the covers all the way to the side knowingly as he rocked her a bit as they laid together.

[firelord-frowny]

wrote out some catharsis instead of going to sleep. 

Under the cut is a bit of fiction following characters I’ve had with me for years. You may notice that tenses are inconsistent - this is intentional. You may also notice repetition in places that seem strange. Think of it as a journal entry. Think of it as stream-of-consciousness. If you’re curious enough to read, a helpful bit of background: 1) Madison has been AWOL for about three years and has just recently turned up again. 2) Nixon is Madison’s best friend and also his It’s-Complicated On-Again-Off-Again lover. 3) Steven is a mutual friend of theirs.

I’ve always been a little bit scared of Steven. 

I mean, I love him. Of course. Deeply. I always have. But I’ve also always been scared of him. Not the kind of fear that makes you want to run away, but the kind that makes you want to hide.  And it’s that plain-sight kind of hiding. Maybe if I just don’t say anything, he won’t notice me. Maybe if I stay very still, I can avoid revealing to this extraordinary human being what an absolute dingus I really am. It’s not “scared” like I think he’ll hurt me. I know he’d never hurt me. It’s “scared” like I don’t know what to do with myself around him. Like I can’t read him, but I know he’s reading me,  and I know he’s seeing through all the bullshit I can usually fool other people with. All my life I’ve been so used to always feeling like the smartest person in the room. But that was never true whenever Steven was around. 

Out of everyone, I’ve spent the least amount of time alone with him. And when I have spoken one-on-one with Steven, it’s always been because he wanted to sit me down and lecture me about something Serious. Like when he told me in the back of Julius’s car that my father was going to beat me someday (he was right about that). Or the time on the metro train when he told me I’d regret not being kinder to my mother after she died (he was right about that, too). 

So when I heard Steven’s voice this morning, that same fear started growing inside me like ice crystals. Like little freezing daggers stabbing into my cells and making me feel cold. 

His voice this time wasn’t distorted by speakers. He was here. And I could hear Nix saying to him, “He doesn’t need to know.” 

Steven said, “I’m telling him.” 

Nix said, “It’s not his business. It’s not even relevant. I mean, not anymore.” 

I rolled out of bed. Paused to make sure my junk wasn’t hanging out of the robe Nixon gave me, and it wasn’t. Then I went to go open the door into the hall. 

Nixon was in the kitchen wearing scrubs. Those must be his work clothes. I remember when “work clothes” for Nixon was black slacks, a buttondown, and a Red Lobster nametag. He was putting dishes away - real, porcelain ones. Not plastic or paper like the ones we used to have. 

Steven was sitting at the bar table on a stool. His hair is gone. He always said he’d never cut it. I wonder what made him cut it. His dreads, I mean, his locs, were probably like three and a half feet long last time I saw him. 

They both turned to look at me. I thought I should say ‘good to see you, Steven,’ or ‘woah, what are you doing here, Steven,’ or ‘where’d your hair go, Steven,’ But what I said was, “...You’re gonna tell me what?” 

And instead of answering, Steven stood up and said, “Put some clothes on. I’m gonna take you out for some food.” 

I shook my head. “I, uh, I don’t wanna eat, I’ll-”

“Puke. Withdrawal. I know. Put some clothes on.” 

I looked at Nix. Nix shrugged and looked away. 

I told Steven, “I don’t have anything clean to wear.” 

Then Nix said, without looking at me, “In the closet at the back. Your stuff is there.” I watched Steven’s face as Nix said this, and I’m damn sure I saw him shake his head and roll his eyes. 

“You kept my stuff?” 

Another shrug from Nixon. “You were gonna need it if you ever came back.” 

Steven said again, “Get dressed.” 

***

My clothes didn’t quite fit anymore. I’m thinner now than I’ve probably ever been in my life. I mean, I was never fat, and I was never bulky, but I was always strong. The only part of the genetic lottery that played out in my favor was my natural inclination to be slightly more fit than not-fit. But even just a few months of treating yourself like garbage can whittle you down to nothing. So I grabbed the skinniest skinny jeans I owned. And I never wore belts, so I had to nab one of Nixon’s, and well, it was big on me, obviously, but I just tried to get it as tight as I could, which looked fucking ridiculous, really, but it was alright because then I threw on a hoodie that almost went down to my knees anyway. 

I didn’t say anything to Steven on the way down to his car. (The last time I was home, Franky and Julius were still the only ones among us who had cars). I’ve always worried that Steven thinks I hate him, given that I never really initiate conversation with him. But I don’t hate him. I’m just scared, like I said. 

The plates on the car were from out-of-state. I finally asked, just as we got in and he pulled out of the space, “Arizona?” 

He explained, “It’s an airport rental.” 

“Airport?”  

“I was in Houston.” 

“Houston… Texas? For what, like, a trip?” 

He shook his head. “I live there.” 

He drove along and I just looked at him like he was a fucking stranger. Then he said, “You missed a lot.” 

I asked him, “Why… why’d you move to Texas? I thought you hated Texas.” Truthfully, the only instance I can remember where Steven ever mentioned Texas at all was in high school when we were talking about that one Spongebob episode.  

He said, “That’s where most of the astronaut training stuff is at.” 

I felt my eyebrows raise. “You’re gonna be an astronaut?” 

He nodded. “I mean, if I don’t fail the exams.” 

Nix is a therapist at a rehab clinic and Steven is becoming an astronaut and I’m a washed-up junkie with nothing to his name besides a dropped felony charge, three misdemeanors, and an outstanding jaywalking ticket. I wasn’t even jaywalking. The light was broken and the cop had a quota to meet. I wasn’t even jaywalking. I’m not paying that fucking ticket. 

I finally said, “That’s like… your literal dream come true. That’s… amazing. Congratulations.” 

But he was terse and decidedly Not Gentle when he said, “I ain’t even there yet. Don’t congratulate me.” 

Steven scares me. I don’t know why he does what he does or says what he says. I can’t read him. I think he’s pissed at me but I also think if I told him I think he’s pissed at me, he’d tell me to get over myself.

I asked after a while, “...If you’re living in Texas now, what are you doing here?” 

“I’m here to see you.” 

My palms began to sweat. That feeling in my chest, that vibrating, that resonance that made me want to poison myself rang around inside me. 

“Why?” 

He pulled into the parking lot of a Waffle House. Steven loves waffles. I hate them. Pancakes, too. Syrup makes me sick. Steven got out of the car and I asked again, a little louder, maybe starting to panic, “Why?” 

He just said, “Come on.” 

I wanted a corner booth. I mean, if I was gonna be dragged to a restaurant against my will I wanted to at least be able to have a wall at my back and to one side of me. Safe. Small. Secure. But Steven asked for a table almost dead centered in the restaurant. I think he did this on purpose. I looked up at him, trying to give him that Look that I used to give my friends when something was too much for me, and then one of them, usually Nixon but also sometimes Franky or Steven, would give me some kind of excuse to leave without making anything awkward. And I know, I know Steven knows that look, and he looked down at me and I know he saw it, but he just… ignored me. 

I’m really scared of him. 

He sat, and so then I sat, but only because I had already stood there for long enough that someone glanced at me, clearly wondering why the hell I hadn’t sat down yet. A waitress came and took our orders. Steven ordered waffles and hash browns. I just shook my head and said “I’m not hungry.” But Steven interrupted and said, “Bring him some strawberries.” 

I do like strawberries.

He finally said, “You’ve figured out by now why I take you out in public to talk to you, right?” 

I just frowned. Confused. Annoyed. And honestly, the fucking fluorescent lights were giving me a headache. 

Steven said, “You’re a lot nicer in public. You don’t blow up. You don’t have meltdowns. Nah, you save those for when you’re just with us. And I know, I know, I’m sure your lil meltdowns are real or whatever, but it’s damn convenient that you can always manage to keep it together when strangers are watching.” 

I can never tell if Steven is trying to upset me. I think if I told him I thought he was trying to upset me, he’d tell me to get over myself. 

I told him, “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” 

And he said, “Then quit trying to figure me out and just shut up and listen.” 

I think he’s trying to upset me. But I did shut up and listen. He said, “I don’t know what all you thought would happen when you just up and left like you did. And I know, you’re gonna say it ‘wasn’t about us,’ but like, no fuckin’ duh, bro. Because if it had been about us, you wouldn’t have picked your shit up and disappeared like that. But you did. And Franky, Franky started cutting himself again, like a damn teenager… Eli couldn’t hardly think straight. Me, I felt sick to my stomach worrying about you, and I mean sick, Midge. I mean I’m sitting at home tryna study thermodynamics and I cannot get the bile to quit rising in my throat, not knowing if you’re dead or alive out there.” 

For a long time I told myself that this was exactly what I stayed high to avoid thinking about. But I don’t know how I got myself to believe that lie, considering it wouldn’t have been a fucking issue if I had just stayed home. 

I clenched my jaw. Under the table I dug my nails into my elbows. I asked, with the monotonous inflection of a statement, “Why are you telling me any of this.” 

“You mean you don’t want to know?” Steven laughed. Steven laughed. 

“Honestly, man, I really just wanna get out of here.”  

“Yeah, I know you do. And, you know, if Nix had his way, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now. Because I’m gonna tell you what he doesn’t want you to know. And it’s gonna fuck you up, and I’m glad about that.” 

I covered my face with my hands. I bit my tongue. Out of my throat I managed to squeeze out the words, “Steven, what do you want?” 

Then he said, like it was a bomb he’d been holding over my head, “Six months after you left, Nixon drank himself into a coma.” 

My hands dropped from my face and my eyes got hot and my chest got tight and I felt myself say, “What?” But I didn’t hear it.

“And, well, he lived alone at that point, ‘cause you were gone… Franky offered to have him come move in with him… Julius offered… I offered… hell, all of us offered… but he wouldn’t do it. Said he was gonna stay where he was so he’d be there when you got back. But you ain’t come back. And he was alone. So he did what he does, and he drank like a fuckin fish, drank until he almost died, and then he laid there for… well, he doesn’t know how long, of course, but the doc thought it must have been a whole day or two… and, you know, thank God it was the first of the month, so the landlord came knocking when the rent didn’t get paid, and well, that’s the reason your so-called ‘best friend’ ain’t dead right now.” 

I was shaking. All of me, I think, but mostly my hands, and my mouth. And I could feel how wide my eyes were, and how they stung and burned, and the wetness welling up and brimming. And I tried to stay still, so still that maybe he wouldn’t see me. Maybe Steven is a fucking velociraptor and if I just don’t move, I’ll survive this.

“So, the landlord calls 911… the hospital calls Julius… Julius calls us. I tried to call you. You ain’t answer, obviously.” He rolled his eyes. “We spend the next few nights like a damn vigil in a hospital waiting room… they’re telling us he could have brain damage… they’re telling us to expect ‘deficits’ if he wakes up… ‘if.’ If. Because that wasn’t a guarantee.”

My cheeks began to itch - tears sliding down. Tears that I didn’t move to wipe away, because remember, I had to stay still. 

“So Jules finally called their mom… and gotdammit, Red, you know I ain’t a fuckin crybaby, but when you hear your best friend, your best friend since y’all was in playin’ in sandboxes, on the phone with his mamma telling her that her other son might die…” Steven’s voice cracked. I can’t remember ever hearing Steven’s voice crack. “That shit’ll fuck a nigga up.” 

I felt myself ask him to stop. 

He didn’t. 

“So then Mrs. Johannsen shows up, and you know she always hated all of us. And now we almost couldn’t even blame her… this shit all happened because of you, and you’re one of us, so of course she kicks us out… of course she makes a scene, screaming, carrying on. And then we didn’t even get to see him unless Julius snuck us in. A week and a half of us camping out in the parking lot, waiting for the text from Jules that it was safe to come back up… but damn, we’re grown ass men. We got jobs. We got bills. We got shit to study for. Marco’s going to culinary school worrying about whether Nix is gonna die. Eli’s tattooing tramp stamps worrying about whether Nix is gonna die. Die over something so fucking stupid. Die because he thought life without you was just that bad.” 

I’m not that important. I can’t be. I don’t even weigh enough to be that important. 

“But, you know, by some miracle… by some gotdamn gift from on high, he wakes up.” Steven took a breath. Closed his eyes. Exhaled. “He wakes up, and he talks. He talks!” His voice shook. Today is a day where Steven���s voice has both cracked and shook. “And that was a big deal because the neurologist said he didn’t know if Nix would be able to talk. But he could, and he did. And the nurses asked us if we know anything about his ‘medicine.’ Nixon’s ‘medicine.’ They said he kept trying to ask about his ‘medicine.’” 

I finally had to move. Finally had to drag the cuffs of my sleeves over my face and wipe my eyes. 

Steven leaned forward a little. He looked right at me and I think that was the first time I ever noticed that Steven never really did that. He never really looked at me. He glanced at me sometimes, but he didn’t look. But this, this was looking. And I hated it. 

He said through his teeth, “But he wasn’t asking about ‘medicine,’ Madison.” That was the first time I could remember him calling me by my real name. I hated that, too. “What do you think he was asking about?” 

I had been doing such a damn good job at the silence and the stillness. But not now. Grief and guilt grabbed me like a puppet and shook me. Shook my shoulders. Pressed the breath out of my lungs in a sob - one that I’m sure anyone in the damn Waffle House was able to hear. And my hands went back to my face and my body curled over and there wasn’t anything I could do, there wasn’t any muscle I still had enough control over to stop myself from coming apart. 

I’m a monster, I’m a monster, a gremlin, a troll, a gargoyle, I’m every hideous thing I’ve ever been called. And I always thought it was because people hated how I looked, and I mean, that made sense, because I hate how I look, too. But maybe they were talking about my insides. Maybe all this time people have been able to see right through me and see all the ugly. 

And now all that hideousness was weeping in a Waffle House. Just imagine - though I guess I don’t really need to imagine - all the fuckups somebody has to make in their life to wind up weeping in a Waffle House at 12:30 in the afternoon. 

And Steven, well, Steven didn’t give a damn. He said what he was gonna tell me was gonna fuck me up, and that he’d be glad about it. And he was glad. I hid myself as best as I could… my face down against the table, my arms wrapped around my head… but I could still feel him looking. And I felt him lean closer, and he said, “But the funny thing is, Red… look at what he’s done without you. Look at his life. Beautiful, right?” 

I’ve only been back in Nixon’s life for maybe thirteen hours, but yeah, it does seem beautiful. 

Steven said, “He got better. He focused. And for the first time since the two of you even met, he’s been making decisions without having to think about you. And now he’s got a career. Living in a safe neighborhood. He’s got himself a girlfriend.” A girlfriend? “Her name’s Yoanna. She’s a holistic aromatherapist or some shit like that. She’s annoying as fuck, but he likes her, so I like her, too.” 

I snapped, finally… not a Big Snap, not by my standards anyway, but a little one. I sat up a little and my teeth gritted together and my hands gripped the edge of the table and I demanded - well, begged, really - “Are you gonna shut the fuck up now?” 

He gritted his teeth, too, and damn, I always say I know Steven would never hurt me, but in this moment that didn’t feel true anymore. He said, “No, I ain’t gonna shut the fuck up. Because since you’ve been gone, I watched my friend regrow a life from scratch. He shucked off all your baggage and became a whole person. And now you’re back.”

“And what, you want me to run off again? Want me to go die in a ditch? Is that what’s gonna make this all better?” 

Then he told me, in no uncertain terms, “If all you’re gonna do while you’re here is wreck Nixon all over again, then I’ll run you off my damn self.” 

This is a Steven who would hurt me If he felt like he had to. I’m sure of that now. And it feels like he feels like he has to. Or, it feels like he feels like he thinks he’ll have to very soon. 

Now when I looked at him, I think the fear in me was obvious. 

He said, “I know it must sound like I hate you. And let me be clear - I’m pissed. I don’t think I’ve ever been this mad at anyone in my life. Or this disappointed.” Then he added, his tone finally softening, “But I don’t hate you, man. I love you. You’re my brother. You’re my family. That ain’t gonna change. But I’m pretty sure it was you who told me before that being family ain’t always enough.” 

I choked. I rasped. I wavered. “But you said I was wrong.” 

“You weren’t.” He answered too quickly and that just fucking broke me inside. “I get it now.”

I made myself ask, “What can I do? To fix it?” 

He shrugged. “You can get yourself together. You can become somebody who makes other people’s lives better instead of worse. It’s really not rocket science.” That’s supposed to be funny because Steven is a literal aerospace engineer. “Man, Nixon loves you… he loves you. And he thinks I don’t know! He thinks we didn’t know! And damn, you might just be the most heavily flawed person I’ve ever met in my life, but forreal, it ain’t hard to see what he sees in you. You’re so fucking brilliant, Midge. And you know this. People tell you all the time!” He sounded angry. He sounded frustrated. “You could be anything! There really ain’t anything you suck at. But you just… waste yourself. And it makes me sick, and sad for you.” I’m feeling sick and sad for myself right about now, too. Then he said, “You know, growing up I had to fight for chances… I had to beg and prove myself worthy of opportunities… but you? People took your hand, opened up your palm, and placed opportunity ever so gently in your grip and you just fuckin lobbed it away every time. And I never told you how disgusting I think that is.” He huffed. Shook his head. “So that’s one thing you can do, right there. You can stop pissing away every chance you’re ever given.” 

The waitress arrived with my strawberries. 

I don’t think I like strawberries anymore. 

Neither of us spoke during the ride back to Nixon’s apartment. But before he drove off, he got out and hugged me. I don’t understand Steven. I can’t read him, and he scares me. I asked him if he was coming back up. He said, “Nah. I gotta get back to Houston.” And then he left. 

I don’t like being the kind of person for whom someone feels motivated to fly across the country just to destroy. 

[banesbottombitch]

When You’re Strange

A Patrick Hockstetter / Reader fic

Original Link

Warnings: Violence, swearing up the ass, Tozier!Reader beating ass, Richie and Tozier!Reader’s Trashmouths. She/Her Reader.

Description:  As a military brat, you’ve learned to pick up everything and run at a moments notice. Ending up back in Derry for your senior year and moving in with your aunt and uncle, you’ve come to realize that with Patrick Hockstetter’s sights on you there is no room for running.

Word Count: +4,600

Other Chapters: Part 1, Part 2

Part 3: Rebel Yell

A/N: I whipped this up pretty fast, but I’m going to take short break from WYS for work. I’ll be back in a few days though, worry not. Rebel Yell is by Billy Idol, check out the song you nerds.

“You gotta death wish, don’t you?” Richie pushed his glasses up the length of his nose, squinting at you while you worked at the straps of the blue tarp that shielded your trunk.

“What’s that thing you guys yell at Richie when he’s being a pest?” You asked Eddie, not bothering to look at either boys while you climbed into the back of your truck, tossing the tarp aside and hauling Richie’s bike to the tailgate.

“Beep Beep Richie.” They spoke in unison, your cousin rolling big brown eyes and bouncing on his heels.

“I’m just saying, threatening the Bowers Gang? Really? We all saw you doing it from the cafeteria. You’re here for like, I dunno, less than 36 hours and you’re already picking a fight with those shit lickers?” Richie continued, taking the handle bars of his bike and helping you lower it to the parking lot asphalt.

“He’s got a point.” Eddie chimed in, much to your chagrin. The freshmen shared a look between them as you hopped out the back of your truck before slamming the tailgate closed with a satisfying clap.

You leaned against it, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your windbreaker and giving them an even look.

“Listen, I’m just…” You trailed off, sighing. “I dunno, trying to get them to back off? They seem to genuinely scare you guys. I thought it would help to let them know that I’d take a bat to their heads, y’know?”

Richie threw a long leg over his bike, Eddie climbing to sit on the edge of the seat that the taller boy left him. “Just don’t get yourself killed, we can take care of ourselves.”

Wearily your cousin kicked off, pedaling slowly to round your vehicle. “I’ll see you later.”

“By Eddie!” You raised a hand still stuck in your pocket, Eddie shifting to wrap his arms around Richie’s thin torso and waving back at you. “Make him come home by eight!”

“Nine!” Richie challenged, working his legs to pedal faster and out of ear shot before you could argue. In the distance, you saw him encircle Bill and Stan as they kicked off from their bikes, Beverly riding on Mike’s handal bars and Ben chasing after the other six as he quickened his pace to follow the group out the parking lot.

You clicked your tongue, dragging your keys from your pocket and slipping into your truck. Your backpack sat in the passenger side the two boys had occupied that morning, folded in on itself and limp. You leaned over after stuffing the keys in the ignition to let the car idle, shoveling out the contents in search of the mixtape that had been gifted to you. It took a moment, but you found it, hidden under the gym uniform given to you during your fourth period P.E. class. You had put it in your pocket earlier, but changing had forced you to toss it in your backpack for safe keeping.

Again, you flipped the tape to read over the songs. Beverly had chosen the first song, a Psychedelic Furs classic, ‘Pretty In Pink’. Mike had chosen The Police’s hit ‘Message In A Bottle’, Bill had gone surprisingly wayward and picked a Depeche Mode song ‘Policy Of Truth’. Someone was going through an edgy phase, you mused, impressed nonetheless. Ben as a wildcard with his Billy Idol choice, and you smiled a little, finding that his pick of ‘Rebel Yell’ was a perfect fit for you at least.

Stan had thrown in a surprise guest, Pat Benatar’s ‘Heartbreaker’. You had always wondered what kind of taste the Uris boy had, but honestly, Pat wasn’t too much of a surprise. He seemed like the type to enjoy dramatic and passionate lyrics like those you’d find in Pat Benatar’s music. Eddie had picked a Cyndi Lauper song that held a special place in your heart, ‘The Goonies r’ Good Enough’. You still had vivid memories of watching The Goonies with the four original nerds when it came out in theaters during a small gap in summer when you had flown up to Derry for a visit. It had been easy enough to convince them to dress up with you and go adventuring with them by the barrens, and easier still to let Richie and Bill lead the way for the five of you to build a crappy little fort in the woods.

Richie’s contribution was what really made you beam though, his carefully chosen song for you was a personal favorite of yours. ‘How Soon Is Now’ by The Smiths.

You carefully switched out the tapes, retiring the other one to your wrinkled and torn up cardboard cassette box that rested in the beaten up floorboards of your cab and taking off as the slow rhythmic beats of The Psychedelic Furs filled your truck.

You carefully searched the parking lot for any sign of a blue Trans-Am, surprised not to see any edivdence of it. You shrugged off a rather nervous feeling in your gut at the observation, figuring the Bowers Gang must have snuck out of school after lunch. They didn’t exactly seem like the type to conform to the social norm and actually attend a full day of school anyhow.

The greenery in Derry was a nice change from the ever browning palm trees and sandy tropical gardens of Galveston. The skies were just as blessedly blue, streaks of cream casting cool shadows from the clouds that covered Derry on that October afternoon. It didn't reek like the ocean in the small town, it wasn’t clogged with smog, and the muggy heat of texas had thankfully not followed you north. You felt close to your element in Derry, to your great surprise. It was the right kind of environment for you, but you would admit to already missing the bustling populace of Houston or even the smaller city of Sugarland.

Rolling down your window, you left Derry High behind you, creeping down Pasture Road before turning down the Kissing Bridge to cut over to Canal Street and head back home. You neared the overpass that stood above the canal ways, but slowed with a curse when you spotted that goddamn blue Trans-Am.

It sat empty, but what worried you the most was the pile of bikes left forgotten by the roadside, completely deserted.

“Fuck.” You swore, pulling off to the side and snatching your keys out, kicking the driver side door open in a rush. You hesitated a moment in silent deliberation, eyeing a tool beneath the cassette box.

A sudden hoarse yelp of pain, one you listened to with horror when you recognized it as Richie’s, decided your actions for you. You shoved the cassette box aside, grabbing the heavy tire iron from the floorboards and jumping out the car. You flew through the underbrush by the bridge, hearing what sounded like grunts and swears- namely from the mouth of your Trashmouth cousin.

You stumbled out of the woods, finding a break in the path and crashed out in a flurry of crunched up leaves and panic, tire iron raised.

From the looks of it, you had ended up by the canalside, the rocks littered with the fighting forms of your cousins friends and four enraged, hostile and very unlucky seniors.

Eddie was out cold, face pressed into the ground, a little scratched up but seeming mostly unharmed. Stan was attempting to over power Belch’s hulking mass, who had Bill’s collar in a death grip and was smacking him around like a rag doll. Mike was taking on Patrick and Vic alongside Beverly and Ben, the latter of who was flushed in the face and positively livid. Mike’s torn lip and Beverly’s scraped knees were nothing compared to the absolute wreck that was Richie Tozier’s face however.

Glasses? Shattered. Lip? Busted, bruised and split. Richie’s nose bent at an awkward and certainly painful angle, and there was a long cut alongside his eye, as if someone had carved him with a knife or a piece of glass. That didn't stop his mouth from flapping though, and even with his cracked voice and split lip he shot zingers like the Tozier he was.

“You fucking-” He spat at Henry Bowers, who wrestled with the smaller boy and dug his back into the tough and jagged rocks of the canalside. “Bruce Springsteen lookin’ mother fucker!”

“Aw? Mad, Flamer?” Henry taunted, gritting his teeth and driving Richie harder against the stones. “Upset we knocked out your little faggy boyfriend?”

He cocked his fist back, knuckles bruised and red with Richie’s blood.

You launched into action, roaring with a feral rage and lurching off from the path, bringing your weapon down on Henry’s side with as much weight behind it as you could muster.

“FUCK-” Bowers howled, clutching his side and pushing himself off Richie, who gurgled some kind of greeting that you didn't hear, your vision going red as you knocked Henry further back with the bottom of your docs.

You raised the tire iron, eyes burning and teeth bared, bringing it down where the mullet haired boy would have been if he hadn’t scrambled back.

From your side vision you spotted Belch, who was coming at you with arms out, ready to take you down. Side stepping him, you knocked against his back using the tire iron with a positively bruising force, kicking him for good measure as well and returning your focus to Henry.

“What did I say?!” You screamed, throwing the weapon down again and again, growing more and more irritated as you missed him.

“You’re fucking crazy! Bitch!” Henry spat, pushing up from the ground and scattering pebbles in his wake.

“What did I say?!” You repeated with even more venom, Vic and Patrick hovering beside Belch, who watched your dance with Henry wearily.

“You’re dead!” Henry ignored your prompt, pointing at you and digging into his pocket, whipping out a knife.

You gripped the tire iron tighter, eyes flashing and lip curling. “I like my odds, Bowers. Do you like yours?”

Blue eyes flickered to his wounded friend and the other two who seemed content to keep out of this particular fight. “Get her, Patrick.”

“With pleasure.”

You whirled around, slashing at the lanky boy who was a safe distance from you, a wild look in your eyes. “You think I’m above kicking your ass too, Hockstetter? Don’t fuckin’ try me!”

Patrick edged around Belch, watching you carefully. “Why don’t you settle down, Princess?”

Adrenaline pounded through you, your blood a rush in your ears. You let out a growl, pointing at him with the weapon. “You wanna dance? Let’s dance, Hockstetter.”

“[First Name]!” Stan shrieked, the crunch of pebbles shifting with weight alerting you back to the threat that loomed behind.

Spinning with the weapon ready, you landed a solid blow on Henry’s shoulder, but he had used your distraction to his advantage and you felt the white hot hiss of a cut rake down your right arm. The knife sliced through your windbreaker easily, slicing your forearm good, and scarlet poured freely as Henry stumbled back, looking pained.

Panic set in now, Patrick’s presence hovering along the sidelines, a snarl at his lips and Henry raised his knife in silent challenge once more.

“One more good whack, Bowers, and you’re in the hospital.” You sneered, rolling the weapon to your other hand, knowing you’d be sloppy with the change, but still effective. You spared Patrick a glare. “And I’ll aim for your head, Hockstetter.”

“Sounds tough coming from you, Tozier.” He taunted, a bottle of hairspray shaking in his hand as he fixed on you with an eerie gaze. “I’ll melt that Trashmouth right off your pretty little face.”

You saw the kids scramble to Richie and Eddie, the Bowers Gang focused on you entirely. Belch attempted to rise, but stumbled back down in a kneel, swearing. You had gotten him good, it seemed. Vic didn't want to press the matter at hand, attempting to help his friend stand instead of facing you.

You winced, bending your wounded arm and taking your keys out of your pocket, hurling them at Beverly, who caught them with an uncertain look.

“Get in the truck, have it running. Id im not out in five, drive.” You ordered tensely, eyes flickering between Patrick and Henry, the latter of whom seemed to be having trouble standing, his breathing uneven and restless.

The freshmen swarmed the two broken boys, your cousin fighting their helping hands and calling after you. You ignored him, waiting for either of the bullies that crowded you to make their move.

“What now, boys?” You carefully stepped to the side, eyeing them as you edged back to the path that would lead you to the truck, Richie’s friends racing away with him and Eddie in tow.

A spout of fire that curled and preened shot out at you, Patrick closing in all too fast in response. You swore, not expecting him to have that much range, Henry throwing himself at you when you faced Patrick.

The two of you went flying, the cut burning as Henry shoved you to the bank, the action knocking the air out of your lungs as your back met the uneven and sharp rocks. You struggled, throwing the tire iron up to block his jabs and slashes of the knife, the edge coming dangerously close to your eyes.

“Look at you now, Trashmouth!” Patrick hooted, running up to come beside Henry.

You writhed under Henry, finding an opening and, with a valiant cry, jerked the bottom of the tire iron to strike Henry’s temple. He gave a cry of pain and ripped himself off you, roaring as he clutched his now bleeding head. You kicked yourself up, just barely breaking from Patrick’s grasp as he hurled himself after you.

Henry was down for the count, but Patrick was more than happy to pursue you through the winding and twisting limbs of the underbrush. The path was caked with wet leaves, unsteady earth and littered with specks of blood from Richie and probably Bill, but you came out the other side and skidded across the Kissing Bridge, chest heaving, victorious despite the challenge of the terrain.

Patrick was right on your tail, always inches from catching you, his eyes lit up with a gleam that horrified you to the core. He was enjoying himself as he increased his speed while you sprinted to the running truck.

“TAKE OFF THE BREAK, TAKE OFF THE BREAK!” You screamed, hearing the chaotic laughter behind you.

The gang was in the back, all shouting after you to hurry, Bill and Richie leaning heavily on each other in the trunk of the car, looking like hell had come after them and spat them back out. Beverly was at the wheel, screaming in time with the others as you threw yourself into the open trunk bed, Mike shoveling you far inside as Beverly shot off like a bullet. You all lurched forward from the force, the bikes that had been stuffed in the back rattling beside each other, and you gave a cry when you felt Patrick’s hand just barely graze your boot, your head turning as you watched him slow to a trot, giving up in his chase.

“We’ll get you later, Tozier!” He called after you, bending to catch his breath, eyes boring into you as Beverly whipped the truck down the street and carried off far from the bridge.

The truck was driven far away, weaving behind Derry through back roads that even you were unaware of. Mike carefully climbed through the open back window, directing Beverly with a calm voice, the only one of you who had the sense to keep his emotions in check.

The wind whipped at your hair, the cool air welcomed to calm the heat in your veins, to tame the fire in your belly. You were going to fucking murder Bowers, if it was the last thing you did. Carefully, you shuffled past the bikes to Richie and Bill, taking care to raise Richie’s head to inspect the damage.

“What happened?” You asked, your question falling on Stan or Ben to answer.

You glanced over your shoulder, Stan looking distraught as he watched Bill roll his head, his left eye swelling shut and jaw reddening with bruises. Bill attempted to speak, his speech slurred.

“B-b-buh-bowers,” He finally got out, heaving a sigh. “Ben. Tell h-her.”

Ben shifted, his face dirty and flushed, but seeming mostly unharmed. “Bowers caught us at Kissing Bridge. He was pissed you had tried to order him around, so he started picking on Richie… And, well, you know Eddie,” the boy nodded at Eddie, whose head rested on Stan’s lap, his breathing relaxed. There was a knot forming on his forehead, but at the very least he seemed safe enough. “He got angry that Henry was messing with Richie and he mouthed off to him, which made Henry angry, which made Richie cuss him out and, well.”

Ben sighed. “They chased us to the canal, Patrick and Henry shoved Eddie down and he was out like a light. Richie tackled Henry, Bill went for Belch when he tried to kick Richie off Henry and Patrick got on Mike. Bev and I ran to Mike after Stan ran to Bill and Vic knocked me down. You showed up after i got up and Henry started wailing on Richie.” “Fuckin… Idiot.” Richie spat, breathing heavily as Beverly finally slowed the car, pulling the parking brake as she came up beside a pasture and climbing out, panic fresh on her features.

“You’re the idiot!” She yelled, a wetness in her eyes as she crawled into the truck bed, reaching for Eddie and cradling his face in her hands. “Eddie, Eds?”

The boy gave a sharp inhale, hazel eyes fluttering open as he flinched awake. “What-” He sat up, swaying only slightly as Mike took the wheel. “What the fuck happened, OH MY GOD, RICHIE!”

“Where do we go?” He asked, looking over his shoulder, worried gaze resting on Richie and Bill.

“R-r-ree-rich- FUCK,” Bill cursed, angirly stirring in his spot. “Richie’s!”

His eyes hardened, furious with either himself or his predicament, you weren't sure. Mike looked to you for an okay and you wearily crawled from the back to the inside of the cab, letting out a soft moan of pain as you overworked your wounded arm.

Eddie took your spot beside Richie, eyes pricking with tears as he practically hyperventilated. He was speaking a mile a minute and you didn't take the time to decipher it as Mike began to drive forward, heading down the road to make it back to town.

“Eds.” Richie croaked between heavy breaths, Eddie continuing on some kind of rant about broken noses. “Eds.”

Beverly gingerly looked over Bill’s face, Stan hovering at her side and looking forlorn as they bounced in the back from the dents and potholes of the roads. Gravel kicked underneath the truck, crunching loudly as Mike led everyone past farmlands.

“Eds.” Richie said firmly, reaching out and catching a panicky hand of Eddie’s, folding his fingers together with the smaller boys and arching in to a sore stretch. “Stop, i’m begging you.”

Finally, Eddie silenced himself. A loud sniffle could be heard as he shuffled closer to Richie, forcing your cousin to lean himself on him. “You’re a fucking idiot. Idiot.”

“Nice.” Richie mused with a broken laugh, coughing and groaning. “This is all your fault, [First Name]. Just sayin’. If I die, make sure they bury me in a coffin without nails so I can pass over to the promise land and let god know how much of an ass you are.”

“Considering you want ‘Highway To hell’ played after your hespied, you turd, I don’t think you’re making it to the otherside.” You snapped, sliding off your jacket and eyeing the nasty cut, courtesy of Henry Bowers. “I was just trying to help.”

Richie scoffed, but you decided against fighting further, it did you no favors. Maybe Richie was right. You had been too aggressive, way too damn fast. The Bowers Gang meant business, it appeared. Something told you that if Patrick had caught you at the bridge that you’d have been dead meat, no holds barred. Just threatening those boys had landed you in a heap of shit, and, like Richie had pointed out, you had barely been in town for two days.

Mike watched you from the corner of his eye, and you sighed heavily, closing the window to the back and scrunching up your face in distaste.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” You asked him, already gathering that he was the wisest of the group, the most grown up and least opinionated.

Mike shrugged his shoulders. “You Toziers are good at two things; talking smack and causing problems… But at least you were trying to do right by us.” He smiled a little, rubbing at this split lip. “Even if it did get us a little roughed up. It shows you care.”

“Richies beat bad, Bill’s going to be swollen up and colored purple.” You said regretfully. “Eddie was out for longer than five minutes, and you’ve got a busted lip. I did a swell job trying to do right by you guys, huh?”

“You’re hurt too.” Mike pointed out softly, turning down a rural road. “Bowers cut you up pretty bad.”

“I’m fine. I’m more worried about you guys.” You said honestly, peeking back at the others in the back, all of whom who were huddled together in a tight circle. The breeze ruffled curls and upset need styles, but at least all of them had tired smiles. They looked valiant, proud to have escaped with a few scrapes and their lives.

“Toziers.” Mike murmured, shaking his head and giving a defeated sigh. “You need to watch it around Bowers, I’m just warning you.”

“I can handle myself.” You defended lightly.

“I saw. But if Patrick had jumped in, I’m sure you wouldn’t currently be in this car.” He said, attempting to resonate with you. “You took that tire iron to Henry Bowers pretty hard core, sure, but he isn't the only member of the gang, [First Name].”

You clicked your tongue. “I’d take him on again if I could, Mike.”

“I know.” He agreed, eyes dancing with amusement.

You were quiet for a while, letting the scenery pass by before suddenly you sat up, blinking in surprise.

“WAIT? CAN YOU EVEN LEGALLY DRIVE?”

Underneath the blood that caked Richie’s face was a simple broken nose and torn lip, nothing too major despite what it had seemed earlier. You and Richie was miraculously able to convince your aunt that he had simply fallen off his bike and roughed himself up slamming into a pole. Your cousin had an endless supply of glasses, so it was an easy fix as far as the two of you were concerned, and Bill’s eye lessened in its swelling after he applied an ice pack and Eddie tended to his cuts. Mike said his lip was nothing to worry about and Ben put countless band aids on Beverly’s knees, the tenderness evident behind his sweet smile and Beverly’s warm gaze. Eddie’s bump had receded considerably and was barely there now, but he had kept ice on it for a while just to be safe.

It took the combined power of Stan, Bill, Mike and Beverly to hold you still so Eddie could patch up your arm. You thrashed around, having preferred to just rinse it off and tape the wound up in a classic Tozier fashion, but Kaspbrak nagged the shit out of you before he ordered the attack on you to be made.

Richie was too doped up on the pain medication that Eddie stole from his cabinets to bring to your house for his emergency aid, so the bespectacled nerd could only let out a few slurred “Suck the wound ”’s before he seemingly passed out on the couch in the Tozier home’s basement.

“Hold her still, come on.” Eddie snapped, a cotton ball of peroxide in between his careful fingers as he applied the antiseptic to your gash.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow-” You whined, wiggling around despite the combined weight that kept you seated in the office chair stolen from your uncles computer room.

“Is she going to need stitches?” Stan questioned, much to your added distress.

“No, she isn't. It's just a flesh wound.” Eddie assured everyone, Ben letting out a thankful sigh in place of yourself.

Richie gave a sleepy chuckle, rolling on the couch. “Flesh wound…” He was promptly ignored.

“Calm down, you’re alright.” Beverly shushed, smiling down at you. You flinched as Eddie patted your cut dry, pressing gauze against it before begining to wrap your arm tightly with bandages.

“Thanks mom.” You snarked, wincing at the pressure applied, but calming down nonetheless.

Eddie stepped back, sighing. “Done.”

All four teens released you, and you shot up, heading to the couch to sit with your cousin, licking your wounds per say.

The others mingled for a while before leaving, everyone thankfully not as roughed up as before and wearing smiles. You waved them all out the basement entrance before going back to Richie, slinging the battered (and drugged out) boy’s arm over your shoulder.

“Come on champ.” You encouraged, heading upstairs. Shutting the door to the basement behind you and maneuvering to the second story, pausing at the base of the staircase to bid your aunt and uncle good night.

"We're heading to bed. Love you guys."

They didn't bother to turn from the television, leftovers from the night before in their laps and eyes glued to the news.

“Assholes. They don’t even care...” Richie muttered lowly, but you shushed him softly, leading the boy one step at a time to the second story hall, where you dragged him to his bedroom.

Richie swayed as you reached to turn on his light, taking the boy to his bed and gently settling him a top the covers.

“[First Name]?” He slurred your name adorably, barely keeping onto his consciousness. You hummed in response, undoing his laces and setting his shoes on the floor beside his twin bed. He squirmed in the Star Wars covers, slipping his glasses off and dropping them on the nightstand.

“I’m glad you’re back.” Richie whispered hoarsely, scratching at the tape stuck to his nose from Eddie’s handiwork. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too Bucky Beaver.” You felt your heart melt and expression soften. He watched you with his big brown eyes, looking dead tired and bruised. He was still in his clothes from earlier and you sighed, knowing what you had to do. Walking to his dresser you grabbed a pair of pajama pants and a shirt from the drawers before returning to his side, shifting the dirtied jeans off his legs.

He let you do the deed, complaining only when you jerked the jeans too roughly off his ankles and drawing his pajama pants over bare legs. The change into his shirt was easier, and once that was over with and you had combed any mud that was left in his hair out, you straightened and threw his comforter over top his aching form.

“Love you, bud.” You said, stepping away from his bedside.

“Love you too.” He murmured, eyes fluttering in attempt to stay awake. “Thanks for beating up Bowers with a crowbar for me.”

“Tire iron.” You corrected with a chuckle, heading to the door. “You’re welcome, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Do we get up at six again?”

“No, we get up at six forty-five. You get to sleep in.” You walked to the door, turning off the light. Lost in his delirium, and maybe from the light headedness of his pain killers, Richie gave a quiet cheer.

“Yay.”

[littleglassanimalwrites]

YAY!  So I’ve been trying to solidify Renata a little better in my head, and this exercise actually helped a bit.  Thanks to @lavellanpls for the amazing OC template that you can find here.  

I know people don’t typically explain their choices (or maybe they do....it’s been a while since I’ve been super active on tumblr lol), but I feel that I’d like to for Renata’s sake.  So keep reading if you care to, and don’t be scared to send me messages with questions!!   :) 

Renata’s hair is black, though when she spends enough time in the sun it does tend to lighten up just a little bit.  For the past few years, she doesn’t really get out during the day much at all (for REASONS), so her hair is on the very dark side.  She keeps it long (she finds it’s comforting to hide behind...like a cape) and typically wears it down, but from time to time will do an artful braid here or there.  She wears it in a bun while it dries in order to give it some sort of body and wave, otherwise it hangs limp and lifeless.  

Looking at her complexion, you can tell that Renata used to spend time out of doors, though her skin has paled considerably in the last few years from spending most of her time awake in the evening and night time hours.  Her freckles are there, but pale like her skin.  When she did spend her days in the sun, she would pink and then tan and her freckles were more prominent.  

Renata has, in the past few years, made a name for herself in certain circles.  As such, she has several very high profile clients who find her gifts invaluable and pay handsomely for them.  She doesn’t want for much as far as material possessions go, and it reflects in her choice of clothing.  She opts for styles of her own imagination (or rather, pieces of high fashion that she can remember from her world and coveted) and prefers flowing and comfortable to trussed up and overly a la mode.  When she is not with a client, she very much prefers loose dresses or comfy pajama-esque outfits that the girls in La Galerie have all taken to wearing in their downtime as well.  (The dress I have shown is actually much more ornate in style than she’d typically wear, but it kind of fits the description of what she’s wearing when she first meets Cullen, so I thought it kind of fitting.)

The element category here is....ah....complicated lol.  I don’t want to reveal too much yet, so I’m going to keep my mouth closed for now.  :)  

Autumn has always been one of Renata’s favorite seasons, with winter holding a very close second.  Growing up in southeast Texas, as soon as that humidity starts to wan and the weather goes from 100 degrees to seventy....well, it’s a bit easier to breathe lol.  There’s just something about that feeling of shorter days and dark red sunsets that really warms the core of her being.

At first, I was really unsure of what kind of animal she would be associated with.  But the more I thought about it, the more the elephant really seemed to make sense.  They are caring and protective animals with long memories and strong familial ties.  They tend to make one very good friend that they keep for life, and can fall into serious depressions if not socialized properly.  They’re gentle until provoked, and then you better run or risk being trampled lol.

In Cullen’s initial description of her, I have him noticing that Renata is wearing two rings and no other adornments.  Despite her penchant for fashionable dresses, she’s really not all that big on ornamentation.  She prefers luxe fabrics and fine craftsmanship over jewels and frills.  That said, she only ever wears the two rings.  The one pictured is an heirloom filigree engagement ring given to her by her grandfather after her grandmother passed away.  The other ring is a cheap mood ring given to her by her best friend growing up that she refuses to take off even though it’s cracking and turns her finger green.

Renata is quite tactile, especially when she’s anxious, and as such she loves the sumptuous feel of soft fabrics such as crushed velvet and furs.  She misses having access to her soft microfiber blankets and stuffed monkey that she’d sleep with (she’ll beat you up for making fun of it....).  So, she’s quite happy that she has the means and access to such wonderful fabrics for clothing and various household goods like blankets and pillows.

Renata hails from Houston, Texas.  Though she hates her home state and town at times, she still has that Texas pride that runs deep.  She can talk shit about her state, but she’ll put you in your place for doing the same.  And yes, despite trying to keep it from her voice, she does have a southern accent.    

Lastly, that’s my handwriting lol.  It took me about 800 tries to get her signature to look how I wanted it.  *stubborn writer is stubborn*

[arinharin-archive-blog]

a collection of dally headcanons from my roleplay blog, @breaksrules​, compiled for your viewing pleasure!!

tw: self harm, child abuse, suicide, violence, murder

some are in drabble form, or in response to asks recieved.

you’re born into a world of hatred & war. you’re five, living in the slums of new york, and your dad is putting out his cigarettes on your arms. with venom dripping from his words, he calls you a “good-for-nothing brat”. you cry yourself to sleep and wonder what you did to deserve it. you’re eight, and you’re fending for yourself. you steal from grocery stores, and you find yourself bumming cigarettes off of old druggies. you meet an older boy, and he teaches you how to survive. you’re ten, and you’re in a gang. you’re the youngest, but no one treats you like it. you keep a tight hold on your blade, because you never know when you’ll need it. you’re thirteen, and you kill your father. he’s hitting you, and he won’t stop, and words you heard echo in your mind: “don’t let no one take advantage of you, dallas.” you pull your switchblade, and he’s dead before you know what happened. you take all his cash and catch a train out west. you’re sixteen, and you’re living in tulsa, bumming off of an old friend. you’ve got the closest you’ll ever find to a home, and a couple people you think you can call friends. you’re seventeen, and the boy you swore to protect killed someone, too. you give him and a friend money and a place to go. they don’t know you learned what to do from experience. when you see them next, they’re lost. you buy them lunch and tell them you’ll bring them back to tulsa, if that’s what they want. you’re seventeen, and your best friend is paralyzed from the back down and dying. they tell you he’s not gonna make it. you don’t listen. you’re seventeen, and your best friend is dead. you decide that’s it for you, you’re done. you hold up a convenience store and wave a gun at police. they don’t know you’re bluffing. you’re seventeen, and you’re dead.

anyways modern!dal sneaks into concerts constantly and fucking loves heavy metal

anyways dal & johnny’s first real kiss happened when dal was really hammered and he didn’t remember it the next morning, but johnny did & he was too shy to mention it.

dal would never have a kid and if he did he would run in the other direction so fast. he hates kids, and he’d be scared to end up like his dad.

(Drabble form) ‘ want one, kid? ’

the ten year old looks up at the other; MICHAEL TAYLOR, a seventeen-year-old gang leader that had picked up dally somewhere along the way and taken him under his wing. he’s six-foot-two and jacked, with black hair and green eyes. reluctantly, he nods, and michael places a cigarette in the boy’s hands. dallas examines it for a second before placing it between his lips. michael lights it for him, and immediately dally starts coughing, his body rejecting the smoke. ‘ don’t breathe in so much. it’s only your first. ’ michael’s words are oddly soothing. dally looks up to him greatly. he’s tough, cold, and completely unpredictable. he’s everything dally wants himself to be someday. independent. he nods again, and michael smiles.

as i’ve said before, his father was abusive, often hitting dally and burning him with cigarettes. needless to say, a good 70% of dal’s scars are from his father. ( the other 30% is from various fights & rumbles. ) his mother died when he was around three, leaving him the youngest out of three kids. he has an older sister he doesn’t give a shit about and a brother that’s in jail ( named houston and madison; his parents liked naming their kids after cities ). his siblings left him with his father, being over fifteen years older than him. that being said, dallas’ birth was a total accident, adding fuel to the fire of why his father hated him so much. what dal remembers of his mother is good. he remembers little things, her reading to him, tucking him in, things like that. he remembers she was beautiful and kind and soft. she would say how special he was, how he was gonna grow up to do such great things. he feels like he disappointed her.

when dal killed his father, it was hard. he hated his dad with everything he had, but his dad was most of he could remember. he often thought: maybe he was right. maybe i am useless.

dal does hurt himself. it helps him control his anger, particularly at himself. when something happens to johnny, he does. because he feels like he’s not doing good enough to make sure johnny doesn’t end up like him.

dal doesn’t love a lot of people. or any, really. sure, he might care about the gang and what happens to them, but he doesn’t know what love is, honestly. his dad didn’t love him, and neither did his brother or sister. they didn’t care, so why should he?

he didn’t know he’d ever felt love until he felt heartbreak (when johnny died).

dallas hates most everything. he’s a prime example of being hardened by life & the world. his experiences with his father showed him that the world was cruel, and to survive you had to be tough and mean. almost all of his hate stems directly from his father and his experiences in new york. his father’s murder was inspired by hate. everything he does, he does because he’s just full of rage.

(in response to: why do you think dally was described as an animal instead of human?) dallas worries about survival. he grew up that way; desperately trying to find his next meal or to make sure he didn’t die on the streets. he’s always been that way. survival is constantly on his mind, like an animal. another reason is likely his violence. most of the fights he gets in is to assert his dominance, to show everyone that he’s tough and mean and cold.

(in response to: Do u think the cops actually beat Dallas when they hauled him in regarding the murder of bob? Like when he says "the cops sorta beat it outta me that you guys were headed for Texas" cus I've always wondered about that) the cops knew that it would take a lot to get the location out of dal, and dal knew that if he gave it out right away they wouldn’t believe him. so basically, he let them hit him before telling them to make them believe him. every cop in tulsa knows dally, and they’re not dumb enough to think he’d just give it away like that.

dally’s birthday is june eighteenth.

dally swore to himself he’d protect johnny with everything he had , bc he saw himself in johnny. when he killed bob , he knew that he was going down the wrong path , the same path that dal had when he killed his dad. when johnny died he knew he didn’t have a purpose anymore. that’s why he killed himself.

dally has a lot of scars, from various fights. he has burn scars on his arms, that are mostly from when his dad would put out cigarettes on him as a kid. some of them might be self-inflicted.

he bites his nails a lot ; it’s a nervous habit. as a result, his nails are super short.

dally & sylvia’s relationship was super fucked up in my mind. he was really only with her because he didn’t wanna be alone, and because he thought she was hot. he didn’t love her ; and i don’t know if he could.

when dally flirts, he’s not looking for a relationship. he’s either fucking around or looking for a quick fuck. he’s not one for relationships. he would have to be really close with them to even consider it, and even then he’d be scared to hurt them.

dally loves the 4th because he loves setting off fireworks. it’s illegal, but we all know that’s not stopping him. one time he was setting them off with pony & johnny & pony got burnt. darry got pissed.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Hyro the Hero Interview: Pits Where There Shouldn’t Be

Photo by Mark Adriane

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Let’s get it out of the way: in the critical sphere, rap rock has a bad connotation. Rarely, if ever, do artists tastefully combine the two genres, or even produce something that touches the spirit of both. Enter Houston’s Hyron Fenton, who goes by Hyro the Hero. Following a series of mixtapes, his 2011 debut album Birth, School, Work, Death was a revelation, blending punk and post-hardcore with rap, featuring contributions from some of Fenton’s biggest influences, namely At The Drive-In/The Mars Volta’s Paul Hijonos. Last year, he finally followed up his debut with the more rap-oriented Flagged Channel. His mixture of styles lands him on tours with bands like P.O.D. and festivals like the Rockstar Energy Drink Disrupt Festival, which comes to Tinely Park’s Hollywood Casino Amphitheatre on Friday, and the Vans Warped Tour. But his loyalty to black music and culture nabbed him a spot on this year’s Afropunk lineup, too. 

Last month, over the phone, Fenton (who now lives in L.A.) spoke to being the outlier at many shows and festivals and how the history of his across-the-board influences helped him navigate the terrain. He also shared some wisdom about the contemporary music landscape and its increasingly blending notions of genre. Read below, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: It’s been a year since Flagged Channel came out. How has your relationship with the album changed over then?

Hyron Fenton: It’s more of a live feel with the album now because now I’m performing it. I feel it on a different level. I get to push the energy a little bit more. When I’m in the studio, I try to capture that vibe, but it’s nothing like being on the stage.

SILY: It was a few years between that and your debut.

HF: Yeah, it was a whole learning process. I was just trying to get myself together, learn my craft a little more. I got into rap a little bit more, learned structure, different choruses.

SILY: Is your background more in rap or rock?

HF: I come from a hip hop background. Growing up, I was listening to Tupac, 50 Cent, Cam’ron, Eminem--one of my favorite rappers ever. I was the guy who flipped the channel. I started listening to Nickelback and shit like that, and thought, “Okay, this is rock.” And then there’s deeper than that. I got into At The Drive-In, Rancid, and Bad Brains. A little bit more punk rock. I was learning my roots: The Judgement Night soundtrack.

SILY: Were you influenced a lot by the Houston rap scene?

HF: Oh yeah, man, the Houston rap scene is what got me. My sister used to rap with DJ Screw, who was the man in Houston. He died. She knew him before he blew up. To see him start a movement and turn into a whole thing. In Houston, we were kind of snobby about our music--all we would listen to was Houston music. But I decided to venture out a little bit. I started rappin’, and when I rapped I would scream all the time because I would listen to Tupac and try to imitate him. He wasn’t really screaming, but I thought it was so I would scream. I think that’s what helped me out in rock.

SILY: When was the point where you realized you wanted to combine rap and rock?

HF: It was when my ex-girlfriend in high school left me and I got real mad. So I wanted to make a song about it. I didn’t want to rap, because I couldn’t get the emotion out of it, so I took a rock song and I sampled it. I was screaming on that, and it took off from there. I put it up on Myspace.

SILY: Is it still up, or did it get lost when Myspace lost a bunch of data?

HF: I can’t find it! I think I deleted it. I put that one up and a song called “Punk Rock” where I sampled a Soulja Boy beat and sped it up. I was saying, “I’d rather be a punk rocker than a hip hopper, ‘cause y’all just doin’ the ringtone shit.” I was dissing a lot of people back then. [laughs]

SILY: Were you ever into other bands that combined rap and rock, like the Beastie Boys or Rage Against the Machine?

HF: Oh yeah, man. Limp Bizkit. Especially when it came out when they had a song with Method Man, and Eminem had a song with Kid Rock. I saw it becoming cool in a sense. I saw how much respect rock had for rap, but I didn’t see it the other way around so much. Rap was kind of scared of guitars, so it was cool how they blended it.

SILY: I’ve talked to friends who only listened to rap and then the Jay-Z/Linkin Park mashup came out, which turned them on to rock.

HF: They did it right! Jay-Z has such a cool voice, so they really nailed the chill hip hop vibe with it. The music with Linkin Park is so good and respectable. It blended it perfectly.

SILY: Do you feel like you’ve established your own sound beyond your influences?

HF: Yeah, I think I’ve got my own sound going. I’m always compared to Rage no matter what, but the way I rap is a little different. I put in more words. The way Zack [de la Rocha] did it, with little small sentences that were so powerful. That’s a hard thing to do. I got a lot of stuff to say, which is why I rap a little fast and make my words poetic. What they did was so special, though, so it’s cool to get compared to them.

SILY: Looking at the types of shows you’re playing, you’re with a lot of pure rock bands.

HF: The cool thing about me is I can do rap, I can do metal, I can do punk. They can put me in anything. My music blends all categories.

SILY: When you go to the Disrupt Festival versus something like Afropunk, do you cater to what the crowd is gonna want to hear?

HF: I used to do that, but I felt like that didn’t work for me. Now I just do my own thing. I’ve turned some places into pits that shouldn’t have pits. Especially Afropunk--I can’t wait to bring my vibe there. Same energy I bring everywhere.

SILY: Have you gained a lot of new fans at festivals where you’re the genre outlier?

HF: Oh yeah, man, especially in this day and age. Back then, it was a little different. People were a little bit wary of it. Now, everybody is into everything. If you look at rap shows, they’re trying to be like punk rockers with mosh pits. It’s really no different.

SILY: Trap has mosh pits, but then there’s also emo rock rap like Lil Peep.

HF: XXX[Tentacion], Lil Uzi [Vert], and all them. They’re doing stuff I was doing when I was young. [laughs] I was just a little ahead of my time.

SILY: The rise of the Internet really allowed that to happen.

HF: It’s a gift and a curse. It’s open for everybody, so everybody thinks they’re a rapper and they can do music. The special feel of it has gone. Truly talented people don’t get heard. It’s just if someone makes an ear candy song. At the same time, people are able to express themselves and it makes everybody work harder to get heard.

SILY: And people who previously didn’t have an in or money can get heard.

HF: I was like, “Damn, man, I didn’t have these opportunities when I was young.” I had a crew, but I didn’t have YouTube or Instagram. It’s a gift right now. 

SILY: Do you feel like you have to anticipate trends or what people are going to be doing so you can stand out?

HF: I just do my own thing. I don’t pay attention too much. I listen to music, and it inspires me, but as far as the waves go, I’m a little too old to know what’s up. By the time I hear a song, I’m like, “Oh, it’s a big song?” People got dances to it and everything, and I’m already late on it. [laughs]

SILY: How do you listen to music these days?

HF: Spotify playlists. I love YouTube. I like looking at old live shows. If you look at my Instagram stories, I call it homework. Looking at live shows from Queen, Bob Marley.

SILY: Have you heard anything lately that’s blown your mind?

HF: Lately, I’ve been into this band from Flint, Michigan, King 810. The song “Alpha & Omega”. It’s real dark and heavy. I don’t know if it’s old, but I jam that album. [Editor’s note: It’s from 2016.]

SILY: Are you a big metal fan?

HF: Oh yeah, I’m into metal. More punk rock, but I fall into metal because I love the metal sound. But I couldn’t tell you any new metal bands. I’m into old school metal. If you look at lineups, the old school cats still headlining.

SILY: I saw the Slayer farewell tour at the venue you’re playing here.

HF: Oh man. For throwback Thursday, I was gonna post a picture I had with Kerry King. It’s from back in 2012.

SILY: Sounds like I need to follow you on Instagram!

HF: I have tons of cool stuff there, especially with the lyrics I spit. I’m not political--I leave that up to everyone else. Everybody’s super political online and “woke”--I just like to be fun. [laughs]

SILY: Changing gears--does Houston still feel like home?

HF: Oh yeah, I was just there with some homies for 4-5 days. Went out to the club, partied hip hop style with bottles and stuff--shit I don’t normally do, but it was fun--I ain’t gon’ lie.

SILY: My girlfriend has family near Houston in Humble, and we go to the rodeo every year.

HF: The rodeo is fun, man! I haven’t been to it in a while. I remember when Destiny’s Child did shows there before they were super famous.

SILY: Increasingly, they’re booking a lot besides country. This past year, Cardi B broke the attendance record, before first Los Tigres del Norte and then George Strait broke it again.

HF: That’s crazy! They’ve been booking all kinds of acts now. And even if you look at country--look at Lil Nas X. Hip hop goin’ country. There’s another song going viral right now, a young black kid doing country with a trap kind of vibe.

SILY: Do you like “Old Town Road”?

HF: I love it. I hope he got another one, because it’s so good. It’s kind of hard to top it. [Editors note: Yes, it is.]

SILY: I loved Billy Ray Cyrus’s post-Billboard charts “Is this country enough for you now?” flex?

HF: [laughs] I get it. They probably looked at it and thought, “You’re making a parody of country.” But he’s really sticking with it.

Country already had some hip hop aspects to it, like Florida Georgia Line. I’m from Texas, so I know a little bit about old country, like “Mama Tried”. It’s cool to see the hip hop aspect of it.

SILY: Why did you change your name from Hyro Da Hero to Hyro The Hero?

HF: “D-A” was a little too hard--I always had to spell it out. People just said “The” anyway. So I thought I’d change it. Maybe some Mandela Effect type of way. But I didn’t realize I had so much stuff that said “Da,” so it messed up my merchandise. [laughs]

SILY: It’s probably really valuable!

HF: Yeah, and I have a lot of it.

SILY: Do you have any new music you’re thinking about or recording?

HF: I’ve been working on some dope stuff. I can’t really speak on it, but when people say it’s kind of hard to do the next album--this one might give Flagged Channel a run for its money. Some of these songs, I’m just so excited to do live.

SILY: Are you going to do any of them on upcoming shows?

HF: No, we haven’t learned them yet. A lot of them I don’t even know if they’ll make the album. I have a few for sure with some really cool people. Artists like me--I’m a rapper slash rocker, so I can move around with different bands and musicians and have an all-star cast.

SILY: And introduce people who haven’t met or worked with each other.

HF: Exactly. That’s what’s so dope about it.

[onelongdrive]

let me tell you a few things about peter beach.

their heart is too big and their heart is too soft.

they will offer help before ever asking for it.

they love you, they love you, they love you.

they loved me, too, but they never got the chance to tell me.

that probably sounds narcissistic, and you know what?  that’s fair.  because, like, i totally am.  i don’t mean to be, but whatever.  if the dead girl’s boot fits, or whatever.

but it’s not supposed to be.  it’s just the truth.  because when you die, you kind of get to tap into that sort of shit.  you get to learn that kind of stuff.  and i learned that.  i learned that they loved me.  i learned that they were going to tell me, and they never got to.  because everything was over, and the chance was ripped away from them.

they were always so fucking happy, you know?  they were the one that always greeted you with a smile, with a hug, with a bouquet of flowers that they probably weren’t supposed to swipe out of their mother’s garden but did anyway.

and they’re still that person.  even now.  even after everything.  but it’s wearing on them.  the wear and tear of what happened is starting to rip through the cracks, seep through them and pour out.  they don’t want to look like they’re not okay, because they want to be okay for everyone.

it’s just not that easy.

learn more about peter below

All You Need Is Love!  Peter Beach will happily belt the words to that infamous Beatles song if ever given the opportunity. Peter loves love. It’s what makes the world go round, as the cliche says. Love has been what has defined him for as long as he could possibly remember. In his youth, this was best exemplified in the love shared between him and his parents. Patterson and Victoria Beach were a typical eccentric couple typical to Shadow Creek. Patterson managed to the town library and Victoria was a teacher at the local junior high. They were a happy, settled couple who lived a quaint and peaceful life in their small two bedroom house. They were the ones to show Peter what it meant to live positive.

His dad was goofy, and silly and liked to take silly pictures of his wife and son. His mother was giggly and fun and she liked to fill their house with her paintings. They doted on their son Peter and showered him with kindness and affection, while also stressing the importance that he do the same. His childhood was filled with fun and games and family traditions. Each Halloween, he dressed up and went trick-or-treating. On Thanksgiving, he rode with his parents to his grandparent’s house for a lively dinner followed by an even rowdier watch of the football game happening. When Christmas rolled around, he dutifully put out the cookies and milk for Santa, even after he had long stopped believing.

This wholesome upbringing plays a great part in why Peter is the way that he is. His most core values are heavily influenced on who his parents are. If you ask him, there is nothing more important than kindness and acceptance. These beliefs paved the way for his time in school and allowed him to collect a bunch of close friends. To those he went to school with, Peter was considered a fairly quiet, but sweet boy. He could be seen around campus using pencils as drumsticks on whatever surface was nearest to him. It was also no secret that he was musically inclined, especially when he became old enough to be invited to high school parties. As cliche and stereotypical as it sounds, he was the guy in the corner that would ask if you wanted to hear him play Wonderwall.

It was at one of these parties that he first realized that he might be falling for Olive Graff. She was beautiful and enticing and he wanted nothing more than to know her. He didn’t know what it was exactly that caused his feelings for her to change. It was like one day she was just his friend, and then suddenly she was the girl of his dreams. He was always too scared to approach her. What if she thought he was ridiculous? What if she told everyone that Peter Beach made an absolute fool of himself by asking her out. Of course, he knew that she was kind and nice and probably wouldn’t, he still couldn’t get his brain to stop scaring him with the possibility. This was a downside of Peter. He cared far too much about what people thought of him. He wanted to be liked by all and loved by many. He was terrified to do something if he thought it would cause him social strife, which meant he often stayed silent about things concerning him, to the detriment of himself.

He never had been the type to rock the boat.

Still, even though Olive had no clue about his feelings, he was still a happy person. She was his friend, as was everyone else, and that was all he really needed. Or so he thought, anyways.

He’d been at the party immediately following graduation. As if the universe were giving him a sign, the day had been exceptionally bad. He’d argued with his mother about college, or more specifically, his lack of. She wanted him to do something with school following graduation, even if it was at the community college. All Peter wanted to do, however, was play music. Obviously, his mother did not quite share his confidence. He broke his phone later that night too, which was why he had been more reserved than usual at the party on that fateful night. Ironically, he had been the closest he’d ever been to telling Olive about his feelings. That is, until he caught sight of her arguing with Bryson. He’d quickly dipped away, not wanting to get involved in something like this and went back to his usual state of being far too cowardly to say what he felt.

It was only a few hours later when he’d heard what happened.

Like everyone else, this absolutely crushed him. Olive, the love of his young life, was dead. As a result of drunk driving too. It took everything in his being to not lash out at the boy who did it. They were friends, but none of that mattered now that Olive was dead. It was only when his mother reminded him to think of all sides and how everyone must be feeling, that he calmed down.

Sort of. It was hard to fit the exact definition of “calm” in a situation like this.

Olive’s death had a tremendous impact on their small town. Peter watched from a distance as all of his friends scattered across the world. He chose to stay. He worked at the Dairy Queen across from his old high school for six months following that night. He felt directionless and lost. He didn’t feel like he could make it on his own but he drowning by staying. Olive was all that he could think about. He couldn’t stop beating himself up for not telling her how he felt. He felt like a coward, less of man. He needed to grow a spine. It became clear to those closest to him that Peter needed a change.

One morning, just like any other, Peter had headed downstairs for breakfast. He was in his Dairy Queen uniform and was preparing to go and work a double shift. His father and mother were waiting for him and it was clear from the look on their faces that they wanted to talk. So they did. They talked long and hard about Peter’s place in life and expressed their concerns that he wasn’t growing. They told him that he needed to do something, anything.

So he did.

After his shift, he sat down and pooled together every penny that he had. Once he did that, he asked his parents if they would match him. They did.

Scared, confused, but slightly hopeful was how Peter felt as he boarded the greyhound bus that was heading from South Carolina to Alabama. When he arrived, he immediately boarded another bus that took him to Louisiana. One crazy night in New Orleans, and he was on his way to Texas. He arrived in Houston, spent another two nights there, before boarding one last bus to Austin. This is where he would stay for  years to come. It was the live music capital of the world, and he planned to take advantage of it.

Before long, he fell into the city’s culture. He started smoking cigarettes, found himself dabbling in different psychedelic drugs, and ended up in a two bedroom apartment with five other people. A few months later, he started a band with some friends. They named it Indoor Creature. This was Peter’s life. For the next six years, he lived in peace and happiness. Olive was still on his mind. He never had found anybody else to make him feel the way that she did. But he had healed, for the most part.

Now, he’s on his way back to Georgia to embark on some insane cross country road trip with everyone Olive cared about. He can’t believe that he somehow made the list. He’s excited, maybe this will be finally what he needs to be completely happy and whole again.

[placetobenation]

Later today the 2018 Mae Young Classic will be getting underway at Full Sail. There’s a lot of hype and excitement about this year’s edition and the smorgasbord of talent involved, but personally I am most excited to witness the comeback of former WWE Diva Kaitlyn.

Now that may sound pretty on brand for me, but let me tell you, three months ago I would not have been able to fathom saying such a thing.

Out of all the women of the Divas Era, Kaitlyn is the wrestler whom I have completely turned around on the most. I was never much of a fan when she was active, and rewatching her early years now, she was actually even worse than I remembered for a good while.

Now, I don’t blame Kaitlyn AT ALL for not being any good in the beginning, she was one of those girls who was thrown in the deep end and had to learn how to wrestle on live television. Who could possibly know what they were doing in their first ever match? It’s not her fault but still, I mean, at times you’ve almost never seen someone look so clueless in a wrestling ring. I say all this just to stress how down on her I was. By the time I sat through the eighth interminable Kaitlyn vs. Maxine match on NXT Redemption (which was about nine Kaitlyn vs. Maxine matches too many) I was at my wits’ end with this woman.

Fast forward a little and I’m sending out distress signals like this:

“Three days ago I would have stabbed my eyes out before I watched another six minute Kaitlyn match and now Kaitlyn is my favourite wrestler on the entire earth what is going on send help.”

It was a hell of a three days.

What I watched in those three days completely turned me around on Kaitlyn and I am more than happy to eat my words. She got RIDICULOUSLY good. Her improvement coincides with her push towards the Divas Title, in a storyline I like to call The Saga of the Blonde Wig, so gather ’round children, it’s story time.

First, some context.

The Divas Division for most of 2012 is a wasteland. Not because it’s bad per se, but because it is practically non-existent. It disappears. As soon as the New Year hits WWE forgets everything they were doing in 2011, just get complete amnesia about the whole women’s roster.

I mean, Tamina gets a title shot at Elimination Chamber and the storyline is that Beth Phoenix is excited to have a challenger because she’s so bored being champion of a dead division. That is the actual storyline! And it is a SHOOT. By the fall their biggest female stars – Kelly Kelly and the Bella Twins – had gone, and Beth had one foot out the door as well.

What was happening is that they were too busy putting women in prominent non-wrestling roles instead. Eve Torres does the thing with Zack Ryder, turns heel and ends up as Middle Management Eve with glasses. And of course AJ Lee goes from being Daniel Bryan’s abused girlfriend to being Crazy AJ in a love… well not exactly a love triangle (A love square? A love rhombus?) with Bryan, CM Punk and Kane. AJ is pretty ubiquitous on Raw over the summer of 2012, she’s all over the show in a lot of main event segments, and ends up as the Raw GM.

Apparently this stuff filled their quota of hot women on TV so they couldn’t be bothered booking the actual women’s division once they did AJ’s stuff. There are times where we go a month at a time without even having a women’s match on Raw or Smackdown. Because of all this, I was at my lowest point of interest in the entire project.

And then.

I don’t know if it was because WWE moved to three hour Raws full time and needed more content, or that the AJ stuff was winding down and the token women’s spot opened up, but after the summer they suddenly remembered that they had a women’s division! It begins when Kaitlyn wins a No. 1 Contender’s Battle Royal and is set to face Divas Champion Layla at Night of Champions. (Layla, by the way, hadn’t even defended the title in two months. They did not give a shit.)

But at Night of Champions, Kaitlyn is MYSTERIOUSLY ATTACKED backstage before her match by an UNKNOWN ASSAILANT. Oh no! Eve, the Smackdown Assistant GM, who currently has a fake nice girl act going on, is the one who finds her. She brings the news to Smackdown GM Booker T and, I guess because he doesn’t realise there’s a women’s division either, he just puts Eve in the match instead.

So Eve faces Layla, beats her and wins the Divas Title. Naturally, every sane person on earth thinks that Eve took out Kaitlyn to get her spot and her nice girl act is a façade. But Eve sticks to her nice girl persona and denies everything vociferously, so we have a bit of a mystery on our hands.

Kaitlyn comes back a couple weeks later on crutches and says she’s seen the security footage from the Boston Garden, and her MYSTERY ATTACKER was in fact, a blonde woman. Ooooh! Obviously this rules out Eve, a known brunette, and Eve immediately points the finger at Beth Phoenix, who happens to be standing next to her at the time and who is, in fact, a known blonde woman. But Beth had nothing to do with it either, and the mystery remains.

A couple of weeks later on Smackdown, there’s a backstage conversation where Teddy Long is trying to tell Booker T, that Kaitlyn and Layla are trying to tell him, that Aksana had told them… that she found a BLONDE WIG in Eve’s bag! Oooooh! Eve sticks to her denial and says it was planted there by Aksana. Then the babyfaces figure out that if Aksana had the wig then she’s probably the one who attacked Kaitlyn. So Kaitlyn and Layla end up with a working theory that Aksana was hired as a hitwoman by Eve, but no proof.

Then finally during the week before the Hell in a Cell PPV the whole thing unravels. Kaitlyn finds Eve’s iPad and reads the emails Eve sent to Aksana planning the attack (and takes pictures for proof because she’s not stupid) and even though Eve STILL hilariously tries to proclaim her innocence, the jig is well and truly up.

But at Hell in a Cell, Eve defends against both Kaitlyn and Layla in a triple threat, and escapes with the title in true heel fashion. In fact, all of this blonde wig nonsense is just the beginning of Kaitlyn’s long and arduous road to the Divas Title.

She gets a one-on-one title shot at Survivor Series and Eve fair dinkum TRIES THE SAME THING by having Aksana attack her backstage before the match (in a blonde wig and everything!) but this time Kaitlyn sees it coming. During the title match she beats the crap out of Eve for some much needed revenge, and honestly it turns into a damn good match, but Eve squeaks out another win.

At this point it’s clear that Eve does not want to fuck with Kaitlyn in a fair fight ever again, and does everything she can to stave off what feels like her inevitable reckoning at this woman’s hands.

At TLC Eve screws Kaitlyn out of winning a No. 1 Contender’s Battle Royal and defends against Naomi instead. Kaitlyn does get a shot on the live Smackdown special in December, and it’s another great title match that escalates to a point where you think Kaitlyn will SURELY win the title here, this is it… and then Eve just grabs the referee’s ankles and holds onto him until he disqualifies her. Like a complete ASSHOLE. I was so impressed with Kaitlyn’s performances and so invested in her title chase by this point that I HATED THIS. What a dick.

So because of that heel chicanery Kaitlyn is granted yet another chance at the title on a Monday Night Raw, now in January 2013. They have ANOTHER great title match and Kaitlyn is AGAIN surely about to finally win here… and then Eve just grabs the belt, hauls ass and gets counted out. Just when you think Eve has run out of ways to escape with this damn title. I have absolutely had it with this piece of shit right now.

But then finally, finally, FINALLY, the fates align. Next week is the 20th Anniversary of Raw special, and it is in Houston, Texas, which just happens to be Kaitlyn’s hometown. She has one final shot against Eve, and this time Eve can’t get disqualified or counted out or she’ll lose the title.

So Eve is cornered. Kaitlyn’s shirt says “Don’t Mess With Texas”. Her family is in the crowd. The stage is set.

Eve sells the hell out of all this and doesn’t even want to hand the title over before it starts. She can sense that once again, the jig is up. So they have their most epic match yet, the hometown crowd is behind Kaitlyn, they kick out of each other’s finishers, everything is happening… and then at the death Eve tosses Kaitlyn over the barricade and into the timekeeper’s area, trying to get her counted out. Oh come on, not MORE bullshit!?

But wait! As Eve gets back in the ring, she doesn’t see that Kaitlyn has recovered and snuck back in on the other side, she turns around into an ALMIGHTY SPEAR that kills her the fuck dead and finally, finally, FINALLY Kaitlyn pins Eve Torres in the middle of the ring and wins the Divas Championship of the World.

Kaitlyn cries her eyes out when that bell rings but trust me it ain’t half as much as I’m crying. I am a MESS. Who knew I could feel so many damn things for Kaitlyn?

Seriously, it is so rare in WWE for a storyline to go from A to B to C and be paid off this well in the end. Especially a women’s storyline. This was a beautiful, cathartic moment. (She also gave a sweet backstage interview after winning and I lost it all over again. Sometimes things are just nice.)

To bring it back to Kaitlyn the worker, I’m not even sure how to explain it but she seemed to just grow into this push week after week, getting better and better. I enjoyed her performances during the injury/whodunit storyline (she was always good in skits, going back to her soap opera days on NXT Redemption), and when she returned to the ring she was just a completely different Kaitlyn. That Survivor Series match was the moment it truly hit me, because it was a fantastic match and I didn’t feel like Eve carried her in any way. They had insane chemistry and all of their matches were really good.

Kaitlyn herself was working out of her skin. Suddenly she was chain wrestling and busting out holds and counters like a maestro. Suddenly her selling was off the charts good and she carried this entire title chase with her babyface fire. Suddenly she developed a great arsenal of impact moves that she would just kill people with – not just the Spear but all of her stuff got really stiff and awesome, like she finally figured out her own strength. It is deadset ridiculous just how good a wrestler Kaitlyn became in such a short space of time.

In mid-2012 I was dreading her every appearance – by the end of the year she was basically the best woman on the roster and carrying the likes of Aksana to good matches.

A hell of a three days, I tell ya.

This isn’t the last time I was mesmerised by a soap opera storyline involving Kaitlyn either, so stay tuned for the next Kaitlyn saga. I will also get around to Eve Torres herself, who was similarly working out of her skin in 2012 and went out a hell of a wrestler.

For now though, I hope Kaitlyn does put in a good showing at the Mae Young Classic, and I hope you’ll join me next week as I compose yet another love letter, this time to the woman who really started this whole thing for me.

Check It Out: Eve vs. Kaitlyn – Divas Title (Raw, October 8th 2012) Kaitlyn vs. Beth Phoenix (Superstars, October 18th 2012) Eve vs. Kaitlyn vs. Layla – Divas Title (Hell in a Cell 2012) Eve vs. Kaitlyn – Divas Title (Survivor Series 2012) Kaitlyn vs. Aksana (Smackdown, December 14th 2012) Eve vs. Kaitlyn – Divas Title (Smackdown, December 18th 2012) Eve vs. Kaitlyn – Divas Title (Raw, January 7th 2013) Eve vs. Kaitlyn – Divas Title (Raw, January 14th 2013)