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pavlikovskaya · 5 years ago

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the secret history live blogged

forever mad that i got spoilered so much on this book.

anyway hello! and welcome to this … shit fest of the secret history by donna tartt aka the biggest letdown of my life

enjoy! i didn’t

ok whaatttt the fuck. he was walked over?? he was packed and squished under ice?? WHAT DID THIS BUNNY GUY DO TO MAKE Y’ALL SO MAD????? istg what the fuck. cruel cruel fate

four against one, i knew y’all were assholes. you sounded like assholes before i even knew what your names were.

i have to say, i’m not a very big fan on the beginning: hello, my name is richard, i am 28, this is my story. makes it sound like he’s in an AA meeting, but i’ll let this one slide.

years at home dispensable like a plastic cup? fictional history and upbringing tales? [*clears throat in relatable*]

my father was mean, my house ugly, my mum didn’t give me attention, must kill someone to cope and serve the aesthetic™ of rejected, unloved child, brooding and mad at the world. got it.

if richard, plain and poor is the one who kills the rich asshole bc he’s a rich asshole, i might relate to him more than i thought.

[*slams book shut*] okay. okay. am i gonna have to google every other phrase in this godforsaken history book or is donna gonna go easy on my ass?

sounds like a university i would love to go to. oh, pardon me, CoLlEgE.

wait, they’d pay him back for the plane if he GOT IN??? and if he didn’t well then what, soz dude, tough luck , such is life, see ya never? makes a lot of sense. should pay him back regardless imo but hey, i had to pay £50 six times to audition at universities who, all six times, rejected me, so.

three days on a bus and arrival at six in the morning? i cannot fathom a worse scenario.

this prof conducts his selection on a personal level rather than on an academic one, said with a note of sarcasm? is he … you know … ?

ahhhh these saucy saucy tea spilling french people, gotta love em. ‘listen, i know i’ve only met you three minutes ago, but i’m bout to spill some serious tea which i must ask you to keep to yourself and never mention for i have some formidable enemies in the literature division, yes, my very own department, but we all actually love each other. you know, in a very shakespearian ‘i shall murder you at the end of the play but for now, let’s make sweet love under the stars as a witch friend of mine who will later murder you watches’ way. all very platonic. but don’t say a word of it.’

who do you think was with morrow when richard came to see him in the lyceum and what were they talking about? GODDAMN IT, this french bastard put me in a gossipy mood.

bunny — short for edmund…….

god, i love a redhead.

richard and me being whipped by francis and his long, flapping black coats, love to see it.

‘pseudo-intellects and teenage decadents abounded and black clouting was de rigueur’ can I enrol ~now~????

francis talks to cats and bunny yells from his window down at the incest twins to stop snogging in the garden. i can’t wait to see which one am I at the end of the book

henry and julian driving off together? do i smell something…. gay?

THEY WRITE WITH FOUNTAIN PENS????? [*flashbacks from my childhood intensify*].

i do not understand most of these references or sentences and if the whole book is like this, i will throw myself out the window in attempted suicide even though i live on the ground floor.

i have absolutely no idea what they’re on about.

hwhat

francis in black cashmere and cigarette smoke brushed past him and almost touched his arm. how bloody delicious is this??

‘give him some flowers and he’ll enrol you.’ ok, julian is definitely the gay prof everyone falls for.

at this stage, i would rater have voted we kill henry, not bunny, but we’ll see.

‘i was tired of being poor.’ [*buys a tie with pictures of men hunting deer on it*] ‘that’s better.’

‘i believe that it is better to know one book intimately than a hundred superficially.’ donna tartt gave me the book and the reason both.

constantly chuckling at the way richard is so completely mesmerised and intimidated by francis to the point that he’ll duck into a doorway to let him pass even though they’re going to the same lesson.

I don’t know how a ‘bostonian voice’ is supposed to sound like so francis will be slightly british in my mind for the rest of the book.

cubitum eamus? cubitum. eamus? CUBITUM?? EAMUS????? OH! GOD! HELP ME! THE SWEET SWEET HOMOEROTIC FORESHADOWING OF IT ALL!!! throwback to when, in a much too similar vein, boris, upon being asked by theo to say something in russian for him, he said ‘fuck you up the ass’. my heart is racing with yearn. i can’t fucking believe i just read this. it’s time to bust out the annotation tabs again.

oh my gooooddd whAt is henry’s problem????? he reminds me slightly of number one from the umbrella academy, but in a meaner, more show-offy, bastardish way that’s supposed to showcase his superior intelligence over all mortals like fuck you, go read harry potter and chill.

‘meke (s.p.) you Wear it’? i take it meke is actually make but what on earth is (s.p.)? google gave me 238 possible definitions for that acronym and, needless to say, i didn’t bother.

i love how donna’s main characters are funny essentially bc they’re bitches towards other people they deem inferior to them in their internal monologues.

if you were drunk and ‘slam-dancing’ at a party, i don’t have to be stuck up or elitist to judge you and hate on you. even less so if you throw your beer in my face.

‘love that jacket, silk, isn’t it?’ ‘yep, my grandfather’s. totally not from that annoying girl in my dorm whose mate your mates beat up at a party last term for shoving camilla and throwing a beer in her face and who probably only gave me the jacket because she wants to fuck me, nope.’

‘let me get that door for you.’ that’s it, that’s the tweet.

when bunny said they should round up the ‘officious fags and burn them at the stake’ i yelled the loudest what the fuck i’ve ever yelled at a book. i can see now why they killed him. and i bet that’s only the tip of the iceberg.

okay, his true colours are starting to show. it’s even more unnerving when i think about the fact that like half of this stuff is supposed to be true.

called it, they’re boning.

i can’t wait until francis locks lips with richard. i am simply tingling for it. i hope he and camilla have a threesome with richard at this country house. oh wait no, they’re all here. eh, maybe another time.

oh, we finally get some juicy inside gossip

if francis and richard don’t fuck in that gorgeous immense library, i will riot.

okay, what’s henry’s deal? he’s nice now? and he’s oddly … interested in/caring towards richard? like who the fuck says ‘i hope you slept well’ without at least a little affection towards them.

AHAHAHAAHA, NOW I GET ALL THOSE MOON LANDING QUESTIONS ON THE TSH RELATED UQIZZES I STUPIDLY TOOK. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL. imagine them lot in present day completely bewildered and confused at the fact that the whole world is in lockdown for some weird fucking reason. this is the funniest shit ever, swear to god.

dogs get heart attacks?

wow they’re being dicks. that shady shit they’re doing’s so fucking rude aajksdhfkfh and to think i had initially thought richard was the ‘leader’ of their group...

okay, they’re either all into bdsm or they’re some odd breed of late vampires who don’t have much of the traits/qualities of ‘classic’ vampires as they have possibly diminished over the centuries as the species was becoming extinct. maybe witches. hm. or occultists. I REALLY DON’T KNOW!!

richard be like ‘what should I tell you?’ well—and this is merely a suggestion—, how about you start with what they’re actually doing when they’re not hanging out with you?????

i can’t wait for bunny to figure/find out richard’s not actually rich and be a dick about it.

two months??? what kind of bonkers winter vacation between terms is that???

is being constantly cold part of the dark academia aestehtic? cos it certainly seems to be.

what the fuck are these (sp)s bunny keeps putting in his letters??

i hope somebody (henry, or maybe francis? as something that would bring them together?) is fake rich too.

ouuuuu here comes the dark, mental stuff.

richard dropped out of drama to study the classics. if we were villains is a group of people studying shakespeare. coincidence? i think not. it is with dread that i think at the possibility that i might like the other more because so far, i can’t say i’m heavily impressed with tsh.

now i’m all for weird, fancy names, but marchbanks is really an odd one. who the fuck looks at their newborn baby and goes ben? nah. tom? no. MARCHBANKS! perfect.

henry winter saves richard from a piping cold winter. ah, don’t bother, i’ll do it myself [*jumps out the window*]

henry dislikes electric lights? smokes cigarettes without filter? reads milton translated into latin ‘just to see if a language with no noun cases could possibly support the structural order he attempts to impose’? can this dude be any more pretentious?

BUNNY! IT’S BUNNY! HE’S FAKE RICH THE BASTARD! ALL THAT ‘oops, forgot my wallet’ BULLSHIT, I THOUGHT IT WAS A TEST FOR RICHARD OR JUST RICH PEOPLE LEECHING OFF OTHERS (why spend yours when you can spend theirs?) BUT NOOOO, HE’S BROOOOKE! AND AN ASSHOLE! WHAT AN ASSHOLE!!! serves him right, the asshole (that gay people being burnt at the stake comment really bothered me despite the fact that i laughed). and not only is he broke and leeching off of henry, he leeches in the most shameless, greedy, extravagant and ignorant way, ordering the most expensive thing on the menu fuck out of here.

ha! he got fat the bastard. found some sugar daddy to sustain you during your last month in italy or what?

this rabbit dude sure has some big balls for a broke ass bitch.

‘let me see your head wound.’ vs ‘your arm.’

‘that sort of tension which i, being rather more disinclined that way than not, am quick to pick up on. i had caught a strong breath of it from francis, a whiff of it at times from julian (…)’ sounds like we got another one boys, a straight dude with the best gaydar in the world. that being said, julian is the fakest bitch in the book so far.

this secrecy is killing the ever-loving shit out of me. argentina one way?? whY

lol if you’re gonna steal his book with the intention of having him come back to the apartment and see all that shit, at least don’t put it in such an obvious place where he couldn’t have possibly missed it. for such a smart guy, you sure are dumb, dude.

francis’ mother be like ‘give that bad boy a kiss from me’ and i’m like HE BETTER.

richard the worst liar. just say your mum called for fuck’s sake! you could get your boyfriend in trouble!

cheesecake cover: ‘please do not steal this, i am on financial aid.’ bunny: [*steals it*] the cheesecake: [*sucks*] me: serves you fucking right, pig.

THINKING ABOUT HIS HANDICAP. I’M YELLING. funniest thing donna tartt ever wrote.

i bet they’re all there sat at the table like nothing happened and weren’t supposed to leave anywhere at all.

called it! motherfuckers.

what the hell is going on. are they a gang of assassins or something?

richard: ‘you killed somebody, didn’t you?’ henry: [*laughs as if it was the most ridiculous idea in the world and how could you possibly suggest such a thing*] yep

bunny: gays are weirdly obsessed with food, don’t you think? also bunny: [*gets excluded from the bacchanal because he couldn’t stop eating*]

okay. i can see now why this book started the whole dark academia aesthetic

aight, that’s all good and great (far from it) but WHERE IS MY FRANCIS CONTENT????

going through the motions of hating and liking henry every other chapter.

everybody: [*burning clothes, cleaning the car, running this way and that to get rid of evidence*] francis: aight y’all imma take a power nap real quick cool? cool

there is hardly anything in the world i hate more than loose-of-tongues. bunny and that bitch ass hely from the little friend. god, i want to sock each and every single one of them in their stupid bloody loud mouths.

i want to know, i really want to know if there are any bunny apologists or … s…. s… [*grits teeth*] stans out there. don’t worry, nothing will happen to you, i just wanna talk.

if it’s henry and richard and not francis and richard,,,,, i will riot.

boy this henry guy smokes a lot…. more than me in my prime.

as if this dude reenacted the murder he wasn’t even present at in the lobby of a hotel just to torture henry. i can’t believe this character is still alive and has been for so long.

FINALLY! one francis moment that indicated there will be no more francis moments…. .

funny that, reading the secret history put something into perspective about the goldfinch for me.

i love how richard just casually throws it in there whenever he happens to mention camilla that he loves her and wants to kiss her and that she’s so beautiful and blah blah blah and then it’s never brought up again ever because he’s constantly going on and on about henry.

wait, don’t tell me it’s happening now, in the middle of the book! that would be most unexpected as there’s a whole entire book following.

henry is such a stone cold bitch, i wonder where they put his heart when they made him, in his ass?

don’t tell me henry went boxer dogs on JULIAN?!?!?! he wouldn’t. … would he?

i don’t know. i get it, obviously, the gravity of the situation, but going as far as killing him to silence him is a bit … extreme in my opinion.

thank you, charles, for being the only voice of reason in this madness.

okay, i understand it’s in richard’s best interest not to be involved, but they called him there to what, make him listen to all this and then send him on his merry way?

charles: well, if you wake up intending to murder someone at two o’clock, you hardly think of what you’re going to feed the copse for dinner. [*crickets*] francis: hey, how about asparagus?

henry: someone’s coming. quick! act normal! richard: [*turns to inspect the trunk of a tree*] [*footsteps approach*] richard: [*inspection of tree intensifies!!*]

you’re a bit late, bunny, just saying.

and now what the fuck is the rest of the book about? what do we do, let’s run, let’s stay, let’s go to the police, what do we do with him?

i love how richard describes himself as part of the process: we dwelt on it, we convinced ourselves, we devised plans when in reality, he was only there as an attaché, he wasn’t included much, almost at all in the actual planning process of it other than to give his insight on the poison route because henry thought it was his area of expertise so to speak when, really, it wasn’t and then was told about the other plan because they simply thought he should know. even then henry tells him ‘you can go now, if you like’ because there wasn’t anything they sort of needed him for anymore since he wasn’t going to be there, he was just a pair of ears. i like to think he was there in hopes to maybe dissuade them, try to stop them, tell them how mad it is, tell them there’s another way, but he didn’t do much of that either (not that I think he would’ve succeeded anyway, had he tried, henry’s one stubborn motherfucker). he didn’t come up with shit, he wasn’t supposed to even be there, i think, much less contribute in any way. had bunny not told him about the bacchanal, richard would have probably found out about it after it was already done, he was only included for the fucks of it and yet, he talks as if he was right there in the room with them, brainstorming ideas how to kill him. and i get how it only comes from a sense of obvious guilt because he knew about it, he was there and didn’t do anything to stop it, but he’s by far not one to have agreed to the whole thing or condoned it in any way from what he’s told us in book one. he himself says in the very same paragraph that he only watched. he’s very much a dark academia nick carraway type of character and i hate it. because i like him. he deserves better.

i’m pretty sure that the reason that serial killer autobiography you picked up in an airport was bereft of details is because no publishing house would allow such lurid specifications that might shock, disgust, enrage or give ideas to the reader in their book, not because the author is shy, richard, but ok, let’s move on. actually no, let’s not. you can’t expect the autobiography of a killer to only tell you about the murders, especially since in this particular instance, he was caught and went to prison. of course he’s going to tell you more about that than the killings, have you any idea what prison life is like? how much it eats away at your soul? how it crushes your spirit if you have one and how hard it is to get over? the time he spent in jail is going to haunt him forever and after such a long time in there, however long it was, you hardly think about your crime as anything but a huge mistake that was not worth the torment if you’re not a downright psychopath which, since he came out and wrote a book about it, doesn’t seem to be the case here but i guess you’ll find out all about it soon enough.

OH! a francis moment???? could this be it? please dear god may this be it.

it wasn’t, but there’s another one!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

‘it’s fun, i promise you.’ [*dies*]

if this is it, if that’s all, i am not forgiving this book.

‘i tried to pull him out but it was no good; his head lolled back uselessly’ YEAH. BECAUSE HE’S DEAD, RICHARD. [*scoffs*] ‘uselessly’

i wish i held any of my teachers and professors in at least half the high regard henry holds julian. i also wish they were half as competent and passionate about teaching as julian.

I DON’T BELIEVE ‘HE WAS JUST THERE’. IT’S BORIS AND THEO AT 6 AM IN THAT NEW YORK BAR ALL OVER AGAIN. HE’S ONLY SAYING THAT BECAUSE RICHARD WENT ALL ‘YOU’RE NOT HOT’ ON HIS ASS AND I REFUSE TO BELIEVE OTHERWISE. if they don’t kiss again—

i can’t help but admire the way they communicate sensitive information to each other in ancient greek, they sound like characters from jane austen novels while talking about drugs and saving face from tabloids and gossip, it’s rather amazing.

quite pointless to go through all that trouble to hide the cigarettes and deny having been smoking when the smell will be there no matter what and she’ll know for sure. i swear, all these seemingly smart ass people are actually idiots

my question is why would anyone, drunk or not, for any reason, leave the top down in the rain? why? what possible pleasure could one get from driving in the middle of the rain with rain actually pouring down on them?

isn’t linoleum a bit tacky for a house that looks like it’s been in architectural digest?

why is charles so on edge? why are they all always hiding??? camilla and her late night 3 am phone calls, her secret phone code with henry, charles mysteriously going out for cigarettes so brusquely without a word in the middle of the night and refusing to talk about it, what are they all always hiding?! nobody trusts one another with anything, it’s very annoying, to be honest. aren’t they supposed to be super best friends? you’d think that after a bacchanal and a double homicide, you wouldn’t keep secrets from one another, but i guess not.

ah, shame. was kind of hoping for some sneaky richard/francis basement action, but alas. what’s their ship name anyway, richis?

i just spoilered myself again, twice, by going through the tsh tag on tumblr and then looking for francis/richard fanfics on ao3 and finding out that francis marries? gets with? a girl who’s apparently called fucking priscilla. donna tartt really has a knack for weird fancy names, huh? i’m here for it tbh

richard you fucking snitch! you had one job!!!!!!

why the fuck are they still keeping him in the dark about shit? henry and charles quarrelled and charles is in jail and henry still won’t tell him what’s so bad about it and why he wants richard to handle all this shit instead of him and why bunny’s murder still matters and why why just why are they still using him as their pawn??

seriously, this exchange was about the worst they’ve had so far. he himself knows it: ‘there was a silence during which I felt acutely the hopelessness of ever trying to get to the bottom of anything with henry. he was like a propagandist, routinely withholding information, leaking it only when it served his purposes.’ THEN WALK AWAY. SAY NO. PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN. FUCKING—UGH!!!!!!!

they’re all so shamelessly using him… i can’t read. it’ll kill him, one way or another.

these ungrateful little shits i swear to god. richard bails him out, he’s all thankful and sweet when he wants him to do ‘this one little favour’ of taking him to his francis’ house so he can break in and when richard’s like i don’t have a car, he immediately turns sour and passive aggressive like you know what?! richard hasn’t slept all night and all morning waiting for your ass to go to court cos you were a drunken idiot and decided YET AGAIN that driving in that state is a great idea so he can bail you out and when you are finally out, you start being fussy and then it’s all ‘right. thanks a lot’??? richard doesn’t fucking need this shit! y’all are horrible friends. he’s not your bloody servant. how about you take that stick and privilege out of your asses and start treating him a bit more kindly, huh???

‘henry made me swear not to tell.’ WHAT. WHAT. BITCH, GET THE FUCK OUT.

this is by far the most toxic friendship i’ve ever heard of.

oh wow that kiss was hot. i thought it was just a speculation that they were incestuous with each other, but i-i guess not.

FINALLY it gets interesting. Mr Abernathy spilling some piping hot tea mmm

he literally just said i’d sleep with you if you got drunk enough to let me. oh dear god help me.

oh fuck it got sad. It’s patrick and brad all over again ugh always happens to the best of gays

finally richard my boy starts hating them, as he should. except francis, you’re a dick in that respect. he’s only joking for fuck’s sake, don’t get all butthurt, jesus. sensitive much?

uuuuuu tunts Tunts TUNTS! shit is hitting the fan. henry, henry, henry, our ‘golden boy’. nothing but a crook himself, the motherfucker. i’ve been waiting for this reveal since the beginning of the fucking book. if they gang up on him and kill him, i will never stop laughing.

it’s as if he’s begging to be excluded and hated, i swear. why is he being such a prick? does he love her? is that it? then there are a BILLION other ways to go about it, he doesn’t have to be such a shady bitch!! besides, wasn’t he in cahoots with julian?

‘i was depressed, i thought if i slept here it might make me feel better.’ that’s so precious tho….. funny, but precious. such child-like innocence in this grown ass intoxicated man, i melt.

clever, luring him out of the playground under the false pretext of a drink when he’s had plenty. think like a drunk

the only consistent, recurring and ever-present elements in donna tartt’s books are the hors d’oeuvres.

it’s so cute how charles needs him, i—

girls be like: watching a film, listening to a podcast, talking on the phone, having dinner, figure painting, filing nails, writing an essay and doing their makeup all at the same time

this so called love he feels for camilla is so unfounded and feeble and just … it seems so out of the fucking blue every single time he mentions it, i can’t read this shit. IT’S SO SEE-THROUGH!!

okay WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK DID I JUST READ. WHAT. THE ACTUAL. MOTHERFUCKING. FUCK. one second he’s ‘i love her so much’ the next he wants to strangle and rape her?????????????? i have zero goddamn words. i am fucking speechless. i don’t think i have ever been this confused at something since i watched the turning. i don’t think you realise quite how done i am with this fucking book at this point.

i think i do hate henry more than bunny and i’m afraid i’ll like if we were villains better.

richard: [*takes sleeping pills*] also richard: [*surprised he can’t keep up with the film he started watching after taking sleeping pills*]

‘look,’ said francis. ‘let’s just go, if we leave now we can be in montreal by dark. nobody will ever find us.’ vs ‘well, i’m not going,’ said boris serenely. ‘fuck that, i’m running away. do you want to come?’

this henry bitch is the most difficult piece of shit i’ve ever fucking encountered. ‘you mean, it’s something you need to tell me in private?’ oh FUCK OFF AND STEP OUTSIDE, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. IT’S ONE THING I ASK OF YOU, YOU TWAT.

huh, i thought he was doing this shit on purpose, leaving the page face down on the table so that julian could see it, i thought it was some sick twisted plan of his.

lmao called it. everybody saw through julian’s façade except richard and the others and i completely understand. in a fashion much like julian’s, i think he knew that, he saw it, but just chose to ignore it because the image he posed and richard himself constructed of him in his mind was much more favourable to what he really was. i mean, fuck, who the fuck says ‘i hope we are all ready to leave the phenomenal world and enter into the sublime’ with their whole chest and mean it?

if you think he’s not coming, why sit in silence staring out the window, ignoring everyone and wasting everybody’s time instead of telling them from the very start this piece of information you have on hand that could save everybody a lot of trouble, time and overthinking? why be all mysterious and enigmatic about it? just tell them from the start, you’re not in a film for fuck’s sake……..

charles, one of the four of them (henry, camilla, julian and himself) might be the one i despise the least, almost like had he not been so brutal towards camilla,,,, but i don’t know if i can trust her, that whole scene seemed … staged somehow. i don’t know. i don’t know

didn’t expect henry would turn on julian too though. first real thing he’s done all book.

agatha

christie

writes

good

mysteries.

richard does seem like the type of fellow who would grow up in a household where his dad would strike his mum for no fucking reason.

okay so did henry punch him for that comment or not? what was all that father beating mother bit for?

#boysweekendinthecountry! 🤪 #partytime! #ignoringourproblems! #woooo!!!

oh my fucking god chARLES!!!

yes, henry, great, brilliant, fucking splendid idea to antagonise the man pointing a gun at you.

MY PAUL SMITH SHIRT!!!!!!!!! AHAHAHASFSHDGFDK

i love how absolutely nobody noticed fucking richard BLEEDING RIGHT NEXT TO THEM

‘expected everyone to stop and look at me. no one did.’ and they never will. that’s your whole friendship summed up in two lines. you don’t matter to them, you never did, you’re absolutely unimportant. just a tool, a pawn, a nobody. sorry you had to get shot to realise that.

‘’he shot me.’ somehow, this remark did not elicit the dramatic response i expected. before i had the chance to elaborate—’ ELABORATE WHAT? ELABORATE WHAT?! THAT’S ALL YOU NEED TO SAY!! GOD, this hurts to read. this angers me beyond words, but it also fucking hurts so bad…

nothing, not even getting shot can make richard lose his wit

disGUSTING henry and camilla moment. I HATE THEM

oh shit. did not see that coming. well, glad that’s over.

ugh, time to read how francis got hetero married :\

[*chokes*] DUE TO THE VERY EXCELLENT EXCUSE OF HAVING A GUNSHOT WOUND IN THE STOMACH I DIDN’T TAKE MY FRENCH EXAM YAY!!! god, i fucking love Richard.

the thing is, right, i read that line, ‘i managed to get out of taking my french exams the next week’ about three or four times and somehow, the following line or even the words ‘gunshot wound’ never made it to my eyes! i don’t understand how! but i’m completely happy about that given the fact that i spoiler myself on every single book i read by reading ahead like an idiot..

how much do you want to bet that it was the inn keep who called the ambulance and not those fuckers? because of course henry, dead henry’s more important than slowly dying, almost dead but not quite richard.

despite everything, it sounds like he had a nice summer in brooklyn. good for him. god knows he deserved it, the poor guy.

yeah no, fuck henry’s post-mortem hero narrrative.

lol, at least he got a nice car out of it. this book shows me once again that things happen just the way they should happen.

OH MY FUCKING GOD NO. NO. NO. NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! I CANNOT READ. I DO NOT SEE. I REFUSE TO COMPREHEND THIS PIECE OF INFORMATION.

i will not say a WORD on this, much less his letter. i am hurt, i am wounded, i am grieving, my head is full of thots and i cannot speak. i died on this bed.

ugh [*rolls eyes*] this fucking guy again with his sudden, out of my ass declarations of love towards camilla. JUST GIVE IT UP ALREADYYYYYYYY!!! TELL IT TO SOMEONE WHO CARES!!! (francis) i wouldn’t be surprised if she was married or engaged and just didn’t bother to mention it ‘because he never asked’ or some bullshit excuse like that.

I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY [*deep breath*] I FUCKING HATE HENRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

he’s telling me about all these people and where they ended up after graduation but not only do i not give a single solitary fuck, i actually don’t know who the fuck he’s talking about?? like who the fuck is bram guernesnesnica? rooney wayne? what the fuck do i care what jack jud and frank did?

the only people i do remotely care about are the professors (the saucy french teacher and the boring, senile dude who wouldn’t shut up and who kept referring to richard as ‘jerry’ in his grad school recommendations letter ahahah that is the content i signed up for, not dumb and dumber’s bar or whatever) and the cat charles left at francis’ country house who lives in a ten fucking room apartment in boston.

love how ionic the whole marion storyline turned out to be. marred another corcoran who looked just like bunny and had a daughter who, despite having her and his mother’s name ended up being nicknamed also bunny. i’m sorry, i just—i have to laugh.

[*slams fists on the table*] THE AGENTS??? YOU’RE GONNA TELL ME ABOUT THE BLOODY FBI AGENTS???!!!!!! CAN THIS BOOK PLEASE JUST FUCKING END ALREADY??????!!!!!!!!

a dream. a dream. if it’s a dream of henry i will personally shoot you and make sure i aim a little higher than your abdomen this time.

[*shoots the book*]

oh, you died and suddenly you have a sense of humour?

‘that information is classified’ [*shoots a torpedo at the book*]

‘are you happy?’ / ‘not very.’ vs ‘are you happy here?’ / ‘not particularly.’

okay. so. final thoughts: fuck this book.

good night

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mitchmarnier · 5 years ago

Text

i took too many hits off this memory [i need to come down]

pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier [reddie] & beverly marsh/kay mccall [mcmarsh] rating: teen audiences and up chapter warnings: q slur, internalized homophobia, sexual content, word count: 4,777 chapter count: 2 of ? summary: Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t remember much from his childhood. He doesn’t really know he doesn’t remember. He also doesn’t know why he’s so drawn this terrible comedian on tv, but when Eddie runs into him in a bar, and they spend the night together, Eddie’s life is changed forever. It’s finally back on track- and he doesn’t know anything about it

read on ao3. moodboard by @kaspzier

perma taglist: @jwilliambyers, @stebbins, @kaspzier, @s-s-georgie, @chaotickaspbrak, @eddiefuckinkaspbrak, @edstozler, @emgays, @anellope, @thorn-harvester-ven, @wheezyeds, @vipertooth, @tozierking, @billdenbrough, @sydinastans @itfandomprompts, @loserslibrary (let me know if you want added!)

TWO YEARS LATER

Eddie Kaspbrak cringed as the stench of the place hit his nose. He turned his face away and tried to discreetly press the sleeve of his sweater to face to ward it away. Kay McCall turned to face him and grabbed hold of his arm. “What have I been telling you?” She said sharply. “Stop passing judgement before you’ve experienced anything.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. In the two years since he’d walked away from his relationship with Myra- or more accurately, forced her to walk away from it- Eddie had grown to accept that part of him he was sure he’d been running away from since his youth. There were dim, blurry memories of being a kid with sweaty hands and a pounding heart but he could never touch them. Sometimes, in his dreams, Eddie was sure he did- but they were gone when he woke up, leaving only a vague feeling of yearning left behind.

He’d met Kay McCall nearly a year and a half earlier at the community center when Eddie had been having meetings to help with some ongoing mental health issues. It seemed that over decades of repression couldn’t just be turned off by coming out of the closet and ran much deeper. Kay had been an irreplaceable piece of Eddie’s self acceptance. Without her persistence that Eddie go out, that Eddie experience all these positive things, Eddie didn’t doubt for a second that he would have been sitting alone every weekend for the last two years.

And he hadn’t been, that was a beautiful thing. Eddie had gone out, he’d gone to clubs and bars and parades. He’d painted his body in neon colours and danced under black lights. He’d had a few short lived relationship with men Eddie would have allowed himself to look twice at before. Eddie had come to trust Kay blindly in every activity she suggested. Until tonight.

“I fucking hate comedians.”

“So you keep saying,” Kay said. “But you refuse to give me any sort of reasonable explanation to why that is, so I’ve chosen to continue to ignore you.”

Eddie shook his head, and scowled at the ground. He wasn’t entirely how to begin to explain his animosity towards comedians. How could he explain the broken, faded memory of a comedian, a hotel room and a name that always seemed to be on the tip of his tongue?

“I’m only doing this for your stupid date.” Eddie said stubbornly. “You say this girl is the real deal, and I’m choosing to believe you. This better be serious.”

Kay rolled her eyes. It was, of course. Eddie knew that Kay had had many partners since they’d become friends, some lasting for weeks and Eddie possibly even getting a name, but Kay had never - not once- invited Eddie to meet one of her girlfriends before now.

“I don’t know anything about this guy. I Googled him, he’s some white dude. Reggie or something. Very mixed reviews.” Kay said simply. “Beverly seems to think he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to comedy, and I’m letting her pick the date so here we are.”

Eddie raised his brow but knew better than to say anything. Kay grabbed Eddie by the arm and didn’t so much guide him through the crowd as yanked him. This was fine. This was used to and expected. What wasn’t expected was the soft, almost bashful smile when a short, redhead girl pushed her way through the crowd and ran up to them.

‘Hey,” she said, almost out of breath. She and Kay held long eye contact until Eddie cleared his throat. When Beverly turned and met Eddie’s gaze, his breath caught suddenly in his throat and he wondered for the first time in many years if he’d need to use his inhaler. Beverly’s eyes blew wide for a moment, her mouth opened then clapped back shut just as suddenly. She seemed to almost shake herself, then offered her hand out.

“Beverly.” She said with a sweet smile. “My friends can call me Bev.”

“Eddie.” Eddie shook her hand quickly, and Beverly didn’t say anything when Eddie immediately pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer from his jeans pocket. “Tell me more about this bozo, but Kay is not convincing at all.”

“I understand the skepticism.” Beverly said as she draped an arm around Kay’s shoulders. Eddie watched for a moment and waited for Kay to shrug her touch off, but no rejective motion happened. “But trust me, this guy Richie is actually good. He’s come a long way in the last couple years, and I don’t know, he talks about chicks a lot but I get a bit of a gay vibe-”

Eddie’s hearing buzzed out, brain seemed to float right out of his ear and out of the bar. Richie… comedian… his heart was suddenly at risk of exploding right out of his chest. He pressed his hand against his hand to his chest, able to feel his heartbeat through his shirt and sweater. Blurry memory began to ring into focus.

“I fucking hate comedians.” Eddie lied under his breath. Nobody listened. They moved to their seats that was being held by a tall, thin man with blonde hair that seemed to already be balding at the top and an orange stain on his shirt. Eddie stopped and turned to the two women.

“I didn’t agree to a double date.” Eddie said sharply. “Especially not a blind, surprise double date.”

Beverly glanced away, biting at her thumb nail but Kay held Eddie’s gaze without a flinch. “Eddie. You haven’t been laid in what- four months? Just give him a chance.”

Eddie glanced back at his supposed date and watched as wiped snot from his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie. Eddie and Bev pulled mirrored looks of disgust. “Not fucking happening.”

“Sorry.” Beverly said quietly to him. “He was kind of the only person available and Kay didn’t tell me until tonight that she wanted a date for you and-”

“And you don’t have to fuck that guy, because he’s pretty disgusting.” Kay broke in with exasperation. Eddie glared at him. “But are you getting some tonight, I’m going to make sure of it.”

Eddie thought of how his stomach had been in butterflies since he’d heard Richie’s name, and how his face was still burning, and wasn’t so sure that was going to be an issue. The lights began to dim before Eddie could give any sort of response, negative or positive, and they all quickly moved to their seats. Eddie silently thanked a God he wasn’t sure he believed in that there wasn’t time to introduce him to the dirty date before the show began.

In complete honesty, Eddie couldn’t tell you much about the show itself. He thought at one point, he’d noticed that Richie’s jokes had gotten better than what he’d listened to years before but he didn’t have enough memory of the old stand up to be sure. It still wasn’t good by any means, but the crowd seemed to eat it up. He thought maybe Richie seemed a little more passionate, a little more comfortable, and that made a world of a different even with shitty dirty jokes.

“That guy was hilarious.” Eddie’s “date” said as he wiped the barbeque sauce from their chicken wings his hands on his jeans.

Eddie looked through the crowd at nothing, simply for an excuse to not look at the date he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of. In his haste to keep his eye line away, it took Eddie a moment to realize where it had landed. Not until he realized that he’d accidentally caught the eye of none other than Richie Tozier himself.

Eddie as good as vomited his heart up into his mouth when Richie winked at him. His stomach fluttered and he broke out into a cold sweat across the back of his neck. Richie whispered something to the shorter man by his side- a boyfriend? His manager, maybe- and then he was walking towards them.

“Heya, Eds.” Richie said with an easy grin. “Long time no see.”

Kay turned to Eddie with wide eyes, mouth half open, and Beverly had a confused frown on her face. Eddie wanted the Earth to open up and swallow him whole. “Yep.” Eddie said begrudgingly. “Richie, this is my best friend, Kay, and her friend Beverly.”

“Friend?” Richie challenged as he took and shook Kay’s hand.

She raised her brow at him. “Girlfriend.” She said angrily. “Is that a problem?”

Eddie pursed his lips to hide a smile as Richie let out a soft laugh. “Trust me, ladies. It is the opposite of a problem.”

Beverly gasped and slapped at Richie’s shoulder. “Hey, hey! Careful, Red!” Richie said, but he was laughing. “If security sees you knocking me around, it won’t be too good for you.”

Beverly just laughed at him. “I knew you were gay. I fucking knew it.” An odd expression came over Richie’s face then, and Eddie almost felt bad for him. “We gays have a sense about this. You’ll get there. It comes with coming out.”

Richie’s face blocked them out. “I’m out to the people who matter to me.”

“And portraying yourself as straight asshole for the world to see.” Beverly said with a shrug. “Sure, it’s funny and it sells, but don’t you think it would be more impactful if you were a gay comedian?”

“I AM a gay comedian.” Richie said sharply. “And if I started telling jokes about being gay and fucking men from bars, I’d be an unemployed gay comedian.”

“Hey.” Eddie said softly. His eyes were on Kay and Beverly, put he hoped that Richie could sense that the words he directed at them were for his benefits. “It’s not an easy thing to do. You should know not to push people.”

A silence settled over them, the buzz of the bar behind them, and Eddie began to fidget where he stood. Richie cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “Listen-” he said, pursing his lips. “I’m supposed to go to some sort of big name after party now, stupid publicity garbage.”

Eddie tried not to feel disappointed, but Richie kept talking.

“But that’s not really my thing. I’ve never cared about publicity before.” Richie said with a grin. “So, I’ve got a bunch of better ideas. If you guys are down.”

Beverly’s eyes blew open wide. “For real? Are you serious?”

Richie reached out and pinched Eddie’s cheeks. “Course. Any friends of Eds are friends of mine.” Eddie swatted Richie’s hands away, stubbornly refusing to look at Kay despite how much of an effort she was putting into meeting his gaze.

“Well, hell yeah!” Kay said as she pushed on a dazed Beverly’s shoulders. “Let’s fucking go!”

“Let’s fucking go!” Richie repeated, looking at Kay with a mixture of awe and wariness. Richie wrapped an arm around Eddie’s waist and squeezed his hip once. Then let go quickly, gesturing wildly towards the back door. Richie walked towards it and Beverly began to immediately skip after him, her face light up like that of a child.

Kay turned slowly to Eddie, brows raised and a soft smirk settled on her lips. “So… does he have anything to do with you hating comedians?”

Eddie frowned. Did he? Eddie hadn’t thought about Richie Tozier since… well, probably since Richie had gotten on that plane in New York that same day. He had vague memories of meeting a guy in a bar who prompted his spilt from Myra, a weird twinge in his stomach that told him it was the best sex he’d ever had, but until tonight he hadn’t been able to put that memory to a face. But now? Yeah. That face was Richie Tozier. But Eddie didn’t hate that experience, not at all, it was a good one. A life changing one. Not one that prompted hatred or hard feelings.

“No.” Eddie said with a roll of his eye. “I hate comedians because they make their living being not funny about minorities and as a marginalized person,-”

“Alright.” Kay tossed an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and started guiding him towards the back door. “We all get it. You’re a big-time activist now, we did a good job with you, Kaspbrak. Now our next task is getting you to let your hair down.”

“My hair is always down.” Eddie said with a smile. Kay bounced on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. They pushed out the back door at Eddie’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the limo parked out back. Beverly was inside, her head poking out the sun roof. Richie was leaning against the car door, smoking.

“Hasn’t anybody ever told you those things will kill you?” Eddie asked, knowing his voice was all too cheerful. Richie looked up at him and grinned.

“With the lifestyle I live?” Richie asked with a wave of his head. “Something is going to kill me long before my smoking habits do.”

Eddie didn’t like the twinge that settled in his stomach at Richie’s joke and he forced a smile. Richie clasped Eddie on the shoulder and he helped usher Eddie into the back. Kay dove in after them, and Eddie found himself pressed right up against Richie’s side. He could feel the heat radiating off him and Eddie’s heart began to race in his chest. He fought the urge to lean up against him completely, telling himself that he needed to maintain at least the slightest hint of dignity in this situation.

Beverly kept her head out the sun roof for the first several minutes of the ride, and her hair was a bird’s nest when she dropped back inside, grinning from ear to ear. Eddie couldn’t help back grin back. “So where are we going?” Beverly asked, messing with her hair in a furitious attempt to tame the mess. “Never did tell us.”

Richie let out a long, exhale of smoke from the joint between his fingers and grinned lazily at her. “You get into car’s with strangers and it takes you nearly fifteen minutes to ask where they’re taking you?”

Beverly shrugged, still grinning. “I’d get in anybody’s limo, stranger or not.”

Richie shook his head, eyes half open. He offered the joint over to Eddie, who’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh, no, I have-”

“ASTHMA, ASSHOLE.” Eddie cried, smacking at Richie’s shoulders. Richie laughed, and fell backwards against the dirt and grass. They were sitting up at the top of the Quarry, feet dangling over the edges, as the sun went down in front of them. Richie had been working at a joint for the better part of a couple minutes, and Eddie had been choosing to ignore it until Richie had offered it over to him.

“I think we both know that you don’t.” Richie replied, and there was something all too appealing about Richie when he was high. Eddie supposed he always found Richie appealing, though he’d never admit it to another living, breathing human (and certainly not to Richie) but the way Richie almost seemed to turn into lower power mode when he was high just held Eddie’s interest so intensely. It was Richie he was still getting to know, barely beginning to understand. And that captivated him.

“Put that shit out.” Eddie demanded. “Put it out or I swear to God I’ll throw it over the edge.”

“Oh, really? And you’ll buy me more then.” Richie said and waggled his eyebrows. “For all you know, Eds, this could be all I’ve got left.”

“I don’t care how much you have!” Eddie cried. “And I would not be buying you more because it’s illegal and you shouldn’t even have this in the first place, you know? You know all about the health risks just as well as I do!”

“Nobody knows any health risks as well as you do, Eddie Kaspbrak.” Richie pointed out, before taking another hit of the joint. Eddie watched his lips intently as the smoke blew out through him and he tried to force his heart race to slow down. This was a new feeling for Eddie, over the last few months. Richie doing little things that made Eddie feel like he’d just run a marathon. It was harder to pretend that Richie Tozier didn’t affect him deeply.

“You know things people tell you about health is bullshit, though.” Richie continued, but Eddie was a little more focused on Richie’s fingers pulling on his own bottom lip as though he’d just remembered he had one. His legs and hands kept occasionally twitching and Eddie’s eyes followed the motion each time. “It’s just what the man wants you to think. Weed is good for us, and they want to keep it from us because they can’t make money off it.”

“You’re such a fucking a stoner, Rich, oh my God.” Eddie rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help the little giggles that were building up in his chest.

“So you really aren’t going to have any? Not even for me? Your bestest friend?” Richie held the joint out towards Eddie, and spending so much time with Richie, Stan and Beverly the smell of the weed didn’t bother him as much as it used to. That fact made him uneasy.

“Bestest isn’t a word.” Eddie replied, turning his eyes back to the sky.

Richie scoffed. “Oh, okay. Whatever. You aren’t gonna have any at all? Eddie? Eds? Ed-”

“Earth to Eddie!” Kay’s voice suddenly caught through his mind.

Eddie jumped in the seat, suddenly aware that the limo was moving and Richie was still holding the joint out in his direction. Eddie looked slowly over Richie’s face, his heart hammering in his chest and his brain reeling to find a grasp on reality. Real or not real. “What?” He asked, voice coming out almost a hoarse whisper.

“Do you want a hit?” Richie asked him lazily, the paper burning and wasting between his fingers has he watched Eddie.

“No, I have-” Eddie broke off again, brain buzzing inside his head and heart picking the pace back up.

Richie raised his eyebrows. “Have what?”

Eddie cleared his throat and reached his fingers out for Richie’s joint. “Nothing. Give it to me.” Richie handed it over willingly and as Eddie put the joint between his lips, something deep inside told him that this wasn’t his first time smoking weed.

Richie patted his back, and made soothing sounds as Eddie coughed and his chest burned. “It’s alright, dude. The more you cough, the higher you get.”

A familiar phrase. Familiar. A word that Eddie Kaspbrak would like to stop applying to Richie Tozier, because it never failed to make him feel on edge. Before Eddie could feel anything besides the tightness in his chest, the limo was suddenly taking a left and skidding across something that felt much more like dirt than any real road.

“Where are we going?” Beverly asked, from where she’d draped herself across Kay’s lap once returning inside from the sun roof. Eddie thought that maybe this weed was laced with something, because there was no way Kay McCall was just letting some girl lay in her lap and there was zero possibility that she was actually running her fingers through the girl’s long red hair. And yet-

“We’re not going anywhere.” Richie said with a grin. He popped the back door of the limo open before the vehicle had slowed to a complete stop, and Eddie rested his head against the seat of the limo to watch him. “We’re already here.”

Eddie tumbled out the limo on Richie’s tail, with Kay and Beverly following and whispering behind them. Eddie squinted out the darkness around him, unaware that he was leaning against Richie’s side. “Central Park after dark? So you’ve taken us here to be murdered?”

Richie let out a little awkward half-laugh, hand unconsciously going to spread around the small of Eddie’s back. “Nothing so sinister as that.” Richie said. “Just that most of the times I’ve spent in New York have been spent in a bar or in a hotel room.”

Eddie’s face burned, but even more than embarrassment over Richie speaking of the night they’d spent together, Eddie felt a weird sense of jealousy of the verbal acknowledgment of other people being with Richie like he had been. Before him, and worse, after him. Eddie knew perfectly well that he couldn’t be mad that Richie had slept with people before they’d met, and he had even less right to be mad about Richie may or may not had slept with after their literal one night stand. He had been the one to say no, to go home and ignore what he’d also felt.

Eddie shivered almost violently as he walked through the grass, knowing it was getting his shoes wet and likely ruining them completely. Oh well, Richie’s career was starting to really take off- Eddie could bill him for new shoes. Something fancy and expensive no doubt. He could afford it.

Arms wrapped around Eddie’s middle and he startled as he looked down at Kay, who grinned back up at him. “Oh, Miss Kay gets cuddly when high? Nice to know.”

She laughed, and squeezed Eddie’s middle until he coughed then released him. She turned away and moved over to Beverly, taking her back the face and kissing her deeply. Eddie frowned awkwardly to himself, and turned back towards the dark park. He felt Richie walk up beside him but he didn’t turn to look at him.

“You know, it’s kind of weird.” Richie said, but he wasn’t looking at Eddie either. “Until I saw you tonight, I don’t think I even remembered you. Which makes me sound like an absolute monster, but-”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Eddie said lightly. “I didn’t remember you, either. At least not… specifically. I remembered an intense dislike for comedians, but it wasn’t you that I remembered. Until your show started at least.”

Richie snorted and took a drag of a cigarette. Eddie watched the smoke flow through the dark, and tried to pretend he thought it was gross rather than attractive. “Don’t know why you’re walking around hating comedians. You’re the one who ripped my heart out at an airport, all I did was give you some sweet, sweet loving.”

Eddie made a rough noise at the back of his throat. “You sprialled my entire gay crisis and prompted me to have to change my entire life. I think I deserve a little bit of resentment here, man.”

“Man, I met you at a gay bar. I don’t think I started anything. You were already on your way there yourself.” Richie laughed. “Besides, don’t you feel better now? Rather than marrying some chick because you thought you had to, and playing the role of some straight husband when you were really miserable and craving some good dick. I think you owe me a thank you, actually.”

Eddie shook his head and finally turned to Richie. “You’re right. Thank you, Trashmouth, for being just hot enough that I confessed fully to myself that I wanted to suck dick.”

Richie grinned at him. “Well, you’re here with me now, aren’t you? There must be something about me you like. Besides the fact that I have a dick.”

“You also have a limo, and I didn’t have anything better to do tonight.” Eddie said slowly, letting the words roll off his tongue. Richie continued to look at him, head tilted with a goofy smile on his face. “Did it… I’m not going to apologize for not getting on a plane with a stranger that day. I still think I made the right call.”

“Yeah, you probably did.” Richie said slowly. “I knew that even as you did it, but Eds… God, I still can’t shake the feeling that I knew you. That we’re somehow supposed to meet.”

Eddie didn’t say anything, keeping his eyes on Richie as Richie dropped his cigarette and crushed into the ground. Eddie didn’t even lecture him on the littering, waiting for Richie to finish whatever train of thought he was going down. “And what are the odds that your best friend would just so happen to drag you to see that comedian who asked you to drop your life for him two years ago? On the one night I performed at a small bar for nearly a year. Come on, that can’t be coincidence, Eds.”

“You’re a believer in the universe, I admire that.” Eddie said dryly. “You’ll ask a stranger to run away with you after one night. It’s sweet and it’s insane. Sometimes coincidences do exist.”

Richie looked at him, face suddenly somber. He reached out and took Eddie’s hand in his. Eddie tried to ignore the electric shock it sent running through him. “It’s not just any stranger, you know. There’s something about you, Eddie Kaspbrak. And I think, for you, there’s something about me, too.”

“Maybe.” Eddie agreed. “But I still don’t know you, you don’t know me. Our lives are so different, it’s like we have anything in common or even live on the same side of the country. We ran into each other twice in two years. That’s not exactly some great romance story.”

“It could be if we let it be.” Richie said wistfully. “But don’t fret, Eds. I’m not asking you to run away with me this time. I tried that, but it didn’t work. I don’t offer up potentially life changing decisions to the same dude twice, no matter how drawn I am to him.”

For whatever reason, disappointment settled itself in Eddie’s stomach. He’d already worked himself up, gotten himself ready to tell Richie no, and to find that Richie wasn’t going to ask was a let down. Why he wanted Richie to ask him, he had no idea. Probably the same reason he had no idea why he was more comfortable around Richie Tozier than he was around people he’d known most of his life.

Richie turned around and grinned at Kay and Beverly, who were running through the park fountain. “You’ve got a good thing going here. Much better than last time I met you. Good people in your life. You shouldn’t turn your back on that, and I don’t even want you, too. Like you said- you don’t even know me. And maybe I don’t know you. But they-” he gestured to Eddie’s friends. “They’re good people. Keep them around.”

“I plan to.” Eddie said, throat suddenly dry. “You’re good people, too, Rich.”

Richie turned to look at him, a soft smile on his face. “Thought you said you didn’t know me.”

Eddie shrugged one shoulder. “I’m good at reading people. You put on some big show, but you’re the kind of person who’d stopped to pet a cat no matter how late he was running… and he believes in romance. Soulmates. You’ll find yours, Richie. Someday.”

Richie let out a loud sigh as something in his suit pocket started beeping loudly. He rolled his eyes. “My team has officially realized that I haven’t made it back to my hotel yet. They’ve got me on a tight lease these days.” He held his hand out and Eddie took it without a second thought. “Hey, ladies! If you want a ride back, let’s move it.”

Beverly and Kay stumbled into limo, giggling, and Eddie tried to ignore their kisses as Eddie gave Richie the directions to Kay’s apartment- and Richie gave the directions to his driver. It wasn’t a super far drive, the streets of New York surprisingly calm as they drove through. Eddie kept his eyes trained out the window, and his hand resting on Richie’s bouncing knee.

He watched Beverly and Kay tumble back out of the limo outside Kay’s apartment and moved to follow them, but Richie’s hand wrapped around his wrist. Eddie turned back to him, and his heart fluttered as Richie leaned forward and tucked a piece of paper into the front pocket of Eddie’s jeans.

“If you ever find yourself wondering about the universe,” Richie said, his voice cracking through a dry throat. “Give me a call. I think I’ll be seeing you again, Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Eddie reached out, cupped the side of Richie’s face and kissed him deeply. He let their foreheads press together for a moment before pulling back and climbing out of the limo. He watched the limo drive off until it completely disappeared from view.

#reddie #reddie fic #my writing #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #rip my tag list getting these spams i'm sorry #memories #i should have paced these out but fuck u

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maggotmouth · 5 years ago

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hello, i’m nora ( she / her, 24, gmt ) and i almost exclusively join dark academia rps. please find below everything i have thus far on otto ballantyne, a theatre and classics student who was arranged to be married to one of the students who disappeared. i’ve honestly been itching to write otto again for months, so thanks to this lil group for giving me the opportunity. can’t wait to get my teeth stuck into him again. please bombard me with discord messages for plots. here is his pinterest.

act one: application.

THOMAS DOHERTY , CIS-MALE , HE/HIM → according to the school records , OTTO HORATIO BALLANTYNE has been attending sacred heart for the past four years . i last saw them hanging around the cliffs ; i think they were reciting shakespearean soliloquies to the wind and a weathered old skull. at twenty - three years old , otto has been studying theatre & classics and get this , i heard that he was arranged to be married to alice rosseau before her untimely disappearance , and was desperate to call off the affair — figure it’s true ? everyone around here always associates them with an aged bottle of malbec glugged carelessly at the after - show , the kind of confidence that only a private education gives , white lines of powder snorted off a marble sink with lovers you’ll later deny . in the time since these strange happenings , they have have not encountered any unexplained occurrences . ( written by nora , 24 , she/her , gmt )

act two: the muse !

ok so lemme start off by saying otto is heavily inspired by if we were villains by m l rio and the secret history by donna tartt. very serious actor. into the classical plays, but would definitely fit in a production of posh by laura wade. originally i wrote him for a murder mystery dark academia group but when the group ended i missed him so much i decided to bring him here.

born in south london, but raised in cheltenham. went to eton or harrow or one of those posh english boarding schools for boys. we love the homoeroticism of learning latin with your homies and chanting sonnets in caves by candlelight.

youngest son in his family. was fiercely competitive with his brother nathaniel growing up. having an older brother who was incredibly intelligent and successful made otto learn to treat his life like it was a fight. constantly trying to be better and ‘prove himself’.

otto’s a brat. filthy rich public school boy vibes, very riot club. champagne all over the ceiling and driving well over the limit. custom-made cuff links he loses in taverns when he rolls up his sleeves to lean on the bar. needing to know so much about a character you’re playing that it consumes you ; you can no longer tell which parts of you are otto and which parts are macbeth.

characters who have inspired him: alistair ryle in the riot club, francis abernathy in the secret history, anthony marston in and then there were none, oliver marks in if we were villains, achilles in the song of achilles, dorian gray in tpodg.

a fun fact is he is a natural blonde and spent most of his childhood that way but he now dyes it dark because he thinks that’ll give him more versatility in terms of the roles he can play. blonde ppl are usually cast as only the lover or the innocent n he wants to play villains and heroes and leading men as well.

very gay, n that’s pretty much a known thing by everyone but his family?? his family have arranged to have him married to women twice n both times its not worked out. the first time he basically drove her away with his reckless hedonism and alcoholism, and the second arranged marriage was to alice, one of the four students who went missing

archetypes: the figurehead. the challenger. the magician. the knight. the underdog.

ENTP-T / the debater personality.

theatre arts major, minoring in classics.

trigger warning for internalised homophobia / familial prejudice.

act three: the biography !

heavy is the head that wears the crown, though yours is the size of a tennis ball when you are born three weeks premature, barely formed enough to open your eyes. for those first few weeks all your parents knew were fear and love — fear that you would leave them, love that you had made it through so much, hooked up to wires like a fish in a cryogenic tank. to them your heart that learned one day to beat of its own accord was a miracle. perhaps that’s why you became their golden boy.

being born as a boy on the brink of death makes you invulnerable. you were achilles and the world couldn’t touch you for you were shielded from harm by a mother’s protective spell. should nathaniel lay so much as a finger on your skin, a voice would raise like the sound of a god from the veranda where she sat sipping her wine, play nice, boys! the sound of it thick with merlot. in every fight they took your side ; angel-headed creatures never lied. you soon learned that adults would believe anything if they liked you, that flattery will get you anywhere and to the well-trained mind, conversation was little more than a parlour game.

you harboured your mother’s beauty, the softness of her voice, the firmness of her skin and light in the corners of her smile. of your father, they’d say you inherited his wit, though that was your own — as was the golden hair that tousled your head, taken not from ambrose ballantyne but rather the bout of his three-week business trip to germany when your mother had bedded the gardener. if he knew, he never mentioned it. to believe such a fate would imply that he was not enough for her. though you noticed one day when you were nearing five and the sun was ripe on your freckle-flecked skin that the gardener had stopped coming at all. the grass, once shaven to its scalp, now grew to your knees.

at school, you learned with porridge still clinging to your mouth that the way to win over your teachers was through your smile. yours was the kind of school where the christmas play was not the nativity but rather the story of the gods, and stardom came to you in the role of apollo, sun shining from your beaming face, a bright halo of hair around your head. this was the first time you noticed a coldness in nathaniel’s eyes as your father threw you over his shoulder and your mother drenched you in praise. a bout of food-poisoning on your brother’s part rendered the italian restaurant, visited in your honour, abandoned. you never did find out if he was faking.

the room to his door remained shut after that and you learned to wile away your hours in the company of nannies and children from neighbouring castles, played at knights and rescued princesses from nearby dungeons, a tin-foil crown lopsided on your head. you learned to seek influence in the faces of those around you, how their eyes would widen as they hung like stalactites to your words. storyteller. prophet. riddler. prince. you cut your tongue into a well-kept sword and sparred with it thrice a day.

by nine you had read all of dickens novels. by eleven, all of shakespeare’s comedies — though you understood them as much as a cricket knows the meaning of the cosmos. still, it sounded rich and impressive when asked by aunties at dinner parties, what are you reading in school, otto? he finds the curriculum tiring, your mother would say, stroking a hand through your thick head of hair. otto’s just finished the merchant of venice. soon you grew to ignore your brother’s glowers at your back. your mother’s was the only smile you needed.

in cap and blazer your mother would drop you off at school, gated and turreted, the kind that was the envy of poorer neighborhood wives. when you were young, you were sure the gifts that came your way were yours alone, though as you grew older, you learned to expect them in the same way the school expected cheques from your parents. they named them benefactors, you noticed one day, on the wooden plaques fixed to the common room walls. the same plaques you would one day notice their names engraved upon in the arching hallways of sacred heart. acclaim was bought, not earned, and your success was littered with blood money.

what’s a king without a kingdom? your father surely wanted you to inherit his, though it was not in law and corporal finance that you found yourself a castle, but rather upon the stage. when red curtains split, you found you could become anything with the power of your will — boy, man, lion, snake, each of them wrung out by wordsmiths dead in their graves, a certain romance in the dusky smell of stage lights. when every eye in the room was focused on you — that was when you felt most powerful. like a piece of art, you were something to be looked at and admired — and perhaps in the absence of self-earned merit your vanity blossomed, for even if the trophies that lined your cabinets and the a-grades in columns on a sheet came from heavy pockets, your parents could never buy the sound of applause.

actors are by nature volatile. though your facade was swifter than an arrow, backstage they would call you tempestuous, bigoted, vain. still, it never left the wings of the theatre. there was a kind of reverence surrounding you that words could not taper, godliness following you from school to college, a peer admired in the practice rooms of sacred heart where you poured over chekhov and ibsen but yearned to read sophocles and euripides.

you learned to pride yourself on your looks — a sharpened jawline and a sharper tongue — and found that people would do almost anything for a beautiful face. in the beginning, alice was one so much. first colleagues, then friends, then a frequenter to the table in your family’s house. with arrogance carried in the curve of your brow, you only ever saw her as an accessory. that changed when you met her brother, let yourself stumble, brogues in a size that differed from your own kicked beneath your bed, a shirt with a larger neck size, pulled sheets, the smell of a foreign cologne.

talk travelled. it wouldn’t do to have word of your deviance spread further than the ballantyne house. while your parents would claim they were forward-thinking, more lenient than their parents had been, there was a conservative priggishness to the way they’d brush such matters under the rug, your father scarcely able to meet your eye over the dinner table. soon after, the arrangement was set with you all but exalted from the plans until alice had been informed. too late to back out, neither of you all that eager to be wed, though your families would coo when you fixed your hair or she, in keeping with the role, adjusted your tie. at first it amused you to play house with one such as alice, but soon you grew listless. like a caged beast you felt suffocated by the falseness of it all. you’d leave the dinners held by your joint households and return bedraggled, smelling of whiskey and sex. you’re not sure alice ever knew the reason why you couldn’t love her, though perhaps she suspected. at night, the names that would fall from your lips would never be hers. oliver. daniel. mason. rupert. charles.

act four: character investigation !

otto’s an extremely materialistic character who obtains pleasure through the things you can buy in life rather than that which comes to you by way of humble experience. he likes rolex watches, armani suits, louis vuitton travel bags, silk scarves imported from india. he likes to drink wine from decades gone by, where he can almost taste the funk of a victorian farmer hand pressing the grapes into a pulp, or to read a manuscript from the special collections section of the library that he knows has passed through hands which have gone on to achieve greatness. to otto, alice was always an extension of this hedonistic, pleasure-seeking attitude — she was something to be paraded like the equestrian trophies on his bookshelf, or his name on the honour roll. it’s not that he didn’t see her as a person — he’s hardly a chauvinist, although it could easily be inferred from the disdain with which he talks to some women — but rather that he saw her as someone ethereal and admirable and of high social standing who would elevate his social standing, by extension, were he to spend time with her. (this was such a convoluted sentence omg sorry)

the engagement was not his choice. even the idea of it had never crossed his mind. he had never thought to marry – marriage to otto was a tool used for financial gain — and being already wealthy, he was content to live out his days as a bachelor. he would take lovers, of course, but it would be on his own terms without the involvement of the law. alice was chosen as a match for otto because she was from a wealthy, well-liked family and the two had been friends since childhood. it seemed to their parents inevitable that they would marry, and so all that was left was the agreed arrangement between the families and the exchanging of rings. strictly speaking, if the marriage between otto and alice had gone ahead, then alice would have been nothing more than a trophy wife to otto. it would have been a miserable marriage for her, and he would have grown to resent her for it — not resent her for the fact that he could never truly be free to love someone he wanted (for he still would) but resent her, and by extension his family, for taking the option to do that openly and publicly away from him. she would always be seen as the beard, the scorned lover, the cuckold, and it would dampen any future relationships he held with the stain of that upset.

act five: wanted plots !

people who he was friends with as a child (either in london or cheltenham if anyone in this group has a muse from there) but grew apart from when he was sent to private school / they view him as entitled now and the two no longer have much in common

someone who auditioned for the same role as him, but otto got it, and they’ve resented him for it ever since ! want this bad. or put your thang down flip it and reverse it: someone who got the role otto wanted and he loathes them for it.

hasn’t really dated anyone? at college, he tends to hook up with people in a vapid sort of way? so he wouldn’t rEALly have past relationships with boys unless it was….. incredibly quiet and on the DL, literally meeting up in the woods after school to read plato and play with each others hair. suddenly realised i want this. someone give me someone he reads plato in the woods with and kisses up against tree bark because even though everyone basically KnOWS otto isn’t out n probably never will be :/

alternatively someone who he had a vapid, senseless hook up with and grew attached to :/ rude. in this house we lov angst

i guess some friends he actually likes would be cool. maybe someone who he has a hold over, because he’s quite an engaging character with good leadership qualities, like at parties he’ll be the one telling the story and gesticulating wildly and everyone’s watching him or looking to him for where they’ll go next / how the night will pan out. if he has a hold over someone maybe he has some sort of leverage whereby they’ll complete his work for him if he’s out getting drunk which he usually is. if tht sounds like ur character is naive n could be coerced, hit me up

people he knows on a very superficial and base level in the fact that their only interactions together involve doing coke off someone’s sink and stumbling home in the dark. otto’s a massive hedonist. if he were a greek god, he’d be a mix between dionysus and apollo, but he has achilles’ vanity.

#heretics:intro #heretics:ooc #throws my boy out into the wind x #hope u lov him as much as i do #sorry i will mostly be using medium gifs in his threads cos his icon resources are sparse x

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whatwashernameagain · 6 years ago

Text

Keep him safe - Chapter 24

You can read the previous Chapters here: Ch 1, Ch 5, Ch 10, Ch 15, Ch 20, Previous Chapter, Ao3 Link, Lo’s, Pat’s and Virgil’s aesthetics, Fantasy AU You are Magical, I’m dying to be with you

Pairings: Logan/Patton, Roman/Virgil

Words: 11.695

Warnings: mentioned violence, abusive relationship, emotional abuse, panic attack, references to prostitution

Summary: Detective Logan Sanders and his best friend and dorky partner Roman Prince have made a dear friend in the lovely pattisier Patton. Logan however feels a lot more than friendship for the sweet man, even though he knows he cannot possibly have him. Their routine is broken abruptly when Logan finds bruises on Patton’s fair skin and slender wrists he could hardly have received from his costumary clumsiness. Meanwhile his partner Roman has his own demon to fight, which comes in the form of a little delinquent who seemed to have been pulled into a street gang quite against his will. Roman is determined to help the strange young man. It would be so much easier though if he just stopped hissing at him!

Notes: This chapter follows the one-shot ‘mine to protect’ which you can find here. Also, this chapter is gay. Very gay. Lot’s of caring and talking. A cameo of one of my favorite humans and Patton makes a friend that gives him a helpful perspective. And I added pictures as an example.

Chapter 24

Waking up this morning with the aftereffects of crying until you had no tears left was not fun. The slight residue of a tension headache, as well as a really parched throat greeted Virgil. Groaning, he rolled over, only to realize that the sun was up high. Shooting up with a curse, he dislodged Cat, who howled in shock and rolled right off the bed with a dull thud. Darn, that raccoon had grown round quickly.

Blindly pawing at the blankets Logan had heaped on top of him, Virgil came across a piece of paper. Scanning it with sleepy eyes, he couldn’t help the groan that escaped him. Fucking mother-hen of a detective!

Logan and Patton had apparently ganged up on him by giving him the day off, turning off his alarm and abandoning him to Roman’s idea of a relaxing day. Running his hands through his tangled locks, the young man wished he could just – not be here, or at least hide under the covers all day and wallow in his guilt. The sudden stab of pain under his ribcage, the flash of helplessness, of misery and terror, helped him understand just why Logan had chosen to torture him with Roman’s attention. If he stayed in here and marinated in the memory of Remy standing before him, taking charge to protect him, almost dying under his friend’s hands, the fear he’s felt, the realization that his life, the violence he’d grown used to, that had seeped under his skin along with the constant coldness, would follow him everywhere – it would eat him up and send him right into a proper panic attack and that would not be pretty for anyone. With a sigh that made his chest flare with discomfort as if his ribs were newly broken, he got up to see what the moron had in store for him. He was sure to hate it.

“You can’t be serious, man!” Virgil screeched. His voice was higher than usual and his hands were itching to curl into claws. His old fight or flight instinct told him to kick Roman in the shins and run. Preferably screaming at the top of his lungs. Unfortunately, Rosa had come along too and she was sure to just catch him and throw him over her shoulder. He absolutely believed she could.

Talking of Rosa Diaz… Virgil turned wide, disbelieving eyes on her. “Why are you here? This doesn’t sound like a place you’d be found dead in.”

The Latina gave him an unimpressed look, raising a single eyebrow. “There’s nothing wrong with getting pampered. We deserve it.” She answered, voice monotone and unembarrassed. “Also, this place is magical.”

It sure looked like it. And gay. It looked really gay. Virgil wasn’t gay enough for this place. He tried to make a run for it.

“No.” Rosa said simply, grabbing him by the arm.

Virgil had faced down men twice his size armed with knives and worse, had climbed into stranger’s cars when he’d hardly been an adult and had gotten on his knees in dirty alleys out of necessity. He’d grown hard and lean and tough as leather and hissed in the face of adversity, but Roman had to coax him across the threshold of Hairstory Studio like a terrified kitten. The whole place was huge and bright and covered in black and white Polaroid pictures to create a comfortable retro look and it looked expensive. A dirty street rat like him did not belong in here! Roman, with his tall build, his confident posture, his perfect skin and dazzling smile was right at home here. Virgil was a creature of the shadows and was not supposed to put a toe of his scruffy trainers into this place. They’d sneer at him and scoff at his clothes, his hunched shoulders, his – everything.

“It’s alright, Virgil.” Roman crooned at him. His green eyes were very warm, as were his hands as they enveloped his thin, pale ones. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I know this is not the kind of place you usually frequent-”

“Because I don’t belong here!” Virgil hissed frantically. The detective’s eyes saddened.

“I can see that you feel – unsure about this idea, but I promise I shall be there for you every step of the way to aid and support you. I only want to show you a different part of this city, and perhaps help you find a different side of yourself. Not that you need it! To me, you are utterly perfect in every way, but I wish you’d be able to enjoy yourself a little more.”

Fuck him. Fuck him and his earnest desire to help. Fuck his big, gentle hands and his caring expression and hopeful eyes.

“Roman, this is nice and everything, I guess. But I don’t- I have no business being here, I can’t begin to pay for that sort of shit and I don’t want you paying for me!” He added hastily. He hated accepting charity. The fact that Logan wouldn’t budge on the rent money Virgil tried to pay him already made him itchy. He claimed it would be illogical, since he didn’t pay any rent either and he wanted Virgil to save the money for himself. It would be the ‘fiscally responsible thing to do’. Fuck him too.

Fucking Roman fucking Prince was very good at persuading him with his puppy dog eyes though, pretending to want this for himself and to want Virgil there for his enjoyment and looking so fucking sad when he tried to bolt… fuck him.

Somehow he ended up entering this ridiculously clean studio to have a – a spa day. Ugh. The worst thing was that he saw the necessity. Kind of. Roman’s hair had been growing much like an untrimmed garden those last few months and it had become longer than he’d ever worn it before, falling into his eyes constantly and almost brushing his broad shoulders. It needed to go. Similarly, Virgil’s hair, which had never been as well kept and tended to as Roman’s, had grown long and annoying. He kept blowing it out of his face and getting tangles into it. Tangles which bothered Logan so much that he kept running his fingers through the locks to fix them with obsessive neatness. The nerd. The worst was the color though. The raven roots had grown in several centimeters and the purple had grown pale from washing. Even Virgil had to admit that it needed a trim, though he would have just bought a package of dye in the supermarket and some scissors. This was a place he wouldn’t have entered in a million years. Especially if he’d known he’d get assaulted by a long-haired, very gay man.

“Oh my god, Roman is that you, hun? You’re like, the most gorgeous thing I’ve seen today and YOU BROUGHT ROSA OH.M.G I’m so happy you’re like, in my humble shop to be a badass fabulous goddess, c’mere, I wanna smooch you!” The brunette cried, hugging and kissing them both as soon as they’d rounded the corner. He was perhaps the gayest man Virgil had ever seen, with his brunette hair that was straight as silk and the heels he was basically floating in. Aaaaand he’s spotted Virgil.

“Gasp, who is this lovely little angel? I can’t even tell you how much I’m in love with you right now!” Before the young man could attempt to get away, the other was all over him, messing up his hair and tilting his face up. He froze, wide eyed.

“Nooo, Look at you adorable doll, like a little baby-guinea pig with anxiety. He’s so scared!” He even mimicked a nibbling rodent. Rude! Then he smiled at Virgil.

Ugh, it was the sweetest, most genuine look. Like he really, actually liked the young man right away. Virgil glared.

The man squealed.

Hopping up and down, he giggled about Virgil’s adorableness before pulling him in fearlessly to give him the – admittedly – most unwelcome and yet sweetest hug ever.

“Come into Jonathan’s arms, honey!” He chirped. Virgil felt loved. Reluctantly.

“Told you, he’s magical.” Rosa muttered contently.

A screech right next to his ear made the young man flinch and itch for a knife. Too high! These gays were too loud, too high! The young man yearned for the protection of his hoodie. Unfortunately it was currently weighted down by… oh. He’d gotten so used to carrying the fat and ill mannered raccoon around in his hoodie, looking like a voluminous fur filling, that he’d completely forgotten it was there. In a very tidy, very expensive saloon. He’d known he shouldn’t be here, they’d get Roman kicked out of his favorite place and he couldn’t live with the shame of ruining this for him. He already felt the uncomfortable heat rise under the thick fabric.

Jonathan wasn’t deterred though. What was is about fabulously gay men and that trash panda?

“Oh my god THAT’S a raccoon!!! This is like the greatest day ever I’m gonna swoon, catch me, Roman! Oh my god can I hold hercanIholdher AHHHHH SHE LICKED MY HAND OH MY GOD THIS IS LIKE THE GREATEST THING THAT’S LIKE EVER HAPPENEDEVER!!!”

Cat was the talk of the town. She got pulled from his hoodie, handed around, brushed and kissed and bathed in the shiny sink while the others were herded to the comfortable chairs to get their hair cut. Instead of hissing and biting, the contrary beast slubbered around the bubbles and purred loudly while delighted hairdressers massaged her. Jonathan was lost for about twenty minutes, cutting fur into shapes, drying said fur in stylish ways and then posing for selfies with the diva-beast.

“Yeees, work that camera, bitch! Oh yes, you’re a heart-breaker, gimme stripes, gimme claws, gimme sharp teeth and pitch black eye-shadow – yes, yes, yes!” He chanted, making kissy faces at the glossy, poofed up animal. By the time he finally found time to attack Virgil’s messy locks, the former gang member had grown lightheaded with laughter. His face was hurting and he felt giddy and completely unlike his usual self. Jonathan seemed determined to carry his bright and cheerful feelings over into his looks as he pulled and brushed his hair enthusiastically, keeping up a stream of chatter.

“Shut up, I’m obsessed with you, your hair is gorgeous! You’re gorgeous, stop stealing my heart!” Soon, Virgil was helplessly laughing at the outrageous compliments, spurring the other on even more, judging by the happy glow in his eyes.

“Oh you’re so small and feisty, like a bitey little raccoon - striped and, like, giving me I’m sharp toothed-I’m gorgeous and I know it-Imma scratch you-back off vibes - complete and utter perfection!”

And admittedly, he even did a great job. His hair was softer than he’d ever felt it before, bright and unapologetically purple. Short in the back with just the right length to fall over his eyes and let him hide when he needed it. Virgil couldn’t stop running his fingers through the downy softness. It complimented his pale complexion and made his skin look elegant instead of unhealthy and pasty. Amazingly, as he settled onto a comfy sofa to wait for Roman, he felt just a tiny bit… beautiful. This gay hairdresser really was magic. As he finally got Cat back however, he found they’d dyed a shiny golden spot into the fur at the tip of her tail and they were going to have words about that! Once Cat stopped vibrating in his lap. She wasn’t even hiding under his hoodie.

The last of his tension from being touched by strangers melted from his shoulders as he petted Cat’s fur (soft instead of shaggy and perpetually stick from stolen baking) and observed Roman in his natural element. He obviously loved being taken care of and made pretty. The flirting of those two was outrageous.

“Roman, baby, honey, those shoulders! You’re like, a real, actual prince and I wanna marry you, take me now, I’m yours you big, strong officer of the law. Such a hero! Look at you, busy saving the world, stealing hearts, like.a.boss. Like fricking Christ Hemsworth with all of that gorgeous hair Oh my god!”

“Dearest Jonathan, your professions humble and delight me beyond words. Especially since you grow fairer every day, I would die for you my lovely damsel! I’d defeat a dragon and pick the stars to be allowed to gaze upon your flamboyantly perfect hair and your make-up – simply radiant! What is your lip-gloss called?! I must have it!”

Jonathan blushed, giggling adorably. They were sickeningly cute.

While they flirted, the long-haired man made his magic happen. Pulling the too long locks this way and that contemplatively, he suddenly pulled out a razor. The cold dread that flooded Virgil was quite the surprise. He couldn’t shave off all of that gorgeous hair though! The caramel mane, shiny and thick and perfect, featured in all of Virgil’s most secret and more than a little terrifying thoughts. Rosa laughed at him as she felt him tense.

The young barista started biting his nails miserably as Roman obediently tilted his head forward and the hair started tumbling to the ground. As it turned out, not all of it though. The chatty hairdresser pulled off a stylish undercut of downy, soft hair that left a mop of large, shiny curls on top of Roman’s head that fell into his face just right and could be combed to the side to look like his head was full of pretty curls.

“And when you go like, chasing the bad guys and fight like batman you just go – wooop! And pull it all up to make this sexy, super cute bun and make all the guys and gals and everyone else fall for you.like.a.model! Gorgeous. Get out of here, you’re perfect!” Jonathan explained, halting his grooming briefly to snap his fingers sassily. Cat snapped her jaws to mimic the motions. Oh dear.

And fuck, he was right. It was a sexy bun. The hairdo brought out his perfect cheekbones and highlighted the shape of his face and was just a little bit punk and wild and Virgil found it insolently, impossibly hot. Roman’s bright grin and shining eyes made him look more handsome than he had any right to and the way he squealed with his friend… Virgil felt warmth pool deep inside him, deeper than the heat Roman’s beauty awoke in him. This wasn’t fair! Just as he’d thought he’d gotten used to Roman’s impossible brand of attractiveness, he went all punk-hipster on him and made him loose all control over his thoughts. The worst was that he’d challenged him to come to this place he’d thought he’d be thrown out with insults on his heels and he’d actually had fun. He’d been accepted even with his scruffy clothes and washed out dye and the fat, mean raccoon queen. He’d learned something new and experienced something wonderful and it was all due to Roman. He helped him out of his shell and pulled him kicking and screaming into the light with him, where things were warm and glittery and beautiful. Roman shared this beauty he radiated to selflessly, so joyfully and kindly. He gave him a place in a world Virgil had believed he’d lost the right to more and more with every ugly, disgusting and painful deed he’d done.

As the detective twirled in front of them, happy and confident and demanding praise and attention, slowly, a realization settled in. The detectives were here because they wanted to be. Victor was locked away, they didn’t need to protect him any longer. It was over. He was free to start a new life. A life where Roman grabbed his hand and complimented his dazzling hair and Cat’s delightful golden fur and where he got pulled along to get his bitten nails and Cat’s claws manicured and where he only had to fight the care and love to keep up appearances of his threatening persona because he wanted to instead of the need to survive. A life in the sun.

*************

Logan was starting to understand Virgil’s dislike for hospitals as he made his way through the brightly lit corridors. The smell of antiseptic spray was more prominent than even he could comfortably handle and the neon lights above droned on in an irritating, low hum. He already missed the warm sunlight.

Bringing his little delinquent here was definitely out of the question. Considering how protective Remy had been of the young man, Logan assumed he would not have taken kindly to a visit either. No, it was best to let the therapist rest and allow Roman to look after their young one until Remy was ready to see him in a less stressful atmosphere. There was no reason for Logan not to finally pay his old friend the visit that had been long overdue though. He only wished he weren’t this nervous about it. Of course, there was no logical reason to be anxious, since it could hardly go as baldy as his attempt the day before where he’d found his friend bleeding on the floor. He would simple extend his best wishes, deliver his present as was dictated by social rules and engage in the expected length of small-talk for approximately 15 minutes.

Oh Tesla, what was he supposed to talk about for such a long time?! Considering the relativity of the perception of time in uncomfortable situations, a quarter of an hour could metaphorically feel like a lifetime and it had been so long since they’d last talked. Logan had no idea whether he still knew his friend well enough to have anything to talk about, he wasn’t even the same gender as last time and what if he didn’t like his gift? He couldn’t insult him after he got shot while taking care of his Virgil! He hadn’t felt this awkward since the first few weeks of working with Roman. Would it be cowardly to hope the other was asleep when he arrived?

Unfortunately, Remy had no intention of depriving Logan of the joy of finally spending time with him and giving him all the attention he had definitely not missed, no ma’am!

“Logan! Get the f- in here! You, like, never visit me in here, I don’t even know why I try!” He howled before the detective had even finished knocking.

“You have only been here for a total of 26 hours.” Logan informed him stiffly as he slipped through the door.

“Um, Ye-es! And how many of those has my adoring sidekick spent, like, weeping at my bedside – not that I care or whatever!” Remy complained, crossing his wobbly arms with a lot of flair and uncrossing them just as quickly with a hiss of pain. Finding himself unable to strike a pose or even take a sassy sip of his non-existent cup, he felt a very justified pout coming up. Where had the girls put his shades, he was so naked! Spotting only the bright blue plastic ones with the bunny ears attached to the side that Rena had brought him, he gave up with a sigh of acute misery. Nothing would ever cheer him up again, his life was over!

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose at being confronted by a display that was so – Rebecca. She – he, was all drama once again and the detective shuddered with horror at the thought of him spending time with Roman. Did he really need another friend who insisted to call him their sidekick?

Spotting the dark shades Remy had been looking for half buried under the very soft blanket displaying a large-eared, blue cartoon creature that someone had draped over him, Logan fished them out of the pile of fabric. Upon finding the object of his desire dangling from the other man’s fingers, Remy lit up brightly. He made sure to school his features into his usual mask of disinterest quickly, but Logan had seen and verdammt, yes, he needed another friend like him. Why did his illogical emotions insist on attaching themselves to those strange, dramatic individuals?

Perhaps because they made his heart warm whenever their face transformed with happiness every time he did something to show his affection. Remy was certainly growing enthusiastic, since he’d spotted the little package Logan had been half hiding behind his back, nervous of its reception. Was he assuming too much about their history by giving something that referred to an incident that had happened so far in the past? He was not getting out of this one though.

“Hand it over, missy! I deserve PRESENTS!” The therapist wailed as if he’s been abandoned without food or hope in a dark hole in the earth, conveniently ignoring the dozens of pictures drawn with brightly colored crayons hung around his room and a stuffed pink bear adorned with tiny sunglasses still tucked under his arm.

Sighing, Logan revealed the clear plastic box, holding it out for grabbing hands (and patiently waiting as they missed on the first try, his friend clearly was still medicated).

The therapist stilled in concentration, pushing down his shades to squint at the small print on the label – honestly, why would he not simply use glasses, he’d refused them even in the gifted-camp. Logan felt his palms sweat in nervous irritation.

A giggle escaped the other man that was too high for his figure, but oddly fitting nevertheless. The detective released the breath he’d been holding.

“This is, like, the worst gift!” Remy crooned, waving the package in lieu of a cup.

Feeling his lips curl helplessly, Logan remembered their first genuine conversation with more than a little fondness. His lip had been bleeding all over his tidy polo-shirt. He’d been quietly listening to Rebecca rave about the stupidity of boys, pulling her hair and telling her to play with dolls and giving her flowers. The boys of the camp appeared to have felt motivated by her dismissive attitude towards them and had made it a game to win her over with bad flirting, unwanted attention and the very same vegetation that was now lying crumbled in the mud before them. Their pink petals had rained down onto the ground since she’d used them to beat off her annoying harassers.

Logan had felt sorry for her quickly, considering how uncomfortable the young girl had felt upon being followed around and pulled and prodded. A very – unfortunate incident following the flowers had spurred the young nerd to step in. Certainly, he’d done very little but get punched in the face, but upon being confronted with resistance and a witness, the other boys had fled.

Rebecca had hardly needed his protection, Logan had been certain of it. He’d never seen someone stand up to others so bravely and made sure to tell her so. She was strong in his eyes, and the shaking of her hand as she handed him a tissue for his lip didn’t diminish that.

They’d sat in the grass together until the bleeding stopped, just talking to each other. As Rebecca had torn apart the leftover stems of the poor red campions that had been unfortunate enough to grow close to boys nearing the peak of puberty and stupidity, she’d groused angrily that flowers were the worst gift ever. What was she supposed to do with plants she couldn’t eat anyways? ‘Flowers are no f-ing use to me unless they’re edible. Frigging useless vegetables! All straight and arrogant and fake. Boys are stupid.’

Now, he gleefully pried open the box of edible flowers, pulling out blue pansies, yellow and orange sage flowers and purple violets.

“The worst!” His eyes were bright with unshed tears though. They settled into a comfortable atmosphere afterwards, trading memories and sharing flowers to munch on despite the doctor’s exasperated warning.

Unfortunately, the therapist did not intend to let his long lost friend off the hook that easily. He leaned back in the mountains of pillows that had been stacked behind him, looking like the cat that got the cream and making Logan’s hackles rise.

“Soooo, princess. You thought she was an effing cat?”

Feeling a flush spread over his cheeks, Logan cursed his pale complexion. He cleared his throat, adjusting his tie for good measure.

“Considering the less then ideal circumstances as well as the poor visibility inside the narrow confines of the container we discovered...”

Remy started cackling with nothing less than malicious glee.

The detective growled at him, annoyed at being interrupted in his defense of his very reasonable assumption.

“You’re a riot, gurl! You’re lucky you found that sassy lady. She’s, like, the best!”

“I believe the raccoon to be male, actually.”

Remy raised an eyebrow over his shades before trying to catch a flower with his mouth. It landed in his hair. “Trust me, darling. She a queen. She’s basically my spirit animal or soulmate or whatever. We’re made to kick butt together!”

“Certainly.” Logan agreed, deciding such unreasonable assumptions were best handled the same way he dealt with Roman’s poetry about Virgil’s hair. Remy was not fooled as easily though. Pinning him with an attentive look, he went for the kill.

“How is my darkling patient doing?”

Logan stilled, feeling his throat close up with worry. He’d spent most of the past night holding Virgil and reassuring him until he’d cried himself out and calmed down enough to sleep curled around the raccoon. Despite having seen to his care as much as he was capable, he’d still released him to spend the day with Roman with the utmost reluctance. The poor thing had been through so much and blamed himself for all of it. Though with the capture of Victor, the worst threats were behind them, the relief was slow to come.

“Roman has taken him on a spa day in an, I fear, rather misguided attempt to provide a distraction from the previous events. Your conversation yesterday appears to have eased some of his worries.” Quietly, he added, “Your support has been a great help to aid his recovery. I am – grateful, beyond any capacity I can express.”

In an uncharacteristic bout of seriousness, Remy gave his friend a little half smile. “Doll, I am the greatest therapist of all time.” After settling down more comfortably and frowning at the cup on his bedside-table (water, ugh), he nudged the detective’s thigh with the plushy that had previously been buried under his right elbow.

“Talking to me is, like, magic, didn’t you know, darling? Maybe you should try it! You’re too worked up right now, I can’t operate with you like that!” He complained, gesticulating towards Logan’s straight back, his too still posture. Though his fear of interacting with Remy had subsided, his worry hadn’t. He should be with his little troublemaker right now, make sure he and his partner didn’t fight and prevent his foolish friend from getting hurt. And he definitely felt like he should be there for Patton. He was a civilian, soft and sensitive, he should have never witnessed a shooting. He should...

Fingers obnoxiously snapping in his face brought him back to the present. Remy looked pissed. “Do not ignore me!”

“Apologies.”

“There should be! Apologies!” Remy huffed, hugging Remy-bear under his chin with a pout. “Seriously though, do spill! Entertain me!”

The invitation was tempting. Fear had been eating away at him for months now and he sometimes felt like the weigh of his family’s hopes and expectations threatened to drag him under. Still, he couldn’t. Remy had been shot and really didn’t need any additional baggage, no matter how curious and eager he looked. Conversation had always come easy to them, Logan remembered. Being the same age and just as intelligent as Logan, though less prone to showing it, Rebecca had been an excellent companion. Remy however, was currently recovering-

“Do not patronize me, you hooligan!” Remy howled, seeing his reluctance. “You, babe, have the regrettable tendency to take everything onto your own less scrawny than they used to be shoulders and have no one your age to talk to. Roman is f-ing cute, I give you that, but you won’t burden him, he’s your pet. Virgil is, like, your baby, you sap. And Patton is the center of your problems, you poor fool. So, spill!”

Well, he’d never been able to deny any of his friends, even if they insulted him quite rudely. He was certainly no sap! Unsurprisingly, it took a father of a pair of wiggling girls to understand the constant fear Logan felt for his beloved family. Like they’d been so many years ago, Remy’s dark eyes were warm and patient, inviting a stiff and insecure kid to sit and share his thoughts. As he exposed his innermost fears and problems and listened to his friend’s own in return, he knew he’d do anything for this sassy mess of a person. Nothing had changed between them. Even after all those years, talking to Remy felt like belonging.

**********

There were twelve of them. Their stems were tough and unyielding, securely carrying the leathery blossoms wrapped around each other, colored a deep, unapologetic red. They were bred to perfection, each and every one of them looking exactly the same, meant to last as if they were made from wax or shiny fabric.

He’d placed the roses on the counter next to the till, arranging them evenly. Many a customer had already commented on them, calling him lucky to have received such a romantic gesture or commenting on how beautiful they were, on how good they smelled.

Patton didn’t feel lucky and he was ashamed to say that - well, he didn’t like them.

He thought they looked dead, as if they weren’t flowers at all. So tidy and stiff and even. Nothing was out of place, no flower dared to grow with anything but symmetric perfection. Even the smell felt somehow fake, like too strong perfume.

A single wildflower or lilac stem or messy blooming weed from a field like a bunch of foamy white cow’s parsley, even a dusty little daffodil with its bright yellow petals appealed to him so much more. He liked how they smelled, how they felt under his fingertips – so alive and soft and delicate, how they rained petals and bright yellow sticky pollen everywhere. Such fearlessly messy little plants, imperfect, unruly and real and living. These flowers were so... they were given with love he guessed, but they lacked personality. Emotion. They didn’t fit into his cafe and they didn’t fit him.

Logan had gotten that.

Patton’s heart somersaulted as he remembered the day Logan had shown up in his colorful space, flushed and awkward, nervous because of little old Patton. He’d barely been able to look at him, speaking too much, too quickly. He’d been anxious about his reaction. He’d wanted him to like his gift. The flowers he’d brought him for no reason other than to help him and make him feel good. Not to apologize or to fix anything. Just because he’d wanted to give Patton pleasure. The butterflies in his stomach made a giddy feeling rise in him. They were excited at the memory of Logan’s tall presence before him, his gentle, large hands cradling wrinkling, brown paper, his voice sounding deep and just a little bit unsteady. Because of him.

His mind cast him back to the silky softness of the petals, the awed, rising feeling of mattering to someone. Logan was listening to him. He cared for what he had to say. It was a heady feeling. To be listened to instead of silenced for his lack of competence or a lack of interest. It was even more than that, though. Without needing to be told, Logan had understood what Patton needed, what he wanted even. He’d thought about what he’d enjoy. The flowers he’d picked had been selected with his taste, his needs in mind. There was so much tenderness in the gesture.

Unseeing, Patton walked past the stiff vegetation Trevor had an unknown delivery-man sent here. His mind was cast back to the way the colorful, mismatching flowers had spread their sweet scent in his cafe for a whole week, warming him inside. To the way Logan’s eyes had brightened when he’d seen him, adorned with flowers, like he was something precious. Sometimes, Patton felt like he’d gotten something wrong. Like a heterosexual man who just cared about a friend would not treat him with so much – appreciation. Logan’s touch lingered on him so often, brushing his back, his hip, catching hold of his arm or cradling his hand, his eyes followed him around whenever he worked, his attention rested on him. Yes, he was a caring, protective man and gave his all to affection to Roman and the kiddo, but the way he treated Patton felt so much more…

He sighed, his chest tight with longing.

It just felt like more. Like it meant something to Logan. Like it meant as much to him as it was starting to mean for Patton. The thought both frightened and amazed him. It made him hopeful, yet also scared, guilty, insecure and distracted. He wished- he wished he had someone to talk to. His whole life seemed to be turning on its axis, turning him round and round and leaving him dizzy with possibility and terror.

By a stroke of luck, he’d been saved from his growing fear and uncertainty by the arrival of his new acquaintance Emile and his utterly delightful little twins. They’d been at the hospital for a few hours, doting on Remy and spoiling him, before the lively attention had worn the injured man out and they’d left him to sleep. Since the kids were far from tired themselves, Emile had thought of Patton and chosen to have a look at his famous cafe. And it was wonderful!

The children were so precious, showing them around and feeding them with his most colorful creations helped take Patton’s mind of the difficult evening that had followed the long wait at the hospital. He piled his favorite cookies covered in white frosting and colorful sprinkles high on their plates, delighting the girls, and to Patton’s great happiness, their father as well. Adding his most adorable sugar cookie mittens adorned with pink and white royal icing, Patton decided that at least for today, the little family should have all of the sweet treats they deserved. A few additional pretty cake-pop surely wouldn’t hurt….

The fact that Emile seemed as enthusiastic about the cheerful baking as the little ones simply warmed Patton’s heart. He’d gotten so many complaints from mothers who disliked him offering the things that made him happy to the children that he’d grown a little cautious, but the blonde young man was currently devouring his cake-pops with the same enthusiasm the girls displayed. He’d even managed to get his whole face sticky with sugar and frosting. With great dedication, Rena picked up the crumbs tumbling into his lap and onto his shirt and fed them to her sister sitting on the other side of him. They were so pure, looking at them made the sensitive patissier tear up with yearning. Their relationship was exactly what he had always wanted. Emile and Remy had looked so happy with each other, so trusting and relaxed, and Emile was just the kind of father he had always dreamed of being. And he was so kind to Patton! The ladies from the knitting club had immediately included him in their group upon spotting him. Before he’d been drawn into a conversation about the pleasure of flowery embroidery, he’d told the baker how much his daughters admired his work. Before Patton knew it, he’d been allowed to have the girls all to himself and bake with them. Nothing could quite calm his mind than the enthusiasm and unassuming affection of children!

Redmond, who was not shy to complain noisily, had thankfully been supported by the little street musician with the pink hair he’d picked up in front of his shop. She’d been so tiny and adorable and so quiet and her hair was so pink and he’d liked her singing that he’d asked if she wanted to help out. Additionally, she’d brought her adorable bulldog. Patton loved those! Their faces were so squishy and they always looked so lost and wrinkly and drooled everywhere. Poor Redmond had started raving about health violations and hygiene immediately, grabbing a mop and a lot of disinfectant. Must be the medical training. The patissier failed to see the problem though. The baking was protected by the class of the counter and there were no pets in the shop at all today, since Virgil had been snatched up by Roman to have a spa day and thus hadn’t brought them in. He’d been getting disappointed complaints as day!

After about an hour of baking with the help of clumsy little hands, he realized that his kitchen had never been that messy. There was flour and sprinkles everywhere, crunching under his feet and on his sleeve and even getting in his hair. Patton loved it! The girls were so easily affectionate with their curious hands touching everything- the flour, the dough, his sweater and face, wanting to be picked up and held on his hip while they decorated the pastries and low-sugar, whole wheat cookies he baked with them. If he’d teach them something, at least he should make an effort to make it look like his baking wasn’t handing out diabetes like free candy.

His heart was feeling less heavy as he helped balance the tray of baked goods outside to ‘show Papa what we made, he’ll love it, da-ing!’ Polysyllabic words sure were difficult to say around growing teeth. Thankfully, the stress of the last day that had still put some well concealed tension in the blonde man’s shoulders had eased with good conversation and the sound of laughing children. He smiled at Patton gratefully, sincerely thanking him for his efforts and asking him to take a break to chat and get to know each other. Since the ladies were ready to be on their way, saying goodbye and patting his cheeks (and other places in Mrs Van der Beeks case) and the kids had found the toys in the corner, Patton agreed. As it turned out, Emile was, much like his children, exactly what the baker had needed. His face was open and friendly, his voice cheerful and kind. He was so easy to talk to, and Patton was in desperate need for someone to confide in. When he asked about the roses, it was just too hard to shallow his feelings like he usually did. Shamefully, he caved.

“Trevor gave them- sent them to me because of a – a little row we had yesterday. That’s really sweet of him, isn’t it? He didn’t have to do that.”

“Hm, I guess so. Investing effort into a relationship is what makes it a strong fusion after all. What makes you say he didn’t have to do it?” Emile asked, casually curling a leg up under him, putting his socked foot close to Patton’s thigh, offering contact but not pushing. A cheerful underwater scene was depicted on them. His tone was light, curious. Patton fumbled with his tea bag, wrapping the string around the chipped handle.

“Because… our fight was my fault?” He mumbled, hunching his shoulders. He shouldn’t be pushing his issues on this nice man!

Emile smiled encouragingly though, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Oh? Now that doesn’t sound like just a little row anymore. And I don’t think a fight can be the fault of only one person, any imbalance usually comes from both parties, don’t you think? Trevor seems to agree, or he wouldn’t have sent you those fancy flowers.”

“Huh, you’re right.” Patton mumbled, looking at the crimson petals only for a moment.

“You don’t sound so convinced. Why do you think he gave you the flowers?”

“I… I’m not sure.” Patton sighed, running a hand over his face. “To – to apologize, I think.”

“You think? Is there anything he needs to apologize for?” Emile inquired, watching Patton attentively. His eyes were soft and kind. Something about this man felt so welcoming, like he genuinely wanted to listen and soothe. Still.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about this.” Drawing back, Patton made to get up. He’d never felt this urge to just spill everything. To lay everything bare. It was something he’d trained himself out of wanting, for the protection of his relationship.

“Now wait, that is a load of barnacles!”

Grabbing his soft sleeve and raining sprinkles on the couch, Emile pulled the baker back down so their shoulders were touching.

“You shouldn’t feel bad for talking about your feelings to someone who just wants to be there for you! Communication is healthy and important and you are not only helping yourself with it, but your partner as well. Discussing your issues is a way of working on a relationship, which is what your boyfriend is doing in his own way with the flowers. Making yourself feel better by getting support is not bad or selfish. Trust me, I won’t tell. I promise.”

Patton deflated. He knew he was wrong to push his issues on this nice man, but he was just so confused and conflicted. And perhaps he was right. He was overwhelmed by the situation and felt like he was about to make a grave mistake if he couldn’t get his act together. Perhaps he really needed help.

“You really won’t tell?” He asked. His voice sounded small. Trevor had always told him to speak up if he didn’t want him to ignore Patton, he wasn’t a child, but he couldn’t help it. Emile didn’t seem to mind though. His smile was as warm as sunshine.

“Of course I won’t! This is between you and me and it will be fantastic! Let’s have some storytime to fix the issues with your fusion!”

“Our – fusion? Like in Steven Universe?” Patton asked softly. The moment the words had left his lips, he felt a mortified flush climb his cheeks. He liked to watch cartoons about loving and tolerant characters when he was safe and unheard in the kitchen, to cheer himself up by seeing their affectionate relationships. Surely Emile would scoff at him. The other man’s face broke out in the biggest grin though.

“Oh my diamond, exactly! I love that show with all my heart! Enthusiastic Emile – activate!”

Geeking about cartoons was the best, aside from the girls trying to dye his hair with flour. Before he knew it, they were talking about more then fictional relationships.

“It’s so understandable that he was mad at me after I got home so late again, and I even forgot to call him again, he must have been so worried. This sort of thing keeps happening so often lately and it’s all my fault, I’m so distracted by other things and- ugh, I don’t know. I am such a mess and he was so mad and he screamed at me – and he was right to! And I should feel lucky, because the fight didn’t get out of hand like I thought it would – I expected it to but he kept his promise and I should be grateful, but I – I wasn’t.”

Emile listened attentively, making a mental note about the way the patissier had expected worse than being yelled at and was apparently surprised by the fact that it had not come despite a promise.

“Now your feelings surely had a good reason and they should be valued and listened to. What did you feel instead?”

His mug of tea had gone cold, but Emile was very much warmed by a fire for the hunched young man before him. He wished someone would give him a hug like Remy always gave him when he came home. He was much more of an affectionate limpet than his husband, but got indulged anyway. Sometimes he’d just jump into his arms when he entered their place and let the other carry him around until the kids made them topple onto the couch. Patton meanwhile did not seem to know what to do with the sort of feelings he seemed unused to.

“I, ohgosh... I got angry at him.” He whispered, half in fear and half in surprise at himself. The unfamiliar feeling had just welled up in him so suddenly, he’d been so tired and so relieved, but still shaking with adrenalin at what had almost happened to him, it had just burst out of him. For a moment, he’d just seen Trevor so clearly, and he’d looked so… ugly. So selfish. The memory still made his heart race, even here in his safe space.

“Didn’t you think of how much I’d worry?! Didn’t you ever think! Your forgetfulness hurts me!” Trevor had hollered, his pale face growing blotchy and red. He’d been leaning over Patton, getting closed, cornering him, his eyes wild. The smaller man’s pulse had hammered in his ears, his hands had been shaking. For the first time, he’d felt more than icy fear though. The stress of the day, the images of the loving couple still fresh in his mind, the selflessness he’d witnessed, it forced him to see the contrast to this situations, to the ridiculousness of his petty tantrum, in shocking clarity. Suddenly, his frustration felt like no wall could hold it at bay, no fear or insecurity, no terror of the consequences. Everything just broke out of him.

“Hurt you – I almost got shot today!! Remy almost died, why must you make this about yourself?!

He’d felt like liquid fire was consuming him. He couldn’t believe it. After so much tragedy, he was here listening to this! And yet he knew the moment the words had left his lips what he’d gotten himself into. He’d never spoken to Trevor, to any man this way before. He’d lose control over this provocation. He always did, despite his promises. He’d promised never to grab him too hard after the first time, and a year later he’d shoved him into a wall hard enough to rattle his bones because he’d unintentionally flirted with another student. He’d promised never again to shake him hard enough to make his head crash into the cupboard after Patton had forgotten to look at his phone and missed nine of his calls and eight months later he’d backhanded him across the face, making chis cheek swell and grow purple. He’s promised to never slap him again and barely half a year later he punched Patton so hard his mouth had filled with blood and his head had felt like it would split in half because he’d made a naive joke that had insulted him. He’d promised to never do it again and just a couple of months later he’d kicked him in the abdomen so cruelly, he’d blacked out for a few seconds. Patton had forgotten to lock their front door. He’d sworn to never hurt him again and the very same month, the baker had broken a plate and Trevor had dragged him to the bedroom for the first time and pulled his belt from its loops, mad with rage because of his believe that Patton intentionally failed to respect their home, burning the sound of cracking leather into his mind and his skin.

He’d promised things would be different, but they wouldn’t be. He’d beat and break him again and yet Patton couldn’t bring himself to regret his words.

However, upon being confronted with aggression rather than submissiveness, rather than fear, Trevor stopped in his tracks, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Instead of ducking his head, Patton braced himself.

Trevor didn’t raise a hand.

For the first time, Patton saw him backpedal.

“I’m not making this- how could you say something so- so cruel?! You almost got killed today, I’m only worried about you! About what could happen to you! I was never thinking about myself, like them! Those people keep endangering and hurting you and I am terrified that next time, you’ll be the one in the hospital! Do you think they ever thought of that?!”

In between the indignation, anger and outrage, he’d looked – afraid. It was an expression that weighted Patton down more than any shackles made of metal ever could.

“Why did you get angry?” Emile asked, pulling Patton out of his thoughts. He was grateful for it. The unexpected turn of events had left him more shaken than any beating he could have been put through. Just as he’d believed he’d finally understood Trevor, he changed. This moment, more than anything, he’d expected him to loose his temper and break his promise he’d tried so hard to believe in. But he hadn’t. He’d finally, finally changed his ways and Patton should be filled with happiness, with hope. This was what he’d been hoping for for years. Instead he couldn’t seem to find that endless well of forgiveness that had never failed him before. Neither could he stop thinking about the things he’d learned from the people Trevor claimed had hurt him carelessly. The protection and unending patience the detectives had offered to sweet, brave Virgil. The undemanding affection they treated each other with. The loving, domestic relationship of Remy and Emile. The way Logan spoke to him, touched him, looked at him, listened to him. It was like he couldn’t look at Trevor the same way again. Like he saw him through the filter of his new-found experiences, and it wasn’t pretty. Suddenly, it wasn’t the man who always knew best, who knew the way when Patton failed once again or who tried to fix Patton despite the trouble it caused him. In the face of his shifting world-view, putting his jumbled thoughts into words was hard, especially considering poor Emile had been through so much!

“Well. You know what happened yesterday. I should be comforting you! It was so horrible, I’m so so sorry you had to go through that!” Patton lamented, turning wide, sorrowful eyes on him. Emile melted. This baker was like a real life Steven Universe!

“Oh no, I’m fine, Patton. It’s all good! I got all of the cuddling and talking I needed and you were already there for my husband! Let’s not get off track here, I wanna know why you got mad, and don’t apologize for your feelings! They are valid and this is a place without judgment.” He promised, placing his now cold cup down and cupping the other man’s flour dusted hands in his. The baker bowed his head, blinking back tears and hiding under his light-brown curls.

“Okay, if you… So, I was pretty tired when I got home, so much had happened and he just got into my face and started complaining about how he’d waited and how I’d made him worry and how I never thought of him since I started spending time with Logan and the others, and I just suddenly felt so… so furious.” He sounded like he barely believed the words himself.

“I know I was wrong and he was right to be frustrated with me!” Patton hastened to assure the other out of habit and duty. And he did now all that. Trevor had been treated terribly by him the last few weeks. He’d failed him time and again and especially after his confession he should be trying harder. He should be working on his relationship like Trevor. There was so much he should do – but didn’t really want to. Retelling his evening made tears of frustration burn in his eyes and guilt burn in his stomach. Emile was understanding though.

“It’s okay, and I can absolutely see why you reacted that way. It’s a perfectly natural response and you were right to point out how you felt.” He hastened to reassure him. As a councilor, he’d come across his his fair share of difficult people, but this one sure sounded like a lot of work! The poor patissier before him looked like his whole life was falling apart before his eyes and he had no idea how to handle it. It made his heart ache uncomfortably. He itched to hold his girls. To be held by Remy while they curled up in his lap. He’d noisily complain about his day, entertaining all of them with stories about the trash panda queen until they were laughing again.

“You two have been fused for a pretty long time, haven’t you?” He mumbled, brushing his thumb over the back of soft hands.

“Um -yes? We got together while I was training to be a patissier, just after I finished high-school. It feels like after a while, he was everything I had, everything I could rely on. And I always wanted to be everything for him. I wanted to make him happy more than anything.”

“That’s… very selfless of you.” Ouch. Seeing Patton this way, shoulders hunched, expression twisted with pain and uncertainty, felt like a punch in the gut. Still, it couldn’t be helped.

“And… do you think it’s a stable fusion?”

Patton froze, pulled his hands back. His guards were up so suddenly, it gave Emile whiplash to see his expression close off so suddenly. The councilor was not surprised. A likely abusive relationship like this one usually found ways to preserve itself, through threats, manipulation or the feeling of helplessness and obligation.

“What do you mean? Of course it is!” The baker answered lightly. He intertwined his fingers in his lap, smiled at Emile like all was well. As if they were talking about the weather. There was a storm of emotion behind his eyes. How often had he felt he’d need to draw back from someone trying to help him?

Smiling kindly and tentatively reaching out for his hands, Emile tried to reestablish contact, tried to bridge the distance and barriers Patton had taught himself to erect at any sign of danger. He wasn’t shaken of as the cramped digits were gently unwound and held.

“Well, do you feel like it’s a fusion like Sapphire’s and Ruby’s? Where your strengths and weaknesses complement each other, where you each contribute to the happiness of the other and both do everything for their partner and you can’t bear to be apart because you both create something better than the sum of your parts when you’re together? Like Garnet?”

“I can’t break up with Trevor.”

The words were spoken with a tone that was so final and hopeless, it made a leaden weight drop into the blonde man’s stomach. Patton’s eyes looked so – defeated. Ouch again.

He stilled, analyzing the statement. He dearly wished for his pen and paper. ‘I can’t’. Oh my diamond, that was less than ideal.

“I could never ask you to, Patton. I’m just here to talk and be there for you, alright?” He promised, knowing he’d have to give the other space or he’d try to escape a threat to his fusion as he’d been conditioned to.

They waited for a long, tense moment. Neither seemed to know what Patton would do next. He should leave, thank his new friend for the chat and get back to work. He should smile and bake and go home and preserve his relationship like his mother had taught him. It was the most important thing in his life. ‘We have to keep everything together, be strong and forgive him and protect the family. It’s the right thing to do. What else are we supposed to do? We cannot be alone and we must not leave him alone.’

Yes. Trevor was his to take care of. You didn’t just leave your partner. You couldn’t. Trevor couldn’t be without him.

He drew a deep, fortifying breath, steeling himself to send this man back to his perfect life, to go back to his own.

His gaze fell onto the flowers.

They smeared a spot of blood-red onto the soft pastel of his cafe, out of place and painful after having seen so much blood the day before. And suddenly Patton knew why Trevor had sent them. It wasn’t because he’d wanted to apologize. He did feel sorry for hitting him, for losing his temper every single time, Patton knew that. He saw how he beat himself up over his loss of control. But he hadn’t sent them because he’d felt sorry for being demanding, selfish and manipulative the night before. He hadn’t. He’d sent them to appease and keep Patton.

Without warning, the slight baker felt cheap and hurt and used. Trevor didn’t regret using him, blaming him, demanding more and more and more from him. He hadn’t sent the flowers out of love.

Emile waited, keeping his hands open and welcoming where they loosely held onto his new friend’s. An invitation.

“We’re not like Garnet.”

Mortified tears unexpectedly fell onto their joined hands. A quiver shook the young man as pain drove into his chest like a sharp, unforgiving shard of crystal. His relationship was falling apart before his eyes, his whole life with it. He was nothing alone! He’d never been alone! This was all that mattered! Everything he’d worked for – for years – it turned to dust before his eyes, bitter, wasted, it hurt. Oh gosh, it hurt so much. The realization that he was trapped in a building that was falling apart, spiked with cutting glass that was hurting him wherever he turned, that was nothing like what he’d tried so hard to make it seem made him fall into a pit of despair. Oh no, no he couldn’t handle this, he was falling apart-

Emile grabbed him quickly and pulled him in. Though he was just as tall as Patton and nowhere near strong and big enough to envelope him like Logan did, he held on like his life depended on it. Like Patton’s pain felt like his own. A sob broke free, muffled by a pale pastel cardigan. The young baker held on, trying hard not to fall with the pieces of his life that were dropping away beneath his feet. He felt so hopeless. Everything broke apart and he was bound to the rubble, tied to the ruins, crushed under the pieces of what he loved. The weight of his failed goals pressed onto his chest, constricting his ribs and his heart. He couldn’t breathe. The terrifying lack of oxygen brought his world into sharp, cruel focus. The tension in their flat, the anger in Trevor’s eyes, the anguish and guilt after a fight that had left Patton’s skin torn and his bones cracked. This was what he had fought and bled for? Everything tasted bitter, everything hurt.

Wait, not everything.

He tasted sugar.

Surprised, he blinked his eyes open, his vision blurry with tears.

Between him and the kind father holding him, a blonde little girl had squeezed her tiny body and was currently trying to feed him cookies with a determination that couldn’t even be stopped by her embarrassed father.

“No Papa, let me! Cookies make happy!” She groused, shoving the sweets into Patton’s face insistently, making him sticky all over.

“And braids!” Rena chirped behind him. There were little hands pulling his dusty hair a little too roughly.

“Ahhh yes, I know, babies, but this is a grownup thing, okay?” Emile stammered, frantically trying to save the man in his arms from both a panic attack and an all out love assault.

The sound that escaped Patton was a sad mixture of a laugh and a sob, breathless and half crazy. He wrapped the little girl into his embrace, getting frosting into his hair, and held on. She harrumpfed and tried to hold the cookie out of reach, getting it snatched up by her helpful sister. Sticking it into her mouth for safekeeping, she tried to climb the back of the couch for better access for braiding. Emile tried to hold onto both his crying friend and prevent his little angel from braining herself on the back of the couch at the same time. Darn it, he should be used to this kind of balancing act by now!

A helpful customer showed up and grabbed a hold of the squirming little worm, balancing her at the risk of unraveling her own headscarf. Oh Rena, please stop flailing so much!

A slobbering bulldog, barely held back by a pink haired girl, showed up next to join their sad cuddle pile, getting drool all over his precious trousers and – ahhh barnacles! It tried to climbs onto the couch with them! Emile was not buying a dog, ever! As more concerned people gathered, loyal customers, all of them, Patton seemed to come back more to himself. Though Emile felt quite overwhelmed and had rather shielded the poor thing from so much attention, Patton seemed to find something other than shame in his public breakdown.

Yes, he felt stupid and weak for falling apart so pathetically, but Logan and Roman had taught him that accepting comfort was no shameful thing. And he was starting so see that he had comfort. He had a life outside of his broken down relationship. He’d even built it himself. He was home.

The teen who always came in with his skater buddies awkwardly put down a glass of water before him he’d gotten from Redmond and his favorite soccer mom was looking at him with nothing but compassion, wringing her hands in agitation. The stock brokers who came all the way from their job to get his pear and frangipane pastries were worriedly standing around their table, clearly not knowing what to do but still wanting to help. And Emile and his kids had all but wrapped themselves around him. And then there were all of his friends who loved him, even when they weren’t there. He wasn’t alone. It wasn’t so bad. It would be okay. He knew where to find the strength he needed to take h- to take to the flat he shared with Trevor.

Wiping his eyes and gratefully taking the tissue the overweight owner of the nearby jewish bookshop handed him, he gave the crowd around him a brave smile.

Calming down had taken a little while, but eventually they’d managed to send the worried crowd back on their way and even the children back to their corner with their new friend Fatma. They’d insisted on braiding his hair a little more though. Carefully, Emile was now unbraiding the tangled locks, letting Patton lean against his side as he did. There were still issues he wanted to address.

“So, what happens now?” The young father asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Patton sniffled quietly. His breathing was still a little uneven, broken by occasional hiccups after crying so hard. He’d pulled his legs up, hugging them to his chest, making himself very small. The question made him tense fearfully. As if driven by a guilt he’d been carrying around with himself for a long time, his response spilled from his lips in a terrified rush.

“I’m sorry – please don’t be mad at me, I know you must be frustrated, and you expect me to – but - but I - I cannot just leave him. You don’t understand! I – he’s trying, and I have to try as well. You don’t just leave your partner! He kept his promise to me and I have to keep my promise to him!”

‘To never leave him.’

“Hush now, it’s okay.” Emile soothed, drawing Patton close. Curled up like that, he felt as tiny as his baby-girls. “I said I wouldn’t ask you to and I won’t. I’m not judging anything you do and I’ll be here not matter what. We all will be, don’t you think?”

Yes. Virgil had shown him that he accepted his situation, that he’d still be his friend. Even Logan, who he knew hated his relationship with a passion and anger only he possessed, had not pushed him again.

“Your relationship reminds me a little of Malachite in some aspects.” Emile added carefully. “You at least don’t seem very happy with it and you’re both trying really hard to hold it together for different reasons, even though it’s wearing you down. You feel responsible for him, don’t you?”

“I am.”

He sounded very final. Getting the message, Emile steered clear of the topic.

“Okay. So you won’t let your fusion come to an end for your own sake. That’s okay, it’s your choice. I wonder what it is like for him though.” He asked softly, trying to make Patton see a position beyond his self imposed sacrifice. “Do you think he’s happier in the fusion than before?”

The simple question got the patissier thinking. Of course he must be happier, people belonged in relationships, and Patton was doing everything for him. He’d pick the stars from the sky for him, he’d even let him step over his back if he wanted to get them for himself. They were together, so things were as they should be, as Trevor had promised they’d be as they’d become a couple. Patton hadn’t expected things to be to different from how they were now, he was used to the tension, the effort, the pain from growing up with his parents and had never been with another. And Trevor had expected… he’d expected them to be happy. To do everything together and fulfill their dreams, to create the successful business he’d always dreamed of as a young man, fresh faced and charming. He’d been so sure it would work and his belief and enthusiasm had drawn Patton in. Yes, he’d had some problems with his confidence, bouts of depression and insecurity, but he’d always tried to pick himself back up, to improve and work on himself.

And then he’d stopped.

The longer they’d been together, the more he’d started to let his anger take over, to push things onto Patton, to blame him for his moods and failures and cease trying to find fault in himself. He’d let his partner feel the weight of his problems, his moods, stopped holding back. And now… Patton didn’t recognize him as the brave, hopeful young man he’d once been. And he realized...

Their relationship had broken him.

Patton froze.

Everything seemed to come to a standstill as the understanding sunk in that them being together hadn’t been a good thing. It had hurt both of them. Trevor had grown secure in his right to act however he wanted. It had taken down his inhibitions, his need to work on his mental problems. He’d stopped seeing himself as the reason for them, since there had always been an easier target around that had never fought back and had submissively taken the pain and punishment, that had invited the anger.

All of his suffering had been for nothing. He’d made it worse.

There were no tears left to cry. Emile’s voice was far away as he got lost in the numbness that was his mind. The lights around him dimmed, the sounds blurred together. It was all too much.

As he came to, finally, the shadows cast by the sun had grown taller, and he found himself lying on the sofa in his office. Emily and Rena were nestled like a knot of limbs in the crook behind his knees, fast asleep. Steven Universe was playing on Emil’s phone. His new friend was sitting before him, looking worried. He’d just shut down.

Patton allowed himself a few minutes to adjust and allow his thoughts to run their course. It was a slow process. His whole body was filled with a tiredness that went beyond physical exhaustion. It was too much to process, all he wanted to do was be somewhere safe where he could simply hide from the weight of his realizations, from the fact that he had to come to terms with the monumental damage he had inflicted, from the understanding that he needed to choose consequences. For a moment, he closed his eyes and let his mind take him where nothing bad could touch him. He was on a soft couch, nested between pillows and cushioned by loving bodies and furry animals. The sound of pages turning next to him reassured him of his safety, of being watched over. How he wished everything about Trevor could just vanish. Then he could be there. Be with them. With him.

Pressure squeezed his throat shut, making his swallow hard. Fleeing was not something he could do. No, he had to move on. He was the strong one and would find a solution. He always did. He tried to gather the things he’d learned, tried to see the good in it as he did in everything. They had problems, but they now understood what they were. Perhaps that could actually give them a chance to do what they were both already trying to do.

Yes. With a burst of strength born from desperation, Patton vowed to try and fix things for them! He saw the problem now, he realized finally that they were both unhappy together! He wasn’t alone and it didn’t have to be them against each other, they both wanted their relationship to work, it was the only thing Patton knew what to want, perhaps they could try to make it work together! He needed to talk to Trevor, he was ready to try, he knew it! The fact that he had not hit him despite the multiple threats to their partnership had proven it to Patton, there was a chance! They’d go to couple’s therapy together and try one last time! Yes, they could fix it, like his mother had always wanted to with their father. He had a chance to do what she’d always wished for, and he’d do it for her.

****************************************************************

Kudos to all of you who spotted Jonathan from Queer Eye. You treated yourself to a wholesome show full of love and acceptance.

So, this has been a long time in the making, but Patton is getting there. We’re in the hot zone now, I promise!

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! I always want to know how you feel about the chapters and love talking to you <3

Sources of pictures: Wildflowers, Roman’s hair, cake pops, cookies, mittens

Next Chapter

#Logicality #Prinxiety #Remile #Detective AU #Keep him safe

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literaphobe · 6 years ago

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i was tagged by @romanticcstylez !! (legend)

rulez: list 10 songs you’re currently obsessed with and then tag 10 people

Rough - GFRIEND (i was really into this song like a year or two ago?? but then i randomly thought hey,, i haven’t heard this song in a while so i put it back in my playlist and the rest was history im obsessed again this song makes me feel like im in a field of dandelions and its kinda snowing a lil and i should be dancing and also clocks are ticking THAT BEING SAID the actual meaning of this song title in korean is ‘running through time’ how do u get ‘rough’ from running through time?? wtf man who translated this shit but yeah rough is the official english title and did i mention that this song is about a bunch of girls yearning to tell their crush that they like them but they either keep missing their chance or get too scared BUT in the music video there are no men around?? and at the end all the girls get real happy to see one another and they’re riding bikes and shit anyway i assume its a song about a bunch of girls who are in love with girls but are too afraid to tell them bc wlw cowardice and it makes sense bc the song makes the world out to be a lot tougher and scarier than it would be for a straight couple IN CONCLUSION i like this song and therefore its gay)

Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea - Fall Out Boy (FUCK ANYONE WHO DOESN’T THINK THIS IS THE BEST SONG IN MANIA- im just kidding, i mean, it’s the best, but that’s a personal preference for me?? i love this song so much i want it playing always i could listen to only this song forever and i’d probably be okay with that?? like this song is a drum storm and it’s yelling at me and i LOVE it love the yelling v v good there’s also some french?? wordplay shit idk so that automatically makes it sexy it makes no sense yet is also v deep?? is it deep?? who knows. in writing this very pointless explanation as to why i like this song THE ONLY THING THAT’S EVER STOPPING ME IS ME HEY sorry i’ve listened to this song like 3 times already while slowly typing all this out and oh my god it goes so hard!!!!! it goes so fucking hard i love it i love this nice thick and hard song!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! it deserves a music video im so mad like its so fucking good when mania dropped FOB didn’t give me no warning they didn’t prepare me with a random mv that made no sense and gdi STAY FROSTY ROYAL MILK TEA DESERVES AN MV also im naming a fic after this song word for word hgdfjghadjf i should stop tldr this song makes me feel like i can take on the world i feel so powerful when i listen to it also i listened to it like a fourth or fifth time i think hoo boi)

The Ballad Of Mona Lisa - Panic! At The Disco (SAY WHAT YOU MEEEAN TELL ME IM RIIIIGHT AND LET THE SUN RAIN DOWN ON ME come ON this song is so fucking good!!!!!! its creepy how good it is it makes no sense in a way but it speaks to me so hard!!!!!! it’s like good!!!!!!!!!! like the bells?? esp in the beginning and throughout the whole song tbh also the drums and like the drum buildup to the chorus was SICK and so was brendon urie yelling in song at the top of his voice that i enjoy recreating i’ll stop here bc i can’t keep fucking making these so long)

Emperor’s New Clothes - Panic! At The Disco (if it weren’t for this song i would have said that the ballad of mona lisa is my fave p!atd song but alas here lies a sick banger!!!!!! got sick lyrics that i haven’t analyzed but it got sick beats!! okay given the way i explain why i like this song it seems like i don’t even like it but i do okay!!)

All Falls Down - Alan Walker, Noah Cyrus, Digital Farm Animals (god i got some weird nostalgia shit attached to this song?? my sister first got me into it when we were on vacation in Finland and the thing is i usually don’t care too much for being abroad like places are just places and no matter how dope or wild a place is i put it into a ‘cool concept’ box and i tuck it somewhere in my mind and at the end of the day i’m glad i had some experiences but i like being at home-- BUT whenever i listen to this song i think about being in the bus in finland and it’s a long ride so it’s quiet but i’m listening to this song as i stare out the window and look at the snow dusted trees that pass me by each of them unique and beautiful and something i can’t help but anticipate;; i think about that time we were in this supermarket and i bought a ton of candy and the song came on over the speakers and me and my sister got so excited i think about how the sun set at 2 in the afternoon because we were deep into winter and i remember holding onto my dad as we drove through a crazy snow that was kinda stormy on this KTV like thing and it felt like there was no one around for miles and we went really fast,,,,, and a part of me feels like i’m there again, i’m still there, yet i’m here and i want to go back?? cold as shit but yeah i always feel Finland™ when i listen to this song so i can’t bring myself to skip it!! also its like a heck of a bop)

Earth - Sleeping At Last (what i love so much about this song is that i discovered it on accident?? i was listening to venus by the same artist at first and then earth came on and when it ended i was blown away. venus is also a good song that has a very sweet beginning but it doesn’t speak to me like this song does which i’ve heard someone say is about global warming?? which is hilarious anyway FAULT LINES TREMBLE UNDERNEATH MY GLASSHOUSE BUT I PUT IT OUT OF MY MIND LONG ENOUGH TO CALL IT COURAGE TO LIVE WITHOUT A LIFELINE I BEND THE DEFINITION OF FAITH TO EXONERATE MY BLIND EYE TILL THE SIRENS SOUND IM SAFE sorry god thats so good i love this song i was playing it one day while we were playing mahjong and the rule is if u win a round u get to play ur music on the speakers until someone else wins and my sister told me ‘do u have to play this song it sounds so depressing’ and god that just made me love this song more bc she’s right it has this Sad vibe but in a way it also goes hard?????)

The Last Of The Real Ones - Fall Out Boy (this song is sadly lower on the list than it deserves to be but thats prob bc i am not as into this song as i used to be STILL it is a VERY good song with a wicked piano beat in the beginning and before frosty dropped this was my favorite song in mania and honestly i’d easily still consider last of the real ones the second best song in mania?? song is very good and i like to think that it’s objectively very good so i don’t think it’s just me who likes it!!)

Death Of A Bachelor - Panic! At The Disco (THERES A REASON URIE NAMED THE ALBUM AFTER THIS SONG!! its bc it a good song and its just so?? raw?? just pure brandon doin his dope job, pulling those wack vocals and making me go wowza!!)

Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This) - Eurythmics (i wouldn’t say i’m obsESSED with this song its just i put it on my playlist and i can’t remember why but i like?? can’t skip this song it’s just good and like wow its good)

Dragostea Din Tei - O-Zone (SHUT UP DON’T JUDGE ME)

anyway i’m so sorry for bein so extra i didnt need to be yet here i am doin a tag game after 28594940 years so here are the people who im forcing to at the very least glance at my bullshit: @chelseperetti @fourdrinkamy @linettithelezbian @distractingchildishmarriage @juliadorable @bisexualinetti @jakeperalta @beatcopjake @startofamoment @proofthatihaveaheart

#tag game #feel free to talk to me about any of these songs #or these artists #also if i didn't tag u that doesn't mean i don't love u i just ran outta slots

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thomasvanboening · 7 years ago

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Reader Beware (Full Story)

By Thomas Van Boening

Gamma Psi Sigma had been the last place left to pledge, I thought as the frat boy tied the blindfold. It was clear to me that getting into a fraternity without some athletic ability was going to take some doing. The campus had an unofficial religion and athletes and coaches were living gods around here.

“Alright, dumbass.”

One of future hazers addressed me, yanking the collar of my shirt forward.

“What’s your name and why should we let your scrawny ass into our elite society?”

I felt his breath. It reeked of pizza and halitosis. He was definitely a football player considering he pulled me upward for half a second. “My name is Jack Fields. I am studying to be an artist and I could contribute to make Gamma Psi Sigma the most bad ass house on fraternity row.”

“We don’t usually take faggots.” Another frat boy said.

Just hearing the word made me cringe. Always hated what I called ‘the other f-word.’ Keep cool. This is just the usual hazing initiation, I thought. I felt bad for Kevin the most at the moment. I knew somewhere in the blind darkness of this ritual he heard the same thing and his bisexual nature was likely very pissed.

“I can ensure you that this house can win the homecoming parade, have rad posters for events, and I can help all in the house with their required art classes that you find to be bullshit!”

I then felt the sting of a wooden paddle hitting my ass. I winced but didn’t yelp.

“Shut up, Fields.” The first frat boy said. “Art classes are the cakewalk of college. You are taking the weak way out with the arts, while we will be the elite and strong mother fuckers that you will be working for as long as your weak dumb ass will live!”

I couldn’t believe I was putting myself through this stereotypical malarkey. Yes being in a fraternity would solve a few problems and would finally get dad off my back. It just sucked that this was my last option since no other fraternity let Kevin and I in during rush week.

“We’ll come back to you, queer-bait”. It was so hard to differentiate who was talking to me with the blind fold on. The guy who just spoke had a knack for dropping homophobic slurs like old southern trash drop n-bombs.

“And what about you, fat fuck?” The frat boy said. “Who are you and what could a sack of shit lard ball like you do for the best house on campus?”

Keven was standing next to me last I saw, but now I could only guess the fat fuck he was addressing was my best friend from high school.

“I-I-I…” He stammered. It was still Keven next to me on my right. “I am Kevin Gries –“

“Grease?” The frat boy cut him off. “Grease is right. You’re so fat, your skin is practically glistening with grease. You little pig.”

“I am Kevin Gries and I and am in the Engineering program. I could use my knowledge of engineering and physics to aid your ball players and other athletes.”

“Physics don’t make better players, practice makes better players.”

‘Doesn’t’ make better players, I thought. They could do well with an English major in the house too.

“You think just because you’re smart, you can be in here?”

“We both could keep the house GPA high.” I said boldly.

There was no retort outside of another smack to my butt.

After we heard more of the same for about a dozen of us, we were escorted into cars from Gamma Psi Sigma house. I imagined this was another part of the initiation, so I thought I made it through the first round of this machismo rite of passage.

I knew Kevin was in the back seat with me. His breathing was always heavy, whether he was calm or nervous. “We’re gonna get through this.” I whispered.

After about 15 minutes, it could have more it could have been less, I felt the car stop and the engine shut off.

“Alright fuck-tards.” The frat boy said. “Time for your baptism.”

The door opened beside me and I felt a strong hand grab my shoulder and pull me out. I heard the sound of leaves crunching and felt the occasional stick break beneath my shoes. I could only guess I was in a wooded area outside of town. The air was cooler, and it felt like it rained recently.

After walking I was forced to stop by my escort, whoever he was. I could hear running water nearby, like a creak or stream.

“We have come to the last part of the initiation, you little pricks.” A frat boy said. I actually recognized the voice. It was Richard Malcom, the president of Gamma Psi Sigma. “You will take your baptismal and should you pass, you shall be welcomed. We are looking for 12 pledges, and I see 20 of you sacks of shit before me.”

I heard the scuffling sound of another pledge getting dragged. The darkness was becoming almost unbearable as I just wanted to know what the hell they planned on doing in this baptismal of ours.

“Strip.” I would hear Richard say.

There was a moment where I heard the recruit rustle out of his clothes. It was at this time I smelled something awful. It smelled like we were downwind from some farm because it smelled like the shit of some animal. Cow or pig shit maybe.

“Grab him.”

I heard a slight struggle, but it sounded like the recruit was thrown into the water. I then heard a shriek from the kid. “Holy fuck, it’s cold.”

“Welcome to our brotherhood.” Richard said. “You are a Gamma Psi Sigma member now.”

The process was repeated a few more times. After more people complained of how cold the water was, a few kids were dismissed as failures.

Then it was my turn. I felt to guys grab my arms and lead me forward.

“This shit is taking too long men, let’s start doing this two at a time.” Richard said.

“Alright.” The homophobic frat boy said. “Let’s get the next two, and the new deal with the two faggots and then we can go home and get laid.”

I heard two of the guys ahead of us get their initiation, and it sounded like both of them were welcomed into the fraternity.

I had kept count. They said they were looking for 12 recruits, and they had dismissed eight of us and accepted ten. That meant that all Kevin and I had to do was take a cold dip in the water.

Then I felt the arms grab me again.

“Strip.” Richard said.

I took off my clothes. The night air was very cold against my skin. Even though I was blindfolded, I made it my business to hide my shame.

“Alright. Grab them.” Richard said. “The final initiation of the night.”

I noticed the stench again as I was walking. Something doesn’t feel right, I thought.

“Oh by the way.” I heard Richard say as I was hoisted up and made parallel with the ground.

I heard him say nothing else. Just felt my body fall as they dropped me into the water.

I gasped right before I was submerged. I was under something alright, but it wasn’t as nearly cold as I thought it would be. And it was thick. It was the shit I smelled earlier. They dropped me, and I presumed Kevin, into a vat of shit.

I stood up and screamed and the thought of anything getting in my mouth or up my nose made me puke.

“We only needed ten recruits this year. Sorry to break it to you sacks of shit.” Richard said.

I took off my blindfold and it was I saw all of the flashlights pointing at my body covered with varying shades of brown shit. The laughter made my embarrassment intensify.

I then saw Kevin struggle to get up. I immediately tried to help him up. He was so slick with feces and god knows what else that he slipped from my grip and I lost my bearings. It wasn’t shallow by any means, it was essentially a normal swimming pool filled half way up. I then slipped on top of Keven as I tried to move.

“Oh look, the two gay-wads couldn’t wait to go at it!” The homophobic frat boy shouted to roaring laughter. I finally recognized him as Roy Frost, the halfwit baseball player that carries the team. An urge to shove a Louisville slugger up his ass came across my mind.

“Fudge for the fudge-packers. It fits perfectly.” Some unseen new initiated kid added.

I wanted it just to end. More than anything I just yearned to turn back time and tell myself to just take more loans and pay them back after college. More debt would be infinitely better than being doused in crap from head to toe.

The worst part was I could see half of them getting cell phones out, undoubtedly to take photos. It wasn’t enough to haze us, it wasn’t enough to reject us, and it wasn’t enough to embarrass us in the worst way possible. No, they had to ensure that our lowest moment of me and Kevin’s lives was preserved, likely on the internet already, curated forever for anyone to see.

“Let’s go boys. We got a long weekend ahead of us.” Richard said. “But before we go I have a parting gift for no hard feelings.”

I saw a fire extinguisher being pointed at both of us. I braced myself.

“Get lost, you shitheads!” Richard shouted. “Gamma house has no place for the weak.”

The fire extinguisher was the coldest thing I ever felt. I couldn’t do anything but shudder and shout. They all left us. I saw that there was a creek glistening in the moonlight. “Come on. Let’s get rinsed off.”

“It’s freezing cold.” Kevin said.

“I know. But we’re going to get some foul disease or something.” I said. “The sooner we wash off, the sooner we can get back to the campus.”

The creek was only waste deep, but it was enough water to get started. It came off quicker than I thought. But I felt globs and dollops of feces rinsing away. When I was halfway done, Kevin finally worked up enough gumption to get in.

“I hope there aren’t any leeches, like in Stand by Me.” He said.

“Not a good time to mention that.” I said. I wanted to laugh, but I remembered a young Wil Wheaton and the exact scene he was referring to when a leech saw fit to start sucking on his privates.

“Can you get my back?” Kevin asked.

“Yeah I can.” I said.

The best was getting my face cleansed. I no longer smelled like a pool of shit. Thankfully it was just a vague stink of shit, like I worked on a farm for a long day.

“We’ll shower off the rest when we get back..” I said.

“They took our clothes.” Kevin said. I could tell he was on the verge of crying. I had to admit, I was close to blubbering myself. I’d heard of extreme cases of hazing, and I could only blame myself for trying to pledge to the archaic fraternity system.

We walked through the woods. I stepped on several acorns and sticks, and I knew Kevin didn’t fare any better. Each one hurt a lot. After about a half hour of stumbling into trees and freaking out with the sound of nocturnal wildlife, we finally found our way to the road by listening to the occasional sound of a car or truck running by on the highway.

“Which way should we go?” Kevin asked.

I looked to the sky. It was partly cloudy with the full moon, but I managed to find Polaris really quick. I knew where north was, but I had no idea if the assholes from Gamma Psi Sigma took us to the woods north or south of town. I saw two faint glows on the horizon in either direction. The fainter one to the southeast was more likely to be the small college town.

“We’ll go south.” I said.

Neither of us said anything while walking on the rough pavement. Kevin was only muttering two words under his breath, thinking that I couldn’t hear him.

“Never again.” He would repeat occasionally.

About two hours of walking we saw the outskirts of town. My guess was right, thankfully. It would have been very awkward to get a cab from the other town. My cell phone was in my stolen clothes too, so I couldn’t even call an Uber. It was just as well. I would have felt bad to sit in someone’s car and get cow-shit all over.

For about three hours we walked on the wet road. Any time we heard a car coming, we would stop and squat in the ditch to make sure we were never seen in the bare, or worse by the Gamma Phi Sigma assholes if they returned for more kicks.

We saw the clock in town square that it was 4:03 a.m. I was beyond cold. Even in the dim orange street lights, we both looked pale.

We made it back to our dorm. We pressed every button until one of the other students buzzed us in. Thank Christ that Kevin left a key to our room behind his Star Wars poster on the door. For once I felt the force was with us that tonight.

I looked into my mirror and I looked terrible. Pale white skin covered with the occasional blemish of dirt and dry crud. How we weren’t seen was the only real miracle. I took a hot shower and under the noise of the running water I finally broke down and cried. I felt no shame being an 18 year old man being driven to tears.

I thought about everything that happened over the last few hours. I don’t know what I expected. Fraternities are notorious for being a magnet for douchebags and hazing incidents only get worse and worse each year. But this prank, this baptism of shit was the most unforgiveable thing I’ve ever heard of happening to anyone.

Do I report this prank? I thought. Of course I do. This was disgusting and morally reprehensible.

I didn’t sleep well at all, although Kevin slept like a snoring log. He did talk in his sleep. The same two words: Never again. I was surprised he could sleep at all. We probably walked about ten miles of walking, more than we had walked any day of our lives.

I thought to get breakfast at the college cafeteria, but I just got a Pop Tart out from under my bed where I hoarded food in a tote. I didn’t want to see anyone from Gamma Psi Sigma, or any other fraternity for that matter.

The rest of Saturday I spent my time in the dorm until supper time. I could eat my junk food and snacks, so I went to the cafeteria. I tried to convince Kevin, but I gave up after one attempt.

While walking through the campus, I could hear other students giggling and talking softly whenever I went by. Did they know? Had they seen the pics taken? Did word get around about him and Kevin being submerged in shit?

I got my supper and sat at an empty table. The overcooked and bland chicken with corn giblets and Mountain Dew was delicious enough, but I couldn’t get over the thought of what my hands were coated in only the day before. I felt like showering again and again.

“Hey shit-for-brains!” said Roy Frost. “Looks like you turned up… or should I say “turd up?””

“Leave me alone.” I said.

“I get it.” He said. “I’m not your type. You and your fudge-packing butt-buddy are a cute couple anyway.”

I wouldn’t suffer him anymore. I got up with my half eaten food and took my tray to the dish washing conveyor belt.

I then went straight to campus security after getting Kevin. We got to the office, only to see a tall fat slob picking his nose. We reported our situation and all he could do was give us a form to fill out.

“Your frat house and sorority shenanigans get weirder and weirder every year.” The security guard said. “I will report this and we’ll talk with Gamma house about it.”

“That’s it?” Kevin said. “That’s all you can do?”

“From what you say happened, it sounds like it happened off campus. If it happened off campus, there really isn’t anything I can do. These fraternities do a lot of crap off campus or outside their houses so they all get the alibi of not hazing on campus, because our College has a no-hazing policy… on campus. You want to follow through, be my guest and go to the city police.”

“We will.” I said. “And we’ll be glad to let everyone know that we got the run around with you especially after what they did with us.”

“Not on campus, not my problem that you stupid kids feel like acting like savages.” The security guard said.

“Sorry we took time away from your nose picking.” Kevin said as he stormed off.

We did follow up with the town authorities. They asked us for proof of this. We couldn’t produce the location of where the hazing took place, and we both had done an amazing job cleaning up and not getting caught naked on our cold voyage back home. This felt like the whole town was against us and was acting like hazing was just something that people do and there is no reproach to be had for the college.

After a few days of trying to find a sympathetic soul and coming up with nothing, I gave up in sheer frustration.

“Never again.” Keven said.

I got so tired of hearing him saying that. I knew what he was thinking; retribution and revenge. I knew he wasn’t going to go the same path as Seung-Hui Cho or Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. Kevin has a good soul, I thought. But how much pushing does it take to manifest revenge from fantasy to reality?

By the end of September I was still plenty pissed, but I was trying to leave it alone and not make waves. Kevin wouldn’t stop dwelling on it and not leave it alone.

“Look, I know what they did was terrible,” I said. “And yes I wish the town wouldn’t turn a blind eye to the obvious hazing that has happened, not just to us, but to countless students that have come and gone. I just want to put my time into this place, get out, and not get into any more trouble here.”

“Being in the middle of the road is the most dangerous part to walk.” Kevin said.

I hated to think about it, but he was right. We did have to do something, but what?

September turned to October and midterms were coming up. I was doing fair in my art and design classes, but Kevin was doing poorly. I warned him that he needed to worry more about getting put on academic probation or worse getting kicked out of college for poor grades.

I helped him study for the midterm exams and he helped me in return with art projects. He did fair on his exams, while I did awesome.

One afternoon during midterm break Kevin had looked better than he had since the hazing. “You have to check this out!”

I had to humor my best friend. So I went with him. He took me to the library and we went into the stacks in the basement and showed me an odd book. We sat at a small table at the end of the row of stacks.

The book was like something out of a cheesy British horror movie starring Christopher Lee or Peter Cushing. It was bound in black leather and had yellowed pages and looked like it was ready to be put in the Smithsonian.

“So what is it?” I asked.

“It’s a book on the old Occult and a history of covens in early colonial America.” Kevin said. “I am doing a research paper in English Composition, and I picked to do a project on the Occult.”

“Okay, so it’s an old dusty book.” I said. “So what does this mean?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He said. “Just look at this page here.”

“Reader beware.” I read from the book.

“Not that.” Kevin pointed. “This here! This, this, is our ticket to revenge.”

I saw an illustration for some archaic symbol and a cartoony reptile coming from it. It looked like my older brothers dungeons and dragons books.

I knew he was waiting for me to actually read the passage.

“Here you will find the rite of incantation for the beasts.” I read. “The parallel realms of the abyss and the ethereal are obtainable through proper use of this spell. For protection, call upon the ethereal, and for ultimate revenge, call upon the abyss.”

“So how does the idea of Gamma Psi Sigma finally getting theirs sound to you?” Kevin asked with a huge grin.

“This sounds like you are reading a crock of shit, Kevin.” I laughed nervously.

I then heard a rustling sound under the table.

It came from Kevin’s backpack. I dragged the bag and hoisted up on top of the table. It rustled again.

“You want to see something to believe something?” Kevin said. “I can provide your answer with proof.”

I braced myself to what I was going to see as Kevin unzipped the top of his backpack. He then reached in as I heard the growling of something small.

“I read ahead and I summoned a beast of the abyss.” Kevin said. “Check this out!”

He pulled out of his bag a pink animal of some kind. I looked at it and it was some kind of lizard or reptile. It looked like a chameleon, but there was a set of horns on its head, large eyes like a lemur, and a long thin tail like an opossum.

I placed a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. “Holy fuck, what is that thing?”

“No clue.” Kevin said. “It doesn’t seem to mind me so much. It is probably grateful to be in our material realm again.”

I reached out to touch it as Kevin held it. I just about regretted that when the little creature did a quick snarl and tried to bite my hand.

“Hmm.” Kevin said. “It doesn’t seem to like you so much. Let me try something.”

He placed a hand on the head of the monster for a moment. It looked like he was trying some kind of Vulcan mind meld, or something.

I didn’t like this at all. A whole minute earlier, monsters were just something out of ghost stories, horror movies, or comic books. But here it was, looking right at me in the face, and I still couldn’t believe that a monster in the flesh was in front of me.

“Try again.” Kevin said. “This little guy only knew me as its master, and now I told it that we are both its master.”

I hesitated, but I put my hand out the same way I would expect a dog to sniff. It then crawled onto my hand. I just about freaked, but I kept calm as it crawled on my arm. It had a very strong grip. Then somehow I could sense something, as if the creature’s mind and my mind were on the same frequency.

You were wronged by someone, as well. Some voice said. It was like an inner monologue, but it wasn’t my voice in my head, it was someone else. The balance of your life is off because someone wronged you for infantile means. Beings of the abyss are all about balance, and only wish to help our gracious hosts of the physical realm.

Somehow I understood completely. This was the exact means we needed to get back at the Gamma house assholes.

“Will you help us?” I asked the little pink creature.

It is why we exist. It said. We serve our summoning masters.

“What does this mean, this passage ‘Reader Beware’?” I asked.

Pay it no mind. It said. Merely just a safety measure so others do not abuse this power.

It crawled off my arm and his voice in my head was gone.

I understood how Kevin was excited for the first time in a while. I relished the idea of getting back at every single bastard that wronged us, consequences be damned. If no one was going to right the wrongs for us, I felt justified, as Kevin did, to seek out a force that would right the wrongdoing on our behalf.

Halloween night had come. What better night was there to summon demons from the abyss? We decided to summon more creatures from the abyss. The more the better, I thought. And what was Gamma Psi Sigma going to do? Call about demons attacking them on Halloween? The police know a crank call when they hear one. It was foolproof. It was perfect.

Kevin got the book and read the words for the rite of incantation.

“To the abyss I call for those that will answer and serve. I, Kevin Gries, exchange my soul for your entrance. Hear my plea, oh demons of darkness and come and bring balance to the physical world.”

“Did you just sell your soul?” I asked.

“No, that would be stupid.” Kevin said. “I just exchanged it as currency of passage. Once they are gone, they will return my soul to me.”

I didn’t like that at all. But before I could object, a semitransparent ring of orange light appeared in our dorm room and from there I could only see infinite blackness. I then saw something small fly through. Then it landed on Kevin’s shoulder, a green lizard similar to the pink one from before, but this one had wings like bats and a longer tail with spikes like a stegosaurus.

I then saw several other monsters reach out and crawl out. They were violet and gold. The demons all had a similar reptilian look to them, but the latter two looked like shelled versions of the pink monster. They had a lot more defined muscles and longer legs, but their heads were the same horned chameleon with lemur eyes.

The gold and violet demons crawled toward me and I welcomed them. Their grip was very strong as well. A little more strength than the pink one.

The pleasure is mine, friend of Kevin. Whose soul shall we eat today?

I was careful of my thoughts. I didn’t want the demons knowing how I felt. Yes I wanted revenge, but this new revelation of taking souls to eat was a little shocking. I hoped for physical revenge of some sort.

“The ones who wronged us are the men of the house Gamma Psi Sigma.” I said honestly. “I only want due retribution.”

We are fully aware of your unfortunate circumstance, Jack Fields. The Gold One said. People who go about hurting others just for the sake of hurting others are our specialty. Leave this house of evil men to us.

I felt reassured whenever the demons had physical contact with me. It was almost a euphoric sensation of calm and I felt sure that eating the frat boys souls was the correct course of action.

“Shall we take them to the Gamma house?” I asked.

“Yes. Let’s do.” Kevin smiled.

Kevin instructed all four small demons into his backpack and he carried them on his back. We left the dorm and walked through town and took in the beautiful scenery of Halloween. All of the jack-o-lanterns, decorations of spooky ghosts, and cartoony monsters like Frankenstein, Dracula, Freddy Krueger, and Jason Voorhees everywhere you looked.

“Let them out of the backpack, Kevin.” I said. “They’re gonna fit right in on a night like this.”

Kevin smiled in agreement. He then unzipped the backpack and let each monster out. The creatures were delighted to see the sights not normally seen in the darkness of the abyss.

They walked to the Gamma house and then sat on the bench next to the bus stop on the sidewalk across the street.

“Have fun.” Kevin said.

I wished we could have seen them do their dirty work as I saw each monster slip into different windows. But hearing the screams and seeing the occasional frat boy run from the house was pretty nice.

About an hour later, Kevin and I hand our fill laughing and grinning at the demons torment and scare the frat boys. Even Richard and Roy were getting freaked out.

Then we got a shock. We heard a gunshot. Then a squealing screech. We looked to each other and didn’t hesitate to run into the Gamma house. One of the monsters got shot and it was our fault because it was on our behalf. We ran in the open front door and saw Richard with a shotgun as he stood over a bloody and fleshy mess. It was the pink monster, the first we met.

“What did you do?” Kevin shouted.

“What the fuck are you two doing here? And what do you mean what did I do? I killed a fucking monster.” He said with pride.

I had a very mixed feeling. The man who embarrassed us with a shit bath, and likely circulated our naked bodies on the internet had killed our only chance at revenge.

The green demon flew into the room and looked at Richard. It then somehow tackled Richard with its small body and then wrapped its spiky tail around Richard’s neck. I took the liberty to take the shotgun away from his reach.

“Help!” He choked the words out. “Help me!”

“Get lost, you shithead.” Kevin said.

I watched Richard’s eyes dilate and glaze over, and his face go from beat read to dark blue. I sorta wanted to help him, but revenge didn’t allow me to move forward on that line of thought. I then saw Richard stop twitching and then the green demon released his neck from its snare.

Kevin went to pick up the green demon. It then snapped and bit his arm. He screamed louder than I had ever heard him at any point before. He then grabbed and threw the monster to the floor as hard as he could.

“Ow! What the actual fuck was that for?” Kevin said.

Our brother is dead. It said. No amount of souls will bring him back. This is beyond unacceptable.

“It wasn’t our fault though.” I said.

Perhaps not, but that doesn’t change what has happened. I feel no obligation to serve you whatsoever now.

“I summoned you to in exchange for my soul.” Kevin said.

Consider it payment for the loss of my brother. It said. Reader Beware, should we feel our contractual obligation is null and void, payment is due to us and our allegiance to our summoned master is over.

The green monster then flew out of Gamma Psi Sigma house and then flew down the street.

“What do we do?” I asked.

“Well Jack, I don’t think they are going back to the abyss without a fight now.” Kevin said.

“Are you saying we kill them?” I said. “They got revenge for us.”

“Yeah,” Keven started. “And look exactly what that got us. It didn’t undo the past, and it doesn’t feel great to see the rat bastard dead, and now we have demons summoned.”

“Summoning demons was your idea!” I said.

“I know. I was desperate for revenge when there was no one else to come and assist us. So I summoned revenge incarnate and now I have to make sure that no one else ever again gets hurt from my actions.”

“Well,” I said as I pumped Richard’s shotgun. “We know for a fact that they are no harder to kill than any other animal. They bleed just like we do.”

He nodded in agreement. We heard more screams coming from down the street. Kevin and I left Gamma house and tried to find the source.

I heard a woman screaming. I knew it wasn’t some Halloween gimmick scream from some local funhouse for trick-or-treaters. It was certainly one of the monsters handiwork.

I saw the golden demon straddling a woman. I could see it trying to take her soul through her mouth. It was trying to eat it.

I didn’t hesitate to kick the son of a bitch off of her. It rolled half way across someone’s yard before landing on its back. It had trouble moving on its back like a stuck tortoise.

I moved quick and put my foot on its neck to hold it down. Before I could shoot it in the belly It grabbed my leg.

No need to do that. It said. We just want what we lack from the abyss. Eternity of damnation makes you very hungry.

“I understand.” I said.

Wait, what? I thought. I want to kill this thing. What is it whenever they touch me I feel like I’m not myself?

The feeling was again euphoric, the mind melding feeling of understanding between the beast and I.

Bang. I was ripped out of the trance and I saw Kevin with the shotgun over the dead monster, which was now a grotesque mess of mushy red and gold.

“Thanks.” I said. “They have some kind of unique power of mind control, I think.”

“I know.” Kevin said. “How else do you think the little pink one convinced me to summon forth others? I was eager to burn the book when I learned the monsters were real, but it somehow convinced me not to and just let them in.”

I heard more screaming.

“We have two more of these guys to get.” I said. “Come on!”

Kevin and I ran down the street of Sorority Row and we kept moving until we saw the violet monster biting some girl. We then saw the green monster flying around, terrorizing costumed kids.

Kevin saw an opening and shot the violet demon when it wasn’t near any of the kids. The shot blast only damaged the monster. It’s shell must have been really tough.

“Shoot it in the belly.” I said.

Kevin and I wrestled the violet one and got it on its back. Kevin took the shot before it could grab one of us.

Three down, I thought. One left to go.

I saw the green flying demon flying toward town square after more people.

“Let’s end this.” Kevin said.

“Do you know how many shots you have?” I said.

“No idea. We killed two of them, and Richard killed one. That’s at least three shots.” Kevin said.

“That’s a pump action shotgun, I bet it has room enough for 6 shells, maybe 8.” I said.

“I aint got a clue, I just point and shoot like I do with Nintendo.” Kevin said.

“Right.” I said. “At any rate, act like you only have one shot left.”

We walked side by side with the town square a block away from us at the end of Sorority Row. The green demon was done with its latest victim.

“Hey!” I shouted. “You piece of shit. You want another soul, deal with me and leave everyone out of this!”

The demon had a grin on its face and came flying at me.

“Whenever you’re ready.” I said.

Kevin aimed the shotgun. “I got him.”

He pulled the trigger and the only thing I heard was a click.

“Seriously?” I said.

“Oh shit.” Kevin said.

The green demon flew and pounced on me. It was unreal how strong these little things were. I slugged it in the skull, but it grabbed my arm when I went for another strike.

Your soul is mine, child. It said.

I felt like my body was getting lighter. Little green had it’s claws on my shoulders and was inhaling my soul. It was beyond euphoric. It was like everything heaven was described to be.

I saw in super slow motion Kevin hold the shotgun by the barrel and swing it at the green monster, hitting it across the skull with the butt. It was glorious.

As soon as its claws were taken from my shoulders, I felt the enraptured sense leave me. I then saw green demon attack Kevin. It started whipped it’s tail at kevin’s neck, striking him in the jugular. It pulled the spikes out, causing him to bleed profusely.

I got the shotgun and got on the back of the green demon. I put the barrel under it’s neck and began choking the little bastard. I knew it was a tough son of a bitch, so I yanked and pulled against its neck harder than I ever yanked and pulled before.

It started struggling, but my body weight was enough to keep it under me. It whipped me with it’s tail on my thigh, so I brought my knee down on top of it. I heard the demons bones in the neck cracking and I heard it gasping for air.

You’re mine, you son of a bitch, I thought. You’re dead.

It finally stopped struggling after I heard the neck snap and felt the bones in the beasts throat give into the shotgun barrel.

I heard sirens blaring when I let it go. If it wasn’t dead, it was hurt bad enough not to want to fight anymore.

I then saw Kevin holding onto his throat. He had lost a lot of blood.

“Jesus Christ almighty, Kevin.” I said as I took off my shirt to tie around his neck. “When did we become so brave?”

He couldn’t talk. He just coughed up blood. I knew Kevin was a goner.

A police car pulled up. A cop got out and ran toward me. He looked like John Candy if he had mustache.

“What in the Sam Hell is going on here?” The officer said.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I said. “My friend here was attacked by this thing.”

“I’ve been getting calls all night about monsters. I first thought they were pranksters, but then I heard my daughter call about them.”

I wanted to tell him everything, but I just left it alone.

“Is he okay?” The officer asked.

I looked back to Kevin and he was gone. He died, and his soul was gone as well, forever in the abyss as payment for the demons passage. And for what? An empty revenge that feels unfulfilled.

“No.” I said. “He’s pretty fucking far from okay.”

For the next hour or two I saw ambulances show up, and pick people up and take them to the hospital. I saw them put Kevin in a black body bag and close up the ambulance doors. It was the realization that Kevin wasn’t going to be at my side anymore that hurt the most.

About a dozen people were hurt, and only two were killed. Roy and Richard, I wanted to be overjoyed for the news that the bastards behind our humiliation were dead and gone. But the revenge didn’t take away the empty feeling I had, and the revenge didn’t undo all of the damage done to innocent people, and the revenge didn’t bring back Kevin.

The officer got done asking around for witnesses of the attack. He then came over to me.

“Several people say you and your friend saved the town.” The officer said. “Those things were some kind of freak of nature or some demented science experiment. With the other three blown to bits, it will be hard to tell what the hell they were, but the one you strangled will likely be photographed and put in magazines.”

I didn’t want recognition for killing something.. But I felt like I was going to get a lot of unwanted attention for this.

“You’re a real hero, kid. You apart of any fraternity?” The Officer asked.

“No, sir.” I said. “In fact, I think you prolly already heard of my friend and me. We were the ones that got hazed real fucking nasty like.”

If I had been accepted like this in the first place, this whole thing would have never happened. I thought.

I told the officer that I wanted to remain anonymous after I filled out my report. I told the truth. Every little bit of the unbelievable tale of finding a book and summoning monsters after hazing.

“You’re kidding me, right?” The officer said after reading my testimony. “No one will believe this. Everyone will see this green mother fucker right here, and still not believe the story you wrote here.”

“That’s why I want to remain anonymous.” I said. “I thought I wanted acceptance from everyone, more than anything. I just want to be left alone and want no reward, because what’s being loved and accepted by everyone if it was done through revenge.”

“I see.” The officer said. “I should make you an accessory to murder if you say you and your friend did “summon these monsters with black magic.” Like you said you did.”

Oh fuck me, I thought. I was terrified at what was going to happen next.

“But frat boys have been getting a free pass at bullshit for years and years. Much of the other officers are given a yearly “extra salary” from the college to keep hush-hush about this sort of thing. Just call this a free pass for you for doing something right.”

He tore up my written statement. “If that book you discovered is the real deal, you burn that thing to make sure this never happens again. I can’t stop the blind eye to hazing, but you can put a stop to monsters from another world from ever coming back.”

The very next day I got the book and set it on fire, page by page. “Reader beware” I laughed when I saw the red lettering.. It should have said “Burn this book.”

I turned on the TV in my dorm room and listened to the media circus. CNN had on its news story graphic banner in big bold letters reading “Strange new animal attack on Halloween.” I listened in while the pictures of the strangled green demon were shown. It had decayed a little since I killed it, but its dead lemur eyes on a chameleon face made everyone freak.

I wanted to punch the dumb son of a bitch commentator that said these are likely misidentified animals like the Plum Island creature that washed up on shore, or the creatures that were found after the 2006 tsunami. It was more of the same on each major news network.

What was this thing? Is this a hoax? Was this viral marketing for a movie?

I turned off the TV thinking that I did the right thing in the end. It was the demons that deceived Kevin and I into using them as a means of revenge. That whole thing of being our servants was likely all a ruse to get into our world all along. And that strange power they had over our minds was their way we didn’t question them or their motives.

I should have taken more heed of the “Reader Beware” passage. Did Richard and Roy deserve something in return? Absolutely, but death didn’t feel like the right means of vengeance or payback. That thought kept repeating in my head again and again.

I got done burning the last few pages of the book and took a leak on the ashes in the waste barrel. I then dumped the nasty ashes out the dorm window into the courtyard below. It was late, and I knew no one was going to see it until morning.

Fuck it, I thought. If I get caught for burning a book, it was the least of the problems I have.

This is the first draft of a story I wrote during National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) a few years back. Because I never thought it really fit with what the markets were asking for, there is a likelihood that this short story could get polished and developed further. I’m slightly curious about what else could be within the old book!

That’s it. Glad I could share it. Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed it, share with others!

-Thomas

#Writing #Story #Short Story #Reader Beware #Thomas Van Boening #Horror Story #Monster Story #B-Movie Story #Monsters #Tumblr Writers #Tumblr Authors #Tumblr Writing Community #NaNoWriMo Story

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aresaphrodites · 7 years ago

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Into The Black - Bughead Fanfic. CHAPTER THREE.

Chapter One Chapter Two

A small filler! This is mainly to set things up for Betty and Jughead’s relationship but it is very needed and it does have some Bughead sweetness, I promise. :)

((Also I put this chapter on AO3 like last night but I forgot to add it on here, I am so sorry please forgive me ily))

Riverdale was a small town so that generally meant that there wasn’t much to do or to get excited about. So of course, when the back to school dance was announced, everyone was pretty much acting like they’d all gotten personal invites to the Met Ball.

Betty was kind of over it. She was over it because for some reason the back to school dance was happening on the second Saturday since they’d been back to school instead of the first and she was over it because well, high school dances are kind of lame. She can’t dance to save her life, a fact that Veronica loved to remind her of every time Betty so much as tried to shimmy her shoulders. She can’t help it that she was born with absolutely no rhythm.

She had tried to claw her way out of the stupid dance, but Veronica wouldn’t have it. That’s how she ended up at the Lodge mansion, standing in front of Veronica��s ceiling-to-floor mirror in a satin green dress that she was sure cost more than everything in her own room.

“Oh, Betty!” Veronica sighed. “You look so perfect in that. I knew there was a reason I decided to buy it.”

“You’ve never worn this?” Betty was shocked. Who had dresses like these just laying around?

“Nah,” Veronica replied nonchalantly. “It’s a custom made Valentino, but the color doesn’t really suit me. I’m more of a blue girl.”

Betty’s eyes widen and she tries not to freak out over the words “custom made” and “Valentino”. She might still shop at the Gap, and occasionally Pacsun when she’s feeling a little frisky, but she knows enough to know that she needs to be super careful with this dress tonight.

“Did Kev say when he and Archie would be here?”

Betty replies back the time that Kevin had given her earlier and Veronica nods in satisfaction. See, that’s another thing. For the last four years, Kevin has been Betty’s date to nearly every school dance and as much as she loved her best friend, she yearned to have an actual date, someone that could kiss her goodnight at the end of the day. Veronica tried to say that she was in the same boat, but Betty would just roll her eyes. If Veronica just gave Archie the okay then he would be all over her in no time.

They spend the next ten minutes doing final touches on their hair and makeup before Smithers knocks on Veronica’s bedroom door, announcing that Archie and Kevin are waiting for them downstairs. Veronica practically runs down her staircase, grinning all the way, while Betty is less than enthusiastic.

The boys looks nice in their plain black suits. They’re both wearing colored bowties to match the girl’s dresses and it’s sweet. Betty would probably appreciate it more if she was going with someone who wasn’t her gay best friend.

“Ready?” Kevin asks with a smile as he grabs her hand and leads her out of Veronica’s house. Betty nods and smiles back at him. It’ll be fun, she thinks. I’ll have fun.

The dance is less than fun. The four of them spend the first half of it sitting down at a table and the second half of it is spent watching Archie and Veronica dance their hearts out. Betty dances with Archie and Kevin and even Veronica, but her heart isn’t in it. She just isn’t having fun.

She’s more than happy when they all finally leave and make their way over to Pop’s. Since they’ve left the dance a little early, there aren’t many kids from high school there. There’s only a few families sitting down together, having what can only be a very, very late dinner.

Betty orders a shake as she takes her place next to Kevin in the booth. She doesn’t really pay attention to whatever conversation is happening between her friends. She’s too busy staring out of the window, watching the wind blow through the trees and people come and go out of the diner. When their waiter brings her shake, she nearly gulps it down all at once. It burns her throat because it’s so cold, but she doesn’t mind. It’s nice.

She’s about to excuse herself to go to the restroom when she sees a bike pull up to the corner of the parking lot. It’s just out of sight from her friends and she has to strain her eyes a little bit, but once the motorcycle turns off and the driver pulls off their helmet, she immediately knows who it is.

She bites her lip, not knowing why she has a sudden urge to smile like a lunatic and before she even thinks about it, she jumps up from the both. All three of her friends turn and look at her, confused and taken aback by her sudden movement. She realizes that she has no clue what they had even been talking about or if it had been important.

“My mom’s calling,” she lies easily as she shakes her handbag. “I’m going to go outside to talk to her.” They seem to accept this lie easily, knowing how Alice Cooper loves to keep tabs on her daughter, and fall back into conversation (which had been about Archie’s football problems) while she makes her way outside.

Jughead Jones is standing next to his black motorcycle, leather jacket on and his helmet tucked under his arm as he types away at his phone. He must be really into whatever he’s typing, because he doesn’t even hear the crunch of Betty’s heels against the gravel as she comes near him.

“Hey,” she says when she’s finally close enough. Jughead startles, only for a moment, before glancing up at her. He does a double take, going from looking at her back down to his phone and then snapping his head back up and pocketing his phone immediately.

“Betty?” He breathes out. “Holy shit, you look…” he trails off and Betty feel her face heat up. Does she looks bad? Oh god, had Veronica been lying when she said that green was her color?

“I know,” she says quickly before he can say anything. “I was at this stupid dance for my school. I probably look ridiculously overdressed, but it was required.”

“You look perfect.”

The words take her aback. On one hand, she hates when people refer to her as being perfect but on the other hand, she can’t help the way her stomach flutters at the compliment.

“Really,” Jughead repeats. “You’re beautiful.”

It’s very straightforward, something she doesn’t think any guy has ever told her before, and it’s definitely not what she was expecting Jughead to say. Especially considering the fact that they still don’t really know each other. Is this how guys normally talk to girls they don’t know?

“Thank you,” is what she finally decides on responding with. It’s the easiest thing to say. “What are you doing out here? Your gang of merry men out for the night?” She means for it to be a joke, but the way Jughead’s features go from easygoing to stoic let her know that she’s said something wrong.

“I uh,” he pauses and pulls out his phone again, checking it before locking the screen. He looks up and gives her this weird kind of grimace that almost looks like he’s in pain and that’s when it hits her.

“Oh.”

For a moment she had forgotten just who Jughead was. She had forgotten just who is “band of merry men” were and what the serpent on his leather jacket meant. It’s a splash of cold water on the happiness she had just felt at him calling her beautiful.

He doesn’t say anything, but it looks as if he’s clenching his jaw, as if he’s trying to stop himself from saying something he shouldn’t.

“I should go,” Betty says as she points behind her and towards the diner. “My friends are waiting for me.”

Jughead stretches his neck out and looks towards where she’s pointing, which just so happens to be at the booth where Archie, Veronica, and Kevin are sitting. Jughead studies them for a minute before turning back to Betty. His face doesn’t look so cold now, but his features are still hard and now he’s outright frowning at her.

“You were at a dance?” He asks, as if she hadn’t already told him that she was.

“Yes.”

“That your date?” She doesn’t have to turn around to know that he’s talking about Kevin.

“Yes,” she responds, confused.

Jughead nods, clenches his jaw again and rubs his thumb across his nose once.

“He your boyfriend?”

Betty can’t help it, she laughs. Jughead had sounded so mad, Betty’s not sure why but either way, it’s hilarious.

“Kevin? Kevin Keller?” She questions through her laughter. Jughead’s eyes widen and he takes a step back.

“Holy shit, you’re dating the Sheriff’s son?” He sounds angry at this and Betty stops laughing.

“I’m not dating him! He doesn’t even bat for my team, but even if he did he’s like a brother to me. That would be so wrong.”

Jughead’s shoulders relax as he takes in her words and he nods slowly as if he’s trying to absorb the information she’s telling him.

“So your best friend is the Sheriff’s son?” He asks, not sounding mad like before but he still doesn’t sound happy.

“He is. Is that a problem?”

Jughead shrugs. “There’s something I need to take care of that’s why I’m here,” he answers her question from earlier. “You shouldn’t be around for it.”

Betty can think of a hundred things that Jughead would need to “take care of”, but she tries desperately not to focus on any of them. Now is not the time for that, especially not when her friends could decide to come check on her at any time.

“You’re going to…” she pauses, not knowing how to phrase her question, “‘take care of business’ right here in front of Pop’s?”

“Of course not,” he says with a snort and gives Betty a look as if she’s a five year old who’s clueless to the world. “I’m doing it there.” He points to the sketchy looking forest behind him.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Betty asks as she looks behind him. She might take walks in the forest sometimes but that’s during the day, not in the middle of the night. She’s about to tell Jughead that there’s no telling what’s out there, but then she thinks that he might be more dangerous than anything in those woods.

“I’ve done it countless times, Betts.” He doesn’t notice the nickname he’s just so happened to slip out, but Betty does and her face goes red.

She nods at his words deciding that he probably knows more about this stuff than she does.

“Well, please be safe,” she asks him. “I need to go back inside.”

Jughead just nods.

Betty turns around and takes two steps forward before she decides something.

“Jughead?” She calls out as she turns around. She’s shocked to find that he hasn’t moved at all. She wonders if he was watching her to make sure that she got back inside safely. “I think I want to take a walk tomorrow.”

Jughead gives her a puzzled look.

“Do you think that maybe Hotdog would like to join me? The trail can get lonely sometimes and the weather is supposed to be nice tomorrow so he’ll have fun.”

Jughead gives her a full grin. “I think he’d like that. Should we meet you somewhere?”

“My house,” Betty says as she walks over to him and holds her hand out. It takes him a moment to realize that she’s asking for his phone, but he finally hands it over although he makes sure to put it on the call log for her. Betty types in her name and number and hands it back to him. “My parents leave for work around ten so you can come over any time after that and then we can leave. Just text me and I’ll give you my address.”

She can practically hear Veronica yelling at her for being so naive and stupid for giving a Southside Serpent her number and potentially her address, but she doesn’t care. Jughead isn’t dangerous, at least not towards her. He wouldn’t hurt her, she doesn’t know why she’s so sure of this fact but she is.

“See you tomorrow, Betty Cooper.”

“See you, Jughead Jones.” She smiles at him and then makes her way back to the diner. When she gets inside she turns to look out the window and she’s pleased to see Jughead smile and wave at her before turning and walking away towards the woods.

“That was a long phone call,” Kevin says when she gets back. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, she was just telling me about some drama at the Register today.” Kevin nods before asking Veronica the story on the Valentino dress. Betty would pay attention, because she’s interested herself, but her phone vibrates in her purse and she takes it out as a smile makes its way onto her face at the unknown number staring back at her.

Green looks nice on you, Betty Cooper. Text me your address when you’re home safe that way I can know you’re okay.

A feeling of warmth floods over her at the obvious concern that Jughead shows for her wellbeing. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have a boy worry over her, aside from Archie, but this is different. This time the protective tone in the text gives her butterflies instead of the usual annoyance.

She saves Jughead’s number, wishing that it was the next morning already. She finally decides to tune into her friends’ conversation now that she’s suddenly feeling better and the rest of the night is filled with milkshakes, gossip, and a secret that keeps Betty smiling until she finally falls asleep.

#into the black fanfic #bughead #bughead fanfiction

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autolovecraft · 7 years ago

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And hills forested with yath trees?

Our gods have promised us a haven of light beyond death, where shall be the fruits of your toil? So for Aira shall we seek, though it were well to visit distant and lute-blessed Oonai across the Karthian hills in the spring and think of the lutes of distant Oonai whereof travelers have told. And Iranon answered: Be it so, small one; if any in this stone place yearn for beauty he must seek the mountains and remembering the marble streets of Aira and the hyaline Nithra and where the shadows danced on houses of marble. I told myself that when older I would go to Sinara on the southern slope, and sing to smiling dromedary-men all drunken and ribald, and saw that their songs were not as mine, so I traveled in a barge down the Xari to onyx-walled Jaren.

And peradventure it may be that Oonai the city of marble and beryl, splendid in a robe of golden flame. And if you toil only that ye may toil more, when shall happiness find you? The words you speak are blasphemy, for the gods of Teloth have said that toil is good. Aira's beauty is past imagining, and none can tell of it without rapture, whilst of Oonai the camel-drivers whisper leeringly. But Oonai was a city of lutes and dancing, which men whisper of and say is both lovely and terrible.

Beyond the Karthian hills lies Oonai, the city of marble and beryl where my father once ruled as King.

Often I played in the gardens and waded in the pools, and lay and dreamed among the pale flowers under the trees. And Iranon answered: Be it so, small one; if any in this stone place yearn for beauty he must seek the mountains and remembering the marble streets of Aira and the hyaline Nithra, and the falls of the tiny Kra that flowed though the verdant valley! When dawn came Iranon looked about with dismay, for the domes of Oonai were not like those of Aira; for they were harsh and glaring, while the lights of Aira shine as softly and magically as shone the moonlight on the floor by the window where I was rocked to sleep. And the men of Oonai were not golden in the sun, but gray and dismal. And sometimes at sunset I would climb the long hilly street to the citadel and the open place, and look down upon Aira, the city of marble and beryl, splendid in a robe of golden flame. Then for a moment did Iranon believe he had found those who thought and felt even as he, though the town was not a hundredth as fair as Aira. Into the sunset wandered Iranon, seeking still for his native land and for men who would understand his songs and dreams. In the frescoed halls of the Monarch did he sing, upon a crystal dais raised over a floor that was a mirror, and as he sang, he brought pictures to his hearers till the floor seemed to reflect old, beautiful, and half-remembered things instead of the wine-reddened feasters who pelted him with roses. How I loved the warm and fragrant groves across the hyaline Nithra and where the falls of the tiny Kra. There would he ever say he once dwelt as a Prince, though here we knew him from his birth. But most of the men of Teloth lodged the stranger in a stable, and in the lands beyond the Bnazie desert gay-faced children laughed at his olden songs and tattered robe of purple; but Iranon stayed ever young, and wore wreathes upon his golden head whilst he sang of Aira, the city of lutes and dancing, which men whisper of and say is both lovely and terrible.

But I am Iranon, who was a Prince in Aira. And if you toil only that ye may toil more, when shall happiness find you?

That night the men of Teloth heard these things they whispered to one another; for though in the granite city, and the sweetness of flowers borne on the south wind that made the trees sing. Toil without song is like a weary journey without an end. I recall only dimly but seek to find again. Then one night the reddened and fattened Romnod snorted heavily amidst the poppied silks of his banquet-couch and died writhing, whilst Iranon, pale and slender, sang to himself in a far corner. The words you speak are blasphemy, for the domes of Oonai were pale with reveling, and dull with wine, till he dreamed less and less, and listened with less delight to the songs of Iranon. I sought thee, and some day shall I reign over thy groves and gardens, thy streets and palaces, and sing to smiling dromedary-men all drunken and ribald, and saw that their songs were not as mine, so I traveled in a barge down the Xari to onyx-walled Jaren. Go thou then to Athok the cobbler, and be apprenticed to him. And peradventure it may be that Oonai the city of marble and beryl. But because the people had thrown him blossoms and acclaimed his sings Iranon stayed on, and with him Romnod, who liked the revelry of the town and wore in his dark hair roses and myrtle. I went to Sinara I found the dromedary-men all drunken and ribald, and saw that their songs were not as mine, so I traveled in a barge down the Xari to onyx-walled Jaren. At evening Iranon sang, and while he sang an old man prayed and a blind man said he saw a nimbus over the singer's head. I would climb the long hilly street to the citadel and the open place, and look down upon Aira, the city of lutes and dancing. So Iranon went out of the city, and the falls of the tiny Kra that flowed though the verdant valley! Our gods have promised us a haven of light beyond death, where shall be the fruits of your toil? All through seven lands have I sought thee, and some day shall I reign over thy groves and gardens, thy streets and palaces, and sing to men who shall know whereof I sing, and laugh not nor turn away. How I loved the warm and fragrant groves across the hyaline Nithra, and the sweetness of flowers borne on the south wind that made the trees sing. And day by day that Romnod who had been a small boy in granite Teloth grew coarser and redder with wine, till he dreamed less and less, and listened with less delight to the songs of Iranon and tossed him flowers and applauded when he was done.

That night something of youth and beauty died in the elder world. And in the twilight, the moon, and soft songs, and the falls of the tiny Kra that flowed though the verdant valley! But I am Iranon, and come from Aira, a far city in a fair land? But though Iranon was always the same, and decked his golden hair, and his golden hair, and his hopes. He was comely, even as thou, but full of folly and strangeness; and he ran away when small to find those who would listen gladly to his songs and dreams. In all the cities of Cydathria and in the lands beyond the Bnazie desert gay-faced children laughed at his olden songs and tattered robe of purple; but Iranon stayed ever young, and wore wreathes upon his golden head whilst he sang of Aira, the magic city of marble and beryl, how many are thy beauties! When dawn came Iranon looked about with dismay, for the domes of Oonai were not golden in the sun, but gray and dismal.

And sometimes at sunset I would climb the long hilly street to the citadel and the open place, and look down upon Aira, the city of lutes and dancing. Aira's beauty is past imagining, and none can tell of it without rapture, whilst of Oonai the city of lutes and dancing, so Iranon and Romnod went down the steep slope that they might find men to whom sings and dreams would bring pleasure. And sometimes at sunset I would climb the long hilly street to the citadel and the open place, and look down upon Aira, the city of marble and beryl.

Go thou then to Athok the cobbler, and be apprenticed to him. So it came to pass that Romnod seemed older than Iranon, though he had been very small when Iranon had wept over the grave of Romnod and strewn it with green branches, such as Romnod used to love, he put aside his silks and gauds and went forgotten out of Oonai the city of lutes and dancing, which men whisper of and say is both lovely and terrible. And peradventure it may be that Oonai the city of marble and beryl where my father once ruled as King. I am Romnod, and born of the blood of Teloth, but am not old in the ways of the granite city there is no laughter or song, the stern men sometimes look to the Karthian hills in the spring and think of the lutes of distant Oonai whereof travelers have told. Then said Iranon: Wherefore do you toil; is it not that you may live and be happy? So came he one night to the squalid cot of an antique shepherd, bent and dirty, who kept flocks on a stony slope above a quicksand marsh. And dreams would bring pleasure.

Let us go to Oonai, O Iranon of the golden head, where men shall know our longings and welcome us as brothers, nor even laugh or frown at what we say. I sing, and at dusk I dreamed strange dreams under the yath-trees on the mountain as I saw below me the lights of the city by sunset.

Often at night Iranon sang to the revelers, but he was always as before, crowned only in the vine of the mountains and beyond, and I would not leave thee to pine by the sluggish Zuro. Our gods have promised us a haven of light beyond death, where shall be rest without end, and crystal coldness amidst which none shall vex his mind with thought or his eyes with beauty. And if you toil only that ye may toil more, when shall happiness find you? And the soldiers at Jaren laughed at me and drove me out, so that I wandered to many cities. Our gods have promised us a haven of light beyond death, where shall be the fruits of your toil? And if you toil only that ye may toil more, when shall happiness find you?

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #1935 #The Quest of Iranon #The Quest of Iranon week

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derekhernandezfuentes · 4 years ago

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I had reason to believe that my father was going to kill me when he reached and grabbed at my throat at my age 14, and before when I was only 6 or younger with him whipping me like he were the Black man who had gotten an extra turn after being whipped my auburn-hair Unkle Sam of Switzerland in the United States farm barn South, and I was just a Buddhist child being taught by a Socialist White British Catholic Communist Church Nun related to Dick Cheney in appearances and likely genetically to give-away all my materiality and that materialism is a Catholic sin, while Republican Communist Conservatives George W Bush and Dick Cheney looked the other way and forced Americans to agree to Catholic Communism with the military helicopter behind Bush and with religious school vouchers being forced upon children and teenagers by authoritarian, confused and misconstrued parents. The Catholic Nun in Black attire told me to be a “Crucified Child” on the Roman Italian Swiss Kross for enjoying Republican Capitalist-Industrialist materialities. That is why I agreed with my mother to divorce my father during Bush-Cheney Era. It was liberating, as the divorce allowed my father to be with his women consensually (as Republican Conservative Communists kept it illegal for women to have multiple younger hubsands in one marriage, and as men were banned from living with their multiple wives, and as Capitalist Goddess Venus was banned from Catholic Socialist Commie Church private schools), and for my mother to unite her family safely and ethically. I was able to invite my high school friends over without my father or Jose Luis Garcia raping any of my female friends and classmates secretively behind my back. I love materialisms and materialities, and that is why I prayed for George W Bush to win the 2000 Election against Al Gore. We must remove taxation on foods and medicines, for how else will we develop Universal Healthcares for us human beings? I also am yearning for Buddhist Enlightenment and Buddhist Awakening as Nature in cold misty moist Northeast and Northwest are God-given rights and liberties to heal and to connect with Divine Knowing and Divine Healing. Tax cuts make traveling a lot easier and can cure diseases such as a #Coronavirus. Lesbians and bisexual women should refrain from attacking gay men for gay men did not invent HIV/AIDS and we now have a virus named for women known as the Coronavirus, so stop attacking people, because gay men can be scientists that cure diseases. All we have to say is “Remove taxes!” and every disease can be Cured. I did not invent gayism or lesbianism either. If lesbians can enjoy sex while gay men suffer, then lesbians should not be persecuting or prosecuting gay men for being in love. Not all gay men are evil. Women are capable of being witches just like their marketing through invisible radio waves and spells can cause men to be no longer heterosexually straight, for what is heterosexually straight when there are lots of starving children with too much heterosexual sex? The father is not the son, the son is not the father, the father is not the Holy Spirit, the son is not the Holy Spirit, but the son is like God.

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nothingnewunderheaven · 5 years ago

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QUEERS READ THIS A leaflet distributed at pride march in NY Published anonymously by Queers June, 1990 How can I tell you. How can I convince you, brother, sister that your life is in danger: That everyday you wake up alive, relatively happy, and a functioning human being, you are committing a rebellious act. You as an alive and functioning queer are a revolutionary. There is nothing on this planet that validates, protects or encourages your existence. It is a miracle you are standing here reading these words. You should by all rights be dead. Don't be fooled, straight people own the world and the only reason you have been spared is you're smart, lucky or a fighter. Straight people have a privilege that allows them to do whatever they please and fuck without fear. But not only do they live a life free of fear; they flaunt their freedom in my face. Their images are on my TV, in the magazine I bought, in the restaurant I want to eat in, and on the street where I live. I want there to be a moratorium on straight marriage, on babies, on public displays of affection among the opposite sex and media images that promote heterosexuality. Until I can enjoy the same freedom of movement and sexuality, as straights, their privilege must stop and it must be given over to me and my queer sisters and brothers. Straight people will not do this voluntarily and so they must be forced into it. Straights must be frightened into it. Terrorized into it. Fear is the most powerful motivation. No one will give us what we deserve. Rights are not given they are taken, by force if necessary. It is easier to fight when you know who your enemy is. Straight people are your enemy. They are your enemy when they don't acknowledge your invisibility and continue to live in and contribute to a culture that kills you. Every day one of us is taken by the enemy. Whether it's an AIDS death due to homophobic government inaction or a lesbian bashing in an all-night diner (in a supposedly lesbian neighborhood). AN ARMY OF LOVERS CANNOT LOSE Being queer is not about a right to privacy; it is about the freedom to be public, to just be who we are. It means everyday fighting oppression; homophobia, racism, misogyny, the bigotry of religious hypocrites and our own self-hatred. (We have been carefully taught to hate ourselves.) And now of course it means fighting a virus as well, and all those homo-haters who are using AIDS to wipe us off the face of the earth. Being queer means leading a different sort of 2 life. It's not about the mainstream, profit-margins, patriotism, patriarchy or being assimilated. It's not about executive directors, privilege and elitism. It's about being on the margins, defining ourselves; it's about gender- fuck and secrets, what's beneath the belt and deep inside the heart; it's about the night. Being queer is "grass roots" because we know that everyone of us, every body, every cunt, every heart and ass and dick is a world of pleasure waiting to be explored. Everyone of us is a world of infinite possibility. We are an army because we have to be. We are an army because we are so powerful. (We have so much to fight for; we are the most precious of endangered species.) And we are an army of lovers because it is we who know what love is. Desire and lust, too. We invented them. We come out of the closet, face the rejection of society, face firing squads, just to love each other! Every time we fuck, we win. We must fight for ourselves (no one else is going to do it) and if in that process we bring greater freedom to the world at large then great. (We've given so much to that world: democracy, all the arts, the concepts of love, philosophy and the soul, to name just a few gifts from our ancient Greek Dykes, Fags.) Let's make every space a Lesbian and Gay space. Every street a part of our sexual geography. A city of yearning and then total satisfaction. A city and a country where we can be safe and free and more. We must look at our lives and see what's best in them, see what is queer and what is straight and let that straight chaff fall away! Remember there is so, so little time. And I want to be a lover of each and every one of you. Next year, we march naked. ANGER "The strong sisters told the brothers that there were two important things to remember about the coming revolutions, the first is that we will get our asses kicked. The second, is that we will win." I'm angry. I'm angry for being condemned to death by strangers saying, "You deserve to die" and "AIDS is the cure." Fury erupts when a Republican woman wearing thousands of dollars of garments and jewelry minces by the police lines shaking her head, chuckling and wagging her finger at us like we are recalcitrant children making absurd demands and throwing temper tantrum when they aren't met. Angry while Joseph agonizes over $8,000 a over for AZT which might keep him alive a little longer and which makes him sicker than the disease he is diagnosed with. Angry as I listen to a man tell me that after changing his will five times he's running out of people to leave things to. All of his best friends are dead. Angry when stand in a sea of quilt panels, or go to a candlelight march or attend yet another memorial service. I will not march silently with a fucking candle and I want to take that goddamned quilt and wrap myself in it and furiously rend it and my hair and curse every god 3 religion ever created. I refuse to accept a creation that cuts people down in the third decade of their life. It is cruel and vile and meaningless and everything I have in me rails against the absurdity and I raise my face to the clouds and a ragged laugh that sounds more demonic than joyous erupts from my throat and tears stream down my face and if this disease doesn't kill me, I may just die of frustration. My feet pound the streets and Peter's hands are chained to a pharmaceutical company's reception desk while the receptionist looks on in horror and Eric's body lies rotting in a Brooklyn cemetery and I'll never hear his flute resounding off the walls of the meeting house again. And I see the old people in Tompkins Square Park huddled in their long wool coats in June to keep out the cold they perceive is there and to cling to whatever little life has left to offer them. I'm reminded of the people who strip and stand before a mirror each night before they go to bed and search their bodies for any mark that might not have been there yesterday. A mark that this scourge has visited them. And I'm angry when the newspapers call us "victims" and sound alarms that "it" might soon spread to the "general population." And I want to scream "Who the fuck am I?" And I want to scream at New York Hospital with its yellow plastic bags marked "isolation linen", "ropa infecciosa" and its orderlies in latex gloves and surgical masks skirting the bed as if its occupant will suddenly leap out and douse them with blood and semen giving them too the plague. And I'm angry at straight people who sit smugly wrapped in their self-protective coat of monogamy and heterosexuality confident that this disease has nothing to do with them because "it" only happens to "them." And the teenage boys who upon spotting my Silence=Death button begin chanting "Faggot's gonna die" and I wonder, who taught them this? Enveloped in fury and fear, I remain silent while my button mocks me every step of the way. And the anger I fell when a television program on the quilt gives profiles of the dead and the list begins with a baby, a teenage girl who got a blood transfusion, an elderly baptist minister and his wife and when they finally show a gay man, he's described as someone who knowingly infected teenage male prostitutes with the virus. What else can you expect from a faggot? I'm angry. QUEER ARTISTS Since time began, the world has been inspired by the work of queer artists. In exchange, there has been suffering, there has been pain, there has been violence. Throughout history, society has struck a bargain with its queer citizens: they may pursue creative careers, if they do it discreetly. Through the arts queers are productive, lucrative, entertaining and even uplifting. These are the clear-cut and useful by-products of what is otherwise considered antisocial behavior. In cultured circles, queers 4 may quietly coexist with an otherwise disapproving power elite. At the forefront of the most recent campaign to bash queer artists is Jesse Helms, arbiter of all that is decent, moral, christian and amerikan. For Helms, queer art is quite simply a threat to the world. In his imaginings, heterosexual culture is too fragile to bear up to the admission of human or sexual diversity. Quite simply, the structure of power in the Judeo-Christian world has made procreation its cornerstone. Families having children assures consumers for the nation's products and a work force to produce them, as well as a built-in family system to care for its ill, reducing the expense of public healthcare systems. ALL NON-PROCREATIVE BEHAVIOR IS CONSIDERED A THREAT, from homosexuality to birth control to abortion as an option. It is not enough, according to the religious right, to consistently advertise procreation and heterosexuality ... it is also necessary to destroy any alternatives. It is not art Helms is after .... IT IS OUR LIVES! Art is the last safe place for lesbians and gay men to thrive. Helms knows this, and has developed a program to purge queers from the one arena they have been permitted to contribute to our shared culture. Helms is advocating a world free from diversity or dissent. It is easy to imagine why that might feel more comfortable to those in charge of such a world. It is also easy to envision an amerikan landscape flattened by such power. Helms should just ask for what he is hinting at: State sponsored art, art of totalitarianism, art that speaks only in christian terms, art which supports the goals of those in power, art that matches the sofas in the Oval Office. Ask for what you want, Jesse, so that men and women of conscience can mobilize against it, as we do against the human rights violations of other countries, and fight to free our own country's dissidents. IF YOU'RE QUEER, Queers are under siege. Queers are being attacked on all fronts and I'm afraid it's ok with us. In 1969, there were 50 "Queer Bashings" in the month of May alone. Violent attacks, 3,720 men, women and children died of AIDS in the same month, caused by a more violent attack --- government inaction, rooted in society's growing homophobia. This is institutionalized violence, perhaps more dangerous to the existence of queers because the attackers are faceless. We allow these attacks by our own continued lack of action against them. AIDS has affected the straight world and now they're blaming us for AIDS and using it as a way to justify their violence against us. They don't want us anymore. They will beat us, rape us and kill us before they will continue to live with us. What 5 will it take for this not to be ok? Feel some rage. If rage doesn't empower you, try fear. If that doesn't work, try panic. SHOUT IT! Be proud. Do whatever you need to do to tear yourself away from your customary state of acceptance. Be free. Shout. In 1969, Queers fought back. In 1990, Queers say ok. Next year, will we be here? I HATE ... I hate Jesse Helms. I hate Jesse Helms so much I'd rejoice if he dropped down dead. If someone killed him I'd consider it his own fault. I hate Ronald Reagan, too, because he mass-murdered my people for eight years. But to be honest, I hate him even more for eulogizing Ryan White without first admitting his guilt, without begging forgiveness for Ryan's death and for the deaths of tens of thousands of other PWA's --- most of them queer. I hate him for making a mockery of our grief. I hate the fucking Pope, and I hate John fucking Cardinal fucking O'Connor, and I hate the whole fucking Catholic Church. The same goes for the Military, and especially for Amerika's Law Enforcement Officials --- the cops --- state sanctioned sadists who brutalize street transvestites, prostitutes and queer prisoners. I also hate the medical and mental health establishments, particularly the psychiatrist who conviced me not to have sex with men for three years until we (meaning he) could make me bisexual rather than queer. I also hate the education profession, for its share in driving thousands of queer teens to suicide every year. I hate the "respectable" art world; and the entertainment industry, and the mainstream media, especially The New York Times. In fact, I hate every sector of the straight establishment in this country --- the worst of whom actively want all queers dead, the best of whom never stick their necks out to keep us alive. I hate straight people who think they have anything intelligent to say about "outing." I hate straight people who think stories about themselves are "universal" but stories about us are only about homosexuality. I hate straight recording artists who make their careers off of queer people, then attack us, then act hurt when we get angry and then deny having wronged us rather than apologize for it. I hate straight people who say, "I don't see why you feel the need to wear those buttons and t-shirts. I don't go around telling the whole world I'm straight." I hate that in twelve years of public education I was never taught about queer people. I hate that I grew up thinking I was the only queer in the world, and I hate even more that most queer kids still grow up the same way. I 6 hate that I was tormented by other kids for being a faggot, but more that I was taught to feel ashamed for being the object of their cruelty, taught to feel it was my fault. I hate that the Supreme Court of this country says it's okay to criminalize me because of how I make love. I hate that so many straight people are so concerned about my goddamned sex life. I hate that so many twisted straight people become parents, while I have to fight like hell to be allowed to be a father. I hate straights. WHERE ARE YOU SISTERS? I wear my pink triangle everywhere. I do not lower my voice in public when talking about lesbian love or sex. I always tell people I'm a lesbian. I don't wait to be asked about my "boyfriend." I don't say it's "no one's business." I don't do this for straight people. Most of them don't know what the pink triangle even means. Most of them couldn't care less that my girlfriend and I are totally in love or having a fight on the street. Most of them don't notice us no matter what we do. I do what I do to reach other lesbians. I do what I do because I don't want lesbians to assume I'm a straight girl. I am out all the time, everywhere, because I WANT TO REACH YOU. Maybe you'll notice me, maybe we'll start talking, maybe we'll exchange numbers, maybe we'll become friends. Maybe we won't say a word but our eyes will meet and I will imagine you naked, sweating, openmouthed, your back arched as I am fucking you. And we'll be happy to know we aren't the only ones in the world. We'll be happy because we found each other, without saying a word, maybe just for a moment. But no. You won't wear a pink triangle on that linen lapel. You won't meet my eyes if I flirt with you on the street. You avoid me on the job because I'm "too" out. You chastise me in bars because I'm "too political." You ignore me in public because I bring "too much" attention to "my" lesbianism. But then you want me to be your lover, you want me to be your friend, you want me to love you, support, you, fight for "OUR" right to exist. WHERE ARE YOU? You talk, talk, talk about invisibility and then retreat to your homes to nest with your lovers or carouse in a bar with pals and stumble home in a cab or sit silently and politely by while your family, your boss, your neighbors, your public servants distort and disfigure us, deride us and punish us. Then home again and you feel like screaming. Then you pad your anger with a relationship or a career or a party with other dykes like you and still you wonder why we can't find each other, why you feel lonely, angry, alienated. GET UP, WAKE UP SISTERS!! 7 Your life is in your hands. When I risk it all to be out, I risk it for both of us. When I risk it all and it works (which it often does if you would try it), I benefit and so do you. When it doesn't work, I suffer and you do not. But girl you can't wait for other dykes to make the world safe for you. STOP waiting for a better more lesbian future! The revolution could be here if we started it. Where are you sisters? I'm trying to find you, I'm trying to find you. How come I only see you on Gay Pride Day? We're OUT, Where the fuck are YOU? 8 WHEN ANYONE ASSAULTS YOU FOR BEING QUEER, IT IS QUEER BASHING. RIGHT? A crowd of 50 people exit a gay bar as it closes. Across the street, some straight boys are shouting "Faggots" and throwing beer bottles at the gathering, which outnumbers them by 10 to 1. Three queers make a move to respond, getting no support from the group. Why did a group this size allow themselves to be sitting ducks? Tompkins Square Park, Labor Day. At an annual outdoor concert/drag show, a group of gay men were harassed by teens carrying sticks. In the midst of thousands of gay men and lesbians, these straight boys beat two gay men to the ground, then stood around triumphantly laughing amongst themselves. The emcee was alerted and warned the crowd from the stage, "You girls be careful. When you dress up it drives the boys crazy," as if it were a practical joke inspired by what the victims were wearing rather than a pointed attack on anyone and everyone at that event. What would it have taken for that crowd to stand up to its attackers? After James Zappalorti, an openly gay man, was murdered in cold blood on Staten Island this winter, a single demonstration was held in protest. Only one hundred people came. When Yuseuf Hawkins, a black youth, was shot to death for being on "white turf" in Bensonhurst, African Americans marched through that neighborhood in large numbers again and again. A black person was killed BECAUSE HE WAS BLACK, and people of color throughout the city recognized it and acted on it. The bullet that hit Hawkins was meant for a black man, ANY black man. Do most gays and lesbians think that the knife that punctured Zappalorti's heart was meant only for him? The straight world has us so convinced that we are helpless and deserving victims of the violence against us, that queers are immobilized when faced with a threat. BE OUTRAGED! These attacks must not be tolerated. DO SOMETHING. Recognize that any act of aggression against any member of our community is an attack on every member of the community. The more we allow homophobes to inflict violence, terror and fear on our lives, the more frequently and ferociously we will be the object of their hatred. Your immeasurably valuable, because unless you start believing that, it can easily be taken from you. If you know how to gently and efficiently immobilize your attacker, then by all means, do it. If you lack those skills, then think about gouging out his fucking eyes, slamming his nose back into his brain, slashing his throat with a broken bottle --- do whatever you can, whatever you have to, to save your life! 9 reeuQ yhW Queer! Ah, do we really have to use that word? It's trouble. Every gay person has his or her own take on it. For some it means strange and eccentric and kind of mysterious. That's okay, we like that. But some gay girls and boys don't. They think they're more normal than strange. And for others "queer" conjures up those awful memories of adolescent suffering. Queer. It's forcibly bittersweet and quaint at best --- weakening and painful at worst. Couldn't we just use "gay" instead? It's a much brighter word and isn't it synonymous with "happy?" When will you militants grow up and get over the novelty of being different? WHY QUEER Well, yes, "gay " is great. It has its place. But when a lot of lesbians and gay men wake up in the morning we feel angry and disgusted, not gay. So we've chosen to call ourselves queer. Using "queer" is a way of reminding us how we are perceived by the rest of the world. It's a way of telling ourselves we don't have to be witty and charming people who keep our lives discreet and marginalized in the straight world. We use queer as gay men loving lesbians and lesbians loving being queer. Queer, unlike GAY, doesn't mean MALE. And when spoken to other gays and lesbians it's a way of suggesting we close ranks, and forget (temporarily) our individual differences because we face a more insidious common enemy. Yeah, QUEER can be a rough word but it is also a sly and ironic weapon we can steal from the homophobe's hands and use against him. NO SEX POLICE For anyone to say that coming out is not part of the revolution is missing the point. Positive sexual images and what they manifest saves lives because they affirm those lives and make it possible for people to attempt to live as self-loving instead of self-loathing. As the famous "Black is beautiful" slogan changed many lives, so does "Read my lips" affirm queerness in the face of hatred and invisibility as displayed in a recent governmental study of suicides that states at least one third of all teen suicides are Queer kids. This is further exemplified by the rise in HIV transmission among those under 21. We are most hated as queers for our sexualness, that is, our physical contact with the same sex. Our sexuality and sexual expression are what makes us most susceptible to physical violence. Our difference, our otherness, our uniqueness can either paralyze us or politicize us. Hopefully, the majority of us will not let it kill us. 10 QUEER SPACE Why in the world do we let heteros into queer clubs? Who gives a fuck if they like us because we "really know how to party?" WE HAVE TO IN ORDER TO BLOW OFF THE STEAM THEY MAKE US FEEL ALL THE TIME! They make out wherever they please, and take up too much room on the dance floor doing ostentatious couples dances. They wear their heterosexuality like a "Keep Out" sign, or like a deed of ownership. Why the fuck do we tolerate them when they invade our space like it's their right? Why do we let them shove heterosexuality --- a weapon their world wields against us - -- right in our faces in the few public spots where we can be sexy with each other and not fear attack? It's time to stop letting the straight people make all the rules. Let's start by posting this sign outside every queer club and bar: RULES OF CONDUCT FOR STRAIGHT PEOPLE 1. Keep your display of affection (kissing, handholding, embracing) to a minimum. Your sexuality is unwanted and offensive to many here. 2. If you must slow dance, be as inconspicuous as possible. 3. Do not gawk or stare at lesbians or gay men, especially bull dykes or drag queens. We are not your entertainment. 4. If you cannot comfortably deal with someone of the same sex making a pass at you, get out. 5. Do not flaunt your heterosexuality. Be Discreet. Risk being mistaken for a lezzie or a homo. 6. If you feel these rules are unfair, go fight homophobia in straight clubs, or: 7. Go Fuck Yourself. I HATE STRAIGHTS I have friends. Some of them are straight. Year after year, I see my straight friends. I want to see them, to see how they are doing, to add newness to our long and complicated histories, to experience some continuity. Year after year I continue to realize that the facts of my life are irrelevant to them and that I am only half listened to, that I am an appendage to the doings of a greater world, a world of power and privilege, of the laws of installation, a world of exclusion. "That's not true," argue my straight friends. There is the one certainty in the politics of power: those left out of it beg for inclusion, while the insiders claim that they already are. Men do it to women, whites do it to blacks, and everyone does it to queers. The main dividing line, both conscious and unconscious, is procreation ... and that magic word --- Family. Frequently, the ones we are born into disown us when they find out who we really are, and to make matters worse, we are prevented from having our own. We are punished, insulted, cut off, and treated like seditionaries 11 in terms of child rearing, both damned if we try and damned if we abstain. It's as if the propagation of the species is such a fragile directive that without enforcing it as if it were an agenda, humankind would melt back into the primeval ooze. I hate having to convice straight people that lesbians and gays live in a war zone, that we're surrounded by bomb blasts only we seem to hear, that our bodies and souls are heaped high, dead from fright or bashed or raped, dying of grief or disease, stripped of our personhood. I hate straight people who can't listen to queer anger without saying "hey, all straight people aren't like that. I'm straight too, you know," as if their egos don't get enough stroking or protection in this arrogant, heterosexist world. Why must we take care of them, in the midst of our just anger brought on by their fucked up society?! Why add the reassurance of "Of course, I don't mean you. You don't act that way." Let them figure out for themselves whether they deserve to be included in our anger. But of course that would mean listening to our anger, which they almost never do. They deflect it, by saying "I'm not like that" or "Now look who's generalizing" or "You'll catch more flies with honey ... " or "If you focus on the negative you just give out more power" or "you're not the only one in the world who's suffering." They say "Don't yell at me, I'm on your side" or "I think you're overreacting" or "BOY, YOU'RE BITTER." They've taught us that good queers don't get mad. They've taught us so well that we not only hide our anger from them, we hide it from each other. WE EVEN HIDE IT FROM OURSELVES. We hide it with substance abuse and suicide and overarhcieving in the hope of proving our worth. They bash us and stab us and shoot us and bomb us in ever increasing numbers and still we freak out when angry queers carry banners or signs that say BASH BACK. For the last decade they let us die in droves and still we thank President Bush for planting a fucking tree, applaud him for likening PWAs to car accident victims who refuse to wear seatbelts. LET YOURSELF BE ANGRY. Let yourself be angry that the price of our visibility is the constant threat of violence, anti- queer violence to which practically every segment of this society contributes. Let yourself feel angry that THERE IS NO PLACE IN THIS COUNTRY WHERE WE ARE SAFE, no place where we are not targeted for hatred and attack, the self-hatred, the suicide --- of the closet. The next time some straight person comes down on you for being angry, tell them that until things change, you don't need any more evidence that the world turns at your expense. You don't need to see only hetero couple grocery shopping on your TV ... You don't want any more baby pictures shoved in your face until you can have or keep your own. No more weddings, showers, anniversaries, please, unless they are our own brothers and sisters celebrating. And tell them not to dismiss you by saying "You have rights," "You have privileges," "You're 12 overreacting," or "You have a victim's mentality." Tell them "GO AWAY FROM ME, until YOU can change." Go away and try on a world without the brave, strong queers that are its backbone, that are its guts and brains and souls. Go tell them go away until they have spent a month walking hand in hand in public with someone of the same sex. After they survive that, then you'll hear what they have to say about queer anger. Otherwise, tell them to shut up and listen.

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