#gay sex saturday is for Him and Him only hes booked and busy

[lil-vibes]

just..,,,, just heard chuuya in the helicopter scene and FUCK i need a moment i need a second fuck shit fuck holy fuck

[scariercnidaria]

another kerapin modern au where lapin is a medieval history professor at a uni and keradin is a financial lawyer who took one of his classes because he was interested in the crusades and he needed a history credit 8 years ago. he ended up dropping the class after a semester and a half at his therapist (pastor) (who just so happened to be a friend of the police officer assigned to the case) polite "suggestion" (restraining order threat), after developing a bit of a psychosexual obsession with lapin and doing a little trolling (targetted harrassment/stalking). in the interim keradin got another therapist (real one) (court mandated) and is on mood stabilisers now but still has not stopped seething about professor cadburys evil woke cultural marxist agenda.

lapin in this scenario is living with amethar in theos Eternal Bachelor Pad. he was living with amethar and caramellina (with reduced rent in exchange for tutoring jet and ruby who are probably like 14 in this scenario [so sorry for de aging them all a little bit i know im committing old men yaoi crimes it just makes slightly more sense this way. itd still be like. lapin 56+, keradin 31, amethar 44, theo ~46, caramellina 49]) until The Divorce (over finanicial disputes - amethars business is crumbling and is bringing caramellindas down with it as she just cant keep funnelling profits from her business into amethars in order to keep it afloat any longer; amethars purported unfaithfulness is not really an issue here because um This is just politics).

theo is trying to find an excuse to kick lapin out without making amethar feel worse about the situation but the only thing he has on him is that hes a bitch and smokes weed outside the laundry room sometimes but its been legalised and anyway lapin is never late on rent cause he has like 700 jobs (on top of being a history professor, lapin also has a side hustle leading bdsm/consent workshops at the library and also moonlights as a professional dom at a local sex club) (he also is still tutoring jet and ruby (for money this time) and has a positive relationship with caramellinda (they bitch about amethar) but she wont let him move back in because she "needs space"). theo thinks they have a weird gay thing going on (and hates it) and lapin is aware that theo thinks this and plays into it (because its funny) (and also hates it)

meanwhile in the keradinosphere, he has been consistently working ~60 hour weeks at his one (1) job at the same law firm for the last 5 years with no (0) promotion. his life is literally: work (10 hours), gym (2 hours), commute (2 hours each way), doomscroll on The App (5 hours), sleep (3 hours) every day forever.

on saturdays he works from home and on sundays he has church and then spends 3 hours sitting on a bench at the park "chilling out" (staring into the distance) (he doesnt own any books) before going to his court mandated weekly therapy session. his apartment is a textbook r/malelivingspace populated with an absolutely obscene collection of anime posters, lifting equipment, nerd shit replica medieval weapons or something and also an ever-rotating cast of Windowsill Plants Of The Month because he cant stop accidentally killing them and bursting into tears. his therapist tells him this is progress and that his drywall & security deposit will thank him

at some point some disaster hits keradin or something and they make him take sometime off work, and strangely without spending 10 hours under high stress bullshit every day + some melatonin he is actually for once in his life able to get more than 3 hours of sleep per night. at the same time, keradins The App experience starts being psy-op'ed by a memepage called xXsugarPlvmF4IRY_ who has infiltrated his niche internet tradbulb /fit/ microculture and begun flooding it with """ironic""" grecian gay sex "RETVRN" propaganda. this is a big hit as far as engagement among terminally online perpetually enraged historypilled incel-adjacent men such as keradin, and 6 hours of seething at ancient femboys combined with 8 hours of sleep and his brain unshrivelling somewhat results in him starting to have Gay Sex Dreams, which metastatises into him having Regular Gay Thoughts in the conscious world. he is too mortified to tell his pastor (because it is a liberal church and hes worried hell be supported) so he tells his therapist instead in hopes that they will recommend conversion therapy.

spoiler alert they dont. they encourage him to test the waters at his own pace by passing him a flyer for a consent workshop at the library later in the week in hopes that it will help him Get Comfortable With Sex As A Concept. keradin shoves the flyer in his sock drawer hoping to ignore it but is so haunted that he stays up all night doing some inspired googling and eventually learns about bdsm and is like woah! just like bulbo from my self-flagellation! he tries his best to resist the urge but he cant stop thinking about it and hes found he quite likes getting 8 hours of sleep and this New Stress is compromising that. eventually he looks up the number for a local sex club and books an hour and a half-- the following day, so he doesnt have time to chicken out-- with "father candi" (priest roleplay) ($120 out of pocket) (he tries not to think about having to face his actual pastor after this).

keradin goes there and surprise surprise its lapin.

keradin thinks he seems a little bit familiar but he cant quite put his finger on from where... so he discards the thought, and lapin straight up doesnt recognise him either so it all goes ahead.

lapin asks about boundaries and keradin is like "what are boundaries" so lapin spends the first hour and 15 minutes explaining boundaries and trying to get keradin to come up with something, anything dear bulb please. eventually they settle on a very rudimentary list and lapins like. ok that took ages we have 15 minutes left if you want to try and scene and keradin made it this far he isnt going to leave without at least trying gay sex It Would Kill Him. so they do an incredibly light d/s scene involving a confession booth or something and keradin comes within 2 minutes and then hits lapin with the old "if by my life or death i can protect you i shall". and lapin is like. um ok. thats nice. your time is up tho do u want a warm wet towel and a glass of water. ok. cool (<- his ass is clocking out immediately)

keradin immediately goes home and books another time slot precisely one month to the hour after the last one. during that month he goes back to work, is assigned to do some donkey work noone else wanna do on some fraud investigation around some local failing businesses, replaces his windowsill plant again, spends marginally less time on The App and somehow manages to look his pastor in the eye. he doesnt tell his therapist about the experience but they do ask how the consent workshop went and keradin lies and said it was good it was interesting and they ask like is that it so he badly paraphrases something lapin said about boundaries to get them off his back. they give him a flyer for the next one and keradin still doesnt go.

the month passes and he goes back and has another epic gay sex moment with father candi. and it becomes a regular occurance. every month, on the dot, like clockwork. for a while keradin is fucking crushed under the pressure of trying to come up with a non-gaysex reason for why he has to leave work before 7pm for once every month on the exact same day but nobody actually cares enough to ask him. and hes relaxed. hes not on The App. his windowsill plant lives for 2 months this time. so its just. like. good. its just a good situation.

...maybe too good.

[EXTREMELY LOUD BULBIAN GUILT SFX]

lapin, largely unaware of this, thinks the whole thing is pretty amusing. he knows that keradin works some stuffy office job and has some major religious hangups but he mostly just wants to be beat up a little and then praised and he always walks out 5gorillion % less stressed than he came in and its like ok. lapin can do that. its literally the least weird thing anyones ever asked him to do in a scene. yeah keradin is hot but mostly lapin wants to put him under a microscope and study him like a bug. its like having a favourite customer. he doesnt really think about it outside of when he knows its coming up its literally not that deep.

besides, he has other things to worry about like more pressingly: that amethar is being investigated by the IRS for being bad at running a business and if he goes to prison then theres no way theo will let him keep staying at his flat (the novelty of playing along with theos "weird gay thing" suspicions wore off, like, so fucking quick). he could go stay with his old scene partner "sugar plum mommy" but her whole place looks like serial experiments lain and he will not be able to grade papers over the sound of her bumping grindcore out a subwoofer she stole from a nightclub 4 years ago for 13 hours straight while she joshua citarellas the target audience for europa universalis into getting gayer than they already were.

meanwhile keradin literally cannot stop thinking about hot gay sex gay religious old man sex in your area click here right now and he feels crazy wazy and conflicted and awful about it and on the verge of getting psychosexually obsessed again. he decides to bring it up with his therapist finally because what are they gonna do? court mandate that he gets More Therapy? they end up being like ok yknow what would be really good for this actually is if you Went to the consent workshop ive been telling you about all this time. it would definitely help. its at the library its free. theres one in 30 minutes. ill drive you there (maybe not precisely).

either way. keradin goes. and guess whose fucking running it.

keradin stays but sits in the back and only feels slightly awkward but for once its like. no this is. it would be a good thing if father candi saw that i was here. i am listening and learning.

and he sits there.

in the back of the library.

set out like a lecture hall.

listening and learning.

and it slowly dawns on him exactly why "father candi" seemed so familiar.

[bucksfucks]

  𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙤𝙮 ; 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗿𝗼𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀

summary┃you’ve always called steve the golden boy, but he snaps one night and decides to show you he’s anything but.

pairing┃roommate!steve x f!reader

word count┃2,382 words

warnings┃hangover, drinking, tipsy sex, pining, teasing, makeout session, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, steve doesn’t think he’ll fit but he makes it, use of toys (vibrator), mocking, edging, hair pulling kink, fingering, oral, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, steve finishes on readers back, steve is lowkey a fuckboy — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

notes┃presidential alert 🚨 the girls, gays, and the they’s are horny

     The shower was already running when you had walked out of your room and into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea.

    It was Saturday morning and despite your best efforts, your body never let you sleep in last nine in the morning.

    You may as well start your day at 8:48 am.

    Steve had gone out last night, but you remember the door shutting at three in the morning and a faint shhh falling from his lips as he spoke to whatever inanimate object was making noise.

    In your sleepy daze, you didn’t really mind. Instead, turning your pillow onto the cool side and drifting back to sleep.

    The kettle was boiling and the bread was getting warmed in the toaster when the shower finally stopped running.

    It was a little unusual for Steve to shower for so long, even after his morning runs or workouts, he’d never need more than 10 minutes.

    When the door opened, and a groaning Steve emerged, you knew exactly what the problem was.

    “Mornin’, Golden Boy,” he didn’t even have the energy to grimace at the sound of his nickname.

    His bare feel pattered against the wooden floor until he dropped his large body in one of the bar stools.

    “Someone had a fun night.” You mumbled with a small smirk as you slid him a cup of coffee which is took between his fingers.

    “I don’t know how Sam and Bucky roped me into shots,” he said into the cup of coffee as he took a cautious sip.

    You just rolled your eyes playfully and plated the toast that had popped out a few seconds earlier, slabbing a large helping of butter before adding honey and sliding the plate over to him.

    “Eat.”

    He groaned again, but put the coffee down in place for the sweet honey toast.

    “I can’t drink like I used to, I think I’m dying,” he was being dramatic, a playful glimmer in his eyes as he took a bite and hummed.

    “You’re 27, Rogers. I think someone’s being a little dramatic,” you teased with a smile.

    You are your breakfasts in silence for the most part, the painkiller Steve had taken not yet kicking in until both of your plates were cleared.

    “Did you get lucky last night?” You asked with raised eyebrows as you both placed your plates in the sink.

    Steve just laughed, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

    You had to admit that your heart dropped, the same twinge of jealously starting to bloom in your chest as you imagined him with someone else.

    “Proud of you, Golden Boy.” You fake cheered, biting your tongue and swallowing your pride.

    Above everything, Steve was your friend and he deserved to get laid.

    He laughed, “you should’ve come, Bucky couldn’t stop asking about you.”

    You rolled your eyes again, slightly in annoyance.

    “He knows I’ll never sleep with him,” you sang song, helping Steve dry the dishes as the sink stopped running.

    “You never told me why, you know that?” You scoffed, “and for good reason.”

    The reason was simple; you didn’t want Bucky, but instead his best friend and your roommate, Steve.

    “I’ll get it out of ya one day, sweetheart.” Steve chuckled and you felt your heart sink a little further, “whatever helps you sleep at night.”

    The rest of the day was uneventful, nothing to do on a rainy New York day other than read as Steve fiddled with his sketchbook while an old sitcom played on the television.

    Steve’s hangover either disappeared or he was great at hiding it, whatever it was, he was humming along to the show tune.

    “Pizza and beers for dinner?” Steve asked as he was putting the final touches on his sketch making you laugh.

    “What happened to I can’t drink like I used to?” You said, echoing his words from the morning as he shrugged.

    “It’s a lazy day essential, now what toppings, and don’t say pineapple.” You acted shocked, mouth twitching into a smile.

    “You don’t know anything about good pizza,” you huffed as he tore his eye away from his sketchbook to look at you.

    “Pineapple on pizza is a crime, sweetheart. Now if that’s who you are I can’t judge, but I’m jus’ sayin’,” he said raising his hands in mock defeat.

    “Whatever Golden Boy, just say you’re a vanilla type of guy,” you winked, standing up to put your book on the shelf as the sun began setting to cast yellow and orange hues over the apartment.

    Steve snickered, “whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

    The low timbre of his voice, your own words echoed from this morning sends a shudder down your spine as he grabs his phone.

    “The usual?” You manage to nod your head, smiling as you try to distract yourself from the sudden and very evident ache between your thighs.

    30 minutes later and the pizza was here, still hot and greasy as Steve set it on the wooden coffee table as you grabbed two beers, scratch that, four beers.

    “Cheers, Golden Boy,” you offered with a soft smile as you both clinked your bottle necks against each other before pizza was being devoured.

    You didn’t know what it was, but cheap greasy pizza and a cold beer always soothed the soul. No matter how heartbroken you had ever been, or upset at the universe, beer and pizza were always there for you.

    As the hours went by, the bottles emptied and the pizza slices disappeared before you and Steve were sat on the couch laughing and giggling at the time Steve locked himself out in nothing but his underwear.

    “And where were you to rescue me!” He bellowed, throwing his head back at the memory.

    “I was in the shower, you know I blare music. I’m sorry Stevie, I promise the next time you’re locked out and naked I’ll rescue you.”

    He shook his head, “well I wasn’t naked.”

    You felt a little dizzy, body lighter as you finished off the second beer. You weren’t drunk, but loose enough to rest your head against Steve’s shoulder.

    His phone buzzed then, grabbing it off the table as Bucky’s name lit up across the screen.

    Steve ignored it.

    “He’s jus’ gonna ask me to go out again,” he said before you could ask, seemingly reading your mind.

    “Plus, I’m perfectly content right here,” he smiled, finishing off his second beer as you playfully rolled your eyes.

    “You’re such a sap,” you teased, “that a bad thing?” He asked and you felt the air around you grow more tense.

    “‘Course not, you’re just Stevie,” you tried to explain as he furrowed his eyebrows.

    “Stevie?” He asked as you sat up and crossed your legs under your body.

    “Yeah, you know,” you tried to find the words, “Golden Boy.”

    He hums in response, “golden as in pure?”

    You nod your head, “pure, sweet, innocent.”

    You weren’t sure if you had struck a nerve, but Steve smirked as he leaned into you.

    “‘M not so innocent, sweetheart. Not everything is as it seems.” His voice was much lower, raspier as you could smell the beer on his breath.

    “Is that so?” Your voice was just a little above a whisper, heart racing in your chest.

    “I could even show you, sweetheart, but you gotta answer one question first. Sound fair?” He asked.

    You nodded your head slowly, eagerly awaiting his question.

    His hands fell to your knees, sliding up until he pulled you into his lap.

    You looked up at him, craning your head only slightly as he craned his at you. He was warm, and broad.

    “Why,” his voice was low, “won’t you hookup with Bucky, sweetheart?”

    Your breath hitched, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you ran your hands up his chest until they rested on his shoulders.

    “I think you know,” you whispered as he shook his head and chuckled.

    “Uh uh, I wanna hear you say it.” He purred, brushing his nose against yours.

    Your eyes fluttered shut as you smelt his oaky, but sweet body wash. Something like bergamot and oranges.

    He squeezed your hips, a soft moan falling from your lips at the sensation.

    “It’s because,” you swallowed thickly, “because I want you, Stevie.”

    He hummed, hand on the back of your head as he pressed his lips to yours.

    You kissed back, the realization hitting you it became hotter and more desperate as you slid your tongue past Steve’s lips.

    “All you needed to do was say those words and you could’ve had me all to yourself.” He smirks against your lips making you whimper.

    His fingers are digging into your ass, rocking your hips over his. It’s the right amount of friction to have you melting into his touch.

    When he picks you up, carrying you into his room to toss you onto his bed, you know you’ve made the wrong assumption about him.

    “Now there’s nothin’ wrong with a man who likes vanilla,” he hums, hands exploring your body.

    “But I’m a man who prefers a little more,” he meets your eyes, a devilish smirk and twinkle in his eyes, “flavour.”

    He’s hovering over you, lips on your neck and jaw as his hips rut over yours.

    “Go get that goddamn vibrator of yours,” he breathes as you look at him bewildered.

    “You know that one, you like the third setting the most on it.” He winks standing up as your eyes trace along his body and to where his cock is straining.

    “Go on, don’t sit there actin’ all dumb,” you spring to your feet, tripping over them as you quickly fetch it from your room.

    “Good girl, lie back down on the bed, but get naked first.” He instructs you sternly.

    You’d never had anyone tell you to strip, let alone have someone eyes so focused on you as you place the vibrator in his larger hand.

    Starting with your sweater, you tear it off—chest exposed as Steve licks his lips.

    “Go on, don’t be shy. You’re makin’ him real happy,” he smirks, squeezing his dick through his pants.

    You tug your leggings down until you’re in your panties and Steve is giving you a look that tells you to continue.

    It’s a thrill, stripping for him and watching his cock twitch at the sight of your curves, dips, and the marks you hate.

    “Look at you,” he groans, “perfect little thing aren’t ya? Now I gotta be honest,” you swallow thickly.

    “‘M not sure if he’ll fit like I planned, but we’ll make sure to get you warmed up,” he says before placing your hand over his dick.

    It causes goosebumps to prickle your skin as he pushes you down onto the bed fully naked now.

    “Now this,” he says, holding your vibrator, “isn’t even gonna compare to me by the time I’m done with you.”

    It’s a promise that you know Steve will keep as he kneels between your legs.

    “I expect you to keep these open, okay? Unless of course,” his cocky attitude breaks through, “you’re squeezin’ my head when you cum.”

    You can’t even chide back, all thoughts gone at the sound of the click of your vibrator.

    Steve wastes no time, spreading your folds and exploring you with his tongue before he connects the silicone tip to your clit.

    It causes your body to jolt and Steve has to keep your legs open.

    “What did I say, sweetheart. Keep ‘em open,” he reminds you as he slips a single fingers in you.

    It’s already ten times better than your own, longer and thicker as they curl against your sweet spot.

    Your walls squeeze him, fluttering as you grip onto his unmade bed sheets.

    He teased you, edging you until you’re begging him to let you come with a dry throat.

    “Steve, c’mon. ‘S’not fair,” you whine, tugging at his hair. He groans, hips rutting into the bed and you know you’ve found his weakness.

    Two can play at this game.

    You tug at his hair again, “please, Stevie? Wanna cum so fuckin’ bad—all over your face.”

    He groans vibrator tossed on the bed as his mouth wraps around your clit, “fuck, baby.”

    It’s a lewd sound, your wetness against his fingers and mouth, but it’s enough to send you over the edge.

    “Make a mess, sweetheart. Gotta taste ya,” he groans against your core as you’re nearly suffocating him.

    It’s intense, washing over you like a wave followed by a series of smaller ones until he’s flipping you over and your ass is in the air.

    “Not so fuckin’ vanilla anymore, huh?” He slaps your ass, a squeak leaving your lips.

    “Gonna have the taste of you on my mind for days now, practically have me pussy whipped already.”

    His clothes are gone, all necessary ones before he’s bending his body over yours, “grip onto the headboard baby, you’ll need all the support you can get.”

    And he’s not wrong, sliding into you and stretching you out as you wrap yourself fingers around the wood until he’s fully seated inside of you.

    It’s a new fullness, one that you’ve never experienced and something you never want to forget.

    “Bounce, baby.” He then says, as you look over your shoulder.

    “Ride me, use the headboard and make yourself cum.” He smirks, slick coating both of your thighs.

    Everything is new to you as Steve lets you take control, yet, you’re never truly in control.

    “That’s it baby, such a good girl. Look how desperate you are to cum,” he taunts making you whimper.

    He joins in soon, meeting your thrusts with his own until you’re both grunting and he can’t hold back.

    “Fuck, fuck, gonna cum.” He hissed, quickly pulling out to paint your back as he rubs your clit with his free hand and you feel the white hot explosion of pleasure for the second time that night.

    You’ve both made a mess by the time you’re done, Steve cleaning you up with his boxers as you’re collapsing beside him still trying to catch your breath.

    “You’ve ruined my vibrator for me,” you chuckled breathlessly as he turns to you with a smirk, “well it’s a good thing I’m your roommate then.”

[arminhug]

hello, pumpkin || annie leonhardt x reader: chapter two

series masterlist

。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫

BIRTHDAY GIRL

Annie and I never established that we were friends until her eighth birthday.

In the blossoming spring warmth, I nestled myself in the corner of the bench in the playground’s garden. It was an unspoken fact that nobody really played in the garden; it was a quiet haven for a few of us to read or enjoy solitude, yet it had also become a spot where I waited for Annie every day, and almost every day, had she not been sent home or busy with other obligations, Annie joined me, sometimes speaking, sometimes not. I didn’t mind; I just loved to be in her company.

On this particular day, Annie stood before me, and despite her being the same height as me, her air always made her seem much bigger and powerful.

“My dad says this is for you.”

She handed me a white envelope into which I fervently tore, revealing a gaudy invitation card.

“It’s your birthday on Saturday?” I quizzed.

“No, my birthday is today. But my dad said it was too short notice to invite you to my house today, so you can come on Saturday.”

At this news of Annie’s birthday, I immediately leapt to my feet and braced her in a hug. “Happy birthday! What cake are you having? Are you going to hand out sweets to your class?”

Annie did not hug me back but did not resist. “I don’t like cake, and I don’t like anyone in my class.”

I gasped. “How can you not like cake? Also, who’s going to be at your party if you don’t like anyone in your class?”

“Cake is too heavy and sweet.” She responded monotonously. “Also, you’re the only one coming; it’s not a party, my dad just knows I have a friend now and wanted you to come. You don’t have to.”

Unlike Annie, I didn’t actively avoid the other children in my school. I was still invited to many class birthday parties, I spoke amiably to my peers and I could name a few schoolchildren whom I could consider a friend— yet Annie, the stoic, ash-blonde girl confessing she saw me as a friend elicit such joy within me, I can still remember the feeling to this day if I think about her enough.

“So if I’m your friend, I have to get you a present, right?” I had reminded her of the title that she gave me moments ago.

“No. I don’t want a present.”

“Yes you do, everyone wants presents!” I retorted. “What do you like best in the world?”

“Cats.”

I sat down, sulking. “I can’t get you a cat, Annie. What else do you like?”

Silence.

“Mummy and I can make you something.” I continued, desperate to find something that I could give to my friend. “She’s really good at baking. Do you like cookies?”

“No.”

“Cupcakes?” I refused to give up.

“No! Cupcakes are tiny cakes, you know I hate cakes.”

“Brownies?”

“No.”

“Doughnuts?”

This time, Annie turned away, not meeting the question with a monosyllabic “no”.

“Doughnuts! Annie, I’ll make you lots of doughnuts, okay?”

Annie still refused to look me in the eye. It never bothered me, but I had gathered that she was more inclined to refuse eye contact when she was upset or shy. Before I had the chance to attempt to pry into which flavour of doughnut she would have liked, the bell signalling the end of recess rang. I leapt to my feet and pressed a chaste kiss to Annie's cheek.

“See you later, you doughnut!”

She shoved me towards my line with no malice in the action. “Whatever you say, pumpkin girl.”

“Earth to (y/n)? You’ve been glazed over for the past five minutes. What’s so exciting about the window?”

I blink, snapping out of the saccharine memory of Annie’s birthday. Four pairs of eyes are fixed on me, and I animate myself, taking the doughnut from my plate and shrugging. “I was just thinking,” I respond.

“You sure? Not looking at any hot dudes?” the only other female at the table, Sasha, suggests. Her hazel eyes flicker suggestively over to the group of men kicking a ball about in the park over the road from our favourite local café, which has baked goods to die for (or so Sasha and Connie, the food fanatics of my friendship group claim. I won’t argue—the doughnuts are heavenly.)

“Yeah, c’mon, (y/n)! There are three dashing fellows right here, why do you need to stare at those losers?” Connie chimes in, gesturing to himself and my other two male friends, Jean and Marco.

“Yeah, you wish. My type isn’t idiots,” I playfully smack Connie’s head, the growing stubble brushing my fingertips as I find any way to bring the subjects away from men that I would apparently find attractive.

“On all seriousness, what is your type? We’ve never seen you have anyone about.” Jean interrogates. Great.

It took me a while to figure out that I’m likely not into men. I never quite knew why I got so uncomfortable when middle school brought an array of boy bands that prepubescent teenage girls loved to swoon over, and why I could never answer when somebody asked me who was the hottest, but at the age of sixteen, when I realised my heart was racing upon seeing two women kiss in a film my friends and I had watched, it hit me like a freight train that I was definitely attracted to women.

I chose not to indulge anyone in this knowledge; realistically, I know I don’t have too much to worry about. Sure, my parents aren’t screaming about supporting gay rights from the rooftops, but I know that they have no prejudice towards the community, and my four closest friends would accept me no matter what — hell, Marco told us he was gay when we were fifteen and sixteen years old over a game of Mario Kart and we embraced his queerness with open arms.

So what’s the big deal? I think to myself.

“Does it matter? I’m too busy to date. These university decisions are killing me!”

“Simple,” Jean interrupts, pointing the straw of his ridiculously large iced coffee in my direction. “You come to Marley with Marco and me. Good university, far enough away from your parents, and you get your favourite friends with you for the ride!”

Jean and Marco are one class above Sasha, Connie and I, and decided that Marley University, a small, public school that gained a decent reputation despite it being so new, was the place for them. It was hard to say goodbye once they left school, but the holiday breaks came frequently, and soon enough, they were back for Easter, helping their three younger friends decide on which school to go to.

“Tempting, but probably not. I can’t get over the English department in Sina,” I responded dreamily.

“Yeah, and the crazy entry requirements. You’d have to be a robot to get those grades! Just come to Marley with us, I’m sure the English stuff is fine there, too!” Sasha whined, poking at my hand. I take another bite of my nostalgic treat, shaking my head.

“Guys, I love you all, but I can’t make such an important decision based on my friends. You understand, right?”

“It’s fine, (y/n),” Marco interrupts, his familiar comforting smile gracing his freckled face. “We’ll come to visit you up there, right?”

“Nope. Four of us, one of you. She is coming to Marley.” Jean retorts.

“Jesus, fair enough. I’ll book the plane tickets now!” I tell him sardonically. He elbows me jovially in response and stands, coffee in hand. “Right, we can finish our drinks and snacks on the way outside. It's too nice to be spending it indoors.”

Ignoring the protests from Sasha and Connie, who forlornly protest that they haven't had the chance to order a baked good after their main courses, the majority of the group tail towards the double doors, leaving the duo no choice but to begrudgingly follow suit. The late March sunshine is glorious, beaming down on my face, much like the day twelve years ago I was daydreaming about. It suddenly hit me that today, March 22nd, Annie would be turning twenty years old. This newfound knowledge makes my stomach drop and I cannot control the grief coursing through my being.

It's ever so odd how I can remember every detail about my childhood friend; every memory we shared together, her favourite colour, (black, which I insisted was rather morbid for an eight-year-old, so I coaxed her into putting blue as a second favourite) how on Sunday mornings her father would always pick her up from my house after a sleepover at 10 am sharp to take her to karate, even though she had told me in confidence that she much preferred kickboxing. I couldn't tell you many facts about any other childhood friend who I lost to time; it's only Annie. Every detail of the girl who made my infancy etched into my heart, refusing to leave.

As I force myself back into the present moment, I am aware that maybe Annie was more than just my best friend.

But I was so young. How could I have truly differentiated between innocuous childhood affection and romantic yearning?

“Marco?” I punctuate the spring silence before I can even stop myself. “How did you realise your first crush?”

Marco raises his eyebrows. “Jeez, it was so long ago. I was eleven and I was having a sleepover with my friend. We were on his bed playing Minecraft on his laptop, but I wasn’t even paying attention; I was just admiring his face, how he was so engrossed in the game. My heart was racing because I realised I wanted to kiss him, but I didn’t even think it was biologically possible to like the same sex, so I brushed it off. Now I look back…” he laughs awkwardly, before looking me in the eye, his tone suddenly earnest. “Why, what’s up? Anything you want to talk to me about?”

I stop in the street, completely oblivious to the speed of modern day life around me. Suddenly all I care about is how my stomach leapt when I saw her pallid figure walk through the double doors, into the garden, how I found any excuse to hold her hand, how obsessed I was with the topography of her curved nose, icy eyes, lips stark against her pale skin.

“How do you know for sure you’re gay if you’ve only ever had a crush on one person in your life? Somebody who you haven’t spoken to in eight years?”

。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫

[prorevenge]

Talk to me anyway you please? Nah... have fun loosing the entire staff along with the juiciest of juicy contracts.

This is a super throw back but it still brings a smile to my face. Also, my writing sucks so please excuse the grammatical errors.

I was a rink rat growing up. The only day I wasn’t in the skating rink were the adult and gay nights (calm down, it was the 90’s and that’s literally what it was called). Friday night, Saturday morning and night along with Sunday morning and night I was there. Hell, I didn’t even leave between the morning and night sessions. I even went Tuesday nights as well! I was serious too. I dove deep into speed skating and not trying to toot my own horn but I was pretty good and well known.

Anyway, I’d been going to this specific skating rink for years and knew EVERYONE. One day, It was right before I started 7th grade, the owner came up too me and asked me to go out onto the rink floor and tell some kids to slow down. I did and came back and he asked me how would I like to make $7.50 and hour to which I responded “do I also get in for free?” He laughed and said of course. BOOM! First job and I wanted to be there anyway so it was the biggest win-win of all time for me. To say I loved it was an understatement and I did everything besides work the snack bar. DJ, skate counters, floor guard, janitor, hype man... you name it and I did it. It was some of the greatest times of my life. So much fun and the owner was super awesome. Also, we were paid under the table so getting an envelope full of cash every week just felt like a bonus for having fun. To me it wasn’t a job, it was pure fun. It also helped that all my friends were regulars as well.

A few years go by and the owner sold to another guy who we will call Tim. Tim could be an absolute nightmare to work for. He changed the entire dynamic of the place and everyone felt it. Now, this skating rink was POPULAR and extremely old. Lots or people all over the city knew of it. My mom and aunt skated there when they were kids if that tells you anything.

Someway or another the new owner set up and juicy deal that had the rink started making a shitload of money! On Saturday night from 7-11 it was skating per usual but from 11-2ish/3ish is was a club. A local hip hop station came in there with local label Swishahouse and turnt the place upside down for those few hours. Every week and the place was POPPIN. There must have been over 2k people in there on average and at $20 per person it adds up quick plus the snack bar would NEVER stop turning out food and drink. We were making stupid money. Bonus! We also found some good stuff when cleaning up as well. Money, knives, weed, jewelry... It was awesome.

So Tim has it made but sometimes he would fly off the handle for little things. All of us weren’t sure what his deal was but he would explode out of nowhere and start talking all kinds of nonsense. I’d started to have enough because we all had worked there for many years WITHOUT ISSUE. One night he went too far..

I don’t like being called outside of my name. It’s a respect thing. My own mother didn’t do it and he for sure wasn’t. For context I was in 10th grade now. One night he was in some kinda mood and for whatever reason was taking it out on everyone. I don’t remember the exact situation but he started freaking out on me at about 11:30PM. Now, Slim Thug and Paul Wall were in the building that night so the place was extra packed. Waaaay more that usual (I’m sure we were braking all kinds of fire marshal rules lol). He went ballistic and called me every name in the book while I just stood there with rage building up in me. I’d had enough. For years this place ran flawlessly and everyone loved us so he really didn’t have a good reason to treat us in the manner he did. My plan was formed. I immediately gather everyone else that was working and we all decided that enough was enough. It was time for a lesson.

I assembled the entire crew and well all quit on the spot. ALL OF US. That meant nobody to serve food, clean, help the swishahouse people, or just carry out general things that needed to be done when 2-3k people were in the building. He was stunned, his tone changed and he became very sweet. We weren’t having it. As an additional fuck you I called the other two people that were off and they showed up to quit as well. Tim had already reached out so he assumed they were showing up to work. Nope. We left him with zero workers on the absolute busiest of busy nights and boy did it implode. He couldn’t find anyone to work so the place went to absolute shit that night. The on duty officer told him he needed to figure something out or he was going to close it down without workers. Well... he didn’t. It closed down that night and apparently without staff it got nasty. People started having sex, smoking, trashing the place and all kinds of stuff. Shortly after the radio station and label took their business elsewhere and not long afterward the place closed down. He lost his entire investment. This was very bitter sweet for me because I loved the place but he ran it into the ground. The building is still standing and I would LOVE to bring it back to its former glory but my pockets are deep enough yet. Maybe one day.

TLDR: New skating rink owners treated employees horrible so we all quit at the same exact time to leave him stranded. He lost a big contract with a local radio station and popular record label which cost him big money. Rink closed down shortly after.

(source) story by (/u/JawShoeWaah)

[girlwithshipsshitshow]

Part 21

Takahiro: We need to talk. (His speech was still slightly slurred). 

Usagi: Ar- are you drunk?

Takahiro: Only a little bit. Is my family there?

Usagi: (Sighs, leans against the wall, crossing his arms), That depends, what family are you talking about?

Takahiro: My wife and Kid.

Usagi: So not the baby brother you claim to care so much about, only to get drunk because you hate the fact that he’s gay?  

Takahiro: You don’t Understand. 

Usagi: What I understand is, that the you’re going to lose the brother you say you care about so much if you  don’t come to terms with who he is and his happiness. I think you should probably figure your shit out before his graduation, or you might lose him  forever.

Takahiro: B-

Usagi: I have to go, I think it’s  better if you give everyone space. (Hangs up, Misaki Runs into his arms, tears are in his eyes). Did you hear all that?

Misaki: Yeah.

Usagi: I’m sorry.

Misaki:  It’s not you’re fault. Um, can we just go to bed.

Usagi: Sure, yeah. It’s been a long day. (He picked the younger boy up cradling him in his arms, heading up the stairs to their room).

Misaki: (Wraps his arms around his neck), I didn’t ask you to do this.

Usagi: (Laughs softly), Yeah, but you aren’t really complaining. 

(Usagi walked into  their room, closing the door behind him, sitting Misaki on the bed, he grinned staring down at him causing Misaki to blush.)

Misaki: What?

Usagi: (Leans down, pushing hair behind Misaki's ear. He smiles warmly kissing him on the lips.) You’re so fucking sexy. I- miss you. 

Misaki: (He sighed, rubbing his hands up and down Usagi’s arms), I miss you too. 

Usagi: Can’t we, (He gave a naughty smile, sliding his hands under Misaki’s shirt, playing with his nipples). 

Misaki: (Moans slightly), No baby, you know we can’t.

Usagi: You aren’t making any effort to move my hands.

Misaki: It feels good, I miss it, but no. (He took Usagi’s hands out of his shirt), stop babe. 

Usagi: (Sits on the bed beside  him), Look, I just think we can have sex, what's the worst that can happen? 

Misaki: Your stiches that are barely healed could come undone, then you have to get them fixed, and we’ll have to wait longer. You just got home from the hospital a few  days ago and for some reason I just let you lift me. 

Usagi: We’ll the Doc said, no heavy lifting so...

Misaki: Hey... (He knocked against Usagi), I just want you to be carful. 

Usagi: We’ll can we sleep with our shirts off?

Misaki: You have to promises no nipple play.

Usagi: Okay. (He grinned, ripping Misaki’s shirt off pushing him on the bed hungrily kissing him). 

Misaki: (He looks up at the older man, running his fingers through his hair, moving his arms down to the bottom of his shirt, slowly taking it off. Misaki ran his hands over the older mans back.)

Usagi: I thought we weren’t doing this. (He grins placing kisses all over Misaki’s face.)

Misaki: We aren’t, but, that doesn’t mean I can’t feel your back right? I miss the feel of it. 

Usagi: You’re cute.

Misaki: (Blushes), you know how I feel about that word.

Usagi: Yeah, you love it.

Misaki: I actually have grown to love it.

Usagi: Because you know it’s true.

Misaki: Maybe, (The younger boy shivers) 

Usagi: Are you cold?

Misaki: Yeah, it’s freezing. 

Usagi: (He smiles, pulling the covers around them, turning now the two were on their sides). Better?

Misaki: Not quite. (He grinned, turning to Usagi, so his head was on his chest), perfect.

Usagi: (Grins, Wrapping his arms around Misaki). Absolutely. 

(The two fell asleep, wrapped in each others arms, their hearts syncing, beating as one).  

(Usagi was the first to wake, it was around seven thirty am, Misaki was sound asleep, his head resting against Usagi’s chest, the older man smiled gently pressing a kiss against his head. He loved Misaki so much, he wished Takahiro would accept Misaki, he knew Usagi was Gay and didn’t mind, Misaki was probably right, his brother had this whole life planned out for him, and his plans didn’t include him being gay, let alone falling in love with his brother best friend. Takahiro would have to get over it, Misaki was who he was, and he couldn’t change that, and it’s not like they planned to fall in love, Usagi clearly remembers that they hated each other at first. Usagi laughed to himself, he couldn’t believe almost five years ago they met, and a few months after that they started dating, although, he still feels awful about the way he treated him when he first came to his place, Misaki forgives him but Usagi still feels sick when you thinks about it. He closed his eyes trying to push the memory away again. Misaki stirred, he stretched looking up at the older man.)

Misaki: Hi, (He grinned, blushing).

Usagi: Morning. Did you sleep well?

Misaki: Yeah, I guess. (He ran his hand over Usagi's muscular chest). Did you?

Usagi: Mmmmm.

Misaki: Good. (He sat up pulling the covers around him, he looked down at Usagi who propped himself up on his elbow, grinning at him).

Usagi: What is it baby? (he ran his hand up Misaki’s thigh).

Misaki: Um, (Misaki twisted his engagement ring around on his finger), Never mind its nothing. I- I’m going to take a shower. (Misaki started to get out of bed, but Usagi  reached for him).

Usagi: Tell me what’s wrong.

Misaki: Todays Saturday. 

Usagi: Ah, (He sat up, giving him a confused look), and Saturdays make you sad?

Misaki: I graduate next week.

Usagi: So you’re nervous? 

Misaki: No, I- (He looked down at the floor), I guess I don’t know how to feel, and with everything going on right now, Maybe I don’t want to Graduate.

Usagi: I know. (He sat on the edge of the bed) Come here, (He pulled Misaki on his lap), What do you want to do?

Misaki: Well, I want to take a shower. (He giggled), Um then I want to go get breakfast. 

Usagi: Okay, where do you want to go?

Misaki: Lets go to the place we went yesterday? I know it’s out of the way, but can it be our place?

Usagi: Might as well be, It’s going to be close to our house.

Misaki: Okay. Also, I know you told my brother he should give us space but what i-

Usagi: No baby, you can’t go to him. it’s his job to figure this out. If you make up with him, he’ll think he’s off the hook, he’s not.

Misaki: Yeah, I guess. I just want to do something. 

Usagi: (Caressing Misaki's face), I know, because your a fixer, this is different though. 

Misaki: I know, (Kiss Usagi’s cheek), I’m going to take a shower. (Stands up).

Usagi: Can I come?

Misaki: (Rolls eyes), Fine, but no funny business. 

Usagi: (Laughs, standing up), I KNOW! I KNOW! (Wraps arms around Misaki placing kisses on his neck).

Misaki: (Giggles); Hey, quite it. 

Usagi: You said no funny business, you didn’t say no kissing.

Misaki: (Runs into bathroom), Sneaky.

Usagi: (Grins, chases after him).

Mahiro: Mommy, I’m hungry! (lying on his stomach, legs in the air, reading a book).

Manami: (On the couch flipping through channels), I know honey, but it sounds like your Uncles are up, so maybe when they come downstairs we can figure out breakfast. I can get you some juice and crackers for now?

Mahiro: Okay!

Manami: Alight, (she grins, standing up, ruffling Mahiro’s hair as she passes him walking into the kitchen). 

Mahiro: Mom, when will Mitaki and Uangi get married?

Manami: I don’t know sweetie: (Brings snacks to him).

Mahiro: Are they going to have kids?

Manami: Maybe, why? you want cousins? 

Mahiro: Yeah! Plus, I think they would make good parents, they deserve kids...( Puts, a finger to his chis), How do they have kids?

Manami: Um...

Mahiro: They can’t have kids like you and daddy.

Manami: And how did daddy and I have kids?

Mahiro: I don’t know, but I know that they can’t do it like you guys did.

Manami: Well, if they want to, they have a few options, but that  would be up to them.

Mahiro: Oh. (Takes a sip of juice), is this one of the conversations for when I’m older?

Manami: Or when they decied to have kids, and we can explain it to you better.

Mahiro: Okay. 

Manami: (Sighs), Okay. (Sits down, leans against couch).

(Misaki wrapped a towel around his waist as he stepped out of the shower, Usagi has gotten out before him and was getting dressed in the bedroom. The older man still preferred wearing sweats instead of his dress shirts and ties, Misaki walked into the bedroom where Usagi wore black sweat pants, he was digging through the draws looking through a shirt to wear when he turned around to face the younger boy).

Usagi: Hey,(He pulled him towards him kissing his cheek). 

Misaki: Hi. (He look down at his stomach, looking down at his scar, carefully running his fingers over it).

Usagi: Misaki, it’s okay.

Misaki: It’s not.

Usagi: I’m okay though. I’m here. Plus, I never would've discovered my love for sweats without it.

Misaki: (Laughs sadly), Yeah I guess. 

Usagi: Don’t worry. (He grinned putting on a black shirt and a black hoodie). I love you. 

Misaki: I love you too. 

Usagi: Okay, I’m going to take this downstairs. (He picked up the laundry basket sitting on the), I’ll see you in a minute, then we can go eat.

Misaki: Sounds good.

 (He stood up kissing Usagi softly on the lips, he exited the bedroom, Misaki went to the dresser searching for something to wear, landing on gray sweatpants, a white shirt, and a red hoodie, quickly towel drying his hair, then he made his way downstairs. Misaki paused at the top of  the stairs, watching Usagi interact with Mahiro, the two were growing closer, it made his heart swell.)

Usagi: Go fish.

Mahiro: You promise you don’t have any fives?

Usagi: I don’t have any fives, I’d let you have a five if I did.

Mahiro: Fine. (He grumbled pulling a card from the deck, a huge smile forming across his face.) I GOT THE FIVE!! I DIDN’T NEED YOUR STINKY CARDS ANYWAY!

Usagi: (Laughs), Good game. (He stacked the cards together shuffling them).

Misaki: (Walking up behind him, kissing him on his cheek), Hey.

Usagi: Hey, you ready? 

Misaki: Yeah, (He glanced at Manami and Mahiro), You guys want to come eat breakfast with us?

Mahiro: Yes!! (He jumped up running over to Misaki almost knocking him over, running into the mudroom, Manami racing after him).

Usagi: Aright, lets go. (He stood up stretching, as his phone started to ring), Hold on. Hello?

Eri: Usami; it’s me.

Usagi: (he slid his hand in his pocket, glancing at Misaki, raising an eyebrow.) What's up Eri?

Eri: What are y’all up too today?

Usagi: About to go eat,  why? what's up? 

Eri: Rose has the day off, we were wondering if you wanted to hang out.

Usagi: Well, you can join us for breakfast if you want, I can text you the address?

Eri: Sure! See you soon!

Usagi: (Hangs up, putting phone in his pocket, Misaki is staring at him in disbelief). What?

Misaki: It’s just, not even a few months ago, you wanted me all to yourself, and now...

Usagi: (He sighed, pulling Misaki towards him wrapping his arms around his neck). These people are our family, and I always want you to myself. (He chuckled), But we haven’t seen Eri and Rose in a while, I thought it would be nice to invite them out.

Misaki: Remember when you hated people? What happened to that guy? That’s the guy I fell in love with.

Usagi: (Laughs), You’re so full of shit. The guy you fell in love with is the clingy overprotective guy. 

Misaki: Yeah, (He scoffed), That guy shows himself to others a lot these days. A lot of people didn’t think you had another side to you.

Usagi: You’re the one who helped  bring out the softer side of me. 

Misaki: Ah, I can’t take all the credit. 

Usagi: You can, I’d be dead if I hadn’t met you.

Misaki: (He grinned softly kissing Usagi on the lips). Maybe, I know I wouldn’t be graduating if I hadn’t met you. I’d also be really sad.  

Usagi: You make me really happy too baby. (He grinned, the two leaning in for a kiss when Mahiro ran in pulling their hands).

Mahiro: LETS GO I’M HUNGRY!! 

Usagi: He’s hungry.

Misaki: Yeah. We’re coming, don’t worry. 

[phanfictioncatalogue]

I’d really love some recommendations for long chaptered fics, with slow burn. I feel like I’ve read all of the ones on the master list catagory. :)

these are some of my favs

I like cupcakes, especially the gay variety - Fictropes

Summary: Firstly, Dan was 29. How was that a mature student?

Secondly, his actual book was on the university fucking syllabus.

(or the one in which Dan tries university again in a desperate attempt to prolong his procrastination, and his lecturer Phil is apparently something of a fan)

Strictly Come Dancing but make it GAY - natigail

Summary: @danielhowell: maybe i’d actually consider doing @bbcstrictly if they allowed same-sex couples. who wouldn’t want a sexy man spinning you around? it’s not just a girl’s dream. c'mon people let's see some pretty and fierce girls pair up and handsome and strong boys get it on. i dare you.

Dan Howell calls Strictly out on Twitter for not allowing any same-sex couples and accidentally volunteers himself to be one of the contestants if they were to change that. It was a joke. It had so clearly been a joke. Why did they take him up on it?! He’s sure he’ll trip over his own feet and hate every second, but then he meets his partner, the endearingly clumsy dancer Phil Lester.

a match and a fuse- waveydnp

Summary: Phil is twenty six years old and stuck in a dead end life. He works at Starbucks and may or may not be carrying a torch for his best friend of eight years. He doesn't know who he is or what he wants--or how to go about figuring it out.

That all starts to change when he happens upon the resume of a certain law school grad named Daniel.

I Found - wildflowerhowell

Summary: Dan Howell and Phil Lester hate each other, and everyone at the Ida Gatley school of dance knows it. So what happens when the two are paired together to choreograph and perform a duet at England's most renowned contemporary dance competition?

moon under water - sunflowerwitches

Summary: that “i'm pretending to be your boyfriend because you look very uncomfortable with that person hitting on you” AU no one asked for but i want to write

Our House - sierraadeux

Summary: Enemy is a harsh word. Rival sounds so immature, like Dan’s the star of some teen drama on Netflix. Competition is close, but not quite there.

In simple terms, Dan has a distaste for Phil Lester. Otherwise known as AmazingPhil in their line of business, for some reason that’s beyond Dan. What makes him so amazing anyway? There’s a reason the network wanted Daniel Howell and Phil Lester for this specific series, and Dan guesses there’s really only one way to find out that answer. or And they were co-hosts. Oh my god they were co-hosts.

Give Me A Try - danfanciesphil (thejigsawtimess)

Summary: Dan, a bartender at 'Habenero', Brighton's hottest gay club, has been obsessed with AmazingPhil, the openly gay Instagram model for a long time. In all the fantasy meet-cute scenarios Dan has imagined for he and his semi-celeb crush, none of them involved him being at work, being soaked in various liquids, or being halfway through a Saturday night hell-shift. Sometimes, life doesn't wait around for your plans.

a lot of these may already be on there, but i love them!

- cait

[justkeeptrekkin]

Not making this too specific because there's a lot of fun directions it could go, but here's a fic I've been dying for: Ineffable Husbands at a gay club and one of them gets REALLY jealous of all the attention the other's getting from the patrons

Anon, you’ve inadvertently triggered my very niche interest in the 1980s Manchester music scene. This is so so long... apologies for that. This is also very relevant to another anonymous ask I got about dancing/letting loose, so I’m screen-shotting it here- anon, I hope you see this!

***

The year is 1984. Margaret Thatcher has won her landslide victory, and the miners’ strike has started sweeping the United Kingdom. Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners (LGSM) is beginning to make its mark in the papers. Madonna has taken over all radio stations worth listening to. Manchester United and Brighton drew 2-2 in the FA Cup, and the CD is now available in all good music stores. 

Aziraphale is in Manchester. The North is currently filled with civil unrest due to the current political situation. Crime is rising, jobs are dwindling, people are scared for their futures. Aziraphale doesn’t often venture to The North, but when he does, it’s because something’s either gone terribly wrong or terribly well. For example, the Industrial Revolution (which had been both good and bad). 

Crowley is in Manchester, too. He is in Manchester’s coolest club, The Haçienda. Nowadays, rather shockingly, Manchester is the place to be. It’s where New Order and The Smiths come to play. It’s the epicenter of British sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll. It’s Crowley’s creation, and for the first time since the city’s inception, he’d been- in his own words- ‘more than happy to come and check up on it and see how it’s doing’. 

The two of them run into each other one night, on a busy street outside The Haçienda. 

It’s eleven-thirty in the evening when Aziraphale turns a corner and walks directly into his best friend, whom he hasn’t seen since 1975. At first, he doesn’t recognise him for the lack of handle-bar moustache, begins apologising profusely. But the apology fades away on his tongue as he takes a step back and sees Crowley, giant Ray-Bans hiding most of his face. A black suit that’s too large for him- shoulders padded. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The ankles of his trousers rolled up too, and slacks without socks. And a painfully loud red and black Hawaiian shirt. 

Crowley’s eyebrows shoot up above his considerable sunglasses. “Aziraphale?”

“Crowley! Fancy running into you here.” Aziraphale brushes off his cream, swede, double-breasted suit jacket. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Crowley spends a moment trying to re-roll his sleeves. Ever the perfectionist, he isn’t happy with how purposefully dishevelled he looks, and shrugs off his jacket, trying again. As he faffs, he continues, “This is my city. And it’s only just started getting really interesting. What are you doing here? What’s an angel doing in Manchester of all places?” 

“Well. All this Thatcher business.”

“Oh,” Crowley nods. “Yes. Her. Coming to try and tidy up after her, are we?”

“Sort of. Lots of unhappy people, thought I’d try and perform a miracle or two.”

“Fair enough- except- except, doesn’t really answer my question,” Crowley drawls, stepping closer, sliding his hands into the pockets of his loose trousers.

The streets of Manchester are filled with party goers. Music from The Haçienda booms out, cigarette smoke pouring through the half open doorway. The bouncer eyes them suspiciously.

Aziraphale feels transfixed on the spot, Crowley’s gaze fixed on him and an amused smile playing on his lips. 

“What’s an angel doing in Manchester at 11:30 on a Saturday night?”

Aziraphale stares. That hair. Some sort of miracle has gone into that hair, the way it’s been swept back and sprayed to an inch of its life to keep its hold. There’s so much volume to it, so much life that it looks like it might leap right off Crowley’s head and run away. But what’s more distracting is the way Crowley begins to pace around him, the way he always seems to do. Like he’s orbiting Aziraphale- the sun around a sunflower. And Aziraphale turns to watch him.

“It’s- you’re right, it’s not my preferred thing to be doing,” Aziraphale begins, feeling very thoroughly watched. Crowley is looking at him like he’s enjoying himself, as if he’s impressed. “I’d much rather be reading my book back home, but I’m actually here to lend some support.”

“Support?” Crowley repeats, smile still there, brows raised in interest. 

Aziraphale glances at him as he continues to circle. People pass them by on the street without a second glance. The bouncer, however, looks like he’s about to shoo them away from the outside of the club. 

“Support,” he emphasises. How is he forgetting his words so easily tonight? Crowley doesn’t always have this mind-numbing effect on him, but when he does, it’s awfully embarrassing. “I’m here to support the Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners. They’re having a party to gather allies in the gay club here. Just down the road.”

Crowley stops at that. And if he’d looked impressed before, now he looks positively elated, smile huge and brows flying to his hairline. “You what? LGSM- that was you?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale says quietly. Smiling to himself, feeling pleased. And quite frankly, flourishing a little under Crowley’s smile. “Two subjugated parties, coming together for a common cause. Equality.”

“And riots.”

Crowley smirks. Aziraphale frowns at him.

“Peaceful protest,” Aziraphale amends. 

Crowley bows his head in concession. “Of course,” he says insincerely. 

“Anyway,” Aziraphale says, before Crowley can begin lecturing him. “I’m heading over there now, just to show my face. It would be very rude not to, as they had invited me. Although…”

Aziraphale swallows. Looks about the dark, lamplit streets around him and sees the people stumble along, beers in hand, empty bottles of Lambrini rolling down the pavements. People chanting football anthems as they run through the deserted roads. The red-brick, converted factory buildings illuminated by club lights.

“You’re lost, aren’t you?”

“No,” Aziraphale asserts. Then, after being stared at for a few moments, “Yes.”

Crowley snorts. “Well, there’s only one good gay club that I know of round these parts, go there quite a lot myself.”

That brings his attention right back to Crowley’s Ray-Bans. “You do?”

Crowley shrugs enthusiastically. “Yeah, why not? Good fun.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Absolutely.”

“Ah- good. Well…”

“You don’t strike me as the type to go to clubs often.”

“And you’d be right.”

“So, let me get this straight- you live in Soho, gay centre of London, and haven’t been to a gay club?”

“Not knowingly, no. You’ll have to show me the ropes.”

Crowley looks at him. He looks at him with an intensity that makes Aziraphale’s neck shiver strangely, and not altogether unpleasantly. And then he sniffs, looks away, begin walking away from the club their hanging outside of. Their steps falling easily in sync, as if they haven’t been apart for more than five minutes.

“You know it’ll be loud.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you probably won’t like the music.”

“Well, I’ll judge that for myself.”

“And people will try and flirt with you. Even in…” Crowley looks him up and down. “That.”

Aziraphale glares at Crowley and side-steps a little as they walk, brushing off his jacket again defensively. Looks down at his outfit- he’s sporting a very soft, very comfortable turtle neck. And some well-fitted trousers, thank you very much. Aziraphale has never seen Miami Vice, but he has seen posters and he knows that Crowley has taken the vast majority of his fashion inspiration from the show (at least he’s now emerged from his Saturday Night Fever phase). Aziraphale thinks he has rather better standards.

“What’s wrong with this?”

“You look like a Philosophy teacher.”

“And- excuse me, what is wrong with that?”

“You’re going to a gay club.”

“Well, my lesbian and gay friends don’t seem to take issue with my fashion choices.”

This is not, distinctly, true. They had tried to give him a makeover last week, and it had ended up with him looking like a lost member of Adam and the Ants. 

“Alright, well, how about this.”

Crowley snaps his fingers- and then Aziraphale’s in a white silk shirt, buttons undone to his clavicle, the collar turned up and sleeves rolled up. White trousers- oh, Lord, no, they’re white jeans. And, well. 

A little snug, at that. 

“Good God,” he remarks.

“There. Suits you.”

“White jeans, Crowley. I mean, really, I think I can be classier than that.”

Crowley links arms with him and grins eagerly. Aziraphale’s back straightens and he returns his smile, a little giddily. 

“Tonight, we aren’t doing classy, angel.”

***

Three hours and several cocktails later, and Aziraphale has found himself dancing something that isn’t a gavotte. 

Some song about ‘needing a hero’ is playing, very upbeat and jovial it is, too. He’s dancing with the LGSM crew, glass half empty in one hand. It’s hot in here- he’s sweating horribly. And it’s incredibly loud. He doesn’t know what anyone’s saying, but they’re all having an excellent time. Cigarette smoke lingers in the air. And there are men in shorts so absurdly tiny that he doesn’t know how they keep everything in. The outfits get far more outrageous than that, too- people in full leather, people in full feathers, people in full glitter. 

Gay clubs are fantastic, Aziraphale has decided. 

He’s several drinks in, and Crowley has gone to the bar to buy a round for them all. Meanwhile, Aziraphale is jumping around with reckless abandon, knowing that, sooner or later, Crowley will come back. Crowley will come back and look at him in that way he does that Aziraphale doesn’t understand but makes his heart jump- a look that’s intense, yet soft, frustrated yet affectionate. 

Aziraphale will do almost anything to see him look at him like that. 

In the loud of the club, he hand signals something to his friends- something very inarticulate and nonsensical that’s meant to convey ‘I’m going to go look for my age-old friend Crowley, whom I have associated myself with for roughly six thousand years even though it’s technically against the rules, but I do it anyway because he’s probably the only person in this universe who understands me. Also I’m going to go help him with the drinks.’ And so he steps further into the crowd of the club- he’s lucky he’s drunk enough that he isn’t bothered by the sheer number of people- stepping on the sticky floor to find his friend. 

And there. 

There is Crowley, two cosmopolitans in hand. Being chatted up by a stranger. 

A very large, lumberjack looking man leering at him. He has even more hair on his head than Crowley does, piled on top of it like a rodent. And then there’s the huge beard and the frankly alarmingly hairy chest, poking out of layers of denim. Crowley stares at the stranger with slightly raised eyebrows and pursed lips, listening to whatever pick-up line he’s being given with a look of heavy judgement. 

And at first, Aziraphale doesn’t know what to do.

There’s no reason to be jealous, of course. Because, they aren’t together. In the coupley sense, anyway. Are they?

No we aren’t, we can’t be, he thinks. Aziraphale would know if they were. And they’d probably see each other more often if they were, rather than parting ways every decade or so only to accidentally run into each other. 

But he thinks about him all the time. All the damn time. He’s the only person in this universe that he misses, really truly misses. And Aziraphale knows beyond doubt that what he’s feeling right now is jealousy- a burning, horrible possessiveness that makes his stomach churn and his chest ache. A furnace inside him that makes him square his shoulders and march over to Crowley through the sea of sweaty bodies. He knows it’s jealousy- which is not good news at all, for an angel.

Bad bad, very bad indeed. Not heavenly. Problem is, I think I love him, and there’s not much to be done about that, Aziraphale thinks to himself. Lord, I’m very drunk. 

The song about needing a hero continues, its fast rhythm giving him momentum as he approaches the enormous man and an unintimidated Crowley. And then, Aziraphale hesitates. Because, he really shouldn’t be interrupting this, if Crowley enjoys this sort of thing- and he’s said he does like gay clubs, so by proxy he probably also likes the attention from other men. Which means that Aziraphale has absolutely no room to disturb that enjoyment, even if it hurts him. 

And so Aziraphale stands and watches, heart breaking a little in the middle of the dance floor as Crowley smirks at the lumberjack man. Lumberjack man leans a hand on the bar and continues talking. Leans in to say something in Crowley’s ear. 

Aziraphale burns. 

He watches helplessly as Crowley’s smirk becomes a grimace, and he begins searching the crowd. The disco lights catch his Ray-Bans, flash a bright green. And then he seems to spot Aziraphale, because his face softens in relief, his body slumping so he almost pours the cosmopolitans down his shirt. Aziraphale watches his lips as he mouths something to him.

Help? Please?

That’s all it takes. Aziraphale doesn’t question the fact that Crowley could easily miracle himself out of this awkward situation. If it crosses his mind that actually, Crowley may want Aziraphale to come save him, it’s quickly dashed away. Yes, that thought is considered for all of point-five of a second, before being locked away and buried somewhere deep in his mind. 

Aziraphale rocks up to the bar. Crowley smiles at him, extends an arm to Aziraphale and gives him one of the drinks. Then, he snakes said arm around his waist.

Oh, golly, he thinks in sudden alarm. 

The song changes to something about ‘spinning me right round.’ Not that Aziraphale’s attention is on the music right now- no, it’s on Crowley, who’s wrapped himself around Aziraphale and is leaning against him sinuously. 

“Sorry, love, this is my boyfriend,” Crowley shouts over the music to the disgruntled looking stranger. “Go bother some other twink.”

Aziraphale has absolutely no idea what that last part means, but it does make him laugh nervously. Crowley looks at him seriously, raises his eyebrows at him over his sunglasses. From this close, he can see the slits of his snake eyes. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale says out loud- one step behind Crowley’s thought-process, as drunk as he is. 

He wraps an arm around Crowley’s slim waist, and gives lumberjack his best intimidating stare. Straightening to his full height and tilting his chin imperiously. Lumberjack waves a dismissive hand at them and moves onto his next conquest. 

The two of them hover at the bar for a long moment, annoying the rest of the club-goers who are trying to get to the front to make their orders. They stand there, arms around each other, both of them seemingly frozen in surprise at what has just occurred. And, apparently, not knowing what to do next.

Crowley is the first to untangle himself. His cosmopolitan sloshes down Aziraphale’s shirt, and he instantly miracles it better, without a care in the world who can see. He stands back a little- not very far. There isn’t enough room to stand that far apart. And he looks him dead on. Purses his lips, as if nervous. As if trying to figure out what to say. 

Then he dips his head to Aziraphale’s ear to speak. The closeness of it-

Lord, the closeness of it. The heat of Crowley’s breath against his ear is something else. It freezes him on the spot.

“Fancy a dance, angel?”

Crowley leans back again. He looks tense and relaxed all at once. Lips parted, as if dazed. Cheeks red from the heat of the club. A sheen of sweat on his brow, shoulders creeping up to his ears. 

Aziraphale nods. And then Crowley beams a sharkish grin at him- something far more apprehensive than it is happy or confident- and takes his hand. 

He takes his hand, and Aziraphale lets him take him to the dance floor. 

They dance. They dance to the song about spinning right round, to a song about being together in electric dreams, and then something by the wonderful Mr Bowie. Because yes, even Aziraphale knows David Bowie. And if he notices the LGSM gang waving and leering at him, making rude hand gestures and mouthing words of encouragement at him from across the room, he ignores them as best he can. Rather, he waves a shooing hand at them when Crowley’s back is turned. They’ve heard him talk about Crowley too many times for them not to put two-and-two together, apparently. 

How mortifying.

That doesn’t stop them from having the most enormous fun. Crowley is absolutely delighted by the fact that Aziraphale can dance something other than the gavotte. Within the first three minutes he’s laughing uncontrollably, grinning like an idiot with how amusing it apparently is to see Aziraphale dance. When Crowley dives in to talk in Aziraphale’s ear again- a hand on his arm-

A hand on his arm-

He tells Aziraphale that he dances like a granddad. Aziraphale shouts something about Crowley being very rude and mean to him- he doesn’t remember the exact words, he’s too tipsy- and Crowley just smiles wider. They dance and shout and Crowley sings lyrics at the top of his lungs like his life depends on it, with utter dedication that makes Aziraphale’s heart swell. They continue to drink and laugh and let the night take them somewhere they haven’t experienced together before. With every song, with every terrible dance move that he shares with Crowley, he feels some weight lift of his shoulders.

And then something with a heavy beat starts playing. Something that stops the crowd from jumping and flailing. It takes too long for Aziraphale to notice, drunkenly swaying on the spot with a dazed smile pulling at his lips. And then he sees the way Crowley is standing stock still, arms awkwardly at his sides like he’s forcing them to stay there. Lips pressed together and eyes scanning the room. 

Aziraphale doesn’t think about taking his hands in his, he just does it. Crowley’s eyes snap up to him, lips parting in soft surprise. 

The music plays. 

‘You’re out of touch, I’m out of time- but I’m out of my head when you’re not around…’

They move closer. And then they move even closer. And Aziraphale holds Crowley’s hand, holds his waist like he’s leading him in a waltz. And Crowley looks at him with brows pulled together, Adam’s apple bouncing as he swallows. And they shuffle terribly awkwardly, as if they’ve both forgotten how to use their mortal bodies, forgotten what legs are. And Aziraphale supposes he should feel embarrassed, that this should feel strange. To hold his best friend like this and stare into his eyes like he has no intention of ever leaving this moment. And in a way, it does feel strange.

But more than that, it feels wonderful.

And if the song changes to something faster again, neither one notices. If the club starts to get quieter, people going home, neither one cares. And if the world really is going to end someday soon, with fire and flame and the armies of Heaven and Hell using Earth as its battle ground, neither one will leave each other’s side. 

The year is 1984, and although they’re both too afraid to say it out loud, they know that they belong together.

[newagesispage]

                                                                        MAY                 2021

The Rib Page

*****

George Takei is sweatin’ with the oldies. He stars in a fitness app for gay seniors, Bar Belles. It was his April Fool’s day joke.

*****

Fox will bring us Crime Scene Kitchen on May 26 with host Joel McHale.

*****

Joel Hodgson has launched a new kick starter to create a new independent season of MTS3K, The goal is $2mil.

*****

Bob Odenkirk will release: Comedy, comedy, comedy, drama: A Memoir on Jan. 18 2022

*****

Leslie Jones will host the 2021 MTV Awards.

*****

$3 mil was raised for Next for Autism with help from Conan, Kimmel, Charlize, Chris Rock, Jack Black and Sarah Silverman.

*****

Have ya noticed that Gayle King looks great in yellow.

*****

Some people are not too happy that Elon Musk will host SNL on May 8. Miley Cyrus is the musical guest.** Musk tweeted: Let’s find out just how live SNL really is. Cast member Bowen Yang tweeted back, : What the Fuck does this even mean?

*****

Oh Seth Meyers: Every time I see the sea captain on your show, I miss him so much!!

*****

There is a spotlight on Foxconn which made a big splash for Trump at the start of his presidency. The company has done a lot of nothing but still gets tax cuts. Homes were demolished, roads were widened to nowhere and money was spent. Wisconsinites are upset that this big business is just folly and a big glass orb.

*****

Mike Lindell is a kook but he did try to appear to be a good sport on Kimmel.

*****

When will weed be legal on a federal level? When will drug testing for employment be illegal? We hear so much about personal rights with the gun laws and vaccines and masks. What about the right to do what we want with our bodies when we are not at work. Think of the administrative costs that could be saved if we just removed drug testing. Our experience and work ethic should mean more that what we do with our free time. This is not a problem at all companies. There are places in this country where it is near impossible anywhere in your area to get hired without a drug screening. One joint on a random Saturday night could keep someone from a great opportunity. A person in pain who reaches for an edible might miss out on the job that saves their lives.

*****

NASA sent the first flight to another planet. The Mars flight made history with the 30 sec feat.

*****

What? The Menendez brothers are popular again? From the Ramsey case to the Manson murders or Bundy, it all comes back around again.

*****

The Lizzie Borden house just sold for $2mil to Lance Zaal of U. S. Ghost Adventures.

*****

Quarantine and so much television et al proves one thing, the pharmaceutical and insurance companies have way too much $.

*****

Trump told everyone to boycott Coke and is later seen drinking diet Coke.** Trump sent out a statement about how bad the Oscars are. They threw it right back in his face. ** Federal agents have searched Giuliani’s Manhattan apartment. It stems from the 2 year investigation into activities in Ukraine.

*****

X-VP Pence is said to have pressured the Navy to reinstate former Mo. Gov. Eric Greitens. Greitens was accused of tying up, blindfolding, taking explicit photos of and blackmailing a woman.

*****

There is a crisis in schools with the lack of civics and history being taught.

*****

Hulk Hogan was hit with a chorus of Boo’s at his latest event.

*****

The latest sexual harassment news: Matt Gaetz  is being looked into for sex with a minor and sex trafficking.  Bill Barr opened the investigation.** Tom Reed has been accused of sexual misconduct by former lobbyist, Nicolette Davis.** Marilyn Manson has been sued by Game of Thrones, Esme Bianco for sexual abuse.

*****

What is going on with Bank of America? I am hearing from multiple people that often they do not get their statement in the mail. Is this a bad Postal service? Is this bad business practice? How many late fees had to be paid because of this? Not everybody wants to pay their bills online.

*****

Jack Hanna has revealed that he has dementia.

*****

Tiny Tim : King for a day is a new doc I must see. The film contains footage shot from Warhol’s Factory. There are excerpts from Tim’s diary read by Weird Al Yankovic and the story of how Tiny’s friend, Bob Dylan wanted to make a film with him.

*****

Lindsay Lohan’s Father, Michael has been charged with 5 counts patient brokering and 1 count of attempted patient brokering. This is an apparent scam of steering addicts into rehab for cash.

*****

Aaron Sorkin and Paulina Porizkova are dating. Pete Davidson and Phoebe Dynevor are dating.

*****

JB Smoove has a new podcast brought to you by TeamCoco.

*****

Hey.. People working on the new Law and Order: Organized Crime….. TOO MUCH MELONI!!

*****

*****

Zach Avery, actor, was arrested for his participation in a $690 mil Ponzi scheme.

*****

President Biden has restored aid to the Palestinians.

*****

MLB put up a wall in Georgia but the Masters stayed.

*****

Hank Azaria has brought Brockmire to a new podcast.

*****

Tommy Chong isn’t allowed on FB because of his weed posts but they allow an imposter to use his name to sell weed.

Pennsylvania is trying to push thru 14 voter suppression bills.

*****

Joe Manchin. Ugh!!** Marjorie Taylor- Greene has let go of her America First caucus.** Ted Cruz has allegedly used $154, 000 of his campaign funds to buy up copies of his book to boost sales. This is an old trick but still illegal.

*****

For the first time, The Carter Center became involved in a U.S. election. They published videos and live webcasts as well as deploying observers across Georgia.

*****

Most health programs in Uganda, Nigeria and Ethiopia have resumed after Covid.** Tom Vilsack from the Dept. of Agriculture has announced the USDA will provide assistance to 30 million kids.** It is sad to me that we have to entice people to vaccinate. Football games, Church’s and shot for shot in bars?? Really? Saving the lives of others should be enough. WTF?

*****

Alec Baldwin, Alec Mapa and Kelsey Grammer are shopping around a new comedy that ABC decided to pass on.

*****

Chauvin was found guilty.

*****

Days alert: C’mon Ben, calm the fuck down! Don’t prove how out of control you are like everybody thinks. ** Xander is so funny right now.** How many people will Kristen be and how many times can one person melt down?? **Bring Carrie back!! **Jackee’ seemed a bit nervous in the beginning but she is fitting right in. More!

*****

The SAG awards came and went. With the Trial of the Chicago 7 winning best ensemble, Michael Keaton is the first person to be in 3 best casts for SAG’s.** Other winners include Viola Davis, Chadwick Boseman, Daniel Kaluuta, Youn Yuh-Jung, Mark Ruffalo, Anya Taylor- Joy, Jason Bateman, Catherine O’Hara, Schitt’s Creek and The Crown.

*****

The Oscars were held on April 25. It was a bit of a yawner and why would a show set themselves up for an awkward end?? There was a commercial from P&G right before the broadcast that stated, “ Widen the screen so we can widen our view.” Nice sentiment.  Mank had so many noms and only 2 wins. People looking their best to me were Leslie Odom Jr., Glenn Close, Riz Ahmed, LaKeith Stanfield, Colman Domingo, John Batiste, Mia Neal, Questlove (gold crocs and a mask!), Desmond Roe, Travon Free, Trish Summerville, Marlee Matlin, The Lucas Brothers, Andra Day, Carey Mulligan, Amanda Seyfried, Nicolette Robinson, Regina King and Margot Robbie. Laura Dern looked like Big Bird, there were just too many feathers. Tiara Thomas had feathers but they looked great.  Angela Bassett had some power sleeves and Tyer Perry looked like a little boy.  Hooray for Emerald Fennell for her win for original screenplay but not sure about the dress. And Viola Davis?? Dana Murray?? Ashley Fox?? Hmm?? Winners seemed to have trouble getting to the stage. They often refused the steps or the walkway and sort of climbed up the side. I did love the intimate setting and it did remind me of the old clips of years before. Sound of metal and Ma Rainey both won. Tyler Perry and for the first time, an organization, the motion picture and television fund, took home the humanitarian award. I was thrilled to see My Octopus Teacher win for Doc. I loved Crip Camp too, that was a hard category.  The acting winners went in all directions.  Many critics complained that the films were real downers . Nomadland won best picture. Michael Moore put it best I think. Of the films this year, he said, “They force you to look backward with 2021 eyes.”

*****

Why the Fuck do we need a militarized police force?

*****

R.I.P. victims of the multiple mass shootings, victims of police shootings, the crush in Israel, Cosette Brown, Midwin Charles, DMX, Paul Ritter, Ethel Gabriel, G. Gordon Liddy, Buddy Peppenschmidt,  Prince Philip, Anne Beatts, Diane Adler, Vartan Gregorian, Monte Hellman, Jim Steinman, Michael Collins, Michael wolf Snyder, Johnny Crawford, Eli Broad and Walter Mondale.

[hms-chill]

A Channel of Your Peace

Summary: Following Henry being outed, the election, and the end of the book, Henry and Philip slowly start to fix their relationship. There’s blood that can’t be unshed, but there’s also a chance that things could get better. 

Chapter 1: Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace

Chapter 2: Where there is Hatred, Let Me Sow Love

When Henry gets to his room, he has three missed calls from Alex, all within a few minutes of each other. It's later than he'd realized; they were supposed to have called and talked about fifteen minutes ago. When he calls back, Alex opens with "I thought you might have fallen asleep; either that or the crown had you taken out for being gay. Everything okay over there?"

"I'm sorry I'm not available at your every beck and call, Alex."

"Yeah, well, you're late. We're supposed to be having steamy phone sex right now, and we're still catching up on our days."

"I was talking to Philip. He was worried, and helping him seemed a bit more important than hearing about how much you hate Ryan from your torts class."

"Okay, first off, Ryan from torts is the second worst. But Philip? Philip is like... the actual worst. What the hell."

Henry sighs. He'd expected something like this, but it doesn't make it easier to hear. "You don't have to like him, but the least you could do is be decent. He's my brother."

"Yeah, well, he sucks. And not in a good way. Just because he's your brother doesn't make him a good person, but I'll tell you what. I'll be decent like he was decent to you and Bea."

"Alex."

"I'll be decent like how he was decent to us. And your mom. Hell, I'll be as decent to him as he's been to me since we met, all fuckin side eyes and snide remarks."

"Alex, please. I don't want to fight with you right now. He... he's trying, at least, so if you could try too, that would be nice. It was actually a nice conversation today; I think we might have more in common than we knew. He's worried about Martha overworking herself and getting sick. Sounds a bit like someone I know."

"I don't know what you're talking about; I'm a pinnacle of health and a poster child for a work/life balance. I've only had four cups of coffee today, and I spent a whole ten minutes playing with David before I went back to my essays."

"Dear god, Alex, I--"

"I'm joking. I've had three square meals and eight cups of water, and David and I took an hour long walk where I talked to my family." His tone softens a bit on, "but seriously, H, you don't need to worry. I'm okay here, and I'll be there soon enough. Two more midterms and I'm yours."

"You finished your essay, then?"

"Got it in before dinner." Henry can hear the smile in his voice, and when he tells him he's proud, Alex's voice gets even lighter. They catch up, filling each other in on their days and talking about what they'll do when Alex is free of midterms and able to join Henry for the weekend. They've got a state dinner to go to on Friday, and they're moderating a panel of queer activists and voices on Sunday, but they have all of Saturday to spend together in London. Henry wants to take Alex up in the Eye, since he's never been. Alex wants to see the V&A again ("and actually see things this time, not just make out. I mean, we'll make out a lot, but I do want to see the things you love"), and they'll do something, probably brunch, with Bea and Pez as well.

Eventually, their conversation circles back to what Henry's been doing, and Alex says, "I'm sorry for being an asshole earlier. I know you're trying with Philip; it's not my place or job to try and tell you how to deal with your family. I'll follow your lead, so if you say he's trying and you're trying, I... I'm going to try, too, when I'm there."

"Thank you. He... he asked about you tonight. Asked how you were doing, and he said I should tell you hello from him and wish you good luck on your tests if it felt right."

"Oh."

"He thought you and Martha might get along, so maybe you could try and talk to her at the dinner? You two might have more in common as official suitors than you realize, and he thinks you might get along since you both pour so much into things you're passionate about. I know it's not much to go on, but he... Philip doesn't know you. At least he's trying." Alex hasn't done much to give Philip an opportunity to get to know him, but Henry doesn't say that.

"He hasn't made much of an attempt to know me, but I'll see about talking to Martha."

"Philip's tried to get to know you a bit through me. I think he's sort of afraid to talk to you because he's not sure how it will go. He doesn't have any positive history with you, and you were a bit more open about disliking him than some of us were. We'll see when you get here, but I think he wants to know you. Really, I think... I think he wants our family back, he's just worried to upset us and make it worse. Especially with you."

Alex is quiet for a moment, but Henry knows him well enough to know he's processing that. "What have you told him? All the good things?"

"Well, not all the good things. I think he might actually dislike you if he knew those. But I've told him about how passionate you are, and how important your family is to you, and how hard you try. Things he might not realize from your social media or your sort of First Son Image, but not... not everything. Mostly just that you're deeper and you work harder than it looks to the public."

"So he does sort of know about me, at least. That's... Will you tell me about him some? Just... what he was like growing up, and why you want to try so much? I only know how he's hurt you, and that's... that's not fair."

So Henry talks. He talks about family picnics growing up, when he'd find worms and Philip would put them on fishing hooks for him because he could never get it right himself. He talks about ballroom dance lessons, when Philip taught him how to stand and put his arms in the right places, since the teacher was busy with someone else and they both hated the suits they had to wear. He talks about how they used to share a room, and he'd wake up at night and Philip would be there, and even just having a big brother close was enough to help him feel more comfortable. Then he talks about the bad years, too, when their dad was gone and they all had to grow up. He talks about how their Gran took Philip into her office the day after their dad died and when he came out, his back was ramrod straight and he'd apparently resolved not to cry any more. He talks about how Philip went back to his air force deployment the day after the funeral, and how things fell apart at home but at least he was home, not off with happy strangers and a culture that demanded he 'man up'. He tells Alex how even when Philip came home from the RAF deployment, he was different somehow, and how he'd decided that it was his job to keep them all out of the tabloids and the media and the public eye, since they didn't have a parent who could do that anymore. He talks for so long, he'd be sure that anyone but Alex stopped listening. He wraps it up with "I don't think he meant badly, really. I mean, he hurt us, but he... He was just as hurt, I think, and just trying to figure out how to be a person in the same way we were. Bea and I had each other to help, but he... He was sort of on his own with Gran. So I... I know he hurt us, and I know he hurt you, and I know this doesn't fix it. But I don't really think he wanted to. I think he was hurting, too.

"So will you... when you come, will you give him a chance and be civil, at least? I don't want to have to mediate fights between the two of you; I just... I want you both to be able to be comfortable in the same room, at least. So will you try to be nice?"

"I will. I didn't... I think it'll help now that I understand why. I can't believe we've never talked about any of that before."

"Yes, well. My... my family can be a lot, and memories can be hard for us, but for me especially."

"I know. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to blame you or-- what?"

Henry's started to laugh a bit. "Nothing. It's just, well, when I talked to him, he'd apologize for everything he did that upset me even a bit. Maybe you two aren't as polar opposite as you think."

Alex laughs, too. They finish their call, and he promises again to try his best with Philip. That's all Henry can ask for, and given that it's Alex's best, it's sure to be great.

--

On AO3

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This was a bit of a different chapter, and I know our boy Alex doesn't look the best, but I wanted to give people a bit of a peek into why I think it's important to Henry to fix his relationship with Philip. Plus, I feel like by the end of the book (c. page 391) Alex is a lot more upset with Philip than Henry was, so his anger felt like a good way to let Henry express things.

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[thecoleopterawithana]

Omfg thank you for your precious answer you're my favorite tumblr !! I have so many things I'd like to ask you bc you explain so well lol, first of all what do you think of the story of Tony Manero ? Do you think he tells the truth with his story ? Again thank you for your answer love youuuu

Hey again, dear anon! (I’m assuming you’re the one from before) Thank you so much for your kind words! I’m truly happy you're enjoying the blog, and that it is engaging enough to make you want to ask questions. I’m more than happy to try my best at answering them because I learn a lot in the research for these posts too!

For context, Tony Manero was a Brooklyn singer/dancer (who claims to be the inspiration for the main character in 1977′s Saturday Night Fever, though no movie-related source mentions it).

He comes up frequently in Beatles’ fandom circles as a “key witness” in the ongoing case of John Lennon’s sexuality. His testimony appears in Geoffrey Giuliano’s Glass Onion (1999), where he is interviewed on his encounter with John Lennon on the streets of New York City, on May 1974:

TONY MANERO*

Interview

New York, Summer 1992

Question: Tell me your story about meeting John Lennon.

Tony Manero: It was back in May of 1974. I saw three guys walking down the block. John was always my idol. I went up to him and said, "I know a lot of people hassle you, but I just want to thank you for your music. I've enjoyed you and you've helped me through a lot of emotional times." Outside Jimmy's Bar in Greenwich Village he said, "Why don't you come inside for a drink?"

Question: Who else was with him?

Tony: Harry Nilsson was also there. After we ordered drinks, John switched seats to be next to me. He said to me, "Are you gay?" When I told him I wasn't, he looked really disappointed. He could have been joking, but he wasn't. My initial reaction was fear. And yet I wouldn't leave because it was John Lennon. I said to him, "No, man. I don't go that way." "Are you sure?" he said, "Look, I'll take you to Hollywood." John was calling me "the pretty one." He told me, "You're the prettiest chick I've seen all day." He said, "You look like a pretty little Indian or Arab chick," because of my color skin. I remember Harry was borrowing one hundred bills from him.

Question: Then what happened?

Tony: At one stage I went out, and when I came back he was talking to this woman and he said "She said, 'I thought he was Paul, meaning McCartney.'" So John turns around and says, "No, he's prettier than Pauly. He's got a nicer mouth than Pauly. Pauly's got a small mouth." Then he turned to me and said, "Let's go get some chicks." This man was giving me a dream to pay millions for. I hung out with him. John almost admitted his gay tendencies. He put his arm around me. He said, "It feels good to hold someone. You know what I mean?" Prior to that he said, "There's nothing wrong with being gay. Two people exchanging feelings is not wrong. Did you ever try it?" People were following us. We were wasted and he put his arm around one girl and said "Suck my cock." He stuck his tongue down her throat. We were loaded. Somebody stole the hat right off his head! He was so nice. I remember we had a hamburger. Later we went to his hotel rooms, 1608, -9, and -10. There was Harry's bedroom, John's, and a living room with a keyboard. He gave me a guitar, but it was later stolen. He propositioned me in the street. Hassled me if I'd ever made love to a male. "Will you give me head, man?" he asked. But I wouldn't do it. "Come on, Tony, why won't you give me head?" We went back to his hotel and he propositioned me again. After John died I wished I'd done it. He tried to kiss me. He put his arm around me. He was making moves on me like a guy would make on a woman. We were on the couch and we lay down. I said, "Wow, maybe I should have." I never asked him if he'd had sex with a man, but it was obvious to me he had. I was at the hotel for a few days. But he never bothered me in the middle of the night. He never attempted it again. There were feelings and looks. He was very loving, like when a guy is very lonely. The man was bisexual - there is no two ways about it. He was feeling me out.

Question: What do you say to people who might not believe your story?

Tony: John did come on to me. He did try to make love to me. He asked me to perform a lewd act - that's the truth. The man was bisexual - there's no two ways about it. Any of his fans who can't dig that, I'm sorry, because if you listen to his music, sensitivity and experiencing is what it's all about.*Tony Manero was the inspiration behind the seventies film Saturday Night Fever and a successful New York businessman.

— in Geoffrey Giuliano’s Glass Onion: The Beatles In Their Own Words (1999), part Seven: Friends (pages 315-317).

Concerning Manero’s recollections, some familiar elements pop up.

There is "It feels good to hold someone. You know what I mean?" which seems to echo Paul’s recollections of his last hug with John, where the latter commented, “It’s good to touch.” It is a classical example of John craving physical affection.

"There's nothing wrong with being gay. Two people exchanging feelings is not wrong. Did you ever try it?" reminded me immediately of the poem John submitted for Len Richmond and Gary Noguera's Gay Liberation Handbook, on 30 May 1972.

Why make it sad to be gay?

Doing your thing is O.K.

Our bodies our own

So leave us alone

Go play with yourself - today.

Also, there are his comparisons to Paul, "No, he's prettier than Pauly. He's got a nicer mouth than Pauly. Pauly's got a small mouth." 

First, there’s the use of the adjective pretty, which he’s used for Paul before:

I remember we were going down to the studio [...] and there was a great crowd pressing against the car. John was sitting in the back and he said, “Push Paul out first. He’s the prettiest.”

—Victor Spinetti, in the documentary You Can’t Do That! The Making of ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ (1995).

Also, there’s “that Paulie business” (note that’s it’s Paulie, not Pauly; and John will object if you use it, especially in a condescending way!).

Moreover, to me, the whole exchange strikes the same tongue-in-cheek tone as this late 1975 interview:

John: Yes, all your best friends let you know what's going on. I was trying to put it 'round that I was gay, you know-- I thought that would throw them off... dancing at all the gay clubs in Los Angeles, flirting with the boys... but it never got off the ground.

Q: I think I've only heard that lately about Paul.

John: Oh, I've had him, he's no good. [Laughter]

— John Lennon, interviewed by Lisa Robinson for Hit Parader: A conversation with John Lennon (December 1975).

John had already insinuated his relationship with Paul in a similar way in this humorous self-interview:

Q. Have you ever fucked a guy?

A. Not yet, I thought I’d save it til I was 40, life begins at 40 you know, tho I never noticed it.

Q. It is trendy to be bisexual and you’re usually ‘keeping up with the Jones’, haven’t you ever… there was talk about you and PAUL…

A. Oh, I thought it was about me and Brian Epstein… anyway, I’m saving all the juice for my own version of THE REAL FAB FOUR BEATLES STORY etc.. etc..

Q. It seems like you’re saving quite a lot for when you’re 40...

A. Yes, there might be nothing better to do, tho I don’t believe it.

— John Lennon, interview conducted by/on John Lennon, and/or Dr Winston O’boogie, for Andy Warhol’s Interview Magazine (November 1974).

I introduce all of this because if there’s one thing I at first found odd in Manero’s account, it was John’s forwardness. John doesn’t strike me as a guy to openly proposition another man. Was he really just super keen on it? Was he getting liquid courage from all the substances? Was he trying to get those rumours off the ground? A mix of all three? 

But perhaps it’s wrong to look at 1974 as just a normal year. 

Lennon’s Lost Weekend was the time of his life where we can see him be the most publicly vocal about his curiosity. He was open about being open. 

And striking friendships with gay musicians like Elton John probably gave him someone who he could talk to, or at least explore the world of gay bars with. Whatever gets you through the night, it’s alright, after all. 

One of those “dancing at all the gay clubs” episodes has been recounted by musician and music producer Mark Hudson. In a “weird but beautiful” moment, John urged the group to join him on the dancefloor, when The Three Degrees’ ‘When Will I See You Again’ came playing through the speakers and he exclaimed, “I love this song!” 

Because it’s always informative to pay close attention to the songs that were resonating with them at any particular time, I’ll provide the lyrics to ‘When Will I See You Again’ (released in the US on September 1974):

Precious moments

When will I see you again

When will we share precious moments

Will I have to wait forever

Will I have to suffer

And cry the whole night through?

When will I see you again

When will our hearts beat together?

Are we in love or just friends?

Is this my beginning

Or is this the end?

When will I see you again?

May Pang reports in her book, Loving John (1983), that after she and John left LA to go back to NY — where, after some time at The Pierre hotel, they moved to small penthouse apartment on East Fifty-second Street, around July 1974 —  the McCartney’s had paid them a visit.

John would spend the next two months recording Walls And Bridges, before releasing it on 26 September 1974. It included tracks such as the aforementioned ‘Whatever Gets You Through The Night’, ‘#9 Dream’ and also the beautiful ‘Bless You’:

Bless you wherever you are

Windswept child on a shootin' star

Restless spirits depart

Still we're deep in each other's hearts

Some people say it's over

Now that we spread our wings

But we know better, darlin'

The hollow ringIs only last year's echo, oh-oh

Bless you whoever you are

Holding her now, be warm and kind-hearted

And remember though love is strange

Now and forever our love will remain

As a song, I think it's the best piece of work on the album, although I worked harder on some of the other tracks. In retrospect, that seems to be the best track, to me.

— John Lennon, interviewed after the release of the album, cited in John Blaney’s John Lennon: Listen to This Book (2005).

(I’m sorry, I got sidetracked by their love for one another...)

But getting back to Manero’s story, you asked me if I think it is the truth or not. And honestly, there’s really no way to be completely certain of the veracity of these accounts. Having said that, I don’t really see this story as the scandalous, explosive news it is often made out to be. Not because I think it might be untrue, necessarily, but because I personally feel like John’s interests in homosexuality come through in his own words, as we’ve seen in the previous post.

For me, it seems clear that there was an attraction there. Now, an even more interesting question, I feel, is how much of that attraction was about the physicality of the male body; how much was about the contact with one’s softer, more sensitive side, not allowed in the classic moulds of toxic masculinity; and how much of it was seeking sexual contact as a way to epitomize emotional intimacy? 

And with the complexity of human beings, it is fair and likely that there were little bits of all three elements involved. But perhaps, it’s best to continue that line of thought in another post...

But what do you guys think? I'd really like to hear your thoughts on the subject!

[indigoire]

It Read-through Chapter Three: “Six Phone Calls”

God. One hundred pages into IT and I only just got done with chapter three. This book can and will kill me. 

Warning for racism, suicide, blood, gore, abuse, assault, misogyny, and Bill Denbrough’s shitty opinions.

Intro Chapters One and Two

Silly me thought, oh, twenty-four chapters, one thousand one hundred and thirty-eight pages, that’s about fifty pages per chapter, I can crank that out no problem. I was reading full novels over the course of a day when I was in school. Easy peasy. 

Real whoppers like this chapter have me doubting myself. I’ll probably have days where I’ll break the chapter in half just so I’m not reading for three straight hours like I was tonight. 

Anyways, on to the chapter itself. It’s really more like six chapters crammed into one, all introducing us to an individual Loser with the exception of Mike. 

Let me sum up my reaction to these intros with my own tweet, having just finished Bev’s introduction:

And like, I’ve seen the movies, I’ve read the fanworks, I know a lot of the lore. I even read past chapter three as a kid, I remember Bill’s intro so clearly now. I feel like I have my own form of amnesia, but the shitty memories I’m uncovering are of reading this book. So believe me when I say I knew going in that the Losers would be an amalgamation of mommy and daddy issues or just plain issues, anti-Semitism, misogyny, repression, trauma, long-buried PTSD, abuse…like, there’s a reason they’re Losers. 

But King feels like he needs to beat us over the head with this information. 

For example, let’s start with Stanley. Good old Stanley. Hey, did you know Stan was Jewish??? A simple mention wouldn’t be enough though, let’s throw every anti-Semitic word at the wall, but it’s okay because it’s from the viewpoint of a Jewish character, his wife. The Jewish wife can call herself a kike all day long, why not, let’s just go ahead and do that. 

Like. Come on Stephen. My notes say “at SOME point this just feels fuckin’ racist, dude.” 

Stan himself is lovely. We get to see him from Patty’s point of view (and, point of order, I just realized that all of the Losers are introduced from the viewpoint of another character, with the exception of Richie and Eddie), and Stan is a level-headed, smart, steady man. He seems to be “preternaturally confident” about his life choices, whether that’s choosing where Patty should apply to for work or starting his own accounting firm, and he always seems to find success. 

Stan also finds out about Bill and his books, but before the telephone call from Mike, before the Derry memories are supposed to rush in. Stan is reading Bill’s new book when he gets the call in fact. 

He also makes an oblique reference to the Turtle around Patty, “the Turtle couldn’t help us”, and then seems to shake it off without going into it with her. 

So. Either Stan remembered more than he let on, or something happened that made him aware. More aware than the rest of the Losers. Like, the Losers all seem to find wild success, supernatural success really, but to them it all seems to happen suddenly, at random. Not so with Stan. When Patty and Stan try to have children but can’t conceive, Stan says he knows the problem lies with him, he just doesn’t know why exactly. He then goes on to say that he’s in the eye of some storm, the calm between something terrible in his past and something terrible in his future. 

Of course we soon learn what terrible something is lurking in Stan’s future. One evening he gets a call from Mike Hanlon, telling him to come back to Derry. Stan answers the call, responds to Mike’s questions, then tells Patty he’s going to take a bath. She ends up watching TV a little too long, then realizes something is Off. She finds him locked in the bathroom with slit wrists and the word IT written in his own blood on the wall. 

The neighbors call the cops she screams so loud. 

We then move from Stan to Richie, whose name I have never been more happy to see in my whole life. Finally, finally, one of my favorite characters. Richie answers Mike’s phone call with nary a hiccup. He puts on a Voice to answer, not something silly but a sort of adult “everything’s going to be okay” Voice. He then arranges things with his travel agent and somewhere along the way he has to go back to his normal voice. “Now he had to go back to being himself, and that was hard–it got harder to do that every year.” Richie is building walls around parts of himself with his Voices, avoiding the real him. 

He does a couple of voices for the travel agent, she laughs hysterically, and he arranges his trip to Derry, and calls out of work. After it’s all taken care of, the memories start to rush back, the people, and he thinks of Georgie, with his arm ripped off, and then and only then does Richie vomit. He makes it to the toilet at least, but he empties himself entirely. He then removes his contacts. 

A rather short intro, but to me a nice reprieve. 

Ben’s intro is a lot better than I remember it being. I think I conflated it with his intro in the miniseries, where he brings home a girl and tells her about him being fat before they have sex. Here, not a whisper of that. There’s actually a bit where a woman asks Ben’s local bartender if Mister Hanscom is gay. “Mister Hanscom ain’t no sissy.” Cool. Thanks, Stephen. 

Basically, Ben haunts this one tiny bar in Nebraska in this tiny podunk “town”, where he gets to know the bartender, a Ricky Lee, very well over the years. He comes every Friday and Saturday night, no matter where he is. When he’s working on the BBC Communications Tower in London he still flies back home every Saturday to get his drinks. He never takes anyone home from the bar and he consistently tips well. The bartender enjoys his company. 

The night of the phone call, we see Ben head into the bar and there’s a terrible desolation hung over him. He tells Ricky there’s been bad news from home, and Ricky is sympathetic. He goes into some of the memories, of Bowers carving the H into his stomach, and shows Ricky the scar. He then orders a STEIN of whiskey, which Ricky, somewhat foolishly, gives to him, on the house. 

Ben then, mentioning an anecdote about the natives in Peru, snorts straight lemon juice and then downs the whiskey like beer. He then gives Ricky Lee three pure silver dollars that his father gave to him before he died. He makes mention of a fourth one that he gave to Bill…and a mysterious reference that Bill or Bev somehow used that silver dollar to save his life at some point. Meanwhile, Ricky is horrified. He keeps thinking of a bar patron that once hung himself after coming to the bar, and how Ben has the same look about him. He’s suddenly struck that Ben is dead, a dead man walking. 

But Ben walks out of the bar all the same, drives off, even while the waitress scolds Ricky for letting Ben drive, saying “he’ll kill himself”. And Ricky, who had thought the same thing not five minutes before says no he won’t. 

It’s a common through-line, the Losers being dead men (and woman) walking, everyone comments how scared they seem to be, how overwhelmed by fear, with the exception of Richie, who has no one with him, but Richie notes that he’s a dead man walking all the same. 

We move on to Eddie. In my notebook I wrote “EDDIE!!!” and immediately felt a renewed zeal to read. 

Eddie is introduced not by physical description but by what we find in his medicine cabinet. I couldn’t tell you the purpose of half of the items listed, a lot of them no longer exist, and as much as I’ve been busting out google for this book I wasn’t keen on looking up an entire pharmacy. I did note that one, there’s a lot of products for, as the book puts it, “moving the mail” (I wrote down “get the feeling Eds gets constipated a lot, needs more fiber in his diet”), and then I noted that Eddie also has some serious painkillers, along with some uppers and serious downers. You know a book was written in the eighties when “Quaaludes” gets name-dropped. 

I also wrote “Eddie is balding :C”, just so you know where my priorities lie. 

Of course we wouldn’t be able to talk about Eddie without mentioning Myra. Right after Eddie basically empties his medicine cabinet into his bag, Myra comes thundering up the stairs. Oh yeah, chalk down some good ol’ fatphobia from King. Literally every shitty character is fat in this book. 

Myra gets a bit of an interjection, though Eddie remains the central viewpoint for most of the chapter, and in her interjection she notes that she somewhat wants to trap Eddie (in the closet, jesus, very subtle) until “this madness had passed”. 

Eddie presses Myra into taking over for him in his driving business, and she hasn’t driven in years so she’s terrified, all while half trapped in his memories. He remembers his mom laying into his gym teacher for making Eddie take Phys. Ed. with asthma, but the teacher notes there’s nothing physically wrong with him. All the same, Eddie goes for his aspirator, takes a deep puff of it. 

He reflects that he knows how fucked up his marriage is, he knows he married his mother. Before he’d taken the plunge he’d placed a photo of Myra on the mantle next to his mother. He noted then that the two of them could be sisters. But he’d been weak and fallen into old habits. The jabs he could take, the jokes about Jack Sprat from his coworkers, but he really does seem ashamed of himself for taking the easier path, the one familiar to him. 

He truly cares for Myra if nothing else. He doesn’t want to hurt her in any way. Even semi-harsh words make him feel guilty and remorseful. He contemplates telling her everything, but it would only make her anxiety and distress worse. 

Also, two things of note: Eddie mentions that Myra “was really very sweet and had had even less experience with men than he’d had with women.” 👀 This and his pet-name for her, that makes her giggle to hear it, is “Marty.” I feel like this is far more telling of Eddie than the “marrying his mother” thing. He has affection for this woman, to be sure, but far more because she is safe, she doesn’t know much about men, she reminds him of familiar routines, she keeps him medicated and stable. He affectionately calls her a man’s name. 

And she? She wants to lock him in a closet to keep him safe and docile to her. 

As he leaves he briefly sees her transform (only for him, only mentally) into someone older, his mother back from the grave, “old and fat and crazy”, and a memory of his mother terrifying him in a shoe shop comes to mind. He shakes it off and asks her for a kiss, while saying to himself “if we were in water she’d drown us both.”

And then he flees to his taxi, on his way to the station and Derry. 

The next introduction is terrible. It made me so mad to read, I remember it disgusting me when I was kid, but it just infuriates me now. 

King’s only female protagonist, the only female in the Losers Club, Bev Marsh, is a walking punching bag. 

This part is told from the viewpoint of Tom Rogan, Bev’s husband, and he talks about how he got her under his thumb, how he could sense her vulnerability. And one, it reads like how every man assumes female abuse victims work, secretly wanting the abuse and having the choice to leave at any time but unable to, and two, it is some highly toxic misogynistic shit. And obviously it’s told from the viewpoint of a highly misogynistic character, an abuser through and through (who, by the way, is also fat, so there’s that fatphobia popping up again). 

But Tom knows that in times of extreme stress Bev is able to find her inner strength and push through. She becomes manic to do what she needs to do, and in those times Tom knows that his abuse wouldn’t be able to touch her. 

I filled up a quarter of a page with the words “FUCK TOM >:C” just so you know where my head was at as I read about him “teaching Bev a lesson” and beating her until she “learned”. He even knows that when he beats her she regresses back to being a child. A *gag* sexy child at that. His disgusting words, not mine. 

Of course Tom has parental issues of his own, of course! Match made in heaven. His mom beat him with a belt and he intends to do the same to Bev, put her in her place, give her a “whuppin’” as it’s phrased in the book. But Bev isn’t having any of that tonight. As Tom attempts to beat her for smoking and packing and daring to defy him, she fights back. She throws glass bottles at him and, as he gets more crazed, eventually tips the vanity on him. That isn’t even close to enough to keep him down though, so she snags the belt and whips him, first across the face, and then across the balls. Then and only then does he go down. 

She flees, shoeless and penniless into the night, and laughs once she realizes she’s out and probably out for good. My notes read “Tom can and will rot in hell.” 

Then my notes segue smoothly into “oh boy it’s Bill :|” and honestly, that could be the mood for the whole segment on Bill. 

Bill…Bill is so obviously Stephen King. Any time there’s a writer in a Stephen King novel you can bet that the writer is a stand-in for Stephen King. This is why it was amusing to me to have his cameo in It: Chapter Two roast Bill, his self-insert. I also should note that in the last chapter Adrian is noted to have been working on a long-languishing novel, and being in Derry inspired him, and just reading that made me groan. Not because I have anything against writers, lord knows, but because I know King included that detail to tie Adrian to himself and to Bill. I know it will come up later. I know King has to make every character him before he can empathize with them. 

Anyways, Bill gets the call from Mike all the way in England, where he’s staying in a cottage with his wife Audra. Beautiful, statuesque, red-haired Audra. “Why can’t you be the woman I want you to be” indeed. Not a line Bill says in the book by the way. At least not yet. 

Audra wants to know why Bill is shaking and why he pours himself a stiff drink before breakfast, so Bill begins filling her in on the details. And as he does we’re treated to memories of Bill in college, in his creative writing class. 

Now. Here is where I begin to lose patience with Bill and with King. King is clearly writing from experience. I know he had issues with his own college creative writing class. 

Basically, the class is pretentious, concerned with inserting political opinions into everything they write, going on about how war is sold by sexist capitalists and so on and you can just TELL that King is projecting hard. Bill’s works, fun sci-fi stories and mysteries, are given fairly low scores by the professor.

Then one day in class, during a period when another student is talking about her work, filled to the brim with socio-political commentary, Bill stands up and basically says that he doesn’t get what they’re talking about and “can’t you guys just let a story be a story?”

Which like, dude, okay, I get it on some level, this shit sounds pretentious as hell. But it’s COLLEGE. If you can’t get a chance to be pretentious in college then when else can you be? Also, you know for a fact that King is twisting this story to make himself look favorable, because it is clearly a story from his own past. So obviously the students have to be talking about buzzwords that have no meaning, instead of, oh I don’t know, expressing their political beliefs? Everything has politics in it dude! Even your shitty ass story reflects the political landscape of America in the eighties for fuck’s sake!! It, the novel, would not be what it is if it weren’t mired in politics. It has a lot to say about race, gender, and class, and if the message is muddled and directionless it’s only because the author, Mister King, didn’t put any thought into what he was trying to say, but rather wrote a story that was meant to shock. 

Anyways, Bill says the story thing, and it’s just the sort of malarky you would expect to see on the front page of r/braincels, with the top comment being “and then everyone clapped” because it is ridiculous. The teacher reprimands Bill, and Bill slinks out of class.

But OH BOY, Bill shows him! Because he writes his first horror story shortly after, and the story damn near pours out of him, and he brings it to class. The professor gives it an F and calls it pure pulp. 

Bill sells it for two hundred bucks to a shitty magazine, drops the class, and with the drop out note, well. I’ll let King take over here:

“Bill Denbrough staples the drop card to the assistant fiction editor’s congratulatory note and tacks both to the bulletin board on the creative-writing instructor’s door. In the corner of the bulletin board he sees an anti-war cartoon. And suddenly, as if moving of its own accord, his fingers pluck his pen from his breast pocket and across the cartoon he writes this: If fiction and politics ever really do become interchangeable, I’m going to kill myself, because I won’t know what else to do. You see, politics always change. Stories never do.”

“Bill Denbrough,” my notes read, “kill yourself.” 

The rest of the section continues with Bill falling into the lap of success with his stories, meeting Audra while working on a screen adaptation of his novel, the shoot going unnaturally well according to Audra, and his following years of success. He slowly fills Audra in on the blanks. His brother’s murder. His scars, from the Losers’ vow, which have suddenly reappeared on his hand after the phone call. How Stan was the one that cut their hands, before turning the glass on himself. How Stan at first mimes slashing his wrists, as a supposed goof, but Bill almost stops him all the same. 

He then realizes he can’t tell Audra everything about what went down in Derry, but makes her promise not to come with him, to stay away from Derry. His stutter, which has slowly crept back in over the course of the conversation, scares her into promising

““And when do I see you again?” she asked softly. He put an arm around her and held her tightly, but he never answered her question.”

With that, thus ends chapter three. 

This chapter took it out of me. It was all so familiar and yet all so new and horrible at the same time. I honestly can’t say I’m having a good time, but I’m certainly interested in what I’m reading. It’s like reading about a parasitic wasp, what it does to the host. It’s gruesome and disgusting, but you keep reading because you want to see the end result. But the fun’s only just beginning.

Catch you all tomorrow, bye for now. 

[crazedlunatic]

Graduation Surprises

“You know, you didn’t have to get me a graduation gift… it’s just something else we’ll have to move to New York City in a couple of days.”

“Who says I got you anything?” Eric asked at nearly 10:00 at night on the night Alec graduated from CCAD.

They were sitting in Alec’s apartment late Saturday night and eating their favorite Chinese food from the best restaurant in Columbus— they’d yet to find one that compared to it in Toledo. Getting Chinese had kind of been their thing since their first date, though, so that was more than okay with him.

“Mhmm.” Alec rolled his eyes, taking a bite if his General Tso’s chicken. “I saw a bag that looked pretty full. You know, I told you I didn’t need anything… I don’t know why Dad got me that stupid Mac computer. I hate Macs.”

“Because he’s excited for you just like I am!”

“I graduated from CCAD with a degree in fashion.”

“So? You got into Parsons and that is a huge accomplishment.”

“Coming from the guy who finished medical school at Toledo and who has a job offer at Mount Sinai.”

“Which I probably only got because of my last name.”

“You didn’t get your grades because of your last name.” Alec gave him a pointed look.

“Eh.” Eric shrugged and then gave a sweet smile. “Anyway, why don’t you hurry up and finish eating so I can give you the presents you’ll get mad at me for buying you… but I wanted to, so you’ll have to suck it up.”

“Thank you for coming to my graduation. I know you were up late after yours last night because your mother never lets you leave until she’s half asleep.” Alec smiled back at him.

“Yeah. Think she’ll get better when we get to New York?” Eric laughed.

“No because you’ll be as far away as you can get with still being in the country. I think she hates me.”

“I think she is holding onto hope that I will come to my senses and find a good woman… or at least a guy ‘my age.’”

Alec rolled his eyes. “If she doesn’t accept you’re gay by now, there really isn’t any hope.”

“Don’t worry about her. I don’t care what she says or thinks. I love you and you love me. That’s all that matters.”

“I know. It’s just annoying.” Alec said, putting the lid back on his to go container and taking his leftovers to the fridge.

“Present time!” Eric, who had already finished his whole meal, hopped up and threw his container away.

“You know you don’t come to New York City with me, right?”

“You followed me to Ohio and didn’t even get to live in the same city as me, Alec… and I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

Alec beamed and went to sit on the couch.

“So, uhm… yeah, I may have went a tad bit overboard but I also kind of sucked on your birthday because I was so busy, so I’m half making up for that.”

Alec gave him a weird look as Eric sat the bag that he’d mentioned before on the couch between them. He then pulled out a small box and handed it over.

Alec opened it, seeing a nice leather watch.

“Kind of themed, to, and this one is so you can still be late but not have a valid excuse.” Eric grinned.

Alec rolled his eyes and set it down since Eric had handed him a smaller bag. When he opened it, it was a Chemex coffee maker.

“To make the coffee you’ll end up pouring out so you can get a new one with Kurt l before you guys actually make it into class.” Eric was still grinning, handing out another box.

“Eric, you spent too much.”

Eric shrugged and sat it on his lap. “Nice dress shoes so you can ruin them by wearing them every day.”

“If you keep making me roll my eyes, they’re going to get stuck in the back of my head… Oh God. I just sounded like Mom.” Alec covered his face.

“Two more.” Eric chirped.

“Eric!” Alec looked at him.

“Shut up and open them so we can have sex.” Eric whined. “Come on now. Do you think I just bought this because I like you or something?”

“I hate you!” Alec laughed. “They’re really nice shoes, though.”

Alec unwrapped the smallest of the two that Eric had set between them.

“A Nook so you can at least catch up on your LGBT novels this summer before the real work begins. Your mom actually loaded some money onto your account for books.”

“Aww.” Alec smiled. He remembered saying he’d wished he had time to read several weeks ago when they were in the craziness preparing for the senior fashion show. “This is sweet.”

“And this… which, don’t freak out because your mom and dad contributed to this as well… apparently they thought I was spending too much money or something.” Eric shrugged, holding out a very nice messenger bag.

“Oh wow… What made them think that?” Alec asked sarcastically, taking the bag and looking it over.

“Like I said… I kind of slacked off on your birthday so I wanted to give you more for that, too. And you worked your ass off! Second highest graduate. That’s awesome. You didn’t even know if you wanted to go to college at all and here you go just killing it.” Eric smiled at him. “I’m really proud of you… and I’m also really excited to get to live with you. Like, not summers and school breaks. To get to sleep next to you and wake next to you every day.”

“It was too much.” Alec shook his head. “But really sweet. You and your themed date ideas and gifts…”

“You think it’s corny but you actually really love it.” Eric’s smile grew. “Can we go have sex now? Mostly joking but also… mostly not joking? It’s been three weeks oh my God.”

“Thank God. I was hoping you would want to before dinner but your stomach was growling and—” Alec’s statement was cut off when Eric hungrily kissed him.

Alec pulled back a minute later, panting.

“Bed?” Eric asked.

“Bed.”

[winstonhcomedy]

“Dope A-F” - 4/25-4/30- “Host Battle Shuts It Down”

Let’s jump right in. I need to get caught up because I am a sassy man! So let’s start with a raucous time at Pro Re Nata!

4/25

I got to do Host Battle as an open mic for one last time before we shut it down. Chris and I are both moving and neither of us really want to do the show without the other. I get to Crozet and write for a while at Pro Re Nata. A few other comics eventually show up, and we get a good hang going. JR who usually runs the show talks about what the night was going to be like. We all order some food and wait for the audience to show up. It is a rainy night and it is going to be a light crowd. Which is ok. This show rules when it is packed, but it is at least entertaining no matter what.

We have a pretty fun list. There are some people who are veterans, and some newbies to Host Battle. JR goes up and gets us started by introducing the show, and we hop right into it. Right away we had an annoying lady in the front. Who asked how raunchy it was going to be, and then Chris let her know. It was going to be an insane show.

Up first was David McCallie. His set didn’t go great, but we got a few good lines. He seemed pissed that he went first, but someone had to switch and he was the one. Paige Campbell had a pretty good set with a few good lines. A dude ran in and a dog barked at him, and Paige said, “that dog hates pedophiles.” This got a pretty good laugh.

JR went up and just listed off the grossest things he had ever done. IT was one of the nastiest things I had ever heard. I almost vomited on stage. People were dry heaving and it was so much fun.

John Marg had a pretty good set and Heather Kilburn talked about hypothetically murdering her child so that was fun. Each set had at least a few good lines and the audience that was there seemed to enjoy it.

Sam Padgett had a wild story about a gay hypnotist that made me laugh harder than I had laughed in a really long time. We had a good running gag about Charles Bill being a serial killer, and Sean Wells had a good set (he is new but trying). We had some great riffs about him being a psychologist. He got me really good when I said I was getting anxiety, and he just started listing off the different types of anxiety. It got a big laugh.

We didn’t have a huge list, and everybody all did pretty well. It was one of my favorite nights of comedy in a while. It was tough and not everything was working. It was uncomfortable, but it was definitely funny. I’d give the show a C.

The next morning JR messaged Chris and I and said that Pro Re Nata had cancelled comedy effective immediately. They said this last show was too offensive (even though the people there definitely enjoyed it). They also said they hadn’t been getting consistent audience or returns. I feel like they needed a scapegoat and we were it. That’s ok it was a fun show and JR wasn’t upset. The last Host Battle open mic shutting down a room is a memory I will have forever.

4/26

The next night I was booked at Southern Eats in Norfolk. Jose Roman runs that show and he booked me to do 15 to 20. I had never been there before so I was super stoked to see how it was going to go.

I get to the show and the venue is like a restaurant/coffee/cigar bar. It has a dope vibe, and I am hopeful people are going to show up. Jose is there and we talk a bit. I then go and see/meet the other comics. Bobby Stephens, Mindy Ess, Ian Nightengale, and a couple other guys I don’t know at all are on the show. Everyone is nice to talk to, but we are all ready for the show to get started.

It is raining a lot. So much so that the Something In The Water music festival at the VB waterfront was cancelled for its first day. We sit around for like 30 minutes past showtime to get people in there and finally we get started .It is an ok sized crowd. Maybe 12 people, some are pretty wasted and loud. They aren’t being mean, but they are definitely disrupting the show.

Jose does a few minutes then brings up the first comic who does ok. Then the next dude goes up and has a few laughs, but the audience is being pretty rowdy. The dude after him is named Drew and he goes up and is a little edgier. You can tell all of these dudes are pretty new to comedy. Which is fine, but it means they haven’t done a lot of rooms like this so they might not be as prepared to handle it. He has a joke about where do you put your dick when having sex with a gay dude with a colostomy bag.

Michael Ridley then shows up. He is going to be going last. We talk a bit and then I get ready because I am up soon. The new dude Ian goes up and they are not into his shit at all. They just aren’t vibing and it’s tough to watch. I am not hopeful for my set, but I decide that I’m just going to have fun.

I go up and get right into it. I go into crowd work because it is this one lady’s birthday. I get some big laughs about where she met her wife (on craigslist). The drunkest chick (who also works there) sits down and already hates me. She is heckling and being rude. Apparently there was a military band festival going on. She told me I should be proud and I was like why should I be proud of the bands.

She then went off and got upset (I thought it was a festival of bands for military vets). I bust her balls and get some huge laughs and eventually win her over. I continue the crowd work shitting on her and riffing on the show for about 15 minutes before I close out with a few jokes. I got some huge pops and had the hottest set. Which felt good to go on the road and be able to put my rowdy room chops to the test. I’d give this set a B.

I went outside after this and ended up getting in a discussion with a comic outside the show. He talks about trying to trigger me and bring my Richmond out, and I bust his balls back asking about if “Richmond means successful”. He kind of came for me pretty hard to start. I think because there is a lot of weird comedy drama going on down there that I don’t participate in. It cools down a bit and ends up being fine, but it definitely was some weird tension there. Not a big deal, but I also felt like it was a weird flex the way it happened. It felt like the kind of thing he had been waiting to say to a comic from Richmond since the scene up here for the most part is PC and full of SJWs (which I am not at all), but I know my value and worth and I wasn’t going to just take it.

I went back in to watch a couple more sets and before I left I talked with this comic again about the way I operate business. Why I choose to associate who I associate with, and how I am not public about it nor do I drag anyones name through the mud. If there is someone I don’t mess with on a show I don't want to hurt my brand or reputation by being on that show. I’ll never ask anyone to get bumped off a show for me, but I just quietly explain why I can’t do the show and tell them to keep me in mind for next time. It was a good respectful conversation that didn’t involve any of the tension of the earlier one. We disagreed on certain things, but it ended up being a good conversation and I left feeling good about it and hope they did too.

After this I grabbed my stuff and headed out. I had got to say my peace, have a hot ass set, and it just reaffirmed how long I have come from when I started.

4/28

I had Saturday off so I didn’t get to perform until Sunday. I only got to do one set on Sunday, but I was very excited for it. I was going to be doing a spot at Tasty’s on Southside. I have done this mic once and it was fun but the PA sucked.

The host is a dude named Carsen Young and he had been complaining online that not a ton of comics had been coming out. I get there and I am the only comic there about 30 minutes before showtime. It is a nice crowd for an open mic. There is about 15 people there and it is pretty diverse. It is about half black and half white, but it is almost an entirely gay crowd which is dope. I had a joke about Gay Conversation Therapy I had been dying to do in front of a bunch of gay people to make sure it wasn’t offensive.

Carson and I shoot the shit and have a pretty fun conversation. He is a super nice guy, and I wish this mic was more often because I have enjoyed it both times. By the time the show starts the only comics there are myself, a new girl, and Remo.

The new girl goes up first and has an ok set. There is a table of gay black guys, and one in particular is a hell of a heckler. He isn’t being mean, but he is being sassy and has something funny to say after everything. She does well and people like her.

I go up next and do about ten minutes. I go right into the sassy dude and say he looks like Tiger Woods gay uncle. This makes all of his friend’s laugh and I really start giving it to him. They call him Tiger the rest of the night, and he is attentive. We joke around and they all love my material. I got a huge pop on Gay Conversion Therapy and I finally feel like that joke is about 90% done. It feels good. I’d give this set a solid B.

I get off stage and head home. I get some food from En Su Boca and watch the newest episode of Game of Thrones (even though I haven’t seen any of them). It was a huge battle and I enjoyed it. Then I passed out. I was ready for a hopefully fun week.

4/29

The next night I was at The Southern in Charlottesville. I had a few friends that were coming out and I was really dying to try some new material. I got to the show early and was in a really good mood. I got to joke around with the staff, and the gm. After a while a few of my friends showed up like Heather, Paige, and some others.

Colby Knight shows dup with a new girl named Harley. She was there to watch but I had overheard her mention to Colby she wanted to try it one day. So I took it upon myself to tell her she was performing that night. I signed her up and told her it was either perform or she could leave. She seemed nervous, but she agreed to do it.

Chris got there about an hour early and joined in on the hang. Padgett, Abdulla, Luzader, Keaton, Berthelsen, JR, McCallie, Marg, and some new faces. It was a fun and exciting hang. Kenn also showed up but something came up and he had to dip out early before performing.

The best part was Brett Leake was there. Brett is a great comic and a better person. He asked me about JFL and my writing process. We talked about this blog, and just all things comedy. He had so many encouraging words to say to me and we talked about 15 minutes. He is one of the nicest and most genuine humans I have ever met. He is a clean comic, and his observational stuff is simple and elegant. I won’t go too into detail about what we talked about, but needless to say it was a great time.

We have a nice little crowd and both of my friends came. Chris has the comic’s meeting and we decide to piggyback the show. I am up fifth. I am after JR, and before Harley.

The show starts and Chris goes up and does about 15 minutes trying to warm people up. They are into it, but it takes him a while. He does crowd work, but also tries some new jokes. He then brings up Brett and he has a good set. A few more comics go and then I get brought up.

I have a very productive set. I get some big laughs, and try a brand new joke that I riffed talking to Chris. I wasn’t going to do it on stage, but he told me to and it worked really well. I am excited about how it turned out. The rest of my set went well and I’d give it a B.  I then bring up Harley and she has a good first set. It is pretty neat to be the reason someone gets on stage for the first time. Being that push for a person is dope.

I hung around a bit longer and filmed a quick vid for IG. I’ve been doing this thing Called #IsComedyHappening? where I ask someone is comedy happening and then I film myself running to the show. It is dumb, but fun.

I stick around and watch Paige’s set, and he works his tail off. People have left by the time he is up but he powers through and does new material. I’m proud of him. It was all and all a solid set.

I grab why stuff and head home. I am exhausted and need a good nights rest for the next day at work!

4/30

This was going to be a chill night. As far as I knew there was only going to be the one mic at City Dogs in Shockoe Slip, and I had asked host Ben Braman if I could go super early.

I get to the show at 7:30 because. I got to see Nate Izquierdo and Rachel Murphy for a bit since they were hanging with Braman. The show didn’t start until nine and there was another mic 5 minutes away. So my buddy Bryan Williams and I ubered over there first.

We get there and it is like 7:45. There is a few comics there but absolutely no audience. It is all newer comics and I have super new stuff to work out so I am ok with it. The host of the show is the bartender and he is a super cool dude.

He asks who wants to start the show so I say I do and I go for it. I do about 10 minutes and get some solid laughs. My R. Kelly joke hit super hard, so I know that once I get the wording right this will be a really good joke. I do some more new and It goes super well. For this room I give it a solid B+ set. I then bring Bryan up and he tries some new stuff, and works out some of his old. He has a fine set as well. We dip out and I get the uber back to City Dogs.

We get there and Ryan Mather, and Jason Kusterer had showed up. Kate Carroll was also there, and then Stella Naulo popped in. We all talked comedy for a bit. Aaron Shoemaker came in after that. Stella, Bryan, and I talked about the value of comedy classes, or books. It was a good talk, and I definitely enjoyed it.

I went up first and it was a rougher set. People were not really paying attention during Braman’s set and they continued it during mine. I had to work really hard to get their attention,. Some of the jokes worked, and some didn’t. A couple hit really hard at the end and by the time I was done people were at least laughing and paying attention. It was productive and I’d give this set a B-

I got Kusterer to do the #IsComedyHappening? bit with me and it turned out amazing. I loved it so much! I ‘m going to keep doing it every night! After kusterer’s set I hung out with my friends a bit and headed out. As I was leaving Jarvis showed up and I said goodbye.  I met a homeless dude named Clinton and talked to him for about 15 minutes before finally getting in my car and getting out of there. I had a few shows the next night and I was ready for them.

So that’s it laydees! We are caught up again. I love comedy and I love this blog. I love you baybees so much! xoxoxo I have some fun shows coming up and can’t wait to write about them for you. Thanks for checking in and I’ll see y’all soon!

[acsversace-news]

The twisted, true story of Andrew Cunanan’s 1997 killing spree exists in whatever dark sliver of cultural space remains between lurid and sordid. It dangles just out of satisfying reach, even with all the fresh attention being lavished upon it by Ryan Murphy and company in FX’s watchable yet incrementally disappointing “The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story.”

A stylish but depressing nine-episode tragedy (premiering Wednesday), the series heralds, of course, the much-awaited return of the true-crime anthology that launched two years ago with a marvelously textured retelling of O.J. Simpson’s murder trial.

This time the series (eight episodes of which were made available for review) takes a big swerve into a dead-end story that is far less compelling. Fascinating yet repellent, “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” demonstrates why some celebrity-related crimes acquire lasting notoriety and others just fade away.

The brilliance of “The People v. O.J. Simpson” was how it made a widely famous and well-raked case seem entirely new. The failure of “Versace” is that it takes a case that is at best vaguely remembered (mostly by fashionistas and gay men) and tries to apply to it the same degree of resonance and insight.

Alas, the themes that so easily presented themselves for fresh scrutiny in “People vs. O.J.” (systemic racism and sexism, media manipulation, elusive justice) are far from evident in “The Assassination of Gianni Versace”: Is it about beauty? Is it about psychosis? Is it about gay rights?

Yes to all that, but never effectively. (And why has Versace’s murder been upgraded to an “assassination?” We’ll get back to that.)

It’s far from a total bust, however. As with “People v. O.J.,” the series has that intoxicating mix of reported fact (drawing on Vanity Fair journalist Maureen Orth’s 1999 book “Vulgar Favors” for details) and a dash of invention that now defines the “American Crime Story” style.

“Glee” star Darren Criss is plenty creepy and believable as Cunanan, a 27-year-old charlatan and chronic fibber who mooches off the kindness of strangers. Criss capably holds the series together when the writing and dialogue can’t, particularly in how he portrays the smarmy banality of Cunanan’s evil. Sometimes he’s a charming creep. Sometimes he’s a violent creep. It works like a light switch, and it does get predictable; as such, the scary legend of Cunanan might have better lent itself to a serial-killer season of Murphy’s “American Horror Story.”

In the first episode, Cunanan arrives in Miami in July 1997 and wastes no time locating his ultimate target, the Italian fashion designer Gianni Versace (Édgar Ramírez), who lives in an ornate South Beach mansion. Versace takes a morning stroll to a nearby newsstand to buy a stack of magazines; when he returns to his front gate, Cunanan walks up and shoots him a few times, including a bullet through his face. As the murderer flees, Versace’s longtime companion, Antonio D’Amico (Ricky Martin, crying sufficient soap-opera tears) cradles a dying Versace in his arms.

By night’s end, Versace’s formidable younger sister, the brutally blond Donatella (Penélope Cruz, savoring each snarl) arrives and immediately takes charge of her brother’s empire. Cunanan has fled; Miami police soon learn that the FBI has been pursuing the suspect for weeks, tying him to four other killings.

The episode flashes back and surfs along the quasi-true world of its killer. Among the many falsehoods Cunanan regaled his friends and acquaintances with is the claim of a dalliance with Versace, circa 1990 in San Francisco. True, or not true, or sort of true? If you need to know definitively, with “Law and Order”-like objectivity, then “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” will be tough going. If, on the other hand, you’re tantalized by the fantasies Cunanan created for himself, then carry on.

For sensation’s sake, obviously, “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” has started at what should be its penultimate chapter, with a handsome gunman on the loose and an exquisitely — if grotesquely — displayed corpse in the morgue. Anyone with a search engine (or a good memory) knows that Cunanan never went to trial; he took his own life once the police caught up to him a week later.

In a serious miscalculation of structure and coherence, each episode of “Versace” stutters and skips along a chronology that moves mainly backward, further into Cunanan’s deceits in the 1990s and late ’80s, until it finally arrives (in the eighth episode) at his spoiled yet abusive childhood, marred by his Filipino crook of a father (Jon Jon Briones). Along this same disordered timeline, the show wanly offers a story about Gianni and Donatella’s struggle to keep the House of Versace in the black.

Thus, the Cunanan sequences play like reheated “Dateline” episodes while the Versace scenes are like paging through a stack of old Vogues. Ramírez brings a dour elegance to Versace’s creativity and moods — and one episode somewhat opaquely references Orth’s reporting that Versace was HIV positive, which was supposedly kept private to protect the business.

As you may have already heard, an outraged Donatella Versace and her family have lashed out at Murphy and FX, calling “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” an unauthorized work of fiction and gossip. For what it’s worth, the Versaces come off sympathetically in the series, which is a surprise; Maya Rudolph’s impression of Donatella years ago on “Saturday Night Live” was probably more damaging than this. Carping about the new show only gives it more publicity.

Rather than exploit too many of Donatella’s glycerin tears, “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” is best (and most disturbing) when it chronicles the dismal fates of Cunanan’s other victims — quiet, nonfamous men who made the terrible mistake of crossing paths with a dangerous liar.

Particularly good is the third episode, which stars Mike Farrell (yes, of “M*A*S*H”) and “Transparent’s” Judith Light as Lee and Marilyn Miglin of Chicago. While Marilyn is out of town shooting a home-shopping network segment for her successful line of cosmetics, her husband, Lee, a successful real estate developer and closeted homosexual, invites Cunanan over for a night of sex.

Though what happens is indeed gruesome (Cunanan murders Lee), it is the scenes of Marilyn’s return to their townhouse and her particular responses in grief that strike the sort of thematic chord we expect from “American Crime Story”: This is an episode about the insidious nature of the closet, especially within a long marriage, where there really can be nothing left to hide — only something left to dutifully ignore.

A similar theme runs through the episodes that chronicle the sad ends of two of Cunanan’s other victims (skip reading if these already reported details feel like spoilers), including two of his friends: Jeff Trail (Finn Wittrock), a former Navy officer in San Diego, and David Madson (Cody Fern), a young architect from Minneapolis who meets Cunanan on a trip to California and repeatedly rejects his professions of love.

Both Jeff and David are uncomfortable with how their friend supports his Champagne (and methamphetamine) tastes by leeching off older gay men and regaling his admirers with lies about his background and employment.

Cunanan flies into a rage whenever anyone suggests he get a job and support himself. “It’s ordinary!” he screams, after his last sugar daddy has locked him out of the mansion. After a drugged-out nadir, a jealous Cunanan travels from San Diego to Minneapolis, where Jeff now lives — perhaps to be closer to David.

In “Assassination’s” confusing backward-is-forward timeline, we’ve already seen what happened when Cunanan got there: one body is found bludgeoned and rolled up in a carpet; the other is full of bullets and left by the side of a lake.

It’s never entirely clear what Murphy, et al., are asking us to see in all this. Is Lee Miglin’s closeted shame related to Jeff Trail’s anguish with the military’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policies? And does that line up with David Madson’s difficulty in coming out to his father? And does Cunanan kill them all (plus a cemetery caretaker, if only to steal his truck), because of the tenuous state of gay rights in mid-’90s America?

From this clumsy tangle of themes, a killer who is more deranged than on-message winds up at the Versace mansion’s front gate. Apparently, class resentment (slathered in self-loathing) is the reason that Murphy deems this crime an “assassination” rather than just another murder. It just doesn’t wash.

[stephanidftba]

A short history about the Stonewall Riots, the beginning of Gay Pride

Since we’re celebrating Pride the old-fashioned way this year. Written in 2015 for my US History final.

The Stonewall Riots are arguably the start of the Gay Rights movement. There were gay groups previous to that June evening, even raids that the community protested, but none came close to the energy, length, and legacy the Stonewall Riots had.

One of the previous raids was years earlier, across the country. A San Francisco group ‘Religion and the Homosexual’ booked a hall for a New Year’s dance as 1964 became ‘65, but when attendees arrived they found police and cameras. Still, they entered the hall. Though police had been forbidden from entering the hall and harassing the dancers, they continued to make up reasons to do so. The group pressed charges and the case was not thrown out of court, but the police officers were reprimanded and the homosexuals were allowed to go free. (Duberman, 1994, pp. 99 – 100) (Carter, 2005, p. 105)

The Stonewall Inn was an illegal Mafia-run gay bar with a ‘bottle club’ front. The Mafia ran most, if not all, gay bars in New York City. While the entry fee to the Stonewall was cheap, only $3, the drinks were watered down and overpriced. This was well-known to the customers, and fueled their frustration. (Duberman, 1994, pp. 181) The Mafia would pay off the police of the Sixth Precinct to protect themselves somewhat from raids, earning themselves a warning before raids, which only came approximately once a month, and at off-peak hours so as not to interfere with business too much. (Carter, 2005, p. 82-83) The Mafia paid the Sixth Precinct $1,200 monthly. (Carter, 2005, p. 79)

Stonewall was well-known in the gay community for allowing close dancing, many other gay bars would not allow their customers to dance closely with each other. (Carter, 2005, p. 71) It was also one of the few bars that would let in homeless gay youth, drag queens, those the other gay bars would turn away. (Carter, 2005, p. 77) (Carter, 2005, p. 84) Many gay bars painted the windows black for privacy, the Stonewall also put up plywood behind the windows and got a reinforced door to defend against police raids.

The evening of Friday June 27 1969, Deputy Inspector Seymour Pine wanted to hit the Stonewall hard, hoping to shut it down for good. Many times an illegal bar would be raided, the employees arrested, and the bar back open hours later. (Carter, 2005, p. 131) The Stonewall had not had any warning about this raid, and they had been raided, along with many other gay bars, earlier the same week. DI Pine sent in undercover policewomen early, and he and the Sixth Precinct entered the bar at 1 AM Saturday morning. Everyone in the bar was rounded up, the employees sent to the back room to be arrested later. All the customers were lined up and made to show ID before leaving, but many took an attitude with the police, refusing to show ID. Some of the crossdressers and drag queens, usually compliant, refused to be examined by the policewomen. DI Pine ordered the confrontational drag queens to be held with the employees for arrest.

On an average night, when a gay bar was raided, the customers would leave quickly and quietly, on this night they milled about outside, waiting for the bar to hopefully reopen soon. Many regulars received cheers and applause when they exited, and began to strike poses or give a clever one-liner. The policemen at the door roughly hurried them on. At this point the crowd was still celebratory, laughing, camp. The arrests were not taken seriously because the Stonewall owners had a lawyer who would get everyone out of jail in hours. (Carter, 2005, p. 82-83) (Carter, 2005, p. 131-148) One crossdresser hit a police officer with her purse, he responded by hitting her with his club, the crowd booed in response and pounded the sides of the paddywagon. The mood then shifted from fun to restless and angry. (Carter, 2005, p. 148)

There is some controversy surrounding the veracity of the following event. Reportedly, there were 2 lesbians in the bar who had been harassed and groped by police during the raid, who responded angrily, getting at least one arrested. Though her hands were cuffed behind her, she escaped a patrol car twice while the crowd watched. When she was picked up and thrown into the car, she shouted at the crowd to do something, at which they erupted. (Carter, 2005, p. 150-151)

Now angry, the crowd pelted the police with coins and beer cans. A homosexual reporter, Howard Smith, worked nearby and went to get the story, sticking close to the police. DI Pine, Howard Smith, and the Sixth Precinct barricaded themselves inside the Stonewall, away from the angry crowd. The crowd continued to try to get at the police, using anything they could. They took cobblestones and bricks from nearby construction, breaking windows, some pulled up a heavy parking meter to use as a battering ram, one man was seen making and handing out Molotov cocktails that used lighter fluid instead of alcohol. (Carter, 2005, p. 156-157)

DI Pine attempted to call for help on his radio, but after each one, a voice would say ‘disregard that call’. They found a vent and sent the smaller of the two policewomen for help. (Carter, 2005, p. 171-176) The policemen put out the small fires with water, there was no chemical extinguisher in the bar. They did find a fire hose, which was turned on out the front door, cracked open. The water pressure was too weak to drive back the crowd, however, who laughed at the spray. The crowd dumped flaming trash in the now open door and the western window, where the plywood covering had been knocked down. The small coat room that the west window lead to caught fire. Soon after the fire department and another paddywagon pulled up, thanks to the policewoman going for help. The alcohol from the club and the remaining arrested people were loaded onto the paddywagon and left. (Carter, 2005, p. 171-176)

The Tactical Patrol Force arrived and began trying to break up the mob, push them off Christopher Street, but the rioters would simply run around the block and attack the TPF from behind. Many of the drag queens and street kids would sing a parody of ‘It’s Howdy Doody Time’ to taunt the TPF, starting kicklines in the middle of the street. (Carter, 2005, p. 171-176) The TPF used the hoses from the fire trucks on the rioters, to little effect. Even after the TPF got wise to the tactic of running around the block, the Greenwich Village area near Christopher Park was confusingly laid out, which the rioters, familiar with the area, used to their advantage. (Carter, 2005, p. 177)

The next evening the streets were packed with gays, allegedly thousands, who had heard of the night’s events. The police were also out in force, hoping to prevent more rioting. The day went down as the hottest June 28 on New York City record, not helping tempers. There were many gays on the street, who were frustrated with being denied entry to things, they decided to turn the tables and make Christopher street ‘gays only’. Since Christopher Street was one-way, it was simple to stop traffic from those looking to enter, unless they were gay or supportive of gays. (Carter, 2005, p. 185-187) One taxicab turned onto the street from Greenwich Avenue, unaware of what had happened the night before. The crowd didn’t realize the man wasn’t confronting them, and started to rock the car. The occupants were terrified and the driver looked to be having a heart attack, so many protesters joined arms around the taxi to protect it and allow it to back up. The taxi driver did die from the strain of the experience, the only reported fatality of the riots. (Carter, 2005, p. 186)

At the corner of Greenwich Avenue and Christopher Street was a women’s prison, many of the inmates lesbians themselves. As the rioters lit trashcans on fire, the inmates lit toilet paper and dropped it from their cell windows, screaming encouragement at the rioters below. (Carter, 2005, p. 188) Marsha P. Johnson, famous drag queen, climbed a lamppost and dropped something heavy in a bag on a patrol car’s windshield, which shattered it. The nearby police officers quickly returned to their car, grabbed someone off the street and sped off, beating the innocent man. (Carter, 2005, p. 188)

The TPF returned at approximately 2:15 AM Sunday. While the TPF were getting ready, some police officers grabbed a young man from the crowd unprovoked and began to beat him. Some rioters broke off from the crowd and rescued the man, bringing him back to the safety of the crowd. The gays refused to let the police go after him, bearing hits with billy clubs themselves rather than allow them through the crowd. Prepared, the TPF began clearing the streets. Moving the rioters didn’t work though, as they used the same tactics as the night before, escaping down confusing side streets, attacking from the rear, and taunting the TPF with a kickline. One group of boys continued the kickline as the TPF approached patiently, only breaking and running away when the 2 groups were approximately 8 feet apart. (Carter, 2005, p. 189-192) The TPF decided to close down the area of Sheridan Square, though TPF and rioters fought for control of the streets outside Christopher Park; Sheridan Square was reopened about 2 hours later. By 3:30 AM Sunday most of the rioters were gone, though many reports say that gay sex in well-known semi-public areas was at a high that night, since there was no fear of getting caught by police. (Carter, 2005, p. 192-194)

On Sunday proper, teams passed out flyers urging business owners to open legal gay bars. In 1968 close dancing between homosexuals had been legalized, so gay bars could legally exist. The flyer also called for gays to boycott Mafia-owned gay bars like the Stonewall Inn, and called Friday and Saturday nights historic. (Carter, 2005, p. 195) Sunday afternoon, gay group Mattachine’s New York chapter put up a sign in Stonewall’s eastern window, asking fellow gays to be peaceful and quiet. The police officers were again patrolling heavily, though no fighting was reported, possibly because the rioters had jobs to go to Monday morning. Some younger gays took advantage of this to go to the Sixth Precinct and put vibrant bumper stickers that read “Equality for Homosexuals” on the rear of the patrol cars and any of the officer’s own cars who had left them there while at work. (Carter, 2005, p. 197)

On Wednesday July 2, the crowds were back. Local paper The Village Voice had published 2 derogatory and condemning articles about Friday and Saturday’s riots on the front page, drawing two kinds of people. The extreme leftist groups showed up in Sheridan Square to push their own political agenda, while others arrived curious to see how the gays, of all marginalized groups, had been the first to beat the police. (Carter, 2005, p. 200-203)

At 10 PM many police cars drove down Christopher Street. Half an hour later, trash can fires were lit again, with both the fire department and the TPF responding. Many of the crowd were badly injured. Reportedly, all the injured demonstrators were gay. “The exploiters had moved in… blacks and students who want a revolution, any kind of revolution… swelled the crowd… but ‘graciously’ let the queens take all the bruises and suffer all the arrests.” Some of the rioters looted nearby stores, but the culprits were likely the newcomers. Shops that were nice to the gays, homeless kids, and queens were looted, while shops that exploited gays and overcharged were left alone. Reportedly, Wednesday’s rioting was over in an hour. (Carter, 2005, p. 200-203)

On July 31 1969, the Gay Liberation Front was officially created. At the November Eastern Regional Conference of Homophile Organizations in Philadelphia, GLF proposed a national remembrance march on the last Saturday of June. It passed. (Carter, 2005, p. 230)

The first march was held on June 28, 1970; it started hesitantly, with many gays standing on the sidewalks, unsure if they wanted to join in or not. By the time it ended, however, there was a headcount of at least 2,000. Los Angeles reported 1,200 participants. (Duberman, 1994, p. 271-272) (Duberman, 1994, p. 279) On Tuesday June 23, 2015, New York City’s Landmarks Preservation Commission voted unanimously to declare the Stonewall Inn a landmark. (Stonewall inn, celebrated birthplace of modern Gay Rights movement, gets landmark status, 2015)

Bibliography: Carter, D. (2005) Stonewall: The Riots That Sparked the Gay Revolution. 1st edn. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Duberman, M. B. (1994) Stonewall. New York: Penguin Group (USA). Stonewall inn, celebrated birthplace of modern Gay Rights movement, gets landmark status (2015) Available at: http://www.commondreams.org/news/2015/06/24/stonewall-inn-celebrated-birthplace-modern-gay-rights-movement-gets-landmark-status (Accessed: 8 November 2015).