#listen i didn't come up with the name i'm aware it's somewhat problematic

[opalescentorchidaceae]

Hibiscus Schizopetalus, aka 'Japanese Lantern'

[pussynibbler69]

!! Teen! Eric Cartman x gn!! best friend! Reader !!

"Early wake up call..."

Idk i don't have any requests and I'm now writing random shit for my entertainment

Tw// mention of partying, drugs/boos, and (playful 😇) death threats

Lovely, calm, and graceful Saturday morning for none other than [Name] [Last Name].

That's what you would think, right? With the delicate stray light forms falling in between the cracks of your curtains, the small noticeable chirping birds resting outside your window. The start of your summer holiday, the first day where you can happily sleep in and you know there's more days to come like that.

The faint smell of coffee was swift in the air, as well as freshly baked goods from a bakery not so far by. In the small mountain town of South Park, Colorado. Your mother must have gotten them on her small trip out, and although you were tempted, you didn't want to leave the soft safe restraints of your comforters. Not for anything, and not for anyone.

Well, that was what you were certainly planning.

You're now more aware of the chirping birds behind the blaring song of Poker Face by Lady Gaga, which was recconisingly your ring tone. You stare at your ceiling for a moment, dazed, the warm soft covers making your skin slightly sweaty as you have been tangled in sheets all night. Who chose that song as a ring tone?

Certainly not you, so it must be the second most trusted person with your phone. Eric Cartman. The shorter, round shaped boy with a voice breaking complexion. He was chestnut hair messily cut into a mullet, by yours truly, that somewhat suited his disliked American white-man problematic persona. But even with that he's a bit gay.

You'll forever remember things that you want to forget, relating to that subject. Let's hope he's a bit different now, but you can never really tell.

He sounded like Alvin from Alvin and the chipmunks at the ripe age of ten, but now of that being a couple years ago he sounds more like Alvin's rejected cousin thats slightly deformed and going though puberty.

Yeah, maybe thats about right.

Maybe if you don't pick up he'll go away? You seriously consider, not moving from the space on your bed. You met him when you were younger, more like when you were both in diapers, as you're mothers were both very close in school years. Both single push over mothers, and yes you are ashamed of how you treated yours of when you were younger.

But Cartman hadn't really changed much. He'd still whine in a high pitched voice to get what he wants, while in recent years you've been soft spoken and more willing to listen to your mother. At ten years old though you couldn't see a difference in you and Cartman's behavior, you were like two peas in a pod.

And not in a good way.

But ignoring your faults, because it's embarrassing to remember, you let Lady Gaga ring out in your room. She sang a bit longer, but finally died out at some point while you had spaced of. It's silent for a moment, and you rest your eyes even so you weren't all that tired anymore, but there's a disruption in the quiet air.

It's Lady Gaga. And because you were on your side, facing your window and away from the bedside table and your phone, it's like she's looming over your shoulder practically begging the phone to be picked up. You sigh, irritatbly, struggling to get up in a sitting position. You quickly unplug the phone from the charger and press the green button.

You hold it up to your ear, just listening to any sound that passed through from the end. Theres voices immediately, but you're confused on topic of conversation. "—Kahl, you friggin' asshole, that's none of your business—" "What." You dismiss the confusion and his conversation, wanting to get the point of the call.

"[NAME]! YOU FINALLY PICKED UP YOU BITCH, STOP IGNORING ME!!" it was unbelievable how he quickly changed the subject from who he was talking to, to you. The tone of voice and everything— you're flattered that he changed it that fast to talk to little ol' you. Dispute your fake internal flatter, you face stayed blank.

"What do you want." You slightly curse, not even scared about pissing him off. It's not like he'll grind your parents up into chilli too, because he also knew that you used to act exactly like him in that way. You'll bite him even harder in the ass than he did to you, whether that be literally or you killing him. Ew. You cringe, but you'd take action if it came to it.

You hear him scoff on the other end, shuffling of feet against his flooring surprisingly easy to hear as he made his way from the living room into the kitchen. You can tell that he had gone into the kitchen because of the faint sound of the fridge door opening as he talking to you. "I need your help, and when you do I owe you."

You slightly raise a brow, deadpanning soon after thinking of his definition of a 'owe'. You lean yourself against the headboard of your bed, boredom consuming you slowly but surely. "Yeah—no. Kill yourself." You blow a raspberry down onto the microphone, only now waiting for a reply. He huff and sputters, you can basically see him hesitate on the other side of the phone.

"But— but—" the words seemed to be caught on his tongue, but you practically heard his voice change to a more high pitched squeal like a switch. It's like him complaining to his mum, his pace in voice becomes quicker as his reason started to blur with other words. "But Clyde is having a house party and we want to throw a betteronesothatthey'renotbetterthanusand—"

You outwardly sigh, only just about catching to jist of his sentence through the many years you've known him. You pitch the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and middle, furrowing your brows. "Eric, what. I'm not your mum so don't speak to me like that you stupid fat bitch—" "OI I'M NOT FAT—" "You're certainly not skinny babes.."

"Oh yeah? Well let's talk about you." "Excuse me? You look like you look like—" you two continue to bicker over the phone, obviously he leant off his fridge to slightly pace around his kitchen— and whoever he'd been talking to before became silent or out of ear shot of the phone— Kyle. You remember.

Of course you knew of his other friends that he mainly hung out with, but to be honest you're not into their stupid lifestyle. Always getting into stupid shit, unexpected things happening, detetions, enemies (that can be people they don't even know!). Plus, even though he is you're so called "best friend", he is a prick.

"I mean— a party? An alcoholic party? Why would you even want that at our age—" "Don't question, I know you've done worse things then this." It's true, you guess. You two are like partners in crime, and the part will be on the bottom of the list of the worse things you've done. You sigh, already pulling on your sneakers resting by the front door.

God's sake.

"I'll be at yours in five." You grumpily say, over his whining and comments. They turned sickly sweet since a couple minutes ago where he was basically shouting slurs at you through the phone, him trying to sweeten you to his liking. He celebrated on the other end and he said something, but you hung up without an answer.

You pulled on a coat or jacket, ready to open the door before your mother called you from the kitchen. "Hunny?" She said, peering into the hallway in only a few seconds. "Where are you going in your Pajamas, sweetie?" Her voice was soft and kind, but regardless you openly roll your eyes and scowl at her. You're tired and not in the mood, but you reply regardless.

"Seeing Eric, Mum. I'll tell him you said hi." Without a question or a scold she smiled, hand plastered to her chest. "Okay sweetie! Have fun! There's cinnamon rolls and coffee here for when you come back!" She disappeared as soon as she came, leaving you to yourself to leave and close the door. You feel bad again, but your bad behavior surfaces without warning sometimes.

You step out, the winds slightly less cold then usual months as you take an icey breath in. You sigh, annoyed again, stepping further and started the path to his house. It requires no mental energy anymore, it's like your feet mindlessly take you to your destination. What could he want from you? The alcohol? Something else?

You doubt its the alcohol, as him Mum would get it for him without question. Whatever it might be, it has to be stupid, and leaves you dreading the arrival at his door.

[stephenrea]

('The Power of the Dog' Spoilers ahead)

One thing I found really interesting in 'The Power of The Dog', and I don't know if this was in any way intentional, was how it deviated from the expected "older man helps budding youth explore his blossoming sexuality" trope and actually manages to condemn that sort of thing instead. I haven't read the book so bare in mind I'm reading into the film and film alone here, but hear me out if you care to listen.

Throughout the latter half of the story, the film starts to parralel the relationship between Phil and Pete with that of Phil and Bronco Henry. However, these parralels are somewhat one-sided as we see them solely from Phil's perspective. What I mean by that is that it becomes clear that Phil has this very romanticised memory of Bronco Henry and how their relationship functioned. We never get a flashback of BH. We never hear from anyone besides Phil about the kind of person he was. We just have the biased account of a young man/teenage boy who had an intense, forbidden love affair with a man much older than him. One that was cut short. Phil sees this younger man and presumes... hopes, that such a love affair could be reborn. I confess that when the movie came to a close and I saw Pete holding onto that rope a thought occurred to me (one I now believe to be false) that this rope might be symbolic of the cycle of gay cowboy yearning™ and secret love affairs stamped out prematurely, living on only in the survivor's memorabilia. (ie. Phil's Rope was the new Bronco Henry Saddle).

But no. It was only after the credits rolled that the realisation fully kicked in: that Pete intentionally killed Phil. And that he did not love him. He is almost definitely queer. Unlike Phil he doesn't hide the fact; and has fully embraced his feminine/unconventional sides. He doesn't need an Experienced Older Man to help him realise anything and is perfectly satisfied persuing his interests and spending time with his boy best friend: the wannabe proffesor (whose the same age as him if I might add). I know he didn't kill Phil because he thought he was a perv, he absolutely killed him because of his cruelty towards his mother. I really don't think he had any additional reason.

I do think, however; that when it comes to themes and for what this story means for queer cinema as a whole, it's interesting to contrast the direction taken in this movie with that of say, Call me by Your Name. Now, I actually liked Call me by Your Name the one(1) time I watched it, and I'm not trying to say that stories like it shouldn't exist or that the whole thing was problematic, etc. (I'm vaguely aware that there's discourse about that movie on here that I haven't been around long enough to see and frankly I do not care and don't want to know<33). But I am going to point out the uncomfortable phenomenon it's indicative of. To see a younger, more effeminate gay man seemingly break this cycle of grooming by killing a potential predator and leaving the tolken of his love behind- it's quite powerful! Even if there is something much bigger at play here.

I'm almost definitely projecting but I would like to rewatch this movie and see how this lense holds up.